Our traveller himself appeared, in the spring of 1820, in extreme danger of being snatched away from the world. By constantly attending in the chambers of the sick, during the prevalence of putrid sore-throat in his neighbourhood, he caught this dangerous disorder, which from himself was communicated to seven members of his household, to none of whom, however, did it prove fatal. In the autumn of the same year he paid a visit to Oxford, “when,” says Mrs. Heber, “he had the gratification of hearing ‘Palestine’ performed as an oratorio in the same theatre, where, seventeen years before, he had recited it to an equally, or perhaps a more crowded audience than was then assembled. To the eye the scene was the same, but its component parts were widely different. Of the relations who were present at the former period, some had paid the debt of nature; the greater number of his contemporaries were scattered abroad in the pursuit of their respective professions; new faces occupied the arena.”
About the close of the year 1822 Heber received, through his friend, the Right Honourable Watkins Williams Wynn, the offer of the bishopric of Calcutta. Our traveller had long viewed with deep interest the progress of Christianity in the East, and the prospect opened to him by this offer, of contributing by his own zeal and exertions to the success of so holy a cause, seems quickly to have outweighed in his mind every consideration of personal interest, and to have determined him, at all hazards, to accept of that distinguished but dangerous post. The conduct of Mr. Wynn on this occasion, his ardent desire that India should not be deprived of the services of so good, so great a man (for virtue like Heber’s is true greatness), while he was scarcely less unwilling to lose, certainly for a considerable time, if not, as it happened, for ever, a friend of incomparable value, reflects the highest honour on his heart and character. “The king,” said he, “has returned his entire approbation of your appointment to Calcutta, and if I could only divide you, so as to leave one in England and send the other to India, it would also have mine; but the die is now cast, and we must not look on any side but that which stands uppermost.” To this Heber replied, “For this last, as well as for all former proofs of your kindness, accept my best thanks. God grant that my conduct in India may be such as not to do your recommendation discredit, or make you repent the flattering confidence which you have placed in me.”
When Heber’s intention of leaving England was made known, he received from every quarter those warm voluntary testimonies of affection and regret which nothing but virtue, distinguished, persevering, exalted, can command. His own parishioners, as was natural, were the foremost in their demonstrations of their profound esteem. Rich, poor, old, and young—all joined in presenting their exemplary pastor with a lasting mark of the veneration in which his character was held among them. “Almost the last business,” says Mrs. Heber, “which Dr. Heber (he had recently been created D.D. by the University of Oxford) transacted before he left Shropshire was settling a long-standing account, in which he had been charged as debtor to the amount of a hundred pounds; but it was believed by those who were best acquainted with the circumstances, that he was not bound either in law or probity to pay it. As he himself, however, did not feel certain on this point, he resolved to pay the money, observing to a friend who endeavoured to dissuade him, ‘How can I reasonably hope for a blessing on my undertaking, or how can I commence so long a voyage with a quiet conscience, if I leave even the shadow of a committed act of injustice behind?’ About the same time an unknown person sent him a small sum of money through the hands of a clergyman in Shrewsbury, confessing that he had defrauded him of it, and stating that he could not endure to see him leave England for such objects without relieving his own conscience by making restitution. On the 22d of April, 1823,” she continues, “Dr. Heber finally took leave of Shropshire: from a range of high grounds near Newport, he turned back to catch a last view of his beloved Hodnet; and here the feelings which he had hitherto suppressed in tenderness to others burst forth unrestrained, and he uttered the words which have proved prophetic, that he ‘should return to it no more!’”
Heber, having made all necessary preparations for his long voyage, and received consecration, repaired on the 16th of June on board the Company’s ship Grenville, in which he and his family were to proceed to India. As our traveller’s first desire, in whatever position he happened to be placed, was to effect all the good in his power, he no sooner found himself on board than he endeavoured to communicate to the sailors a sense of their religious duties; which he did with all that authority and effect which genius and virtue invariably exert over inferior individuals. His exhortations were listened to attentively and respectfully; and there can be no doubt produced, in many instances at least, conviction and amendment of life. The influence which the majestic simplicity of his character enabled him to exercise over his rude audience may in some measure be conceived from the following anecdote: “We had divine service on deck this morning,” says he; “a large shoal of dolphins were playing round the ship, and I thought it right to interfere to check the harpoons and fishing-hooks of some of the crew. I am not strict in my notions of what is called the Christian Sabbath; but the wanton destruction of animal life seems to be precisely one of those works by which the sanctity and charity of our weekly feast would be profaned. The sailors took my reproof in good part.” Such were his occupations until, on the 3d of October, the ship safely anchored in Sangor roads, in the Hoogly, or great western branch of the Ganges.
