Chapter IX (3)

“The sun is just setting. We could not get our boat ready earlier in
the day; and, as it is Saturday evening, we intend to proceed as far
as Men-dai, in order to spend the Lord’s day there. There is no period
of my missionary life that I review with more satisfaction, or,
rather, with less dissatisfaction, than my sojourn in Prome. This city
was founded several hundred years before the Christian era. Through
how many ages have the successive generations of its dark inhabitants
lived and died, without the slightest knowledge of the Great Eternal,
and the only way of salvation which He has provided! At length, in the
year 1830, it was ordered that a missionary of the cross should sit
down in the heart of the city, and from day to day, for above three
months, should pour forth divine truth in language which, if not
eloquent and acceptable, was at least intelligible to all ranks. What
a wonderful phenomenon must this have been to celestial beings, who
gaze upon the works and dispensations of God in this lower world! It
was necessary to the accomplishment of the divine purpose, that, after
so many centuries of darkness, there should be such an exhibition of
light as has been made, and no more. Thousands have heard of God who
never, nor their ancestors, heard before. Frequently, in passing
through the streets, and in taking my seat in the _zayats_, I have
felt such a solemnity and awe on my spirits as almost prevented me
from opening my lips to communicate the momentous message with which I
was charged. How the preacher has preached, and how the hearers have
heard, the day of judgment will show. Oh, how many will find their
everlasting chains more tight and intolerable on account of the very
warnings and entreaties they have received from my lips! But what more
can be done than has been done? Though warned and entreated, they have
wilfully, obstinately, and blasphemously refused to listen. But,
blessed be God, there are some whose faces I expect to see at the
right hand of the great Judge. The young man just mentioned, the
carpenter, Moung Shway-hlah, a poor man, by name Moung Oo, in addition
to some others mentioned in former letters, give us reason to hope
that they have received the truth in good and honest hearts. Many also
there are who have become so far enlightened that I am sure they never
can bow the knee to Shway Lan-dau, without a distressing conviction
that they are in the wrong way. Farewell to thee, Prome! Willingly
would I have spent my last breath in thee and for thee. But thy sons
ask me not to stay; and I must preach the Gospel to other cities also,
for therefore am I sent. Read the five hundred tracts that I have left
with thee. Pray to the God and Saviour that I have told thee of. And
if hereafter thou call me, though in the lowest whisper, and it reach
me in the very extremities of the empire, I will joyfully listen, and
come back to thee.”

“MEN-DAI, _September 19_.

“Spent the day in the _zayat_ which I formerly occupied. The crowds
were very noisy, but some listened with attention. Distributed nearly
a hundred tracts. Mai Goo came from her village with two other women,
one of whom appears to have grace. But Mah Wen-yo and Mah Ping were
not seasonably apprised of our arrival. Just at night, dropped down to
a small village below Men-dai, that we might have a little evening
worship by ourselves.”

“NEAR RANGOON, _September 24_.

“We have distributed four hundred tracts between this and Men-dai,
having touched at many of the principal places, and spent an hour or
two, or a night, as we could make it convenient. We should have
stopped oftener and stayed longer had not our stock of tracts become
exhausted. My people, also, began to be impatient at the restless
nights we were obliged to spend, on account of the insufferable
annoyance of mosquitoes on the banks of the river in the lower country
at this season of the year.

“_September 25._ Came in sight of my old acquaintance, Shway Da-gong;
landed once more in Rangoon; found letters from Maulmain, saying that
brother Boardman is considerably better, for which I desire to thank
God; repaired to the house lately occupied by brother Wade. Since his
departure, I find that some efforts have been made to check the
progress of religious inquiry. At one time men were stationed at a
little distance, on each side of the house, to threaten those who
visited the place, and take away the tracts they had received. Reports
were circulated that Government was about to make a public example of
heretics; the crowds that used to come for tracts all disappeared, and
Pastor Thah-a, who continued to occupy the house, became intimidated,
and retreated to his own obscure dwelling. Things are, therefore, at a
very low ebb; but we trust in God that the tide will flow again in its
own appointed time.”

“_October 8._ Have just received intelligence that about the 1st of
September the king issued an order that I should be removed from
Prome, ‘being exceedingly annoyed that I was there, in the interior of
the country, distributing papers, and abusing the Burmese religion.’
The woon-gyees, being unwilling to proceed to extremities, made
application to Major Burney, the British resident at Ava, who assured
them that he had no control over me; that I was in no way connected
with the British Government, but employed exclusively in the duties of
my profession; and he begged them not to proceed to adopt a measure
which would be condemned as intolerant by good men of all countries.
They said, however, that his majesty’s order was peremptory, and that
it was necessary for me to confine my labors within the limits of
Rangoon. Major Burney then consented to write me on the subject.”

