CHAPTER I.
BIRTH AND EDUCATION.—POETICAL TALENT.
In an article in the North American Review of 1835, we find the following admirable sentiments: "It is impossible to peruse the written life of any man or woman who has manifested great intellectual or moral power, whether in a holy cause or an unholy one, without a strong admiration and a deep sympathy, and a powerful impulse toward imitation. The soul is awakened, the active powers are roused, the contemplation of high achievement kindles emulation; and well would it be were the character of those leading minds, which thus draw after them the mass of mankind, always virtuous and noble. But in the vast majority of instances, the leaders of mankind, are individuals whose principles and motives the Christian must condemn, as hostile to the spirit of the gospel. More precious therefore, is the example of that pious few who have devoted themselves with pure hearts fervently, to the glory of God, and the good of man, and whose energy of purpose, and firmness of principle, and magnanimity in despising difficulty and danger, and suffering and death, in the accomplishment of a noble end, rouse into active admiration all who contemplate their glorious career."
Such a 'glorious career' was that of the honored missionary whose life has been sketched in the former part of this volume; and such too was hers who forms the subject of the present memoir. Sarah B. Hall was the eldest of thirteen children. Her parents were Ralph and Abiah Hall, who removed during her infancy from Alstead, New Hampshire, the place of her birth, to Salem, in the State of Massachusetts. Her parents not being wealthy, she was early trained to those habits of industry, thoughtfulness and self-denial which distinguished her through life. Children so situated are sometimes pitied by those who consider childhood as the proper season for careless mirth and reckless glee; but they often form characters of solid excellence rarely possessed by those to whom fortune has been more indulgent. Their struggle with obstacles in the way of improvement, and final triumph over them, is an invaluable preparation for the rude conflicts of life; their ingenuity is quickened by the hourly necessity of expedients to meet emergencies, and the many trials which are unavoidable in their circumstances, and which must be met with energy and resolution, give habits of patient endurance, and noble courage.
From all the accounts which we have of her, Sarah must have been a most engaging child. Gentle and affectionate in disposition, and persuasive and winning in manners, there was yet an ardor and enthusiasm in her character, combined with a quiet firmness and perseverance, that ensured success in whatever she attempted, and gave promise of the lofty excellence to which she afterwards attained. All who have sketched her character notice one peculiarity—and it is one which commonly attends high merit—her modest unobtrusiveness.
She was very fond of little children, and easily won their affections; but showed little disposition even in childhood, to mingle in the sports of those of her own age. This arose from no want of cheerfulness in her bosom; but from a certain thoughtfulness, and fondness for intellectual exercises which were early developed in her character.
Her principle, as well as her fondness for her mother, led her never to shrink from what are termed domestic duties, but her heart was not in them as it was in study and meditation. An illustration of this trait was recently related by her brother. Sarah was repeating some lines on the death of Nancy Cornelius, which attracted the attention of her mother, who asked her where she had learned them. With some hesitation the child confessed that she had composed them the day before, while engaged in some domestic avocation, during which her unusual abstracedness had been noticed. Her early poetical attempts evince uncommon facility in versification; and talent, that if cultivated might have placed her high in the ranks of those who have trod the flowery paths of literature; but hers was a higher vocation; and poetry, which was the delightful recreation of her childhood, and never utterly neglected in her riper years, was never to her anything more than a recreation.
Her effusions at the age of thirteen are truly remarkable, when we consider the circumstances under which they were written. One, which is given by her biographer as it was probably amended by the 'cultivated taste of later years,' now lies before me as it was first written; and the improved copy, though greatly superior in beauty to the first, seems to me to lack the vigor and energy, which more than atone for the many blemishes of the other. Our readers shall judge. We insert the childish composition; the other is to be found in her graceful memoir by 'Fanny Forrester.' She calls it "a Versification of David's lament over Saul and Jonathan."
Some other effusions, probably of a later date, we will here insert, not only for their merit, but to show what those powers were which she sacrificed, when she turned from the cultivation of her fancy to that of her higher and nobler faculties.
ENCAMPMENT OF ISRAELITES AT ELIM.
"COME OVER AND HELP US."
Sarah, from her earliest years took great delight in reading. At four years, says her brother, she could read readily in any common book. Her rank in her classes in school was always high, and her teachers felt a pleasure in instructing her. On one occasion, when about thirteen, she was compelled to signify to the principal of a female seminary, that her circumstances would no longer permit her to enjoy its advantages. The teacher, unwilling to lose a pupil who was an honor to the school, and who so highly appreciated its privileges, remonstrated with her upon her intention, and finally prevailed on her to remain. Soon after she commenced instructing a class of small children, and was thus enabled to keep her situation in the seminary, without sacrificing her feelings of independence.
Her earliest journals, fragmentary as they are, disclose a zeal and ardor in self-improvement exceedingly unusual. "My mother cannot spare me to attend school this winter, but I have begun to pursue my studies at home." Again: "My parents are not in a situation to send me to school this summer, so I must make every exertion in my power to improve at home." Again, in a note to a little friend, "I feel very anxious to adopt some plan for our mutual improvement." How touching are these simple expressions! How severely do they rebuke the apathy of thousands of young persons, who allow golden opportunities of improvement to slip away from then forever—opportunities which to Sarah Hall and such as she, were of priceless value! Yet it is not one of the least of the compensations with which the providence of God abounds, that the very lack of favorable circumstances is sometimes most favorable to the development of latent resources. Thus it was with Sarah. Her whole career shows that her mind had been early trained and disciplined in that noblest of all schools, the school of adverse fortune.
CHAPTER II.
CONVERSION.—BIAS TOWARD A MISSIONARY LIFE.—ACQUAINTANCE WITH MR. BOARDMAN.
Amiable as she was, and conscientious in a degree not usual, Sarah knew that "yet one thing she lacked;" and this knowledge often disquieted her. But her first deep and decided convictions of sin, seem to have been produced, about the year 1820, under the preaching of Mr. Cornelius. Her struggles of mind were fearful, and she sunk almost to the verge of despair; but hope dawned at last, and she was enabled to consecrate her whole being to the service of her Maker. She soon after united with the first Baptist church in Salem, under the care of Dr. Bolles.
The missionary spirit was early developed in her heart. Even before her conversion, her mind was often exercised with sentiments of commiseration for the situation of ignorant heathen and idolaters; and after that event it was the leading idea of her life.
The cause of this early bias is unknown, but it was shown in her conversations, her letters and notes to friends, and in her early poetical effusions. She even tremblingly investigated her own fitness to became a vessel of mercy to the far off, perishing heathen; and then, shrinking from what seemed to her the presumptuous thought, she gave herself with new zeal to the work of benefitting these immediately around her. "Shortly after her conversion," says her brother, "she observed the destitute condition of the children in the neighborhood in which she resided. With the assistance of some young friends as teachers, she organized and continued through the favorable portions of the year, a Sunday-school, of which she assumed the responsibility of superintendent; and at the usual annual celebrations, she with her teachers and scholars joined in the exercises which accompany that festival."
"It is my ardent desire," she writes to a friend, "that the glorious work of reformation may extend till every knee shall bow to the living God. For this expected, this promised era, let us pray earnestly, unceasingly, and with faith. How can I be so inactive, when I know that thousands are perishing in this land of grace; and millions in other lands are at this very moment kneeling before senseless idols!"
And in her journal—"Sinners perishing all around me, and I almost panting to tell the far heathen of Christ! Surely this is wrong. I will no longer indulge the vain foolish wish, but endeavor to be useful in the position where Providence has placed me. I can pray for deluded idolaters, and for those who labor among them, and this is a privilege indeed."
This strong bias of her mind toward a missionary life, was well known to her mother, who still remembers with a tender interest an incident connected with it. Sarah had been deeply affected by the death of Colman, who in the midst of his labors among the heathen, had suddenly been called to his reward. Some time afterward she returned from an evening meeting, and with a countenance radiant with joy, announced—what her pastor had mentioned in the meeting—that a successor to Colman had been found; a young man in Maine named Boardman had determined to raise and bear to pagan Burmah the standard which had fallen from his dying hand. With that maternal instinct which sometimes forebodes a future calamity however improbable, her mother turned away from her daughter's joyous face, for the thought flashed involuntarily through her mind, that the young missionary would seek as a companion of his toils, a kindred spirit; and where would he find one so congenial as the lovely being before her?
Her fears were realized. Some lines written by "the enthusiastic Sarah" on the death of Colman, met the eye of the "young man in Maine," who was touched and interested by the spirit which breathes in them, and did not rest till he had formed an acquaintance with their author. This acquaintance was followed by an engagement; and in about two years Sarah's ardent aspirations were gratified—she was a missionary to the heathen.
But we are anticipating events; and will close this chapter with extracts from the "Lines on the death of Colman," of which we have spoken.
CHAPTER III.
ACCOUNT OF GEORGE DANA BOARDMAN.
We need offer no apology for turning aside from the immediate subject of our narrative, in order to introduce to our readers one, who must henceforth share with her our sympathy and our affection; we mean George Dana Boardman—the successor to Colman spoken of in the last chapter.
He was the son of a Baptist clergyman in Livermore, Maine, and was born in 1801. Though feeble in body, he had an ardent thirst for knowledge, which often made him conceal illness for fear of being detained from school. At a suitable age, he was sent to an academy in North Yarmouth, where he became distinguished for ardor in the pursuit of learning, and fine mental powers. It is related, that he went through the Latin grammar with surprising rapidity, and then expected to be allowed to use the Lexicon, but was told he must go through the grammar once or twice more. Disappointed, he returned to his seat, and in an hour or two was called up to recite, when he repeated verbatim sixteen pages of the grammar. His preceptor inquired if he had got more; he answered yes; and on being asked how much, replied, "I can recite the whole book, sir, if you wish!" He afterwards manifested equal power in mathematics. At sixteen, he engaged in school-teaching, in order to obtain means for a collegiate course—the great object of his ambition—and in this employment he manifested a knowledge of human nature and of the influences which control it, truly wonderful. The most turbulent and disorderly schools, became, in his hands, models of system and regularity.
In 1819, when 18 years old, he entered Waterville College, Maine. He was at this time a youth of good principles, inflexible purpose, strong affections, and independent opinions, but had hitherto given no evidence of piety. "But in this institution his thoughts were directed by a variety of circumstances, to a consideration of the vast and important topics of evangelical religion. His room-mate was a very pious and most warm-hearted man. The officers of the college did all in their power to elevate his thoughts and affections. In short, every external influence with which a young man could be surrounded, was calculated to lead his mind heavenward. Under the operation of these causes, he was by the Spirit of God, induced to consecrate himself, soul, body, and spirit, to religion; and in 1820, he made a public profession of his belief and was baptized."[5]
From his letters and journals, we find that he soon turned his thoughts to the subject of missions. "In the winter of 1820," he says, "the thought occurred to me that I could take my Bible, and travel through new settlements where the Gospel was seldom or never heard, and without sustaining the name of a preacher, could visit from hut to hut, and tell the story of Jesus' dying love. Then in imagination, I could welcome fatigue, hunger, cold, solitude, sickness and death, if I could only win a few cottagers to my beloved Saviour."
When the news of the death of Mr. Judson's fellow missionary, Colman, reached America, his soul was filled with desire to supply the place of that beloved laborer in the Burman field. Still his chief aim was to leave the place of his labors entirely to the guidance of Providence. On graduating at college, he accepted the office of tutor in it for one year, and so great was the promise of his future eminence, that the good president predicted that he would, at a future day, preside over the institution. But his heart was fixed on other labor, and as soon as his engagement was completed, he hastened to offer his services to the Board of Foreign Missions, and was at once accepted as a missionary.
The parting scene between Boardman and his religious friends in Waterville, who had assembled to bid him farewell is said by one present on that occasion, to have been exceedingly touching. "The eye of Boardman was alone undimmed by a tear. In a tender and yet unfaltering tone he addressed a few words to his brethren. We all knelt down in prayer together for the last time. On arising, Boardman passed round the room, and gave to each his hand for the last time. His countenance was serene, his mild blue eye beamed with benignity, and though there was in his manner a tenderness which showed he had a heart to feel, yet there was no visible emotion till he came to his room-mate. As he took him by the hand, his whole frame became convulsed, his eye filled, and the tears fell fast, as if all the tender feelings of his spirit, till now imprisoned, had at this moment broken forth—'farewell!' he faltered; and then smiling through his tears, said, as he left the room, 'we shall meet again in Heaven.'"
He had expected immediately to leave America for Burmah, in the same ship which was to take Mrs. Judson back to that country, but the Board decided to detain him some time in this country for further preparation. In June, 1823, he entered on theological studies in the seminary at Andover, and employed all his leisure hours in reading those books in the library which treated of the manners, customs, and religions of heathen countries.
In the spring of 1825 he was called to bid his country farewell. Natural affection was strong, but the call of duty was stronger still. In a letter he says, "If tenderness of feeling—if ardor of affection—if attachment to friends, to Christian society and Christian privileges—if apprehension of toil and danger in a missionary life—if an overwhelming sense of responsibility could detain me in America, I should never go to Burmah." And in his journal—"Welcome separations and farewells; welcome tears; welcome last sad embraces; welcome pangs and griefs; only let me go where my Saviour calls and goes himself; welcome toils, disappointments, fatigues and sorrows; WELCOME AN EARLY GRAVE!"
It is easy to imagine that the sympathy and affection between two souls constituted like Miss Hall's and Mr. Boardman's, both of whom were warmed by the same zeal for the cause of Christ and the welfare of the heathen, would be unusually strong; and indeed there is every evidence, that from the time they became fully acquainted, the most tender attachment subsisted between them. "You know," she wrote long afterward to her mother, "how tenderly I loved him;" and to an intimate friend, he said in a private conversation, "It was not the superiority of her personal charms, though these were by no means small, but it was her intrinsic excellence, heightened by her modest, unobtrusive spirit, that endeared her to my heart."
FOOTNOTES:
[5] North American Review.
CHAPTER IV
MARRIAGE OF MISS HALL AND MR. BOARDMAN.—THEY SAIL FOR INDIA.—LETTERS FROM MR. B.—LETTERS FROM MRS. B.—ANOTHER LETTER FROM MR. B.
It was to no slight sacrifice that the parents of Sarah Hall were summoned, when called to consent to her departure for Burmah. The eldest of a large family—arrived at an age when she could not only share her mother's duties and labors, but be to her a sympathizing friend—possessed of every quality which could endear her to her parents' hearts—emphatically their joy and pride—how could they resign her—especially how could they consent to her life-long exile from her native land; to end perchance in a cruel martyrdom on a heathen shore? Can we wonder that the mother clinging to her daughter's neck, exclaimed, "I cannot, cannot part with you!" or that the moment of departure must arrive, before she could falter, "My child, I hope I am willing?"
Her own feelings on leaving the home of her youth with him who was henceforth to supply to her the place of all other friends, are breathed in these graceful lines.
On the 3d of July, 1825, the marriage took place, Miss Hall being then 21 years old, and Mr. Boardman 24. His slender figure, and transparent complexion, even then seemed to indicate that his mission on earth might soon be fulfilled, but both he and his bride were young and sanguine, and no misgivings for the future disturbed their happiness in each other. Indeed the grief of parting with all they had ever loved and cherished, though chastened by submission to what they believed the Divine call, was sufficient to merge all lighter causes of anxiety.
