In 1819 the hearts of the missionaries were cheered by a native, Moung Hau, coming out and openly professing Christianity--the first fruit gathered after seven years of labour. Many had partly accepted their teachings, and had been evidently impressed by their message; but up to that time no real, definite converts had been made.

Moung Hau soon showed that a real work of grace was progressing in his heart. He told the missionaries that he had found no other Saviour but Jesus Christ, from all the darkness and uncleanness and sins of his whole life, that he could look nowhere else for salvation, and that therefore he proposed to adhere to Christ for ever. "It seems almost too much to believe that G.o.d has begun to manifest His grace to the Burmans," the members of the little mission band said one to another; but the sincerity of Moung Hau was such that they could not doubt it, and after a time of probation he was publicly baptized.

There were signs that this convert was only the first of an abundant harvest. In the autumn of the same year, two more men requested baptism, but this time the rite had to be performed privately, for the Viceroy had begun openly to avow himself hostile to Christianity. Dark rumours of persecution were heard, and one inquirer was summoned before the authorities and warned to beware of what he did. So serious did matters become that public preaching had for a time to be abandoned, and many inquirers ceased their visits to the mission-house, and were heard of no more.

The missionaries thought that if they could only appeal to the Emperor, and obtain his permission to carry on their work, all might be well again; so after much deliberation Messrs. Judson and Colman went on a journey to the royal city of Ava, and obtained an audience of the Emperor. They humbly requested that his subjects might be permitted to become Christians without incurring the wrath of the authorities; but when the monarch heard their pet.i.tion he treated it with open disdain, and they had to return to Rangoon saddened and disappointed beyond measure.

The news that nothing must be expected from the Government but persecution seemed to give strength to the three converts and to several really earnest inquirers. When the missionaries spoke of going to another part of Burmah, where they could have more liberty, their disciples implored them to remain. "It is useless to remain under present circ.u.mstances," Mr. Judson said. "We cannot open the zayat; we cannot have public worship; no Burman will dare to examine this religion, none can be expected to embrace it." "Teacher," one of the converts replied, "my mind is distressed; I can neither eat nor sleep since I find you are going away. I have been around among those who live near us, and I find some who are even now examining the new religion. Do stay with us a few months. Do stay till there are eight or ten disciples; then appoint one to be teacher of the rest." Many others said the same, and at last it was decided that Mr. and Mrs. Judson were to remain in Rangoon, while Mr. and Mrs. Colman, the other missionaries there at the time, should move to Chittagong, a place near at hand under British protection, and try to form a station there.

Within a few weeks after this, several who had long been inquirers came and requested baptism, although they were well aware that by doing so they were making themselves liable to death by most horrible torture.

One man, a prominent native in good circ.u.mstances, and well known as a great orator and metaphysician, who had for a long time been arguing with Mr. Judson about Christianity, now openly declared himself a follower of Jesus. Others did the same, and G.o.d seemed to reward His servants by showing them such results from their labours as they had hardly hoped ever to obtain.

The threats of persecution for a time ceased, and the prospects of the mission improved in every way. By early in 1821 the number of baptized disciples had increased to nearly twenty, and among them were several professional men of great influence in the city and some women. Many others, although not professed disciples, showed by their acts that they sympathised with the Christians and would do what they could for them.

In December, 1821, Dr. Price, a medical missionary, arrived with his wife from America, and soon afterwards Mr. and Mrs. Hough returned.

Though the missionaries were left in comparative peace, they well knew that severe measures might at any time be taken against them. Every now and then there came rumblings of the threatened storm, and one of the chief converts was obliged to flee from the city on account of proceedings being started against him for his change of faith.

A few months before the arrival of Dr. Price, Mrs. Judson had so broken down in health that her husband decided to send her to America for the long sea voyage. She first went to England, where she received a warm welcome from many Christians, and then she proceeded to the United States, where she spent the winter. Medical men in America were unanimous in advising her not to return to the East, as they said her state of health was such that she would probably die before long if she went there. But nothing could keep her back from what she felt to be the post of duty. "I cannot prevail on myself to be any longer from Rangoon than is absolutely necessary for the preservation of my life," she said; so in June, 1823, she started on the return journey, accompanied by another missionary and his wife.

CHAPTER VII.

PRISONERS OF WAR.

When Mrs. Judson reached Calcutta on her return voyage to Rangoon, she was informed that war might break out at any time between England and Burmah, and was strongly advised not to attempt to go on. But she was determined to rejoin her husband at once, and finding that a vessel would start for Rangoon in a few days, she took a pa.s.sage in it. She was not to stay long in Rangoon, however, for the Emperor had ordered Dr.

