But sufficient had happened for the spy, Captain Bailey. He needed little evidence for his pretty tale, and having asked and obtained from Ralegh some ordnance and some ironbound casks, he weighed anchor in the night, and set all sail for England, where his employers would listen eagerly to his pretty tale, and pay him for it. It is sad to read all that Ralegh could write of him afterwards in his apology, "what should move Bailey to leave me as he did at the Canaries, from whence he might have departed with my love and leave, and at his return to do me all the wrong he could devise, I cannot conceive.... I never gave him ill-language, nor offered him the least unkindness to my knowledge."
When the spy, Captain Bailey, arrived in England he despatched his account of the proceedings at Lanzarote to Buckingham, and Buckingham lost no time in acquainting King James. On October 22 Gondomar wrote fully to the King of Spain about the expedition, and Philip was more urgent than ever in pressing Sir John Digby and Lord Cottington and Lord Roos, who had been sent to Madrid by James to arrange the terms of the marriage between the Infanta and Prince Charles, that Ralegh might be immediately recalled and punished. King James was abject in his apology, and became more and more inclined to the sacrifice of Ralegh. But the spy Captain Bailey's account was too carelessly prepared; Cottington discovered divergences; Lord Carew, Master of the Ordnance, declared "those who malice Sir Walter boldly affirm him to be a pirate, which for my part I will never believe." Moreover "the poor Englishman riding in the road," whose name was Reeks, arrived on the scene and told a different story of the event. It was most unfortunate for the spy, Captain Bailey, who was sent to the Gatehouse at Westminster.
His pretty story was proved to be an invention, but that mattered little subsequently; the invention served its purpose.
Meanwhile Ralegh's fleet had arrived at Gomera, "one of the strongest and best defenced places of all the islands, and the best port; the town being seated upon the very wash of the sea." Guns were fired at the ships at their first approach, and the ships answered. But as soon as Ralegh came up in the Destiny he gave orders that the firing should immediately cease, and sent a Spaniard, whom he had taken on a bark which came from Cape Blanc, to assure the governor of the town that he intended no harm of any kind to the subjects of the Spanish King. The governor replied that he had mistaken the fleet for the Turks who had sacked Puerto Sancto, "but being resolved by the messenger that we were Christians and English, and sought nothing but water, he would willingly afford us as much as we were pleased to take, if he might be assured that we would not attempt his town houses nor destroy his gardens and fruits." Ralegh gave full assurance, vowing to hang up in the market-place any man of his who should lay marauding hands on so much as one orange or a grape. Their courtesies did not end here. The governor's wife happened to be an English gentlewoman, and she sent Ralegh gifts of fruits, of sugar, of rusks, and saw to it that his stay at the island was agreeable. Sir Walter sent her presents of gloves and scent, and a picture of Mary Magdalen which hung in his cabin. These days which he spent at Gomera could have been the only time in this last great adventure of which he could have a pleasant memory.
The governor too was kindly disposed towards Ralegh, and not realizing how deeply his guest was disliked and feared by the authorities at home, he sent a letter to Gondomar, the ambassador in London, in which he stated how exemplary had been the conduct of Ralegh's men.
The respite from the stress of the voyage was short. On September 24, three days after they left the Canary Islands, the sickness which had been prevalent among the men during their fortnight's stay, broke out with fury. On the evening of the 24th fifty men lay helpless on the Destiny. The other ships were not exempt. Two captains and a provost-marshal died on them. The chief surgeon and several officers followed on the 31st. As the plague-stricken ships made for the Brava roads a hurricane burst over them; the hurricane sank one ship and inflicted terrible damage upon the others. The storm abated, but the sickness continued. Four more officers died, and most of Ralegh's personal servants, so that, though he was himself suffering from a severe calenture, he was attended only by pages. The death of John Talbot grieved him sorely. John Talbot was one of those completely trustworthy old servants that a man of Ralegh's calibre is wont to have. "He was my honest friend," wrote Ralegh, "an excellent general scholar and as faithful and true a man as lived. I lost him to my inestimable grief." John Talbot had shared Ralegh's imprisonment of his own free will. He was as devoted to Ralegh as Keymis even himself. Pigott, the Lieutenant-General of the land service, died on October 13.
It is finely typical of Ralegh that in spite of the calamities which fell thickly upon him, the plague, the tempest, his own illness—he made and recorded observations which, as Edwards points out, furthered nautical science considerably.
On November 11 the fleet arrived at Cape Orange, which was then called Cape Wiapoco, and on the 14th they sailed into the harbour, made by the River Cayenne, which Ralegh calls Caliana. On this voyage every possible disaster had fallen upon the fleet, and yet the full business of the expedition had only now begun. Ralegh lay on a sick-bed, an old man, but he did not falter, though all the weight of arrangement was upon him. As soon as he arrived he wrote to Lady Ralegh. The bearer of the letter was one Captain Alley, who was suffering from an infirmity in his head, and obliged on that account to return home with all speed—"an honest, valiant man," according to Ralegh's description.
"Sweetheart, I can write unto you but with a weak hand, for I have suffered the most violent calenture for fifteen days that ever man did and lived. But God, that gave me a strong heart in all my adversities, hath also now strengthened it in the hell-fire of heat.... We are yet two hundred men, and the rest of our fleet are reasonable strong. Strong enough, I hope, to perform what we have undertaken, if the diligent care at London to make our strength known to the Spanish King by his ambassador have not taught the Spanish King to fortify all the entrances against us." He tells her that their son is in excellent health, "having had no distemper in all the heat under the line," and after recording the names of those who had died, and the disasters which had fallen upon the survivors, he ends the letter with this characteristic sentence: "To tell you that I might be here King of the Indians were a vanity. But my name hath still lived among them here. They feed me with fresh meat and all that the country yields; all offer to obey me." He would always rather be King even of the Indians than king only of his griefs.
