The Fifth of November

by L. A. G. Strong

  Coming out for a meal after their first spell, hot and dusty, they told Guy with triumph of the progress they had made.

  ‘You see, Fawkes,’ concluded Percy, in patronizing tones, ‘you were mistaken. That precious mason of yours was making game of you.’

  Guy smiled.

  ‘I hope, for all our sakes, that you are right,’ he said.

  It soon became apparent, however, that the good Master Hogben had known what he was talking about. Half-way through their second spell of work, the miners came up against stone of such hardness that at first they could make no impression on it.

  Twenty minutes’ hewing cleared away the last of the cellar wall, and revealed a formidable, menacing surface of dull and solid stone.

  Guy, brought down from his post on guard, inspected the stone, tried it, and shook his head.

  ‘Granite,’ he said, stepping back carefully over the rubble, and looking into the anxious, disappointed faces. ‘If there is nine feet of that, ‘twill take us months to cut through.’

  ‘There cannot be,’ Percy exploded, with an oath. ‘Nine feet, man! ’Tis preposterous. No one would build a wall so thick.’

  ‘Castle walls.’ Fawkes turned to him. ‘I have seen castle walls sixteen feet thick, and more.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Wright gloomily. ‘So have I.’

  ‘Castle walls, maybe. But that is to stand a siege.’

  ‘Maybe this is to stand a siege, too.’

  ‘What else are we doing, but besieging it?’

  ‘Nay, if you chop words—’

  And Percy turned angrily away.

  ‘Well, sirs.’ It was Catesby’s voice, resolute and hard. ‘If we are to do what we have sworn to do, we must cut through the wall, were it ninety feet instead of nine.’

  He seized a pick, and, shouldering Guy aside, began to work, without passion, but with a precise, methodical energy.

  The others watched him, and took courage. As soon as he stopped, sweating and breathing hard, Guy took the pick from his hand.

  ‘Nay.’ Catesby panted. ‘Your task is above stairs.’

  ‘I was going to cart away this rubbish. Till that is done, there is no room for two to work abreast.’

  ‘We will do it.’

  He jerked his thumb upwards, and Guy, relinquishing the pick, obeyed.

  The house was quiet. He stretched, and yawned like a cat. It was dull work, standing guard.

  For days the work went on, difficult, infinitely tedious. Progress was slow. At the end of a week, they had cut a small hole only to a depth of seven or eight inches, and hardly wide enough to admit a man: whereas what they needed was a tunnel large enough for the barrels of gunpowder to be moved into the cellar they hoped to reach.

  Then, to add to their difficulties, water began to trickle in. They paid little heed at first, thinking that it was a temporary result of the heavy winter rains. Guy, told of it, at once looked grave, and was heartily cursed by Percy for a wry-faced raven, always croaking of doom. But the trickling grew faster, and became a steady stream. It was clear that, in some mysterious way, they had got into touch with an underground spring, or with the river.

  Buckets were set to take the water, but the work was severely hampered, as one member of the party had continually to be carrying them up and emptying them. The operation that caused little trouble now was the carrying away of rubble. Digging was so slow that there was little to carry away. What there was, Guy buried by night in the garden.

  Great secrecy was needed for this. It was not an occupation which could have been easily explained to Master Hogben and company.

  Guy, indeed, had been hard put to it to keep the neighbours away. It was very difficult, without adequate reason, to repel their offers of hospitality. It was equally difficult to keep them out of the house.

  The matter was discussed with the others, who decided at last that, to avert suspicion, Guy must now and then go to the neighbours when they asked him, and, once or twice at least, entertain a few of them in return.

  This he actually did, while the workers rested. Tired as they were, they slept easily through the sounds of conviviality, and Guy had the audacity to show his friends over most of the house.

  ‘These rooms,’ he said, pointing to a couple of closed doors, ‘I cannot show you. My master has housed certain of his goods in them, and taken the keys.’

  ‘He does not trust you altogether, then, Master Johnson?’

  ‘He trusts nobody further than he pleases.’

  ‘Humph! I would not care to serve such a man.’

  The speaker, a fat, bald fellow, bent down, and applied his eye to the keyhole of the nearest door. Guy’s heart went cold—not with fear, but with the determination of one who sees that instant action may be necessary. Then he breathed easily once more.

  ‘Plague on it!’ The man came away, and rubbed his eye. ‘There is nothing to be seen, but a cursed draught blowing through.’

  And, jesting and laughing, they suffered Guy to lead them downstairs again.

  It was a perilous venture, but of the utmost value. The forbidden rooms were upstairs, on the farther side of the house from the palace: and there would be several witnesses to say that nothing was going on, should questions arise. Guy knew that the first thing any agent of the Government did would be to question the neighbours. And, if the neighbours were suspicious, the whole enterprise might as well be abandoned.

  It was vital to keep them out of the house when work was going on, because of the noise, which by now was considerable.

  For the present, the very thickness of the wall they were cutting would prevent anything being heard on the far side. As the conspirators came nearer their object, that was a question they would have to face. The timing of their spells of work would then be a matter of the first importance.

