Title: The life of Rev. Henry Martyn : Written for the American Sunday School Union, with some account of Abdool Messeeh, a Hindoo convert
Author: Hall, John A.
Language: English
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[Illustration: Longacre Sc.

H. MARTYN.]



  THE LIFE

  OF

  REV. HENRY MARTYN.

  WRITTEN FOR THE AMERICAN SUNDAY SCHOOL UNION,

  BY JOHN HALL.

  WITH SOME ACCOUNT OF ABDOOL MESSEEH,
  A HINDOO CONVERT.

  REVISED BY THE COMMITTEE OF PUBLICATION.

  AMERICAN SUNDAY SCHOOL UNION.

  _PHILADELPHIA_:

  NO. 316 CHESNUT STREET.



  Entered according to the act of Congress in the year
  1831, by PAUL BECK, Jr. Treasurer, in trust for the American
  Sunday School Union, in the Clerk’s Office of the District
  Court of the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.



PREFACE.


This volume has been principally compiled from the tenth English
edition of the Memoirs of MR. MARTYN, by the REV. JOHN SARGENT.

The author of the present publication has endeavoured to present
his subject in a manner which may not mislead the young, in forming
their estimate of Christian character, and to propose the humble
missionary, as an imitable example, rather than an object of vague
and curious admiration. To effect this design, he has avoided, as
much as possible, the use of terms of personal eulogy; in hopes that
the perusal of the biography will leave upon the youthful reader
a deeper impression of the indispensable need of Divine power,
to enable any creature to lead a useful and holy life. Children
are taught, at least by implication, to believe, that the eminent
instances of piety and zeal, which are recorded both in sacred and
ordinary history, are exceptions to the doctrine of Christ, who
directed his disciples to say—even after they should have done “_all_
those things which were commanded—we are unprofitable servants;
we have done that which was our duty to do.” This course is likely
not only to create an illusion which more mature knowledge will but
imperfectly dissipate, but to diminish the splendor of the single
example of perfect righteousness which has blessed our world. Its
tendency, moreover, is to foster that hidden corruption of religious
vanity in the heart of the young Christian, which usually needs no
extraneous aid to assist it in impeding the growth of grace.

It would seem, that the Memoirs of a Christian should be rather
adapted to instruct the living, than to applaud the dead; and it is
surprising that so few works of the kind are extant, prepared with
evangelical discrimination. It is especially important that this
principle should be regarded in biographies designed for pupils in
Sunday schools and it would be a new honor to the institution, if the
productions in this department, which claim their patronage, should
be marked by this rare moral distinction.



THE LIFE

OF

HENRY MARTYN.



CHAPTER I.


The father of Henry Martyn was a workman in the tin mines of
Cornwall, in England. As the miners worked very deep in the earth,
shut out from the light of the sun, and breathing an unwholesome
air, it was their custom to labour four hours, and then to spend the
same length of time in resting. During these hours of rest, John
Martyn devoted himself to improving his education, which had been
very slight; and by his industrious application, he soon became so
well acquainted with arithmetic, that he was at length engaged,
as clerk, by a merchant in the town of Truro, in the county of
Cornwall. The conduct of this man is an example to all persons whose
occupations afford them any leisure. There is scarcely any one who is
so constantly occupied, as not to have some time in the week, for the
improvement of his mind. Had John Martyn made no exertion to supply
his want of early instruction, he would probably have wasted his
life in the miserable toil of digging ore, in the unwholesome depths
of the mines. But by employing his spare time in learning, instead
of wasting it in idleness and intemperance, he was soon enabled to
maintain his family respectably, and to save his children from the
evils of ignorance, by giving them a good education.

Henry, his third child, the subject of this volume, was born at
Truro, on the 18th of February, 1781, and before he was eight years
old, was put under the charge of an excellent schoolmaster. At
school he was remarkable for the gentleness of his disposition; yet
he was not a general favourite with his school-fellows, as, owing
to the mildness of his spirit, he was not inclined to engage in
their sports, and was fond of quiet. After spending seven years at
this school, his father sent him to the city of Oxford, hoping that
he would be admitted as a student in one of the colleges of the
celebrated university at that place, and be supported by funds which
are raised for that purpose, called scholarships. From the boys who
apply for admission on these terms, the most promising scholars are
selected; but Henry had not been very studious, and, though some of
his examiners were in favour of electing him, he did not succeed.
He afterwards considered this failure as a great mercy; for had he
been thrown, when not fifteen years of age, into the evil company
which he would then have met with at college, he might have become
dissolute beyond recovery. He returned to his school, and remained
under the same teacher, until he entered St. John’s college, in the
university of Cambridge, in October, 1797.

Ambitious to be distinguished, and anxious to gratify his father,
he applied himself diligently to study during his stay in college.
He was moral and amiable in his conduct, excepting that his temper,
which was usually very mild, was sometimes irritated to an improper
degree, and led him, as unrestrained passions always lead those
who indulge them, to hasty and dangerous conduct. Excellent as his
outward character was, it was not so because he was anxious to fulfil
his duty to God, who requires purity of heart and life from all his
intelligent creatures. And he was so insensible, at this time, to the
fact, that God most justly claims that every being should live to
his glory, that he thought it a very strange doctrine, when a pious
friend told him that he ought to attend to his studies, not for the
sake of gaining praise from man, but that he might be the better
qualified to promote the glory of God. He could not, however, but
acknowledge that it was entirely reasonable, and determined that he
would hold and maintain this opinion, but never once meant that it
should govern his conduct. Of course, his holding a correct opinion,
without acting accordingly, was worth nothing, and only increased
his sinfulness; as he continued to follow his own ambition, after he
was convinced that God rightfully claimed all his services. Thus,
many persons are well acquainted with the history, doctrines, and
commands of the holy scriptures, who do not live according to what
they require, and aggravate their guilt, because they sin wilfully,
after knowing the truth. And thus many believe all that is in the
scriptures, as they believe what is written in other books; but that
belief or faith, only, is of any value to a man, which causes him to
receive the truth in his heart, as well as in his memory; to live
according to its requirements, and to obey the commandment, “repent
and believe in the Lord Jesus Christ;” which is just as binding on
the whole human family, as any of the ten commandments which were
given at Sinai.

The great desire of Martyn’s heart was to excel at college, and to
be foremost in his class, and this ambition occupied his mind so
entirely, that he lived without God, and as if the world had been
created for his honor, instead of the Maker’s. His wishes and aims
were all selfish; he envied and even hated those who, by greater
industry or talents, attained to more distinction than he could
reach, whilst, in his pride, he considered himself superior to all,
and professed to regard them with contempt. These unholy feelings
were so much increased by his disappointment in not gaining as high
honours as he aspired to, that upon a visit to his home during a
vacation, he used disrespectful language to his father, when he would
express opinions differing from his own. When he became a penitent,
and looked back to this period, he exclaimed, “Oh what an example
of patience and mildness was he! I love to think of his excellent
qualities, and it is frequently the anguish of my heart, that I ever
could be so base and wicked, as to pain him by the slightest neglect.
Oh my God and Father, why is not my heart doubly agonized at the
remembrance of all my transgressions against Thee, ever since I have
known Thee as such!”—During this same visit, which was the last time
he saw his father, his pious sister often spoke to him on the subject
of religion; but he confessed, that the sound of the gospel, thus
tenderly accompanied with the admonitions of a sister, was grating to
his ears. Yet he could not escape the conviction that she spoke the
truth, when she urged its claims upon him; but then it required him
to sacrifice his selfish ambition, and this was too dear an object to
give up. He promised to read the Bible, but when he reached college,
his studies filled all his thoughts.

Notwithstanding the fact, which he afterwards acknowledged, that
during his stay at home the wickedness of his heart rose to a
greater height than at any other time, yet the change which soon
afterwards took place in him, seems to have been connected with the
peculiar state of his circumstances and feelings at that period. At
an examination after his return to college, his ambition attained
its object, and he was pronounced first in his class. A few weeks
afterwards, he received information of the sudden death of his
father. This was a great affliction to him, and was more severe,
as it happened in the midst of his triumph, and brought to his
remembrance the acts of filial disrespect which his evil passions
had led him so lately to commit. Finding that in this state of mind,
he could take no pleasure in his usual studies, he resorted to his
Bible, under the impression that its perusal would be more suitable
to his present feelings. In this new direction of his inquiries
he was encouraged by his pious friend at college, and commenced
reading Luke’s narrative of the Acts of the Apostles, as the most
entertaining part of the New Testament. This led him gradually to
examine the doctrines of those holy men; and the duty of religion, in
the circumstances of his affliction, made this much of an impression,
that he began to use prayers, and to ask formally for pardon, though
he had little sense of his sinfulness. His heart was evidently
softened by the occurrence of his father’s death; and the admonitions
and prayers of his sister, with the convictions of his own judgment,
disposed him to pay attention to the subject, from which he was not
violently drawn away, as formerly, by his pursuit of fame, having now
reached the highest station to which he could attain in his class.
But his pride caused him to shrink from the humility which every
sinner must feel before he can come to the Saviour: so little did he
yet know his own heart; for the man who truly feels the condition in
which he stands in the sight of a Supreme Being, infinitely great,
infinitely holy, infinitely just, against whose laws, and mercy, and
goodness, he has sinned without excuse, cannot but be humble when he
becomes acquainted with his true character.

Such was the apparent commencement of the influence of the Holy
Spirit on Martyn’s heart; and although on his return to Cambridge,
those sacred impressions were in danger of being destroyed by his
diligent application to the study of mathematics, which once more
threatened to engage his whole attention, yet the divine mercy
preserved him in the trial. Some passages in a letter written to his
sister at this period, show that religion must have entered into
his daily thoughts, and that he was already brought to see the
reasonableness and beauty of spiritual devotion.

“What a blessing it is for me, that I have such a sister as you, my
dear S—, who have been so instrumental in keeping me in the right
way. When I consider how little human assistance you have had, and
the great knowledge to which you have attained on the subject of
religion, especially observing the extreme ignorance of the most wise
and learned of this world, I think this is itself a proof of the
wonderful influence of the Holy Ghost on the minds of well-disposed
persons. It is certainly by the Spirit alone that we can have the
will, or power, or knowledge, or confidence to pray; and by Him alone
we come unto the Father through Jesus Christ. ‘Through Him we both
have access by one Spirit unto the Father.’ How I rejoice to find
that we disagreed only about words! I did not doubt, as you suppose,
at all about that joy which true believers feel. Can there be any
one subject, any one source of cheerfulness and joy, at all to be
compared with the heavenly serenity and comfort which such a person
must find in holding communion with his God and Saviour in prayer; in
addressing God as his Father, and more than all, in the transporting
hope of being preserved unto everlasting life, and of singing praises
to his Redeemer when time shall be no more? Oh! I do indeed feel
this state of mind at times; but at other times I feel quite humbled
at finding myself so cold and hard-hearted. That reluctance to
prayer, that unwillingness to come unto God, who is the fountain of
all good, when reason and experience tell us, that with him only true
pleasure is to be found, seem to be owing to Satanic influence.”

After mentioning that his mathematical studies required such deep
thought as to exclude, for the time, every other subject from the
mind, and that they were, on this account, very dangerous to him, he
speaks in the same letter of the beginning of his religious feelings.

“After the death of our father, you know I was extremely
low-spirited; and, like most other people, began to consider
seriously, without any particular determination, that invisible world
to which he was gone, and to which I must one day go. Yet I still
read the Bible unenlightened; and said a prayer or two rather through
terror of a superior power than from any other cause. Soon, however,
I began to attend more diligently to the words of our Saviour in the
New Testament, and to devour them with delight; when the offers of
mercy and forgiveness were made so freely, I supplicated to be made
partaker of the covenant of grace with eagerness and hope: and thanks
be to the ever-blessed Trinity for not leaving me without comfort.
Throughout the whole, however, even when the light of divine truth
was beginning to dawn on my mind, I was not under that great terror
of future punishment, which I now see plainly I had every reason to
feel: I look back now upon that course of wickedness which, like
a gulf of destruction, yawned to swallow me up, with a trembling
delight, mixed with shame at having lived so long in ignorance, and
error, and blindness. I could say much more, but I have no more room.
I have only to express my acquiescence in _most_ of your opinions,
and to join with you in gratitude to God for his mercies to us: may
he preserve you and me and all of us to the day of the Lord!”



CHAPTER II.


Still the desire of applause, and the ambition of distinction as a
scholar, that great temptation of ardent youth, kept him from making
much progress in the infinitely more important study of divine
truth. His heart was still destitute of humility, and he was not yet
sensible of the real vanity of human pursuits. This lesson, however,
the providence of God taught him in the manner which, of all others,
would make the deepest impression on such a mind as his. It was not
until he received the highest honours of college, in January 1801,
that he felt that temporal gratifications cannot satisfy the desires
of the soul. “I obtained my highest wishes,” he said, “but was
surprised to find that I grasped a shadow.” He felt a disappointment
which astonished himself, that the great object for which he had
laboured so hard, and sacrificed so much, and which had caused him
even to neglect the interest which he had in eternity, should now
seem as vain and unsatisfying, as if he had been toiling to pursue
a shadow! Happy is the youth who will not wait for experience to
convince him that this is a truth, and will believe what the word of
God asserts to be the end of all such hopes and efforts; who will
trust the declarations of those men who have tried for themselves,
and, like Martyn, have been obliged, in the midst of their triumph,
honestly to confess that they were disappointed of the happiness
which they calculated on as sure. Martyn had been so diligent in
order to gain this supposed reward, that his fellow-students called
him ‘the man who had not lost an hour;’ he found too late that he had
for ever lost many hours of opportunity of acquiring the knowledge
of divine truth, and of his own duty, and many hours of happiness,
such as all the honours, and even all the pleasures of learning, can
never confer, or compensate a man for its loss.

Martyn spent the vacation of the next summer at college, and had the
opportunity of being much alone; and his attention not being absorbed
by his studies as formerly, he was able to give a more serious and
deep attention to the condition of his soul. He devoted much time to
meditation upon his past life, the wandering of his affection from
God, and the necessity of some great change in his heart, to bring
him to make that willing devotion of himself to his service, which he
saw was reasonably required of him, and which he felt ought to be his
highest happiness.

“God,” he observes, “was pleased to bless the solitude and retirement
I enjoyed this summer, to my improvement: and not until then had I
ever experienced any real pleasure in religion. I was more convinced
of sin than ever, more earnest in fleeing to Jesus for refuge, and
more desirous of the renewal of my nature.”

His friendship with the Rev. Mr. Simeon, of Cambridge, and several
pious young men, was a great advantage in winning his affections to
religion, and giving him a correct view of the Christian character.
He had determined to apply himself to the study of law, chiefly, as
he confessed, “because he could not consent to be poor for Christ’s
sake,” but he now felt willing to cut off all prospect of temporal
distinction, and resolved to prepare for the ministry. The influence
of the Spirit seemed to attend the use of the means of spiritual
knowledge, so that he could write to a friend in September 1801,
“blessed be God, I have now experienced that Christ is the power of
God, and the wisdom of God. What a blessing is the gospel! No heart
can conceive its excellency, but that which has been renewed by
divine grace.” About the same time he wrote thus to his sister:

“When we consider the misery and darkness of the unregenerate world,
oh! with how much reason should we burst out into thanksgiving to
God, who has called us in his mercy through Christ Jesus! Who that
reflects upon the rock from which he was hewn, but must rejoice to
give himself entirely and without reserve to God, to be sanctified
by his Spirit. The soul that has truly experienced the love of God,
will not stay meanly inquiring how much he shall do, and thus limit
his service; but will be earnestly seeking, more and more, to know
the will of our heavenly Father, that he may be enabled to do it. O
may we be both thus minded! may we experience Christ to be our all in
all, not only as our Redeemer, but as the fountain of grace. Those
passages of the word of God which you have quoted on this head, are
indeed awakening; may they teach us to breathe after holiness, to be
more and more dead to the world, but alive unto God, through Jesus
Christ: We are lights in the world; how needful then that our tempers
and lives should manifest our high and heavenly calling. Let us, as
we do, provoke one another to good works, not doubting but that God
will bless our feeble endeavours to his glory.”

Happening to call at a house where a gentleman, with whom he had a
slight acquaintance, was lying ill, he found his wife in great agony,
on account of the unprepared state of her husband to enter eternity,
and in expectation of being left with her family entirely destitute
of maintenance, if he should die. He found it in vain to direct her
thoughts to God, whom they both had probably neglected to serve
in their prosperity, and he went to visit her daughters, who had
removed to another house, that their appearance of grief might not
disturb the dying man. Upon entering the room, he found a member of
college diverting their thoughts by reading a play to them. He was so
astonished and indignant at the sight, that he rebuked the young man
in such a manner that he thought it would produce a quarrel between
them. But he was joyfully surprised afterwards, when he came to thank
him for the reproof, and acknowledge that it had made a serious
impression on his mind, which proved to be permanent; and Mr. Martyn
was afterwards associated with him as a missionary in India.

In March 1802, Mr. Martyn was successful in being elected to a
fellowship in the college—a privilege granted to a select number
of the best scholars, who are, on certain conditions, supported by
the funds of the college, and have the privilege of residing there.
Soon afterwards he obtained the first prize, for having produced the
best Latin composition. Thus he was rising rapidly to distinction,
and his prospects of success in life were brilliant. His talents and
acquirements would no doubt have easily procured him honourable and
profitable employment. His strong natural passion of ambition had
every thing that is tempting in success, to allure him in its path:
the prospect of a distinguished career was opening most favourably
before him. The sincerity of his resolution to seek first the kingdom
of God, and his righteousness, was put to the strongest trial; yet,
through the Divine grace, he was enabled to overlook all these
temporal advantages, and made willing to consecrate his powers to the
promotion of the glory of God. He had resolved to enter the ministry:
but even in that profession, in England, there is a large field open
for ambition, and the learning and talents of Martyn might have
gained him some of the highest stations in the church, where wealth,
ease, and eminence could be enjoyed. But his great desire was to be
employed in the manner in which he could do the most good to his
fellow men, and promote the glory of God, by extending the knowledge
of Jesus Christ and his gospel. He knew, too, that in the humblest
station he would be most likely to increase in spiritual piety, as
he would be exposed to fewer of those temptations, by which he had
already been so much endangered. He therefore determined to become
a foreign missionary, and offered himself as such to the English
society, now called “The Church Missionary Society for Africa and the
East.”

It is too often the case, that in perusing the life of an eminent
disciple of Christ, the reader is led to suppose that the person who
is spoken of in such terms of praise by the author, was so excellent
that he went beyond the holiness and duty that are required of men
generally, and that his devotedness must be a ground of worth in the
sight of God. This manner of writing should be carefully avoided,
as it encourages human presumption, by leading men to trust much in
the amount of good that they may do, and flatters their pride by
persuading them that great sacrifices in the cause of Christianity
_entitle_ them to distinction, not only in this world, but in the eye
of heaven. Alas! it is because so few persons make any self-denial,
to promote the honour of the Redeemer, that such consequences
result. If every Christian were to give up all his property, and
leave home and family for ever, and go to dwell amongst the most
degraded nations of the furthest lands, it would not reach the amount
of obligation they are under; it would not equal, by ten thousand
degrees, the favours of Jesus Christ to this world. Man can never,
by all his good deeds, have a _claim_ to the rewards of heaven. Even
after a long life thus spent in wretchedness and banishment, for the
sake of doing good and converting souls, it is an act of God’s mere
mercy, and that for Christ’s sake, that any one is accepted as a
faithful servant, and in this sense, counted worthy of the kingdom of
heaven. But the usefulness of such writings consists in showing how
much good an individual, under the blessing of God, may perform; and
thus encouraging other men to undertake great plans of usefulness,
by the proof that He condescends to make use of human creatures in
accomplishing his great purposes of mercy to the world. An instance
of such devotedness to the service of God, is often more powerful
in inducing others to follow the example, than even the fact which
is so clear from scripture, that God effects his purposes by human
agency, and that it is therefore men’s duty to do their utmost, at
all hazards, to promote the divine designs. So it was in the case of
Martyn himself, whose thoughts were led to a missionary life, by the
accounts of the great success which had attended the labours of Dr.
Carey in India, and of David Brainerd among the American Indians. And
the object of preparing this life of Henry Martyn, is not to praise
him, for he only did his duty; and even this, as he acknowledged, he
did not do, (as no Christian in this life does,) with that entire
devotedness to Christ, and freedom from all sinful and selfish
motives which the service of our Divine master requires. But our
great design is to encourage our young readers to aim at doing much
for Christ; and to show the power of Divine grace which overcame the
worldly ambition, and love of wealth and comfort, which were natural
to Martyn, and induced him to leave all prospect of happiness from
these sources, and to give himself up wholly to the employment of
carrying the knowledge of the way of salvation to nations who were in
all the darkness of idolatry.

Nor are we to suppose that it cost Martyn no struggle, to give up all
these prospects. Men are seldom so much sanctified, as to make great
sacrifices with entire cheerfulness. He had still to strive with
his pride, his love of the world, his indisposition to toil amongst
a wretched and ignorant people; but he found strength to sustain
these trials by persevering, earnest prayer; by meditating more on
the duty he owed his Maker, and the return which the atonement that
Christ had made for his sins, called for from him. Thus, through
God’s favour, not through any ability of his own, he became the
useful man he afterwards was in India.

The nature of the temptations he underwent at times, may be
understood from his own candid statement of them to his pious sister.

“I received your letter yesterday, and thank God for the concern you
manifest for my spiritual welfare. O that we may love each other
more and more in the Lord. The passages you bring from the word of
God, were appropriate to my case, particularly those from the first
Epistle of St. Peter, and that to the Ephesians; though I do not seem
to have given you a right view of my state. The dejection I sometimes
labour under seems not to arise from doubts of my acceptance with
God, though it tends to produce them; nor from desponding views
of my own backwardness in the divine life, for I am more prone
to self-dependence and conceit; but from the prospect of the
_difficulties I have to encounter in the whole of my future life_.
The thought that I must be unceasingly employed in the same kind of
work, amongst poor ignorant people, is what my proud spirit revolts
at. To be obliged to submit to a thousand uncomfortable things that
must happen to me, whether as a minister or a missionary, is what
the flesh cannot endure. At these times I feel neither love to God,
nor love to man; and in proportion as these graces of the Spirit
languish, my besetting sins, pride, and discontent, and unwillingness
for every duty, make me miserable.

“You will best enter into my views by considering those texts which
serve to recall me to a right aspect of things. I have not that
coldness in prayer you would expect, but generally find myself
strengthened in faith and humility and love after it: but the
impression is so short. I am at this time enabled to give myself,
body, soul, and spirit, to God, and perceive it to be my most
reasonable service. How it may be when the trial comes, I know
not, yet I will trust and not be afraid. In order to _do_ his will
cheerfully, I want love for the souls of men; to _suffer_ it, I want
humility: let these be the subjects of your supplications for me. I
am thankful to God that you are so free from anxiety and care: we
cannot but with praise acknowledge his goodness. What does it signify
whether we be rich or poor, if we are sons of God? How unconscious
are they of their real greatness, and will be so till they find
themselves in glory! When we contemplate our everlasting inheritance,
it seems too good to be true; yet it is no more than is due to the
kindred of ‘God manifest in the flesh.’

“A journey I took last week into Norfolk seems to have contributed
greatly to my health. The attention and admiration shown me are
great and very dangerous. The praises of men do not now, indeed,
flatter my vanity as they formerly did; I rather feel pain, through
anticipation of their consequences: but they tend to produce,
imperceptibly, a self-esteem and hardness of heart. How awful and
awakening a consideration is it, that God judgeth not as man judgeth!
Our character before him, is precisely as it was before or after
any change of external circumstances. Men may applaud or revile,
and make a man think differently of himself; but _He_ judgeth of
a man according to his secret walk. How difficult is the work of
self-examination! Even to state to you, imperfectly, my own mind, I
found to be no easy matter. Nay, St. Paul says, ‘I judge not mine own
self, for he that judgeth me is the Lord.’ That is, though he was
not conscious of any allowed sin, yet he was not thereby justified,
for God might perceive something of which he was not aware. How
needful then, the prayer of the Psalmist, ‘Search me, O God, and
try my heart, and see if there be any evil way in me.’ May God be
with you, and bless you, and uphold you with the right hand of his
righteousness: and let us seek to love; for ‘he that dwelleth in love
dwelleth in God, for God is love.’”

His diary furnishes a farther insight into his experience, and the
resoluteness with which he opposed the wavering of his faith by
continual application to the promises of God in Christ.

“Since I have endeavoured to divest myself of every consideration
independent of religion, I see the difficulty of maintaining
a liveliness in devotion for any considerable time together;
nevertheless, as I shall have to pass the greater part of my future
life, after leaving England, with no other source of happiness than
reading, meditation, and prayer, I think it right to be gradually
mortifying myself to every species of worldly pleasure.”—“In all
my past life I have fixed on some desirable ends, at different
distances, the attainment of which was to furnish me with happiness.
But now, in seasons of unbelief, nothing seems to lie before me but
one vast uninteresting wilderness, and heaven appearing but dimly at
the end. Oh! how does this show the necessity of living by faith!
What a shame that I cannot make the doing of God’s will my ever
delightful object, and the prize of my high calling the mark after
which I press!”

“I was under disquiet at the prospect of my future work, encompassed,
as it appeared, with difficulties; but I trusted I was under the
guidance of infinite wisdom, and on that I could rest. Mr. Johnson,
who had returned from a mission, observed that the crosses to be
endured were far greater than could be conceived; but ‘none of these
things move me, neither count I my life dear unto me, so that I might
finish my course with joy.’—Had some disheartening thoughts at night,
at the prospect of being stripped of every earthly comfort; but who
is it that maketh my comforts to be a source of enjoyment? Cannot
the same hand make cold, and hunger, and nakedness, and peril, to be
a train of ministering angels conducting me to glory?”—“O my soul,
compare thyself with St. Paul, and with the example and precepts of
the Lord Jesus Christ. Was it not his meat and drink to do the will
of his heavenly Father?”

“What is the state of my own soul before God? I believe that it is
right in principle: I desire no other portion but God: but I pass
so many hours as if there were no God at all. I live far below the
hope, comfort, and holiness of the Gospel: but be not slothful, O
my soul;—look unto Jesus the author and finisher of thy faith. For
whom was grace intended, if not for me? Are not the promises made to
me? Is not my Maker in earnest, when he declareth that he willeth my
sanctification, and hath laid help on one that is mighty? I will
therefore have no confidence in the flesh, but will rejoice in the
Lord, and the joy of the Lord shall be my strength. May I receive
from above a pure, a humble, a benevolent, a heavenly mind!”

