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Title: Pioneers and Founders
       or, Recent Workers in the Mission field


Author: Charlotte Mary Yonge



Release Date: September 17, 2006  [eBook #19308]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)


***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIONEERS AND FOUNDERS***




Transcribed from the 184 Macmillan & Co. edition by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org





PIONEERS AND FOUNDERS,
or
Recent Workers in the Mission field.


BY C. M. YONGE,

_Author of_ "_The Heir of Radclyffe_."

{i:Portrait of Reginald Heber: p0.jpg}

London:
MACMILLAN & CO
1874.




INTRODUCTION.


It has been my endeavour in the ensuing narratives to bring together such
of the more distinguished Missionaries of the English and American
nations as might best illustrate the character and growth of Mission work
in the last two centuries.  It is impossible to make it a real history of
the Missions of modern times.  If I could, I would have followed in the
track of Mr. Maclear's admirable volume, but the field is too wide, the
material at once too numerous and too scattered, and the account of the
spread of the Gospel in the distant parts of the earth has yet to be
written in volumes far exceeding the bulk of those allotted to the
"Sunday Library."

Two large classes of admirable Missions have been purposely
avoided,--namely, those of the Jesuits in Japan, China, and North and
South America, and those of the Moravians in Greenland, the United
States, and Africa.  These are noble works, but they are subjects apart,
and our narratives deal with men exclusively of British blood, with the
exception of Schwartz, whose toils were so entirely accepted and adopted
by the Church of England, that he cannot but be reckoned among her
ambassadors.  The object, then, has been to throw together such
biographies as are most complete, most illustrative, and have been found
most inciting to stir up others--representative lives, as far as
possible--from the time when the destitution of the Red Indians first
stirred the heart of John Eliot, till the misery of the hunted negro
brought Charles Mackenzie to the banks of the fever-haunted Zambesi.

We think it will be found that, so far from being the talking,
exaggerating, unpractical men that the critical and popular mind is apt
to suppose, these labourers were in general eminently practical and hard-
working.  They seem to us to range themselves into three classes: one,
stirred up by the sight of the destitution before their eyes, and quietly
trying to supply those needs; one, inspired by fervid zeal to devote
themselves; and one, selected by others, taking that selection as a call,
and toiling as a duty, as they would have toiled at any other duty set
before them.  Each and all have their place, and fulfil the work.  The
hindrances and drawbacks are generally not in the men themselves, nor in
the objects of their labour, but first and foremost in the almost uniform
hostility of the colonists around, who are used to consider the dark
races as subjects for servitude, and either despise or resent any attempt
at raising them in the scale; and next, in the extreme difficulty of
obtaining means.  This it is that has more than anything tended to bring
Mission work into disrepute.  Many people have no regular system nor
principle of giving--the much-needed supplies can only be charmed out of
their pockets by sensational accounts, such as the most really
hard-working and devoted men cannot prevail on themselves to pour forth;
and the work of collection is left to any of the rank and file who have
the power of speech, backed by articles where immediate results may be
dwelt upon to satisfy those who will not sow in faith and wait patiently.

And the Societies that do their best to regulate and collect the funds
raised by those who give, whether on impulse or principle, are
necessarily managed by home committees, who ought to unite the qualities
of men of business with an intimate knowledge of the needs and
governments of numerous young churches, among varied peoples, nations,
and languages, each in an entirely abnormal state; and, moreover, to deal
with those great men who now and then rise to fulfil great tasks, and
cannot be judged by common rules.  Thus it is that home Societies are
often to be reckoned among the trials of Missionaries.

But we will not dwell on such shortcomings, and will rather pass on to
what we had designed as the purpose of our present introduction; namely,
to supplement the information which the biographical form of our work has
necessitated us to leave imperfect, respecting the Missions as well as
the men.

Of the Red Indians who first stirred the compassion of John Eliot, there
is little that is good to tell, or rather there is little good to tell of
the White man's treatment of them.  Self-government by the stronger
people always falls hard on the weaker, and Mission after Mission has
been extinguished by the enmity of the surrounding Whites and the
corruption and decay of the Indians.  A Moravian Mission has been
actually persecuted.  Every here and there some good man has arisen and
done a good work on those immediately around him, and at the present time
there are some Indians living upon the reserves in the western part of
the continent, fairly civilized, settled, and Christianized, and only
diminishing from that law of their physical nature that forbids them to
flourish without a wilderness in which to roam.

But between the long-settled States of America and those upon the shores
of the Pacific, lies a territory where the Indian is still a wild and
savage man, and where hatred and slaughter prevail.  The Government at
Washington would fain act a humane part, and set apart reserves of land
and supplies, but the agents through which the transactions are carried
on have too often proved unfaithful, and palmed off inferior goods on the
Indians, or brought up old debts against them; and in the meantime mutual
injuries work up the settlers and the Red men to such a pitch of
exasperation, that horrid cruelties are perpetrated on the one side, and
on the other the wild men are shot down as pitilessly as beasts of prey,
while the travellers and soldiers who live in daily watch and ward
against the "wily savage" learn to stigmatize all pity for him as a sort
of sentimentalism sprung from Cooper's novels.

Still, where there is peace, good men make their way, and with blessed
effect.  We wish we had room for the records of the Bishopric of
Minnesota, and the details of the work among the Indians; more especially
how, when a rising was contemplated to massacre the White settlers all
along the border, a Christian Indian travelled all night to give warning;
and how, on another occasion, no less than four hundred White women and
children were saved by the interposition of four Christian Indian chiefs.
Perhaps the Church has never made so systematic an effort upon the
Indians as in Minnesota, and it is to be hoped that there may be some
success.

For the need of system seems to me one of the great morals to be deduced
from the lives I have here collected.  I confess that I began them with
the unwilling belief that greater works had been effected by persons
outside the pale of the Church than by those within; but as I have gone
on, the conviction has grown on me that even though the individuals were
often great men, their works lacked that permanency and grasp that Church
work, as such, has had.

The equality of rank in the ministry of other bodies has prevented the
original great founders from being invested with the power that is really
needed in training and disciplining inferior and more inexperienced
assistants, and produces a want of compactness and authority which has
disastrous effects in movements of emergency.  Moreover, the lack of
forms causes a deficiency of framework for religion to attach itself to,
and this is almost fatal to dealing with unintellectual minds.

On the whole, the East Indian Missions have prospered best.  Schwartz was
the very type of a founder, with his quiet, plodding earnestness, and
power of being generally valuable; and the impression he made had not had
time to die away before the Episcopate brought authority to deal with the
difficulties he had left.  Martyn was, like Brainerd before him, one of
the beacons of the cause, and did more by his example than by actual
teaching; and the foundation of the See of Calcutta gave stability to the
former efforts.  Except Heber, the Bishops of the Indian See were not
remarkable men, but their history has been put together as a whole for
the sake of the completion of the subject, as a sample of the
difficulties of the position, and likewise because of the steady progress
of the labours there recorded.

The Serampore brethren are too notable to be passed over, if only for the
memorable fact that Carey the cobbler lighted the missionary fire
throughout England and America at a time when the embers had become so
extinct that our Society for the Propagation of the Gospel had to borrow
workers from Denmark and Germany.  Indeed, Martyn's zeal was partly
lighted by Carey, though the early termination of his labours has forced
me to place his biography before that of the longer-lived Baptist
friends--both men of curious and wonderful powers, but whose history
shows the disadvantages of the Society government, and whose achievements
were the less permanent in consequence.  The Burmese branch of their work
is chiefly noticeable for the characters and adventures of Dr. Judson and
his three wives, and for the interesting display of Buddhism in contact
with Christianity.  According to the statistics in an American Missionary
Dictionary, the work they founded has not fallen to the ground either at
Moulmein or Rangoon; while there has also sprung up a hopeful English
Church Mission in the same quarter.  The last thing I saw about it was a
mention of the neatness and dexterity of Burmese girls as needlewomen.

Samuel Marsden may be called the patriarch of Australasian Christianity.
There is something grand in the bravery of the bullet-headed
Yorkshireman, now contending with the brutality of the convicts and their
masters, now sleeping among the cannibals of New Zealand.  His
foundations, too, have received a superstructure on which we cannot
dwell; because, happily, the first Bishop of New Zealand is not yet a
subject for biography, and the Melanesian Mission, which has sprung out
of it, has not yet seen its first generation.

The Polynesian work, of which John Williams was the martyr and the
representative man, has chiefly been carried on by the London Mission.  It
has always been a principle with the Missionaries of the Anglican Church,
whose centre has been first New Zealand, then Norfolk Island, never to
enter upon any islands pre-occupied by Christian teachers of any
denomination, since there is no lack of wholly unoccupied ground, without
perplexing the spirit of the natives with the spectacle of "our unhappy
divisions;" and thus while Melanesia is for the most part left to the
Church, Polynesia is in the hands of the London Mission.  Much good has
been effected.  The difficulty is that, for want of supervision,
individual Missionaries are too much left to themselves, and are in
danger of becoming too despotic in their islands.  At least such is the
impression they sometimes give to officers of the navy.  French
aggression has much disturbed them both in Tahiti and in the Loyalty
Islands, and the introduction of Roman Catholic priests into their
territory is bitterly resented.  On the whole, observers tolerably
impartial think that the civilization which these married teachers bring
with them has a happier effect as an example and stimulus to the natives
than the solitary ascetic priest,--a true, self-devoted saint indeed but
unable to win the attention of the people in their present condition.  In
India, where asceticism is the test of sanctity even among the heathen,
the most self-denying preacher has the best chance of being respected;
but in those luxurious islets, poverty and plainness of living, without
the power of showing the arts of life, get despised.  If the priests
could bring their pomp of worship, and large bands of brethren or sisters
to reclaim the waste, they might tell upon the minds of the people, but
at present they go forth few and poor, and are little heeded in their
isolation.  Unfortunately, too, the antagonism between them and the
London Mission is desperate.  The latter hold the tenets perhaps the most
widely removed from Catholicism of any Protestant sect, and are mostly
not educated enough to understand the opposite point of view, so that
each party would almost as soon see the natives unconverted as joining
the hostile camp: and precious time is wasted in warrings the one against
the other.

The most real enemies to Christianity in these seas are, however, the
lawless traders, the English and American whalers and sandal-wood
dealers, who bring uncontrolled vice and violence where they put in for
water; while they, on the one hand, corrupt the natives, on the other
they provoke them into reprisals on the next White men who fall in their
way.  That the Polynesians are good sailors and not bad workmen, has
proved another misfortune, for they are often kidnapped by unscrupulous
captains to supply the deficiency of labour in some of the Australasian
settlements.  Everywhere it seems to be the unhappy fact that Christian
men are the most fatal hinderers of God's word among the heathen.

Yet most of the more accessible of the isles have a resident missionary,
and keep up schools and chapels.  Their chiefs have accepted a Christian
code, and the horrid atrocities of cannibalism have been entirely given
up, though there is still much evil prevalent, especially in those which
have convenient harbours, and are in the pathway of ships.  The Samoan
islanders have a college, managed by an English minister and his wife,
where teachers are educated not only to much good discipline, but to much
real refinement, and go forth as admirable and self-devoted heralds of
the Gospel into other isles.  They have furnished willing martyrs, and
many have been far beyond praise.  One lack, however, seems to be of that
definite formularies, a deficiency which leaves the teaching to depend
over much on the individual impressions of the teacher.

The chief remnants of cannibalism are to be found in the New Hebrides.
The leader of the attack on John Williams is still alive at Erromango,
and the savage defiant nature of this people has never been subdued.  They
belong more to the Melanesian than the Polynesian races.  The first are
more like the Negro, the second more like the Malay.  The Melanesian
Missions are in the charge of the Missionary Bishop, John Coleridge
Patteson, who went out as a priest with the Bishop of New Zealand in
1855.

The New Zealand story, as I have said, cannot be told in the lifetime of
the chief actor in it.  It is a story of startling success, and then of
disappointment through colonial impracticability.  In some points it has
been John Eliot's experience upon a larger scale; but in this case the
political quarrel led to the rise of a savage and murderous sect among
the Maories, a sort of endeavour to combine some features of Christianity
and even Judaism with the old forgotten Paganism, and yet promoting even
cannibalism.  It is memorable, however, that not one Maori who had
received Holy Orders has ever swerved from the faith, though the "Hau-
Haus" have led away many hundreds of Christians.  Still, a good number
remain loyal and faithful, and hold to the English in the miserable war
which is still raging, provoked by disputes over the sale of land.

The Melanesian Mission was begun from New Zealand; but whereas the isles
are too hot for English constitutions, they can only be visited from the
sea, and lads are brought away to be educated for teachers.  New Zealand
proved too cold for these natives of a tropical climate, and the college
has been transplanted to Norfolk Island, where Bishop Patteson has fixed
his head-quarters.  One of his converts from Banks's Island has received
Holy Orders, and this latter group seems in good train to afford a supply
of native ministers to islands where few Englishmen could take up a
permanent abode.

The African Missions would afford much detail, but want of space has
prevented me from mentioning the Rev. George Leacock, the West Indian
clergyman, who gave up everything when already an old man to pave the way
of the Gospel in the Pongas.  And the Cape still retains its first
Bishop, so that it is only on the side of Natal and Zululand, where the
workers have passed away, that the narrative can be complete.  But the
African Church is extending its stakes in Graham's Town, Orange River,
Zululand, and Zanzibar; and while the cry from East, West, and South is
still "Come over and help us," we cannot but feel that, in spite of many
a failure, many a disappointment, many a fatal error, still the Gospel
trumpet is being blown, and not blown in vain, even in the few spots
whose history, for the sake of their representative men, I have here
tried to record.  Of the Canadian and Columbian Indian Missions, of the
Sandwich Isles, and of many more, I have here been able to say nothing;
but I hope that the pictures of these labourers in the cause may tend to
some understanding, not only of their toils, but of their joys, and may
show that they were men not easily deceived, and thoroughly to be trusted
in their own reports of their progress.

CHARLOTTE M. YONGE.

_March_ 16_th_, 1871.




CHAPTER I.  JOHN ELIOT, THE APOSTLE OF THE RED INDIANS.


Since the great efforts that Britain had made between the years 500 and
1000 to bring the knowledge of the truth into the still heathen portions
of the Continent,--since the days of Columban and Gal, of Boniface and
Willibrord,--there had been a cessation of missionary enterprise.  The
known portions of the world were either Christian, or were in the hands
of the Mahommedans; and no doubt much of the adventurous spirit which,
united with religious enthusiasm, forms the missionary, found vent in the
Crusades, and training in the military orders.  The temper of the age,
and the hopelessness of converting a Mahommedan, made the good men of the
third 500 years use their swords rather than their tongues against the
infidel; and it was only in the case of men possessing such rare natures
as those of Francis of Assisi, or Raymond Lull, that the possibility of
trying to bring over a single Saracen to the faith was imagined.

It was in the revival from the Paganism with which classical tastes had
infected the Church, that the spirit of missions again awoke, stimulated,
of course, by the wide discoveries of fresh lands that were dawning upon
the earth.  If from 1000 to 1500 the progress of the Gospel was confined
to the borders of the Slavonic nation, the space of time from 1500
onwards has been one of constant and unwearied effort to raise the
standard of the Cross in the new worlds beyond the Atlantic.

Spain, Portugal, France, as nations, and the great company of the Jesuits
as one mighty brotherhood, were the foremost in the great undertaking;
but their doings form a history of their own, and our business is with
the efforts of our own Church and country in the same great cause.

Our work was not taken up so soon as theirs, partly because the spirit of
colonization did not begin amongst us so early as in Spain and Portugal,
and partly because the foundations of most of our colonies were laid by
private enterprise, rather than by public adventure, and moreover some of
the earlier ones in unsettled times.

It may be reckoned as one peculiarity of Englishmen, that their greatest
works are usually not the outcome of enthusiastic design, but rather grow
upon them by degrees, as they are led in paths that they have not known,
and merely undertake the duty that stands immediately before them, step
by step.

The young schoolmaster at Little Baddow, near Chelmsford, who decided on
following in the track of the Pilgrim Fathers to New England, went simply
to enjoy liberty of conscience, and to be free to minister according to
his own views, and never intended to become the Apostle of the Red
Indians.

Nothing is more remarkable than the recoil from neglected truths.  When,
even in the earliest ages of the Church, the Second Commandment was
supposed to be a mere enhancing of the first, and therefore curtailed and
omitted, there was little perception that this would lead to popular,
though not theoretical, idolatry, still less that this law, when again
brought forward, would be pushed by scrupulous minds to the most strange
and unexpected consequences, to the over-powering of all authority of
ancient custom, and to the repudiation of everything symbolical.

This resolution against acknowledging any obligation to use either symbol
or ceremony, together with the opposition of the hierarchy, led to the
rejection of the traditional usages of the Church and the previously
universal interpretation of Scripture in favour of three orders in the
ministry.  The elders, or presbytery, were deemed sufficient; and when,
after having for many years been carried along, acquiescing, in the
stream of the Reformation, the English Episcopacy tried to make a stand,
the coercion was regarded as a return to bondage, and the more ardent
spirits sought a new soil on which to enjoy the immunities that they
regarded as Christian freedom.

The _Mayflower_ led the way in 1620, and the news of the success of the
first Pilgrim Fathers impelled many others to follow in their track.
Among these was John Eliot.  He had been born in 1604 at Nasing in Essex,
and had been bred up by careful parents, full of that strong craving for
theological studies that characterized the middle classes in the reign of
James I.

Nothing more is known of his youth except that he received a university
education, and, like others who have been foremost in missionary labours,
had a gift for the comparison of languages and study of grammar.  He
studied the Holy Scriptures in the original tongues with the zeal that
was infused into all scholars by the knowledge that the Authorized
Version was in hand, and by the stimulus that was afforded by the promise
of a copy of the first edition to him who should detect and correct an
error in the type.

The usual fate of a scholar was to be either schoolmaster or clergyman,
if not both, and young Eliot commenced his career as an assistant to Mr.
John Hooker, at the Grammar School at Little Baddow.  He considered this
period to have been that in which the strongest religious impressions
were made upon him.  John Hooker was a thorough-going Puritan of great
piety and rigid scruples, and instructed his household diligently in
godliness, both theoretical and practical.  Eliot became anxious to enter
the ministry, but the reaction of Church principles, which had set in
with James I., was an obstacle in his way; and imagining all ceremonial
not observed by the foreign Protestants to be oppressions on Christian
liberty, it became the strongest resolution of the whole party to accept
nothing of all these rites, and thus ordination became impossible to
them, while the laws were stringent against any preaching or praying
publicly by any unordained person.  The instruction of youth was likewise
only permitted to those who were licensed by the bishop of the diocese;
and Mr. Hooker, failing to fulfil the required tests, was silenced, and,
although forty-seven clergy petitioned on his behalf, was obliged to flee
to Holland.

This decided Eliot, then twenty-seven years of age, on leaving England,
and seeking a freer sphere of action in the newly-founded colonies of New
England, which held a charter from Government.  He took leave of his
betrothed, of whom we only know that her Christian name was Anne
(gracious), and that her nature answered to her name, and sailed on the
3rd of November, 1631, in the ship _Lyon_, with a company of sixty
persons, among whom were the family of Governor Winthrop.

They landed at Boston, then newly rising into a city over its harbour,
and there he found his services immediately required to conduct the
worship in the congregation during the absence of the pastor, who had
gone to England finally to arrange his affairs.

On his return, Mr. Eliot was found to be in such favour, that the
Bostonites strove to retain him as an assistant minister; but this he
refused, knowing that many friends in England wished to found a separate
settlement of their own; and in less than a year this arrangement was
actually carried out, a steep hill in the forest-land was selected, and a
staunch band of East Saxons, bringing with them the gracious Anne, came
forth.  John Eliot was married, elected pastor, ordained, after
Presbyterian custom, by the laying on of the hands of the ministers in
solemn assembly, and then took possession of the abode prepared for him
and of the building on the top of the hill, where his ministrations were
to be conducted.

These old fathers of the United States had found a soil, fair and well
watered; and though less rich than the wondrous alluvial lands to the
west, yet with capacities to yield them plentiful provision, when cleared
from the vast forest that covered it.  Nor had they come for the sake of
wealth or luxury; the earnestness of newly-awakened, and in some degree
persecuted, religion was upon them, and they regarded a sufficiency of
food and clothing as all that they had a right to seek.  Indeed, the
spirit of ascetiscism was one of their foremost characteristics.  Eliot
was a man who lived in constant self-restraint as to both sleep and diet,
and, on all occasions of special prayer, prefaced them by a rigorous
fast--and he seems to have been in a continual atmosphere of devotion.

One of his friends objected (oddly enough as it seems to us) to his
stooping to pick up a weed in his garden.  "Sir, you tell us we must be
heavenly-minded."

"It is true," he said, "and this is no impediment unto that; for, were I
sure to go to heaven to-morrow, I would do what I do to-day."

And, like many a good Christian, his outward life was to him full of
allegory.  Going up the steep hill to his church, he said, "This is very
like the way to heaven.  'Tis up hill!  The Lord in His grace fetch us
up;" and spying a bush near him, he added, "And truly there are thorns
and briars in the way, too."

He had great command of his flock at Roxbury, and was a most diligent
preacher and catechiser, declaring, in reference to the charge to St.
Peter, that "the care of the lambs is one-third part of the charge to the
Church of God."  An excellent free school was founded at Roxbury, which
was held in great repute in the time of Cotton Mather, to whom we owe
most of our knowledge of this good man.  The biography is put together in
the peculiar fashion of that day, not chronologically, but under heads
illustrating his various virtues, so that it is not easy to pick out the
course of his undertakings.  Before passing on to that which especially
distinguished him, we must give an anecdote or two from the "article"
denominated "His exquisite charity."  His wife had become exceedingly
skilful in medicine and in dealing with wounds, no small benefit in a
recent colony scant of doctors, and she gave her aid freely to all who
stood in need of help.  A person who had taken offence at something in
one of his sermons, and had abused him passionately, both in speech and
in writing, chanced to wound himself severely, whereupon he at once sent
his wife to act as surgeon; and when the man, having recovered, came to
return thanks and presents, he would accept nothing, but detained him to
a friendly meal, "and," says Mather, "by this carriage he mollified and
conquered the stomach of his reviler."

"He was also a great enemy to all contention, and would ring a loud
_Courfew Bell_ wherever he saw the fires of animosity."  When he heard
any ministers complain that such and such in their flocks were too
difficult for them, the strain of his answer was still: "Brother, compass
them;" and, "Brother, learn the meaning of those three little words,
'bear, forbear, forgive.'"

Once, when at an assembly of ministers a bundle of papers containing
matters of difference and contention between two parties--who, he
thought, should rather unite--was laid on the table, Eliot rose up and
put the whole upon the fire, saying, "Brethren, wonder not at that which
I have done: I did it on my knees this morning before I came among you."

But that "exquisite charity" seems a little one-sided in another anecdote
recorded of him, when "a godly gentleman of Charlestown, one Mr. Foster,
with his son, was taken captive by his Turkish enemies." {f:6}  Public
prayers were offered for his release: but when tidings were received that
the "Bloody Prince" who had enslaved him had resolved that no captive
should be liberated in his own lifetime, and the distressed friends
concluded, "Our hope is lost;" Mr. Eliot, "in some of his prayers before
a very solemn congregation, very broadly begged, 'Heavenly Father, work
for the redemption of Thy poor servant Foster, and if the prince which
detains him will not, as they say, release him so long as himself lives,
Lord, we pray Thee kill that cruel prince, kill him, and glorify Thyself
upon him.'  And now behold the answer.  The poor captiv'd gentleman
quickly returns to us that had been mourning for him as a lost man, and
brings us news that the prince, which had hitherto held him, was come to
an untimely death, by which means he was now set at liberty."

"And to turn their hearts" was a form that did not occur to the earnest
suppliant for his friend.  But the "cruel prince" was far away out of
sight, and there was no lack of charity in John Eliot's heart for the
heathen who came into immediate contact with him.  Indeed, he was the
first to make any real effort for their conversion.

The colonists were as yet only a scanty sprinkling in easy reach of the
coast, and had done little at present to destroy the hunting-grounds of
the Red man who had hitherto held possession of the woods and plains.

The country was inhabited by the Pequot Indians, a tall,
well-proportioned, and active tribe, belonging to the great Iroquois
nation.  They set up their wigwams of bark, around which their squaws
cultivated the rapidly growing crop of maize while the men hunted the
buffalo and deer, and returning with their spoil, required every
imaginable service from their heavily-oppressed women, while they
themselves deemed the slightest exertion, except in war and hunting,
beneath their dignity.  Their nature had much that was high and noble;
and in those days had not yet been ruined either by the White man's vices
or his cruelty.  They were neither the outcast savages nor the abject
inferiors that two hundred years have rendered their descendants, but far
better realized the description in Longfellow's "Hiawatha," of the
magnificently grave, imperturbably patient savage, the slave of his word,
and hospitable to the most scrupulous extent.  It was in mercy and
tenderness that the character was the most deficient.  The whole European
instinct of forbearance and respect to woman was utterly wanting,--the
squaws were the most degraded of slaves; and to the captive the most
barbarous cruelty was shown.  Experience has shown that there is
something in the nature of the Red Indian which makes him very slow of
being able to endure civilization, renders wandering almost a necessity
to his constitution, and generally makes him, when under restraint, even
under the most favourable conditions, dwindle away, lose all his fine
natural endowments, and become an abject and often a vicious being.  The
misfortune has been that, with a few honourable exceptions, it has not
been within the power of the better and more thoughtful portion of man to
change the Red Indian's vague belief in his "Great Spirit" to a more
systematic and stringent acceptance of other eternal verities and their
consequent obligations, and at the same time leave him free to lead the
roving life of the patriarchs of old; since, as Scripture itself shows
us, it takes many generations to train the wandering hunter to a tiller
of the soil, or a dweller in cities; and the shock to the wild man of a
sudden change is almost always fatal both to mental and bodily health.
This conclusion, however, has been a matter of slow and sad experience,
often confused by the wretched effects of the vice, barbarity, and
avarice of the settler and seaman, which in many cases have counteracted
the effects of the missionary, and accelerated the extinction of the
native.

In John Eliot's time, there was all to hope; and the community of
Englishmen with whom he lived, though stern, fierce, intolerant, and at
times cruel in their intolerance, did not embarrass his work nor corrupt
the Indians by the grosser and coarser vices, when, in his biographer's
words, "our Eliot was on such ill terms with the devil as to alarm him
with sounding the silver trumpets of Heaven in his territories, and make
some noble and zealous endeavours towards ousting him of his ancient
possessions."  The Pilgrim Fathers had obtained their land by fair
purchase, _i.e._ if purchase could be fair where there was no real mutual
understanding; and a good deal of interest had been felt in England in
the religious state of the Red men.  The charter to the colony had
enforced their conversion on the settlers, and Dr. Lake, Bishop of Bath
and Wells, declared that but for his old age and infirmities he would
have headed a mission to America for the purpose.  Had he done so,
perhaps something systematic might have been attempted.  As it was the
new colonists had too severe a struggle with their own difficulties to
attend to their heathen surroundings, even though the seal of their
colony of Massachusetts represented an Indian with the label in his
mouth, "Come over and help us."  A few conversions had taken place, but
rather owing to the interest in the White men's worship taken by
individual Indians, than to any efforts on the part of the settlers.

Sixteen years, however, passed without overt aggression, though already
was beginning the sad story that is repeated wherever civilized man
extends his frontiers.  The savage finds his hunting-ground broken up,
the White man's farm is ruined by the game or the chase, the luxuries of
civilization excite the natives' desires, mistrust leads to injury,
retaliation follows, and then war.

In 1634, only two years after Eliot's arrival, two gentlemen, with their
boat's crew, were killed on the Connecticut river, and some of the
barbarities took place that we shall too often have to notice--attacks by
the natives on solitary dwellings or lonely travellers, and increasing
anger on the part of the colonists, until they ceased to regard their
enemies as fellow-creatures.

However, the Pequots were likewise at war with the Dutch and with the
Narragansets, or river Indians, and they sent a deputation to endeavour
to make peace with the English, and secure their assistance against these
enemies.  They were appointed to return for their answer in a month's
time; and after consultation with the clergy, Mr. Dudley and Mr. Ludlow,
the Governor and Deputy-Governor, decided on making a treaty with them,
on condition of their delivering up the murderers of the Englishmen, and
paying down forty beaver and thirty otter skins, besides 400 fathoms of
wampum, _i.e._ strings of the small whelks and Venus-shells that served
as current coin, a fathom being worth about five shillings.

It surprises us that Eliot's name first appears in connection with the
Indians as an objector to this treaty, and in a sermon too, at Roxbury;
not on any grounds of injustice to the Indians, but because it had been
conducted by the magistrates without reference to the people, which was
an offence to his views of the republican rights to be exercised in the
colony.  So serious was his objection deemed, that a deputation was
appointed to explain the principles on which Government had acted, and
thus convince Mr. Eliot, which they did so effectually that he retracted
his censure in his next sermon.

Probably this was what first awakened John Eliot's interest in the Red-
skins; but for the next few years, in spite of the treaty, there was a
good deal of disturbance on the frontier, and some commission of
cruelties, until the colonists became gradually roused into fury.  Some
tribes were friendly with them; and, uniting with these the Mohicans and
river Indians, under the conduct of Uncas, the Mohican chief, seventy-
seven Englishmen made a raid into the Pequot country and drove them from
it.  Then, in 1637, a battle, called "the Great Swamp Fight," took place
between the English, Dutch, and friendly Indians on the one hand, and the
Pequots on the other.  It ended in the slaughter of seven hundred of the
Pequots and thirteen of their Sachems.  The wife of one of the Sachems
was taken, and as she had protected two captive English girls she was
treated with great consideration, and was much admired for her good sense
and modesty; but the other prisoners were dispersed among the settlers to
serve as slaves, and a great number of the poor creatures were shipped
off to the West India Islands to work on the sugar plantations.

Those who had escaped the battle were hunted down by the Mohicans and
Narragansets, who continually brought their scalps in to the English
towns, and at last they were reduced to sue for peace when only 200
braves were still living.  These, with their families, were amalgamated
with the Mohicans and Narragansets, and expelled from their former
territory, on which the English settled.  An annual tribute of a length
of wampum, for every male in the tribe, varying according to age and
rank, was paid to the English, and their supremacy was so entirely
established that nearly forty years of peace succeeded.

Eliot's missionary enterprise, Mather allows, was first inspired by the
"remarkable zeal of the Romish missionaries," by whom he probably means
the French Jesuits, who were working with much effect in the settlements
in Louisiana, first occupied in the time of Henri IV.  Another stimulus
came from the expressions in the Royal Charter which had granted licence
for the establishment of the colony, namely, "To win and incite the
natives of that country to the knowledge and obedience of the only true
God and Saviour of mankind and the Christian faith, in our Royal
intention and the Adventurers' free profession, is the principal end of
the Plantation."

That the devil himself was the Red men's master, and came to their
assistance when summoned by the incantations of their medicine men, was
the universal belief of the colonists, in corroboration of which the
following story is given:--"The Indians in their wars with us, finding a
sore inconvenience by our dogs, which would make a sad yelling if in the
night they scented the approaches of them, they sacrificed a dog to the
devil, after which no English dog would bark at an Indian for divers
months ensuing."

In the intended contest Mr. Eliot began by preaching and making
collections from the English settlers, and likewise "he hires a native to
teach him this exotick language, and, with a laborious care and skill,
reduces it into a grammar, which afterwards he published.  There is a
letter or two of our alphabet which the Indians never had in theirs;
though there were enough of the dog in their temper, there can scarce be
found an R in their language, . . . but, if their alphabet be short, I am
sure the words composed of it are long enough to tire the patience of any
scholar in the world; they are _Sesquipedalia verba_, of which their
linguo is composed.  For instance, if I were to translate our Loves, it
must be nothing shorter than _Noowomantamoonkanunonush_.  Or to give my
reader a longer word, _Kremmogkodonattootummootiteaonganunnnash_ is, in
English, our _question_."

The worthy Mr. Mather adds, with a sort of apology, that, having once
found that the demons in a possessed young woman understood Latin, Greek,
and Hebrew, he himself tried them with this Indian tongue, and "the
demons did seem as if they understood it."  Indeed, he thinks the words
must have been growing ever since the confusion of Babel!  The fact
appears to be, that these are what are now called agglutinate languages,
and, like those of all savage tribes, in a continual course of
alteration--also often using a long periphrastic description to convey an
idea or form a name.  A few familiar instances will occur, such as
_Niagara_, "thunder of water."

This formidable language Mr. Eliot--the anagram of whose name, Mather
appropriately observes, was _Toils_--mastered with the assistance of a
"pregnant-witted Indian," who had been a servant in an English family.  By
the help of his natural turn for philology, he was able to subdue this
instrument to his great and holy end,--with what difficulty may be
estimated from the sentence with which he concluded his grammar: "Prayer
and pains through faith in CHRIST JESUS will do anything."

It was in the year 1646, while Cromwell was gradually obtaining a
preponderating influence in England, and King Charles had gone to seek
protection in the Scottish army, that John Eliot, then in his
forty-second year, having thus prepared himself, commenced his campaign.

He had had a good deal of conversation with individual Indians who came
about the settlement at Roxbury, and who perceived the advantages of some
of the English customs.  They said they believed that in forty years the
Red and White men would be all one, and were really anxious for this
consummation.  When Eliot declared that the superiority of the White race
came from their better knowledge of God, and offered to come and instruct
them, they were full of joy and gratitude; and on the 28th of October,
1646, among the glowing autumn woods, a meeting of Indians was convoked,
to which Mr. Eliot came with three companions.  They were met by a chief
named Waban, or the Wind, who had a son at an English school, and was
already well disposed towards them, and who led them to his wigwam, where
the principal men of the tribe awaited them.

   "All the old men of the village,
   All the warriors of the nation,
   All the Jossakeeds, the prophets,
   The magicians, the Wabenos,
   And the medicine men, the medas,
   Came to bid the strangers welcome.
   'It is well,' they said, 'O brothers,
   That you came so far to see us.'
   In a circle round the doorway,
   With their pipes they sat in silence,
   Waiting to behold the strangers,
   Waiting to receive their message,
   Till the Black Robe chief, the pale face,
   From the wigwam came to greet them,
   Stammering in his speech a little,
   Speaking words yet unfamiliar."

Mr. Eliot prayed in English, and then preached on the 9th and 10th verses
of the 37th chapter of Ezekiel, where the prophet is bid to call the
Breath of God from the four winds of heaven to give life to the dry bones
around.  It so happened that the Indian word for breath or wind was
_Waban_, and this made a great impression, and was afterwards viewed as
an omen.

The preacher worked up from the natural religion, of which this fine race
already had an idea, to the leading Christian truths.

   Then the Black Robe chief, the prophet,
   Told his message to the people,
   Told the purport of his mission,
   Told them of the Virgin Mary,
   And her blessed Son, the Saviour:
   How in distant lands and ages
   He had lived on earth as we do;
   How He fasted, prayed, and laboured;
   How the Jews, the tribe accursed,
   Mocked Him, scourged Him, crucified Him;
   How He rose from where they laid Him,
   Walked again with His disciples,
   And ascended into heaven."

The sermon lasted an hour and a quarter, but the Indians are a dignified
and patient people, prone to long discourses themselves, and apt to
listen to them from others.  When he finally asked if they had
understood, many voices replied that they had; and, on his encouraging
them to ask questions, many intelligent inquiries were made.  The whole
conference lasted three hours, and Mr. Eliot was invited to come again,
which he did at intervals of about a fortnight, and again with good
promise.

In one of these meetings they asked, very reasonably, why the English
called them Indians, a question it could not have been easy to answer.
The Powaws, or priests, began to make some opposition, but Waban was
continually going about among the people, repeating portions of the
instructions he had received, and teaching his friends to pray--for some
had at first supposed that the English God might not be addressed in the
native tongue, but only in English.

After some little time, he thought the Indians ripe for being taught to
live a settled life, and obtained for his congregation--"the praying
Indians," as they were commonly called--a grant of the site of his first
instructions.  The place was named "Rejoicing,"--in Indian, a word that
soon got corrupted into Nonantum; and, under Mr. Eliot's directions, they
divided their grounds with trenches and stone walls, for which he gave
them tools to the best of his ability.  They built wigwams of a superior
construction, and the women learnt to spin; there was a continual
manufacture of brushes, eel-pots, and baskets, which were sold in the
English towns, together with turkeys, fish, venison, and fruits,
according to the season.  At hay and harvest times they would hire
themselves out to work for their English neighbours, but were thought
unable or unwilling to do what sturdy Englishmen regarded as a fair day's
work.

A second settlement of praying Indians followed at Neponset, around the
wigwam of a Sachem named Cutshamakin, a man of rank much superior to
Waban.  He had already been in treaty with the English, and had promised
to observe the Ten Commandments, but had unhappily learnt also from the
English that love of drink which was the bane of the Indian; and while
Mr. Eliot was formally instructing the family, one of the sons, a boy of
fifteen, when learning the fifth commandment, persisted in saying only
"honour thy mother," and, when admonished, declared that his father had
given him fire-water, which had intoxicated him, and had besides been
passionate and violent with him.  The boy had always been a rude,
contumacious fellow, and at the next lecture day Mr. Eliot turned to the
Sachem, and lamented over these faults, but added that the first step to
reforming him would be for his father to set the example by a confession
of his own sins, which were neither few nor light.

The Sachem's pride was subdued.  He stood up and openly declared his
offences, lamenting over them with deep sincerity.  The boy was so
touched that he made humble confession in his turn, and entreated
forgiveness.  His parents were so much moved that they wept aloud, and
the board on which Cutshamakin stood was wet with his tears.  He was
softened then, but, poor man, he said: "My heart is but very little
better than it was, and I am afraid it will be as bad again as it was
before.  I sometimes wish I might die before I be so bad again!"

Poor Cutshamakin! he estimated himself truly.  The Puritan discipline,
which aimed at acting on the conduct rather through the conscience and
feelings than by means of grace, never entirely subdued him, and he
remained a fitfully fierce, and yet repentant, savage to the end of his
life.  His squaw must have been a clever woman; for, being publicly
reprimanded by the Indian preacher Nabanton, for fetching water on a
Sunday, she told him after the meeting that he had done more harm by
raising the discussion than she had done by fetching the water.

Sunday was impressed upon the natives with all the strictness peculiar to
the British Calvinists in their reaction from the ale-feasts, juggleries,
and merry-makings of the almost pagan fifteenth century.  It is never
hard to make savage converts observe a day of rest; they are generally
used to keep certain seasons already, and, as Mr. Eliot's Indians
honestly said, they do so little work at any time that a weekly
abstinence from it comes very easily.  At Nonantum, indeed, they seem to
have emulated the Pharisees themselves in their strictness.  Waban got
into trouble for having a racoon killed to entertain two unexpected
guests; and a case was brought up at public lecture of a man who, finding
his fire nearly gone out, had violated the Sabbath by splitting one piece
of dry wood with his axe.

But the "weightier matters of the law" were not by any means forgotten,
and there was a continual struggle to cure the converts of their new vice
of drunkenness, and their old habit of despising and maltreating their
squaws, who in the Christian villages were raised to a state far less
degraded; for any cruelty or tyranny towards them was made matter of
public censure and confession in the assembly.

Several more distant journeys were taken by Mr. Eliot, some of them to
the Merrimac River to see a powerful old Sachem of a great age, named
Passaconaway, who his people believed to be able to make green leaves
grow in winter, trees dance, and water burn.

He was so much afraid of the Missionary that he fled away the first time
he heard he was coming, probably thinking him a great sorcerer; but the
next time he remained, listened eagerly, expressed his intention of
praying, and tried to induce Mr. Eliot to settle in his district.  He
lived to a great age, and left a charge with his children never to
contend with the English, having convinced himself that the struggle was
hopeless.  Several other Sachems gave a sort of attention: and it
appeared that the way had been in some degree prepared by a French
priest, who had been wrecked on Cape Cod, had been passed from one tribe
to another, and had died among them, but not without having left a
tradition of teaching which was by some identified with Eliot's.

Of one Sachem, Mather tells a story: "While Mr. Eliot was preaching of
Christ unto the other Indians, a demon appeared unto a Prince of the
Eastern Indians in a shape that had some resemblance of Mr. Eliot or of
an English minister, pretending to be the Englishman's God.  The spectre
commanded him 'to forbear the drinking of rum and to observe the Sabbath-
day, and to deal justly with his neighbours;' all which things had been
inculcated in Mr. Eliot's ministry, promising therewithal unto him that,
if he did so, at his death his soul should ascend into a happy place,
otherwise descend unto miseries; but the apparition all the while never
said one word about Christ, which was the main subject of Mr. Eliot's
ministry.  The Sachem received such an impression from the apparition
that he dealt justly with all men except in the bloody tragedies and
cruelties he afterwards committed on the English in our wars.  He kept
the Sabbath-day like a fast, frequently attending in our congregations;
he would not meddle with any rum, though usually his countrymen had
rather die than undergo such a piece of self-denial.  That liquor has
merely enchanted them.  At last, and not long since, this demon appeared
again unto this pagan, requiring him to kill himself, and assuring him
that he should revive in a day or two, never to die any more.  He
thereupon divers times attempted it, but his friends very carefully
prevented it; however, at length he found a _fair_ opportunity for this
_foul_ business, and hanged himself,--you may be sure without his
expected resurrection."

This story, grotesque as it sounds in the solemn simplicity of the worthy
Puritan, is really only an instance of what takes place wherever the
light of the Gospel is held up to men capable of appreciating its
standard of morality, but too proud to bend the spirit to accept the
doctrine of the Cross.  The Sachem was but a red-skinned "seeker after
God," an "ape of Christianity," like Marcus Aurelius, and like the many
others we shall meet with who loved darkness rather than light, not so
much because their deeds were evil as because their hearts were proud.

Like all practical men, Eliot found it absolutely necessary to do what he
called "carrying on civility with religion," _i.e._ instructing the
converts in such of the arts of life as would afford them wholesome
industry; but want of means was his great difficulty, and in the middle
of a civil war England was not very likely to supply him.

Still he made his Indians at Nonantum hedge and ditch, plant trees, sow
cornfields, and saw planks; and some good man in England, whose name he
never knew, sent him in 1648 ten pounds for schools among the natives,
half of which he gave to a mistress at Cambridge, and half to a master at
Dorchester, under whom the Indian children made good progress, and he
catechized them himself most diligently by way of teaching both them and
the parents who looked on.

He had by this time translated the Bible, but it remained in manuscript
for want of the means of printing it; and his favourite scheme of
creating an Indian city, with a scriptural government, well out of the
way of temptation from and interference by the English, was also at a
standstill, from his poverty.

He likewise sustained a great loss in his friend Mr. Shepard, who had
worked with him with equal devotion and enthusiasm, but this loss really
led to the fulfilment of his wishes, for Mr. Shepard's papers were sent
home, and aroused such an interest in Calamy and others of the devout
ministers in London, that the needs of the Indians of New England were
brought before Parliament, and an ordinance was passed on the 27th of
July, 1649, for the advancement of civilization and Christianity among
them.  Then a corporation was instituted, entitled the Society for the
Propagation of the Gospel in New England, of which Judge Street was the
first president, and Mr. Henry Ashurst the first treasurer, with powers
to receive the collections that the ministers in every parish were
exhorted to make by authority of Parliament, backed up by letters from
the two Universities.

There was a good deal of opposition; people fancied it a new plan of
getting money for Government, and were not at all interested about the
Indians, but money enough was collected to purchase lands worth about
500_l._ or 600_l._ a year, by way of foundation, at a time when the
property of Cavaliers was going cheap, and the Society was able to
undertake the cost of printing Eliot's Bible, as well as of building him
an Indian college, of paying his teachers, and of supplying the greatly
needed tools and other necessaries for his much-desired station.

Still there was a great deal of difficulty and opposition, from the
English dislike and contempt for the Indians, who were judged _en masse_
by the degraded ones who loitered about the settlements, begging and
drinking; as well as from the Powaws or medicine men who found their
dupes escaping, and tried to terrify them by every means by which it was
possible to work upon their superstition.  The Sachems, likewise, were
finding out that Christians were less under their tyranny since they had
had a higher standard, and many opposed Eliot violently, trying to drive
him from their villages with threats and menacing gestures, but he calmly
answered, "I am engaged in the work of God, and God is with me.  I fear
not all the Sachems in the country.  I shall go on with my work.  Touch
me if you dare;" nor did he ever fail to keep the most angry in check
while he was present, though they hated him greatly.  Uncas, the chief of
the Mohicans, made a regular complaint to Government that Eliot and his
colleagues prayed by name for the conversion of the Mohicans and
Narragansets.  Even Cutshamakin, when he heard of the project of an
Indian town, broke out against it with such fury, that all the men in
favour of it cowered and slunk away from his furious howls and
gesticulations.  Mr. Eliot was left alone to confront him, and looking
steadily at him told him that, as this was God's work, no fear of him
should hinder it.  The savage quailed before him, but afterwards came to
him and stated that his objection was that the praying Indians did not
pay him their tribute.  Eliot kindly answered that this had been
complained of before, and that he had preached a sermon enforcing this
duty upon the tribe.

The words were good, said Cutshamakin, but the Indians would not obey
them.  So Mr. Eliot, after consultation with the ministers and elders in
Boston, invited the Indians who understood English to hear a sermon
there, and in it the duty of rendering to all their due was fully
enforced.  Afterwards, however, the Indians came forward declaring
themselves much surprised and mortified at being accused of not paying
their just duty to their chief; and they specified the service and gifts:
each had rendered twenty bushels of corn, six bushels of rye, fifteen
deer, days spent in hunting, the building of a wigwam, reclaiming two
acres of land; and the amount when added up amazed Mr. Eliot.  At his
next lecture, then, he took for his text the rejection by the Saviour of
all the kingdoms of the world, and personally applied it to Cutshamakin,
reproaching him with lust of power and worldly ambition, and warning him
that Satan was tempting him to give up the faith for the sake of
recovering his arbitrary power.  The discourse and the conversation that
followed again melted the Sachem, and he repented and retracted, although
he continued an unsafe and unstable man.

At length, in 1651, Mr. Eliot was able to convene his praying Indians and
with them lay the foundation of a town on the banks of Charles River,
about eighteen miles to the south-west of Boston.  The spot, as he
believed, had been indicated to him in answer to prayer, and they named
it Natick, or the place of hills.  The inhabitants of Nonantum removed
thither, and the work was put in hand.  A bridge, eighty feet long and
nine feet wide, had already been laid across the river, entirely by
Indian workmen, under Mr. Eliot's superintendence; and the town was laid
out in three streets, two on one side of the river and one on the other;
the grounds were measured and divided, apple-trees planted, and sowing
begun.  The cellars of some of the houses, it is said, remain to the
present day.  In the midst was a circular fort, palisaded with trees, and
a large house built in the English style, though with only a day or two
of help from an English carpenter, the lower part of which was to serve
as a place of worship on Sunday, and for a school on other days, the
upper part as a wardrobe and storehouse for valuables, and with a room
partitioned off, and known as "the prophet's chamber," for the use of Mr.
Eliot on his visits to the settlement.  Outside were canopies, formed by
mats stretched on poles, one for Mr. Eliot and his attendants, another
for the men, and a third for the women.  These were apparently to shelter
a sort of forum, and likewise to supplement the school-chapel in warm
weather.  A few English-built houses were raised; but the Indians found
them expensive and troublesome, and preferred the bark wigwams on
improved principles.

The spot was secured to the Indians by the Council of Government, acting
under the Commonwealth at home; but the right of local self-government
was vested in each township; and Eliot, as the guide of his new settlers,
could lead them to what he believed to be a truly scriptural code, such
as he longed to see prevail in his native land.  "Oh!" he exclaimed, "the
blessed day in England, when the Word of God shall be their Magna Carta
and chief law book, and all lawyers must be divines to study the
Scripture."

His commencement in carrying out this system was to preach Jethro's
advice to Moses, and thence deduce that the Indians should divide
themselves into hundreds and into tens, and elect rulers for each
division, each tithing man being responsible for the ten under him, each
chief of a hundred for the ten tithings.  This was done on the 6th of
August, 1651; and Eliot declared that it seemed to him as if he beheld
the scattered bones he had spoken of in his first sermon to the Indians,
come bone to bone, and a civil political life begin.  His hundreds and
tithings were as much suggested by the traditional arrangements of King
Alfred as by those of Moses in the wilderness; and his next step was, in
like manner, partly founded on Scripture, partly on English
history,--namely, the binding his Indians by a solemn covenant to serve
the Lord, and ratifying it on a fast-day.  His converts had often asked
him why he held none of the great fast-days with them that they saw the
English hold, and he had always replied that there was not a sufficient
occasion, but he regarded this as truly important enough.  Moreover, a
ship containing some supplies, sent by the Society in England, had been
wrecked, and the goods, though saved, were damaged.  This he regarded as
a frown of Providence and a fruit of sin.  Poor Cutshamakin also was in
trouble again, having been drawn into a great revel, where much spirits
had been drunk; and his warm though unstable temper always made him ready
to serve as a public example of confession and humiliation.  So when, on
the 24th of September, 1651, Mr. Eliot had conducted the fast-day
service, it began with Cutshamakin's confession; then three Indians
preached and prayed in turn, and Mr. Eliot finally preached on Ezra's
great fast.  There was a pause for rest; then the assembly came together
again, and before them Mr. Eliot solemnly recited the terms of the
Covenant, by which all were to bind themselves to the service of the
Lord, and which included all their principal laws.  He asked them whether
they stood to the Covenant.  All the chiefs first bound themselves, then
the remainder of the people; a collection was made for the poor; and so
ended that "blessed day," as the happy apostle of the Indians called it.

When Governor Endicot shortly after visited the place, he was greatly
struck with the orderliness and civilization he found there.  "I account
this one of the best journeys I have made for many years," he says.  Many
little manufactures were carried on, in particular one of drums, which
were used for lack of bells in some of the American settlements, as a
summons to come to church.

There was a native schoolmaster, named Monequassum, who could write,
read, and spell English correctly, and under whom the children were
making good progress.  Promising lads were trained by Mr. Eliot himself,
in hopes of making them act as missionaries among their brethren.  All
this time his praying Indians were not baptized, nor what he called
"gathered into a Church estate."  He seems to have been determined to
have full proof of their stability before he so accepted them; for it was
from no inclination to Baptist views that he so long delayed receiving
them.  However, on the 13th of October, 1652, he convened his brother-
ministers to hear his Indians make public confession of their faith.  What
the converts said was perfectly satisfactory; but they were a long-winded
race, accustomed to flowing periods; and as each man spoke for himself,
and his confession had to be copied down in writing, Mr. Eliot himself
owns that their "enlargement of spirit" did make "the work longsome."  So
longsome it was, that while the schoolmaster was speaking every one got
restless, and there was a confusion; and the ministers, who had a long
dark ride through the woods before them, went away, and were hard to
bring back again, so that he had to finish hearing the declarations of
faith alone.

Still, he cut off the baptism and organization of a church till he had
sent all these confessions to be considered by the Society in England,
printed and published under the title of "Tears of Repentance," with a
dedication to Oliver Cromwell.  Then came other delays; some from the
jealousy and distrust of the English, who feared that the Indians were
going to ally themselves to the Dutch; some from the difficulty of
getting pastors to join in the tedious task of listening to the wordy
confessions; and some from the distressing scandal of drunkenness
breaking out among the Indians, in spite of the strict discipline that
always punished it.  It was not till 1660 that Mr. Eliot baptized any
Indians, and the next day admitted them to the Lord's Supper, nine years
after he had begun to preach.  The numbers we do not know, but there is
no doubt that he received no adults except well proved and tried persons
coming up to the Puritan standard of sincerity and devotion.