  Till then, they had enough to do to get on with the cutting. Down in that cellar, on their spells of hard, back-breaking work, the conspirators got to know one another as never before. Unexpectedly, they learned to value Percy. Though older than the rest, and, with Catesby, handicapped by his height, which caused him to stoop, Percy played his part like a man. He grumbled and cursed, but he did not shirk his share.

  Chapter Twelve

  So, steadily and laboriously, the work went on: but progress was heartbreakingly slow.

  ‘We shall need more hands to the task,’ said Catesby at last, as, exhausted and grimy, the workers came up from the cellar into the house, where Guy had prepared a meal for them.

  Wright looked up, a gleam of interest in his eye. ‘It is what I was thinking,’ he said.

  Catesby gave him a half-glance. Wright, he knew, was anxious to call in his brother, and had hinted as much several times already. Finding hints insufficient, he had, only two days before, bluntly proposed that Christopher should be sent for.

  ‘He will swear, readily, and do us gallant service,’ his brother assured. ‘He is as strong as I: nay, stronger.’

  Catesby had made a non-committal answer. He had his own reason for not being in a hurry to include Christopher Wright, a reason nothing to do with the man himself. If Wright were allowed to bring in his brother, then Winter would immediately ask for the same privilege: and Catesby was not at all sure of Robert Winter, whom he judged—and rightly, as events proved—of too gentle and peaceable a temperament to suit their project.

  The thickness of the wall had upset all Catesby’s calculations. He and the others had reckoned on cutting their way through in a few days, a fortnight at the most, and had planned their absence from home on that basis. Now they found themselves confronted, not only with nine feet of unyielding stone, but with the problem of business left unattended, of absence unaccounted for, and, at the back of their hearts, with uncertainty of ultimate success.

  Moreover, Catesby had more in mind than a staggering blow at the Government. To take advantage of the subsequent panic and confusion, he had planned a rising in his home county. These plans needed time, attention, and
money.

  As soon as the tired men had eaten, the leader began to lay these considerations before them.

  ‘So,’ he concluded, ‘we need, first, a man or two to help us here. More we cannot with safety get into the house.

  ‘Next, I must have time to raise money. Master Percy here has helped us nobly, but we cannot put all our burden on him. And, indeed, before we have done, it is likely to be more than he could support.

  ‘Last of all, I must have a lieutenant to further our purpose in the midlands. Unless our force there is ready to strike, and march on London, we shall have had all our pains for nothing.

  ‘For these reasons, therefore, I urge that we leave the mining for a while, return home, attend to our several businesses, and then, having made all ready and sworn in our new comrades, return here and finish the task.’

  A moment of silence followed these words. Then Percy, as usual, demurred. His impetuous spirit had been daunted, worse maybe than the others’, by the stubbornness of the wall: but he hated any delay, and remained obstinately convinced that the wall was not as thick as had been said.

  Besides, it was incumbent on him to object to anything which Catesby proposed.

  In his objection he got support from an unexpected quarter. The long-headed Guy looked grave at the suggestion of postponement. The experienced soldier, with his knowledge of mining, did not believe that they would get through the wall in anything less than several months’ continuous effort.

  He did not say this openly, for fear of discouraging the rest: but, getting a chance to speak to Catesby privately, he urged it later in the evening. Catesby was adamant. He must get back to the country, he said shortly, to arrange all that was necessary.

  ‘Well then,’ pleaded Guy, ‘leave me one more behind, to work with me while you are gone.’

  Catesby shook his head.

  ‘You must stay here, look after the house, and be seen. I cannot have you labouring away down here unguarded. Besides, man, what would you effect? A few inches at the most.’

  ‘Every inch is of value, in so long a task.’

  ‘No. Stand you by here, and watch.’

  Guy was silent. He did not like finding himself on the same side as Percy, and against his leader: but he was not convinced.

  Then, the very next day, something happened which gave strong support to Catesby. News came that Parliament, which had stood adjourned till February, was not to meet until October. James was going his royal way unabashed.

  This settled the question. In one way, it was discouraging for the conspirators, since it postponed by so many months the possible realization of their dream for liberating their fellow-Catholics from persecution.

  On the other side, it was an overwhelming argument for temporarily stopping the mine. Since they could not strike till so much later, there was no sense in hurrying on their work under the present disadvantages. Catesby’s plans for a rising would need much revision, and, equally if not more important, a good deal more money than he had hoped.

  There was nothing for it but to break up at once. So, planning to meet as soon as possible, and fixing 1st February as the latest date, they went away, leaving the faithful Guy once more in charge.

  In the weeks that followed, Guy enlarged his circle of acquaintances. He visited regularly now the two or three alehouses in the neighbourhood, eager always for such gossip as he could pick up, and learning every now and then something of real value. Besides more friends of the type of Hogben and Bates, the tallow-chandler, he fell in with one or two of higher station: young university blades, and gentlemen from the Inns of Court, seeking sensation by frequenting the taverns and mixing with all and sundry.

