SIR WALTER RALEGH

GREAT RALEGH

BY

HUGH DE SÉLINCOURT

WITH SIXTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS

New York: G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
London: METHUEN & CO.
1908

PREFACE

This book has been written for the general reader. Caveat scholasticus. My aim has been to make the character of Ralegh live again, and to draw a picture of the times in as lively a manner as I see it. England in Elizabeth's maturity touched greatness; in Elizabeth's old age and during the reign of King James, England declined. Ralegh embodied the greatest qualities of the great days, and survived to carry on the Elizabethan tradition when the great Elizabethans had passed away.

The books to which reference has been made are too many to need mention in a book of this kind: dramatists, poets, pamphleteers, memoirists have been freely pillaged. But I should like to acknowledge here my extreme indebtedness to the works of Major Martin Hume, Mr. T. N. Brushfield, and the late Mr. Edward Edwards, and to thank again Miss Janet Wheeler for her kind help, notably in that arduous task—the making of an Index.

H. de S.

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

GREAT RALEGH

CHAPTER I

BIRTH

The spread of news—Birth—Influence of birthplace—His father—His mother.

Life is a series of accidents more or less controlled; the play of circumstances upon character infinitely various and infinitely involved. Elizabethan life was superb for the reason that there were fewer men, and they had the immense advantage of realizing their power and of possessing scope for their energy. It was the age of discovery, not only of new lands, but of discovery in every branch of life. Now, a man may grow old before he has acquired an inkling of what has been found out, before he has read what has been written finely. The world stands at ease uneasily, and has time for shuffling and discontent. Vitality and opportunity then worked in wonderful harmony. We are not less vital, but our energy is apt to be stifled. Everything is so easy. We read day by day what has happened throughout the world. There is nothing surprising except our friends and ourselves—and they are apt to surprise us too much. Effort begets effort, and effort, strength. The Elizabethan, without railways, without posts, without telegraphs, was bound to rely upon himself for everything.

Man brought news to man by word of mouth, without warning or previous discussion, or the help of photography. An errand-boy can now know more easily what is happening in the whole world than a wise man could then know of what was happening in his county. You did not know of a battle till you saw the wounded fighters.

They were shut out from the outside world, and from time to time dramatically news fired their imagination and minds. And their minds were trained so that they did not gape and wonder. Their minds were stored with the wisdom of the Greeks and Romans, and were thrilled as only trained minds can be thrilled, and roused to a veritable storm of energy by the huge possibilities of life. The difficulties to be overcome were material and romantic, and triumphs were more easily attained. Life was as adventurous as the true tales of adventure that were circulated at every fireside.

Nowhere were these tales more frequent or fresher than near the great sea-ports in Devonshire, where Walter Ralegh was born. The farmhouse still stands, at Hayes, near Budleigh-Salterton. The country-side has remained strangely the same in its appearance, a little more populous, and, after waking to the arrival of trains, has sunk back to its long, prosperous sleep, contented. No longer do strange ships with stranger tidings disturb its rest; they are watched for and quietly expected; the sailors land to learn news, and can tell little but gossip in return. No longer do horses carry messengers on the Queen's service with packets marked "Haste," "Post Haste," "For Life," galloping to the Queen's Chief Secretary, in London.

News was spread slowly; its effect must have been incredibly impressive.

In the year 1552 Walter Ralegh was born. He was the second son of his father's third wife, and so the universal accident of birth seems in his case to be intensified. It was the sixth year of Edward VI.'s reign, and an astrologer has noted that year as "a year remarkable in our chronicles, first, for that strange shoal of the largest sea-fishes which, quitting their native waters for fresh and untasted streams, wandered up the Thames so high, till the river no longer retained any brackishness; and, secondly, for that it is thought to have been somewhat stained in our annals with the blood of the noble Seymer, Duke of Somerset—events surprisingly analogous both to the life of this adventurous voyager, Sir Walter Ralegh, whose delight was in the hazardous discovery of unfrequented coasts, and also to his unfortunate death."

It is not possible to determine exactly the effect of these largest "sea fishes" on his after-life; their coming may have been mere coincidence, or it may have been that the same element of an unknown power that sent the fishes hurrying to untasted streams, made Ralegh restless as the fish. The point lends itself to straining by its nature, though it is staidly mentioned by the staid biographer who has been quoted.

The dominating influence of his life was not the date of his birth, but his birthplace in the quiet of the country, and yet within the easiest reach of the fabulous outside world. That influence cannot be exaggerated.

Old sailors, who, as young men, had sailed with Jaques Carthier, of St. Malo, must have stirred the boy's mind with the stories of their adventures up the river of Canada to Saguenay, where there was gold and silver and red copper; how they visited the town of Hochelaga, their captain very gorgeously attired; and how, when their guides had led them to the midst of the town, they were saluted by the women first and then by the men; and a comedy was rehearsed for their amusement until, borne on ten men's shoulders, Agouhanna, the lord and king of the country, wearing the skins of red hedgehogs in place of a crown, was brought in and placed by the side of their captain, on a great stag's skin; and how their captain, seeing the people's misery, read them in a loud, clear voice the first chapter of St. John's Gospel. Tales, too, young Ralegh would hear of other wild men and of their prodigious wealth, which they knew not the value of; of rubies and of pearls bartered for iron and toys; of the great creatures morses or sea-oxen, "which fish is very big, and hath two great teeth, and the skinne of them is like Buffe's leather, and they will not go away from their young ones." And at Bristol was living Mr. Alexander Woodson, an excellent mathematician and skilful physician, and he, writes Hakluyt, "shewed me one of these beast's teeth which were brought from the isle of Ramea in the first prize, which was half a yard long or very little less; and assured mee that he had made tryall of it in ministring medicine to his patients, and had found it as soveraigne against poyson as any Unicornes horne."

With only a little less eagerness and a wiser discrimination between fact and fable would the elders of the great Devonshire families, with many of whom the Raleghs were connected, hear the news and plan schemes for outwitting their rivals on the sea—the Spaniards—and perhaps foresee the great part their sons would play in gaining for their country prestige in this unclosing of the outside world. They would spare no pains to make the youngsters worthy to carry on the great tradition of Devonshire gentlemen under the splendid new conditions, which were daily becoming more apparent.

A fine stock were the Devonshire gentlemen who watched over the years of Walter Ralegh's boyhood, whetting no doubt by their interest his keenness in Latin and Greek, in fencing and riding, and training his knowledge of men. Among the Gilberts and Champernounes and Raleghs and Carews, there would be men as skilful in the handling of a ship as in the proper management of a farm, and to all would young Ralegh listen with his mind feverishly alert for information, and from all he would learn what each could teach him.

Old John Hooker, who lived at Exeter, and helped to write the continuation of Holinshed's chronicle, knew the boy and took an interest in him; as is easy to see from his proud reference to the Raleghs' illustrious descent—royal even he would have it in despite of Sir William Pole—and from his fine warning to young Ralegh when he was emerging into distinction to remain worthy of it. "These all," he writes, "were men of great honour and nobility whose virtues are highly recorded sparsim in the Chronicles of England. But yet, as nothing is permanent in this life and all things variable under the sun, and Time hath devoured and consumed greatest men and mightiest monarchs and most noble communities in the world—according to the old country saying, 'Be the day never so long, yet at length it will ring to even-song'—so this honourable race ... continued in great honour, nobility and reputation, yet in process of time seemed at length to be buried in oblivion.

"Now it hath pleased God to raise the same even from the dead.... And whereof cometh this that the Lord hath so blessed you, but only that you should be beneficial and profitable to all men?" And he ends his discourse, in which a note of almost fatherly concern is heard, with an apt euphuism about the bee, to clinch his argument and perhaps to show his knowledge of courtly style (did not he too go to London as member for Exeter?) "As the bee is no longer suffered to have a place in the hive than whiles he worketh, no more is that man to have place in the public weal than whiles he doth some good therein."

THE BIRTHPLACE OF SIR WALTER RALEGH, BUDLEIGH, SALTERTON

His father, too, was a man to know and appreciate his son's worth. He had led no uneventful life, though he was, for the most part, sequestered in the country. He took a leading part in the affairs of the little town of Budleigh-Salterton. In the great Rising of the West, in 1549, he came perilously near to losing his life. He was riding with some mariners from Hayes to Exeter, when he came upon an old woman telling her beads; he stopped to ask her why she defied authority by telling beads, and the old woman, furious, rushed into the church of Clyst St. Mary, and inveighed against the gentlemen who would burn the houses of poor folk over their heads. Ralegh had ridden on towards Exeter; a body of insurgents overtook him, and he was saved from being murdered only by hastening into a chapel by the road-side. But he went on his way again, and again fell into the hands of the rebels; and this time he did not manage to escape, but was shut up in the tower of a church at St. Sidwell's—a suburb of Exeter in the hands of the rebels—until Lord Grey of Wilton won the great battle of Clyst Heath, in which four thousand perished, and relieved the siege of Exeter. The incident serves to show the calibre of the father.

But when young Ralegh was a boy, his father's adventurous days were over; and in 1561 he is mentioned as churchwarden of East Budleigh parish, and no doubt led his family regularly each Sunday to the family pew, on which the family arms are still discernible, though much disfigured—probably too at the command of King James I. of England, who feared his too ambitious subject even after his death. Little the father thought of that as he watched the little boy to see that he behaved with propriety in church and did not sleep or play as little boys are wont to do during a sermon. Old Ralegh, remembering the terrible reaction during Mary's reign, would be specially punctilious in such matters; and fathers then were not lenient to their children. Young Peter Carew, when he played truant at Exeter Grammar School, was leashed to a great hound by his father: and we are not told whether Peter and the dog were on friendly terms. They may have become so; we will hope for Peter's sake that they did. Certainly, with three young Gilberts, young Walter's step-brothers—sons of Otho Gilbert—and a family of Raleghs of all ages, there would be need for stern discipline in church as well as out of church, and there is little reason for doubting of its existence, though no account has been handed down of severity as ingenious as that shown by Peter Carew's honest father. Probably, in young Walter's upbringing, there was a touch of the ewe lamb, that would account in a measure for the "naeve of pride" which was such a conspicuous feature of his developed character. Not that he was spoiled; but his parents had a soft place in their hearts for him, which he well would know of, and he was not suppressed so rigorously as he would have been otherwise ... but this is pleasant conjecture.

His mother was a woman of character: "a woman of noble wit, and of good and godly opinions," writes John Foxe of her, and proceeds to tell how she visited poor Agnes Prest when she was in prison for having Protestant opinions (that was when Mary was on the throne, and Philip of Spain was powerful in England), and conversed with her before she was burned at the stake on Southernhay. "Mistress Ralegh came home to her husband and declared to him that in her life she never heard any woman, of such simplicity to see, to talk so godly and so earnestly; insomuch that if God were not with her she could not speak such things. I was not able to answer her: I, who can read, and she cannot."

The story does not relate what answer Mistress Ralegh wanted to give; it does not necessarily show her a Catholic in sympathy, though she probably did not sympathize with Agnes Prest's desire for martyrdom, and wanted to prevent the old woman from losing her life in such a terrible way. The story illustrates how inextricably religion was bound up with patriotism, and what a quandary the ordinary peace-loving gentlefolk, whose wish was to serve God and their country, must have been in, when the interests of either changed with the sovereign. That was why Elizabeth, by her policy of gradually cutting the ties that linked England to the Pope and the countries under his authority, gave such immense strength to the English; she united, as it were, the strength drawn from patriotism and the strength drawn from religion, by forcing England to rely on herself alone; and so she overcame the countries weakened by the constant antagonism between the welfare of their religion and the welfare of their state. She saw, as her father Henry had seen, the value of religion as a political asset; and with cold common sense she used that asset for all its peculiar worth. Her policy is more praiseworthy than her religion. Never was woman less religious; few women have been dowered with her state-craft. Religion and patriotism became practically identical: their interests were no longer conflicting.

The Pope and his followers became, for adventurous Englishmen, comfortingly akin to the devil and the devil's workers, to have at whom has always been the privilege of good men since the world began. Moreover, in this case the powers of evil were wealthy and pompous, but unwarlike; and wealth is a pleasant perquisite to virtue.

The time did not lend itself to contemplation. There was too much to be done. It was a time of action. The material world, with all its tremendous possibilities, was opening out before the astonished gaze of Englishmen, and left but little time for the exploration of the spiritual world. Men of action and men of art passed on their way triumphantly, "if not to heaven—then hand in hand to hell."

Young Ralegh would accept his religion from his parents much as he accepted his sword, resolved to keep both bright and becoming a gentleman. He was a man of the world; and the world then was boisterous and unruly. Men revelled in life like boys; their code of honour was as chivalrous and strange as that of boys. They lived, and they relished living.

Into this world young Ralegh went to make his way. He was poor, but had friends who had caused the spirit of life to thrive in him, who had nurtured his own belief in himself, and showed him what the world had in store for the courageous and skilful man. He was proud and ambitious, and few men have had better reason for pride, or have carried out their ambition with such success as he. He was always an aristocrat; so distinguished that ostentation became him, which, on a meaner man, would have passed into vulgarity. He was the most romantic figure of the most romantic age in the annals of English history.

His life was fuller of great accidents than life is wont to be, and all these accidents of good fortune and of bad he used to the full extent of a man's power, and by so doing he controlled them and became the master of his fate.

CHAPTER II

EARLY DAYS

His early going to Oxford—Old Ascham on quick wit and education—Life at a University—The Queen at Oxford—To the wars in France—Henry Champernoun—Stories of the wars.

Of Ralegh's early education little is known: it is uncertain whether he was taught at home, or went to one of the Grammar Schools which Stowe records with pride existed in nearly every country town. When he was sixteen he went to Oriel College, Oxford, of which his kinsman, C. Champernoun, was already a commoner, and sixteen was an early age, even for an Elizabethan to go to the University.

His kinsman's presence accounts in a measure for this early going (he started most of his life's enterprises under their shelter, though in the end he grew to overtop them), but his quick wit was another and the chief reason. Old Ascham begs the fond schoolmaster to modify his propensity for caning, and to discriminate between "the harde witte and the quicke witte. But this I will say, that even the wisest of your great beaters do as oft punishe nature as they do correcte faultes. Yea, many times the better nature is sorer punished; for if one by quicknes of witte take his lesson readelie, another by hardnes of witte taketh it not speedilie: the first is alwaies commended, the other is commonlie punished, when a wise schoolmaster should ... not so much wey what either of them is able to do now, as what either of them is likelie to do hereafter." He will have none of the quick wit. Slow and sure is his adage. To him quick wits are "even like over-sharpe tooles whose edges be verie soone turned." And Ascham was the Queen's tutor, and was striking out a new line in his theme, in his treatment of it and in his language. For a scholar of his calibre to write of the education of little boys, and to write of it in English (fine English it is, too, with its balanced cadences), demanded profuse apologies, which he is not slow to offer, and to offer at full length in his preface. No apology would be necessary now, when Education Bills have been known to overturn Governments, or even a very few years later than Ascham himself; but in Ascham's actual day, Latin was regarded as the language of the learned, and dignity, which Ascham never lost, an attribute of learning. His remarks are always judicious, and his summing up of the temperament, which he calls the quick wit, is brilliant if not final. It is in the nature of generalization to be limited. For there are many wits where quickness and hardness, which he distinguishes so sharply, are as memorably, as in the case of young Ralegh, combined—"sharpe tooles" whose edges be never turned. Such incontestably was Ralegh. His mind and his character (the motive force) were on the same level of strength; neither preyed on the other, and he lived in a time when the world offered scope, as never perhaps in quite the same way before or since, to the resistless energy of united strength.

But to return to Ascham, whose little treatise throws an invaluable quiet light of its own upon the methods of the time, when he was old and Ralegh was young, and upon the making of great men and the great need of them—from its conception at the dinner party in the palace at Windsor, to its finish, years later, when the old man turned once more to the proper teaching of rudiments, doing his best for the younger generation whose best would outstrip all that he had ever dreamed of in his least scholastic moments. There is more than a touch of pathos in his warnings, for all their staid wisdom, and in his fears lest the young should be overcome by their "stout wilfulness"; blind as he could not but be to the goal to which stout wilfulness alone could lead them.

