Chapter VII: Cawnpore, 1809-1810 (1)

Mrs. Sherwood, known in the first decade of this century as a writer of such Anglo-Indian tales as _Little Henry and his Bearer_, and as a philanthropist who did much for the white and the dark orphans of British soldiers in India, was one of the many who came under the influence of Henry Martyn. This Lichfield girl, whose father had been the playmate of Samuel Johnson, and who had known Garrick and Dr. Darwin, Hannah More and Maria Edgeworth, had married her cousin, the paymaster of the King's 53rd Regiment of Foot. The regiment was sent to Bengal. On its way up the Hoogli from Calcutta in boats, Mr. Sherwood and his wife were walking after sunset, when they stumbled on 'a small society' of their own men, who met regularly to read their Bibles and to pray, often in old stores, ravines, woods, and other retired places. 'The very existence of any person in the barracks who had the smallest notion of the importance of religion was quite unsuspected by me,' writes Mrs. Sherwood in her Autobiography.[32] 'I am not severe when I assert that at that time there really was not one in the higher ranks in the regiment who had courage enough to come forward and say, "I think it right, in this distant land, to do, as it regards religion, what I have been accustomed to do at home."' At Berhampore, the chaplain, Mr. Parson, began that good work in the 53rd which Martyn and Corrie afterwards carried on. When it continued the voyage up the Ganges, after a season, by Dinapore to Cawnpore, Mr. Parson gave the Sherwoods a letter of introduction to Martyn, then about to leave Dinapore. To this fact we owe the fullest and the brightest glimpses that we get of Henry Martyn, from the outside, all through his career. We are enabled to supplement the abasing self-revelation of his nature before God, as recorded in his _Journal_, by the picture of his daily life, drawn by a woman of keen sympathy and some shrewdness.

The moment the boat anchored at Dinapore Mr. Sherwood set out on foot to present his letter. He found the chaplain in the smaller square, at some distance, in a 'sort of church-like abode with little furniture, the rooms wide and high, with many vast doorways, having their green jalousied doors, and long verandahs encompassing two sides of the quarters.'

Mr. Martyn received Mr. Sherwood not as a stranger, but as a
brother,--the child of the same father. As the sun was already
low, he must needs walk back with him to see me. I perfectly
remember the figure of that simple-hearted and holy young man,
when he entered our budgerow. He was dressed in white, and
looked very pale, which, however, was nothing singular in India;
his hair, a light brown, was raised from his forehead, which was
a remarkably fine one. His features were not regular, but the
expression was so luminous, so intellectual, so affectionate, so
beaming with Divine charity, that no one could have looked at
his features, and thought of their shape or form,--the
out-beaming of his soul would absorb the attention of every
observer. There was a very decided air, too, of the gentleman
about Mr. Martyn, and a perfection of manners which, from his
extreme attention to all minute civilities, might seem almost
inconsistent with the general bent of his thoughts to the most
serious subjects. He was as remarkable for ease as for
cheerfulness, and in these particulars his _Journal_ does not
give a graphic account of this blessed child of God. I was much
pleased at the first sight of Mr. Martyn. I had heard much of
him from Mr. Parson; but I had no anticipation of his hereafter
becoming so distinguished as he subsequently did. And if I
anticipated it little, he, I am sure, anticipated it less; for
he was one of the humblest of men.

Mr. Martyn invited us to visit him at his quarters at Dinapore,
and we agreed to accept his invitation the next day. Mr.
Martyn's house was destitute of every comfort, though he had
multitudes of people about him. I had been troubled with a pain
in my face, and there was not such a thing as a pillow in the
house. I could not find anything to lay my head on at night but
a bolster stuffed as hard as a pin-cushion. We had not, as is
usual in India, brought our own bedding from the boats. Our kind
friend had given us his own room; but I could get no rest during
the two nights of my remaining there, from the pain in my face,
which was irritated by the bolster; but during each day,
however, there was much for the mind to feed upon with delight.
After breakfast Mr. Martyn had family prayers, which he
commenced by singing a hymn. He had a rich, deep voice, and a
fine taste for vocal music. After singing, he read a chapter,
explained parts of it, and prayed extempore. Afterwards he
withdrew to his studies and translations. The evening was
finished with another hymn, Scripture reading, and prayers. The
conversion of the natives and the building up of the kingdom of
Christ were the great objects for which alone that child of God
seemed to exist.

He believed that he saw the glimmering of this day in the
exertions then making in Europe for the diffusion of the
Scriptures and the sending forth of missionaries. Influenced by
the belief that man's ministry was the instrumentality which, by
the Holy Spirit, would be made effectual to the work, we found
him labouring beyond his strength, and doing all in his power to
excite other persons to use the same exertions.

Henry Martyn was one of the very few persons whom I have ever
met who appeared never to be drawn away from one leading and
prevailing object of interest, and that object was the promotion
of religion. He did not appear like one who felt the necessity
of contending with the world, and denying himself its delights,
but rather as one who was unconscious of the existence of any
attractions in the world, or of any delights which were worthy
of his notice. When he relaxed from his labours in the presence
of his friends, it was to play and laugh like an innocent, happy
child, more especially if children were present to play and
laugh with him. In my Indian Journal I find this remark: 'Mr.
Martyn is one of the most pleasing, mild, and heavenly-minded
men, walking in this turbulent world with peace in his mind, and
charity in his heart.'

