Daughters of the Cross: or Woman's Mission
by
Daniel C. Eddy
Part 1 out of 3
Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Charles Franks
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
gutcheck and spellechecked.
DAUGHTERS OF THE CROSS
OR,
WOMAN'S MISSION.
BY DANIEL C. EDDY.
"There are deeds which should not pass away,
And names that must not wither."
PREFACE.
We have in this volume brought together the names of several of our most
distinguished female heroines, who have toiled and suffered on heathen
soil. They have been gathered from different denominations and sects, and
form a galaxy of names as dear to the heart of Christianity as can be drawn
from the records of earth.
The object is, to give a series of brief memoirs, in which the lives of
faithful Christians shall be unfolded; impart instruction in reference to
the cause of missions; inspire the heart of the reader with Christian zeal;
and do justice to the memory of those who deserve more honor than the
fallen warrior and the titled senator.
Most of the subjects of these sketches are well known and well
beloved--women whose deeds have been recorded in high places in
denominational history; and we deem it no impropriety to take them down,
unwind the peculiarity of sect, and weave these honored names in one sacred
wreath, that we may dedicate it to all who love the cause of missions.
The wreath may wither and fall apart, but the flowers which compose it will
not die; these sacred names shall live with immortal freshness while in the
world is found a _missionary church_.
CONTENTS
HARRIET NEWELL.
The Crusade.--Martin II.--Peter the Hermit.--Missionary Enterprise.
--Andover.--The young Men.--Congregational Association.--American
Board.--Harriet Atwood.--Bradford Academy.--Conversion.--Church in
Haverhill.--Death of her Father.--Samuel Newell.--Marriage.--Sailing.--The
Caravan.--Salem Harbor.--Calcutta,--Birth of the Babe,--Its Death.--Mrs.
Newell dies
ANN H. JUDSON.
Bradford.--Ann Hasseltine.--Harriet Atwood.--Conversion.--
Communion.--Marries Mr. Judson.--Sails for Calcutta.--Serampore.--Change
of Views.--Baptism.--First Child.--First Conversion.--Trials and
Suffering.--Judson's Imprisonment.--English Government.--Mrs. Judson
dies.--Amherst.--The Hopia Tree
ELIZABETH HERVEY.
Park Street Church.--Ordination.--Charge.--The Corvo.--Church in
Hadley.--Sermon.--Labor.--Death
HARRIET B. STEWART.
Sandwich Islands.--Opakakia.--Sabbath Scene.--Stamford, Connecticut.
--Marriage.--Laihaina.--Death of Mrs. Stewart.--Church building at Waiakea
SARAH L. SMITH.
Syria.--Norwich, Connecticut.--John Robinson.--New Heart.--Mohegan
Indians.--Brig George.--Malta.--Beyroot.--The Mediterranean.--
Jerusalem.--Sickness.--Death.--Burial Service
ELEANOR MACOMBER.
Lake Pleasant.--Ojibwas.--Dong-Yahn.--Mr. Osgood.--Zuagaben
Mountains.--Karens.--Rev. Mr. Stephens.--Church planted.--The Close
SARAH D. COMSTOCK.
The Burman Empire.--Brookline.--Baldwin Place Church.--Mr. Wade.--Dr.
Wayland's Address.--Mrs. Sigourney.--The Cashmere.--Kyouk Phyoo.--Mr.
Kincaid.--Six Men for Arracan.--"O Jesus, I do this for thee."--Last
Illness.--Lowly Sepulchres
HENRIETTA SHUCK.
China.--Rev. Addison Hall.--Kilmarnock.--Virginia Revivals.--
Baptism.--Death of her Mother.--Marriage to Mr. Shuck.--Sea Voyage.--Ah
Loo.--Henrietta Layton.--Premonitions.--The End of Earth
SARAH B. JUDSON.
Alstead.--Dr. Bolles.--George D. Boardman.--Poem.--Discovery and subsequent
union.--Calcutta.--Sarah Ann.--Robbery.--George.--Death of
Sarah.--Ko Thah-byu.--Rebellion.--Boardman's Death.--Marriage to Mr.
Judson.--Poems.--Death.--Ex Governor Briggs's Speech
MARY E. VAN LENNEP.
Rev. Dr. Hawes.--Childhood's happy Home.--Familiarity with the
Bible.--Missionary Interest.--Sabbath Schools.--Seminary.--Dr.
Fitch.--Longfellow.--Nature.--Mr. Van Lennep.--The union.--The
Stamboul.--Smyrna.--The Dardanelles.--Constantinople.--Last Sickness.--Mr.
Goodell.--Protestant Graveyard.--The American Ambassador.--The Watch of the
Bosphorus.
I.
HARRIET NEWELL, THE PROTO-MARTYR.
Several centuries ago, the idea of driving out of Jerusalem its infidel
inhabitants was suggested to a mad ecclesiastic. A shorn and dehumanized
monk of Picardy, who had performed many a journey to that fallen city, who
had been mocked and derided there as a follower of the Nazarene, whose
heart burned beneath the wrongs and indignities which had been so freely
heaped upon the head of himself and his countrymen, determined to arouse a
storm which should send its lightnings to gleam along the streets, and
roll its deep thunder to shake the hills which in speechless majesty stand
around the city of God.
Pope Martin II. entered into his daring scheme, convened a council of
bishops and priests, and gave the sanction of the church to the wild
enterprise. This council Peter addressed, and, with all the eloquence of
a man inspired by a mighty project, depicted the wrongs and grievances
of those who yearly sought, for holy purposes, the sepulchre wherein the
Savior of man reposed after his crucifixion. He was successful in inspiring
the people with his own wild enthusiasm. All Europe flew to arms; all ranks
and conditions in life united in the pious work; youthful vigor and hoary
weakness stood side by side; the cross was worn upon the shoulder and
carried on banners; the watchword, "_Deus Vult_," burst from ten thousand
lips; and the armies of Christendom precipitated themselves upon the holy
land with the awful war cry, "God wills it," echoing from rank to rank.
In later times a mightier, nobler enterprise was originated, and the great
system of American missions commenced. The object was a grand one, and
awfully important. It contemplated, not the subjection of a narrow kingdom
alone, but the complete overthrow of the dark empire of sin; not the
elevation of a human king, an earthly monarch, but the enthronement of an
insulted God, as the supreme object of human worship; not the possession of
the damp, cold sepulchre in which Jesus reposed after his melancholy death,
but the erection of his cross on every hillside, by every sea shore, in
vale and glen, in city and in solitude. It was a noble design, one full of
grandeur and glory, as far surpassing the crusade of Peter the Hermit as
the noonday sun surpasses the dim star of evening. Its purpose was to
obliterate the awful record of human sin, flash the rays of a divine
illumination across a world of darkness, and send the electric thrill of a
holy life throughout a universe of death.
At first, the missionary enterprise was looked upon as foolish and Utopian.
Good men regarded it as utterly impracticable, and bad men condemned
and denounced it as selfish and mercenary. The Christian church had not
listened to the wail of a dying world as it echoed over land and ocean and
sounded along our shores; she had not realized the great fact that every
darkened tribe constitutes a part of the universal brotherhood of man; her
heart had not been touched by the spirit of the great commission, "Go ye
into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature."
But the sun which ushered in the present century dawned upon a missionary
age and a missionary church. The tide of time has floated man down to a
region of light, and the high and holy obligations which rest upon the
ransomed of God are being recognized. The question is now asked, with deep
and serious earnestness,--
"Shall we, whose souls are lighted
By wisdom from on high,
Shall we to man benighted
The lamp of life deny?"
And the answer has been given. The church has felt, realized, and entered
into her obligation. By the cross she has stood, her heart beating with
kindly sympathy, her cheeks bathed in tears, and her lips vocal with
prayer. The Macedonian cry has been heard, and from every nave, and alcove,
and aisle, and altar of the great temple of Christianity has come the
response,--
"Waft, waft, ye winds, the story,
And you, ye waters, roll,
Till, like a sea of glory,
Light spreads from pole to pole."
In the early part of the year 1808 several young men, members of the
Divinity School at Andover, became impressed with the importance of a
mission to the heathen world. They first looked on the subject at a
distance, saw its dim and shadowy outlines, prayed that their visions of a
converted world might be realized, and wondered who would go forth the
first heralds of salvation. Ere long the impression came that _they_
were the men; and in two years the impression had deepened into a solemn
conviction, and they had determined on a life of labor, tears, and
sacrifice.
In 1810 they made known their plans to an association of Congregational
ministers assembled in Bradford. Although that body of holy men had many
fears and some doubts concerning the success of the enterprise, no attempt
was made to dampen the ardor of the young brethren who were resolved to
undertake the vast work. Many of the aged men composing that association
thought they could discern in the fervor and zeal of these young apostles
of missions the inspiration of the Holy Ghost. However many were their
fears and doubts, they dared not, as they loved the cross, place a single
obstacle in the way of the accomplishment of such a lofty purpose; and
when the question was asked by the sceptic, "Who is sufficient for these
things?" the awful response, "The sufficiency is of God," came up from many
hearts.
This movement on the part of Messrs. Judson, Newell, Nott, and their
associates, originated the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign
Missions--an organization which has its mission stations in almost every
part of the world, and which is expending, annually, the sum of two hundred
thousand dollars for the conversion of the heathen. The first missionaries
sent out were those above named, who, with two others, were ordained to the
work in the Tabernacle Church, in Salem, on the 6th of February, 1812.
The ordination scene is said to have been one of peculiar solemnity. The
spectacle was an unusual one, and a vast crowd collected together. The
spacious church, though filled to overflowing with excited and interested
people, was as silent as the chamber of death as instructions were given
to the young men who were to bid adieu to home and country. On the 19th of
February, a cold, severe day, the brig Caravan moved down the harbor of
Salem on an outward-bound voyage, bearing on her decks Messrs. Judson and
Newell, with their wives, the others having sailed from Philadelphia for
Calcutta the day previous. They went, not as the conqueror goes, with
fire and sword, flowing banners and waving plumes, but as the heralds of
salvation, having the gospel of life and peace to proclaim in the ears of
men who were strangers to its glory. To portray the character of one of
these devoted female missionaries, the wife of Samuel Newell, this sketch
will be devoted.
Harriet Atwood was born in the town of Haverhill, on the sloping banks of
the winding Merrimack, on the 10th of October, 1793. She was the daughter
of Moses Atwood, a merchant of that village, who was universally respected
and beloved. Though not rich, he was generous and benevolent; he was pious
without affectation, and in his heart cherished a longing desire to do
good. Her mother, who yet lives, was a woman of strong religious principle,
and well calculated to give right direction to the opening mind of her
child. Her piety, it is said, was of that kind which makes its impression
upon the heart and conscience, and leads the beholder to admire and love.
She was a fit mother to train such a daughter for her holy mission to a
world in ruins, and, by her judicious advice and counsel, lead on her child
to that high point of mental and moral advancement from whence she could
look abroad upon a fallen race and pity human woe.
Throughout life Harriet Newell bore the marks, and carried the impressions,
of childhood and youth, and her short but brilliant career was moulded and
fashioned by her missionary-hearted mother.
In 1805 she entered upon a course of study at the Bradford Academy, and
soon distinguished herself as a quick and ready scholar. One of her fellow
pupils remarks that "she seldom entered the recitation room unprepared. She
seemed to take peculiar pains in doing things _well_; and though much of
her time was spent in reading, her standing in her class was always more
than respectable." Though but a child at this time, she kept a diary which
would have done no discredit to a person of mature years, in which she
recorded the exercises of her own mind and the progress which she made in
mental discipline. The entries made in that diary give us an idea of the
superiority of her mind and the excellency of her heart.