With a schoolmaster's conscious effort at broad-mindedness he would not have the young one sit all day at his studies. "To joyne learnyng with cumlie exercises Conto Baldesoer Castiglione in his booke Cortegiane doth trimlie teache: which booke advisedlie read and diligentlie folowed, but one year at home in England would do a yong ientleman more good, I wisse, then three yeares travell abrode spent in Italie." And he passes by way of example "two noble Primeroses of nobilitie, the yong Duke of Suffolk and Lord H. Matrevers" (such a two as "our tyme may rather wishe than looke for agayne") on to his famous invective against the Italianating of Englishmen, with that constant note of sadness at the falling off of the present generation. His ears were deaf to such names as Sidney, Gilbert, Champernoun, Ralegh, names which time has set at their proper value, and against which Ascham's noble primroses sink into their proper insignificance.

Ralegh was at Oxford only one year, and Anthony Wood writes: "His natural parts being strangely advanced by academical learning, under the care of an excellent tutor, he became the ornament of the juniors, and was worthily esteemed a proficient in Oratory and Philosophy." He seasoned his primer years at Oxford in knowledge and learning, a good ground, as Hooker says, and a sure foundation to build thereupon good actions.

FRANCIS BACON

Only one incident is recorded of that year of his life, and that is recorded by the illustrious Bacon in his apothegms. "... When Ralegh was a scholar at Oxford there was a cowardly fellow who happened to be a very good archer; but having been grossly abused by another, he bemoaned himself to Ralegh, and asked his advice what he should do to repair the wrong that had been offered him. Why, challenge him, answered Ralegh, to a match of shooting." It would be interesting to know how the repartee came to Lord Bacon's knowledge.

It is about in the proportion that Ralegh filled his life, compared with the ordinary way of living, that he took in one year out of Oxford what most men required seven years to take; for seven years was the usual time for a full course, and often, as in Germany to-day, men went from one University to another.

"Ein jeder lernt das was man lernen kann
Nur wer den Augenblick ergreifft das ist der rechte Mann."

Not that life at the University was restrained and dull. Far from it. Listen to Thomas Lever, who spoke of the work some twenty years before Ralegh's time. "From 5 to 6 a.m. there was common prayer with an exhortation of God's word in a common chapel, and from 6 to 10 either private study or common lectures. At 10 o'clock generally came dinner, most being content with a penny piece of beef amongst four. After this slender dinner the youths were either teaching or learning until 5 p.m., when they have a supper not much better than their dinner. Immediately after they went either to reasoning in problems or unto some other study until 9 or 10 of the clock, and then being without fire were fain to walk or run up and down half an hour to get a heat on their feet before they went to bed." This sounds splendidly strenuous, and shows what was expected by the authorities, and the standard of the dons to which doubtless many conformed. From Nash's trenchant pamphlets we see the other side of the picture. Thomas Lever was a preacher: Thomas Nash was not. It is while he is engaged in "pouring hot boiling ink on this contemptible Heggledepeg's barrain scalp" (or as we should put it, proving in controversy the errors of Gabriel Harvey) that he gives his sudden glimpses of life and customs in town and university. "What will you give me when I bring him uppon the Stage in one of the principallest Colledges in Cambridge? Lay anie wager with me and I will: or if you laye no wager at all, Ile fetch him aloft in Pedantius, that exquisite Comedie in Trinitie Colledge: where under the cheife part from which it tooke his name, as namely the concise and firking finicaldo fine Schoolmaster, hee was full drawen and delineated from the soale of his foot to the crowne of his head. The just manner of his phrase in his Orations and Disputations they stufft his mouth with and no Buffianism throughout his whole bookes but they bolstered out his part with ... whereupon Dick came and broke the Colledge glasse windowes and Doctor Perne (being then either for himself or Deputie Vice Chancellour) caused him to be fetcht in and set in the Stockes till the Shew was ended and a great part of the night after."

This tells a less sombre tale, and when Nash begins to be scurrilous about John Harvey, the third brother, and records "the olde reakes hee kept with the wenches in Queenes Colledge Lane" (how strangely places retain their character!), the tale becomes less sombre still.

The Queen, too, would make journeys with royal visitors to the University, as in 1566, when Stowe tells with pride that she made "on the sodain an oration in Latin to the whole universitie of Oxford in the presence of the Spanish ambassadors;" so that neither university would be out of touch with the great world. Nor did the undergraduates keep at the same respectful distance from royalty that they are wont to now, as another delightful story of Nash about Harvey shows, who when the Court was at Audley End came "ruffling it out huffty-tuffty on his suite of velvet, to doo his countrey more worship and glory." He disputed with the courtiers and maids of honour, and at last was brought to kiss the Queen's hand, and the Queen was pleased to say that he looked like an Italian, a compliment from which he never quite recovered.

So there would be much to occupy the thoughts and attention of an ordinary boy of sixteen. But Ralegh in a year was ripe for other things, and left Oxford for the wars in France. The opportunity came through his kinsman, Henry Champernoun, son of John Champernoun of Modbury, his mother's eldest brother, raising a company of gentlemen to fight on the Huguenot side: and Ralegh took the opportunity of active service.

Very interesting are the steps in a great man's life. Chance seems to play so small a part. The instinct to get the most out of his personality becomes the conscious effort to which perhaps a great man chiefly owes his greatness.

Precisely in this way is the boy the father of the man, and Ralegh's life is a pregnant example of it. He had, of course, no serious motive for leaving Oxford. He longed for fighting and adventures, and seized without a thought on the reckless impulse that led him to the wars, laughing probably at the sad head-shaking of his staid tutors. But he had learned how to learn: and his passion for life never damped his passion for knowledge, and impulse led him to the discipline which his nature demanded. The stern discipline and hardship of war were wanted to impress him, while still pliant, with the proper value of things by showing him with war's crude force the bare facts of life and death and human nature.

The strength and ability of the body told in those times, when man dealt directly with man, and encountered nature at closer quarters than he need now do, when her forces are fended off him and controlled for his use in ways then only dreamed of. Being weaker, men were rougher and more cruel.

That is manifest in the punishments of the Government. Executions were public. There was no other means for making the punishment known than by making the punishment visible. A man paid for trespass against the laws by disfigurement of his body—by branding on the forehead or palm, by loss of ear or hand: any one dangerous, or who threatened danger to the order with such difficulty established, was hung and quartered, or burned, or beheaded, and his execution was public and a sight not to be missed. The limbs of malefactors were exposed conspicuously at the Queen's pleasure.

Cruelty breeds fear, and fear breeds cunning. There was no longer the shelter of the monastery for the timid or the thoughtful. Accordingly, craftiness and conspiracy and secrecy prevailed in every corner of the country.

But there is the contrary side. The man who was able to be independent of these circumstances of cruelty, rose above them to heights of bravery and self-reliance and strength, which are almost unknown in more peaceful times. There could be no monotony, or slackness of endeavour when a mistake or a careless word, or even a foolish gesture, might bring with it the consequence of death. A man was braced to continual effort and unconquerable control, when a moment's lack of either might mean life's actual ending, or a lifetime's long disgrace. There was no place for mediocrity. Those were the days of heroes and nonentities; soaring heroes, crawling nonentities.

Thus the chance which led Ralegh to the French wars, and Ralegh's readiness to seize that chance (chance by itself does little), were fortunate in the extreme for the best furtherance of his personality's development.

In France the religious wars between the Guisards and the Huguenots had broken out in the year 1562; and as Hayward, a contemporary chronicler, recounts, "In regarde to her owne person and state the Queen considered that if the Duke of Guise should prevail these fires of France both easilie might and readilie would cast dangerous sparkes over the ocean into England." She could not give aid openly to the Huguenots: but privately she sanctioned the enterprises of gentlemen who offered their services in aid of the Huguenots. For the real danger was that if the Huguenots were wiped out, a formidably close union between France and Spain might result. It was thus convenient that France should remain in a state of unrest until England should become properly strengthened and solidified in her isolated position. Elizabeth's actions were ruled in this case, as in all cases, not by religious faith or by sympathy with the people who were suffering death for their faith, but wholly by political expediency. Religion with her was only a piece in the game, and she respected it as the most valuable piece. It is easy to cry "Shame!" and "Treachery!" when modern power over time and space has modified the rules of the diplomatic game; but game it remains, and truth in it still plays, and will always play, the subservient part of a nice convention or a fine pretext.

So those gallant gentlemen, who longed to fight and could find no more excellent reason than faith for fighting, went with their companies to France and fought their fill for the Huguenots. They realized the unfortunate necessity to which the Queen of England was put in ordaining that if they were taken prisoners a scroll should be pinned on their breasts as they dangled from the gallows, on which it was declared that they met their fate "for having come against the will of the Queen of England to the help of the Huguenots." That, probably, only lent zest to their endeavour. They would realize, too, that however the Queen of England might be forced to act, Elizabeth in her woman's heart sympathized deeply with the cause for which they fought; and Elizabeth, be sure, with her woman's wit, did her utmost to encourage them in this belief, and not without sincerity.

Henry Champernoun, of whose band of gentlemen volunteers, gathered mostly from Devonshire, Camden asserts that Ralegh was a member, was famous among these Huguenot supporters, though not so famous as his cousin, Gawen Champernoun, a son of Katherine, Ralegh's younger brother, Sir Arthur. Gawen progressed so far that he became son-in-law to the celebrated Count of Montgomery. No doubt Ralegh the nephew looked up to his uncles.

About his five or six years' absence in France (the date of his return is uncertain) Ralegh is reticent, partly, as Edwards suggests, in obedience to the maxim laid down in his "History of the World" which runs, "Whosoever in writing a Modern Historie shall follow Truth too near the heels it may haply strike out his teeth;" and partly, too, for the reason that his experiences as a boy would be adventurous rather than suggestive. He would have been too young to be enough behind the scenes to know the motives of movements in which he took part, and the motives would alone lend a broad or historical value to the adventures. Among relations, youngness is commonly taken into full account. And Ralegh, for all his ability, had not probably the opportunity given him of seeing things other than as isolated incidents. As likely as not, he was asked to leave the tent or the room when matters of moment were about to be discussed.

But certain anecdotes he recalls in his "History of the World," one of which is well worth telling in his own good words, because it shows the manner of fighting that prevailed in these wars: "I saw in the third Civil War of France certain caves in Languedoc which had but one entrance, and that very narrow, cut out in the midway of high rocks, which we knew not how to enter by any ladder or engine; till at last by certain bundles of straw, let down by an iron chain, and a weighty stone in the midst, those that defended it were so smothered as they rendered themselves with their plate, money and other goods therein hidden."

He was not, however, always among the caves and hedgerows; almost certainly he was in Paris in 1572, sheltering with Philip Sidney in the house of the ambassador, Walsingham, when the terrible and famous massacre took place during the night of St. Bartholomew's Eve, in which the friends of the Duke of Guise boasted that more Protestants were slain than in the whole of the twelve years of the war.

CHAPTER III

TOWARDS MANHOOD

Friendship with George Gascoyne—Its importance—Ralegh in London—The arch-gossip Aubrey—Elizabethan London—Ralegh and Sir Humfrey Gilbert—The beginning of the great enterprise.

Ralegh returned from France in 1575 or 1576; and there are three years of his life—important years, from the age of twenty-three to twenty-six—which contain little or no record of his doings. Some authors, on the slenderest authority, maintain that he trailed a pike in the Lowlands, under Sir John Norris. But this is unlikely. The time of his possible presence there has been adroitly whittled down by William Oldys to the early part of the year 1578, and quite recently a document has been discovered bearing his signature, and the date of the deed is April 11th, 1578. If the signature is genuine, and expert evidence points to the fact that it is so, this is an additional, almost conclusive, proof that during these three years he remained in England.

There is another matter, intrinsically small, but exceedingly important because it throws a great light on his pursuits at this time. To George Gascoigne's satirical poem "The Steele Glas" is appended, among other commendatory verses, a poem by Walter Rawely, of the Middle Temple, which runs as follows—

"Swete were the sauce, would please ech kind of tast
The life likewise, were pure that never swerved
For spyteful tongs, in cankred stomaches plaste,
Deeme worst of things, which best (percase) deserved:
But what for that? this medcine may suffyse,
To scorne the rest, and seke to please the wise.
"Though sundry mindes in sundry sorte do deeme
Yet worthiest wights yelde praise for every payne,
But envious braynes, do nought (or light) esteeme
Such stately steppes as they cannot attaine.
For who so reapes, renowne above the rest,
With heapes of hate, shal surely be opprest.
"Wherefore to write, my censure of this booke
This Glasse of Steele impartially doth shewe,
Abuses all, to such as in it looke,
From prince to poore, from high estate to lowe
As for the verse, who lists like trade to trye,
I feare me much, shal hardly reache so high."

Edwards thinks, and rightly, that the verses show an intimate friendship with the poet in whose honour they were written; and "the poem itself to me discovers," writes Oldys, with his own quaint charm, "in the very first line of it a great air of that solid axiomatical vein which is observable in other productions of Ralegh's muse. And the whole middle hexastic is such an indication of his own fortune or fate, such a caution against that envy of superior merit which he himself ever struggled with, that it could proceed from no hand more properly than his own."

And these conjectures are strengthened into fact when it is remembered (and this point seems hitherto to have been passed over) that Gascoigne was a close friend of Sir Humfrey Gilbert, and a kinsman to Martin Frobisher. "Now it happened," writes Gascoigne ("in a letter from my lodging, where I march among the Muses for lacke of exercise in martial exploytes"), "now it happened that my selfe being one (amongst manie) beholding to the said S. Humfrey Gilbert for sundrie curtesies did come to visit him in Winter last past at his house in Limehouse, and beeing verie bolde to demande of him howe he spente his time in this loytering vacation from martial stratagems: he curteously tooke me up into his studie and there shewed me sundrie profitable and verie commendable exercises which he had perfected painefully with his own penne: And amongst the rest this present Discourse. The which as well because it was not long, as also because I understoode that M. Fourboiser (a kinsman of mine) did pretend to travaile in the same Discouverie, I craved at the said S. Humfreyes handes for two or three dayes to reade and peruse. And hee verie friendly granted my request, but still seming to doubt that thereby the same might, contrarie to his former determination be Imprinted."

Ralegh would meet Gascoigne often at Sir Humfrey's house, and to Gascoigne he probably owed his first impulse towards literature. For George Gascoigne was the most considerable man writing at that time; and though his work contained no actual greatness, it was very much on the right lines, that is to say, he was steeped in Chaucer and Gower, and acknowledged them his masters, rather than classical authors. Not that he was ignorant of either Latin or Greek; on the contrary, he was intimate with both, and his "Jocasta," which he adapted from an Italian translation by Dolce of the "Ph[oe]nissæ" of Euripides, was not only one of the first plays in blank verse, but also was the first known attempt to produce translated tragedy upon the English stage.

And therein lies Gascoigne's chief quality. He was an innovator and original, and that bespeaks force of character, a trait which must have drawn young Ralegh to him. For like attracts like in a mysterious manner.

Gascoigne holds an interesting place in the literature of the time. Since the publication of "Tottel's Miscellany," in 1557, there had, for some thirty years, been a distinct lull in the output of poetry, and the work of Gascoigne was a prelude to the revival that came about the years 1579-1582, when Sidney, Spenser, Watson, and Lyly first made their appearance, the true harbingers of the mighty tempest of song that broke upon the world in 1590, and continued for some twenty amazing years.

He tried his hand, diffidently, as became a gentleman, at every form; realizing and pointing out, as it were, the capacity of the great instrument of the English language. "It is no mean feat," as an eminent scholar says, "to rank in history as George Gascoigne ranks with fair documentary evidence to prove his title as the actual first practitioner in English of comedy in prose, satire in regular verse, short prose tales, translated tragedy and literary animadversion" (in which word the eminent scholar refers to a short technical account of the making of English verse, prefixed to the "Steele Glas").

