Chapter XI (1)

VISIT TO AMERICA.
1845-1846.

While thus plodding on in his gigantic task of compiling a Burman dictionary, Mr. Judson found it necessary to embark on a voyage to his native land. Thirty-two years had elapsed since the memorable nineteenth of February, 1812, when he and Mrs. Judson had stood on the deck of the brig _Caravan_, and watched the rocky shores of New England fade out of their sight. The young man of twenty-four had become a veteran of fifty-seven. Again and again he had been invited by the Board to revisit his beloved native land and recruit his wasting forces, but he had steadily declined. More than five years before, he had received the following urgent invitation from the Corresponding Secretary:

“BAPTIST MISSIONARY ROOMS, BOSTON, _December_ 18, 1839.

“MY DEAR BROTHER: At the meeting of the Board on the 2d instant, your
letter to Mr. Lincoln, of May 1, having been read, it was unanimously
resolved to invite you to revisit this country, with a view to the
restoration of your health. The invitation was intended to extend to
your wife and children, should you judge it advisable for them to
accompany you.

“This resolution, it gives me much pleasure to add, was adopted not
only with great cordiality, but with many expressions of the kindest
interest and sympathy, and with the universal desire that, if your
health should continue as it was at the date of your letter, you would
comply with it by the earliest opportunity. It is due not only to you,
but to us, and to the general cause of missions, that all suitable
means be employed to re-establish your health, and no considerations
of expense or obloquy, incurred by the frequent return of
missionaries, should deter you from adopting them.

“You will perceive that, in making this proposal, the Board have no
respect to the good which might result from your personal intercourse
with them, or others who are interested in missions, but which, they
trust, would be of great service to them and to the cause at large.
The _main_ object would be gained if, by a double voyage, your health
should be so far restored as to enable you to continue your labors at
the desk, and for at least a few years longer supervise the
publication of the Scriptures and such other works as your knowledge
of Burman and of the Burmese character peculiarly qualify you to
prepare.

“May the God of missions guide you by His good Spirit in all your way,
and of His great goodness restore and preserve your health and
usefulness for a long time yet to come.

“Affectionately and truly yours,
“S. PECK, For. Sec.”

Nevertheless the faithful missionary had worked patiently on, refusing to leave his field. At last, however, a return to America became imperative in order to preserve Mrs. Judson’s life. After the birth of two children, Charles,[58] born December 18, 1843, and Edward, born December 27, 1844, her health rapidly declined. She had taken several short journeys along the coast without receiving any permanent benefit. On one of these trips she was accompanied by her eldest child, Abby, who was about ten years old, and also by the little invalid, Charlie. Mr. Judson with his four boys, Adoniram, Elnathan, Henry, and the infant Edward, were left behind at Maulmain. A glimpse of the missionary’s home-life is afforded in a letter which Abby received on this occasion from her absent father:

“MAULMAIN, _March_ 9, 1845.

“MY DEAR DAUGHTER: Your letters to me and your brothers, together with
the shells from Mergui, arrived this afternoon in the Burmese box,
which mamma sent by the steamer. The boys are delighted with the
shells, and Henry has picked out some for his own; and they have
agreed to give me for my share the large coral shell. They have
already written some letters to you, and mamma, and Charlie, which I
shall send by return of steamer; and perhaps they will add some more,
as this is such a favorable opportunity. It is now between eight and
nine o’clock in the evening. I have had a little meeting with Adoniram
and Elnathan, and now they are asleep. Edward has become a fat little
fellow; I am sure you would not know him again. He begins to look
pleased when he is played with. But he has not yet made any inquiries
about his absent mother and sister. Indeed, I doubt much whether he is
aware that he has any such relatives. Or if he ever exercises his mind
on such abstruse topics, perhaps he fancies that black Ah-mah is his
mother, since she nurses him, and does not know what a fair,
beautiful, fond mother he has at Mergui, who thinks of him every day.
However, when he gets larger, we will tell him all about these
matters.

“I am getting the carpenters to make a new cot for you, longer than
your old one. That I have given to Adoniram, and his to Elnathan. Both
the kittens are dead, and the old yellow cat has been missing for
several days. She was very thin, and apparently very ill, when we last
saw her. So I suppose she crept away into some secret place and lay
down and died. Alas! poor pussy!

“I pray every day that somewhere during your travels with dear mamma
you may receive a blessing from God, so that you will return a true
Christian, and set such an example before your brothers as will induce
them to try to follow your steps. Think of the dear Saviour every day,
and frequently lift up your heart in fervent prayer to God, that He
will give you His converting, sanctifying grace, and make you His own
child. Try to subdue every evil passion, and avoid all bad conduct.
_If you trust in the Saviour and try to be good, He will make you
good._ In your daily deportment and intercourse with others, remember
these two lines:

“‘Sweet in _temper_, _face_, and _word_,
To please an ever-present Lord.’

“Your affectionate father.

“Love to dear Charlie.”

