Henry Martyn, Saint and Scholar
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Title: Henry Martyn, Saint and Scholar
Author: George Smith
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HENRY MARTYN, SAINT AND SCHOLAR ***
HENRY MARTYN
PRINTED BY
SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE
LONDON
[Illustration: Henry Martyn. From the portrait in the University
Library. Cambridge.]
HENRY MARTYN
_SAINT AND SCHOLAR_
FIRST MODERN MISSIONARY TO THE MOHAMMEDANS 1781-1812
BY
GEORGE SMITH, C.I.E., LL.D.
AUTHOR OF 'LIFE OF WILLIAM CAREY' 'LIFE OF ALEXANDER DUFF' ETC.
_Now let me burn out for God_
_WITH PORTRAIT AND ILLUSTRATIONS_
LONDON
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY
56 PATERNOSTER ROW, 65 ST PAUL'S CHURCHYARD AND 164 PICCADILLY
1892
PREFACE
In the year 1819, John Sargent, Rector of Lavington, published _A
Memoir of the Rev. Henry Martyn_. The book at once became a spiritual
classic. The saint, the scholar, and the missionary, alike found in it
a new inspiration. It ran through ten editions during the writer's
life, and he died when projecting an additional volume of the Journals
and Letters. His son-in-law, S. Wilberforce, afterwards Bishop of
Oxford and of Winchester, accordingly, in 1837 published, in two
volumes, _Journals and Letters of the Rev. Henry Martyn, B.D._, with
an introduction on Sargent's life. Sargent had suppressed what Bishop
Wilberforce describes as 'a great variety of interesting materials'.
Especially in the lifetime of Lydia Grenfell it was thought necessary
to omit the facts which give to Henry Martyn's personality its human
interest and intensify our appreciation of his heroism. On the lady's
death, in 1829, Martyn's letters to her became available, and Bishop
Wilberforce incorporated these in what he described as 'further and
often more continuous selections from the journals and letters of Mr.
Martyn.' But, unhappily, his work does not fully supplement that of
Sargent. The _Journal_ is still mutilated; the _Letters_ are still
imperfect.
Some years ago, on completing the _Life of William Carey_, who had
written that wherever his friend Henry Martyn might go as chaplain the
Church need not send a missionary, I began to prepare a new work on
the first modern apostle to the Mohammedans. I was encouraged by his
grand-nephew, a distinguished mathematician, the late Henry Martyn
Jeffery, F.R.S., who had in 1883 printed _Two Sets of Unpublished
Letters of the Rev. Henry Martyn, B.D., of Truro_. For a time I
stopped the work on learning that he had come into possession of Lydia
Grenfell's papers, and was preparing the book which appeared in 1890,
_Extracts from the Religious Diary of Miss L. Grenfell, of Marazion,
Cornwall_. Except her letters to Henry Martyn, which are not in
existence now, all the desirable materials seemed to be ready.
Meanwhile, the missionary bishop who most resembled Martyn in
character and service, Thomas Valpy French, of Lahore and Muscat, had
written to Canon Edmonds of S. Wilberforce's book as 'a work for whose
reprint I have often pleaded in vain, and for which all that there is
of mission life in our Church would plead, had it not been so long out
of print and out of sight.'
My aim is to set the two autobiographies, unconsciously written in the
Journals and Letters of Henry Martyn and in the Diary of Lydia
Grenfell, in the light of recent knowledge of South Africa and India,
Persia and Turkey, and of Bible work and missionary history in the
lands of which, by his life and by his death, Henry Martyn took
possession for the Master. Bengal chaplain of the East India Company,
he was, above all, a missionary to the two divisions of Islam, in
India and Persia, and in Arabia and Turkey. May this book, written
after years of experience in Bengal, lead many to enter on the
inheritance he has left to the Catholic Church!
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. CORNWALL AND CAMBRIDGE, 1781-1803 1
II. LYDIA GRENFELL 43
III. THE NINE MONTHS' VOYAGE--SOUTH AMERICA--SOUTH
AFRICA, 1805-1806 101
IV. INDIA AND THE EAST IN THE YEAR 1806 132
V. CALCUTTA AND SERAMPORE, 1806 150
VI. DINAPORE AND PATNA, 1807-1809 199
VII. CAWNPORE, 1809-1810 257
VIII. FROM CALCUTTA TO CEYLON, BOMBAY, AND ARABIA 315
IX. IN PERSIA--BUSHIRE AND SHIRAZ, 1811 340
X. IN PERSIA--CONTROVERSIES WITH MOHAMMEDANS, SOOFIS,
AND JEWS 370
XI. IN PERSIA--TRANSLATING THE SCRIPTURES 417
XII. SHIRAZ TO TABREEZ--THE PERSIAN NEW TESTAMENT 461
XIII. IN PERSIA AND TURKEY--TABREEZ TO TOKAT AND THE TOMB 492
XIV. THE TWO RESTING-PLACES--TOKAT AND BREAGE 515
XV. BAPTIZED FOR THE DEAD 552
INDEX 573
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
PORTRAIT--HENRY MARTYN _Frontispiece_
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE, IN 1797 13
SECOND COURT, ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE, IN 1803 32
TRINITY CHURCH, CAMBRIDGE, IN 1803 37
ST. MICHAEL'S MOUNT, AT FULL TIDE 45
PAGODA, ALDEEN HOUSE 159
A BRICK FROM HENRY MARTYN'S PAGODA 161
SHIRAZ 357
TOKAT IN 1812 518
TOMB OF HENRY MARTYN 531
Then came another of priestly garb and mien,
A young man still wanting the years of Christ,
But long since with the saints....
A poet with the contemplative gaze
And listening ear, but quick of force and eye,
Who fought the wrong without, the wrong within,
And, being a pure saint, like those of old,
Abased himself and all the precious gifts
God gave him, flinging all before the feet
Of Him whose name he bore--a fragile form
Upon whose hectic cheek there burned a flush
That was not health; who lived as Xavier lived,
And died like him upon the burning sands,
Untended, yet whose creed was far from his
As pole from pole; whom grateful England still
Loves.
The awakened gaze
Turned wholly from the earth, on things of heaven
He dwelt both day and night. The thought of God
Filled him with infinite joy; his craving soul
Dwelt on Him as a feast; as did the soul
Of rapt Francesco in his holy cell
In blest Assisi; and he knew the pain,
The deep despondence of the saint, the doubt,
The consciousness of dark offence, the joy
Of full assurance last, when heaven itself
Stands open to the ecstasy of faith.
The relentless lie
Of Islam ... he chose to bear, who knew
How swift the night should fall on him, and burned
To save one soul alive while yet 'twas day.
This filled his thoughts, this only, and for this
On the pure altar of his soul he heaped
A costlier sacrifice, this youth in years,
For whom Love called, and loving hands, and hope
Of childish lives around him, offering these,
Like all the rest, to God.
Yet when his hour
Was come to leave his England, was it strange
His weakling life pined for the parting kiss
Of love and kindred, whom his prescient soul
Knew he should see no more?
... The woman of his love
Feared to leave all and give her life to his,
And both to God; his sisters passed away
To heaven, nor saw him more. There seemed on earth
Nothing for which to live, except the Faith,
Only the Faith, the Faith! until his soul
Wore thin her prison bars, and he was fain
To rest awhile, or work no more the work
For which alone he lived.
_A Vision of Saints._ By LEWIS MORRIS.
HENRY MARTYN
CHAPTER I
CORNWALL AND CAMBRIDGE, 1781-1803
Writing half a century ago, as one who gratefully accepted the guidance
of the Church of England, from the evangelical and philanthropic side of
which he sprang, Sir James Stephen declared the name of Henry Martyn to
be 'in fact the one heroic name which adorns her annals from the days of
Elizabeth to our own'. The past fifty years have seen her annals, in
common with those of other Churches, adorned by many heroic names. These
are as many and as illustrious on the side which has enshrined Henry
Martyn in the new Cathedral of Truro, as amongst the Evangelicals, to
whom in life he belonged. But the influence which streams forth from his
short life and his obscure death is the perpetual heritage of all
English-speaking Christendom, and of the native churches of India,
Arabia, Persia, and Anatolia in all time to come. His _Journal_, even in
the mutilated form published first by his friend Sargent, is one of the
great spiritual autobiographies of Catholic literature. It is placed
beside the _Confessions_ of Augustine and the _Grace Abounding_ of
Bunyan. The _Letters_ are read along with those of Samuel Rutherford and
William Cowper by the most saintly workers, persuasive preachers, and
learned scholars, who, even in these days of searching criticism,
attribute to the young chaplain-missionary their early inspiration and
renewed consecration, even as he traced his to Brainerd, Carey, and
Charles Simeon.
Born in Truro on February 18, 1781, Henry Martyn came from a land the
oldest and most isolated in Great Britain; a Celtic people but
recently transformed from the rudest to the most courteous and
upright; a family created and partly enriched by the great mining
industry; and a church which had been the first, in these far-western
islands, to receive the teaching of the Apostles of Jesus Christ.
The tin found in the lodes and streams of the Devonian Slates of West
Cornwall was the only large source of supply to the world down to
Henry Martyn's time. The granite porphyries which form the Land's End
had come to be worked only a century before that for the 'bunches' of
copper which fill the lines of fault and fissure. It was chiefly from
the deeper lodes of Gwennap, near Truro, that his family had drawn a
competence. The statement of Richard Carew, in his _Survey of
Cornwall_, was true of the dim centuries before Herodotus wrote, that
the 'tynne of the little angle (Cornwall) overfloweth England,
watereth Christendom, and is derived to a great part of the world
besides'.[1] Tyrian and Jew, Greek and Roman, as navigators,
travellers, and capitalists, had in the darkness of prehistoric days
dealings with the land described in an Elizabethan treatise on
Geography as a foreign country on that side of England next to Spain.
London itself is modern compared with the Cornish trade, which in its
latest stage assumed the Latin name _Stannum_, and the almost perfect
economic laws administered by the Lord Warden of the Stannaries since
King John leased the mines to the Jews, and Edward I., as Earl of
Cornwall, established the now vexed 'royalties' by charter. Even in
the century since Henry Martyn's early days, fourteen of the Cornish
mines have yielded a gross return of more than thirteen millions
sterling, of which above one-fifth was clear profit.
Whether the Romans used the Britons in the mines as slaves or not, the
just and democratic system of working them--which was probably due to
the Norman kings, and extorted the admiration of M. Jars, a French
traveller of the generation to which Henry Martyn's father belonged--did
not humanise the population. So rude were their manners that their
heath-covered rocks bore the name of 'West Barbary.' Writing two
centuries before Martyn, Norden described the city of his birth as
remarkable for its neatness, which it still is, but he added, there is
not a town 'more discommendable for the pride of the people.' The
Cornish miner's life is still as short as it is hard and daring, in
spite of his splendid physique and the remarkable health of the women
and children. But the perils of a rock-bound coast, the pursuits of
wrecking and smuggling, added to the dangers of the mines, and all
isolated from the growing civilisation of England, had combined, century
after century, to make Cornwall a byword till John Wesley and George
Whitfield visited it. Then the miner became so changed, not less really
because rapidly, that the feature of the whole people which first and
most continuously strikes a stranger is their grave and yet hearty
politeness. Thomas Carlyle has, in his _Life of Sterling_, pictured the
moral heroism which Methodism, with its 'faith of assurance,' developes
in the ignorant Cornish miner, a faith which, as illustrated by William
Carey and taught by the Church of England, did much to make Henry Martyn
what he became. John Wesley's own description in the year of Henry
Martyn's birth is this: 'It pleased God the seed there sown has produced
an abundant harvest. Indeed, I hardly know any part of the three
kingdoms where there has been a more general change.' The Cornishman
still beguiles the weary hours of his descent of the ladder to his toil
by crooning the hymns of Charles Wesley. The local preacher whose
eloquent earnestness and knowledge of his Bible have delighted the
stranger on Sunday, is found next day two hundred fathoms below the sea,
doing his eight hours' work all wet and grimy and red from the
iron-sand, picking out the tin of Bottallack or the copper of Gwennap.
Long before Henry Martyn knew Simeon he had become unconsciously in some
sense the fruit of the teaching of the Wesleys.
During fifty-five years again and again John Wesley visited Cornwall,
preaching in the open air all over the mining county and in the
fishing hamlets, till two generations were permanently changed. His
favourite centre was Gwennap, which had long been the home of the
Martyn family, a few miles from Truro. There he found his open-air
pulpit and church in the great hollow, ever since known as 'Wesley's
Pit,' where, to this day, thousands crowd every Whit-Monday to
commemorative services. Wesley's published journal, which closes with
October 1790, when Henry Martyn was nearly ten years of age, has more
frequent and always more appreciative references to Gwennap than to
any other town. On July 6, 1745, we find him writing:
At Gwennap also we found the people in the utmost consternation.
Word was brought that a great company of tinners, made drunk on
purpose, were coming to do terrible things--so that abundance of
people went away. I preached to the rest on 'Love your enemies.'
By 1774 we read 'the glorious congregation was assembled at five in
the amphitheatre at Gwennap.' Next year we find this:
'At five in the evening in the amphitheatre at Gwennap. I think
this is the most magnificent spectacle which is to be seen on
this side heaven. And no music is to be heard upon earth
comparable to the sound of many thousand voices when they are
all harmoniously joined together singing "praises to God and the
Lamb." Four-and-twenty thousand were present, frequently, at
that spot. And yet all, I was informed, could hear distinctly in
the fair, calm evening.' Again: 'I think this is my _ne plus
ultra_. I shall scarce see a larger congregation till we meet in
the air.'
We are thus introduced to the very spot where Henry Martyn was born:
'About noon I preached in the piazza adjoining to the Coinage Hall in
Truro. I was enabled to speak exceeding plain on "Ye are saved through
faith."' In the evening of the same day Wesley preached in the fishing
village of Megavissey, 'where I saw a very rare thing--men swiftly
increasing in substance, and yet not decreasing in holiness.'
From such a land and such influences sprang the first missionary hero
of the Church of England in modern times. The Martyn family had for
more than a century been known locally as one of skilled miners,
described by their ablest representative in recent times[2] as 'mine
agents or mine captains who filled positions of trust.' Martin Luther
had a similar origin. There is no evidence that any of them went
underground, although that, if true, would justify the romance for
which Martyn's first biographer is responsible. His great-grandfather
was Thomas Martyn, his grandfather was John Martyn of Gwennap
Churchtown, and his grand-uncle was the surveyor, Thomas Martyn
(1695-1751), who published the map of Cornwall described as a marvel
of minute and accurate topography, due to a survey on foot for fifteen
years. Mr. Jeffery quotes from some manuscript notes written by his
father:
John, an elder brother of Thomas Martyn, was the father of John
Martyn, who was born at Gwennap Churchtown, and, when young, was
put as an accountant at Wheal Virgin Mine. He was soon made
cashier to Ralph Allen Daniell, Esq., of Trelissick. Mr. Martyn
held one-twenty-fourth of Wheal Unity Mine, where upwards of
300,000_l._ was divided. He then resided in a house opposite the
Coinage Hall (now the Cornish Bank), Truro, a little below the
present Market House. Here Henry Martyn was born February 18,
1781, and was sent thence to Dr. Cardew's School in 1788.
The new Town Hall stands on the site of the house.
The boy bore a family name which is common in Southwest England, and
which was doubtless derived, in the first instance, from the great
missionary monk of Celtic France, the founder of the Gallic Church,
St. Martin, Bishop of Tours. Born in what is now Lower Hungary, the
son of a pagan soldier of Rome, St. Martin, during his long life
which nearly covered the fourth century, made an impression,
especially on Western or Celtic Christendom, even greater than that of
the Devonshire Winfrith or Boniface on Germany long after him. It was
in the generation after his death, when St. Martin's glory was at its
height, that the Saxon invasion of Britain led to the migration of
British Christians from West and South England to Armorica, which was
thence called Brittany. The intercourse between Cornwall and Britannia
Minor became as close as is now the case between the Celtic districts
of the United Kingdom and North America. Missionaries continually
passed and repassed between them. St. Corentin, consecrated Bishop of
Quimper in Brittany or French Cornwall, by the hands of St. Martin
himself, was sent to Cornwall long before Pope Gregory despatched St.
Augustin to Canterbury, and became a popular Cornish saint after whom
St. Cury's parish is still named. On the other side, the Early British
Church of Cornwall, where we still find Roman Christian inscriptions,
kept up a close fellowship with the Church in Ireland. The earliest
martyrs and hermits of the Church of Cornu-Gallia were companions of
St. Patrick.
Certainly there is no missionary saint in all the history of the
Church of Christ whom, in his character, Henry Martyn so closely
resembled as his namesake, the apostle of the Gallic peoples. In the
pages of the bishop's biographer, Sulpicius Severus, we see the same
self-consecration which has made the _Journal_ of Henry Martyn a
stimulus to the noblest spirits of modern Christendom; the same fiery
zeal, often so excessive as to defeat the Divine mission; the same
soldier-like obedience and humility; the same prayerfulness without
ceasing, and faith in the power of prayer; the same fearlessness in
preaching truth however disagreeable to the luxurious and vicious of
the time; and, above all on the practical side, the same winning
loveableness and self-sacrifice for others which have made the story
of St. Martin dividing his cloak with the beggar second only, in
Mediæval art, to the Gospel records of the Lord's own acts of tender
grace and Divine self-emptying. As we trace, step by step, the
unceasing service of Henry Martyn to men for love of his Master, we
shall find a succession of modern parallels to the act of St. Martin,
who, when a lad of eighteen with his regiment at Amiens, himself
moneyless, answered the appeal of a beggar, shivering at the city
gates in a cruel winter, by drawing his dagger, dividing his military
cloak, and giving half of it to the naked man. If the legend continues
to run, that the boy saw in a dream Christ Himself in the half-cloak
saying to the attendant angels, 'Martin, still a catechumen, has
clothed Me with this garment,' and forthwith sought baptism--that is
only a form of the same spirit which, from the days of Paul to our
own, finds inspiration in the thought that we are compassed about by a
great cloud of witnesses.
Henry Martyn was baptised in the old church of St. Mary, now part of the
unfinished cathedral. He was the third of four children. The eldest, a
half-brother, John, was born fifteen years before him. The second and
fourth were his own sisters, Laura and Sally; the former married Mr.
Curgenven, nephew of the Vicar of Lamorran of that name; the latter
married a Mr. Pearson. Short-lived as Henry himself proved to be, all
three died before him. To both the sisters--and especially to the
younger, who proved to be to him at once sister, mother, and spiritual
guide to Christ--there are frequent allusions in his _Journals and
Letters_. His mother, named Fleming, and from Ilfracombe, died in the
year after his birth, having transmitted her delicate constitution to
her children. It was through his father, as well as younger sister, that
the higher influences were rained on Henry Martyn. In the wayward and
often wilful years before the boy yielded to the power of Christ's
resurrection, the father's gentleness kept him in the right way, from
which any violent opposition would have driven one of proud spirit. A
skilled accountant and practical self-trained mathematician, the father
encouraged in the boy the study of science, and early introduced him to
the great work of Newton. Valuing the higher education as few in England
did at that time, John Martyn ever kept before the lad the prospect of a
University course. Looking back on these days, and especially on his
last visit home before his father's unexpected death, Henry Martyn wrote
when he was eighteen years of age:
The consummate selfishness and exquisite irritability of my mind
were displayed in rage, malice, and envy, in pride and
vain-glory and contempt of all; in the harshest language to my
sister, and even to my father, if he happened to differ from my
mind and will. Oh, what an example of patience and mildness was
he! I love to think of his excellent qualities, and it is
frequently the anguish of my heart that I ever could be so base
and wicked as to pain him by the slightest neglect.
Truro was fortunate in its grammar school--'the Eton of Cornwall'--and
in the headmaster of that time, the Rev. Cornelius Cardew, D.D., whose
portrait now adorns the city's council chamber. The visitor who seeks
out the old school in Boscawen Street now finds it converted into the
ware-room of an ironmonger. All around may still be seen the oak
panels on which successive generations of schoolboys cut their names.