As the regiment was passing Chunar, after a night in 'the polluted air' of Benares, the Sherwoods were met by a boat with fresh bread and vegetables from Corrie. On their arrival at Cawnpore, Mrs. Sherwood at once opened two classes for the 'great boys' and 'elder girls.' Many of the former died in a few years, and not a few of the latter married officers above their own birth. Such were the conditions of military life in India at that time, notwithstanding the Calcutta Orphan Schools which David Brown had first gone out to India to organise; for Henry Lawrence and his noble wife, Honoria, with their Military Orphan Asylums in the hills, belonged to a later generation.

When first ordered to Cawnpore, in the hottest months of 1809, Henry Martyn resolved to apply to the Military Board for permission to delay his departure till the rainy season. But, though even then wasted by consumption and ceaseless toil, and tempted to spend the dreary months with the beloved Corrie at Chunar, as he might well have done under the customary rules, he could not linger when duty called. Had he not resolved to 'burn out' his life? So, deluding himself by the intention to 'stay a little longer to recruit' at Chunar, should he suffer from the heat, he set off in the middle of April in a palanquin by Arrah, afterwards the scene of a heroic defence in the great Mutiny; Buxar, where a battle had been fought not long before, and Ghazipore, seat of the opium manufacture, like Patna. Sabat was sent on in a budgerow, with his wife Ameena and the baggage. This is Martyn's account, to Brown, of the voyage above Chunar:

Cawnpore: May 3, 1809.

I transported myself with such rapidity to this place that I had
nearly transported myself out of the world. From Dinapore to
Chunar all was well, but from Allahabad to that place I was
obliged to travel two days and nights without intermission, the
hot winds blowing like fire from a furnace. Two days after my
arrival the fever which had been kindling in my blood broke out,
and last night I fainted repeatedly. But a gracious God has
again interposed to save my life; to-day I feel well again.
Where Sabat is I do not know. I have heard nothing of him since
leaving Dinapore. Corrie is well, but it is grievous to see him
chained to a rock with a few half-dead invalids, when so many
stations--amongst others, the one I have left--are destitute....

I do not like this place at all. There is no church, not so much
as the fly of a tent; what to do I know not except to address
Lord Minto in a private letter. Mr. (Charles) Grant, who is
anxious that we should labour principally for the present among
the Europeans, ought, I think, to help us with a house. I mean
to write to Mr. Simeon about this.

I feel a little uncomfortable at being so much farther removed
from Calcutta. At Dinapore I had friends on both sides of me,
and correspondence with you was quick: here I seem cut off from
the world. Alas! how dependent is my heart upon the creature
still. I am ordered to seal up.--Yours affectionately ever,

H. MARTYN.

This is Mrs. Sherwood's description of his arrival:

On May 30 the Rev. Henry Martyn arrived at our bungalow. The
former chaplain had proceeded to the presidency, and we were so
highly favoured as to have Mr. Martyn appointed in his place. I
am not aware whether we expected him, but certainly not at the
time when he did appear. It was in the morning, and we were
situated as above described, the desert winds blowing like fire
without, when we suddenly heard the quick steps of many bearers.
Mr. Sherwood ran out to the leeward of the house, and exclaimed,
'Mr. Martyn!' The next moment I saw him leading in that
excellent man, and saw our visitor, a moment afterwards, fall
down in a fainting fit. He had travelled in a palanquin from
Dinapore, and the first part of the way he moved only by night.
But between Cawnpore and Allahabad, being a hundred and thirty
miles, there is no resting-place, and he was compelled for two
days and two nights to journey on in his palanquin, exposed to
the raging heat of a fiery wind. He arrived, therefore, quite
exhausted, and actually under the influence of fever. There was
not another family in Cawnpore except ours to which he could
have gone with pleasure; not because any family would have
denied shelter to a countryman in such a condition, but, alas!
they were only Christians in name. In his fainting state Mr.
Martyn could not have retired to the sleeping-room which we
caused to be prepared immediately for him, because we had no
means of cooling any sleeping-room so thoroughly as we could the
hall. We, therefore, had a couch set for him in the hall. There
he was laid, and very ill he was for a day or two. The hot winds
left us, and we had a close, suffocating calm. Mr. Martyn could
not lift his head from the couch. In our bungalow, when shut up
as close as it could be, we could not get the thermometer under
96°, though the punkah was constantly going. When Mr. Martyn got
a little better he became very cheerful, and seemed quite happy
with us all about him. He commonly lay on his couch in the hall
during the morning, with many books near to his hand, and
amongst these always a Hebrew Bible and a Greek Testament. Soon,
very soon, he began to talk to me of what was passing in his
mind, calling to me at my table to tell me his thoughts. He was
studying the Hebrew characters, having an idea, which I believe
is not a new one, that these characters contain the elements of
all things, though I have reason to suppose he could not make
them out at all to his satisfaction; but whenever anything
occurred to him he must needs make it known to me.

