but fools would look for any other!" Accusations of bad faith, of
factious behaviour, of disloyal intrigue, were brought up against Sir
Walter over and over again during the "day of his tempestuous life,
drawn on into an evening" of ignominy and blood. These charges were the
"inmost and soul-piercing wounds" of which he spoke, still "aching,"
still "uncured."

There is no need to recount to you the incidents of his life, but I may
remind you that after the failure of the latest expedition to South
America the Privy Council, under pressure from the Spanish Ambassador,
gave orders to Sir Lewis Stukeley to bring the body of Sir Walter
Raleigh speedily to London. This was the culmination of his fall, since,
three days after Raleigh landed at Plymouth, the King had assured Spain
that "not all those who have given security for Raleigh can save him
from the gallows." His examination followed, and the publication of the
_Apology for the Voyage to Guiana_. The trial dragged on, while James
I., in a manner almost inconceivable, allowed himself to be hurried and
bullied by the insolent tyrant Philip II. If the English King did not
make haste to execute Raleigh the Spaniards would fetch him away and
hang him in Madrid. In these conditions, and clutching at life as a man
clutches at roots and branches when he is sliding down a precipice, the
conduct of Raleigh has given cause to his critics to blaspheme. He
wriggled like an eel, he pretended to be sick, he pretended to be mad,
in order to protract his examination. He prevaricated about his mine,
about the French alliance, about the Spanish treaties, about his stores
and instruments. Did he believe, or did he not believe, in the Empire of
the Inca, in the Amazons or Republic of Women, in the gold lying hidden
in the hard white spar of El Dorado? We do not know, and his own latest
efforts at explanation only cloud our counsel. He was perhaps really a
little mad at last, his feverish brain half-crazed by the movement on