Price and Mr. Judson to take up their residence in Ava. Dr. Price was already there, and Mr. Judson had only stayed at Rangoon to meet his wife, on the understanding that he should set out for the capital as soon as possible.

The missionaries attempted to carry on their work at Ava in the same way as they had previously done at Rangoon, but the public mind was in too excited a state just then to permit of much progress being made. The Emperor had for some time treated the English Government with open disdain, and had collected an army together for the avowed purpose of invading Bengal. He even caused a pair of golden fetters to be made, to bind the Governor-General of India when he should be led as captive to Ava. But before the Emperor could carry out his plan, the English took the initiative and invaded his country. He was confident of victory, but information was soon brought to him that the English had captured Rangoon, and this was followed by news of various other English victories.

The foreign residents at Ava naturally felt that their position there was somewhat precarious. At first the Emperor a.s.sured them that "as they had nothing to do with the war, they should not be molested;" but when tidings of English triumphs followed one another in rapid succession, the att.i.tude of the natives grew more and more menacing.

Some Englishmen formerly in the employ of the Court were seized, and their belongings examined. In the account book of one of them were items recording certain sums having been paid to Mr. Judson. This money had been given to him in exchange for circular bankers' orders, sent from America; but the Emperor did not understand this. He concluded that Judson had been paid to be an English spy, and at once gave orders for the arrest of both the missionaries.

The scene can best be described in Mrs. Judson's own words. "On the 8th of June, just as we were preparing for dinner, in rushed an officer holding a black book, with a dozen Burmans, accompanied by one whom, from his spotted face, we knew to be an executioner, and a 'son of the prison.' 'Where is the teacher?' was the first inquiry. Mr. Judson presented himself. 'You are called by the King,' said the officer--a form of speech always used when about to arrest a criminal. The spotted man instantly seized Mr. Judson, threw him on the floor, and produced the small cord, the instrument of torture. I caught hold of his arm.

'Stay,' said I, 'I will give you money.' 'Take her too,' said the officer, 'she also is a foreigner.' Mr. Judson, with an imploring look, begged they would let me remain till further orders. The hardened executioner drew tight the cords, bound Mr. Judson fast, and dragged him off I knew not whither. In vain I entreated the spotted face to take the silver, and loosen the ropes; but he spurned my offers and immediately departed."

Mr. Judson was hurried away to the death prison, and his wife found herself a captive in her own house. She was exposed to many insults from the guard of soldiers set over her, and for three days she was unable to go out. Then, by a judicious bribe, she obtained a certain measure of liberty. She at once went to the governor of the city and sought to obtain the release of her husband. This could not be gained, but she purchased permission to see him. He crawled to the door of the prison, as fast as his trebly-bound limbs would allow, and spoke for a minute to her; but before they could exchange many words Mrs. Judson was peremptorily ordered away by the jailer.

The Government officials came again to the mission-house and seized all the silver they could find in it; but Mrs. Judson had received warning of their visit, and before they arrived had hid as much money as she could. Had she not done this, she and her husband must inevitably have starved during the following months. As it was, she had something now with which to mollify the officials, and she succeeded in getting her husband and Dr. Price taken out of the common prison for a time, and placed in an open shed.

Day by day she worked incessantly, pet.i.tioning every one of influence, from the Queen downwards, for her husband's release. Many sympathised with her, but one and all declared themselves unable to do anything. The governor of the city, who had chief control of the prison, happily became their friend, and did all he dared for them. Three times he was informed by a near relative of the Emperor, that if he would cause all the white prisoners to be privately put to death it would be pleasing to the monarch; but every time he managed to avoid doing it.

For seven months Mrs. Judson strove daily on her husband's behalf, and spent what time she could with him in the gaol. "Sometimes," she said, "I could not go into the prison till after dark, when I had two miles to walk in returning to the house. Oh, how many times have I returned from that dreary prison at nine o'clock at night, solitary and worn out with fatigue and anxiety, and endeavoured to invent some new scheme for the release of the prisoners."

After her husband had been in prison for some months, she gave birth to a little daughter, and for a few weeks was unable to get about to look after the captives as before. During this time news came to Ava of further great defeats of the Burmese troops, and the treatment of the captives was at once made harsher. They were again shut in the inner prison, among all the common malefactors of the place, and were each bound with five pairs of fetters. The hottest season of the year had now arrived, and the situation of the prisoners was far more terrible than any words can describe. The room in which they were confined was occupied by about a hundred native criminals; there was no ventilation beyond that afforded by the cracks in the walls, and the continual stench and heat were almost unbearable. As soon as she could get about, Mrs. Judson built herself a small bamboo hut by the gate of the prison, and lived there, to be as near as possible to her husband. After he had been a month in this black hole Mr. Judson was taken ill with fever, and after much entreaty she was permitted to move him to a little bamboo cell by himself, and to go in daily to feed him and to give him medicine.

