Edward Judson · 38 of 47

Chapter XII. Last Years. 1846-1850 · Part 1

More than four months elapsed after Mr. and Mrs. Judson parted from their friends in Boston before they arrived at Maulmain. The passage, though long, was pleasant. Under date of November 27, 1846, Mr. Judson writes to his friend, Mr. Gardner Colby:

“One hundred and thirty-nine days from Boston, and the mountains of Burmah appear in the horizon. None ever had a pleasanter passage than we have been favored with, though rather long, from the prevalence of head-winds. The Faneuil Hall was a good sailer, an excellent sea-boat, and furnished with the best accommodations. The table was well supplied, and the captain endeared himself to us, not only by unremitting kindness, but by the interchange of congenial sentiments and feelings on the subject of religion. Two services on Lord’s days, the one a Bible-class in the saloon, and the other, public worship on deck with the crew, together with evening worship every day, have given the character of a Bethel to our floating home.

“In regard to my studies, I have not much to boast of. Not having my native assistants with me, I have not ventured to go forward in the dictionary, but have employed myself in revising and transcribing for the press the first half of the English and Burmese part, that had been previously sketched out. This work I had hardly completed when the cry of Land, ho! saluted my ears.”

495In passing the Island of St. Helena, his thoughts dwelt tenderly upon her who, like Rachel of old, had died “on the way, when it was but a little way to go unto Ephrath.”

“The precipitous, rocky cliffs, however, that form the outline of that spot on the ocean, the narrow ravine winding between them and leading to the walled mansion of the dead, the low, overshadowing tree, and the swelling turf, marked, perhaps, by the white gravestones, are all distinctly before me. And, did the misty mythology of antiquity still obtain, I could fancy the spirit of the departed sitting on one of the cloud-wrapped peaks that overhang her grave, and pensively observing the Faneuil Hall on her circuitous route to the south-east. ‘Why are you wheeling away at such a distance from me and my lonely dwelling? The dear little ones that I left in your charge, where are they? And who—what slender form is that I see at your side, occupying the place that once was mine?’ But the mistiness and darkness of pagan mythology have been dispelled by beams of light from those higher heights where she is really sitting. And thence, if departed spirits take cognizance of things on earth, she sees, with satisfaction, that I am hastening back to the field of our common labors. She sees, with delight and gratitude to God, that all her children are situated in precise accordance with her last wishes and prayers. And glad she is to see me returning, not unattended.

“Farewell, rock of the ocean. I thank thee that thou hast given me a ‘place where I might bury my dead.’ Blessings on the dear friends of the Saviour who dwell there. And, if any of the surviving children of the departed should ever enjoy the privilege, which is denied me, of visiting and shedding a tear over her grave, may a double portion of her heavenly spirit descend and rest upon them.”

When off the Isle of France, he wrote:

“About thirty-three years ago I went with my dear wife to the populous city of the dead in Port Louis, on the adjacent island, to visit the new-made grave of Harriet Newell, the 496first American missionary who left this world for heaven. It has been my privilege, twice since, to make a pilgrimage to the same spot. The last time, my second departed one expected to find her resting-place by the side of Mrs. Newell; but the grave was digging in another island. It is a thought that presses on me at this moment, how little the missionary who leaves his native land can calculate on his final resting-place. Out of twenty-five missionaries, male and female, with whom I have been associated, and who have gone before me, five or six only found their graves in those places to which they were first sent. Strangers and pilgrims, they had no abiding-place on earth; they sought a permanent abode beyond the skies; and they sought to show the way thither to multitudes who were groping in darkness, and saw it not.

“At last the promontory of Amherst loomed into sight. And now, on the green bank just beyond, I discern, with a telescope, the small enclosure which contains the sleeping-place of my dear Ann and her daughter Maria. Like my missionary associates, the members of my own family are scattered far and wide; for the mounds that mark their graves stud the burial-places of Rangoon, Amherst, Maulmain, Serampore, and St. Helena. What other place shall next be added to the list?

“Above eighteen months ago I sailed from these shores with a heavy heart, distressed at leaving my friends and my work, and appalled at the prospect of impending death. With mingled emotions I now return. But these things suit rather the eye and the ear of private friends. I will only add my fervent wish that the Heaven-blessed land where I have been so warmly received during my late brief visit may pour forth her representatives, her wealth, and her prayers, to enlighten and enrich this my adopted land, whose shores are just now greeting my eyes.”

On the 30th of November he arrived at Maulmain, and clasped once more in his arms his little children, Henry and Edward, from whom he had parted more than eighteen 497months before. But, alas! one little wan face was missing.