The ship remained at anchor in the harbour of the river Cayenne until December 4. The sick men were landed, the ships were washed, fresh water was taken in; the barges and shallops which were brought out of England in quarters were put together, ready for the inland voyage to the mine. Ralegh reaped the full benefit of his courtesy to the Indians on his previous visit. Well they remembered him, as he wrote to his wife, and without their kindness it would have fared ill with the plague-stricken, tempest-tossed company. As it was, the Indians tended the sick with every attention possible, and helped the expedition by every means in their power. Ralegh was still too ill to walk. He was carried about in a chair, and in a condition in which most men would need all their strength to fight disease and death, he superintended the arrangements for the five ships which were to make their way up the great river to the mine under Captain Keymis.
In the five ships were five companies, each of fifty men. The Lieutenant-General of the land force, John Piggot, had died of fever on the way out; Sir Warham St. Leger lay sick without hope of life; and accordingly the command of the whole expedition was entrusted to Ralegh's nephew, George Ralegh, "who had served long with infinite commendation," but who was somewhat too young to have over the men the absolute authority which his position required. The five companies were separately commanded by Captain Parker and Captain North, "brethren to the Lord Mounteagle and the Lord North, valiant gentlemen, and of infinite patience for the labour, hunger and heat which they have endured;" by Ralegh's son, Walter; by Captain Thornhurst of Kent, and by Captain Chudleigh's lieutenant.
Ralegh himself stayed with the five larger ships at Puncto Gallo by Trinidad. He was constrained to do so, partly because his health would not allow him to undergo the hardships of the inland voyage, but principally because, a Spanish fleet being expected, no one would venture to pass up the river unless one whom they could trust remained at the base in charge of the big ships. Ralegh vowed that they should find him at Puncto Gallo on their return, dead or alive: "and if you find not my ships there yet you shall find their ashes. For I will fire with the galleons if it come to extremity, but run away will I never."
At last, on December 10, the five ships set sail, and Ralegh moved away with the main fleet. They made Point Barimy on December 15; on the 17th Point Hicacos, which is at the extreme south-west of the island of Trinidad; and on the last day of the year 1617 they anchored at Terra de Bri.
At Terra de Bri Ralegh began his slow period of suspense. The success of the whole scheme was hanging in the balance, the scheme which had been his life's chief business to fulfil, and he was doomed to inaction—to wait while others sought the final prize. Bitter must have been this waiting for Ralegh, bitter all the reasons that combined to keep him back, each in themselves paltry, and united, irresistible. For the first time a bodily ailment hindered him; old age was creeping on. For the first time the great commander found a lack of loyalty in his men; and that lack of loyalty had been generated and nourished by the treachery of his King. How could any man gain the confidence of his men, and have power over them, when he was still under sentence of death for treason? The men who served him were the scum of the earth, bent only on plunder, such, verily, as an unpardoned man would attract to his service. But Keymis, Keymis and his own son—and the few valiant gentlemen—his heart lightened as he thought of them; they were brave and greathearted; they were loyal and steadfast. And George Ralegh, he was young, but nothing would turn him back. Still Ralegh waited. There was no sign of the Spanish fleet, which was expected, and for which he kept ever on the alert. Ah! why had His Majesty been pleased to hold them at so little value as to command him upon his allegiance to set down under his hand the country of his destination and the very river of entry; to set down the number of his men, the burthen of his ships, and the ordnance each ship was bearing! Why had it pleased His Majesty to hand over the document to the Spanish ambassador and break his royal oath?
Still Ralegh waited. No news came from the land force. He tried to break the monotony of suspense by searching out botanical specimens, and examining the chemical properties of the plants; he busied himself with the preparing of balsams, he who pined to be exploring the wealth of the land of his dreams. How could he trust any man's judgment but his own in such an enterprise, at such a time, when success meant prosperity for his country, wealth and freedom for himself and his family; when failure meant ruin, disgrace, and death? Yet Keymis, Keymis was faithful, and young Wat had his father's blood in him.
Still Ralegh waited. At length one day a little boat came in sight, and as it drew nearer it was seen to contain an Indian pilot and a sailor, who had been with the land force. His name was Peter Andrews. A letter was handed to Ralegh, a letter from Keymis. He broke the seal and read—
"All things that appertain to human condition, in that proper nature and sense that of fate and necessity belongeth unto them, being now over with your son, maketh me chuse rather with grief to let you know from the certain truth, than uncertainties from others. Which is, viz. that had not his extraordinary valour and forwardness (which with constant vigour of mind, being in the hands of death, his last breath expressed in these words, Lord have mercy upon me and prosper your enterprise) led them all on, when some began to pause and recoil shamefully, this action had neither been attempted as it was, nor performed as it is, with this surviving honour.... We have the governor's servant prisoner that waited on him in his bedchamber and knows all things that concerned his master. We find there are four refiners' houses in the town; the best houses in the town. I have not seen one piece of coin or bullion, neither gold or silver; a small deal of plate only excepted.
"Captain Whitney and Wollaston are but now come to us and now I purpose (God willing) without delay to visit the mine, which is not eight miles from the town. Sooner I could not go by reason of the murmurings, the discords and vexations, wherewith the sergeant major is perpetually tormented and tired, having no man to assist him but myself only. Things are now in some reasonable order, and so soon as I have made trial of the mine I will seek to come to Your Lordship by way of the river Macario.... I have sent Your Lordship a parcel of scattered papers (I reserve a cart-load), one roll of tobacco, one tortoise, and some oranges and lemons. Praying God to give you strength and health of body and a mind armed against all extremities, I rest ever to be commanded this 8th day of January 1617-1618.