He was much engaged also with another subject, into which I was
more capable of entering. It was his opinion that, if the Hindus
could be persuaded that all nations are made of one blood, to
dwell upon the face of the earth, and if they could be shown how
each nation is connected by its descent from the sons and
grandsons of Noah with other nations existing upon the globe, it
would be a means of breaking down, or at least of loosening,
that wall of separation which they have set up between
themselves and all other people. With this view Mr. Martyn was
endeavouring to trace up the various leading families of the
earth to their great progenitors; and so much pleased was I
with what he said on this subject, that I immediately committed
all I could remember to paper, and founded thereupon a system of
historical instruction which I ever afterwards used with my
children. Mr. Martyn, like myself at this time, was often
perplexed and dismayed at the workings of his own heart, yet,
perhaps, not discerning a hundredth part of the depth of the
depravity of his own nature, the character of which is summed up
in Holy Writ in these two words--'utterly unclean.' He felt this
the more strongly because he partook also of that new nature
'which sinneth not.' It was in the workings and actings of that
nature that his character shone so pre-eminently as it did amid
a dark and unbelieving society, such as was ours then at
Cawnpore.

In a very few days he had discerned the sweet qualities of the
orphan Annie, and had so encouraged her to come about him that
she drew her chair, and her table, and her green box to the
vicinity of his couch. She showed him her verses, and consulted
him about the adoption of more passages into the number of her
favourites. Annie had a particular delight in all the pastoral
views given in Scripture of our Saviour and of His Church; and
when Mr. Martyn showed her this beautiful passage, 'Feed Thy
people with Thy rod, the flock of Thine heritage, which dwell
solitarily in the wood, in the midst of Carmel' (Micah vii. 14),
she was as pleased with this passage as if she had made some
wonderful acquisition. What could have been more beautiful than
to see the Senior Wrangler and the almost infant Annie thus
conversing together, whilst the elder seemed to be in no ways
conscious of any condescension in bringing down his mind to the
level of the child's? Such are the beautiful influences of the
Divine Spirit, which, whilst they depress the high places of
human pride, exalt the lowly valleys.

When Mr. Martyn lost the worst symptoms of his illness he used
to sing a great deal. He had an uncommonly fine voice and fine
ear; he could sing many fine chants, and a vast variety of hymns
and psalms. He would insist upon it that I should sing with him,
and he taught me many tunes, all of which were afterwards
brought into requisition; and when fatigued himself, he made me
sit by his couch and practise these hymns. He would listen to my
singing, which was altogether very unscientific, for hours
together, and he was constantly requiring me to go on, even when
I was tired. The tunes he taught me, no doubt, reminded him of
England, and of scenes and friends no longer seen. The more
simple the style of singing, the more it probably answered his
purpose.

As soon as Mr. Martyn could in any way exert himself, he made
acquaintance with some of the pious men of the regiment (the
same poor men whom I have mentioned before, who used to meet in
ravines, in huts, in woods, and in every wild and secret place
they could find, to read, and pray, and sing); and he invited
them to come to him in our house, Mr. Sherwood making no
objection. The time first fixed was an evening after parade, and
in consequence they all appeared at the appointed hour, each
carrying their mora (a low seat), and their books tied up in
pocket-handkerchiefs. In this very unmilitary fashion they were
all met in a body by some officers. It was with some difficulty
that Mr. Sherwood could divert the storm of displeasure which
had well-nigh burst upon them on the occasion. Had they been all
found intoxicated and fighting, they would have created less
anger from those who loved not religion. How truly is it said
that 'the children of this world are wiser in their generation
than the children of light.' Notwithstanding this unfortunate
_contretemps_, these poor good men were received by Mr. Martyn
in his own apartment; and a most joyful meeting he had with
them. We did not join the party, but we heard them singing and
praying, and the sound was very sweet. Mr. Martyn then promised
them that when he had got a house he would set aside a room for
them, where they might come every evening, adding he would meet
them himself twice in the week. When these assemblies were
sanctioned by our ever kind Colonel Mawby, and all difficulties,
in short, overcome, many who had been the most zealous under
persecution fell quite away, and never returned. How can we
account for these things? Many, however, remained steadfast
under evil report as well as good report, and died, as they had
lived, in simple and pure faith.

I must not omit another anecdote of Mr. Martyn, which amused us
much at the time, after we had recovered the alarm attending it.
The salary of a chaplain is large, and Mr. Martyn had not drawn
his for so long a time, that the sum amounted perhaps to some
hundreds. He was to receive it from the collector at Cawnpore.
Accordingly he one morning sent a note for the amount, confiding
the note to the care of a common coolie, a porter of low caste,
generally a very poor man. This man went off, unknown to Mr.
Sherwood and myself, early in the morning. The day passed, the
evening came, and no coolie arrived. At length Mr. Martyn said
in a quiet voice to us, 'The coolie does not come with my money.
I was thinking this morning how rich I should be; and, now, I
should not wonder in the least if he has not run off, and taken
my treasure with him.' 'What!' we exclaimed, 'surely you have
not sent a common coolie for your pay?' 'I have,' he replied. Of
course we could not expect that it would ever arrive safe; for
it would be paid in silver, and delivered to the man in cotton
bags. Soon afterwards, however, it did arrive--a circumstance at
which we all greatly marvelled.