While at Bradford, her heart was renewed by the grace of God. During a
revival which performed its holy work among the members of the school, she
was led to view herself as a sinner against the Almighty. The awful fact
that she must be born again uttered its solemn admonition. Though not so
deeply convicted as are some persons, she felt the terrible necessity of
regeneration. Reason, conscience, and Scripture proclaimed the same truth;
and after struggling against her better feelings for a while, she yielded
herself in sweet submission to the will of God. The account which she gives
of her own exercises of mind, while in this condition, furnishes us with a
view of her real character. Her religious experience was full of feelings
and acts characteristic of herself; and we may form our opinion of her
disposition and cast of mind from the peculiarity of her religious
emotions. In extreme youth she was fond of gayety and mirth, and spent much
time in dancing. According to her own account, she had but little remorse
of conscience for her thoughtless course. The fact that such amusements
were sinful, as well as dangerous, had never been impressed upon her mind.
She deemed them consistent with the highest state of moral and religious
enjoyment, and pursued the miserable phantom of human, earthly pleasure,
until aroused by the Spirit and made sensible of sin.
From early youth she had been accustomed to revere and study the word of
God and pray to her Father in heaven for the things which she needed. Her
pious parents had impressed the lessons of virtue on her young heart, and
she was accustomed, as she arose in the morning and rested her head at
night, to commend the keeping of her body and soul to the care of an
overruling, superintending Providence; but after commencing the practice
of dancing, and beginning to attend schools where this vain practice was
learned, she neglected the Bible, and thought but little of the place of
prayer. She found, after retiring at evening from the gay and fascinating
scenes of the dancing room, that prayer and meditation were dull and
tedious exercises, and concluded to give them up. Closing the Bible, she
laid it aside, and let it gather dust upon the shelf, while vain and
trifling volumes engaged her attention. The door of her closet was closed,
and she entered it not; and all thoughts of God were banished from her
mind, while the world employed all her time. But God, who orders all
things, was about to perform on her heart a work of mercy and grace. She
was a chosen vessel to bear the name of Jesus to a land of darkness and
despair.
When about thirteen years of age, she was sent by her parents to the
Academy at Bradford, to receive a systematic course of instruction. Shortly
after this a revival of religion commenced, and spread through the school,
and many were converted. The attention of Miss Atwood was arrested and
turned from vanity. "Must I be born again?" was the searching question
which she put to her own heart. The answer came to her, and she began to
seek the Savior. She seems not to have had deep conviction; her mind,
though agitated, was not overwhelmed, and the subject was contemplated
calmly. At length, with the melancholy fact that she was a sinner, and
endless condemnation before her, she was pointed to the cross of Christ.
The view was effectual. Jesus appeared the Savior of sinners, of whom she
was one, and faith gladly laid hold on him as the way of escape from an
awful death. A wonderful change took place: she lost her love of folly and
sin; prayer was sweet again; the Bible was drawn from its resting-place and
perused with new pleasure; from both Bible and closet she derived pleasure
such as she had never before experienced; and she passed from a state of
nature to a state of grace.
Writing to her friends while in this mood of mind, she is willing to admit
that she has not had such an overwhelming view of the nature of sin as some
have, nor of the ecstatic joy which some experience on conversion; but she
had what was as good--a calm hope in the merits of a crucified Savior, a
high estimate of religion and religious privileges, and an utter contempt
for the pleasures and vanities of the world. She had a holy love for all
things good, and was able to
"Read her title clear
To mansions in the sky."
At the time when Miss Atwood found this sweet and precious hope, the church
in Haverhill was in a low and languishing condition, disturbed by internal
divisions, and to a great extent destitute of the influences of the Holy
Spirit. In consequence of this state of the church she did not unite
herself with it, and at that time made no open profession of religion. This
neglect of a plain and obvious duty brought darkness upon her mind, and
shrouded her soul in gloom. God withdrew his presence from his wayward and
disobedient child, and left her in sadness: she had refused to confess her
Master openly and publicly in the midst of trials and discouragements; and,
grieved and wounded by her conduct, he turned from her, and hid his face.
Then was she in the condition of the man who took into his own house seven
spirits more wicked than himself. There was no rest for her soul, no relief
for her anguished spirit. She realized how bitter a thing it is to depart
from the counsel of her Maker, and found momentary comfort only in the
forgetfulness of what she had enjoyed. At this period conscience was awake,
and to drown its voice she plunged into sin, sought pleasure in all the
departments of worldly intercourse, and thought as little as possible of
God and sacred things. In this attempt to drive away serious inquiries she
succeeded, and became as thoughtless as before her conversion. Again was
the Bible laid aside, and the sickly novel and the wild romance substituted
in its place. The closet was neglected, and she loved not to retire and
commune with God. The flame of piety in her soul went out, and her
heart was dark and sad; she fearfully realized the truth of the divine
declaration, "The way of the transgressor is hard." In her diary she tells
of sleepless nights and anxious days; of the Savior wounded by her whom he
died to save; of the Spirit grieved, and almost quenched, yet lingering
around her, now reproving, now commanding, now pleading; at one time
holding up the terrors of a broken law, and then whispering in tones as
sweet and gentle as Calvary; of conscience holding up a mirror in which
she might discern the likeness of herself and contemplate her real moral
character. Thoughts of God and holiness, of Christ and Calvary, made her
gloomy and unhappy; and she entered the winding path of sin, that the
celestial light might not burst upon her. Like other sinners, she sought
happiness by forgetting what she was doing, and by an entire withdrawal
from all scenes which could awaken in her soul emotions of contrition and
repentance.
On the 28th of June, 1809, Miss Atwood listened to a discourse, which was
the instrument, in the hands of God, of again prostrating her at the foot
of the cross. Her carnal security gave way; her sins, her broken vows and
pledges, rose up before her in startling numbers; her guilt hung over her
like a dark mantle; she felt the awful pangs of remorse, and was induced to
return to that kind and compassionate Savior who had at first forgiven all
her faults. Peace was restored; the smile of God returned; and the bleeding
heart, torn and wounded by sin, had rest.
While in her fifteenth year, the subject of this sketch was called upon to
part with her father. What influence this sad event had upon her mind is
hardly known; but that it was an occasion of deep and thrilling anguish
cannot be doubted. Smarting under the hand of Providence, she writes
letters to several of her friends, which abound in words of holy and pious
resignation. The manner in which her sire departed, his calm exit from the
sorrows of the flesh, served to give her a more lofty idea of the power of
faith to sustain its subject in the hour of death. Though he had left nine
fatherless children and a broken-hearted widow, there was to Harriet a
melancholy pleasure in the idea that he had burst off the fetters of clay
and ascended to the skies. Though on earth deprived of his companionship,
his counsels, and his guidance, she looked forward to a meeting where
parting scenes will not be found, and where the farewell word will never be
spoken.
"There is a world above,
Where parting is unknown,
A long eternity of love,
Formed for the good alone;
And faith beholds the dying here
Translated to that glorious sphere."
Nor had she a single doubt that her father had reached that world. She knew
the sincerity, piety, and devotion of his life, and the sweet calmness of
his death. His coffin, his shroud, his grave, his pale form were reposing
in lonely silence beneath the bosom of the earth; but the spirit had
departed on its journey of ages, and she doubted not its perfect felicity.
As often as she repaired to the spot where he was interred, and kneeled by
his tomb and breathed forth her humble supplications, she found the sweet
assurance that beyond the grave she would see her earthly parent, and live
with him forever. Though divided by the realms of space, faith carried her
onward to the scenes of eternity and upward to the joys of heaven; and
though she roamed on earth, shedding many a tear of sorrow, her spirit held
communion with the spirit of her departed sire.
"While her silent steps were straying
Lonely through night's deepening shade,
Glory's brightest beams were playing
Bound the happy Christian's head."
In October, 1810, an event occurred which gave direction to the whole life
of Harriet Atwood. She became acquainted with Samuel Newell, one of the
enthusiastic apostles of missions. He made her familiar with his plans and
purposes, and asked her to accompany him as his colaborer and companion.
Long had she prayed that she might be a source of good to her
fellow-creatures; long had she labored to accomplish something for God
and his holy cause; but the idea of leaving mother and friends, home and
kindred, and going forth to preach salvation and tell of Jesus in wild
and barbarous climes, was new and strange. To the whole matter she gave a
careful and prayerful consideration. She divested the great subject as
far as possible from all romantic drapery, and looked upon it in its true
light. For a while her mind was in a state of perplexing doubt and fear,
and the thought of leaving her own land was terrible. While considering the
conflict in her mind, we should remember that the cause of missions was
in its infancy; that no one had ever gone forth from our shores to preach
salvation by grace in heathen countries; that those who were agitating
the subject were branded as fanatics, and the cause itself was subject to
unjust suspicions and contempt; consequently the subject had an importance
and awfulness which it does not now possess. The way has been broken, and
all good men acknowledge that the heroism of the missionary woman is grand
and sublime. The decision made by Harriet Atwood was different from that
made by others in after years, inasmuch as she had no example, no pattern.
She realized that the advice of friends, biased as it was by prejudice and
affection, could not be relied upon; and, driven to the throne of God, she
wrestled there until her course of action was decided and her mind fixed
intently upon the great work before her. Her resolution to go to India was
assailed on every side. Those to whom she had been accustomed to look for
advice and counsel, friends on whose judgment she had relied, shook their
heads and gave decided tokens of disapprobation. But the question was
finally settled. On one side were the gay world, her young associates,
her kind relatives, her own care and comfort. On the other side stood a
bleeding Savior and a dying world. To the question, "Lord, what wilt thou
have me to do?" she heard the response, "Go work to-day in my vineyard;"
and when she looked forth upon the harvest, white for the reaper's hand,
she hesitated not to consecrate on the altar of her God her services, her
time, her life.
When this decision was once made, she conferred not with flesh and blood.
Her reply was given to Mr. Newell in firm, decided language; and up to
the hour when her spirit took its flight from earth to heaven, we have
no evidence that she had one single regret that she had chosen a life of
self-sacrifice. Her language was,--
"Through floods and flames, if Jesus lead,
I'll follow where he goes."
Through duties and trials, through floods and flames, she passed, shrinking
from no danger and shunning no sacrifice. Conscious of right, she quailed
not before the tears of friends and the scorn of foes; but alike in duty
and in danger followed the footsteps of her Savior, until her wasting body
was decomposed and her spirit taken up to dwell with the just men made
perfect.
To a friend in Beverly she writes as follows: "How can I go and leave those
who have done so much for me, and who will be so sorry for my loss? How can
I leave my mother here while oceans roll between us? How can I go with
but little prospect of return? And how can I stay? We are under solemn
obligation to labor for God; and I must go to India at any sacrifice. I owe
something to my perishing fellow-men; I owe something to my Savior. He wept
for men--he shed tears over Jerusalem.
'Did Christ o'er sinners weep?
And shall our cheeks be dry?'"
At this time her letters to Mr. Newell breathe forth the most devoted
missionary spirit, and exhibit her firm determination to do her highest
duty and discharge her great mission at any sacrifice--at the cost of
separation, tears, and death. And required it, think you, no effort to
bring her mind into this godlike state? Cost it no toil to discipline the
heart to such sore trials? Most certainly it demanded toil and effort; and
many a visit to the cross was made, and many a view of the bleeding Savior
obtained, ere she could turn her back on home and all that the young heart
holds dear in this life, to labor and die far away over the rolling sea.
And we doubt if any other motive can be found so powerful as this to move
the Christian heart to obedience. There is an inexpressible efficacy in
the cross to bring all the various opposing elements into subjection, and
produce order in the place of discord and opposition. With the cross the
early disciples went forth, not as the crusaders went, with the sacred
symbol on banners, and badges, and weapons, but wearing the _spirit_ of
the cross like a garment, having its doctrines engraven on the heart, and
inspired and quickened into life by its mysterious energy. It was the cross
that induced the early disciples to brave danger and death to spread abroad
the new faith. The martyr at the stake, amid the curling flames, was
supported by it; the exile from home, banished to rude and savage wilds,
loved it; the prisoner in his chains, confined and scourged, tortured and
bleeding, turned to it, and found satisfaction for all his wrongs; the
laborer for God, amid wild men who had no sympathy for his vocation,
carried the cross, and fainted not in his anxious toil.
