Chapter VII (1)

LIFE IN AVA AND OUNG-PEN-LA.
1823-1826.

When Mr. and Mrs. Judson left Rangoon to establish their home in Ava, the outlook was encouraging. They had left behind them a small but vigorous church of eighteen converted Burmans, under the care of Mr. and Mrs. Hough, and Mr. and Mrs. Wade. They had been invited by the king to live in the capital city, and had received from him a plot of ground on which to build a mission-house. They felt sure of royal protection and favor. Many persons of high rank seemed kindly disposed to the new religion; while Dr. Price had won golden opinions by his medical skill.

They immediately commenced the building of a little dwelling-house, and Mrs. Judson soon had a school of three native girls. Mr. Judson preached in Burmese every Sunday at Dr. Price’s house, and held worship every evening. The journey up the Irrawaddy and the beginning of their life in Ava are described in the following fragment from a letter written by Mrs. Judson to her parents and sisters:

“AVA, _February_ 10, 1824.

“After two years and a half wandering, you will be pleased to hear
that I have at last arrived at home, so far as this life is concerned,
and am once more quietly and happily settled with Mr. Judson.

“We had a quick and pleasant passage from Calcutta to Rangoon. Mr.
Judson’s boat was all in readiness, my baggage was immediately taken
from the ship to the boat, and in seven days from my arrival we were
on our way to the capital. Our boat was small and inconvenient; but
the current at this season is so very strong, and the wind always
against us, that our progress was slow indeed. The season, however,
was cool and delightful; we were preserved from dangers by day and
robbers by night, and arrived in safety in six weeks. The
A-rah-wah-tee (Irrawadi) is a noble river; its banks everywhere
covered with immortal beings, destined to the same eternity as
ourselves. We often walked through the villages, and though we never
received the least insult, always attracted universal attention. A
foreign female was a sight never before beheld, and all were anxious
that their friends and relatives should have a view. Crowds followed
us through the villages, and some, who were less civilized than
others, would run some way before us in order to have a _long_ look as
we approached them. In one instance, the boat being some time in
doubling a point we had walked over, we seated ourselves, when the
villagers, as usual, assembled, and Mr. Judson introduced the subject
of religion. Several old men who were present entered into
conversation, while the multitude was all attention. The apparent
schoolmaster of the village coming up, Mr. Judson handed him a tract,
and requested him to read. After proceeding some way, he remarked to
the assembly that such a writing was worthy of being copied, and asked
Mr. Judson to remain while he copied it. Mr. Judson informed him he
might keep the tract, on condition he read it to all his neighbors. We
could not but hope the Spirit of God would bless those few simple
truths to the salvation of some of their souls.

“Our boat was near being upset in passing through one of the rapids
with which this river abounds. The rudder became entangled in the
rocks, which brought the boat across the stream and laid her on one
side. The steersman, however, had presence of mind sufficient to cut
the rudder from the boat, which caused her to right, without
experiencing any other inconvenience than a thorough fright and the
loss of our breakfast, which was precipitated from the fireplace into
the water, together with everything on the outside of the boat.

“On our arrival at Ava, we had more difficulties to encounter, and
such as we had never before experienced. We had no home, no house to
shelter us from the burning sun by day and the cold dews at night. Dr.
Price had kindly met us on the way, and urged our taking up our
residence with him; but his house was in such an unfinished state, and
the walls so damp (of brick, and just built), that spending two or
three hours threw me into a fever, and induced me to feel that it
would be presumption to remain longer. We had but one alternative—to
remain in the boat till we could build a small house on the spot of
ground which the king gave Mr. Judson last year. And you will hardly
believe it possible—for I almost doubt my senses—that, in just a
fortnight from our arrival, we moved into a house built in that time,
and which is sufficiently large to make us comfortable. It is in a
most delightful situation, out of the dust of the town, and on the
bank of the river. The spot of ground given by his majesty is small,
being only one hundred and twenty feet long and seventy-five wide; but
it is our own, and is the most healthy situation I have seen. Our
house is raised four feet from the ground, and consists of three small
rooms and a veranda.

“I hardly know how we shall bear the hot season, which is just
commencing, as our house is built of boards, and before night is
heated like an oven. Nothing but brick is a shelter from the heat of
Ava, where the thermometer, even in the shade, frequently rises to a
hundred and eight degrees. We have worship every evening in Burman,
when a number of the natives assemble; and every Sabbath Mr. Judson
preaches the other side of the river in Dr. Price’s house. We feel it
an inestimable privilege, that amid all our discouragements we have
the language, and are able constantly to communicate truths which can
save the soul.

“My female school has already commenced with three little girls, who
are learning to read, sew, etc. Two of them are sisters, and we have
named them _Mary_ and _Abby Hasseltine_. One of them is to be
supported with the money which the ‘Judson Association of Bradford
Academy’ have engaged to collect. They are fine children, and improve
as rapidly as any children in the world. Their mother is deranged, and
their father gave them to me to educate, so that I have been at no
expense for them excepting their food and clothes. I have already
begun to make inquiries for children, and doubt not we shall be
directed in regard to our school.”

