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DAUGHTERS OF THE CROSS
OR,
WOMAN'S MISSION.
BY DANIEL C. EDDY.
"There are deeds which should not pass away,
And names that must not wither."
PREFACE.
We have in this volume brought together the names of several of our most
distinguished female heroines, who have toiled and suffered on heathen
soil. They have been gathered from different denominations and sects, and
form a galaxy of names as dear to the heart of Christianity as can be drawn
from the records of earth.
The object is, to give a series of brief memoirs, in which the lives of
faithful Christians shall be unfolded; impart instruction in reference to
the cause of missions; inspire the heart of the reader with Christian zeal;
and do justice to the memory of those who deserve more honor than the
fallen warrior and the titled senator.
Most of the subjects of these sketches are well known and well
beloved--women whose deeds have been recorded in high places in
denominational history; and we deem it no impropriety to take them down,
unwind the peculiarity of sect, and weave these honored names in one sacred
wreath, that we may dedicate it to all who love the cause of missions.
The wreath may wither and fall apart, but the flowers which compose it will
not die; these sacred names shall live with immortal freshness while in the
world is found a _missionary church_.
CONTENTS
HARRIET NEWELL.
The Crusade.--Martin II.--Peter the Hermit.--Missionary Enterprise.
--Andover.--The young Men.--Congregational Association.--American
Board.--Harriet Atwood.--Bradford Academy.--Conversion.--Church in
Haverhill.--Death of her Father.--Samuel Newell.--Marriage.--Sailing.--The
Caravan.--Salem Harbor.--Calcutta,--Birth of the Babe,--Its Death.--Mrs.
Newell dies
ANN H. JUDSON.
Bradford.--Ann Hasseltine.--Harriet Atwood.--Conversion.--
Communion.--Marries Mr. Judson.--Sails for Calcutta.--Serampore.--Change
of Views.--Baptism.--First Child.--First Conversion.--Trials and
Suffering.--Judson's Imprisonment.--English Government.--Mrs. Judson
dies.--Amherst.--The Hopia Tree
ELIZABETH HERVEY.
Park Street Church.--Ordination.--Charge.--The Corvo.--Church in
Hadley.--Sermon.--Labor.--Death
HARRIET B. STEWART.
Sandwich Islands.--Opakakia.--Sabbath Scene.--Stamford, Connecticut.
--Marriage.--Laihaina.--Death of Mrs. Stewart.--Church building at Waiakea
SARAH L. SMITH.
Syria.--Norwich, Connecticut.--John Robinson.--New Heart.--Mohegan
Indians.--Brig George.--Malta.--Beyroot.--The Mediterranean.--
Jerusalem.--Sickness.--Death.--Burial Service
ELEANOR MACOMBER.
Lake Pleasant.--Ojibwas.--Dong-Yahn.--Mr. Osgood.--Zuagaben
Mountains.--Karens.--Rev. Mr. Stephens.--Church planted.--The Close
SARAH D. COMSTOCK.
The Burman Empire.--Brookline.--Baldwin Place Church.--Mr. Wade.--Dr.
Wayland's Address.--Mrs. Sigourney.--The Cashmere.--Kyouk Phyoo.--Mr.
Kincaid.--Six Men for Arracan.--"O Jesus, I do this for thee."--Last
Illness.--Lowly Sepulchres
HENRIETTA SHUCK.
China.--Rev. Addison Hall.--Kilmarnock.--Virginia Revivals.--
Baptism.--Death of her Mother.--Marriage to Mr. Shuck.--Sea Voyage.--Ah
Loo.--Henrietta Layton.--Premonitions.--The End of Earth
SARAH B. JUDSON.
Alstead.--Dr. Bolles.--George D. Boardman.--Poem.--Discovery and subsequent
union.--Calcutta.--Sarah Ann.--Robbery.--George.--Death of
Sarah.--Ko Thah-byu.--Rebellion.--Boardman's Death.--Marriage to Mr.
Judson.--Poems.--Death.--Ex Governor Briggs's Speech
MARY E. VAN LENNEP.
Rev. Dr. Hawes.--Childhood's happy Home.--Familiarity with the
Bible.--Missionary Interest.--Sabbath Schools.--Seminary.--Dr.
Fitch.--Longfellow.--Nature.--Mr. Van Lennep.--The union.--The
Stamboul.--Smyrna.--The Dardanelles.--Constantinople.--Last Sickness.--Mr.
Goodell.--Protestant Graveyard.--The American Ambassador.--The Watch of the
Bosphorus.
I.
HARRIET NEWELL, THE PROTO-MARTYR.
Several centuries ago, the idea of driving out of Jerusalem its infidel
inhabitants was suggested to a mad ecclesiastic. A shorn and dehumanized
monk of Picardy, who had performed many a journey to that fallen city, who
had been mocked and derided there as a follower of the Nazarene, whose
heart burned beneath the wrongs and indignities which had been so freely
heaped upon the head of himself and his countrymen, determined to arouse a
storm which should send its lightnings to gleam along the streets, and
roll its deep thunder to shake the hills which in speechless majesty stand
around the city of God.
