was possible.
On arriving in England, Sir John Norris was forbidden to come into her
Majesty's presence, Wilkes was thrown into the Fleet Prison, and
Buckhurst was confined in his own country house.
Norris had done absolutely nothing, which, even by implication, could
be construed into a dereliction of duty; but it was sufficient that he was
hated by Leicester, who had not scrupled, over and over again, to
denounce this first general of England as a fool, a coward, a knave, and
a liar.
As for Wilkes, his only crime was a most conscientious discharge of
his duty, in the course of which he had found cause to modify his
abstract opinions in regard to the origin of sovereignty, and had come
reluctantly to the conviction that Leicester's unpopularity had made
perhaps another governor-general desirable. But this admission had
only been made privately and with extreme caution; while, on the other
hand, he had constantly defended the absent Earl, with all the
eloquence at his command. But the hatred cf Leicester was sufficient to
consign this able and painstaking public servant to a prison; and thus
was a man of worth, honour, and talent, who had been placed in a
position of grave responsibility and immense fatigue, and who had
done his duty like an upright, straight-forward Englishman, sacrificed
to the wrath of a favourite. "Surely, Mr. Secretary," said the Earl, "there
was never a falser creature, a more seditious wretch, than Wilkes. He is
a villain, a devil, without faith or religion."
As for Buckhurst himself, it is unnecessary to say a word in his defence.
The story of his mission has been completely detailed from the most
authentic and secret documents, and there is not a single line written to
the Queen, to her ministers, to the States, to any public body or to any
private friend, in England or elsewhere, that does not reflect honour on
his name. With sagacity, without passion, with unaffected sincerity, he
had unravelled the complicated web of Netherland politics, and, with
clear vision, had penetrated the designs of the mighty enemy whom
England and Holland had to encounter in mortal combat. He had
pointed out the errors of the Earl's administration--he had fearlessly,
earnestly, but respectfully deplored the misplaced parsimony of the
Queen--he had warned her against the delusions which had taken
possession of her keen intellect--he had done--his best to place the
governor-general upon good terms with the States and with his
sovereign; but it had been impossible for him to further his schemes for
the acquisition of a virtual sovereignty over the Netherlands, or to
extinguish the suspicions of the States that the Queen was secretly
negotiating with the Spaniard, when he knew those suspicions to be
just.
For deeds, such as these, the able and high-minded ambassador, the
accomplished statesman and poet, was forbidden to approach his
sovereign's presence, and was ignominiously imprisoned in his own
house until the death of Leicester. After that event, Buckhurst emerged
from confinement, received the order of the garter and the Earldom of
Dorset, and on the death of Burghley succeeded that statesman in the
office of Lord-Treasurer. Such was the substantial recognition of the
merits of a man who was now disgraced for the conscientious discharge
of the most important functions that had yet been confided to him.
It would be a thankless and superfluous task to give the details of the
renewed attempt, during a few months, made by Leicester to govern the
Provinces. His second administration consisted mainly of the same
altercations with the States, on the subject of sovereignty, the same
mutual recriminations and wranglings, that had characterized the period
of his former rule. He rarely met the States in person, and almost never
resided at the Hague, holding his court at Middleburg, Dort, or Utrecht,
as his humour led him.
The one great feature of the autumn of 1587 was the private negotiation
between Elizabeth and the Duke of Parma.
Before taking a glance at the nature of those secrets, however, it is
necessary to make a passing allusion to an event which might have
seemed likely to render all pacific communications with Spain, whether
secret or open, superfluous.
For while so much time had been lost in England and Holland, by
misunderstandings and jealousies, there was one Englishman who had
not been losing time. In the winter and early spring of 1587, the
Devonshire skipper had organized that expedition which he had come
to the Netherlands, the preceding autumn, to discuss. He meant to aim a
blow at the very heart of that project which Philip was shrouding with
so much mystery, and which Elizabeth was attempting to counteract by
so much diplomacy.
On the 2nd April, Francis Drake sailed from Plymouth with four ships
belonging to the
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