And apart from his writing, to which he devoted specially the last years of his life, there would be much that he would have in common with young Ralegh. Indeed, his life resembles in little the subsequent career of Ralegh himself, and the device, "Tam Marti quam Mercurio," suited him as nicely as it suited Ralegh who afterwards, by adopting the device, made it famous. He was the son of a gentleman of Bedfordshire, Sir John Gascoigne, and after going to Cambridge and being a member of Grays Inn, he served in Holland fighting for the Dutch under William, Prince of Orange, and had many strange adventures. On his return to London he had some post at Court, the exact nature of which is not known, and he sat twice as Member of Parliament for Bedfordshire. What is of special interest is, that he was in close touch with the Earl of Leicester, and Lord Grey de Wilton; for in 1575, when the Queen made her famous visit to Kenilworth, it was Gascoigne who was commissioned to devise masks for her entertainment; and it is Lord Grey de Wilton to whom he dedicates the chief of his poems. Therefore it is extremely probable that young Ralegh owed to him, if not his actual introduction to Leicester, at any rate a great furtherance of Leicester's notice of Ralegh. It is surely more than coincidence that Gascoigne's chief patrons should have also been among Ralegh's principal helpers.

And Gascoigne's early death, at the age of forty, in 1577, would impress his influence upon his young friend, and that influence is discoverable in the directness and freedom from literary affectation of any kind, which is very noticeable in the work of both. And it is interesting to speculate whether, without Gascoigne, Ralegh would ever have possessed knowledge and insight enough to realize later Spenser's worth, which the scholar Harvey (no mean authority at that time) completely failed to see. Be that as it may, the friendship of Gascoigne and Ralegh anticipates pregnantly that friendship of his with Spenser which was of importance to the literature of the world.

But Ralegh was no paragon of a young man continually engaged in staid discourse with his elders. It is refreshing to have authority for a different and delightfully human glimpse of his life. The authority is Aubrey, and Aubrey loved gossip—and especially scandalous gossip—so fervidly, that his stories bear the hall-mark of truth, apart from the fact that they are too ridiculous to be worth even Aubrey's while to fabricate. This is the tale, which Aubrey is careful to mention (his solemnity in telling his gossip comes little short of genius), was recounted to him by Dr. John Gell. "In his youthful time was one Charles Chester, that often kept company in his acquaintance: he was a bold, impertinent fellow, and they could never be at quiet for him; a perpetual talker and made a noise like a drumme in a roome. So one time at a taverne Sir W. R. beates him and seales up his mouthe (i.e. his upper and neather beard) with hard wax." Probably Charles Chester took this summary Elizabethan hint, but Aubrey throws no light on the hint's effect.

MAP OF LONDON

[Click here for larger image.]

The little incident is typical, not so much of Ralegh, though it shows his swift vigour, as of the times. Such a thing happening now would be likely to cause a scandal which would be known to most of the civilized world. Then the continents were being discovered which would now join in the outcry of amazement or laughter.

London was small. St. Paul's was the centre of life: Chepeside was the main and fashionable street; the streets were narrow and the houses were chiefly built of wood. The Mermaid Tavern was in Friday Street. There were large residences with gardens in the city, public gardens on Tower Hill, and green graveyards round the churches. The river, crossed by one bridge—London Bridge—was in constant use; and a wall ran round the semicircle of the city. Temple Bar, Holborn Bar, Aldgate, Bishopsgate, Aldersgate, the bar at Smithfield, the bar on the Whitechapel highway—the gates and bars tell the city area, and outside the walls clustered the Liberties, where vagrants had their quarters.

London was becoming crowded. In 1580 the Lord Burghley took measures to stop the expansion of the city, and from his table of births and deaths the population has been estimated at about ninety thousand. That figure is only approximate. There was no actual census until some eighty years later, when John Graunt, of Birchin Lane, at length succeeded in his scheme.

London was lively. Men lived much more in the streets. Merchants met customers there, and lawyers conversed with their clients. "Newgate Market, Cheapeside, Leaden Hall, and Gracechurch Street were unmeasurably pestered with the unimaginable increase and multiplicity of Market folkes, as well by carts as otherwise, to the great vexation of all the inhabitants, annoyance of the streete trouble, and danger to all passengers as well Coaches, Carts, etc. Horses as otherwise," writes Howes, giving the reason why magistrates of the City, in 1615, reduced the rude vast place of Smithfield into comely order for a market, and the citizens began their new pavement of broad free-stone close to their shops, and took down all the high causes in the Strand and Holborn. West Smithfield was called Ruffian's Hall, because there the young men used to fight with sword and buckler. Duelling was prevalent—one of the sincerities of human life which bursts through the thickest quilted formulas, as Carlyle ejaculates. Fighting was as common an amusement and exercise as cricket and football are now. Every serving man, from the base to the best, carried a buckler at his back. Rapier and dagger, however, which began about this time, made fighting less common, for it was far more dangerous than the manner of fighting with buckler and sword. "It was usuall to have Frays, Fightes and Quarrels upon the Sundayes and Holidayes, sometimes twenty, thirty and forty Swords and Bucklers, halfe against halfe, as well by quarrells of appointment as by chance: especially from the midst of Aprill untill the end of October by reason that Smithfield was then free from dirte and plashes. And in the winter season, all the high streetes were much annoyed and troubled with hourely frayes of sword and buckler men who took pleasure in that bragging fight. And although they made great shew of muche furie and fought often, yet seldom any man hurt, for thrusting was not then in use; neither would one in twentie strike beneath the waste by reason that they held it cowardly and beastly."

Pageants and processions enlivened the streets. The Queen and her courtiers could not hold aloof, and did not wish to. The Queen shared her father's liking for being on terms of cheerful repartee with the people. A courtier's arrival was a small event, for he travelled in state with a large retinue. Young gentlemen attached themselves to a great man, and wore his colours. And the great man needed a large number of followers, for his only means of keeping in touch with affairs and with friends was by messenger, and such messengers were necessarily brave and trustworthy men.

Up the Thames came ships loaded, perhaps, with treasure from foreign countries, and their men would land and spread news of battles in the Netherlands or Spain; or they would have strange tales to tell of new lands which they had found, of the manners of strange new peoples, of adventures with bears or morses or Spaniards, tales of marvellous wealth waiting for a daring hand to take, of countries where the sun never set, of seas where meremaiden swam, and where the sound of the cracking ice was loud as the crash of artillery. Small wonder that the poets found inspiration in the London taverns, and that men lived almost in the streets, where at any moment they might meet some fellow with a new tale of the world's wonder that might very likely be true.

London was no place in which a man could easily remain inert. The unexpected constantly occurred on account of the dramatic way that news was inevitably brought. News came like vivid flashes of light on darkness, and these flashes were continual.

Ralegh's energy had always been conspicuous, even in those times. He was no slug, as Aubrey pithily puts it. And now it is that one of the great ideas of his life came to him, perhaps the greatest. We hear of him as connected with Sir Humfrey Gilbert's enterprise for discovering the north-west passage. Sir Humfrey was instigated by his navigator's desire to find a nearer passage to the East. But Ralegh widened in his mind the scope of the scheme, with him it expanded into something immeasurably greater. He saw the overcrowding of London beyond the limits of health and of comfort, and this overcrowding was troubling the level head of the great Burghley, who tried to cope with it by restricting the building of new houses. Ralegh was a man whose nature always was "to turn necessity to glorious gain." He saw the tremendous possibilities of this superabundance of men, how, if they could be placed in these new lands, they would prove of infinite value to the old country which, by their presence, they were annoying. He knew that Spaniards had settled in wild new lands, and lived there for a time like marauders, and returned home with wealth which they had wrung from the natives. But his idea was larger; it was the first proper plan of colonization, for his imagination carried him far on into the future beyond the time of a generation or two, beyond the seizing of immediate wealth. The vastness of the scheme appealed to him; the difficulties he realized to be so great that they were worth a man's while to grapple with.

And the scheme held him by its enthralling interest, not only because he was ambitious (as all men worth anything are), and saw in it a means of furthering his ambitions; not only because he was patriotic, and saw in it a means of furthering his country's good, but primarily for the scheme's own sake. The idea obsessed him as an idea quite apart from its consequences, and whether the result would be good or bad; that would only be proved by the event, and that doubtless added enormously to the interest. But an inventor or a pioneer in any new field, who thinks chiefly of the consequences, does not get far on his journey. That part of any action is more profitably left to his friends and his advisers, and they are never far to seek.

Those were not the days of specialization. Affairs were not so intricate that an expert was needed to work out every branch of a subject. Less was known too; and a man of average intelligence could learn all there was to learn of most things without the standard of knowledge in each making him appear ignorant of all.

In June, 1578, Sir Humfrey Gilbert who, as has been said, had been busily engaged for many years in the discovery of a north-west passage, obtained a royal charter for the greater purpose. "Elizabeth by the grace of God, Queen of England, etc. To all people to whom these presents shall come, greeting. Know that of our especial grace certaine science and mere motion we have given and granted and by these presents for us our heires and successours doe give and grant to our trustie and well beloved servant Sir Humfrey Gilbert of Compton in our Countie of Devonshire knight, and to his heires and assignes for ever free libertie and license from time to time and at all times for ever hereafter to discover, finde, searche out and view such remote heathen and barbarous landes countries and territories, not actually possessed of any Christian prince or people, as to him his heires and assignes and to every or anie of them shall seem good: and the same to have hold, occupy and enjoy...." run the letters patent with their royal paraphernalia of phrase.

And in September, 1578, Gilbert had overcome the initial difficulty of collecting provisions sufficient to victual his eleven ships for a year, and of picking the right men for the enterprise, two matters of enormous importance. In the latter he was not successful. Sir Francis Knollys owned some of the ships, and his son went on the expedition. This son sowed dissension where unity was a vital necessity; he insulted Sir Humfrey Gilbert, and at length deserted. Contrary winds delayed the expedition, which became disorganized, and after a fight with the Spaniards was recalled. Ralegh was captain of a ship named the Falcon, and that was in all probability his first engagement at sea.

The expedition was on such a large scale that the Spanish authorities in England clamoured for its recall; and there is ample evidence, as Edwards remarks, to show that Ralegh was as much feared and hated in 1578 by the Spaniards, as ever he was at any later period of his career. They tried always to thwart his great scheme of colonization, the greatness of which they realized, seeing the danger of it to their own possessions, and for a time they succeeded in their aims.

It is in connection with this expedition that Ralegh's name first appears in the Council Book.

CHAPTER IV

THE ARRIVAL

In Ireland—The state of the country—Cruelty of the wars—At Rakele—Illustrative anecdotes—Smerwick—Ralegh's initiative—Lord Grey de Wilton—Exploit at Bally—In touch with the home authorities.

The scene changes to Ireland, where the continual fighting served as a training-ground—with France and the Netherlands—for the energies of the young gentleman of the period. Ireland seemed at this time to popish powers a suitable starting-place from which to overset the rule of the woman Elizabeth, who dared to establish again a Church independent of Rome, and to put her woman's self at the head of it. But the popish powers were mistaken in their choice. It is true that the Irish were devoutly Catholic; they were better pleased however to fight out their own feuds than to join together in any way for any cause. They were lawless and savage; and not even their hatred of the invading English could serve to concentrate them. They were far too impatient for serious warfare. They liked to come upon a foe—a Butler on a Geraldine—like a whirlwind, fight a terrific battle, and make off to their homes to listen to the songs by their bards, chanted in praise of their undying prowess, "as those Bardes and rythmers doe for a little reward or a share of a stolen cow," until the man of prowess praised "waxed most insolent and halfe madde with the love of himself and his own lewd deeds. Of a most notorious thiefe ... one of their Bardes will say, That he was none of the milkesops that was brought up by the fireside, but that most of his dayes he spent in armes and valiant enterprises, that he did never eat his meat until it was won by the sword, that he lay not all night slugging under his mantle but used commonly to keep others waking to defend their lives, and did light his candle at the flames of their houses to bade him in the darknesse ... and finally that he died not bewayled of many, but made many waile when he died, that dearly bought his death."

Such men were not ripe for the burden of a great cause. But one Sanders, an English Jesuit already past middle age, meeting with Fitzmaurice in Spain, formed a capital project of passing over to Ireland, subduing it, and passing from Ireland to England and driving out Elizabeth and her nation of Protestants.

In May, 1579, they landed at Dingle, after having on their voyage taken a small Bristol vessel, the sailors and captain of which they pitched into the sea. The landing at Dingle was impressive as the ceremony, which inaugurated the coming of the true religion, must needs be. "Two friars stepped first on shore; a bishop followed, mitre on head and crosier in hand, then Sanders, with the consecrated banner, and after him Fitzmaurice."

But the expedition did not rise to the level of its inauguration. It served only to stir up a savage rebellion in Munster, and to bring devastation upon the country.

It was to help quell the insurrection that Ralegh came to Ireland as captain of a company of one hundred foot-soldiers at the end of 1579, or the beginning of 1580.

The war—if war it can be called—was carried on with savage cruelty on both sides. Less could not be expected. The times were not gentle, when little girls in London might see men hung and quartered, and limbs stared down from the chief gates of most cities. Nor would mercy be expected from generals who came to Ireland as Pelham came, and as Lord Grey de Wilton came, regarding Ireland as the grave of reputation. To Ralegh, too, the service was itself distasteful. He writes with characteristic vigour of phrase to the Earl of Leicester, "I would disdayn it as mich to keap sheepe. I will not trouble your honor with the busyness of this loste land; for that Sir Warram Sentleger can best of any man deliver unto your lordshipe the good, the bad, the mischief, the means to amende, and all in all of this common welthe or rather common woe."

The English soldiery regarded the Irish as savages who would not live at peace, and must be exterminated, with the exception of the actual tillers of the ground or churls as they were called. And this point of view was encouraged by those in authority, who had neither men nor money to spare for guarding and feeding prisoners. "Death," as Froude says, "was the only gaoler their finances could support." Nothing can extenuate cruelty; but it is well to face the fact that cruelty, and cruelty not greatly less atrocious than this, was an absolute attribute of the Elizabethan age. The one quality, which runs through all the pages of every history of every man and every movement, is vitality—intense, burning vitality; and this vitality illumined the literature, chaotic as much of it is, and beat pulsing through the veins of the nation, explaining its magnificent advance, and enthusiasm and greatness, even as it explains its brutality. England was like a boy who is suddenly conscious of being strong and of being free, with all the capacity of some young Hercules and all his reckless faults.

When Ralegh joined the Irish service, Lord Justice Pelham was in the position of Lord Deputy. Soon after his arrival, however, Pelham was recalled, greatly to his pleasure, and Lord Grey de Wilton, Gascoigne's patron and general in the Netherlands, undertook the command of the forces, and the Earl of Ormond, an Irishman, was made Lieutenant of Munster. These were Ralegh's chiefs; and his criticism of their methods of management first brought him, as will be seen later, under the direct notice of the great Burghley.

As an active soldier, however, his exploits are exciting and adventurous, and they are not hidden in the obscurity which hid his exploits in France. The same Hooker who has been already quoted, records them with pride in his continuation of Holinshed's Chronicles.

Ralegh was once stationed with a troop of cavalry at Rakele under Lord Grey. He was always a well-eyed man and observed that the Irish were in the habit of hurrying down upon an encampment immediately it had been abandoned. Accordingly, he made a plan to surprise them, and the plan was successful. He captured a considerable number of prisoners. One of the Irish carried a bundle of withies, and Ralegh went up to him and asked him why he carried the withies. "To hang English churls with," was the blunt answer. "Is that so?" said Ralegh. "They shall now serve for an Irish kerne." And without more ado he bade his men hang him to the nearest tree. The repartee was prompt and savage. It is typical of the time that it should have happened; and intensely typical that a careful record should have been made in contemporary history.

Another time we read that Ralegh, on a small expedition to a certain Lord Barry, of Barry Court, in a fight against great odds, twice at his own personal peril rescued one Henry Moyle, who twice was caught in the soft bog. "He was unhorsed, and stood with his pistol and quarter-staff, one man against twenty." History does not relate what he said to Henry Moyle on his return to camp. The two stories stand well side by side. At the tragic sacking of Smerwick Ralegh was one of the captains ordered to carry out the last desperate instructions: the siege is illustrative not only of that bad Irish campaign, but also shows what a personal part high officers used to take in battles.

