Though Clive in his boyhood was idle, and impatient of control, he was, notwithstanding, an affectionate son and a kind brother; and he appears, from his earliest communications with his family after he quitted England, to have had a mind imbued with good principles and feelings. He always retained a deep sense of religion: at no period of his life did he ever indulge in or sanction light or irreverent conversation on religious subjects. Like many other eminent men, he seems to have owed much to his mother,—a woman remarkable for her virtues and talents, and who is reported to have shown much tact and good sense in soothing and managing the hasty, and occasionally violent, temper of her husband.
Clive left England in 1743, and from a letter to his father, which unfortunately is imperfect, it would appear that he reached Madras late in 1744, after a long and dangerous passage, during the whole course of which, however, he enjoyed a perfect state of health. The ship was detained for nine months at the Brazils, and afterwards put into the Cape of Good Hope. His forced stay in Brazil enabled him to gain an easy command of the Portuguese language, which was afterwards of use to him; but the length of the passage, and especially the long continuance of the ship in harbour, made his extraordinary expenses greater than usual. This delay was also the cause of his missing the gentleman to whom he had been recommended at Madras, who in the interim had gone home; a circumstance that made it necessary for him to incur a debt, for essential articles, to the captain in whose ship he went out, and of the extravagance of whose charges he complains, with apparent justice. This want of means, joined to the want of friends, made his situation at first rather uncomfortable. He returns warm and grateful thanks to his father for his kindness to him, especially in his education. The public servants at Madras he commends, as, in general, "a set of very prudent and industrious people;" but asks his father to use his influence to get him transferred to Bengal, as a more beneficial situation; or to use his interest to have him advanced to the rank of factor. Still, however, the young adventurer does not lose sight of his usual manly and independent habits of thinking, nor of his affectionate attachment to his friends: "I don't doubt," says he, "but you'll make use of all possible means for my advancement. The world seems to be greatly debased of late, and interest carries it entirely before merit, especially in this service; tho' I should think myself very undeserving were I only to build my foundation on the strength of the former. I have been contriving a scheme concerning my cousin Bobby, but whether it may take effect, or my uncle care to intrust him to these parts, I am entirely at a loss to know. The Company keep two clergymen at this presidency: now, as there is a vacancy for one of them, if you could get him elected for this place, I cannot foresee any better provision can be made for him in England." He describes the allowances of the clergy, and leaves the decision to his father's judgment. The whole of the last part of this letter being lost, we are left in the dark as to its date, and such other particulars as he may have communicated.
This defect is in part supplied by a letter to his uncle, Mr. Bayley, which has been fortunately preserved[22], and in which he describes the feelings, so natural to a young man of ardent affections, far from his friends and from home, who turns with longing to the scenes of infancy and youth. After apologising for his delay in writing, he proceeds:—"I shall always retain a due sense of gratitude for the many obligations and favours you have laid me under; and the pleasant and delightful days I have spent with my kind relations and friends in Lancashire refreshes and entertains my mind with very agreeable ideas. I must confess, at intervals, when I think of my dear native England, it affects me in a very particular manner; however, knowing it to be for my own welfare, I rest content and patient, wishing the views for which my father sent me here may, in all respects, be fully accomplished. If I should be so far blest as to revisit again my own country, but more especially Manchester (the centre of all my wishes), all that I could hope or desire for would be presented before me in one view."
In a letter to one of his cousins, written in February, 1745, he indulges in a strain of sentiment, so natural, and so creditable to a youthful mind, and gives so lively an idea of his feelings of loneliness, that a pretty large extract from it may not be considered as here misplaced:—
"Dear Cousin,
"The want of a proper conveyance is the only plea I can offer for not addressing you sooner. It is a long time since I enjoyed the pleasure of your company and conversation, and as both parties have been equally culpable, I beg that from henceforth the strictest amity may subsist between us. The bond of friendship, especially when united by the ties of blood, ought not to be dissolved on any consideration whatever; and I believe you'll agree with me, that the only effectual means to preserve it entire must be by letters, since the vast ocean which divides us so far asunder won't admit of it by word of mouth, and which I heartily wish may turn out to the mutual satisfaction of both of us. If there is any thing which may properly be called happiness here below, I am persuaded it is in the union of two friends, who love each other without the least guile or deceit, who are united by a real inclination, and satisfied with each other's merit: their hearts are full, and leave no vacancy for any other passion: they enjoy perpetual tranquillity, because they enjoy content." After laying his past omissions on the thoughtlessness of youth, and excusing himself for not describing the country, as so many histories give a much more correct idea of it than he could, after so short a residence, he continues:—"I shall only add, that the intemperance of the climate, together with the excessive heat of the sun, are very noxious to our health; and I really think the advantages which accrue to us here, are greatly overbalanced by the sacrifices we make of our constitutions. I have not been unacquainted with the fickleness of fortune, and may safely say I have not enjoyed one happy day since I left my native country. I am not acquainted with any one family in the place, and have not assurance enough to introduce myself without being asked. If the state I am now in will admit of any happiness, it must be when I am writing to my friends. Letters surely were first invented for the comfort of such solitary wretches as myself. Having lost the substantial pleasure of seeing them, I shall in some measure compensate this loss, by the satisfaction I shall find in their writings. When you write me, I beg it may be carelessly, and without study, for I had much rather read the dictates of the heart than those of the understanding. The pacquet is just now going to be closed, which hastens me to a conclusion sooner than I designed. I desire you to tender my duty to my uncle and aunt, love to my cousins, and service to all friends; and it will greatly add to the obligations of him, who esteems it his greatest happiness to be thought
"Your kind and loving Cousin,
"Robt. Clive."Fort St. George, Feb. 16th, 1744-5.
