“I shall never forget the parting scene of brother Comstock and his wife with their children, when we sailed from the shores of Arracan. They had made up their minds to entrust us with their two children, on account of the difficulty of educating them in a heathen land. We were together one day, at their house, when word came that the ship was ready to sail, and we must prepare to embark immediately. Upon the arrival of this message, which we had been expecting, Mrs. Comstock arose from her seat, took her two children, one in each hand, and walked with them toward a grove of tamarind trees near the house. When she had walked some little distance, she paused a moment, looked at each of her children with all a mother’s love, and imprinted an affectionate kiss upon the forehead of each. She then raised her eyes to heaven, silently invoked a blessing on their heads; returned to the house, and delivering her children into my hands, said, ‘Brother Kincaid, _this I do for my Saviour_.’
“Brother Comstock then took his two children by the hand, and led them from the house toward the ship, while that tender mother gazed upon them, as they walked away, _for the last time_. She saw them no more on earth. God grant that she may meet them in heaven! Brother Comstock accompanied his two children to the ship, which lay about two miles off in the bay. When we had descended to the cabin, he entered one of the state-rooms with his children. There he knelt with them in prayer, laid his hands upon their heads, and bestowed a father’s blessing upon them—the tears, all the while, streaming down his cheeks. This affecting duty over, he resumed, at once, his usual calmness. He took leave of me with a gentle pressure of the hand, and I followed him to the side of the vessel, as he descended into the small boat which lay alongside, and which was to convey him to the shore. Never shall I forget the words, or the tone in which those words were uttered, as he turned up his face, still bedewed with tears, and exclaimed, as the boat moved away, ‘REMEMBER, BROTHER KINCAID, SIX MEN FOR ARRACAN!’
“I never saw brother or sister Comstock after that. The very day that we took a pilot on board off Sandy Hook, April 28, 1843, was the day that sister Comstock died, and in one year afterward, lacking three days, that is, on the 25th of April, 1844, brother Comstock followed her. Now they sleep side by side in the grave-yard at Ramree, under the tamarind trees.”
It was a heavy day for Mrs. Judson when her husband carried to the ship _Cashmere_ the child[49] who had been the sharer of all her sufferings and griefs at Tavoy. It was well for her that a veil hid from her eyes the immediate future, else she might have seen the boy’s hairbreadth escape from pirates and the tortures of terror to which the shrinking child was subjected on board the ship which was bearing him away from his mother’s side.
While in Maulmain, Mr. Judson completed the Burman Bible. It was about the time of his marriage to Mrs. Boardman that he finished the first rough draft. Seventeen years before in Rangoon, all he had to offer of the precious Scriptures to the first Burman inquirer was two half sheets containing the first five chapters of Matthew.[50] From that time on, beneath all his toils and sufferings and afflictions, there moved the steady undercurrent of this great purpose and labor of Bible translation. It was a task for which he had little relish. He much preferred dealing with the Burmans individually, and persuading them, one by one, of the truth of the Gospel. In a letter which states his purpose of relinquishing for many months the pleasure of laboring in the Karen jungles in order to shut himself up to the work of translation, he says, “The tears flow as I write.” Alluding to this same labor of translation, he writes to the Corresponding Secretary, “And so, God willing and giving us life and strength, we hope to go on, but we hope still to be allowed to feel that our great work is to preach the Gospel _viva voce_, and build up the glorious kingdom of Christ among this people.”
And when, the Bible being finished, the Board at home pressed him to undertake the Dictionary, he sorrowfully exclaims:
“How can I think of leaving this population to perish before me, while I am poring over manuscripts and proof-sheets? I must not do it; I can not do it, unless the Board expressly order it; and then I will obey, believing that _vox senatus vox Dei_. But before they order the only preaching missionary in the place to spend his time in making books, and above all a dictionary, I beg they will deeply consider the propriety of appointing him a preaching colleague.”