A pane of glass on which Henry Martyn scratched his name, with a Greek
quotation and a Hebrew word, probably on his last visit to the spot
before he left England for ever, is reverently preserved in the
muniment room of the corporation buildings. There also are the musty
folios of the dull history and duller divinity which formed the school
library of that uncritical century, but there is no means of tracing
the reading of the boys. Into this once lightsome room, adorned only
by a wood-carving of the galleon which formed the city arms, was the
child Henry Martyn introduced at the age of seven. Dr. Clement
Carlyon, who was one of his fellow-pupils, writes of him as 'a
good-humoured plain little fellow, with red eyelids devoid of
eyelashes'. But we know from Mrs. Sherwood, when she first met him in
India--where his hair, a light brown, was raised from his forehead,
which was a remarkably fine one--that although his features were not
regular, 'the expression was so luminous, so intellectual, so
affectionate, so beaming with Divine charity, as to absorb the
attention of every observer'. His sensitive nature and violent
passionateness when roused, at once marked him out as the victim of the
older boys. In a happy moment Dr. Cardew put 'little Henry Martyn' under
the care of one of them, who became his protector, tutor, and friend,
not only at school but at college, and had an influence on his spiritual
as well as intellectual life next only to that of his father, sister,
and Charles Simeon. That 'upper boy'--named Kempthorne, son of Admiral
Kempthorne, of Helston--delighted to recall to his first biographer,
Sargent, 'the position in which he used to sit, the thankful expression
of his affectionate countenance, when he happened to be helped out of
some difficulty, and a thousand other little incidents of his boyish
days.' This boy-friend 'had often the happiness of rescuing him from the
grasp of oppressors, and has never seen more feeling of gratitude
evinced than was shown by him on those occasions.'
Even at seven Henry's natural cleverness was so apparent that high
expectations of his future were formed. Dr. Cardew wrote of his
proficiency in the classics as exceeding that of most of his
school-fellows, but he was too lively and too careless to apply
himself as some did who distanced him. 'He was of a lively, cheerful
temper, and, as I have been told by those who sat near him, appeared
to be the idlest among them, being frequently known to go up to his
lesson with little or no preparation, as if he had learnt it by
intuition.' The delicacy of his constitution naturally kept him from
joining in the rougher games of his fellows. Such was the impression
made by his progress at school that, when he was fifteen years of age,
not only Dr. Cardew and his father, but many of his father's friends,
urged him to compete for a vacant scholarship of Corpus Christi
College, Oxford. With only a letter to the sub-rector of Exeter College,
the usual Cornish College, the boy found himself in the great University
city. The examiners were divided in opinion as to the result, but a
majority gave it in favour of one with whom Henry Martyn was almost
equal. Had he become a member of that University at fifteen, with
character unformed and knowledge immature or superficial, it is not
likely that Oxford would have gained what, at a riper stage, Cambridge
fell heir to. His own comment, written afterwards like Augustine's in
the _Confessions_, was this: 'The profligate acquaintances I had in
Oxford would have introduced me to scenes of debauchery, in which I
must, in all probability, from my extreme youth, have sunk for ever.' He
returned to school for two years, to extend his knowledge of the
classics. He spent his leisure in shooting, and in reading travels and
Lord Chesterfield's _Letters_. His early private Journal reflects
severely on that time as spent in 'attributing to a want of taste for
mathematics what ought to have been ascribed to idleness; and having his
mind in a roving, dissatisfied, restless condition, seeking his chief
pleasure in reading and human praise.'
[Illustration: ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE, IN 1797]
In this spirit he began residence in St. John's College, Cambridge, in
the month of October 1797, as a pensioner or unassisted student. To
that University he was attracted by Kempthorne, who had been his
protector at school, and had just distinguished himself at St. John's,
coming out Senior Wrangler. Alike from the idleness to which he was
tempted by other fellow-students who were new to him, and from the
variety of study with no other motive than to win glory of men, his
friend gradually weaned his fickle and impulsive genius. But for two
years he halted between two opinions. He was ever restless because
ever dissatisfied with himself, and his want of inward peace only
increased the natural irritability of his temper. He indulged in bursts
of passion on slight provocation, and sometimes on none at all, save
that of an uneasy conscience. Like Clive about the same age, Henry
Martyn on one occasion hurled a knife at his friend, Cotterill, who just
escaped, leaving it quivering in the panel of the dining-hall. The
father and younger sister at home prayerfully watched over him, and
by letter sought to guide him. On his periodical visits to Truro he was
able at least to report success in his examinations, and at the close of
1799 he came out first, to his father's delight. The providence of God
had made all things ready for the completion of His eighteen years' work
in the convictions and character of Henry Martyn, on his return to
college. To him, at the opening of the new century, all things became
new.
Cambridge, first of all, had received--unconsciously to its leading
men for a time--that new spirit which has ever since identified its
University with the aggressive missionary philanthropy of the
nineteenth century. For nearly the whole period of Martyn's life, up
to that time, Charles Simeon, the Eton boy, Fellow of King's College,
and Christian gentleman, who had sought the position only that he
might preach Christ after the manner of St. Paul, had, from the pulpit
of Trinity Church, been silently transforming academic life. He had
become the trusted agent of Charles Grant and George Udny, the Bengal
civilians who were ready to establish an eight-fold mission in Bengal
as soon as he could send out the men. Failing to find these, he had
brought about the foundation of the Church Missionary Society on April
12, 1799. Some years before that, Charles Grant exchanged his seat in
the Bengal council for one of the 'chairs' of the Court of Directors.
He became their chairman, and it was to Simeon that he turned for East
India chaplains. Cambridge, even more than London itself, had become
the centre of the spiritual life of the Church of England.
First among the fellow-students of Henry Martyn, though soon to leave
for India when he entered it, was his future friend, Claudius
Buchanan, B.A. of 1796 and Fellow of Queen's College, of which Isaac
Milner was president. Magdalene College--which had sent David Brown to
Calcutta in 1786, to prepare the way for the other four, who are for
ever memorable as 'the Five Chaplains'--had among its students of the
same standing as Martyn, Charles Grant's two distinguished sons, of whom
one became Lord Glenelg and a cabinet minister, and the younger, Robert,
was afterwards Governor of Bombay, the still valued hymnologist, and the
warm friend of Dr. John Wilson. Thomason--seven years older than Martyn,
and induced afterwards, by his example, to become a Bengal chaplain--was
Simeon's curate and substitute in the closing years of the last century,
when to Mr. Thornton of Clapham, who had warned him against preaching
five sermons a week, as casting the net too often to allow time to mend
it, he drew this picture of college life: 'There are reasons for fearing
the mathematical religion which so prevails here. Here, also, is
everything that can contribute to the ease and comfort of life. Whatever
pampers the appetite and administers fuel to sloth and indolence is to
be found in abundance. Nothing is left to want or desire. Here is the
danger; this is the horrible precipice.' Corrie and Dealtry, also of the
Five Chaplains, and afterwards first and second Bishops of Madras, were
of Martyn's Cambridge time, the latter graduating before, and the former
just after him.
Hardly had Henry Martyn returned to college in January 1800 when he
received from his half-brother news of the death of their father, whom
he had just before left 'in great health and spirits.' The first
result was 'consternation,' and then, as he told his sister,
I was extremely low-spirited, and, like most people, began to
consider seriously, without any particular determination, that
invisible world to which he had gone and to which I must one day
go. As I had no taste at this time for my usual studies, I took
up my Bible. Nevertheless I often took up other books to engage
my attention, and should have continued to do so had not
Kempthorne advised me to make this time an occasion of serious
reflection. I began with the Acts, as being the most amusing,
and when I was entertained with the narrative I found myself
insensibly led to inquire more attentively into the doctrines of
the Apostles.... On the first night after, I 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.
The college chapel service at once had a new meaning for the student
whom death had shaken and the Book of the Acts of the Apostles had
awakened. 'The first time after this that I went to chapel I saw, with
some degree of surprise at my former inattention, that in the
Magnificat there was a great degree of joy expressed at the coming of
Christ, which I thought but reasonable.' His friend then lent him
Doddridge's _Rise and Progress of Religion in the Soul_, but, because
the first part of that book 'appeared to make religion consist too
much in humiliation, and my proud and wicked heart would not bear to
be brought down into the dust,' he could not bear to read it. 'Soon,
however,' as he afterwards told his sister, who had prayed for this
very thing all her life, as Monica had agonised for Augustine, '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.' The
doctrines of the Apostles, based on the narrative of the Acts, and
confirming the teaching of the family in early youth, were seen to be
in accord with the words of the Master, and thus Henry Martyn started
on the Christian life an evangelical of the Evangelicals. In the
preaching and the personal friendship of the minister of Trinity
Church he found sympathetic guidance, and so 'gradually acquired more
knowledge in divine things.' All the hitherto irregular impulses of
his fervent Celtic nature received the baptism of the Holy Spirit, and
became centred in the living, reigning, personal Christ. All the
restless longings of his soul and his senses found their satisfaction
for ever in the service of Him who had said 'He that loveth his life
shall lose it. If any man serve Me, let him follow Me, and where I am
there shall also My servant be.' All the pride of his genius, his
intellectual ambition, and his love of praise became purged by the
determination thenceforth to know nothing save the Crucified One.
His first temptation and test of honest fitness for such service was
found in the examination for degrees, and especially for the greatest
honour of all, that of Senior Wrangler. If we place his conversion to
Christ at the close of his nineteenth year, we find that the whole of
his twentieth was spent in the necessary preparation for the
competition, and in the accompanying spiritual struggles. It is not
surprising that, when looking back on that year from higher experiences,
he should be severe in his self-examination. But the path of duty
clearly lay in hard and constant study, and not alone in religious
meditation. It was not surprising that the experienced convert should
afterwards pronounce the former worldly, and lament that 'the
intenseness with which I pursued my studies' prevented his growth in
contrition, and in a knowledge of the excellency of Christ. But so
severe a judge as his friend and fellow-student John Sargent, who knew
all the facts, and became not less saintly than himself, declares that
there was no reason, save his own humility, for his suspecting a want of
vitality at least in his spiritual life in this critical year. His
new-found life in Christ, and delight in the Bible, reacted on his whole
nature, elevating it to that degree of spontaneous energy free from all
self-consciousness which is the surest condition, divine and human, of
success. He himself used to tell how, when he entered the Senate House,
the text of a sermon he had recently heard quieted his spirit: 'Seekest
thou great things for thyself? Seek them not, saith the Lord.'
Henry Martyn was not fully twenty years of age when, in January 1801,
he came out Senior Wrangler and first Smith's (mathematical) Prizeman.
His year was one of the most brilliant in the recent history of the
University. Woodall of Pembroke was second. Robert Grant was third,
and Charles Grant (Lord Glenelg) fourth Wrangler. They distanced him
in classics, once his strongest point. But the boy who entered college
believing that geometry was to be learned by committing Euclid[3] to
memory had given the whole strength of his powers during three years
to the college examinations, so as to please his father and win the
applause of his fellows. Until recently it was possible for a student
to enter the University ignorant of mathematics, and to come out
Senior Wrangler, as the late Professor Kelland used to tell his
Edinburgh class. Such was the reverence for Newton that the Leibnizian
methods were not recognised in the University studies till the reform
of the Cambridge course was introduced by Dean Peacock and his
contemporaries. In those earlier days, Dr. Carlyon,[4] who had been
one of his school-fellows, tells us high Wranglers won their places by
correct book-work rapidly produced in oral examination from four set
treatises by Wood and Vince, on optics, mechanics, hydrostatics, and
astronomy; problem papers were answered by the best men. Martyn's
grand-nephew, himself a distinguished mathematician, remarks that he
sprang from a family of calculators, and so had the patience and taste
necessary for mathematical attainments. There is no evidence that he
pursued science even at Cambridge except as a tutor; he does not
appear to have been a mathematical examiner even in his own college.
The truth is seen in his own comment on a success which at once won
for him admiration and deference in circles that could not appreciate
the lofty Christian aims of his life: 'I obtained my highest wishes,
but was surprised to find that I had grasped a shadow.' He was called
to other service, and for that he brought his University triumph with
him to the feet of Christ. He was too cultured, however, to despise
learning or academic reputation, for they might be made weapons for
the Master's use, and we shall find him wielding both alike in home
and foreign missions. His genius and learning found expression in the
study, the translation, and the unceasing application to the
consciences of men, of the Word of God. His early love of the classics
of Greece and Rome prevailed over his later mathematical studies to
make him an ardent philologist, with the promise, had he lived, of
becoming an Orientalist of the type of Sir William Jones. If he was
known in his college as 'the man who had not lost an hour' when
University honours alone were his object, how much would not his
unresting perseverance have accomplished, when directed by the highest
of all motives, had he been spared to the age of William Carey or John
Wilson?
The time had come for the brilliant student to decide on his
profession. The same ambition which had stimulated him to his college
successes, had led him to resolve on studying the law, as the most
lucrative. 'I could not consent to be poor for Christ's sake,' was his
own language at a later period. But Christ himself had changed all
that, as effectually as when the young lawyer Saul was stricken down
after the martyr testimony of Stephen. The year 1801 was to him one of
comparative solitude, both in Cornwall and at the University, where
he cultivated the fruitful grace of meditation, learning to know and
to master himself, as he came to know more and more intimately, and to
submit himself to, Christ Jesus. He was admitted to the inner circle
of Simeon's friends, and to unreserved intercourse with men of his own
age who had come to Christ before him. Especially was he drawn to John
Sargent, one year his senior, who was about to leave the university
for the Temple, that he might by the study of law prepare himself to
administer worthily the family estate to which he was to succeed. His
son-in-law, the late Bishop S. Wilberforce, has left us a charming
picture[5] of this saintly man, of whom Martyn wrote, even at college,
'Sargent seems to be outstripping us all.' While Simeon ever, by his
counsels and his example, impressed on the choice youth whom he
gathered around him the attractiveness of the Christian ministry,[6]
Sargent bewailed that only a painful sense of duty to others kept him
from it, and in a few years he succeeded in entering its consecrated
ranks. Among such friends, and with his own heart growing in the
experience of the power of the Holy Spirit, Henry Martyn was
constrained, notwithstanding his new humbleness of mind, to hear and
obey the divine call. He who had received such mercy must tell it
abroad; he who had known such love must bring others to share the
sweetness. Hence he writes to his sister:
When we consider the misery and darkness of the unregenerate
world, oh! with how much reason shall we burst out into
thanksgiving to God, who has called us in His mercy through
Christ Jesus! What are we, that we should thus be made objects
of distinguishing grace! Who, then, that reflects upon the rock
from which he was hewn, but must rejoice to give himself
entirely and without reserve to God, to be sanctified by His
Spirit. The soul that has truly experienced the love of God,
will not stay meanly inquiring how much he shall do, and thus
limit his service, but will be earnestly seeking more and more
to know the will of our Heavenly Father, and that he may be
enabled to do it. Oh, may we both be thus minded! may we
experience Christ to be our all in all, not only as our
Redeemer, but also as the fountain of grace. Those passages of
the Word of God which you have quoted on this head, are indeed
awakening; may they teach us to breathe after holiness, to be
more and more dead to the world, and alive unto God, through
Jesus Christ. We are as lights in the world; how needful then
that our tempers and lives should manifest our high and heavenly
calling! Let us, as we do, provoke one another to good works,
not doubting that God will bless our feeble endeavours to His
glory.
The next year, 1802, saw Martyn Fellow of his College and the winner
of the first University prize for a Latin essay, open to those who had
just taken the Bachelor of Arts degree. It ended in his determination
to offer himself to the Church Missionary Society. He had no sooner
resolved to be a minister of Christ than he began such home mission
work as lay to his hands among his fellow members of the University,
and in the city where, at a recent period, one who closely resembled
him in some points, Ion Keith-Falconer, laboured. When ministering to
a dying man he found that the daughters had removed to another house,
where they were cheerful, and one of the students was reading a play
to them. 'A play! when their father was lying in the agonies of death!
What a species of consolation! I rebuked him so sharply, and, I am
afraid, so intemperately, that a quarrel will perhaps ensue.' This is
the first of those cases in which the impulsively faithful Christian,
testifying for his Master, often roused hatred to himself. But the
student afterwards thanked him for his words, became a new man, and
went out to India, where he laboured for a time by his side. After a
summer tour--during which he walked to Liverpool, and then through
Wales, ascending Snowdon--Henry Martyn found himself in the old home
in Truro, then occupied by his brother. From the noise of a large
family he moved to Woodbury: 'With my brother-in-law[7] I passed some
of the sweetest moments in my life. The deep solitude of the place
favoured meditation; and the romantic scenery around supplied great
external sources of pleasure.'
Along the beautiful coast of Cornwall and Devon there is no spot more
beautiful than Woodbury. It is henceforth sacred as Moulton in Carey's
life, and St. Andrews in Alexander Duff's, for there Henry Martyn
wrestled out his deliberate dedication to the service of Christ in
India and Persia. The Fal river is there just beginning to open out
into the lovely estuary which, down almost to Falmouth town and
Carrick Road, between Pendennis and St. Mawes, is clothed on either
side with umbrageous woods. On the left shore, after leaving the point
from which is the best view of Truro and its cathedral, now known as
the Queen's View, there is Malpas, and further on are the sylvan
glories of Tregothnan. On the right shore, sloping down to the
ever-moving tide, are the oaks, ilexes, and firs which inclose
Woodbury, recently rebuilt. There the Cambridge scholar of twenty-one
roamed and read his Bible (especially Isaiah); 'and from this I
derived great spirituality of mind compared with what I had known
before.' He returned to Cambridge and its tutorial duties, ready to
become Simeon's curate, and ultimately to go abroad when the definite
call should come. In the first conversation which he had with him,
Simeon, who had been reading the last number of the _Periodical
Accounts_ from Serampore, drew attention to the results of William
Carey's work, in the first nine years of his pioneering, as showing
what a single missionary could accomplish. From this time, in his
letters and journals, we find all his thoughts and reading, when
alone, revolving around the call to the East.
_1803, January 12_ to _19_.--Reading Lowth on Isaiah--Acts--and
abridged Bishop Hopkins' first sermon on Regeneration. On the
19th called on Simeon, from whom I found that I was to go to the
East Indies, not as a missionary, but in some superior capacity;
to be stationed at Calcutta, or possibly at Ceylon. This
prospect of this world's happiness gave me rather pain than
pleasure, which convinced me that I had before been running away
from the world, rather than overcoming it. During the whole
course of the day, I was more worldly than for some time past,
unsettled and dissatisfied. In conversation, therefore, I found
great levity, pride, and bitterness. What a sink of corruption
is this heart, and yet I can go on from day to day in
self-seeking and self-pleasing! Lord, shew me myself, nothing
but 'wounds and bruises, and putrefying sores,' and teach me to
live by faith on Christ my all.
St. John's, January 17, 1803.
My dear Sargent,--G. and H. seem to disapprove of my project
much; and on this account I have been rather discouraged of
late, though not in any degree convinced. It would be more
satisfactory to go out with the full approbation of my friends,
but it is in vain to attempt to please man. In doubtful cases,
we are to use the opinions of others no further than as means of
directing our own judgment. My sister has also objected to it,
on the score of my deficiency in that deep and solid experience
necessary in a missionary.
_February 4._--Read Lowth in the afternoon, till I was quite
tired. Endeavoured to think of Job xiv. 14, and to have solemn
thoughts of death, but could not find them before my pupil came,
to whom I explained justification by faith, as he had ridiculed
Methodism. But talk upon what I will, or with whom I will,
conversation leaves me ruffled and discomposed. From what does
this arise? From a want of the sense of God's presence when I am
with others.
_February 6._--Read the Scriptures, between breakfast and
church, in a very wandering and unsettled manner, and in my walk
was very weak in desires after God. As I found myself about the
middle of the day full of pride and formality, I found some
relief in prayer. Sat with H. and D. after dinner, till three,
but though silent, was destitute of humility. Read some of S.
Pearce's[8] life, and was much interested by his account of the
workings of his mind on the subject of his mission. Saw reason
to be thankful that I had no such tender ties to confine me at
home, as he seemed to have; and to be amazed at myself, in not
making it a more frequent object of reflection, and yet to
praise God for calling me to minister in the glorious work of
the conversion of the Gentiles.
