The Brethren; the American Board (1810)

C H A P T E R V I I I

The Brethren; the American Board

[ 1810 ]

IS decision made, Adoniram went home to Plymouth for the

winter vacation. He was, he believed, the first and only student at Andover dedicated to foreign missions. He saw no reason to expect anything but opposition from the professors and his fellows there. He probably expected something similar from his parents. Perhaps some obscure impulse in him welcomed the prospect. Certainly he had at last accomplished an apparently impossible feat: he had chosen the one course which his father would not approve, yet from which he could not withhold his approval. He had welded defiance and obedience into one inseparable whole.

He was welcomed warmly, as usual—perhaps even a little more warmly than in the past—and for a few days he kept his secret to himself, waiting for the best time to bring it up. Soon, however, he began to be aware that he was not the only one with a secret. His father, mOther and sister were keeping something to themselves too.

They were seated around the fireplace one evening when Mr. Judson began to drop rather broad hints to the effect that something highly desirable was about to happen to Adoniram. Mrs. Judson and Abigail, with smiles and cryptic remarks, suggested that, whatever it was, it concerned his career and was something Adoniram would like very much indeed. In view of his own secret all this was disquieting. Growing more and more uneasy as he listened, Adoniram finally asked his father to explain directly what he was hinting at—adding, by way of warning, that he might have plans of his own which might interfere with what they had in mind.

Mr. Judson was undisturbed. He was positive that Adoniram would be overjoyed. Adoniram knew Dr. Griffin, of course, who with Dr. Stuart had influenced him to go to Andover, and who now was Adoniram’s inStructor in Sacred Rhetoric? Adoniram nodded impatiently. Well, continued Mr. Judson, Adoniram had heard that Dr. Griffin was about to become pastor of the Park Street Church in Boston—the largest church in Boston? And—- this was the secret—he wanted Adoniram to be his assistant as soon as he graduated from the seminary. He had spoken to Mr. Judson about it this early to be sure Adoniram would not commit himself to anyone else!

Nothing could possibly have made Adoniram’s father prouder. His mOther, who had been almost unable to contain herself while her husband spoke, broke in with, “And you will be so near home!” Abigail followed. Dr. Griflin was sure, she said, that Adoniram was destined to become one of New England’s great ministers. This assistantship would be the first step on the ladder! So the three talked, fairly exploding with joy.

Adoniram, meanwhile, was overcome with a feeling akin to horror. Every word they spoke was a blow on his heart. Although he had known he must hurt them with his own news, he had never expected to hurt them as he must now. For a few moments he was unable to speak at all. Then, his voice hoarse and shaking with emotion, he broke in on his sister’s glowing description of his future with, “No, Abigail. I shall never live in Boston. I have much farther to go.”

His vehemence stilled them. In broken phrases, he told them of his decision and how he had arrived at it. As its full meaning sank home, his mother and Abigail exchanged fearful glances. Their eyes filled with tears and they broke into uncontrollable sobbing. As soon as they could recover themselves a little, they flung their tearful arguments as they had once before, when he set forth for New York. Why should he throw himself away among ignorant savages who could never appreciate him, half a world from home? Think how much good he could do in Boston! There were souls to save in New England, too. And so on... To no avail.

Only Adoniram’s father had nothing to say. As a minister, what arguments could he bring against this decision? He sat with a stony face in the rocker beside the fire, silently digesting the wreck of his hopes, in the bitterest moment of life.

The remainder of Adoniram’s vacation was a tumult. His mother and Abigail persisted in believing that if they deluged him with enough entreaties and enough tears he would give in. The father kept his hands off. It was obvious, to him, that no power on earth could move Adoniram Judson once he had come to a decision.

Adoniram returned to Andover in an unhappy frame of mind. He had foreseen “great difficulties,” but perhaps not any quite as great from his mother and sister. Now he steeled himself for even greater ones at Andover. Instead, to his surprise, he met encouragement from an unexpected quarter.

