Mr. Martyn now received intelligence from England of the death of his
eldest sister, an event which very deeply afflicted him; but which
caused him to feel fresh confidence in God, and a new interest in
heaven.
“O great and gracious God! what should I do without Thee! But now
thou art manifesting thyself as the God of all consolation to my
soul:—never was I so near thee:—I stand on the brink, and long to
take my flight. There is not a thing in the world for which I could
wish to live, except the hope that it may please God to appoint me
some work. And how shall my soul ever be thankful enough to thee, O
thou most incomprehensibly glorious Saviour Jesus! O what hast thou
done to alleviate the sorrows of life! and how great has been the
mercy of God towards my family, in saving us all! How dreadful would
be the separation of relations in death were it not for Jesus.”
“The European letter,” he wrote to Mr. Brown, “contained the
intelligence of the death of my eldest sister. A few lines received
from herself about three weeks ago, gave me some melancholy
forebodings of her danger. But though the Lord thus compassionately
prepared me for this affliction, I hardly knew how to bear it. We
were more united in affection to each other, than to any of our
relations: and now she is gone, I am left to fulfil, as a hireling,
my day, and then I shall follow her. She had been many years under
some conviction of her sins, but not till her last illness had she
sought in earnest for salvation. Some weeks before her death she felt
the burden of sin, and cried earnestly for pardon and deliverance,
and continued in the diligent use of the appointed means of grace.
Two days before her death, when no immediate danger was apprehended,
my youngest sister visited her; and was surprised and delighted
at the change which had taken place. Her convictions of sin were
deep, and her views clear; her only fear was on account of her own
unworthiness. She asked, with many tears, whether there was mercy for
one who had been so great a sinner; though in the eyes of the world
she had been an exemplary wife and mother; and said that she believed
the Lord would have mercy upon her, because she knew he had wrought
on her mind by His Spirit. Two days after this conversation, she
suddenly and unexpectedly left this world of woe, while her sister
was visiting a dying friend at a distance. This, you will tell me, is
precious consolation; indeed I am constrained to acknowledge that I
could hardly ask for greater; for I had already parted with her for
ever in this life; and, in parting, all I wished for was, to hear of
her being converted to God, and, if it was his will, taken away in
due time, from the evil to come, and brought to glory before me. Yet
human nature bleeds; her departure has left this world a frightful
blank to me; and I feel not the smallest wish to live, except there
be some work assigned for me to do in the church of God.”
And sometime afterwards he wrote, “My heart is still oppressed, but
it is not ‘a sorrow that worketh death.’ Though nature weeps at being
deprived of all hopes of ever seeing this dear companion on earth,
faith is thereby brought the more into exercise. How sweet to feel
dead to all below; to live only for eternity; to forget the short
interval that lies between us and the spiritual world; and to live
always _seriously_. The _seriousness_ which this sorrow produces, is
indescribably precious; O that I could always retain it, when these
impressions shall be worn away!”
In September he introduced Christ’s Sermon on the mount as a lesson
for the schools; the first time he had been privileged to hear the
natives reading and learning any portion of the sacred scriptures. He
declined the urgent request of his friends in Calcutta, to establish
himself there, saying, that however delightful it would be, to
be placed in the society of the missionaries and their families,
he wished to remain more in the midst of the heathen, upon whom
he desired to expend his labours. His solitude was also rendered
more painful, by the disappointment of his hopes of marriage with
the lady at Cornwall, to whom he was engaged, but who now felt
obliged to decline the union, for reasons which Mr. Martyn himself
admitted to be proper. He bore this trial with much meekness: he
said, “The Lord sanctify this: and since this last desire of my
heart is also withheld, may I turn away for ever from the world, and
henceforth live forgetful of all but God. With thee, O my God, is no
disappointment. I shall never have to regret, that I have loved thee
too well. Thou hast said, ‘delight thyself in the Lord, and he shall
give thee the desires of thy heart.’”
“At first I was more grieved,” he wrote some time afterwards, “at
the loss of my gourd, than for all the perishing Ninevehs around me;
but now my earthly woes and earthly attachments seem to be absorbing
in the vast concern of communicating the gospel to these nations.
