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BY y ETHEL DANIELS HUBBARD

NOV 5 1913

ILLUSTRATED BY

JESSIE GILLESPIE

NEW YORK

Missionary Education Movement of the

United States and Canada

1913

COPTRIGHT, 1913, BY

MISSIONARY EDUCATION MOVEMENT OF THE

UNITED STATES AND CANADA

NEW YORK

ILLUSTRATIONS

Ann Hasseltine Judson	.		Frontispiece
The Hasseltine Home .		Page 9
Harriet Newell . . . .		. " 25
Adoniram Judson				33
The Caravan			•	39
Rangoon River Front .				77
The Golden Pagoda				. ** 81
A Burmese House				. *' 85
The Queen's Monastery		.		. *' 117
A Burmese Christian Home				135
A Burmese Cart .		.	.	. " 199
The Hopia Tree .		.	.	. *' 241

CONTENTS

CHAPTEB		PAGE
I	Nancy Hasskltine . .	1
II	The Shadow of Coming Events	13
III	Girl Pioneers ....	21
IV	A Long Good-by ....	35
V	Perplexities on Every Side	U
VI	The Isle of France .	61
VII	A Home at Last ....	70
VIII	" By the Old Rangoon Pagoda "	80
IX	Children's Voices	94
X	Ann's Dilemma ....	110
XI	" The East A-callin' " .	129
XII	The Golden City of Ava .	148
XIII	The Heroine of Ava .	165
XIV	Prisoners in a Heathen Village	195
XV	The British Camp	217
XVI	The Hopia Tree ....	. 230

Ann of Ava

NANCY HASSELTINE

NANCY HASSELTINE came in from her favorite walk by the river and threw herself down in the big chair by the front window. It was April, and the air was intoxicatingly sweet with sunlight and the fragrance of the damp earth. Moreover, the river was riotously blue and turbulent, true to its Indian name, Merrimac, " the place of strong cur- rents."

Nancy's cheeks flamed with color, her brown eyes shone with the fire of spring, and her curly hair was blown bewitchingly about her face. There was not a prettier girl in Bradford nor in all the valley of the JNIer- rimac than Ann, generally known as Nancy Hasseltine, and none more popular.

There seemed to be no limit to her love of good times and to her merry, laughing

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mood. She could bribe the bell-ringer at the academy with a smile. At home she was the life of the household. This last winter had been the gayest of all her sixteen years, thanks to that same little unpainted academy down the road, where more than eighty boys and girls were gathered in school.

There were no high schools in Nancy's day and no regular sessions of grammar or primary school. A small, red schoolhouse stood across the way from the meeting-house, down near the frog pond and the alder swamp. Sometimes the men of the town would meet and vote to supply wood for the school fire during one or two months. Then school would keep, and the boys and girls would have a brief chance at book-learning.

By and by, in the springtime of 1803, some wise parents decided that something must be done for the further education of their children. Whereupon about thirty of the " Inhabitants of the First Parish in Brad- ford,"— so the records read, — met together and agreed to erect a building for an acad- emy! They subscribed for shares in the building fund until fifteen hundred dollars [2]

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was pledged. John Hasseltine, Nancy's father, gave a hundred dollars.

Then these enterprising New England set- tlers went to work and built the academy, completing it in just three months from the time of the meeting in March. Early in June the first term opened, at the time of year when schools nowadays are getting ready to close.

More than fifty pupils hastened to the new academy from Bradford and other Massachusetts towns, from Vermont, New Hampshire, and even from South Carolina, many of them traveling the long distance by stage-coach. Nancy Hasseltine and her three sisters were among the first pupils.

On the outside the building looked like a small district schoolhouse, such as we see to- day in the heart of the country. Inside were tw^o classrooms, one on the right for the boys, another on the left for the girls. A narrow corridor separated them and pro- jected somewhat in front. Above this pro- jection a square tower rose to the height of a second story, culminating in an arched belfry in which hung the bell. Of course

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there was no dormitory, large or small, to house the pupils from far away, so they boarded around at the various farms.

The Hasseltine house, a few rods west of the academy on the " Boston Road," was the favorite resort of the boys and girls. Mr. Hasseltine was so heartily in sympathy with the young people that when he built his house he finished a hall at the rear of the second story to be used for their parties and enter- tainments.

After the new academy was opened, Nancy's hours outside school were packed full of merrymaking. This last winter there had been parties galore. The little village of Bradford, deviating from the prim traditions of New England, was a center of social gaiety.

Think not that studies were seriously neglected, because, from the beginning, Brad- ford Academy stood for high standards, al- though in those early days the course of study was not so complex and difficult as it is thought to be in most schools to-day. The pupils acquired their knowledge of Eng- lish grammar by reading and parsing the standard literature of the day, such as Pope's [4]

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Essay on Man and Paradise Lost, They made a fine art of penmanship, map draw- ing, and elaborate embroidery. Then, too, they studied Enghsh history, geography, arithmetic, and other branches; and grad- ually the range of studies enlarged.

Fortunately for Nancy, she was as clever as she was beautiful, and lessons came as easily as fun-making. Moreover, with all her love of activity, she was devoted to read- ing. Any time a good book could beguile her into the cozy corner by the fireplace. Many lively discussions over their favorite authors were carried on among Nancy, her three sisters, and their mother, who was the greatest reader of them all. Yet in those festively gay months after Nancy's sixteenth birthday in December, studies and reading were pushed to the wall by a consuming in- terest in party dresses and party happenings. During that winter she outdid all her friends in frivolitj^ and none among them suspected the growing unrest in her soul.

With the coming of spring, however, the inner restlessness would no longer be hushed by gaiety. As the girl came indoors on that

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April afternoon, the pensive mood drew her irresistibly within its control. Her eyes grew big and dreamy with thought as she stretched her lithe figure comfortably in the arm-chair by the window, whence she looked out across the green fields to the river with its dark blue onrush of current.

Her three sisters, Abby and Mary and Rebecca, had not yet come in from the academy; and her father and mother were busy out doors and in. Nancy was left alone with her thoughts there in the wTst room, which was deluged with the golden sunshine of late afternoon in springtime. In the evening there was to be a meet- ing in the upper parish, and she fought against her desire to go. Not for worlds would she have her schoolmates know that she had crept into a back seat at the meet- ing the other night and had suddenly found her face wet with tears. They should never suspect that something was tugging at her life deep down and making her most uncom- fortable. She had been recklessly gay of late just on purpose to cover up her real feelings. More than once her friends at [6]

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school had predicted that something dreadful would happen to her unless she sobered down. In the " very heart of her soul " she *was sobering down at a tremendous rate, though they surmised it not.

As the girl gazed dreamy-eyed and wistful out toward the river, her mother lifted the latch of the door. Quickly Nancy sprang to her feet that her mother might not notice her unusual thoughtfulness. The old restlessness flashed back into her eyes, and her easy bravado into her spirit and bearing. Mrs. Hasseltine looked searchingly at her young- est daughter, as she stood before her with flushed face and wind-tossed curls, her slight figure quivering with life. Her beauty was like that of the April day, all glow and color and promise. Mrs. Hasseltine drew the girl into the warm, quiet kitchen where the sunlight and firelight mingled their gleam upon the low rafters. Together, mother and daughter prepared the evening meal. The teakettle swung on the crane humming its steamy song, the potatoes snapped in the ashes, and the smell of baked things came from the deep, brick oven. As they worked,

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they talked and they thought, and sometimes their thoughts strayed far from their speech. Nancy was still struggling with those phan- toms which haunted her mind and whose presence must be concealed. Her mother's heart was filled with hopes and fears for her youngest girl, who was so gay and sweet and impetuous, like the tumultuous river in springtime.

For Nancy the April days sped rapidly, and joy and song were in the air, even though a minor tune rang insistently in her heart. One Sunday evening, Mr. Burnham, the principal of the academy, came to make a friendly call upon the Hasseltine family, as was his frequent habit. He was a young man, a Dartmouth student, who had taken charge of the school in Bradford the year before. There was something manly and earnest about him which won the respect and liking of his pupils and of people in general. This Sunday evening, with Mr. and Mrs. Hasseltine and the four girls, he was talk- ing in very straightforward fashion. Finally he made a remark which expressed Nancy's inner mood so exactly that she could hardly [8]

The HasseUine Home

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conceal her embarrassment. He said that sometimes people deliberately covered up their real feelings because they were afraid of becoming too serious. Nancy slipped out into the garden under the fruit trees to wrestle again with those troublesome thoughts which would not let her alone.

That night and for days after, she thought and thought until it seemed as if her brain would burst with thinking. She wondered if the Bible would help, but she could not understand the Bible very well. God seemed very far off and una]3proachable. What should she do? She was too unhappy to pretend gaiety any longer, though not " for the whole world," as she wrote in her diary, would she have her schoolmates know that she was disturbed by thoughts about God.

Frequently she shut herself in her room to read the books Mr. Burnham had given her and to try to pray. God still seemed remote and stern to the troubled mind of the girl, but gradually she began to realize that Jesus Christ was real and human and lovable. He could understand her perfectly, and there was no fear in trusting her life

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to One who really knew and loved without limit. All the hero-worship of her soul went out to him in a great wave of loyalty. His perfect friendliness revealed God in a new light of infinite love and gentleness. The heavy weight of unhajDpiness that had dragged upon her spirits for so many weeks was fully and finall)^ lifted.

Nancy was sixteen when she became a Christian, and sixteen also when with others of her school friends she joined the little church at Bradford. About the same time her father and mother became church-mem- bers. It was through Nancy, his favorite daughter, that John Hasseltine acknowledged himself a Christian. One summer evening the girl had knelt in her open window and the tears came as they often did in those days. Her father was crossing the field to- ward the house when he looked up and saw Nancy in all her loveliness kneeling and weeping. She was his idol, and as he looked at her he said to himself, " If my child, so sweet and innocent, weeps when she comes to God in prayer, what will become of me?" Whereupon he walked out on his farm, threw [10]

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himself down under an oak tree and praj^ed. From that night he was willing to be known as a Christian man.

During the lovely summer days of the year 1806, when school was still in session, nearly all the boys and girls in Bradford Academy thought hard about serious things. As a result, many of them became Christians. The young principal, Mr. Burnham, was an inspiration to them all. For a time, classes were actually suspended that teacher and pupils might talk and pray together and consider diligently what each might do to help bring the world to Jesus Christ.

During those same midsummer days, an- other group of students in another New England town was facing the same tremen- dous question and facing it with even greater definiteness of purpose. Through the " di- vinity that shapes our ends," those forces at work simultaneously at Bradford Academy and Williams College w^ere to blend some day into one great student movement to reach around the world.

Among those whose lives were touched by the wonderful influence of Bradford Acad-

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emy in those earlj^ days was a slender, flower- like girl named Harriet Atwood. She was one of the younger girls who had come the year before, when twelve years old, from her home across the river in Haverhill. In the sweet, sunshiny afternoons of July and August, Harriet and Nancy joined their schoolmates in lazy strolls down the grassy path which led from the academy into the depths of the wood. Red berries, trailing vines, and deep-scented ferns grew in the shade of the forest trees. Upon a mossy bank the boys and girls sat and talked, with all the golden enthusiasm of youth, of the years to come, and of the exploits they would do when they were men and women grown. With her brown eyes sparkling and her voice quivering with eagerness, Nancy spoke of service and heroism. Little Harriet, large- eyed and serious, was already dreaming of sacrifice. But the long summer days and the " heart of the ancient wood " brought no revealing hint of those thrilling experiences which were to come even a few years hence into the lives of Harriet Atwood and Nancy Hasseltine. [12]

II

THE SHADOW OF COMING EVENTS

FOUR years passed, and summer days came again to the valley of the JNIerrimac. During the last week of June a strange excitement stirred the little village of Bradford, from the covered bridge over the river unto the farthest farm on the " Boston Road." In many a house busy preparations were being made for dinner and supper parties of varying size. At noon and sunset time guests from near and far would gather in the hospitable homes of Bradford for the ample repasts for which New Eng- land has alwaj^s been famous.

With all the bustle and activity, a new and thrilling interest occupied the minds of the people. In the low-raftered kitchens and out upon the green roadsides lively discussion was carried on among young and old alike. The cause of this unwonted excitement could have been traced to the little parish meeting- house which stood at the junction of the two

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roads, across the way from the Khnball Tavern. So simple was it that no chimney or steeple dignified its exterior, yet beneath its humble gable roof a great, historic event was even now being enacted. In the boxed pews sat the black-robed ministers from the churches of Massachusetts who had come to Bradford for three long June daj^s of de- liberation concerning the problems of the New England parish. On horseback, by chaise and by stage-coach they had jour- neyed, these " Church fathers," as they were respectfully called.

On the second day profound astonishment seemed to take possession of the twenty- eight clergymen in the pews and to lay hold also upon the townspeople who had gathered in the galleries around the three sides. The air was electric with interest. Down near the front sat four young men upon whom all eyes were fastened. They were young col- lege men now in Andover Theological Semi- nary. Early that morning they had walked the ten miles to Bradford in order to present to the Massachusetts ministers a momentous proposition. Their written petition had just [14]

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been laid upon the communion table, after having been read in the clear, deep voice of Adoniram Judson, the spokesman of the group. A responsive thrill stirred the people as the young man took his seat. It was a bold project he had advocated, seeming scarcely reasonable, yet the conviction of the four students was contagious.

In the summer of 1806 this " bold project " had first crystallized into a serious purpose. Almost simultaneously v/ith the religious awakening at Bradford Academy, five Chris- tian students in Williams College had framed a far-reaching resolution. One hot day in August they went, according to habit, into a maple grove to pray together. The sky blackened with the approach of a thunder- shower, and they hastened to a near-by hay- stack for protection. There in the storm they talked about the vast old continent of Asia, concerning which they had read and studied. They told tales of the ignorance and wretchedness of its people, whereupon Samuel Mills for the first time unfolded his darling scheme of sending missionaries to those heathen lands, perhaps even offering

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their own lives for the great service. He grew more and more enthusiastic as he talked, until finally he exclaimed with a vehemence none of them ever forgot, " We can do it if we will!" Under his leadership a secret so- ciety called the " Brethren " was organized in Williams College, and those initiated united in the purpose to go themselves as missionaries to the non- Christian world. Af- ter graduation, some of the " Brethren," in- cluding Samuel Mills, went to Andover Seminary to study for the ministry. There they found kindred spirits in Samuel Newell from Union College, Samuel Nott from Har- vard, and Adoniram Judson from Brown University, all of whom joined the order of the "Brethren."

Everywhere he went Adoniram Judson became a recognized leader. He was bril- liant, forceful, imaginative, and an indomi- table worker. At Brown he had led his class, and at Andover he had received an offer dazzling to the ambition of a young theologue. He had been invited to become associate pastor of the largest church in Boston and in all New England as well. But [16]

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no, his aspiration reached far beyond Boston and the bounds of his country, even to the ancient East, whither no missionary from America had yet been sent. Thither he would go, and to a people who had never heard the name of Christ he would proclaim the Mas- ter whom he was learning to serve with passionate loyalty.

In the Bradford meeting-house this June day in 1810, Adoniram Judson with the three " Samuels," his companions, boldly asked to be sent by the churches of JNIassa- chusetts on a mission to the heathen world! Never yet had a missionary gone from America to those countries beyond the seas, months and months away. American sailors who had touched the coasts of India, Burma, and Africa brought home tales of the awful degradation and savagery of the inhabitants. Most people thought it was an insane notion to dream of converting them to the Christian religion.

Conflicting ideas battled in the minds of the ministers. Upon first, and even second, thought the undertaking sounded " wild and romantic"; yet upon the faces of the young

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men they read clear-eyed conviction. They were confident that the voice of God had spoken. " We would better not try to stop God," said one of the ministers. The as- sembly waited, hushed and uncertain, listen- ing intently, as each of the young men told why he believed it his duty to give up home and friends and go on the long, perilous jour- ney to the heathen world. As in modern business meetings, decision was referred to a committee of three who were to report on the morrow.

On Friday, the 29th of June, the commit- tee appeared before the council and an- nounced its verdict. They recommended that the purpose of the young men be approved, and, furthermore, that a foreign missionary board be organized in America to insure the support of the young volunteers and those who should follow their example. They even suggested its name, a long unwieldy one, the " American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions." Without a protest the report was adopted. It was a breathless mo- ment for the four young men, who had hardly dared to dream such a victory possible. [18]

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Every one present recognized that it was their tremendous earnestness which had won the day.

The session was dismissed for noon inter- mission. A group of ministers, Adoniram Judson in their midst, strolled up the road past the academy to Deacon Hasseltine's house, where they were invited to dine. In the west room the table had been laid for the noon dinner-party. The Hassel tines had a widespread reputation for hospitality which the tempting array of pies and cakes and other eatables amply justified.

To Nancy, the youngest daughter of the household, fell the task of serving her father's guests. As she watched them coming up the path from the gate, her flashing eyes revealed her interest in the day's unusual event. At twenty she was even more beautiful than the girl of sixteen, for a sweet thoughtfulness tempered the old laughing gaiety of eyes and mouth. Her cheeks were flushed with the heat and excitement of the day, her soft curls clustered about her fair neck. Of all the varied beauty of the day in June nothing was so wondrous fair as the girl Nancy.

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As the guests entered the room a pair of keen, fearless brown eyes met hers, and their gaze lingered as if spellbound. From the moment Adoniram Judson and Nancy Has- seltine looked into each other's eyes a great and wonderful experience was born in the lives of both.

During the meal, Adoniram Judson, noted for his ready wit and social grace, was un- accountably silent. For some reason he seemed strangely preoccupied with his plate. Nancy, who had heard of his eloquent speech, his daring proclamation of his beliefs, mar- veled at his stubborn silence. As she cut the pies on the broad window-sill she cast a furtive glance at the young man who was the hero of the hour, but who could not be persuaded to talk. Little did she dream that his thoughts were forcibly diverted from the absorbing theme which his companions still discussed, and that deep down in his mind he was composing a sonnet in honor of the loveliest girl he had ever seen.

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GIRL PIONEERS

ONE day, about a month after the eventful gathering in the meeting- house, the Boston stage-coach brought to Bradford a certain small piece of mail destined to become of large importance in the lives of two people. It was a letter carefully sealed with wax and in fine, firm handwriting, addressed to Miss Nanc}^ Has- seltine. As the girl broke the seal joy and fear mingled for one fleeting instant upon her face.

For many days the letter lay unanswered, but Nancy went about the house and along the grassy highways of Bradford with the light of a great wonder shining in her eyes. Persistently, however, she feigned indiffer- ence and deliberately postponed reply to the letter. Finally, her sister, exasperated by her procrastination, said to her, " Have you an- swered that letter of Mr. Judson's? " " No,'' retorted Nancy with a toss of her brown curls. " Then if you don't, I shall," re- sponded the older sister.

