During the first few hours of their stay, however, the leading conspirators were awaiting the return of the envoy from Grafton with too much anxiety to be able to sleep or take their ease. Almost everything hung upon the reply of Talbot. The assistance of the large number of men and horses which it was in his power to supply was of the utmost importance at that very critical moment, and on his influence and example might depend the attitude of all the Catholic gentry in Worcestershire, as well as in several of the counties adjoining it.
Just as it was beginning to grow dark, two horsemen rode up to the door of Huddington, and the ambassadors, Robert Winter and Stephen Littleton, entered the house. Sir Everard Digby and Catesby eagerly went up to them and asked the result of their embassy; but, before they had had time to reply, it was evident from the expression of their faces that they brought bad news. On reaching Grafton, said Winter, they found that the report of the Gunpowder Plot and its failure had arrived there before them. Their approach had been observed, perhaps watched for, and, as they rode up to the curious “L”-shaped house, with its gothic chapel at one end of it, Sir John Talbot himself stood at its arched doorway,[294] with a frown upon his countenance.[295] As soon as they were within earshot, he forbade them to enter his house. He then told them that he had already heard of the plot, which he condemned in the strongest terms, together with all that had been, or were, connected with it, whether personal friends of his own or otherwise. He was a very zealous Catholic, and he regarded the whole conspiracy as one of the worst evils that could possibly have befallen the Catholics of England, since it would bring scandal upon their very name, and increase the persecutions which they suffered.
When Robert Winter not only defended the plot but urged Sir John to join the band of Catholics who intended to make a struggle for their freedom, his father-in-law threatened that, although he was a Catholic, a neighbour, and his son-in-law, he would have him arrested if he did not make off as quickly as his horse’s legs could carry him.[296]
As soon as Robert Winter had finished his story, the conspirators were plunged into the deepest dejection. Not one of them would be more depressed by the bad news than Sir Everard Digby. The rest were all more or less of a wild adventurous spirit, and probably had realised sooner than he to what a desperate issue the conspiracy had already arrived; but Sir Everard had been deceived by Catesby into believing the king and Salisbury to be dead, and until now he had clung to the hope that the best Catholics in England, when they heard of what had been attempted, would unite with himself and his companions in a holy war. Sir John Talbot was the type of Catholic by whose side he had hoped to fight for the faith, a man full of zeal and unflinching energy for the Catholic cause, as well as an honourable English gentleman. It was chiefly on the guarantee of his adherence and assistance, too, that Sir Everard had consented to Catesby’s entreaties to ride away from Dunchurch with the rest of the conspirators, and attempt to raise the Catholics against the Government; and now Sir John Talbot repudiated Sir Everard, his friends, and his actions.
A more gloomy party than that at Huddington can rarely have been assembled at an English country house. The hostess, Robert Winter’s wife, was indeed to be pitied. In her presence there was[297] “no talk of rebellion,”as she afterwards declared; but she must have known what was going forward, and have learned something of the disastrous failure of the appeal to her father, whose censure of her husband must have caused her the greatest pain. A few weeks later she was made to endure the distress of an examination before officials on the subject.[298]
In the course of the day, Father Greenway came to Huddington with Catesby’s servant, Thomas Bates. Sir Everard does not appear to have seen him, for he wrote[299]:—“They said Mr Greenway came to Huddington when we were there and had speech of Mr” [probably Catesby], “but I told them it was more than I took note of, and that I did not know him very well.”
Catesby, however, received Father Greenway with delight. On first seeing him, he exclaimed that “Here at least was a gentleman who would live and die with them.”[300] But Greenway seems to have paid them a very short visit; and he was evidently commissioned by Catesby to go to a neighbouring landlord and enlist him to the cause; for he rode away the same afternoon to Henlip, or Hindlip,[301] a house about four miles off, belonging to Thomas Abington, or Habingdon, a man famed for his hospitality to priests flying from persecution. On arriving at Hindlip, Father Greenway told Abington that he had[302] “brought them the worst newes that ever they hade, and sayd they were all undone”; that “ther were certayne gentlemen that meant to have blown upp the Parliament house, and that ther plot was discovered a day or two before, and now ther were gathered together some forty horse at Mr Wynter’s house, meaning Catesbye, Percye, Digby, and others, and tould them,”i.e., Abington and his household, “their throates would be cutt unlesse they presently wente to joyne with them.”Abington replied, “Alas, I am sorye;”but he said that he[303] “would never ioyne with them in that matter, and chardged all his house to that purpose not to goe unto them.”
Father Oldcorne, another Jesuit, was present at Hindlip[304] when this interview took place, and he also assured Father Greenway that[305] he would have nothing to do with the conspiracy or the insurrection. As we shall have little, if anything, more to do with Father Greenway, it may be worth observing here that he escaped from England[306] in “a small boat laden with dead pigs, of which cargo he passed as the owner,”and that he lived thirty years afterwards. A ridiculous story was reported from Naples, in 1610, by Sir Edwin Rich, that Father Greenway (alias Beaumont) was plotting to send King James some poisoned clothes, which would be death to the wearer.[307]
While at Huddington, Sir Everard and most of the other conspirators probably went to confession to Father Hart, the priest who had said mass for them at Dunchurch; for he was afterwards “charged with having heard the confessions and absolved the conspirators, two days after the discovery of the Plot,”[308] and this is confirmed by Sir Everard’s servant, Handy, who said[309] “that on Thursday morning about three of the clock all the said companie as servaunts as others heard masse, receaved the sacrament and were confessed, wch. masse was said by a priest named Harte, a little man, whitely complexion and a little beard.”If the conspirators really made full confessions with true sorrow for their terrible sins, on this occasion, nothing could have been better or more opportune. If not,—well, the less said the better! The same witness stated that on that Thursday morning, at about six o’clock, Sir Everard, who had had four fresh horses sent to him from Coughton,[310] and the rest of the party were again in the saddle, and the whole band started in a northerly direction for Whewell Grange, a house belonging to Lord Windsor, having added to the procession “a cart laden wth. trunckes, pikes, and other munition,” from Huddington. On their way towards Whewell Grange “four of the principall gent.”[311] rode in front of the procession, and four behind it “to kepe the company from starting away,”i.e., deserting.
They reached Lord Windsor’s house,[312] about noon, and all dismounted, “saving some fewe whoe sate on their horses to watch whoe should come unto the howse.”They then made their second raid. It was not for horses, as at Warwick; this time they sought for arms and armour, of which there was a large store at Whewell Grange. They appear to have met with no resistance, from which we may infer that, to use a modern and vulgar phrase, “the family were from home.”When they had all armed themselves, they put the remainder into a cart, while they filled another with a quantity of powder. These two carts then formed part of the procession. Sir Everard Digby can scarcely have failed to feel shame at the plunder of Whewell Grange. What had Lord Windsor done that his house should be pillaged? He had served his country as a sailor, and he eventually became a Rear Admiral of the Fleet. Why should his things be taken feloniously from his home during his absence? His father had died only seven months earlier, and the funeral hatchment was most likely hanging over the doorway when these thieves entered. While the robbers were ransacking the house—I fear that Sir Everard Digby was among them—some of the neighbouring peasants and villagers came up, out of curiosity, to see what was going on. As he came out of the house, Catesby saw from twenty to thirty of them standing about.[313]