Chapter V (1)

LIFE IN RANGOON.
1813-1819.

Mr. and Mrs. Judson, as has already been stated, arrived in Rangoon June 13, 1813. For almost a year and a half since leaving their native land, they had been seeking a home on heathen shores. Having reached Calcutta, they had been forced by the oppressive policy of the East India Company to take refuge upon the Isle of France. They returned again to India and landed at Madras. But they were compelled to flee a second time, and having reluctantly relinquished the strong protection of the British flag, had, at last, settled down in Rangoon, the chief seaport of the Burman Empire. Their own desires and hopes had pointed elsewhere; and it was “with wandering steps and slow” that they had come to this destination. God had drawn around them the relentless toils of His providence, and had hemmed them in to this one opening. But subsequent history has proved that the hand which led them so strangely and sternly, was the hand that never errs. American Christians, in their assault upon Asiatic heathenism, could never have chosen such a strategic position as Rangoon. It is situated near the mouth of the great Irrawaddy River, which is thus described by an English officer:

“After draining the great plain of upper Burmah, it enters a narrow
valley lying between the spurs of the Arracan and Pegu ranges, and
extending below the city of Prome. Thus the mighty stream rolls on
through the widening bay, until about ninety miles from the sea, it
bifurcates; one branch flows to the westward and forms the Bassein
River, while the main channel of the lower part of the Delta
subdivides and finally enters the sea by ten mouths. It is navigable
for river steamers for 840 miles from the sea, but it is during the
rainy season (Monsoon) that it is seen in its full grandeur. The
stream then rises forty feet above its summer level, and flooding the
banks presents in some places, as far as the eye can reach, a
boundless expanse of turbid waters, the main channel of which rushes
along with a velocity of five miles an hour.”

The two natural outlets for the commerce of Western China are this great river, and the Yang-tse-kiang, which takes its rise in Thibet, and following an easterly course of nearly three thousand miles, empties itself into the Yellow Sea. Along this channel a vast tide of commerce has flowed from time immemorial, and depositing upon the river-banks its rich sediment of wealth and population, has occasioned the growth of Shanghai, Nanking, and other enormous cities. But the merchandise of Western and Central China would find a shorter and easier and cheaper path to the sea through the valley of the Irrawaddy, and would long ago have pursued that course, had it not been impeded and endangered by rude mountain tribes which the Governments of Burmah and of China have not as yet been vigorous enough to reduce to harmlessness. As civilization advances, a much larger part of the trade of Central Asia will be sure to find its way to the sea through the valley of the Irrawaddy. Christianity always enters the heart of a nation along the lines of trade; so that Rangoon, near the mouth of the Irrawaddy, where Mr. and Mrs. Judson landed, and Bhamo, situated at the head of navigation, 840 miles up the river, where the American Baptists have recently planted a mission, are two of the most important strategical points for the conquest of all Asia.[20]

Rangoon is described by an English traveller who passed through it about the time of the arrival of the Judsons, as

“A miserable, dirty town, containing 8,000 or 10,000 inhabitants, the
houses being built with bamboo and teak planks, with thatched
roofs—almost without drainage, and intersected by muddy creeks,
through which the tide flowed at high water. It had altogether a mean,
uninviting appearance, but it was the city of government of an
extensive province ruled over by a viceroy, a woongee of the empire,
in high favor at the court.”

Some of the first impressions which the country made on the Judsons may be learned from their journals and letters.

_Mrs. Judson’s Journal._

“_September 20._ This is the first Sabbath that we have united in
commemorating the dying love of Christ at His table. Though but two in
number, we feel the command as binding, and the privilege as great, as
if there were more, and we have indeed found it refreshing to our
souls.

“_December 11._ To-day, for the first time, I have visited the wife of
the viceroy. I was introduced to her by a French lady, who has
frequently visited her. When we first arrived at the Government house
she was not up; consequently we had to wait some time. But the
inferior wives of the viceroy diverted us much by their curiosity in
minutely examining everything we had on, and by trying on our gloves,
bonnets, etc. At last her highness made her appearance, dressed richly
in the Burman fashion, with a long silver pipe at her mouth, smoking.
At her appearance, all the other wives took their seats at a
respectful distance, and sat in a crouching posture, without speaking.
She received me very politely, took me by the hand, seated me upon a
mat, and herself by me. She excused herself for not coming in sooner,
saying she was unwell. One of the women brought her a bunch of
flowers, of which she took several, and ornamented her cap. She was
very inquisitive whether I had a husband and children; whether I was
my husband’s first wife—meaning by this, whether I was the highest
among them, supposing that my husband, like the Burmans, had many
wives; and whether I intended tarrying long in the country. When the
viceroy came in, I really trembled, for I never before beheld such a
savage-looking creature. His long robe and enormous spear not a little
increased my dread. He spoke to me, however, very condescendingly, and
asked if I would drink some rum or wine. When I arose to go, her
highness again took my hand, told me she was happy to see me; that I
must come to see her every day, for I was like a sister to her. She
led me to the door, and I made my _salaam_, and departed. My only
object in visiting her was, that, if we should get into any difficulty
with the Burmans, I could have access to her, when perhaps it would
not be possible for Mr. Judson to get access to the viceroy. One can
obtain almost any favor from her by making a small present. We intend
to have as little to do with Government people as possible, as our
usefulness will probably be among the common people. Mr. Judson lately
visited the viceroy, when he scarcely deigned to look at him, as
English _men_ are no uncommon sight in this country; but an English
female is quite a curiosity.”

