mation according to
which Buckingham had made it half as large again as it had been in the
time of Elizabeth. He had increased it from 14,000 tons burden to
22,000: he had put the dockyards and magazines at Chatham, Deptford,
Woolwich, and Portsmouth into good repair; and a number of large
vessels had been built under his orders. Already in May an English
squadron had made an attempt to relieve Rochelle: but the commanders
on that occasion would not undertake the responsibility of exposing
the ships entrusted to them, to the great danger which threatened them
if they made the attempt: they were apprehensive of being called to
account. Buckingham was not fettered by considerations of this kind.
He had had engines of extraordinary dimensions constructed, which it
was expected would rend with irresistible power the mole in front of
the harbour, by which Rochelle was cut off.[485] And who shall say
that success would have been impossible?

Buckingham felt the hatred which men entertained towards him, but
thought that he should still turn it into admiration. He wished to
atone for the faults of his youth, and, as he said, to enter on new
paths traced on the lines of the ancient maxims and ancient policy of
England, in order to bring back better days.[486] He had to a certain
extent made himself the centre of Protestant interests. Every one
expected that he would proceed without delay to the relief of
Rochelle, for which all preparations had been made. The destinies of
the world seemed to hang upon his resolutions. And he had just
received better tidings from that town: no one had ever seen him
fuller of strength and energy. At this culminating point of his life
he was smitten by a sudden and horrible death. As he stepped out of
the dressing-room in his lodging at Portsmouth, and was crossing the
hall, in order to mount his carriage and drive to the King, he was
murdered by a stroke from a dagger.

The murderer might easily have escaped, for the house was full of men,
among them many Frenchmen, on whom the first suspicion fell. While all
were crying out for the villain who had murdered the Duke, the
murderer said, 'No villain did it, but an honourable man. I am the
man.' Men saw before them a lean man with red hair, and dark
melancholy features. His name was Felton: he had served in the last
maritime expeditions, and had formerly been passed over when there was
a vacancy for promotion. He could not endure to be placed below