Why did Oates convert to a religion that was not at all popular among his countrymen? His conversion was obviously highly insincere and it was more than likely motivated by a mixture of desperation, craving for respect, the opportunity to use his Roman Catholic ‘friends’ and the possible scope such dealings would eventually have for blackmail when matters went wrong. He had, however, learned of the assistance that Jesuits gave to converts, and perhaps this fact alone for a desperate, unemployed, unlovable young man, who no doubt already saw himself in the grand robes of a Catholic clergyman, may have been the real inspiration.
The second critical event in Oates’s life also took place around this time. He met the slightly mad former clergyman and fervent anti-papist Dr Israel Tonge. Tonge was yet another of the mentally unbalanced clergy whom the turbulence of the Civil War had raised up and the fall of the Republic had cast upon the shores of London. A Yorkshireman in his late fifties, Tonge had been born near Doncaster and had led a peripatetic life thereafter. A former schoolmaster and clergyman, he was obsessed by the Jesuit ‘menace’ and after the Restoration he had ended up as rector of St Michael’s Church in Wood Street. The fact that his church burnt down in the Great Fire of 1666 seems to have addled Tonge’s wits still further. By 1675 his obsession with the evils of Catholicism resulted in his producing a number of virtually unreadable pamphlets on the issue. Seeking solace from those of a like persuasion, he had just moved into the house of Sir Richard Barker, a physician in the Barbican who was also a bitter anti-Catholic. Here Tonge became acquainted with Samuel Oates and through him his son Titus.47
Titus Oates was still unemployed and reduced to begging for a living, and an opportunity such as the one presented by Tonge did not come around everyday. While sponging off the old clergyman, Oates could also indulge in his, by now, very active fantasy life. The pair evidently saw some profit in joint authorship of anti-papist pamphlets, so they planned to ‘compose . . . small treatises that would certainly be beneficial, that if possible they might subsist and live together upon the revenue of their pennies in this combat with the Romanists’.48 With this plan in mind, Oates moved closer to Sir Richard Barker’s home so he could have easy access to his new partner. At which point, with Tonge ready to scourge the Catholic hordes once more with his pen, Oates disappeared, leaving a somewhat puzzled co-author behind him.
Oates had been in the habit of going to Somerset House, the queen’s residence, in the role of a converted clergyman begging for assistance. There he was certainly helped by the priests, but as usual he repaid kindness by theft; he stole some of the host, which he afterwards blasphemously used as wafers to seal his letters. Nevertheless Oates was contented enough to live upon both their charity as well as that of other Catholics. In April 1677, however, he obtained an introduction to Father Richard Strange, the Provincial of the Society of Jesus in England. Strange arranged for Oates to go to the English College at Valladolid in Spain in order that he could proceed with his education as a good son of the church. If, given Oates’s previous history, this action seems a trifle silly to us, then perhaps Strange saw something in Oates that others missed. Strange’s action may also have been motivated by a recommendation from Catholic friends who attended the club in Fuller’s Rents, or by Medburne, or even by Oates’s brief tenure in the household of the Earl of Norwich. J.P. Kenyon has speculated that a homosexual connection may have been the likeliest reason for Oates’s ready acceptance by Strange and others.49 (If so, this would not be something that the Catholics themselves would have readily admitted after Oates’s fall from grace in the early 1680s.) But as it was, Oates was by now a convincing liar; he had created for his new audience the fantasy of a rich benefice, which he promptly said that he had given up so as to be admitted into the only true Church of Rome. As a willing and obviously eager convert, whatever his peculiarities, Oates appears to have imposed himself easily upon men who were in any case looking to save the soul of an ex-Church of England clergyman. Moreover, it was doubtless believed that as a former Cambridge clergyman he would have little trouble in adapting to the Roman Catholic way of life. He would need to be retrained of course, and so Oates was sent off to learn philosophy and theology at Valladolid. Satisfied with this new venture and with money in his pocket for the first time, Oates duly arrived in Bilbao in May 1677 under the alias of Titus Ambrose, or Ambrosius a poor student.50
Father Robert Parsons founded the college at Valladolid in 1588–9.51 Since that time it had become a place that could provide training and education for the many priests who were to go on the English mission. Occasionally boys from the school at St Omers would also be sent there to complete their education. Oates, typically enough, arrived after the academic year had ended and he was forced to wait around until the new term began. He soon proved troublesome. The rector of the college, Father Manuel de Calatayud, later noted: ‘I admitted him, very much against the grain though it was . . . Little more than a month went by, and he was in such a hurry to begin his mischief that I was obliged to expel him from the College. He was a curse. What I went through and suffered from that man, God alone knows.’52 In fact, the college itself was somewhat in the doldrums at the time of Oates’s residence. In a number of ways, he was rather more typical of some of the new recruits to the Catholic church than many would later admit. With declining Catholic numbers in England and attached, as they usually were, to a dwindling number of Catholic gentry, some of the most recent converted priests were prone to drunkenness, lechery or simple ignorance. Control over the church’s English affairs had become sporadic, and boredom and laziness proved a great attraction to many of the mavericks of the day.53 The priest who received Oates into the church was a case in point. At least Oates did not remain long within the college walls. By October 1677 he was again on his travels, having been asked to leave. Lacking even the basic skills for survival in Spain, he soon returned to England.