“Learnt by heart some of the first three chapters of Revelations.
This is to me the most searching and alarming part of the Bible; yet
now with humble hope I trusted, that the censures of my Lord did not
belong to me: except that those words, Rev. ii. 3. ‘For my name’s
sake thou hast laboured and hast not fainted,’ were far too high a
testimony for me to think of appropriating to myself; nevertheless I
besought the Lord, that whatever I had been, I might now be perfect
and complete in all the will of God.”—“Men frequently admire me,
and I am pleased; but I abhor the pleasure I feel; oh! did they but
know that my root is rottenness!”—“Heard Professor Farish preach at
Trinity Church, on Luke xii. 4, 5, and was deeply impressed with
the reasonableness and necessity of the fear of God. Felt it to be
a light matter to be judged of man’s judgment; why have I not awful
apprehensions of the glorious Being at all times? The particular
promise—‘him that overcometh will I make a pillar in the temple
of my God, and he shall go no more out,’ dwelt a long time in my
mind, and diffused an affectionate reverence of God.”—“I see a
great work before me now, namely, the subduing and mortifying of my
perverted will. What am I that I should _dare_ to do my own will,
even if I were not a sinner; but now how plain, how reasonable to
have the love of Christ constraining me to be his faithful willing
servant, cheerfully taking up the cross he shall appoint me.”—“Read
some of Amos. The reading of the Prophets is to me one of the most
delightful employments. One cannot but be charmed with the beauty of
the imagery, while they never fail to inspire me with awful thoughts
of God and of his hatred of sin. The reading of Baxter’s Saint’s
Rest, determined me to live more in heavenly meditation.”—“Walked by
moonlight, and found it a sweet relief to my mind to think of God and
consider my ways before him. I was strongly impressed with the vanity
of the world, and could not help wondering at the imperceptible
operation of grace, which had enabled me to resign the expectation of
happiness from it.”—“How frequently has my heart been refreshed, by
the descriptions in the Scriptures of the future glory of the Church,
and the happiness of man hereafter.”—“I felt the force of Baxter’s
observation, that if an angel had appointed to meet me, I should be
full of awe; how much more when I am about to meet God.”

“Ah! what a heart is mine! The indistinctness of my view of its
desperate wickedness is terrible to me, that is, when I am capable of
feeling any terror. But now my soul! rise from earth and hell,—shall
Satan lead me captive at his will, when Christ ever liveth to make
intercession for the vilest worm? O thou! whose I am by creation,
preservation, redemption, no longer my own, but, his who lived and
died and rose again, once more would I resign this body and soul,
mean and worthless as they are, to the blessed disposal of thy holy
will! May I have a heart to love God and his people, the flesh being
crucified! May grace abound, where sin has abounded much! May I
cheerfully and joyfully resign my ease and life in the service of
Jesus, to whom I owe so much! May it be sweet to me to proclaim to
sinners like myself, the blessed efficacy of my Saviour’s blood!
May he make me faithful unto death! The greatest enemy I dread is
the pride of my own heart. Through pride reigning, I should forget
to know a broken spirit: then would come on unbelief, weakness,
apostacy.”

“Let then,” he wrote to a friend, “no obstacle intervene, to
prevent the increase of my self-knowledge, in which I am lamentably
deficient. Let us both bend our minds to the discipline necessary to
obtain it, and communicate our discoveries for our mutual benefit.
How strongly is the importance of self-knowledge, and the difficulty
of obtaining it, marked by these words; ‘Keep thy heart with all
diligence, for out of it are the issues of life.’ And to those who
cannot keep their hearts for want of knowing any thing about them,
very compassionate are the words of our Lord; ‘Because thou knowest
not that thou art wretched, and miserable, and poor, and blind, and
naked, I counsel thee to buy of me gold tried in the fire, that thou
mayest be rich; and white raiment, that thou mayest be clothed, and
that the shame of thy nakedness do not appear; and anoint thine
eyes with eye salve, that thou mayest see.’ You put me in mind, in
your last letter, of former days. What fruit had we then in those
things, whereof we are now ashamed? But those days have passed away
for ever. And when glory shall open upon our view, neither sorrow
nor sin, shall again interrupt our joys for ever. I will echo your
words, and say, ‘What manner of love is this, that we should be
called the sons of God!’ We may look upon one another, and remember
our former selves, and say, ‘What hath God wrought!’ ‘Not by works
of righteousness which thou hast done, but according to his mercy
he saved thee.’ Now then, my dear brother, let all the rest of our
life be cheerfully devoted to God. We are no longer our own, but are
bought with a price—with what a price! Let us adore him also, that
we are called in our youth; that while our hearts are susceptible of
warm emotions, they are taught the glow of Divine affections. Let us
glorify him on the earth, if many years are assigned us, and finish
the work which he hath given us to do. And may we come to our graves
in a full age, as a shock of corn cometh in his season.”



CHAPTER III.


Mr. Martyn was ordained to the ministry on the 22d of October, 1803.
He complained to a friend that “this occasion, so solemn in itself,
through want of retirement, was not so to me.”

He passed the time, which, by the rules of the English Episcopal
church, is required before ministers can be admitted to the full
exercise of the sacred office, as assistant to his friend, the Rev.
Mr. Simeon, in his church at Cambridge, and as pastor in a small
village at a short distance from the town. In this capacity he
laboured constantly in preaching, and in making religious visits to
the houses of the poor, and to hospitals.

After speaking of his preparations for the pulpit, he says, “Another
part of my stated ministrations, is to visit one part of Mr. Simeon’s
people every week. Unless the mind be in a spiritual and heavenly
frame, it is difficult to go through this service with any degree
of satisfaction. However, though I have often gone to them cramped
with sinful fear, I have been enabled to go through with ease and
comfort, thanks be to God. I have been generally in great depression
of spirits ever since my ordination; for, having at that time not a
single sermon, my hands and head have been constantly employed in
that business, while my heart has not had its due share of exercise.
I am now recovering from my cowardly despondency on that head; but
lately I have been in heaviness again, through the prevalence of
self-will, and the prospect of incessant self-denial. God help me
to endure hardness, as a good soldier of Christ Jesus; to fight the
good fight of faith; and to be a partaker of the afflictions of
the Gospel, according to the power of God. My chief comfort is to
meditate on the world to come, though it is a happiness which I can
seldom steadily enjoy, the train of one’s thoughts is so influenced
and directed by the empty concerns of human life. Another evil with
me is great childish levity, and want of serious conviction of the
awful work of the ministry. In the pulpit I have hitherto been
thinking only of the sermon before me, unconscious of the presence of
God or the people. Deliver me from blood-guiltiness, O God!”

During this interval, the estate which his sister and himself
inherited from their father, was lost; and instead of being able to
go out as a missionary, at his own expense, as appears to have been
his original design, he now sought an appointment as a chaplain of
the East India Company, to be employed at some of their stations;
which he thought would give him great advantages in preaching to the
heathen. We copy here another of his letters:

“I am glad to hear that the Gospel spreads among you, for the sake
of my poor fellow-sinners. O that I had the glory of Christ more at
heart! Most of us have far too little earnestness; and I for one.
Wall’s Lane is in my parish here. Its well known character will
give you to understand that I have abundant room for the exercise
of zeal. I have as yet visited only the two alms-houses and the
poor-house, in which I meet the people once a week, and two or three
other houses. To cleanse these stables of Augeas, I may well be
taught a useful lesson from the fabled hero—not to attempt the work
in my own strength, but to turn the river of grace into it. In my
country parish, religion is at a low ebb. The school, however, is
re-established; and the benefit of it will, I trust, be of eternal
consequence. With respect to my own heart, my dear friend, what shall
I say? I have been visited, of late, with some very severe trials;
of which the loss of the fortunes of myself and two sisters is the
_least_. As often as the pride and arrogance of my heart are brought
down into the dust, and I am able to walk softly before the Lord, I
am peaceful and happy enough. My present desire is to walk _alone_
with God. I have lived too much in public; going to God in prayer
as if I were coming out of a crowd, and about to be tossed into it
again. But to walk with God is surely to be with him always; to
preach as one delivering the message in his presence; to plead with
souls as in the stead of the invisible God near us. Ah, my brother,
we die _alone_. If we have not lived in solitary communion with
God, we shall start at finding ourselves, in the solemn silence of
death, about to launch forward where no friends, no ordinances, can
accompany us.”

We cannot help observing, how the impressive thought, contained in
the last sentences, was strikingly and literally exemplified, in the
circumstances of his own decease. He shortly wrote again:

“I am about to alter my plan of preaching to my country congregation.
They have been hearing from me the Gospel, for which they are by no
means prepared: for I have discovered, to my surprise and grief, that
they do not know the difference between sin and duty. It is now my
design to explain to them the Commandments, Sermon on the Mount,
&c.”—“Through the tender mercy of God, I begin to feel a little more
zeal and earnestness than formerly. O, my brother, how great the
honour that in our _office_ at least, we are like to Christ; that,
in this respect, as he was, so are we in this world! May love carry
forward our feet in swift obedience; and may we continue in our work,
with all firmness, and patience, and tenderness for the souls of men!”

Martyn spent much of his time in devotion, and in reading the
scriptures. He committed large portions to memory, that he might
always have a subject for meditation; and whenever he became so
interested in any other book, as to have reason to fear that it was
more pleasing to him than the Bible, he would at once lay it aside;
until, by returning to the sacred volume, his mind was restored to
feel the value and interest of its truths above all others. He was in
the habit of setting apart whole days for secret religious services,
examining his heart, searching the scriptures, and imploring the
mercy and direction of God. And that he might do this with the least
interruption, he was accustomed to abstain from his usual food at
such seasons; as devout men, from very ancient times, have observed
fasts. He thus speaks in his diary of the reasons and effect of these
occasions:

“I felt the need of setting apart a day for the restoration of my
soul by solemn prayer: my views of eternity are becoming dim and
transient. I could live for ever in prayer, if I could always speak
to God. I sought to pause, and to consider what I wanted, and to look
up with fear and faith, and I found the benefit; for my soul was soon
composed to that devout sobriety which I knew by its sweetness to
be its proper frame. I was engaged in prayer in the manner I like,
_deep seriousness_; at the end of it, I felt great fear of forgetting
the presence of God, and of leaving him as soon as I should leave
the posture of devotion. I was led through the mists of unbelief,
and spake to God as one that was true; and rejoiced exceedingly that
he was holy and faithful. I endeavoured to consider myself as being
alone on the earth with him, and that greatly promoted my approach to
his presence. My prayer for a meek and holy sobriety was granted. O
how sweet the dawn of heaven!”

As there was every prospect of succeeding in the application he had
made for an Indian chaplaincy, he began to prepare for his departure,
by taking leave of his friends in Cornwall. This was, of course,
a severe trial. He was to bid farewell to country and friends, to
sisters, and a lady to whom he was still more tenderly attached,
with the prospect of never again seeing them in this world. To a
person of his amiable and domestic disposition, such a separation
was full of distress. Besides, he was going to reside in another,
and far distant continent, in a climate so hot, that it always
weakens, and is often fatal to the constitutions of natives of cooler
countries. The people with whom he expected to live, were uneducated,
poor, vicious, and idolatrous. Having never been instructed in
Christianity, his task would be to overcome, if possible, the
prejudices in favour of their own superstitions, which they and their
ancestors had cherished for centuries; and to persuade them to adopt
a religion which would oblige them to give up their dearest sinful
enjoyments. Ignorant of each other’s language, he would be obliged to
study theirs, although one little known to Europeans, and extremely
difficult to be acquired. These discouragements are mentioned, not
to exalt the praises of Martyn; for had he been a perfect man, they
would have appeared too insignificant to affect him at all, but to
show that God gives strength to those who serve Him, and depend
upon Him, proportionate to their trials and necessities; that his
grace can enable a man to do actions of benevolence, which no other
influence could; and that the sacrifices which Martyn made, are a
proof of the reality of religion, as well as of the sincerity of his
own profession. Let the person who is now reading this page, stop
here, and ask whether he would be willing to leave his parents,
friends, and home to-morrow, and go to live amongst a population of
half-savage people, sixteen thousand miles from his home, and spend
the whole of his life in teaching them to read, and persuading them
to believe the gospel; to be all this time subject to abuse and
ridicule, from most of these people; to be exposed to weak health
and early death, and to do all this, merely and solely because, if
a single one is converted, it would promote the glory of God by
bringing one more soul to acknowledge Him, and make that soul happy
for ever. Let the reader, who has now his eye upon these words,
seriously ask what would induce _him_ or _her_ to do this; and then
think, if you are not willing at once to act thus, what it is that is
wanting in you. You will find that religion is indeed a reality: that
the Bible is indeed true, which declares that God will surely make
willing and able, all who put their trust in Him, to perform whatever
his providence calls them to do. If you profess to be a follower of
Christ and to seek the advancement of his kingdom, are you doing
all you can for this object, or are you waiting for the judgment,
supposing that Christ will acknowledge a professed, but unprofitable
servant?



CHAPTER IV.


From Cornwall, Mr. Martyn returned to Cambridge, where he continued
to assist Mr. Simeon in his church. Although distressed with the
consciousness of his sinfulness, and unworthiness to be a minister
of Christ, he had comforts also, which assured him that he had an
interest in his Divine Redeemer: so that he could confidently say, “I
wish for no service but the service of God;—to labour for souls on
earth, and to do his will in heaven;” and at another time, “O hasten
the day when I shall come to thee; when I shall no more be vexed, and
astonished, and pained, at the universal wretchedness of this lost
earth. But here would I abide my time, and spend and be spent for
the salvation of any poor soul; lie down at the feet of sinners, and
beseech them not to plunge into an eternity of torment.” It will be
instructive to copy here some pages from his letters and diary, in
which he wrote down the state of his feelings at this period.

“We should consider it as a sign for good, my dearest S——, when the
Lord reveals to us the almost desperate corruption of our hearts.
For, if he causes us to groan under it, as an insupportable burden,
he will, we may hope, in his own time give us deliverance. The
pride which I see dwelling in my own heart, producing there the
most obstinate hardness, I can truly say my soul abhors. I see it
to be unreasonable, I feel it to be tormenting. When I sometimes
offer up supplications, with strong crying to God, to bring down my
spirit into the dust, I endeavour calmly to contemplate the infinite
majesty of the most high God, and my own meanness and wickedness.
Or else I quietly tell the Lord, who knows the heart, that I would
give him all the glory of every thing, if I could. But the most
effectual way I have ever found, is to lead away my thoughts from
myself and my own concerns, by praying for all my friends; for the
church, the world, the nation; and especially by beseeching, that
God would glorify his own great name, by converting all nations
to the obedience of faith;—also by praying that he would put more
abundant honour on those Christians whom he seems to have honoured
especially, and whom we see to be manifestly our superiors. This is
at least a positive act of humility, and it is certain that not only
will a good principle produce a good act, but the act will increase
the principle. But even after doing all this, there will often arise
a certain self-complacency which has need to be checked; and in
conversation with Christian friends, we should be careful, I think,
how self is introduced. Unless we think that good will be done, self
should be kept in the back ground, and mortified. We are bound to
be servants of all, ministering to their pleasure as far as will be
to their profit. We are to ‘look not at our own things, but at the
things of others.’ Be assured, my dear S—— that night and day, making
mention of you in my prayers, I desire of God to give you to see the
depth of pride and iniquity in your heart, yet not to be discouraged
at the sight of it: that you may perceive yourself deserving to be
cast out with abhorrence from God’s presence; and then may walk in
continual poverty of spirit, and the simplicity of a little child.
Pray, too, that I may know something of humility. Blessed grace! how
it smooths the furrows of care, and gilds the dark paths of life! It
will make us kind, tender-hearted, affable, and enable us to do more
for God and the gospel, than the most fervent zeal without it.”

“_Sept. 30th, 1804._—My mind, this morning, easily ascended to God,
in peaceful solemnity. I succeeded in finding access to God, and
being alone with him. Could I but enjoy this life of faith more
steadily, how much should I ‘grow in grace,’ and be renewed in the
spirit of my mind. At such seasons of fellowship with the Father, and
his Son Jesus Christ, when the world, and self, and eternity, are
nearly in their right places, not only are my views of duty clear
and comprehensive, but the proper motives have a more constraining
influence.”

“_Oct. 28th._—This has been in general a happy day. In the
morning, through grace, I was enabled by prayer to maintain a calm
recollection of myself,—and what was better, of the presence of my
dear Redeemer. From the church I walked to our garden, where I was
above an hour, I trust with Christ, speaking to him chiefly of my
future life in his service. I determined on entire devotedness,
though with trembling; for the flesh dreads crucifixion. But should
I fear pain, when Christ was so agonized for me? No,—come what will,
I am determined, through God, to be a fellow worker with Christ. I
recollected with comfort, that I was speaking to the great Creator,
who can make such a poor weak worm as myself ‘more than conqueror.’
At church I found by the attention of the people, that the fervour of
my spirit yesterday had been conveyed into my sermon. I came to my
room, rejoicing to be alone again, and to hold communion with God.”

“_Dec. 9th._—This has been in general a sweet and blessed day,—a
foretaste of my eternal sabbath. Preached on the third commandment:
in the afternoon on the tenth. Rode back to Cambridge, feeling quite
willing to go any where, or to suffer any thing for God. Preached in
Trinity church, on Ezek. xxxiii. 11. ‘Say unto them,—As I live saith
the Lord God, I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked: but that
the wicked turn from his way and live: turn ye, turn ye from your
evil ways; for why will ye die, O house of Israel?’ It was pleasant
to me to think of being alone again with God.”

“_Jan. 1, 1805._—Hitherto hath the Lord helped me. It is now about
five years since God stopped me in the career of worldliness, and
turned me from the paths of sin:—three years and a half since I
turned to the Lord with all my heart:—and a little more than two
years since he enabled me to devote myself to his service as a
missionary. My progress of late has become slower than it had
been: yet I can truly say, that in the course of this time, every
successive year, every successive week, has been happier than the
former. From many dangerous snares hath the Lord preserved me: in
spite of all my inward rebellion, he hath carried on his work in
my heart; and in spite of all my unbelieving fears, he hath given
me a hope full of immortality;—‘he hath set my foot on a rock, and
established my goings, and hath put a new song in my mouth, even
praises to my God.’ It is the beginning of a critical year to me: yet
I feel little apprehension. The same grace and long suffering, the
same wisdom and power, that have brought me so far, will bring me
on, though it be through fire and water, to a goodly heritage. I see
no business in life but the work of Christ, neither do I desire any
employment to all eternity but his service. I am a sinner saved by
grace. Every day’s experience convinces me of this truth. My daily
sins and constant corruption leave me no hope, but that which is
founded on God’s mercy in Christ. His spirit, I trust, is imparted,
and is renewing my nature; as I desire much, though I have attained
but little. Now to God, the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, would I
solemnly renew my self-dedication, to be his servant for ever.”

“I could not help reflecting on the almost supernatural fervour
and deep devotion which came upon me, whilst I declared that I
had rightfully no other business each day but to do God’s work as
a servant, constantly regarding his pleasure.” “My thoughts were
full of what God would do for his own glory, in the conversion of
multitudes to himself in the latter day. I did not wish to think
about myself in any respect, but found it a precious privilege to
stand by, a silent admirer of God’s doings.”

In March 1805, he completed the time required, before he could be
sent out as a minister, and there was nothing more to detain him
from proceeding on his mission. “I rejoice to say,” (he wrote at
this time to his sister,) “that I never had so clear a conviction of
my call as at present,—as far as it respects the inward impression.
Never did I see so much the exceeding excellency, and glory, and
sweetness of the work, nor had so much the favourable testimony of
my own conscience, nor perceived so plainly the smile of God. I am
constrained to say,—what am I, or what is my father’s house, that
I should be made willing;—what am I, that I should be so happy, so
honoured?”—In his Journal, likewise, he expresses himself to the
same effect: “I felt more persuaded of my call than ever: there was
scarcely the shadow of a doubt left;—rejoice, O my soul,—thou shalt
be the servant of God in this life, and in the next, for all the
boundless ages of eternity.”

In April he went to London, where he remained two months, principally
employed in learning Hindoostanee, the language of a large part of
India, made up of the Sanscrit, Persian, and Arabic. The entries of
his diary during this interval will best exhibit the state of his
heart, in anticipation of his employment.

“_April 15th._—O may God confirm my feeble resolutions! What have I
to do but to labour, and pray, and fast, and watch, for the salvation
of my own soul, and those of the heathen world. Ten thousand times
more than ever do I feel devoted to that precious work. O gladly
shall this base blood be shed, every drop of it, if India can be
benefited in one of her children;—if but one of those children of God
Almighty might be brought home to his duty.”

“_April 16th._—How careful should I, and all be, in our ministry,
not to break the bruised reed! Alas! do I think that a schoolboy,
a raw academic, should be likely to lead the hearts of men?—what
a knowledge of men, and acquaintance with the Scriptures, what
communion with God, and study of my own heart, ought to prepare me
for the awful work of a messenger from God on the business of the
soul!”

“_April 22d._—I do not wish for any heaven upon earth besides that of
preaching the precious Gospel of Jesus Christ to immortal souls. May
these weak desires increase and strengthen with every difficulty.”

“_April 27th._—My constant unprofitableness seemed to bar my approach
to God. But I considered that for all that was past, the blood of
Christ would atone; and that for the future, God would that moment
give me grace to perform my duty.”

“_May 9th._—O my soul, when wilt thou live consistently? When shall I
walk steadily with God? When shall I hold heaven constantly in view?
How time glides away,—how is death approaching,—how soon must I give
up my account,—how are souls perishing,—how does their blood call out
to us to labour and watch, and pray for them that remain!”

“_June 1._—Memory has been at work to unnerve my soul: but reason,
and honour, and love to Christ and souls shall prevail. Amen. God
help me.”

“_June 2._—My dear Redeemer is a fountain of life to my soul. With
resignation and peace can I look forward to a life of labour and
entire seclusion from earthly comforts, while Jesus thus stands near
me, changing me into his own image.”

“_June 6th._—God’s interference in supporting me continually, appears
to me like a miracle.”

“_June 7th._—I have not felt such heart-rending pain since I parted
with L—— in Cornwall. [The lady to whom he was attached.] But the
Lord brought me to consider the folly and wickedness of all this. I
could not help saying,—Go, Hindoos, go on in your misery,—let Satan
still reign over you; for he that was appointed to labour among
you, is consulting his ease.—No, thought I, earth and hell shall
never keep me back from my work. I am cast down, but not destroyed.
I began to consider why I was so uneasy,—‘Cast thy care upon him,
for he careth for you.’ ‘In every thing by prayer and supplication,
with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God;’—these
promises were sweetly fulfilled, before long, to me.”

“_July 4th._—Mr. Cecil showed me a letter in Swartz’s own hand
writing. Its contents were of a very experimental nature,—applicable
to my case. The life of faith in Jesus is what I want. My soul might
almost burst with astonishment at its own wickedness! but at the same
time, trusting to mercy, rise and go, and try to make men happy. The
Lord go with me! Let my right hand forget her cunning, if I remember
not Jerusalem above my chief joy.”

On the 8th of July 1805, Mr. Martyn proceeded to Portsmouth, from
which place he was to sail in a ship of the East India Company, to
Calcutta, there to act as chaplain of the Company. His feelings were
so painful, that he fainted and fell into a fit at a tavern on the
road. He was met by a number of friends at Portsmouth, who had come
to bid him a final farewell, for this life; and he received there a
silver compass, sent by his congregation, as a token of remembrance,
which he acknowledged in the following letter:

  _Portsmouth, July 11, 1805._

“_My dearest Brethren_,—I write in great haste to thank you most
affectionately for the token of your love, which our dear brother
and minister has given me from you. O may my God richly recompense
you for your great affection! May he reward your prayers for me, by
pouring tenfold blessings into your own bosoms! May he bless you with
all spiritual blessings in Christ Jesus! At the command of God, as I
believe, I shall, in a few hours, embark for those regions where your
little present may be of use to me, in guiding my way through the
trackless desert. I pray that the word of God, which is your compass,
may, through the Spirit, direct your path through the wilderness of
this world, and bring you in safety to the better country above. I
beg your prayers, and assure you of mine. Remember me sometimes at
your social meetings, and particularly at that which you hold on
the Sabbath morning. Pray not only for my sinful soul,—that I may
be kept faithful unto death;—but especially, for the souls of the
poor Heathen. Whether I live or die, let Christ be magnified by the
ingathering of multitudes to himself. I have many trials awaiting
me, and so have you; but that covenant of grace in which we are
interested, provides for the weakest, and secures our everlasting
welfare.—Farewell, dear Brethren! May God long continue to you the
invaluable labours of your beloved minister; and may you, with the
blessing of his ministry, grow, day by day, in all spirituality and
humility of mind; till God, in his mercy, shall call you, each in
his own time, to the eternal enjoyment of his glory.”

On the 17th July the ship sailed, in company with a fleet, taking an
army to India. “It was a very painful moment,” he wrote to one of his
friends, “when I awoke, on the morning after you left us, and found
the fleet actually sailing down the channel. Though it was what I
had anxiously been looking forward to so long, yet the consideration
of being parted for ever from my friends, almost overcame me. My
feelings were those of a man who should suddenly be told, that every
friend he had in the world was dead. It was only by prayer for them
that I could be comforted; and this was indeed a refreshment to my
soul, because by meeting them at the throne of grace, I seemed to be
again in their society.”

The vessel, however, unexpectedly stopped in two days, at Falmouth,
an English port, in sight of Cornwall. It was a renewal of the pain
of separation to be thus brought again, for a short time, upon the
shores which he had supposed he had left for ever. He appears, from
his Journal, to have suffered great struggles with his earthly
affections: but he was supported by Him who never leaves his
disciples to contend alone with the trials of their faith.

“_July 29th._—I was much engaged, at intervals, in learning the
hymn, ‘The God of Abraham praise;’ as often as I could use the
language of it with any truth, my heart was a little at ease.

    ‘The God of Abraham praise,
      At whose supreme command
    From earth I rise, and seek the joys
      At his right hand.’

    ‘I all on earth forsake,
      Its wisdom, fame, and power;
    And him my only portion make,
      My shield and tower.’

“There was something peculiarly solemn and affecting to me in this
hymn, and particularly at this time. The truth of the sentiments I
knew well enough. But alas! I felt that the state of mind expressed
in it was above mine at the time; and I felt loth to forsake all on
earth.”

“I went on board in extreme anguish, and found an opportunity in
the sloop by which I passed to the ship, to cry, with brokenness
of spirit, to the Lord. The words, ‘Why sayest thou, O Jacob, and
speakest, O Israel, My way is hid from the Lord, and my judgment is
passed over from my God?’ were brought to my mind with such force,
that I burst into a flood of tears, and felt much relieved in my
soul, by the thought that God was thus compassionate, and the blessed
Lord Jesus a merciful and compassionate High Priest, who condescended
to sympathize with me. In the afternoon, it pleased God to give me a
holy and blessed season in prayer, in which my soul recovered much
of its wonted peace.”

Orders for the sailing of the fleet with which his ship was
connected, were given on the 10th of August, whilst Martyn was twenty
miles in the country. An express was sent after him; but had not an
accident happened to the ship in clearing from the harbour, he would
have been too late. On the 14th, the fleet anchored again for two
weeks, at Cork, in Ireland. He had suffered much from despondence and
weakness of health, and speaks in his Journal of the trials of his
lot as being far greater than he had expected. But he was blessed
also with spiritual consolation, in proportion as he placed his
confidence on Him who called him to the service. On one occasion he
says,

“After a long and blessed season in prayer, I felt the spirit
of adoption drawing me very near to God, and giving me the full
assurance of his love. My fervent prayer was, that I might be more
deeply and habitually convinced of his unchanging everlasting love,
and that my whole soul might be altogether in Christ. I scarcely knew
how to express the desires of my heart. I wanted to be all in Christ,
and to have Christ for my ‘all in all;’—to be encircled in his
‘everlasting arms, and to be swallowed up altogether in his fulness.
I wished for no created good, nor for men to know my experience:
but to be one with thee, and live for thee, O God, my Saviour and
Lord. O may it be my constant care to live free from the spirit of
bondage, at all times having access to the Father. This I feel should
be the state of the Christian: perfect reconciliation with God, and
a perfect appropriation of him in all his endearing attributes,
according to all that he has promised: it is this that shall bear me
safely through the storm.”

