Edward Judson · 28 of 47

Chapter IX. Life in Maulmain. 1827-1831 · Part 5

“If there be any man of whom we may without presumption feel assured that we will hear the joyful words, ‘Well done, thou good and faithful servant,’ it is certainly the pious Judson, the great and persevering founder of Christianity in a land of dark idolatry and superstition.”

It was about this time that the Mission Board in this country sent him an earnest and affectionate invitation to revisit his native land. He was about forty-two years old, and had been absent from America eighteen years. His health was shattered. His family he had laid in the grave. He said several years later that he had never seen a ship sail out of the port of Maulmain bound for England or America without an almost irrepressible inclination to get on board and visit again the home of his boyhood. And yet in reply to this urgent invitation from his brethren, he wrote:

“Rev. and dear Sir: I am happy to inform the Board that my health, which was rather impaired some time ago, is 365now quite good; so that I should not feel justified in accepting their invitation to return home.

“At the same time, the kind feeling which dictated the invitation, and the affection, though undeserved, which breathes in every line, have made an indelible impression on my heart. I must confess that, in meditating on the subject, I have felt an almost unconquerable desire to become personally acquainted with my beloved patrons and correspondents, the members of the Board, as well as to rove once more over the hills and valleys of my own native land, to recognize the still surviving companions of my youth, and to witness the widespread and daily-increasing glories of Immanuel’s kingdom in that land of liberty, blessed of Heaven with temporal and spiritual blessings above all others.

“However, I anticipate a happier meeting, brighter plains, friends the same, but more lovely and beloved; and I expect soon to witness, yea, enjoy, that glory in comparison of which all on earth is but a shadow. With that anticipation I content myself, assured that we shall not then regret any instance of self-denial or suffering endured for the Lord of life and glory.”

And yet he was so forgetful of self, cared, with almost womanly tenderness, for the health and comfort of his associates in missionary toil.

“Dear Brethren and Sisters: I am grieved that sister Wade, after running down to Amherst, and deriving a little benefit during a few days’ stay, thinks she must return, and probably has by this time returned, because sister Bennett is quite worn out, ‘having everything to do.’ Now, it appears to me that the better way to have remedied that evil would have been for sister Bennett to run away from all her cares and take the air at Amherst too.

“Mrs. Jones, I hear, is also ill, and Mrs. Kincaid has not, I 366believe, much health to spare. Now, as you have two months of very trying weather to sustain, I earnestly beg that you will all take into serious consideration the propriety of repairing Landale’s house forthwith, or some other, and placing one or two of the ladies, by turns, to keep the post, until the rainy season sets in. Mrs. Wade, I humbly conceive, ought to be immediately apprehended and sent back as a deserter. And certainly no one ought to hesitate a moment at leaving mission or domestic cares for the preservation of health. When our best beloved are once laid in the cold grave, no cries, or tears, or remorse will bring them back. Many faithful servants and handmaids of the Lord might have been spared many years, had they only relaxed before they made their last effort.

“If you have a house at Amherst during the hot season, some of the brethren, too, may be benefited by an excursion thither. Brother Bennett will certainly need a week’s relaxation there or somewhere else.... However, I only submit these hasty thoughts for your consideration. You are on the spot, and know better than I what is necessary and proper. May God preserve your precious lives many years; for, though the prospect of death may not be grievous, but joyous, ‘the harvest is plenteous, and the laborers are few.’”

While in Rangoon he received the heavy tidings that the beloved Boardman had died in the jungles back of Tavoy.

He thus wrote to the Corresponding Secretary:

“One of the brightest luminaries of Burmah is extinguished; dear brother Boardman has gone to his eternal rest. I have heard no particulars, except that he died on returning from his last expedition to the Karen villages, within one day’s march of Tavoy. He fell gloriously at the head of his troops, in the arms of victory; thirty-eight wild Karens having been brought into the camp of King Jesus since the beginning of the year, besides the thirty-two that were brought in during the two preceding years. Disabled by mortal wounds, he was obliged, through the whole of his last expedition, to be carried on a litter; but his presence was 367a host, and the Holy Spirit accompanied his dying whispers with almighty influence. Such a death, next to that of martyrdom, must be glorious in the eyes of Heaven. Well may we rest assured that a triumphal crown awaits him on the great day, and ‘Well done, good and faithful Boardman, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.” I have great confidence in sister Boardman, that she will not desert her husband’s post, but carry on the work which he has gloriously begun.”

