direction of the Synods of North Carolina and Virginia; and there were
strong reasons why students from those Synods should study there. They
were always reminded of that obligation. But the high reputation of Drs.
Hodge and Alexander was a strong attraction toward Princeton. My pastor
and Professor Phillips, chairman of the committee in charge of me, had
both studied there. So I was allowed to have my preference. No doubt
this proved another stepping-stone to Siam. Union Seminary was not then
enthusiastic in regard to foreign missions, as it has since become. At
the last meeting of Presbytery that I was to attend, Dr. Alexander
Wilson moved that, inasmuch as Orange Presbytery owned a scholarship in
Princeton Seminary, I be assigned to it. To my objection that I had made
money to pay my own way, he replied, “You will have plenty of need of
your money. You can buy books with it.” I followed the suggestion and
laid in a good library.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
II
MINISTERIAL TRAINING
I entered Princeton Seminary in the fall of 1853. I did not lodge in the
Seminary building, but, through the kindness of Rev. Daniel
Derouelle—whom, as agent of the American Bible Society, I had come to
know during his visits to Pittsboro—I found a charming home in his
family. There were, of course, some disadvantages in living a mile and a
half away from the Seminary. I could not have the same intimate
relations with my fellow students which I might have had if lodged in
the Seminary. But I had the delightful home-life which most of them
missed altogether. And the compulsory exercise of two, or sometimes
three, trips a day, helped to keep me in health throughout my course. I
became, indeed, a first-rate walker—an accomplishment which has since
stood me in good stead in all my life abroad.
Being from the South, and not a college graduate, as were most of the
students, I felt lonesome enough when, on the first morning of the
session, I entered the Oratory and looked about me without discovering a
single face that I knew. But at the close of the lecture some one who
had been told by a friend to look out for me, touched me on the
shoulder, made himself known, and then took me off to introduce me to J.
Aspinwall Hodge, who was to be a classmate of mine. No man ever had a
purer or a better friend than this young man, afterward Dr. J. Aspinwall
Hodge; and I never met a friend more opportunely.
Of our revered teachers and of the studies of the Seminary course there
is no need to speak here. Our class was a strong one. Among its members
were such men as Gayley, Mills, Jonathan Wilson, Nixon, Lefevre, and
Chaney. Of these Gayley and Mills were already candidates for missionary
work abroad. In other classes were Robert McMullen and Isidore
Loewenthal, destined to become martyrs in Cawnpore and Peshawur. Many
were the stirring appeals we heard from these men. Dr. Charles Hodge,
too, had given a son to India; and he never spoke more impressively than
when he was pleading the cause of foreign missions. Princeton, moreover,
because of its proximity to New York and to the headquarters of the
various missionary societies established there, was a favourite field
for the visits of the Secretaries of these organizations, and of
returned missionaries. A notable visit during my first year was that of
Dr. Alexander Duff, then in his prime. No one who heard him could forget
his scathing criticism of the church for “playing at missions,” or his
impassioned appeals for labourers.
So the question was kept constantly before me. But during the first two
years, the difficulty of the acquisition of a foreign language by a
person not gifted in his own, seemed an obstacle well-nigh insuperable.
Conscience suggested a compromise. Within the field of Home Missions was
there not equal need of men to bring the bread of life to those who were
perishing without it? With the object of finding some such opportunity,
I spent my last vacation, in the summer of 1855, in Texas as agent of
the American Sunday School Union.
Texas afforded, indeed, great opportunities for Christian work; but in
the one object of my quest—a field where Christ was not preached—I was
disappointed. In every small village there was already a church—often
more than one. Even in country schoolhouses Methodists, Baptists, and
Cumberland Presbyterians had regular Sunday appointments, each having
acquired claim to a particular Sunday of the month. Conditions were such
that the growth of one sect usually meant a corresponding weakening of
the others. It was possible, of course, to find local exceptions. But it
is easier even now to find villages by the hundred, with three, four,
and even five Protestant churches, aided by various missionary
societies; where all the inhabitants, working together, could do no more
than support one church well. This may be necessary; but it is surely a
great waste.