Unknown to Adoniram, at least four other students in the seminary had considered foreign missions even earlier than he had. They had heard Adoniram “declaiming on the subject of missions,” but they had kept their own counsel for various reasons: reluctance to take the final plunge—uncertainty whether to go abroad or to the American WeSt —— or, possibly, a doubt of Adoniram’s sincerity and determination.

One of the four was Samuel Newell, who had begun to think of becoming a missionary while still an undergraduate at Harvard. Another was Samuel Nott, who had arrived in Andover the previous November. After graduating from Union College at the age of twenty, he had studied theology with his father, a minister of Franklin, Connecticut. He had come to the conclusion that his future lay in missions about the time Adoniram had entered the seminary in 1808. And it was Samuel Nott who approached Adoniram first that spring. Although he had felt for more than a year that it was his duty to become a missionary, he had hesitated to commit himself. Now his doubts melted quickly under Adoniram’s enthusiasm. Samuel Newell joined these two next. If either Nott or Newell had cherished any idea of missions on the American continent, Adoniram soon persuaded them that Asia was the best field. He had fixed his own eye on Burma, but there was room in Asia for an army of missionaries. The important thing was to translate intentions into action. All three were seniors. There was no time to waste if they hoped to set out for their stations as soon .as possible after graduation.

The third and fourth missionary-minded students had dedicated themselves as long ago as 1806, as freshmen at Williams, at an extraordinary gathering which is still remembered as “the Haystack Meeting.” Their names were James Richards and Samuel J. Mills. Mills, a modest, almost retiring youth with an enormous amount of quiet drive, had been the instigator. The son of a minister of Torringford, Connecticut, he had decided on a missionary career largely as a result of the influence of his mother, even before entering college. He arrived in Williamstown just at the beginning of a movement of religious revival among the students—part of a wider movement which swept through a good many New England colleges and academies about that time—and quickly became a leader in it.

One hot, humid Saturday afternoon in August of 1808, Samuel Mills led five students in a prayer meeting in a maple grove known as “Sloane’s Meadow,” between the college and the Hoosac River. They had scarcely assembled when a thunderstorm broke from the heavy clouds which had been piling in the west. The only shelter was a haystack in a clearing in the grove; they took refuge from the torrential rains under its overhanging sides. They began to discuss Asia, which they had been studying in geography, then a compulsory subject at Williams. Here was a vast empire still ignorant of Christianity. Only India was hearing anything of the Gospel, and that only what could be brought to the people in spite of the East India Company’s opposition. While lightning flashed and thunder cracked overhead, four of the five enthusiastically approved a proposal “to send the Gospel to the pagans of Asia and to the disciples of Mohammed.” It was Mills, one of them wrote, who “proposed to send the Gospel to that dark and heathen land, and said that we could do it if we would. ‘Come,’ said Mills. ‘Let us make it the subject of prayer, under the haystack.’... We all prayed.... Mills made the last prayer.... He prayed that God would strike down the arm with the red artillery of heaven that should be raised against the Cross.”

The Haystack Meeting led, two years later, to the formation of a society called “the Brethren,” the very existence of which was kept secret for several years. Once again, Mills probably played the leading role in establishing it; and james Richards was one of those who signed its constitution, which stated: The object of this society shall be to effect, in the persons of its members, a mission to the heathen.... Each member shall keep himself absolutely free from every engagement which, after his prayerful attention, and after consultation with his brethren, shall be deemed incompatible with the object of this society, and shall hold himself in readiness to go on a mission when and where duty may call.

Richards had arrived in Andover the preceding September, juSt about the time Adoniram began vociferating about missions. Although he was older than Adoniram, as a newcomer to the seminary he may have felt hesitant about thrusting himself on an upperclassman. More likely, he was skeptical of such wild enthusiasm. He watched and listened, and wrote about what he saw and heard to some of the other Brethren from Williams. Gradually his skepticism thawed, but he still kept silence.

