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“One evening several persons at our house were repeating anecdotes of what different men in different ages had regarded as the highest type of sensuous enjoyment; that is, enjoyment derived from outward circumstances. ‘Pooh!’ said Mr. Judson; ‘these men were not qualified to judge. I know of a much higher pleasure than that. What do you think of floating down the Irrawaddy, on a cool, moonlight evening, with your wife by your side, and your baby in your arms, free—all free? But _you_ can not understand it, either; it needs a twenty-one months’ qualification; and I can never regret my twenty-one months of misery, when I recall that one delicious thrill. I think I have had a better appreciation of what heaven may be ever since.’ And so, I have no doubt, he had.
“The reception of a lady was an incident in the English camp; and Mrs. Judson’s fame had gone before her. No one better than a true-born Englishman can discern precisely the measure of attention grateful to a woman in her situation; and there were innumerable minute touches in General Campbell’s conduct which fixed her gratitude, and more still that of her husband on her account. It was not that his son was sent with the staff officers who came to escort her from the steamer; nor that unexpected honors, in military guise, waited her on the shore, where she was received by Sir Archibald in person; nor that her tent was larger and more commodious than his own, with the very agreeable addition of a veranda; but it was a certain fatherly kindness and genuine heart interest, which made her feel as though she was receiving all these favors from a friend.
“An incident that occurred a few days after the landing of the prisoners is perhaps worthy of notice. General Campbell was to give a dinner to the Burmese commissioners, and he chose to make it an affair of some pomp and magnificence. At a given order, almost as by magic, the camp was turned into a scene of festivity, with such a profusion of gold and crimson, and floating banners, as is thought most pleasing to an Oriental eye. When the dinner hour arrived, the company marched in couples, to the music of the band, toward the table, led by the general, who walked alone. As they came opposite the tent with the veranda before it, suddenly the music ceased, the whole procession stood still, and while the wondering Burmans turned their eager eyes in every direction, doubtful as to what would be the next act in the little drama, so curious to them as strangers, the general entered the tent. In a moment he reappeared with a lady on his arm—no stranger to the conscious commissioners—whom he led to the table, and seated at his own right hand. The abashed commissioners slid into their seats shrinkingly, where they sat as though transfixed by a mixture of astonishment and fear. ‘I fancy these gentlemen must be old acquaintances of yours, Mrs. Judson,’ General Campbell remarked, amused by what he began to suspect, though he did not fully understand it; ‘and, judging from their appearance, you must have treated them very ill.’ Mrs. Judson smiled. The Burmans could not understand the remark, but they evidently considered themselves the subject of it, and their faces were blank with consternation.
“‘What is the matter with yonder owner of the pointed beard?’ pursued Sir Archibald; ‘he seems to be seized with an ague fit.’
“‘I do not know,’ answered Mrs. Judson, fixing her eyes on the trembler, with perhaps a mischievous enjoyment of his anxiety, ‘unless his memory may be too busy. He is an old acquaintance of mine, and may probably infer danger to himself from seeing me under your protection.’
“She then proceeded to relate how, when her husband was suffering from fever in the stifled air of the inner prison, with five pairs of fetters about his ankles, she had walked several miles to this man’s house to ask a favor. She had left home early in the morning; but was kept waiting so long that it was noonday before she proffered her request, and received a rough refusal. She was turning sorrowfully away, when his attention was attracted by the silk umbrella she carried in her hand, and he instantly seized upon it. It was in vain that she represented the danger of her walking home without it; told him she had brought no money, and could not buy anything to shelter her from the sun; and begged that, if he took that, he would at least furnish her with a paper one, to protect her from the scorching heat. He laughed, and, turning the very suffering that had wasted her into a jest, told her it was only stout people who were in danger of a sunstroke—the sun could not find such as she; and so turned her from the door.