Chapter XII (1)

LAST YEARS.
1846-1850.

More than four months elapsed after Mr. and Mrs. Judson parted from their friends in Boston before they arrived at Maulmain. The passage, though long, was pleasant. Under date of November 27, 1846, Mr. Judson writes to his friend, Mr. Gardner Colby:

“One hundred and thirty-nine days from Boston, and the mountains of
Burmah appear in the horizon. None ever had a pleasanter passage than
we have been favored with, though rather long, from the prevalence of
head-winds. The _Faneuil Hall_ was a good sailer, an excellent
sea-boat, and furnished with the best accommodations. The table was
well supplied, and the captain endeared himself to us, not only by
unremitting kindness, but by the interchange of congenial sentiments
and feelings on the subject of religion. Two services on Lord’s days,
the one a Bible-class in the saloon, and the other, public worship on
deck with the crew, together with evening worship every day, have
given the character of a Bethel to our floating home.

“In regard to my studies, I have not much to boast of. Not having my
native assistants with me, I have not ventured _to go forward_ in the
dictionary, but have employed myself in revising and transcribing for
the press the first half of the English and Burmese part, that had
been previously sketched out. This work I had hardly completed when
the cry of Land, ho! saluted my ears.”

In passing the Island of St. Helena, his thoughts dwelt tenderly upon her who, like Rachel of old, had died “on the way, when it was but a little way to go unto Ephrath.”

“The precipitous, rocky cliffs, however, that form the outline of that
spot on the ocean, the narrow ravine winding between them and leading
to the walled mansion of the dead, the low, overshadowing tree, and
the swelling turf, marked, perhaps, by the white gravestones, are all
distinctly before me. And, did the misty mythology of antiquity still
obtain, I could fancy the spirit of the departed sitting on one of the
cloud-wrapped peaks that overhang her grave, and pensively observing
the _Faneuil Hall_ on her circuitous route to the south-east. ‘Why are
you wheeling away at such a distance from me and my lonely dwelling?
The dear little ones that I left in your charge, where are they? And
who—what slender form is that I see at your side, occupying the place
that once was mine?’ But the mistiness and darkness of pagan mythology
have been dispelled by beams of light from those higher heights where
she is really sitting. And thence, if departed spirits take cognizance
of things on earth, she sees, with satisfaction, that I am _hastening_
back to the field of our common labors. She sees, with delight and
gratitude to God, that all her children are situated in precise
accordance with her last wishes and prayers. And glad she is to see me
returning, not unattended.

“Farewell, rock of the ocean. I thank thee that thou hast given me a
‘place where I might bury my dead.’ Blessings on the dear friends of
the Saviour who dwell there. And, if any of the surviving children of
the departed should ever enjoy the privilege, which is denied me, of
visiting and shedding a tear over her grave, may a double portion of
her heavenly spirit descend and rest upon them.”

When off the Isle of France, he wrote:

“About thirty-three years ago I went with my dear wife to the populous
city of the dead in Port Louis, on the adjacent island, to visit the
new-made grave of Harriet Newell, the first American missionary who
left this world for heaven. It has been my privilege, twice since, to
make a pilgrimage to the same spot. The last time, my second departed
one expected to find her resting-place by the side of Mrs. Newell; but
the grave was digging in another island. It is a thought that presses
on me at this moment, how little the missionary who leaves his native
land can calculate on his final resting-place. Out of twenty-five
missionaries, male and female, with whom I have been associated, and
who have gone before me, five or six only found their graves in those
places to which they were first sent. Strangers and pilgrims, they had
no abiding-place on earth; they sought a permanent abode beyond the
skies; and they sought to show the way thither to multitudes who were
groping in darkness, and saw it not.

“At last the promontory of Amherst loomed into sight. And now, on the
green bank just beyond, I discern, with a telescope, the small
enclosure which contains the sleeping-place of my dear Ann and her
daughter Maria. Like my missionary associates, the members of my own
family are scattered far and wide; for the mounds that mark their
graves stud the burial-places of Rangoon, Amherst, Maulmain,
Serampore, and St. Helena. What other place shall next be added to the
list?

“Above eighteen months ago I sailed from these shores with a heavy
heart, distressed at leaving my friends and my work, and appalled at
the prospect of impending death. With mingled emotions I now return.
But these things suit rather the eye and the ear of private friends. I
will only add my fervent wish that the Heaven-blessed land where I
have been so warmly received during my late brief visit may pour forth
her representatives, her wealth, and her prayers, to enlighten and
enrich this my adopted land, whose shores are just now greeting my
eyes.”

On the 30th of November he arrived at Maulmain, and clasped once more in his arms his little children, Henry and Edward, from whom he had parted more than eighteen months before. But, alas! one little wan face was missing.

He wrote to his sister:

“I have set up housekeeping in my old house; and it seems like home,
notwithstanding the devastation that death and removal have made.
Emily makes one of the best wives and kindest mothers to the children
that ever man was blessed with. I wish you were here to make one of
the family; but I suppose that can not be. I shall now go on with the
dictionary and other missionary work as usual. Your likeness is an
excellent one. I keep that and the children’s by me constantly. Shall
I ever forget that last parting in Boston? No, never, till we meet in
heaven.”