And some weeks afterwards:

“_Sept. 23._—We are just to the south of all Europe, and I bid adieu
to it for ever, without a wish of ever revisiting it, and still less
with any desire of taking up my rest in the strange land to which I
am going. Ah! no,—farewell, perishing world! ‘To me, to live shall be
Christ.’ I have nothing to do here, but to labour as a stranger, and
by secret prayer and outward exertion, do as much as possible for the
church of Christ and my own soul, till my eyes close in death, and
my soul wings its way to a brighter world. Strengthen me, O God my
Saviour! that, whether living or dying, I may be thine.”

He preached once every Sunday on board the ship, the captain not
permitting it more frequently. To make up for this loss, he almost
daily read religious books, with remarks of his own, to as many as
would assemble to hear him; but he could gain the serious attention
of very few.

“_Sept. 10th._—Endeavoured to consider what should be my study and
preparation for the mission; but could devise no particular plan,
but to search the Scriptures, what are God’s promises respecting
the spread of the gospel, and of the means by which it shall be
accomplished. Long seasons of prayer in behalf of the heathen, I am
sure, are necessary; Isaiah lxii. I began Isaiah, and learnt by heart
the promises scattered through the first twelve chapters, hoping
it may prove profitable matter for meditation as well as prayer.
Read the Pilgrim’s Progress, below, amidst the greatest noise and
interruption. Notwithstanding the clamour, I felt as if I could
preach to a million of noisy persons with unconquerable boldness. We
have been becalmed the whole day. I fear my soul has been much in the
same state: but I would not that it should be so any longer.”

“_Sept. 15th._—Sunday.—‘He that testifieth these things, saith,
behold—I come quickly—Amen—even so—come quickly, Lord Jesus!’ Happy
John! though shut out from society and the ordinances of grace: happy
wast thou in thy solitude, when by it thou wast induced thus gladly
to welcome the Lord’s words, and repeat them with a prayer. Read and
preached on Acts xiii. 38, 39. In the latter part, when I was led to
speak, without preparation, on the all-sufficiency of Christ to save
sinners, who come to him with all their sins without delay, I was
enabled by divine aid, to speak with freedom and energy: my soul was
refreshed, and I retired, seeing reason to be thankful. The weather
was fair and, calm, inviting the mind to tranquillity and praise: the
ship just moved upon the face of the troubled ocean. I went below in
hopes of reading Baxter’s Call to the Unconverted: but there was no
getting down, as they were taking out water: so I sat with the seamen
on the gun-deck. As I walked in the evening at sunset, I thought with
pleasure, but a few more suns, and I shall be where my sun shall no
more go down.”

“_Sept. 16th._—Two things were much in my mind this morning in
prayer; the necessity of entering more deeply into my own heart, and
labouring after humiliation, and, for that reason, setting apart
times for fasting: as also to devote times for solemn prayer for
fitness in the ministry; especially love for souls; and for the
effusion of the Spirit on heathen lands; according to God’s command.”

The study of the Hindoostanee language was part of his employment
during the voyage. He also instructed some of the young soldiers in
mathematics, and read French with a passenger. As they entered the
warm latitudes, he found his strength diminishing very fast, and he
began to fear he could never be useful, as a preacher, in India.
“But what means this anxiety?” he said; “Is it not of God that I am
led into outward difficulties, that my faith may be tried? Suppose,”
(addressing himself,) “you are obliged to return, or that you never
see India, but wither and die here, what is that to you? Do the will
of God where you can, and leave the rest to him.”—About this time he
was much impressed with this sentence in Milner’s Church History;—“to
believe, to suffer, and to love, was the primitive taste;” and he
received great encouragement by being thus led to contemplate the
examples of those who had been more bold in serving Christ.



CHAPTER V.


The fleet touched at several ports on their way. Some portions of his
Journal at St. Salvador, in South America, will give an interesting
variety to our pages.

“I continued my walk in quest of a wood, or some trees where I might
sit down; but all was appropriated: no tree was to be approached
except through an enclosure. At last I came to a magnificent porch,
before a garden gate, which was open, I walked in, but finding the
vista led straight to the house, I turned to the right, and found
myself in a grove of cocoa-nut trees, orange trees, and several
strange fruit trees; under them was nothing but rose trees, but
no verdure on the ground: oranges were strewed like apples in an
orchard. Perceiving that I was observed by the slaves, I came up to
the house, and was directed by them to an old man sitting under a
tree, apparently insensible from illness. I spoke to him in French
and in English, but he took no notice. Presently a young man and a
young lady appeared, to whom I spoke in French, and was very politely
desired to sit down at a little table, which was standing under a
large space before the house like a veranda. They then brought me
oranges, and a small red acid fruit, the name of which I asked,
but cannot recollect. The young man sat opposite, conversing about
Cambridge; he had been educated in a Portuguese University. Almost
immediately on finding I was of Cambridge, he invited me to come when
I liked to his house. A slave, after bringing the fruit, was sent to
gather three roses for me; the master then walked with me round the
garden, and showed me, among the rest, the coffee-plant: when I left
him he repeated his invitation. His name was Antonio Corrè.”

“_Nov. 14th._—Sennor Antonio received me with the same cordiality:
he begged me to dine with him. In the cool of the evening, we walked
out to see his plantation; here every thing possessed the charm of
novelty. The grounds included two hills, and a valley between them.
The hills were covered with cocoa-nut trees, bananas, mangoes, orange
and lemon trees, olives, coffee, chocolate, and cotton plants, &c.
In the valley was a large plantation of a shrub or tree, bearing a
cluster of small berries, which he desired me to taste; I did, and
found it was pepper. It had lately been introduced from Batavia,
and answered very well. It grows on a stem about the thickness of
a finger, to the height of about seven feet, and is supported by a
stick, which, at that height, has another across it for the branches
to spread upon. Slaves were walking about the grounds, watering the
trees, and turning up the earth: the soil appeared very dry and
loose. At night I returned to the ship in one of the country boats,
which are canoes made of a tree hollowed out, and paddled by three
men.”

“_Nov. 18th._—Went ashore at six o’clock, and found that Sennor
Antonio had been waiting for me two hours. It being too late to go
into the country, I staid at his house till dinner. He kept me too
much in his company, but I found intervals for retirement. In a cool
and shady part of the garden, near some water, I sat and sang—‘O’er
the gloomy hills of darkness.’ I could read and pray aloud, as there
was no fear of any one understanding me.

“A slave, in my bed-room, washed my feet. I was struck with the
degree of abasement expressed in the act, and as he held the foot
in the towel, with his head bowed down towards it, I remembered the
condescension of the blessed Lord. May I have grace to follow such
humility!”

“_Nov. 19th._—Early after breakfast went in a palanquin to Sennor
Dominigo’s, and from thence with him two or three miles into the
country: at intervals I got out and walked. I was gratified with
the sight of what I wanted to see; namely, some part of the country
in its original state, covered with wood; it was hilly, but not
mountainous. The luxuriance was so rank, that the whole space, even
to the tops of the trees, was filled with long stringy shrubs and
weeds, so as to make them impervious and opaque. The road was made
by cutting away the earth on the side of the hill, so that there
were woods above and below us. The object of our walk was to see a
pepper plantation, made in a valley, on a perfect level. The symmetry
of the trees was what charmed my Portuguese friend; but to me, who
was seeking the wild features of America, it was just what I did
not want. The person who showed us the grounds, was one that had
been a major in the Portuguese army, and had retired on a pension.
The border consisted of pine apples, planted between each tree;
the interior was set with lemon trees, here and there, between the
pepper plants. We were shown the root of the mandioc, called by us
tapioca; it was like a large horse radish; the mill for grinding
it was extremely simple; a horizontal wheel, turned by horses, put
in motion a vertical one, on the circumference of which was a thin
brazen plate, furnished on the inside like a nutmeg grater; a slave
held the root to the wheel, which grated it away, and threw it in the
form of a moist paste, into a receptacle below: it is then dried in
pans, and used as a farina with meat. At Sennor Antonio’s, a plate of
tapioca was attached to each of our plates. Some of the pepper was
nearly ripe, and of a reddish appearance; when gathered, which it is
in April, it is dried in the sun.”

“_Nov. 23._—In the afternoon took leave of my kind friends Sennor and
Sennora Corrè. They and the rest came out to the garden gate, and
continued looking, till the winding of the road hid me from their
sight. The poor slave Raymond, who had attended me and carried my
things, burst into a flood of tears, as we left the door; and when I
parted from him, he was going to kiss my feet; but I shook hands with
him, much affected by such extraordinary kindness, in people to whom
I had been a total stranger, till within a few days. What shall I
render unto the Lord for all his mercies?”

It had lately been announced to the army which was carried in the
fleet, that they were to be led to attack the cape of Good Hope, then
held by the Dutch. This intelligence, which had been kept secret,
until they were approaching the cape, excited Mr. Martyn to be more
active in the service of these men, who were soon to be exposed to
the dangers of warfare, and many of whom would, probably, be sent to
eternity. He observed a day of fasting and prayer in their behalf,
addressed them from the scriptures whenever he had opportunity,
and several were induced to kneel publicly in prayer with him,
notwithstanding the ridicule and carelessness of the greater part of
the crew and soldiers. During a season of great sickness on board his
ship, at which time the captain died, he was very useful in attending
to the wants of the sick, and leading their minds to consider the
necessity of preparation for eternity. On the last Sunday of this
year he preached a sermon, adapted to their circumstances, from 2
Pet. iii. 11. “Seeing then that all these things shall be dissolved,
what manner of persons ought ye to be in all holy conversation and
godliness:” in which he endeavoured to impress his hearers with a
sense of the importance of religion, reminding them of the ways
by which Providence had been calling them to reflection, by the
prevalence of disease, the death of their captain, the dangers of the
voyage, and the prospect of being engaged in battle. His own mind
enjoyed great peace at this time, as is evident from his diary.

“Separated from my friends and country for ever, there is nothing to
distract me from hearing ‘the voice of my beloved,’ and coming away
from this world, and walking with him in love, amidst the flowers
that perfume the air of paradise, and the harmony of the happy, happy
saints who are singing his praise. Thus hath the Lord brought me to
the conclusion of the year; and though I have broken his statutes,
and not kept his commandments, yet he hath not utterly taken away
his loving kindness, nor suffered his truth to fail. I thought, at
the beginning of the year, that I should have been in India at this
time, if I should have escaped all the dangers of the climate. These
dangers are yet to come; but I can leave all cheerfully to God. If I
am weary of any thing, it is of my life of sinfulness. I want a life
of more devotion and holiness; and yet am so vain, as to be expecting
the end without the means. I am far from regretting that I ever
came on this delightful work; were I to choose for myself, I could
scarcely find a situation more agreeable to my taste. On, therefore,
let me go, and persevere steadily in this blessed undertaking:
through the grace of God, dying daily to the opinions of men, and
aiming, with a more single eye, at the glory of the everlasting God.”

On the third of January 1806, the fleet anchored at the cape, and
the army was landed, and led to the attack, which commenced early
the next morning. As soon as the battle was over, Mr. Martyn went on
shore, in hopes of being useful to the sufferers. His own account
of the scene, in a letter to a friend in England, gives a terrible
picture of a field of battle.

“I embraced the opportunity of getting to the wounded men, soon after
my landing. A party of the company’s troops were ordered to repair
to the field of battle, to bring away the wounded, under the command
of Major ——, whom I knew. By his permission, I attached myself to
them, and marched six miles over a soft burning sand, till we reached
the fatal spot. We found several but slightly hurt; and these we
left for a while, after seeing their wounds dressed by a surgeon.
A little onward were three mortally wounded. One of them, on being
asked where he was struck, opened his shirt and showed a wound in
his left breast. The blood which he was spitting, showed that he had
been shot through the lungs. As I spread my great coat over him, by
the surgeon’s desire, who passed on without attempting to save him,
I spoke of the blessed gospel, and besought him to look to Jesus
Christ for salvation. He was surprised, but could not speak; and I
was obliged to leave him, in order to reach the troops, from whom
the officers, out of regard to my safety, would not allow me to be
separated. Among several others, some wounded, and some dead, was
Captain ——; who was shot by a rifleman. We all stopped for a while,
to gaze, in pensive silence, on his pale body, and then passed on, to
witness more proofs of the sin and misery of fallen man. Descending
into the plain, where the main body of each army had met, I saw some
of the fifty-ninth, one of whom, a corporal, who sometimes had sung
with us, told me that none of the fifty-ninth were killed, and none
of the officers wounded. Some farm-houses, which had been in the rear
of the enemy’s army, had been converted into an hospital for the
wounded, whom they were bringing from all quarters. The surgeon told
me that there were already in the houses two hundred, some of whom
were Dutch. A more ghastly spectacle than that which presented itself
here, I could not have conceived. They were ranged without and within
the house, in rows, covered with gore. Indeed, it was the blood,
which they had not had time to wash off, that made their appearance
more dreadful than the reality: for few of their wounds were mortal.
The confusion was very great: and sentries and officers were so
strict in their duty, that I had no fit opportunity of speaking
to any of them, except a Dutch captain, with whom I conversed in
French. After this, I walked out again with the surgeon to the field,
and saw several of the enemy’s wounded. A Hottentot, who had had
his thigh broken by a ball, was lying in extreme agony, biting the
dust, and uttering horrid imprecations upon the Dutch. I told him
that he ought to pray for his enemies; and after telling the poor
wretched man of the gospel, I begged him to pray to Jesus Christ.
But our conversation was soon interrupted; for, in the absence of
the surgeon, who was gone back for his instruments, a highland
soldier came up, and challenged me with the words, ‘Who are you?’ ‘An
Englishman.’ ‘No,’ said he, ‘you are French,’ and began to present
his piece. As I saw that he was rather intoxicated, and did not know
but that he might actually fire, out of mere wantonness, I sprang
up towards him, and told him, that if he doubted my word, he might
take me as his prisoner to the English camp,—but that I certainly was
an English clergyman. This pacified him, and he behaved with great
respect. The surgeon, on examining the wound, said the man must die,
and so left him. At length, I found an opportunity of returning, as
I much wished, in order to recover from distraction of mind, and to
give free scope to reflection. I lay down on the border of a clump of
shrubs or bushes, with the field of battle in view, and there lifted
up my soul to God. Mournful as the scene was, I yet thanked God that
he had brought me to see a specimen, though a terrible one, of what
men by nature are. May the remembrance of this day ever excite me to
pray and labour more for the propagation of the gospel of peace. Then
shall men love one another: nation shall not lift up sword against
nation, neither shall they learn war any more. The blue mountains,
to the eastward, which formed the boundary of the prospect, were a
cheering contrast to what was immediately before me; for there I
conceived my beloved and honoured fellow servants,[1] companions in
the kingdom and patience of Jesus Christ, to be passing the days
of their pilgrimage, far from the world, imparting the truths of
the precious gospel to benighted souls. May I receive grace to be a
follower of their faith and patience; and do you pray, my brother,
as I know that you do, that I may have a heart more warm, and a zeal
more ardent in this glorious cause.”

On the tenth, the fort and town were taken from the Dutch. Whilst
the fleet was delayed, Martyn visited Dr. Vanderkemp, and the other
missionaries at the cape, and his meeting with them was a source of
great joy.

“From the first moment I arrived, I had been anxiously inquiring
about Dr. Vanderkemp. I heard at last, to my no small delight, that
he was now in Cape Town. But it was long before I could find him. At
length I did. He was standing outside of the house, silently looking
up at the stars. A great number of black people were sitting around.
On my introducing myself, he led me in, and called for Mr. Read. I
was beyond measure delighted at the happiness of seeing him too.
The circumstance of meeting with these beloved and highly honoured
brethren, so filled me with joy and gratitude for the goodness of
God’s providence, that I hardly knew what to do.”

“_January 14th._—Continued walking with Mr. Read till late. He gave
me a variety of curious information respecting the mission. He told
me of his marvellous success amongst the heathen; how he had heard
them amongst the bushes pouring out their hearts to God. At all this
my ‘soul did magnify the Lord, and my spirit rejoiced in God my
Saviour.’ Now that I am in a land where the Spirit of God appears,
as in the ancient days, as in the generation of old, let a double
portion of that Spirit rest upon this unworthy head, that I may go
forth to my work ‘rejoicing like a strong man, to run my race.’”

“_January 20th._—Walking home, I asked Dr. Vanderkemp if he had ever
repented of his undertaking. No, said the old man, smiling, and
I would not exchange my work for a kingdom. Read told me some of
his trials; he has often been so reduced, for want of clothes, as
scarcely to have any to cover him. The reasonings of his mind were,—I
am here, Lord, in thy service; why am I left in this state? It seemed
to be suggested to him, If thou wilt be my servant, be contented to
fare in this way; if not, go, and fare better. His mind was thus
satisfied to remain God’s missionary, with all its concomitant
hardships. At night, my sinful soul enjoyed a most reviving season in
prayer; I rejoiced greatly in the Lord, and pleaded with fervour for
the interests of his church.”

“_January 30th._—Rose at five, and began to ascend Table mountain
at six, with S—— and M——; I went on chiefly alone. I thought of the
Christian life,—what uphill work it is,—and yet there are streams
flowing down from the top, just as there was water coming down by
the Kloof, by which we ascended. Towards the top it was very steep,
but the hope of being soon at the summit, encouraged me to ascend
very lightly. As the kloof opened, a beautiful flame-coloured flower
appeared in a little green hollow, waving in the breeze. It seemed
to be an emblem of the beauty and peacefulness of heaven, as it
shall open upon the weary soul, when its journey is finished, and
the struggles of the death-bed are over. We walked up and down the
whole length, which might be between two and three miles, and one
might be said to look round the world from this promontory. I felt a
solemn awe at the grand prospect, from which there was neither noise
nor small objects to draw off my attention. I reflected, especially
when looking at the immense expanse of sea on the east, which was to
carry me to India, on the certainty that the name of Christ should,
at some period, resound from shore to shore. I felt commanded to
wait in silence, and see how God would bring his promises to pass.
We began to descend at half past two. Whilst sitting to rest myself,
towards night, I began to reflect, with death-like despondency, on
my friendless condition. Not that I wanted any of the comforts of
life, but I wanted those kind friends who loved me, and in whose
company I used to find so much delight after my fatigues. And then,
remembering that I should never see them more, I felt one of those
keen pangs of misery, that occasionally shoot across my breast. It
seemed like a dream, that I had actually undergone banishment from
them for life; or rather like a dream, that I had ever hoped to share
the enjoyments of social life. But, at this time, I solemnly renewed
my self-dedication to God, praying that I might receive grace to
spend my days for his service, in continued suffering, and separation
from all I held most dear in this life: Amen. How vain and transitory
are those pleasures which the worldliness of my heart will ever be
magnifying into real good!—The rest of the evening, I felt weaned
from the world and all its concerns, with somewhat of a melancholy
tranquillity.”

“_January 31._—From great fatigue of body, was in doubt about going
to the hospital, and very unwilling to go. However, I went, and
preached with more freedom than ever I had done there. Having some
conversation with Colonel H——, I asked him whether, if the wound he
had received in the late engagement had been mortal, his profaneness
would have recurred with any pleasure to his mind on a death-bed. He
made some attempts at palliation, though in great confusion; but bore
the admonition very patiently.”

“_February 5th._—Rose early; walked out, discouraged at the small
progress I make in the eastern languages. My state of bodily and
mental indolence was becoming so alarming, that I struggled hard
against both, crying to God for strength. Notwithstanding the
reluctance in my own heart, I went to the hospital, and preached
on Matt. xi. 28; from this time I enjoyed peace and happiness. Dr.
Vanderkemp called to take leave. I accompanied him and brother Smith
out of the town, with their two wagons. The dear old man showed much
affection, and gave me advice, and a blessing at parting. While we
were standing to take leave, Koster, a Dutch missionary, was just
entering the town with his bundle, having been driven from his place
of residence. Brother Read, also, appeared from another quarter,
though we thought he had gone to sea. These, with Yons,[2] and
myself, made six missionaries, who, in a few minutes, all parted
again.”

Besides visiting and preaching at the hospital, among the wounded
English, he held public service at the house in which he lodged. In
February the fleet again sailed: on the 22d of April anchored before
Madras, and in the middle of May, he landed at Calcutta.


FOOTNOTES:

[1] The Moravian missionaries at Grœnekloof and Gnadenthal, and those
belonging to the London Missionary Society at Bethelsdorp.

[2] Probably the missionary destined for Madagascar.



CHAPTER VI.


Martyn was much dejected, in contemplating the vast multitude of
idolaters amongst whom he was now placed.

“Every thing presented the appearance of wretchedness. I thought of
my future labours among them with some despondency; yet I am willing,
I trust, through grace, to pass my days among them, if by any means
these poor people may be brought to God. The sight of men, women, and
children, all idolaters, makes me shudder, as if in the dominions of
the prince of darkness. I fancy the frown of God is visible;—there is
something peculiarly awful in the stillness that prevails. Whether it
is the relaxing influence of the climate, or what, I do not know; but
there is every thing here to depress the spirits—all nature droops.”

Whilst he almost despaired of the possibility of ever accomplishing
any good himself, he rejoiced in the promises and prophecies which
make it sure, that at some day, the true God shall be worshipped
there, and in every other place; and the gospel of Jesus Christ be
proclaimed to ‘every nation under heaven.’ He was animated by the
thought, that even should he never see a native converted, yet it
might be God’s design to encourage future missionaries, by giving
them his example of patience and continuance in the work. He took up
his residence at Aldeen, near Calcutta, in the house of an English
clergyman; where, after recovering from a dangerous attack of fever,
he experienced great enjoyment in the company of several Christians,
missionaries and others, established in the neighbourhood. Strong
persuasions were used to induce him to remain in Calcutta, but that
city was supplied in some measure with the gospel, and it was his
intention to devote himself to more remote heathens. The celebrated
Dr. Buchanan had left Calcutta on a journey to Syria, at the very
time of Martyn’s arrival, and too soon to know that God had thus
answered the prayers which he and his brethren had been for some time
addressing to heaven, for the sending of more missionaries to India.

On the fifteenth of October, Mr. Martyn left Aldeen and Calcutta
for Dinapore, a town on the Ganges, more than three hundred miles
distant. He went in a boat called a budgerow, with a cabin fitted for
travelling; which, as it is moved principally by towing with poles,
does not go farther than about twenty miles in a day, stopping in
the evening. He employed his time in studying the eastern languages,
in which he was assisted by a native teacher, called a moonshee,
who accompanied him. He several times witnessed the idolatrous
ceremonies of the people, and made some attempts to convince them of
the sinfulness and folly of the devotion they paid to idols of their
own carving, and to the river Ganges itself. At several villages
on the route he attempted to speak to the people, and distributed
tracts. Some parts of his own narrative of this tour, will show how
he employed himself, and how he was upheld in his purpose amidst all
discouragements.

“_Oct. 19th._—Sunday. The first solitary Sabbath spent among the
heathen: but my soul not forsaken of God. The prayers of my dear
friends were instant for me this day, I well perceive: and a great
part of my prayer was occupied in delightful intercession for them.
The account of the fall of man, in the third chapter of Genesis, and
of his restoration by Christ, was unspeakably affecting to my soul.
Indeed, every thing I read seemed to be carried home to my soul with
ineffable sweetness and power by the Spirit; and all that was within
me blessed His holy name. In the afternoon, sent to the moonshee,
that he might hear the gospel read, or read it himself. Began St.
Mark;—but our conversation turning from Christianity to Mohammedism,
became deadening to my spirit. Our course to-day was along the
eastern bank, which seems to have been lately the bed of the river,
and is bare of trees for a considerable distance from the water.
The western bank is covered with wood. In my evening walk saw three
skeletons.”

“_Oct. 20th._—Employed all the day in translating the first chapter
of the Acts into Hindoostanee. I did it with some care, and wrote
it all out in the Persian character; yet still I am surprised I do
so little. I walked into the village where the boat stopped for the
night, and found the worshippers of Cali by the sound of their drums
and cymbals. I did not think of speaking to them, on account of their
being Bengalees. But, being invited by the Brahmins[3] to walk in,
I entered within the railing, and asked a few questions about the
idol. The Brahmin, who spoke bad Hindoostanee, disputed with great
heat, and his tongue ran faster than I could follow; and the people,
who were about one hundred, shouted applause. But I continued to
ask my questions, without making any remarks upon the answers. I
asked, among other things, whether what I had heard of Vishnu and
Brahma was true; which he confessed. I forbore to press him with
the consequences, which he seemed to feel; and then I told him what
was my belief.—The man grew quite mild, and said it was _chula bat_
(good words;) and asked me seriously, at last, what I thought—‘was
idol worship true or false?’ I felt it a matter of thankfulness that
I could make known the truth of God, though but a stammerer; and
that I had declared it in the presence of the devil. And this also
I learnt, that the power of gentleness is irresistible. I never was
more astonished than at the change in deportment of this hot-headed
Brahmin.”

“_Oct. 21._—Afternoon, with my moonshee, correcting Acts i., and felt
a little discouraged at finding I still wrote so incorrectly, though
much pleased at this great apparent desire of having it perfectly
accurate. Though not joyful in my spirit, as when my friends left
me, I feel my God to be an all-satisfying portion, and find no want
of friends. Read Genesis and Luke;—at night in the Septuagint and
Hindoostanee.”

“_Oct. 22._—A Brahmin of my own age was performing his devotions to
the Ganges early this morning, when I was going to prayer. My soul
was struck with the sovereignty of God, who, out of pure grace,
had made such a difference in all the external circumstances of
our lives. O let not that man’s earnestness rise up in judgment
against me at the last day!—In the afternoon, they were performing
the ceremony of throwing the images of Cali, collected from several
villages, into the river. In addition to the usual music, there were
trumpets. The objects of worship, which were figures most gorgeously
bedecked with tinsel, were kept under a little awning in their
respective boats. As the budgerow passed through the boats, they
turned, so as to present the front of their goddess to me; and at the
same time, blew a blast with their trumpet, evidently intending to
gratify me with a sight of what appeared to them so fine. Had their
employment been less impious, I should have returned the compliment
by looking; but I turned away.”

“Came-to on the eastern bank, below a village called Ahgadeep.
Wherever I walked, the women fled at the sight of me. Some men were
sitting under the shed dedicated to their goddess; and a lamp was
burning in her place. A conversation soon began; but there was no one
who could speak Hindoostanee; so all I could say was by the medium
of my mussulman interpreter. They said that they only did as others
did; and that, if they were wrong, then all Bengal was wrong. I felt
love for their souls, and longed for utterance to declare unto these
poor simple people, the holy gospel. I think that when my mouth is
opened, I shall preach to them day and night. I feel that they are my
brethren in the flesh;—precisely on a level with myself.”