At this time the Society at home was in great danger; for, on the
Restoration, the charter had become void, and, moreover, the principal
estate that formed the endowment had been the property of a Roman
Catholic,--Colonel Bedingfield,--who resumed possession, and refused to
refund the purchase money, as considering the Society at an end.  It
would probably have been entirely lost, but for the excellent Robert
Boyle, so notable at once for his science, piety, and beneficence.  He
placed the matter in its true light before Lord Clarendon, and obtained
by his means a fresh charter from Charles II.  The judgment in the Court
of Chancery was given in favour of the Society, and Boyle himself
likewise endowed it with a third part of a grant of the forfeited
impropriations in Ireland which he had received from the king.  But all
the time there was a great disbelief in the efficacy of the work among
the Indians both at home and in New England.  It was the fashion to call
all the stories of Indian conversions mere devices for getting money, and
the unhappy, proud hostility that almost always actuated the ordinary
English colonist in dealing with natives, was setting in in full force.
However, at Massachusetts, the general court appointed an English
magistrate to hold a court of judicature in conjunction with the chiefs
of the Christian Indians, and to be in fact a sort of special member of
government on their behalf.  The first so appointed was Daniel Gookin, a
man of great piety, wisdom, and excellence, and a warm friend of Mr.
Eliot, with whom he worked most heartily, not only in dealing with the
Indians of Natick, but with all those who came under English
jurisdiction, providing schools, and procuring the observance of the
Sunday among them.  It was also provided that the Christian Indians
should set apart a tenth of all their produce for the support of their
teachers--a practice that Mr. Gookin defended from the charge of Judaism.
It seems as if these good men, who went direct to the Old Testament for
their politics, must have been hard set between their desire of
scriptural authority and their dread of Judaizing.

It was well for Eliot that he had friends, for in the first flush of the
tidings of the successes of the Puritans in England, he had written a set
of papers upon Government, entitled the "Christian Commonwealth," which
had been sent to England, and there lay dormant for nine or ten years,
until in the midst of all the excitement on the Restoration, this
speculative work, the theory of a scholar upon Christian democracy, was
actually printed and launched upon the world at home, whether by an enemy
or by an ill-advised friend does not appear, and without the author's
consent.  Complaints of this as a seditious book came out to New England,
and John Eliot was forced to appear before the court, when he owned the
authorship, but disowned the publication, and retracted whatever might
have declared the Government of England, by King, Lords, and Commons, to
be anti-Christian, avowing it to be "not only a lawful but eminent form
of government, and professing himself ready to conform to any polity that
could be deduced from Scripture as being of Divine authority."  The court
was satisfied, and suppressed the book, while publishing Mr. Eliot's
retractation.  Some have sneered at his conduct on this occasion as an
act of moral cowardice; but it would be very hard if every man were bound
to stand to all the political views expressed in an essay never meant for
the general eye, ten years old, and written in the enthusiasm of the
commencement of an experiment, which to the Presbyterian mind had proved
a grievous disappointment.

He had a much more important work in hand than the defence of old dreams
of the reign of the saints--for the Society for the Propagation of the
Gospel in New England had just finished printing his translation of the
New Testament, _Wusku Wuttestermentum_ as it was called, and in two years
more the Old Testament was finished.  A copy was presented to Charles
II., to the Chancellor Clarendon, and to the two Universities in England,
as well as to Harvard College.  It was in the Mohican dialect, which was
sufficiently like that of the neighbouring tribes to serve for them, and
had all the correctness that the scholarship and philology of the time
could furnish.  There is a story that Eliot wrote the whole with a single
pen.  It went through a good many editions, but is now very rare, and
with Eliot's Catechism, and translations of Baxter's chief works, and a
metrical version of the Psalms, remains the only vestige of the language
of the Mohicans.

There were now several Indian congregations, one in especial at the
island called Martha's Vineyard, under the charge of an Indian pastor,
John Hiacoomes, who is said to have been the first red-skinned convert,
and who had made proof of much true Christian courage.  Once in the act
of prayer he received a severe blow from a Sachem, and would have been
killed if some English had not been present; but all his answer was, "I
have two hands.  I had one hand for injuries, and the other for God.
While I did receive wrong with the one, the other laid the greater hold
on God."

When some of the Powaws, or medicine men, were boasting that they could,
if they would, destroy all the praying Indians at once, Hiacoomes made
reply: "Let all the Powaws in the island come together, I'll venture
myself in the midst among them all.  Let them use all their witchcrafts.
With the help of God, I'll tread upon them all!"

By which defiance he wonderfully "heartened" his flock, who, Christians
as they were, had still been beset by the dread of the magic arts, in
which, as we have seen, even their White teachers did not wholly
disbelieve.

Such a man as this was well worthy of promotion, and Mr. Eliot hoped to
educate his more promising scholars, so as to supply a succession of
learned and trained native pastors.  Two young men, named Joel and Caleb,
were sent to Harvard College, Cambridge, where they both were gaining
distinguished success, and were about to take their degree, when Joel,
who had gone home on a visit, was wrecked on the Island of Nantucket,
and, with the rest of the ship's company, was either drowned or murdered
by the Indians.  The name of Caleb, Chee-shah-teau-muck, Indus, is still
to be seen in the registers of those who took their degree, and there are
two Latin and Greek elegies remaining, which he composed on the death of
an eminent minister, bearing his signature, with the addition, Senior
Sophister.  How curiously do the Hebrew, Greek, and Latin proclaim
themselves the universal languages, thus blending with the uncouth
Mohican word!  Caleb's constitution proved unable to endure College
discipline and learning, and he died of decline soon after taking his
degree.  Consumption was very frequent among the Indians, as it so often
is among savages suddenly brought to habits of civilization, and it seems
to have mown down especially the more intellectual of the Indians;
Monequassum, the first schoolmaster at Natick, among them.  An Indian
College, which had been established at Cambridge, failed from the deaths
of some scholars and the discouragement of others, and had to be turned
into a printing house, and the energetic and indefatigable Eliot did the
best he could by giving courses of lectures in logic and theology to
candidates for the ministry at Natick, and even printed an "Indian logick
primer."  It was a wonderful feat, considering the loose unwieldy words
of the language.

From 1660 to 1675 were Eliot's years of chief success.  His own vigour
was unabated, and he had Major Gookin's hearty co-operation.  There had
been time for a race of his own pupils to grow up; and there had not been
time for the first love of his converts to wax cool.  There had been a
long interval of average peace and goodwill between English and natives,
and there seemed good reason to suppose that Christianity and
civilization would keep them friends, if not fuse them together.  There
were eleven hundred Christian Indians, according to Eliot and Gookin's
computation, with six regularly constituted "churches" after the fashion
of Natick, and fourteen towns, of which seven were called old and seven
new, where praying Indians lived, for the most part, in a well-conducted,
peaceable manner, though now and then disorderly conduct would take
place, chiefly from drunkenness.  Several Sachems had likewise been
converted, in especial Wanalanset, the eldest son of the famous old chief
Passaconnaway.  After four years of hesitation whether he should, as he
said, quit his old canoe and embark in a new one, he came to the
conclusion that the old canoe was floating down the stream of
destruction, and manfully embraced the faith, although at the cost of
losing many of his tribe, who deserted him on his profession of
Christianity.

But there is always a period of check and disappointment in every great
and holy work.  The tide of evil may be driven into ebb for a time, but
it always rallies and flows back upon the servant of God, and usually
when the prime of his strength is past, and he is less able to withstand.
Most good and great men have closed their eyes upon apparent failure and
disappointment in what is especially their own task, and, like the first
great Leader and Lawgiver, have had to cry, "Show Thy servants Thy work,
and their children Thy glory."  Often the next generation does see the
success, and gather the fruits; but the strong, wise, scholarly,
statesman-like Apostle of the Indians was destined to see his work swept
away like snow before the rage and fury of man, and to leave behind him
little save a great witness and example.  At least he had the comfort of
knowing that the evil did not arise among his own children in the faith,
but came from causes entirely external, and as much to be preferred as
persecution is better than corruption.

The Sachem nearest to Plymouth had been at the first arrival of the
Pilgrim Fathers, Massasoiet, chief of the Wampanongs, who had kept the
peace out of fear.  His son Alexander had followed his example, but it
was current among the English that he had died of "choler," on being
detected in a plot against them, and his successor, Philip, was a man of
more than common pride, fierceness, cunning, and ability.  These were
only names given them by the English; none of them were Christians.  Mr.
Eliot had made some attempts upon Philip, but had been treated with
scorn.  The Sachem, twisting a button upon the minister's coat, told him
he cared not _that_ for his Gospel; but Major Gookin had some hopes of
having touched his heart.

However, there were indications that he was endeavouring to unite all the
surrounding tribes in an alliance against the colony.  A murder of an
Englishman had taken place, and the Government at Plymouth required all
natives to surrender the fire-arms they had obtained from the English.
Even Philip consented to deliver them up until the English should see no
further cause for detaining them.  Upon this, in June 1671, Eliot wrote a
remarkable letter to Mr. Prince, the Governor of Plymouth, requiring him
not to detain the arms, especially of Philip.  "My reasons are," he says,
"first, lest we render ourselves more afraid of them and their guns than
indeed we are or have cause to be.  Alas! it is not the gun, but the man;
nor, indeed, is it the man, but our sin that we have cause to be afraid
of.  Secondly, your so doing will open an effectual door to the
entertainment of the Gospel."  Probably Mr. Eliot was right, and the
keeping the arms only irritated the high-spirited chief, who said to the
messenger of the Governor of Massachusetts, "Your governor is but a
subject.  I will not treat but with my brother, King Charles of England."

For four years enmity smouldered on.  The rights of the dispute will
never be known.  The settlers laid all upon Philip's machinations, except
those who lived near his wigwams and knew him best; and they said that so
far from entering into a conspiracy, he always deplored the war, but was
forced on by the rage and fury of the young braves, over whom the Sachems
had no real power, and who wanted to signalize their valour, and could
not fail to have their pride insulted by the demeanour of the ordinary
English.  One instance of brutality on the river Saco is said to have
been the immediate cause of the war in that district.  Some English
sailors, seeing a canoe with an Indian woman and her infant, and having
heard that a papoose could swim like a duck, actually upset the canoe to
make the experiment.  The poor baby sank, and the mother dived and
brought it up alive, but it died so soon after, that the loss was laid to
the charge of the cruel men by the father, who was a Sachem named
Squando, of considerable dignity and influence, a great medicine man.

On Philip's border to the southward, a plantation called Swawny was
attacked and burnt by the Indians in the June of 1675.  He is said to
have shed tears (impassible Indian as he was) at the tidings, foreseeing
the utter ruin of his people; and, twenty days after, Squando's influence
led to another attack 200 miles off, and this was viewed as a sign of
complicity with Philip.

There was deadly terror among the English.  The Indians swarmed down at
night on lonely villages and farmhouses, slew, scalped, burnt, and now
and then carried off prisoners to be tortured to death, and children to
tell by and by strange tales of life in the wigwams.  The militia were
called out, but left their houses unprotected.  At Newich-wannock, the
farmhouse of a man named Tozer was attacked by the Indians when only
tenanted by fifteen women and children.  A girl of eighteen, who was the
first to see the approach, bravely shut the door and set her back against
it; thus giving time for the others to escape by another door to a better
secured building.  The Indians chopped the door to pieces with their
hatchets, knocked the girl down, left her for dead, and hurried on in
pursuit of the others, but only came up with two poor little children,
who had not been able to get over the fence.  The rest were saved, and
the brave girl recovered from her wounds; but other attacks ended far
more fatally for the sufferers, and the rage and alarm of the New
Englanders were great.  A few of the recently taught and unbaptized
Indians from what were called the "new praying towns" had joined their
countrymen; and though the great body of the converts were true and
faithful, the English confounded them all in one common hatred to the Red-
skin.  The magistrates and Government were not infected by this blind
passion, and did all they could to restrain it, showing trust in the
Christian natives by employing them in the war, when they rendered good
and faithful service; but the commonalty, who were in the habit of
viewing the whole people as Hivites and Jebusites, treated these allies
with such distrust and contumely as was quite enough to alienate them.

In July 1675, three Christian Indians were sent as guides and
interpreters to an expedition to treat with the Indians in the Nipmuck
country.  One was made prisoner, but the two officers in command gave the
fullest testimony to the good conduct of the other two; nevertheless they
were so misused on their return that Mr. Gookin declared that they had
been, by ill-treatment, "in a manner constrained to fall off to the
enemy."  One was killed by a scouting party of praying Indians; the other
was taken, sold as a slave, and sent to Jamaica; and though Mr. Eliot
prevailed to have him brought back, and redeemed his wife and children,
he was still kept in captivity.

The next month, August, a number of the Christian Indians were arrested
and sent up to Boston to be tried for some murders that had been
committed at Lancaster.  Eliot and Gookin succeeded in proving their
perfect innocence, but the magistrates had great difficulty in saving
their lives from the fury of the mob, who thirsted for Indian blood, and
both minister and major were insulted and reviled, so that Gookin said on
the bench that it was not safe for him to walk in the streets; and when
Eliot met with a dangerous boat accident, wishes were expressed that he
had been drowned.

Natick was looked upon with so much distrust and aversion that
Government, fearing occasions of bloodshed, decided that the inhabitants
must be removed to Deer Island.  On the 7th of October a great fast-day,
with prayer and preaching, had been held, and fierce and bitter
entreaties had been uttered against the Indian Sachems, especially
Philip.  One wonders whether Eliot--now seventy-one years old--felt it
come home to him that he knew not what spirit he had been of when he had
prayed for the death of the Moorish prince.  It must have been a heart-
breaking time for the aged man, to see the spot founded in so much hope
and prayer, the fruit of so much care and meditation, thus broken up and
ruined, and when he was too old to do the like work over again.  At the
end of that month of October, Captain Thomas Prentiss, with a party of
horse and five or six carts, arrived at Natick, and made known the
commands of the Government.  Sadly but patiently the Indians submitted.
Two hundred men, women, and children were made to get together all they
could carry, and marched from their homes to the banks of the Charles
River.  Here, at a spot called the Pines, Mr. Eliot met them, and they
gathered round him to hear his words of comfort, as he exhorted them to
meek patience, resignation, and steadiness to the faith.  The scene was
exceedingly affecting, as the white-haired pastor stood by the river-side
beneath the tall pines, with his dark-skinned, newly reclaimed children
about him, clinging to him for consolation, but neither murmuring nor
struggling, only praying and encouraging one another.  Captain Prentiss
and his soldiers were deeply touched; but at midnight, when the tide was
high enough, three large boats bore the Indians over to Deer Island.  Here
they were, transplanted from their comfortable homes in the beginning of
a long and very severe winter; but, well divided by the river from all
suspicion of doing violence, they fared better than the praying Indians
of the new town of Wamesit.  A barn full of hay and corn had been burnt,
and fourteen men of Chelmsford, the next settlement, concluding it had
been done by the Wamesit Red-skins, went thither, called them out of
their wigwams, and then fired at them, killing a lad and five women and
children.  After all, the fire had been caused by some skulking heathen
Indians; but though the Government obtained the arrest of the murderers,
the jury would not find them guilty.  The Wamesit Indians fled into the
forest, and sent a piteous letter:--"We are not sorry for what we leave
behind, but we are sorry that the English have driven us from our praying
to God and from our teacher.  We did begin to understand praying to God a
_little_."  They were invited back, but were afraid to come till cold and
hunger drove them to their old abode, and then the indefatigable Eliot
and Gookin visited them, and did all in their power to bring about a
better feeling towards them in Chelmsford.

This whole autumn and winter--a terribly severe one--seems to have been
spent by these good men in trying to heal the strifes between the English
and the Indians.  Wanalanset had fled, true to his father's policy of
never resisting, and they were sent to invite him back again; but when he
returned, he found that the maize grounds of his settlement had been
ploughed up by the English and sown with rye, so that his tribe had most
scanty subsistence.

Several settlements of Christians were deported to Deer Island.  One
large party had been made prisoners by their heathen countrymen and had
managed to escape, but when met with wandering in the woods by a party of
English soldiers, were plundered of the little the heathens had left
them, in especial of a pewter cup, their communion plate, which Mr. Eliot
had given them, and which was much treasured by their native pastor.  The
General interfered in their behalf, but could not protect them from much
ill-usage.  The teacher was sent with his old father and young children
to Boston, where Mr. Eliot saw and cheered him before he was conveyed to
Deer Island.  There, in December, Eliot, with Gookin and other friends,
frequently visited the Indians, now five hundred in number, and found
them undergoing many privations, but patient, resigned, and unmurmuring.
The snow was four feet deep in the woods by the 10th of December that
year, and the exertion and exposure of travelling, either on snow-shoes
or sledges, must have been tremendous to a man of Mr. Eliot's age; but he
never seems to have intermitted his labours in carrying spiritual and
temporal succour to his people, and in endeavouring to keep the peace
between them and the English.

The hard winter had had a great effect in breaking the strength of the
enemy, and they were much more feeble on the renewal of the war in the
spring.  The good conduct of the praying Indians had overcome the popular
prejudice so much that it was decided to employ them to assist the scanty
forces of the English in hunting down the hostile tribes, and Gookin
boasts of their having taken and slain more than 400 foes in the course
of the summer of 1676, which one would scarcely think was very good for
their recent Christianity.  In the mean time, the absence of all the able-
bodied men and hunters reduced their families to such distress that
serious illness broke out among them, and Major Gookin caused them to be
brought to the neighbourhood of Cambridge, where there was good fishing,
and where he could attend to them, and provide them with food, clothing,
and medicine.

In August Philip was killed, the English believing themselves to "have
prayed the bullet straight into his heart;" and his head was carried
about on a pole, in a manner we should have called worthy of the Indians
themselves, did we not recollect that there were a good many city gates
at home with much the same kind of trophy, while his wife and
children--miserable fate!--were, like many others of the captives, sold
into slavery to the sugar planters in Jamaica.

After this the war did not entirely cease, but the Christian Indians were
allowed to creep back to their old settlements at Nonantum, and even at
Natick, where Mr. Eliot continued periodically to visit and instruct
them; but after this unhappy war there were only four instead of fourteen
towns of Christian Indians in Massachusetts, and a blow had been given to
his mission that it never recovered.

Still there was a splendid energy and resolution about this undaunted old
man, now writing a narrative of the Gospel History in his seventy-fourth
year, now sending Robert Boyle new physical facts, now protesting hard
against the cruel policy of selling captive Indians into slavery.  What
must not the slavery of the West Indian isles, which had already killed
off their native Caribbeans, have been to these free hunters of the North
American forest, too proud to work for themselves, and bred in a climate
of cold, dry, bracing air?  And even in the West Indies, a shipload of
these miserable creatures was refused in the over-stocked market, and the
horrors of the slave-ship were prolonged across the Atlantic, till at
last Mr. Eliot traced the unhappy freight to Tangier.  He at once wrote
to conjure the excellent Mr. Boyle to endeavour to have them redeemed and
sent home,--with what success, or if any were left alive, does not
appear.

He had the pleasure of seeing a son of good Major Gookin become the
minister of a district including Natick, and likewise of the ordination
at Natick of an Indian named Daniel Takawombgrait.  Of his own six
children only one son and one daughter survived him.  Benjamin, the
youngest son, was his coadjutor at Roxbury, and was left in charge there
while he circulated amongst his Indians, and would have succeeded him.
The loss of this son must have fallen very heavily on him; but "the good
old man would sometimes comfortably say, 'I have had six children, and I
bless God for His free grace; they are all either _with_ Christ or _in_
Christ, and my mind is now at rest concerning them.'"

When asked how he could bear the death of such excellent children, his
answer was, "My desire was that they should have served God on earth, but
if God will choose to have them rather serve Him in heaven, I have
nothing to object against it, but His will be done."

His last letter to Mr. Boyle was written in his eighty-fourth year, and
was a farewell but a cheerful one, and he had good hopes then of a
renewal of the spirit of missions among his people.  But though his
Christians did not bely their name in his own generation, alcohol did its
work on some, consumption on others; and, in 1836, when Jabez Sparks
wrote his biography, there was one wigwam at Natick inhabited by a few
persons of mingled Indian and Negro blood, the sole living remnants of
the foundation he had loved so well.  Nevertheless, Eliot's work was not
wasted.  The spark he lit has never gone out wholly in men's minds.

His wife died in 1684, at a great age, and her elegy over her coffin were
these words from himself: "Here lies my dear faithful, pious, prudent,
prayerful wife.  I shall go to her, but she shall not return to me."

He had become very feeble, and was wont to say, when asked how he did,
"Alas!  I have lost everything: my understanding leaves me, my memory
fails me, my utterance fails me, but, I thank God, my charity holds out
still; I find that rather grows than fails."

He was forced to give up the duties of his office to a new pastor, and
though often entreated to preach again, he would hardly ever do so, by
reason, he said, that it would be wronging the souls of his people, when
they had an able minister; and when he preached for the last time on a
fast day, on the 63rd Psalm, it was with an apology for what he called
the poorness, and meanness, and brokenness of his meditations.

"I wonder," he used to say, "for what the Lord lets me live.  He knows
that now I can do nothing for Him."

Yet he was working for Him to the utmost of his power.  A little boy in
the neighbourhood had fallen into the fire, and lost his eyesight in
consequence.  The old minister took him into his house to instruct, and
first taught him to repeat many chapters in the Bible, and to know it so
thoroughly that when listening to readers he could correct them if they
missed a word; after which he taught him Latin, so that an "ordinary
piece" had become easy to him.

The importation of negro slaves had already begun, and Mr. Eliot
"lamented with a bleeding and a burning passion that the English used
their negroes but as their horses or oxen, and that so little care was
taken about their immortal souls.  He look'd upon it as a prodigy, that
any bearing the name of Christians should so much have the heart of
devils in them, as to prevent and hinder the instruction of the poor
Blackamores, and confine the souls of their miserable slaves to a
destroying ignorance, merely through fear of using the benefit of their
vassalage."  So, old as he was, he induced the settlers around to send
him their negroes on certain days of the week for instruction; but he had
not made much progress in the work before he became too feeble to carry
it on.  He fell into languishments attended with fever, and this he
viewed as his summons.  His successor, Mr. Nehemiah Walters, came to live
with him, and held a good deal of conversation with him.

"There is a cloud," he said, "a dark cloud upon the work of the Gospel
among the poor Indians.  The Lord renew and prosper that work, and grant
it may live when I am dead.  It is a work which I have been doing much
and long about.  But what was the word I spoke last?  I recall that word.
_My doings_.  Alas! they have been poor and small, and lean doings, and
I'll be the man that shall throw the first stone at them all."

Mather relates that he spake other words "little short of oracles," and
laments that they were not correctly recorded; but it appears that he
gradually sank, and died in his eighty-seventh year of age, at Roxbury,
in the year 1690.  His last words were, "Welcome joy."




CHAPTER II.  DAVID BRAINERD, THE ENTHUSIAST.


The Indian pastor of Natick, who had been trained by Mr. Eliot, died in
1716, and two years later was born one of the men who did all in his
power, through his brief life, to hold up the light of truth to the
unfortunate natives of America, as they were driven further and further
to the west before the advancing tide from Europe.

The fourth son among nine children, who lost both parents at a very early
age, David Brainerd, though born above the reach of want, had many
disadvantages to contend with.  Both his parents had, however, been
religious people, the children of ministers who had come out to America
in the days of the Pilgrim Fathers, and settling at Haddam in
Connecticut, trained up their families in the stern, earnest, and rigid
rules and doctrines of Calvinism, which certainly, where they are
accepted by an earnest and thoughtful mind, have a great tendency to
stimulate the intellect, and force forward, as it were, the religious
perceptions in early youth.  David was, moreover, a delicate child, with
the seeds of (probably) hereditary decline incipient, and at seven or
eight years old he drew apart from play, thinking much of death, and
trying to prepare by prayer and meditation.  His parents' death increased
these feelings, and while living at East Haddam, under the charge of his
brothers, and employed in farm work, the boy was continually struggling
with himself in silence, disliking all youthful mirth and amusement,
fasting, watching and praying, and groaning over the state of his soul.
At nineteen, the wish to become a minister came upon him, and he began to
study hard at all spare moments; and in another year, at twenty, he went
to reside with Mr. Fiske, the minister of Haddam, and in him found, for
the first time, a friend to whom he could open his heart, who could
understand the anxieties and longings within him, and who gave him advice
to withdraw himself from the young companions whose gay spirits were
uncongenial to him, and spend more time with the graver and more
religious.

Whether this were good advice we do not know, but a period of terrible
agony had to be struggled through.  It seems plain, from comparison of
different lives, that in the forms of religion which make everything
depend upon the individual person's own consciousness of the state of his
heart and feelings, instead of supporting this by any outward tokens for
faith to rest upon, the more humble and scrupulous spirits often undergo
fearful misery before they can attain to such security of their own faith
as they believe essential.  Indeed, this state of wretchedness is almost
deemed a necessary stage in the Christian life, like the Slough of
Despond in the Pilgrim's Progress; and with such a temperament as David
Brainerd's, the horrors of the struggle for hope were dreadful and lasted
for months, before an almost physical perception of light, glory, and
grace shone out upon him, although, even to the end of his life, hope and
fear, spiritual joy and depression alternated, no doubt, greatly in
consequence of his constant ill-health.

In 1739, in his twenty-first year, he became a student at Yale, and,
between hard work and his mental self-reproach for the worldly ambition
of distinction, his health broke down, haemorrhage from the lungs set in,
and he was sent home, it was supposed, only to die.  He was then in a
very happy frame of mind, and was almost sorry to find himself well
enough to return to what he felt to be a scene of temptation.  That same
year, his head was entirely turned by the excitement of George
Whitfield's preaching; he was carried away by religious enthusiasm, and
was in a state of indiscreet zeal, of which his better judgment
afterwards repented, so that he destroyed all the portion of his journal
that related to that year.  Indeed, his vehemence cost him dear, for, in
the heat of a discussion, he had the misfortune to say, "Mr. Whittlesey,
he has no more grace than this chair I am leaning upon."  Mr. Whittlesey
was one of the college tutors, and a gossiping freshman who overheard the
words thought proper to report this to a meddling woman, who immediately
walked off to the Rector of the college with the awful intelligence that
young Brainerd said that Mr. Whittlesey had no more grace than a chair!

The Rector had not the sense to silence the silly slander; he sent for
the freshman, took his evidence, and that of the young men with whom
Brainerd had been conversing, and then required him to make public
confession and amends to Mr. Whittlesey before the whole assembled
college,--a humiliation never previously required, except in cases of
gross moral misconduct.  The fact was, that the old-fashioned hereditary
Presbyterianism, which had had time to slacken in the hundred years since
the foundation of the colony, was dismayed at the new and vivid life
imported by Whitfield from the Wesleyan revival in the English Church.  It
was what always happens.  A mixture of genuine sober-minded dread of
extravagance, or new doctrine, and a sluggish distaste to the more
searching religion, combine to lead to a spirit of persecution.  This was
the true reason that the lad's youthful rashness of speech was treated as
so grave an offence.  Brainerd's spirit was up.  Probably he saw no cause
to alter his opinion as to Mr. Whittlesey's amount of grace, and he
stoutly refused to retract his words, whereupon he was found guilty of
insubordination, and actually expelled from Yale.  A council of ministers
who assembled at Hartford petitioned for his restoration, but were
refused, the authorities deeming themselves well rid of a dangerous
fanatic.

Still, as a youth of blameless life and ardent piety, he was encouraged
by his friends to continue his preparation for the ministry, and he
persisted in reading hard, and going out between whiles to meditate in
the depths of the glorious woods.  It is curious that while his homely
and rigid system precluded any conscious admiration of the beauties of
nature, it is always evident from his journal that the lightenings of
hope and joy which relieved his too frequent depression and melancholy,
were connected with the scenery and the glories of day and night.  Sunrise
and the aurora borealis seem to have filled him with spiritual bliss, and
he never was so happy as when deep in the woods, out of the sight of men;
but his morbid, sensitive, excitable nature never seems to have been
understood by himself or by others.

Just as John Eliot's missionary zeal was the outcome of the earnestness
that carried the Puritans to New England, so the fresh infusion of
religious life, brought by Whitfield, produced an ardent desire on the
part of David Brainerd to devote himself to the remainder of the Indians;
and in the year 1742, at twenty-five years old, he was examined by an
assembly of ministers at Danbury, and licensed to preach the Gospel, when
he began at once with a little settlement of Indians at Kent, with such a
sinking of heart at his own unworthiness that he says he seemed to
himself worse than any devil, and almost expected to have been stoned
rather than listened to.  Indeed, something of this diffidence and
sadness seems always to have weighed him down when he began to preach,
though the fervour of his subject and the responding faces of his
audience always exhilarated him and bore him up through his sermon.  To
learn the Indian language had not occurred to him as part of his
preparation, but probably these Kent Red men had been enough among the
English to understand him, for they seem to have been much impressed.

A Scottish Society for propagating Christian Knowledge had arisen, and
the delegates hearing of the zeal of David Brainerd, desired to engage
him at a salary.  The sense of his own unworthiness, and fear of keeping
out a better man, brought his spirits down to the lowest ebb;
nevertheless, he went to meet the representatives of the Society at New
York, and there, though between the hubbub of the town and his own
perpetual self-condemnation he was continually wretched, they were so
well satisfied with him as to give him the appointment, on condition that
he studied the language, intending to send him to the Red men between the
Susquehanna and the Delaware; but there was a dispute between these and
the Government, and it was decided to send him to a settlement called
Kanaumeek, between Stockbridge and Albany.

Before going, David Brainerd, having no thought beyond devotion to the
Indians, and thinking his allowance enough for his wants, gave up the
whole of his inheritance to support a scholar at the University, and set
forth, undaunted by such weakness of health as in ordinary eyes would
have fitted him for nothing but to be carefully nursed; for even then he
was continually suffering from pain and dizziness, and weakness so great
that he could often hardly stand.

In this state he arrived at Kanaumeek, with a young Indian to act as his
interpreter, and there spent the first night sleeping on a heap of straw.
It was a lonely, melancholy spot, where the Indians were herded together,
watched with jealous eyes by adventurers who were always endeavouring to
seize their lands, and sadly degenerated from the free, grave,
high-spirited men to whom Eliot had preached.  His first lodging was in
the log house of a poor Scotchman who lived among the Indians--a single
chamber, without so much as a floor, and where he shared the family meals
upon porridge, boiled corn, and girdle-cakes.  The family spoke Gaelic,
only the master of the house knowing any English, and that not so good as
the Indian interpreter's; and, moreover, the spot was a mile and a half
from the Indian wigwams, no small consideration to so weakly a man, thus
poorly fed.  However, the Indians were pleased with his addresses, and
seemed touched by them; but the evil habits of the White men were the
terrible stumbling-block.  Parties of them would come into the town, and
vex the missionary's ears with their foul tongues, making a scandalous
contrast to the grave, calm manners of the Indians.  More than ever did
he love solitude, and when with his own hands he had built himself a log
hut, where he could be alone when he pleased, his relief was great.

He was not the highly educated scholar and practical theorist that his
predecessor had been: he seems to have had no plans or systems, and
merely to have tried to fulfil immediate needs; but he soon found that he
could not hope to benefit his Red flock without a school, so he made a
journey to New Jersey to entreat for means to set one up, and this was
done, with his interpreter as master.  His journey was made on horseback,
and was no small undertaking, for even between Stockbridge and Kanaumeek
he had once lost his way, and had to sleep a night in the woods.

He had by this time thoroughly repented of the uncharitableness and
hastiness of his speech about Mr. Whittlesey, and he took a journey to
New Haven to send in a thoroughly humble and Christian-like apology,
requesting to be permitted to take his degree.  Twice he was refused, and
the third time was told that the only condition on which the degree would
be granted would be the making up his term of residence at Yale, which
was, of course, not possible to a licensed minister in full employment,
and in fact was an insulting proposal to a man of his standing and
character.

His journey cost him dear, for as he was riding home he was attacked with
violent pain in the face and shiverings, which forced him to halt at the
first shelter he could find, happily with kind friends, who nursed him
for a fortnight before he could return home.  He believed that had his
illness seized him in his log house at home, he must certainly have died
for want of care and attendance, although he was much beloved by his poor
Indians.

His life was indeed a frightfully hard one, and would have been so for a
healthy man; for he had to work with his own hands to store provisions
for his horse in the winter, and that when weak and suffering the more
for want of proper food.  He could get no bread but by riding ten or
fifteen miles to procure it, and if he brought home too much it became
mouldy and sour, while, if he brought home a small quantity, he could not
go for more if he failed to catch his horse, which was turned out to
graze in the woods; so that he was reduced to making little cakes of
Indian meal, which he fried in the ashes.  "And then," he says, "I
blessed God as if I had been a king."  "I have a house and many of the
comforts of life to support me," he says with great satisfaction; and the
solitude of that house was so precious to him that, however weary he was,
he would ride back twenty miles to it at night rather than spend an
evening among ungodly men.  By this terrible stinting of what we should
deem the necessaries of life, he was actually able, in fifteen months, to
devote a hundred pounds to charitable purposes, besides keeping the young
man at the University.

So much, however, did he love his solitude, that he counted it as no
relief, but an affliction, to have to ride to Stockbridge from time to
time to learn the Indian language from Mr. Sergeant, the missionary there
stationed.  Something of this must have been morbid feeling, something
from the want of energy consequent on the condition of his frame.  For a
man in confirmed decline such an entry in a journal as this is no
trifle:--"December 20.--Rode to Stockbridge.  Was very much fatigued with
my journey, wherein I underwent great hardship; was much exposed, and
very wet by falling into a river."  Mr. Sergeant could hardly have been
profane company, but Brainerd never enjoyed these visits, thinking that
intercourse with the world made him less familiar with heaven.

Another inconvenience was the proximity of Kanaumeek to the frontier, and
these were the days of that horrid war between England and France in
America, when the native allies of each nation made savage descents on
the outlying settlements, inflicting all the flagrant outrages of their
wild warfare.  A message came one evening to Kanaumeek from Colonel
Stoddart, warning all in exposed situations to secure themselves as well
as possible, since an attack might come at any moment; and this Brainerd
quietly records as a salutary warning not to attach himself too much to
the _comforts of life_ he enjoyed.

The attack was never made, but he came to the conclusion that his small
congregation of Indians would be much better with their fellows at
Stockbridge under the care of Mr. Sergeant, and that this would leave him
free to go to more wild and untaught tribes.  It was carried out, and the
Indians removed.  There was much mutual love between them and their
pastor, and the parting was very affectionate, though even after two
years he was still unable to speak the language, and never seems to have
troubled himself about this trifling obstacle.  Several English
congregations entreated him to become their minister, but he refused them
all, and went to meet the Commissioners of the Scottish Society at New
Jersey.  They arranged with him for a mission to the Delaware Indians, in
spite of his being laid up for some days at the time; and when he went
back to Kanaumeek to dispose of his books and other "comforts," the
effects of being drenched with rain showed themselves in continued
bleeding from the lungs.  He knew that he was often in an almost dying
state, and only wished to continue in his Master's service to the end he
longed for.  He owns that his heart did sometimes sink at the thought of
going alone into the wilderness; but he thought of Abraham, and took
courage, riding alone through the depths of the forest, so desolate and
lonely day after day, that it struck terror even into his soul.  There
were scanty settlements of Dutch and Irish, where he sometimes spent a
night, but the Sunday he passed among some Irish was so entirely unmarked
by them, that he felt like a "creature banished from the sight of God."

At last he reached his destination on the fork of the river Delaware, and
being within moderate distance of Newark, there received ordination as a
minister on the 11th of June, 1744.  Severe illness followed the exertion
of preaching and praying before the convened ministers; but as soon as he
could walk, he set forth on his return, though he was so weak that he
could hardly open his numbed hand, but his heart and hopes had begun to
revive, and the little settlement of Whites with whom he lived were
willing to listen to him.

The Indians were in the midst of preparing for an idolatrous feast and
dance.  Brainerd spent a day in the woods in an anguish of prayer, and
then went to the place of meeting, where, stranger as he was, he
prevailed on them to cease their revels and attend to him.

His biographer, President Jonathan Edwards, provokingly leaves out his
method of teaching, "for the sake of brevity," and from his own diary
little is to be gathered but accounts of his state of feeling through
endless journeyings and terrible prostrations of strength.  He was always
travelling about--now to the Susquehanna, now back to New
England--apparently at times with the restlessness of disease, for this
roving about must have prevented him from ever deepening the impression
made by his preaching, which after all was only through an interpreter,
for he never gave himself time to learn the language.

Yet after some months he did find a settlement of Indians, about eighty
miles from the fork of Delaware, at a place called Crossweeksung, who
were far more disposed to attend to him.  They listened so eagerly, that
day after day they would travel after him from village to village, hardly
taking any heed to secure provisions for themselves.  The description of
their conduct is like that of those touched by Wesleyan preaching.  They
threw themselves on the ground, wept bitterly, and prayed aloud, with the
general enthusiasm of excitement, though, he expressly says, without
fainting or convulsions, and even the White men around, who came to
scoff, were deeply impressed.

David Brainerd had at last his hour of bliss!  He was delivered from his
melancholy by the joy of such results, and in trembling happiness
baptized his converts in the river beside their wigwams before leaving
them to proceed to a village on the Susquehanna, where he hoped for an
interview with the chief Sachem of the Delawares.

The place, however, was in the wildest confusion and uproar, it being the
period of a great festival, when every one was too tipsy to attend to
him.  At an island called Juneauta, he met a very remarkable personage, a
Powaw, who bore the reputation of a reformer, anxious to restore the
ancient religion of the Red man, which had become corrupted by
intercourse with the White and his vices.

His aspect was the most dreadful thing Brainerd had ever seen.  He wore a
shaggy bearskin coat, hood, and stockings, and a hideous, painted mask,
so that no part of his person was visible, not even the hand in which he
held an instrument made of the shell of a tortoise, with dry corn within,
and he came up rattling this, and dancing with all his might, and with
such gesticulations that, though assured that he intended no injury, it
was impossible not to shrink back as this savage creature came close.

Yet he was a thoughtful man, such as would have been a philosopher in
ancient Greece or Rome.  He took the missionary into his hut, and
conversed long and earnestly with him.  He had revolted in spirit from
the degradation of his countrymen, and had gone to live apart in the
woods, where he had worked out a system of natural religion for himself,
which he believed the Great Spirit had taught him, and which had at last
led him to return to his people and endeavour to restore them to that
purity which of course he believed to have once existed.  He believed
there were good men somewhere, and he meant to wander till he found them;
meantime, he was kindly to all who came near him, and constantly uplifted
his testimony against their vices, especially when the love of strong
drink was brought among them.  When all was in vain, he would go weeping
away into the woods, and hide himself there till the hateful fire-water
was all consumed and the madness over.  Brainerd was greatly touched by
this red-skinned Epictetus, who, he said, had more honesty, sincerity,
and conscientiousness than he had ever met with in an Indian, and more of
the temper of true religion; and he expounded to him the Christian
doctrine with great carefulness and double earnestness.  The self-taught
philosopher broke in now and then with "Now that I like,"--"So the Great
Spirit has taught me;" but when the missionary came to the regions where
faith surpasses the power of the intellect and the moral sense, the
Indian would not follow him, and rejected his teaching.  It was curious
that he particularly denied the idea of a devil, declaring that there was
no such being, according to the ancient Indians.  Now, the incantations
of the Powaws were generally supposed to be addressed to evil spirits,
and probably the perception of the falsehood of these pretended rites led
to his disclaiming the Christian doctrine.

Whether time and further teaching would have overpowered his belief in
his own inspiration does not appear, for Brainerd found the Indians too
vicious and hardened to pay the least heed either to him or to their own
reformer; and he went back to Crossweeksung, where his flock was still
increasing, and in a most satisfactory condition, renouncing their
heathen customs and their acquired vice of drunkenness, and practising
some amount of industry.  A school was set up, old and young learnt
English, the children in three or four months could read the Bible in
English, and Brainerd's sermons and prayers were understood without an
interpreter.

This improved condition of the Indians destroyed the shameful profits of
the nearest settlement of Whites, whose practice it had hitherto been to
entice them to drink, and then run up a heavy score against them for
liquor.  Finding that all endeavours to seduce them into drunkenness were
now vain, these wretches first tried to raise the country against
Brainerd, by reporting that he was a Roman Catholic in disguise; and when
this failed, they laid claim to the lands of Crossweeksung, in discharge
of debts that they declared to have been previously contracted.
Fortunately, Brainerd had it in his power to advance 82_l._ from his
private means, so as to save his people from this extortion; but he
afterwards thought it best to remove them from these dangerous neighbours
to a new settlement, fifteen miles off, called Cranberry.  He remained
himself in his little hut at Crossweeksung, after they had proceeded to
raise wigwams and prepare the ground for maize; but, whenever he rode
over to visit them, his approach was notified by the sound of a conch
shell, and they all gathered round for his prayers and instruction.

His success with them seems to have greatly cured his depression of
spirits, but his mind was balancing between the expedience of remaining
among them as their permanent pastor, protector, and guide, and that of
striving to extend the kingdom of faith.  Sometimes he liked the prospect
of a settled home and repose, study and meditation; but, at the thought
of gaining souls to Christ, all these considerations melted before him,
and he believed that he was marked out for the life of a pilgrim and
hermit by his carelessness about hardships.

He had not, however, taken leave of his flock when he set forth on
another expedition to the obdurate Indians of the Susquehanna, in the
September of 1746.  It was without result; he could obtain no attention,
and the hardships of the journey, the night exposure, and the frequent
drenchings completed the wreck of his health.  He came back with night
perspirations, bleeding from the lungs, and suffering greatly, feverish
and coughing, and often in pain; yet, whenever he could mount his horse,
riding the fifteen miles to attend to the Indians at Cranberry, or
sitting in a chair before his hut, when they assembled round him.

On Sunday he persisted in preaching, till generally at the end of half an
hour he fainted, and was carried to his bed; and at the administration of
the Lord's Supper he was carried to the place where he had forty Indian
communicants, and likewise some Whites, who had learnt to reverence him,
and who supported him back to his bed.  He was quite happy now, for he
felt he had done all he could to the utmost of his strength; but, soon
becoming totally unable to speak at all, he felt that he must do what he
called "consuming some time in diversions," and try to spend the winter
in a civilized place.

After riding his first short stage, however, his illness increased so
much, that he was quite incapable of proceeding or returning, and
remained in a friend's house at Elizabethtown, suffering from cough,
asthma, and fever the whole winter.  In March 1747 he had rallied enough
to ride to Cranberry, where he went from hut to hut, giving advice to and
praying with each family, and parting with them with great tenderness.
Tears were shed everywhere; for, though he still hoped to return, all
felt that they should see his face no more!  But, to his great comfort
and joy, his poor people were not to be abandoned to themselves and their
tempters.  His younger brother--John--relieved his mind by offering to
assume the care of them, and under his pastorship he could thankfully
leave them.

In April he set out again on his journey, at the rate of about ten miles
a day, riding all the way, and on the 28th of May arrived at Northampton,
where Jonathan Edwards, afterwards President of the College of New
Jersey, was then minister.  They were like-minded men, both disciples of
Whitfield, and the self-devoted piety of the young missionary was already
so well known to Mr. Edwards by report, that it was most gladly that he
received him into his house and family.  There the impression Brainerd
made was of a singularly social, entertaining person, meek and
unpretending, but manly and independent.  Probably rest and brightness
had come when the terrible struggle of his early years had ceased, and
morbid despondency had given way to Christian hope, for he became at once
a bright and pleasant member of any society where he formed a part, and
to the Edwards family he was like a son or brother.  When he was able,
Mr. Edwards wished him to lead the family devotions, and was always
greatly impressed by the manner and matter of his prayers, but one
petition never failed, _i.e._ "that we might not outlive our usefulness."
Even in saying grace there was always something about him that struck the
attention.

His purpose in coming to Northampton had been to consult Dr. Mather,
whose verdict was that he was far gone in decline, and who gave him no
advice but to ride as much as possible.  So little difference did this
sentence make to him that he never noted it in his diary, though he spoke
of it cheerily in the Edwards family--a large household of young
people--where he was so much beloved, that when he decided to go to
Boston, Jerusha, the second daughter, entreated to be allowed to
accompany him, to nurse him as his sister would have done.

The pure, severe simplicity of those early American manners was such,
that no one seems to have been surprised at a girl of eighteen becoming
the attendant of a man of twenty-nine.  Jerusha had the full consent and
approbation of her parents, and she was a great comfort and delight to
him.  He told her father that she was more spiritual, self denying, and
earnest to do good, than any young person he had ever known; and on doubt
their communings were far above earth, hovering, as he was well known to
be, upon the very borders of the grave.

They took four days to reach Boston, and there he was received with the
greatest respect by all the ministers; but, a week after his arrival, so
severe an attack of his illness came on that he became delirious, and was
thought to be at the point of death.  Again, however, he came back enough
to life to sit up in bed and write ardent letters of counsel to the
brother who had succeeded him among his Indians, and likewise to give his
friends the assurance of his perfect peace and joy.  He said that he had
carefully examined himself, and though he had found much pride,
selfishness, and corruption, he was still certain that he had felt it his
greatest happiness to glorify and praise God; and this certainty,
together with his faith in the Redeemer, had calmed all the anguish he
had suffered for years.

Whenever he was able to converse he had numerous visitors, especially
from the deputies of the Society in London which had assisted Eliot.  A
legacy for the support of two missionaries had newly been received, and
his counsel on the mode of employing it was asked.  He was able to strive
to imbue others with the same zeal as himself, and to do much on behalf
of his own mission, although he often lay so utterly exhausted that he
said of himself that he could not understand how life could be retained.
One of his brothers, a student at Yale, came to see him, and to tell him
of the death of his favourite sister, of whose illness he had not even
heard, but it was no shock to him, for he felt far more sure of meeting
her again than if she had been left on earth.

The summer weather, to the surprise of all, brought back a slight revival
of strength, and some of his friends began to hope he might yet recover,
but he knew his own state too well, and told them he was as assuredly a
dead man as if he had been shot through the heart; still he was resolved
to profit by this partial restoration to return to Northampton, chiefly
because the rumour had reached him that the Bostonians had intended to
give him such a funeral as should testify their great esteem; and being
disappointed in this, they intended to assemble and escort him publicly,
while still alive, out of their city, but the bare idea naturally made
him so unhappy that they were forced to give it up.

Five days were spent in the journey, and again the Edwardses
reverentially opened their doors to a guest so near heaven.  For some
time he rode out two or three miles daily, and sat with the family,
writing or conversing cheerfully when not engaged in prayer.  His brother
John came from Crossweeksung and cheered him with a good account of his
Indians; and hearing of the great need of another school, he wrote to the
friends who had shown themselves so warmly interested in him at Boston,
and was gratified by their reply, with a subscription of 200_l._ for the
purpose, and of 75_l._ for the mission to the Six Nations.  His answers
were written with his own hand; but he had become so much weaker that he
felt this his last task.  He had been one who, in his short life, had
sown in tears to reap in joy.

He was sinking fast as the autumn cold came on, often talking tenderly to
the little ones of the house, but suffering terribly at times, and
sighing, "Why is His chariot so long coming?" then blaming himself for
over-haste to be released.

He had a smile for Jerusha as she came into his room on Sunday morning.
"Are you willing to part with me?  I am willing to part with you, though
if I thought I could not see you and be happy with you in another world,
I could not bear to part.  I am willing to leave all my friends.  I am
willing to leave my brother, though I love him better than any creature
living.  I have committed him and all my friends to God, and can leave
them with God!"

Presently, looking at the Bible in her hands, he said, "Oh that dear
Book! the mysteries in it and in God's providence will soon be unfolded."

He lingered in great agony at times till the 9th of October, 1747, when
came a cessation of pain, and during this lull he breathed his last, then
wanting six months of his thirtieth birthday.  He had told Jerusha that
they should soon meet above, and, in effect, she only lived until the
next February.  She told her father on her death-bed, that for years past
she had not seen the time when she had any wish to live a moment longer,
save for the sake of doing good and filling up the measure of her duty.

David Brainerd's career ended at an age when John Eliot's had not begun.
It was a very wonderful struggle between the frail suffering body and the
devoted, resolute spirit, both weighed down by the natural morbid temper,
further depressed by the peculiar tenets of the form of doctrine in which
he had been bred.  The prudent, well-weighed measures of the ripe
scholar, studious theologian, and conscientious politician, formed by
forty-two years' experience of an old and a new country, could not be
looked for in the sickly, self-educated, enthusiastic youth who had been
debarred from the due amount of study, and started with little system but
that of "proclaiming the Gospel"--even though ignorant of the language of
those to whom he preached.  And yet that heart-whole piety and patience
was blessed with a full measure of present success, and David Brainerd's
story, though that of a short life, over-clouded by mental distress,
hardship, and sickness, fills us with the joyful sense that there is One
that giveth the victory.




CHAPTER III.  CHRISTIAN FRIEDRICH SCHWARTZ, THE COUNCILLOR OF TANJORE.


We must turn from America to the warmer regions of the East, from the
patriarchal savage to complicated forms of society, and from the Red-skin
to the Hindoo--a man of far nearer affinity to ourselves, being, like us,
of the great Indo-European race, speaking a language like our own, an
altered, corrupted, and intermingled dialect of the same original tongue,
and his ancestors originally professing a religion in which the same
primary ideas may be traced as those which were held by our ancient
northern forefathers, and which are familiar to us in the graceful dress
imposed on them by the Greeks.  The sacred writings of the Hindoos form
the earliest storehouse of the words of our common language, and the
thoughts therein found, though recorded after the branches had parted
from the common stock, are nearer the universal germ than those to be
found anywhere else, and more nearly represent the primary notion of
religion held by the race of Japheth, after that of Shem, to which God
revealed Himself more distinctly, had parted from it.  These oldest
writings are quaint, pure, and simple, but on them the fancies of a race
enervated by climate engrafted much that was hideous, monstrous, and
loathsome, leading to gross idolatry, and much vice perpetrated in the
name of religion.  Mythology always degenerates with the popular
character, and then, so far as the character is formed by the religious
faith, the mythology helps to debase it further, until the undying moral
sense of conscience awakens again in some man, or band of men, and a new
morality arises; sometimes grafted upon philosophic reasoning, sometimes
upon a newly-invented or freshly introduced religion.

Thus, when Hindooism had become corrupt, the deeply meditative system of
Buddha was introduced into many parts of India, and certainly brought a
much higher theory and purer code than that founded on the garbled nature-
worship of ancient India; but both religions co-existed, and, indeed,
Buddhism was in one aspect an offshoot of the Hindoo faith.

Christianity--planted, as is believed, by St. Thomas, on the Malabar
coast--never became wholly extinct, although tinged with Nestorianism,
but it was never adopted by the natives at large, and the learning and
philosophy of the Brahmins would have required the utmost powers of the
most learned fathers of the Church to cope with them, before they could
have been convinced.

The rigid distinctions of caste have made it more difficult for the
Church which "preaches the Gospel to the poor," to be accepted in India
than anywhere else.  Accounting himself sprung from the head of Brahma,
the Brahmin deems himself, and is deemed by others, as lifted to an
elevation which has no connection either with moral goodness, with
wealth, or with power; and which is as much the due of the most poverty-
stricken and wicked member of the caste as of the most magnificent
priest.  The Sudras, the governing and warlike class, are next in order,
having sprung from the god's breast, and beneath these come infinite
grades of caste, their subdivisions each including every man of each
trade or calling which he pursues hereditarily and cannot desert or
change, save under the horrible penalty of losing caste, and becoming
forsaken and despised of every creature, even the nearest kindred.  The
mere eating from a vessel used to contain food for a person of a
different caste is enough to produce contamination; the separation is
complete, and the whole constitution of body and mind have become so
inured to the distinction, that the cost of becoming a convert is
infinitely severer in India than ever it could have been even in Greece
or Rome, where, though the Christian might be persecuted even to the
death, he was not thrust out of the pale of humanity like a Hindoo
convert who transgresses caste.

