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 Judson’s Prison Experience 
 
 By- RALPH WELLES KEELER 
 
 3niiiiiinimiimnninc3imiinniianiiiiiniiiaiiniiiiiinc3iinmii»ic 
 
 “ Halt! ” 
 
 The command was given by a harsh and 
 surly voice. 
 
 Mrs. Adoniram Judson, who was taking the 
 dinner from the stove, turned and looked out 
 of her kitchen window. As she did so, she 
 called her husband, who immediately laid 
 aside the Burmese Bible on which he was 
 working and came running to her. 
 
 Outside, drawn up in single file and facing 
 their own little home, was a guard of twelve 
 burly Burmese soldiers. During the few 
 weeks previous Mr. and Mrs. Judson, mis¬ 
 sionaries of the gospel of Christ in Burma, had 
 become familiar with the sight of soldiers, for 
 it was the season of accession to the throne, 
 and Ava, the golden city of Burma, was in 
 gala attire. They had seen the king and 
 queen make a formal entrance to the city and 
 take possession of the palace with the golden 
 dome. They had seen the white elephant, 
 decked with gold and jewels, go by in state. 
 The soldiery and the slaves also had all 
 
 3 
 
become familiar to their eyes. But the 
 soldiers had never before visited their home. 
 
 Now that war had been declared between 
 England and Burma they felt a little anxious, 
 for while they were Americans, the Burmans 
 hardly recognized the distinction. And the 
 captain of the guard before the house was the 
 spotted man from the prison — Ava’s execu¬ 
 tioner. What did it mean! 
 
 “ Where is the teacher? ” asked the man 
 with the spotted face. 
 
 “ I am he,” said Mr. Judson, who had 
 approached the door after his wife opened 
 it. “ What is it? ” 
 
 “ You are called by the king,” replied the 
 officer of the prison. 
 
 As he said these words he fell upon Mr. 
 Judson, pinned him to the ground, and began 
 to torture him with a small cord; winding it 
 about his breast so that his arms were bound 
 fast, he twisted the cord so as almost to 
 wrench his prisoner’s shoulders out of joint. 
 When he was fastened securely they turned 
 to Mrs. Judson. 
 
 “ Don’t take her, I beg of you,” the prisoner 
 cried out. 
 
 The porch of the little half-finished house 
 was rapidly filling with natives who wondered 
 what was going on. The masons threw down 
 their tools and fled; the little Burman children 
 
 4 
 
screamed and cried; and the Bengali servants 
 stood dumbfounded. Afraid of the crowd, 
 rather than moved by the white man’s plea, 
 the executioner drew still tighter the cords 
 which bound Mr. Judson, and dragged him 
 off to the court. 
 
 Moung Ing, Mr. Judson’s servant, fol¬ 
 lowed the crowd to the court. Here in the 
 robes of state sat the governor of Ava and 
 the officers of the city. And as Moung Ing 
 listened he heard the king’s order read and 
 saw his master cast into the death prison. 
 
 Unsheltered by trees, this miserable prison 
 stood sweltering in the tropical sun. It was 
 scarcely forty feet from end to end and thirty 
 feet across. The walls were only five feet 
 high at the side, while the roof rose to about 
 ten feet in the center. There were no windows 
 to let in the sunshine. There was no venti¬ 
 lation, except through the cracks in the board 
 wall and through the door. But the door 
 was seldom opened except to put a prisoner 
 in or take one out. 
 
 “ Come, move along! ” Angrily the guard 
 shoved the prisoner into the dark. 
 
 The sudden change from the bright sun¬ 
 light to the dim murky prison blinded Mr. 
 Judson. For the only light was an earthen 
 pot of burning oil swinging from a crooked 
 tripod in the center of the room. 
 
 s 
 
Hurrying him down to the end of the room, 
 the executioner again threw Mr. Judson to 
 the ground, and this time locked three sets of 
 iron fetters to his legs and tied him to a long 
 bamboo pole. In this position he lay through¬ 
 out the long afternoon. 
 
