A bearded stranger was discovered deep beneath the vaults of the Houses of Parliament on November 5, 1605. The discovery of the guy may not have generated such a sensation if it had been made in isolation, but the accompanying 36 barrels of gunpowder were proof enough that a scheme of the highest deceit had been discovered. Guy Fawkes' narrative has become well-worn; after all, if the scheme had succeeded, it would have been the bloodiest in English history. While Fawkes' capture was crucial to the plot's development, the truth about the plot's roots lay elsewhere.
Robert Catesby was a dynamic young nobleman with a reputation for being a man of action. Catesby, a devoted Catholic living in Queen Elizabeth's staunchly Protestant England, plotted an ambitious insurrection to free his fellow Catholics from the subjugation they had long borne. His ideas were unequivocal: Catholics should not just remain silent and follow orders; instead, they should take any chance to improve their precarious circumstances. These beliefs, while not universally shared by his countrymen, definitely prompted a reluctance to act on such bold ideals.
Most Catholics had learned to hide in the shadows, reluctantly viewing their faith as something to be suppressed rather than publicly embraced. After all, seventeenth-century England was a harsh terrain, a time of violent religious struggle in which opposing political forces battled for supremacy. Catholic priests toiled in secret, always fearful of being discovered and facing certain death.
Catesby's faith triumphed over fear, and he lived with a firm refusal to comply. The government labeled such non-conformists to Anglican orthodoxy as recusants. This persecuted minority was fighting to preserve the 'true religion,' but during a period of constant struggle with Catholic Spain, recusants were seen as a potential 'enemy within,' and a problem that needed to be closely monitored. The majority of English Catholics slid towards conformity as a result of unannounced night-time inspections of houses and property, as well as a growing dread of even more brutal reprisals.
Thomas Percy, a companion of Catesby's, worked as a kinsman and steward for the Earl of Northumberland's northern holdings. Percy also served as the earl's go-between in a number of private conversations with King James VI of Scotland. During one of these exchanges in the autumn of 1602, Percy requested guarantees from the would-be monarch that the Catholic faith would be tolerated in England. With Elizabeth on the throne, there was little prospect that Catesby or other Catholics would be indulged, but the queen was ill, and with James likely to succeed her as king, Catholic aspirations of acceptance were plausible, and recusant prayers looked to be granted. At least, that was Percy's takeaway from their meeting, and he was anxious to spread the good news to other Catholics who may benefit from the impending release.
Elizabeth died six months later, on March 24, 1603, and King James VI of Scotland became James I of England. With his succession to the throne complete, English Catholics hoped for a reorganization that would end their repression. Initially, persecution was eased; but, this reprieve only lasted a year, and by the summer of 1604, it was evident that no official conciliation of Catholicism was on the way. English Catholics, particularly Robert Catesby and Thomas Percy, felt deceived by the new monarch, who, in their opinion, had broken his pledge of toleration. Catesby's lifetime of wrath came to a head when he realized that the target of his hatred and disdain was King James, and that only a drastic course of action would suffice now.
Catesby had made his choice in the spring of 1604. He had developed a most audacious and dramatic plot, fraught with immeasurable danger, but if successful, he would not only decapitate King James, but also the whole House of Lords system. Catesby met with four associates at the Duck and Drake Inn off London's Strand on Sunday, May 20, 1604, and put in action a most fanatical collusion - the merciless Gunpowder Plot. The intended target would be the state opening of Parliament, during which the whole ruling elite would be present and then exterminated if the plot was carried out. An act of such magnitude could not be carried out on its own, so Catesby enlisted the help of Thomas Percy, Thomas Wintour, Jack Wright, and Guy Fawkes, a gang bursting with impulsiveness and a steadfast determination to succeed. The newest royal dynasty could never have imagined the tremendous peril lurking in the shadows.
Percy was a crucial cog in the project, providing funds and negotiating leases on homes in downtown London, perfect locations for plotting and colluding. Perhaps most importantly, Percy got the lease for the undercroft directly beneath the House of Lords on March 25, 1605 — a perfect place from which to launch an explosion. Guy Fawkes, of course, was central to this part of the plan, with his well-established connections and knowledge in the fields of explosives and mining allowing him access to hordes of surplus gunpowder; during the summer months of 1605, he had painstakingly stockpiled it in the undercroft, where it would remain, hidden from the Protestant state until it was time to ignite the deadly ammunition.
Catesby, on the other hand, was tasked with finding new members for the conspiracy. He was able to urge his fellow man to stand by him, to act, and eventually to rise up against the horrible injustices that Catholics had gotten accustomed to by drawing on his immense charismatic nature. Catesby was convinced by his immaculate strategy, but he was naive to the reality that additional recruiting put the operation in jeopardy of being discovered. The repercussions of a casual whisper in the wrong company would be both total and indescribably cruel.