The Christians of Malabar are a people living to themselves, and the
great Bengalee nations never appear to have had the Gospel carried to
them.  The Mahometan conquest filled India with professors of the faith
of the Koran; but these were a dominant race, proud and separate from the
mass of people, whom they did not win to their faith, and thus the Hindoo
idolatry had prevailed untouched for almost the whole duration of the
world, when the wealth of India in the early days of naval enterprise
first began to tempt small mercantile companies of Europeans to form
factories on the coast merely for purposes of traffic, without at first
any idea that these would lead to possession or conquest, and, in
general, without any sense of the responsibility of coming as Christians
into a heathen world.

The Portuguese did indeed strive earnestly to Christianize their
territory at Goa; and they promoted by all means in their power the
labours of Francisco Xavier and his Jesuit companions, so effectually
that the fruits of their teaching have remained to the present day.

Neither were the Dutch, who then held Ceylon, entirely careless of the
duty of instructing their subjects; and the Danes, who had obtained the
town of Tranquebar on the Coromandel coast, in 1746, sent out a mission
which was vigorously conducted, and met with good success.  Hitherto,
however, the English at Madras and Calcutta had been almost wholly
indifferent, and it must be remembered that theirs was not a Government
undertaking.  The East India Company was still only a struggling
corporation of merchants and traders, who only wanted to secure the
warehouses and dwellings of those who conducted their traffic, and had as
yet no thought of anything but the security of their trade; often,
indeed, considering themselves pledged to no interference with the
religion of the people around, and too often forgetting their own.
However, the Danish mission received grants of money and books from the
Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge; and the first Indian
missionary of any note, a German by birth, was equally connected with
both England and Denmark.

Sonnenburg in Brandenburg, still an electorate at the time, was the
native home of Christian Friedrich Schwartz, of whose parents it is only
known that they appear to have been in easy circumstances, and that his
mother, who died before he could remember, told her husband and her
pastor on her death-bed, that she had dedicated her infant to the service
of God, imploring them to cherish and forward any inclination towards the
ministerial office that might be visible in him.  It was, of course, the
Lutheran form in which the child of this pious woman was bred up, and in
1734 he was sent to the grammar school of Sonnenburg, where his piety was
first excited by a religious master, then cooled by an indifferent one;
and he was then taken by his father, walking on foot the whole way, to
pursue his studies at Custrin.  There he became beset by the temptations
that surrounded young students, and after giving way to them for a time,
was saved from further evil by the influence of the daughter of one of
the Syndics.  It does not appear to have been a matter of sentiment, but
of honest friendship and good counsel, aiding the young man to follow his
better instead of his worse impulses; and thus giving a labourer to the
vineyard.

Before residing at Custrin, this lady had lived for a time at Halle, and
what she told the young Schwartz of the professors at that university,
inspired him with the desire of completing his course under them,
especially August Hermann Francke, who had established an admirable
orphan house, with an excellent grammar school.

In his twentieth year, Schwartz entered at Halle, but lodged at the
orphan house, where he became teacher to the Latin classes, and was put
in charge of the evening devotions of the household.  At Halle, he met a
retired Danish missionary, named Schultz, who had come thither to
superintend the printing of a version of the Bible in Tamul, the language
of Ceylon and of the Coromandel coast; and this it was that first turned
his mind to the thought of offering himself as a worker in the great
field of India.

He was the eldest of the family, and his friends all declared that it was
impossible that his father should consent to part with him; but when he
went home, and earnestly stated his desire, the elder Schwartz, instead
of at once refusing as all expected, desired to take three days to
consider; and when they were passed, he came gravely down from his
chamber, called his son Christian, gave him his blessing, and told him to
depart in God's name, charging him to forget his own country and his
father's house, and to win many souls to Christ.

And certainly that good old German's blessing went forth with his son.
Christian Schwartz next resigned his share in the family property to his
brothers and sisters; and after completing his studies at Halle, went to
Copenhagen, since it was by the Danish government that he was to be
authorized.  Two other young Germans, named Poltzenheigen and Hutteman,
went with him.  The Danes, though Lutherans in profession, have an
Episcopal hierarchy, and the three students were ordained by the Danish
Bishop Horreboa on the 6th of September, 1749; Christian Schwartz being
then within a month of twenty-three.

Their first stage was to England, where they had to learn the language,
and were entertained at the cost of the Society for Promoting Christian
Knowledge.  Mr. Ziegenhagen, German chaplain to George II., was very kind
to his countrymen, helped them in all their difficulties, and gave them
directions for which they were very grateful.  He made them preach in the
Chapel Royal on Christmas Day.  No doubt the language was German, which
must have been acceptable to the Hanoverian ears.

Their English studies were not greatly prolonged, for they arrived on the
8th of December, 1749, and sailed on the 29th of January, 1750, in an
East India Company's ship, where they were allowed a free passage, and
were treated with respect and friendliness.  The voyage lasted long
enough to improve them in English, for they did not cast anchor at
Tranquebar till the 8th of October.

At this considerable Danish factory, they were received into the mission-
house of the Danes, and there remained while studying the language, in
which Schwartz made so much progress that he preached his first Tamul
sermon only four months after his arrival, and by the spring was able to
catechize the children who attended the school.  This station at
Tranquebar formed the home of seven or eight missionaries, who lived
together, attended to the services and schools, prepared candidates for
baptism, and made excursions by ones and twos into the villages that
stood thickly on the coast, where they talked and argued with the
natives, hoping to incite them to inquire further.  The two greatest
obstacles they met with here were the evil example of Europeans and the
difficulty of maintenance for a convert.  One poor dancing girl said, on
hearing that no unholy person could enter into the kingdom of heaven,
"Ah! sir, then no European will;" but, on the whole, they must have met
with good success, for in 1752 there were three large classes of
catechumens prepared and baptized at the station.  In the district around
there were several villages, where congregations of Christians existed,
and, of all those south of the river Caveri, Schwartz was after two more
years made the superintendent.

The simple habits of these German and Danish clergy eminently fitted them
for such journeys; they set out in pairs on foot, after a farewell of
united prayer from their brethren, carrying with them their Hebrew
Bibles, and attended by a few Christian servants and coolies; they
proceeded from village to village, sometimes sleeping in the house of a
Hindoo merchant, sometimes at that of one the brother ministers they had
come to see, and at every halt conversing and arguing with Hindoo or
Mahometan, or sometimes with the remnants of the Christians converted by
the Portuguese, who had been so long neglected that they had little
knowledge of any faith.

The character of Christian Schwartz was one to influence all around him.
He seems to have had all the quiet German patience and endurance of
hardship, without much excitability, and with a steadiness of judgment
and intense honesty and integrity, that disposed every one to lean on him
and rely on him for their temporal as well as their spiritual
matters--great charity and warmth of heart, and a shrewdness of
perception that made him excellent in argument.  He had also that true
missionary gift, a great facility of languages, both in grammar and
pronunciation, and his utter absence of all regard for his own comfort or
selfish dignity, yet his due respect to times and places made him able to
penetrate everywhere, from the hut to the palace.

The Carnatic war was at this time an impediment, by keeping the minds of
all the natives in a state of excitement and anxiety, from dread of
Mahratta incursions; but Schwartz never intermitted his rounds, and was
well supported by the Danish Governor, a good man, who often showed
himself his friend.  Some of the missionaries were actually made
prisoners when the French took Cuddalore, but Count Lally Tollendal was
very kind to them, and sent them with all their property and converts
safely away to Tranquebar.

The Dutch missionaries in Ceylon had been in correspondence with those of
Tranquebar, and had obtained from them copies of their Tamul Bible, and
in 1760 Schwartz was sent on a visit to them.  He was very well received
by both clergy and laity; and though he was laid up by a severe illness
at Colombo, yet he was exceedingly well contented with his journey and
his conferences with his brethren.

Christian Schwartz had been more than sixteen years in India, and was
forty years of age, before his really distinctive and independent work
began, after his long training in the central station at Tranquebar.

The neighbouring district of Tanjore had at different times been visited,
and the ministers of the Rajah had shown themselves willing to bestow
some reflection on what they heard from the missionaries.  Visits to this
place and to Trichinopoly became frequent with him, and in 1766 the
Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge having decided on planting a
mission station in the latter place, he was appointed to take the charge
of it.

About this time he seems to have accommodated his name to English
pronunciation, and to have always written it Swartz.  It was now that he
became acquainted with William Chambers, Esq., brother to the Chief
Justice of Bengal,--not a Company's servant, but a merchant, and an
excellent man, who took great interest in missionary labours, and himself
translated a great part of St. Matthew's Gospel into Persian, the court
language of India.  From a letter of this gentleman, we obtain the only
description we possess of Swartz's appearance and manners.  He says that,
from the descriptions he had heard, he had expected to see a very austere
and strict person, but "the first sight of him made a complete revolution
on this point.  His garb, indeed, which was pretty well worn, seemed
foreign and old-fashioned, but in every other respect his appearance was
the reverse of all that could be called forbidding or morose.  Figure to
yourself a stout well-made man, somewhat above the middle size, erect in
his carriage and address, with a complexion rather dark though healthy,
black curled hair, and a manly engaging countenance, expressive of
unaffected candour, ingenuousness, and benevolence, and you will have an
idea of what Mr. Swartz appeared to be at first sight."  Mr. Chambers
adds that Swartz's whole allowance at Trichinopoly was ten pagodas a
year, that is, about 48_l._ (as Mr. Chambers estimates it).  The
commanding officer of the English garrison was ordered to supply him with
quarters, and gave him a room in an old native building, where "there was
just room for his bed and himself, and in which few men could stand
upright."  With this lodging he was content.  His food was rice and
vegetables dressed native fashion, and his clothes were made of black
dimity.  The little brass lamp which he had used for his studies at the
University went with him to India, and served him all his life, often
late at night, for he never preached even to the natives without much
study.

He found the English without church or chaplain, and had very little
knowledge of their language, having lived almost entirely among Germans,
Danes, and natives; but he quickly picked it up among the soldiers, to
whom his kindly simple manners commended him; and, as soon as he could
speak it to any degree, he began to read the Church Service every Sunday
to the garrison, with a printed sermon from an English divine, until he
had obtained sufficient fluency to preach extempore.  At first, the place
of meeting was a large room in an old building, but he afterwards
persuaded them to build themselves a church capable of holding from 1,500
to 2,000.  His facility in learning languages must have been great, for
the English of his letters is excellent, unless his biographer, Dean
Pearson, has altered it.  It is not at all like that of a German.  His
influence with the soldiers was considered as something wonderful, in
those times of neglect and immorality, and the commandant and his
wife--Colonel and Mrs. Wood--were his warmest friends; and when the
Government at Madras heard of his voluntary services as chaplain, they
granted him, unsolicited, a salary of 100_l._ a year, of which he devoted
half to the service of his congregation.  He was thus able to build a
mission-house, and an English and a Tamul school, labour and materials
being alike cheap.  But, in spite of all his care of the English
soldiery, the natives were his chief thought; and he was continually
among them, reading and arguing home with the most thorough knowledge and
experience of their difficulties.  He made expeditions from Trichinopoly
to Tanjore, then under the government of a Rajah, under the protection of
the British Government.  The principal worship of the place was directed
to an enormous black bull, said to be hewn out of a single block of
granite, and so large that the temple had been built round it.

The Brahmins conversed with him a good deal, and often were all _but_
converted.  One plainly said that love of money and pleasure alone kept
them from accepting Christianity.  In 1769 he had a personal interview
with the Rajah Tuljajee, a man of the dignity, grace, and courtesy usual
in Hindoo princes, but very indolent, not even rising in the morning if
he was told that it was not an auspicious day, though he was more
cultivated than most men of his rank and period.

Swartz found him seated on a couch suspended from pillars, and was placed
opposite to him, on a seat.  The interpreter addressed him in Persian,
and Swartz replied in the same; but, perceiving that the man omitted part
of his speech, he asked leave to speak Tamul.

The Rajah asked questions, which led to an exposition of the Christian
doctrine, and he listened with interest; and he likewise was struck when
Swartz uttered a thanksgiving before partaking of the sweets that were
carried round on trays.  He showed himself so much disappointed when he
learnt that the Padre had left Tanjore, that it was resolved that Swartz
should return thither again; and for some days there were out-of-door
preachings on the glacis of the fort, where, in spite of clouds of dust
brought by the land wind, the people collected in crowds to hear him, and
expressed ardent wishes that the Rajah would become a Christian, when
they all could do the same.  The Prince himself was much drawn towards
the missionary; but it was the old story,--he was surrounded with
ministers and courtiers who feared any change, above all any
plain-speaking truth, and therefore did their best to keep the new light
at a distance.  However, Tuljajee called Swartz "_his padre_," and gave
him free entrance to his fort at Tanjore, where his arguments made a wide
impression, and still more his example.  "Padre," said a young Nabob, "we
always regarded you Europeans as ungodly men, who knew not the use of
prayers, till you came among us."

He continued to go backwards and forwards between Trichinopoly and
Tanjore, in both which places he began to gather catechumens round him.
Unfortunately his Protestant principles brought him into collision with
the Roman Catholics at the former place.  A young Hindoo, of good birth,
seems to have had one of those remarkable natures that cannot rest
without truth.  He had for seven years wandered to all the most famous
pagodas and most sacred rivers, seeking rest for his soul, but in vain.
Some Roman Catholics had given him a little brass crucifix, which he used
to set up before him as he prayed; but he had learnt little more of them,
and he was mournfully gazing at "the pagodas of Sirengam" (in his own
words), and thinking, "What is all this? what can it avail?" when some of
Swartz's catechists began to speak.  "Will this be better than what I
have found?" he said to himself.  He listened, was asked to remain a
fortnight at the station, and soon had given his whole soul to the faith.
He was baptized by the name of Nyana Pracasam, or Spiritual Light, and
became a catechist.  His father and mother were likewise led to
Christianity by him, but the Roman Catholics, having begun his
conversion, considered that they had a right to him, and on one occasion,
when he was found reading to a sick relative, probably a member of their
Church, he was severely beaten, and was rescued by the heathen neighbours
when nearly killed.

Swartz seems to have regarded the Roman Catholics as in almost as much
need of reconversion as the Hindoos and Mahometans; and as in those days
their Church shared in that universal religious torpor that had crept
over the world, it is most likely that he found them in a very debased
condition.

With the Mahometans he had some success, though he found, like all other
missionaries, that their faith, being rather a heresy than a paganism,
had truth enough in it to be much harder to deal with than the Hindoo
polytheism.  Besides, they accepted the Persian proverb, "Every time a
man argues, he loses a drop of blood from his liver."  He was impeded
also by the want of a Persian translation of the entire Bible, having no
more than the Gospels to give the inquirers, and these badly translated;
and with Mahometans the want of the real history of the Patriarchs was
very serious.  Some, however, were convinced and baptized, though by far
the greater number of his converts were Hindoos.

In 1776, a coadjutor, either German or Danish-trained, named Christian
Pohle, joined him at Trichinopoly, and thus he became free to reside more
constantly at Tanjore, where the Rajah always protected him, though
continually fluctuating in feeling towards Christianity, according to the
influences of his ministers and the Brahmins who surrounded him, and the
too frequent offences given by the godless officers of the European
garrison which was stationed in the fort.

Mr. Swartz was anxiously soliciting for means to build a church for the
use of this garrison, when he was summoned to Madras, to the governor,
Sir Thomas Rumbold, who promised him a grant for his church; but, at the
same time, informed him that he was to be sent on a mission to visit the
formidable Hyder Ali in Mysore, in order to judge how far his intentions
towards the English were pacific.  He was selected for the purpose on
account of his perfect knowledge of Hindostanee, the simplicity of his
manner of travelling, and his perfect immunity from any of the ordinary
influences of interest or ambition; and he undertook it, as he tells the
Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, because he regarded it as
conducing to peace, as opening fresh doors to the Gospel, and as a token
of gratitude to the Honourable Company for kindness he had received; "but
at the same time," he says, "I resolved to keep my hands undefiled from
any presents, by which determination the Lord enabled me to abide, so
that I have not accepted a single farthing save my travelling expenses."

On the 1st of July, 1779, he set out from Trichinopoly on this journey,
taking one of his catechists, named Sattianadem, with him.  He travelled
in a palanquin, and took six days to reach Caroor, on the Mysore
frontier, forty miles off, where he stayed a month with a young Ceylonese
Dutchman in Hyder Ali's service, while sending to ask the Nabob's
permission to proceed.  All this time he and his catechist preached and
gave instruction in the streets.  It is curious to find him, on his
journey, contrasting the excellent state of Hyder Ali's roads and bridges
with the careless disorganization of the public works under the Company.
An epidemic fever was raging in Seringapatam, and Swartz pitched his tent
outside, where he could conveniently visit the many-pillared palace of
the sovereign.  He was much struck with the close personal supervision
that Hyder Ali kept up over his officers, and with the terrible severity
of the punishments.  Two hundred men were kept armed with whips, and not
a day passed without many being scourged, no rank being exempt, the
Nabob's two sons and sons-in-law being liable to be whipped like the
meanest groom.  Swartz was the unwilling spectator of the punishment of
the collector of a district who was flogged with whips armed with nails.

A few hundreds of Europeans, English, German, and French, were in Hyder's
pay, encamped about the town, and a German captain lent his tent for
public worship.  No molestation was offered to any instructions that
Swartz attempted to give, and he was very courteously entreated by the
Prince himself.  The conferences with him were generally held in a hall
of marble columns, open to a garden adorned with fruit trees, rows of
cypresses, and fountains.  Hyder Ali sat on rich carpets, covering the
floor, and the Padre was placed next to him.  He spoke in general terms
of his desire to keep the peace, though the British had violated their
engagements, referring to an attempt that had newly been made to march
troops through his territory without his permission.  To Swartz he was
gracious in speech, but the letter he entrusted to him was full of
threatening for this and other acts which he considered aggressive; and
the general impression brought back by the missionary was that a war was
to be expected.

Hyder Ali had presented him with a bag of three hundred rupees for
travelling expenses, which it would have been a great affront to return.
He, however, made it over to the Government at Madras, and when they
would not take it, asked leave to use it as the foundation for a
collection for an English orphan school at Tanjore.  This was granted,
and proved a success.  Finding that there was an intention of voting a
present to him, he begged instead that a salary might be given to Mr.
Pohle at Trichinopoly; and, in consequence, both were enabled to maintain
catechists and schoolmasters; for of making a home for themselves, these
devoted men never thought.  Moreover, Swartz obtained bricks and lime for
the building of his English church within the fort; and he bought and
enlarged a house half a mile from it, for his Malabar Christians to
worship in.  His own observations of Hyder Ali's warlike intentions led
also to his purchasing 12,000 bags of rice as a provision against the
scarcity that too surely attends upon Indian warfare.

In the summer of 1780, these apprehensions were realized.  Hyder crossed
the Ghauts, and passed down into the Carnatic with 100,000 men, directed
by a staff of French officers, and plundered up to the very gates of
Madras.  Everything was in the greatest confusion; the English troops
were dispersed in garrisons, and could not easily be brought together;
and one small detachment under Colonel Baillie, who were made prisoners
at Conjiveram, suffered a frightful captivity.  Sir Eyre Coote did,
indeed, keep the enemy in check, and defeat him in several battles, but
had not at first sufficient numbers or stores effectually to drive him
back; and the whole province of Tanjore was horribly wasted.  The
irrigation of the district had been broken up by the invaders; there was
for three years neither seed-time nor harvest, and the miserable peasants
crawled into the towns to perish there, often with their sons carried off
to form a regiment of youths whom Hyder Ali was bringing up as a sort of
Janissaries.

The unhappy creatures lay dying along the sides of the road, and among
them moved from one to another that homely figure in the black dimity
dress, and his catechists with him, feeding those who could still
swallow, and speaking words of comfort to those who could hear.  Some of
the English sent a monthly subscription, which enabled Swartz to keep up
the supply, so that a hundred and twenty a day were fed; but often in the
morning he found the dead lying in heaps, and in one of his letters he
mentions that his catechists are alive, as though he regarded it as a
wonder and a mercy.  Indeed he seems to have been a very Joseph to the
Rajah, and even to the English garrison.  There was absolutely no
magazine for provisions, either for the Sepoys or the Rajah's own troops,
and twice he was implored, both by Tuljajee and the Company, to purchase
supplies and get them brought in, since they were unable to do so, "for a
want of good understanding with the natives who still possessed either
rice or oxen to transport it."  He was enabled to procure the supply, and
then there was no place to store it in but his own new English church, so
that he was obliged to hold three services on a Sunday in the other: from
eight till ten in English, from ten till twelve in Tamul, and from four
till five in Portuguese!  About a hundred converts were gained during the
famine; but he was forced to teach them very slowly, their mental
faculties were so weakened by their state of exhaustion.  The whole of
the towns of Tanjore and Trichinopoly were, he says, filled with living
skeletons, there was hardly an able or vigorous man to be found, and in
this distress it was necessary to relax the ordinarily wise rule of never
giving any assistance to a person under preparation for baptism, since to
withhold succour would have been barbarous cruelty.

When the whole country was overrun by the troops of Mysore, the respect
paid to the good Padre was such that he travelled from end to end of it
without hindrance, even through the midst of the enemy's camp, and on the
only occasion when he was detained, the sentinel politely put it that "he
was waiting for orders to let him proceed."  It was on one of these
journeys that a little lad, named Christian David, the son of one of the
converts, was attending him one evening, when, halting at a native
village, the supper was brought, of rice and curry.  The Padre made so
long a grace out of the fulness of his heart, that at last the boy broke
in with a murmur that the curry would be cold!  He never forgot the
reproof: "What! shall our gracious God watch over us through the heat and
burden of the day, and shall we devour the food which He provides for us
at night, with hands which we have never raised in prayer, and lips which
have never praised Him?"  The missionaries were always safe throughout
the war, and, when Cuddalore capitulated to the French and Mysoreans, Mr.
Gericke, who was then at the head of the station, concealed some English
officers in his house, and likewise, by his representations to the French
general, saved the town from being delivered up to be plundered by
Hyder's native troops.

In the end of 1782, Hyder Ali died; his son, Tippoo Sahib, assuming the
title of Sultan, continued the war, with the same fierceness, but without
the assistance of the French, who were withdrawn, in consequence of the
peace that had been concluded at home.

This, together with the numerous victories that had been obtained by the
English forces, led to hopes that Tippoo would consent to terms of peace,
and two Commissioners were appointed, whom Swartz was requested to join
as interpreter.  He had no taste for political missions, but he thought
it a duty to do all in his power for peace, and set off for the purpose,
but the Mysoreans complained that the English promises had not been kept,
and he was turned back again by the enemy's troops.  Colonel Fullarton,
who was in command of the army about to invade Mysore, writes, "The
knowledge and the integrity of this irreproachable missionary have
retrieved the character of Europeans from _imputations of general
depravity_!"  He went back to Tanjore, and there, for the first time,
experienced some failure in health.  He was requested again to join the
Commissioners, but would not again attempt it, partly from the state of
his health, and partly because Tippoo was far more averse to Christianity
than Hyder had been.  All the 12,000 Tanjoreen captive boys--originally
Hindoos--were bred up Mahometans, and he tolerated nothing else but
Hindooism, persecuting the Roman Catholics in his dominions till no one
dared make an open profession.

A treaty was, however, concluded in 1784, and there was for a time a
little rest, greatly needed by Swartz, who had been suffering from much
weakness and exhaustion; but a journey into Tinnevelly, with his friend
Mr. Sullivan, seems to have restored him.

There were already some dawnings of Christianity in this district.  As
long before as 1771, one of the Trichinopoly converts, named
Schavrimutta, who was living at Palamcotta, began to instruct his
neighbours from the Bible, and a young Hindoo accountant, becoming
interested, went to an English sergeant and his wife, who had likewise
been under Swartz's influence, and asked for further teaching.  The
sergeant taught him the Catechism and then baptized him, rather to the
displeasure of Swartz, who always was strongly averse to hasty baptisms.
Afterwards, a Brahmin's widow begged for baptism.  She, it appeared, was
living with an English officer, and Swartz was obliged to refuse her
while this state of things continued, but he found that the Englishman
had promised to marry her, and had begun to teach her his language and
his faith.  He died without performing his promise, but Christianity had
become so dear to her, that she again entreated for baptism, and was then
admitted into the Church by the name of Clarinda.  She afterwards was the
chief means of building a church at Palamcotta, to which Sattianadem
became the catechist; and thus was first sown a seed which has never
ceased growing, for this district of Tinnevelly has always been the
stronghold of Christianity in India.

Meantime Swartz's poor friend, the Rajah Tuljajee at Tanjore, was in a
deplorable state.  He had suffered great losses during Hyder Ali's
invasion of his country, and, moreover, was afflicted with an incurable
disease, and had lately lost, by death, his only son, daughter, and
grandson: He shut himself up in the depths of his palace, and became
harsh and moody, heaping all the treasure together that he could collect,
and employing a dean or minister, named Baba, whose exactions on the
famished population were so intolerable that the people fled the country,
and settled in the neighbouring districts, so that no less than 65,000
were said to have deserted the province.

Sir Archibald Campbell, Governor of Madras, remonstrated, but the Rajah
was affronted, and would not dismiss his minister, and as the peasants
refused to sow their land without some security that the crops should not
be reaped by Baba's emissaries before their very eyes, the Madras
authorities decided on taking the management of Tanjoreen affairs into
their hands and appointing a committee to watch over the government.  Sir
Archibald wished to place Mr. Swartz on this committee as the person best
able to deal both with Rajah and people, and he accepted a seat, only
stipulating that he was not to share in any violent or coercive measures.

When the "good Padre" assured the fugitives in the Rajah's name and his
own that oppression was at an end, 7,000 at once returned; and when he
reminded them that the season for planting their corps was nearly past,
they replied that in return for his kindness they intended to work night
and day.

In 1787, the childless Rajah decided on--after the fashion of many Hindoo
princes--adopting an heir, who might perform the last duties which were
incumbent on a son.  His choice fell upon the son of a near kinsman, a
child ten years of age, whom he named Serfojee.  A day or two after he
sent for Mr. Swartz, and said, "This is not my son, but yours.  Into your
hand I deliver him."  "May the child become a child of God," was the
answer of Swartz.  The Rajah was too ill to continue the interview, but
he sent for Swartz the next day, and said, "I appoint you guardian to
this child; I put his hands into yours."

Swartz, however, did not think it right to undertake the state
guardianship of the lad, and the administration of the province.  Indeed,
he knew that to do so would be absolutely to put the child's life in
danger, from the cabals and jealousies which would be excited, and he
induced Tuljajee to confide the charge to his brother, Rama Swamey,
afterwards called Ameer Singh.

This was done, and the Rajah soon after died, in the year 1787, leaving
the boy and Ameer Singh under the protection of the Company.  He had
always listened to Swartz willingly, and treated him affectionately, and
the result of the influence of the missionary extended so far that no
Suttee took place at his funeral, but he had never actually embraced
Christianity, though protecting it to the utmost of his power.

The brother, Ameer Singh, was not contented merely to act as regent, but
complained that injustice was done to him, and that Tuljajee was too much
enfeebled in mind to judge of his own measures when he adopted the boy
Serfojee.  Sir Archibald Campbell, acting for the Company, came to
Tanjore, and, after an examination into the circumstances, decided in
favour of Ameer Singh, and confirmed him in the Rajahship, binding him
over to be the faithful protector of poor little Serfojee, who, putting
the adoption apart, was still his near relation.

Ameer was not a better manager of his province than his brother had been,
and he was far from kind to Serfojee, whom Swartz had not been allowed to
see for months, when the widows of the late Rajah made complaints that
the boy was closely shut up and cruelly treated.  On this Swartz applied
to Government, and obtained an order to go with another gentleman to
inquire into his condition.  The Rajah was much offended; but as he
reigned only by the protection of the English, he could not refuse, and
the Padre was conducted to a large but dark room, where he found the poor
child sitting by lamp-light.  This had been his condition for almost two
years, ever since his adopted father's death, and on seeing the Padre, he
asked piteously if it were the way in Europe to prevent children from
seeing the sun and moon.  Mr. Swartz comforted him, and asked him if he
had any one to teach him.  The Rajah's minister replied that he had a
master, but was too idle to learn; but Serfojee looked up and said, "I
have none to teach me, therefore I do not know a single letter."  The
Rajah was only offended at remonstrance, and at last Government sent
orders that could not be resisted, and a Sepoy guard to take charge of
the lad.  Then, as a great favour, the Rajah entreated that the guard
would not enter his palace, but that for the night before Serfojee could
be removed, the Padre would remain with him to satisfy them that he was
safe.  To this Swartz consented, and the guard disappeared, whereupon the
Rajah told him "he might go home."

"What! and be guilty of a breach of faith?" was his resolute answer.
"Even my father should not be permitted to make me such a proposal!"

They were ashamed, and left him to remain that night with Serfojee, whom
he probably thus saved from foul play, since the jealous and vindictive
passions of Ameer Singh had been thoroughly excited.  The captivity must
have been very wretched, for he observed that the poor boy walked lame,
and found that the cause was this:--"I have not been able to sleep," said
poor Serfojee, "from the number of insects in my room, but have had to
sit clasping my knees about with my arms.  My sinews are a little
contracted, but I hope I shall soon recover."

When taken out, the poor little fellow was delighted once more to see the
sun, and to ride out again.  A Brahmin master selected by Mr. Swartz was
given to him, and he very rapidly learnt both to read his own language
and English.  Swartz also interfered on behalf of the late Rajah's
minister, Baba, who had indeed been extortionate and severe, but scarcely
deserved such a punishment as being put into a hole six feet long and
four feet broad and high.

For two years Serfojee was unmolested; but, in 1792, the husband of Ameer
Singh's only child died without children, and this misfortune was
attributed by the Rajah to witchcraft on the part of the widows of
Tuljajee.  He imagined that they were contriving against his own life,
and included Serfojee in his hatred.  By way of revenge, he caused a pile
of chilis and other noxious plants to be burnt under Serfojee's windows,
and thus nearly stifled him and his attendants.  He prevented the
Prince's teachers from having access to him, shut up his servants, and
denied permission to merchants to bring their wares to him.  Mr. Swartz
was absent at the time, and Serfojee wrote a letter to him, begging that
the English Government would again interfere.  It was found that any
remonstrance put the Rajah into such a state of fury that the lives of
the youth and the ladies we're really unsafe while they remained within
his reach, and it was therefore decided that they should be transplanted
to Madras.  It was a wonderful step for Hindoo princesses to take, and
was only accomplished by the influence of Mr. Swartz, backed by a guard
of soldiers, under whose escort all safely arrived at Madras, where
Serfojee's education could at length be properly carried on.

The youth was so entirely the child of Swartz and of the Government, that
it is disappointing to find that he did not become a Christian.  No
stipulation to the contrary seems to have been made by Tuljajee; but,
probably, the missionary refrained from a sense of honour towards the
late Rajah, and because to bring the boy up in the Church would have
destroyed all chance of his obtaining the provinces, and probably have
deprived him of the protection of the Company, who dreaded the suspicion
of proselytizing.  Still it is very disappointing, and requires all our
trust in Swartz's judgment and excellence to be satisfied that he was
right in leaving this child, who had been confided to him, all his life a
heathen.  Serfojee learnt the theory of Christianity, was deeply attached
to Mr. Swartz, and lived a life very superior to that of most Hindoo
princes of his time.  His faith in his hereditary paganism was probably
only political, but he never made the desperate, and no doubt perilous,
plunge of giving up all the world to save his own soul.  Was it his
fault, or was it any shortcoming in the teaching that was laid before
him, and was that human honour a want of faith?  It puzzles us!  Here was
Swartz, from early youth to hoary hairs unwavering in the work of the
Gospel, gathering in multitudes to the Church, often at great peril to
himself, yet holding back from bringing into the fold the child who had
been committed to him, and, as far as we can see, without any stipulation
to the contrary.  Probably he thought it right to leave Serfojee's
decision uninfluenced until his education should be complete, and was
disappointed that the force of old custom and the danger of change were
then too strong for him; and thus it was that Serfojee was only one of
the many half-reclaimed Indian princes who have lived out their dreary,
useless lives under English protection, without accepting the one pearl
of great price which could alone have made them gainers.

It is just possible that there may have been too much of a certain sort
of acquiescence in Swartz's mind, missionary as he was.  He did not
attack the system of caste, with its multitudinous separations and
distinctions.  Of course he wished it to be abolished, but he accepted
converts without requiring its renunciation, allowed high-caste persons
to sit apart in the churches, and to communicate before Pariahs, and did
not interfere with their habits of touching no food that the very finger
of a person of a different caste had defiled.  He no doubt thought these
things would wither away of themselves, but his having permitted them,
left a world of difficulty to his successors.

He lived, however, the life of a saint, nearly that of an ascetic.  His
almost unfurnished house was shared with some younger missionary.
Kohloff, who was one of these, related in after years how plain their
diet was.  Some tea in a jug, with boiling water poured over it and dry
bread broken into it, formed the breakfast, which lasted five minutes;
dinner, at one, was of broth or curry; and at eight at night they had
some meal or gruel.  If wine were sent them, it was reserved for the
communions or for the sick.  Swartz only began, very late in life, to
take a single glass in the middle of his Sunday services.

Every morning he assembled his native catechists at early prayer, and
appointed them their day's work.  "You go there."  "You do this."  "You
call on such and such families."  "You visit such a village."  About four
o'clock they returned and made their report, when their master took them
all with him to the churchyard or some public place, or to the front of
the Mission-house, according to the season of the year, and there sat
either expounding the Scriptures to those who would come and listen, or
conversing with inquirers and objectors among the heathen.  His manner
was mild, sometimes humorous, but very authoritative, and he would brook
neither idleness nor disobedience.

Over his Christian flock his authority was as complete as ever that of
Samuel could have been as a judge.  If any of them did wrong, the
alternative was--

"Will you go to the Rajah's court, or be punished by me?"

"O Padre, you punish me!" was always the reply.

"Give him twenty strokes," said the Padre, and it was done.

The universal confidence in the Padre, felt alike by Englishmen and
Hindoos, was inestimable in procuring and carrying out regulations for
the temporal prosperity of the peasantry at Tanjore, under the Board
which had pretty well taken the authority out of the hands of the
inefficient and violent Ameer Singh.  Districts that, partly from misery,
had become full of thieves, were brought into order, and the thieves
themselves often became hopeful converts, and endured a good deal of
persecution from their heathen neighbours.  His good judgment in dealing
with all classes, high and low, English or native, does indeed seem to
have been wonderful, and almost always to have prevailed, probably
through his perfect honesty, simplicity, and disinterestedness.

The converts in Tinnevelly became more and more numerous, and Sattianadem
had been ordained to the ministry, Lutheran fashion, by the assembly of
the presbytery at Tranquebar, there being as yet no Bishop in India; and
thus many, the very best of his catechists, served for many years, at
Palamcotta, the first Christian minister produced by modern India.  On
the whole, Swartz could look back on the half-century of his mission with
great joy and thankfulness; he counted his spiritual children by
hundreds; and the influence he had exerted upon the whole Government had
saved multitudes of peasants from oppression and starvation, and had
raised the whole tone of the administration.  He was once or twice
unkindly attacked by Englishmen who hated or mistrusted the propagation
of Christianity.  One gentleman even wrote a letter in a newspaper
calling a missionary a disgrace to any nation, and raking up stories of
the malpractices of heathens who had been preached to without being
converted, which were laid to the charge of the actual Christians; but
imputations like these did not meet with faith from any one whose good
opinion was of any real consequence to Swartz.

His strong health and the suitability of his constitution to the climate
brought him to a good old age in full activity.  He had become the
patriarch of the community of missionaries, and had survived all those
with whom he had at first laboured; but he was still able to circulate
among the churches he had founded, teaching, praying, preaching and
counselling, or laying any difficulty before the Government, whose
attention he had so well earned.  His last care was establishing the
validity of the adoption of Serfojee, who had grown up a thoughtful,
gentle, and upright man, satisfactory on all points except on the one
which rendered him eligible to the throne of Tanjore, his continued
heathenism.  The question was referred to the Company at home, and before
the answer could arrive, by the slow communication of those days, when
the long voyage, and that by a sailing vessel, was the only mode of
conveyance, the venerable guardian of the young Rajah had sunk into his
last illness.

This was connected with a mortification in his left foot, which had been
more or less painful for several years, but had probably been neglected.
His Danish colleague, Mr. Gericke, was with him most of the time, and it
was one of his subjects of thankfulness that he was permitted to depart
out of the world in the society of faithful brethren.  He suffered
severely for about three months, but it was not till the last week that
his departure was thought to be near.  He liked to have the English
children brought in to read to him chapters of the Bible and sing Dr.
Watts's hymns to him; and the beautiful old German hymns sung by Mr.
Gericke and Mr. Kohloff were his great delight.  Indeed, when at the very
last, as he lay almost lifeless, with closed eyes, Mr. Gericke began to
sing the hymn,

   "Only to Thee, Lord JESUS CHRIST,"

he joined in with a clear melodious voice, and accompanied him to the
end.  Two hours later, about four o'clock in the afternoon of the 13th of
February, 1798, Christian Friedrich Swartz breathed his last, in the
seventy-second year of his age, and the forty-eighth of his mission
service in India.

The cries and wailings of the poor resounded all night around the house,
and Serfojee Rajah came from a distance to be present at his burial.  It
had been intended to sing a funeral hymn, but the cries and lamentations
of the poor so overcame the clergy, that they could scarcely raise their
voices.  Serfojee wept bitterly, laid a gold cloth over the bier, and
remained present while Mr. Gericke read the Funeral Service,--a most
unusual departure from Hindoo custom, and a great testimony of affection
and respect.

A few months later arrived the decision of the East India Company, that
the weak and rapacious Ameer Singh should be deposed, and Serfojee placed
on the throne.  He conducted himself excellently as a ruler, and greatly
favoured Christians in his territory, always assisting the various
schools, and giving liberal aid whenever the frequently-recurring famines
of India brought them into distress.

Three years later, in 1801, Serfojee wrote to the Society for Promoting
Christian Knowledge, to beg them to order a "monument of marble" at his
expense, to the memory of the late Rev. Father Swartz, to be affixed to
the pillar nearest the pulpit.  Accordingly, a bas-relief in white marble
was executed by Flaxman, representing the death of Swartz, Gericke behind
him, two native Christians and three children standing by, and Serfojee
clasping his hand and receiving his blessing.  It was not exactly fact,
but it was the monumental taste of the day; and it so much delighted the
Rajah, that he kept it in his palace, among the portraits of his
ancestors, for two years before he could resolve on parting with it to
the church.  The Prince likewise composed the epitaph which was carved on
the stone which covers the grave of Swartz, the first instance of English
verse by a Hindoo:--

   "Firm wast thou, humble and wise,
   Honest, pure, free from disguise;
   Father of orphans, the widow's support,
   Comfort in sorrow of every sort:
   To the benighted dispenser of light,
   Doing and pointing to that which is right.
   Blessing to princes, to people, to me,
   May I, my father, be worthy of thee,
   Wisheth and prayeth thy Sarabojee."

Swartz had always been striving to be poor, and never succeeding.  Living
and eating in the humblest manner, and giving away all that came to him,
still recognitions of services from English and natives had flowed in on
him; and, after all the hosts of poor he had fed, and of churches and
schools he had founded, he was an instance of "there is that scattereth
and yet increaseth;" for the property he bequeathed to the Mission was
enough to assist materially in carrying it on after his death.  Moreover,
Serfojee maintained the blind, lame, and decrepit members of his church,
and founded an asylum for the orphan children; so that the good men,
Gericke, Kohloff, Pohle, and the rest, were not absolutely dependent on
Europe for assistance; and this was well, since the Orphan-house at Halle
and the Society at Copenhagen had in this long course of years ceased to
send out funds.

But Swartz's work under their hands continued to prosper.  He had a sort
of apotheosis among the heathen, such as he would have been the last to
covet; for statues were raised to him, lights burnt before him, and
crowns offered up.  But about Palamcotta and throughout Tinnevelly there
was one of those sudden movements towards Christianity that sometimes
takes place.  The natives were asking instruction from their friends, and
going eagerly in search of the catechists and of Sattianadem, and even
burning their idols and building chapels in preparation for the coming of
more fully qualified teachers.  Mr. Gericke made a tour among them in
1803, and found their hearts so moved towards the Gospel, that he
baptized 1,300 in the course of his journey, and the work of Sattianadem
and the catechists raised the number of converts to 4,000.  This was,
however, this good man's last journey.  On his return, he found that his
only son, an officer in the Company's service, was dying, and, under the
weight of this and other troubles, his health gave way, and he died in
the thirty-eighth year of his mission.  Others of the original Danish and
German missionaries likewise died, and scarcely any came out in their
stead.  Their places were, therefore, supplied by ordinations, by the
assembly of ministers, of four native catechists, of whom was
Nyanapracasem, a favourite pupil of Swartz.  No Church can take root
without a native ministry.  But the absence of any central Church
government was grievously felt, both as concerned the English and the
Hindoos.  There were more than twenty English regiments in India, and not
a single chaplain among them all.




CHAPTER IV.  HENRY MARTYN, THE SCHOLAR-MISSIONARY.


Again do we find the steady, plodding labourer of a lifetime contrasted
with the warm enthusiast, whose lot seems rather to awaken others than to
achieve victories in his own person.  St. Stephen falls beneath the
stones, but his glowing discourse is traced through many a deep argument
of St. Paul.  St. James drains the cup in early manhood, but his brother
holds aloft his witness to extreme old age.

The ardent zeal of the Keltic character; the religious atmosphere that
John Wesley had spread over Cornwall, even among those who did not enrol
themselves among his followers; the ability and sensitiveness hereditary
in the Martyn family, together with the strong influence of a university
tutor,--all combined to make such a bright and brief trail of light of
the career of Henry Martyn, the son of the head clerk in a merchant's
office at Truro, born on the 18th of February, 1781.  This station sounds
lowly enough, but when we find that it was attained by a self-educated
man, who had begun life as a common miner, and taught himself in the
intervals of rest, it is plain that the elder Martyn must have possessed
no ordinary power.  Out of a numerous family only four survived their
infancy, and only one reached middle age, and in Henry at least great
talent was united to an extreme susceptibility and delicacy of frame,
which made him as a child unusually tender and gentle in manner when at
his ease, but fretful and passionate when annoyed.

Of course he fared as ill with his fellow-scholars at Truro Grammar
School as he did well with the masters; but an elder boy took him under
his protection, and not only lessened his grievances at the time, but
founded a lasting friendship.

In 1795, when only fourteen, Henry Martyn was sufficiently advanced to be
sent up as a candidate for a scholarship at Corpus Christi College,
Oxford, and passed a very creditable examination, though he failed in
obtaining the election.  Eight years later, we find him congratulating
himself in his journal on thus having escaped the "scenes of debauchery"
to which his "profligate acquaintances" might have introduced him.  Was
Corpus very much changed, when, only eleven years after, John Keble
entered it at the same age?  Was it that Martyn's Cornish schoolfellows
were a bad set, or does this thanksgiving proceed from the sort of pious
complacency which religious journalizing is apt to produce in the best of
men?

The failure sent Henry back to work for two years longer at the Truro
Grammar School, and when at sixteen he was entered at St. John's,
Cambridge (most peculiarly the college of future missionaries), he
immediately made proof of his remarkable talent.  Strange to say,
although his father's rise in life had begun in his mathematical ability,
Henry's training in this branch had been so deficient, and the study
appeared so repugnant to him, that his first endeavour at Cambridge was
to learn the proportions of Euclid by heart, without trying to follow
their reasoning.  This story is told of many persons, but perhaps of no
one else who in four years' time, while still a month under twenty, was
declared Senior Wrangler.

This was in 1801, and the intervening time had been spent in hard study
and regular habits, but neither his sister at home, nor a
seriously-minded college friend, were satisfied with his religious
feelings during the first part of the time, and he himself regarded it
afterwards as a period of darkness.  Indeed, his temper was under so
little control that in a passion he threw a knife at a companion, but
happily missed his aim, so that it only pierced the wall.  The shock of
horror no doubt was good for him.  But the next step he recorded in his
life was his _surprise_ at hearing it maintained that the glory of God,
not the praise of man, should be the chief motive of study.  After
thinking it over his mind assented, and he resolved to maintain this as a
noble saying, but did not perceive that it would affect his conduct.

However, the dearest, almost the only hallowed form of the praise of man,
was taken from him by the death of his father in 1799, immediately after
the delight of hearing of his standing first in the Christmas
examination.  The expense of a return home was beyond his means, but he
took to reading the Bible, as a proper form to be complied with in the
days of mourning; and beginning with the Acts, as being the most
entertaining part, he felt the full weight of the doctrine of the
Apostles borne in on him, and was roused to renew his long-neglected
prayers.  When next he went to chapel, with his soul thus awakened, he
was struck by perceiving for the first time how joy for the coming of our
Lord rings through the _Magnificat_.

The great religious influence of the day at Cambridge emanated from the
pulpit and the rooms of the Reverend Charles Simeon, who did a truly
remarkable work in stirring up young men to a sense of the
responsibilities of the ministry.  Henry Martyn regularly attended his
sermons, and the newly lighted sparks were also fanned by anxious letters
from the good sister at home; but until the strain, pressure, and
excitement of preparing for the final examination were over, he had
little time or attention for any other form of mental exertion.

When, however, he found himself in possession of the highest honours his
University could award, he was amazed to discover how little they
satisfied him, and that he felt as if he had grasped a shadow instead of
a substance.

This instinctive longing, the sure token of a mind of the higher pitch,
was finding rest as he became more and more imbued with the spirit of
religion, and ventured upon manifesting it more openly.  He had hitherto
intended to apply himself to the law, but the example and conversation of
Charles Simeon brought him to such a perception of the greatness of the
office of the ministry that he resolved to dedicate himself thereto.
During the term after this decision was made, while he was acting as a
tutor at his college, he heard Mr. Simeon speak of William Carey and his
self-devotion in India; he read the Life of that kindred spirit, David
Brainerd, and the spark of missionary zeal was kindled in his ardent
nature.  The commission "Go ye and teach all nations" was borne in on his
mind, and, with the promptness that was a part of his nature, he at once
offered himself to the "Society for Missions to Africa and the East,"
which had been established, in the year 1800, by members of the English
Church who wished to act independently of the elder Society for the
Propagation of the Gospel.  The name has since been altered to the
"Church Missionary Society."

However, Martyn was only just twenty-one, and not of an age to take Holy
Orders, and he had therefore to wait, while studying divinity, and acting
as a tutor at Cambridge.  All through his life he kept copious journals
of his sensations and resolutions, full of the deepest piety, always
replete with sternness towards himself and others, and tinged with that
melancholy which usually pervades the more earnest of that school which
requires conscious feeling as the test of spiritual life.

In October 1803, he went to Ely for ordination as a deacon, though still
wanting five months of twenty-three.  Those were lax days, there was
little examination, and a very low standard of fitness was required.
Henry Martyn was so much scandalized by the lightness of demeanour of one
of his fellow candidates that he spoke to him in strong reproof--with
what effect we do not know, but he records that he never ventured to
speak in rebuke, "unless he at the same time experienced a peculiar
contrition of spirit."

He became Mr. Simeon's curate, and at the same time took charge of the
neighbouring parish of Lolworth.  People then had small expectations of
clerical care, if a parish could be entrusted to a young deacon,
non-resident, acting as tutor and examiner, and with an assistant curacy
besides!  His whole mind was, however, intensely full of his duties, and
so unworthy did he consider all other occupations that he prayed and
struggled conscientiously against the pleasure he could not but feel, in
getting up Thucydides and Xenophon for the examinations.  Everything not
actually devotional seemed to him at these times under a ban, and it is
painful to see how a mind of great scope and power was cramped and
contracted, and the spirits lowered by incessant self-contemplation and
distrust of almost all enjoyment.  When, at another time, he had to
examine on "Locke on the Human Understanding," the metaphysical study
acting on his already introspective mind produced a sense of misery and
anguish that he could hardly endure.  It is pleasant, however, to find
him in another mood, writing, "Since I have known God in a saving manner,
painting, poetry, and music have had charms unknown to me before; I have
received what I suppose is a taste for them, for religion has refined my
mind, and made it susceptible of impressions from the sublime and
beautiful."

This, no doubt, was true, but another influence had awakened his heart,
earthly perhaps in itself, but so noble and so holy that it bears a
heavenly light.  He had become attached to a young lady in Cornwall,
named Lydia Grenfell, like-minded enough to return his affection.  His
intention of volunteering for the Church Missionary Society was
overthrown by a disaster in Cornwall which deprived himself and his
unmarried sister of all the provision that their father had made for
them, thus throwing her upon him for maintenance, and making it necessary
that he should obtain a salary that would support her.  It was suggested
by some of his friends that one of the chaplaincies founded by the old
East India Company, before the jealousy of religious teaching had set in,
would both give him opportunities for missionary work and enable him to
provide for his sister at home.  Application was accordingly made, and a
man of his talent and character could not fail of being accepted; he was
promised the next vacant post, and went down to spend the long vacation
in Cornwall, and bid farewell to all whom he loved there, for the journey
was long and expensive, and he had resolved not to trust himself among
them again.

He writes in his journal, "Parted with Lydia for ever in this life with a
sort of uncertain pain, which I knew would increase to violence."  And so
it was, he suffered most acutely for many days, and, though calmness and
comfort came after a time, never were hopes and affections more
thoroughly sacrificed, or with more anguish, than by this most truly
devoted disciple of his Master.

He worked on at Cambridge till he received his appointment in the January
of 1805, and he then only waited to receive Priests' Orders before going
to London to prepare for his embarkation.

In those times of war, a voyage to India was a perilous and lengthy
undertaking.  A whole fleet was collected, containing merchant, convict,
and transport vessels, all under the convoy of the ships of war belonging
to the Company; and, as no straggler might be left behind, the progress
of the whole was dependent on the rate of sailing of the slowest, and all
were impeded by the disaster of one.  The _Union_, in which a passage was
given to the chaplain, contained, besides the crew, passengers, the 59th
Regiment, some other soldiers, and young cadets, all thrown closely
together for many months.  She sailed from Portsmouth on the 17th of
July; but in two days' time one of the many casualties attendant on at
least sixty vessels made the fleet put into Falmouth, where it remained
for three weeks.  This opportunity of intercourse with his family might
well seem an especial boon of Providence to the young missionary, who had
denied himself a last visit to them, and he carried away much comfort
from this meeting.  His sister was engaged to be suitably married, so
that he was relieved from care on her account, and some hope was
entertained that Lydia would be able to come out to him in India.  A
correspondence likewise began, which has been in great part preserved.
Two days after weighing anchor, the _Union_ still lingered on the coast,
and the well-known outline, with Mount's Bay, the spire of St. Hilary's
church, and all the landmarks so dear and familiar to the young
Cornishman's eye and heart, were watched from morning to night with keen
pain and grief, but with steadfast resolve and constant inward prayer.