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The threat had the desired effect, and in course of time a letter written and sealed by Nancy Hasseltine reached Adoniram Jiidson at Phillips Hall, Andover. That letter brought an interesting challenge to the young man who all his life had pushed his way through every obstacle to the goal of his ambition. In her girlish perversity and in her real perplexity, Nancy had written a cool, discouraging reply to his eager letter. Adoniram Judson perceived her dilemma, for with his fine sense of honor he realized keenly the tremendous sacrifice he was demanding of the girl he loved in asking her to become his wife.

He might have offered her a comfortable home in the city of Boston as the wife of one of its leading clergymen. There her beauty and intelligence would have shone in con- spicuous brightness. Instead, he was invit- ing her to share the uncertain lot of the first missionary from America to the mysterious regions of southern Asia. It was perfectly reasonable to expect suffering and privation, even persecution and death. Yet he believed Ann Hasseltine was capable of just that high [22]

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heroism which such a hfe demanded. That glad belief drew his steps confidently to- ward Bradford during those wonderful sum- mer days which were bringing deep heart- searchings to the young man and woman.

On her part, Nancy was struggling with a question which no woman in America had yet been called upon to face. Should she marry the man who was consuming her thoughts and go away from her father's house to a distant land probably never to return? " No," said nearly every one whose advice was sought, or who proffered an opin- ion unasked. " It is altogether preposterous for a woman to consider such a rash under- taking." " It is utterl}^ improper," said one; " It is wild and romantic," said another. INIr. Kimball, the father of one of Nancy's school friends, declared that he would tie his daugh- ter to the bedpost before he would let her go. But the girl Nancj^ with her old independ- ent spirit deepened by a new sense of duty, followed the call of God, regardless of un- sympathetic comments.

There were a few people who stood by her and encouraged her to dare all and go.

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Among them was her sister Abigail, that tall, self-possessed girl who afterwards be- came principal of Bradford Academy and retained that position for forty years. Abby and Nancy were great chums, understanding each other easily, even though they were quite unlike in temperament, perhaps because of that very fact. Abigail was teaching school in Beverl)^ and late in the summer her young sister went to visit her. While there Nancy wrote the following letter, in the rather pon- derous English used in her time, to her old school friend, Lydia, who lived near her in Bradford :

Beverly, September 8, 1810. " I have ever made you a confidant. I will still confide in you and beg for your prayers that I may be directed in regard to the subject which I shall communicate. I feel willing, and expect, if nothing in provi- dence prevents, to spend my days in this world in heathen lands. Yes, Lydia, I have about come to the determination to give up all my comforts and enjoyments here, sacri- fice my affection to relatives and friends, and [24]

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go where God, in his providence, shall see fit to place me. My determinations are not hasty or formed without viewing the dangers, trials, and hardships attendant on a mission- ary life. Nor were my determinations formed in consequence of an attachment to an earthly object; but with a sense of m}^ obligation to God, and with a full conviction of its being a call of providence, and consequently my duty. My feelings have been exquisite in regard to the subject. Now my mind is settled and composed, and is willing to leave the event with God — none can support one under trials and afflictions but he. In him alone I feel a disposition to confide."

There was another girl friend of the old academy days who must be told the great news of her engagement and missionary pur- pose. So, one October morning after her return to Bradford, Nancy went through the covered bridge which led across the Mer- rimac into Haverhill, up the hill to the town square and on to the house of Harriet At- wood. Harriet had just passed her seven- teenth birthday, and Nancy would be twenty-

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one in December. To her little friend Nancy confided her expectation of becoming the wife of a missionary to India. Harriet's big, brown eyes grew misty with wonder and sym- pathy. In her diary that night she wrote these words in a style which resembled Nancy's :

"How did this news affect my heart! Is she willing to do all this for God; and shall I refuse to lend my little aid in a land where divine revelation has shed its clearest rays? I have felt more for the salvation of the heathen this day than I recollect to have felt through my whole past life. . . . What can I do, that the light of the gospel may shine upon them? They are perishing for lack of knowledge, while I enjoy the glorious privi- leges of a Christian land. Great God direct me! Oh, make me in some way beneficial to their immortal souls!"

In less than a month that same little diary of Harriet's bore this entry:

" Sleep has fled from me and my soul is enveloped in a dark cloud of troubles! Oh [26]

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that God would direct me; that he would plainly mark out the path of duty and let me not depart from it."

In that short interim, Samuel Newell, one of the missionary volunteers, had come into Harriet's life; and by night and by day the thoughts of the girl were dream-haunted.

The winter passed and the spring days came again. One April evening while Har- riet was visiting her sister in Charlestown, she came back from Boston to find — a letter! Just a slip of paper with a few strokes of the pen upon it, but what agitation that can pro- duce in a girl's inner being! She broke the seal and read the words and the name she had expected, yes, dreaded to see. To Har- riet, as to Nancy, had come the great testing of love and loyalty.

Through the tears which dimmed her eyes Harriet wrote a few days later in her diary:

" The important decision is not yet made. I am still wavering. I long to see and con- verse with my dear mother! So delicate is my situation that I dare not unbosom my heart to a single person. What shall I do?

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Could tears direct me in the path of duty, surely I should be directed — INIy heart aches: — I know not what to do! — "Guide me, O Thou great Jehovah." I shall go home on Tuesday. Perhaps my dear mother will immediately say: Harriet shall never go. Well, if this should be the case my duty would be plain. I cannot act contrary to the advice and express commands of a pious mother."

When Tuesday came, Harriet mounted the stage-coach which traveled between Bos- ton and Haverhill and came again to her mother's house in the town square. Before crossing the Merrimac the stage lumbered through Bradford along the " Boston Road," past the academy and the Hasseltine house. The youngest and fairest daughter of that Bradford household and the slender, brown- eyed girl of Haverhill were destined not many months hence to leave the sunny farms of New England, even the dear home people around the family hearth and go out across two oceans to the mysterious land of southern Asia and spend their lives among its pagan people. [28]

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Harriet found her mother already pre- pared for the solemn question which was in- vading their home. In his stress of mind, Samuel Newell had made a confidant of Nancy Hasseltine, and she had been the bearer of his troubled request to Harriet's mother. With tears in her eyes that loyal Christian woman replied, " I dare not, I cannot speak against it." Thus, when Har- riet came home that April day, INIrs. At wood was ready to trust the great decision to her daughter's conscience. Since her father's death, three years before, Harriet had clung with increasing affection to her mother. Now, a wonderful, new love was surging up in her life, transforming her from a girl into a woman and supplying her with purpose ir- resistible. Samuel Newell had drawn out the deepest love of her maiden heart. Yet not alone for the sake of her lover did she decide upon the difficult life of a missionary, but because she was determined down to the depths of her pure soul to go wherever God should lead her.

In June, Harriet and Samuel were com- pelled to part for nine long months as the

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young man was going to Philadelphia to join his friend Gordon Hall in the study of physics and medicine by way of further preparation for their missionary work. It was a lonely heart that was left behind in the house in Haverhill. Nancy Hasseltine would have been a great comfort, but Nancy was away on a long visit in Salem.

Early in the winter Nancy had said good- by to Adoniram Judson as he had set forth on a far longer journey than the stage route to Philadelphia. He had sailed on the ship Packet for England, having been sent to London by the directors of the new American missionary society to confer with the older English society as to some possible combina- Jbion between the two organizations.

In those days a voyage to Europe was a snail-like process consuming two months of time. Letters traveled even more slowly, so that Adoniram Judson could well-nigh come again to the valley of the Merrimac before Nancy would hear of his arrival on the English shore. Hence it was many weeks before the news reached Bradford of the exciting adventures which befell the young [30]

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man on his trip across the Atlantic. His ship was captured by a French privateer and he was taken prisoner to Bayonne, France. For six weeks he was detained there, although early in his captivity he had been released from prison on parole and allowed to board in an American family in the city. It was the 6th of May before he reached London, and in June, his business completed, he sailed on the ship Augustus for New York. The last of August brought him to his father's home in Plymouth and to that other home on the banks of the river in Bradford.

The return of Adoniram Judson with his message from England was the signal for another meeting of the men who had gathered in the Bradford church a year and more ago. On the 18th of September, the " Church fathers," now the officers and members of the new missionary society, assembled in the towTi of Worcester, JMassachusetts. Ado- niram Judson, slight of build, even boyish in appearance, but with piercingly bright eyes and resonant voice, stood forth and announced his decision. A joint missionary enterprise between England and America

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had been disapproved by the leaders in Lon- don, but the London Missionary Society was wilhng to adopt the American volunteers as its missionaries and promptly send them forth to their distant posts of service. Con- sequently,— and here Adoniram Judson ex- hibited his tremendous power of determina- tion,— if the American society refused his appointment, he would become a missionary of the English organization. Samuel Nott announced a similar resolve.

The unyielding purpose of the young men proved the needed spur to action and the American Board of Commissioners for For- eign Missions then and there appointed its first missionaries, Adoniram Judson, Samuel Newell, Samuel Nott, and Gordon Hall. For a second time victory was scored by means of the bold consecration of the mis- sionary volunteers.

The autumn days deepened into winter; and hope and dread stirred the lives of Nancy and Harriet, Adoniram and Samuel. The time of their departure was drawing nigh. In January an exciting message came from Samuel Newell and Gordon Hall in Phila- [32]

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delphia. In two weeks the ship Harmony was to sail from that city to Calcutta and the government would permit missionaries to take passage. A second war with England was threatening, and if they did not sail at once ports might be blockaded and departure long deferred.

Should they go? It was a terrific question which pressed for immediate answer upon the officers of the young mission board. Only a small sum of money was in the treasury, not enough to pay the passage fees. Was it reasonable to expect that the actual de- parture of missionaries for a heathen country would attract attention and awaken sym- pathy to such an extent that gifts of money would be forthcoming? Should they boldly venture and bravely trust? Long and anx- iously they prayed and deliberated, seeking to discern the right. At last the vote was cast, and the verdict was — the missionaries shall go!

To the Hasseltine and Atwood homes came the word that Nancy and Harriet must soon take their marriage vows and say farewell, perhaps forever, to their childhood homes.

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The piercing winds of a New England winter swept through the valley of the Mer- rimac and along the snowy highways of Bradford, when, on the 5th of February, a group of people gathered in the west room of the Hasseltine house. A strange hush fell upon the little company, and tears were close to the eyes of every guest. Harriet Atwood sat by the side of Samuel Newell, her betrothed, a sad seriousness resting upon her. But the center of interest was the radiant, beautiful face of Nancy Hasseltine as she gave her hand and heart in marriage to the missionary, Adoniram Jud- son, whom, less than two years before, she had first met in this very room. Her brave, unfaltering eyes shone with a wonderful light as Pastor Allen gave the two young people his blessing, called them " his dear children," and spoke lovingly of the labors they were to perform.

From that night the girl Nancy, popular, clever, beautiful, became the woman resource- ful and heroic, who was destined to be known in three continents as Ann Hasseltine Jud- son, the heroine of Ava. [34]

IV A LONG GOODBY

ALTHOUGH it was a bitterly cold LjL day in February the streets of Salem ^ m^were well filled with people. In- voluntarily on such a day one would hover near the cheery kitchen fireplace with its savory warmth. Instead, the people of this seacoast town seemed to be drawn forth, as by the spell of a Hamelin piper, toward one enchanted spot, the white meeting-house known as Tabernacle Church. From neigh- boring towns sleighs brought bundled, shiver- ing folk along the snowy roads to Salem. From Andover, a delegation of students, boys and young men, walked the entire six- teen miles in the freezing cold of early morn- ing, returning on foot late in the afternoon. But cold and weariness were speedily for- gotten in the great and absorbing interest which centered in the day's events in Taber- nacle Church.

On this sixth day of February, 1812, five young men were to be ordained as Christian

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ministers and commissioned by the Church of America as its first missionaries to a heathen country. In imagination people pic- tured the separation from home, the long voyage across the gray, wintry ocean, and the possible hostility and persecution of the savage inhabitants of those distant regions. Every heart felt a throb of sympathy with those dauntless young people who had al- ready left their homes and were soon to de- part from their native land perhaps forever. Near the front of the church, before the distinguished clergymen from Boston, Salem, and other towns, knelt five volunteers for missionary service, Adoniram Judson, Samuel Newell, Samuel Nott, Gordon Hall, and a new recruit, Luther Rice. A hand of fatherly blessing was laid upon each youthful head bowed in willing consecration to God and obedience to his call. Kneeling there before the elder ministers, these young men in their purity and earnestness resembled Sir Gala- had as he knelt before his superior knight. Sir Launcelot, to receive the *' high order of knighthood." For a more perilous quest than that of Sir Galahad for the Holy Grail, [36]

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they vowed their allegiance as knights of the great King whose Round Table is in very truth the whole, round world.

During the dedication service many eyes turned from the J^oung missionaries to linger lovingly upon a girlish figure kneeling rever- ently by the side of a boxed pew near the front. A scoop bonnet, the fashion of the day, covered her brown curls and partly shielded the brave, beautiful face of Mrs. Adoniram Judson, the bride of a single day. On her long visit in Salem, Nancy Hassel- tine had become well known in town. More- over, in her school-days, stories of her gaiety and beauty had drifted through the country- side,— stories which reached a high climax in the announcement of her decision to go as a foreign missionary, — an unprecedented ca- reer for an American woman. A solemn joy seemed to radiate through her kneeling figure during the service which sacredly sealed her marriage vows.

Another girlish face tugged hard at the heartstrings of the people. It was that of Harriet Atwood, the young woman who within a few days would become the bride

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of Samuel Newell and go with him across the great seas to a new home in the far East. She was a fragile flower of girlhood, apparently imfitted for storm and tempest; but those who looked into the depths of her sad, brown eyes read there the indomitable purpose dwelling in her frail body.

At the close of that memorable day, Sam- uel Nott, Gordon Hall, and Luther Rice took their departure for Philadelphia, expect- ing to sail in a few days on the Harmony for Calcutta. The others lingered in Beverly and Salem, waiting for wind and tide to favor the sailing of the brig Caravan from the port of Salem bound for the coast of Asia.

Already the little boat was rocking at its moorings out in the harbor. Compared with the gigantic steamships which cross the ocean to-day, she was a baby craft of perhaps five hundred tons' burden. The Mayflower was about one third the size of the Caravan, while the Titanic was one hundred times larger. On board, her crew were receiving freight and provisions for the long voyage around the Cape of Good Hope to India.

On shore, four people looked anxiously [38]

The " Caravan

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each day out toward the black masts of the ship which was to bear them away from everything dear and familiar into experiences which God alone knew. Enough that he knew and would provide for the whole, un- certain future of their lives!

On Monday, the 17th of February, a ter- rific storm fell upon Salem, almost burying the town in snow. The next day dawned bleak and cold, with a presage in the air of coming events. Before the forenoon was past the desired and dreaded summons be- came a reality. A message was brought to the Judsons and Newells requesting them to go on board at once, that the ship might be ready to sail with the first friendly breeze.

The inevitable " last things " were hastily collected and carried down to the wharf. The sleigh stood at the door and the long, long good-bys must be said. Down through the snowy streets of Salem to the end of the lowest wharf in town the missionaries were driven, thence to be transferred by the cus- tom-house boat to the Caravan out in the bay.

It was a dreary, frigid day, but neverthe- less a number of friends gathered at the end

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of the pier to show their sympathy with the young missionaries and their brave purj)ose. During the two weeks of waiting for the Caravan to sail, interest in the new under- taking had mightily deepened. Even those opposed could not check their hearts' impulse to lavish kindness upon the missionaries and their youthful brides. A purse of fifty dol- lars was left at the door one day with the label, " For Mr. Judson's private use." Best of all, money for outfits and salaries had been almost miraculously provided. On January twenty-seventh only twelve hundred dollars was in the treasury of the new mission board. Within three weeks more than six thousand dollars had been freely given, and by the time the two ships Harmony and Caravan sailed the needs of the missionaries were supplied for a year in advance.

The west wind, which throughout the day had given promise of departure to the long- delayed ship, died away at dusk, and thus removed all hope of sailing that night. From the deck of the Caravan the surrounding scene was desolation itself. The sky was ominously black and dark, stormy waters [40]

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stretched away seaward. On shore, dim lit- tle lights spoke tantalizingly of home. But within, the cabin of the Judsons presented a sharp contrast to the dolefulness without. Adoniram and Ann Judson, Samuel and Harriet Newell, and two young men friends who were spending the night on board, talked exultingly together of their high hopes for a great work to be achieved in Christ's name in the needy countries of the ancient East. They sang hymns from an old singing-book long since forgotten, and they prayed in the " quietness and confidence " which was their daily strength. Ann Judson, shiny ej^ed and triumphant, sang and talked with almost her usual animation. Somewhat quieter than the others was the youngest of their number, Harriet Newell. Her thoughts clung wist- full}^ to the mother away over the snowy fields in Haverhill town. Late in the evening she wrote her a letter to be sent back by the pilot-boat on the morrow: — '* Here am I, my dear mother, on board the brig Caravan in a neat little cabin. ... I have at length taken leave of the land of my forefathers and entered the vessel which will be my place of

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residence till I reach the desired haven. Think not, my dear mother, that we are now sitting in silent sorrow, strangers to peace. O, no; though the idea that I have left you, to see you no more, is painful indeed, yet I think I can say that I have found the grace of my Redeemer sufficient for me — ^his strength has been made perfect in my weak- ness. We have been engaged in singing this evening, and can you believe me when I tell you that I never engaged in this delightful part of worship with greater pleasure? . . . I never shall repay you, my dear mother, for all the kindness and love you have shown me thus far in life. Accept my sincere thanks for every favor, and O, forgive me for so often causing you pain and anxiety. May the Almighty reward you a hundred-fold for your kindness to me. And now, my dear mother, what more shall I say but ask you to pray for me and engage other Christians to do the same. ... It is late — I must re- tire— dear mother, adieu."

The following morning, the 19th of Febru- ary, a little after sunrise, the Caravan spread [42]

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her sails to the wind and steered her course straight out to sea. The tall chimney at the entrance of the harbor was a landmark long to be distinguished as it traced a black perpen- dicular against the snowy New England hills. But by and by it vanished into dim space and the great, gray ocean was all around.

[43]

PERPLEXITIES ON EVERY SIDE

INSIDE a musty old tavern made of mud and straw, on the banks of the Hoogly river in India, a young woman waited in lonely suspense. The desolateness of her attitude might have revealed her a stranger in a strange land, even had her brown hair and fair skin not marked her instantly as different from the richly brunette women of India. In beauty, however, she belonged among the loveliest in that land of lovely women, and the sad anxiety in her eyes added a softened appeal to her charm.

For the first time since she landed in India five months before, Ann Judson found her- self alone and unprotected among the strange, dark people of the country, with their stranger tones and gestures. Where her hus- band was and when he would come, she did not know. They had been separated sixteen miles up the river when they received the government order to leave the ship in which they had taken flight from Calcutta two days [44]

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previously. Here she was, without escort, with only a few rupees in her purse, only a few words of the language at her command, the old thatched tavern her only place of refuge, and even its hospitality uncertain. Her father's house in Bradford seemed mil- lions of miles away, as if it were upon an- other planet, and her girlhood life in the New England village almost like another existence.

