Daughters of the Cross: or Woman's Mission

by Daniel C. Eddy

In 1843 Miss Hawes was called seriously to decide upon a missionary life. She well knew the trials of such a life. In her father's house she had often met with those who had tried "the life of danger and death," and had returned broken down with disease and sorrow. She had listened to the narration of their labors, their sufferings, and their success, and was better prepared to judge of the privations and pain to be experienced than most who depart on such errands of mercy.

But the decision was soon made. When it became evident to her mind that she could be more useful in Turkey than in America, when it was settled that duty to God and a dying world required her to leave home and native land, when Jesus seemed to beckon her away, the question was soon settled, and settled in such a manner as to involve a separation from loved friends and a removal from all the enjoyments of a civilized country.

On the 4th of September, 1843, Miss Hawes was married to Rev. Henry J. Van Lennep: and, amid familiar scenes and countenances, the father gave his daughter to her missionary husband, to the toils and sacrifices of a missionary life. The pious and happy couple immediately started on a short pleasure tour previous to sailing for the East, where they were to labor and die. The time which intervened between the joyful marriage service and the sad departure was crowded with incidents of a thrilling character; and the month was one of excitement, anxiety, and care.

Mr. Van Lennep was a missionary under the patronage of the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions. He was destined for Turkey, to which Oriental clime he was about to take his fair companion. In him Miss Hawes found a tender and devoted husband, who, when her sickness came and weary hours were appointed unto her, watched over her with the most considerate attention, and deprived himself of rest and sleep that he might cheer his sick and dying companion, whom he had taken from a home of plenty, ease, refinement, and luxury, and removed to a cheerless and lonely spot, to labor with him for the perishing.

It required no slight effort for Mrs. Van Lennep to part with so many familiar scenes and go forth to return no more. There was her mother, whom she tenderly loved, and whose declining years she had hoped to comfort and cheer. How could she leave that parent? How could she say "Farewell," and do it with the consciousness that she should gaze upon that mild countenance and that loved form no more? How could she take that hand which had led her up to womanhood,—a hand which wiped her brow when sick and suffering, and wet her throbbing temples when pained with fever,—how could she grasp it for the last time?

Then there was her Sabbath school class, over which she had prayed and wept, and to the members of which she had imparted instruction so often and so tenderly.

There was also the house of God, in which she had so often heard the music of a father's voice; the Sabbath bell, which had so often called her to the temple and the place of prayer; the organ, whose tones had often thrilled her soul as she sat with the worshipping assembly, chanting the praise of God. How could she leave all these? The separation cost an effort such as those only know who have made the trial.

She sailed from Boston, in company with her husband and father, in the bark Stamboul, on the 11th of October, 1843. The Stamboul was a fine vessel; and our missionaries were well accommodated on board. The gentlemanly officers and crew omitted nothing which could render the situation of the female voyager pleasant and comfortable as a "life on the ocean wave" would allow. Besides this, the kindness of friends had provided every little comfort and convenience which could be needed; and the trunks and boxes of Mrs. Van Lennep were stored with articles which her Hartford and Boston friends had gathered for her use. She went out, not as Mrs. Newell went, on a cold, severe day, with but few comforts, with but few conveniences, with but few friends to: bid her farewell, with no sermon, no song, no prayer on the deck; but every thing which money could purchase or the ingenuity of friends devise was brought forward to add to her comfort. Before the Stamboul sailed a service was held on board, which was attended by deeply-interested friends. The missionaries, the passengers, the crew were committed to the care of God. The parting hymn rose on the breeze, echoed over the waves, and its sad strains died away on the hearts of the listeners. The parting hand was given; and as kind friends left the deck the ropes were loosed, and in noble style the vessel swept out into the harbor, and the mother and child gazed upon each other for the last time.

"Ye who, forsaking all,
At your loved Master's call,
Comforts resign,
Soon will your work be done;
Soon will the prize be won;
Brighter than yonder sun
Ye soon shall shine."

Most of the voyage was spent by Mrs. Van Lennep in preparing herself for future usefulness and in the study of those languages which she would most need. She enjoyed the passage more than any other lady on board, and was on deck in some scenes of peril which made even the hearts of strong men to tremble.