LIFE IN AVA AND OUNG-PEN-LA.
1823-1826.
When Mr. and Mrs. Judson left Rangoon to establish their home in Ava,
the outlook was encouraging. They had left behind them a small but
vigorous church of eighteen converted Burmans, under the care of Mr. and
Mrs. Hough, and Mr. and Mrs. Wade. They had been invited by the king to
live in the capital city, and had received from him a plot of ground on
which to build a mission-house. They felt sure of royal protection and
favor. Many persons of high rank seemed kindly disposed to the new
religion; while Dr. Price had won golden opinions by his medical skill.
They immediately commenced the building of a little dwelling-house, and
Mrs. Judson soon had a school of three native girls. Mr. Judson preached
in Burmese every Sunday at Dr. Price’s house, and held worship every
evening. The journey up the Irrawaddy and the beginning of their life in
Ava are described in the following fragment from a letter written by
Mrs. Judson to her parents and sisters:
“AVA, _February_ 10, 1824.
“After two years and a half wandering, you will be pleased to hear
that I have at last arrived at home, so far as this life is concerned,
and am once more quietly and happily settled with Mr. Judson.
“We had a quick and pleasant passage from Calcutta to Rangoon. Mr.
Judson’s boat was all in readiness, my baggage was immediately taken
from the ship to the boat, and in seven days from my arrival we were
on our way to the capital. Our boat was small and inconvenient; but
the current at this season is so very strong, and the wind always
against us, that our progress was slow indeed. The season, however,
was cool and delightful; we were preserved from dangers by day and
robbers by night, and arrived in safety in six weeks. The
A-rah-wah-tee (Irrawadi) is a noble river; its banks everywhere
covered with immortal beings, destined to the same eternity as
ourselves. We often walked through the villages, and though we never
received the least insult, always attracted universal attention. A
foreign female was a sight never before beheld, and all were anxious
that their friends and relatives should have a view. Crowds followed
us through the villages, and some, who were less civilized than
others, would run some way before us in order to have a _long_ look as
we approached them. In one instance, the boat being some time in
doubling a point we had walked over, we seated ourselves, when the
villagers, as usual, assembled, and Mr. Judson introduced the subject
of religion. Several old men who were present entered into
conversation, while the multitude was all attention. The apparent
schoolmaster of the village coming up, Mr. Judson handed him a tract,
and requested him to read. After proceeding some way, he remarked to
the assembly that such a writing was worthy of being copied, and asked
Mr. Judson to remain while he copied it. Mr. Judson informed him he
might keep the tract, on condition he read it to all his neighbors. We
could not but hope the Spirit of God would bless those few simple
truths to the salvation of some of their souls.
“Our boat was near being upset in passing through one of the rapids
with which this river abounds. The rudder became entangled in the
rocks, which brought the boat across the stream and laid her on one
side. The steersman, however, had presence of mind sufficient to cut
the rudder from the boat, which caused her to right, without
experiencing any other inconvenience than a thorough fright and the
loss of our breakfast, which was precipitated from the fireplace into
the water, together with everything on the outside of the boat.
“On our arrival at Ava, we had more difficulties to encounter, and
such as we had never before experienced. We had no home, no house to
shelter us from the burning sun by day and the cold dews at night. Dr.
Price had kindly met us on the way, and urged our taking up our
residence with him; but his house was in such an unfinished state, and
the walls so damp (of brick, and just built), that spending two or
three hours threw me into a fever, and induced me to feel that it
would be presumption to remain longer. We had but one alternative—to
remain in the boat till we could build a small house on the spot of
ground which the king gave Mr. Judson last year. And you will hardly
believe it possible—for I almost doubt my senses—that, in just a
fortnight from our arrival, we moved into a house built in that time,
and which is sufficiently large to make us comfortable. It is in a
most delightful situation, out of the dust of the town, and on the
bank of the river. The spot of ground given by his majesty is small,
being only one hundred and twenty feet long and seventy-five wide; but
it is our own, and is the most healthy situation I have seen. Our
house is raised four feet from the ground, and consists of three small
rooms and a veranda.
“I hardly know how we shall bear the hot season, which is just
commencing, as our house is built of boards, and before night is
heated like an oven. Nothing but brick is a shelter from the heat of
Ava, where the thermometer, even in the shade, frequently rises to a
hundred and eight degrees. We have worship every evening in Burman,
when a number of the natives assemble; and every Sabbath Mr. Judson
preaches the other side of the river in Dr. Price’s house. We feel it
an inestimable privilege, that amid all our discouragements we have
the language, and are able constantly to communicate truths which can
save the soul.
“My female school has already commenced with three little girls, who
are learning to read, sew, etc. Two of them are sisters, and we have
named them _Mary_ and _Abby Hasseltine_. One of them is to be
supported with the money which the ‘Judson Association of Bradford
Academy’ have engaged to collect. They are fine children, and improve
as rapidly as any children in the world. Their mother is deranged, and
their father gave them to me to educate, so that I have been at no
expense for them excepting their food and clothes. I have already
begun to make inquiries for children, and doubt not we shall be
directed in regard to our school.”
The following letter from Mr. Judson to Dr. Baldwin shows, however, that
a dark cloud was gathering on the horizon:
“AVA, _February_ 19, 1824.
“My last was dated the 7th of December, a few days after Mrs. J.’s
arrival in Rangoon. We left on the 13th ensuing, and were six weeks on
the journey. A few days below Ava, brother Price met us in a small
boat, having heard of our approach. From him we first learned that all
the _A-twen-woons_, the privy council of the king, had been turned out
of office, and a new set appointed, with whom we had no acquaintance
or interest. Various occurrences had conspired to render the king
somewhat disaffected toward foreigners. Brother Price has made but
little advance in the royal favor. On my appearing at the palace, I
found that a year had made great changes. My old friends and advocates
before the king were missing. Very few recognized me. At length his
majesty came forward, just spoke to me, and accepted a small present.
But I have seen him twice since without obtaining a word or look.
“The only persons who ever received me with real cordiality are Prince
M. and his wife; but even they are not much disposed to converse on
religion.
“I have public worship every Lord’s day at brother Price’s, as he is
able, from his acquaintance with the neighbors around him, to collect
an assembly of a dozen or twenty, including two or three of the
disciples who accompanied us from Rangoon.
“But my time has been hitherto almost wholly occupied in getting up
something to shelter us on the lot formally assigned me by the
Government. It will be necessary also to build a small brick house as
soon as possible, and to use every other precaution against the heat,
which is so intense during the months of April, May, and June, as to
raise the thermometer to one hundred and eight and ten in the shade.
“A misunderstanding has existed for several months between this and
the Bengal Government. Troops have marched from both sides to the
frontiers. War appeared at one time to be certain, but the latest
accounts are rather pacific. In the case of actual war, as the
distinction between Americans and Englishmen is pretty well understood
in this place, we hope we shall not be considered as implicated, and
suffer no other inconvenience than that of having all communication
with our friends cut off, except in case of war’s reaching the
capital, when we shall be exposed to the vicissitudes and dangers
incident to such a state.
“But in all cases, we trust that we have a few dear friends at home
who bear us on their hearts at the throne of grace, and a still dearer
and greater Friend at the right hand of the Divine Presence in Heaven,
who is touched with the feeling of our infirmities, and will
graciously succor us in the time of trouble and make us come off
conquerors at last.
“But, my dear and venerable friend and brother and father, you are,
from long experience, more able than I am to taste the sweetness of
this precious truth; and your advanced age, and the grace of Christ,
enable you to hope that you will ere long be allowed to adopt the
triumphant language of the Apostle Paul. Pray for me, that I may be
accounted worthy to hold out to the end, and finally meet with you
before the throne, and handle a harp of gold in the dear Redeemer’s
praise.”