Then he addressed himself to the duties of the voyage.  Private study of
Hebrew and of Hindostanee was of course a part; but he hoped to be useful
to his companions as a friend and as a minister.  He could only obtain
permission to hold one service every Sunday, but he hoped to do much by
private conversations and prayers, and he tried to gain over the cadets
by offering to assist them in their studies, especially mathematics.  Some
of them had the sense to see that the teaching of a senior wrangler was
no small advantage, and these read with him throughout the voyage; but in
general they were but raw lads, and followed the example of their
superiors, who for the most part were strongly set against Mr. Martyn.
Those were the times when sailors were utterly uncared for, and when
_mauvais sujets_ at home were sent out to India to the corruptions of a
luxurious climate and a heathen atmosphere.  Men of this stamp would
think it bad enough to have a parson on board at all, and when they found
that he was a faithful priest, who held himself bound not to leave them
unchecked in their evil courses, they thought themselves aggrieved.  Nor
was his manner likely to gain them.  Grave and earnest, he had never in
his life known sportiveness, and his distress and horror at the profanity
and blasphemy that rang in his ears made him doubly sad and stern.  From
the first his Sunday service was by most treated as an infliction, and
the officers, both of the ship and of the military, had so little sense
of decency as to sit drinking, smoking, and talking within earshot.  The
persons who professed to attend showed no reverence of attitude; and when
he endeavoured to make an impression on the soldiers and their wives
between-decks, he was met with the same rude and careless inattention.

With very little experience of mankind, he imagined that these hardened
beings could be brought to repent by terror, and his discourses were full
of denunciations of the wrath of God.  He was told that, if he threatened
them thus, they would not come to hear him, and his reply was an
uncompromising sermon on the text, "The wicked shall be turned into hell,
and all the people that forget God."  The bravery of the thing, and the
spirit of truth and love that pervaded all he said on this solemn verse,
was not lost upon all: some of the cadets were moved to tears, and an
impression was made upon several persons.  Indeed, there was much that
should have induced serious thought, for, after having touched at Madeira
and the Azores, it was made known that the 59th was to be disembarked at
the Cape, to assist in the struggle then going on between the English and
Dutch.  Moreover, there was much sickness on board, and the captain
himself, who had been always bitterly opposed to Mr. Martyn, anxiously
called for him to attend upon his death-bed.

The 59th were landed in Table Bay just in time to take part in Sir David
Baird's victory.  Martyn went on shore the next day to do his best for
the wounded; but they were mostly in hospital, and, being Dutch, he could
do little for them.  He found congenial spirits among the Dutch clergy in
Cape Town, and spent a happy month there, but the latter part of his
voyage was not more satisfactory than the first.  The educated portion of
the passengers continued to set their faces against him, treating him
with increased contempt, and even turning into ridicule the farewell
sermon, in which he took an affectionate leave of all who had sailed with
him.

It may be that his manner was ill-judged, but it is a fearful thing to
find that it was possible for so many Christian people to have been in
daily contact with as true a saint as ever lived, and yet make him their
mock!  Perhaps some of his words, and far more his example, may have
borne fruit in after years, such as he never knew of.

The whole voyage had lasted nearly ten months before entering the
Hooghly.  While ascending the stream, the lassitude produced by the
climate was so great that Martyn's spirits sank under it: he thought he
should "lead an idle, worthless life to no purpose.  Exertion seemed like
death; indeed, absolutely impossible."  Yet at the least he could write,
"Even if I should never see a native converted, God may design, by my
patience and continuance, to encourage future missionaries."

This feeling of exhaustion was the prelude to a severe attack of fever,
which assailed him almost immediately after his arrival; but happily not
till he was safely lodged at Aldeen, in the kindly house of the Rev.
David Brown, where he was nursed till his recovery.  His friends wanted
to keep him among the English at Calcutta, but his heart was set on
ministering to the heathen, and the sights and sounds of idolatry that
constantly met him increased his eagerness.  He once rushed out at the
sight of the flames of a Suttee, hoping to rescue the victim, but she had
perished before he reached the spot.

His arrival was when the alarm about the meeting at Vellore was at its
height, and when the colony at Serampore had been forbidden to preach or
distribute tracts in Calcutta.  He by no means agreed with all the
Baptist doctrines, but he held in great esteem and reverence such men as
Carey and Marshman, was glad to profit by their experience and
instructions, and heartily sympathised in all their difficulties.  Mr.
Carey might well write, "A young clergyman, Mr. Martyn, is lately
arrived, who is possessed with a truly missionary spirit."  Together the
Serampore missionaries, with Mr. Martyn, Mr. Corrie, and Mr. Brown,
united in dedicating to the worship of God a heathen pagoda, which the
last-mentioned had succeeded in purchasing from the natives.  Altogether
he was much cheered and refreshed.  During the time that he waited at
Aldeen he improved himself in Hindostanee, and began to study Sanscrit,
and learnt the most approved method of dealing with the natives.
Moreover, he found that his allowance as a chaplain was so liberal as
amply to justify him in writing to urge Miss Grenfell to come out and
join him; and, during the long period of sixteen or eighteen months
before her refusal to do so reached him, he was full of the hope of
receiving her.

His appointed station was Dinapore, where his primary duty was to
minister to the English troops there posted, and to the families of the
civilians; but he also hoped to establish native schools, to preach in
their own language to the Hindoos, and to scatter translations of
portions of Scripture, such as the Parables, among them.

He had to read prayers to the soldiers from the drum-head by way of desk;
there were no seats, and he was desired to omit the sermon: but
afterwards a room was provided, and then the families of the officers and
residents began to attend, though at first they were much scandalized by
his preaching extempore.  In fact there was a good deal in his whole tone
that startled old orthodoxy; and in the opposition with which he met at
times, there was some lawful and just distrust of the _onesidedness_ of
his tenets, together with the ordinary hatred and dislike of darkness to
light.  So scrupulous was he in the Jewish force given by his party to
the Fourth Commandment, that, having one Sunday conceived the plan of
translating the Prayer-book into Hindostanee, he worked at it till he had
reached the end of the _Te Deum_; and there, doubting whether it were a
proper employment for the day, desisted until the Monday, to give himself
up to prayer, singing hymns, Scripture-reading, and meditation.  The
immediate value of this work was for the poor native wives of the English
soldiers, whom he found professing Christianity, but utterly ignorant;
and to them every Sunday, after the official English service, he repeated
the Liturgy in the vulgar tongue.  In this holy work he was the pioneer,
since Swartz's service was in Tamul.  While working at his translations
with his moonshee, or interpreter, a Mussulman, he had much opportunity
for conversation and for study of the Mahometan arguments, so as to be
very useful to himself; though he could not succeed in convincing the
impracticable moonshee, who had all that self-satisfaction belonging to
Mahometanism.  "I told him that he ought to pray that God would teach him
what the truth really is.  He said he had no occasion to pray on this
subject, as the word of God is express."  With the Hindoos at Dinapore,
he found, to his surprise, that there was apparently little
disinclination to "become Feringees," as they called it, outwardly; but
the difficulty lay in his insistance on Christian faith and obedience,
instead of a mere external profession.

It was while he was at Dinapore that we first acquire anything like a
distinct idea of Henry Martyn; for there a short halt of the 53rd
Regiment brought him in contact with one who had an eye to observe, a
heart to honour, and a pen to describe him; namely, Mrs. Sherwood, the
wife of the paymaster, a woman of deeply religious sentiments and
considerable powers as an author.  Mutual friends had already prepared
Mr. Martyn to expect to find like-minded companions in the Sherwoods,
invited to stay with him for the few days of their sojourn at Dinapore.
"Mr. Martyn's quarters," says that lady, "were in the smaller square--a
church-like abode, with little furniture, the rooms wide and high, with
many vast doorways, having their green jalousied doors, and long
verandahs encompassing two sides of the quarters."  So scanty, indeed,
was the furniture, that, though he gave up his own bedroom, Mrs. Sherwood
could not find a pillow, not only there, but in the whole house; and,
with a severe pain in her face, could get nothing to lay her head on "but
a bolster stuffed as hard as a pin-cushion."

She thus describes the first sight of her host:--"He was dressed in
white, and looked very pale, which, however, was nothing singular in
India; his hair, a light brown, was raised from his forehead, which was a
remarkably fine one.  His features were not regular, but the expression
was so luminous, so intellectual, so affectionate, so beaming with Divine
charity, that no one could have looked at his features and thought of
their shape or form; the outbeaming of his soul would absorb the
attention of every observer.  There was a very decided air, too, of the
gentleman about Mr. Martyn, and a perfection of manners which, from his
extreme attention to all minute civilities, might seem almost
inconsistent with the general bent of his thoughts to the most serious
subjects.  He was as remarkable for ease as for cheerfulness.  He did not
appear like one who felt the necessity of contending with the world and
denying himself its delights, but, rather, as one who was unconscious of
the existence of any attractions in the world, or of any delights which
were worthy of his notice.  When he relaxed from his labours in the
presence of his friends, it was to play and laugh like an innocent child,
more especially if children were present to play and laugh with him."

His labours were the incessant charge of the English, travelling often
great distances to baptize, marry, or bury, together with constant
teaching in the schools he had established both for the English and
natives, attendance on the sick in the hospitals, and likewise private
arguments with Mahometans and Hindoos.  Public preachings in the streets
and bazaars, like those of Swartz, Carey, and Ward, he does not seem to
have attempted at this time; but his translations were his great and
serious employment, and one that gave him much delight.  His thorough
classical education and scholarship fitted him for this in an unusual
degree, and besides the Hindostanee version of the Prayer-book, the
Persian--so much wanted in the Bombay Presidency--was committed to him;
and an assistant was sent to him, whose history, disappointing as it is,
cannot be omitted from the account of Indian missions.

Sabat was an Arab of the tribe of Koreish, the same which gave birth to
Mahomet himself.  He was born on the banks of the Euphrates, and educated
in such learning as still lingered about the city of the Khalifs; but he
left home early, and served in the Turkish army against the French at
Acre.  Afterwards he became a soldier in the Persian army, where he was
several times wounded, and in consequence retired, and, wandering into
Cabul, there rose to be a royal secretary.

He formed a close friendship with his colleague, Abdallah, likewise a
Koreishite Arab, and very able and poetical.  When the Wahabees, the
straitest sect of the Mussulmans, seized Mecca, their chief wrote a
letter to the King of Cabul, which was committed to Abdallah to translate
into Persian.  By way of a graceful compliment, he put his translation
into Persian verse, and the reward he received was equally strange;
namely, the gift of as many pearls as could be stuffed into his mouth at
once.  He was, however, observed to be unusually grave and thoughtful,
and to frequent the house of an Armenian--of course a Christian: but as
this person had a beautiful daughter, she was supposed to be the
attraction, and no suspicion was excited by his request to retire into
his own country.

Soon after Sabat was made prisoner by the Tartars of Bokhara, and, by
appealing to the king, as a descendant of the prophet, obtained his
release and promotion to high honour.  While visiting the city of
Bokhara, he recognized his old friend, Abdallah, and, perceiving that his
beard was shaved off, examined him on the cause so closely that he was
driven to confess that the Armenian had converted him to the Christian
faith, and that he did not wish to be known.  Hereditary Christians are
tolerated by the Moslem, but converts are bitterly persecuted; and Sabat
flew into a great rage, argued, threatened, and at last denounced his old
friend to the Moollahs as a recreant from Islam.

Abdallah was arrested, and showed himself a true and faithful confessor
and martyr.  The Moollahs strove hard to make him recant.  They demanded
of him: "In the Gospel of Christ, is anything said of our
Prophet?"--intending to extort that promise of the Comforter which
Mahomet blasphemously applied to himself.

Abdallah's answer was: "Yea--Beware of false prophets which come to you
in sheep's clothing, but inwardly are ravening wolves."

This brave reply was requited by blows on the mouth till the blood
flowed, and Sabat thought of the day he had seen that same mouth filled
with pearls.  Abdallah was sent back to prison, and four days were
allowed him in which to recant; after which he was brought out and set
before an assembled multitude.  Pardon was offered him if he would deny
his Lord, and, on his refusal, his left hand was cut off.  The look of
deep sorrow and pity he gave the former friend who had betrayed him sunk
deep into Sabat's heart.  Again his life was offered, again he confessed
himself a Christian, and finally his martyrdom was completed by cutting
off his head.

This history Sabat told with feeling and earnestness, that convinced his
hearers of its truth; and from this he did not vary, though his account
of his own subsequent adventures varied so much that it was not possible
at last to attach credence to anything he said of himself before he
became expounder of Mohammedan Law in the Civil Court at Vizagapatam.  At
any rate Abdallah's look dwelt with him; he detected discrepancies in the
Koran, and became anxious to study the Christian Scriptures.  He obtained
from Bombay a copy, first of the New Testament, then of the Old, and,
having become convinced, he came to Madras, and demanded baptism from Dr.
Ker, the British chaplain.  After some probation, which made Sabat so
impatient that he threatened that he should accuse the minister before
God if he delayed, he was baptized by the name of Nathanael, and sent to
Serampore as a person likely to be useful in the translations always in
hand there.

He was delighted with the habits there prevailing, dismissed his
attendants, dined at the common table, and altogether conformed himself
to the spirit of the place.  When it was decided to send him to Dinapore
to assist Mr. Martyn in rendering the Bible into Persian, he took leave
of Serampore with tears in his eyes.  He was gladly welcomed by Mr.
Martyn, and they worked together at the Gospel of St. Matthew, Sabat
showing a scholar-like anxiety both for correctness and rhythm; but there
was so much of the wild Arab about him that he was a continual anxiety.
The Serampore missionaries thought him a grand, dignified figure.  Mrs.
Sherwood paints him much less pleasantly, and says he was exactly like
the sign of the Saracen's head, with intensely flashing eyes, high nose,
white teeth, and jet black eyebrows, moustache, and beard.  His voice was
like rolling thunder, his dress of gorgeous material and thoroughly
Oriental, silk skull-cap, jacket, jewelled girdle, loose trousers, and
embroidered shoes, and he had a free and haughty manner, according with
his signature, when writing to a gentleman who had offended
him--"Nathanael Sabat, an Arab, who never was in bondage."

In April 1809, Mr. Martyn was removed to the station at Cawnpore, where
the Sherwoods were then residing.  The time was one of the worst in the
whole year for travelling across the sandy plains, with a wind blowing
that made the air like "the mouth of an oven."  For two days and two
nights, between Allahabad and Cawnpore, Mr. Martyn travelled in his
palanquin without intermission, and, having expected to arrive sooner, he
had brought no provision for the last day.  "I lay in my palanquin,
faint, with a headache, neither awake nor asleep, between dead and alive,
the wind blowing flames."  When he arrived, Mr. Sherwood had only just
time to lead him into the bungalow before he fainted away, and the hall
being the least heated place, a couch was made ready for him there, where
for some days he lay very ill; and the thermometer was never below 96
degrees, though the punkah never ceased.

As soon as he mended a little, he enjoyed talking over his Hebrew and
Greek studies and his ethnological researches with his clever and eager
hostess, who must have greatly refreshed his spirit.  He delighted in
music: his voice and ear were both excellent, and he taught her many
hymns and their tunes.  He also took much pleasure in a little orphan
girl whom she was bringing up.  At this time she herself was almost a
childless mother, all her Indian-born infants having been victims to the
climate; but a few months later Mr. Martyn christened her little daughter
Lucy, a child of such gentle, gracious temper that he was wont to call
her Serena.  Mrs. Sherwood gives a pretty picture of this little
creature, when about eighteen months old, creeping up to Mr. Martyn as he
lay on a sofa with all his books about him, and perching herself on his
Hebrew Lexicon, which he needed every moment, but would not touch so as
to disturb her.  The pale, white-clad pastor, and the child with silky
hair, bare white feet and arms, and little muslin frock, looked equally
innocent and pure.

Mr. Martyn's house at Cawnpore was at the end of an avenue of palms and
aloes: there were two bungalows connected by a long passage, in one of
which he himself lived, the other was given up to Sabat and his wife.  The
garden was prettily laid out with shrubs and tall trees, with a raised
platform in the centre; and on one side was a whole colony, consisting
not only of the usual number of servants allowed to a military chaplain,
but of a host of pundits, moonshees, schoolmasters, and poor nominal
Christians, who hung about him because there was no one else to give them
a handful of rice for their daily maintenance.

Here Mrs. Sherwood describes a motley entertainment, at which she was the
only lady.  Her husband, in his scarlet and gold uniform, and Mr. Martyn,
in his clerical black silk coat, were the only other English.  The other
European present was Padre Giulio Cesare, an Italian Franciscan, whom Mr.
Martyn was obliged to receive when he came to minister to the numerous
Irish Roman Catholics in the regiment.  He wore a purple satin cassock, a
cord of twisted silk, a rosary of costly stones, and a little skull-cap,
and his languages were French with the Sherwoods, and Italian and Latin
with Mr. Martyn.  Sabat was there in his Arab dress; there was a thin,
copper-coloured, half-caste gentleman in white nankeen, speaking only
Bengalee; and a Hindoo in full costume, speaking only his native tongue:
so that no two of the party were in similar costume, seven languages were
employed, and moreover the three Orientals viewed it as good breeding to
shout at the very top of their voices.

Unluckily, too, Mr. Martyn in his politeness suddenly recollected that
Mrs. Sherwood had expressed a liking for certain mutton patties, and
ordered them to be brought, in a bachelor's entire oblivion whether any
mutton was procurable otherwise than by killing a sheep: and the delay
forced the guests to continue to sit on the platform in the dark, with
the voices and languages making too great a Babel for the night-enjoyment
sometimes so valued, when Mr. Martyn would show Mrs. Sherwood our own
Pole Star just above the horizon, or watch the new moon "looking like a
ball of ebony in a silver cup."  At last the patties were ready, and Mr.
Martyn handed Mrs. Sherwood to a seat by him at the top of the table,
while Sabat perched himself cross-legged upon a chair at the bottom.

The good chaplain's simplicity seems to have been a great amusement to
the Sherwoods.  Late one evening he quietly observed, "The coolie does
not come with my money: I was thinking this morning how rich I should be,
and now I should not wonder in the least if he has run off and taken my
treasure with him."  Thereupon it turned out that, not having drawn his
pay for some time, he had sent a note to the collector at Cawnpore,
asking that the amount should be forwarded by the bearer, a common
coolie.  It was all paid in silver, tied up in cotton bags, and no one
expected that he would ever see it; however, the coolie arrived safely
with it a little later.  Another time, when each household had ordered a
pineapple cheese, it was observed that the fissures in the two were
marvellously similar; and at last it was discovered that the servants,
though paid for two cheeses, made one do duty for both, appearing in turn
at the two tables, which was the easier as Mr. Martyn supped on limes and
other fruits, and only produced his cheese when the Sherwoods came to
supper.  He heeded little but his immediate thoughts, and, when he drove
out in his gig, went on with his disquisitions on language and
pronunciation, utterly unheeding what his horse was about.

The hope of having Lydia with him to brighten his life and aid his
labours had by this time passed away.  She had some entanglement which
prevented her from coming out to India, and his disappointment was most
acute.  His letters urging her to come out to him are so strong, and full
of such anguish, that it is hard to understand that the person who could
withstand them could have been the admirable woman Miss Grenfell is
described to have been in after-life--unless, indeed, Martyn did not
appreciate the claims at home to which she yielded.  "Why do things go so
well with them and so hardly with me?" was a thought that would come into
his mind at the weddings where he officiated as priest.  Meantime he had
established native schools, choosing a master, usually a Mussulman, and
giving him an anna a head for each boy whom he obtained as a scholar in
reading and writing.  Mr. Martyn supplied books, and these were
translations of Scripture history, of the Parables, and the like, through
which he hoped to lay a foundation for distinctive teaching.  Here is
Mrs. Sherwood's description of the Cawnpore school, then in a long shed
by the side of the cavalry lines:--

"The master sat at one end like a tailor on the dusty floor, and along
under the shed sat the scholars, a pack of little urchins with no other
clothes on than a skull-cap and a piece of cloth round their loins.  These
little ones squatted, like their master, in the sand: they had wooden
imitations of slates in their hands, on which, having first written their
lessons with chalk, they recited them _a pleine gorge_, as the French
would say, being sure to raise their voices on the approach of any
European or native of note.  Now Cawnpore is one of the most dusty places
in the world; the Sepoy lines are the most dusty part of Cawnpore; and as
the little urchins are always well greased either with cocoa-nut oil, or,
in failure thereof, with rancid mustard oil, whenever there was the
slightest breath of air they always looked as if they had been powdered
all over with brown powder.  Who that has ever heard it, can forget the
sounds of the various notes with which these little people intonated
their 'Aleph, Zubbin ah, Zair a, Paiche oh,' as they moved backwards and
forwards in their recitations?  Who can forget the self-importance of the
schoolmaster, who was generally a grey-bearded, dry, old man, who had no
other means of proving his superiority to the scholars than by making
more noise than even they could?"

{i:Henry Martyn's first endeavour at native preaching: p1.jpg}

In the winter of 1809, Mr. Martyn made his first endeavour at native
preaching.  The Yogis and Fakers, devotees and vagrants, haunted the
station, and every Sunday evening he opened the gates of his garden,
admitted all who were collected by the assurance of the distribution of a
pice a head; and standing on his platform, read to them some simple verse
of Scripture, and then endeavoured to make them believe there is a pure
Almighty Universal Father.  A frightful crowd: they were often five
hundred in number.  "No dreams," says Mrs. Sherwood, "in the delirium of
a raging fever, could surpass the realities" of their appearance;
"clothed with abominable rags, or nearly without clothes, or plastered
with mud and cow-dung, or with long matted locks streaming down to their
heels; every countenance foul and frightful with evil passions; the lips
black with tobacco, or crimson with henna.  One man, who came in a cart
drawn by a bullock, was so bloated as to look like an enormous frog;
another had kept an arm above his head with his hand clenched till the
nail had come out at the back of his hand; and one very tall man had all
his bones marked on his dark skin with white chalk, like the figure of
grim Death himself."  The assemblage, in contrast with the pure,
innocent, pale face and white dress of the preacher who addressed them,
must have been like some of Gustave Dore's illustrations.

These addresses were jealously watched by the British authorities, and
were often interrupted by the howls and threatenings of his loathsome
congregation; while, moreover, pulmonary complaint, the enemy of his
family, began to manifest itself, so that the physicians insisted on his
trying the effect of cessation from work, a sea-voyage, and a visit to
England.  On this plan he had at first fixed.  He enters in his journal a
happy dream of a walk with Lydia, and, waking, the recollection of the
16,000 miles between them; but in the meantime he heard from the critics
at Calcutta, that his translation of the Gospels into Persian, done with
the assistance of Sabat, was too full of Arabic idioms, and in language
not simple enough for its purpose; and he therefore made up his mind to
spend his leave of absence in making his way through Persia and part of
Arabia, so as to improve himself in the languages, and submit his
translation to more trustworthy scholars.  Mr. Brown, on hearing of his
plan, consented in these remarkable terms: "Can I then bring myself to
cut the string and let you go?  I confess I could not if your bodily
frame were strong, and promised to last for half a century.  But as you
burn with the intenseness and rapid blaze of phosphorus, why should we
not make the most of you?  Your flame may last as long, and perhaps
longer, in Arabia than in India.  Where should the phoenix build her
odoriferous nest but in the land prophetically called the 'blessed'?  And
where shall we ever expect but from that country the true Comforter to
come to the nations of the East?"

In September, therefore, Henry Martyn made ready to set forth, and to
take leave of his congregation of beggars.  He had baptized one poor old
Hindoo woman, and she seemed to him to be the only fruit of his toils;
but though the exhortation, at the end of all his labours of the Sunday,
cost him severe pain and exhaustion, he had constantly persisted, often
beginning in a low feeble tone, but gradually rising in fervour to the
full power of his musical voice; then himself going among the disgusting
throng to distribute their petty bribe for attendance, and often falling
afterwards, faint and speechless, on a sofa.

He knew not that one seed, cast on these turbid waters, had found good
soil, and was springing up.  Sheik Salah was the son of a pundit at
Delhi, and was well-learned in Persian and Arabic.  When a youth he had
become moonshee to two English gentlemen then living at Lucknow, and
while in their service converted a Hindoo fellow-servant from his
idolatry to Islam.  Elated with his success, he gave himself such airs
that his English masters reproved him; and he left them in displeasure,
vowing never to serve a Feringhee again.  However, being in the pay of a
Mahratta chief, he was sent in company with a Mahometan envoy who had
undertaken to murder a rival of his master, and having lulled his victim
into security by an oath on the Koran that no treachery was intended,
decoyed him into his tent, and there stabbed him.

Sheik Salah was a deeply conscientious man, and not only did he leave the
Mahratta service, lest some such horrible act should be required of him,
but he conceived a certain distrust of his own faith, which, though it
condemns such deeds, had not hindered them.  While in search of
employment, he came to Cawnpore, and there, one fine evening, he sat with
some other young Mussulmans, in a summer-house on the garden wall that
bounded Mr. Martyn's garden, enjoying their hookahs and sherbet, and
amusing themselves with what they called the "foolishness" of the
Feringhee Padre, who was discoursing to the throng of hateful looking
beggars below.  By and by, anxious to hear more, they came down, entered
the garden, and stood in a row before the front of the bungalow; their
arms folded, their turbans placed jauntily on one side, and their
countenances expressive of the utmost contempt.

But the words that Sheik Salah caught were sinking deep.  They were of
the intense purity and holiness of God and of His laws, and of the need
of His power to attain to the keeping of them, as well as of His
Sacrifice to atone for man's sinfulness.  Sheik Salah could not rest
without hearing more, and becoming determined to obtain employment at
Cawnpore, he undertook to copy Persian manuscripts for Sabat, and was
lodged by him in one of the numerous huts in Mr. Martyn's compound.  He
was a well-educated, graceful man, exceedingly handsome, looking like a
hero of the Old Testament; and probably Sabat was afraid of a rival, for
he never mentioned to Mr. Martyn the stranger who, Sunday after Sunday,
listened to his preaching, and no doubt would have as thankfully profited
by his individual teaching as he would have joyfully given it.

Sabat was at this time a great trial to Mr. Martyn, who in the flush of
enthusiasm had let him be put too forward at first, and found the wild
man of the desert far too strong for him.  Sometimes, when they differed
about a word in the translation, Sabat would contend so violently for a
whole morning that poor Mr. Martyn, when unable to bear it any longer,
would order his palanquin and be carried over to the Sherwoods to escape
from the intolerable brawling shout.  What Sabat could be was plain from
the story of his wife Amina; his seventh, as he told his friends.  When
he was trying to convert her, she asked his views upon the future lot of
those who remained Mahometans, and, when he consigned them to the state
of condemnation, she quietly replied that she greatly preferred hell
without Sabat's company to heaven with him.  The poor man was no doubt in
great measure sincere, but his probation had been insufficient, and his
wild Ishmaelitish nature, so far from being overcome, gained in pride and
violence through the enthusiasm that was felt for him as a convert.  Once,
in a fit of indignation, he wrote a Persian letter, full of abuse of Mr.
Martyn, to a friend in the service of the English resident at Lucknow.  By
him it was carried to his master, who, wishing to show Mr. Martyn the
real character of his favourite convert, sent him the letter.  Instead of
looking into it, Mr. Martyn summoned Sabat, and bade him read it aloud to
him.  For once the Arab was overpowered; he cowered before his calm
master and entreated his pardon, and when Mr. Martyn put the letter into
his hands, assuring him that he had not read it, he was really touched,
and showed sorrow for his violence.

On the last Sunday of September 1810, Mr. Martyn took leave of Cawnpore.
It was also the Sunday of the installation as chaplain of his dearest
friend, the Reverend Daniel Corrie, and of the opening of a church which
his exertions had prevailed to raise, whereas all former services had
been in his own long verandah.  The first sound of the bell most deeply
affected those who had scarcely heard one since they had left their
native country.  That church has given place to the beautiful building
which commemorates the horrors of 1857; but the name of Henry Martyn
ought never to be forgotten at Cawnpore, if only as the priest to whom it
was granted first to give thanks that, in his own words, "a temple of God
was erected and a door opened for the service of the Almighty in a place
where, from the foundation of the world, the tabernacle of the true God
had never stood."

After returning from church he sank, nearly fainting, on a sofa in the
hall; but, as soon as he revived, begged his friends to sing to him.  The
hymn was--

   "O God, our help in ages past,
      Our hope in years to come,
   Our shelter from the stormy blast,
      And our eternal home."

After the early dinner and afternoon rest, on a sickly, hazy, burning
evening, he preached for the last time to his beggars; came away
fainting, and as he lay on his sofa told his friends that he did not
believe that he had ever made the slightest impression on _one_ of his
audience there.

He knew not that Sheik Salah's heart had been touched, and so deeply that
he sought further instruction.  As to Sabat, his later career was
piteous.  He fell back into Mahometanism, and, after some years of a
wandering life, took service with the Mussulman chief of Acheen in
Sumatra, where, having given some offence, he was barbarously hacked to
pieces and thrown into the sea.  Such bitter disappointments occur in
missionary life; and how should we wonder, since the like befel even St.
Paul and St. John?

On the 1st of October, 1810, Mr. Martyn embarked on the Ganges, and on
the last day of the month arrived at Mr. Brown's house at Aldeen.  He was
then much the stronger for the long rest to his voice and chest, but his
friends thought him greatly changed and enfeebled, and he could not even
hold a conversation without bringing on painful symptoms.  Nevertheless,
he preached every Sunday but one at Calcutta until the 7th of January,
1811, when he took his last leave of his Anglo-Indian friends, and set
forth on his journey to lands almost entirely strange even to his
countrymen, in the hope of rendering the Scriptures available for the
study of the numerous Hindoos and Mahometans who understood Persian
better than any other literary language.  He went forth, in broken
health, and not only without a companion, but without even an attendant,
and for his further history we have only his own journals and letters to
depend upon.  He went by sea to Bombay with a captain who had been a
pupil of Swartz, and whose narratives delighted him much, and afterwards
obtained a passage in an English ship which was to cruise in the Persian
Gulf against Arab pirates.  Here he was allowed to have public prayers
every evening, and on the 22nd of May was landed at Bushire, where he was
lodged in the house of an English merchant with an Armenian wife.

The time for a journey to Persia was so far favourable that the Shah,
Fath' Ali, who had succeeded to the throne in 1794, owed England much
gratitude for having interfered to check the progress of Russian conquest
upon his northern frontier.  After Persia had long been closed from
foreign intercourse by the jealous and cruel Shah, Aga Mohammed, Fath'
Ali, a comparatively enlightened prince in the prime of life, willingly
entertained envoys and travellers from European courts, and Sir Gore
Ouseley was resident at Shiraz as British Ambassador.  Yet it was not
considered safe for a Frank to travel through Persia without an Oriental
dress, and, accordingly, Martyn had to provide himself with the tall
conical cap of black Tartar lambskin, baggy blue trousers, red boots, and
a chintz coat, allowing his beard and moustache to grow, and eating rice
by handfuls from the general dish.  Meantime he was hospitably
entertained, the Armenian ladies came in a body to kiss his hand, and the
priest placed him beside the altar in church, and incensed him four times
over, for which he was not grateful on being told "it was for the honour
of our order."

An English officer joined company with him, and a muleteer undertook
their transport to Shiraz.  It was a terrible journey up the parching
mountain paths of Persia, where Alexander's army had suffered so much,
with the sun glaring down upon them, never, in that rainless belt around
the Persian Gulf, tempered by a cloud.  They travelled only by night, and
encamped by day, sometimes without a tree to spread their tents under.
The only mode of existing was to wrap the head in a wet cloth, and the
body in all the heavy clothing to be had, to prevent the waste of
moisture; but even thus Martyn says his state was "a fire within my head,
my skin like a cinder, the pulse violent."  The thermometer rose to 126
degrees in the middle of the day, and came down to about 100 degrees in
the evening.  When exhausted with fever and sleeplessness, but unable to
touch food, it was needful to mount, and, in a half-dead state of
sleepiness, be carried by the sure-footed mountain pony up steep ascents,
and along the verge of giddy precipices, with a general dreamy sense that
it was magnificent scenery for any one who was in a bodily condition to
admire it.

Swift clear streams and emerald valleys began to refresh the travellers
as they rose into the higher land above the arid region; and, after one
twenty-four hours' halt in a sort of summer-house, where Henry Martyn was
too ill to move till he had had a few hours of sleep, they safely arrived
at the mountain-city of Shiraz, where he was kindly received by Jaffier
Ali Khan, a Persian gentleman to whom he had brought letters of
introduction.

Persia, as is well known, has a peculiar intellectual character of its
own.  Descended from the Indo-European stock, and preserved from total
enervation by their mountain air, the inhabitants have, even under Islam,
retained much of the vivacity, fire, and poetry inherent in the Aryan
nature.  Their taste for beauty, especially in form and colour, has
always been exquisite; their delight in gardens, in music, and poetry has
had a certain refinement, and with many terrible faults--in especial
falsehood and cruelty, the absence of the Turkish stolidity, the Arab
wildness, and the Hindoo pride and indolence--has always made them an
attractive people.  Their Mahommedanism, too, is of a different form from
that of the Arab and Turk.  Theirs is the schismatical sect of Ali, which
is less rigid, and affords more scope for the intellect and fancy, and it
has thrown off a curious body called the Soofees, a sort of philosophers
in relation to Islam.  The name may be either really taken from the Greek
_Sophos_, wise, or else comes from the Persian _Soof_, purity.  The
Soofees profess to be continually in search of truth, and seem, for the
most part, to rest upon a general belief in an all-pervading Creator,
with a spirit diffused through all His works.  Like their (apparent)
namesakes of old, they revel in argument, and delight to tell or to hear
some new thing.

Thus, Jaffier Ali Khan, who belonged to this sect, made the English padre
welcome; and his brother, Seid Ali, whose title of Mirza shows him to
have been a Scribe, undertook to assist in the translation, while
Moollahs and students delighted to come and hold discussions with him;
and very vain and unprofitable logomachies he found them, whether with
Soofee, Mahometan, or Jew.  But the life, on the whole, was interesting,
since he was fulfilling his most important object of providing a
trustworthy and classical version of the Scriptures, such as might
adequately express their meaning, and convey a sense of their beauty of
language and force of expression to the scholarly and fastidious
Oriental.

He made friends in the suite of the Ambassador, Sir Gore Ouseley, whose
house he ministered on Sunday, and he was presented by him to the heir to
the throne, Prince Abbas Mirza.  He had, by way of Court dress, to wear a
pair of red cloth stockings and high-heeled shoes, and was marched up
through the great court of the palace, where a hundred fountains began to
play the moment the Ambassador entered.  The Prince sat on the ground in
his hall of audience, and all his visitors sat in a line with their hats
on, but he conversed with no one but the Ambassador, looking so gentle
and amiable that Mr. Martyn could hardly believe that the tyrannical acts
reported of him could be true.

In the summer heat, Jaffier Ali pitched a tent for him in a garden
outside the walls of Shiraz, where he worked with much enjoyment, "living
among clusters of grapes, by the side of a clear stream," and sitting
under the shade of an orange-tree.  From thence he made an expedition to
see the ruins of Persepolis, greatly to the perplexity of his escort,
who, after repeatedly telling him that the place was uninhabited,
concluded that he had come thither to drink brandy in secret!

On the New Year's Day of 1812 Martyn wrote in his journal: "The present
year will probably be a perilous one, but my life is of little
consequence, whether I live to finish the Persian New Testament, or do
not.  I look back with pity and shame on my former self, and on the
importance I then attached to my life and labours.  The more I see of my
own works, the more I am ashamed of them.  Coarseness and clumsiness mar
all the works of men.  I am sick when I look at man, and his wisdom, and
his doings, and am relieved only by reflecting that we have a city whose
builder and maker is God.  The least of _His_ works is refreshing to look
at.  A dried leaf or a straw makes me feel myself in good company.
Complacency and admiration take the place of disgust."

On the 24th of February he finished his Persian New Testament, and in six
weeks more his translation of the Psalms.  His residence in Persia had
lasted just a year, and, though direct missionary work had not been
possible to him there, he had certainly inspired his coadjutor, Mirza
Seid Ali, with a much higher morality and with something very like faith.
On one of the last days before his leaving Shiraz, Seid Ali said
seriously, "Though a man had no other religious society, I suppose he
might, with the aid of the Bible, live alone with God."  It was to this
solitude that Martyn left him, not attempting apparently to induce him to
give up anything for the sake of embracing Christianity.  Death would
probably have been the consequence of joining the Armenian Church in
Persia, but why did Martyn's teaching stop at inward faith instead of
insisting on outward confession, the test fixed by the Saviour Himself?

On the 24th of May, Mr. Martyn and another English clergyman set out to
lay his translation before the Shah, who was in his camp at Tebriz.  There
they were admitted to the presence of the Vizier, before whom two
Moollahs, the most ignorant and discourteous whom he had met in Persia,
were set to argue with the English priest.  The Vizier mingled in the
discussion, which ended thus: "You had better say God is God, and Mahomet
is His prophet."  "God is God," repeated Henry Martyn, "and JESUS is the
Son of God."

"He is neither born nor begets," cried the Moollahs; and one said, "What
will you say when your tongue is burnt out for blasphemy?"

He had offended against the Mohammedan doctrine most strictly held; and,
knowing this well, he had kept back the confession of the core of the
true faith till to withhold it longer would have been a denial of his
Lord.  After all, he was not allowed to see the Shah without the
Ambassador to present him, and descended again to Sultania--a painful
journey, from which he brought a severe ague and fever, through which he
was nursed by Sir Gore and Lady Ouseley.

As soon as he had recovered, he decided on making his way to
Constantinople, and thence to England, where he hoped to recruit his
health and, it might be, induce Lydia to accompany him back to India.  His
last letter to her was written from Tebriz on the 28th of August,
dreading illness on the journey, but still full of hope.  In that letter,
too, he alludes to Sabat as the greatest tormentor he had known, but
warns her against mentioning to others that this "star of the East," as
Claudius Buchanan had called him, had been a disappointment.  His diary
is carried on as far as Tocat.  The last entry is on the 6th of October.
It closes thus: "Oh! when shall time give place to eternity?  When shall
appear that new heaven and earth wherein dwelleth righteousness?  There,
there shall in nowise enter in anything that defileth; none of that
wickedness which has made men worse than wild beasts, none of those
corruptions which add still more to the miseries of mortality, shall be
seen or heard of any more."

No more is known of Henry Martyn save that he died at Tocat on the 16th
of that same October of 1812, without a European near.  It is not even
known whether his death were caused by fever, or by the plague, which was
raging at the place.  He died a pilgrim's solitary death, and lies in an
unknown grave in a heathen land.

What fruit has his mission zeal left?  It has left one of the
soul-stirring examples that have raised up other labourers.  It has left
the Persian Bible for the blessing of all to whom that language is
familiar.  It left, for the time, a strong interest in Christianity in
Shiraz.  It left in India many English quickened to a sense of religion;
and it assuredly left Sheik Salah a true convert.  Baptized afterwards by
the name of Abdul Messeh, or Servant of the Messiah, he became the
teacher of no less than thirty-nine Hindoos whom he brought to Holy
Baptism.  Such were the reapings in Paradise that Henry Martyn has won
from his thirty-one years' life and his seeming failure.




CHAPTER V.  WILLIAM CAREY AND JOSHUA MARSHMAN, THE SERAMPORE
MISSIONARIES.


The English subjects and allies in India had hitherto owed their scanty
lessons in Christianity to Germans or Danes, and the first of our own
countrymen who attempted the work among them was, to the shame of our
Government be it spoken, a volunteer from among the humblest classes, of
no more education than falls to the lot of the child of a village
schoolmaster and parish clerk.

In 1761, when Schwartz was just beginning to make his way in Tanjore,
William Carey was born in the village of Paulerspury, in
Northamptonshire.  He showed himself a diligent scholar in his father's
little school, and had even picked up some Latin before, at fourteen
years old, he was apprenticed to a shoemaker at the neighbouring village
of Hackleton.  Still he had an earnest taste for study; and, falling in
with a commentary on the New Testament full of Greek words, he copied
them all out, and carried them for explanation to a man living in his
native village, who had thrown away a classical education by his
dissipated habits.

The young shoemaker, thus struggling on to instruct himself, fell under
the notice of Thomas Scott, the author of the Commentary on the Bible,
and it was from him that Carey first received any strong religious
impressions.  Scott was a Baptist; and young Carey, who had grown up in
the days of the deadness of the Church, was naturally led to his
teacher's sect, and began to preach at eighteen years of age.  He always
looked back with humiliation to the inexperienced performances of his
untried zeal at that time of life; but he was doing his best to study,
working hard at grammar, and every morning reading his portion of the
Scripture for the day in Hebrew, Greek, and Latin, as well as English.
Well might Mr. Scott say, as he looked at the little cobbler's shop,
"That was Mr. Carey's college;" for all this time he was working at his
trade, and, on his master's death, took the business, and married the
daughter of the house before he was twenty.

It was an unlucky marriage, for she was a dull, ignorant woman, with no
feeling for her husband's high aims or superior powers, and the business
was not a flourishing one; but he never manifested anything but warm
affection and tenderness towards this very uncompanionable person, and
perhaps, like most men of low station and unusual intellect, had no idea
that more could be expected of a wife.

Perhaps, in spite of his kindness, Mrs. Carey had to endure the disasters
common to the wives of struggling great men: for William Carey's shoes
were not equal to his sermons, and his congregation were too poor even to
raise means to clothe him decently.  His time was spent in long tramps to
sell shoes he had made and to obtain the mending of others, and,
meantime, he was constantly suffering from fever and ague.

In 1786, when in his twenty-fifth year, he obtained a little Baptist
chapel and the goodwill of a school at Moulton; but as a minister he only
received 16_l._ per annum, and at the same time proved, as many have done
before him, that aptness to learn does not imply aptness to teach.  He
could not keep order, and his boys first played tricks with him and then
deserted, till he came nearly to starvation, and had to return to his
last and his leather.

Yet it was the geography lessons of this poor little school that first
found the way to the true chord of Carey's soul.  Those broad tracts of
heathenism that struck his eye in the map, and the summary of nations and
numbers professing false religions, were to a mind like his no mere items
of information to be driven into dull brains, but were terrible realities
representing souls perishing for lack of knowledge.  Cook's Voyages fell
into his hands and fed the growing impulse.  He hung up in his shop a
large map, composed of several sheets pasted together, and gazed at it
when at his work, writing against each country whatever information he
had been able to collect as to the number of the inhabitants, their
religion, government, or habits, also as to the climate and natural
history.

After he had for some time thus dwelt on the great longing of his heart,
he ventured on speaking it forth at a meeting of ministers at
Northampton, when there was a request that some topic might be named for
discussion.  Carey then modestly rose and proposed "the duty of
Christians to attempt the spread of the Gospel among the heathen."  The
words were like a shock.  The senior, who acted as president, sprang up
in displeasure, and shouted out, "Young man, sit down!  When God pleases
to convert the heathen, He will do it without your aid or mine."  And
another, namely Mr. Fuller, who afterwards became the sheet anchor of the
Missions, describes himself as having thought of the words of the noble
at Jezreel, "If the Lord should make windows in heaven, might such a
thing be?"

Silenced by his brethren, Carey persevered, and proceeded to write what
he had not been allowed to speak.  A Birmingham tradesman of the name of
Pott, an opulent man, was induced by his earnestness to begin a
subscription for the publication of Carey's pamphlet, which showed
wonderful acquaintance with the state of the countries it mentioned, and
manifested talent of a remarkable order.  In truth, Carey had been
endowed with that peculiar missionary gift, facility for languages.  A
friend gave him a large folio in Dutch, and was amazed by his returning
shortly after with a translation into English of one of the sermons which
the book contained.

He was becoming more known, and an invitation from a congregation at
Leicester, in 1789, placed him in somewhat more comfortable
circumstances, and brought him into contact with persons better able to
enter into his views; but it was three years more before he could either
publish his pamphlet or take the very first steps towards the
establishment of a Society for Promoting the Conversion of the Heathen.

The first endeavour to collect a subscription resulted in 13_l._ 2_s._
6_d._  This was at Kettering, and at the same time Carey offered to
embark for any country the Society might appoint.  The committee,
however, waited to collect more means, but they found it almost
impossible to awaken people's minds.  At Birmingham, indeed, 70_l._ was
collected, but in London the dissenting pastors would have nothing to do
with the cause; and the only minister of any denomination who showed any
sympathy was the Rev. John Newton, that giant of his day, who had in his
youth been captain of a slaver, and well knew what were the dark places
of the earth.  The objections made at that time were perfectly
astounding.  In the General Assembly of the Kirk of Scotland, several
Presbyterian ministers pronounced it to be "highly preposterous" to
attempt to spread the Gospel among barbarous nations, extolled the
"simple virtues" of the untutored savage, and even declared that the
funds of Missionary Societies might be turned against Government.

In India itself, the endeavours of the Danish settlement at Tranquebar
had little affected Bengal, but a few of the more religious men at
Calcutta had begun to be shocked at the utter oblivion of all Christian
faith and morality by their own countrymen, and the absolute favour shown
to the grossest idolatry of the heathen.  Charles Grant, a member of the
Board of Trade at Calcutta, was the foremost of these, and on his return
to England brought the subject under the notice of that great champion of
Christ, William Wilberforce.  The charter of the East India Company was
renewed from time to time; and when it was brought before Parliament,
Wilberforce proposed the insertion of clauses enforcing the maintenance
of chaplains, churches, and schools, so that a branch of the Church might
take root in Hindostan.

This scheme, however, excited violent and selfish alarm in the directors,
chiefly men who had made their fortunes in India, and after living there
for years under no restraint were come home to enjoy their riches.  They
believed that the natives would take umbrage at the least interference
with their religion, and that their own wealth and power, so highly
prized, would be lost if idolatry were not merely tolerated, but
flattered and supported.  The souls of men and the honour of God were
nothing to them; they were furious with indignation, and procured from
the House of Commons the omission of the clauses.  There was another hope
in the Lords; but though Archbishop Moore and the Bishop of London spoke
in favour of the articles, the Bishop of St. David's said one nation had
no right to impose its faith on another.  None of the other Bishops
stirred, and the charter passed without one line towards keeping
Englishmen Christians, or making Hindoos such!  The lethargy of the
Church of the eighteenth century was so heavy that not only had such a
son as Carey been allowed to turn from her pale in search of earnest
religion, but while she was forced to employ foreigners, bred up in the
Lutheran communion, as the chaplains and missionaries of her Society for
the Propagation of the Gospel, he was going forth unaccredited as a
volunteer in the cause which her paralysed efforts could not support!

For it was to India that the minds of the little Baptist Society were
turned by the return of one John Thomas, who seems to have been the
Gaultier _Sans Avoir_ of this crusade.  He was Baptist by education, and
having gone out as a surgeon to Calcutta, had been so shocked at the
state of things as to begin to preach on his own account, but he was a
hot tempered, imprudent man, and quarrelled with everybody, so as to make
the cause still more unpopular with the East Indians.  Yet this strange,
wild character had a wonderful power of awakening enthusiasm.  He had
come home in the same ship with one Wilson, whose history was a marvel in
itself.  He had been made prisoner by the French during the Carnatic war,
and finding that the captives were to be delivered up to Hyder Ali, he
resolved to escape, leapt forty feet from his prison window, and swam the
river Coleroon, in happy ignorance that it was infested with alligators;
but then going up an eminence to judge of his bearings, he was seen,
secured, and stripped naked, and, with his hands tied behind him, was
driven before Hyder Ali.  His account of having crossed the Coleroon was
treated as a lie.  "No mortal man," said the natives, "had ever swum the
river; did he but dip a finger in, he would be seized by the alligators,"
but when evidence proved the fact, the Nabob held up his hands and cried,
"This is the man of God."  Nevertheless Wilson was chained to a soldier,
and, like the well-known David Baird, John Lindsay, and many others, was
driven naked, barefoot, and wounded, 500 miles to Seringapatam; where,
loaded with irons of thirty-two pounds weight, and chained in couples,
they were thrust into a "black hole," and fed so scantily that Wilson
declared that at sight of food his jaws snapped together of themselves.
Many a time in the morning corpses were unchained, and the survivors
coupled up together again.  Wilson was one of the thirty-one who lived to
be released after twenty-two months, in a frightful state of exhaustion
and disease.  Afterwards, when commanding a ship at Bencoolen, every
European under his command died, and he alone escaped, yet all this time
he was an absolute infidel; and, when having made a fortune, he was
returning home, he appeared so utterly hardened against all the arguments
that the zealous Thomas could bring in favour of Christianity, as to make
him in despair remark to the chief officer that he should have more hope
of converting the Lascar sailors than of Captain Wilson.

However, the words were penetrating the hitherto ignorant or obdurate
heart, and preparing it to attend to further instruction.  After some
years of comfort at home, on hearing of plans for a mission to the South
Sea Islands, Wilson resolved to offer himself as a free and spontaneous
fellow-worker, ready to sacrifice his whole self in the great cause!

Meantime Thomas's fervid account of the needs of India had made the
infant Society propose to send him out with one colleague; and William
Carey, now thirty-three years of age, offered himself as a fellow-worker.

The notion was terrible to Mrs. Carey, who flatly refused to go; but her
husband decided on leaving her at home, and only taking his eldest boy,
then about ten or eleven years old.  An application was made to the Board
of Directors for a licence to the two missionaries to preach, and for a
passage in one of the Company's vessels; but when Mr. Grant learnt that
Thomas was one of them, he refused to assist in promoting their request,
though he undertook to do what he could for Carey alone.  However, the
Board were certain to refuse them a passage; not because they were
unordained or dissenters, but simply because they wished to be Christian
teachers.  A captain with whom Thomas had sailed as surgeon, offered to
smuggle them over without permission; but while his ship was preparing,
they had to wait in the Isle of Wight, and Thomas was continually in
danger of being arrested by his creditors, and was constantly obliged to
hide himself, till Carey became ashamed of such an associate.  At last,
just as they were on board, with 250_l._ paid for their passage, and the
goods in which the money for their support had been invested, the captain
received a letter warning him that an information was about to be laid
against him at the India House for taking out people without permission.
Not only missionaries, but Europeans of any kind, not in the public
service, were forbidden to set foot on the Company's territories without
special licence, and the danger was so great that the captain set them
ashore at once; and poor Carey beheld with tears the Indian fleet sailing
from Portsmouth without him.

However, by vigorous exertion, Thomas found that a Danish ship would be
lying in the Downs, on her way to the East Indies, and that a passage in
her would cost 100_l._ for a full-grown person and 50_l._ for a child.
Posting down to Northamptonshire, Carey made a desperate effort to
persuade his wife to come with him, and succeeded at last, on condition
that her sister, Miss Old, should come too.  There were now five
children, and the passage-money for the whole party amounted to 600_l._,
of which their utmost efforts, including the sale of all the little
property the Careys possessed, could only raise half.

Thomas, who really had a generous spirit, then arranged that the whole
party should be squeezed into two cabins, and that Mr. and Mrs. Carey
alone should be treated as first-class passengers.  They were taken on
these terms; but the captain, an Englishman, naturalized in Denmark, gave
Mr. Thomas and Miss Old each a cabin, made them dine at his own table,
and treated them all most kindly.

Thus they safely arrived at Calcutta; but this was only the beginning of
troubles.  The goods, the sale of which was intended to maintain the
mission, were entrusted to Thomas, and realized next to nothing; and
Carey was indebted to the goodwill of a rich Hindoo for a miserable house
in an unhealthy suburb of Calcutta, where he lodged his unfortunate
family.  They had a great deal of illness, and he was able to do little
but study the language and endeavour to translate the Bible into
Bengalee.  Several moves made their state rather worse than better,
until, in 1795, a gentleman in the Civil Service, Mr. George Udney,
offered Carey the superintendence of an indigo factory of his own at
Mudnabutty, where he hoped both to obtain a maintenance, and to have
great opportunities of teaching the natives in his employment.