Two incidents of note had occurred while he was in residence in Valladolid. Oates had awarded himself a degree from the University of Salamanca and back in England was to proclaim himself as ‘Dr Oates’ at every opportunity. He had also met William and James Bedloe.54 The Bedloes were a likely pair of rogues who, when Titus was at Valladolid, were on a European sojourn during which they benefited not only from the scenery but also from fraud and other crimes along the way. William Bedloe was born in Chepstow, Wales, in May 1650 and spent much of his childhood both there and in Bristol.55 In fact much of Bedloe’s early life was clouded in obscurity and he himself intended it should remain that way. What is clear is that Bedloe had skirted close to Roman Catholicism. It was said that he had been thought a promising enough young man for Father David Lewis to attempt his conversion. As a reward, Lewis was later to be executed at Monmouth during the time of the Popish Plot crisis. In reality Bedloe, like Oates, seems to have seen the Catholic church as a milch-cow to use as and when he saw fit. In any event, at twenty years of age Bedloe evidently fell out with his stepfather and made his way to London. Here, in the wild alleys and lanes of the metropolis, William Bedloe found his real talent as a gamester, sharp and footpad. Although Bedloe’s early biographers related many of his subsequent adventures in the city in detail, most of these tales were fictions, adapted from the readily available rogue literature of the time.56 There is little doubt that Bedloe had been on the wrong side of the law, and he had spent at least part of the 1670s in jail. His usual crime was fraud, in which he passed himself off as a person of quality and indulged his victim’s vanity as he liberated their goods. This doubtless called for some acting ability, as well as a suit of fine clothes to carry it all off. That he was successful shows something of his imposing personality. The handsome, bold and bad William Bedloe thus passed his days as a Restoration rogue. With his imposing airs, many a trick and scheme was hatched and Bedloe worked his way through the fringes of London life. One of these schemes was undoubtedly brief employment as a message carrier for the Catholic community in London. While most of the tal
es about Bedloe are somewhat implausible, it is clear that he did serve for some time in a Catholic household, possibly that of Lord Bellasis, the soldierly Catholic noble who was to be imprisoned in the Tower in the course of the Popish Plot crisis.57
It is also clear that Bedloe had come across Titus Oates before their meeting in Spain. He may well have met Oates when the latter was a member of the household of the Earl of Norwich. Whatever the truth of the matter, England soon became too hot for Bedloe and so he decamped to Europe with his brother James. They reinvented themselves as one Lord Cornwallis and his servant. The bold Bedloe boys, heavily disguised in the best Restoration comedy tradition, turned up in various places as master and man and doubtless had many adventures as they worked their way though Europe. William, dressed in a number of aristocratic disguises, proceeded to defraud his victims to meet his own and his brother’s living expenses. He awarded himself a captaincy and the pair stole a number of horses here and there. They were not prone to using violence in their schemes, as far as we know, but their fraudulent behaviour enabled them to work their way gradually through France and into Spain.