A second band of Papal soldiers, comprised of Italians, Spaniards and Frenchmen, came to Ireland in 1580, and made Smerwick their headquarters, a fort on the shore fully exposed to the Atlantic winds. Here Lord Grey came upon them, but was obliged to wait eight days with his men until Sir William Winter arrived in Ventry harbour with cannon and ammunition, and at length joined Admiral Bingham in Smerwick Bay. Lord Grey galloped down over the sands to welcome Winter. Speedily the cannon were landed and placed in position before the fort, and the bombardment began. The English crept nearer after the first day, until the cannon were within a cable's length of the wall, and Sir William Winter himself taking careful aim, brought down the enemy's chief piece, and a man appeared on the ramparts waving a white hand-kerchief. The firing ceased. Then Signor Jeffrey, an Italian, came to entreat grace from the Lord Deputy, but grace was refused him. "Afterward their Coronnel Don Sebastian came forth to intreate that they might part with their armes like souldiers, at the least with their lives according to the custome of war ... it was strongly denied him and told him by the Lord Deputie himselfe that they could not justly pleade either custome of warre or lawe of nations—for that they were not any lawfull enemies...." The Pope sent them? asked Lord Grey de Wilton, and declared himself surprised, the bitter old enthusiast, that gentlemen should undertake a commission from "a detestable shaveling the right antichrist and patron of the doctrine of devils." He would only agree to wait till morning. So on the morning of the next November day, the garrison, seven hundred men, piled their arms, and with a few women and children stood waiting, while the great Atlantic waves beat coldly, sullenly on the shore. "Then put I in certain bands who fell straight to execution," writes Grey, with grim brevity. Six hundred men in all were slain that November morning, and Grey had the bodies stripped and laid in neat lines upon the shore, and Grey looked at them without emotion, and thought them "as gallant and goodly personages as ever I saw." So he wrote to the Queen, informing her of the victory, and the Queen wrote back thanking him, adding a postscript in her own hand (a special mark of honour) warmly approving of his action: and Camden courteously lies when he says that Grey shed tears and Elizabeth wished the cruelty had been unnecessary. Captain of one of these "certain bands" was Walter Ralegh. Edmund Spenser was at this time secretary to Lord Grey de Wilton, and he writes in that scholarly graphic treatise in dialogue form, which has been already quoted, namely the "View of the State of Ireland"—"Whereupon the said Coronell did absolutely yeeld himselfe and the fort, with all therein, and craved only mercy, which it being not thought good to shew them, for danger of them, if, being saved they should afterwards join with the Irish; and also for terrour to the Irish who are much imboldened by those forraigne succours, and also put in hope of more ere long: there was no other way, but to make that short end of them as was made." Thus writes Edmund Spenser, the author of the "Faërie Queen," a man not famous for his ferity.

Praise and blame are easy to dispense: but they are dangerous commodities. They raise too freely the thick white dust of prejudice which even dims eyes which are anxious to observe a neighbour, and effectually blinds eyes that wish to peer into the recesses of a bygone age. Let us be glad if we are more human and more humane, and avoid hugging ourselves too closely on imagined superiority. Violent death stalked down every alley of life; and violent death is not more dreadful than the haggard existence in which millions are nursed to-day. Our cruelty is a little less apparent, and more respectable. That is at any rate something. Let us be thankful for that, and let us by all means subscribe to the Home for Lost Cats.

But Ralegh was not content with the perils and excitement of active service. He possessed initiative. He saw the masses of money that were being spent, and saw that full value was not being obtained. The war in his opinion was being mismanaged. He did not hesitate to write to the authorities at home, stating in round terms what his opinion was. It is not surprising that Lord Grey de Wilton was annoyed by the young man's audacity. "I neither like his carriage," he writes to Walsingham, "nor his company: and therefore other than by direction and commandment, and what his right can require he is not to expect at my hands." Apart from the administration of the war there was little in common between the two men. Lord Grey was a staunch Protestant, unwavering in his religious zeal, and blind in his hatred of Popery. He would have passed through Ireland, had he had his will, with the sword gripped in one hand and the Bible and the English Prayer-book clasped tightly in the other.

Ralegh was not that order of man. There was nothing grim and nothing austere about him. He was a man of address. Lord Grey was stiff and blunt, a Puritan a little before his proper time. Very characteristic is the sentence in his letter to the Queen, telling of the death of young Cheke. "So wrought in him God's spirit, plainly declaring him a child of his; elected to be no less comfort of his good and godly friends than great instruction and manifest motion of every other hearer that stood by, of whom there was a good troop." He was inclined to regard most things from the standpoint of religious experience. He was not addicted to humanity.

The Irish were not only rebels against his country; they were what was far worse—rebels against his own faith, and he sullenly objected to any measures which might serve to bring them into line with English interests. He wished to force his own salvation upon them rather than to make them useful subjects of the Queen.

That must have been where Ralegh chiefly differed from him. And there is an interesting example of this difference and of one of Ralegh's chief powers, to wit his influence over men. For Ralegh was wise and politic. He saw the state of affairs in Ireland and formed in his mind a definite plan of action—to use Irish factions to English purpose, and not to allow them to try and join under the cause of another religion. The most dangerous enemies were the crafty instigators in the background; and one of the most influential of these was an Anglo-Irish chieftain, named Lord Roche, who lived at Bally, some twenty miles from Cork where Ralegh was stationed. Ralegh convinced Lord Grey of the importance of bringing this feeder of revolt as prisoner to Cork, and undertook to do so himself with his small band of followers. And this he did by sheer dexterity and daring in the teeth of overwhelming difficulty. For the Seneschal of Imokelly, one Fitz-Edmonds, had wind of Ralegh's intention, and lay in ambush for him with eight hundred men. But Ralegh outwitted him by his speed and dashed with his small party through the ambuscade. That was not all. Arrived at Bally, he was met by five hundred townsmen and tenantry of Lord Roche. These men he held at bay with the larger part of his band, and himself, with six chosen men, rode on to Lord Roche's castle. At the gate he called out that he desired to speak with Lord Roche, and was answered that he would not be permitted to enter with more than two followers. But while he and the seneschal were parleying, the six of them slipped into the gate, and gained admission for another party which Ralegh had bidden follow him at a short interval, the attention of the warders being engaged by Ralegh, so that before the Irish knew what had happened, they found the castle courtyard full of musketeers, armed and standing to attention. Ralegh meanwhile was in the presence of Lord Roche, who was forced to treat the intruder as a guest, and sturdily maintaining his loyalty to the Queen, ordered his servants to bring in a banquet. Ralegh listened with all courtesy; and said that it was the will of the Lord Deputy of Ireland to hear with his own ears this noble confession of loyalty, and that he must beg leave to escort Lord Roche and his family to Cork. Lord Roche demurred. Ralegh insisted. It is difficult to decide whether the situation appealed more strongly to his sense of humour or to his sense of power. The Irish chieftain at his own table in the banqueting-hall of his own castle, surrounded by his men and the young captain with his two soldiers inside, some dozen in the courtyard and a few more dozen in the town, twenty miles from any assistance! "Desperation begetteth courage but not greater nor so lively as doth assured confidence," he wrote some thirty years later. Now his courage was certainly backed by both.

Gradually Lord Roche came to realize the inflexible determination of the young man; and agreed to what by Ralegh's inevitable personal strength of will became his only possible course. He consented to go to Cork, and went. The story does not end here. Not only did he go to Cork, but from being the Queen's dangerous foe, he became, through Ralegh's influence, the Queen's loyal supporter and staunch friend, and three of his sons actually were slain fighting for the Queen's cause in Ireland. That was one of Ralegh's triumphs. It shows the mettle of the man and his power over others, and more than that it bears out strikingly a distinct line of policy, which he formed then and expressed later, in dealing with the disaffected. Minding these Irish experiences, it is interesting to read what he says of Amilcar's treatment of the mercenaries in revolt. "Against these inconveniences, Mercy and Severity, used with due respect, are the best remedies. In neither of which Amilcar failed. For as long as these his own soldiours were in any way likely to be reclaimed by gentle courses, his humanitie was ready to invite them. But when they were transported with beastly outrage beyond all regard of honesty and shame, he rewarded their villainie with answerable vengeance, casting them unto wilde beasts to be devoured."

Moreover, it is certain that Lord Burghley respected Ralegh's judgment, for there is a remarkable paper extant written in the handwriting of both, which shows that Burghley conferred privately with Ralegh about the Irish rebellion. The document is dated October 25, 1582, and is inscribed with the words, "The opinion of Mr. Rawley upon motions made to hym for the meanes of subduyng the Rebellion in Monster." And in it the point upon which Ralegh chiefly insists is the pressing need to win over the Irish chieftains to the Queen's cause; as he had himself already done conspicuously in the case of Lord Roche.

There is a story that Ralegh owed his first introduction to the Queen's favour by his address in a conference before her, in which he proved his opinion, man to man, against Lord Grey de Wilton, his superior; but whether this story with all its dramatic possibilities is valid or not, it is certain that his conduct in Ireland brought him into great notice: and he was not the man easily to slip from any advantage he had gained. We hear of him joining the Earl of Leicester in a state mission to the Netherlands, and then he bursts into final brilliant prominence as courtier and his Queen's favourite.

CHAPTER V

QUEEN'S FAVOURITE

Court life—The Queen's position—Her character—She takes notice of Ralegh—Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester—Sir Philip Sidney—Burghley, the Lord High Treasurer, and Walsingham—Robert Cecil—The dress of the courtier—The language of the courtier—The other side, and the other Queen—Mary, Queen of Scots—The great intrigue—Its discovery—Death of Queen Mary.

The Court was the brilliant feature of the time. The Court was not confined to ceremonial functions and presentations—it was not a bath in which a man or a woman must be dipped before he or she could lay any real claim to distinguished respectability. The Court had a vivid existence of its own. "It was the centre, not of government alone, but of the fine arts: the exemplar of culture and civilization." The Court held a lien on the gaiety and life of the time. Courtiers and merchants (the two chief classes) were as distinct as a little later were town and gown at the Universities. To be a proper courtier became a cult.

Three great books, extraordinarily typical of the Renaissance, were written in almost identical years, books which pointed to new scope for the State, for the Prince, and for the private man. In 1513 Machiavel completed The Prince, in 1516 Sir Thomas More's Utopia was published, and in the same year Count Baldassare Castiglione finished his Book of the Courtier.

The dream of the Utopia may never be realized; but in some seventy-five years a close example of the Prince and of the Courtier were found in Queen Elizabeth, and in many of the men who surrounded her. The Book of the Courtier was translated into all the languages of Europe, and became the text-book of the cult. Its English translator was Thomas Hoby, and his work, as has been seen, was commended by the judicious Ascham. Castiglione was chaffed for moulding his own conduct precisely on the model of the perfect courtier he portrays in his book; and he could not but confess that the man of his imagination was the man he would choose to be. And, indeed, it would be what every courtier would aspire to be, as Wordsworth's Happy Warrior,

"This is the happy Warrior, this is he
That every man in arms should wish to be."

The Courtier must be gallant in the use of arms, proficient in all exercises of the body, skilled in all exercises of the mind; he must be ready and witty of tongue; he must be well-born and distinguished. But his realm is beyond the mere enterprise of accomplishments and birth. For the book ends with Bembo's great praise of Beauty—that Beauty "which is the origin of all other beawtye, whiche never encreaseth nor diminisheth always bewtifull and of itself ... most simple. This is the beawtye unseperable from the high bountye, whiche with her voyce calleth and draweth to her all thynges...," and an understanding of this Heavenly Beauty must be the final trait of the Perfect Courtier.

And it is well to bear this in mind. For this feeling for beauty existed in the Elizabethan courtier, just as it gave the finishing touch to Castiglione's hero; and existed as really as the more conspicuous qualities of gallantry and strength and intellect. Vitality, as has been said again and again, was the keynote of the age; and it is apparent in this aspiration towards beauty, just as it is apparent in reckless cruelty. The compass of the age was immense. And every instinct, every tendency of brute or god, raged with intense life, and was expressed Nothing lay dormant. The centre of all this life, of all this genius for living was the Court; and the illustrious head of the Court was Queen Elizabeth.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

Guy de Maupassant has written a story of a small band of French soldiers who are at the last gasp with hunger and weariness and cold. They cannot march any further. They are content to lie down in the snow and die. But two fugitives come running to them, an old man and his grand-daughter, a young girl. "Allons les camarades," cries the Sergeant Pratique, "faut porter cette demoiselle-là ou bien nous n' sommes pu Français, nom d'un chien." So the worn-out men forget their weariness and carry her; they dare the cold and strip off their overcoats to keep her warm; they find new courage and drive back a party of the enemy, and they reach the French lines in safety. "What's that you're carrying?" asks a soldier. "Aussitôt une petite figure blonde apparut, depeignée et souriante qui répondit, 'C'est moi, monsieur.' Un rire s'éleva parmi les hommes et une joie courut dans leurs c[oe]urs. Alors Pratique agita son képi en vociferant, 'Vive la France.'"

There in little is the exact nature of Elizabeth's influence, and her influence was conscious and acted, not upon the immediate Court alone, but upon England. De Maupassant does not give any details of the girl, nothing of her character, not even her name. They are not relevant to his purpose. She may have as many faults in her small way as Elizabeth had in her great way. He does not mention them.

Such a mass of detail, however, is known about Elizabeth, and her faults have been so relentlessly exposed in the interest of Truth—her meanness, her avarice, her treachery, her wantonness, and what not—that the whole picture of the woman who was learned enough to speak in public impromptu in Latin and could converse in many languages, of the woman who was great enough to cause her own worship to be the fashion, and the sincere fashion, of the woman who was sufficiently beautiful and sufficiently distinguished to shine like a diamond on the forehead of that resplendent age,—is almost lost to view, so clouded with the dust of detraction has that picture become.

She was the very epitome of the time. All the brutality and energy and brilliance of that brutal, vital age found their counterpart in her. And she was a woman, a fitting contemporary of Catherine de Medicis. But she was too much a politician to be a good woman; and too much a woman to be a good politician.

To all the power which a beautiful woman, and a woman strong in body and intellect and passion, always has possessed and always will possess, she added the prestige of being Queen of England. Whereas the passions of her father threw Europe into confusion, the love affairs of Elizabeth, less impetuously managed, often held the balance between nations and brought every royal prince to England as suitor for her hand, and the great English courtiers scowled or laughed at them, but were kept in allegiance by their sovereign.

Wit, birth, and bearing found favour in her sight. There was no room at her Court for a fool. She loved wit as she loved splendour.

The Queen had heard of Humfrey Gilbert's nephew from Humfrey Gilbert's aunt, one of her intimate attendant women; and when Ralegh first came into notice by his exploits in Ireland, she was inclined to favour him. She was interested in his career, as a letter bears witness in which she writes, "... for that our pleasure is to have our Servaunt Walter Rawley treyned some longer tyme in that our realme for his better experience in Martiall affaires, and for the special care we have to doe him good in respect of his kyndred that have served us some of them (as you knowe) neer aboute our Parson: theise are to require youe that the leading of the said bande may be committed to the said Rawley."

Many stories are extant about his first meeting with Elizabeth. Truth hides in all of them. Some say that the Queen was present when Lord Grey de Wilton and young Ralegh were put face to face in a council chamber before Lord Burghley, and that she was struck by the power and skill with which he made good his case, proving the lack of judgment Lord Grey had shown in conducting the affairs of the war. Old Thomas Fuller, that worthiest of his own worthies (he had an eye for romantic effect, steadfast as he was for truth in matters of importance), relates that "Her Majesty, meeting with a plashy place, made some scruple to go on; when Ralegh (dressed in the gay and genteel habit of those times) presently cast off and spread his new plush cloak on the ground, whereon the Queen trod gently over, rewarding him afterwards with many suits for his so free and seasonable tender of so fair a footcloth. Thus an advantageous admission into the notice of a prince is more than half a degree to preferment." Industrious Fuller does not leave it at that; he proceeds to tell how Ralegh wrote on a window in the Queen's presence,

"Fain would I climb, but that I fear to fall,"

and how the Queen added with more grace than rhythm,

"If thy heart fail thee, climb not at all."