_Mr. Judson to the Rev. Mr. Emerson._,

“RANGOON, _January_ 7, 1814.

“It is nearly a year since I wrote to America, my last being forwarded
by brother Rice. I have had no opportunity of conveyance since that
time, nor have I any at present. I intend to send this to England,
hoping that on its arrival the war may have terminated, or that it may
find a conveyance in a dispatch vessel. We have been here about six
months; have been living in the mission-house, with brother F. Carey’s
family, but expect within a few days to take a house within the walls
of the town on account of the bands of robbers which infest all the
country, and which have lately been very numerous and daring. Our
situation is much more comfortable than we expected it would be in
such a country. We enjoy good health, and though deprived of all
congenial Christian society, we are very happy in each other, and
think we frequently enjoy His presence whose smile can turn the
darkest night to day, and whose favor is the fountain of all
happiness. ‘Peace I leave with you—my peace I give unto you.’ There
has yet been but very little effected in this country to any real
missionary purpose. Brother Carey’s time is greatly occupied in
Government matters. The emperor has given him a title, and requires
him to reside in the capital. He is just now going to Bengal on his
majesty’s business, and expects, after his return, to reside at Ava.
Not a single Burman has yet been brought to a knowledge of the truth,
or even to serious inquiry. In all the affairs of this Government,
despotism and rapine are the order of the day. The present viceroy of
this province is a savage man. Life and death depend on his nod. He is
very large in stature, and when he stalks about with his long spear,
everybody shrinks from before him. I called on him once, but he
scarcely looked at me. Ann waited on her highness, and was much better
received. This man is about to be recalled to Ava, and it is doubtful
whether he will return. During the interim we expect all things will
be in confusion, and this is one reason why we desire to get within
the walls of the city.

“My only object at present is to prosecute, in a still, quiet manner,
the study of the language, trusting that for all the future ‘God will
provide.’ We have this consolation, that it was the evident
dispensation of God which brought us to this country; and still
further, that if the world was all before us, where to choose our
place of rest, we should not desire to leave Burmah. Our chief anxiety
is that brother Rice may not be able to join us again; but even this
we desire to leave in His hands who doeth all things well.”

_From Mrs. Judson to the Rev. Samuel Newell._

“RANGOON, _April_ 23, 1814.

“MY DEAR BROTHER NEWELL:

“A few days since we received yours of December 18th, the only one we
have ever received since you left us at Port Louis. It brought fresh
to my mind a recollection of scenes formerly enjoyed in our dear
native country. Well do I remember our first interesting conversations
on missions and on the probable events which awaited us in India. Well
do I remember the dear parental habitation where you were pleased to
favor me with your confidence relative to a companion for life. And
well do I remember the time when I first carried your message to the
mother of our dear Harriet, when the excellent woman exclaimed with
tears in her eyes, ‘I dare not, I can not speak against it.’ Those
were happy days. Newell and Judson, Harriet and Nancy, then were
united in the strictest friendship, then anticipated spending their
lives together in sharing the trials and toils, the pleasures and
enjoyments, of a missionary life. But, alas! behold us now! In the
Isle of France, solitary and alone, lies all that was once visible of
the lovely Harriet. A melancholy wanderer on the Isle of Ceylon is our
brother Newell, and the savage, heathen empire of Burmah is destined
to be the future residence of Judson and Nancy. But is this separation
to be forever? Shall we four never again enjoy social, happy
intercourse? No, my dear brother, our separation is of short duration.
There is a rest—a peaceful, happy rest, where Jesus reigns, where we
four soon shall meet to part no more. Forgive my gloomy feelings, or
rather forgive my communicating them to you, whose memory, no doubt,
is ever ready to furnish more than enough for your peace.

