Mr. Martyn had been accustomed to give alms to a number of the poor
natives; and to avoid the frequent interruption of his studies,
which their calls occasioned, he fixed a time for them to come to
his door. As a great number of wretched beings was thus collected,
he determined to embrace the opportunity of attempting to preach to
them. Of his first address to them he has left this account:
“I told them, after requesting their attention, that I gave with
pleasure the alms I could afford, but wished to give them something
better, namely, eternal riches, or the knowledge of God, which was to
be had from God’s word; and then producing a Hindoostanee translation
of Genesis, read the first verse, and explained it word by word. In
the beginning, when there was nothing, no heaven, no earth, but only
God, he created without help, for his own pleasure.—But who is God?
One so great, so good, so wise, so mighty, that none can know him as
he ought to know: but yet we must know that he knows us. When we rise
up, or sit down, or go out, he is always with us.—He created heaven
and earth; therefore every thing in heaven—sun, moon, and stars.
Therefore how should the sun be God, or the moon be God? He created
every thing on earth; therefore Ganges also: therefore how should
Ganges be God? Neither are they like God. If a shoemaker make a pair
of shoes, are the shoes like him? If a man make an image, the image
is not like man, his maker. Infer secondly, if God made the heavens
and the earth for you, and made the meat also for you, will he not
also feed you? Know also, that he that made heaven and earth can
destroy them;—and will do it; therefore fear God, who is so great;
and love God, who is so good.”
“I bless God,” said Mr. Martyn, “for helping me, beyond my
expectation. Yet still my corrupt heart looks forward to the next
attempt with some dread.”
On the Sunday after this, he preached to at least five hundred of
this class.
“I did not,” he remarks, “succeed so well as before; I suppose
because I had more confidence in myself, and less in the Lord. I
fear they did not understand me well; but the few sentences that
were clear, they applauded. Speaking to them of the sea and rivers,
I spoke to them again of the Ganges, that it was no more than other
rivers. God loved the Hindoos,—but he loved other people too; and
whatever river, or water, or other good thing he gave the Hindoos,
he gave other people also: for all are alike before God. Ganges
therefore, is not to be worshipped; because, so far from being a
God, it is not better than other rivers. In speaking of the earth
and moon, ‘as a candle in the house, so is the sun,’ I said, ‘in
the heavens.’ But would I worship a candle in my hand? These were
nice points; I felt as if treading on tender ground, and was almost
disposed to blame myself for imprudence. I thought, that amidst the
silence these remarks produced, I heard hisses and groans: but a few
Mohammedans applauded.”
The number of persons on these occasions, sometimes amounted to
eight hundred, composed of Mohammedans and Pagans. And though it
was natural for them to be very respectful and attentive, in the
supposition that their ill behaviour might cause Martyn to refuse
them charity, yet it was evident that many were really interested
in the new doctrines he taught them. They sometimes made sensible
remarks in assent to what he declared; or kept entire silence, as if
deeply thinking on it. They were very much moved, at one time, when,
after detailing the history of God’s judgment on Sodom, the preacher
suddenly applied the subject to themselves—
“Do you too,” he said, “repent of your sins, and turn to God. For
though you are not like the men of Sodom,—God forbid!—you are
nevertheless sinners. Are there no thieves, railers, extortioners,
among you? Be you sure that God is angry. I say not that he will
burn your town, but that he will burn you. Haste, therefore, out of
Sodom. Sodom is the world, which is full of sinners and sin. Come
out, therefore, from amongst them; forsake not your worldly business,
but your sinful companions. Do not be like the world, lest you perish
with them. Do not, like Lot, linger; say not, to-morrow we will
repent, lest you never see to-morrow; repent to-day. Then, as Lot,
seated on the hill, beheld the flames in safety, you also, sitting
on the hills of heaven, shall behold the ruins of the world without
fear.”