Ralegh's heart did not fail him. He became the Queen's lover; and his influence over the Queen was so recognized that Tarleton, the famous comedian, dared, during a performance, to add point to the words, "See, the knave commands the queen," by stretching out his hand towards Ralegh, who stood by the Queen. And Elizabeth, it is recorded, frowned. Swift was his ascent to fortune, came the first step how it may.

Elizabeth was too clever to try to lay aside her sex, though she was a skilful markswoman, an able horse-woman. Even her staid Archbishop Whitgift she used to tease, saying (as Isaac Walton gravely records as a fair testimony of her piety) that "she would never eat flesh in Lent without obtaining a License from her little black husband: and that she pitied him because she trusted him."

She was so born a Queen that she was able to do and say the most dangerous things without losing her distinction, or lessening her dignity.

And it is small wonder in those days when in England the whole force of the Renaissance turned as it were to a rapture of patriotism that such a Queen should be the visible emblem of the country, and be herself worshipped. Men might rave at her whims, they were driven frantic by them, but in their hearts they cherished her as Queen of themselves and Queen of their country. Fortunately for herself, and fortunately for England, her intellect mastered her passions, though that does not prove that she was passionless: far from it. There is nothing to justify that last scandal of a moral age which would damn her as a feelingless flirt. Lord Bacon, the wise Baron of Verulam, summed the matter up pithily, attaching its right value to the question, which, after all, is a paltry one, when, in writing on the Fortunate Memory, he says: "She suffered herself to be honoured and carressed and celebrated and extolled with the name of Love; and wished it, and continued it beyond the suitability of her age. If you take these things more softly, they may not even be without some admiration, because such things are commonly found in our fabulous narratives of a Queen in the Islands of Bliss, with her hall and her institutes, who receives the administrations of Love, but prohibits its licentiousness. If you judge them more severely, still they have this admirable circumstance, that gratifications of this sort did not much hurt her reputation, and not at all her majesty; nor ever relaxed her government, nor were any notable impediment to her State affairs." And it must be remembered that the times were neither fastidious nor gentle, and that when Bacon says licentiousness (lasciviam is the Latin word he uses) he meant licentiousness. Elizabeth was too sane, and too clever, and too busy to have time to be licentious: just as she could not have retained her control over men and control over herself, seen in the adroit way in which she managed the foreign princes, if she had remained what is called pure.

Masterly was her knowledge and treatment of men. Roughly speaking, they were divided into two classes; those whom she liked, and those whom she valued: but she kept them all imperiously to her will. The great Burghley was her man of business; he and his son Robert Cecil were her chief statesmen, and well she knew their value: capricious and exacting as she might be, she respected their advice and gave way to it. "Burghley," wrote Leicester, at the height of his arrogant power, "could do more with her in an hour than others in seven years." And he wrote concerning some political business. Never, when Leicester had most influence with the Queen, did she ever allow him to control her political actions, or in any way to supplant Cecil.

Robert Dudley, born about the year 1532, made Earl of Leicester in 1564, enjoyed the Queen's good-will more continuously and more to his advantage than any other of her lovers. He was regarded as the chief man in England by the ambassadors of foreign princes: he was for a long time the most magnificent. But Elizabeth kept always to her maxim, that England should be a country with one mistress and no master; much to Leicester's displeasure. His desire was to be master. He suggests a comparison with Milton's Satan, "better to reign in Hell than to serve in Heav'n," when he tried, and tried with conspicuous ill-success, to become King of the Netherlands. By the old nobility, staunch Sussex and proud Norfolk, he was hated. With the Duke of Norfolk, he on one occasion came to blows, when, during a game of tennis, of which the Queen was a spectator, he snatched her pocket-hand-kerchief to wipe the sweat from his forehead. They thought him saucy and overweening. To the Queen his insolence was not unpleasant. Cecil disliked him (he does not appear a man to hate any one) and judiciously draws up papers contrasting Leicester and other suitors, especially the Archduke Charles, much to Leicester's disadvantage. But for all his glitter and influence, he was hated by the English people. His name had an ill sound ever since the untoward death of his wife, Amy Robsart. Though the pamphlet Leicester's Commonwealth is wholly unreliable, which among other slanders, states that the Lady Amy was actually murdered at his command, it is most probable that she committed suicide through misery at her neglect. Well enough men knew what was meant when the husband in the Yorkshire Tragedy says, after he has thrown his wife down and slain her:

"The surest way to charm a woman's tongue
Is—break her neck: a politician did it."

They thought of the stone staircase at Cumnor and shuddered. The people did not like his way of cheapening their Queen's good name: they did not like the man who caused scandals to arise round her. In 1560 Anne Dowe of Brentford was imprisoned for asserting that Elizabeth was with child by Robert Dudley; and she was the first of a long line of offenders who were punished for the same assertion.

And just as men hated Dudley for his arrogance, and for his daring to think even of setting himself beside their Queen, so they loved his nephew, Sir Philip Sidney, for the grace which his hand brought to everything which he touched. He fulfilled the ideal of Castiglione's Courtier. He was the antithesis of the rough, unmannered Dudley. In Dudley all the cruelty and ostentation and savage power of the time seem to find expression; whereas in Philip Sidney, all its grace and skill and poetry were manifest. Men vied with one another in his praises, men fought for the right to call him friend, and a woman became immortal by being "Sidney's sister." "Sidney, the Siren of this latter age," writes Barnefield; "divine Sir Philip," Michael Drayton calls him; and Ben Jonson, as though in defiance of the charge of exaggeration utters (you can hear him say it), "the godlike Sidney." Even the ribald Nash lowers his mad voice to the note of reverence, "Apollo hath resigned his Ivory Harpe unto Astrophel and he, like Mercury, must lull you a sleep with his musicke. Sleepe Argus, sleep Ignorance, sleep Impudence, for Mercury hath Io and onely Io Paean belongeth to Astrophel. Deare Astrophel, that in the ashes of thy Love livest againe like the Phoenix; o might thy bodie (as thy name) live againe likewise here amongst us; but the earthe, the mother of mortality hath snacht thee too soone into her chilled cold armes, and will not let thee by any meanes be drawne from her deadly imbrace; and thy divine Soule, carried on an Angels wings to heaven, is installed in Hermes place sole prolocutor to the Gods." His life was a poem, which all the men who lived with him, and all the men who knew his name, were great enough to read and to appreciate; his death is an example for all time. Fame with its common story cannot sully the brightness of the superb sacrifice of that superb self.

Dudley expressed the presumptuous vitality of the Court, and Sidney its vital poetry. A little aloof from the Court, which he was apt to regard with kindly disdain at its frivolity, moved the staid figure of Burghley, the Lord High Treasurer of England, Elizabeth's great man of business, perhaps the finest political intelligence that has ever thought out a way for a country through the most complicated difficulties, at a time when disaster crouched ever ready to spring and involve that country in ruin.

William Cecil had an absolute mastery over every detail; he possessed a genius for arrangement. Nothing escaped his notice. He was a kind of machine which attracted all the wild impulses of the time; they passed into the machine's mouth disordered, unarranged; and they passed out shaped, controlled by his slow inevitable will. As a statesman he appears hardly human in his freedom from all personality; he seems a mask hiding the brain of England, and regulating it to the only end where success could be. Men rose to fame fiercely struggling, and did brilliant acts or mad acts, and sank again or settled as the case might be; but always at the supreme head, always alert, always careful, impassive as some Eastern Buddha, sat the Lord Burghley, managing the affairs of the state, managing even the state's impulsive, whimsical mistress. His impassivity afflicted her at times, so that she played pranks on him, vainly endeavouring to upset his restraint and his dignity; but her pranks were hardly heeded. He was English to the solid backbone, and resisted unequivocally the rage of fashion that went out towards all that was foreign; and yet his foreign policy was unswerving and level-headed; he looked upon war as the last terrible resource of state-craft, in an age in which fighting was regarded as the highroad to glory, and was loved for its own wild sake. Elizabeth showed her knowledge of the right word when she called him her "spirit" and her "oracle"; and the courtiers their discernment of the obvious, when they called him "old fox." Together the two names describe him with some accuracy.

WILLIAM CECIL, LORD BURGHLEY

At his right hand worked Sir Francis Walsingham, who was more astute, but lacked Burghley's greatness of mind. Walsingham was an admirable servant: he would never have been successful under the full weight of responsibility. It was he who developed the system of espionage through every country in Europe, and brought it to an uncanny perfection. That system of secret messages was typical of the day; it was so easy to keep facts hidden, and to pervert them advantageously when news travelled so slowly, that it was a necessity to have reliable men on every spot to check statements and to watch events and tendencies. When Walsingham died in 1590, Burghley showed his indomitable energy by mastering the intricate cyphers and details connected with the business; he was then at the good age of seventy.

As his health failed, his son, Robert Cecil, took more and more of his great father's responsibilities upon himself; and "The Little Secretary," as the queen called him, became gradually the most important man in the realm. He was craftier than his father, and more adaptable, but he never rose to the greatness of Lord Burghley. His figure is not so imposing; there was something under-hand about his conduct, which does not appear in the slow, diplomatic wisdom of the older man.

There comes a strange interest in knowing that this great intelligence of Burghley arranged not only the affairs of the State, but the details of his household with the same impassive power. His steward writes to him about a new gown which is wanted for his mother: "The gown that you would make it must be for every day and yet because it comes from you (except you write to her to the contrary) she will make it her holiday gown, whereof she hath great store already, both of silk and cloth. But I think, sir, if you make her one of cloth with some velvet on it, with your letter to desire her for your sake to wear it daily, she would accustom herself to it: so as she would forget to go any longer in such base apparel as she hath used to have a delight in which is too mean for one of a lower estate than she is."

And of Burghley's earlier days, Roger Ascham gives an attractive glimpse in his introduction to The Schoolmaster, where he shows the man's methodical life and wide interests; for the renewal of learning did not at all pass Burghley by; he was an enthusiast about the proper pronunciation of the Greek tongue, and in 1541 was hotly engaged in the disputes. But to old Ascham: he writes about the important dinner, in 1563, at which the subject of his book was suggested to him: "M. Secretary hath this accustomed manner though his head be never so full of most weightie matters of the Realme, yet, at diner time he doth seeme to lay them alwaies aside; and findeth ever fit occasion to taulke pleasantly of other matters, but most gladly of some matter of learning: wherein he will curteslie heare the minde of the meanest at his table."

It is refreshing to see how in his private life he was a simple-minded man, who suffered from the gout and was plagued with quack remedies, all of which he carefully docketed, having no doubt tried their efficacy before he set them on one side.

Such were the chief figures when Ralegh came to the Court.

Nothing illustrates his rapid rise in favour so well as a letter which Ralegh writes to Lord Burghley from the Court at Greenwich. The letter shows that Burghley had asked for his help on behalf of his son-in-law, the Earl of Oxford, who was bitterly hostile to Ralegh and had, as may be gathered from the letter, gone out of his way to do him an injury. "I delivered Her Your Lordship's letter. What I said further, how honorable and profittabell it weare for Her Majestie to have regard to Your Lordship's healthe and quiett, I leve to the witnesse of God and good reporte of Her Highnesse. And the more to witnesse how desirous I am of Your Lordship's favor and good opinion, I am contente, for your sake, to laye the sarpente before the fire, as miche as in me lieth, that, having recovered strengthe, myself may be moste in danger of his poyson and stinge. For answere, Her Majestie would give me none other, but that she woulde satisfye Your Lordship, of whom she ever had, and would ever have, special regard.... I humblie take my lave. From Grenewiche this present Friday, May 12, 1583."

Here is Lord Burghley using the help of the young man whose valour and address in Ireland he had observed and whom he had helped to make. Ralegh is now prominent among the courtiers; he takes a leading part in the life of the Court, and the life of the Court is brilliant and occupied. The town was too small and the streets of the town too narrow for the courtiers to hold themselves aloof, as money allows the fashionable to do now; no special quarter of the town was assigned to them. They kept themselves distinct from the townspeople without the help of locality or space. The laws helped them, however, in the matter of dress. Curious sumptuary laws were still in force, which forbade any one under the degree of baron to have more than three linings to his breeches; which forbade any one whose income was less than £100 a year to wear satin, damask, silk, camlet, or taffeta, and any one who was not worth more than £200 to wear velvet or embroidery. "The English," writes Van Meteron, a Dutch historian and contemporary, "dress in elegant light and costly garments but they are very inconstant and desirous of novelties, changing their fashions every year, both men and women. When they go abroad riding or travelling, they don their best clothes, contrary to the practice of other nations." And to this craze for constant novelty in dress a contemporary poem bears amusing witness—

"Hees Hatted Spanyard-like, and bearded to,
Ruft Itallyon-like, pac'd like them also;
His hose and doublet Frenche: his boots and shoes
Are fashond Pole in heeles, but French in toes.
Oh! hees complete: what shall I descant on?
A compleate Foole? noe, compleate Englishe mon."

This fashion of dress lent wide scope to bad taste, and such books as Dekker's delightful Guls Hornbook show how hard gulls tried to be gallants and how ridiculously they often failed. And it gave the genuine courtier full scope for magnificence. Ralegh could wear white satin and pearls.

Not only in dress was the courtier distinct, but also in language. Fashions in speech were constantly in vogue. None was more pronounced than the fashion set by John Lyly, who wrote elegant court plays and the novel Euphues. Of Euphues with his instructive letters and sound moral tone Sir Charles Grandison is the direct descendant: Richardson owed as much to Lyly, as Defoe to Thomas Nash or Fielding to Defoe. But that is a literary by-path which leads to the history of fiction. His immediate influence was on the speech of the courtiers and the language of the Court. "That beautie in Court which could not parley Euphuisme was as shee which now there speaks not French." John Lyly came to Court about 1577 and was helped by Lord Burghley; perhaps the rage of affectation which he started, gave the stern Lord Treasurer a distaste for poets and was one of the reasons which made him disinclined to favour Spenser afterwards. Probably Lyly seemed innocuous enough at first, with his modest desire to lie shut in a lady's casket rather than open in a scholar's library. No one could have foreseen the frenzied fashion which he inaugurated and which with its stilted periphrases must have been sorely irritating to the great matter-of-fact man of business. No wonder he looked askance at poets. Euphuism, as the jargon is called, has been described many times; it was the first effort in English towards ornament in speech. In itself it was wholly good; in its excess it was wholly bad.

As a fashion of speech it must have been not a little wearisome. And indeed that proved to be the case; for its place was taken about as soon as dull people were beginning to obtain the knack of it by another fashion, no less elaborate, but of a different manner of elaborateness taken from Sir Philip Sidney's Arcadia. Here a jingle on one word was the effect to be obtained, as for example, "Each senselesse thing had sense of pity; only they that had sense were senselesse." This fashion set by a writer upon the speech of the fashionable finds a modern counterpart in the influence of Oscar Wilde, with this difference that his pointed epigram becomes feeble nonsense and his genius for using the right word degenerates into amiable talk about passionate neckties and purple sin; whereas with Lyly's and Sidney's manner no imitation could be feebler or more exaggerated than the original often is—not always. Lyly has real wit and fancy, especially in his charming court plays, as when he writes, "They give us pap with a spoon before we can speak, and when we speake for that we love, pap with a hatchet"; there he is inimitable.

The common task of dress and language was sufficiently elaborate to keep a courtier of average intelligence busy. And when he was equipped in mind and body there were countless ceremonies and functions at which his presence was expected. The Queen was in continual progress, and every progress was a pageant, whether by land or river, whether she were journeying from one palace to another, or visiting a university to encourage learning, a town or a noble subject to show her gracious favour and to give her subjects the opportunity of proving by their hospitality their loyalty. She kept in constant touch with her people. And on her progresses she was accompanied by her principal courtiers, who were themselves followed by a suite of gentlemen retainers. In this excellent display of the superficial side of life—the very panoply of existence—Ralegh by his wit and by his bearing was conspicuous. He was as famous for his power of turning a neat phrase as he was famous for his power of wearing with grace a fortune in one suit. Many men were obliged to give all their attention to the brilliant outside of things to keep pace at all with the changes of phrase and habit; and would never be at ease in either. Ralegh owed his envied distinction in both chiefly to the reason that he always held them at their proper value. His nature was magnificent, and instinct led him naturally to a height which others could not climb to with the greatest conscious effort. In that he was like his mistress, Queen Elizabeth.