Although Mr. Judson was foiled in this effort to carry the Gospel into the interior of Burmah, yet he did not withdraw immediately to Maulmain, but remained for almost a year laboring at Rangoon, situated just within the gate of the empire. He retreated only step by step from before Burman intolerance, disputing every inch of the ground.

Just at this time the whole land seemed peculiarly pervaded by a spirit of religious thirst. Everybody was curious to know about this new religion. The people seemed to catch eagerly at every scrap of information relating to Christianity. The ears of the heathen, to use their own vivid expression, had become _thinner_. Mr. Judson’s house was thronged with inquirers. While he was not permitted in person to preach in the interior of the country, yet in Rangoon he freely distributed tracts, and translations of the Scriptures, which sped on their way far up the Irrawaddy toward Ava. He thought it wise to take advantage of this flood-tide of eager curiosity. A nation has its moods as well as an individual. Wasteful indolence might indeed substitute the lavish and indiscriminate use of printer’s ink for the personal preaching of the Gospel by the living voice. But, carefully watching the pulse of Burman life, he believed that at last the time had come when the printed page might be made a mighty engine for good, and could not be too freely used. Hence, to Mr. Bennett, the printer, and to the other missionaries at Maulmain, he sent those agonizing appeals for more tracts, the echoes of which were wafted even to our own land.

_To the Missionaries at Maulmain, particularly Mr. Bennett._

“RANGOON, _November_ 13, 1830.

“DEAR BRETHREN: I wrote you lately by Ko Ing, since which I have
received yours by Moung En. We continue to distribute about forty
tracts a day, and should gladly double the number if we could depend
on a supply from Maulmain. By tracts I mean not the single sheets or
handbills,[42] containing merely a scrap of Scripture, which, being
wholly inadequate to give any full idea of the Christian religion, it
is impossible to mock any poor soul with, when he holds out his hand
for such spiritual food as his case requires. They do well enough
among the converts, and if you find they are useful in your parts, I
shall be happy to send you back those I have on hand, for there is no
demand for that article here in the present state of the mission....
But by tracts I mean the View, the Catechism, the Balance, and the
Investigator. I earnestly beg the brethren to wake up to the
importance of sending a regular supply of all these articles. How long
we shall be allowed a footing in Rangoon is very uncertain. While a
missionary is here, a constant stream ought to be poured into the
place. Rangoon is the key of the country. From this place tracts go
into every quarter. I could write sheets on the subject, but I trust
that it is unnecessary. Six weeks have elapsed since I wrote for the
Balance, and for a few only, as I did not wish to distress any one,
and though it was then out of print, it is not yet put to press. And
why? Because the Epitome has been in the way. I am glad the Epitome is
printed; but after all, we shall not give away one a week of that
article. The state of things does not immediately require it. But of
the Balance I shall give away one hundred a week. There are daily
calls for it. During the last six weeks I should have given away one
thousand of the Balance, and they would now be circulating all over
the country. I found twenty in the house on my arrival, and have been
dealing them out like drops of heart’s blood. There are few left. I
did expect some by Moung En; but alas! out popped two bundles of
_scrippets_.[43] The _book_ of Scripture Extracts, however, I am
thankful for. I do not write this with any disposition to find fault.
I am sure you have done all for the best; and I feel for brother
Bennett in his labors at the press. I only blame myself that I have
not been more explicit, and written more urgently on the subject.”

_To Mr. Bennett._

“RANGOON, _February_ 7, 1831.

