CHAPTER VIII.LIFE IN AMHERST.1826-1827.

The treaty of peace was signed by the British and Burmese Commissioners on the 24th of February, 1826. On the sixth of the following month, Mr. and Mrs. Judson, with the infant Maria, left the English army encamped at Yan-ta-bo. They sailed down the Irrawaddy in a British gun-boat, and arrived at Rangoon March 21, 1826. Having at last emerged from the long nightmare of Oriental imprisonment, Mr. Judson turned to his life-work with undiminished ardor. The English desired to retain his valuable services as interpreter, and offered him a salary equivalent to three thousand dollars. But the offer was declined. Like the late Professor Agassiz, he had “no time to make money.” He writes:

“I feel a strong desire henceforth to know nothing among this people but Jesus Christ and Him crucified; and under an abiding sense of the comparative worthlessness of all worldly things, to avoid every secular occupation, and all literary and scientific pursuits, and devote the remainder of my days to the simple declaration of the all-precious truths of the Gospel of our great God and Saviour Jesus Christ.”

Mrs. Judson had rapidly recovered, and was now in perfect health.

“Even little Maria,” he writes, “who came into the world a few months after my imprisonment, to aggravate herparents’ woes, and who has been, from very instinct, it would seem, a poor, sad, crying thing, begins to brighten up her little face, and be somewhat sensible of our happy deliverance.”

Dr. Price had been left behind at Ava. He had entered the service of the Burman king. He thought it his duty to live and die in the capital city; and proposed to open a school for teaching several branches of useful learning, such as geography, astronomy, chemistry, etc. And he thought that “in a few years, perhaps twenty, the whole system of Burman religion, founded as it was on false astronomy and geography, would be completely undermined and subverted.”

When Mr. Judson arrived at Rangoon, he found that his little mission, the result of ten years of hard work, was completely broken up. He had left the Wades and Houghs in charge, but the war had driven them to Calcutta. At the very beginning of the campaign, before advancing up the Irrawaddy River, the English army had, of course, captured Rangoon, situated at its mouth—Burmah’s great seaport. Rangoon offered but little resistance to the foreign invader. The missionaries, however, narrowly escaped with their lives. As the English fleet approached the town, Mr. Hough and Mr. Wade were arrested, imprisoned, and even put in irons. It was in vain for them to remonstrate, saying that “they were Americans and not English,” for Burmans were not disposed to make any such nice distinctions. The prison-guard were ordered to massacre them upon the discharge of the first British gun. The executioners sharpened the instruments of death, and brandished them about the heads of the missionaries, to show with what dexterity and pleasure they would execute the fatal orders. The floor was strewn with sand to receive their blood. At this moment the foundations of the prison were shaken by a heavy broadside from Her Majesty’s shipLiffey, and a thirty-two-pound shot passed with a tremendous noisedirectly over the prison. The executioners, stricken with panic, threw down their knives and fled from the prison, fastening the door, however, behind them. Soon other Burmans came and dragged the prisoners to the place of execution. They were forced to kneel down. The executioner, with a large knife, was ordered to proceed. He had just lifted it to strike off the head of the prisoner nearest him, when Mr. Hough begged permission to speak to the officer in charge. He proposed that one or two of the prisoners be sent to the English ships, and assured the cowardly Burman that the firing would then cease directly. At that moment another broadside came from theLiffey, and the Burman officers and men again forsook their prisoners, and took refuge under the banks of a neighboring tank.

During all this time Mrs. Hough and Mrs. Wade had been exposed to the greatest danger, from which they had escaped by disguising themselves as Burman women. Over their own clothes they had put the garments of their servants; had dressed their heads in the Burman style and blackened their hands and faces. Meanwhile Sir Archibald Campbell had sent a message to the governor of Rangoon: “If the Burmans shed a drop of white blood, we will lay the whole country in ruins and give no quarter.”

The Burman officials who had been frightened from their victims by the discharges of artillery, again seized them, and proceeded to confine them in a brick building. Here they were at last discovered, and rescued by the advancing British troops. Having thus narrowly escaped martyrdom, Mr. Hough and Mr. Wade, with their wives, embarked for Calcutta, where they thought it best to remain until the close of the war. So when Mr. Judson returned to Rangoon he was without a missionary associate. Mr. Wade was ready to join him as soon as he should decide as to the best place for renewed operations; while Mr. Hough soon after entered the service of the British Government.

But missionary reinforcements had already come from America. Mr. Wade, while waiting in Calcutta for the war to close, was joined by George Dana Boardman, whose brief and saintly career was destined to make his name peculiarly fragrant to American Christians. He seemed an ideal missionary, so completely was he fitted for his work by his scholarly tastes, affectionate disposition, and fervent piety. He had taken up a newspaper a little while before, and had seen a notice of Colman’s untimely death in Arracan. In the twinkling of an eye there flashed through his mind the question and answer: “Who will go to fill his place?” “Iwill go.”

He had married Sarah Hall, a native of Salem, Massachusetts. Those who knew her speak of “faultless features, moulded on the Grecian model, beautiful transparent skin, warm, meek blue eyes, and soft hair, brown in the shadow and gold in the sun.” She was pronounced by her English friends in Calcutta to be “the most finished and faultless specimen of an American woman that they had ever known.” From her earliest years she had possessed an enthusiasm for missions. When ten years old, she wrote a poem upon the death at Rangoon of Mrs. Judson’s infant Roger. Little did the child dream that many years after she was to take the place of the ideal heroine of her childhood, who, worn out with the prolonged horrors of Ava and Oung-pen-la, lay down to rest beneath the hopia-tree at Amherst.

Mr. Wade and Mr. Boardman waited anxiously in Calcutta for news from the Judsons. They did not, however, wait in idleness. They were learning the Burman language, as best they could, and preaching in English in the Circular Road Baptist chapel, where they were permitted to see, as a result of their labors, many persons converted and baptized. When news came at last from Mr. Judson, they were ready to join him and labor wherever he should think it best.

