Henry Martyn
‘For My name’s sake thou hast laboured and hast not fainted.”
HENRY MARTYN was born at Truro, in Cornwall, on 17th February 1781. His father was John Martyn, who, from a humble position in connection with some of the Cornish mines, had risen until he became a merchant’s clerk in Truro, Henry, as well as his other brothers and sisters, was of a weak, physical constitution; all accounts say he was a weak and ailing boy. When he was seven years of age his father placed him at the grammar school of the town, then taught by the Rev. Dr Cardew, who found the boy to be “of a lively, cheerful temper,” and of excellent mental abilities.
In 1797 he entered St John’s College, Cambridge. Here he worked with great diligence. There is an occasion recorded, when, in a fit of passion as he sat at table, he threw a knife at one of his companions, who in some way had offended him. Fortunately the knife failed to reach its mark: this incident caused him deep
E 37 regret and humiliation. A college friend attempted to persuade him that even his reading should be with a view to the glory of God. This advice, he says, “seemed strange to me, but reasonable.”
The influence which chiefly affected him for the better was that of one of his sisters. She did not cease to urge upon him the supreme claims of Christ. This she took special occasion to do during a visit home, which he paid during a college vacation. But, as he writes in his journal, he steadily resisted his sister, and paid no regard to his father’s counsels. “I left my sister and father in October, and him I saw no more. I promised my sister that I would read the Bible for myself, but on being settled at college, Newton engaged all my thoughts.”
Returned to Cambridge, he soon received news of his father’s death. He took up the Bible; but how faint was the light in his soul may be seen from what he says: “I took up my Bible, thinking that the consideration of religion was rather suitable to this solemn time... . I began with the Acts as being the most amusing, and while I was entertained with the narrative I found myself insensibly led to enquire into the doctrine of the apostles. It corresponded nearly enough with the few notions I had received in my early youth. I believe, on the first night after, 1 began to pray from a precomposed form, in which I thanked God in general for having sent Christ into the world. But though I prayed for pardon, I had little sense of my own sinfulness ; nevertheless I began to consider myself a religious man.” Doddridge’s “ Rise and Progress of Religion in the Soul,” which he read at this time, caused him much searching of heart—‘it appeared to make religion to consist too much in humiliation, and my proud wicked heart would not bear to be brought down into the dust.”
This was the turning point in his life, as he writes to his sister: “After the death of our father, you know I was extremely low-spirited, and, like most other people, began to consider seriously, without any particular determination, the invisible world to which he was gone and to which I must one day go. Yet I still read the Bible unenlightened, and said a prayer or two, rather through terror of a superior power than from any other cause. Soon, however, I began to attend more diligently to the words of our Saviour in the New Testament, and to devour them with delight ; when the offers of mercy and forgiveness were made so freely, I supplicated to be made partaker of the covenant of grace with eagerness and hope, and thanks be to the ever blessed Trinity for not leaving me without comfort.”
Another helpful influence was that he attended the ministry of Rev. Charles Simeon at Trinity Church, Cambridge. Simeon greatly helped to promote evangelical religion and to foster the cause of foreign missions, then in its infancy in England. Five Cambridge men, all of them disciples of Simeon, had an important share in making the gospel known in India. These were, in the order of their arrival abroad, Brown, Buchanan, Martyn, Corrie, and Thomason. Thomason was Simeon’s curate from 1796 till 1808, when he sailed for India, and Martyn from 1803 to 1805, when he left for the same destination. But this is anticipating the course of events.
Martyn’s pre-eminence as a student is seen in the fact that in the public examination for his university degree in January 1801, before he had completed his twentieth year, the highest academical honour was adjudged to him, that of Senior Wrangler. His college friends would crowd round him with congratulations, but his own thoughts were these: “I obtained my highest wishes, but was surprised to find that I had grasped a shadow.” As the result of another examination he was chosen Fellow of St John’s College in 1802, and soon thereafter took the first prize given to graduates for the best Latin prose composition. In 1803 he was appointed by his college public examiner in classics, and in 1804 examiner in philosophy. At the close of the same year he was a third time selected one of the examiners in St John’s College.
During a visit home in 1801 his spiritual life gained a decided impetus: “not till then,” he writes, “had I experienced any real pleasure in religion.” Under the fostering care of Mr Simeon, his spiritual life continued to grow: and now he abandoned his intention of being a lawyer and consecrated himself to the ministry of the gospel.