But at Salamanca their bogus lifestyle finally caught up with them. Having engineered one fraud too many, the brothers were conveyed under arrest to Valladolid, still disguised as an English milord and his servant. Once William had disentangled himself from this little local difficulty, both he and his brother were destitute and in need of assistance. Help was at hand, however, as they soon heard that an English scholar of their acquaintance was idling away his time at the local college. It was thus that Oates found himself with two unwanted guests. The dauntless ‘scholar’ Oates and the criminal Bedloe were later alleged to have concocted a scheme at this time in which William and his brother would play witnesses to Oates’s information, but in fact the Bedloes and Oates parted with some bad feeling. William and James robbed Titus of some money and promptly disappeared while Titus was generously obtaining them some dinner. Little else was to be gained from their meeting this time. 58
Oates soon found himself back on the streets of London and resumed his begging from various Catholics to sustain himself. Once more Richard Strange indulged this odd ‘scholar’ and sent Oates to St Omers in December 1677 to study among the rhetoricians there.59 St Omers was a boys’ school designed for the teaching of young well-to-do English Roman Catholic boys, some of whom might go on to the priesthood. Oates arrived as the tobacco-chewing 28-year-old Samson Lucy – it was advisable to travel under an alias – and naturally presented the authorities at the school with a problem: what could a boys’ school make of this by now foul-mouthed and bull-necked monster? Oates swiftly revealed his ignorance, as well as his unsuitability for attending the school; the school authorities soon curbed his tobacco habit, and Titus treated everyone with bad grace. The boys seem at first to have regarded Oates as a figure of fun; one of them later bragged of smashing a pot over his head. Later Oates became more dangerous as he indulged himself at their expense. He was given a ‘distinct table alone’ at dinner, but within a fortnight he was found to be ‘of a bad & hypocondriacal humour, rash, indiscreet, turbulent and vindictive, a grand flatterer, boaster & lyer’.60 The new English Jesuit Provincial, Father Thomas Whitebread, who had replaced Strange, visited the school in June 1678 and finding Oates in residence had him expelled.61 Nevertheless, from this experience Titus had learnt a number of things about Jesuit life, for he had whined that he wanted to be admitted to the order, and to keep him quiet he had been briefly sent to the Jesuit seminary at Watten. As with everything else, he had disliked it and was unable to understand the teaching there. However, by now his investigations had enabled him to learn much about the society and its frequent councils in England. Although he was never involved in any Jesuit schemes, such information provided him with a number of useful names.62
July 1678 was a hot month in London. Edmund Godfrey, just back in the city after a French holiday, went about his daily business. Around the same time a dejected Titus Oates once more arrived back in London. Again, on the fringes of the great hubbub of city life, there was now only the crazed Israel Tonge to indulge and sustain the fantasies of glory and attention that Oates still harboured. Although ideas of being the saviour of the nation had mostly evaporated in the face of his failures at Valladolid and St Omers, startling revelations now proceeded from the mouth of the younger man. To the dazzled and credulous Tonge they seemed to confirm all of his worst fears. Yes, there had been a plot and this dated from at least 1639. Had not he, Titus Oates, heard and seen things that would make the old man’s blood turn cold? Had not he, Titus Oates, risked life, limb, and his immortal soul, to uncover the devious plotting of these wicked men? Was not Tonge himself a major target for the plotters who resented his books, the same works that had also revealed their wickedness? Eagerly, Tonge asked Oates to write it all down. Oates, just as eager to have an audience who listened for a change, did so. He soon visited Tonge in his new abode, the house of Christopher Kirkby (the king’s chemist) in Vauxhall. There he read a long and no doubt laboured tale to the increasingly panic-stricken Tonge. This plot went beyond anything Tonge had believed possible: names, dates and events, all flooded out, all confirming his view of the evils of popery. Tonge asked Oates for a copy. It had to be made in secret, as Oates claimed that even now the Jesuits were hunting him and would murder him if they found out he had revealed their plot. 63
By 11 August Oates had left a copy of the forty-three articles relating to the plot under the wainscot near Tonge’s lodgings in Sir Richard Barker’s house. This convoluted postal method had been chosen to protect Oates, but also doubtless to give both parties an added air of excitement over the affair. Oates may also have attempted to sell his creation to the Jesuits at this point, but if so he was quickly rebuffed. All would soon be revealed, however, for this information, according to Tonge, must be taken to the king directly – and who better to take it to Charles than Tonge’s good friend, Christopher Kirkby. The latter shared Tonge’s views on Catholics and, moreover, he had bragged of having access to His Majesty. Kirkby agreed to try to get an audience with the king. He approached Charles, as we have seen, on the morning of 13 August and after dinner that day, at about 8 o’clock, Tonge and Kirkby were ushered into the king’s presence. Having been fobbed off on to Lord Treasurer Danby, Tonge and Kirkby’s next move was to attend him. At first Danby was too busy to see them. Then at last at about 4 o’clock on 14 August they were finally ushered into the presence of the Lord Treasurer, who had the incriminating papers before him. It was soon clear to Danby that neither Tonge nor Kirkby was the real informer in the case. Tonge related how the papers had come to him. Danby encouraged him to explain further and Tonge stated that the method by which the informant worked required secrecy as he was deep in Catholic councils. Danby then asked his servant Mr Lloyd to attend the doctor and observe how the Roman Catholics went about their work.