Sorrow had come upon the Boardman household in quick and uninterrupted succession. Mrs. Boardman wrote:

“In our domestic relation, the hand of the Lord has been very heavy upon us. About a year and a half ago we lost our eldest child, a lovely daughter, two years and eight months old; four months since, we buried our youngest, a sweet little boy of eight months and a half.”

The death of the eldest child is thus pathetically described by Mrs. Boardman’s biographer:

“‘Sarah is as plump and rosy-cheeked as we could wish. Oh! how delighted you would be to see her, and hear her prattle!’ Thus wrote the mother in her happiness; and, in a little more than two weeks after, she saw her darling, speechless and motionless, in her little shroud. ‘I knew all the time,’ says the bereaved parent, ‘that she was very ill; but it did not once occur to me that she might die, till she was seized with the apoplexy, about three hours before she closed her eyes upon us forever. Oh! the agony of that moment!’ And in that agonized moment, as the shadow of eternity fell upon the spirit of the little sufferer, and a vista, which her eye could not discern, but from which her failing nature instinctively recoiled, opened before her, she looked with anxious alarm into her mother’s face, and exclaimed: ‘I frightened! mamma! I frightened!’ What a strange thing is death. The tender nursling, who, in moments of even imagined ill, had clung to the mother’s bosom, and been sheltered in her arms, now hovered over a dark, unfathomed gulf, and turned pleadingly to the same shield—but it had failed. The mother’s arm was powerless; her foot could not follow; and the trembling babe passed on alone, to find her fears allayed on an angel’s bosom.”

Little Sarah’s death was soon followed by the revolt of Tavoy, and during this brief uprising of the Burmans against their masters, Mr. Boardman had been subjected to an exposure and hardship such as his consumptive habit was ill 368able to endure. From that time he visibly declined. To use Mrs. E. C. Judson’s words: “His cheeks were a little more hollow, and the color on them more flickering; his eyes were brighter, and seemingly more deeply set beneath the brow, and immediately below them was a faint, indistinct arc of mingled ash and purple like the shadow of a faded leaf; his lips were sometimes of a clayey pallor, and sometimes they glowed with crimson; and his fingers were long, and the hands of a partially transparent thinness.”

The newly-appointed missionary to the Karens, Mr. Mason, arrived in Tavoy June 3, 1831. “On the jetty,” he wrote, “reclining helplessly in the chair which had served the purpose of a carriage, a pale, worn-out man, with the characters of death in his countenance, waited to welcome his successor.” Mr. Boardman was preparing to take a tour into the jungle in order to baptize some recent Karen converts. His emaciated form was to be carried on a litter several days’ journey into the wilderness. Remonstrance was unavailing; for he had set his heart upon accomplishing his purpose. Besides, it was thought that the change of air might do him good. Even after setting out, he was advised to return; but his reply was: “The cause of God is of more importance than my health, and if I return now, our whole object will be defeated. I want to see the work of the Lord go on.” The closing scene of his life is thus described by Mrs. Boardman:

“On Wednesday evening thirty-four persons were baptized. Mr. Boardman was carried to the water-side, though so weak that he could hardly breathe without the continual use of the fan and the smelling-bottle. The joyful sight was almost too much for his feeble frame. When we reached the chapel, he said he would like to sit up and take tea with us. We placed his cot near the table, and having bolstered him up, we took tea together. He asked the blessing, and did it with his right hand upraised, and in a tone that struck me to the heart. It was the same tremulous, yet urgent, and I had almost said, unearthly voice, with which my aged grandfather used to pray. We now began to notice that brightening of the mental faculties which I had heard spoken of in persons near their end.