After this last lesson from God on the vanity of the creature, I feel
desirous to be nothing, to have nothing, to ask for nothing, but what
he gives.”
And at the close of the year, he thus spoke of this event, and the
death of his sister:
“On both these afflictions I have seen love inscribed, and that is
enough. What I think I want, it is better still to want: but I am
often wearied with this world of wo. I set my affections on the
creature, and am then torn from it; and from various other causes,
particularly the prevalence of sin in my heart, I am often so full
of melancholy, that I hardly know what to do for relief. Sometimes
I say, ‘O that I had wings like a dove, then would I flee away and
be at rest;’ at other times, in my sorrow about the creature, I
have no wish left for my heavenly rest. It is the grace and favour
of God that have saved me hitherto: my ignorance, waywardness, and
wickedness, would long since have plunged me into misery; but there
seems to be a mighty exertion of mercy and grace upon my sinful
nature, every day, to keep me from perishing at last. My attainments
in the divine life, in this last year, seem to be none at all; I
appear, on the contrary, to be more self-willed and perverse; and
more like many of my countrymen, in arrogance and a domineering
spirit over the natives. The Lord save me from my wickedness!
Henceforth let my soul, humbly depending upon the grace of Christ,
perfect holiness in the fear of God, and show towards all, whether
Europeans or natives, the mind that was in Christ Jesus.”
Mr. Martyn had two assistants in his Indian and Persian translations,
one named Mirza, of Hindoostan, the other Sabat, an Arabian. The
latter of these, for some time, professed to be a convert to
Christianity, but afterwards returned to Mohammedism. Sabat’s temper
and behaviour were so inconsistent with the spirit of the gospel,
that he gave Mr. Martyn great uneasiness; but his expressions of a
desire to reform seemed so sincere, that he was long regarded as a
genuine Christian, whom, it was hoped, more light, and knowledge, and
grace, would gradually lead aright.
In March, 1808, Martyn completed the New Testament in Hindoostanee,
and sent it to Calcutta to be printed. The correcting of the sheets
as they came from the press, occupied much of his time: besides
which, he superintended and compared the Persian translation by
Sabat, and studied the Arabic, that he might have a translation made
into that language also. He received visits daily, from such of his
congregation as were serious, and visited the hospital as usual. In
consequence of the want of a proper place for public worship at
Dinapore, he held meetings at his own house. On the first Sunday,
he preached from Isaiah iv. 5 “The Lord will create upon every
dwelling-place of Mount Zion, and upon her assemblies, a cloud and
smoke by day, and the shining of a flaming fire by night: for upon
all the glory shall be a defence.” “In the afternoon,” his diary
relates, “I waited for the women, but not one came: perhaps, by
some mistake, notice had not been given them. At the hospital, and
with the men at night, I was engaged, as usual, in prayer: my soul
panted after the living God, but it remained tied and bound with
corruption. I felt as if I could have given the world to be brought
to be alone with God; and the promise that ‘this is the will of God,
even our sanctification,’—was the right hand that upheld me while I
followed after Him. When low in spirits, through an unwillingness
to take up the cross, I found myself more resigned in endeavouring
to realise the thought which had often composed me in my trials on
board the ship; namely, that I was born to suffer; that suffering is
my appointed daily portion; let this reconcile me to every thing! To
have a will of my own, not agreeable to God’s, is a most tremendous
wickedness. I own it is so, for a few moments: but, Lord, write it on
my heart! In perfect meekness and resignation let me take whatever
befalls me in the path of duty, and never dare to think of being
dissatisfied.”
In June, the gospel of Matthew was finished in Persian, and sent to
Calcutta, where it was printed at the expense of the British and
Foreign Bible Society. In the summer he suffered a severe attack
of illness, his reflections on which show the spirituality of his
feelings, and the joyfulness of his prospects of eternity.
“I little thought to have had my faith brought to a trial so soon.