But, as has already been stated, these short trips along the Tenasserim coast[59] proved quite unavailing. Mrs. Judson’s condition was almost desperate, and the only hope of saving this precious life lay in a voyage to America. Her husband writes sadly to the Corresponding Secretary:

“The hand of God is heavy upon me. The complaint to which Mrs. Judson
is subject has become so violent that it is the unanimous opinion of
all the medical men, and indeed of all our friends, that nothing but a
voyage beyond the tropics can possibly protract her life beyond the
period of a few weeks, but that such a voyage will, in all
probability, insure her recovery. All medical skill has been
exhausted. She has spent six weeks with our commissioner and his lady
in a trip down the coast, touching at Tavoy and Mergui, and returned
weaker and nearer the grave than when she set out. She is willing to
die, and I hope I am willing to see her die, if it be the Divine will;
but though my wife, it is no more than truth to say that there is
scarcely an individual foreigner now alive who speaks and writes the
Burmese tongue so acceptably as she does; and I feel that an effort
ought to be made to save her life. I have long fought against the
necessity of accompanying her; but she is now so desperately weak, and
almost helpless, that all say it would be nothing but savage
inhumanity to send her off alone. The three younger children, the
youngest but three months and a half old, we must leave behind us,
casting them, as it were, on the waters, in the hope of finding them
after many days. The three elder, Abby Ann, Adoniram, and Elnathan, we
take with us, to leave in their parents’ native land. These rendings
of parental ties are more severe, and wring out bitterer tears from
the heart’s core, than any can possibly conceive who have never felt
the wrench. But I hope I can say with truth that I love Christ above
all; and I am striving, in the strength of my weak faith, to gird up
my mind to face and welcome all His appointments. And I am much helped
to bear these trials by the advice and encouragement of all my dear
brethren and sisters of the mission.

“It is another great trial to leave my dear church and people. I never
knew till now how much I loved them, and how much they loved me.

“‘And ’tis to love, our farewells owe
All their emphasis of woe.’

“But I leave them in the hands of my dear brethren, and there are no
persons in the world to whom I should be so willing to commit so dear
a charge....

“Another great trial, not so much as it regards feeling as it regards
the anticipated result of long-protracted labor, is the interruption
which the heavy work of the Burmese dictionary, in which I have been
engaged for two or three years, must sustain; and such is the state of
my manuscripts, that if I should die before this work is completed, or
at least carried forward to a much more advanced stage, all my
previous labor would be nearly or quite lost. But I am endeavoring to
obviate this difficulty in some degree, by taking with me my two
assistants in that department, whose hearts God has graciously
inclined to leave their families and accompany me. They are both
Christians, the one a settled character, a convert of long standing,
formerly a Government writer in Rangoon; the other a nephew of the
late premier of the court of Ava, a person of noble extraction, and
though not a tried Christian, I hope a sincere one. And it is my
purpose to devote some hours every day, whether on the sea or land, to
the work mentioned. I shall be induced to persevere in this purpose
while in America, from the fact that I am unable to travel about the
country as an agent and preach in the English language. The course
that I have uniformly pursued, ever since I became a missionary, has
been rather peculiar. In order to become an acceptable and eloquent
preacher in a foreign language, I deliberately abjured my own. When I
crossed the river, I burned my ships. For thirty-two years I have
scarcely entered an English pulpit or made a speech in that language.
Whether I have pursued the wisest course, I will not contend; and how
far I have attained the object aimed at, I must leave for others to
say. But whether right or wrong, the course I have taken can not be
retraced. The burned ships can not now be reconstructed. From long
desuetude, I can scarcely put three sentences together in the English
language.[60] I must therefore beg the Board to allow me a quiet
corner, where I can pursue my work with my assistants undisturbed and
unknown.

“This request I am induced to urge from the further consideration that
my voice, though greatly recovered from the affection of the lungs,
which laid me aside from preaching nearly a year, is still so weak
that it can only fill a small room; and whenever I attempt to raise it
above the conversational tone, the weak place gives way, and I am
quite broken down again for several weeks. I hope, therefore, that no
one will try to persuade me to be guilty of such imprudence while in
America; but since there are thousands of preachers in English, and
only five or six Burmese preachers in the whole world, I may be
allowed to hoard up the remnant of my breath and lungs for the country
where they are most needed.”...

On April 26, 1845, Mr. and Mrs. Judson, with the three elder children, Abby, Adoniram, and Elnathan, embarked on the ship _Paragon_ bound for London. They were accompanied by two Burman assistants, as it was Mr. Judson’s purpose to spend a portion of each day upon the Burman dictionary. The three younger children, Henry, Charles, and Edward, as has been said, were left behind in the tender care of the missionaries at Maulmain. The first part of the voyage was so rough that the vessel sprang aleak, and the captain determined to put in at the Isle of France; and on July 5th the ship, with its precious freight, arrived at Port Louis. Mrs. Judson had so far improved in health that the two missionaries formed the purpose of separating, as it was thought that Mrs. Judson would now be able to continue the voyage to America alone, while Mr. Judson should return to his work in Maulmain. It would be hard to find a parallel for this instance of heroic self-sacrifice. Of these two returning missionaries, one was a poor, shattered invalid, consenting to forego her beloved husband’s society and to take the long westward journey in solitude; the other relinquishing the prospect of again seeing his native land after an absence of thirty-three years, and leaving the side of his sick wife the moment his presence seemed no longer indispensable, that he might resume his labors among the perishing Burmans. It was under these circumstances that Mrs. Judson wrote the pathetic lines which shall be recited for a memorial of her wheresoever the Gospel shall be preached in the whole world:

“We part on this green islet, love,—
Thou for the eastern main,
I for the setting sun, love,
O, when to meet again!

