by the deleterious influences of the climate, that it was deemed
necessary that she should go to Calcutta for medical advice, better
physicians being located there than in Rangoon. She was so feeble that
her husband was obliged to accompany her. She was soon removed to
Serampore, where were eminently skillful physicians and a purer
atmosphere. Her health so improved in six months that she returned with
her husband to Rangoon. The malady which had afflicted her was the
chronic liver complaint. It was not entirely removed at Serampore, and a
few months after her return, it began to distress her more than ever. It
was now thought that nothing but a visit to her native land could save
her. Accordingly, on the twenty-first of August, 1821, she started for
Calcutta, where, after some delay, she found a ship bound to England, by
which route she returned, reaching New York on the twenty-fifth of
September, 1822.
She remained in this country nine months. During that short period,
aside from paying a visit to her relations, she attended the Triennial
Convention at Washington, held in May, 1823; visited the larger cities
North and South; attended numerous meetings of female associations; and
prepared a history of the Burman mission which was so ably written that
even the London Quarterly Review, and, if we mistake not, other English
periodicals of high critical character, noticed it in commendatory
terms.
The following extracts from letters written to Dr. Wayland while in this
country, show the interest she took in the affairs of Burmah while
absent from that land of her adoption. Under date of "Baltimore, January
twenty-second, 1823," she says, "I want the Baptists throughout the
United States to feel, that Burmah _must be converted_ through their
instrumentality. They must do more than they have ever yet done. They
must _pray_ more, they must _give_ more, and make greater efforts to
prevent the Missionary flame from becoming extinct. Every Christian in
the United States should feel as deeply impressed with the importance of
making continual efforts for the salvation of the heathen, as though
their conversion depended solely on himself. Every individual Christian
should feel himself guilty if he has not done and does not continue to
do _all_ in his power for the spread of the gospel and the enlightening
of the heathen world. But I need not write thus to you. You see, you
feel the misery of the heathen world. Try to awaken Christians around
you. Preach frequently on the subject of Missions. I have remarked it to
be the case, when a minister feels _much_ engaged for the heathen, his
people generally partake of his spirit."
Writing from Washington in the following March, she says, "I long to be
in Rangoon, and am anxiously hoping to get away in the spring. Do make
inquiries relative to the sailing of ships from Boston and Salem. I must
not miss one good opportunity."
With her health much improved though not fully restored, she sailed for
her Burman home on the twenty-second of June, 1823, and reached Rangoon
on the fifth of the following December. She found the work of the
mission prospering. The next year, however, a war broke out between the
Burman government and the English in Bengal, and, not only suspended the
operations of the missionaries, but jeopardised their lives. They were
supposed to be spies employed by the English government. Mr. and Mrs.
Judson, with Dr. Price, another of the missionaries, were at that time
at Ava, where the imperial government of the Burman Empire had just been
removed.
"It was on the eighth of June, 1824, that a company of Burmans, headed
by an officer, and attended by a 'spotted-faced son of the prison,' came
to the mission house, and, in the presence of Mrs. Judson seized her
husband and Dr. Price, and after binding them tight with cords, drove
them away to the court house. From this place they were hurried, by
order of the king, without examination, to a loathsome dungeon, known as
'the death prison,' where along with the other foreigners they were
confined, each loaded with three pairs of fetters and fastened to a long
pole, so as to be incapable of moving. Meanwhile, Mrs. Judson was shut
up in her house, deprived of her furniture and of most of her articles
of property, and watched for several days by an unfeeling guard, to
whose rapacious extortions and brutal annoyances she was constantly
exposed, without being able to make any exertion for the liberation of
the prisoners, or the mitigation of their cruel sentence. She however,
at length succeeded in addressing a petition to the governor of the
city, who had the prisoners in charge. By a present of one hundred
dollars to his subordinate officer, their condition was somewhat
meliorated, and by the unwearied perseverance of Mrs. Judson, and her
affecting appeals to the sympathies of the governor, he was induced to
grant her occasional permission to go to the prison, and at length to
build for herself a bamboo shed in the prison yard, where she took up
her abode, in order that she might prepare food for the prisoners, and
otherwise minister to their necessities.
