Daughters of the Cross: or Woman's Mission
by
Daniel C. Eddy
Part 3 out of 3
denominations have planted mission stations within the hallowed enclosures
of the proud monarch of that great empire, and in the midst of superstition
and abomination planted the saving cross.
The station to which Mrs. Shuck belonged was under the control of the
Baptist Missionary Convention. It was at Macao, a beautiful peninsula, four
miles in length, peopled with about forty thousand Chinese and Portuguese.
Mrs. Shuck describes the climate as delightful and the situation of
the place beautifully romantic. Though destitute of many of the dear
associations connected with stations in and about Palestine, yet to a mind
like that of Mrs. S. there was much in the wild beauty of the scenery and
the strange customs of the people to interest and please; and all her
letters give evidence that in that spot she found a home where she could
labor with pleasure to herself and profit to others around her.
But she was not destined to spend all her days at Macao. The providence of
God soon suggested a removal to Hong Kong, forty miles east of Macao. Her
own health seemed to require such a step, as the unprotected state of the
peninsula was fast wearing her into the grave. Certain advantageous offers
were also made, and a prospect of increased usefulness presented to her
husband; and in 1842 Mr. Shuck bade farewell to his old field of labor, and
entered upon one where the prospect of success was much more abundant.
The maiden name of Mrs. Shuck was Henrietta Hall. Her father was Rev.
Addison Hall, a faithful, devoted minister of the gospel. Her mother was
daughter of Colonel Elias Edmonds, of Virginia. They were both remarkable
for intelligence and piety, and were universally esteemed. They were
members of the Moratico Baptist Church, having been received by Rev. S. L.
Straughan.
On the 28th of October, 1817, Henrietta was born in the beautiful little
village of Kilmarnock, but a few miles from the rolling waves of Chesapeake
Bay. Her early days were spent near this beautiful spot, where she was
known as a frank, amiable, kind-hearted girl. Her youth was passed with her
parents, who exerted themselves to expand her mind and improve her heart.
To the fond hearts of the parents she was an object of tender solicitude
and care, and they longed to see her brought to the feet of the Lord Jesus.
In 1831 extensive revivals were enjoyed throughout the country, and in
these revivals Virginia largely shared. It was during this year that Miss
Hall was converted. A camp meeting was being held near her birthplace, in
which her father was much interested; and feeling that moral and religious
training was much more important than intellectual culture, he sent for his
daughter, who was attending school at Fredericksburg, to return home and
enjoy the privileges of the work of grace. She came, not thinking of the
change which was soon to take place in her moral character. Young and
happy, she put far off the evil day; and the awful conviction that she was
a sinner had not produced any serious impression upon her mind. But God's
hand was in her timely return, and his grace had marked her as one of its
choicest subjects. She no sooner commenced attending the meeting than she
began to feel the force of truth and hear the voice of the Spirit and the
monitions of the Holy Ghost. Under the solemn presentation of the sinner's
lost condition, young Henrietta began to realize that she was lost without
a Savior. The fact was before her mind day and night, and she found no
rest. True, she had lived on earth but a short time, and, when compared
with others, had committed but few sins; but these few were aggravated and
overwhelming. God she had not loved; Christ she had not embraced. She had
violated the wise and holy law of the universe, and, to complete the work
of woe, had rejected the blood of the Son of God. She had a view of sin as
God presents, it in his word; and when she saw _herself_ as a sinner, the
contemplation was crushing and terrible. But these feelings of deep anguish
did not long continue. God heard her cries of penitence, and for the sake
of Christ forgave all the past, and caused joy, like a deep, strong tide,
to flow into her soul. Her rapture was as ecstatic as her sorrow had been
oppressive; and on the listening ear of her sister penitents she poured the
story of her change from death to life.
She was baptized on the 2nd of September, 1831, by Rev. J. B. Jeter. It was
a holy spectacle. The youthful candidate for the sublime ordinance was not
yet fourteen years of age; and, as she descended the bank and entered the
flood, a deep and awful silence gathered over the crowded shores. The voice
of mirth and profanity was hushed; and to many a heart came the spirit
tone, "This is the way; walk ye in it." As she came up out of the water a
cheerful smile was seen playing upon her countenance, which told of sweet
and precious peace and delightful communion with her Maker. The pastor
who administered the ordinance, the church which received her to its
fellowship, the anxious parents, have had no reason to regret the important
step then taken; and though they must have seen her baptized with fear and
trembling lest she should in her youth be deceived and eventually return to
the cold and heartless service of the world, yet they commended her to that
Being who is able and faithful to keep all who are committed to his care.
Nor did the world with its curling lip and contemptuous tone ever tell how
the youthful disciple witnessed a good profession and afterwards denied it.
A few months after her baptism Henrietta was called to part with her
beloved mother, who died in December of the same year. To the young
Christian this bereavement was full of sorrow and full of blessing. While
it deprived her of a mother's counsels and prayers, while it took from her
one to whom she had looked for maternal sympathy and encouragement, it
taught her the uncertainty of life, threw her more upon herself and on her
Savior, placed a greater weight of care upon her, and thus fitted her for
the duties which she afterwards performed so faithfully as a missionary of
the cross.
In the early part of 1835, or the latter part of the year preceding, Miss
Hall became acquainted with her future husband, who had recently decided to
become a missionary in the East. He made, with an offer of marriage, the
proposal of a missionary life. She had not then reached her eighteenth
year, and was a young, freehearted girl, who knew but little of toil or
anxiety. Her extreme youth caused her to hesitate; and she accepted the
proposal only when it appeared to be a solemn and imperious duty. Her
mind wandered forward to the parting with her dear parent and other fond
friends; to the tender farewell at sailing; to long years of labor, perhaps
of suffering, in China; to a rude home there, and perhaps a grave. Then
followed the prospect of usefulness; the hope of saving souls from death
and doing a work of benevolence on soil not before cultivated by the
Christian laborer. And perhaps with these were some vague and romantic
notions about a missionary life and a missionary home. Youth is fond of
new and strange objects; and our heroine doubtless became attracted by the
novelty and romance of the life she was to live. Strange were it not so in
the ardor and inexperience of youthful piety; and the fact that romance
casts its sombre shadow over the pious missionary female, as she leaves
home and native land, detracts but little from the admiration with which we
gaze upon her lofty career. The oldest, most prudent, man seldom fails of
being interested in such enterprises by their novelty; and should we cast
away all around whom it gathers its strange witchery, few would be left to
toil for human good. He who moves above all such motives must have a mind
perfectly trained and a heart perfectly alive to the glory of God. After a
due consideration of the subject, Miss Hall decided to go forth a servant
of her Master. She was married to Rev. J. Lewis Shuck on the 8th of
September, 1835. The service was performed by Rev. H. Keeling, in the city
of Richmond. On the 10th Mr. S. and Rev. R. D. Davenport were consecrated
to the work of God in one of the Baptist churches in the same city, and
soon after embarked for Boston, one to sail for China and the other for
Siam. The vessel in which passage had been engaged for Mr. and Mrs. Shuck
was the Louvre, which was to carry out a large delegation of missionaries.
They sailed on the 22d of September, a beautiful day, on which Nature
seemed to have bestowed her charms in profusion. On board were eleven
ordained ministers, who were leaving, home to do good in distant lands.
Among these was Rev. Howard Malcom, D. D., who went out at the request of
the Baptist Triennial Convention to visit the stations of that denomination
and advise and encourage the toilers in the East. The large number of
ministers on board, one of them having long been an esteemed pastor of a
flourishing church, drew together an immense crowd of pious people, who
came to exchange parting tokens and give the parting hand to the faithful
brethren and sisters who were about to fulfil the command of our ascended
Savior--"Go ye into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature."
The wharf was crowded with people; and the rigging of vessels in the harbor
was filled with strong men, who looked with strange feelings upon a sight
the like of which is seldom witnessed. The hour arrived. The ship swung off
from her moorings and floated down the harbor. One sail after another was
thrown out to the breath of heaven; and in beautiful style the vessel was
borne onward and soon lost from sight. The spectators slowly and sadly
returned to their homes, praying the God of ocean and storm to keep the
precious cargo safe from danger.
To Mrs. S. the voyage was not a pleasant one. A violent seasickness
commenced as soon as she left the Harbor of Boston and continued a long
time. This was succeeded by sickness of other kinds, and the whole voyage
was spent in suffering. In her published letters to her friends she gives
thrilling descriptions of her sorrow, and declares that while she did not
dream of half the suffering which she had experienced, yet the same voyage
would she take again, were there no other way to reach her field of labor.
Admirable woman! Worn down with sickness and scarcely able to hold the
pen, she writes the sentence at a time when we would suppose she would be
shrinking back and ready to faint.
