William Carey: Faithful Translator of God's Word for India
James Joseph Ellis
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: I Can Plod: Or the Boy Who Finished What He Began
“The childhood shows the man as morning shows the day.”
“Hurrah! Hurrah! Done at last. Mary! Mary! I have succeeded!” shouted a boy, rushing into the room where his mother sat busy with her lace pillow.
“Mary has nearly finished her spinning,” said Mrs. Carey. “She can go now. But what gives you so much pleasure, William? Have you found a new beetle?”
“No, mother; but do you remember the nest in the great chestnut? How I watched the building of it! Three times I went up the tree after it, and each time I fell to the ground. It was a fall from that tree that made me so ill”
“You naughty boy! Three weeks you have been laid up owing to that fall. You have not been climbing the tree again? You can hardly stand yet.”
“I couldn’t help it, mother. Night and day I thought of that nest. It wasn’t so much that I wanted some of the eggs, but it hurt me to be defeated. If I had waited for forty years it would have been just the same. I went directly I could walk and climbed the tree, and here is the nest.”
“That was like your father’s son,” answered Mrs. Carey; “but you ought not to have taken all the eggs in the nest and the nest too. When he was only a poor weaver he was always at his book. No wonder that, when you were six years of age, he obtained his present situation. It is something to be schoolmaster and parish clerk too, and it is all owing to his perseverance.”
“I can’t help it, mother,” said William, arranging the eggs upon the spotless deal table. “When I begin a thing I feel that I must go through with it at any cost I hope I shall do as well at making shoes.”
“True, boy,” answered his mother. “We would rather that you had stayed at home here in Paulerspury; but that skin disease you have had since you were seven years of age will not allow you to work in the fields.”
“It is a pity, mother, for I should so like to have learned farming,” answered William. “But I cannot endure the pain that the sunlight causes me. Still Hackleton is only nine miles away, mother; I shall often come over to see you.”
“Yes, do; for it will be a long time before I shall become accustomed to your being away from home and I like to keep the chickies near me. Five ye were once, but my Lizzie now is in heaven.”
“I am getting on for fourteen now,” answered William, “and I ought to be doing my part to earn a little. Come, Mary, let us go and put these eggs into their place.”
Mary, who was a few years younger than her favorite brother, was nothing loath, and the two were soon busily engaged looking over the treasures in the little room that William called his own. Upon one side a row of long boxes contained beetles, butterflies, and eggs; each specimen was labeled with its name in Carey’s boyish writing. Upon the other side of the room another pile of boxes contained specimens, dried and arranged by William himself, of the botanical treasures of the locality. In one corner birds’ nests were arranged, in the opposite angle a few well-used books were piled in order. Not a thing was out of its place; it was like the youthful master—a picture of neatness.
“Mind, Mary, that you don’t drop any of the straw upon the floor. You must not be careless like Ann. The other day I brought her in here to look at my new beetle, and she dropped three or four threads over the floor. Try, Mary, and make Thomas careful about that very thing, for a little disorder matters a great deal. It shows that whoever made it is careless; and carelessness is almost as bad as laziness.”
“Shall we see to your pets?” asked Mary. “While you were ill I took great care of them. When you are away at Hackleton I will look after them.”
“Do, Mary, do,” answered William. “Be careful not to neglect the birds. If we are careless of God’s dumb creatures, we shall soon be cruel to human beings. But, come, let us go down to the garden; I wish you to see one plant that will require very careful watching.”
Closing the door carefully, after looking to see that nothing was displaced, William hurried from the house, followed by his sister. The schoolmaster’s house stood end to end with the school-room; behind the line of buildings there was a large orchard. At the far corner a little plot of land was marked off by a stone border. This was William’s own garden. Every inch of it was carefully cultivated; it was, like his room, as scrupulously neat as a garden could be.
“Mind, that must not be watered too much, Mary; [illustration] but those are thirsty things, and will take a good deal of water. You are quite sure, Mary, that you can do what I want? I mean that you will not find it too much for you?”
“If I begin it, I will do it, William,” replied Mary. “Now and then, I forget, I know, but I never mean to do so. Oh, no! I will do what you want.”
“Now, then, I will show you how to preserve a specimen. Take a leaf of this, there is plenty of this kind. Come, let us go into the school-room: it will be empty now.”
The school-room was a plain room, its white washed walls and black oaken rafters according with the rude seats upon which the pupils rested. These were benches which consisted of trees sawn down the middle, rude legs being inserted into the round side. But the young botanists thought nothing of the uncomfortable seats; indeed, they had never seen better.
They sat down together, and Mary received her lesson. “Are you sure that you understand?” asked William, after repeating his instructions three or four times.
“Yes, oh yes, I see,” replied Mary.
“Better make sure,” said William. “Now, let me say it over again.”
When he had done so, the boy seemed as lost. “Mary,” he said, “I’m afraid that I shall not be able to search the hedges now. But, don’t you forget that we ought not to pass a single thicket without looking carefully into it; you can never tell what treasures it may hide. Keep all that you may find until I have seen it. Who can tell what great discovery you may make if you only look?”
“Fancy, William! if you were only a laborer here. You would get five shillings a week all to yourself,” said Mary. “What a lot of books you could buy if you had all that money!”
“That is not to be just now, Mary,” replied her brother. “No, not yet; but perhaps I shall get as much money some day.”
Chapter 2 The Last First: Or the Pupil Who Was Wiser Than His Teachers
“William Carey! William Carey! I have surely heard the name before,” said Dr. Ryland, a minister in Northampton, as a young man of twenty-three entered his study nearly ten years after the incidents which are recorded in the previous chapter. “Sit down, my friend,” he said to his visitor. “Sit down, and tell me your business briefly.”
“I should like to be baptized.”
“Why have you such a desire? Let me hear who you are, and how God met with your soul.”
“My father was parish clerk at Paulerspury, and a godly man, who well loved all Christian people. At the age of fourteen I was apprenticed to the shoemaking in Hackleton. There I found a commentary belonging to my master containing Greek words. These I copied out, and when I visited my parents I got Thomas Jones, a weaver in our village, to translate them for me. So I picked up a little Greek. While at Hackleton I had frequent religious discussions with a fellow apprentice, who was, however, more than my match in argument. Upon one occasion I was sent out to collect the Christmas boxes given by the customers to the apprentices. One man offered me the choice of a shilling or a sixpence; I made choice of the shilling, but found afterward, to my sorrow, that it was a brass coin. To my shame I say it, but I endeavored to pass off this counterfeit as my master’s money. I prayed to God most earnestly that my deception might not be found out, but I was detected, and made to feel the disgrace of my sin.”
“That was wrong of you, “said Dr. Ryland.” Crooked ways are never safe, nor are they eventually successful.”
“So I found out, “replied the other.” In the second year of my apprenticeship my master died, and though it was not legally incumbent upon them to do so, my parents paid a sum of money to his widow for my freedom.”