 After he had become used to the dim light 
 he was able to look about him. But what a 
 sight! In that wretched little room were 
 crowded ninety-seven prisoners. Poor, ema¬ 
 ciated women and half-naked men, all 
 huddled together, lived in this filthy prison 
 week after week. The room was never 
 washed, and the stench which arose from the 
 floor and walls was terrible. Vermin ran 
 riot over prison and prisoners. And the 
 prisoners fastened in long rows of stocks 
 around the room had little chance to de¬ 
 fend themselves from the savage attacks of 
 these pests. Nor were those whose feet were 
 thrust through heavy timber logs in which 
 holes were bored any better off. For the 
 wooden pins which held their ankles fast hurt 
 them so that they had little time to attend to 
 much else but pain. One woman groaned, a 
 man cursed, and an incessant babel filled the 
 air. Government officials in disgrace, thieves, 
 murderers, and evil-doers of all kinds were 
 crowded in with the English and American 
 suspects. 
 
 6 
 
Judson turned to his fellow-prisoner on the 
 left. 
 
 “ What is the matter? ” he whispered 
 softly. 
 
 Before his neighbor could answer the little 
 bamboo door at the end of the prison opened 
 and the evil-looking Burman with the spotted 
 face — the keeper of the prison — stole in 
 among the terrified men and women, and 
 going straight to a poor wretch huddled close 
 to a machine of torture seized him and bore 
 him away. 
 
 The spotted man had an unusually ferocious 
 expression on his face, and a cruel short-sword 
 was stuck in his belt. As he hurried his 
 shrieking victim through the heaps of pris¬ 
 oners and out the door, for a moment the 
 daylight fell upon the face of the one whom 
 Judson had questioned. As Judson waited 
 to receive an answer, he saw the most terrible 
 expression that he had ever seen. Horror, 
 fright and anguish were stamped on his face, 
 as though the man had seen a vision even 
 worse than the daily life of the prison. Then 
 Judson knew what it meant without an 
 answer. It was three o’clock in the after¬ 
 noon, — the hour of death. 
 
 “ Is it my turn next? ” Each poor fellow 
 asked himself this question in terror as the 
 prison grew still and the door was opened 
 
 7 
 
every afternoon. But at nightfall when the 
 keeper came, and running a long bamboo 
 pole between their legs so as to thread the 
 fetter chains, hauled their feet up with a block 
 so that they rested all night on the back of 
 their necks, they almost wished that the 
 afternoon whose sun had just set had seen 
 them vanished through the wicket door. 
 
 Such was the thought of Adoniram Judson, 
 until the picture of his wife came to his mind. 
 For her he would live and endure, for her he 
 would be strong. And so, even after the 
 terrible night, he was able to crawl and drag 
 himself to the door in the morning, when his 
 wife came to bring him a little food. 
 
 As he ate his breakfast, this brave little 
 woman began to tell him what she was doing 
 with the authorities in his behalf, when a 
 coarse soldier drove her away, threatening 
 to haul her out of the prison yard if she did 
 not go. There was little relish to the rest 
 of the meal for the heart-sick man. 
 
 But while Mrs. Judson was not able to tell 
 her husband all that was going on, she was 
 busy. She visited governors and officers. 
 She urged the sister of the queen to influence 
 the queen, and even presented a petition to 
 Bandoola, the great general, who happened 
 to be the king’s guest, and who promised her 
 that when he had retaken Rangoon and ex- 
 
 8 
 
pelled the English he would return and release 
 all the prisoners. 
 
 Bandoola could do little. Yet after a few 
 months, Mrs. Judson was permitted to make 
 her husband a little bamboo room outside 
 in the prison enclosure. Then she was taken 
 sick and could not come for many weeks. 
 When she did come again she brought with 
 her their little child, Maria, who was then two 
 months old. But the little room which she 
 had made was all in ruins, the mat and pillow 
 stolen by the jailers, and her husband had been 
 thrown into the inner prison again. 
 
 Immediately she started to see the governor. 
 She thought that Mr. Judson had been 
 executed. In this she was mistaken. He 
 was not dead, but he was in terrible agony. 
 With tears and entreaties she persuaded the 
 governor not to execute her husband, and 
 secured permission to go to the door of the 
 inner prison and take him food. 
 
