Читать книгу Memoir of Mrs. Ann H. Judson - James Davis Knowles - Страница 8

CHAPTER III.

Embarkation—Voyage—Arrival at Calcutta.

On the 6th of February, 1812, Mr. Judson, and Messrs. Samuel Newell, Samuel Nott, Gordon Hall, and Luther Rice, were ordained, as Missionaries, in the Tabernacle Church, in Salem. On the 19th of February, Messrs. Judson and Newell, with their wives, sailed from Salem, in the brig Caravan, Capt. Heard, for Calcutta. Mr. and Mrs. Nott, and Messrs. Hall and Rice, sailed for the same port, on the 18th, from Philadelphia, in the ship Harmony, Captain Brown.

The Missionaries were now embarked on their great enterprise. They had, as they supposed, taken a last farewell of their friends on earth ; and they were now hastening to distant lands, to wear out their lives in teaching the dying idolaters of India the knowledge of that Saviour, who died on Calvary, that whosoever should believe in him might not perish, but have everlasting life. Never were men engaged in a nobler enterprise. Never did benevolence impel men to a more worthy sacrifice of ease, and of all that the heart values in the domestic relations and in civilized society. If the soul of man be of inestimable worth, and if the Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ be the only instrument of its recovery and salvation, then does the Missionary enterprise surpass, in the importance of its aims, and the benevolence of its motives, every other effort of the human mind. It is not the purpose of this work to advocate, by abstract reasoning, the cause of missions. The whole argument lies within a narrow compass, and may be well stated in the language of Dr. Johnson, whose gigantic mind was little liable to be affected by the wayward impulses of enthusiasm. “If obedience to the will of God be necessary to happiness, and knowledge of his will be necessary to obedience, I know not how he that withholds this knowledge, or delays it, can be said to love his neighbour as himself. He that voluntarily continues ignorance, is guilty of all the crimes which ignorance produces ; as to him that should extinguish the tapers of a light house, might justly be imputed the calamities of shipwrecks.” *

Mrs. Judson was now afloat on an untried element, which was bearing her rapidly away from her home and kindred. The struggle, in a heart so strong in its affections as hers, must have been severe. We have seen, that she had calmly weighed the difficulties and the hazards of the undertaking, and was under the influence of no temporary excitement, nor bold spirit of adventure. She knew well what she must surrender, and the objects which called for the sacrifice—and she left all, for the sake of her Saviour, and of her perishing fellow men. Why should such disinterested benevolence and heroic firmness fail to obtain the applause of men, who are ready to admire and praise these qualities, when exerted on other occasions and for other objects ? Why should the voice of eloquence, and the lyre of the poet, which delight to commemorate the self-denial, and patriotism, and noble daring of the wise and good, be mute, when the missionary departs on his errand of mercy ? The memory of Lady Arabella Johnson has been the recent theme of eulogy, on the spot where Mrs. Judson embarked for India.* In what worthy quality of heart was the missionary inferior to the accomplished Puritan ; and how did the arduous enterprise of Mrs. J. in grandeur of aim, generous self-denial, devoted affection, and intrepid courage, fall short of that which has embalmed the memory of Lady Johnson? Why, then, should not the missionary be included in the following tribute to female excellence, as true as it is beautiful ?

“In the path of duty, no sacrifice is with them too high, or too dear. The voice of pleasure, or of power, may pass by unheeded ; but the voice of affliction, never. The chamber of the sick, the pillow of the dying, the vigils of the dead, the altars of religion, never missed the presence or the sympathies of woman. Timid though she be, and so delicate, that the winds of heaven may not too roughly visit her, on such occasions she loses all sense of danger, and assumes a preternatural courage, which knows not, and fears not, consequences. Then she displays that undaunted spirit, which neither courts difficulties, nor evades them ; that resignation, which utters neither murmur nor regret ; and that patience in suffering, which seems victorious over death itself.” *

The dangers of the ocean are sufficient to intimidate any heart, unless it be fortified with a better armour than that which Horace deemed necessary for the first maritime adventurer.† But Mrs. J. and her companions encountered no other than the usual incidents of a voyage. Some extracts from hèr journal and letters will be read with interest.

