Daughters of the Cross: or Woman's Mission Part 1

Daughters of the Cross: or Woman's Mission.

by Daniel C. Eddy.

PREFACE.

We have in this volume brought together the names of several of our most distinguished female heroines, who have toiled and suffered on heathen soil. They have been gathered from different denominations and sects, and form a galaxy of names as dear to the heart of Christianity as can be drawn from the records of earth.

The object is, to give a series of brief memoirs, in which the lives of faithful Christians shall be unfolded; impart instruction in reference to the cause of missions; inspire the heart of the reader with Christian zeal; and do justice to the memory of those who deserve more honor than the fallen warrior and the t.i.tled senator.

Most of the subjects of these sketches are well known and well beloved--women whose deeds have been recorded in high places in denominational history; and we deem it no impropriety to take them down, unwind the peculiarity of sect, and weave these honored names in one sacred wreath, that we may dedicate it to all who love the cause of missions.

The wreath may wither and fall apart, but the flowers which compose it will not die; these sacred names shall live with immortal freshness while in the world is found a _missionary church_.

I.

HARRIET NEWELL, THE PROTO-MARTYR.

Several centuries ago, the idea of driving out of Jerusalem its infidel inhabitants was suggested to a mad ecclesiastic. A shorn and dehumanized monk of Picardy, who had performed many a journey to that fallen city, who had been mocked and derided there as a follower of the Nazarene, whose heart burned beneath the wrongs and indignities which had been so freely heaped upon the head of himself and his countrymen, determined to arouse a storm which should send its lightnings to gleam along the streets, and roll its deep thunder to shake the hills which in speechless majesty stand around the city of G.o.d.

Pope Martin II. entered into his daring scheme, convened a council of bishops and priests, and gave the sanction of the church to the wild enterprise. This council Peter addressed, and, with all the eloquence of a man inspired by a mighty project, depicted the wrongs and grievances of those who yearly sought, for holy purposes, the sepulchre wherein the Savior of man reposed after his crucifixion. He was successful in inspiring the people with his own wild enthusiasm. All Europe flew to arms; all ranks and conditions in life united in the pious work; youthful vigor and h.o.a.ry weakness stood side by side; the cross was worn upon the shoulder and carried on banners; the watchword, "_Deus Vult_," burst from ten thousand lips; and the armies of Christendom precipitated themselves upon the holy land with the awful war cry, "G.o.d wills it," echoing from rank to rank.

In later times a mightier, n.o.bler enterprise was originated, and the great system of American missions commenced. The object was a grand one, and awfully important. It contemplated, not the subjection of a narrow kingdom alone, but the complete overthrow of the dark empire of sin; not the elevation of a human king, an earthly monarch, but the enthronement of an insulted G.o.d, as the supreme object of human worship; not the possession of the damp, cold sepulchre in which Jesus reposed after his melancholy death, but the erection of his cross on every hillside, by every sea sh.o.r.e, in vale and glen, in city and in solitude. It was a n.o.ble design, one full of grandeur and glory, as far surpa.s.sing the crusade of Peter the Hermit as the noonday sun surpa.s.ses the dim star of evening. Its purpose was to obliterate the awful record of human sin, flash the rays of a divine illumination across a world of darkness, and send the electric thrill of a holy life throughout a universe of death.

At first, the missionary enterprise was looked upon as foolish and Utopian.

Good men regarded it as utterly impracticable, and bad men condemned and denounced it as selfish and mercenary. The Christian church had not listened to the wail of a dying world as it echoed over land and ocean and sounded along our sh.o.r.es; she had not realized the great fact that every darkened tribe const.i.tutes a part of the universal brotherhood of man; her heart had not been touched by the spirit of the great commission, "Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature."

But the sun which ushered in the present century dawned upon a missionary age and a missionary church. The tide of time has floated man down to a region of light, and the high and holy obligations which rest upon the ransomed of G.o.d are being recognized. The question is now asked, with deep and serious earnestness,--

"Shall we, whose souls are lighted By wisdom from on high, Shall we to man benighted The lamp of life deny?"