"Your Lordship's
"Keymis"
His son was dead. His men were unruly and murmuring ... but yet the four refiners' houses, and they were the best houses. Keymis had the governor's servant in his hands, Keymis was within eight miles of the mine: gallant was the death his son had died.... (Would God he were there in person within eight miles of the mine!) He turned to Peter Andrews and the Indian pilot and began to question them eagerly. From them he learned the details of the expedition, since their start on the 10th of December. They came in sight of Point Araya on New Year's Day, and soldiers were landed before sunset. Ralegh frowned to hear that the Spaniards at the newly raised village—San Thome they called it,—were in readiness, and that an ambuscade had been prepared. Palomeque de Acuna had been forewarned by despatch from Madrid—Ah! the accursed delay and the still more accursed disloyalty of his King—Ralegh learned of the treachery and the disaster—slowly, for his heart and mind were heavy at the bad news of his son's death, and Peter Andrews was often interrupted in his confused story by the impatience of his admiral. But this is the gist of what had happened.
The Englishmen had encamped by the river bank. As soon as night fell on the land, Geronimo de Grados led his men from their ambuscade in front of the village down upon the English, who were taken completely at unawares. The common sort were panic-stricken, and had not the captains and some valiant gentlemen, among whom was one John Hampden (a staunch admirer of Ralegh and famous in history), set a valiant example, the whole company would have been cut to pieces. As it was, the Spaniards were at last driven back. They were driven right back to the village of St. Thomas, the position of which was not known. There the retreating men of Geronimo de Grados were joined by a fresh force under Diego Palomeque, the governor, and then the English were checked in their pursuit. They began to waver. But young Walter Ralegh cried out cheerily to the pikemen, who were ahead of the musketeers, to advance after him, and waving his sword he led them to the fight afresh. Straight for Palomeque, the governor, he dashed and slew him. A hand to hand jabbing fight ensued, and muskets were fired at very close quarters. Young Ralegh was wounded. He paid no heed to his wound; with blood streaming from his wound he advanced against a Spaniard named Erinetta. But his quickness had lessened, as his strength ebbed from him. Erinetta swung his musket and the stock crashed on young Ralegh's skull: but Erinetta could not recover himself and he was immediately beaten to the ground. The Spaniards began to give way again. They fled. They fled for refuge to a monastery of St. Francis; the soldiers under George Ralegh and Keymis stormed the monastery and drove the Spaniards into the woods, and finally for refuge into their last stronghold where the women and children had been taken from St. Thomas. The battle was at an end. But the new governor, Garcia de Aguilar, was a man of resource. He gave orders that the survivors should form themselves into small bands, should harass the English whenever an opportunity offered, and fall upon all stragglers. While the funeral ceremony was being conducted over the body of young Walter, Captains Whitney and Wollaston arrived, and Peter Andrews and the Indian pilot were sent back, bearing their tidings to the main body at Terra de Bri.
That was all Ralegh could learn. That his son was dead; that the Spaniards were forewarned and keenly hostile; that his men were shaken.
The suspense became well-nigh intolerable for him as he settled to endure the second long period of inaction—of waiting whilst with others lay the excitement of finishing for good or ill the scheme of his life's imagining. His son was dead. He could not bring himself to write the bitter news to his wife. He himself, an old man, still lived—and waited on the threshold of discovery. Keymis, however, was a trusted man, and nothing would hinder George Ralegh from his purpose. Keymis wrote that he was within some few hours of the mine. Perhaps even now Keymis was on his way back again, his ships laden with gold—and if gold were once found, there would be little difficulty in founding the colony which would become England's great empire across the seas. No old man could live to see that, but his son might ... if his son were not already dead. He would wait to tell the bad news to his wife until he had some good news—the news of prosperity—that she might know his other son, Carew, though not of young Walter's mettle, would be able to continue his father's tradition.
Still he waited—day after day, week after week, month after month, but no fresh news came from Keymis, and no signs were anywhere apparent of a Spanish fleet. He went on with his botanical studies as much as his enfeebled strength would allow him. He studied the little plants that renew their life each year.
Bow down and worship; more than we
Is the least flower whose life returns
Least weed renascent in the sea.
For Ralegh was a poet and so lost his personal sense of loss in the great mystery of things, which his personal griefs made more vivid to his mind. He was a poet and saw much that he could not express. The idea of Death fascinated him always. Death had slain the young Prince, the hope of the nation; his friend, who would have helped him in his project; had left untouched the father, King James, who had betrayed him. And now Death had taken his son, who had only lived twenty-three years, and left him an old man—once again waiting, as he waited those long years in the Tower, waiting whilst others made or marred the fulfilment of his dream. Why was he thus often doomed to inactivity?
Still he waited.... At twenty-three, the age at which his son met death in a Spanish ambuscade on the eve of a great discovery, with a shining future before him, he himself was fighting in Ireland, an obscure soldier of fortune. The days of his past life appeared before him, his Queen's favour, his Queen's displeasure, the high mark which he had touched, the low place to which he had sunk, his captivity, his renewal of hope through the gallant Prince who was dead, his freedom, and this last tremendous effort to bring greatness to his country, prosperity to his family; and he was still waiting, while Keymis and George Ralegh took the last great step. He would tell his wife of their son's death when he could console her with the knowledge of what he had himself achieved. But no news came from Keymis. He could trust Keymis. He knew the man well and cared for him. All through his captivity who had served him as faithfully as Keymis? Who had believed in him so staunchly as Keymis? Who had helped him even so well? Perhaps Keymis and all his men were slain, or lost, or drowned.
Just before the middle of March Keymis returned. There was gladness on his face to see his master alive, but the gladness did not continue. He brought bad news. The faces of his men showed anger and discontent. Keymis brought the worst news that any man could have brought to Ralegh after his long days of waiting. The scheme had failed, failed beyond all hope of recovery, and there was nothing to show for all the lives that had been thrown away, all the dangers and difficulties that had been surmounted.
For this is what had happened.