Cawnpore, of which Henry Martyn was chaplain for the next two years, till disease drove him from it, was the worst station to which he could have been sent. The district, consisting of clay uplands on the Doab between the Ganges and the Jumna rivers, which unite below at Allahabad, was at that time a comparatively desolate tract, swept by the hot winds, and always the first to suffer from drought. The great famine of 1837 afterwards so destroyed its unhappy peasantry and labourers, that the British Government made its county town one of the two terminals of the great Ganges canal, which the Marquis of Dalhousie opened, and irrigated the district by four branches with their distributing channels. Even then, and to this day, Cawnpore has not ceased to be a repulsive station. Its leather factories and cotton mills do not render it less so, nor the memory of the five massacres of British officers, their wives and children, by the infamous Nana Dhoondoo Panth, which still seems to cover it as with a pall, notwithstanding the gardens and the marble screen inclosing the figure of the Angel of the Resurrection with the palm of victory above the Massacre Well. The people of the town at least have always been disagreeable, from Hindu discontent and Mohammedan sulkiness. The British cantonment used to be at Bilgram, on the opposite bank, in the territory of Oudh. Well might Martyn write of such a station as Cawnpore: 'I do not like this place at all,' although he then enjoyed the social ministrations of the Sherwoods, and was constant in his own service to the Master among British and natives alike, and at his desk in translation work.

The first use which the chaplain made of his pay was this, according to Mrs. Sherwood: 'Being persuaded by some black man, he bought one of the most undesirable houses, to all appearance, which he could have chosen.' But he had chosen wisely for his daily duties of translation and preaching to the natives.

Mr. Martyn's house was a bungalow situated between the Sepoy
Parade and the Artillery Barracks, but behind that range of
principal bungalows which face the Parade. The approach to the
dwelling was called the Compound, along an avenue of palm trees
and aloes. A more stiff, funereal avenue can hardly be imagined,
unless it might be that one of noted sphynxes which I have read
of as the approach to a ruined Egyptian temple. At the end of
this avenue were two bungalows, connected by a long passage.
These bungalows were low, and the rooms small. The garden was
prettily laid out with flowering shrubs and tall trees; in the
centre was a wide space, which at some seasons was green, and a
_chabootra_, or raised platform of chunam (lime), of great
extent, was placed in the middle of this space. A vast number
and variety of huts and sheds formed one boundary of the
compound; these were concealed by the shrubs. But who would
venture to give any account of the heterogeneous population
which occupied these buildings? For, besides the usual
complement of servants found in and about the houses of persons
of a certain rank in India, we must add to Mr. Martyn's
household a multitude of pundits, moonshis, schoolmasters, and
poor nominal Christians, who hung about him because there was no
other to give them a handful of rice for their daily
maintenance; and most strange was the murmur which proceeded at
times from this ill-assorted and discordant multitude. Mr.
Martyn occupied the largest of the two bungalows. He had given
up the least to the wife of Sabat, that wild man of the desert
whose extraordinary history has made so much noise in the
Christian world.

It was a burning evening in June, when after sunset I
accompanied Mr. Sherwood to Mr. Martyn's bungalow, and saw for
the first time its avenue of palms and aloes. We were conducted
to the _chabootra_, where the company was already assembled;
there was no lady but myself. This _chabootra_ was many feet
square, and chairs were set for the guests. A more heterogeneous
assembly surely had not often met, and seldom, I believe, were
more languages in requisition in so small a party. Besides Mr.
Martyn and ourselves, there was no one present who could speak
English. But let me introduce each individual separately. Every
feature in the large disk of Sabat's face was what we should
call exaggerated. His eyebrows were arched, black, and strongly
pencilled; his eyes dark and round, and from time to time
flashing with unsubdued emotion, and ready to kindle into flame
on the most trifling occasion. His nose was high, his mouth
wide, his teeth large, and looked white in contrast with his
bronzed complexion and fierce black mustachios. He was a large
and powerful man, and generally wore a skull-cap of rich
shawling, or embroidered silk, with circular flaps of the same
hanging over each ear. His large, tawny throat and neck had no
other covering than that afforded by his beard, which was black.
His attire was a kind of jacket of silk, with long sleeves,
fastened by a girelle, or girdle, about his loins, to which was
appended a jewelled dirk. He wore loose trousers, and
embroidered shoes turned up at the toes. In the cold season he
threw over this a wrapper lined with fur, and when it was warmer
the fur was changed for silk. When to this costume is added
ear-rings, and sometimes a golden chain, the Arab stands before
you in his complete state of Oriental dandyism. This son of the
desert never sat in a chair without contriving to tuck up his
legs under him on the seat, in attitude very like a tailor on
his board. The only languages which he was able to speak were
Persian, Arabic, and a very little bad Hindustani; but what was
wanting in the words of this man was more than made up by the
loudness with which he uttered them, for he had a voice like
rolling thunder. When it is understood that loud utterance is
considered as an ingredient of respect in the East, we cannot
suppose that one who had been much in native courts should
think it necessary to modulate his voice in the presence of the
English Sahib-log.[33]