_March 27._--The lectures in chemistry and anatomy I was much
engaged with, without receiving much instruction. A violent cold
and cough led me to prepare myself for an inquiry into my views
of death. I was enabled to rest composed on the Rock of Ages.
Oh, what mercy shewn to the chief of sinners.
_April 22._--Was ashamed to confess to ---- that I was to be Mr.
Simeon's curate, a despicable fear of man from which I vainly
thought myself free. He, however, asked me if I was not to be,
and so I was obliged to tell him. Jer. i. 17.
_May 8._--Expressed myself contemptuously of ----, who preached
at St. Mary's. Such manifestations of arrogance which embody, as
it were, my inward pride, wound my spirit inexpressibly, not to
contrition, but to a sullen sense of guilt. Read Second Epistle
to Timothy. I prayed with some earnestness.
_June 13_ to _24_.--Passed in tolerable comfort upon the whole;
though I could on no day say my walk had been close with God.
Read Sir G. Staunton's _Embassy to China_, and was convinced of
the propriety of being sent thither. But I have still the spirit
of worldly men when I read worldly books. I felt more curiosity
about the manners of this people than love and pity towards
their souls.
St. John's, June 30, 1803.
Dear Sargent,--May you, as long as you shall give me your
acquaintance, direct me to the casting down of all high
imaginations. Possibly it may be a cross to you to tell me or
any one of his faults. But should I be at last a castaway, or at
least dishonour Christ through some sin, which for want of
faithful admonition remained unmortified, how bitter would be
your reflections! I conjure you, therefore, my dear friend, as
you value the good of the souls to whom I am to preach, and my
own eternal interests, that you tell me what you think to be, in
my life, spirit, or temper, not according to the will of God my
Saviour. D. has heard about a religious young man of seventeen,
who wants to come to College, but has only 20_l._ a year. He is
very clever, and from the perusal of some poems which he has
published, I am much interested about him. His name is H.K.
White.
_July 17._--Rose at half-past five, and walked a little before
chapel in happy frame of mind; but the sunshine was presently
overcast by my carelessly neglecting to speak for the good of
two men, when I had an opportunity. The pain was, moreover,
increased by the prospect of the incessant watchfulness for
opportunities I should use; nevertheless, resolved that I would
do so through grace. The dreadful act of disobeying God, and the
baseness of being unwilling to incur the contempt of men, for
the sake of the Lord Jesus, who had done so much for me, and the
cruelty of not longing to save souls, were the considerations
that pressed on my mind.
_July 18_ to _30_.--Gained no ground in all this time; stayed a
few days at Shelford, but was much distracted and unsettled for
want of solitude. Felt the passion of envy rankle in my bosom on
a certain occasion. Seldom enjoyed peace, but was much under the
power of corruption. Read Butler's _Analogy_; Jon. Edwards _On
the Affections_; in great hopes that this book will be of
essential use to me.
_September 10._--Was most deeply affected with reading the
account of the apostasy of Lewis and Broomhall, in the
transactions of the Missionary Society. When I first came to the
account of the awful death of the former, I cannot describe the
sense I had of the reality of religion,--that there is a God who
testifies His hatred of sin; 'my flesh trembled for fear of His
judgments.' Afterwards, coming to the account of Broomhall's
sudden turn to Deism, I could not help even bursting into tears
of anxiety and terror at my own extreme danger; because I have
often thought, that if I ever should make shipwreck, it would be
on the rocks of sensuality or infidelity. The hollowness of
Broomhall's arguments was so apparent, that I could only
attribute his fall to the neglect of inquiring after the
rational foundation of his faith.
_September 12._--Read some of the minor prophets, and Greek
Testament, and the number of the _Missionary Transactions_. H.
drank tea with me in the evening. I read some of the missionary
accounts. The account of their sufferings and diligence could
not but tend to lower my notions of myself. I was almost ashamed
at my having such comforts about me, and at my own
unprofitableness.
_September 13._--Received a letter from my sister, in which she
expressed her opinion of my unfitness for the work of a
missionary. My want of Christian experience filled me with many
disquieting doubts, and this thought troubled me among many
others, as it has often done: 'I am not only not so holy as I
ought, but I do not strive to have my soul wrought up to the
highest pitch of devotion every moment.'
_September 17._--Read Dr. Vanderkemp's mission to Kafraria. What
a man! In heaven I shall think myself well off, if I obtain but
the lowest seat among such, though now I am fond of giving
myself a high one.
St. John's, September 29, 1803.
How long it seems since I heard from you, my dear Sargent. My
studies during the last three months have been Hebrew, Greek
Testament, Jon. Edwards _On Original Sin_, and _On the
Affections_, and Bishop Hopkins,--your favourite and mine. Never
did I read such energetic language, such powerful appeals to the
conscience. Somehow or other he is able to excite most constant
interest, say what he will. I have been lately reading the first
volume of the _Reports_ of the Missionary Society, who sent out
so many to Otaheite and the southern parts of Africa. You would
find the account of Dr. Vanderkemp's mission into Kafraria
infinitely entertaining. It appeared so much so to me, that I
could read nothing else while it lasted. Respecting my own
concerns in this way, no material change has taken place, either
externally or internally, except that my sister thinks me
unqualified, through want of religious experience, and that I
find greater pleasure at the prospect of it. I am conscious,
however, of viewing things too much on the bright side, and
think more readily of the happiness of seeing the desert rejoice
and blossom as the rose, than of pain, and fatigue, and crosses,
and disappointments. However it shall be determined for me, it
is my duty to crush the risings of self-will, so as to be
cheerfully prepared to go or stay.
_October 1._--In the afternoon read in Law's _Serious Call_, the
chapter on 'Resignation,' and prayed for it, according to his
direction. I rather think a regular distribution of the day for
prayer, to obtain the three great graces of humility, love, and
resignation, would be far the best way to grow in them. The
music at chapel led my thoughts to heaven, and I went cheerfully
to Mrs. S.H. drank tea with me afterwards. As there was in the
_Christian Observer_ something of my own, the first which ever
appeared in print, I felt myself going off to vanity and levity.
[Illustration: SECOND COURT, ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE, 1803]
_October 9._--Rose at six, which is earlier than of late, and
passed the whole morning in great tranquillity. I prayed to be
sent out to China, and rejoiced in the prospect of the glorious
day when Christ shall be glorified on earth. At chapel the music
of the chant and anthem seemed to be in my ears as the sounds of
heaven, particularly the anthem, 1 Chron. xxix. 10. But these
joys, alas! partake much of the flesh in their transitory
nature. At chapel I wished to return to my rooms to read the
song of Moses the servant of God, &c. in the Revelation, but
when I came to it I found little pleasure. The sound of the
music had ceased, and with it my joy, and nothing remained but
evil temper, darkness, and unbelief. All this time I had
forgotten what it is to be a poor humble soul. I had floated off
the Rock of Ages into the deep, where I was beginning to sink,
had not the Saviour stretched out His hand, and said to me, 'It
is I!' Let me never be cheated out of my dependence on Him, nor
ever forget my need of Him.
_October 12._--Reading Paley's _Evidences_. Had my pride
deeply wounded to-day, and perceived that I was far from
humility. Great bitterness and dislike arose in my mind against
the man who had been the unconscious cause of it. Oh, may I
learn daily my hidden evils, and loathe myself for my secret
abominations! Prayed for the man, and found my affections
return.
_October 19._--I wished to have made my approaching ordination
to the ministry a more leading object of my prayers. For two or
three days I have been reading some of St. Augustine's
_Meditations_, and was delighted with the hope of enjoying such
communion with God as this holy man. Blessed be God! nothing
prevents, no earthly business, no earthly love can rightfully
intrude to claim my thoughts, for I have professedly resigned
them all. My mind still continues in a joyous and happy state,
though at intervals, through want of humility, my confidence
seems vain.
_October 20._--This morning was almost all lost, by friends
coming in. At noon I read the fortieth chapter of Isaiah. Amidst
the bustle of common life, how frequently has my heart been
refreshed by the descriptions of the future glory of the Church,
and the happiness of man hereafter!
_November 13._--I longed to draw very near to God, to pray Him
that He would give me the Spirit of wisdom and revelation. I
thought of David Brainerd, and ardently desired his devotedness
to God and holy breathings of soul.
When a Fellow of St. John's, Henry Martyn occupied the three rooms in
the highest storey of E block, entered from the right-hand corner of
the Second Court before passing through the gateway into the Third
Court. The Court is that pronounced by Ruskin the finest in the
University, because of the beautiful plum-red hue of the old brick,
going back to 1595, and the perfect architecture. From the same stair
the fine College Library is entered. The low roof was formed of reed,
instead of lath, and plaster, down to a very recent date. On one
occasion, while the outer roof was being repaired, the foot of a
workman suddenly pushed through the frail inner ceiling above the
study table, an incident which has enabled their present occupant[9]
to identify the rooms. Here Martyn studied, and taught, and prayed,
while hour after hour and quarter after quarter, from the spire of St.
Clement's on the one side, and the tower of Trinity College on the
other, the flight of time was chimed forth. When, a generation after,
Alexander Duff visited Charles Simeon and his successor, Carus, and
expressed surprise that so few Cambridge men had, by 1836, given
themselves to foreign missions, Carus pointed to the exquisite beauty
of the Cam, as it winds between Trinity and St. John's, as one
explanation of the fact. Both forgot Henry Martyn, whose Cornish
temperament was most susceptible to the seductive influence, and whose
academic triumphs might have made the ideal life of a Fellow of St.
John's an overpowering temptation. As we stand in these hallowed
rooms, or wander through the four courts, and in the perfect gardens,
or recall the low chapel--which has given place to Sir Gilbert
Scott's, with a frescoed figure of Henry Martyn on its roof--we can
realise the power of the motive that sent him forth to Dinapore and
Cawnpore, Shiraz and Tokat.
Samuel Pearce--the 'seraphic' preacher of Birmingham, whom a weak
body, like Martyn's, alone prevented from joining his beloved Carey at
Serampore; Vanderkemp, the Dutch physician, who had given up all for
the good of the Kafirs, and whom he was soon to see in the midst of
his converts; David Brainerd, also like himself in the shortness and
saintliness of his career; the transactions of the London Missionary
Society; the latest works on the East; and the experimental divinity
of Augustine, Jonathan Edwards, and Law, with the writings of Bishops
Butler and Hopkins, and Dr. Paley--these were the men and the books he
used to train his spirit for the work of the ministry abroad, when he
had fed it with the words of Jesus Christ, Isaiah, and Paul. He thus
describes his examination for Deacon's orders, and his ordination by
the Bishop of Ely on the title of his Fellowship, after which he
became Mr. Simeon's curate, and took charge of the neighbouring small
parish of Lolworth.
_1803, October 22._--Went in a gig to Ely with B. Having had no
time for morning prayer, my conversation was poor. At chapel, I
felt great shame at having come so confidently to offer myself
for the ministry of the Lord Jesus Christ, with so much
ignorance and unholiness, and I thought it would be but just if
I were sent off with ignominy. Dr. M., the examining chaplain,
set me to construe the eleventh chapter of Matthew: Grotius: To
turn the first article into Latin: To prove the being of a God,
His infinite power and goodness: To give the evidence of
Christianity to Jews and heathens: To shew the importance of the
miracle of the resurrection of Christ. He asked an account,
also, of the Pharisees, Sadducees, and Scribes, the places of
the worship amongst the Jews, &c. After leaving the palace I was
in very low spirits. I had now nothing to think of but the
weight and difficulty of the work which lay before me, which
never appeared so great at a distance. At dinner the
conversation was frivolous. After tea I was left alone with one
of the deacons, to whom I talked seriously, and desired him to
read the Ordination Service, at which he was much affected.
Retired to my room early, and besought God to give me a right
and affecting sense of things. I seemed to pray a long time in
vain, so dark and distracted was my mind. At length I began to
feel the shameful and cruel neglect and unconcern for the honour
of God, and the souls of my brethren, in having trifled with men
whom I feared were about to 'lie to the Holy Ghost.' So I went
to them again, resolving to lay hold on any opportunity, but
found none to do anything effectually. Went to bed with a
painful sense of my hardness of heart and unsuitable preparation
for the ministry.
_October 23._--Rose early, and prayed, not without distraction.
I then walked, but could not acquire a right and happy sense of
God's mercy in calling me to the ministry; but was melancholy at
the labours that awaited me. On returning, I met one of the
deacons, to whom I spoke on the solemn occasion, but he seemed
incapable of entertaining a serious thought. At half-past ten we
went to the cathedral. During the ordination and sacramental
services I sought in vain for a humble heavenly mind. The
outward show which tended to inspire solemnity, affected me more
than the faith of Christ's presence, giving me the commission to
preach the gospel. May I have grace to fulfil those promises I
made before God and the people! After dinner, walked with great
rapidity to Cambridge. I went straight to Trinity Church, where
my old vanities assailed my soul. How monstrous and horrible did
they appear in me, now that I was a minister of holy things! I
could scarcely believe that so sacred an office should be held
by one who had such a heart within. B. sat with me in the
evening, but I was not humbled; for I had not been near to God
to obtain the grace of contrition. On going to prayer at night,
I was seized with a most violent sickness. In the pain and
disorder of my body, I could but commend myself faintly to God's
mercy in Jesus Christ.
[Illustration: TRINITY CHURCH IN 1803.]
_October 24_ to _29_.--Busily employed in writing a sermon, and
from the slow advances I made in it, was in general very
melancholy. I read on the Thursday night for the first time in
Trinity Church.
_October 30._--Rose with a heavy heart, and my head empty, from
having read so little of the Scriptures this last week. After
church, sat with ---- two hours conversing about the missionary
plan. He considered my ideas on the subject to be enthusiastic,
and told me that I had neither strength of body nor mind for the
work. This latter defect I did not at all like; it was galling
to the pride of my heart, and I went to bed hurt; yet thankful
to God for sending me one who would tell me the truth.
_December 3._--Employed all day in writing sermon. The incessant
employment of my thoughts about the necessary business of my
life, parishes, pupils, sermons, sick, &c., leave far too little
time for my private meditations; so that I know little of God
and my soul. Resolved I would gain some hours from my usual
sleep, if there were no other way; but failed this morning in
consequence of sitting up so late.
_December 4._--Called at two or three of the parishioners'
houses, and found them universally in the most profound state of
ignorance and stupidity. On my road home could not perceive that
men who have any little knowledge should have anything to do but
instruct their wretched fellow-creatures. The pursuits of
science, and all the vain and glittering employments of men,
seemed a cruel withholding from their perishing brethren of that
time and exertion which might save their souls.
_December 22._--Married ----. How satisfactory is it to
administer the ordinance of matrimony, where the couple are
pious! I felt thankful that I was delivered from all desires of
the comforts of the married life. With the most desirable
partner, and every prospect of happiness, I would prefer a
single life, in which there are so much greater opportunities
for heavenly-mindedness.
When appointed classical examiner of his college at this time, he
jealously examined himself:
Did I delight in reading of the retreat of the ten thousand
Greeks; and shall not my soul glory in the knowledge of God, who
created the Greeks, and the vast countries over which they
passed! I examined in Butler's _Analogy_ and in Xenophon: how
much pride and ostentatious display of learning was visible in
my conduct--how that detestable spirit follows me, whatever I
do!
He opened the year 1804, after preaching in Trinity Church, and
visiting two men whom he exhorted to think on their ways, with a
review of his new-found life.
Nevertheless, I judge that I have grown in grace in the course
of the last year; for the bent of my desires is towards God more
than when I thought I was going out as a missionary, though
vastly less than I expected it would have been by this time.
This year he received into his fellowship the young poet, Henry Kirke
White, whom Wilberforce had, at Simeon's request, sent to St. John's.
Southey declares that Chatterton is the only youthful poet whom Kirke
White does not leave far behind him. 'The Star of Bethlehem' is
certainly a hymn that will live. The sickly youth followed close in
Martyn's steps, becoming the first man of his year, but the effort
carried him off almost before his friend reached India.
Had Martyn been of canonical age for ordination at the close of 1803,
there can be little doubt that he would at once have been sent out by
the Church Missionary Society, which could find only German Lutherans
as its agents abroad, until 1813, when another Fellow of St. John's,
and a Wrangler, the Rev. William Jowett, offered his services, and
was stationed at Malta. But when ordained he lost the little that he
had inherited from his father, and saw his younger sister also without
resources. There was a tradition in the family of his half-brother
John, that Henry and his sisters litigated with him, and farther
lessened the patrimony. However that may have been, while in India
Henry set apart the proceeds of his Fellowship at St. John's for the
maintenance of his brother's family, and bequeathed all he had to his
children. Mr. H. Thornton, of Clapham, was executor, and duly carried
out his instructions, starting the nephews in life. Another incident
at this time foreshadows the self-denial of his Indian career. By
opening the door of his room suddenly he had disfigured the face of
his Cambridge landlady, whose husband was a clergyman. He left to her
the interest of 1,000_l._ as an amend, and she enjoyed this annuity
through a very long life.
The Senior Wrangler was not allowed to preach in the church where he
had been baptised, nor in any church of his native county, save in his
brother-in-law's. On August 8, 1804, he thus wrote to his friend 'R.
Boys, Esq., Bene't Coll., Cambridge,' after preaching at Plymouth for
his cousin:
The following Sunday it was not permitted me to occupy the
pulpit of my native town, but in a neighbouring church I was
allowed to testify the Gospel of the grace of God. But that one
sermon was enough. The clergy seem to have united to exclude me
from their churches, so that I must now be contented with my
brother-in-law's two little churches about five miles from
Truro. The objection is that 'Mr. Martyn is a Calvinist preacher
in the dissenting way, &c.' My old schoolmaster, who has always
hitherto been proud of his pupil, has offered his services for
any time to a curate near this place, rather than, as he said,
he should apply to me for assistance.
It is interesting to remember, remarks Mr. Moule, who has published
this letter for the first time, that 'always now, as the anniversary
of Martyn's death recurs, a sermon is preached in the cathedral of
Truro, in which the great work of Missions is set forth, and his
illustrious share in it commemorated.'
As confidential adviser of Charles Grant in the Court of Directors, in
the appointment of chaplains, Simeon always sought to attract the best
of his curates to that career, and it would appear from the _Journal_
that so early as the beginning of 1803 he had hinted at this to
Martyn. Now the way was plain. Martyn could no longer support himself
as one of those volunteer missionaries whose services the two great
missionary societies of the Church of England have always been happy
to enjoy, nor could he relieve his sister out of the subsistence
allowance of a missionary. Mr. Grant's offer of a Bengal chaplaincy
seemed to come to him as the solution. But a new element had entered
into his life, second only to his spiritual loyalty. He had learned to
love Lydia Grenfell.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] See the _Statistical Society's Journal_, September, 1888, for
invaluable notes on the 'System of Work and Wages in the Cornish
Mines,' by L.L. Price, M.A., of Oriel College, Oxford.
[2] The late Henry Martyn Jeffery, M.A., F.R.S., in 1883.
[3] Rev. Henry Bailey, D.D., Canon of Canterbury, supplies us with
this story from the lips of the late Rev. T.H. Shepherd, who was the
last surviving Canon of the Collegiate Church in Southwell:--
'Henry Martyn had just entered the College as a Freshman under the
Rev. Mr. Catton. I was the year above him, _i.e._ second year man; and
Mr. Catton sent for me to his rooms, telling me of Martyn, as a quiet
youth, with some knowledge of classics, but utterly unable as it
seemed to make anything of even the First Proposition of Euclid, and
desiring me to have him into my rooms, and see what I could do for him
in this matter. Accordingly, we spent some time together, but all my
efforts appeared to be in vain; and Martyn, in sheer despair, was
about to make his way to the coach office, and take his place the
following day back to Truro, his native town. I urged him not to be so
precipitate, but to come to me the next day, and have another trial
with Euclid. After some time light seemed suddenly to flash upon his
mind, with clear comprehension of the hitherto dark problem, and he
threw up his cap for joy at his _Eureka_. The Second Proposition was
soon taken, and with perfect success; but in truth his progress was
such and so rapid, that he distanced every one in his year, and, as
everyone knows, became Senior Wrangler.'