“_Oct. 25th._—Had a very solemn season of prayer, by the favour of
God, over some of the chapters of Genesis; but especially at the
conclusion of the 119th Psalm. O that these holy resolutions and
pious breathings were entirely my own! Adored be the never-failing
mercy of God! He has made my happiness to depend, not on the
uncertain connexions of this life, but upon his own most blessed
self,—a portion that never faileth.—Came-to on the eastern bank. The
opposite side was very romantic;—adorned with a stately range of very
high forest trees, whose deep dark shade seemed impenetrable to the
light.—In my evening walk enjoyed great solemnity of feeling, in the
view of the world as a mere wilderness, through which the children of
God are passing to a better country. It was a comforting and a solemn
thought, and was unspeakably interesting to me at the time, that God
knew whereabouts his people were in the wilderness, and was supplying
them with just what they wanted.”

“_Oct. 26th._—Sunday. Passed this Lord’s day with great comfort,
and much solemnity of soul. Glory to God for his grace! Reading the
scriptures and prayer took up the first part of the day. Almost every
chapter I read was blest to my soul; particularly the last chapter of
Isaiah: ‘It shall come, that I will gather all nations and tongues;
and they shall come, and see my glory,’ &c. Rejoice, my soul, in the
sure promises of Jehovah. How happy am I, when, in preparing for the
work of declaring his glory among the Gentiles, I think, that many
of the Lord’s saints have been this day remembering their unworthy
friend. I felt as if I could never be tired with prayer. In the
afternoon, read one of Gilbert’s French Sermons; Bates on Death; and
some of the Nagree Gospels. In the evening, we came-to on the eastern
bank. I walked into a neighbouring village, with some tracts. The
children ran away in great terror; and though there were some men
here and there, I found no opportunity or encouragement to try if
there were any that could speak Hindoostanee: however, I felt vexed
with myself for not taking more pains to do them good. Alas! while
Satan is destroying their souls, does it become the servants of God
to be lukewarm?”

“_Oct. 27th._—Arrived at Berhampore. In the evening, walked out to
see the cantonments at the hospital, in which there were one hundred
and fifty European soldiers sick. I was talking to a man, said to
be dying, when a surgeon entered. I went up, and made some apology
for entering the hospital. It was my old school-fellow and townsman,
——. The remainder of the evening he spent with me in my budgerow.
He pressed me much to stay longer with him, which I refused; but
afterwards, on reflection, I thought it my duty to stay a little
longer; thinking I might have an opportunity of preaching to the
soldiers.”

“_Oct. 28th._—Rose very early, and was at the hospital at day-light.
Waited there a long time, wandering up and down the wards, in hopes
of inducing the men to get up and assemble; but it was in vain. I
left three books with them, and went away amidst the sneers and
titters of the common soldiers. Certainly it is one of the greatest
crosses I am called to bear, to take pains to make people hear me.
It is such a struggle between a sense of propriety and modesty, on
the one hand, and a sense of duty, on the other, that I find nothing
equal to it. I could force my way any where, in order to introduce a
brother minister: but for myself, I act with hesitation and pain. Mr.
—— promised to ask the head surgeon’s permission for me to preach,
and appointed the hour at which I should come. I went there: but
after waiting two hours, was told that the surgeon was gone without
being spoken to,—and many other excuses were made. So, as it was
now the heat of the day, I saw it was of no use to make any more
attempts; and therefore I went on my way.”

“_Nov. 2._—Sunday. My mind was greatly oppressed, that I had done,
and was doing nothing in the way of distributing tracts. To free my
conscience from the charge of unprofitableness and neglect, I wished
to go ashore in the middle of the day, wherever I thought I might
meet people; but did not land till we came-to, on the banks of the
Ganges, which we entered just before sunset. Walking on shore, I met
with a very large party; and entering into conversation, I asked if
any of them could read. One young man, who seemed superior in rank to
the rest, said he could, and accordingly read some of the only Nagree
tract that I had. I then addressed myself boldly to them, and told
them of the gospel. When speaking of the inefficacy of the religious
practices of the Hindoos, I mentioned as an example, the repetition
of the name of Ram. The young man assented to this; and said ‘of what
use is it!’ As he seemed to be of a pensive turn, and said this with
marks of disgust, I gave him a Nagree Testament;—the first I have
given. May God’s blessing go along with it, and cause the eyes of
multitudes to be opened! The men said they should be glad to receive
tracts; so I sent them back a considerable number by the young man.
The idea of printing the Parables, in proper order, with a short
explanation subjoined to each, for the purpose of distribution, and
as school-books, suggested itself to me to-night, and delighted me
prodigiously.”

“_Nov. 8th._—Early this morning reached Rajemahl, and walked to
view the remains of its ancient splendour. Gave a tract or two to a
Brahmin; but the Dak moonshee, a Mussulman, when he received one of
the Hindoostanee tracts, and found what it was, was greatly alarmed:
and after many awkward apologies, returned it, saying that ‘a man
who had his legs in two different boats, was in danger of sinking
between them.’ Went on, much discouraged at the suspicion and rebuffs
I met with, or rather _pained_; for I feel not the less determined
to use every effort to give the people the gospel. Oh! that the Lord
would pour out upon them a spirit of deep concern for their souls!
In a walk, at Rajemahl, met some of the hill people. Wrote down from
their mouth some of the names of things. From their appearance, they
seemed connected with the Hottentots and Chinese. Passed the day in
correcting Acts, chapter iii. with the moonshee. At night walked
with Mr. G—, into a village, where we met with some more of the hill
people. With one of them, who was a manghee, or chief of one of the
hills, I had some conversation in Hindoostanee; and told him that
wicked men, after death, go to a place of fire; and good men, above,
to God. The former struck him exceedingly. He asked again, ‘What? do
they go to a place of great pain and fire?’ These people, he said,
sacrifice oxen, goats, pigeons, &c. I asked him if he knew what
this was for, and then explained the design of sacrifices; and told
him of the great sacrifice, but he did not seem to understand me,
and appeared pensive, after hearing that wicked men go to hell. He
asked us, with great kindness, to have some of his wild honey; which
was the only thing he had to offer. How surprising is the universal
prevalence of sacrifices! This circumstance will, perhaps, be made
use of for the universal conversion of the nations. How desirable
that some missionary should go among these people!—No prejudices—none
of the detestable pride and self-righteousness of their neighbours in
the plains.”

“_Nov. 9th._—Passed the Sabbath rather uncomfortably. With Mr. ——,
I read several portions of the sacred scriptures, and prayed in the
afternoon. We reached Sicily gully, a point where the Rajemahl hills
jut out into the Ganges. It was a romantic spot. We went ashore, and
ascended an eminence to look at the ruins of a mosque. The grave,
and room over it, of a Mussulman warrior, killed in battle, were in
perfect preservation; and lamps are still lighted there every night.
We saw a few more of the hill people; one of whom had a bow and
arrows; they were in a hurry to be gone; and went off, men, women,
and children, into their native woods. As I was entering the boat, I
happened to touch with my stick the brass pot of one of the Hindoos,
in which rice was boiling. So defiled are we in their sight, that
they thought the pollution passed from my hand, through the stick and
the brass, to the meat. He rose and threw it all away.”

“_Nov. 13th._—This morning we passed Colgong. I went ashore and had
a long conversation with two men. As I approached more and more to
religion, they were the more astonished; and when I mentioned the day
of judgment, they looked at each other in the utmost wonder, with a
look that expressed, ‘how should he know any thing about that?’ I
felt some satisfaction in finding myself pretty well understood in
what I said: but they could not read: and no people came near us,
and so I had the grief of leaving this place without supplying it
with one ray of light. Looking around this country, and reflecting
upon its state, is enough to overwhelm the mind of a minister or
missionary. When once my mouth is opened, how shall I ever dare to be
silent? Employed as yesterday. At night met some boatmen on the bank,
and a Fakir with them: I talked a good deal, and some things they
understood. The Fakir’s words I could scarcely understand. As he
said he could read, and promised to read a Testament, I gave him one,
and several tracts.”

“_Nov. 17th._—Early this morning they set me ashore to see a hot
spring. A great number of Brahmins and Fakirs[4] were there. Not
being able to understand them, I gave away tracts. Many followed me
to the budgerow, where I gave away more tracts and some Testaments.
Arrived at Monghir about noon. In the evening some came to me for
books; and, among them, those who had travelled from the spring,
having heard the report that I was giving away copies of the
Ramayuna.[5] They would not believe me when I told them that it was
not the Ramayuna; I gave them six or eight more. In the morning tried
to translate, with the moonshee, one of the Nagree papers.”

“_Nov. 18th._—A man followed the budgerow along the walls of the
fort; and finding an opportunity, got on board with another,
begging for a book—not believing but that it was the Ramayuna. As
I hesitated, having given as many as I could spare for one place,
he prostrated himself to the earth, and placed his forehead in the
dust; at which I felt an indescribable horror. I gave them each a
testament. Employed in writing out the parables, and translating. In
the evening met with two villagers, and finding they could read, I
brought them to the boat, and gave them each a Testament, and some
tracts.”

“_Nov. 19th._—Employed in translating the parables, all the day.
Finished reading the first book of the Ramayuna. Came-to at a desert
place on the north side; where, in my walk, I met with a man with
whom I conversed; but we could understand each other but very
little. To a boy with him, who could read, I gave some tracts. Felt
extraordinarily wearied with my labour these two or three last days;
and should have been glad of some refreshing conversation.”


FOOTNOTES:

[3] Hindoo priests.

[4] Men, professing to be religious, who live upon charity.

[5] A poem called sacred by the Hindoos.



CHAPTER VII.


Mr. Martyn arrived at Dinapore, on the 26th November: his principal
objects, besides discharging his duties as chaplain to the English
residents there, were to establish schools for the children of
the natives; to learn to speak Hindoostanee; and to translate the
scriptures and religious tracts into that language, for distribution
among the people. There are so many dialects in India, that it is
a great labour to study the language, so as to be understood by the
inhabitants of different parts of the country. In these employments
he persevered, though meeting with ridicule and opposition, not only
from the natives, but even from his own irreligious countrymen, who
formed his congregation. “Let me labour,” he said “for fifty years,
amidst scorn, and without seeing one soul converted; still it shall
not be worse for my soul in eternity, nor even worse for it in
time.” He continued to translate the parables, with explanations,
and devoted his whole time to preparations for his missionary work;
excepting when he had an opportunity of personally addressing the
natives, who could understand him, and excepting the time spent with
his English congregation, and the sick at the hospital.

We have another proof of the reality of religion, and the truth of
the Divine promises, in the manner in which Martyn was enabled to
persist in his object, in circumstances which would have induced
any other person, than a Christian, to abandon it in despair. There
he stood almost alone, surrounded by idolaters and Mohammedans, who
ridiculed his attempts to enlighten them; and were not moved by
all his arguments for the religion of Christ. The English who were
settled there, were engaged in trade: and it was a great object with
them, that the natives should be kept ignorant, that they might be
more easily managed in business concerns. Of course, they would not
countenance the plans of Mr. Martyn, and scarcely treated him with
respect. So solitary was he, amidst persons so different in feeling
from himself, that happening to meet a poor Jew from Babylon, he
said he “felt all the tenderness of a kinsman towards him, and found
himself, as it were, at home with an Asiatic, who acknowledged the
God of Abraham.” Another source of consolation, known only to the
true follower of Christ, is thus intimated by him: “O how shall I
sufficiently praise my God, that here in this solitude, with people
enough, indeed, but without a saint, I yet feel fellowship with all
those who, in every place, call on the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.
I see myself travelling on with them, and I hope I shall worship with
them in His courts above!”

Notwithstanding these obstacles, such was his conviction of the truth
of the gospel, and that it was his duty to persevere, that the time
passed away rapidly. The nature of the support and consolations,
which he received, may be judged of from his own expressions, such as
these:

“I felt more, entirely withdrawn from the world, than for a long time
past: what a dark atheistical state do I generally live in! Alas!
that this creation should so engross my mind, and the author of it
be so slightly and coldly regarded. I found myself, at this time,
truly a stranger and a pilgrim in the world; and I did suppose that
not a wish remained for any thing here. The experience of my heart
was delightful. I enjoyed a peace that passeth all understanding;
no desire remained, but that this peace might be confirmed and
increased. O why should any thing draw away my attention, whilst Thou
art ever near, and ever accessible through the Son of Thy love? O why
do I not always walk with God, forgetful of a vain and perishable
world? Amazing patience! He bears with this faithless, foolish heart,
and suffers me to come, laden with sins, to receive new pardon, new
grace, every day. Why does not such love make me hate those sins
which grieve him, and hide him from my sight? I sometimes make vain
resolutions, in my own strength, that I will think of God. Reason,
and scripture, and experience, teach me that such a life is happiness
and holiness; that by ‘beholding his glory,’ I should be changed
‘into his image, from glory to glory,’ and be freed from those
anxieties which make me unhappy: and that, every motive to duty being
strong, obedience would be easy.”

He established, at his own expense, five schools for the children of
the natives, in Dinapore, and some neighbouring places. We suppose
that these schools were intended to enable the children to read
and write their own language, and to receive instruction in the
Christian religion, so that they might not grow up in ignorance and
idolatry like their parents. There are two great reasons why this
course is, in all cases, the most proper. First, because, if the
mind is enlightened by education, it is hard to persuade a person to
believe in superstitions. And the second reason is, that almost all
the feelings and beliefs that men have, are the same that have been
impressed on them in youth, and have been established in some degree
by the power of habit. It is, therefore, of the highest importance,
that the earliest habits of a child should be good; and that its
instructions should be in the truth; for, in almost all cases, such
a child will, by the blessing of God, retain his good habits and
instructions, and have them, at length, eternally fixed by religion.
This is the sense of the saying of Solomon—“Train up a child in the
way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it.”

We find the following reflections in Martyn’s diary of the 1st of
January, 1807:

“Seven years have passed away since I was first called of God. Before
the conclusion of another seven years, how probable is it, that
these hands will have mouldered into dust! But be it so: my soul,
through grace, hath received the assurance of eternal life, and I
see the days of my pilgrimage shortening, without a wish to add to
their number. But O, may I be stirred up to a faithful discharge of
my high and awful work; and, laying aside, as much as may be, all
carnal cares and studies, may I give myself to this ‘one thing.’
The last has been a year to be remembered by me, because the Lord
has brought me safely to India, and permitted me to begin, in one
sense, my missionary work. My trials in it have been very few: every
thing has turned out better than I expected; loving-kindness and
tender-mercies, have attended me at every step: therefore, here will
I sing his praise. I have been an unprofitable servant but the Lord
hath not cut me off: I have been wayward and perverse, yet he has
brought me further on the way to Zion: here, then, with seven-fold
gratitude and affection, would I stop and devote myself to the
blissful service of my adorable Lord. May he continue his patience,
his grace, his direction, his spiritual influences, and I shall at
last surely come off conqueror! May he speedily open my mouth, to
make known the mysteries of the gospel, and in great mercy grant that
the heathen may receive it and live!”

In February 1807, Mr. Martyn finished the translation of the
Episcopal Prayer-book into the Hindoostanee; and on Sunday, March
15th, used it in public worship for the first time, concluding with
a short address in that language. About this time, he also completed
his translation and explanation of the Parables of our Saviour, which
he intended, principally, for the use of the schools, but postponed
for a while, lest it should excite so much prejudice as to break up
the schools entirely. Every Sunday, he held divine service at seven
in the morning for the English people, and at two in the afternoon
for the natives; after which he visited the sick in the hospital,
and held a prayer-meeting at his own house in the evening, for some
soldiers of the army, who were willing to attend. These plans were
pursued under much discouragement; the following is the diary of one
Sunday:

“The English service, at seven in the morning. I preached on Luke
xxii. 22. As is always the case when I preach about Christ, a
spiritual influence was diffused over my soul. The rest of the
morning, till dinner time, I spent, not unprofitably, in reading
scripture, and David Brainerd, and in prayer. That dear saint of God,
David Brainerd, is truly a man after my own heart. Although I cannot
go half-way with him in spirituality and devotion, I cordially unite
with him in such of his holy breathings as I have attained unto. How
sweet and wise, like him and the saints of old, to pass through this
world as a serious and considerate stranger. I have had more of this
temper to-day than of late, and every duty has been in harmony with
my spirit. The service in Hindoostanee was at two o’clock. The number
of women not above one hundred. I expounded chapter iii. of St.
Matthew. Notwithstanding the general apathy with which they seemed
to receive every thing, there were two or three who, I was sure,
understood and felt something. But, beside the women, not a single
creature, European or native, was present. Yet true spirituality,
with all its want of attraction for the carnal heart, did prevail
over the splendid shows of Greece and Rome, and shall again here. A
man at the hospital much refreshed me, by observing, that if I made
an acquisition of but one convert in my whole life, it would be a
rich reward; and that I was taking the only possible way to this end.”

There were, however, some of the officers, who evinced serious
feelings; and one was brought to embrace the offers of salvation.
Martyn longed for the time when he should be qualified to go into the
midst of the Hindoos with the gospel. “O,” said he, in a letter to
Mr. Corrie, missionary at another station, “that the time were come
that I should be able to carry the war into the enemy’s territory.
It will be a severe trial to the flesh, my dear brother, for us
both;—but it is sufficient for the disciple to be as his master, and
the servant as his Lord. We shall be ‘accounted as the filth of the
world, and the off-scouring of all things.’ But glory be to God, if
we shall be accounted worthy to suffer shame for the name of the Lord
Jesus.”

His journal of a trip to Monghir, about a hundred miles distant,
shows the distress he felt, because his zeal was not greater, and
because he was not so holy and spiritual as he desired to be. He had,
no doubt, just reasons for lamenting many neglected opportunities for
doing good, and for deploring the many wanderings of his heart from
God; but we are not to understand that he was outwardly wicked or
careless, when he speaks of his condition in such strong language.

“After finishing the correction of the parables, I left Dinapore to
go to Monghir. Spent the evening at Patna, with Mr. G——, in talking
on literary subjects: but my soul was overwhelmed with a sense of my
guilt, in not striving to lead the conversation to something that
might be for his spiritual good. My general backwardness to speak on
spiritual subjects before the unconverted, made me groan in spirit
at such unfeelingness and unbelief. May the remembrance of what I am
made to suffer for these neglects, be one reason for greater zeal
and love in time to come.”

“_April 19th._—A melancholy Lord’s day! In the morning, at the
appointed hour, I found some solemnity and tenderness: the whole
desire of my soul seemed to be, that all the ministers in India might
be eminently holy; and that there might be no remains of that levity
or indolence, in any of us, which I found in myself. The rest of the
day passed heavily; for a hurricane of hot wind fastened us on a
sand-bank, for twelve hours; while the dust was suffocating, and the
heat increased the sickness which was produced by the tossing of the
boat, and I frequently fell asleep over my work. However, the more I
felt tempted to impatience and unhappiness, the more the Lord helped
me to strive against it, and to look to the fulness of Jesus Christ.
Several hymns were very sweet to me—particularly,

    ‘There is a fountain filled with blood,
      Drawn from Immanuel’s veins;
    And sinners, plunged beneath that flood,
      Lose all their guilty stains.

    ‘The dying thief rejoiced to see
      That fountain in his day;
    O may I there, though vile as he,
      Wash all my sins away!

    ‘Dear dying Lamb! thy precious blood
      Shall never lose its power,
    Till all the ransomed church of God
      Be saved, to sin no more.

    ‘E’er since by faith I saw the stream
      Thy flowing wounds supply,
    Redeeming love has been my theme,
      And shall be till I die.

    ‘But when this lisping, stammering tongue
      Lies silent in the grave,
    Then, in a nobler, sweeter song,
      I’ll sing thy power to save.’

“After all the acquisitions of human science, what is there to be
compared with the knowledge of Christ, and him crucified!—Read much
of the scripture history of Saul, and the predictions in the latter
end of the Revelation.”

“_April 21st._—Again the love and mercy of the Lord restored me to
health and spirits. Began to write a sermon on walking in Christ,
and found my soul benefited by meditation on the subject. In the
afternoon went on with translations. Arrived at sun-set at Monghir.”

“_April 22d._—Spent the day at ——’s. Found two or three opportunities
to speak to him about his soul. —— threw out some infidel sentiments,
which gave me an opportunity of speaking. But to none of the rest
was I able to say any thing. Alas! in what a state are mankind
every-where—living without God in the world.”

“_April 23d._—I left Monghir, and got on twenty-three miles toward
Dinapore: very sorrowful in mind, both from the recollection of
having done nothing for the perishing souls I have been amongst, and
from finding myself so unqualified to write on a spiritual subject,
which I had undertaken. Alas! the ignorance and carnality of my
miserable soul! how contemptible must it be in the sight of God!”

“_April 24th._—Still cast down at my utter inability to write
anything profitable on this subject; and at my execrable pride and
ease of heart. O that I could weep in the dust, with shame and
sorrow, for my wickedness and folly! Yet thanks are due to the Lord
for showing me, in this way, how much my heart has been neglected of
late. I see by this, how great are the temptations of a missionary
to neglect his own soul. Apparently outwardly employed for God, my
heart has been growing more hard and proud. Let me be taught that the
first great business on earth is to obtain the sanctification of my
own soul: so shall I be rendered more capable also of performing the
duties of the ministry, whether amongst the Europeans or heathen, in
a holy and solemn manner. Oh! how I detest that levity to which I am
so subject! How cruel and unfeeling is it!—God is my witness that
I would rather, from this day forward, weep day and night, for the
danger of immortal souls. But my wickedness seems to take such hold
of me, that I cannot escape; and my only refuge is to commit my soul,
with all its corruption, into the hands of Christ, to be sanctified
and saved by His almighty grace. For what can I do with myself? my
heart is so thoroughly corrupt, that I cannot keep myself one moment
from sin.”

“_April 26th._—In prayer, at the appointed hour, I felt solemnity of
mind, and an earnest desire that the Lord would pour out a double
portion of his Spirit upon us, his ministers in India; that every one
of us may be eminent in holiness and ministerial gifts. If I were to
judge for myself, I should fear that God had forsaken his church;
for I am most awfully deficient in the knowledge and experience
requisite for a minister; but my dear brother Corrie, thanks be to
God, is a man of a better spirit: may he grow more and more in grace,
and continue to be an example to us! Passed the day in reading and
prayer, such as my prayers are. My soul struggled with corruption,
yet I found the merit and grace of Jesus all-sufficient, and
all-supporting. Though my guilt seemed like mountains, I considered
it as no reason for departing from Christ, but rather for clinging
to him more closely. Thus I got through the day, cast down, but not
destroyed.”

“_April 27th._—Left Patna and arrived at Dinapore. The concourse
of people in that great city was a solemn admonition to me to be
diligent in study and prayer. Thousands of intelligent people
together; no Sabbath; no word of God; no one to give them advice: how
inscrutable the ways of God!”

Martyn had made considerable progress in translating the scriptures
into the language of India; he now, at the suggestion of Mr. Brown, a
missionary near Calcutta, applied himself diligently to finishing the
work, and to oversee, also, a translation into Persian. This became a
delightful employment, as his own expressions show.

“The time fled imperceptibly, while so delightfully engaged in the
translations; the days seemed to have passed like a moment. Blessed
be God for some improvement in the languages! May every thing be
for edification in the church! What do I not owe to the Lord, for
permitting me to take part in a translation of his word: never did I
see such wonder, and wisdom, and love in the blessed book, as since I
have been obliged to study every expression; and it is a delightful
reflection, that death cannot deprive us of the pleasure of studying
its mysteries.”

“All day on the translations:—employed a good while at night
in considering a difficult passage: and being much enlightened
respecting it, I went to bed full of astonishment at the wonder of
God’s word: never before did I see any thing of the beauty of the
language and the importance of the thoughts as I do now. I felt
happy that I should never be finally separated from the contemplation
of them, or of the things about which they are written. Knowledge
shall vanish away, but it shall be because perfection shall come.
Then shall I see as I am seen, and know as I am known.”

“What a source of perpetual delight have I in the precious book
of God! O that my heart were more spiritual, to keep pace with my
understanding; and that I could feel as I know! May my root and
foundation be deep in love, and may I be able to ‘comprehend, with
all saints, what is the breadth, and length, and depth, and height,
and to know the love of Christ which passeth knowledge!’ And may I
be filled with all the fulness of God! May the Lord, in mercy to my
soul, save me from setting up an idol of any sort in his place; as I
do by preferring even a work professedly done for him, to communion
with him. How obstinate is the reluctance of the natural heart to
love God! But, O my soul, be not deceived; thy chief work upon earth
is, to obtain sanctification, and to walk with God. ‘To obey is
better than sacrifice, and to hearken than the fat of rams.’ Let me
learn from this, that to follow the direct injunctions of God, as
to my own soul, is more my duty, than to be engaged in other works,
under pretence of doing him service.”

“How sweet the retirement in which I here live. The precious word is
now my only study, in the work of translation. Though, in a manner,
buried to the world,—neither seeing nor seen by Europeans,—the time
flows on here with great rapidity: it seems as if life would be
gone before any thing is done, or even before any thing is begun.
I sometimes rejoice that I am not twenty-seven years of age; and
that, unless God should order it otherwise, I may double the number
in constant and successful labour. If not, God has many, many more
instruments at command; and I shall not cease from my happiness, and
scarcely from my work, by departing into another world. Oh! what
shall separate us from the love of Christ! Neither death nor life,
I am persuaded. Oh! let me feel my security, that I may be, as it
were, already in heaven; that I may do all my work as the angels do
theirs; and oh! let me be ready for every work!—be ready to leave
this delightful solitude, or remain in it; to go out, or go in; to
stay, or depart, just as the Lord shall appoint. Lord, let me have no
will of my own; nor consider my true happiness as depending in the
smallest degree on any thing that can befall my outward man; but as
consisting altogether in conformity to God’s will. May I have Christ
here with me in this world; not substituting imagination in the place
of faith; but seeing outward things as they really are, and thus
obtaining a radical conviction of their vanity.”



CHAPTER VIII.


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.



CHAPTER IX.


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.



CHAPTER X.


He arrived the next morning at Shiraz, the capital of the Persian
empire. His first object was to ascertain from those best skilled
in the language, how well Sabat’s Persian translation would be
understood by the people. Finding that their opinion was against
it, he, in a little more than a week after his arrival, undertook
the task anew, with the assistance of Mirza Seid Ali Khan, who
belonged to the sect called Soofees. Whilst engaged in this work,
he was visited constantly by learned Persians, who argued with
him respecting the Christian religion and Mohammedism. But their
prejudices in favour of their sensual creed were too strong to yield
to mere arguments. Some of them were Jews who had become Mussulmans;
a very frequent change, as every such convert is rewarded with a new
dress, by the prince.—The condition of these wandering descendants
of Abraham, greatly excited his sympathy. On one occasion “while
walking in the garden, in some disorder from vexation, two Mussulman
Jews came up, and asked me what would become of them in another
world? the Mohammedans were right in their way, they supposed, and we
in ours; but what must they expect? After rectifying their mistake as
to the Mohammedans, I mentioned two or three reasons for believing
that we are right: such as their dispersion, and the cessation of
sacrifices, immediately on the appearance of Jesus. ‘True, true,’
they said, with great feeling and seriousness; indeed, they seemed
disposed to yield assent to any thing I said. They confessed they
had become Mohammedans only on compulsion; and that Abdoolghunee
wished to go to Bagdad, thinking he might throw off the mask there
with safety;—but asked, what I thought? I said that the governor
was a Mohammedan. ‘Did I think Syria safer?’ ‘The safest place in
the east,’ I said, ‘was India.’ Feelings of pity for God’s ancient
people, and having the awful importance of eternal things impressed
on my mind, by the seriousness of their inquiries as to what would
become of them, relieved me from the pressure of my comparatively
insignificant distresses. I, a poor Gentile, blest, honoured, and
loved, secured for ever by the everlasting covenant, whilst the
children of the kingdom are still lying in outward darkness! Well
does it become me to be thankful.”