The second of Mr. Martyn's guests, whom I must introduce as
being not a whit behind Sabat in his own opinion of himself, was
the Padre Julius Cæsar, an Italian monk of the order of the
Jesuits, a worthy disciple of Ignatius Loyola. Mr. Martyn had
become acquainted with him at Patna, where the Italian priest
was not less zealous and active in making proselytes than the
Company's chaplain, and probably much more wise and subtle in
his movements than the latter. The Jesuit was a handsome young
man, and dressed in the complete costume of the monk, with his
little skull-cap, his flowing robes, and his cord. The
materials, however, of his dress were very rich; his robe was of
the finest purple satin, and his cord of twisted silk, and his
rosary of costly stones, whilst his air and manner were
extremely elegant. He spoke French fluently, and there Mr.
Sherwood was at home with him, but his native language was
Italian. His conversation with Mr. Martyn was carried on partly
in Latin and partly in Italian. A third guest was a learned
native of India, in his full and handsome Hindustani costume;
and a fourth a little, thin, copper-coloured, half-caste
Bengali gentleman, in white nankeen, who spoke only Bengali. Mr.
Sherwood made a fifth, in his scarlet and gold uniform; myself,
the only lady, was the sixth; and add our host, Mr. Martyn, in
his clerical black silk coat, and there is our party. Most
assuredly I never listened to such a confusion of tongues before
or since. Such a noisy, perplexing Babel can scarcely be
imagined. Everyone who had acquired his views of politeness in
Eastern society was shouting at the top of his voice, as if he
had lost his fellow in a wood; and no less than eight languages
were in constant request, viz. English, French, Italian, Arabic,
Persian, Hindustani, Bengali, and Latin.

In order to lengthen out the pleasures of the evening, we were
scarcely seated before good Mr. Martyn recollected that he had
heard me say that I liked a certain sort of little mutton
pattie, which the natives made particularly well; so, without
thinking how long it might take to make these same patties, he
called to a servant to give orders that mutton patties should be
added to the supper. I heard the order, but never dreamed that
perhaps the mutton might not be in the house. The consequence of
this order was that we sat on the _chabootra_ till it was quite
dark, and till I was utterly weary with the confusion. No one
who has not been in or near the tropics can have an idea of the
glorious appearance of the heavens in these regions, and the
brilliancy of the star-lit nights, at Cawnpore. Mr. Martyn used
often to show me the pole-star, just above the line of the
horizon; and I have seen the moon, when almost new, looking like
a ball of ebony in a silver cup. Who can, therefore, be
surprised that the science of astronomy should first have been
pursued by the shepherds who watched their flocks by night in
the plains of the South? When the mutton patties were ready, I
was handed by Mr. Martyn into the hall of the bungalow. Mr.
Martyn took the top of the table, and Sabat perched himself on
a chair at the bottom. I think it was on this day, when at
table, Sabat was telling some of his own adventures to Mr.
Martyn, in Persian, which the latter interpreted to Mr. Sherwood
and myself, that the wild Arab asserted that there were in
Tartary and Arabia many persons converted to Christianity, and
that many had given up their lives for the faith. He professed
to be himself acquainted with two of these, besides Abdallah.
'One,' he said, 'was a relation of his own.' But he gave but
small proof of this man's sincerity. This convert, if such he
was, drew the attention of the priests by a total neglect of all
forms; and this was the more remarkable on account of the
multiplied forms of Islam; for at the wonted hour of prayer a
true Mussulman must kneel down and pray in the middle of a
street, or between the courses of a feast, nay, even at the
moment when perhaps his hands might be reeking with a brother's
blood. This relative of Sabat's, however, was, as he remarked,
observed to neglect all forms, and he was called before the
heads of his tribe, and required to say wherefore he was guilty
of this offence. His answer was, 'It is nothing.' He proceeded
to express himself as if he doubted the very existence of a God.
The seniors of the tribe told him that it would be better for
him to be a Christian than an atheist; adding, therefore, 'If
you do not believe in our prophet you must be a Christian;' for
they wisely accounted that no man but a fool could be without
some religion. The man's reply was, that he thought the
Christian's a better religion than that of Mahomet; the
consequence of which declaration was that they stoned him until
he died. The other example which Sabat gave us was of a boy in
Baghdad, who was converted by an Armenian, and endeavoured to
escape, but was pursued, seized, and offered pardon if he would
recant; but he was preserved in steadfastness to the truth, and
preferred death to returning to Mahometanism. His life was
required of him.

From the time Mr. Martyn left our house he was in the constant
habit of supping with us two or three times a week, and he used
to come on horseback, with the sais running by his side. He sat
his horse as if he were not quite aware that he was on
horseback, and he generally wore his coat as if it were falling
from his shoulders. When he dismounted, his favourite place was
in the verandah, with a book, till we came in from our airing.
And when we returned many a sweet and long discourse we had,
whilst waiting for our dinner or supper. Mr. Martyn often looked
up to the starry heavens, and spoke of those glorious worlds of
which we know so little now, but of which we hope to know so
much hereafter. Often we turned from the contemplation of these
to the consideration of the smallness, and apparent
diminutiveness in creation, of our own little globe, and of the
exceeding love of the Father, who so cared for its inhabitants
that He sent His Son to redeem them.

