He presented a wordy memorial in 1843, complaining of having been kept out of employment for twelve years. The governorship of Ceylon had been vacant three times, the Ionian Islands four times; he had been Governor there in 1812. In other parts of the Empire appointments that he supposed he could have filled were given to others. Poor creature! He died in 1844, a broken and ruined man. He lacked every quality that is essential in an administrator, and was utterly void of humour, imagination, or the capacity to manage men. His suspicious disposition and lack of judgment made it eminently impossible for him to fulfil any delicate position, and it was a monstrous libel on the knowledge of the fitness of things to entrust him with the governorship of St. Helena. Lord Teynham made a violent attack on Lowe in the House of Lords in 1833. The Duke of Wellington was bound to defend his satellite, and did so with some vigour, as the attack was really on him and certain members of his Government. Lord Teynham replies with equal vigour: "He had no intention of aspersing the private character of Sir Hudson, but as regards his conduct while Governor of St. Helena, he maintained, and always would, that Lowe was cried out upon by all the people of Europe as a person unfit to be trusted with power." Lord Teynham a few days afterwards made a sort of apology, no doubt inspired by interested persons, for personal plus international reasons. They were high of heart, these dauntless confederates, in the early and middle stages of the captivity, and, indeed, they bore themselves with braggart defiance of public opinion, until many strong manifestations of inevitable trouble encompassed them, and, like all despots, who are invariably cowards, they lived in mortal terror lest this creature of theirs should break out into St. Helena leprosy again and impose further humiliation upon them. Lowe had talked of actions for libel against Barry O'Meara, and in a whimsical, half-hearted way worried his employers to give battle, and the law officers of the Crown stated a case but advised against taking action, and so it was never brought, though O'Meara kept telling them in so many words to come on. "I am anxious that you should have the opportunity of defending the charges I have brought against you. I am anxious too that the public should know more than I have written." That in effect was the attitude of the gallant doctor, who was the first to call serious attention to the goings on in the "Abode of Darkness." Needless to say, no action was ever taken, and, in face of all the incriminating facts, it was never intended that any should be taken. Even High Toryism became alarmed at the consequences. The Duke of Wellington, brave and gallant soldier though he was, shrank from so impossible an ordeal. The best he could say of him was, "He was a stupid man," "A bad choice," "and totally unfit to take charge of Bonaparte."