“My heart is sad for thee, love,
For lone thy way will be;
And oft thy tears will fall, love,
For thy children and for me.

“The music of thy daughter’s voice
Thou’lt miss for many a year;
And the merry shout of thine elder boys
Thou’lt list in vain to hear.

“When we knelt to see our Henry die,
And heard his last, faint moan,
Each wiped the tear from other’s eye;
Now each must weep alone.

“My tears fall fast for thee, love;
How can I say, Farewell!
But go; thy God be with thee, love,
Thy heart’s deep grief to quell.

“Yet my spirit clings to thine, love;
Thy soul remains with me,
And oft we’ll hold communion sweet
O’er the dark and distant sea.

“And who can paint our mutual joy,
When, all our wanderings o’er,
We both shall clasp our infants three
At home, on Burmah’s shore!

“But higher shall our raptures glow,
On yon celestial plain,
When the loved and parted here below
Meet, ne’er to part again.

“Then gird thine armor on, love,
Nor faint thou by the way.
Till Buddh shall fall, and Burmah’s sons
Shall own Messiah’s sway.”

The two native assistants were therefore sent back to Maulmain, and Mr. Judson expected to follow them as soon as he had seen Mrs. Judson fairly on board ship for America. But she experienced a severe relapse, which reduced her strength lower than ever before; and Mr. Judson was soon convinced that it would be impossible for him to leave her, and, although he bitterly regretted the loss of his assistants, he felt obliged, after spending three weeks in the Isle of France, to re-embark with Mrs. Judson. They took passage with Captain Codman, of the ship _Sophia Walker_, which was bound directly for the United States. On the 25th of July they sailed from Port Louis, and after a time Mrs. Judson again appeared to be recovering. But the appearance proved deceptive. There came another dreadful relapse, which soon terminated in death.

“In the cold weather off the Cape of Good Hope,” Mr. Judson writes,
“my hopes became again very sanguine. But she never really recovered
from her last prostration, and, though sometimes better, continued, on
the whole, to decline, until we neared St. Helena, when I gave up all
hope of her recovery. She lingered a few days, while the vessel was
detained in port, until the 1st instant, when, at three o’clock in the
morning, she obtained her release from further suffering, and entered,
I trust, into the joy of her Lord. She was buried in the afternoon of
the same day; and in the evening we were again at sea.”

Fuller details of this mournful event are given in the appended letter and obituary notice written by Mr. Judson in a letter to a friend at Port Louis:

“ON PASSAGE FROM ST. HELENA, _September_ 2, 1845.

“MY DEAR FRIEND: I shall have no opportunity of sending this till
after my arrival in the United States; so that you will probably have
heard of Mrs. Judson’s death before receiving this line. I was so
overwhelmed with my distress while at St. Helena, that it never
occurred to me to write a line to any of my friends. My dear wife
continued to decline after leaving the Isle of France. Neither the
best medical advice, nor the most careful nursing on my part, nor any
change of climate, seemed to have much salutary effect. When we
reached St. Helena I had given up all hope of her recovery. That took
place on the 26th of August. The vessel remained a few days. She
lingered along till the first, that is, yesterday, at three o’clock in
the morning, when her spirit took its final flight. The body was
carried on shore in the afternoon, and interred in the public
burial-ground, by the side of Mrs. Chater, long a missionary at
Ceylon, who died on her passage home. The funeral was attended by a
crowd of friends, though we were entire strangers in the place. We
were surprised to find several pious persons under the pastoral care
of the Rev. Mr. Bertram, an excellent, zealous missionary. They took
me and the children to their houses and their hearts, and their
consoling conversation and sympathizing prayers, in the hour of my
distress, afforded wonderful relief. Would you believe that these
pious friends and the captain of our ship defrayed all the expenses of
the funeral? They even had mourning suits made for the children, and
sent off to the ship! But I was obliged to leave them all the same
evening; and this morning, the rock of the ocean, where reposes all
that is mortal of my dear, dear wife, was out of sight. And O, how
desolate my cabin appears, and how dreary the way before me! But I
have the great consolation that she died in peace, longing to depart
and be with Christ. She had some desire, being on her passage home, to
see her parents, and relatives, and friends, after twenty years’
absence; but the love of Christ sustained her to the last. When near
dying, I congratulated her on the prospect of soon beholding the
Saviour in all His glory; and she eagerly replied, ‘What can I want
beside?’... May we who remain have grace to follow those who, through
faith, inherit the promises.”

_Obituary of Mrs. Sarah B. Judson._

“Sarah Boardman Judson was born at Alstead, in the State of New
Hampshire, November 4, 1803. She was the eldest child of Ralph and
Abiah Hall. While Sarah was but a child, her parents removed from
Alstead to Danvers, and subsequently to Salem, in the State of
Massachusetts. In the latter place she received her education, and
continued to reside until she was married to the Rev. George Dana
Boardman, July 4, 1825, with whom she embarked in the same month for
the East Indies, to join the American missionaries in Burmah. After
residing some time at Calcutta and at Maulmain, they settled at Tavoy,
April 1, 1828. During her residence in Calcutta and Tavoy she had
three children, of whom one only, George Dana Boardman, Jr., born
August 18, 1828, survives her. She lost her husband February 11, 1831,
and was married again to Adoniram Judson, of Maulmain, April 10, 1834.
At Maulmain she became the mother of eight children, of whom five
survive her. After the birth of her last child, in December, 1844, she
was attacked with chronic diarrhœa, from which she had suffered much
in the early part of her missionary life. When, in the progress of the
disease, it became evident that nothing but a long voyage and an
entire change of climate could save her life, she embarked, with her
husband and three elder children, for the United States, April 26,
1845. The voyage was at first attended with encouraging results, but
finally proved unavailing, and she departed this life on shipboard, in
the port of St. Helena, September 1, 1845.