But his health beginning to suffer, from his labours and the heat
of the climate, he was, with great reluctance, compelled to give up
this portion of his services. He wrote to his friend, Mr. Simeon,
“I read your letter, of 6th of July, 1809, cautioning me against
over-exertion, with the confidence of one who had nothing to fear.
This was only three weeks ago. Since the last Lord’s day, your kind
advice was brought home to my mind, accompanied with painful regret
that I had not paid more attention to it. My work last Sunday was
not more than usual, but far too much for me, I can perceive. First,
service to his Majesty’s fifty-third regiment, in the open air;
then at head-quarters; in the afternoon, preached to eight hundred
natives; at night, to my little flock of Europeans. Which of these
can I forego? The ministration of the natives might be in the week:
but I wish to attach the idea of holiness to the Sunday. My evening
congregation, on Sunday, is attended by twice as many as in the
week-day; so how can I let this go?”
He was assisted for some time by Mr. Corrie, from Calcutta, and once
more attempted to address the beggars; but his weakness, and other
symptoms of declining health, increased so much, that it became
necessary for him to leave Cawnpore. At first, he determined to visit
England for a short time, thinking that he could there best renew his
strength; but he afterwards concluded to visit Persia and Arabia,
that he might collect the opinions of the learned natives, respecting
the accuracy of the translation of the New Testament into those
tongues, the first of which was supposed to be written in a style not
likely to be understood by the common people, and therefore not yet
published, and the last being still unfinished.
On the first of October, 1810, he left Cawnpore for this purpose,
thus connecting the pursuit of health with his great missionary
enterprise. As at Dinapore, he left this station just as a new church
was completed, in which he had the happiness of preaching the first
sermon, the day before his departure. On his voyage down the Ganges
to Aldeen, he visited the part of the army he had before served;
but most of those of whom he had cherished the strongest hopes,
had neglected his warnings, and were ashamed to see him. Nine only
came to his boat, where he sang, prayed with, and exhorted them. At
Aldeen and Calcutta, he enjoyed the society of his dear friends, the
missionaries, and preached frequently, though exceedingly weak. One
of his sermons was an appeal to the Europeans, on behalf of the nine
hundred thousand natives of India, who possessed Christianity in some
form, but were destitute of the Scriptures; “many of them,” as he
said, “relapsing fast to idolatry, and already, indeed, little better
than heathens.”
“Mention not their meanness; it is yours to raise them from
degradation. Despise not their inferiority, nor reproach them for
their errors; they cannot get a Bible to read. Had they been blessed
with your advantages, they would have been, perhaps, more worthy
of your respect. It has been said with too much truth, that they
scarcely deserve the name of Christians. How is it possible that it
should be otherwise, without the Bible, when it is considered how
little oral instruction they receive.” The sermon concluded with this
address:
“Imagine the sad situation of a sick or dying Christian, who has
just heard enough of eternity to be afraid of death, and not enough
of a Saviour to look beyond it with hope. He cannot call for a Bible
to look for something to support him, or ask his wife or child to
read him a consolatory chapter. The Bible, alas! is a treasure which
they never had the happiness to possess. O pity their distress, you
that have hearts to feel for the miseries of your fellow creatures;
you that have discernment to see, that a wounded spirit is far more
agonizing than any earth-begotten woes; you that know that you too
must one day die, O give unto him what may comfort him in a dying
hour. The Lord, who loves our brethren, who gave his life for them
and for you, who gave you the Bible before them, and now wills that
they should receive it from you, he will reward you. They cannot
recompense you, but you shall be recompensed at the resurrection of
the just. The King himself will say to you, ‘inasmuch as ye have done
it unto one of the least of these, my brethren, ye have done it unto
me.”
This sermon was printed in Calcutta, and contributed essentially
to the institution of the Calcutta Bible Society, and the liberal
support it received.
His last discourse was in January 1811, from the words of our
Saviour, “One thing is needful;” after which he left India, never
more to return, though hoping to recover his health and spend the
remainder of his life there.