The following letter from Mr. Judson to Dr. Baldwin shows, however, that a dark cloud was gathering on the horizon:

“AVA, _February_ 19, 1824.

“My last was dated the 7th of December, a few days after Mrs. J.’s
arrival in Rangoon. We left on the 13th ensuing, and were six weeks on
the journey. A few days below Ava, brother Price met us in a small
boat, having heard of our approach. From him we first learned that all
the _A-twen-woons_, the privy council of the king, had been turned out
of office, and a new set appointed, with whom we had no acquaintance
or interest. Various occurrences had conspired to render the king
somewhat disaffected toward foreigners. Brother Price has made but
little advance in the royal favor. On my appearing at the palace, I
found that a year had made great changes. My old friends and advocates
before the king were missing. Very few recognized me. At length his
majesty came forward, just spoke to me, and accepted a small present.
But I have seen him twice since without obtaining a word or look.

“The only persons who ever received me with real cordiality are Prince
M. and his wife; but even they are not much disposed to converse on
religion.

“I have public worship every Lord’s day at brother Price’s, as he is
able, from his acquaintance with the neighbors around him, to collect
an assembly of a dozen or twenty, including two or three of the
disciples who accompanied us from Rangoon.

“But my time has been hitherto almost wholly occupied in getting up
something to shelter us on the lot formally assigned me by the
Government. It will be necessary also to build a small brick house as
soon as possible, and to use every other precaution against the heat,
which is so intense during the months of April, May, and June, as to
raise the thermometer to one hundred and eight and ten in the shade.

“A misunderstanding has existed for several months between this and
the Bengal Government. Troops have marched from both sides to the
frontiers. War appeared at one time to be certain, but the latest
accounts are rather pacific. In the case of actual war, as the
distinction between Americans and Englishmen is pretty well understood
in this place, we hope we shall not be considered as implicated, and
suffer no other inconvenience than that of having all communication
with our friends cut off, except in case of war’s reaching the
capital, when we shall be exposed to the vicissitudes and dangers
incident to such a state.

“But in all cases, we trust that we have a few dear friends at home
who bear us on their hearts at the throne of grace, and a still dearer
and greater Friend at the right hand of the Divine Presence in Heaven,
who is touched with the feeling of our infirmities, and will
graciously succor us in the time of trouble and make us come off
conquerors at last.

“But, my dear and venerable friend and brother and father, you are,
from long experience, more able than I am to taste the sweetness of
this precious truth; and your advanced age, and the grace of Christ,
enable you to hope that you will ere long be allowed to adopt the
triumphant language of the Apostle Paul. Pray for me, that I may be
accounted worthy to hold out to the end, and finally meet with you
before the throne, and handle a harp of gold in the dear Redeemer’s
praise.”

Mr. Judson’s forebodings were well founded. War soon broke out between Burmah and the English Government in India. For two years after the writing of the above letter, the Christians of America were kept in a state of terrible suspense, unbroken by any tidings from their missionaries in Ava, which was only assuaged by fervent and universal prayer on their behalf.

The occasion of the war was Chittagong, that particular strip of low land lying along the sea and flanking Burmah on the west, and to which Mr. Colman had gone to prepare an asylum for the Judsons in case they should be driven out of Rangoon. This district was under British rule, and refugees from the cruel despotism of Burmah had taken shelter there. The Burman monarch insisted that his victims should be arrested by the English authorities and handed over to him. Besides, he felt that Chittagong belonged naturally to Burmah. And such was his pride and his contempt for British prowess, that he deemed it quite possible for him not only to recover this territory, but even to conquer the whole of Bengal.

When war actually broke out, suspicion fell at once on all the white foreigners residing in Ava. They were thought to be spies secretly acting in collusion with the English Government. They were immediately arrested, fettered, and thrown into the death-prison.

“I was seized,” Dr. Judson writes, “on the 8th of June, 1824, in
consequence of the war with Bengal, and in company with Dr. Price,
three Englishmen, one American, and one Greek, was thrown into the
death-prison at Ava, where we lay eleven months—nine months in three
pairs, and two months in five pairs of fetters. The scenes we
witnessed and the sufferings we underwent during that period I would
fain consign to oblivion. From the death-prison at Ava, we were
removed to a country prison at Oung-pen-la, ten miles distant, under
circumstances of such severe treatment, that one of our number, the
Greek, expired on the road; and some of the rest, among whom was
myself, were scarcely able to move for several days. It was the
intention of the Government, in removing us from Ava, to have us
sacrificed in order to insure victory over the foreigners; but the
sudden disgrace and death of the adviser of that measure prevented its
execution. I remained in the Oung-pen-la prison six months in one pair
of fetters; at the expiration of which period, I was taken out of
irons, and sent under a strict guard to the Burmese headquarters at
Mah-looan, to act as interpreter and translator. Two months more
elapsed, when, on my return to Ava, I was released at the instance of
Moung Shwa-loo, the north governor of the palace, and put under his
charge. During the six weeks that I resided with him, the affairs of
the Government became desperate, the British troops making steady
advances on the capital; and after Dr. Price had been twice dispatched
to negotiate for peace (a business which I declined as long as
possible), I was taken by force and associated with him. We found the
British above Pah-gan; and on returning to Ava with their final terms,
I had the happiness of procuring the release of the very last of my
fellow-prisoners; and on the 21st inst. obtained the reluctant consent
of the Government to my final departure from Ava with Mrs. Judson.”