On the 4th of February, 1836, anchor was cast at Kedgeree, nearly a hundred
miles below Calcutta. At night they all disembarked and for the first time
slept on heathen soil. From Kedgeree they sailed along to Amherst, where
sleep the forms of Mrs. Judson and her babe in the silence of the grave.
What were the feelings of Mrs. Shuck as she stood there over the spot so
dear to every pious heart, or plucked a small branch of the "hopia tree" to
send home to her sire, we do not know; but doubtless her mind was filled
with sad forebodings and awful thoughts. "Am I to sleep in such a grave? be
buried away from home, with such a tree as this to wave over me?" "Am I to
fall in China, and see my friends no more? Have I looked upon the shores of
America for the last time?" Questions like these must have been suggested
to her as she stood with her husband beside the grave of Burmah's
proto-martyr.
After stopping a while at Maulmain and Singapore, the missionaries arrived
at Macao in November, 1836, and here commenced immediate preparation to
engage in the gospel work. Their first son was born shortly before their
arrival at Macao. They called him Lewis, for his father. On the 29th of
October the second son was born, who was named Ryland Keeling. With these
two babes around her, the labor of the mother was materially increased and
essentially changed. Her own family required more of her care, and gave her
less time and opportunity to do good abroad. Yet, with her family as
it was, she is said to have found much time for the usual purposes of
missionary life, and was zealously engaged in plans for the spiritual
improvement of those around her.
While at Macao her heart was cheered by hearing that God was pouring out
his Spirit in her own dear land; that he was converting sinners, and among
them some who had been her intimate friends. Her own sisters were led to
give their hearts to God; and when the intelligence crossed the deep,
and was told in the hearing of the sad and perhaps almost discouraged
missionary, her joy knew no bounds. It was as a cup of cold water to one
dying with thirst; and the letter which brought the tidings was read over
and over again, and frequently bathed in tears of joy. Her letters to her
sisters express her deep interest in their spiritual welfare. She pleads
with them by the love of Jesus that they be faithful to the Savior of their
souls and walk worthy of Him who has bought them with his own blood. To
do this, she urges them to study the word of God, and be constant in the
closet, and meditate much upon spiritual things, and watch and guard
the heart from temptation and sin. Nor does she forget to recommend the
cultivation of a missionary spirit, but, with all the eloquence of a
sister's love, urges them to do good as they have opportunity.
In January, 1837, Mr. Shuck baptized the first man who had been converted
through his agency. His name was Ah Loo. [+] For about a year previous
[Footnote +: The baptism of Ah Loo is thus described by Mr. Shuck: "At
seven o'clock this evening we repaired to the water; and although the
natural sun was not permitted to attest this first baptismal scene in
China, yet the effulgence of the Sun of Righteousness shone upon us; and if
ever we felt his genial rays, it was then. Contrary to our expectations, we
did not go half so far as we anticipated, but stopped upon the beach at a
suitable place, within a few rods-of a large Portuguese fort with mounted
ramparts. Here, in broken sentences, we united our hearts in prayer to God
that he would forgive--our weakness and many imperfections, and grant us
his smile and heavenly grace now and during our whole lives. Then handing
my cap and cane to Mrs. Shuck, who stood on the bank, the only earthly
witness of the joyful event, I had the privilege of burying with Christ in
baptism this willing convert from heathenism, being the first Chinese that
was ever baptized within the confines of this vast and idolatrous empire."]
to his baptism he lived as cook in the mission family. During the year
he became greatly attached to those whom he served, and would let no
opportunity pass without showing his gratitude. They, of course, instructed
him in the principles of the Christian religion. He was a willing learner,
and soon gave evidence of being a changed, regenerated man. Yet the
missionary was cautious, and for a long time held back his disciple; but at
length, convinced of the genuineness of his conversion, led him down into
the flowing tide and baptized him. This event was an occasion of great joy
to our sister, who, with her husband, had done so much to enlighten the
poor idolatrous Chinaman. Ah Loo maintained a constant walk for a long
time; but at length, temptation proving too powerful for him, he was
overcome, and sinned against God. This fall was full of sorrow to the
missionaries, as his conversion had been full of joy and hope; and when the
news came that he had disgraced his high profession and wronged his blessed
Savior, they bowed their hearts in sadness, and prayed to Heaven that the
wanderer might yet be restored and the straying child brought back to the
Father's arms.
In 1841 Mrs. Shuck gave birth to a beautiful little daughter, who was
called Henrietta Layton, for her mother, and a family by the latter name
who had been exceeding kind to them during all their residence at Macao. To
justify her course in conferring this name instead of one selected from her
numerous friends in America, she relates numberless instances of kindness
on the part of the family alluded to; instances of kindness without which
the missionary family would have been put to considerable inconvenience
and perhaps acute suffering. In 1842 Mr. Shuck removed to Hong Kong. The
providence of God clearly indicated this as the path of duty; and though
the separation with pleasant acquaintances at Macao was trying, the step
was cheerfully taken. A beautiful spot was selected for a chapel, and money
raised with which to erect it; and the divine blessing manifestly attended
every step. To complete the work, Mr. Shuck made great sacrifices and
practised great self-denial. He employed his own funds, expended his own
means, to complete the work; and deemed it no sacrifice, though he was
often deprived of the comforts of life. He was well aware that God would
prosper him; and though he knew not how, he rested in the confident hope
that he would ultimately receive at the hand of God far more than he had
expended in his service,
The health of Mrs. S., instead of improving, seemed to fail at Hong Kong,
and no means which were taken could restore it. Physicians were consulted
and journeys made, but all to no purpose. The hand of disease was laid
heavily upon her sinking system; and day by day her eye became more dim and
her cheek more bloodless. Still she labored on, and counted it her meat and
drink to do the will of her divine Master. Her language was,--
"Shall I be carried to the skies
On flowery beds of ease,
While others fought to win the prize
And sailed through bloody seas?"
Mrs. S., according to her biographer, seemed to have premonitions of
her death. For a whole year previous to the occurrence of the event the
conviction was deepening in her mind that her race was well nigh run and
her days nearly finished. The idea that _something_ was soon to arrive, and
that something to be of importance to her, weighed upon her mind. Filled
with emotions which such a presentiment was calculated to produce, she made
preparation for the grave. She endeavored to have her family arrangements
made so that she could depart at a moment's notice. She was also led
to prayer and self-consecration; and her heart, as well as her family
arrangements, was in order. The premonitions which many persons suppose
they have are generally the results of an excited fancy, and as often prove
false as true. Every person may find in his or her daily life many events
which appear mysterious; and should importance be attached to them, we
should be rendered miserable. Many are alarmed at the breaking of a mirror
the crowing of a bird at midnight, the sudden extinguishing of a lamp by
the wind, and other things equally as simple. These common occurrences are
to them omens of approaching evil, and they allow them to have all the
influence of reality. Whether they prove true or false, they are sources
to the superstitious of unhappiness. With Mrs. S. there appeared to be an
indefinable impression, which might have arisen from the precarious state
of her health and from the fact that the period of her fifth confinement
was rapidly hastening, and it was doubtful if she could endure the trials
of such an occurrence in her weak and debilitated condition. But, whatever
may have been the cause of her forebodings, they were acted upon as facts:
and had she known of her death with absolute certainty, she could not have
made more temporal and spiritual preparation for it.
At three o'clock on the morning of the 27th of November, 1844, she died.
The evening previous to her death was spent in prayer with her husband and
children. Early on the night of the 26th, the long-expected and dreaded
event announced itself by the premonitory symptoms. The physician was
summoned, and the dear friends anxiously awaited the result. But nature was
unable to sustain the fearful burden imposed upon it, and gradually gave
way until the hour mentioned, when the spirit was released and all was
over.
"Vital spark of heavenly flame,
Quit, O, quit this mortal frame;
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying,
O, the pain, the bliss, of dying!
Cease, fond nature, cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life."
It was hard for the husband to give up his companion under such trying
circumstances, and harder still to have her die without the utterance of a
single expression; but who that knew her life would doubt the character of
the thoughts which crowded thick and fast upon her mind as the time of
her departure was at hand? Religion was her life; and the last words she
uttered were of high and holy import. A few hours before she died she
called her husband to her couch and asked him to kneel in prayer. He did
so, and to every expression of love to Jesus she responded by the warm
pressure of his hand. We cannot doubt the evidence which such a saint
gives; and though the last hour may be spent in a silence which nothing
disturbs but the sobs of friends, we can leave the cold clay in the tomb,
with the sweet consolation of _knowing_ that the ransomed spirit has fled
to a land of holy rest. We can say,--
"How blest the righteous when she dies,
When sinks a weary soul to rest!