He wrote to his sister:

“I have set up housekeeping in my old house; and it seems like home, notwithstanding the devastation that death and removal have made. Emily makes one of the best wives and kindest mothers to the children that ever man was blessed with. I wish you were here to make one of the family; but I suppose that can not be. I shall now go on with the dictionary and other missionary work as usual. Your likeness is an excellent one. I keep that and the children’s by me constantly. Shall I ever forget that last parting in Boston? No, never, till we meet in heaven.”

And in a fond letter to his boys in America, he gives a glimpse of the little home in Maulmain from which unbending necessity had exiled them forever:

“I can hardly realize that I am sitting in the old house, where we all lived together so long; and now your mamma, yourselves, your sister Abby Ann, and little Charlie are gone. It is now evening. I am writing in the hall where I used to sit and study, when your mamma had gone down the coast with Captain and Mrs. Durand. Your new mamma has just put your little brothers, Henry and Edward, to bed. They lie in the room where you used to sleep before you removed to the corner room. Henry is singing and talking aloud to himself; and what do you think he is saying? Your new mamma has just called me to listen. ‘My own mamma went away, away in a boat. And then she got wings and went up. And Charlie, too, went up, and they are flying above the moon and the stars.’ I preach in the chapel, as I used to do, but have not yet begun to work at the dictionary; for we have been very busy seeing company and getting our house and things in order. Everything looks as it used to do when you were here.... We found Henry in this place, when we arrived. My dear boys, I don’t know 498when I shall see you again. If I ever should, you will not be the dear little fellows I left at Worcester. But I hope that as you grow larger, and change the features that are now so deeply engraven on my heart, you will also grow wiser and better, and become more worthy of my fondest love. That you will give your hearts to the Saviour is my most earnest desire. Love your dear uncle and aunt Newton. Mind all they say, and ever try to please them.”

Upon his return Mr. Judson found that the mission had flourished during his absence, and was able to send an encouraging report to the Corresponding Secretary.

“The native church, under the care of brother Stevens, is not much enlarged, but it is much improved, in consequence of the exclusion of several unworthy members, and the admission of more promising characters, chiefly from among the children of the converts. Brother Howard’s school has greatly improved both in numbers and in qualifications. Brother Binney’s school, which was just beginning when I left, has attained a high degree of respectability and usefulness. The Karen missionaries and their disciples are mostly absent from Maulmain at this season; but I understand that prospects in that department of the mission were never more encouraging. The printing-office and the secular business of the mission are managed by brother Ranney with promptitude and efficiency. Brother Haswell resides here at present, superintending the printing of the New Testament in the Peguan, and is preaching on all occasions. Brother Stilson is also here, making and superintending the printing of elementary books for schools in the Burman—a work for which he has a peculiar tact and penchant.”

But for himself he still ardently cherished the purpose to enter Burmah proper. His eye was upon his old field, Rangoon. To be sure, the new Burman king was a bigoted Buddhist, and therefore bitterly opposed to the propagation of the Christian religion. But in Maulmain there were laborers enough; while in Rangoon he would be favorably 499situated for completing the dictionary, as he would there have access to learned men, and also to books not to be found in Maulmain. Moreover, he hoped that Burman intolerance might at last yield, and he was eager to press into the interior of the empire and establish a mission in Ava, the scene of his sufferings.

Even before leaving America he had written to the Corresponding Secretary on this point:

“The accounts of the late revolution in Burmah are so contradictory, and the prospect of more toleration so indefinite, that no certain expectation can well be entertained. It is possible, however, that, on my arriving in Maulmain, there may be an opening for me to proceed to Ava. There is sometimes a tide in affairs which, once lost, returns not again. Have the Board sufficient confidence in me to authorize me, by an overland dispatch which shall meet me on arriving in Maulmain, to attempt a mission at Ava, without waiting for further permission, or being under the necessity of debating the matter with other missionaries, who may demur, for want of something express from the Board?

“The dictionary would not be done so soon, if I should go to Ava; but it would be done much better, by means of the aids which the capital would furnish.”

Impelled by these motives Mr. and Mrs. Judson, taking with them their two little boys, embarked at Maulmain for Rangoon on February 15, 1847.

Only two months and a half had passed since their return from America. They might have been pardoned had they remained longer in the society of their missionary associates in Maulmain. But it was not their purpose to seek their own pleasure. They willingly left the twilight of Maulmain, in order to penetrate the dense darkness of Rangoon, although, as Mr. Judson wrote, “it seemed harder for him to leave Maulmain for Rangoon than to leave Boston for Maulmain.”