“DEAR BROTHER BENNETT: I wrote lately by Moung San-lone, saying that
the great festival falls on the 25th instant, and begging that, until
that time, no tracts might be circulated in your quarter, but that
everything that could be got ready should be sent hither. If you
listen to that petition, well; if not, to repeat it, with all the
urgency of a dying man, would be of no use. We were giving away at the
rate of three to four hundred per day, until I became alarmed, and
reduced the allowance to two hundred. We are just, therefore, keeping
our heads above water. But we have no hopes of being ready for the
festival unless you pour in fifteen or twenty thousand more between
this time and that. We have had none since the arrival of Moung En. He
and A brought good supplies; but, alas! no Views, and but few Balances
and Investigators. O when will the time come that I shall have as much
as I want, and _of the right kind_! I have labored to very great
disadvantage ever since I came down from Prome, for want of the _right
kind_ of supply. If, instead of printing such a variety, the brethren
had aimed only at furnishing a sufficient supply of the necessaries of
life, how much better it would have been! I should not then have been
left for months without the Balance, or any equivalent, nor be left,
as I now am, month after month, without the View—the staple commodity.
How distressing it is when the poor people come crying for the
elements of the Christian religion, to be obliged to give them one of
the small numbers of the Scripture Extracts, which singly can give
them no idea! By the way, I beg you will send no more of No. 8: it is
just good for nothing in the present state of things. I do not write
thus by way of finding fault with my brethren; I am quite sure that
you have meant all for the best. I have made too many mistakes, and
criminal ones too, all my life long, to allow me to find fault with
others. I only hope that things will now be kept in such a train as to
prevent my being reduced again to the straits I have been in for
several months. When you have made “arrangements to insure a supply of
the _four standard articles_, so that we can always have as many of
such kind, and of all the kinds, as the state of the market requires,
I would recommend to the brethren to issue a small edition of three
thousand of the First Epistle of John. I once thought of Luke; but if
you take hold of that we shall be left to starve again for want of the
necessaries of life. You say that there are fourteen hundred of the
Scripture Extracts remaining; and these, stitched together, or in two
parts, will answer to give in cases where something more than the four
standards is required. As to the Septenary, I would suggest that it is
to be kept for special cases, and not distributed promiscuously, for
you will not want to print another edition immediately. It was not
intended for general circulation, but to be kept on hand for the
converts and hopeful inquirers. As to your plan of printing the
Catechism and View _together_, it is most excellent. You can not
furnish too many of that article. As to the Balance, it is now all the
rage, particularly with _the cut_. I suppose you can not clap the cut
on the covers of those that have it not. It doubles the value. I
presume that from fifty to one hundred per day inquire particularly
for the Balance, and we are obliged to turn them off with something
very inadequate to their exigency. Is not this most awful? Only
contrast the countenance of one who has No. 8 forced upon him instead
of the Balance, and goes away feeling very ‘gritty’ with the
countenance of another who seizes upon the desired article, gloats
upon the interesting _Bennett cut_, and goes away almost screaming and
jumping for joy.

“I see, on reperusing your letter, that you speak of a second edition
of the Septenary. I have no objection, provided it does not deprive us
again of the necessaries of life. I hope, however, you will not
abandon the study of the language. The proverb of the ‘cat and her
skin’ I do not like. I have a much better one from the first
authority. ‘My son,’ said the head jailer of the death-prison at Ava
to an under-jailer, who was complaining that they could get no more
out of a poor fellow whom they had been tormenting for several days,
his wife and house being completely stripped—‘my son’ said the
venerable old man, ‘be sure you have never wrung a rag so dry but that
another twist will bring another drop.’”....

_To a Minister in Thompson, Conn._

“RANGOON, _March_ 4, 1831.

“The great annual festival is just past, during which multitudes come
from the remotest parts of the country to worship at the great Shway
Da-gong pagoda in this place, where it is believed that several real
hairs of Gaudama are enshrined. During the festival I have given away
nearly ten thousand tracts, giving to none but those who ask. I
presume there have been six thousand applications at the house. Some
come two or three months’ journey, from the borders of Siam and
China—‘Sir, we hear that there is an eternal hell. We are afraid of
it. Do give us a writing that will tell us how to escape it.’ Others
come from the frontiers of Kathay, a hundred miles north of Ava—‘Sir,
we have seen a writing that tells about an eternal God. Are you the
man that gives away such writings? If so, pray give us one, for we
want to know the truth before we die.’ Others come from the interior
of the country, where the name of Jesus Christ is a little known—‘Are
you Jesus Christ’s man? Give us a writing that tells about Jesus
Christ.’ Brother Bennett works day and night at the press; but he is
unable to supply us, for the call is great at Maulmain and Tavoy as
well as here, and his types are very poor, and he has no efficient
help.”

But while thus striving to satisfy the thirst of the Burmans for religious knowledge, he did not intermit his long and laborious task of translating the Scriptures. He shut himself up in the garret of the mission-house, leaving his Burman associates to deal with the inquirers below, only referring to him the more important cases. In his seclusion, he made such long strides in his work that, at the close of his stay at Rangoon, he wrote in his journal, “1831, July 19, finished the translation of Genesis, twenty chapters of Exodus, Psalms, Solomon’s Song, Isaiah, and Daniel.” An English lady who visited Rangoon in 1830, and who ventured to penetrate his seclusion, thus describes the interior of his study:

_A Visit to Mr. Judson in 1830._[44]

“Being unexpectedly in Rangoon in the autumn of 1830, and hearing that
the justly-celebrated American missionary, good Mr. Judson, was still
there, with indefatigable zeal prosecuting his ‘labor of love’ in the
conversion of the Burmese, I was extremely anxious to see him; and,
having informed ourselves that a visit from English travellers would
not be deemed a disagreeable intrusion, the captain, his wife, and
myself immediately proceeded to Mr. Judson’s house.