And the answer has been given. The church has felt, realized, and entered into her obligation. By the cross she has stood, her heart beating with kindly sympathy, her cheeks bathed in tears, and her lips vocal with prayer. The Macedonian cry has been heard, and from every nave, and alcove, and aisle, and altar of the great temple of Christianity has come the response,--

"Waft, waft, ye winds, the story, And you, ye waters, roll, Till, like a sea of glory, Light spreads from pole to pole."

In the early part of the year 1808 several young men, members of the Divinity School at Andover, became impressed with the importance of a mission to the heathen world. They first looked on the subject at a distance, saw its dim and shadowy outlines, prayed that their visions of a converted world might be realized, and wondered who would go forth the first heralds of salvation. Ere long the impression came that _they_ were the men; and in two years the impression had deepened into a solemn conviction, and they had determined on a life of labor, tears, and sacrifice.

In 1810 they made known their plans to an a.s.sociation of Congregational ministers a.s.sembled in Bradford. Although that body of holy men had many fears and some doubts concerning the success of the enterprise, no attempt was made to dampen the ardor of the young brethren who were resolved to undertake the vast work. Many of the aged men composing that a.s.sociation thought they could discern in the fervor and zeal of these young apostles of missions the inspiration of the Holy Ghost. However many were their fears and doubts, they dared not, as they loved the cross, place a single obstacle in the way of the accomplishment of such a lofty purpose; and when the question was asked by the sceptic, "Who is sufficient for these things?" the awful response, "The sufficiency is of G.o.d," came up from many hearts.

This movement on the part of Messrs. Judson, Newell, Nott, and their a.s.sociates, originated the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions--an organization which has its mission stations in almost every part of the world, and which is expending, annually, the sum of two hundred thousand dollars for the conversion of the heathen. The first missionaries sent out were those above named, who, with two others, were ordained to the work in the Tabernacle Church, in Salem, on the 6th of February, 1812.

The ordination scene is said to have been one of peculiar solemnity. The spectacle was an unusual one, and a vast crowd collected together. The s.p.a.cious church, though filled to overflowing with excited and interested people, was as silent as the chamber of death as instructions were given to the young men who were to bid adieu to home and country. On the 19th of February, a cold, severe day, the brig Caravan moved down the harbor of Salem on an outward-bound voyage, bearing on her decks Messrs. Judson and Newell, with their wives, the others having sailed from Philadelphia for Calcutta the day previous. They went, not as the conqueror goes, with fire and sword, flowing banners and waving plumes, but as the heralds of salvation, having the gospel of life and peace to proclaim in the ears of men who were strangers to its glory. To portray the character of one of these devoted female missionaries, the wife of Samuel Newell, this sketch will be devoted.

Harriet Atwood was born in the town of Haverhill, on the sloping banks of the winding Merrimack, on the 10th of October, 1793. She was the daughter of Moses Atwood, a merchant of that village, who was universally respected and beloved. Though not rich, he was generous and benevolent; he was pious without affectation, and in his heart cherished a longing desire to do good. Her mother, who yet lives, was a woman of strong religious principle, and well calculated to give right direction to the opening mind of her child. Her piety, it is said, was of that kind which makes its impression upon the heart and conscience, and leads the beholder to admire and love.

She was a fit mother to train such a daughter for her holy mission to a world in ruins, and, by her judicious advice and counsel, lead on her child to that high point of mental and moral advancement from whence she could look abroad upon a fallen race and pity human woe.

Throughout life Harriet Newell bore the marks, and carried the impressions, of childhood and youth, and her short but brilliant career was moulded and fashioned by her missionary-hearted mother.

In 1805 she entered upon a course of study at the Bradford Academy, and soon distinguished herself as a quick and ready scholar. One of her fellow pupils remarks that "she seldom entered the recitation room unprepared. She seemed to take peculiar pains in doing things _well_; and though much of her time was spent in reading, her standing in her cla.s.s was always more than respectable." Though but a child at this time, she kept a diary which would have done no discredit to a person of mature years, in which she recorded the exercises of her own mind and the progress which she made in mental discipline. The entries made in that diary give us an idea of the superiority of her mind and the excellency of her heart.