And in a fond letter to his boys in America, he gives a glimpse of the little home in Maulmain from which unbending necessity had exiled them forever:

“MAULMAIN, _December_ 20, 1846.

“I can hardly realize that I am sitting in the old house, where we all
lived together so long; and now your mamma, yourselves, your sister
Abby Ann, and little Charlie are gone. It is now evening. I am writing
in the hall where I used to sit and study, when your mamma had gone
down the coast with Captain and Mrs. Durand. Your new mamma has just
put your little brothers, Henry and Edward, to bed. They lie in the
room where you used to sleep before you removed to the corner room.
Henry is singing and talking aloud to himself; and what do you think
he is saying? Your new mamma has just called me to listen. ‘My own
mamma went away, away in a boat. And then she got wings and went up.
And Charlie, too, went up, and they are flying above the moon and the
stars.’ I preach in the chapel, as I used to do, but have not yet
begun to work at the dictionary; for we have been very busy seeing
company and getting our house and things in order. Everything looks as
it used to do when you were here.... We found Henry in this place,
when we arrived. My dear boys, I don’t know when I shall see you
again. If I ever should, you will not be the dear little fellows I
left at Worcester. But I hope that as you grow larger, and change the
features that are now so deeply engraven on my heart, you will also
grow wiser and better, and become more worthy of my fondest love. That
you will give your hearts to the Saviour is my most earnest desire.
Love your dear uncle and aunt Newton. Mind all they say, and ever try
to please them.”

Upon his return Mr. Judson found that the mission had flourished during his absence, and was able to send an encouraging report to the Corresponding Secretary.

“The native church, under the care of brother Stevens, is not much
enlarged, but it is much improved, in consequence of the exclusion of
several unworthy members, and the admission of more promising
characters, chiefly from among the children of the converts. Brother
Howard’s school has greatly improved both in numbers and in
qualifications. Brother Binney’s school, which was just beginning when
I left, has attained a high degree of respectability and usefulness.
The Karen missionaries and their disciples are mostly absent from
Maulmain at this season; but I understand that prospects in that
department of the mission were never more encouraging. The
printing-office and the secular business of the mission are managed by
brother Ranney with promptitude and efficiency. Brother Haswell
resides here at present, superintending the printing of the New
Testament in the Peguan, and is preaching on all occasions. Brother
Stilson is also here, making and superintending the printing of
elementary books for schools in the Burman—a work for which he has a
peculiar tact and _penchant_.”

But for himself he still ardently cherished the purpose to enter Burmah proper. His eye was upon his old field, Rangoon. To be sure, the new Burman king was a bigoted Buddhist, and therefore bitterly opposed to the propagation of the Christian religion. But in Maulmain there were laborers enough; while in Rangoon he would be favorably situated for completing the dictionary, as he would there have access to learned men, and also to books not to be found in Maulmain. Moreover, he hoped that Burman intolerance might at last yield, and he was eager to press into the interior of the empire and establish a mission in Ava, the scene of his sufferings.

Even before leaving America he had written to the Corresponding Secretary on this point:

“The accounts of the late revolution in Burmah are so contradictory,
and the prospect of more toleration so indefinite, that no certain
expectation can well be entertained. It is possible, however, that, on
my arriving in Maulmain, there may be an opening for me to proceed to
Ava. There is sometimes a tide in affairs which, once lost, returns
not again. Have the Board sufficient confidence in me to authorize me,
by an overland dispatch which shall meet me on arriving in Maulmain,
to attempt a mission at Ava, without waiting for further permission,
or being under the necessity of debating the matter with other
missionaries, who may demur, for want of something express from the
Board?

“The dictionary would not be done _so soon_, if I should go to Ava;
but it would be done _much better_, by means of the aids which the
capital would furnish.”

Impelled by these motives Mr. and Mrs. Judson, taking with them their two little boys, embarked at Maulmain for Rangoon on February 15, 1847.

Only two months and a half had passed since their return from America. They might have been pardoned had they remained longer in the society of their missionary associates in Maulmain. But it was not their purpose to seek their own pleasure. They willingly left the twilight of Maulmain, in order to penetrate the dense darkness of Rangoon, although, as Mr. Judson wrote, “it seemed harder for him to leave Maulmain for Rangoon than to leave Boston for Maulmain.”

After a voyage of five days they and their two children arrived in Rangoon. Mr. Judson had previously made a visit there alone, in order “to ascertain the state of things in Burmah more definitely before making an attempt to settle there.” He had on that occasion hired, for fifty rupees[67] a month, the upper part of a large brick house, which Mrs. Judson subsequently named “Bat Castle.” He describes it as—

“A place dreary indeed, and destitute of almost all outward comforts,
but one which will afford an opportunity of building up the feeble
church by private efforts, and of seizing the first opening for more
public efforts that God in His providence may present, in answer to
the prayers of His people in beloved, far-distant America.”