This morning, while getting up I found a pain in the centre of my
body, which increased to such a degree, that fever and vertigo came
on, and I fainted. The dreadful sensation was like what I once felt
in England, but by no means so violent or long-continued; as then,
also, I was alone. After recovering my senses, and lying in pain
which almost made me breathless, I turned my thoughts to God; and oh!
praise to his grace and love, I felt no fear; but I prayed earnestly
that I might have a little relief to set my house in order, and make
my will. I also thought with pain, of leaving the Persian gospels
unfinished. By means of some ether, the Lord gave me ease, and I made
my will. The day was spent in great weakness, but my heart was often
filled with the sweetest peace and gratitude for the precious things
God hath done for me.”
“I found delight at night in considering, from the beginning, all
that God had done in creation, providence, and grace, for my soul. O
God of love, how shall I praise Thee!—happiness, bliss for ever, lies
before me. Thou hast brought me upon this stage of life to see what
sin and misery are; myself, alas! most deeply partaking in both. But
the days and the works of my former state, fraught with danger and
with death, are no more; and the God of benevolence and love hath
opened to me brighter prospects. Thine I am; ‘My beloved is mine,
and I am his;’ and now I want none but Thee. I am alone with Thee in
this world; and when I put off this mortal tabernacle, I shall still
be with Thee, whatever that unknown change may be; and I shall be
before Thee, not to receive honour, but to ascribe praise. Yes! I
shall then have power to express my feelings; I shall then, without
intermission, see and love; and no cloud of sorrow overcast my mind.
I shall then sing in worthy, everlasting strains, the praises of that
divine Redeemer, whose works of love now reach beyond my conception.”
Some portions of his letters to the Rev. Messrs. Corrie and Brown, at
Calcutta, during this year, and part of 1809, will show his labours,
trials, and consolations, in a better manner than our narrative
could.
“I do not know how you find the heat, but here it is dreadful: in
one person’s quarters yesterday it was at 102°: perhaps it was on
that account that scarcely any women came. Another reason I assign
is, that I rebuked one of them last Sunday, yet very gently, for
talking and laughing in the church before I came; so yesterday they
showed their displeasure by not coming at all. I spoke to them
on the parable of the Great Supper: the old woman, who is always
so exemplary in her attention, shed many tears; I have sometimes
endeavoured to speak to her, but she declines conversation. I feel
interested about her, there is so much sorrow and meekness depicted
in her countenance; but she always crosses herself after the service
is over. My Europeans, this week, have not attended very well;
fifteen only, instead of twenty-five; some of them, indeed, are in
the hospital; and the hospital is a town of itself;—how shall I ever
be faithful to them all!”
“Among the events of the last week is the earthquake; we were just
reading the passage of the 24th of Matthew, on ‘earthquakes in divers
places,’ when I felt my chair shake under me; then some pieces of the
plaster fell; on which I sprang up and ran out;—the doors had still a
tremulous motion.”
“I groan at the wickedness and infidelity of men, and seem to
stretch my neck every way to espy a righteous man. All at Dinapore
treat the gospel with contempt; here there is nothing but infidelity.”
“A young civilian, who some time ago came to me desiring satisfaction
on the evidences of Christianity, and to whom I spoke very freely,
and with some regard, as I could not doubt his sincerity, now holds
me up to ridicule. Thus, through evil report, we go on. Oh! my
brother! how happy I feel, that all have not forsaken Christ; that I
am not left alone even in India. ‘Cast thy burden on the Lord, and
he shall sustain thee,’ is the text I carry about with me, and I can
recommend it to any body as an infallible preservative from the fever
of anxiety.”
“The day after I wrote to you from Bankipore, I called on the
Nawaub,[6] Babir Ali Khan, celebrated for his sense and liberality. I
staid two hours with him, conversing in Persian, but badly. He began
the theological discussion by requesting me to explain necessity and
free-will; I instantly pleaded ignorance. He gave his own opinion;
on which I asked him for his proofs of the religion of Mohammed.
