In the early part of 1804, Mr. Martyn's plans of becoming a missionary were dampened by the loss of his slender patrimony, and as his sister was also involved in the calamity, it appeared hardly justifiable for him to go away. After some delay his friends obtained for him the position of chaplain to the East India Company, and so the obstacles which detained him were removed.
The time of the delay was spent in zealous service for his divine Master. He was associated with Rev. Mr. Simeon as curate and preached with great zeal and unction, often to very large audiences, and sometimes with such unsparing denunciation of common sins as to awaken opposition. He considered it his duty to rebuke iniquity, and on one occasion severely reproved a student for shocking levity,—reading a play with some young ladies while their father lay dying. He feared the result of this might be estrangement from his friend, but prayed earnestly that it might lead to his awakening. This prayer was answered, and afterwards this very friend became his beloved associate in missionary work in India.
In very early youth Mr. Martyn became fondly attached to a young lady named Lydia Grenfell. She considered herself his superior in social position. The memoirs all speak of her as estimable, and we infer from the little that is said that she somewhat indifferently accepted Henry Martyn's homage, but she did not wholeheartedly and generously respond. What a contrast to the beloved and devoted Harriet Newell, who was not afraid to risk all for Christ, and counted not her life dear even unto the death! It was Miss Grenfell's greatest honor that Henry Martyn would have made her his wife, but she declined the honor, and yet gave him encouragement, for their correspondence only ended with his life, and his very last writing was a letter to her. He begged her with all the eloquence of a lonely and devoted heart to come out to him after he had gone to India, arranging every detail for her comfort with thoughtful tenderness, and urging and encouraging her and lavishing upon her an affection that would have crowned and enriched her life. We are left to infer from the history that she did love him in her way, but if she had shared his consecration and gone with him and taken care of him, and cheered and comforted him, and made for him a happy restful home, as some missionary wives have done in self-denying foreign fields, what a blessing she might have been, and her life, how fruitful, and her memory, how fragrant! As it was, she has this distinction, that she was Henry Martyn's disappointment and trial and discipline. No one less tender and sensitive than Henry Martyn can appreciate all he suffered on this account; but he made it, like all the other great sorrows of his life, a cross on which to be crucified with Christ.
He writes to his dear sister S.: "When I sometimes offer up supplications with strong crying to God to bring down my spirit into the dust I endeavor calmly to contemplate the infinite majesty of the most high God and my own meanness and wickedness, or else I quietly tell the Lord, who knows the heart, I would give Him all the glory of everything if I could. But the most effectual way I have ever found is to lead away my thoughts from myself and my own concerns by praying for all my friends, for the church, the world, the nation, and especially by beseeching that God would glorify His own great name by converting all nations to the obedience of faith, also by praying that he would put more abundant honor on those Christians whom he seems to have honored especially, and whom we see to be manifestly our superiors."
In spite of Henry Martyn's beautiful humility, honor after honor was heaped upon him by his admiring and appreciative Alma Mater. Three times he was chosen examiner, and discharged the duties of this office with great care and faithfulness.
As the time approaches for his parting from all he holds dear, especially the beloved L., our hearts go out to him in irrepressible sympathy. He writes, "parted with L. forever in this life with a sort of uncertain pain which I know will increase to greater violence."
And these forebodings were but too soon realized. For many succeeding days his mental agony was extreme, yet he could speak to God as one who knew the great conflict within him. Yet while the waves and billows are going over him he writes from these depths, "I never had so clear a conviction of my call as at the present. Never did I see so much the exceeding excellency and glory and sweetness of the work, nor had so much the favorable testimony of my own conscience, nor perceived so plainly the smile of God. Blessed be God, I feel myself to be His minister. This thought which I can hardly describe came in the morning after reading Brainerd. I wish for no service but the service of God, to labor for souls on earth and to do His will in heaven."