This was the solid reality of missionary experience of which she had vaguely dreamed in the early days of her engagement to Ado- niram Judson. " These are the trials which attend a missionary's life and which I antici- pated," she said to herself, " and which, with God's help, I am ready to meet."

It was a series of disappointing adventures which had led up to Ann's desolate situation in the river tavern. When our American missionaries landed in Calcutta in June, 1812, the East India Company had promptly turned its hostile eye upon them and deter- mined to force them out of the country. This company was a trading corporation which at that time controlled Great Britain's policy in

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India. Its officials had no welcome for mis- sionaries, because it was feared that any at- tempt to interfere with the idolatrous religion of the native peoples would breed rebellion to British rule. Moreover, a large revenue poured into the treasury of the company from protection given to idol worship, so that the heathen religion was financially profitable. A year later, by the efforts of some Christian gentlemen in England, the charter of the East India Company was amended in its passage through Parliament to insure tolera- tion to missionaries in India.

In 1812, however, the little groups of American pioneers arriving by the CaravaUy and six weeks later by the Harmony, felt the full brunt of government opposition, ag- gravated by the hostile relations then exist- ing between England and America because of the second war between the two countries.

Upon landing in India the Judsons and Newells had been invited to Serampore to visit the English Baptist missionaries until their companions should arrive by the Har- mony and locations for the new missions be determined. William Carey, the first Eng- [46]

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lish foreign missionary, with his colleagues, Marshman and Ward, had, by persistent struggle, built up a wonderful missionary enterprise in the town of Serampore on the Ganges, fifteen miles from Calcutta.

Here the newcomers spent ten happy, ab- sorbing days observing the customs of the country and trying to decide, with the help of the older missionaries, where they would settle. Burma had been the land of desire for Adoniram Judson since his student days at Andover, when he had read Col. Symes's Emhassy to Ava, and his imagination had responded to its glowing pictures of Oriental life. But Burma was a forbidden territory to missionaries, so said Dr. Carey, because of the cruel despotism of its government and brutal savagery of its inhabitants. Two Englishmen had attempted a mission there, but had abandoned it as hopeless. Dr. Carey's son, the only missionary then in Burma, had been obliged to take refuge for fifty days on an English frigate, and his re- turn to the country had been on precarious terms. Burma presented a dismal prospect; but where should they go to escape the hos-

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tility of the East India Company and find a people who would listen to their message?

One July afternoon their deliberations met with a vigorous interruption. An official messenger arrived at Serampore bearing a summons for Mr. Judson and Mr. Newell to present themselves immediately at the police office in Calcutta. There, an order from the Governor-general was read to them, commanding them to return to America upon the very ship on which they had come, the Caravan, then making ready for her west- ward voyage. Captain Heard had been re- fused a clearance from port unless he gave security that his missionary passengers would be taken on board. What should they do? It was insufferable to think of going home before their work was even begun. The dis- appointment and humiliation were over- whelming, but the belief that God had sent them and meant them to remain was un- shaken.

There seemed to be but one way of escape, — to seek some other heathen country, out- side the jurisdiction of the East India Com- pany. So, with sudden, desperate purpose [48]

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they asked permission to embark for the Isle of France. The Isle of France, now Mauri- tius, was five thousand miles southwest, near JMadagascar. Their request was granted, and on the fourth day of August Samuel Newell and his frail wife sailed away from all their friends in a small ship bound for Port Louis, in the Isle of France. The vessel could accommodate but two passengers, and the Newells were chosen to go because Har- riet's frail health made a home an urgent necessity.

Four months longer Adoniram and Ann Judson lingered in Calcutta, living in daily dread of summary dismissal from the coun- try. Mr. Rolt, an English gentleman, re- lieved somewhat their embarrassing predica- ment by offering the hospitality of his home. There, in his spacious English house, while waiting for a way out of their dilemma, the greatest of their many perplexities assailed them.

They were confronted by a troublesome problem which could not be evaded, and which pressed daily upon their minds for so- lution. On shipboard, while making the long

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voyage of four months from America to India, they had first grappled with the ques- tion of the Baptist belief as distinguished from that of the Congregationalists, and Mr. Judson's old convictions had become strangely disturbed. At first Mrs. Judson took the opposite side in argument and declared with her old independence, " If you become a Baptist, I will not."

During the first weeks on shore the ques- tion was silenced by the more urgent demand for home and shelter. But in the long sum- mer days in Calcutta, in the seclusion of Mr. Bolt's library, the subject recurred with painful insistence, and they resolved to deal conscientiously and thoroughly with its claims. The result was that they felt them- selves compelled by conviction to withdraw from the Congregationalists, with whom their lot had been cast since childhood, and to join the Baptists. ^"^

In those days communions were more sharply divided than to-day, and to change from one to another usually meant a heroic act of conscience. Especially for the pioneer missionaries was it a difficult and brave de- [50]

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cision. They could hardly expect the con- tinued support of the Congregationalists, nor could they confidentlj^ look to the Baptists for financial aid, since that denomination was not organized for missionary activity. Where should they turn? Supporters and friends would be likely to misinterpret their action. Even their own families, when removed by so great a distance, might find their decision hard to understand and accept. Hardest of all they would probably have to be separated in future work from their companions, those old schoolmates and friends who had come to India with them. " A renunciation of our former sentiments has caused us more pain than anything which has ever happened to us through our lives," wrote Mrs. Judson in a home letter.

One happy surprise came to relieve their downcast condition. To the amazement of all his associates, Luther Rice quietly an- nounced his intention to join the Baptists. In the secrecy of his own thoughts he had been dealing with the question, and his con- clusion was thus reached independently of outside influence. It was a great solace to

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the Judsons in their lonely outlook to have the assurance of his companionship in their new mission, wherever it might be.

Another strong encouragement came from the splendid generosity of the missionaries at Serampore. They held a consultation and agreed to supply funds for the American missionaries out of their own treasury in case money did not arrive from America when needed. They would advance the sums re- quired, and if the American societies could reimburse them, well and good, if not, they would count it a gift to the cause of Christ.

Mr. Rolt was unfailing in his interest and sympathy with the young people who had come so many thousands of miles from home on a mission of good-will, and had met such a frosty reception at the hands of government authorities. They continued to be his guests until late in November, when one day, about Thanksgiving time at home in New England, a startling order was brought to the house in Calcutta. Mr. and Mrs. Judson and Mr. Rice were commanded by the government to em- bark at once for England upon a vessel of the East India Company. Their names were [52]

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published in the newspaper hsts of passengers on the England-bound ship. All hope of es- cape seemed to be cut off this time, but the two young men and one young woman were not ready to acknowledge themselves beaten by the whole East India Company, so again they tried to circumvent its order.

By some means Mr. Judson and Mr. Rolt discovered that a ship named the Creole would sail in two days for the Isle of France. They applied to the chief magistrate for a passport, but he refused them. They then asked the captain if he would take them on board without a pass. He replied; "There is my ship, do as you please." With Mr. Rolt's assistance they secured coolies to carry their baggage, and at midnight " stole like criminals " through the deserted streets of Calcutta, through the gates of the dockyards, which, contrary to night rules, opened to admit them, and on board the forbidden ves- sel. The next morning the Creole sailed out of Calcutta harbor, down the Hoogly river toward the Bay of Bengal and the open sea.

For two days all was well on shipboard, but toward evening of the second day, a

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government dispatch overtook them forbid- ding the pilot to proceed since there were passengers on the ship who had been ordered to England. The pursued passengers must needs leave the vessel at once, even in the darkness of evening, so the two young men entered a small boat to go on shore to a tavern about a mile away. The captain, with the gallantry born of the sight of a lovely woman in distress, bade Mrs. Judson spend the night on the ship, where their baggage also would be allowed to remain. It would be quite safe for her he assured her, even though an officer should come to search the boat.

Through the night and the next day the Creole lay at anchor waiting for orders. When evening came, Mrs. Judson also was forced to depart hurriedly for land. The owner of the ship heard of its detention and went to police headquarters to inquire the reason. There he was informed that " it was suspected there were persons on board whom the captain had been forbidden to receive." The ship could not proceed until it was proved that no such parties were among the [54]

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passengers. Mrs. Judson hastened on shore in a small boat while the pilot wrote a cer- tificate that the suspected people were not on the ship.

At the tavern Mrs. Judson found her hus- band and Mr. Rice and in tense anxiety they consulted as to their next move. What should they do? Escape on the Creole was now hopelessly blocked without a passport. Return to Calcutta would be but a confes- sion of defeat. Where was the way out of this labyrinth of perplexities? Mr. Rice de- cided to start for Calcutta at once, to make one more effort to secure a pass. Mr. and Mrs. Judson spent the night and the next day at the tavern, watching in vain for a message from the ship where their baggage still remained, and dreading lest every European in sight was spying upon their movements. Mr. Rice came back from Cal- cutta to report another refusal. The owner of the ship was in high dudgeon because his vessel was delayed so long on their account. " Perplexed on every side, yet not unto despair," because, as Harriet Newell once said: "He who takes care of the ravens will

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not forsake his own children in the hour of their affliction."

Another uneasy night at the tavern and in the morning a disquieting message from the captain of the Creole! He was per- mitted to sail, but tJiey must remove their baggage from the ship at once. It seemed unwise to linger longer at the tavern, so they decided to journey on to another little Indian inn sixteen miles down the river. It would be hazardous for the two men to show themselves on the prohibited vessel, so Mrs. Judson went alone on board the Creole and made arrangements for the transfer of their baggage. As she could find no small boat, she asked the captain if the baggage might be left where it was until the next tavern was reached. Not only did he readily consent, but invited Mrs. Judson to make the journey herself on his vessel, saying that the river trip in a small craft would be exceedingly unpleasant.

Again she hurried on shore to notify her

companions of this change of plan. For the

second time Mr. Rice set out for Calcutta to

secure passage, if possible, for Ceylon. Mr.

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Judson hired a boat for his own transporta- tion down the river to the tavern appointed. Meanwhile, Mrs. Judson returned to the Creole in the pilot's boat which he had courteously sent on shore for her use. It was an exciting and dangerous chase after the ship which had slipped rapidly down stream with the tide. The river was rough because of the high wind, and the tropical sun blistering in its rays of heat. The native rowers hoisted a sail so large that repeatedly it tilted the boat on one side. To allay the fears of their fair lady passen- ger they kept repeating, " Cutcha pho annali, sahib, cutcha pho annah'' " Never fear, madam, never fear."

Safely at last they came alongside the large vessel, hastened on board, and soon stopped opposite the uninviting old tavern to which Mrs. Judson must go alone. Again the pilot offered his boat to convey her on shore. There, with all s^Dced, she arranged for another boat to go out to the Creole to remove their baggage. Finally, the neces- sary business done, she turned hesitatingly toward the thatched tavern which must har-

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bor her, welcome or not, until her husband should arrive.

Longer than it has taken us to recount these adventures, did Ann Judson have to watch and wait for the coming of her hus- band. Several hours dragged by before he appeared at the entrance of the tavern and eagerly sought his wife. Thankfully the two greeted each other, their relief at their mutual safety overcoming for a time anxiety for the future.

Quickly, however, they began to strain every nerve of thought to find a way out of their present dilemma. Should they, after all, return to Calcutta and face the worst, or should they confide in the tavernkeeper and seek his assistance? Anything seemed preferable to a retreat to the city which had exiled them, so they asked the innkeeper if he could help them secure a passage to Ceylon? He replied that a captain who was a friend of his was due on the morrow, and that very likely he might take them on his ship bound for Madras. Encouraged by this possibility and by the safe arrival of their baggage, they waited two days at the tavern, [58]

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during which time Mr. Rice rejoined his companions. On the third day the looked- for vessel anchored directly opposite the tavern. The innkeeper went on board to intercede on behalf of his fugitive guests, but returned with the refusal of the captain to receive them as passengers. Thereupon they resolved to interview the stubborn captain themselves and beg for leniency. With this slender hope in mind, they sat down to sup- per when a letter was handed to them! They felt as if an actual miracle had been wrought when they found that the letter contained a pass from the chief magistrate for embarkation on the Creole for the Isle of France. " Who procured this pass for us, or in what way, we are still ignorant: we could only view the hand of God and wonder." Thus wrote Mrs. Judson in a long home letter detailing her many ad- ventures.

Then followed a frantic pursuit of the Creole^ which they feared might be already out at sea, since she had three days' start. It was just possible that she might be an- chored at SaugLu% seventy miles down stream,

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at the entrance of the Hoogly river. At any rate, they must make the venture and hasten the pursuit. As soon as darkness fell the three fugitives hurried into a small boat and pushed out against the tide for their race to safety. All that night Mrs. Judson watched with wide-open eyes by the side of her hus- band, who slept peacefully until morning.

The next day wind and tide sped them on their way, and by nightfall S augur was in sight with the masts of many ships at anchor. Was the Creole among them, or had she al- ready crossed the invisible boundary between river and bay and sailed beyond recall? With eager eyes they scanned the boats and, joy to behold — there was the Creole in their midst! For two daj^s she had been anchored at S augur waiting for members of her crew. " I never enjoyed a sweeter moment in my life than that when I was sure we were in sight of the Creole'' wrote Ann Judson to the Hasseltine house in Bradford.

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VI

THE ISLE OF FRANCE

SOMETIMES it happens that the love- liest scene in nature becomes the back- ground of the most woful tragedy. The Isle of France, for natural beauty, was among the most charming of the islands of the Indian Ocean. Blue, blue sky was reflected in the waters of the reef-bound harbor, and filmy clouds brooded upon the summits of the mountains. Gleaming springs flashed like quicksilver down the shadowy mountainsides, and the scarlet and blue blossoms of the climbing i^lant hung from the dark cliffs. In the woods and valleys grew lemon and orange trees, date and coco palms, and a tangle of brightly-colored, fragrant flowers.

It was this setting of tropical verdure which Saint Pierre chose for his tragic and true tale, Paul and Virginia. It was in the city of Port Louis, at the foot of the moun- tain which sheltered in a rock-bound vale the cabin of Paul and Virginia, that, one hun- dred years later, Samuel and Harriet Newell

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met the tragedy of their young lives. Here, also, Ann and Adoniram Judson came too late to succor their friends in their hour of need.

In January, 1813, after nearly two months of contrary winds and rough seas, the Creole sailed into the harbor of Port Louis and dropped anchor. On deck Mrs. Judson stood with her husband and Mr. Rice, gazing at the fairyland scene before them, wondering if there at last they would find the home they had sought so many months in vain, wondering too, how soon they would greet Samuel and Harriet Newell and with them compare adventures of the past and pros- pects for the future. As they lingered on the ship waiting for some means of trans- portation to shore, a young man came on board to welcome them, but so slow and reluctant was his step, so changed and hag- gard his face, they scarcely recognized their old friend, Samuel Newell. Before he could speak Ann Judson read the tale which his sorrowful, beseeching eyes revealed. Har- riet, his own beloved Harriet had left him — alone in the world. In broken snatches, [62]

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then and later, he told his friends of his bitter loss.

The ship on which the Newells had taken passage from Calcutta the August before had been battered unmercifully by winds and waves, so that the voyage lengthened into three anxious months. Far out on the Indian ocean a baby girl was born in the little cabin on the ship's deck and given her mother's name, Harriet Atwood. For a few days joy and hope abounded in the hearts of the parents, but speedily cold and rain fell upon the ill-fated ship, and the baby, unable to endure the exposure, died in her mother's arms. After the child's death Harriet showed the first signs of the fatal disease which rapidly consumed her life.

When at length the dreadful voyage was over and the belated ship came to port, a British surgeon and a Danish phj^sician min- istered to the sick wife, but to no avail. Gradually her strength waned until the last flicker of hope for her recovery vanished. Night and day Samuel Newell sat by the bedside of his dear one trying to catch every precious word she spoke. Her thoughts

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seemed to dwell with perfect restfulness upon Christ and heaven, recurring sometimes to her mother across the seas in the Atwood homestead in Haverhill. " Tell my dear mother," she said, " how much Harriet loved her. Tell her to look to God and keep near to him and he will support and comfort her in all her trials. Tell my brothers and sisters, from the lips of their dying sister, that there is nothing but religion worth living for. Tell them, and also my dear mother, that I have never regretted leaving my native land for the cause of Christ."

One afternoon in November, the blindness of death sealed Harriet's brown eyes, and there, in the little mud-walled cottage, she quietly breathed her last. Throughout that awful night Samuel Newell w^atched beside his dead, a Negro servant his only companion in the silent house. In a land of strangers, without one friend to w^eep with him, he fol- lowed the body of his wife to the graveyard of Port Louis, where, in the heathy ground, under an evergreen tree which suggested her New England home, was buried the young woman who was the first American to give [64]

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her life for the cause of Christ in the non- Christian world.

Ann Jiidson's thoughts turned mournfully toward that burial spot which was the symbol of her welcome in the Isle of France. Who could have thought that death would so speedily claim one of their little band, whose lives were all the more precious to one another because they were so few in number and so immeasurably far from home? With but small assurance that this far-away island was to be their permanent home, the Judsons settled themselves in Port Louis and waited for some unmistakable signs of God's guid- ance. As they waited, they watched for opportunities to serve the need of the people about them. On Sunday Mr. Judson or ]Mr. Rice preached to the British soldiers stationed on the island. The governor was friendly and would permit a Christian mission to be established, even though he had received warning from the British government at Bengal to " keep an eye upon those Ameri- can missionaries." Moreover, there was con- vincing evidence of the ignorance and degra- dation of the inhabitants of the island.

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One evening there was a hideous commo- tion in the courtyard which adjoined the Jud- sons' house in Port Louis. A Negro slave stood with her hands tied behind her back while her mistress beat her unmercifully with a club. Promptly Mrs. Judson opened her door and ventured upon the scene. In broken French she begged the cruel mistress to stop beating her slave. Surprised by the inter- ruption and by the gentle beauty of the strange lady, the woman ceased her blows but angrily insisted that the servant was very bad and had recently run away. Mrs. Jud- son talked quietly with the enraged mistress until her anger seemed to be appeased, al- though, as a parting taunt, she hurled her club at the slave's head with such force that blood ran down upon the girl's clothes. All night the poor creature was left with her hands tied behind her back, and in the morn- ing she was released and set to work.

The second night the clank of an iron chain was heard as it was dragged across the courtyard. From her quarters in the neighboring house Mrs. Judson saw, to her horror, that the heavy chain was intended for [66]

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the unfortunate slave. To one end of the long chain was fastened a ring large enough to be locked around her neck, and to the ring were attached two pieces of iron which would press against her face on either side and prevent her eating. The slave girl stood trembling as they prepared to put the chain upon her. At mere sight of her servant the mistress fell into a furious temper and began beating her as she had done the night be- fore. Again she was intercepted by the firm hand and gentle voice of Mrs. Judson. " Your servant is very bad, no doubt," she said in her pretty foreign accent, " but you will be very good to forgive her." Again the mistress drew back her club and finally, yielding to entreaty, consented to forgive her slave and release her from the punishment decreed. Emphatically she declared that par- don was granted, not out of any consideration for the slave, but simply because the Ameri- can lady requested it. The terrified Negress was made to understand the terms of her release. Whereupon she knelt and kissed the feet of the fair white lady who had saved her, crying, '' Merci, madame, merci,

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madame/' Mrs. Judson could scarcely keep back her tears as she received the gratitude of the slave girl. She returned to the house happy-hearted because she had delivered one I^oor slave from a night of physical misery, but at the same time brooding sadly uj)on the spiritual misery which she saw daily in the faces of the peoj)le about her.