Mr. Judson’s forebodings were well founded. War soon broke out between
Burmah and the English Government in India. For two years after the
writing of the above letter, the Christians of America were kept in a
state of terrible suspense, unbroken by any tidings from their
missionaries in Ava, which was only assuaged by fervent and universal
prayer on their behalf.
The occasion of the war was Chittagong, that particular strip of low
land lying along the sea and flanking Burmah on the west, and to which
Mr. Colman had gone to prepare an asylum for the Judsons in case they
should be driven out of Rangoon. This district was under British rule,
and refugees from the cruel despotism of Burmah had taken shelter there.
The Burman monarch insisted that his victims should be arrested by the
English authorities and handed over to him. Besides, he felt that
Chittagong belonged naturally to Burmah. And such was his pride and his
contempt for British prowess, that he deemed it quite possible for him
not only to recover this territory, but even to conquer the whole of
Bengal.
When war actually broke out, suspicion fell at once on all the white
foreigners residing in Ava. They were thought to be spies secretly
acting in collusion with the English Government. They were immediately
arrested, fettered, and thrown into the death-prison.
“I was seized,” Dr. Judson writes, “on the 8th of June, 1824, in
consequence of the war with Bengal, and in company with Dr. Price,
three Englishmen, one American, and one Greek, was thrown into the
death-prison at Ava, where we lay eleven months—nine months in three
pairs, and two months in five pairs of fetters. The scenes we
witnessed and the sufferings we underwent during that period I would
fain consign to oblivion. From the death-prison at Ava, we were
removed to a country prison at Oung-pen-la, ten miles distant, under
circumstances of such severe treatment, that one of our number, the
Greek, expired on the road; and some of the rest, among whom was
myself, were scarcely able to move for several days. It was the
intention of the Government, in removing us from Ava, to have us
sacrificed in order to insure victory over the foreigners; but the
sudden disgrace and death of the adviser of that measure prevented its
execution. I remained in the Oung-pen-la prison six months in one pair
of fetters; at the expiration of which period, I was taken out of
irons, and sent under a strict guard to the Burmese headquarters at
Mah-looan, to act as interpreter and translator. Two months more
elapsed, when, on my return to Ava, I was released at the instance of
Moung Shwa-loo, the north governor of the palace, and put under his
charge. During the six weeks that I resided with him, the affairs of
the Government became desperate, the British troops making steady
advances on the capital; and after Dr. Price had been twice dispatched
to negotiate for peace (a business which I declined as long as
possible), I was taken by force and associated with him. We found the
British above Pah-gan; and on returning to Ava with their final terms,
I had the happiness of procuring the release of the very last of my
fellow-prisoners; and on the 21st inst. obtained the reluctant consent
of the Government to my final departure from Ava with Mrs. Judson.”
In these few modest words Mr. Judson passes over all the prolonged
horrors which he endured in the confinement of an Oriental jail. Let us
glance at his experience more in detail. His imprisonment was remarkable
for its _duration_. For nine months he was confined in three pairs of
fetters, two months in five, six months in one; for two months he was a
prisoner at large; and for nearly two months, although released from
prison, he was yet restrained in Ava under the charge of the north
governor of the palace, so that his confinement reached nearly to the
end of twenty-one long months.
[Illustration: EXTERIOR OF PRISON ENCLOSURE.]
Again, for most of the time of his confinement, he was shut up in a
loathsome, wretched _place_.
“It derives its remarkable, well-selected name,
_Let-ma-yoon_—literally interpreted, _hand, shrink not_—from the
revolting scenes of cruelty practiced within its walls. To those
acquainted with the Burmese language, the name conveys a peculiar
impression of terror. It contemplates the extreme of human suffering,
and when this has reached a point at which our nature recoils—when it
is supposed that any one bearing the human form might well refuse to
be the instrument to add to it, the hand of the executioner is
apostrophized and encouraged not to follow the dictates of the heart:
‘Thine eye shall not pity and thine hand not spare.’”[28]
The _Let-ma-yoon_ was a building about forty feet long and thirty feet
wide. It was five or six feet high along the sides, but as the roof
sloped, the centre of it was perhaps double that height. There was no
ventilation except through the chinks between the boards and through the
door, which was generally closed. On the thin roof poured down the
burning rays of a tropical sun. In this room were confined nearly one
hundred prisoners of both sexes and all nationalities. Dr. Price thus
describes the impressions he received on entering the prison:
“A little bamboo door opened, and I rose to go toward it. But oh! who
can describe my sensations! shackled like a common felon, in the care
of hangmen, the offscouring of the country, turned like a dog into his
kennel, my wife, my dear family, left to suffer alone all the rudeness
such wretches are capable of. The worst, however, was yet to come; for
making the best of my way up the high steps, I was ushered into the
grand apartment. Horror of horrors, what a sight! never to my dying
day shall I forget the scene: a dim lamp in the midst, just making
darkness visible, and discovering to my horrified gaze sixty or
seventy wretched objects, some in long rows made fast in the stocks,
some strung on long poles, some simply fettered; but all sensible of a
new acquisition of misery in the approach of a new prisoner.
Stupefied, I stopped to gaze till, goaded on, I proceeded toward the
further end, when I again halted. A new and unexpected sight met my
eyes. Till now I had been kept in ignorance of the fate of my
companions. A long row of white objects, stretched on the floor in a
most crowded situation, revealed to me, however, but too well their
sad state, and I was again urged forward. Poor old Rodgers, wishing to
retain the end of the bamboo, made way for me to be placed alongside
of Mr. Judson. ‘We all hoped you would have escaped, you were so long
coming,’ was the first friendly salutation I had yet received; but
alas, it was made by friends whose sympathy was now unavailable.”
[Illustration: INTERIOR OF THE LET-MA-YOON PRISON.]
The following description of the interior of this jail is given by an
English fellow-prisoner of Mr. Judson:
“The only articles of furniture the place contained were these: First,
and most prominent, was a gigantic row of stocks, similar in its
construction to that formerly used in England, but now nearly extinct;
though dilapidated specimens may still be seen in some of the
marketplaces of our own country towns. It was capable of accommodating
more than a dozen occupants, and like a huge alligator opened and shut
its jaws with a loud snap upon its prey. Several smaller reptiles,
interesting varieties of the same species, lay basking around this
monster, each holding by the leg a pair of hapless victims consigned
to its custody. These were heavy logs of timber, bored with holes to
admit the feet, and fitted with wooden pins to hold them fast. In the
centre of the apartment was placed a tripod, holding a large earthen
cup filled with earth-oil, to be used as a lamp during the
night-watches; and lastly, a simple but suspicious-looking piece of
machinery whose painful uses it was my fate to test before many hours
had elapsed. It was merely a long bamboo suspended from the roof by a
rope at each end, and worked by blocks or pulleys, to raise or depress
it at pleasure.
“Before me, stretched on the floor, lay forty or fifty hapless
wretches, whose crimes or misfortunes had brought them into this place
of torment. They were all nearly naked, and the half-famished features
and skeleton frames of many of them too plainly told the story of
their protracted sufferings. Very few were without chains, and some
had one or both feet in the stocks besides. A sight of such squalid
wretchedness can hardly be imagined. Silence seemed to be the order of
the day; perhaps the poor creatures were so engrossed with their own
misery that they hardly cared to make any remarks on the intrusion of
so unusual an inmate as myself.
“If the _ensemble_ be difficult to portray, the stench was absolutely
indescribable, for it was not like anything which exists elsewhere in
creation. I will therefore give the facts, and leave the reader’s nose
to understand them by a synthetic course of reasoning—if it can.