Pope Martin II. entered into his daring scheme, convened a council of
bishops and priests, and gave the sanction of the church to the wild
enterprise. This council Peter addressed, and, with all the eloquence of
a man inspired by a mighty project, depicted the wrongs and grievances
of those who yearly sought, for holy purposes, the sepulchre wherein the
Savior of man reposed after his crucifixion. He was successful in inspiring
the people with his own wild enthusiasm. All Europe flew to arms; all ranks
and conditions in life united in the pious work; youthful vigor and hoary
weakness stood side by side; the cross was worn upon the shoulder and
carried on banners; the watchword, "_Deus Vult_," burst from ten thousand
lips; and the armies of Christendom precipitated themselves upon the holy
land with the awful war cry, "God wills it," echoing from rank to rank.
In later times a mightier, nobler enterprise was originated, and the great
system of American missions commenced. The object was a grand one, and
awfully important. It contemplated, not the subjection of a narrow kingdom
alone, but the complete overthrow of the dark empire of sin; not the
elevation of a human king, an earthly monarch, but the enthronement of an
insulted God, as the supreme object of human worship; not the possession of
the damp, cold sepulchre in which Jesus reposed after his melancholy death,
but the erection of his cross on every hillside, by every sea shore, in
vale and glen, in city and in solitude. It was a noble design, one full of
grandeur and glory, as far surpassing the crusade of Peter the Hermit as
the noonday sun surpasses the dim star of evening. Its purpose was to
obliterate the awful record of human sin, flash the rays of a divine
illumination across a world of darkness, and send the electric thrill of a
holy life throughout a universe of death.
At first, the missionary enterprise was looked upon as foolish and Utopian.
Good men regarded it as utterly impracticable, and bad men condemned
and denounced it as selfish and mercenary. The Christian church had not
listened to the wail of a dying world as it echoed over land and ocean and
sounded along our shores; she had not realized the great fact that every
darkened tribe constitutes a part of the universal brotherhood of man; her
heart had not been touched by the spirit of the great commission, "Go ye
into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature."
But the sun which ushered in the present century dawned upon a missionary
age and a missionary church. The tide of time has floated man down to a
region of light, and the high and holy obligations which rest upon the
ransomed of God are being recognized. The question is now asked, with deep
and serious earnestness,--
"Shall we, whose souls are lighted
By wisdom from on high,
Shall we to man benighted
The lamp of life deny?"
And the answer has been given. The church has felt, realized, and entered
into her obligation. By the cross she has stood, her heart beating with
kindly sympathy, her cheeks bathed in tears, and her lips vocal with
prayer. The Macedonian cry has been heard, and from every nave, and alcove,
and aisle, and altar of the great temple of Christianity has come the
response,--
"Waft, waft, ye winds, the story,
And you, ye waters, roll,
Till, like a sea of glory,
Light spreads from pole to pole."
In the early part of the year 1808 several young men, members of the
Divinity School at Andover, became impressed with the importance of a
mission to the heathen world. They first looked on the subject at a
distance, saw its dim and shadowy outlines, prayed that their visions of a
converted world might be realized, and wondered who would go forth the
first heralds of salvation. Ere long the impression came that _they_
were the men; and in two years the impression had deepened into a solemn
conviction, and they had determined on a life of labor, tears, and
sacrifice.
In 1810 they made known their plans to an association of Congregational
ministers assembled in Bradford. Although that body of holy men had many
fears and some doubts concerning the success of the enterprise, no attempt
was made to dampen the ardor of the young brethren who were resolved to
undertake the vast work. Many of the aged men composing that association
thought they could discern in the fervor and zeal of these young apostles
of missions the inspiration of the Holy Ghost. However many were their
fears and doubts, they dared not, as they loved the cross, place a single
obstacle in the way of the accomplishment of such a lofty purpose; and
when the question was asked by the sceptic, "Who is sufficient for these
things?" the awful response, "The sufficiency is of God," came up from many
hearts.
This movement on the part of Messrs. Judson, Newell, Nott, and their
associates, originated the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign
Missions--an organization which has its mission stations in almost every
part of the world, and which is expending, annually, the sum of two hundred
thousand dollars for the conversion of the heathen. The first missionaries
sent out were those above named, who, with two others, were ordained to the
work in the Tabernacle Church, in Salem, on the 6th of February, 1812.
The ordination scene is said to have been one of peculiar solemnity. The
spectacle was an unusual one, and a vast crowd collected together. The
spacious church, though filled to overflowing with excited and interested
people, was as silent as the chamber of death as instructions were given
to the young men who were to bid adieu to home and country. On the 19th of
February, a cold, severe day, the brig Caravan moved down the harbor of
Salem on an outward-bound voyage, bearing on her decks Messrs. Judson and
Newell, with their wives, the others having sailed from Philadelphia for
Calcutta the day previous. They went, not as the conqueror goes, with
fire and sword, flowing banners and waving plumes, but as the heralds of
salvation, having the gospel of life and peace to proclaim in the ears of
men who were strangers to its glory. To portray the character of one of
these devoted female missionaries, the wife of Samuel Newell, this sketch
will be devoted.