On the day following their marriage they left Salem for the place of embarkation. They were to sail first to Calcutta, and if on reaching there the troubles in Burmah should prevent their going at once to that country, they were to remain in Calcutta, and apply themselves to the acquisition of the Burman language.
In expectation of their speedy departure, meetings for special prayer were held at Boston, Salem, New York, and Philadelphia. The spirit which animated these meetings, and breathed in all the supplications offered, was indicative of deep interest in the mission, and of united and determined resolution, by the grace of God to support it. Mr. and Mrs. B. were everywhere received with the utmost kindness, and nothing was withheld which could contribute to animate them in their arduous undertaking, and render their future voyage pleasant and healthful. The captain and other officers of the ship Asia in which they were to sail, made the most ample provision for their comfort and accommodation, and rendered them every attention in a manner most grateful to their feelings. At a concert of prayer in Philadelphia, Mr. Boardman was called upon to give a brief account to the audience of the motives which had induced him to devote his life to the missionary service. In his reply, he took occasion in the first place to acknowledge the goodness of God to him through his whole life. When he entered Waterville College—the first student ever admitted there not hopefully pious—his fellow-students, impressed with this fact, solemnly engaged with each other, unknown to him, to remember him in their supplications, until their prayers for his conversion should be answered. Six months from that time he found peace in believing, and his first prayer was that God would make him useful. His mind was so impressed with the condition of our Indian tribes, that he felt inclined to carry to them the message of salvation. But his venerable father, whom he consulted as to his duty, advised him "to wait on God, and He would conduct him in the right way." After some time, his choice was decided in favor of the Burman mission by such indications, that he considered his call to this service distinctly and plainly marked. He adverted in a very tender manner to some peculiar indications of Providence, especially to the manner in which his parents received the knowledge of his determination. Their remark was, It has long been our desire to do something for the mission; and if God will accept our son, we make the surrender with cheerfulness.[6]
In reading this account, do we not feel emotions of moral sublimity in contemplating these tender and aged parents, who, "moved with love for a benevolent God, and for their fellow-creatures, surrender their son bright with talents and virtues, rich in learning and in the respect of all who knew him, but feeble and sickly in body, to the missionary labor—whose certain and speedy end is death?"[7]
Mrs. Boardman with her husband took her final leave of her beloved native land on the 16th of July, 1825. To her sister, when two weeks out at sea, she writes: "We think we never enjoyed better health. That beneficent Parent, who is ever doing us good, has bestowed upon us, in the officers of the ship, obliging and affectionate friends.... Everything regarding our table, is convenient and agreeable as we could enjoy on shore. Our family consists of the captain, two mates, two supercargoes, a physician, Mrs. Fowler, and ourselves. Mr. Blaikie, the chief supercargo, is not only a gentleman, but is decidedly pious, and strictly evangelical in his sentiments.... It is a great comfort to each of us to find one who is ever ready to converse upon those subjects which relate to the extension of the Redeemer's kingdom. It is most grateful to my own feelings, but I am even more rejoiced for the sake of Mr. B. Religious society has ever been to him a source of much real gratification. You know very well the love he has ever manifested for social intercourse. When in America amidst our beloved friends, as I have seen him enter with all his heart into conversation—have seen joy beam from his eyes when engaged in this delightful employment—I would sigh, and say to myself, dear Mr. B. how sad you will be when far removed from those whose words now so often cheer your heart. What will you do when this favorite rill of pleasure ceases to flow? But God is infinitely good, he is far better to us than our fears. He bestows upon us every blessing essential to our happiness and usefulness. It is not the want of privileges that I need lament, but the misimprovement of them."
In another letter, she expresses her mature conviction that the missionary life if entered upon with right feelings may be more favorable than any other to the promotion of spiritual growth. And certain it is, that trials, and even persecution often develop the power of Christian principle, and the strength of religious faith; while ease and outward prosperity seem to lull the souls of believers into an unworthy sloth and a sinful conformity with the world around them. The soldier of Christ must maintain a warfare; and when will he be more likely to be constantly awake to his duty, than when surrounded by the open and avowed enemies of his Master?
From Chitpore four miles above Calcutta, Mr. Boardman writes: "It gives me much pleasure to write you from the shores of India. Through the goodness of God we arrived at Sand-Heads on the 23d ult., after a voyage of 127 days. We were slow in our passage up the Hoogly, and did not arrive in Calcutta until the 2d inst. We had a very agreeable voyage,—religious service at meals, evening prayers in the cabin, and when the weather allowed, public worship in the steerage on Lord's day morning ... allow me to add that we entertain a hope that one of the sailors was converted on the passage.
"The report of our being at Sand-Heads reached Calcutta several days before we did, and our friends had made kind preparations to receive us. Soon after coming in sight of the city, we had the pleasure of welcoming on board the Asia, the Rev. Mr. Hough. He informed us, that the Burmese war was renewed after an armistice of several weeks, and that no well-authenticated accounts had been received from our dear friends Judson and Price at Ava. It is generally supposed that they are imprisoned with other foreigners, and have not the means of sending round to Bengal.
"At noon, Dec. 2d, we came on shore, ... and were received very kindly by the English Missionaries. We found Mrs. Colman waiting with a carriage to bring us out to this place. The cottage we occupy was formerly the residence of Mr. and Mrs. Eustace Carey. Mr. and Mrs. Wade, Mrs. Colman, Mrs. Boardman and myself, compose a very happy American family.... But we long to be laboring in Burmah. We are not yet discouraged by the dark cloud that hangs over our prospects there. We still hope and trust, we firmly believe, that eventually this war will tend to advance the cause of Christ in Burmah. We hope our friends at home will not be discouraged, but will continue to pray for us."
In another letter he says, "And now, my dear parents, I wish you could make a visit at Chitpore. You would find your two fond children sitting together very happily, and engaged in writing letters to their beloved American friends. Our mansion, to be sure, is but a bamboo cottage, with a thatched roof, but is a palace compared with most of the native huts around us. But you know a large house is by no means essential to happiness. Food and clothing sufficient, with the presence of God, are all that is absolutely necessary. Could a man have in addition, one confidential friend, who sympathized in all his joys and sorrows, and with whom he could enjoy all the endearments of social life, he might be happy indeed—and such a friend, such a wife I have, in my beloved Sarah. I fear I shall never be able to discharge the obligations I feel toward you for conferring on me so great a blessing."
Mrs. B. also writes to some acquaintances, "Unite with me, my respected friends, in gratitude to God, that he has preserved us through the dangers of a long voyage, and permitted us to land upon a heathen shore. Oh may this renewed assurance of his kind care, teach me confidence in his promises, and fill me with ardent desires to be constantly employed in his service.
"Our voyage was remarkably pleasant, our suffering from sea-sickness was much lighter than we had anticipated; our accommodations, though by no means handsome, convenient and comfortable as we could desire. Our table was well furnished with the necessaries, and many of the luxuries of life. Capt. Sheed, and the other gentlemen on board, treated us with the greatest kindness, and appeared solicitous to make our situation agreeable. In the society of Mr. Blaikie, the supercargo, we took much delight. He is a gentleman of eminent piety, belonging to the Presbyterian denomination. We had evening devotions in the cabin, ... when the weather allowed we had divine service between decks on the Sabbath. A precious privilege!
"While at sea, my time was spent in a very agreeable, and I hope not unprofitable manner.... The principal books I read besides the Bible, were the life of Parsons, Lowth's lectures on Hebrew poetry, part of Fuller's works, and of Jones' Church History. Supposing the study of the word of God well calculated to prepare my mind for the missionary work, I directed my chief attention to that. We had one very interesting exercise,—during the week several of us collected as many passages of scripture as we were able, upon a subject previously named; and on Sabbath eve, we compared our separate lists, and conversed freely upon the doctrine or duty concerning which we had written. In this manner we discussed many of the most important doctrines and duties contained in Scripture.
As we drew near Calcutta, our anxiety respecting the fate of our dear missionaries at Ava, increased. We trembled when we thought of the disturbances in Burmah, and there was only one spot where we could find peace and serenity of mind. That sweet spot was the throne of grace. Thither we would often repair and lose all anxiety and fear respecting our dear friends, our own future prospects, and the Missionary cause in Burmah. It was sweet to commit all into the hands of God. If not deceived, we felt the importance of constantly pleading for a suitable frame of mind, to receive whatever intelligence was for us; and for a disposition to engage in the service of God, at any time, and in any place he might direct. We considered it our duty to supplicate for grace to support us in the hour of trial, and for direction in time of perplexity, rather than to employ our minds in anticipating the nature of future difficulties, and in fancying how we should conduct in an imagined perplexity. This is still our opinion."
Then follows an account of their arrival, which we have already given in Mr. Boardman's letter, and she adds: "Imagine, dear Mrs. B. our joy at meeting those with whom we hope to be employed in labors of love among the poor Burmans. I shall not attempt to describe the emotions of my heart when I entered the little bamboo cottage we now occupy. Were I skilled in perspective drawing, I would send you a picture of the charming landscape seen from our verandah. In a little hut near us reside two Christian converts from heathenism. Oh, how your bosom would glow with grateful rapture to hear their songs of praise, and listen to their fervent prayers. We prefer living in this retired spot with dear Mr. and Mrs. Wade and Mrs. Colman, to a situation in Calcutta; we can pursue our studies with less interruption, and also have the advantage of Mr. Wade's assistance.
"The war in Burmah still continues, and there is at present very little prospect of our going to Rangoon soon. We still look to Burmah as our earthly home, and daily pray that we may be permitted ere long to enter that field of labor. We rejoice that we can commence the study of the language here. We have not for an instant regretted that we embarked in the undertaking."
In another letter of a later date she writes from Calcutta: "In compliance with the advice of our friends, we are now residing in a pleasant little house in Calcutta. I regretted exceedingly to leave the peaceful, retired shades of Chitpore for the noise and commotion of a city, but duty appeared to require it"—(the climate at Chitpore is insalubrious in the hot months) "and we all cheerfully submitted. I feel, my dear friend, that we are wanderers. I can look to no place as my earthly home, but Burmah.... We have not yet heard from the brethren at Ava. Oh that our Father in Heaven may prepare our hearts for whatever intelligence we may receive.
"On Monday last, I attended the examination of Mrs. Colman's schools. Imagine my feelings at seeing ninety-two little Bengallee girls, (whose mothers are kept in the most degraded ignorance and superstition,) taught to read the Scriptures.... This was only one division of the schools. The whole number belonging to this Society is nearly four hundred. There are also many other interesting schools in Calcutta.
"Mr. and Mrs. Wade with Mr. B. and myself still compose our family; we are very happy in each other, are blessed with excellent health, enjoy facilities for learning the language, and in short, possess all we could desire. We feel our want of ardent piety.... Pray for us, for we are weak and sinful."
A letter to one of her own family of about the same date, shows that her zeal for the conversion of the heathen, did not at all weaken her desire that her own kindred might be true followers of Jesus. After mentioning that a Burman teacher had been procured for them, &c., she says, "I often imagine myself in the midst of that dear family, where the happy hours of childhood flew away. Sometimes I fancy myself entering the room in the morning, and seeing you all kneeling around the family altar. My brother, have you a heart to pray to God? Have you repented and turned to him? Or are you all careless and indifferent respecting your precious soul? No, I cannot believe this is the case. Indulged as you are with hearing the gospel and other means of grace, you cannot be indifferent. The time is coming when the religion of Jesus will be indispensable to your peace of mind. You must pass through the valley of death. How can you endure that gloom without the light of God's countenance? you must stand before a righteous God at the judgment day. What will be the state of your soul if Jesus is not your friend? Think of this."
A letter from Mrs. Wade written in the spring following, speaks with enthusiasm of the pleasure they have enjoyed in the society of Mr. and Mrs. B, and, like theirs, breathes ardent wishes to be able to go to Burmah. These wishes were soon to be realized. A letter from Mr. Boardman dated Calcutta, April 12th, 1826, commences: "My dear Brother,—The joyful news of peace with Ava, and of the safety of our friends Dr. and Mrs. Judson, and Dr. Price, you will doubtless receive from other sources. We can only say that the preservation of our friends both at Rangoon and at Ava, seems to us one of the most striking and gracious displays of God's special care of his people and his cause, which has been experienced in modern times.
"Brother Wade and myself, with our beloved companions, expect to leave Calcutta in six or eight weeks, to join brother Judson. As Rangoon is not retained by the British, we do not think it best to recommence the work there, but rather to settle in some of the towns which are by treaty ceded to the British.... The members of the church in Rangoon are collecting and will probably go with us. We need divine direction.
"We have great reason to be thankful for the health we enjoy. We long to proceed to Burmah and engage in the delightful work before us. May God's strength be made perfect in our weakness."
But his cherished enterprise was still longer delayed. By the solicitation of the English missionaries, and the appointment of the American Board, he was induced to remain in Calcutta a while, and preach in Circular Road Chapel, recently vacated by the death of Mr. Lawson. Mr. Wade and his wife reached Rangoon on the 9th of November, and found there the desolate and heart-stricken Mr. Judson, and his feeble babe, of whom Mrs. Wade was able for a brief period to supply the place of a mother.
The place fixed upon as the seat of government in the newly acquired British territory in Burmah, was Amherst, on the Martaban river, about 75 miles eastward of Rangoon. This place had been laid out by British engineers under Mr. Judson's direction, and in an incredibly short time, became a city numbering in thousands of houses. In southern India, houses are built almost in a day, and the population fluctuates from place to place with a facility surprising to Europeans. It is only necessary to make a clearing in the jungle, and erect barracks for a few soldiers, and—as water rushes at once into hollows scooped in the damp sea-sand—so do the natives of India swarm into the clearing, and create a city.' To this new city of Amherst Mr. and Mrs. Boardman came in the spring of 1827, and joined Mr. and Mrs. Wade and Mr. Judson. It was bitterly painful to them to learn that the wife of the latter, that noble and beloved woman whose life had been preserved as if by miracle in a thousand dangers, and from whose society and intercourse they had hoped and expected the greatest pleasure and profit, was the tenant of a lowly grave beneath the hopia-tree; and even more immediately distressing to find that her heart-broken husband was just about to consign to the same dreary bed the only relic remaining to him of his once lovely family, 'the sweet little Maria.' One of Mr. Boardman's first labors in Burmah was to make a coffin for the child with his own hands! and to assist in its burial. Poor babe! 'so closed its brief, eventful history.' An innocent sharer in the terrible sufferings of its parents, in the midst of which indeed it came into the world; like its mother, it had survived through countless threatening deaths, and reached what seemed a haven of security, only to wring its father's heart with an intenser pang, by its unexpected and untimely death. Truly the ways of God 'are past finding out,' and 'his judgments are a great deep!'
From a short poem full of sympathy and pious sentiment which was written by Mrs. Boardman on this occasion, we select some passages.
FOOTNOTES:
[6] Baptist Magazine, 1825.
[7] North American Review.
CHAPTER V.
STATIONED AT MAULMAIN.—ATTACK OF BANDITTI.—MISSIONARY OPERATIONS.—DANGER FROM FIRE.
On consultation it was determined that Mr. and Mrs. Wade should remain in Amherst, and that Mr. and Mrs. Boardman should proceed to Maulmain, a town 25 miles up the river, which had sprung into being in the same manner as Amherst, and was nearly as populous; and that Mr. Judson should divide his time between the two stations.
