12. The Voyage to Nowhere
Chapter 12
The Voyage to Nowhere
It was December 1, 1817, and Adoniram was halfway through his early morning walk around Rangoon when he stopped dead in the middle of a muddy street. “Why didn’t I think of it before,” he laughed out loud to himself. “Of course. That’s the answer.”
Adoniram hurried home to Ann, the idea percolating in his head as he walked. “Ann, I have the answer!” he called as he walked into the courtyard of the mission house.
“To what?” Ann called back from the other end of the house.
“To the problem of being Burmese and being a Christian.”
Ann walked into the courtyard and gave her husband her full attention.
“Remember the letter we received last week from William Carey?” asked Adoniram.
Ann nodded.
“In the letter Carey said there is a handful of Burmese Christians living in Chittagong. Well, I’ve been thinking. What if I were to go to Chittagong and invite one or two of these Christians to join us in Rangoon. They could preach and answer questions. Surely then the people here couldn’t argue that it’s impossible to be Burmese and a Christian. We would have a Burmese Christian to introduce to them and prove them wrong.”
Adoniram watched as his wife’s eyes shone. “It’s a wonderful idea,” Ann said. “Just what the Burmese people need to see. And now’s a perfect time to go to Chittagong. The Houghs are here to help run the mission. And a sea voyage is just what you need to give your eyes a rest,” she added.
“Yes,” said Adoniram. “It won’t be easy, though, finding a ship going that way, but I’ll start looking.”
Adoniram began keeping a close eye on ships coming and going from Rangoon, hoping to find one headed for Chittagong, a small seaport at the northern end of the Bay of Bengal, about two hundred miles east of Calcutta and fifty miles west of Burma’s border with India. Since Chittagong was so close to Burma, many Burmese people from the neighboring province of Arakan lived there. A Dutch missionary had also taken up residence there and was busy sharing the gospel with these Burmese people.
With favorable winds, it normally took about two weeks by ship to get to Chittagong from Rangoon. Adoniram hoped to find a ship headed northwest to Calcutta that would make a detour and stop in at Chittagong so that he could disembark. Once he had convinced one or two of the Burmese Christians there to return with him, he would search for a ship that could bring them all back to Rangoon.
After a week of looking, Adoniram could hardly believe it when the Two Brothers sailed into Rangoon. The Two Brothers was apparently about to make a round trip to Chittagong, something he had never heard of a ship doing from Rangoon before. Surely, he told Ann, this was God’s way of telling him now was the right time to go.
On Christmas Day 1817, the Two Brothers hoisted sail and headed off down the Rangoon River bound for Chittagong. Almost immediately Adoniram became violently ill. He thought it was a combination of seasickness and the intense headaches he had been experiencing as a result of eyestrain. The captain assured him that they would be in Chittagong in ten or twelve days, and Adoniram reassured himself that he could easily endure any discomfort for that length of time.
By the end of the second day, the Two Brothers was being lashed by strong headwinds. The captain visited Adoniram, his sole passenger, and explained that the voyage might take a day or two longer than first thought because of the adverse winds. He was wrong. The Two Brothers was buffeted by the wind and pummeled by the seething ocean for an entire month, first in the Gulf of Martaban off Burma and then out in the Bay of Bengal. By the end of January, Adoniram was convinced that the captain had no idea how to manage his ship or his crew. At the rate they were proceeding, it would take them three more months to reach Chittagong, and they were already running dangerously short of food and fresh water.
On February 1, 1818, long past the date Adoniram had anticipated being in Chittagong, the captain finally decided it was hopeless trying to reach their original destination. He gave the order for the crew to turn the ship southwest and follow the prevailing winds to Madras, India.
The whole turn of events reminded Adoniram very much of when he had been kidnapped by privateers in the Atlantic Ocean. Once again he was half-starved and headed to somewhere he did not want to go.
With the wind at her back, the Two Brothers made good time crossing the Bay of Bengal. But as the ship approached the coast of India, the winds shifted and conspired with the tides to beat her back. The captain spent another month trying unsuccessfully to maneuver the ship close enough to land to drop anchor off Madras. By now it was the end of February, and the situation onboard was desperate. There was no food or water left on the ship, and the only way to get any was to beg it from the few native boats that ventured out that far into the Indian Ocean. On a good day, each person aboard the Two Brothers was lucky to get a cup of water and a spoonful of moldy rice.
For Adoniram, things were even more desperate. What at first had seemed like a case of seasickness had turned into dysentery. Adoniram was too sick to eat, and his raging fever could not be quenched by the small amount of water he was given each day. He lay in his bunk for days on end, too weak to get up. He only faintly understood when the captain came to tell him he had abandoned all hope of reaching Madras and instead the ship was now headed three hundred miles farther north to the small port of Masulipitam.
Adoniram began to fade in and out of consciousness. When he was conscious, he thought about Ann back in Rangoon. He wondered how long it would be after his death before she received word of it. Finally, three months to the day after setting out so optimistically from Rangoon, the Two Brothers arrived off the coast of Masulipitam. The sea was now calm, and the crew were eager to go ashore. The captain asked Adoniram if he would like to be carried ashore, but Adoniram could hardly concentrate long enough to think about what to do next. Eventually, though, he managed to scribble a note. He addressed it to “Any English Resident” and begged whoever read the note to come and get him from the ship so that he could die in peace on dry land.
Late in the afternoon, a boat rowed by British soldiers in red uniforms came to collect Adoniram. The soldiers lifted him onto their boat, where he lay drooped across the bow as they rowed him ashore. Adoniram was met at the dock by a British army officer, who insisted Adoniram be his personal guest.
With some fresh clothes to wear, a cool bed to lie upon and plenty of food and water, Adoniram made a speedy recovery, which astonished him. He had been certain he was going to die. But instead of being laid out in a coffin, he was up and strolling around. Once his strength returned, Adoniram turned his attention to getting back to Rangoon. He fretted that Ann, after not hearing a word from him in nearly four months, would imagine the worst, and he was eager to get back to her. However, he flatly refused to reboard the Two Brothers, and sail south to Madras, the nearest major Indian port, where there was usually a steady stream of ships coming and going. Instead, he decided to travel the three hundred miles to Madras overland.
On April 1, 1818, Adoniram thanked the British officer for his kindness and generosity and set out to hire a palanquin, a padded box carried by four men. As he traveled along in the palanquin towards Madras, Adoniram thought about how things had changed in India for him. Where once he had been hounded by British officials who wanted to arrest him and deport him to England, now a British army officer had taken him in and shown him great kindness. He had done so not only because Adoniram was in such obvious need but also because the East India Company was now a little more tolerant of missionaries coming to India, though it still exercised great power over who was and wasn’t allowed to stay in the country. As well, it was obvious to all, even the most narrow-minded East India Company official, that Adoniram had not come to India to stay as a missionary, rather he was the innocent victim of regrettable circumstances that had marooned him in the country. As soon as he could, he would be on his way back to Burma.
When Adoniram finally reached Madras, more disappointment awaited him. Not a single ship in the harbor was headed north farther on up the Bay of Bengal, and none was expected until July or August. Once again, Adoniram felt trapped. He could do nothing but wait and pray that he would make it back to Rangoon soon.
In Madras, the Reverend Mr. Thomason, a chaplain with the East India Company, invited Adoniram to stay with him for as long as he needed. Appreciative of the offer, Adoniram tried to make himself useful, helping Mr. Thomason wherever and however he could. At lunchtime each day, he walked to the docks to see whether any new ships were on the horizon.
In late July, Adoniram finally found a captain whose ship was headed for Rangoon. But before he booked passage, he made some inquiries about the ship and its captain. He had no intention of being buffeted around the Bay of Bengal for another three months at the hands of an incompetent mariner. Everything was in order, and so with great relief Adoniram said farewell to Mr. Thomason and set sail for Rangoon.
Thankfully, the trip back was swift and comfortable. On August 2, 1818, Adoniram stood on deck and watched happily as the pilot boat slipped through the mouth of the Rangoon River on its way to meet them. His happiness was short-lived though. The pilot had some disturbing news for Adoniram. As far as he was aware, the mission in Rangoon had broken up. Adoniram questioned him repeatedly, but it was no use. The pilot did not know anything more, and he had no idea what had happened to the missionaries.
The trip up the Rangoon River seemed agonizingly slow to Adoniram as he fretted about whether Ann was dead or alive. And he wondered why the mission had broken up. And what had happened to the printing press and his nearly completed revision of the Burmese grammar book and dictionary? The questions plagued him, but he knew there would be no answers until he reached Rangoon.
Long afternoon shadows stretched across the countryside when the golden roof of the Shwe Dagon pagoda came into view, looming above the jungle. Adoniram was nearly home. He went below and collected his things. He didn’t have much, since he had packed only enough for about a month, not for the seven months it had been since he set sail from Rangoon. And while he was disappointed to be returning without a single Burmese Christian, the thought paled in comparison to the fears he had for his wife’s safety.
Tears of joy welled up in Adoniram’s eyes and streamed down his face when he saw Ann standing next to George Hough on the dock. His wife was alive and well! Adoniram rushed down the gangplank as soon as it was lowered, and he embraced Ann. Together they talked long into the night. Ann insisted Adoniram tell her his story first. She wanted to know where he had been and why he hadn’t brought any Burmese Christians back with him from Chittagong.
When Adoniram was done telling her of all his misadventures, Ann told him of all that had happened in Rangoon since he had left. He was shocked by the awful things that had occurred during his seven-month absence. Ann explained that for the first month all had gone well. The vicereine had come and taken her on several elephant expeditions. She had even asked Ann some searching questions about the Christian tracts she had seen. But after that, things changed fast. The viceroy was promoted, and he and the vicereine had moved to the royal city of Ava. The new viceroy of Rangoon was a single man, and so Ann, being a woman, could not present herself to him. Women in Burma were not permitted to speak to male officials. Regrettably, George Hough did not know much Burmese, so the missionaries had no proper way of introducing themselves to the new viceroy. Soon after the new viceroy’s arrival, an order came from the courthouse for George Hough to present himself there. No reason was given why his presence was required, and Ann began to fear something bad was going to happen now that they were no longer under the favor of the viceroy.
George Hough went to the courthouse, where officials told him that all foreign teachers had been banned from Burma and if George did not tell the Burmese officials everything he had been doing in Rangoon, they would write their report with his blood. The officials arrested him and questioned him for two days. Since George could speak only few words of Burmese and the officials could not speak a word of English, the questioning was long and torturous.
“It was about then a ship from Chittagong brought news that you had not landed there,” said Ann, sighing deeply. “I knew ships were often swept off course, but I did begin to worry.”
Adoniram reached over and clasped his wife’s hand. “I am sorry to have put you through that,” he said. “But tell me, what happened next? Why did they let George Hough go?”
Ann smiled. “I was beginning to give up hope of ever seeing him or you again when our Burmese language teacher came to visit. He suggested I write a petition on behalf of the mission and submit it to the viceroy. In doing so, he told me, we would find out whether the viceroy had ordered George Hough’s arrest or if his officials had done so without his knowledge in order to try to extract a bribe from the mission in return for George’s release. The viceroy was very angry when he read the petition. ‘Why has the foreign teacher been treated this way?’ he demanded of his officials. The officials got the message, and after an apology from them, George Hough was released and wasn’t bothered again. But no sooner had he been released than something much worse happened: Cholera broke out.”
“How can that be?” interjected Adoniram. “Cholera is found only in India.”
“Not anymore,” replied his wife grimly. “There was no mistaking it. It was awful. Thousands of people died. The death drums beat all day and all night. It was so frightening. A healthy person could wake up well and happy in the morning and be in his grave by dinnertime. I was scared. Sometimes I wished you were here with me, and other times I was glad you were away from the terrible disease.”
Adoniram could see Ann’s eyes welling up with tears, which Ann dabbed with the corner of a handkerchief. “On top of that,” she said after regaining her composure, “the ships that did come to Rangoon brought rumors of a war brewing between the Burmese and the British. Did you hear anything about it in Madras?”
Adoniram nodded. “I heard that tensions were building along the border between Burma and India.”
“Fortunately the rumors didn’t come to anything, but they scared Phebe Hough so much she insisted that George and she move to Calcutta,” said Ann.
“And what made them change their minds?” asked Adoniram.
“They haven’t,” said Ann. “In fact, they left on a ship a week ago, but it had to turn back when it got to the open sea. The cargo in the hold shifted dangerously. As soon as it’s reloaded, they intend to be off again. George packed up the printing press, and it’s stowed onboard the ship.”
Adoniram frowned. “But the press was donated for use in Burma,” he said, a note of frustration and disappointment in his voice.
“I know,” replied Ann soothingly. “George says he will keep printing anything we translate. He just wants to do it at a safe distance from Rangoon, that’s all.”
Adoniram and Ann sat in silence for a moment.
“Oh, I almost forgot!” exclaimed Ann. “There is one piece of good news. I received a letter two months ago saying the Baptist missions board is sending out two new missionaries and their wives to join us. They are the Wheelocks and the Colmans.”
Adoniram smiled broadly. “God takes one family from us and replaces it with two,” he chuckled. “Thank goodness Luther Rice went back to the United States to stir up interest in missionary work.”
“Think what we’ll be able to do with three missionary families here,” said Ann excitedly. ”I just know everything is going to work out fine, especially now that you’re home.”
As Adoniram Judson looked into his wife’s bright blue eyes sparkling with hope, he almost convinced himself she was right. But deep down inside, he had a nagging feeling the worst was yet to come.