Disaster as usual followed him: the spot was unhealthy, the family had
fevers, one of the children died, and the mother lost her reason from
grief, so that she had to be kept under restraint for the rest of her
life.  Nor was Carey a better indigo-planter than a shoe-maker; the
profits of the factory dwindled, and the buildings fell into ruin; the
seasons were bad, and in three years Mr. Udney found himself obliged to
give up the speculation; but in the meantime, though Carey had not been
able to produce much effect on the natives, he had completed the
preparation of the implement to which he most trusted for his work, a
translation of the New Testament; and, moreover, had been presented by
good Mr. Udney with a wooden printing-press with Bengalee type.  The
wonderful-looking thing was set up in one of the side rooms at the
factory, and was supposed by the natives to be the idol of the Europeans!

In the meantime he opened a school, and preached to the natives in all
the villages round, but without making much, if any, impression; indeed
he was so disheartened, that he did not even teach his own children.  The
chief benefit of his residence in India was at present the example he
set, and the letters he sent home, which bore in on the minds of others
the necessities of their brethren in the East, and brought aid in
subscriptions and, what was still more needed, men.

In 1799, four members of the Baptist communion offered themselves to go
out as missionaries to India, and two of these were men who left most
important traces behind them: William Ward, who had been a printer and
editor of a newspaper at Derby, and had seen Mr. Carey before his going
out to India, and Joshua Marshman.  This latter was the person who, above
all others, gave the struggling mission the strength, consistency, and
prudence which it wanted.  The descendant of an old Puritan officer on
the one side, and of Huguenot refugees on the other, he was brought up in
strict Baptist principles by his father, who was one of the cloth weavers
then inhabiting Wiltshire in great numbers.  As a child, he was
passionately fond of reading, and his huge appetite for books and great
memory made him a wonder in his village.  A London bookseller, who was
visiting the place, heard of this clever lad, and took him into his shop
as an errand boy; but Joshua found that his concern was more with the
outside of books than the inside, and came home, at the end of five
months, to his father's loom.

He was a steady lad, with no passions save for reading and quiet
heartfelt religion; but though he had never been guilty of any serious
fault, the Baptist body to which his family belonged considered he had
too much "head-knowledge" of Christianity to have much "heart-knowledge"
of its truths; and for that reason only, and their distrust and contempt
of human learning, refused to admit him to baptism.

However, this was no obstacle either to his marrying the daughter of a
minister of his own persuasion, or taking the mastership of a school at
Bristol, where he found less narrow-minded co-religionists, and was
baptized by them in 1734, when twenty-six years of age.  He was a
successful schoolmaster, and was likewise able to join the classes at
Bristol Academy, where he studied thoroughly Latin, Greek, Hebrew, and
Syriac.  His circumstances were prosperous and rapidly improving when,
after five years of great comfort at Bristol, his mind became so imbued
with the sense of the need that some one should assist Carey, that he
offered himself, together with Ward and two other young men, one of whom
he had recently brought back to Christianity from Tom Paine's infidel
doctrines.  Again his "human learning" stood in his way.  The honest,
ignorant men who were working so earnestly, fancied it connected with
Pharisaism, and had little idea that the Brahmin philosophy was as hard
to deal with as the Greek.  They accepted him, but with hesitation, and a
passage for the whole party, including wives and children, was taken in
an American vessel.

Mr. Charles Grant advised them not to attempt to land at Calcutta, where
they would probably be at once arrested and sent home again, but to land
at the Danish colony of Serampore, and there wait for an opportunity of
joining Carey at Mudnabutty.

Serampore is on the Hooghly, sixteen miles above Calcutta, and here they
found themselves on the 13th of October, 1799, in a town pleasantly
situated, beautiful to look at, and full of a mixed population of Danes,
Dutch, English, and natives of all hues.  They were preparing to set
forth for Mudnabutty when, on the fifth day after their arrival, they
were informed that the British Government demanded that they should be
immediately re-embarked and sent home again, whilst a local English
paper, having never heard of Baptists, concluded that the word was a
mistake for Papists, and announced the arrival of four Popish priests,
emissaries of Buonaparte.  The Danish governor, Colonel Bie, was resolved
to stand his ground and not deliver them up; but they were prevented from
setting foot upon the Company's territory, and the unwholesome, damp,
little house that they were obliged to take while waiting at Serampore
proved fatal to one of their number, the young man whom Marshman had
rescued from infidelity, who died of chill and fever before his
inexperienced associates were aware of his danger.

Another difficulty in the way of joining Carey and assisting in the
printing of his translations, was that papers which were thought
dangerous to the British power had lately been issued, and the Marquis
Wellesley, who was then in the midst of his great war with Tippoo Sahib,
was resolved not to allow any printing to be carried on except in
Calcutta, where it could be under the eye of his officials.  However, he
had no objection to the establishment of mission, school, or press on the
Danish ground, and Colonel Bie was only desirous to keep them there; so
it was decided to send Ward alone, with a Danish passport, to visit Carey
at Mudnabutty, and confer with him upon his removal to Serampore, and the
establishment of a mission settlement there.

All doubt was removed, while this consultation was in progress, by
finding that the jealous Anglo-Indians were prepared to arrest any
missionary whom they caught upon their ground; and Carey's five years'
covenant as an indigo planter being now run out, his supposed idol was
taken down and packed up, and his four boys and poor insane wife removed
to Serampore, where all their present capital was laid out in the
purchase of a piece of ground and the construction of the habitations of
the little colony.  The expenses were to be defrayed from a common stock,
each missionary in turn superintending the domestic arrangements for a
month, all the household dining together at one table, and only a small
allowance being made to each head of a family for pocket money.

Six families were here united, and only 200_l._ was left to support them
for the six months until remittances could be obtained from England; but
all were used to cottage fare, and were not so dependent on servants as
most Europeans in India.  A piece of land attached to the house became,
under Mr. Carey's care, a beautiful botanic garden.  The press was set up
under the care of Ward, and on the 18th of March, 1800, the first sheets
of the Gospels in Bengalee were struck off.  Mr. and Mrs. Marshman opened
two boarding schools for European children for the maintenance of the
mission, and their great ability in tuition rendered these so profitable
as to become its main support.  This was soon followed by another school
for the natives, to which they eagerly thronged.

Meanwhile the missionaries went out, singly or in pairs, into the streets
or the neighbourhood of the heathen temples, and attracted a crowd by
singing hymns in Bengalee, and then preached to them, offering to receive
any inquiries at the mission-house.  Carey's time was almost entirely
taken up in hearing and answering these questions; but, as usual, the
ties of family, society, and custom almost always proved too strong to be
broken through even by the conviction of the truth of Christianity.  Ram-
bosoo, Mr. Carey's first Hindoo friend, was like Serfojee, ready to do
anything on behalf of Christianity except to embrace it openly himself.

Mr. Thomas had meantime engaged himself as superintendent of a sugar
factory at Beerbhoom, whence he came to visit his brethren at Serampore,
bringing with him one of his workmen named Fukier, whom he believed that
he had converted.  The man gave so good an account of his faith that the
missionaries deemed him fit for baptism, and rejoiced in him as the first-
fruits of seven years' labour; but he went home to take leave of his
friends, and either they prevailed on him to give up his intention, or
privately murdered him, for he never was heard of again.

However, a carpenter of Serampore named Krishnu, who had been brought
into the mission-house with a dislocated arm for Mr. Thomas to set, was
so struck by what he heard there that he, with his wife and daughter and
his brother Goluk, were all willing to give up their caste and be
baptized.

There was much, however, to render the joy of this day far from being
unmixed.  Poor John Thomas, after his seventeen years of effort, fitful,
indeed, but sincere, was so overjoyed at this confession of faith that he
became frantic, and in three days was raving violently.  Meanwhile, the
native mob, infuriated by hearing that Krishnu and Goluk had renounced
their caste, rose to the number of two thousand, and dragged them to the
magistrate, but found nothing to accuse them of.  The magistrate released
them, but they were brought back immediately after, on the plea that the
person to whom Krishnu's daughter had been betrothed had a claim upon
her.  This, however, the authorities disallowed, and they even gave the
missionaries a guard to secure them from any interruption during the rite
of Baptism, which, by the customs of their sect, was necessarily in
public, and by immersion; but there was serious consultation whether it
were fit to use the Ganges, so superstitiously adored by the natives, for
the purpose.  Some argued that the Hindoos might think that the
sacredness of Gunga was thus recognized, others that they would consider
that the Christians had defiled it, and it was finally resolved to use it
like any other stream.  In the meantime, Goluk and the two women had been
so much terrified that they would not come forward; and on the day of the
baptism, Sunday, the 26th of December, 1800, the only two candidates were
Krishnu and Felix Carey, the missionary's own eldest son.  William Carey
walked from the chapel to the ghat, or steps leading to the river, with
his son on one side and the Hindoo on the other; but the court they had
to pass resounded with the frightful imprecations of poor Mr. Thomas in
one room, echoed by screams from Mrs. Carey in the other.

At the ghat the Danish governor himself, together with several of his
countrymen, some Englishmen, a large body of Portuguese, and a throng of
natives, Hindoo and Mahometan, were waiting, and before all these the
baptism was performed by Mr. Carey.  All were silent as if overawed, and
Colonel Bie even shed tears.

The next day there was not a scholar in the native school, but the love
of learning soon filled it again.  Even down till quite recently, when
the bands of attachment to the old heathenism have become much loosened,
every open conversion continued to empty the schools, though never for
long at a time.

The women soon recovered from their alarm and were baptized, and the
mission also gained over an influential Portuguese gentleman named
Fernandez, whom their tenets led them to view as in as much need of
conversion as the heathen.  He proved an active assistant, and for full
thirty years laboured in their cause.

In the meantime Lord Wellesley had been engaged in founding the college
at Fort William, Calcutta, for the training of young Europeans for the
civil service in the knowledge of the numerous native tongues, laws, and
customs with which they had to deal--and which are as various as they are
important--not only practically, but philosophically.  The only person at
that time in Bengal qualified to teach the Bengalese language was the
Northamptonshire cobbler, who had acquired it for the love of God and the
spread of Gospel light!

His dissent was a disqualification for any of the higher offices of the
college, but the teachership was offered to him, with a salary of 500
rupees a month--absolute affluence compared with his original condition.
Yet he would not accept the post unless he were allowed still to be
regarded as a missionary.  No objection was made, and thus by his talent
and usefulness had Carey forced from the Government which had forbidden
him to set foot on their territories his recognition in the character he
had always claimed.  Even his private secular earnings he never regarded
as his own: this income, and that arising from Marshman's school, these
good men viewed as rendering their mission from henceforth independent,
and setting free the Society at home to support fresh ones.  Already the
accounts they sent home were stirring up many more subscribers, and the
commendations bestowed on them in the periodical accounts pained their
humility.  Ward wrote that it was like a public show: "Very fine
missionaries to be seen here!  Walk in, brethren and sisters, walk in!"

It was happy for the missionaries that their ground had thus been won,
for the war with Denmark occasioned Serampore to be occupied by British
troops early in 1801, and this would, earlier in their career, infallibly
have led to their expulsion: but, as it was, they were allowed to proceed
exactly as they had done before.

Their most serious difficulties were at an end before poor Thomas, though
he had recovered from his brain fever, died of an attack of fever and
ague, after having done almost an equal amount of good and harm to his
cause by his excitable nature and entire want of balance.  Converts
continued from time to time to be gathered in: Goluk took courage after
waiting about two years, and a Brahmin named Krishnu-prisad trampled on
his brahminical cord or poita, and was baptized.  He was allowed to wear
it as a mark of distinction, but he gave it up voluntarily after three
years.  Moreover he broke through Indian prejudice by marrying the
daughter of Krishnu, the first convert, though of a caste far inferior to
his own.  This was the occasion of a happy little wedding feast, given
under a tree in front of the house of the bride's father, when a hymn
composed by Krishnu was sung, and native dishes served up in Eastern
style, after which the entertainment concluded with prayer.  Only the
next week, in contrast to the devotion that blessed these family ties,
three Hindoo widows were burnt on a pile not far from the mission-house!

In still greater contrast was the first funeral among the converts of the
mission-house--that of a man named Gokool.  The native custom is that the
dead are always carried to burial by persons of their own caste, and it
is intense defilement for one of another caste to touch the body.
Christians were always carried by the lowest class of the Portuguese, who
had fallen into so degraded a state that they were usually known by their
own word for poor, "pobre," and were despised by the whole population.
They were generally drunk and disorderly, and their rudeness,
irreverence, and quarrels were a scandal to the solemn occasion.  Mr.
Marshman, who was in charge of the mission at the time in Mr. Carey's
absence, had some difficulty in persuading the Hindoo converts that it
was no shame, but a charitable work, to bear a brother's body to its last
resting-place, even though they were seen doing the work of the despised
pobres.  Accordingly he resolved to set the example, and the corpse of
the convert, within a coffin covered with white muslin, was carried to
the burial-ground by Marshman, Felix Carey, a baptized Brahmin, and a
baptized Hindoo, all the procession singing a Bengalee Christian hymn.

The most remarkable events that befell the Serampore Mission from this
time were either domestic, or related to their connection with the
College at Fort William, and the sanction they received from Government.
Lord Wellesley went home in 1805, Colonel Bie died the same year, and
these were most serious losses to the cause of the Serampore mission.
Lord Wellesley had followed his own judgment, and carried things with a
high hand, often against the will of the East India Company, and there
was a strong desire to reverse his policy.  His successor, Lord
Cornwallis, died two months after landing, and Sir George Barlow, who
carried on the government in the interregnum, though a good man, had not
force enough to withstand the dislike of the Anglo-Indians to the
mission.  Mr. Ward made an attempt at Calcutta to preach in Hindoo in a
chapel, the ground of which had been purchased by the missionaries, but
as he walked through the streets the people shouted, "That's the Hindoo
padre; why dost thou destroy the caste of the people?"  And when, two
Sundays later, a preacher of Brahmin birth appeared, there were loud
cries of indignation.  "O vagabond," cried one man, "why didst thou not
come to my house?  I would have given thee a handful of rice rather than
that thou shouldst have become a Feringhee!"  In spite of these cries,
however, the chapel was thronged, until, after the third Sunday, when an
order came forth from the magistrates, forbidding the missionaries either
to preach, allow their converts to preach, distribute tracts, or even
argue with the natives--or in anyway "interfere with their prejudices"--in
Calcutta; and two new missionaries, named Chater and Robinson, who had
come out without a licence, were prohibited from proceeding to Serampore.

Considering that these orders emanated only from a Provisional Government
during an interregnum, and that there was every hope that they might be
reversed by the next Governor-General, the missionaries resolved to
submit to them for the time, and to abstain from working in Calcutta.
Early in the year 1806, however, the animosity of the English East
Indians was increased by a mutiny that broke out among the Sepoys at
Vellore, in the Madras Presidency, in consequence of some regulations as
to their dress, which they resented as being supposed to assimilate them
to Europeans.  The English colonel and all his garrison were massacred,
and, though the mutineers were surrounded and destroyed, great alarm
prevailed.  The discontent of the Sepoys was attributed to their
displeasure at the spread of Christianity, and it was even averred that
the lives of the English in India could only be preserved by the recall
of all the missionaries!

At Calcutta, Sir George Barlow sent to forbid Mr. Carey and his
colleagues from making any further attempts at conversion, and for a
short time they were entirely restricted to the Danish territory, while
Chater and Robinson were ordered to embark for England, and were only
kept by their appeal to the flag of Denmark.

Upon this Mr. Chater proceeded to Rangoon, an independent province, but
on the whole the current of opposition was diminishing.  Lord Wellesley
and Mr. Pitt had prevailed upon Government not to permit the College at
Fort William to be broken up, though it was reduced and remodelled.  Mr.
Carey was a gainer by the change, for he was promoted to a professorship,
with an increase of salary, which he said was "very good for the
mission."  He soon after received the diploma of a Doctor of Divinity
from an American University.

The head-quarters of the establishment continued to be at Serampore,
where the missionaries and their families still lived in common,
supported upon the proceeds of Mr. Carey's professorship, Mr. Marshman's
school, and likewise the subscriptions received from England.  Here were
their chapel, their schools, and their printing-press, from whence
emanated such books and tracts in Bengalee as could be useful for their
purpose, and likewise their great work, the translation of the
Scriptures, which Marshman and Carey were continually revising and
improving as their knowledge of the language became more critical.  Thence
Mr. Carey went to give instruction at Fort William, and thence the
preachers, as the opposition relaxed, went forth on expeditions into the
country to teach, argue, and persuade, without any very wide-spread
success, but still every year gaining a few converts--sometimes as many
as twenty--who, when they had given sufficient evidence of faith, were
always publicly baptized by immersion, according to the custom of the
sect, which indeed acknowledged no other form as valid, and re-baptized
such members of other communions as joined them.  Every missionary to the
East Indies, whether belonging to their own society or not, was certain
to visit and hold council with them, as the veterans of the Christian
army in India, and the men most experienced in the character and language
of the natives; they were the prime leaders and authorities in all that
concerned the various vernacular translations of the Scriptures, and
their example was as a trumpet-call to others to follow them in their
labours; while all the time the simplicity, humility, self-denial, and
activity of the men themselves remained unspoiled.

Wonderful, too, had been the effect produced by the stirring of the
sluggish waters of indifference.  The Society that had been with such
difficulty established at home, was numbering multitudes of subscribers
both in England and America; it had awakened a like spirit in other
sects, and whereas no dissenting minister in London had at first taken up
Carey's cause, it had become a scandal for a minister not to subscribe to
or promote missions to the heathen.  Missionary reports were everywhere
distributed, young men aspired to the work, and American Universities did
honour to the ability and scholarship of the pioneers of Serampore.

Mrs. Carey died on the 7th of December, 1807, having spent twelve years
in a state of constant melancholy and often raving insanity.  Poor woman!
she was from the first a victim to her husband's aspirations, which she
never understood.  There is something piteous in the cobbler's daughter
marrying the apprentice to keep on the business, and finding him a genius
and a hero on her hands, starving, being laughed at, and at last carried
off to a strange land and fatal climate, all without the least
comprehension or sympathy for the cause, and her mind failing before the
material prosperity came, which she might have regarded as compensation.

In 1807, when some progress had been made, the grant for the translation
of the Scriptures was withdrawn; but the superintendents resolved to
persevere on their own account, and at the same time to collect all the
information in their power respecting the Christians in India, so as to
be able to rouse the cold hearts at home to the perception that a real
work was in progress.  For this purpose, Dr. Claudius Buchanan, the
Provost of the College at Fort William, made an expedition of inquiry
among the various Christians, and his little book, "Christian
Researches," brought much before the public at home, of which they had
hitherto been ignorant.

Before his time the enormities of the worship of Jaghernauth, and the
horrors of the car, beneath which human victims threw themselves, had
hardly been realized; and his very effective style of writing brought
into full prominence the atrocities of the Suttee, or burning of widows
on the funeral pile, a custom with which it was supposed to be impossible
to interfere, but which has been proved to be entirely a corrupt
practice, unsanctioned by any ancient law, only encouraged by the
Brahmins out of avarice.  Happily the present generation only knows of
these atrocities as almost proverbial expressions, but when the century
came in they were in full force.

It was Buchanan, too, who first revealed to the English the existence of
those Nestorian Christians of St. Thomas, on the coast of Malabar, who
had probably had no ecclesiastical intercourse with this country since
the embassy of King Alfred, nine hundred years before.  He also brought
into public notice the effect of Swartz's labours, by describing a visit
that he made to Tanjore, where he had a most kind reception from
Serfojee, and greatly admired the numerous charitable foundations of that
beneficent Rajah.  He also heard the services held in three languages in
Swartz's church, and was greatly struck, when the Tamul sermon began, by
hearing a universal scratching and grating all round him.  This was
caused, he found, by the iron pens upon the palmyra leaves upon which
most of the native congregation were taking notes, writing nearly as fast
as the minister spoke.  He also heard Sattianadem--now a white-haired old
man--preach on the "Marvellous Light," and he felt that a great man had
verily left his impress on these districts.

Carey's second marriage was curiously different from his first.  It was
to a lady named Charlotte Rumohr, of noble extraction, belonging to a
family of high rank, in the duchy of Schleswig.  She was small and
slightly deformed, but of good abilities; she had been highly educated,
and being generally a prisoner on a couch, she had read deeply in many
languages.  She had come out to India in search of a warm climate, and
residing at Serampore, had fallen under the influence of the
missionaries, and had some years previously been admitted to their
congregation by immersion.  For the first time, Dr. Carey now enjoyed a
really happy home, with a lady equal to conversing with him after the
labours of the day.

But this mission, though subsisting for some years longer, hardly affords
many more events.  It was not without troubles.  At times came friendly
support; at others, opposition from the authorities--the committee at
home were sometimes ignorantly meddlesome, sometimes sordid in their fits
of economy; insufficiently tested fellow-labourers came out and failed;
promising converts fell away; the climate was one steady unrelaxing foe,
which took victims out of every family: but all these things were as the
dust of the highway, trials common to man, and only incident to the very
position that had been so wondrously achieved, since the day when the
poor Baptist cobbler was so peremptorily silenced for but venturing to
hint at the duty of converting the heathen.

Lord Hastings' government was far more friendly than any previous one,
and the few notable events that befell the community are quickly
numbered.  In 1821, they were visited by Swartz's pupil, Serfojee, who
was staying with the Governor-General, Lord Hastings, on his way to
Benares, whither, strange and sad to say, he was on pilgrimage, though
all the time showing full intellectual understanding of, and warm
external affection for, the Christian faith.  He talked English easily,
and showed much interest in all that was going on, but a heathen he still
remained.

This visit only preceded by a few weeks the death of Mrs. Carey, after
thirteen years' marriage, the happiest of Dr. Carey's life; but in
another year he married a widow of forty-five, who was ready to nurse his
now declining years.  That year 1822 was a year of much sorrow; the
cholera, said to have first appeared in 1817, became very virulent.  The
Hindoos viewed it as a visitation from the goddess of destruction, and
held services to propitiate it, and when that had passed away, a more
than usually fatal form of fever set in.  Krishnu-pal, the first convert,
who had for twenty years been a consistent Christian, was one of the
first to be taken away.  Dr. Carey himself, though exceedingly ill,
recovered his former state of health, and continued his arduous labours,
he being by this time the ablest philologist in India; but the little
band had come to the time of life when "the clouds return after the
rain," and in 1823 Mr. Ward died of cholera.  For twenty-three years had
the threefold cord between Carey, Marshman, and Ward, been unbroken.  They
had lived together like brothers, alike in aim and purposes, each
supplying what the other lacked; and the distress of the parting was
terrible, especially to Dr. Marshman, who at the time of his friend's
illness was suffering from an attack of deafness, temporary indeed, but
for some days total, so that he could only watch the final struggle
without hearing a single word.

He wrote as if he longed to be with those whose toils and sorrows were at
an end, but he still had much more to do.  In 1826, he visited England,
partly for the sake of pleading with the Society at home, first begun on
so small a scale by Carey, but which now numbered many members and
disposed of large sums.  The committee, however, were often hard to deal
with.  There were among them many men of good intentions, but without
breadth of views, and used to small economies.  They listened to false
reports, censured without sufficient information, pinched their missions,
and dictated the management, so that to deal with them was but a vexation
of spirit.  Indeed, such annoyances are inseparable from the very fact of
the supplies and the government being in the hands of a body at a
distance from the scene of action, and destitute of personal experience
of the needs.

After much argument, the matter ended in the Serampore mission being
separated from the General Society, as indeed it had become nearly self-
supporting through the numerous schools which the talents of the members
of it had been able to establish.  It was an unfortunate time, however,
when the two men whose abilities had earned their present position were
so far past the prime of life; and, in 1830, the failure of a great
banking company both deprived them of a large part of their investments,
and, by ruining numerous families, lessened the attendance at Dr.
Marshman's school.  Moreover, the American subscribers sent a most
vexatious and absurd remonstrance against any part of their contributions
for training young men to the ministry, being employed in teaching
science.  "As if," said Dr. Marshman, "youths in America could be
educated for ministers without learning science."

Another disaster was that, on Lord William Bentinck's arrival in India in
1830, the finances of the Government were found to be in so
unsatisfactory a state, that salaries were everywhere reduced, and that
which Dr. Carey had derived from the college at Fort William was thus cut
down from 1,000 rupees per month to 500.  At this time, the missions and
preachers dependent on Serampore required 1,500_l._ a year for their
support, and only 900_l._ was to be had, and this when both Marshman and
Carey were seventy years of age, and still were toiling as hard as ever.

There were other troubles, too, as to who was the owner of the buildings,
whether the Baptist Society, or the missionaries as trustees, and as
having paid a large portion of the price.  A great inundation of the
Hooghly had nearly settled the question by washing the whole away.  As it
was, it did much damage, and destroyed the beautiful botanical garden
that had for twenty years been Dr. Carey's delight.  Finally the whole of
the right of Marshman and Carey to the buildings was sold to the Society,
for a much less amount than they had paid from their own pockets; but
they were to occupy them rent free for the rest of their lives.

The trouble and anxiety consequent on this question, which had been of
many years' standing, had greatly impaired Dr. Marshman's strength both
of body and mind.  Morbid attacks of depression came on, during which he
wandered about, unable to apply himself so much as even to write a
letter, though in the intervals he was both cheerful and full of
activity.  Dr. Carey's health was likewise failing, and, with no formed
illness, he gradually sank, and died on the 9th of June, 1834, in his
seventy-third year.

To him belongs the honour of the awakening of the missionary spirit in
England.  Yet, as an individual preacher and teacher, he does not seem to
have had much power.  His talent was for language and philology; his
perfections were faith and perseverance.  In these he was a giant; in
everything else, whether as a cobbler, schoolmaster, indigo-planter, nay,
even as father of a family, he was a failure: but his steady, faithful
purpose enabled him so to use that one talent as to make him the pioneer
and the support as well as the example of numbers better qualified for
the actual work than himself.

His loss left Dr. Marshman alone, and suffering from melancholy more and
more, as well as much harassed by difficulties as to the resources, and
by captious complaints from home.  In 1836, a great shock was given to
his nerves by the danger of his daughter.  She was the wife of Lieutenant
Henry Havelock, a young officer, who, deeply impressed by Dr. Marshman's
piety, had joined his congregation, and who was destined to become in
after years one of the most heroic and able of the defenders of the
British cause in India.  During his absence, she and her three children
had been left at Landour, when their bungalow caught fire in the middle
of the night, and blazed up with a rapidity due to its light, dry
materials.  She rushed out with her baby in her arms, but in crossing the
verandah tripped and fell, losing her hold of the child.  She was dragged
away by a faithful native servant, who likewise snatched out her two
eldest boys, but the poor baby was lost in the flames, and she herself
was so much injured and overwhelmed by the alarm and grief, that, when
her husband arrived, her state was almost hopeless, and he wrote a letter
preparing her father to hear of her death.  From some untoward accident,
no more tidings reached Serampore for three days, and to spirits that had
already lost their balance the suspense was fatal.  The aged father
wandered about the house in a purposeless manner, sometimes standing
gazing along the road through the Venetian blinds, sometimes talking
incoherently; and when at last the intelligence arrived that Mrs.
Havelock was out of danger, though his joy and thankfulness were
ecstatic, the effects of these three days were irremediable; he was
hardly ever seen to smile again, could take no part in the renewed
discussions with the Baptist Society, although his mind and memory were
still clear.  He died on the 5th of December, 1837, just as the Serampore
mission had been re-united to the General Baptist mission.

"There had been but few men at Serampore, but they were all giants," was
said of them by one of the dignitaries of the Church and assuredly it was
a wonderful triumph, that a shoe-maker, a schoolmaster, and a printer
should in thirty-eight years not only have aroused the missionary spirit
in England, but have, by their resolution and talent, established thirty-
three stations for the preaching of Christianity in India; while at the
time of the death of the last survivor, forty-nine ministers were in
union with them, half of whom were natives of Hindostan, and around each
of the elder stations was a fair proportion of converts.  Still more
amazingly, these self-educated men had, by their accurate knowledge and
deep study, become most eminent authorities in matters of language and
philology; and by their usefulness had actually compelled a prejudiced
Government to depend on them for assistance, and thus to support the work
for which alone they cared.  Never were the words more completely
fulfilled than in them, "Seek ye first the kingdom of God and His
righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you."

The reverses that chequered their wonderful success were not the more
interesting difficulties of wild country, or persecuting heathen, but
troubles with an obstructive Government, and with the Society at home,
which endeavoured to rule them without understanding them.  These
vexations are inseparable from the conditions of Societies trying to
govern from home instead of letting the management be carried on by a
head upon the spot.




CHAPTER VI.  THE JUDSON FAMILY.


We must turn to an important offshoot from the Serampore mission, which
assumed extensive proportions and a character of its own, chiefly in
consequence of American zeal.  Here, be it observed, was the first ground
attempted by modern missions (not Roman Catholic) which belonged to an
independent sovereign.

The great Burmese Empire, roughly speaking, occupies the Eastern India
peninsula, being separated from that of Hindostan by the Brahmapootra
river.  The mountainous formation of the country, its indented coast, and
numerous rivers render it fertile, and the hills contain many valuable
metals and beautiful precious stones.

The inhabitants are of the Mongolian race, short, stout, active, and
brown, with a good deal of ingenuity in arts and manufactures, but not
equal to the Chinese, their neighbours.  Their language is monosyllabic,
their religion Buddhist, their government a despotic empire, and at the
time the mission was entered upon they had had little intercourse with
strangers, but their women were not secluded, were not wholly uneducated,
and were treated with consideration.

Buddha is regarded as a manifestation of Vishnu--the Hindoos say, to
delude his enemies; the Buddhists, to bring a new revelation.  Gautama
was the almost deified being who spread the knowledge of Buddhism, about
500 B.C.  In different countries the religion has assumed different
forms, but it is nearly co-extensive with the Mongolian race, and the
general features are the rejection of the Vedas and of most of the Hindoo
myths, faith in the divinity of Buddha, and hope that the individual
personality will be entirely absorbed in his essence, the human being
lost in the Deity.  Five laws of virtue must be observed, ten kinds of
sin avoided; and the Buddhist expects that transgressions will be
punished by the transmigration of his soul into some inferior creature,
whence he will rise by successive stages into another trial as a man, and
gradually improving by the help of contemplation, and of a sublime state
of annihilation of all self-consciousness, may become fit for his final
absorption into the Godhead.  There is an extensive priesthood, called
Lamas, who live in a state of celibacy in dwellings not at all unlike
monasteries; and, in effect, so much in their practices seems to parody
the ceremonies of Christianity that the Portuguese thought them invented
by the devil for the very purpose.  However, there is no doubt that
Buddhism inculcates a much purer morality than the religion of Brahma,
and far higher aims.  In Burmah, however, the idea of the eternity of the
Deity had evidently been lost, and Gautama had practically usurped the
place that the higher Buddhists gave to Brahma.  Indeed, though the true
Buddhist system looks to the absorption in the Deity,--Nirvana, as it is
called,--the popular notion, as received in Burmah and corrupted by less
refined minds, made it into what was either absolute nonentity or could
not be distinguished from it, so that the ordinary Burman's best hope for
the future was of nothing but annihilation.

There was originally a Burman Empire, but it had become broken up, and
the territories of Ava, Pegu, and Siam were separated, though Ava claimed
them all, and owned a semi-barbarous magnificent court, with many
gradations of dignitaries, sending out Viceroys to the different
provinces and towns.

When in 1807 strong opposition was made by Sir George Barlow's government
to the landing of the two Baptist missionaries, Robinson and Chater, the
former obtained forbearance on account of his wife's health, but the
latter was obliged to embark; and, rather than return to England, he
chose a vessel bound for Rangoon, a city at the mouth of the river
Irrawaddy, the nearest Burmese harbour.  His was to be a reconnoitring
expedition to discover the condition of the Burmese Empire, the progress
that Roman Catholic missions were making there, and the possibility of
undertaking anything from the centre of Serampore.  Another missionary,
named Mardon, went with him.  They were well received by the European
merchants resident at Rangoon, and returned with an encouraging report.
It was decided that the attempt should be made; and as Mr. Mardon did not
feel equal to the undertaking, fifteen days were set apart as a time of
private prayer for direction who should be chosen in his stead.

It was Felix Carey, then nearly twenty-two, who volunteered to go with
Mr. Chater, of whom he was very fond.  His father was unwilling to send
him, not only on account of his youth, but because he was very valuable
in the printers' work, and had an unusual amount of acquaintance with
Sanskrit and Bengalee, so that he could hardly be spared from the
translations; but the majority of the council at Serampore were in favour
of his going, and after a long delay, in consequence of the danger
British trading vessels were incurring from French privateers from the
Isle of France, they set sail and arrived at Rangoon early in the year
1808.

There they built themselves a house, and obtained a good deal of favour
from the gentleness and amiability of Mr. Chater, and from young Carey's
usefulness.  He had regularly studied medicine for some years in the
hospital at Calcutta, and his skill was soon in great request, especially
for vaccination, which he was the first to introduce.  His real turn was,
however, for philology, and he was delighted to discover that the Pali,
the sacred and learned language of Burmah, was really a variety of the
Sanskrit, cut down into agreement with the Mongolian monosyllabic speech.
He began, with the assistance of a pundit, to compile a grammar, and to
make a rough beginning of a translation of the Scripture, a work indeed
in which the Serampore people were apt to be almost too precipitate, not
waiting for those refinements of knowledge which are needful in dealing
with the shades of meaning of words of such intense importance and
delicate significancy.  But on their principles, they could do nothing
without vernacular Bibles, and they had not that intense reverence and
trained scholarly appreciation which made Martyn spend his life on the
correctness of a single version, rather than send it forth with a flaw to
give wrong impressions.

Neither does Felix Carey seem to have been a missionary in anything but
that bent which is given by training and family impulse.  He delighted in
languages, but rather as an end than a means; and though he did what the
guiding fathers at Serampore required of him, it was as a matter of
course, not with his whole heart.  In the meantime, the fact of Mr.
Chater being a married man occasioned difficulties.  Like their kinsmen
the Chinese, the Burmese much objected to the residence of foreign
females within their bounds; and when Mr. Chater obtained leave to bring
his wife, she was so forlorn that he was obliged to seek for another
station, and, receiving an invitation to Ceylon, left Felix alone, except
for his marriage with a young woman of European extraction, but born in
Burmah.

Soon after a dispute arose between the British and Burmese governments,
and two English ships of war appeared off Rangoon.  The native
authorities wished the young missionary to act as interpreter, and on his
refusal he was accused of being a spy, and was forced to take refuge on
board one of the British ships where he remained for two months before
the differences were adjusted, and he was allowed to return on condition
that he should not refuse his services as interpreter another time.  In
the October of 1812 he came home to Serampore to print his Burmese
grammar and Gospel of St. Matthew, and not only did this, but carried a
press back with him to Rangoon.  A youth who was sent from the
congregation at Calcutta to co-operate with him proved unfit for the
work, and was advised to return to secular business; but in the meantime,
the person who was, above all others, to be identified with the Burmese
mission, had heard the call and was on his way.

This was Adoniram Judson, a native of New England, the eldest son of the
minister of Malden, in Massachusetts, born in 1788, and bred up first at
a school near home, and afterwards at Brown University.  His acuteness
and cleverness from infancy were great, especially in arithmetic and
mathematics.  During his studies, he met with a clever and brilliant
friend who had imbibed the deistical teaching of the French Revolution,
and infected him with it, and he came home at seventeen the winner of all
the honours and prizes that the College afforded, but announcing himself
to his parents as a decided infidel!  The pastor treated him with stern
displeasure, and argued hotly with him, but young Adoniram was the
cleverer man, and felt his advantage.  His mother's tears and entreaties
were less easy to answer, and the thought of them dwelt with him, do what
he would, when he set out on a sort of tour through the surrounding
States.  On his journey, he stopped at a country inn, and was told, with
much apology, that there was no choice but to give him a room next to
that of a young man who was so ill that he could scarcely live till
morning.  In fact, Adoniram's rest was broken by the groans of the dying
man and the footsteps of the nurses, and there--close to the shadow of
death--his infidelity, which had been but pride of intellect and fashion,
began to quail, as the thought of the future haunted him.  Morning came;
all was still.  He asked after his fellow-lodger, and heard that he was
dead.  He asked his name.  It was no other than the very youth who had
staggered his faith.

The shock changed his whole tone.  He could not bear to continue his
journey, but turned back to Plymouth, determined to prove to himself what
was indeed truth; and, while deeply studying the evidences of
Christianity, he supported himself by keeping a school and writing
educational books on grammar and arithmetic.  His mind was soon
thoroughly made up, as, indeed, his aberrations had been only on the
surface, and he became very anxious to enter the Theological College at
Andover, Massachusetts.  This belonged to the most earnest of the
Congregationalists, and evidence of personal conversion and piety was
required from the candidates; but, in his case, the professors were
satisfied, and he entered on his course of study, which included Hebrew.
In the last year of his studies there he fell in with Claudius Buchanan's
"Star in the East," and the perusal directed his whole soul to the desire
of missionary labour.  His mind was harassed night and day with the
thought of longing to do something for the enlightenment of the millions
in Asia; and, meeting with Symes' "Burmese Empire," his thoughts turned
especially in that direction.  It was a quiet steady purpose, though he
was slow of communicating it; until, one evening at home, his father
began throwing out hopes and hints of some great preferment, and his
mother and sister smiled complacently, as if they were in the secret.
Adoniram begged for an explanation, since it was possible their plans
might not coincide, to which his father replied there was no fear, and
told him that the minister of the biggest church in Boston wished for him
as a colleague.  "So near home," said the delighted mother.  He could not
bear to answer her, but, when his sister chimed in, he turned to her,
saying, "No, sister, I shall never live in Boston; I have much farther to
go;" and then, steadily and calmly, but fervidly, he set forth the call
that he felt to be upon him.  How different a communication from that
which he had made two years before!  No doubt his family so felt it, for,
though his mother and sister shed many tears, neither they nor his father
offered a word of opposition.

Thenceforth his fate was determined, and he began to prepare himself.  He
was, in person, slightly made and delicate-looking, with an aquiline
face, dark eyes, and chesnut hair; and though his constitution must have
been immensely strong to have borne what he underwent, at this time he
was thought delicate; and therefore, with his one purpose before him, he
carefully studied physiology, and made himself a code of rules which he
obeyed to the end of his life, in especial inhaling large quantities of
air, sponging the whole body with cold water, and taking daily exercise
by walking.  He was a man of great vivacity and acuteness, with the
poetical spirit that accompanies strong enthusiasm, and with a fastidious
delicacy and refinement in all personal matters, such as seemed rather to
mark him as destined to be an accomplished scholar than to lead the rude
life of a missionary; and Ann Hasseltine, the young lady on whom he had
fixed his affections, was a very beautiful girl, of great cultivation and
accomplishments, but they were alike in one other great respect,--namely,
in dauntless self-devotion.  He began to talk of his purpose to the like-
minded among his college mates, and gradually gathered a few into a very
small missionary association, into which none were admitted who had any
duties that could forbid their going out to minister among the heathen.

At the same time, and partly through their means, a wider association was
formed, which had its centre at Bradford, and which finally decided on
sending Judson to England to endeavour to effect a union with the London
Missionary Society, which had been formed in 1795, in imitation of
Carey's Baptist Society, to work in other directions by Nonconformists of
other denominations.

The voyage in 1811, in the height of the continental war, was a very
perilous one.  On the way the vessel was taken by the French and carried
into Bayonne, while the young American passenger was summarily thrown
into the hold with the common sailors.  He became very ill, but, when the
French doctor visited him, he could hold no communication for want of a
common language.  Then it was that there came thoughts of home, and of
the "biggest church in Boston," and a misgiving swept over him, which he
treated at once as a suggestion of the enemy, and betook himself to
prayer.  Then, in the grey twilight of the hold, he felt about for his
Hebrew Bible; and to keep his mind fully absorbed, began mentally
rendering the Hebrew into Latin.  When the doctor came in, he took up the
Bible, perceived that he had a scholar to deal with, began to talk Latin
to him, and arranged his release from the hold.

But on landing at Bayonne, he was marched through the streets as a
prisoner with the English crew.  He began declaiming in his native
language on the injustice of detaining an American, and obtained his
purpose by attracting the attention of an American gentleman in the
street, who promised to do what he could for him, but advised him in the
meantime to proceed quietly.  The whole party were thrown into a dismal
underground vault, and the stones covered with straw, which seemed to
Judson so foul that he could not bear to sit down on it, and he walked up
and down, though sick and giddy with the chill, close, noisome
atmosphere.  Before his walking powers were exhausted, his American
friend was at the door, and saying, "Let me see whether I know any of
these poor fellows," took up the lamp, looked at them, said "No friend of
mine," and as he put down the lamp threw his own large cloak round Mr.
Judson, and grasping his arm, led him out under it in the dark; while a
fee, put into the hand, first of the turnkey and then of the porter, may
have secured that the four legs under the cloak should pass unobserved.
"Now run," said the American, as soon as they were outside, and he rushed
off to the wharf, closely followed by his young countryman, whom he
placed on board a vessel from their own country for the night.
Afterwards, Judson's papers were laid before the authorities, and he was
not only released, but allowed to travel through France to the northern
coast, and, making friends with some of the Emperor's suite on the way
home from Spain, travelled to Paris in an Imperial carriage.  Afterwards,
he made his way to England, where he received a warm welcome from the
London Missionary Society, by which he and the three friends he had left
in America--Samuel Newell, Samuel Nott, and Gordon Hall--were accepted as
missionaries; but on Judson's return to America, he found that the
Congregationalist Mission Board there was able to undertake their
expenses, and accordingly they went out, salaried by their own country.
All four were dedicated to the ministry at Salem on the 6th of February,
1812, and immediately prepared to sail for the East Indies.

Judson, with his wife, the beautiful dark-eyed Ann Hasseltine, and his
friends Mr. and Mrs. Newell, also newly married, embarked in the
_Caravan_; Hall, Nott, and another college mate, named Luther Rice, were
in the _Harmony_.  They were at once received at Serampore, on their
landing, in the June of 1812, but Dr. Carey's expectations of them were
not high.  Adoniram and Ann Judson were both delicate, slender, refined-
looking people.  "I have little hope from the Americans," he wrote; "if
they should stay in the East, American habits are too luxurious for a
preparation to live among savages."  He little knew what were the
capabilities of Ann Judson, the first woman who worked effectively in the
cause, the first who rose above the level of being the comfort of her
husband in his domestic moments, and was an absolute and valuable
influence.

The opposition to the arrival of missionaries was at its height, and this
large batch so dismayed the Calcutta authorities that, declaring them
British subjects come round by America, they required their instant re-
embarkation.  It was decided to go to the Isle of France, whence it was
hoped to find a French ship to take them to the aid of Felix Carey, but
the first vessel could only take the Newells, and the detention at
Serampore drew the Judsons and Rice into the full influence of Marshman's
powerful and earnest mind.  Aware that they would have to work with the
Baptist mission, they had studied the tenets on the voyage, but found
when they arrived, that the points of difference were subjects that the
trio at Serampore did not choose to discuss, lest their work among the
heathen should suffer by attention to personal controversy.  However,
their own thoughts and the influences of the place led them to desire
baptism by immersion; and this being done, they considered it due to the
Congregationalists, who had sent them out, to resign their claim on them
for support, though this left them destitute.  It was decided that Rice
should go home and appeal for their support to the American Baptists, and
in this he thoroughly succeeded, while the Judsons, after sailing for
Mauritius, where they found poor Mrs. Newell recently dead, made their
way back to Madras, and there found a vessel bound for Rangoon.  It was a
crazy old craft, with a Malay crew, no one but the captain able to speak
a word of English.  The voyage was full of disaster.  A good European
nurse, who had been engaged to go with Mrs. Judson, fell on the floor and
died suddenly, even while the ship was getting under weigh, too late to
supply her place.  Mrs. Judson became dangerously ill, and the vessel was
driven into a perilous strait between the Great and Little Andaman
Islands, where the captain was not only out of his bearings, but believed
that, if he were driven ashore, the whole ship's company would be eaten
by the cannibal islanders.  The alarm, however, acted as a tonic, and
Mrs. Judson began to recover.

They reached Rangoon in safety, but Judson writes: "We had never before
seen a place where European influence had not contributed to smooth and
soften the rough features of uncultivated nature.  The prospect of
Rangoon, as we approached, was quite disheartening.  I went on shore,
just at night, to take a view of the place and the mission-house, but so
dark and cheerless and unpromising did all things appear, that the
evening of that day, after my return to the ship, we have marked as the
most gloomy and distressing that we ever passed."  The mission-house was
not quite empty, though Felix Carey, who they had hoped would welcome
them, was at Ava.  When Mrs. Judson, still too weak to walk, was carried
ashore, she was received by his wife, who could speak Burmese, and
managed the household, providing daily dinners of fowls stewed with rice
or with cucumber.

It was, however, a dismal place, near the spot where public executions
took place, and where the dead were burnt outside the walls.  And all
around, among the beautiful vegetation and lovely forests on the banks of
the broad Irrawaddy, rose the pagodas, graceful with the peculiar beauty
of the far East, with gilded lacquer-work, umbrella-shaped roofs spiring
upwards; huge idols with solemn contemplative faces within, and all
around swarms of yellow-robed, fat, lazy lamas.

The new comers meantime applied themselves to the study of the language,
after overcoming the disdain of their pundit at having to instruct a
woman.  He could not speak English, and had neither grammar nor
dictionary, so that the difficulties were great; but the eager spirit of
the students overcame all, and they ventured to remove into town and keep
house themselves.

Mrs. Judson was taken to visit the wives of the Myowoon, or Viceroy of
Rangoon, by a French lady who had been admitted before.  On their first
arrival the principal wife was not up, and the ladies waited, while the
inferior wives examined all they wore, and tried on their gloves and
bonnets; but when the great lady appeared, they all crouched together at
a distance.  She came in richly attired, and smoking a silver pipe, and
sat down on a mat by Mrs. Judson, whom she viewed with much curiosity,
asking if she were her husband's first wife.  The Myowoon came in looking
wild and savage, and carrying a huge spear in his hand; but he was very
polite to Mrs. Judson, though he took very little notice of her husband.

In fact the government was violent and barbarous.  There were perpetual
murders and robberies, and these were punished by horrid executions,
accompanied by torture; yet the Burmese regarded themselves as superior
to all other nations, and were far from understanding how greatly they
fell short even of the requirements of Buddhism.

Felix Carey, meantime, had been requested by the king to vaccinate the
royal children; but he had to return to Calcutta to procure matter for
the purpose.  He then visited Rangoon on his way back, and prepared to
carry up his family, property, and printing-press to Ava, with the hope
of forming a fresh station there, under royal patronage; but after ten
days' voyage, the vessel was capsized by a sudden storm, and all who
could not swim were drowned.  Felix tried to rescue his little son of
three years old, but, finding himself sinking, he let the child go, and
saved himself alone.

Everything in the vessel was lost; but the king gave him compensation for
the property, and took him into high favour, sending him shortly after,
to conduct some negotiations with the British Government.  He appeared at
Calcutta with the title and gorgeous dress of a Burmese noble, and showed
himself in the streets with a train of fifty followers.  Old Dr. Carey
was seriously grieved at his thus "sinking from a missionary to an
ambassador;" and he was by no means successful in this new line; in fact
his negotiations turned out so ill, that on his return to Rangoon he was
obliged to fly the country.  The excitement of his life had made
missionary labour distasteful to him, and, after strange wanderings in
the wild lands eastward of Bengal, he became prime minister and
generalissimo to a barbarous prince; and in that capacity led an army
against his old friends, the Burmese, sustained a defeat, and was forced
to wander in the jungle.  After three years of this strange life, he fell
in by chance at Chittagong with Mr. Ward, and was by him persuaded to
return to the printing and philology, for which alone, like his father,
he really was well qualified.  He lived at Serampore till 1822, and then
was carried off by the same sickly season that had proved fatal to
Krishnu-pal, who had been baptized with him, and to Bishop Middleton.

Meantime, Mr. and Mrs. Judson were working steadily on, and were greatly
cheered by the arrival of a much less barbarous viceroy, named Mya-day-
men.  They were invited, with all the Europeans, to a banquet at the new
official's house, and Mrs. Judson was entertained by the wife, who
questioned her eagerly, and asked if she knew how to dance in the English
way; but was satisfied on hearing that the wives of priests did not
dance.  As Buddhist priests are celibate, Mrs. Judson must have been
rather a puzzle to the good lady; and all this time the real work of the
mission had not commenced, for the preliminary operation of acquiring the
language had not been completed, and Judson was warned not to attempt
preaching till he was familiar with it, by Dr. Carey having told him that
after some years in Bengal, when he imagined himself to be freely able to
use the language, he had found from the remark of a young man, that he
was really not in the least understood.  Private arguments with the
teachers was all that could be attempted, and in these there seems to
have been some forgetfulness of St. Paul's words, "Who art thou that
judgest another?  To his own master he standeth or falleth;" since there
was a very free threatening that the souls of the pagans must be lost; to
which the pundits replied with true Eastern calmness, "Our religion is
good for us, yours for you."  During this time of perseverance and
preparation, Mrs. Judson's health became so much affected that she was
forced to go to Madras.  Heroine as she was, she would not consent to let
her husband break up his work to accompany her; but the solitude of her
absence fell on him most severely.  She says, "He had no individual
Christian with whom he could converse or unite in prayer during the six
months of her absence;" but he worked on heartily, and she returned in
perfect health.

In the spring of 1816, the death of their first-born child was a great
shock to the father's health, which was already disordered; and he
continued in a declining state all through the summer.  The Myowoon's
wife, whom Mrs. Judson conveniently calls the vice-reine, was very kind
to them, and took them on elephant-back to visit her country-house.  The
way lay through the woods, between trees sometimes so thick that the
elephants broke them down, at the mahout's word, to make way.  Thirty men
in red caps, with spears and guns, formed the guard; then came the vice-
reine's elephant, with a gilded howdah, where the lady sat dressed in red
and white silk; then the Judsons' animal, three or four more behind with
grandees, and 300 or 400 attendants followed.  At a beautiful garden,
full of fruit trees, a feast was spread under a noble banyan, the vice-
reine causing the cloth next to her to be allotted to her guests, whom
she tended affectionately, gathering and paring fruit, cutting flowers
and weaving them for them, and, unlike the Hindoos, freely eating what
they handed her.  This hospitable and amiable lady had just begun to ask
Mrs. Judson the difference between the Christians' God and Gautama, when
she was obliged to return to Ava.

For several months Mr. Judson's illness increased; but exercise on
horseback did much to relieve him, and the comfort and encouragement of
the arrival of a brother missionary, Mr. Hough, with his family, did
more.  He weathered the attack without leaving his post, and in 1817 made
his first real step.  A press had come out with Mr. Hough, and with it
two little tracts, summarizing the chief truths of Christianity, were
printed and distributed at Rangoon.

Shortly after, a respectable-looking Burmese, attended by a servant,
walked into Mr. Judson's house, and sat down.  Presently he inquired,
"How long a time will it take me to learn the religion of JESUS?"

Mr. Judson answered, that where God gave light and wisdom, it was soon
learnt; but without, a whole lifetime would not teach a man.  "But how,"
he asked, "came the wish for this knowledge?"

"I have seen two little books."

"And who is JESUS?" said the missionary.

"He is the Son of GOD, who, pitying human creatures, came into this world
and suffered death in their stead."

"Who is GOD?" continued Mr. Judson.

"He is a Being without beginning or end, who is not subject to old age or
death, but always is."

Mr. Judson showed him the two little books, which he recognized, but
begged for more.  He did not attend much to what Judson tried to teach
him by word of mouth, but begged for book.  The Gospel of St. Matthew was
in hand, but could not be finished for three months; and when he was told
this "Have you not a little of that book done, which you will graciously
give me now?" he asked.  "And I," writes Judson, "beginning to think that
God's time was better than man's, folded and gave him the two first half-
sheets, which contain the first five chapters of St. Matthew, on which he
instantly rose, as if his business was done, and took leave."