In pursuance of this plan Mr. Boardman removed his family, which had been increased by the addition of a lovely daughter, now about five months old, to the new city of Maulmain. On the evening of May 28th Mr. Boardman makes this entry in his journal. "After nearly two years of wanderings without any certain dwelling-place, we have to-day become inhabitants of a little spot of earth, and have entered a house which we call our earthly home. None but those who have been in similar circumstances can conceive the satisfaction we now enjoy." ... "The population of the town is supposed to be 20,000. One year ago it was all a thick jungle, without an inhabitant!"
While at Amherst, Mrs. Boardman had experienced an alarming attack of a disease incident to the climate, and had to be carried to the boat which conveyed her to her new home on a litter. On her arrival there, although she shared her husband's joy that at length they had a home on the long promised land of Burmah, still her woman's nature, enfeebled by suffering, could not but have trembled at the idea of living in a lonely spot, (for the mission-house was nearly a mile from the barracks,) with the neighboring jungle swarming with "serpents that hiss, and beasts of prey that howl." In addition to this cause of alarm, there was opposite them, on the Burman side of the river, the old decayed city of Martaban; which was the refuge of a horde of banditti, who, armed with knives and swords, would often sally forth in bands of 30 or 40, urge their light and noiseless boats across the river, satiate themselves with plunder and murder in the British town, and return with their spoils to their own territory, where they were secure from British retaliation. The English general, knowing the insecurity of the mission-house, had urged Mr. B. to remove with his family to the protection of the fort; but his object was to benefit the Burmans, and to do that, he must live among them.
In their little bamboo hut, therefore, so frail that it could be cut open, as Mrs. Boardman says, with a pair of scissors, they prosecuted their study of the language under a native teacher, and even ventured to talk a little with the half-wild natives around them, and for a few weeks were unmolested. Their courage and confidence had revived, and with Mrs. B., restored health brought happiness. June 20th she writes, "We are in excellent health, and as happy as it is possible for human beings to be upon earth. It is our earnest desire to live, labor and die among this people." With such feelings, they had probably retired to rest on the night of the 24th of June, but awaking towards morning, and perceiving that the lamp which they always kept burning through the night was extinguished, they suspected mischief; and on relighting it, they found to their consternation that their house had been entered by the lawless plunderers mentioned above, and robbed of nearly every valuable article it contained; but how was their horror increased, by finding two large cuts in the moscheto curtains about their bed, through which the murderers had watched their slumbers, ready to stab them to the heart had they offered the slightest resistance, or even had they waked to consciousness. But He who "giveth his beloved sleep," had kindly steeped their senses in slumbers so profound and peaceful, that not even the infant stirred, or opened its eyes which would have instantly been sealed again,—in death.—Every trunk, box and bureau was rifled, looking-glass, watch, spoons, keys, were gone; and yet as the parents gazed at those rent curtains, and thought how the death-angel had grazed them with his wing as he passed by, their hearts rose in gratitude and praise to their Heavenly deliverer. But Mrs. Boardman's feelings are best told in her own expressive words. She says, "After the first amazement had a little subsided, I raised my eyes to the curtains surrounding our bed, and to my indescribable emotion saw two large holes cut, the one at the head, and the other at the foot of the place where my dear husband had been sleeping. From that moment, I quite forgot the stolen goods, and thought only of the treasure that was spared. In imagination I saw the assassins with their horrid weapons standing by our bedside, ready to do their worst had we been permitted to wake. Oh how merciful was that watchful Providence which prolonged those powerful slumbers of that night, not allowing even the infant at my bosom to open its eyes at so critical a moment. If ever gratitude glowed in my bosom, if ever the world appeared to me worthless as vanity, and if ever I wished to dedicate myself, my husband, my babe, my all, to our great Redeemer, it was at that time.
"To this day not a trace of our goods has been found; leaving no doubt that they were taken immediately over the river to Martaban. Since our loss, we have received many kind presents from our friends, so that we now find ourselves comfortable, and we are contented and happy. Yes, my beloved friend, I think I can say, that notwithstanding our alarms, never did five months of my life pass as pleasantly as the last five have done. The thought of being among this people whom we have so long desired to see, and the hope that God would enable me to do some little good to the poor heathen, has rejoiced and encouraged my heart. I confess that once or twice my natural timidity has for a moment gained ascendancy over my better feelings,—and at the hour of midnight, when the howlings of wild beasts have been silenced by the report of a musket near us, we would say to each other, perhaps the next attack will be made upon us, and the next charge may be aimed at our bosoms. Then I have been almost ready to exclaim, Oh for one little, little room of such materials, that we could, as far as human means go, sleep in safety. But these fears have been transitory, and we have generally been enabled to place our confidence in the Great Shepherd of Israel who never slumbers or sleeps, assured that he would protect us.... And we have also felt a sweet composure in the reflection that God has marked out our way; and if it best accord with his designs that we fall a prey to these blood-thirsty monsters, all will be right."
The English, hearing of this robbery, stationed a guard at the Mission-house of two sepoys or native soldiers. As one of these was sitting in the verandah, a wild beast from the jungle sprang furiously upon him, but he was frightened away before the man was much injured. Such occurrences however were rare, and did not make Mrs. Boardman desire, all things considered, to change her residence She was in the place of her choice, the country of her adoption, she had a faithful and loving husband, and a lovely and almost idolized babe; their house, though small and insecure, was beautifully situated with everything in the natural landscape around to charm her cultivated eye and taste,—these were her earthly comforts. Besides, even the insecurity of their habitation was daily diminishing; for houses were constantly springing up around them, and more and more of the jungle was cleared and cultivated. But what gave its chief zest to her life and that of her spiritually minded husband, was the fact that they found here a field of usefulness in the only work that seemed to them worth living for. From various motives the natives began to visit them constantly, and in increasing numbers, to inquire concerning the new religion. Mr. B. held a religious service on the Sabbath, and opened a school for boys: Mrs. Boardman, one for girls, and both conversed as well as they were able with their numerous visitors, and employed all their leisure in mastering the language. On the 22d of July they commemorated together the Saviour's dying love, in the sacrament of the Lord's supper,—a solitary pair—yet not so, for the Master of the feast was there to bless the "two" who thus "gathered together in his name."
The population at Maulmain was now increasing, and that at Amherst diminishing so rapidly, that Mr. Judson and Mr. and Mrs. Wade thought best to remove from the latter station to the former, and arrived at Maulmain in October. Two houses of public worship were erected during the year, where Messrs. Judson and Wade were daily employed in proclaiming religious truth, and such was their success, that within a few months they admitted to the church several native members. As many native converts with their families had removed with the Missionaries from Amherst to Maulmain, Mrs. Wade and Mrs. Boardman united their schools into one, which was attended with the most gratifying success. Moung Shwa-ba and Moung Ing, who have often been mentioned in the former memoir, read the Scriptures and other religious books to all who would hear, at a sort of reading zayat, built for the purpose.
In March, 1828, our friends were delivered from a danger not unknown in our own country. One evening, they were startled by a roaring like that of flame, and on going to the door, discovered the whole jungle to the eastward of them enveloped in sheets of flame, which was rapidly approaching their frail cottage. Seeing no hope that their house could escape, they rapidly collected a few valuables, and with their infant prepared to flee towards the river, though in much terror lest their path should be beset by leopards, tigers, and other animals, driven from their haunts by the fire. But when within a few feet of the houses, the flames were arrested by a sudden change of the wind, and the dwellings were unhurt. "Thus again are we preserved," says Mr. B. "when no human arm could have saved us!" Truly,
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"The hosts of God encamp around The dwellings of the just." |
Truly "the Lord knoweth how to deliver the godly."
CHAPTER VI.
REMOVAL TO TAVOY.—IDOLATRY OF THE PEOPLE.—LETTER FROM MRS. B.—BAPTISM OF A KAREN DISCIPLE.—SOME ACCOUNT OF THE KARENS.
The permanent collection of so many Missionaries at a single station was not approved by the Board, nor was it deemed desirable by the Missionaries themselves. In accordance, therefore, with instructions received from America, it was decided that Mr. and Mrs. Boardman should remove to Tavoy. This city is situated on the river Tavoy, 150 miles south of Maulmain, and had at that time a population of 6000 Burmans and 3000 foreigners.
The city was the stronghold of the religion of Gaudama, and the residence of two hundred priests.
On every eligible point stood an emblem or image of idolatry. Tall pagodas crowned every eminence, and humbler ones clustered around them, while thickly set groves of banyan and other sacred trees, sheltered shrines and images of Gaudama, and on festival days were crowded with devotees, kneeling in the gloomy pathways, or festooning the sacred trees with the rarest flowers. The tops of some of the thousand pagodas in the city, are hung with innumerable little bells, which, moved by the wind, chime sweetly their calls to devotion, reminding one of a passage in Moore's description of an eastern city:
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"But hark! the vesper call to prayer, —As slow the orb of daylight sets,— Is rising sweetly on the air From Syria's thousand minarets." |
This change in their place of abode could not fail to be a severe trial to our missionaries. To Maulmain they were bound by many ties,—the sweet companionship of fellow-Christians, and the love which attaches the missionary to those spiritual children which the Lord has given him;—moreover it was their first home, sanctified by signal deliverances and countless mercies;—nevertheless, like Abraham who at the call of Jehovah, "went out, not knowing whither he went,"—these "followers of them who through faith inherit the promises," obeyed the voice of duty, and feeling themselves "strangers and pilgrims on the earth," went without murmuring to their new sphere of labor. "One thing is certain," says Mr. B. in a subsequent letter "we were brought here by the guidance of Providence. It was no favorite scheme of ours."
On arriving at Tavoy, they were kindly received by Mr. Burney the English resident, and within ten days from their arrival, had procured a house, and begun to teach inquirers in the way of salvation Much as there was to discourage them in this city of pagoda, "the missionary looked out on the strange magnificence of shrines and temples that lay around him,—upon the monuments that had perpetuated for many ages this idolatrous worship,—upon the priests who taught it, and the countless devotees who practised it; and as he prepared to strike the first blow at the hoary superstition which they all enshrined, he felt to the full the sublimity and greatness of the undertaking. He stood alone, the herald of truth, before this mighty array of ancient error; but he trusted implicitly in the promises of revelation, and felt assured that the day was at hand when all this empty adoration of Gaudama would give place to the worship of the living God!"[8]
A new difficulty occurred here, which however was speedily surmounted by the diligence and zeal of the missionaries; the dialect of Tavoy was so different from pure Burmese as to be almost unintelligible to those who knew only the latter, but both, fortunately, employed the same written characters. Mrs. Boardman's employments at this time are enumerated in their letters. After unwearied toil, and repeated repulses and discouragements, she succeeded in establishing a girls' school, in which she employed a woman who could read, as an assistant. She describes a visit to her school thus: "I am just returned from one of the day-schools. The sun had not risen when I arrived, but the little girls were in the house ready for instruction. My walk to this school is through a retired road, shaded on one side by the old wall of the city, which is overgrown with wild creepers and pole-flowers, and on the other by large fruit-trees. While going and returning, I find it sweet and profitable to think on the shortness of time, the vanity of this delusive world,—and oh I have had some precious views of that world where the weary are at rest; and where sin, that enemy of God, and now constant disturber of my peace, will no more afflict me."
In another letter of a later date, she describes herself as sitting at her table in a back porch, from which she can see her "dear husband," in a room before her, teaching nine little heathen boys; while in one of the long verandahs on each side of the house, the native Christians are holding a prayer-meeting in their own language, and in the other, a Chinese convert is urging three or four of his deluded countrymen to turn from their stupid superstitions to the service of Jehovah.
She mentions also the baptism of a Karen, (the name of a tribe in Burmah,) "a poor man, who had been converted while in the service of Mr. Judson;" little knowing the importance of the fact thus recorded. This "poor man," in fact formerly a slave, and whom the writer of an article in a former number of the Quarterly Review would have sneered at as he did at the "fisherman," the wonderful trophy of divine grace, mentioned in Mrs. Judson's history of the mission, was the famous Ko-thay-byu, whose life has been written by Mr. Mason, and who, by his zeal and success in missionary labor, obtained the name of "the Karen Apostle." He was the first to introduce to the notice of the missionaries, the tribe to which he belonged, a people so remarkable, that we are unwilling, even in our brief sketch, to pass them over without notice.
The Karens, according to a writer in the North American Review, are a savage and ignorant race of men, (their name in the Burman language signifying wild men,) scattered in vast numbers over the wilds of Farther India, and inhabiting almost inaccessible tracts, among the mountains and forests. Their peculiar physiognomy, strange traditions, and some of their customs have led to the opinion that they were of Hebrew origin, though some think they are of the Caucasian variety of the human species. They differ much from the Burmans, by whom they are heavily taxed and grievously oppressed, and in every way treated as inferiors.[9] "Their traditions have been preserved, like the poems of Ossian, by fond memories delighting to revive the recollections of former glory and prosperity; repeated by grandsires at even-tide to their listening descendants, and sung by mourners over the graves of their elders.
"They believe in a God who is denominated Yu-wah," a name certainly similar to the Hebrew Jehovah. Some of their traditional songs are curious and interesting. For instance,
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"God created us in ancient time, And has a perfect knowledge of all things; When men call his name, he hears!" |
And again
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"The sons of heaven are holy, They sit by the seat of God, The sons of heaven are righteous, They dwell together with God; They lean against his silver seat." |
The following stanza, says the writer above referred to, might be mistaken for the production of David or Isaiah.
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"Satan in days of old was holy, But he transgressed God's law; Satan of old was righteous, But he departed from the law of God, And God drove him away." |
They say that God formerly loved their nation, but on account of their wickedness he punished it, and made them the degraded creatures they now are. But they say "God will again have mercy upon us, God will save us again." One verse of one of their songs is,
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"When the Karen king arrives Everything will be happy; When Karens have a king Wild beasts will lose their savageness." |
Professor Gammell says, in substance, that they present the extraordinary phenomenon of a people without any form of religion or established priesthood, yet believing in God, and in future retribution, and cherishing and transmitting from age to age a set of traditions of unusual purity, and containing bright predictions of future prosperity and glory.
When Ko-thay-byu, the poor convert already mentioned, was baptized, he naturally carried to his countrymen "the thrilling news, that a teacher from a far distant land had come to preach a new religion, a religion answering to the religion of their fathers." Others came to listen, and to carry back to their secluded hamlets the joyful tidings; until "from distant hills and remote valleys and forests, Karen inquirers flocked to Tavoy, and thronged around the teacher;" listening to the new doctrines with childlike simplicity and uncommon sensibility. Among other singular stories that they related to the wondering "teacher," one was, that more than ten years before, a book in a strange tongue had been left among them by a foreigner, who commanded them to worship it; which command they had faithfully obeyed. Mr. Boardman felt the strongest curiosity to see this deified book, but owing to the prevalence of the rains, he was not gratified till the following September. He was then waited on by a large deputation of Karens, bringing with them in a covered basket, the mysterious volume, wrapped in fold after fold of muslin; on removing which it proved to be an Oxford edition of the Common Prayer Book in the English language! With the greatest simplicity they asked Mr. B. if this book contained the doctrines of the new religion, and if so, requested to be taught its contents. Mr. B. assured them that the book was good, but should by no means be made an object of worship; and accepting it from them, he gave them in its stead, portions of the Scriptures, translated into a language they could understand. They entreated him to visit them in their own villages, assuring him of the readiness of their tribe to welcome him, and to receive the gospel; and, struck with their earnestness and candor, he promised at some future time to yield to their request.