“Like multitudes in the highly-favored land of her nativity, she was
blessed with early religious advantages, and in her youth became the
subject of serious impressions. When about sixteen years of age,
during a revival of religion in Salem, she entertained a hope,
received baptism at the hands of her pastor, the Rev. Dr. Bolles, and
became a member of his church. Her religious attainments, however,
were not of a distinguished order, and though her amiable disposition
and her deep interest in missions, especially after her acquaintance
with Mr. Boardman, gave her an elevated tone of character, she
subsequently felt that at that period she hardly deserved the name of
a sincere Christian. And it was not until she was called to part with
her eldest child, at Tavoy, in 1829, and to pass through scenes of
great danger and suffering during the Tavoy rebellion, that she was
enabled to live a life of faith on the Son of God.

“‘Sweet affliction, sweet affliction,
That brings near to Jesus’ feet.’

“In regard to her missionary qualifications and labors, I may state
that she applied herself with great assiduity to the study of the
Burmese language, in which, in conversation, prayer, and writing, she
acquired an uncommon degree of correctness, fluency, and power. She
was in the habit of conducting a prayer-meeting of the female members
of the church every week, and also another meeting for the study of
the Scriptures. Her acquaintance with, and attachment to, the Burmese
Bible were rather extraordinary. She professed to take more pleasure
and derive more profit from the perusal of that translation than from
the English, and to enjoy preaching in the native chapel more than in
any other. Her translation of the ‘Pilgrim’s Progress,’ part first,
into Burmese, is one of the best pieces of composition which we have
yet published. Her translation of Mr. Boardman’s ‘Dying Father’s
Advice’ has become one of our standard tracts; and her hymns in
Burmese, about twenty in number, are probably the best in our ‘Chapel
Hymn Book’—a work which she was appointed by the mission to edit.
Besides these works, she published four volumes of Scripture
questions, which are in constant use in our Sabbath-schools. The last
work of her life, and one which she accomplished in the midst of
overwhelming family cares, and under the pressure of declining health,
was a series of Sunday cards, each accompanied with a short hymn,
adapted to the leading subject of the card.

“Besides her acquaintance with the Burmese language, she had, in past
years, when there was no missionary in the Peguan department, acquired
a competent knowledge of that language, and translated, or
superintended the translation of the New Testament and the principal
Burmese tracts into Peguan. But when a missionary was appointed to
that department, she transferred her work to him, and gladly confined
herself to the Burmese.

“Something, also, might be said with regard to her labors in the Karen
wilderness east of Tavoy, especially during the years of her
widowhood, when she made toilsome journeys among the mountains,
sometimes amid drenching rains, and always with many privations, and
where, notwithstanding that she was wholly opposed to the principle of
females acting the part of ministers, she was frequently obliged to
conduct worship in the Karen assemblies.

“Her bereaved husband is the more desirous of bearing this testimony
to her various attainments, her labors, and her worth, from the fact
that her own unobtrusive and retiring disposition always led her to
seek the shade, as well as from the fact that she was often brought
into comparison with one whose life and character were uncommonly
interesting and brilliant. The memoir of his first beloved wife has
been long before the public. It is, therefore, most gratifying to his
feelings to be able to say, in truth, that the subject of this notice
was, in every point of natural and moral excellence, the worthy
successor of Ann H. Judson. He constantly thanks God that he has been
blessed with two of the best of wives; he deeply feels that he has not
improved these rich blessings as he ought, and it is most painful to
reflect that, from the peculiar pressure of the missionary life, he
has sometimes failed to treat those dear beings with that
consideration, attention, and kindness which their situation in a
foreign heathen land ever demanded.

“But, to show the forgiving and grateful disposition of the subject of
this brief sketch, and somewhat to elucidate her character, he would
add that, a few days before her death, he called her children to her
bedside, and said, in their hearing, ‘I wish, my love, to ask pardon
for every unkind word or deed of which I have ever been guilty. I feel
that I have, in many instances, failed of treating you with that
kindness and affection which you have ever deserved.’ ‘O,’ said she,
‘you will kill me if you talk so. It is I that should ask pardon of
you; and I only want to get well that I may have an opportunity of
making some return for all your kindness, and of showing you how much
I love you.’

“This recollection of her dying bed leads me to say a few words
relative to the closing scenes of her life. After her prostration at
the Isle of France, where we spent three weeks, there remained but
little expectation of her recovery. Her hope had long been fixed on
the Rock of Ages, and she had been in the habit of contemplating death
as neither distant nor undesirable. As it drew near, she remained
perfectly tranquil. No shade of doubt, or fear, or anxiety, ever
passed over her mind. She had a prevailing preference to depart and be
with Christ. ‘I am longing to depart,’ and ‘What can I want beside?’
quoting the language of a familiar hymn, were the expressions which
revealed the spiritual peace and joy of her mind; yet, at times, the
thought of her native land, to which she was approaching, after an
absence of twenty years, and a longing desire to see once more her son
George, her parents, and the friends of her youth, drew down her
ascending soul, and constrained her to say, ‘I am in a strait betwixt
two—let the will of God be done.’

