But the new governor, Garcia de Aguilar, was a man of resource. He gave orders that the survivors should form themselves into small bands, should harass the English whenever an opportunity offered, and fall upon all stragglers. While the funeral ceremony was being conducted over the body of young Walter, Captains Whitney and Wollaston arrived, and Peter Andrews and the Indian pilot were sent back, bearing their tidings to the main body at Terra de Bri. That was all Ralegh could learn. That his son was dead; that the Spaniards were forewarned and keenly hostile; that his men were shaken. The suspense became well-nigh intolerable for him as he settled to endure the second long period of inaction--of waiting whilst with others lay the excitement of finishing for good or ill the scheme of his life's imagining. His son was dead. He could not bring himself to write the bitter news to his wife. He himself, an old man, still lived--and waited on the threshold of discovery. Keymis, however, was a trusted man, and nothing would hinder George Ralegh from his purpose. Keymis wrote that he was within some few hours of the mine. Perhaps even now Keymis was on his way back again, his ships laden with gold--and if gold were once found, there would be little difficulty in founding the colony which would become England's great empire across the seas. No old man could live to see that, but his son might ... if his son were not already dead. He would wait to tell the bad news to his wife until he had some good news--the news of prosperity--that she might know his other son, Carew, though not of young Walter's mettle, would be able to continue his father's tradition. Still he waited--day after day, week after week, month after month, but no fresh news came from Keymis, and no signs were anywhere apparent of a Spanish fleet. He went on with his botanical studies as much as his enfeebled strength would allow him. He studied the little plants that renew their life each year. Bow down and worship; more than we Is the least flower whose life returns Least weed renascent in the sea. For Ralegh was a poet and so lost his personal sense of loss in the great mystery of things, which his personal griefs made more vivid to his mind. He was a poet and saw much that he could not express. The idea of Death fascinated him always. Death had slain the young Prince, the hope of the nation; his friend, who would have helped him in his project; had left untouched the father, King James, who had betrayed him. And now Death had taken his son, who had only lived twenty-three years, and left him an old man--once again waiting, as he waited those long years in the Tower, waiting whilst others made or marred the fulfilment of his dream. Why was he thus often doomed to inactivity?