His first argument was the eloquence of the Koran; but he at last
acknowledged that this was insufficient. I then brought forward a
passage or two in the Koran, containing sentiments manifestly false
and foolish; he flourished a good deal, but concluded by saying, that
I must wait till I could speak Persian better, and had read their
logic. This was the first visit, and I returned highly delighted
with his sense, candour, and politeness. Two days after I went to
breakfast with him, and conversed with him in Hindoostanee. He
inquired what are the principles of the Christian religion; I began
with the atonement, the divinity of Christ, the corruption of human
nature, the necessity of regeneration, and a holy life. He seems to
wish to acquire information, but discovers no spiritual desire after
the truth.”
“I mentioned to you that I had spoken very plainly to the women last
Sunday, on the delusions of the papists: yesterday only seven came.
I ascribed it to what I had said; but to-day Sabat tells me that
they pour contempt upon it all. Sabat, instead of comforting and
encouraging me in my disappointments and trials, aggravates my pain
by contemptuous expressions of the perfect inutility of continuing
to teach them. He may spare his sarcastic remarks; as I suppose,
after another Sunday, none at all will come. I find no relief but in
prayer: to God I can tell all my griefs, and find comfort.”
“One day this week, on getting up in the morning, I was attacked
with a very serious illness. I thought I was leaving this world of
sorrow; and, praised be the God of grace, I felt no fear. The rest of
the day I was filled with sweet peace of mind, and had near access to
God in prayer. What a debt of love and praise do we owe! Yesterday I
attempted to examine the women who attended (in number about thirty,)
in Christian knowledge; they were very shy, and said that they could
say no prayers but in Portuguese. It appears that they were highly
incensed, and went away, saying to Joseph, ‘We know a great deal more
than your priest himself.’ The services much weakened me after my
late attack.”
“The men are fast dying in the hospital, yet they would rather be
sent to Patna for some holy oil, than hear the word of eternal life.
Two or three of my evening hearers are in the hospital; one is
prepared to die: blessed sight! The Persian of St. Mark is to be sent
to-morrow, and five chapters of Luke, corrected. There is no news
from down the stream; but always glad tidings for us from the world
above.”
The following is from a letter to his sister, in England:
“I am sorry that I have not good accounts to give of my health;
yet no danger is to be apprehended. My services on the Lord’s day
always leave me a pain in the chest, and such a great degree of
general relaxation, that I seldom recover from it till Tuesday. A few
days ago I was attacked with a fever, which, by the mercy of God,
lasted but two days. I am now well, but must be more careful for the
future. In this debilitating climate, the mortal tabernacle is frail
indeed: my mind seems as vigorous as ever, but my delicate frame
soon calls for relaxation; and I must give it, though unwillingly;
for such glorious fields for exertion open all around, that I
could with pleasure be employed from morning to night. It seems a
providential circumstance, that the work at present assigned me is
that of translation; for had I gone through the villages, preaching,
as my intention led me to do, I fear that by this time I should have
been in a deep decline. In my last I gave you a general idea of my
employments. The society still meet every night at my quarters, and
though we have lost many by death, others are raised up in their
room; one officer, a lieutenant, is also given to me; and he is not
only a brother beloved, but a constant companion and nurse; so you
must feel no apprehension that I should be left alone in sickness;
neither on any other account should you be uneasy. You know that we
must meet no more in this life: therefore, since we are, as I trust,
both children of God by faith in Jesus Christ, it becomes a matter
of less consequence when we leave this earth. Of the spread of the
gospel in India, I can say little, because I hear nothing. Adieu, my
dearest sister: let us live in constant prayer, for ourselves, and
for the church.”
The annexed extracts are from his correspondence with Messrs. Corrie
and Brown:
“I have just come out of my chapel, where, with my little flock, I
have once more resumed my duties. The infrequency of my appearance
among them of late has thinned them considerably; and this effect,
which I foresaw, is one of the most painful and lamentable
consequences of my withdrawing from them; but it is unavoidable, if I
wish to prolong my life. My danger is from the lungs: though none of
you seem to apprehend it. One complete service at church does more to
consume my strength and spirits than six days of the hardest study,
or bodily labour. Pray for me, my dear brother, that I may neither be
rash nor indolent.”
“You mention a letter enclosed, but none came. The intelligence,
however, intended to be conveyed by it, met my delighted eyes.