“Feb. 18. Took leave of my friends and native land, and embarked on board the brig Caravan, for India. Had so long anticipated the trying scene of parting, that I found it more tolerable than I had feared. Still my heart bleeds. O America, my native land, must I leave thee ? Must I leave my parents, my sisters and brother, my friends beloved, and all the scenes of my early youth ? Must I leave thee, Bradford, my dear native town, where I spent the pleasant years of childhood ; where I learnt to lisp the name of my mother; where my infant mind first began to expand; where I entered the field of science; where I learnt the endearments of friendship, and tasted of all the happiness this world can afford ; where I learnt also to value a Saviour’s blood, and to count all things but loss, in comparison with the knowledge of him? Yes, I must leave you all, for a heathen land, an uncongenial clime. Farewell, happy, happy scenes—but never, no, never to be forgotten.

“Feb. 19. Sea-sick all day, and unable to do any thing. My thoughts, more than usual, fixed on divine things. Longed for the enjoyment of God’s presence on our passage, that we may be preparing for usefulness in future life. In the night, had many distressing apprehensions of death. Felt unwilling to die on the sea, not so much on account of my state after death, as the dreadfulness of perishing amid the waves.

“Feb. 21. Somewhat relieved from sickness, and able to read a few chapters in the Bible. Never had a greater sense of our obligations to live devoted to God, resulting from his distinguished mercies. Even on the ocean, confined as I am, I find many sources of enjoyment, and feel as happy as when on land, in the midst of my friends.

“Feb. 22. O for a heart to live near to God, and serve him faithfully. I need nothing so much as ardent piety. I should feel happy in the consideration of having left my native land, and my father’s house, if, by making this sacrifice, the kingdom of Christ would be promoted. May it be my great object to live a useful, holy life, and prepare to die a peaceful death.

“Feb. 27. This day has been regarded by our friends on land as a day of fasting and prayer for the prosperity of this mission, and I hope the same object has not been forgotten by us on the sea. I spent some time this evening on deck. The weather was pleasant ; the motion of the vessel gentle, though rapid ; the full moon shone clearly on the water ; and all things around conspired to excite pleasing though melancholy sensations. My native land, my home, my friends, and all my forsaken enjoyments, rushed into my mind ; my tears flowed profusely, and I could not be comforted. Soon, however, the consideration of having left all these for the dear cause of Christ, and the hope of being, one day, instrumental of leading some poor degraded females to embrace him as their Saviour, soothed my griefs, dried up my tears, and restored peace and tranquillity to my mind.

“Feb. 29. The weather continues pleasant, so that we are able to spend much time on deck. I see that there is no situation in life in which trials and enjoyments, pains and pleasures, are not intermingled. I calculated on nothing but difficulties and distresses, during the voyage, and am disappointed in finding many pleasures. God frequently deprives his children of the good things of this world, that they may be sensible they have no portion here. Have I not, then, reason to fear that I am receiving my only portion ? And yet my heart tells me, that I do not wish to take these things as my portion. I would rather be deprived of them than that they should deprive me of the enjoyment of the light of God’s countenance. I desire a heavenly inheritance that will never fail me. I desire that the great, the infinite God, may be my portion, my friend, my all.”

To her Mother.

“At Sea, Sabbath eve, March 1, 1812.