Mills had been studying theology at Yale. What he heard from Richards may have made him think he would be better off at Andover, for toward the end of December he wrote to another member of the Brethren, Gordon Hall, who was preaching at Woodbury, Connecticut, that he thought he would transfer to Andover within four or five weeks. “I heard previously of Mr. Judson. You say he thinks of offering himself as a missionary to the London Society, for the East Indies. What! Is England to support her own missionaries and ours likewiseP... I do not like this dependence on another nation, especially when they have done so much and we nothing.”

But Mills was delayed by the death of his mother at the end of the year. He did not arrive at Andover until late January or early February of 1810, about the time Adoniram made his final decision. With Richards and Edward Warren, a Middlebury graduate, Mills then made himself and his intentions known to Adoniram Judson. Organizer and, in a sense, a politician, Mills saw his new acquaintance’s problem at once. It was all very well to say you were going to be a missionary in Asia. But who was going to send you? A foreign missionary movement would have to be created, and a foreign missionary organization. Judson was concerned only with going. How, and by whom, he was sent, he did not care.

Very well. Adoniram Judson, Samuel Nott and Samuel Newell were the three seniors. Some means must be found for sending them at once. Samuel Mills, James Richards and Edward Warren would nor graduate for two years. They must throw their efforts behind the three seniors, and somehow get them started on their way. That done, it would be easier for the rest.

As a preliminary, Adoniram was informed about the Brethren and inducted as a member, and steps were taken to get in touch with the Other Brethren who had formed the same purpose.

In the spring, the six became seven with the arrival of anOther signer of the constitution of the Brethren, Luther Rice, who had graduated from Williams in 1810. He would nor finish at the seminary for a full year and therefore joined Mills, Richards and Warren in the effort to find support for Judson and the other two seniors.

Through March and early April they discussed ways and means among themselves and with their professors. They consulted most with Dr. Griflin, who had resigned himself to losing Adoniram as his assistant in the Park Street Church. Adoniram still clung to his original idea of getting English support, and Dr. Griflin agreed to write on the students’ behalf. But when, for some reason, be delayed, Adoniram wrote in April to Dr. Bogue of the London Missionary Society— “... wishing myself to receive a letter from you immediately,” he wanted to know “whether there is at present such a call for missionaries in India, Tartary, or any part of the eastern continent, as will induce the directors of the London Missionary Society to engage new missionaries.”

It would be months before a reply could arrive from England. Meanwhile the students looked for ways to promote their project nearer home. They sought every Opportunity to preach in nearby towns, and on these occasions always took pains to meet the most influential local clergymen and explain their purpose. Adoniram tried the press with a piece for The Panoplist and Missionary Magazine United, the conservatives’ religious magazine. Titled “Concern for the Salvation of the Heathen,” his article scornfully pointed to those church members who were content to let well enough alone: “How do Christians discharge the trust committed to them?... They let three fourths of the world sleep the sleep of death, ignorant of the simple truth that a Savior had died for them. Content if they can be useful in the little circle of their acquaintances, they quietly sit and see whole nations perish for lack of knowledge.”

All this energetic work bore results. In the fall of 1809 Adoniram had been alone. Students and professors had thought him a wild man obsessed with a visionary scheme as impractical as perpetual motion. Six months later, in the spring of 1810, he was the leader among seven students acknowledged by everybody to be as good men as had ever studied for the ministry. Scorn had changed to respect. The visionary scheme had somehow begun to seem more practical. Other students began to wonder whether duty did not point to foreign-mission careers for themselves. Professors began to feel such selfless dedication deserved support.

That spring, the seven walked and talked often together in the woods behind Phillips Hall where Adoniram had made his solitary decision in February. The ice had melted from the quiet little pond in the grove, and dandelions and buttercups starred the green under foot. As they fervidly debated, they began to feel a hope that was not merely the optimism of spring. If they kept up their hard work a real opportunity must appear sooner or later.