Before engaging the house he wrote to Mrs. Judson: “The place looks as gloomy as a prison.... I shrink at taking you and the children into such a den, and fear you would pine and die in it.” It was into this forbidding abode that Mr. Judson introduced the lady to whom he had been so recently married. He wrote:

“We have had a grand bat hunt yesterday and to-day—bagged two hundred
and fifty, and calculate to make up a round thousand before we have
done. We find that, in hiring the upper story of this den, we secured
the lower moiety only, the upper moiety thereof being preoccupied by a
thriving colony of vagabonds, who flare up through the night with a
vengeance, and the sound of their wings is as the sound of many
waters, yea, as the sound of your boasted Yankee Niagara; so that
sleep departs from your eyes, and slumber from our eyelids. But we are
reading them some lessons which we hope will be profitable to all
parties concerned.”

But we are indebted to Mrs. Judson’s pen, in a letter to her younger sister, for a still more vivid portraiture of “Bat Castle”:

“BAT CASTLE (Rangoon), _March_ 15, 1847.

“DEAR KITTY: I write you from walls as massive as any you read of in
old stories and a great deal uglier—the very eyeball and heart-core of
an old white-bearded Mussulman. Think of me in an immense brick house
with rooms as large as the entire ‘loggery’ (our centre room is twice
as large, and has _no_ window), and only one small window apiece. When
I speak of windows, do not think I make any allusion to glass—of
course not. The windows (holes) are closed by means of heavy board or
plank shutters, tinned over on the outside, as a preventive of fire.
The bamboo houses of the natives here are like flax or tinder, and the
foreigners, who have more than the one cloth which Burmans wrap about
the body, and the mat they sleep on, dare live in nothing but brick.
Imagine us, then, on the second floor of this immense den, with nine
rooms at our command, the smallest of which (bathing-room and a kind
of pantry) are, I think, quite as large as your dining-room, and the
rest very much larger. Part of the floors are of brick, and part of
boards; but old ‘Green Turban’ whitewashed them all, with the walls,
before we came, because the Doctor told him, when he was over here,
that he must ‘make the house shine for madam.’ He did make it shine
with a vengeance, between whitewashing and greasing. They oil
furniture in this country, as Americans do mahogany; but all his doors
and other woodwork were fairly dripping, and we have not got rid of
the smell yet; nor, with all our rubbing, is it quite safe to hold too
long on the door. The partitions are all of brick, and very thick, and
the door-sills are _built up_, so that I go over them at three or four
steps, Henry mounts and falls off, and Edward gets on all-fours, and
accomplishes the pass with more safety. The floor overhead is quite
low, and the beams, which are frequent, afford shelter to thousands
and thousands of bats, that disturb us in the daytime only by a little
cricket-like music, but in the night—oh, if you could only hear them
carouse! The mosquito curtains are our only safeguard; and getting up
is horrible. The other night I awoke faint, with a feeling of
suffocation; and without waiting to think jumped out on the floor. You
would have thought ‘Old Nick’ himself had come after you, for, of
course, you believe these firm friends of the _ladies of the
broomstick_ incipient imps. If there is nothing wickeder about them
than about the little sparrows that come in immense swarms to the same
beams, pray what do they do all through the hours of darkness, and why
do they circle and whizz about a poor mortal’s head, flap their
villainous wings in one’s face, and then whisk away, as if
_snickering_ at the annoyance? We have had men at work nearly a week
trying to thin them out, and have killed a great many hundreds; but I
suppose their little demoniac souls come back, each with an attendant,
for I am sure there are twice as many as at first. Everything, walls,
tables, chairs, etc., are stained by them. Besides the bats, we are
blessed with our full share of cockroaches, beetles, spiders, lizards,
rats, ants, mosquitoes, and bed-bugs. With the last the woodwork is
all alive, and the ants troop over the house in great droves, though
there are scattering ones beside. Perhaps twenty have crossed my paper
since I have been writing. Only one cockroach has paid me a visit, but
the neglect of these gentlemen has been fully made up by a company of
black bugs about the size of the end of your little finger—nameless
adventurers.”...

The Judsons were scarcely settled in these forbidding quarters when they learned that the house in Maulmain, where they had deposited their best clothing and most valuable goods—many of them presents from dear friends whom they were to see no more—had taken fire and had been burned to the ground with all its contents. They had brought but a few articles with them, not being willing to trust the most valuable part of their personal effects to the rapacious Government at Rangoon. They had thought it best to draw their supplies from Maulmain, and now the precious consignment of articles which they had brought with them from their dear native land had been consumed in the flames. But Mr. Judson had long since mastered the science of contentment. He had been instructed both “to be full and to be hungry; both to abound and to suffer need.” He wrote to the Rev. E. A. Stevens, a beloved fellow-sufferer in this calamity:

“RANGOON, _March_ 2, 1847.

“‘The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away; _blessed be the name of
the Lord_.’ My heart overflows with gratitude, and my eyes with tears,
as I pen these precious inspired words. There are some other lines,
quaint in garb, but rich in core, that are worth more than all your
house and contents:

“‘Blessed be God for all,
For all things here below;
For every loss and every cross
To my advantage grow.’

“But I sympathize with you and dear sister Stevens. Brother Bullard
has also sustained a heavy loss. Brother Brayton’s will not, on the
whole, be any great loss. As to me—the leeks and onions that were
packed up in those two valuable boxes, worth about seven or eight
hundred rupees, were very bright to the eye and soft to the feel; and
many of them we shall greatly need if we live a year or two longer;
but they have gone to dust and ashes, where I have seen many bright,
dear eyes go, to rescue any pair of which I would have given those
boxes ten times over.