The sorcerer who had preserved the book, and prescribed to the simple heathen the forms of its worship, threw away his cudgel, or wand of office, and laid aside his fantastic dress; and Mr. Boardman sent the mysterious volume to America, to be deposited in the museum of the Baptist Missionary Society.
Who the "foreigner" may have been, that thus supplied an ignorant people with a Divinity, or object of worship; or what were his motives in so doing, will probably always remain a mystery.
If we have devoted considerable space to this notice of the Karens, their subsequent history will prove that they are not unworthy of such notice.
FOOTNOTES:
[8] Gammell.
[9] See Gammell.
CHAPTER VII.
LETTER FROM MRS. B.—MR. B.'S VISIT TO THE KARENS IN THEIR VILLAGES.—DEFECTION OF DISCIPLES.—ITS EFFECT ON MR. AND MRS. B.
Extract of a letter from Mrs. Boardman to a "beloved sister," dated Tavoy, 1828.—"Nothing especial has occurred since I last wrote. We are still in good health, and happy in our work. We are now destitute of all religious society, and feel that our responsibilities are great indeed.... We have to suffer many little inconveniences in this country, but have no disposition to complain. We rejoice in the kind providence that has directed our steps, and would not exchange our condition. Our desire is to labor among the poor heathen until called to our eternal home." She then, with characteristic earnestness and affection, inquires after her sister's spiritual state. "Oh if you are a child of God, how great is your happiness; you can think of death without fear. The troubles and griefs of life do not distress you as they do the poor worldling, who looks only to the enjoyments of this life for comfort. If a Christian, you have sweet foretastes of that joy which is unspeakable and inconceivable by mortals. Though a sinner still, you feel that your sins are pardoned, and that through the merits of a crucified Saviour you will at last be accepted of God. I would fondly hope, my dear sister, that this is your happy case. But if not, oh who can tell your dreadful danger? Who can paint the alarming prospect before you? Every moment exposed to death, and yet without hope. Subject to disappointments and afflictions in this world, and yet no refuge for your anguished spirit. The weight of sins daily accumulating, and every day less prospect of obtaining pardon. The awful prospect of eternal banishment from all that is holy, oh my sister, reflect.... If you have not yet turned to the Saviour, delay no longer.... Oh may you, and all my beloved brothers and sisters, be early brought to a knowledge of the truth. I cannot express the anxiety I feel for every one of you. I also feel the solicitude of a tender sister for your temporal good. Write me particulars of the health of my dear parents, grand-parents, and each of my brothers and sisters. Though separated from you, I always wish to share your joys and sorrows.
"Your little niece is in charming health. She sends many kisses to you all, and I shall teach her to love you, though she cannot see you."
We have inserted this letter, which in its spirit is a specimen of all her letters, not only for its, intrinsic excellence, but to show that even in distant Burmah, and surrounded by cares and duties which would have diminished in a less affectionate breast her interest in her distant relatives,
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"Her heart untravelled fondly turned to" them, "And dragged at each remove a lengthening chain." |
While laboring for the conversion of pagans, she felt more than she had ever felt before, the awful danger of those who under the full blaze of gospel light, choose to walk in darkness; and for her family, her dear brothers and sisters, her burden was almost like that of the apostle who was, as it were, willing to give up his own title to the heavenly inheritance, if by so doing he could save his "kindred according to the flesh."[10] All her letters which we have been privileged to see, bear evidence of this.
In December of the year 1828, Mrs. Boardman was called to a trial which of all others was most fitted to make her feel that every earthly dependence is at best but a broken reed, and that
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"The spider's most attenuated thread Is cord, is cable, to our strongest hold On earthly bliss; it breaks with every breeze." |
Her almost idolized husband, her guide, her only human support, protector, and companion, was attacked by that insidious and incurable malady which was destined at no distant day to close his career of usefulness on earth, and send him early to his reward. A copious hemorrhage from the lungs warned him that his time for earthly labor was short, and seemed to increase his desire to work while his day lasted. As soon as his strength was sufficiently restored after his first attack, namely, in February 1829, he resolved to fulfil his long-cherished intention to visit the Karens in their native villages. He took with him two Karens, two of his scholars, and a servant. Females, who in this country of order and security, tremble at the idea of being left for one night alone in their strong and guarded dwellings, may perhaps conceive the feelings of Mrs. Boardman on being thus left by her protector.—Her own health scarce re-established after a four months' illness,—her mind agitated by fears for her stricken husband, who under burning suns, and amid unknown wilds, exposed to the fury of the sudden thunder-gust, and the wild beast of the jungles, must be absent from her, perhaps, two or three dreary weeks in which time not one "cordial, endearing report" from him, would reach her;—in her frail hut, and with two little ones dearer to her than life, exposed to the same dangers as herself,—what could support her in such circumstances but her faith in that arm whose strength is shown to be "perfect, in weakness?" A poor Karen woman, seeing her distress, tried to console her: "Weep not, mama," she said; "the teacher has gone on an errand of compassion to my poor perishing countrymen. They have never heard of the true God, and the love of his Son Jesus Christ, who died upon he cross to save sinners. They know nothing of the true religion, mama; and when they die they cannot go to the golden country of the blessed. God will take care of the teacher; do not weep, mama." Blessed faith in an omnipresent Heavenly Father! It gives even the unlettered Karen disciple, an eloquence in consolation, to which worldly philosophy is a stranger.
Mr. Boardman's journey, though perilous from the causes above mentioned, and tedious from being performed on foot, was highly interesting on account of the eager welcome, and abundant hospitality of the simple-minded Karen villagers whom he visited. On entering a village, he and his little caravan were overwhelmed with presents of provisions and fruits; and the inhabitants would exclaim, while their countenances beamed with delight, "Ah, you have come at last; we have long wanted to see you!" He travelled more than one hundred miles, often through unfrequented and toilsome paths among the mountains, and was three times drenched with powerful rains, from which he had no sufficient shelter; but by the aid of an interpreter he preached seventeen sermons, and was cheered by finding the readiness of the people to receive his doctrines far exceed his most sanguine expectations. On his return, both he and Mrs. Boardman had to experience an affliction extremely trying to the heart of a missionary; the defection of some of the Christian converts. Their sensitive spirits led Mr. and Mrs. B. to fear that their own unfaithfulness might have been the cause of the fall of their disciples. Mrs. Boardman's self-upbraidings were bitter; her humiliation deep and sincere. "Our hearts," she says, "have bled with anguish, and mine has sunk lower than the grave, for I have felt that my unworthiness has been the cause of all our calamities."
So keen were her self-rebukes at this time, that they break out even in her letters to her friends. In one of them she writes: "Some of these poor Burmans, who are daily carried to the grave, may at last reproach me and say, you came, it is true, to the city where we dwelt, to tell of heaven and hell, but wasted much, much of your precious time in indolence while learning our language. And when you were able to speak, why were you not incessantly telling us of this day of doom, when we visited you? Why, oh why did you ever speak of any other thing, while we were ignorant of this most momentous of all truths? How could you think on anything but our salvation?... You told us you knew of a Being that heard your lowest whispers, and most secret sighs—why then, did you not, day and night, entreat him in our behalf?" Mr. Boardman in his journal says, "My dear wife became at this time so deeply impressed with divine things, and particularly with a sense of her own sinfulness, that she had no rest night or day. We both endeavored to return to the Lord from whom we had strayed; but our path, especially that of Mrs. B. led hard by the borders of despair.... We confessed our sins to the Lord and to one another. We considered ourselves worthy to be trodden under foot of men, and were astonished to think of our pride and selfishness.... We were filled with the most distressing views of our utter sinfulness in the sight of a holy God."
Thus was this affliction, though "grievous," beginning to work out in her heart its "peaceable fruit of righteousness," by deepening her humility, quickening her zeal, and leading her to a more thorough consecration of herself to the work she had undertaken.
FOOTNOTES:
[10] Romans ix. 3.
CHAPTER VIII.
DEATH OF THEIR FIRST-BORN.—LETTERS FROM MRS. B.
In the spring of 1829 Mr. Boardman and his family made a short sea-voyage for the benefit of their health, Mrs. Boardman having experienced another attack of illness, and their little George being frail and puny. Indeed none of the family seemed to have been healthy but the "plump, rosy-cheeked" first-born, the darling Sarah, her mother's joy and pride, and—as her Heavenly Father saw—her idol too! Terrible was the stroke that shattered that lovely idol; but it came—so faith assured her—from a father's hand. Sometime afterward she writes, "My ever dear Sister, I think I have not written you since the death of our beloved Sarah, which is nearly eight months ago. I have never delayed writing to you so long before. For some time after her death, little George was apparently near the grave, and I was confined to my bed for a number of weeks. As soon as my health was a little improved, the rebellion at Tavoy took place, which threw us all into confusion, and this lasted until I was taken ill again about three months since. From this illness I am but just recovering. So you see, my beloved sister, my outward circumstances have been sufficient to prevent my writing. Nor is this all—for some time after little Sarah's departure, I was too much distressed to write; I felt assured that God had taken her away from us in love, and was also assured, that she is a happy angel in heaven; but oh the thought that we should see her no more on earth, filled me with indescribable sorrow. By degrees my mind became calmer; not that I forgot her, but I feel, my dear Harriet, that the dearest and sweetest pleasures of this life are empty and altogether unsatisfying. I do not look for comfort from these sources as I formerly did. We have a fine, healthy boy, but I do not allow myself to idolize him as I did his dear departed sister. In her dissolution, we saw such a wreck of what was most lovely and beautiful, that it seems as if we should be kept in future from 'worshipping the creature.'"
Particulars respecting the child's illness and death are given in another letter of nearly the same date. "Our little Sarah left us July 8th of last year—aged 2 years and 8 months.... She was a singularly lovely child. Her bright blue eyes, yellow hair, and rosy cheeks, formed a striking contrast to the dark little faces around her.... From the time she began to notice anything, we were the objects of her fondest love. If she thought she had incurred our displeasure, her tender heart seemed ready to burst; and she could not rest for a moment until she had said she was 'sorry,' and obtained the kiss of forgiveness. She had learned to obey us implicitly.... If either of us were ill, she would stroke our foreheads with her little soft hand, and kiss us so affectionately! Her love to her little brother George was unlimited. From the day of his birth till the day but one before she died, he was her idol.... Three days before she died, she was lying uneasily in a large swing cradle, and George was in the same room crying. We thought it might soothe the little sufferer, for he also was very ill, to lay him down beside Sarah. The proposal delighted her; with smiles she threw open her little arms and for the last time held her darling brother in her fond embrace. So great was her gratification at this privilege, that she seemed to forget her own pains.
"Little Sarah spoke English remarkably well for so young a child, and Burmese like a native; she could also say some things in the Hindostanee and Karen, and what seems a little singular, she never confounded two languages, but always spoke pure English to us, and pure Burmese to Burmans. This discrimination continued as long as she had the powers of speech. She had learned the Lord's prayer and several little hymns. Dr. Judson's lines on the death of Mee Shawayee she knew by heart in Burmese, and used to chant them for half an hour at a time.... These things may seem very trivial to you, but I muse upon them by the hour together; and it is only when I call my cooler judgment into action, that I can make myself believe they are uninteresting to any person on earth. I love to think of my sweet bud of immortality expanding so beautifully in my own presence; and fancy I can judge in some small degree of the brilliancy of the perfect flower, from these little developments.
"A few hours before she died, she called us to her, kissed us, and passed her dear hand, still full and dimpled as in health, softly over our faces. The pupils of her eyes were so dilated that she could not see us distinctly, and once, for a moment or two, her mind seemed to be wandering; then looking anxiously into my face, she said: 'I frightened, mamma! I frightened!' ... Oh with what feelings did I wash and dress her lovely form for the last time, and compose her perfect little limbs; and then see her—the dear child that had so long lain in my bosom—borne away to her newly-made grave. My heart grew faint when I thought that I had performed for her my last office of love; that she would never need a mother's hand again.
My dear husband performed the funeral service with an aching, though not desponding heart. The grave is in our own enclosure, about fifteen rods from the house—a beautiful retired spot, in a grove of Gangau-trees. Near it is a little Bethel, erected for private devotion. Thither we have often repaired; and we trust that God, who in his infinite wisdom had taken our treasure to himself, often meets us there."
The biographer of Mrs. Boardman—since her successor in the mission—mentions that a single speculative error had crept into her religious faith, on the subject of God's particular providence—that while contemplating the vastness of that agency
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"That ever busy wheels the silent spheres," |
she had almost thought it derogatory to the "Majesty of heaven and earth" to conceive of him as occupied with our mean affairs, numbering the hairs of our heads, and guiding the sparrow's fall. But the blow which crushed her heart, destroyed its skepticism. She saw so clearly in this dispensation, the hand of a Father chastening his erring child; she felt so keenly that she deserved the rod, for having in a measure worshipped the gift more than the giver, that she believed, with all the strength of an irresistible conviction, that even so lowly a thing as her own heart was indeed a theatre for the constant display of her Maker's guiding and controlling power, not less than the starry heavens; that her own sanctification, and the providential means to effect it, even in their minutest details, were ordered by sovereign grace and wisdom; and from this time forth she never doubted again.
But it is time to detail the spirit-stirring scenes that occurred a few months after the death of the child; to which scenes allusion was made in the first of her two letters.
CHAPTER IX.
REVOLT OF TAVOY.—LETTERS FROM MRS. B.
The revolt of Tavoy from the British government, and its consequences to the missionaries and other foreigners in the city, are so well described in a letter from Mr. Boardman to a friend in America, that we will give it nearly entire.
"REV. AND DEAR SIR,
"The province of Tavoy has engaged in an open revolt against the British government. On Lord's day morning, the 9th inst. at 4 o'clock, we were aroused from our quiet slumbers by the cry of 'Teacher, master, Tavoy rebels,' and ringing at all our doors and windows. We were soon awake to our extreme danger, as we heard not only a continual report of musketry within the town, but the balls were frequently passing over our heads and through our house; and in a few moments, a large company of Tavoyans collected near our gate, and gave us reason to suspect they were consulting what to do with us. We lifted our hearts to God for protection, and Mrs. Boardman and little George were hurried away through a back door to a retired building in the rear. I lay down in the house, (to escape the bullets,) with a single Burman boy, to watch and communicate the first intelligence After an hour of the greatest anxiety and uncertainty I had the happiness of seeing the sepoys (troops in the British service) in possession of the city gates in front of our house. We soon ascertained that a party of about 250 men had in the first instance attacked the powder magazine and gun-shed, which were very near our house, but a guard of sepoys had repelled them. This was a great mercy, for had the insurgents obtained the arms and ammunition, our situation would have been most deplorable. A second party of 60 had attacked the house of the principal native officer of the town, while a third party had fallen upon the guard of the prison, and let loose all the prisoners, one hundred in number, who, as soon as their irons were knocked off, became the most desperate of all the insurgents."...