“As Mr. Judson will not have time to write you by this opportunity, I
will endeavor to give you some idea of our situation here, and of our
plans and prospects. We have found the country, as we expected, in a
most deplorable state, full of darkness, idolatry, and cruelty—full of
commotion and uncertainty. We daily feel that the existence and
perpetuity of this mission, still in an infant state, depend in a
peculiar manner on the interposing hand of Providence; and from this
impression alone we are encouraged still to remain. As it respects our
temporal privations, use has made them familiar, and easy to be borne;
they are of short duration, and when brought in competition with the
worth of immortal souls, sink into nothing. We have no society, no
dear Christian friends, and with the exception of two or three sea
captains, who now and then call on us, we never see a European face.
But then, we are still happy in each other; still find that our own
home is our best, our dearest friend. When we feel a disposition to
sigh for the enjoyments of our native country, we turn our eyes on the
miserable objects around. We behold some of them laboring hard for a
scanty subsistence, oppressed by an avaricious Government, which is
ever ready to seize what industry had hardly earned; we behold others
sick and diseased, daily begging the few grains of rice which, when
obtained, are scarcely sufficient to protract their wretched
existence, and with no other habitation to screen them from the
burning sun, or chilly rains, than what a small piece of cloth raised
on four bamboos under a tree can afford. While we behold these scenes,
we feel that we have all the comforts, and, in comparison, even the
luxuries, of life. We feel that our temporal cup of blessings is full,
and runneth over. But is our temporal lot so much superior to theirs?
Oh, how infinitely superior our spiritual blessings! While they vainly
imagine to purchase promotion in another state of existence by
strictly worshipping their idols and building pagodas, our hopes of
future happiness are fixed on the Lamb of God who taketh away the sin
of the world. When we have a realizing sense of these things, my dear
brother, we forget our native country and former enjoyments, feel
contented and happy with our lot, with but one wish remaining—that of
being instrumental in leading these Burmans to partake of the same
source of happiness with ourselves.

“Respecting our plans, we have at present but one—that of applying
ourselves closely to the acquirement of the language, and to have as
little to do with Government as possible. Brother Carey has never yet
preached in Burman, but has made considerable progress toward the
completion of a grammar and dictionary, which are a great help to us.
At present, however, his time is entirely taken up with Government
affairs. It is now almost a year since he was ordered up to Ava, which
time has been wholly occupied in the king’s business. He has just
returned from Bengal, and is now making preparations for Ava, where he
expects to found a new mission station. His family go with him;
consequently we shall be alone until the arrival of brother Rice, who,
we hope, will arrive in six or seven months.

“Our progress in the language is slow, as it is peculiarly hard of
acquisition. We can, however, read, write, and converse with tolerable
ease, and frequently spend whole evenings very pleasantly in
conversing with our Burman friends. We have been very fortunate in
procuring good teachers. Mr. Judson’s teacher is a very learned man,
was formerly a priest, and resided at court. He has a thorough
knowledge of the grammatical construction of the language, likewise of
the Pali, the learned language of the Burmans.”

It may be well to consider for a moment the _task_ which the young missionary had set before him. What did they propose to do, this man of twenty-five and his young wife, standing amid the level rice fields on the coast of Lower Burmah, with their faces turned landward toward towns and cities swarming with idolaters, and hill-tops crowned with heathen temples and pagodas? Their purpose was to undermine an ancient religion, deeply fixed in the hearts and habits of four hundred millions of human beings. They did not propose to bring to bear influences by which Christianity was to be introduced as a State religion and reluctant knees be forced to bow to the Christ. This would have been indeed an audacious undertaking. But they sought to work out a more searching revolution, nothing less than a change of belief and of heart in each individual. The millions of Burmans were to be taken one by one—their affections subdued, and their characters transfigured by the religion of Christ. They felt sure that in the mass of people about them, there was here and there a man who had been so schooled by the providences of God, and so matured by the Divine Spirit, that if the story of the Cross could once be got to him, he would immediately accept it and say, “That is just what I want.” As the sod of moss, brought from the woods into the house, often contains within its bosom hidden germs, and after a season, in the warmth of the parlor, sends forth sweet, unexpected spring flowers, so out of the unattractive sod of heathenism, under the genial rays of the Holy Spirit, might emerge disciples of Christ, and these disciples, organized by baptism into churches, would, by the same process of reaching individual souls, little by little leaven the whole of the empire.

But what _means_ did Mr. Judson use in his endeavor to bring about this great moral and spiritual revolution? Simply the Gospel of Christ. The sole weapons of his warfare were the old-fashioned truths, the existence of a personal and beneficent God, the fatal sinfulness of man, and salvation by faith in the Son of God, who came to “seek and to save that which was lost.” No system of truth could be devised more diametrically opposed to Buddhism, which teaches that there is no God to save, no soul to be saved, and no sin to be saved from. He felt sure that if he could only plant the seeds of Christian truth in the soil of the Burman’s heart, then, under the mellowing influence of the Holy Spirit, they would germinate and bring forth the fruit of meek and pure behavior. As in flushing a drain, a large body of pure water is poured through the whole length of it, washing out every impurity, so the Gospel of Christ is a cleansing tide, which, as it courses through the individual heart, or through human society, sweeps away before it all the stagnant and loathsome accumulations of sin.

Mr. Judson did not believe that Christianity should follow in the wake of civilization. He did not propose to spend his time in teaching the arts and sciences of the Western world, in imparting more correct astronomical, geographical, and geological conceptions, in order, little by little, to prepare the mind of the Burman to accept his religious ideas. He had implicit confidence in the promise of his Master, “Lo, I am with you alway.” He believed that Christ was with him in the heart of the heathen, unlocking the door from the inside.

Again, he did not say to himself, “It is a hopeless task to attempt the conversion of the hoary heads. I will try to gather the little children together and establish schools, and thus purify the fountains of national life.” He had his schools, indeed, but they were quite subordinate to the work of preaching the Gospel to the adult mind. He reached the children through the parents, and not the parents through the children. He believed that the grown-up Burmans, rather than their children, should bear the brunt of persecution involved in embracing a new religion. He followed the method of the Acts of the Apostles. A preacher of the Gospel, he did not allow himself to shrivel into a mere school-teacher or a school-book maker.