On the occasion of the baptism of my second Lucy, never can I
forget the solemn manner with which Mr. Martyn went through the
service, or the beautiful and earnest blessing he implored for
my baby, when he took her into his arms after the service was
concluded. I still fancy I see that child of God as he looked
down tenderly on the gentle babe, and then looked upwards,
asking of his God that grace and mercy for the infant which he
truly accounted as the only gift which parents ought to desire.
This babe, in infancy, had so peculiar a gentleness of aspect,
that Mr. Martyn always called her Serena.

Little was spoken of at Mr. Martyn's table but of various plans
for advancing the triumphs of Christianity. Among the plans
adopted, Mr. Martyn had, first at Dinapore and then at Cawnpore,
established one or two schools for children of the natives of
the lower caste. His plan was to hire a native schoolmaster,
generally a Mussulman, to appoint him a place, and to pay him an
anna (1-1/2_d._) a head for each boy whom he could induce to
attend school. These boys the master was to teach to write and
read. It was Mr. Martyn's great aim, and, indeed, the sole end
of his exertions, to get Christian books into the school. As no
mention was ever made of proselytism, there was never any
difficulty found in introducing even portions of the Scripture
itself, more especially portions of the Old Testament, to the
attention of the children. The books of Moses are always very
acceptable to a Mussulman, and Genesis is particularly
interesting to the Hindus. Mr. Martyn's first school at Cawnpore
was located in a long shed, which was on the side of the cavalry
lines. It was the first school of the kind I ever saw. The
master sat at one end, like a tailor, on the dusty floor; and
along under the shed sat the scholars, a pack of little urchins,
with no other clothes on than a skull-cap and a piece of cloth
round the loins. These little ones squatted, like their master,
in the sand. They had wooden imitations of slates in their
hands, on which, having first written their lessons with chalk,
they recited them, _à pleine gorge_, as the French would say,
being sure to raise their voices on the approach of any European
or native of note. Now, Cawnpore is about one of the most dusty
places in the world. The Sepoy lines are the most dusty part of
Cawnpore; and as the little urchins are always well greased,
either with cocoanut oil or, in failure thereof, with rancid
mustard oil, whenever there was the slightest breath of air they
always looked as if they had been powdered all over with brown
powder. But what did this signify? They would have been equally
dusty in their own huts. In these schools they were in the way
of getting a few ideas; at all events, they often got so far as
to be able to copy a verse on their wooden slates. Afterwards
they committed to memory what they had written. Who that has
ever heard it can forget the sounds of the various notes with
which these little people intonated their 'Aleph Zubbur
ah--Zair a--Paiche oh,' as they waved backwards and forwards in
their recitations? Or who can forget the vacant self-importance
of the schoolmaster, who was generally a long-bearded, dry old
man, who had no other means of proving his superiority over the
scholars but making more noise than even they could do? Such a
scene, indeed, could not be forgotten; but would it not require
great faith to expect anything green to spring from a soil so
dry? But this faith was not wanting to the Christians then in
India.

Besides the 53rd Regiment, the Cavalry Corps called in those days the 8th Light Dragoons, and six companies of Artillery, were stationed at Cawnpore. At the first parade service, on May 15, 1809, 'two officers dropped down and some of the men. They wondered how I could go through the fatigue,' wrote their new chaplain, not many days after his nearly fatal palanquin journey from Chunar. His voice even reached the men at the other end of the square which they had formed. Above a hundred men were in hospital, a daily congregation. Every night about a dozen of the soldiers met with him in the house. Not only the men but the officers were privately rebuked by him for swearing. Of the General he writes: 'He has never been very cordial, and now he is likely to be less so; though it was done in the gentlest way, he did not seem to like it. Were it not to become all things to all men in order to save some, I should never trouble them with my company. But how then should I be like Christ? I have been almost the whole morning engaged in a good-humoured dispute with Mrs. P., who, in an instant after my introduction to her, opened all her guns of wit and eloquence against me for attempting to convert the Brahmans.' A little later he writes of a dinner at the brigade-major's with the chief persons of the station: 'I could gain no attention while saying grace; and the moment the ladies withdrew the conversation took such a turn that I was obliged to make a hasty retreat. Oh! the mercy to have escaped their evil ways.'

The year was one of alarms of war, from which the history of our Indian Empire can rarely be free, surrounded as it is by a ring-fence of frontier tribes and often aggressive States. But in those days the great internal conflicts for the consolidation of our power, and the peace and prosperity of peoples exposed to anarchy for centuries, were still being waged. Marathas, Sikhs, and Goorkhas had all to be pacified in 1809. Now the infantry were being sent to the conquest of Bundlekhund and difficult siege of the fortress of Kalinjar, as old as the Mahabharat Epic in which it is mentioned. Now the artillery were under orders to march to Lodiana to check Ranjeet Singh. Now the cavalry were sent off to the, at first, fatal chase of the Goorkhas by Gillespie. Thus it was that their ever-careful chaplain sought to prepare them for the issue:

_October 20._--Spoke to my men on preparation for the Lord's
Supper, and endeavoured to prepare myself for the ordinance, by
considering my former life of sin, and all my unfaithfulness
since my call to the Gospel. My heart was, as usual, insensible
for a long time, but at last a gracious God made me feel some
compunction, and then my feelings were such as I would wish they
always were. I resolved at the time that it should be my special
labour every day to obtain, and hold fast, this humbling view of
my own depravity.