"At the end of nine months they were suddenly removed from Ava to
Amarapura, and thence to a wretched place several miles beyond, called
Oung-pen-la, where it was arranged that they should be put to death in
presence of the pakah-woon, as a kind of sacrifice in honor of his
taking command of a new army of fifty thousand men about to march
against the English. This sanguinary chief had been raised from a low
condition to the rank of woongyee; but in the height of his power, just
as he was about to march at the head of the army he had mustered, he
fell into disgrace, was charged with treason, and executed, at an hour's
notice, with the unqualified approbation of all classes of people at
Ava. His timely execution saved the missionaries from the fate which
hung over them, and they were left uncared for in the miserable cells of
Oung-pen-la, till the near approach of the English to the capitol
induced the king to send for Mr. Judson, to accompany the embassy that
was about to start for the English camp, for the purpose of averting the
destruction that now threatened the Golden City.
"During this period of a year and a half Mrs. Judson followed them from
prison to prison, beneath the darkness of night and the burning sun of
noon-day, bearing in her arms her infant daughter,--the child of sorrow
and misfortune, who was born after the imprisonment of its
father,--procuring for them food which Burman policy never supplies to
prisoners, and perpetually interceding for them with their successive
keepers, with the governor of the city, with the kinsmen of the monarch,
and the members of the royal household. More than once the queen's
brother gave orders that they should be privately put to death; but such
was the influence which Mrs. Judson possessed over the mind of the
governor, that he evaded the order each time it was given, and assured
her that for her sake he would not execute her husband, even though he
was obliged to execute all the others. And when at last they were to be
taken from his jurisdiction and driven to the horrid prison-house of
Oung-pen-la, at the command of the pakah-woon, the old man humanely
summoned Mrs. Judson from the prison where he had permitted her to go
and sit with her husband, in order that she might be spared the pangs
of a separation which he had not the power to prevent. Her own pen has
traced, in lines that will never be forgotten by those who read them,
the affecting history of the dismal days and nights of her husband's
captivity. We follow her alike with admiration and the deepest sympathy
as she takes her solitary way from Ava, at first in a boat upon the
river, and then in a Burman cart, in search of the unknown place to
which the prisoners have been carried. At length, overcome with fatigue,
with exposure, and the bitter pangs of hope deferred, we see her in a
comfortless cabin, prostrate with disease and brought to the very gates
of death,--while her infant is carried about the village by its father
in the hours of his occasional liberation, to be nourished by such
Burman mothers as might have compassion on its helpless necessities.
"Such is a single scene from this melancholy record of missionary
suffering. History has not recorded; poetry itself has seldom portrayed,
a more affecting exhibition of Christian fortitude, of female heroism,
and all the noble and generous qualities which constitute the dignity
and glory of woman. In the midst of sickness and danger, and every
calamity which can crush the human heart, she presented a character
equal to the sternest trial, and an address and fertility of resources
which gave her an ascendency over the minds of her most cruel enemies,
and alone saved the missionaries and their fellow captives from the
terrible doom which constantly awaited them. Day after day and amid the
lonely hours of night was she employed in conciliating the favor of
their keepers, and in devising plans for their release, or the
alleviation of their captivity. Sometimes, she confesses, her thoughts
would wander for a brief interval to America and the beloved friends of
her better days; 'but for nearly a year and a half, so entirely
engrossed was every thought with present scenes and sufferings, that she
seldom reflected on a single occurrence of her former life, or
recollected that she had a friend in existence out of Ava.'"[6]
[6] Gammell.
When peace was declared between the two powers, by the terms of
negotiation, the European prisoners were all released; and thus closed
the long and brutal incarceration of the missionaries. Mr. and Mrs.
