Great Ralegh

by Hugh De Sélincourt

Gondomar, the Spanish ambassador, had been active during Ralegh's absence to work his complete overthrow, but Ralegh remained some weeks at Plymouth before he knew the exact nature of the reception which awaited him.

Masterly was the way in which Gondomar handled James. He was about to start for Madrid on leave, when the news arrived from the townspeople of St. Thomas of the English attack. "Exaggerate as much as you can Ralegh's guilt and try to get the King to make a great demonstration," wrote Philip from Madrid. "Do not," he went on, "threaten him; but make him understand that I am offended, and that if a proper remedy be not forthcoming at once, we shall make reprisals and seize English property in Spain." Gondomar set about his task forthwith. He rushed into the royal presence crying with uplifted hands, "Pirates! pirates! pirates!" and urged James to remember his promise, that Ralegh should be sent in chains to Spain to be hanged in the Plaza of Madrid. This was no time for delay, for judicial examination: Ralegh should be despatched immediately on his landing, with all his pirate followers. But James could not, though he would, act thus uncompromisingly. Ralegh was too considerable a man, and feeling towards him had changed very much since the time of his first trial when he was hooted through the streets of London as a traitor. There was a large party in the country who were averse to James's wish of an alliance by marriage with Spain. For forty years Spain had tried to humble England, and for forty years England had more than held her own. And now was the King to be bullied into sacrificing one of his greatest subjects, unheard, unjudged, at the bidding of Spain's ambassador? Moreover, James felt that he was losing the popularity which he had won at the beginning of his reign. His favourites were disliked. The personal influence of Gondomar over him was disliked. So James temporised—in his habitual way he temporized—so that he might, like the weak man he was, enjoy the sense of power which he felt as he slowly tightened the rope round Ralegh. "James wants peace and must be frightened," wrote Gondomar. "The English have changed their tone since I came and I have shown them that I will stand no nonsense." And his boast was amply justified.

Sir Lewis Stukeley was sent to Plymouth to arrest Ralegh and take possession of his ship and cargo. Ralegh had already started from Plymouth with his wife and Captain King when he met Stukeley, near the old stannary town of Ashburton on the edge of Dartmoor, twenty miles on his way to London. Stukeley made him return with him to Plymouth: for Stukeley was anxious to make as much as possible for himself out of Ralegh's cargo on board the Destiny, for he was vice-admiral of Devon.

Sir Lewis Stukeley was a Devon man and kinsman of Ralegh, for he was nephew to the valiant Sir Richard Grenville. He did not maintain the traditions of his family or of his county. Ralegh stayed in Plymouth some ten days at the house of Sir Christopher Harris. He was not yet aware of the fate that awaited him, for Stukeley had only an order from the King and no warrant from the Lords of the Council. And Stukeley too was full of friendliness and soft words, partly to put Ralegh off his guard and partly because it was easier for him to be agreeable to a man like Ralegh, whom he could not bully. Lady Ralegh and Captain King were full of grave fears for Sir Walter. They begged him, valuing his life as they did, before everything else, to escape to France. They made all necessary preparations: a barque was in readiness just outside the harbour. Ralegh, still uncertain as to the best way of conducting the little business of life that remained to him, listened to their entreaties and actually went out in a small boat almost to the barque. But he turned back at the last moment, determined to face every danger that awaited him in order that he might clear his name in the eyes of posterity from the slur of false charges that he knew would be made against him. Exactly how that was to be compassed he did not yet know. Now, as before, in the troubled periods of his life, a kind of apathy, of weariness of life, closed in upon him; the apathy that comes from uncertainty, and which in his case preceded a great and definite action. His powers were slowly collecting for the last great moment of his life.

Towards the end of July a messenger arrived from the Privy Council, bearing an urgent summons to Stukeley to bring Ralegh to their presence without a moment's delay. "We command you," the message ran, "upon your allegiance, that you do safely and speedily bring hither the person of Sir Walter Ralegh, to answer before us such matters as shall be objected against him in His Majesty's behalf."

The message was sent on July 21, and arrived four days later. On the same day, July 25, Ralegh began his journey from Plymouth to London, as Stukeley's prisoner.

Slowly in Ralegh's mind a plan of action matured. He knew that in London he had with the King's enmity little hope of life. It remained for him to clear his name of slander; his own life was now of small consequence to him: he was considering how best to leave a fair name and some means of decent living for his family. He saw that time was an essential to him. He must take care not to be hurried to London, hurried before the Council, and hurried to the scaffold before men were properly aware of his presence, and aware of the importance of the event. He must contrive to die greatly, as acquittal was beyond man's power. He knew that he was innocent, he knew that James desired his death, and that innocence was of small account when pitted against a King's wish. He lived long enough not only to see but to experience the bad consequences which he had foreseen of absolute monarchy under a weak King. Civil war fell on England, and the rule of the Puritans before the policy which he had thought out when Elizabeth was an old woman, became established. He brooded long over many things on that sad journey from Plymouth—over the roads which he knew so well. All the country-side was dear to him. He had done with it all now.

He passed Sherborne, where he had lived and been happy; he spent the night quite close to Sherborne at the house of his acquaintance Parham. It was a melancholy home-coming. What now remained of his great hopes and his great doings? In the eyes of the world he had failed. But he must open the world's eyes to see his failure in its proper light.

At Salisbury, where they arrived the following day, his plan matured. It would not do to come nearer London and his judges unprepared and dreaming of his past life. Something still remained to be done. He must gain time. He must be expected too, that all might be ready to hear what he had to say. His device was brave and was pathetic. He determined to feign illness.

Now, at Plymouth he had met a man named Manourie, a Frenchman who was interested in chemistry. In Manourie Ralegh had the faith which a man is inclined to have in a fellow-craftsman on other matters than his craft. His confidence was unwise. Thinking over great matters, he was not sufficiently alert and not sufficiently distrustful. Nor is it certain that Manourie was false from the beginning. It is probable that he came to realize how dangerous a business he had undertaken, and, becoming alarmed, fell an easy prey to Stukeley's promises and suggestions.