“I am glad and thankful that the New Testament and the manuscripts are
not wholly lost, though some are. And I am glad that so much interest
has been excited in the Christian community at Maulmain. I am glad,
also, that my house was empty, and ready to afford you immediate
shelter.

“We arrived here the Saturday after leaving Maulmain, and got our
things through the custom-house on the next Monday, a week ago
yesterday. We now begin to feel a little settled, and are about
commencing a routine of study, and, I may add, missionary labor; for
though the Burmese converts are few and timid, the Karens flock in
from different parts, and occupy a good deal of my time. All the men
understand Burman pretty well, and I have had some interesting
meetings among them....

“I have recommenced the work of the dictionary, which has been
suspended nearly two years. Why has this grievous interruption been
permitted, and all this precious time lost? And why are our houses and
property allowed to be burned up? And why are those most dear to us,
and most qualified to be useful in the cause, torn from our arms and
dashed into the grave, and all their knowledge and qualification with
them? Because infinite wisdom and love will have it so. Because it is
best for us, and best for them, and best for the cause, and best for
the interests of eternity, that it should be so. And blessed be God,
we know it, and are thankful, and rejoice, and say, Glory be to God.”

Missionary operations in Rangoon were obstructed from the very outset by the intolerance of the Burmese Government. It must be remembered that the missionaries were no longer under the protection of the English flag, as they had been at Maulmain. They were exposed to the barbarities of a bigoted and unlimited despotism. The Burman monarch and his younger brother, the heir apparent, were both rigid Buddhists. And the administration of the Government, though more friendly to strangers, had become more doggedly intolerant of Christianity than that of the late king Tharawadi. Buddhism was in full force throughout the empire, and the prospects of a missionary were never darker. The vice-governor of Rangoon, who was at that time acting-governor, is described by Mr. Judson as being the most ferocious, bloodthirsty monster he had ever known in Burmah. His house and court-yard resounded day and night with the screams of people under torture.

“Even foreigners,” Mr. Judson wrote, “are not beyond his grasp. He
lately wreaked his rage on some Armenians and Mussulmans, and one of
the latter class died in the hands of a subordinate officer. His crime
was quite a venial one; but in order to extort money, he was tortured
so barbarously that the blood streamed from his mouth, and he was dead
in an hour.”

It must be remembered that Mr. Judson had been received and patronized by the Government, not as a missionary or propagator of religion, but as the priest of a foreign religion, ministering to the foreigners in the place.

Missionary operations, accordingly, had to be conducted with the utmost secrecy. Any known attempt at proselyting would have been instantly amenable at the criminal tribunal, and would probably have been punished by the imprisonment or death of the proselyte, and the banishment of the missionary. Nothing but a wholesome fear of the British Government kept these bloodthirsty wretches from the throat of the missionary himself. Every step was cautious—every movement slow. Mrs. Judson quietly pursued the two tasks of learning the language and writing a Memorial of Mrs. Sarah Boardman Judson, which was finished during this trying period at Rangoon. Mr. Judson kept at work on the dictionary, while he gathered for secret worship the few scattered members of the native church, and the inquirers who, at the risk of imprisonment and death, visited him by night. He thus wrote to the Hon. Heman Lincoln and family:

.... “From this land of darkness and intolerance I address a line to
you, my dear, very dear friends, in blessed America, in bright,
beautiful Boston and vicinity. It seems like an Elysian vision, that I
have so lately seen your happy dwellings and elegant surroundings—a
vision, however, dispelled instantly by a crushing nightmare feeling,
on looking round upon the wretched habitations, the rude, filthy
population, the towering pagodas, and the swarms of well-fed priests
which everywhere here pain the eye and the heart. Buddhism has come
out in full bloom. The few traces of Christianity discoverable in the
early stages of the mission seem almost obliterated. The present king
and his brother, the heir presumptive, are devoted Buddhists,
especially the latter. He begs his elder brother to allow him to turn
priest, that he may gratify his pious propensities; and on being
refused, he does, poor man! all that he can. He descends from his
prince-regal seat, pounds and winnows the rice with his own hands,
washes and boils it in his own cook-house, and then, on bended knees,
presents it to the priests. This strong pulsation at the heart has
thrown fresh blood throughout the once shrivelled system of the
national superstition; and now every one vies with his neighbor in
building pagodas and making offerings to the priests. What can one
poor missionary effect, accompanied by his yet speechless wife, and
followed by three men and one woman from Maulmain, and summoning to
his aid the aged pastor of Rangoon and eight or ten surviving members
of the church? But as the Mussulman says, _God is great_. He sitteth
on the heavens, he setteth His foot on the earth, and the inhabitants
are as grasshoppers before Him. He dwelleth also in the humble and
contrite soul; and the rays of indwelling glory appear more
resplendent, gleaming through the chinks of the humble tenement. O for
that humility and contrition, O for that simplicity of faith, which
will secure the indwelling glory! May such sinners as we are hope for
such a blessing? O help us with your prayers, ye who sit under the
droppings of the sanctuary, and are sometimes allowed to approach the
presence; O Thou that hearest prayer, help Thou our unbelief!

