Guy Fawkes: or, The Gunpowder Treason: An Historical Romance

“The Parliament-house being the place where all the mischief done us has been contrived by our adversaries, it is fitting that it should be the place of their chastisement,” remarked Catesby.

“Doubtless,” rejoined Ambrose Rookwood.

“Yet if the blow we meditate should miscarry,” observed Thomas Winter, “the injury to the Catholic religion will be so great, that not only our enemies, but our very friends will condemn us.”

“There is no chance of miscarriage, if we are true to each other," returned Catesby, confidently. “And if I suspected any one of treachery, I would plunge my sword into his bosom, were he my brother.”

“You would do wrong to act thus on mere suspicion,” remarked Tresham, who stood near him.

“In a case like this, he who gives the slightest ground for doubt would merit death,” replied Catesby, sternly; “and I would slay him.”

“Hum!” exclaimed Tresham, uneasily.

“Mr. Catesby will now perhaps inform us what has been done to carry the project into effect?” inquired Sir Everard Digby.

“A small habitation has been taken by one of our confederates, Mr. Thomas Percy, immediately adjoining the Parliament-house,” replied Catesby, “from the cellar of which it is proposed to dig a mine through the wall of the devoted building, and to deposit within it a sufficient quantity of gunpowder and other combustibles to accomplish our purpose. This mine must be digged by ourselves, as we can employ no assistants, and will be a laborious and dangerous task. But I for one will cheerfully undertake it.”

“And I,” said the elder Wright.

“And I,” cried several others.

“Supposing the mine digged, and the powder deposited,” observed Ambrose Rookwood, “whose hand will fire the train?”

“Mine!” cried Guy Fawkes, throwing open the door. As soon as he had spoken, he retired and closed it after him.

“He will keep his word,” remarked Garnet. “He is of a nature so resolute that he would destroy himself with the victims rather than fail. Catiline was not a bolder conspirator than Guy Fawkes.”

“Well, gentlemen,” observed Catesby, “we are now at the latter end of July. All must be ready against the meeting of Parliament in November.”

“There is some likelihood, I hear, that the meeting of the house will be prorogued till February,” remarked Tresham.

“So much the better,” rejoined Catesby, “it will give us more time for preparation.”

“So much the worse, I think,” cried Ambrose Rookwood. “Delays are ever dangerous, and doubly dangerous in a case like ours.”

“I am far from desiring to throw any impediment in the way of our design,” observed Sir Everard Digby, “but I would recommend, before we proceed to this terrible extremity, that one last effort should be made to move the King in our behalf.”

“It is useless,” replied Catesby. “So far from toleration, he meditates severer measures against us; and, I am well assured, if Parliament is allowed to meet, such laws will be passed as will bring all of us within premunire. No, no. We have no hope from James, nor his ministers.”

“Nor yet from France or Spain,” observed Thomas Winter. “In my conference with the Constable Velasco at Bergen, I received assurances of the good-will of Philip towards us, but no distinct promise of interference in our behalf. The Archduke Albert is well disposed, but he can render no assistance. We must depend upon ourselves.”

“Ay, marry, must we,” replied Catesby, “and fortunate is it that we have devised a plan by which we can accomplish our purpose unaided. We only require funds to follow up with effect the blow we shall strike.”

“My whole fortune shall be placed at your disposal,” replied Sir Everard Digby.

“Part of mine has already been given,” said Tresham, “and the rest shall follow.”

“Would I had aught to peril in the matter except my life,” said Catesby. “I would throw everything upon the stake.”

“You do enough in venturing thus much, my son,” rejoined Garnet. “To you the whole conduct of the enterprise is committed.”

“I live for nothing else,” replied Catesby, “and if I see it successful, I shall have lived long enough.”

“Cannot Sir William Radcliffe be induced to join us?” asked Rookwood. “He would be an important acquisition, and his wealth would prove highly serviceable.”

“I have sounded him,” answered Catesby. “But he appears reluctant.”

“Be not satisfied with one attempt,” urged Christopher Wright. “The jeopardy in which he now stands may make him change his mind.”

“I am loth to interrupt the discussion,” returned Garnet, “but I think we have tarried here long enough. We will meet again at midnight, when I hope to introduce Sir William Radcliffe to you as a confederate.”

The party then separated, and Garnet went in search of the knight.

