To say nothing of the indignity of being captured by a yelling mob, it would be infinitely more dangerous than a voluntary submission to some recognised authority; for this reason, Digby, with his two attendants, tried to escape, and, as they were riding three excellent horses, they had great hopes of succeeding in doing so.
Nor were these hopes altogether groundless; for, when they began to gallop, they soon widened the distance between themselves and their pursuers; but they observed that the peasants and wayfarers whom they passed turned round to stare at them, which showed that their route would be pointed out to the “hue-and-cry.”As Father Gerard says, “it was not possible for them to pass or go unknown, especially Sir Everard Digby, being so noted a man for his stature and personage, and withal so well appointed as he was.”[326] He thought it wisest, therefore, to go into a large wood, and to hide there until the “hue-and-cry” should have passed. In this fortune favoured them, for, on turning along a bye-path from the main track in the wood, they saw a dry pit, and down into this they rode.
They had not been very long concealed in it when they heard the distant thud of galloping horses, and every now and then the shouting of their riders. Nearer and nearer came the sounds, and, just as they grew loudest, to his great delight Digby heard them beginning to decrease in force, which showed that the galloping mob had passed his retreat and was going on an objectless errand.
Presently the sounds ceased altogether, and Sir Everard and his two companions were on the point of emerging from their ambush, when they fancied they heard the footsteps of two horses proceeding at a walk. A voice confirmed them in this opinion. Once more there was silence, and once again there were sounds of horses’ feet and men’s voices.
Suddenly a cry of “Here he is; here he is!”[327] showed that they were discovered. The baffled hunters had turned back to try to trace the hoof-marks of the fugitives’ horses on either side of the rough roadway through the wood, and the wet, muddy weather had enabled them to succeed in this attempt. In that moment of extreme peril, Sir Everard showed plenty of courage. “Here he is, indeed!”said he; “what then?”
Looking up, he saw about ten or twelve horsemen standing about the entrance to the pit; and believing that the main body of the “hue-and-cry”were scattered about the wood searching in different directions, he hoped to be able to force his way through the small group which he saw above; accordingly he “advanced his horse in the manner of curvetting (which he was expert in) and thought to have borne them over, and so to break from them.”
As the event proved, they were quite unprepared for the shock of his charge, and, thrown into confusion, they were unable to prevent him from forcing his way safely through their midst; but as soon as he had done so, he found himself surrounded by more than a hundred horsemen, trotting up from different directions. Perceiving that escape was now impossible, he “willingly yielded himself to the likeliest man of the company,”and was immediately made a prisoner.
Would it have been more becoming to have sold his life dearly and to have died on the field by shot, pike, or sword, than to have surrendered to that ill-mounted, ill-armed, and irregular band of squireens, yeomen, and tradesmen, with the certainty of the disgraceful gallows and the quartering hatchet before him? The reasons for his acting otherwise, given by Father Gerard, are at least logical. He had a desire, he says,[328] “to have some time before his death for his better preparation, and withal”he hoped “to have done some service to the Catholic cause by word, sith he saw he could not do it by the sword.”
I have been unable to find any details as to what befel Sir Everard between his arrest and his long, wearying, and humiliating ride of nearly a hundred and twenty miles to London. Bound a prisoner on his horse, and guarded by armed men on all sides, he would be an object of curiosity and derision in every town, village, and hamlet through which he passed. He would be taken through Warwickshire, which had been the scene of his fruitless attempt to raise an insurrection during the two previous days; probably, through many places well known in happier times in Northamptonshire; through yet more familiar localities in Buckinghamshire, where he had hitherto been hailed with raised hats and genial smiles; and even, perhaps, within a few miles of his beloved Gothurst itself. When he entered Middlesex, the nearer he came to London, the greater would be the angry demonstrations of hostility on the part of the crowds that turned out to see the traitor and conspirator as he was conducted towards the Tower to take his trial for high treason. There may have been a few sympathisers among the mob, such as the man who was heard to whisper that “It had been brave sport, yf it had gone forward”;[329] but such remarks would not be made loud enough to reach the ears of Digby.
The shame of that journey must have been intense to a man constituted like Sir Everard, and it may have been increased by the reflection that he had forsaken his friends, with the intention of surrendering himself; and that, although they had certainly deceived him, he was in some sense a deserter from their ranks, at the moment of their extremity, as well as a traitor to his king.