The missionary's babe, little Maria, was born in a cottage by the side of
a river, and very near the walls of the great city of Ava, where the king
dwelt.
It was a wooden cottage, thatched with straw, and screened by a verandah
from the burning sun. It was not like an English cottage, for it was
built on high posts, that the cool air might play beneath. It contained
three small rooms all on one floor. The country around was lovely; for
the green banks of the river were adorned with various colored flowers
and with trees laden with fine fruits.
In this pretty cottage, the infant Maria was lulled in her mother's arms
to sleep, and often the tears rolling down the mother's cheeks, fell upon
the baby's fair face. Why did the mother weep? It was for her husband she
wept. He was not dead, but he was in prison. He was a missionary, and the
king of Ava had imprisoned him in the midst of the great city. Was his
wife left all alone with her babe in her cottage? No, there were two
little Burmese girls there. They were the children of heathen parents,
and they had been received by the kind lady into her cottage, and now
they were learning to worship God. Their new names were, Mary, and Abby.
There were also two men servants, of dark complexion, dressed in white
cotton, and wearing turbans. It was a sorrowful little household, because
the master of the family was absent, because he was in distress, and his
life was in danger. Every day his fond wife visited him in his prison.
She left her babe under the care of Mary, and set out with a little
basket in her hand. After walking two miles through the streets of Ava,
she came to some high walls--she knocked at the gate--a stern-looking
man opened it. The lady, passing through the gates, entered a court. In
one corner of the court, there was a little shed made of bamboos, and
near it, upon a mat, eat a pale, and sorrowful man. His countenance
brightens when he perceives the lady enter. She refreshes him with the
nice food she has brought in her basket, and comforts him with sweet and
heavenly words:--then hastens to return to her babe. As soon as she
enters her cottage, she sinks back, half fainting, in her rocking-chair,
while she folds again her little darling in her arms. Happy babe! thy
parents are suffering for Jesus--and they are blessed of the Lord, and
their baby with them.
Greater sorrows still, soon befell the little family. One day, a
messenger came to the cottage, with the sad tidings that the bamboo hut
had been torn down, the mat, and pillow taken away, and the prisoner,
laden with chains, thrust into the inner prison. The loving wife hastened
to the governor of the city to ask for mercy; but she could obtain none,
only she was permitted to see her husband. And _what_ a sight! He was
shut up in a room with a hundred men, and without a _window!!_ Though the
weather was hot no breath of air reached the poor prisoners, but through
the cracks in the boards. No wonder that the missionary soon fell ill of
a fever. His wife, fearing he would die, determined to act like the widow
in the parable, and to weary the unjust judge by her entreaties. She left
her quiet cottage, and built a hut of bamboos at the governor's gate,
and there she lived with her babe, and the little Burmese girls. The
prison was just opposite the governor's gate, so that the anxious wife
had now the comfort of being near her suffering husband. The governor was
wearied by her importunity, and at last permitted her to build again a
bamboo hovel for the prisoner in the court of the prison. The sick man
was brought out of the noisome dungeon, and was laid upon his mat in the
fresh air. He was supplied with food and medicine by his faithful wife,
and he began to recover.
But in three days, a change occurred. Suddenly the poor wife heard that
her beloved had been dragged from his prison, and taken, she knew not
where. She inquired of everybody she saw, "Where is he gone?" but no
answer could she obtain. At last the governor told her, that his prisoner
was taken to a great city, named A-ma-ra-poora. This city was seven miles
from Ava. The wife decided in a moment what to do. She determined to
follow her husband. Taking her babe in her arms, and accompanied by the
Burmese children, and one servant, she set out. She went to the city up
the river in a covered boat, and thus she was sheltered from the
scorching sun of an Indian May. But when she arrived at Amarapoora, she
heard that her husband had been taken to a village six miles off. To this
village she travelled in a clumsy cart drawn by oxen. Overcome with
fatigue, she arrived at the prison, and saw her poor husband sitting in
the court chained to another prisoner, and looking very ill. He had
neither hat, nor coat, nor shoes, and his feet were covered with wounds
he had received, as he had been driven over the burning gravel on the way
to the prison: but his wounds had been bound up by a kind heathen
servant, who had torn up his own turban to make bandages.