And such was the effect of the cross on the mind of Mrs. Newell. It sent
her forth in all the love of womanhood, and sustained her until the close
of life, It produced on her the impression that it made upon the dreamer
Bunyan, who saw it as he was escaping from the city of destruction. He came
to it with a heavy heart and a burdened soul; but as he saw it the burden
fell and rolled into the sepulchre, and his load was gone. He gazed with
rapture and delight; and the tears burst forth and flowed down his cheeks,
and joy and holy satisfaction filled his soul.
Here is the great moving motive, one which is above all others, one that is
more effective than all others; and by this our heroine was animated and
cheered in her missionary work.
Up to the time of her departure for India, the mind of Miss Atwood
continued to be exercised with contending feelings. At one time the
sacrifice, the toil, the labor, and self-denial of a missionary life would
rise up before her. She would feel how great the trial must be to leave
all the endeared scenes of youth and childhood, and go forth to toil, and
perhaps die, among strangers in a strange land. Dark visions would often
flit before her; and she felt how terrible it must be to sicken and expire
on shores where no mother's kind hand could lift her anguished head nor
smooth her fevered pillow. But at other times her spirit soared above the
toil and sorrow, and dwelt with rapture upon the bliss, of seeing some of
the poor, degraded heathen females converted to Christ. The glory of the
great enterprise presented itself; and she realized the blessedness of
those who leave father and mother, brother and sister, houses and land, for
the promotion of the kingdom of Christ. From these various struggles
she came forth purified, dead to the world, and alive unto Christ. Any
sacrifice she was willing to make, any toil endure. It was her meat
and drink to do the will of God and accomplish his work. After a full
investigation of all the privations and sacrifices of a missionary life,
after a solemn and prayerful estimate of all that was to be left behind and
all that would be gained, she formed her opinion and decided to go forth. A
feeble woman, just out of childhood, she linked her fate with an unpopular
and scorned enterprise, and cast in her lot with the dark-browed daughters
of India.
We have seen grand enterprises commenced and carried on; we have seen our
fellow-men gathering imperishable laurels; but never before did the world
witness so grand a spectacle, with so high an object to be accomplished
by mortals, as was given in the departure of Harriet Newell to teach the
lessons of Jesus in distant lands. We consider the career of Napoleon a
glorious one. We cannot look upon his successful marches and battles,
however much we disapprove his course, without something of admiration
mingled with our abhorrence. There was a gorgeous glory which gathered
around the character of that emperor of blood which hides his errors and
dazzles the eyes of the beholder. But the true glory which gathered over
that little band of missionaries, as they left the snow-covered, icebound
coast of America, to find homes and graves in distant India, far outshines
all the glitter of pomp and imperial splendor which ever shed its rays upon
the brilliant successes of the monarch of France, the conqueror of Europe.
True, they went forth alone. No weeping church followed them to the water
side; no crowded shore sent up its wail, or echoed forth the fervent
prayer; but in the homes of the people, in the heart of God, these holy men
and women were remembered. Had that beautiful hymn been composed for them,
it could not have been more appropriate; and as they stood upon the deck
of the wave-washed Caravan, it must have been the sentiments of all their
hearts.
"Scenes of sacred grace and pleasure,
Holy days and Sabbath bell,
Richest, brightest, sweetest treasure,
Can I say a last farewell?
Can I leave you,
Far in distant lands to dwell?
Yes, I hasten from you gladly--
From the scenes I loved so well;
Far away, ye billows, bear me;
Lovely, native land, farewell!
Pleased I leave thee,
Far in heathen lands to dwell.
In the desert let me labor;
On the mountain let me tell
How he died--the blessed Savior--
To redeem a world from hell;
Let me hasten
Far in heathen lands to dwell."
Miss Atwood was united in marriage to Mr. Newell on the 9th of February,
1812; and on the 19th the Caravan set sail, as before stated. The voyage
to Calcutta, though attended with many things to render it unpleasant to a
feeble American woman, was not a severe one. The weather most of the time
was pleasant; and only occasionally did the waves sweep across the decks of
the vessel, or flow through the windows into the cabin. Mrs. Newell spent
her time in writing letters to her American friends and preparing herself
for her missionary work. She now had leisure to examine her own heart and
descend into the hidden mysteries of her soul; she had ample space to view
the past and form plans for the future; she could try her motives by the
unerring word of God, and, by humble prayer and careful meditation, be
enabled to acquire strength which should prove equal to her trials. The
cabin of a wave-tossed vessel, the loneliness of a voyage across the
deep-green ocean, a separation from earth's homes and earth's hearts,
were all calculated to lift up the pious mind, and centre the soul's best
affections upon pure and worthy objects. Whatever of care and sorrow she
might have had, however much or however little of anxiety might have filled
her bosom, such circumstances were sufficient to bring her faith to the
most severe test.
The voyage must have been severe but healthy discipline, and doubtless from
it was learned many a lesson of grace and duty. As the snow-covered hills
of her own dear home disappeared; as the tall chimney at the entrance of
the harbor, from which the nightly flame burned forth a beacon to the
mariner to guide him amid the storm, was lost in the distance; as the first
night came on and darkness gathered over the wide waste of waters; as deep
shadows fell upon the form of the plunging ship,--the missionary cause
must have presented itself in a new light, and, to some extent, have been
clothed with sombre hues. And as time rolled on and the distance from home
increased, that sacred call of God, that holy mission on which she was
employed, must have appealed more strongly to the Christ-like heart of our
missionary sister. The vessel encountered storm and tempest, the usual
inconveniences of a sea voyage were endured, and danger in a thousand
threatening forms appeared; but the hand which formed the channels of the
sea preserved his servants, and amid storm and darkness guided the vessel
which bore them to homes and graves in the dark places of the earth.
On her passage, Mrs. Newell kept an interesting journal, not only of her
own feelings, but also of the incidents that rendered the voyage pleasant
or painful and checkered it with evil or good. And such incidents there are
always. When on the ocean, far from land, for the first time, the dullest
and most stupid mind cannot fail of being aroused to new and awful
emotions. Man learns of God at such an hour, and finds new proof of his
grandeur and glory in every dashing wave and every whistling blast. With
but a single inch between him and a watery death, he gazes from his narrow
deck upon the boundless expanse of tossing, foam-crested billows; while, as
far as his eye can stretch, not a foot of land appears. His vessel may be
on fire, she may fill with water, she may be riven by lightning; but there
is no friendly sail to which wrecked man may fly and be safe. His ship will
founder in mid ocean, while not a single form appears to lend the helping
hand, and not an eye is seen flowing with tears of pity; nothing is heard
but the moan of ocean; nothing is seen but the sweeping surge, as it passes
on, leaving no track of the submerged vessel.
Confined in towns and cities, enclosed in walls of stone and brick, chained
to the wheel of custom, the soul of man becomes contracted and dwarfed. All
around are monuments of human skill, and every thing as little as the human
mind. But when he steps beyond the crowds of life and embarks on the
bosom of the ocean, he begins to see Divinity in its most awful forms. He
realizes the insignificance of the creature and the majesty of the almighty
Maker.
So felt Mrs. Newell, as she stood upon the deck of her vessel and gazed
upon the wonders of the deep. Each wave, as it dashed against the sides of
the brig or rolled across her decks, seemed impressed by the hand of God;
and in these scenes she realized, more than ever before, the grandeur and
glory of Jehovah. She saw him mirrored out in the starry canopy above her
head, and in the liquid mountains which lifted up their forms, and anon
sunk into peaceful rest beneath her feet.
On the 17th of June the Caravan reached Calcutta and anchored in the
harbor. During the passage along the river the vessel was hailed by
boatloads of naked natives, who brought on board cocoa nuts, bananas, and
dates in great profusion; while others were seen on the banks reposing in
the sun, or bathing in the waters of the Ganges, or diving beneath the
surface for the shellfish which are found there; while beyond, the country
was seen in all the beauty of verdure and delight, as ever and anon the
Hindoo cottage and the white pagoda reared themselves amid the trees which
grew upon the shoreside.
On the arrival of the missionaries at Calcutta, they repaired to the
residence of Dr. Carey, where they found Mr. Marshman and Mr. Ward, all of
whom were connected with the English Baptist mission station at Serampore.
By invitation of Dr. Carey they visited the station, and were treated with
the greatest kindness. But their hopes of usefulness were destined to be
blasted. The East India Company was opposed to all attempts to Christianize
the natives, and threw all their influence against the divine cause of
missions. As soon as the government became apprised of the object of Mr.
Newell and his associates, orders were issued for them to leave the
country immediately. After a vast deal of parleying with the civil powers,
permission was obtained to reside at the Isle of France; and on the 4th of
August, 1812, Mr. and Mrs. Newell took passage on board the Gillespie
for that place. Sorrow and distress now began to roll upon them in deep,
sweeping waves. The crew of the vessel were profane and irreligious, the
weather boisterous and unpleasant; while the spirits of the missionaries
themselves were at a low ebb. For some time no progress was made, and the
frown of Providence seemed to rest upon them. What purpose God had in view
in surrounding them with such trials, they knew not; but with humble faith
in all his allotments they bore submissively, but sadly, this new trial of
their devotion. The delicate state of Mrs. Newell's health rendered their
sorrows doubly annoying to her sensitive and refined mind. She shrunk
from a contact with the rude beings around her, and in the society of
her husband alone found enjoyment; and even this was not free from
interruption. The morning and evening prayer was disturbed by the profane
jest or the blasphemous ribaldry of God-hating men, who viewed our
missionaries as deluded fanatics, justly deserving the contempt of all.
Even the respect due to the weaker sex was not wholly observed; and the
pious woman was often compelled to listen to expressions which would have
brought a blush to the cheek of the strong man. Sickness and sorrow found
but little sympathy; and the days seemed long and tedious, even to one who
had not learned to complain of the wise discipline of a Father's hand.
While on this voyage, about three weeks before their arrival at the place
of destination, she gave birth to a daughter, and became a mother. The
sweet infant lived but five days; "blushed into life and died." The day
before its death, the rite of the church, by which the little stranger into
this cold world was given to God, was performed. They called her by the
mother's name, and watched over her until she breathed her last breath upon
her mother's bosom, and then sunk the form into the cold waters of the
deep. As the corpse was lowered down over the side of the vessel, holy
voices sung the sweet and tender hymn,--
"So fades the lovely, blooming flower,
Frail, smiling solace of an hour;
So soon our transient comforts fly,
And pleasures only bloom to die."
Soon after the death of her babe, Mrs. Newell discovered symptoms of the
malady which soon carried her to an untimely grave. From the first, she had
no hope of recovery. Several of her friends had died of the same disease;
and when it fastened itself upon her system, she knew that her time had
come. The slow, wasting consumption was on her frame, and her days
were nearly run out. But the approach of death she viewed with perfect
composure. Though far from home, far from all the endeared scenes of youth,
from the roof which sheltered her in infancy, from the mother whose gentle
hand guided her up to womanhood, she was tranquil. Death was only a dark
shadow, which retreated before her as she advanced, and left her standing
in the light of a cloudless day.
While on her dying pillow she read through the book of Job, and derived
from its hallowed counsels much divine support and comfort. While
contemplating the sufferings of that godly man, her own trials dwindled
away, and she lost sight of her own anguish in the deeper woes, of another.
Often did she ask, as she remembered what others had endured and thought
what trials some had experienced,--
"Shall I be carried to the skies
On flowery beds of ease,
While others fought to win the prize,
And sailed through bloody seas?"
Sometimes she wondered why she should be thus early taken away. She had
left home and friends to labor for God in a heathen land; and why at the
very onset he should call her to the grave, she could not understand. The
great desire of her heart was to be the humble instrument in the conversion
of sinners. She wished to win souls to Christ--to turn the attention of the
dying heathen to the saving cross. Hence, when she found that, ere her work
had fairly commenced, she was to be summoned away to her reward, torn from
the arms of her husband, and removed beyond the province of toil, she
failed to read the purpose of her Maker. All was gloom, and in calm
submission she bowed her head to the coming storm. What was dark now she
hoped to understand when the secrets of all hearts are known, and trusted
that God was able to glorify himself as much in her death as in her life.