“It was a Burman habitation, to which we had to ascend by a ladder;
and we entered a large, low room through a space like a trap-door. The
beams of the roof were uncovered, and the window-frames were open,
after the fashion of Burman houses. The furniture consisted of a table
in the centre of the room, a few stools, and a desk, with writings and
books neatly arranged on one side. We were soon seated, and were most
anxious to hear all that the good man had to say, who, in a resigned
tone, spoke of his departed wife in a manner which plainly showed that
he had set his affections ‘where alone true joy can be found.’ He
dwelt with much pleasure on the translation of the Bible into the
Burman language. He had completed the New Testament, and was then as
far as the Psalms in the Old Testament, which having finished, he said
he trusted it would be the will of his heavenly Father to call him to
his everlasting home.

“Of the conversions going on amongst the Burmese he spoke with
certainty, not doubting that when the flame of Christianity did burst
forth, it would surprise even him by its extent and brilliancy. As we
were thus conversing, the bats, which frequent the houses at Rangoon,
began to take their evening round, and whirled closer and closer till
they came in almost disagreeable contact with our heads; and the flap
of the heavy wings so near us interrupting the conversation, we at
length reluctantly took our leave and departed. And this, thought I,
as I descended the dark ladder, is the solitary abode of Judson, whom
after-ages shall designate, most justly, the great and the good. It is
the abode of one of whom the world is not worthy; of one who has been
imprisoned, chained, and starved, and yet who dares still to prosecute
his work in the midst of the people who have thus treated him. America
may indeed be proud of having given birth to so excellent and
admirable a man, who, amidst the trials, sufferings, and bereavements
with which it has pleased Heaven to afflict him, still stands with his
lamp brightly burning waiting his Lord’s coming.

“If there be any man of whom we may without presumption feel assured
that we will hear the joyful words, ‘Well done, thou good and faithful
servant,’ it is certainly the pious Judson, the great and persevering
founder of Christianity in a land of dark idolatry and superstition.”

It was about this time that the Mission Board in this country sent him an earnest and affectionate invitation to revisit his native land. He was about forty-two years old, and had been absent from America eighteen years. His health was shattered. His family he had laid in the grave. He said several years later that he had never seen a ship sail out of the port of Maulmain bound for England or America without an almost irrepressible inclination to get on board and visit again the home of his boyhood. And yet in reply to this urgent invitation from his brethren, he wrote:

_To the Corresponding Secretary._

“RANGOON, _December_ 20, 1830.

“REV. AND DEAR SIR: I am happy to inform the Board that my health,
which was rather impaired some time ago, is now quite good; so that I
should not feel justified in accepting their invitation to return
home.

“At the same time, the kind feeling which dictated the invitation, and
the affection, though undeserved, which breathes in every line, have
made an indelible impression on my heart. I must confess that, in
meditating on the subject, I have felt an almost unconquerable desire
to become personally acquainted with my beloved patrons and
correspondents, the members of the Board, as well as to rove once more
over the hills and valleys of my own native land, to recognize the
still surviving companions of my youth, and to witness the widespread
and daily-increasing glories of Immanuel’s kingdom in that land of
liberty, blessed of Heaven with temporal and spiritual blessings above
all others.

“However, I anticipate a happier meeting, brighter plains, friends the
same, but more lovely and beloved; and I expect soon to witness, yea,
enjoy, that glory in comparison of which all on earth is but a shadow.
With that anticipation I content myself, assured that we shall not
then regret any instance of self-denial or suffering endured for the
Lord of life and glory.”

And yet he was so forgetful of self, cared, with almost womanly tenderness, for the health and comfort of his associates in missionary toil.

_To the Missionaries in Maulmain._

“RANGOON, _March_ 3, 1831.

“DEAR BRETHREN AND SISTERS: I am grieved that sister Wade, after
running down to Amherst, and deriving a little benefit during a few
days’ stay, thinks she must return, and probably has by this time
returned, because sister Bennett is quite worn out, ‘having everything
to do.’ Now, it appears to me that the better way to have remedied
that evil would have been for sister Bennett to run away from all her
cares and take the air at Amherst too.