“That was kind and honorable of them, “observed Ryland.” Be worthy of such upright parents.”
“I will strive to do so, “replied Carey.” I then went into the service of Mr. Old, at Hackleton, but at a lower rate of wages, because I had not yet fully acquired my trade. But after a while I became so good a workman, that my master used to exhibit a pair of boots of my making as a model for future apprentices. He kept them beneath a glass case.”
“That was a testimony to your ability, very gratifying to you; laudably so,” remarked Dr. Ryland.
“I married my master’s sister-in-law, Dorothy Plackett, two years ago,” continued Carey.” Yes, it was on the 10th of June, 1781. The same year I joined a little church which was then formed at Hackleton. My fellow apprentice had many times conversed with me upon the subject of religion; and by God’s grace I had come to see myself a sinner, and as such had come for pardon to Jesus Christ. I cannot tell of great raptures, or dreadful terrors,” continued Carey. “I have never experienced agonies of remorse; but I found myself a sinner, and I was enabled to trust in Jesus for salvation.”
“I pay little heed to excited emotions, Carey,” answered Ryland. “I don’t ask how much you feel, or how little. I say, Do you own yourself as a helpless sinner? Do you resolve, by God’s help, to abandon sin? Do you accept Jesus as your present, all-sufficient Savior? Will you resign yourself into His hands?”
“To all these questions I can humbly answer, Yes,” continued Carey. “To go on with my story, soon after my marriage my master died. My wife, moved with pity for her sister, who was destitute, induced me to take over the business. But I found it terribly hard work. Some orders, especially one large order, given to my master, were withdrawn when they heard of his death, and other losses followed immediately. I had to part with most of my stock; and I say it without murmuring, I often wanted even the necessaries of life. Then my child died, and I was sick with the ague.”
“Poor fellow! your friends were not able to aid you much, I fear? “asked Ryland.
“My brother Thomas denied himself even requisites, and pressed upon me a sum of money that he had saved with such protestations of affection, that I could not refuse his loving gift. This helped me for a time.”
“It was a noble deed,” said Ryland,” but brothers ought to aid each other. If brothers do not bear each other’s troubles, who will do so?”
“I can truly say that every member of my family would cheerfully endure privation to assist the others. I know that I would,” answered Carey.
“I believe you! I believe you!” exclaimed Ryland. “Yes, Carey, I shall be delighted to baptize you. Let me see, the 5th of October, 1783, is the new moon; that will do. Regard it as settled.”
The baptism took place at the time and place agreed upon. Ryland preached from Matt. 19:30, “But many that are first shall be last, and the last shall be first.”
“I had no idea,” he afterward remarked, “as to the youth’s grandeur. To me he was only a shoemaker’s apprentice. I little dreamed how literally my text was being fulfilled.”
So it was that the poor young man baptized that morning was to prove one of the most remarkable servants of Christ of his day, perhaps of all time. Ah, me! how little we understand about our fellows! and how faulty our estimate of their abilities and value often must be!
Chapter 3: More Than a Bishop: Or Expect Great Things From God; Attempt Great Things for God
“When Christ like faith is keen to seek,
When Christ like love delights to span
The rents that sever man from man.”
“I hope that you are not a sheep stealer?” asked Mr. Robinson, a clergyman of Leicester, four years after Carey’s baptism. “I bid you a hearty welcome to Leicester, Mr. Carey. I heard that you had become minister of the Baptist church meeting in Harvey Lane, Leicester. But I hope that you are not a sheep stealer.”
“Mr. Robinson,” replied Carey, “you do good in your way, and I in mine, each of us according to our lights. But let me say this, I would rather be the instrument in God’s hands of converting a crossing-sweeper than of stealing one of your richest people.”
“Spoken like a man, and a Christian too,” replied the other. “Now then, brother Carey, let us know all about yourself. I will tell you my history another day. Tell me, how long have you been a minister?”
“It is now 1789,” replied Carey. “I was called to the pastorate on 10th of August, 1785. On the 1st October, 1786, the church formed a solemn covenant, and I became fully their minister. They were but a poor people, and could but spare me £10 per year. For more than a month at a time, neither I nor my family tasted animal food; but though I wanted bread many a time, I do not know that ever I repined. I am fond of gardening, and the employment is both healthy and profitable.”
“But had you no outside help?”
“From a friend in London I received £5 per year, and I got also a little from a school that I kept. In all I suppose I might have received nearly £36 per year from all sources.”
“But the school should have paid you more?”
“I do not know that I have the faculty of imparting knowledge; besides, I could not put on the airs of a schoolmaster. Instead of my ruling the boys, they ruled me. Then, directly after I opened the school a former schoolmaster came back to Moulton, and he soon took away all my pupils.”
“What did you do then?”
“Went back to my shoemaking,” replied Carey. Once a fortnight I walked the nine miles into Northampton with my load of shoes, bringing back the materials for another fortnight’s work. Yet I enjoyed some advantages not to be despised while at Moulton. I made myself acquainted with Dutch, besides perfecting my Greek and Hebrew.”
“Had you any ministerial friends who could aid you?” “Yes; Robert Hall and Dr. Ryland were both very kind to me. But they had no sympathy with some of my ideas. I remember upon one occasion that I mentioned to Dr. Ryland my thoughts about sending the gospel to the heathen—”
“Sending the gospel to the heathen, Carey! Are you mad, my dear friend I” exclaimed Mr. Robinson.
“No indeed. Has not the gospel, from the very first, prospered only when it has been aggressive? Are the heathen degraded? So much the more reason why we should send them the glad tidings of salvation.” “But think how much there is to be done at home.”
“True; but will the home work be better done because the foreign work is neglected? Is it likely that the performance of one duty will lead to the doing of another? Besides, consider: were not our forefathers heathens, and are not Englishmen what they are by the blessed influences of the gospel”
“Perhaps so; but, Carey, it is madness for you to dream about such a thing.”
“So Dr. Ryland thought “replied Carey.” When upon one occasion I propounded the question as to our duty with regard to the heathen he was very angry. He sprang to his feet and said, ‘Mr. Carey, when God intends to convert the heathen, He will do it without asking your aid or leave, or without asking mine.’ But I cannot give up my idea.”
“Dreams! dreams! Mr. Carey. Dreams!” said Mr. Robinson, shaking his head.
“Mr. Robinson, I have made myself a map of the world, in which I have inserted the populations of the world, and it is dreadful to think how small a space is under the influence of the gospel. I have a leathern globe also that I made for use in my school; this I have colored to show the same truth.”
“Whatever has put such strange notions into your head, Mr. Carey?”
“Through reading about Captain Cook’s voyages I was first interested in the condition of the heathen nations. From reading about their customs, I began to consider how fearful was their blindness and how dark were their prospects for eternity. I cannot but believe that God desires them to be saved.”
“But, friend Carey, no one else has ever entertained such notions. If what you say be correct, why have not others felt as you do?”