During her sickness she gave expression to the feelings of her heart, and
proved to all around her that death had lost dominion over her; that the
grave had secured no victory; and when she met the terrors of one and the
silence of the other, it was as the conqueror meets his smitten foe. Her
last words were, "How long, O Lord, how long?" and with this sentence on
her lips she passed away.
Mrs. Newell died on Monday, the 30th of November, 1812, at the Isle of
France, leaving her husband to labor alone for the conversion of the
heathen. After the death of his wife Mr. Newell removed to Ceylon, and from
thence to Bombay, where, after laboring a few years and doing his Master's
work in tears and sorrow, he went down to his grave on the 17th of May,
1821.
The scene now closes. We have followed a devoted servant of Christ from
youth to womanhood--from early childhood to an early grave. It is pleasant
to contemplate such an example, to shed tears of gratitude over such a
tomb. The name we pronounce deserves to be recorded in a more conspicuous
place in the book of fame than any name which has gathered gory laurels on
the wet field of carnage; she deserves a higher monument than rises over
the resting-place of earth's proudest conqueror--a monument not of marble,
nor of brass, nor of gold, but one which shall lift its summit until a halo
of eternal light shall gather about it and gild it with the beams of
glory. And such a monument she has. When the clouds and mists of earth are
dissipated we shall see it, sinking its base deep as the darkness of a
world of heathenism, and lifting its summit high as the throne of God.
Harriet Newell was the great proto-martyr of American missions. She fell
wounded by death in the very vestibule of the sacred cause. Her memory
belongs not to the body of men who sent her forth, not to the denomination
to whose creed she had subscribed, but to the church--to the cause of
missions. With the torch of Truth in her hand she led the way down into a
valley of darkness, through which many have followed. Her work was short,
her toil soon ended; but she fell, cheering, by her dying words and her
high example, the missionaries of all coming time. She was the first, but
not the only martyr. Heathen lands are dotted over with the graves of
fallen Christians; missionary women sleep on almost every shore; and the
bones of some are whitening in the fathomless depths of the ocean.
Never will the influence of the devoted woman whose life and death are here
portrayed be estimated properly until the light of an eternal day shall
shine on all the actions of men. We are to measure her glory, not by what
she suffered, for others have suffered more than she did. But we must
remember that she went out when the missionary enterprise was in its
infancy--when even the best of men looked upon it with suspicion. The tide
of opposition she dared to stem; and with no example, no predecessor from
American shores, she went out to rend the veil of darkness which gathered
over all the nations of the East.
Things have changed since then. Our missionaries go forth with the approval
of all the good; and the odium which once attended such a life is swept
away. It is to some extent a popular thing to be a missionary, although the
work is still one of hardship and suffering. It is this fact which gathers
such a splendor around the name of Harriet Newell, and invests her short,
eventful life with such a charm. She went when no foot had trodden out
the path, and was the first American missionary ever called to an eternal
reward. While she slumbers in her grave, her name is mentioned with
affection by a missionary church. And thus it should be. She has set us a
glorious example; she has set an example to the church in every land and
age; and her name will be mingled with the loved ones who are falling year
by year; and if, when the glad millennium comes and the earth is converted
to God, some crowns brighter than others shall be seen amid the throng of
the ransomed, one of those crowns will be found upon the head of HARRIET
NEWELL.
II.
ANN H. JUDSON, OF BURMAH.
Notoriety is one thing, and true glory is quite another thing. Many persons
have become notorious around whose lives no true glory or dignity has
appeared; and many men have been honorable in the highest sense who have
lived unknown to fame, and unheard of beyond a narrow boundary.
The world's estimate of glory is a false one. It attaches too much
importance to physical force, to noisy pomp, to the glitter and show of
conquest, and gives too little honor to the silent but majestic movements
of moral heroes.
Had any body of men labored long and suffered much to save poor human life
and draw from burning dwelling or sinking wreck some fellow-man, their
deeds would be mentioned in every circle; humane societies would award them
tokens of distinction and approbation; and they would be deemed worthy of
exalted honor. Nor would it be wrong thus to give them praise. The man who
risks his life to save another deserves a higher, prouder monument than
ever lifted itself above the tombs of fallen warriors who on the gory field
have slaughtered their thousands.
Nor will the deserved approbation of the great and good of earth long be
withheld from the heralds of salvation on heathen shores. The majesty
of the missionary enterprise is beginning to develop itself; success is
crowning the toil of years; and heathendom is assuming a new aspect. Under
the faithful labors of self-denying men, the wilderness is beginning to
blossom as the rose. Here and there, amid the sands of the wide desert once
parched by sin and consumed by the fiery blaze of heathenish cruelty,
the plants of grace are beginning to appear, and Christian churches are
springing up to spread themselves like green vines upon the broken ruins of
demolished idols.
It is too late now in the world's history, too late in the progress
of thought, to vindicate the course pursued by the two pioneer female
missionaries. When the Caravan sailed down the harbor of the "City of
Peace," there were enough to curl the lip and point the finger of scorn.
The devoted messengers of Jesus were charged with indelicacy, with a false
ambition, with a spirit of romance and adventure, with a desire for
ease and gain. As time rolled on, all these charges were withdrawn; the
characters, views, and feelings of these heroic women were raised above
suspicion, and now they are enveloped in a flood of glory.
"They left not home to cross the briny sea
With the proud conqueror's ambitious aim,
To wrong the guiltless, to enslave the free,
And win a bloodstained wreath of dreadful fame
By deeds unworthy of the Christian name."
Their errand was to carry mercy to the perishing and hope to the
despairing; and in the name of their great Master they executed their high
commission. Depending alone on God, and inspired by his grace, they labored
on, amid all the doubts and sneers of others, until their holy lives and
correct deportment challenged the approbation of the most sceptical,--until
God honored their work by great success,--until men, hardened men, began to
yield.
"And by degrees the blessed fruits were seen
In many a contrite and converted heart,
Fruits which might cause unbidden tears to start
From eyes unused to weep; because they told
Faith was their polar star, and God's word their guide."
And future ages will honor them. When the names of Mary and Elizabeth,
of Joan of Arc with her wild enthusiasm, of De Stael and her literary
contemporaries, have all been lost, these will live as fresh as ever.
Ann H. Judson was born at Bradford, December 22, 1789. She was the daughter
of John and Rebecca Hasseltine, worthy inhabitants of that pleasant
village. Her childhood was passed within sight of the home which contained
the friends, and around which clustered the employments and pursuits, of
Harriet Newell. With only a narrow river rolling between them, these two
devoted servants of God passed through the period of youth, little thinking
how their names and fortunes were to be linked together in the holy cause
of human good. Like her beloved associate, Miss Hasseltine was early in
life a pupil at Bradford Academy, and made commendable progress in her
studies. There she was beloved by all. The teachers regarded her as an
industrious, dutiful, and talented scholar; her associates looked upon her
as a sincere, openhearted, cheerful companion. Unlike Mrs. Newell, who was
sedate and grave, exhibiting a seriousness almost beyond her years, Miss
Hasseltine was ardent, gay, and active. She loved amusement and pleasure,
and was found seeking enjoyment in all the avenues of virtuous life. One of
her schoolmates, speaking of her, says, "Where Ann is, no one can be
gloomy or unhappy. Her cheerful countenance, her sweet smile, her happy
disposition, her keen wit, her lively conduct, never rude nor boisterous,
will dispel the shades of care and hang the smiles of summer upon the
sorrows of the coldest heart." Her animation gave life to all around her,
and made her, at school, an unusual favorite; at home, the joy of her
father's dwelling. It was probably this cheerfulness of her natural
disposition which in after years enabled her to endure such protracted
sufferings, and, by the side of her missionary husband, smile amid clanking
fetters and gloomy dungeons. She loved to look upon the bright side of
every picture, and seldom spent an hour in tears over any imaginary sorrow.
On the front of evils she generally discerned signs of good; and often,
while others were in sorrow, her heart was glad. Her sedate parents looked
upon these exhibitions of cheerful disposition with some feelings of
regret, and often chided their child for what they deemed an uneasy and
restless spirit, little thinking that this very cheerfulness was to sustain
her under many a trial which would have bowed others to the earth with
crushed and broken spirits. God seemed to have adapted her to the very
position in which he designed to place her; and her whole after career gave
evidence of the wisdom of the divine arrangement. Had she been of different
mould, she would have sunk ere half her work was done, ere half her toils
were over.
While at Bradford Academy, Miss Hasseltine became a subject of renewing
grace. Her own account of her conversion, found in her published memoir and
elsewhere, is of the deepest and most thrilling interest to every pious
heart. During the first sixteen years of her life, she, according to her
own statement, had few convictions. She had been taught that she must be
moral and virtuous, and in this way avoid suffering and secure peace of
conscience. The awful necessity of being "born again" did not press itself
upon her attention. Light and vain amusements engrossed much of her time,
and employed many hours which should have been given to God and the
practice of holiness. The prayers which she learned in youth were now
forgotten, her Bible neglected, and her mind given up to vain and sinful
pleasure. She did not realize that she was immortal; that she was a
traveller to a long and unknown eternity; but the present hour, the present
moment, received all her care and engrossed all her attention. From this
state she was aroused by seeing in a little volume which she took up to
read on Sabbath morning, just before going to the house of God, this solemn
sentence: "She that liveth in pleasure is dead while she liveth." The words
sunk deep into her thoughtless heart. In vain she strove to banish them;
but they would return upon her memory, and linger there with tormenting
obstinacy. Vain was it that she mingled in scenes of gayety and mirth;
vainly did she become "the gayest of the gay." The conviction became
stronger, as each week rolled away, that she was _a lost sinner_. Under the
influence of divine truth she continued to become more deeply impressed
with the importance of giving her heart to God and being a new creature.
She herself says, "I lost all relish for amusements; felt melancholy and
dejected; and the solemn truth that I must obtain a new heart, or perish
forever, lay with weight upon my mind." At length her feelings-became so
overpowering that she could not confine them within her own bosom. God had
rolled such a weight of conviction on her mind that she was almost crushed
to the earth. How God could forgive _her_ sins, she could not see. How one
so guilty, so rebellious, so hardened, could obtain mercy, she did not
know. Instead, at this time, of giving her heart to God, she resorted to
other means to find relief from sin. She gave up many of the comforts
of life, locked herself into her room, and spent many weary hours in
self-imposed penance. Against the holy claims of God her heart soon
rebelled, and she longed to be taken out of her misery.
At length she attained a more scriptural view of the way of salvation; she
saw Christ as a vicarious sacrifice, and felt that, if saved at all, it
must be by his blood, and not by her own imperfect righteousness. This
view of Jesus was sweet and precious. He had become, not the Savior of the
world, but _her_ own Savior; he had died, not merely for the sins of the
race, but for _her_ sins; and in this sacred contemplation her soul found
sweet relief. The torturing load of fears was gone; one sight of Christ had
changed the heart and taken away its grief and sin. Like a liberated slave
she rejoiced in perfect freedom, and her happy soul went out in joyful
thanks to Him who had wrought the work.
With a heart changed by God, she seemed to pass from rapture to rapture,
from bliss to bliss. Beneath the operations of grace her mind and her heart
seemed to be enlarged, and to a wonderful extent she drank in the truth
of the inspired word. Doctrines which until now had been all shrouded in
darkness were readily comprehended. The great plan of salvation by the
cross excited her wonder and admiration, and she loved to dwell upon it as
the way in which she herself had been saved. All the energy of her soul
seemed to be aroused to action. She was in a new world, inspired by new
hopes, living a new life, a new creature.