“No daughter would ever more gladly relieve the anxieties of a mother, than I yours. The motives which induced me to go, and you to give your consent, ought now to support us, and prevent our indulging useless regret for what we cannot help. The life I now lead is much happier than I expected. Though deprived of many sources of enjoyment, I am surrounded with mercies. I have been sick every day since we sailed until to-day. My sickness has not been very distressing. I have been quite well part of the time ; and when my sickness returned, found almost immediate relief from lying down. I suffer the most for the want of an appetite. However, we have such a variety of provisions on board, I generally find something I can relish. From the order and regularity of things in the cabin, you would hardly imagine we are on board of a vessel. The captain is a young gentleman of an amiable disposition and pleasing manners. He and all the officers treat us with the greatest kindness and respect. Every thing they have is at our service. Last Sabbath, the first of our being here, we had no preaching or religious worship. To-day it was proposed to the captain to have worship in the cabin. He readily assented, and joined with us, together with two of the other officers. I have not heard the least profane language since I have been on board the vessel. This is very uncommon.”

“March 5. Began Cave’s Lives of the Apostles and Martyrs. O for that ardent piety which was so conspicuous in them, and for that willingness to suffer for Christ’s sake, which they manifested. I long to have my mind raised above fleeting, transitory objects, and placed entirely on those with which my soul is most nearly concerned, that so I may live as becomes a stranger and pilgrim on the earth. May even that one tie which still binds me to earth, though so strong and endearing, not hold my heart, my thoughts from Him, who alone is worthy of my supreme regard.

“7. Have enjoyed religion more than usual, and felt peculiarly desirous of being more spiritual and heavenly-minded. Although I am almost secluded from the world, and have few things to attract my attention, yet I find that my heart frequently wanders from God, in search of happiness from other objects. I find it equally necessary to watch and pray, as when surrounded by worldly temptations.

“12. Spent most of the day in reading, and the evening in religious conversation. We conversed much on death, and the probability of our finding an early grave. The subject was solemn and affecting, yet secretly pleasing and consoling. I never felt more willingness to die, or a stronger hope in Christ. Am astonished that I have thought no more of dying, and made no more preparation for death. Resolve to make it the business of each day to prepare to die.

“13. Enjoyed more than usual in secret prayer. Continue to feel impressed with the conversation of last evening, and to realize the importance of living a holy, spiritual life.

“14. Have been reading the Lives of Sir William Jones, and Dr. Doddridge. What a striking difference between the two characters. The former distinguished for his erudition ; the latter for his piety. The great object of the one, was evidently the attainment of literary fame, and the applause of man. The other sought chiefly the good of immortal souls, and the approbation of God. Enjoyed much this evening in conversation and prayer. Perhaps some of my friends at home were praying for me ; and in answer to their prayers, the Holy Spirit came to animate and comfort my heart. I feel thankful that God has given me an opportunity, and inclined my heart, to leave all my friends for a heathen land. I desire no higher enjoyment in this life than to be instrumental of leading some poor, ignorant heathen females to the knowledge of the Saviour. To have a female praying society, consisting of those who were once in heathen darkness, is what my heart earnestly pants after, and makes a constant subject of prayer. Resolved to keep this in view, as one principal object of my life.

“April 6. Spent the evening in conversing on religious subjects, particularly the difficulty of living a holy, spiritual life. We resolved to be more watchful over the sins of our hearts, and make greater efforts to live devoted to God. O may these resolutions not be in vain ; for our future usefulness depends essentially on our advancement in the divine life. At present, I feel that I am a weak Christian indeed, and if only sincere, am willing to be considered the very least in the whole church.”

To her Sister.

“At Sea, April 11, 1812.

“I find Mr. Judson one of the kindest, most faithful, and affectionate of husbands. His conversation frequently dissipates the gloomy clouds of spiritual darkness which hang over my mind, and brightens my hope of a happy eternity. I hope God will make us instrumental of preparing each other for usefulness in this world, and greater happiness in a future world.”

