“J. Wade.”
A letter from one of the new-comers[[47]] to her parents gives us an interesting glimpse of our missionary’s personal habits:
“Our intercourse with Mr. Judson is of a very pleasing nature, and we feel happy to be permitted in the least degree to take off the edge of his loneliness. It is affecting to hear his petitions for a long life, to labor among the heathen, mingled as they are with panting aspirations after heaven. He seems uniformly seriously cheerful. His days and nights are spent in a room adjoining the native chapel, where he spends all his time, except that devoted to meals (twice a day) and exercise, and generally he has a sort of social conversation with some one of the mission families in the evening. He is confining himself as closely as possible to the completion of his translation of the Scriptures. His exhortations to us all to exercise, are practically enforced by his own example. He walks very early in the morning, rain or shine; also after sunset. He told me that he had no doubt that so much loss of health and life to foreigners in this climate is principally due to their negligence on this point.”
But the time had at last come when Mr. Judson’s long domestic solitude was to end. Under date of April 10, 1834, we find in his journal the following important entry:
“Was married to Mrs. Sarah H. Boardman, who was born at Alstead, New Hampshire, November 4, 1803, the eldest daughter of Ralph and Abiah O. Hall—married to George D. Boardman, July 4, 1825—left a widow February 11, 1831, with one surviving child, George D. Boardman, born August 18, 1828.”
Nearly eight years of loneliness had passed since he laid his beloved Ann beneath the hopia-tree. He had arrived at the age of forty-six, when he married Mrs. Boardman. He found in her a kindred spirit. She had spent the three years of her widowhood in heroic toil among the Karens at Tavoy, and had turned persistently away from the urgent appeals of her friends in America to return home for her own sake and the sake of her little boy. She had resolved to continue her husband’s labors alone, and thus wrote concerning her purpose:
“As to my future walk, I feel, I trust, a desire to be guided by unerring Wisdom. I have never been able to think of abandoning forever the cause in which my beloved husband rejoiced to wear out his feeble frame and sink into a premature grave. The death-bed scene has inspired me with a fortitude, or I would hope, faith unknown before, and encircled the missionary enterprise with a glory not until then perceived.”
And again she says:
“When I first stood by the grave of my husband, I thought that I must go home with George. But these poor, inquiring, and Christian Karens, and the school-boys, and the Burmese Christians, would then be left without any one to instruct them; and the poor, stupid Tavoyans would go on in the road to death, with no one to warn them of their danger. How then, oh, how can I go? We shall not be separated long. A few more years, and we shall all meet in yonder blissful world, whither those we love have gone before us.”
And so for three years this beautiful and intrepid woman continued her husband’s work. She was the guiding spirit of the mission. She pointed out the way of life to the Karen inquirers who came in from the wilderness. She conducted her schools with such tact and ability that when, afterward, an appropriation was obtained from the English Government for schools throughout the provinces, it was expressly stipulated that they should be “conducted on the plan of Mrs. Boardman’s schools at Tavoy.” She even made long missionary tours into the Karen jungles. With her little boy carried by her followers at her side, she climbed the mountain, traversed the marsh, forded the stream, and threaded the forest. On one of these trips she sent back a characteristic message to Mrs. Mason at Tavoy: “Perhaps you had better send the chair, as it is convenient to be carried over the streams when they are deep. You will laugh when I tell you that I have forded all the smaller ones.”