It is fitting that such life should be gorgeously caparisoned; there was no homespun in its disposition.

But there is another side to the picture of this Court, a second party in the Court and the country. For some fifteen years another woman had been living under restraint in England—a woman who was the mother of a king; who had been queen of two kingdoms and aspired to be queen of a third; she was of great personal power though not so powerful as Elizabeth. She was a devout Catholic and was called Mary, Queen of Scots. A large number of gentlemen had remained faithful to their religion. These Catholics were divided roughly into two classes, those who were faithful to their religion and to their country, and those who were primarily faithful to their religion and would stop at nothing to establish Catholicism again in England They looked on Mary, Queen of Scots, as their rightful head. The moderate Catholics wanted to make sure that she would succeed Elizabeth; the fanatical Catholics wanted to kill the usurper at once and let Mary reign in her stead.

As years passed by and Elizabeth remained unmarried and averse to the mention even of a successor, the question became acute, not in England only but throughout Europe. Spain and France were anxious to have a Catholic sovereign in England; but neither wanted the other to have the added strength of England as a dependency. Elizabeth kept playing them off one against the other with her various matrimonial schemes; and Mary was in correspondence with them, trying to exact promises of assistance. Intrigue grew more and more involved. At last matters came to a head. It became recognized, after the dismissal of the Duc d'Anjou as a suitor, that Time itself would no longer permit a marriage for Elizabeth. The Catholics in larger numbers resolved that her death was imperative and the death of her strong supporters. Elizabeth with the fearlessness of true strength had allowed Mary great freedom of correspondence in her confinement. Now she cut her off from the outside world, until a diplomatic necessity arose to know exactly how far foreign powers were prepared to support Mary, how far they were speaking their true intentions in their dealings with Elizabeth. Walsingham had spies in every influential Catholic household in England, at all the Courts and even the Jesuitical centres in Spain and France. But the information was not yet sufficient. Nothing illustrates more effectively the extraordinary difficulty of obtaining accurate news in those days of slow travelling and messengers, than the elaborate method which Walsingham and Elizabeth were obliged to arrange at this juncture. It is a mistake to suppose it illustrates the treachery and deceitfulness of the times. The times have changed not in moral tone but in quickness of transit. Men are very much the same; but steam and electricity, the telegraph, the telephone, and a postal system have altered the aspect of affairs and the methods of conducting business or intrigue.

The plan they contrived was both ingenious and successful. With the help of one Gilbert Gifford, trained in unscrupulous cunning by the Jesuits, they encouraged Mary to open a correspondence with her confederates abroad, and they tapped this correspondence at the fountain-head. Mary was removed to Chartley, near the home of Gifford, whose family was staunchly Catholic. A brewer at Burton supplied Chartley with beer. Into the cask of specially good beer for Mary and her attendants and secretaries was fitted a water-tight box, and in this box were placed the letters. With the brewer was staying Walsingham's secretary Phillipps, a thin red-haired man skilled in cypher, and he transcribed all the letters at Burton before they were sent through an underground post, which had been carefully arranged by the young and innocent-looking Gilbert Gifford, to the Jesuit agency in London. Only six people knew of the whole scheme. Elizabeth, Walsingham, Gifford, Phillipps, Paulet, Mary's Puritan keeper, and the brewer of Burton. The brewer was evidently a man whose business instinct was fully developed. Not only did he receive large and complicated bribes from Elizabeth and from Mary, but he demanded also a higher price for his beer. This demand shocked the good Paulet unspeakably, and throws an interesting sidelight upon the moral sense of the day, and proves that it worked as subtly then as it works now.

From this correspondence Elizabeth learned, what her strange foresight taught her to expect, that France and Spain were too frightened of each other to take any resolute step against her in favour of Mary. But it happened also that she learnt something quite unexpected and of extreme importance, and that was the plot which is known as the Babington conspiracy. She was able to thwart a national calamity and to preserve her own life.

Among the most fanatical of the Catholic disaffected was a Jesuit, named John Ballard. He had obtained a private bull from Gregory XIII., sanctioning the murder of Elizabeth, and was unremitting in his efforts to find a man daring enough to undertake the task. He travelled through England, disguised in blue velvet, as Captain Fortescue, rousing all the Catholic gentlemen to concerted action, and convincing them that Elizabeth's death was a papal necessity. Lord Arundel vouched that he could answer for the Tower, though he was a prisoner within its walls; his uncle, Lord Henry, would raise the eastern counties; Sir William Courtenay promised to seize Plymouth; Lord Montague, Lord Vaux, Lord Stourton, Lord Windsor, and many others, whose names on earth are dark, swore a great oath to stand by the cause and by themselves. Everything was in readiness for a general rising so soon as the blow should fall which should rid England of Elizabeth. The letters of Mendoza, the Spanish ambassador, show how confident he is of a complete revolution. Certainly Elizabeth had need of staunch friends whom she was wise to bind to herself by every tie her personality could fashion, and staunch friends she possessed and held in her possession.

And now the men were found at last by Ballard who were ready to strike the blow. They were men who waited upon the Queen's person. The chief amongst them was Anthony Babington, of Dethick, in Derbyshire. He had been a page at Sheffield when the Queen of Scots was first in charge of Lord Shrewsbury, and, like many other men, young and old, who came under the fascination of her influence, he was passionately devoted to her, with all the strength of devotion that a beautiful woman in distress—still more, a beautiful queen—must inevitably arouse. The spirit of chivalry which the great rival Queens infuse into these plots takes away the sordidness and pettiness which breathes from mere political intrigue, and lends a poignant majesty to the terrible dramatic end of it all. This Anthony Babington obtained the help of Charles Tilney, one of Elizabeth's gentleman pensioners, of Edward Abington, the son of her under-treasurer, of Jones, of Dunn, of Robert Barnwell, who was an Irishman on a visit to the Court, and of other young men. Walsingham and Elizabeth knew of them all, and watched them continually. Elizabeth's bravery was magnificent Any moment she might have met death at the hand of an assassin; but she remained undaunted. Her fearlessness no doubt affected the conspirators, though quite unconsciously. They did not know that their every action was watched. Like many other young enthusiasts, they were reckless and self-confident to the verge of lunacy, and as soon as they came to realize that their plot was found out, they lost their heads completely. Abject fear took the place of their courage. They saw the resistless power that was ranged against them, waiting. They fled; but it was too late. The plot was revealed to the public. Ignominy and shameful death awaited the men who hoped to be welcomed as the saviours of their religion, the daring knights of their queen-lady. Their names were proclaimed and the nature of their intentions. Babington had fled to St. John's Wood, which was then a "forest interspersed with farms," and from there he managed to make his way to Harrow, where he with four others lay hid on haystacks and in the straw of barns. But they did not remain long undiscovered. Amid the ringing of bells and the wildest rejoicings they were taken back to London. And very soon they were hung, drawn and quartered publicly.

How many knew of the Queen's imminent danger is not certain. Probably she kept it from her most intimate friends. Her strength was equal even to that. Nor is it known how much Ralegh knew of his mistress's danger; it is not likely that he was entirely ignorant of it, for to him was given the whole of Babington's estates, which were large and remunerative. It is certainly a last proof of Queen Elizabeth's amazing vitality, that in the midst of this dangerous turmoil of plot and counterplot which surrounded her, she was able to find occasion for the display of love and affection. For it was during these last desperate endeavours of the Catholic party that she first drew Ralegh to herself. She had seen to his advancement, and taken care that he was provided with the wealth that he needed for his position at Court and that his personal taste for magnificence desired. She had given him the Farm of Wines, which, even allowing for the money that one Richard Browne tricked him out of, brought him in a good income; and, in 1585, he succeeded Francis, Earl of Bedford, as Lord Warden of the Stannaries, and shortly afterwards became Lieutenant of the county of Cornwall, and Vice-Admiral of the counties of Cornwall and Devon. The Queen had need of staunch friends around her. And it is not due only to a woman's whim, at which many have mocked, that she kept these men, her favourites, at Court even sometimes against their will, as when she prevented Sidney, in 1585, from heading the Virginian colonists, and, a year or two later, sent Sir Robert Carey to fetch back the Earl of Essex. Their presence became a necessity to her, because their presence helped to vouch for her personal safety. It gave her an assurance of security to see such men by her side, though doubtless their presence flattered her vanity as well. Moreover, there seems to be something exhilarating in a woman who could go in perpetual danger and known danger of murder, and yet keep to the end her woman's desire for admiration, which is the producer of many graces, and not at all in itself a proof of pettiness. It depends upon what she considers to be admirable.

The Babington conspiracy by which Ralegh was ultimately enriched brought about a crisis between the loyal and disaffected. The result of the ingenuity of Walsingham and Elizabeth in contriving the plan by which Mary, Queen of Scots betrayed herself, placed her intentions beyond all question. It was clear that she intended to stop at nothing; that she was anxious for Elizabeth's murder. It was certainly the easiest solution to her difficulties, and she was the protectress of the true religion, the head of which had sanctioned the murder. She was that most dangerous of enemies, a sincerely religious woman of great cleverness and no principles. Without discussing the ethics of murder and execution, it is easy to understand Mary's position; and it is not easy to understand Elizabeth's conduct. Mary was found guilty of high treason, and the law of the land assessed the penalty for high treason at death. But Elizabeth could not bring herself to sign the death warrant. It is difficult to understand why. She was supported by the authority of the kingdom, but she tried to avoid this last responsibility. Her conduct illustrates the peculiar blend of craft and sensitiveness which circumstances had developed in her character, and which, be it noted, were conspicuous traits of many other great characters of the time—conspicuously, for example, of Bacon and of Ralegh. She tried to make Walsingham incur the responsibility and the odium of the deed. She abused him when he demurred at her proposal. And finally, when she had given her signature, she swore that it had been by a mistake, and Walsingham, for ever impoverished by her displeasure, retired indignant to his house at Barnelms. He became hateful to her, and nothing could reinstate him in her favour. It was as though he were a tool which she had cut herself in using, which she flung from her in anger and without compunction.

But at length the day of Mary's death came. That was pre-eminently the time of pageant and display—the display of gorgeous life in the great Court functions; the display of dreadful death in the public executions. Both were combined in dramatic intensity at this last scene of Mary's life. Hers was a Queen's death.

In November of the year 1586 her sentence was passed. For three months Europe was agitated by uncertainty whether the sentence would be carried out, and what would be the result of her death, if it were. For three months she held her ground as the martyr of her religion, an unassailable position. For three months she decked her tragedy with the robes of majesty and of pathetic grace. When Paulet tore down the regal hangings from her room, saying that they no longer became a traitress, she hung the crucifix in their place and pointed to it in silence when he came to her again.

MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS

The day of her execution was the second Wednesday in February, 1587. Three hundred knights were assembled in the hall of Fotheringay Castle. When the Provost-Marshal and the Sheriff came to fetch her from her room, they found her no longer dressed in the customary grey cloth, but clothed in a robe of black satin. Her hand on the arm of one of the guard, she passed tall and erect down the broad oak staircase to the hall. At the end of the hall loomed the scaffold swathed in black; the dancing flames of a great crackling wood fire moved light shadows across its blackness, and flickered on the bright steel of the axe which was leaning against the block. By the block stood the executioners, masked and in black. She who was cousin to the Queen of England, who was a married Queen of France and anointed Queen of Scotland, passed up the hall, followed by her six friends. Her waiting women tried and tried vainly to keep back their sobs—Elizabeth Kennedy and Barbara Mowbray. She ascended the black scaffold and sat down—smiling. Beale read aloud the sentence.

"Madam," said Lord Shrewsbury, "you hear what we are commanded to do." "You will do your duty," was her reply. Then the Dean of Peterborough endeavoured to play his accorded part, but three times he broke down in addressing her. When he at length began to pray, Mary too prayed in Latin, and at length her voice alone sounded through the hall. No longer she prayed in Latin as she had prayed at first, she prayed in English without a falter in her voice. With sublime audacity she prayed that God might forgive and bless her son, James VI. of Scotland, and her cousin, Elizabeth of England, and that He might avert His wrath from Elizabeth's country. She finished; the black mutes stepped forward. The scaffold creaked under their movement. They asked her forgiveness for what they were going to do, according to the custom; and forgiveness was granted them. "I forgive you," she said, "because now I hope that you will end all my troubles." Her ladies, Elizabeth Kennedy and Barbara Mowbray, mounted the steps of the black scaffold in order that they might help her to make ready. They lifted the lawn veil carefully, not to disarrange her hair. Swiftly they removed the black robe; swiftly they took her arms from out the black jacket, slashed with velvet, and set the jacket on one side. Dazzling in crimson satin she stood on the black scaffold, revealed in red satin between the black mutes, as she drew over her white arms crimson sleeves, which her ladies, now trembling, handed to her. But she drew them on as a lady her gloves, without haste. "Ne criez-vous, j'ai promis pour vous," she turned to them and said. She knelt and laid her head on the block: it was hard to her soft neck, so she put her hand underneath, murmuring the Psalm "In Te, Domine, confido." But the headsman moved her hand away, fearing its softness might hinder his business. Then he struck, but the blow fell lightly, and fell on the knot of the hand-kerchief with which her eyes were bound. He struck again, and had only to move the axe across the block to cut the last shred of skin. "So perish all the enemies of the Queen," called out the Dean of Peterborough, as the executioner held out the head at his arm's length. Only the strength of her vitality and her cleverness had kept beauty in her face. The head that was thus held up at arm's length was the head of an old and wrinkled woman. Death grinned.

As they set about stripping the body, a lap-dog, hidden in her clothes, howled and lay down crying out by the neck from which the blood was flowing. It was carried away.

Then all her things—dress, beads, Paternoster, hand-kerchief—were taken to the great wood fire which still burned merrily, and burned before all the people. No relics must be left.

Henry Talbot, son of Lord Shrewsbury, was given the account of the proceedings, and rode off with them post-haste from Fotheringay along the bad roads to London.

So died Mary, Queen of Scots, and her death was one of the surest, most definite steps that was ever taken towards cutting England off from papal authority. Henceforward, England stood alone. Henceforward, the force of patriotism and of religion were to be combined.

Such things happened in the time of Walter Ralegh. He may have been present. If he were, the memory of it must have come to his mind some thirty years later, when he touched the edge of another axe with his thumb and approved of its sharpness.

CHAPTER VI

THE GREAT ENTERPRISE

Scheme of colonization—Preparation—The sailing—Queen's interest—Death of Sir Humfrey Gilbert—Another charter obtained—King Wingina—Hospitality—Sir Richard Grenville—Difficulties of first colonists—Personal outfit—Misfortune.

Court life, for all its brilliance and excitement, did not monopolize Ralegh's attention. He had gained wealth and position: he was near the Queen. That did not suffice him. He was a man of imagination, who could never rest content with the attainment which, as man of action, he had achieved. Rarely have the two qualities been so often combined as they were in the Elizabethan times, and rarely, even then, were they combined with such force and in so high a degree as they were in great Ralegh. He bent his energies on the scheme for colonization. The old idea was that Paradise lay somewhere on the surface of the world; all through the Middle Ages the dream existed. Columbus thought that the earth was probably shaped like a pear, not spherical but elongated, and "on the summit of the protuberance was situated the earthly Paradise, 'whither no one can go but by God's permission.'"

That dream continued. It came to Marlowe and obsessed him. But Marlowe dreamed of no mediæval Paradise.

"Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribed
In one self-place; for where we are is hell
And where hell is there must we ever be."

And his god was power; his demi-god, the man who, like Scythian Tamburlaine, lived—

"Threatening the world with high astounding terms
And scourging kingdoms with his conquering sword."

There was no limit set to the enterprise of man's energy; his power was measureless and divine. Only in the realm of beauty his step might falter; beyond all achievement, and all the beauty of achievement, there would always hover—

"One thought, one grace, one wonder at the least
Which into words no virtue can digest."