From this trip I had just returned with these thoughts in my mind, and
was entering upon my senior year, when it was announced that Dr. S. R.
House, a missionary from Siam, would address the students. Expectation
was on tiptoe to hear from this new kingdom of Siam. The address was a
revelation to us all. The opening of the kingdom to American
missionaries by the reigning monarch, Mahā Mongkut—now an old story—was
new then, and sounded like a veritable romance. My hesitation was ended.
Here was not merely a village or a parish, but a whole kingdom, just
waking from its long, dark, hopeless sleep. Every sermon I preached
there might be to those who had never heard that there is a God in
heaven who made them, or a Saviour from sin.
The appeal was for volunteers to go at once. None, however, of the men
who had announced themselves as candidates for service abroad were
available for Siam. They were all pledged to other fields. The call
found Jonathan Wilson and myself in much the same state of expectancy,
waiting for a clear revelation of duty. After anxious consultation and
prayer together, and with Dr. House, we promised him that we would give
the matter our most serious thought. If the Lord should lead us thither,
we would go.
Meanwhile the Rev. Andrew B. Morse had been appointed a missionary to
Siam, and the immediate urgency of the case was thus lightened. Shortly
before the close of my Seminary course, in 1856, there came to me a call
to the pastorate of two contiguous churches, those of Carthage and of
Union, in my native county in North Carolina. The call seemed a
providential one, and I accepted it for one year only. My classmate,
Wilson, soon after accepted a call to work among the Indians in Spencer
Academy.
My parish was an admirable one for the training of a young man. The
church at Union was one of the oldest in the state. The church at
Carthage, five miles away, was a colony from Union. No distinct
geographical line separated the two. Many of the people regularly
attended both. That, of course, made the work harder for a young pastor.
The extreme limits of the two parishes were fifteen miles apart. But
these were church-going folk, mostly of Scottish descent—not
“dry-weather Christians.” The pastorate had been vacant a whole year.
At the first morning service the church was crowded to its utmost
capacity. Some came, no doubt, from curiosity to hear the new preacher;
but most of them were hungry for the Gospel. They had all known my
father; and some had known me—or known of me—from boyhood. I could not
have had a more sympathetic audience, as I learned from the words of
appreciation and encouragement spoken to me after church—especially
those spoken by my brother, who was present.
The year passed rapidly. The work had prospered and was delightful. In
it I formed the taste for evangelistic touring, which was afterwards to
be my work among the Lāo. There had been a number of accessions in both
churches. It was easy to become engrossed in one’s first charge among a
people so sympathetic, and to overlook far-away Siam. Indeed, I had
become so far influenced by present surroundings as to allow my name to
be laid before a meeting of the congregation with a view to becoming
their permanent pastor. Their choice of me was unanimous. Moreover, I
had been dismissed from my old Presbytery to the one within whose bounds
my parish was. The regular meeting of the latter was not far off, when
arrangements were to be made for my ordination and installation.
As the time drew near, do what I might, my joy in accepting the call
seemed marred by the thought of Siam. I learned that the Siamese
Mission, instead of growing stronger, was becoming weaker. Mr. Morse’s
health had completely broken down during his first year in the field. He
was then returning to the United States. Mrs. Mattoon had already come
back an invalid. Her husband, after ten years in Siam, was greatly in
need of a change; but was holding on in desperation, hoping against hope
that he might be relieved.
The question of my going to Siam, which had been left an open one, must
now soon be settled by my accepting or declining. I needed counsel, but
knew not on what earthly source to call. When the question of Siam first
came up in Princeton, I had written to leading members of the Orange
Presbytery for advice, stating the claims of Siam so strongly that I was
sure these men would at least give me some encouragement toward going.
But the reply I had from one of them was typical of all the rest: “We do
not know about Siam; but we do know of such and such a church and of
such and such a field vacant here in Orange Presbytery. Still, of
course, it _may_ be your duty to go to Siam.” In that quarter, surely,
there was no light for me. So I devoted Saturday, August 1st, to fasting
and prayer for guidance. In the woods back of the Carthage church and
the Academy, the decision was finally reached. I would go.