“Last Sabbath was our stated communion season, occurring once in four
months. No alcoholic liquor can be procured in this place, the
importation of all such being strictly forbidden. Our wine was a
decoction of raisins, the unadulterated juice of the grape. Ten
Burmans, one Karen, and two Americans came around the lowly, glorious
board. To-day I had about the same number of disciples, and several
listeners, two of whom remained long after worship, and, with two
others whom I have found since arriving here, make up the small number
of _four hopeful inquirers_. But all our operations are conducted in
secrecy. I have been introduced to the Government, not as a
missionary—though the governor and the vice-governor both knew me well
from old acquaintance—but as a minister of a foreign religion,
ministering to foreigners in the place, and as a lexicographer,
laboring to promote the literature of both nations! In one room,
therefore, of the upper story of the brick house—for which upper story
I am obliged to pay fifty rupees a month—will the Christian public
bear me out in this extra expense?—I have paraded my lexicographical
apparatus, and commenced hammering at the anvil of the dictionary,
which has hardly resounded with my blows for two years past; two
years, alas! lost, lost, in tossing on the sea, closing dear eyes,
digging graves, rending heartstrings, and feeling about for new ones.
Thanks be to God, I have a sweet little family around me once more—F.
F., Harry, and Eddy. God is not only ‘great,’ but good. God is love.
And He can change our hard, selfish hearts, and make them full of
love. Do I not love you, dear friends? Shall I see you no more? Yes,
in heaven, whither we are fast hastening.”

The condition of the missionaries in Rangoon was made still more distressing by sickness. The great brick house became a hospital. One member of the family after another was prostrated by disease. Their maladies were also aggravated by the want of nourishing food.

Mrs. Judson gives an interesting reminiscence of this doleful episode in Rangoon:

“In the meantime the rainy season set in; and it proved a season of
unusual sickliness, even for that sickly place. To add still more to
the uncomfortableness of our situation, the season for the Buddhistic
Lent, which continues several months, came round; and, probably for
the first time in fifty years, foreigners were so far compelled to
observe it as to abstain from eating flesh or fowl. If we had known of
the prohibition in season, we could have been prepared; but it took us
quite by surprise. A few fish were exhibited in the bazaar; but it was
so disreputable to trade, even in these, that they could scarcely be
found, except in a half-putrid state. The only baker in town left soon
after our arrival; and we were forced to live almost exclusively on
boiled rice and fruits. To the former I unfortunately took an
unconquerable disgust; and the latter proved unwholesome to all of us.
One child was seized with erysipelas; the other with a complication of
diseases brought on, as we supposed, by the meagre diet, and exposure
to the damp winds; and Dr. Judson himself had a most violent attack of
dysentery, which kept him from his study-table six weeks. For myself,
my appetite had failed in proportion to the means of gratifying it;
so, without being ill, I was so reduced in strength as often, in
walking across the room, to fall, or rather slide, down on the floor,
not from faintness, but sheer physical weakness. One of the assistants
also took the fever; and the nurse I brought from Maulmain, the only
woman besides myself in the household, became seriously ill. Of course
we had no medical adviser; and if we had desired it ever so much, we
could not get away, as the monsoon was now at its height, and the
small native vessels in the harbor were not only without
accommodations for invalids, but too frail to be trusted with the
freight of human lives.”

And thus again to her friends in America she wrote:

“RANGOON, _June_ 16, 1847.

“Trouble on trouble—trouble on trouble! You could scarce imagine, dear
aunt Cynthia, people in a worse condition than we are now. Last
Saturday evening Dr. J. came into my room with red eyes and a voice
all tremulous with weeping. ‘We must be at the worst now,’ he said;
‘and in all my troubles in this dreadful country, I never before
looked on so discouraging a prospect. We are hunted down here like
wild beasts; watched by Government and plotted against by Catholic
priests. The churches at home have made no provision for our going to
Ava, the governor is importuned to send us out of the country, the
monsoon is raging, and we could not go to Maulmain if we wished, and
you are failing every day—it seems to me dying before my eyes—without
the possibility of obtaining either medicines or a physician.”...

To what straits the family was reduced for food may be seen in the following sketch from Mrs. Judson’s pen:

“Our milk is a mixture of buffaloes’ milk, water, and something else
which we can not make out. We have changed our milk-woman several
times, but it does no good. The butter we make from it is like lard
with flakes of tallow. But it is useless to write about these
things—you can get no idea. I must tell you, however, of the grand
dinner we had one day. ‘You must contrive and get something that mamma
can eat,’ the doctor said to our Burmese purveyor; ‘she will starve to
death.’ ‘What shall I get?’ ‘Anything.’ ‘Anything?’ ‘Anything.’ Well,
we did have a capital dinner, though we tried in vain to find out by
the bones what it was. Henry said it was _touk-tahs_, a species of
lizard, and I should have thought so too, if the little animal had
been of a fleshy consistence. Cook said he _didn’t know_, but he
grinned a horrible grin which made my stomach heave a little,
notwithstanding the deliciousness of the meat. In the evening we
called Mr. Bazaar-man. ‘What did we have for dinner to-day?’ ‘Were
they good?’ ‘Excellent.’ A tremendous explosion of laughter, in which
the cook from his dish-room joined as loud as he dared. ‘What were
they?’ ‘_Rats!_’ A common servant would not have played such a trick,
but it was one of the doctor’s assistants who goes to bazaar for us.
You know the Chinese consider rats a great delicacy, and he bought
them at one of their shops.”