The character of Miss Hasseltine's mind may be inferred from the nature
of the books which, at this period of her experience, she read with the
greatest eagerness. Instead of resorting to works of a superficial cast for
instruction, she selected the profound dissertations of our most learned
theologians, and read with much interest, as we are informed by her
biographer, "the works of Edwards, Hopkins, Bellamy, and Doddridge." In the
investigation of the deep and awful things of God she spent much of her
time, and, with a humble desire to know the truth and obey it, sought
wisdom from on high.
On the 14th of September, 1806, Miss Hasseltine made a public profession of
religion, and connected herself with the Congregational church in Bradford,
and for the first time partook with the company of believers of the broken
emblems of a Savior's infinite compassion. The observance of this ordinance
was full of blessing; at the table, according to her own testimony, she
renewed her covenant with her Maker, and more solemnly than ever gave
herself to the holy work of God. She felt how needful the assistance of a
higher power was to keep her from the snares into which young Christians
are so liable to fall.
After leaving the academy, Miss H. engaged as a teacher, and with
considerable success employed herself in her vocation, in Haverhill,
Salem, and Newbury. Teaching with her was not an ordinary employment; she
remembered that her pupils had souls as well as bodies; and while she was
striving to expand the youthful mind, she also endeavored to improve the
youthful heart, and impress upon the conscience those lessons of truth
which time could never efface. It was at the same conference in which the
acquaintance between Mr. and Mrs. Newell commenced that Mr. Judson was
introduced to the subject of this sketch. He was then in need of a
companion who would share his anxieties, his labors, and his sorrows; and
he fixed upon Miss Hasseltine as the one whose tastes and feelings most
accorded with his own. He was probably attracted by her ardent piety, her
brilliant intellect, and her joyous spirit. Having duly considered the
subject, he gave her an invitation to go out with him to distant India, and
be his companion in the brightest hour of his prosperity and in the darkest
moment of his adversity. To decide the question was not an easy matter. It
was connected with obligations which she did not hastily assume, and hence
it was several months ere she had resolved to go. She was at times fearful
that her disposition for what was in itself romantic and strange would bias
her judgment and lead her to pursue a course which she should regret when
too late to turn back. Hence she brought all her feelings and motives to a
severe test, and looked down deeply into the hidden mystery of her heart.
Before God she laid herself completely open, and sought, by humble
supplication, his divine direction. With no example but that of Harriet
Newell, who had just consecrated herself to the work, she decided to make
India her home, and suffering and privation her lot. Her letters upon this
subject, about this time, abound with passages of thrilling interest, and
give evidence that the subject of missions absorbed her whole attention and
pervaded her whole nature.
On the 5th of February, 1812, Mr. and Mrs. Judson were married at Bradford;
on the 16th Mr. Judson and his associates were ordained in Salem, and on
the 19th they sailed for Calcutta. While on the passage, a change occurred
in the feelings and views of Mr. Judson which materially changed his whole
course. He was aware that at Serampore the Baptists had established a
mission station which was in successful operation. He knew that he should
come in contact with the peculiar views of that denomination, and be under
the necessity of replying to the objections which would be urged against
his own sentiments. His own mind was at rest upon the subject; but he
wished to be fully armed against all the arguments which he should meet on
his arrival. To prepare himself for an encounter with Dr. Carey and his
associates, he commenced the diligent study of the word of God and such
works as he had in his possession. As he advanced in his investigation,
doubts began to thicken around him; his mind, instead of being more fully
convinced, began to waver; the arguments of Baptists he did not know how to
overcome. Thus it continued for a while, until, a short time after their
arrival, Mr. and Mrs. Judson threw aside their former views of baptism, and
adopted the sentiments of another denomination. The particulars of this
change are given by Mrs. Judson in a letter to her friends. By her we are
informed that for a long time her husband's new notions did not correspond
with her own. With woman's ingenuity and skill, she sought to dissuade him
from any public statement, and even from an investigation of the subject.
She well knew to what such a step would lead. The friends who had been
so kind to her, who were then supporting her, who were willing still to
support her, would be obliged to withdraw their aid. They could not, in
conscience, support a missionary who was promulgating what they deemed an
error, and consequently would recall her husband to America. Nor was this
the worst. She had many personal friends who would be unable to appreciate
her motives and understand her true position. They would be surprised,
grieved, and perhaps offended. And to be encountered, was the odium of
changing one's religious opinions, the charge of fickleness, and the
consequent loss of reputation. Besides, the change, if made, would be a
small one--simply a question of difference between the application to the
body of a few drops of water and an entire immersion. This, to her mind,
was a small change, which to her companion involved great consequences.
Hence she endeavored to have him give up the subject and quiet his mind
upon his previous opinions. Laughing, she told him, "if he became a
Baptist, she would not." But the examination had been commenced, and could
not be given up; and ere it was completed, she herself was a convert, That
she was sincere, we have no room to doubt; by the change she had every
thing to lose and nothing to gain. And it was made willingly, at last; when
her judgment was convinced, she hesitated not.
The brethren at Serampore knew nothing of the change of views until they
received a letter from Mr. Judson, asking baptism at their hands. That it
was to them an occasion of gladness, we need not state. Weary with toil,
they received this addition to their number as a gift of God, sent at this
time to stay up their hands and encourage their hearts. It gave them new
strength to meet the tide of opposition and bear up under the heavy load of
missionary care and anxiety.
They were baptized on the 6th day of September, in the Baptist chapel at
Calcutta, and shortly after Mr. Judson gave his reasons for the change in
a sermon which has already passed through several editions, and which is
regarded by his friends as a conclusive argument.
Whatever may be the opinion in regard to the correctness of Mr. J.'s new
views,--whatever may be the views entertained of the denomination to which
he united himself,--no godly man will regret the result to which it has
led. His change aroused to action the slumbering energies of the whole
Baptist section of our Zion, inspired that sect throughout the land with a
new and holy impulse, and originated the convention, which now, under the
name of the Missionary Union, is doing so much for a dying world. But
for the change of Judson's sentiments upon the question of baptism, a
denomination which is now contributing nearly two hundred thousand dollars
annually for missionary purposes might have, stood aloof from the holy work
for many years. The hand of God in this event is plainly seen--the hand of
God, touching the heart of a mighty party, and animating it with a true,
godlike missionary enthusiasm.
About the time of this change Mr. J. wrote a letter to Dr. Bolles, in which
he threw himself upon the Baptists of America for support and sympathy.
Previous to receiving a reply, he sailed with his companion for the Isle
of France, at which place Mrs. Newell had been buried previous to their
arrival. The desolate man met them on the shore, and with tearful eyes
described to them the dying scene and the solitude of his own heart, Mr.
Judson preached a while to the people and the soldiers who were stationed
at the Isle of France, where he was the instrument of much good.
Providence did not favor his remaining at that place, and he left it
for another field of labor, and at length, after many difficulties and
hardships, arrived at Rangoon, in Burmah, in July, 1813. At this place
several attempts had been made to establish a mission station, but all had
failed; and the last missionary, a son of Dr. Carey, had departed a short
time previous to the arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Judson.
Our missionaries repaired to the house which Mr. C. had formerly occupied,
about half a mile from the town. Mrs. Judson, being feeble, was borne upon
the shoulders of the natives; and as she passed along, or as the bearers
stopped to rest, a crowd of people gathered around her. Some came to her
side and looked under her bonnet, and retired with boisterous merriment.
But all their little annoyances she suffered with patience, knowing that
here she was to find a home, and to these very people declare the word of
God.
The manner in which they acquired a knowledge of the language is somewhat
novel. They were unable to find any one who was acquainted with the English
language, and were obliged to select an agreeable and pleasant Burman,
who, to the best of his ability, instructed them in the principles of the
language of his country. They would point to houses, and trees, and the
various objects around them, and he would give their names in Burman. Thus
after a while they were able to make themselves understood, and, being
willing learners, they very soon made rapid progress--rapid, considering
the discouragements under which they labored--being without both grammar
and dictionary, or any other book which could materially assist them. Slow
and discouraging indeed, compared with the labor of learning some other
languages under different circumstances, was their advancement; but when
the circumstances under which they commenced and prosecuted the task of
learning the language of the Barman nation are considered, we should
imagine that almost any progress was rapid.
On the 11th of September, 1815, their first child was born. They gave him
the name of Roger Williams, in honor of one of the greatest advocates of
human liberty which the world has ever raised. Eight months they loved him
and watched over him, at the expiration of which he sickened and died. He
was buried in the garden of the mission house; and the tears of the weeping
parents, and a small company of kind-hearted but ignorant Burmans, watered
the little grave, in the silence of which the infant had found repose.
For a few years after the arrival of Mr. Judson at Rangoon, the officers
of government manifested towards the mission a friendly spirit. The
missionaries were invited to visit the viceroy and vicereine at their
royal residence, and received their visits in return. The mission was
accomplishing the object of its establishment, and from time to time was
reenforced. Even the bands of hostile robbers respected the property and
persons of the men of God; and they fondly dreamed that it would thus
continue.
In April, 1819, Mr. Judson commenced preaching the gospel in a building
erected for the purpose, called a zayat. Until this time he had not
attempted publicly to discourse after the manner of preaching in America.
His audience consisted of twelve or fifteen adults, besides a large number
of children. On the 27th of June, the first Burman convert was "buried with
Christ by baptism." It was to the devoted Judson and his companions a day
of pure and holy joy. The first fruits of their labors began to appear; and
when Moung Nau went down into the water, a burst of gratitude went up from
the deepest places of their hearts. The day was beautiful, the audience
quiet and attentive, as there, beneath the very shadow of Gaudama, in the
waters of a lake consecrated to the rites of heathenism, the new-born soul
gave outward signs of the inward change. With what feelings of interest the
missionary must have looked upon the first convert, we can only imagine.
For that day he had waited and toiled for years; and as he pronounced the
impressive formula, and in the name of the true God laid the dark son of
India beneath the yielding waves, the feelings which rushed upon him must
have been almost overpowering.
On the next Sabbath they sat down together at the communion table to
celebrate the death of Christ--to commemorate the scene of Calvary. What a
picture! The first offering of Burmah to the Lord; the first convert from
that great empire, with his pale teacher, kneeling at the same altar,
drinking of the same consecrated cup, and believing in "one Lord, one
faith, one baptism." The second baptism was ministered on the same spot to
two other converts. Amidst profound and holy stillness they descended into
the water, where, a short time previous, Moung Nau had witnessed a good
profession. The low and solemn tones of prayer were heard, the voice
suppressed, in fear of arousing the ferocious enemy. There was no sermon,
no address, no song; the record was on high, and angels looked down as
spectators of the thrilling event. Around them, in earth's homes and in
earth's hearts, there was no sympathy; but in heaven a chord was touched
which will vibrate forever.
Shortly after the baptism of the two converts, opposition to the mission
began to be manifested. Those who came to the mission house had evil in
their hearts. To shield themselves from all harm, and secure the protection
of the government, Mr. Judson and Mr. Coleman, who had been sent out in
company with Mr. Wheelock a short time previous, determined to visit Ava
and see the king. They did so, and with some difficulty obtained a hearing.
They took with them the Bible, which was in six large volumes, decorated
with gold, and well calculated to attract the attention of a heathen
monarch. They were introduced into the palace and seated among the nobles.
When the king appeared, the whole heathen throng prostrated themselves with
their faces to the earth; the missionaries alone remained erect. After some
conversation they presented their petition, and a tract on the being of
God. The proud monarch read the petition through, and coldly handed it
back to his minister. His eye then glanced over the little book; he read a
single sentence, and then dashed it to the ground. Without ceremony they
were hurried away from the palace, and, after various annoyances, were
allowed to return to the friendly shelter of their boat. Sadly did they go
back to the field of their labors to relate the story of their failure, and
to toil on again until some new interruption.
