But the most pathetic story of all is that of Mee Shway-ee, a little child, whom the missionaries rescued from the barbarities of heathenism. They brought her with them from Amherst. When they first heard of her she was a slave-girl, five years old. Her master was a Moor. He afterward turned out to be her own brother, who had formed the diabolical project of killing her by inches. Mr. Judson got possession of the little girl by threatening her master with all the penalties of the English law. Her wretched condition is thus described in Mrs. Wade’s journal:
“Her little body was wasted to a skeleton, and covered from head to foot with the marks of a large rattan, and blows from some sharp-edged thing which left a deep scar. Her master in a rage one day caught her by the arm, and gave it such a twist as to break the bone, from which her sufferings were dreadful. Besides, she had a large and very dreadful burn upon her body, recently inflicted.... She had been tortured so long that her naturally smiling countenance was the very picture of grief and despair..... Almost the first words which the poor little sufferer said to me were, ‘Please to give your slave a little rice, for I am very hungry.’ She was asked if she had not had her breakfast; to which she replied: ‘Yes, but I got very little, so that I am hungry all the day long.’”
The poor little Mee Shway-ee had suffered too much ever to recover. She survived her release from her master only a few months. She died in the glad triumphs of the Christian faith. “I am dying,” she said, “but I am not afraid to die, for Christ will call me up to heaven. He has taken away all my sins, and I wish to die now, that I may go and see Him.”
Her cruel master received his just deserts. He was thrown into prison, where, after waiting trial for several months, he was condemned to a further confinement of four years in irons, and hard labor on the public works. This dreary prospect broke his spirit, and he managed to put an end to his wretched life by taking arsenic.
Mee Shway-ee.[[39]]
“In the tropic land of Burmah,
Where the sun grows never old;
And the regal-browed Palmyra
Crowns her head with clouds of gold;
On a strange, wild promontory,