After the reinforcement of Captains Whitney and Wollaston, Captain Keymis took two boats further up the Orinoco in search of the mine, leaving the remainder of the company near St. Thomas. Their destination was Seiba, a village on the banks of the river within a two hours' march of the mine. The party made their way without mishap to the creek by the landing-place. But there, too, the Spaniards were in readiness. As the first boat neared the shore, a volley was fired, and nearly all the men in the boat were hit. His force thus enfeebled, Captain Keymis decided to return to St. Thomas for fresh soldiers. He found the company at St. Thomas harassed by sickness and continual attacks of the Spaniards; but they still had spirit enough to make one further effort. This time George Ralegh with three boats made his way right up the Orinoco to inspect the country from the point of view of colonization. He, too, was struck by its richness and beauty. He returned and found the company still more weakened by sickness and assault. The Spaniards made an attempt to burn the English camp. This so infuriated the men that they set upon St. Thomas and razed it to the ground. Captain Keymis discovered from the Indians that in the neighbourhood of St. Thomas also there were rich mines, which lack of labour alone prevented the Spaniards from working; but no other attempt was made to locate them or to test their richness. Then the whole expedition returned. The one actual sign of their toils which they brought, were papers taken from the governor at the sack of St. Thomas, and these papers were documents from Madrid, proving how falsely King James had dealt with Ralegh.
Such was the report which Keymis gave to Ralegh. Ralegh was silent as he listened to the account of the overthrow of all his hopes. When the sad tale was finished, he asked Keymis why he had not obeyed his instructions, why he had not opened the mine and brought back some visible sign of its existence. Keymis gave his reasons at full length. There were not enough men to hold the mine; young Ralegh was dead; his master was ill, dying, nay, for all Keymis knew, he was dead. Why should the mine be opened that others might reap the benefit? But still Ralegh insisted, unwavering in dreadful firmness, on his question, Why had not instructions been obeyed? There were many interviews; there were long discussions that day and the next. Still Ralegh answered, "You should have obeyed instructions." "When I was resolved to write unto your Honour (wrote Ralegh to Sir Ralph Winwood, not knowing that his friend, the Secretary of State, had been dead for five months) he prayed me to joyne with him in excusing his not going to the mine. I answered him, I would not doe it; that if himself could satisfy the King and the State that he had reason not to open it, I should be glad of it; but for my part, I must avow it that he knew it and that he might with little losse have done it; other excuse I would not frame."
The position was a terrible one. Ralegh had been waiting for months, trusting to the loyalty of Keymis to execute his great enterprise; and it was Keymis's very loyalty to Ralegh which was the real cause of his failure; for he would not open the mine unless he was quite sure that his master alone should benefit. Keymis was wrong. But he could not bear Ralegh to think that his conduct had been remiss; he could not bear to think that he had injured the master for whom he would gladly have given his life. Nor could he make Ralegh understand even the reason of his action. "I know then, sir, what course to take," said Keymis, when he found he could not move Ralegh from his attitude of censure, and he went away "out of my cabin into his own, in which he was no sooner entered, but I heard a pistol go off. I sent up to know who had shot a pistol. Keymis himself made answer, lying on his bed, that he had shot it off because it had long been charged, with which I was satisfied. Some half-hour after this, the boy going into his cabin found him dead, having a long knife thrust under his left pap through his heart, and his pistol lying by him, with which it appeared that he had shot himself, but the bullet lighting upon a rib, had but broken the rib, and went no farther."
Such was the end of Ralegh's long period of waiting. The tragedy is great and real. He had trusted to Captain Keymis implicitly; and Keymis, through excess of loyalty, had failed him. The only fault in either is that each was a little too true to his own character. Keymis's death shook Ralegh to the depths of his nature. Now more than ever he had need of men staunch as the dead Keymis.
For mutiny broke out among the men. Captains Whitney and Wollaston deserted. The men declared that they had joined the expedition merely to loot the Spaniards and plunder they would have. The mine had failed. Well, they would turn pirates and attack the Spanish fleet on its way home. They threatened to throw Ralegh into the sea if he persisted in his resolution to return. He quieted them as much as lay in his power; but at last his great power was shaken and enfeebled, by imprisonment, by long sickness, by age, by the King's treachery, by disaster on disaster. He had still sufficient power to keep to his resolution and to force his men to some semblance of obedience, but in the old days no mutiny would have happened. Sulkily the men set sail for home, and Ralegh knew from the letters which Keymis had brought him from St. Thomas, that he was returning to disgrace and death.
From St. Christopher's, on this sad journey back, he forced himself to tell his wife the bad news of their son's death. He had no comfort for her. He was inured to grief. "God knows I never knewe what sorrow meant till now," he writes. "My braines are broken, and it is a torment for me to write, and especially of misery." And in a postscript, "I protest before the Majesty of God that as Sir Francis Drake and Sir John Hawkins died hart broken when they failed of their enterprize, I could willingly doe the like did I not contend against sorrow for your sake in hope to provide somewhat for you, and to comfort and relieve you."
The remainder of the voyage back was as disastrous as had been the outward voyage. Storms broke upon the ships and separated them. Some put in at Ireland; Captain Pennington, who had ridden back at the last moment to obtain money for supplies from Lady Ralegh, put in at Kinsale, and his ship was immediately seized. The Destiny arrived at Plymouth on June 21 alone; and at Plymouth Ralegh met his wife, and there he stayed until the second week of July.
In his last great enterprize he had failed, and he returned to give an account of his failure, and to face the ignominy which his failure entailed. He was resolved, however, to make one last effort to clear his name, and to reinstate his family in some semblance of prosperity. He was an old man now, and one who had been buffeted by misfortune, but the spirit of life was still strong in him.
CHAPTER XIX
DEATH
His reception—Arrest—Journey from Plymouth—Stukeley and Manourie—The final scene.