How mildly beam the closing eyes!
How gently heaves th' expiring breast!"
The funeral of Mrs. Shuck was attended from her late home, and she was
borne to the grave by the European police corps, who volunteered their
services for the occasion. There have been cases in which missionary women
have died and had only _one_ to follow them to the grave. On some occasions
the husband has prepared the shroud, made the coffin, dug the grave, and
followed the corpse to the tomb, accompanied only by a weeping, motherless
child, or by the unseen One, who said, "Lo, I am with you always, even unto
the end." But on this occasion there were many mourners. A large company
followed to the grave in which her remains were placed. The religious
service on the occasion was performed by Rev. Mr. Devan. At the grave Rev.
Mr. Brown offered prayer and made appropriate remarks to the crowd who
assembled.
Thus mysteriously departed on the passage of death a most worthy and
beloved wife, a fond mother, and a faithful Christian. There were many
circumstances connected with her death to make it a sad one. Her husband
was not the only sufferer by the dreadful bereavement. Five motherless
children were left among strangers in a strange land; and from many who
had experienced her kindness went up a wail of lamentation over her early
grave.
One who knew her well, and who labored for Jesus and the dying heathen
in the same land, [Footnote: Rev. William Dean.] writes of her as
follows: "She was married to Rev. Mr. Shuck in 1835, and in September of
the same year sailed with her husband, in company with a large number of
missionaries, for the East. They remained in Singapore four months,
where their eldest son was born, and in September, 1836, arrived in
China. They remained in Macao till March, 1842, when they removed to
Hong Kong. While at Macao they were allowed to prosecute the study of
language, the instruction of youth, and teaching the people. On their
arrival at Hong Kong they were prepared to renew their labors on an
enlarged scale and without restraint. Chapels were erected, assemblies
collected, and schools gathered from the Chinese; and while her husband
labored among the former, Mrs. Shuck instructed the latter. She
possessed considerable knowledge of the written language, and still
greater familiarity with the colloquial of the Chinese, and devoted
joyfully and successfully her acquirements, time, and talents to the
interests of the mission. During the last year of her life a new school
house had been erected and a school gathered under her care of twenty
Chinese boys and six girls, besides her own four children; making, in
all, thirty under her supervision. In this work she took the greatest
interest, and all the time and strength which could be spared from the
care of her family and the culture of her own children were joyfully
devoted to the instruction of the children of the heathen. Her prospects
of usefulness had never been greater, and her heart had never been more
encouraged, than during the last year of her life. But in the midst of
her highest hopes, while children were seeking instruction, the heathen
were inquiring the way to Christ, and the general prospects of the
mission were brightening, and herself in comfortable health and active
life, she was cut down in a single night, and her family overwhelmed
with grief and the mission again overshadowed with gloom.
"Under the influence of a secret conviction that her end was near, she had
'set her house in order,' and was prepared for the event; while, at
the same time, she prosecuted her daily duties with her accustomed
cheerfulness, and laid out plans for labor which would have required a long
life to perform.
"It is a matter of devout gratitude to the wise Disposer of all events,
that, just before the death of Mrs. Shuck, her particular friends, Dr.
and Mrs. Devan, should become members of her family; and now the five
motherless children may find in Mrs. Devan one so well qualified and
so sincerely desirous of supplying, to the extent of her power, their
irreparable loss. Mrs. D. will also act as the superintendent of the school
for Chinese children. The friends of the mission will unite their prayers
that life may be preserved and health and grace may be adequate to the
responsibilities and duties of the station she is by such a mysterious and
painful providence so unexpectedly called to occupy.
"Mrs. Shuck left her father's house and native land in her eighteenth year,
and, by thus giving the freshness of her youth to the cause of Christ and
the good of the heathen, has left us the best proof of the purity of her
faith and the sincerity of her piety. During her eight years' residence
in China she has done much for the happiness of her family and to aid her
husband in his work, besides giving much direct instruction to those
around her. Her house was ever open to the stranger, and her heart ever
sympathized with the needy and afflicted, and her hands were diligently
employed in acts of kindness and charity."
Let us now draw the veil over the scene, and bow our hearts to the superior
wisdom of Him who cannot err; and, while we lament for the early fallen,
may we pray the Lord of the harvest to send forth new laborers into his
vineyard. The heathen are not yet converted, the world is not yet redeemed,
the throne of Satan is not yet overturned.
"O'er the realms of pagan darkness
Let the eye of pity gaze;
See the kindreds of the people
Lost in sin's bewildering maze!
Darkness brooding
O'er the face of all the earth."
Impressed by the terrible aspect of the world, let the contemplation of
missionary biography urge us on to missionary labors and missionary piety,
until the voice of joy and praise shall resound from pole to pole.
IX.
SARAH B. JUDSON, OF BURMAH.
Ralph and Abiah Hall lived in quiet Alstead, New Hampshire. On the morning
of November 4, 1803, their first child was born. They named her Sarah, in
memory of a deceased relative. While in her youth the parents removed from
New Hampshire to Massachusetts, and established themselves in Salem, where
the younger days of our subject were spent. Of her childhood but little
can be said. She was like other children, and spent her time in a childish
manner; and connected with her early years were but few circumstances of
any special interest.
Up to her sixteenth year she seems to have had but few convictions of sin.
The great subject of the soul's salvation, if presented at all, made slight
impression upon her mind and heart. The warnings and invitations of the
gospel were alike unheeded, and she lived until this period in sinful
thoughtlessness. In 1820 she found hope in the Savior, and on the 4th of
June made a public profession of religion, and in the presence of a great
congregation gave herself away to God and to his people. The solemn, awful
step she fully realized; and when she was led down into her baptismal
sepulchre, and buried there, her heart was fully given up to God. The
venerable and departed Dr. Bolles administered the ordinance, and received
her by the impressive rite of "fellowship" to the First Baptist Church in
Salem, of which he was then pastor.
At that time the missionary spirit was beginning to pervade the churches of
America and exert its holy influence upon the minds of the members. Young
Sarah Hall caught the holy enthusiasm. Just converted, fresh from the
public vows of consecration, the anxious question, "Lord, what wilt thou
have me to do?" upon her lips, she was in the exact frame of mind best
adapted to be moulded by holy zeal for a dying race.
The feelings which struggled in her soul found utterance through the
columns of the Christian Watchman in various prose and poetic effusions.
These articles do not exhibit any extraordinary poetic merit. They hardly
do credit to her real abilities. Bearing the marks of haste, these early
productions never gave any peculiar pleasure to the authoress; but for deep
feeling and pathos they are remarkable. They seem to be the outgushings of
a soul stirred up with holy enthusiasm and flowing out in channels of its
own formation. She evidently wrote, not for the severity of the critic, but
for the warm heart of the Christian; not to awaken feelings of admiration,
but to kindle up the flame of divine animation; not to win fame for
herself, but to inspire others with love for the perishing.
One of these poems was the instrument in bringing her into an acquaintance
with George D. Boardman, her future husband. The poem was upon the death
of Coleman, whose fall in a distant land, ere he had buckled the armor on,
produced feelings of sadness in the hearts of all American Christians.
Boardman saw it, and his soul was moved by it. Who the writer was he did
not know, but determined to discover, if possible, what heart kept time
with the wild beatings of his own. The first verse of that poem runs as
follows:--
"'Tis the voice of deep sorrow from India's shore;
The flower of our churches is withered, is dead!
The gem that shone brightly will sparkle no more,
And the tears of the Christian profusely are shed.
Two youths of Columbia, with hearts glowing warm,
Embarked on the billows far distant to rove,
To bear to the nations all wrapped in thick gloom
The lamp of the gospel--the message of love.
But Wheelook now slumbers beneath the cold wave;
And Coleman lies low in the dank, cheerless grave:
Mourn, daughters of Arracan, mourn!
The rays of that star, clear and bright,
That so sweetly on Chittagong shone,
Are shrouded in black clouds of night;
For Coleman is gone!"
Mr. Boardman at once determined to discover the writer of these thrilling
lines, and in a short time was enabled to trace them to the pen of Miss
Hall. Ere he had seen her who was to be the companion of his arduous
labors, the sharer of his success, and the attendant of his dying bed, he
seems to have sought for the youthful authoress with a kind of intuition
that God had fitted her to be his companion. Nor was he disappointed on an
acquaintance with his young friend. He found her in possession of an active
mind, a warm heart, and an agreeable person. He made proposals to her
immediately, and requested her company to the heathen world. To such
an enterprise all her friends were averse. To Mr. Boardman they had no
objection; but the idea of sending out the flower of their family to wither
and die on heathen soil they could not endure. The parents were oppressed
with sorrow at what they considered the wild and romantic notions of their
child, and for a long time withheld all consent, and steadfastly resisted
every movement towards a missionary life. And when the daughter did gain
their permission, it came like water wrung from the solid rock. These pious
people did not understand the claim which God has upon the services of all
his children; they did not understand the honor and glory of having a child
in heathen lands laboring for the salvation of the dying; they did not know
what a halo of light would in after years be thrown around the name of her
who was about to embark on the perilous voyage; and when she left them they
looked upon her as buried out of their sight.