“Jonathan Edwards wrote a little work which has a bearing ‘upon the subject. It made a great impression upon our Northampton ministers, and led them to resolve that once a month they would meet together, upon the first Monday night in the month, to pray for the conversion of the world. Then you have read Brainerd’s life?”
“Who has not? A wonderful man; all corn-pounded of zeal and affection. A very seraph in the service of God.”
“Reading his memoir, in some degree, strengthened my desire to become a missionary, but I cannot tell whence I obtained the idea. It has grown so gradually, and been so long time a tenant of my mind, that it seems a part of myself. I confess, Mr. Robinson, that I cannot see how the thing is to be done, but I firmly believe that in God’s own good time the means will be found. I mean to be ready when the way is opened.”
“Well, well; we shall see! We shall see! But a truce to these day dreams. Let us talk about something practical. How are you likely to succeed at Harvey Lane?”
“The people are very few and dispirited; an Antinomian spirit, too, has sprung up among them. I fear, until the listless, worldly temper is quite gone but little good will be accomplished.”
“How do you propose to deal with such a condition of things?”
“We have agreed to dissolve the society; only those will be admitted into the new fellowship who will consent to be governed by the laws of the gospel. It is a sharp remedy, but, I think, absolutely necessary.”
“Well, God prosper you, brother. I don’t at all agree with your fancies about the heathen, but I hope you will do a good work in Leicester.”
“How do you think I have planned the work each day? I have been accustomed to work upon a plan,” said Carey. “To spend one’s time for the glory of God is the great theme of the Gospel, but it is very difficult to do so in actual life. On Monday I study languages, taking care always to translate something; on Tuesday I study science, history, and composition; on Wednesday I shall preach or lecture, and I think of expounding the book of Revelation; on Thursday I hope to visit among my flock; on Friday and Saturday I hope to be engaged in preparing for the preaching of the Sabbath.”
“A full week, and well laid out,” replied Robinson. “Do you know Mr. Arnold?”
“No. I am sorry to say that I do not.”
“Then I will introduce you to him at once. He will help you, I am sure, by the loan of books. Come here to-morrow, Mr. Carey, and you shall meet him.”
So a year or two passed. Carey at first eked out his scanty income by toiling at his trade of boot making. With a flower in his window, he might have been seen, in his leather apron, working hard during the morning. Afterward he opened a school, but again with no very great success. He had to return to his labors at the lapstone; but during his scanty leisure he was always either studying or preaching.
During this period he kept the idea of missions to the heathen before his mind. He put his observations and opinions down into a little book, towards the cost of printing which one of his friends offered him £10. In the year 1791 at a members’ meeting at Clip-stone two sermons were preached, perhaps in some measure inspired by Carey’s advocacy of mission work. Sutcliff preached upon being “very jealous for the Lord of Hosts;” and Carey’s friend, Fuller, preached-upon the pernicious influence of delay.
“Shall we separate without doing something?” asked Carey in an agony, when the service was over. “You have shown us our duty. Oh, Fuller, help us to do it. God will open the way!”
“We ought to do something,” replied Fuller, “and I think that we should do it now.”
“Yes,” said Sutcliff; “but beware of overhaste. Let us make haste slowly.”
“I agree with Mr. Sutcliff,” said a bystander. “Don’t rush into unknown perils.”
“But I beg that you do not delay. Let us do at once what we can,” pleaded Carey.
“What shall we do’!” asked Sutcliff.
“Let Carey publish his pamphlet, and we will think it over,” said Fuller. “At our next meeting we shall perhaps be prepared to act.”
This was done, and on the 31st of May, 1792, Carey preached before the Association, which then met at Nottingham. His text was Isa. 54:2, 3: “Enlarge the place of thy tent, and let them stretch forth the curtains of thine habitations; spare not, lengthen thy cords, and strengthen thy stakes; for thou shalt break forth on the right hand and on the left; and thy seed shall inherit the Gentiles, and make the desolate cities to be inhabited.”
“In these words, brethren,” he said,” the Church is spoken of as a widow, dwelling in a tiny cottage by herself. The command to enlarge the place of her tent implied that her family would be increased. To account for this return of joy and happiness the prophet declares, Thy Maker is thy Husband, who shall one day be the God of the whole earth.’ These words, my brethren, convey to us a gracious intimation of duty. They bid us also to attempt a duty long time neglected. Two great principles are involved in the text, which we will now enlarge upon. First, EXPECT GREAT THINGS FROM GOD. Second, ATTEMPT GREAT THINGS FOR GOD.”
The preacher’s heart was aflame. The long brooding and praying now found a vent. He preached with such pathetic force that the whole assembly lifted up their voices and wept.
“I verily felt myself to be guilty, and wondered that God could have so long forborne to punish such criminal neglect,” said one who was present.
One after the other the weeping throng were dispersing; nothing seemed likely to result from the emotion.
Carey seized Fuller frantically. “Oh, Fuller, for the love of Christ, do not let us separate without doing something,” he said.
Fuller hesitated a moment.
Carey grew more earnest. “This may be the last time. Talk! talk! talk! Wait! wait! wait! We have waited far too long already. Let us now go forward.”
The assembly paused as they heard his words, and Fuller turning to the throng said, “I propose that a plan be prepared against the next meeting. It will be held 2nd October, 1792. Then we can at once inaugurate the new society.”
The proposal met with universal approval, and Carey returned home rejoicing that at last a beginning was to be made.
Chapter 4: I Give All: Or I Go in His Strength
“One look of that pale, suffering face
Will make us feel the deep disgrace
Of weakness.”
“On the 2nd October, 1792, therefore, twelve men met one evening in the house of Mrs. Wallis at Kettering. In that back parlor a resolution was agreed to that must have astonished all who thought upon its importance. The twelve men then present constituted themselves into a Missionary Society, for the purpose of carrying the gospel to the natives of India. A committee of five was appointed. These five were: William Carey, John Sutcliff, John Ryland, Andrew Fuller, secretary, and Reynold Hogg, treasurer. At the meeting a collection was made; the first for that purpose since the days of the apostles. £13 2s. 6d. was then contributed, to which £70 was afterward added from friends in Birmingham. Carey invited the attention of the Society to a Mr. Thomas who, having lived as a surgeon in India, now desired to return thither as a missionary to the Hindoos.
On the 9th of January, 1793, a meeting of the committee was held at Kettering. It was then resolved to unite with Thomas, who should be sent, with some companion, at the expense of the Society.
“I hope you realize the importance of the work we have undertaken,” said Andrew Fuller. “When I think of the swarming millions of India I am astonished at the vastness of the work committed to us, and at the wonderful fruitfulness that will result when India is won for Christ.”
“It will be won for Christ, brother,” said Carey, “and perhaps more speedily than you imagine.”
“There is a deep gold mine in India,” said Fuller. “A wondrous mine! as deep, it seems to me, as the center of the earth. When will it be seen to be Immanuel’s, to whom by right it belongs? A dark, dark shaft! Who will venture down to obtain the gold for Christ? Who will explore the mine?”
