Cornish Worthies: Sketches of Some Eminent Cornish Men and Families, Volume 2 (of 2)

RICHARD LANDER,

THE EXPLORER.

RICHARD LANDER,

THE EXPLORER.

'Les fleuves sont de grands chemins qui marchent.'—Pascal.

The interest which was felt in a portrait of Henry Bone, R.A., which I had the pleasure of presenting to the Royal Institution of Cornwall, induced me to offer for the acceptance of that Society the portraits of two other Truro worthies; which I thought (though the engravings possess no great merit as works of art) might at least serve as reminders of the energy, skill, and determination possessed by two Truro men—half a century ago;[95] and, almost as a matter of course, Richard Lander's name found a place among the Cornish Worthies, whose stories I am attempting to write. I am just old enough to remember the commencement, on the 16th June, 1835, of the erection of the column designed by P. Sambell, jun., to the memory of Richard Lander, which stands at the top of Lemon Street, and (owing to bad workmanship) the fall of a considerable portion of it on the 21st of May, 1836. Amongst other reminiscences I may perhaps also mention that my father has told me that, on the occasion of laying the foundation-stone of the column, he was one of those who formed the procession, and that he and the late Mr. Humphry Willyams, of Carnanton, then led by the hand Richard Lander's child. On that occasion, as on a more recent one of higher importance at Truro, viz., the laying of the foundation-stone of the new Cathedral, the Masonic ceremony was followed by a religious service.

Although generally spoken of as the Brothers Lander, it should be borne in mind that to Richard, the elder brother, the world is mainly indebted for the discovery of the course of the lower portion of 'the lordly Niger' (as Longfellow calls the river). John, the younger brother, had considerable powers of observation and some poetic taste, and was by trade a printer. He accompanied Richard simply from affectionate motives (and certainly without promise of any pecuniary reward), on the second of Richard's three expeditions to Africa, from which the brothers returned safely; but John will appear no further (except incidentally) in the remarks which I have to offer. He was born in 1807, and died in 1839 in consequence of illness contracted during his one voyage to Africa.

Richard Lemon Lander, the heroic but unfortunate traveller, whose name will ever be associated with the splendid discovery of the course and termination of that mysterious and fatal river, which some of the ancients confounded with the Nile, and which the Moors of Northern Africa still call 'the Nile of the Negroes,'[96] was the fourth of six children, and was born at his father's house, the 'Dolphin Inn,' Truro (then called 'The Fighting Cocks'), on the 8th February, 1804, the day on which Colonel Lemon was elected M.P. for the town. Hence his second name; and hence also a certain appropriateness in the site which was chosen at the top of Lemon Street for his statue, the work of a Cornish sculptor, the late N. N. Burnard. In the midst of his unfeigned humility in his account of his parents, he nevertheless boasts that, as his father's name began with a Lan and his mother's maiden name (Penrose) with a Pen, no one could deny his claim to being a right Cornishman. But Colonel J. Lambrick Vivian informs me that Lander came from an older and a better stock than he was himself aware of. The family can be traced, in St. Just at least, as early as 1619, at which time a Richard Lander married Thomasine Bosaverne, one of a good old Cornish family. The Polwheles and Landers also intermarried. Richard's grandfather, a noted wrestler, lived near the Land's End.

Of Lander's early life in Truro I can learn little further than that he went to "old Pascoe's" school in Coomb's Lane, and was one of those few favourites of his master, who was thought worthy to receive one of the then newly-coined 1s. 6d. pieces. Richard seems to have been a merry, bright-eyed lad, somewhat below the usual height,[97] but he was always of a roving, adventurous spirit, and, when only eleven years old, accompanied a merchant to the West Indies, whence, after a residence there of three years, and having been attacked by fever in St. Domingo, he returned to England in 1818, and lived as a servant in various wealthy families, with some of whom he visited the continent of Europe.

In 1823 he went with Major Colebrook (one of the Royal Commissioners of inquiry into the state of the British Colonies) to the Cape of Good Hope, and returned to England in the following year. In 1825, when Captain Clapperton and Major Denham returned from their travels in the interior of Africa, Lander, charmed, as he says, by the very sound of the word 'Africa,' and impelled by his inborn love of adventure, offered to accompany the former officer in a second expedition to that continent, notwithstanding the efforts of all his friends to dissuade him. Amongst these may be mentioned Mr. George Croker Fox, who offered Lander, by way of a counter-temptation, a more lucrative post in South America. However, Lander's proposal was gladly accepted by Clapperton, and the adventurous youngster remained with his employer up to the hour of the Captain's death at Soccatoo, in the interior, in April, 1827. He then made his homeward-way, alone, by land to Badagry on the coast, and arrived at Portsmouth with Clapperton's papers in April, 1828, much debilitated by fevers contracted during his long sojourn in a pestiferous climate.

In the December of the following year Richard Lander published a most entertaining account of his travels, dating the first part of the introduction to the book, 'Truro, Oct. 29th, 1829.' To this work is prefixed his portrait, in his Eastern travelling costume.