Judson immediately departed for Rangoon. They soon removed to Amherst, a
new town on the Salwen or Martaban river. After having established a
mission there, Mr. Judson had occasion to visit Ava. He started on the
fifth of July, 1826, leaving his wife and infant daughter in the care of
kind friends. He was detained at the Capital longer than he had
anticipated; and before he returned he received the painful intelligence
that his wife was dead. "A remittent fever had settled on her
constitution, already enfeebled by suffering and disease, and she died
on the twenty-fourth of October, 1826, amid the universal sorrow, alike
of the English residents at Amherst and of the native Christians who
had gathered around her at her new home. Her infant daughter died a few
weeks afterwards, and side by side they were laid to rest, under a large
hopia tree a few rods from the house where she had resided. Two marble
stones, procured by the contributions of several female friends in her
native land, are the humble memorial that marks the spot where sleeps
one whose "name will be remembered in the churches of Burmah, in future
times, when the pagodas of Gaudama shall have fallen; when the spires of
Christian temples shall gleam along the waters of the Irrawaddy and the
Salwen: and when the 'Golden City' shall have lifted up her gates to let
the King of Glory in."
A CHRISTIAN WOMAN IN THE HOUR OF DANGER.
O rainbow of the battle-storm!
Methinks thou'rt gleaming on my sight;
I see thy fair and fragile form
Amid the thick cloud of the fight.
SARA J. CLARKE.
One grain of incense with devotion offered,
Is beyond all perfumes or Sabaean spices.
MASSINGER.
The following incident, we are informed by Mrs. Ellet, was communicated
to a minister--Rev. J. H. Saye--by two officers in the Revolutionary
war. One of them was in the skirmish referred to; the other lived near
the scene of action; hence, it may be relied on as authentic. The name
of the heroine is unknown, which is greatly to be regretted:
"Early in the war, the inhabitants on the frontier of Burke county,
North Carolina, being apprehensive of an attack by the Indians, it was
determined to seek protection in a fort in a more densely populated
neighborhood in an interior settlement. A party of soldiers was sent to
protect them on their retreat. The families assembled, the line of
march was taken towards their place of destination, and they proceeded
some miles unmolested--the soldiers marching in a hollow square, with
the refugee families in the centre. The Indians who had watched these
movements, had laid a plan for their destruction. The road to be
traveled lay through a dense forest in the fork of a river, where the
Indians concealed themselves, and waited till the travelers were in the
desired spot. Suddenly the war-whoop sounded in front, and on either
side; a large body of painted warriors rushed in, filling the gap by
which the whites had entered, and an appalling crash of fire-arms
followed. The soldiers, however, were prepared; such as chanced to be
near the trees darted behind them, and began to ply the deadly rifle;
the others prostrated themselves upon the earth, among the tall grass,
and crawled to trees. The families screened themselves as best they
could. The onset was long and fiercely urged; ever and anon amid the din
and smoke, the warriors would rush, tomahawk in hand, towards the
centre; but they were repulsed by the cool intrepidity of the back-woods
riflemen. Still they fought on, determined on the destruction of the
victims who offered such desperate resistance. All at once an appalling
sound greeted the ears of the women and children in the centre; it was a
cry from their defenders--a cry for powder! 'Our powder is giving out,'
they exclaimed. 'Have you any? Bring us some, or we can fight no
longer!' A woman of the party had a good supply. She spread her apron on
the ground, poured her powder into it, and going round, from soldier to
soldier, as they stood behind the trees, bade each who needed powder put
down his hat, and poured a quantity upon it. Thus she went round the
line of defence, till her whole stock, and all she could obtain from
others, was distributed. At last the savages gave way, and, pressed by
their foes, were driven off the ground. The victorious whites returned
to those for whose safety they had ventured into the wilderness.
Inquiries were made as to who had been killed, and one running up,
cried, 'Where is the woman that gave us the powder? I want to see her!'