“I will venture,” said Carey instantly. “Weak as I am, I will go in His strength. But, Fuller, Ryland, and Sutcliff, if I go down the mine, I hope that you will hold the ropes.”
“Yes, that will I do, with all my heart,” said Fuller. “Trust me to hold with all my strength.”
“That will I also do” said Ryland. “As God shall give me strength, I will never lose hold of the rope.”
“Neither will I,” affirmed Sutcliff.” Carey, we will hold the rope if you will venture down.”
“Yes,” said Fuller,” we will give you each our hands upon it in the sight of God. As long as we shall live we covenant with you to sustain this enterprise with all our ability.”
“I will go then,” said Carey.” I seek not mine own ends. To be devoted as a sacrifice, for holy uses, is my purpose. I give all I have, or may have, to this purpose. In the name of God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
As the company still stood in solemn silence, Thomas unexpectedly entered the room. Carey went to him, and fell upon his neck.
“Brother Thomas! welcome a thousand times!” he said. “By God’s grace, I will go with you in this work.”
“Thank God!” exclaimed Thomas. “My dear comrade, I rejoice over you.” And the two men wept together.
But the congregation at Leicester over which Carey w as minister was at first reluctant to relinquish their pastor. At length, by the united entreaties of Carey, Fuller, and Sutcliff they yielded; and, with tears of deep feeling, the assembly stood up and raised their right hands to heaven as they agreed to the resolution, which was proposed by a venerable man, whose voice trembled as he read: “That since our beloved pastor, William Carey, bath been moved by the Holy Ghost to a sincere love to the heathen, and seeing that he hath resolved to leave home and all things to preach among them the unsearchable riches of Christ, we agree to surrender him to this work. We deeply feel his loss, and pray our God to make him abundantly useful to the thousands of India among whom his lot will be cast.”
With tears streaming down his cheeks, Carey stood up and replied: “Beloved friends, it rends my heart to part from you. It is like tearing myself away from a beloved family. But I dare not stay; I am thrust forth of God. Pray for me that I may be privileged to succeed in this work that I have undertaken.”
On the 20th of March the farewell services were held in Leicester. Andrew Fuller addressed the departing missionaries from the Savior’s royal words, “Peace unto you; as My Father hath sent Me, even so send I you.”
The stern face lit up with seraphic tenderness and burned with ardent affection as he said: “Peace! Yes, peace! in a world at strife. As if He had said, All is well with regard to the past, and all shall be well with regard to the future. Oh, the unutterable peace that flows like a river for all who love God. In the strength of this peace, go, my brethren, to the work of Christ. Go, my brethren; crowns of glory await you and us. You far over the sea, and we in England will each do the work of God in the preaching of the gospel. Each, I trust, will hear the Savior say to us at the great day of the Lord, Come, ye blessed of My Father, inherit the kingdom prepared from before the foundation of the world. These My brethren were hungry and ye fed them, these were athirst and ye gave them drink, they were in prison and ye visited them. Enter, O beloved, into the joy of the Lord!” Amen and amen!”
Mrs. Carey was at first very averse to her husband’s going to India. “If you will go, William,” she said, “you must go alone. I will never consent to such a journey. I cannot cross the seas. Why not let unmarried men go?”
“Then I will only take my eldest boy Felix with me,” replied her husband. “It will break my heart to see my family scattered; but I dare not refuse to go where God bids me.”
Accordingly he started alone, but a few days after he returned to his home.
“What! have you given up your foolish ideas?” asked Dorothy.
“No; but after we were on board ship someone sent an anonymous letter to the captain, telling him that there were persons on his ship who had no authority to enter India. The writer threatened that if these persons were allowed to go on, that a complaint would be made to the East India Company, who govern India. So we were landed; but, alas! only part of our passage money has been returned.”
“Now I hope that you will stop at home, and not go wandering away from your family upon such foolish fancies. Convert the heathen indeed! What business is it of yours? What good will it do you, I should like to know?”
“Indeed I cannot relinquish my purpose,” said William. “Thomas and I are going on in a Danish ship. Here is Thomas himself; he hopes to persuade you to go with us.”
“A likely story indeed! I am not fond of such foolish enterprises.”
“But, my dear Mrs. Carey, your husband will go,” said Thomas. “The journey is not a very long one. Only five months’ sea-voyage. Do consider how it will rend your husband’s heart if you stay behind.”
“But why should he go? There was my brother, as good a man as ever trod upon shoe leather, but he never had such fancies in his head. There are lots of people who get along very comfortably together, and never vex themselves about such wild fancies. No; I won’t go. William knows that I won’t.”
“Do, I entreat of you, consider that, if you will go, you will keep your family together. If you stay at home, what would you feel if your husband died in India? Think of him, perhaps, sick among strangers.”
“I don’t want him to go among strangers. Let us go back to Northampton.”
“But, Mrs. Carey”—
“Don’t Mrs. Carey me! I won’t go; no, that won’t! So there, now!”
“Then, Mrs. Carey, you will repent of your resolution as long as you live.”
“If I thought that”—
“Depend upon it, you will.”
“Well, can my sister go with us?”
“Willingly!” said William Carey.
“Then I’ll go. Not that I like it; understand me to say that plainly. But I shouldn’t like to repent; no, I shouldn’t.”
“Thank God,” said Carey. “Come, let us see about starting.”
He sold all his goods, and they left home. Upon their arrival in London, Carey called upon the venerable John Newton.
“What am I to do, Mr. Newton,” he inquired, “if the East India Company refuse to permit me to enter India?”
“If God intends you to go there, a thousand East India Companies could not prevent you doing so. But if you cannot get the door open, you will know who has barred it. Ah, Mrs. Carey,” he said, during Carey’s absence from the room,” what a wonderful man your husband is! I look up to such a man with reverence. He is more to me than bishop or archbishop. HE IS AN APOSTLE! May the Lord make all who undertake missions like-minded with Mr. Carey.”
On the 13th June, 1793, the missionaries left Dover. The vessel in which they sailed was called the Kron Princessa Maria, and flew the Danish flag.
During the voyage, which did not terminate until November 7th (when the ship reached Calcutta), Carey busied himself, under Thomas’s tuition, in acquiring the Bengali tongue.
“Ah, Thomas, we have but made a beginning,” he said. “Why not Africa, as well as India? South America and the islands near are not so very far distant but that they might be reached by missionaries.
China, too, in time might, I think, be attempted. Oh, what a field is open before us, and how few laborers there are willing to go!”
“Alas! that is so,” replied Thomas;” and how unfit we are for the enterprise!”
“If we only prepare the way for other laborers, we shall not work quite in vain,” said Carey.” It takes more than one lifetime to secure success. But let us not be dismayed. We must succeed; we cannot fail. When I look at myself I anticipate nothing but failure; but when I think upon Christ and His promise I feel that defeat is utterly impossible.”