But amid all the discouragements and sufferings of his life in Rangoon, Mr. Judson did not lapse into despondency. He wrote to a friend:

“My sojourn in Rangoon, though tedious and trying in some respects, I
regard as one of the brightest spots, one of the greenest oases in the
diversified wilderness of my life. May God make me thankful for all
the blessings which have hitherto fallen to my lot, and for the hope
of those richer blessings which are just concealed by the cloud of
sense from our spiritual vision. If this world is so happy, what must
heaven be? And as to trials, let us bear up under them, remembering
that if we suffer for Christ’s sake, with Him we shall reign.”

At last, however, the intolerance of the Government became so fierce that there was no hope of retaining a foothold in Rangoon, without going to Ava in order to secure the favor of the royal court.

“One Saturday morning,” says Mrs. Judson, “we were startled by some
private intimations that the bloody ray-woon, as one of the
vice-governors was called, had his eye on us; and a little before
evening the hints were fully confirmed. We learned from an undoubted
source that a police guard had been stationed in the vicinity of our
house, with orders to seize every native, not known to be a servant of
the house, seen coming out of it. We inferred that their policy was
not to disturb _us_ at present, but the blow was first to fall on the
poor Christians. Several Karens were stopping with us, and in addition
to our usual company of worshippers quite a number of invited friends
and strangers had promised to be with us on the next day. The church
had been making individual efforts to enlarge the congregation. I
shall never forget the expression of my husband’s face, as though
really piercing to the invisible, when he exclaimed, ‘I tell you, if
we had but the power to see them, the air above us is thick with
contending spirits—the good and the bad, striving for the mastery. I
know where final victory lies, but the struggle may be a long one.’
There was not much time for talking, however. He communicated the
state of things, as far as he thought expedient, to his two native
assistants, and sent them out to warn the nearer worshippers. In this,
great caution was necessary, in order to prevent a panic; and I
suppose that the Rangoon Christians have never, to this day, known the
extent of their danger. As the assistants, by an especial arrangement,
did not return till after our landlord’s hour for closing the gate,
Dr. Judson, with some difficulty, got the key into his own possession;
and so, in the first gray of the morning, the Karens were guided out
of town, and advised to return to the jungle. The last place to which
the assistants carried their warning, on Sunday morning, was a little
village five miles from Rangoon, where they remained till toward
evening. Dr. Judson was afraid of compromising the Christians by going
to any of their houses that day; but he had advised them, through the
assistants, how to hold worship, and we knew of several places where
little knots of men and women were gathered for prayer.

“These demonstrations on the part of Government were followed up by a
series of petty annoyances and insults, which effectually precluded
the possibility of accomplishing much good. The governor was friendly,
but weak and cowardly; and we soon found that his protection was
really worthless, except as he could hold the petty officers in awe.
The bloody ray-woon laughed at his authority, and once actually
assembled the troops against him, when the poor governor yielded. Both
Christians and inquirers, however, still came to us in private; and
many a man, who refused to take even a book from the teacher’s hands,
would watch his opportunity, when going out, to snatch one from a box
placed near the door for that purpose, and hide it in his dress,
congratulating himself, no doubt, that he was unsuspected even by us.”

Under these circumstances, the only hope lay in a visit to Ava. Mr. Judson’s heart was set upon this. He believed that it was the only way by which the Gospel could be established in Burmah proper; besides, in the completion of his dictionary, he desired to avail himself of the help of the scholars and the literature to be found only at the capital. And bitter indeed was his disappointment when the policy of retrenchment at home not only prevented his pushing on to Ava, but also compelled him to retreat from Rangoon. It was with an almost broken heart that this wise and intrepid leader, after this last fruitless effort to break the serried ranks of Burman intolerance, returned to Maulmain in obedience to the timid and narrow policy of his brethren in America. He wrote:

“I am persuaded, as I have been for years past, that the only way to
keep footing in Rangoon is to obtain some countenance at Ava. My
principal object in coming hither was to ascertain the practicability
and probable advantage of proceeding to the capital. The present
governor has given his permission, and the season favorable for going
up the river is not far distant. But at the approaching crisis, I find
myself destitute of the requisite means. The Board have approved the
measure, but have not been able to accompany their approval with the
needful remittance. On the contrary, I learn from my last letters from
Maulmain, that the annual appropriation for the Burman mission is ten
thousand rupees less than the current expenses require. The brethren
have been obliged to retrench in every department, instead of being
able to make an appropriation for a new enterprise. My extra expense
in Rangoon for assistants and house-rent is eighty-six rupees a month,
and they have been able to allow me seventeen and a half only. The
Mission Secretary writes me that for anything beyond that sum I must
look, not to their treasury, but to the Board. Instead, therefore, of
entering on a new and expensive undertaking, I find myself unable to
remain in Rangoon. But no; I might hope that an appeal home would
provide the means for remaining here; but in present circumstances,
unable to remain to any advantage without making friends at Ava, and
having no hope that the Board will be able to commence a new station,
or even sustain the old ones much longer, there remains nothing for me
but to fall back upon Maulmain.