Gondomar, the Spanish ambassador, had been active during Ralegh's absence to work his complete overthrow, but Ralegh remained some weeks at Plymouth before he knew the exact nature of the reception which awaited him.
Masterly was the way in which Gondomar handled James. He was about to start for Madrid on leave, when the news arrived from the townspeople of St. Thomas of the English attack. "Exaggerate as much as you can Ralegh's guilt and try to get the King to make a great demonstration," wrote Philip from Madrid. "Do not," he went on, "threaten him; but make him understand that I am offended, and that if a proper remedy be not forthcoming at once, we shall make reprisals and seize English property in Spain." Gondomar set about his task forthwith. He rushed into the royal presence crying with uplifted hands, "Pirates! pirates! pirates!" and urged James to remember his promise, that Ralegh should be sent in chains to Spain to be hanged in the Plaza of Madrid. This was no time for delay, for judicial examination: Ralegh should be despatched immediately on his landing, with all his pirate followers. But James could not, though he would, act thus uncompromisingly. Ralegh was too considerable a man, and feeling towards him had changed very much since the time of his first trial when he was hooted through the streets of London as a traitor. There was a large party in the country who were averse to James's wish of an alliance by marriage with Spain. For forty years Spain had tried to humble England, and for forty years England had more than held her own. And now was the King to be bullied into sacrificing one of his greatest subjects, unheard, unjudged, at the bidding of Spain's ambassador? Moreover, James felt that he was losing the popularity which he had won at the beginning of his reign. His favourites were disliked. The personal influence of Gondomar over him was disliked. So James temporised—in his habitual way he temporized—so that he might, like the weak man he was, enjoy the sense of power which he felt as he slowly tightened the rope round Ralegh. "James wants peace and must be frightened," wrote Gondomar. "The English have changed their tone since I came and I have shown them that I will stand no nonsense." And his boast was amply justified.
Sir Lewis Stukeley was sent to Plymouth to arrest Ralegh and take possession of his ship and cargo. Ralegh had already started from Plymouth with his wife and Captain King when he met Stukeley, near the old stannary town of Ashburton on the edge of Dartmoor, twenty miles on his way to London. Stukeley made him return with him to Plymouth: for Stukeley was anxious to make as much as possible for himself out of Ralegh's cargo on board the Destiny, for he was vice-admiral of Devon.
Sir Lewis Stukeley was a Devon man and kinsman of Ralegh, for he was nephew to the valiant Sir Richard Grenville. He did not maintain the traditions of his family or of his county. Ralegh stayed in Plymouth some ten days at the house of Sir Christopher Harris. He was not yet aware of the fate that awaited him, for Stukeley had only an order from the King and no warrant from the Lords of the Council. And Stukeley too was full of friendliness and soft words, partly to put Ralegh off his guard and partly because it was easier for him to be agreeable to a man like Ralegh, whom he could not bully. Lady Ralegh and Captain King were full of grave fears for Sir Walter. They begged him, valuing his life as they did, before everything else, to escape to France. They made all necessary preparations: a barque was in readiness just outside the harbour. Ralegh, still uncertain as to the best way of conducting the little business of life that remained to him, listened to their entreaties and actually went out in a small boat almost to the barque. But he turned back at the last moment, determined to face every danger that awaited him in order that he might clear his name in the eyes of posterity from the slur of false charges that he knew would be made against him. Exactly how that was to be compassed he did not yet know. Now, as before, in the troubled periods of his life, a kind of apathy, of weariness of life, closed in upon him; the apathy that comes from uncertainty, and which in his case preceded a great and definite action. His powers were slowly collecting for the last great moment of his life.
Towards the end of July a messenger arrived from the Privy Council, bearing an urgent summons to Stukeley to bring Ralegh to their presence without a moment's delay. "We command you," the message ran, "upon your allegiance, that you do safely and speedily bring hither the person of Sir Walter Ralegh, to answer before us such matters as shall be objected against him in His Majesty's behalf."
The message was sent on July 21, and arrived four days later. On the same day, July 25, Ralegh began his journey from Plymouth to London, as Stukeley's prisoner.
Slowly in Ralegh's mind a plan of action matured. He knew that in London he had with the King's enmity little hope of life. It remained for him to clear his name of slander; his own life was now of small consequence to him: he was considering how best to leave a fair name and some means of decent living for his family. He saw that time was an essential to him. He must take care not to be hurried to London, hurried before the Council, and hurried to the scaffold before men were properly aware of his presence, and aware of the importance of the event. He must contrive to die greatly, as acquittal was beyond man's power. He knew that he was innocent, he knew that James desired his death, and that innocence was of small account when pitted against a King's wish. He lived long enough not only to see but to experience the bad consequences which he had foreseen of absolute monarchy under a weak King. Civil war fell on England, and the rule of the Puritans before the policy which he had thought out when Elizabeth was an old woman, became established. He brooded long over many things on that sad journey from Plymouth—over the roads which he knew so well. All the country-side was dear to him. He had done with it all now.
He passed Sherborne, where he had lived and been happy; he spent the night quite close to Sherborne at the house of his acquaintance Parham. It was a melancholy home-coming. What now remained of his great hopes and his great doings? In the eyes of the world he had failed. But he must open the world's eyes to see his failure in its proper light.
At Salisbury, where they arrived the following day, his plan matured. It would not do to come nearer London and his judges unprepared and dreaming of his past life. Something still remained to be done. He must gain time. He must be expected too, that all might be ready to hear what he had to say. His device was brave and was pathetic. He determined to feign illness.
Now, at Plymouth he had met a man named Manourie, a Frenchman who was interested in chemistry. In Manourie Ralegh had the faith which a man is inclined to have in a fellow-craftsman on other matters than his craft. His confidence was unwise. Thinking over great matters, he was not sufficiently alert and not sufficiently distrustful. Nor is it certain that Manourie was false from the beginning. It is probable that he came to realize how dangerous a business he had undertaken, and, becoming alarmed, fell an easy prey to Stukeley's promises and suggestions.