With his ministry only stumbling along, it may well have occurred to Danby that a new opportunity had just presented itself. His biographer Andrew Browning has noted how just a few months prior to Tonge’s arrival the earl had wished for a ‘some small insurrection’ to present itself in order to unite the monarchy and the nation.64 In Danby’s eyes this was now a possibility. Danby was a shrewd politician and he was to use similar tactics later in his career.65 He soon engaged himself in trying to uncover the plot’s authors. The original informant remained teasingly obscure and Tonge rather evasive. Indeed, the minister’s attempts to arrest Pickering and Grove, the two men named as the actual assassins intending to kill the king, proved equally fruitless. As Tonge, Kirkby and Lloyd scurried about the streets of London in their search for apparently non-existent assassins, both the king, who had been kept fully informed, and his minister began to lose interest. Danby had kept the plot close to his chest rather than passing the information to the secretaries of state for investigation, and it was proving unprofitable.
Both Tonge and Oates now seem
to have realised that their policy of secrecy was beginning to rebound. A further attempt to set a decent trail was now in order. On 30 August Tonge sent information to Danby that a number of revealing letters from Fathers Whitebread, Ireland, Fenwick and Blundell had been sent by the conspirators to the Duke of York’s confessor, Father Bedingfield, at Windsor. In fact, as Danby hurried off to Windsor, Bedingfield was already examining the mysterious coded communications that had turned up in the post and, not knowing what to make of them, but suspecting they boded no good for himself, he hastened to lay them before James, Duke of York. James was, as usual, outraged by the attempt to implicate one of his servants in a plot and took the letters to his brother the king. As these imprudent forgeries were circulated, the king grew still more disgusted and even Danby began to back out of any plans he may have had to exploit the plot. Rather than leave well alone at this point, James insisted that the matter be brought out into the open before the Privy Council. Either he, or his advisers, may well have seen this as an opportunity to stifle the fraudulent plot at birth. Charles reluctantly agreed.66 Unaware of these events and believing that their evidence was now in danger of being ignored completely, Tonge and Oates sought to find some other way to bring it to public notice. With Oates fancifully claiming that he was now betrayed to the Jesuit provincial and indeed that he had been flogged as a result, Tonge was concerned. Fearing retribution, they fell upon the easiest way of bringing the plot out into the open: namely, by having their depositions sworn before a legal authority. At first they tried to bring their evidence to the notice of Secretary of State Sir Joseph Williamson on the 5 September 1678.67 Williamson, who had previous dealings with Tonge, was well aware of his crazy reputation, even if he did not recall Oates’s name from the Hastings affair of 1675. He flatly refused to see either man. Tonge was now at a loss and so he took advice from some of his ‘honourable friends about such a Justice as they might trust with so weighty a business. They, after some consideration, commended Sir Edmund Bury Godfrey’ to him. And so Edmund Godfrey finally entered the plot that in one way or another was to cost him his life.68
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