Part 13

This lofty building, standing within the royal quarters, was the watch-tower. From its top long views up and down the great river, and out over the open plains, could be obtained. Sentinels paced its top to give timely warning of the approach of an enemy. On a great gong they struck the hours by day and night. The sound, easily reaching far beyond the limits of the royal grounds, would be welcomed by Judson and his fellow sufferers to break the awful monotony of life in the miserable prison, which stood outside the inner wall. The prison was demolished many years ago, but within the memory of Burmans now living near by. Around a large tree, that must have been large enough in Judson's time to furnish partial shade from the fierce rays of the tropical sun, a circular platform of old brickwork still remains. Broken brick and roofing-tile cover the ground.

Much of the site of the old city is covered with tangled jungle-growth, through which chetahs and other animals sometimes prowl. A score of Burmans are slowly digging up the ground to the depth of about three feet over the entire area once covered by the royal buildings. Now and then their labours are rewarded by finds of jewelry or silver.

The finer earth below the layer of _débris_ is washed for gold dust, from the many gold-decorated buildings that have marked the spot through the reign of many kings.

The sight of the Ava prison having been identified beyond a doubt, the Baptists of America would do well to place there a suitable monument to mark the spot where their first missionary suffered so much "for Christ's sake and the gospel's."

After suffering for eleven long months at Ava the prisoners were transferred to Aungbinle, a day's journey to the northeast. In company with the missionary at Mandalay I rode to the place, two days before my visit to Ava. Aungbinle is about five miles east of Mandalay, towards the hills. Among the public works of Bodawp'ra, who reigned from 1789 to 1819, was an artificial lake, formed by a raised embankment of earth enclosing about fifteen square miles of the nearly level plain.

This was filled by means of a canal connecting with a natural lake two or three miles farther north, fed by mountain streams.

In these two reservoirs abundance of water for irrigation could be stored for use through the many rainless months. This artificial lake was called "Aung-binle"--the conquered or shut-in sea.

At its southwest bend Aungbinle village still stands, though its thatch-and-bamboo houses have been renewed ten times over since Judson was brought there to be thrown into the death-prison.

The site of this prison also has been identified beyond a reasonable doubt. An aged Burman there pointed out the spot to missionaries who were investigating the matter several years ago.

A Burman official who had been there many years, and was familiar with land-titles, confirmed the old man's story. More recently an old brick pathway was discovered when ditching the road that passes the prison-site. This further corroborated the statement of the two Burmans that the police quarters were on the north side of this road, and the prison on the south. There is little room for doubt that the brick pathway connected the two. The prison itself was only a bamboo structure, of which nothing would now be left.

A Buddhist monastery erected later near the prison-site, was destroyed by fire a few years ago. There are two pagodas within a stone's throw, one of which may have stood there in Judson's time.

Except a few slender palms, the region must have been treeless, the heat indescribable. The location of Mrs. Judson's house is uncertain. Judging from the situation of the village, and the character of the land near by it must have been quite near the prison.

The Baptist mission has secured about two acres of land, including the prison-site. By the generous gift of two American Baptists who recently visited Aungbinle, a neat and substantial brick chapel has been erected on the prison-site, as nearly as can be determined. A little farther back, and to one side, is the Burman preacher's house, also included in the gift. The missionary, who frequently visits the village, has provided a miniature cottage of thatch-and-bamboo, in which to rest and find protection from the mid-day heat. As one attempts to realize the situation as it was,--Judson suffering untold agonies, aggravated by his heartless tormentors,--in the miserable prison; Mrs. Judson, in her isolation and friendlessness, suffering from privation, intolerable heat, disease, and the yet greater mental suffering on account of her husband who might at any moment be led to execution before her eyes,--the picture becomes more and more terrible. Then as we turn again to the chapel and preacher's house our thoughts rise in praise to Him who has wrought these changed conditions. On the very spot where the innocent and the guilty were together imprisoned and tortured, an earnest man of God, of the same race as the king by whose order these men suffered,--now proclaims Jesus Christ as the world's Saviour.

As I turned away from this spot, and again as I passed out through the old gateway at Ava, it was with an earnest prayer that a double portion of Judson's spirit might rest upon his successors in this heathen land.

X

HEROES AND HEROINES

If heroes and heroines are men and women who have shown startling qualities in time of stress and strife, many such may be found among converts from heathenism. The examples here given are from my own fellow workers.

U Po Hline, pastor of the church at Pyinmana, is well known in the Burman mission. A conspicuous figure at conventions and associations, his massive form, intelligent face, and dignified bearing mark him a "Saul among his brethren." But U Po Hline's interesting history is not so well known. His early life was spent in the yellow robes of the Buddhist priesthood. There he learned the real inwardness and emptiness of the ancestral religion. In it he could not find that which could satisfy his spiritual sense; nor was he satisfied to lead the indolent, selfish life of the Buddhist priest.