“The prison had never been washed, nor even swept, since it was built.
So I was told, and have no doubt it was true; for, besides the ocular
proof from its present condition, it is certain no attempt was made to
cleanse it during my subsequent tenancy of eleven months. This gave a
kind of fixedness or permanency to the fetid odors, until the very
floors and walls were saturated with them, and joined in emitting the
pest. Putrid remains of castaway animal and vegetable stuff, which
needed no broom to make it _move on_—the stale fumes from thousands of
tobacco-pipes—the scattered ejections of the pulp and liquid from
their everlasting betel, and other nameless abominations, still more
disgusting, which strewed the floor—and if to this be added the
exudations from the bodies of a crowd of never-washed convicts,
encouraged by the thermometer at 100°, in a den almost without
ventilation—is it possible to say what it _smelt_ like?
“As might have been expected from such a state of things, the place
was teeming with creeping vermin to such an extent that very soon
reconciled me to the plunder of the greater portion of my dress.”
Surely it were enough for Mr. Judson to be shut up in the hot, stifling
stench of a place like this without having his ankles and legs weighted
with five pairs of irons, the scars from which he wore to his dying day.
He could say with the Apostle Paul, “I bear in my body the marks of the
Lord Jesus.” In each pair of fetters the two iron rings were connected
by a chain so short that the heel of one foot could hardly be advanced
to the toe of the other; and this task could be accomplished only by
“shuffling a few inches at a time.” The five pairs of irons weighed
about fourteen pounds, and when they were removed after being long worn,
there was a strained sensation, the equilibrium of the body seemingly
destroyed, so that the head was too heavy for the feet. Then at
nightfall, lest the prisoners should escape, they were _strung_ (to use
Dr. Price’s graphic if not elegant expression) on a bamboo pole.
“When night came on,” writes one of Mr. Judson’s fellow-prisoners,
“the ‘Father’ of the establishment, entering, stalked toward our
corner. The meaning of the bamboo now became apparent. It was passed
between the legs of each individual, and when it had threaded our
number, seven in all, a man at each end hoisted it up by the blocks to
a height which allowed our shoulders to rest on the ground, while our
feet depended from the iron rings of the fetters. The adjustment of
the height was left to the judgment of our kind-hearted parent, who
stood by to see that it was not high enough to endanger life, nor low
enough to exempt from pain.... In the morning, our considerate parent
made his appearance, and, with his customary grin, lowered down the
bamboo to within a foot of the floor, to the great relief of our
benumbed limbs, in which the blood slowly began again to circulate.”
When Mr. Judson was subjected to these indignities and tortures, he was
in the very prime of life—thirty-six years old. He had come to that age
when a good physical constitution is thoroughly seasoned and well
qualified to endure hardship.
He had always taken the best care of his health consistent with the
performance of his multiform duties. Even before leaving America, he had
adopted the following rules: First, frequently to inhale large
quantities of air, so as to expand the lungs to the uttermost; secondly,
daily to sponge the whole body in cold water; and thirdly, and above
all, to take systematic exercise in walking.
Again, he had that tough, wiry physique which endures unexpectedly even
during prolonged crises. All this was in his favor. But, on the other
hand, he was a student, unused to suffering hardship. His naturally
vigorous constitution had been somewhat enfeebled by ten years of close
application to study in a tropical climate, and of late years had been
completely shattered by repeated blows of fever and ague. He was reared
in the cold, bracing air of New England, and during the tedious hours of
imprisonment, how often must his memory have projected the sufferings of
the Oriental jail against the background of the cool, green hillsides of
his childhood. For
... “this is truth the poet sings,
That a sorrow’s crown of sorrow is remembering happier things.”
And his was an active, methodical nature, to which the enforced idleness
of twenty-one months must have brought the keenest torture. There was
his Burman Bible unfinished, and ten years of work in Rangoon going to
pieces in his absence. He longed to be preaching the Gospel. Now that he
had at last completely mastered the native tongue, he was filled with
Jeremiah’s consuming zeal. “His word was in mine heart, as a burning
fire shut up in my bones.”
Endowed with a nervous temperament, his nature was exceedingly sensitive
to discomfort. One of his fellow-prisoners says: “His painful
sensitiveness to anything gross or uncleanly, amounting almost to folly,
was an unfortunate virtue to possess, and made him live a life of
constant martyrdom.” Of his personal habits, Mrs. E. C. Judson says:
“His predilection for neatness, uniformity, and order amounted,
indeed, to a passion. Then he had an innate sort of refinement about
him, which would subject him to annoyance when a less sensitive person
would only be amused—a most inconvenient qualification for a
missionary. This passion for order—which I should rather consider an
unconquerable love for the beautiful and elegant, studiously
perverted—displayed itself rather oddly after the means for its
natural gratification and development were cut off. Nobody ever
luxuriated more in perfectly spotless linen, though, partly from
necessity, and partly because there was a suspicion among his friends
that he would wear no other, it was always coarse. The tie of the
narrow black ribbon, which he wore instead of a neckcloth, was
perfect, and the ribbon itself would not have soiled the purest snow,
though it was often limp and rusty from frequent washing. His general
dress was always clean, and adjusted with scrupulous exactness, though
it often looked as if it might have belonged to some rustic of the
last century, being of the plainest material, and in fashion the
American idea of what was proper for a missionary, perpetuated in
broad caricature by a bungling Bengalee tailor. Most people thought
that he dressed oddly from a love of eccentricity; but the truth is,
he was not in the least aware of anything peculiar in his costume,
never seeing himself in a mirror larger than his pocket toilet-glass.
He could see his feet, however; and his shoes never had a spot on
their polish, nor the long, white, carefully-gartered stockings a
wrinkle, much less a stain. In the construction and arrangement of his
unique studying apparatus, which was composed of two long, narrow
boxes mounted on a teak table, there was the same mixture of plainness
with neatness and order, and, what was rather conspicuous in all his
arrangements, a wonderful capacity for convenience. No one ever
thought of invading his study corner; for he dusted his books and
papers himself, and knew so well where everything was placed, that he
could have laid his hand upon the smallest article in the darkest
night.”
A nature amply endowed with these fine sensibilities must have
instinctively shrunk from the filth of the dungeon and the squalor of
the prisoners; while the constrained and crowded position, night and
day, and the galling fetters, were almost unendurable.
There was also much to shock his moral nature. He found himself thrown
into close association with the basest criminals of the Burman capital.
His pure look rested upon their repulsive features, his reluctant ears
were filled with their vulgar and blasphemous jests. Besides this, again
and again he saw the wretched prisoner tortured with the cord and the
mallet, and was forced to hear the writhing victim’s shriek of anguish.
Again, he was a man of the strongest and tenderest affections. What keen
mental anguish must he have experienced at the thought of his beloved
wife threading alone the hot, crowded streets, hourly exposed to the
insults of rude Burman officials; day by day bringing or sending food to
the jail; assuaging the wretchedness of the prisoners by bribing their
keepers; pleading for the release of her husband with one Burman officer
after another, and with such pathetic eloquence that on one occasion she
melted to tears even the old governor of the prison; giving birth to her
babe during a confinement of only twenty days; carrying her little Maria
all the way in her arms to that “never-to-be-forgotten place,”
Oung-pen-la, her only conveyance a rough cart, the violent motion of
which, together with the dreadful heat and dust, made her almost
distracted; nursing her infant and the little native girls under her
care through a course of small-pox; and at last, broken down herself,
and brought to death’s door by the same loathsome disease, succeeded by
the dread spotted fever.
Add to these horrors of Mr. Judson’s imprisonment the daily and even
hourly anticipation of torture and death, and it will be difficult to
conceive of a denser cloud of miseries than that which settled down on
his devoted head. The prisoners knew that they were arrested as spies.