In these few modest words Mr. Judson passes over all the prolonged horrors which he endured in the confinement of an Oriental jail. Let us glance at his experience more in detail. His imprisonment was remarkable for its _duration_. For nine months he was confined in three pairs of fetters, two months in five, six months in one; for two months he was a prisoner at large; and for nearly two months, although released from prison, he was yet restrained in Ava under the charge of the north governor of the palace, so that his confinement reached nearly to the end of twenty-one long months.

Again, for most of the time of his confinement, he was shut up in a loathsome, wretched _place_.

“It derives its remarkable, well-selected name,
_Let-ma-yoon_—literally interpreted, _hand, shrink not_—from the
revolting scenes of cruelty practiced within its walls. To those
acquainted with the Burmese language, the name conveys a peculiar
impression of terror. It contemplates the extreme of human suffering,
and when this has reached a point at which our nature recoils—when it
is supposed that any one bearing the human form might well refuse to
be the instrument to add to it, the hand of the executioner is
apostrophized and encouraged not to follow the dictates of the heart:
‘Thine eye shall not pity and thine hand not spare.’”[28]

The _Let-ma-yoon_ was a building about forty feet long and thirty feet wide. It was five or six feet high along the sides, but as the roof sloped, the centre of it was perhaps double that height. There was no ventilation except through the chinks between the boards and through the door, which was generally closed. On the thin roof poured down the burning rays of a tropical sun. In this room were confined nearly one hundred prisoners of both sexes and all nationalities. Dr. Price thus describes the impressions he received on entering the prison:

“A little bamboo door opened, and I rose to go toward it. But oh! who
can describe my sensations! shackled like a common felon, in the care
of hangmen, the offscouring of the country, turned like a dog into his
kennel, my wife, my dear family, left to suffer alone all the rudeness
such wretches are capable of. The worst, however, was yet to come; for
making the best of my way up the high steps, I was ushered into the
grand apartment. Horror of horrors, what a sight! never to my dying
day shall I forget the scene: a dim lamp in the midst, just making
darkness visible, and discovering to my horrified gaze sixty or
seventy wretched objects, some in long rows made fast in the stocks,
some strung on long poles, some simply fettered; but all sensible of a
new acquisition of misery in the approach of a new prisoner.
Stupefied, I stopped to gaze till, goaded on, I proceeded toward the
further end, when I again halted. A new and unexpected sight met my
eyes. Till now I had been kept in ignorance of the fate of my
companions. A long row of white objects, stretched on the floor in a
most crowded situation, revealed to me, however, but too well their
sad state, and I was again urged forward. Poor old Rodgers, wishing to
retain the end of the bamboo, made way for me to be placed alongside
of Mr. Judson. ‘We all hoped you would have escaped, you were so long
coming,’ was the first friendly salutation I had yet received; but
alas, it was made by friends whose sympathy was now unavailable.”

The following description of the interior of this jail is given by an English fellow-prisoner of Mr. Judson:

“The only articles of furniture the place contained were these: First,
and most prominent, was a gigantic row of stocks, similar in its
construction to that formerly used in England, but now nearly extinct;
though dilapidated specimens may still be seen in some of the
marketplaces of our own country towns. It was capable of accommodating
more than a dozen occupants, and like a huge alligator opened and shut
its jaws with a loud snap upon its prey. Several smaller reptiles,
interesting varieties of the same species, lay basking around this
monster, each holding by the leg a pair of hapless victims consigned
to its custody. These were heavy logs of timber, bored with holes to
admit the feet, and fitted with wooden pins to hold them fast. In the
centre of the apartment was placed a tripod, holding a large earthen
cup filled with earth-oil, to be used as a lamp during the
night-watches; and lastly, a simple but suspicious-looking piece of
machinery whose painful uses it was my fate to test before many hours
had elapsed. It was merely a long bamboo suspended from the roof by a
rope at each end, and worked by blocks or pulleys, to raise or depress
it at pleasure.

“Before me, stretched on the floor, lay forty or fifty hapless
wretches, whose crimes or misfortunes had brought them into this place
of torment. They were all nearly naked, and the half-famished features
and skeleton frames of many of them too plainly told the story of
their protracted sufferings. Very few were without chains, and some
had one or both feet in the stocks besides. A sight of such squalid
wretchedness can hardly be imagined. Silence seemed to be the order of
the day; perhaps the poor creatures were so engrossed with their own
misery that they hardly cared to make any remarks on the intrusion of
so unusual an inmate as myself.

“If the _ensemble_ be difficult to portray, the stench was absolutely
indescribable, for it was not like anything which exists elsewhere in
creation. I will therefore give the facts, and leave the reader’s nose
to understand them by a synthetic course of reasoning—if it can.