[4] _Early Years and Late Reflections_, vol. iii. p. 5.
[5] Introduction to _Journals and Letters of Henry Martyn_, 1837.
[6] See the delightful _Charles Simeon_, by H.C.G. Moule, M.A. (1892),
published since this was written.
[7] Rev. Mr. Curgenven, curate of Kenwyn and Kea.
[8] William Carey's most intimate friend. See p. 46 of _Life of
William Carey, D.D._, 2nd ed. (John Murray).
[9] Rev. A. Caldecott, M.A., Fellow and Dean of St. John's College.
CHAPTER II
LYDIA GRENFELL
Twenty-six miles south-west of Truro, and now the last railway station
before Penzance is reached for the Land's End, is Marazion, the
oldest, the warmest, and long the dullest, of English towns. This was
the home of Lydia Grenfell; this was the scene of Henry Martyn's
wooing. Running out from the town is a natural causeway, uncovered at
low tide, and leading to the most romantic spot on a romantic
coast--the granite rock known to the Greek geographers as Ictis, and
to English legend and history as St. Michael's Mount. Here it was that
Jack slew the giant, Cormoran; here that the Phœnician, and possibly
Israelite, traffickers found the harbour, and in the town the market,
where they bought their copper and their tin; here that St. Michael
appeared, as on the larger rock off Normandy, to the earliest
Christian hermits, followed by the Benedictines; and here that King John
made a fortress which both sides in the Great Rebellion held and took
alternately. Since that time, possessed by the St. Aubyn family, and
open to all the world, St. Michael's Mount has been a unique retreat in
which castle and chapel, cemetery and garden, unite peacefully, to link
the restlessness of the nineteenth century with the hermit saintliness
and angel-ophanies of the fifth. It was the last spot of English, of
Cornish, ground seen by Henry Martyn, and he knew that the windows of
his beloved looked upon its grassy castellated height.
In the one ascending street of Marazion on the shore, there still
stands the plain substantial Grenfell House, now boarded up and
falling to ruin for want of the freehold tenure. Opposite it is the
parish church, now on the site of the old chapel of ease of the
neighbouring St. Hilary, which Lydia Grenfell deserted for the then
warmer evangelical service of the little Wesleyan chapel. That is
hidden in a lane, and is still the same as when she worshipped there,
or only a little enlarged. The Grenvilles, Grenviles, or Grenfells,
were long a leading family connected with Cornwall as copper-buyers
and smelters. One, Pascoe Grenfell, was a Governor of the Bank of
England. Mr. Pascoe Grenfell, of Marazion (1729-1810), Commissary to
the States of Holland, was father (1) of Emma, who became wife of
Martyn's cousin, Rev. T. Martyn Hitchins; (2) of Lydia Grenfell; and
(3) of Pascoe Grenfell, D.C.L., M.P. for Marlow and Penryn. This
Pascoe's four daughters--Lydia Grenfell's nieces--each became the wife
of a remarkable man. The eldest, in 1825, married Mr. Carr Glyn, M.P.
for Kendal, and the first Lord Wolverton; the second, Lord Sidney
Godolphin Osborne; the third, Mr. James Anthony Froude; and the
fourth, Charles Kingsley.
[Illustration: ST. MICHAEL'S MOUNT AT FULL TIDE.]
Lydia Grenfell, born in 1775, died in her sister's house, the old
Vicarage of Breage, in 1829. She was thus six years older than Henry
Martyn. As the sister of his cousin by marriage he must have known of
her early. He evidently did not know, till it was too late, that she
had been engaged to a Mr. Samuel John, solicitor, of Penzance, who was
unworthy of her and married someone else. This engagement and its
issue seem to have weighed on her very sensitive conscience; it became
to her very much what Henry Martyn's hopeless love for her proved to
be to himself. In the years from October 19, 1801, to 1826, she kept a
diary not less devout, but far more morbid than his own. The two
journals form, where they meet, a pathetic, even tragic, tale of
affection, human and divine. Her bulky memoranda[10] contain few
incidents of interest, rather severe introspections, incessant
communings and heart-searchings, abstracts of sermons, records of
visits to the sick and poor, but also a valuable residuum by which her
relations with Martyn can be established beyond controversy. They show
that she was as saintly as himself. She weighed every thought, every
action, as in the immediate presence of God.
When Henry Martyn, at nineteen, entered on the higher life, he must
have known Lydia Grenfell as the sister of Mrs. T.M. Hitchins, the
cousin with whom his correspondence shows him to have been on most
intimate, and even affectionate, terms. At that time the difference of
age would seem slight; her it would affect little, if at all, while
common experience suggests that it would be even attractive to him.
With the ardour of a young disciple--which in his case grew, year by
year, till he passed away--he sought spiritual counsel and communion.
On his visits to Cornwall he found both in his younger sister, but it
is evident that, from the first, the riper spiritual life of Lydia
Grenfell attracted him to her. His triumph, at twenty, as Senior
Wrangler put him quite in a position to dream of winning her. His
unexpected poverty was relieved by his Fellowship of St. John's. In
those days, however, that would have ceased with marriage. When it
became more than probable that he would receive an appointment to
Bengal, through Mr. Charles Grant--either as minister of the Mission
Church founded by Kiernander, or as a chaplain of the East India
Company--he was face to face with the question of marrying.
In these days the course followed by missionary societies as the
result of experience is certainly the best. A missionary and a
chaplain in India should, in ordinary circumstances, be married, but
it is not desirable that the marriage take place for a year or longer,
until the young minister has proved the climate, and has learned the
native language, when the lady can be sent out to be united to him. At
the beginning of the modern missionary enterprise, a century ago, it
was difficult to find spiritual men willing to go to India on any
terms, and they did well in every case to go out married. All the
conditions of time, distance, society, and Christian influence were
then different. If the missionary's or chaplain's wife is worthy of
his calling, she doubles his usefulness, notwithstanding the cares and
the expense of children in many cases, alike by keeping her husband in
a state of efficiency on every side, by her own works of charity and
self-sacrifice--especially among the women, who can be reached in no
other way--and by helping to present to the idolatrous or Mussulman
community the powerful example of a Christian home. Henry Martyn's
principles and instincts were right in this matter. As a chaplain, at
any rate, he was in a position to marry at once. As India or Bengal
then was, Lydia, had she gone out with him, or soon after him, would
have proved to be a much needed force in Anglo-Indian society, an
influence on the native communities whom he sought to bring to Christ.
Above all, as a man born with a weak body, with habits of incessant
and intense application to study and to duty, Henry Martyn required
one with the influence of a wife to keep him in life and to prolong
his Indian service. It was the greatest calamity of his whole career
that Lydia did not accompany him. But, since he learned to love her
with all the rich devotion of his passionate nature, we cannot
consider it 'a bitter misfortune,' as some do, that he ever knew her.
His love for Lydia, in the fluctuations of its hope, in the ebb and
flow of its tenderness, and in the transmutation of its despair into
faith and resignation to the will of God, worked out a higher
elevation for himself, and gives to his _Journals and Letters_ a pure
human interest which places them above the _Confessions of St.
Augustine_.
The first allusion to the possibility of marriage we find in his
_Journal_ of January 23, 1803, and again in June 12 of the same year:
I was grieved to find that all the exertions of prayer were
necessary against worldly-mindedness, so soon had the prospect
of the means of competent support in India filled my heart with
concern about earthly happiness, marriage, &c.; but I strove
earnestly against them, and prayed for grace that, if it should
please God to try my faith by calling me to a post of opulence,
I might not dare to use for myself what is truly His; as also,
that I might be enabled to keep myself single, for serving Him
more effectually. Nevertheless, this change in my circumstances
so troubled me, that I could have been infinitely better pleased
to have gone out as a missionary, poor as the Lord and His
Apostles.
His friend Sargent's 'approaching marriage with a lady of uncommon
excellence rather excited in me a desire after a similar state; but I
strove against it,' he wrote on July 10. Next day, on the top of the
coach from London to Bath, in the cold of a high wind, he was 'most
dreadfully assailed by evil thoughts, but at the very height prayer
prevailed, and I was delivered, and during the rest of the journey
enjoyed great peace and a strong desire to live for Christ alone,
forsaking the pleasures of the world, marriage, &c.' At Plymouth he
spent two days 'with my dear cousin T.H.,' Lydia's sister. After
Truro, Kenwyn, and Lamorran, near Truro, of which his sister Sarah's
husband was vicar, he rode to St. Hilary.
_1804, July 29._ (Sunday.)--Read and prayed in the morning
before service with seriousness, striving against those thoughts
which oppressed me all the rest of the day. At St. Hilary Church
in the morning my thoughts wandered from the service, and I
suffered the keenest disappointment. Miss L.G. did not come.
Yet, in great pain, I blessed God for having kept her away, as
she might have been a snare to me. These things would be almost
incredible to another, and almost to myself, were I not taught
by daily experience that, whatever the world may say, or I may
think of myself, I am a poor, wretched, sinful, contemptible
worm.
Called after tea on Miss L.G., and walked with her and ----,
conversing on spiritual subjects. All the rest of the evening,
and at night, I could not keep her out of my mind. I felt too
plainly that I loved her passionately. The direct opposition of
this to my devotedness to God in the missionary way, excited no
small tumult in my mind. In conversation, having no divine
sweetness in peace, my cheerfulness was affected, and,
consequently, very hurtful to my conscience. At night I
continued an hour and a half in prayer, striving against this
attachment. I endeavoured to analyse it, that I might see how
base, and mean, and worthless such a love to a speck of earth
was, compared with divine love. Then I read the most solemn
parts of Scripture, to realise to myself death and eternity; and
these attempts were sometimes blest. One while I was about to
triumph, but in a moment my heart had wandered to the beloved
idol. I went to bed in great pain, yet still rather superior to
the evening; but in dreams her image returned, and I awoke in
the night with my mind full of her. No one can say how deeply
this unhappy affection has fixed itself; since it has nothing
selfish in it, that I can perceive, but is founded on the
highest admiration of her piety and manners.
_July 30._--Rose in great peace. God, by secret influence,
seemed to have caused the tempest of self-will to subside. Rode
away from St. Hilary to Gwennap in peace of mind, and meditated
most of the way on Romans viii. I again devoted myself to the
Lord, and with more of my will than last night. I was much
disposed to think of subjects entirely placed beyond the world,
and had strong desires, though with heavy opposition from my
corrupt nature, after that entire deadness to the world which
David Brainerd manifested. At night I found myself to have
backslidden a long way from the life of godliness, to have
declined very much since my coming into Cornwall, but especially
since I went to St. Hilary. Sat up late, and read the last
chapter and other parts of Revelation, and was deeply affected.
Prayed with more success than lately.
_July 31._--Read and prayed this morning with increasing victory
over my self-will. Romans vii. was particularly suitable; it was
agreeable to me to speak to God of my own corruption and
helplessness. Walked in the afternoon to Redruth, after having
prayed over the Epistle to the Ephesians with much seriousness.
On the road I was enabled to triumph at last, and found my heart
as pleased with the prospect of a single life in missionary
labours as ever. 'What is the exceeding greatness of His power
to usward who believe!'
After preaching to crowds in his brother-in-law's church at Kenwyn and
Lamorran, on the two subsequent Sundays, he walked to St. Hilary:
_1804, August 26._--Rose early, and walked out, invited by the
beauty of the morning. Many different pleasing thoughts crowded
on my mind, as I viewed the sea and rocks, Mount and bay, and
thought of the person who lived near it; but, for want of
checking my natural spirits, and fixing on one subject of
thought, I was not much benefited by my meditations. Walked in
the evening with Mrs. G. and Lydia up the hill, with the most
beautiful prospect of the sea, &c.; but I was unhappy, from
feeling the attachment to Lydia, for I was unwilling to leave
her.
_August 27._--Walked to Marazion, with my heart more delivered
from its idolatry, and enabled to look steadily and peacefully
to God. Reading in the afternoon to Lydia alone, from Dr. Watts,
there happened to be, among other things, a prayer on entire
preference of God to the creature. Now, thought I, here am I in
the presence of God, and my idol. So I used the prayer for
myself, and addressed it to God, who answered it, I think, for
my love was kindled to God and divine things, and I felt
cheerfully resigned to the will of God, to forego the earthly
joy which I had just been desiring with my whole heart. I
continued conversing with her, generally with my heart in
heaven, but every now and then resting on her. Parted with
Lydia, perhaps for ever in this life, with a sort of uncertain
pain, which I knew would increase to greater violence
afterwards, on reflection. Walked to St. Hilary, determining, in
great tumult and inward pain, to be the servant of God. All the
rest of the evening, in company or alone, I could think of
nothing but her excellences. My efforts were, however, through
mercy, not in vain, to feel the vanity of this attachment to the
creature. Read in Thomas à Kempis many chapters directly to the
purpose; the shortness of time, the awfulness of death and its
consequences, rather settled my mind to prayer. I devoted myself
unreservedly to the service of the Lord, to Him, as to one who
knew the great conflict within, and my firm resolve, through His
grace, of being His, though it should be with much tribulation.
_August 28._--Rose with a heavy heart, and took leave of St.
Hilary, where all the happier hours of my early life were
passed. ---- and ---- accompanied me in the chaise a few miles;
but the moment they left me I walked on, dwelling at large on
the excellence of Lydia. I had a few faint struggles to forget
her, and delight in God, but they were ineffectual. Among the
many motives to the subjection of self-will, I found the thought
of the entire unworthiness of a soul escaped from hell to choose
its own will before God's, most bring my soul to a right frame.
So that, while I saw the necessity of resigning, for the service
of God, all those joys, for the loss of which I could not
perceive how anything in heaven or earth could be a
compensation, I said, Amen!
_August 29._--I walked to Truro, with my mind almost all the way
taken up with Lydia. But once reasoning in this way--If God made
me, and wills my happiness, as I do not doubt, then He is
providing for my good by separating me from her; this reasoning
convinced my mind. I felt very solemnly and sweetly the
excellence of serving God faithfully, of following Christ and
His Apostles, and meditated with great joy on the approach of
the end of this world. Yet still I enjoyed, every now and then,
the thought of walking hereafter with her, in the realms of
glory, conversing on the things of God. My mind the rest of the
evening was much depressed. I had no desire to live in this
world; scarcely could I say where I would be, or what I would
do, now that my self-will was so strongly counteracted. Thus God
waits patiently my return from my backsliding, which I would do
immediately. If He were to offer me the utmost of my wishes, I
would say, 'Not so, Lord! Not my will, but Thine be done.'
_August 30._--Passed the morning rather idly, in reading lives
of pious women. I felt an indescribable mixture of opposing
emotions. At one time, about to ascend with delight to God, who
had permitted me to aspire after the same glory, but oftener
called down to earth by my earthly good. Major Sandys calling,
continued till dinner conversing about India. I consented to
stay a day with him at Helston, but the thought of being so near
Marazion renewed my pain, especially taken in connection with my
going thither on the subject of my departure. After dinner,
walked in the garden for two hours, reasoning with my perverse
heart, and, through God's mercy, not without success. You preach
up deadness to the world, and yet not an example of it! Now is
the time, my soul, if you cannot feel that it is best to bear
the cross, to trust God for it. This will be true faith. If I
were put in possession of my idol, I should immediately say and
feel that God alone was, notwithstanding, the only good, and to
Him I should seek immediately. Again I weighed the probable
temporal consequence of having my own will gratified; the
dreadful pain of separation by death, after being united,
together with the distress I might bring upon her whom I loved.
All these things were of small influence till I read the Epistle
to the Hebrews, by which my mind, made to consider divine things
attentively, was much more freed from earthly things. 'Let us
come boldly to the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy,
and find grace to help in time of need,' was very precious and
comforting to me. I have found grace to help in this time of
need; I still want a humble spirit to wait upon the Lord. I
almost called God to witness that I duly resigned my pleasure to
His, as if I wished it to be remembered. In the evening had a
serious and solemn time in prayer, chiefly for the influences of
the Spirit, and rose with my thoughts fixed on eternity; I
longed for death, and called on the glorious day to hasten; but
it was in order to be free from the troubles of this world.
_August 31._--Passed the morning partly in reading and writing,
but chiefly in business. Rode to Rosemundy, with my mind at
first very unhappy, at the necessity of mortifying my self-will,
in the same particulars as for some days. In conversing on the
subject of India with Major Sandys, I could not help
communicating the pain I felt at parting with the person to whom
I was attached; but by thus dwelling on the subject my heart was
far more distressed than ever. Found my mind more easy and
submissive to God at night in prayer.
St. Hilary Church, in which Henry Martyn preached, is one of the
oldest in England, containing, in the tower of Edward III.'s reign,
two stones with inscriptions of the time of the Emperor Flavius
Constantinus, who was killed by Honorius in 411. What Lydia Grenfell
thought of Martyn's sermon on that day, August 26, thenceforth
memorable to both, we find in her _Diary_ of that date:
_1804, August 26._--Heard H.M. on 'Now then we are ambassadors
for Christ, as though God did beseech you by us: we pray you, in
Christ's stead, be ye reconciled to God. For He hath made Him to
be sin (_i.e._ sin-offering) for us, Who knew no sin; that we
might be made the righteousness of God in Him.' Exordium on the
honourable employment of a minister of the Gospel. In the text
two things were implied. First, we were at enmity with God.
Second, we were unable to restore ourselves to His favour.
There were two things expressed in the text--the means of
reconciliation, and God's invitation to be reconciled; a
threefold address to saints, backsliders, and sinners; and a
farewell address. A precious sermon. Lord, bless the preacher,
and those that heard him!
At that time, in 1804, the lady was still preoccupied, in conscience
or heart, or both, by her imaginary ties to Mr. S. John. But six
months before that she had heard of his approaching marriage, though,
in fact, that did not take place till 1810. All that time, if she did
not feel, to one to whom her heart had been more closely united than
to any 'earthly object,' as she had written in her _Diary_, what Mr.
H.M. Jeffery describes as the attachment of a widow with the
responsibility of a wife, her scrupulous introspective habit was an
obstacle to a healthy attachment. The preacher, younger than herself,
was in 1804 evidently to her only an interesting and gracious second
cousin, or perhaps a little more.
On his way back to London Henry Martyn again visited Plymouth, where
he learned from his cousin 'that my attachment to her sister was not
altogether unreturned, and the discovery gave me both pleasure and
pain.' He left them, his thoughts 'almost wholly occupied with Lydia.'
London, Cambridge, his reading and his walking, his work and even his
sleep, bring him no rest from the absorbing passion. His _Journal_ is
full of it, almost every day. Fortescue's poems recall the happy
mornings at St. Hilary, but his pensive meditation subsided into a
more profitable one on the vanity of the world: 'they marry and are
given in marriage,' and at the end of a few years what are they more
than myself?--looking forward to the same dissolution, and expecting
their real happiness in another life. 'The fashion of this world
passeth away,' Amen. 'Let me do the will of God while I am in it.'
The first day of the year 1805 led him to review the past five years,
and to renew his self-dedication to God the Father, Son, and Holy
Ghost, to be His servant for ever. The time for his departure to India
was at hand, and his last act, on leaving London for Cambridge, to
complete his arrangements for sailing, was deliberately to engage
himself to Lydia Grenfell in the following letter to her sister.[11]
It is thus referred to in his _Journal_:
I was in some doubt whether I should send the letter to Emma, as
it was taking a very important step, and I could scarcely
foresee all the consequences. However, I did send it, and may
now be said to have engaged myself to Lydia.
18 Brunswick Square (London), January 11, 1805.
My dear Mrs. Hitchins,--How unaccountable must my long silence
appear to you after the conversation that passed between us in
the carriage! You may well wonder that I could forbear, for
three whole months, to inquire about the 'beloved Persis.'
Indeed, I am surprised at my own patience, but, in truth, I
found it impossible to discover what it is which I wish or ought
to say on the subject, and therefore determined to defer writing
till I could inform you with certainty of my future destination.