Thomason is coming! This is good. Praise be to the Lord of the
harvest, for sending out labourers! Behold how the prayers of the
society at Calcutta have been heard. I hope they will continue
their supplication; for we want more yet, and it may please God
yet further to bless us. You cannot leave Calcutta by the middle
of November, and must therefore apply for one month’s extension
of leave. But you are unwilling to leave your flock; and I do not
wonder, as I have seen my sheep grievously dispersed during my
absence. Uncertain when I may come amongst them, they seldom come
at all, except the ten or twelve who meet one another. My morning
congregation increases as the cold weather advances, and yesterday
there seemed to be a considerable impression. I spoke in a low
tone of voice, and therefore, did not feel much fatigue;—after the
Hindoostanee service I was very weak; but at night tolerably strong
again. On the whole, my expectations of life return. May the days
thus prolonged be entirely His who continues them! and may my work
not only move on delightfully, but with a more devout and serious
spirit!”
“Your letter from Buxar found me in much the same spiritual state, as
you describe yourself to be in: though your description, no doubt,
belongs more properly to me. I no longer hesitate to ascribe my
stupor and formality, to its right cause: unwatchfulness in worldly
company. I thought that any temptation arising from the society of
the people of the world, at least of such as we have had, was not
worthy of notice: but I find myself mistaken. The frequent occasions
of being among them of late, have proved a snare to my corrupt heart.
Instead of returning with a more elastic spring to severe duties, as
I expected, my heart wants more idleness, more dissipation. David
Brainerd in the wilderness,—what a contrast to Henry Martyn! But
God be thanked that a start now and then interrupts the slumber. I
hope to be up and about my Master’s business; to cast off the works
of darkness, and to be spiritually-minded, which alone is life and
peace. But what a dangerous country it is that we are in; hot weather
or cold, all is softness and luxury; all a conspiracy to lull us
to sleep in the lap of pleasure. While we pass over this enchanted
ground, call, brother, ever and anon, and ask ‘is all well?’ We are
shepherds keeping watch over our flocks by night: if we fall asleep
what is to become of them!”
“Last Friday we had the happiness and honour of finishing the four
gospels in Persian. The same evening I made some discovery respecting
the Hebrew verb, but was unfortunately so much delighted, that I
could not sleep; in consequence of which, I have had a head-ache
ever since. Thus even intellectual joys are followed by sorrow: not
so spiritual ones. I pray continually that _order_ may be preserved
in my heart; that I may esteem and delight most in that work, which
is really most estimable and delightful, the work of Christ and his
apostles. When this is in any measure the case, it is surprising how
clear and orderly the thoughts are on other subjects. I am still a
good deal in the dark respecting the objects of my pursuit; but have
so far an insight, that I read both Hebrew and Arabic with increasing
pleasure and satisfaction.”
“I scarcely know how this week has passed, nor can I call to mind the
circumstances of one single day; so absorbed have I been in my new
pursuit. I remember, however, that during one night I did not sleep a
wink. Knowing what would be the consequence the next day, I struggled
hard, and turned every way, that my mind might be diverted from what
was before it;—but all in vain. One discovery succeeded another, in
Hebrew, Arabic, and Greek, so rapidly, that I was sometimes in almost
ecstasy; but after all, I have moved but a step: you may scold me if
you please, but I am helpless. I do not turn to this study of myself,
but it turns to me, and draws me away almost irresistibly. Still I
perceive it to be a mark of a fallen nature to be so carried away
by a pleasure merely intellectual; and, therefore, while I pray for
the gifts of his Spirit, I feel the necessity of being still more
earnest for His grace. ‘Whether there be tongues they shall cease;
whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away; but charity never
faileth.’ Yesterday my mind was mercifully kept free the whole day:
and I ministered without distraction, and moreover without fatigue.
I do not know when I have found myself so strong. The state of the
air affects me more than any thing else. On Saturday, I completed my
twenty-eighth year. Shall I live to see another birth-day?—it will
be better to suppose not. I have not read Faber yet; but it seems
evident to me that the XIth of Daniel, almost the whole of it, refers
to future time. But as the time of accomplishing the scriptures draws
on, knowledge shall increase. In solemn expectation we must wait, to
see how our God will come. How interesting are his doings! We feel
already some of that rapture wherewith they sing above, ‘Great and
wonderful are thy works, Lord God Almighty! just and true are thy
ways, thou king of saints!’”