Within sight of Salisbury Ralegh asked Manourie for a vomit. "It will be good," he said, "to evacuate bad humours. And by its means I shall gain time to work my friends and order my affairs; perhaps even to pacify His Majesty. Otherwise, as soon as ever I come to London, they will have me to the Tower, and cut off my head. I cannot escape it without counterfeiting sickness."
They arrived in Salisbury a few days before King James and the Court were expected. Ralegh strung himself to his pathetic part, and played it so bravely that Stukeley and the whole retinue were convinced that a deadly sickness was approaching. On entering the house where he was to be lodged in Salisbury he staggered, as a man staggers who is overcome by sudden sickness, and fell against a pillar in the doorway, bruising his head. A delay was ordered. Lady Ralegh, with her retinue of servants and Captain King, was sent on towards London. Hardly had they started when a servant came to Stukeley's room, and said he, "My master is out of his wits. I have just found him in his shirt, upon all fours, gnawing at the rushes on the floor." Stukeley was amazed and perplexed. King James and the Court were daily expected at Salisbury, and his special instructions to hurry on the prisoner could only mean that the King was anxious not to be in Salisbury at the same time as Ralegh. And yet the prisoner must not be allowed to die. Moreover, pustules broke out all over Ralegh's body, and Stukeley could not have then known that they were produced by a cunning ointment which Manourie had given to Ralegh. Stukeley went to Bishop Andrewes, the bishop sent physicians to Ralegh, and they signed a certificate to say that he was not in a fit state of health to travel further. Ralegh's point was gained. He set to work and wrote his "Apology for the Voyage to Guiana," in which he stated his good case to the world.
It has been remarked, almost with astonishment, by some that Ralegh was not in the least ashamed of his action. But there was no reason why he should be ashamed. He decided in his own mind that to gain time was a necessity to him, and having done so he set about the business in the only way that he could, and he succeeded. Afterwards he was reproached for the lack of dignity he showed, and answered, "I hope it was no sin. The prophet David did make himself a fool, and suffered spittle to fall upon his beard, that he might escape the hands of his enemies; and to him it was not imputed as a sin." Men like Ralegh have different values from the values of ordinary men; in that, perhaps, chiefly lies their greatness. Dignity is a thing which can very well be left to look after itself; the dignity which needs any careful bolstering is not in itself of great value.
Meanwhile King James and his Court arrived at Salisbury, and orders were immediately issued that Ralegh should continue his journey to London. It was probably about this time that Manourie learned the full importance of the fellow-chemist whom he was assisting, and became afraid. Hereafter Stukeley was informed of all the things which Ralegh said and did, and of many things doubtless which he had never said and never done.
So Ralegh continued his journey with his two false friends. As they neared London, the French resident in London, by name Le Clerc, and David de Novion, Sieur de la Chesnaye, met the party. De Novion was awaiting Ralegh's arrival at Brentford. He was empowered by the French minister to offer Ralegh means of escape to France. Men in authority at the French Court considered that such an enemy of Spain, whose head the Spanish ambassador desired to fall as a tribute to Spain's power over James, would be a useful man to save. But Ralegh appears to have listened with no great eagerness to their proposals. He was no longer anxious to continue his life in a strange country under a strange king, to whom he was indebted. He needed all his strength for the last achievement on which his heart was set—to clear his name from slanders, and he was not sure that escape was the best means to his end; though he listened later to the entreaties of his wife and Captain King, to whom his very life was dear. But Ralegh must have listened with some pleasure: the anxiety shown on his account, for whatever reason, must have made it clear to him that now, at any rate, he could not be huddled away to the Tower and to his death, unheard, as he had feared. He desired publicity, that he might die, as he had lived—greatly.
On August 7 Ralegh reached London, and, instead of going to the Tower, was allowed to go to his own house, which was in Broad Street. Captain King was waiting for him. He had arrived some days previously, and had wasted no time. A barque was in readiness at Tilbury to take his master to France. Had Ralegh's whole mind been centred on escape, there is no doubt that he could have escaped, in spite of Stukeley's treachery. But his mind was divided. His own desire was to stay in England, and meet whatever his fate might be; but his desire was, no doubt, obscured by his wife's entreaties that he should seize any opportunity of life under any conditions. He allowed himself to be rowed down the Thames. Stukeley was actually with him, vowing that he wished his escape. A boat, however, was seen to be in pursuit. The men at the oars grew suspicious; they slackened their rowing, and at length turned back. At Greenwich Stukeley declared himself, and arrested Captain King and his master. Ralegh turned to Stukeley and said quietly, "Sir Lewis, these actions will not turn out to your credit," and to Captain King, from whom he took leave at the Tower gates, "You need be in fear of no danger. It is I only that am the mark shot at."
Once again Ralegh was in the Tower—the day he entered it was August 10. Manourie received £20 for his part of the treachery, Sir Lewis Stukeley £965 6s. 3d.; the money was made up, for the most part, of the price of jewels which were taken from Sir Walter's person on this day of his last entry to the Tower. Among these jewels was the ring he had always worn since it was put on his finger by Queen Elizabeth.
The attempt to escape had been encouraged by enemies who wished to strengthen the case against Ralegh. That was clear enough to him, even before he was brought face to face with the Lords of the Council at his trial. They strove again, as they had striven before, to win the King's favour by maligning him. They affirmed that the whole enterprise to Guiana was a fraud, which Ralegh had invented to gain his freedom. For two months they considered the most plausible means of bringing him to execution. During that time Ralegh wrote letters to those in authority, and especially a noteworthy letter to the King, thinking that there might remain some spark of just feeling in him.
