“If you have a kind word, say it—
Throbbing hearts soon sink to rest;
If you owe a kindness, pay it—
Life’s soon hurried to the West.
Days for deeds are few, my brother,
Then to-day fulfill thy vow;
If you mean to help another,
Do not dream it—DO IT NOW.”
On the 10th of January, 1800, five men met) in the great hall of a large house in the center of Serampore, India. Serampore was a Danish settlement upon the right bank of the Hooghly, which flowed thence to Calcutta, a city some fifteen miles distant.
Carey, after a brief prayer, said to his friends; “Now, brethren, we had better come to a clear understanding about our work. I arrived at Calcutta on the 9th of November, 1793, with Thomas. He hoped to secure employment as a surgeon. For some time I endured greater privations than at any period of my life. Hearing that land could be obtained rent free for three years near the Sunder bunds, a marshy tract on the Ganges about 7,000 square miles in extent, I started with my interpreter for Dehetta, on the margin of the Sunderbunds. This interpreter, Ram Bosoo, was at one time a professing Christian, but had gone back. Yet it is interesting to notice that the first gospel hymn in Bengali was written by him. Here is a verse of it—
“Oh, who beside can men recover?
Oh, who else restore to light?
Who but Christ, the heavenly lover,
Save from everlasting night?
Who beside Him
Save from sin’s eternal night?”
The ground at Dehetta was marshy, and floated upon the pasty swamp which went down some 120 feet below the surface; yet we made an attempt to erect a house and to till the soil. But in June, 1794, I was appointed to manage a small indigo factory at Mudnabatty. Thomas obtained a similar situation, both of us being in the employment of Mr. Udney. Mr. Udney gave me a small printing press, which cost about £40. Our salary of 200 rupees per month enabled me to dispense with the allowance made by the Missionary Society. My duties fully occupied me for three months in the year only; during the other nine months I was free to visit among the natives and to preach as I desired. I thank God that this way was opened for me. I know now all the methods of agriculture common among the people, and have become acquainted with their habits and customs. Six years I stayed there, and then brother Fountain came to assist me.”
“What fruit had you for all your toil, brother Carey?”
“I have been like a husbandman who watches anxiously for the up springing of the seed he has sown. Sometimes I think that I see a promise of growth, and I rejoice indeed; at other times it seems as if the seed were lost, and all my labor quite in vain. But surrounded as I have been with difficulties, I never seriously entertained a wish to abandon the enterprise; no, never.”
“We thought to have come to you at Mudnabatty, Brother Carey,” said one of the company. “I must say that we hoped to have seen you directly we touched Indian soil.”
“Mr. Udney has had heavy, very heavy losses lately,” replied Carey. “His brother failed; the French captured a cargo of his; then the floods destroyed some of his stock, and he has been compelled to surrender the factory. I myself had taken indigo works at Biddepore, and there I hoped that [illustration] we could all live together. But the Government will not permit missionaries to stay in India. Here in Serampore you are under the protection of the Danish Government. Here we had better make our head-quarters. This house will only cost 8,000 rupees to purchase, and it will make a good center for our work. The printing press is already set up in one of the rooms, brother Ward.”
“I am glad to hear it,” said Mr. Ward.” When you went through England, just before you came to India, do you remember meeting me at Derby? You said to me, Mr. Carey, and I never forgot your words, ‘By-and-by we shall want you.’ Here I am ready for work.”
“I now remember the incident well,” replied Carey, “but I had forgotten it. Had you any thought of mission work previous to that time?”
“My father was a carpenter and builder, who died while I was a child. I was born in Derby, 20th October, 1769. I served an apprenticeship to the printing, and had scarcely finished my apprenticeship and obtained my freedom when I was put in charge of a Derby newspaper. It seemed to me then that my life was to be devoted to literature; indeed the path to fame and wealth seemed opened to me. But in 1796 I was baptized in Hull, and I resolved to devote myself to the work of the Christian ministry.
While I was studying under the tuition of Dr. Fawcett, a gentleman came to our college in the interests of the Missionary Society, and then all at once I remembered your words. So here I am!”
“I am not a printer,” said another, Joshua Marshman by name.” I was born 20th April, 1768, at Westbury Leigh, in Wilts. My father had been a sailor, and was present at the capture of Quebec. He was a weaver and a deacon of the little Baptist chapel in our village. The only schooling that I ever received was in the little village school. Here I learned to read, for writing and arithmetic were not taught by our schoolmaster. I borrowed books from everyone who would lend to me, and before I was twelve years of age I had read over 100 volumes. At the age of fifteen I went to London to serve in a bookseller’s shop. But it was weary work trudging through the dark, dirty streets carrying loads of books that I never was allowed to look at. One day, as I was carrying three large volumes of books, into which I could do no more than peep, to the Duke of Grafton, I felt wretched and depressed, and just as I came to Westminster Abbey I laid down the parcel and sat upon it. It seemed so fearful that I was to have no higher destiny than to bear burdens like an ass; and I wept bitterly over my lot. But while I was in this unhappy mood I looked up and caught sight of the Abbey buildings, and straightway plucked up heart. I thought of all the heroes who were buried in the venerable pile, and it gave me courage to persevere. They were once weak and dispirited, but in the end they overcame. I put the load upon my shoulders and trudged along with a light heart. Only five months did I stay in London, then I returned to Westbury. For ten years I stayed at home; and in 1791 I got married. Three years after this event I became master of a school in Bristol, connected with Broadmead Chapel. For five years I carried on the school, studying myself all the time in Bristol College. It was reading about your work, Mr. Carey, made me desire to share it. Here I am at last.”
Thus the three men who were to become associated together at Serampore met; two others were with them then, but they, shortly after this meeting, were removed by death.
“Three hundred and sixty pounds is all that the Society can spare for us,” said Carey. “Mr. Thomas is engaged in manufacturing sugar, so he has not to be thought of. To make that money support six men, five women, and eight children will involve some care and management.”
“What do you suggest then, Mr. Carey?” asked Ward.
“I propose that we have one common fund, into which all our earnings shall be placed, each of us retaining a small sum as pocket money. Then each of us shall take turns in providing for the household, and also in conducting Divine worship. For myself, I ask that the two acres of garden behind the house way be liven over to me as a botanic garden.” “Agreed to willingly,” said all.
“Then to prevent misunderstandings, let it be understood that we are not here for our own purposes. Let us never think that our time or gifts or strength are our own; not even our clothes should we esteem as our own. Let us sanctify all to the glory of God.”
This resolution was agreed to, and afterward put into writing. Three times a year it was read over at every station, and its spirit ever ruled at Serampore.
Mr. and Mrs. Marshman opened two boarding schools, which proved a success. They produced a revenue of £360 per year to the mission fund. A school for native youths was then set on foot, some forty of them at once attending its classes.
These men, sneered at in England as “consecrated cobblers,” were now fully committed to one of the most exhaustive self-denying labors in which Christian men have ever been engaged. And with little apparent success; for much work has to be preparatory, and is therefore not seen. Yet it is not lost, though its benefits are not at once clear.