_October 22._ (Sunday.)--Preached at sunrise to the 53rd, on
Acts xxviii. 29. At ten, about sixteen of the regiment, with Mr.
and Mrs. Sherwood and Sabat, met in my bungalow, where, after a
short discourse on 'Behold the Lamb of God,' we commemorated the
death of the Lord. It was the happiest season I have yet had at
the Lord's Table, though my peace and pleasure were not
unalloyed; the rest of the day I felt weak in body, but calm in
mind, and rather spiritual; at night I spoke to the men on Rev.
xxii. 2; the number was double; afterwards had some conversation
on eternal things, but had reason to groan at the
hollow-heartedness and coldness with which I do my best works.

_November 18._--At night I took leave of my beloved Church
previous to their departure for Bundlekhund with their regiment.
I spoke to them from Gen. xxviii: 'I will be with thee in all
places whithersoever thou goest,' etc. The poor men were much
affected; they gave me their wills and watches.

_November 19._ (Sunday.)--Preached at sunrise to the dragoons,
on John i. 17: 'The law was given by Moses.' At eleven at
head-quarters, on Rom. iii. 19.

Nowhere are eucharistic seasons of communion so precious as in exile, and especially in the isolation of a tropical station. Not unfrequently in India, Christian people, far separated from any ordained minister, and about to part from each other, are compelled, by loving obedience to the Lord, to meet thus together. But what joy it must have been to have been ministered to at such times by one of Henry Martyn's consecrated saintliness! Mrs. Sherwood lingers over her description of that Cawnpore service of October 22, 1809--the long inner verandah of the house, where daily prayer was wont to be made, shut in by lofty doors of green lattice-work; the table, with the white cloth and all things requisite, at one end; hassocks on which to kneel, and a high form in front of the table; all 'decent and in good order, according to the forms of the Church of England.' Still there was no church building. His first parade service in the hot winds brought on fever, so that he proposed to ask for the billiard-room, 'which is better than the ball-room,' but in vain. His next service was in the riding-school, but 'the effluvium was such as would please only the knights of the turf. What must the Mohammedans think of us? Well may they call us "dogs," when even in Divine worship we choose to kennel ourselves in such places.' The General delayed to forward to Government the proposal for a church.

Henry Martyn's missionary work among the natives became greatly extended at Cawnpore, as his scrupulous conscience and delicate scholarship allowed him to use in public the colloquial Hindustani, and in conversation the more classical Persian. To Corrie he wrote, five months after his arrival there:

What will friends at home think of Martyn and Corrie? They went
out full of zeal, but, behold! what are they doing? Where are
their converts? They talked of the banyan-tree before they went
out; but now they seem to prefer a snug bungalow to
field-preaching. I fear I should look a little silly if I were
to go home just at this time; but more because I should not be
able to make them understand the state of things than because my
conscience condemns me. Brother, what can you do? If you
itinerate like a European, you will only frighten the people; if
as a native, you will be dead in one year. Yet the latter mode
pleases me, and nothing would give me greater pleasure than so
to live, with the prospect of being able to hold out a few
years.

Again, to an old Cambridge friend:

_November, 1809._--Respecting my heart, about which you ask, I
must acknowledge that H. Martyn's heart at Dinapore is the same
as H. Martyn's heart at Cambridge. The tenor of my prayer is
nearly the same, except on one subject, the conversion of the
heathen. At a distance from the scene of action, and trusting
too much to the highly-coloured description of missionaries, my
heart used to expand with rapture at the hope of seeing
thousands of the natives melting under the Word as soon as it
should be preached to them. Here I am called to exercise
faith--that so it shall one day be. My former feelings on this
subject were more agreeable, and at the same time more according
with the truth; for if we believe the prophets, the scenes that
time shall unfold, 'though surpassing fable, are yet true.'
While I write, hope and joy spring up in my mind. Yes, it shall
be; yonder stream of Ganges shall one day roll through tracts
adorned with Christian churches, and cultivated by Christian
husbandmen, and the holy hymn be heard beneath the shade of the
tamarind. All things are working together to bring on the day,
and my part in the blessed plan, though not at first exactly
consonant to my wishes, is, I believe, appointed me by God. To
translate the Word of God is a work of more lasting benefit than
my preaching would be. But, besides that, I am sorry to say that
my strength for public preaching is almost gone. My
ministrations among the Europeans at this station have injured
my lungs, and I am now obliged to lie by except on the Sabbath
days, and once or twice in the week.... However, I am
sufficiently aware of my important relations to the natives, and
am determined not to strain myself any more for the Europeans.
This rainy season has tried my constitution severely. The first
attack was with spasms, under which I fainted. The second was a
fever, from which a change of air, under God, recovered me.
There is something in the air at the close of the rains so
unfavourable, that public speaking at that time is a violent
strain upon the whole body. Corrie passed down a few weeks ago
to receive his sister. We enjoyed much refreshing communion in
prayer and conversation on our dear friends at and near
Cambridge, and found peculiar pleasure in the minutest
circumstances we could recollect about you all.