'Yes!--yes!--let us see her!' responded another and another; 'without
her we should have been all lost!' The soldiers ran about among the
women and children, looking for her and making inquiries. Directly came
in others from the pursuit, one of whom observing the commotion, asked
the cause, and was told. 'You are looking in the wrong place,' he
replied. 'Is she killed? Ah, we were afraid of that!' exclaimed many
voices. 'Not when I saw her,' answered the soldier. 'When the Indians
ran off, she was on _her knees in prayer_ at the root of yonder tree,
and there I left her.' There was a simultaneous rush to the tree--and
there, to their great joy, they found the woman safe, and still on her
knees in prayer. Thinking not of herself, she received their applause
without manifesting any other feeling than gratitude to Heaven for their
great deliverance."
HUMANITY OF HARTFORD LADIES.
As the rivers farthest flowing,
In the highest hills have birth;
As the banyan broadest growing,
Oftenest bows its head to earth,
So the noblest minds press onward,
Channels far of good to trace;
So the largest hearts bend downward,
Circling all the human race.
MRS. HALE.
The sympathies of a free people are always aroused when a nation is
struggling for freedom. Hence the war between the Turks and Greeks not
only called forth the eloquence of American orators, but the mothers and
daughters of the land, reminded of the long struggle of their husbands
and fathers for liberty, were alive to the interests, and prayed much
for the ransom of the latter people. Nor was this all; the sufferings to
which the war reduced the Greeks, so much moved the hearts of females
that, in one instance at least, they made a demonstration of their
sympathy worthy of record. The ladies of Hartford, Connecticut, sent out
a ship to the women of Greece, containing money, and articles of wearing
apparel, wrought by themselves expressly for an offering to suffering
humanity. Mrs. Sigourney, the Secretary of the Ladies' Committee, wrote
the following letter to accompany the contribution:
"_United States of America, March 12th, 1828._
_The Ladies of Hartford, in Connecticut, to the
Ladies of Greece._
"SISTERS AND FRIENDS,--From the years of childhood your native clime has
been the theme of our admiration: together with our brothers and our
husbands, we early learned to love the country of Homer, of Aristides,
of Solon, and of Socrates. That enthusiasm which the glory of ancient
Greece enkindled in our bosoms, has preserved a fervent friendship for
her descendants: we have beheld with deep sympathy the horrors of
Turkish domination, and the struggles so long and nobly sustained by
them for existence and for liberty.
"The communications of Dr. Howe, since his return from your land, have
made us more intimately acquainted with your personal sufferings. He has
presented many of you to us in his vivid descriptions, as seeking refuge
in caves, and, under the branches of olive trees, listening for the
footsteps of the destroyer, and mourning over your dearest ones slain in
battle.
"Sisters and friends, our hearts bleed for you. Deprived of your
protectors by the fortune of war, and continually in fear of evils worse
than death, our prayers are with you, in all your wanderings, your wants
and your griefs. In this vessel (which may God send in safety to your
shores!) you will receive a portion of that bounty wherewith He hath
blessed us. The poor among us have given according to their ability, and
our little children have cheerfully aided, that some of you and your
children might have bread to eat and raiment to put on. Could you but
behold the faces of our little ones brighten, and their eyes sparkle
with joy, while they give up their holidays, that they might work with
their needles for Greece; could you see those females who earn a
subsistence by labor, gladly casting their mite into our treasury, and
taking hours from their repose that an additional garment might be
furnished for you; could you witness the active spirit that pervades all
classes of our community, it would cheer for a moment the darkness and
misery of your lot.
"We are the inhabitants of a part of one of the smallest of the United
States, and our donations must therefore, of necessity, be more limited
than those from the larger and more wealthy cities; yet such as we have,
we give in the name of our dear Saviour, with our blessings and our
prayers.
"We know the value of sympathy--how it arms the heart to endure--how it
plucks the sting from sorrow--therefore we have written these few lines
to assure you, that in the remoter parts of our country, as well as in
her high places, you are remembered with pity and with affection.