But to return to Mr. Judson in Rangoon. Not only did he find that the white teachers and their wives had been driven away by the war, but the native church membership was much reduced. He had left a church of eighteen disciples. He found on his return only four. With the exception of two, none, however, had disgraced their holy profession.

The learned teacher, Moung Shwa-gnong, had gone into the interior of the country, and soon afterward died of the cholera. The only four whom Mr. Judson could muster after the war had swept over Rangoon were Moung Shwa-ba, who had remained at the mission-house; Moung Ing, who with such fidelity served Mrs. Judson through all her long, bitter experiences at Ava; and two faithful women, Mah-men-la and Mah-doke, who had been living in boats at Prome, the half-way place between Rangoon and Ava, and who instantly resolved to accompany the Judsons to Rangoon. These four faithful disciples were ready to follow their white teacher wherever he should think it best to establish a mission.

It was out of the question to think of remaining at Rangoon. The English were only holding the place temporarily, until the Burmans should pay their war debt. Indeed, at the close of the year, the English army did vacate Rangoon, and the Burmans resumed possession of their chief seaport. Should the missionaries therefore remain in Rangoon, they would still be under the cruel sway of Burman despotism. In addition, the monarch at Ava was peculiarly exasperated with his subjects in the southern part of the empire, because they had put themselves under the benignant protection of the English; many of the peaceful inhabitants were no doubt to be massacred by the royal troops. A state of anarchy followed the war. A famine succeeded, in which beasts of prey became proportionally bold. Tigers began to infest the suburbs of Rangoon, and carry off cattle and human beings. A tiger was killed even in the streets of thecity. All these circumstances impelled the missionaries to leave Rangoon.

It was now no longer necessary for them to remain there in order to reach the native Burmans. One of the results of the war was that the British had wrested from the Burmans a large part of their sea-coast. The Tenasserim provinces had been ceded to the British. These embraced a strip of country alongthethesea, 500 miles long, and from 40 to 80 miles wide.[33]This country was peopled with Burmans, and the cruelty of the despot at Ava was sure to cause a large overflow of the population of Burmah proper into it. Here the Judsons might teach the new religion unmolested, under the protection of the British flag.

But where upon this long strip of ceded territory should the mission be established? Just at this time Mr. Judson was invited by Mr. Crawfurd, the British Civil Commissioner of the new province, to accompany him on an exploring expedition. The purpose of the expedition was to ascertain the best location for a town, which was to be the capital of the new territory—the seat of government and the headquarters of the army. Mr. Judson’s acquaintance with the language of the Burmans made him an invaluable assistant in such an enterprise, and finally Mr. Judson and Mr. Crawfurd selected as the site for the new city the promontory where the waters of the Salwen empty themselves into the sea. “The climate was salubrious, the land high and bold to the seaward, and the view of the distant hills of Ballou Island very captivating.” The town, in honor of the Governor-General of India, was named Amherst. The proclamation issued at the founding is quite characteristic of the state of society at that time in Burmah:

“The inhabitants of the towns and villages who wish to come, shall be free from molestation, extortion, and oppression. They shall be free to worship as usual, temples, monasteries, priests, and holy men. The people shall go and come, buy and sell, do and live as they please, conformingto the laws. In regard to slavery, since all men, common people or chiefs, are by nature equal, there shall be under the English Government no slaves. Whoever desires to come to the new town may come from all parts and live happy, and those who do not wish to remain, may go where they please without hindrance.”

On July 2, 1826, Mr. and Mrs. Judson began their missionary life in Amherst. They had the four faithful Rangoon converts as the nucleus of a native church, and expected soon to be joined by Mr. and Mrs. Wade, and Mr. and Mrs. Boardman. They were among the first settlers, and made their home right in the very jungle. There was a prospect that the new town would have a very rapid growth. Three hundred Burmans had just arrived, and reported that three thousand more were on their way in boats. It would not seem strange if in two or three years a city of twenty or thirty thousand inhabitants should spring up on this salubrious, wooded promontory.

But before missionary operations were fairly begun, Mr. Judson was compelled reluctantly to visit Ava, the scene of his imprisonment. The English Government desired to negotiate a commercial treaty with the Burman king; and Mr. Crawfurd, the Civil Commissioner of the newly-ceded provinces, was appointed envoy. He invited Mr. Judson to accompany him as a member of the embassy. The missionary’s profound knowledge of the Burman language and character well qualified him for the delicate and difficult task of treating with the court at Ava. At first he firmly declined. He had no relish for diplomatic occupation, and he longed to plunge again into his own work. But when he was assured that, if he would go as an English ambassador, every effort would be made to secure the insertion of a clause in the treaty granting religious liberty to the Burmans, so that the whole country would be thrown open to the Gospel, he reluctantly consented. The stubborn intolerance of the native Government had hitherto been the chief obstacle in his missionary work, and religious freedom forthe Burmese was a blessing for which he had long prayed and striven in vain.

This step, which proved to be a most unfortunate one, was, however, the result of the most mature deliberation. Mr. Judson with the English embassy arrived in Ava September 30, 1826, and remained there about two months and a half. This period embraces one of the saddest episodes of his life. He was forced to witness the scene of his prolonged sufferings in prison, and yet was separated from the wife and babe who had shared with him those horrible experiences. He was engaged in the tedious and uncongenial task of wrestling as a diplomat with the stupidity and intolerance of the Burmese court. He soon learned that the king would on no terms agree to a clause in the treaty granting his subjects freedom of worship. And to crown his sorrows, on the 4th of November there was placed in his hands a sealed letter, containing the intelligence that Mrs. Judson was no more!

After the departure of her husband for Amherst, she had begun her work with good heart. She built a little bamboo dwelling-house and two school-houses. In one of these she gathered ten Burman children who were placed under the instruction of faithful Moung Ing; while she herself assembled the few native converts for public worship every Sunday. At one time she writes:

“My female school will, I trust, soon be in operation. Then you shall hear from me constantly.”