Ascertaining that he was in his own chamber, he proceeded thither, and found him alone. Entering at once upon the subject in hand, Garnet pleaded his cause with so much zeal that he at last wrung a reluctant consent from the listener. Scarcely able to conceal his exultation, he then proposed to Sir William to adjourn with him to the private chapel in the house, where, having taken the oath, and received the sacrament upon it, he should forthwith be introduced to the conspirators, and the whole particulars of the plot revealed to him. To this the knight, with some hesitation, agreed. As they traversed a gallery leading to the chapel, they met Viviana. For the first time in his life Radcliffe's gaze sank before his daughter, and he would have passed her without speaking had she not stopped him.

“Father! dear father!” she cried, “I know whither you are going – and for what purpose. Do not – do not join them.”

Sir William Radcliffe made no reply, but endeavoured gently to push her aside.

She would not, however, be repulsed, but prostrating herself before him, clasped his knees, and besought him not to proceed.

Making a significant gesture to Sir William, Garnet walked forward.

“Viviana,” cried the knight, sternly, “my resolution is taken. I command you to retire to your chamber.”

So saying, he broke from her, and followed Garnet. Clasping her hands to her brow, Viviana gazed for a moment with a frenzied look after him, and then rushed from the gallery.

On reaching the chapel, Sir William, who had been much shaken by this meeting, was some minutes in recovering his composure. Garnet employed the time in renewing his arguments, and with so much address that he succeeded in quieting the scruples of conscience which had been awakened in the knight's breast by his daughter's warning.

“And now, my son,” he said, “since you have determined to enrol your name in the list of those sworn to deliver their church from oppression, take this primer in your hand, and kneel down before the altar, while I administer the oath which is to unite you to us.”

Garnet then advanced towards the altar, and Sir William was about to prostrate himself upon a cushion beside it, when the door was suddenly thrown open, and Guy Fawkes strode into the chapel.

“Hold!” he exclaimed, grasping Radcliffe's right arm, and fixing his dark glance upon him; “you shall not take that oath.”

“What mean you?” cried Garnet, who, as well as the knight, was paralyzed with astonishment at this intrusion. “Sir William Radcliffe is about to join us.”

“I know it,” replied Fawkes; “but it may not be. He has no heart in the business, and will lend it no efficient assistance. We are better without him, than with him.”

As he spoke, he took the primer from the knight's hand, and laid it upon the altar.

“This conduct is inexplicable,” cried Garnet, angrily. “You will answer for it to others, as well as to me.”

“I will answer for it to all,” replied Guy Fawkes. “Let Sir William Radcliffe declare before me, and before Heaven, that he approves the measure, and I am content he should take the oath.”

“I cannot belie my conscience by saying so,” replied the knight, who appeared agitated by conflicting emotions.

“Yet you have promised to join us,” cried Garnet, reproachfully.

“Better break that promise than a solemn oath,” rejoined Guy Fawkes, sternly. “Sir William Radcliffe, there are reasons why you should not join this conspiracy. Examine your inmost heart, and it will tell you what they are.”

“I understand you,” replied the knight.

“Get hence,” cried Garnet, unable to control his indignation, “or I will pronounce our Church's most terrible malediction against you.”

“I shall not shrink from it, father,” rejoined Fawkes, humbly, but firmly, “seeing I am acting rightly.”

“Undeceive yourself, then, at once,” returned Garnet, “and learn that you are thwarting our great and holy purpose.”

“On the contrary,” replied Fawkes, “I am promoting it, by preventing one from joining it who will endanger its success.”

“You are a traitor!” cried Garnet, furiously.

“A traitor!” exclaimed Guy Fawkes, his eye blazing with fierce lustre, though his voice and demeanour were unaltered, – "I, who have been warned thrice, – twice by the dead, – and lastly by a vision from heaven, yet still remain firm to my purpose, – I, who have voluntarily embraced the most dangerous and difficult part of the enterprise, – I, who would suffer the utmost extremity of torture, rather than utter a word that should reveal it, – a traitor! No, father, I am none. If you think so, take this sword and at once put an end to your doubts.”

There was something so irresistible in the manner of Guy Fawkes, that Garnet remained silent.

“Do with me what you please,” continued Fawkes; “but do not compel Sir William Radcliffe to join the conspiracy. He will be fatal to it.”

“No one shall compel me to join it,” replied the knight.

“Perhaps it is better thus,” returned Garnet, after a pause, during which he was buried in reflection. “I will urge you no further, my son. But before you depart you must swear not to divulge what you have just learnt.”

