The admirals protested, and the Queen was furious at their obstinacy and "disloyalty." They did not leave Plymouth until the 28th of August 1595, and found the Grand Canary too strong to capture. They went on to the West Indies, and at Guadaloupe cleaned the ships, set up the pinnaces, and landed the men for health's sake.
Poor old Sir John Hawkins, in his weariness and disappointment, had had more than one quarrel with his old friend Sir Francis, and now sickness grew upon him, and as Drake led the fleet off Puerto Rico, Hawkins breathed his last. That evening, as Drake sat at supper on board the Defiance, a round shot came crashing into the cabin, striking the stool from under the admiral as he sat, and killing Sir Nicholas Clifford and Drake's bosom friend Master Brown.
Next day Drake tried to force his way into the harbour, but the Spaniards had sunk a great galleon in the fairway, and Drake gave up the attempt.
He sailed for La Hacha, burnt it, but spared the church and the house of a lady who had begged his mercy. On Christmas Day he sailed for Nombre de Dios. The town had been abandoned at his approach, and nothing of value was left. Drake remained in the harbour with his fleet while Baskerville with 750 men started for Panama; but he found the road protected by forts, and after losing many men, returned hungry and dispirited.
On the 5th of January 1596 the fleet sailed for Escudo, west of Nombre de Dios, and ten leagues from the mainland, where there was good anchorage on sand, and the island was well supplied with wood and water.
But the island, for all its loveliness and wealth of flower and foliage, proved very sickly and the climate rainy. Three of the captains died here and the chief surgeon, and Drake began to keep his cabin, being very ill with dysentery.
Disappointment and sorrow for the loss of friends had made him sombre, and the cheery smile had faded, though he still tried to cheer up his officers. "God hath many things in store for us; and I know many means to do her Majesty good service and to make us rich: for we must have gold before we see England." That haunting sense of the ill welcome they would receive if they brought no gold or jewels must have embittered his last moments.
He gave the order to weigh anchor, and the ships sped before a storm to Puerto Bello; but the gallant admiral was lying in his cabin sick unto death. On the 25th of January, in the early dawn, he rose from his bed in delirium, called aloud for his arms, raved about Spain and the Inquisition and traitors who had poisoned him. Kind hands led him back to bed, and there he died within an hour. On the morrow his body, enclosed in a leaden coffin, was taken out to sea, and there in sight of his first great victory he sank amid the thunder of cannon from all the ships around, while the prayers of the English Church burial service were solemnly recited.
In his will Drake left all his lands to the son of his brother, Thomas. His widow, Elizabeth, daughter and heiress of Sir George Sydenham of Devon, afterwards married William Courtenay of Powderham Castle. He had no children, and nine of his eleven brothers also died childless. He had been twice returned to Parliament for Bossiney or Tintagel, and for Plymouth.
"So Francis Drake be dead!" we may fancy a Devon friend bewailing, when the fleet returned without their admiral; "ah, we may never see his like again! He had his faults, 'tis true; his temper was passing quick, but he was a true friend, a pure bull-dog; tenacious both ways, in hate and in love. Eloquent and fond of proving it to his crew; ambitious and somedeal vain, and so open to flattery; as he grew older, he believed more stoutly in his own opinions, and would hurt a fool's feelings by telling him home truths. But for genius in ocean warfare, I doubt if England has known half his worth—those ninnies at Court did not; but we men of Devon loved him only just this side of idolatry. God keep his soul!"