Old Times in the Colonies. Charles Carleton Coffin
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assassinated; and the assassin, Somerville, who was to commit the bloody deed, received the host at their hands before starting for London. They bargained with one of Elizabeth’s servants to poison her. When the plots were discovered, the people were so enraged that the Jesuits were banished from England. They conspired with Anthony Babington, and other Catholics who were in Elizabeth’s household, to kill her; when she was out of the way, they hoped to put Mary of Scotland on the throne. The people shuddered with horror when the plot was discovered, and London blazed with bonfires when the conspirators were condemned to death. Spain and the Jesuits were hated more than ever. When Spain fitted out the great armada to invade England, the spirit of all the people was aroused. Spain conquer England? Never! Catholics were as loyal as the Protestants. They were all Englishmen. They were so loyal that Elizabeth appointed Lord Howard, a Catholic, as one of her admirals.
The Armada sailed up the Channel — one hundred and thirty vessels — carrying 2500 cannon, 8000 sailors, and 20,000 soldiers. The English had only eighty ships; but Sir Francis Drake, Sir John Hawkins, and Martin Frobisher, who had sailed amidst the icebergs of the Northern seas, were commanders of Elizabeth’s squadrons. They sailed boldly out, cutting off ship after ship from the Armada. “We picked their feathers one by one,” said the seamen. Then came a great battle. Lord Howard sent ships adrift piled with hemp, smeared with tar, and all ablaze, to burn the ships of the Armada at anchor on the coast of France. A fair wind wafted them upon the Spaniards. What a panic in the Armada — the galleons cutting their cables, hoisting sails, steering anywhere to get away! Drake, Hawkins, and Frobisher close in upon them, with the wind in their favor — running out their cannon, pouring in broadsides. Masts and spars go down with a crash. The vessels of the Spaniards are slaughter-pens. Three great galleons, with gaping holes in their sides, where the shot had ripped out the timbers, go to the bottom: others are driven ashore, and the waves complete the work of destruction. “We are lost!” cries the faint-hearted, incapable Medina Sidonia, commander of the Armada.
He calls his officers together, “What shall we do?”
“The wind is south, but we can sail around England and Scotland, and so get back to Spain,” said the Spaniard.
Only fifty vessels ever reached Spain. One by one they went to the bottom, or were dashed upon the ledges of the Orkneys, or lay their bones upon the rocky cliffs of Ireland. Eight thousand Spaniards perished between the Giant’s Causeway and the south of Ireland. More than twenty thousand perished in battle and by shipwreck. In every town and city of England bonfires blazed. The bell-ringers rung out their most joyful peals. Again the Spaniards and Jesuits had been foiled in their plans.
On March 24th, 1603, Elizabeth died, and James, son of Mary of Scotland, whom Elizabeth had beheaded, came to the throne. England, Scotland, and Sweden were the only Protestant countries of Europe; all others were Catholic; for Spain had Holland by the throat, and Henry IV. of France had abjured the Protestant faith.
The Jesuits had not given up the hope of bringing England once more under the authority of the Pope. James was a bigot. He would have no religion except that of the Church of England, and was so hard upon the Catholics that he drove six thousand out of the country. The Jesuits resolved to strike back, and laid a plan which they fondly believed would make England a Roman Catholic nation once more.
Parliament was to meet November 5th, 1605. If James, the bishops, lords, and commons could all be got rid of at a stroke, it would be easy for Spain to take possession of the realm, and then Protestantism would be crushed forever.
Robert Catesby conceived the plan. The Jesuits fomented it. Priests in disguise visited the Catholic lords, let them into the secret, and obtained their promises to aid. They were to be ready to strike. Arms were sent over from the Netherlands. The Roman Catholic gentlemen were to meet the first week in November; word was to be given out that they were going to have a grand deer-hunt. When Parliament assembled, Guy Fawkes and four other villains were to touch off barrels of powder, which they would secrete in the cellar of the building, and there would be an explosion that would shake every house in London. King, ministers, lords, and commons would go sky-high. Before the people could inquire what had happened, the conspirators would seize the king’s two sons and hurry them across the Channel. A Spanish army would land, and the Protestants would be under the heels of the Pope and Jesuits.
Conscience is ever a good angel, warning us whenever we set ourselves to do wrong. The conscience of one of the conspirators troubled him; for one of the members of Parliament, Lord Monteagle, was his friend. It is only the vilest wretch that can deliberately murder a friend. The thought of what he was about to do so troubled the conspirator’s conscience that he wrote a letter to Lord Monteagle, warning him not to attend Parliament at its opening. It was afternoon, November 4th, that Lord Monteagle received the letter. It contained a sentence that puzzled him: “Though there be no appearance of any stir, yet I say this Parliament shall receive a terrible blow, and yet they shall not see who hurts them.”
What was the meaning of it? Lord Monteagle hastened to the king’s ministers. “Let us search the cellar of the Parliament-house,” they said; and the sheriff and his men, with drawn swords, went down into the cellar, groped through dark passages with lanterns, and discovered Guy Fawkes and four other villains placing the barrels of powder and laying the train. The sheriff’s men ran their swords through two of the conspirators, and seized the others.
All England held its breath over the astounding revelation. Is it a wonder that the people hated the Pope, the Jesuits, and Spaniards more than ever? “Down with the Jesuits! Hang them! No popery in England!” they cried.
Some of the leaders were hung; some fled to other countries; many were imprisoned. So intense was the hatred that a Roman Catholic was not safe on the streets. If one appeared, the mob pelted him with stones. They could hold no worship, and could only cherish their belief in silence.
The bishops of the Church of England, the ministers in all the parishes, preached bitter sermons against the Papists and Jesuits. The ballad-writers wrote songs against them, which were sung by minstrels at all the county fairs, arousing the hatred of the people. Ever as November 5th came round, the boys in London, and in every town and village, made a mock pope, stuffing old clothes with straw, putting a mitre on the head of the image, dragging it through the streets, and pelting it with stones. He who could hit it in the eye was the best fellow. When evening came they tied it to a stake, piled fagots around it, and danced in savage glee while it was burning. “Pope’s Day” was the jolliest of the year. It was a day on which all England drank the health of the king and shouted “No popery!”
The Jesuits had sowed Bigotry, and they were reaping the legitimate fruit. If they were having a hard time in England, the Protestants were having a harder time in France, Holland, and Germany. Bigotry and Intolerance alike were regarded as virtues by the Church of Rome and the Church of England. The world was very far from understanding the meaning of Christian charity. We need not wonder if, farther along, we see Intolerance taking root in the New World.
James was so wise in some things, and foolish in others, that he was called a “wise fool.” He believed that men and women, by making a league with the devil, could bewitch people, and wrote a book about witchcraft; also a book against the smoking of tobacco. He tried to suppress the habit, but smoking increased; tobacco-shops were opened all over London.
James believed that he was especially and divinely appointed of God to be king — to rule as he pleased— and that subjects had only to obey. The bishops agreed with him, and said that he was inspired by the Holy Ghost.
When the king travelled, he was accompanied by a great number of earls, lords, and bishops. Noblemen spent their fortunes in entertaining him. One Sunday he dined with Sir Arthur Lake at Houghton Hall, and this was the bill of fare:
First Course.
Pallets.
Boiled Capon.
Boiled Mutton.
Boiled Chicken.
Boiled Duck.
Roast Mutton.
Roast Veal.
Pallets.