 Those were terrible days. Gradually things 
 grew worse. Bandoola died, and all hope of 
 help from that quarter ceased. A rebellion 
 was rising among the restless people of Ava. 
 Mr. Judson came down with the fever. One 
 day the governor sent for Mrs. Judson, and 
 while he detained her at the palace, he had all 
 the white prisoners carried away to Amara- 
 poora. The next day she started by boat 
 
 9 
 
and cart for Amarapoora, only to find on 
 arriving there that the prisoners had been sent 
 on farther. 
 
 At Oung-pen-la Mrs. Judson found her 
 husband, and learned how, under the midday 
 sun, they had half-driven, half-dragged him 
 over the eight miles of burning sand and 
 gravel. She found the prison at Oung-pen-la 
 even worse than the one at Ava. Both body 
 and soul grew faint. Then the baby caught 
 the smallpox, and the brave little woman was 
 almost distracted. 
 
 Finally she got an old Burmese cart, the 
 wheels of which were thick planks with a hole 
 in the middle, through which a pole was 
 thrust to support the body of the cart, and, 
 in mud that almost buried the oxen, drove 
 back to Ava for medicine. For two long 
 months after her return she lay half-conscious 
 on a woven mat. 
 
 One morning Mr. Judson was hurried off to 
 Maloun, where the Burmese army was in 
 camp. There on the banks of the Irawadi 
 they built him a bamboo hovel where he lived 
 and acted as translator and interpreter. For 
 a few weeks their troubles were diminished, 
 but Mrs. Judson’s health began to decline 
 and finally she was seized with the spotted 
 fever. While she lay helpless his tormentors 
 again threw her husband into the prison at 
 
Ava. It was here, while Mrs. Judson was 
 recovering, that the faithful Moung Ing 
 found him. 
 
 They had found him in time, for only two 
 days later the town of Ava was all astir with 
 excitement and alarm. Order after order 
 was dispatched from the palace. The Eng¬ 
 lish were approaching the capital and in a day 
 or two would be at its gates. What should be 
 done? They had abused the white people 
 within their realm, and now a white army was 
 at their gates demanding that an account be 
 rendered. They would send the prisoners as 
 ambassadors! 
 
 The officers of the court remembered how 
 they had extorted money from the woman 
 whose husband they had thrust into prison. 
 They thought of the indignities which they 
 had shown to Mr. Judson. The royal secre¬ 
 tary grew pale as it all came to his mind. 
 He had permitted the jailer to steal part of 
 the food brought to the starving man in 
 fetters. He had even robbed the white 
 woman of her parasol and turned her out in 
 the glaring sun. 
 
 And now their prisoner, who had gone down 
 the river with the others as a messenger to 
 the English camp, was returning. Would he 
 tell his deliverers of the terrible treatment that 
 he had received at the hands of the Burmans? 
 
The governor summoned the secretary to the 
 room where the ambassadors were to be 
 received. The governor expected that the 
 setting sun would throw its rays across his 
 grave. 
 
 He thought that he could hear the English 
 drummers rolling out the call to arms. His 
 fevered head grew heavy with the roar of 
 cannon and the rattling of muskets. Would 
 they behead him, or slowly torture him as he 
 had tortured his prisoners? 
 
 There was a knock at the door. The 
 shadow of the sun-dial lay at three. He 
 braced himself for his last official duty. 
 
 “ Enter! ” 
 
 The door was thrown back and the am¬ 
 bassadors entered. A guard of the queen’s 
 soldiers was with them. With sinking heart 
 the governor advanced toward his guests 
 and bowed them to their seats. At least it 
 would soon be over. 
 
 Late that night, when the moon had risen 
 over the palace dome, eight golden boats 
 floated out on the water of the Irawadi. 
 Down, down they floated through the cool, 
 still night. The boats stirred the water into 
 little ripples as they floated along. Three of 
 the boats held the gold and silver vessels of the 
 palace melted for tribute. The other boats 
 carried several men and a pale white woman. 
 
All night they floated, and just as the day 
 began to break the woman turned to the man 
 at her side and whispered something to him. 
 Mr. Judson did not answer his wife, but 
 drawing her close to him they knelt in the 
 little boat and gave thanks to God. For the 
 rising sun was shining on the flag of a British 
 steamboat. Yandabo was reached, — and 
 freedom. 
 
 13 
 
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