“In regard to her children she ever manifested the most surprising
composure and resignation, so much so that I was once induced to say,
‘You seem to have forgotten the little ones we have left behind.’ ‘Can
a mother forget?’ she replied, and was unable to proceed. During her
last days she spent much time in praying for the early conversion of
her children. May her living and her dying prayers draw down the
blessing of God on their bereaved heads.

“On our passage homeward, as the strength of Mrs. Judson gradually
declined, I expected to be under the painful necessity of burying her
in the sea. But it was so ordered by divine Providence, that, when the
indications of approaching death had become strongly marked, the ship
came to anchor in the port of St. Helena. For three days she continued
to sink rapidly, though her bodily sufferings were not very severe.
Her mind became liable to wander; but a single word was sufficient to
recall and steady her recollection. On the evening of the 31st of
August she appeared to be drawing near to the end of her pilgrimage.
The children took leave of her, and retired to rest. I sat alone by
the side of her bed during the hours of the night, endeavoring to
administer relief to the distressed body and consolation to the
departing soul. At two o’clock in the morning, wishing to obtain one
more token of recognition, I roused her attention, and said, ‘Do you
still love the Saviour?’ ‘O, yes,’ she replied, ‘I ever love the Lord
Jesus Christ.’ I said again, ‘Do you still love me?’ She replied in
the affirmative, by a peculiar expression of her own. ‘Then give me
one more kiss’; and we exchanged that token of love for the last time.
Another hour passed, life continued to recede, and she ceased to
breathe. For a moment I traced her upward flight, and thought of the
wonders which were opening to her view. I then closed her sightless
eyes, dressed her, for the last time, in the drapery of death, and
being quite exhausted with many sleepless nights, I threw myself down
and slept. On awaking in the morning, I saw the children standing and
weeping around the body of their dear mother, then, for the first
time, inattentive to their cries. In the course of the day a coffin
was procured from the shore, in which I placed all that remained of
her whom I had so much loved; and after a prayer had been offered by a
dear brother minister from the town, the Rev. Mr. Bertram, we
proceeded in boats to the shore. There we were met by the colonial
chaplain, and accompanied to the burial-ground by the adherents and
friends of Mr. Bertram, and a large concourse of the inhabitants. They
had prepared the grave in a beautiful, shady spot, contiguous to the
grave of Mrs. Chater, a missionary from Ceylon, who had died in
similar circumstances on her passage home. There I saw her safely
deposited, and in the language of prayer, which we had often presented
together at the throne of grace, I blessed God that her body had
attained the repose of the grave and her spirit the repose of
Paradise. After the funeral, the dear friends of Mr. Bertram took me
to their houses and their hearts; and their conversation and prayers
afforded me unexpected relief and consolation. But I was obliged to
hasten on board ship, and we immediately went to sea. On the following
morning no vestige of the island was discernible in the distant
horizon. For a few days, in the solitude of my cabin, with my poor
children crying around me, I could not help abandoning myself to
heart-breaking sorrow. But the promises of the Gospel came to my aid,
and faith stretched her view to the bright world of eternal life, and
anticipated a happy meeting with those beloved beings whose bodies are
mouldering at Amherst and St. Helena.

“I exceedingly regret that there is no portrait of the second, as of
the first Mrs. Judson. Her soft blue eye, her mild aspect, her lovely
face, and elegant form have never been delineated on canvas. They must
soon pass away from the memory even of her children, but they will
remain forever enshrined in her husband’s heart.

“To my friends at St. Helena I am under great obligation. I desire to
thank God for having raised up in that place a most precious religious
interest. The friends of the Redeemer rallied around an evangelical
minister immediately on his arrival, and within a few months several
souls were added to their number. Those dear, sympathizing, Christian
friends received the body of the deceased from my hands as a sacred
deposit, united with our kind captain, John Codman, Jr., of
Dorchester, in defraying all the expenses of the funeral, and promised
to take care of the grave, and see to the erection of the gravestones
which I am to forward, and on which I propose to place the following
inscription:

“‘Sacred to the memory of Sarah B. Judson, member of the American
Baptist mission to Burmah, formerly wife of the Rev. George D.
Boardman, of Tavoy, and lately wife of the Rev. Adoniram Judson, of
Maulmain, who died in this port, September 1, 1845, on her passage to
the United States, in the forty-second year of her age, and in the
twenty-first of her missionary life.

“‘She sleeps sweetly here, on this rock of the ocean,
Away from the home of her youth,
And far from the land where, with heartfelt devotion,
She scattered the bright beams of truth.’”

“Mournfully, tenderly,
Bear onward the dead,
Where the Warrior has lain,
Let the Christian be laid;
No place more befitting,
Oh, Rock of the sea!
Never such treasure
Was hidden in thee!

“Mournfully, tenderly,
Solemn and slow.—
Tears are bedewing
The path as ye go;
Kindred and strangers
Are mourners to-day;
Gently—so, gently—
Oh, bear her away.

“Mournfully, tenderly,
Gaze on that brow;
Beautiful is it
In quietude now!

One look—and then settle
The loved to her rest,
The ocean beneath her,
The turf on her breast.