“The prison had never been washed, nor even swept, since it was built.
So I was told, and have no doubt it was true; for, besides the ocular
proof from its present condition, it is certain no attempt was made to
cleanse it during my subsequent tenancy of eleven months. This gave a
kind of fixedness or permanency to the fetid odors, until the very
floors and walls were saturated with them, and joined in emitting the
pest. Putrid remains of castaway animal and vegetable stuff, which
needed no broom to make it _move on_—the stale fumes from thousands of
tobacco-pipes—the scattered ejections of the pulp and liquid from
their everlasting betel, and other nameless abominations, still more
disgusting, which strewed the floor—and if to this be added the
exudations from the bodies of a crowd of never-washed convicts,
encouraged by the thermometer at 100°, in a den almost without
ventilation—is it possible to say what it _smelt_ like?

“As might have been expected from such a state of things, the place
was teeming with creeping vermin to such an extent that very soon
reconciled me to the plunder of the greater portion of my dress.”

Surely it were enough for Mr. Judson to be shut up in the hot, stifling stench of a place like this without having his ankles and legs weighted with five pairs of irons, the scars from which he wore to his dying day. He could say with the Apostle Paul, “I bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus.” In each pair of fetters the two iron rings were connected by a chain so short that the heel of one foot could hardly be advanced to the toe of the other; and this task could be accomplished only by “shuffling a few inches at a time.” The five pairs of irons weighed about fourteen pounds, and when they were removed after being long worn, there was a strained sensation, the equilibrium of the body seemingly destroyed, so that the head was too heavy for the feet. Then at nightfall, lest the prisoners should escape, they were _strung_ (to use Dr. Price’s graphic if not elegant expression) on a bamboo pole.

“When night came on,” writes one of Mr. Judson’s fellow-prisoners,
“the ‘Father’ of the establishment, entering, stalked toward our
corner. The meaning of the bamboo now became apparent. It was passed
between the legs of each individual, and when it had threaded our
number, seven in all, a man at each end hoisted it up by the blocks to
a height which allowed our shoulders to rest on the ground, while our
feet depended from the iron rings of the fetters. The adjustment of
the height was left to the judgment of our kind-hearted parent, who
stood by to see that it was not high enough to endanger life, nor low
enough to exempt from pain.... In the morning, our considerate parent
made his appearance, and, with his customary grin, lowered down the
bamboo to within a foot of the floor, to the great relief of our
benumbed limbs, in which the blood slowly began again to circulate.”

When Mr. Judson was subjected to these indignities and tortures, he was in the very prime of life—thirty-six years old. He had come to that age when a good physical constitution is thoroughly seasoned and well qualified to endure hardship.

He had always taken the best care of his health consistent with the performance of his multiform duties. Even before leaving America, he had adopted the following rules: First, frequently to inhale large quantities of air, so as to expand the lungs to the uttermost; secondly, daily to sponge the whole body in cold water; and thirdly, and above all, to take systematic exercise in walking.

Again, he had that tough, wiry physique which endures unexpectedly even during prolonged crises. All this was in his favor. But, on the other hand, he was a student, unused to suffering hardship. His naturally vigorous constitution had been somewhat enfeebled by ten years of close application to study in a tropical climate, and of late years had been completely shattered by repeated blows of fever and ague. He was reared in the cold, bracing air of New England, and during the tedious hours of imprisonment, how often must his memory have projected the sufferings of the Oriental jail against the background of the cool, green hillsides of his childhood. For

... “this is truth the poet sings,
That a sorrow’s crown of sorrow is remembering happier things.”

And his was an active, methodical nature, to which the enforced idleness of twenty-one months must have brought the keenest torture. There was his Burman Bible unfinished, and ten years of work in Rangoon going to pieces in his absence. He longed to be preaching the Gospel. Now that he had at last completely mastered the native tongue, he was filled with Jeremiah’s consuming zeal. “His word was in mine heart, as a burning fire shut up in my bones.”

Endowed with a nervous temperament, his nature was exceedingly sensitive to discomfort. One of his fellow-prisoners says: “His painful sensitiveness to anything gross or uncleanly, amounting almost to folly, was an unfortunate virtue to possess, and made him live a life of constant martyrdom.” Of his personal habits, Mrs. E. C. Judson says:

“His predilection for neatness, uniformity, and order amounted,
indeed, to a passion. Then he had an innate sort of refinement about
him, which would subject him to annoyance when a less sensitive person
would only be amused—a most inconvenient qualification for a
missionary. This passion for order—which I should rather consider an
unconquerable love for the beautiful and elegant, studiously
perverted—displayed itself rather oddly after the means for its
natural gratification and development were cut off. Nobody ever
luxuriated more in perfectly spotless linen, though, partly from
necessity, and partly because there was a suspicion among his friends
that he would wear no other, it was always coarse. The tie of the
narrow black ribbon, which he wore instead of a neckcloth, was
perfect, and the ribbon itself would not have soiled the purest snow,
though it was often limp and rusty from frequent washing. His general
dress was always clean, and adjusted with scrupulous exactness, though
it often looked as if it might have belonged to some rustic of the
last century, being of the plainest material, and in fashion the
American idea of what was proper for a missionary, perpetuated in
broad caricature by a bungling Bengalee tailor. Most people thought
that he dressed oddly from a love of eccentricity; but the truth is,
he was not in the least aware of anything peculiar in his costume,
never seeing himself in a mirror larger than his pocket toilet-glass.
He could see his feet, however; and his shoes never had a spot on
their polish, nor the long, white, carefully-gartered stockings a
wrinkle, much less a stain. In the construction and arrangement of his
unique studying apparatus, which was composed of two long, narrow
boxes mounted on a teak table, there was the same mixture of plainness
with neatness and order, and, what was rather conspicuous in all his
arrangements, a wonderful capacity for convenience. No one ever
thought of invading his study corner; for he dusted his books and
papers himself, and knew so well where everything was placed, that he
could have laid his hand upon the smallest article in the darkest
night.”