And again:

“After all the impediments which have retarded the progress of our mission, after all our sufferings and afflictions, I can not but hope that God has mercy and a blessing in store for us. Let us strive to obtain it by our prayers and holy life.”

But in the midst of these sacred toils she was smitten with fever. Her constitution, undermined by the hardshipsand sufferings which she had endured, could not sustain the shock, and on October 24, 1826, in the 37th year of her age, she breathed her last. The hands so full of holy endeavors were destined to be suddenly folded for rest. She died apart from him to whom she had given her heart in her girlhood, whose footsteps she had faithfully followed for fourteen years, over land and sea, through trackless jungles and strange crowded cities, sharing his studies and his privations, illumining his hours of gloom with her beaming presence, and with a heroism and fidelity unparalleled in the annals of missions, soothing the sufferings of his imprisonment. He whom she had thus loved, and who, from his experience of Indian fever, might have been able to avert the fatal stroke, was far away in Ava. No missionary was with her when she died, to speak words of Christian consolation. The Burman converts like children gathered helplessly and broken-heartedly about theirwhite mamma. The hands of strangers smoothed her dying pillow, and their ears received her last faint wandering utterances. Under such auspices as these her white-winged spirit took its flight to the brighter scenes of the new Jerusalem.

In a letter to the Corresponding Secretary, Rev. Dr. Bolles, Mr. Judson wrote:

“So far, therefore, as I had a view to the attainment of religious toleration in accompanying the embassy, I have entirely failed. I feel the disappointment more deeply on account of the many tedious delays which have already occurred, and which we anticipate during our return; so that, instead of four or five months, I shall be absent from home seven or eight.“But, above all, the news of the death of my beloved wife has not only thrown a gloom over all my future prospects, but has forever embittered my recollections of the present journey, in consequence of which I have been absent from her dying bed, and prevented from affording the spiritual comfort which her lonely circumstances peculiarly required,and of contributing to avert the fatal catastrophe which has deprived me of one of the first of women, the best of wives.“I commend myself and motherless child to your sympathy and prayers.”

“But, above all, the news of the death of my beloved wife has not only thrown a gloom over all my future prospects, but has forever embittered my recollections of the present journey, in consequence of which I have been absent from her dying bed, and prevented from affording the spiritual comfort which her lonely circumstances peculiarly required,and of contributing to avert the fatal catastrophe which has deprived me of one of the first of women, the best of wives.

“I commend myself and motherless child to your sympathy and prayers.”

But when writing to the mother of his beloved wife, he describes still more fully the sorrowful experience through which he passed:

To Mrs. Hasseltine, of Bradford, Mass.“Ava,December7, 1826.“Dear Mother Hasseltine: This letter, though intended for the whole family, I address particularly to you; for it is a mother’s heart that will be most deeply interested in its melancholy details. I propose to give you, at different times, some account of my great, irreparable loss, of which you will have heard before receiving this letter.“I left your daughter, my beloved wife, at Amherst, the 5th of July last, in good health, comfortably situated, happy in being out of the reach of our savage oppressors, and animated in prospect of a field of missionary labor opening under the auspices of British protection. It affords me some comfort that she not only consented to my leaving her, for the purpose of joining the present embassy to Ava, but uniformly gave her advice in favor of the measure, whenever I hesitated concerning my duty. Accordingly I left her. On the 5th of July I saw her for the last time. Our parting was much less painful than many others had been. We had been preserved through so many trials and vicissitudes, that a separation of three or four months, attended with no hazards to either party, seemed a light thing. We parted, therefore, with cheerful hearts, confident of a speedy reunion, and indulging fond anticipations of future years of domestic happiness. After my return to Rangoon, and subsequent arrival at Ava, I received several letters from her, written in her usual style, and exhibiting no subject of regret or apprehension, except the declining health of our little daughter, Maria. Her last was dated the 14th of September. She says, ‘I have this day moved into the new house, and, for the firsttime since we were broken up at Ava, feel myself at home. The house is large and convenient, and if you were here I should feel quite happy. The native population is increasing very fast, and things wear rather a favorable aspect. Moung Ing’s school has commenced with ten scholars, and more are expected. Poor little Maria is still feeble. I sometimes hope she is getting better; then again she declines to her former weakness. When I ask her where papa is, she always starts up and points toward the sea. The servants behave very well, and I have no trouble about anything, excepting you and Maria. Pray take care of yourself, particularly as it regards the intermittent fever at Ava. May God preserve and bless you, and restore you in safety to your new and old home, is the prayer of your affectionate Ann.’“On the 3d of October, Captain F., civil superintendent of Amherst, writes, ‘Mrs. Judson is extremely well.’ Why she did not write herself by the same opportunity, I know not. On the 18th, the same gentleman writes, ‘I can hardly think it right to tell you that Mrs. Judson has had an attack of fever, as before this reaches you she will, I sincerely trust, be quite well, as it has not been so severe as to reduce her. This was occasioned by too close attendance on the child. However, her cares have been rewarded in a most extraordinary manner, as the poor babe at one time was so reduced that no rational hope could be entertained of its recovery; but at present a most favorable change has taken place, and she has improved wonderfully. Mrs. Judson had no fever last night, so that the intermission is now complete.’ The tenor of this letter was such as to make my mind quite easy, both as it regarded the mother and the child. My next communication was a letter with a black seal, handed me by a person, saying he was sorry to have to inform me of the death of the child. I know not whether this was a mistake on his part, or kindly intended to prepare my mind for the real intelligence. I went into my room, and opened the letter with feelings of gratitude and joy, that at any rate the mother was spared. It was from Mr. B., assistant superintendent of Amherst, dated the 26th of October, and began thus:“‘My dear Sir: To one who has suffered so much, and with such exemplary fortitude, there needs but little preface to tell a tale of distress. It were cruel indeed to torture you with doubt and suspense. To sum up the unhappy tidings in a few words,Mrs. Judson is no more.’“At intervals I got through with the dreadful letter, and proceed to give you the substance as indelibly engraven on my heart:“‘Early in the month she was attacked with a most violent fever. From the first she felt a strong presentiment that she should not recover, and on the 24th, about eight in the evening, she expired. Dr. R. was quite assiduous in his attentions, both as friend and physician. Captain F. procured her the services of a European woman from the 45th regiment; and be assured all was done to comfort her in her sufferings, and to smooth the passage to the grave. We all deeply feel the loss of this excellent lady, whose shortness of residence among us was yet sufficiently long to impress us with a deep sense of her worth and virtues. It was not until about the 20th that Dr. R. began seriously to suspect danger. Before that period the fever had abated at intervals; but its last approach baffled all medical skill. On the morning of the 23d, Mrs. Judson spoke for the last time. The disease had then completed its conquest, and from that time up to the moment of dissolution, she lay nearly motionless, and apparently quite insensible. Yesterday morning I assisted in the last melancholy office of putting her mortal remains in the coffin, and in the evening her funeral was attended by all the European officers now resident here. We have buried her near the spot where she first landed, and I have put up a small, rude fence around the grave, to protect it from incautious intrusions. Your little girl, Maria, is much better. Mrs. W. has taken charge of her, and I hope she will continue to thrive under her care.’“Two days later, Captain Fenwick writes thus to a friend in Rangoon:“‘I trust that you will be able to find means to inform our friend of the dreadful loss he has suffered. Mrs. Judson had slight attacks of fever from the 8th or 9th instant, but we had no reason to apprehend the fatal result. I saw her on the 18th, and at that time she was free from fever, scarcely, if at all, reduced. I was obliged to go up the country on a sudden business, and did not hear of her danger until my return on the 24th, on which day she breathed her last, at 8P.M.I shall not attempt to give you an account of the gloom which the death of this most amiable woman has thrown over our small society. You, who were so well acquaintedwith her, must feel her loss more deeply; but we had just known her long enough to value her acquaintance as a blessing in this remote corner. I dread the effect it will have on poor Judson. I am sure you will take every care that this mournful intelligence may be opened to him as carefully as possible.’“The only other communication on this subject that has reached me, is the following line from Sir Archibald Campbell to the envoy: ‘Poor Judson will be dreadfully distressed at the loss of his good and amiable wife. She died the other day at Amherst, of remittent fever, eighteen days ill.’“You perceive that I have no account whatever of the state of her mind, in view of death and eternity, or of her wishes concerning her darling babe, whom she loved most intensely. I hope to glean some information on these points from the physician who attended her, and the native converts who must have been occasionally present.“I will not trouble you, my dear mother, with an account of my own private feelings—the bitter, heart-rending anguish, which for some days would admit of no mitigation, and the comfort which the Gospel subsequently afforded—the Gospel of Jesus Christ, which brings life and immortality to light. Blessed assurance—and let us apply it afresh to our hearts,—that, while I am writing and you perusing these lines, her spirit is resting and rejoicing in the heavenly paradise,—“‘Where glories shine, and pleasures rollThat charm, delight, transport the soul;And every panting wish shall bePossessed of boundless bliss in Thee.’And there, my dear mother, we also shall soon be, uniting and participating in the felicities of heaven with her for whom we now mourn. ‘Amen. Even so, come, Lord Jesus.’”“Amherst,February4, 1827.“Amid the desolation that death has made, I take up my pen once more to address the mother of my beloved Ann. I am sitting in the house she built, in the room where she breathed her last, and at a window from which I see the treethat stands at the head of her grave, and the top of the ‘small rude fence’ which they have put up ‘to protect it from incautious intrusion.’“Mr. and Mrs. Wade are living in the house, having arrived here about a month after Ann’s death; and Mrs. Wade has taken charge of my poor motherless Maria. I was unable to get any accounts of the child at Rangoon; and it was only on my arriving here, the 24th ultimo, that I learned she was still alive. Mr. Wade met me at the landing-place, and as I passed on to the house one and another of the native Christians came out, and when they saw me they began to weep. At length we reached the house; and I almost expected to see my love coming out to meet me, as usual. But no; I saw only in the arms of Mrs. Wade a poor little puny child, who could not recognize her weeping father, and from whose infant mind had long been erased all recollection of the mother who had loved her so much.“She turned away from me in alarm, and I, obliged to seek comfort elsewhere, found my way to the grave. But who ever obtained comfort there? Thence I went to the house in which I left her, and looked at the spot where we last knelt in prayer and where we exchanged the parting kiss.“The doctor who attended her has removed to another station, and the only information I can obtain is such as the native Christians are able to communicate.“It seems that her head was much affected during her last days, and she said but little. She sometimes complained thus: ‘The teacher is long in coming; and the new missionaries are long in coming; I must die alone, and leave my little one; but as it is the will of God, I acquiesce in His will. I am not afraid of death, but I am afraid I shall not be able to bear these pains. Tell the teacher that the disease was most violent, and I could not write; tell him how I suffered and died; tell him all that you see; and take care of the house and things until he returns.’ When she was unable to notice anything else, she would still call the child to her, and charge the nurse to be kind to it, and indulge it in everything,until its father shall return. The last day or two she lay almost senseless and motionless, on one side, her head reclining on her arm, her eyes closed; and at eight in the evening, with one exclamation of distress in the Burman language, she ceased to breathe.“February 7.I have been on a visit to the physician who attended her in her illness. He has the character of a kind, attentive, and skillful practitioner; and his communications to me have been rather consoling. I am now convinced that everything possible was done, and that, had I been present myself, I could not have essentially contributed to avert the fatal termination of the disease. The doctor was with her twice a day, and frequently spent the greater part of the night by her side. He says that, from the first attack of the fever, she was persuaded she could not recover; but that her mind was uniformly tranquil and happy in the prospect of death. She only expressed occasional regret at leaving her child and the native Christian schools before her husband, or another missionary family, could arrive. The last two days she was free from pain. On her attention being roused by reiterated questions, she replied, ‘I feel quite well, only very weak.’ These were her last words.“The doctor is decidedly of opinion that the fatal termination of the fever is not to be ascribed to the localities of the new settlement, but chiefly to the weakness of her constitution, occasioned by the severe privations and long-protracted sufferings she endured at Ava. O, with what meekness, and patience, and magnanimity, and Christian fortitude she bore those sufferings! And can I wish they had been less? Can I sacrilegiously wish to rob her crown of a single gem? Much she saw and suffered of the evil of this evil world, and eminently was she qualified to relish and enjoy the pure and holy rest into which she has entered. True, she has been taken from a sphere in which she was singularly qualified, by her natural disposition, her winning manners, her devoted zeal, and her perfect acquaintance with the language, to be extensively serviceable to the cause of Christ; true, she has been torn from her husband’s bleeding heartand from her darling babe; but infinite wisdom and love have presided, as ever, in this most afflicting dispensation. Faith decides that it is all right, and the decision of faith eternity will soon confirm.“I have only time to add—for I am writing in great haste, with very short notice of the present opportunity of sending to Bengal—that poor little Maria, though very feeble, is, I hope, recovering from her long illness. She began indeed to recover while under the care of the lady who kindly took charge of her at her mother’s death; but when, after Mr. Wade’s arrival, she was brought back to this house, she seemed to think that she had returned to her former home, and had found in Mrs. Wade her own mother. And certainly the most tender, affectionate care is not wanting to confirm her in this idea.”