While at Bradford, her heart was renewed by the grace of G.o.d. During a revival which performed its holy work among the members of the school, she was led to view herself as a sinner against the Almighty. The awful fact that she must be born again uttered its solemn admonition. Though not so deeply convicted as are some persons, she felt the terrible necessity of regeneration. Reason, conscience, and Scripture proclaimed the same truth; and after struggling against her better feelings for a while, she yielded herself in sweet submission to the will of G.o.d. The account which she gives of her own exercises of mind, while in this condition, furnishes us with a view of her real character. Her religious experience was full of feelings and acts characteristic of herself; and we may form our opinion of her disposition and cast of mind from the peculiarity of her religious emotions. In extreme youth she was fond of gayety and mirth, and spent much time in dancing. According to her own account, she had but little remorse of conscience for her thoughtless course. The fact that such amus.e.m.e.nts were sinful, as well as dangerous, had never been impressed upon her mind.

She deemed them consistent with the highest state of moral and religious enjoyment, and pursued the miserable phantom of human, earthly pleasure, until aroused by the Spirit and made sensible of sin.

From early youth she had been accustomed to revere and study the word of G.o.d and pray to her Father in heaven for the things which she needed. Her pious parents had impressed the lessons of virtue on her young heart, and she was accustomed, as she arose in the morning and rested her head at night, to commend the keeping of her body and soul to the care of an overruling, superintending Providence; but after commencing the practice of dancing, and beginning to attend schools where this vain practice was learned, she neglected the Bible, and thought but little of the place of prayer. She found, after retiring at evening from the gay and fascinating scenes of the dancing room, that prayer and meditation were dull and tedious exercises, and concluded to give them up. Closing the Bible, she laid it aside, and let it gather dust upon the shelf, while vain and trifling volumes engaged her attention. The door of her closet was closed, and she entered it not; and all thoughts of G.o.d were banished from her mind, while the world employed all her time. But G.o.d, who orders all things, was about to perform on her heart a work of mercy and grace. She was a chosen vessel to bear the name of Jesus to a land of darkness and despair.

When about thirteen years of age, she was sent by her parents to the Academy at Bradford, to receive a systematic course of instruction. Shortly after this a revival of religion commenced, and spread through the school, and many were converted. The attention of Miss Atwood was arrested and turned from vanity. "Must I be born again?" was the searching question which she put to her own heart. The answer came to her, and she began to seek the Savior. She seems not to have had deep conviction; her mind, though agitated, was not overwhelmed, and the subject was contemplated calmly. At length, with the melancholy fact that she was a sinner, and endless condemnation before her, she was pointed to the cross of Christ.

The view was effectual. Jesus appeared the Savior of sinners, of whom she was one, and faith gladly laid hold on him as the way of escape from an awful death. A wonderful change took place: she lost her love of folly and sin; prayer was sweet again; the Bible was drawn from its resting-place and perused with new pleasure; from both Bible and closet she derived pleasure such as she had never before experienced; and she pa.s.sed from a state of nature to a state of grace.

Writing to her friends while in this mood of mind, she is willing to admit that she has not had such an overwhelming view of the nature of sin as some have, nor of the ecstatic joy which some experience on conversion; but she had what was as good--a calm hope in the merits of a crucified Savior, a high estimate of religion and religious privileges, and an utter contempt for the pleasures and vanities of the world. She had a holy love for all things good, and was able to

"Read her t.i.tle clear To mansions in the sky."

At the time when Miss Atwood found this sweet and precious hope, the church in Haverhill was in a low and languishing condition, disturbed by internal divisions, and to a great extent dest.i.tute of the influences of the Holy Spirit. In consequence of this state of the church she did not unite herself with it, and at that time made no open profession of religion. This neglect of a plain and obvious duty brought darkness upon her mind, and shrouded her soul in gloom. G.o.d withdrew his presence from his wayward and disobedient child, and left her in sadness: she had refused to confess her Master openly and publicly in the midst of trials and discouragements; and, grieved and wounded by her conduct, he turned from her, and hid his face.