When the missionary saw his wife approaching with her infant, he felt
grieved on her account, and exclaimed, "Why have you come? You cannot
live here?" But she cared not where she lived, so that she could be near
her suffering husband. She wished to build a bamboo hut at the prison
gate: but the jailor would not allow her. However, he let her live in a
room of his own house. It was a wretched room, with no furniture but a
mat. Here the mother and the children slept that night, while the
servant, wrapped in his cloth, lay at the door. They had no supper that
night. Next day, they bought food in the village, with some silver that
the lady kept carefully concealed in her clothes.
A new trouble soon came upon them. Mary was seized with a small-pox of a
dreadful sort. Who now was to help the weak mother to nurse the little
Maria? Abby was too young. The babe was four months old, and a heavy
burden for feeble arms; yet all day long the mother carried it, as she
went to and fro from the sick child to the poor prisoner. Sometimes, when
it was asleep, she laid it down by the side of her husband. He was able
to watch a _sleeping_ babe, but not to nurse a babe _awake_, owing to his
great weakness, and to his mangled feet. Soon the babe herself was
attacked by the small-pox, and continued very ill for three months. This
last trial was too much for the poor mother. Her strength failed her, and
for many weeks she lay upon her mat unable to rise. She must have
perished, if it had not been for the faithful servant. He was a native
of Bengal, and a heathen. Yet he was so much concerned for his sick
mistress and imprisoned master, that he would sometimes go without food
all day, while he was attending to their wants; and he did all without
expecting any wages.
The poor little infant was in a sad case now its mother was lying on the
mat. It cried so much for milk, that once its father got leave to carry
it round the village to ask the mothers who had babes, to give some milk
to his. By this plan, the little creature was quieted in the day, but at
night its cries were most distressing.
The time at length arrived, when these trials were to end. The king sent
for the missionary, not to put him to death, as he had once intended, but
to ask for his help. What help could he render to the king? The reason
why the missionary had been imprisoned so long was, that a British army
had attacked Burmah. The king had feared, lest the missionary should take
part with the enemy, and therefore he had shut him up. Now there were
hopes of peace, and an interpreter was wanted to help the Burmese to
speak with the British. The missionary knew both the English language and
the Burmese, and he could explain to the king what the English general
would say.
For this purpose he was brought to Ava. He was not driven along the road
like a beast, but relieved from his chains, and treated with less cruelty
than formerly. Yet he was still a prisoner.
The mother was now well enough to make a journey, though still very weak.
She returned to her cottage by the river-side, and soon she had the
delight of seeing her husband enter it. It was seventeen months since he
had been torn from it by the king's officers, and ever since, he had been
groaning in irons. But he was not now come to remain in his cottage, but
only to obtain a little food and clothing to take with him to the Burmese
camp. His wife felt cheered on his account, hoping that as an interpreter
he would be well treated.
No sooner was he gone, than she was seized with that deadly disease,
called spotted fever. What now would become of little Maria? Through the
tender mercy of God, on the very day the mother fell ill, a Burmese woman
offered to nurse the babe. Every day the mother grew worse, till at last
the neighbors came in to see her die. As they stood around, they
exclaimed, in their Burmese tongue, "She is dead, and if the king of
angels should come in, he could not recover her." _Their_ king of angels
could _not_, but _her_ KING of ANGELS could, for he can raise the dead.
But this dear lady was _not_ dead, though nearly dead.
The Lord of life showed her mercy. A friend entered the sick chamber. It
was Dr. Price, a missionary and a prisoner, but who had obtained leave
from the king to visit the sick lady. He understood her case, and he
ordered her head to be shaved, and blisters to be applied to her feet.