But I have it not yet in my power to do this, for no actual
appointment has been made for me yet. I came to town the
beginning of this week to inquire into the present state of the
business, and learned from Mr. Grant that the situation he
intended to procure, and to which he had no doubt of getting me
nominated, was not in the Army, but at Fort William, near
Calcutta. Thus it pleases God to suspend the declaration of His
mind, and I can believe that He acts wisely. These apparent
delays serve to check my youthful impetuosity, and teach me to
look up to God, and wait for Him. If the chaplaincy at Fort
William should be given me, it would seem to be His design not
to call me to the peculiar work of a missionary, but to fix my
station among the English. At present my own inclination remains
almost unbiassed, as to the particular employment or place God
shall assign me, whether to pass my days among the natives, or
the more polished inhabitants of Calcutta, or even to remain at
home.
But you will easily conceive that the increasing probability of
my being settled in a town rather tends to revive the thoughts
of marriage, for I feel very little doubt in my own mind, that
in such a situation it would be expedient for me on the whole to
marry, if other circumstances permitted it. It is also as clear
that I ought not to make an engagement with any one in England,
till I have ascertained by actual observation in India, what
state of life and mode of proceeding would be most conducive to
the ends of my mission. But why do I mention these difficulties?
If they were removed, others would remain still more
insurmountable. The affections of the beloved object in question
must still be engaged in my favour, or even then she would not
agree to leave the kingdom, nor would any of you agree to it,
nor would such a change of climate, it may be thought, suit the
delicacy of her constitution.
Must I, then, yield to the force of these arguments, and resolve
to think of her no more? It shall certainly be my endeavour, by
the help of my God, to do it, if need be; but I confess I am
very unwilling to go away and hear of her only accidentally
through the medium of others. It is this painful reflection that
has prompted a wish, which I do not mention without some
hesitation, and that is my wish of corresponding with her. It
is possible you may instantly perceive some impropriety in it
which escapes my notice, and indeed there are some objections
which I foresee might be made, but instead of anticipating them,
I will leave you to form your own opinion. In religion we have a
subject to write upon of equal interest to us both, and though I
cannot expect she would derive any advantage from my letters, it
is certain I should receive no small benefit from hers. But I
leave it with yourself; if you disapprove of the measure, let
the request be forgotten. It will be best for her never to know
I had made it, or if she does, she will, I hope, pardon a
liberty to which I have been drawn only by the love of her
excellence.
N.B.--I remember _Leighton_; take care not to forget it nor the
desired MS.
On June 1 he wrote in his _Journal_:
My departure from my friends, and my deprivation of the sweetest
delight in society, for ever in this life, have rather dejected
me to-day. Ah! Nature, thou hast still tears to shed for
thyself!... I seem to be hankering after something or other in
this world, though I am sure I could not say there is anything
which I believed could give me happiness. No! it is in God
above. Yet to-night I have been thinking much of Lydia. Memory
has been at work to unnerve my soul, but reason, and honour, and
love to Christ and to souls, shall prevail. Amen. God help me!
Two days after, at the Eclectic Society, after a discussion on the
symptoms of 'the state of the nation,' the subject of marriage,
somehow or other, came to be mentioned.
Mr. Cecil spoke very freely and strongly on the subject. He said
I should be acting like a madman if I went out unmarried. A wife
would supply by her comfort and counsel the entire want of
society, and also be a preservative both to character and
passions amidst such scenes. I felt as cold as an anchorite on
the subject as to my own feelings, but I was much perplexed all
the rest of the evening about it. I clearly perceived that my
own inclination upon the whole was not to marriage. The fear of
being involved in worldly cares and numberless troubles, which I
do not now foresee, makes me tremble and dislike the thoughts of
such connection. When I think of Brainerd, how he lived among
the Indians, travelling freely from place to place, can I
conceive he would have been so useful had he been married? I
remember also that Owens, who had been so many years in the West
Indies as a missionary, gave his advice against marriage.
Schwartz was never married, nor St. Paul. On the other hand,
when I suppose another in my circumstances, fixed at a
settlement without company, without society, in a scene and
climate of such temptation, I say without hesitation, he ought
to be married. I have recollected this evening very much my
feelings when I walked through Wales; how I longed there to have
some friend to speak to; and the three weeks seemed an age
without one. And I have often thought how valuable would be the
counsel and comfort of a Christian brother in India. These
advantages would be obtained by marrying. I feel anxious also
that as many Christians as possible should go to India, and
anyone willing to go would be a valuable addition. But yet
voluntary celibacy seems so much more noble and glorious, and so
much more beneficial in the way of example, that I am loth to
relinquish the idea of it. In short, I am utterly at a loss to
know what is best for the interests of the Gospel. But, happily,
my own peace is not much concerned in it. If this opinion of so
many pious clergymen had come across me when I was in Cornwall,
and so strongly attached to my beloved Lydia, it would have been
a conflict indeed in my heart to oppose so many arguments. But
now I feel, through grace, an astonishing difference. I hope I
am not seeking an excuse for marriage, nor persuading myself I
am indifferent about it, in order that what is really my
inclination may appear to be the will of God. But I feel my
affections kindling to their wonted fondness while I dwell on
the circumstances of a union with Lydia. May the Lord teach His
weak creature to live peacefully and soberly in His love,
drawing all my joys from Him, the fountain of living waters.
_June 4._--The subject of marriage made me thoughtful and
serious. Mr. Atkinson, whose opinion I revere, was against my
marrying. Found near access to my God in prayer. Oh, what a
comfort it is to have God to go to. I breathed freely to Him my
sorrows and cares, and set about my work with diligence. The
Lord assisted me very much, and I wrote more freely than ever I
did. Slept very little in the night.
_June 5._--Corrie breakfasted with me, and went to prayer; I
rejoiced to find he was not unwilling to go to India. He will
probably be my fellow-labourer. Most of this morning was
employed in writing all my sentiments on the subject of marriage
to Mr. Simeon. May the Lord suggest something to him which may
be of use to guide me, and keep my eye single. In my walk out,
and afterwards, the subject was constantly on my mind. But,
alas! I did not guard against that distraction from heavenly
things which I was aware it would occasion. On reflection at
home, I found I had been talking in a very inconsistent manner,
but was again restored to peace by an application to Christ's
blood through the Spirit. My mind has all this day been very
strongly inclined to marriage, and has been consequently
uncomfortable, for in proportion to its want of simplicity it is
unhappy. But Mr. Cecil said to-day, he thought Lydia's decision
would fully declare the will of God. With this I am again
comforted, for now hath the Lord taken the matter into His own
hands. Whatever He decides upon, I shall rejoice; and though I
confess I think she will not consent to go, I shall then have
the question finally settled.
Discussion in the evening was about my marriage again; they were
all strenuous advocates for it. Wrote at night with great
freedom, but my body is very weak from the fatigue I have
already undergone. My mind seems very active this week;
manifestly, indeed, strengthened by God to be enabled to write
on religious subjects with such unusual ease, while it is also
full of this important business of the marriage. My inclination
continues, I think, far more unbiassed than when I wrote to Mr.
Simeon.
_June 7._--Oh, the subtlety of the devil, and the deceitfulness
of this corrupted heart! How has an idol been imperceptibly
raised up in it. Something fell from Dr. F. this evening against
my marriage which struck me so forcibly, though there was
nothing particular in it, that I began to see I should finally
give up all thoughts about it. But how great the conflict! I
could not have believed it had such hold on my affections.
Before this I had been writing in tolerable tranquillity, and
walked out in the enjoyment of a resigned mind, even rejoicing
for the most part in God, and dined at Mr. Cecil's, where the
arguments I heard were all in favour of the flesh, and so I was
pleased; but Dr. F.'s words gave a new turn to my thoughts, and
the tumult showed me the true state of my heart. How miserable
did life appear without the hope of Lydia! Oh, how has the
discussion of the subject opened all my wounds afresh! I have
not felt such heartrending pain since I parted with her in
Cornwall. But the Lord brought me to consider the folly and
wickedness of all this. Shall I hesitate to keep my days in
constant solitude, who am but a brand plucked from the burning?
I could not help saying, 'Go, Hindus, go on in your misery; let
Satan still rule over you; for he that was appointed to labour
among you is consulting his ease.' No, thought I; hell and
earth shall never keep me back from my work. I am cast down, but
not destroyed; I began to consider, why am I so uneasy? 'Cast
thy care upon Him, for He careth for you.' 'In everything, by
prayer,' &c. These promises were graciously fulfilled before
long to me.
_June 8._--My mind continued in much the same state this
morning, waiting with no small anxiety for a letter from Mr.
Simeon, hoping, of course, that the will of God would coincide
with my will, yet thinking the determination of the question
would be indifferent to me. When the letter arrived I was
immediately convinced, beyond all doubt, of the expediency of
celibacy. But my wish did not follow my judgment quite so
readily. Mr. Pratt coming in, argued strongly on the other side,
but there was nothing of any weight. The subject so occupied my
thoughts that I could attend to nothing else. I saw myself
called to be less than ever a man of this world, and walked out
with a heavy heart. Met Dr. F., who alone of all men could best
sympathise, and his few words were encouraging. Yet I cannot
cordially acquiesce in all the Lord's dealings, though my reason
and judgment approve them, and my inclination would desire to do
it. Dined at Mr. Cecil's, where it providentially happened that
Mr. Foster came in. To them I read Mr. Simeon's letter, and they
were both convinced by it. So I went away home, with nothing to
do but to get my heart easy again under this sacrifice. I
devoted myself once more to the entire and everlasting service
of God, and found myself more weaned from this world, and
desiring the next, though not from a right principle. Continued
all the evening writing sermon, and reading _Pilgrim's
Progress_, with successions of vivid emotions of pain and
pleasure. My heart was sometimes ready to break with agony at
being torn from its dearest idol, and at other times I was
visited by a few moments of sublime and enraptured joy. Such is
the conflict; why have my friends mentioned this subject? It has
torn open old wounds, and I am again bleeding. With all my
honours and knowledge, the smiles and approbation of men, the
health and prosperity that have fallen to my lot, together with
that freedom from doubts and fears with which I was formerly
visited, how much have I gone through in the last two or three
years to bring my mind to be willing to do the will of God when
it should be revealed! My heart is pained within me, and my
bodily frame suffers from it.
_June 9._ (Sunday.)--My heart is still pained. It is still as a
bullock unaccustomed to the yoke; the Lord help me to maintain
the conflict. Preached this morning at Long Acre Chapel on Matt.
xxviii., the three last verses. There was the utmost attention.
In the interval between morning and afternoon, passed most of
the time in reading and prayer. Read Matthew iii., and
considered the character of John the Baptist. Holy emulation
seemed to spring up in my mind. Then read John xvii. and last
chapter, and Rev. i., all of which were blessed to my soul. I
went into the church persuaded in my feelings--which is
different from being persuaded in the understanding--that it was
nobler and wiser to be as John the Baptist, Peter, John, and all
the Apostles, than to have my own will gratified. Preached on
Eph. ii. 18. Walked a little with Mr. Grant this evening. He
told me I should have great trials and temptations in India; but
I know where to apply for grace to help.
Cecil's final opinion, that Lydia Grenfell's decision would fully
declare the will of God, was not borne out by the result, as we shall
see. Meanwhile, let us trace the steps which led to the final
appointment to India, and the farewell.
On his first visit to London at the beginning of the year 1804, by the
Telegraph coach, the Cambridge recluse was distracted by the bustle
of the great city, as he walked about the streets and called at the
booksellers'. Dr. Wollaston, the British Museum, and the Gresham
Lecture on Music, of which he was passionately fond, occupied his
first two days. At the old India House, since swept away from
Leadenhall Street, he met Mr. Charles Grant, who, as he took him to
Clapham, the evangelical centre which Sir James Stephen has made so
famous,[12] gave him much information on the state of India, such as
this:
It would be absolutely necessary to keep three servants, for
three can do no more than the work of one English; that no
European constitution can endure being exposed to mid-day heat;
that Mr. Schwartz, who was settled at Tanjore, did do it for a
time, walking among the natives. Mr. Grant had never seen Mr.
Schwartz, but corresponded with him. He was the son of a Saxon
gentleman (the Saxon gentlemen never enter the ministry of the
Church), and had early devoted himself to the work of a
missionary amongst the Indians. Besides the knowledge of the
Malabar tongue, in which he was profoundly skilled and eloquent,
he was a good classic, and learnt the English, Portuguese, and
Dutch. He was a man of dignified and polished manners, and
cheerful.
This was the first opportunity that 'the Clapham sect' had to satisfy
themselves that the Senior Wrangler was worthy of the commendation of
Charles Simeon. Accordingly they dined with William Wilberforce at
Broomfield.
We conversed about my business. They wished me to fill the
church in Calcutta very much; but advised me to wait some time,
and to cherish the same views. To Mr. Wilberforce I went into a
detail of my views, and the reasons that had operated on my
mind. The conversation of Mr. Wilberforce and Mr. Grant during
the whole of the day, before the rest of the company, which
consisted of Mr. Johnston, of New South Wales, a French Abbé,
Mrs. Unwin, Mr. H., and other ladies, was edifying; agreeable to
what I should think right for two godly senators, planning some
means of bringing before Parliament propositions for bettering
the moral state of the colony of Botany Bay. At evening worship
Mr. W. expounded Sacred Scripture with serious plainness, and
prayed in the midst of his large household.
In _The Life of William Wilberforce_, by his sons, we find this
passage introduced by the remark, 'It is delightful to contrast with
his own language the observation of one who, with as holy and as
humble a soul, was just entering on his brief but glorious course:'
Martyn 'drank tea at Mr. Newton's; the old man was very civil to me,
and striking in his remarks in general.' Next day:
Read Isaiah. At one, we went to hear the charge delivered to the
missionaries at the New London Tavern, in Cheapside. There was
nothing remarkable in it, but the conclusion was affecting. I
shook hands with the two missionaries, Melchior Rayner and Peter
Hartwig, and almost wished to go with them, but certainly to go
to India. Returned, and read Isaiah.
From the ever recurring distractions of his soul, caused now by 'a
despicable indulgence in lying in bed,' and again by the interruptions
of visitors, he sought refuge frequently in fasting and ascetic
self-denial, and occasionally in writing verse:
Composed some poetry during my walk, which often has a tendency
to divert my thoughts from the base distractions of this life,
and to purify and elevate it to higher subjects.... On my way
to Mr. Simeon's, heard part of the service in King's Chapel. The
sanctity of the place, and the music, brought heaven and eternal
things, and the presence of God, very near to me.
He seems to have competed for the Seatonian Prize. He was an ardent
lover of Nature.
Walked out before breakfast, and the beauties of the opening
spring constrained me to adoration and praise. But no earthly
object or operation can produce true spirituality of heart. My
present failing is in this, that I do not feel the power of
motives.
Of another walk he writes:
I was led to think a good while on my deficiency in human
learning, and on my having neglected those branches which would
have been pleasing and honourable in the acquisition. Yet I
said, though with somewhat of melancholy, 'What things were gain
to me, those I counted loss for Christ.' Though I become less
esteemed by man, I cannot but think (though it is not easy to do
so) that it must be more acceptable to God to labour for souls,
though the mind remains uninformed; and, consequently, that it
must be more truly great and noble, than to be great and notable
among men for learning. In the garden afterwards I rejoiced
exceedingly at the prospect of a death fast approaching, when my
powers of understanding would be enlarged inconceivably. They
all talked to me in praise of my sermon on Sunday night; but
praise is exceedingly unpleasant to me, because I am slow to
render back to God that glory which belongs to Him alone.
Sometimes it may be useful in encouraging me, when I want
encouragement; but that at present is not the case; and in
truth, praise generally produces pride, and pride presently sets
me far from God.
Oh, what a snare are public ministrations to me! Not that I wish
for the praise of men, but there is some fear and anxiety about
not getting through. How happy could I be in meeting the people
of my God more frequently were it not for this fear of being
unprofitable! But since God has given me natural gifts, let this
teach me that all I want is a spiritual frame to improve and
employ them in the things of God!
Mr. K. White, of Nottingham, breakfasted with me. In my walk was
greatly cast down, except for a short time on my return, when,
as I was singing, or rather chanting, some petitions in a low,
plaintive voice, I insensibly found myself sweetly engaged in
prayer.
Such outpourings of his heart must be read in the light of a time when
even the Churches had not awoke to their duty, and the most theologically
orthodox were too often the most indifferent, or opposed, to the Lord's
command.
_1804, January 13._--Walked out in the evening in great
tranquillity, and on my return met with Mr. C., with whom I was
obliged to walk an hour longer. He thought it a most improper
step for me to leave the University to preach to the ignorant
heathen, which any person could do, and that I ought rather to
improve the opportunity of acquiring human learning. All our
conversation on the subject of learning, religion, &c., ended in
nothing; he was convinced he was right, and all the texts of
Scripture I produced were applicable, according to him, only to
the times of the Apostles. How is my soul constrained to adore
the sovereign mercy of God, who began His work in my proud
heart, and carried it on through snares which have ruined
thousands--namely, human learning and honours: and now my soul,
dost thou not esteem all things but dung and dross, compared
with the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord?
Yea, did not gratitude constrain me, did not duty and fear of
destruction, yet surely the excellency of the service of Christ
would constrain me to lay down ten-thousand lives in the
prosecution of it. My heart was a little discomposed this
evening at the account of the late magnificent prizes proposed
by Mr. Buchanan and others in the University, for which Mr. C.
has been calling me to write; but I was soon at rest again. But
how easily do I forget that God is no respecter of persons; that
in the midst of the notice I attract as an enthusiast He judges
of me according to my inward state. Oh, my soul, take no
pleasure in outward religion, nor in exciting wonder, but in the
true circumcision of the heart.
_January 16._-- ---- told me of many contemptuous insulting
things that had been said of me, reflecting, some on my
understanding, some on my condition, sincerity, inconsistent
conduct. It was a great trial of my patience, and I was
frequently tempted, in the course of the evening, to let my
natural spirit rage forth in indignation and revenge; but I
remembered Him of whom it was said, 'Who, when He was reviled,
reviled not again; but committed Himself to Him that judgeth
righteously.' As I was conscious I did not deserve the censures
which were passed upon me, I committed myself to God; and in Him
may I abide until the indignation be overpast!
In July 1804 he again visited London on his way to Cornwall, and to
see Mr. Charles Grant.
Dined with Mr. Wilberforce at Palace Yard. It was very
agreeable, as there was no one else. Speaking of the slave
trade, I mentioned the words, 'Shall I not visit for these
things?' and found my heart so affected that I could with
difficulty refrain from tears. Went with Mr. W. to the House of
Commons, where I was surprised and charmed with Mr. Pitt's
eloquence. Ah, thought I, if these powers of oratory were now
employed in recommending the Gospel!
On his way back to Cambridge, through London, he
Went to St. Paul's, to see Sir W. Jones's monument; the sight of
the interior of the dome filled my soul with inexpressible ideas
of the grandeur of God, and the glory of heaven, much the same
as I had at the sight of a painted vaulted roof in the British
Museum. I could scarcely believe that I might be in the
immediate enjoyments of such glory in another hour. In the
evening the sound of sacred music, with the sight of a rural
landscape, imparted some indescribable emotions after the glory
of God, by diligence in His work. To preach the Gospel for the
salvation of my poor fellow-creatures, that they might obtain
the salvation which is in Christ Jesus, with eternal glory,
seemed a very sweet and precious employment. Lydia then, again,
seemed a small hindrance.
His duties as examiner, tutor, and in charge of Lolworth, and home
mission work in Wall's Lane, the hospital and almshouse, left him
little leisure, and that he gave to the Bengali grammars of Halhed and
Carey, to Carey's Bengali New Testament, to Arabic grammars, and to
the missionary accounts in the _Christian Observer_, for which, also,
he wrote. Referring, evidently, to Carey's convert, he wrote:
The account of a Brahmin preaching the Gospel delighted me most
exceedingly. I could not help blessing God for thus glorifying
Himself.... I was much pained and humbled at reflecting that it
has never yet, to my knowledge, pleased God to awaken one soul
by my means, either in public or private,--shame be to myself.
Simeon gave me a letter from Mr. Brown of Calcutta, which gave
me great delight on many accounts. Speaking of me, he says, 'Let
him marry, and come out at once.' I thought of Lydia with great
tenderness, but without pain at my determination to go out
single. I found great affection in prayer for my dear brethren
at Calcutta, for the establishing of Christ's Kingdom among the
poor Gentiles, and for my being sent among them, if it were His
will.