Jonathan Edwards’ Memoir of David Brainerd largely helped to lead Henry Martyn to offer himself for foreign service. Brainerd’s Memoir quite attracted him. He felt a oneness of soul with the young American who, almost at his own age, left home and the comforts of civilisation, to enter alone, for Jesus Christ’s sake, the dark forest of Indian superstition and sin, and who, like Martyn, finished his course with joy at so early an age. Brainerd and Martyn were both intensely introspective: both were fired with love to Jesus Christ and a yearning love for souls. “Fatigues and hardships,” writes Brainerd, “serve to wean me from the earth, and, I trust, will make heaven the sweeter.” Martyn found in him a kindred spirit. And he too laid his life at the feet of Jesus, that Jesus might use that life in any way He saw fit. The immediate cause of this decision, however, was a sermon preached by Mr Simeon on foreign missions, in which attention had been drawn to the good effected in India by William Carey.
He now offered himself to the Church Missionary Society, one of the noblest of all societies at work among the heathen. It was formed in the year 1800, and the name of Charles Simeon is among the founders. Events, however, proved that it was not under the Society’s auspices that Martyn was to go to India.
In October 1803 he was ordained deacon, and in due time began his ministry as curate to the Rev. Charles Simeon, with whom he laboured in Cambridge and the adjoining village of Lolworth,
In 1804 a chaplaincy in India was offered him by the East India Company, and he accepted it. In March 1805 he was ordained a presbyter in St James’ Chapel, London, and after the ordination the University of Cambridge conferred on him the degree of Bachelor of Divinity.
“I see no business in life but the work of Christ, neither do I desire any employment to all eternity but His service.” In this frame of mind did he look forward to leaving England for India.
A voyage to India in those days was something to be remembered; not as now in first class steamers, luxuriously fitted up like floating hotels, so that an Indian voyage becomes a delightful holiday. Very different was the state of things then. The ship in which he sailed was one of a fleet consisting of fifty transports and five men-of-war, besides the Indiamen ; for England was then at war with Holland and France. Added to all the discomforts of the voyage was the extreme length of it: from the time he sailed till the ship arrived in India was nine months! The disrespect shown to him by almost all on board was a severe discipline. On Sundays the captain would not allow him to preach oftener than once. Seeing, therefore, that his usefulness greatly depended on his private ministrations, he made it his daily habit to go between decks, where he assembled all who were willing to attend. “Some attend fixedly,” he writes, “others are looking another way; some women are employed about their children, attending for a little while, and then heedless; some rising up and going away; others taking their place; and numbers, especially of those who have been upon watch, strewed all along upon the deck, fast asleep; one or two from the upper decks looking down and listening.” And on Sundays things were no more encouraging ; the passengers were inattentive ; the officers, many of them, sat drinking, so that he could overhear their noise, and the captain was with them. “I seemed uneasy at the thought of calling forth the hatred of the people tomorrow by preaching to them unpleasant truths.” But even in so unpromising a field the good seed took root and grew. “Here I am,” he writes, “and have enough to break the heart of any one who has a concern for the honour of God. God has, however, had compassion on His unworthy servant and the perishing souls in the ship, as to gather some of His children from amongst us. There is a small party of us who gather every day on the orlop deck to sing and hear an exposition of scripture. The rest are very hardened and contemptuous, but I trust I shall have grace to instruct in meekness those who oppose themselves.”
It was an eventful voyage, its chief incidents being an attempt at mutiny by the crew; four days spent at Funchal; a short stay at San Salvador in Brazil, where Martyn landed and engaged in conversation in Latin with some Roman Catholic priests, seeking to lead them to Christ; and the arrival of the fleet at the Cape of Good Hope. The meaning of this putting in at the Cape was that South Africa then belonged to Holland, and the fleet was conveying British troops to fight the Dutch. Martyn, in his capacity of chaplain, was on the field of battle in which the Dutch were defeated. There he moved among the wounded and the dying, speaking to them of the gospel and pointing them to Christ for salvation. As he was thus engaged, a drunken Highland soldier, taking him for a Frenchman, presented his gun at him. Martyn sprang toward him, and told him if he doubted his word, to take him prisoner to the English camp, but that he certainly was an English clergyman. This pacified the soldier, and Martyn’s life was saved. Resuming the voyage, India was reached at last. The sickness in the ship had been great. Shortly before reaching the Cape the captain had died, and now there was more ill health than ever. Throughout it all Martyn was ever at the bedside of the sick and dying, administering every temporal and spiritual comfort.
In April 1806 the ship anchored in Madras roads, and next month arrived at Calcutta. ‘Oh, if I live,” he writes, “let me have come hither to some purpose.”
His first impressions of India were certainly rose-coloured. ‘You address me,” he writes, “as if there were hardships in any way: externally there are none, except temptations may be called so, as perhaps they ought to be. The air is so soft and serene that you might sleep at night under a tree; and maintenance so easy that a wholesome meal may be purchased for a farthing or two.”