"If it were lawfull," he wrote, "if it were lawfull for the Spanish to murther 26 Englishmen, tyenge them back to backe and then to cutt theire throtes, when they had traded with them a whole moneth, and came to them on the land without so much as one sword amongst them all; and that it may not be lawfull for your Majesties subjects, being forced by them, to repel force by force, we may justly say, 'O miserable English!'
"If Parker and Mutton took Campeach and other places in the Honduraes seated in the hart of the Spanish Indies; burnt townes, killed the Spaniards; and had nothing sayed to them at their returne—and that my selfe forbore to looke into the Indies, because I would not offend, I may as justly say, 'O miserable Sir Walter Ralegh!'
"If I had spent my poore estate, lost my sonne, suffred by sicknes and otherwise, a world of miseries; if I had resisted with the manifest hazard of my life the rebells and spoiles which my companyes would have made; if when I was poore I could have made my selfe rich; if when I had gotten my libertye which all men and Nature it selfe doth so much prise, I voluntarily lost it; if when I was master of my life, I rendred it again; if [though] I might elsewhere have sould my shipp and goods and put five or six thousand pounds in my purse, I have brought her into England; I beseech your Majestie to beleeve that all this I have done because it should not be sayed to your Majestie that your Majestie had given libertie and trust to a man whose ende was but the recovery of his libertie, and whoe had betrayed your Majesties trust."
It was to no purpose. Ralegh well knew by this time of what base fabric was the King's mind. The Lords in Council only delayed sentence because they could not determine on what grounds to execute their prisoner. At last, on October 24, Ralegh was told that sentence of death had been passed upon him. On October 28 he was summoned to Westminster, from his room in the Tower. A sharp attack of ague lessened the strength that still remained to him. He was old now and white haired as he stood before his judges. The Attorney-General read the writ against him and said: "My Lords, Sir Walter Ralegh, the prisoner at the bar, was fifteen years since convicted of high treason, by him committed against the person of His Majesty and the state of this kingdom, and then received the judgment of death, to be hanged, drawn, and quartered. His Majesty of his abundant grace hath been pleased to shew mercy upon him till now, that justice calls upon him for execution. Sir Walter Ralegh hath been a statesman, and a man who in regard of his parts and quality is to be pitied. He hath been as a star at which the world hath gazed; but stars may fall, nay, they must fall when they trouble the sphere wherein they abide. It is, therefore, His Majesty's pleasure now to call for execution of the former judgment, and I now require order for the same."
Ralegh listened to this pompous mockery and said, when asked what he could say for himself why execution should not be awarded against him, "My Lords, my voice is grown weak by reason of my late sickness, and an ague which I now have; for I was now brought hither out of it." And the Lord Chief Justice answered: "Sir Walter, your voice is audible enough."
Indeed, there was little to be said by Ralegh, or any man, against a charge thus raked up from the past. The affair of this trial was a mere form, and Ralegh reserved his strength for his last great avowal at the supreme moment of his life.
He was taken away to the Gatehouse prison. Immediately the carpenters set to work to erect the scaffold. His execution was fixed for an early hour on the following morning. For on that day men's attention would be turned from the happenings at Westminster; and towards the City where the Lord Mayor's show would take place. Men's attention was not desired for the morrow's deed at Westminster.
Ralegh was a poet. A man cannot be a poet in his spare time. There is a realm which Beauty rules—that Beauty which Castiglione celebrated, and the understanding of which he made the last and chief attribute of his Courtier, with that realm Ralegh was in communion. From it he drew strength for his life. Such communion does unfit a man for the business of life, but gives him power to cope with its difficulties by enabling him to look a little beyond them. It raises him above the pettiness of things, and makes him see more clearly because he sees things at their proper value and in their right proportion. This perception—this sensitiveness—made him suffer more acutely, but endowed him with the power of detachment, the power to rise above his personal griefs.
Ralegh was a poet. He expressed himself in his life in a way strangely akin to that in which he expressed himself in his actual poetry. He resembles some knight in a Morris romance in his adoration for his Queen, and in his love for his wife.
But true love is a durable fire,
In the mind ever burning,
Never sick, never old, never dead,
From itself never turning.
That spirit informed his life, and is linked with his every achievement. "Schönheit geniessen heiss die Welt verstehn." And one of the most memorable facts of the Russo-Japanese war was that the invincible Admiral Togo wrote home asking for plum trees in flower to be sent to him; he needed the strength which he drew from looking at their beauty. Castiglione was right. This perception of beauty is the last quality of the perfect courtier; from that alone can strength be gathered and stored for this strange struggle of life.
And now Ralegh had reached the last day of his life. Early next morning he was destined to solve the mighty problem with which poets and philosophers have always wrestled in vain—the problem which is the mightiest in life, which lends life colour and poignancy—the problem of death. The excitement of knowing that in a few hours he would be taken into that great mystery must have been overpowering. He no longer needed consolation: fear was lost in eagerness to know. And a sense of relief came to him that he would be driven no longer to fight on in the long battle of life with the fierce energy that mastered him. He had sufficient experience to be a little weary of life; he had sufficient vitality to welcome death. He knew that he saw the sun set for the last time; that for the last time he saw the approach of night, the familiar faces of men, and all the surroundings of man's life. His consciousness was coming to an end. "Do not carry it with too much bravery," said his kinsman, Francis Thynne. "It is my last mirth in this world," answered Ralegh. "Do not grudge it to me."
For the last time? Yet who can tell? What is man's knowledge when confronted by the portentous fact of death?
Once more Ralegh was about to journey into the unknown, and his spirit thrilled with excitement at this his last and most adventurous journey. Dr. Tounson, the worthy Dean of Westminster, came to visit him in the little room which was allotted to him in the Gatehouse prison. "When I began to encourage him against the fear of death he seemed to make so light of it that I wondered at him."