“May 18. Have enjoyed an uncommon degree of peace and comfort for many, many days. I do not recollect any period of my life, in which I have, for so long a time, had such constant peace of mind. The last fortnight I have spent in reading the Scriptures and works on their authenticity and inspiration. Have gained much clearer views of the Christian religion, its blessed tendency, its unrivalled excellence. Christ appears peculiarly precious, amiable and glorious, as the author of such a religion. Of late, I have had no anxious feelings about my future situation in life, though all before me is so uncertain ; but have had a disposition to leave all with my heavenly Father, to do with me as he pleases. I sometimes feel very thankful, that God has called me from my friends and native land, to a land of strangers, of spiritual darkness and death, thereby giving me an opportunity of denying myself of those enjoyments, on which I have been too prone to set my heart; and has thereby, I trust, led me to feel more deeply my dependence on him, and choose him for my only portion.”

To Miss L. K.

“At Sea, N. Lat. 9, E. Long. 86.

“My dearest L——,

“When I reflect on the many sources of enjoyment I have left in my native land ; when I think of my home, and the friends of my youth, the idea of having left them for ever, is exquisitely painful. Yet I have never regretted having left them for the cause of Christ. No, my dear Lydia, in my most gloomy hours, or in the apparent near approach of death, I never have for a moment repented my having chosen the rugged, thorny path through which a Missionary must pass, in preference to the smooth and easy life I might have led in my native country. The thought of having acted from a sense of duty in thus voluntarily quitting my native land, has always been a powerful opiate to calm my fears in the midst of danger, and to induce me to place unlimited confidence in God.

“As it respects my voyage, thus far it has been pleasant. The morning we sailed, I was taken with sea-sickness. I had anticipated the most distressing sensations from this sickness, but was agreeably disappointed ; for I felt no worse through the whole, than if I had taken a gentle emetic. I kept my bed for the most of the time for four days. We had a strong favourable wind the first week we sailed, which carried us into mild, comfortable weather. The change of the weather in so short a time was so great, together with sea-sickness and the want of exercise, that I soon lost all relish for my food. Every thing tasted differently from what it does on land, and those things I was the most fond of at home, I loathed the most here. But I soon began to find the real cause of my ill health. It was want of exercise. For some time we could invent nothing which could give us exercise equal to what we had been accustomed to. Jumping the rope was finally invented, and this we found to be of great use. I began, and jumped it several times in the day, and found my health gradually return, until I was perfectly well. I mention these particulars, that you, should you ever go to sea, may escape ill health. I never enjoyed more perfect health in my life, than I do now; and I attribute it to my exercising so much.

“We found it exceedingly hot the first time that we crossed the equator. When going round the Cape of Good Hope, we had rough, rainy weather for twenty days. I never knew till then “the dangers of the deep.” I never felt before, my entire dependence on God for preservation. Some nights I never slept on account of the rocking of the vessel and the roaring of the winds. Yet God preserved us—enabled us to trust in him and feel safe. Surely we have every reason to confide in God, and leave it with him to dispose of us as he pleases. We have again crossed the equator, and are within a few days’ sail of Calcutta. My heart rejoices at the thought of once more seeing land. Yes, even the thought of seeing the land of strangers and heathenish darkness, produces sensations before unknown. We know not where we shall go, or in what part of God’s world we shall spend our remaining days. But I feel willing to leave it all with our heavenly Father. I doubt not he will protect us, and place us in that station in which we shall be most useful. I have spent the most of my time, since on the water, in reading. I knew I needed a more intimate acquaintance with the sacred Scriptures ; consequently, I have confined my attention almost exclusively to them. I have read the New Testament once through in course, two volumes of Scott’s Commentary on the Old, Paley, Trumbull, and Dick, on the inspiration of the Scriptures, together with Faber and Smith on the Prophecies. I have been much interested in reading these authors on inspiration, on account of my almost total ignorance of the evidences of the divinity of the Scriptures, and I gained fresh evidence of the reality of the Christian religion. O my dear Lydia, how much enjoyment Christians lose by neglecting to study the Bible. The more we are conversant with it, the more shall we partake of the spirit of its author, and the more we shall feel that this world is not our home, and that we are rapidly hastening to another.”

