“February 7. I have been on a visit to the physician who attended her in her illness. He has the character of a kind, attentive, and skillful practitioner; and his communications to me have been rather consoling. I am now convinced that everything possible was done, and that, had I been present myself, I could not have essentially contributed to avert the fatal termination of the disease. The doctor was with her twice a day, and frequently spent the greater part of the night by her side. He says that, from the first attack of the fever, she was persuaded she could not recover; but that her mind was uniformly tranquil and happy in the prospect of death. She only expressed occasional regret at leaving her child and the native Christian schools before her husband, or another missionary family, could arrive. The last two days she was free from pain. On her attention being roused by reiterated questions, she replied, ‘I feel quite well, only very weak.’ These were her last words.
“The doctor is decidedly of opinion that the fatal termination of the fever is not to be ascribed to the localities of the new settlement, but chiefly to the weakness of her constitution, occasioned by the severe privations and long-protracted sufferings she endured at Ava. O, with what meekness, and patience, and magnanimity, and Christian fortitude she bore those sufferings! And can I wish they had been less? Can I sacrilegiously wish to rob her crown of a single gem? Much she saw and suffered of the evil of this evil world, and eminently was she qualified to relish and enjoy the pure and holy rest into which she has entered. True, she has been taken from a sphere in which she was singularly qualified, by her natural disposition, her winning manners, her devoted zeal, and her perfect acquaintance with the language, to be extensively serviceable to the cause of Christ; true, she has been torn from her husband’s bleeding heart and from her darling babe; but infinite wisdom and love have presided, as ever, in this most afflicting dispensation. Faith decides that it is all right, and the decision of faith eternity will soon confirm.
“I have only time to add—for I am writing in great haste, with very short notice of the present opportunity of sending to Bengal—that poor little Maria, though very feeble, is, I hope, recovering from her long illness. She began indeed to recover while under the care of the lady who kindly took charge of her at her mother’s death; but when, after Mr. Wade’s arrival, she was brought back to this house, she seemed to think that she had returned to her former home, and had found in Mrs. Wade her own mother. And certainly the most tender, affectionate care is not wanting to confirm her in this idea.”
Mr. Judson returned to Amherst January 24, 1827. The native Christians greeted him with the voice of lamentation, for his presence reminded them of the great loss they had sustained in the death of Mrs. Judson. His hearth was desolate. His motherless babe had been tenderly cared for by Mrs. Wade. Mr. and Mrs. Wade had arrived from Calcutta about two months before, and with them Mr. Judson made his temporary home. Two months later Mr. and Mrs. Boardman arrived, so that the missionary force was increased to five. The little native church of four members was, however, reduced by the departure of Moung Ing. This poor fisherman, who had been Mrs. Judson’s faithful companion at Ava, had, of his own accord, conceived the purpose of undertaking a missionary excursion to his late fishing-grounds, Tavoy and Mergui, towns south of Amherst, situated on the Tenasserim coast. He was henceforth to be a fisher of men.
Mr. Boardman, in speaking of his first meeting with Mr. Judson, said, “He looks as if worn out with sufferings and sorrows.” He did not, however, neglect his missionary work. He met the Burmans for public worship on Sunday, and each day at family worship new inquirers stole in and were taught the religion of Christ. He was also busily employed in revising the New Testament in several points which were not satisfactorily settled when the translation was made; for his besetting sin was, as he himself described it, “a lust for finishing.” He completed two catechisms for the use of Burman schools, the one astronomical, the other geographical, while his sorrowful heart sought comfort in commencing a translation of the Book of Psalms.
Little Maria was the solace of his studies. But she, too, was taken from him. “On April 24, 1827,” he writes, “my little daughter Maria breathed her last, aged two years and three months, and her emancipated spirit fled, I trust, to the arms of her fond mother.”
Mr. Boardman, who had only just arrived from Calcutta, constructed a coffin, and made all the preparations for the funeral. At nine o’clock the next day little Maria was placed by her mother’s side beneath the hopia-tree. “After leaving the grave,” Mr. Boardman writes, “we had a delightful conversation on the kindness and tender mercies of our heavenly Father. Brother Judson seemed carried above his grief.”
And so at the age of thirty-nine he found himself alone in the world, bereft of his wife and two children.
To Mrs. Hasseltine he wrote:
“Amherst, April 26, 1827.