The opportunity came late in June. On Sunday the twentyfourth, Samuel Nott had delivered a sermon in the Second Church in Newburyport, that flourishing seaport town some eighteen miles east of Andover. The regular pastor of the church was Dr. Samuel Spring, one of New England’s most influential conservatives. Dr. Spring was a member of the Board of Visitors of the seminary. Together with Dr. Woods he had drawn up its official creed. His son Gardiner was one of Adoniram’s closest friends and classmates at Andover, and from Gardiner, a warm supporter of the seven, though one with no intention of becoming a missionary himself, he had heard a good deal about the missionary project, all of it favorable. Samuel Spring himself had been interested in missions for years. In 1806 he had delivered a powerful sermon on the claims of the heathen to salvation at the General Assembly in Philadelphia, a sermon that was remembered for years. He was a man who liked bold projects and bold men. In 1775, only four years out of Princeton, he had been chaplain of Benedict Arnold’s corps of the Revolutionary Army on its historic expedition through the wilderness of northern New York toward Quebec. He knew from experience that often the most formidable obstacles give way to vigorous attack by undaunted men.

The day after NOtt’s sermon in his church, Spring rode in company with Nott to Andover, where he had an appointment. NOtt could never hOpe for a better chance to explain the object of the seven, nor a better listener. And the time was golden. On Wednesday of that week the General Association of Massachusetts Proper, the newly organized association of the state’s evangelical Congregationalists, was to open its annual meeting at Bradford, halfway between Newburyport and Andover, on the Merrimack River road. Dr. Spring was riding to Andover to attend a sort of preconvention caucus which had been arranged by Dr. Griffin. If the growing missionary movement at Andover was to be brought up for action by New England Congregationalists, the meeting of the General Association was the place to do it. Another opportunity as good would not come for at least a year.

All this Nott must have realized with a thrill as the two jogged slowly along the river road, so engrossed in talk that they may hardly have nOticed when their horses paused for minutes at a time to crop the rich grass by the roadside. When they i'eached the top of the long gentle grade that led to the seminary grounds, he must have bid a hasty good-by to Dr. Spring and hurried as fast as he could to Phillips Hall to tell Adoniram and the others what events were suddenly in the making.

The caucus was held that night in the parlor of Dr. Stuart’s long white house. Drs. Griffin and Spring were there, of course, and Dr. Samuel Worcester, pastor of the renowned Tabernacle Church in Salem. Like Spring, Worcester was famous for a missionary sermon which he had delivered the previous year to the Massachusetts Missionary Society. MOSt of the others were ministers, but one layman was present, Jeremiah Evarts, a Yale graduate of the class of 1802 and a New Haven lawyer who had just moved to Charlestown, Massachusetts. He had brought along a classmate, the Reverend John Keep, a delegate to the convention, whom he had happened to meet on the road into Andover. It was Keep, attending by mere chance, who fifty years later gave his recollections of that night and thereby provided the only record.

To this group the students had been invited to state their case. They had selected Newell to be their spokesman. Slender, selfpossessed, yet modest, he would make the best impression, they must have thought. Why they did not choose Adoniram it is hard to say. He was younger than the others, but only by a few years. They may have feared his tactlessness. When he drove hard he had a tendency to ignore the feelings of others. Mills, the organizer, probably ruled himself out. He knew as well as anyone that he was awkward and ungainly and had an “unelastic and croaking sort of voice.”

Newell—probably trembling inwardly—briefly stated the purpose of the students, and the thoughts and feelings that had led up to it. He was received well, but his statement waS'only the opening gun. A long, searching questioning and discussion followed.

One of the older men, the Reverend Mr. Sanborn of Reading, was doubtful of the whole idea. He admitted that the young men had courage, but it seemed to him that their enthusiasm for foreign missionary service was simply blind infatuation. There was more work at home than they could do. Why leave it, for a wild goose chase to the Other side of the world? And the proposal placed a serious responsibility on the older men. Most likely the expense could not be met. Were they willing to become responsible for the young men’s actions in so momentous a matter? After all, how well did they know them? How firm were their principles?

Dr. Worcester answered Mr. Sanborn, “grouping the prominent facts” which had become familiar to everyone who had studied the problems of foreign missions and who knew the seven Students. Dr. Grifiin followed him with a “passionate appeal” for their proposal. So the discussion went. Mr. Evarts, when he had heard the various arguments, thought the facts justified action. Dr. Smart believed the project was feasible. When it became clear that only Mr. Sanborn was doubtful—and that only on general principles -—-the Reverend Mr. Reynolds of Wilmington put a close to any further objections, by remarking significantly that “We had better not attempt to stop God.” Finally the council agreed that if the students would place their proposal in writing they would be given an opportunity to submit it to the General Association.