“I now pass,” he wrote, “from India to Arabia, not knowing the things
that shall befall me there, but assured that an ever-faithful God
and Saviour will be with me in all places, whithersoever I go. May
he guide me and protect me, and after prospering me in the thing
whereunto I go, bring me back again to my delightful work in India. I
am perhaps leaving it to see it no more; but the will of God be done;
my times are in his hand, and he will cut them as short as shall be
most for my good: and with this assurance, I feel that nothing need
interrupt my work or my peace.”
His passage from the mouth of the river Hoogley, on which Calcutta is
situated, to Shiraz, the capital of Persia, occupied five months. The
particulars, which are worthy of notice, are given in his own words.
“_Bay of Bengal, January, 1811._
“I took a passage in the ship Ahmoody, Captain Kinsay, bound
to Bombay. One of my fellow passengers was the Honourable Mr.
Elphinstone who was proceeding to take the Residency of Poonah. His
agreeable manners and classical acquirements, made me think myself
fortunate indeed, in having such a companion, and I found his company
the most agreeable circumstance in my voyage.
“Our captain was a pupil of Swartz,[7] of whom he communicated many
interesting particulars.—Swartz, with Kolhoff and Jœnicke, kept a
school for half-caste children, about a mile and a half from Tanjore;
but went every night to the Tanjore church, to meet about sixty
or seventy of the king’s regiment, who assembled for devotional
purposes: after which he officiated to their wives and children in
Portuguese. At the school, Swartz used to read, in the morning, out
of the German ‘Meditation for every day in the year;’ at night, he
had family prayer. Jœnicke taught geography; Kolhoff, writing and
arithmetic. They had also masters in Persian and Malabar.
“At the time when the present Rajah was in danger of his life, from
the usurper of his uncle’s throne, Swartz used to sleep in the
same room with him. This was sufficient protection, ‘for (said the
captain,) Swartz was considered by the natives as something more
than mortal.’ The old Rajah, at his death, committed his nephew to
Swartz.”
“_Jan. 27th_ to 31.—Generally unwell. In prayer, my views of my
Saviour have been inexpressibly consolatory. How glorious the
privilege that we exist but in him; without him I lose the principle
of life, and am left to the power of native corruption,—a rotten
branch, a dead thing, that none can make use of. This mass of
corruption, when it meets the Lord, changes its nature, and lives
throughout, and is regarded by God as a member of Christ’s body. This
is my bliss, that Christ is all. Upheld by him, I smile at death.
It is no longer a question about my own worthiness. I glory in God,
through our Lord Jesus Christ.”
“_Feb. 18th._—Anchored at Bombay.—This day I finished the thirtieth
year of my unprofitable life; the age at which David Brainerd
finished his course. I am now at the age at which the Saviour of men
began his ministry, and at which John the Baptist called a nation
to repentance. Let me now think for myself, and act with energy.
Hitherto I have made my youth and insignificance an excuse for sloth
and imbecility: now let me have a character, and act boldly for God.”
“_Feb. 24th._—Preached at the Bombay church.”
“_March 25th._—Embarked on board the Benares, Captain Sealy; who,
in company with the Prince of Wales, Captain Hepburn, was ordered to
cruise in the Persian Gulf, against the Arab pirates. We got under
way immediately, and were outside the land before night.”
“_March 31._—The European part of the ship’s crew, consisting of
forty-five sailors and twelve artillerymen, were assembled on the
quarter-deck to hear divine service. I wondered to see so many of
the seamen inattentive; but I afterwards found that most of them
were foreigners, French, Spanish, Portuguese, &c. We had prayers in
the cabin every night. In the afternoon I used to read to a sick man
below, and two or three others would come to hear.”
“_April 21._—Anchored at Muscat, in Arabia
“_May 22._—Landed at Bushire.”