Mission work in India at that time was carried on under difficulties. Those in power showed much hostility to the preaching of the gospel to the natives, except, strangely enough, in South India, where the Danish mission was protected and encouraged by the East India Company. If we would understand the devotion of men like William Carey and Henry Martyn let us realise what were the prospects of missionary success at the beginning of this century under the East India Company. The British flag was the emblem of the determination that the gospel should not reach the Hindoos.. Some of the early missionaries, Judson for instance, as soon as they landed in British India, were ordered by the authorities to leave immediately, and were forcibly compelled to do so. This was the cause of Judson’s settling in Burmah. Carey, Marshman and Ward were not allowed to reside in British India, but were forced to live at the Danish settlement of Serampore. Martyn’s position as a chaplain had certain advantages, for he was appointed by the East India Company to preach to the English residents; but it had its disadvantages too, for he was under military rule, and must obey as much as any private in the ranks.
Arrived in Calcutta he was hospitably received by the Rev. David Brown. Here he worked incessantly, acquiring the Hindustani language. It would be impossible for the East India Company to keep ¢/zs chaplain within regulation rules in regard to not preaching to the natives. “I lay in tears,” he says, “interceding for the unfortunate natives of this country, thinking within myself that the most despicable soodar of India was of as much value in the sight of God as the king of Great Britain.” The idolatrous rites of heathenism, which he now witnessed, filled him with horror ; and when he saw the natives prostrate before an idol, he was moved with compassion. As he wrote in another connection, “Let me never fancy I have zeal till my heart overflows with love to every man living.”
“TI have just been interrupted by the blaze of a funeral pile within a hundred yards of my pagoda. T ran out, but the wretched woman had consigned herself to the flames before I reached the spot, and I saw only the remains of her and her husband. O Lord, how long shall it be? Oh, I shall have no rest in my spirit till my tongue is loosed to testify against the devil, and deliver the message of God to these his unhappy bondslaves. I stammered out something to the wicked Brahmins about the judgments of God upon them for the murder they had just committed, but they said it was an act of her own free will. Some of the missionaries would have been there, but they are forbidden by the Governor-general to preach to the natives in the British territory.”
His ministerial brethren did not relish the new preaching: the doctrine of justification by faith they could not endure. Accordingly Martyn had to undergo much personal abuse even from the pulpit. “The two ministers continue to oppose my doctrine with unabated virulence.” “These clergy,” he writes, “denied in the pulpit, one by one, all the leading doctrines of the gospel, as well as abused the newly arrived missionary.” Martyn was wise enough, when he preached, not to make the slightest allusion to these philippics.
This is a sufficient glimpse of the hostility then at work everywhere against the gospel as well as against all who loved it. Spiritual and practical religion was the one thing that was not tolerated.
An appointment soon came ordering Martyn to proceed to Dinapore, a military station up the Ganges. Travelling up river was accomplished in boats called budgerows. Embarked in one of these, he used the time in the study of Sanskrit, and afterwards of Persian, and also in beginning the translation of the Scriptures with the native moonshce whom he had engaged to help him in this work. As the boat passed Serampore, Mr Marshman, one of the Baptist missionaries, came down to meet him, and after accompanying him a little way, left him with prayer.
Going on shore from time to time during this river journey, he found himself on one occasion in 7° MISSIONARY PIONEERS IN INDIA.
the midst of a crowd of Hindoos engaged in the worship of idols. With one of the Brahmins he had earnest conversation both on the subject of idolatry and of the gospel. He asked the Brahmin if the story were true which relates how the Hindoo divinities Krishnoo and Brahma had once stolen a horse: the Brahmin confessed that it was true, and seemed to feel the consequences. His comment on this incident is, “I learned that the power of gentlenesss is irresistible.”
At Berhampore, the first military station, he landed and visited the sick in the hospital. His journal shows the reception he so often met with. “Rose early, and was at the hospital by daylight, but after waiting a long time, wandering through the wards, hoping the men would get up and assemble, I went away amid the sneers and titters of the common soldiers. It is extraordinary that I seldom or never meet with contempt on account of religion except from Englishmen, and from them invariably.”
Resuming the river journey he worked at Bible translation, even wearying the moonshee with the labour. He distributed tracts in the villages near the river, though in. this he received little encouragement from the recipients. However, the people seemed not to have the same objection to receive HMENRY MARTYN. 71
copies of the New Testament from him. The burden of those souls lay heavy on him. “I was much burdened,” he writes, “ with the consciousness of blood-guiltiness, and though I cannot doubt of my pardon by the blood of Christ, how dreadful the reflection that any should perish who might have been saved by my exertions.” As he sailed past Patna the sight of the multitudes in that city overwhelmed him, adding to the bodily weakness and pain he suffered. The intensity of his soul was consuming the earthly tenement in which it lived. “The sight of the multitudes at Patna filled me with astonishment and dread from which I have not yet recovered: and the crowds in the bazaar here (Dinapore) have had no tendency to diminish it. What shall be done for them all?”
