On July 6 came a fresh shock to his feelings—a fresh omen of evil to himself—in a telegraphic report of the death of the friend whose place he had so recently taken. At first he could hardly bring himself to credit the news.
Is it indeed true (he wrote to Lady Elgin)? The last rumour of the kind was the report of my death, when I was mistaken for Eglinton; but this time I fear it is only too true! It will add to the alarm which India inspires. But poor Canning certainly never gave himself a good chance; at least not during the last year or two of his reign here. He took no exercise, and not even such relaxation of the mind as was procurable, though that is not much in the situation of Governor- General. When I told him that I should ask two or three people to dine with me daily, in order to get acquainted with all the persons I ought to know, and to talk matters over with them by candlelight, so as to save daylight for other work, he said: 'I was always so tired by dinner-time that I could not speak.' Perhaps he was only referring to his later experience; but still it was enough to break down any constitution, to wear oneself out for ever by the same train of thought, and the same routine of business. I think there was more in all this than met the eye, for work alone could not have done it. We shall have no confirmation of this rumour in letters for a fortnight or more…. Poor Canning! He leaves behind him sincere friends, but no one who was much dependent on him.
In another letter he wrote:—
So Canning and his wife, as Dalhousie and his, have fallen victims to India! Both however ruled here in stirring times, and accomplished great things, playing their lives against a not unworthy stake. I do not think that their fate is to be deplored.
A few days later he wrote from Barrackpore, where he had gone to seek the change of air which his health now began imperatively to require:—
This place looks wonderfully green. At the end of the broad walk on which I am gazing from my window, is Lady Canning's grave; it is not yet properly finished. Who will attend to it now? Meanwhile, it gives a melancholy character to the place, for the walk which it closes is literally the only private walk in the grounds. The flower garden, park, &c., are all open to the public…. Although Canning did not die at his post, I thought it right, as his death took place so soon after his departure from India, to recognise it officially, which I did by a public notification, and by directing a salute of minute guns to be fired.
While still oppressed with these sad thoughts, he received a blow which
went even deeper home, in the intelligence of the death of his brother
Robert, so well-known and so highly valued as Governor of the Prince of
Wales.
[Sidenote: Death of General Bruce.]
Barrackpore.—July 26th.—I went into Calcutta on the morning of the 23rd, in time to write by the afternoon packet; but I did not write, for I was met on my arrival by a telegraphic rumour, which quite overwhelmed me…. I should hardly have allowed myself to believe that the sad report could be true, had it not been for the account of Robert's illness, which your last letters had conveyed to me…. Next day another telegram by the Bombay mail of the July 3rd left no doubt as to the name…. A week, however, must elapse before letters arrive with, the intelligence…. I hurried over my business, and came back here yesterday evening. It is more quiet than Calcutta; and sad, with its one walk terminating (as I have told you) at Lady Canning's grave. Poor Robert, how little did I think when we parted that I was never to see him again! How little at least, that he would be the defaulter! He has left few equals behind him: so true, so upright, so steady in his principles, and so winning in his manners. Of late years we have been much apart, but for very many we were closely together, and perhaps no two brothers were ever more mutually helpful. Strange, that with Frederick and me in these regions, he should have been carried off first, by a malady which belongs to them.[3]… I write at random and confusedly, for I have nothing to guide me but that one word. And yet how much in that one word! It tells me that I have lost a wise counsellor in difficulties; a stanch friend in prosperity and adversity; one on whom, if anything had befallen myself, I could always have relied to care for those left behind me. It tells, too, of the dropping of a link of that family chain which has always been so strong and unbroken.
In writing to his second boy he touched the same chords in a different tone.