Mr. Martyn did not discourage the love of disputation manifested
by the natives, hoping it might open the way for impressing the
truth, and finding that his assistant had already become interested
in the gospel history. But in consequence of his removing from the
city to the suburbs, that he might enjoy a pleasant garden and a
purer air, he was not so much in the way of interruption, and his
visiters became less numerous. In that retirement, by the side of a
clear stream, and amidst vines and orange trees, he devoted himself
constantly to the completion of his important task.

The curiosity and interest with which the missionary was regarded,
was not confined to a few private individuals of Shiraz. The
Professor of Mohammedan law agreed to hold a public dispute with him,
and we abridge the account of the meeting as given by Mr. Martyn,
that our readers may have an idea of the kind of arguments used in
favour of the imposture of Mohammed, and against the truth of the
gospel.

“He talked for a full hour about the soul: its being distinct
from the body, superior to the brutes, &c.; about God, his unity,
invisibility, and other obvious and acknowledged truths. After this
followed another discourse. At length, after clearing his way for
miles around, he said, ‘that philosophers had proved, that a single
being could produce but a single being; that the first thing God had
created was _Wisdom_,—a being perfectly one with him; after that, the
souls of men, and the seventh heaven; and so on, till he produced
matter, which is merely passive.’ He illustrated the theory, by
comparing all being to a circle: at one extremity of the diameter is
God, at the opposite extremity of the diameter is matter, than which,
nothing in the world is meaner. Rising from thence, the highest stage
of matter is connected with the lowest stage of vegetation; the
highest of the vegetable world, with the lowest of the animal, and so
on, till we approach the point from which all proceeded. ‘But,’ said
he, ‘you will observe, that next to God, something ought to be, which
is equal to God; for since it is equally near, it possesses equal
dignity. What this is, philosophers are not agreed upon. ‘You,’ said
he, ‘say it is Christ: but we, that it is the Spirit of the Prophets.
All this is what the philosophers have proved, independently of any
particular religion.’ There were a hundred things in the Professor’s
harangue, that might have been excepted against, as mere dreams,
supported by no evidence; but I had no inclination to call in
question dogmas, on the truth or falsehood of which, nothing in
religion depended.

“The Professor, at the close of one of his long speeches, said to
me, ‘You see how much there is to be said on these subjects; several
visits will be necessary; we must come to the point by degrees.’
Perceiving how much he dreaded a close discussion, I did not mean
to hurry him, but let him talk on, not expecting we should have any
thing about Mohammedism the first night. But at the instigation of
the Jew, I said, ‘Sir, you see that Abdoolghunee is anxious that
you should say something about Islam.’[9] He was much displeased
at being brought so prematurely to the weak point, but could not
decline accepting so direct a challenge. ‘Well,’ said he to me, ‘I
must ask you a few questions. Why do you believe in Christ?’—He then
enumerated the persons who had spoken of the miracles of Mohammed,
and told a long story about Salmon, the Persian, who had come to
Mohammed. I asked, ‘whether this Salmon had written an account of
the miracles he had seen?’ He confessed that he had not. ‘Nor,’ said
I, ‘have you a single witness to the miracles of Mohammed.’ He then
tried to show, that though they had not, there was still sufficient
evidence. ‘For,’ said he, ‘suppose five hundred persons should say
that they heard some particular thing of a hundred persons who were
with Mohammed,—would that be sufficient evidence, or not?’ ‘Whether
it be or not,’ said I, ‘you have no such evidence as that, nor any
thing like it; but if you have, as they are something like witnesses,
we must proceed to examine them, and see whether their testimony
deserves credit.’

“After this, the Koran was mentioned; but as the company began to
thin, and the great man had not a sufficient audience before whom
to display his eloquence, the dispute was not so brisk. He did not,
indeed, seem to think it worth while to notice my objections. He
mentioned a well known sentence in the Koran, as being inimitable.
I produced another sentence, and begged to know why it was inferior
to the Koranic one. He declined saying why, under pretext that it
required such a knowledge of rhetoric, in order to understand his
proofs, as I probably did not possess. A scholar afterwards came to
Seid Ali, with twenty reasons for preferring Mohammed’s sentence to
mine.”

“It was midnight when dinner, or rather supper, was brought in: it
was a sullen meal. The great man was silent, and I was sleepy. Seid
Ali, however, had not had enough. While burying his hand in the dish
of the professor, he softly mentioned some more of my objections. He
was so vexed, that he scarcely answered any thing; but after supper,
told a very long story, all reflecting upon me.”

His account of a subsequent appearance before a celebrated Soofie,
will further exemplify the character of the learned men of India, who
persist in rejecting the truth.

“In the evening we went to pay a long-promised visit to Mirza
Abulcasim, one of the most renowned Soofies in all Persia. We found
several persons sitting in an open court, in which a few greens
and flowers were placed; the master was in a corner. He was a
very fresh-looking old man, with a silver beard. I was surprised
to observe the downcast and sorrowful looks of the assembly, and
still more at the silence which reigned. After sitting some time
in expectation, and being not at all disposed to waste my time in
sitting there, I said softly to Seid Ali, ‘What is this?’ He said,
‘It is the custom here, to think much, and speak little.’ ‘May I ask
the master a question?’ said I. With some hesitation he consented to
let me: so I begged Jaffier Ali to inquire, ‘Which is the way to be
happy?’

“This he did in his own manner: he began by observing, that ‘there
was a great deal of misery in the world, and that the learned shared
as largely in it as the rest; that I wished, therefore, to know what
we must do to escape it.’ The master replied, that ‘for his part, he
did not know, but that it was usually said that the subjugation of
the passions was the shortest way to happiness.’

“After a considerable pause, I ventured to ask, ‘what were his
feelings in the prospect of death; hope, or fear; or neither?’
‘Neither,’ said he; and that ‘pleasure and pain were both alike.’ I
asked, ‘whether he had attained this apathy?’ He said, ‘No.’ ‘Why
do you think it attainable?’ He could not tell. ‘Why do you think
that pleasure and pain are not the same?’ said Seid Ali, taking his
master’s part. ‘Because,’ said I, ‘I have the evidence of my senses
for it. And you also act as if there was a difference. Why do you
eat, but that you fear pain?’ These silent sages sat unmoved.”

A defence of the religion of the Koran was also published in
Arabic, by the principal theological professor, or instructer of
Mohammedan priests, upon which much labour had been spent, and
which was pronounced to be the best work on the subject that had
ever appeared. The work concluded with an appeal to Mr. Martyn,
to consider the subject, and confess the truth of Mohammedism. He
immediately wrote a reply to it in Persian, exposing the heresy and
evil of the false faith, and showing the evidences of the Christian
religion; appealing, in turn, to the Mussulman author to view the
subject impartially, and to embrace the truth without fear of the
contempt, or even death it might cost him. The learned men of the
sect were very fond of arguing with Mr. Martyn on the subject;
but as their desire was not humbly to seek the way of God, but to
indulge their love of debate, and to display their skill in it,
there was little good effected by their conversations. The nephew
of the prince said, in the true spirit of Mohammed, that the proper
answer to the missionary was the sword; but the prince himself
acknowledged that his faith in the false prophet was shaken, and
greatly praised the reply of Mr. Martyn, who, when he was asked by
the prince, what were the laws of Christianity, (meaning how often
it required its believers to pray, wash, &c.,) said, that it had
two commandments—“Thou shalt love the Lord thy God, with all thy
heart, and all thy soul, and all thy strength; and thy neighbour, as
thyself.” In these debates he had to endure great contempt from his
opponents, which is one of the severest trials a man of honourable
feeling, and a minister of the gospel, can be called to suffer. It
must have been a great aggravation of the sorrows of our Redeemer,
after he had come from Heaven, out of pure mercy to men, to find
himself disbelieved, and his affectionate entreaties, and the proofs
of his doctrine, treated with ridicule and scorn, by the very persons
he had come to seek and to save.

It was the recollection of what Christ had suffered in this respect,
that supported Mr. Martyn amidst the scoffs of the proud Mohammedans;
and he often repeated the verse,

    “If on my face, for thy dear name,
      Shame and reproaches be;
    All hail reproach, and welcome shame,
      If thou remember me.”

Although these men pass for sages amongst their own people, they
were very ignorant, in comparison with well-educated Europeans. One
of the sectaries, for instance, maintained against Mr. Martyn, that
there was no difference between pleasure and pain; and he was once
called upon in a large company, assembled at the house of the prime
minister of the territory, to prove that the earth moves: but no
one understood his explanations. Sometimes he would be questioned
on great principles which naturally led him to speak of the gospel;
but as soon as he mentioned any of its doctrines, they would divert
the conversation to some of the ridiculous ideas, upon which they
were accustomed to waste their thoughts. For instance, one of the
men who accompanied him as a guard to visit the ruins of Persepolis,
a celebrated ancient city, not far from Shiraz, “often broke a long
silence,” he says, “by a sudden question of this sort: ‘Sir, what
is the chief good of life?’ I replied, ‘The love of God:’ ‘What
next?’ ‘The love of man.’ ‘That is,’ said he, ‘to have men love
us, or to love them?’ ‘To love them.’ He did not seem to agree
with me. Another time he asked, ‘Who were the worst people in the
world?’ I said ‘Those who know their duty, and do not practise it.’
At the house where I was entertained, they asked me the question
which the Lord once asked, ‘What think ye of Christ?’ I generally
tell them at first, what they expect to hear, ‘The Son of God;’ but
this time I said, ‘The same as you say,—the word of God.’ ‘Was he a
Prophet?’ ‘Yes, in some sense, he was a Prophet; but, what it chiefly
concerns us to know, he was an Atonement for the sins of men.’ Not
understanding this, they made no reply. They next asked, ‘What did I
think of the soul?’ was it out of the body or in the body? I supposed
the latter. ‘No,’ they said, ‘it was neither the one nor the other;
but next to it, and the mover of the body.’”

We have some other specimens of these discussions.

“Aga Ali, of Media, came, and with him and Mirza Ali, I had a long
and warm discussion about the essentials of Christianity. The Mede
seeing us at work upon the epistles, said, ‘he should be glad to read
them; as for the gospels, they were nothing but tales, which were
of no use to him, for instance,’ said he, ‘if Christ raised four
hundred dead to life, what is that to me?’ I said, ‘It certainly
was of importance; for his works were a reason for our depending
upon his words.’ ‘What did he say,’ asked he, ‘that was not known
before: the love of God, humility,—who does not know these things?’
‘Were these things,’ said I, ‘known before Christ, either among
Greeks or Romans, with all their philosophy?’ They averred that the
Hindoo book Juh contained precepts of this kind. I questioned its
antiquity; ‘but however that may be,’ I added, ‘Christ came not to
_teach_, so much as to _die_; the truths I spoke of, as confirmed
by his miracles, were those relating to his person, such as, ‘Come
unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you
rest.’ Here Mirza Seid Ali told him that I had professed to have
no doubt of my salvation. He asked what I meant? I told him, ‘that
though sin still remained, I was assured that it should not regain
dominion; and that I should never come into condemnation, but was
accepted in the Beloved.’ Not a little surprised, he asked Mirza Seid
Ali whether he comprehended this? ‘No,’ said he, ‘nor Mirza Ibraheem,
to whom I mentioned it.’ The Mede again turning to me, asked, ‘how
do you know this? how do you know you have experienced the second
birth?’ ‘Because,’ said I, ‘we have the Spirit of the Father; what
he wishes, we wish; what he hates, we hate.’ Here he began to be
a little more calm and less contentious, and mildly asked, how I
had obtained this peace of mind; ‘Was it merely those books?’ said
he, taking up some of our sheets. I told him ‘These books, with
prayer.’ ‘What was the beginning of it,’ said he, ‘the society of
some friends?’ I related to him my religious history, the substance
of which was, that I took my bible before God, in prayer, and prayed
for forgiveness through Christ, assurance of it through his Spirit,
and grace to obey his commandments. They then both asked whether the
same benefit would be conferred on them? I replied; ‘I bring you
this message from God, that he who, despairing of himself, rests
for righteousness on the Son of God, shall receive the gift of the
Holy Ghost; and to this I can add my testimony, if that be worth any
thing, that I have found the promise fulfilled in myself; but if you
should not find it so in you, accuse not the gospel of falsehood; it
is possible that your faith might not be sincere; indeed, so fully am
I persuaded that you do not believe on the Son of God, that if you
were to entreat ever so earnestly for baptism, I should not dare to
administer it at this time, when you have shown so many signs of an
unhumbled heart.’ ‘What! would you have me believe,’ said he, ‘as
a child?’ ‘Yes,’ said I. ‘True,’ said he, ‘I think that is the only
way.’ Aga Ali said no more but ‘Certainly he is a good man!’”

“Aga Neeser came, and talked most captiously and irrelevantly against
all revealed religion. Three years ago, he had thrown off the
shackles of Mohammed, and advised me to do the same with my yoke. I
told him, that I preferred my yoke to his freedom. He was for sending
me naked into a wilderness; but I would rather be a child under the
restraints of a parent, who would provide me with food and clothing,
and be my protector and guide. To every thing I said, he had but
one answer. ‘God is the sole agent; sin and holiness, happiness
and misery, cause and effect, are all perfectly one.’ Finding him
determined to amuse himself in this way, I said, ‘These things will
do very well for the present, while reclining in gardens and smoking
pipes; but not for a dying hour. How many years of life remain?
You are about thirty, perhaps thirty more remain. How swiftly have
the last thirty passed: how soon will the next thirty be gone: and
then we shall see. If you are right, I lose nothing; if I am right,
you lose your soul. Leaving out the consideration of all religion,
it is probable that the next world may be akin to this, and our
relation to both not dissimilar. But here we see that childhood is a
preparation for manhood, and that neglect of the proper employments
of childhood entails miseries in riper years.’ The thought of death,
and of separation from his pleasures, made him serious; or perhaps he
thought it useless to press me with any more of his opinions.”

Such was the state of the minds of the people whom he hoped to bring
to a reception of the gospel, to renounce Mohammed, and “confess that
Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father!” We may learn
more of the nature of their religion, by his account of the manner
in which their principal fast is observed. It is called the fast of
Ramazan, and is directed by the Koran to be kept during the month
called by that name.

“_Sept. 20th._—First day of the fast of Ramazan. All the family had
been up in the night, to take an unseasonable meal, in order to
fortify themselves for the abstinence of the day. It was curious to
observe the effects of the fast in the house. The master was scolding
and beating his servants; they equally peevish and insolent; and the
beggars more than ordinarily importunate and clamorous. At noon, all
the city went to the grand mosque.[10] My host came back with an
account of new vexations there. He was chatting with a friend, near
the door, when a great preacher, Hagi Mirza, arrived, with hundreds
of followers. ‘Why do you not say your prayers?’ said the new comers
to the two friends. ‘We have finished,’ said they. ‘Well,’ said the
other, ‘if you cannot pray a second time with us, you had better
move out of the way.’ Rather than join such turbulent zealots, they
retired. The reason of this unceremonious address was, that these
loving disciples had a desire to pray all in a row with their master,
which, it seems, is the custom. There is no public service in the
mosque; every man there prays for himself.”

“_Sept. 22d._—Sunday. My friends returned from the mosque, full of
indignation at what they had witnessed there. The former governor of
Bushire complained to the vizier, in the mosque, that some of his
servants had treated him brutally. The vizier, instead of attending
to his complaint, ordered them to do their work a second time; which
they did, kicking and beating him with their slippers, in the most
ignominious way, before all the mosque. This unhappy people groan
under the tyranny of their governors; yet nothing subdues or tames
them. Happy Europe! how has God favoured the sons of Japheth, by
causing them to embrace the gospel! How dignified are all the nations
of Europe compared with this nation! Yet the people are clever and
intelligent, and more calculated to become great and powerful than
any of the nations of the east, had they a good government, and the
Christian religion.”

“_Oct. 1st._—Thousands every day assemble at the mosque; it is
quite a lounge with them. Each, as soon as he has said his prayers,
sits down and talks to his friend. The multitude press to hear Hagi
Mohammed Hasan. One day they thronged him so much that he made some
error in his prostrations. This put him into such a passion, that he
wished that Omar’s[11] curse might come upon him, if he preached to
them again. However, a day or two after, he thought better of it.
This preacher is famous for letting out his money for interest; and
therefore, in spite of his eloquence, he is not very popular.”

“_Oct. 7th._—I was surprised by a visit from the great Soofie doctor,
who, while most of the people were asleep, came to me for some wine.
I plied him with questions innumerable; but he returned nothing but
incoherent answers, and sometimes no answer at all. Having laid
aside his turban, he put on his night-cap, and soon fell asleep upon
the carpet. Whilst he lay there, his disciples came, but would not
believe, when I told them who was there, till they came and saw the
sage asleep. When he awoke, they came in and seated themselves at
the greatest possible distance, and were all as still as if in a
church.

“The real state of this man seems to be despair, and it is well if
it do not end in madness. I preached to him the kingdom of God:
mentioning particularly how I had found peace from the Son of God
and the Spirit of God: through the first, forgiveness; through the
second, sanctification. He said it was good, but said it with the
same unconcern with which he admits all manner of things, however
contradictory. Poor soul! he is sadly bewildered.

“At a garden called Shah Chiragh, in which is the tomb of the brother
of one of the Imans, who was killed on the spot, a miracle is wrought
every Ramazan. The proprietor of the garden, in whose family it has
been for ages, finds its supposed sanctity abundantly profitable, as
he is said to make $9,000 a year of it. To keep alive the zeal of
the people, who make their offerings there every day, he procures a
villager, who pretends to be sick, and crying to Ali[12] for help;
and then, on the appointed day, recovers. Though this farce is played
off every year, the simpletons are never undeceived. Presents of
sheep, fowls, sweetmeats, money, flowed in upon the proprietor, who
skilfully turned all to the best advantage. Those who wished to see
the man’s face, were to pay so much, those who were anxious to touch
him, were to pay so much more; and so on.

“On two days in the Ramazan, tragedies were acted at our house,
in the women’s court. Two or three men, dressed in the Khan’s
court-robes, spouted and sung for an hour, before an immense
concourse of women, all veiled. The subject on the first day was the
death of Mohammed; on the second, that of Iman Hosyn.”

“_Oct. 18th._—“The Ramazan ended, or ought to have ended, but
the moon disappointed them. The Moollahs not having seen the new
moon, would not allow the fast to be over, and the people were, in
consequence, all in confusion; for not having eaten in the night,
they were not at all disposed to go through the day fasting. At last
some witnesses appeared, who vowed that they had seen the silver bow.
These were from the prince; but the Moollahs refused to admit them
till seventy-two of the same kind bore the same testimony. This was
no great number for a prince to produce; so the seventy-two appeared,
and the feast was proclaimed.”


FOOTNOTES:

[9] Another name for Mohammedism, signifying _the state of salvation_.

[10] The place of Mohammedan worship.

[11] Omar was the second of the Caliphs, or successors of Mohammed.

[12] A cousin of Mohammed, and head of a religious sect.



CHAPTER XI.


The Persian version of the New Testament being now nearly finished,
Mr. Martyn, with his native assistant, commenced the translation of
the Psalms of David into Persian, from the Hebrew. From his diary in
the beginning of 1812, it appears that he was not satisfied with his
Persian New Testament.

“The last has been, in some respects, a memorable year. I have been
led, by what I have reason to consider as the particular providence
of God, to this place, and have undertaken an important work,
which has gone on without material interruption, and is now nearly
finished. I like to find myself employed usefully, in a way I did
not expect or foresee, especially if my own will is in any degree
crossed by the work unexpectedly assigned me; as there is then reason
to believe that God is acting. The present year will probably be a
perilous one; but my life is of little consequence, whether I live to
finish the Persian New Testament, or do not. I look back with pity
and shame upon my former self, and on the importance I then attached
to my life and labours. The more I see of my own works, the more I
am ashamed of them. Coarseness and clumsiness mar all the works of
man. I am sick when I look at man, and his wisdom, and his doings;
and am relieved only by reflecting, that we have a city whose builder
and maker is God. The least of _His_ works it is refreshing to look
at. A dried leaf, or a straw, makes me feel myself in good company:
complacency and admiration take place of disgust.

“I compared, with pain, our Persian translation with the original;
to say nothing of the precision and elegance of the sacred text, its
perspicuity is that which sets at defiance all attempts to equal it.”

But the more he read and studied the sacred scriptures, the stronger
attachment he felt towards them, and so far from becoming tired of
them, from having them so constantly in his hands, he used to turn to
them for comfort in all his sorrows.

“_Feb. 2d._—From what I suffer in this city, I can understand the
feelings of Lot. The face of the poor Russian appears to me like
the face of an angel, because he does not tell lies. Heaven will be
heaven, because there will not be one liar there. The word of God
is more precious to me at this time than I ever remember it to have
been; and of all the promises in it, none is more sweet to me than
this—‘He shall reign till he hath put all enemies under his feet.’”

“_Feb. 3d._—A packet arrived from India, without a single letter for
me. It was some disappointment to me; but let me be satisfied with my
God; and if I cannot have the comfort of hearing from my friends, let
me return with thankfulness to his word, which is a treasure of which
none envy me the possession, and where I can find what will more than
compensate for the loss of earthly enjoyments. Resignation to the
will of God is a lesson which I must learn, and which I trust he is
teaching me.”

In the earlier part of his life he felt a great increase of spiritual
feeling and enjoyment, in consequence of having for a time scarcely
any other book to read than the Bible.

Mr. Martyn was sometimes encouraged to believe that the constant
perusal of the scriptures had made a serious impression on the
mind of Mirza Seid Ali, his assistant in translation. He was
evidently interested in his employment, and even went so far as to
acknowledge his belief in Christ, as the Son of God, and to express
his willingness to trust in him for salvation, and make a public
profession of his faith. But his conduct at other times manifested,
that he had only a belief in these truths as facts, and that he
did not really submit himself to God by faith and repentance. His
candour was evinced in a confession which he made, on a point in
which the natural disposition of his countrymen inclines them to be
very perverse. He had been boasting of the humility and simplicity
of his sect, the Soofies; upon which Mr. Martyn remarked, that if
he was really humble, he would not dispute so boldly as he did, but
would be like a child. Upon hearing this he did not speak, except
to acknowledge, “True, I have no humility;” and afterwards, in a
tone of distress, said, “The truth is, we are in a state of compound
ignorance; ignorant, yet ignorant of our ignorance.” When their
translation was finished, Mr. Martyn remarked, “Mirza Seid Ali never
now argues against the truth, nor makes any remarks but of a serious
kind. He speaks of his dislike to some of the Soofies, on account
of their falsehood and drunken habits. This approach to the love of
morality, is the best sign of a change for the better, which I have
yet seen in him. As often as he produces the New Testament, which
he always does when any of his friends come, his brother and cousin
ridicule him; but he tells them that, supposing no other benefit to
have been derived, it is certainly something better to have gained
all this information about the religion of Christians, than to have
loitered away the year in the garden.”

[Illustration: _Eng^d. by J. H. Nesmith_

HENRY MARTYN

  _Published by the American Sunday School Union.
  Depository N^o. 146 Chesnut Street Philad^a._
]

The Persian New Testament was completed in February, 1812, and the
Psalms in March; and on the 24th May, Mr. Martyn left Shiraz, in
company with an English clergyman, for the purpose of presenting a
written copy of the Testament to the king of Persia, who was encamped
between Shiraz and Tebriz. Before he left Shiraz, he maintained the
doctrine that Christ was God and the Creator, before a large company
of Moollahs, in the palace of one of the princes.

On arriving at the camp about the 9th of June, he waited on the prime
minister, to learn how he should be able to lay the book before the
king. The minister detained him two hours in a debate respecting the
Christian religion, mixed, as usual, with ridiculous opinions on all
subjects. At the house of the vizier, some days afterwards, he was
attacked on the same subject, before a large company. Towards the
close of the discussion the vizier told him, “You had better say,
God is God, and Mohammed is the prophet of God;” Mr. Martyn at once
replied, “God is God, and Jesus is the Son of God,” which excited
their anger, and they left him with great contempt. “Thus,” said he,
“I walked away alone to my tent, to pass the rest of the day, in
heat and dirt. What have I done, thought I, to merit all this scorn?
Nothing, I trust, but bearing testimony to Jesus. I thought over
these things in prayer, and my troubled heart found that peace which
Christ hath promised to his disciples.”

The vizier having sent him word that no Englishman could be permitted
to see the king, unless presented by the English ambassador, or
having a letter of introduction from him, Mr. Martyn proceeded
towards Tebriz, his residence, in company with the English clergyman,
and some natives for servants and guides. Tebriz or Tauris, is in
the northern part of Persia, seven hundred miles from Shiraz, and
at least twenty-five hundred from Calcutta. “As I sat down in the
dust, on a shady side of a walled village, by which we passed, and
surveyed the plains over which our road lay, I sighed at the thought
of my dear friends in India and England; of the vast regions I
must traverse before I can get to either, and of the various and
unexpected hindrances, which present themselves to my going forward;
I comfort myself with the hope that my God has something for me to
do, by thus delaying my departure.” They met with much insulting
treatment on the road, especially from the various officers and
servants of the king, who had possession of the best accommodations,
and seemed to delight in an opportunity of ill-treating Europeans.
On the 25th of June, they were both seized with fever, and unable to
proceed. They were afraid they would be unable to procure food and
lodging, as their money failed, and no one would lend to them, until
a poor mule-driver became security for them. His journal is little
else than a detail of sufferings. He appears to have joined a caravan
of travellers going the same route.

“We had now eaten nothing for two days. My mind was much disordered
from head-ache and giddiness, from which I was seldom free; but my
heart, I trust, was with Christ and his saints. To live much longer
in this world of sickness and pain seemed no way desirable; the
most favourite prospects of my heart seemed very poor and childish;
and cheerfully would I have exchanged them all for the unfading
inheritance.”

“_June 27th._—My Armenian servant was attacked in the same way. The
rest did not get me the things that I wanted, so that I passed the
third day in the same exhausted state; my head, too, was tortured
with shocking pains, such as, together with the horror I felt at
being exposed to the sun, showed me plainly to what to ascribe my
sickness. Towards evening, two more of our servants were attacked in
the same way, and lay groaning from pains in the head.”

“_June 28th._—All were much recovered, but in the afternoon I again
relapsed. During a high fever, Mr. C—— read to me, in bed, the
epistle to the Ephesians, and I never felt the consolations of that
divine revelation of mysteries more sensibly and solemnly. Rain in
the night prevented our setting off.”