Harriet Atwood was born in the town of Haverhill, on the sloping banks of
the winding Merrimack, on the 10th of October, 1793. She was the daughter
of Moses Atwood, a merchant of that village, who was universally respected
and beloved. Though not rich, he was generous and benevolent; he was pious
without affectation, and in his heart cherished a longing desire to do
good. Her mother, who yet lives, was a woman of strong religious principle,
and well calculated to give right direction to the opening mind of her
child. Her piety, it is said, was of that kind which makes its impression
upon the heart and conscience, and leads the beholder to admire and love.
She was a fit mother to train such a daughter for her holy mission to a
world in ruins, and, by her judicious advice and counsel, lead on her child
to that high point of mental and moral advancement from whence she could
look abroad upon a fallen race and pity human woe.
Throughout life Harriet Newell bore the marks, and carried the impressions,
of childhood and youth, and her short but brilliant career was moulded and
fashioned by her missionary-hearted mother.
In 1805 she entered upon a course of study at the Bradford Academy, and
soon distinguished herself as a quick and ready scholar. One of her fellow
pupils remarks that "she seldom entered the recitation room unprepared. She
seemed to take peculiar pains in doing things _well_; and though much of
her time was spent in reading, her standing in her class was always more
than respectable." Though but a child at this time, she kept a diary which
would have done no discredit to a person of mature years, in which she
recorded the exercises of her own mind and the progress which she made in
mental discipline. The entries made in that diary give us an idea of the
superiority of her mind and the excellency of her heart.
While at Bradford, her heart was renewed by the grace of God. During a
revival which performed its holy work among the members of the school, she
was led to view herself as a sinner against the Almighty. The awful fact
that she must be born again uttered its solemn admonition. Though not so
deeply convicted as are some persons, she felt the terrible necessity of
regeneration. Reason, conscience, and Scripture proclaimed the same truth;
and after struggling against her better feelings for a while, she yielded
herself in sweet submission to the will of God. The account which she gives
of her own exercises of mind, while in this condition, furnishes us with a
view of her real character. Her religious experience was full of feelings
and acts characteristic of herself; and we may form our opinion of her
disposition and cast of mind from the peculiarity of her religious
emotions. In extreme youth she was fond of gayety and mirth, and spent much
time in dancing. According to her own account, she had but little remorse
of conscience for her thoughtless course. The fact that such amusements
were sinful, as well as dangerous, had never been impressed upon her mind.
She deemed them consistent with the highest state of moral and religious
enjoyment, and pursued the miserable phantom of human, earthly pleasure,
until aroused by the Spirit and made sensible of sin.
From early youth she had been accustomed to revere and study the word of
God and pray to her Father in heaven for the things which she needed. Her
pious parents had impressed the lessons of virtue on her young heart, and
she was accustomed, as she arose in the morning and rested her head at
night, to commend the keeping of her body and soul to the care of an
overruling, superintending Providence; but after commencing the practice
of dancing, and beginning to attend schools where this vain practice was
learned, she neglected the Bible, and thought but little of the place of
prayer. She found, after retiring at evening from the gay and fascinating
scenes of the dancing room, that prayer and meditation were dull and
tedious exercises, and concluded to give them up. Closing the Bible, she
laid it aside, and let it gather dust upon the shelf, while vain and
trifling volumes engaged her attention. The door of her closet was closed,
and she entered it not; and all thoughts of God were banished from her
mind, while the world employed all her time. But God, who orders all
things, was about to perform on her heart a work of mercy and grace. She
was a chosen vessel to bear the name of Jesus to a land of darkness and
despair.
When about thirteen years of age, she was sent by her parents to the
Academy at Bradford, to receive a systematic course of instruction. Shortly
after this a revival of religion commenced, and spread through the school,
and many were converted. The attention of Miss Atwood was arrested and
turned from vanity. "Must I be born again?" was the searching question
which she put to her own heart. The answer came to her, and she began to
seek the Savior. She seems not to have had deep conviction; her mind,
though agitated, was not overwhelmed, and the subject was contemplated
calmly. At length, with the melancholy fact that she was a sinner, and
endless condemnation before her, she was pointed to the cross of Christ.
The view was effectual. Jesus appeared the Savior of sinners, of whom she
was one, and faith gladly laid hold on him as the way of escape from an
awful death. A wonderful change took place: she lost her love of folly and
sin; prayer was sweet again; the Bible was drawn from its resting-place and
perused with new pleasure; from both Bible and closet she derived pleasure
such as she had never before experienced; and she passed from a state of
nature to a state of grace.
Writing to her friends while in this mood of mind, she is willing to admit
that she has not had such an overwhelming view of the nature of sin as some
have, nor of the ecstatic joy which some experience on conversion; but she
had what was as good--a calm hope in the merits of a crucified Savior, a
high estimate of religion and religious privileges, and an utter contempt
for the pleasures and vanities of the world. She had a holy love for all
things good, and was able to
"Read her title clear
To mansions in the sky."
At the time when Miss Atwood found this sweet and precious hope, the church
in Haverhill was in a low and languishing condition, disturbed by internal
divisions, and to a great extent destitute of the influences of the Holy
Spirit. In consequence of this state of the church she did not unite
herself with it, and at that time made no open profession of religion. This
neglect of a plain and obvious duty brought darkness upon her mind, and
shrouded her soul in gloom. God withdrew his presence from his wayward and
disobedient child, and left her in sadness: she had refused to confess her
Master openly and publicly in the midst of trials and discouragements; and,
grieved and wounded by her conduct, he turned from her, and hid his face.