Then was she in the condition of the man who took into his own house seven spirits more wicked than himself. There was no rest for her soul, no relief for her anguished spirit. She realized how bitter a thing it is to depart from the counsel of her Maker, and found momentary comfort only in the forgetfulness of what she had enjoyed. At this period conscience was awake, and to drown its voice she plunged into sin, sought pleasure in all the departments of worldly intercourse, and thought as little as possible of G.o.d and sacred things. In this attempt to drive away serious inquiries she succeeded, and became as thoughtless as before her conversion. Again was the Bible laid aside, and the sickly novel and the wild romance subst.i.tuted in its place. The closet was neglected, and she loved not to retire and commune with G.o.d. The flame of piety in her soul went out, and her heart was dark and sad; she fearfully realized the truth of the divine declaration, "The way of the transgressor is hard." In her diary she tells of sleepless nights and anxious days; of the Savior wounded by her whom he died to save; of the Spirit grieved, and almost quenched, yet lingering around her, now reproving, now commanding, now pleading; at one time holding up the terrors of a broken law, and then whispering in tones as sweet and gentle as Calvary; of conscience holding up a mirror in which she might discern the likeness of herself and contemplate her real moral character. Thoughts of G.o.d and holiness, of Christ and Calvary, made her gloomy and unhappy; and she entered the winding path of sin, that the celestial light might not burst upon her. Like other sinners, she sought happiness by forgetting what she was doing, and by an entire withdrawal from all scenes which could awaken in her soul emotions of contrition and repentance.

On the 28th of June, 1809, Miss Atwood listened to a discourse, which was the instrument, in the hands of G.o.d, of again prostrating her at the foot of the cross. Her carnal security gave way; her sins, her broken vows and pledges, rose up before her in startling numbers; her guilt hung over her like a dark mantle; she felt the awful pangs of remorse, and was induced to return to that kind and compa.s.sionate Savior who had at first forgiven all her faults. Peace was restored; the smile of G.o.d returned; and the bleeding heart, torn and wounded by sin, had rest.

While in her fifteenth year, the subject of this sketch was called upon to part with her father. What influence this sad event had upon her mind is hardly known; but that it was an occasion of deep and thrilling anguish cannot be doubted. Smarting under the hand of Providence, she writes letters to several of her friends, which abound in words of holy and pious resignation. The manner in which her sire departed, his calm exit from the sorrows of the flesh, served to give her a more lofty idea of the power of faith to sustain its subject in the hour of death. Though he had left nine fatherless children and a broken-hearted widow, there was to Harriet a melancholy pleasure in the idea that he had burst off the fetters of clay and ascended to the skies. Though on earth deprived of his companionship, his counsels, and his guidance, she looked forward to a meeting where parting scenes will not be found, and where the farewell word will never be spoken.

"There is a world above, Where parting is unknown, A long eternity of love, Formed for the good alone; And faith beholds the dying here Translated to that glorious sphere."

Nor had she a single doubt that her father had reached that world. She knew the sincerity, piety, and devotion of his life, and the sweet calmness of his death. His coffin, his shroud, his grave, his pale form were reposing in lonely silence beneath the bosom of the earth; but the spirit had departed on its journey of ages, and she doubted not its perfect felicity.

As often as she repaired to the spot where he was interred, and kneeled by his tomb and breathed forth her humble supplications, she found the sweet a.s.surance that beyond the grave she would see her earthly parent, and live with him forever. Though divided by the realms of s.p.a.ce, faith carried her onward to the scenes of eternity and upward to the joys of heaven; and though she roamed on earth, shedding many a tear of sorrow, her spirit held communion with the spirit of her departed sire.

"While her silent steps were straying Lonely through night's deepening shade, Glory's brightest beams were playing Bound the happy Christian's head."

In October, 1810, an event occurred which gave direction to the whole life of Harriet Atwood. She became acquainted with Samuel Newell, one of the enthusiastic apostles of missions. He made her familiar with his plans and purposes, and asked her to accompany him as his colaborer and companion.

Long had she prayed that she might be a source of good to her fellow-creatures; long had she labored to accomplish something for G.o.d and his holy cause; but the idea of leaving mother and friends, home and kindred, and going forth to preach salvation and tell of Jesus in wild and barbarous climes, was new and strange. To the whole matter she gave a careful and prayerful consideration. She divested the great subject as far as possible from all romantic drapery, and looked upon it in its true light. For a while her mind was in a state of perplexing doubt and fear, and the thought of leaving her own land was terrible. While considering the conflict in her mind, we should remember that the cause of missions was in its infancy; that no one had ever gone forth from our sh.o.r.es to preach salvation by grace in heathen countries; that those who were agitating the subject were branded as fanatics, and the cause itself was subject to unjust suspicions and contempt; consequently the subject had an importance and awfulness which it does not now possess. The way has been broken, and all good men acknowledge that the heroism of the missionary woman is grand and sublime. The decision made by Harriet Atwood was different from that made by others in after years, inasmuch as she had no example, no pattern.