The commissioner of the province was absent at Maulmain, but his lady, Mrs. Burney, urged their immediate removal to the government house. They hesitated at first, thinking the rebellion might soon be quelled; but hearing from a rebel prisoner that the whole province was engaged in the insurrection, and that large reinforcements might be hourly expected to join the rebels, and finding that the Mission premises from their situation, were likely to be the very battleground of the contending parties,—after seeking Divine direction, they concluded to abandon them. He continues his narrative, "We caught up a few light articles on which we could lay our hands, and with the native Christians, fled as if for our lives. I visited the house once or twice after this, and saved a few clothes and papers, but the firing being near, rendered it hazardous to remain, and the last time I went, I found the house had been plundered. A large part of our books, furniture and clothes, which had remained behind were either taken away or destroyed.
"We had been at the government house but a short time, when it was agreed to evacuate the town and retire to the wharf. In the hurry of our second removal, many things which we had brought from our house, were necessarily left, to fall into the hands of the plunderers. We soon found ourselves at the wharf,—a large wooden building of six rooms, into which, besides the Europeans, were huddled all the sepoys with their baggage and ours, and several hundreds of women and children belonging to Portuguese and others, who looked to the English for protection. Our greatest danger at this time arose from having in one of the rooms where many were to sleep, and all of us were continually passing, several hundred barrels of gunpowder, to which if fire should be communicated accidentally by ourselves, or mischievously by others, we should all perish at once. The next danger was from the rebels, who if they could either rush upon us, or take us by surprise or stratagem, would doubtless massacre us all on the spot. We lifted up our hearts to God, and he heard us from his holy habitation. We were preserved in safety through the night, though anxious and sleepless. All our attempts to communicate intelligence of our situation to the people in Maulmain and Mergui were defeated, and the heavy rains soon affected the health of the sepoys. We had but a small supply of rice in the granary near the wharf, and that was continually in danger of being destroyed or burnt. But through the kind care of our Heavenly Father, we were preserved alive, and nothing of great importance occurred until the morning of Thursday, a little before day-break, when a party of 500 advanced upon us from the town, and set fire to several houses and vessels near the wharf. But God interposed in our behalf, and sent a heavy shower of rain, which extinguished the fire while the sepoys repelled the assailants.
"At breakfast the same morning we had the happiness of seeing the Diana steam-vessel coming up the river, with Major Burney on board. Our hearts bounded with gratitude to God. It was soon agreed that the Diana should return immediately to Maulmain for a reinforcement of troops, and Major Burney had the kindness to offer a passage for Mrs. Boardman and our family together with his own. After looking to God for direction, I concluded to remain behind, partly in compliance with Major Burney's advice and desire, but particularly in the hope of being useful as an interpreter and negotiator, and a preventer of bloodshed. With painful pleasure I took a hasty leave of my dear family, and in the evening the Diana left us, not however without having several shots from cannon or jinjals fired at her from the people on the city wall. The English forces, small and weak and sick as they were, were now throwing up breast-works; and on Saturday the 15th inst. it was agreed to make an attack on the town, in order if possible to take from the walls the large guns that bore upon us, and to try the strength of the rebel party. I stood at the post of observation with a spy-glass to watch and give the earliest notice of the event, and soon had the pleasure of announcing that the officers and sepoys had scaled the walls, and were pitching down outside the large guns, that were mounted there, while friendly Chinese were employed in carrying them to the wharf. The success was complete, and nothing remained but to rescue the prisoners (60 in number) whom the rebels had caught and confined. After a short cessation and a little refreshment, a second attack was made, during which the prisoners escaped and the rebels evacuated the city. A second battery of guns was also taken and brought to the wharf. In the morning we walked at large through the town; but what desolation, what barbarous destruction was everywhere exhibited! everything that could not be carried away had been cut and destroyed in the most wanton manner. Our own house was cut to pieces, our books cut scattered, torn and destroyed; our furniture either carried off, or cut, or broken in pieces, and the house itself and zayat converted into cook-houses and barracks. During the last three days, we have been picking up the scattered fragments of our furniture, books, &c. and repairing our house.
"Nga-Dah, the ringleader of the rebellion, and eleven of his principal adherents, have been caught. The inhabitants are coming in with white flags and occupying their houses. The bazaar is open, and the work of repairs is going on.
"Yesterday morning the Diana arrived with a reinforcement of European soldiers; and to-day I have come on board, expecting to proceed to Maulmain immediately. My present plan is, if my brethren approve, to return with my family, and resume our missionary labors as before. The native members of our church, now scattered, will probably come into town as soon as they hear of our return. Of the boarding scholars, all are with us except three Karens.
"My letter is already protracted to so great a length, that I can only add that our preservation and deliverance from such imminent danger, should awaken in our hearts the warmest gratitude to our Heavenly Father, and the most unwavering confidence in his kind care; and that the foregoing account should revive and deepen the impression made by previous events in the history of this mission, that we stand in need of the continual and fervent prayers of Christians in America, not only for our preservation, but for divine guidance in all our affairs.
"I remain, yours,
"G.D. Boardman
"P.S. Saturday Morning, August 22d.—I have just arrived at Maulmain, and have the happiness to find my family and missionary friends in comfortable health. Praised be the Lord for his goodness.
"Aug. 29th.—After much deliberation, it is thought best that I should leave my family here, till affairs are more settled.... I expect to embark for Tavoy to-morrow morning. May the spirit of all grace go with me!"
This is a "plain unvarnished" account of the terrible scene through which the missionaries were so wonderfully preserved, but to understand more fully their imminent peril we should know, that the town, at the time of the revolt, was almost defenceless. The English civil and military chief absent; the officer in command on his death-bed; no English troops in the town, and but about a hundred sepoys, who though trained to British modes of warfare are by no means equal in skill or valor to British troops; and the chief engineer disabled by sickness;—the Tavoyans had well chosen the time of their attack, and they were sufficiently numerous to have carried all their plans into execution; but the result, like that of all conflicts between civilized and barbarous men, shows how greatly superior a few troops, well disciplined, are to the most numerous bodies of men, unacquainted with the art of war.
But what could be more appalling to the stoutest heart, than the situation of Mrs. Boardman and her helpless family! Forced to flee from her frail hut, by bullets actually whizzing through it, and to pass through the town amid the yells of an infuriated rabble, her path sometimes impeded by the dead bodies of men who had fallen in the conflict: driven from the shelter of the government house, again to fly through the streets to the wharf-house; and there, with three or four hundred fugitives crowded together, to await death which threatened them in every form,—hearing over their heads the rush of cannon balls, and seeing from burning buildings showers of sparks falling, one of which, if it reached the magazines under their roof, was sufficient to tear the building from its foundations and whelm them all in one common ruin,—or if they escaped this danger, to know that hundreds of merciless barbarians with knives and cutlasses might at any moment rush into the building and destroy them;—can the female heart, we are ready to ask, endure such fearful trial?
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"Perchance her reason stoops, or reels; Perchance a courage not her own Braces her mind to desperate tone," |
Yes, her mind was stayed by a "courage not her own," but it was "braced" to no "desperate tone;" rather its calmness was that of a child, who, in its own utter helplessness, clings to its father's arm, and feels secure. Neither must we forget that a painful diversion of her thoughts from the terrors around her, was afforded by the necessities of her suffering babe, to whom the foul air of the wharf-house, and the want of all comforts, had nearly proved fatal. It was only her sleepless, vigilant care, that, under Providence, prevented the poor child from sharing the fate of Mrs. Burney's little infant, which did not survive the dreadful scene.
And with what transports of joy did this suffering company hail the sight of the thin blue smoke that heralded the arrival of a steamer from Maulmain! Amid what distracting fears for her husband, left in the revolted city, her infant and herself, did Mrs. Boardman decide to go on board the steamer returning to Maulmain! And with what gratitude and joy did she, after several days of painful suspense, welcome to the same city, her husband, and hear the tidings of the triumph of British power, and the restoration of tranquillity! In her happiness at meeting him alive, she noticed not that his late exposure and sufferings had increased to an alarming degree the symptoms of his dreadful malady. Inspired with something of his own enthusiasm, she saw him depart, to return to his beloved labors in Tavoy, whither she hoped and expected soon to follow him.
CHAPTER X.
MISSIONARY LABORS OF MR. BOARDMAN—HIS ILL HEALTH.—LETTER FROM MRS. B.—DEATH OF A SECOND CHILD.—LETTERS FROM MRS. B.
From Mr. Boardman's journal we learn that he remained through the summer and part of the autumn at Tavoy, diligently prosecuting his labors among the Burmese, Chinese, Karens, and Europeans, among all which classes he had singular success. In the meantime Mrs. Boardman continued at Maulmain, part of the time suffering from illness, and when able, assisting the missionaries there, until October, when she returned again to Tavoy. The animated and even glowing recital, given by Mr. Boardman in his journals and letters of this year, of the spread of gospel truth among the natives; his records of preaching, travelling, teaching and baptisms, would lead one to suppose that he was in the enjoyment of the most vigorous health, and that his frame was insensible to fatigue. But careless as he was of his own bodily ease, there was an eye that watched him with the intensest solicitude; a heart that was pierced with anxiety, knowing that though "the inner man was renewed day by day," the outer man was too surely "perishing," and would soon be laid aside, forever.
On the 29th of July, 1830, Mrs. Boardman writes to her sister from Maulmain, whither they had gone for the benefit of her children's health: "We must look beyond this frail fleeting world for our true peace. Alas, I know by most bitter experience, that it is in vain to seek for true happiness here below. My fondest earthly hopes have again and again been dashed. Torn from the bosom of my dear father's family, my heart was almost broken; and when I stood by the death-bed of my sweet, my lovely Sarah, I felt indeed that earthly hopes and joys are but a dream. But a darker cloud hangs over me. Oh what desolation and anguish of spirit do I feel, when I think it is possible that in a few more months, my earthly guide, supporter, and delight, may be no more!... He has a cough which has been hanging about him a year, and he is very much reduced by it.... Oh my sister, let us see to it that our affections are set on things above."
Such "desolation and anguish of spirit" as she here describes, had her husband felt for her in the preceding year, when for some months before and after the birth of her second son she lay struggling with a dangerous disease, which he thought would surely terminate her life. At that time he wrote: "She still grows weaker, and her case is now more alarming. Should our friends for whom I have sent to Maulmain come even immediately, I can scarcely hope for their arrival before the crisis, or probably, fatal termination of my dear partner's disorder. My comfort in my present affliction is the thought, that if to our former trials, the Lord sees fit to add that of removing my beloved companion, he does it with a perfect knowledge of all the blessedness which death will confer on her, and of all the sorrows and distresses which her loss will occasion her bereaved husband and orphan children, in our present peculiar condition. It affords me great relief to have been assured by her that the bitterness of death is past, and that heavenly glories have been unfolded in a wonderful and unexpected manner to her view." And again he says, seemingly losing for a moment his strong confidence, "What will become of my children, what will become of the schools—of the poor native women—what will become of me, if she die?" But she recovered, and "his thankfulness knew no bounds, his letters are eloquent in their utterance of joy and praise."
In a letter of Dec. 2, 1830, Mrs. Boardman records another affliction. "God has come very near to us and wounded our hearts afresh. Our youngest child, aged 8 months, went from us to meet his sainted sister, in September last. We mourn, but not without hope; for we shall soon be in that blissful world—be pure and lovely like our departed ones in glory." And Mr. Boardman says: "Our hearts have been pierced anew by the loss of our dear babe.... He was 8 months old, and though generally feeble, one of the most lovely and interesting of babes. The Lord has dealt with us severely, but not unkindly. He gave and he hath taken away."
Both these devoted missionaries knew, however, that the best defence against such trials as they endured, is found in a steady performance of duty. In trouble as well as in joy, they devoted themselves to their great object—saving souls.—How different from those who make a sort of merit of "indulging the luxury of grief;" and show their regard for the memory of the dead by neglecting their duties to the living! Christianity, while it inculcates and fosters the tenderest sensibility to the chastisements of our heavenly Parent, never allows us in any calamity, to fold our hands in inactive despair. Our pathway is filled with duties; and,
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"Heart within, and God o'er head," |
we must, like our Master, "go about doing good," though we may feel "cast down, pressed out of measure," by affliction.
Speaking of a severe illness about this time, Mr. Boardman says: "Death seemed near, ... but had no alarms, no terrors.... My beloved family and the perishing heathen, were all that made me in the least degree unwilling to die. And even them I could resign to the hands of a gracious and covenant-keeping God." In one of the last letters he ever wrote, he thus records his testimony to the devotedness of his beloved wife. "During my present protracted illness, and when I was at the worst stage, she was the tenderest, most assiduous, attentive and affectionate of nurses. Without her, I think I should have finished my career in a few days. And even when our lamented, darling babe lay struggling in the very arms of death, though she was with him constantly, night and day, she did not allow me to suffer one moment, for lack of her attentions. I cannot write what I feel on this tender subject. But oh what kindness in our Heavenly Father, that when her services were so much needed, her health was preserved, and she had strength given her to perform her arduous labors."
Mr. Boardman's life was now fast ebbing away. In September, 1830, he had written a sort of farewell to his parents, brothers and sisters, from which it appears that even then he was daily looking for the summons—"Come up hither." He says of this letter that it is his last farewell. He thanks God that he has his complaint—consumption—in its mildest form. He enumerates many circumstances of mercy with which he is favored; and adds: "But most of all for outward comfort, I have my beloved wife, whose most untiring assiduity has mitigated many of my pains, and who is ever prompt to render all the services that the purest affection can dictate, or the greatest sufferings require. And it deserves to be mentioned that she has never been so free from missionary and family cares, or from attacks of illness, as during the last three months, while I have most needed her kind and soothing attentions. Bless the Lord oh my soul, and praise his name!"
"In thinking," he adds, "on the probability of dying soon, two or three things occasion considerable unwillingness to meet the solemn event. One is, the sore affliction I know it will occasion to my dear family, especially my fond, too fond wife. Her heart will be well-nigh riven. But I must leave her with Him who is anointed to heal the broken-hearted and to bind up their wounds. My dear little son is too young to remember me long, or to realize his loss. I have prayed for him many times, and can leave him in my Heavenly Father's hands.... Then there are the perishing heathens around me.... During the last ten years, I have studied with more or less reference to being useful to the heathen. And now, if just as I am beginning to be qualified to labor a little among them my days are cut short, much of my study and preparation seems to be in vain. But I chide myself for saying so or thinking so. If I had done no good whatever here in Burmah, I ought to submit and be still under the hand of God, ... but I trust He has made me of some service to a few poor benighted souls, especially among the Karens, who shall be my glory and joy in the day of the Lord Jesus." "As to my hope and my confidence of acceptance with God, if any man has reason to renounce all his own righteousness, ... and to trust entirely and solely to grace, sovereign grace, flowing through an atoning Saviour, I am that man. A perfectly right action, with perfectly right motives, I never performed, and never shall perform, till freed from this body of sin. An unprofitable servant, is the most appropriate epitaph for my tombstone."
Thus appeared a life of self-denying sacrifices for Christ, when shone upon by the pure light of eternity. Happy then that the dying man could say, "NOT by works of righteousness which we have done but by his mercy he saves us!"
CHAPTER XI.
LETTER FROM MRS. BOARDMAN.—ILLNESS AND DEATH OF GEORGE DANA BOARDMAN.
Tavoy, March 7, 1831.