Now comes his most important voyage of discovery. Having arranged, under the auspices of the Government, a second expedition to West Africa, not only with a view to commerce, but also in the hope of doing something which should lead to the suppression of the slave-trade and of human sacrifices, he embarked with his brother John in the merchant-vessel Alert at Portsmouth, on the 8th January, 1830. He says the party went out 'with the fixed determination to risk everything, even life itself, towards the final accomplishment of their object. Confidence in ourselves and in the natives will be our best panoply, and an English Testament our best fetish.' The Colonial Secretary granted an allowance of £100 a year to Mrs. Richard Lander during her husband's absence, and the traveller was himself to receive a gratuity of £100 on his return to England. The little expedition arrived at Cape Coast Castle on the 22nd February, 1830, and was conveyed thence on board H.M.'s Brig Clinker to Accra, where they landed on the 22nd March. On the 17th June, after a toilsome and dangerous journey overland, they reached Boussa on the West bank of the Niger, the place where, it will be remembered, Mungo Park met with a similar fate to that which was ultimately to befall Lander. Thence they ascended the river to Yaoorie, a distance of about 100 miles; and this place, the extreme point of the expedition, they reached on the 27th June. On the 2nd August they returned to Boussa, where they embarked in canoes in order to descend the stream—considering that such a method must at last solve the mighty problem somehow—though of course in utter uncertainty as to whither the stream might lead them.

As they proceeded, difficulties and dangers increased. At Kirree they were plundered and cruelly ill-treated; and at Eboe they were made prisoners by the Negro King, who demanded a large sum for their ransom, which, after long delay, was procured. At length they reached the mouth of the Nun branch of the Niger; and on the 1st December, 1830, they were put on shore at Fernando Po; and ultimately, after first visiting Rio Janeiro, they reached Portsmouth on the 9th June, 1831.

So triumphant a result naturally excited the public interest; and it is stated that Murray, the eminent publisher, offered the Landers 1000 guineas for their papers; the offer was accepted, and the task of blending the brothers' two journals into one, and of constructing a map of their route, having been performed by Lieutenant Beecher, R.N., the work, in three volumes, was published in 1832 as No. 28 of the Family Library, and has been translated into French, German, Dutch, and Swedish. For his valuable discoveries Richard Lander received from the Royal Geographical Society its first annual premium of fifty guineas, presented by King William IV.

It may be interesting to note here the following description of the scenery of the lower Niger, translated from a recent work by a Belgian traveller—Adolphe Burdo:—

Commerce with the rich interior of Africa now at length seemed practicable; and accordingly, with this view, early in 1832 several Liverpool merchants formed a company, and arranged a trading expedition up the Niger, which was placed under the direction of Richard Lander. This expedition consisted of two iron steam-vessels, the Quorra ('Shining River'), of 145 tons, and the Alburka ('Blessing') measuring only 55. They were accompanied as far as the Gulf of Guinea by a brig laden with coals for the steamers, and a variety of articles for presents or barter. The little squadron sailed from Milford Haven on 25th July, 1832, and reached Cape Coast Castle on 7th October. After innumerable mishaps, and fearful prostrations by illnesses caused by the unhealthy climate, but having succeeded in tracing the Niger (this time upwards) for a considerable portion of its course, Lander returned for a short time to Fernando Po for further supplies of cowries,[98] etc., leaving the steamers in charge of Surgeon Oldfield.

Having obtained what he required, he started on his return and final voyage, of which the following is a summary.

Early in 1834 Lander left Fernando Po in the Craven cutter with four hundred pounds' worth of goods to rejoin the Alburka. On arriving at the Nun mouth of the Niger he quitted the Craven, and with his companions began ascending the river in two canoes of different sizes. All the party were in excellent spirits. With them were two or three negro musicians, who, when the labours of the day were over, cheered their countrymen with their instruments, to the sound of which they danced and sang in company, while the few Englishmen belonging to the party amused themselves with angling on the banks of the stream; thus, stemming a strong current by day, and resting from their toil at night, Lander and his little band, totally unapprehensive of danger, and unprepared to overcome or meet it, proceeded slowly up the stream. At some distance from its mouth they met King Jacket, a relation of King Boy, one of the heartless and sullen chiefs who ruled over a large tract of the slimy, poisonous marshes which border the Brass River. This personage was hailed by our travellers, and a present of tobacco and rum was offered him: he accepted it with a murmur of dissatisfaction, and his eyes sparkled with malignity as he said in his own language: "White man will never reach Eboe this time." This sentence was immediately interpreted to Lander by a native of the country (a boy, who afterwards bled to death from a wound in the knee); but Lander made light of the matter, and attributed King Jacket's prophecy (for so it proved to be) to the petulance and malice of his disposition. Soon, however, he discovered his error; but too late to evade the danger which threatened him. On ascending the river sixty or seventy miles further, the Englishman approached an island near Ingiamma, near where the progress of the larger canoe was effectually obstructed by the shallowness of the stream. Amongst the trees and underwood which grew on this island, and on both banks of the river in its vicinity, large ambuscades of the natives had previously been formed, and shortly after the principal canoe had grounded, its unfortunate crew, busily occupied in endeavouring to get it into deeper water, were saluted with irregular but heavy and continued discharges of musketry. So great was Lander's confidence in the sincerity and goodwill of the natives that he could not at first believe that the destructive fire by which he was literally surrounded was anything more than a mode of salutation they had adopted in honour of his arrival. But the Kroomen who had leaped into the boat, and who fell wounded by his side, convinced him of his mistake, and plainly discovered to him the fearful nature of the peril into which he had fallen so unexpectedly, as well as the difficulty he would experience in extricating himself from it. But, encouraging his comrades with his voice and gestures, the traveller prepared to defend himself to the last; and a loud and simultaneous shout from his little party assured him that they shared his feelings, and would follow his example. Meanwhile, several of the savages having come out from their concealment, were brought down by the shots of the English; but Lander, whilst stooping to pick up a cartridge from the bottom of the canoe, was struck near the hip by a musket-ball. The shock made him stagger; but he did not fall, and he continued cheering on his men. Soon, however, finding his ammunition expended, himself seriously wounded, the courage of his Kroomen beginning to droop, and the firing of his assailants instead of diminishing become more general, he resolved to attempt getting into the smaller canoe, afloat at a short distance, as the only remaining chance of preserving a single life. For this purpose, abandoning their property, the survivors threw themselves into the stream, and with much difficulty (for the strength of the current was enormous) most of them succeeded in accomplishing their object. No sooner was this observed by the natives in ambush than they started up and rushed out with loud and hideous yells; some Bonny, Brass, and Benin canoes that had been hidden behind the luxuriant foliage which overhung the river were, in an instant, pushed out into the middle of the current, and pursued the fugitives with surprising velocity; while numbers of savages, with wild antics and furious gesticulations, ran and danced along the beach, uttering loud and startling cries. The Kroomen maintained on this occasion the good reputation which their countrymen have deservedly acquired: the lives of the whole party depended on these men's energy and skill, and they impelled the slender barque through the water with unrivalled swiftness.