Next morning I stopped my chief elder on his way to church, and informed
him of my decision. After listening to my statement of the case, he
replied, “Of course, if it is settled, there’s nothing more to be said.”
It chanced that Mr. Russell, my former assistant in the Pittsboro
Academy, had just finished his theological course; and, wholly without
reference to the question pending in my mind, had arranged to preach for
me that day. The session was called together before service, was
notified of my decision, and was reminded that the preacher of the day
would be available as a successor to me. He preached a good sermon, had
a conference with the session afterwards, and was virtually engaged that
day. The following week brought notice of my appointment as missionary
to Siam.
The last communion season of that year was one of more than usual
interest. The meetings began on Friday. Since the minds of the
congregation were already on the subject of foreign missions, and since
Dr. McKay, from my home church, had been appointed by the Synod to
preach on that subject at its coming session in Charlotte, I prevailed
upon him to preach to us the sermon that he had prepared. The text was
from Romans x:14, “How shall they hear without a preacher?” No subject
could have been more appropriate to the occasion. It produced a profound
impression. Some were affected to tears.
The sermon was a good preparation for the communion service that
followed. At the night service there was deep seriousness throughout the
congregation, and a general desire to have the meetings continued. On
Monday there was an unexpectedly large congregation. At the busiest
season of the year farmers had left their crops to come. The meetings
soon grew to be one protracted prayer-meeting, with occasional short
applications of Scripture to the questions which were already pressing
upon our minds.
Finally, after the meetings had been continued from Friday until
Wednesday week, they were reluctantly brought to a close; both because
it seemed unwise to interrupt longer the regular life of the community,
and also because the leaders no longer had the voice to carry them on.
As a result of the meetings, there were about eighty accessions to the
two Presbyterian churches, as well as a number to other churches. Many
asked if I did not see in the revival reason to change my mind and
remain. But the effect on me was just the opposite. It was surely the
best preparation I could have had for the long test of faith while
waiting for results in Siam.
Inasmuch as my certificate of dismissal had never been formally
presented to the Fayetteville Presbytery, I preferred to return it to my
old Orange Presbytery, and to receive my ordination at its hands. On
December 11th, the Presbytery met at my old home in Pittsboro. The
installation of a foreign missionary was new to the Presbytery, as well
as to the church and the community. When the ordaining prayer was ended,
there seemed to be but few dry eyes in the congregation. It was a day I
had little dreamed of sixteen years before, when I first came to
Pittsboro an orphan boy and an apprentice. I felt very small for the
great work so solemnly committed to me. Missionary fields were further
off in those days than they are now, and the undertaking seemed greater.
The future was unknown; but in God was my trust—and He has led me.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
III
BANGKOK
On reaching New York I went directly to the Mission House, then at 23
Centre Street. As I mounted the steps, the first man I met on the
landing was Jonathan Wilson. We had exchanged a few letters, and each
knew that the other had not forgotten Siam; but neither expected to meet
the other there. “Where are you going?” said one. “I am on my way to
Siam,” said the other. “So am I,” was the reply. In the meantime he had
married and, with his young wife, was in New York awaiting passage. We
took the first opportunity that offered, the clipper ship _David Brown_,
bound for Singapore, and sailing on March 11th, 1858.
Sailors have a tradition that it is unlucky to have missionaries on
board; but the weather was propitious throughout, and the voyage a
prosperous one. We three were the only passengers, and we proved to be
good sailors. Our fare was reasonably good. We had plenty of good
reading, and soon settled down to steady work. The ship was somewhat
undermanned; and this fact was given as an excuse for not having service
on Sundays. But we had a daily prayer-meeting throughout the voyage,
with just a sufficient number present to plead the promise: “Where two
or three are gathered together in my name.” We also had free access to
the men in the forecastle when off duty.
We had the excitement of an ocean race with a twin ship of the same
line, which was to sail a week after us. As we reached Anjer Straits on
the seventy-eighth day out, a sail loomed up which proved to be our
competitor. She had beaten us by a week! Ten days later we reached
Singapore, where, indeed, we met no brethren, but were met by welcome
letters from Siam. Like Paul at the Three Taverns, “we thanked God and
took courage.” One of the letters ran thus:
“Those were good words that came to our half-discouraged
band—the tidings that we are to have helpers in our work.... In
our loneliness we have sometimes been tempted to feel that our
brethren at home had forgotten us. But we rejoice to know that
there are hearts in the church which sympathize with us, and
that you are willing to come and participate with us in our
labours and trials, our joys and sorrows, for we have both.”
