“I have during the past year suffered deep anxiety and gloomy foreboding on account of my dear husband’s health. But God has been merciful beyond our fears, and so far restored him that he was able to preach last Lord’s day, the first time for about ten months. His discourse was short, and he spoke low. I felt exceedingly anxious respecting his making the attempt, but he has experienced no ill effects from it as yet. How pleased you would have been to see the joy beaming from the countenances of the dear native Christians as they saw their beloved and revered pastor once more take the desk! He applies himself very closely to study, though he is still far from well. He takes cold very easily, and still feels a slight uneasiness in the chest and left side. But he is so much better than he was, that I am comforted with the hope that he will soon be entirely restored to health.”
In a letter to a fellow-missionary he refers playfully to the birth of another son at the close of 1839. “Master Henry[[56]] came into notice the last day of the year; but there was no earthquake or anything,” and he alludes to the infant Henry in a letter of affectionate counsel to George, who was now twelve years old:
“Your letter of January 9 gave us great pleasure, as it furnished proof of your proficiency in learning and of affectionate remembrance. Truly we remember you every day, especially in our prayers. Every morning we come around the family altar, your mother and myself, your sister Abby Ann, and your brothers Adoniram and Elnathan—Henry is too young to attend—and it is our earnest prayer that all our children may early become partakers of divine grace. I hope you will never neglect the duty of secret prayer. Never let a morning or evening pass without going into some room or place by yourself, and kneeling down and spending five or ten minutes at least in praying to God, in the name of Jesus Christ. Pray earnestly that you may have a new heart, and become a child of God, and that you may have satisfactory evidence that such is your happy state.
“You observe in your letter that you are sometimes disturbed by frightful dreams, and we hear in other ways that your health is rather delicate. I warmly recommend you to rise every morning between light and sunrise, and take a quick walk of a mile or more, and to the top of some hill, if there be one in the vicinity that will suit your purpose; and in the winter, when you may not be able to walk, get some equivalent exercise in cutting wood or some other work. This is the course that, with some intermissions and with various modifications, I have pursued for thirty-five years; and to this, under God, I ascribe the good health and the long life I have enjoyed in this unpropitious climate. Your mother frequently accompanies me over the Maulmain hills, and she enjoys much better health than she did at Tavoy, where she took no exercise, scarcely. Do, my dear George, take this matter into serious consideration. You may not like it at first. You will, perhaps, feel tired and sleepy for a few days, but when you become a little used to it, you will enjoy it exceedingly. You will find your appetite improving, your health becoming firm, and your repose by night undisturbed. I have now given you the two best pieces of advice in my power. The first relates to your soul, the second to your body. Follow them, and be virtuous and happy. I hope to hear that you have professed religion, and devoted yourself to the ministry. Who knows but that I shall live to introduce you into missionary work in this country, where your own father labored, and where his remains are entombed. Follow your father, my dear George; and we will all, ere long, be so happy in heaven together, even in the presence of the dear, lovely, glorious Saviour, the Friend of sinners, who died for us.”
Mrs. Judson’s health also began to fail. She was attacked by the disease which finally terminated her life at St. Helena. The children, too, were all sick, so that a sea voyage was needed for the very preservation of the family. Mr. Judson reluctantly decided to embark with his wife and four children for Calcutta. The imperative reasons for the voyage he states to the Corresponding Secretary:
“I have been in great distress for several months, and think I have not written a letter to America, except one to my mother and sister, since the beginning of the year. Early in March, Mrs. Judson fell into a decline, and became quite confined to her bed. Three of the children had been, for some months, ill; and the two eldest were repeatedly at the point of death. The physicians, missionary brethren, and all my friends in Maulmain, became clamorous that I should try a voyage, as the only remaining means of saving the lives of the greater part of my family. But, extremely reluctant to incur the expense and encounter the breaking up which a voyage would occasion, I suffered myself to be beguiled by transient symptoms of convalescence, until, having lost two opportunities, and seeing most of my family in absolutely desperate circumstances, I consented to embrace the present opportunity, and embarked on the 26th ultimo.”
The voyage was short, but boisterous.
“We had been out only four days,” says Mrs. Judson,“ when we struck on shoals, and for about twenty minutes were expecting to see the large, beautiful vessel a wreck; and then all on board must perish, or at best take refuge in a small boat, exposed to the dreary tempests. I shall never forget my feelings, as I looked over the side of the vessel that night, on the dark ocean, and fancied ourselves with our poor sick, and almost dying children, launched on its stormy waves. The captain tacked as soon as possible, and the tide rising at the time, we were providentially delivered from our extreme peril.”
When the family arrived at Serampore, just above Calcutta, they hired “a nice, dry house on the very bank of the river.” But though the sea air had naturally revived the invalids, as soon as they came fairly under the hot climate of Bengal they all suffered a relapse. What was to be done? They met at Calcutta a pious Scotch sea captain whose vessel was going to the Isle of France, and from thence to Maulmain. He made the kind proposal to take the whole family on such terms that this circuitous course would cost them no more than to go directly to Maulmain. They dreaded the voyage in the month of August, which is a very dangerous month in the Bay of Bengal, but there seemed to be no other alternative. So Mr. Judson accordingly accepted Captain Hamlin’s kind offer, and decided to set sail for that island, to which he had repaired nearly thirty years before when he had been driven from Bengal by the East India Company. But before leaving Serampore the fond parents were compelled to lay in the grave the form of little Henry, their youngest child. Mr. Judson thus describes this mournful event in a letter to his mother and sister:
“Serampore, August 1, 1841.