Finally, on his fourth night at home, Adoniram could not stand the whispering and hints anymore. After dinner, as the family sat around the fire, he stood up and asked in his most matter-of-fact voice, “Father, do you have some plans for my future that you wish to discuss with me, because I have some of my own that I wish to inform you of.”
His mother put down her knitting and nodded at Abigail. His father smiled broadly. “Indeed I do, son,” he said, “and I’m sure you will be as excited as I am when you hear what has been proposed. Dr. Griffin, your professor at Andover, came to see me two weeks ago. He has been watching your progress since you became a Christian, and he is very impressed with you. So impressed, in fact…” Mr. Judson drew a long puff on his pipe before continuing, “…that when he takes up his new position as pastor of Park Street Church in Boston, he would like you to be his assistant. After you graduate, of course.”
Abigail rushed over to her older brother and clasped his hands, her eyes shining. “Isn’t it wonderful news. My brother at Park Street, the biggest church in Boston.”
Then Mrs. Judson chimed in. “Dr. Griffin thinks it’s only the beginning. He says in ten years you will be one of the most prominent pastors in all of New England.”
Adoniram heard his father’s voice again. “This is a most wonderful opportunity, and we should be very grateful to Dr. Griffin for offering.…”
His father’s voice faded from hearing as Adoniram struggled to take in the excitement around him. How could he tell them his secret now? He felt sick to his stomach. His parents and sister continued talking over each other, expounding on all the advantages of his new position. After several minutes, though, Adoniram knew he had to say something.
Abigail was still gushing about all the possibilities of the new position. “Just think of it, Adoniram. You will be so close in Boston that sometimes Mother and I will be able to come and hear you preach.”
Adoniram held up his hand. “No, Abigail,” he said wearily. “I will never live in Boston. I have a lot farther to go than that.”
The chatter in the room stopped immediately. All eyes were fixed on Adoniram.
“What do you mean?” demanded his father. “This is the opportunity of a lifetime. Surely you don’t mean to turn it down? You could not possibly have been offered a better position.”
Adoniram looked from one shocked face to the other. “I’m afraid I cannot take up the offer,” he said. “God has called me to Burma to be a missionary.”
His mother let out a long gasp, and Abigail sat down beside her with a plunk.
“A missionary?” spluttered his father, looking as though Adoniram had punched him in the stomach. “A missionary to Burma?”
“Oh, Adoniram, you can’t,” wailed Abigail. “You mustn’t.” With that she threw her head into her mother’s lap and began to sob.
Adoniram looked at his mother. Big round tears were spilling over the edges of her eyes and sliding down her cheeks. His father sat silently puffing on his pipe, a glazed look in his eyes.
The rest of Adoniram’s vacation was a nightmare. His father barely spoke, Abigail constantly clung to him, and Mrs. Judson seemed to believe that tears would change her son’s mind. They did not, and Adoniram went back to Andover more determined than ever to pursue his dream of becoming America’s first foreign missionary.
Adoniram expected that when he got back to the seminary he would be laughed at for throwing away such a good opportunity and hauled into Dr. Griffin’s office and asked why he had turned down the chance of a lifetime. But none of that happened. Adoniram had been so caught up in his desire to be a missionary that he hadn’t noticed several other men whose thoughts were also turning towards foreign missions.
After telling his family of his plans to be a missionary, Adoniram felt free to go ahead and tell his fellow students. Within a week, everyone at Andover knew of his far-fetched plans. Many students laughed at him, and others told him to leave missionary work to the British. After all, they had missionary societies, while America was still struggling to become a strong nation in her own right. A student with a different view came to see Adoniram privately. His name was Samuel Mills, and before coming to the seminary at Andover, he had been a student at Williams College. A small group of students there had pledged themselves to missions in a secret society they called the Brethren. Once at Andover, Samuel Mills had managed to interest three other students—Samuel Newell, Samuel Nott, and James Richards—in becoming members of the Brethren. Now that Adoniram had stirred up interest in missions, the students had decided to invite him to join the group. Their aim, Samuel Mills told him, was to help each other stay focused on missions, to pray for opportunities to go as missionaries, and to be ready at all times in case such an opportunity presented itself.
Adoniram was astonished to hear about such a group and joined immediately. However, there was one difference between him and the other four members. The constitution of the Brethren stated that each member “shall hold himself in readiness to go on a mission when and where duty may call.” Adoniram was not content to “hold himself in readiness”; he wanted to go looking for his call.
By spring 1810, two more students, Edward Warren and Luther Rice, were invited to join the Brethren. That brought the total number of the group to seven. Together they felt the time was right to stop being a secret group and start sharing their goals with others. Surprisingly, one man who was very supportive of them was Dr. Griffin, who realized that Adoniram had his heart set on becoming a missionary rather than an assistant pastor. Dr. Griffin did all he could to help.
Everywhere they went, the members of the Brethren talked to people about missions. They preached about it, wrote letters to newspapers about it, and penned articles for religious magazines. Adoniram wrote a piece he called “Concern for the Salvation of the Heathen,” which was published in two magazines. Interest and enthusiasm reached a peak in early summer 1810. Dr. Griffin and many other prominent pastors urged the young men in the group to ask the elders of the Congregational church to begin a missions organization, with the aim of sending some or all of them out as missionaries.