Thinking my mind was in need of recreation, I took up Lord
Teignmouth's _Life of Sir William Jones_, and read till tea.
Low spirits at church, through being about to preach old
sermons, which I feel so ashamed of offering to God, that I
believe I shall rather leave everything undone, than not write
one new one at least every week.
Mr. Thomason preached on Heb. xii. to my edification.
Dr. Milner and Lord C. called. I was introduced as having been
Senior Wrangler; but how contemptible did these paltry honours
appear to me! Ah, thought I, you know not how little I am
flattered by these intended compliments.
In the hall was much affected by the sight of Lord B., whose
look of meekness and humility riveted my attention, and almost
melted me to tears. If there is one disposition in the world I
wish for more than another, it is this; but the bias of my
corrupted nature hurries me violently against it.
Mr. Grant's summons to him 'to sail for St. Helena in eight or ten
days,' reached him a month before his twenty-fourth birthday, before
which he could not legally receive full ordination, in the Chapel
Royal at St. James's.
Felt more persuaded of my call than ever; indeed, there was
scarcely a shadow of a doubt left. Rejoice, O my soul, thou
shalt be the servant of thy God in this life, and then in the
next for all the boundless ages of eternity.
Not till August 31 was it possible for the fleet which convoyed the
East Indiamen, in that year of war with France and Napoleon's
Continental allies, to see the last of Ireland. The seven months were
spent by Henry Martyn in elaborate preparations for what proved to be
nearly a year's voyage, and in repeated farewells the anguish of which
is reflected in his _Journal_ and correspondence. Having previously
taken his M.A. degree, he received that of Bachelor of Divinity by
mandate, which required the assent of all the heads of colleges, and
then a grace to pass the senate, and the presenting of a petition to the
King. Dr. Gilchrist, the Orientalist who had just returned from his long
career in Calcutta, where he had been a colleague of Carey in the
College of Fort William, gave him lessons in Hindustani pronunciation.
On my mentioning my desire of translating some of the Scriptures
with him, he advised me by all means to desist till I knew much
more of the language, by having resided some years in the
country. He said it was the rock on which missions had split,
that they had attempted to write and preach before they knew the
language. The Lord's Prayer, he said, was now a common subject
of ridicule with the people, on account of the manner in which
it had been translated. All these are useful hints to me.
The mode of appointing to Indian chaplaincies has varied so much since
the time of Charles Grant and Simeon, that it is interesting to see
what was done in Henry Martyn's case.
_1805, April 1._--Went to Lord Hawkesbury's office, but, being
too early, I went into St. James's Park, and sat down on a bench
to read my Bible. After a little time a person came and sat down
on the same bench; on entering into conversation with him I
found he had known better days. He was about seventy years of
age, and of a very passionate and disappointed spirit. He spoke
sensibly on several subjects, and was acquainted with the
Gospel; but was offended at my reminding him of several things
concerning it. On my offering him some money, which I saw he
needed, he confessed his poverty; he was thankful for my little
donation, and I repeated my advice of seeking divine
consolation.
_April 2._--Breakfasted with ----. Our conversation was on the
most delightful subject to me, the spread of the Gospel in
future ages. I went away animated and happy. Went with Mr. Grant
towards the India House. He said that he was that day about to
take the necessary steps for bringing forward the business of
the chaplains, and that by to-morrow night I should know whether
I could go or not. In prayer at night my soul panted after God,
and longed to be entirely conformed to His image.
_April 3._--After dinner, passed some time in prayer, and
rejoiced to think that God would finally glorify Himself,
whatever hindrance may arise for a time. Going to Mr. Grant's, I
found that the chaplaincies had been agreed to, after two hours'
debate, and some obloquy thrown upon Mr. Grant by the chairman,
for his connection with Mr. Wilberforce and _those people_. Mr.
G. said that though my nomination had not taken place, the case
was now beyond danger, and that I should appear before the court
in a couple of days in my canonicals. I felt very indignant at
this, not so much, I think, from personal pride, as on account
of the degradation of my office. Mr. G. pleasantly said, I must
attend to my appearance, as I should be much remarked, on
account of the person who had nominated me. I feel this will be
a trial to me, which I would never submit to for gain; but I
rejoice that it will be for my dear and blessed Lord.
_April 4._--Went down to Cambridge.
_April 6._--Passed most of the morning in the Fellows' garden.
It was the last time I visited this favourite retreat, where I
have often enjoyed the presence of God.
_April 7._ (Sunday.)--Preached at Lolworth on Prov. xxii. 17;
very few seemed affected at my leaving them, and those chiefly
women. An old farmer of a neighbouring parish, as he was taking
leave of me, turned aside to shed tears; this affected me more
than anything. Rode away with my heart heavy, partly at my own
corruption, partly at the thoughts of leaving this place in such
general hardness of heart. Yet so it hath pleased God, I hope,
to reserve them for a more faithful minister. Prayed over the
whole of my sermon for the evening, and when I came to preach
it, God assisted me beyond my hopes. Most of the younger people
seemed to be in tears. The text was 2 Sam. vii. 28, 29. Took
leave of Dr. Milner; he was much affected, and said himself his
heart was full. Mr. Simeon commended me to God in prayer, in
which he pleaded, amongst other things, for a richer blessing on
my soul. He perceives that I want it, and so do I. Professor
Parish walked home with me to the college gate, and there I
parted from him, with no small sorrow.
_April 8._--My young friends in the University, who have
scarcely left me a moment to myself, were with me this morning
as soon as I was moving, leaving me no time for prayer. My mind
was very solemn, and I wished much to be left alone. A great
many accompanied me to the coach, which took me up at the end of
the town. It was a thick, misty morning, so the University, with
its towers and spires, was out of sight in an instant.
_April 24._--Keenly disappointed at finding no letter from
Lydia; thus it pleased God, in the riches of His grace, to quash
at once all my beginnings of entanglement. Oh, may it be to make
me more entirely His own. 'The Lord shall be the portion of mine
inheritance, and of my cup.' Oh, may I live indeed a more
spiritual life of faith! Prayed that I might obtain a more deep
acquaintance with the mysteries of the Gospel, and the offices
of Christ; my soul was solemnised. Went to Russell Square, and
found from Mr. Grant that I was that day appointed a chaplain
to the East India Company, but that my particular destination
would depend on the government in India. Rather may I say that
it depends on the will of my God, who in His own time thus
brings things to pass. Oh, now let my heart be spiritualised;
that the glorious and arduous work before me may fill all my
soul, and stir me up to prayer.
_April 25._--Breakfasted with the venerable Mr. Newton, who made
several striking remarks in reference to my work. He said he had
heard of a clever gardener, who would sow the seeds when the
meat was put down to roast, and engage to produce a salad by the
time it was ready; but the Lord did not sow oaks in this way. On
my saying that perhaps I should never live to see much fruit, he
answered, I should have a bird's eye view of it, which would be
better. When I spoke of the opposition that I should be likely
to meet with, he said, he supposed Satan would not love me for
what I was about to do. The old man prayed afterwards, with
sweet simplicity. Drank tea at C. Our hearts seemed full of the
joy which comes from the communion of saints.
_April 26._--Met D. at Mr. Grant's, and was much affected at
some marks of love expressed by the people at Cambridge, at the
time of my leaving them. He said that as I was going down the
aisle they all rose up to take their last view.
_May 4._--Waiting this morning on the Archbishop of Canterbury
at Lambeth Palace. He had learnt from somebody my circumstances,
the degree I had taken, and my object in going to India. He
spoke much on the importance of the work, the small
ecclesiastical establishment for so great a body of people, and
the state of those English there, who, he said, 'called
themselves Christians.' He was throughout very civil, and wished
me all the success I desired. I then proceeded to the India
House, and received directions to attend on Wednesday to be
sworn in. Afterwards walked to Mr. Wilberforce's at Broomfield.
_May 8._--Reading Mr. Grant's book.[13] The state of the
natives, and the prospects of doing good there, the character of
Schwartz, &c., set forth in it, much impressed my mind, and I
found great satisfaction in pleading for the fulfilment of God's
promises to the heathen. It seemed painful to think of myself at
all, except in reference to the Church of Christ. Being somewhat
in danger of distraction this evening, from many concurrent
circumstances, I found a very short prayer answered by my being
kept steady. Heard from Mr. Parry this evening, that in
consequence of an embargo laid on all the ships by government,
who had taken the best seamen from the Company's ships, on
account of the sailing of the French and Spanish fleets, I
should not be able to go before the middle of June, if so soon.
_May 15._--Read prayers at Mr. Newton's, and preached on Eph.
ii. 19-21. The clerk threw out very disrespectful and even
uncivil things respecting my going to India; though I thought
the asperity and contemptuousness he manifested unsuitable to
his profession, I felt happy in the comfortable assurance of
being upright in my intentions. The sermon was much praised by
some people coming in, but happily this gives me little
satisfaction. Went home and read a sermon of Flavel's, on
knowing nothing but Christ.
_May 17._--Walked out, and continued in earnest striving with my
corruption. I made a covenant with my eyes, which I kept
strictly; though I was astonished to find the difficulty I had
in doing even this.
_May 22._--Endeavoured to guard my thoughts this morning in a
more particular manner, as expecting to pass it, with Sargent,
in prayer for assistance in the ministry. Called at Mr.
Wilberforce's, when I met Mr. Babington. The extreme kindness
and cordiality of these two was very pleasing to me, though
rather elating. By a letter from B. to-day, learnt that two
young men of Chesterton had come forward, who professed to have
been awakened by a sermon of mine on Psalm ix. 17. I was not so
affected with gratitude and joy as I expected to be; could not
easily ascribe the glory to God; yet I will bless Him through
all my ignorance that He has thus owned the ministry of one so
weak. Oh, may I have faith to go onward, expecting to see
miracles wrought by the foolishness of preaching. H., to whom I
had made application for the loan which Major Sandys found it
inconvenient to advance, dined with me, and surprised me by the
difficulty he started. After dinner went to the India House to
take leave. Mr. ----, the other chaplain, sat with me before we
were called in, and I found that I knew a little of him, having
been at his house. As he knew my character, I spoke very freely
to him on the subject of religion. Was called in to take the
oaths. All the directors were present, I think. Mr. Grant, in
the chair, addressed a charge to us, extempore. One thing struck
my attention, which was, that he warned us of the enervating
effects of the climate.
I felt more acutely than ever I did in my life the shame
attending poverty. Nothing but the remembrance that I was not to
blame supported me. Whatever comes to me in the way of
Providence is, and must be, for my good.
_May 30._--Went to the India House. Kept the covenant with my
eyes pretty well. Oh, what bitter experience have I had to teach
me carefulness against temptation! I have found this method,
which I have sometimes had recourse to, useful to-day--namely,
that of praying in ejaculations for any particular person whose
appearance might prove an occasion of sinful thoughts. After
asking of God that she might be as pure and beautiful in her
mind and heart as in body, and be a temple of the Holy Ghost,
consecrated to the service of God, for whose glory she was
made, I dare not harbour a thought of an opposite tendency.
_June 6._--How many temptations are there in the streets of
London!
_June 14._--Sent off all my luggage, as preparatory to its going
on board. Dined at Mr. Cecil's; he endeavoured to correct my
reading, but in vain. 'Brother M.,' says he, 'you are a humble
man, and would gain regard in private life; but to gain public
attention you must force yourself into a more marked and
expressive manner.' Generally, to-night, have I been above the
world; Lydia, and other comforts, I would resign.
_June 16._--I thought it probable, from illness, that death
might be at hand, and this was before me all the day; sometimes
I was exceedingly refreshed and comforted at the thought, at
other times I felt unwilling and afraid to die. Shed tears at
night, at the thought of my departure, and the roaring sea, that
would soon be rolling between me and all that is dear to me upon
earth.
Mrs. T.M. Hitchins, his cousin's wife, having asked him for some of
his sermons, he replied:
London: June 24, 1805.
The arguments you offer to induce me seem not to possess that
force which I look for in your reasoning. Sermons cannot be good
memorials, because once read they are done with--especially a
young man's sermons, unless they possess a peculiar simplicity
and spirituality; which I need not say are qualities not
belonging to mine. I hope, however, that I am improving and I
trust that--now I am removed from the contagion of academic
air--I am in the way of acquiring a greater knowledge of men and
of my own heart--I shall exchange my jejune scholastic style for
a simple spiritual exhibition of profitable truth. Mr. Cecil has
been taking a great deal of pains with me. My insipid,
inanimate manner in the pulpit, he says, is intolerable. Sir,
said he, it is cupola-painting, not miniature, that must be the
character of a man that harangues a multitude. Lieut. Wynter
called on me last Saturday, and last night drank tea with me. I
cannot but admire his great seriousness. I feel greatly attached
to him. He is just the sort of person, of a sober thoughtful
cast, that I love to associate with. He mentioned Lydia, I do
not know why, but he could not tell me half enough about her,
while she was at Plymouth, to satisfy my curiosity. Whitsun-week
was a time of the utmost distress to me on her account. On the
Monday at the Eclectic, Mr. Cecil, speaking of celibacy, said, I
was acting like a madman in going out without a wife. So thought
all the other ten or eleven ministers present, and Mr. Foster
among the rest, who is unmarried. This opinion, coming
deliberately from so many experienced ministers, threw me into
great perplexity, which increased, as my affections began to be
set more afloat, for then I was less able than before to discern
the path of duty. At last I wrote to Simeon, stating to him the
strongest arguments I heard in favour of marriage in my case.
His answer decided my mind. He put it in this way. Is it
necessary? To this I could answer, No. Then is it expedient? He
here produced so many weighty reasons against its expediency,
that I was soon satisfied in my mind. My turbulent will was,
however, not so easily pacified. I was again obliged to undergo
the severest pain in making that sacrifice which had cost me so
dear before. Better had it been if those wounds had never been
torn open. But now again, through the mercy of God, I am once
more at peace. What cannot His power effect? The present wish of
my heart is that there may be _never_ a necessity of marriage,
so that I may henceforth have no one thing upon earth for which
I would wish to stay another hour, except it be to serve the
Lord my Saviour in the work of the ministry. Once more,
therefore, I say to Lydia, and with her to all earthly schemes
of happiness, Farewell. Let her live happy and useful in her
present situation, since that is the will of God. How long these
thoughts may continue, I cannot say. At times of indolence, or
distress, or prevalent corruption, the former wishes, I suppose,
will occur and renew my pain: but pray, my dear sister, that the
Lord may keep in the imaginations of the thoughts of my heart
all that may be for the glory of His great name. The only
objection which presented itself to my advisers to marriage was
the difficulty of finding a proper person to be the wife of a
missionary. I told them that perhaps I should not have occasion
to search a long time for one. Simeon knows all about Lydia. I
think it very likely that he will endeavour to see her when she
comes to town next winter.
(_Addendum at the commencement, before the Address._)
I never returned my acknowledgment for the little hymn book,
which is a memento of both. It is just the sort of thing.
Instead of sending the books I intended, I shall inclose in the
tea-caddy a little _Pilgrim's Progress_ for you, and another for
Lydia.
July 2 was spent with Corrie in prayer, and converse 'about the great
work among the heathen.' Martyn gave a final sitting for his miniature
for his sister, to 'the painter lady, who still repeated her infidel
cavils; having nothing more to say in the way of argument, I thought
it right to declare the threatenings of God to those who reject the
Gospel.' On the 8th he sat for his picture, for his friend Bates, to
Russel. After his farewell to Sargent, and riding back,
Though I was in good health a moment before, yet as I was
undressing I fainted and fell into a convulsive fit; I lost my
senses for some time, and on recovering a little found myself
in intense pain. Death appeared near at hand, and seemed
somewhat different and more terrible than I could have conceived
before, not in its conclusion, but in itself. I felt assured of
my safety in Christ. Slept very little that night, from extreme
debility. Tenth, I went to Portsmouth, where we arrived to
breakfast, and find friends from Cambridge. Went with my things
on board the Union at the Motherbank. Mr. Simeon read and prayed
in the afternoon, thinking I was to go on board for the last
time. Mr. Simeon first prayed, and then myself. On our way to
the ship we sung hymns. The time was exceedingly solemn, and our
hearts seemed filled with solemn joy.
As tidings from Lord Nelson were waited for, the fleet--consisting of
fifteen sail under convoy of the Belliqueuse, Captain Byng--went no
farther than Plymouth, and then anchored off Falmouth.
The coast of Devonshire and Cornwall was passing before me. The
memory of beloved friends, then, was very strong and
affecting.... I was rather flurried at the singularity of this
providence of God, in thus leading me once more to the bosom of
all my friends.... I have thought with exceeding tenderness of
Lydia to-day; how I long to see her; but if it be the Lord's
will, He will open a way. I shall not take any steps to produce
a meeting.
So he wrote on July 20. On the same day, the Rev. T.M. Hitchins wrote
to him, thus: 'Lydia, from whom we heard about ten days ago, is quite
well. She is much interested in your welfare.' Mrs. Hitchins wrote:
'Lydia, whom I heard lately from, is well, and never omits mentioning
you in her letters--and, I may venture to say, what you will value
still more, in her prayers also.' Martyn wrote to Mr. Hitchins on the
23rd: 'A great work lies before me, and I must submit to many
privations if I would see it accomplished. I should say, however, that
poverty is not one of the evils I shall have to encounter; the salary
of a chaplain, even at the lowest, is 600 rupees a month. Give my kind
love to mama--as also to Miss L. Grenfell.' A postscript to the letter
stated that the writer had taken his place in the coach for Marazion:
'Trust to pass some part of the morning at Miss Grenfell's.' He thus
records in his _Journal_ the interviews which resulted in what
amounted to a brief engagement:
I arrived at Marazion in time for breakfast, and met my beloved
Lydia. In the course of the morning I walked with her, though
not uninterruptedly; with much confusion I declared my affection
for her, with the intention of learning whether, if ever I saw
it right in India to be married, she would come out; but she
would not declare her sentiments, she said that the shortness of
arrangement was an obstacle, even if all others were removed. In
great tumult I walked up to St. Hilary, whence, after dining, I
returned to Mr. Grenfell's, but, on account of the number of
persons there, I had not an opportunity of being alone with
Lydia. Went back to Falmouth with G. I was more disposed to talk
of Lydia all the way, but roused myself to a sense of my duty,
and addressed him on the subject of religion. The next day I was
exceedingly melancholy at what had taken place between Lydia and
myself, and at the thought of being separated from her. I could
not bring myself to believe that God had settled the whole
matter, because I was not willing to believe it.
TO MISS LYDIA GRENFELL, MARAZION
Union, Falmouth Harbour: July 27, 1805.
... As I was coming on board this morning, and reading Mr.
Serle's hymn you wrote out for me, a sudden gust of wind blew
it into the sea. I made the boatmen immediately heave to, and
recovered it, happily without any injury except what it had
received from the sea. I should have told you that the Morning
Hymn, which I always kept carefully in my pocket-book, was one
day stolen with it, and other valuable letters, from my rooms in
college. It would be extremely gratifying to me to possess
another copy of it, as it always reminded me most forcibly of
the happy day on which we visited the aged saint. The fleet, it
is said, will not sail for three weeks, but if you are willing
to employ any of your time in providing me with this or any
other manuscript hymns, the sooner you write them, the more
certain I shall be of receiving them. Pardon me for thus
intruding on your time; you will in no wise lose your reward.
The encouragement conveyed in little compositions of this sort
is more refreshing than a cup of cold water. The Lord of the
harvest, who is sending forth me, who am most truly less than
the least of all saints, will reward you for being willing to
help forward even the meanest of His servants. The love which
you bear to the cause of Christ, as well as motives of private
friendship, will, I trust, induce you to commend me to God, and
to the word of His grace, at those sacred moments when you
approach the throne of our covenant God. To His gracious care I
commend you. May you long live happy and holy, daily growing
more meet for the inheritance of the saints in light. I remain,
with affectionate regard, yours most truly,
H. MARTYN.
_July 28._--(Sunday.)--Preached in the morning, on board, on
John iii. 3. In the afternoon, at Falmouth Church, on 1 Cor. i.