A nature amply endowed with these fine sensibilities must have instinctively shrunk from the filth of the dungeon and the squalor of the prisoners; while the constrained and crowded position, night and day, and the galling fetters, were almost unendurable.

There was also much to shock his moral nature. He found himself thrown into close association with the basest criminals of the Burman capital. His pure look rested upon their repulsive features, his reluctant ears were filled with their vulgar and blasphemous jests. Besides this, again and again he saw the wretched prisoner tortured with the cord and the mallet, and was forced to hear the writhing victim’s shriek of anguish.

Again, he was a man of the strongest and tenderest affections. What keen mental anguish must he have experienced at the thought of his beloved wife threading alone the hot, crowded streets, hourly exposed to the insults of rude Burman officials; day by day bringing or sending food to the jail; assuaging the wretchedness of the prisoners by bribing their keepers; pleading for the release of her husband with one Burman officer after another, and with such pathetic eloquence that on one occasion she melted to tears even the old governor of the prison; giving birth to her babe during a confinement of only twenty days; carrying her little Maria all the way in her arms to that “never-to-be-forgotten place,” Oung-pen-la, her only conveyance a rough cart, the violent motion of which, together with the dreadful heat and dust, made her almost distracted; nursing her infant and the little native girls under her care through a course of small-pox; and at last, broken down herself, and brought to death’s door by the same loathsome disease, succeeded by the dread spotted fever.

Add to these horrors of Mr. Judson’s imprisonment the daily and even hourly anticipation of torture and death, and it will be difficult to conceive of a denser cloud of miseries than that which settled down on his devoted head. The prisoners knew that they were arrested as spies. The Burman king and his generals were exasperated by the rapid and unexpected successes of the English army, and Mr. Judson and his fellow-prisoners had every reason to suppose that this pent-up fury would be poured upon their heads. It was customary to _question_ the prisoner with instruments of torture—the cord and the iron mallet. Rumors of a frightful doom were constantly sounding in their ears. Now they heard their keepers during the night sharpening the knives to decapitate the prisoners the next morning; now the roar of their mysterious fellow-prisoner, a huge, starving lioness, convinced them that they were to be executed by being thrown into her cage; now it was reported that they were to be burned up together with their prison as a sacrifice; now that they were to be buried alive at the head of the Burman army in order to insure its victory over the English. The following description by Mr. Gouger of the solemn hour of three, shows the exquisite mental torture to which the prisoners were subjected:

“Within the walls nothing worthy of notice occurred until the hour of
three in the afternoon. As this hour approached, we noticed that the
talking and jesting of the community gradually died away; all seemed
to be under the influence of some powerful restraint, until that fatal
hour was announced by the deep tones of a powerful gong suspended in
the palace-yard, and a death-like silence prevailed. If a word was
spoken it was in a whisper. It seemed as though even breathing were
suspended under the control of a panic terror, too deep for
expression, which pervaded every bosom. We did not long remain in
ignorance of the cause. If any of the prisoners were to suffer death
that day, the hour of three was that at which they were taken out for
execution. The very manner of it was the acme of cold-blooded cruelty.
The hour was scarcely tolled by the gong when the wicket opened, and
the hideous figure of a spotted man appeared, who, without uttering a
word, walked straight to his victim, now for the first time probably
made acquainted with his doom. As many of these unfortunate people
knew no more than ourselves the fate that awaited them, this mystery
was terrible and agonizing; each one fearing, up to the last moment,
that the stride of the spot might be directed his way. When the
culprit disappeared with his conductor, and the prison door closed
behind them, those who remained began again to breathe more freely;
for another day, at least, their lives were safe.

“I have described this process just as I saw it practiced. On this
first day, two men were thus led away in total silence; not a useless
question was asked by the one party, nor explanation given by the
other; all was too well understood. After this inhuman custom was made
known to us, we could not but participate with the rest in their
diurnal misgivings, and shudder at the sound of the gong and the
apparition of the _pahquet_. It was a solemn daily lesson of an
impressive character, ‘Be ye also ready.’”

It is no wonder that Mr. Judson in the midst of these horrors took refuge in the quietism of Madame Guyon, and used often to murmur her beautiful lines:

“No place I seek, but to fulfil
In life, and death, Thy lovely will;
No succor in my woes I want,
Except what Thou art pleased to grant.
Our days are numbered—let us spare
Our anxious hearts a needless care;
’Tis Thine to number out our days,
And ours to give them to Thy praise.”