These letters, though their rather laboured and incorrect style indicates the writer to have then had little practice in epistolary correspondence, show, however, the more essential qualities of excellent principles and an affectionate heart. His spirits seem already tinged by that melancholy which occasionally attended him through life. It is a curious, and not uninstructive sight, to observe the man who, in a few years, was to raise himself by his commanding talents and heroic daring, to an acknowledged pre-eminence above all his countrymen in the East, for several months after his first touching on the shores of that country, the scene of his future glory, acknowledging that he knew not one family in it, and shrinking with a sensitive diffidence from the exertion of introducing himself. Though affectionate, he was wayward and reserved. From this time till 1746, when Madras was taken, there are no accounts of him, except some anecdotes, tending to prove that he was very ill suited to the condition of life in which he was placed. His impatience of control, and wayward and impracticable firmness, never forsook him. On one occasion it appears that his conduct to the secretary under whom the writers were placed on their first arrival, was so inconsistent with the rules of official discipline, that the governor, to whom it was reported, commanded him to ask that gentleman's pardon. With this order he complied rather ungraciously; but the secretary immediately after, before his irritation had time to subside, having invited him to dinner,—"No, Sir," replied Clive, "the governor did not command me to dine with you."[23] He is stated to have hazarded, on more than one occasion, the loss of the service by acts of wildness: and a story was long current that, either in a fit of despair, or of low spirits, to which he was subject from his earliest years, he made, at this period, an attempt upon his own life. A companion, coming into his room in Writers' Buildings, was requested to take up a pistol and fire it out of the window: he did so. Clive, who was sitting in a very gloomy mood, sprang up, and exclaimed—"Well, I am reserved for something! That pistol," said he to his astonished friend, "I have twice snapped at my own head." This is not unlikely to be true, nor is its probability contradicted, by his never having spoken of it to any of his family after his return to England. But, while he properly threw a veil over the more violent ebullitions of his youth, he was fond of recurring to every act of early kindness which had been shown to him; and amongst these, he considered as one of the most important, his admission, soon after his arrival in India, into an excellent library belonging to the Governor of Madras. He now devoted much of his leisure to study, and there can be little doubt that it was at this time he laid the foundation of that knowledge, which was so soon to surprise and benefit his country.
When Madras was taken by the French Admiral La Bourdonnais (A. D. 1746), Clive became a prisoner of war, and like others gave his parole. It was agreed by the articles of capitulation that the English should surrender themselves prisoners of war; that the town should, in the first instance, be given up, but should be ransomed; and M. de la Bourdonnais gave his promise that he would settle the ransom on easy and moderate terms.[24] Dupleix, however, who was then at Pondicherry, ever at variance with the Admiral, insisted that Madras should be rased to the ground, and called upon the English officers to renew their parole to a governor whom he appointed. This infraction of the terms of capitulation was viewed with indignation by all, and construed into a release from the engagement into which they had entered. De la Bourdonnais, with regret, found himself unable to fulfil the conditions stipulated[25]; and Clive, accompanied by his friends Mr. Edmund Maskelyne, contrived, in the disguise of a native, to escape to Fort St. David.
Soon after his arrival at this place, he was engaged in a duel with an officer, to whom he had lost some money at cards, but who, with his companion, was clearly proved to have played unfairly. Clive was not the only loser; but the others were terrified into payment by the threats of those who had won their money. This example had no effect on him; he persisted in refusing to pay, and was called out by one of them who deemed himself insulted by his conduct. They met without seconds: Clive fired, and missed his antagonist, who immediately came close up to him, and held the pistol to his head, desiring him to ask his life, with which he complied. The next demand was, to recant his assertions respecting unfair play. On compliance with this being refused, his opponent threatened to shoot him. "Fire, and be d—d," said the dauntless young man; "I said you cheated; I say so still, and I will never pay you." The astonished officer threw away his pistol, saying, Clive was mad. The latter received from his young companions many compliments for the spirit he had shown; but he not only declined coming forward against the officer with whom he had fought, but never afterwards spoke of his behaviour at the card-table. "He has given me my life," he said, "and though I am resolved on never paying money which was unfairly won, or again associating with him, I shall never do him an injury."[26]