Judson, Adoniram, 1788-1850; Missionaries -- Burma -- Biography; Missionaries -- United States -- Biography
“The prison had never been washed, nor even swept, since it was built.
So I was told, and have no doubt it was true; for, besides the ocular
proof from its present condition, it is certain no attempt was made to
cleanse it during my subsequent tenancy of eleven months. This gave a
kind of fixedness or permanency to the fetid odors, until the very
floors and walls were saturated with them, and joined in emitting the
pest. Putrid remains of castaway animal and vegetable stuff, which
needed no broom to make it _move on_—the stale fumes from thousands of
tobacco-pipes—the scattered ejections of the pulp and liquid from
their everlasting betel, and other nameless abominations, still more
disgusting, which strewed the floor—and if to this be added the
exudations from the bodies of a crowd of never-washed convicts,
encouraged by the thermometer at 100°, in a den almost without
ventilation—is it possible to say what it _smelt_ like?
“As might have been expected from such a state of things, the place
was teeming with creeping vermin to such an extent that very soon
reconciled me to the plunder of the greater portion of my dress.”
Surely it were enough for Mr. Judson to be shut up in the hot, stifling
stench of a place like this without having his ankles and legs weighted
with five pairs of irons, the scars from which he wore to his dying day.
He could say with the Apostle Paul, “I bear in my body the marks of the
Lord Jesus.” In each pair of fetters the two iron rings were connected
by a chain so short that the heel of one foot could hardly be advanced
to the toe of the other; and this task could be accomplished only by
“shuffling a few inches at a time.” The five pairs of irons weighed
about fourteen pounds, and when they were removed after being long worn,
there was a strained sensation, the equilibrium of the body seemingly
destroyed, so that the head was too heavy for the feet. Then at
nightfall, lest the prisoners should escape, they were _strung_ (to use
Dr. Price’s graphic if not elegant expression) on a bamboo pole.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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