The pursuit was kept up for four hours; and poor Lander, with only wet ammunition, and with no defensive weapons whatever, was exposed to the straggling fire, as well as the insulting mockery of his pursuers. The fugitives, however, outstripped their pursuers, and when they found the chase discontinued altogether, Lander stood up, for the last time, in the canoe; and, being seconded by his remaining associates, he waved his hat and gave a last cheer in sight of his adversaries. He then became sick and faint from loss of blood, and sank back exhausted in the arms of those who were nearest to him. Rallying shortly afterwards, the nature of his wound was communicated to him by Mr. Moore, a young surgeon from England, who had accompanied him up the river, viz., that the ball could not be extracted; it had worked its way into the left thigh, and Lander felt convinced that his career would soon be terminated. When the state of excitement to which his feelings had been wrought gave place to the languor which generally succeeds powerful excitement of any kind, the invalid's wound pained him exceedingly, and for several hours afterwards he endured, though with calmness, the most intense sufferings. From that time he could neither sit up nor turn on his couch; but while he was proceeding down the river in a manner so melancholy, and so very different from the mode in which he was ascending it only the day before, he could not help indulging in mournful reflections: he talked much of his wife, his child, his friends, his distant home, and his blighted expectations. It was a period of darkness, distress, and sorrow to him; but his natural cheerfulness soon regained its ascendency over his mind, and, freely forgiving all his enemies, he resigned himself into the hands of his Maker. At length, having succeeded in escaping down the stream, Lander reached Fernando Po on the 27th of January. After his arrival he was doing so well, that, on the very day previous to his death, which occurred on the 6th of February, 1834,[99] he took food with appetite, and no doubt was entertained of his recovery. But mortification of the wound suddenly set in, and all hope was abandoned. So rapid was his prostration, that he died soon after midnight; having given such directions respecting his affairs as the shortness of the last fatal warning permitted. While on his sick-bed, every needful and possible aid was afforded him. In the airiest room of Colonel Nicholl's residence, receiving the unremitting attention of that humane and gallant officer (the Governor of Fernando Po), with the best medical assistance, and the most soothing services, his pains were alleviated and his spirits were cheered. He was conscious of his approaching dissolution, talked with calmness to those around him, and anticipated the termination of his career with composure and with hope. His body was laid in the grave at the Clarence Cemetery amid the vivid regrets of the whole population, who accompanied the funeral.

An account of this voyage, which Lander had promised should be his last—though he did not anticipate its fatal termination—was published by Messrs. Laird and Oldfield, the only surviving officers of the expedition, in 1835; but I have been obliged to obtain the foregoing account of the attack at Ingiamma, and the death of Richard Lander, from other sources. Messrs. Laird and Oldfield's work is illustrated by another, containing eleven views and maps by Commander W. Allen, R.N., published by Murray in 1840.

Though the subject of these notes seems to have been in every sense the life and soul of the expedition, yet, as the French writer Lanoye tartly pointed out, at the time of his writing poor Lander's grave in the cemetery of Fernando Po was undistinguished by any monument; nor do I know whether or not this omission has even yet been rectified. 'A solitary palm tree,' says Baikie,[100] 'marks the spot where this heroic traveller and most intrepid pioneer of civilization fell;' but the village itself from which the attack was delivered has, I believe, been moved about a quarter of a mile farther up the river.

The Royal Geographical Society, however, has not been unmindful of Lander's claim to a place in the front rank of discoverers, and have fixed in the Chapel Royal, Savoy, a stained glass memorial window, the subjects of which are the Transfiguration and the Last Supper, with the following inscription:

This was in substitution for the tablet erected in 1834, and destroyed by the fire of 7th July, 1864.