The project looked to be on track three weeks before King James reopened Parliament. Thirty-six barrels of gunpowder were waiting in the wings, guarded by a nervous Fawkes. Catesby, on the other hand, had a difficulty above ground. With money dwindling, he attempted to remedy the situation by persuading Francis Tresham, a notable recusant Catholic landowner, to join the conspiracy, thinking him to be a wealthy man. Tresham and his family were devout Catholics, and the constant persecution they faced drove him to despair. Tresham, on the other hand, expressed reservations and was largely unimpressed by the narrative. 'A big ailment necessitates such a harsh solution,' Catesby declared, thus securing Tresham's assent to participate as the final conspirator in the developing scheme.
The pecuniary benefits of enticing Tresham into the conspiracy were evident, but there was an amusing dichotomy in that Tresham might also be the plot's weakest link. Tresham had numerous acquaintances in the House of Lords, including two brothers-in-law, and it's logical to believe that he wanted to warn them of the planned plot. Indeed, many critics feel Tresham did just that. Catesby's strategy began to fall apart only 10 days before the intended crescendo. Lord Monteagle, Tresham's brother-in-law, got an enigmatic letter delivered by an apparent masked stranger while eating supper in his north London house. The letter was handwritten and read as follows:
My lord, out of the love I bear to some of your friends, I have a care of your preservation, therefore I would advise you as you tender your life to devise some excuse to shift your attendance at this parliament, for God and man have concurred to punish the wickedness of this time, and think not slightly of this advertisement, but retire yourself into your country, where you may expect the event in safety, for though there be no appearance of any stir, yet I say they shall receive a terrible blow this parliament and yet they shall not see who hurts them, this counsel is not to be condemned because it may do you good and can do you no harm, for the danger is past as soon as you have burnt the letter and I hope God will give you the grace to make good use of it, to whose holy protection I commend you.
Monteagle was a Catholic peer and at some risk of becoming collateral damage in Catesby’s grand plan. He was due to attend the opening of Parliament, but the contents of the letter urged otherwise. He was confronted with a stark warning to renege on his planned attendance; ‘I would advise you, as you tender your life, to devise some excuse to shift your attendance at this parliament’. The letter was vivid enough to raise suspicions of a heinous crime, and it was sent to Whitehall and into the hands of Robert Cecil, James's secretary of state — a man with a well-known anti-Catholic bent. Cecil's job required him to acquire intelligence on such conspiracies and disrupt them early on, thus this letter, despite its enigmatic source, could not be dismissed.
Meanwhile, Monteagle's servant, Thomas Ward, a recusant Catholic, notified the conspirators that a letter warning of the conspiracy had been forwarded to the government, confirming a tremendous breach of trust and putting the entire plan in peril. Francis Tresham was the obvious suspect, but when confronted by Catesby and Wintour, he seemed to be able to persuade them of his innocence. While the letter's author has never been determined, it did at least show that the act of insurgency had been discovered – but even this did not stop the unshakable Catesby.
King James returned to London after a hunting expedition on November 1, 1605, blissfully oblivious of the plan against him and his administration. Cecil, on the other hand, was eager to fix this, instantly delivering the letter to his king and revealing the horrifying treason plot. Tresham was pleading with Catesby to quit the project one more time, but the resolute'moving spirit' of the gunpowder conspiracy was ignoring his appeal. Fawkes, a dark man wrapped in mystery, lay in wait under the vaults of Parliament, poised to light a slow-burning fuse that would culminate in an act of anarchic devastation of governmental pomp and ceremony.
Robert Catesby's fantasy ambition, however, was actually excavated shortly before midnight on Monday, November 4th, 1605. Sir Thomas Knyvett and a guard were sent to examine the depths of Parliament, where the hall would be crowded with every sorts of peerage the next day, mere yards above their heads. Knyvett and his guard came upon Fawkes in the darkness as he manned the various barrels of gunpowder, creating a highly dramatic scene. The guard quickly pinioned Fawkes, leaving Knyvett to cautiously advance into the dark expanse, armed with a flickering torch to guide his sight.
He dug out a large pile of firewood and explored it gingerly before discovering the fatal barrels beneath.
Fawkes was quickly apprehended and sent to the Tower of London for interrogation. If the king and his council had thought that interrogating their mystery hostage would yield quick answers, they were quickly disappointed. Fawkes maintained the model of self-possession and discipline while posing as 'John Johnson,' fiercely refusing to buckle under severe questioning and giving his associates valuable time to flee the capital.
The remaining insurgents ran as word of their treachery spread throughout Westminster and beyond, riding through the icy November night to Holbeche House in Staffordshire, where Catesby had planned a fatal desperate stand. Before continuing on their final trek through the October wet towards Holbeche, the troops robbed armour and money from numerous places, including Warwick Castle and Hewell Grange in Worcestershire, Lord Windsor's stately house. The beautiful home, owned by Stephen Lyttelton, a prominent Catholic figure in the West Midlands, provided a safe haven for the demoralized, tired – and now wanted – band of rebels.