“So have ye buried her—
Up!—and depart,
To life and to duty,
With undismayed heart!
Fear not; for the love
Of the stranger will keep
The casket that lies
In the Rock of the deep.

“Peace, peace to thy bosom,
Thou servant of God!
The vale thou art treading
Thou hast before trod:
Precious dust thou hast laid
By the Hopia-tree,
And treasure as precious
In the Rock of the sea.”[61]

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I.

II.

As there is no portrait in existence of Mrs. SARAH B. JUDSON, the above fac-smile of her handwriting may interest the reader. These verses, from Moore, were written by her on the fly-leaf of a small volume of devotional poems, published at Philadelphia in 1828, presented by her to her husband. Many of the poems in this little book bear the marks of Mr. Judson’s pencil as being of peculiar interest to him. Among those marked is the following:

＋ THE REFUGE.

Art thou oppressed or reviled?
Then act but like a simple child,
Who does not dare the point contest,
But hastens to its mother’s breast;
Bows in submission to her laws,
And leaves her to support its cause.
Thus to thy blessed Saviour flee;
Stand still! thy God shall fight for thee.

FAC-SIMILE OF MR. JUDSON’S HANDWRITING.

The above inscription was written by Mr. Judson on the fly-leaf of a
volume of Burmese Hymns, compiled by Mrs. Sarah B. Judson, and
presented by him to a lady in New York.
]

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The _Sophia Walker_, with Mr. Judson and his three children on board, arrived at Boston October 15, 1845. The missionary who had been so long absent from his native land felt considerable anxiety before going on shore as to where he should secure suitable lodgings in the city. He little dreamed that every home would be thrown open to him, and that soon his progress from city to city would almost assume the proportions of a triumphal march. He was ill prepared for such an enthusiastic greeting. He naturally shrank from observation. He was in exceedingly delicate health. His pulmonary difficulty prevented his speaking much above a husky whisper. He had so long used a foreign tongue that it was hard work for him to form sentences in English. He could address an audience only at second-hand, whispering his words to a speaker at his side, who would convey them to the ears of the hearers. Naturally humble and shy, he found it exceedingly distasteful to be publicly harangued and eulogized. On one occasion, an eye-witness[62] relates that while the returned missionary was listening to words of eloquent praise addressed to him in the presence of a great concourse of people, “his head sank lower and lower until the chin seemed to touch his breast.” He wrote to the Corresponding Secretary: “My chief object in writing is to beg that I may be excused from attending any more such meetings until I get a little better. I expect to be in Boston to-morrow, and shall want two or three days for some necessary business, and propose to go to Worcester on Friday or Saturday; and if I could spend next Sabbath alone in some chamber, I should feel it a great privilege, both as a refreshment to the soul and a relief to the body.”

He had come home to find that his native country was almost a strange land. The railroad system had sprung into existence during his absence. He entered the cars at Worcester one day, and had just taken his seat, when a boy came along with the daily newspapers.[63] He said to Mr. Judson, “Do you want a paper, sir?” “Yes, thank you,” the missionary replied, and taking the paper began to read. The newsboy stood waiting for his pay until a lady passenger, occupying the same seat with Mr. Judson, said to him, “The boy expects to be paid for his paper.” “Why,” replied the missionary, with the utmost surprise, “I have been distributing papers gratuitously in Burmah so long that I had no idea the boy was expecting any pay.”

He often disappointed public assemblies by declining to relate his own adventures, telling instead the old story of the cross. A lady thus describes an address which he made in the little country church in Eaton, New York:

“After the usual sermon was over, he spoke for about fifteen minutes,
with singular simplicity, and, as I thought, with touching pathos, of
the ‘precious Saviour,’ what He has done for us, and what we owe to
Him. As he sat down, however, it was evident, even to the most
unobservant eye, that most of the listeners were disappointed. After
the exercises were over, several persons inquired of me, frankly, why
Dr. Judson had not talked of something else; why he had not told a
story, etc., etc.; while others signified their disappointment by not
alluding to his having spoken at all. On the way home, I mentioned the
subject to him.

“‘Why, what did they want?’ he inquired; ‘I presented the most
interesting subject in the world, to the best of my ability.’

“‘But they wanted something different—a story.’

“‘Well, I am sure I gave them a story—the most thrilling one that can
be conceived of.’

“‘But they had heard it before. They wanted something new of a man who
had just come from the antipodes.’

“‘Then I am glad to have it to say, that a man coming from the
antipodes had nothing better to tell than the wondrous story of Jesus’
dying love. My business is to preach the Gospel of Christ, and when I
can speak at all, I dare not trifle with my commission. When I looked
upon those people to-day, and remembered where I should next meet
them, how could I stand up and furnish food to vain curiosity—tickle
their fancies with amusing stories, however decently strung together
on a thread of religion? That is not what Christ meant by preaching
the Gospel. And then, how could I hereafter meet the fearful charge,
“I gave you one opportunity to tell them of me—you spent it in
describing your own adventures!”’”

The following reminiscence of Mr. Judson’s preaching in Plymouth has been kindly contributed by the Rev. Dr. D. W. Faunce, now of Washington, D. C.:

“The old church was crowded, and I was able to find a seat only in a
corner of the gallery. Shall I confess my disappointment, at first,
when a slim, worn man, with a weary voice, rose in the pulpit after
the pastor had conducted the opening exercises, and gave out his text,
‘_These are they that follow the Lamb_.’