It was long before they saw him again; though many other persons began
calling at the mission-house to inquire about what they called the new
religion; but all were so much afraid of one another, that no one would
ask any questions if a fellow-citizen were present.  Mrs. Judson was also
getting together from fifteen to twenty women every Sunday, whom she
tried to instruct.  One of them, like the Norseman of old, preferred
casting in her lot with her forefathers to a heaven separated from them;
and when Mrs. Judson told her they would reproach her with the rejection
of the truth they had never known, and that she would regret her folly
when it was too late, she answered, "If I do, I will cry out to you to be
my intercessor."  Another combined prayers to our Lord and Gautama.

The vice-reine came back from Ava, and continued to be very kind to Mrs.
Judson, made her explain her doctrine, caused the little catechism to be
taught to her daughter, and accepted a copy of the Gospel of St. Matthew,
which was at length completed.  This being finished, Mr. Judson, after
four years' study of the language, believed himself able to undertake
more public ministrations; but first went on a voyage to Chittagong,
where he hoped to find, among the Christian converts of Burmese speech,
one to assist him in communicating with the people.

Mrs. Judson remained with the Houghs, and had the pleasure of receiving
the Burmese inquirer, whose long absence had been occasioned by his being
appointed governor of some villages in Pegu.  He said he was thinking and
reading in order to become a believer.  "But I cannot yet destroy my old
mind, for, when I see a handsome patso, or a handsome gounboun, {f:130} I
still desire it.  Tell the great teacher, when he returns, that I wish to
see him, though I am not a disciple of Christ."  She gave him the rest of
St. Matthew, and a tract to each of his attendants, and he promised that,
if the great teacher would come and see him, he would collect his
villagers to hear the new doctrine preached.  There was something very
attractive, meek, and unassuming about the man's whole appearance, and of
him there was much hope; but, just about this time great anxiety fell on
the mission party.  The kindly Myowoon and his wife were removed, and
immediately after a summons was sent to Mr. Hough to appear at the court-
house of the city, with the intimation, "that, if he did not tell the
whole truth they would write it in his blood."  He was kept all Friday
and Saturday answering, through an interpreter, foolish questions: who
were his father and mother, how many suits of clothes he had, and the
like; all which was formally written down.  On the third day, Sunday,
Mrs. Judson, resolving to ascertain whether this were really done by the
command of the Myowoon, drew up a petition, which she carried herself.
She was graciously received, and it presently appeared that an order had
really been sent for the banishment of some Portuguese priests, and that
the petty officials of the Court had taken advantage of it to harass Mr.
Hough, in the hope of extracting a reward for his liberation.

At this time there was a terrible visitation of cholera, which the
Burmese attributed to evil spirits, and accordingly attempted to drive
away by force of noise.  It was supposed that the evil spirits would take
refuge in any house that was silent, and for three whole nights cannon
were fired from the court-house, and every human creature used the utmost
powers nature or art afforded for producing a din.  The mission party
were uninfected by the contagion, but it was a time of terrible anxiety,
for nothing had been heard of Mr. Judson or his ship for months; there
were reports of ill-feeling between the Burmese and British Governments,
no arrivals of English at Rangoon, and no intelligence.  Mrs. Judson's
female classes had fallen off ever since Mr. Hough's summons, and the
state of things was such, that the Houghs decided on removing to Bengal.
Mrs. Judson, with her little girl, most reluctantly decided to accompany
them, but, just as the vessel in which they sailed had gone down the
river, she was ascertained not to be seaworthy; and, during this delay,
Mrs. Judson's fears of her husband's finding her gone, if he ever
returned to Rangoon, so increased, that she went back with her child to
the house, and, brave woman as she was, took up her abode there with the
native servants, trusting herself wholly to the protection of her God.
She was rewarded by her husband's arrival, after an absence of nine
months, caused by the captain of his ship having broken his engagement,
and carried him on to Madras, where he had been detained all this time
for want of a vessel to return in.  The Houghs also came back, and two
young men from America soon after came out, full of zeal and activity,
but both fell ill very shortly afterwards, and the younger died, but his
fellow, Mr. Colman, became a valuable assistant.

This era, the spring of 1819, was the first great step in the Burmese
mission.  Funds had been raised by the Baptist Society in America, which
were applied to the erection of a zayat or public room, with walls of
bamboo and a thatched roof.  It had two rooms, one for a school for the
women, another for the men, who gladly learnt to read and write from Mrs.
Judson and a Burmese teacher.  Here, too, Mr. Judson openly held prayers
and preaching on Sunday, and these attracted many, some of whom would
come in the week for private discussion.

The first real convert was a man of thirty-five, named Moung Nau, poor,
but of excellent character, and so intelligent, that he became a useful
assistant after his baptism, on the 27th of June, 1819.  Others were
inquiring, among whom the most interesting was Moung Shwaygnong, a
schoolmaster or tutor by profession, at a village a little way from
Rangoon, and already a philosopher, "half deist, half sceptic, the first
of the sort I have seen among the Burmans" (our quotations are from Mr.
Judson's journal), who, however, worshipped at the pagodas, and conformed
to national observances.  The second time he came the conversation seemed
to have made "no impression on his proud sceptical heart, yet he promised
to pray to the eternal God, through the Saviour."  It appeared that,
about eight years previously, it had come before him that there is indeed
One Eternal God, and that this thought had been working in him ever
since.  A copy of Mr. Judson's tract which fell in his way chimed in with
this primary belief, and next came the question of the Scripture
revelation, which he argued over with much metaphysical power and
acuteness, being a very powerful reasoner, and well trained in the
literature of his own country.  Meantime three simpler minds--Moung
Thaahlah, Moung Byaay, and Moung Ing--had been thoroughly convinced, and,
though aware that they would expose themselves to considerable danger,
resolved to become Christians.

The Viceroy had remarked the zayat, and notice was taken that men were
there led "to forsake the religion of the country."  The alarm cleared
the zayat of all the audience, and emptied Mrs. Judson's class of women,
but Thaahlah {f:133} and Byaay sent in a letter, entreating to be
admitted to baptism, and Ing would have followed their example, but that
his trade as a fisherman carried him off to sea.  They begged not to be
baptized openly, as Nau had been, in a piece of water near the town and
presided over by an image of Gautama; and Mr. Judson yielded so far, that
he conducted the preliminary devotions in the zayat, and baptized them in
the same pool two hours after dark.  Shwaygnong had in the meantime taken
alarm at being interrogated by the Government, had apologized, and
apparently fallen away; but he could not keep aloof, and soon came back
again.  After a good deal of fencing and putting forth metaphysical
cavils, he allowed that it was all for the sake of experiment, and
declared that he really believed both in God and in the Atonement.

"Said I," writes Mr. Judson, "knowing his deistical weakness, do you
believe all that is contained in the book of St. Matthew which I gave
you?  In particular, do you believe that the Son of God died on a cross?"

"Ah!" he replied, "you have caught me now.  I believe that He suffered
death, but I cannot admit that He suffered the shameful death of the
cross."

"Therefore," said I, "you are not a disciple of Christ.  A true disciple
inquires not whether a fact is agreeable to his own reason, but whether
it is in the Book.  His pride has yielded to Divine testimony.  Teacher,
your pride is unbroken.  Break down your pride, and yield to the Word of
God."

He stopped and thought.  "As you utter these words," said he, "I see my
error.  I have been trusting in my own reason, not in the Word of God."

Some interruption now occurred.  When we were again alone, he said, "This
day is different from all the days on which I have visited you.  I see my
error in trusting to my own reason, and I now believe the Crucifixion of
Christ, because it is contained in the Scripture."

The profession of Christianity had become more perilous since the
Judsons' arrival in Burmah.  The old Emperor had died in 1819, and had
been succeeded by his grandson, who was far more zealous for Buddhism
than he had been, and who had appointed a viceroy at Rangoon, very minute
in exacting observances--so much so, as to put forth an edict forbidding
any person with hat, shoes, umbrella, or horse, to pass through the
grounds belonging to the great pagoda, Shwaay Dagon, which extended half
a mile from the building, and were crossed by all the chief roads.  At
the same time, he was new gilding the pagoda, a specially sacred one, as
containing some bits of hair of Gautama.

It was plain that the mission had little chance of succeeding, unless
some sanction could be obtained from royalty; and Mr. Judson therefore
determined to go to Ava and petition the Emperor to grant him permission
to teach at Rangoon.  So he obtained a pass from the Viceroy "to go up to
the golden feet, and lift up our eyes to the golden face," and hired a
boat to take him and Mr. Colman, with ten oarsmen, a headman, a
steersman, a washerman, and two cooks, of whom Moung Nau was one.  They
had invited Shwaygnong to accompany them, but he refused, though he
appeared waving his hand to them on the bank as they pushed off from the
land.  They took with them, as the most appropriate present, a Bible,
bound in six volumes, in gold leaf, intending to ask permission to
translate it.

They arrived at Ava on the 28th of January, 1820, and beheld the gilded
roofs of the pagodas and palace.  Two English residents welcomed them,
and Mya-day-men, the Viceroy who had been their friend at Rangoon,
undertook to present them to the Emperor.

They were taken to the palace, and were explaining their wishes to the
Prime Minister, Moung Zah, when it was announced that "the golden foot
was about to advance," and he had to hasten to attend the Emperor.  The
dome whither the missionaries followed him was dazzling with splendour,
very lofty, and supported on pillars entirely covered with gold, and
forming long avenues, through one of which the Emperor advanced alone,
with the proud gait and majesty of an Eastern monarch, with a
gold-sheathed sword in his hand.  Every one prostrated his forehead in
the dust except the two Americans, who merely knelt with folded hands.  He
paused before them, and demanded who they were.

"The teachers, great king," replied Mr. Judson.

"What?  You speak Burmese--the priests that I heard of last night?  When
did you arrive?  Are you like the Portuguese priests?  Are you married?"
and so on, he asked; then placing himself on a high seat, with his hand
on the hilt of his sword, he listened to the petition read aloud by Moung
Zah.  He then held out his hand for it; Moung Zah crawled forward and
gave it; the Emperor read it through to himself, and held out his hand
for the little tract which was handed to him in like manner.  The hearts
of the missionaries throbbed with hope and prayer; but, after reading the
two first sentences, the Emperor threw it from him, and when the gift was
presented would not notice it.  The answer communicated through Moung Zah
was: "In regard to the objects of your petition, his Majesty gives no
order.  In regard to your sacred books, his Majesty has no use for them;
take them away."  Something was said of Colman's skill in medicine; upon
which the Emperor desired that both should be taken to the Portuguese
priest, who acted as his physician, to ascertain whether they could be
useful in that line, and then lay down on his cushions to listen to
music.

They were taken two miles to the residence of the Portuguese, who of
course perceived that they brought no wonderful secret of medicine, and
then returned to their boat.  They afterwards saw Moung Zah in private,
and heard that the Burmese laws tolerated foreign religions, but that
there was no security for natives who embraced them, and that it was an
unpardonable offence even to propose it.  The English collector went to
the Emperor, but could obtain nothing from him but permission for them to
return to Rangoon, where they might find some of their countrymen to
teach.  There was no actual prohibition against teaching Burmese
subjects, but there was no security that the converts would not be
persecuted; and the collector told them that fifteen years previously a
Burmese teacher who had been converted by the Portuguese, and had even
visited Rome, was denounced on his return by his nephew and commanded to
recant.  On his refusal, he was tortured with the iron mall--hammered,
namely, from his feet upwards till he was all one livid wound as far as
his breast, pronouncing the name of Christ at every blow.  Some persons
at last told the Emperor that he was a mere madman, on which he was
spared, and the Portuguese contrived to send him away to Bengal, where he
died.  The nephew was high in the favour of the present Sovereign, who
was besides far more attached than his grandfather had ever been to the
Buddhist doctrine.  Only four Portuguese clergy were in the country, and
they confined themselves to ministrations to the descendants of the
converts of the old Jesuit mission, instead of attempting to extend their
Church.  Nothing was to be done but to return to Rangoon, and for this a
passport was necessary, the obtaining of which cost thirty dollars in
presents.  Mr. Judson was advised also to procure a royal order for
personal protection, otherwise, when it became known that the royal
patronage had been refused, he might be molested by ill-disposed persons;
but finding that this would be exceedingly costly, he preferred "trusting
in the Lord to keep us and our poor disciples."

It was encouraging that at Pyece, a place on the banks of the Irrawaddy,
the missionaries met Shwaygnong, who had come thither to visit a sick
friend, and came on board eagerly to know the result of their journey.
They told him all, even of the good confession beneath the iron mall, and
he seemed less affected and intimidated than they expected, though he had
nearly made up his mind to cast in his lot with them.  "If I die, I shall
die in a good cause," he said.  "I know it is the cause of truth."  And
then he repeated his actual faith: "I believe in the Eternal God, in His
Son Jesus Christ, in the Atonement which Christ has made, and in the
writings of the Apostles as the true and one Word of God."  He also said
he had never, since their last conversation, lifted up his folded hands
before a pagoda, though on the day of worship, to avoid persecution, he
would walk up one side of the building and down the other.  To this Mr.
Judson replied, "You may be a disciple of Christ in heart, but you are
not a full disciple.  You have not faith and resolution enough to keep
all the commands of Christ, particularly that which commands you to be
baptized though in the face of persecution and death.  Consider the words
of JESUS--'He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved.'"

He listened in profound silence, and with the manner with which he always
received what he considered deeply; but there was still a long struggle
to come, and many fluctuations, and the simpler minds were the stay and
comfort of the missionaries, when on their return to Rangoon they
considered what steps to take.  Their first proposal was to move to a
district between Bengal and Arracan, where were several Christian natives
now destitute of a pastor, and where the language was very like Burmese,
though the place was beyond the power of the Emperor, and to take their
three baptized converts with them.  Nau and Thaahlah were ready to follow
them everywhere, but Byaay was married, and no Burmese woman was allowed
to leave the country.  He, with several others who were on the point of
conversion, entreated the missionaries not to leave them, and Thaahlah
made a remarkable speech.  "Be it remembered," he said, "that this work
is not yours or ours, but the work of God.  If He give light, the
religion will spread."

It was decided, according to the earnest wish of these poor people, that
they should not be deserted till there were enough of them to form a
congregation and have a teacher from among themselves set over them, and
this--as the sect to which the Judsons belonged has no form of setting
apart for the ministry--was all that they regarded as requisite.  The
Arracan converts were not, however, to be neglected, and Mr. Colman
therefore was to go to Chittagong, and there establish a station, which
might receive those from Rangoon in case it should become needful to
leave the place.  He was doing well there, when he died from an attack of
fever.

The Judsons remained, and held their worship in the zayat on Sunday with
the doors closed and only the initiated present; but it seemed as if the
fear of losing their teachers quickened the zeal of the Christian
converts in bringing their friends to inquire.  Shwaygnong had long been
unconsciously preparing the way by his philosophical instructions, going
so much deeper than the popular Buddhism, and he brought several of his
pupils, both male and female, telling them that "he had found the true
wisdom;" but he still hung back. {f:137}  Mr. Judson suspected him of
wanting a companion of his own rank to keep him in countenance, and
doubted whether it were fear of the world or pride of heart that kept him
back; but he seems to have had a genuine battle with his own sceptical
spirit, and the acceptance of such ordinances as the Baptists required
was a difficulty to him.  Four or five later converts were baptized
before him, and at last he kept away from the mission for so long that
Mr. Judson thought they had lost him; but when he reappeared it turned
out that he had been ill with fever, and had had much sickness in his
family, and had meantime fought out his mental conflict, and made up his
mind to the full acceptance of Christianity at all risks.

He came again with five disciples, one of them a woman of fifty-one years
old, named Mah-menlay, with her husband, all formally requesting baptism;
but Mr. Judson was not sufficiently satisfied of the earnestness of any
to receive them at once, excepting Shwaygnong himself, whom Mr. Judson
kept till evening; and then, after reading the history of St. Philip's
baptism of the Ethiopian, and praying, led him down to the water in the
woods and baptized him, like others, in the pool, by the light of the
stars in the tropical night.  That same night Mah-menlay came back,
entreating so earnestly for baptism, that she, too, was led down to the
water and baptized.  "Now," she said, "I have taken the oath of
allegiance to JESUS CHRIST, and I have nothing to do but to commit
myself, soul and body, to the hands of my Lord, assured that He will
never suffer me to fall away."

This was the last thing before the Judsons embarked for Serampore, a
journey necessitated by a severe attack of liver complaint, from which
Mrs. Judson had long been suffering and their little girl had also died.

To these devoted people a visit to Calcutta was a change for the sake of
health!  On their return, after half a year's absence, the first thing
they heard was that their kind friend Mya-day-men had come as Myowoon to
Rangoon, and they were met on the wharf by all their disciples, led by
Shwaygnong, in a state of rapture.  They found that such as had lived in
the yard of the mission had been subjected to a petty official
persecution, which had made them fly to the woods; but that the good Mya-
day-men had refused to hear an accusation brought against Moung
Shwaygnong by the lamas and officials of the village, who had him before
the tribunal, accusing him of trying "to turn the priest's rice-pot
bottom upwards."

"What matters it," said the Myowoon; "let the priests turn it back
again."

This was enough to ensure the safety of the Christians during his
viceroyalty, though at first he paid little attention to Mr. Judson,
being absorbed in grief for the death of his favourite daughter, one of
the wives of the Emperor.  She does not seem to have been the child of
the amiable Vice-reine, or, as her title had now become,
Woon-gyee-gaadaw, who had been promoted to the right of riding in a
_wau_, a vehicle carried by forty or fifty men, but who had not forgotten
Mrs. Judson, and received her affectionately.

There were now twenty-five disciples.  Ing likewise joined them having
returned from his voyage, and was shortly after baptized.  Mah-menlay
opened a school for little girls, and Shwaygnong was regularly engaged by
Mr. Judson to revise his translation of the Epistle to the Ephesians and
the first part of the Book of Acts, before they were printed.  Another
remarkable man came to study the subject, Moung Long, a philosopher of
the most metaphysical kind, whose domestic conversations with his wife
were reported to be of this description.--The wife would tell him, "The
rice is ready."

"Rice! what is rice?  Is it matter or spirit?  Is it an idea or a
nonentity?"

If she answered, "It is matter," he would reply, "And what is matter?  Are
you sure there is such a thing in existence, or are you merely subject to
a delusion of the senses?"

Mr. Judson was struck with the expression of this man's one eye, which
had "as great a quantity of being as half-a-dozen common eyes."  After
the first exposition of the Christian doctrine, the philosopher began
with extreme suavity and politeness: "Your lordship says that in the
beginning God created one man and one woman.  I do not understand (I beg
your lordship's pardon) what a man is, and why he is called a man."

Mr. Judson does not record his own line of argument, only that the
Buddhist sceptic was foiled, and Shwaygnong, who had often argued with
him, was delighted to see his old adversary posed.  He came again and
again, and so did his wife, the ablest woman whom Mrs. Judson had met,
asking questions on the possibility of sin finding entrance to a pure
mind, and they were soon promising catechumens; but in the midst of all
this hopefulness, a season of cholera and fever set in, both the Judsons
were taken ill at the same time, and could not even help one another, and
the effect on Ann's health was such that, as the only means of saving her
life, she was sent off at once to England, while her husband remained at
his post quite alone, for Colman had died a martyr to the climate.

She was warmly welcomed by the Missionary Societies in London and
Edinburgh, and thence returned to America, where her mother and sisters
were still living to hail her return.  Her narratives, backed by her
natural sweetness, eloquence and beauty, had a great effect in stirring
up the mission spirit among both her countrymen and countrywomen, and
there was no lack of recruits willing to return with her and share her
toil.

The account of Colman's devotion and death had had an especial effect
upon a young girl named Sarah Hall, of Salem, Massachusetts, one of those
natures that seem peculiarly gifted with poetic enthusiasm, yet able to
stand the brunt of the severest test of practice.  She was the daughter
of one of those old-fashioned New England families, where a considerable
amount of prosperity and a good deal of mental culture is compatible with
much personal homely exertion.  As the eldest of thirteen, Sarah had to
work hard, but all the time she kept a prim little journal, recording, at
an age when one is surprised to see her able to write at all, that her
mother is too busy to let her go to school, and she must improve herself
at home; and this she really did, for her notes, as she grew older, speak
of studying Butler's Analogy, Paley's Evidences, logic, geometry, and
Latin.  Her library of poetry is said to have consisted only of Thomson's
Castle of Indolence, and Macpherson's Ossian; but hymns must have filled
her ear with the ring of rhyme, for she was continually versifying,
sometimes passages of Scripture, sometimes Ossian, long before she was
halfway through her teens.  Very foolish, sing-song, emotional specimens
they are, but notable as showing the bent of nature that forms itself
into heroism.  Her family were Baptists, and she was sixteen when the
sense of religion came on her so strongly as to lead her to seek baptism.
Remarkably enough, the thought of the ignorance of the heathen, and the
desire to teach them, began to haunt her from that time, and is recorded
in the last page of her childish journal, dated a month later than her
baptism.

In fact, her zeal seems to have been pretty strong towards the persons
around her.  While staying at a friend's house, she found a pack of cards
left by a young man on the table, and wrote on it the text beginning,
"Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth," &c.  Hearing that
the owner was very curious to know the perpetrator, she wrote down this
verse for him:

   "And wouldst thou know what friend sincere
      Reminds thee of thy day of doom?
   Repress the wish, yet thou mayst hear
   She shed for thee a pitying tear,
      For thine are paths of gloom."

She also says that she had been for six weeks engaged, with the
assistance of a gentleman, in working out proofs of the immortality of
the soul, apart from those in Scripture.  She had prayer-meetings for her
young friends in her own room, and distributed tracts in the town, while
still acting at home, as her mother's right hand, among her little
brothers and sisters.

But her vocation she felt to be for missionary life.  At one time she
thought of joining a mission to the Red Indians, and her verses were full
of the subject.  Her ode on Colman's death expressed the feeling of her
soul in the verse:

   "The spirit of love from on high
      The hearts of the righteous hath fired;
   Lo! they come, and with transport they cry,
      'We will go where our brother expired,
            And labour and die.'"

The words fall sadly short of the feeling,--a very real one, but the ode
not only satisfied Sarah's critics and obtained circulation, but it fired
the heart of George Dana Boardman, a young student at Waterville College,
intended for the Baptist ministry; and he never rested till he had found
out the authoress, met her, and asked her to be his partner in "labouring
and dying," as Colman had done before them.

There was no illusion in her mind; she knew her task would be full of
toil and suffering; but her feeling was the desire to devote her whole
self to the work of the Redeemer, who had done so much for her.  Mr. and
Mrs. Hall were at first reluctant, but after a time heartily consented,
and she was introduced to Mrs. Judson as a future companion in her toils.
With very questionable taste, some of her friends insisted on her reading
her own elegy on Colman, aloud, before a whole circle of friends that
they might see Mrs. Judson listen to it.  Blushes and refusals were of no
avail; she was dragged out, and the paper thrust into her hand; she
began, faltering, but as she proceeded the strong purpose of her soul
inspired her, and she ended with firmness and enthusiasm--but was so
overpowered that, without daring to look up and see that Mrs. Judson's
eyes were overflowing, she crept away to hide in a corner the burning
tears on her own cheeks.  Twenty years after she spoke of it as one of
the most painful moments of her life.

At first it had been proposed that Mr. Boardman and Sarah should
accompany Mrs. Judson on her return, but it was thought better that he
should spend a little more time on his studies, and Ann Judson therefore
sailed in 1823, with Mr. and Mrs. Wade as her companions.

In the meantime Judson himself had been going on with his work at
Rangoon, among many troubles.

Another accusation was drawn up by the lamas against Shwaygnong, and the
Viceroy, on reading it, pronounced him worthy of death; but before he
could be arrested, he took boat, came down to the mission-house with his
family, obtained a supply of tracts and portions of Scripture, and then
secretly fled up the river to a town named Shway-doung, where he began to
argue and distribute the tracts.  So little regular communication was
there between different places in Burmah, that this could be done with
comparative safety; but the accusation and his flight created so much
alarm at Rangoon, that Mr. Judson had to shut up the zayat, and only
assemble his converts in the mission-house.  They suffered another loss
in Moung Thaahlah, their second convert, who died of cholera, after
nineteen hours' illness.  He had seven months before married a young
Christian woman, this being the first Burmese Christian wedding; and as
he was a youth of much promise and good education, he was a serious loss
to the mission.  All this time Mr. Judson was alone, until the arrival of
Jonathan Price, who had wisely qualified himself to act as a physician,
and no sooner did a report of his skill reach Ava, than the King sent for
him; and as he had no time to learn the language, Judson went with him as
interpreter.  Dr. Price says, "The King is a man of small stature, very
straight, steps with a natural air of superiority, but has not the least
appearance of it in conversation.  He wears a red, finely-striped silk
cloth from his waist to his knees, and a blue-and-white handkerchief on
his head.  He has apparently the good of his people as well as the glory
of his kingdom at heart, and is encouraging foreign merchants, and
especially artisans to settle in his capital.  A watchmaker at this
moment could obtain any favour he should please to ask."

As soon as the missionaries arrived, he sent for them and received them
in an open court, where they were seated on a bamboo floor about ten feet
from his chair.  He took no notice of Judson, except as an interpreter,
but interrogated Price as to his skill in surgery, sent for his
medicines, looked at them and at his instrument, and was greatly amused
with his galvanic battery; he then dismissed them with orders to choose a
spot on which a house should be built for them, and to look up the
diseased to try Price's skill upon.

Moung Zah, the former minister, recognized Judson kindly, and after a
time the King took notice of him: "You in black, what are you, a medical
man too?"

"Not a medical man, but a teacher of religion, your Majesty."

After a few questions about his religion the King proceeded to ask
whether any Burmese had embraced it.

"Not here," diplomatically said Judson.

"Are there any in Rangoon?"

"There are a few."

"Are they foreigners?"

Mr. Judson says he trembled for the consequences of an answer, but the
truth must be spoken at all risks, and he replied, "Some foreigners and
some Burmese."

The King showed no displeasure, but asked questions on religion,
geography, and astronomy, as though his temper was quite changed.  His
brother, a fine young man of twenty-eight, who suffered from paralysis,
became a patient of Dr. Price, and had much conversation with Judson,
showing great eagerness for instruction.  He assured the missionaries
that under the present reign there was no danger to the native
Christians, and after a successful operation for cataract, performed by
Dr. Price, the missionaries were so much in favour that while Price
remained at Ava and there married a native lady, Judson was desired only
to go back to Rangoon to meet his wife on her return, and bring her to
reside at Ava.

Their good and tolerant friend, the Viceroy, was dead, and his successor
was a severe and unjust man, so that the people had fled in numbers from
the place, and few Christians remained except at Moung Shwaygnong's
village.  There was thus the less to leave, when in December 1823 Mrs.
Judson safely arrived, and two fresh missionaries with her, to whom the
flock at Rangoon could be left.  There is a most happy letter written on
the voyage up the Irrawaddy to Ava, when it seemed as though all the
troubles and difficulties of four years had been smoothed away.  The
mission had been kindly welcomed at Ava, and established in the promised
house, when the first of the English wars with Burmah broke out, on
grounds on which it is needless to enter.  It is enough to say that after
many mutual offences, Sir Archibald Campbell, with a fleet and army,
entered Rangoon, and occupied it without resistance, the Viceroy being
absent at the time.

The Court of Ava were exceedingly amazed at the insolence of the
foreigners.  An army supposed to be irresistible was sent off, dancing
and singing, in boats down the river, and all the fear was lest the alarm
should drive away the white strangers with the "cock-feather chief"
before there was time to catch any for slaves.  A lady sent a commission
for four to manage the affairs of her household, as she heard they were
trustworthy; a courtier, for six to row his boat.

The capture of Rangoon was supposed by national pride to be wholly owing
to the treachery of spies, and three English merchants were fixed upon as
those spies and put under arrest.  The King was advised likewise to
secure the persons of the missionaries, but he answered, "They are quiet
men; let them alone."  Unfortunately, however, a receipt for some money
paid to Adoniram Judson was found among the papers of one of the
merchants, and this to the Burmese mind was proof of his complicity in
the plot.  Suddenly, an official, accompanied by a dozen men, one of whom
had his face marked with spots, to denote his being an executioner, made
his appearance demanding Mr. Judson.  "You are called by the King," said
the official, and at the same moment the executioner produced a cord,
threw Mr. Judson on the floor, and tied his arms behind his back.  His
wife vainly offered money to have his arms unbound, and he was led away,
the faithful Ing following at a distance to see what was done with him,
while Mrs. Judson retired to her room and poured out her soul "to Him who
for our sakes was bound and led away to execution," and great was her
comfort even in that moment.  She was immediately after summoned to be
examined by a magistrate in the verandah, and after hastily destroying
all journals and papers, went out to meet him.  He took down her name and
age, those of four little Burmese girls she had charge of, and of two
Bengal servants; pronounced them all slaves to the King, and set a guard
over them.  Mrs. Judson fastened herself and her children into the inner
room, while the guards threatened her savagely if she would not show
herself, and even put her servants' feet in the stocks till she had
obtained their release by promises of money.

Moung Ing had ascertained that his master was in prison; and when, after
the most dreadful night she had ever spent, she sent him again in the
morning, with a piece of silver to obtain admittance, he brought word
that both Judson and Price, with the three English merchants, were in the
death-prison, each wearing three pairs of iron fetters and fastened to a
long pole.  Mrs. Judson immediately sent to the governor of the city with
an entreaty to be allowed to visit him with a present.  This procured her
a favourable reception, and he promised to make the condition of the
prisoners more comfortable, but told her that she must consult his head
writer as to the means.  This man, a brutal-looking fellow, extorted from
her a huge bribe, and then promised to release the two teachers from the
pole, and to put them into another building where she might send them
food daily, and pillows and mats to sleep on.  She obtained an order for
an interview with her husband, whose looks were so wretched and ghastly
that she lost no time in fulfilling these exorbitant demands.

Her hope was in a petition to the Queen, but being under arrest herself,
she could not go to the Queen in person, and had to approach her through
her sister-in-law--a proud, haughty dame, who received her in the most
cold, discouraging manner, but who undertook to present the petition.  She
then went to the prison again, but the head writer would not allow her to
enter; and on her return home she found that all the property in the
mission-house was to undergo a scrutiny; but this was humanely done, and
was only inventoried, not seized--_i.e._ the King did not seize it, but
the officials helped themselves to whatever took their fancy.  The next
day the Queen's answer was obtained--"He is not to be executed; let him
remain where he is."

The poor lady's heart fainted within her, but she thought of the widow
and the unjust judge, and persevered day after day in applying to every
member of the royal family or of Government to entreat for her husband's
liberation.  The King's mother, sisters, and brother were all interested
in his favour, but none of them ventured to apply direct to the King lest
they should offend the favourite Queen.  All failed, but the hopes that
from time to time were excited, kept up the spirits of the sufferers.
During the long weary months while the missionaries continued in fetters,
_i.e._ chained by the feet to a bar of bamboo, Mrs. Judson was often not
allowed to visit them for ten days at a time, and then only by walking to
the prison after dark, two miles, unattended.  She could, however,
communicate with her husband by means of the provisions she sent him
daily.  At first she used to write on the dough of a flat cake, which she
afterwards baked and concealed in a bowl of rice, while he answered by
writing on a tile, where the inscription disappeared when dry but was
visible when wet; but latterly they found it most convenient to write on
a roll of paper hidden in the long nose of a coffee-pot, in which tea was
sent to the prisoners.

Mrs. Judson delighted to send him little surprises, once a mince-pie,
which Moung Ing carried with the utmost pride to his imprisoned master.
Mrs. Judson found herself obliged to wear the native dress, though she
was so much taller than the Burmese women that she could be hardly taken
for one of them.  It was a becoming dress; her hair was drawn into a knot
on the forehead, with a cocoa-blossom, like a white plume, drooping from
it; a saffron vest open in front to show a crimson tunic below; and a
tight skirt of rich silk, sloping down behind, made her look to
advantage, so that her husband liked to remember her as she stood at his
prison door.  She never was allowed to come further.

For twenty days she was absent, and then she came with a tiny, pale,
wailing, blue-eyed baby on her breast.  Poor Judson, clanking up to the
door in his chains to welcome his little daughter, commemorated his
feelings in some touching verses ending:--

   "And when in future years
   Thou know'st thy father's tongue,
   These lines will show thee how he felt,
   How o'er his babe he sung."

Every defeat by the European forces added to the perils of captives.  A
favourite old general named Bundoolah had promised, when sent to command
the army against Rangoon, that he would release all the white prisoners
on his return as a conqueror; and when he was totally defeated, the wrath
of the Burmese was so great that at this time the King himself seems to
have scarcely acted at all.  He was gentle, indolent and indifferent,
more intelligent than those around him, scarcely a Buddhist in belief,
and very kind-hearted: indeed Judson believed that it was his
interposition alone that prevented the lives of the captives from being
taken at once; but he was demoralized by self-indulgence, and allowed
himself to be governed by his queen, the daughter of a superintendent of
gaols; and through her, by her brother, who was cruel, rapacious and
violent, and the chief author of all the sufferings inflicted on the
prisoners.  Among these were seven or eight British officers, and the
King had commanded that a daily allowance of rice should be served to
these, but scarcely half of it ever reached them; Mrs. Judson did her
best to supply them as well as her husband, but their health gave way
under their sufferings, and all died but one.

At the end of seven months, it was reported that the English army was
advancing into the interior; and in the passionate alarm thus excited,
the English captives were all loaded with five pairs of fetters and
thrown into the common prison among Burman thieves and robbers,--a
hundred in a room without a window, and that in the hottest season of the
year.  Mrs. Judson again besought the governor to relieve them from this
horrible condition, by at least allowing them to sit outside the door,
and he actually shed tears at her distress, but he told her that he had
been commanded to put them all to death privately, and that he was doing
his best for them by massing them with the rest.  The Queen's brother had
really given this order, but the governor delayed the execution in case
they should be required of him by the King, and they continued in this
frightful state for a whole month, until Mr. Judson sickened with violent
fever, and the governor permitted him to be removed into a little bamboo
room, six feet long and four wide, where his wife was allowed to visit
him and bring him food and medicine, she meantime living in a bamboo
house in the governor's compound, where the thermometer rose daily to 106
degrees, but where she thought herself happy as she saw her husband begin
to recover.

One day, however, when the governor had sent for her and was kindly
conversing with her, a servant came in and whispered to him that the
white strangers had suddenly been taken away, no one knew whither.  The
governor pretended to be taken by surprise, but there could be no doubt
that he had occupied Mrs. Judson to hinder her from witnessing the
removal; and it was not till the evening that she learnt that the
prisoners had been taken to Umerapoonah, whither she proceeded with her
three months old baby and one servant.  There she found that the
prisoners had been sent on two hours before to a sort of penal settlement
called Oung-pen-lay, whither she followed, to find her husband in a
lamentable state.  He had been dragged out of his little room, allowed no
clothing but his shirt and trowsers, a rope had been tied round his
waist, and he had been literally driven ten miles in the hottest part of
the day.  His feet were so lacerated that he was absolutely falling, when
a servant of one of the merchants tore a piece from his turban, and this
wrapped round his feet enabled him to proceed, but he could not stand for
six weeks after; indeed the scars remained for life.  In this state he
lay chained to Dr. Price.  The intention was to sacrifice them both, in
order to obtain success for an intended expedition; but before this could
be done, a different woongye, or prime minister, came in, and their
condition was somewhat improved, for they only wore one bamboo, through
two slits in which their feet were forced, and they were allowed to crawl
into the enclosure.  Meantime, a poor lion, once a great favourite, which
was thought to be connected with the lions on the English colours, was
placed in a bamboo cage in sight of the prisoners, and there starved to
death, in hopes of thus abating the force of the enemy.  When its carcase
was removed, Mr. Judson, at his own earnest entreaty, was allowed the
reversion of its cage, and there, to his great joy, Moung Ing brought him
his MS. translation of part of the Burmese Bible, which he had kept in
his pillow at Ava till it was torn away by the jailors on his removal.
The faithful Ing, thinking only to secure a relic of his master, had
picked up the pillow and secured the treasure.

Solitude was the greatest boon to Judson, whose fastidious delicacy
suffered greatly in the thronged prison, but his faithful Ann was
suffering terribly.  One of the little Burmese girls who lived with her
had caught the small-pox, and was very ill: Mrs. Judson inoculated the
other child and her own little Maria, but Maria's inoculation did not
take effect, and she caught the disease, and had it very severely.  Then
Mrs. Judson herself fell ill of a fever, and remained for two months
unable to visit her husband, both of them owing all their food to the
exertions of their good Bengalee cook.  Poor little Maria was nearly
starved, no milk was to be had, and the only food she obtained was when
the jailers were bribed to let her father carry her round the village to
beg a little nourishment from the nursing mothers.  Her moans at night
rent the heart of her sick mother, and it is scarcely possible to imagine
how either survived.  By this time, the English troops were so far
advancing that the King was reduced to negotiate, and, being in need of
an interpreter, he sent an order for Mr. Judson's release; but as his
wife was not named in it, she had great difficulty in effecting her
departure, and half-way through the journey a guard came down and carried
him off to Ava without her.  Arriving next day, she found him in prison,
but under orders to embark in a little boat and go at once to the camp at
Maloun.  She hastened to prepare all that was needful for his comfort,
but all was stolen except a mattress, pillow, and one blanket.  The boat
had no awning, and was so crowded that there was no room to lie down for
the three days and three nights of alternate scorching heat and heavy
dew; there was no food but a bag of refuse-rice, and the banks on either
side of the Irrawaddy were bordered with glittering white sand, which in
sunlight emitted a metallic glare intolerable to the eyes, and heat like
a burning furnace.  The fever returned upon Judson, and, when he reached
Maloun, he was almost helpless; but he found himself lodged in a small
bamboo hut in the middle of the white sand, where he could not admit air
by rolling up the matting without letting in the distressing glare, and
where the heat reflected from the sand was like a furnace.  He could not
stir when the officers came to summon him to the presence of the Burmese
general, and they thought it stubbornness, and threatened him; then they
brought him papers and commanded him to translate them, while he writhed
in torture and only longed that the fever in his brain would deprive him
of his senses.  This it must have done, for he had only a confused
impression of feet around him, and of fancying that he was going to be
burnt alive, until he found himself on a bed in a somewhat cooler room.
As he lay there, papers were continually brought him to explain and
translate, and he found that the greatest difficulty was in making the
Burmese understand that a State paper could mean what it said, or that
truth and honesty were possible.  Sometimes, as he tried to explain the
commonest principle: of good faith and fair dealing among Christian
nations, his auditors would exclaim, "That is noble," "That is as it
should be;" but then they would shake their heads and say, "The teacher
dreams; he has a heavenly spirit, and so he thinks himself in the land of
the dwellers in heaven."

He remained here six weeks, suffering much at night from cold, for his
only covering was a small rug and his well-worn blanket.  Then, on the
advance of the English, he was sent back to Ava, but was marched straight
to the court-house without being suffered to halt for a moment at his own
abode, to discover whether his wife was there.  He was placed in a shed,
guarded all day, and left without food, till Moung Ing found him out in
the evening, and replied to his questions, that the Mamma Judson and the
child were well; yet there was something about his manner that was
unsatisfactory, and Judson, thinking it over, became terribly uneasy, and
in the morning, being sent for by the governor of the jail, obtained
permission to go to his own house.

At the door he saw a fat, half-naked Burmese woman with a child in her
arms, so dark with dirt that it never occurred to him that it could be
his own; and entering, he found, lying across the foot of the bed, his
wife, ghastly white and emaciated, her hair all cut away, and her whole
appearance that of a corpse.  She woke as he knelt down by her in
despair!  She had been ill all this time with a horrible spotted fever.
The day she had fallen ill, the Burmese woman had offered to take charge
of little Maria, and the Bengalee cook had attended on her.  Dr. Price
was released from prison and had cut off her hair, bled, and blistered
her, but she could hardly move when the tidings came of her husband being
in the town, and she had sent Moung Ing to him.  The husband and wife
were at last together again, and Dr. Price was sent to conduct the treaty
at the English camp.

As soon as Sir Archibald Campbell heard of the sufferings of the Judsons,
he demanded them as well as the English subjects; but the King was aware
that they were not English, and would not let them go.  This attempt at a
treaty failed; but its failure, and the alarm consequent upon a report of
the advance of the English, led to Mr. Judson's being sent off, almost by
force, with two officials, to promise a ransom if Ava were spared.  Sir
Archibald Campbell undertook that the city should not be attacked,
provided his terms were complied with before he reached it; and among
these was the stipulation that not only English subjects, but all
foreigners should have free choice whether to go or to stay.  Some of the
officials tried to persuade Mr. Judson to stay, declaring that he would
become a great man, but he could not refuse the freedom offered him after
such cruel sufferings, and he was wont to declare that the joy of finding
himself floating down the Irrawaddy in a boat with his wife and baby,
made up for their twenty-one months of peril and misery.

They were received with courtesy, and indeed with gratitude, respect, and
veneration at the English camp.  The Englishmen who had been in captivity
bore witness to the kindness with which Mrs. Judson had relieved their
wants, as well as those of her husband: how she had brought them food,
mended their clothes, obtained new ones, and, as they believed, by her
arguments and appeals to the ignorant and barbarous Government, had not
only saved their lives, but convinced the authorities of the necessity of
accepting the British terms of peace.

These terms included the cession of a large portion of the Burmese
territory; and this it was that decided the missionaries to leave Ava;
for the state of exasperation and intolerance into which this brought the
Court, made it vain to think of continuing to give instruction where they
would be regarded with enmity and suspicion.  Meantime, the officers in
the English camp, who had not seen a lady for nearly two years, could not
make enough of the graceful, gentle woman, so pale and fragile, yet such
a dauntless heroine, and always ready to exert herself beyond her
strength for every sufferer who came in her way.

There was a curious scene at a dinner given to the Burmese commissioners,
in a magnificent tent, with all the military pomp the camp could furnish.
When Sir Archibald appeared with Mrs. Judson on his arm, and seated her
by his side, there was such a look of discomfiture on the faces of the
guests, that he asked her if they were not old acquaintance who had
treated her ill.  "That fellow with the pointed beard," he said, "seems
taken with an ague fit."  Then Mrs. Judson told how, when her husband lay
in a burning fever with the five pairs of fetters, she had walked several
miles with a petition to this man, had been kept waiting till the
noontide sun was at its height, and not only was she refused, but as she
departed her silk umbrella was torn out of her hand by his greediness;
and when she begged at least to let her have a paper one to go home with,
the officer only laughed at her, and told her that she was too thin to be
in danger of a sunstroke!  The English gentlemen could not restrain their
countenances at least from expressing their indignation; and the Burmese,
who thought she was asking for their heads, or to have them laid out in
the sun with weights upon their chests, were yellow with fright, and
trembled visibly.  Mrs. Judson kindly turned to them with a smile,
assuring them that they had nothing to fear, and, on repeating her words
to Sir Archibald Campbell, he confirmed them to the frightened
barbarians.

That visit to the English camp was one of the few spaces of comfort or
repose in those busy lives.  It concluded by the husband and wife being
forwarded to their old home at Rangoon.

It was in the height of the war, when anxieties for the fate of Mr. and
Mrs. Judson were at the utmost, that, on the 4th of July, 1825, George
Boardman and Sarah Hall were married, and sailed for Calcutta, thinking
it possible that they might find their predecessors martyred, and that
they were coming "to step where their comrades stood."

At Calcutta they found Mr. and Mrs. Wade, who had with great difficulty
escaped, and soon after they heard of the rescue of the Judsons, and
welcomed Dr. Price.  Rangoon, in the meantime, had been occupied by the
English, and then besieged by the Peguans; the mission-house was ruined,
and the people dispersed, and Moung Shwaygnong had died of cholera,
faithful to the last.  The city was to be restored to the Burmese, and
the King, though willing to employ Judson politically, refused toleration
to his subjects; so that, as the provinces on the Martaban river were to
be ceded to the English, it seemed wise to take advantage of the
reputation which the Judsons had established to found a mission-station
under their protection in the new town of Amherst, which Sir Archibald
Campbell proposed to build on the banks of the Martaban river.

Hither was transported the old zayat of Rangoon; and Mount Ing, Moung
Shwaba, and a few other of the flock accompanied their teachers, to form
the nucleus of the mission.  Sir Archibald Campbell had made a great
point of Mr. Judson's accompanying the English embassy that was to
conclude the treaty at Ava; and he, hoping to obtain something for the
Christian cause, complied, leaving that most brave and patient woman, his
wife, with her little delicate girl, in a temporary house in Amherst,
which, as yet, consisted only of barracks, officers' houses, and fifty
native huts by the riverside in the space of freshly-cleared jungle.
There she set to work with energy that enfeebled health could not daunt,
to prepare the way for the Wades and the Boardmans, to superintend a
little school, of which Moung Ing was master, and to have a house built
for her husband.

She had just moved into it, when she was attacked with remittent fever,
and, though attended by an English army surgeon and nursed by a soldier's
wife, she sank under it, and died on the 24th of October, 1826.  She was
buried under a _hopia_, or, as her friends loved to call it, a hope tree;
and the Wades, coming shortly after, took charge of poor little Maria,
who lived to be embraced by her father, on his arrival after three
months' absence; but she continued to pine away, and only survived her
mother six months.

Judson endured patiently, thought of his wife's sufferings as gems in her
crown, wrote cheerful letters, and toiled indefatigably, without breaking
down, but he was never the same man again.  Amherst was probably
unhealthy, for several of the Rangoon converts died there, among them one
of the little Burmese girls who had been with Mrs. Judson throughout her
troubles.  Those who died almost always spoke with joy of their hope of
seeing Mamma Judson in heaven.  "But first," said one woman, "I shall
fall down before the Saviour's feet, and thank Him for sending us our
teachers."

It was shortly before little Maria's death that Mr. and Mrs. Boardman
arrived, bringing with them a daughter born at Calcutta.  Moulmein, the
town near at hand, was decided on as their station, and they removed to a
mission-house on the border of the jungle, about a mile from the
cantonments, with a beautiful range of hills behind them, and the river
in front.  Opposite lay the Burman province of Martaban, which had been
desolated during the war, and was now the haunt of terrible Malay
pirates, who came and robbed in the town, and then fled securely to the
opposite bank, where they could not be pursued.  The English officers had
entreated the Boardmans to reside within the cantonments, but they wished
to be among the people, so as to learn the language more readily and
become acquainted with them.

One night, Mrs. Boardman awoke and found the lamp gone out.  She rose and
re-lighted it.  Every box and drawer lay overthrown and rifled, nothing
left but what the thieves deemed not worth taking.  She turned round to
the mosquito curtain which concealed her husband; it was cut by two long
gashes, the one close to his head, the other to his feet.  There the
robber-sentry must have kept watch, ready to destroy the sleepers if they
had wakened for a moment!  Nearly every valuable had been carried away,
and not a trace of any was ever found.  After this, Sir Archibald
Campbell gave them a Sepoy guard; and, as population increased, the
danger diminished.  Indeed, Amherst proved an unsuccessful attempt, and
was gradually abandoned in favour of Moulmein, which became the
head-quarters both of Government and of the Mission.

The Boardmans were specially devoted to that, because of the work which
regarded the Karens.  These were a wandering race who occupied a strip of
jungle, a hilly country to the south of Burmah, living chiefly by hunting
and fishing, making canoes, and clothed in cotton cloth.  They had very
scanty ideas either of religion or civilization, but were not idolaters,
and had a good many of what Judson calls the gentler virtues of savages,
though their habits were lazy and dirty.  They had been a good deal
misused by the Burmese, but occasionally wandered into the cities; and
there Judson had asked questions about them which had roused the interest
of his Burman converts.  During the war, one of these Burmese found a
poor Karen, named Ko-Thah-byoo, in bondage for debt, paid the amount,
made him his own servant, and, on the removal to Moulmein, brought him
thither.  He proved susceptible of instruction, and full of energy and
zeal; and not only embraced Christianity heartily himself, but introduced
it to his tribe, and assisted the missionaries in acquiring the language.

To be nearer to these people, the Boardmans removed to Tavoy, where they
had a Burmese congregation; and Mr. Boardman made an expedition among the
Karens, who were, for the most part, by no means unwilling to listen, and
with little tradition to pre-occupy their minds, as well as intelligence
enough to receive new ideas.  At one place, the people were found devoted
to an object that was thought to have magic power, and which they kept
with great veneration, wrapt up in many coverings.  It proved to be an
English Common Prayer Book, printed at Oxford, which had been left behind
by a Mahometan traveller.  On the whole, this has been a flourishing
mission; the Karens were delighted to have their language reduced to
writing, and the influence of their teachers began to raise them in the
scale; but all was done under the terrible drawback of climate.  Mrs.
Boardman never was well from the time she landed at Moulmein, and her
beautiful flower-covered house at Tavoy was the constant haunt of
sickness, under which her elder child, Sarah, died, after showing all
that precocity that white children often do in these fatal regions.  A
little boy named George had by this time been born, and shared with his
mother the dangers of the Tavoy rebellion, an insurrection stirred up by
a prince of the Burmese royal blood, in hopes of wresting the province
from the English.

One night, a Burmese lad belonging to the school close to the Boardmans'
house, was awakened by steps; and, peeping through the braided bamboo
walls of his hut, saw parties of men talking in an undertone about lost
buffaloes.  Some went into the town, others gathered about the gate, and,
when their numbers began to thicken, a cloud of smoke was seen in the
morning dawn, and yells from a thousand voices proclaimed, "Tavoy has
risen!"

Boardman awoke and rushed out to the door, but a friendly voice told him
that no harm was intended him.  The revolt was against the English, and
never was a movement more perilous.  The commandant, Colonel Burney, was
absent at Moulmein, the English officer next in command was ill of a
fatal disease, the gunner was ill, and the whole defence of a long,
straggling city was in the hands of a hundred Sepoys, commanded by a very
young surgeon, assisted by Mrs. Burney, who had a babe of three weeks
old.  The chief of the fight was at the powder magazine, not very far
from the Boardmans' abode.  It was attacked by two hundred men with
clubs, knives, spears, but happily with very few muskets, and defended by
only six Sepoys, who showed great readiness and faithfulness.  Just as
their bullets seemed to be likely to endanger the frightened little
family, a savage-looking troop of natives were seen consulting, with
threatening gestures aimed at the mission-house, and Mr. Boardman, fully
expecting to be massacred, made his wife and her baby hide in a little
shed, crouching to escape the bullets; but this alarm passed off, and, at
the end of an hour, the whole of the gates had been regained by the
Sepoys, and the attack on the magazine repulsed.  Mr. Boardman took this
opportunity of carrying his family to the Government house, where they
were warmly welcomed by Mrs. Burney; but it was impossible to continue
the defence of so large an extent as the town occupied, and therefore the
tiny garrison decided on retiring to a large wooden building on the
wharf, whither the Sepoys conveyed three cannon and as much powder as
they expected to want, throwing the rest down wells.  This was not done
without constant skirmishing, and was not completed till three o'clock,
when the refugees were collected,--namely, a hundred Sepoys, with their
wives and children, stripped of all their ornaments, which they had
buried; some Hindoo and Burmese servants; a few Portuguese traders; a
wily old Mussulman; Mrs. Boardman and Mrs. Burney, each with her baby;
and seven Englishmen besides Mr. Boardman.  Among them rode the ghastly
figure of the sick officer, who had been taken from his bed, but who
hoped to encourage his men by appearing on horseback; but his almost
orange skin, wasted form, sunken eyes, and perfect helplessness, were to
Mrs. Boardman even more terrible than the yells of the insurgents around
and the shots of their scanty escort.