There were only two channels through which the truths of the Gospel could be conveyed to the conscience of the Burman—the eyes and the ears. The natives were emphatically a reading people. They had their ancient scriptures embodying the teachings of Gaudama, and the first question asked of the propagator of a new religion would be, “Where are your sacred books?” So that one way in which Mr. Judson communicated the Gospel was by the translation of tracts—either succinct and concrete statements of Christian truth, or portions of the Bible. These were not scattered about like autumn leaves, but were given discriminatingly to individuals, the gift often being accompanied by a solemn injunction to read, followed by a fervent prayer. The following letter to the Rev. Dr. Baldwin shows how earnestly he engaged in this work of imparting Christian truth in a printed form:

“RANGOON, _February_ 10, 1817.

“Have just heard that a person whom we have some time calculated on as
a letter-carrier to Bengal is unexpectedly going off in the course of
an hour. Have, therefore, time only to accompany the enclosed tracts
with a line or two.

“We have just begun to circulate these publications, and are praying
that they may produce some inquiry among the natives. And here comes a
man, this moment, to talk about religion. What shall I do? I will give
him a tract, to keep him occupied a few moments while I finish this.
‘Here, my friend, sit down, and read something that will carry you to
heaven if you believe and receive the glorious Saviour therein
exhibited.’

“We are just entering on a small edition of Matthew, the translation
of which I lately commenced. But we are in great want of men and
money. Our hands are full from morning till night. I can not, for my
life, translate as fast as brother Hough will print. He has to do all
the hard work in the printing-office, without a single assistant, and
can not, therefore, apply himself to the study of the language, as is
desirable. As for me, I have not an hour to converse with the natives,
or go out and make proclamation of the glorious Gospel. In regard to
money, we have drawn more from Bengal than has been remitted from
America; so that now, if not for their truly brotherly kindness in
honoring our bills on credit, we should actually starve. Moreover, an
edition of five thousand of the New Testament will cost us nearly five
thousand dollars. And what are five thousand among a population of
seventeen millions, five millions of whom can read? O that all the
members of the Baptist Convention could live in Rangoon one month!
Will the Christian world ever awake? Will means ever be used adequate
to the necessities of the heathen world? O Lord, send help! Our
waiting eyes are unto Thee!”

It is a noteworthy fact that the attention of the first serious Burman inquirer was caught by two little writings that fell into his hands, a tract and a catechism. The British and Foreign Bible Society publish a statement, made upon the authority of Sir Bartle Frere, that he met “with an instance which was carefully investigated, in which all the inhabitants of a remote village in the Deccan had abjured idolatry and caste, removed from their temples the idols which had been worshipped there time out of mind, and agreed to profess a form of Christianity which they had deduced for themselves from the careful perusal of a single Gospel and a few tracts.” And the eminent African missionary, Moffat, related that when he was almost perishing for want of food, he was succored by an old negro woman whose spiritual life had been fed for years from a little copy of the Dutch New Testament. She drew it from her bosom and said: “This is the fountain whence I drink; this is the oil which makes my lamp to burn.”

But far more important than the work of translating and distributing tracts, catechisms, and portions of the Scripture, was the oral preaching of the Gospel. For this Mr. Judson had rare aptitude, and in it he won his most signal triumphs. While engaged in the necessary work of translation, he was always pining for the opportunity of imparting the message of salvation with the living voice. In a letter to Dr. Bolles he says: “I long to see the whole New Testament complete, for I will then be able to devote all my time to preaching the Gospel from day to day; and often now the latter appears to be the more pressing duty. May the Spirit of the Lord be poured out!” When eye meets eye, and the mind of an objector is confronted by a living, loving personality, he receives a deeper impression of religious truth than he can ever get even from the leisurely perusal of a printed book. The press can never supplant the pulpit. The truth, which, when pressed home by the earnest voice of the speaker, carries with it conviction, and arouses the conscience, and kindles the affections, is often weak and thin when presented on the printed page.

But Mr. Judson’s preaching was unlike that of the orator about whom a great throng gathers. After the little chapel, or _zayat_, was built, public worship indeed was held, the audience consisting of perhaps a hundred persons. But most of the preaching at first was to the individual. It was a process of spiritual button-holing. A single person would enter into a discussion with the missionary, while a few others would draw near to witness the encounter. It was in these hand-to-hand frays that Mr. Judson often extorted exclamations of admiration from the bystanders, as with his keen logic he hewed his opponent to pieces as Samuel did Agag.

His preaching was concrete. He did not deal in vague abstractions. Truth assumed, in his mind, statuesque forms. His conversation abounded in images and illustrations; and in this respect he resembled the great Teacher, whom England’s poet laureate thus describes:

“For wisdom dealt with mortal powers,
Where truth in closest words shall fail,
When truth embodied in a tale
Shall enter in at lowly doors.”