"My beloved Parents,
"With a heart glowing with joy, and at the same time rent with anguish unutterable, I take my pen to address you. You, too, will rejoice when you hear what God has wrought through the instrumentality of your beloved son. Yes, you will bless God that you were enabled to devote him to this blessed service among the heathen, when I tell you that within the last two months, fifty-seven have been baptized, all Karens, excepting one, a little boy of the school and son of the native governor. Twenty-three were baptized in this city by Moung Ing, and thirty-four in their native wilderness by Mr. Mason.
"Mr. Mason arrived Jan. 23d, and on the 31st, he, with Mr. Boardman, myself and George, set out on a long-promised tour among the Karens. Mr. Boardman was very feeble, but we hoped the change of air and scenery would be beneficial. A company of Karens had come to convey us out, Mr. Boardman on his bed and me in a chair. We reached the place on the third day, and found they had erected a bamboo chapel on a beautiful stream at the base of a range of mountains. The place was central, and nearly one hundred persons had assembled, more than half of them applicants for baptism. Oh it was a sight calculated to call forth the liveliest joy of which human nature is susceptible, and made me, for a moment, forget my bitter griefs—a sight far surpassing all I had ever anticipated, even in my most sanguine hours. The Karens cooked, ate and slept on the around, by the river-side, with no other shelter than the trees of the forest. Three years ago they were sunk in the lowest depths of ignorance and superstition. Now the glad tidings of mercy had reached them, and they were willing to live in the open air, away from their homes, for the sake of enjoying the privileges of the Gospel.
"My dear husband had borne the journey better than we had feared, though he suffered from exhaustion and pain in his side, which, however, was much relieved by a little attention. His spirits were unusually good, and we fondly hoped that a few days' residence in that delightful, airy spot, surrounded by his loved Karens, would recruit and invigorate his weakened frame. But I soon perceived he was failing, and tenderly urged his return to town, where he could enjoy the quiet of home, and the benefit of medical advice. But he repelled the thought at once, saying he confidently expected improvement from the change, and that the disappointment would be worse for him than staying. 'And even,' added he, 'should my poor, unprofitable life be somewhat shortened by staying, ought I, on that account merely, to leave this interesting field? Should I not rather stay and assist in gathering in these dear scattered lambs of the fold? You know, Sarah, that coming on a foreign mission involves the probability of a shorter life, than staying in one's native country. And yet obedience to our Lord, and compassion for the perishing heathen, induced us to make this sacrifice. And have we ever repented that we came? No; I trust we can both say that we bless God for bringing us to Burmah, for directing our footsteps to Tavoy, and even for leading us hither. You already know, my love,' he continued, with a look of tenderness never to be forgotten, 'that I cannot live long, I must sink under this disease; and should we go home now, the all-important business which brought us out, must be given up, and I might linger out a few days of suffering, stung with the reflection, that I had preferred a few idle days, to my Master's service. Do not, therefore, ask me to go, till these poor Karens have been baptized.' I saw he was right, but my feelings revolted. Nothing seemed so valuable as his life, and I felt that I could make any sacrifice to prolong it, though it were but for one hour. Still a desire to gratify him, if no higher motive made me silent, though my heart ached to see him so ill in such a wretched place, deprived of many of the comforts of life, to say nothing of the indulgences desirable in sickness.
"The chapel was large, but open on all sides, excepting a small place built up for Mr. Mason, and a room about five feet wide and ten feet long, for the accommodation of Mr. Boardman and myself with our little boy. The roof was so low, that I could not stand upright; and it was but poorly enclosed, so that he was exposed to the burning rays of the sun by day, and to the cold winds and damp fog by night. But his mind was happy, and he would often say, 'If I live to see this one ingathering, I may well exclaim, with happy Simeon, Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation. How many ministers have wished they might die in their pulpits; and would not dying in a spot like this, be even more blessed than dying in a pulpit at home? I feel that it would.'
"Nor was it merely the pleasing state of things around him that filled his mind with comfort. He would sometimes dwell on the infinite compassion of God, and his own unworthiness, till his strength was quite exhausted; and though he told Mr. Mason that he had not the rapture which he had sometimes enjoyed, yet his mind was calm and peaceful; and it was plainly perceptible, that earthly passions had died way, and that he was enjoying sweet foretastes of that rest into which he was so soon to enter. He would often say to me, 'My meditations are very sweet, though my mind seems as much weakened as my body. I have not had that liveliness of feeling, which I have sometimes enjoyed, owing to my great weakness, but I shall soon be released from shackles, and be where I can praise God continually, without weariness. My thoughts delight to dwell on these words, There is no night there.'
"I felt that the time of separation was fast approaching, and said to him, 'My dear, I have one request to make; it is, that you would pray much for George, during your few remaining days. I shall soon be left alone, almost the only one on earth to pray for him, and I have great confidence in your dying prayers.' He looked earnestly at the little boy, and said, 'I will try to pray for him; but I trust very many prayers will ascend for the dear child from our friends at home, who will be induced to supplicate the more earnestly for him, when they hear that he is left fatherless in a heathen land.'
"On Wednesday, while looking in the glass, he seemed at once to see symptoms of his approaching dissolution, and said, without emotion, 'I have altered greatly—I am sinking into the grave very fast—just on the verge.' Mr. Mason said to him, 'Is there nothing we can do for you? Had we not better call the physician? Or shall we try to remove you into town immediately?' After a few moments' deliberation, it was concluded to defer the baptism of the male applicants, and set out for home early the next morning. Nearly all the female candidates had been examined, and as it is difficult for them to come to town, it was thought best that Mr. Mason should baptize them in the evening. We knelt, and Mr. Mason having prayed for a blessing on the decision, we sat down to breakfast with sorrowful hearts.
"While we were at the table, my beloved husband said, 'I shall soon be thrown away for this world; but I hope the Lord Jesus will take me up. That merciful Being, who is represented as passing by, and having compassion on the poor cast-out infant, will not suffer me to perish. O, I have no hope but in the wonderful, condescending, infinite mercy of God, through his dear Son. I cast my poor perishing soul, loaded with sin, as it is, upon his compassionate arms, assured that all will he forever safe.' On seeing my tears, he said, 'Are you not reconciled to the will of God, my love?' When I told him I hoped I did not feel unreconciled, he continued, 'I have long ago, and many times, committed you and our little one into the hands of our covenant God. He is the husband of the widow and the father of the fatherless. Leave thy fatherless children, I will preserve them alive; and let thy widows trust in me, saith the Lord. He will be your stay and support, when I am gone. The separation will be but short. O, how happy I shall be to welcome you to heaven.' He then addressed Mr. Mason, as follows:—'Brother, I am heartily rejoiced, and bless God that you have arrived, and especially am I gratified, that you are so much interested for the poor Karens. You will, I am assured, watch over them, and take care of them; and if some of them turn back, you will still care for them. As to my dear wife and child, I know you will do all in your power to make them comfortable. Mrs. B. will probably spend the ensuing rains in Tavoy. She will be happy with you and Mrs. Mason; that is, as happy as she can be in her state of loneliness. She will mourn for me, and a widow's state is desolate and sorrowful at best. But God will he infinitely better to her, than I have ever been.' On the same day, he wished me to read some hymns on affliction, sickness, death, &c. I took Wesley's Hymn Book, the only one we had with us, and read several, among others, the one beginning 'Ah, lovely appearance of death.'
"On Wednesday evening, thirty-four persons were baptized. Mr. Boardman was carried to the waterside, though so weak that he could hardly breathe without the continual use of the fan and the smelling-bottle. The joyful sight was almost too much for his feeble frame. When we reached the chapel, he said he would like to sit up and take tea with us. We placed his cot near the table, and having bolstered him up, we took tea together. He asked the blessing, and did it with his right hand upraised, and in a tone that struck me to the heart. It was the same tremulous, yet urgent, and I had almost said, unearthly voice, with which my aged grandfather used to pray. We now began to notice that brightening of the mental faculties, which I had heard spoken of, in persons near their end.
"After tea was removed, all the disciples present, about fifty in number, gathered around him, and he addressed them for a few moments in language like the following:—'I did hope to stay with you till after Lord's-day, and administer to you once more the Lord's Supper. But God is calling me away from you. I am about to die, and shall soon be inconceivably happy in heaven. When I am gone, remember what I have taught you; and O, be careful to persevere unto the end, that when you die, we may meet one another in the presence of God, never more to part. Listen to the word of the new teacher and the teacheress as you have done to mine. The teacheress will be very much distressed. Strive to lighten her burdens, and comfort her by your good conduct. Do not neglect prayer. The eternal God, to whom you pray, is unchangeable. Earthly teachers sicken and die, but God remains forever the same. Love Jesus Christ with all your hearts, and you will be forever safe.' This address I gathered from the Karens, as I was absent preparing his things for the night. Having rested a few minutes, he offered a short prayer, and then with Mr. Mason's assistance, distributed tracts and portions of Scripture to them all. Early the next morning we left for home, accompanied by nearly all the males and some of the females, the remainder returning to their homes in the wilderness. Mr. Boardman was free from pain during the day, and there was no unfavorable change, except that his mouth grew sore. But at four o'clock in the afternoon, we were overtaken by a violent shower of rain accompanied by lightning and thunder. There was no house in sight, and we were obliged to remain in the open air, exposed to the merciless storm. We covered him with mats and blankets, and held our umbrellas over him, all to no purpose. I was obliged to stand and see the storm beating upon him, till his mattress and pillows were drenched with rain. We hastened on, and soon came to a Tavoy house. The inhabitants at first refused us admittance, and we ran for shelter into the out-houses. The shed I happened to enter, proved to be the 'house of their gods,' and thus I committed an almost unpardonable offence. After some persuasion they admitted us into the house, or rather verandah, for they would not allow us to sleep inside, though I begged the privilege for my sick husband with tears. In ordinary cases, perhaps, they would have been hospitable; but they knew that Mr. Boardman was a teacher of a foreign religion, and that the Karens in our company had embraced that religion.
"At evening worship, Mr. Boardman requested Mr. Mason to read the thirty-fourth Psalm. He seemed almost spent, and said, 'This poor perishing dust will soon be laid in the grave; but God can employ other lumps of clay to perform his will, as easily as he has this poor unworthy one.' I told him, I should like to sit up and watch by him, but he objected, and said in a tender supplicating tone, 'Cannot we sleep together?' The rain still continued, and his cot was wet, so that he was obliged to lie on the bamboo floor. Having found a place where our little boy could sleep without danger of falling through openings in the floor, I threw myself down, without undressing, beside my beloved husband. I spoke to him often during the night, and he said he felt well, excepting an uncomfortable feeling in his mouth and throat. This was somewhat relieved by frequent washings with cold water. Miserably wretched as his situation was, he did not complain; on the contrary, his heart seemed overflowing with gratitude. 'O,' said he, 'how kind and good our Father in heaven is to me; how many are racked with pain, while I, though near the grave, am almost free from distress of body. I suffer nothing, nothing to what you, my dear Sarah, had to endure last year, when I thought I must lose you. And then I have you to move me so tenderly. I should have sunk into the grave ere this, but for your assiduous attention. And brother Mason is as kind to me as if he were my own brother. And then how many, in addition to pain of body, have anguish of soul, while my mind is sweetly stayed on God.' On my saying, 'I hope we shall be at home to-morrow night, where you can lie on your comfortable bed, and I can nurse you as I wish,' he said, 'I want nothing that the world can afford, but my wife and friends; earthly conveniences and comforts are of little consequence to one so near heaven. I only want them for your sake.' In the morning we thought him a little better, though I perceived, when I gave him his sago, that his breath was very short. He, however, took rather more nourishment than usual, and spoke about the manner of his conveyance home. We ascertained that by waiting until twelve o'clock, we could go the greater part of the way by water.
"At about nine o'clock, his hands and feet grew cold, and the affectionate Karens rubbed them all the forenoon, excepting a few moments when he requested to be left alone. At ten o'clock, he was much distressed for breath, and I thought the long dreaded moment had arrived. I asked him, if he felt as if he was going home—'not just yet,' he replied. On giving him a little wine and water, he revived. Shortly after, he said, 'You were alarmed without cause just now, dear—I know the reason of the distress I felt, but am too weak to explain it to you.' In a few moments he said to me, 'Since you spoke to me about George, I have prayed for him almost incessantly—more than in all my life before.'
"It drew near twelve, the time for us to go to the boat. We were distressed at the thought of removing him, when evidently so near the last struggle, though we did not think it so near as it really was. But there was no alternative. The chilling frown of the iron-faced Tavoyan was to us as if he was continually saying, 'be gone.' I wanted a little broth for my expiring husband, but on asking them for a fowl they said they had none, though at that instant, on glancing my eye through an opening in the floor, I saw three or four under the house. My heart was well nigh breaking.
"We hastened to the boat, which was only a few steps from the house. The Karens carried Mr. Boardman first, and as the shore was muddy, I was obliged to wait till they could return for me. They took me immediately to him; but O, the agony of my soul, when I saw the hand of death was on him! He was looking me full in the face, but his eyes were changed, not dimmed, but brightened, and the pupils so dilated, that I feared he could not see me. I spoke to him—kissed him—but he made no return, though I fancied that he tried to move his lips. I pressed his hand, knowing that if he could, he would return the pressure; but, alas! for the first time, he was insensible to my love, and forever. I had brought a glass of wine and water already mixed, and a smelling-bottle, but neither was of any avail to him now. Agreeably to a previous request, I called the faithful Karens, who loved him so much, and whom he had loved unto death, to come and watch his last gentle breathings, for there was no struggle.
"Never, my dear parents, did one of our poor fallen race have less to contend with, in the last enemy. Little George was brought to see his dying father, but he was too young to know there was cause for grief When Sarah died, her father said to George, 'Poor little boy, you will not know to-morrow what you have lost to-day.' A deep pang rent my bosom at the recollection of this, and a still deeper one succeeded when the thought struck me, that though my little boy may not know to-morrow what he has lost to-day, yet when years have rolled by, and he shall have felt the unkindness of a deceitful, selfish world, he will know.
"Mr. Mason wept, and the sorrowing Karens knelt down in prayer to God—that God, of whom their expiring teacher had taught them—that God, into whose presence the emancipated spirit was just entering—that God, with whom they hope and expect to be happy forever. My own feelings I will not attempt to describe. You may have some faint idea of them, when you recollect what he was to me, how tenderly I loved him, and, at the same time, bear in mind the precious promises to the afflicted.
"We came in silence down the river, and landed about three miles from our house. The Karens placed his precious remains on his little bed, and with feelings which you can better imagine than I describe, we proceeded homewards. The mournful intelligence had reached town before us, and we were soon met by Moung Ing, the Burman preacher. At the sight of us he burst into a flood of tears. Next, we met the two native Christian sisters, who lived with us. But the moment of most bitter anguish was yet to come on our arrival at the house. They took him into the sleeping-room, and when I uncovered his face, for a few moments, nothing was heard but reiterated sobs. He had not altered—the same sweet smile, with which he was wont to welcome me, sat on his countenance. His eyes had opened in bringing him, and all present seemed expecting to hear his voice; when the thought, that it was silent forever, rushed upon us, and filled us with anguish sudden and unutterable. There were the Burman Christians, who had listened so long, with edification and delight, to his preaching—there were the Karens, who looked to him as their guide, their earthly all—there were the scholars whom he had taught the way to heaven, and the Christian sisters, whose privilege it had been to wash, as it were, his feet.