“_June 29th._—My ague and fever returned, with such a head-ache,
that I was almost frantic. Again and again I said to myself, ‘Let
patience have her perfect work;’ and kept pleading the promises,
‘When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee,’ &c.; and
the Lord did not withhold his presence. I endeavoured to repel all
the disordered thoughts that the fever occasioned, and to keep in
mind that all was friendly; a friendly Lord presiding; and nothing
exercising me but what would show itself at last friendly. A violent
perspiration at last relieved the acute pain in my head, and my heart
rejoiced; but as soon as that was over, the exhaustion it occasioned,
added to the fatigue from the pain, left me in as low a state of
depression as ever I was in. I seemed about to sink into a long
fainting fit, and I almost wished it; but at this moment, a little
after midnight, I was summoned to mount my horse, and set out, rather
dead than alive. We had a thunder-storm with hail.”

“_July 1st._—A long and tiresome march to Sarehund: in twenty-eight
miles there was no village. They had nothing to sell but buttermilk
and bread; but a servant of Abbas Mirza, happening to be at the same
caravansera, sent us some flesh of a mountain cow, which he had shot
the day before. All day I had scarcely the right recollection of
myself, from the violence of the ague.”

“_July 2d._—At two in the morning we set out. I hardly know when I
have been so disordered. I had little or no recollection of things,
and what I did remember, at times, of happy scenes in India or
England, served only to embitter my present situation. Soon after
removing into the air, I was seized with a violent ague, and in this
state I went on till sun-rise. At fourteen miles, we found a fine
caravansera, apparently very little used, as the grass was growing in
the court. There was nothing all round but the barren rocks, which
generally roughen the country before the mountain rears its height.
Such an edifice, in such a situation, was cheering. Soon after, we
came to a river, over which was a high bridge; I sat down in the
shade under it, with two camel-drivers. The caravan, as it happened,
forded the river, and passed on, without my perceiving it. Mr. C——,
seeing no signs of me, returned, and after looking about for some
time, espied my horse grazing; he concluded immediately that the
horse had flung me from the bridge into the river, and was almost
ready to give me up for lost. My speedy appearance from under the
bridge relieved his terror and anxiety. The pass was a mere nothing
to those at Bushire; in fact it was no part of the mountain we
climbed, but only a few hills. In a natural opening in the mountains,
on the other side, was a river, with most of its bed dry; and over
it a bridge of many arches, which led us to an unwalled village,
surrounded by corn-fields, which we reached at ten o’clock. Half the
people still continue ill; for myself, I am, through God’s infinite
mercy, recovering.”

“_July 3d._—Started at three, full three hours after we ought, and,
as was to be expected, we all got ill again, from being exposed to
the sun six hours; for we did not get to our ground, Turcoman, till
eleven o’clock. It was a poor village among the hills, over which our
whole way lay, from Mianu. Ascending one, and descending another, was
the whole of the variety, so that I do not know when we have had a
more tiresome day.”

“_July 4th._—I so far prevailed as to get the caravan into motion
at midnight. Lost our way in the night, but arriving at a village
were set right again. At eight came to Kilk caravansera, but not
stopping there, went on to a village, where we arrived at half-past
nine. The baggage not coming up till long after, we got no breakfast
till one o’clock. In consequence of all these things, want of sleep,
want of refreshment, and exposure to the sun, I was presently in
a high fever; which raged so furiously all the day, that I was
nearly delirious, and it was some time before I could get the right
recollection of myself. I almost despaired, and do now, of getting
alive through this unfortunate journey. Last night I felt remarkably
well, calm, and composed, and sat reflecting on my heavenly rest,
with more sweetness of soul, abstraction from the world, and solemn
views of God, than I have had for a long time. Oh! for such sacred
hours! This short and painful life would scarcely be felt, could
I live thus at heaven’s gate. It being impossible to continue my
journey in my present state, and one of the servants also being so
ill that he could not move with safety, we determined to halt one
day at the village, and sent on a messenger to Sir Gore Ousely, the
ambassador, who was at Tebriz, informing him of our approach.”

“_July 5th._—Slept all day, and at sun-rise prepared to proceed all
the way to Tebriz, or at least to Seid Abad; but we did not set out
till one in the morning. I was again dreadfully disordered with
head-ache and fever. We got into a wretched hovel, where the raging
fever almost deprived me of reason. In the cool of the evening we set
out to go to Seid Abad, distant about twelve miles. When the caravan
arrived near Seid Abad, it was a dark night, about eleven o’clock,
and not one of the party knew where it was, nor could we discover it
by the barking of the dogs, the usual sign. Once we heard the bark,
and made sure of having attained our object; but found only some
shepherds keeping watch over their flocks by night. These boors
showed us which road to take, which we soon found ended in nothing;
so returning, we tried to induce one of them to serve as a guide,
with the promise of any sum of money he required: but all in vain.
The only thing that remained to be done was to lie down on the spot,
and wait patiently for the day: which I did, and caught such a cold,
as, with all our other exposures, consummated my disorders. As soon
as it was day, we found our way to the village, where Dr. —— was
waiting for us. Not being able to stay for us, he went on to Tebriz,
and we as far as Wasmuch, where he promised to procure for us a fine
upper room furnished; but when we arrived, they denied that there
was any such place; at last, after an hour’s threatening, we got
admittance to it. An hour before break of day I left it, in hopes of
reaching Tebriz before sun-rise. Some of the people seemed to feel
compassion for me, and asked me if I was not very ill. At last I
reached the gate, and feebly asked for a man to show me the way to
the ambassador’s.”

At Tebriz he was confined two months by a fever, from which he did
not expect to recover. He wrote to a friend—“We who are in Jesus,
have the privilege of viewing life and death as nearly the same,
since both are ours; and I thank a gracious Lord that sickness never
came at a time when I was more free from apparent reasons for living.
Nothing, seemingly, remains for me to do, but to follow the rest of
my family to the tomb.”

The New Testament, which he was thus prevented from giving, in
person, to the Persian monarch, was, after Mr. Martyn’s death,
presented by the ambassador; and the king acknowledged the gift in
the following letter:

“In the name of the Almighty God, whose glory is most excellent.

“It is our august command, that the dignified and excellent, our
trusty, faithful, and loyal well-wisher, Sir Gore Ousely, Baronet,
his Britannic Majesty’s Ambassador Extraordinary, (after being
honoured and exalted with the expressions of our highest regard and
consideration,) should know, that the copy of the Gospel, which was
translated into Persian by the learned exertions of the late Rev.
Henry Martyn, and which has been presented to us by your Excellency,
on the part of the high, dignified, learned, and enlightened Society
of Christians,[13] united for the purpose of spreading abroad the
Holy Books of the Religion of Jesus, (upon whom, and upon all
Prophets, be peace and blessings!) has reached us, and has proved
highly acceptable to our august mind.

“In truth, through the learned and unremitting exertions of the
Rev. Henry Martyn, it has been translated in a style most befitting
sacred books; that is, in an easy and simple diction. Formerly,
the four evangelists, Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, were known in
Persia; but now the whole of the New Testament is completed in a
most excellent manner: and this circumstance has been an additional
source of pleasure to our enlightened and august mind. Even the four
Evangelists, which were known in this country, had never been before
explained in so clear and luminous a manner. We therefore have been
particularly delighted with this copious and complete translation.
Please the most merciful God, we shall command the select servants,
who are admitted to our presence, to read to us the above mentioned
book, from the beginning to the end, that we may, in the most minute
manner, hear and comprehend its contents.

“Your excellency will be pleased to rejoice the hearts of the
above mentioned dignified, learned, and enlightened Society, with
assurances of our highest regard and approbation; and to inform those
excellent individuals, who are so virtuously engaged in disseminating
and making known the true meaning and intent of the holy gospel, and
other points in sacred books, that they are deservedly honoured with
our royal favour. Your excellency must consider yourself as bound to
fulfil this royal request.”

The ambassador afterwards took the translation to St. Petersburg, in
Russia, where it was printed.


FOOTNOTES:

[13] The British and Foreign Bible Society.



CHAPTER XII.


His principal design in visiting Persia being thus accomplished, and
the journey not having contributed to his health, Mr. Martyn, as soon
as he had recovered from the attack of fever, determined to return to
England. Shortly before leaving Tebriz, he wrote thus in a letter:

“It has pleased God to restore me to life and health again: not
that I have yet recovered my former strength, but I consider myself
sufficiently restored to prosecute my journey. My daily prayer is,
that my late chastisement may have its intended effect, and make
me, all the rest of my days, more humble and less self-confident.
Self-confidence has often let me down fearful lengths; and would,
without God’s gracious interference, prove my endless perdition. I
seem to be made to feel this evil of my heart, more than any other,
at this time. In prayer, or when I write or converse on the subject,
Christ appears to me my life and strength; but at other times, I am
thoughtless and bold, as if I had all life and strength in myself.
Such neglects on our part are a diminution of our joys.—I mentioned
my conversing sometimes on divine subjects. In these I am sometimes
led on by the Soofie Persians, and tell them all I know of the
very recesses of the sanctuary. But to give an account of all my
discussions with these mystic philosophers, must be reserved to the
time of our meeting.—Do I dream! that I venture to think and write of
such an event as that? Is it possible that we shall ever meet again
below? Though it is possible, I dare not indulge such a pleasing hope.

“In three days I intend setting my horse’s head towards
Constantinople, distant about one thousand three hundred miles.
Nothing, I think, will occasion any further detention here, if I
can procure servants who know both Persian and Turkish. Ignorant as
I am of Turkish, should I be taken ill on the road, my case would
be pitiable indeed. The ambassador and his suite are still here;
his and Lady Ousely’s attentions to me during my illness have been
unremitted. The prince Abbas Mirza, the wisest of the king’s sons,
and heir to the throne, was here some time after my arrival. I much
wished to present a copy of the Persian New Testament to him, but
I could not rise from my bed. The book, however, will be given him
by the ambassador. Public curiosity about the gospel, now, for the
first time in the memory of the modern Persians, introduced into the
country, is a good deal excited here and at Shiraz, and in other
places; so that, upon the whole, I am thankful for having been led
hither, and detained; though my residence in this country has been
attended with many unpleasant circumstances. The way of the kings
of the east is _preparing_: thus much may be said with safety, but
little more. The Persians will also probably take the lead in the
march to Sion.”

On the second of September he left Tebriz, on horseback, with two
Armenian servants, one of whom spoke Turkish, and a little Persian.
His diary will best exhibit the hardships of the journey, and the
pious feelings with which he endured them.

“_Sept. 4th._—At sun-rise mounted my horse, and proceeded north-west,
through a pass in the mountains, towards Murun. By the way, I sat
down by the brook, and there ate my bread and raisins, and drank
of the crystal stream; but either the coldness of this unusual
breakfast, or the riding after it, did not at all agree with me. The
heat oppressed me much, and the road seemed intolerably tedious;
at last we got out from among the mountains, and saw the village of
Murun, in a fine valley on the right. It was about eleven o’clock
when we reached it. As the Mihmander could not immediately find a
place to put me in, we had a complete view of this village. They
stared at my European dress, but no disrespect was shown. I was
deposited, at last, with —— Khan, who was seated in a place with
three walls. Not at all disposed to pass the day in company, as
well as exposed, I asked for another room; on which I was shown to
the stable, where there was a little place partitioned off, but so
as to admit a view of the horses. The smell of the stable, though
not in general disagreeable to me, was so strong, that I was quite
unwell, and strangely dispirited and melancholy. Immediately after
dinner I fell fast asleep, and slept four hours; after which I rose
and ordered them to prepare for the next journey. The horses being
changed here, it was some time before they were brought, but by
exerting myself, we moved off by midnight. It was a most mild and
delightful night, and the pure air, after the smell of the stable,
was quite reviving. For once, also, I travelled all the way without
being sleepy; and beguiled the hours of the night by thinking of the
14th Psalm, especially the connection of the last three verses with
the preceding.

“_Sept. 5th._—In five hours we were just on the hills which face the
pass out of the valley of Murun, and in four hours and a half more,
emerged from between the two ridges of mountains, into the valley of
Gurjur. This long march was far from being a fatiguing one. The air,
the road, and my spirits were good. Here I was well accommodated,
but had to mourn over my impatient temper towards my servants; there
is nothing that disturbs my peace so much. How much more noble and
godlike to bear with calmness, and observe with pity, rather than
anger, the failings and offences of others. O that I may, through
grace, be enabled to recollect myself in the time of temptation! O
that the Spirit of God may check my folly, and, at such times, bring
the lowly Saviour to my view.

“_Sept. 6th._—Soon after twelve we started with fresh horses, and
came to the Arar, or Araxes, distant eight miles, and about as broad
as the Isis, with a current as strong as that of the Ganges. The
ferry-boat being on the other side, I lay down to sleep till it came,
but observing my servants do the same, I was obliged to get up and
exert myself. It dawned, however, before we got over. The boat was a
huge fabric. The ferryman had only a stick to push with: an oar, I
dare say, he had never seen or heard of, and many of my train had
probably never floated before; so alien is a Persian from every thing
that belongs to shipping. We landed safely on the other side in about
two minutes. We were four hours in reaching Nackshan, and for half
an hour more I was led from street to street, till at last I was
lodged in a wash-house belonging to a great man, a corner of which
was cleaned out for me. It was near noon, and my baggage had not
arrived; so that I was obliged to go without my breakfast; which was
hard after a ride for four hours in the sun. The baggage was delayed
so long, that I began to fear; at last, however, it arrived. All
the afternoon I slept, and at sun-set arose, and continued wakeful
till midnight, when I roused my people, and with fresh horses set
out again. We travelled till sun-rise. I scarcely perceived that we
had been moving, a Hebrew word, in the 16th Psalm, having led me
gradually into speculations on the eighth conjugation of the Arabic
verb. I am glad my philological curiosity is revived, as my mind will
be less liable to idleness.

“_Sept. 7th._—Arrived at Khoock, a poor village distant twenty-two
miles from Nackshan, nearly west. I should have mentioned, that on
descending into the plain of Nackshan, my attention was arrested by
the appearance of a hoary mountain, opposite to us at the other end,
rising so high above the rest, that they sunk into insignificance.
It was truly sublime, and the interest it excited was not lessened,
when, on inquiring its name, I was told it was Agri, or Ararat.
Thus I saw two remarkable objects in one day, the Araxes, and
Ararat. At four in the afternoon we set out for Shurror. The evening
was pleasant; the ground over which we passed was full of rich
cultivation and verdure, watered by many a stream, and containing
forty villages, most of them with the usual appendage of gardens. To
add to the scene, the great Ararat was on our left. On the peak of
that hill the whole church was once contained; it has now spread far
and wide, even to the ends of the earth; but the ancient vicinity of
it knows it no more. I fancied many a spot where Noah perhaps offered
his sacrifices; and the promise of God, ‘that seed-time and harvest
should not cease,’ appeared to me to be more exactly fulfilled in
the agreeable plain in which it was spoken, than elsewhere; as I had
not seen such fertility in any part of the Shah’s dominions. Here
the blessed saint landed in a new world; so may I, safe in Christ,
outride the storm of life, and land at last on one of the everlasting
hills!

“Night coming on, we lost our way, and got intercepted by some deep
ravines, into one of which the horse that carried my trunks sunk so
deep, that the water got into one of them, wetted the linen, and
spoiled some books. We went to another village, where after a long
delay, two aged men with silver beards opened their house to us.
Though it was near midnight, I had a fire lighted to dry my books,
took some coffee, and sunk into deep sleep; from which awaking at the
earliest dawn of

“_Sept. 8th._—I roused the people, and had a delightful ride to
Shurror. Here I was accommodated by the great man with a stable, or
winter room; for they build it in such a strange vicinity, in order
to have it warm in winter. At present, while the weather is still
hot, the smell is at times overpowering. At eleven at night we moved
off, with fresh horses, for Duwala; but though we had guides in
abundance, we were not able to extricate ourselves from the ravines
with which this village is surrounded. Procuring another man from a
village we happened to wander into, we at last made our way, through
grass and mire, to the pass, which led us to a country as dry as the
one we had left was wet. Ararat was now quite near: at the foot of it
is Duwala, twenty-four miles from Nackshan, where we arrived at seven
in the morning of

“_Sept. 9th._—As I had been thinking all night of a Hebrew letter,
I perceived little of the tediousness of the way. I tried also some
difficulties in the 16th Psalm, without being able to master them.
All day on the 15th and 16th Psalms, and gained some light into the
difficulties. The villagers not bringing the horses in time, we
were not able to go on at night; but I was not much concerned, as I
thereby gained some rest.

“_Sept. 10th._—All day at the village, writing down notes on the 15th
and 16th Psalms. Moved at midnight and arrived early in the morning
at Erivan.

“_Sept. 11th._—I alighted at Hosyn Khan, the governor’s palace, as
it may be called, for he seems to live in a style equal to that of
a prince. After sleeping two hours, I was summoned to his presence.
He at first took no notice of me, but continued reading his Koran.
After a compliment or two he resumed his devotions. The next ceremony
was to exchange a rich shawl dress for a still richer pelisse, on
pretence of its being cold. The next display was to call for his
physician, who, after respectfully feeling his pulse, stood on
one side: this was to show that he had a domestic physician. His
servants were most richly clad. My letter from the ambassador, which
till now had lain neglected on the ground, was opened and read by
a moonshee. He heard with great interest what Sir Gore had written
about the translation of the gospels. After this he was very kind
and attentive, and sent for Lieutenant M—— of the engineers, who
was stationed, with two serjeants, at this fort. In the afternoon,
the governor sent for me again in private. A fountain, in a basin
of white marble, was playing before him, and in its water grapes
and melons were cooling; two time-pieces were before him, to show
the approach of the time of lawful repast: below the window, at a
great depth, ran a broad and rapid stream, over rocks and stones,
under a bridge of two arches, producing an agreeable murmur: on the
other side of the river were gardens, and a rich plain; and directly
in front, Ararat. He was now entirely free from ceremony, but too
much fatigued to converse. I tried to begin a religious discussion,
by observing that ‘he was in one paradise now, and was in quest of
another hereafter,’ but this remark produced no effect.”

The next day he went to Ech-Miazin, where there are three churches
of Greek Christians, and a monastery. The worship and creed of the
Greek church resemble, in some respects, those of the Roman Catholic,
but it does not acknowledge the Pope. Mr. Martyn was very kindly
entertained here, until the 17th, when he again set out with servants
and a guard, as the woods in Turkey, on which they would soon enter,
were much beset with robbers. The route lay through a deserted
mountainous region, with an occasional village, where the missionary
was an object of great curiosity. He seems to have enjoyed the wild
scenery, as much as a person travelling with a company of ignorant
and noisy companions could. “The clear streams in the valley, the
lofty trees crowning the summit of the hills, the smooth paths
winding away and losing themselves in the dark woods, and, above all,
the solitude that reigned throughout, composed a scene which tended
to harmonize and solemnize the mind. What displays of taste and
magnificence are found occasionally on this ruined earth! Nothing was
wanting but the absence of the Turks.”

At a village, on the 29th, he was attacked with fever and ague. He
suffered the next day from sickness and depression of spirits, but
his soul rested, as he said, “on Him who is as an anchor of the soul,
sure and steadfast, which, though not seen, keeps me fast.”

On the 1st of October, “Marched over a mountainous tract: we were
out from seven in the morning till eight at night. After sitting a
little by the fire, I was near fainting from sickness. My depression
of spirits led me to the throne of grace, as a sinful, abject worm.
When I thought of myself and my transgressions, I could find no text
so cheering as, ‘My ways are not as your ways.’ From the men who
accompanied Sir William Ousely to Constantinople, I learned that the
plague was raging at Constantinople, and thousands dying every day.
One of the Persians had died of it. They added, that the inhabitants
of Tocat were flying from their town from the same cause. Thus I am
passing inevitably into imminent danger. O Lord, thy will be done!
Living or dying, remember me!”

The principal guard and leader of the party was a Tartar, named
Hassan Aga. His treatment of Mr. Martyn from this time, was inhuman,
and the journal of the next five days gives a deeply affecting
narrative of the sufferings to which the savage conduct of his guide
exposed him.

“_Oct. 2d._—Some hours before day, I sent to tell the Tartar I was
ready, but Hassan Aga was for once riveted to his bed. However,
at eight, having got strong horses, he set off at a great rate,
and over the level ground he made us gallop as fast as the horses
would go, to Chiflick, where we arrived at sun-set. I was lodged,
at my request, in the stables of the post-house, not liking the
scrutinizing impudence of the fellows who frequent the coffee room.
As soon as it began to grow a little cold, the ague came on, and then
the fever: after which I had a sleep, which let me know too plainly
the disorder of my frame. In the night, Hassan sent to summon me
away, but I was quite unable to move. Finding me still in bed at the
dawn, he began to storm furiously at my detaining him so long; but
I quietly let him spend his ire, ate my breakfast composedly, and
set out at eight. He seemed determined to make up for the delay,
for we flew over hill and dale to Sherean, where he changed horses.
From thence we travelled all the rest of the day and all night; it
rained most of the time. Soon after sun-set the ague came on again,
which, in my wet state, was very trying; I hardly knew how to keep my
life in me. About that time there was a village at hand; but Hassan
had no mercy. At one in the morning we found two men under a wain,
with a good fire; they could not keep the rain out, but their fire
was acceptable. I dried my lower extremities, allayed the fever by
drinking a good deal of water, and went on. We had little rain, but
the night was pitchy dark, so that I could not see the road under
my horse’s feet. However, God being mercifully pleased to alleviate
my bodily suffering, I went on contentedly to the next stage, where
we arrived at break of day. After sleeping three or four hours, I
was visited by an Armenian merchant, for whom I had a letter. Hassan
was in great fear of being arrested here; the governor of the city
had vowed to make an example of him for riding to death a horse
belonging to a man of this place. He begged that I would shelter him
in case of danger; his being claimed by an Englishman, he said, would
be a sufficient security. I found, however, that I had no occasion
to interfere. He hurried me away from this place without delay, and
galloped furiously towards a village, which, he said, was four hours
distant; which was all I could undertake in my present weak state;
but village after village did he pass, till night coming on, and no
signs of another, I suspected that he was carrying me on to the next
stage; so I got off my horse, and sat upon the ground, and told him,
‘I neither could nor would go any further.’ He stormed, but I was
immovable; till, a light appearing at a distance, I mounted my horse
and made towards it, leaving him to follow or not, as he pleased. He
brought in the party, but would not exert himself to get a place for
me. They brought me to an open verandah, but Sergius[14] told them I
wanted a place in which to be alone. This seemed very offensive to
them: ‘And why must he be alone?’ they asked; ascribing this desire
of mine to pride, I suppose. Tempted, at last, by money, they brought
me to a stable-room, and Hassan and a number of others planted
themselves there with me. My fever here increased to a violent
degree; the heat in my eyes and forehead was so great, that the fire
almost made me frantic. I entreated that it might be put out, or that
I might be carried out of doors. Neither was attended to: my servant,
who, from my sitting in that strange way on the ground, believed me
delirious, was deaf to all I said. At last I pushed my head in among
the luggage, and lodged it on the damp ground, and slept.

“_Oct. 5th._—Preserving mercy made me see the light of another
morning. The sleep had refreshed me, but I was feeble and shaken; yet
the merciless Hassan hurried me off. The stopping place, however,
not being distant, I reached it without much difficulty. I expected
to have found it another strong fort at the end of the pass; but it
is a poor little village within the jaws of the mountains. I was
pretty well lodged, and felt tolerably well till a little after
sunset, when the ague came on with a violence I had never before
experienced; I felt as if in a palsy: my teeth chattering, and my
whole frame violently shaken. Aga Hosyn and another Persian, on their
way here from Constantinople, going to Abbas Mirza, whom I had just
before been visiting, came hastily to render me assistance if they
could. These Persians appear quite brotherly after the Turks. While
they pitied me, Hassan sat in perfect indifference, ruminating on
the further delay this was likely to occasion. The cold fit, after
continuing two or three hours, was followed by a fever, which lasted
the whole night, and prevented sleep.

“_Oct. 6th._—No horses being to be had, I had an unexpected repose. I
sat in the orchard, and thought, with sweet comfort and peace, of my
God; in solitude, my company, my friend and comforter. Oh! when shall
time give place to eternity! When shall appear that new heaven and
new earth wherein dwelleth righteousness! There, there shall in no
wise enter in any thing that defileth: none of that wickedness which
has made men worse than wild beasts,—none of those corruptions which
add still more to the miseries of mortality, shall be seen or heard
of any more.”

These were the last words that Martyn wrote! Nothing more is known
of his fate than that he reached the town of Tocat, in Turkey,
nearly six hundred miles from Tebriz, and about three hundred from
Constantinople, and that he died there on the 16th of October, being
in the thirty-second year of his life. The plague was raging when he
arrived, and his sickness and fatigue made him very liable to the
disease; and his weakness was such, that he could not long sustain
it. No particulars of his sickness and death have ever been learned.

Two American missionaries, who passed through Tocat in the year
1830, found his grave in an Armenian burying-place, covered with a
tombstone, which had been erected by an English traveller, the year
after his interment. The only information they could obtain was,
that Mr. Martyn arrived there sick, that some Armenians gave him
medicine, and that he died in four or five days. As hundreds were
dying daily of the plague, it was thought probable that he was not
admitted into any private house, and that he died at the post-house.
On the tombstone is a Latin inscription, of which the following is a
translation:

  IN MEMORY OF THE
  REV. HENRY[15] MARTYN, OF ENGLAND,
  A MINISTER OF THE GOSPEL, AND A MISSIONARY;
  A PIOUS, LEARNED, AND FAITHFUL SERVANT OF
  THE LORD,
  WHO CALLED HIM TO A STATE OF FELICITY,
  WHILST AT TOCAT, ON HIS RETURN TO HIS
  NATIVE COUNTRY, A. D. 1812.
  C. J. R. INSCRIBED THIS STONE TO HIS MEMORY,
  A. D. 1813.

There he died, alone, in a land of strangers, with not a Christian
to attend him. But there can be no doubt that, if his reason was
preserved, he was happy in that illness, that his faith in Christ
enabled him to bear his sufferings, and to expect with joy a speedy
admittance to the presence of his God and Saviour.—To an unpardoned
person it is incredible that a Christian can have so strong an
assurance that his sins have been forgiven for Christ’s sake, and
that God has thus become reconciled to him, as that he can be happy
in the prospect of dying. But it is certain that this is often the
case, and that Christians, even whilst suffering the most terrible
pain in their bodies, have felt a peace and joy in the belief that
they were near heaven, greater than all the comforts of life have
ever bestowed on them or on others. Wherever the believer lives or
dies, Christ is with him. God is his Father, and he has nothing to
fear. It seems to us distressing, that Martyn should die so far
away from his home, and his friends, in a nation of idolaters; but
it is probable these things did not affect him, and that the dying
missionary at Tocat was happier than he would have been in health and
peace, among his friends in England. In his lonely journeys he had
often been able to quote the lines,

    “In desert tracts, with Thee, my God,
       How happy could I be.”

And he doubtless found Him still nearer in his dying hour, when flesh
and strength failed him; for the Saviour adapts his consolations
to the circumstances of his people, and in proportion to their
necessities, he imparts more of the gifts of his Holy Spirit, and
they are enabled to say, “Though I walk through the valley of the
shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me; thy rod
and thy staff comfort me.”