But familiarity with their arguments and contents of their sacred books, gained during the years of monastic life, was yet to be turned to good account. Casting off the yellow robes he became a tiller of the soil. By industry and good management not common to his race, he possessed himself of rice-fields, bullocks, and buffaloes, and money interests among the villagers where he lived.

Loyalty to the British Indian government never has been, and is not to-day true of the mass of Burmans. U Po Hline's broader intelligence led him not only to accept the inevitable, but also to see what benefits would accrue to his race from English rule. He used his influence to restrain his people from acts of violence, and in various ways lent his aid to the progress of law and order.

In those troublous times he had an adventure, of which he never speaks unless questioned on the subject. Returning from Rangoon where he had marketed his harvest of _tsan_,--unhulled rice,--he and his boatmen were attacked by dacoits. The boatmen, terrified by the fiendish yells of these desperate dacoits, threw down their paddles and would have tried to escape by taking to the water. Not so U Po Hline.

Neither his life nor his rupees were to be taken so easily. Crawling under the _paung_, he seized his rifle, and,--to use his own words--"Two of the dacoits sank in the water, and did not reappear." The tables were turned. The dacoits, now as badly frightened as the boatmen, lost no time in taking to the brush. U Po Hline still remembers the adventure with the sad feeling that although acting in self-defense, he sent two souls into eternity unprepared. His conversion is especially interesting. A copy of the New Testament, given him by a native evangelist, was the means of shaking his faith in Buddhism; and of awakening a desire to know more about the "Jesus Christ religion."

Relating the circumstances of his conversion he said: "I kept my New Testament in my jacket pocket wherever I went. When resting from my work I would take out my Testament and read a little, slowly going on through Matthew, Mark, and Luke,--but I understood nothing of what I read. I read about the birth of Jesus Christ, His teaching, His wonderful miracles,--but who Christ was I did not know. Then I came to John. In the first chapter I read: 'In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God.' Then a little farther down I read: 'That Word everything created; and without a divine creating was not so much as one thing.' Is that so, I said. Did that Word make _me_? and not only me, but everybody and everything in all this great world? And then I read that He was the Light, and the Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness would not receive it. Why, I said, that is just the way it is here. These people are in the dark, and will not believe what the preachers of the Jesus Christ religion say to them.

"Then still farther down I read: 'The Word took the state of man, and lived among us.' And as I read on, I found that the Word that was with God, and was God; and created all things; and became flesh and lived on earth was the same Jesus Christ that I had been reading about in Matthew, Mark and Luke! I went home and told my wife that I had become a Christian; and that as the preacher said that all who enter the Jesus Christ religion must receive the dipping ceremony I am going to get baptism." "Were you not afraid your heathen neighbours would make trouble?" I asked him. "What trouble could they make, teacher? Nearly all of them were in debt to me. But when I told my heathen wife, she was very angry, and said, 'Very well. If you want to be baptized,--_be_ baptized,--but I _will not be a Jesus Christ wife_. I never, never will live with you.' Finding that she would not relent I said: 'Do not go away.

"'All this trouble is not because of your changing, but because of my changing. If anybody is to suffer, I must be the one to suffer. There are the eleven buffaloes, and the six rice-fields, and the house, and the banana garden,--take everything,--only let me have the thirty rupees in the box, and I will go away. I will go to Toungoo. If they will not baptize me there, I will go to Henzada. If they will not baptize me there, I will go to Bassein. If they will not baptize me there, I will go to Maulmein.' I had taken the Jesus Christ religion with my whole mind, and I was determined to be baptized." This was no idle boast.

He meant just what he said, and, like Paul, was ready to suffer the loss of everything, that he "might gain Christ, and be found in Him."

His example, so unlike his former self, soon softened his wife's heart, and she now said: "Never mind, do as you like,--we will live together."

Not long afterwards she too became a Christian. Wherever U Po Hline went he fearlessly preached Christ. But it was in his own village that his influence was specially felt. His faithfulness and success seemed sufficient evidence of a call to the ministry. Greatly needing such helpers, I soon arranged for him to give his whole time to evangelistic work. His ordination, at the Pegu Association held in Toungoo in 1894,--will long be remembered by the missionaries present.

A missionary at a frontier station sent a request that an ordained preacher be furnished to baptize several converts already gained, and to accompany his young preachers on a tour among the villages.