"Early next morning, his funeral was attended, and all the Europeans in the place, with many natives, were present. It may be some consolation to you to know that everything was performed in as decent a manner, as if he had been buried in our own dear native land. By his own request, he was interred on the south side of our darling first-born. It is a pleasant circumstance to me, that they sleep side by side. But it is infinitely more consoling to think, that their glorified spirits have met in that blissful world, where sin and death never enter, and sorrow is unknown.
"Praying that we may be abundantly prepared to enter into our glorious rest, I remain, my dear parents, your deeply afflicted, but most affectionate child,
"Sarah H. Boardman."
Well might Mr. Judson say, "One of the brightest luminaries of Burmah is extinguished, dear brother Boardman is gone to his eternal rest. He fell gloriously at the head of his troops, in the arms of victory, thirty-seven wild Karens having been brought into the camp of our king since the beginning of the year, besides the thirty-two that were brought in during the two preceding years. Disabled by wounds, he was obliged through the whole of his last expedition, to be carried on a litter; but his presence was a host, and the Holy Spirit accompanied his dying whispers with almighty influence. Such a death, next to that of martyrdom, must be glorious in the eyes of Heaven. Well may we rest assured, that a triumphal crown awaits him on the great day, and 'Well done, good and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord!'" This is in the spirit of Montgomery's noble hymn, with an extract from which we will close the account of George Dana Boardman.
CHAPTER XII.
LETTERS FROM MRS. B.—HER DECISION TO REMAIN IN BURMAH.—HER MISSIONARY LABORS.—HER TRIALS.—SCHOOLS.
Mrs. Boardman found the society of Mr. and Mrs. Mason a sweet solace to her sad heart. They joined her at Tavoy in the spring of 1831, and assisted her in her school, besides studying the language. Her letters to her sister show a spirit chastened and saddened, but not crushed by sorrow, and still tenderly solicitous for the spiritual welfare of her dear brothers and sisters in America. She urges them by every motive, to embrace that Saviour she had found so precious. After telling them of the "glorious revival among the Karens," and of the baptism of seventy-three of them, she asks how they feel when they hear of the conversion of these poor children of the wilderness? "Some," she says, "indeed most of those who have been baptized, were impressed with the infinite importance of religion at the first time of hearing the gospel, and gave themselves no rest till they found it in the Saviour. O, I tremble and can scarcely hold my pen while I think of the awful account you must render to God, if after all your privileges, you fall short of Heaven at last.... How can you resist any longer? You cannot, you will not—something tells me you will give yourself immediately, unreservedly to that compassionate Saviour whose love was stronger than death."
Her confidence was justified; for some months later she says, "Dearly beloved brother and sister, a parcel of letters from America has reached us, which we eagerly opened, ... and received the delightful, heart-cheering intelligence that you have both become followers of Jesus, and have openly professed his name, and that two others of the dear children are serious.... Oh I have wept hours at the thought of God's goodness in giving me such joyful news in the midst of my sorrows. And is it indeed true that my own dear Harriet and my dearly loved brother are adopted into the family of God's chosen ones? Are your names really written in the Lamb's book of life?... And do each of you when alone in your closet before your Heavenly Father, feel that he draws near to you, and that sweeter than all the pleasures of the world is communion with him? O I know that you do; and now do I feel a union with you unknown before. How sweet to feel, that while wandering, a lonely desolate widow, some of those whom I most love, remember me every day before a throne of grace. Now when I kneel in prayer the voice of praise is on my lips. At each thought of home, my heart leaps for joy, and I feel as if relieved of a heavy burden which continually weighed down my spirits while thinking of my absent brothers and sisters.... The accounts of the glorious revivals in different parts of our dear native land have greatly refreshed our hearts, and we are ready to exclaim, surely the millennium has dawned for happy America. Perhaps you think such intelligence makes me wish to return. But no, my dear brothers and sisters, it makes me feel just the reverse. I do most ardently long to labor in this dark land till the day dawns upon us, ... rather I should say till the Sun of Righteousness reaches the meridian of Burmah, for the day has already dawned, and the eastern Karen mountains, enveloped for ages past in midnight gloom, are rejoicing in his bright beams.
"Our schools are very flourishing.... We have sixty scholars in town, and about fifty among the Karens in the jungles. I feel desolate, lonely, and sometimes deeply distressed at my great and irreparable loss,—but I bless God I am not in despair. My darling George is in good health, and is a source of much comfort, though of deep anxiety to me. He is learning to read, but is not so forward as children at home. How it comforts my heart to be able to ask you to pray for him!"
In a hurried postscript she adds: "There are more than eighty Karens at our house, upwards of twenty of them applicants for baptism."
In another letter: "Death now seems nearer to me, and Heaven dearer than before I was afflicted; ... my afflictions are precisely the kind my soul needed.... I receive from my dear friends the Masons, every possible kindness. But alas! the hours of loneliness and bitter weeping I endure, are known only to God. But still Jesus has sweetened the cup, and I would not that it should have passed my lip."
Three courses of life were now open to Mrs. Boardman. Either to devote herself to her domestic duties, manage her household, educate her darling boy, and in quiet seclusion pass the weary days of her widowhood; or—looking abroad on the spiritual wants of the people around her, knowing that if one devoted laborer was gone there was the more need of activity in those that remained,—she might continue to employ her time and faculties in instructing and elevating those in whose service her husband had worn out his life; or, thirdly, she might take her child, her "only one," and return to the land of her birth, where she still had dear parents, brothers and sisters, who would welcome her with open arms, and where she could give her son those advantages which he never could have in a heathen land. To adopt either the first or the last of these courses, she was urged by her natural disposition, which was singularly modest and retiring, her feeble health, the enervating influence of the climate, and above all by the strong tendency to self-indulgence which always accompanies a heart-rending sorrow. "But oh," she says in a letter to a friend, "these poor, inquiring and Christian Karens, and the school-boys, and the Burmese Christians" ... and the thought of these made her more than willing to adopt the second course; for she says, "My beloved husband wore out his life in this glorious cause; and that remembrance makes me more than ever attached to the work and the people for whose salvation he labored till death."
During her husband's life-time. Mrs. Boardman had of course little to perform of what could properly be called missionary labor; even her teaching in the schools was very often interrupted by sickness, and the schools themselves were often broken up by untoward events which the Missionaries could not control. Now, however, new circumstances called her to new and untried duties. Yet there was no sudden or violent change in her mode of life. The honored lips that had instructed, and guided, and comforted the ignorant natives, were sealed in death; yet still those natives continued to turn their eyes and their steps to the loved residence of their teacher whenever they found themselves oppressed with difficulty or distress and could the widow of that venerated teacher refuse to those poor disciples any guidance or consolation it was in her power to bestow? No; quietly and meekly she instructed the ignorant, consoled the afflicted, led inquirers to her Saviour, and warned the impenitent to flee to him; and if insensibly she thus came to fill a place from which her nature would instinctively have shrunk, there was still about her such a modest and womanly grace, combined with such a serious and dignified purpose of soul, that the most fastidious could have found nothing to censure, while lovers of the cause she had espoused, found everything to commend. "I rejoice," writes a friend in this country to her, on hearing of her self-sacrificing labors, "that your husband's mantle has fallen upon you ... and that more than ever before, it is in your heart to benefit the heathen."
That her duties were arduous, her letters fully prove. In one of them she says, "Every moment of my time is occupied from sunrise till ten in the evening. It is late-bed time, and I am surrounded by five Karen women, three of whom arrived this afternoon from the jungle, after being separated from us nearly five months by the heavy rains. The Karens are beginning to come to us in companies; and with them, and our scholars in the town, and the care of my darling boy, you will scarce think I have much leisure for letter-writing."
Thus she toiled on, cheered by the consciousness that she was in the path of duty: that her husband if permitted from his home in heaven to watch over the spot he most loved on earth, would smile approvingly on her labors; and encouraged by the affection of many of the disciples, and the interest awakened among some new inquirers.
But it cannot be doubted that her trials were at least equal to her encouragements. Long before, Mr. Boardman had written, "the thoughts of this people," the Burmans, "run in channels entirely different from ours. Their whole system has a tendency to cramp their intellectual powers;—professedly divine in its origin, it demands credence without evidence; it spurns improvement, disdains the suggestions of experience, and flatly denies the testimony of the external senses. What a man sees with his own eyes he is not to believe, because his Scriptures teach otherwise.... There is no fellowship of thought between them and us on any subject. Everything appears to them in a different light, they attribute everything to a different cause, seek a remedy of evils from a different quarter, and entertain, in fine, a set of thoughts and imaginations totally different from ours." The Karens, it is true, had fewer prejudices to be eradicated, and more easily sympathized with the missionaries than the haughty, self-sufficient Burmans; but then their very docility made them liable to another danger, that of holding their new faith lightly, and parting with it easily. All these difficulties sometimes so pressed upon Mrs. Boardman, that she was ready to say, "It requires the patience of a Job and the wisdom of a Solomon to get on with this people; much as I love them, and good as I think they are." She then spoke of the converts; in whom was implanted that grace which, so far as it operates on the heart, makes all, in a sense, one in Christ Jesus; how then must she have been tried with those who would not repent and embrace the only principles that could give her the least fellowship or communion with them?
Jan. 19, 1832.—Mrs. Boardman writes of herself and her fellow-missionaries, Mr. and Mrs. Mason, "We meet with much encouragement in our schools, and our number of day-scholars is now about eighty. These, with the boarding schools, two village schools, and about fifty persons who learn during the rainy season in the Karen jungle, make upwards of one hundred and seventy under our instruction. The scholars in the jungle cannot of course visit us often but a great many have come to be examined in their lessons, and we are surprised and delighted at the progress they have made."
Of course they had to employ, as teachers of these schools, natives, who needed constant supervision and superintendence. Some of these teachers were exceedingly interesting persons. Of the death of one of them she writes, "Thah-oung continued in his school till two days before his death, although for a long time he had been very ill. He felt, then, that he must die, and said to his scholars, 'I can do no more—God is calling me away from you,—I go into His presence—be not dismayed.' He was then carried to the house of his father, a few miles distant, and there he continued exhorting and praying to the very last moment. His widow, who is not yet fifteen, is one of the loveliest of our desert blossoms." And afterwards in alluding to the same event, she says, "One of our best Karen teachers came to see us, and through him we heard that the disciples were well; that they were living in love, in the enjoyment of religion, and had nothing to distress them, but the death of their beloved teacher. Poor Moung Quay was obliged to turn away his face to weep several times while answering my inquiries. Oh how they feel the stroke that has fallen upon them. And well they may, for he was to them a father and a guide."
"The superintendence of the food and clothing of both the boarding schools," she afterwards writes, "together with the care of five day-schools under native teachers, devolves wholly on me. Our day-schools are growing every week more and more interesting. We cannot, it is true, expect to see among them so much progress, especially in Christianity, as our boarders make; but they are constantly gaining religious knowledge, and will grow up with comparatively correct ideas. They with their teachers attend worship regularly on Lord's-day. The day-schools are entirely supported at present by the Honorable Company's allowance, and the civil commissioner, Mr. Maingy appears much interested in their success."
CHAPTER XIII.
CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN MRS. BOARDMAN AND THE SUPERINTENDENT.—HER TOURS AMONG THE KARENS.—HER PERSONAL APPEARANCE.—HER ACQUAINTANCE WITH THE BURMAN LANGUAGE.—DR. JUDSON'S TRANSLATION OF THE BIBLE.
An interesting letter from the gentleman mentioned at the close of the last chapter, with Mrs. Boardman's reply, we will give entire, as they exhibit at once her firmness of principle, and the high respect she commanded from the European residents in the country.
"Tavoy, Aug. 24, 1833.
"My dear Sir,
"Mr. Mason has handed me for perusal, the extract from your letter to Government, which you kindly sent him. I apprehend I have hitherto had wrong impressions in reference to the ground on which the Honorable Company patronize schools in their territories; and I hope you will allow me to say, that it would not accord with my feelings and sentiments, to banish religious instruction from the schools under my care. I think it desirable for the rising generation of this Province, to become acquainted with useful science; and the male part of the population, with the English language. But it is infinitely more important that they receive into their hearts our holy religion, which is the source of so much happiness in this state, and imparts the hope of a glorious immortality in the world to come. Parents and guardians must know that there is more or less danger of their children deserting the faith of their ancestors, if placed under the care of a Foreign Missionary; and the example of some of the pupils is calculated to increase such apprehensions. Mr. Boardman baptized into the Christian religion several of his scholars. One of the number is now a devoted preacher; and notwithstanding the decease of their beloved and revered teacher, they all, with one unhappy exception, remain firm in the Christian faith.
"The success of the Hindoo College, where religious instruction was interdicted, may perhaps be urged in favor of pursuing a similar course in schools here. But it strikes me, that the case is different here, even admitting their course to be right. The overthrow of a system so replete with cruel and impure rites, as the Hindoo, or so degrading as the Mahometan, might be matter of joy, though no better religion were introduced in its stead. But the Burman system of morality is superior to that of the nations round them, and to the heathen of ancient times, and is surpassed only by the divine precepts of our blessed Saviour. Like all other merely human institutions, it is destitute of saving power; but its influence on the people, so far as it is felt, is salutary, and their moral character will, I should think, bear a comparison with that of any heathen nation in the world. The person who should spend his days in teaching them mere human science, (though he might undermine their false tenets,) by neglecting to set before them brighter hopes and purer principles, would, I imagine, live to very little purpose. For myself, sure I am, I should at last suffer the overwhelming conviction of having labored in vain.
"With this view of things, you will not, my dear sir, be surprised at my saying, it is impossible for me to pursue a course so utterly repugnant to my feelings, and so contrary to my judgment, as to banish religious instruction from the schools in my charge. It is what I am confident you yourself would not wish; but I infer from a remark in your letter that such are the terms on which Government affords patronage. It would be wrong to deceive the patrons of the schools and if my supposition is correct, I can do no otherwise than request, that the monthly allowance be withdrawn. It will assist in establishing schools at Maulmain on a plan more consonant with the wishes of Government than mine has ever been. Meanwhile I trust, I shall be able to represent the claims of my pupils in such a manner, as to obtain support and countenance from those, who would wish the children to be taught the principles of the Christian faith.
"Allow me, my dear sir, to subscribe myself,
"Yours, most respectfully,
"Sarah H. Boardman."
"My dear Madam,
"I cannot do otherwise than honor and respect the sentiments conveyed in your letter, now received. You will, I hope, give me credit for sincerity, when I assure you, that in alluding to the system of instruction pursued by you, it has ever been a source of pride to me, to point out the quiet way, in which your scholars have been made acquainted with the Christian religion. My own Government in no way proscribes the teaching of Christianity. The observations in my official letter are intended to support what I have before brought to the notice of Government, that all are received, who present themselves for instruction at your schools, without any stipulation as to their becoming members of the Christian faith.
I cannot express to you how much your letter has distressed me. It has been a subject of consideration with me, for some months past, how I could best succeed in establishing a college here, the scholars of which were to have been instructed in the same system which you have so successfully pursued. Believe me,
"Yours very faithfully,
"A.D. Maingy
"Saturday."
Appropriations were afterward made by the British government for schools throughout the Provinces "to be conducted on the plan of Mrs. Boardman's schools at Tavoy;" and although the propagation of Christianity in the other schools was subsequently prohibited, yet in her own, she always taught as her conscience dictated.