When Mr. Martyn left England for India, it was his expectation and
desire to be employed principally in preaching to the natives. It is
evident that this was not the design of Providence, but that he was
sent to translate the scriptures into the languages of Asia, that
the gospel might thus be put into the hands of millions of persons
who were wholly ignorant of the existence of a divine revelation.
Mr. Martyn in this way did more for the evangelizing of all those
nations who speak the Hindoostanee, Arabic, and Persian, during the
six years that he was in India, than he could have accomplished by
preaching to them all his life. As he himself observed of the Arabic
alone, “we will begin to preach to Arabia, Syria, Persia, Tartary
part of India and China, half of Africa, all the sea coast of the
Mediterranean, and Turkey, and one tongue shall suffice for them
all.” The Hindoostanee and Persian are understood by a large portion
of the rest of India, who do not speak Arabic.

He has given them the Bible, and we cannot calculate the amount of
good which will attend its circulation. Without it all the labours
of missionaries would be in vain; but with it, they are sure of the
success which God has promised to attend his own word. Besides the
importance of his services in this great means of preparing the
way of the Lord, his ministry was blessed to the conversion, as
there is every reason to believe, of several of the natives. One of
these was the fruit of his labours in Cawnpore, and was baptized at
Calcutta, in the fortieth year of his age, by the name of Abdool
Messeeh—“servant of Christ.” He was employed eight years by the
Church Missionary Society, to instruct the young in the principles of
the Christian religion, and was ordained as a Lutheran minister in
1820, and as an Episcopal minister by Bishop Heber, in 1825. He died
in 1827. Through his instrumentality more than forty adult Hindoos
were brought to embrace Christianity.[16]

Another instance of the success of his ministry, is furnished by a
writer in a foreign journal, who states that, on a visit to Shiraz
several years since, he met a Persian named Rahem, who gave him the
following account.

“There came to this city an Englishman, who taught the religion of
Christ, with a boldness hitherto unparalleled in Persia, in the
midst of much scorn and ill treatment from our moollahs, as well
as the rabble. He was a beardless youth, and evidently enfeebled by
disease. He dwelt among us for more than a year. I was then a decided
enemy to infidels, as the Christians are termed by the followers
of Mohammed, and I visited this teacher of the despised sect,
with the declared object of treating him with scorn, and exposing
his doctrines to contempt. Although I persevered for some time in
this behaviour towards him, I found that every interview not only
increased my respect for the individual, but diminished my confidence
in the faith in which I was educated. His extreme forbearance towards
the violence of his opponents, the calm and yet convincing manner
in which he exposed the fallacies and sophistries by which he was
assailed, (for he spoke Persian excellently,) gradually inclined
me to listen to his arguments, to inquire dispassionately into the
subject of them, and, finally, to read a tract which he had written,
in reply to a defence of Islam by our chief moollahs. Need I detain
you longer? The result of my examination was a conviction that the
young disputant was right. Shame, or rather fear, withheld me from
avowing this opinion; I even avoided the society of the Christian
teacher, though he remained in the city so long. Just before he
quitted Shiraz, I could not refrain from paying him a farewell visit.
Our conversation,—the memory of it will never fade from the tablet
of my mind,—sealed my conversion. He gave me a book—it has ever been
my constant companion—the study of it has formed my most delightful
occupation—its contents have often consoled me.”

“Upon this,” continues the writer, “he put into my hands a copy
of the New Testament, in Persian; on one of the blank leaves
it was written,—_There is joy in heaven over one sinner that
repenteth_.—HENRY MARTYN.”

In considering the life of Mr. Martyn as an example to ourselves,
we should view his devotedness to the service of God. In this he
stopped at no sacrifices, but gave up his home, his prospects, his
health, that he might labour to promote the glory of God, by bringing
the heathen to acknowledge him, and to receive the gospel of his
blessed Son. This he did willingly and cheerfully, because he loved
the service; and because, as he once said to a Persian, he “could
not endure existence, if Jesus was not glorified.” Another motive
was a desire to bring men to salvation—to persuade them to come to
the Saviour, and learn the way of eternal life. In all this, he was
but discharging his duty as a disciple of Christ; and especially as
a minister of the gospel, obeying the divine command, “Go into all
the world, and preach the gospel to every creature.” Now, every
Christian will be anxious to be actively employed in the service
of his Redeemer. He will not be satisfied with the belief that he
is saved, and continue to live, without making any effort and any
self-denials, to promote the cause of Christianity. Indeed, such a
feeling is a strong evidence that he has never been the subject of
grace, that he has never felt the love of God in Christ, and seen
from the scriptures that he is required to be active in his Saviour’s
cause. The Holy Spirit has declared, that as a tree is known by its
fruits, whether it be a good one or not, so a true Christian is known
by the service he renders to God: and that an unprofitable servant,—a
professed disciple who does not improve the opportunities which he
has of doing good,—will be rejected at the judgment day. The entire
devotion of ourselves, and all we have, to our Divine Master, is
required of every living being, as much as it was of Henry Martyn:
and although every one is not called to be a missionary, yet every
one may find some field for active, zealous service.

Reader,—whether converted or unconverted,—have you ever thought that
you were _bound_ to serve God thus? have you ever believed that God
has been all your life _claiming_ your service, as your creator,
your preserver, your eternal Father? If you are not inclined to
love and serve him, “with all your heart, with all your soul, and
with all your mind,” ask yourself this moment why it is so, and
what excuse you will have to offer for your neglect, when it shall
be charged upon you at the day of judgment. The commands of Christ,
as has already been remarked, are as binding on you, as any of the
commandments of the moral law; and if you are not now an active,
sincere disciple, living by faith upon Him, and living to his glory,
the guilt of your natural sinfulness is awfully aggravated.

The zeal and devotion of Mr. Martyn were not beyond his duty. There
is no such thing as a man being more holy, or doing more good than
God requires of him. Had he done tenfold more, he could not have, on
that account, procured the pardon of a single sin. So let not the
Christian think that he deserves credit and praise for any thing he
may do, or that he thus gains a right to heaven. God does, indeed,
condescend to accept our services, and to use us as instruments of
doing good, but it is he who gives us both the inclination and the
ability to serve him; therefore he deserves all the praise. Not
that this excuses us for being idle, and waiting for him to compel
us to be zealous for him. Our duty is to pray, “Lord, what wilt
thou have us to do?” and at the same time to be seeking out ways
of doing good. No person need be idle or useless a moment, who has
faculties, property, or strength, which he can consecrate. Let every
one, then, fix upon something that will absorb his attention, and
resolve, with reliance upon the grace of God, to expend every effort
in accomplishing it; not to be put back by small discouragements, but
to exercise STRONG FAITH IN CHRIST. That is the principle which will
enable us to do every thing. Every Christian may say, and ought to
feel, “I can do all things through Christ, who strengtheneth me.”

Thus let us act from the principles of love and duty, and then we
shall find that God has connected our duty with our happiness, and
that the more we sacrifice for him—the more danger and reproach, and
hardships we may encounter, the greater will be the peace and joy
of our souls. In infinite condescension, God speaks of _rewards_ to
those who serve him. Oh, he would be just, after all our labours,
to cast us from his presence; but he graciously promises to give
his blessing to those who strive to do his will, though they do
it imperfectly. And those who have humbly and zealously applied
themselves to the single purpose of living for God, have found that
he has given them happiness beyond what they had conceived. This
internal bliss is comprehended in the assertion of the apostle Paul,
when he says, “eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered
into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for those
who love him; _but God hath revealed them unto us by his Spirit_.”


FOOTNOTES:

[14] One of Mr. Martyn’s servants.

[15] On the stone the name is erroneously put _William_.

[16] See a further account of this person in the Appendix.



APPENDIX.


ABDOOL MESSEEH.

The following interesting history of this convert is given in a
Report of the Church Missionary Society:

“He was born at Delhi. His original name was Shekh Salih. His father
is considered a learned man, and gains a livelihood by teaching
children. Shekh Salih was instructed by his father, and made
considerable proficiency both in the Persian and Arabic languages.

“When he was about twenty-one years of age, he came with his father
to Lukhnow, in quest of employment; and after some time, became
moonshee, first to an English merchant, and then to an officer in the
East India Company’s service. At this time Abdool was so zealous a
Mussulman, that he induced a Hindoo servant of the above officer to
become a Mohammedan. The master finding some fault with him for his
officiousness, he was so offended as to leave his employ, and return
to Lukhnow, with a determination of having no more communication
with the British. After this he engaged in a variety of pursuits,
and visited different parts of the country, being always very
attentive, and endeavouring to render others so, to the Mohammedan
observances.

“At length, after having been about a year in some situation under
the Nabob of Lukhnow, he went into the Mahratta country, and
engaged as a trooper in the service of Ibrahim Ali Khan, one of the
chieftains of the Javudpore Rajah. While under the command of this
chief, Meer Khan, another chieftain, at that time in the service of
the same Rajah, was sent to murder Rao Scivac Sing, the rival of
the Javudpore Rajah. This transaction is well known in India. Meer
Khan swore on the Koran, that he came to mediate a peace between
his employer and the Rao, whom he no sooner decoyed into his tent,
than, having gone out on some pretence, he caused the cords of it to
be cut, and ordered his attendants to stab the visiters involved in
its folds. The ill-fated Rao cut his way through the folds of the
tent with a dagger, and bravely defended himself until overpowered
by numbers; his head was severed from his body, and after being
carried about in triumph, was sent to the Rajah. This Scivac Sing,
Abdool relates, was a young man of very interesting appearance; and
pity for his untimely death, with the horror excited by the sight
of his head, exposed as a spectacle, raised a feeling of disgust at
the perfidy of mankind. Abdool had hitherto been a stranger to such
treachery; and considering, as he says, that he himself was liable to
be made the executioner of equally inhuman measures, he resolved on
quitting the army, and earning his bread in some peaceful way, by any
labour, however degrading. This determination he put in practice; and
returning to Lukhnow, supported himself by preparing green paint.

“At the end of about a year, Abdool went to Cawnpore to visit his
father, at that time engaged as private tutor in the house of a
rich native, who lived in the premises next to those of the Rev.
Henry Martyn. He here heard of Mr. Martyn’s preaching to the poor
natives, who assembled on the lawn before his house on Sundays. He
determined to go, as he expressed it, to see the sport. Mr. Martyn
was explaining the commandments to the people, when Abdool went to
hear; and he was struck with the observations that were made, and
considered them as both reasonable and excellent. He had previously
been perplexed about the contradictions maintained by the different
Mohammedan sects, and this Christian instruction appeared to him
better than any he had as yet received. He told his father what
opinion he had formed, and begged him to get him some employment
at Cawnpore, where he might hear of more of these things. His
father was acquainted with a friend of Sabat, who was then living
with Mr. Martyn; and through this friend, Abdool was engaged, in
May 1810, to copy Persian writings for Sabat. He obtained a lodging
on the premises, without making known his wishes. Here he had
many opportunities of obtaining the information which he desired,
particularly by inquiring of the native Christian children the
subjects of the lessons which they had learned in school: and by this
mode, he was enabled to gain some insight into Divine Truth.

“When Mr. Martyn had finished his translation of the New Testament
into Hindoostanee, the book was given Abdool to bind. This he
considered as a fine opportunity; nor did he let it slip. On reading
the word of God, he discovered his state, and perceived therein a
true description of his own heart. He soon decided in favour of the
Christian religion; but still concealed what was passing within him,
till Mr. Martyn being about to leave Cawnpore on account of his
health, Abdool could no longer refrain from asking his advice with
respect to his future conduct; earnestly desiring at the same time,
to be baptized. It was agreed that he should go down to Calcutta
with Sabat and Mr. Martyn, from whom he received a solemn warning of
the danger of a false profession. During the short period of Mr.
Martyn’s stay at Calcutta, he was not entirely convinced of this
man’s real change of heart: recommending him, therefore, to the
notice of the late Rev. David Brown, he departed without gratifying
Abdool’s wish for baptism. After five month’s further delay, Mr.
Brown, having observed his conduct, and being satisfied with it,
baptized him in the old church, on Whit-Sunday, 1811.

“On this occasion, Mr. Brown wrote to a friend: ‘On Sunday
last, I publicly baptized Shekh Salih. It was a most solemn and
heart-affecting occasion. Private notice was given, that it would
be in the afternoon. Good people of all ranks attended, and in
the evening, I preached on the subject. This has made a very
serious impression at Calcutta. I have had great satisfaction in
the event. The circumstances of his case were remarkable. May we
every Whit-Sunday witness similar wonders of grace! I made full
investigation, and was thoroughly satisfied with the Shekh’s account
of his conversion. His Christian name is Abdool Messeeh,—‘_Servant of
Christ_;’ a particular circumstance leading to the selection of that
name.’

“From this period, he was noticed by some among Mr. Brown’s
congregation, and gained from their instruction a growing
acquaintance with his own fallen state, and the remedy provided for
it through the Saviour.

“From Whit-Sunday 1811, till last July, Abdool continued to reside in
Calcutta. Much opposition he met with from the Mohammedans, who made
him many offers of money, &c., if he would renounce Christianity,
or leave the place. Twice, on frivolous pretences, he was summoned
before the British magistrate, and discharged with costs. Under
these circumstances, his temper has appeared to great advantage, and
invariably, such as one should have wished. To put an end to these
vexations, he was advised to remove to Chinsurah in July; where his
conversation and example produced a good effect on many, especially
on a Roman Catholic Portuguese, and the son of an Armenian priest,
who have both expressed an intention of following him up the country,
that they may enjoy his company, and partake of his labours.”

The Rev. Mr. Corrie accompanied Abdool on a missionary tour in
India; and from the journal which he kept, the following extracts
are made. Whilst this narrative gives evidence of the zeal and piety
of the individual, and thus exemplifies the power of religion, it is
interesting as a specimen of the method which missionaries have to
pursue in Pagan countries, and as proof of the great importance of
having native converts employed in this work.

“_1812, Nov. 20th._—We left the neighbourhood of Calcutta, having two
friends in company. There was a large party of boatmen and servants.”

“_Nov. 29th._—We rested in a lonely place. In the afternoon, Abdool
collected the boatmen and others on the bank, to the number of about
forty, and preached to them. He began and ended with a hymn, after
the manner of the Asiatic religious, in which he was joined by the
Christian children and servants. His discourse was from the latter
end of the first chapter of St. Matthew. He spoke of our sinful
state by nature, adducing many proofs observable in their own life
and conversation, which render a Saviour necessary; enlarged on the
birth of Christ without sin, that he might be a suitable surety for
sinners; the meaning of his name Jesus, Immanuel; bringing forward
proofs of his divine power, and pointing out the salvation which he
bestows. The latter part was very satisfactory indeed, as an evidence
of his acquaintance with the change which passes in the Christian’s
mind. His discourse was intermixed with exhortations to embrace the
religion of the only Saviour. Some, it seems, set light by what they
heard: others approved, and said his book contained more weighty
truths than their Shasters.”

“_Dec. 5th._—Saturday. We arrived in the neighbourhood of a Christian
friend, and our party went from the boats to pass the Sunday at his
house and found, literally, in the wilderness God present in our
little assembly.

“Abdool could not get the boatmen to attend him; and therefore,
taking the Christian children with him, he went to a village at a
little distance, and began to sing his hymn. The whole village, men,
women, and children, soon gathered round him; he explained to them
the ten commandments, and enforced their obligation. They heard with
much attention.”

“_Dec. 29th._—At Dinapore we were gratified with the sight of a
large school of native children, kept by the Baptist missionaries.
They have another school in a neighbouring village. One of the
missionaries told me, that Mr. Martyn’s name is held in great esteem
by the natives here; and that the schools which he had instituted
when here, had rendered the way easier; for the people now send their
children to school without scruple. I remember it was not so when Mr.
Martyn began his schools.”

“_1813, Jan. 3._—Sunday. Our boat staid at Ribbon Gunge. In the
afternoon, Abdool went into the bazar, and preached. At first, the
people showed no attention; but gradually, one and another stood,
till a crowd collected, and more attention seemed excited than at
any place before. After he had finished his discourse, the people
gathered round him, and asked many questions about the names which
he had mentioned. Three came down to his boat with him, and passed a
good deal of the evening in conversation; writing down from his lips
what he told them in brief of Christian truth.”

“_Jan. 7th._—At Baxar. Early in the morning walked with Abdool toward
the European barracks. On drawing near, some of the native wives
of the soldiers recognized me, and several came out and expressed
their gladness to see me, and said they should be happy to have
public worship. These had been of my congregation at Chunar. Abdool
expressed great satisfaction, and observed that this was the first
time he had seen native Christians desire divine service. About ten,
we had public worship with the Europeans, the commanding officer
attending. About twenty native Christians, mostly women, assembled
in another place, with Abdool; after reading prayers, he was led
to discourse long on subjects which occurred at the time, and says
he never felt his heart so drawn out during any exercise as here.
Several, also, of the congregation were affected, even to tears.”

“_Jan. 10th._—Sunday. Rested at Ghazeepore. In the afternoon, Abdool
walked into the native town. Met with the chief land-owner in the
place and neighbourhood; a man of wealth and of great good nature,
and much esteemed among his own people, as a holy man. After some
conversation, he invited Abdool to his house, where about a hundred
people were assembled, before whom much discussion took place about
religion. The above person showed more disposition to attend than any
of them; and begged to have two copies of St. Matthew, and two of
Persian, and that all the translations should be sent him from time
to time.”

“_Jan. 14th._—We reached Benares. On Friday, Abdool went up to
Secrole, to visit a native doctor there, of Portuguese origin. They
had much conversation together, with which the above person expressed
himself greatly delighted. He thankfully accepted a copy of the
morning prayer and litany, promising to begin worship in his family.
Abdool visited other native Christians there, with less satisfaction.
In returning to his boat, he had a long discussion with a crowd of
Mussulmans.

“On Saturday, Abdool went to Chunar; and on Sunday forenoon, held
public worship there. On that, but few attended; but those were
greatly affected; many of them even to loud sobbing and tears. They
earnestly requested that he would preach again the next day, which
he did to a large assembly; and on Tuesday also. They heard with
great attention, and detained him long afterwards with inquiries on
the subject on which he had addressed them. A party came down to
his boat, begging he would read the scriptures to them; and adding,
‘Alas! when master was here,’ (meaning Mr. Corrie, who had been
chaplain at Chunar,) ‘we paid too little attention to his labours.
Would you were to remain among us!’”

“_Jan. 22._—At Mirzapore, a young man came on board, who said he had
followed from Chunar, on purpose to hear more from Abdool, and to beg
a copy of the translation. He is the son of a Zemindar, and appears
serious, and full of inquiries. He said he knew, that in the latter
days, all shall become of one religion; and he supposed the time to
be at hand.”

“_Jan. 23._—In the morning we arrived at Allahabad.

“The concourse of people assembled to celebrate the annual bathing
season, was unusually great. Every one that bathes at the junction
of the Ganges and Jumma, pays to government a rupee; and from a
calculation made two days before the close of the festival, it was
expected that 250,000 rupees would be collected. Those who drown
themselves pay an additional sum to government. One poor wretch had
drowned himself, with the usual ceremonies, before our arrival.
Several more had signified their intention of doing so, at the
eclipse of the sun, on February 1; and many, it was expected, as is
annually the case, would, from the pressure of the crowd, be thrust
beyond their depth, and perish in the waters. The sight of such a
multitude, collected on so deplorable an occasion, could not but
affect a feeling mind. And is not the error of Balaam chargeable on
those, who, possessing the vision of the Almighty, love and receive
the wages of such superstitious iniquity?”

“In going to the house of a merchant, Abdool passed by a mosque,
where they were beginning prayers. He went to the door, but did not
go in, lest they should raise a complaint against him for defiling
their place. The reader began: ‘O God, enlighten our hearts with
the light of faith!’ Abdool said aloud, ‘Amen!’ The reader looked
round with astonishment; and after observing, began again the same
sentence; to which Abdool again repeated aloud, ‘Amen!’ The reader
proceeded, and Abdool was silent the rest of the service. When it was
ended, some of them came round him, and inquired, ‘You said Amen to
the first sentence, but to no other; why was this?’

“_Abd._ ‘Because the first sentence was right, and was the prayer of
holy men of old; but the latter part is an invention of late date.’

“_Query._—‘How do you make that appear?’

“_Abd._—‘You add the name of Aububeckar to that of Mohammed so that,
by your own confession, that is added since Mohammed’s time.’

“Some of them now suspected, and inquired if he were not such an
one. This led to an understanding, and a long dispute, in which he
explained to them many of our customs in worship, and made appeals to
their conscience. One asked, if he were not affected by the contempt
of his former friends, and wondered he could be so hardened as thus
openly to contend for Christianity.

“_Abd._—‘I am, indeed, affected; and my heart by no means approves of
your opposition; and you know, that at Lukhnow, had such things been
said to me, how I should have resisted; but now I am withheld. I am
no longer in my own keeping, but in the power of another.’

“These asked who that might be. He answered, ‘I am restrained, and
enabled to bear your reproach, by the power of the Holy Spirit.’ They
were silent.

“He went last to the old merchant, who has a house at Delhi, where
he formerly resided, and with some of whose children Abdool was
educated. He treated Abdool with more affection than any of the
others: and was much moved by his exhortations to seek salvation from
Christ, at the eleventh hour. He, and two others of the whole crowd
assembled, took a copy of St. Matthew’s Gospel. Many might have been
given away; but where no disposition appeared to read them, it was
thought best not to give them.

“In one company, Abdool had occasion to mention his having been
baptized by Mr. Brown. Some one inquired, ‘Where is Mr. Brown now?’

“_Abd._—‘He is where he has long intended to go. He is no longer in
this world.’ They said, ‘That is very well! May you soon go after
him, and no longer make this ado about your religion!’

“_Abd._—‘I do, indeed, desire to be where Mr. Brown is, and care not
how soon I may be taken: but think not this religion depends on Mr.
Brown, or on me: for if I were taken away, God can raise up one from
among your own selves, to supply my place.’”

“_Feb. 5th._—An event occurred to-day, which Abdool related with
great pleasure. At Monickpore resides an aged man, of venerable
appearance, with a flowing white beard, who is considered a holy
man. He is the proprietor of several villages, and is a man of more
than ordinary good nature. He has many servants, and many disciples,
and keeps open house for travellers. On these accounts he is much
venerated by his neighbours. His place of worship is held very
sacred, and many go thither as on a kind of pilgrimage. On Abdool
looking in at the outer gate of the premises, one who was going in
said, ‘Come in, and pay your devotions.’

“_Abd._—‘What place is this?’

“‘It is a holy place; come in.’

“_Abd._—‘What advantage will arise from my going in?’

“_Stranger._—‘Why, every body goes.’

“_Abd._—‘Though every body should act senselessly, why should I?’

“On this the old man came out, and asked Abdool who he was?

“_Abd._—‘I am one of mankind, a servant of God.’

“The master of the house pressed him to go in; and ordered food to
be brought for him, and for a Christian lad who was with him. On the
food being brought, he himself set it before them, and begged them to
eat.

“_Abd._—‘Excuse me; I may not eat of your dishes: not that I have any
objection to eat with you, or with any one: but I am a Christian; and
should I eat with you, your disciples would say you had lost caste.’

“‘You are, at all events, a good man, for thus explaining to me,
and I am happy to see you. Pray, have the English any books beside
histories and books of amusement?’

“_Abd._—‘Yes, surely; they have the books of Moses, of the Prophets,
and the Gospel. All the ancient books are in their possession.’

“‘Yes! the law, the psalms, the gospel, and the koran. I know there
are four divine books.’

“_Abd._—‘Well! all these are in the hands of the English; though of
these there are many books which you include under the name of the
law;’ mentioning Isaiah and Daniel, and saying that David was the
author of the Psalms.

“‘Well,’ said the old man, ‘I never knew that before; and have the
English any kind of worship among them?’

“_Abd._—‘Certainly they have: but they are taught to shut their
door, and to pray to their Father who seeth in secret. They place
no dependence on outward observances for salvation. Why, if you are
to be judged according to your opinions, by your works, you must
be condemned. You are required to have on clean clothes when you
worship; and that is easily obeyed: but then you are also to exclude
the world from your mind, and to worship with the heart intensely
fixed on God, (repeating a verse of the koran in proof.) Now, do you
thus fulfil the precept?’

“The old man said, ‘Oh no!’

“_Abd._—‘Then are you not an offender?’

“‘Alas! yes.’

“_Abd._—‘Now the Christians are taught to believe in Jesus, as
enduring the shame and pain of death, on the cross, which they
deserve; and that, through faith in his sufferings, they shall be
saved. They do indeed obey God; yet not of themselves, but by his
grace: and their obedience attends their salvation, though not as the
price of it.’

“The old man expressed great thankfulness; said he had never heard
such things before; told his disciples these were true words, and
begged a copy of the Gospel: for which, as Abdool had not taken one
with him, he walked down, attended by his retinue. On parting, he
begged Abdool would give him a sentence to remember. This is a custom
between spiritual guides, when they part after a visit; and the most
absurd expressions are common among them on these occasions. Abdool
said, ‘There is no such custom among Christians; but I can tell you
one sentence, which, if you remember and believe, may be of service
to you; and that is, ‘The blood of Jesus Christ, the Son of God,
cleanseth from all sin!’ He requested Abdool would write to him, from
time to time, on such subjects.

“_Feb. 13th._—Saturday, arrived at Cawnpore. On Sunday, Abdool’s
brother, and his nephew, came from Lukhnow to meet him. They received
him with great affection, and wished to eat with him, and to be
one with him in all things. Abdool wisely would not suffer them,
until they should understand the grounds of his conversion, when
they might choose. They brought word that a great stir had been made
in Lukhnow, on the report of his baptism reaching that place. One
night a crowd collected at his father’s house, and demanded that
he should openly renounce his apostate son, or they should suspect
him also of becoming a Christian. He and the brothers declared they
would not renounce Abdool, who always behaved kindly, and now wrote
to them with great affection. A tumult ensued, which required the
interference of the cutwal, or mayor; and the report was carried to
the Nabob’s sons, if not to the Nabob himself. The great men took
the part of Abdool’s family, and threatened the other party. These
circumstances were partly known; and it had been determined as most
advisable for Abdool, not to go to Lukhnow for the present; but
on being told of his family’s continued good will and favourable
disposition to the gospel, as also that his father, mother, brothers,
and sisters, with their children, had determined on coming to see
him, if he would not go over—the sisters also resolving to risk the
displeasure of their husbands rather than not see him—Abdool thought
he ought to go; and we, commending him to the Lord, sent him, with
his brother and nephew, with one servant to bring us word of his
welfare.

“Abdool is well known here, and his return has excited much talk
about religion. It would occupy too much time to record every part of
the conversation which he held the first day he went to the Bazar. It
would explain exactly what is recorded of St. Paul’s disputing daily
in the market. Acts xvii. 17.

“One circumstance seems worthy to be remembered, as it shows that
the natives are well aware that Christianity requires diligence in
business. A Faqueer by trade, on seeing Abdool, cried out, ‘Ho! you
seller of (your) faith, will you give me any thing?’

“_Abd._—‘If you desire to purchase spiritual blessings, I may,
perhaps, be able to supply you; but, as to worldly things, I have
little to give. What I have, I labour for, and you are able to work
for your provision, as well as I.’

“The Faqueer replied, ‘So I expected; now you are become English, you
would be for setting me to work.—I know their way is, work for your
bread! work for your bread!’