20 to 26.
_July 29._--My gloom returned. Walked to Lamorran; alternately
repining at my dispensation, and giving it up to the Lord.
Sometimes--after thinking of Lydia for a long time together, so
as to feel almost outrageous at being deprived of her--my soul
would feel its guilt, and flee again to God. I was much relieved
at intervals by learning the hymn, 'The God of Abraham praise.'
The lady's _Diary_ has these passages, which show that her sister,
Mrs. Hitchins, had rightly represented the state of her heart as not
altogether refusing to return Martyn's affection:
_1805, July 25._--I was surprised this morning by a visit from
H.M., and have passed the day chiefly with him. The distance he
is going, and the errand he is going on, rendered his society
particularly interesting. I felt as if bidding a final adieu to
him in this world, and all he said was as the words of one on
the borders of eternity. May I improve the opportunity I have
enjoyed of Christian converse, and may the Lord moderate the
sorrow I feel at parting with so valuable and excellent
friend--some pains have attended it, known only to God and
myself. Thou God, that knowest them, canst alone give
comfort.... Oh, may we each pursue our different paths, and meet
at last around our Father's throne; may we often meet now in
spirit, praying and obtaining blessings for each other. Now, my
soul, return to God, the author of them.
_July 26._--Oh, how this day has passed away! Nothing done to
any good purpose. Lord, help me! I feel Thy loved presence
withdrawn; I feel departing from Thee. Oh, let Thy mercy pardon,
let Thy love succour, me. Deliver me from this temptation, set
my soul at liberty, and I will praise Thee. I know the cause of
all this darkness, this depression; dare I desire what Thou dost
plainly, by the voice of Thy providence, condemn? O Lord, help
me to conquer my natural feelings, help me to be watchful as Thy
child. Oh, leave me not; or I fall a prey to this corroding
care. Let me cast every care on Thee.
_Gurlyn, July 30._--Blessed Lord, I thank Thee for affording me
the retirement I so much delight in; here I enjoy freedom from
all the noise and interruption of a town. Oh, may the Lord
sanctify this pleasure. Oh, may it prove the means of benefiting
my soul. Oh, may I watch against the intrusions of vain
thoughts; else, instead of an advantage, I shall find solitude
ruinous to my soul.
_August 4._--This evening my soul has been pained with many
fears concerning an absent friend, yet the Lord sweetly supports
me, and is truly a refuge to me. It is a stormy and tempestuous
night; the stillness and retirement of this place add to the
solemnity of the hour. I hear the voice of God in every
blast--it seems to say, 'Sin has brought storm and tempest on a
guilty world.' O my Father and my God, Thou art righteous in all
Thy judgments, merciful in all Thy ways. I would humbly trust in
Thee, and confide all who are dear to me into Thy hands. The
anxieties of nature, the apprehensions of affection, do Thou
regulate, and make me acquiesce in whatever is Thy will.
_August 5._--My mind is relieved to-day by hearing the fleet, in
which I thought my friend had sailed, has not left the port. Oh,
how frequently do unnecessary pains destroy our peace. Lord,
look on me to-night, pardon my sins and make me more watchful
and fight against my inward corruption. Oh, it is a state of
conflict indeed!
He thus wrote to Mrs. Hitchins:
Falmouth: July 30, 1805.
'My dearest Cousin,--I am exceedingly rejoiced at being
permitted to send you one more letter, as the former, if it had
been the last, would have left, I fear, a painful impression on
your mind. It pleased God to restore peace to my mind soon after
I came on board--as I thought--finally. I was left more alone
with God, and found blessed seasons of intercourse with Him. But
when your letter came, I found it so sympathising, so
affectionate, that my heart was filled with joy and thankfulness
to God for such a dear friend, and I could not refrain from
bowing my knees immediately to pray that God might bless all
your words to the good of my soul, and bless you for having
written them. My views of the respective importance of things
continue, I hope, to rectify. The shortness of time, the
precious value of immortal souls, and the plain command of
Christ, all conspire to teach me that Lydia must be
resigned--and for ever--for though you suggest the possibility
of my hereafter returning and being united to her, I rather wish
to beware of looking forward to anything in this life as the end
or reward of my labours. It would be a temptation to me to
return before being necessitated. The rest which remaineth for
the people of God is in another world, where they neither marry
nor are given in marriage. But while I thus reason, still a sigh
will ever and anon escape me at the thought of a final
separation from her. In the morning when I rise, before prayer
puts grace into exercise, there is generally a very heavy gloom
on my spirits--and a distaste for everything in earth or heaven.
You do not seem to suppose that any objection would remain in
her mind, if I should return and other obstacles were
removed--which opinion of yours is, no doubt, very pleasing to
me--but if there _were_ anything more than friendship, do you
think it at all likely she could have spoken and written to me
as she has? However, do not suppose from this that I wish to
hear from you anything more on this subject--in the hope of
being gratified with an assurance to the contrary. I cannot tell
what induced me to take my leave of the people in the west when
I was last there, as it was so probable we should be detained;
were it not for having bid them adieu, I believe I should pay
them another visit--only that I could not do it without being
with Lydia again, which might not perhaps answer any good
purpose, and more probably would renew the pain.
If, in India, I should be persuaded of the expediency of
marriage, you perceive that I can do nothing less than make her
the offer, or rather propose the sacrifice. It would be almost
cruel and presumptuous in me to make such an application to her,
especially as she would be induced by a sense of duty rather
than personal attachment. But what else can be done? Should she
not, then, be warned of my intention--before I go? If you
advance no objection, I shall write a letter to her,
notwithstanding her prohibition. When this is done no further
step remains to be taken, that I know of. The shortness of our
acquaintance, which she made a ground of objection, cannot now
be remedied.
The matter, as it stands, must be left with God--and I do leave
it with Him very cheerfully. I pray that hereafter I may not be
tempted to follow my will, and mistake it for God's--to fancy I
am called to marriage, when I ought to remain single--and you
will likewise pray, my dear cousin, that my mind may be always
under a right direction.
His _Journal_ thus continues:
_July 31._--Went on board this morning in extreme anguish. I
could not help saying, 'Lord, it is not a sinful attachment in
itself, and therefore I may commune more freely with Thee about
it.' I sought for hymns suitable to my case, but none did
sufficiently; most complained of spiritual distress, but mine
was not from any doubt of God's favour, for I felt no doubt of
that.
_August 1._--Rose in great anguish of mind, but prayer relieved
me a little. The wind continuing foul, I went ashore after
breakfast; but before this, sat down to write to Lydia, hoping
to relieve the burden of my mind. I wrote in great turbulence,
but in a little time my tumult unaccountably subsided, and I
enjoyed a peace to which I have been for some time a stranger. I
felt exceedingly willing to leave her, and to go on my way
rejoicing. I could not account for this, except by ascribing it
to the gracious influence of God. The first few Psalms were
exceedingly comfortable to me. Received a letter this evening
from Emma, and received it as from God; I was animated before,
but this added tenfold encouragement. She warned me, from
experience, of the carefulness it would bring upon me; but spoke
with such sympathy and tenderness, that my heart was quite
refreshed. I bowed my knees to bless and adore God for it, and
devoted myself anew to His beloved service. Went on board at
night; the sea ran high, but I felt a sweet tranquillity in Him
who stilleth the raging of the sea. I was delighted to find that
the Lascars understood me perfectly when I spoke to them a
sentence or two in Hindustani.
_August 5._--Went ashore. Walked to Pendennis garrison; enjoyed
some happy reflections as I sat on one of the ramparts, looking
at the ships and sea.
_August 7._--Preached at Falmouth Church, on Psalm iii. 1, with
much comfort; after church, set off to walk to St. Hilary.
Reached Helston in three hours in extraordinary spirits. The joy
of my soul was very great. Every object around me called forth
praise and gratitude to God. Perhaps it might have been joy at
the prospect of seeing Lydia, but I asked myself at the time,
whether out of love to God I was willing to turn back and see
her no more. I persuaded myself that I could. But perhaps had I
been put to the trial, it would have been otherwise. I arrived
safe at St. Hilary, and passed the evening agreeably with R.
8th. Enjoyed much of the presence of God in morning prayer. The
morning passed profitably in writing on Heb. ii. 3. My soul
seemed to breathe seriously after God. Walked down with R. to
Gurlyn to call on Lydia. She was not at home when we called, so
I walked out to meet her. When I met her coming up the hill, I
was almost induced to believe her more interested about me than
I had conceived. Went away in the expectation of visiting her
frequently. Called on my way (from Falmouth) at Gurlyn. My mind
not in peace; at night in prayer, my soul was much overwhelmed
with fear, which caused me to approach God in fervent petition,
that He would make me perfectly upright, and my walk consistent
with the high character I am called to assume.
_August 10._--Rose very early, with uneasiness increased by
seeing the wind northerly; walked away at seven to Gurlyn,
feeling little or no pleasure at the thought of seeing Lydia;
apprehension about the sailing of the fleet made me dreadfully
uneasy; was with Lydia a short time before breakfast; afterwards
I read the 10th Psalm, with Horne's Commentary, to her and her
mother; she was then just putting into my hand the 10th of
Genesis to read when a servant came in, and said a horse was
come for me from St. Hilary, where a carriage was waiting to
convey me to Falmouth. All my painful presentiments were thus
realised, and it came upon me like a thunderbolt. Lydia was
evidently painfully affected by it; she came out, that we might
be alone at taking leave, and I then told her, that if it should
appear to be God's will that I should be married, she must not
be offended at receiving a letter from me. In the great hurry
she discovered more of her mind than she intended; she made no
objection whatever to coming out. Thinking, perhaps, I wished to
make an engagement with her, she said we had better go quite
free; with this I left her, not knowing yet for what purpose I
have been permitted, by an unexpected providence, to enjoy these
interviews. I galloped back to St. Hilary, and instantly got
into a chaise with Mr. R., who had been awaked by the signal gun
at five in the morning, and had come for me. At Hildon I got a
horse, with which I rode to Falmouth, meeting on the road
another express sent after me by R. I arrived about twelve, and
instantly went on board; almost all the other ships were under
weigh, but the Union had got entangled in the chains. The
commodore expressed his anger as he passed, at this delay, but
I blessed the Lord, who had thus saved His poor creature from
shame and trouble. How delusive are schemes of pleasure; at nine
in the morning I was sitting at ease, with the person dearest to
me on earth, intending to go out with her afterwards to see the
different views, to visit some persons with her, and to preach
on the morrow; four hours only elapsed, and I was under sail
from England! The anxiety to get on board, and the joy I felt at
not being left behind, absorbed other sorrowful considerations
for a time; wrote several letters as soon as I was on board.
When I was left a little at leisure, my spirits began to sink;
yet how backward was I to draw near to my God. I found relief
occasionally, yet still was slow to fly to this refuge of my
weary soul. Was meditating on a subject for to-morrow. As more
of the land gradually appeared behind the Lizard, I watched with
my spy-glass for the Mount (St. Michael's), but in consequence
of lying to for the purser, and thus dropping astern of the
fleet, night came on before we weathered the point. Oh, let not
my soul be deceived and distracted by these foolish vanities,
but now that I am actually embarked in Christ's cause, let a
peculiar unction rest upon my soul, to wean me from the world,
and to inspire me with ardent zeal for the good of souls.
TO MISS LYDIA GRENFELL
Union, Falmouth: August 10, 1805.
My dear Miss Lydia,--It will perhaps be some satisfaction to
yourself and your mother, to know that I was in time. Our ship
was entangled in the chain, and was by that means the only one
not under weigh when I arrived. It seems that most of the people
on board had given me up, and did not mean to wait for me. I
cannot but feel sensibly this instance of Divine mercy in thus
preserving me from the great trouble that would have attended
the loss of my passage. Mount's Bay will soon be in sight, and
recall you all once more to my affectionate remembrance.... I
bid you a long Farewell. God ever bless you, and help you
sometimes to intercede for me.
H. MARTYN.
The lady alludes thus, in her _Diary_, to these events, in language
which confesses her love, as she did not again confess it till after
his death:[14]
_August 8._--I was surprised again to-day by a visit from my
friend, Mr. Martyn, who, contrary to every expectation, is
detained, perhaps weeks longer. I feel myself called on to act
decisively--oh how difficult and painful a part--Lord, assist
me. I desire to be directed by Thy wisdom, and to follow
implicitly what appears Thy will. May we each consider Thy
honour as entrusted to us, and resolve, whatever it may cost us,
to seek Thy glory and do Thy will. O Lord, I feel myself so weak
that I would fain fly from the trial. My hope is in Thee--do
Thou strengthen me, help me to seek, to know, and resolutely to
do, Thy will, and that we may be each divinely influenced, and
may principle be victorious over feeling. Thou, blessed Spirit,
aid, support, and guide us. Now may we be in the armour of God,
now may we flee from temptation. O blessed Jesus, leave me not,
forsake me not.
_August 9._--What a day of conflict has this been! I was much
blessed, as if to prepare me for it, in the morning, and
expected to see my friend, and hoped to have acted with
Christian resolution. At Tregembo I learnt he had been called on
by express last night. The effect this intelligence had on me
shows how much my affections are engaged. O Lord, I lament it, I
wonder at myself, I tremble at what may be before me--but do
not, O Lord, forsake me. The idea of his going, when at parting
I behaved with greater coolness and reserve than I ever did
before, was a distress I could hardly bear, and I prayed the
Lord to afford me an opportunity of doing away the impression
from his mind. I saw no possibility of this--imagining the fleet
must have sailed--when, to my astonishment, I learnt from our
servant that he had called again this evening, and left a
message that he would be here to-morrow. Oh, I feel less able
than ever to conceal my real sentiments, and the necessity of
doing it does not so much weigh with me. O my soul, pause,
reflect--thy future happiness, and his too, the glory of God,
the peace of my dear mother--all are concerned in what may pass
to-morrow; I can only look and pray to be directed aright.
_August 10._--Much have I to testify of supporting grace this
day, and of what I must consider Divine interference in my
favour, and that of my dear friend, who is now gone to return no
more. My affections are engaged past recalling, and the anguish
I endured yesterday, from an apprehension that I had treated him
with coolness, exceeds my power to express; but God saw it, and
kindly ordered it that he should come and do away the idea from
my mind. It contributed likewise to my peace, and I hope to his,
that it is clearly now understood between us that he is free to
marry where he is going, and I have felt quite resigned to the
will of God in this, and shall often pray the Lord to find him a
suitable partner.
Went to meeting in a comfortable frame, but the intelligence
brought me there--that the fleet had probably sailed without my
friend--so distressed and distracted my mind, that I would
gladly have exchanged my feelings of yesterday for those I was
now exercised with; yet in prayer I found relief, and in
appealing to God. How unsought by me was his coming here. I
still felt anxiety beyond all expression to hear if he arrived
in time or not. Oh, not for all the world could offer me would I
he should lose his passage!--yet stay, my soul, recollect
thyself, are not all events at the Lord's disposal? Are not the
steps of a good man ordered by the Lord? Cast then this burden
on Him who carest for thee, my soul. Oh, let not Thy name, great
God, be blasphemed through us--surely we desire to glorify it
above all things, and would sacrifice everything to do so; enter
then my mind this night, and let me in every dark providence
trust in the Lord.
_August 11._--A day of singular mercies. O my soul, how should
the increasing goodness of God engage thee to serve Him with
more zeal and ardour. I had a comfortable season in prayer
before breakfast, enjoying sweet liberty of spirit before God my
Saviour, God, the sinner's friend and helper. Went to church,
but could get no comfort from the sermon; the service I found in
some parts quickening. On my return I found a letter from my
excellent friend, dated on board the Union. Oh, what a relief to
my mind! By a singular providence this ship was prevented
sailing by getting entangled in the chain; every other belonging
to the fleet was under weigh when he reached Falmouth, and his
friends there had given over the hope of his arriving in time.
Doth not God care for His people, and order everything, even the
most trifling, that concerns them? The fleet must not sail till
the man of God joined it;--praised be the name of the Lord for
this instance of His watchful care. And now, my soul, turn to
God, thy rest. Oh, may the remembrance of my dear friend, whilst
it is cherished as it ought, be no hindrance to my progress in
grace and holiness. May God alone fill my thoughts, and may my
regard for my friend be sanctified, and be a means of
stimulating me to press forward, and animate me in devoting
myself entirely to God. Lord, I would unfeignedly adore Thee for
all the instances of Thy loving kindness to me this week. I have
had many remarkable answers to prayer, many proofs that the Lord
watches over me, unworthy as I am. O Divine Saviour, how shall I
praise Thee? Walked this evening to a little meeting at Thirton
Wood. I was greatly refreshed and comforted. Oh, what a support
in time of trouble is the Lord God of Israel! I am about
retiring to rest--oh, may my thoughts upon my bed be solemn and
spiritual. The remembrance of my dear friend is at times
attended with feelings most painful, and yet, when I consider
why he is gone, and Whom he is serving, every burden is removed,
and I rejoice on his account, and rejoice that the Lord has such
a faithful servant employed in the work. Oh, may I find grace
triumphant over every feeling of my heart. Come, Lord Jesus, and
dwell with me.
_August 12._--Passed a sweet, peaceful day, enjoying much of His
presence whose favour giveth life, and joy, and peace. Visited
several of the poor near me, and found ability to speak freely
and feelingly to them of the state of their souls. My dear
absent friend is constantly remembered by me, but I find not his
remembrance a hindrance to my soul in following after God--no,
rather does it stimulate me in my course. Thus hath the Lord
answered my prayers, as it respects myself, that our regard
might be a sanctified one. Oh, bless the Lord, my soul, for
ever! praise Him in cheerful lays from day to day, and hope
eternally to do so.
_August 13._--Awoke early and had a happy season. Visited a poor
old man in great poverty, whose mind seemed disposed to receive
instruction, and in some measure enlightened to know his sinful
state and need of Christ; I found it a good time whilst with
him. This evening my spirits are depressed; my absent friend is
present to my remembrance, possessing more than common
sensibility and affection. What must his sufferings be? but God
is sufficient for him. He that careth for the falling sparrow
will not forget him--this is my never-failing source of
consolation.
_August 15._--My soul has been cold in duties to-day. Oh, for
the spirit of devotion! Great are the things God has wrought for
me; oh, let these great things suitably impress my soul. I have
had many painful reflections to-day respecting my absent friend,
fearing whether I may not be the occasion of much sorrow to him
and possibly of hindering him in the work. I could not do such
violence to my feelings as to treat him with reserve and
distance, yet, in his circumstances, I think I ought to. O Lord,
if in this I have offended, forgive me, and oh, do away from his
mind every improper remembrance of me. Help me to cast my cares
on Thee to-night, and help me with peace.
_Marazion, September 2._--My mind has been exercised with many
painful anxieties about my dear friend, but I have poured out my
soul to God, and am relieved; I have left my sorrows with Him.
Isaiah (41st chapter) has comforted me. Oh, what pleasure did
that permission give me when my heart was overburdened to-day.
'Produce your cause'--what a privilege to come to God as a
friend. I disclose those feelings to Him I have no power to any
earthly friend. Those I could say most to seem to avoid the
subject that occupies my mind; I have been wounded by their
silence, yet I do not imagine them indifferent or unconcerned.
It is well for me they have seemed to be so, for it has made me
more frequent at a throne of grace, and brought me more
acquainted with God as a friend who will hear all my complaints.
Oh, how sweet to approach Him, through Christ, as my God. 'Fear
not,' He says, 'for I am with you: be not dismayed, I am thy
God, I will strengthen thee, yea (O blessed assurance!) I will
help thee, yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of My
righteousness;' and so I find it--glory be to God! Lord, hear
the frequent prayers I offer for Thy dear servant, sanctify our
mutual regard; may it continue through eternity, flowing from
our love to Thee.
_September 3._--Still no letters from Stoke, and no intelligence
whether the fleet has sailed--this is no small exercise of my
patience, but at times I feel a sweet complacency in saying,
'Thou art my portion, O Lord.' I have often felt happy in saying
this, but it is in a season such as this, when creature comforts
fail, that we may know whether we are sincere in saying so. Ah!
how do we imperceptibly cleave to earth, and how soon withdraw
our affections from God. I am sensible mine would never fix on
Him but by His own power effecting it. I rest on Thy power, O
God most high, retired from human observation.