His native place has not forgotten his fame, as the Doric column at Truro surmounted by his statue testifies. The plate on the foundation-stone bore this inscription: 'To honour the enterprise and sufferings of the brothers Richard and John Lander, natives of this town, and to commemorate the early fate of Richard, who perished on the Quorra, Ætat. 30.' And his name has been given to two places on the Niger. That he did not himself forget his Cornish home is clear from his having named an island on the river 'Truro Island,' and one of the high hills on its banks, 'Cornwall Mountain.'

A writer in the 'Annual Biography and Obituary' for 1834 says of him that 'Richard Lander was of short stature, but he possessed great muscular strength, and a constitution of iron.' No stranger could help being 'struck (as Sir Joseph Banks was with Ledyard) with the breadth of his chest, the openness of his countenance, and the restlessness of his eye. He was gifted in an eminent degree with that passive courage which is so requisite a qualification in an African traveller. His manners were mild, unobtrusive, and highly pleasing, which, joined to his cheerful temper and ingenuous handsome countenance, rendered him a favourite with everyone that knew him, by most of whom he was beloved in the fullest sense of that word.'

So greatly was Richard Lander beloved by the untutored Africans, that at various places in the interior where he had remained some time, as at Katunga, Boussa, Yaoorie, numbers of the inhabitants ran out of their huts to embrace him on his leaving, and with hands uplifted, and eyes filled with tears, they blessed him in the name of their gods.

The Literary Gazette for 3rd May, 1834, had the following observations on Lander's death: 'Thus has another sacrifice to African discovery been made: a man whose character was of the highest human stamp. Calm and resolute, steady and fearless, bold and adventurous, never did there exist a more fit instrument for the undertaking of such exploits as those which have shed a lustre over his humble name. We cannot express the sorrow with which the sad calamity has filled us—it is a deep private affliction, and a lasting national regret.'

A pension of £70 a year was granted by the Government to Lander's widow, and a donation of £50 to his daughter; and a sum of 80 guineas which had been collected in Truro (with a view to presenting the Landers with a piece of plate) was diverted towards the cost of erecting the Lander column. An infant son of the same name died the same year as his father, and was buried in the churchyard of the Savoy.

I do not know that I can more suitably conclude these imperfect remarks than by quoting the following touching letter—I believe the last he ever wrote—as an illustration of his amiable, unselfish character:

Such was the fate of one who may be not unfairly described as one of the chief, if not the chief, of the pioneers of West African exploration. It is evident that access to the interior of the Dark Continent continues to engage the attention of travellers; for, according to the comments of a recent writer on the meeting of the Royal Geographical Society in May, 1883:

Whatever may be the future of Africa, Richard Lander's name will always be remembered as that of one of the earliest and bravest of her explorers.

THE REV. HENRY MARTYN, B.D.,

THE CHRISTIAN MISSIONARY AND ORIENTAL SCHOLAR.

THE REV. HENRY MARTYN, B.D.,

THE CHRISTIAN MISSIONARY AND ORIENTAL SCHOLAR.

'Atque opere in medio defixa reliquit aratra.'

Anyone who would write the life of Henry Martyn, must feel that he is about to tread upon holy ground. For, however clearly we may see, on perusing his 'Journals and Letters,'[102] that his introspection was morbidly minute, his temper naturally irritable, and his religious views generally of the gloomiest as well as of an almost impracticable character, yet his ardent zeal, his saint-like devotion, his self-denial, and his deep humility, afford such an example of earnest piety as is rarely to be met with in the annals of the Church, since the days of the Apostles themselves. His very faults were but 'the shadows of his virtues,' and of Henry Martyn it might truly be said that to him—without religion—

How much of this was due to that frequent correlation which, as Mr. Galton points out, frequently exists between an unusually devout disposition and a weak constitution, it would of course be hard to say.

I cannot help thinking that Martyn has been a little unfortunate in his biographer, the Rev. John Sargent, jun., although that writer's 'Memoir' has been so popular that I believe it has run through about a score of editions. There was a tardy apology for the tone of the book in the preface to the tenth edition—and an explanation to the effect that Martyn's religion was really by no means of a desponding character, and that few persons 'have equalled him in the enjoyment of that "peace which passeth all understanding."' If such were the case it is unfortunate that the extracts made by Mr. Sargent from Martyn's 'Journals' should have left so wide-spread an impression to the contrary—an impression which it is probably as fruitless to attempt to counteract as Mr. Sargent expected it would be.