Dismissed, the elated seven made their farewells and hurried out of Professor Stuart’s parlor. Crossing the road and walking up the 510pe to the boxlike bulk of Phillips Hall, the lights of a few candles from the windows of late readers still glimmering in the night, they discussed who should write and present the proposal. Adoniram was the uanimous choice. Then they separated to their rooms, but perhaps not to sleep.

All day Tuesday Adoniram worked on the wording of the proposal, calling on the others for criticism and advice. When it was done, six of them signed their names at the bottom: Judson, Nott, Mills, Newell, Rice, and Richards. Together they took it over to Professor Stuart’s house. The delegates found it satisfactory, but six names seemed too many even to the most optimistic. Financial support would be impossible. The Association would only be frightened. After some discussion, the names of Rice and Richards were dropped.

Early Wednesday morning the delegates began to leave for Bradford. Dr. Worcester had brought his chaise, and invited Dr. Spring to share it with him. It was a dull day with occasional sprinkles of rain. As the twinkling spokes of the chaise brushed the buttercups and daisies leaning into the road, the two ministers discussed the events of the past few days. It seemed obvious that if a foreign mission were to be anything but a pious hope, a foreign missionary organization had to be formed to popularize the idea, raise money, disburse it, select missionaries, assign them to stations, support them and supervise their activities.

One thought led to another. Before the chaise topped the rise sloping down to the little church on Bradford Common, the two ministers had worked out the complete plan of a society: its form, the number of members, and even its name -— “The Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions.” With the addition of the single word “American” -—50 that it was to become familiarly known as “the American Board” —-—-this was the organization which, when it came into being, was to father all Congregational foreign missionary activities for a century and more to come.

of June, the The next morning, Thursday, the twenty-eighth seven together walked to Bradford in the company of a few Other students. Their “memorial,” carefully copied out, was in Adoniram’s custody, undoubtedly in the inside breast pocket of his bCSt but somewhat shiny and threadbare black coat.

The meeting had been going on in one of the two classrooms of Bradford Academy since seven in the morning. At eleven it had been adjourned “for public worship at Haverhill,” across the river. At two, it resumed in the First Church, a squarish, unpainted building without steeple or chimney which stood on the green a few steps from the Kimball Tavern. The scientist—pron10ter—politician, the Reverend Manasseh Cutler of Hamilton, known to Adoniram and his father from Wenham days, was moderator.

Cutler had served two terms in Congress since attending the Ecclesiastical Congress which approved the terms of dismissal of Adoniram’s father from the Wenham Church in 1799. He was an old man now, with his great accomplishments behind him, but his tall, portly figure must have made an impressive sight, especially since he still clung to his favorite costume of black velvet suit and black silk stockings, with silver buckles at knee and shoe.

Cutler, however, was not alone in his old-fashioned garb, for the pastor of Bradford’s First Church, familiarly known as “Parson Allen,” affected very much the same fashion, and even insisted on wearing the old-style three-cornered hat. Parson Allen was one of the nine ministers who were present at the meeting as guests. They, together with the nineteen delegates, occupied the box pews on the main floor. The public occupied the gallery, which was crowded to capacity. To the residents of Bradford, a meeting such as that of the General Association of the Commonwealth was an affair to be long remembered.

And this Thursday afternoon, there was a reason for added interest. For when the delegates and honored guests entered, four young men entered with them and took their seats up front, side by side, their faces solemn and tense. For some time rumors had been circulating in Bradford that a new movement was growing in the theological seminary in nearby Andover. It was said that some of the students there wanted to become foreign missionaries —the first, it was said, from America!