After a voyage of five days they and their two children 500arrived in Rangoon. Mr. Judson had previously made a visit there alone, in order “to ascertain the state of things in Burmah more definitely before making an attempt to settle there.” He had on that occasion hired, for fifty rupees[67] a month, the upper part of a large brick house, which Mrs. Judson subsequently named “Bat Castle.” He describes it as—

“A place dreary indeed, and destitute of almost all outward comforts, but one which will afford an opportunity of building up the feeble church by private efforts, and of seizing the first opening for more public efforts that God in His providence may present, in answer to the prayers of His people in beloved, far-distant America.”

Before engaging the house he wrote to Mrs. Judson: “The place looks as gloomy as a prison.... I shrink at taking you and the children into such a den, and fear you would pine and die in it.” It was into this forbidding abode that Mr. Judson introduced the lady to whom he had been so recently married. He wrote:

“We have had a grand bat hunt yesterday and to-day—bagged two hundred and fifty, and calculate to make up a round thousand before we have done. We find that, in hiring the upper story of this den, we secured the lower moiety only, the upper moiety thereof being preoccupied by a thriving colony of vagabonds, who flare up through the night with a vengeance, and the sound of their wings is as the sound of many waters, yea, as the sound of your boasted Yankee Niagara; so that sleep departs from your eyes, and slumber from our eyelids. But we are reading them some lessons which we hope will be profitable to all parties concerned.”

But we are indebted to Mrs. Judson’s pen, in a letter to her younger sister, for a still more vivid portraiture of “Bat Castle”:

“Dear Kitty: I write you from walls as massive as any you read of in old stories and a great deal uglier—the very eyeball and heart-core of an old white-bearded Mussulman. Think of me in an immense brick house with rooms as large as the entire ‘loggery’ (our centre room is twice as large, and has no window), and only one small window apiece. When I speak of windows, do not think I make any allusion to glass—of course not. The windows (holes) are closed by means of heavy board or plank shutters, tinned over on the outside, as a preventive of fire. The bamboo houses of the natives here are like flax or tinder, and the foreigners, who have more than the one cloth which Burmans wrap about the body, and the mat they sleep on, dare live in nothing but brick. Imagine us, then, on the second floor of this immense den, with nine rooms at our command, the smallest of which (bathing-room and a kind of pantry) are, I think, quite as large as your dining-room, and the rest very much larger. Part of the floors are of brick, and part of boards; but old ‘Green Turban’ whitewashed them all, with the walls, before we came, because the Doctor told him, when he was over here, that he must ‘make the house shine for madam.’ He did make it shine with a vengeance, between whitewashing and greasing. They oil furniture in this country, as Americans do mahogany; but all his doors and other woodwork were fairly dripping, and we have not got rid of the smell yet; nor, with all our rubbing, is it quite safe to hold too long on the door. The partitions are all of brick, and very thick, and the door-sills are built up, so that I go over them at three or four steps, Henry mounts and falls off, and Edward gets on all-fours, and accomplishes the pass with more safety. The floor overhead is quite low, and the beams, which are frequent, afford shelter to thousands and thousands of bats, that disturb us in the daytime only by a little cricket-like music, but in the night—oh, if you could only hear them carouse! The mosquito curtains are our only safeguard; and getting up is horrible. The other night I awoke faint, with a feeling of suffocation; and without waiting to think 502jumped out on the floor. You would have thought ‘Old Nick’ himself had come after you, for, of course, you believe these firm friends of the ladies of the broomstick incipient imps. If there is nothing wickeder about them than about the little sparrows that come in immense swarms to the same beams, pray what do they do all through the hours of darkness, and why do they circle and whizz about a poor mortal’s head, flap their villainous wings in one’s face, and then whisk away, as if snickering at the annoyance? We have had men at work nearly a week trying to thin them out, and have killed a great many hundreds; but I suppose their little demoniac souls come back, each with an attendant, for I am sure there are twice as many as at first. Everything, walls, tables, chairs, etc., are stained by them. Besides the bats, we are blessed with our full share of cockroaches, beetles, spiders, lizards, rats, ants, mosquitoes, and bed-bugs. With the last the woodwork is all alive, and the ants troop over the house in great droves, though there are scattering ones beside. Perhaps twenty have crossed my paper since I have been writing. Only one cockroach has paid me a visit, but the neglect of these gentlemen has been fully made up by a company of black bugs about the size of the end of your little finger—nameless adventurers.”...