Then was she in the condition of the man who took into his own house seven
spirits more wicked than himself. There was no rest for her soul, no relief
for her anguished spirit. She realized how bitter a thing it is to depart
from the counsel of her Maker, and found momentary comfort only in the
forgetfulness of what she had enjoyed. At this period conscience was awake,
and to drown its voice she plunged into sin, sought pleasure in all the
departments of worldly intercourse, and thought as little as possible of
God and sacred things. In this attempt to drive away serious inquiries she
succeeded, and became as thoughtless as before her conversion. Again was
the Bible laid aside, and the sickly novel and the wild romance substituted
in its place. The closet was neglected, and she loved not to retire and
commune with God. The flame of piety in her soul went out, and her
heart was dark and sad; she fearfully realized the truth of the divine
declaration, "The way of the transgressor is hard." In her diary she tells
of sleepless nights and anxious days; of the Savior wounded by her whom he
died to save; of the Spirit grieved, and almost quenched, yet lingering
around her, now reproving, now commanding, now pleading; at one time
holding up the terrors of a broken law, and then whispering in tones as
sweet and gentle as Calvary; of conscience holding up a mirror in which
she might discern the likeness of herself and contemplate her real moral
character. Thoughts of God and holiness, of Christ and Calvary, made her
gloomy and unhappy; and she entered the winding path of sin, that the
celestial light might not burst upon her. Like other sinners, she sought
happiness by forgetting what she was doing, and by an entire withdrawal
from all scenes which could awaken in her soul emotions of contrition and
repentance.
On the 28th of June, 1809, Miss Atwood listened to a discourse, which was
the instrument, in the hands of God, of again prostrating her at the foot
of the cross. Her carnal security gave way; her sins, her broken vows and
pledges, rose up before her in startling numbers; her guilt hung over her
like a dark mantle; she felt the awful pangs of remorse, and was induced to
return to that kind and compassionate Savior who had at first forgiven all
her faults. Peace was restored; the smile of God returned; and the bleeding
heart, torn and wounded by sin, had rest.
While in her fifteenth year, the subject of this sketch was called upon to
part with her father. What influence this sad event had upon her mind is
hardly known; but that it was an occasion of deep and thrilling anguish
cannot be doubted. Smarting under the hand of Providence, she writes
letters to several of her friends, which abound in words of holy and pious
resignation. The manner in which her sire departed, his calm exit from the
sorrows of the flesh, served to give her a more lofty idea of the power of
faith to sustain its subject in the hour of death. Though he had left nine
fatherless children and a broken-hearted widow, there was to Harriet a
melancholy pleasure in the idea that he had burst off the fetters of clay
and ascended to the skies. Though on earth deprived of his companionship,
his counsels, and his guidance, she looked forward to a meeting where
parting scenes will not be found, and where the farewell word will never be
spoken.
"There is a world above,
Where parting is unknown,
A long eternity of love,
Formed for the good alone;
And faith beholds the dying here
Translated to that glorious sphere."
Nor had she a single doubt that her father had reached that world. She knew
the sincerity, piety, and devotion of his life, and the sweet calmness of
his death. His coffin, his shroud, his grave, his pale form were reposing
in lonely silence beneath the bosom of the earth; but the spirit had
departed on its journey of ages, and she doubted not its perfect felicity.
As often as she repaired to the spot where he was interred, and kneeled by
his tomb and breathed forth her humble supplications, she found the sweet
assurance that beyond the grave she would see her earthly parent, and live
with him forever. Though divided by the realms of space, faith carried her
onward to the scenes of eternity and upward to the joys of heaven; and
though she roamed on earth, shedding many a tear of sorrow, her spirit held
communion with the spirit of her departed sire.
"While her silent steps were straying
Lonely through night's deepening shade,
Glory's brightest beams were playing
Bound the happy Christian's head."
In October, 1810, an event occurred which gave direction to the whole life
of Harriet Atwood. She became acquainted with Samuel Newell, one of the
enthusiastic apostles of missions. He made her familiar with his plans and
purposes, and asked her to accompany him as his colaborer and companion.
Long had she prayed that she might be a source of good to her
fellow-creatures; long had she labored to accomplish something for God
and his holy cause; but the idea of leaving mother and friends, home and
kindred, and going forth to preach salvation and tell of Jesus in wild
and barbarous climes, was new and strange. To the whole matter she gave a
careful and prayerful consideration. She divested the great subject as
far as possible from all romantic drapery, and looked upon it in its true
light. For a while her mind was in a state of perplexing doubt and fear,
and the thought of leaving her own land was terrible. While considering the
conflict in her mind, we should remember that the cause of missions was
in its infancy; that no one had ever gone forth from our shores to preach
salvation by grace in heathen countries; that those who were agitating
the subject were branded as fanatics, and the cause itself was subject to
unjust suspicions and contempt; consequently the subject had an importance
and awfulness which it does not now possess. The way has been broken, and
all good men acknowledge that the heroism of the missionary woman is grand
and sublime. The decision made by Harriet Atwood was different from that
made by others in after years, inasmuch as she had no example, no pattern.