His sublime faith in God never faltered. One of his fellow-captives thus writes of him:

“Often he expressed to me such sentiments as these: ‘Think what the
consequences of this invasion must be. Here have I been ten years
preaching the Gospel to timid listeners who wished to embrace the
truth, but dared not; beseeching the emperor to grant liberty of
conscience to his people, but without success; and now, when all human
means seemed at an end, God opens the way by leading a Christian
nation to subdue the country. It is possible that my life may be
spared; if so, with what ardor and gratitude shall I pursue my work;
and if not, His will be done; the door will be opened for others who
will do the work better.’”

The following letter from Mrs. Judson to her brother tells the story of the imprisonment, and forms, perhaps, the most thrilling recital to be found in the annals of missions:

“RANGOON, _May_ 26, 1826.

“I commence this letter with the intention of giving you the
particulars of our captivity and sufferings at Ava. How long my
patience will allow my reviewing scenes of disgust and horror, the
conclusion of this letter will determine. I had kept a journal of
everything that had transpired from our arrival at Ava, but destroyed
it at the commencement of our difficulties.

“The first certain intelligence we received of the declaration of war
by the Burmese was on our arrival at Tsen-pyoo-kywon, about a hundred
miles this side of Ava, where part of the troops under the command of
the celebrated Bandoola had encamped. As we proceeded on our journey,
we met Bandoola himself with the remainder of his troops, gaily
equipped, seated on his golden barge, and surrounded by a fleet of
golden war-boats, one of which was instantly dispatched from the other
side of the river to hail us, and make all necessary inquiries. We
were allowed to proceed quietly on, when we had informed the messenger
that we were Americans, _not English_, and were going to Ava in
obedience to the command of his majesty.

“On our arrival at the capital, we found that Dr. Price was out of
favor at court, and that suspicion rested on most of the foreigners
then at Ava. Your brother visited at the palace two or three times,
but found the king’s manner toward him very different from what it
formerly had been; and the queen, who had hitherto expressed wishes
for my speedy arrival, now made no inquiries after me, nor intimated a
wish to see me. Consequently, I made no effort to visit at the palace,
though almost daily invited to visit some of the branches of the royal
family, who were living in their own houses, out of the palace
enclosure. Under these circumstances, we thought our most prudent
course lay in prosecuting our original intention of building a house,
and commencing missionary operations as occasions offered, thus
endeavoring to convince the Government that we had really nothing to
do with the present war.

“In two or three weeks after our arrival, the king, queen, all the
members of the royal family, and most of the officers of Government,
returned to Amarapoora, in order to come and take possession of the
new palace in the customary style. As there has been much
misunderstanding relative to Ava and Amarapoora, both being called the
capital of the Burmese empire, I will here remark that the present Ava
was formerly the seat of Government; but soon after the old king had
ascended the throne, it was forsaken, and a new palace built at
Amarapoora, about six miles from Ava, in which he remained during his
life. In the fourth year of the reign of the present king, Amarapoora
was in its turn forsaken, and a new and beautiful palace built at Ava,
which was _then_ in ruins, but is _now the capital_ of the Burmese
empire. The king and royal family had been living in temporary
buildings at Ava, during the completion of the new palace, which gave
occasion for their returning to Amarapoora.

“For several weeks nothing took place to alarm us, and we went on with
our school. Mr. Judson preached every Sabbath; all the materials for
building a brick house were procured, and the masons had made
considerable progress in raising the building.

“On the 23d of May, 1824, just as we had concluded worship at the
doctor’s house, the other side of the river, a messenger came to
inform us that Rangoon was taken by the English. The intelligence
produced a shock, in which was a mixture of fear and joy. Mr. Gouger,
a young merchant residing at Ava, was then with us, and had much more
reason to fear than the rest of us. We all, however, immediately
returned to our house, and began to consider what was to be done. Mr.
G. went to Prince Thah-ya-wa-dee, the king’s most influential brother,
who informed him he need not give himself any uneasiness, as he had
mentioned the subject to his majesty, who had replied, that ‘the few
foreigners residing at Ava had nothing to do with the war, and should
not be molested.’

“The Government were now all in motion. An army of ten or twelve
thousand men, under the command of the kyee-woon-gyee, were sent off
in three or four days, and were to be joined by the sakyah-woon-gyee,
who had previously been appointed viceroy of Rangoon, and who was on
his way thither when the news of its attack reached him. No doubt was
entertained of the defeat of the English; the only fear of the king
was, that the foreigners, hearing of the advance of the Burmese
troops, would be so alarmed as to flee on board their ships and
depart, before there would be time to secure them as slaves. ‘Bring
for me,’ said a wild young buck of the palace, ‘six kala-pyoos [white
strangers] to row my boat.’ ‘And to me,’ said the lady of a woon-gyee,
‘send four white strangers to manage the affairs of my house, as I
understand they are trusty servants.’ The war-boats, in high glee,
passed our house, the soldiers singing and dancing, and exhibiting
gestures of the most joyous kind. ‘Poor fellows!’ said we, ‘you will
probably never dance again.’ And it so proved, for few, if any, ever
again saw their native home.