The Judsons were scarcely settled in these forbidding quarters when they learned that the house in Maulmain, where they had deposited their best clothing and most valuable goods—many of them presents from dear friends whom they were to see no more—had taken fire and had been burned to the ground with all its contents. They had brought but a few articles with them, not being willing to trust the most valuable part of their personal effects to the rapacious Government at Rangoon. They had thought it best to draw their supplies from Maulmain, and now the precious consignment of articles which they had brought with them from their dear native land had been consumed in the flames. But Mr. Judson had long since mastered the science of contentment. He had been instructed both “to 503be full and to be hungry; both to abound and to suffer need.” He wrote to the Rev. E. A. Stevens, a beloved fellow-sufferer in this calamity:

“‘The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.’ My heart overflows with gratitude, and my eyes with tears, as I pen these precious inspired words. There are some other lines, quaint in garb, but rich in core, that are worth more than all your house and contents:

“But I sympathize with you and dear sister Stevens. Brother Bullard has also sustained a heavy loss. Brother Brayton’s will not, on the whole, be any great loss. As to me—the leeks and onions that were packed up in those two valuable boxes, worth about seven or eight hundred rupees, were very bright to the eye and soft to the feel; and many of them we shall greatly need if we live a year or two longer; but they have gone to dust and ashes, where I have seen many bright, dear eyes go, to rescue any pair of which I would have given those boxes ten times over.

“I am glad and thankful that the New Testament and the manuscripts are not wholly lost, though some are. And I am glad that so much interest has been excited in the Christian community at Maulmain. I am glad, also, that my house was empty, and ready to afford you immediate shelter.

“We arrived here the Saturday after leaving Maulmain, and got our things through the custom-house on the next Monday, a week ago yesterday. We now begin to feel a little settled, and are about commencing a routine of study, and, I may add, missionary labor; for though the Burmese converts are few and timid, the Karens flock in from different parts, and occupy a good deal of my time. All the men understand Burman pretty well, and I have had some interesting meetings among them....

504“I have recommenced the work of the dictionary, which has been suspended nearly two years. Why has this grievous interruption been permitted, and all this precious time lost? And why are our houses and property allowed to be burned up? And why are those most dear to us, and most qualified to be useful in the cause, torn from our arms and dashed into the grave, and all their knowledge and qualification with them? Because infinite wisdom and love will have it so. Because it is best for us, and best for them, and best for the cause, and best for the interests of eternity, that it should be so. And blessed be God, we know it, and are thankful, and rejoice, and say, Glory be to God.”

Missionary operations in Rangoon were obstructed from the very outset by the intolerance of the Burmese Government. It must be remembered that the missionaries were no longer under the protection of the English flag, as they had been at Maulmain. They were exposed to the barbarities of a bigoted and unlimited despotism. The Burman monarch and his younger brother, the heir apparent, were both rigid Buddhists. And the administration of the Government, though more friendly to strangers, had become more doggedly intolerant of Christianity than that of the late king Tharawadi. Buddhism was in full force throughout the empire, and the prospects of a missionary were never darker. The vice-governor of Rangoon, who was at that time acting-governor, is described by Mr. Judson as being the most ferocious, bloodthirsty monster he had ever known in Burmah. His house and court-yard resounded day and night with the screams of people under torture.

“Even foreigners,” Mr. Judson wrote, “are not beyond his grasp. He lately wreaked his rage on some Armenians and Mussulmans, and one of the latter class died in the hands of a subordinate officer. His crime was quite a venial one; but in order to extort money, he was tortured so barbarously that the blood streamed from his mouth, and he was dead in an hour.”

505It must be remembered that Mr. Judson had been received and patronized by the Government, not as a missionary or propagator of religion, but as the priest of a foreign religion, ministering to the foreigners in the place.

Missionary operations, accordingly, had to be conducted with the utmost secrecy. Any known attempt at proselyting would have been instantly amenable at the criminal tribunal, and would probably have been punished by the imprisonment or death of the proselyte, and the banishment of the missionary. Nothing but a wholesome fear of the British Government kept these bloodthirsty wretches from the throat of the missionary himself. Every step was cautious—every movement slow. Mrs. Judson quietly pursued the two tasks of learning the language and writing a Memorial of Mrs. Sarah Boardman Judson, which was finished during this trying period at Rangoon. Mr. Judson kept at work on the dictionary, while he gathered for secret worship the few scattered members of the native church, and the inquirers who, at the risk of imprisonment and death, visited him by night. He thus wrote to the Hon. Heman Lincoln and family:

