NOT very long ago I told you of how a dark cloud of trouble seemed to be gathering over the mission work in Burmah, and now I want to tell you about some lessons of faith and patience; God, who is, we know, always wise and loving, saw would be best learned in the school of sorrow. Many of you will, I think, remember that Mr. Judson had already, as a French prisoner-of-war, seen the inside of a Spanish prison, and though he had only been kept there for a short time, still it was, I think, quite long enough to make him value the blessing of freedom in a way that perhaps he had never done before. When Mr. Judson returned to Ava he found the king too much engaged to spare him more than a few moments, and even in that short interview he could not help noticing how cold and almost unkind his manner was. The emperor was about to take possession of a new palace, which had been built for him at great cost, and all the princes and nobles of his empire had received his royal commands to be present at its opening.
The scene must indeed have been an imposing one when the procession, several miles in length, was formed. The white elephant, in the body of which many of the Burmans believed the soul of their god Buddha had once lived, almost covered with gold and jewels, was led in front, attended by priests from all the idol temples for many miles round; next came native princes and governors, all wearing their Court dresses, while the trappings of the horses on which some of them rode glittered with gems; these were waited upon and followed by long lines of servants and soldiers. The king and queen, who wore no ornaments and appeared in the simple dress of native Burmans, entered the palace hand in hand, and, seated on a double throne of ivory inlaid with gold, received the homage of their subjects. Yet even in that moment of triumph, any one who looked closely at the proud monarch might have felt sure that he was not really happy. For some time he had not been on friendly terms with the British government, and war was about to break out between England and Burmah.
Mr. and Mrs. Judson were, as you will remember, not English but Americans. They had nothing to do with war or politics. They had gone to live in Burmah because they believed the Lord had opened a door for the gospel there; and they longed to tell its poor, perishing people about their own precious Savior.
But the king did not know or understand all this. Perhaps he did not even wish to know or understand; he only knew that the missionaries were foreigners, so thought they must be spies. It was not long before Dr. Price and Mr. Judson received an order to appear at the court house. They were asked if they had not written to foreigners, telling them of the state of the country and advising an invasion by British troops.
"We have, it is true," Mr. Judson replied, "written letters in English to our friends in America, but never to any person employed by the government. We have always wished, not for war, but peace. We pray to our God for His blessing on the king and people of Burmah.”
They were then asked questions about some money collected by Christians in America to pay for printing Testaments and tracts, which had been sent to Mr. Judson through some British merchants at Rangoon.
After a long, weary waiting time they were allowed to leave. But only a few days after, as they were sitting down to dinner, a guard of twelve Burman soldiers, led by an officer who carried a black book, rushed in without even knocking. They were followed by a man who was, Mr. Judson knew by his strange dress and spotted face, the public executioner. "Where is the teacher?" they asked in loud, angry voices.
"I am here," Mr. Judson replied, quietly stepping forward as he spoke, though knowing quite well that the errand of the soldiers was to arrest him. "You must come with us; the king has called for you," said the officer. As he spoke, two soldiers threw him down, binding him with cords so tightly that he could not breathe without pain. In vain Mrs. Judson begged them to loosen the cords, promising to give them money if they would do so; but they only laughed at her tears, drawing them tighter.
"You will at least tell me where you are going to take my husband," pleaded poor Mrs. Judson.
She had not long to wait for the answer, which must have seemed to her like a crushing blow: “To the death prison; it is the king's orders," was the reply.
She had been in Burmah long enough to know that only those who were accused of some great crime, and for whom there was little if any hope of obtaining pardon, were sent to that much-feared prison.
Hardly a moment for farewell was allowed Mrs. Judson, as, after telling her they would come for her soon, the soldiers led or rather dragged away their prisoner.
While I think Mrs. Judson, who all through the many trials of their work in Burmah acted like the brave, loving, christian woman she was, would have been quite willing to go with her husband in the terrible prison where they were taking him, still she knew that even for his sake it was best she should be free, as if she could not obtain his release, she could send him food and perhaps do other things for his comfort.
For a little time she was allowed to remain quiet in the strangely empty and silent room, and we need not ask how she used those precious moments: in laying the trouble that must have seemed so very, very great before the Lord in prayer; in seeking grace and strength in His presence, where they are alone to be found.
What made her start and look round as she rose from her knees? There were footsteps outside, and a strange voice calling her to come out. The soldiers had returned and were about to search the house in the hope of finding letters, papers, or other things, which might prove Mr. Judson to have been a spy sent out and paid by the English government.
She must go to them, but not till she had taken from her husband's desk one or two much-valued packets of letters from friends in America and destroyed them by burning. Then, pale but peaceful, for her heart was fixed trusting in God, she went out.
For two days she was kept a strictly-guarded prisoner in her own house, though once or twice she was able to send a little food to her husband. On the morning of the third day she was allowed to visit the prison. One look into the face of the keeper must have made her feel almost heart-sick; he was, she felt sure, a hard, cruel man. "The prisoners," he said to her, "and yourself also are quite in my power; I cannot set them free, but they are loaded with chains: I can take the chains off your husband if you will give me enough money." He then named a sum equal to about twenty pounds in English money, adding, "Do not tell any one you have given me money.”
The sum was paid, and the husband and wife were allowed to see each other, though only for a few moments. Mrs. Judson was able, however, to send him a daily supply of food, also a mat to sleep upon.