The Burman king and his generals were exasperated by the rapid and
unexpected successes of the English army, and Mr. Judson and his
fellow-prisoners had every reason to suppose that this pent-up fury
would be poured upon their heads. It was customary to _question_ the
prisoner with instruments of torture—the cord and the iron mallet.
Rumors of a frightful doom were constantly sounding in their ears. Now
they heard their keepers during the night sharpening the knives to
decapitate the prisoners the next morning; now the roar of their
mysterious fellow-prisoner, a huge, starving lioness, convinced them
that they were to be executed by being thrown into her cage; now it was
reported that they were to be burned up together with their prison as a
sacrifice; now that they were to be buried alive at the head of the
Burman army in order to insure its victory over the English. The
following description by Mr. Gouger of the solemn hour of three, shows
the exquisite mental torture to which the prisoners were subjected:
“Within the walls nothing worthy of notice occurred until the hour of
three in the afternoon. As this hour approached, we noticed that the
talking and jesting of the community gradually died away; all seemed
to be under the influence of some powerful restraint, until that fatal
hour was announced by the deep tones of a powerful gong suspended in
the palace-yard, and a death-like silence prevailed. If a word was
spoken it was in a whisper. It seemed as though even breathing were
suspended under the control of a panic terror, too deep for
expression, which pervaded every bosom. We did not long remain in
ignorance of the cause. If any of the prisoners were to suffer death
that day, the hour of three was that at which they were taken out for
execution. The very manner of it was the acme of cold-blooded cruelty.
The hour was scarcely tolled by the gong when the wicket opened, and
the hideous figure of a spotted man appeared, who, without uttering a
word, walked straight to his victim, now for the first time probably
made acquainted with his doom. As many of these unfortunate people
knew no more than ourselves the fate that awaited them, this mystery
was terrible and agonizing; each one fearing, up to the last moment,
that the stride of the spot might be directed his way. When the
culprit disappeared with his conductor, and the prison door closed
behind them, those who remained began again to breathe more freely;
for another day, at least, their lives were safe.
“I have described this process just as I saw it practiced. On this
first day, two men were thus led away in total silence; not a useless
question was asked by the one party, nor explanation given by the
other; all was too well understood. After this inhuman custom was made
known to us, we could not but participate with the rest in their
diurnal misgivings, and shudder at the sound of the gong and the
apparition of the _pahquet_. It was a solemn daily lesson of an
impressive character, ‘Be ye also ready.’”
It is no wonder that Mr. Judson in the midst of these horrors took
refuge in the quietism of Madame Guyon, and used often to murmur her
beautiful lines:
“No place I seek, but to fulfil
In life, and death, Thy lovely will;
No succor in my woes I want,
Except what Thou art pleased to grant.
Our days are numbered—let us spare
Our anxious hearts a needless care;
’Tis Thine to number out our days,
And ours to give them to Thy praise.”
His sublime faith in God never faltered. One of his fellow-captives thus
writes of him:
“Often he expressed to me such sentiments as these: ‘Think what the
consequences of this invasion must be. Here have I been ten years
preaching the Gospel to timid listeners who wished to embrace the
truth, but dared not; beseeching the emperor to grant liberty of
conscience to his people, but without success; and now, when all human
means seemed at an end, God opens the way by leading a Christian
nation to subdue the country. It is possible that my life may be
spared; if so, with what ardor and gratitude shall I pursue my work;
and if not, His will be done; the door will be opened for others who
will do the work better.’”
The following letter from Mrs. Judson to her brother tells the story of
the imprisonment, and forms, perhaps, the most thrilling recital to be
found in the annals of missions:
“RANGOON, _May_ 26, 1826.
“I commence this letter with the intention of giving you the
particulars of our captivity and sufferings at Ava. How long my
patience will allow my reviewing scenes of disgust and horror, the
conclusion of this letter will determine. I had kept a journal of
everything that had transpired from our arrival at Ava, but destroyed
it at the commencement of our difficulties.
“The first certain intelligence we received of the declaration of war
by the Burmese was on our arrival at Tsen-pyoo-kywon, about a hundred
miles this side of Ava, where part of the troops under the command of
the celebrated Bandoola had encamped. As we proceeded on our journey,
we met Bandoola himself with the remainder of his troops, gaily
equipped, seated on his golden barge, and surrounded by a fleet of
golden war-boats, one of which was instantly dispatched from the other
side of the river to hail us, and make all necessary inquiries. We
were allowed to proceed quietly on, when we had informed the messenger
that we were Americans, _not English_, and were going to Ava in
obedience to the command of his majesty.
“On our arrival at the capital, we found that Dr. Price was out of
favor at court, and that suspicion rested on most of the foreigners
then at Ava. Your brother visited at the palace two or three times,
but found the king’s manner toward him very different from what it
formerly had been; and the queen, who had hitherto expressed wishes
for my speedy arrival, now made no inquiries after me, nor intimated a
wish to see me. Consequently, I made no effort to visit at the palace,
though almost daily invited to visit some of the branches of the royal
family, who were living in their own houses, out of the palace
enclosure. Under these circumstances, we thought our most prudent
course lay in prosecuting our original intention of building a house,
and commencing missionary operations as occasions offered, thus
endeavoring to convince the Government that we had really nothing to
do with the present war.
“In two or three weeks after our arrival, the king, queen, all the
members of the royal family, and most of the officers of Government,
returned to Amarapoora, in order to come and take possession of the
new palace in the customary style. As there has been much
misunderstanding relative to Ava and Amarapoora, both being called the
capital of the Burmese empire, I will here remark that the present Ava
was formerly the seat of Government; but soon after the old king had
ascended the throne, it was forsaken, and a new palace built at
Amarapoora, about six miles from Ava, in which he remained during his
life. In the fourth year of the reign of the present king, Amarapoora
was in its turn forsaken, and a new and beautiful palace built at Ava,
which was _then_ in ruins, but is _now the capital_ of the Burmese
empire. The king and royal family had been living in temporary
buildings at Ava, during the completion of the new palace, which gave
occasion for their returning to Amarapoora.
“For several weeks nothing took place to alarm us, and we went on with
our school. Mr. Judson preached every Sabbath; all the materials for
building a brick house were procured, and the masons had made
considerable progress in raising the building.
“On the 23d of May, 1824, just as we had concluded worship at the
doctor’s house, the other side of the river, a messenger came to
inform us that Rangoon was taken by the English. The intelligence
produced a shock, in which was a mixture of fear and joy. Mr. Gouger,
a young merchant residing at Ava, was then with us, and had much more
reason to fear than the rest of us. We all, however, immediately
returned to our house, and began to consider what was to be done. Mr.
G. went to Prince Thah-ya-wa-dee, the king’s most influential brother,
who informed him he need not give himself any uneasiness, as he had
mentioned the subject to his majesty, who had replied, that ‘the few
foreigners residing at Ava had nothing to do with the war, and should
not be molested.’
“The Government were now all in motion. An army of ten or twelve
thousand men, under the command of the kyee-woon-gyee, were sent off
in three or four days, and were to be joined by the sakyah-woon-gyee,
who had previously been appointed viceroy of Rangoon, and who was on
his way thither when the news of its attack reached him. No doubt was
entertained of the defeat of the English; the only fear of the king
was, that the foreigners, hearing of the advance of the Burmese
troops, would be so alarmed as to flee on board their ships and
depart, before there would be time to secure them as slaves. ‘Bring
for me,’ said a wild young buck of the palace, ‘six kala-pyoos [white
strangers] to row my boat.’ ‘And to me,’ said the lady of a woon-gyee,
‘send four white strangers to manage the affairs of my house, as I
understand they are trusty servants.’ The war-boats, in high glee,
passed our house, the soldiers singing and dancing, and exhibiting
gestures of the most joyous kind. ‘Poor fellows!’ said we, ‘you will
probably never dance again.’ And it so proved, for few, if any, ever
again saw their native home.