In JNIarch Mr. and Mrs. Judson were left alone in the Isle of France. Mr. Newell departed for Ceylon, away from the scene of his desolated life, and Mr. Rice actually sailed for America, the dear homeland which grew dearer every day. He was going back to tell the Baptist churches, what letters could never adequately tell, that the heathen peo- ples he had seen were in desperate need of the knowledge of Christ, and that over there in distant Asia a young man and his wife were eagerly waiting to be adopted as the first missionaries of the Baptist denomination in America.

Meanwhile, those two young people lin- gered in Port Louis watching daily for some indication to tell them the place in which God had appointed them to live and labor. There [68]

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was some promise of usefulness in the Isle of France, yet when they compared its popula- tion with that of other regions of the Orient they could not feel warranted in remaining. The ancient East contained hundreds of mil- lions of people, but Christian missionaries were not many more in number than the original group of twelve whom Christ com- missioned to "go and make disciples of all the nations." Among " all the nations " of Asia where should they find a strategic place to establish a Christian mission? This was the anxious query which pervaded the spring days in the tropic island, and to wliich the summer gave answer unexpected and un- welcome.

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VII

A HOME AT LAST *^

WHEN Nancy. Hasseltine was a gay, restless schoolgirl her mother once reproved her by saying, " I hope, my daughter, you will one day be sat- isfied with rambling." Little did the girl or mother dream how literally those words would be fulfilled. From the day in June when Mr. and Mrs. Judson went on shore from the Caravan in Calcutta harbor, for a whole long year they knew little else but rambling, — incessant traveling from place to place in weary, anxious search for some spot they would be allowed to call home. They had now embarked from the Isle of France, intending to settle in Pulo Penang, or Prince of Wales' Island, in the Malacca Strait, which, since its purchase by the British, was receiving a large population of Hindus, Chinese, Burmans, and Siamese. No ship sailed directly from the Isle of France to Penang, so they must needs take passage to Madras, expecting to proceed thence to the Malacca Strait. [70]

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Early in June the travelers found them- selves again in the domains of the East India Company which twice before had decreed their exile. Their arrival in Madras was promptly reported to the police and the report forwarded to the supreme government in Bengal. It was plainly to be seen that as soon as a return message could reach Madras they would be arrested and ordered to England. Escape must be immediate and final. Several vessels lay at anchor in the Madras roads and Mr. Judson anxiously in- quired their destination, knowing that the direction of those ships soon to sail must determine the fate of himself and his wife and the new mission.

Alas, only one would sail in time and that one was destined for the port most dreaded, most formidable in all the eastern world, Rangoon, Burma! The question was now brought to an issue decisive and unescapable. Burma it must be or Europe and home! Which? Yes, which? Should they venture into that wild, barbaric country, outside a civilized government, inside a despotic mon- archy; of the most merciless variety? All

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their new-found friends in INIadras protested against it. The test was stupendous for two young i)eople not yet twenty-five years of age, and it threw them upon God as their only dependence.

About this time the diary of Ann Judson bore a troubled entry:

" June 20th. We have at last concluded, in our distress, to go to Rangoon, as there is no vessel about to sail for any other place ere it will be too late to escape a second arrest. O, our heavenly Father, direct us aright! Where wilt thou have us go? What wilt thou have us do? Our only hope is in thee, and to thee alone we look for protec- tion. ... I have been accustomed to view this field of labor with dread and terror, but I now feel perfectly willing to make it my home the rest of my life. . . . To-morrow we expect to leave this place and the few friends we have found here. Adieu to pol- ished, refined, Christian society. Our lot is not cast among you, but among pagans, among barbarians, whose tender mercies are cruel. Indeed, we voluntarily forsake you [72]

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and for Jesus' sake choose the latter for our associates."

The voyage to Burma proved to be every whit as disagreeable as anticipations of the country had been. It was the most distress- ing and dangerous journey they had ever experienced, not excepting Mr. Judson's trip to England when he was captured by pirates. First of all, a disastrous catastrophe took place at the outset of the voj^age. Because of Mrs. Judson's frail health her friends in Madras had procured a European w^oman servant to accompany her to Burma. This woman appeared to be in normal condition when she went on board the ship, but within a few hours after sailing she fell upon the floor writhing in convulsions. Mrs. Judson labored over her, trying by every means in her power to restore her, but all efforts failed and after a few gasps she died.

The shock of the sudden death, together with the violent exertion to save the woman's life, threw Mrs. Judson into such an excru- ciating sickness that she was brought very close to death herself. In their uncomfortable

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quarters on shipboard the experience was the heaviest hardship they had yet borne. The ship Georgianna was a " crazy " old craft, dirty, miserable, and unseaworthy. There was no stateroom for the two passengers except such as was made by canvas protec- tion on deck. The wind was blustering and the waves choppy. The boat tossed inces- santly, its motion bringing agonizing pain to the sufferer on deck.

No physician and no medicines were at hand to relieve her distress. The captain was the only other person on board who could speak English, as the Georgianna was a Por- tuguese ship. Mr. Judson was doctor, nurse, and companion. As he sat by the prostrate form of his wife, helpless to mitigate her pain, he realized something of the agony of spirit which Samuel Newell endured as he watched, unfriended and alone, by the death- bed of Harriet in the Isle of France. Ap- parently, there was but one way to save the life of Ann Judson, and that way seemed to be the last and greatest of impossibilities. If the tossing boat could be quiet for one hour relief might come which would lead to [74]

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recovery. Then it was that God's watchful care over his own was beautifully manifested, just as Harriet Newell trustfully said: " He who takes care of the ravens will not for- sake his own children in the hour of their affliction."

The captain came on deck to inform his passengers that they had failed to make the Nicobar Island, where it was intended to take on a cargo of coconuts, and that they were in imminent danger of being driven upon the Andaman Islands. To escape this fate he would have to steer his vessel through a narrow strait between two of the islands, where he had never been before and which was reputed to be a region of great terror for men and ships. The coasts were said to be inhabited by cannibals who would promptly kill and eat every one on board if they got a chance. Moreover, the channel was beset with perilous, black rocks as deadly to passing ships as great icebergs should they happen to colhde.

With these gruesome possibilities ahead, the ship entered the channel, when suddenly the wind ceased and the water became per- ils]

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fectly calm! The islands cut off the wind so completely that the narrow passage was like a sheltered haven, and the moving vessel al- most as quiet as a house on land. The still- ness brought immediate relief to Mrs. Judson, and to her husband the first shining hope of her recovery. Rocks and cannibals were soon left behind and the ship, under more favor- able winds, sailed on toward port.

But what a port! It was the 13th day of July when the Georgianna entered the harbor of Rangoon, Burma. Dismal, doleful, for- bidding, funereal — all the unpleasant adjec- tives in the dictionary could hardly do jus- tice to the city of Rangoon in 1813, especially as it was seen from approaching vessels. Reaching away from the water's edge was a vast, flat swamp, " a sludgy, squdgy creek," with tumble-down bamboo huts raised on poles above the ground. Everything in sight was dilapidated, neglected, filthy. For the first time in their travels Mr. and Mrs. Jud- son saw before them a country in its primi- tive, barbaric condition, untouched by Euro- pean civilization. The prospect sent a stab of terror into their souls. [76]

Rangoon River Front

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Toward evening Mr. Judson went on shore to reconnoiter, but came back to the ship more cast down than his wife had ever seen him. The night of their arrival in Rangoon marked the bluest experience of all their lives, so they both agreed and recorded in their diaries and letters. Afterwards they thought that they ought to have rejoiced that first night to find themselves actually at the haven of their long desire, a thoroughly heathen country, and moreover, one which did not promptly dismiss them from its shores. But at the time, so heavy was the burden of loneliness and homesickness that their one wish was for speedy death to remove them from the hardships of earth into the freedom of heaven. Sharing each other's distress the husband and wife prayed together and com- mitted themselves wholly to the care of their watchful God, and by and by peace came to their troubled spirits. " Although I have cast them far off among the heathen, and al- though I have scattered them among the countries, yet will I be to them as a little sanctuary in the countries where they shall come."

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The next morning preparations were made to go on shore to the city they must learn to call home. Mrs. Judson was not able to walk, as she had not yet left her bed for so long as half an hour. There was no means of conveyance except a horse which of course she could not ride. Some one's ingenuity found a way at last and she was carried off the ship in an armchair borne by means of bamboo poles on the shoulders of four natives.

Into the miserable, dirty town, with its bamboo and teak houses and its muddy creeks, the coolies carried their precious bur- den, until, in a shady spot, they halted and set down the chair. Instantly, crowds of Burmans flocked around to gaze at the strange foreign woman. Englishmen were no novelty in the streets of this Burmese sea- port, but Englishwomen were seldom seen and were objects of undisguised curiosity. Involuntarily, Mrs. Judson's head drooped with sickness and weakness, and thus some native women ventured near enough to peer under her bonnet into the pale, lovely face. To their wide-eyed scrutiny she returned a

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friendly smile, to which they responded with a loud laugh. As the coolies lifted the chair to proceed, the onlookers gave a lusty shout which seemed to amuse the foreigners. On they went to the Rangoon custom-house, which was a small, open shed, in which, upon mats on the ground, sat several Burmese custom officials. Mr. Judson was submitted to a thorough search, after which request was made that a Burmese woman be allowed to search Mrs. Judson, to which she obligingly agreed. This ordeal over, the little party moved on to the mission house, outside the city gates, built by the English Baptists, which was to be home for the American missionaries. Where now are the green hills and sunny, white homesteads of New England? Are they but phantoms of memory? And where, yes, where is that blithe, beautiful girl, with her rosy cheeks and brown curls, who went gaily forth to the new academy in Bradford, her thoughts filled with the good times in which she was always the merry leader? Is she, too, a phantom of the past? Or has Nancy Hasseltine found her real self in the heroic, sacrificial life of Ann Judson?

[T9]

VIII

BY THE OLD RANGOON PAGODA "

RANGOON was a city of importance in the Burmese empire despite its dilapidated appearance. Besides a population of many thousand, it was the gov- ernment city of an extensive province, ruled by a viceroy who was a high official in the kingdom. Two miles north of the city rose one of the landmarks of Burma, the great Rangoon Pagoda, or Golden Temple of Buddha, visible for twenty miles round about. It was a tall, glittering structure, grotesque in its golden ornamentations and colossal in its proportions. At the season of the great feast of Gotama or Buddha, multi- tudes of people came in boats on the river from long distances to worship and present offerings at the famous pagoda which was supposed to contain a relic of Buddha. Thus Rangoon was honored, perhaps second to Ava, the royal city, for its government seat and its sacred shrine. In years to come it [80]

The Golden Pagoda

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was destined to rank among the first seaports of the Orient, because of its commanding location upon a branch of the great Irawadi river. Yet, in 1813, for all its governmental prestige, for all its pretentious pagoda, it was still a miserable, dirty, insanitary town, with its glorious possibilities of navigation and vegetation unutilized, and even un- imagined.

One day Ann Judson climbed the flight of steps leading to the pagoda and was al- lowed to walk about the platform. The scene appeared to her like fairyland run wild. The enchanted castles and ruined abbeys which haunted the pages of story-books she had read seemed to come to life before her eyes. Fantastic images of Buddha, of angels and demons, elephants and lions, added a savor of barbaric picturesqueness.

Sometimes, as Mrs. Judson looked up at the towering structure from the distance of her own home outside the city gates, the polished spire among the trees suggested the white steeples of New England. Then would come a swift realization of the awful distance, not only in miles, but much more

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in character, between the New England church and the Burmese pagoda. Just as the meeting-house was the symbol of the simple, straightforward life of the early- American settlers, so this grotesque fane was the symbol of the falsehood and degradation of the inhabitants of the ancient East.

In the streets and outskirts of Rangoon the two American residents found sufficient evi- dence of the wretched condition of the Bur- mese people. Many sick and diseased folk begged daily their few grains of rice and crept back to their only habitation, a piece of cloth stretched on four bamboos under- neath a shade-tree. Others bowed under a heavy yoke of toil, earning thereby but a meager pittance the larger part of which was snatched away by a greedy government. It was part of the government system to pay no fixed salaries to its officers but to expect them to extort by taxation from the people the means for a luxurious living. The vice- roy, or governor of a province, was popularly known as an " Eater," since his function seemed to be to devour the possessions of his subjects. Each petty officer divided his spoil [82]

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with the viceroy, and he in turn with the king, whose revenues were unfailing.

The king's word was absolute law in Burma, so that even a high official might be beheaded at a moment's notice. At one time an officer of the highest rank was seized by the public executioner and laid on the ground by the side of the road with a heavy weight upon his chest and the meridian sun blazing relentlessly upon him. After the king's wrath was thus apj)eased the man was restored to his former high position. The only way to escape punishment, whether innocent or guilty, was to pay large bribes to the viceroy. Thus everybody was afraid of everybody else, and consequently nobody told the truth. " We cannot live without telling lies," they said.

Robberies were outrageously daring and frequent, especially in times of famine, when almost every night houses were broken into and thefts or murders committed. The mis- sion house, where the Judsons lived, was par- ticularly exposed to attacks of robbers and wild beasts because of its location outside the city walls. Moreover, in the vicinity was the

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place of public execution and of deposit for the refuse of the city. It was a gruesome locality, but the immediate surroundings of the house were unexpectedly pleasant. Be- longing to the property was an enclosed gar- den abounding in delicious fruits, such as oranges, bananas, guavas, pineapples, and the jack-fruit and bread-fruit. The house itself was built of teak-wood and, though left in an unfinished style inside, was large and fairly convenient.

It was on a July morning in 1813 when the young American missionary walked be- side the impromptu conveyance which carried his sick wife from the ship Georgianna to the mission house outside the gates of Rangoon. There was but one other missionary in Burma at the time, Felix Carey, son of the great William Carey of Serampore. He and his family occupied the Rangoon mission prop- erty, though during the summer when the Judsons arrived he was away in Ava on business for the king. Mrs. Carey was a native of Rangoon and she, with her two children, received the new missionaries into her home. She could speak but little English, [84]

A Burmese House

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so friendly conversation did not brighten their first days in a strange land. Moreover, it was a difficult task for an Eastern woman to create the home comforts for a Western woman trained to such a different mode of life. To Mrs. Judson, accustomed to the savory cooking of New England, the Bur- mese food was a daily trial. Bread and but- ter and potatoes were constantly missed, and the rice and milk and curried fowl which formed the staple diet were always unsatisfy- ing. Yet, " instead of mourning that we have no more of the comforts of life, we have great reason to be thankful that we have so many," wrote the undaunted Ann. Considering the handicaps of food, climate, and discomforts, Mrs. Judson recovered her health with sur- prising rapidity, and never at any time did the man or woman become shaken in their firm intention to remain in heathen Burma. As Mr. Judson said, " we soon began to find that it was in our hearts to live and die with the Burmans." Through the many vicissi- tudes of the past year and a half they had learned the lesson that God is always on the side of those who do their duty, and that his

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help is mightier than any human aid or human need.

Immediately upon settling in their new home, Mr. and Mrs. Judson began to study the Burmese language, which, as a study, was worse than higher mathematics, Sanskrit, and Hebrew put together. To learn a dead lan- guage like Greek or Latin, or a living lan- guage like French or German, as it is taught in school or college to-day, is like kinder- garten play compared with mastering a liv- ing, Oriental language, mastering it until it is as familiar as your native speech. More- over, to attempt, as the Judsons did, to ac- quire a language without an adequate dic- tionary or grammar or even a teacher who understands a word of your own speech, and with dried palm leaves covered with obscure scratches your only text-book, such a task might well be reckoned among the twelve labors of Hercules. After studying Burmese for more than a year, Mr. Judson still insisted that if he had his choice of being examined in a Burmese book or in a book in the French language which he had studied for about two months, he would without the least hesitation [86]

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choose the French. So much for the intricacy of the Burmese language!

When the native teacher first came to the mission house he rebelled against accepting the missionary's wife as a pupil. In his country a teacher's skill was considered wasted if bestowed upon such an inferior being as woman. But when he saw that the husband was as eager to have his wife taught as himself, the teacher changed his tactics. From seven in the morning until ten at night the two determined students applied them- selves to their task, going to bed as tired as they had ever been in all their lives.

Every day and all day they studied and studied, their only recreation being a walk in the garden or adjoining village, their only society found in each other. No word from home had yet reached them and they had been absent a year and a half. As fam- ished as the starving people they saw about them were they when at last, a whole year later, — too years and a half after leaving America, — the first home letter was laid in their hands! Mrs. Judson was the only woman in the Burmese empire who could speak Eng-

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lish, and of course there were no Christians outside the mission household in the entire countr}^ of perhaps eight miUion people. This was the situation in which the woman found herself who, only a few years before, had been the merrymaker of Bradford, the girl whose beauty and cleverness were bywords in the valley of the Merrimac. " Exposed to rob- bers by night and invaders by day," wrote this same girl in her journal, dated Rangoon, August 8, 1813, " yet we both unite in saying we never were happier, never more contented in any situation, than the present. We feel that this is the post to which God hath ap- pointed us; that we are in the path of duty; and in a situation, which, of all others, pre- sents the most extensive field of usefulness."

On the 19th of September, 1813, the two young missionaries, man and wife, partook together of the sacrament of the Lord's Supper, just as Samuel and Harriet Newell had united in the sacred service in the Isle of France the Sabbath before Harriet's death. Thus, in the mission house of Rangoon, with two lonely foreigners as participants, was born the Christian Church of Burma which [88]

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to-day, a hundred years later, numbers sixty- five thousand people in its membership and over nine hundred church organizations.

Among her early experiences in Rangoon one of the most entertaining befell Mrs. Jud- son on the day she made her first call upon the wife of the viceroy, introduced by a French lady who lived in the city and was a frequent visitor at the government house. When the two guests arrived her highness had not yet arisen and they must await her pleasure. Meantime, the secondary wives of the viceroy diverted and amused them. They gathered like so many children around the two foreigners, examining their clothes, try- ing on their gloves and bonnets and mani- festing- the most absurd curiosity.

At last the vice-reine appeared clad in rich Burmese attire and smoking a long, silver pipe. As she entered the room the other wives retreated to a respectful distance and crouched on the floor, not daring to speak unless addressed. The honored first wife went forward to greet her guests and looked interestedly into the face of the beautiful stranger, the wife of the American teacher.

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Graciously she took her by the hand and led her to a seat upon the mat where she sat herself. One of her women in waiting pre- sented a bunch of flowers and the vice-reine removed several blossoms and ornamented Mrs. Judson's bonnet. She then plied her with many questions, especially concerning herself and her husband. Was she the first wife, meaning was she the highest among the many wives she supposed Mr. Judson pos- sessed as did her husband? Did they intend remaining long in the country?