Probably much of Miss Hall's enthusiasm in the missionary work was caught
from Mrs. Judson, who visited this country in 1823. They became acquainted
shortly after the arrival of Mrs. J., and continued correspondence as long
as she remained in America; and when she sailed forth again, to return no
more, no prayer of greater fervency was offered for her safety and success
than was breathed forth by young Sarah Hall, who was so soon to follow her
illustrious example in scenes of trial and self-devotion.
George D. Boardman and Sarah Hall were married in Salem, by Rev. Lucius
Bolles, D.D., on the 3d day of July, 1825. Her personal appearance was
good. Though not positively handsome, her countenance was agreeable and
prepossessing. She usually wore a pleasant smile; and an air of frankness
and ingenuous openness was a peculiar characteristic. She was affable and
courteous, with sufficient dignity and grace. We may, however, suppose her
husband to have been more attracted by her intellect and heart than by the
outward ornament of person.
The vessel which conveyed Mr. and Mrs. Boardman to the "shades of moral
death" sailed from Boston in 1825; and in due time the missionaries arrived
in Calcutta. Here they remained nearly two years, employed in missionary
work and doing good as they had opportunity. On the 17th of April, 1827,
they entered Amherst, and found there the grave of Ann H. Judson and the
bending form of her bereaved husband. That good man's trials were not at an
end. His dear daughter Maria was dying; and Boardman's own hand formed her
little coffin, and dug her grave, and supported the trembling form of the
father, when his child, the daughter of the sainted mother and wife, was
laid to rest.
While at Calcutta, the union of husband and wife was cemented by the birth
of the first child--a daughter, whom they called Sarah Ann. The occurrence
of this event, while it withdrew the devoted mother from the labors and
toils of her missionary life, awakened in her bosom feelings which had
never been stirred there before. A new world of thought and action was
before her mind; and, to use her own language, she "was another creature."
On his arrival at Amherst Boardman conferred with the other missionaries,
who, after mature deliberation, advised him to commence labors at Maulmain,
about twenty-five miles from Amherst, to which place he proceeded with his
little family. Soon a bamboo house was erected for him, and his work of
self-denial and suffering commenced. They were annoyed in various ways by
the natives, and several times were plundered by the hordes of robbers that
descended from the mountains at night and assaulted every dwelling which
promised considerable booty. Their house was pillaged in this manner but a
short time after they arrived at Maulmain. One night they went to sleep as
usual, after committing themselves to the care of Him whose eyes are never
closed to sleep. Awaking at midnight, Mrs. B. found the lamp, which had
been left burning, extinguished, and in the dim moonlight the furniture of
the room appeared to be in confusion. To light the lamp was but the work of
a moment, on which a fearful scene was presented. Every thing of value had
been taken away, and all that remained was in terrible confusion. During
this robbery Mr. Boardman was painfully awake to every thing which
transpired; while his wife, wearied with toil, slept as sweetly as if the
villains who had caused such havoc had been kind attendants on errands of
mercy. And providential was it that she did not awake. While some were
carrying away the property, others stood over the prostrate forms of the
sleeping family, ready to murder them if they awoke. Boardman knew it
all--he knew that fierce eyes were watching him--that the uplifted weapon
was ready to drink his blood. A single movement on the part of the sleepers
would have brought down that weapon and hurried them from the scene of
their labors to the bar of Him who had sent them forth to do his work,
declaring, "Lo, I am with you alway."
In the early part of 1828 it was deemed advisable for Mr. Boardman to
remove to Tavoy, about one hundred and fifty miles south of Maulmain; and,
in accordance with certain instructions from the Board, he took up his
residence there in April. On his arrival he found the "whole city given to
idolatry." On every hand were the melancholy evidences of heathen worship,
heathen superstition, and heathen cruelty. Gaudama was worshipped by all
the people, and upwards of two hundred priests ministered at the various
temples. The faithful missionary commenced his labors immediately on his
arrival: his zayat went up within sight of the great pagoda, and daily he
sat at the door to instruct the passing population. While at Tavoy, Mrs.
Boardman was employed with her domestic duties, and with the instruction of
the children who could be gathered into the school, which was commenced on
their arrival. We deem the cares of one's own family enough to employ all
the time of a female in this country; but the labors of Mrs. B., in her
feeble state of health, were augmented, not merely by the children of the
boarding school, but also by the care and instruction of the school itself.
Uncomplainingly she performed her arduous labors, while day after day her
health grew poorer and her cheek paler. It was at Tavoy that Ko Thah-byu
was "buried with Christ by baptism." In his early days he had been a very
wicked man. His path was stained with blood, and to all around he gave
evidence of his ferocious, bloodthirsty nature. He was converted at
Maulmain, and removed with Mr. B. to Tavoy. After his baptism he was a most
faithful and devoted laborer. His nature seemed to be entirely changed.
From being one of the most ferocious and dreadful tyrants, he became
gentle, humble, forgiving, and merciful. His case presents us with a
wonderful instance of what the gospel can do to soften the savage nature
and bring even the most stubborn heart into sweet and willing subjection to
our dear Redeemer. He was made a preacher of the gospel which had performed
such wonders on his heart, and to the day of his death continued a faithful
and devoted minister of the Lord Jesus.
While at Tavoy, a second child was born to this missionary family. They
called him George, for his father. He yet lives--perhaps to bear the gospel
forth to those who swarm around his father's grave.
At Tavoy, too, little Sarah died, when nearly three years old. This child,
the first born, seems to have twined its affections sweetly and tenderly
around the mother's heart. She was indeed a lovely child. "Her bright-blue
eyes and rosy cheeks," her amiable disposition and obedient deportment,
won the kindness of all around her. She inherited the warm heart of her
missionary mother, and fond hopes were cherished that she might live to
fill her mother's place on heathen ground. But God's ways are not as our
ways. He removed the lovely flower, and blasted in an hour all the fond
expectations of her parents. In his infinite wisdom he saw the hinderance
the little one would be to his laboring servant, and in kindness took her
to his own arms.
When children die in this loved land they depart in the midst of tears and
sighs; kind friends sympathize and pray; the voice of sorrow is heard along
the line of many dwellings; and in many families is uttered the voice of
grief. At such times and under such circumstances the hand of friendship
and benevolence will be stretched out to assist and perform the little acts
of charity which at such an hour come with sweet fragrance to the parting
and weary spirit. But when little Sarah closed her eyes in death but few
tears were seen, but few hands of sympathy held out. The broken-hearted
mother herself washed the cold form of the dead child and arrayed the pale
body in its little shroud.
On the mind of Mrs. Boardman this affliction exerted a most salutary
influence. She had admired and adored her child. She loved the precious
gift more than the gracious Being who had bestowed it, and, wrapped up in
its possession, imagined it could not be taken from her arms. But when
God removed the loved and lovely one she began to feel how deeply she had
erred, and forthwith restored her supreme affection to the great Creator.
Her attention was called from the vain and transitory things of earth; she
saw the narrow limit of human life more plainly than ever; she learned the
lessons of mortality; and her sad bereavement became to her torn heart an
inestimable blessing. Besides this, the idea that their little family had a
representative in heaven was unutterably precious; and she feared less that
hour when her own labors would be done and that reward entered upon which
is prepared for all who obey God and love his Son Jesus Christ.
To Mrs. Boardman another child was also given, which was called Judson
Wade Boardman--a trio of as illustrious names as ever were engraved on the
records of the church militant. He lived but a short time, descending to
the grave leaving another vacant place in the mother's heart.
In 1828 Mr. Boardman determined to leave Tavoy for a while and visit the
Karen villages in the interior. He was accompanied by Ko Thah-byu and some
other converted Karens. They had heard of him by means of persons who had
visited Tavoy for business and pleasure, and religious books and tracts had
been distributed among the people who had never heard a sermon or seen the
pale face of the missionary. As he passed through their villages he was
every where met with kindness. Food was brought and many valuable presents
given him. At one village they found a zayat which the people had put up
for them; and here they tarried and preached and explained the gospel
several days. Many were converted; God's Spirit was poured out; and ere Mr.