At Cawnpore, in front of his house, he began his wonderful preaching to the native beggars and ascetics of all kinds, Hindoo _jogees_ and Mohammedan _fakeers_, the blind and the deaf, the maimed and the halt, the diseased and the dying, the impostor and the truly needy. These classes had soon found out the sympathetic padre-sahib, and to secure peace he seems to have organised a weekly dole of an anna each or of rice.

He wrote to Corrie:

I feel unhappy, not because I do nothing, but because I am not
willing to do my duty. The flesh must be mortified, and I am
reluctant to take up the cross. Sabat said to me yesterday,
'Your beggars are come: why do not you preach to them? It is
your duty.' I made excuses; but why do not I preach to them? My
carnal spirit says that I have been preaching a long time
without success to my servants, who are used to my tongue; what
can I expect from them--the very dregs of the people? But the
true cause is shame: I am afraid of exposing myself to the
contempt of Sabat, my servants, and the mob, by attempting to
speak in a language which I do not speak well. To-day in prayer,
one consideration has been made of some power in overcoming this
shameful backwardness:--these people, if I neglect to speak to
them, will give me a look at the last day which may fill me with
horror. Alas! brother, where is my zeal?

_December 17._ (Sunday.)--Preached to H.M. Light Dragoons on
Rev. iii. 20: 'Behold, I stand at the door and knock,' etc.
There was great attention. In the afternoon the beggars came, to
the number of above four hundred, and, by the help of God, I
determined to preach to them, though I felt as if I were leading
to execution. I stood upon the _chabootra_ in front of which
they were collected.

To Corrie he thus described his talks with his 'congregation of the poor':

I went without fear, trusting to myself, and not to the Lord,
and accordingly I was put to shame--that is, I did not read half
as well as the preceding days. I shuffled and stammered, and
indeed I am persuaded that there were many sentences the poor
things did not understand at all. I spoke of the dry land,
rivers, etc.; here I mentioned Gunga,'a good river,' but there
were others as good. God loves Hindus, but does He not love
others also? He gave them a good river, but to others as good.
All are alike before God. This was received with applause. On
the work of the fourth day, 'Thus sun and moon are lamps. Shall
I worship a candle in my hand? As a candle in the house, so is
the sun in the sky.' Applause from the Mohammedans. There were
also hisses, but whether these betokened displeasure against me
or the worship of the sun I do not know. I then charged them to
worship Gunga and sun and moon no more, but the honour they used
to give to them, henceforward to give to God their Maker. Who
knows but even this was a blow struck, at least a branch lopped
from the tree of heathenism? The number was about 550. You need
not be deterred, dear brother, if this simple way of teaching do
any good.

Again:

I spoke on the corruption of human nature, 'The Lord saw that
every imagination,' etc. In the application I said, 'Hence all
outward works are useless while the heart remains in this state.
You may wash in Gunga, but the heart is not washed.' Some old
men shook their heads, in much the same way as we do when
seriously affected with any truth. The number was about seven
hundred. The servants told me it was nonsense to give them all
rice, as they were not all poor; hundreds of them are working
people; among them was a whole row of Brahmins. I spoke to them
about the Flood; this was interesting, as they were very
attentive, and at the end said, 'Shabash wa wa' (Well said).

Mrs. Sherwood pictures the scene after an almost pathetic fashion:

We went often on the Sunday evenings to hear the addresses of
Mr. Martyn to the assembly of mendicants, and we generally stood
behind him. On these occasions we had to make our way through a
dense crowd, with a temperature often rising above 92°, whilst
the sun poured its burning rays upon us through a lurid haze of
dust. Frightful were the objects which usually met our eyes in
this crowd: so many monstrous and diseased limbs, and hideous
faces, were displayed before us, and pushed forward for our
inspection, that I have often made my way to the _chabootra_
with my eyes shut, whilst Mr. Sherwood led me. On reaching the
platform I was surrounded by our own people, and yet even there
I scarcely dared to look about me. I still imagine that I hear
the calm, distinct, and musical tones of Henry Martyn, as he
stood raised above the people, endeavouring, by showing the
purity of the Divine law, to convince the unbelievers that by
their works they were all condemned; and that this was the case
of every man of the offspring of Adam, and they therefore needed
a Saviour who was both willing and able to redeem them. From
time to time low murmurs and curses would arise in the distance,
and then roll forward, till they became so loud as to drown the
voice of this pious one, generally concluding with hissings and
fierce cries. But when the storm passed away, again might he be
heard going on where he had left off, in the same calm,
steadfast tone, as if he were incapable of irritation from the
interruption. Mr. Martyn himself assisted in giving each person
his _pice_ (copper) after the address was concluded; and when he
withdrew to his bungalow I have seen him drop, almost fainting,
on a sofa, for he had, as he often said, even at that time, a
slow inflammation burning in his chest, and one which he knew
must eventually terminate his existence. In consequence of this
he was usually in much pain after any exertion of speaking.