CHAPTER VIII.

"THROUGH MUCH TRIBULATION."

The darkest hour had not yet come! Two or three days after she had secured the removal of her husband from the common prison, he and all the white men were suddenly seized and hurried out of the city. Mrs.

Judson was engaged elsewhere at the time, and for some hours she was unable to learn where the prisoners had been taken; but a servant who had seen them leave gave her a clue, and she at once followed it up. She deposited her books and medicines with the friendly governor, and set out with her babe on her arm, and two orphan children she had adopted by her side, seeking her husband. After a wearisome journey she found him in a wretched prison at Oung-pen-la, almost dead from weakness and the torture he had undergone on his forced march, and was greeted with the pathetic words, so ill.u.s.trative of Adoniram Judson's utter unselfishness, "Why have you come? I hoped you would not follow, for you cannot live here." The prison was placed in a lonely spot, far away from any village. There was no accommodation for Mrs. Judson, and no food could be obtained near at hand. She was refused permission to build herself a little hut, but the jailer found her a small, dirty store-room in his own house, and here she and the three children lived for the next six months. Day by day she searched for food, not only for her husband, but for the other white prisoners; and though worn out with pain and sorrow, cheered them, looked after their every want, and continually applied to the officials for some improvement in their lot. The untold privations she was suffering soon told on a frame that had never been very strong. Her two adopted children were taken with small-pox, and when they had partly recovered the baby was also attacked. Mrs. Judson had now to look after them in addition to her other work, and would often spend the day attending to the prisoners, and the night in nursing the children. The watchings and fatigue at last broke her down, and for two months she was unable to leave her bed. She had for most of the time no attendant except a common Bengalee cook, but this man proved an invaluable aid. He worked almost without ceasing, nursing Mrs. Judson, searching for provisions, and feeding the prisoners. The little baby was in a most deplorable state. It had no nurse, Mrs. Judson could not feed it on account of her fever, and the only way it existed was by her husband obtaining permission from the jailer to go out for a short time each day, carry the child around the village, and beg a little nourishment for it from those mothers who had young children. "I now began to think the very afflictions of Job had come upon me," wrote Mrs.

Judson. "When in health I could bear the various trials and vicissitudes through which I was called upon to pa.s.s; but to be confined with sickness, and unable to a.s.sist those who were so dear to me, when in distress, was almost too much for me to bear; and had it not been for the consolations of religion, and an a.s.sured conviction that every additional trial was ordered by infinite love and mercy, I must have sunk under my acc.u.mulated sufferings."

Meanwhile the English army was daily coming closer and closer to the capital, and Mr. Judson was taken out of prison and sent down to the Burmese camp, to act as translator in the negotiations which were going on between the two forces. The victorious British general, Sir Archibald Campbell, ordered the Burmese to pay a heavy war indemnity, and to cede a large part of their territory to the English; and he also stipulated that all foreign prisoners who wished should be handed over to him.

Consequently the Judsons found themselves once more free, after a year and seven months' imprisonment, and were made the honoured guests of the English general.

But the relief came too late, for Mrs. Judson's const.i.tution was completely undermined by the privations she had endured. She and her husband settled in Amherst, a new town in British Burman territory, and hopefully looked forward to carrying on a useful work there. They had not been many months in the place before Mrs. Judson had a bad attack of fever, at a time when her husband was away helping the English general.

She seemed temporarily to get better, but she had no strength left to resist the disease, and gradually sank. "The teacher is long in coming, and the new missionaries are long in coming," she murmured in a moment of relief from her delirium. "I must die alone, and leave my little one; but as it is the will of G.o.d I acquiesce in His will. I am not afraid of death; but I am afraid I shall not be able to bear these pains. Tell the teacher the disease was most violent, and I could not write; tell him how I suffered and died; tell him all that you see; and take care of the house and things until he returns." For most of the time she lay unconscious, and on October 24, 1827, after about sixteen days of illness, and at the age of thirty-seven, she pa.s.sed away before her husband could return. Soon afterwards her baby followed her.

And so went home one of the n.o.blest women who have laboured in the mission field. Her brave spirit, her undaunted trust in G.o.d and in the power of prayer upheld her, when the courage of the bravest men would have failed. Not a little of the remarkable success of the work of G.o.d in Burmah is due to the indomitable perseverance and the wise devotion to G.o.d and to her husband of Ann Judson; and wherever the Gospel is preached, that also which this woman hath done shall be spoken of for a memorial of her.