Mrs. E. C. Judson contributes a reminiscence of his vivid method of imparting religious truth:

“A native Christian woman told me that she was at one time about to
engage in something which Dr. Judson considered not conducive to her
spiritual good. He sent for her, and remonstrated; but she would not
give up her darling project. ‘Look here!’ said he, eagerly snatching a
ruler from the table, and tracing not a very straight line on the
floor, ‘_here_ is where you have been walking. You have made a crooked
track, to be sure—out of the path half of the time; but then you have
kept near it, and not taken to new roads, and you have—not so much as
you might have done, mind, but still to a certain extent—grown in
grace; and now, with all this growth upon your heart and head, in the
maturity of your years, with ripened understanding and an every-day
deepening sense of the goodness of God, here,’ bringing down the ruler
with emphasis to indicate a certain position, ‘_here you stand_. You
know where this path leads. You know what is before you—some
struggles, some sorrows, and finally eternal life and a crown of
glory. But to the left branches off another very pleasant road, and
along the air floats, rather temptingly, a pretty bubble. You do not
mean to leave the path you have walked in fifteen years—fifteen long
years—altogether; you only want to step aside and catch the bubble,
and think you will come back again; but _you never will_. Woman,
think! Dare you deliberately leave this strait and narrow path, drawn
by the Saviour’s finger, and go away for one moment into that of your
enemy? Will you? _will you_? WILL YOU?’

“‘I was sobbing so,’ said the woman, ‘that I could not speak a word;
but he knew, as he always did, what I meant; for he knelt down, and
prayed that God would preserve me in my determination. I have made a
great many crooked tracks since,’ she added, tearfully, ‘but, whenever
I am unusually tempted, I see the teacher as he looked that day,
bending over in his chair, the ruler placed on the floor to represent
me, his finger pointing along the path of eternal life, his eye
looking so strangely over his shoulder, and that terrible “Will you?”
coming from his lips as though it was the voice of God; and I pray
just as Peter did, for I am frightened.’”

Behind his words, when he preached, lay the magnet of a great character. He was a man of tender sensibilities and of strong affections. There was no mistaking his motives. He had come a long distance and endured great hardships because he loved the Burmans. Little by little they found this out; and the power of a preacher is in direct ratio with his capacity for inspiring confidence and affection. Not the truth on the lips, but the truth incarnated in the behavior, has weight. One who often heard him preach in Burmese, though she was at that time only slightly acquainted with the language, writes:

“He preached with great fervor and earnestness; but besides this,
there was a touching simplicity in the matter and language, which it
was long before I could appreciate. His figures, which I understood
sooner, were drawn from immediately surrounding objects. Of these, in
accordance with Eastern taste, he made great use. He often remarked
that Christ was the model preacher, and that He never preached great
sermons.”

A missionary thus describes the impression which he received from hearing Mr. Judson the first time:

“True, he preached in Burman; but though I did not know the meaning of
a single sentence he uttered, still my attention was never more
closely riveted in any sermon I have ever heard. Were I to fix upon
any characteristic of the preacher which, perhaps more than any other,
rendered his discourse interesting and impressive, I should say it was
_earnestness of manner_. It was impossible for any one to escape the
conviction that his whole soul was in the work. Every tone, every
look, every gesture spoke out in most emphatic language to tell us
that the man was in earnest to make us believe the truths that he
uttered. But what contributed not a little to the interest of the
occasion was the appearance of the assembly. Every hearer sat
motionless, every eye was immovably fixed upon the preacher, and every
countenance seemed to change with every varied expression of
sentiment; now beaming forth joy, as though some joyous news from the
other world had just reached them, which before had never gladdened
their hearts—now depicting a feeling of anxiety as though their mortal
all, or that of their friends, were at stake; and next, of deep
solemnity, as though standing before their final judge!”

Having considered the stupendous _task_ set before the young missionary, and the _methods_ he used, let us look at some of the _difficulties_. His ardent temperament flung itself against the hard reef of Burman _conservatism_. Oriental slowness to accept a new idea proved a strong obstacle at the outset. He writes:

“The Burmans are a slow, wary, circumspect race; but their pertinacity
in maintaining an opinion deliberately adopted, will bear, I imagine,
due proportion to their tardiness in adopting it. This trait in their
character will render missionary operations among them less rapid in
the outset, but more effective and permanent in the issue.”

Another great difficulty at the beginning was _learning the language_ without grammar, or dictionary, or an English-speaking teacher. How hard a task this was, may be learned from his letters.

_To the Rev. Dr. Bolles._

“RANGOON, _January_ 16, 1816.