Under the labors and sufferings incident to such a station, the health of
Mrs. Judson began to fail rapidly, and it soon became evident that nothing
but a visit to America would restore it. Consequently, in August, 1821, she
started from Rangoon, and arrived in New York in September of the following
year, spending some time in Calcutta and in England on her way. While in
this country she accomplished a vast amount of good by her letters and
conversation, and succeeded in inspiring the friends of missions with a
deeper solicitude to see the heathen world converted to God.
In 1823, having regained her health, she returned to Burmah in company with
Mr. and Mrs. Wade, who were sent out by the board to reenforce the mission.
She arrived on the 5th of December, and found her husband in the midst of
his toils and surrounded with disappointments and difficulties.
It soon become evident that Mrs. Judson had returned only to pass through
scenes of unparalleled sufferings. On her arrival she found her husband
about to leave for Ava, and immediately started with him. On the passage
they encountered storms and dangers, and were, emphatically, in perils by
sea and perils by land. While stopping at the town of Tsen-pyoo-kyon, about
one hundred miles from the capital, they learned that the declaration
of war had been made, and that the Burmans and English were at open
hostilities. They reached Ava, and, without manifesting any fear or any
interest in the hostile movements of the people, proceeded to build there a
house and commence their operations. Soon the dreadful news came that the
British had taken Rangoon. This catastrophe incensed the court at Ava, and
Mr. Judson and Dr. Price were arrested as spies in the employ of England.
On the 8th of June, 1824, Mr. Judson was arrested at his own dinner table
by a party of officers, led by an executioner whose power was absolute, and
who held in his hand a black book, in which the names of his victims were
recorded. With scarcely a moment's notice they threw him on the floor, and
bound him with strong cords, and hurried him away. Mrs. Judson offered them
money to release her husband; but they repulsed her with rudeness, and
carried him, heedless of her tears and prayers, into the _death_ prison,
where he was loaded with three pairs of chains, and fastened to a long
pole, to prevent the moving of his body.
In this trying situation Mrs. Judson returned, a lone, desolate woman, to
her dwelling, and destroyed all her papers, journals, and writings of every
description, lest they should be examined and found to contain something
which would increase the sorrow of her husband. Her servants were taken
from her and confined in stocks, and a guard placed about the house, who
did their utmost to annoy and insult her. After some delay she procured
permission to go abroad, and daily, at the prison gate, prayed that she
might see the prisoners. Permission was at length given, and the fond wife
sought her husband. She found his condition more deplorable than she had
supposed. He was scarcely able to crawl to the door of his rude tenement;
and while he stood in conference with the highminded and noble woman
who had followed him beyond the seas, he was constantly annoyed by the
suspicious and watchful keepers, who listened to their conversation and
scrutinized every movement. So jealous were they, that, ere any arrangement
could be made by which Mr. Judson's release might be effected, they were
commanded to separate. In vain the wife urged her affection for her
husband--in vain she appealed to manly feelings and love of home--in vain
she exhibited the order of government by which she had been admitted--in
vain she clung to the neck of her chained and suffering companion. No
motive was strong enough to move the hard hearts of the cruel wretches, who
seemed to take exquisite pleasure in the miseries of others. So completely
does heathenism deaden the heart to all generous and elevated feelings
that those strong men could witness unmoved, ay, with delight, the intense
anguish of a feeble, weeping, broken-hearted woman. To every prayer she
offered and every plea she made, they gave back words of cruelty and scorn;
and when she entreated them, for the love of humanity, to allow her to
converse with Mr. J. a few minutes longer, they refused; and as she
hesitated, they cried, in angry tones, "_Depart, or we will drag you out_."
The admirable conduct of this heroic woman, under such trying
circumstances, we cannot too much applaud. Ceaselessly she labored for the
release of her husband. From one member of the royal family to another
she went, with prayers that they would intercede in her behalf.
Repulsed everywhere, she fainted not, but toiled night and day for the
accomplishment of her purpose.
After about a month's confinement, Mr. J. was violently beset with
fever, and the governor gave orders that he should be removed to a more
comfortable situation. He was accordingly placed in a little bamboo hut,
and his wife permitted to attend him. Here he remained three days, when the
English advancing upon the capital, the order was given for the removal of
the prisoners. They were hurried away without warning, and Mrs. Judson was
left in a state bordering on distraction. She soon found, on inquiry, the
direction which the prisoners had taken. With a single servant and two
Burman children, she started, with her babe, three months old, in her arms,
to find her companions in suffering. She overtook them at Oung-pen-la, and
found their condition to be wretched beyond description. Their journey was
over a rough, burning road, and, chained two by two, they were whipped
along like cattle bound to the place of slaughter. Their backs were
blistered by the sun, and their feet scorched by the ground, until every
step they took drew forth a groan of anguish, which their drivers answered
with yells of delight. One poor creature fell in the pathway, and was
dragged along until he expired.
To add to Mrs. Judson's distress, her assistant was taken with the small
pox the morning after she arrived at Oung-pen-la; and soon her daughter
Maria was reduced to the point of death by the same disease, and she
herself was afflicted with the malady in a modified form.
The prisoners had been sent to this place that they might be burned in the
old prison, in which, from the time of their arrival, they were confined,
being chained together in pairs. But God had otherwise ordained: Judson
was to live on. Soon an order for his release and return to Ava came; the
government hoping he might be of service to them in their difficulties with
the British. He was employed as interpreter and translator, and, as such,
treated with some degree of kindness.
Wearied with continued anxiety, Mrs. Judson was prostrated by sickness soon
after her return to Ava. Reason fled away; insanity took the place of calm
and deliberate action; and for seventeen days she was a raving maniac.
Absent from her husband, and dependent on the cold mercy of heathen women,
she was indeed an object of pity. But from the borders of the grave she was
raised up when all around thought her beyond the reach of hope. The hand of
God reached down to the borders of the grave and rescued her from death,
and placed her upon earth again, a fruitful laborer in the vineyard of her
Master.
Time and space will not permit us to follow these devoted missionaries
through all the suffering caused by this distressing war. Mr. Judson acted
as mediator between the English and the Burmans, and by his ingenuity and
skill, his eloquence and experience, saved a vast amount of bloodshed and
crime. He was the instrument in securing the release of all the English and
American prisoners who were confined in the dungeons of Ava, and restoring
some from hopeless servitude to the friends and companions of youth. He
conferred immense advantage on England, while he saved the capital of the
vast Burman empire from fire and sword. To him, more than to any other man,
is to be traced the amicable adjustment of the existing difficulties,
and the settlement of the trouble on terms so favorable to the English
residents of Ava.
One of the articles of the treaty then entered into provided that all the
foreigners at Ava should have permission to leave unmolested. Mr. and Mrs.
Judson availed themselves of this permission, and, on a beautiful evening
in March, left with their fellow-workers and fellow-sufferers, and sailed
down the Irrawaddy, bidding farewell to the golden city within whose walls
they had suffered so much and been sustained by God so long.
Nor was Mr. Judson the only one who won praise and glory during that awful
period. The companion of his toils was not idle. Her kindness to the
prisoners--her arduous labors to do them good--her appeals to the
government--her visits to the nobles--her ceaseless efforts--won for her
undissembled gratitude and immortal renown. Nor are the acts of Mrs. Judson
recorded alone on the records of Christian missions. The secular press of
our own and other lands ascribed to her the honor of materially assisting
in the adjustment of the existing difficulties, and, by her appeals and
persuasions, doing much to prevent bloodshed and crime.
She went where no person of the other sex would have dared to go, and
where, to any woman of less devotion and tireless perseverance, all
entrance would have been denied. Though her husband, at this trying time,
was the object of her peculiar care, yet she found time to do good to all
the other prisoners. Like a ministering angel she moved among them, giving
drink to the thirsty, food to the hungry, and clothing to the destitute.
A statement was drawn up by an English prisoner, and published in Calcutta
and in England, in which the thanks of the prisoners are given to this
estimable woman. The writer dwells upon the theme with the interest of one
who has experienced acts of kindness and is himself under obligation. He
ascribes to _her_, a feeble woman, the honor of having, under God, prepared
the Burman empire to seek terms of reconciliation and peace. From a full
heart he utters the tribute of his gratitude to the frail child of humanity
who forgot her own weariness, forgot her own sufferings, forgot her own
privations, sickness, and want, and sought out the wants of the victims of
imperial despotism.
Her daily walk was from the prison to the palace. To one place she went to
whisper words of kindness, to wipe away the tears of sorrow, to wet the
parched lips of the dying with cool water, to bathe the limbs bruised and
chafed by heavy irons, and to apply healing balm to both body and spirit;
the other place she visited to plead and argue with a proud court, and a
haughty, tyrannical, and overbearing monarch. She risked her own life at
every trial, but ceased not her perilous work until God crowned her labors
with success--until the stubborn court of Ava relented--until she saw the
fetters fall, and the prisoners again at liberty. The English nation owes
her a debt of gratitude; for she has done more for it than many of its most
illustrious warriors. Humanity is a debtor to her memory; for she was kind
to man, and, in his want and suffering, surpassed humanity to do him good.
Religion is her debtor; for she was one of its most devoted advocates, and
presented in her life a sublime illustration of the power of faith. From
Ava Mr. and Mrs. Judson removed to Amherst, a town which was founded at the
close of the war in that territory, and which, by the treaty, was ceded to
the English. It was at Amherst that Mrs. Judson was visited with the fatal
fever which terminated her existence on the 24th of October, 1826.
At the time of her death Mr. Judson was absent from home, in company with
Mr. Crawford, the British commissioner. Her sickness was short and painful.
During most of the time her reason was dethroned; but in her moments of
calmness she gave evidence that all was peace. Without the hand of her kind
companion to lift her aching head, or bathe her throbbing temples, she
died.
Mr. Judson returned, not to hear her voice, not to gaze upon her form, but
to weep over her grave, and with his motherless child to sit in sorrow on
the spot where she breathed her last. Such was the violence of her fever
that she said but little, and left her husband without many of those tokens
of kindness which surviving friends esteem of so much value.
They buried her at Amherst, under the shadow of a lofty hopia tree; and in
that lonely grave her form now reposes, heedless of what is passing on the
earth. Her child, which died shortly after she was buried, is laid by her
side; and on the sacred spot the traveller often pauses to think of one of
the most devoted and self-sacrificing women whose names have been mentioned
with gratitude by the virtuous and the good. A marble slab, presented
by the ladies of America, marks the grave, and points it out to every
stranger. On that slab is an inscription, a copy of which is on the
opposite page.
Here we pause. Such labors, such self-sacrifice, such sufferings need no
tongue to speak their merits. The worth of Mrs. Judson is engraved upon the
hearts of all who claim the Christian character. For her works' sake she is
beloved; and as long as the church endures, she will be remembered by all
its members. Like Mrs. Newell, her fame belongs
[Illustration:
ERECTED TO THE MEMORY
of
ANN H. JUDSON,
MISSIONARY
_of the
Baptist General Convention in the United States
to the_
BURMAN EMPIRE.
She was born at Bradford,
In the State of Massachusetts, North America,
December 22, 1789.
She arrived with her husband at Rangoon
In July, 1813,
And there commenced those
MISSIONARY TOILS
Which she sustained with such
_Christian fortitude, decision, and perseverance_,
Amid scenes of
Civil commotion and personal affliction,
As won for her
Universal respect and affection.
She died at
Amherst, October 24, 1826.]
not to one sect or party, but to all who love our Lord and Savior Jesus
Christ. Like her she went out when but few were ready to bid her "God
speed" or bestow their money for her support.