We were fortunate to secure very early passage for Bangkok. On Friday,
June 18th, we reached the bar at the mouth of the Mênam River. The next
day we engaged a small schooner to take us up to Bangkok. With a strong
tide against us, we were not able that evening to get further than
Mosquito Point—the most appropriately-named place in all that land—only
to learn that we could not reach Bangkok until Monday afternoon. There
was no place to sleep on board; and no sleeping would have been
possible, had there been a place. By two o’clock in the morning we could
endure it no longer;—the mosquito contest was too unequal. At last we
found a man and his wife who would take us to the city in their
two-oared skiff.
Fifty years’ residence in Siam has not surpassed the romance of that
night’s ride. Leaving our goods behind, we seated ourselves in the tiny
craft. With gunwales but two inches above the water’s edge, we skimmed
along through a narrow winding canal overhung with strange tropical
trees. The moon was full, but there was a haze in the air, adding
weirdness to things but dimly seen. The sight of our first Buddhist
monastery, with its white columns and grotesque figures, made us feel as
if we were passing through some fairyland.
Just at dawn on Sunday morning, June 20th, 1858, we landed at the
mission compound. Our quick passage of only one hundred days took our
friends by surprise. Dr. House, roused by our voices on the veranda,
came _en déshabillé_ to the door to see what was the matter. Finding who
we were, the eager man thrust his hand through a vacant square of the
sash, and shook hands with us so, before he would wait to open the door.
We were in Bangkok! It was as if we had waked up in a new world—in the
Bangkok to which we had looked forward as the goal of our hopes; which
was to be, as we supposed, the home of our lives.
The Rev. Mr. Mattoon was still at his post, awaiting our coming. Mrs.
Mattoon and her daughters had been compelled to leave for home some time
before our arrival. And not long thereafter Mr. Mattoon followed them on
his furlough, long overdue. Besides the two men of our own mission, we
found in Bangkok the Rev. Dan B. Bradley, M.D., who was conducting a
self-supporting mission; Rev. S. J. Smith, and Rev. R. Telford of the
Baptist mission.
Since neither Bangkok nor Lower Siam proved to be my permanent home, I
shall content myself with a very summary account of the events of the
next three years.
The first work of a new missionary is to acquire the language of the
country. His constant wish is, Oh for a gift of tongues to speak to the
people! As soon as a teacher could be found, I settled to work at my
_kaw_, _kā_, _ki_, _kī_[2]. No ambitious freshman has such an incentive
for study as has the new missionary. It is well if he does not confine
himself to grammar and dictionary, as he did in the case of his Latin,
Greek, and Hebrew. Pallegoix’s _Dictionarium Linguae Thai_, and his
short _Grammar_ in Latin, were all the foreign helps we had. The syntax
of the language is easy; but the “tones,” the “aspirates,” and
“inaspirates,” are perplexing beyond belief. You try to say “fowl.” No,
that is “egg.” You mean to say “rice,” but you actually say “mountain.”
Footnote 2:
The first exercise of the Siamese Spelling-book.
A thousand times a day the new missionary longs to open his mouth, but
his lips are sealed. It is a matter of continual regret that he cannot
pour out his soul in the ardour of his first love, unchilled by the
deadening influences to which it is sure to be subjected later. But the
delay is not an unmitigated evil. He is in a new world, in which he is
constantly reminded of the danger of giving offence by a breach of
custom as unalterable as the laws of the Medes and Persians. A bright
little boy runs up and salutes you. You stroke his long black hair, only
to be reminded by one of your seniors—“Oh! you must _never_ do that! It
is a mortal offence to lay your hand on a person’s head.” So, while you
are learning the language, you are learning other things as well, and of
no less importance.