“As soon as the army were dispatched, the Government began to inquire
the cause of the arrival of the strangers at Rangoon. There must be
spies in the country, suggested some, who had invited them over. And
who so likely to be spies as the Englishmen residing at Ava? A report
was in circulation that Captain Laird, lately arrived, had brought
Bengal papers which contained the intention of the English to take
Rangoon, and it was kept a secret from his majesty. An inquiry was
instituted. The three Englishmen, Gouger, Laird, and Rogers, were
called and examined. It was found they had seen the papers, and were
put in confinement, though not in prison. We now began to tremble for
ourselves, and were in daily expectation of some dreadful event.

“At length Mr. Judson and Dr. Price were summoned to a court of
examination, where strict inquiry was made relative to all they knew.
The great point seemed to be whether they had been in the habit of
making communications to foreigners of the state of the country, etc.
They answered, they had always written to their friends in America,
but had no correspondence with English officers, or the Bengal
Government. After their examination they were not put in confinement,
as the Englishmen had been, but were allowed to return to their
houses, in examining the accounts of Mr. Gouger, it was found that Mr.
Judson and Dr. Price had taken money of him to a considerable amount.
Ignorant as were the Burmese of our mode of receiving money by orders
on Bengal, this circumstance, to their suspicious minds, was a
sufficient evidence that the missionaries were in the pay of the
English, and very probably spies. It was thus represented to the king,
who, in an angry tone, ordered the immediate arrest of the ‘two
teachers.’

“On the 8th of June, just as we were preparing for dinner, in rushed
an officer, holding a black book, with a dozen Burmans, accompanied by
_one_, whom, from his spotted face, we knew to be an executioner, and
a ‘son of the prison.’ ‘Where is the teacher?’ was the first inquiry.
Mr. Judson presented himself. ‘You are called by the king,’ said the
officer—a form of speech always used when about to arrest a criminal.
The spotted man instantly seized Mr. Judson, threw him on the floor,
and produced the small cord, the instrument of torture. I caught hold
of his arm. ‘Stay,’ said I; ‘I will give you money.’ ‘Take her too,’
said the officer; ‘she also is a foreigner.’ Mr. Judson, with an
imploring look, begged they would let me remain till further orders.
The scene was now shocking beyond description. The whole neighborhood
had collected; the masons at work on the brick house threw down their
tools, and ran; the little Burman children were screaming and crying;
the Bengalee servants stood in amazement at the indignities offered
their master; and the hardened executioner, with a kind of hellish
joy, drew tight the cords, bound Mr. Judson fast, and dragged him off
I knew not whither. In vain I begged and entreated the spotted face to
take the silver, and loosen the ropes; but he spurned my offers, and
immediately departed. I gave the money, however, to Moung Ing to
follow after, to make some further attempt to mitigate the torture of
Mr. Judson; but instead of succeeding, when a few rods from the house,
the unfeeling wretches again threw their prisoner on the ground, and
drew the cords still tighter, so as almost to prevent respiration.

“The officer and his gang proceeded on to the court-house, where the
governor of the city and officers were collected, one of whom read the
order of the king to commit Mr. Judson to the death-prison, into which
he was soon hurled, the door closed, and Moung Ing saw no more. What a
night was now before me! I retired into my room, and endeavored to
obtain consolation from committing my case to God, and imploring
fortitude and strength to suffer whatever awaited me. But the
consolation of retirement was not long allowed me, for the magistrate
of the place had come into the veranda, and continually called me to
come out, and submit to his examination. But previously to going out,
I destroyed all my letters, journals, and writings of every kind, lest
they should disclose the fact that we had correspondents in England,
and had minuted down every occurrence since our arrival in the
country. When this work of destruction was finished, I went out, and
submitted to the examination of the magistrate, who inquired very
minutely of everything I knew; then ordered the gates of the compound
to be shut, no person to be allowed to go in or out, placed a guard of
ten ruffians, to whom he gave a strict charge to keep me safe, and
departed.

“It was now dark. I retired to an inner room with my four little
Burman girls, and barred the doors. The guard instantly ordered me to
unbar the doors and come out, or they would break the house down. I
obstinately refused to obey, and endeavored to intimidate them by
threatening to complain of their conduct to higher authorities on the
morrow. Finding me resolved in disregarding their orders, they took
the two Bengalee servants, and confined them in the stocks in a very
painful position. I could not endure this, but called the head man to
the window, and promised to make them all a present in the morning, if
they would release the servants. After much debate, and many severe
threatenings, they consented, but seemed resolved to annoy me as much
as possible. My unprotected, desolate state, my entire uncertainty of
the fate of Mr. Judson, and the dreadful carousings and almost
diabolical language of the guard, all conspired to make it by far the
most distressing night I had ever passed. You may well imagine, my
dear brother, that sleep was a stranger to my eyes, and peace and
composure to my mind.