On the record of American missions we find the name of no female who
endured so much, who sacrificed so much, who accomplished so much. She fell
not when the first notes of the great enterprise were ringing on her ears;
but she made her grave amid the strife and confusion of the battle. She
lived long enough to see the fruits of missions--to gaze upon the converts
as they descended, one by one, into the baptismal wave--to see a door
opened wide enough to admit laborers from every department of the Christian
church. She mourned not, as did her sister martyr, that she was cut down
ere she had labored for God and seen the happy result. They were born
within sight of each other, in pleasant valleys, on the borders of the
silvery stream. They met the companions of their missionary toils at the
same time, and within a few days of each other decided to become the first
heroines of the missionary church. Together they sailed--as precious a
cargo as ever was tossed on the billowy sea. Together they landed on
heathen soil, with high hopes of doing good. But, though united in their
lives, they were divided in their deaths. Mrs. Judson lived on more than
a half score of useful years beyond her companion; and if life is to be
measured, not by the number of days and years, but by what is accomplished
in it, or what is suffered during its lapse, then she lived ages--ay, ages
of suffering, ages of labor, ages of virtue and piety--after Mrs. Newell
had descended to her grave.
And where are they now? Go ask the angel throng, as they tune their harps
to melodious songs on high, and they will point to two sister spirits, who
day and night in company present themselves before God; and as one rank
after another comes up from heathen lands to swell the chorus of the
redeemed and ascribe their conversion to the efforts of the early
missionary laborers who, under God, were made the humble instruments in the
great work, meekly will be heard from the spirit lips of Harriet Newell and
Ann H. Judson the reply, "Not unto us, not unto us, but unto the Lamb who
was slain, but who liveth forever."
III.
ELIZABETH HERVEY, OF BOMBAY.
In the year 1812 a little company of missionaries sailed from the port of
Boston for Bombay. They were sent out by the American Board to spread the
knowledge of Jesus in the dark places of the earth. They founded their
mission station--they labored long and cheerfully--they endured toil and
self-denial--and saw the blessed results in the tokens of enlightened mind
and regenerated heart.
On the evening of the first Sabbath in August, 1830, the windows of Park
Street Church gave out a cheerful light; and he who entered saw congregated
there an immense multitude of men and women. The pews, the aisles, the
choir, were all filled, and deep interest was on all countenances and in
all hearts. The occasion which drew this vast congregation was the setting
apart of three young men, with their wives, to the solemn work of missions.
William Ramsey, William Hervey, and Hollis Read were about to depart to
"the land and shadow of death;" and the Christian community had come
together to hear their voices, to see their countenances, for the last
time. Soon broke over that crowd of human beings the well-known hymn, sung
by a full choir and echoed by a responding people,--
"Jesus shall reign where'er the sun
Does his successive journeys run;
His kingdom stretch from shore to shore,
Till moons shall wax and wane no more."
Then was heard the solemn prayer of consecration, in which the missionaries
were commended to God and to the word of his power; the blessing of Heaven
was implored in their behalf; and to the care of Him who holds the winds,
and who guides the dashing waves, the servants of God, the messengers of
the church, were committed.
From the instructions given those beloved missionaries on that occasion we
give the following extract:--
"The time has arrived to which you have looked with expectation and desire,
when, with the partners of your lives, you are to bid farewell to your
native land, and to enter upon a course of evangelical labors for the
benefit of distant heathens.
"On such an occasion, it is obviously proper in itself, as well
as conformable to general usage, to address to you in public some
considerations, in the form of advice and instructions, from those who have
the superintendence of the mission with which you are to be connected. This
is to you a solemn and eventful hour; and if, as we hope and believe, you
have approached it with an earnest and truly benevolent desire to become
heralds of divine mercy to your perishing fellow-men, it will be an hour
always remembered with joy and gratitude in the future stages of your
existence. If you partake of that holy, self-denying spirit which brought
down the Son of God from heaven,--if you have any true sympathy with the
apostles, who considered it as a great calamity to themselves if they were
hindered in the work of preaching the gospel,--you will hereafter be able
to say, with pure and indescribable delight, There was a period in our
history when we publicly, in the house of God and in the presence of many
Christian friends, devoted our lives to the service of Christ among the
heathen. There was a time when the attachments to friends and country were
dissolved, under the influence of that love which seeketh not its own,
and which embraces, in its comprehensive regards, the suffering and the
destitute of every clime.
"Congratulating you, therefore, on the possession of a temper which, if
actually possessed, is of more value to you than all which this country or
this world can furnish, we proceed to offer the following directions and
remarks:--
"The vessel in which your passage is taken will, with the favor of
Providence, convey you to Calcutta, where you will probably have the
opportunity of conferring with some of those venerable men who led the way
in the missionary enterprises of the last forty years. They are known and
honored throughout the world; and honors will thicken and brighten around
their memory long after the mere politician, statesman, and warrior shall
have passed into oblivion.
"Without unnecessary loss of time, you will proceed to Bombay. Here a large
and most interesting field invites your labor--interesting, not so much
from any harvest which has been already gathered, nor because the precise
period of ingathering can now be foreseen by human vision, as from the
consideration that here the first mission of the Board was established;
that here a noble and successful effort was made by our missionaries in
pleading before governors the claims of the gospel; that here the first
messengers of our churches cheerfully labored, till most of them have
fallen asleep, their lives having been worn out by incessant exposure and
toil; and, finally, that here preparations have been made for future labor,
with a view to the wants of many millions, in whose language the message of
salvation is delivered and the Scriptures are printed and circulated, while
multitudes of children are trained up to read, reflect, and reason.
"The Christian community sends you forth, dear brethren, as messengers from
our churches to the heathen. In the name of our churches we bid you _God
speed_. The very act of our sending you forth in the name of the church
implies that we hold ourselves bound to the same cause. By these public
services we are solemnly pledged to regard you as a part of ourselves,
not the less dear certainly because distant, your very distance being
occasioned by your attachment to the common interests of the church.
You have a just claim upon your Christian brethren in America for their
prayers, their sympathies, and such a supply of your temporal necessities
as will enable you to prosecute your great work. We are confident that,
if all the members of our churches were convened in one place, they would
unanimously sustain us in expressing these reciprocal obligations.
"Still, brethren, you must be sensible that the manner in which these
pledges shall be redeemed will depend much upon the grace which is
vouchsafed from above. If the spirit of piety should become low in our
churches; if jealousy should divide their efforts; if professed Christians
should generally become more entangled with this world,--the missionary
enterprise of the country will be enfeebled. We would not distress you with
apprehensions of this kind further than is requisite to call forth your
earnest, constant, and importunate prayers that God would not leave our
churches to a retrograde movement, which, in the present circumstances of
the world, would be a most deplorable event.
"Confiding in that Savior who gave himself for the church and who loves it
with an everlasting love, we affectionately commend you to his protection
and blessing. When he, as the great Shepherd, shall gather his sheep
into one fold, may you, and we, and multitudes of heathens saved by your
instrumentality, be numbered among his chosen; and to him shall be glory
everlasting."
The next morning the missionaries, with their wives, embarked on board the
ship Corvo, for Calcutta. On the wharf the hymn was sung and the prayer
offered; and the vessel swung off from the wharf amid the prayers and tears
of the spectators. The vessel had a safe passage, and all the attention of
Captain Spaulding was given to render the voyage pleasant and cheerful.
Mrs. Elizabeth Hervey, the wife of Rev. William Hervey, was born in Hadley,
Massachusetts, and was the daughter of Deacon Jacob Smith, a beloved
Christian and an estimable citizen.
During her early years she was remarkable for a prevailing desire to do
good to others. Her young heart seemed set upon the work of benefiting her
fellow-creatures; and she would make any sacrifice to confer happiness upon
those around her. Though her heart had not been renewed and her mind made
acquainted with the high and holy motives of the gospel, yet she recognized
her obligations to others, and, while quite a child, endeavored faithfully
to discharge them.
When she became a Christian, this desire to do good assumed a new and
more divine form, and she exerted herself to lift up the race and adorn
humanity. Her pastor, under whose ministry she was converted, says, "Doing
good was her delight and her life. The subject of missions, years before
she saw Mr. Hervey, was the great theme of her soul. She was alive to it at
every point, and her memory will long be cherished here."
In the years 1815 and 1816 a sweet and gentle revival of religion
was enjoyed in Hadley. Devoid of much of the excitement, the outward
exhibitions of feeling, which such occasions bring, the living heart of the
people was touched, and in all the homes of the inhabitants was felt and
realized the heavenly results. In this revival Miss Smith became a child of
God. Though amiable and outwardly virtuous, she became convinced that she
needed a radical change such as she had never experienced. Still she made
the sinner's excuse and fled to the sinner's refuge. One useless habit
after another was given up, one sin abandoned, and one new step in
virtue taken; but the wounded spirit found no rest. At length the cross
appeared--the Savior's cross. She saw it--realized that by it she must be
saved, if saved at all. With all a dying soul's deep earnestness she fled
for safety and laid hold on the everlasting hope. The great salvation
became her life, and in firm hope she embraced the Lord Jesus Christ.
In 1816 she united with the Congregational church in Hadley, and during her
sojourn in this country maintained a consistent walk and conversation. She
was emphatically a growing Christian--one who advanced in holiness, as the
sun grows brighter when the day advances.
After her acquaintance with Mr. Hervey commenced, the question of a
missionary life was laid out before her. She had often pondered upon it and
prayed God to open the effectual door before her; and when the opportunity
was presented, her heart warmly responded to the call from Heaven. That
she had some trials and misgivings upon the subject cannot be doubted; but
these were swallowed up in the desire to do good to her fellow-creatures.
Though it required an effort to leave home and friends, she met the trial
with unshaken firmness and devotion. Not long before they sailed for Bombay
her husband preached a sermon, in which he gave expression to his own
desires to promote the glory of God. In these expressions his heroic
companion doubtless united; and though she could not publicly declare her
own determination, doubtless her heart was united with his, not only in the
social relations of life, but also in the firm and holy efforts for the
elevation of our race. In that sermon, which we believe to have been the
expression of the feelings of the fallen wife, Mr. Hervey says,--
"Besides the various objects in your own town and country which may have
a claim on your charity, there are many millions of your fellow-creatures
abroad who have a still stronger claim; stronger, because their woes are
deeper and their wants greater. I stand now to plead the cause of Christ,
not in behalf of the suffering bodies of a few poor saints at Jerusalem,
but in behalf of the undying souls of six hundred millions of poor,
benighted heathen. O for the eloquence of an angel, that I might exhibit to
you the unsearchable riches of Christ, and the inconceivable miseries of
men who are living and dying without a knowledge of him, in such a light
that every one of you should weep because you have not a thousand fold more
wealth to give, ten thousand hearts to pray, and twice ten thousand hands
to labor for their salvation! I have no doubt that such would be your
feelings, if you could now see things in the light in which you will see
them shortly. You would then see that the end of living in this world,
which was redeemed with the blood of the Son of God, and which is full of
sinners perishing for want of that gospel which you possess, was something
else than to heap together wealth to pamper 'the lusts of the flesh, the
lusts of the eye, and the pride of life.' But the riches of Christ eternity
will be too short to unfold; and I have neither time nor ability to present
to your minds any thing like an adequate conception of the miseries of the
heathen. That they are living and dying without the gospel, is enough to
give every believer in the Bible an affecting sense of their wretchedness.
"I have told you the story of the Lamb of God--pointed you to what he
left and what he submitted to in order to raise men to the riches of his
everlasting love. He has gone back to heaven and taken his throne again;
but he has left a cause on earth that is dear to him as the apple of
his eye, and all the attributes of his name stand pledged for its final
triumph. This cause he has intrusted, in a very important sense, to his
disciples--beings in whose nature he came and suffered; and without their
instrumentality it never did, and never will, go on.
"Thus he gives you all the privilege of being co-workers with him in saving
the heathen. If you are not permitted to go in person to carry them the
gospel, yet you may be perhaps equally useful by your prayers, and by
furnishing the means for sending those who shall preach to them the
unsearchable riches of Christ. If, then, you would elevate the degraded
heathen to the purity of Christians, send them the gospel. If you would
rescue them, not only from their present wretchedness, but from their
darker prospects in the world to come, and inspire them with the high hopes
of eternal salvation, send them the gospel. If you would see them at the
last day on the right hand of the Son of man, and hear their bursting
praises to God for your liberality and prayers, which helped to bring them
there, now show how high you value their souls by contributing to send them
the gospel, and by your fervent prayers that the blessing of the Lord may
accompany your bounty and make it the means of their salvation.