Three hundred persons were crowded together in the wooden shed, roofed
over, and supported on posts above the water, with no partitions.  The
situation was miserable enough, but they trusted that the enemy, being
only armed with spears, could not reach them.  By and by, however, the
report of a cannon dismayed them.  The jingals, or small field-pieces,
were brought up, but not till evening; and the inexperienced rebels took
such bad aim that all the balls passed over the wharf into the sea, and
the dense darkness put a stop to the attempt; but all night the trembling
inmates were awakened by savage yells; and a Sepoy, detecting a spark of
light through the chinks of the floor, fired, and killed an enemy who had
come beneath in a boat to set fire to the frail shelter!

In the morning the firing from the walls was renewed, but at long
intervals, for there was a great scarcity of powder, though the unhappy
besieged apprehended every moment that the right direction would be hit
upon, and then that the balls would be among them.  They could send
nowhere for help, though there was a Chinese junk within their reach, for
it could not put to sea under the fire of the rebels; and two more days,
and two still more terrible nights, passed in what must have been almost
a black hole.  The fifth night was the worst of all, for the town was set
on fire around, and by the light of the flames the enemy made a furious
attack; but just in time to prevent the fire from attaining the frail
wooden structure, a providential storm quenched it, and the muskets of
the Sepoys again repulsed the enemy.  By this time the provisions were
all but exhausted, and there were few among even the defenders who were
not seriously ill from the alternate burning sun and drenching rain.
Death seemed hovering over the devoted wharf from every quarter; when at
last, soon after sunrise on the fifth day, the young doctor quietly
beckoned the Colonel's wife to the door that opened upon the sea, and
pointed to the horizon, where a little cloudy thread of smoke was rising.

It was the steamer bringing Colonel Burney back, in perfect ignorance of
the peril of Tavoy and of his wife!  But he understood all at a glance.
The women and children were instantly transferred to the steamer, and she
was sent back to Moulmein, but Colonel Burney and the few men who came
with him landed, and restored courage and spirit to the besieged.  Not
only was a breastwork thrown up to protect the wharf, but the Colonel led
a trusty little band of Sepoys to the wall where the cannon stood,
recaptured them, and had absolutely regained Tavoy before the tidings of
the insurrection had reached Moulmein.  Mrs. Burney's babe died soon
after the steamer had brought the two mothers and their infants to their
refuge; but little George Boardman did not suffer any ill effects from
these dreadful days and nights, and was, in fact, the only child of his
patents who outlived infancy.  Another son, born a few months afterwards,
soon ended a feeble existence, and Mrs. Boardman was ill for many months.
Her husband, delicate from the first, never entirely recovered the
sufferings at the wharf; yet in spite of an affection of the lungs, he
would often walk twenty miles a day through the Karen villages, teaching
and preaching, and at night have no food but rice, and sleep on a mat on
the floor of an open zayat.

The Moulmein station was a comparative rest, and the husband and wife
removed thither to supply the place of Judson and of the Wades, who were
making another attempt upon Burmah Proper; the Wades taking up their
residence at Rangoon, and Judson going on to Prome, the ancient capital,
where he preached in the zayats, distributed tracts, and argued with the
teachers in his old fashion; but the Ava Government had become far more
suspicious, and interfered as soon as he began to make anything like
progress, requesting the English officer now in residence at the Court to
remonstrate with him, and desire him not to proceed further than Rangoon.
He was obliged to yield, and again to float down the river in his little
boat, baffled, but patient and hopeful.

A great change had come upon the bright, enthusiastic, lively young man
who had set out, with his beautiful Ann, to explore the unknown Eastern
world.  Suffering of body had not altered him so much as bereavement, and
bereavement without rest in which to face and recover the shock.  A
strong ascetic spirit was growing on him.  Already on his first return to
Moulmein, after joining in the embassy, he had thought it right to cut
short the ordinary intercourse of society, to which his residence in the
camp had given rise, and had announced his intention in a letter to Sir
Archibald Campbell.  He was much regretted, for he was a particularly
agreeable man; and it is evident, both from all testimony and from the
lively tone of his letters, that he was full of good-natured sympathy,
and, however sad at heart, was a cheerful and even merry companion.

But through these years, throughout constant care and unrelaxed activity
of mind and body, his heart was aching for the wife he had no time to
mourn; and the agony thus suppressed led to an utter loathing for all
that he thought held him back from perfect likeness to the glorified
Saint whom he loved.  He took delight in the most spiritual mystical
writings he could find,--a Kempis, Madame Guyon, Fenelon, and the
like,--and endeavoured to fulfil the Gospel measure of holiness.  He gave
up his whole patrimony to the American Baptist Mission Board (now
separate from England and Serampore), mortified to the very utmost his
fastidious delicacy by ministering to the most loathsome diseases; and to
crush his love of honour, he burnt a letter of thanks for his services
from the Governor-General of India, and other documents of the same kind.
He fasted severely, and having by nature a peculiar horror of the decay
and mouldering of death, he deemed it pride and self-love, and dug a
grave beside which he would sit meditating on the appearance of the body
after death.  He had a bamboo hermitage on the borders of the jungle,
where he would live on rice for weeks together--only holding converse
with those who came to him for religious instruction; and once, when worn
out with his work of translation, he went far into the depths of the
wildest jungle, near a deserted pagoda, and there sat down to read, pray,
and meditate.  The next day, on returning to the spot, he found a seat of
bamboo, and the branches woven together for a shelter.  Judson never
learnt whose work this was, but it was done by a loving disciple, who had
overcome the fear of tigers to provide by night for his comfort, though
the place was thought so dangerous that his safety, during the forty days
that he haunted it, was viewed by the natives as a miracle.  He spent
several months in retirement.  It was indeed four years after his
bereavement, but it is plain that he was taking the needful rest and calm
that his whole nature required after the shock that he had undergone, but
which he had in a manner deferred until the numbers of workers were so
increased that his constant labour could be dispensed with.  He came
forth from his retirement renovated in spirit, for the second period of
his toils.

Meantime, the Boardmans had returned to Tavoy, where they were eagerly
welcomed by their Karen flock, and found many candidates for baptism.
Weak as he was, Mr. Boardman examined them.  He was sometimes able to sit
up in his chair and speak for himself, but oftener so weak that his wife
sat on his couch and interpreted his feeble whispers; but he was so happy
that tears of joy often filled his eyes.  The actual baptism, performed
by going down into the water like Philip with the Ethiopian, could hardly
have been carried out by a man in his state; but Moung Ing, who had been
admitted to the pastorate, touched at Moulmein, on a mission to Mergui,
and undertook the baptisms.  The Karens carried Mr. Boardman to the water
in his cot, along a street filled with lamaseries, whence the
yellow-clothed priests looked down in scorn, and the common people hooted
and reviled: "See! see your teacher, a living man borne as if he were
already dead!" with still worse unfeeling taunts.  The Christians, about
fifty in number, reached the spot, a beautiful lake, nearly a mile in
circumference, and bordered by green grass overshadowed by trees.  There
they all knelt down and prayed, and then Moung Ing baptized the nineteen
new disciples, while the pastor lay pale and happy, and his wife watched
him with her heart full of the last baptism, when it had been he who
poured the water and spoke the words.

Mr. Boardman lived on into the year 1831, and welcomed a new arrival from
America, Francis Mason and his wife, on the 23rd of January, and a week
later set out to introduce the former to the Karens, a band of whom had
come down to convey the party.  Mr. Boardman was carried on his bed, his
wife in a chair, and on the third day they reached a spot where the
Karens, of their own accord, had erected a bamboo chapel beside a
beautiful stream beneath a range of mountains.  Nearly a hundred had
assembled there, of whom half were candidates for baptism.  They cooked,
ate, and slept in the open air, but they had made a small shed for Mr.
Mason, and another for the Boardmans, too small to stand upright in, and
so ill-enclosed as to be exposed to sun by day and cold air by night.

The sufferer rapidly became worse, but he had an ardent desire to see
this last baptism, and all the thirty-four women, who were sufficiently
prepared, were baptized in his sight, though he was so spent as scarcely
to be able to breathe without the fan and smelling-bottle.  In the
evening he contrived to speak a few words of exhortation to the
disciples, and to give them each a tract or a portion of Scripture.  The
next morning the party set out on their return, but in the afternoon were
overtaken by a great storm of thunder and lightning, with rain that
drenched his mattress and pillows; and when they reached a house, they
found it belonged to heathens, who would scarcely let the strange teacher
lie in the verandah.

His cot was so wet that he was forced to lie on the bamboo floor, and the
rain continued all night.  A boat was expected at twelve the next day,
and it was resolved to wait for this, while the Tavoyans looked grimly
on, and refused even to sell a chicken to make broth for the sick man.  By
nine o'clock he was evidently dying, and the Karens rubbed his hands and
feet as they grew cold.  Almost immediately after being conveyed to the
boat, the last struggles came on, and in a few minutes he had passed
away.  He was buried at Tavoy, beside his little Sarah; all the Europeans
in the town attending, as well as a grateful multitude of Burmese and
Karens.

   "The tree to which the frail creeper clung
      Still lifts its stately head,
   But he, on whom my spirit hung,
      Is sleeping with the dead,"

wrote Sarah Boardman; and her first thought was of course to go home with
her child, but the Masons had not learnt the languages, and had no
experience, and, without her, there would be no schools, no possibility
of instruction for the converts of either people until they could speak
freely, and she therefore resolved not to desert her work.  She was
keeping school, attending to all comers, and interpreting from sunrise
till ten o'clock at night, besides having the care of her little boy, and
her schools were so good that, when the British Government established
some, orders were given for conducting them on the same system.

She tried to learn Karen, but never had time, and it was the less needful
that a little Burmese was known to some Karens, and thus she could always
have an interpreter.  She sometimes made mission tours to keep up the
spirit of the Karens till Mr. Mason should be qualified to come among
them.  Her little George was carried by her attendants, and there is a
note to Mrs. Mason, sent back from one of the stages of her journey,
which shows what her travels must have been: "Perhaps you had better send
the chair, as it is convenient to be carried over the streams when they
are deep.  You will laugh when I tell you that I have forded all the
smaller ones."  But there is scarcely any record of these journeys of
hers, she was too modest and shy to dwell on what only related to
herself; and though she several times, with the help of her Burmese
interpreter, led the devotions of two or three hundred Karens, it was
always with a sense of reluctance, and only under necessity.

She had been a widow four years, when Adoniram Judson, who had returned
from Rangoon, and was about to take charge of the station at Moulmein,
made her his second wife, on the 10th of April, 1834.  At the same time,
an opportunity offered of sending little George back to America for
education; but year after year filled the house at Moulmein with other
little ones,--careful comforts, in that fatal climate, which had begun to
tell on the health of both the parents.  Pain and sorrow went for little
with this devoted pair.  To be as holy as the Apostles though without
their power, was the endeavour which Judson set before himself, and the
work of such a man was one of spirit that drew all to hear and follow
him.  The Burmese converts were numbered by hundreds, and one of the
missionaries in the Karen country could write: "I no longer date from a
heathen land.  Heathenism has fled from these banks; I eat the rice and
fruits cultivated by Christian hands, look on the fields of Christians,
see no dwellings but those of Christian families.  I am seated in the
midst of a Christian village, surrounded by a people that live as
Christians, converse as Christians, act as Christians, and, to my eyes,
look like Christians."

All this, like every other popular conversion, involved many individual
disappointments from persons not keeping up to the Christian standard,
and from coolness setting in when the excitement of the change was over;
and great attention had to be paid to rules, discipline, &c., as well as
to providing books and schools.  Judson himself had to work hard at the
completion and correction of the Burmese Bible, to which he devoted
himself, the more entirely because an affection of the throat and cough
came on, and for some time prevented him from preaching.  In 1839, he
tried to alleviate it by a voyage to Calcutta, where he was received by
both Bishop Wilson and by the Marshman family at Serampore; but, as he
observes, "the glory of Serampore had departed," and his stay there must
have been full of sad associations.  His work upon the Scriptures was
finished in 1840, and he then began a complete Burmese dictionary, while
his wife was translating the Pilgrim's Progress; but both were completely
shattered in health, and their children, four in number, had all been
brought low by the hooping cough, and then by other complaints.  A voyage
to Calcutta was imperatively enjoined on all; but it was stormy and full
of suffering, and soon after they arrived at Serampore their youngest
child, little Henry, died.  A still further voyage was thought advisable,
and the whole family went as far as the Isle of France, where they
recovered some measure of health, and their toil at Moulmein was resumed.
Four more years passed, three more children were born, and then the
strength that had been for nineteen years so severely tried, gave way,
and the doctors pronounced that Sarah Judson's life could only be saved
by a voyage to America.  The three elder children were to go with her,
but the three little ones were to remain, since their father only
intended to go as far as the Isle of France, and then return to his
labour.  The last words she ever wrote were pencilled on a slip of paper,
intended to be given to him to comfort him at their farewell:--

   "We part on this green islet, love:
      Thou for the Eastern main,
   I for the setting sun, love;
      Oh! when to meet again?

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

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

   * * * * *

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

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

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

   Then gird thine armour on, love,
      Nor faint thou by the way
   Till Boodh shall fall, and Burmah's sons
      Shall own Messiah's sway."

What a trumpet-note for a soldier to leave after nineteen years service
"through peril, toil, and pain," undaunted to the last!  For by the time
the ship left the Isle of France, she was fading so rapidly that her
husband could not quit her, and sailed on with her to St. Helena.  She
was fast dying, but so composed about her children, that some one
observed that she seemed to have forgotten the three babes.  "Can a
mother forget?" was all her answer.  She died on board the ship, at
anchor in the bay of St. Helena, and was carried to the burial-ground,
where all the colonial clergy in the island attended, and she was laid
beside Mrs. Chater, the wife of that Serampore missionary whose expulsion
had led to the first pioneering at Rangoon, and who had since worked in
Ceylon.  She was just forty-two, and died September 1st, 1845.

Her husband found her beautiful farewell; and, as he copied it out, he
wrote after the last verse, "Gird thine armour on," "And so, God willing,
I will yet endeavour to do; and while her prostrate form finds repose on
the rock of the ocean, and her sanctified spirit enjoys sweeter repose on
the bosom of JESUS, let me continue to toil on all my appointed time,
until my change too shall come."

On the evening of the day of her burial, he sailed with the three
children, and arrived at Boston on the 15th of October, 1845.  He
remained in his native country only nine months, and, if a universal
welcome could have delighted him, he received it to the utmost.  So
little did he know of his own fame, that, returning after thirty years,
he had been in pain to know where to procure a night's lodging at Boston,
whereas he found half the city ready to compete for the honour of
receiving him, and every one wanted to meet him.  Places of worship where
he was to preach were thronged, and every public meeting where he was
expected to speak was fully attended; but all this fervour of welcome was
a distress to him, his affection of the throat made oratory painful and
often impossible, and the mere going silently to an evening assembly so
excited his nerves that he could not sleep for the whole night after.  Any
sort of display was misery to him; he could not bear to sit still and
hear the usual laudation of his achievements; and, when distinguished and
excellent men were introduced to him, he received them with chilling
shyness and coldness, too humble to believe that it was for his goodness
and greatness that they sought to know him, but fancying it was out of
mere curiosity.

His whole desire was to get back to his work and escape from American
notoriety, and, disregarding all representations that longer residence in
the north might confirm his health, he intended to seize the first
opportunity of returning to Moulmein.  But a wife was almost a necessity
both to himself and his mission, and even now, at his mature age and
broken health, he was able to win a woman of qualities almost if not
quite equal to those of the Ann and Sarah who had gone before her.

Emily Chubbuck, born in 1817, was the daughter of parents of the Baptist
persuasion, living in the State of New York.  She was the fifth child of
a large family in such poor circumstances that, when she was only eleven
years old, she was sent to work at a woollen factory, where her
recollections were only of "noise and filth, bleeding hands and aching
feet, and a very sad heart;" but happily for her, the frost stopped the
works during the winter months, and she was able to go to school; and,
after two years, the family removed to a country farm.  They were all
very delicate, and her elder sisters were one after the other slowly
dying of decline.  This, with their "conversions" and baptisms, deepened
Emily's longing to give the tokens required by her sect for Christian
membership, but they came slowly and tardily with her, and she quaintly
told how one day she was addressed by one of the congregation whose
prayers had been asked for her, "What! this little girl not converted
yet?  How do you suppose we can waste any more time in praying for you?"
Her intelligence was very great, and in 1832, when her mother wanted her
to become a milliner, she entreated to be allowed to engage herself as a
school teacher.  "I stood as tall as I could," she says, when she went to
offer herself, and she was accepted, although only fifteen.  The system
was that of "boarding round"--_i.e._ the young mistress had to live a
week alternately at each house, and went from thence to her school, but
she found this so uncomfortable that she ended by sleeping at home every
night.  She struggled on, teaching in various schools, doing needlework
in after-hours, trying to improve herself, and always contending with
great delicacy of health, which must have made it most trying to cope
with what she calls in one of her letters "a little regiment of wild
cats" for about seven years, when some of the friends she had made
obtained of two sisters who kept a boarding school at Utica that she
should be admitted there to pursue the higher branches of study for a
year or two, and then to repay them by her services as a teacher.

The two ladies, Miss Urania and Miss Cynthia Sheldon, and their widowed
sister, Mrs. Anable, proved Emily's kindest friends, and made a
thoroughly happy home for her.  She was very frail and nervous, but of
great power of influence, and even while still only a pupil had this
gift.  Here she spent the rest of her maiden days, and here she supplied
the failure of her labours in needlework by contributions to magazines,
generally under the _nom de plume_ of Fanny Forester.  They were chiefly
poems and short tales, and were popular enough to bring in a sum that was
very important to the Chubbuck family.  The day's employment was very
full, and she stole the time required from her rest.  Late one night,
Miss Sheldon seeing a light in the room looked in, and found her
trembling in nervous agitation, holding her head with her hands and her
manuscript before her; and when gently rebuked, and entreated to lie down
at once, she exclaimed with a burst of tears, "Oh!  Miss Urania, I must
write; I must help my poor parents."

Her brave and dutiful endeavours prospered so much that she was actually
able to buy a house for them.  It was during her stay at Utica that she
was baptized, and several of her writings were expressly for the Baptist
Sunday School Union; and though others were of a more secular cast, all
were such as could only be composed by a religious woman.  A little book
of hers fell into the hands of Dr. Judson, and struck him so much that he
said, "I should be glad to know her.  A lady who writes so well ought to
write better."  She was then at Philadelphia, and at the moment of his
introduction to her was undergoing the process of vaccination.  As soon
as it was over he entered into conversation with her with some
abruptness, demanding of her how she could employ her talents in writings
so trifling and so little spiritual as those he had read.

Emily met the rebuke without offence, but defended herself by describing
the necessity of her case, with her indigent parents depending upon her;
so that her work must almost of necessity be popular and profitable,
though, as a duty, she avoided all that could be of doubtful tendency.

The missionary was thoroughly softened, and not only acquitted her, but
begged her to undertake the biography of his wife Sarah: and this threw
them much together.  He was fifty-seven, she twenty-eight, when he
offered himself to her in the following letter, sent with a watch:--

"I hand you, dearest, a charmed watch.  It always comes back to me, and
brings its wearer with it.  I gave it to Ann when a hemisphere divided
us, and it brought her safely and surely to my arms.  I gave it to Sarah
during her husband's lifetime (not then aware of the secret), and the
charm, though slow in its operation, was true at last."

The charm worked.  Emily Chubbuck was ready to follow Dr. Judson to the
deadly climate of Burmah, to share his labours, and become a mother to
the babies he had left there.

They were married on the 2nd of June, 1846, and five weeks later sailed
for Burmah, leaving the three children at school.

Emily seems to have differed from Ann and Sarah, in that she had less
actual missionary zeal than they.  Sarah at least was a missionary in
heart, and, as such, became a wife; but Emily was more the wife, working
as her husband worked.  She had much more literary power than either; her
letters to her friends were full of vivid description, playful accounts
of their adventures, and lively colouring even of misfortunes, pain, and
sickness.  She arrived at Moulmein in November.  One little boy had died
during Dr. Judson's absence, but the other two were tenderly cared for by
the new Mrs. Judson, who threw herself into all the work and interests of
the mission with great animation.  It proved, however, that both the
Burman and Karen missions were well supplied with teachers; and Dr.
Judson thought he should be more useful at Rangoon, where there had,
since one attempt on the part of the Wades, been no resident missionary.
He heard accounts of the Court which made him hope to recover a footing
at Ava, and decided on again living at Rangoon; but he soon heard that
there was less hope than ever at Ava.  The king whom he had known was
dead, and had been succeeded by a devoted Buddhist, whose brother and
heir, "having been prevented from being a lama," writes Dr. Judson, "poor
man! does 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
through the once shrivelled system of the national superstition, and now
every one vies with his neighbour 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 Moulmein, and summoning to his aid the aged pastor of Rangoon
and eight or ten surviving members of the church?"

The Vice-governor, or Raywoon, was a violent and cruel savage, whose
house and court-yard rang with shrieks from the tortured, and the old
remnant of Christians were sadly scattered.  When they were collected to
worship on Sunday, they durst not either come in or go out in company,
and used to arrive with their garments tucked up to look like Coolies, or
carrying fruit or parcels, while the Karens crept down from the hills in
small parties.  The Governor was friendly, but a weak man, whose
authority the Raywoon openly set at defiance; and all sorts of petty
annoyances were set in action against the teachers, while the probability
that the converts would suffer actual persecution daily increased.  Dr.
Judson used to call the present difficulties the Splugen Pass, and
illness, of course, added to their troubles.

The great Buddhist fast of the year had never before been imposed on
strangers, but now the markets contained nothing but boiled rice, fruit,
or decaying fish, and terrible illness was the consequence both with
themselves and the children, until some boxes of biscuit arrived from
Moulmein, and a Mahometan was bribed to supply fowls.

But the finances of the Society at home were at a low ebb, and it was
thought needful to diminish the number of stations.  The intolerance of
the Burmese Government led to the decision that there was less benefit in
maintaining that at Rangoon than those in the British provinces; and, as
Dr. Judson had no private means, he was obliged to obey and return to
Moulmein.  Here he had a curious correspondence with the Prince of Siam,
whose letter began in his own English: "Venerable sir, having received
very often your far-famed qualities, honesty, faithfulness,
righteousness, gracefulness, and very kindness to poor nation, &c., from
reading the book of your ancient wife's memoir and journal." . . . The
object of this letter was to ask for some of his Burmese translations,
and, in return for them, his Royal Highness sent "a few artificial
flowers, two passion flowers, one mognayet or surnamed flower, and three
roses manufactured by most celebrated princess the daughter of the late
second king or sub-king."

The Dictionary continued to be Judson's chief occupation, for his
affection of the voice rendered him unable to take charge of a
congregation.  He continued to work at it till the November of 1849, when
he caught a severe cold, which brought on an attack of fever, and from
that time he never entirely rallied.

One of the last pleasures of his life deserves to be mentioned.  He had
always had a strong feeling for the Jews, and had longed to work for
their conversion, praying that he might at least do something towards it.
After his last illness had begun, a letter was read to him by his wife,
giving an account of a German Jew who had been led, by reading the
history of his toils in Burmah in the Gospel cause, to study Christianity
and believe.  "Love," he said presently, his eyes full of tears, "this
frightens me.  I do not know what to make of it."  "What?"  "What you
have just been reading.  I never was deeply interested in any object; I
never prayed sincerely and fervently for anything, but it came at some
time--no matter how distant a day--somehow, in some shape, probably the
last I should have devised, it came.  And yet I have always had so little
faith."

After spending a month at Amherst in the vain hope of improvement, a sea-
voyage was recommended; but his reluctance was great, for his wife was
expecting a second child, and could not go with him.  There are some
lines of hers describing her night-watches, so exquisite and descriptive,
that we must transcribe them:--

   "Sleep, love, sleep!
   The dusty day is done.
   Lo! from afar the freshening breezes sweep
   Wide over groves of balm,
   Down from the towering palm,
   In at the open casement cooling run;
   And round thy lowly bed,
   Thy bed of pain,
   Bathing thy patient head,
   Like grateful showers of rain
   They come;
   While the white curtains, waving to and fro,
   Fan the sick air;
   And pityingly the shadows come and go,
   With gentle human care,
   Compassionate and dumb.
   The dusty day is done,
   The night begun;
   While prayerful watch I keep,
   Sleep, love, sleep!
   Is there no magic in the touch
   Of fingers thou dost love so much?
   Fain would they scatter poppies o'er thee now;
   Or, with its mute caress,
   The tremulous lip some soft nepenthe press
   Upon thy weary lid and aching brow;
   While prayerful watch I keep,
   Sleep, love, sleep!

   On the pagoda spire
   The bells are swinging,
   Their little golden circlet in a flutter
   With tales the wooing winds have dared to utter,
   Till all are ringing,
   As if a choir
   Of golden-nested birds in heaven were singing;
   And with a lulling sound
   The music floats around,
   And drops like balm into the drowsy ear;
   Commingling with the hum
   Of the Sepoy's distant drum,
   And lazy beetle ever droning near.
   Sounds these of deepest silence born,
   Like night made visible by morn;
   So silent that I sometimes start
   To hear the throbbings of my heart,
   And watch, with shivering sense of pain,
   To see thy pale lids lift again.

   The lizard, with his mouse-like eyes,
   Peeps from the mortise in surprise
   At such strange quiet after day's hard din;
   Then boldly ventures out,
   And looks around,
   And with his hollow feet
   Treads his small evening beat,
   Darting upon his prey
   In such a tricksy, winsome sort of way,
   His delicate marauding seems no sin.
   And still the curtains swing,
   But noiselessly;
   The bells a melancholy murmur ring,
   As tears were in the sky:
   More heavily the shadows fall,
   Like the black foldings of a pall,
   Where juts the rough beam from the wall;
   The candles flare
   With fresher gusts of air;
   The beetle's drone
   Turns to a dirge-like, solitary moan;
   Night deepens, and I sit, in cheerless doubt, alone."

In spite of all this tender care, Dr. Judson became so much worse that,
as a last resource, a passage was taken for him and another missionary,
named Ramney, on board a French vessel bound for the Isle of Bourbon.  The
outset of the voyage was very rough, and this produced such an increase
of illness, that his life closed on the 12th of April, 1850, only a
fortnight after parting from his wife, though it was not for four months
that she could be informed of his loss.  During this time she had given
birth to a dead babe, and had suffered fearfully from sorrow and
suspense.

She had become valuable enough to the mission for there to be much
anxiety to retain her, and at first she thought of remaining; but her
health was too much broken, and in a few months she carried home her
little girl and her two step-sons.  She collected the family together,
and spent her time in the care of them, and in contributing materials for
the Life of her husband; but the hereditary disease of her family had
already laid its grasp on her, and she died on the 1st of June, 1854, the
last of a truly devoted group of workers, as remarkable for their
cheerfulness as for their heroism.




CHAPTER VII.  THE BISHOPRIC OF CALCUTTA: THOMAS MIDDLETON, REGINALD
HEBER, DANIEL WILSON.


Perhaps dying in a cause is the surest way of leading to its success.
Henry Martyn was sinking on his homeward journey, while in England the
renewal of the Charter of the East India Company was leading to the
renewal of those discussions on the promotion of religion in Hindostan
which had been so entirely quashed twenty years before, in 1793.  Claudius
Buchanan had published his "Christian Researches," the Life of Schwartz
had become known, the labours of Marshman and Carey were reported, and
the Legislature at length attended to the representations, made through
Archbishop Manners Sutton, by the Society for Promoting Christian
Knowledge, and consented to sanction the establishment of a branch of the
Church, with a Bishop to govern it at Calcutta, and an Archdeacon there
and also at Madras and Bombay; the Bishop to have 5,000_l._ a year but no
house, and each Archdeacon 2,000_l._  Such was all that the efforts of
Wilberforce could wring from the East India Company for a diocese, in
length twenty degrees, in breadth ten, and where the inconvenience of
distances was infinitely increased by the difficulties and dangers of
travelling.

One excuse for the insufficiency of this provision had more weight with
the supporters of the Church than we can understand.  England had for
more than a thousand years been accustomed to connect temporal grandeur
with the Episcopacy; a Bishop not in the House of Lords seemed an
anomaly, and it was imagined that to create chief pastors without a
considerable endowment would serve to bring them into contempt; whereas
to many minds, that very wealth and station was an absolute stumbling-
block.  However, a beginning was made, and a year after Henry Martyn's
death, in 1814, the first of the Colonial Bishops of England was
appointed, namely, Thomas Fanshaw Middleton, the son of a Derbyshire
clergyman, who had been educated at Christ's Hospital, and Pembroke
College, Cambridge, and had since been known as an excellent Greek
scholar, and an active clergyman in the diocese of Lincoln.  Thence he
removed to the rectory of St. Pancras, London, where he strove hard to
accomplish the building of a new church, but could not succeed, such was
the dead indifference of the period.  He was also Archdeacon of
Huntingdon, and one of a firmly compacted body of friends who were doing
much in a resolute though quiet way for the awakening of the nation from
its apathy towards religion.  Joshua Watson, a merchant, might be
regarded as the lay-manager and leader, as having more leisure, and more
habit of business than the clergy, with and for whom he worked.  This is
no place for detailing their home labours, but it may be well to mention
that to their exertions we owe the National Society for the education of
the poor, and likewise that edition of the Holy Scriptures, with notes,
which is commonly known as Mant's Bible.  They were the chief managers at
that time of the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge; and when, in
1813, a Danish missionary was sent out by that Society to take charge of
the congregations left by Schwartz and his colleagues, it was Archdeacon
Middleton who was selected to deliver a charge to him.  It was a very
powerful and impressive speech, and perhaps occasioned Dr. Tomline,
Bishop of Lincoln, to recommend the speaker to the Earl of
Buckinghamshire for the bishopric created the next year.

The office would be, humanly speaking, most trying, laborious and
perplexing, and neither Archdeacon Middleton's age (forty-five) nor his
habits inclined to enthusiasm.  He shrank from it at first, then
"suspected," as he says, "that I had yielded to some unmanly
considerations," and decided that it was his duty to accept the charge as
a call from his Master.  He was consecrated in the chapel at Lambeth, by
Archbishop Manners Sutton, with the Bishops of London, Lincoln, and
Salisbury assisting.  The sermon was preached by Dr. Rennell, Dean of
Winchester, but was withheld from publication for the strange reason that
there was so strong an aversion to the establishment of episcopacy in
India, that it was thought better not to attract attention to the fact
that had just been accomplished.

Bishop Middleton, his wife, and two of his Archdeacons (the third was
already in India) sailed on the 8th of June, 1814, and they landed at
Calcutta on the 28th of November.  There was no public reception, for
fear of alarming the natives, though, on the other hand, they were found
to entertain a better opinion of the English on finding they respected
their own religion.  The difficulties of the Bishop's arrival were
increased by the absence of Lord Moira, the Governor-General, who was
engaged in the Nepaulese war; and as no house had been provided for the
Bishop, he had to be the guest of Mr. Seton, a member of the Council,
till a house could be procured, at a high rent.

One of the first visitors was a Hindoo gentleman, who told him, "Sir
William Jones was a great man and understood our books, but he attended
only to our law.  Your lordship will study our religion; your people
mistake our religion; it is not in our books.  The Brahminee religion and
your lordship's are the same; we mean the same thing."

The man seems to have been one of those of whom there are now only too
many in India, who have thrown off their old superstitions only to
believe in nothing, save the existence of a Supreme Being, and who fancy
that all other religions can be simplified into the like.  This is the
class that has, for the seventy years during which Christianity has been
preached in earnest, been the alternate hope and anxiety of the
missionary; intellectually renouncing their own paganism, but withheld by
the prejudices of their families from giving up the heathenish customs of
caste; admiring divine morality, but not perceiving the inability of man
to attain the standard; and refusing to accept the mysteries in the
supernatural portion of Revelation.  Such was probably Serfojee; such was
the celebrated Brahmin Ram Mohun Roy, with whom Bishop Middleton had much
discussion, and of whom he had at one time many hopes, a man of very
remarkable powers of mind and clear practical intelligence.  Roy's
endeavour at first was to purify the native forms of religion, and,
recurring to the Vedas, to find a high philosophy in them; but he and the
friends he gathered round him soon became convinced that these contained
no system of reasonable theology, still less of morality, and they then
constructed for themselves a theory culled from Christianity, but
rejecting whatever did not approve itself to their intellect, in especial
the holy mysteries regarding the nature of the Godhead and the
Incarnation of our Lord.  This teaching, called Brahmoism, from Brahma,
the purest and highest of Hindoo divinities, is, under another form, the
Neo-Platonism of the Greeks, or the Soofeeism of the Persians.  There was
even the germ of it in the grotesque medicine-man encountered by David
Brainerd.  It is the form of opposition which the spirit of evil always
stirs up, wherever the natural character is elevated enough to appreciate
the beauty of Christian morality.  It only prevails where there are
refined and cultivated men, afraid of all belief in the supernatural, as
a humbling of their intellect to superstition; and just at present a form
of it is very prevalent in India, owing to the amount of education which
the natives receive, which uproots the old belief, but does not always
implant the new.  Whether it will become a stepping-stone to
Christianity, or whether it has substance to become a separate sect,
remains to be proved.

To return to Bishop Middleton.  He knew when he left home that his work
would be heavy, and that to set in order the things that were wanting
must be his first undertaking; but no words could have conveyed the dead
weight of care and toil that lay on him.  The huge diocese was shamefully
deficient in all that was needful for the keeping up of religious
ordinances; the Company's chaplains, few in number, were stationed at
immense distances apart, and for the most part had no attempt at a proper
church for their congregations.  Verandahs or dining-rooms were used on
Sundays; and at Meerut, an edifice was actually built for the purpose of
a riding-school in the week, and a place of worship on Sunday.  Moreover,
these chaplains were accustomed to look to the Governor-General as their
only superior, and, living so far apart, each followed his own
independent line of action, as if entirely unaccountable.  Some, such as
Mr. Corrie at Cawnpore, were admirable and earnest men; but Henry
Martyn's successor at Dinapore had let the place sink into a lamentable
state, and there were several chaplains who greatly resented the being
brought under authority.  The brunt of the battle fell of course upon the
first Bishop, and being a man as sensitive as he was firm, it tried him
severely.  His entreaty was constantly for more men; and in order to
obtain a ministry beyond that which the East India Company would provide
for, he occupied himself in procuring the foundation of Bishop's College,
close to Calcutta, a seminary where young men, both European and native,
could receive a good theological and classical education, and be prepared
for Holy Orders.  The Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge granted
5,000_l._ for the purpose, and private subscriptions came in, until on
the 15th of December, 1820, the Bishop was enabled to lay the foundation-
stone of an institution that has, now for half a century, admirably
answered its purpose.

It has long been found that Christianity cannot take root without a
native ministry, and Bishop Middleton was most anxious to ordain such
catechists of Schwartz's training as were ready; but he found great
technical difficulties in the way, since the ordination form in the
Prayer Book left no opening for persons who, not being British subjects,
could not be expected to take the oaths of allegiance and supremacy; and,
moreover, it was not certain what language ought to be used with men not
speaking English.  The arrangement of these difficulties hindered him
from ordaining Christian David, the godson and pupil of Schwartz, and a
subject of Tanjore, on his visitation to the Presidency.  This good man
met him, together with the minister of Palamcotta, bringing a deputation
about thirty in number.  The minister was an exceedingly dark man, with a
very interesting countenance.  Addresses, interpreted by Christian, were
made on either side, and the thirty sang a psalm of thanksgiving in
Tamul.  They were only a small deputation, for there were several
Christian villages in Tinnevelly, with churches built of unburnt brick,
and roofed with palmyra leaves, where the English Liturgy was used,
having been translated into Tamul by David.

At Tanjore, the Bishop was received in the most friendly manner by
Serfojee, who came down from his throne to welcome him, and caused Mrs.
Middleton to be conducted to visit the ladies of his zenana.  He
conducted the Bishop into his library, which contained books in various
European languages; also on medicine and anatomy, this being his
favourite study, to assist him in which he had an ivory skeleton.  He
returned the visit in great state, with six elephants, two of enormous
size, going before him, and accompanied by his troops, with a wild,
horrid dissonance of cannon and native music.  Two thousand persons
escorted the Rajah to the Bishop's tent, where he conversed very sensibly
on various subjects, especially English history, or as he called it, "the
Generations of English Kings."  He was keeping up the good works he had
established, under the encouragement of the British resident, Colonel
Blackburne, and in this district the native Christians numbered about
500, who were under the direction of Schwartz's companion, Pohle.

On the Malabar coast Bishop Middleton had much intercourse with the
Christians of St. Thomas, visited their churches, and held much
conversation with their Bishop, convincing himself that the distinctive
tenets of Nestorianism had died out among them, and arranging for their
receiving assistance in books and teachers.

His visit to Ceylon followed, and was always regarded by him as a time of
much gratification; the good Governor, Sir Robert Brownrigg, had done so
much for the improvement of the people, and the missions were flourishing
so well.  Here Christian David became a catechist, and on the Bishop's
second visitation, in 1821, he ordained as deacon a man named Armour,
whose history one longs to know more fully.  He had come out to Ceylon
originally as a private soldier, and finding a number of natives,
probably the remnant of the Dutch Mission, whose profession of
Christianity was only nominal, he had taken upon himself "almost the work
of an evangelist," never varying from the teaching and services of the
English Church.  He had taught himself to speak and preach fluently in
Cingalese, and could use the Dutch and Portuguese languages freely.  He
had even some knowledge of Latin and Greek, and was so staunch Churchman
that he had resisted all invitations from the Baptists to join them.  He
had gone through frightful difficulties and dangers in the swamp and the
jungle, and travelled thousands of miles; and when he came to the Bishop
it was with deep humility, and the hope that he had not been presumptuous
in taking on himself the charge of souls without sanction.  It was his
great desire to obtain this commission, and the Bishop, finding how sound
in faith, pious, and excellent he was, admitted him to deacon's orders
before leaving Colombo.

Ceylon was erected into an archdeaconry and attached to the Bishopric of
Calcutta, and shortly after the same arrangement was made respecting
Australia--an archdeaconry a great deal larger than the continent of
Europe!  Thence Bishop Middleton received and attended to the petition of
the Rev. Samuel Marsden, a devoted worker in the vineyard, of whom our
next chapter will speak.

Distinct missionary labour was scarcely possible to a man overtasked like
Bishop Middleton.  The district that kept St. Paul in continual
"journeyings often" would have been but a quarter of that which depended
on him for "the care of all the churches," and the long journeys by sea
and land were by far the least harassing part of his life; for he had to
fight the battles, sometimes of his Church, sometimes of the whole
Christian cause, with unfair and prejudiced officials, and a malignant
newspaper press, by which the bitterest attacks were circulated against
him and his doings.  And, "besides those things that were without," there
were the troubles of dealing with men used to do "that which was right in
their own eyes," and determined to oppose or neglect one whose powers
could only thoroughly be defined by actual practice.  To go into these
conflicts would be wearisome and vain.  They have lost their interest
now; but it must be remembered that it is by manfully and firmly enduring
vexations such as these, that systems are established which form the
framework and foundation of more visible labours, which gain more praise
for those who are allowed to carry them out.

The constant wearing effort, the daily vexation, the inability to gain
support, the binding of his hands from free action by the machinery of
State regulations only applicable to home ecclesiastics, the continual
making beginnings that never were allowed to progress--or, as he himself
called it, the continual rolling of the stone of Sisyphus--could not but
exhaust his powers, above all in such a climate; and that same sickly
summer of 1822 which proved fatal to Felix Carey was his last.  In July,
one of his clergy, on whom he had been obliged to pass censure,
instituted proceedings against him in the Supreme Court--a most improper
and disloyal act, which much grieved and agitated him.  He had to spend
eight hours in writing in preparation for this painful matter, and
afterwards went out in the carriage with his wife, but too early in the
evening, for the slanting rays of the sun, not yet down, fell full on
him, and their force is always especially dreaded at that damp and sickly
season.  He immediately said that the sun had struck him, and returned
home; a most distressing fever, chiefly on the nerves, and accompanied by
grievous restlessness and afterwards delirium, set in, and he died on the
8th of July, 1822, in his fifty-fourth year, absolutely worn out by toil
and worry.  But his career had established both the needfulness and the
position of a Bishop, and his successor was appointed without the same
opposition, still to a path perhaps only less thorny because briefer.

Of a Yorkshire family, where the eldest son was always bred up as the
country gentleman, the younger ones usually prepared to hold the family
livings, Reginald Heber was born on the 21st of April, 1783, at Malpas,
in Cheshire, a rectory held by his father, who was the clerical second
son, but soon after became head of the house by the death of his squire-
brother.  He was twice married, and had a son by his first wife, so that
Reginald was born, as it were, to the prospect of taking Holy Orders; and
this fact seems to have in a certain degree coloured his whole boyhood,
and acted as a consecration, not saddening, but brightening his life.

A happy, eager, docile childhood seems to have been his; so obedient,
that when an attack on the lungs necessitated the use of very painful
remedies, the physician said that the chances of his recovery turned upon
his being the most tractable of children; and with such a love and
knowledge of the Bible that, when only five years old, his father could
consult him like a little Concordance, and withal full of boyish mirth
and daring.  When sent to school at Neasdon, he was so excited by the
story of an African traveller overawing a wild bull by the calm defiance
of the eye, as to attempt the like process upon one that he found grazing
in a field, but without the like success; for he provoked so furious a
charge that he was forced to escape ignominiously over a high paling,
whence he descended into a muddy pond.

Neasdon was the place of education of his whole boyhood, among twelve
other pupils.  Mr. John Thornton, the schoolfellow friend and
correspondent of his life, describes him as having been much beloved
there.  He had no scruple as to fighting rather than submitting to
tyranny from a bigger boy, but his unfailing good nature and
unselfishness generally prevented such collisions; he was full of fun,
and excellent at games of all sorts; and though at one time evil talk was
prevalent among the boys, his perfect purity of mind and power of
creating innocent amusement destroyed the habit, without estranging the
other lads from him.  He took many of his stories from books not read by
them, for he was an omnivorous reader, taking special delight in poetry,
loving nothing better than a solitary walk with Spenser's "Faerie Queen"
in his hand, and often himself composing verses above the average for so
young a boy.

He was always thoughtful, and there is a letter of his to his friend
Thornton, written when only seventeen, which shows that he had begun to
think over Church questions, was deeply sensible of the sacredness of the
apostolical commission to the ministry, and of the evils of State
interference.  That same year, 1800, began his University education, at
Brasenose College, Oxford.  His course there was alike blameless in life
and brilliant in scholarship; his talents and industry could not fail to
secure him honours in the schools.

Another young man was at the very same time at Oxford, whose course had
been steered thither with more difficulties than Reginald Heber's.  Daniel
Wilson's father was a wealthy silk manufacturer, at Spitalfields, where
he was born in the year 1778.  He was educated at a private school at
Hackney, kept by a clergyman named Eyre, who must have had a good deal of
discernment of character, for he said, "There is no milk and water in
that boy.  He will be either something very bad or very good."  One day,
when he was in an obstinate and impracticable state of idleness, Mr. Eyre
said, "Daniel, you are not worth flogging, or I would flog you," which so
stung him that he never fell into similar disgrace again; nay, one
morning when he had failed in his appointed task, he refused food saying,
"No!  If my head will not work, my body shall not eat."  He had
considerable powers, and when his own theme on a given subject was
finished, would find "sense" for all the dull boys--varying the matter
but keeping to the point in all: but his education ceased at fourteen,
when he was bound apprentice to his uncle, who followed the same trade as
his father, and lived in Cheapside.  He was a widower with seven
children, one of whom in after years became Daniel's wife.  It was a
strictly religious household, and whereas Daniel's parents had been wont
to attend church or meeting as suited them best, his uncle was a regular
churchman, and took his whole family constantly with him, as decidedly as
he kept up discipline in his warehouse, where the young men had so little
liberty, that for weeks together they never had occasion to put on their
hats except on Sunday.

Daniel was a thoughtless, irreverent lad, full of schoolboy restlessness
when first he came; but though he was at first remarkable for his ill-
behaviour in church, his attendance insensibly took effect upon him, as
it brought his mind under the influence of the two chief powers for good
then in London, John Newton and Richard Cecil.  The vehement struggle for
conversion and sense of individual salvation that their teaching deemed
the beginning of grace took place, and he turned for aid to them and to
his old schoolmaster, Mr. Eyre.  It was from his hands in 1797, at the
age of nineteen, that he received his first Communion, with so much
emotion and such trembling, that he writes to his mother, "I have no
doubt I appeared very foolish to those about me," but he adds in another
letter to a friend that it had been the happiest day of his life.  "And
to you I confess it," he says, "(though it ought perhaps to be a cause
for shame,) that I have felt great desire to go or do anything for the
love of JESUS, and that I have even wished, if it were the Lord's will,
to go as a missionary to foreign lands."

It is very remarkable that this thought should have occurred at such a
moment to one who only became a missionary thirty-five years later, at a
summons from without, not from within.  The distinct mission impulse
passed away, but a strong desire remained to devote himself to the
ministry of the Church.  He tried to stifle it at first, lest it should
be a form of conceit or pride; but it only grew upon him, and at last he
spoke to Mr. Eyre, who promised to broach the subject to his parents.

His father was strongly averse to it, as an overthrow to all his plans,
and Mr. Eyre, after hearing both sides, said that he should give no
opinion for a year; it would not hurt Daniel to remain another year in
the warehouse, to fulfil the term of his apprenticeship, and it would
then be proper time to decide whether to press his father to change his
mind.  It was a very sore trial to the young man, who had many reasons
for deeming this sheer waste of time, though he owned he had not lost
much of his school learning, having always loved it so much as to read as
much Latin as he could in his leisure hours.  He submitted at first, but
was uneasy under his submission, and asked counsel from all the clergymen
he revered, who seem all to have advised _him_ to be patient, but to have
urged his father to yield, which he finally did before the year was out;
so that Daniel Wilson was entered at St. Edmund's Hall, Oxford, on the
1st of May, 1798.  He struggled with the eagerness of one whose desire
had grown by meeting with obstacles.  In order to acquire a good Latin
style, he translated all Cicero's letters into English, and then back
into Latin; and when he went up for his degree, he took, besides his
Latin and Greek books, the whole Hebrew Bible, but was only examined in
the Psalms.  He gained a triumphant first-class, and the next year, 1803,
he carried off the English prose essay prize.  The theme was "Common
Sense."  He had not in the least expected to gain the prize, and had not
even mentioned the competition to his friends, so that their delight and
surprise were equal.  That same year, Reginald Heber was happy in the
subject for Sir Roger Newdegate's prize for English verse, namely,
"Palestine," which in this case had fallen to a poet too real to be
crushed by the greatness of his subject.

Reginald Heber was used to society of high talent and cultivation.  His
elder brother, Richard, was an elegant scholar and antiquary, and was
intimate with Mr. Marriott, of Rokeby; with Mr. Surtees, the beauty of
whose forged ballads almost makes us forgive him for having palmed them
off as genuine; and with Walter Scott, then chiefly known as "the
compiler of the 'Border Minstrelsy,'" but who a few years later
immortalized his friendship for Richard Heber by the sixth of his
introductions to "Marmion,"--the best known, as it contains the
description of the Christmas of the olden time.  It concludes with the
wish--

   "Adieu, dear Heber, life and health!
   And store of literary wealth."

Just as Reginald was finishing his prize poem, Scott was on a tour
through England, and breakfasted at Richard Heber's rooms at Oxford, when
on the way to lionize Blenheim.  The young brother's poem was brought
forward and read aloud, and Scott's opinion was anxiously looked for.  It
was thoroughly favourable, "but," said Scott, "you have missed one
striking circumstance in your account of the building of the Temple, that
no tools were used in its erection."

Before the party broke up the lines had been added:

   "No workman's steel, no ponderous axes rung;
   Like some tall palm the noiseless fabric sprung;
   Majestic silence--"

The prose essay on "Common Sense" was first recited from the rostrum in
the Sheldonian theatre, and Wilson always remembered the hearty applause
of the young man who sat waiting his turn.  But the effect of the
recitation of "Palestine" was entirely unrivalled on that as on any other
occasion.  Reginald Heber,--a graceful, fine-looking, rather pale young
man of twenty,--with his younger brother Thomas beside him as prompter,
stood in the rostrum, and commenced in a clear, beautiful, melancholy
voice, with perfect declamation, which overcame all the stir and
tumultuous restlessness of the audience by the power and sweetness of
words and action:

   "Reft of thy sons, amid thy foes forlorn,
   Mourn, widow'd queen; forgotten Zion, mourn.
   Is this thy place, sad city, this thy throne,
   Where the wild desert rears its craggy stone;
   While suns unblest their angry lustre fling,
   And wayworn pilgrims seek the scanty spring?"

On flowed the harmonious lines, looking back to the call of the Chosen,
the victory of Joshua, the glory of Solomon, the hidden glory of the
Greater than Solomon, the crime of crimes, the destruction, the renewal
by the Empress Helena, the Crusades, and after a tribute (excusable at
the time of excitement) to Sir Sidney Smith's defence of Acre, gradually
rising to a magnificent description of the heavenly Jerusalem.

   "Ten thousand harps attune the mystic throng,
   Ten thousand thousand saints the strain prolong.
   'Worthy the Lamb, omnipotent to save!
   Who died, Who lives triumphant o'er the grave."

The enthusiasm, the hush, the feeling, the acclamations have ever since
been remembered at Oxford as unequalled.  Heber's parents were both
present, and his mother, repairing at once in her joy to his rooms, found
him kneeling by his bedside, laying the burthen of honour and success
upon his God.  His father, recently recovered from illness, was so
overcome and shaken by the pressure of the throng and the thunder of
applause as never entirely to recover the fatigue, and he died eight
months later, early in 1804.

The two youths who were in juxtaposition at the rostrum were not to meet
again.  Daniel Wilson was ordained to the curacy of Chobham, under Mr.
Cecil, an excellent master for impressing hard study on his curates.  He
writes: "What should a young minister do?  His office says, 'Go to your
books, go to retirement, go to prayer.'  'No,' says the enthusiast, 'go
to preach, go and be a witness.'"

"'A witness of what?'

"'He don't know!'"

While Wilson worked under Cecil, Heber, who was still too young for the
family living of Hodnet, in Shropshire, after taking his bachelor's
degree, obtaining a fellowship at All Souls College, and gaining the
prize for the prose essay, accompanied John Thornton on a tour through
northern and eastern Europe, the only portions then accessible to the
traveller; and, returning in 1806, was welcomed at home by his brother's
tenants with a banquet, for which three sheep were slaughtered, and at
which he appeared in the red coat of the volunteer regiment in which he
had taken an eager share during former years.

It was his last appearance in a military character, for in 1807 he was
ordained, and entered on his duties as Rector of Hodnet.  Two years later
he married Amelia Shipley, the daughter of the Dean of St. Asaph.
Floating thus easily into preferment, without a shoal or rock in his
course, fairly wealthy, and belonging to a well-esteemed county family,
connected through his brother with the very _elite_ of literary society,
it seemed as though, in the laxity of the early part of the century,
Reginald Heber could hardly have helped falling into the indolence of
learned ease, the peril of the well-beneficed clergy of his day,
especially among those who had not accepted the peculiarities of the
awakening school of the period.

But such was not the case.  He was at once an earnest parish priest,
working hard to win his people, not only to attend at church, but to
become regular communicants, and to give up their prevalent evil courses.
We find him in one letter mentioning the writing of an article on Pindar
in the _Quarterly Review_, planning for a village-school on the
Lancastrian principle, and endeavouring to improve the psalmody.  "At
least," he says, "I have a better reason to plead for silence than the
Cambridge man who, on being asked in what pursuit he was then engaged,
replied that he was diligently employed in suffering his hair to grow."