“As soon as the army were dispatched, the Government began to inquire
the cause of the arrival of the strangers at Rangoon. There must be
spies in the country, suggested some, who had invited them over. And
who so likely to be spies as the Englishmen residing at Ava? A report
was in circulation that Captain Laird, lately arrived, had brought
Bengal papers which contained the intention of the English to take
Rangoon, and it was kept a secret from his majesty. An inquiry was
instituted. The three Englishmen, Gouger, Laird, and Rogers, were
called and examined. It was found they had seen the papers, and were
put in confinement, though not in prison. We now began to tremble for
ourselves, and were in daily expectation of some dreadful event.
“At length Mr. Judson and Dr. Price were summoned to a court of
examination, where strict inquiry was made relative to all they knew.
The great point seemed to be whether they had been in the habit of
making communications to foreigners of the state of the country, etc.
They answered, they had always written to their friends in America,
but had no correspondence with English officers, or the Bengal
Government. After their examination they were not put in confinement,
as the Englishmen had been, but were allowed to return to their
houses, in examining the accounts of Mr. Gouger, it was found that Mr.
Judson and Dr. Price had taken money of him to a considerable amount.
Ignorant as were the Burmese of our mode of receiving money by orders
on Bengal, this circumstance, to their suspicious minds, was a
sufficient evidence that the missionaries were in the pay of the
English, and very probably spies. It was thus represented to the king,
who, in an angry tone, ordered the immediate arrest of the ‘two
teachers.’
“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 scene was now shocking beyond description. The whole neighborhood
had collected; the masons at work on the brick house threw down their
tools, and ran; the little Burman children were screaming and crying;
the Bengalee servants stood in amazement at the indignities offered
their master; and the hardened executioner, with a kind of hellish
joy, drew tight the cords, bound Mr. Judson fast, and dragged him off
I knew not whither. In vain I begged and entreated the spotted face to
take the silver, and loosen the ropes; but he spurned my offers, and
immediately departed. I gave the money, however, to Moung Ing to
follow after, to make some further attempt to mitigate the torture of
Mr. Judson; but instead of succeeding, when a few rods from the house,
the unfeeling wretches again threw their prisoner on the ground, and
drew the cords still tighter, so as almost to prevent respiration.
“The officer and his gang proceeded on to the court-house, where the
governor of the city and officers were collected, one of whom read the
order of the king to commit Mr. Judson to the death-prison, into which
he was soon hurled, the door closed, and Moung Ing saw no more. What a
night was now before me! I retired into my room, and endeavored to
obtain consolation from committing my case to God, and imploring
fortitude and strength to suffer whatever awaited me. But the
consolation of retirement was not long allowed me, for the magistrate
of the place had come into the veranda, and continually called me to
come out, and submit to his examination. But previously to going out,
I destroyed all my letters, journals, and writings of every kind, lest
they should disclose the fact that we had correspondents in England,
and had minuted down every occurrence since our arrival in the
country. When this work of destruction was finished, I went out, and
submitted to the examination of the magistrate, who inquired very
minutely of everything I knew; then ordered the gates of the compound
to be shut, no person to be allowed to go in or out, placed a guard of
ten ruffians, to whom he gave a strict charge to keep me safe, and
departed.
“It was now dark. I retired to an inner room with my four little
Burman girls, and barred the doors. The guard instantly ordered me to
unbar the doors and come out, or they would break the house down. I
obstinately refused to obey, and endeavored to intimidate them by
threatening to complain of their conduct to higher authorities on the
morrow. Finding me resolved in disregarding their orders, they took
the two Bengalee servants, and confined them in the stocks in a very
painful position. I could not endure this, but called the head man to
the window, and promised to make them all a present in the morning, if
they would release the servants. After much debate, and many severe
threatenings, they consented, but seemed resolved to annoy me as much
as possible. My unprotected, desolate state, my entire uncertainty of
the fate of Mr. Judson, and the dreadful carousings and almost
diabolical language of the guard, all conspired to make it by far the
most distressing night I had ever passed. You may well imagine, my
dear brother, that sleep was a stranger to my eyes, and peace and
composure to my mind.
“The next morning I sent Moung Ing to ascertain the situation of your
brother, and give him food, if still living. He soon returned, with
the intelligence that Mr. Judson and all the white foreigners were
confined in the death-prison, with three pairs of iron fetters each,
and fastened to a long pole, to prevent their moving! The point of my
anguish now was, that I was a prisoner myself, and could make no
efforts for the release of the missionaries. I begged and entreated
the magistrate to allow me to go to some member of Government to state
my case; but he said he did not dare to consent, for fear I should
make my escape. I next wrote a note to one of the king’s sisters, with
whom I had been intimate, requesting her to use her influence for the
release of the teachers. The note was returned, with this message: she
‘did not understand it’; which was a polite refusal to interfere;
though I afterward ascertained that she had an anxious desire to
assist us, but dared not, on account of the queen. The day dragged
heavily away, and another dreadful night was before me. I endeavored
to soften the feelings of the guard by giving them tea and cigars for
the night; so that they allowed me to remain inside of my room without
threatening, as they did the night before. But the idea of your
brother being stretched on the bare floor, in irons and confinement,
haunted my mind like a spectre, and prevented my obtaining any quiet
sleep, though nature was almost exhausted.
“On the third day I sent a message to the governor of the city, who
has the entire direction of prison affairs, to allow me to visit him
with a present. This had the desired effect, and he immediately sent
orders to the guards to permit my going into town. The governor
received me pleasantly, and asked me what I wanted. I stated to him
the situation of the foreigners, and particularly that of the
teachers, who were Americans, and had nothing to do with the war. He
told me it was not in his power to release them from prison or irons,
but that he could make their situation more comfortable; there was his
head officer, with whom I must consult relative to the means. The
officer, who proved to be one of the city writers, and whose
countenance at the first glance presented the most perfect assemblage
of all the evil passions attached to human nature, took me aside and
endeavored to convince me that myself, as well as the prisoners, was
entirely at his disposal; that our future comfort must depend on my
liberality in regard to presents; and that these must be made in a
private way, and unknown to any officer in the Government! ‘What must
I do,’ said I, ‘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.’ I had taken money with me in the morning; our house
being two miles from the prison, I could not easily return. This I
offered to the writer, and begged he would not insist on the other
articles, as they were not in my possession. He hesitated for some
time; but fearing to lose the sight of so much money, he concluded to
take it, promising to relieve the teachers from their most painful
situation.
“I then procured an order from the governor for my admittance into
prison; but the sensations produced by meeting your brother, in that
_wretched, horrid_ situation, and the affecting scene which ensued, I
will not attempt to describe.[29] Mr. Judson crawled to the door of
the prison—for I was never allowed to enter—gave me some directions
relative to his release; but before we could make any arrangement, I
was ordered to depart by those iron-hearted jailers, who could not
endure to see us enjoy the poor consolation of meeting in that
miserable place. In vain I pleaded the order from the governor for my
admittance; they again harshly repeated, ‘Depart, or we will pull you
out.’ The same evening the missionaries, together with the other
foreigners, who paid an equal sum, were taken out of the common
prison, and confined in an open shed in the prison enclosure. Here I
was allowed to send them food, and mats to sleep on, but was not
permitted to enter again for several days.