.... “From this land of darkness and intolerance I address a line to you, my dear, very dear friends, in blessed America, in bright, beautiful Boston and vicinity. It seems like an Elysian vision, that I have so lately seen your happy dwellings and elegant surroundings—a vision, however, dispelled instantly by a crushing nightmare feeling, on looking round upon the wretched habitations, the rude, filthy population, the towering pagodas, and the swarms of well-fed priests which everywhere here pain the eye and the heart. Buddhism has come out in full bloom. The few traces of Christianity discoverable in the early stages of the mission seem almost obliterated. The present king and his brother, the heir presumptive, are devoted Buddhists, especially the latter. He begs his elder brother to allow him to turn priest, that he may gratify his pious propensities; and on being refused, 506he does, poor man! all that he can. He descends from his prince-regal seat, pounds and winnows the rice with his own hands, washes and boils it in his own cook-house, and then, on bended knees, presents it to the priests. This strong pulsation at the heart has thrown fresh blood throughout the once shrivelled system of the national superstition; and now every one vies with his neighbor in building pagodas and making offerings to the priests. What can one poor missionary effect, accompanied by his yet speechless wife, and followed by three men and one woman from Maulmain, and summoning to his aid the aged pastor of Rangoon and eight or ten surviving members of the church? But as the Mussulman says, God is great. He sitteth on the heavens, he setteth His foot on the earth, and the inhabitants are as grasshoppers before Him. He dwelleth also in the humble and contrite soul; and the rays of indwelling glory appear more resplendent, gleaming through the chinks of the humble tenement. O for that humility and contrition, O for that simplicity of faith, which will secure the indwelling glory! May such sinners as we are hope for such a blessing? O help us with your prayers, ye who sit under the droppings of the sanctuary, and are sometimes allowed to approach the presence; O Thou that hearest prayer, help Thou our unbelief!

“Last Sabbath was our stated communion season, occurring once in four months. No alcoholic liquor can be procured in this place, the importation of all such being strictly forbidden. Our wine was a decoction of raisins, the unadulterated juice of the grape. Ten Burmans, one Karen, and two Americans came around the lowly, glorious board. To-day I had about the same number of disciples, and several listeners, two of whom remained long after worship, and, with two others whom I have found since arriving here, make up the small number of four hopeful inquirers. But all our operations are conducted in secrecy. I have been introduced to the Government, not as a missionary—though the governor and the vice-governor both knew me well from old acquaintance—but as a minister of a foreign religion, ministering 507to foreigners in the place, and as a lexicographer, laboring to promote the literature of both nations! In one room, therefore, of the upper story of the brick house—for which upper story I am obliged to pay fifty rupees a month—will the Christian public bear me out in this extra expense?—I have paraded my lexicographical apparatus, and commenced hammering at the anvil of the dictionary, which has hardly resounded with my blows for two years past; two years, alas! lost, lost, in tossing on the sea, closing dear eyes, digging graves, rending heartstrings, and feeling about for new ones. Thanks be to God, I have a sweet little family around me once more—F. F., Harry, and Eddy. God is not only ‘great,’ but good. God is love. And He can change our hard, selfish hearts, and make them full of love. Do I not love you, dear friends? Shall I see you no more? Yes, in heaven, whither we are fast hastening.”

The condition of the missionaries in Rangoon was made still more distressing by sickness. The great brick house became a hospital. One member of the family after another was prostrated by disease. Their maladies were also aggravated by the want of nourishing food.

Mrs. Judson gives an interesting reminiscence of this doleful episode in Rangoon:

“In the meantime the rainy season set in; and it proved a season of unusual sickliness, even for that sickly place. To add still more to the uncomfortableness of our situation, the season for the Buddhistic Lent, which continues several months, came round; and, probably for the first time in fifty years, foreigners were so far compelled to observe it as to abstain from eating flesh or fowl. If we had known of the prohibition in season, we could have been prepared; but it took us quite by surprise. A few fish were exhibited in the bazaar; but it was so disreputable to trade, even in these, that they could scarcely be found, except in a half-putrid state. The only baker in town left soon after our arrival; and we were forced to live almost exclusively on boiled rice and fruits. To the former I unfortunately took an unconquerable 508disgust; and the latter proved unwholesome to all of us. One child was seized with erysipelas; the other with a complication of diseases brought on, as we supposed, by the meagre diet, and exposure to the damp winds; and Dr. Judson himself had a most violent attack of dysentery, which kept him from his study-table six weeks. For myself, my appetite had failed in proportion to the means of gratifying it; so, without being ill, I was so reduced in strength as often, in walking across the room, to fall, or rather slide, down on the floor, not from faintness, but sheer physical weakness. One of the assistants also took the fever; and the nurse I brought from Maulmain, the only woman besides myself in the household, became seriously ill. Of course we had no medical adviser; and if we had desired it ever so much, we could not get away, as the monsoon was now at its height, and the small native vessels in the harbor were not only without accommodations for invalids, but too frail to be trusted with the freight of human lives.”