B. left the place several came and requested the ordinance of baptism. This
matter, however, was prudently deferred, that the converts might "learn the
way of the Lord more perfectly." He found the people in gross darkness: he
left them with beams of light from the cross strong upon them. He found
them without the word of God--without the Sabbath--without the way of
salvation: he left them in the possession of all these good gifts, and at
the end of nine days returned to his family at Tavoy, again to labor and
suffer in the cause of his Master.
One of the most exciting incidents which occurred at Tavoy during the stay
of Mr. B. was a rebellion, which commenced on the 9th of August, 1829. The
English had withdrawn most of their soldiers from Tavoy and quartered them
at Maulmain. Almost the whole force at the former place consisted of a
hundred Sepoys, commanded by a man who, at the moment of the revolt, was,
believed to be in the agonies of death. On the 9th, at midnight, the
missionary family were aroused by horrid cries around their rude dwelling.
Boardman sprang from his bed, and, bending his ear to the open window,
heard the cry, "Teacher, Tavoy is in arms! Tavoy is in arms!" In an instant
the ready mind of the missionary comprehended the difficulty and the
danger. He at once aroused his family, and began to prepare for resistance
or flight as the case might require. After a time the insurgents were
repulsed, and, retiring to a distance, took refuge in rear of the mission
buildings; consequently the station was placed between the two contending
parties; and over the heads of the little band the balls whistled, carrying
death to hated foes. In the morning the Sepoys were driven from the city
and took refuge in the Government House, to which place the missionary
family repaired, seizing for this a momentary quiet. Their situation here
was terrible. The house was crowded with women and children: soon it became
unsafe, and the whole party retired to a vacant building, having six rooms,
on the margin of the river. Into this house, containing more than a hundred
barrels of powder, were three hundred persons crowded together; while
without were heard the wild and frantic yells of the savages, thirsting for
blood. On the morning of the 13th Mr. Burney, the civil superintendent, who
was away at the time of the outbreak, returned. To him the whole people
were indebted for their safety and their lives. Under his management the
Sepoys rallied and advanced upon the city, and, after several desperate
conflicts, succeeded in driving the insurgents from it and capturing
several of the leaders in the revolt. The overwhelming number of the foe
was not proof against the superior skill of the English; and when the
vessel which had been sent to Maulmain for help returned, Major Burney was
in quiet possession of the town.
Mrs. Boardman immediately embarked for Maulmain; to which place her husband
soon followed her, taking with him all the scholars in the school who were
willing to go. They remained at M. until the mission house was repaired and
quiet restored.
From this period up to the time of her husband's last sickness we find but
little in the history of Mrs. Boardman of a marked character. She labored
on under discouragements and difficulties and amid sickness and sorrow.
Often did her own system give way; and more often did her child utter the
wail of sickness and distress, and plead for rest and quiet which could not
be granted. During this interval Mr. B. made repeated journeys from Tavoy
to Maulmain, and was busily engaged in the great object of his life. He saw
to some extent the fruits of his toil; and on his abundant labors Heaven
placed the broad seal of divine approbation. One after another yielded to
the force of truth and bowed in homage to the cross of Christ. He did not
die, like Coleman and Wheelock, ere he had seen the heathen eye overflow
with tears, the heathen heart burst with rapture into life, and the heathen
knees bowing, not before Gaudama, but before Jehovah.
During the year 1830 it became evident to all that Mr. Boardman must die.
The disease contracted in consequence of sleeping on the cold ground and
being exposed to the damp fogs of night came on slowly but surely, and
all hope of recovery took its flight. Feeling himself that he should soon
depart, he called the converts around him and instructed them in the way of
life. Others who had not been baptized he prepared for the ordinance.
Three days were devoted to the examination, and eighteen were accepted as
candidates for the holy service. The missionary was unable to rise from his
bed; and many of the questions which he desired to put to these persons
were first given to his wife, who, sitting on the bed beside him, put her
ear to his lips and caught the sound as it struggled for utterance. On the
20th of December the baptism took place under circumstances of thrilling
interest. The candidates, with the administrator, and the sick teacher,
borne on a little cot upon the shoulders of the Karens, passed along to a
fine lake, into which Moung Ing descended and immersed the young disciples.
It was a sight of interest to God and angels; and doubtless they bent over
the scene with holy satisfaction. As they went to the place and as they
returned the wicked idolaters jeered and scoffed, and heaped their
maledictions upon the head of the dying Boardman, who in a short time was
to be far beyond the reach of injury and insult.
The administration of the Lord's supper followed the baptismal service, to
which the little church of twenty-seven members sat down, eighteen of them
for the first time. The bread was broken by the trembling, dying hand of
Mr. Boardman, who was performing the deed for _the last_ time.
In January, 1831, Mr. and Mrs. Mason arrived at Tavoy, having been sent out
to reenforce the mission, and were immediately conducted to the residence
of their dying fellow-laborer. The meeting of the two devoted men and their
wives must have been of deep and solemn interest. One was fresh from the
land of his birth, ready to engage with zeal in the Master's work; the
other had fought the fight, had kept the faith, had finished the course,
and was about to receive the robe of victory and the crown of glory.
Wishing to make one more effort in the cause of his Savior, Mr. Boardman
determined to visit the village where a short time before he had preached
several days and where several persons had been converted. These he wished
to gather into the fold, and, ere his departure, see them buried in the
liquid grave. He went forth with his newly-arrived associates and his own
family. A company of Karens carried Mr. Boardman on a bed and Mrs. B. in a
chair. After a journey of three days they arrived at the place and found
the villagers in anxious expectation. They had erected a church on the
banks of a lovely stream and prepared accommodations for the missionaries.
After the converts had been properly instructed, they were baptized by Mr.
Mason. Thirty-four submitted to the ordinance and were added to the little
band of believers. The journey and the effort made to commune with the
people were too much for the exhausted frame, and the good man began to
sink rapidly. Carefully they took him up to remove him to the boat which
was to convey him to the river; but as they passed along, the anxious wife,
who watched the countenance of her husband, saw a change. Death had stamped
his signet on those pale features; and, when they arrived at the water
side, all that remained of Boardman was a cold, inanimate corpse. The
voyage down the river was a sorrowful one. Every cheek was flowing down
with tears and every heart was bleeding with anguish.
At Tavoy they were met by the sad disciples, headed by Moung Ing, the
converted Burman. Slowly they bore forward the dead body of the man of God,
and laid it down in the mission house in which he had so often discoursed
of Jesus. Around him in that hallowed spot gathered a company more precious
to God than ever assembled around the bier of a fallen emperor; there went
up to heaven a wail of sorrow as heartfelt as ever was uttered over the
grave of son or sire; and the death was as full of sadness and importance
as could have been the demise of a laurelled chieftain or a titled senator.
True, the throng who came out to see that pale form and marble brow were
not gathered from the proud and great of earth. No king came weeping to the
house of death; no noble _cortege_ came in sackcloth and stood as mourners
there; but the elect of God, the fruits of missionary labor on heathen
soil, the converted sons and daughters of darkness, were the sincere,
humble, faithful mourners.
They buried him in lowly pomp--_the pomp of death_. All the European
residents of the place and crowds of natives to whom he had endeared
himself followed him to his burial. They laid him down on the right side of
his first born, and returned home to weep, and many to _forget_. But there
was one who could never forget--no, never. The object of her early love
had been stricken down, and in lonely widowhood she was left to bewail
his loss. But, though cast down, she was not forsaken. The Savior was her
portion; and in this hour of trial she leaned on him. In her terrible
visitation she saw the traces of Jehovah's care; and, committing herself
and her fatherless child to him, her soul rested in hope.
During the time which elapsed between the death of Mr. Boardman and her
marriage with Dr. Judson the afflicted widow labored with all her might to
do the will of her Master. Not content with instructing the lisping child
and tender youth, she travelled from village to village with her little
boy and a few attendants. Wherever she went she was met with kindness. The
death of the white teacher had unsealed even the wild heart of heathenism;
and the widow was an object of universal interest. It is doubtful if at
any period of her life she exhibited more lovely traits of character, or
accomplished a greater amount of good in an equal space of time, than while
moving along her tearful way from the grave of one husband to the marriage
chamber of another.
After having remained a widow four years, Mrs. B. was, in April, 1834,
united in marriage to Dr. Judson. The parties were well acquainted with
each other, and both understood the wants and privations of a missionary
life. This new marriage was a new proof of devotion to Christ and his
cause; and when Mrs. B. a second time gave herself to a missionary husband,
it was a new and sublime token of her determination to live a missionary
life. Had she been so disposed, she might have returned to the home and
friends of her youth; but, with a full conception of all that would await
her, she again gave herself, for life, to Jesus and the perishing heathen.