To Mrs. Hasseltine, of Bradford, Mass.

“Ava,December7, 1826.

“Dear Mother Hasseltine: This letter, though intended for the whole family, I address particularly to you; for it is a mother’s heart that will be most deeply interested in its melancholy details. I propose to give you, at different times, some account of my great, irreparable loss, of which you will have heard before receiving this letter.

“I left your daughter, my beloved wife, at Amherst, the 5th of July last, in good health, comfortably situated, happy in being out of the reach of our savage oppressors, and animated in prospect of a field of missionary labor opening under the auspices of British protection. It affords me some comfort that she not only consented to my leaving her, for the purpose of joining the present embassy to Ava, but uniformly gave her advice in favor of the measure, whenever I hesitated concerning my duty. Accordingly I left her. On the 5th of July I saw her for the last time. Our parting was much less painful than many others had been. We had been preserved through so many trials and vicissitudes, that a separation of three or four months, attended with no hazards to either party, seemed a light thing. We parted, therefore, with cheerful hearts, confident of a speedy reunion, and indulging fond anticipations of future years of domestic happiness. After my return to Rangoon, and subsequent arrival at Ava, I received several letters from her, written in her usual style, and exhibiting no subject of regret or apprehension, except the declining health of our little daughter, Maria. Her last was dated the 14th of September. She says, ‘I have this day moved into the new house, and, for the firsttime since we were broken up at Ava, feel myself at home. The house is large and convenient, and if you were here I should feel quite happy. The native population is increasing very fast, and things wear rather a favorable aspect. Moung Ing’s school has commenced with ten scholars, and more are expected. Poor little Maria is still feeble. I sometimes hope she is getting better; then again she declines to her former weakness. When I ask her where papa is, she always starts up and points toward the sea. The servants behave very well, and I have no trouble about anything, excepting you and Maria. Pray take care of yourself, particularly as it regards the intermittent fever at Ava. May God preserve and bless you, and restore you in safety to your new and old home, is the prayer of your affectionate Ann.’

“On the 3d of October, Captain F., civil superintendent of Amherst, writes, ‘Mrs. Judson is extremely well.’ Why she did not write herself by the same opportunity, I know not. On the 18th, the same gentleman writes, ‘I can hardly think it right to tell you that Mrs. Judson has had an attack of fever, as before this reaches you she will, I sincerely trust, be quite well, as it has not been so severe as to reduce her. This was occasioned by too close attendance on the child. However, her cares have been rewarded in a most extraordinary manner, as the poor babe at one time was so reduced that no rational hope could be entertained of its recovery; but at present a most favorable change has taken place, and she has improved wonderfully. Mrs. Judson had no fever last night, so that the intermission is now complete.’ The tenor of this letter was such as to make my mind quite easy, both as it regarded the mother and the child. My next communication was a letter with a black seal, handed me by a person, saying he was sorry to have to inform me of the death of the child. I know not whether this was a mistake on his part, or kindly intended to prepare my mind for the real intelligence. I went into my room, and opened the letter with feelings of gratitude and joy, that at any rate the mother was spared. It was from Mr. B., assistant superintendent of Amherst, dated the 26th of October, and began thus:

“‘My dear Sir: To one who has suffered so much, and with such exemplary fortitude, there needs but little preface to tell a tale of distress. It were cruel indeed to torture you with doubt and suspense. To sum up the unhappy tidings in a few words,Mrs. Judson is no more.’

“At intervals I got through with the dreadful letter, and proceed to give you the substance as indelibly engraven on my heart:

“‘Early in the month she was attacked with a most violent fever. From the first she felt a strong presentiment that she should not recover, and on the 24th, about eight in the evening, she expired. Dr. R. was quite assiduous in his attentions, both as friend and physician. Captain F. procured her the services of a European woman from the 45th regiment; and be assured all was done to comfort her in her sufferings, and to smooth the passage to the grave. We all deeply feel the loss of this excellent lady, whose shortness of residence among us was yet sufficiently long to impress us with a deep sense of her worth and virtues. It was not until about the 20th that Dr. R. began seriously to suspect danger. Before that period the fever had abated at intervals; but its last approach baffled all medical skill. On the morning of the 23d, Mrs. Judson spoke for the last time. The disease had then completed its conquest, and from that time up to the moment of dissolution, she lay nearly motionless, and apparently quite insensible. Yesterday morning I assisted in the last melancholy office of putting her mortal remains in the coffin, and in the evening her funeral was attended by all the European officers now resident here. We have buried her near the spot where she first landed, and I have put up a small, rude fence around the grave, to protect it from incautious intrusions. Your little girl, Maria, is much better. Mrs. W. has taken charge of her, and I hope she will continue to thrive under her care.’