“It is my growing conviction that the Baptist churches in America are
behind the age in missionary spirit. They now and then make a
spasmodic effort to throw off a nightmare debt of some years’
accumulation, and then sink back into unconscious repose. Then come
paralyzing orders to re-trench; new enterprises are checked in their
very conception, and applicants for missionary employ are advised to
wait, and soon become merged in the ministry at home. Several cases of
that sort I encountered during my late visit to the United States.
This state of things can not last always. The Baptist missions will
probably pass into the hands of other denominations, or be temporarily
suspended; and those who have occupied the van will fall back into the
rear. Nebuchadnezzar will be driven out from men, to eat grass like an
ox, until seven times pass over him. But he will, at length, recover
his senses, and be restored to the throne of his kingdom, and reign
over the whole earth.”

And how deeply his heroic nature mourned over the signal to retreat may be seen in the description of the situation at Rangoon, as given by her who shared-with him this bitter experience:

“Dr. Judson, when he could keep down his groans, used to speak of our
position as ‘the pass of the Splugen,’ and say he had no doubt we
should find sunny vales and fruited vineyards the other side. The
Government was certainly very bad, and our prospects, at the best,
misty; yet as soon as his health and the children’s began to amend,
our courage revived. We could not bear, now we had gone so far, and
been through so much, to think of retreating, without an effort to get
to Ava. For myself, as I believe is natural to the practical minds of
women, I sat down to examine the worst features of the case in detail.
We should of course be subjected to inconceivable annoyances, but we
must trust Providence to give us wise thoughts. We very likely might
be banished; but we could always hold ourselves in readiness to go,
and the loss of the few goods we had would not be much. Possibly we
should be imprisoned; but I did not think that very likely, and we
should always have means of informing our friends in Maulmain. Death
was the worst. We _must_ endure it some time. If it came a little
earlier, it would be in a good cause; and there would be faithful
Christians about us, who would never rest till they had taken the
children to Maulmain. The way seemed clear to me. Dr. Judson said it
was scarcely possible for us to encounter the complication of troubles
that we had already passed through in Rangoon. Ava, he said, was
always better governed than Rangoon; and this starving of people
during Lent had never occurred before in all his missionary-life, and
was not likely to occur again; besides, the rains were less heavy, and
consequently the rainy season less sickly. In addition to this, he had
a friend at court—a Burman of rank, who loved him, and was exerting
himself to the utmost to gain respect for the ‘wise man,’ and to
explain that Americans were not Englishmen. The plan of going to Ava
really seemed, on the whole, feasible. Accordingly Dr. Judson used his
first returning strength to call on the governor, to obtain permission
to go. Not that we could not go without permission; but it was polite
and conciliatory to ask, and in the permission would be an implied
exemption from annoyance in getting away, and protection—probably that
of a Government flag or official umbrella—on the river. The Lent was
not yet over; but what with boxes of biscuit from Maulmain, bribing a
Mussulman—a rascally fellow, who afterward came and robbed us of our
dearly-bought treasure—to obtain fowls for us secretly, and the
improved health of some of us, we began to be quite valorous. As Dr.
Judson expressed it, ‘our faces began to shine.’ Indeed, we had not
been very desponding any of the time. Never, except during an
occasional hour, when his illness was most alarming, did his courage
falter. It was delightful to be so directly in the hands of God. Then,
we had not expected much when we left Maulmain. The church in Rangoon
had been aroused, a few baptisms had taken place, and several more
hopeful conversions; and the _way_ to Ava, if not the golden city
itself, was open before us.

“The letter from Maulmain with no appropriation for our contemplated
expedition, and giving us only twenty rupees to cover the eighty-six
rupees we were even then monthly expending, came upon us like a sudden
tornado in a sunny day. Oddly enough, it had not once occurred to us
that the _money_ could be wanting. You will readily appreciate the one
broad feature of the case, which would have made the blow heavy to any
sincere Christian having much of the missionary spirit; but to my
husband there was additional bitterness in the manner of his
disappointment, and in the hands from which it came. ‘I thought they
loved me,’ he would say, mournfully, ‘and they would scarcely have
known it if I had died.’ ‘All through our troubles, I was comforted
with the thought that my brethren in Maulmain, and in America, were
praying for us, and they have never once thought of us.’ At other
times he would draw startling pictures of missionaries abandoning the
spirit of their mission, and sacrificing everything to some darling
project; and at others he would talk hopelessly of the impulsive
nature of the home movements, and then pray, in a voice of agony, that
these sins of the children of God might not be visited on the heathen.
This was an unnatural state of excitement—for _him_ peculiarly
unnatural—and he was not long in recovering from it. He very soon
began to devise apologies for everybody, and said we must remember
that so far as _we_ were concerned, or the missionary cause itself,
God had done this thing, and done it, as He always does, for good. It
was not His will that we should go to Ava then, and we had no right to
complain of the means He made use of to prevent it. He insisted, too,
that our obedience was not to be yielded grudgingly; that it must be a
cheerful acquiescence in all that God had done, and a sincere, careful
study of the indications of His providence afterward, without any
suspicion that our ways were hedged by anything harder or thornier
than His love and mercy. By the time he had an opportunity to send
letters to Maulmain and Boston, his mind was restored to its usual
serenity. My impression, however, is, that his first letter to the
Board was written in a slightly discouraged tone. He wrote more
hopefully to Maulmain, but I have sometimes thought that his
generosity took the point from his letter, and that his meaning was
not understood in saying that it was _for the best_. I think now that
they mistook resignation to God for a personal willingness to abandon
the enterprise.”