Her little George, who had been to her torn and lacerated heart such a
source of comfort, began to fail; and his mother determined to send him to
America. But how could she part with her darling one? How could she behold
him borne away to a distant land, to see her face no more? But with the
same submission which she had ever manifested she bowed to this new
bereavement, and kissed the cheek of her child and sent him away. It was a
trial for which she had prepared herself; and it proved almost equal to
any which had preceded it. But, knowing the importance of the step, she
cheerfully acquiesced with the fortitude of a Christian.
It was not alone on heathen minds that Mrs. Judson produced a pleasant
influence. The English residents at Tavoy, Maulmain, and Calcutta remember
her with affectionate interest. Many of them have in their houses or about
their persons the tokens of her kindness; and not a few can look back to
hours of sickness and affliction when a gentle hand smoothed the pillow and
a kind voice whispered in the ear words of hope and heaven. Often did she
meet in the praying circle with those who, like her, were far from home,
and exhort them to love and serve God; and in obedience to her kind
instructions many sought and found the Savior. For a prayer meeting of
mothers she wrote a beautiful hymn, which appeared in a journal in our
country, which is truly touching and beautiful. It is as follows:--
"Lamb of God, enthroned on high,
Look on us with pitying eye
While we raise our earnest cry
For our babes to thee.
Once thy followers infants spurned;
But thy bosom o'er them yearned,
Nor from Canaan's daughters turned
Thy all-pitying eye.
Thou didst give our spirits rest,
"When with sin and grief oppressed,
In thy gentle, loving breast:
Shelter, then, our babes.
Breath divine they breathe, and wear
God's own image; yet they bear
Sin and guilt a fearful share:
Pity them, we pray.
Guide and guard them here below,
As through dangerous paths they go;
Be their joy'mid earthly woe--
Thou, their heavenly Friend.
When, to call thy children home,
Robed in glory thou shalt come,
For these little ones make room,
Lamb of God, we pray."
Her union with Dr. Judson was a happy one. Four little babes were born unto
them ere the mother was called to try the realities of that world where
there are no separations. In the care and culture of these much of her time
was necessarily spent; and so excessive and fatiguing were her labors that
she soon began to sink under them. After the birth of her last child, which
was born in December, 1844, it became evident to her husband that he was
soon to be left alone. The wasting disease made its appearance, and the
pale form bowed beneath it. Her kind and experienced physicians, as a last
resort, recommended a voyage to America; and, after much consideration and
prayer, she determined to turn her back on Burmah and once more visit the
land of her nativity. A passage to this country was immediately secured;
and, in company with her husband, she set sail in the early part of 1845.
They had no sooner embarked than her health began to amend; and when they
reached the Isle of France Dr. Judson determined to return to his
labors, and leave his companion to visit America alone. They made their
arrangements to part--the one to labor and faint, the other to greet kind
friends in an often-remembered land. On the Isle of France the beautiful
poem, commencing,--
"We part on this green islet, love,"--
was written--a poem as affecting and heart-touching, when the circumstances
are recounted, as any one ever written.
But, on putting out to sea again, the disease returned with new symptoms
of alarm, and continued to increase until September 1, 1845, when she died
within sight of the rocky Island of St. Helena.
Thus a second time was the venerable Judson bereaved of his dear companion,
and in the midst of strangers called upon to surrender up the remains of
the loved one to corruption and decay. They buried her where the hero of
Lodi and Austerlitz slept, and a long train of mourners followed her to the
tomb. The flags of the vessels in the harbor were seen waving at half mast,
and signs of woe were observed in all directions.
She died in holy triumph, feeling that her labors were done, her toils
finished, her race ended, and her warfare accomplished. To the husband who
sat beside her when her last breath was drawn she said, just before she
expired, "I ever love the Lord Jesus;" and with her hand in his, her soul
leaning for support on the almighty arm, she sunk to rest. The sight which
St. Helena saw that day was a sad one--more sad than when the leader of the
defeated armies of France was laid to rest beneath its soil.
Perhaps this sketch of Mrs. J. cannot be brought to a close more
appropriately than by the introduction of a beautiful extract from an
address made by a distinguished statesman of New England at a missionary
convention in Philadelphia--an address which contains a beautiful reference
to the fallen missionary, to the labors of those who are now on heathen
soil, and to the sufferings of our Lord Jesus Christ while on earth
performing his labor of love and fulfilling his mission of grace to fallen
man:--
"It is undoubtedly true that you are sometimes called upon to make
sacrifices in your work of love. You sometimes feel that you are making
sacrifices. It may be comparatively so; but really, if you look at it as
it is, you will find it no very great sacrifice. Here are our brethren
who have left their homes and friends, who have gone among strangers and
heathens. We have heard the story of their deprivations, of their labors,
of their sorrows, of their chains, and of their imprisonment. Many of them
mourn over departed happiness; many of them have fallen in the great work,
and now sleep in heathen lands; many of them have gone down to the bottom
of the great deep, where the seaweed is their winding sheet, the coral
their only tombstone. One sleeps in Helena till the sound of the last
trumpet arouse her; and when she comes up she will be attended by a retinue
ten thousand times more pompous and more splendid than ever surrounded the
maddened emperor who had his grave in that island. His tomb was there,
and after a few years, when it was opened, his military dress was wrapped
around him as when he was laid there; but the star upon his bosom, the
emblem of his glory, the pride of his life,--it was corroded and black,
a true representation of human glory, of the glory of a conqueror and an
imperial murderer. But when the grave shall open, and that loved sister
Judson shall come forth, there will be no corroded stars over that heart.
But those who are there, as I said before, have certainly made sacrifices
compared with us, with the brethren and friends they left behind; but when
they look in another direction, when they turn their eyes to the great
field, they feel fully compensated. They may live upon rice and milk, and
often not have enough of that. Their frail tenements are broken down by the
storms; and they are exposed to the roaming tigers, who may spring upon and
rush through the thin walls of their habitations. They may be imprisoned
for a while and racked by the chains of tyranny. Yet never have they been
compelled to exclaim, as did that Savior who came to his own and his own
received him not, when a Pharisee proposed to be his follower, 'The birds
of the air have nests and the foxes have holes; but the Son of man hath not
where to lay his head.' Think of that, ye heralds of the cross,--think of
that, brethren in foreign lands,--the Being who made the world, while here
in the flesh, declaring that the birds which he had made had nests, and
the foxes he had created had holes, where they could rest and sleep in
security, but no place on this earth he had made where he could quietly lay
that majestic, godlike head! Sometimes you feel as though your friends had
forsaken you. Go to Gethsemane; see there that Master who but a short
time before, with the twelve surrounding the table, had told them of the
approaching trials and dangers: urged to rashness, the unthinking Peter had
declared that, although all others might forsake him, he would not. He goes
into that lonely garden, separating himself from his disciples; but he
takes Peter, with two others, and asks them to watch here a while, while
he goes yonder and prays. And then that traitor Judas had gone to make his
bargain; and the Savior knew the bands were hunting him. O, think of that
hour and that garden! Think of the agony of that Savior's heart, which made
him say, 'My heart is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death'! Think of
the agony, when the blood from the pores of his skin dropped down on
Gethsemane's garden, and when he came up to the judgment hall the noisy
rabble insulting him; his followers abandoning him; the man who two short
hours before had said to him, 'that though all others forsake thee, I will
not,' uttering curses in his hearing and denying that he ever knew him;
then the scarlet robe and that crown of thorns! O, has earth ever witnessed
such a spectacle as that? And then that cowardly Roman governor, though he
knew he was innocent, yielded him up to the hands of a vociferous, noisy,
and infuriated mob; and he was by him condemned to an ignominious death. In
the service of such a Master, who of his followers would talk of sacrifice?
And then the consummation upon the cross, when all the powers of darkness
on earth and hell were defeated! Three days, and on the morning of the
first day of the week that buffeted, that down-trodden, and crucified
Savior burst the shackles of the tomb, laid the monster Death at his feet,
and rose a triumphant conqueror over the grave."
X.
MARY E. VAN LENNEP, OF TURKEY.
The maiden name of Mrs. Van Lennep was Mary Elizabeth Hawes. She was born
in the beautiful city of Hartford, Connecticut, April 16, 1821. She was the
daughter of Rev. Dr. Hawes, who has so long and so honorably filled one of
the pulpits of that place, and who, with all his contributions for human
good, has given no richer treasure to a fallen world than the one he
resigned in the person of his lovely and accomplished child.
Born of gifted parents, Mary Elizabeth inherited much of her father's
penetration and judgment, and much of the virtue and excellence of her
mother, under whose training hand she grew up to womanhood.