His body was weak; his spirit was strong. Sorrow he was leaving behind him. And until the clock struck the hour of midnight he who was to meet death in the morning of that very day sympathized and strengthened his wife, who had many days more through which she must live.
At midnight Lady Ralegh left him, and for the last time he began to set his affairs in order. He knew now how he could clear his name before the world. His spirit was so alive that he never doubted his power to die as he had lived—splendidly. He determined what he would say in the morning—quietly, resolutely—and having done so, still there was some time at his disposal. He opened the Bible that lay on the table and upon the first blank page he wrote—
Even such is time! who takes in trust
Our youth, our joys, and all we have,
And pays us but with earth and dust;
Who in the dark and silent grave,
When we have wandered all our ways,
Shuts up the story of our days.
But from that earth, that grave and dust
The Lord shall raise me up, I trust.
And now the time had come for him to face the high ordeal of public death, which was to be the last triumph of his great spirit. A goblet of sack was brought him and he made his way to the scaffold. A crowd was already assembled—waiting.
Ralegh walked to the scaffold with head erect, complete master of the terrible situation. He noticed an old man standing in the front of the crowd with uncovered head, and taking off the covering he wore under his hat, he gave it to the old man, saying, "You need this, my friend, more than I do." The crowd pressed upon Ralegh and the struggle to reach the scaffold made his body, still weak from the ague, breathless. It is in accordance with the irony of things that even this last path was not clear for him. At last he stood upon the scaffold, erect and smiling. The crowd listened for his death speech. The chief men in England were there to hear his last words and to witness his death. Ralegh began to speak. He said—
"I have had fits of ague for these two days. If therefore you perceive any weakness in me, ascribe it to my sickness rather than to myself. I am infinitely bound to God that He hath vouchsafed me to die in the sight of so noble an assembly, and not in darkness, in that Tower where I have suffered so much adversity and a long sickness. I thank God that my fever hath not taken me at this time, as I prayed to God it might not."
His voice grew weak. He feared that the nobles who were in the balconies would not hear him. So he asked them to come upon the scaffold. They consented and came. Each shook Ralegh's hand, as he thanked them for this last courtesy.
He continued his speech amidst the silence of the crowd. He defended himself against the charges of complicity with France, of disloyalty to the King, and then he said—
"For my going to Guiana many thought I never intended it, but intended only to gain my liberty,—which I would I had been so wise as to have kept. But as I shall answer it before the same God before whom I am shortly to appear, I endeavoured, and I hoped to have enriched the King, myself, and my partners. But I was undone by Keymis, a wilful fellow, who seeing my son slain and myself unpardoned, would not open the mine, and killed himself.
"It was also told the King that I was brought by force into England, and that I did not intend to come back again. I protest that when the voyage succeeded not, and that I resolved to come home, my company mutinied against me. They fortified the gun-room against me, and kept me within my own cabin; and would not be satisfied except I would take a corporal oath not to bring them into England until I had gotten the pardons of four of them,—there being four men unpardoned. So I took that oath. And we came into Ireland, where they would have landed in the north parts. But I would not, because there the inhabitants were all Redshanks. So we came to the south, hoping from thence to write to his Majesty for their pardons. In the meantime I offered to places in Devon and Cornwall, to lie safe till they had been pardoned."
Ralegh now turned towards Lord Arundel, who was standing on the scaffold. "I am glad that my Lord of Arundel is here. For when I went down to my ship, his Lordship and divers others were with me. At the parting salutation, his Lordship took me aside and desired me freely and faithfully to resolve him in one request, which was, 'Whether I made a good voyage or a bad, yet I should return again into England.' I made you a promise and gave you my faith that I would."
Lord Arundel said in a loud voice, "And so you did. It is true that they were the last words I spake unto you."
And Ralegh went on: "Other reports are raised of me, touching that voyage which I value not.... I will yet borrow a little time of Master Sheriff to speak of one thing more. It doth make my heart bleed to hear such an imputation laid upon me. It was said that I was a persecutor of my Lord of Essex, and that I stood in a window over against him when he suffered, and puffed out tobacco in disdain of him. I take God to witness that my eyes shed tears for him when he died. And as I hope to look in the face of God hereafter, my Lord of Essex did not see my face when he suffered. I was afar off, in the Armoury, where I saw him but he saw not me. And my soul hath been many times grieved that I was not near unto him when he died, because I understood that he asked for me, at his death, to be reconciled to me. I confess I was of a contrary faction. But I knew that my Lord of Essex was a noble gentleman, and that it would be worse with me when he was gone. For those that set me up against him did afterwards set themselves against me."
Ralegh knelt in prayer, asking the assembled crowd to pray with him. He rose and the executioner knelt before him to ask his forgiveness. Ralegh put his hand on the masked figure's two shoulders and said that he forgave him with all his heart. "Show me the axe," he cried, "show me the axe." Then he felt the edge with his thumb and approved of its sharpness. "This gives me no fear. It is a sharp and fair medicine to cure me of all my diseases." And presently, "When I stretch forth my hands despatch me." He turned to all the people and said in a loud voice, "Give me heartily your prayers."
His velvet cloak was taken off. He knelt in prayer. He laid his neck upon the block and stretched out his hands. But the masked figure in black, the executioner, was unmanned by the scene. He could not raise the axe. Again Ralegh stretched out his hands. The man remained motionless. Then Ralegh cried out, "What dost thou fear? Strike, man, strike!" It was necessary for him to give the man courage to kill him. At last the axe was lifted, and with two swift blows his neck was severed.
So lived Sir Walter Ralegh, and so he died.
"O eloquent, just, and mighty Death! whom none could advise, thou hast persuaded; what none hath dared, thou hast done; and whom all the world hath flattered, thou only hast cast out of the world and despised: thou hast drawne together all the farre stretched greatnesse, all the pride, crueltie, and ambition of man, and covered it all over with these two narrow words—Hîc jacet."