Sargent appears to have sympathized chiefly with one side of Martyn's character, namely, the gloomy and self-torturing one, and the result is that to read the 'Memoir' harrows one's feelings. Very similar remarks apply to the 'Journals and Letters,' but in the latter, at least, we have only the man himself, and are spared the somewhat complacent tone in which his mental anguish and physical sufferings are depicted by his friend and biographer. Charles Kingsley used to say of Martyn: 'My mind is in a chaos about him. Sometimes one feels inclined to take him at his own word, and believe him, as he says, a mere hypochondriac; then the next moment he seems a saint. I cannot fathom it. Of this, however, I am certain, that he was a much better man than I am.' One great lesson, however, of this learned, brave, and good man's life—crowned as it surely was with the crown of the martyr, if ever mortal's brow were so adorned—appears to me to be this: that a life of seclusion, nay, almost isolation, such as his, defeats its own object, if that object be, like Martyn's, to influence our fellow-men. 'It is miserable,' he used to say, when thinking of the vast amount of sin there was in the world, 'it is miserable living with men;' and, again, 'a dried leaf or a straw makes me feel in good company.' And herein seems to lie a great difference between Martyn, notwithstanding his learning, his piety, and his dauntless courage amidst incessant perils, and such heroic Christian missionaries as were St. Paul and Bishop Heber, who had learnt to mix more freely with their fellow-men, and to combine the wisdom of the serpent with the harmlessness of the dove.

But to turn to the life itself. Henry Martyn, like Martin Luther, sprang from a family of mine captains, and was born at Truro, on Feb. 18th, 1781—the third child of a family of four. His father, who lived at first near Gwennap Church-Town, had been an Accountant at Wheal Virgin; and being, like many others of his calling, an ingenious and self-reliant man, taught himself arithmetic and some mathematics; his abilities attracted the attention of Mr. Daniell, one of the Truro merchants, and ultimately John Martyn became his chief clerk. 'The elder Martyn,' Polwhele says, 'was a tall, erect man, used to take his daily exercise under the Coinage Hall, which was opposite his house.' The house was pulled down to make room for the new Town Hall; it occupied the site of the present Police Station, as I am informed. Henry's great-uncle, Thomas Martyn, was the author of the large and excellent Map of Cornwall, known by his name.[103] He was a surveyor, and his map is said to have been the result of fifteen years' labour—the survey having been made on foot. He died in 1752-53. Henry's mother, from whom he seems to have inherited his delicate constitution, was a Miss Fleming of Ilfracombe; she died the year after he was born.

Henry Martyn—'little Henry Martyn,' as his schoolfellows used tenderly to call him—was sent at Midsummer, 1788, to that capital nest of so large a number of our most distinguished Cornishmen—the Truro Grammar School—and he is thus described by one of his fellow-pupils, the late Clement Carlyon, M.D., Fellow of Pembroke College, and thrice Mayor of Truro, in his 'Early Years and Late Reflections:' 'A good-humoured, plain little fellow, with red eyelids devoid of eye-lashes, and indicative of a scrofulous habit; and with hands so thickly covered with warts that it was impossible for him to keep them clean, or for his respected master,[104] who borrowed a large leaf out of Dr. Busby's book, to inflict on him, when idle, stripes over the back of his hand.' He seems to have improved in appearance as he grew older; but was always 'rather low in stature, and plain in person, though not disagreeably so;[105] whilst his amiable disposition[106] and sociability ensured him the esteem and friendship of all who were acquainted with him.' Though all his life long he was particularly fond of laughing and playing with little children, at school he seldom played with the other boys; and seems to have evinced no precocity, nor was he very studious, like his friend and school-fellow Kempthorne[107] (Senior Wrangler of 1796, and afterwards vicar of a church in Gloucester): nor did Martyn display the poetic vein of another of his colleagues, Humphry Davy.

At the Truro Grammar School, having failed in 1795 to obtain a Scholarship at Corpus Christi College, Oxford, he remained till 1797, in which year he took up residence at St. John's College, Cambridge, where, from his assiduity, he was known as 'the man who had never lost an hour,' and was at once fortunate in securing the advice and friendship of his old acquaintance Kempthorne, who, as well as Martyn himself, soon came within the influence of a very earnest Low Church Divine, the Rev. Charles Simeon, a fellow of King's College, of whom it is only right to add that he more than once warned Martyn, whilst in the East, that he was overtaxing his strength and energies. To this clergyman Martyn was afterwards to become curate.

The death of his father in 1800 led Martyn to study the Bible most seriously; and he so read its pages as to determine upon basing his whole life upon its promises. He says, for instance, of his magnificent success in becoming the Senior Wrangler of his year (and that year was a distinguished one in the annals of the University): 'I obtained my highest wishes, but was surprised to find I had grasped a shadow!' Indeed, it is said that, when he entered the Senate House for the examination, and saw the unusually large number assembled there, he ejaculated, with apparently some inconsistency, the text: 'Seekest thou great things for thyself? seek them not, saith the Lord.' In 1802 he became Fellow and Tutor of his college, and gained the first prize for Latin prose composition, thus compensating amply for his lack of success in 1799, when he failed to obtain the prize for themes in his college, and came out second instead of first, as was expected, at the examination.

He now returned to his native place for a short time, for much-needed rest and change; not, however, staying much at Truro, but passing most of his holiday at Woodbury, just below Malpas, on the Fal, the residence of his brother-in-law, Rev. Mr. Curgenven (curate of the parishes of Kenwyn and Kea). These were amongst the happiest moments of his life. He says, either of this place or Lamorran (and the description is applicable to either): 'The scene is such as is frequently to be met with in this part of Cornwall. Below the house is an arm of the sea flowing between the hills, which are covered with wood. By the shore I walk in general, in the evening, out of the reach of all sound but the rippling of the water and the whistling of the curlew.'