"If other motives than those which have been presented were necessary to
encourage you in this good work, I might prove to you that you will be the
richer for every sacrifice you make to promote the cause of Christ; if not
richer in temporal, yet certainly in spiritual blessings. I might say to
you, in the language of Him who cannot lie, who holds the elements in his
hand and can command them to spare or destroy your wealth, to bless or
blast the work of your hands, 'The liberal soul shall be made fat; and he
that watereth shall be watered also himself.' 'There is that scattereth,
and yet increaseth; and there is that withholdeth more than is meet, but it
tendeth to poverty.' Or, in the words of Him who gave up all his wealth and
his life for us, 'It is more blessed to give than to receive.'
"I have chosen to rest the cause which the Lord has now permitted me to
plead in his name mainly on the one great argument in the text; for in the
whole compass of the universe there is not a motive to benevolent action so
commanding as that. And I am persuaded it has not been presented to your
minds in vain. No, I have been addressing those who know the grace of our
Lord Jesus Christ; who feel thankful for that grace; and whose hearts burn
within them to spread it abroad through the whole world.
"Is there one here who wishes to be excused from this work? Why, my
brother, would you be excused? Look again. Is it no _privilege_ to be
allowed to do something to promote that cause for which patriarchs,
prophets, apostles, and martyrs have prayed, and toiled, and died? Is it
no _privilege_ to help forward that cause which has engaged the hearts and
hands of all the wise and good of every age? Is it no _privilege_ to
be associated with the choicest spirits now on earth in promoting the
sublimest, the most benevolent, the most godlike cause that ever did or can
employ the hearts and hands of men? Is it no privilege to labor, and pray,
and give for the advancement of that cause which awakens the deepest
interest in the bosoms of all the heavenly host, and which is the occasion
of their loudest and loftiest songs of praise? Is it no privilege to do
something for Him 'who left the highest throne in glory for the cross of
deepest woe,' in order to give men a place in the mansions of his love? Is
it no privilege to be a coworker with the blessed God in rescuing souls
from a course of eternal sinning and suffering, and raising them to
everlasting holiness and happiness and glory? Is it no privilege to aid in
forwarding the only cause for which the world was made and for which all
nature stands? The man who does not esteem it a high privilege that he may
do something to promote such a cause may have the name, but cannot have the
heart, of a Christian. If, then, any one desires it, let him be excused.
The cause will go on. It has many friends, and is rapidly gaining more.
It has Omnipotence for its support. Jesus 'shall have the heathen for his
inheritance, and the uttermost parts of the earth for his possession.' He
did not 'humble himself and become obedient unto death' for nought. 'He
shall see of the travail of his soul and be satisfied.' 'All the ends of
the earth shall see the salvation of our God.' 'The mouth of the Lord hath
spoken it.'
"There is a mighty stir among the nations. The melting appeals from among
the heathen have reached us from the four winds--'Come over and help us.'
The person who addresses you expects, in a short time, if the Lord will, to
preach the unsearchable riches of Christ to some of these distant heathen.
He feels for the destitute in his own beloved land; but while he knows
there are so many millions of immortal beings more destitute,--while he
is to act under the commission, 'Go ye into all the world, and preach the
gospel to every creature,' and while so few who are better qualified can
think it their duty to these unhappy beings,--he feels that 'woe will be
unto him if he preaches not the gospel unto them!'"
Inspired with such feelings, and cherishing such views, our sister went out
to declare the love of God on heathen soil. Like those who before her had
devoted themselves to the service of the Savior, she went forth not knowing
whither she went or through what scenes she would be called to pass.
But God in his divine providence was soon to call her home to glory; her
work was to be short, and her course quickly run. A few months only was she
permitted to do good as she desired ere death called her away to the rest
beyond the grave. She fell an early victim to her own self-sacrificing
disposition. Shortly after her arrival at Bombay she was prostrated by the
dysentery, which terminated her labors and her sorrows on the 3d of May,
1831.
Her lonely husband, writing to the father of his deceased companion, gives
the following account of her dying hours:--
"Before this reaches you I trust, you will have heard of the goodness of
the Lord in bearing us safely over all the dangers of the Atlantic and
Indian Seas, in providing us friends in Calcutta who spared no pains to
make our stay in that city agreeable and happy, and in bringing us in
safety to this, the destined field of our labors, our disappointments, our
difficulties, and, as we expected when we left the shores of our native
land, of our deaths. And although, since our arrival here, his afflicting
hand has been laid heavily upon me, still I would speak only of his
goodness. For when he afflicts and chastens his children, it is in loving
kindness and tender mercy. It is not for his pleasure, but for their
profit, that they may be partakers of his holiness. But if he has been good
to me, he has been doubly so to your and my dear Elizabeth. Yes, God has
made all his goodness to pass before her; for he has released her from all
her sins and sufferings, and taken her to himself. 'O,' said she, 'how
will the intelligence rend the hearts of my dear parents and sisters!' She
paused a moment, and then added, 'But they will be supported. They know
where to look for consolation.' Weep with me, my dear, dear parents, a
little moment, and then we will together review the painful but merciful
scene of her last sufferings.
"All that I have said above shows only the afflicting hand of God in this
dispensation, which has snatched from me thus early the dear companion of
my wanderings and toils, the tender partner of my joys and sorrows, the
beloved wife of my heart; but in what remains to be said, will be seen his
hand of _goodness_ and _mercy_. In all her sufferings she was never heard
to utter a single murmur or complaint, but was continually magnifying the
goodness of the Lord. 'I did hope,' said she, 'that I should be permitted
to do something towards elevating the miserable and degraded females
of India to a state of refinement and happiness; but since God decides
otherwise, his will be done. In this great conflict, some must fall as soon
as they enter the field.' She repeated more than once a sentence which Dr.
Woodbridge dropped in his address to her on the evening of our marriage,
in substance as follows: 'If we hear that, like Harriet Newell, you have
fallen a victim to the climate of India even before you have commenced your
labors there, still we say to you, Go.' 'Now,' said she, 'tell my friends,
tell my beloved pastor, tell the dear church in Hadley, that I do not, and
never have for a moment regretted that I came here. No; had I foreseen this
hour, and all I have endured since I left America, I should have decided
just as I did, if the path of duty had been as plain as it appeared to be.'
During her sickness she often spoke of the love she felt towards the people
of God. She was affected to tears at the kindness of her physicians and
others who attended her. She addressed the members of the mission who
called to see her on the importance of living to God and of being faithful
in his service. She expressed an earnest desire that God would make her
death the means of a revival of religion in all the members of the mission;
and said, if such should be the case, she should consider her early removal
a greater blessing to the mission and to India than many years of her poor
service could be. The day before she died she requested me to read to her
the twelfth chapter of Isaiah. 'Yes,' said she with emphasis, 'God is
my salvation.' As I read along she repeated after me the third verse,
emphasizing the word 'wells'--'with joy shall ye draw water out of the
_wells_ of salvation.' Some time afterward she wished me to read the
fourteenth chapter of John, which she said afforded her much comfort. She
repeated from time to time many striking texts of Scripture and parts of
hymns, which, as I could leave her only for a moment, I did not write down.
Twice she repeated, and seemed to feel the full force of, that beautiful
and sublime stanza of Watts,--
'Jesus can make a dying bed
Feel soft as downy pillows are;
While on his breast I lean my head,
And breathe my life out sweetly there.'
"One who stood near her said, 'O Death, where is thy sting? O Grave, where
is thy victory? The sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is the
law.' With animation she exclaimed, in addition, 'But thanks be to God,
which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.' Mr. Allen said
he hoped the Savior would be with her as she walked through the dark valley
of the shadow of death. 'If this,' she said, 'is the dark valley, it has
not a dark spot in it--all is _light_, LIGHT.'
"I said to her, 'My dear, your sufferings are great.' 'Don't,' said she,
'don't mention them; they have been nothing--nothing.' After a severe
spasm, that seemed to convulse her whole frame, she exclaimed, 'O the
pains, the groans, the dying strife! The spirit seems to be struggling and
fluttering to get free from this cumbersome body.' She had, during most of
her sickness, bright views of the perfections of God. 'His awful holiness,'
she said, 'appeared the most lovely of all his attributes.' At one time
she said she wanted words to express her views of the majesty and glory of
Christ. 'It seems,' she said, 'that if all other glory were annihilated,
and nothing left but his lone self, it would be enough--it would be a
universe of glory.'
"The day before her death she was asked if she wished to see her child.
'Not now,' said she; 'I am too much exhausted. I fear it would overcome me.
I will see him by and by.' After she had rested a while, she said now she
would see the babe. It was brought into the room. 'Let my husband,' she
said, 'bring him to me.' I carried the child to her. She took it in one
arm, and with the other embraced my neck. After a moment she looked up to
the spectators with a smile, and said, 'Here is my family--my treasure--my
earthly all. I cheerfully resign them into the hands of God.' On the
morning of the day she expired I asked if she wished to send any particular
message to any of her friends. She replied she did, and asked me to write
what she dictated.
"Thus, my dear parents, I have finished the account of our beloved
Elizabeth's last pains and joys in the flesh. Who can wish her back to
earth? If any other one has reason to cherish such a wish, I have more. But
severe as the stroke is upon me, I rejoice that her conflict with sin and
suffering is over, and she is with her Redeemer. To know that she departed
thus, triumphing in God her Savior, must afford you, as it does me, great
consolation in the midst of the affliction which the news of her death will
produce. But you, who knew her amiable disposition, her humble, prayerful,
self-denying, holy life, have a better testimony that it is well with her
now, than her dying deportment, whatever it might be, could give. She lived
unto the Lord, she died unto the Lord; and there can be no doubt that she
is now the Lord's.
"Last Sabbath evening Rev. Mr. Allen preached a sermon in the chapel, on
the occasion of her death, from Romans xiv. 8. Since then I have learned
that one careless man appears to have been awakened by the account that was
given of her peaceful and triumphant death. Perhaps her prayers are about
to be answered in a revival of religion here. The Lord grant that it may be
so!"
When a beloved fellow-laborer dies at home; when the place of some dear one
is vacated by death; when the hand of labor ceases to move and the heart
of sympathy ceases to beat,--all around are saddened by the event: gloom
covers the weeping church, and all who knew the fallen one bend in tearful
silence over the grave. But when a missionary dies we can form no opinion
of the feelings of those who are left in sorrow. Away from home and all
the endeared scenes of early life, they become more strongly and firmly
attached to each other. Between the members of the little band are formed
the most tender ties, the most hallowed relations; and when _one_ only
departs, all hearts grieve and bleed as if the dearest earthly object had
been removed.
Mrs. Hervey was buried near the scene of her labors--on heathen soil. The
solemn funeral service and the pang of death were calculated to deepen the
impression upon the minds of the converted and unconverted people; and the
hymn, as it sent its mournful echo along the borders of the field of graves
and sounded like the song of an angel amid the homes of the living, turned
many a thought forward to that haven where the saint shall break from the
repose of death, and come forth to the resurrection of the just, a new and
glorified form.
"Why do we mourn departing friends,
Or shake at death's alarms?
Us but the voice that Jesus sends
To call them to his arms."
Did we not have implicit confidence in the ways of God and in his special
providence,--did we not feel that he is too wise to err, too good to
be unkind,--our hearts would often faint as we hear of our devoted
missionaries falling into the grave ere they have been permitted to labor
to any considerable degree for the conversion of the heathen. Did we not
feel perfectly satisfied in relation to the wisdom and mercy of the great
Head of the church, we might well fold our hands and ask, "Will God be
angry forever?" But who does not know that Jehovah is able to accomplish
more by our deaths than _we_ are able to accomplish by our lives? Who does
not know that, from the very ashes of the tomb, he can send up a voice
which will echo amid the shades of night and thrill the cold hearts of
degraded men?
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