  Very pleasant young fellows Guy found them, covering beneath a practised manner and a would-be world-liness much freshness and ingenuousness, together with a sudden sharpness of perception which often surprised the ex-soldier. For their part, they found Guy very good company. He took some drawing out, but, once they had got him going, his tales of warfare in the Low Countries both thrilled and chilled the blood. Of Spain, oddly enough, they heard nothing. Guy was running no risks, even with young unsuspicious men from Oxford and Cambridge.

  It was lonely work, guarding the house, and Guy found great pleasure in these brief respites. As time went on, he took them more and more frequently. Shrewd, quick as a wild animal to scent suspicion, he felt in his bones that no one had an inkling of what was going on. The only fear was that, finding out that the house was Percy’s, some agent of the Government might come nosing around.

  Yet, even if he did, he would find nothing. The hole in the cellar wall was well hidden behind an array of old casks and barrels. Searchers would find only an empty house and a caretaker for whom a score of neighbours would vouch.

  So Guy was able to forget, for hours at a time, the plot to which he was bound—though he never forgot his caution. He sat listening, first with amazement, then with interest, to the talk of his new young friends, the poetry they quoted, the plays they went to see. One night he questioned them, and they insisted at once that he should come to the playhouse with them and see for himself.

  Guy refused at first, but they would not take no for an answer, and haled him along. He had one or two spasms of uneasiness as he found himself in these strange surroundings, and wondered if all was well at home. Then he reflected how innocent the place looked, reassured himself, and gave his attention gravely to the play.

  After it was over, the young men were delighted with his comments. Accustomed to looking at life with the direct gaze of the soldier, he treated them to a kind of criticism they never had from dons and scholars: a criticism that took literally what was said and done, judging it by the standards of everyday life: that saw the play, not as a fable told within the limits of an agreed convention, but as a statement of fact about things and people.

  It was a simple, naive criticism in some respects, and the young bloods were hard put to it now and then to keep back a smile. But at other times it was astonishingly shrewd and to the point; and, after he had gone, they were fain to confess that their new friend Master Johnson had an uncommon knack of hitting the nail squarely on its head.

  All was well when Guy returned from the play. He smiled. It was absurd, at his age, to have had this sense of a sentry deserting his post, when a real part of his business was to be seen and known to behave as an ordinary citizen. Even so, it was decidedly comforting to find all safe, as he had left it.

  He sat down to his solitary meal, pondering over the play he had seen. That poor woman—she had been most cruelly used. And the villainous duke—Guy would gladly have put a dagger in him, even now. It was hard to realize that these were only actors, paid to simulate the personages they represented on the stage.

  He considered the play through at length, approving this and disapproving that. Then he thought of his young friends. He saw, clearly enough, how they regarded him, with a mixture of amusement and respect, and was well satisfied. It was, in its way, much as he regarded them: indulgence for their innocence and pretence of experienced manhood, and respect for their learning. Spirited young gamecocks; good stuff in them; not over-fanciful for soldiering.

  Then, next evening, he received a message which put all such things out of his head. It appeared harmless enough, referring to a stock of wine and some kegs. Actually, it was in code from Catesby, and meant that the conspirators were returning to resume work in two or three days’ time.

  This was sooner than he had expected. Evidently, Catesby’s plans had gone well.

  When they reassembled, Guy was told of three new comrades. One, John Grant, whom Catesby had left in charge of arrangements for the rising in the country, he never saw. Grant remained in the midlands, and did not come to London. Another, Christopher Wright, came straight to the house to begin work with the others. The third, Robert Winter, Guy did not see till later.

  To be back at the real task cheered all the conspirators. No matter how necessary was their work els
ewhere, the mine had taken the foremost place in their thoughts. Until they were working at it again, it was difficult to feel that they were really advancing the cause.

  The interval, too, had given them time to forget the hardships of their task. The inrush of water, thanks to Guy’s ingenuity, had been largely checked. Only a little emptying of buckets, say, once in half an hour, had been needed during the last few days before they had dispersed. But they had been glad to forget the indomitable resistance of that cursed wall. Coming back, with fresh enthusiasm and an extra pair of willing arms, they could not believe it would be so bad.

  There were fresh tools, too. One of Guy’s tasks in their absence had been to replace the old ones, which were quite worn out. He had travelled all over London, picking them up one by one, returning with them by night, and dropping them over the garden wall at the back, so as not to be seen carrying them to the house.

  Then, to make them feel that they were really well on their way, Catesby had the powder brought in a rowing boat by night from Lambeth to the place where it would be required. With these barrels in the house, safely covered over and disguised as ordinary harmless goods, they felt that the success of their venture was near indeed.

  They fell to with a will, and, though they soon realized that the wall was as hard as it had ever seemed, they worked furiously and doggedly for a fortnight, and made real progress. Tools were worn out with such rapidity that provision of new ones became a constant and pressing problem. It was not deemed safe to send Guy for any more. The others took turns to disguise themselves in humble clothes, and go to make the necessary purchases. Indeed, little disguise was wanted. The clothes they had been working in were filthy enough, and their hands, after the hard labour, horny and calloused as any working man’s.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘Sssst!’

  Catesby froze into immobility. His face, strained and sweat-streaked in the lantern-light, was set in a grimace of attention.