When the commodore opened his sealed despatches off the Lizard, it was
found that the fleet was to linger still longer at Cork, whence Henry
Martyn wrote again to Lydia's sister, Mrs. Hitchins. On Sunday, when
becalmed in Mount's Bay, and he would have given anything to have been
ashore preaching at Marazion or St. Hilary, he had taken for his text
Hebrews xi. 16: 'But now they desire a better country, that is, an
heavenly.'
Cork Harbour: August 19, 1805.
The beloved objects were still in sight, and Lydia I knew was
about that time at St. Hilary, but every wave bore me farther
and farther from them. I introduced what I had to say by
observing that we had now bid adieu to England, and its shores
were dying away from the view. The female part of my audience
were much affected, but I do not know that any were induced to
seek the better country. The Mount continued in sight till five
o'clock, when it disappeared behind the western boundary of the
bay. Amidst the extreme gloom of my mind this day I found great
comfort in interceding earnestly for my beloved friends all over
England. If you have heard from Marazion since Sunday, I should
be curious to know whether the fleet was observed passing....
We are now in the midst of a vast number of transports filled
with troops. It is now certain from our coming here that we are
to join in some expedition, probably the Cape of Good Hope, or
the Brazils; anywhere for me so long as the Lord goes with me.
If it should please God to send me another letter from you,
which I scarcely dare hope, do not forget to tell me as much as
you can about Lydia. I cannot write to her, or I should find the
greatest relief and pleasure even in transmitting upon paper the
assurances of my tenderest love.
Cove of Cork: August 28, 1805.
My dearest Cousin,--I have but a few minutes to say that we are
again going to sea--under convoy of five men of war. Very
anxiously have I been expecting to receive an answer to the
letter I sent you on my arrival at this port, bearing date
August 16; from the manner in which I had it conveyed to the
post-office, I begin to fear it has never reached you. I have
this instant received the letter you wrote me the day on which
we sailed from Falmouth. Everything from you gives me the
greatest pleasure, but this letter has rather tended to excite
sentiments of pain as well as pleasure. I fear my proceedings
have met with your disapprobation, and have therefore been
wrong--since it is more probable you should judge impartially
than myself.
I am now fully of opinion that, were I convinced of the
expediency of marriage, I ought not in conscience to propose it,
while the obstacle of S.J. remains. Whatever others have said, I
think that Lydia acts no more than consistently by persevering
in her present determination. I confess, therefore, that till
this obstacle is removed my path is perfectly clear, and,
blessed be God! I feel very, very happy in all that my God shall
order concerning me. Let me suffer privation, and sorrow and
death, if I may by these tribulations enter into the kingdom of
God. Since we have been lying here I have been enjoying a peace
almost uninterrupted. The Spirit of adoption has been drawing me
near to God, and giving me the full assurance of His love. My
prayer is continually that I may be more deeply and habitually
convinced of His unchanging, everlasting love, and that my whole
soul may be altogether in Christ. The Lord teaches me to desire
Christ for my all in all--to long to be encircled in His
everlasting arms, to be swallowed up in the fulness of His love.
Surely the soul is happy that thus bathes in a medium of love. I
wish no created good, but to be one with Him and to be living
for my Saviour and Lord. Oh, may it be my constant care to live
free from the spirit of bondage, and at all times have access to
the Father. This I now feel, my beloved cousin, should be our
state--perfect reconciliation with God, perfect appropriation of
Him in all His endearing attributes, according to all that He
has promised. This shall bear us safely through the storm. Oh,
how happy are we in being introduced to such high privileges!
You and my dear brother, and Lydia, I rejoice to think, are
often praying for me and interested about me. I have, of course,
much more time and leisure to intercede for you than you for
me--and you may be assured I do not fail to employ my superior
opportunities in your behalf. Especially is it my prayer that
the mind of my dear cousin, formed as it is by nature and by
grace for higher occupations, may not be rendered uneasy by the
employments and cares of this.
Hearing nothing accurately of the India fleet after its departure from
Mount's Bay, Lydia Grenfell thus betrayed to herself and laid before
God her loving anxiety:
_1805, September 24._--Have I not reason ever, and in all
things, to trust and bless God? O my soul, why dost thou yield
to despondency? why art thou disquieted? O my soul, put thy
trust in God, assured that thou shalt yet praise Him, who is the
help of thy countenance and thy God in Christ Jesus. My mind is
under considerable anxiety, arising from the uncertainty of my
dear friend's situation, and an apprehension of his being ill.
Oh, how soon is my soul filled with confusion! yet I find repose
for it in the love of Jesus--oh, let me then raise my eyes to
Him, and may His love be shed abroad in my heart; make me in all
things resigned to Thy will, to trust and hope and rejoice in
Thee.
_November 1._--My dear absent friend has too much occupied my
thoughts and affections, and broken my peace--but Jesus reigns
in providence and grace, and He does all things well. Yes, in my
best moments I can rejoice in believing this, but too often I
yield to unbelieving fears and discouragements. The thought that
we shall meet no more sinks at times my spirits, yet I would say
and feel submissive--Thy will be done. Choose for my motto, on
entering my thirty-first year, this Scripture: 'Our days on the
earth are as a shadow, and there is none abiding.'
_November 4._--I think of my friend, but blessed be God for not
suffering my regard to lead me from Himself.
_November 16._--I have been employed to-day in a painful manner,
writing[15] (perhaps for the last time) to too dear a friend. I
have to bless God for keeping me composed whilst doing so, and
for peace of mind since, arising from a conviction that I have
done right; and oh, that I may now be enabled to turn my thought
from all below to that better world where my soul hopes
eternally to dwell. Blessed Lord Jesus, be my strength and
shield. Oh, let not the enemy harass me, nor draw my affections
from Thee.
_November 17._--Felt great depression of spirits to-day, from
the improbability of ever seeing H.M. return. I feel it
necessary to fly to God, praying for submission to His will, and
to rest assured of the wisdom and love of this painful event. O
my soul, rise from these cares, look beyond the boundary of
time. Oh, cheering prospect, in that blest world where my
Redeemer lives I shall regain every friend I love--with
Christian love again. Be resigned then, my soul, Jesus is thine,
and He does all things well.
FOOTNOTES:
[10] Deposited by Henry Martyn Jeffery, Esq., in the Truro Museum of
the Royal Institution, where the MS. may be consulted.
[11] Hitherto unpublished. We owe the copy of this significant letter
to the courtesy of H.M. Jeffery, Esq., F.R.S., for whom Canon Moor, of
St. Clement's, near Truro, procured it from the friend to whom Mrs.
T.M. Hitchins had given it.
[12] _Essays in Ecclesiastical Biography._
[13] The _Observations on the State of Society among the Asiatic
Subjects of Great Britain_, written in 1792.
[14] The parallel between Henry Martyn and David Brainerd, so close as
to spiritual experience and missionary service, hereditary consumption
and early death, is even more remarkable in their hopeless but
purifying love. Brainerd was engaged to Jerusha, younger daughter of
the great Jonathan Edwards. 'Dear Jerusha, are you willing to part
with me?' said the dying missionary on October 4, 1747.... 'If I
thought I should not see you and be happy with you in another world, I
could not bear to part with you. But we shall spend a happy eternity
together!' See J.M. Sherwood's edition (1885) of the _Memoirs of Rev.
David Brainerd_, prefaced by Jonathan Edwards, D.D., p. 340.
[15] This letter never reached its destination, but was captured in
the Bell Packet.
CHAPTER III
THE NINE MONTHS' VOYAGE--SOUTH AMERICA--SOUTH AFRICA, 1805-1806
The East India fleet had been detained off Ireland 'for fear of
immediate invasion, in which case the ships might be of use.' The
young chaplain was kept busy enough in his own and the other vessels.
In one of these, the Ann, there was a mutiny. Another, the Pitt, was a
Botany Bay ship, carrying out 120 female convicts. Thanks to Charles
Simeon, he was able to supply all with Bibles and religious books. But
even on board his own transport, the Union, the captain would allow
only one service on the Sabbath, and denied permission to preach to
the convicts. The chaplain's ministrations between decks were
continued daily, amid the indifference and even opposition of all save
a few.
At last, on August 31, 1805, the Indiamen of the season and fifty
transports sailed out of the Cove of Cork under convoy of the Diadem,
64 guns, the Belliqueuse, 64 guns, the Leda and Narcissus frigates, on
a voyage which, after two months since lifting the anchor at
Portsmouth, lasted eight and a half months to Calcutta. The Union had
H.M. 59th Regiment on board. Of its officers and men, and of the East
India Company's cadets and the officers commanding them, he succeeded
in inducing only five to join him in daily worship. His own presence
and this little gathering caused the vessel to be known in the fleet
as 'the praying ship.' The captain died during the voyage to the Cape.
One of the ships was wrecked, the Union narrowly escaping the same
fate. Martyn's _Journal_ reveals an amount of hostility to himself and
of open scoffing at his message which would be impossible now. He fed
his spirit with the Word of God, which he loved to expound to others.
Leighton, especially the too little known _Rules for Holy Living_, was
ever in his hands. Augustine and Ambrose delighted him, also Hooker,
Baxter, Jonathan Edwards, and Flavel, which he read to any who would
listen, while he spoke much to the Mohammedan Lascars. He worked hard
at Hindustani, Bengali, and Portuguese. Not more faithfully reflected
in his _Journal_ than the tedium of the voyage and the often
blasphemous opposition of his fellows are, all unconsciously, his own
splendid courage, his untiring faithfulness even when down with
dysentery and cough, his watchful prayerfulness, his longing for the
spread of Christ's kingdom. As the solitary young saint paced the deck
his thoughts, too, were with the past--with Lydia, in a way which,
even he felt, did not leave him indisposed for communion with God.
From Funchal, Madeira, he wrote to Lydia's sister: 'God knows how
dearly I love you, and Lydia and Sally (his younger sister), and all
His saints in England, yet I bid you all an everlasting farewell
almost without a sigh.' His motto throughout the voyage was the
sentence in which Milner characterises the first Christians:
'TO BELIEVE, TO SUFFER, AND TO LOVE.'
Meanwhile Lydia Grenfell was thus committing to her _Diary_ these
melancholy longings:
_November 22._--Yesterday brought me most pleasing intelligence
from my dear friend, for which I have and do thank Thee, O Lord
my God. He assures us of his being well, and exceedingly
happy--oh, may he continue so. I have discovered that insensibly
I have indulged the hope of his return, which this letter has
seemed to lessen. I see it is my duty to familiarise my mind to
the idea of our separation being for ever, with what feelings
the thought is admitted, the Lord--whose will I desire therein
to be done--only knows, and I find it a blessed relief to look
to Him for comfort. I can bear testimony to this, that the Lord
does afford me the needful support. I have been favoured much
within this day or two, and seem, if I may trust to present
feelings, to be inspired to ask the Lord's sovereign will and
pleasure concerning me and him. I look forward to our meeting
only in another state of existence, and oh, how pure, how
exalted will be our affection then! here it is mixed with much
evil, many pains, and great anxieties. Hasten, O Lord, Thy
coming, and fit me for it and for the society of Thy saints in
light. I desire more holiness, more of Christ in my soul, more
of His likeness. Oh, to be filled with all Thy fulness, to be
swallowed up in Thee!
_November 23._--Too much has my mind been occupied to-day with a
subject which must for ever interest me. O Lord, have mercy on
me! help can only come from Thee. Let Thy blessed Word afford me
relief; let the aids of Thy Spirit be vouchsafed. Restore to me
the joys of Thy salvation.
_November 24._--Passed a night of little sleep, my mind
restless, confused, and unhappy. In vain did I endeavour to fix
my thoughts on spiritual things, and to drive away those
distressing fears of what may befall my dear friend. Blessed for
ever be the Lord that on approaching His mercy-seat, through the
blood of Jesus, I found peace, rest, and an ability to rely on
God for all things. I have through the day enjoyed a sense of
the Divine presence, and a blessed nearness to the Lord.
To-night I am favoured with a sweet calmness; I seem to have no
desire to exert myself. O Lord, animate, refresh my fainting
soul. I see how dangerous it is to admit any worldly object into
the heart, and how prone mine is to idolatry, for whatever has
the preference, that to God is an idol. Alas! my thoughts, my
first and last thoughts, are now such as prove that God cannot
be said to have the supreme place in my affections; yet, blessed
be His name, I can resign myself and all my concerns to His
disposal, and this is my heart's desire. Thy will be done.
_December 11._--I seem reconciled to all before me, and consider
the Lord must have some great and wise purposes to answer by
suffering my affections to be engaged in the degree they are. If
it is only to exercise my submission to His will, and to make me
more acquainted with His power to support and comfort me, it
will be a great end answered, and oh, may I welcome all He
appoints for this purpose. The mysteries of Providence are
unfathomable. The event must disclose them, and in this I desire
to make up my mind from henceforth no more to encourage the
least expectation of meeting my dear friend in this world. O
Lord, when the desire is so strong, how impossible is it for me
to do this; but Thou art able to strengthen me for it. Oh,
vouchsafe the needful help.
_December 16._--I have had many distressing feelings to-day, and
struggled with my heart, which is at times rent, I may say, by
the reflection that I have bidden adieu for ever in this life to
so dear a friend; but the blessed employment the Lord has
assisted me in, and the thought that he is serving my blessed
Lord Jesus, is most consolatory. Oh, may I never more seek to
draw him back from the work. Lord, Thou knowest all things, Thou
knowest that I would not do this.
_December 26._--Went early to St. Hilary, where I had an
opportunity of reading the excellent prayers of our Church. I
have been blest with sweet peace to-day--a solemn expectation of
entering eternity. I feel a sadness of spirit at times (attended
with a calm resignation of mind, not unpleasing) at the
remembrance of my friend, whom I expect no more to see till we
meet in heaven. Oh, blessed hope that there we shall meet! Lord,
keep us each in the narrow way that leads to Thee.
_December 31._--The last in 1805--oh, may it prove the most holy
to my soul. I am shut out from the communion of Thy saints in a
measure; oh, let me enjoy more communion with my God. Thou
knowest my secret sorrows, yea, Thou dost calm them by causing
me to have regard to a future life of bliss with Thee, when I
shall see and adore the wisdom of Thy dealings with me. Oh, my
idolatrous heart!
These passages occur in Henry Martyn's _Journal_:
_December 4._--Dearest Lydia! never wilt thou cease to be dear
to me; still, the glory of God, and the salvation of immortal
souls, is an object for which I can part with thee. Let us live
then for God, separate from one another, since such is His holy
will. Hereafter we shall meet in a happier region, and if we
shall have lived and died, denying ourselves for God, triumphant
and glorious will our meeting be....
_December 5._--My mind has been running on Lydia, and the happy
scenes in England, very much; particularly on that day when I
walked with her on the sea-shore, and with a wistful eye looked
over the blue waves that were to bear me from her. While walking
the deck I longed to be left alone, that my thoughts might run
at random. Tender feelings on distant scenes do not leave me
indisposed for communion with God; that which is present to the
outward senses is the greatest plague to me. Went among the
soldiers in the afternoon, distributing oranges to those who are
scorbutic. My heart was for some hours expanding with joy and
love; but I have reason to think that the state of the body has
great influence on the frames and feelings of the mind. Let the
rock of my consolations be not a variable feeling, but Jesus
Christ and His righteousness.
The fleet next touched at San Salvador, or Bahia, from which Henry
Martyn wrote to Mrs. Hitchins, his cousin, asking her to send him by
Corrie, who was coming out as chaplain, 'your profile and Cousin Tom's
and Lydia's. If she should consent to it, I should much wish for her
miniature.' The request, when it reached her, must have led to such
passages in her _Diary_ as these:
_1806, February 8._--I have passed some days of pain and
weakness, but now am blessed again with health. During the whole
of this sickness I was afflicted with much deadness of soul, and
have had very few thoughts of God. I felt, as strength returned,
the necessity of more earnest supplications for grace and
spiritual life. I have ascertained this sad truth, that my soul
has declined in spiritual fervour and liveliness since I have
admitted an earthly object so much into my heart. Ah! I know I
have not power to recall my affections, but God can, and I
believe He will, enable me to regulate them better. This thought
has been of great injury to me, as I felt no murmuring at the
will of God, nor disposed to act therein contrary to His will. I
thought I might indulge secretly my affection, but it has been
of vast disadvantage to me. I am now convinced, and I do humbly
(relying on strength from on high) resolve no more to yield to
it. Oh, may my conversation be in heaven, and the glories of
Immanuel be all my theme.
_February 15._--I have been much exercised yesterday and
to-day--walking in darkness, without light--and I feel the truth
of this Scripture: 'Your sins have separated between you and
your God.' I have betrayed a most unbecoming impatience and
warmth of temper. My dear absent friend, too, has been much in
my mind. How many times have I endured the pain of bidding him
farewell! I would not dare repine. I doubt not for a moment the
necessity of its being as it is, but the feelings of my mind at
particular seasons overwhelm me. My refuge is to consider it is
the will of God. Thy will, my God, be done.
Henry Martyn did not lose a day in discharging his mission to the
residents and slaves of that part of the coast of Brazil, in the great
commercial city and seat of the metropolitan. His was the first voice
to proclaim the pure Gospel in South America since, three hundred
years before, Coligny's and Calvin's missionaries had been there
silenced by Villegagnon, and put to death. Martyn was frequently
ashore, almost fascinated by the tropical glories of the coast and the
interior, and keenly interested in the Portuguese dons, the Franciscan
friars, and the negro slaves. After his first walk through the town to
the suburbs, he was looking for a wood in which he might rest, when he
found himself at a magnificent porch leading to a noble avenue and
house. There he was received with exuberant hospitality by the Corrè
family, especially by the young Señor Antonio, who had received a
University training in Portugal, and soon learned to enjoy the society
of the Cambridge clergyman. In his visits of days to this family, his
exploration of the immediate interior and the plantations of tapioca
and pepper, introduced from Batavia, and his discussions with its
members and the priests on Roman Catholicism, all conducted in French
and Latin, a fortnight passed rapidly. He was ever about his Master's
business, able in speaking His message to men and in prayer and
meditation. 'In a cool and shady part of the garden, near some water,
I sat and sang,
O'er the gloomy hills of darkness.
I could read and pray aloud, as there was no fear of anyone understanding
me. Reading the eighty-fourth Psalm,
O how amiable are Thy tabernacles,
this morning in the shade, the day when I read it last under the trees
with Lydia was brought forcibly to my remembrance, and produced some
degree of melancholy.' Refreshed by the hospitality of San Salvador,
he resumed the voyage with new zeal for his Lord and for his study of
such authorities as Orme's _Indostan_ and Scott's _Dekkan_, and thus
taking himself to task: 'I wish I had a deeper conviction of the
sinfulness of sloth.'
Thus had he taken possession of Brazil, of South America, for Christ.
As he walked through the streets, where for a long time he 'saw no one
but negro slaves male and female'; as he passed churches in which
'they were performing Mass,' and priests of all colours innumerable,
and ascended the battery which commanded a view of the whole bay of
All Saints, he exclaimed, 'What happy missionary shall be sent to bear
the name of Christ to these western regions? When shall this beautiful
country be delivered from idolatry and spurious Christianity? Crosses
there are in abundance, but when shall the doctrine of the Cross be
held up?' In the nearly ninety years that have gone since that time,
Brazil has ceased to belong to the house of Braganza, slavery has been
abolished, the agents of the Evangelical churches and societies of the
United States of America and the Bible societies have been sent in
answer to his prayer; while down in the far south Captain Allen
Gardiner, R.N., by his death for the savage people, has brought about
results that extorted the admiration of Dr. Darwin. As Martyn went back
to the ship for the last time, after a final discussion on Mariolatry
with the Franciscans, rowed by Lascars who kept the feast of the Hijra
with hymns to Mohammed, and in converse with a fellow-voyager who
declared mankind needed to be told nothing but to be sober and honest,
he cried to God with a deep sigh 'to interfere in behalf of His Gospel;
for in the course of one hour I had seen three shocking examples of the
reign
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