Was her life thrown away? Were the labours and sufferings she had bodily undergone wasted? Not so. The story of her life has been and still is a precious heritage for the whole Church militant, a lesson which ever appeals to Christians to rouse themselves from self-seeking and apathetic lives, and consecrate their talents to the Master's use.

Though she was taken up higher, the work in Burmah did not stop, and before many years had pa.s.sed, hundreds and thousands of the people among whom she had laboured were professing to serve the true G.o.d; so true is it that "the blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church."

FRED. A. McKENZIE.

MARY LOUISA WHATELY.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

I.

PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD.

Mary Louisa Whately came of a distinguished family. Her father, Dr.

Richard Whately, for many years Archbishop of Dublin, was one of the most remarkable and prominent men of the first half of the nineteenth century, a voluminous writer, a strenuous thinker, and a statesmanlike ecclesiastic. Her mother, Elizabeth, daughter of Mr. W. Pope of Uxbridge, was, says Miss E.J. Whately, a woman of "grace and dignity of character, delicacy of mind and sensitive refinement, which were united with high powers of intellect and mental cultivation and a thirst for knowledge seldom exceeded." [1] She was an ardent Christian, and devoted herself to works of beneficence and Christian service among the poor, as far as her delicate health would allow.

[Footnote 1: _Life of Archbishop Whately_, by his daughter, vol. 1. p.

43.]

Mary was born at Halesworth in Suffolk, of which parish her father was then the rector, on August 31, 1824. The following year her father was appointed Princ.i.p.al of St. Alban Hall, and removed with his family to Oxford. In 1831 he accepted the Archbishopric of Dublin, and thus at the age of seven Dublin became, what it remained for thirty years, Mary Whately's home. She was the third of a family of five, four girls and one boy, who all inherited something of their mother's delicacy of const.i.tution and a good share of their father's strength of intellect and character. They were near enough to each other in age to share one another's studies and games, and, living a very retired life, depended largely on each other for companionship. For a portion of the year they resided in the archiepiscopal palace in Dublin. But on account of the many social demands made on him in the city, the place became distasteful to Dr. Whately, and he engaged a charming country residence called Redesdale, some four or five miles out of town. Here he resided the larger portion of the year, living a quieter life than was possible in the city, and driving into Dublin on most mornings to attend to his official duties. In the intervals of study and the discharge of public duty he devoted himself to his garden, in the cultivation of which he displayed much skill and ingenuity. Redesdale was the children's home, though the life there was occasionally varied by a stay in London (where their father usually spent a few weeks each spring to attend the House of Lords), at Tunbridge Wells, where they had relatives, or at the seaside, and later by visits to the Continent.

The Archbishop had very decided views on the training and education of children, and his wife also, as her _English Social Life_ shows, had thought much on the subject. One of the Archbishop's rules was that children should never learn anything by rote. "When Mrs. Whately and I first married," he observed on one occasion, "one of the first things we agreed on was, that should Providence send us children, we would never teach them anything they did not understand. 'Not even their prayers, my lord?' asked the person addressed. 'No, not even their prayers,' he replied." [1] Mary's education was conducted mainly by a governess, under the superintendence of her parents. Her brother, Archdeacon Whately, thus refers to her early life: "Our life in Ireland was on the whole a very retired one. For the greater part of our sojourn there we saw very little society, nor had my sisters a sufficient vent for a craving, which in some of them was very strong, for social intercourse and active work.... In early life she showed the germs of that vigour and energy of character for which she was afterwards so distinguished. In all our youthful games she was fond of taking the lead, and generally succeeded in obtaining it.... Like most young persons of a sanguine and imaginative temperament, she lived very much in an ideal future of her own creation.... It was well for my sister that we were not allowed in our younger days to read any unwholesome trash in the way of fiction. We were not indeed unduly restricted in works of imagination, but we read nothing which was foolish or sensational, and a higher taste than the taste for mere stories was cultivated in us. Mary Whately had a strong predilection for works of travels, history, and adventures. Perhaps these tastes were a foreshadowing of her future destiny, and prepared her for it." [2] Her sister adds, "Mary was from her earliest years ardent and impulsive, hot-tempered and generous. She was quick at lessons, and possessed of a retentive memory, though the active brain and lively imagination made schoolroom routine somewhat irksome to her." [3]

[Footnote 1: _Life of Archbishop Whately_, by his daughter, vol. 1. p. 62.]

[Footnote 2: _The Fireside_ for 1889, pp. 817, 818.]

[Footnote 3: _Life of Mary J. Whately_, by E.J. Whately, p. 10.]