Marlowe wrote intoxicated with this elixir of infinite possibility. The sea-dogs, men of action, seemed almost to be realizing his dreams, fighting the next ship that met them, like Drake always sailing a little further on, coming home with spoils and tales of wonder, and starting out in search of fresh adventures; or there were men like Frobisher, who combined the buccaneer with the spirit of the scientist, and who were anxious to learn new geographical facts; or men like Gilbert, who were serious-minded enough to be whole-hearted in the cause of science; or men like Ralegh, in whom all these elements seem to have been struggling. This paradise of unknown lands worked in all ways upon his mind. Not Columbus before him, not Balzac after him, realized more keenly the power of money. He saw, with Gilbert and the industrious Hakluyt, the value of geographical knowledge, but what fired his imagination was the vision of another Empire across the seas, and that vision he was impatient to realize. He inspired the painstaking Hakluyt, and he quietly made it his life's purpose to further the project. It was Ralegh who grasped the true meaning of the vague aspirations and whose personality was big enough to set the first slow forces at work. His immediate schemes failed, but without those initial failures Captain John Smith would never have succeeded, as he did succeed some fifteen years later, in founding the colony of Virginia, from which has at length grown, in the space of four hundred years, the present American nation. So are our dreams of Paradise materialized into fact.

The attempt which Gilbert and Ralegh had made at colonization in 1578 had failed.

But Ralegh, in his influential position, saw a means of turning his scheme to advantage. As has been seen, the unrest of the Catholic party was becoming more and more acute, until it reached its climax in the Babington conspiracy and the execution of Mary, Queen of Scots. Ralegh saw his opportunity. He knew as well as Walsingham that there were a large number of Catholic gentlemen who were desirous of remaining loyal to their country and loyal to their religion. The wish was as sane as it was difficult to realize. Naturally (and rightly from their point of view) the Jesuits and other Catholics, whose enthusiasm made them fanatical, hated these moderate gentlemen, and called them Schismatics. Ralegh saw how they might be employed to the advantage of his scheme, just as a few years previously, when the overcrowding of London was troubling Burghley, that overcrowding suggested the immediate material of his scheme. He suggested to Walsingham a solution of the difficulty, that these gentlemen should form a separate kingdom, should found the colony in Virginia. In June, 1582, Sir George Gerrard and Sir Thomas Peckham were empowered to do this. The new plan was set in motion in spite of Papal warnings and even Papal veto. Two ships were sent to spy out the land that summer, and in the spring of the following year all was at length in readiness for actual sailing. Ralegh himself intended to be vice-admiral,[A] but the Queen forbade him to join the expedition. He had, however, constructed, on plans of his own devising, an immense sailing-vessel of 200 tons, which was called the Bark-Ralegh (not to be confused with the flagship of the fleet which repulsed the Armada five years later, called the Ark-Ralegh). The other vessels were the Delight alias the George, of 120 tons, "which was the Admirall;" the Golden Hinde of 40 tons, "which was the Reare Admirall; "the Swallow, of 40 tons, and the Squirrill, of 10 tons. "We were in number," writes Mr. Edward Hayes, gentleman, who sailed on the Golden Hinde, "in all about 260 men: among whom we had of every faculty good choice, as Shipwrights, Masons, Carpenters, Smithes and such like, requisite to such an action: also Minerall men and Refiners. Besides for solace of our people and allurement of the Savages, we were provided of Musike in good variety: not omitting the least toyes, as Morris dancers, Hobby horsse, and Maylike conceits to delight the savage people whom we intended to winne by all faire meanes possible. And to that end we were indifferently furnished of all petty haberdasherie wares to barter with those simple people."

On June 11 the expedition sailed from Causon Bay. The day was Tuesday. Misfortune came very soon upon them. On Thursday evening the news was signalled from the Bark-Ralegh that the captain and to a subordinate command, deserted the expedition for some reason unknown." But it is not at all probable that he ever started.—"The English Voyages," p. 58. very many of the men were fallen sick; and at midnight, "notwithstanding we had the wind East, faire and good," the vice-admiral forsook them. The reason Mr. Hayes could never understand, he says in his account, and adds, "Sure I am, no cost was spared by their owner Master Ralegh in setting them forth: Therefore I leave it unto God." Sir Humfrey Gilbert was not so philosophic about the desertion; he wrote to his brother-admiral, Sir George Peckham, in wrath: "The Bark-Ralegh ran from me in fair and clear weather, having a large wind. I pray you solicit my brother Ralegh to make them an example to all knaves."

After this defection the Golden Hinde took the place of the Vice-Admiral, and hoisted her flag from the mizzen to the foretop. As they sailed northward they were "incumbered with much fogge and mists in maner palpable," so that great difficulty was experienced by the ships in keeping in touch one with the other. The danger of separation always threatened sailing vessels, and elaborate devices and instructions were always prepared to lessen its likelihood and to face the emergency. But on July 20 the Swallow and the Squirrill became separated from the company, and were not discovered again until the Newfoundland coast was reached on August 3. Soon after another misfortune occurred owing to the unruliness of the men on the Squirrill, who could not be restrained from plundering a fishing-boat. This bad act was sufficient to wreck the success of the expedition, and caused much dissatisfaction among the sailors, who were always superstitious. Moreover, the men's unruliness was a serious danger on such an expedition, apart from the question of God's wrath, which Mr. Hayes feared, and which fell upon the Squirrill and requited the ill-doers with death.

On August 5 Sir Humfrey Gilbert took possession of the harbour of St. John, and invested the Queen's Majesty with the title and dignity thereof. The arms of England, engraved in lead, were fixed upon a pillar of wood and erected. Men were sent to explore the land, and to make maps of it, while the ships were being overhauled and repaired. The report only survives; the maps were lost when the general died.

On August 27 they set sail again, and on the next day a great wind arose, bringing with it rain and thick mist, and drove the vessels upon the sands and flats. The Admirall struck; her stern and hinder parts were broken in pieces by the waves; the men leapt into the sea. "This was a heavy and grievous event to lose at one blow our chiefe shippe fraighted with great provision, gathered together with much travell, care, long time, and difficultie. But more was the losse of our men which perished to the number almost of a hundreth soules." Among the drowned was Budaeus, a learned man who was minded to record in the Latin tongue the gests and things worthy of remembrance; Daniel, a refiner of metals; and Captain Maurice Brawn, a virtuous, honest, and discreet gentleman. A few men, however, managed to keep afloat in a small boat for six days, and though two of them died of starvation, the others were rescued. This disaster brought dismay to the company and they lost courage. Winter, too, was drawing on, provisions were becoming scant, their clothes were worn out. Accordingly, Sir Humfrey Gilbert determined to make for home. "Be content," he said to the men, "we have seen enough: and take no care of expence past: I will set you forth royally the next Spring if God send us safe home. Therefore I pray you let us no longer strive here, where we fight against the elements." But calamity did not forsake them. Sir Humfrey Gilbert did not reach home. Before the expedition sailed in June, Elizabeth for her own reasons had persisted in denying Sir Humfrey the right to accompany his expedition; but his step-brother, Sir Walter Ralegh, had continued to use his influence to obtain permission, and the requisite permission had at last been granted.

"Brother,

"I have sent you a token from her Majesty, an ancor guided by a lady, as you see; and further, her Highness willed me to sende you worde that she wished you as great good-hap and safty to your ship, as if her sealf were ther in parson; desiring you to have care of your sealf as of that which she tendereth; and therefore for her sake, you must provide for hit accordingly.

"Farther, she commandeth that you leve your picture with me. For the rest I leve till our meeting, or to the report of this bearer, who would needs be the messengre of this good newse. So I committ you to the will and protection of God, who send us such life or death as He shall please or hath appointed.

"Richmonde this Friday morning.
"Your treu brother
"W. Ralegh"

The letter shows the Queen's interest and concern—her attitude towards the gentlemen who adventured their lives for the glory of her kingdom. But good-hap and safety were not vouchsafed to Gilbert's ship. The will and protection of God did not send life; death had been appointed.

They reached the Azores without mishap, except that the general caused himself great pain and inconvenience by treading upon a nail. The last conference took place on the Golden Hinde, on September 3, when he made merry with the company on board; his hopes of success ran high for the enterprise, he vowed to undertake once more the next spring. They were now coming near to England and the end of their distresses. But they met with foul weather, and terrible seas, breaking short and high, pyramid-wise. "Men which all their lifetime had occupied the Sea, never saw more outragious Seas." Upon the main-yard of the Golden Hinde appeared an apparition of a little fire by night. The little fire is an evil omen, and is called Castor and Pollux. "Munday the ninth of September, in the afternoon, the Frigat was neere cast away, oppressed by waves, yet at that time recovered: and giving forth signes of joy, the Generall sitting abaft with a book in his hand, cried out unto us in the Hinde (so oft as we did approach within hearing), 'We are as neare to Heaven by sea as by land.' Reiterating the same speech, well-beseeming a souldier, resolute in Jesus Christ, as I can testifie he was."

A SAILING-SHIP IN THE TIME OF RALEGH

Sir Humfrey Gilbert was seen no more. Sitting abaft with a book in his hand — that was the last sight of him, and those were his last words, the great saying of a great sailor. For at midnight the lights of his vessel suddenly disappeared. The frigate was devoured and swallowed of the sea. So died Sir Humfrey Gilbert in the prime of his manhood at the age of forty-four.

The Golden Hinde managed to reach the coast of England, and brought the bad news of disaster to Sir Walter Ralegh, his step-brother, and to Adrian Gilbert, his younger brother.

They wasted no time in grief or mourning. They paid proper respect to the memory of the brave dead, and immediately made renewed efforts to further the enterprise to which their brother had devoted his life.

Within six months Ralegh obtained another charter from the Queen with larger powers. He and Adrian Gilbert and John Davies were incorporated under the new charter as "The College of the Fellowship for the Discovery of the North-west passage." That was the dream of the dead navigator. Ralegh always had a greater purpose in view, and the charter was later extended by clauses giving him powers to colonize. Directly these first steps were taken, a month after the charter's final signing, Ralegh despatched two captains, Philip Amadas and Arthur Barlow.

Captain John Smith gives an account of their voyage in his "History of Virginia." (John Smith it was who, profiting by initial failures, succeeded some years later in the fulfilment of the great scheme.) "The 27 of Aprill," he writes, "they set sail from the Thames, the tenth of May passed the Canaries, and the tenth of June the West Indies: which unneedful Southerly course (but then no better was knowne) occasioned them in that season much sicknesse." His interpolation—then no better was known—is significant. It throws a clear light on the difficulties with which these early colonizers were called upon to cope; they had not yet learned the best way even of reaching their destination.

However, on the 2nd of July the two captains arrived at Florida, "where they felt a most delicate sweete smell, though they saw no land, which ere long they espied, thinking it the Continent: an hundred and twenty miles they sailed not finding any harbour." That again is significant, taking into consideration the limited room on a sailing vessel for food and other necessaries. When they came to land, they had not yet the means of knowing anything about that land whatsoever. At length they discovered that they were upon an island, the island of Wokokon. It was fertile past all belief. Grapes grew in profusion right down to the water's edge, that the very surge of the sea sometimes over-flowed them. In the valleys tall cedars grew, and from the black cedars great cranes flew in white flocks, when the men discharged their muskets, "with such a cry as if an army of men had shouted together." The island was thickly wooded with other trees of excellent smell and quality; and in the woods there were conies and deere and fowle in incredible abundance. For three days none of the people were seen. On the third day, in a little boat, three of them appeared and showed no sign of fear. One of them stopped and conferred with the sailors, who gave him a shirt and a hat, meat and wine, which he liked. Then he went away; but soon returned with his boat quite full of fish, which he gave to the sailors. He had come from the mainland.

Next day the king's brother visited the ships, with forty or fifty men, "proper people and in their behaviour very civill." The king's brother's name was Granganamen. Soon after the king himself, Wingina, came. A mat was spread for him on the sea shore, and he sat down upon it. When the sailors came to him, he stroked his head and breast, and he stroked their heads and breasts, to express his love. He made a long speech, and divers toys, "which he kindly accepted," were presented to him. Especially a pewter pleased the king's fancy. He drilled a hole in it and hung it round his neck. It made him a capital breastplate, for which he was ready to give, and gave, twenty skin of deer, worth twenty crowns. He was so pleased with his bargain and treatment that a few days later he brought his wife and children on board. During all their stay in his kingdom, which was called Wingandacoa, King Wingina sent them almost every day a brace of bucks, conies, hares, fish and vegetables. The soil was fertile, as the woods were plentifully stocked with game—for the sailors put some peas in the ground, and in ten days they had grown to the height of fourteen inches.

They had, indeed, found the Land of Promise; and the people who inhabited the land were as friendly as their king. A party went on a little expedition to the island of Roanoak, which was distant some seven leagues. There the wife of the chief man, who was absent, welcomed them with much courtesy. She had their clothes taken off and washed; she had their feet bathed in warm water, while she herself attended to the preparation of food. While they were eating, warriors entered the room armed with bows and arrows. The sailors, fearful of treachery, grasped their muskets. There was no need for alarm, however. The woman saw their fear, and ordered the warriors immediately to snap their bows and arrows across their knees.

Hospitality could go no farther. The whole account of the land "luxuriant to the water's edge, and of their joyous reception by the Indians, makes the dreams of the pastoral poets seem true," as Professor Raleigh puts it. Indeed, the people were such as live after the manner of the Golden Age. Such, too, the Burmese were found to be some three hundred years later; they had the same childlike simplicity, the same earnest kindliness; they, too, were unspoiled and happy. The Indians were regarded as savages; they were not closely observed or sympathetically described by these stout-hearted adventurers, as the Burmese have been by Fielding Hall in his notable books. Their subsequent history bears out the resemblance. The Indians, simpler, more childish people—savages in fact—came into contact with a sterner younger civilization. Their history is known. The history of the subject Burmese is still in the making.

Captain Amadas and Captain Barlow returned in September. They brought with them two of the natives, many skins, and pearls as big as peas, which they duly delivered to Sir Walter Ralegh. He was overjoyed with the success of their voyage, and he obtained permission from the Queen to call his new land of Wingandacoa, Virginia, in her honour. He ordered a new seal of his arms to be cut, engraved with the legend, "Propria insignia Walteri Ralegh, militis, Domini et Gubernatoris Virginiae."

In the spring of the following year his colonizing fleet was ready. The command of the expedition was given to Sir Richard Grenville, the valiant, as John Smith calls him. The colony was to be under the management of Captain Ralph Lane. Sir Richard Grenville was not the man for the business, and the expedition would have had a very different result had Sir Philip Sidney undertaken its command, as it was intended that he should. Sir Richard was supreme as a fighter: his tactics were to hit first, and to hit hardest, and never to give way. He was indomitable, but more than sheer bravery was necessary for the undertaking, and more than sheer bravery Sir Richard Grenville did not possess.

The fleet of seven ships departed from Plymouth in April, and, without any serious mishap, they arrived on May 12 at the Bay of Moskito in the island of St. John's, where they cast anchor, and where in seven days they were joined amidst great rejoicing by Master Candish, captain of one of the ships which had been separated in a storm. The island of St. John was in possession of the Spaniards. It is probable that Sir Richard Grenville hated the Spaniards more than he loved the project of colonization; for in St. John he stayed till the end of May. He built a fort, and succeeded in capturing two Spanish frigates, one of which was well freighted with treasure, and having ransomed the Spaniards of account for good round sums, he went on his way to Isabella, on the north side of Hispaniola. Here again they delayed, hoping, as it would seem, for an opportunity to attack the Spaniards in possession; but the Spaniards, overawed, as the writer thinks, by their numbers, exhibited only the greatest courtesy. So they sailed on June 7, and eventually arrived a fortnight later at Wokokon, after having narrowly escaped complete shipwreck "on a breach called the Cape of Fear."

The colony was now on the verge of plantation. But the men did not see the immense need of living at amity with the natives, that they might win their support and trust, without which their task would be insuperable in difficulty. They had hardly lived among them for two days before strife broke out, in which, of course, the Englishmen were easily victorious. For it appears that a silver cup was missed, and theft was suspected. For this trivial reason the town of Aquascogok, which was supposed to shelter the culprit, was burned, and all the neighbouring cornfields were laid waste. Enmity was thus kindled, and the fire of enmity cannot easily be extinguished.