So, in the strength of God, two men went into India to win that vast continent for Jesus Christ. Judged merely by ordinary standards, their enterprise was worse than foolish; judged by the light of Christ’s sacrifice and precepts, it was what might have been expected from the disciples of Him, who said, “Come unto Me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”
Chapter 5: Consecrated Cobblers: Or We Shall Want You
“If you have a kind word, say it—
Throbbing hearts soon sink to rest;
If you owe a kindness, pay it—
Life’s soon hurried to the West.
Days for deeds are few, my brother,
Then to-day fulfill thy vow;
If you mean to help another,
Do not dream it—DO IT NOW.”
On the 10th of January, 1800, five men met) in the great hall of a large house in the center of Serampore, India. Serampore was a Danish settlement upon the right bank of the Hooghly, which flowed thence to Calcutta, a city some fifteen miles distant.
Carey, after a brief prayer, said to his friends; “Now, brethren, we had better come to a clear understanding about our work. I arrived at Calcutta on the 9th of November, 1793, with Thomas. He hoped to secure employment as a surgeon. For some time I endured greater privations than at any period of my life. Hearing that land could be obtained rent free for three years near the Sunder bunds, a marshy tract on the Ganges about 7,000 square miles in extent, I started with my interpreter for Dehetta, on the margin of the Sunderbunds. This interpreter, Ram Bosoo, was at one time a professing Christian, but had gone back. Yet it is interesting to notice that the first gospel hymn in Bengali was written by him. Here is a verse of it—
“Oh, who beside can men recover?
Oh, who else restore to light?
Who but Christ, the heavenly lover,
Save from everlasting night?
Who beside Him
Save from sin’s eternal night?”
The ground at Dehetta was marshy, and floated upon the pasty swamp which went down some 120 feet below the surface; yet we made an attempt to erect a house and to till the soil. But in June, 1794, I was appointed to manage a small indigo factory at Mudnabatty. Thomas obtained a similar situation, both of us being in the employment of Mr. Udney. Mr. Udney gave me a small printing press, which cost about £40. Our salary of 200 rupees per month enabled me to dispense with the allowance made by the Missionary Society. My duties fully occupied me for three months in the year only; during the other nine months I was free to visit among the natives and to preach as I desired. I thank God that this way was opened for me. I know now all the methods of agriculture common among the people, and have become acquainted with their habits and customs. Six years I stayed there, and then brother Fountain came to assist me.”
“What fruit had you for all your toil, brother Carey?”
“I have been like a husbandman who watches anxiously for the up springing of the seed he has sown. Sometimes I think that I see a promise of growth, and I rejoice indeed; at other times it seems as if the seed were lost, and all my labor quite in vain. But surrounded as I have been with difficulties, I never seriously entertained a wish to abandon the enterprise; no, never.”
“We thought to have come to you at Mudnabatty, Brother Carey,” said one of the company. “I must say that we hoped to have seen you directly we touched Indian soil.”
“Mr. Udney has had heavy, very heavy losses lately,” replied Carey. “His brother failed; the French captured a cargo of his; then the floods destroyed some of his stock, and he has been compelled to surrender the factory. I myself had taken indigo works at Biddepore, and there I hoped that [illustration] we could all live together. But the Government will not permit missionaries to stay in India. Here in Serampore you are under the protection of the Danish Government. Here we had better make our head-quarters. This house will only cost 8,000 rupees to purchase, and it will make a good center for our work. The printing press is already set up in one of the rooms, brother Ward.”
“I am glad to hear it,” said Mr. Ward.” When you went through England, just before you came to India, do you remember meeting me at Derby? You said to me, Mr. Carey, and I never forgot your words, ‘By-and-by we shall want you.’ Here I am ready for work.”
“I now remember the incident well,” replied Carey, “but I had forgotten it. Had you any thought of mission work previous to that time?”
“My father was a carpenter and builder, who died while I was a child. I was born in Derby, 20th October, 1769. I served an apprenticeship to the printing, and had scarcely finished my apprenticeship and obtained my freedom when I was put in charge of a Derby newspaper. It seemed to me then that my life was to be devoted to literature; indeed the path to fame and wealth seemed opened to me. But in 1796 I was baptized in Hull, and I resolved to devote myself to the work of the Christian ministry.
While I was studying under the tuition of Dr. Fawcett, a gentleman came to our college in the interests of the Missionary Society, and then all at once I remembered your words. So here I am!”
“I am not a printer,” said another, Joshua Marshman by name.” I was born 20th April, 1768, at Westbury Leigh, in Wilts. My father had been a sailor, and was present at the capture of Quebec. He was a weaver and a deacon of the little Baptist chapel in our village. The only schooling that I ever received was in the little village school. Here I learned to read, for writing and arithmetic were not taught by our schoolmaster. I borrowed books from everyone who would lend to me, and before I was twelve years of age I had read over 100 volumes. At the age of fifteen I went to London to serve in a bookseller’s shop. But it was weary work trudging through the dark, dirty streets carrying loads of books that I never was allowed to look at. One day, as I was carrying three large volumes of books, into which I could do no more than peep, to the Duke of Grafton, I felt wretched and depressed, and just as I came to Westminster Abbey I laid down the parcel and sat upon it. It seemed so fearful that I was to have no higher destiny than to bear burdens like an ass; and I wept bitterly over my lot. But while I was in this unhappy mood I looked up and caught sight of the Abbey buildings, and straightway plucked up heart. I thought of all the heroes who were buried in the venerable pile, and it gave me courage to persevere. They were once weak and dispirited, but in the end they overcame. I put the load upon my shoulders and trudged along with a light heart. Only five months did I stay in London, then I returned to Westbury. For ten years I stayed at home; and in 1791 I got married. Three years after this event I became master of a school in Bristol, connected with Broadmead Chapel. For five years I carried on the school, studying myself all the time in Bristol College. It was reading about your work, Mr. Carey, made me desire to share it. Here I am at last.”
Thus the three men who were to become associated together at Serampore met; two others were with them then, but they, shortly after this meeting, were removed by death.
“Three hundred and sixty pounds is all that the Society can spare for us,” said Carey. “Mr. Thomas is engaged in manufacturing sugar, so he has not to be thought of. To make that money support six men, five women, and eight children will involve some care and management.”
“What do you suggest then, Mr. Carey?” asked Ward.
“I propose that we have one common fund, into which all our earnings shall be placed, each of us retaining a small sum as pocket money. Then each of us shall take turns in providing for the household, and also in conducting Divine worship. For myself, I ask that the two acres of garden behind the house way be liven over to me as a botanic garden.” “Agreed to willingly,” said all.
“Then to prevent misunderstandings, let it be understood that we are not here for our own purposes. Let us never think that our time or gifts or strength are our own; not even our clothes should we esteem as our own. Let us sanctify all to the glory of God.”