“The next morning I sent Moung Ing to ascertain the situation of your
brother, and give him food, if still living. He soon returned, with
the intelligence that Mr. Judson and all the white foreigners were
confined in the death-prison, with three pairs of iron fetters each,
and fastened to a long pole, to prevent their moving! The point of my
anguish now was, that I was a prisoner myself, and could make no
efforts for the release of the missionaries. I begged and entreated
the magistrate to allow me to go to some member of Government to state
my case; but he said he did not dare to consent, for fear I should
make my escape. I next wrote a note to one of the king’s sisters, with
whom I had been intimate, requesting her to use her influence for the
release of the teachers. The note was returned, with this message: she
‘did not understand it’; which was a polite refusal to interfere;
though I afterward ascertained that she had an anxious desire to
assist us, but dared not, on account of the queen. The day dragged
heavily away, and another dreadful night was before me. I endeavored
to soften the feelings of the guard by giving them tea and cigars for
the night; so that they allowed me to remain inside of my room without
threatening, as they did the night before. But the idea of your
brother being stretched on the bare floor, in irons and confinement,
haunted my mind like a spectre, and prevented my obtaining any quiet
sleep, though nature was almost exhausted.

“On the third day I sent a message to the governor of the city, who
has the entire direction of prison affairs, to allow me to visit him
with a present. This had the desired effect, and he immediately sent
orders to the guards to permit my going into town. The governor
received me pleasantly, and asked me what I wanted. I stated to him
the situation of the foreigners, and particularly that of the
teachers, who were Americans, and had nothing to do with the war. He
told me it was not in his power to release them from prison or irons,
but that he could make their situation more comfortable; there was his
head officer, with whom I must consult relative to the means. The
officer, who proved to be one of the city writers, and whose
countenance at the first glance presented the most perfect assemblage
of all the evil passions attached to human nature, took me aside and
endeavored to convince me that myself, as well as the prisoners, was
entirely at his disposal; that our future comfort must depend on my
liberality in regard to presents; and that these must be made in a
private way, and unknown to any officer in the Government! ‘What must
I do,’ said I, ‘to obtain a mitigation of the present sufferings of
the two teachers?’ ‘Pay to me,’ said he, ‘two hundred ticals [about a
hundred dollars], two pieces of fine cloth, and two pieces of
handkerchiefs.’ I had taken money with me in the morning; our house
being two miles from the prison, I could not easily return. This I
offered to the writer, and begged he would not insist on the other
articles, as they were not in my possession. He hesitated for some
time; but fearing to lose the sight of so much money, he concluded to
take it, promising to relieve the teachers from their most painful
situation.

“I then procured an order from the governor for my admittance into
prison; but the sensations produced by meeting your brother, in that
_wretched, horrid_ situation, and the affecting scene which ensued, I
will not attempt to describe.[29] Mr. Judson crawled to the door of
the prison—for I was never allowed to enter—gave me some directions
relative to his release; but before we could make any arrangement, I
was ordered to depart by those iron-hearted jailers, who could not
endure to see us enjoy the poor consolation of meeting in that
miserable place. In vain I pleaded the order from the governor for my
admittance; they again harshly repeated, ‘Depart, or we will pull you
out.’ The same evening the missionaries, together with the other
foreigners, who paid an equal sum, were taken out of the common
prison, and confined in an open shed in the prison enclosure. Here I
was allowed to send them food, and mats to sleep on, but was not
permitted to enter again for several days.

“My next object was to get a petition presented to the queen; but no
person being admitted into the palace who was in disgrace with his
majesty, I sought to present it through the medium of her brother’s
wife. I had visited her in better days, and received particular marks
of her favor. But now times were altered; Mr. Judson was in prison,
and I in distress, which was a sufficient reason for giving me a cold
reception. I took a present of considerable value. She was lolling on
her carpet as I entered, with her attendants around her. I waited not
for the usual question to a suppliant, ‘What do you want?’ but in a
bold, earnest, yet respectful manner, stated our distresses and our
wrongs, and begged her assistance. She partly raised her head, opened
the present I had brought, and coolly replied, ‘Your case is not
singular; all the foreigners are treated alike.’ ‘But it is singular,’
said I; ‘the teachers are Americans; they are ministers of religion,
have nothing to do with war or politics, and came to Ava in obedience
to the king’s command. They have never done anything to deserve such
treatment, and is it right they should be treated thus?’ ‘The king
does as he pleases,’ said she; ‘I am not the king; what can I do?’
‘You can state their case to the queen, and obtain their release,’
replied I. ‘Place yourself in my situation; were you in America, your
husband, innocent of crime, thrown into prison, in irons, and you a
solitary, unprotected female, what would you do?’ With a slight degree
of feeling, she said, ‘I will present your petition; come again
to-morrow.’ I returned to the house with considerable hope that the
speedy release of the missionaries was at hand. But the next day, Mr.
Gouger’s property, to the amount of fifty thousand rupees, was taken
and carried to the palace. The officers, on their return, politely
informed me they should _visit our house_ on the morrow. I felt
obliged for this information, and accordingly made preparations to
receive them, by secreting as many little articles as possible,
together with considerable silver, as I knew, if the war should be
protracted, we should be in a state of starvation without it. But my
mind was in a dreadful state of agitation lest it should be
discovered, and cause my being thrown into prison. And had it been
possible to procure money from any other quarter, I should not have
ventured on such a step.