“May 24. Sabbath. We have had worship, as usual, in the cabin. The subject of the sermon was lukewarmness in religion. I felt, that a great part of it was applicable to myself. I am confounded, when I consider the indifference, with which I have regarded and treated so great a being as God. How little ardour I have felt in the cause of Christ, and how little zeal have I manifested for his glory. Under the impression of the truths of this sermon, I renewedly commend myself to God, all unholy and polluted as I am, and beg that he will sanctify me, and make me more engaged in his blessed service. We are now near the place of our destination—just ready to enter a strange land, where all are unknown to us, and we to them; and where we shall at once be exposed to the influence of an unhealthy climate. We know not the manner in which we shall be received, nor the place of our final residence. All the future is involved in dark uncertainty. But God is good in bringing us into circumstances, where we are compelled to trust in him. God is every where, and is ever ready to hear our cries, and succour us in our distresses.”

To her Sister.

“At Sea, June 16.

“My dear Sister A——,

“Instead of beginning to fill your letter immediately after we sailed, I have left it to begin to fill it when our voyage is nearly completed. I have written to mamma and sister E. the particulars respecting my voyage thus far ; consequently, it is unnecessary for me now to say any more. Day before yesterday, we came in sight of land, after being out only one hundred and twelve days. We could distinguish nothing on land except the towering mountains of Golconda. Yesterday morning, we were nearer land, and could easily discover the trees on the shore. Some appeared to be placed regularly in rows, others were irregular and scattered. The scene was truly delightful, and reminded me of the descriptions I have read, of the fertile shores of India—the groves of orange and palm trees. I likewise thought it probable, that these shores were inhabited by a race of beings, by nature like ourselves, but who, not like us, are ignorant of the God who made them, and the Saviour who died for them. Yesterday we saw two vessels. One was a large ship, and the captain thought it to be a British man-of-war, as she was lying still till we came up with her. As soon as she hoisted the flag, we found her to be an American. We had high hopes of her being the vessel in which the other Missionaries sailed. With impatience we came up with her. She hailed us, and wished to know our longitude. Our captain asked her name, and where she was from, and to our great disappointment we found she was not the Harmony. You have no idea how interesting the sight—a vessel at the side of us, so near we could hear the captain speak—for he was the first person we have heard speak since we sailed, except what belong to the ship. The other was an English vessel—she spoke with us to-day. We are now at anchor in the Bay of Bengal, and dare not go any farther to-night, as we have not yet got a pilot. Every thing before us is uncertain. Whether we shall ever again be on land, or where we shall live, is known only to our heavenly Father.

“Monday. We have been very anxious this morning to get a pilot. At length a vessel was seen at a distance, and it proved to be a pilot vessel. He has just this moment come on board, with his two servants. One of them a Hindoo. He exactly answers the description we have had of these poor benighted creatures. He looks as simple and feminine as you can imagine. What an alteration would a belief in Christianity make in such a degraded creature. If we have a favourable wind, we hope to get to Calcutta to-morrow. O how soon will our labours in the mission begin ! Yet we are happy, the time is so near when we may begin to labour for Christ in a pagan land.

“Tuesday. Last night was the most dangerous, and to me, by far the most unpleasant we have had. The navigation here being dangerous, on account of the sand-shoals, the pilot came to anchor before dark. The sea was high, and kept the vessel in continual motion. About ten, the mate came down, and told us the cable had parted, and the anchor gone. I thought all hope of our safety was entirely gone, and immediately began to enquire into my preparedness for an entrance into another world. The thought of being shipwrecked was exceedingly distressing : and I could not but think the providence of God would preserve us on account of this infant mission. In him I confided, and he preserved us. They got the ship under way; and the pilot being well acquainted with the shoals, we met with no difficulty. I slept none at all, in consequence of the continual noise, and profane language on deck. The captain has never used any profane language since we have been with him ; but the pilot, much more than we have ever heard before. But the scene is now truly delightful. We are sailing up the river Hoogly, a branch of the Ganges, and so near the land, that we can distinctly discover objects. On one side of us are the Sunderbunds—[islands at the mouths of the Ganges.] The smell which proceeds from them, is fragrant beyond description. We have passed the mango trees, and some large brick houses.