“Willingly,” replied the knight.

“There is another person who must also take that oath,” said Guy Fawkes, “having accidentally become acquainted with as much as yourself.”

And stepping out of the chapel, he immediately afterwards returned with Viviana.

“You will now understand why I would not allow Sir William to join the conspiracy,” he observed to Garnet.

“I do,” replied the latter, gloomily.

The oath administered, the knight and his daughter quitted the chapel, accompanied by Guy Fawkes. Viviana was profuse in her expressions of gratitude, nor was her father less earnest in his acknowledgments.

A few hours after this, Sir William Radcliffe informed Sir Everard Digby that it was his intention to depart immediately, and, though the latter attempted to dissuade him by representing the danger to which he would be exposed, he continued inflexible. The announcement surprised both Catesby and Garnet, who were present when it was made, and added their entreaties to those of Digby – but without effect. Catesby's proposal to serve as an escort was likewise refused by Sir William, who said he had no fears, and when questioned as to his destination, he returned an evasive answer. This sudden resolution of the knight coupled with his refusal to join the plot, alarmed the conspirators, and more than one expressed fears of treachery. Sir Everard Digby, however, was not of the number, but asserted that Radcliffe was a man of the highest honour, and he would answer for his secrecy with his life.

“Will you answer for that of his daughter?” demanded Tresham.

“I will,” replied Fawkes.

“To put the matter beyond a doubt,” observed Catesby, “I will set out shortly after him, and follow him unobserved till he halts for the night, and ascertain whether he stops at any suspicious quarter.”

“Do so, my son,” replied Garnet.

“It is needless,” observed Sir Everard Digby; “but do as you please.”

By this time, Radcliffe's horses being brought round by Heydocke, he and his daughter took a hasty leave of their friends. When they had been gone a few minutes, Catesby called for his steed; and, after exchanging a word or two with Garnet, rode after them. He had proceeded about a couple of miles along a cross-road leading to Nantwich, which he learnt from some cottagers was the route taken by the party before him, when he heard the tramp of a horse in the rear, and, turning at the sound, beheld Guy Fawkes. Drawing in the bridle, he halted till the latter came up, and angrily demanded on what errand he was bent.

“My errand is the same as your own,” replied Fawkes. “I intend to follow Sir William Radcliffe, and, if need be, defend him.”

Whatever Catesby's objections might be to this companionship, he did not think fit to declare them, and, though evidently much displeased, suffered Guy Fawkes to ride by his side without opposition.

Having gained the summit of the mountainous range extending from Malpas to Tottenhall, whence they beheld the party whose course they were tracking enter a narrow lane at the foot of the hill, Catesby, fearful of losing sight of them, set spurs to his steed. Guy Fawkes kept close beside him, and they did not slacken their pace until they reached the lane.

Having proceeded along it for a quarter of a mile, they were alarmed by the sudden report of fire-arms, followed by a loud shriek, which neither of them doubted was uttered by Viviana. Again dashing forward, on turning a corner of the road, they beheld the party surrounded by half-a-dozen troopers. Sir William Radcliffe had shot one of his assailants, and, assisted by Heydocke, was defending himself bravely against the others. With loud shouts, Catesby and Guy Fawkes galloped towards the scene of strife. But they were too late. A bullet pierced the knight's brain; and he no sooner fell, than, regardless of himself, the old steward flung away his sword, and threw himself, with the most piteous lamentations, on the body.

Viviana, meanwhile, had been compelled to dismount, and was in the hands of the troopers. On seeing her father's fate, her shrieks were so heart-piercing, that even her captors were moved to compassion. Fighting his way towards her, Catesby cut down one of the troopers, and snatching her from the grasp of the other, who was terrified by the furious assault, placed her on the saddle beside him, and striking spurs into his charger at the same moment, leapt the hedge, and made good his retreat.

This daring action, however, could not have been accomplished without the assistance of Guy Fawkes, who warded off with his rapier all the blows aimed at him and his lovely charge. While thus engaged, he received a severe cut on the head, which stretched him senseless and bleeding beneath his horse's feet.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE PACKET

On recovering from the effects of the wound he had received from the trooper, Guy Fawkes found himself stretched upon a small bed in a cottage, with Viviana and Catesby watching beside him. A thick fold of linen was bandaged round his head, and he was so faint from the great effusion of blood he had sustained, that, after gazing vacantly around him for a few minutes, and but imperfectly comprehending what he beheld, his eyes closed, and he relapsed into insensibility. Restoratives being applied, he revived in a short time, and, in answer to his inquiries how he came thither, was informed by Catesby that he had been left for dead by his assailants, who, contenting themselves with making the old steward prisoner, had ridden off in the direction of Chester.