As they talked, the viceroy himself made a pompous entry into the room. Mrs. Jud- son literally trembled as she saw the huge, savage-looking man, with his long, heavy robe and his spear large enough for Goliath of Gath. This ferocious being was not only the ruler of their city, but a man high in favor at the proud court of Ava, a man who had only to nod his head and his sub- jects were pardoned or beheaded. Yet he too greeted the American lady with surpris- ing graciousness, and asked her if she would drink some rum or wine. As the guests rose to depart, the vice-reine again took Mrs. [90]

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Judson's hand, assuring her that she was happy to see her and bidding her come every day. She then escorted her visitors to the door, where they made their salaams and went away, the ordeal of a state visit in Burma over for that time. INIrs. Judson had decided to make this call hojiing thereby to gain a friendly acquaintance with the vice- reine, which, in case of trouble with the Bur- mans, would admit her to the wife when INIr. Judson might be refused access to so august a personage as the viceroy himself. It re- mains to be seen how the charm of per- sonality which was Mrs. Judson's heritage from girlhood won for her and her husband marvelous favors from the haughty nobility of Burma.

As a further precaution against danger in those unsettled times, INIr. and Mrs. Judson concluded, after six months' residence in the outskirts, to move into a house within the city wall. By so doing they would not only escape unnecessary peril of robbers, but would come in closer contact with the people. Only seven days after they left the mission house a band of fifteen or twenty desperate men,

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armed with knives, spears, and guns, attacked a house in the neighborhood, stabbed the owner, and def)arted with everything upon which they could lay their hands. The vice- roy was so enraged at this bold plunder that he dispatched a chief officer with three hun- dred men to run down the thieves, with the result that seven robbers were put to death in most brutal fashion at the place of public execution.

Two months after this consternation spread through the city, another alarming event made the missionaries realize the uncertainty of existence in a heathen city. On a Sunday morning in March they walked out to the mission house to spend the day in quiet wor- ship, as was their weekly habit. As they reached the house, a servant met them with the news that a fire was raging near the tow^n. They hurried to the spot and found several houses burning briskly and the flames travel- ing in straight course toward the city. No efforts whatsoever were made to extinguish the fire, so there was reason to suppose the whole town would be consumed. They has- tened to the gates in order to enter the city [9S]

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and return to their house in time to remove their belongings, but lo, the gates were tightly closed! The poor, terrified people had shut the gates imagining, like foolish children, that they could thus shut out the flames, even though gates and walls were made wholly of wood. JNIr. and Mrs. Judson waited per- sistently until at last the gates were opened, and they hurried home to gather up their pos- sessions and transfer them swiftly to the mission house beyond the zone of danger. All day the fire burned and burned until walls, gates, and houses innumerable were destroyed, and thousands of families were shelterless.

Thus, fire and robbers and dangers un- dreamed surrounded the two missionaries. But they went about the day's work undis- mayed. The golden shrine of Buddha, the old Rangoon pagoda, looked indifferently down upon the confused, distressed life of the people in the city, a silent witness of the powerlessness of Buddhism to save its fol- lowers. In the hearts of the two strangers in their midst burned the message of a God of love who alone could redeem the people of Burma from bondage.

[9S]

IX CHILDREN'S VOICES

IT was a January day in 1815, and prep- arations for departure were being made in the Judson household in Rangoon. Who could be going away, and where? Was it possible that they were both leaving Burma, having given up the mission as a hopeless task? That did not seem likely, and more- over the house was in its usual condition, its furnishings undisturbed. One small trunk stood ready for removal to the ship, and presently Mrs. Judson came in dressed for a journey. Evidently she was the traveler, and her husband was to be left behind. Never since their marriage had they been parted for any length of time, and the peculiar circum- stances of their isolated life had made them unusually dependent upon each other. Now, however, they must face a separation of two or three months at least, and the prospect was doleful indeed.

Mrs. Judson was about to sail for Madras to consult a physician, as her health was [94]

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breaking down under the climate and priva- tions of Burma, and no medical help was available there. She had refused to permit her husband to accompany her, as the new mis- sion would suffer too much from the absence of them both. They were just beginning to make themselves understood in the Burmese language, and a few people were turning a listening ear to the story of a God who cared, though they but dimly comjDrehended the meaning of the strangely beautiful message. These first signs of a harvest to come were too precious to neglect, and the language must be all the more arduously studied in order to make the story plain to the bewil- dered people.

When it was decided that Mrs. Judson must go to Madras, she and her husband ventured one day into the presence of the viceroy of Rangoon with an unusual petition. They offered a small present, as was custom- ary in Burma when seeking a favor from those in authority. The viceroy looked at their gift and inquired their business, where- upon Mr. Judson made bold to ask if a Burmese woman might be allowed to travel

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with Mrs. Judson across the Bay of Bengal to Madras. This was indeed an extraordi- nary request, for did not the Burmese law prohibit the departure of a native woman from the country? Yet, marvelous to relate, the viceroy turned instantly to his writer and bade him make out an official order, giving the desired permit and eliminating all ex- pense. It may be that something of the indomitable courage shining in the eyes of the frail woman before Iiim appealed to the heart of the arrogant Burmese ruler and moved him to show such amazing condescen- sion. At any rate the husband and wife, as they went away from the government house, felt humbly grateful to God for this encouragement at the outset of the journey.

The second dread was the thought of re- peating that voyage across the Bay of Bengal which in the summer of 1813 had brought such unforgetable distress. Here, again, difficulties vanished, thanks to the gallant thoughtfulness of the ship's captain. Not only did he provide everj^ necessity for his in- valid passenger, but at the end of the voyage refused to accept payment for her passage. [96]

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Kindnesses on every side smoothed the way for the traveler, and none tlie less in Madras, where Ann Judson was well re- membered. It was nearly two years since she first came to Madras, there to be con- fronted with the horrible possibility of a home in Burma, that country of which she said she had heard such " frightful accounts." Though the prospect sent a shiver to her soul she raised no protest, because, as people said of her, her loyal resolve was to go anywhere for Christ. Such steadfastness is not lightly forgotten. When she came again to Madras her old friends received her into their homes and many delighted to do her honor. After a stay of six weeks she prepared to return to Burma, her health having percej)tibly im- proved. Before leaving she sent a fee of seventy rupees to the physician who had at- tended her, which amount he promptly re- tiu'ned with the message that he was happy if he had been serviceable to her.

To Rangoon again, and how eager is the anticipation compared with the drear}^ fore- bodings of the first voyage to Burma! But who is this new, small passenger who goes

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with Mrs. Judson on board the vessel in Madras roads? A little girl stands by her side on the ship's deck and waves good-by to the friends on shore. Is she really going home with Mrs. Judson, and who can she be? The mystery is easily solved if you will go back and meet some of Mrs. Judson's friends in Madras. During her two visits to the city she had experienced the kindness lavished upon missionaries by a young man named Von Someren, son of a major in the Dutch army. Often he would go down to the ships lying in Madras roads and insist upon claim- ing the missionaries who arrived as his guests. He would entertain them in his spacious house, advise them in their business negotia- tions, and speed them on their way up coun- try or across seas. In his home lived three orphan children, small cousins who had been left to his guardianship after the death of their parents. The youngest, Emily Von Someren, became very dear to Mrs. Judson and when she thought of returning to Burma she longed to take the little girl with her. One day she made known her desire to Mr. Von Someren, and willingly he entrusted his [98]

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ward, then seven years old, to the care of the woman he admired so deeply. Thus it came about that a small com^^anion sailed back to Burma with Mrs. Judson.

Meanwhile, over in Rangoon a young man was working unceasingly, that he might in some measure forget the loneliness of his de- serted home. From early morning until late evening he gave himself to language-study, his only respite being a conversation with the natives, which was really study in another form. There was scarcely a single person in the Burmese empire with whom he could talk sympathetically as friend to friend, and with whom he could enter into the deeper fellow- ship of prayer. His loneliness was enormous, and accentuated by contrast the richness of his companionship with the wife who shared so completely his interests and his great ab- sorbing purpose. When her ship should sail into the harbor, the joy of living would come again into his heart.

Thus, when the spring days returned, new signs of life and activity returned also to the mission house in Rangoon. A woman's step, buoyant with the rebound of health, was

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heard about the house and tones of a childish voice reached the open, veranda-Hke room where Mr. Judson and his teacher sat at study. The dry old Burmese language be- came newly vitalized by the accompaniment of these homelike sounds. Mrs. Judson had long ago taken upon herself the entire management of the household, that her husband might be left free for uninterrupted study. Her own lessons thus became interspersed with fre- quent digressions into household affairs, but these very digressions proved in the end her quickest means of acquiring a vocabulary. Often in her contact with the servants she would be obliged to talk Burmese all day. The small Emily picked up Burmese words and phrases day by day, until she too could speak the language and sing the songs. Al- though she lived in the country but six years, yet to the end of her life she could speak and write Burmese. One hymn which she frequently sang in after life always brought the tears to her eyes, though she could never tell why.

So those busy days of spring and summer led on to an autumn of surpassing happiness. [100]

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As a forerunner of the great joy before them, good news came traveling across the seas from America to bring thanksgiving into the little household in Rangoon. At last, after three years of waiting, came the assurance that the Baptist churches of America had accepted Mr. and Mrs. Judson as their first missionaries and assumed responsibility for their support. A burden also was lifted from the English missionaries at Serampore, who all this time had been supplying funds for the two Americans, according to their gen- erous promise, but out of meager resources. Not in vain had Luther Rice sailed back to his native land to tell the story of what his eyes had seen in the needy countries of the Orient. In May, 1814, a second history- making assembly had been held in the United States similar to the eventful gathering in Bradford in June, 1810. From Massachu- setts to Georgia the Baptist ministers had rallied their forces in conference at Philadel- phia and had there organized the second for- eign missionary society of America, known originally as the Triennial Convention, later as the American Baptist Foreign Missionary

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Society. The new mission board not only guaranteed support for Mr. and Mrs. Jud- son, but held out the hope that some glad day other missionaries would be sent to labor beside them. Perhaps in some wonderful future the Baptist denomination of America might accept from the haj^ids of its pioneer missionaries the whole country of Burma to develop for the great King, just as formerly the governments of Europe received from the claims of their pioneer discoverers whole terri- tories in North America to develop for the sovereigns at whose will they had gone across the Atlantic.

There in the frontier home in Rangoon two lonely settlers were comforted by the knowledge that they were not forgotten by Christians in America. This glad sense of relief prepared the way for the blessing which came into their home on the 11th day of September, when a little son was born, the only child of foreign parents in the city of Rangoon. Although no doctor or nurse could be secured for the young mother, her hus- band ministering to all her needs, yet two weeks' time found her writing home, " Since [102]

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the birth of our little son my health has been much better than for two years before. I feel now almost in a new state of existence. Our hands are full, and though our prospects in regard to the immediate conversion of the Burmans are dark, yet our trust in God is strong." In that same letter, after wishing that her mother might see her sprightly little boy, she went on to say, " We hope his life may be preserved and his heart sanctified, that he may become a missionary among the Burmans."

Even his name embodied his parents' hopes for his manhood, for he was named in mem- ory of a dauntless pioneer missionary in the New England colonies, Roger Williams. Into every day of that autumn and winter the baby Roger, by his sunny presence, brought something of the spell and brightness of Christmas. He was the plaything, pet, and cherished companion of his busy parents, and, baby that he was, he seemed to feel in his little heart a return of the affection lav- ished upon him. Often he would lie for hours on a mat by Mr. Judson's study table, con- tent if only he could see his father's face. If

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his mother or father passed his cradle without taking him up his bhie eyes would follow them wistfully to the door, and fill with tears, so that, constrained by the sadness of that little face, they would have to turn back to the cradle. When study hours were over they hastened to find Roger to take him into the garden for exercise and for their own joy- ous recreation. There was no such specter as loneliness existent when the baby was their companion.

Thus the winter days sped happily by, but when spring came again anxiety crept grad- ually into the mother's heart. Every night a touch of fever flushed the little body, but since the daytime found him apparently healthy and active, they hoped the fever would disappear with that bugbear of baby- hood, teething. One morning, after his mother had taken him from his cradle, he coughed violently for half an hour. A high fever followed and continued through the day, though giving place on the morrow to re- freshing sleep. The third day the cough and fever returned and a Portuguese priest, the only person of medical pretensions in the [104]

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place, was summoned. He prescribed some simple remedies, but they brought no relief to the strange distress in the baby's throat, which caused such hard breathing it could be heard some distance away. During the fourth night the mother sat beside her sick child until two o'clock, when she was so fatigued that the father relieved her watch. He gave the little fellow a drink of milk which he took with eagerness and then fell asleep in his cradle. For half an hour he slept quietly, when, without a struggle, his breathing ceased and the baby Roger was gone.

In the afternoon of that same day a pro- cession of fortj" or fifty Burmese and Portu- guese followed the heart-broken parents to a little grave in an enclosure of mango trees in the garden. All who knew the " little white child," as the vice-reine called him, strove to express their sympathy. A few days later her highness came with all the pomp of her high position to proffer con- dolences. If the degree of her sympathy was proportioned to the size of her retinue, it was large indeed, for two hundred officers and attendants followed in her train. When the

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sad-faced mother came to greet her guest, the vice-reine smote her breast, saying, " Why did you not send me word that I might have come to the funeral?" Mrs. Judson replied that she did not think of anything at the time, so great was her distress. Whereupon the Burmese noblewoman tried sincerely to com- fort a sister woman in grief, bidding her not to weep, turning also to Mr. Judson and cautioning him lest the sorrow destroy his health, which all too evidentl}^ was on the decline. Not forgetting her duties as hostess, Mrs. Judson served her guest with tea, sweet- meats, and cake, which seemed to give her pleasure. All the while she was longing for the chance to serve the deep life needs of the Burmese vice-reine who, in all her visits to the government house, had manifested such a friendly spirit, such a cordial welcome to- ward the wife of the American teacher. If only she could return her kindness by leading her to accept the greatest of all gifts, even God's Christmas Gift to his human children! One lovely spring day, a short time after the vice-reine's call at the mission house, a gracious invitation proceeded from her high- [106]

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ness to the American family in Rangoon. Would they become her guests on a trip into the country to benefit their health and to " cool their minds," as she expressed it? They readily consented and presently a tall ele- phant with a howdah upon his back, appeared at the gate of tlie mission house for their conveyance. A long, imposing procession formed and wended its way toward the woods. Thirty men, with spears and guns in their hands and red caps on their heads, led the march. Directly behind them walked a mon- strous elephant caparisoned with a gilt how- dah, in which sat the tall, graceful figure of the vice-reine, clad in red and white silk. In the place of honor behind her ladyship rode the American guests followed by three or four elephants carrying the vice-reine's son and government officers. At the rear came a lordly retinue, two or three hundred strong, the men and women retainers of the govern- ment house.

Through the woods the elephants trudged with soft, " squdgy " tread, breaking do^vn, at the command of their drivers, the small trees which obstructed progress. In the midst

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of a beautiful garden, luxuriant with wild, tropical growth, the procession halted, and under a wide-reaching banyan tree mats were spread for hostess and guests. Again the vice-reine sought by every means to divert and entertain her guests. She gathered fruit and pared it, plucked flowers and knotted them together, and presented these friendly tokens with her own hands as a mark of ex- treme favor. At dinner her cloth was laid beside that of her guests while she freely dispensed the bounty prepared.

In the evening the procession returned to the city, and a tall elephant stopped before the mission house for its riders to dismount. Since the death of little Roger, homecom- ing had lost its keen zest, its poignant ex- pectancy. Yet out in the fragrant garden was a sheltered spot which bound their hearts more strongly than ever to the land of their adoption. There, underneath the mango trees, the mother often sat and wept by the grave of her first-born child. But even as the tears fell she wrote to a friend at home: "God is the same when he afflicts as when he is merciful; just as worthy of [108]

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our entire trust and confidence now as when he entrusted us with the precious little gift."

]Meanwliile, the little Dutch girl, Emily, crept all the more closely into the hearts of her adopted parents in their lonely life in Rangoon.

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X

ANN'S DILEMMA

CHRISTMAS day in a country where there is no Christmas! What a mockery of the jovial old saint who drives his reindeers down the chimneys of chil- dren's fancies! Has he access only to the hearts and homes of children of the West? Oh, Christmas, Christmas, with your radiant spell cast upon the winter days, where is the sign of your presence in this Burmese city, where the " temple bells are callin'," calling to the worship of an " idol made of mud " ? In the great, golden pagoda, is there no place for the worship of a little Child born in a manger in Bethlehem?

In the mission house in Rangoon, Christ- mas, in the year 1817, was celebrated by the disturbing events of departure. Again the little family group was to be broken by the absence of one of its members on an uncer- tain, compulsory journey. Before sunset, JMr. Judson would liave sailed away from Rangoon, down the Irawadi river toward the [110]

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sea, and then north along the coast to Chitta- gong, a port of Arracan, belonging to the dominions of the East India Company. It must be a momentous errand which would draw Adoniram Judson away from Rangoon at this critical stage in the development of the mission.

No less a motive than the welfare of the mission itself had impelled this curious jour- ney into an unknown region. After four years of preparatory work, the time had come at last for a public proclamation of the gospel which hitherto the missionaries had expressed only by their daily lives, by private conversa- tion, and recently by the circulation of two tracts and the book of Matthew printed in Burmese. The knotty language had become so familiar to Mr. Judson that he was now ready to venture before a critical native audi- ence. If, however, one Burmese Christian could stand by his side and declare in his native tongue to his own countrymen the beauty of the Christian religion, the appeal would be a hundred times more powerful. As yet there was no avowed disciple of the Lord Christ among the natives in Rangoon, al-

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though a numher had shown an awakening interest. In the port of Chittagong were said to be several converts, the remnant of an abandoned English mission in that region. It was likely that Mr. Judson could persuade one of these native Christians, who spoke Bur- mese, to return with him to Rangoon and assist him in his task of public preaching. Thus, when it was announced that a ship would sail on December 25 from Rangoon to Chitta- gong, to return in a few weeks, a unique opportunity seemed to have presented itself. Furthermore, a second purpose would be accomplished by this sea voyage of about ten days in each direction. Renewed vigor would be imparted to Mr. Judson's worn-out body and mind. For nearly two years he had suf- fered acute pain in his eyes and head, caused by close study of the puzzling Burmese char- acters. For a period of four months he had not been able to read a page in a Burmese book, yet, during those very months, out of the knowledge already stored in his brain, he had compiled a grammar of the Burmese lan- guage! Twenty j^-ears later this grammar was published and pronounced by linguists [112]

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to be a masterpiece in its brevity and com- pleteness. Once before during his sickness a sea voyage had been planned, but sudden, surprising news from Calcutta prevented de- parture. A new missionary and his wife had just arrived from America and would pro- ceed to Rangoon by the next boat. Mrs. Judson would of course remain at home to welcome the newcomers, and an unexpected improvement in health detained Mr. Judson also.