"Sisters and friends, we extend across the ocean our hands to you in the
fellowship of Christ. We pray that His Cross and the banner of your
land may rise together over the Crescent and the Minaret--that your sons
may hail the freedom of ancient Greece restored, and build again the
waste places which the oppressor hath trodden down; and that you,
admitted once more to the felicities of home, may gather from past
perils and adversities a brighter wreath for the kingdom of Heaven.
"LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY,
"_Secretary of the Greek Committee of
Hartford, Connecticut._"
"MOTHER BAILEY."
No braver dames had Sparta,
No nobler matrons Rome.
W. D. GALLAGHER.
Anna Warner was born in Groton, Connecticut, on the eleventh of October,
1758, and married Captain Elijah Bailey of the same town, in 1774. He
participated in the hardships and dangers, and she in the trials of the
struggle for Independence. He is dead; she is still living.[7]
[7] We are informed by the Postmaster of Groton, in a letter dated the
tenth of December, 1850, that Mrs. B. is still living, and that her mind
is somewhat impaired. She is now in her ninety-third year.
She was a witness of the terrible massacre at Fort Griswold, in Groton,
on the sixth of September; and the following morning she hurried off to
the scene of carnage, a distance of three miles, to search for an uncle
who was among the brave defenders. She found him among the fatally
wounded: at his request that he might see his wife and child before he
died, she ran home, caught and saddled a horse for the feeble mother,
and taking the child in her arms, carried it the whole distance, that it
might receive the kisses and benediction of its dying father!
In the month of July, 1813 a blockading fleet appeared off the harbor of
New London; and on the thirteenth, demonstrations were noticed of an
intention to attack the place. Intense excitement now prevailed not only
in New London, but in all the adjacent towns. Fort Griswold was once
more occupied; small cannon--all to be had--were planted, and every
preparation possible was made for a vigorous defence. The greatest
deficiency was in flannel for cartridges; and in the emergency a
messenger was dispatched to the village to consult with Mrs. Bailey on
the most expeditious method of obtaining a supply. She promptly offered
to see that each family was visited, and the wants of the soldiery made
known. This was done, and each individual in the neighborhood cheerfully
presented her and her co-laborers whatever of the desired articles could
be spared, some in garments and some in the raw material. When these
were delivered to the messenger, and there was still found a deficiency,
she slyly slipped an under garment from her own person and charged him
to give _that_ to the British. As the enemy did not deem it expedient to
make an attack, it is difficult to tell what aid that garment rendered;
nor does it matter: its patriotic surrender showed the noble spirit
which has always actuated "mother Bailey," and was an appropriation for
her country which never caused her a blush.[8]
[8] The editor of the Democratic Review, to whom we are indebted for a
portion of these facts, visited the heroine of Groton in the fall of
1846, in the number of his periodical for the January following spoke of
her as a remarkable woman, physically, as well as mentally and
patriotically. She was then eighty-eight years old, yet as agile as a
girl of eighteen, and neither sight nor hearing had began to fail. "Such
then," he adds, "is Mother Bailey. Had she lived in the palmy days of
ancient Roman glory, no matron of the mighty empire would have been more
highly honored." In the same article Mrs. B. is spoken of as the
Postmistress of Groton, an office, which the present Postmaster assures
us, she never held.
Since the above was originally stereotyped, Mrs. Bailey has died. Her
demise occurred in the winter of 1850-1.
ELIZABETH HEARD.
Kindness has resistless charms.
ROCHESTER.
Why should'st thou faint? Heaven smiles above,
Though storm and vapor intervene.
PARK BENJAMIN.
Mrs. Elizabeth Heard, "a widow of good estate, a mother of many children
and a daughter of Mr. Hull, a revered minister formerly living at
Pisquataqua," was among the sufferers from captivity by the Indians in
the latter part of the seventeenth century. She was taken at the
destruction of Major Waldron's garrison in Dover, New Hampshire, about
1689. She was permitted to escape on account of a favor which she had
shown a young Indian thirteen years before--she having secreted him in
her house on the "calamitous day," in 1676, when four hundred savages
were surprised in Dover.[9]
[9] Drake's Indian Captivities.