She realized that the advice of friends, biased as it was by prejudice and
affection, could not be relied upon; and, driven to the throne of God, she
wrestled there until her course of action was decided and her mind fixed
intently upon the great work before her. Her resolution to go to India was
assailed on every side. Those to whom she had been accustomed to look for
advice and counsel, friends on whose judgment she had relied, shook their
heads and gave decided tokens of disapprobation. But the question was
finally settled. On one side were the gay world, her young associates,
her kind relatives, her own care and comfort. On the other side stood a
bleeding Savior and a dying world. To the question, "Lord, what wilt thou
have me to do?" she heard the response, "Go work to-day in my vineyard;"
and when she looked forth upon the harvest, white for the reaper's hand,
she hesitated not to consecrate on the altar of her God her services, her
time, her life.
When this decision was once made, she conferred not with flesh and blood.
Her reply was given to Mr. Newell in firm, decided language; and up to
the hour when her spirit took its flight from earth to heaven, we have
no evidence that she had one single regret that she had chosen a life of
self-sacrifice. Her language was,--
"Through floods and flames, if Jesus lead,
I'll follow where he goes."
Through duties and trials, through floods and flames, she passed, shrinking
from no danger and shunning no sacrifice. Conscious of right, she quailed
not before the tears of friends and the scorn of foes; but alike in duty
and in danger followed the footsteps of her Savior, until her wasting body
was decomposed and her spirit taken up to dwell with the just men made
perfect.
To a friend in Beverly she writes as follows: "How can I go and leave those
who have done so much for me, and who will be so sorry for my loss? How can
I leave my mother here while oceans roll between us? How can I go with
but little prospect of return? And how can I stay? We are under solemn
obligation to labor for God; and I must go to India at any sacrifice. I owe
something to my perishing fellow-men; I owe something to my Savior. He wept
for men--he shed tears over Jerusalem.
'Did Christ o'er sinners weep?
And shall our cheeks be dry?'"
At this time her letters to Mr. Newell breathe forth the most devoted
missionary spirit, and exhibit her firm determination to do her highest
duty and discharge her great mission at any sacrifice--at the cost of
separation, tears, and death. And required it, think you, no effort to
bring her mind into this godlike state? Cost it no toil to discipline the
heart to such sore trials? Most certainly it demanded toil and effort; and
many a visit to the cross was made, and many a view of the bleeding Savior
obtained, ere she could turn her back on home and all that the young heart
holds dear in this life, to labor and die far away over the rolling sea.
And we doubt if any other motive can be found so powerful as this to move
the Christian heart to obedience. There is an inexpressible efficacy in
the cross to bring all the various opposing elements into subjection, and
produce order in the place of discord and opposition. With the cross the
early disciples went forth, not as the crusaders went, with the sacred
symbol on banners, and badges, and weapons, but wearing the _spirit_ of
the cross like a garment, having its doctrines engraven on the heart, and
inspired and quickened into life by its mysterious energy. It was the cross
that induced the early disciples to brave danger and death to spread abroad
the new faith. The martyr at the stake, amid the curling flames, was
supported by it; the exile from home, banished to rude and savage wilds,
loved it; the prisoner in his chains, confined and scourged, tortured and
bleeding, turned to it, and found satisfaction for all his wrongs; the
laborer for God, amid wild men who had no sympathy for his vocation,
carried the cross, and fainted not in his anxious toil.
And such was the effect of the cross on the mind of Mrs. Newell. It sent
her forth in all the love of womanhood, and sustained her until the close
of life, It produced on her the impression that it made upon the dreamer
Bunyan, who saw it as he was escaping from the city of destruction. He came
to it with a heavy heart and a burdened soul; but as he saw it the burden
fell and rolled into the sepulchre, and his load was gone. He gazed with
rapture and delight; and the tears burst forth and flowed down his cheeks,
and joy and holy satisfaction filled his soul.
Here is the great moving motive, one which is above all others, one that is
more effective than all others; and by this our heroine was animated and
cheered in her missionary work.
Up to the time of her departure for India, the mind of Miss Atwood
continued to be exercised with contending feelings. At one time the
sacrifice, the toil, the labor, and self-denial of a missionary life would
rise up before her. She would feel how great the trial must be to leave
all the endeared scenes of youth and childhood, and go forth to toil, and
perhaps die, among strangers in a strange land. Dark visions would often
flit before her; and she felt how terrible it must be to sicken and expire
on shores where no mother's kind hand could lift her anguished head nor
smooth her fevered pillow. But at other times her spirit soared above the
toil and sorrow, and dwelt with rapture upon the bliss, of seeing some of
the poor, degraded heathen females converted to Christ. The glory of the
great enterprise presented itself; and she realized the blessedness of
those who leave father and mother, brother and sister, houses and land, for
the promotion of the kingdom of Christ. From these various struggles
she came forth purified, dead to the world, and alive unto Christ. Any
sacrifice she was willing to make, any toil endure. It was her meat
and drink to do the will of God and accomplish his work. After a full
investigation of all the privations and sacrifices of a missionary life,
after a solemn and prayerful estimate of all that was to be left behind and
all that would be gained, she formed her opinion and decided to go forth. A
feeble woman, just out of childhood, she linked her fate with an unpopular
and scorned enterprise, and cast in her lot with the dark-browed daughters
of India.
