Misfortune dogged him from the outset. Foul winds and storms drove him back, and afterwards scattered his fleet and sank one of his vessels. He had difficulty in getting water at the Canaries, and a hurricane drove him from the Cape Verde Islands. For forty days he lay in the doldrums, while his men fell a prey to scurvy and fever and grew mutinous. At length, when the remnant of his ten ships arrived off the mouth of the Orinoco, Raleigh was prostrate with fever, and his men had lost all hope of success. But his courageous spirit was equal to the occasion. “We can make the adventure,” he cried; “and if we perish, it shall be no honour to England or gain to his Majesty to lose one hundred as valiant men as England hath in it.” While he remained off the mouth of the river, his lieutenant, Thomas Keymis, with five ships and four hundred men, undertook the great quest. For three weeks they battled against the mighty current, but when they approached the proposed landing-place they found a Spanish settlement blocking their path. This they stormed and burnt, Raleigh’s son being killed in the attack. Though the settlement was captured, the Spaniards were still in the woods, and Keymis, having done all that man could do, was forced to retreat. Raleigh met him with a bitter reproach——“You have undone me by your obstinacy.” Keymis said not a word, but betook himself to his cabin, where he ran a dagger through his heart. Raleigh was now desperate. He proposed to go himself in search of the mine, but his men would not follow him. Then he suggested the capture of the Mexican Plate fleet; but they refused, saying that, even if they succeeded, the king would hang them when they got home. There was no help for it, so Raleigh was obliged to return to England. With angry reproaches to his “rabble of idle rascals,” he set sail, knowing well the fate which awaited him.