Burma (1813 - 1814)

CHAPTER I v

Burma

[1813—1814]

HEY felt better the next morning as they prepared to go ashore in the bright sunshine. Nancy, still too weak to walk, had to be carried. On the dock, there was a good deal of discussion over how to convey her through the city. Finally an armchair was found. Two bamboo poles were thrust through it to make an improvised open palanquin. Four Burmese men, their long, skirtlike waistcloths knotted up in front to free their bare brown legs, each picked up an end of a pole, rested it on a shoulder, and started off, Adoniram walking beside.

By now Adoniram and Nancy were familiar with Oriental cities. But one like Rangoon they had never seen. Calcutta and Madras showed the influence of their English rulers everywhere. Rangoon was unalloyed Burman through and through. Its streets, narrow and dirty, were hardly more than alleys, the best paved crudely with worn brick. The houses were mostly ramshackle bamboo huts.

The city bristled with pagodas. They were everywhere. One whole street, the one leading to the great Shwe Dagon, which towered, glittering magnificently, over them all, was lined with pagodas. The pagoda bells, hung with umbrella-like canopies at the spires’ tops, tinkled and clanged in every key as they swung in the wind.

The streets swarmed with humanity, talking, arguing, laughing and yelling in what was a perfect jargon to Adoniram and Nancy. Children, smoking cigars like their elders, naked as Adam and Eve except for the bright bracelets and necklaces and bangles they wore on arms, necks and ankles, were underfoot everywhere. Leprous beggars, sometimes with a whole hand or foot eaten off, pleaded for alms on the corners. Here and there a saffron-robed priest plodded along the street holding out his begging-bowl, his eyes modestly averted from the glances of the gaily dressed women.

A little way into the city, the carriers set Nancy’s chair down for a rest in the shade. Immediately a crowd gathered to inspect that incredible rarity, an Englishwoman. Burmans were anything but shy, the women even bolder than the men. In a few minutes numerous women were close about her, exclaiming loudly over her pale skin, her peculiar clothing, her shoes, speculating about her personal habits and even fingering the fabric of her dress.

Weak and sick, Nancy had kept her head down and her face hidden. In a moment the curious women, gay as so many butterflies in their gauzy crimson silk petticoats, bright scarfs and gold earplugs, some with flowers in their oiled, knotted. black hair, were actually pressing up against her in order to stoop and look under her bonnet. Seeing brown face after face peering up at her, she suddenly lifted her head, looked up at the women, and smiled.

At once the whole multitude burst into loud laughter. Nancy and Adoniram glanced at each other, amused. Rangoon might not be prepossessing, but they were already beginning to like the childlike frankness of its peOple.

In a moment the bearers picked up Nancy’s chair to the accompaniment of a shout of applause from the crowd and trotted off with her to the cusromhouse, which proved to be “a small open shed, in which were seated on mats several natives, who were the customhouse officers.”

The Burmese customs inspection was nothing if not thorough. Every box and bale in every ship had to be brought ashore, where one tenth of its contents was set aside for the king. Every trunk of every traveler had to be opened and each item in it taken out, examined, appraised, criticized, and sometimes handled so much as to be damaged. The person of each traveler was searched — not so much for fear anyone carried contraband as to satisfy the curiosity of the customs inspectors as to what strangers carried in their pockets and clothing. And after all, there might be something forbidden which, to be overlooked, would call for a huge bribe instead of a smaller one.

The men searched Adoniram from the skin out and a woman searched Nancy only a little less thoroughly. The searchers found nothing that would demand a larger than ordinary gift. Of course the next day, when the newcomers’ trunks and boxes were brought on land, might prove more promising. After the search the Judsons were free to go to the mission house.

The mission house was “the largest and handsomest house in all Rangoon,” a substantial structure of teak, the inside left unfinished with the beams and joists showing. Here Mrs. Carey — Felix was in Ava vaccinating some of the younger members of the royal family -——-reigned capably over the servants who cared for the house and the two-year-old Carey boy.