“Mrs. Jones, I hear, is also ill, and Mrs. Kincaid has not, I believe,
much health to spare. Now, as you have two months of very trying
weather to sustain, I earnestly beg that you will all take into
serious consideration the propriety of repairing Landale’s house
forthwith, or some other, and placing one or two of the ladies, by
turns, to keep the post, until the rainy season sets in. Mrs. Wade, I
humbly conceive, ought to be immediately apprehended and sent back as
a deserter. And certainly no one ought to hesitate a moment at leaving
mission or domestic cares for the preservation of health. When our
best beloved are once laid in the cold grave, no cries, or tears, or
remorse will bring them back. Many faithful servants and handmaids of
the Lord might have been spared many years, had they only relaxed
before they made their last effort.

“If you have a house at Amherst during the hot season, some of the
brethren, too, may be benefited by an excursion thither. Brother
Bennett will certainly need a week’s relaxation there or somewhere
else.... However, I only submit these hasty thoughts for your
consideration. You are on the spot, and know better than I what is
necessary and proper. May God preserve your precious lives many years;
for, though the prospect of death may not be grievous, but joyous,
‘the harvest is plenteous, and the laborers are few.’”

While in Rangoon he received the heavy tidings that the beloved Boardman had died in the jungles back of Tavoy.

He thus wrote to the Corresponding Secretary:

“One of the brightest luminaries of Burmah is extinguished; dear
brother Boardman has gone to his eternal rest. I have heard no
particulars, except that he died on returning from his last expedition
to the Karen villages, within one day’s march of Tavoy. He fell
gloriously at the head of his troops, in the arms of victory;
thirty-eight wild Karens having been brought into the camp of King
Jesus since the beginning of the year, besides the thirty-two that
were brought in during the two preceding years. Disabled by mortal
wounds, he was obliged, through the whole of his last expedition, to
be carried on a litter; but his presence was a host, and the Holy
Spirit accompanied his dying whispers with almighty influence. Such a
death, next to that of martyrdom, must be glorious in the eyes of
Heaven. Well may we rest assured that a triumphal crown awaits him on
the great day, and ‘Well done, good and faithful Boardman, enter thou
into the joy of thy Lord.” I have great confidence in sister Boardman,
that she will not desert her husband’s post, but carry on the work
which he has gloriously begun.”

Sorrow had come upon the Boardman household in quick and uninterrupted succession. Mrs. Boardman wrote:

“In our domestic relation, the hand of the Lord has been very heavy
upon us. About a year and a half ago we lost our eldest child, a
lovely daughter, two years and eight months old; four months since, we
buried our youngest, a sweet little boy of eight months and a half.”

The death of the eldest child is thus pathetically described by Mrs. Boardman’s biographer:

“‘Sarah is as plump and rosy-cheeked as we could wish. Oh! how
delighted you would be to see her, and hear her prattle!’ Thus wrote
the mother in her happiness; and, in a little more than two weeks
after, she saw her darling, speechless and motionless, in her little
shroud. ‘I knew all the time,’ says the bereaved parent, ‘that she was
very ill; but it did not once occur to me that she might die, till she
was seized with the apoplexy, about three hours before she closed her
eyes upon us forever. Oh! the agony of that moment!’ And in that
agonized moment, as the shadow of eternity fell upon the spirit of the
little sufferer, and a vista, which her eye could not discern, but
from which her failing nature instinctively recoiled, opened before
her, she looked with anxious alarm into her mother’s face, and
exclaimed: ‘I frightened! mamma! I frightened!’ What a strange thing
is death. The tender nursling, who, in moments of even imagined ill,
had clung to the mother’s bosom, and been sheltered in her arms, now
hovered over a dark, unfathomed gulf, and turned pleadingly to the
same shield—but it had failed. The mother’s arm was powerless; her
foot could not follow; and the trembling babe passed on alone, to find
her fears allayed on an angel’s bosom.”

Little Sarah’s death was soon followed by the revolt of Tavoy, and during this brief uprising of the Burmans against their masters, Mr. Boardman had been subjected to an exposure and hardship such as his consumptive habit was ill able to endure. From that time he visibly declined. To use Mrs. E. C. Judson’s words: “His cheeks were a little more hollow, and the color on them more flickering; his eyes were brighter, and seemingly more deeply set beneath the brow, and immediately below them was a faint, indistinct arc of mingled ash and purple like the shadow of a faded leaf; his lips were sometimes of a clayey pallor, and sometimes they glowed with crimson; and his fingers were long, and the hands of a partially transparent thinness.”