It had been one of Mr. Boardman's practices to make frequent tours among the Karen villages, to preach the gospel, and strengthen the disciples and the feeble churches. Even from this duty, as far as the visitation was concerned, his widow did not shrink, although she did shrink from writing or speaking much on the subject; doubtless always regarding it as a cross, which although she might bear with patience, she would willingly lay down as soon as duty should permit. Attended by her faithful Karens, and her little boy borne in their arms,—leaving Mr. Mason to his indispensable task of acquiring the language, she would thread the wild passes of the mountains, and the obscure paths of the jungle, fording the smaller streams and carried over the larger in a chair borne on bamboo poles by her followers,—carrying joy and gladness to the hearts of the simple-minded villagers, and cheering her own by witnessing their constancy and fidelity.
In her own inimitable style "Fanny Forrester" gives an account of an adventure of Mrs. Boardman during one of these excursions; in which the impression she made upon an English officer who encountered her far from civilized habitations, so unexpectedly that he almost mistook her for an angel visitant from a better sphere, was sufficiently pleasant to form the basis of a lasting friendship between them. Indeed there are many testimonials to Mrs. Boardman's personal loveliness and grace of manner. In Calcutta, where she resided nearly two years, she was regarded as a "finished lady;" and in a well-written tribute to her memory, published in the Mother's Journal, she is described as "of about middle stature, agreeable in personal appearance, and winning in manners. The first impression of an observer respecting her in her youth, would be of a gentle, confiding, persuasive being, who would sweeten the cup of life to those who drank it with her. But further acquaintance would develop strength as well as loveliness of character. It would be seen that she could do and endure, as well as love and please. Sweetness and strength, gentleness and firmness, were in her character most happily blended. Her mind was both poetical and practical. She had a refined taste, and a love for the beautiful as well as the excellent." But all these fine gifts and endowments were consecrated; the offering she had made on her Saviour's altar was unreserved; nor do we find that she ever cast back to the world where she might have shone so brilliantly, "one longing, lingering look."
She is said by her fellow Missionaries to have made wonderful proficiency in the Burman language, and indeed she translated into it Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress. She loved the language much; and used to read the Scriptures in it in preference to reading them in English. She once said to Mrs. Mason, "I should be willing to learn Burmese, for the sake of reading the Scriptures in that language."
The translation of the Scriptures into Burmese is a work for which Burmah is indebted to Dr. Judson For many years this devoted servant of Christ employed on this great work every moment he could spare from pastoral labor; and there is something truly sublime in the record he has left of the completion of it, in his Journal under date of Jan. 31, 1834: "Thanks be to god, I can now say, I have attained! I have knelt down before him, with the last leaf in my hand, and imploring his forgiveness for all the sins which have polluted my labors in this department, and his aid in future efforts to remove the errors and imperfections which necessarily cleave to the work, I have commended it to his mercy and grace; I have dedicated it to his glory. May he make his own inspired word, now complete in the Burman tongue, the grand instrument of filling all Burmah with songs and praises to our great God and Saviour, Jesus Christ Amen."
CHAPTER XIV.
MRS. BOARDMAN'S SECOND MARRIAGE.—REMOVAL TO MAULMAIN.—LETTER FROM MRS. JUDSON.—HER SON SENT TO AMERICA.—HER HUSBAND'S ILLNESS.
On the tenth of April, 1834, Mrs. Boardman was married to one whose character she afterwards declared to be "a complete assemblage of all that woman could wish to love and honor," the Rev. Dr. Judson With him she removed to her new home in Maulmain, which had undergone wonderful changes since she left it in 1828. Then, the only church there had three native members; now she found there three churches numbering two hundred members! Her duties now were different from what they had been, but not less important; and in a letter written to a very intimate friend one year after her marriage, we find her thus expressing herself: "I can truly say that the mission cause, and missionary labor is increasingly dear to me, every month of my life. I am now united with one whose heavenly spirit and example is deeply calculated to make me more devoted to the cause than I ever have been before. O that I may profit by such precious advantages."
Many Missionaries had arrived from America and established themselves in different places; several resided at Maulmain; so that Mrs. Judson, as we must now call her, could enjoy much Christian society besides that of the natives. But neither she nor her fellow-laborers had much time to devote exclusively to social intercourse. Beside schools to superintend, and Bible-classes to conduct, and prayer-meetings to attend, societies were to be formed among the half-educated native females in which they could be instructed in maternal and social duties. In addition to these cares, Mrs. Judson took upon herself the task of acquiring a new language, in order to instruct the Peguans, a people who had put themselves under the protection of the British, after revolting against the Burmans. This people were so numerous in Maulmain that the missionaries felt constrained to furnish them with instruction.
Under these labors, Mrs. Judson's health again failed but after some weeks of suffering, she began to recover, and for many subsequent years her health was uninterrupted. In a letter written some time after, she accounts for her enjoyment of health, in the following manner:—
"When I first came up from Tavoy, I was thin and pale; and though I called myself pretty well, I had no appetite for food, and was scarce able to walk half a mile. Soon after, I was called to endure a long and severe attack of illness, which brought me to the brink of the grave. I was never so low in any former illness, and the doctor who attended me, has since told me, that he had no hope of my recovery; and that when he came to prescribe medicine for me, it was more out of regard to the feelings of my husband, than from any prospect of its affording me relief. I lay confined to my bed, week after week, unable to move, except as Mr. Judson sometimes carried me in his arms from the bed to the couch for a change; and even this once brought on a return of the disease, which very nearly cost me my life. * * I never shall forget the precious seasons enjoyed on that sick bed. Little George will tell you about it, if you should ever see him. I think he will always remember some sweet conversations I had with him, on the state of his soul, at that time. Dear child! his mind was very tender, and he would weep on account of his sins, and would kneel down and pray with all the fervor and simplicity of childhood. He used to read the Bible to me every day, and commit little hymns to memory by my bedside. * * It pleased my Heavenly Father to raise me up again, although I was for a long time very weak. As soon as I was able, I commenced riding on horseback, and used to take a long ride every morning before sunrise. After a patient trial, I found that riding improved my health; though many times I should have become discouraged and given it up, but for the perseverance of my husband. After riding almost every day, for four or five months, I found my health so much improved, and gained strength so fast, that I began to think walking might be substituted. About this time, my nice little pony died, and we commenced a regular system of exercise on foot, walking at a rapid pace, far over the hills beyond the town, before the sun was up, every morning. We have continued this perseveringly up to the present time; and, during these years, my health has been better than at any time previous, since my arrival in India; and my constitution seems to have undergone an entire renovation."
In "Burmah proper," that is, that part of Burmah not under British government, the native Christians enjoyed no toleration from the Government, and often suffered bitterly; but in Maulmain, and other places in British Burmah, religion flourished, and converts were multiplied. Mr. Vinton, (a new missionary,) preached with great power in the Karen churches, and that people, says Mrs. Judson, "flocked into the kingdom by scores." Mr. Judson was revising his translation of the Bible—a task of five years' duration,—and preaching to the Burmese church; while Mrs. J. instructed in the schools and translated into Peguan such tracts as were thought most calculated to acquaint that people with Christian doctrine. She afterwards translated into that language the New Testament and the Life of Christ; but on the arrival of Mr. Haswell, she gave up to him all her books and papers in this language, and only attended to it in future so far as to assist him in his studies.
Of the severest trial to which Mrs. Judson was called during the remainder of her life she gives an account in the following eloquent words: "After deliberation, accompanied with tears, and agony and prayers, I came to the conviction that it was my duty to send away my only child, my darling George, and yesterday he bade me a long farewell.... Oh I shall never forget his looks, as he stood by the door, and gazed at me for the last time. His eyes were filling with tears, and his little face red with suppressed emotion. But he subdued his feelings, and it was not till he had turned away, and was going down the steps that he burst into a flood of tears. I hurried to my room; and on my knees, with my whole heart gave him up to God; and my bursting heart was comforted from above.... My reason and judgment tell me that the good of my child requires that he should be sent to America; and this of itself would support me in some little degree; but when I view it as a sacrifice, made for the sake of Jesus, it becomes a delightful privilege.... I cannot but hope he will one day return to Burmah, a missionary of the cross, as his dear father was.... This is in some respects the severest trial I ever met with."
It would be delightful to accompany the dear boy in his perilous journey to the Father-land, and to transcribe the yearning and affectionate letters of his mother, both to him, and to those to whose charge he was entrusted—they could not but heighten our opinion of her excellence in the maternal relation, as well as of the great sensibility of her heart; but we are warned that our pages are swelling to too great a number. Ours is but a sketch, an outline; those who would see the full length portrait of our heroine, must consult the glowing canvass of her biographer and successor, "Fanny Forrester."
Her next trial was, to see her beloved husband suffering with a severe cough, which she feared would end in pulmonary consumption. To avert this dreaded result, he was obliged to leave her and try a long sea-voyage. The account of their parting, and her touching letters during his absence would greatly enrich our little sketch, had we room to copy them. We must find a place for one short extract from the letters.
"Your little daughter and I have been praying for you this evening.... At times the sweet hope that you will soon return, restored to perfect health, buoys up my spirit, but perhaps you will find it necessary to go farther, a necessity from which I cannot but shrink with doubt and dread; or you may come back only to die with me. This last agonizing thought crushes me down in overwhelming sorrow. I hope I do not feel unwilling that our Heavenly Father should do as he thinks best with us; but my heart shrinks from the prospect of living in this dark, sinful, friendless world, without you.... But the most satisfactory view is to look away to that blissful world, where separations are unknown. There, my beloved Judson, we shall surely meet each other; and we shall also meet many loved ones who have gone before us to that haven of rest."
Her fears were not realized; in a few months Mr. Judson was restored to her and the suffering mission cause in greatly improved health.
CHAPTER XV.
ILLNESS OF HER CHILDREN.—DEATH OF ONE OF THEM.—HER MISSIONARY LABORS, AND FAMILY CARES.—HER DECLINING HEALTH.—POEM.—HER LAST ILLNESS AND DEATH.
The seventh year of her marriage with Mr. Judson, was a year of peculiar trial to Mrs. J. All her four children were attacked by whooping-cough followed by one of the diseases of the climate, with which she also was so violently afflicted that her life was for a time despaired of. She felt sure, as she afterwards said, that her hour of release was come, that her master was calling her; and she blessed God that she was entirely willing to leave all, and go to him. The only hope of recovery for any of them was a sea-voyage, and they embarked for Bengal, but their passage was stormy, and they derived little benefit from their stay at Serampore, where they had taken up their residence. A voyage to the Mauritius was recommended, and the alarming situation of three of the children, as well as Mrs. Judson's feeble state, determined them to try it. But before they embarked, it was her melancholy lot to lay one of her darlings in the grave, and he, the very one about whose health she had felt the least uneasiness. He sleeps, says his mother, in the mission burial-ground, where moulders the dust of Carey, Marshman and Ward. Her tears at his burial flowed not only for him that was dead, but for another who she expected would soon follow him. To avert this calamity she hastened her voyage, which though fearfully tempestuous, proved beneficial to the sufferers, and after a short sojourn in the soft climate of the Isle of France, the family returned to their home in Maulmain, restored, with the exception of one son, to sound health. This son, who bore the name of his father, was called by the natives Pwen, which signifies "a flower," a name adopted by his parents. After a long illness he too was restored to health.
Mrs. Judson's labors during the latter part of her life, are recorded by her husband; and it may well excite the wonder of those women who consider the care of their own families a sufficient task, that she could find time and strength for such an amount of labor. It has been said that her translation of Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress is a work worth living for. Her husband says, "It is one of the best pieces of composition we have published." She also translated a tract written by her husband; edited a "Chapel hymn book," and furnished for it twenty of its best hymns; and published four volumes of Scripture Questions for use in the Sabbath Schools. When we consider that she was the mother of a rapidly increasing family; and the head of an establishment, which like all in the East require constant and vigilant superintendence; and that she was exemplary in the discharge of her maternal and domestic duties, we are led to fancy she must have possessed some secret charm by which she could stay the hurrying feet of time; and "hold the fleet angel fast until he blessed her." Such a secret was her untiring zeal, which prompted an incessant industry. The sands of time are indeed numerous, and when each is valued as a sparkling treasure, they form a rich hoard, laid up where neither moth nor rust corrupt; but if we let them escape unheeded, or sit and idly watch their flow, and even shake the glass to hasten it, they will gather into a millstone weight to sink us in endless, unavailing regret. Though she is dead, Mrs. Judson's works still live; and generation after generation of Burmans will associate her name with that of her honored husband, as benefactors to their race.
In December, 1844, the health of Mrs. Judson began to decline. Her anxious husband, determined to leave no means untried, to save a life so precious to the mission and so invaluable to himself and his family, decided to quit for a while his loved labors in Burmah and accompany his wife to America. They in May 1845 sailed, and on reaching the Isle of France, she found herself so far restored that she could no longer conscientiously detain her husband from his duties in India, and she resolved to let him go back to their home there, while she with her children, should complete the journey that still seemed necessary for her entire restoration. One of the sweetest of her poems was occasioned by this resolution.
But her health still sinking, her husband could not leave her, and she was borne back to the ship. Her life ebbed away so rapidly, that he feared he must consign her to an ocean grave. But a kind Providence ordered it, that her death did not occur till the ship anchored at St. Helena. Her end was as peaceful as her life had been consistent and exemplary.
"No shade of doubt or fear, or anxiety crossed her mind." So writes her husband: "She had a prevailing preference to depart and be with Christ. I am longing to depart! she would say; and then the thought of her dear native land, to which she was approaching after an absence of twenty years, and a longing desire to see her son George, her parents, and the friends of her youth, would draw down her ascending soul, and constrain her to say, 'I am in a strait betwixt two; the will of the Lord be done.'
"In regard to her children she ever manifested the most surprising composure and resignation, so much so that I was once constrained to say, you seem to have forgotten the dear little ones we have left behind. 'Can a mother forget'—she replied, and was unable to proceed. During her last days she spent much time in praying for the early conversion of her children.
"On the evening of the 31st of August, ... I sat alone by the side of her bed, endeavoring to administer relief to the distressed body, and consolation to the departing soul. At two o'clock in the morning, wishing to obtain one more token of recognition, I roused her attention and said, 'Do you still love the Saviour?' 'O yes,' she replied, 'I ever love the Lord Jesus Christ.' I said again, 'Do you still love me?' She replied in the affirmative, by a peculiar expression of her own. 'Then give me one more kiss;' and we exchanged that token of love for the last time. Another hour passed,—and she ceased to breathe."
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"So fades the summer cloud away; So sinks the gale when storms are o'er; So gently shuts the eye of day; So dies the wave along the shore." |
Arrangements were made to carry the body on shore. The Rev. Mr. Bertram from the Island came on board, and was led into the state-room where lay all that was mortal of Mrs. Judson. "Pleasant," he says, "she was even in death. A sweet smile of love beamed on her countenance, as if heavenly grace had stamped it there. The bereaved husband and three weeping children fastened their eyes upon the loved remains, as if they could have looked forever."
The coffin was borne to the shore; the boats forming a kind of procession, their oars beating the waves at measured intervals, as a sort of funeral knell—The earth received her dust, and her bereaved husband continued his sad voyage towards his native land, again a widowed mourner.