Thursday, June 28, 1810, was a date forever etched in Adoniram’s memory. It was the day he stood before the leaders of the Congregational church in a simple parish meetinghouse opposite Kimball Tavern in Bradford, Massachusetts. The one-room meetinghouse was packed with twenty-eight pastors from around the state and about one hundred fifty local people—more people than could be seated at one time. People stood along the walls and in the doorway. The atmosphere was electric as the young man with the long nose and brown curly hair stood to address the leaders of the church. Adoniram Judson straightened the paper he was holding and looked around the room. Every eye was on him, and not a sound was to be heard.
Adoniram swallowed hard and then began to read the words written on the page. “The undersigned members of the divinity college respectfully request the attention of their Reverend Fathers. They beg leave to state that their minds have long been impressed with the duty and importance of personally attempting a mission to the heathen.…”
A gasp went up from the crowd, but with his voice firm, even though he was trembling inside, Adoniram continued. The petition asked the Congregational general assembly to set up a missionary organization for “their advice, direction, and prayers.” Adoniram concluded by reading the names of the four men who had signed the letter, Adoniram Judson Jr., Samuel Nott Jr., Samuel J. Mills, and Samuel Newell.
Reading the petition took less than three minutes, but it was the longest three minutes of Adoniram’s life. When he sat down, the moderator, Dr. Culter, called the men who had signed the petition one by one to the front to answer questions. As Adoniram sat listening to their answers, he knew his future and the future of his friends were being decided as they spoke.
When the young men had finished answering all the questions, the meeting was adjourned. Dr. Culter promised that the general assembly would have a formal reply for them the following morning.
The members of the Brethren walked the ten miles from Andover to Bradford early the next morning. One minute they were exuberant about the possibility of being missionaries, and the next minute they doubted that anyone had taken them and their petition seriously.
At nine thirty, the meeting of the general assembly began, and the members of the committee who had discussed the petition late into the night came forward. Adoniram sat completely still, listening to every word Mr. Hale, secretary of the committee, said. “We the committee,” Mr. Hale began slowly, “have seriously considered the petition of the young men from Andover Theological Seminary, and we recommend that their purpose be approved and that a foreign missionary board be organized to support these young men and those who may be called to follow them.”
The crowd cheered, and Adoniram felt his back being patted and his hand being shaken. Slowly the reality of what Mr. Hale had said sunk in. The way was being paved for him to go to Burma as a missionary.
After all the congratulating was over, Adoniram made his way down the road to Deacon John Hasseltine’s lavish home, where he and a number of the other pastors had been invited for lunch. About twenty men sat down to eat. Adoniram had heard of the deacon’s fine hospitality, and he was not disappointed. A dazzling array of pies and cakes was spread on the side table. A young woman about twenty years of age walked purposefully out of the kitchen and began to serve the men.
“Thank you, Ann,” said the pastor sitting next to Adoniram, “I can always count on you to know what I want!”
The young woman laughed, and Adoniram turned to look at her. She was about five feet five inches tall, with jet black curly hair, flawless olive skin, and the deepest blue eyes he had ever seen.
“So what do you think of the name ‘American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions’?” The Reverend Mr. Allen asked Adoniram.
Adoniram stared back at him blankly, unable to think of an answer. For the first time in his life he had nothing whatsoever to say!
Throughout the meal Adoniram could not take his eyes off Ann, whom he learned was the youngest of Deacon Hasseltine’s five children. As he strolled back to the meetinghouse for the afternoon session, Adoniram was sure of one thing: He was in love.
Chapter 6
Privateers
Adoniram could hardly wait to go back to Bradford again. He used any excuse he could think of to visit the Hasseltine home. And after each visit he was more convinced than ever that he had found the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.
After a month of visiting, he knew it was time to write a formal letter to Ann (who was also called Nancy by many of her friends), telling her he had serious intentions towards her. He wrote asking if she was willing to “formally commence an acquaintanceship,” which was the proper way to ask a young woman to consider marriage. It was also proper for a young woman not to answer such a letter too quickly, because to do so would make her look overly eager. So Ann made Adoniram wait an agonizing week before she replied. And in her letter she gave no answer to his request; she just said her parents would have to consent to the relationship before she would even consider the idea.
Adoniram knew he had another letter to write, and it would be the hardest piece of writing he had ever attempted. He wondered how he was going to tell Ann’s parents that he would like to marry their beautiful, talented daughter and drag her off to the Far East, where they would probably both die. He tried wording the letter one way and then another. The candle burned low, and his eyes ached with strain before he finally settled on the wording for such an important letter. It read:
I have now to ask, whether you can consent to part with your daughter early next spring, to see her no more in this world; whether you can consent to her departure, and her subjection to the hardships and sufferings of a missionary life; whether you can consent to her exposure to the dangers of the ocean; to the fatal influence of the southern climate of [Burma]; to every kind of want and distress; to degradation, insult, persecution, and perhaps a violent death. Can you consent to all this, for the sake of Him who left His heavenly home, and died for her and for you; for the sake of perishing, immortal souls; for the sake of Zion, and the glory of God?
As he sealed it, Adoniram knew he had written a bleak letter. He thought of his own parents. How would they react if someone wrote to them asking for Abigail’s hand in marriage and included in the letter a list of hardships she could expect to endure? Still, as blunt as the letter was, he knew it had to be that way. If Ann Hasseltine was to become his wife, she would face many hardships, and he did not want her family to let her go begrudgingly or without thinking of the cost to themselves.