In October, 1816, Mr. and Mrs. Judson had received into their home the first Ameri- cans who had ever crossed their threshold. Such eager inquiries about the homeland as filled those first wonderful days when isola- tion was exchanged for friendly companion- ship! Mr. Hough, the new missionary, brought a timely present from the mission- aries at Serampore, — a printing-press, the first to be seen in the Burmese empire. So it came about, with Mr. Hough's knowledge of printing and Mr. Judson's knowledge of Burmese, that Christian publications were issued by the hundreds and thousands in the Burmese language. Thus it also came about

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that JNIrs. Jiidson and the small Emily were left in the midst of friends when Mr. Jiidson sailed away to Chittagong, expecting to re- turn in the space of three months at the longest.

The New Year dawned, bringing with it tasks new and old. On every Sunday some twenty or thirty Burmese women gathered regularly at the mission house to listen to Mrs. Judson as she told them new, wonder- ful stories of a God who truly loved his human children. Sometimes their tongues found ready questions, or else expressed an intention to worship the true God and go no more to the idol temple. But their under- standing and conviction were yet to be tested.

From the government house came imfail- ing signs of good-will toward the American residents. Now and then an elephant ap- peared before the gate to convey them on excursions with the viceroy's family. Her highness, the vice-reine, showed unmistakable affection for Mrs. Judson, with whom she had several times permitted friendly conver- sation upon the subject of religion. From her hand also she had accepted the Gospel [114]

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of JNIatthew, and the tract and catechism recently printed, even commanding that one of her daughters be taught to memorize the catechism that Mrs. Judson had written. But no further indication did she give of belief HI the new religion, though Mrs. Judson watched eagerly for every token of deepen- ing interest.

The last of January the coming of a vis- itor brought surprise and joy to the mission household. About a year before, when Mr. Judson was sitting with his teacher in his veranda-like room, a man of very respectable appearance, attended by a servant, had come up the stejis and sat down before him. After a few preliminaries the stranger asked abruptly, '' How long time will it take me to learn the religion of Jesus? " Mr. Judson replied and then proceeded to ask him how he had heard about Jesus. The man an- swered that he had seen two little books. Mr. Judson then handed him the tract and cate- chism, both of which he recognized instantly and read sentences here and there, remarking to his servant, " This is the true God, this is the right way." " More of this sort of writ-

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ing," was his repeated request, to which Mr. Judson responded that he was even then translating a larger book which would be ready in two or three months. "But," inter- posed the man, " have you not a little of that book done which you will graciously give me now?" Mr. Judson folded a few pages of his unfinished manuscript and gave him the first five chaj)ters of the book of Matthew. Immediately, his desire gratified, the man rose and went away.

For a 3^ear he had not returned, though Mr. Judson heard through a friend that he was reading his books " all the day " and showing them to every one who called upon him. He had been appointed governor of a group of villages in another region and came but seldom to Rangoon. Evidently upon his first opportunity he had resorted to the mis- sion house. In course of their conversation Mrs. Judson asked him if he had become a disciple of Jesus Christ. " I have not yet," he replied, " but I am thniking and reading in order to become one. I cannot yet destroy my old mind. . . . Tell the great teacher when he returns that I wish to see him, [116]

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though I am not a disciple of Christ." Hav- ing requested and obtained the remaining portion of the Gospel of Matthew and a supply of catechisms and tracts, he and his attendants went away.

Thus it was that encouraging signs gave zest to the activities of the mission, and Mrs. Judson's hope quickened in expectation of her husband's return. Any day, now, his ship was due in port, for the time limit of three months had nearly ex^^ired. Mrs. Judson scanned the horizon for the first hazy lines of a ship's mast. One day in March a vessel did indeed come creeping into the harbor, after twelve days' passage from Chittagong, but alas, it was not the boat in which Mr. Judson had sailed, and it brought most alarming news! Neither Mr. Judson nor the ship on which he had left Rangoon had been seen or heard of at Chittagong! This stray report brought by a native craft would not have been fullj^ credited had it not been confirmed by messages which Mrs. Judson received at the same time from friends in Bengal. Certain it was that her husband's ship had not reached its destination. Could

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it be that the course had been changed and the ship was yet safe in some unknown waters or port? This was a possibility, but on the other hand was the grim specter which fre- quently loomed larger than a j)ossibility, that the ship on which Mr. Judson had sailed and all on board were lost. Oh, to know the truth, whatever the truth might be!

Into the midst of this agonizing suspense came annoyances from an unexpected quar- ter. An ugly-sounding order was received one afternoon bidding Mr. Hough appear at once at the court-house to " give an accoimt of himself." This gruff message was so to- tally unlike any communication hitherto sent by the government that bewilderment and alarm spread quickly through the mission household. Mr. Hough hastened to obey the command, followed at a distance by a group of frightened teachers, servants, and other adherents of the mission. As it was late when he reached the court-house he was merely commanded to give securit}^ for his presence early the next morning, when, as they remarked with fiendish emphasis, " if he did not tell all the truth relative to his [118]

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situation in the country, they would write with his heart's blood."

In such a predicament Mrs. Judson would ordinarily have appealed to the vice-reine, but only a short time before, the friendly viceroy and his family had been recalled from Rangoon to Ava. His successor was but slightly acquainted with the Judsons, and moreover his family had been left behind in the royal city. It was contrary to Burmese etiquette for a woman to appear at court in the absence of the vice-reine, consequently Mrs. Judson's tactful intervention was by custom prohibited. Mr. Hough could not speak Burmese with sufficient ease to permit him to appeal in person to the viceroy, so there was no recourse but for him to return on the morrow to the court session and to the uncertain fate there in store.

For two days he was held at the court- house and forced to answer, through an in- terpreter, the most absurd questions, such as, what were the names of his parents, and how many suits of clothes did he possess, the an- swers to which were recorded with utmost formality. He was not even allowed recess

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long enough to procure food, but was inces- santly subjected to examination. On Sun- day morning summons was again received to present himself at court that the inquiry might continue. Exasj^erated beyond endur- ance, Mrs. Judson determined to discover whether or not the viceroy was responsible for these maneuvers, or whether the subordi- nate officers were playing a shrewd game for bribes. Accordingly, her teacher wrote a petition addressed to the viceroy, stating their grievances, including the order to appear at court on their sacred day, and requesting that " it might be the pleasure of his highness that these molestations cease."

With line disregard of Burmese custom Mrs. Judson prepared to go herself to the government house to intercede with the vice- roy. Accompanied by Mr. Hough she en- tered the outer court and fortunately caught the eye of the viceroy as he sat in state sur- rounded by the officers of liis court. He recognized her at once and with amazing condescension bade her come in and make known her request. Mrs. Judson handed the petition to one of the secretaries, who was [120]

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promptly ordered to read it. At its con- elusion the viceroy inquired in a stern voice of the very officer who had heen most aggres- sive in tormenting Mr. Hough, " Why the examination of this foreign teacher had been thus prolonged?" At the same time he gave a written order that Mr. Hough should not be disturbed upon his sacred day and that further annoyance should cease. Thus the petty officers were foiled of their purpose by an act that they did not dream a woman would dare even to attempt.

" Sweet are the uses of adversity " to a brave spirit like Mrs. Judson, but '' ugly and venomous " was the form of its next ap- proach. For the first time in the history of Rangoon a furious epidemic of cholera in- vaded the city, accelerated in its progress by the hottest and driest weather of the year. Only the coming of the rainy season would be likely to check the deadly march of dis- ease. From morning until night the death drum beat its gruesome lament, reminding Mrs. Judson and her companions of their imminent danger, but also of the unfailing watchfulness of their God. In very fact,

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throughout the long plague, not a person within the mission enclosure was touched by- its ravages, though neighbors perished on every side.

Added to the wail for the dead was the mad din set up each night to expel the evil spirits who, the natives believed, stalked per- petually through the streets wantonly de- stroying life. A cannon fired at the govern- ment house gave the signal whereat every Burman began to beat upon his house with a club or anything that would make a noise. The uproar was hideous, and only a very deaf or stubborn spirit would have refused to depart, yet the disease remained as viru- lent as ever. To one anxious woman the wail by day and by night was naught com- pared with the low, mournful cry of her heart for the return of her husband. Where in this whole Eastern world could he be, and when would he come again home?

When could he come? was the next ques- tion to torture Mrs. Judson's mind. Already rumors of war were adding to the confusion of disease. England was said to be at enmity with Burma and on the verge of bombarding

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the country. Was this the reason that no ships from English ports had entered the harbor in recent months? Did this account for the stealthy departure, one by one, of the boats anchored at Rangoon until but a single lonely craft was left? That too would be off to Bengal at the first opportunity, leaving the missionaries stranded in Rangoon with every kind of unnamed terror in prospect.

Mr. Hough believed it to be their duty to escape while^ there was yet opportunity. JNIrs. Judson, on the other hand, was strongly averse to leaving the one spot in all the world where her husband knew she was to be found. To remain in Rangoon even in loneliness, war, and pestilence was her dominant desire and her felt dutj^ Yet how could INIr. Judson retvu'n to her in Burma if an embargo should be laid upon English ships? But where, oh, where could she find him in Bengal or the vast country of India? Should she go or should she stay? If she decided to go, she was in dread of missing her husband for months if not forever. If she decided to staj^ he might be cut off from reaching her, and moreover her life would be seriously en-

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d angered. It was a dreadful dilemma, the biggest and most puzzling she had ever en- countered in all her career.

At last, discouragement and perplexity bat- tered down her first resolve, and with a heavy heart she made preparations to leave Ran- goon. With the hope begotten of a great love she planned definitely vipon meeting her husband in Bengal, and went so far as to engage his Burmese teacher to go with her that language study might be resumed. The teacher's courage failed, however, and he broke his engagement, fearing the embarrassment of his position should war l)e declared be- tween Burma and Great Britain.

On the 5th of July, the mission house was left behind, while Mrs. Judson and Emily, with Mr. and Mrs. Hough, went on board the last remaining ship in the harbor. Even yet Mrs. Judson was not convinced of the wisdom of her decision. The old reluctance grew and grew even as the ship receded slowly and surely down the river toward the sea. Nothing could reconcile her to this enforced departure, but it was too late now to retrace her course. She seemed to be the [124]

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victim of adverse circumstances, but usually her will was stronger than circumstances. Why not now? What was the meaning of this persistent set of her heart to return to Rangoon, just as in the journey ings of the Master his face was steadfastly set to go to Jerusalem?

The vessel was even now at the point where the river meets the sea, when the course was suddenly changed and directed toward the nearest harbor. Unseaworthy conditions had been discovered and the shij) must be re- loaded. Here was Mrs. Judson's one and only chance for escape, and with determined voice she announced her intention to return to Rangoon. The captain agreed to send her back in a boat and to forward her baggage the next day. It was evening when Mrs. Judson and her little companion, Emily, en- tered the city and sought out the house of the only Englishman left in Rangoon, where they spent the night. The next morning they went out to the mission house to the surprise and joy of all the Burmans left on the prem- ises. Alone with her little girl, among people of an alien race, in a disturbed, isolated city,

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Mrs. Jiidson wrote in her diary of July 14: " I know I am surrounded by dangers on every hand, and expect to feel much anxiety and distress, but at present I am tranquil, intend to make an effort to pursue my studies as formerly and leave the event with God."

Within two days of the return to Ran- goon, a long lost vessel sailed into the har- bor, even the very ship on which Mr. Jud- son had departed six months before! Mrs. Judson hastened to the caj^tain to hear the news he brought of her husband. It was only an unfinished tale he had to tell. The ship had not been able to make its intended port, Chittagong, and for three months had been tossed about in the Bay of Bengal without a haven. At last they had crei)t into Masuli- patam, a port north of JMadras on the coast of India, where Mr. Judson had left the shi}) to go to Madras, seeking sj)eedy pas- sage thence to Rangoon. Beyond this point the captain could give no account of his whereabouts, but to know that he had escajjed shipwreck and was trying his best to return home brought a great lift of expectancy to Mrs. Judson's spirits and confirmed the wis- [126]

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dom of }icr decision to go back to Rangoon. This ship was the first to arrive from India in four months, but the fact of its coming indicated that war was not so imminent as was supposed.

A few days later Mrs. Judson was sur- prised by the return of Mr. and Mrs. Hough to the mission house. The belated ship upon which they had taken passage for Bengal was to be detained in port for some weeks, and their departure was deferred accordingly. Mrs. Judson hoped and prayed for the com- ing of her husband before they should go away again, that she might not be under the necessity, as she wrote, " of living in tliis dreadful country, and out here in the woods without a friend or protector." Her daily program of study was resumed and diligently followed. "This," she wrote, "I find the best method to avoid dejection; besides, mj- conscience will not permit me to sit idly down and yield to those desponding feelings in which a Christian should not indulge."

Thus one day after another dragged by until a week spent itself in enforced stud}" and anxious vigil. Each morning brought

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quickened hope and each night a fresh dis- appointment. But on one eventful day early in August, hope brightened into fulfilment and disappointment lost itself in a transport of joy. An English vessel had arrived at the mouth of the river, and — news almost too good to be true — Mr. Judson was on board! To his wife, the reaction from five long months of daily suspense was almost too much to endure.

In the living-room of the mission house the husband and wife sat and recounted their experiences of the seven months of separa- tion. Into her story of encouragement fol- lowed by disaster he could easily read the high courage and resourcefulness which had actually saved the mission from ruin. Into his narrative of fever, thirst, starvation, and disappointed hopes she read the high trust in God which had saved her husband from despair, if not from death. And together they faced the future, praying the old prayer of the first years in Rangoon : " God grant that we may live and die among the Bur- mans, though we never should do anything else than smooth the way for others." [128]

XI

" THE EAST A-CALLIN' "

IN the year 1822 an English sailing ves- sel was making its slow passage between Calcutta and Liverpool by the old cir- cuitous route around the Cape of Good Hope. On board were a number of European pas- sengers returning home after a more or less prolonged stay in the East. One of the larger cabins was occupied by three children and a sweet-faced lady evidentl}^ not their mother. The lady's brown eyes had a tired, patient look as if she had endured uncommon griefs, yet at the same time they shone with an un- wonted fire as if proclaiming an experience fraught with high adventure. Her complex- ion bore that peculiar tan which seemed to indicate long residence in the tropics.

Her manner and aj^pearance awakened something more than the curious interest of her fellow travelers, somethmg strangely akin to reverence. During those days when she was prostrated in her berth, not by seasick- ness but by an old complaint, two young

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women of liigli social rank came frequently to inquire for her and to read aloud such l)ortions of literature as she should select. Often her choice was from the Bible to which she added her own clear-voiced entreaty for a life of self-denial and high service. Her two visitors were seriously impressed with the sincerity and j)urposefulness of this stranger who they discovered had been one of the pioneer missionaries to go from America to the Orient, and who, after ten years' absence, was on her way home for her first visit.

Yes, the traveler was no other than Aim Hasseltine Judson, who had bidden her hus- band good-by in Rangoon, Burma, and was now voyaging westward toward her girlhood home in iVmerica. Was there, do you think, no tinge of regret in her joyous anticipations of father, mother, sisters, and all the dear, familiar scenes of Nev/ England? Leagues and leagues behind in old Rangoon lay the home of her womanhood, the first and only home of her married life. It had cost labor and sorrow abundant to establish that home, but the priceless treasure of one's heart is always won out of travail of spirit. Thus [130]

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her life had become fibered deeply into the environment of heathen Burma, and to trans- plant it was like uprooting a firmly embedded tree. " Rangoon, from having been the thea- ter in which so much of tlie faitlifulness, power, and mercy of God had been exliibited, from having been considered, for ten years past, as my home for life, and from a thou- sand interesting associations of ideas, had become the dearest spot on earth. Hence you will imagine that no ordinary consideration could have induced my departure." These words Mrs. Judson wrote to a friend as she was leaving Burma.

It was indeed " no ordinary consideration," but a life and death concern which had com- X)elled the long separation from her husband and her beloved work. She had become worn out by a deep-seated disease w4iich foiled every attempt at its cure. Before his very eyes her husband had seen her wasting away, until the truth was forced upon him that un- less his wife were sent at once to a more hardy, northern climate, she could live but a few months. It was a Spartan decision, but as Mrs. Judson said, " duty to God, to our-

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selves, to the board of missions, and to the perishing Burmans compelled us to adopt this course of procedure, though agonizing to all the natural feelings of our hearts."

Upon arrival in Calcutta, in September, 1821, Mrs. Judson found the captains of America-bound vessels unwilling to receive passengers, as cargoes had been accepted to the extent of their ships' capacity. Passage to England was therefore the alternative and a kindly-disposed captain agreed to take her for a moderate sum provided she would share a stateroom with three children who were being sent to England. When the father heard of the proposition he offered to pay the entire cost of the cabin that his children might have the benefit of Mrs. Judson's com- panionship.

Mr. Kipling has declared that " If you've 'card the East a-callin', you won't never 'eed naught else." And so it was with IMrs. Jud- son. The further she sailed toward the West the more tenaciously her thoughts clung to the Eastern city she had left behind. Be- fore her eyes stretched the great expanse of ocean, but before her inner vision appeared [132]

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a curiously wrought building, made partly of bamboo and thatch, and located on one of the pagoda roads in Rangoon. Memory and imagination haunted this place, for it was the scene of her most precious experiences of the last two years and was now the probable setting of her husband's daily labor. It was their wayside chapel, or " zayat," as the Bur- mese called it, built by Mr. Judson on his return from the unfortunate Chittagong trip. In the zayat Moung Nau had openly con- fessed his allegiance to Jesus Christ, es- teeming it a rare privilege to be the first Christian convert among the Burmese people, even though he had naught to expect in this world but persecution and death. There, on the Sunday after JVIoung Nau's baptism, the Lord's Supper was for the first time adminis- tered by Mr. Judson in two languages, Eng- lish and Burmese, an event which had been the desire of his heart for six long years. In the open room at the front the learned teacher INIoung Shwa-gnong had appeared day after day questioning and reasoning, his philosophic mind disturbed but not convinced until months later when he finally thrust aside

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fear of disgrace and persecution and besought Mr. Judson for baptism. In the inner room the Wednesday evening class was accustomed to meet with JMrs. Judson, and cherished were the memories of those evening hours. Esi)e- cially did her thoughts linger with her friend Mah Men-la, that capable, influential Bur- mese woman, the first of her sex to acknowl- edge herself a Christian; who later, of her own accord opened a village school that the boys and girls might not have to resort to the Buddhist priests for instruction. There was also her faithful sister Mah Myat-lah and there were Moung Thah-lah, Moung Byaa, and the rest of that stalwart little band of disciples, members of the church, twelve in number when Mrs. Judson left Burma. No wonder that she and her husband felt as if they had entered a little way into the experi- ence of their Lord, whose heart was drawn out in 3^earning love toward his twelve dis- ciples !

Never would Mrs. Judson forget the stead- fastness of those first converts, three in num-^ ber, who rallied around her liusband in bis hour of ])itter discouragement, when he was [134]

A Burmese Christian Home

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on the verge of abandoning the mission and removing to Chittagong. " Stay," they said, " until a little chureh of ten is collected, and then if you must go we will not say nay. In that case we shall not be concerned. This religion will spread of itself. The emperor cannot stoj) it."

It was the failure of the Ava trip which had wrought that depression of Mr. Judson's usually buoyant spirits. Oh, the chagrin and ignominy of that journey! JNIrs. Judson's heart sank as she recalled the experiences which she had heard her husband narrate so often. Mr. Judson, accompanied by his new missionary associate, Mr. Colman, had traveled in a native rowboat three hundred and fifty miles from Rangoon to the royal city Ava, that they might jjresent to the emperor a petition for religious freedom in Burma. Carefully had they prepared to conciliate his majesty with gifts, choosing as the most aj^x^ropriate offering, the Bible printed in six volumes, each volume bound in gold leaf and enclosed in a rich, embroidered coverhig.

And then Mrs. Judson pictured the mis-

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sionaries' reception at the court of Ava, the splendor of the royal palace, vast and golden, and the proud, disdainful young monarch, with his rich. Oriental garb and gold-sheathed sword, and his commanding eye; before him the American teachers, her husband and Mr. Colman, kneeling and humbly proffering their petition for freedom to j)reach Christ's gospel to the Burmese people! It was a dramatic moment, a heathen emperor for the first time since the days of Rome confronted face to face by the quiet, determined followers of Jesus Christ! At first his majesty listened somewhat attentively and then reread the petition, handing it back without a word. Breathlessly the two missionaries waited as he took the tract, beautifully printed for his benefit, from the hand of his minister of state, and read the first two sentences which assert there is but one eternal God, when, Mdth supreme indifference, he flung it to the ground, thus deciding their fate. Two cut- ting sentences pronounced by the minister finally blasted their hopes: " In regard to the objects of your petition, his majesty gives no order. In regard to your sacred books, [136]

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his majesty has no use for them, take them away." Then followed the ignominious re- treat from the palace grounds and down the river to Rangoon to the solace of home and a few loyal friends.

One member of that little family group had traveled with Mrs. Judson from Burma to India, Emily Von Someren, who was re- turning to her childhood home in Madras to spend the time of her foster mother's absence. She could picture the child of ten years sit- ting sedatelj^ before a class of aged Bur- mese men and women teaching them their letters. And last summer Emily had been the mainstay of the household, when INIr. and Mrs. Judson w^ere both sick ^^dth fever at the same time with no attendant but the girl of thirteen. God had been good to lend them the little Dutch girl for so long a time.

Added to memories of the past, came reali- ties of the present charged with pleasure un- expected. Soon after Mrs. Judson landed in England, Mr. Joseph Butterworth, an emi- nent Christian gentleman and member of Parliament, claimed her as the guest of his home. In his house she met many distin-

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giiished people, among them Wilberforce, Bablngton, and Somers, the king's chaplain. Afterwards Mr. Butter worth, in alluding to her visit, said that it reminded him of the apostolic injunction: "Be not forgetful to entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares."

Friends in Scotland heard of Mrs. Judson's arrival in England and lu'gently invited her to visit them, offering to defray her expenses thither. Thus she spent several weeks in that wonderful little country, with its tln-illing history and stanch Christian people. While there she received a Jetter from the Baptist mission board in America asking her to come at once to tlie United States by the New York packet. She hastened to Liver- pool to take passage upon tliis ship, but was dissuaded by some kind ladies in that city who insisted upon paying her expenses upon a larger, more comfortable vessel.

Consequentl}^ on August 10, on board the Amity, Mrs. Judson recorded in her diary: " Should I be preserved through the voyage, the next land I tread will be my own native soil, ever loved America, the land of my [138]

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birth. I cannot realize that I shall ever again find myself in my own dear home at Bradford amid the scenes of my early youth, where every spot is associated with some ten- der recollection. But the constant idea that my husband is not a participator of my joys will mar them all."

The beautiful coloring of October lay upon the New England hills when Ann Hasseltine Judson returned along the old Boston Road to her father's house in Bradford. The voy- age from Burma had hardly seemed so in- tolerably slow as the last ten miles over which the stage-coach crept its way. One by one familiar landmarks came into view, well- remembered roads leading to neighboring towns, houses where lived old acquaintances, a distant village on a hill, and flowing swiftly through the valley, the dear old river Merri- mac. Excitement quickened every moment and was at its topmost pitch when the cluster of white houses forming the village of Brad- ford emerged in sight. Now they are ap- proaching Bradford Academy, the " pet and pride of the community," yet still the same humble little building in which Nancy Has-

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seltine and Harriet Atwood went to school some eighteen years ago. And now at last they are drawing near the Hasseltine home- stead and the welcome of father, mother, Rebecca, Mary, and Abigail.

What a home-coming it was! Ten years of absence and sometimes no letter from the wanderer for a year or more at a time! On her part, two solid years and a half of hungry expectancy before the first home letter ar- rived! What wonder that the Hasseltine family felt almost as if they had received their youngest daughter from the dead! What wonder, too, that the house was thronged with visitors from morning until night, neighbors, friends, and kindred from near and far coming to welcome the girl they used to know, who, as a woman, had traveled farther than any of the stay-at-home New England folk had ever dreamed! And what thrilling, unimaginable experiences she had to narrate, and how the foreign missionary venture branded as " wild and romantic " ten years ago, seemed to be justified in the light of the wonderful work begun in Burma!

It was a glad, proud moment for Miss [140]

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Abigail Hasseltine, the preceptress of Brad- ford Academy, when her younger sister, al- ways her favorite, stood before the academy students and told them of her loved work in the East, its hardships and hindrances and its glorious prospects. Like Miss Abigail, the boys and girls were captivated by the speaker's grace and beauty and thrilled by her whole-hearted enthusiasm.

But, alas, Mrs. Judson had not counted the cost of this home-coming, had not once imagined its joy would exact so heavy a price. From the hour of arrival in her native land excitement robbed her nerves of their equilibrium. For the first four nights she was not able to close her eyes in sleep. Then came the immense shock of joy at the reunion with her family and friends, and for six weeks she could not obtain one quiet night of sleep. The con- stant round of visitors, together with the cold of an approaching New England winter undermined her health to such a degree that she was in a most alarming condition. The very purpose of her trip to America was being defeated, and however drastic the

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measure, she must devise some way to secure complete rest and quiet in a milder climate than Massachusetts.

One expedient suggested itself as feas- ible. Mr. Judson's only brother, Elnathan, was a surgeon of considerable skill working under government appointment in Balti- more. He had sensed the urgency of his sister's situation and had frequently written begging her to come south to take the treat- ment for her disease which could not be at- tempted with safety in the north. Her " Indian constitution " as she called it, was ill adapted to the rigors of a New England climate after long habituation to the tropics.

Thus, even in America, Mrs. Judson had to make heroic decisions, but heroic decisions seemed to have become almost the law of her life. A courageous act it was to tear herself away from her father's house after six weeks' presence and ten years' absence, yet it was her paramount duty to regain her health and to subordinate every other in- terest. So, late in November, she traveled bravely forth from Bradford to Providence, thence by steamboat to New York, where she [142]

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paused for one interesting, memorable night. A large number of people, hearing of her Irief stay in the city, assembled to give her welcome and to pray with one accord for the mission work in Burma. It was a brac- ing experience to find such heartfelt interest in the far-away mission, yet the very exulta- tion of feeling mingled with thoughts of the distant home in Rangoon wrought such a havoc of fatigue that she was scarcely able to proceed on her journey to Baltimore.

For the next four months Mrs. Judson made a brave struggle for health. Through her brother's influence she was attended by the most eminent physicians in Baltimore, who agreed in assuring her that she would recover by springtime, but could not have lived through the winter had she stayed in New England.. Even in the milder climate of Maryland it was no easy task to recuper- ate spent energy and heal the deep-seated disease. Although for a time company was excluded and the coveted opportunity to tell of the need in Burma prohibited, yet even in her sick room JNIrs. Judson worked daily for the mission she loved better than life it-

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self. Many friends in England had be- sought her to write a history of the Ameri- can mission in Burma of which she and her husband had been the founders. This she had essayed to do, beginning on shipboard during the voyage across the Atlantic, and now resuming the labor at the rate of five hours a day despite weakness and pain. The book was written in the form of letters ad- dressed to Joseph Butterworth, Esq., M.P., London, her kind host and patron during her stay in England. Before Mrs. Judson left America her manuscript was printed, and to-day, in a few libraries and private collections is still treasured the little old- fashioned volume in its original garb of 1823. Of all the interesting mail from near and far which came to brighten Mrs. Judson's isolation, do you imagine anything brought such a thrill of satisfaction as those letters which bore the marks of long travel from Rangoon, Burma? One day in February a copy of Mr. Judson's journal reached his wife and with breathless interest she read those closely-written pages. Five more con- verts to Christianity, among them three [144]

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women who had formerly attended Mrs. Judson's Wednesday meeting in the zayati Eighteen members of the church of Christ in Burma, a number pitifully small when you remember the millions of people, and yet hopefully large when you stop to think that from a heathen idol to a heavenly Father is a long way for the human mind to travel in its search for God! *' You will readily imagine my anxiety to get back to Rangoon," wrote Mrs. Judson to her sister soon after the receipt of the Burmese letter.

When the opportunity^ for usefulness was so glowing with promise it was galling to one's ambition to be held captive in a sick room, yet in that period of quiet retirement from the world Mrs. Judson's spirit was being equipped for the great tribulation through which she was destined to pass. It seemed as if by her prayers she had entered into that shining region of peace and light where dwell the " very inhabitants of heaven," and had brought away something of its radiant atmosphere. God had become the solace and delight of her inner life, and from this time on, " neither death, nor life,

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nor angels, . . . nor any other creature " would be able to separate her " from the love of God which is in Jesus Christ our Lord." This was just the armor her soul needed for its coming warfare.

In March and April Mrs. Judson spent several weeks in Washington, reading proof of her book, which was finished and in press. There, as everywhere she went, she left the impress of a lovely personality absolutely devoted to God and to the work he had given her to do in the world. While she was in Washington, the Baptist General Conven- tion, otherwise known as the mission board, held its annual session in the city. From its number a committee was appointed to confer with Mrs. Judson regarding the Burma mission, and at her suggestion several im- portant measures were adopted. Those who came in touch with her on this occasion, as well as many others, realized as they had never done before, the claim of Burma upon the Baptist churches of America, to whose efforts exclusively God had committed this portion of his needy world.

With the warmer weather of spring Mrs. [146]

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Judson was able to return to Bradford, though only for a fleeting visit, beeause she purposed to sail for Burma early in the sum- mer. In vain did her friends entreat her to remahi another year that her health might be completely restored. The voice of the East was " callin' " so audibly in her soul that she could literally " 'eed naught else." Some mysterious foreboding told her she was going away never to return, but this strange, solemn conviction no whit lessened her desire to depart.

On a June day in 1823, a large group of Christian people assembled at the Boston wharf to bid farewell to three missionaries who were sailing for the East, Mrs. Ado- niram Judson and Mr. and ]\Irs. Jonathan Wade, destined, all three, for the American mission in Burma. The summer setting of this scene was quite unlike the bleak, wintry day in February, 1812, when the first mis- sionaries from America to the heathen world sailed out of Salem harbor. As different too as summer is from winter was the expectancy singing in Mrs. Judson's heart, for she was this time on her way — home,

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XII THE GOLDEN CITY OF AVA

WITHIN sound of the pagoda bells in old Rangoon and within sight of the broad river leading to the sea, Adoniram Judson stood looking intently toward the west. His slight, alert figure and his keen brown eyes easily identified him with the young man who had led his classes and his classmates at Brown and Andover. His face had always been that of the scholar, sensitive and thoughtful, but lines of invinci- ble determination and marks of strong suffer- ing now revealed his manhood's experience. Despite all the ravages of a tropical and un- civilized country for the last ten years, he was still youthful in face and form, still as immaculate in appearance, despite the old- fashioned cut of his clothes, as if he had just emerged from the tidy New England par- sonage which was his boyhood home.

In point of fact he had just emerged from

his well-ordered study in the mission house

in Rangoon, the room which had been his

perpetual retreat for the past ten months

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while he strove to banish anxiety and loneli- ness by unremitting application to study. During that period of waiting for his wife's return he had finished his translation of the New Testament and had written in Burmese a summary in twelve sections of the vast con- tents of Old Testament history, two enor- mous tasks, equal to the output of a dozen ordinary brains. The stint of his mind was now accomplished, but the desire of his heart was not yet realized. When would the ship, bringing to him more precious cargo than all the costly merchandise which ever crossed the seas, come sailing into port? He strained his eyes seaward to catch the first glint of light on an approaching sail.

After Mrs. Judson left Burma, more than two years before, her husband had again been enticed up the river to the royal city, Ava. His new missionary colleague, Dr. Price, had been summoned thither by order of the king himself, who had heard of the foreign doctor's skill and desired an exhibi- tion of his abilitj^ In this royal invitation Mr. Judson perceived an opportunity to press his claim a second time on behalf of

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religious liberty for the Burmese followers of Christ. On this occasion his hopes were not blighted as formerly, for the king and his court extended a gracious reception to the American doctor and teacher, and moreover displayed astonishing readiness to learn the meaning of the new religion which the Western strangers had introduced into the old Buddhist empire. After four months' stay in Ava, during which time he associated constantly with the royal family and government officials, Mr. Judson essayed to return home to Rangoon to watch for the coming of his wife. As he took leave of the king, his majesty protested against his going away and bade him come again and dwell permanently in the golden city. A plot of ground had been given Mr. Judson as a site for a house, and his hopes ran high at the prospect of founding a Christian mis- sion in the capital city of the nation. No tinge of foreboding darkened his thought as he retraced his course down the Irawadi to the port city of Rangoon.

It was early in February, 1823, when Mr. Judson returned home from Ava; it was ten months later, on the fifth day of December, [150]

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when an English ship was reported at the mouth of the river and after some hours came sailing triumphantly into the broad harbor of Rangoon. The repressed longing of two years' separation breaks its bounds to-day, for, lo, the traveler has returned from her long, long journey I It is verily Ann Hassel- tine who has come back, not the Mrs. Judson who went away, frail and careworn, but the girl of olden days, with her fresh color, health, and beauty. What a traveler she has been, skirting the edge of four continents, com- passing boundless leagues of ocean, circum- navigating hemispheres, and now safe and sound in the Burmese city from which she set forth two years and four months ago! Yes, she has actually reached the home which lay always " at the end of her dream," but not, alas, to settle down in the mission house as hitherto, but to travel on, on to the chief city of the empire, where dwells the all- powerful, capricious king. Ava, the golden city, what is there in your simple name to suggest unbridled cruelty and despotism for all those who forfeit the favor of your haughty monarch?

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Unwitting of danger, the husband and wife, accompanied by a few Burmese con- verts, set out for the new mission in the royal city. Mr. and Mrs. Hough, who had re- tiu^ned from Bengal during Mrs. Judson's absence, together with the newcomers, Mr. and Mrs. Wade, formed a force of workers sufficient to care for the mission in Rangoon. Mr. and Mrs. Judson, the intrepid pioneers, must press on to claim another heathen city for the one true God.

For six weeks in January and February, 1824, their little boat pushed its way against the wind up stream toward Ava. Often in the tortuous course of the river they walked through the wayside villages and overtook their snail-like conveyance. A foreign woman had never been seen in these inland towns, and great was the excitement when Mrs. Judson appeared. Friends and rela- tives were notified of her approach that none might miss the extraordinary sight.

Within one hundred miles of Ava the travelers were confronted by a spectacle in- tended to strike wonder and terror into the hearts of beholders. The famous Burmese [152]

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general, Bandoola, with his army, was mak- ing his pompous journey to the coast, con- fidently expecting to fight and conquer the armies of Britain. Ilis golden harge, sur- rounded by a fleet of golden war boats, met the humble little craft containing the mis- sionaries and promptly challenged their right to proceed. When informed that the trav- elers were not English people, but Ameri- cans going to Ava at the express command of the king, they permitted them to go on their way unmolested. From now on, how- ever, the missionaries knew that war was a menacing probability and that at any mo- ment they might be plunged into its grim realities.

A few days before they reached Ava, Dr. Price, who had heard of their approach, came in a small boat to meet them. It was a somewhat sorry tale he had to tell, dampen- ing to their expectations of a welcome in the royal city. The tide of popularity had seemed to turn against the foreign residents of Ava. The old privj^ councilors of the king had been dismissed and their places filled by new officials who neither knew nor

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cared for the American teachers. Thus Mr. Jiidson foresaw that he had little to expect for the mission he and Dr. Price planned to establish.

Upon arrival in the city, prospects were no less doleful. No house opened its door to receive them except Dr. Price's, which was unfinished and so unsavory with dampness that Mrs. Judson, after a few hours' stay, was thrown into a fever. There was no alternative but to abide in the boat until a shelter of some sort could be erected upon the plot of ground given by the king to Mr. Judson on his former visit. Mrs. Judson could hardly credit her senses when, in ex- actly two weeks after their arrival, they moved their belongings into a comfortable house of three rooms and a veranda, actually built and completed in that incredibly short time !

Therein, despite meager encouragement from the royal palace, they began to hold services every evening, which a number of Burmese attended. It was a decided ad- vantage to be able to speak the language with such ease as these two foreigners [154]

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had acquired. Every Sunday Mr. Judson preached to an audience varying in number from twelve to twenty who assembled at Dr. Price's house across the river. IVIrs. Judson opened a school for girls, consisting origi- nally of three small pupils, two of them being sisters whom their father had given to Mrs. Judson to educate. She named them for her own sisters, Mary and Abby Hassel- tine and planned to support one of them with the money which the " Judson Asso- ciation of Bradford Academy " had agreed to contribute. In a spirit of quiet depend- ence upon God the missionaries applied themselves to their tasks, conscious, neverthe- less, that trouble was brewing every day.

Mr. Judson went two or three times to the royal palace, according to his former habit, but the king scarcely deigned to notice him. The queen, who had previously expressed a strong desire to see the teacher's wife in her foreign dress, now made no inquiries nor ex- pressed a wish for her presence. Conse- quently Mrs. Judson did not attempt to visit the palace although she was invited al- most every day to call upon members of the

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royal family living outside the palace en- closure. The only course of procedure seemed to be to carry out their original in- tentions as unobtrusively as possible, seeking at every step to give evidence that they had nothing to do with the war.

Still, suspicion seemed to rest ominously upon the foreigners who dwelt at Ava. Af- ter the king and queen took formal possession of the new palace just completed, an order was issued that, with one exception, no for- eigner should be allowed to enter its pre^ cincts. This mysterious command was some- what disconcerting, but for two or three weeks no alarming event occurred, and preparations were steadily made for the new brick house which was to shelter the Judson family from the blistering heat of the tropics.