The newly-appointed missionary to the Karens, Mr. Mason, arrived in Tavoy June 3, 1831. “On the jetty,” he wrote, “reclining helplessly in the chair which had served the purpose of a carriage, a pale, worn-out man, with the characters of death in his countenance, waited to welcome his successor.” Mr. Boardman was preparing to take a tour into the jungle in order to baptize some recent Karen converts. His emaciated form was to be carried on a litter several days’ journey into the wilderness. Remonstrance was unavailing; for he had set his heart upon accomplishing his purpose. Besides, it was thought that the change of air might do him good. Even after setting out, he was advised to return; but his reply was: “The cause of God is of more importance than my health, and if I return now, our whole object will be defeated. I want to see the work of the Lord go on.” The closing scene of his life is thus described by Mrs. Boardman:

“On Wednesday evening thirty-four persons were baptized. Mr. Boardman
was carried to the water-side, though so weak that he could hardly
breathe without the continual use of the fan and the smelling-bottle.
The joyful sight was almost too much for his feeble frame. When we
reached the chapel, he said he would like to sit up and take tea with
us. We placed his cot near the table, and having bolstered him up, we
took tea together. He asked the blessing, and did it with his right
hand upraised, and in a tone that struck me to the heart. It was the
same tremulous, yet urgent, and I had almost said, unearthly voice,
with which my aged grandfather used to pray. We now began to notice
that brightening of the mental faculties which I had heard spoken of
in persons near their end.

“After tea was removed, all the disciples present, about fifty in
number, gathered around him, and he addressed them for a few moments
in language like the following: ‘I did hope to stay with you till
after Lord’s day, and administer to you once more the Lord’s supper.
But God is calling me away from you. I am about to die, and shall soon
be inconceivably happy in heaven. When I am gone, remember what I have
taught you; and O, be careful to persevere unto the end, that when you
die we may meet one another in the presence of God, never more to
part. Listen to the word of the new teacher and the teacheress as you
have done to mine. The teacheress will be very much distressed. Strive
to lighten her burdens, and comfort her by your good conduct. Do not
neglect prayer. The eternal God to whom you pray is unchangeable.
Earthly teachers sicken and die, but God remains forever the same.
Love Jesus Christ with all your hearts, and you will be forever safe.’
This address I gathered from the Karens, as I was absent preparing his
things for the night. Having rested a few minutes, he offered a short
prayer, and then, with Mr. Mason’s assistance, distributed tracts and
portions of Scripture to them all. Early the next morning we left for
home, accompanied by nearly all the males and some of the females, the
remainder returning to their homes in the wilderness. Mr. Boardman was
free from pain during the day, and there was no unfavorable change,
except that his mouth grew sore. But at four o’clock in the afternoon
we were overtaken by a violent shower of rain, accompanied by
lightning and thunder. There was no house in sight, and we were
obliged to remain in the open air, exposed to the merciless storm. We
covered him with mats and blankets, and held our umbrellas over him,
all to no purpose. I was obliged to stand and see the storm beating
upon him, till his mattress and pillows were drenched with rain. We
hastened on, and soon came to a Tavoy house. The inhabitants at first
refused us admittance, and we ran for shelter into the out-houses. The
shed I happened to enter proved to be the ‘house of their gods,’ and
thus I committed an almost unpardonable offence. After some persuasion
they admitted us into the house, or rather veranda, for they would not
allow us to sleep inside, though I begged the privilege for my sick
husband with tears. In ordinary cases, perhaps, they would have been
hospitable; but they knew that Mr. Boardman was the teacher of a
foreign religion, and that the Karens in our company had embraced that
religion.

“At evening worship, Mr. Boardman requested Mr. Mason to read the
thirty-fourth Psalm. He seemed almost spent, and said, ‘This poor
perishing dust will soon be laid in the grave; but God can employ
other lumps of clay to perform His will as easily as He has this poor
unworthy one.’ I told him I should like to sit up and watch by him,
but he objected, and said in a tender, supplicating tone, ‘Can not we
sleep together?’ The rain still continued, and his cot was wet, so
that he was obliged to lie on the bamboo floor. Having found a place
where our little boy could sleep without danger of falling through
openings in the floor, I threw myself down, without undressing, beside
my beloved husband. I spoke to him often during the night, and he said
he felt well, excepting an uncomfortable feeling in his mouth and
throat. This was somewhat relieved by frequent washings with cold
water. Miserably wretched as his situation was, he did not complain;
on the contrary, his heart seemed overflowing with gratitude. ‘O,’
said he, ‘how kind and good our Father in heaven is to me; how many
are racked with pain, while I, though near the grave, am almost free
from distress of body. I suffer nothing, _nothing_ to what you, my
dear Sarah, had to endure last year, when I thought I must lose you.
And then I have you to move me so tenderly. I should have sunk into
the grave ere this, but for your assiduous attention. And brother
Mason is as kind to me as if he were my own brother. And then how
many, in addition to pain of body, have anguish of soul, while my mind
is sweetly stayed on God.’ On my saying, ‘I hope we shall be at home
to-morrow night, where you can lie on your comfortable bed, and I can
nurse you as I wish,’ he said, ‘I want nothing that the world can
afford but my wife and friends; earthly conveniences and comforts are
of little consequence to one so near heaven. I only want them for your
sake.’ In the morning we thought him a little better, though I
perceived, when I gave him his sago, that his breath was very short.
He, however, took rather more nourishment than usual, and spoke about
the manner of his conveyance home. We ascertained that by waiting
until twelve o’clock we could go the greater part of the way by water.