On his return to Cambridge in the following October, conversations with Mr. Simeon, instigated by a perusal of the 'Life and Labours of David Brainerd among the North American Indians,' gave rise to Martyn's intense desire to become a missionary; and, notwithstanding his alleged appreciative enjoyment of a literary and social life at home, he offered his services to a Missionary Society. They were not, however, accepted; and after having been ordained at Ely in October, 1803, he became Mr. Simeon's curate—preaching sometimes at Lolworth, a church six miles from the University, on the Huntingdon road, and sometimes at Trinity Church, Cambridge. Simeon always continued a friend and admirer of Martyn, and had his portrait hung up over his fireplace. He often used to look up at it with affectionate earnestness: 'There!' he used to say, 'see that blessed man! What an expression of countenance! No one looks at me as he does—he seems always to be saying, "Be serious, be in earnest; don't trifle—don't trifle." 'Then he would smile at the picture, and gently bow, and add: 'And I won't trifle—I won't trifle.'

Early in 1804, Martyn, as well as his younger sister, Sally (Mrs. Pearson), to whom he seems to have been fondly attached, had the misfortune to lose all their patrimony; an event which, in addition to the causes already referred to, probably led to his making a second effort (which was also at the time unsuccessful) to procure an appointment as a missionary—this time in the form of a 'chaplaincy' to the East India Company. This year was further memorable from Martyn's making the acquaintance of a kindred spirit—the poet, H. Kirke White (also a Johnian), 'a religious young man of seventeen, who wants to come to college, but has only £20 a year.'

Another visit to his solitary retreat in Cornwall refreshed him during the summer, and whilst there he preached to a crowded congregation at Kenwyn Church from 2 Cor. v. 20, 21: 'Now we are ambassadors,' etc. (a very favourite text of his), and availed himself of the opportunity, before returning to Cambridge on 18th of September, 1804, to take leave of his county and friends, in view of the probability of his soon getting the desired appointment under the East India Company. On his way back to the University, as his journals testify, with characteristic zeal and devotedness, though, apparently, not always with tact and skill, he lost no opportunity, in season or out of season, of turning the conversation of his fellow-travellers to religious topics.

At this period of his life his usual routine seems to have been to rise every morning at about half-past five (and, if he failed to do so, his self-reproaches are most bitter); to work hard, either with his pupils, his flock, or his books; to pray at least four times a day, and to write at least one sermon a week. The Scriptures he doubtless read daily; and the spirit in which he read them may be seen from the following extract from his Journals, written when on board ship, on his way to India: 'Read Isaiah the rest of the evening—sometimes happy and at other times tired, and desiring to take up some other religious book; but I saw it an important duty to check this slighting of the Word of God.' And here it may be interesting to note the other works which seem to have been amongst Martyn's favourites. Of course, he kept up his mathematics and science; but the references to these in his Journals are slight and few. He often read the Greek plays, but his chief reading was, as might be expected, divinity; and especially St. Augustine, Grotius, Paley, Baxter, Hooker, Pearson, Fletcher's 'Portrait,' Flavel's 'Saint Indeed,' Searle's 'Christian Remembrancer,' Thomas à Kempis, Law's 'Serious Call,' Lowth, Bishop Hopkins, Jonathan Edwards's 'Original Sin,' and his work on the Affections, Whitfield's Journal, Leighton, Milner's 'Church History,' etc., etc.; and these were interspersed with the study of Hindostanee and other Oriental languages.

Martyn's religious position and views have been thus described in the Edinburgh Review for July, 1844, by a writer who traces their origin to the well-known Clapham School of 'Evangelical' religion:

On the 2nd of April, 1805, having previously been ordained priest at St. James's Chapel Royal, London, and having taken his degree as Bachelor of Divinity, he preached his last sermon at Cambridge, and came to London to prosecute his studies in Hindostanee, and to preach occasionally at St. John's Chapel, Bedford Row. It was about this time that he made the acquaintance of Wilberforce, dining with him and going afterwards to the House of Commons, where he was much struck with the eloquence, great seriousness, and energy of Pitt 'about that which is of no consequence at all.'

He at length, on the 24th April, 1805, obtained the long-wished-for chaplaincy, with a salary of £1,200 a year, and was fervently longing to enter upon his labours, exclaiming on one occasion, from the very depths of his soul: 'Gladly shall this base blood be shed, every drop of it, if India can be benefited in one of her children!'

This would seem to be the proper occasion to advert to a passage in Martyn's Life which must possess for any genial reader a most touching interest. The enthusiastic clergyman had become deeply smitten with the attractions of Miss Lydia Grenfell, of the parish of St. Hilary, three or four miles from Marazion. His affection for this lady appears to have been both profound and sincere; but he feared that its indulgence might prove a bar to the higher aims which he had set before him. His mental conflicts on this subject, as on all others, were most severe; and under such circumstances, and with his gloomy and excitable religious views, he may have appeared, what the lady herself (some few years his senior) undoubtedly was, a somewhat languid and vacillating lover. That the lady never married him—although her final refusal did not reach him till 1807, when he was in India—was perhaps fortunate for both parties; but, undoubtedly, Martyn continued to love her and to correspond with her to the last. The peculiar circumstances of this attachment gave rise to Holme Lee's (Harriet Parr's) story of 'Her Title of Honour;' that title consisting of the honour done to Eleanor Trevelyan by being beloved by so good and great a man as Francis Gwynne (Martyn). Miss Grenfell never married. Her sister Emma became the wife of the Rev. T. M. Hitchins,[108] of Devonport, Martyn's cousin; and some interesting letters to her from Martyn, mostly bearing upon the subject of his love for Lydia, will be found in a supplement to the 'Journal of the Royal Institution of Cornwall' edited by Mr. Henry Martyn Jeffery, F.R.S. (vol. vii. pt. 3, December, 1882, No. 26).