“Two days later, Captain Fenwick writes thus to a friend in Rangoon:

“‘I trust that you will be able to find means to inform our friend of the dreadful loss he has suffered. Mrs. Judson had slight attacks of fever from the 8th or 9th instant, but we had no reason to apprehend the fatal result. I saw her on the 18th, and at that time she was free from fever, scarcely, if at all, reduced. I was obliged to go up the country on a sudden business, and did not hear of her danger until my return on the 24th, on which day she breathed her last, at 8P.M.I shall not attempt to give you an account of the gloom which the death of this most amiable woman has thrown over our small society. You, who were so well acquaintedwith her, must feel her loss more deeply; but we had just known her long enough to value her acquaintance as a blessing in this remote corner. I dread the effect it will have on poor Judson. I am sure you will take every care that this mournful intelligence may be opened to him as carefully as possible.’

“The only other communication on this subject that has reached me, is the following line from Sir Archibald Campbell to the envoy: ‘Poor Judson will be dreadfully distressed at the loss of his good and amiable wife. She died the other day at Amherst, of remittent fever, eighteen days ill.’

“You perceive that I have no account whatever of the state of her mind, in view of death and eternity, or of her wishes concerning her darling babe, whom she loved most intensely. I hope to glean some information on these points from the physician who attended her, and the native converts who must have been occasionally present.

“I will not trouble you, my dear mother, with an account of my own private feelings—the bitter, heart-rending anguish, which for some days would admit of no mitigation, and the comfort which the Gospel subsequently afforded—the Gospel of Jesus Christ, which brings life and immortality to light. Blessed assurance—and let us apply it afresh to our hearts,—that, while I am writing and you perusing these lines, her spirit is resting and rejoicing in the heavenly paradise,—

“‘Where glories shine, and pleasures rollThat charm, delight, transport the soul;And every panting wish shall bePossessed of boundless bliss in Thee.’

“‘Where glories shine, and pleasures roll

That charm, delight, transport the soul;

And every panting wish shall be

Possessed of boundless bliss in Thee.’

And there, my dear mother, we also shall soon be, uniting and participating in the felicities of heaven with her for whom we now mourn. ‘Amen. Even so, come, Lord Jesus.’”

“Amherst,February4, 1827.

“Amid the desolation that death has made, I take up my pen once more to address the mother of my beloved Ann. I am sitting in the house she built, in the room where she breathed her last, and at a window from which I see the treethat stands at the head of her grave, and the top of the ‘small rude fence’ which they have put up ‘to protect it from incautious intrusion.’

“Mr. and Mrs. Wade are living in the house, having arrived here about a month after Ann’s death; and Mrs. Wade has taken charge of my poor motherless Maria. I was unable to get any accounts of the child at Rangoon; and it was only on my arriving here, the 24th ultimo, that I learned she was still alive. Mr. Wade met me at the landing-place, and as I passed on to the house one and another of the native Christians came out, and when they saw me they began to weep. At length we reached the house; and I almost expected to see my love coming out to meet me, as usual. But no; I saw only in the arms of Mrs. Wade a poor little puny child, who could not recognize her weeping father, and from whose infant mind had long been erased all recollection of the mother who had loved her so much.

“She turned away from me in alarm, and I, obliged to seek comfort elsewhere, found my way to the grave. But who ever obtained comfort there? Thence I went to the house in which I left her, and looked at the spot where we last knelt in prayer and where we exchanged the parting kiss.

“The doctor who attended her has removed to another station, and the only information I can obtain is such as the native Christians are able to communicate.

“It seems that her head was much affected during her last days, and she said but little. She sometimes complained thus: ‘The teacher is long in coming; and the new missionaries are long in coming; I must die alone, and leave my little one; but as it is the will of God, I acquiesce in His will. I am not afraid of death, but I am afraid I shall not be able to bear these pains. Tell the teacher that the disease was most violent, and I could not write; tell him how I suffered and died; tell him all that you see; and take care of the house and things until he returns.’ When she was unable to notice anything else, she would still call the child to her, and charge the nurse to be kind to it, and indulge it in everything,until its father shall return. The last day or two she lay almost senseless and motionless, on one side, her head reclining on her arm, her eyes closed; and at eight in the evening, with one exclamation of distress in the Burman language, she ceased to breathe.

“February 7.I have been on a visit to the physician who attended her in her illness. He has the character of a kind, attentive, and skillful practitioner; and his communications to me have been rather consoling. I am now convinced that everything possible was done, and that, had I been present myself, I could not have essentially contributed to avert the fatal termination of the disease. The doctor was with her twice a day, and frequently spent the greater part of the night by her side. He says that, from the first attack of the fever, she was persuaded she could not recover; but that her mind was uniformly tranquil and happy in the prospect of death. She only expressed occasional regret at leaving her child and the native Christian schools before her husband, or another missionary family, could arrive. The last two days she was free from pain. On her attention being roused by reiterated questions, she replied, ‘I feel quite well, only very weak.’ These were her last words.

“The doctor is decidedly of opinion that the fatal termination of the fever is not to be ascribed to the localities of the new settlement, but chiefly to the weakness of her constitution, occasioned by the severe privations and long-protracted sufferings she endured at Ava. O, with what meekness, and patience, and magnanimity, and Christian fortitude she bore those sufferings! And can I wish they had been less? Can I sacrilegiously wish to rob her crown of a single gem? Much she saw and suffered of the evil of this evil world, and eminently was she qualified to relish and enjoy the pure and holy rest into which she has entered. True, she has been taken from a sphere in which she was singularly qualified, by her natural disposition, her winning manners, her devoted zeal, and her perfect acquaintance with the language, to be extensively serviceable to the cause of Christ; true, she has been torn from her husband’s bleeding heartand from her darling babe; but infinite wisdom and love have presided, as ever, in this most afflicting dispensation. Faith decides that it is all right, and the decision of faith eternity will soon confirm.