“What has become of Sir William Radcliffe?” asked the wounded man in a feeble voice.

Catesby raised his finger to his lips, and Fawkes learnt the distressing nature of the question he had asked by the agonizing cry that burst from Viviana. Unable to control her grief, she withdrew, and Catesby then told him that the body of Sir William Radcliffe was lying in an adjoining cottage, whither it had been transported from the scene of the conflict; adding that it was Viviana's earnest desire that it should be conveyed to Manchester to the family vault in the Collegiate Church; but that he feared her wish could not be safely complied with. A messenger, however, had been despatched to Holt; and Sir Everard Digby, and Fathers Garnet and Oldcorne, were momentarily expected, when some course would be decided upon for the disposal of the unfortunate knight's remains.

“Poor Viviana!” groaned Fawkes. “She has now no protector.”

“Rest easy on that score,” rejoined Catesby. “She shall never want one while I live.”

The wounded man fixed his eyes, now blazing with red and unnatural light, inquiringly upon him, but he said nothing.

“I know what you mean,” continued Catesby; “you think I shall wed her, and you are in the right. I shall. The marriage is essential to our enterprise; and the only obstacle to it is removed.”

Fawkes attempted to reply, but his parched tongue refused its office. Catesby arose, and carefully raising his head, held a cup of water to his lips. The sufferer eagerly drained it, and would have asked for more; but seeing that the request would be refused, he left it unuttered.

“Have you examined my wound?” he said, after a pause.

Catesby answered in the affirmative.

“And do you judge it mortal?” continued Fawkes. “Not that I have any fear of Death. I have looked him in the face too often for that. But I have somewhat on my mind which I would fain discharge before my earthly pilgrimage is ended.”

“Do not delay it, then,” rejoined the other. “Knowing I speak to a soldier, and a brave one, I do not hesitate to tell you your hours are numbered.”

“Heaven's will be done!” exclaimed Fawkes, in a tone of resignation. “I thought myself destined to be one of the chief instruments of the restoration of our holy religion. But I find I was mistaken. When Father Garnet arrives, I beseech you let me see him instantly. Or, if he should not come speedily, entreat Miss Radcliffe to grant me a few moments in private.”

“Why not unburthen yourself to me?” returned Catesby, distrustfully. “In your circumstances I should desire no better confessor than a brother soldier, – no other crucifix than a sword-hilt.”

“Nor I,” rejoined Fawkes. “But this is no confession I am about to make. What I have to say relates to others, not to myself.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed Catesby. “Then there is the more reason why it should not be deferred. I hold it my duty to tell you that the fever of your wound will, in all probability, produce delirium. Make your communication while your senses remain to you. And whatever you enjoin shall be rigorously fulfilled.”

“Will you swear this?” cried Fawkes, eagerly. But before an answer could be returned, he added, in an altered tone, “No, – no, – it cannot be.”

“This is no time for anger,” rejoined Catesby, sternly, “or I should ask whether you doubt the assurance I have given you?”

“I doubt nothing but your compliance with my request,” returned Fawkes. “And oh! if you hope to be succoured at your hour of need, tell Miss Radcliffe I desire to speak with her.”

“The message will not need to be conveyed,” said Viviana, who had noiselessly entered the room; “she is here.”

Guy Fawkes turned his gaze in the direction of the voice; and, notwithstanding his own deplorable condition, he was filled with concern at the change wrought in her appearance by the terrible shock she had undergone. Her countenance was as pale as death, – her eyes, from which no tears would flow, as is ever the case with the deepest distress, were glassy and lustreless, – her luxuriant hair hung in dishevelled masses over her shoulders, – and her attire was soiled and disordered.

“You desire to speak with me,” she continued, advancing towards the couch of the wounded man.

“It must be alone,” he replied.

Viviana glanced at Catesby, who reluctantly arose, and closed the door after him. “We are alone now,” she said.

“Water! water!” gasped the sufferer, “or I perish.” His request being complied with, he continued in a low solemn voice, “Viviana, you have lost the dearest friend you had on earth, and you will soon lose one who, if he had been spared, would have endeavoured, as far as he could, to repair the loss. I say not this to aggravate your distress, but to prove the sincerity of my regard. Let me conjure you, with my dying breath, not to wed Mr. Catesby.”