The daughter of Christian parents of Portuguese descent, Mrs. Carey had been born in Burma and grown up in the country. She knew little English, but the warmth of her welcome and her evident efforts to make them comfortable bespoke her good nature even more than her few halting phrases of English. Her presence relieved the missionaries of housekeeping details and freed them for their primary task of learning the language and the people.

Within a few days Adoniram found a teacher. He was a Hindu scholar of such great tolerance that in spite of his caste he would sit in a chair with the Judsons, eat with them, and even teach Nancy the Burmese language along with Adoniram. This last he was unwilling to do at first, “appearing to feel that it was rather beneath him to instruct a female, as the females here are held in the lowest estimation. But when he saw I was determined to persevere, and that Mr. Judson was as desirous that he should instruct me as himself, he was more attentive.”

The learning proved uneXpectedly difficult. Neither Nancy nor Adoniram knew a word of the teacher’s language; he knew not a word of theirs. After all three sat smilingly helpless for a while, Adoniram finally hit on an expedient. He would point to an object in the room. The teacher, catching the idea, would name it in Burmese, and Adoniram and Nancy would repeat it after him. In this way they began to learn the names of common things around the house such as foods, trees, and plants. But it was slow work, although they each spent twelve hours a day studying.

As soon as they had a few words by ear, they began to study the written language, which consisted of what looked like a long series of circles and parts of circles written on palm leaves, the Burmese

BURMA in equivalent of paper. They found it easier to write than they had anticipated, but reading seemed hopeless. Neither Adoniram nor Nancy could see in it any grammatical structure resembling any language they had ever studied. The Burmese even seemed to think in a different way from EurOpeans. And worst of all, the written language had no punctuation, not even any separation between words. Paragraphs, sentences, words and letters—all ran together in one unbroken line without capitals or commas.

They had learned in a few weeks a little French to get along with, but they saw it might take them years to acquire even that much Burmese. And with no dictionary, no grammar except a beginning of one by Felix Carey, no interpreter, when would they ever, they wondered deSpairingly, know enough to express the abstract ideas of Christianity? Nevertheless, they persevered and progressed a little: a great deal, thought their teacher, though to themselves they admitted “we can hardly perceive that we make any advance.”

Meanwhile they were becoming acquainted with Burmese life. It was completely unlike New England’s—even very little like that of India. There was “no bread, butter, cheese, potatoes, nor scarcely anything that we have been in the habit of eating.” There were almost no such meats as beef, mutton or pork, because the slaughter of animals for food was forbidden. Only animals that sickened and died could be eaten, or those that occasionally died by “accident.” Instead, Adoniram and Nancy had mostly rice “and curried fowl, and fowls Stewed with cucumbers,” foods to which they quickly took a liking.

They were distressed by the poverty they saw:

The country presents a rich, beautiful appearance, everywhere covered with vegetation, and if cultivated, would be one of the fineSt in the world. But the poor natives have no inducement to labor or raise anything, as it would probably be taken from them by their oppressive rulers. Many of them live on leaves and vegetables that grow spontaneously, and some actually die with hunger. Everything is extremely high, therefore many are induced to steal whatever comes their way. There are constant robberies and murders committed; scarcely a night but houses are broken Open and things stolen.

Yet the people were attractive. Although even babies smoked cigars and the women chewed betel until their mouths dripped scarlet and their teeth turned black, hardly anyone used alcohol or opium. Although life was insecure and officialdom cruel and corrupt, the Burmese had no caste system like that in India. The people had a remarkable spirit of independence and frankness. Women were not slaves to their husbands—in fact, they were lively, spirited, and even quarrelsome to a degree seen nowhere else in Asia. But personal honesty was almost unknown. “Lying is so common and universal among them, that they say, ‘We cannot live without telling lies.’ ”

The crowded streets and bazaars were breathtakingly colorful. The small, turbaned men took intense pride in the length of their hair, which they wore knotted up on the top of the head. The lobes of their ears, like those of the women, were bored with huge holes in which they inserted plugs of gold the size of a finger. Precious stones were set into the ends of the earplugs of the wealthy. The poor often had no gold earplugs, but occasionally could be seen carrying cigars in the holes instead. The men’s blue-tattooed bodies were covered above the waiSt with a sort of loose white vest, which could be tied together by dangling strings in front. Underneath they sometimes wore a sort of vest.