“My next object was to get a petition presented to the queen; but no
person being admitted into the palace who was in disgrace with his
majesty, I sought to present it through the medium of her brother’s
wife. I had visited her in better days, and received particular marks
of her favor. But now times were altered; Mr. Judson was in prison,
and I in distress, which was a sufficient reason for giving me a cold
reception. I took a present of considerable value. She was lolling on
her carpet as I entered, with her attendants around her. I waited not
for the usual question to a suppliant, ‘What do you want?’ but in a
bold, earnest, yet respectful manner, stated our distresses and our
wrongs, and begged her assistance. She partly raised her head, opened
the present I had brought, and coolly replied, ‘Your case is not
singular; all the foreigners are treated alike.’ ‘But it is singular,’
said I; ‘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 command. They have never done anything to deserve such
treatment, and is it right they should be treated thus?’ ‘The king
does as he pleases,’ said she; ‘I am not the king; what can I do?’
‘You can state their case to the queen, and obtain their release,’
replied I. ‘Place yourself in my situation; were you in America, your
husband, innocent of crime, thrown into prison, in irons, and you a
solitary, unprotected female, what would you do?’ With a slight degree
of feeling, she said, ‘I will present your petition; come again
to-morrow.’ I returned to the house with considerable hope that the
speedy release of the missionaries was at hand. But the next day, Mr.
Gouger’s property, to the amount of fifty thousand rupees, was taken
and carried to the palace. The officers, on their return, politely
informed me they should _visit our house_ on the morrow. I felt
obliged for this information, and accordingly made preparations to
receive them, by secreting as many little articles as possible,
together with considerable silver, as I knew, if the war should be
protracted, we should be in a state of starvation without it. But my
mind was in a dreadful state of agitation lest it should be
discovered, and cause my being thrown into prison. And had it been
possible to procure money from any other quarter, I should not have
ventured on such a step.
“The following morning, the royal treasurer, the governor of the north
gate of the palace, who was in future our steady friend, and another
nobleman, attended by forty or fifty followers, came to take
possession of all we had. I treated them civilly, gave them chairs to
sit on, tea and sweetmeats for their refreshment; and justice obliges
me to say that they conducted the business of confiscation with more
regard to my feelings than I should have thought it possible for
Burmese officers to exhibit. The three officers, with one of the royal
secretaries, alone entered the house; their attendants were ordered to
remain outside. They saw I was deeply affected, and apologized for
what they were about to do by saying it was painful for them to take
possession of property not their own, but they were compelled thus to
do by order of the king. ‘Where are your silver, gold, and jewels?’
said the royal treasurer. ‘I have no gold or jewels; but here is the
key of a trunk which contains the silver; do with it as you please.’
The trunk was produced, and the silver weighed. ‘This money,’ said I,
‘was collected in America by the disciples of Christ, and sent here
for the purpose of building a _kyoung_ [the name of 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 averse to
taking what is offered in a religious point of view, which was the
cause of my making the inquiry. ‘We will state this circumstance to
the king,’ said one of them, ‘and perhaps he will restore it. But is
this all the silver you have?’ I could not tell a falsehood. ‘The
house is in your possession,’ I replied; ‘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?’ They next ordered my trunk and drawers to be examined. The
secretary only was allowed to accompany me in this search. Everything
nice or curious which met his view was presented to the officers for
their decision whether it should be taken or retained. I begged they
would not take our wearing apparel, as it would be disgraceful to take
clothes partly worn into the possession of his majesty, and to us they
were of unspeakable value. They assented, and took a list only, and
did the same with the books, medicines, etc. My little work-table and
rocking-chair, presents from my beloved brother, I rescued from their
grasp, partly by artifice and partly through their ignorance. They
left, also, many articles which were of inestimable value during our
long imprisonment.
“As soon as they had finished their search and departed, I hastened to
the queen’s brother to hear what had been the fate of my petition,
when, alas! all my hopes were dashed by his wife’s coolly saying, ‘I
stated your case to the queen, but her majesty replied, “_The teachers
will not die; let them remain as they are._”’ My expectations had been
so much excited, that this sentence was like a thunder-clap to my
feelings. For the truth at one glance assured me that if the queen
refused assistance, who would dare to intercede for me? With a heavy
heart I departed, and on my way home attempted to enter the
prison-gate to communicate the sad tidings to your brother, but was
harshly refused admittance; and for the ten days following,
notwithstanding my daily efforts, I was not allowed to enter. We
attempted to communicate by writing, and after being successful for a
few days, it was discovered; the poor fellow who carried the
communications was beaten and put in the stocks, and the circumstance
cost me about ten dollars, besides two or three days of agony for fear
of the consequences.
“The officers who had taken possession of our property presented it to
his majesty, saying, ‘Judson is a true teacher; we found nothing in
his house but what belongs to priests. In addition to this money there
are an immense number of books, medicines, trunks of wearing apparel,
etc., of which we have only taken a list. Shall we take them or let
them remain?’ ‘Let them remain,’ said the king, ‘and put this property
by itself, for it shall be restored to him again if he is found
innocent.’ This was in allusion to the idea of his being a spy.
“For two or three months following, I was subject to continual
harassments, partly through my ignorance of police management, and
partly through the insatiable desire of every petty officer to enrich
himself through our misfortunes. When the officers came to our house
to confiscate our property, they insisted on knowing how much I had
given the governor and prison officers to release the teachers from
the inner prison. I honestly told them, and they demanded the sum from
the governor, which threw him into a dreadful rage, and he threatened
to put all the prisoners back into their original place. I went to him
the next morning, and the first words with which he accosted me were,
‘You are very bad; why did you tell the royal treasurer that you had
given me so much money?’ ‘The treasurer inquired; what could I say?’ I
replied. Say that you had given nothing,’ said he, ‘and I would have
made the teachers comfortable in prison; but now I know not what will
be their fate.’ ‘But I can not tell a falsehood,’ I replied; ‘my
religion differs from yours; it forbids prevarication; and had you
stood by me with your knife raised, I could not have said what you
suggest.’ His wife, who sat by his side, and who always, from this
time, continued my firm friend, instantly said, ‘Very true; what else
could she have done? I like such straightforward conduct; you must
not,’ turning to the governor, ‘be angry with her.’ I then presented
the governor with a beautiful opera-glass I had just received from
England, and begged his anger at me would not influence him to treat
the prisoners with unkindness, and I would endeavor, from time to
time, to make him such presents as would compensate for his loss. ‘You
may intercede for your husband only; for your sake he shall remain
where he is; but let the other prisoners take care of themselves.’ I
pleaded hard for Dr. Price; but he would not listen, and, the same
day, had him returned to the inner prison, where he remained ten days.
He was then taken out, in consequence of the doctor’s promising a
piece of broadcloth, and my sending two pieces of handkerchiefs.
“About this period I was one day summoned to the Lut-d’hau in an
official way. What new evil was before me I knew not, but was obliged
to go. When arrived, I was allowed to _stand_ at the bottom of the
stairs, as no female is permitted to ascend the steps, or even to
stand, but sit on the ground. Hundreds were collected around. The
officer who presided, in an authoritative voice began: ‘Speak the
truth in answer to the questions I shall ask. If you speak true, no
evil will follow; but if not, your life will not be spared. It is
reported that you have committed to the care of a Burmese officer a
string of pearls, a pair of diamond earrings, and a silver teapot. Is
it true?’ ‘It is not,’ I replied; ‘and if you or any other person can
produce these articles, I refuse not to die.’ The officer again urged
the necessity of ‘speaking true.’ I told him I had nothing more to say
on the subject, but begged he would use his influence to obtain the
release of Mr. Judson from prison.
“I returned to the house with a heart much lighter than I went, though
conscious of my perpetual exposure to such harassments.