The matter was laid before U Po Hline, and left for him to decide whether he wished to go, or could stand the long hard journey over the mountain ranges. Accepting it as a call from God, and trusting to Him for strength, he got ready and started at once. After spending a month in that distant field, he prepared to return to his home. It was a long tramp of sixteen days. The missionary gave him money to hire a coolie to help carry his load. Besides his roll of bedding, cooking utensils and food, one of the young preachers had given him three lacquer-ware vessels, as presents for his former teachers. The coolie must be paid in advance, according to the custom of the country. After going a few miles the coolie found an excuse to get out of U Po Hline's sight, and ran away, taking the money with him. At the next village another coolie was engaged, who must also be paid in advance. They had gone but a short distance when he too ran away. U Po Hline was now without money to pay for help, so he trudged on alone, carrying the load of two.

He got along very well so long as his path lay along the mountains. But when he descended into the plains his strength gave out, and he found himself burning with fever. There was no other way than to plod on, as he was now far from any village. Finding himself unable to carry all of his double load, he first threw away some of the cooking utensils.

Growing weaker, he threw away the bottle of oil and part of the rice.

He would not part with the presents that had been entrusted to his care for the teachers, whom he loved. To give the rest of the story in his own words:--"I would plod on until my legs would sustain me no longer. Then on my knees I would pray: 'O Father, I have been away doing Thy work, I did the best I could, now give me strength to reach my home.'

"Then I would get up and go on again until, from weakness, I fell down in the path. Then I would pray again: 'O Father, I have been away to do Thy work. I did the very best I could. Now do give me strength to reach my home.' So I went on, falling, praying, struggling on again, until at last I reached the cart-road, and joined some cartmen. I had carefully saved my last rupee to pay my fare when I should come to the railroad. I thought,--if I must, I can sell my silk turban. But the cartmen were kind, and gave me food, while I preached to them." As he finished his story he untied the bundle, and laid the lacquer-ware presents at our feet, utterly unconscious of the fact that by his devotion to his teachers, and to what seemed to be his duty he had shown a spirit of true heroism, worthy to be "told as a memorial" of him.

A short time before I left Burma U Po Hline came to me and said, "Saya, I have been thinking like this:--The Apostle Paul said to the Corinthian Christians, 'Paul planted, Apollos watered; but God gave the increase.' When Saya came to Pyinmana thirteen years ago there was not a Christian in this town nor in all this great jungle. No nor ever had been. It was all wild, the dwelling place of dacoits, tigers, bears, and snakes. Saya has been planting all these years. There has been some reaping, to be sure,--but much more is ready for reaping. When I first came to Pyinmana, wherever I showed myself, in Bazar or street, the people would call to one another: 'Come and see Jesus Christ, come and see Jesus Christ.' 'Yes,' I would say, 'I am here to represent Jesus Christ.' Sometimes they would listen to my preaching, but often they would jeer so that I could not preach, they were so ignorant and wild.

"But now, besides our little company of Christians, there are many in these villages who listen attentively, and some are truly 'considering.'

"Now Saya must return to America, and another Saya will come. Don't go away discouraged, Saya. We shall _soon be reaping_ here. You will hear about it, and be glad. If it is God's will that you return to Burma, you will 'come rejoicing.' When I first came to Pyinmana,"--he continued; "I had a dream. In my dream I saw great fields of rice on three sides of this town. These fields were turning yellow, promising an early and large harvest. How like the Bible, is my dream, I thought. This dream strengthened my faith and made me glad. God's time is not yet full, but I believe it will be full soon. This Pyinmana mission is Corinth. Saya is Paul. Saya has planted, the coming missionary will be Apollos, to water the planting. God will give the increase." May this noble Christian hero live many years, to cheer and help the missionaries, in their common effort to dispel the heathen darkness.

This faithful native pastor is but one of many who hold not their lives dear to themselves that they may accomplish their course and the ministry which they have received from the Lord Jesus, to testify the gospel of the grace of God.