“I have only time to add—for I am writing in great haste, with very short notice of the present opportunity of sending to Bengal—that poor little Maria, though very feeble, is, I hope, recovering from her long illness. She began indeed to recover while under the care of the lady who kindly took charge of her at her mother’s death; but when, after Mr. Wade’s arrival, she was brought back to this house, she seemed to think that she had returned to her former home, and had found in Mrs. Wade her own mother. And certainly the most tender, affectionate care is not wanting to confirm her in this idea.”

Mr. Judson returned to Amherst January 24, 1827. The native Christians greeted him with the voice of lamentation, for his presence reminded them of the great loss they had sustained in the death of Mrs. Judson. His hearth was desolate. His motherless babe had been tenderly cared for by Mrs. Wade. Mr. and Mrs. Wade had arrived from Calcutta about two months before, and with them Mr. Judson made his temporary home. Two months later Mr. and Mrs. Boardman arrived, so that the missionary force was increased to five. The little native church of four members was, however, reduced by the departure of Moung Ing. This poor fisherman, who had been Mrs. Judson’s faithful companion at Ava, had, of his own accord, conceived the purpose of undertaking a missionary excursion to his late fishing-grounds, Tavoy and Mergui, towns south of Amherst, situated on the Tenasserim coast. He was henceforth to be a fisher of men.

Mr. Boardman, in speaking of his first meeting with Mr. Judson, said, “He looks as if worn out with sufferings and sorrows.” He did not, however, neglect his missionary work. He met the Burmans for public worship on Sunday,and each day at family worship new inquirers stole in and were taught the religion of Christ. He was also busily employed in revising the New Testament in several points which were not satisfactorily settled when the translation was made; for his besetting sin was, as he himself described it, “a lust for finishing.” He completed two catechisms for the use of Burman schools, the one astronomical, the other geographical, while his sorrowful heart sought comfort in commencing a translation of the Book of Psalms.

Little Maria was the solace of his studies. But she, too, was taken from him. “On April 24, 1827,” he writes, “my little daughter Maria breathed her last, aged two years and three months, and her emancipated spirit fled, I trust, to the arms of her fond mother.”

Mr. Boardman, who had only just arrived from Calcutta, constructed a coffin, and made all the preparations for the funeral. At nine o’clock the next day little Maria was placed by her mother’s side beneath the hopia-tree. “After leaving the grave,” Mr. Boardman writes, “we had a delightful conversation on the kindness and tender mercies of our heavenly Father. Brother Judson seemed carried above his grief.”

And so at the age of thirty-nine he found himself alone in the world, bereft of his wife and two children.

To Mrs. Hasseltine he wrote:

“Amherst,April26, 1827.“My little Maria lies by the side of her fond mother. The complaint to which she was subject several months proved incurable. She had the best medical advice; and the kind care of Mrs. Wade could not have been, in any respect, exceeded by that of her own mother. But all our efforts, and prayers, and tears could not propitiate the cruel disease; the work of death went forward, and after the usual process, excruciating to a parent’s heart, she ceased to breathe on the 24th instant, at 3 o’clockP.M., aged two years and three months. We then closed her faded eyes, and bound up her discolored lips, where the dark touch of death first appeared,and folded her little hands on her cold breast. The next morning we made her last bed in the small enclosure that surrounds her mother’s lonely grave. Together they rest in hope, under the hope-tree (hopiá), which stands at the head of the graves; and together, I trust, their spirits are rejoicing after a short separation of precisely six months.“And I am left alone in the wide world. My own dear family I have buried; one in Rangoon, and two in Amherst. What remains for me but to hold myself in readiness to follow the dear departed to that blessed world,“‘Where my best friends, my kindred dwell,Where God, my Saviour, reigns.’”

“Amherst,April26, 1827.

“My little Maria lies by the side of her fond mother. The complaint to which she was subject several months proved incurable. She had the best medical advice; and the kind care of Mrs. Wade could not have been, in any respect, exceeded by that of her own mother. But all our efforts, and prayers, and tears could not propitiate the cruel disease; the work of death went forward, and after the usual process, excruciating to a parent’s heart, she ceased to breathe on the 24th instant, at 3 o’clockP.M., aged two years and three months. We then closed her faded eyes, and bound up her discolored lips, where the dark touch of death first appeared,and folded her little hands on her cold breast. The next morning we made her last bed in the small enclosure that surrounds her mother’s lonely grave. Together they rest in hope, under the hope-tree (hopiá), which stands at the head of the graves; and together, I trust, their spirits are rejoicing after a short separation of precisely six months.

“And I am left alone in the wide world. My own dear family I have buried; one in Rangoon, and two in Amherst. What remains for me but to hold myself in readiness to follow the dear departed to that blessed world,

“‘Where my best friends, my kindred dwell,Where God, my Saviour, reigns.’”

“‘Where my best friends, my kindred dwell,

Where God, my Saviour, reigns.’”

The time had now come when the little mission established at Amherst, with such doleful omens, was to be broken up. Amherst was being rapidly eclipsed by the town of Maulmain, situated on the coast about twenty-five miles farther north, at the very mouth of the Salwen. Maulmain was also a new town, the settlers building their houses right in a thick jungle. But within a year of the first settlement, while the number of houses in Amherst amounted to two hundred and thirty, and the population to twelve hundred, the population of Maulmain had rapidly swelled to twenty thousand. The reason for this growth was an unfortunate misunderstanding between the Civil Commissioner, Mr. Crawfurd, and the Commander-in-Chief, Sir Archibald Campbell.