Heber was now arrived in the most extraordinary region, Greece and Egypt perhaps excepted, which has ever been inhabited by mankind. And he was well calculated by his high enthusiasm, extensive learning, and remarkable freedom from prejudice, to conceive all the splendour of the scene before him, to enter profoundly into the spirit of its institutions, and to describe with graceful and simple eloquence the picturesque variety of manners which the natives of this vast empire present to the contemplation of a stranger. “Two observations struck me forcibly,” says he; “first, that the deep bronze tint (observable in the Hindoos) is more naturally agreeable to the human eye than the fair skins of Europe, since we are not displeased with it even in the first instance, while it is well known that to them a fair complexion gives the idea of ill health, and of that sort of deformity which in our eyes belongs to an Albino. There is, indeed, something in a negro which requires long habit to reconcile the eye to him; but for this the features and the hair, far more than the colour, are answerable. The second observation was, how entirely the idea of indelicacy, which would naturally belong to such naked figures as those now around us, if they were white, is prevented by their being of a different colour from ourselves. So much are we children of association and habit, and so instinctively and immediately do our feelings adapt themselves to a total change of circumstances! It is the partial and inconsistent change only which affects us.”
They now entered the mighty Ganges, and sailing up towards Calcutta through the Sunderbunds, or rather along their western limit, beheld their dark impenetrable forests stretching away interminably towards the right, while a rich vegetable fragrance was wafted from the shore. The current of the river, when increased by the ebb-tide, was found as they ascended to be tremendously rapid, running at no less a rate, according to their pilot, than ten or eleven miles an hour. On arriving at Calcutta, Heber found that the ecclesiastical business of his bishopric, at all times multiplex and extensive, had now, since the death of Dr. Middleton, accumulated prodigiously; so that, although he had come out neither with the expectation nor the wish to find his place a sinecure, he felt somewhat alarmed at the laborious prospect before him. However, he was a man accustomed to labour, and not easily discouraged. He therefore diligently applied himself to business, and had soon the satisfaction to find that, notwithstanding the formidable appearance of things on his first arrival, it was still possible, after fully performing his duty, which no consideration could induce him to neglect, to command sufficient leisure for studying whatever was curious or striking in the natural or moral aspect of Hindostan. Former travellers, he now found, were, notwithstanding their numbers, very far from having exhausted the subject, either because the phenomena of Asiatic manners are, like those of the heavens, in a state of perpetual change, or because these, continuing the same, which however they do not, appear under various phases to different men, from being viewed by each individual from the peculiar point of observation afforded by his character and acquirements.
In the course of seven months, Heber had achieved that portion of his task which was to be performed in the capital. Next to this in importance was his visitation through the Upper Provinces, an expedition in which he had hoped to be accompanied by his family; but this being rendered impracticable by the delicate health of his wife, and the tender age of his infant child, he departed with his domestic chaplain, Mr. Stowe, in a sixteen-oared pinnace, for Dacca. The shores of the Ganges, though flat almost throughout Bengal, are far from wanting in stately or picturesque objects. Lofty pagodas, with their fantastic angular domes, towering over forests of bamboos, banyans, and cocoa-trees; ruins of Mussulman palaces; wild tracts of jungle inhabited by tigers; groves of peepul or tamarind-trees; with Hindoo villages or hamlets, perched upon artificial mounds to escape the periodical inundations of the river. But no scene is possessed of all advantages. There is always some small drawback, to afford man an excuse for enjoying the delicious pleasure of complaining. “One of the greatest plagues we have yet met with in this journey,” says Heber, “is that of the winged bugs. In shape, size, and scent, with the additional faculty of flying, they resemble the ‘grabbatic’ genus, too well known in England. The night of our lying off Barrackpoor, they were troublesome; but when we were off the rajah’s palace, they came out, like the ghosts of his ancestor’s armies, in hundreds and thousands from every bush and every heap of ruins, and so filled our cabins as to make them barely endurable. These unhappy animals crowded round our candles in such swarms, some just burning their feet and wings on the edge of the glass shade, and thus toppling over, others, more bold, flying right into the crater, and meeting their death there, that we really paid no attention to what was next day a ghastly spectacle,—the mighty army which had settled on the wet paint of the ceiling, and remained there, black and stinking, till the ants devoured them. These last swarm in my pinnace: they have eaten up no inconsiderable portion of my provisions, and have taken, I trust to their benefit, a whole box of blue pills; but as they do their best to clear it of all other vermin, I cannot but look upon them with some degree of favour.”
A gentleman travelling as Heber travelled in India is likely to meet with few personal adventures. He runs no risk, except from the climate, and moves on smoothly from one station to another, in that state of tranquillity which is useful, if not necessary, to calm, dispassionate observation. Thus our traveller sailed from Calcutta to Dacca, once renowned for the spaciousness and splendour of its palaces, but now ruined, deserted, and reduced to be the haunt of bats, serpents, and every loathsome thing. Here, in an interview with the nawâb, who, like his imperial master of Delhi, has long been reduced to subsist upon the bounty of the Company, Heber exhibited that delicate regard for the feelings of a man,
Fallen from his high estate,
which a careful observation of his previous life would have led us to expect from him. Here he had the misfortune to lose Mr. Stowe, his domestic chaplain, who, by his many excellent and amiable qualities, had long occupied the place of a friend in his affections.