He addressed himself particularly to the Lord Steward, Devonshire, with whom he had formerly had some connection of a friendly kind.  The unhappy man declared that he threw himself entirely on the royal mercy, and offered to disclose all that he knew touching the plots of the Jacobites.  That he knew much nobody could doubt.  Devonshire advised his colleagues to postpone the trial till the pleasure of William could be known.  This advice was taken.  The King was informed of what had passed; and he soon sent an answer directing Devonshire to receive the prisoner’s confession in writing, and to send it over to the Netherlands with all speed.729

Fenwick had now to consider what he should confess.  Had he, according to his promise, revealed all that he knew, there can be no doubt that his evidence would have seriously affected many Jacobite noblemen, gentlemen and clergymen.  But, though he was very unwilling to die, attachment to his party was in his mind a stronger sentiment than the fear of death.  The thought occurred to him that he might construct a story, which might possibly be considered as sufficient to earn his pardon, which would at least put off his trial some months, yet which would not injure a single sincere adherent of the banished dynasty, nay, which would cause distress and embarrassment to the enemies of that dynasty, and which would fill the Court, the Council, and the Parliament of William with fears and animosities.  He would divulge nothing that could affect those true Jacobites who had repeatedly awaited, with pistols loaded and horses saddled, the landing of the rightful King accompanied by a French army.  But if there were false Jacobites who had mocked their banished Sovereign year after year with professions of attachment and promises of service, and yet had, at every great crisis, found some excuse for disappointing him, and who were at that moment among the chief supports of the usurper’s throne, why should they be spared?  That there were such false Jacobites, high in political office and in military command, Fenwick had good reason to believe.  He could indeed say nothing against them to which a Court of Justice would have listened; for none of them had ever entrusted him with any message or letter for France; and all that he knew about their treachery he had learned at second hand and third hand.  But of their guilt he had no doubt.  One of them was Marlborough.  He had, after betraying James to William, promised to make reparation by betraying William to James, and had, at last, after much shuffling, again betrayed James and made peace with William.  Godolphin had practised similar deception.  He had long been sending fair words to Saint Germains; in return for those fair words he had received a pardon; and, with this pardon in his secret drawer, he had continued to administer the finances of the existing government.  To ruin such a man would be a just punishment for his baseness, and a great service to