We have seen grand enterprises commenced and carried on; we have seen our
fellow-men gathering imperishable laurels; but never before did the world
witness so grand a spectacle, with so high an object to be accomplished
by mortals, as was given in the departure of Harriet Newell to teach the
lessons of Jesus in distant lands. We consider the career of Napoleon a
glorious one. We cannot look upon his successful marches and battles,
however much we disapprove his course, without something of admiration
mingled with our abhorrence. There was a gorgeous glory which gathered
around the character of that emperor of blood which hides his errors and
dazzles the eyes of the beholder. But the true glory which gathered over
that little band of missionaries, as they left the snow-covered, icebound
coast of America, to find homes and graves in distant India, far outshines
all the glitter of pomp and imperial splendor which ever shed its rays upon
the brilliant successes of the monarch of France, the conqueror of Europe.
True, they went forth alone. No weeping church followed them to the water
side; no crowded shore sent up its wail, or echoed forth the fervent
prayer; but in the homes of the people, in the heart of God, these holy men
and women were remembered. Had that beautiful hymn been composed for them,
it could not have been more appropriate; and as they stood upon the deck
of the wave-washed Caravan, it must have been the sentiments of all their
hearts.
"Scenes of sacred grace and pleasure,
Holy days and Sabbath bell,
Richest, brightest, sweetest treasure,
Can I say a last farewell?
Can I leave you,
Far in distant lands to dwell?
Yes, I hasten from you gladly--
From the scenes I loved so well;
Far away, ye billows, bear me;
Lovely, native land, farewell!
Pleased I leave thee,
Far in heathen lands to dwell.
In the desert let me labor;
On the mountain let me tell
How he died--the blessed Savior--
To redeem a world from hell;
Let me hasten
Far in heathen lands to dwell."
Miss Atwood was united in marriage to Mr. Newell on the 9th of February,
1812; and on the 19th the Caravan set sail, as before stated. The voyage
to Calcutta, though attended with many things to render it unpleasant to a
feeble American woman, was not a severe one. The weather most of the time
was pleasant; and only occasionally did the waves sweep across the decks of
the vessel, or flow through the windows into the cabin. Mrs. Newell spent
her time in writing letters to her American friends and preparing herself
for her missionary work. She now had leisure to examine her own heart and
descend into the hidden mysteries of her soul; she had ample space to view
the past and form plans for the future; she could try her motives by the
unerring word of God, and, by humble prayer and careful meditation, be
enabled to acquire strength which should prove equal to her trials. The
cabin of a wave-tossed vessel, the loneliness of a voyage across the
deep-green ocean, a separation from earth's homes and earth's hearts,
were all calculated to lift up the pious mind, and centre the soul's best
affections upon pure and worthy objects. Whatever of care and sorrow she
might have had, however much or however little of anxiety might have filled
her bosom, such circumstances were sufficient to bring her faith to the
most severe test.
The voyage must have been severe but healthy discipline, and doubtless from
it was learned many a lesson of grace and duty. As the snow-covered hills
of her own dear home disappeared; as the tall chimney at the entrance of
the harbor, from which the nightly flame burned forth a beacon to the
mariner to guide him amid the storm, was lost in the distance; as the first
night came on and darkness gathered over the wide waste of waters; as deep
shadows fell upon the form of the plunging ship,--the missionary cause
must have presented itself in a new light, and, to some extent, have been
clothed with sombre hues. And as time rolled on and the distance from home
increased, that sacred call of God, that holy mission on which she was
employed, must have appealed more strongly to the Christ-like heart of our
missionary sister. The vessel encountered storm and tempest, the usual
inconveniences of a sea voyage were endured, and danger in a thousand
threatening forms appeared; but the hand which formed the channels of the
sea preserved his servants, and amid storm and darkness guided the vessel
which bore them to homes and graves in the dark places of the earth.
On her passage, Mrs. Newell kept an interesting journal, not only of her
own feelings, but also of the incidents that rendered the voyage pleasant
or painful and checkered it with evil or good. And such incidents there are
always. When on the ocean, far from land, for the first time, the dullest
and most stupid mind cannot fail of being aroused to new and awful
emotions. Man learns of God at such an hour, and finds new proof of his
grandeur and glory in every dashing wave and every whistling blast. With
but a single inch between him and a watery death, he gazes from his narrow
deck upon the boundless expanse of tossing, foam-crested billows; while, as
far as his eye can stretch, not a foot of land appears. His vessel may be
on fire, she may fill with water, she may be riven by lightning; but there
is no friendly sail to which wrecked man may fly and be safe. His ship will
founder in mid ocean, while not a single form appears to lend the helping
hand, and not an eye is seen flowing with tears of pity; nothing is heard
but the moan of ocean; nothing is seen but the sweeping surge, as it passes
on, leaving no track of the submerged vessel.