“At about nine o’clock his hands and feet grew cold, and the
affectionate Karens rubbed them all the forenoon, excepting a few
moments when he requested to be left alone. At ten o’clock he was much
distressed for breath, and I thought the long-dreaded moment had
arrived. I asked him if he felt as if he was going home,—‘Not just
yet,’ he replied. On giving him a little wine and water he revived.
Shortly after, he said, ‘You were alarmed without cause just now,
dear—I know the reason of the distress I felt, but am too weak to
explain it to you.’ In a few moments he said to me, ‘Since you spoke
to me about George, I have prayed for him almost incessantly—more than
in all my life before.’

“It drew near twelve, the time for us to go to the boat. We were
distressed at the thought of removing him, when evidently so near the
last struggle, though we did not think it so near as it really was.
But there was no alternative. The chilling frown of the iron-faced
Tavoyan was to us as if he was continually saying, ‘Be gone.’ I wanted
a little broth for my expiring husband, but on asking them for a fowl
they said they had none, though at that instant, on glancing my eye
through an opening in the floor, I saw three or four under the house.
My heart was well-nigh breaking.

“We hastened to the boat, which was only a few steps from the house.
The Karens carried Mr. Boardman first, and as the shore was muddy, I
was obliged to wait till they could return for me. They took me
immediately to him; but O, the agony of my soul when I saw the hand of
death was on him! He was looking me full in the face, but his eyes
were changed, not dimmed, but brightened, and the pupils so dilated
that I feared he could not see me. I spoke to him—kissed him—but he
made no return, though I fancied that he tried to move his lips. I
pressed his hand, knowing that, if he could, he would return the
pressure; but, alas! for the first time, he was insensible to my love,
and forever. I had brought a glass of wine and water already mixed,
and a smelling-bottle, but neither was of any avail to him now.
Agreeably to a previous request, I called the faithful Karens, who
loved him so much and whom he had loved unto death, to come and watch
his last gentle breathings, for there was no struggle.

“Never, my dear parents, did one of our poor fallen race have less to
contend with in the last enemy. Little George was brought to see his
dying father, but he was too young to know there was cause for grief.
When Sarah died, her father said to George, ‘Poor little boy, you will
not know to-morrow what you have lost to-day.’ A deep pang rent my
bosom at the recollection of this, and a still deeper one succeeded
when the thought struck me, that though my little boy may not know
to-morrow what he has lost to-day, yet when years have rolled by, and
he shall have felt the unkindness of a deceitful, selfish world, _he
will know_.”

DEATH OF BOARDMAN.[45]

“Pale with sickness, weak and worn,
Is the Christian hero borne
Over hill, and brook, and fen,
By his band of swart, wild men,
Dainty odors floating back
From their blossom-crushing track.

“Through the jungle, vast and dim,
Swells out Nature’s matin hymn:
Bulbuls ’mid the berries red,
Showers of mellow music shed;
Thrushes ’neath their crimson hoods
Chant their loves along the woods;

“And the heron, as he springs
Up, with startled rush of wings,
Joins the gorgeous peacock’s scream;
While the gushing of the stream
Gives sweet cadence to the hymn,
Swelling through the jungle dim.

“So they bear him on his way,
Till the sunless sky is gray;
Then within some lone _zayat_
Gentle fingers spread the mat;
And a watcher, sad and wan,
Bends above him till the dawn.

“Up and on! The tangled brake
Hides the deadly water-snake;
And the tiger, from his lair
Half up-springing, snuffs the air,
Doubtful gazing where they pass,
Trailing through the long wet grass.

“Day has faded—rosy dawn
Blushed again o’er wood and lawn;
Day has deepened—level beams
Light the brook in changeful gleams,
Breaking in a golden flood
Round strange groupings in the wood.