The latter made Maulmain instead of Amherst the headquarters of his army. He regarded Maulmain as a more strategical position. The harbor, too, of Amherst, though spacious, and capable of accommodating ships of large burden, was difficult of access, and, being farther out from the mouth of the Salwen than Maulmain, was dangerous during the southwest monsoon. The presence of the commander-in-chief and of his army at Maulmain, naturally attracted emigration thither, and it soon became apparent that this town instead of Amherst was to be the metropolis of theceded provinces of Tenasserim. Accordingly it seemed best to transfer the mission to Maulmain. On May 28, 1827, Mr. and Mrs. Boardman removed thither from Amherst, and took possession of a frail bamboo mission-house, situated about a mile south of the cantonments of the English army. The site for the mission had been presented by Sir Archibald Campbell. “It was a lonely spot, and the thick jungle close at hand was the haunt of wild beasts whose howls sounded dismally on their ears in the nighttime.”

On the 10th of August Mr. Judson left Amherst, and the little enclosure, the hope-tree, and the graves which contained the mouldering remains of all that were dearest to him on earth. He joined the Boardmans at Maulmain, and on the 14th of November was followed by Mr. and Mrs. Wade, and the native Christians, together with thirteen native school children. Mah-men-la, however, the first female convert among the Burmans, had already been laid to rest by the side of herwhite mamma. The following pathetic description of her death is from Mr. Judson’s journal:

“She was taken ill before I left Amherst. When her case became dangerous, she was removed to the mission-house, after which she indulged but little hope of recovery. She therefore made her will, and gave up every worldly care. In her will she bequeathed fifty rupees to her brother, the husband of Mah Doke, one hundred and fifty to the missionaries, and the remainder (two hundred, perhaps,) to her two adopted boys. She has left the boys in our charge, most earnestly desiring and praying that they may be brought up in the Christian religion. No one influenced her to give us any part of her little property, nor had we the least idea that she intended to do so until she desired Moung Shwa-ba to write an article to that effect.“When her will was written, she said, ‘Now I have done with all worldly things.’ Since that, she has enjoyed great peace of mind. She does not express a doubt that her nameis written in heaven, and that she is hastening to a blissful immortality. She suffers considerable pain with much patience, and, in order to fortify her mind, often compares her sufferings to those of her divine Master. She is not inclined to converse much; but how delightedyouwould be to hear her, now and then, talk of entering heaven, andof meeting Mrs. Judson, and other pious friends! The other day, after having dwelt for some time on the delightful subject, and mentioned the names of all the friends she should rejoice to meet, not omittingdear little Maria, she stopped short and exclaimed, ‘But first of all, I shall hasten to where my Saviour sits, and fall down, and worship and adore Him, for His great love in sending the teachers to show me the way to heaven.’ She says that she feels a choice in her mind to die now rather than to be restored to health, but desires that the will of God may be done. She was much gratified with your letter to-day, and more reconciled to the idea of not seeing you again on earth. I feel it a pleasure to do anything for her, she is so grateful and affectionate.”

“When her will was written, she said, ‘Now I have done with all worldly things.’ Since that, she has enjoyed great peace of mind. She does not express a doubt that her nameis written in heaven, and that she is hastening to a blissful immortality. She suffers considerable pain with much patience, and, in order to fortify her mind, often compares her sufferings to those of her divine Master. She is not inclined to converse much; but how delightedyouwould be to hear her, now and then, talk of entering heaven, andof meeting Mrs. Judson, and other pious friends! The other day, after having dwelt for some time on the delightful subject, and mentioned the names of all the friends she should rejoice to meet, not omittingdear little Maria, she stopped short and exclaimed, ‘But first of all, I shall hasten to where my Saviour sits, and fall down, and worship and adore Him, for His great love in sending the teachers to show me the way to heaven.’ She says that she feels a choice in her mind to die now rather than to be restored to health, but desires that the will of God may be done. She was much gratified with your letter to-day, and more reconciled to the idea of not seeing you again on earth. I feel it a pleasure to do anything for her, she is so grateful and affectionate.”

Sorrows do not come as single spies, but by battalions. Six months intervened between the deaths of Mrs. Judson and little Maria, and within three months of the burial of the latter, even before leaving Amherst, Mr. Judson heard of the death of his venerable father, who departed this life at Scituate, Massachusetts, November 26, 1826, in the seventy-fifth year of his age. Mr. Judson writes these words of comfort to the beloved ones in the distant homestead at Plymouth:

“Maulmain,December13, 1827.“My Dear Mother and Sister: Yours of the 5th February last reached me a few days ago, and gave me the particulars of that solemn event which has laid the venerable head of our family in the silent dust. ‘Death, like an over-flowing stream, sweeps us away’ into the ocean of eternity. You have heard, from my letters of December 7, ’26, and May 3, ’27, of the ravages which death has made in my owndear family. I am left alone in this wide wilderness, to wait all the days of my appointed time, till my own change come. I pray earnestly that you may both enjoy much of the divine presence, in your solitary, bereaved circumstances, and that both you and I may be preparing, under the repeated strokes of our heavenly Father’s hand, to follow the dear departed ones, and enter upon the high enjoyment of everlasting life.”

“Maulmain,December13, 1827.

“My Dear Mother and Sister: Yours of the 5th February last reached me a few days ago, and gave me the particulars of that solemn event which has laid the venerable head of our family in the silent dust. ‘Death, like an over-flowing stream, sweeps us away’ into the ocean of eternity. You have heard, from my letters of December 7, ’26, and May 3, ’27, of the ravages which death has made in my owndear family. I am left alone in this wide wilderness, to wait all the days of my appointed time, till my own change come. I pray earnestly that you may both enjoy much of the divine presence, in your solitary, bereaved circumstances, and that both you and I may be preparing, under the repeated strokes of our heavenly Father’s hand, to follow the dear departed ones, and enter upon the high enjoyment of everlasting life.”

33. SeeMap II.

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