“Trained in a religious household, where missionary names, and
especially those of Judson and Rice, were familiar words, somehow, in
my boyish fancy I had thought of him as a great orator, with a loud
voice and commanding tones, who would sweep down all before him with a
resistless eloquence. Hence my disappointment. But as he went on, in
simple language, to unfold his thought, and repeated over and over
again his one theme, _pleasing Jesus_, somehow I forgot all about
eloquence. There stole over me, a boy convert of only a few months’
standing, a great tenderness. Was this venerated man influenced in all
he had done by the simple thought of _pleasing Jesus_? Well, then,
might not I, boy as I was, strive to please Jesus also? My eyes began
to fill, and my heart was in my throat. Was there anything I could do
to please Jesus? A hundred times since, the single simple thought of
that sermon has come to me, and the memory of that summer afternoon in
the corner of the gallery, and the scene and the words have been an
inspiration. And if that is eloquence which gets its thought written
imperishably upon the heart of an auditor, then the simple, almost
childlike words of that hour were truly eloquent.”

Mr. Judson’s movements in this country were chronicled alike by the secular and religious newspapers. His toils and sufferings had made his name a household word among all Christians, and wherever he went, the churches were crowded with people who desired to see and to hear America’s pioneer missionary. On the evening of the second day after his arrival, a meeting was held in the Bowdoin Square church, Boston. The following words of welcome were spoken by Dr. Sharp:

“There are some feelings,” said Dr. Sharp, “which are too sacred for
public utterance. There are sentiments of respect and regard which,
when whispered to the ear, or spoken in the privacy of confidential
intercourse, are pleasant and refreshing as the breath of spring, but
which lose their fragrance in the atmosphere of a public assembly.
Were I to express my own feelings toward yourself—my admiration, my
confidence, my gratitude, my regard—I should say many things that in
this assembly would seem out of place. I may, however, without
violating Christian propriety, speak _in behalf_ of the public in the
_presence_ of the public.

“I may say, without the semblance of flattery or adulation, the
denomination have cherished a deep, and affectionate, and grateful
interest in your labors. They have wondered at your steady and
unfaltering perseverance; they have admired your disinterested and
self-denying course; and they have tenderly sympathized with you, and
prayed for you, when they heard of your personal sufferings, your
imprisonment, and loss of personal liberty, and when they have heard
of those greater losses, to which, in the death of loved and cherished
ones, you have been subjected. And they have rejoiced with you, not,
indeed, that _all_ your work was done, but that a glorious work was
done, when, in humble prostration before the beneficent Author of
revelation, you devoutly thanked Him that you had completed the
translation of the Holy Scriptures in the Burman language. That was a
memorable day, not only in the history of your own life, but in the
history of missions.

“We can only pray, dear brother, that, after a still more extended and
critical knowledge of the Burman language, the result of patient and
laborious study and research, your life may be prolonged to revise and
amend your translation of those soul-sanctifying and soul-comforting
truths which tell with wondrous power in any language in which a
version of them is given. Your prosecution of that other great work,
to which your mind, and pen, and days are given—a Burman dictionary—at
the completion of which you may well rest from your labors, will aid
you greatly in giving your last correcting touch to the Burman
Scriptures. Our prayer will be, in submission to God’s will, that you
may live until you have sent out to the world the volumes which will
not only shed their radiant light on the Scriptures, but will quicken
and elevate the common mind of India.

“And now, dear brother, withdrawn as you have been, by an afflictive
dispensation of Providence, from your chosen and loved labors, allow
me to say, in behalf of your ministering brethren, and other brethren
and friends: We welcome you to your native land; we welcome you to the
scenes of your early and manly youth; we welcome you to our
worshipping assemblies; we welcome you to our hearts. As the
representative of the ministers and private Christians present, I give
to you this hand of cordial welcome, of sympathy, of approbation, and
of love. And I believe, could all our denomination be collected in one
vast assembly, they would request and empower some one to perform this
service for them; or, rather, each one would prefer to give this
significant token of love, and respect, and good wishes, for himself.
Were it possible, and could your strength hold out, and your hand bear
the grasp and the cordial shake of so many, I could wish that every
one who loves the Bible and missions might be his own representative,
and give to you, as I do, the hand of an honest, unchanging, and
cordial good-will.”

And at the close, Mr. Judson rose to reply, Dr. Hague standing at his side and interpreting to the multitude these whispered utterances:

“Through the mercy of God I am permitted to stand before you here this
evening a pensioner of your bounty. I desire to thank you for all your
sympathy and aid, and I pray God’s blessing to rest upon you.... All
that has been done in Burmah has been done by the churches, through
the feeble and unworthy instrumentality of myself and my brethren....
It is one of the severest trials of my life not to be able to lift up
my voice, and give free utterance to my feelings before this
congregation; but repeated trials have assured me that I can not
safely attempt it. And I am much influenced by the circumstance that
it was a request of my wife, in her dying hour, that I would not
address public meetings on my arrival.... I will only add, that I beg
your prayers for the brethren I have left in Burmah; for the feeble
churches we have planted there; and that the good work of God’s grace
may go on until the world shall be filled with His glory.”