Confined in towns and cities, enclosed in walls of stone and brick, chained
to the wheel of custom, the soul of man becomes contracted and dwarfed. All
around are monuments of human skill, and every thing as little as the human
mind. But when he steps beyond the crowds of life and embarks on the
bosom of the ocean, he begins to see Divinity in its most awful forms. He
realizes the insignificance of the creature and the majesty of the almighty
Maker.
So felt Mrs. Newell, as she stood upon the deck of her vessel and gazed
upon the wonders of the deep. Each wave, as it dashed against the sides of
the brig or rolled across her decks, seemed impressed by the hand of God;
and in these scenes she realized, more than ever before, the grandeur and
glory of Jehovah. She saw him mirrored out in the starry canopy above her
head, and in the liquid mountains which lifted up their forms, and anon
sunk into peaceful rest beneath her feet.
On the 17th of June the Caravan reached Calcutta and anchored in the
harbor. During the passage along the river the vessel was hailed by
boatloads of naked natives, who brought on board cocoa nuts, bananas, and
dates in great profusion; while others were seen on the banks reposing in
the sun, or bathing in the waters of the Ganges, or diving beneath the
surface for the shellfish which are found there; while beyond, the country
was seen in all the beauty of verdure and delight, as ever and anon the
Hindoo cottage and the white pagoda reared themselves amid the trees which
grew upon the shoreside.
On the arrival of the missionaries at Calcutta, they repaired to the
residence of Dr. Carey, where they found Mr. Marshman and Mr. Ward, all of
whom were connected with the English Baptist mission station at Serampore.
By invitation of Dr. Carey they visited the station, and were treated with
the greatest kindness. But their hopes of usefulness were destined to be
blasted. The East India Company was opposed to all attempts to Christianize
the natives, and threw all their influence against the divine cause of
missions. As soon as the government became apprised of the object of Mr.
Newell and his associates, orders were issued for them to leave the
country immediately. After a vast deal of parleying with the civil powers,
permission was obtained to reside at the Isle of France; and on the 4th of
August, 1812, Mr. and Mrs. Newell took passage on board the Gillespie
for that place. Sorrow and distress now began to roll upon them in deep,
sweeping waves. The crew of the vessel were profane and irreligious, the
weather boisterous and unpleasant; while the spirits of the missionaries
themselves were at a low ebb. For some time no progress was made, and the
frown of Providence seemed to rest upon them. What purpose God had in view
in surrounding them with such trials, they knew not; but with humble faith
in all his allotments they bore submissively, but sadly, this new trial of
their devotion. The delicate state of Mrs. Newell's health rendered their
sorrows doubly annoying to her sensitive and refined mind. She shrunk
from a contact with the rude beings around her, and in the society of
her husband alone found enjoyment; and even this was not free from
interruption. The morning and evening prayer was disturbed by the profane
jest or the blasphemous ribaldry of God-hating men, who viewed our
missionaries as deluded fanatics, justly deserving the contempt of all.
Even the respect due to the weaker sex was not wholly observed; and the
pious woman was often compelled to listen to expressions which would have
brought a blush to the cheek of the strong man. Sickness and sorrow found
but little sympathy; and the days seemed long and tedious, even to one who
had not learned to complain of the wise discipline of a Father's hand.
While on this voyage, about three weeks before their arrival at the place
of destination, she gave birth to a daughter, and became a mother. The
sweet infant lived but five days; "blushed into life and died." The day
before its death, the rite of the church, by which the little stranger into
this cold world was given to God, was performed. They called her by the
mother's name, and watched over her until she breathed her last breath upon
her mother's bosom, and then sunk the form into the cold waters of the
deep. As the corpse was lowered down over the side of the vessel, holy
voices sung the sweet and tender hymn,--
"So fades the lovely, blooming flower,
Frail, smiling solace of an hour;
So soon our transient comforts fly,
And pleasures only bloom to die."
Soon after the death of her babe, Mrs. Newell discovered symptoms of the
malady which soon carried her to an untimely grave. From the first, she had
no hope of recovery. Several of her friends had died of the same disease;
and when it fastened itself upon her system, she knew that her time had
come. The slow, wasting consumption was on her frame, and her days
were nearly run out. But the approach of death she viewed with perfect
composure. Though far from home, far from all the endeared scenes of youth,
from the roof which sheltered her in infancy, from the mother whose gentle
hand guided her up to womanhood, she was tranquil. Death was only a dark
shadow, which retreated before her as she advanced, and left her standing
in the light of a cloudless day.
While on her dying pillow she read through the book of Job, and derived
from its hallowed counsels much divine support and comfort. While
contemplating the sufferings of that godly man, her own trials dwindled
away, and she lost sight of her own anguish in the deeper woes, of another.
Often did she ask, as she remembered what others had endured and thought
what trials some had experienced,--
"Shall I be carried to the skies
On flowery beds of ease,
While others fought to win the prize,
And sailed through bloody seas?"
