Titue Oates & Popish Plot. Set of playing cards themed on the Plot c1679 after a design by Francis Barlow
Titus Oates was a con-man. He accused leading Catholics of participating in a plot to kill King Charles II and restore a Catholic monarchy. Among his targets were the Queen, and the King’s Brother’s wife.
Titus Oates had a complicated past. He was a Baptist who turned to the Church of England on the Restoration of King Charles II. He went to Cambridge where he was accused of being a ‘Great Dunce’ and never took his degree. His next about turn saw him in St Omer to train as a Jesuit. He accused a man, whose job he wanted, of sodomy. Then, he became a Naval Chaplain. But he was, himself, accused of buggery and dismissed from the Navy. He was received into the Catholic Church while, at the same time, he wrote a series of anti-Catholic Pamphlets. He made accusations against over 500 people. This became known as the Popish Plot.
As a result, twenty-two people were executed, some ‘Hanged, Drawn and Quartered’ because of Oates’ baseless accusations. The Diarist, Samuel Pepys, was caught up in the anti-Catholic frenzy. Pepys was Secretary of the Navy during the Plot and was close to the Catholic, James, Duke of York. He was accused of selling secrets to the French. Awaiting trial for treason, he was imprisoned in the Tower of London. Eventually, he was able to clear himself and resume public life.
Old Print of Samuel Pepys
It was only with the accession of James II that the climate of opinion changed. Then Titus Oates was found guilty of perjury. Perjury was not punishable with death, so Oates’ punishment was a long-drawn-out affair instead. He was sentenced to be imprisoned for life. And ‘whipped through the streets of London for five days a year for the remainder of his life.’
Oates was put in the pillory at Westminster Hall, where passers-by pelted him with eggs. He was again pilloried the next day in the City. On the third day, stripped, tied to a cart, and whipped from Aldgate to Newgate. The following day he was whipped from Newgate to Tyburn. (Source Wikipedia)
However, when the Catholic King, James II was, deposed and replaced by the joint Protestant monarchs William and Mary in 1689, Titus Oates was released and given a pension. He died in 1705.
For Pepys at the Execution of Charles I see my post here.
Display of Antarctic Explorer’s Kit 1912 (reconstruction) at Gilbert White’s House in Hampshire
Last year, I went to Gilbert White’s House in Selborne. The naturalist’s House also houses the Oates Museum for Lawrence ‘Titus Oates’ and his uncle Frank. Oates was one of the ‘heroes’ I read about as a child. He epitomised what was sold as the British virtues of pluck, self-sacrifice, restraint.
Here is part of the story of Oates self-sacrifice over the days from February 29th to March 16th as told by the commander of the expedition Captain Scott:
Wednesday, February 29th 1912
Lunch. Cold night. Minimum Temp. -37.5°; -30° with north-west wind, force 4, when we got up. Frightfully cold starting; luckily Bowers and Oates in their last new finnesko; keeping my old ones for present. Expected awful march and for first hour got it. Then things improved and we camped after 5 1/2 hours marching close to lunch camp—22 1/2. Next camp is our depot and it is exactly 13 miles. It ought not to take more than 1 1/2 days; we pray for another fine one. The oil will just about spin out in that event, and we arrive 3 clear days’ food in hand. The increase of ration has had an enormously beneficial result. Mountains now looking small. Wind still very light from west—cannot understand this wind.
A finnesko is ‘a boot of tannedreindeer skin with the hair on the outside’.
Monday, March 5th 1912
Lunch. Regret to say going from bad to worse. We got a slant of wind yesterday afternoon, and going on 5 hours we converted our wretched morning run of 3 1/2 miles into something over 9. We went to bed on a cup of cocoa and pemmican solid with the chill off. (R. 47.) The result is telling on all, but mainly on Oates, whose feet are in a wretched condition. One swelled up tremendously last night and he is very lame this morning. We started march on tea and pemmican as last night—we pretend to prefer the pemmican this way. Marched for 5 hours this morning over a slightly better surface covered with high moundy sastrugi. Sledge capsized twice; we pulled on foot, covering about 5 1/2 miles. We are two pony marches and 4 miles about from our depot. Our fuel dreadfully low and the poor Soldier nearly done. It is pathetic enough because we can do nothing for him; more hot food might do a little, but only a little, I fear. We none of us expected these terribly low temperatures, and of the rest of us Wilson is feeling them most; mainly, I fear, from his self-sacrificing devotion in doctoring Oates’ feet. We cannot help each other, each has enough to do to take care of himself. We get cold on the march when the trudging is heavy, and the wind pierces our warm garments. The others, all of them, are unendingly cheerful when in the tent. We mean to see the game through with a proper spirit, but it’s tough work to be pulling harder than we ever pulled in our lives for long hours, and to feel that the progress is so slow. One can only say ‘God help us!’ and plod on our weary way, cold and very miserable, though outwardly cheerful. We talk of all sorts of subjects in the tent, not much of food now, since we decided to take the risk of running a full ration. We simply couldn’t go hungry at this time.
Pemmican is made of tallow, dried meat and dried berries. It is a calorie rich food stuff created by native American groups and used by expedition like Scotts. The name says Wikipedia ‘comes from the Cree word ᐱᒦᐦᑳᓐ (pimîhkân), which and adopted is derived from the word ᐱᒥᕀ (pimî), ‘fat, grease”. Sastrugi is a Russian word which are ripples or craters in the surface of the snow caused by strong winds. They make progressing through the terrain much more difficult.
Scott begins his March 16th entry unsure what the actual date is.
Friday March 16th
Lost track of dates, but think the last correct. Tragedy all along the line. At lunch, the day before yesterday, poor Titus Oates said he couldn’t go on; he proposed we should leave him in his sleeping-bag. That we could not do, and induced him to come on, on the afternoon march. In spite of its awful nature for him he struggled on and we made a few miles. At night he was worse and we knew the end had come.
Should this be found I want these facts recorded. Oates’ last thoughts were of his Mother, but immediately before he took pride in thinking that his regiment would be pleased with the bold way in which he met his death. We can testify to his bravery. He has borne intense suffering for weeks without complaint, and to the very last was able and willing to discuss outside subjects. He did not – would not – give up hope to the very end. He was a brave soul. This was the end. He slept through the night before last, hoping not to wake; but he woke in the morning – yesterday. It was blowing a blizzard. He said, ‘I am just going outside and may be some time.’ He went out into the blizzard and we have not seen him since.
I take this opportunity of saying that we have stuck to our sick companions to the last. In case of Edgar Evans, when absolutely out of food and he lay insensible, the safety of the remainder seemed to demand his abandonment, but Providence mercifully removed him at this critical moment. He died a natural death, and we did not leave him till two hours after his death. We knew that poor Oates was walking to his death, but though we tried to dissuade him, we knew it was the act of a brave man and an English gentleman. We all hope to meet the end with a similar spirit, and assuredly the end is not far.
I can only write at lunch and then only occasionally. The cold is intense, -40º at midday. My companions are unendingly cheerful, but we are all on the verge of serious frostbites, and though we constantly talk of fetching through I don’t think anyone of us believes it in his heart.
We are cold on the march now, and at all times except meals. Yesterday we had to lay up for a blizzard and to-day we move dreadfully slowly. We are at No. 14 pony camp, only two pony marches from One Ton Depot. We leave here our theodolite, a camera, and Oates’ sleeping-bags. Diaries, &c., and geological specimens carried at Wilson’s special request, will be found with us or on our sledge.
From the display at Gilbert White’s House, in Selborne Hampshire
How much Oates story is tarnished by discoveries published in 2002, I will leave you to read here.