When he had finished, Dr. Hague continued to address the audience in an eloquent strain until the thread of his address was strangely interrupted. A man had pressed his way through the crowded aisles and had ascended the pulpit. He and Mr. Judson embraced each other with tears of joy and affection. It was Samuel Nott, Jr., the only survivor, except Mr. Judson, of that group of seminary students who had conceived the stupendous idea of American foreign missions. He was one of the five who had first gone to India, but had been compelled to return to America on account of ill health, and now, after a separation of thirty-three years, was permitted to meet his former fellow-student under these circumstances of thrilling interest. Mr. Nott addressed the meeting, with much emotion, and said:

“More than thirty years ago he gave his brother the right hand of
fellowship, and when he became a Baptist it was not withdrawn. One
reflection most solemnly impressed him—of the five who went out to
India, three are dead. The grass withereth, the flower fadeth, but the
word of our God shall stand forever. In a little while they would all
be gone, and every agency now employed pass away; but God’s word will
stand fast, and prevail over all the earth. He then referred to the
small beginning of the American Board, as well as the Baptist, their
trust in God, and the present great and glorious work which is
exhibited to us in contrast. The missionary movement in this country
originated simultaneously in different hearts; the spirit of the Most
High, and not human influence, gave it birth. He deemed it a very
trifling question whether Adoniram Judson or Samuel J. Mills was the
originator of foreign missions. Samuel Nott, Jr., certainly was not.
They were all mere boys, but with God’s blessing on their puerile
efforts, they had begun an influence which is spreading over the
world.”

In November Mr. Judson visited Providence, the seat of Brown University, where he had been graduated about forty years before, with the highest honors. A public meeting was held in the old First Baptist church, which was filled to overflowing. Prayer was offered by Dr. Granger, the pastor of the church, and Dr. Wayland made an address. Mr. Judson then said a few words, which were interpreted to the audience by Dr. Caswell:

“The first wish of his heart was to express, in behalf of himself and
his missionary brethren, his deep sense of gratitude to the church
usually worshipping in that house, as one of the foremost of the
Baptist churches in the work of missions, and especially for their
contributions to the support of the pastor of the native church in
Rangoon. In the early part of his residence in Rangoon, a Burman
philosopher, attended by his pupils, on their way to a neighboring
pagoda, was wont to pass the place where he lived and from which he
instructed the people. On one occasion the philosopher was stopped by
the crowd gathered about him, and his eye accidentally fell upon the
first tract that was published in the Burmese language, the opening
words of which announced the existence of a _living, eternal God_.
These significant words arrested his whole attention, and he stood a
long time, as in profound thought, his whole soul absorbed with the
great truth which they taught. To himself, as well as the whole
nation, this was a new idea, and it led to a long course of study and
investigation, which finally resulted in the renunciation of the
religion of his country, and the adoption of Christianity.

“He was baptized, and commenced a course of zealous labor as a
Christian teacher. He soon became obnoxious to the Government, and was
tried and condemned to death. But before the day of execution came on,
he effected his escape, and fled from the city. Since that time he had
never seen him, nor learned any particulars of his life, but had
frequently heard of him through persons who came a long distance from
the interior in search of tracts and Bibles, having been awakened to
inquiry, and converted to the Christian faith, by his instructions.
The native pastor, to whom reference had been made, was once a pupil
of this Burman philosopher, and afterward his disciple in the better
school of Christian truth. After this interesting allusion to this
signal instance of the effect of Christian missions, Dr. Judson
observed that for more than thirty-three years he had been living in
the midst of a people of practical atheists, whose sole object of
worship was the image of a being called Gaudama, who had lived some
two thousand years ago.

“The image of this being they were taught to worship from their
earliest infancy; mothers bringing to it their little children in
their arms, and teaching them to clasp it with the affection of
infantile devotion. Through the blessing of God much good had been
done, multitudes converted, and churches formed; and nothing but the
toleration of Government seemed wanting to give the blessings of
Christianity to the whole nation. On returning to his native land
after so long an absence, he saw on all sides much to admire and love;
but he must confess that the conversion of one immortal soul on those
heathen shores awakened within him deeper emotion than all the beauty
of this glorious land. The greatest favor he could ask of his
Christian friends was, to permit him to return as soon as possible to
his home on the banks of the Salwen; those banks from which he had led
so many happy converts into the baptismal waters; those banks which
had so often resounded with the notes of a baptismal song, composed by
her whom he had so lately lost, who had now left her task of making
hymns on earth for the higher and better one of singing with angels
and ransomed spirits that ‘new song of Moses and the Lamb.’ ‘May it be
ours,’ were the last words of the speaker, ‘to meet her there at last,
and join that holy throng whom no man can number, who rest not day and
night, saying, Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty!’”

The missionary organization which had sustained Mr. Judson in Burmah for so many years, opened its triennial convention in New York city on the 19th of November, 1845. The occasion was one never to be forgotten. Services were held in the Baptist Tabernacle, and Mr. Judson was present. Dr. Cone offered some appropriate resolutions of sympathy and welcome, and then, taking Mr. Judson by the hand, he introduced him to Dr. Wayland, the President of the Convention, as _Jesus Christ’s man_. In the presence of the vast and deeply-affected concourse, Dr. Wayland gave the veteran missionary a most impressive welcome:

“It is with no ordinary feelings, my beloved brother, that I rise to
discharge the duty imposed upon me by the resolution which you have
this moment heard. My own heart assures me that language is inadequate
to express the sentiments of your brethren on the present occasion.