These "endeavours to improve the psalmody" were a forestalling of the
victory over the version of Tate and Brady.  The Olney Hymns, produced by
Cowper, under the guidance of John Newton, had been introduced by Heber
on his first arrival in the parish, but he felt the lack of something
more thoroughly in accordance with the course of the Christian year, less
personal and meditative, and more congregational.  Therefore he produced
by degrees a series of hymns, which he described as designed to be sung
between the Nicene Creed and the Sermon, and to be connected in some
degree with the Collects and Gospels for the day.  Thus he was the real
originator in England of the great system of appropriate hymnology, which
has become almost universal, and many of his own are among the most
beautiful voices of praise our Church possesses.  We would instance Nos.
135 and 263 in "Hymns Ancient and Modern,"--that for the 21st Sunday
after Trinity, a magnificent Christian battle-song; and that for
Innocents' Day, an imitation of the old Latin hymn "_Salvete flores
Martyrum_."  They were put together, with others by Dean Milman and a few
more, into a little volume, which Heber requested Dr. Howley, then Bishop
of London, to lay before the Archbishop, that it might be recommended for
use in churches, but the timidity of the time prevented this from being
carried into effect.

A deep student of church history, his letters show him trying every
practical question by the tests of ancient authority as well as
instructive piety, and, on these principles, already deploring the undue
elevation of the pulpit and debasement of the Altar to which exclusive
preference of preaching had led.  Missions had, since the days of Carey's
first opening of the subject become so predominant a thought with the
Nonconformist bodies, and were often conducted so irregularly, that there
was certain dread and distrust of them among the sober-minded and
orthodox; but Heber was one of the first English churchmen who perceived
that to enlarge her borders and strengthen her stakes was the bounden
duty of the living Church.  He was a fervent admirer of Henry Martyn,
whose biography was published soon after the news of his death reached
England, and his feeling found vent in that hymn so familiar to us
all--"From Greenland's icy mountains."

He was meantime rising in influence and station,--Canon of St. Asaph,
Preacher at Lincoln's Inn, Select Preacher before the University.  He was
beloved by all ranks: by the poor for his boundless charity and sympathy;
and by his equals, not only for these qualities, but for his sunny
temper, bright wit, and playfulness, which showed in his conversation,
his letters, and in many a droll, elegant, and scholarly _jeu d'esprit_,
thrown off by a mind that could do nothing without gracefulness.  All
this prosperity was alloyed only by such domestic sorrow as might be
fitly termed gentle chastening.  The death of his next brother, Thomas,
who had acted as his curate, was a severe loss to him; and in the desire
to make every affliction a stepping-stone in Christian progress, he
began, from that date, a custom of composing a short collect-like prayer,
veiled in Latin, on every marked occurrence in his life.  The next
occasion was, after several years of marriage, the birth of a little
daughter, whom (in his own words) "he had the pleasure of seeing and
caressing for six months," ere she faded away, and died just before the
Christmas of 1817.  He never could speak of her without tears, and (his
wife tells us) ever after added to his private prayers a petition to be
worthy to rejoin his "sinless child."  His grief and his faith further
found voice in the hymn, each verse of which begins with "Thou art gone
to the grave, but we will not deplore thee," and which finishes--

   "Thou art gone to the grave, but we will not deplore thee,
      Whose God was thy ransom, thy Guardian and Guide.
   He gave thee, He took thee, and He will restore thee,
      And death has no sting, for the Saviour has died."

Such had been the training of Reginald Heber, through the pleasant paths
of successful scholarship and literature, and of well-beneficed country
pastorship; a life perilous to spirituality and earnestness, but which he
kept full of the salt of piety, charity and unwearied activity as parish
priest, and as one of the voices of the Church.  Such had been his life
up to 1822, when, on the tidings of the death of Dr. Middleton, Bishop of
Calcutta, his friend Charles Williams Wynn, President of the Board of
Commissioners for the affairs of India, offered him the appointment.

To a man of his present position, talents, and prospects at home, the
preferment was not advantageous: the income, with the heavy attendant
expenses, would very little increase his means; the promotion threw him
out of the chances of the like at home; and the labour and toil of the
half-constituted and enormous diocese, the needful struggles with English
irreligion and native heathenism, and the perils of climate, offered a
trying exchange for all that had made life delightful at Hodnet Rectory.
A second little daughter too, whom he could not of course look to
educating in India, rendered the decision more trying.  But in his own
peculiarly calm and simple way, he wrote: "I really should not think
myself justified in declining a situation of so great usefulness, and for
which, without vanity, I think myself not ill adapted, either from a love
for the society and friendship of England, or from a hope, which may
never be realized, of being some time or other in a situation of more
importance at home."  At first, however, the fear for the child's health
induced him to decline, but only if anyone else equally suitable could be
found; and finally he accepted it, with apparent coolness, veiling the
deep spirit of zeal and enthusiasm that glowed within.  It was not the
ardent vehemence that enables some to follow their inward call,
overcoming all obstacles, but it was calm obedience to a call from
without.  "After all," he wrote, "I hope I am not enthusiastic in
thinking that a clergyman is, like a soldier or a sailor, bound to go on
any service, however remote or undesirable, where the course of his duty
leads him, and my destiny (though there are some circumstances attending
it which make my heart ache) has many, very many, advantages in an
extended sphere of professional activity, in the indulgence of literary
curiosity, and, what to me has many charms, the opportunity of seeing
nature in some of its wildest and most majestic features."

In the spring of 1823, he took leave of Hodnet, amid the tears of his
parishioners; and on the 18th of May preached his last sermon in
Lincoln's Inn chapel, on the Atonement.  On coming out, one of the most
leading men among the Wesleyan Methodists could only express his feelings
by exclaiming, "Thank God for that man!  Thank God for that man!"

It is striking to find him in the full pressure of business, while
preparing in London for his consecration and his voyage, making time for
a letter to one of the Hodnet farmers, to warn him against habits of
drunkenness, hoping that it would dwell with him "as a voice from the
dead."  On the 1st of June, 1823, Reginald Heber was consecrated at
Lambeth, and on the 10th sailed for India!  He made several sketches
along the southern coast, under one of which he wrote:--

   "And we must have danger, and fever, and pain,
   Ere we look on the white rocks of Albion again."

A few days later, when passing the western coast of France on a Sunday,
the sound of the bells suggested the following meditative verses:--

   "Bounding along the obedient surges,
      Cheerly on her onward way,
   Her course the gallant vessel urges
      Across thy stormy gulf, Biscay.
   In the sun the bright waves glisten;
      Rising slow with solemn swell,
   Hark, hark, what sound unwonted?  Listen--
      Listen--'tis the Sabbath bell.

   It tells of ties which duties sever,
      Of hearts so fondly knit to thee,
   Kind hands, kind looks, which, wanderer, never
      Thy hand shall grasp, thine eye shall see.
   It tells of home and all its pleasures,
      Of scenes where memory loves to dwell,
   And bids thee count thy heart's best treasures
      Far, far away, that Sabbath bell.

   Listen again!  Thy wounded spirit
      Shall soar from earth and seek above
   That kingdom which the blest inherit,
      The mansions of eternal love.
   Earth and her lowly cares forsaking,
      Bemoaned too keenly, loved too well,
   To faith and hope thy soul awaking,
      Thou hear'st with joy that Sabbath bell."

By the 28th of September, the vessel was in sight of the Temple of
Jaghernauth, and on the 3rd of October was anchored close to the island
of Saugor.

All through his voyage and residence in India, the Bishop kept a journal
of the doings and scenes of each day, full of interesting sketches, both
in pen and pencil.  The beauty of the villages on the Hooghly, "the
greenhouse-like smell and temperature of the atmosphere," and the gentle
countenances and manners of the natives, struck him greatly, as he says,
"with a very solemn and earnest wish that I might in some degree, however
small, be enabled to conduce to the spiritual advantage of creatures so
goodly, so gentle, and now so misled and blinded.  '_Angili forent si
essent Christiani_.'"

On the 10th of October the Heber family entered their temporary abode in
the Fort at Calcutta, and were received by two Sepoy sentries and a long
train of servants in cotton dresses and turbans, one of them with a long
silver stick, another with a mace.  There, too, were assembled the
neighbouring clergy--alas! far too few--and the next day the Bishop was
installed in his cathedral.

Then began a life of very severe labour, for not only had the arrears of
episcopal business after the interregnum to be made up, but the
deficiency of clergy rendered the Sunday duties very heavy; and the
Bishop took as full a share of them as any working parish priest; and
even though he authorized the Church Missionary Society's teachers to
read prayers and to preach, the lack of sufficient ministrations was
great.  Bishop's College had, however, been completed, and what Middleton
had founded was opened by Heber, with the happiest effect, which has
lasted to the present time.

The difficulties as to the form of ordination of such as were not British
subjects had also been overcome, and Christian David was to be sent up
from Ceylon in company with Mr. Armour, who was to receive Priest's
orders.  The latter excellent man died just before he was to set off, and
this delayed David until the next spring, when he came to Calcutta, was
lodged in Bishop's College, passed an excellent examination, and was
ordained deacon on Holy Thursday, 1824, and priest on the ensuing Trinity
Sunday.  He is memorable as the first man of the dark-skinned races
admitted by the Church of England to her ministry.  An excellent and well-
expressed letter from him, on the difficulties respecting the
distinctions of caste, is given in Bishop Heber's Life.  This, indeed,
was one of the greatest troubles in dealing with converts.  The Serampore
missionaries had striven to destroy it, but Ziegenbalg, Schwartz, and
their elder companions, regarded it as a distinction of society--not
religious--and, though discouraging it, had not so opposed it as to
insist on high and low castes mingling indiscriminately in church or at
meals.  The younger men who had since come out had been scandalized, and
tried to make a change, which had led to much heartburning.

Next to his hymns, Bishop Heber is best known by the journal he kept of
his visitation tour, not intended for publication but containing so much
of vivid description of scenery and manners, that it forms a valuable
picture of the condition of Hindostan as it then was.

His first stage, in barges along the Ganges, brought him to Dacca, where
he was delayed by the illness and death of his much esteemed and beloved
chaplain.  He then went on to Bhaugulpore, where he was much interested
in a wild tribe called the Puharries, who inhabit the Rajmahal hills,
remnants of the aborigines of India.  They carried bows and arrows, lived
by the chase, and were viewed as great marauders; but they had a
primitive faith, free from idolatry, hated falsehood, and, having no
observance of caste and a great respect for Europeans, seemed promising
objects for a mission; but unfortunately the climate of their mountains
was so injurious to European life, that the clergyman, Mr. Thomas
Christian, a scholar of Bishop's College, whom the Bishop appointed to
this mission, was only able to spend three months in the hills in the
course of the year, while for the other nine he took the children under
his instruction back with him to Bhaugulpore.

At Bankipore, the Bishop met Padre Giulio Cesare, still a remarkably
handsome and intelligent-looking little man, and speaking warmly of Henry
Martyn.  Dinapore, that first station of Martyn's, had since his time
fallen into a very unsatisfactory state, owing to the carelessness of his
successor, though it was newly come into better hands.

On the contrary, at Buxar, the Fort-adjutant, Captain Field, had so
influenced all around, though without a chaplain, that, though the Bishop
could not give the place a Sunday, his Saturday evening service in the
verandah was thronged, the English soldiers coming with Prayer-books and
making the responses, besides numerous Hindoos, many of them the
Christian wives and children of the soldiers.  There was a boys' school
kept by a converted Mahometan, and one for girls by "Mrs. Simpson," a
native of Agra, converted by Mr. Corrie, and the widow of a sergeant.
She, however, got no scholars but the half-caste daughters of the
soldiers.  A little boy of four years old, son to an English sergeant
with a native wife, was baptized, and the Bishop was delighted with the
reverent devotion of the spectators.  Cureem Musseh, once a Sepoy
havildar, had his sword and sash hung over the desk, where, in a clean
white cotton dress and turban, he presided over his scholars, whom he had
taught to read Hindostanee, and to say the Creed, Lord's Prayer, and
Commandments, with a short exposition of each.  The school served them
likewise to hold prayer-meetings in, and, on rare occasions, a clergyman
visited them.

The Bishop's entrance into the sacred city of Benares he describes to his
wife thus: "I will endeavour to give you an account of the concert, vocal
and instrumental, which saluted us as we entered the town:--

"_First beggar_.--Agha Sahib!  Judge Sahib, Burra Sahib, give me some
pice; I am a fakir; I am a priest; I am dying of hunger!

"_Bearers trotting under the tonjon_.--Ugh! ugh!--Ugh! ugh!

"_Musicians_.--Tingle, tangle; tingle, tangle; bray, bray, bray.

"_Chuprassee_, _clearing the way with his sheathed sabre_.--Silence!  Room
for the Lord Judge, the Lord Priest.  Get out of the way!  Quick!  (_Then
gently patting and stroking the broad back of a Brahmin bull_.)  Oh, good
man, move.

"_Bull_, _scarcely moving_.--Bu-u-uh.

"_Second beggar_, _counting his beads_, _rolling his eyes_, _and moving
his body backwards and forwards_.--Ram, ram; ram, ram!"

Benares, said to be founded on the point of Siva's trident, as the most
sacred city of all Hindostan, swarmed with beggars, fakirs, sacred
animals, and idols of every description; but close beside it was a church
for consecration and thirty candidates for confirmation, of whom fourteen
were natives.  The next day the Bishop was taken to see a school founded
by a rich Bengalee baboo, whom Mr. Corrie had almost persuaded to be a
Christian, but who had settled down into a sort of general admiration for
the beauty of the Gospel, and a wish to improve his countrymen.  He had
made over the house where the school was kept to the Church Missionary
Society, and the staff consisted of an English schoolmaster, a Persian
moonshee, and two Hindostanee writing masters, the whole presided over by
an English catechist, a candidate for Holy Orders.  There were several
class rooms, and a large, lofty hall, supported by pillars, where the
Bishop examined the 140, who read Persian and English, answered questions
in Hindostanee and English, and showed great proficiency in writing,
arithmetic, and geography.  No objection was made to their reading the
New Testament.

Afterwards, when the Bishop looked into a little pagoda, richly carved,
and containing an image of Siva, crowned with scarlet flowers, with lamps
burning before him, and a painted bull in front, a little boy, one of the
brightest scholars in the school, came forward, and showing his
Brahminical string, told, in tolerable English, the histories of the
deities with which the walls were painted.  "This," says the Bishop,
"opened my eyes more fully to a danger which had before struck me as
possible, that some of the boys brought up in our schools might grow up
accomplished hypocrites, playing the part of Christian with us, and with
their own people of zealous followers of Brahma, or else that they would
settle down in a sort of compromise between the two creeds, allowing that
Christianity was the best for us, but that idolatry was necessary and
commendable in persons of their own nation."  This in fact seems to have
been ever since the state of a large proportion of the educated Hindoos.
May it be only a transition state!

The street preaching employed by the Serampore community had not been
resorted to by the Church Missionary Society, and Bishop Heber decided
that in the fanatic population, amid the crowds of bulls, beggars, and
sacred apes, it was far wiser not to attempt it; but the missionaries
were often sent for to private houses to converse with natives of rank,
on their doctrine.  One notable Hindoo, Amrut Row, who had at one time
been Peishwa of the Mahrattas, who had retired to Benares, used on the
feast of his patron god to give a portion of rice and a rupee to every
Brahmin and blind or lame person who applied between sunrise and sunset.
He had a large garden with four gates, three of which were set open for
the three classes of applicants; the fourth served himself and his
servants.  As each person received his dole, he was shown into the
garden, and detained there to prevent his applying twice, but there he
enjoyed plenty of shade, water, company, and idols!  This day's
distribution often amounted to above 50,000 rupees, and his charities
altogether were three times as great in the course of every year.  He was
a good kind man, religious to the best of his knowledge; and just before
the Bishop's visit, he had sent a message to Mr. Morris, the clergyman at
Sealcote, to call on him in the middle of the next week as he wished to
inquire further into Christianity.  Alas! before the appointed day Amrut
Row was dead, and his ashes were still smoking when the Bishop quitted
Benares.

What had become of Henry Martyn's church does not appear, for at Cawnpore
he found none, but service was alternately performed in a bungalow and in
the riding-school.  He went as far north as Oude, and found at Chinear a
much larger native congregation than he expected, though the women still
retained so much of Eastern customs that they would not even raise their
veils when receiving the Holy Communion.  Almost all were the converts of
the excellent Mr. Corrie, Henry Martyn's friend.

Arriving at Surat, after a journey of ten months, he there embarked for
Bombay, where his wife and eldest child came from Calcutta, by sea, to
meet him, and thence, after a stay in Ceylon for some weeks, returned to
Calcutta, where, in December, he ordained Abdul Messeh, the man who had
been won by Henry Martyn's garden preachings.  It was a very remarkable
ordination, for Father Abraham, the Armenian Suffragan from the Patriarch
of Jerusalem, was present, in the black robes of his convent, and laid
his hand on the heads of the candidates, and the service was in
Hindostanee, whenever Abdul Messeh was individually concerned.  Abdul
Messeh was a most valuable worker among his countrymen, but he only
survived about eighteen months.

In his last letter to the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel, the
Bishop records the reception into Bishop's College of Mesrop David, the
kinsman of the Armenian Bishop and already a deacon; also of two native
youths from Ceylon, one Tamul and one Cingalese.  This college, though a
work which had none of the romance of adventure about it, afforded the
surest and most important means of thoroughly implanting the Gospel, and
forming a native priesthood fit for the varying needs of the various
people.  Nor could such a task be committed to any but superior men.  Only
such as have abilities that would win them distinction in England, are
fit to cope with the difficulties of dealing with intellects quite as
argumentative as, and even more subtle than, those of the ordinary level
of Englishmen.

Soon after writing this letter, Bishop Heber set forth on what was to
prove his last visitation.  On the voyage to Madras, he spent much time
upon some invalid soldiers who were being sent home, and confirmed one of
them on board.  Also he devoted himself to comforting a poor lady whose
baby died on the voyage, not only when with her in her cabin, but
Archdeacon Robinson, his chaplain, could hear him weeping and praying for
her when alone in his own.

At Madras, he was lodged in the house of Sir Thomas Munro, the governor,
who had done much by the help of his excellent wife to promote all that
was good.  At Vepery, close at hand, the Bishop found, nearly finished,
the first church built in the Gothic style in India.  He was greatly
delighted with it, and especially that the desk and pulpit had not been
allowed to obstruct the view of the altar, which had more dignity than
was usual in the churches of 1826.  A monstrous pulpit in another little
church at Poonamalee, a depot for recruits, and an asylum for pensioners
and soldiers' children, he caused to be removed.  He had a confirmation
at this place, or rather two, for some unexpected candidates presented
themselves, and he desired Archdeacon Robinson to examine them, so that
they might be confirmed later in the day.  Among them was an old
pensioner, and a sickly-looking young woman with a little boy, whom the
Archdeacon thought too young, and recommended her to keep back for
another opportunity.  She wept much, and the Bishop said, "Bring them
both to me; who knows whether they may live to wish for it again?"  The
native Christians, poor people employed on the beach, remnants of the old
Portuguese Missions, had built a church at their own expense, and, being
unable to obtain regular ministrations from their own clergy, begged the
Bishop to consecrate their building, and give them a clergyman, and this
he hoped to do on his return.

Meantime, he went in his robes to present Lady Munro with a vote of
thanks from the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, for the good
works in the schools of her husband's government.  "I have seldom
witnessed a more interesting or affecting picture," writes Archdeacon
Robinson: "the beauty and gracefulness of Lady Munro, the grave and
commanding figure of the Governor, the youthful appearance and simple
dignity of the dear Bishop, the beloved of all beholders, presented a
scene such as few can ever hope to witness."  "My lord," said Sir Thomas,
with the tears rolling down his cheeks, "it will be vain for me after
this to preach humility to Lady Munro; she will be proud of this day to
the latest hour she lives."

"God bless you, Sir Thomas!" was all the Bishop could utter.

"And God bless _you_, my lord!" was the fervent answer.

Before eighteen months had passed the two good men who exchanged this
blessing, had met in Paradise!

The Bishop went on from Madras, travelling by dak, and encamping during
the heat of the day.  He soon came into the field of labour of the Danish
Missions, and was disappointed to find how poor and forlorn the Christian
converts about Cuddalore were, and the great want of employment for them.
Things were better in the Tanjore territory, where the Bishop was much
interested by a visit from the native pastor of one of the villages, a
fine, venerable old man.  When about to take leave, he lingered, and the
Bishop was told that the Tamul Christians never quitted a minister
without receiving his blessing.  He was greatly touched.  "I will bless
them all, the good people," he said, after blessing the pastor.

Arriving at Tanjore, the Bishop thus describes Serfojee:--"I have been
passing the last four days in the society of a Hindoo Prince, the Rajah
of Tanjore, who quotes Fourcroy, Lavoilier, Linnaeus, and Buffon
fluently; has formed a more accurate judgment of the poetical merits of
Shakespeare than that so felicitously expressed by Lord Byron; and has
actually emitted English poetry, very superior indeed to Rousseau's
epitaph on Shenstone; at the same time that he is much respected by the
English officers in his neighbourhood, as a real good judge of a horse,
and a cool, bold, and deadly shot at a tiger.  The truth is, that he is
an extraordinary man, who, having in early youth received such an
education as old Schwartz, the celebrated missionary, could give him, has
ever since continued, in the midst of many disadvantages, to preserve his
taste for, and extend his knowledge of, European literature: while he has
never neglected the active exercises and frank, soldierly bearing which
become the descendant of the old Mahratta conquerors; and by which only,
in the present state of things, he has it in his power to gratify the
prejudices of his people, and prolong his popularity among them.  Had he
lived in the days of Hyder, he would have been a formidable ally or
enemy; for he is, by the testimony of all in his neighbourhood, frugal,
bold, popular, and insinuating.  At present, with less power than an
English nobleman, he holds his head high, and appears contented; and the
print of Buonaparte, which hangs in his library, is so neutralized by
that of Lord Hastings in full costume, that it can do no harm to anybody.
. . . To finish the portrait of Maha Raja Sarbojee, I should tell you
that he is a strong-built and very handsome middle-aged man, with eyes
and nose like a fine hawk, and very bushy grey mustachios, generally
splendidly dressed, but with no effeminacy of ornament, and looking and
talking more like a favourable specimen of a French general officer than
any other object of comparison which occurs to me.  His son, Raja
Seroojee (so named after their great ancestor), is a pale, sickly-looking
lad of seventeen, who also speaks English, but imperfectly, and on whose
account his father lamented, with much apparent concern, the
impossibility which he found of obtaining any tolerable instruction in
Tanjore.  I was moved at this, and offered to take him on my tour, and
afterwards to Calcutta, where he might have apartments in my house, and
be introduced into good English society; at the same time that I would
superintend his studies, and procure for him the best masters which India
affords.  The father and son, in different ways,--the one catching at the
idea with great eagerness, the other as if he were afraid to say all he
wished,--seemed both well pleased with the proposal.  Both, however, on
consulting together, expressed a doubt of the mother's concurrence; and,
accordingly, next day I had a very civil message, through the Resident,
that the Rannee had already lost two sons; that this survivor was a
sickly boy; that she was sure he would not come back alive, and it would
kill her to part with him; but that all the family joined in gratitude,
&c.  So poor Seroojee must chew betel and sit in the zenana, and pursue
the other amusements of the common race of Hindoo princes, till he is
gathered to those heroic forms who, girded with long swords with hawks on
their wrists, and garments like those of the king of spades (whose
portrait-painter, as I guess, has been retained by this family), adorn
the principal room in the palace."

To the Bishop's great indignation, he found that whereas while the Rajah
had retained his dominions, Christians had been eligible to all the
different offices of State, there was now an order from the Company's
Government against their admission to any employment.  "Surely," he says,
"we are, in matters of religion, the most lukewarm and cowardly people on
the face of the earth.  I mean to make this and some other things I have
seen a matter of formal representation to all the three Governments of
India, and to the Board of Control."

It is highly probable that this systematic dread of encouraging God's
service on the part of the Company assisted in keeping Serfojee a
heathen, in spite of the many prayers offered up for him.  Almost the
last in Heber's book of private devotions was for the Rajah; and he drew
up one, to be translated into Tamul, for use in all the churches in his
territory; this last not directly for his conversion, but for his
temporal and spiritual welfare.

It is pleasant to know that the last Easter of Heber's life was made
joyful by ministering to Schwartz's spiritual children.  He preached in
that church which Schwartz had raised, and where his monument stood.  His
text was, "I am He that liveth and was dead, and behold I am alive for
evermore."  Many English-speaking natives went there, and others besides;
and at the Holy Eucharist that followed there were thirty English and
fifty-seven native communicants.  The delight and admiration of the
Bishop were speedily apparent.  In the evening he attended a Tamul
service, where the prayers were said by a Hindoo, the sermon preached by
a Dane, and the blessing delivered by the Bishop in Tamul, to the
surprise and pleasure of the congregation, which numbered no less than
1,300, all reverent, all making the responses, joining in the Easter
hymn, and in the 100th Psalm.  Never had the Bishop been happier!  As he
was taking off his robes, he exclaimed, "Gladly would I exchange years of
common life for _one_ such day as this!"  Even at night he could not help
coming back to Archdeacon Robinson's room to rejoice, discuss, and
finally pray over this blessed fruit of the toils of a holy man, who had
been at rest thirty-eight years, yet whose work still increased.  The
next day he confirmed a large number; and Kohloff, a contemporary
missionary of Schwartz, preached in Tamul.

After this happy Easter, the Bishop continued his route to Trichinopoly,
where he preached and confirmed on the Sunday, but complained of a slight
headache, and allowed himself to be persuaded not to go to the native
service in the evening, though he spent a good deal of time conversing
with Mr. Robinson, who was unwell enough to be lying in bed.

On Monday, the 3rd of April, he went at daybreak to hold a Tamul
confirmation at the poor little neglected native church; then looked at
the schools, but found that the want of ventilation rendered them too
oppressive for him to remain; and afterwards received and graciously
answered an address from the poor Christians, praying him to send them a
pastor, for they had been without one for two years.  He came back, still
in his robes, to Mr. Robinson's bedroom, and, with great eagerness,
talked over what he had seen and heard; speaking of the destitution of
this poor church, and of the needfulness that a Bishop should receive
regular reports of every station; also mentioning a Danish missionary
whom he intended to appoint.  He then went to his own room, and,
according to Indian habit after exertion, went out in order to bathe.  The
bath was in a separate building.  It was fifteen feet long, eight broad,
and with stone steps descending into it to a depth of seven feet, and it
was perfectly full of water.  The servant sitting outside wondered at the
length of time and unbroken silence, and at last looked in; but Reginald
Heber had, by that time, long been lifeless in the cold bath!

He was only in his forty-fourth year; but medical opinion declared that
there had been, unsuspected, the seeds of fatal disease, accelerated by
climate, exertion, and excitement, and such as would probably have caused
long helplessness and inaction, unless thus suddenly developed.

He was buried the next day at Trichinopoly church, where the mural
tablet, with most touching and appropriate simplicity, bears no
inscription in laudation, but merely the holy words, "Be ye also ready."

Thus ended a life of inward and outward brightness, which comes like a
stream of sunshine among the shadows through which most of the labourers
had to struggle, either for want of means of education, or from poverty
or melancholy, and yet as true and as exhilarating a course as was ever
one of theirs.  May we not read his description in the verse:--

   "And there are souls that seem to dwell
   Above this earth--so rich a spell
   Floats round their steps where'er they move,
   Of hopes fulfilled, and mutual love:
   Such, if on high their hopes are set,
   Nor in the stream the source forget;
   If, prompt to quit the bliss they know,
   Following the Lamb where'er He go,
   By purest pleasures unbeguiled
   To idolize or wife or child,
   Such wedded souls our God shall own
   For faultless virgins round His throne."

Mrs. Heber published soon after her return her husband's journals, and
these, bearing the impress of his graceful, scholarly hand, attracted
many readers who care merely for information and amusement; and thus, by
their mere mundane qualities, his writings did much to spread knowledge
of, and therefore interest in, the field of labour in which he died.
Large subscriptions came into the societies, and in a few years a church
and three schools for the natives, with the pastor he had indicated,
served as the best monument of that Low Sunday at Trichinopoly.

His successor was John Thomas James: the most memorable event in whose
life was a halt at the Cape of Good Hope.  This was the first time that
colony had ever been visited by a Bishop, and there was no church, though
a piece of land had been newly granted for one, which he consecrated
before proceeding on his voyage.  He arrived in 1828, but the climate of
Calcutta struck him for death almost immediately.  He was only able to
perform one ordination, one confirmation, and one charge to the Calcutta
clergy, then was forced to embark, and died at sea within a few months of
his arrival.

During this time Daniel Wilson had been working under Mr. Cecil at
Chobham, where he remained for three years, when a tutorship at St.
Edmund's Hall was offered to him, which enabled him to marry his cousin
Ann, combining the small living of Warton with his tutorship.  On the
death of the Rev. Richard Cecil he took, by his especial wish, his
proprietary chapel in Bloomsbury, and there continued till 1824 as one of
the most marked London clergy, keeping up the earnestness that Newton and
Cecil had been noted for, with quite as much energy; and though without
the same originality, there was a _telling_ force about his sermons which
made a young man exclaim the first time he heard him, "I will never hear
Daniel Wilson again," but something led him happily to infringe the
resolution, and then it became, "I will always, if possible, hear Daniel
Wilson."  Sentences of his were very memorable; for instance, "Nineteen-
twentieths of sanctification consist in holy tempers," and, besides
exhibiting a pithy force of language, his sermons were prepared with
infinite care and labour.  When at St. John's, where he had no parochial
charge, he selected his text on Monday and carried it about with him, so
to speak, all the week, chewing the cud of it as it were, looking it up
in every authority, ancient or modern, within his reach, and conversing
on the subject with any one whom he thought likely to give him a hint.
The sermons were written in a large legible shorthand, only on one side
of the paper, and on the opposite page were copied out extracts of
translations from illustrative authors, often as many as eight to a
single sermon, so that he had in fact a huge secretion of stores, which
he could adapt according to the needs of his congregation, and he made
notes of what he found fall flat and incomprehensible, or what he felt
was stirring the souls of his audience; and this time was most profitably
spent, not only for his immediate congregation, but in laying up a
provision for the busier days of after-life, when the same amount of
study was out of his power.  And the benefit of such painstaking may be
estimated by the words of a gentleman when introduced to a relative of
his in after-years, "I am only one of very many who do not know and never
spoke to Mr. Wilson, but to whom he has been a father in CHRIST.  He
never will know, and he never ought to know, the good that he has been
the means of doing, for no man could bear it."

Proprietary chapels have now nearly become extinct.  They were an effect
of the neglect of the heathenish eighteenth century, and one of the means
of providing church room by private speculation; and thus they almost
necessarily were liable to the abuses of popularity-hunting and of lack
of care for individuals, especially the poor: but a man in thorough
earnestness is sure to draw good even out of a defective system; and
Daniel Wilson, sitting in his study which was connected with the chapel,
became the counsellor of hundreds who sought spiritual advice and
assistance, chiefly of the upper and well-to-do classes, but he took care
to avoid wasting time over these conferences, and when it came to mere
talk would put people's hats and umbrellas into their hands.  There were
also large Sunday-schools connected with his chapel, and taught by the
members of his congregation, and these led to the first organization of a
district visitors' society, one of the earliest attempts of the slowly
reviving English Church to show her laity how to minister to the poor
under pastoral direction.

His father-in-law, Mr. William Wilson, had purchased the advowson of the
living of Islington, and, when it became vacant in 1824, presented it to
him, when he carried thither all his vigour and thoroughness.  Church
building was his first necessity, and he absolutely prevailed on his
parish to rate themselves for the purpose, so that three churches were
begun almost at once, and by the time his Life was written in 1860 the
great suburb had multiplied its single church in thirty-six years into
fifteen.  At Islington the chief sorrows of his life befel him.  He had
had six children, of whom one died an infant and two more in early
childhood.  The second son, John, after a boyhood of great promise, fell
into temptation at the University and led a wild and degrading course;
ending by his retirement to the Continent, where he died in 1833, after a
very painful illness, in which he had evinced great agony of mind, which
softened at length into repentance and hope.  The eldest son, Daniel, who
attended him on his death-bed, had taken holy orders and succeeded to his
father's former living of Warton; and one daughter, Eliza, born in 1814,
survived to cheer his home when his wife, after some years of invalidism,
died in 1827.  Zealous, resolute, and hardworking, he never allowed
sorrow to interfere with his work, and was soon in the midst of his
confirmation classes, and of a scheme for educating young tradespeople on
a more thorough and religious system.

In the meantime he had always loved and urged the missionary cause, and
had consulted with Bishop Turner before he went out.  When the news of
his decease was received (the fourth Bishop to die at his post within
nine years), the appointment began to be looked on as a sentence of
death, and it was declined in succession by several eminent clergymen.
Daniel Wilson had anxiously watched for the answer in each case, and was
suggesting several persons to Mr. Charles Grant, when the thought struck
him, "Here I am, send me."  A widower of fifty-four years old, of much
strength, and with no young children, seemed to him the fit person to
volunteer to fill the breach; and he wrote stating, that if no one else
could be found for the post, he was willing to offer himself.  The
appointment was accordingly given to him, after an interval of nine
months since the see had become vacant, and an infinity of toil and
arrangements crowded on him.  Islington was resigned to his son Daniel,
and he was consecrated by Archbishop Howley on the 29th of April, 1832,
"the day of my espousals to CHRIST my Saviour," as he wrote in his
journal; and on the ensuing 18th of June he sailed with his daughter for
Calcutta.  The ship touched at the Cape, which under the government of
Sir Lowry Cole was by no means in the same hopeless state of neglect as
when Martyn had visited it.  Bishop Wilson there held an ordination and a
confirmation, the first for himself as well as for South Africa, whose
Episcopate was not founded till twenty-three years later.

He landed at Calcutta on the 5th of November, 1832, and took possession
of the large unfurnished house that had at last been wrung out of
Government.  He found only just enough chairs and tables, placed there by
the Archdeacon, to suffice for immediate use; and was answered, when he
asked why his orders that the place should be completely fitted up had
not been attended to, "I thought this would be enough to last for six
months,"--this being the term for which a Bishop of Calcutta was thought
likely to need earthly furniture.  But Bishop Wilson was resolved to take
reasonable precaution, and not to be daunted, or to act as if he were
afraid.  He furnished the place, and rented a pleasant country-house,
called the Hive, at Tittaghur, where he spent a few days of every week;
and, having been told that much danger was incurred by the exertion of
visitation tours before the constitution had become accustomed to the
climate, he resolved to wait for two years before making any long
journey; and, in the meantime, he was able to collect a great amount of
information, as well as attending to the regulation of matters at head-
quarters.  He kept up more formality and state than Bishop Heber had
done; and, of course, as the one had been censured for his simplicity, so
the other was found fault with for pomp and stiffness.  But these were
minor points, chiefly belonging to the character of the two men, whose
whole natures were in curious accordance with their prize performances at
Oxford,--the one with all the warmth, fire, and animation of the poet of
Palestine, sensitive to every impression, and making all serve to light
his altar-flame; the other all common-sense, sincere, deep, and
laborious, but with a narrower range of sympathies, and afraid of all
that might distract attention from the one great subject.  General
literature had no charms for Wilson.  He is believed never to have read
one of Scott's poems or novels; and the playful mirth that enlivened all
Heber's paths was not with him, though he had the equable cheerfulness of
a faithful servant doing his Lord's work.  His daughter, soon after his
arrival, married her cousin, Josiah Bateman, his chaplain (and
biographer), and thus continued to be the mistress of her father's house.

On the Whitsunday of 1833 the Bishop baptized one of those Hindoo
gentlemen who are among the most satisfactory of Christian converts; they
are free from the suspicion of interested motives which has always
attached to the pariahs and low-caste people who hung about Serampore and
its dependent stations, and, justly or unjustly, were accused of turning
Christians when they had exhausted other resources of idleness and
knavery.  A curious instance of a thorough conversion happened the same
year.  A lad, educated like most other well-to-do Hindoos in the schools
of the Church Missionary at Mirzampore, when about fifteen, became
persuaded of the saving grace of Christianity, and determined to be
baptized and openly forsake his idols.  His parents persecuted him, and
he fled to a friend, a Hindoo convert; but he was seized by his
relations, and the case was referred to the Supreme Court, who decided
that the father's power over the son must not be interfered with; and the
poor boy was dragged away, clinging to the barrister's table, amid the
shouts of the heathen and the tears of the Christians.  The boy remained
staunch, and three years later came again and received baptism; but his
sufferings had injured his health, both of mind and body, and his promise
of superior intelligence was blighted.

In 1834, the Bishop set off on his first long journey, which included
Penang and Moulmein, where the Judsons had taken refuge after the Burmese
war, and where he found, in the midst of half-cleared jungle and Buddhist
temples full of enormous idols, a school kept by an American master, so
full of notions of equality, that, at the examination, he expected the
Bishop to go to each class, not the class to the Bishop.

The Commissioner had built a church, the walls of teak slabs, and the
pillars each a single teak-tree, and it was ready for consecration.  After
this and a confirmation, the Bishop went on his way to Ceylon, and then
to the Madras Presidency, where he had already had a long correspondence
with the pastors of the Christian congregations on the question of caste.
Things had not prospered of late; and, to the dismay of the Bishop, he
found that, in the course of the last year, 168 Christians had fallen
back to heathenism, where, not having broken their caste, they could
still be received and find a place.  The truth was that, though caste
might appear only a distinction of mere social rank, it was derived from
a pagan superstition, and was a stronghold of heathenism.  Schwartz was
all his life trying to make it wear and die out, lest the violent
renunciation should be too much for his converts' faith.  But his
successors had allowed the feeling to retrograde; and Bishop Wilson found
separate services, sides of the church allotted to the high and low
castes, and the most unchristian distinctions made between them.  He
decided that toleration of the prejudice was only doing harm, and issued
orders that henceforth catechumens preparing for baptism, confirmation,
or communion, should be called on to renounce caste as a condition of
admittance; and that, though the adult communicants should be gently
dealt with, there should be no recognition of the distinction in the
places in church, in the order of administering the Holy Communion, in
marriages or processions, and that differences of food or dress, or marks
on the forehead, should be discontinued.  The clergy were in
consternation, and made an appeal before they published the Bishop's
letter to their flocks; but they found his mind made up, and yielded.  The
lesser stations complied without much difficulty; but at Trichinopoly,
Vepery, and Tanjore, there were many Soodras, the soldier-caste,
professing to have come from Brahma's shoulders, and second only to the
Brahmins.  They were desperately offended.  At Trichinopoly, only seven
Soodra families continued to attend the services, although the seceders
behaved quietly, and offered no insults either to the clergy or the
pariahs.  At Vepery, on the reading of the Bishop's letter, the whole
Soodra population walked out _en masse_, except one catechist, who joined
them afterwards.  They then drew up a paper, declaring that they would
not yield, and would neither come to church nor send their children to
school, unless they continued to be distinguished; and they set up a
service of their own in a chapel lent them by a missionary belonging to
the London Society.  He was, however, reprimanded for this by the
committee which employed him at Madras, and the chapel was withdrawn;
upon which the Soodras remained without any public worship whatever for
five months, when the catechists and schoolmasters came forward and
acknowledged their pride and contumacy, the children dropped into the
schools, and the grown-up people, one by one, returned to church, but in
their own way.

At Tanjore, the contest was a much harder one.  Serfojee had died in
1834, and the son whom Bishop Heber had vainly tried to obtain for
education was one of the ordinary specimens of indolent, useless rajahs,
enjoying ease and display under British protection; but the Mission had
gone on thriving as to numbers, though scarcely as to earnestness or
energy; and the Christians numbered 7,000, with 107 catechists and four
native clergy, under the management of Mr. Kohloff, almost the last of
Schwartz's fellow-workers.  The Bishop's letter was read aloud by him,
after the sermon, on the 10th of November, 1833.  There was an immediate
clamour of all the Soodras, who would not be hushed by being reminded
that they were in church, and, while Mr. Kohloff was being assisted from
the pulpit, gathered round his wife and insulted her.

Letters passed between the Soodras and the missionaries.  There was no
denial that the Bishop's command was right in itself; but an immense
variety of excuses were offered for not complying with it, and only one
of the four priests consented,--Nyanapracasem, an old man of eighty, who
may be remembered as one of Schwartz's earliest converts, and of the four
priests ordained by the Lutherans,--with three catechists, and ten of the
general body; all the others remained in a state of secession.  When the
first death took place among them, Nyanapracasem, the one conforming
priest, was appointed to read the funeral service; but he fell sick, and
the only substitute available on the spot was a low-caste catechist, a
very respectable man, but whom the Soodras silenced with threats,
employing one of their own people in his stead.  Next time, they borrowed
the Roman Catholic burial-ground, and services were carried on, on
Sunday, by one of the dissentient priests, but marriages were celebrated
in the heathen fashion, and there was evidently a strong disposition to
form a schism, which the reckless, easy, self-willed conduct of the
Soodras showed would be Christianity only in name.  There had even been
an appeal to the Governor-General, and the Bishop felt the whole tone of
Christianity in India to be at stake.

It was in the height of this crisis that his journey to Madras was made
in the track of Bishop Heber.  Twice he preached at Vepery, and the
Soodras attended; but he asked no questions, and let them place
themselves as they chose, and take precedence, intending to fight out the
question at Tanjore.

There, at seven o'clock in the morning of January 10, 1835, on the bank
of the Cavery River, he was received by all the faithful Christians and
school-children, headed by Kohloff and Nyanapracasem, These were the two
remaining fellow-workers of Schwartz.  Kohloff, now becoming aged, had
his hair long and loose round his florid German face; he was still a true
German, full of simple kindness, and his English had a good deal of
accent.  His Hindoo companion was a beautiful old man, with long snowy
hair flowing over his long white robes, who took the Bishop's hand
between both of his, and blessed God for his coming, hoping that as
Elijah brought back the stiff-necked Israelites, so the Bishop might turn
the hearts of the Soodras.

Late that afternoon, a great party of these assembled to lay their
complaints before the Bishop, bringing their two dissentient priests.  One
was of doubtful character, and was unnoticed; but to the other, John
Pillay, the Bishop addressed himself, telling him to assure the other
Christians that his heart was full of love, and that he would hear their
grievances, and answer them another time, when less weary with his
journey.

Several spoke, and the Bishop listened to their individual cases.  They
were anxious to come and hear his sermon, but would only do so if allowed
to sit apart; and to this, as one great object was to obtain their
attention, the Bishop consented, with a reservation that it was only for
that once.  The church was thronged, and after a Tamul service, the
Bishop preached, pausing after every sentence that a catechist might
render his words into Tamul.  The text was, "Walk in love, as Christ also
loved us," and the latter part of his discourse was on the lesson from
the Good Samaritan, as to "who is my neighbour."  There was at the end a
long pause of breathless silence, and then he called on everyone present
to offer up the following prayer: "Lord, give me a broken heart to
receive the love of Christ, and obey His commands."  The whole
congregation repeated the words aloud in Tamul, and then he gave the
blessing and dismissed them.

After this there were a great number of private conferences.  People came
and owned that they had been very unhappy; religion had died in their
hearts, and they had had no peace; but their wives were the great
objectors--they feared whether they should marry their daughters, &c. &c.
The two priests especially saw the badness of their standing-ground, but
they should lose respect, they said.  No Pariah seems to have been in
holy orders, but if a Pariah catechist visited a sick person, he was not
allowed to come under the roof, and the patient was carried out into the
verandah.  And then came a rather stormy conference with about 150
Soodras, which occupied two days, since every sentence had to pass
through an interpreter.  The objections were various, but as a body the
resistance continued, and it was only individuals that came over; some of
these, however, did, and it was so clear from all that had passed that to
permit the distinctions was but a truckling to heathenism, that the
Bishop was more than ever resolved on firmness.  Two of the priests had
conformed, and the Christianity of those who would not do so was plainly
not worth having.

There was some polite intercourse with Serfojee's son, whose taste was
visible in the alteration of a fine statue of his father by Flaxman, from
which the white marble turban had been removed to substitute a coloured
one, with black feathers and tassels.  In him the family has become
extinct, since he only left a daughter, and the adoption of a son, after
the old Hindoo fashion, has not been permitted by Government.

Thence, Bishop Wilson proceeded towards Trichinopoly.  He encamped, by
the way, at a place called Muttooputty, a large station on the Coleroon
river, where the way had been so prepared for him that there was a grand
throng of native Christians, untroubled about caste, and he was obliged
literally to lengthen the cords and strengthen the stakes of the large
tent used as a chapel.  It was one of the memorable days of joy that come
now and then to support the laborious spirit of the faithful servant.
"One such day as we have just passed is worth years of common service."

At Trichinopoly, with the deepest sense of reverence, he visited the
scene of Heber's death, ministered at the same altar, and preached from
the same pulpit, after an interval of nine years.

Here, his mode of dealing with the caste-question was thus: When he came
robed into the church, he saw groups of natives standing about, instead
of placing themselves like the others of the congregation.  He went up to
two, led them to seats, and his chaplain following, did the same; the
rest were seated in like manner without resistance.

When the Celebration took place, the Bishop had given directions as to
the order of things.  First, a Soodra catechist communicated, then two
Pariah catechists, then an English gentleman, next a Pariah, then two
Eurasians; and thus without distinction, 147 communicated.  The barrier
was broken down, and the nucleus of a church without caste was formed.

This presidency of Madras was immediately after formed into a separate
see, and given to Daniel Corrie, the friend of Martyn, while Dr. Thomas
Carr became Bishop of Bombay.

On Wilson's return to Tanjore he found an increasing though still small
number had conformed, and before he left the place there were hopes of
larger numbers.  On his way back to Calcutta, he visited the horrible
pagoda of Juggernaut (properly Jaghanatha, Lord of the World), which was
still the centre of worship and pilgrimage; and though the
self-immolation of the pilgrims beneath the car had been prohibited, yet
the Company's Government still fancied themselves justified in receiving
a toll from the visitors to this shrine of cruelty and all uncleanness,
up to 1839, when the disgrace was done away by Lord Auckland.

In the year 1836 another journey was made, first to Bombay and then
further into the interior, to many places, never visited by a bishop
before, and with no chaplain or anything to keep up the sense of
religion.  At Aurungabad, the utter ignorance of the English officers was
appalling.  The old Colonel-commandant had not heard a sermon for twenty
years, and thought every sentence on the text, "Walk in love," was a
personal attack on himself.  He refused to attend another service, or to
bid the Bishop farewell!  And when the Holy Communion was celebrated,
nobody knew what the offertory meant, and scarcely any one was prepared
to respond.

Yet in contrast to these English, a small band of Hindoos, four men, six
women, and five children, presented themselves, asking permission to join
in the service, and to have their children baptized.  They had been once
Roman Catholics, but an old Dutchwoman from Ceylon had taught them most
of what they knew; and they had a Hindostanee prayer-book, whence they
held a service every Sunday, but leaving out the Absolution and
Benediction, which they rightly perceived to be priestly functions.  Two
of them were servants to an English officer, and they were all nearly
related.  They were perfectly respectable and trustworthy, and looked
well dressed and intelligent.  The Bishop tried to bring about an
application from the Company to the Nizam, to defray the expenses of an
occasional visit from a chaplain to the Christian officers and residents
in his employ, but he was answered that "it would form a dangerous
precedent."

The next step was into the Bengal presidency, always with the same kind
of adventures; quaint civilities of the presentation of flowery garlands
bedecking the neck and arms, given by the native princes, with a
sprinkling of rose-water, and sometimes an anointing with oil; and then
an endeavour to stir into Christian life the neglected English military
and civil officers stationed in their dominions.

One of these, a gentleman of good birth and repute, actually went on
smoking and gurgling his hookah when the Bishop was beginning family
prayers, apparently with no more perception that it was anything that
concerned him than if he had seen a Mahometan turning to Mecca, or a
Parsee saluting the rising sun.  Indeed many of these Company's servants
had been sent out when fourteen or fifteen years old; and, if in a remote
station, had been left without anything external whatever to remind them
of Christianity.

This journey extended to the Himalayas, where the Bishop had four months'
repose at Simlah, then in its infancy as a resort for wearied East
Indians; and on his descent from thence, his first halting-place was
Kurnaul, where he found the church in a state of efficiency, owing, in
great part, to an officer whose conversion to a religious life had been
very remarkable.  Once, when in a large party, where gambling was going
on to a reckless extent, he saw one of the players take out a hideous
little black figure, supposed to represent the devil, to which he
addressed himself with a mixture of entreaties and threats, involving
such blasphemy that this officer, utterly horrified, withdrew from the
company, spent the night in tears and prayers, and from that time became
a religious man.  There was also an active chaplain, a large church, and
a bungalow, built by the soldiers of an English regiment, the centre part
arranged for service, and the surrounding verandah partitioned into
little cells, where the soldiers could retire for private prayer or
reading.  It was called St. John's Chapel, and was in the hands of the
chaplain.  Here the Bishop remained for two Sundays, and ordained Anund
Musseeh, who had been fifteen years a Christian, and had been known to
Bishop Heber.  The difficulty in his case was the rule not to ordain a
person who had a heathen family, since he had not been able to convert
his wife.  His excellence outweighed the objection, and he was the first
Brahmin who received holy orders from an English bishop; but in after-
times the heathen influence at home told upon him; and this failure
perhaps rendered Bishop Daniel Wilson somewhat over-cautious and backward
in ordaining a native ministry.

The next stage was Delhi, where a very interesting interview awaited him.
An officer of Anglo-Indian birth, James Skinner by name, who had raised
and commanded a capital body of light horse, had twenty years before
entered Delhi with a conquering army, and, gazing on the countless domes
and minarets, vowed that if ever he should be able, he would build an
English church to raise its cross among them.  He had persevered, though
the cost far exceeded the estimate, and though the failure of houses of
business had greatly lessened his means; and now he came, a tall, stout,
dark man of fifty-six, in a uniform of blue, silver, and steel, a helmet
on his head and a red ribbon on his breast, to beg for consecration for
his church.  His sons were Christians, but his wife was a Mahometan,
though, he said with tears, that "for thirty years a better wife no man
ever had."

The church was of Greek architecture, shaped as a Greek cross, with
porticoes with flights of steps at each extremity except the east, which
formed the chancel, and at the intersection was a dome and cupola.  It
was paved with marble, and the whole effect was beautiful.  After the
consecration a confirmation followed, and the first to receive the
apostolic rite were the noble old Colonel himself and his three sons.
Twenty years later this fine building was filled with dying men, and
shared in the horrors of the siege of Delhi; but it has now returned to
its rightful use, and as a church of martyrs.

Indeed, all the places that the Bishop visited in this excursion have
since been associated with the Mutiny.  Cawnpore was not much more
satisfactory than when Heber had visited it; an irreligious commandant
and a dissipated regiment had done much harm; and an imprudent letter of
one of the chaplains had led to a quarrel, in which the clergyman
unfortunately put himself in the wrong.  Happily, a new commanding
officer and better conducted regiment had replaced the first, and the ill-
feeling was so entirely removed that the Bishop wrote, "Never did I enter
a station with such despondency, nor leave one with so much joy."  And
thus he prepared Cawnpore for that which was in store for it!

His visit to Allahabad was chiefly memorable for his horror at the large
resort of pilgrims to bathe in the Ganges, and at the tax by which a
Christian government profited by their pagan superstition, with all its
grossness and cruelty.  He brought home a little ticket, with the number
76902 stamped on it, such as was issued to the pilgrims, and made a
strong appeal to the Governor-General, as well as to persons in England.
The next year both this tax and that on the pilgrims to Jaghernauth were
suppressed.  Here he heard of the death of B