This resolution was agreed to, and afterward put into writing. Three times a year it was read over at every station, and its spirit ever ruled at Serampore.
Mr. and Mrs. Marshman opened two boarding schools, which proved a success. They produced a revenue of £360 per year to the mission fund. A school for native youths was then set on foot, some forty of them at once attending its classes.
These men, sneered at in England as “consecrated cobblers,” were now fully committed to one of the most exhaustive self-denying labors in which Christian men have ever been engaged. And with little apparent success; for much work has to be preparatory, and is therefore not seen. Yet it is not lost, though its benefits are not at once clear.
Chapter 6: Nailed to Christ: Or Keep the Cows Out of the Garden
“Great source of love, Thy grace impart;
Let love divine inflame my heart;
That I may love supremely Thee,
Who has such great love shown to me.”
On 24th December, 1801, Krishnu, the first convert, was publicly baptized in the river Ganges. Carey’s eldest son, Felix, at the same time was baptized also, though only fifteen years of age.
“The chain of caste is broken forever,” exclaimed Carey to Ward. “At last the success has begun.”
In this same year—1801—the New Testament was published in Bengalee. A public meeting was held to celebrate this remarkable achievement. From that time the success of the mission wonderfully increased. The first Lord’s day in the following year the first convert of the writer caste was baptized, and during the same year the first native Christian wedding in India took place.
“OUR HEARTS ARE NAILED TO CHRIST,” Said one of the converts, as the infant church celebrated the dying of the Lord. Nailed to Christ they certainly were, and to each other in holy love.
“Joy! joy! The Government have forbidden children to be thrown into the Ganges,” said William Carey. “Would that they would also forbid women being burned upon the funereal pyres of their deceased husbands!”
In 1804 Carey was appointed teacher of Bengalee in the College that was provided for the instruction of the East India Company’s servants. At first he received £600 per year for his services; after a while he was appointed Professor of Bengalee, Sanscrit, and Mahratta, at a stipend of £1,500 per year. This he put into the common fund, reserving only £40 per year to pay for his clothes and necessary expenses. The boarding schools conducted by the Marshmans now realized £1,000 per year; out of this they reserved £34 alone for their own use, the balance being devoted to the purposes of the mission—instances of self-sacrifice unsurpassed in all ages. The like disinterestedness was exhibited by Ward, Meanwhile, Carey pursued his labors.
“How do we spend our time?” answered Ward one day. “I will tell you, my dear sir: About six o’clock in the morning we rise. Carey goes to his garden, and Marshman to his school. I go to my printing office. At eight o’clock the bell rings for family worship in the great hall; then we have breakfast. Then Carey translates or corrects proofs of translations; Marshman goes to his school, and I to the printing office. At twelve we take a little refreshment, then bathe or shave or read a little until three o’clock, when we have dinner. Then we talk over a text for a little time, or discuss any religious question upon which it is needful that we should act together. Then we read Bengalee, and de what business turns up. We are generally well occupied until teatime, which is at seven o’clock. Then we have preaching, or conversation with enquirers who come to us to ask questions, or desire us to arrange quarrels.”
“A pretty full day truly! Not many Europeans could show so full a day in India. But what a splendid fellow your Carey is!” continued the visitor, who was a military officer.
“Yes, that he is,” replied Ward, warmly. “Mainly owing to his earnest efforts and wonderful talents, ten versions of the Scriptures have been published; indeed, nothing seems to escape his mind. He has just invented a method by which paper is rendered proof against the white ants. Do you know, I have seen the first sheets of a book destroyed while the last pages were in the press, that is, of course, native paper.”
“And can you prevent that?”
“Yes, oh yes. Have you seen our steam-engine, the first as yet in India?”
“No; I have heard about it. It is a wonderful invention this of steam!”
“So the natives think. But Carey’s chief pleasure is in botany. It is perfectly wonderful the knowledge that he has picked up at odd times about the birds and flowers of India. He devotes to such pursuits the time that other men give to sleep or pleasure. He has introduced the potato and cabbage among the people.”
“I shuddered for him when, in delivering his public speech before the Governor General, he dared to avow himself a missionary,” said the soldier. “It was indeed a bold step, and I feared that he would lose his position. In the first speech ever made in Sanscrit by a European, he congratulated the Governor General that he had opened to the natives of India a door which can never be closed. The Governor was not in the least offended at his boldness.”
“He will not pluck a flower; he is so fond of them,” said Ward. “He has trained his gardeners so that they know the botanical name of every specimen. He was sick, some time since, and very much depressed. ‘What is the matter, brother Carey?’ said I. ‘Oh, nothing! ‘ said he; ‘ that is, it is not important.’ ‘Are you worrying about the college?’ ‘No.’ ‘Are you troubled about your family?’ ‘No.’ ‘What is vexing you?’ Do tell me, Carey?’ After a moment of silence, he said, ‘ I was thinking that after I die you won’t trouble what becomes of the garden, and brother Marshman will let the cows get in.’ I promised him that the cows should not be allowed to spoil his garden, and he seemed comforted.”
“What a dreadful thing, Mr. Ward, it is that the Government permits women to be burned to death. The other day I was passing through a village, and there was a huge pile erected, upon which lay a dead body, attired in rich clothes. Presently a woman came out of a house, also dressed in her best. She staggered as she walked along, but a priest upheld her. She mounted the pile, and took her husband’s head upon her knee. Then two priests took two long sticks and held them upon her to prevent her rising. They set a light to the pile, and the men around began beating drums to prevent the poor creature’s cries from being heard. Yet I heard them, and distinctly saw her trying to get off the burning wood. Oh, that woman’s cries have been ringing in my ears ever since!”
“There was some intention of dealing with it—Suttee, as they call it—but the then Governor was called home, and it will not, I fear, be abolished just yet.”
“Pray God it may be speedily.”
“But what brings you here?” asked Mr. Ward. “I rejoice to have met you so often, Mr. Havelock; but tell me truly why do you come?”
“Well, if the truth must be confessed,” said the officer, “I am in love with Dr. Marshman’s daughter.”
“Good. She is as gracious as she is fair. I hope your suit prospers,” replied Mr. Ward, “Yes,” laughed the future hero of the mutiny. “Oh, yes. I spoke to the doctor this morning, and he is quite agreeable. I spoke to the lady yesterday.”
“Then we shall have a wedding in our mission family soon,” said Mr. Ward. “Well, you might have gone to a worse place for a wife, and could not well have gone to a better. I love the maiden like my own daughter. May you be happy, Mr. Havelock.”
Chapter 7: The English Daisy: Or the Cheerful Old Man
“Who in India’s bowers has stood
But thought on England’s good green wood,
And blessed, beneath the palmy shade,
Her hazel and her hawthorn glade,
And breathed a prayer (how oft in vain)
To gaze upon her oaks again?”
One morning Dr. Carey came running into the) house—”Marshman! Ward! make haste,” he cried. “Come with me.” “What is the matter, William?” inquired Marsh-man. “Have you found a treasure?”
“Ay, a treasure indeed! Such a treasure as I never dared hope to see in this land,” exclaimed Carey. “Come quickly. Mind, brother Marshman, that you do not step upon the flower beds. Brother Ward, you have broken of that shrub. Be careful of the flowers there. Now here it is,” and stepping back, William Carey showed the company a real English daisy. “There,” he exclaimed, cheerily, “What do you think of that? A real English daisy growing in India.”
“Indeed it is,” said Marshman, stooping over the flower. “Don’t be afraid, brother Carey; I will not touch it. How did it come here?”
“Why, some time ago, I received, as you know, a parcel of seeds from England,” said Carey. “I carefully took theta out of the paper, and then I shook the bag over this spot, in case any seeds should be in the corner of the bag. This must have been in the bag. What a treasure! Doesn’t it make you think of dear old England?”
The emotions of the company have been well expressed by James Montgomery, who wrote
The Daisy in India
“Thrice welcome, little English flower,
My mother country’s white and red;
In rose or lily till this hour,
Never to me such beauty spread;
Transplanted from thine island bed,
A treasure in a grain of earth,
Strange is a spirit from the dead
Thine embryo springs to earth.
“Thrice welcome, little English flower,
To this resplendent hemisphere,
Where Flora’s giant offsprings tower
In gorgeous liveries all the year.
Thou, only thou, art little here,
Like worth. unfriended and unknown;
Yet to my British heart more dear
Than all the torrid zone.
“Thrice welcome, little English flower:
To me the pledge of hope unseen,
When sorrow would my soul o’erpower,
For joys that were or might have been.
I’ll call to mind hew fresh and green
I saw thee waking from the dust,
Then turn to heaven, with brow serene,
And place in God my trust.”
A day or two after the incident recorded above, Carey came back from Calcutta, weeping like a child. The Government had been hostile for a long time, and now a sentence in one of the mission tracts had given the opportunity they had eagerly sought to harm the mission.
“I did not see the sentence,” said Ward. “I thought we could trust that man to translate the tract without putting any of his own opinions in.”
“What shall we do? The Government mean to put an end to our mission work,” said Carey.
“They cannot,” rejoined Marshman. “It is of God, and they cannot overthrow it. But this is no ordinary difficulty.”
By the good offices of the Danish Governor the difficulty was at last arranged. In England, however, the enemies of missions now began an attack upon the missionaries.
Sidney Smith forgot himself so much that, professing to be a minister of the religion whose Lord and Master was a carpenter at Nazareth, he sneered at Carey and his colleagues. Amidst the storm of abuse and persecution that followed Carey stood firm. Not one of the three at Serampore was dismayed. Day after day the three laid their case before God, and day after day the chant of the Serampore missionaries, as the natives called it, arose upon the air.
“Come, let us have our hymn, Marshman,” said Carey, “it will lift as out of their power;” and the three devoted men accordingly lifted their voices, and sang—
“O Lord our God, arise;
The cause of truth maintain;
And wide o’er all the peopled world
Extend her blessed reign.
“Thou Prince of Life, arise,
Nor let Thy glory cease,
Far spread the conquests of Thy grace,
And bless the earth with peace.
“Thou Holy Ghost, arise,
Expand Thy quickening wing,
And o’er a dark and ruined world
Let light and order spring.
“All on the earth arise,
To God the Savior sing,
From shore to shore, from earth to heaven
Let echoing anthems ring.”
And God did arise! Although the friends of missions did not obtain all that they desired, they were permitted a legal settlement in India. So much was permitted, and that, evidently, in answer to prayer. But now a new trouble came upon the heroic three. Early one morning Marshman went over to Calcutta to see Carey.
“Come, Marshman, you seem to be depressed; what is wrong? The cows have not got into my garden, I hope?”
“No, no; the garden is safe,” replied Marshman. “What is wrong then? The ants have not got at the paper, I hope?”
“Worse, far worse! O Carey! worse trouble than we have ever had!”
“What is wrong; tell me?”
“Last evening at six o’clock brother Ward went into the printing office. He saw that it was on fire. Every effort was made to extinguish the blaze, but the flames swept from room to room, and about midnight the roof fell in. Then the tongues of fire leaped up to the sky! For hours the huge column of fire burned steadily. The labors of twelve long years are all lost in a few hours! Think, twelve hundred reams of paper all burned; the sets of types for printing in fourteen Eastern languages; all the Scriptures that we had collected for distribution, and all the valuable manuscripts! How can we replace our loss? Alas! alas! all gone, brother Carey; all gone!”
Carey sat silent for some time. The blow had stunned him; he sat looking vacantly at his friend. At length he repeated mechanically, “All gone; all gone! Nothing saved! All gone!”
“Come, let us go to Serampore,” observed Marsh-man. “Shall we start at once?”
“Yes, let us start,” said Carey. “All gone; all gone!”
The two friends returned to their former habitation. The tidings had spread rapidly through the little Danish town, and a large crowd stood watching at a respectful distance. Ward greeted his two friends, and the three stood together, too sorrowful to speak about their grief.
“Nothing left of all our work but smoking ruins,” said Carey. “Alas, the strokes of God’s hand are sometimes very heavy! Woe is me!”
“Yet even this may be turned to good account, brother Carey,” said Ward. “Are not even adverse events given by God’s permission?”
“It may humble us,” said Carey. “How quickly all our glory passes away? Oh, for grace to remember how helpless we are without God! Without Me ye can do nothing,’ He says, and we know that it is true.”
“This providence, it is true, has a voice to us,” said Ward; “but what shall we do to repair the damage? I have sent everywhere, and there are no types to be had anywhere, though I have sought far and near.”
“God will open the way; let us go to prayer over the matter,” said Carey hopefully.” I have found that prayer will often remove obstacles that defy all other human skill. Pray God it may be so in our case.”
After a season of prayer the friends searched the ruins once more.
“Praise God,” cried Ward, “some of the punches and type molds are uninjured! Yes, yes; thank God.”
“Let the warehouse be cleared out,” said Carey. “That will do for type casting.”
Day and night relays of workmen were employed, and within a month two languages were printing, and at the end of six weeks the types for four other languages were ready.
The calamity was indeed overruled for good, as all afflictive providences in the Church and personal Christian life are. Within three months the churches of England contributed sufficient funds to repair the loss.
“The fire has given your undertaking a celebrity which nothing else, it seems, could; but a celebrity which makes me tremble,” wrote Fuller. “The public, after deriding us, are now praising us. Pray God that as our missionaries have stood their ground in evil report, so they may not be moved by flattery. I dread the quicksand as much as the tempest. The pirate is as much to be feared as the rock. Oh, that having done all, they may, stand!”
The prayer was abundantly answered. Neither popularity nor abuse harmed the missionaries, who were kept in success, as they had been in adversity, humble and trustful in God.
Chapter 8: Say Nothing About Dr. Carey: Or Speak About Dr. Carey
“My friends are gone before,
And I am near the shore;
My soul stands at the door,
O Lord, receive it.”
“What news from England?” asked Marshman, as he watched Carey, who was reading a letter which had arrived by the mail just in.
“Bad! Bad! Fuller is dead! We are poorer, then, by a noble man. They are dropping off one by one,” replied Carey. “There are not many men left now that knew us at first.”
The death of Fuller led to many misunderstandings. Fuller knew and appreciated the nobility of the three heroes at Serampore, but his successors were officious, hasty, and men who loved to manage things. At length their injustice induced the three missionaries to separate from the Society and to resolve to carry on their work alone.
Undaunted by the calumnies which were freely circulated about them, they, among other enterprises, commenced erecting a college for the training of the youth of India. Eventually the building cost above £20,000; of this sum three-fourths were contributed by the missionaries themselves.
Ward visited England, but under the influence of misrepresentations very little money help was given here to the enterprise.
“Let us appeal to India,” said Carey. “Here they know us; and there is no secretary or committee to slander us here.”
A man wrote to Carey from America inquiring about the alleged waste of money. “I am trustee for funds intended for your work,” he said; “but, if what I hear is true, I shall not be justified in sending the money to you.”
“I might have had large possessions,” replied Carey, “ay, and kept them lawfully too. I labored hard for all that I have, but I have not kept for myself or family what was justly mine. I have given any all, except what I ate, drank, and wore, to the cause of missions. Dr. Marshman has done the same, and so did Mr. Ward. I am so poor that I can scarcely lay by a sum monthly to relieve one or two indigent relatives in England. Dr. Marshman is as poor as I am. Where is the pomp that is complained of?”
Yet such calumnies continued to be reported, for even Christian people love to slay the prophets, and, after death, to whiten their sepulchers.
Dr. Carey, having for some years been left a widower, married again. For thirteen years he lived a new life with the gentle, cultured wife. When her health failed he bore her daily downstairs in his arms, her gentleness, sweetness, and talents charming all who saw her. But the King gave commandment, and the angels carried her home. With bitter sorrow they laid her body in the earth until the resurrection of the just. Ward was the first of the three friends to go after Mrs. Carey. He was in vigorous health, and no one entertained any apprehensions of his departure. He was suddenly seized with cholera, and his friends were called to his bedside.
“Twenty-three years we have labored in perfect harmony,” said he to Carey and Marshman. “Yet it will not be long before we shall meet again, dear brethren, and that where sin or death can never come.” On the 5th of March, 1823, he passed away; he was the first to receive the Savior’s “Well done!”
Six years afterward a message came post haste to Serampore. After reading his letter Carey called to Marshman,
“At last, Marshman! at last it has come!”
“What has come?”
“The order abolishing Suttee, or the burning of widows with their husbands’ dead bodies. How long we have labored to put down this infamous practice! Here is the Government order, and it must be translated and put in force.”
“But it will take you all Sunday,” said Marshman.
“It must be published at once,” said Carey. “Someone else must preach for me. If I delay one day, the lives of many poor women will be lost. This is acting the Gospel, and I think a legitimate use of the Sabbath.”
All through the sacred hours Carey toiled, and before night fell the Government order was rendered into Bengali and speedily sent out through Bengal.
But Carey was growing old. An accident laid him aside for some time. He recovered from the sickness; but though he was still active, it was evident to his friends that Carey’s long life of self-sacrifice was nearly completed. He had nearly fulfilled his course; but as long as strength permitted, he sat at his desk.
“I am an unprofitable servant,” he would often say. “I fear that I shall be a fearful burden. Yet I have done my best. God forgive me, that I have not done more.”
“How are you in spiritual things, father?” asked one of his sons.
“I bless God that though I have not rapturous feelings, I am confident in the promises of God. I would place my hands in God’s hand, and desire to be led by Him where and how He shall please.”
“You have no doubts or fears?” asked his son.
“None whatever. Sinners are invited to come to Jesus Christ. I came to Jesus, and I know He has saved me. I do feel the enjoyment arising from faith in His gracious declarations.”
“I rejoice to hear you say so,” replied Jonathan, “Should you die, have you any special work that you desire us to attend to?”
“Nothing; but let my funeral be as plain as may be. Let these words be put on my tombstone:’ WILLIAM CAREY, born August 17th, 1761, and died A WRETCHED, POOR, AND HELPLESS WORM, ON THY KIND ARMS I FALL.”
“Your wish shall be complied with,” said Jonathan.” You are, I hope, perfectly happy?”
“Yes, indeed yes. It is everything to me now that the Gospel is true! Blessed be God, I can trust Him as my Savior. Here lie I, William Carey, a poor guilty sinner. Deserts! I deserve nothing but eternal damnation. But Christ died for me. Blessed be His name, my sins are all forgiven for His name’s sake! He died for me, and I live because He died!”
“Here is Mr. Duff come to see you,” interposed his son, and that tall and noble Scotchman knelt by the bedside of his friend. For a short time they talked together about mission work.
“Ah, Mr. Duff, you are buckling on the armor. I am now almost out of the fray,” said Carey. “But pray for me now! pray!”
The friends around the dying bed knelt down, and Duff prayed for the departing saint, for the Church of God, and for the work as yet undone.
Mr. Duff said farewell, and was turning to the door when Carey called him. “Did you call me?’ he asked.
“Yes; yes. Mr. Duff,” said Carey solemnly,” you have been speaking a great deal about Dr. Carey, Dr. Carey, Dr. Carey. I beg of you, that when I am gone, nothing may be said about Dr. Carey. Don’t talk about Dr. Carey. Speak, I beg you, about Dr. Carey’s Savior.”
“I will, by God’s grace,” replied Duff solemnly; as he wrung the dying man’s hand.
Carey lay faint and hardly conscious for some time after Duff had left. Then his aged colleague, Marshman, came to see him.
“Good news!” he said. “Good news! Dr. Carey; the mission cause is reviving again. It seems as if a fresh interest is awakened in England. It is like the former days.”
The dying man revived again; he lifted his trembling hands and breathed faintly fervent expressions of joy.
“Thank God! thank God! He will not break His word! The mission cause shall yet prosper!”
Marshman knelt by the bedside, and with tears of fervent feeling prayed for Carey.
When he had finished, Jonathan asked his father, “Do you know who has just been praying with you?” “Yes, I do,” said William Carey, pressing Marshman’s hand.
So they parted. The next morning as the sun rose upon India, 9th June, 1834, William Carey passed to his reward.
They buried him the following morning in the mission cemetery.
Marshman survived him three years. After inquiring if he could do anything more for the mission, he passed away repeating “The precious Savior! The precious Savior! He never leaves nor forsakes”
The mission cause has created many heroes. It demands, and will abundantly reward such devotion as was exhibited in the three giants of Serampore.
Go thou and do likewise in thy place and according to thine opportunities, and thou shalt not be without a reward.