369“After tea was removed, all the disciples present, about fifty in number, gathered around him, and he addressed them for a few moments in language like the following: ‘I did hope to stay with you till after Lord’s day, and administer to you once more the Lord’s supper. But God is calling me away from you. I am about to die, and shall soon be inconceivably happy in heaven. When I am gone, remember what I have taught you; and O, be careful to persevere unto the end, that when you die we may meet one another in the presence of God, never more to part. Listen to the word of the new teacher and the teacheress as you have done to mine. The teacheress will be very much distressed. Strive to lighten her burdens, and comfort her by your good conduct. Do not neglect prayer. The eternal God to whom you pray is unchangeable. Earthly teachers sicken and die, but God remains forever the same. Love Jesus Christ with all your hearts, and you will be forever safe.’ This address I gathered from the Karens, as I was absent preparing his things for the night. Having rested a few minutes, he offered a short prayer, and then, with Mr. Mason’s assistance, distributed tracts and portions of Scripture to them all. Early the next morning we left for home, accompanied by nearly all the males and some of the females, the remainder returning to their homes in the wilderness. Mr. Boardman was free from pain during the day, and there was no unfavorable change, except that his mouth grew sore. But at four o’clock in the afternoon we were overtaken by a violent shower of rain, accompanied by lightning and thunder. There was no house in sight, and we were obliged to remain in the open air, exposed to the merciless storm. We covered him with mats and blankets, and held our umbrellas over him, all to no purpose. I was obliged to stand and see the storm beating upon him, till his mattress and pillows were drenched with rain. We hastened on, and soon came to a Tavoy house. The inhabitants at first refused us admittance, and we ran for shelter into the out-houses. The shed I happened to enter proved to be the ‘house of their gods,’ and thus I committed an almost unpardonable offence. After some persuasion they admitted us into the house, or rather veranda, for they would not allow us to sleep inside, though I begged the privilege for my sick husband with tears. In ordinary cases, perhaps, they would have been hospitable; but they knew that Mr. Boardman was the teacher of a foreign religion, and that the Karens in our company had embraced that religion.

“At evening worship, Mr. Boardman requested Mr. Mason to read the thirty-fourth Psalm. He seemed almost spent, and said, ‘This poor perishing dust will soon be laid in the grave; but God can employ other lumps of clay to perform His will as easily as He has this poor unworthy one.’ I told him I should like to sit up and watch by him, but he objected, 370and said in a tender, supplicating tone, ‘Can not we sleep together?’ The rain still continued, and his cot was wet, so that he was obliged to lie on the bamboo floor. Having found a place where our little boy could sleep without danger of falling through openings in the floor, I threw myself down, without undressing, beside my beloved husband. I spoke to him often during the night, and he said he felt well, excepting an uncomfortable feeling in his mouth and throat. This was somewhat relieved by frequent washings with cold water. Miserably wretched as his situation was, he did not complain; on the contrary, his heart seemed overflowing with gratitude. ‘O,’ said he, ‘how kind and good our Father in heaven is to me; how many are racked with pain, while I, though near the grave, am almost free from distress of body. I suffer nothing, nothing to what you, my dear Sarah, had to endure last year, when I thought I must lose you. And then I have you to move me so tenderly. I should have sunk into the grave ere this, but for your assiduous attention. And brother Mason is as kind to me as if he were my own brother. And then how many, in addition to pain of body, have anguish of soul, while my mind is sweetly stayed on God.’ On my saying, ‘I hope we shall be at home to-morrow night, where you can lie on your comfortable bed, and I can nurse you as I wish,’ he said, ‘I want nothing that the world can afford but my wife and friends; earthly conveniences and comforts are of little consequence to one so near heaven. I only want them for your sake.’ In the morning we thought him a little better, though I perceived, when I gave him his sago, that his breath was very short. He, however, took rather more nourishment than usual, and spoke about the manner of his conveyance home. We ascertained that by waiting until twelve o’clock we could go the greater part of the way by water.

“At about nine o’clock his hands and feet grew cold, and the affectionate Karens rubbed them all the forenoon, excepting a few moments when he requested to be left alone. At ten o’clock he was much distressed for breath, and I thought the long-dreaded moment had arrived. I asked him if he felt as if he was going home,—‘Not just yet,’ he replied. On giving him a little wine and water he revived. Shortly after, he said, ‘You were alarmed without cause just now, dear—I know the reason of the distress I felt, but am too weak to explain it to you.’ In a few moments he said to me, ‘Since you spoke to me about George, I have prayed for him almost incessantly—more than in all my life before.’