Nan Paw was born in Ya-bok-kon village, in the year 1877,--so she thinks, but is not certain as to the village or the date. When we first saw her she was an orphan, as to her father; worse than orphaned as to her heathen mother. Both Nan Paw and her elder sister had already been several years in the mission school. The sister, Mai Lone, came first. Now and then she returned to her village home with such wonderful stories of tidy white jackets, pretty _longyis_ (skirts), clean beds, and nice new books, that little Nan Paw wanted to come too. She wanted to see the big "white mamma," and enjoy the life that her sister was leading. Mai Lone had learned to read,--a wonderful thing for a girl to do. Not a girl in the whole village could read, no, not even her own mother! And Mai Lone could sing, too! Little Nan Paw sighed for these privileges and accomplishments, and was a heathen no longer. Never again could she know contentment among the dogs and filth and degradation of her own village. But in vain she entreated her mother to let her go with Mai Lone to live at the mission school. Finding that her pleadings were of no avail, she took the matter into her own hands, and _ran away_. The mother finding her little girl settled down in the mission dormitory to stay, finally gave her consent. When we came to take charge of the school Nan Paw had already overtaken the older girls in her studies. The smallest in the class, she was head and shoulders above them all in brightness and winsomeness. To see her was to love her. It would not do to make a pet of her, for petting spoils native children as quickly as kittens. Quick to see what needed to be done, and how to do it, she soon became very useful about the house. A little later a Christian Endeavour Society was organized. Nan Paw may have learned to love Jesus before this; but now, with several others she gave herself to Him fully and openly, and to the great joy of all, was baptized. The years rolled by,--and Nan Paw, having passed through all the grades of the mission school, became a teacher. During a vacation she made a visit to some of her heathen relations in a distant village. When the school reopened she did not return to her duties. Several weeks had passed when we learned that she had returned to her mother's village. We sent word to her two or three times, urging her to return to the school, though we could not compel her to do so. At last one of the Christians went to her home to ascertain, if possible, why she had become unfaithful to her duties as a Christian teacher. He brought back word that something was the matter with Nan Paw. When he tried to talk with her she would keep her hands covered, and try to conceal her face behind her scarf. With a sad face he said, "I think our Nan Paw _is a leper_."

Measures were taken at once to ascertain the facts. Alas it was too true. In some way or other,--whether by heredity or contagion we could not learn,--our dear Nan Paw had become a victim to that terrible disease. How our hearts ached for her. Now we knew why she had not returned to the school. While we were fearing that she was yielding to heathen influences; and that she was making a poor return for all the affection we had bestowed upon her, the dear girl's heart was nearly breaking. She knew that she must bid farewell to her pleasant life in the mission, and to her beloved associates. All aspirations to support herself, to rise in her chosen work, to be respected, to marry well--were utterly crushed. Henceforth she must be an outcast, despised by her own people. Nothing before her but a living death, the disease steadily growing upon her, until fingers and toes would waste away, her whole body become covered with repulsive sores,--and no power on earth could help her.

After a time arrangements were made to send her to the Leper Asylum at Mandalay, over two hundred miles away. There, under the direction of the missionary in charge Nan Paw became a teacher of others--afflicted like herself. It would not have been strange had she utterly given up to despair,--and sought release by death. But with wonderful submission she gave herself to Christian work,--the only woman in the asylum who could read and teach the Word of God.

Here is a translation of one of Nan Paw's letters to her sister:

"Sister, to you a letter do I send. By the kindness of God I am come to the Home for Lepers, in Mandalay. Here am I to teach His law, and in teaching it I am glad. For this purpose, I am persuaded, has He brought me here. Whether I am to remain all my life, or for a little while I know not. My prayer is that God may quickly take me to Himself.

"Why He has brought this affliction upon me I do not know.

"When I consider (my condition) my heart is exceeding sorrowful.

"The teacher has been very kind, and spent much money upon me. The physician is good. Now in all things, my sister, I place myself in the hand of God. In so far as I am able I will strive to do His will. That I may be happy in proclaiming His law, will you ever pray.

"Your affectionate sister, "NAN PAW."

But after a year in the asylum Nan Paw longed to return to her native village. This she was permitted to do. The disease grew worse and worse.

Her people, backed by the village priest, then made a determined effort to break down this poor girl's faith in Christ, and turn her again to Buddhism. They knew how to cure the disease, they claimed, and would cure it if she would worship the priest. Pressed beyond endurance she at last in sheer despair prostrated herself before the priest in the attitude of worship. They then gave her medicine several months, the disease all the time growing upon her. Not only the terrible leprosy of the body, but her soul was troubled with the thought that by dishonouring her Lord she had become leprous with sin.

One day when they wanted her to join them in their heathen worship she broke out in great indignation: "No I _never_ will worship like that again. By your false and useless promises you made me deny my Lord. But from this time I do it no more. I turn again to my own God, who can at least save my soul." Again Nan Paw sent word that she wished to go back to the asylum. She was an outcast in her own village, and in her own mother's home. No one dared to see her. She cared to see no one. At the Asylum she could be no unhappier. There all would be alike unfortunate,--birds of a feather flock together.

I immediately arranged for her return. The native Christians contributed generously to make up the required sum. As Nan Paw would be a teacher, the superintendent kindly offered to provide special quarters for her, apart from the other lepers. I sent word to Nan Paw that I wished to see her before she went away, for I was soon to return to America, and might never see her again; that I loved her as a daughter, just the same as before her misfortune. But she sent back the pathetic reply: "To dear teacher this brief letter I write. That God may pour a blessing upon teacher and all the church members I am praying.