“Yours of March, 1815, I lately received, and read with real
satisfaction. Neither brother Rice nor any of the others you mention
have yet been heard of in these parts. May they not be far distant.
Whenever they shall arrive, I hope to be of some real service to them
in their preparatory studies, and to be able to give them, in a short
time, information on many points which it has cost me months to
acquire. I just now begin to see my way forward in this language, and
hope that two or three years more will make it somewhat familiar; but
I have met with difficulties that I had no idea of before I entered on
the work. For a European or American to acquire a _living_ Oriental
language, root and branch, and make it his own, is quite a different
thing from his acquiring a cognate language of the West, or any of the
dead languages, as they are studied in the schools. One circumstance
may serve to illustrate this. I once had occasion to devote about two
months to the study of the French. I have now been above two years
engaged on the Burman; but if I were to choose between a Burman and
French book to be examined in, without previous study, I should,
without the least hesitation, choose the French. When we take up a
Western language, the similarity of the characters, in very many
terms, in many modes of expression, and in the general structure of
sentences, its being in fair print (a circumstance we hardly think
of), and the assistance of grammars, dictionaries, and instructors,
render the work comparatively easy. But when we take up a language
spoken by a people on the other side of the earth, whose very thoughts
run in channels diverse from ours, and whose modes of expression are
consequently all new and uncouth; when we find the letters and words
all totally destitute of the least resemblance to any language we had
ever met with, and these words not fairly divided and distinguished,
as in Western writing, by breaks, and points, and capitals, but run
together in one continuous line, a sentence or paragraph seeming to
the eye but one long word; when, instead of clear characters on paper,
we find only obscure scratches on dried palm leaves strung together
and called a book; when we have no dictionary, and no interpreter to
explain a single word, and must get something of the language before
we can avail ourselves of the assistance of a native teacher,—

‘Hoc opus, hic labor est.’

“I had hoped, before I came here, that it would not be my lot to have
to go on alone, without any guide in an unexplored path, especially as
missionaries had been here before. But Mr. Chater had left the
country, and Mr. Carey was with me but very little, before he left the
mission and the missionary work altogether.

“I long to write something more interesting and encouraging to the
friends of the mission; but it must not yet be expected. It
unavoidably takes several years to acquire such a language, in order
to converse and write intelligibly on the great truths of the Gospel.
Dr. Carey once told me, that after he had been some years in Bengal,
and thought he was doing very well in conversing and preaching to the
natives, they (as he was afterward convinced) knew not what he was
about. A young missionary who expects to pick up the language in a
year or two will probably find that he has not counted the cost. If he
should be so fortunate as to find a good interpreter, he may be useful
by that means. But he will find, especially if he is in a new place,
where the way is not prepared, and no previous ideas communicated,
that to qualify himself to communicate divine truth intelligibly by
his own voice or pen, is not the work of a year. However,
notwithstanding my present incompetency, I am beginning to translate
the New Testament, being extremely anxious to get some parts of
Scripture, at least, into an intelligible shape, if for no other
purpose than to read, as occasion offers, to the Burmans I meet with.

“My paper allows me to add nothing more but to beg your prayers, that
while I am much occupied in words and phrases, and destitute of those
Gospel privileges you so richly enjoy, in the midst of your dear
church and people, I may not lose the life of religion in my soul.”

_To the Rev. Dr. Staughton._

“I am sometimes a little dispirited, when I reflect that, for
two or three years past, I have been drilling at A, B, C, and
grammar. But I consider again that the gift of tongues is
not granted in these times; that some one must acquire this
language by dint of application; must translate the Scriptures,
and must preach the Gospel to the people in their own
tongue, or how can they be saved? My views of the missionary
object are, indeed, different from what they were,
when I was first set on fire by Buchanan’s ‘Star in the East,’
six years ago. But it does not always happen that a closer
acquaintance with an object diminishes our attachment and
preference. We sometimes discover beauties, as well as deformities,
which were overlooked on a superficial view; when
some attractions lose their force, others more permanent are
exerted; and when the glitter in which novelty invested the
object has passed away, more substantial excellencies have
room to disclose their influence; and so it has been with me,
I hope, in regard to the work of missions.”

The following extract from the _Calcutta Review_ of December, 1850, will show how completely he mastered this difficult language:

“Let our readers dwell for a moment upon the difficulty, in their own
powerful Saxon tongue, of discoursing upon free will, predestination,
and many other such subjects, and then endeavor to realize to
themselves how infinitely more difficult the attempt must be in a
language of monosyllabic formation and structure; its very
polysyllables being the roughest possible mosaic of monosyllables, and
the genius and construction of the tongue such, that even the simple
language of the Gospels—the sentences of which are in general so
remarkably plain and free from complication—is beyond its flexibility,
the simplest sentences in the Gospels of Mark or John having to be
chopped up and decomposed, in order to adapt them to this peculiar
language. Let our readers imagine, if they can, the wonderful command
requisite of so awkward an instrument, in order to be enabled to
answer an Oo Yan—‘How are sin and eternal misery reconcilable with the
character of an infinitely holy, wise, and powerful God?’ or to meet
the subtleties of a Moung Shwa-gnong, arguing on his fundamental
doctrine, that divine wisdom, not concentrated in any existing spirit,
or embodied in any form, but diffused throughout the universe, and
partaken in different degrees by various intelligences, and in a very
high degree by the Buddhs, is the true and only God. Yet so completely
was Judson master of this very difficult tongue, and of the modes of
thought of its people, that he could, by his replies and arguments,
impart to an Oo Yan intense satisfaction, and a joy which exhibited
itself by the ebullitions natural to a susceptible temperament; and,
in the end, could force a subtle Moung Shwa-gnong to yield to the
skill of a foreign disputant.”