At length he arrived at Dinapore. Here, in addition to his work among the Europeans, his objects were threefold, to establish native schools ; to attain such fluency in Hindustani as might enable him easily to preach to the natives ; and to prepare translations of the Scriptures. His work among the Europeans was not begun under encouraging auspices. At first, when he assembled the soldiers for worship, he was desired to omit the sermon. Many of the European families took offence at his preaching without a crétten sermon, and a letter was sent him requesting him to cease from extempore preaching. Though inclined to resent this interference, yet to conciliate them he complied with their wishes.
Speaking of the divinity of our Lord Jesus Christ, to the moonshee with whom he daily worked at bible translation, Martyn told him that he should pray that God would teach him what the truth really is. The man said he had no need to pray on the subject as the Koran was express. Martyn asked him whether some doubt ought not to arise in his mind as to whether the Koran is the Word of God. The moonshee grew angry. Martyn felt hurt and vexed. “If any qualification,” he writes, “seems necessary to a missionary in India, it is wisdom operating in the regulation of the temper, and improvement of opportunities.”
In his work as chaplain he was grieved by the neglect, levity and profaneness of many of the English. “There seems no approach to seriousness in any here, except perhaps one soldier. They slumber away their time in idleness, and they have lately set on foot something worse, viz., theatricals.” In vain he tried to speak of religion in the houses of the wealthy, “The manner in which it was received damped all further effort.”
ITENRY MARTYN. 73
Still he laboured on, sometimes making long journeys in his pastoral work: one journey of seventy miles is mentioned, to perform a marriage.
In February 1807 he completed the translation into Hindustani of the Book of Common Prayer, and a few Sundays thereafter commenced worship in the vernacular. “The spectacle was as novel as it was gratifying, to behold two hundred women, Portuguese, Roman Catholics and Mohammedans, crowding to attend the service of the Church of England, which had lost nothing, doubtless, of its beautiful simplicity and devout solemnity in being clothed with an Oriental dress.” Soon thereafter he finished a commentary in Hindustani on the Parables. His moonshee’s private thoughts on this work may be seen from his remark that, after that generation had passed away, a race of fools might perhaps arise who would try to believe that God could be a man, and man God, and who would say that the Bible is the Word of God. The attitude of the moonshee only made him resolve that he would be surprised by no appearances of the same temper in others.
His Sabbath duties now consisted of a service for Europeans at seven a.m. ; another at two in the afternoon for Hindoos; then he attended the hospital ; and in the evening he ministered in his
F own rooms to those soldiers who were interested in divine things. Regarding one of his English services he writes, “I preached on Luke xxii. 22. As is always the case when I preach about Christ, a spiritual influence is diffused over my soul.” This patient unremitting labour for Christ, apparently so barren of result, was yet not allowed to be without fruit. Both among the privates and the officers some hearts were touched by God’s grace, and with these he enjoyed true fellowship.
Among the Hindoos he began work in addition to the service for them each Sabbath, but found their ignorance of divine things a serious hindrance. For example, he sent his pundit with a copy of the gospels as a gift to the Ranee of Daoudnagur. The princess accepted the present, returned her compliments, and desired to know what must be done to obtain benefit from the book, whether prayer or making a salaam to it. “I sent her word,” he writes, “that she must seek Divine instruction in secret prayer, and I also added some other advice.”
Miss Lydia Grenfell having declined to leave England for the purpose of joining him, he writes, “At first, like Jonah, I was more grieved at the loss of my gourd than at the sight of the many perishing Ninevehs all around me; but now my earthly woes and earthly attachments seem to be absorbing in the vast concern of communicating the gospel to these natives. . . + So remarkably and so repeatedly has God baffled all my schemes of earthly comfort, that I am forced at last to believe His determination to be that I should live in every sense a stranger and pilgrim on this earth.”
With his moonshee and his pundit he had much conversation, but made little headway. The former threw much ridicule on the gospel; the latter seemed more impressible. “I find that seriousness in the declaration of the truths of the gospel is likely to have more power than the clearest arguments conveyed in a trifling spirit.” Speaking to the moonshee of his own personal experience, Martyn assured him that his chief pleasure even now on earth was the enjoyment of God’s presence and a growing conformity to Him, and therefore he says, “I asked what motives could the promise of houris, ghilmans, green meadows and eating and drinking in paradise afford me. My soul sweetly blessed the Lord in secret that this testimony was true.”
His work in Dinapore continued. Five schools for children he supported out of his own purse. The gospel he still preached amid the persistent scorn of the Europeans; the praise of man was a temptation which did not fall to him. Like Paul he was willing to impart to them, not the gospel only, but his own soul also, because they were dear to him; but their response was opprobrium and contempt. At his services sometimes not a single European was present, and he was thankful when he could explain the Word of God in Hindustani to a few of the native women. These difficulties are referred to in a letter, dated July 1808, to the Rev. D. Corrie: “How small and unimportant are the hair-splitting disputes among the blessed people at home compared with the formidable agents of the devil with whom we have to contend here. There are four castes of people in India—the first, heathen; the second, Mohammedans; the third, Papists; the fourth, infidels. Now I trust that you and I are sent to fight this four-faced devil; and by the help of the Lord Jesus, whom we serve, we will.”
Being asked to accept the pastorate of the Mission Church in Calcutta, he declined, feeling that if he gave himself to the ministry in that city he must abandon his work among the HENRY MARTYN. Th
natives; but this he could not do. “When I see a very small party of people who choose to sit still, with their faces upon the right way, and a flood of light poured upon it, and not far from these, millions equally valuable groping for the right way in midnight darkness, I cannot help running with a lantern to the latter.”
Two fresh assistants now arrived to aid him in bible translation—Mirza of Benares, a gifted Hindustani scholar, and Sabat an Arabian. Sabat came with this recommendation—* He will delight your heart, for he is a gentleman, a scholar, and a Christian.” Mirza was very helpful, but Sabat proved a thorn in the flesh, owing to his fierce temper, which would often break out into ungovernable fits of fury. Instead of being a comfort, Sabat became only an additional trial. Yet Martyn bore with this fiery Arab for two reasons; because he felt Sabat of use to him in the translation of the New Testament into Persian, and also for the man’s own sake. “Sabat,” he writes, “has been tolerably quict this week: but think of the keeper of a lunatic and you see me.” “We wait for nothing but Sabat to examine the translation ; but that, alas, is the greatest plague to come. How shall we ever get through it? I do not expect, indeed, that we shall get further than a few chapters, for if everything is not altered according to his ise dixit he is angry; and this I certainly cannot do.” “ Another of his odd opinions is that he is so under the immediate influence and direction of the Spirit that there will not be one single error in his whole Persian translation. You perceive a little enthusiasm in the character of our brother. As often as he finds himself in any difficulty, he expects a dream to set him right.” “Sabat has kept me much upon the fret this week... . I grieve to say that he is deaf to all I urge respecting the necessity of loving our enemies. His love to Christ, he says, will ensure him salvation,: though he does disobey that one command. Hence he continues to hate Mirza with a perfect hatred, inveighing against him with dreadful bitterness, and declaring that if he were not a Christian he would destroy him instantly. What to do with him I am at a loss to know.”
Most unhappily Sabat ultimately apostatized.
In March 1808 Martyn joyfully completed the version of the New Testament in Hindustani, “a work for which,” says his biographer Sargent, “myriads in the ages yet to come will gratefully remember and revere the name of Martyn.” ¢
“T have read and corrected the manuscript copies of my Hindustani Testament so often that my eyes ache. The heat is terrible, often at 98°, the nights insupportable.” This version in a revised form is still doing God’s work in India.
In April 1809 he was ordered from Dinapore to Cawnpore. Owing to the terrific heat he fainted as soon as he reached the house of the friend, Mrs Sherwood, where he was to reside for a few days. In Cawnpore he received the same treatment as in Dinapore, and was set at naught. The natives to whom he preached met him with derision, shouts and hisses, but he ceased not to beseech them to be reconciled to God.
One feature of his residence in Cawnpore was his preaching to the beggars. To prevent constant interruptions he had arranged that they should come to his house on a stated day for the distribution of alms. To this strange congregation he determined to preach the gospel. The following Sunday he again preached to the beggars, who numbered about five hundred. This audience received him in a different style from that to which he was accustomed: instead of indifference or scorn, there was great applause. He continued to preach to the beggars as long as he resided in Cawnpore ; their numbers sometimes were as high as seven hundred.
Ill health now caused him much pain, but he felt that he could not forego any part of his work, neither that of preaching to the soldiers, nor to the beggars, nor to the few Europeans. One native woman, an old Hindoo, was baptized by him in Cawnpore. So poor did his health become that it was necessary either that he should try a sea voyage, or return for a time to England. The precise time of his departure from Cawnpore, as well as his route, was decided by considerations affecting his Persian and Arabic translations.
The Persian gospels he had submitted to the judgment of the authorities in Calcutta, and their decision was that the translation abounded too much in Arabic idioms, and it was sent back to him for revision. He therefore resolved to go to Persia in order to make the necessary revision on the spot.
He applied for sick leave, which was granted. Then he sailed in July 1811 from Calcutta to Bombay. In Bombay Sir John Malcolm gave him a letter of introduction to Sir Gore Ouscley, the British Resident in Persia. Sir John introduces him as “altogether a very learned and cheerful man, but a great enthusiast in his holy calling. I am satisficd that if you ever see him you will be pleased with him. He will give you grace before and after dinner, and admonish such of your party as take the Lord’s name in vain ; but his good sense and great learning will delight you, while his constant cheerfulness will add to the hilarity of your party.”
There may be mentioned at this point several things which show that Henry Martyn was no recluse. He speaks of sometimes purveying his dinner by shooting snipe. He could ride a horse ; and play on the flute; and his hopefulness was great. There are no dark views of the world in these words, “Swiftly fly the hours of life away, and then we shall be admitted to behold His glory. The ages of darkness are rolling fast away and shall soon usher in the gospel period when the whole world shall be filled with His glory.” “The cause in which we are engaged is the cause of mercy and truth, and therefore in spite of seeming impossibilities it must eventually prevail.”
He tells us that he was sometimes led into in- temperate heat in argument, and was often liable to be forgetful of his proper work as a minister of Christ: “I visit the English very little, and yet have had sufficient experience of the difficulty of knowing how a minister should converse with his people. I have myself fallen into the worst extreme, and from fear of making them connect religion with gloom, have been led into such shameful levity and conformity to them, as ought to fill me with grief and deep self-abasement.” The voyage from Calcutta to Persia occupied five months. He landed at Bushire, and thence travelled to Shiraz. Once upon Persian soil he adopted the Persian costume. “The Persian dress,” he writes, “ consists of stockings and shoes in one ; next a pair of large blue trousers, or else a pair of huge red boots ; then the shirt, then the tunic, and above it the coat, both of chintz, and a greatcoat. I have here described my own dress, most of which I have on at this moment. On the head is worn an enormous cone made of the skin of the black Tartar sheep, with the wool on. If to this description of my dress I add that my beard and mustachios have been suffered to vegetate undisturbed ever since I left India; that I am sitting on a Persian carpet in a room without tables and chairs; that I bury my hand in the pilaw without waiting for spoon or plate, you will give me credit for being already an accomplished Oriental.”
On the journey from Bushire to Shiraz the heat was extreme, the thermometer rising to 126°. “In this state,” he writes, “I composed myself, and concluded that, though I might hold out a day or two, death was inevitable.” It left him more dead than alive. At length Shiraz was reached, and here he immediately began a new version of the New Testament in Persian. In this work he had an able and willing assistant in the person of Mirza Seid Ali Khan, the brother-in-law of his host Jaffier Ali Khan.
Very soon he was the centre of observation in the city: he had many callers, and with them he entered into conversation on the subject of the gospel. He found the Persians more unprejudiced and more inquisitive than the Hindoos, and this gave him hope that the gospel would soon win its way among them. But what could have brought him to Persia? was the question discussed by many. Some thought he had come to Shiraz in order to become a Mussulman, with the ulterior design of bringing five thousand men to seize the country by force !
Two Moollahs having listened to what he had to say regarding the person of Christ, seemed quite satisfied, and remarked, “How much misapprehension is removed when people come to an explanation.” While his amanuensis was writing the translation of that passage in the gospel where it is related how one of the servants of the high priest struck the Lord Jesus on the face, the irreverence and insult impressed him greatly: he stopped and said, “Sir, did not his hand dry up?”
Anxious to pay respect to the powers that be, he was presented at court to the Prince Abbas Mirza. “I went wearing a pair of red cloth stockings, with green high-heeled shoes.” A hundred fountains playing; the dignitaries, some standing, others seated. ‘I never saw,” he writes, “a more sweet and engaging countenance than the prince's.”
His first public discussion was with the Moojtuhid or Professor of Mohammedan law: but fair discussion did not come easily to the professor : he preferred to dogmatise. These discussions, and the fact of his being engaged on a translation of the New Testament, excited so much enquiry that the Preceptor of all the Moolahs published against Mr Martyn an Arabic defence of Mohammedanism. Mr Martyn published a reply in Persian, dividing his reply into two parts : first, an attack on Mohammedanism; second, a statement of Christianity. He ends his reply in the words, “If you do not see the evidence to be sufficient, my prayer is that God may guide you so that you who have been a guide to men in the way you thought right, may now both see the truth and call men to God through Jesus Christ, who hath loved us and washed us from our sins in His blood. His glory and dominion be everlasting!” The nephew of one of the princes hearing of Mr Martyn’s published reply, observed that the proper answer to it was—the sword; but the prince confessed that he began to have his doubts.
Toward the end of November such progress had been made with the Persian version that Mr Martyn ordered two splendid copies of it to be prepared, one to be presented to the King of Persia, the other to his son, Prince Abbas Mirza. Intending to spend the winter in Shiraz he resolved to translate the psalms into Persian. Speaking of his assistants he says, “They are employed in a work of the importance of which they are unconscious, and are making provision for future Persian saints whose time is, I suppose, now near. ‘Roll back, ye crowded years, your thick array!’ Let the long, long period of darkness and sin at last give way to the brighter hours of light and liberty which wait on the wings of the Sun of righteousness. Perhaps we witness the dawn of the day of glory; and if not, the desire that we feel that Jesus may be glorified and the nations acknowledge His sway, is the earnest of the Spirit, that when He shall appear we shall also appear with Him in glory.”
On Christmas day he made a feast for the Russians and Armenians: the Soofie Master and his disciples were also present. Addressing the guests, Mr Martyn expressed his hope that though they would never see him again they would remember that he had brought them the gospel. The Soofie Master coldly replied that God would guide those whom He chose,
At length the year 1812 dawned, the year when Henry Martyn rested from his labours and found himself in a world where all is love. On New Year’s day he wrote, “I look back with shame and pity upon my former self, when I attached importance to my life and labours. The more I see of my works the more I am ashamed of them. I am sick when I look at man and his wisdom and his doings, and am relieved only by re- flecting that we have a city whose builder and maker is God. The least of Hzs works here is refreshing to look at. A dried leaf or a straw makes me feel mysclf in good company.”
On January 16th there is a touching entry: “Mirza Seid Ali told me accidentally to-day of a distich made by his friend Mirza Koochut at Teheran in honour of a victory obtained by Prince Abbas Mirza over the Russians. The sentiment was that he had killed so many of the Christians that Christ from the fourth heaven took hold of Mohammed’s skirt to entreat him to desist. I was cut to the soul at this blasphemy. ... Mirza Seid Ali perceived that I was considerably disordered, and was sorry for having repeated the verse, but asked what it was that was so offensive. I told him that I could not endure existence if Jesus was not glorified. He was astonished and again asked why. ‘If any one pluck out your eyes,’ I replied, ‘there is no saying why you feel pain—it is feeling. It is because I am one with Christ that I am dreadfully wounded.’ On his again apologising, I told him I rejoiced at what had happened, inasmuch as it made me feel nearer the Lord than ever.”
He must have rejoiced when, after months of enquiry and sometimes of opposition, Mirza Seid Ali confessed himself a Christian ; that he granted that Christ is the Son of God; that he was willing to trust in Him alone for salvation; and that he was also willing to confess Christ before men and act conformably to His word.
On February 14th the last sheet of the Persian New Testament was finished, and in March he completed the translation of the Psalms.
On the day before he finished the New Testament he visited Mirza lbraheem, who was engaged lecturing in a room filled with Moolahs. The Master asked him what he meant by calling Christ God, and also if Christ had ever called Himself God. Was He the Creator or a creature? “I replied, the Creator. The Moolahs looked at one another. Such a confession had never before been heard among Mohammedan doctors.”
On May 24th he left Shiraz for Tabriz, where the British Ambassador, Sir Gore Ouseley, then resided. The purpose of this journey was to obtain from him a letter of introduction to the king, before whom he wished to lay his translation. Arrived at the king’s camp at Carach, he attended the vizier’s levee, where there was a lengthened and clamorous controversy. It ended when Mr Martyn said, “God is God,” but added instead of “Mohammed is the prophet of God,” “and Jesus is the Son of God.” The disputants rose up in anger, and one of them exclaimed: “What will you say when your tongue is burned out for this blasphemy?” The Persian translation of the New Testament was lying before the vizier, “As they all rose up,” writes Martyn, “I was afraid they would trample upon the book, so I went in among them to take it up, and wrapped it in a towel before them, while they looked at it and me with supreme contempt.”
Resuming his journey to Tabriz, he was seldom free from headache and giddiness and fever ; “but my heart, I trust, is with Christ and His saints.” He was thrown into a high fever and nearly delirious, and almost despaired of getting alive through what he calls “this unfortunate journey.” At last he reached Tabriz. But owing to the fever, which lasted nearly two months, he was prevented from personally presenting the New Testament to the King of Persia. Sir Gore Ouseley, however, promised that he would present it at court. His promise he fulfilled, and the king, on receiving it, publicly expressed his approval
G go MISSIONARY PIONEERS IN INDIA.
of the work. Sir Gore Ouseley also carried the manuscript to St Petersburg, where he superintended the printing of it, and afterwards the putting of it into circulation, The ambassador and his wife tenderly nursed Mr Martyn during the whole of this illness.
After recovering he set out from Tabriz with the intention of returning to England. He turned his horse’s head towards Constantinople—distant about 1300 miles—a city he was destined not to reach. He and his attendants journeyed on from village to village, crossing the river Araxes, and having Mount Ararat in view; a hoary mountain, he describes it, rising so high above the rest that they sank into nothing. His remarks on seeing Mount Ararat were that Noah had here “landed in a new world; so may I, safe in Christ, outride the storms of life, and land at last on one of the everlasting hills.”
At Erivan he was kindly received by the Governor. At Ech Miazin, or Three Churches, he visited a large Armenian church and encouraged one of the ecclesiastics, named Serope, in whom he thought he saw promise of some reforming useful Christian work. With the clergy of this church he stayed a few days, and left them with sentiments of brotherly regard.
HENRY MARTYN, gi
His party crossed the Araxes four times. Ascending the tableland they had a view of Russian territory: at once they saw Persia, Russia and Turkey. On 21st September he rode into the city of Kars. Next day they passed close to the country of the Kurds ; then onwards to Erzeroum. Travelling on, they came to Chiflick, where he was attacked again by ague and fever. Next day they came to Sherean, and thence travelled all the rest of the day and all night: it rained most of the time: the ague returned and he could get nowhere to lie down, for, he writes, “Hassan had no mercy.” After sleeping three or four hours, Hassan once more hurried him onward till night came on, when Mr Martyn got off his horse, telling Hassan he neither could nor would go any further. Seeing a light he made toward it and got under shelter —a stable-room. Here the fever increased: he besought them to put out the fire or to carry him out of doors, but they were deaf to his entreaties, so he put his head in among the luggage and lodged it upon the damp ground, and slept. In the morning the merciless Hassan hurried him off. Next night the ague and fever returned and he could not sleep.
The last entry in his journal is October 6th.
“No horses being obtainable I had an unexpected repose. I sat in the orchard and thought with sweet comfort and peace of my God, in solitude my company, my friend and comforter. Oh when shall time give place to eternity? when shall appear that new heaven and new earth wherein dwelleth righteousness? There—there shall in no wise enter in anything that defileth, none of that wickedness that has made men worse than wild beasts; none of those corruptions that add still more to the miseries of mortality shall be seen or heard of any more.”
On October 16th at Tocat he died, “either falling a sacrifice to the plague which then raged there, or sinking under that disorder which, when he penned his last words, had so greatly reduced him, he surrendered his soul into the hands of his Redeemer.” He had not completed his thirtysecond year.
A man of the highest talents, his mathematical and linguistic attainments leaving him almost without a rival, he laid himself a willing sacrifice on the Lord’s altar. In a letter written in 1809 he mentions that he was acquainted more or less with these languages—Latin, Greek, French, Italian, Portuguese, Dutch, Hebrew, Rabbinical Hebrew, Chaldee, Syriac, Ethiopic, Samaritan, Arabic, Persian, Sanskrit, Bengali, and Hindustani. Of Arabic he says, “I approve most fully of your new orders for commencing the Arabic. A year ago I was not adequate to it: my labours in the Persian and other studies have in the wisdom of God been the means of qualifying me. So now, favente Deo, we will begin to preach to Arabia, Syria, Persia, India, Tartary, China, half of Africa, all the south coast of the Mediterranean, and Turkey, and one tongue shall suffice for them all.”
“All the dignity to which he aspired was to be their servant among whom he laboured for Jesus’ sake.” Even before he left England, so thoroughly was his conversation in heaven, that, to use his own words, “his soul longed for the eternal world, and he could see nothing on earth for which he would wish to live another hour.” “I wish for no service but the service of God in labouring for souls on earth and to do His will in heaven.” “I do not wish for any heaven upon earth besides that of preaching the precious gospel of Jesus Christ to immortal souls.” Even when labouring at the great work of translating the Bible into the languages of India, he writes, “OQ my soul, be not deceived: thy chief work upon earth is to obtain sanctification and to walk with God.”
The Greek text upon the title page of Martyn’s memoir is an epitome of his life and work, ‘ For My sake thou hast laboured and thou hast not fainted.” (Rev. iii. 2).