“There, where mountains wild and high
Range their peaks along the sky,
Lo! they pause. A crimson glow
Burns upon that cheek of snow;
And within the eyes’ soft blue
Quiver tears like drops of dew.

“Upward, from the wooded dell,
High the joyous greetings swell,
Peal on peal; then circling round,
Turbaned heads salute the ground,
While upon the dewy air
Floats a faint, soft voice in prayer.

“With the fever on his cheek,
Breathing forth his teachings meek,
Long the Gospel-bearer lies,
Till the stars have climbed the skies,
And the young moon’s slender rim
Hides behind the mountain grim.

“’Twas for this sweet boon he came,
Crushing back Death’s eager claim;
Yet a few more lambs to fold,
Ere he mingles with the mold—
Lambs with torn and crimsoned fleece,
Wildered in this wilderness.

“Once again the golden day
Drops her veil of silver gray;
And that dark-eyed mountain band
Print with bare, brown feet the sand,
Or the crystal wave turn back,
Rippling from their watery track.

“Meekly down the river’s bed
Sire and son alike are led,
Parting the baptismal flood,
As of old in Judah’s wood;
While throughout the sylvan glen
Rings the stern, deep-voiced Amen.

“With the love-light in his eyes,
Mute the dying teacher lies.
It is finished. Bear him back!
Haste along the jungle track!
See the lid uplifting now—
See the glory on his brow.

“It is finished. Wood and glen
Sigh their mournful, meek Amen.
’Mid that circle, sorrow spanned,
Clasping close an icy hand,
Lo! the midnight watcher wan,
Waiting yet another dawn.”

When Mrs. Boardman with her son George, about two years and a half old, were thus suddenly left in all the perplexity and desolation of widowhood and fatherlessness, she received from Mr. Judson the following words of tenderest consolation and counsel:

_To Mrs. Boardman._

“RANGOON, _March_ 4, 1831.

“MY DEAR SISTER: You are now drinking the bitter cup whose dregs I am
somewhat acquainted with. And though, for some time, you have been
aware of its approach, I venture to say that it is far bitterer than
you expected. It is common for persons in your situation to refuse all
consolation, to cling to the dead, and to fear that they shall too
soon forget the dear object of their affections. But don’t be
concerned. I can assure you that months and months of heartrending
anguish are before you, whether you will or not. I can only advise you
to take the cup with both hands, and sit down quietly to the bitter
repast which God has appointed for your sanctification. As to your
beloved, you _know_ that all his tears are wiped away, and that the
diadem which encircles his brow outshines the sun. Little Sarah and
the other have again found their father, not the frail, sinful mortal
that they left on earth, but an immortal saint, a magnificent,
majestic king. What more can you desire for them? While, therefore,
your tears flow, let a due proportion be tears of joy. Yet take the
bitter cup with both hands, and sit down to your repast. You will soon
learn a secret, that there is sweetness at the bottom. You will find
it the sweetest cup that you ever tasted in all your life. You will
find heaven coming near to you, and familiarity with your husband’s
voice will be a connecting link, drawing you almost within the sphere
of celestial music.

“I think, from, what I know of your mind, that you will not desert the
post, but remain to carry on the work which he gloriously began. The
Karens of Tavoy regard you as their spiritual mother; and the dying
prayers of your beloved are waiting to be answered in blessings on
your instructions.

“As to little Georgie, who has now no earthly father to care for him,
you can not, of course, part with him at present. But if you should
wish to send him home, I pledge myself to use what little influence I
have in procuring for him all those advantages of education which your
fondest wishes can desire. Or if you should be prematurely taken away,
and should condescend, on your dying bed, to commit him to me, by the
briefest line or verbal message, I hereby pledge my fidelity to
receive and treat him as my own son, to send him home in the best time
and way, to provide for his education, and to watch over him as long
as I live. More than this I can not do, and less would be unworthy of
the merits of his parents.”

-----

Footnote 34:

See Appendix C.

Footnote 35:

About $2,600.

Footnote 36:

About $1,000.

Footnote 37:

See Map II.

Footnote 38:

“The other, Abby,” Mrs. E. C. Judson says in one of her private
letters, “died young—a most happy, rejoicing death.”

Footnote 39:

By Mrs. E. C. Judson.

Footnote 40:

See Map II.

Footnote 41:

See page 35.

Footnote 42:

Two-page tracts of Scripture extracts.

Footnote 43:

The two-page tracts mentioned above.

Footnote 44:

By Miss Emma Roberts, author of “Scenes and Characteristics of
Hindostan.”

Footnote 45:

By Mrs. E. C. Judson.