But the chief hindrance to preaching the Gospel to the Burmans was the _danger of persecution_. Mr. Judson found himself in the dominions of a monarch upon whose slightest nod depended the life of each subject. Every convert knew that in adopting this new religion he was encountering the risk of confiscation of property, imprisonment, torture, or death in its most shocking form.

But in spite of these great difficulties, and even in the face of the fact that many of his brethren and sisters in his own, distant, native land regarded the undertaking as hopeless, and looked upon him as an obstinate and chimerical fanatic, he never for a moment lost hope. He felt as sure that Burmah would be converted to Christ as that it existed. He was buoyed up by the same faith that caused him to answer many years after, when he was asked whether he thought the prospects bright for the speedy conversion of the heathen, “As bright as the promises of God.” And in the darkest period of the history of our missions, he sounded the bugle-call, which will inspire the heart of the Christian missionary until that day when “The kingdoms of this world are become the kingdoms of our Lord and of His Christ.”

_To the Rev. Luther Rice._

“RANGOON, _August_ 3, 1816.

“I have completed a grammar of the Burman language, which I hope will
be useful to you; also a tract, which I hope to get printed as soon as
Mr. Hough arrives.

“If any ask what success I meet with among the natives, tell them to
look at Otaheite, where the missionaries labored nearly twenty years,
and, not meeting with the slightest success, began to be neglected by
all the Christian world, and the very name of Otaheite began to be a
shame to the cause of missions; and now the blessing begins to come.
Tell them to look at Bengal also, where Dr. Thomas had been laboring
seventeen years (that is, from 1783 to 1800) before the first convert,
Krishna, was baptized. When a few converts are once made, things move
on; but it requires a much longer time than I have been here to make a
first impression on a heathen people. If they ask again, What prospect
of ultimate success is there? tell them, As much as that there is an
almighty and faithful God, who will perform His promises, and no more.
If this does not satisfy them, beg them to let me stay and try it, and
to let you come, and to give us our _bread_; or, if they are unwilling
to risk their bread on such a forlorn hope as has nothing but the WORD
OF GOD to sustain it, beg of them, at least, not to prevent others
from giving us bread; and, if we live some twenty or thirty years,
they may hear from us again.

“This climate is good—better than in any other part of the East. But
it is a most filthy, wretched place. Missionaries must not calculate
on the least comfort, but what they find in one another and their
work. However, if a ship was lying in the river, ready to convey me to
any part of the world I should choose, and that, too, with the entire
approbation of all my Christian friends, I would prefer dying to
embarking. This is an immense field, and, since the Serampore
missionaries have left it, it is wholly thrown on the hands of the
American Baptists. If we desert it, the blood of the Burmans will be
required of us.”

Upon arriving in Rangoon, of course there was nothing for Mr. and Mrs. Judson to do but to learn the Burmese language.

“As it respects ourselves,” Mrs. Judson writes, “we are busily
employed all day long. I can assure you that we find much pleasure in
our employment. Could you look into a large, open room, which we call
a veranda, you would see Mr. Judson bent over his table, covered with
Burman books, with his teacher at his side, a venerable-looking man in
his sixtieth year, with a cloth wrapped round his middle, and a
handkerchief round his head. They talk and chatter all day long, with
hardly any cessation.

“My mornings are busily employed in giving directions to the servants,
providing food for the family, etc. At ten my teacher comes, when,
were you present, you might see me in an inner room, at one side of my
study-table, and my teacher the other, reading Burman, writing,
talking, etc. I have many more interruptions than Mr. Judson, as I
have the entire management of the family. This I took upon myself for
the sake of Mr. Judson’s attending more closely to the study of the
language; yet I have found, by a year’s experience, that it was the
most direct way I could have taken to acquire the language, as I am
frequently obliged to speak Burman all day. I can talk and understand
others better than Mr. Judson, though he knows more about the nature
and construction of the language.”

After a few months Mr. and Mrs. Judson removed from the English Baptist mission-house into the city proper. The mission-house which they had been occupying was situated half a mile from Rangoon, near the place of public execution, where the refuse of the city streets was thrown, and not far from the place where the dead were buried. While outside the city walls, the missionaries were exposed to robbers and to wild beasts. It was thought best, therefore, to move into the city itself, especially as in this way they would be brought into closer contact with the people.

