chose to call Sir John the son of his ancient enemy, the Earl of Sussex—­often denounced him in good set terms.  “His brother Edward is as ill as he,” he said, “but John is right the late Earl of Sussex’ son; he will so dissemble and crouch, and so cunningly carry his doings, as no man living would imagine that there were half the malice or vindictive mind that plainly his words prove to be.”  Leicester accused him of constant insubordination, insolence, and malice, complained of being traduced by him everywhere in the Netherlands and in England, and declared that he was followed about by “a pack of lewd audacious fellows,” whom the Earl vowed he would hang, one and all, before he had done with them.  He swore openly, in presence of all his camp, that he would hang Sir John likewise; so that both the brothers, who had never been afraid of anything since they had been born into the world, affected to be in danger of their lives.

The Norrises were on bad terms with many officers—­with Sir William Pelham of course, with “old Reade,” Lord North, Roger Williams, Hohenlo, Essex, and other nobles—­but with Sir Philip Sidney, the gentle and chivalrous, they were friends.  Sir John had quarrelled in former times—­according to Leicester—­with Hohenlo and even with the “good and brave” La None, of the iron arm; “for his pride,” said the Earl, “was the spirit of the devil.”  The governor complained every day of his malignity, and vowed that he “neither regarded the cause of God, nor of his prince, nor country.”

He consorted chiefly with Sir Thomas Cecil, governor of Brill, son of Lord Burghley, and therefore no friend to Leicester; but the Earl protested that “Master Thomas should bear small rule,” so long as he was himself governor-general.  “Now I have Pelham and Stanley, we shall do well enough,” he said, “though my young master would countenance him.  I will be master while I remain here, will they, nill they.”

Edward Norris, brother of Sir John, gave the governor almost as much trouble as he; but the treasurer Norris, uncle to them both, was, if possible, more odious to him than all.  He was—­if half Leicester’s accusations are to be believed—­a most infamous peculator.  One-third of the money sent by the Queen for the soldiers stuck in his fingers.  He paid them their wretched four-pence a-day in depreciated coin, so that for their “naughty money they could get but naughty ware.”  Never was such “fleecing of poor soldiers,” said Leicester.

On the other hand, Sir John maintained that his uncle’s accounts were always ready for examination, and earnestly begged the home-government not to condemn that functionary without a hearing.  For himself, he complained that he was uniformly kept in the background, left in ignorance of important enterprises, and sent on difficult duty with inadequate forces.  It was believed that Leicester’s course was inspired by envy, lest any military triumph that might be gained should redound to the glory of Sir John, one of the first commanders of the age, rather than to that of the governor-general.  He was perpetually thwarted, crossed, calumniated, subjected to coarse and indecent insults, even from such brave men as Lord North and Roger Williams, and in the very presence of the commander-in-chief, so that his talents were of no avail, and he was most anxious to be gone from the country.