After that Sir Richard Grenville sailed away with his convoy, and passing on his way home a richly laden Spanish ship of three hundred tons, he boarded her (note the prodigious daring of the fellow!) with a boat made with boards of a chest, "which fell asunder and sunk at the ship's side as soon as ever he and his men were out of it." That was on the last day of August: on September 18 he sailed into Plymouth harbour, well-contented with his prize, "and was courteously received by divers of his worshipful friends."

But Ralph Lane was left behind in Virginia with his colonists, to the number of some hundred house-holders, and the hostile natives. From the New Fort he writes an enthusiastic letter, on September 3, to Master Richard Hakluyt. His report of the fertility of the country is more glowing even than the account of Amadas and Barlow, or than Ralegh himself could have dared imagine in his brightest dreams. "It is the goodliest and most pleasing territory of the world; for the continent is of a huge and unknown greatness, and very well peopled and towned, though savagely: and the climate is wholesome, that we had not one sick since we touched the land here." Horses and kine and sufficient Englishmen are alone needed, and no realm in Christendom would be comparable with Virginia. The men set to work to build themselves a settlement, making use of the equipment with which each man was provided.

Captain John Smith, who succeeded, some thirty years later, in erecting the colony on the ruins of these previous failures, gives an exact outfit, with the cost of each article, which a colonist would require. He could learn from the experience of others, and was wise enough to tabulate his own experience in minute lists that others might learn from him. Lane's colonists could not have been so well provided. They must have lacked many little necessaries which the wisest forethought could not have provided, they must have encumbered themselves with much that was comparatively useless. Here are some articles of personal outfit which John Smith—and John Smith knew—deemed indispensable. They read quaintly with their prices:—

Lane's colonists remained exactly one year in Virginia. Their life was varied and exciting. At first the Indians, in spite of the silver cup and the summary vengeance for its theft, were still inclined towards friendliness. Their kings visited New Fort. Menatonou, King of Chawanook, was especially well-disposed. He was a "man impotent in his limbs, but otherwise, for a savage, a very grave and wise man, and of a very singular good discourse in matters concerning the state, not only of his own country and the disposition of his own men, but also of his neighbours round about him as well far as near, and of the commodities that each country yieldeth." Among other things, he told Lane where pearls in large quantities could be found, and Lane devised a plan for making an expedition to that river of Moratoc.

And from this plan, which Lane records in full in a subsequent letter to Ralegh, peers out the mistake in judgment which brought disaster upon this first enterprise. These colonists had too much the spirit of Sir Richard Grenville. They were too adventurous, and esteemed the natives of too little account. Instead of quietly settling and making their base secure, while the Indians became gradually used to their presence, they must needs be hurrying further inland in pursuit of immediate and enormous wealth. Theirs was too much the spirit of the lion-hearted freebooter and not enough the spirit of the determined settler.

Misfortune awaited them. For there lived an old king in this land of fabulous wealth by the swift river of Moratoc or Moratico. Ensenore was his name, and he was friendly to the English. Not so his son Pemisapan. And at this crucial time Ensenore died and Pemisapan took his place at the head of the province, and immediately began his endeavours to undermine the little influence which the English had already gained among the neighbouring peoples. The position of the colonists became one of extreme danger in consequence. They found that they must not only struggle against the elements to secure food and shelter, but also fight for their lives against the inhabitants. They had expected support from England in the spring, with reinforcements of every kind. None, however, came, and probably the fear of isolation, brought about by events of which they had heard nothing, was added to their other fears. Small wonder then that, when Sir Francis Drake came to them with twenty tall ships, they should clamour to leave the perilous spot and return to England. They returned in June, Drake's fleet laden with the spoils he had garnered from the sack of the Spanish cities, St. Iago, St. Domingo, Carthagena, St. Anthony, and St. Helens. With them, too, they are said to have brought, for the first time, specimens of the plant Nicotiana, of which Ralegh discovered the sovereign virtues, and which, in despite of King James from Scotland and his counterblast, has soothed many millions of honest Englishmen.

A fortnight after the colonists departed, fearing that they were forsaken, the ship of a hundred tons which Ralegh had stored with provisions and other necessaries arrived, and a month after Sir Richard Grenville came with three ships, and found neither colonists nor the ship which Ralegh had sent out for their relief. Accordingly, after he had searched long in vain and made certain explorations on his own initiative, he landed fifteen brave men to retain possession of the country for England and sailed home. Nothing more was heard of the fifteen brave men.

So ended the first series of attempts to found an English colony in Virginia, doubtless, efforts which themselves just failed of success, but without which the final colonization of Virginia would have been impossible.

CHAPTER VII

BUSINESS MAN

The Stannaries—His grasp of detail—"Do it with thy might"—Estimate of squadron—Scheme of coast defence—The clash-mills of Mr. Crymes—Irish plans.

The Virginian enterprise did not engage all Ralegh's energy in affairs. Undoubtedly it was his greatest scheme. Its eventual results were of no less than world-wide importance, for they include the American nation, they include tobacco; and without either commodity modern civilization would surely be desolate. Ralegh had a capacity for business which approached genius; and would have attained to genius had his imagination not run a little in advance of his power over detail.

In his hands the posts which he obtained were no sinecures. Proper arrangement of things in being fascinated him almost as deeply as the possible development of the embryonic.

The various expeditions to Virginia involved a vast amount of work. But during that time he was actively engaged in the management of lesser matters.

As Lord Warden of the Stannaries his duties were to look after the interests of the tin-miners in Devonshire and Cornwall. He was head of the Stannary Courts in which justice was legally administered to the tinners; and he would be obliged to see that his substitutes performed their functions properly. For a privilege was granted to the tin-workers to have their disputes settled upon the spot in their own court, in order that they might not be drawn from their business during the long time that a visit to another court would involve. All through the time when he was engaged in great things at Court, or in great dreams of an Eldorado in South America, he always paid proper attention to the exacting little business of these tinners in Cornwall. In 1600 he writes a minute account to the Lord Treasurer, Buckhurst, and Secretary, Sir Robert Cecil, about the abatement of some tax on tin. He kept the interests of the tinners always in mind. In the same year he enters into the case of a gentleman, Mr. Crymes, who had erected certain clash-mills upon Roxburgh Down "to worke the tynn which upon that place is gott with extreame labour and charge out of the ground." But the townsmen of Plymouth objected to the mills, because they said that the mills diverted the course of their water. Ralegh went to view the clash-mills on Roxburgh Down in person, though it was the autumn of the year, and decided against the townsmen of Plymouth. If they had their way, as according to the letter of the law only they should, countless tinners would be thrown out of work. In reality no harm was done to the course of the river.

Accordingly Ralegh asks Secretary Sir Robert Cecil to take the matter from the Star Chamber, where the townsmen of Plymouth had sent it, and to let it be tried, as it was fitting that such a matter should be tried, in the Stannary Courts. "If this be suffered to proceed in the Starre Chamber it will not be avaylable to speake of her Majesties late imposicion or encrease of Custom, or to establish good laws among Tynners; when others who can by a great purse or procuring extraordinary meanes, diminish to their power her Majesties duties and the common benefytt of the people."

Do it with thy might was as sincerely his motto in little things as in big; and this it is well to remember in protest against those who are inclined to regard Ralegh merely as an unsuccessful dreamer of great dreams.

He was Lord Lieutenant of Cornwall. Among other duties which the post entailed, was the important duty of keeping the county ready to ward off an invasion, which was a very real danger all through his period of office. His letters to Lord Burghley give ample evidence of his care and wisdom. In 1587, one year before the Armada, he sent the Lord Treasurer a letter in which he gave it as his opinion that a company of two thousand foot and a troop of two hundred should be levied from the counties of Cornwall and Devon, and should be trained to be ready for defence at a moment's notice against surprise. The difficulties of his plan he saw clearly. There was, in the first place, a feeling of rivalry between the two Duchies which increased the difficulty of combination. The Lord Lieutenant of Devonshire, the Earl of Bath, was not easily brought to see the wisdom of the plan, though Sir John Gilbert and Sir Richard Grenville, staunch Devon men, were its supporters. The merchants of Exeter were not disposed to bear willingly any additional outlay in the matter of defence, because they were obliged to pay heavily to defend their merchandise against Barbary and other pirates. Ralegh incloses a tabulated list in his letter, showing exactly how these levies could be raised, and the exact cost of the raising. The payment of the troop of horse is of much interest. The men were to receive 1s. a day (the pay of an infantry man was 8d.). The horsemen were to be divided into four cornets: that would imply four captains at 5s., four lieutenants at 3s., four guidons at 2s. 6d., four clerks at 1s. 6d., four trumpetts at 1s. 6d. per day. He adds the charge of ammunition. "There is allowed for each soldier for this service of sixteen daies, tenn pounde of Powder at 12d. the pounde and is £500. Ther is allowed of matche for each soldier at halfe a pounde the daye, at 6d. the pounde and is £200. Of leade for each mann one pounde at 1½d. the pounde, and is £6 8s.

The whole estimated cost of training and raising came to £2163 5s. and unlike the majority of estimates, the one drawn up by Ralegh is as clear as it is concise.

But his best contribution to the problem of defence is a letter, written in the year 1595 to the Lords of the Council. It had been decided that "mutual succour be gyven from the Counties of Devon and Cornwall to each other," and the point of the letter is to show that Devonshire should be supplied with reinforcements from Somerset rather than from Cornwall. His reasons are well put and convincing. "If there shall any discent be made by the enymye in either county by the waie of surprise, and that the enymye doe but burne or sacke, and departe, then can nether be releeved as aforesaid, bycause there wilbe no tyme given to unite the forces of the same shere, where such attempt shalbe offered, much lesse for the drawing in of any numbers from affarr; and for any such enterpryze, where there is no purpose to hold and possesse the places gotten, each shire with 4000 men shalbe able either to repel or to resiste the same. But if the enymy dispose himself to fortyfye any part in Cornewall or to strengthen any neck of land of advantage, and thereby begyne to dryve us to a defensive warr, then there is noe country adjoyneth to Cornwall but Devon from whence any spedy supplie maie be had to impeach the begining of such a purpose. And if ought be attempted in Devon—of which Plymouth is most to be feared, having, in one indraught, two goodly harboroughes, as Cattwater and Aishewater—then it is also very likely that the enymye will either assure Cornewall, or seeke utterly to waste yt, because yt is next his supplies, both from Spayne and Brittaine (Brittany); and hath divers ports and good rodes to receive a fleete."

He proceeds to point out the length and narrowness of Cornwall, and the extreme difficulty of sending succour to Plymouth. The river can only be forded in two places, and that by small ferries at Stonehouse and Aishe, which would be of little use for horses or ammunition. Moreover, the enemy would bring "gallies" with them, which would enable them to command the river Tamar. If four thousand men were taken from Cornwall, the enemy would certainly become cognizant of the fact, and nothing would be easier for them, in that event, than to lay waste the whole shire, either by sending round a ship from Plymouth or across from Brittany. Three hundred soldiers would be sufficient.

He points out that no county in England is so dangerously situated as Cornwall, with the sea on both sides of it, and with sparse inhabitants. It is so narrow that if the enemy were to possess any of two or three straits, the men of the West would be quite cut off from the men of the East, for between Mount's Bay and the sea entering within St. Tees, it is but three miles and a half from sea to sea; between Truro and St. Pirom but five miles. He concludes the letter by making manifest the advantages of the position of Somerset, its breadth, its richness, and lack of separating rivers.

And he set his mind to these details of his defence at the time when his mind was eager to bring down to the realm of reality those high dreams by which Guiana caused him to be obsessed. A few days afterwards he writes to Sir Robert Cecil: "I beseich you lett us know whether wee shalbe travelers or tinkers; conquerors or novices. For if the winter pass without making provision there can be no vitling in the summer; and if it be now fore-slowed, farewell Guiana for ever.... Honor and gold and all good, for ever hopeless."

A great man, this Elizabethan, whose imperial dreams did not prevent him from mastering the little businesses under his hand! Visions of Eldorado did not blurr his view of Minnett or lessen his interest in the clash-mills of Mr. Crymes.

Not only was Ralegh Lord Warden of the Stannaries and Lord Lieutenant of Cornwall, but he was also what Edwards calls Captain of Industry in Ireland. The work connected with these duties was what may be looked upon as the business of his life. Each entailed work and responsibility which would suffice the energy of an ordinary man of business, a little above the modern average of capacity. It was typical of Ralegh's immense vitality that he dealt with them with as much thoroughness and ease as he managed his own household, and always he inspired them with new ideas and new life, even as his garden was the first in which orange-trees were cultivated. His imagination made him an originator. He was never content with the old way of doing things—he found a better. He was always seeing old facts for the first time, as though he had never seen them before, as all men of vigorous intellect do. Consequently he trusted his own opinion, and he had good cause to trust it.

Ralegh had first become prominent by his actions in Ireland, and very soon after he had attained to eminence he was employed by the Crown in their endeavour to bring some kind of prosperity to the country ravaged to desolation by war. Solitudinem faciunt, pacem appellant. Six hundred thousand acres of land had been confiscated from the Earl of Desmond, and probably at his own suggestion Ralegh undertook to plant an English colony there. Others joined in the enterprise. Ralegh's share consisted of some twelve thousand acres in the counties of Cork, Waterford, and Tipperary, and he rented, in addition, Lismore Castle at the annual charge of £13 6s. 8d., from Meyler Magrath, Bishop of the See of Lismore and Archbishop of Cashel. His tenants he had taken from men of Devon (the stamp of man he knew and approved), and his land was soon recognized as the most prosperous among all the estates which these "gentlemen under-takers," as they were called, were opening out. Fertility did not satisfy him. His acres were well forested, and an idea occurred to him by which he could turn the timber to good account. His scheme was to construct pipe-staves and hogsheads and barrel boards, and to transport them to the wine growers of Spain and France. It was a good scheme and practical. But he found the utmost difficulty in obtaining a licence from the Privy Council for their export. He was not in favour with Sir William Fitzwilliam, Lord-Deputy of Ireland, nor the deputy's cousin, one Richard Wingfield. By the time that sanction was obtained, Ireland was again in too unsettled a state for prosperity in quiet commerce, and Ralegh sold his estate to Richard Boyle, who afterwards became Earl of Cork. He had planted many products, which his men had brought from Virginia, on the land of his Irish estate, and among these was the potato. He also tried to cultivate tobacco, but with less success.

Had Ralegh been supported during the last ten years of the Queen's reign, he would have benefited Ireland considerably by his activity, even though he was, at the same time, engaged in many other affairs, naval, political, and commercial. But he was badly hampered in his projects by loss of favour. His enemies were many, and they found pleasure in vexing him in small matters. This enmity, while Elizabeth lived, did not seriously injure his power or his reputation, but it set obstacles in the way of his projects which were just sufficient to thwart them.

Such were Ralegh's chief business activities, which were the groundwork of his life, these and the duties of Captain of the Guard, which were chiefly decorative. It is not easy to realize, in a time of great splendour, the day to day existence of the men who made that time splendid. The mind is apt to leap from dramatic moment to dramatic moment, when mighty exploits mark out a time's history like stepping-stones. When events are sufficiently great to stand prominently forth, not only in the history of the reign, but in the history of all time, the prosaic intervals of dull hard work are apt to be forgotten; but they are the essential training, without which those events would not have happened.

The life of the man is the life of the nation in little. Just as Ralegh thought nothing beneath his notice, thought nothing to which he put his hand too insignificant not to be done with his might, so England, under her great Queen, was working and working to collect her strength, so that, when the moment at last came to strike, she might strike with effect.

Sir Walter Ralegh, Captain of the Guard, superb in pearls and silver, whom magnificence became, did not disdain on occasion to ride for many miles through the muddy roads of Devonshire to inspect the river at Roxburgh Down, and found time to write at length to Secretary Sir Robert Cecil, his opinion that the clash-mills of Mr. Crymes, the tinner, did not harm the townsmen of Plymouth. That incident is as significant of the time's energy as the defeat of the Spanish Armament.

Copyright, Emery Walker, London, E. C.

From an oil-painting made, probably by Federigo Zuccaro, in 1586

CHAPTER VIII