In the mission school there was a class of bright boys named Nê, Dit,
Chûn, Kwāi, Henry, and one girl, Tūan. To my great delight, Dr. House
kindly turned them over to me. It made me think I was doing something,
and I really was. I soon became deeply interested in these children. Nê
grew to be an important business man and an elder in the church; Tūan’s
family became one of the most influential in the church. Her two sons,
the late Bun It and Elder Bun Yī of the First Church in Chiengmai, have
been among the very best fruits of the mission; though my personal share
in their training was, of course, very slight. In the September after
our arrival there was organized the Presbytery of Siam, with the four
men of the mission as its constituent members. During the first two
years, moreover, I made a number of tours about the country—sometimes
alone, oftener with Dr. House, and once with Mr. Wilson.
I had the pleasure of meeting His Majesty the King of Siam, not only at
his birthday celebrations, to which foreigners were invited, but once,
also, at a public audience on the occasion of the presentation of a
letter from President James Buchanan of the United States. This was
through the courtesy of Mr. J. H. Chandler, the acting United States
Consul. Two royal state barges were sent down to the Consulate to
receive the President’s letter and the consular party. Siamese etiquette
requires that the letter be accorded the same honour as would be given
the President in person. In the first barge was the letter, placed in a
large golden urn, with a pyramidal cover of gold, and escorted by the
four officers who attend upon His Majesty when he appears in public. In
the second barge was the consular party.
After a magnificent ride of four miles up the river, we were met at the
palace by gilded palanquins for the members of the party, while the
letter, in a special palanquin and under the golden umbrella, led the
way to the Palace, some quarter of a mile distant. At the Palace gate a
prince of rank met us, and ushered us into the royal presence, where His
Majesty sat on his throne of gold, richly overhung with gilded tapestry.
Advancing toward the throne, and bowing low, we took our stand erect,
while every high prince and nobleman about us was on bended knees, not
daring to raise his eyes above the floor.
The Consul then read a short introductory speech, stepped forward, and
placed the letter in the extended hands of the King. Having glanced over
it, the King handed it to his secretary, who read it aloud, His Majesty
translating the substance of it to the princes and nobles present. The
King then arose, put his scarf about his waist, girded on his golden
sword, came down, and shook hands with each of the party. Then, with a
wave of his hand, he said, “We have given President Buchanan the first
public reception in our new palace,” adding, “I honour President
Buchanan very much.” He escorted the party around the room, showing us
the portraits of George Washington, President Pierce, Queen Victoria,
and Prince Albert. Then, turning to the proper officer, he directed him
to conduct us to an adjoining room to partake of a luncheon prepared for
us; and, with a bow, withdrew.
After “tiffin,” we were escorted to the landing as we had come, and
returned in like state in the royal barge to the Consulate. Altogether
it was a notable occasion.
[Illustration:
MAHĀ MONKUT,
KING OF SIAM, 1851-1872]
Of the tours undertaken in Lower Siam, the one which led to the most
lasting results was one in 1859 to Pechaburī, which has since become
well known as one of our mission stations. For companion on this trip I
had Cornelius Bradley, son of the Rev. Dr. Bradley of Bangkok. Shortly
before this a rising young nobleman, and a liberal-minded friend of
foreigners, had been assigned to the place ostensibly of
lieutenant-governor (Pra Palat) of Pechaburī, but practically of
governor. He was a brother of the future Regent; had been on the first
embassy to England; and at a later period became Minister for Foreign
Affairs. At our call, His Excellency received us very kindly, and before
we left invited us to dine with him on the following evening.
The dinner was one that would have done credit to any hostess in
America. I was still more surprised when, at the table, addressing me by
a title then given to all missionaries, he said, “Maw” (Doctor), “I want
you to come and live in Pechaburī. You have no family. I will furnish
you a house, and give you every assistance you need. You can teach as
much Christianity as you please, if only you will teach my son English.
If you want a school, I will see that you have pupils.” I thanked him
for the offer, but could only tell him that I would think the matter
over. It might be, after all, only a Siamese cheap compliment. It seemed
too good to be true. It was, however, directly in the line of my own
thoughts. I had come to Siam with the idea of leaving the great
commercial centres, and making the experiment among a rural population
like that of my North Carolina charge.