The ship in which he was to sail for India left London on the 8th of July, 1805. Martyn joined her at Portsmouth on the 17th, after having had 'a convulsion fit' on the road down. The Union called (unexpectedly) at Falmouth, where she was detained for three weeks by unfavourable winds, and Martyn thus had opportunities of returning to St. Hilary, about twenty miles off, and again enduring the 'pleasing pain' which he found in his loved one's society. But whilst there the wind suddenly shifted, and Martyn had the narrowest possible escape from missing the ship. His self-reproaches on such an occasion as this may be imagined!

On the 10th of September the Union at length sailed from Falmouth, and our devoted hero's dejection on contemplating the Cornish cliffs fading away in the distance was very deep. He longed to die, so he says, on the way out. A storm arose as they left Ireland behind them, and added to his sufferings. But at length, after touching at Madeira, and at San Salvador in Brazil, they safely reached Calcutta on the 14th of May, 1806, after a tedious and dangerous voyage of nine months.

On the passage Martyn's usual zeal, and, it might be added, want of tact, had ample opportunities of displaying themselves. Nothing could exceed his devotion to the men when sick, or whenever the slightest opportunity presented itself of speaking to any of them on the subject which was ever uppermost in his own soul. And his courage was admirably displayed in landing almost with the troops when the successful attack was delivered by the British under Sir David Baird upon the French and Dutch troops at the Cape of Good Hope in January, 1806. Nor was he unmindful of the welfare of the cadets on board, to whom he imparted instruction in a variety of subjects, with all the force of his powerful intellect. But his religious ministrations were, for the most part, unappreciated, owing to the excessively gloomy tone with which they were pervaded, and to his tendency to 'scold his congregation,' a fault of which it may be remembered even Cowper complained in Mr. Scott, the curate of Olney. The captain dared not allow him to preach more than once on Sundays, and all the officers made a point of standing near the cabin-door, so as to make good their retreat whenever the sermon became too miserably painful. 'Mr. Martyn,' they once said, 'must not damn us to-day, or none will come again.'

After a stay of about four months in Calcutta, during which, notwithstanding a sharp attack of fever, he went on with his lingual studies, occasionally preached to somewhat unsympathetic audiences, and had opportunities of witnessing Suttee and the Juggernaut procession, he was, on the 13th September, at length appointed to Dinapore, and on the 15th October proceeded up the Ganges to his post, in a budgerow, passing most of his time in translating portions of the Scriptures into the native tongues. He reached Dinapore on 26th November, and met with but a very cold reception from the Europeans there, as well as from the natives; and, worst of all, there was no church or church furniture at his disposal. But he soon got to work, and gave his most special attention to the native children, who appeared to have been very apt and tractable, and for whom he is said to have built, at his own cost, whilst in India, five schools. He now obtained, for the purposes of his translations, the assistance (such as it was) of two natives—Mirza Fitrut, who is described as being guileful and hypocritical, and the vain and furious-tempered Nathanael Sabat, who seem to have entertained a very cordial jealousy and hatred of each other. Sabat had served both in the Turkish and Persian armies. He had a free and haughty manner, and a fierce look, and signed himself 'Nathanael Sabat, an Arab who was never in bondage.' He used to contend with Martyn so violently at times that Martyn had to order his palanquin and be off to his friends, the Sherwoods.

Part of the Prayer Book was, under conditions such as these, translated into Hindostanee; to this his 'dear friend and brother chaplain' Corrie added; but it was not completed until 1829, seventeen years after Martyn's death. In 1807 Martyn finished, in Hindostanee, his 'Commentary on the Parables;' and, by the end of 1809, a plain and idiomatic version of the four Gospels. The following year saw the New Testament completed. His translations into the Persian were not considered quite so successful; but about this time he appears to have first definitely conceived the desire of evangelizing Persia, and it was always with regret that he went on with his translations, dreading lest they might interfere with his strictly ministerial duties. He was at this time so strict a Sabbatarian that he thought he was doing wrong in translating even the Prayer Book into Hindostanee on a Sunday.

Signs of breaking health were now becoming too painfully apparent; in fact, he may be said to have been constantly ill. His friend Corrie (afterwards Bishop of Madras) paid Martyn two visits in 1808, and saw that 'there was small prospect of his long continuance in this vale of tears.' But the tone of Martyn's people towards him had somewhat improved; and in April, 1809, he was moved to Cawnpore, a distance of 240 miles—the journey being performed in a fierce heat. He was kindly received by Captain and Mrs. Sherwood; but here again he found no church. He first preached at Cawnpore in the native tongue, and remained at his post until the 30th September, 1810, when, notwithstanding his 'bright invincibility of spirit,' his health utterly gave way, and he went back to Calcutta, arriving there with pallid countenance and enfeebled frame. 'Fortia agere Romanum est, fortia pati Christianum,' wrote an old author; and, surely, if ever the courage of the Roman, and the calm brave endurance of the Christian met, they met in Henry Martyn.