Today, the word had leaked out: something momentous in connection with their purpose was expected to happen. As the onloolters in the gallery whispered to one another behind the backs of their hands, they said it certainly looked like it, for, look, those four young men are from the Seminary, and people say they are the leaders—especially that one there, that young slender fellow with the curly chestnut hair and the long nose, Mr. Judson, his name is.

So the whispers went, while the afternoon session opened with a long, dull account of the state of religion and churches in such uninteresting places as central and southern New Hampshire.

The whispers died down as the reports concluded. Maybe, decided the onlookers, they would hear something about those seminary Students now. Yes, there was the imposing Dr. Cutler calling the attention of the General Association to the next item of business —a memorial to be presented by four of the theological students from the Seminary in Andover.

A hush fell as Adoniram stepped forward in front of the pulpit, coolly surveyed the delegates, guests and audience, a paper in his hand, and then with complete self-possession, began reading in a calm, clear, powerful voice. As soon as he Opened his mouth the other three must have rejoiced inwardly that they had selected Adoniram to present the memorial, for it was instantly apparent that he had that rarest of attributes, a commanding stage presence.

“The undersigned,” he read, “members of the Divinity College, respectfully request the attention of their reverend fathers, convened in the General Association at Bradford, to the following statement and inquiries... .”

To John Keep, who had been at the meeting at Professor Stuart’s house, the memory of that scene was still vivid five decades later. Knowing what was to come, he recalled, “some of us held our breath.”

’

“They beg leave to state,’ went on Adoniram, “that their minds have long been impressed with the duty and importance of personally attempting a mission to the heathen; that the impressions on their minds have induced a serious, and, they trust, a prayerful consideration of the subject in its various attitudes, particularly in relation to the probable success and the difficulties attending such an attempt; and that, after examining all the information which they can obtain, they consider themselves as devoted to this work for life, whenever God, in His providence, shall open the way.”

A gasp, a barely perceptible indrawing of breath, came from the audience in the gallery. The rumors were true, then, that the young men were offering themselves as foreign missionaries!

“They now offer the following inquiries,” continued Adoniram, “on which they solicit the opinion and advice of this Association: Whether, with their present views and feelings, they ought to renounce the object of missions, as either visionary or impracticable; if not, whether they ought to direct their attention to the Eastern or Western world; whether they may expect patronage and support from a missionary society in this country, or must commit themselves to the direction of a European society; and what preparatory measures they ought to take previous to actual engagement.

“The undersigned, feeling their youth and inexperience, look up to their fathers in the Church, and respectfully solicit their advice, direction, and prayers.”

Adoniram paused for a moment, then slowly read the four names signed to the memorial: “Adoniram Judson, Jr.; Samuel Nott, Jr.; Samuel J. Mills; Samuel Newell.” Without further words, he laid the paper on the baize-covered sacramental table in front of Moderator Cutler and resumed his seat. Not three minutes had elapsed between the time he had risen with the paper in his hand and the time he laid it on the table.

Now, one by one, each of the four rose, made a short personal statement telling why and how he had come to the conclusion that he must be a foreign missionary, and answered questions from the delegates. At this point the hush—by now a hush almost of awe — dissolved, as tears began to roll down the cheeks of the people in the audience, while some covered their faces with their hands and sobbed. The delegates themselves must have had difficulty maintaining their composure.

The Association took no action that session. A committee of

T H E BRETHREN

three was appointed to consider and report its recommendation the next day. Since two of the members were Samuel Spring and Samuel Worcester, who had the plan of a missionary organization already clear in their minds, and since the third—Mr. Hale, secretary of the meeting—could be expected to follow their lead, a favorable report was a foregone conclusion. By four the session was over and the convention adjourned for public worship.

The students, however, trudging under a dull sky back to Andover, were too inexperienced in the ways of conventions to realize that the issue was all but settled. In the recollections of Samuel Nott, they were “anxious and solemn in their aspect and spirit, wholly uncertain and perfectly unable to conjecture what action with regard to the memorial and themselves the Association would feel authorized to take.”

Adoniram, his coolness in front of the meeting now vanished in the reaction, was even more abstracted than his companions. But he had a different reason.

For between the morning and the afternoon he had fallen in love.