“It drew near twelve, the time for us to go to the boat. We were distressed at the thought of removing him, when evidently so near the last struggle, though we did not think it so near as it really was. But there was no alternative. The chilling frown of the iron-faced Tavoyan was 371to us as if he was continually saying, ‘Be gone.’ I wanted a little broth for my expiring husband, but on asking them for a fowl they said they had none, though at that instant, on glancing my eye through an opening in the floor, I saw three or four under the house. My heart was well-nigh breaking.

“We hastened to the boat, which was only a few steps from the house. The Karens carried Mr. Boardman first, and as the shore was muddy, I was obliged to wait till they could return for me. They took me immediately to him; but O, the agony of my soul when I saw the hand of death was on him! He was looking me full in the face, but his eyes were changed, not dimmed, but brightened, and the pupils so dilated that I feared he could not see me. I spoke to him—kissed him—but he made no return, though I fancied that he tried to move his lips. I pressed his hand, knowing that, if he could, he would return the pressure; but, alas! for the first time, he was insensible to my love, and forever. I had brought a glass of wine and water already mixed, and a smelling-bottle, but neither was of any avail to him now. Agreeably to a previous request, I called the faithful Karens, who loved him so much and whom he had loved unto death, to come and watch his last gentle breathings, for there was no struggle.

“Never, my dear parents, did one of our poor fallen race have less to contend with in the last enemy. Little George was brought to see his dying father, but he was too young to know there was cause for grief. When Sarah died, her father said to George, ‘Poor little boy, you will not know to-morrow what you have lost to-day.’ A deep pang rent my bosom at the recollection of this, and a still deeper one succeeded when the thought struck me, that though my little boy may not know to-morrow what he has lost to-day, yet when years have rolled by, and he shall have felt the unkindness of a deceitful, selfish world, he will know.”

374When Mrs. Boardman with her son George, about two years and a half old, were thus suddenly left in all the perplexity and desolation of widowhood and fatherlessness, she received from Mr. Judson the following words of tenderest consolation and counsel:

“My dear Sister: You are now drinking the bitter cup whose dregs I am somewhat acquainted with. And though, for some time, you have been aware of its approach, I venture to say that it is far bitterer than you expected. It is common for persons in your situation to refuse all consolation, to cling to the dead, and to fear that they shall too soon forget the dear object of their affections. But don’t be concerned. I can assure you that months and months of heartrending anguish are before you, whether you will or not. I can only advise you to take the cup with both hands, and sit down quietly to the bitter repast which God has appointed for your sanctification. As to your beloved, you know that all his tears are wiped away, and that the diadem which encircles his brow outshines the sun. Little Sarah and the other have again found their father, not the frail, sinful mortal that they left on earth, but an immortal saint, a magnificent, majestic king. What more can you desire for them? While, therefore, your tears flow, let a due proportion be tears of joy. Yet take the bitter cup with both hands, and sit down to your repast. You will soon learn a secret, that there is sweetness at the bottom. You will find it the sweetest cup that you ever tasted in all your life. You will find heaven coming near to you, and familiarity with your husband’s voice will be a connecting link, drawing you almost within the sphere of celestial music.

“I think, from, what I know of your mind, that you will not desert the post, but remain to carry on the work which he gloriously began. The Karens of Tavoy regard you as their spiritual mother; and the dying prayers of your beloved are waiting to be answered in blessings on your instructions.

375“As to little Georgie, who has now no earthly father to care for him, you can not, of course, part with him at present. But if you should wish to send him home, I pledge myself to use what little influence I have in procuring for him all those advantages of education which your fondest wishes can desire. Or if you should be prematurely taken away, and should condescend, on your dying bed, to commit him to me, by the briefest line or verbal message, I hereby pledge my fidelity to receive and treat him as my own son, to send him home in the best time and way, to provide for his education, and to watch over him as long as I live. More than this I can not do, and less would be unworthy of the merits of his parents.”

34. 315See Appendix C.

35. About $2,600.

36. About $1,000.

37. See Map II.

38. “The other, Abby,” Mrs. E. C. Judson says in one of her private letters, “died young—a most happy, rejoicing death.”

39. By Mrs. E. C. Judson.

40. See Map II.

41. See page 35.

42. Two-page tracts of Scripture extracts.

43. The two-page tracts mentioned above.

44. By Miss Emma Roberts, author of “Scenes and Characteristics of Hindostan.”

45. By Mrs. E. C. Judson.