Two years afterward, only a few months before his death, he received permission from the Board to go to Ava. It was couched in the following resolutions:

1. “That the Executive Committee accede to the proposition of Dr.
Judson to visit Ava, for the purpose of perfecting his Burman
dictionary.

2. “That the sum of one thousand rupees be appropriated to defray the
expense of said visit.

3. “That the Foreign Secretary be requested to assure Dr. Judson of
the earnest wish of the Committee, that he should carefully avoid all
that may jeopard his life, or interfere with his invaluable labors.”

But this permission came too late. The opportunity of penetrating Burmah proper had passed, and the aid of an excellent Burmese scholar, once a priest at Ava, had been secured at Maulmain, and then the toiling translator replied to the resolutions as follows:

“Considering, therefore, the uncertainty of life, and the state of my
manuscripts, so effaced by time, or so erased and interlined as to be
illegible to any other person but myself, I have thought it was my
duty to forego, for the present, what I can not but regard as an
interesting expedition, in order to drive forward the heavy work of
the dictionary in the most satisfactory manner, and without increasing
the hazard of any serious interruption.”

Thus after spending half a year of toil and suffering at Rangoon, he was compelled to fall back upon Maulmain. He arrived there with his family on September 5, 1847.

From the time of his return to Maulmain until his last sickness, he worked steadily at the dictionary. Again and again in his letters he alludes to this colossal undertaking.

“Since my return from America, with the exception of a visit of a few
months at Rangoon, I have been occupying my old stand, engaged chiefly
in preparing a Burmese dictionary, which is now in the press; that is,
the English and Burmese part. The Burmese and English part will, I
hope, be ready for the press in the course of another year. They will
make two quarto volumes of five or six hundred pages each.... I am
still hard at work on the dictionary, and shall be for above a year to
come, if I live so long. The work will make two volumes quarto,
containing above a thousand pages. No one can tell what toil it has
cost me. But I trust it will be a valuable and standard work for a
long time. It sweetens all toil to be conscious that we are laboring
for the King of kings, the Lord of lords. I doubt not we find it so,
whether in Maulmain or in Philadelphia.”...

“I have taken shelter in the house lately occupied by brother Simons,
though remote from missionary operations, where I intend to make an
effort to finish the dictionary.”

His wife, in one of her letters, thus describes his indefatigable industry:

“_July 18, 1849._

.... “‘The goodman’ works like a galley slave; and really it quite
distresses me sometimes, but he seems to get fat on it, so I try not
to worry. He walks—or rather _runs_—like a boy over the hills, a mile
or two every morning; then down to his books, scratch-scratch,
puzzle-puzzle, and when he gets deep in the mire, out on the veranda
with your humble servant by his side, walking and talking (kan-ing we
call it in the Burman) till the point is elucidated, and then down
again—and so on till ten o’clock in the evening. It is this _walking_
which is keeping him out of the grave.”

At the same time he took a general oversight of the mission work in Maulmain, being, in the nature of the case, a guiding and inspiring force. He preached occasionally in the native chapel, “one sermon at least every Lord’s day.” When his beloved fellow-missionary, Mr. Haswell, was compelled to return home for a short visit on account of his ill health, the whole care of the native church devolved on him.

These literary and pastoral labors were, however, lightened by social and domestic pleasures. Though he had come to the ripe age of sixty, he had within him the fresh heart of a boy. It has been truly said of him that his spirit was intensely, unconquerably youthful. He loved to romp with his children, and early in the morning to brush

“With hasty steps the dew away.”

In a life of self-sacrifice he had discovered the perennial fountain of joy. While he followed the narrow path of stern duty, the butterfly pleasure which the worldling chases from flower to flower, had flown into his bosom. Byron, on his thirty-ninth birthday, breathed the sigh:

“My days are in the yellow leaf,
The flower and fruits of life are gone;
The worm, the canker, and the grief
Are mine alone.”

How different Judson’s words uttered on his death-bed:

“I suppose they think me an old man, and imagine it is nothing for one
like me to resign a life so full of trials. But I am not old—at least
in that sense; you know I am not. Oh, no man ever left the world with
more inviting prospects, with brighter hopes, or warmer
feelings—warmer feelings.”

We are indebted for the following description of his personal appearance at this time to Dr. Wayland’s Memoir:

“In person, Dr. Judson was of about the medium height, slenderly
built, but compactly knitted together. His complexion was in youth
fair; but residence in India had given him the sallow hue common to
that climate. His hair, when in this country, was yet of a fine
chestnut, with scarcely a trace of gray. The elasticity of his
movement indicated a man of thirty, rather than of nearly sixty years
of age. His deportment was, in a remarkable degree, quiet and
self-possessed, and his manner was pointed out as perfectly well bred,
by those who consider the cultivation of social accomplishments the
serious business of life. A reviewer writes on this subject as
follows: