It was not, therefore, likely that he would escape the just punishment of his treason if he were caught. For a long time he managed to conceal himself, and during his concealment he and his friends were hard at work to remove the only witnesses that he dreaded. These were Porter and Goodman. The earl of Aylesbury, who was also in the Tower on a similar charge, was equally anxious to have these two men out of the way, and the friends of both of them united to get rid of them by bribery. For this purpose, besides the active personal exertions of lady Fenwick, they employed two Irishmen of their party—one Clancey, a barber, and Donelagh, a disbanded captain.
Clancey met Porter at a tavern, and offered him three hundred guineas down, three hundred more as soon as he landed in France, and an annuity of one hundred pounds a year. Porter was greatly tempted by the offer, and at length consented to accept it. A day was fixed for the payment of the first three hundred guineas at the tavern, but, on reflection in the interval, he did not like the prospect of having to face at St. Germains the king whose agents he had betrayed to death, and the friends and associates of those agents. He saw that nothing could obtain their forgiveness, or prevent them taking mortal revenge on him. He therefore posted to the secretary of state, and revealed the whole affair. The necessary measures were taken, and Porter attended punctually at the meeting with Clancey. He received the three hundred guineas, and then, giving a concerted signal, the officers of government rushed in and secured Clancey, who was tried for subornation, convicted, and set in the pillory.
This discovery, through the double treachery of Porter, alarmed Fenwick for his personal safety. He no longer deemed himself secure in the kingdom, for he had taken such part in the attempt to bring over Porter—writing a letter for him to take with him to St. Germains to secure his good reception there—that it was too obvious that he was not far off. Porter was indemnified for his loss of the promised annuity by a much better one from William's governments—no less than two hundred and fifty pounds a year—and would undoubtedly, if possible, hunt out Fenwick. Sir John, therefore, made prompt arrangements for his own escape to France. There was no time to be lost; he was indicted at the next sessions in the city for treason. Porter and Goodman gave evidence before the grand jury, who returned a true bill. Sir John managed to escape to near Romney Marsh, where a vessel was to take him off, but, unfortunately, on the way met an officer, who had been apprehending two smugglers. The man knew him, and offered the smugglers a pardon and reward to assist in seizing him. Sir John fled, and they pursued; and he is said to have been taken in the end near Slyfield Mill, betwixt Stoke Dabernon and Bookham, in Surrey.
Sir John had contrived, after being taken, to write a letter to his wife, by one Webber who was with him, in which he declared that all was now over unless she could get her relatives the Howards to intercede for him. They might promise for him that he would spend his life abroad, and would pledge himself never to draw a sword against the present government. If that could not be done, the only chance left was to bribe a juryman to starve out the jury—a practice which, it seems, was pretty well known then, and which has arrived at so frightful a height in our time, that the alteration of our jury law to that long possessed by Scotland, making valid the verdict of a majority instead of an unanimous verdict, can alone protect our lives and properties.
This letter was intercepted, and when Sir John was brought before the lords-justices at Whitehall, and he appeared very high, and denied the charges against him indignantly, it was laid before him to his sudden terror and confusion He saw how completely he had committed himself by his confession, and he turned pale, and seemed half inclined to admit his guilt. In the silence of his prison he revolved another scheme, and on the 10th of August, two months after his apprehension, he presented a memorial to the duke of Devonshire, offering to disclose to the king all that he knew of the plots, with every one concerned in them, and throwing himself on the mercy of the king. Having so fully betrayed his own guilt, this seemed the only chance of obtaining a lenient judgment. Devonshire sent over the memorial to William in Holland, and was desired by him to receive Fenwick's confession.
This was in due time written down and delivered, and, had it been a real revelation of the plots and their agents, would have probably obtained considerable indulgence for him. But it revealed nothing that was not already well known to William. Passing over all the other parties who were secretly engaged in labouring for the overthrow of William's government and the restoration of James—persons whose names and doings would have been of the utmost value to the government—he merely accused Marlborough, Russell, Godolphin, and Shrewsbury. The intrigues of all these were far more familiar to William and his intimate friends than they were to Fenwick. William and Devonshire were disappointed. The whole thing had the air of a ruse to hide the still undiscovered delinquents, and make a merit of a stale and useless piece of information. Devonshire, on forwarding the list, observed that, whatever these noblemen had been, they were, to all appearance, very firm to the king now. William, on reading Fenwick's paper, was incensed. "I am astonished," he wrote to Shrewsbury, "at the fellow's effrontery. Observe this honest man's sincerity: he has nothing to say, except against my friends. Not a word about the plans of his brother Jacobites." He ordered the prisoner to be brought to trial without delay.
Fenwick, in fact, had only insured his own doom. He probably thought William was not aware of the double-dealing of his own ministers, and that he should be able to throw a bombshell into the whig camp, whilst he screened his own fellow-seditionists; but he found that he had to deal with a man much more sagacious than himself, and his stratagem recoiled on his own head. William ordered the confession of Sir John to be laid before the lords-justices, and himself acquainted some of the accused of what it contained, and expressed his contempt of it. Marlborough and Russell, if they had not made up their minds before, seem from this moment to have done so, to avoid any further tampering with St. Germains. It was clear their secret was not only well known to William, but the agents, pretty generally, of James. Marlborough, however, took it calmly; Russell made a great pretence of innocence, and demanded