But returning after a while to Cawnpore, he resumed his correspondence with Miss Grenfell, now as a friend; and tells her that this was his daily routine: 'We rise at daybreak, and breakfast at six. Immediately after breakfast we pray[109] together; after which I translate into Arabic with Sabat, who lives in a small bungalow on my ground. We dine at twelve, and sit recreating ourselves with talking about dear friends in England. In the afternoon I translate with Mirza Fitrut into Hindostanee; and Corrie employs himself in teaching some native Christian boys, whom he is educating with great care, in the hopes of their being fit for the office of catechists. I have also a school on my premises for natives; but it is not well attended. At sunset we ride or drive, and then meet at the church, where we often raise the song of praise with as much joy, through the grace and presence of our Lord, as you do in England. At ten we are all asleep.... My work at present is evidently to translate; hereafter I may itinerate.'

By the spring of 1810 his church, converted from its former use as a heathen temple, was ready,[110] and his friend Corrie came to visit and assist him; but he preached in it for the last time on 30th September, 1810, and shortly afterwards went back to Calcutta.

Persia now finally became the object of Martyn's pious yearnings; and, on the 9th January, in the following year, he set out on his memorable, but, it is much to be feared, slightly rewarded, journey—a journey accomplished with so much fatigue, and under such sudden and excessive changes of temperature, as to have been, doubtless, the proximate cause of the destruction of his frail body. He stopped at Goa on the route, and travelled viâ Bombay, landing at Muscat, in Arabia Felix, on the 22nd April. On the 30th he set out for Shiraz, 'the City of the Rose'—the Athens of Persia, where he arrived on the 9th June, and met with a most insulting reception from the people. But Martyn thought that even such a reception as this was better than so unworthy a sinner as he merited! Referring to this episode in Martyn's career Dean Alford writes:

Matters, however, improved after a while; the Armenian ladies came to kiss his hand, and the priest incensed him four times over at the altar. Here, on the 24th February, 1812, he completed, under most discouraging circumstances, his translation of the New Testament into Persian.[111] After labouring 'for six weary moons,' a similar version of the Psalms was finished in the following month; and on the 24th May, 'the meek missionary of the Cross' left Shiraz in order to present the precious documents himself to the Shah. Much difficulty and delay intervened on account of the diplomatic formalities considered necessary on such an occasion; and eventually, after visiting Ispahan and Teheran, Martyn was disappointed in the object he had in view, having been struck down by illness, increased by the hardships of travel and climate, before his desires were accomplished. For two months he was completely laid up—weeping many 'tears from the depths of a divine despair'—at the house of Sir Gore Ouseley, the British Ambassador at Tabriz, who afterwards had the gratification of showing Martyn's manuscript to the Shah, and it was sent to St. Petersburg to be printed.

This renewed illness caused Martyn to determine on returning to England, for his health's sake. But it was too late. On his homeward way (viâ Constantinople), seeing Mount Ararat on the journey, and passing through Erivan, Kars, Erzeroum, and Tokat—'hardly knowing how to keep his life in him'—he succumbed near the latter place, to hunger, thirst, sunstroke, fever and ague, aggravated by his desperate gallop for life across the scorching plains, and beneath a rainless sky, untempered by a single cloud, on the 6th October, 1812, in the thirty-second year of his age. Here the last entry, commencing 'Oh! when shall Time give place to Eternity?' appears in his sad, self-searching diary. Ten days afterwards he was no more.

He was buried in the Armenian burial-ground at Tokat, with the honours usually accorded by Armenian Christians to an Archbishop; and a marble slab, which the Tokat Christians were wont to keep clear of weeds, covers his remains. Sir R. K. Porter, in his 'Travels in Persia' (vol. ii., p. 703), after eulogizing Martyn's self-devotion and zeal beyond the strength of a naturally delicate constitution, adds that 'exhausted nature sank under the apostolic labour, and in this place he was called to the rest of heaven. His remains sleep in a grave as humble as his own meekness.'

Would it be too much to say of him

Wordsworth's lines, at least, on another devoted son of the Church, are clearly appropriate to Martyn:

His tomb is still, I believe, piously regarded by the natives, and it has been adorned by Lord Macaulay with the following lines:

A Hall, dedicated to his memory, and designed to provide a place of meeting for the different Religious Societies in Cambridge, is about to be erected in Market Street; and on the centenary of Martyn's birth, viz., 18th February, 1881, special services in his memory were held at the pro-Cathedral at Truro. In the evening Bishop Benson delivered a lecture on Martyn at the Town Hall, at the close of which he proposed that subscriptions should be invited towards the construction of a portion of the new Cathedral, as for instance an aisle or transept, to be dedicated to the cause of Missions in honour of his name. A Baptistry was finally decided upon; and about £1,250 had been collected up to June, 1883. By the attainment of these objects, this distinguished Cornishman, whose motto was, 'To believe, to suffer, and to love,' will be provided with fitting memorials.