From that time, she began to recover, and in a month, she had strength to
stand up. The governor, who had once been so slow to hear her complaints,
now sent for her to his house. He received her in the kindest manner.
What was her joy, when she foiled her husband there, not as a prisoner,
but as a guest. Many prayers had she offered up, during her long illness,
and they were now answered. The promise she had trusted in was fulfilled.
This was _that_ promise: "Call upon me in the day of trouble, and I WILL
DELIVER THEE, and thou shalt glorify me."
But still brighter days were at hand. The King of Burmah had peace with
the British, and had agreed to deliver the missionaries into their hands.
Glad, indeed, were they to escape from the power of the cruel monarch.
Little Maria and her parents, as well as Mary and Abby, were conveyed in
a boat down the river to the place where the English army had encamped.
The English general received them with fatherly kindness, and gave them a
tent to dwell in near his own. What a fortnight they spent in that tent.
It was a morning of joy, after a night of weeping. Little Maria was now,
for the first time, dwelling with _both_ her parents.
Soon afterwards she was taken to a new home in a town in Burmah, built by
the English. It was called Amherst[12]. Here the missionary might teach
the Burmese to know their Saviour, without being under the power of the
cruel Burmese king.
It seemed as if the little family, so long afflicted, were now to dwell
in safety, and to labor in comfort. But there is a rest for the people of
God, and to this rest one of this family was soon removed.
The missionary determined to go to Ava, to plead with the king for
permission to teach his subjects. He parted from his beloved wife,
little thinking he should never see her again.
During her husband's absence, she watched with deep anxiety over her
little Maria. The child was pale, and puny, yet very affectionate and
intelligent. Whenever her mamma said, "Where is dear papa gone?" the
little creature started up, and pointed to the sea. She could not speak
plainly, for she was only twenty months old.
Not long did she enjoy her mother's tender care. The poor mother, worn
with her past watching, and weeping, was attacked by fever. As she lay
upon the bed, she was heard to say, "The teacher is long in coming, I
must die alone, and leave my little one; but as it is the will of God, I
am content."
She grew so ill, that she took no notice of anything that passed around
her; but even then she called for her child, and charged the nurse to be
kind to it, and to indulge it in everything till its father returned.
This charge she gave, because she knew the babe wan sick, and needed the
tenderest care. At last the mother lay without moving, her eyes closed,
and her head resting on her arm. Thus she continued for two days, and
then she uttered one cry, and ceased to breathe. Her illness had lasted
eighteen days. Then she rested from her labors, and slept in Jesus.
What now became of little Maria? The wife of an English officer receded
her in her house for a few weeks, and then a missionary and his wife came
to Maria's home, and took charge of the child. Maria was pleased to come
back to her own home, and she fancied that kind Mrs. Wade was her own
mother.
What a day it was when the poor father returned home! No wife to meet
him, with love and joy; only a sickly babe, who had forgotten him, and
turned from him with alarm. Where could he go, but to the grave to weep
there? then he returned to the house to look at the very spot where he
had knelt with his wife in prayer, and parted from her in hope of a happy
return.
Little Maria was nursed with a mother's care, though not in a mother's
arms; but her delicate frame had been shaken by her infant troubles, and
care and comforts came TOO LATE. After drooping day by day, she died at
the age of two years and three months, exactly six months after her
mother. Her father was near to close her faded eyes, and fold her little
hands on her cold breast, and then to lay her in a little grave, close
beside her mother's, under the Hope Tree.
The words of the poet would suit well the case of this much tried
infant:--
"Short pain, short grief, dear babe, were thine,
_Now_, joys eternal and divine."
Like Maria's are the sufferings of many a missionary's babe, and many lie
in an early tomb. But they are dear to the Saviour, for their parents'
sakes, and their deaths are precious in his sight, and their spirits and
their dust are safe in his hands.
[11] Taken from "Travels in Eastern Asia," by Rev. Howard Malcolm.
[12] Amherst is only thirty miles from Maulmain.