But the most spectacular color in the men’s costume flamed in their waistcloths, the “patso,” a huge piece of fabric eight yards long which covered them from waist to heel, knotted up in front of each leg like flowing trousers, with one dangling end flung over the shoulder. These were invariably of silk, in soft colors, sometimes in checks, sometimes in zigzag stripes shading from pale lemon to deep crimson.

The women, diminutive compared to a New Englander like Nancy, combed their straight, oiled black hair away from their temples, and arranged it in a flower-decorated knot on top of the head somewhat in the manner of the men. Above the waist they wore a light tunic of thin goldsprigged or black lace or yellow gauze, and over it a light scarf, silk handkerchief or small shawl. Their skirts, or petticoats — it was hard for a Westerner to know what to call them—were of bright silk with a top of crimson gathered in folds around the breast and a broad contrasting border at the bottom.

They loaded themselves with ear ornaments, necklaces and rings. In a country without banks or safe places to keep wealth, most people wore their treasures as adornment.

Although by European standards the dress of the women was somewhat immodest, it was so beautiful that Nancy fell in love with it at once and in time was to wear it habitually herself. But she could never get used to the customary sandals, which were always left at the door on entering any building, so, although above the ankles she eventually came to be attired like a Burmese woman, her footwear was always the sturdy black product of her native Massachusetts.

As for the children, up to seven or eight they wore nothing but necklaces, bracelets and anklets on their bodies and carried cigars in their teeth. When they were older, they put on the same clothing as their elders.

There was no English society in Rangoon at all. The only Europeans who could speak English were a few Frenchmen. Nancy regretted that their wives spoke only French so that there was no “female in all Burma with whom I can converse.” But the lack made her study Burmese that much harder.

And Burmese still offered its difficulties. Once her teacher told her that when he died he would go to her country. She shook her head and told him he would not, but he merely laughed and insisted that he would. “I did not understand the language sufficiently,” she confessed in frustration, “to tell him where he would go, or how he could be saved.”

But if they could not yet discuss religion, they were fast learning the words and phrases of every day. After four or five months Adoniram felt confident enough of his command of the language to pay a call on the viceroy Mya-day-men, ruler of the city. Since life and death hung on the vieeroy’s favor, it was important to win his friendship.

The effort was a complete failure. The viceroy, \vrapt in the consciousness of his own and Burma’s greatness, reported Nancy, “scarcely deigned to look at him, as Englishmen are no uncommon sight in this country.”

But an Englishwoman was “quite a curiosity.” Nancy decided to exploit the fact by visiting the viceroy’s wife. Her favor was nearly as valuable as that of the viceroy himself, and it was well known that a small present would secure nearly anything from her.

One day, accompanied by one of the Frenchwomen who often visited the viceroy’s wife, she made her call.

When we first arrived at the government house, she was not up; consequently we had to wait some time. But the inferior wives of the viceroy diverted us much by their curiosity in minutely examining everything we had on, and by trying on our gloves, bonnets, etc.

At last her highness made her appearance, dressed richly in Burmese fashion, with a long silver pipe at her mouth, smoking. At her appearance, all the other wives took their seats at a respectful distance, and sat in a crouching position, withOUt speaking.

She received me very politely, took me by the hand, seated me upon a mat, and herself by me. She excused herself for not coming in earlier, saying she was unwell. One of the women brought her a bunch of flowers, of which she took several, and ornamented her cap. She was very inquisitive whether I had a husband and children; whether I was my husband’s first wife; meaning by this, whether I was the highest among them, supposing that my husband, like the Burmans, had many wives; and whether I intended tarrying long in the country.

When the viceroy came in, I really trembled, for I never before beheld such a savage-looking creature. His long robe and enormous spear not a little increased my dread. He spoke to me, however, very condescendingly, and asked if I would drink some mm or wine. When I arose to go, her highness again took my hand, told me she was happy to see me; that I must come to see her every day, for I was like a sister to her. She led me to the door, and I made my salaam, and departed.