“On 30th of May, our Persian dresses were ready, and we set out for
Shiraz. The Persian dress consists of, first, stockings and shoes in
one; next, a pair of large blue trowsers, or else a pair of huge red
boots; then the shirt, then the tunic, and above it the coat, both of
chintz, and a great coat. I have here described my own dress, most of
which I have on at this moment. On the head is worn an enormous cone,
made of the skin of the black Tar tar sheep, with the wool on. If to
this description of my dress, I add, that my beard and mustachios
have been suffered to grow undisturbed ever since I left India, that
I am sitting on a Persian carpet, in a room without tables or chairs,
and that I bury my hand in the dish, without waiting for spoon or
plate, you will give me credit for being already an accomplished
oriental.”
“At sunrise we came to our ground at Ahmedee, and pitched our little
tent under a tree; it was the only shelter we could get. At first the
heat was not greater than we had felt in India, but it soon became
so intense as to be quite alarming. When the thermometer was above
112°, fever heat, I began to lose my strength fast; at last, it
became quite intolerable. I wrapped myself up in a blanket, and all
the warm covering I could get, to defend myself from the external
air; by which means the moisture was kept a little longer upon the
body, and not so speedily evaporated as when the skin was exposed:
one of my companions followed my example, and found the benefit of
it. But the thermometer still rising, and the moisture of the body
being quite exhausted, I grew restless, and thought I should have
lost my senses. The thermometer at last stood at 126°; in this state
I composed myself, and concluded that though I might hold out a day
or two, death was inevitable. Captain ——, who sat it out, continued
to tell the hour and height of the thermometer: and with what
pleasure did we hear of its sinking to 120°, 118°, &c. At last the
fierce sun retired, and I crept out, more dead than alive. It was
then a difficulty how I could proceed on my journey; for besides the
immediate effects of the heat, I had no opportunity of making up for
the last night’s want of sleep, and had eaten nothing. However, while
they were loading the mules I got an hour’s sleep, and set out, the
muleteer leading my horse, and Zachariah, my servant, an Armenian, of
Isfahan, doing all in his power to encourage me. The cool air of the
night restored me wonderfully, so that I arrived at our next stopping
place, with no other derangement than that occasioned by want of
sleep. Expecting another such day as the former, we began to make
preparation the instant we arrived on the ground. I got a shelter
made of the branches of the date tree, and a Persian peasant to water
it; by this means the thermometer did not rise higher than 114°. But
what completely secured me from the heat, was a large wet towel,
which I wrapped round my head and body, muffling up the lower part in
clothes. How could I but be grateful to a gracious Providence, for
giving me so simple a defence against what, I am persuaded, would
have destroyed my life that day. We took care not to go without
nourishment, as we had done; the neighbouring village supplied us
with curds and milk. At sunset, rising up to go out, a scorpion fell
upon my clothes; not seeing where it fell, I did not know what it
was; but Captain —— pointing it out, gave the alarm, and I struck it
off, and he killed it. The night before, we found a black scorpion in
our tent; this made us rather uneasy; so that, although we did not
start till midnight, we got no sleep, fearing we might be visited by
another scorpion.
“The next morning we arrived at the foot of the mountains. A strong
suffocating smell of naphtha,[8] announced something more than
ordinarily foul in the neighbourhood. We saw a river; what flowed
in it, it seemed difficult to say, whether it was water, or green
oil; it scarcely moved, and the stones which it laved, it left of
a greyish colour, as if its foul touch had given them the leprosy.