Sometimes she wondered why she should be thus early taken away. She had
left home and friends to labor for God in a heathen land; and why at the
very onset he should call her to the grave, she could not understand. The
great desire of her heart was to be the humble instrument in the conversion
of sinners. She wished to win souls to Christ--to turn the attention of the
dying heathen to the saving cross. Hence, when she found that, ere her work
had fairly commenced, she was to be summoned away to her reward, torn from
the arms of her husband, and removed beyond the province of toil, she
failed to read the purpose of her Maker. All was gloom, and in calm
submission she bowed her head to the coming storm. What was dark now she
hoped to understand when the secrets of all hearts are known, and trusted
that God was able to glorify himself as much in her death as in her life.
During her sickness she gave expression to the feelings of her heart, and
proved to all around her that death had lost dominion over her; that the
grave had secured no victory; and when she met the terrors of one and the
silence of the other, it was as the conqueror meets his smitten foe. Her
last words were, "How long, O Lord, how long?" and with this sentence on
her lips she passed away.
Mrs. Newell died on Monday, the 30th of November, 1812, at the Isle of
France, leaving her husband to labor alone for the conversion of the
heathen. After the death of his wife Mr. Newell removed to Ceylon, and from
thence to Bombay, where, after laboring a few years and doing his Master's
work in tears and sorrow, he went down to his grave on the 17th of May,
1821.
The scene now closes. We have followed a devoted servant of Christ from
youth to womanhood--from early childhood to an early grave. It is pleasant
to contemplate such an example, to shed tears of gratitude over such a
tomb. The name we pronounce deserves to be recorded in a more conspicuous
place in the book of fame than any name which has gathered gory laurels on
the wet field of carnage; she deserves a higher monument than rises over
the resting-place of earth's proudest conqueror--a monument not of marble,
nor of brass, nor of gold, but one which shall lift its summit until a halo
of eternal light shall gather about it and gild it with the beams of
glory. And such a monument she has. When the clouds and mists of earth are
dissipated we shall see it, sinking its base deep as the darkness of a
world of heathenism, and lifting its summit high as the throne of God.
Harriet Newell was the great proto-martyr of American missions. She fell
wounded by death in the very vestibule of the sacred cause. Her memory
belongs not to the body of men who sent her forth, not to the denomination
to whose creed she had subscribed, but to the church--to the cause of
missions. With the torch of Truth in her hand she led the way down into a
valley of darkness, through which many have followed. Her work was short,
her toil soon ended; but she fell, cheering, by her dying words and her
high example, the missionaries of all coming time. She was the first, but
not the only martyr. Heathen lands are dotted over with the graves of
fallen Christians; missionary women sleep on almost every shore; and the
bones of some are whitening in the fathomless depths of the ocean.
Never will the influence of the devoted woman whose life and death are here
portrayed be estimated properly until the light of an eternal day shall
shine on all the actions of men. We are to measure her glory, not by what
she suffered, for others have suffered more than she did. But we must
remember that she went out when the missionary enterprise was in its
infancy--when even the best of men looked upon it with suspicion. The tide
of opposition she dared to stem; and with no example, no predecessor from
American shores, she went out to rend the veil of darkness which gathered
over all the nations of the East.
Things have changed since then. Our missionaries go forth with the approval
of all the good; and the odium which once attended such a life is swept
away. It is to some extent a popular thing to be a missionary, although the
work is still one of hardship and suffering. It is this fact which gathers
such a splendor around the name of Harriet Newell, and invests her short,
eventful life with such a charm. She went when no foot had trodden out
the path, and was the first American missionary ever called to an eternal
reward. While she slumbers in her grave, her name is mentioned with
affection by a missionary church. And thus it should be. She has set us a
glorious example; she has set an example to the church in every land and
age; and her name will be mingled with the loved ones who are falling year
by year; and if, when the glad millennium comes and the earth is converted
to God, some crowns brighter than others shall be seen amid the throng of
the ransomed, one of those crowns will be found upon the head of HARRIET
NEWELL.
II.
ANN H. JUDSON, OF BURMAH.
Notoriety is one thing, and true glory is quite another thing. Many persons
have become notorious around whose lives no true glory or dignity has
appeared; and many men have been honorable in the highest sense who have
lived unknown to fame, and unheard of beyond a narrow boundary.
The world's estimate of glory is a false one. It attaches too much
importance to physical force, to noisy pomp, to the glitter and show of
conquest, and gives too little honor to the silent but majestic movements
of moral heroes.
Had any body of men labored long and suffered much to save poor human life
and draw from burning dwelling or sinking wreck some fellow-man, their
deeds would be mentioned in every circle; humane societies would award them
tokens of distinction and approbation; and they would be deemed worthy of
exalted honor. Nor would it be wrong thus to give them praise. The man who
risks his life to save another deserves a higher, prouder monument than
ever lifted itself above the tombs of fallen warriors who on the gory field
have slaughtered their thousands.
Nor will the deserved approbation of the great and good of earth long be
withheld from the heralds of salvation on heathen shores. The majesty
of the missionary enterprise is beginning to develop itself; success is
crowning the toil of years; and heathendom is assuming a new aspect. Under
the faithful labors of self-denying men, the wilderness is beginning to
blossom as the rose. Here and there, amid the sands of the wide desert once
parched by sin and consumed by the fiery blaze of heathenish cruelty,
the plants of grace are beginning to appear, and Christian churches are
springing up to spread themselves like green vines upon the broken ruins of
demolished idols.