II.
(Continued from p. 228).
In the early part of the year 1804, Mr Martyn’s prospects of going abroad as a missionary were apparently in danger of being frustrated, in consequence of the unexpected loss of his little patrimony. This was to his mind the more distressing, as it rendered his younger sister entirely dependant upon him; and he could not bear the thought of leaving her in actual distress when he himself, by remaining in England, might alleviate or remove it. In these circumstances, he resolved to consult some of his friends, and set out for that purpose to London. Exertions were in consequence made to procure for him a chaplainship to the East India Company, but in vain, and he returned to resume his ministerial labours at Cambridge, resigned to the will of God, and ambitious only to discharge present duty with fidelity, “casting all his care” upon the Lord, knowing well that “He cared for him.”
A view of his indefatigable labours at this time may be given in the words of his biographer:—”In the interval which passed between the months of February and June, he was found earnestly labouring in the service of his divine Master. He preached animating and awakening discourses: he excited societies of private Christians to ‘watch, quit themselves as men, and be strong:’ he visited many of the poor, the afflicted, and the dying: he warned numbers of the careless and profligate—in a word, he did the work of an evangelist. Often did he redeem time from study, from recreation, and from the intercourse of friends, that, like his Redeemer, he might enter the abodes of misery, either to arouse the unthinking slumberer, or to administer consolation to the dejected penitent. Many an hour did he pass in an hospital or an alms-house; and often, after a day of labour and fatigue, when wearied almost to an extremity of endurance, he would read and pray with the servant who had the care of his rooms, thus making it his meat and drink, his rest as well as his labour, to do the will of his heavenly Father, in conformity to the example of Christ:—
— His care was fixed
To fill his odorous lamp with deeds of light,
And hope that reaps not shame.”
In a short time, the prospect seemed to open up to him of obtaining what had been the anxious wish of his friends, a chaplainship in the service of the East India Company. Fully encouraged to expect that he would not in this case be disappointed, he set out for Cornwall on a visit to his friends. While there, he frequently preached, and both his sisters heard him, the youngest with delight, and the eldest with every appearance of being seriously impressed. “I found,” said he, referring to the latter, “that she had been deeply affected, and from her conversation I received great satisfaction. In the evening I walked by the water-side till late, having my heart full of praise to God for having given me such hopes of my sisters.” At length, after having withstood the most earnest entreaties of his friends to remain in England, he began to make preparations for finally leaving his native shore. To one possessed of such tender sensibilities as Henry Martyn, it was a trial of extreme severity to bid a long, and, in all probability, a last farewell to his country and his friends. But on this, as indeed on every former occasion in his history, he felt that the principles and motives of Christianity are sufficient to triumph over the strongest feelings and the tenderest affections of the human heart. Some months, however, elapsed between the last visit which he paid to his friends and his final departure from England. This intervening period he spent in his ministerial labours at Cambridge. At length the hour arrived when he was summoned to embark for India.— His feelings on this occasion he thus describes in a letter to his favourite sister, who could so well sympathise with him in all his spiritual anxieties:—
“I rejoice to say that I never had so clear a conviction of my call as at present, as far as respects the inward impression. Never did I see so much the exceeding excellency and glory and sweetness of the work, nor had so much the favourable testimony of my own conscience, nor perceived so plainly the smile of God. I am constrained to say, what am I, or what is my father’s house, that I should be made willing—what am I that I should be so happy, so honoured?” In his Journal, likewise, he expressed himself to the same effect:—“I felt more persuaded of my call than ever; there was scarcely the shadow of a doubt left: rejoice, O my soul, thou shalt be the servant of God in this life and in the next, for all the boundless ages of eternity.”
The circumstances attendant on his departure are thus stated by his biographer:—
“On the 8th of July, Mr Martyn left London for Portsmouth; and such was the acuteness of his feelings during this journey, that he fainted, and fell into a convulsion fit at the inn where he slept on the road, a painful intimation to those friends who were with him of the poignancy of that grief which he endeavoured as much as possible to repress and conceal. The next morning, however, he was sufficiently recovered to proceed, and was much refreshed in his spirits at the sight of many of his brethren at Portsmouth, who had come (several from a considerable distance) that they might affectionately accompany him to the ship. Among these was one whose presence afforded him an unexpected happiness. ‘To be obliged to give up all hopes of your accompanying me to Portsmouth,’ he had written a short time before to Mr Simeon, ‘is a greater disappointment than I can well describe. Having been led to expect it, I seem to experience a painful privation. However, you will not now have the pain of observing in your brother a conversation and spirit unsuitable to the important work on which he is going. Yet this I believe, that though I have little affection towards heavenly things, I have less towards everything earthly.’ From Mr Simeon he learnt, to his exceeding comfort, that his flock at Cambridge intended on the day of his departure, as far as it could be ascertained, to give themselves up to fasting and prayer; and at his hands he received, with peculiar gratification, a silver compass, sent by them as a memorial of their unfeigned affection.”
And in setting sail, he thus describes his feelings in a letter to Mr Simeon:—”It was a very painful moment to me when I awoke in the morning after you left us, and found the fleet actually sailing down the Channel. Though it was what I had anxiously been looking forward to so long, yet the consideration of being parted for ever from my friends almost overcame me. My feelings were those of a man who should suddenly be told that every friend he had in the world was dead. It was only by prayer for them that I could be comforted; and this was indeed a refreshment to my soul, because, by meeting them at the throne of grace, I seemed again to be in their society.”
(To be continued.)