Our place of encampment this day was a grove of date trees. I threw
myself down on the burning ground, and slept: when the tent came up,
I awoke, as usual, in a burning fever. All this day, I had recourse
to a wet towel, which kept me alive, but would allow of no sleep. It
was a sorrowful sabbath; but Captain —— read a few hymns, in which
I found great consolation. At nine in the evening we decamped. The
ground and air were so insufferably hot, that I could not travel
without a wet towel round my face and neck. This night, for the
first time, we began to ascend the mountains. The road often passed
so close to the edge of the tremendous precipices, that one false
step of the horse would have plunged his rider into inevitable
destruction. In such circumstances, I found it useless to attempt
guiding the animal, and therefore gave him the rein. These poor
animals are so used to journeys of this sort, that they generally
step sure. There was nothing to mark the road, but the rocks being a
little more worn in one place than in another. Sometimes my horse,
which led the way, as being the muleteer’s, stopped, as if to
consider about the way: for myself, I could not guess, at such times,
where the road lay; but he always found it. The sublime scenery would
have impressed me much, in other circumstances: but my sleepiness
and fatigue rendered me insensible to every thing around me. At last
we emerged, not on the top of a mountain, to go down again,—but to a
plain, or upper world.”
“We rode briskly over the plain, breathing a purer air, and soon
came in sight of a fair edifice, built by the king of the country
for the refreshment of pilgrims. In this caravansera we took up
our abode for the day. It was more calculated for eastern, than
European travellers, having no means of keeping out the air and
light. We found the thermometer at 110°. At the passes we met a man
travelling down to Bushire, with a load of ice, which he willingly
disposed of to us. The next night we ascended another range of
mountains, and passed over a plain, where the cold was so piercing,
that with all the clothes we could muster, we were shivering. At
the end of this plain, we entered a dark valley, contained by two
ranges of hills, approaching one another. The muleteer gave notice
that he saw robbers. It proved to be a false alarm; but the place
was fitted to be a retreat for robbers; there being on each side
caves and fastnesses from which they might have killed every man
of us. After ascending another mountain, we descended by a very
long and circuitous route into an extensive valley, where we were
exposed to the sun till eight o’clock. Whether from the sun, or from
continued want of sleep, I could not, on my arrival at Carzeroon,
compose myself to sleep; there seemed to be a fire within my head,
my skin like a cinder, and the pulse violent. Through the day it was
again too hot to sleep, though the place we occupied was a sort of
summer-house, in a garden of cypress-trees, exceedingly well fitted
up with mats and coloured glass. Had the caravan gone on that night,
I could not have accompanied it; but it halted here a day, by which
means I got a sort of night’s rest, though I woke twenty times
to dip my burning hands in water. Though Carzeroon is the second
greatest town in Fars, we could get nothing but bread, milk, and
eggs, and those with difficulty.”
“_June 7th._—The hours we were permitted to rest, the musquitoes
had effectually prevented me from using; so that I never felt more
miserable and disordered; the cold was very severe; for fear of
falling off, from sleep and numbness, I walked a good part of the
way. We pitched our tent in the vale of Dustarjan, near a crystal
stream; the whole valley was one green field, in which large herds
of cattle were browsing. The temperature was about that of spring in
England. Here a few hours sleep recovered me, in some degree, from
the stupidity in which I had been for some days. I awoke with a light
heart, and said, ‘He knoweth our frame, and remembereth we are dust.
He redeemeth our life from destruction, and crowneth us with loving
kindness and tender mercies. He maketh us to lie down on the green
pastures, and leadeth us beside the still waters. And when we have
left this vale of tears, there is no more sorrow, nor sighing, nor
any more pain. The sun shall not light upon thee, nor any heat; but
the Lamb shall lead thee to living fountains of waters.’
“_June 8th._—Went on to a caravansera, where we passed the day. At
night set out upon our last march for Shiraz. Sleepiness, my old
companion and enemy, again overtook me. I was in perpetual danger
of falling off my horse, till at last I pushed on to a considerable
distance, planted my back against a wall, and slept, I know not how
long, till the good muleteer came up, and gently waked me.”
FOOTNOTES:
[7] The life of this missionary has been published by the American
Sunday School Union.
[8] A substance like liquid pitch, supposed to be produced by
subterranean fire.