Notwithstanding the repulse I had met in my application to the queen,
I could not remain without making continual efforts for your brother’s
release, while there was the least probability of success. Time after
time my visits to the queen’s sister-in-law were repeated, till she
refused to answer a question, and told me by her looks I had better
keep out of her presence. For the seven following months, hardly a day
passed that I did not visit some one of the members of Government, or
branches of the royal family, in order to gain their influence in our
behalf; but the only benefit resulting was, their encouraging promises
preserved us from despair, and induced a hope of the speedy
termination of our difficulties, which enabled us to bear our
distresses better than we otherwise should have done. I ought,
however, to mention that, by my repeated visits to the different
members of Government, I gained several friends, who were ready to
assist me with articles of food, though in a private manner, and who
used their influence in the palace to destroy the impression of our
being in any way engaged in the present war. But no one dared to speak
a word to the king or queen in favor of a foreigner while there were
such continual reports of the success of the English arms.
“During these seven months, the continual extortions and oppressions
to which your brother and the other white prisoners were subject are
indescribable. Sometimes sums of money were demanded, sometimes pieces
of cloth and handkerchiefs; at other times an order would be issued
that the white foreigners should not speak to each other, or have any
communication with their friends without. Then, again, the servants
were forbidden to carry in their food without an extra fee. Sometimes,
for days and days together, I could not go into the prison till after
dark, when I had two miles to walk in returning to the house. O, how
many, many times have I returned from that dreary prison at nine
o’clock at night, solitary, and worn out with fatigue and anxiety, and
thrown myself down in that same rocking-chair which you and Deacon L.
provided for me in Boston, and endeavored to invent some new scheme
for the release of the prisoners. Sometimes, for a moment or two, my
thoughts would glance toward America, and my beloved friends there;
but for nearly a year and a half, so entirely engrossed was every
thought with present scenes and sufferings, that I seldom reflected on
a single occurrence of my former life, or recollected that I had a
friend in existence out of Ava.
“The war was now prosecuted with all the energy the Burmese Government
possessed. New troops were continually raised and sent down the river,
and as frequent reports returned of their being all cut off. But that
part of the Burmese army stationed in Arracan, under the command of
Bandoola, had been more successful. Three hundred prisoners, at one
time, were sent to the capital, as an evidence of the victory that had
been gained. The king began to think that none but Bandoola understood
the art of fighting with foreigners; consequently, his majesty
recalled him, with the design of his taking command of the army that
had been sent to Rangoon. On his arrival at Ava, he was received at
court in the most flattering manner, and was the recipient of every
favor in the power of the king and queen to bestow. He was, in fact,
while at Ava, the acting king. I was resolved to apply to him for the
release of the missionaries, though some members of Government advised
me not, lest he, being reminded of their existence, should issue an
immediate order for their execution. But it was my last hope, and, as
it proved, my last application.
“Your brother wrote a petition privately, stating every circumstance
that would have a tendency to interest him in our behalf. With fear
and trembling I approached him, while surrounded by a crowd of
flatterers; and one of his secretaries took the petition, and read it
aloud. After hearing it, he spoke to me in an obliging manner, asked
several questions relative to the teachers, said he would think of the
subject, and bade me come again. I ran to the prison to communicate
the favorable reception to Mr. Judson; and we both had sanguine hopes
that his release was at hand. But the governor of the city expressed
his amazement at my temerity, and said he doubted not it would be the
means of destroying all the prisoners. In a day or two, however, I
went again, and took a present of considerable value. Bandoola was not
at home, but his lady, after ordering the present to be taken into
another room, modestly informed me that she was ordered by her husband
to make the following communication: that he was now very busily
employed in making preparations for Rangoon; but that when he had
retaken that place, and expelled the English, he would return and
release all the prisoners.
“Thus, again, were all our hopes dashed; and we felt that we could do
nothing more but sit down and submit to our lot. From this time we
gave up all idea of being released from prison till the termination of
the war; but I was still obliged to visit constantly some of the
members of Government with little presents, particularly the governor
of the city, for the purpose of making the situation of the prisoners
tolerable. I generally spent the greater part of every other day at
the governor’s house, giving him minute information relative to
American manners, customs, government, etc. He used to be so much
gratified with my communications as to feel greatly disappointed if
any occurrence prevented my spending the usual hours at his house.
“Some months after your brother’s imprisonment, I was permitted to
make a little bamboo room in the prison enclosure, where he could be
much by himself, and where I was sometimes allowed to spend two or
three hours. It so happened that the two months he occupied this place
were the coldest of the year, when he would have suffered much in the
open shed he had previously occupied. After the birth of your little
niece,[30] I was unable to visit the prison and the governor as
before, and found I had lost considerable influence previously gained;
for he was not so forward to hear my petitions when any difficulty
occurred as he formerly had been. When Maria was nearly two months
old, her father one morning sent me word that he and all the white
prisoners were put into the inner prison, in five pairs of fetters
each, that his little room had been torn down, and his mat, pillow,
etc., been taken by the jailers. This was to me a dreadful shock, as I
thought at once it was only a prelude to greater evils.
“I should have mentioned before this the defeat of Bandoola, his
escape to Danooyboo, the complete destruction of his army and loss of
ammunition, and the consternation this intelligence produced at court.
The English army had left Rangoon, and were advancing toward Prome,
when these severe measures were taken with the prisoners.
“I went immediately to the governor’s house. He was not at home, but
had ordered his wife to tell me, when I came, not to ask to have the
additional fetters taken off or the prisoners released, for _it could
not be done_. I went to the prison gate, but was forbidden to enter.
All was as still as death—not a white face to be seen, or a vestige of
Mr. Judson’s little room remaining. I was determined to see the
governor, and know the cause of this additional oppression, and for
this purpose returned into town the same evening at an hour I knew he
would be at home. He was in his audience-room, and, as I entered,
looked up without speaking, but exhibited a mixture of shame and
affected anger in his countenance. I began by saying, ‘Your lordship
has hitherto treated us with the kindness of a father. Our obligations
to you are very great. We have looked to you for protection from
oppression and cruelty. You have in many instances mitigated the
sufferings of those unfortunate though innocent beings committed to
your charge. You have promised me particularly that you would stand by
me to the last, and though you should receive an order from the king,
you would not put Mr. Judson to death. What crime has he committed to
deserve such additional punishment?’ The old man’s hard heart was
melted, for he wept like a child. ‘I pity you, Tsa-yah-ga-dau’—a name
by which he always called me; ‘I knew you would make me feel; I
therefore forbade your application. But you must believe me when I say
I do not wish to increase the sufferings of the prisoners. When I am
ordered to execute them, the least that I can do is to put them out of
sight. I will now tell you,’ continued he, ‘what I have never told you
before—that three times I have received intimations from the queen’s
brother to assassinate all the white prisoners privately; but I would
not do it. And I now repeat it, though I execute all the others, I
will never execute your husband. But I can not release him from his
present confinement, and you must not ask it.’ I had never seen him
manifest so much feeling, or so resolute in denying me a favor, which
circumstance was an additional reason for thinking dreadful scenes
were before us.
“The situation of the prisoners was now distressing beyond
description. It was at the commencement of the hot season. There were
above a hundred prisoners shut up in one room, without a breath of air
excepting from the cracks in the boards. I sometimes obtained
permission to go to the door for five minutes, when my heart sickened
at the wretchedness exhibited. The white prisoners, from incessant
perspiration and loss of appetite, looked more like the dead than the
living. I made daily applications to the governor, offering him money,
which he refused; but all that I gained was permission for the
foreigners to eat their food outside, and this continued but a short
time.