After they had been in Rangoon about a year and a half, Mrs. Judson’s health began to break down under the effects of the climate. They had no physician to consult, and her symptoms proving dangerous, she was obliged to sail to Madras to secure both medical advice and the recuperation of a sea voyage. She set sail on January 25, 1815, and after an absence of nearly three months, returned with her health much improved. This first experience of long separation was very painful. Mr. Judson writes:

“There is not an individual in the country that I can pray with, and
not a single soul with whom I can have the least religious communion.
I keep myself as busy as possible all day long, from sunrise till late
in the evening, in reading Burman, and conversing with the natives. I
have been here a year and a half, and so extremely difficult is the
language—perhaps the most difficult to a foreigner of any on the face
of the earth next to the Chinese—that I find myself very inadequate to
communicate divine truth intelligibly. I have, in some instances, been
so happy as to secure the attention, and in some degree to interest
the feelings, of those who heard me; but I am not acquainted with a
single instance in which any permanent impression has been produced.
No Burman has, I believe, ever felt the grace of God; and what can a
solitary, feeble individual or two expect to be the means of effecting
in such a land as this, amid the triumphs of Satan, the darkness of
death? The Lord is all-powerful, wise, and good; and this
consideration alone always affords me unfailing consolation and
support.”

In a letter to her parents, sisters, and brother, Mrs. Judson gave the following description of the voyage to Madras and her return to Rangoon:

“I embarked for Madras to procure medical assistance, and hoping a
change of air would conduce to the restoration of my health. I was
obliged to leave Mr. Judson here alone, without a single associate to
animate him in his arduous work. We did not think it his duty for him
to leave the mission if I could possibly go alone. But though I was
separated from him, and felt for the first time in my life that I was
entirely alone in this wide world, yet I could not but trace the kind
dealings of God in inclining every one with whom I had any concern to
favor and assist me in my way. The viceroy gave me an order to take a
woman with me, free from expense, a thing which is generally attended
with great difficulty, owing to the Burman law which forbids any
female to leave the country. We went to him ourselves with a small
present, which is customary when a favor is asked. On his seeing it,
he inquired if we had any business; and on Mr. Judson’s presenting the
petition, he immediately commanded his writer to give us an official
order, without causing us any expense whatever. The captain with whom
I went refused any pay for my passage, though he provided every
necessary for one in ill health. I stayed at Madras six weeks, and
resided at Mr. Loveless’ house, where I received every attention. When
about to leave Madras, I sent the physician under whose care I had
been, seventy rupees, which he immediately returned, saying he was
happy if he had been serviceable to me. After an absence of three
months I safely arrived at Rangoon, where I found Mr. Judson well, and
laboring hard, though entirely alone. My health continued to mend, and
on the 11th of September I was made the happy mother of a little son.
I had no physician or assistant whatever excepting Mr. Judson. Since
the birth of our little son my health has been much better than for
two years before. I feel now almost in a new state of existence. Our
hands are full, and though our prospects in regard to the immediate
conversion of the Burmans are dark, yet our trust in God is strong,
and our hopes animating.”

The little boy to whom Mrs. Judson alludes in this letter was born September 11, 1815, and named Roger Williams, but on May 4, 1816, he closed his brief life on earth, at the age of seven months and twenty-three days.

In a letter dated Rangoon, May 7, 1816, Mr. Judson conveys the sad intelligence to the Rev. Mr. Lawson, missionary at Serampore:

“Our little comfort, our dear little Roger, has become insensible to
our parental attentions and fond caresses; the light of his mild blue
eyes is quenched, his sweet face has become cold to our lips, and his
little mind, which, to a parent’s discernment at least, discovered
peculiar sensibility and peculiar sweetness of disposition, has
deserted its infantile tenement and fled—oh, where? Into what strange
scenes is it introduced? Who supports and guides its trembling steps
across the dark valley? There a parent’s aid could not be extended.
But we hope it had a more affectionate and abler guide. We hope that
Jesus has repaired the ruins of the fall in regard to all little
children. And who but thinks their departed children sweet and lovely
beyond compare? Perhaps I am a novice in affliction. Had I lost a
wife, I might not thus lament for a little child eight months old. Yet
nothing but such a scene of bereavement and anguish as we have passed
through can teach us to pity others in like circumstances. Nothing but
experience can teach us what feelings agonize the soul of a parent
when he puts his face to that of his dear, his only child, to
ascertain whether there may not be one breath more; and when satisfied
of the truth, when hope expires with life, he tries to raise the
bursting aspiration: O Lord, receive the spirit!

“Our little Roger died last Saturday morning. We looked at him through
the day, and on the approach of night we laid him in the grave. This
is the fourth day, and we just begin to think, What can we do for the
heathen? But yet it seems hard to forget little Roger so soon, to
force off our thoughts from the attractive, painful subject, and to
return to our usual employments. O may we not suffer in vain! May this
bereavement be sanctified to our souls! and for this I hope we have
your prayers.

“How is Mrs. Lawson, and your little _ones_? We had only _one_. Might
not this have been spared? It was almost all our comfort and our
amusement in this dreary place. But, ‘the Lord gave,’ etc.”

At this same period Mrs. Judson thus opened her sorrowful heart to a lady in Beverly, Mass.:

“RANGOON, _May_ 10, 1816.

“The sun of another holy Sabbath has arisen upon us, and though no
chime of bells has called us to the house of God, yet we, two in
number, have bowed the knee to our Father in heaven, have invoked His
holy name, have offered Him our feeble praise, have meditated on His
Sacred Word, and commemorated the dying love of a Saviour to a
perishing world. Inestimable privileges! Not denied even in a land
where the Prince of Darkness reigns!