In the memoir prepared by that mother something like justice is done the
virtues and labors of her child; while the part she performed in the early
culture of the mind and heart is modestly omitted. While the fair portrait
of female excellence, as seen in the life of her daughter, is drawn with
great distinctness, we are not told who laid the basis of that excellence,
and who with ceaseless vigilance guarded the young mind from error and sin.
We are hardly reminded, in the whole volume, of a mother's solicitude,
tears, prayers, warnings, and counsels. It shall be ours to say, that all
the daughter was reflects back with mild and gentle light upon the mother's
memory.
The childhood of Mary E. was spent mostly in Hartford, where her advantages
were great. Her parents were qualified, mentally and morally, to give her
suitable instruction. Favored by God with literary and pecuniary ability,
they lavished both upon their child, and brought her under all those
wholesome influences which were so well adapted to cultivate her abilities
and expand her mind. Besides this, the company with which she mingled in
her father's house was of the highest order. Her home was the centre of
delightful associations. She met there the minister of God, the missionary
from heathen shores, the gifted and the good, and from all these obtained
many lessons of wisdom. Perhaps she could not have been placed under more
favorable circumstances for the development of an amiable and lovely
character than those which clustered around her early years. Unlike some
young people who are obliged to struggle against adverse and unpropitious
circumstances, and who urge their way to usefulness and happiness under the
heavy pressure of want and embarrassment, Miss Hawes had every current in
her favor, and the whole tide of circumstances conspired to make her what
she afterwards became.
In early youth she was distinguished for numerous traits of character which
adorn and elevate the young man or woman and render them deserving of
esteem. While yet a child she was remarkable for her veracity and honesty.
Her mind seemed to dread a wicked or deceitful thing; and in all her
intercourse with her parents and her young associates there was a noble
frankness which opened to her the hearts of all. The earliest lessons of
her childhood were calculated to impress her mind with the enormity of all
falsehood and the value of truth; and as she grew up to womanhood she was
distinguished for this endearing virtue.
Gentleness of disposition was another characteristic of Miss Hawes. She
seemed formed to weep with those who weep, to sympathize with those who
were distressed, to administer consolation to the torn heart of affliction.
When by the bedside of the dying, or in the homes of bereavement and
sorrow, her hand was gentle and her voice mild and musical. There was a
sweet and unobtrusive kindness of manner, a mild and touching sympathy,
which won the heart of the sufferer and introduced her at once to the inner
temple of the wounded spirit.
She early became familiar with the Holy Bible. Time which many young
persons give to foolish and vain reading was spent over the book of God;
and, when young in life, she was more familiar with the history and poetry
of the Old Testament than are many persons at an advanced age. Her young
mind seemed to enter with intense interest and delight into the scenes
described by patriarchs and prophets and so beautifully discoursed upon by
the sweet singers of Israel.
While in her tenth year Mary E. was called to part with a brother younger
than herself. Notwithstanding her extreme youth, she received this
affliction with all the philosophic calmness of mature life. While her
father and mother were weeping around the bedside of the dying boy, while
their hearts were almost broken by this new stroke of divine Providence,
the little daughter clung around them, and in their ears whispered words of
peace and hope. The hymns of consolation which they had taught her to sing
she now rehearsed to them; and many a word of confidence in God which they
had uttered in bar hearing she now called up from the depths of memory, to
comfort their hearts and mitigate their sorrows. Her conduct at such an
hour was a restoring cordial to the wounded hearts of the parents, who
found in the heavenly mindedness of one child consolation for the loss of
another.
Shortly after the death of this brother Mary became in heart and life a
Christian. She passed through that mysterious change which some denominate
"regeneration;" which she described by the expression, "I have found God."
The cautious father waited long ere he advised his child to make a public
profession of the religion of Christ. She was very young, and liable to be
deceived; and he wished her to examine well the foundation of her hope,
and see whereon it was built. He could not endure the idea that she should
enter the church without a saving, evangelical change, and substitute the
sprinkling of water for the baptism of blood. Hence from time to time he
deferred the subject until his doubts all vanished; until the correct,
consistent deportment of his child subdued the fears of parental fondness;
until the world became impressed with the religious character of the young
disciple. Then he led her to the altar, broke to her the bread of life, and
welcomed her to the tribes of God.
From this time her life was one of true, consistent piety. That cautious
father never to the day of her death had occasion to regret the union
formed between her and the people of God. To her young Christian associates
she was a pattern of excellence, and to her many an eye was turned for a
good and faithful example. Nor were the expectations formed of her at all
disappointed. She lived no dubious life; hers was not a strange, erratic
piety. Brighter and brighter grew her sun, until it set, _at noon_, in a
flood of light and glory.
No sooner Was she a member of the church than she began to feel the
importance of being a faithful laborer in the vineyard of God. The false
views which so many have of the church relation she did not cherish. She
did not regard the church as a place of rest and repose--a spot where she
would be free from temptation, trials, and toils. On the contrary, she
clearly saw the obligations which are laid upon a servant of God, and
determined to discharge them to the best of her ability. To her young
friends she stated her own feelings, and urged them to love the same Savior
and embrace the same religion. With all the ardor of a young convert, and
all the enthusiasm of a soul inspired by the hopes of heaven, she presented
to their minds the value of faith in Christ and the necessity of a new
heart, and, by all the arguments and motives within her reach, besought
them to love and serve God.
Nor was she satisfied with this alone. She labored with her hands and
contributed of her money to advance the glory of God. Impressed with the
importance of missions, she formed a society among her young associates to
sew and knit for the purpose of providing clothing for the families who
were abroad. For this circle of children, which convened from time to time,
she prepared work and furnished employment until a box was ready, and,
under the direction of older friends, sent to a missionary who was laboring
for God in distant China.
As she grew older, her missionary interest increased. The claims of a dying
world were spread out before her, and her heart burned to be on heathen
soil where the gospel had never been preached and where the story of Christ
had never been told. She felt for dying men as she saw them, in all the
degradation of heathenism, bowing down to wood and stone and worshipping
the lifeless images which can neither see nor speak. The sunken condition
of heathen females, denied their legal and moral rights, deprived of the
advantages which elevate the other sex, drew her attention and claimed her
sympathy. The missionary concert was regularly attended; the Missionary
Herald was regularly read; the missionary contribution was regularly paid.
In the Sabbath school she was a devoted and successful laborer. Her place
in the class was occupied except in cases of necessity; and for the
children committed to her trust she felt deep and anxious solicitude. Often
in her closet and in the place of social prayer did she commend them to the
gracious care of God and pray that they might all be members of the fold of
Christ.
There were two circumstances which had powerful influence upon her
religious life and character, and which, to some extent, seem to have given
a direction to after years.
The _first_ was a season of sickness by which Miss H. was brought to the
borders of the grave. This occurred in the summer of 1841. The season of
sickness became an inestimable blessing. It gave her time for reflection
such as she seldom obtained, and led her to feel the vanity of human life
and the emptiness of earthly pleasures and joys. She saw in her own wasting
form and pallid cheek the evidences of mortality, and, realized the
necessity of securing treasure in the heavens, where sickness and death
will never disturb the visions of peace.
The _second_ circumstance was the revival which occurred in the
congregation with which she was connected in the same year of her illness.
That revival was deep, powerful, all-pervading. The Church fell upon her
bended knees before the throne of God; the wayward disciple came, with
tears and penitence, and besought forgiveness of God and the Church. The
old man, with his white locks and streaming eyes, asked, "What shall I do
to be saved?" The, young and gay were turned from sin and vanity and led
to seek an interest in the world's only Savior. The whole city felt the
influence of the work of grace; and the sceptic, in amazement, asked, "What
do these things mean?"
On one communion occasion about one hundred united with that one church,
most of whom were young in years and strong in heart. The prayers of God's
people were answered; the labors of the church were crowned with the divine
blessing; and a season such as causes joy in heaven among the angelic hosts
was enjoyed.
This revival was like a purifying fire to our subject. As a matter of
course, she became deeply interested in its progress and results. Led to
prayer and effort, she realized the worth of souls, the value of religion,
the bliss of heaven, and the horror of despair; and, as one young associate
after another gave her heart to God, the young disciple was full of joy.
In 1843 Miss Hawes was called seriously to decide upon a missionary life.
She well knew the trials of such a life. In her father's house she had
often met with those who had tried "the life of danger and death," and
had returned broken down with disease and sorrow. She had listened to the
narration of their labors, their sufferings, and their success, and was
better prepared to judge of the privations and pain to be experienced than
most who depart on such errands of mercy.
But the decision was soon made. When it became evident to her mind that she
could be more useful in Turkey than in America, when it was settled that
duty to God and a dying world required her to leave home and native land,
when Jesus seemed to beckon her away, the question was soon settled, and
settled in such a manner as to involve a separation from loved friends and
a removal from all the enjoyments of a civilized country.
On the 4th of September, 1843, Miss Hawes was married to Rev. Henry J. Van
Lennep: and, amid familiar scenes and countenances, the father gave his
daughter to her missionary husband, to the toils and sacrifices of a
missionary life. The pious and happy couple immediately started on a short
pleasure tour previous to sailing for the East, where they were to labor
and die. The time which intervened between the joyful marriage service and
the sad departure was crowded with incidents of a thrilling character; and
the month was one of excitement, anxiety, and care.
Mr. Van Lennep was a missionary under the patronage of the American Board
of Commissioners for Foreign Missions. He was destined for Turkey, to which
Oriental clime he was about to take his fair companion. In him Miss Hawes
found a tender and devoted husband, who, when her sickness came and weary
hours were appointed unto her, watched over her with the most considerate
attention, and deprived himself of rest and sleep that he might cheer his
sick and dying companion, whom he had taken from a home of plenty, ease,
refinement, and luxury, and removed to a cheerless and lonely spot, to
labor with him for the perishing.
It required no slight effort for Mrs. Van Lennep to part with so many
familiar scenes and go forth to return no more. There was her mother, whom
she tenderly loved, and whose declining years she had hoped to comfort and
cheer. How could she leave that parent? How could she say "Farewell,"
and do it with the consciousness that she should gaze upon that mild
countenance and that loved form no more? How could she take that hand which
had led her up to womanhood,--a hand which wiped her brow when sick and
suffering, and wet her throbbing temples when pained with fever,--how
could she grasp it for the last time?
Then there was her Sabbath school class, over which she had prayed and
wept, and to the members of which she had imparted instruction so often and
so tenderly.
There was also the house of God, in which she had so often heard the music
of a father's voice; the Sabbath bell, which had so often called her to the
temple and the place of prayer; the organ, whose tones had often thrilled
her soul as she sat with the worshipping assembly, chanting the praise of
God. How could she leave all these? The separation cost an effort such as
those only know who have made the trial.
She sailed from Boston, in company with her husband and father, in the bark
Stamboul, on the 11th of October, 1843. The Stamboul was a fine vessel; and
our missionaries were well accommodated on board. The gentlemanly officers
and crew omitted nothing which could render the situation of the female
voyager pleasant and comfortable as a "life on the ocean wave" would allow.
Besides this, the kindness of friends had provided every little comfort and
convenience which could be needed; and the trunks and boxes of Mrs. Van
Lennep were stored with articles which her Hartford and Boston friends had
gathered for her use. She went out, not as Mrs. Newell went, on a cold,
severe day, with but few comforts, with but few conveniences, with but few
friends to: bid her farewell, with no sermon, no song, no prayer on the
deck; but every thing which money could purchase or the ingenuity of
friends devise was brought forward to add to her comfort. Before the
Stamboul sailed a service was held on board, which was attended by
deeply-interested friends. The missionaries, the passengers, the crew were
committed to the care of God. The parting hymn rose on the breeze, echoed
over the waves, and its sad strains died away on the hearts of the
listeners. The parting hand was given; and as kind friends left the deck
the ropes were loosed, and in noble style the vessel swept out into the
harbor, and the mother and child gazed upon each other for the last time.
"Ye who, forsaking all,
At your loved Master's call,
Comforts resign,
Soon will your work be done;
Soon will the prize be won;
Brighter than yonder sun
Ye soon shall shine."
Most of the voyage was spent by Mrs. Van Lennep in preparing herself for
future usefulness and in the study of those languages which she would most
need. She enjoyed the passage more than any other lady on board, and was on
deck in some scenes of peril which made even the hearts of strong men to
tremble.
More than any thing else did our subject miss the privileges of the
Sabbath. The daughter of a clergyman, she had been reared beneath the
shadow of the Christian temple, and taught from infancy to love and revere
the day of rest. And though upon shipboard she heard the song of praise,
the solemn prayer, and the interesting discourse from the same lips which
led the devotions at home, yet the church-going bell, the pealing organ,
and the countenances of early associates were not found on the ocean. All
was strange and wild as the tempest itself.
On the Sabbath day, November 5th, the eyes of the voyagers were greeted
with a view of that noble monument which rises from the blue waters of the
Mediterranean-the Rock of Gibraltar. They looked upon it as the rising sun
glanced lines of light all around it and painted it with gorgeous beauty,
making even its very barrenness appear, attractive.
Whoever has sailed along the shores of the Mediterranean Sea will remember
the many objects of interest which present themselves on every side. There
are seen convents which have stood for ages, braving change and time, from
whose turrets the vesper bell has sounded forth over the waters, calling
the ghostly father and the young recluse from the cell and the cloister to
mingle in the devotions imposed by the Holy Mother Church; castles frowning
from bare and beaten rocks, reminding one of other days, when feudal strife
and knightly warfare demanded such monuments of barbarism to prove that
"might makes right;" beautiful gondolas, with richly-dressed Orientals,
manned with slaves, and propelled by the broad, flat paddle, reminding one
of the songs which cast their witchery around the knights of yore, and from
the blue bosom of the sea gave back the melodious echo; the highlands,
clad in beauty and arrayed in all the verdure of perpetual summer; villas
standing amid groves of trees in full blossom, and cultivated slopes
which extend to the very billows of the sea; ruined temples, monasteries,
convents, cathedrals, standing like some relics of the past, fit emblems of
the decaying faith once taught within them.
About the 1st of December, the Stamboul, with its precious freight, arrived
at Smyrna; and when the new year with all its hallowed emotions came,
they were comfortably located in their new home, surrounded with every
circumstance to make them happy. Their home stood near the sea shore, and
from its verandas they could look far out upon the waters and behold the
passing vessels as on the busy voyage they sped to and fro. In the garden
sweet roses bloomed, and the orange and lemon gave delicious fragrance and
more delicious fruit.
They here found the former associates of Mr. Van Lennep, who received them
with the greatest kindness; and their residence in Smyrna soon became
delightfully pleasant. One who loved the wonders of Nature, and could
appreciate the goodness of God in the works of his hands, the scenes of
natural beauty every where spread out, could not fail to be attracted by
so many displays of divine wisdom and power. To go from our cold, austere
climate, our bare fields and rock-ribbed mountains, to dwell amid the
luxurious vineyards and gardens of the south of Europe, seems like being
transported from a cheerless desert to a blooming paradise. Our beautiful
things are not connected with our climate or our unproductive fields, but
with our free institutions, our systems of education, our public morality,
our well-regulated government, our well-administered laws, and the
industry, intelligence, and religious habits of the people. Our fields and
vineyards, our rich groves and beautiful scenes, are our churches, our
schools, our colleges, our asylums for the poor, for the blind, for the
insane. These constitute the pride and glory of the land of the Pilgrims.
The glory of the East arises from the natural beauty of the country; from
the adornments of Nature; from the skill and care of God.
Early in August, 1844, she was afflicted with dysentery, which increased
upon, her gradually until all hope of life was taken away. Finding that she
could not live, she gave her time to meditation and prayer. The idea of
leaving earth and parting with her husband, and being buried in a strange
land, though terrible in some respects, did not alarm her. She wished to
live for her husband, for Jesus, for the souls of sinners; but if it was
the will of God she was ready--ready to die at anytime and be buried in any
place. During her sickness, her husband, alarmed at the prospect of his
loss, used all means to restore her wasting health; he remained by her
bedside, and with the most tender care endeavored to mitigate her sorrows
and lift her soul above the pains of sickness. He could not endure the idea
of a separation at the moment when she seemed most useful and best prepared
to labor with success. He had taken her from home, from loved scenes, to
die amid strangers; and the responsibility of his position made him, in
that period of anguish, a most tender nurse and a most faithful watcher.
Her last hours were spent in a manner which gave the brightest evidence of
her future bliss to all who saw her. With a firm hope in the merits of the
crucified One, she descended into the waters of the dark, deep Jordan,
whose billows broke upon the shores of human life with such melancholy
moanings. There was no fear; her soul was stayed on God; and a divine hand
lifted her heart in the last conflict.
About one o'clock, September 27, she breathed her last, and the spirit took
its everlasting flight from the abodes of flesh and the tenements of men.
Her last words were, "O, how happy!" and earth was exchanged for heaven.
She felt the tender and confiding spirit of that beautiful and touching
hymn of Wesley, and repeated it with dying voice and a countenance all
radiant with smiles:--
"Jesus, lover of my soul,
Let me to thy bosom fly."
THE END.
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