“It was at this period that the death of Bandoola was announced in the
palace. The king heard it with silent amazement, and the queen, in
Eastern style, smote upon her breast, and cried, ‘Ama! ama!’ (alas!
alas!) Who could be found to fill his place? Who would venture, since
the invincible Bandoola had been cut off? Such were the exclamations
constantly heard in the streets of Ava. The common people were
speaking _low_ of a rebellion, in case more troops should be levied.
For as yet the common people had borne the weight of the war; not a
tical had been taken from the royal treasury. At length the
pakan-woon, who a few months before had been so far disgraced by the
king as to be thrown into prison and irons, now offered himself to
head a new army that should be raised on a different plan from those
which had hitherto been raised, and assured the king, in the most
confident manner, that he would conquer the English, and restore those
places that had been taken in a very short time. He proposed that
every soldier should receive a hundred ticals in advance, and he would
obtain security for each man, as the money was to pass through his
hands. It was afterward found that he had taken, for his own use, ten
ticals from every hundred. He was a man of enterprise and talents,
though a violent enemy to all foreigners. His offers were accepted by
the king and Government, and all power immediately committed to him.
One of the first exercises of his power was to arrest Lanciego and the
Portuguese priest, who had hitherto remained unmolested, and cast them
into prison, and to subject the native Portuguese and Bengalees to the
most menial occupations. The whole town was in alarm lest they should
feel the effects of his power; and it was owing to the malignant
representations of this man, that the white prisoners suffered such a
change in their circumstances as I shall soon relate.
“After continuing in the inner prison for more than a month, your
brother was taken with a fever. I felt assured he would not live long,
unless removed from that noisome place. To effect this, and in order
to be near the prison, I removed from our house, and put up a small
bamboo room in the governor’s enclosure, which was nearly opposite the
prison gate. Here I incessantly begged the governor to give me an
order to take Mr. Judson out of the large prison, and place him in a
more comfortable situation; and the old man, being worn out with my
entreaties, at length gave me the order in an official form, and also
gave orders to the head jailer to allow me to go in and out, all times
of the day, to administer medicines, etc. I now felt happy indeed, and
had Mr. Judson instantly removed into a little bamboo hovel, so low
that neither of us could stand upright—but a palace in comparison with
the place he had left.
“Notwithstanding the order the governor had given for my admittance
into prison, it was with the greatest difficulty that I could persuade
the under-jailer to open the gate. I used to carry Mr. Judson’s food
myself, for the sake of getting in, and would then remain an hour or
two, unless driven out. We had been in this comfortable situation but
two or three days, until, one morning, having carried in Mr. Judson’s
breakfast, which, in consequence of fever, he was unable to take, I
remained longer than usual, when the governor, in great haste, sent
for me. I promised to return as soon as I had ascertained the
governor’s will, he being much alarmed at this unusual message. I was
very agreeably disappointed when the governor informed me that he only
wished to consult me about his watch, and seemed unusually pleasant
and conversable. I found afterward that his only object was to detain
me until the dreadful scene about to take place in the prison was
over. For when I left him to go to my room, one of the servants came
running, and, with a ghastly countenance, informed me that all the
white prisoners were carried away. I would not believe the report, and
instantly went back to the governor, who said he had just heard of it,
but did not wish to tell me. I hastily ran into the street, hoping to
get a glimpse of them before they were out of sight, but in this was
disappointed. I ran first into one street, then another, inquiring of
all I met; but no one would answer me. At length an old woman told me
the white prisoners had gone toward the little river; for they were to
be carried to Amarapoora. I then ran to the banks of the little river,
about half a mile, but saw them not, and concluded the old woman had
deceived me. Some of the friends of the foreigners went to the place
of execution, but found them not. I then returned to the governor, to
try to discover the cause of their removal, and the probability of
their future fate. The old man assured me that he was ignorant of the
intention of Government to remove the foreigners till that morning;
that, since I went out, he had learned that the prisoners were to be
sent to Amarapoora, but for what purpose he knew not. ‘I will send off
a man immediately,’ said he, ‘to see what is to be done with them. You
can do nothing more for your husband,’ continued he; ‘_take care of
yourself_.’ With a heavy heart I went to my room, and having no hope
to excite me to exertion, I sank down almost in despair. For several
days previous, I had been actively engaged in building my own little
room, and making our hovel comfortable. My thoughts had been almost
entirely occupied in contriving means to get into prison. But now I
looked toward the gate with a kind of melancholy feeling, but no wish
to enter. All was the stillness of death; no preparation of your
brother’s food, no expectation of meeting him at the usual dinner
hour; all my employment, all my occupations, seem to have ceased, and
I had nothing left but the dreadful recollection that Mr. Judson was
carried off, I knew not whither. It was one of the most insupportable
days I ever passed. Toward night, however, I came to the determination
to set off the next morning for Amarapoora, and for this purpose was
obliged to go to our house out of town.
“Never before had I suffered so much from fear in traversing the
streets of Ava. The last words of the governor, “Take care of
yourself,” made me suspect there was some design with which I was
unacquainted. I saw, also, he was afraid to have me go into the
streets, and advised me to wait till dark, when he would send me in a
cart, and a man to open the gates. I took two or three trunks of the
most valuable articles, together with the medicine chest, to deposit
in the house of the governor; and after committing the house and
premises to our faithful Moung Ing and a Bengalee servant, who
continued with us, though we were unable to pay his wages, I took
leave, as I then thought probable, of our house in Ava forever.
“On my return to the governor’s, I found a servant of Mr. Gouger, who
happened to be near the prison when the foreigners were led out, and
followed on to see the end, who informed me that the prisoners had
been carried before the lamine-woon, at Amarapoora, and were to be
sent the next day to a village he knew not how far distant. My
distress was a little relieved by the intelligence that our friend was
yet alive; but still I knew not what was to become of him. The next
morning I obtained a pass from Government, and with my little Maria,
who was then only three months old, Mary and Abby Hasseltine, two of
the Burman children, and our Bengalee cook, who was the only one of
the party that could afford me any assistance, I set off for
Amarapoora. The day was dreadfully hot; but we obtained a covered
boat, in which we were tolerably comfortable, till within two miles of
the Government house. I then procured a cart; but the violent motion,
together with the dreadful heat and dust, made me almost distracted.
But what was my disappointment, on my arriving at the court-house, to
find that the prisoners had been sent on two hours before, and that I
must go in that uncomfortable mode four miles farther with little
Maria in my arms, whom I held all the way from Ava. The cartman
refused to go any further; and after waiting an hour in the burning
sun, I procured another, and set off for that never-to-be-forgotten
place, Oung-pen-la. I obtained a guide from the governor, and was
conducted directly to the prison yard. But what a scene of
wretchedness was presented to my view! The prison was an old,
shattered building, without a roof; the fence was entirely destroyed;
eight or ten Burmese were on the top of the building, trying to make
something like a shelter with leaves; while under a little low
projection outside of the prison sat the foreigners, chained together
two and two, almost dead with suffering and fatigue. The first words
of your brother were, ‘Why have you come? I hoped you would not
follow, for you can not live here.’ It was now dark. I had no
refreshment for the suffering prisoners, or for myself, as I had
expected to procure all that was necessary at the market of
Amarapoora, and I had no shelter for the night. I asked one of the
jailers if I might put up a little bamboo house near the prison; he
said, ‘No; it is not customary.’ I then begged he would procure me a
shelter for the night, when on the morrow I could find some place to
live in. He took me to his house, in which there were only two small
rooms—one in which he and his family lived; the other, which was then
half full of grain, he offered to me; and in that little filthy place
I spent the next six months of wretchedness. I procured some
half-boiled water, instead of my tea, and, worn out with fatigue, laid
myself down on a mat spread over the paddy, and endeavored to obtain a
little refreshment from sleep. The next morning your brother gave me
the following account of the brutal treatment he had received on being
taken out of prison.