On Sunday, the 23rd of May, the little group of Christians gathered as usual for worship at Dr. Price's house, when, at the close of service, a messenger appeared at the door with an exciting announcement. Han- goon had been captured by the British army! War was a vivid reality now, and the for- eigners in Ava must face its uncertain issues. [156]

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Mr. Gouger, a young English merchant re- siding in Ava, was in the company of the missionaries when the news arrived, and for his safety they feared more exceedingly than for their own. As Americans, they fervently hoped they would not be entangled in the affairs of war. Yet one and all repaired to the Judsons' house in the city to consult. ]Mr. Gouger made haste to interview the prince who was the king's most influential brother. His reply was, that his majesty had definitely stated that " the few foreigners residing in Ava had nothing to do with the war and should not be molested." Even with this assurance apprehension was not wholly allayed.

The cause of the war was that ill-fated country, ill-fated at least to the Judsons, known as Chittagong. This region was under British rule, and Burmese subjects often took refuge there from the despotism of their own government. The king of Burma demanded that his subjects should be arrested by British officers and returned to his authority. Furthermore, the Burmans resented the flag of Great Britain in a

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country which they felt belonged logically to their own nation. Consequently they made audacious advances into British territory and every attempt on the part of that gov- ernment for redress was met by indifference, and finally by active preparations for war. So monstrous was the daring of this un- civilized nation that they even proposed to invade Bengal itself. It was rumored that Bandoola's army carried a pair of golden fetters destined to be worn by the Governor- general of India when he should be led cap- tive to the " golden feet " of Burma's mon- arch. The military pride of Great Britain would endure this insolence no longer, and in May, 1824<, an army of six thousand men under the command of Sir Archibald Camp- bell was dispatched to Rangoon. So totally unexpected was this attack that little or no resistance was made and Rangoon fell promptly into the hands of the enemy.

When the news of the fall of Rangoon reached the royal city, almost gleeful prep- arations were made for speedy retaliation. Never a doubt was harbored of the possibility of victory, the king's only fear being that [158]

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the British would be so overwhelmed with terror at the approach of the Burmese troops that they would flee away in their ships be- fore they could be captured as slaves. " Bring me," said the wife of a high official, " four white strangers to manage the affairs of my house, as I understand they are trusty serv- ants." In three or four days an army of ten thousand men was enlisted and sent on its way down the river toward Rangoon. As the war boats passed the Judsons' house on the river bank, the soldiers were dancing, singing, and gesticulating in high glee. " Poor fellows," said those who knew the prowess of the greatest military nation on earth, " you will probably never dance again." As soon as the army had departed from the city, the government officials began to ask why the English soldiers had attacked Rangoon. There must be spies in the coun- try who have invited them, was the insidious suggestion, instantaneously adopted. " And who so likely to be spies as the English- men residing in Ava?" A rumor was circu- lated that Captain Laird, recently arrived, had brought papers from Bengal which stated the

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purpose of the English to take Rangoon. The three Englishmen, Mr. Gouger, Captain Laird, and Mr. Rogers, were summoned for examination, and were kept in confinement though not in prison. Mr. and Mrs. Judson began to tremble for their own safety and were in daily dread of some direful event. Soon the day came when Mr. Judson and Dr. Price were commanded to appear at the court of inquiry. Had they ever sent in- formation to foreigners about the condition of affairs in Burma? They replied that they had always written to their friends in America, but that they had no correspond- ence whatsoever with British officers. After their examination was over they were not put in confinement as were the English- men, but were allowed to return to their homes.

Upon inspecting the accounts of Mr. Gou- ger, the Burmese officials came upon evidence which to their minds fully incriminated the American missionaries. As it was the cus- tom of the Americans to receive their money by orders on Bengal, there were accordingly entries in Mr. Gouger's book recording pay- [160]

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ments of considerable sums to Dr. Price and JMr. Judson. Knowing nothing of such busi- ness methods, the Burmans concluded that the Americans were in the emplo}^ of the English, and were therefore spies. The dis- covery was reported to the king, who, in angry tones, ordered the immediate arrest of the " two teachers."

On the 8th day of June Mr. and Mrs. Judson were quietly preparing for dinner, when suddenly the door was flung open and a Burmese officer rushed in, holding in his hand the dreaded black book, the sign of doom. Behind him pressed a dozen rough men, among them one of hideous aspect, whose spotted face marked him instantly as a " son of the prison," a jailer and execu- tioner. "Where is the teacher?" asked the officer's gruff voice. Mr. Judson immediately came forward. " You are called by the king," said the officer, in the form of speech used when arresting criminals. As soon as the fateful sentence was pronounced, the spotted man seized INIr. Judson, threw him on the floor and proceeded to bind him with the small cord used by the Burmans as an

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instrument of torture. " Stay," cried Mrs. Judson, grasping the man's arm, " I will give you money." " Take her, too," was the officer's brutal rejoinder, " she also is a for- eigner." With one beseeching look Mr. Jud- son entreated them to leave his wife until further orders should be received.

From that moment the scene was chaos personified. The neighbors gathered in fran- tic curiosity. The masons at work on the new brick house dropped their tools and ran. The little Burmese girls, Mary and Abby, screamed in terror. The Bengali servants stood petrified with horror at the insults heaped upon their master. Meanwhile, the spotted-faced executioner, with a kind of fiendish delight, tightened the cords which bound his prisoner. Again Mrs. Judson im- plored him to take the money and loosen the ropes, but he only spurned her offer and dragged her husband away, to what fate she dared not imagine. She gave the money to Moung Ing, one of the Rangoon Christians who had accompanied them to Ava, bidding him follow her husband and try to relieve his suffering. To her distress he came back [162]

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with the report that when a few rods' distant from the house, the hardened wretches threw their prisoner to the ground and drew the cords still tighter, so that he could scarcely breathe. They marched him to the court- house, related Moung Ing, where the gov- ernor and city officials were assembled. There the king's order was read, consigning Mr. Judson to the death prison, that fatal place from which none ever emerged save by special intervention of the king.

From the court-house to the prison en- closure Mr. Judson was dragged, and up the high steps to th^ one dark, filthy room where the hapless prisoners were confined. " Let-ma-yoon " was the name for this cham- ber of horrors, a name so hideously appro- priate that those who knew the Burmese lan- guage shuddered at its mention. " Hand- shrink-not " was its meaning, — shrink not from the most revolting cruelties ever de- vised by mortal man or incarnate fiend.

With the knowledge of her husband's com- mittal to the death prison that June day came to a close, leaving in Mrs. Judson's mind ghastly memories, but apprehensions

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yet more horrible. From that night began the extraordinary series of maneuvers for the rescue of her husband and the other for- eign prisoners, which made Ann Hasseltine Judson known in the East and West as the heroine of Ava.

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XIII THE HEROINE OF AVA

THE sunshine of a June afternoon in the tropics beat down upon the httle house on the river bank in Ava, where, on the fatal day of the arrest, Mrs. Judson was left alone with her Burmese companions. The first shock of terror was still upon her as she went into an inner room to face the horrible situation into which a few short hours had plunged her. An un- protected foreign woman in the midst of an alien people whose every impulse was bent upon revenge! Her dearest companion in the world imprisoned and tortured, possibly doomed to death! The tragedy of her situa- tion has scarcely been equaled in human his- tory. In overwhelming grief she cast herself upon the love and mercy of God, imploring strength to endure the sufferings which awaited her. Only infinite goodness could overcome the forces of cruel ignorance let loose in that heathen city.

Even the comfort of solitude was speedily

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denied, for the tramp of feet was heard on the veranda and a gruff voice demanded her appearance. It was the magistrate of the city calling the wife of the foreign prisoner to come forth for examination. Before obey- ing the summons she destroyed every letter, journal, and manuscript in her possession lest their existence should reveal the fact that they had correspondents in England and that they had recorded every happening since arrival in the country. This task of precaution completed, Mrs. Judson presented herself before the Burmese official, who ques- tioned her about every minute matter sup- posed to lie within her knowledge. This or- deal over, he ordered the gate closed, for- bade any one to go in or out, and stationed a band of ruffians on guard, strictly charging them to keep their prisoner safe. With his duties thus pompously discharged the magis- trate strode away.

The darkness of night fell upon the doomed house, and the gloom of death seemed to lurk in its shadows. Again Mrs. Judson took refuge in the inside room, drawing her little Burmese girls with her, and barring the door [166]

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behind them. Instantly the guard com- manded her to unfasten the door and come out, threatening, if she disobeyed, to break down the house. As persistently as they de- manded, she refused, and tried to frighten them by declaring that sJie would complain of their conduct to higher authorities. Fi- nally, perceiving that she was determined not to yield, they seized the two Bengali servants and thrust them into the stocks in most painful positions. Their plight was un- bearable to behold, so Mrs. Judson called the head man to the window and promised to give the guard each a present in the morn- ing if they would release her servants. After loud argument and rough threatening, they agreed to the bargain. Their noisy carous- ings and diabolical language, combined with the anxiety which pierced Mrs. Judson's mind like a sword, made this June night a long- drawn horror. Sleep was a far-away phan- tom and the darkness but a covert of terror. At the dawn of a new day Mrs. Judson's first move was to dispatch JNIoung Ing to the prison to find out her husband's condition and to give him food, if he was still alive.

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Moung Ing returned quickly with the news that Mr. Judson and the other foreigners were confined in the death prison, each bound with three pairs of iron fetters and fastened to a long pole to prevent their moving. The climax of agony for Mrs. Judson lay in the fact that she was a prisoner herself, and could make no efforts for their release. Again and again she besought the magistrate for permission to go to some member of government and state her case, but persist- ently he refused, declaring that he dared not allow her to go lest she should make her escape. Foiled in this attempt, she wrote a letter to one of the king's sisters with whom she had been exceedingly friendly, beseech- ing her to exert her influence on behalf of the foreign prisoners. The note was returned with the message, " I do not understand it," which in reality was a polite refusal to inter- fere. Afterwards Mrs. Judson learned that she had been really eager to help but dared not risk the queen's disfavor.

The day dragged heavily past, and the darkness of another night settled down upon the little household of burdened people, To [168]

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propitiate the guard, Mrs. Judson gave them tea and cigars which softened their temper to such an extent that they refrained from molesting her throughout the night. Yet sleep came oril}^ in broken snatches, for per- petually before her mind loomed the vision of her husband, bound in iron fetters and stretched upon the prison floor.

When morning came Mrs. Judson arose, keyed for action. She had at last contrived a way to intercede for the prisoners. A mes- sage was sent to the governor of the city, requesting him to allow her to visit him with a present. This device worked like a charm, for immediately the guard received orders to allow their prisoner to go into the city. The governor welcomed his visitor graciously and inquired kindly what her desire might be. Whereupon Mrs. Judson related the situation of the foreigners, especially the two teachers, her husband and Dr. Price, who, as Americans, had nothing whatsoever to do with the war. The governor answered that it was beyond his power to liberate them, but that he could make them more comfortable in prison. There was his head officer, he said,

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indicating an evil looking man, with him she must make terms. The officer led her aside and tried to impress upon her the fact that he was complete master of the situation, and that the future comfort of herself as well as the prisoners depended upon the generosity of her presents to himself, which she must deliver secretly. " What must I do," said Mrs. Judson, " to obtain a mitigation of the present sufferings of the two teachers?" " Pay to me," said he, " two hundred ticals [about a hundred dollars], two pieces of fine cloth, and two pieces of handkerchiefs." Mrs. Judson had taken a considerable sum of money with her when she left home in the morning, and this she offered to the greedy official, who, after some hesitation, accepted it and promised relief to the tortured pris- oners.

Her next move was to request the governor for a passport into the prison, which request was granted. But for the ghastly reality which awaited her there the most vivid imagination was scarcely prepared. In her own story of the unhappy days in Ava, Mrs. Judson refused to narrate the heartrending [170]

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scene which took place that day at the prison entrance. Mr. Goiiger, who hobbled to the wicket door at the same time, to receive his daily provisions, described many years later the pathetic meeting between the husband and wife. Mr. Judson crawled to the door, as the heavy fetters around his ankles pre- vented his walking. The torture of mind and body which he had endured was stamped upon his face, which was as haggard as if death had already claimed him. His soiled, unkempt condition added to the misery of his appearance. At sight of him, his wife buried her face in her hands, unable to behold the shocking change which two days had wrought. Scarcely had they begun to talk together when the jailers ordered her away. She pleaded the governor's permit, but they re- joined, " Depart, or we will pull you out." Thus she was compelled to turn her weary steps away from the prison and walk the two miles back to her house, her mind freshly tortured by the prison scene, which was in- finitely worse as a memory than as a con- jecture.

That evening the missionaries, together

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with the other foreigners who had advanced an equal sum of money, were removed from the common prison and confined in an open shed within the prison yard. Here Mrs. Judson was allowed to send them food, and mats upon which to sleep, but for several days entrance was denied her.

As her mind cast about for other expe- dients, she resolved to send a petition to the queen herself. Mrs. Judson could not go in person to the royal palace, since no one in disgrace with the king was allowed admit- tance. Through the queen's sister-in-law, who in better days had shown her marked favor, she would intercede with her royal highness. Accordingly she chose a valuable gift and appeared in the presence of the Bur- mese noblewoman, who, as she entered, was reclining in Oriental fashion upon a carpet, surrounded by her attendants. Without waiting for the question " What do you want? " usually addressed to a suppliant, Mrs. Judson told the story of their unhappy plight and implored her assistance. Partly raising her head, she examined the present and re- plied coldly, "Your case is not singular; all [ITS]

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the foreigners are treated alike." " But it is singular," said Mrs. Judson, " the teachers are Americans; they are ministers of religion, have nothing to do with war or politics, and came to Ava in obedience to the king's com- mand. They have never done anything to deserve such treatment, and is it right they should be treated thus?" "The king does as he pleases," she replied, " I am not the king; what can I do? " " You can state their case to the queen and obtain their release," answered Mrs. Judson. " Place yourself in my situation; were you in America, your hus- band innocent of crime, thro^^n into prison, in irons, and you a solitary, unprotected female, what would you do? " With a slight show of feeling she replied, " I will present your petition; come again to-morrow." This assurance sent Mrs. Judson homeward with the expectation, perhaps unwarranted, that the day of freedom was at hand.

On the morrow, however, her heart sank within her as she heard the news that Mr. Gouger's property, to the amount of fifty thousand rupees, had been seized and trans- ferred to the palace. The officers, as they

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returned from the confiscation, informed Mrs. Judson that they should visit her house the next day. It was a timely warning and she acted upon it by hiding away as much silver and as many precious possessions as she dared. As she thought of the danger in- volved in the act, her mind quivered with fear. If detected, her own imprisonment might be the penalty. On the other hand the measure was imperative, since, if war should be pro- tracted, there would be no way of procuring money, and starvation would be their doom. True to their word, the officers appeared the following morning with an order from the king to seize the property of the mission- aries. A lordly retinue seemed to be re- quired to take away the possessions of a soli- tary foreign woman. The procession which approached the house was led by three Bur- mese noblemen, followed by a band of forty or fifty attendants. The lady whom they had come to dispossess of all she owned, re- ceived her visitors with marked courtesy, offering them chairs, and treating them with tea and sweetmeats. They responded to her courtesy and to the high courage of her [174]

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womanhood by conducting their disagreeable business with more kindliness than Mrs. Jud- son had ever expected to find in a Burmese official. Only the high dignitaries entered the house, the attendants being ordered to wait outside. Perceiving the grief which Mrs. Judson could not conceal, they even apologized for the necessity of their task, which they claimed was painful to them.

" Where are your silver, gold, and jew- els?" inquired the royal treasurer. "I have no gold or jewels," answered Mrs. Judson, " but here is the key of a trunk which con- tains the silver, do with it as you please." The trunk was opened and the silver weighed. " This monej^" interposed Mrs. Judson, " was collected in America by the disciples of Christ, and sent here for the purpose of building a kyoung (a priest's dwelling), and for our support while teaching the religion of Christ. Is it suitable that you should take it?" The Burmese are habitually opposed to the acceptance of money given for religious purposes, hence the shrewdness of Mrs. Jud- son's appeal. " We will state this circum- stance to the king," replied an officer, " per-

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haps he will restore it. But is this all the silver you have?" "The house is in your possession," she said, evading a direct reply, " search for yourselves." " Have you not deposited silver with some person of your acquaintance?" "My acquaintances are all in prison; with whom should I deposit silver? "

Examination of Mrs. Judson's trunk and dresser was the next command, and with some nicety of consideration they permitted only one of their number to attend her in this search. Everything which appealed to him as valuable or interesting was submitted to the other officials for decision as to whether it should be taken or left. Mrs. Judson sug- gested the impropriety of taking partly worn clothing into the presence of the king, to which they agreed, and simply made a list of wearing apparel, doing the same with the books and medicine. Two particular treas- ures, a little work-table and a rocking-chair, were recovered from their grasp b}^ a bit of stratagem on Mrs. Judson's part. Many other articles of unspeakable value to her during the months which followed, were left [176]

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behind when the work of confiscation was completed. Still, it was a ravaged, desolate home from which the officers and their staff departed that June day.

Scarcely had they disappeared down the road, when Mrs. Judson hastened to the house of the queen's sister-in-law to learn the result of yesterday's appeal. Loss of property was a mere bagatelle compared with her husband's imprisonment. To secure his release was a task which absorbed all her energies and fondest hopes, and, as time went on, exacted a superhuman patience. With hopefulness unrestrained, Mrs. Judson entered the presence of the Burmese noble- w^oman. " I stated your case to the queen," coolly announced her ladyship, " but her majesty replied, ' The teachers mill not die; let them remain as they are' '' Mrs. Judson's spirits dropped like a meteor from the high region of expectancy into an abyss of dis- appointment. With fatal perception she knew that if the queen refused to help there was no one who would dare to intercede on their behalf. " Weary and heavy-laden " she turned away and retraced her homeward

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course by way of the prison, seeking the solace of a few minutes in her husband's com- pany. At the prison gate she was gruffly denied admittance, and for ten days she was forbidden to enter, despite daily appeal. The husband and wife then resorted to letter- writing, but after a few days the scheme was discovered and their messenger punished by beating and confinement in the stocks. They themselves were fined about ten dollars, be- sides suffering a torment of fear for the pos- sible consequences of their daring.

On the morning following the seizure of her proj)erty Mrs. Judson visited the gov- ernor of the city, there to be met by a vig- orous rebuke. " You are very bad," said the governor by way of greeting, " wh}^ did you tell the royal treasurer that you had given me so much money?" During the process of confiscation the officers had asked Mrs. Judson how much money she had paid the governor and prison officers to secure the removal of the teachers from the inner prison. Naturally she had told the truth in reply, whereupon the officers went straightway to the governor and extorted from him the sum [178]

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stated. He became furiously angry and threatened to replace the teachers in their former condition inside the death prison. To his accusation Mrs. Judson replied naively, " The treasurer inquired; what could I say? " *' Say that you had given nothing," retorted the governor, " and I would have made the teachers comfortable in prison; but now I know not what will be their fate." " But I cannot tell a falsehood," asserted Mrs. Jud- son, "my religion is different from yours; it forbids prevarication; and had you stood by me with your knife raised I could not have said what you suggest." At this juncture the governor's wife joined in the conversa- tion. "Very true; what else could she have done? I like such straightforward conduct; you must not be angry with her." From that moment the governor's wife became her stead-