She realized that the advice of friends, biased as it was by prejudice and affection, could not be relied upon; and, driven to the throne of G.o.d, she wrestled there until her course of action was decided and her mind fixed intently upon the great work before her. Her resolution to go to India was a.s.sailed on every side. Those to whom she had been accustomed to look for advice and counsel, friends on whose judgment she had relied, shook their heads and gave decided tokens of disapprobation. But the question was finally settled. On one side were the gay world, her young a.s.sociates, her kind relatives, her own care and comfort. On the other side stood a bleeding Savior and a dying world. To the question, "Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?" she heard the response, "Go work to-day in my vineyard;"

and when she looked forth upon the harvest, white for the reaper's hand, she hesitated not to consecrate on the altar of her G.o.d her services, her time, her life.

When this decision was once made, she conferred not with flesh and blood.

Her reply was given to Mr. Newell in firm, decided language; and up to the hour when her spirit took its flight from earth to heaven, we have no evidence that she had one single regret that she had chosen a life of self-sacrifice. Her language was,--

"Through floods and flames, if Jesus lead, I'll follow where he goes."

Through duties and trials, through floods and flames, she pa.s.sed, shrinking from no danger and shunning no sacrifice. Conscious of right, she quailed not before the tears of friends and the scorn of foes; but alike in duty and in danger followed the footsteps of her Savior, until her wasting body was decomposed and her spirit taken up to dwell with the just men made perfect.

To a friend in Beverly she writes as follows: "How can I go and leave those who have done so much for me, and who will be so sorry for my loss? How can I leave my mother here while oceans roll between us? How can I go with but little prospect of return? And how can I stay? We are under solemn obligation to labor for G.o.d; and I must go to India at any sacrifice. I owe something to my perishing fellow-men; I owe something to my Savior. He wept for men--he shed tears over Jerusalem.

'Did Christ o'er sinners weep?

And shall our cheeks be dry?'"

At this time her letters to Mr. Newell breathe forth the most devoted missionary spirit, and exhibit her firm determination to do her highest duty and discharge her great mission at any sacrifice--at the cost of separation, tears, and death. And required it, think you, no effort to bring her mind into this G.o.dlike state? Cost it no toil to discipline the heart to such sore trials? Most certainly it demanded toil and effort; and many a visit to the cross was made, and many a view of the bleeding Savior obtained, ere she could turn her back on home and all that the young heart holds dear in this life, to labor and die far away over the rolling sea.

And we doubt if any other motive can be found so powerful as this to move the Christian heart to obedience. There is an inexpressible efficacy in the cross to bring all the various opposing elements into subjection, and produce order in the place of discord and opposition. With the cross the early disciples went forth, not as the crusaders went, with the sacred symbol on banners, and badges, and weapons, but wearing the _spirit_ of the cross like a garment, having its doctrines engraven on the heart, and inspired and quickened into life by its mysterious energy. It was the cross that induced the early disciples to brave danger and death to spread abroad the new faith. The martyr at the stake, amid the curling flames, was supported by it; the exile from home, banished to rude and savage wilds, loved it; the prisoner in his chains, confined and scourged, tortured and bleeding, turned to it, and found satisfaction for all his wrongs; the laborer for G.o.d, amid wild men who had no sympathy for his vocation, carried the cross, and fainted not in his anxious toil.

And such was the effect of the cross on the mind of Mrs. Newell. It sent her forth in all the love of womanhood, and sustained her until the close of life, It produced on her the impression that it made upon the dreamer Bunyan, who saw it as he was escaping from the city of destruction. He came to it with a heavy heart and a burdened soul; but as he saw it the burden fell and rolled into the sepulchre, and his load was gone. He gazed with rapture and delight; and the tears burst forth and flowed down his cheeks, and joy and holy satisfaction filled his soul.