“Fear it not,” replied Viviana. “I would rather endure death than consent to do so.”

“Be upon your guard against him, then,” continued Fawkes. “When an object is to be gained, he suffers few scruples to stand in his way.”

“I am well aware of it,” replied Viviana; “and on the arrival of Sir Everard Digby, I shall place myself under his protection.”

“Should you be driven to extremity,” said Fawkes, taking a small packet from the folds of his doublet, “break open this; it will inform you what to do. Only promise me you will not have recourse to it till all other means have failed.”

Viviana took the packet, and gave the required promise.

“Conceal it about your person, and guard it carefully,” continued Fawkes; “for you know not when you may require it. And now, having cleared my conscience, I can die easily. Let me have your prayers.”

Viviana knelt down by the bedside, and poured forth the most earnest supplications in his behalf.

“Perhaps,” she said, as she arose, “and it is some consolation to think so, – you may be saved by death from the commission of a great crime, which would for ever have excluded you from the joys of heaven.”

“Say rather,” cried Guy Fawkes, whose brain began to wander, “which would have secured them to me. Others will achieve it; but I shall have no share in their glory, or their reward.”

“Their reward will be perdition in this world and in the next,” rejoined Viviana. “I repeat, that though I deeply deplore your condition, I rejoice in your delivery from this sin. It is better – far better – to die thus, than by the hands of the common executioner.”

“What do I see?” cried Guy Fawkes, trying to raise himself, and sinking back again instantly upon the pillow. “Elizabeth Orton rises before me. She beckons me after her – I come! – I come!”

“Heaven pity him!” cried Viviana. “His senses have left him!”

“She leads me into a gloomy cavern,” continued Fawkes, more wildly; “but my eyes are like the wolf's, and can penetrate the darkness. It is filled with barrels of gunpowder. I see them ranged in tiers, one above another. Ah! I know where I am now. It is the vault beneath the Parliament-house. The King and his nobles are assembled in the hall above. Lend me a torch, that I may fire the train, and blow them into the air. Quick! quick! I have sworn their destruction, and will keep my oath. What matter if I perish with them? Give me the torch, I say, or it will be too late. Is the powder damp that it will not kindle? And see! the torch is expiring – it is gone out! Distraction! – to be baffled thus! Why do you stand and glare at me with your stony eyes? Who are those with you? Fiends! – no! they are armed men. They seize me – they drag me before a grave assemblage. What is that hideous engine? The rack! – Bind me on it – break every limb – ye shall not force me to confess – ha! ha! I laugh at your threats – ha! ha!”

“Mother of mercy! release him from this torture!” cried Viviana.

“So! ye have condemned me,” continued Fawkes, “and will drag me to execution. Well, well, I am prepared. But what a host is assembled to see me! Ten thousand faces are turned towards me, and all with one abhorrent bloodthirsty expression. And what a scaffold! Get it done quickly, thou butcherly villain. The rope is twisted round my throat in serpent folds. It strangles me – ah!”

“Horror!” exclaimed Viviana. “I can listen to this no longer. Help, Mr. Catesby, help!”

“The knife is at my breast – it pierces my flesh – my heart is torn forth – I die! I die!” And he uttered a dreadful groan.

“What has happened?” cried Catesby, rushing into the room. “Is he dead?”

“I fear so,” replied Viviana; “and his end has been a fearful one.”

“No – no,” said Catesby; “his pulse still beats – but fiercely and feverishly. You had better not remain here longer, Miss Radcliffe. I will watch over him. All will soon be over.”

Aware that she could be of no further use, Viviana cast a look of the deepest commiseration at the sufferer, and retired. The occupant of the cottage, an elderly female, had surrendered all the apartments of her tenement, except one small room, to her guests, and she was therefore undisturbed. The terrible event which had recently occurred, and the harrowing scene she had just witnessed, were too much for Viviana, and her anguish was so intense, that she began to fear her reason was deserting her. She stood still, – gazed fearfully round, as if some secret danger environed her, – clasped her hands to her temples, and found them burning like hot iron, – and, then, alarmed at her own state, knelt down, prayed, and wept. Yes! she wept, for the first time, since her father's destruction, and the relief afforded by those scalding tears was inexpressible.