A spectacular occurrence of unthinkable irony contributed to drain the men's now-dwindling faith as they focused on their preparations for the next firefight. The voyage to Holbeche had soaked some of the gunpowder, so they went about setting it to dry in front of a fire in a disastrous attempt to resurrect its purpose. The outcome was obvious: a stray spark ignited the powder, resulting in an explosion that mutilated the faces of four of the soldiers, including Catesby. One of the men's eyes were burned out as a result of his injuries. A horrific, inadvertent duplication of what they had meant in London had helped to harm their very own efforts, and also emphasized just how much they required their specialist in explosives.
He was, alas, otherwise occupied, and quite agonizingly so. The monarch was bent on syphoning any information from Fawkes that may expose any more identities involved, acutely aware that the inconspicuous man discovered under Parliament could not have been entirely responsible for such grand-scale treachery. If Fawkes refused to succumb, King James suggested using milder methods to persuade him: 'If he would not confess in other ways, the gentler tortours are to be the first applied unto him...' James, may God bless your wonderful worke.' Surprisingly, James was charmed by Fawkes' unmovable demeanor, praising him and described him as possessing a "Roman determination."
Nonetheless, James' respect for Fawkes did not stop him from authorizing and, in fact, unleashing hell on him. The 'gentler tortours' fulfilled their aim, and he succumbed to the severe anguish after a three-day stretch on the rack. Guy Fawkes eventually divulged the identity and whereabouts of his co-conspirators amid the sound of popping cartilage and exploding bones. After a list of wanted men was compiled, all eyes were directed to the Midlands. The last phase of the game had begun. The atmosphere of the remaining conspirators reflected a group whose initial spiritual ecstasy had long ago departed, since the seventeenth-century thinking was definitely providentialist. Several of them had abandoned the campaign, having lost faith and passion in what had become a hopeless cause. Catesby, on the other hand, remained rebellious to the last and refused to leave Holbeche quietly. He and the shattered pieces of a once-proud organization would just wait for the king's warriors to arrive. The hand of fate would then be dealt.
Sir Richard Walsh, the High Sheriff of Worcester, led 200 troops to Holbeche on November 8, 1605, and swiftly encircled the refuge. The thirteen remaining men were completely trapped and resigned to the futility of their position as they stared out from their retreat. Even Catesby seemed to accept the melancholy situation in which they had found themselves. The surviving soldiers planned to die at Holbeche; the alternative, after all, would be a far more agonizing ordeal that would culminate with their bodies being scattered over the 'four corners of the realm.'
When Walsh and his men learned that the quarry was holed up in Holbeche, they lit a fire in the home in the hopes of luring the conspirators out. The plot worked: Thomas Wintour, John and Christopher Wright, and Ambrose Rookwood were all shot in the courtyard, possibly in an attempt to put out the fire. Wintour was wounded, but he retreated back into the house with Catesby and Percy, the only other two people who had not been rendered unconscious by their injuries.
The concluding remarks of Catesby reflect a valor befitting this free-spirited icon of Catholic optimism.
They also illustrate the full extent of the men's misery, as well as the stark realization that they were all heading out to their deaths together. 'Stand with me, Tom, and we shall die together,' he declared, in typical show-stopping way.
The king's troops, attentive, awaited even the tiniest movement from within. Catesby and Percy walked out into the courtyard, side by side until the end, where they were both purportedly killed by a single shot. Catesby crawled back inside the house and finished his demise most aptly – finding a picture of the Virgin Mary and clutching it in his arms until he died. Percy was killed, but Catesby, demonstrating his unflinching doggedness, crawled back inside the house and finished his demise most aptly – finding a picture of the Virgin Mary and clutching it in his arms until he died. The spark that once attracted a rebellious flock was quenched forever.
The remaining plotters were, without a doubt, the unfortunate ones. On January 31, 1606, the men, including the infamous Guy Fawkes, were brought to Westminster's Old Palace Yard and hanged, drawn, and quartered opposite the exact structure they had planned to ruin. Catesby would be decapitated, despite the fact that he was already dead, and his head would be sent to London and placed on the'side of Parliament House,' to become one of the'sightless witnesses of their own failure.'
Prior to his own demise, Catesby's dying moments were documented in Thomas Wintour's confession. Certainly, his closing statement encapsulated the uncompromising personality that made Robert Catesby the ideal leader for such a daring project. They also reflect Catesby's constant state of mind: the overpowering desire to return England to its 'one true religion,' no matter how irrational or implausible his intended conclusion was. Catesby came agonizingly close to destabilizing the English realm as the mastermind of this most renowned of terrorist schemes, and although his co-conspirator lives on through burning effigies and playground song, Robert Catesby has fallen into martyred oblivion, in contrast to his crusading days.