“I did not write to you last week, because I was employed night and
day, on Monday and Tuesday, with Sabat, in correcting some sheets for
the press. I begin my letter, now, immediately on receiving yours
of last week. The account of your complaint, as you may suppose,
grieves me exceedingly; not because I think that I shall outlive you,
but because your useful labours must be reduced to one quarter of
their present amount; and that you may perhaps be obliged to take
a voyage to Europe, which involves loss of time and money. But, O
brother beloved! what is life or death? Nothing, to the believer in
Jesus. ‘He that believeth, though he were dead, yet shall he live;
and he that liveth, and believeth in me, shall never die. The first
and most natural effect of sickness, as I have often found, is to
cloud and terrify the mind. The attention of the soul is arrested by
the idea of soon appearing in a new world; and a sense of guilt is
felt, before faith is exercised in a Redeemer: and for a time this
will predominate; for the same faith that would overcome fear in
health, must be considerably strengthened to have the same ascendency
in sickness. I trust you will long live to do the work of your Lord
Jesus. My discoveries are all at an end. I am just where I was; in
perfect darkness, and tired of the pursuit. It is, however, likely
that I shall be constantly speculating on the subject. My thirst
after knowledge is very strong; but I pray continually that the
Spirit of God may hold the reins; that I may mind the work of God
above all things; and consider all things else as merely occasional.”
The preceding extracts show the progress of Martyn and Sabat in
their translations, the debility of Martyn’s health, and the new
temptations of study which were presented to his mind. In March
1809, a large place of worship was opened, but he was not permitted
to enjoy many services in it, as he was sent by the East India
Company to be chaplain at Cawnpore, almost four hundred miles from
Dinapore, and seven hundred from Calcutta. This journey he performed
at the hottest season of the year; for two days and nights he
travelled without stopping, during which time the wind seemed to him
like flames, and he lay in his palanquin almost insensible. A lady of
Cawnpore, speaks as follows of his tour:
“The month of April, in the upper provinces of Hindoostan, is one of
the most dreadful months for travelling throughout the year; indeed,
no European, at that time, can remove from place to place, but at the
hazard of his life. But Mr. Martyn had that anxiety to be in the work
which his heavenly father had given him to do, that, notwithstanding
the violent heat, he travelled from Chunar to Cawnpore, the space
of about four hundred miles. At that time, as I well remember, the
air was as hot and dry as that which I have sometimes felt near the
mouth of a large oven;—no friendly cloud, or verdant carpet of grass,
to relieve the eye from the strong glare of the rays of the sun,
pouring on the sandy plains of the Ganges. Thus Mr. Martyn travelled,
journeying night and day, and arrived at Cawnpore in such a state,
that he fainted away as soon as he entered the house. When we
charged him with the rashness of hazarding his life in this manner,
he always pleaded his anxiety to get to the great work. He remained
with us ten days, suffering considerably at times from fever and pain
in the chest.”
At Cawnpore there was no church, or regular worship. Soon after his
arrival, Martyn preached to the soldiers in the open air, when, such
was the heat, although before sunrise, that many dropped down as
they stood around him in ranks. He adopted the same course of public
services as at Dinapore, and continued to superintend the Arabic and
a new Persian translation of the New Testament, as the first one was
found too imperfect for publication. These duties occupied his whole
time, excepting when his duties occasionally required him to take
journeys to distant towns.
Having received intelligence of the fatal illness of his only sister,
the last tie to earthly objects seems to have been broken. “What is
there now,” he exclaimed, “that I should wish to live for? O what a
barren desert, what a howling wilderness, does this world appear! But
for the service of God and his church, and the preparation of my own
soul, I do not know that I would wish to live another day.” It was
this sister who first attempted to draw his attention to religion:
and how must he now have looked back upon the day, when, as he
confessed, the sound of the gospel from her lips was grating to his
ear!
FOOTNOTES:
[6] Or Nabob, the name of an office.