“Wednesday. I have never, my dear sister, witnessed or read any thing so delightful as the present scene. On each side of the Hoogly, where we are now sailing, are the Hindoo cottages, as thick together as the houses in our seaports. They are very small, and in the form of hay-stacks, without either chimneys or windows. They are situated in the midst of trees, which hang over them, and appear truly romantic. The grass and fields of rice are perfectly green, and herds of cattle are every where feeding on the banks of the river, and the natives are scattered about, differently employed. Some are fishing, some driving the team, and many are sitting indolently on the banks of the river. The pagodas we have passed are much handsomer and larger than the houses. Notwithstanding the scene is so pleasant, on account of the works of nature, yet it is truly melancholy when we reflect, that these creatures, so numerous, so harmless, have immortal souls, and like us are destined to the eternal world—and yet have none to tell them of Christ. I suppose the natives that live on these shores, for many miles, have never seen a Missionary. I should be happy to come and live among them, in one of their little houses, if it was as large a field for usefulness as some others. There are many English, elegant seats near the shore. We are within four or five miles of Calcutta. When we get there I will write you again. O what reason have we to be thankful, for so pleasant, so prosperous a voyage. There is seldom a voyage so short as ours—we have not yet been out four months. I hope God will make us useful, and keep us near to himself.”

“Well, Abigail, here we are safe in Calcutta harbour, and almost stunned with the noise of the natives. Mr. Judson has gone on shore, to find a place for us to go to. This city is by far the most elegant of any thing I have ever seen. Many ships are lying at anchor, and hundreds of natives all around. They are dressed very curiously in white, hanging loosely over their shoulders. But I have not time to describe any thing at present. We have plenty of fruit on board. The bananas are a very delicious fruit; they taste much like a rich pear.

“Thursday. Harriet and I are yet on board the vessel, and have not been on land. Mr. Judson did not return last night, until the evening, and had not gained permission from the Police office to live in the country, consequently we could not go on shore. Mr. J. and Mr. N. are gone again to-day, and what will be their success I know not. The East India Company are violently opposed to missions, and have barely given liberty to their own countrymen to settle here as preachers. We have nothing to expect from man, and every thing from God. I think I never have felt more confidence in God, to protect and direct this mission, than this morning. If he has any thing for us to do here, he will doubtless open a door for our entrance; if not, he will send us to some other place. We have given ourselves to him, devoted ourselves to his service, and have every reason, from past experience of his goodness, to still trust and confide in his goodness. O my dear sister, what a source of happiness and comfort, that God reigns, even on these heathen shores of darkness and wretchedness. Captain Heard has just come on board, and given us a very polite invitation to go to the house he has procured for himself on shore. The politeness and kindness of this man have been remarkable. Throughout our passage, he has treated us with every possible attention, and made it much more comfortable than it otherwise would have been. O, live near to God in a Christian land, and think, feel, and pray much for the millions who are perishing for the want of the knowledge of a Saviour. So little time as we have to live in this world, must be improved to the best advantage. We shall soon meet in the eternal world, and then the more we have done for Christ, the happier we shall be.”

Notes

* Boswell’s Life of Johnson.

* At the late centennial celebration of the settlement of Salem, in 1628, Judge Story, in his Address, spoke in suitable terms of Lady Johnson, a daughter of the Earl of Lincoln, who accompanied her husband among the first settlers of Salem, and died soon after her arrival.

* Judge Story’s Address.

† Illi robur et æs triplex

Circa pectus erat, qui fragilem truci

Commisit pelago ratem,

Primus. Horace, L.I. Car. III.

Sure oak and three-fold brass surrounded his heart, who first trusted a frail vessel to the merciless ocean. Smart’s Translation.