The occasion of the war was Chittagong, that particular strip of low land lying along the sea and flanking Burmah on the west, and to which Mr. Colman had gone to prepare an asylum for the Judsons in case they should be driven out of Rangoon. This district was under British rule, and refugees from the cruel despotism of Burmah had taken shelter there. The Burman monarch insisted that his victims should be arrested by the English authorities and handed over to him. Besides, he felt that Chittagong belonged naturally to Burmah. And such was his pride and his contempt for British prowess, that he deemed it quite possible for him not only to recover this territory, but even to conquer the whole of Bengal.
When war actually broke out, suspicion fell at once on all the white foreigners residing in Ava. They were thought to be spies secretly acting in collusion with the English Government. They were immediately arrested, fettered, and thrown into the death-prison.
“I was seized,” Dr. Judson writes, “on the 8th of June, 1824, in consequence of the war with Bengal, and in company with Dr. Price, three Englishmen, one American, and one Greek, was thrown into the death-prison at Ava, where we lay eleven months—nine months in three pairs, and two months in five pairs of fetters. The scenes we witnessed and the sufferings we underwent during that period I would fain consign to oblivion. From the death-prison at Ava, we were removed to a country prison at Oung-pen-la, ten miles distant, under circumstances of such severe treatment, that one of our number, the Greek, expired on the road; and some of the rest, among whom was myself, were scarcely able to move for several days. It was the intention of the Government, in removing us from Ava, to have us sacrificed in order to insure victory over the foreigners; but the sudden disgrace and death of the adviser of that measure prevented its execution. I remained in the Oung-pen-la prison six months in one pair of fetters; at the expiration of which period, I was taken out of irons, and sent under a strict guard to the Burmese headquarters at Mah-looan, to act as interpreter and translator. Two months more elapsed, when, on my return to Ava, I was released at the instance of Moung Shwa-loo, the north governor of the palace, and put under his charge. During the six weeks that I resided with him, the affairs of the Government became desperate, the British troops making steady advances on the capital; and after Dr. Price had been twice dispatched to negotiate for peace (a business which I declined as long as possible), I was taken by force and associated with him. We found the British above Pah-gan; and on returning to Ava with their final terms, I had the happiness of procuring the release of the very last of my fellow-prisoners; and on the 21st inst. obtained the reluctant consent of the Government to my final departure from Ava with Mrs. Judson.”
In these few modest words Mr. Judson passes over all the prolonged horrors which he endured in the confinement of an Oriental jail. Let us glance at his experience more in detail. His imprisonment was remarkable for its duration. For nine months he was confined in three pairs of fetters, two months in five, six months in one; for two months he was a prisoner at large; and for nearly two months, although released from prison, he was yet restrained in Ava under the charge of the north governor of the palace, so that his confinement reached nearly to the end of twenty-one long months.
EXTERIOR OF PRISON ENCLOSURE.
Again, for most of the time of his confinement, he was shut up in a loathsome, wretched place.
“It derives its remarkable, well-selected name, Let-ma-yoon—literally interpreted, hand, shrink not—from the revolting scenes of cruelty practiced within its walls. To those acquainted with the Burmese language, the name conveys a peculiar impression of terror. It contemplates the extreme of human suffering, and when this has reached a point at which our nature recoils—when it is supposed that any one bearing the human form might well refuse to be the instrument to add to it, the hand of the executioner is apostrophized and encouraged not to follow the dictates of the heart: ‘Thine eye shall not pity and thine hand not spare.’”[[28]]
The Let-ma-yoon was a building about forty feet long and thirty feet wide. It was five or six feet high along the sides, but as the roof sloped, the centre of it was perhaps double that height. There was no ventilation except through the chinks between the boards and through the door, which was generally closed. On the thin roof poured down the burning rays of a tropical sun. In this room were confined nearly one hundred prisoners of both sexes and all nationalities. Dr. Price thus describes the impressions he received on entering the prison:
“A little bamboo door opened, and I rose to go toward it. But oh! who can describe my sensations! shackled like a common felon, in the care of hangmen, the offscouring of the country, turned like a dog into his kennel, my wife, my dear family, left to suffer alone all the rudeness such wretches are capable of. The worst, however, was yet to come; for making the best of my way up the high steps, I was ushered into the grand apartment. Horror of horrors, what a sight! never to my dying day shall I forget the scene: a dim lamp in the midst, just making darkness visible, and discovering to my horrified gaze sixty or seventy wretched objects, some in long rows made fast in the stocks, some strung on long poles, some simply fettered; but all sensible of a new acquisition of misery in the approach of a new prisoner. Stupefied, I stopped to gaze till, goaded on, I proceeded toward the further end, when I again halted. A new and unexpected sight met my eyes. Till now I had been kept in ignorance of the fate of my companions. A long row of white objects, stretched on the floor in a most crowded situation, revealed to me, however, but too well their sad state, and I was again urged forward. Poor old Rodgers, wishing to retain the end of the bamboo, made way for me to be placed alongside of Mr. Judson. ‘We all hoped you would have escaped, you were so long coming,’ was the first friendly salutation I had yet received; but alas, it was made by friends whose sympathy was now unavailable.”