Presently Felix Carey returned from Ava. To his father he wrote enthusiastically, “They are just cut out for this mission. I thought so, as soon as I first met them. In six months Mr. Judson has a splendid grasp of the language, and is the very colleague I wanted.” But Felix was already in the process of ceasing to be a missionary. Ava had offered him a position in government service. He had nearly decided to accept, but firSt he wanted to go to Calcutta to consult

BURMA 177 with his father and others. In a few weeks he sailed down the river, leaving Nancy and Adoniram once more to their own devices.

Soon after his departure the Judsons decided to move out of the mission house to a house inside the city walls. By now they knew the language well enough to get along by themselves, and the mission was too isolated, they felt. Within the crowded city they could make themselves better acquainted with the people. Also, the bands of robbers roving the countryside were becoming bolder and more numerous every day.

They moved early in January of 1814, two years after the ordination in Salem, and barely a week later congratulated themselves on their good judgment when an armed band of fifteen or twenty robbers attacked and looted a house almost next door to the mission house, stabbing the owner. To deter a repetition, the viceroy had seven thieves executed as an object lesson. “They were tied up by the hands and feet and then left with their bowels hanging out. They are to remain a spectacle to others for three days, and then [be] buried.”

A little later they attended the funeral of an upper class Burman. There was an immense, disorderly procession which included a parade of elephants, and a great distribution of money, gifts and food at the place where the corpse was burned. A local governor had attended the funeral. On his way home “a man on a sudden started up, and, with one stroke, severed his head from his body.” The assassin turned out to be the victim’s chief steward. Under torture he confessed that he had planned to seize his master’s property after the murder, and with it go to the king and buy the governor’s office. “He was afterwards treated in the most cruel manner, having most of his bones broken, and left to languish out his miserable existence in a prison, in chains. He lived five or six days in this terrible condition. All who were concerned with him were punished in various ways. The immense property of this governor goes to the king, as he left no children, although several wives remain.”

They had been living in the city three months when one Sunday in March...

We came out to the mission house that we might enjoy the Sabbath in a more quiet way. We had but just arrived, when one of the servants informed us that there was a fire near the town. We hastened to the place whence the fire proceeded, and beheld several houses in flames, in a range which led directly to the city; and as we saw no exertions to extinguish it, we concluded the whole place would be deStroyed.

We set off immediately for our house in town, that we might remove our furniture and things that were there; but when we came to the town gate, it was shut. The poor people, in their fright, had shut the gate, ignorantly imagining they could shut the fire out, although the walls and gates were made entirely of wood. After waiting, however, for some time, the gate was opened, and we removed in safety all our things into the mission house.

The fire continued to rage all day, and swept away almost all the houses, walls, gates, etc. We felt grateful to God that not a hair of our heads was injured; and that, while thousands of families were deprived of a shelter from the burning sun, we had a comfortable house and the necessaries of life. They stayed on in the mission house with Mrs. Carey. They must have felt a little reluctant to add to her burdens, for by now she had a small baby besides her three-year-old son, but there was no help for it.

Felix Carey returned from Calcutta the next month. He had finally decided to give up his missionary career and enter the service of King Bodawpaya. In August, the Careys said farewell to the Judsons and moved out of the mission house. Their goods, their servants, and themselves were embarked aboard a government brig, and thus one day they sailed upriver for the capital, and out of the lives of Adoniram and Nancy.

The two saw the Careys go with mingled feelings. They regretted being left “alone in this great house, and almost alone as it respects the world.” But Felix Carey had added no strength to the mission. He might do more good for them as an official at Ava, at the source of power, than he had ever done in Rangoon as a missionary.

At any rate, the Careys’ departure marked the end of the missionary apprenticeship of Adoniram and Nancy. From now on they could depend on no one but themselves. They were their own masters. And they were keenly aware that the burden of the conversion of Burma lay upon them alone.