“On the evening of Sunday the 21st, we were agreeably surprised by
the return of Abdool from Lukhnow. He found the ill-will of his
former friends so much excited, that he did not leave his father’s
house, during the day he staid there. In the evening he went to a
friend’s house, and had much discussion on the subject of religion.
He gave ten copies of St. Matthew to different persons who desired
them, and prudently withdrew privately; and praised God, he says,
when he set foot on British territory.

“Two days after his return, his father, two brothers, and two
nephews, came over. Their prejudices appear removed. They joined in
prayer, both in private and in church, and declared their intention
of embracing Christianity. Most of their inquiries were on the
subject of our Lord’s divinity, of which, after having seen the
evidences from the Old and New Testaments, they seemed convinced.
Their parting with Abdool was very affecting. The old man threw his
arms round his son’s neck, and wept plentifully. Abdool was much
moved, and said, ‘I pray, sir, forbear your tears. My Lord hath said,
He that loveth brother, or sister, or father, or mother, more than
me, is not worthy of me.’

“‘Well, well,’ said the old man; ‘but I am returning to calamity; I
know many will try to trouble me; but I will give up these,’ turning
to his two grand-children, ‘to be educated in Christianity; I commit
them to Jesus Christ! God grant that that country (Lukhnow) may soon
come into the possession of the British! Then we might live in
peace.’ Abdool reminded him, that God would deliver him, and that His
peace is alone worth caring for. ‘True,’ said the younger brother,
‘and these lads we commit to Christ! During the rains I also will
come and stay some months with you.’”

“_March 18th, 1813._—Arrived at Agra. Abdool had come on some days
before, and related several conversations with persons on the way,
about religion. Many copies of St. Matthew given away.

“_Sunday, March 21._—About three P.M. six native Christians, beside
the children, &c. attended Hindoostanee worship in the fort, with
whom Abdool read prayers, and expounded Luke v., it being the chapter
in order of reading. In the evening many hundreds of the poor
assembled near the fort, to whom Abdool read and explained briefly
the ten commandments. Many cried out, ‘These are true words; and the
curse of God will be upon us if we obey them not!’

“_March 22._—Set our native school in order, by appointing six of the
head boys to learn English on the new British plan, that some or all
of them might, through the divine blessing, become translators. They
all continue to learn the catechism in the mornings, with Persian
during the day; and attend morning and evening worship, in which
Abdool officiates, by reading a chapter, and making remarks upon it,
using some prayers from the liturgy afterward.

“_Sunday, March 28th._—At three o’clock, the native congregation of
Christians consisted of about forty persons. Abdool explained the
Gospel of St. Luke in order, and read and commented on the fourteenth
chapter. Some of the people staid to inquire who he was, and said
they felt their hearts much affected whilst he was addressing them.
In the evening he went into the town. A great crowd collected to
receive charity. Before he distributed it, he explained the original
state and the fall of man. Many sat quietly; evidently more taken up
with the discourse, than with their own necessities. Daily some of
the Mohammedans come to converse with Abdool.

“_April 3._—This evening he went to visit a very old man, accounted
by the Mohammedans a holy man, and resorted to by many of them.
He had been a scholar of Abdool’s grandfather, and had repeatedly
expressed a desire to see Abdool. Many were collected at the old
man’s house. Some asked, who Abdool was. The old man told them,
mentioning many circumstances respecting the respectability of his
family: among others, that Abdool’s mother’s brother, is president of
the Royal Mohammedan College at Delhi. They then asked Adbool whence
he now came; and on being told that he was a certain Englishman’s
disciple, they inquired what he had learnt. He replied, he had gained
some valuable information in religion. One of them said, ‘What
connexion has religion with the English? Their native country is
a small island, where they can know nothing; and in this country,
what benefit in religion can you reap from them?’ Abdool told him,
that he spoke thus, for want of information. The old man made a sign
for Abdool to desist. Abdool said, ‘If you are afraid I should be
disgraced before this company, pray understand that I go into the
Bazar to speak on these subjects, and am not ashamed of Christianity,
that I should flatter, or deal in ambiguous language.’

“‘Well,’ said the old man, ‘but now leave off, and come among us from
time to time; we shall be happy to see you.’

“The discussion was thus interrupted, and nothing satisfactory could
afterward be introduced; so Abdool rose to go. They again invited him
to frequent their society; he replied, he had not time to spare for
mere visiting; but if they would allow him to read a chapter in the
gospel every time he came, he would wait on them as often as they
pleased. They expressed a wish that this might be the case. Time will
prove their sincerity.”

“_Sunday, April 4th._—In the afternoon, at three, fewer native
Christians attended Hindoostanee worship; but a great many servants
of the gentlemen who live in the fort, came to hear, behaved very
orderly, and heard with much attention the explanation of the parable
of the prodigal son. In the evening Abdool explained the Apostle’s
creed, to multitudes of natives, collected outside the fort, who all
behaved respectfully to him.

“_April 5th._—After morning worship Abdool took the children, and
went into the fort, to be ready for the afternoon. When all the
children were collected, he read to them the story of ‘Henry and his
Bearer.’ They all expressed great delight. When he had finished, the
eldest of his nephews said, ‘Now I must of necessity be baptized.’

“_Sunday, April 11th._—About nine o’clock, while the native Christian
children and servants were at worship, a venerable old man, who says
he is ninety years of age, came from the Tage to Abdool’s. The tears
began to roll down his cheeks, as they proceeded in the service:
toward the end, he repeated ‘Amen’ heartily, after each petition.
When prayers were ended, he went up to Abdool, and embraced him; who
said, ‘Do you know that I am a Christian?’ He answered, ‘Yes: I heard
so yesterday. I have often seen the English at worship, but never
understood their language; but your prayers are most excellent, and
my soul has been greatly refreshed by them.’

“_May 5th._—To-day a Mohammedan physician sent to request that Abdool
would visit him in the evening. He accordingly went, and found him as
an attendant on the Royal Family at Jondpore. He has leave to visit
Agra, owing to sickness in his family, which required change of air.
He had heard of Abdool’s conversion yesterday, and could not believe
he was the person he pretended to be. He offered to bet 2000 rupees,
that a person of the family described, could not change his religion.
He moreover said, if he were such a one, he must know him, for they
were at school together; and he would send for this person, (viz.
Abdool Messeeh,) and prove him to be an impostor. On Abdool’s going
to his house, nothing could exceed the physician’s astonishment, to
find him the very person described, and his own school-fellow. They
had a long and friendly conversation about their former intercourse,
and read several chapters in St. Matthew, and other parts of the
New Testament. On Abdool’s answering his objections, he said, ‘This
is the way I understand you did yesterday, silencing every body by
reference to their own customs: and so I perceive Islam will not
stand.’ He took a copy of St. Matthew, and desired to have the whole
New Testament.

“_Sunday, May, 9th._—In the evening, out of the fort, a greater
number than ever was collected, with evident desire to hear the
Word. They checked one another, in order to preserve silence. One,
impatient at the noise around him, cried aloud, ‘Keep silence, ye
accursed, and let us hear the Word! Ye have six days in the week,
have ye not, to babble and talk?’ The subject was, ‘_This is a
faithful saying_.’ Several were in tears. One man came forward, and
declared he would be a Christian. He was sick, had long been ill, did
not expect to live long, and these words comforted him. He had never
before heard such comfortable words.

“One evening, during the preceding week, Abdool went into the city. A
number of people collected round him, and entered into conversation;
at length, they begged that he would sit down, and read them a
chapter. He did so, and read the eleventh of John. One of them told
him, ‘if you would have us become Christians, you must come among us,
and teach us the gospel. Come and live among us, and we will attend
you daily.’

“_Sunday, June 6th._—The attendance in the fort was as usual; and
in the evening, without the fort, the crowd was beyond all former
example. Even the tops of some of the houses, were covered with
Mohammedans; but those of the crowd who could not hear, by their
pressing and eagerness to get forward, prevented much of what Abdool
said from being heard.

“_June 7th._—The whole day was passed by Abdool in the city; and his
house was like an exchange, from morning till night. More copies of
the scriptures were sought for; and one moonshee began to read St.
Matthew with Abdool. Three children were brought to school, and the
people speak with much admiration of the establishment of a free
school.

“_June 9th._—Numbers of people visited Abdool again to-day, and many
interesting conversations took place. An old Mohammedan, uncle to
one of the principal men in the city, was asked, on going away, what
he thought of Abdool. He answered, ‘What can I say? He says nothing
amiss; and nothing can be objected to the Gospel; what can I say?’

“_June 10th._—To-day the doctrine of Christ witnessed a triumph. For
three weeks past, a faqueer, of the Jogi tribe, has come frequently
to our morning worship, in the school. On Tuesday the chapter to be
read in order was John xvii. The subject of it, and our Lord’s manner
toward his disciples, arrested the attention of the Jogi, and the
tears flowed plentifully down his cheeks. To-day he brought his wife
and child; said he was a convert to Jesus, without reserve; and
began of himself to take off his Faqueer’s dress. He first took the
beads from off his neck; then broke the string to which the charm
given him by his gooroo was suspended; then broke off an iron ring
worn round his waist, and to which an iron rod, about two feet long,
was attached. He then put on some old clothes, which we had by us,
and said, now he wished to be instructed in the Gospel, and to get
employment. A rupee was given to procure food for the family, with
which the wife went and bought a spinning wheel, saying, she would
spin and earn their livelihood. These are wonders in the history of a
Hindoo. The whole family afterward ate their dinner with Abdool, of
their own accord.

“To-day, also, an old woman who has constantly heard Abdool on
Sundays, brought her little all from the house of a Mohammedan, where
she had long lived, and took up her abode among the Christians,
expressing a heart-affecting sense of her value for the Gospel of
Christ.

“A leper too, who has spent years in religious observances, without
finding rest to his mind, and who has been some time in constant
attendance on the means of grace, took up his abode with us, saying,
Jesus would cure the inward leprosy of his soul.

“The old soldier also, and his wife and son, have cast in their lot
with us.

“The school to-day increased to ten, expressly under the idea that it
is a Christian institution.

“_June 12th._—The whole city seems moved with this new thing which is
come unto them; but not a tongue stirs in opposition. As a proof of
this, the Mooftee of the court, whose father is Khazee ol Kazat, or
Native Chief Justice of the Company’s head court in Calcutta, sent to
beg that Abdool would forget the attempt that had been made by his
relatives in Calcutta, to procure his imprisonment, and would visit
him, (the Mooftee,) and be friends with him.

“It would be no easy task to record all the interesting discussions
which have taken place, during these two days, between Abdool and the
principal Mohammedans in the city. One of them observed, that Abdool
was so provided with armour, that none of their weapons (arguments)
could reach him.

“_June 18th._—To-day, Abdool was informed, that the kazee (judge) is
taking pains to prevent the children from coming to school, and the
people from visiting him. Some of the children said to him, on his
forbidding them to go to school to Abdool, ‘Will you then instruct us
gratis, as he does?’

“_June 25th._—Yesterday, as Abdool was reading and explaining Acts
iv. at his house in the city, an extraordinary instance of Divine
power attending the Word, appeared. A youth about fifteen, a Brahmin
of the Gour caste, had come, among others, to see and hear this new
thing. Abdool observed him very attentive; and as he proceeded,
and was explaining verse 12, ‘Neither is there salvation in any
other, for there is none other name given among men, whereby we can
be saved,’ the lad seemed greatly agitated, and breaking off his
Brahmin’s cord, threw it away. All who were present observed what he
did, but no notice was then taken. After the congregation went away,
the lad remained; said he would embrace the Christian religion, and,
in short, of his own accord ate with Abdool, and came home with him
in the evening.”

“_July 6th._—To-day the Rajah Ram Narian passed most of the day
here. He is son of the brother of the well known Cheyt Sing, Rajah
of Benares, who was finally set aside from the rajahship by the
Honourable Company, on the murder of Mr. Cherry, and the present
family placed on the musnud, who are of the female line. On June
9th, this Rajah Ram Narian called upon me, (Rev. Mr. Corrie.) He had
passed the greatest part of a day at Cawnpore, with the late Mr.
Martyn, with whom I was then an inmate. Since then, he has been
visiting about among the Mahratta princes and on arriving here,
and hearing of my being here he came to call upon me. After some
time, he entered into a detail of the misfortunes of his family. I
heard him out, and then endeavoured to show him, that all worldly
expectations were thus deluding; and that, though we should gain our
end in the world, we must leave it, and go to give account to God:
whilst those, who know and love the true God, have a never-failing
portion. Abdool, who was present, took up the subject. The young man
was roused to attention, came to see us day after day, and expressed
very freely in public his approbation of the Gospel, becoming daily
more serious and earnest in his religious inquiries. At length, he
became suspected of an inclination to Christianity. Crowds, both
of Hindoos and Mussulmans, visited him daily, to dissuade him from
associating with Abdool. On the 2d inst., he took up his abode with
Abdool, in the city; and now, the whole city seemed moved. Day and
night, he was beset by people, many of whom had never seen him, or
heard of him until now; and the agitation of mind occasioned thereby,
made him quite unwell. To-day he is much indisposed, yet came out to
see me. After some previous conversation, I said to him, ‘If your
intention of embracing Christianity be sincere, I do most heartily
invite you to occupy these rooms,’ in which we were sitting, ‘and
in all respects, to consider me as a brother: only I am anxious
that no worldly motive should enter into your resolutions, and
that no one should be able to say, you were influenced by temporal
considerations.’ He answered, very distinctly and deliberately, ‘Sir,
in respect of name, what can I propose to myself by the change? My
family is the chief among the Hindoos, being Brahmins, and lords of
the holy city. In respect to provision, you know how I have lived,
and could still live:’—he told me before, that he could collect 400
rupees a month, and subsistence for three or four hundred followers
among the Mahratta princes:—‘What earthly end can I have in view?
But, among the Hindoos or Mohammedans, I never heard of any whose
birth, life, death, resurrection, and ascension, can be compared with
Jesus. I perceive he is the only Saviour, and I see I may obtain
remission of sins through him.’

“_July 8th._—In consequence of the above visit, the friends and
adherents of the Rajah became quite violent with him, and threatened,
by some means or other, to put an end to his life. They threatened
Abdool also, who quietly, but resolutely answered, ‘If you should
accomplish my death, it would be a cause of joy to me, as bringing
me at once to Him whose I am; but, be assured, your lives would
be forfeited to the law, and at the throne of God, you would find
Raim,[17] or any other you depend upon, quite unable to save you
from the guilt of murder.’ They were dismayed at his resolution, and
have kept aloof from him since; but have persuaded the Rajah to make
a journey to Gualier, where another widow of Cheyt Sing’s is, and
of a brother of his own. He says he will come back alone shortly;
appears in deep distress; and said to-day, ‘I go with them because I
fear they will otherwise murder me; but I know, if I do not become a
Christian, I shall go to hell with my eyes open. My faith is in Jesus
Christ alone, and beside him there is no Saviour.’ A Mohammedan in
the service of the Rajah has been the chief opposer, and has tried
to get others to say that Abdool wished to compel people to become
Christians. A Molwee, who lives near, and to whom he first addressed
himself, told him at once he lied, and was an infidel for opposing
an idolater who wished to believe in revelation, though not in
Mohammed. The Hindoos to whom he applied, said he was mad; that they
saw and heard all that passed in Abdool’s house, and saw no violence
offered to any one. One Hindoo said, ‘I hear him forbid people to
kill, or to commit adultery, or to steal, or to tell lies; if this be
Christianity, it is a good religion; there are no such good words
even in the Sanscrit books.’

“_July 11th._—A man from a neighbouring village was present to-day,
who has been a constant attendant for some time. He was asked why he
had expressed a wish to become a Christian? He answered, ‘For the
sake of salvation.’ What had he heard, that should induce him to hope
for salvation in Christianity? He said, ‘He had never heard of any
whose birth corresponded with that of Christ; that to raise the dead,
and himself to rise from the dead, proved him to be the Son of God,
and able to give remission of sins. He to-day took his meal with the
Christians, by which his caste is gone.

“_July 24th._—To-day a Mohammedan from Berthpore came, who is
physician to the Rajah’s family. He had long ago perused the
Pentateuch in Arabic, lent him by a Roman Catholic priest, who lived
with General Duboin. About two years ago, it came into his mind
to search for truth. The irreconcilable contradictions among the
different Mohammedan sects, struck him powerfully, and convinced
him that truth was not with them. He read in the Koran, that Christ
is the Spirit of God. This gave him a high idea of our Saviour. He
took an opportunity of coming to Agra soon after that time, when
he visited Mr. C. the Baptist missionary, who urged him to an
immediate profession of Christianity. This he was not prepared for,
but took a copy of St. Matthew and St. Mark, in Persian, translated
by Sabat, and went back to Berthpore. There he has been until the
present time, fully persuaded of the truth of Christianity, and
the divinity of Christ, from the perusal of the above translation,
but desirous of meeting with some of his own countrymen, who could
inform him further; he at length heard of Abdool, and of the kindness
and inoffensiveness of his manners. ‘This,’ said he, ‘is the way
of that religion.’ And on Monday, he came over on purpose to meet
with Abdool. He was led to the house of a Molwee, who teaches our
Christian boys Arabic, and who is very favourable to the truth; so
that his introduction to Abdool was thus made easy. He now wishes to
be baptized; seems less than any native whom I have seen, to consult
with flesh and blood; said he desired only to be great in the sight
of God, and, if it were his will, to be among the first fruits of
Hindoostan; for he is sure that all the land will become Christian,
and he desires to give himself to labour to spread the Gospel. He has
a son eighteen years old, whom he has made acquainted with the change
passing in his mind; and who, he says, is, equally with himself,
disposed to embrace the Gospel. He has gone back to bring this son,
and what property he has, that he may give himself wholly to the work
of the Lord.

“_July 18th._—This afternoon the above person made his appearance,
with his son, at worship in the city. He had thought, he said, of
sending his son first: but afterward reflected, ‘This is not a work
to be delayed, or trifled with.’ He publicly professed, before all
the people assembled, that he was come expressly to receive baptism.
He laid aside his turban, and knelt down to prayer with the Christian
part of the assembly.

“_July 23._—To-day, Abdool’s eldest nephew, after many solicitations,
was examined for baptism. So long since as the beginning of May, he
had been observed diligent in secret duties; and the questions which
he asked, discovered an awakened conscience. On Monday last, he began
to read the Scriptures, and pray with the Catechumens. This was after
repeated requests to be allowed to do so, and diligent application to
private reading of the Scriptures. To-day he was asked, ‘Why do you
wish to be baptized?’ He said, ‘Because I am conscious of many and
great sins, and I wish to enter on the way of forgiveness.’

“_Ques._—‘But perhaps the English government may not always remain in
this land; and you know, in that case, the Hindoos and Mohammedans
would persecute you: what would you do?’

“_Ans._—‘Certainly, since they despised, and persecuted, and
ill-treated the Saviour, I can expect no other; but, through his
help, I would remain firm.’

“_July 24th._—During the whole of this week, the Hugeem from
Berthpore has attended daily with his son. The Epistle to the Hebrews
was appointed to be read, to show him the connexion between the
Old and New Testaments. As we went on, his attention was evidently
attracted by the peculiar truths of the Gospel—the divinity of
Christ—his suitableness, as God, to be a Saviour—the sufficiency of
his sacrifice, and the extent of it, as reaching to sins under the
former dispensation also. The passages connected with these subjects,
drew from him many expressions indicative of a truly enlightened
mind. He has been daily also inquiring about baptism; and as the
subject has been on his mind above two years, and he is now evidently
decided in his choice, it was agreed to baptize him to-morrow. After
talking of his family, I asked if he was aware of any thing in his
own history for which God might be justly displeased with him. He
answered, ‘What have I done, that deserves the name of virtue, all my
days? If I have done any thing good at all, it is this acceptance of
the truth.’”

Bishop Heber makes mention of Messeeh, in his Journal, near Agra,
January 12th, 1825, as follows:—

“Abdool Messeeh breakfasted this morning at Mr. Irving’s; he is a
very fine old man, with a magnificent grey beard, and much more
gentlemanly manners, than any Christian native whom I have seen. His
rank, indeed, previous to his conversion, was rather elevated, since
he was master of the jewels to the court of Oude, an appointment
of higher estimation in eastern palaces, than in those of Europe,
and the holder of which has always a high salary. Abdool Messeeh’s
present appointments, as Christian missionary, are sixty rupees a
month,[18] and of this, he gives away at least half. Who can dare to
say, that this man has changed his faith from any interested motives?
He is a very good Hindoostanee, Persian, and Arabic scholar, but
knows no English. There is a small congregation of native Christians,
converted under Mr. Corrie, when he was chaplain at Agra, and now
kept together by Abdool Messeeh. The earnest desire of this good man
is, to be ordained a clergyman of the church of England; and if God
spares his life and mine, I hope, during the next autumn, to confer
orders on him. He is every way fit for them, and is a most sincere
Christian, quite free, so far as I could observe, from all conceit
or enthusiasm. His long eastern dress, his long grey beard, and his
calm, resigned countenance, give him already almost the air of an
apostle.”

In that year he was much afflicted by losing the use of his limbs
by the palsy; ‘but,’ said he, ‘I can move about in a carriage, and
God grants me the faculty of speech. Through his blessing, I trust I
shall be permitted, until death, to declare the truths of the gospel.
When, at length, this sinful body of mine is dead, and shall have put
on immortality, may I be found among the least of the blessed!’

Thus he maintained a consistent Christian life, and his closing hours
were brightened with Christian hope.

“He became ill; and Dr. Luxmore, finding him in a dying condition,
from mortification, had him conveyed to his own house, where he was
supplied with suitable medicine, nourishment, and attendance, to the
last. He expressed his deep gratitude for this change of residence;
for he said, that had he died at home among his own relations, they
perhaps would have interred his remains according to the ceremonies
of their own erroneous faith: ‘But now,’ said he, ‘Christian brethren
will bury me.’ He expressed himself as perfectly resigned; and said
that death had no terrors for him, for that his Saviour had deprived
it of its sting. He expressed to a friend who attended on him, his
gratitude for the kind attention of Mr. Ricketts, the Resident,
saying, ‘See the fruits of Christian love!’ The day before his death,
he requested his friend to write his will. A house which the Resident
had enabled him to purchase, he left to his mother; his books to the
Bible Society, and his clothes to a nephew. After concluding these
formalities, he said, ‘Thanks be to God, I have done with this world!
and with regard to my mother,’ putting his hands in a supplicating
posture, ‘I commend her to God:’ then, laying his hand upon his
nephew, he said to his friend, ‘Speak to the Resident, that no one be
allowed to injure him:’ then desiring his friend to come near him,
and putting his hands in an attitude of prayer, he said, ‘O Father,
Son, and Holy Ghost, be gracious to——’

“On one occasion he inquired after a man who had been with him for
some time for religious instruction; and being told he was at hand,
desired he might be called. On his approach, he questioned him on
some points of religion, and explained to him the Lord’s Prayer
throughout: he spoke of his intention to baptize him, should he
recover; and desired, that, in the event of his death, a clerical
friend might be requested to do so. Shortly before he expired, being
told that the New Testament was at hand, at his desire, the fourth
chapter of St. John was read to him; at the conclusion of which, he
said, ‘Thanks be to God!’ A hymn, which he had composed a short time
before, was then sung, and of which the following is a paraphrase:—

    Blest Saviour of the world! who art
      Beloved supremely still by me,
    Now, in thy ever-loving heart,
      Oh let me not forgotten be!

    Of all that blooms in earthly bower,
      Or in ethereal field that blows,
    Of every sweet and fragrant flower,
      Thou art the fairest, Sharon’s rose!

    Long passed away youth’s cheerful morn,
      And age’s closing hours come on—
    These grieve me not—my soul is torn
      By memory of my sins alone.

    Blest Saviour of the world! who art
      Beloved supremely still by me,
    Now, in thy ever-loving heart,
      Oh let me not forgotten be!

“He joined in singing this hymn, and desired that it might be sung
a second time: but he could no longer articulate distinctly, and
soon became insensible to every thing around him. He lay, seemingly
in perfect ease, till the evening; when he raised his head from
the pillow, and with his left hand took hold of the hand of his
friend—then gently withdrew it—and breathed his last.”


_Hymn referred to on page 52._

      THE God of Abraham praise,
      Who reigns enthroned above;
    Ancient of everlasting days,
        And God of love!
      Jehovah, great I AM!
      By earth and heaven confessed,
    I bow and bless the sacred name,
        For ever blessed.

      The God of Abraham praise,
      At whose supreme command,
    From earth I rise, and seek the joys
        At his right hand:
      I all on earth forsake,
      Its wisdom, fame, and power:
    And him my only portion make,
        My shield and tower.

      The God of Abraham praise,
      Whose all-sufficient grace
    Shall guide me, all my happy days,
        In all his ways:
      He calls a worm his friend!
      He calls himself my God!
    And he shall save me to the end,
        Through Jesus’ blood.

      He by himself hath sworn;
      I on his oath depend;
    I shall, on eagles’ wings upborne,
        To heaven ascend;
      I shall behold his face,
      I shall his power adore;
    And sing the wonders of his grace
        For evermore!

      Though nature’s strength decay,
      And earth and hell withstand,
    To Canaan’s bounds I urge my way,
        At God’s command:
      The watery deep I pass,
      With Jesus in my view,
    And through the howling wilderness
        My way pursue.

      The goodly land I see,
      With peace and plenty blest;
    The land of sacred liberty,
        And endless rest:
      There milk and honey flow,
      And oil and wine abound;
    And trees of life for ever grow,
        With mercy crowned.

      There dwells the Lord our King,
      The Lord our righteousness!
    Triumphant o’er the world and sin,
        The Prince of Peace!
      On Sion’s sacred height,
      His kingdom still maintains;
    And glorious, with his saints in light,
        For ever reigns.

      The ransomed nations bow
      Before the Saviour’s face,
    Joyful their radiant crowns they throw
        O’erwhelmed with grace:
      _He_ shows his scars of love;
      They kindle to a flame,
    And sound through all the worlds above,
        “The atoning Lamb!”

      The whole triumphant host
      Give thanks to God on high,
    “Hail Father, Son and Holy Ghost!”
        They ever cry:
      Hail Abraham’s God and mine!
      I join the heavenly lays;
    All might and majesty are thine,
        And endless praise!


_Hymn referred to on page 59._

    O’er the gloomy hills of darkness,
      Look, my soul, be still and gaze;
    All the promises do travail
      With a glorious day of grace:
        Blessed Jubilee,
    Let thy glorious morning dawn!

    Kingdoms wide, that sit in darkness,
      Grant them, Lord, the glorious light;
    And from eastern coast to western,
      May the morning chase the night;
        And redemption,
    Freely purchased win the day!

    Fly abroad, thou mighty gospel
      Win and conquer, never cease;
    May thy lasting wide dominions,
      Multiply, and still increase!
        Sway thy sceptre,
    Saviour! all the world around.


_Verse alluded to on page 192; paraphrased by Mr. Newton, from the
Latin._

    In desert woods with thee, my God,
    Where human footsteps never trod,
      How happy could I be!
    Thou my repose from care, my light
    Amidst the darkness of the night,
      In solitude my company.


THE END.


FOOTNOTES:

[17] An idol.

[18] A rupee is worth about fifty cents.



*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The life of Rev. Henry Martyn : Written for the American Sunday School Union, with some account of Abdool Messeeh, a Hindoo convert" ***


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