Daughters of the Cross: or Womans Mission | Page 8

Sabbath bell,

Richest, brightest, sweetest treasure, Can I say a last farewell? Can I
leave you, Far in distant lands to dwell?
Yes, I hasten from you gladly-- From the scenes I loved so well; Far
away, ye billows, bear me; Lovely, native land, farewell! Pleased I
leave thee, Far in heathen lands to dwell.
In the desert let me labor; On the mountain let me tell How he died--the
blessed Savior-- To redeem a world from hell; Let me hasten Far in
heathen lands to dwell."
Miss Atwood was united in marriage to Mr. Newell on the 9th of
February, 1812; and on the 19th the Caravan set sail, as before stated.
The voyage to Calcutta, though attended with many things to render it
unpleasant to a feeble American woman, was not a severe one. The
weather most of the time was pleasant; and only occasionally did the
waves sweep across the decks of the vessel, or flow through the
windows into the cabin. Mrs. Newell spent her time in writing letters to
her American friends and preparing herself for her missionary work.
She now had leisure to examine her own heart and descend into the
hidden mysteries of her soul; she had ample space to view the past and
form plans for the future; she could try her motives by the unerring
word of God, and, by humble prayer and careful meditation, be enabled
to acquire strength which should prove equal to her trials. The cabin of
a wave-tossed vessel, the loneliness of a voyage across the deep-green
ocean, a separation from earth's homes and earth's hearts, were all
calculated to lift up the pious mind, and centre the soul's best affections
upon pure and worthy objects. Whatever of care and sorrow she might
have had, however much or however little of anxiety might have filled
her bosom, such circumstances were sufficient to bring her faith to the
most severe test.
The voyage must have been severe but healthy discipline, and
doubtless from it was learned many a lesson of grace and duty. As the
snow-covered hills of her own dear home disappeared; as the tall
chimney at the entrance of the harbor, from which the nightly flame
burned forth a beacon to the mariner to guide him amid the storm, was
lost in the distance; as the first night came on and darkness gathered
over the wide waste of waters; as deep shadows fell upon the form of
the plunging ship,--the missionary cause must have presented itself in a
new light, and, to some extent, have been clothed with sombre hues.

And as time rolled on and the distance from home increased, that
sacred call of God, that holy mission on which she was employed, must
have appealed more strongly to the Christ-like heart of our missionary
sister. The vessel encountered storm and tempest, the usual
inconveniences of a sea voyage were endured, and danger in a thousand
threatening forms appeared; but the hand which formed the channels of
the sea preserved his servants, and amid storm and darkness guided the
vessel which bore them to homes and graves in the dark places of the
earth.
On her passage, Mrs. Newell kept an interesting journal, not only of her
own feelings, but also of the incidents that rendered the voyage
pleasant or painful and checkered it with evil or good. And such
incidents there are always. When on the ocean, far from land, for the
first time, the dullest and most stupid mind cannot fail of being aroused
to new and awful emotions. Man learns of God at such an hour, and
finds new proof of his grandeur and glory in every dashing wave and
every whistling blast. With but a single inch between him and a watery
death, he gazes from his narrow deck upon the boundless expanse of
tossing, foam-crested billows; while, as far as his eye can stretch, not a
foot of land appears. His vessel may be on fire, she may fill with water,
she may be riven by lightning; but there is no friendly sail to which
wrecked man may fly and be safe. His ship will founder in mid ocean,
while not a single form appears to lend the helping hand, and not an
eye is seen flowing with tears of pity; nothing is heard but the moan of
ocean; nothing is seen but the sweeping surge, as it passes on, leaving
no track of the submerged vessel.
Confined in towns and cities, enclosed in walls of stone and brick,
chained to the wheel of custom, the soul of man becomes contracted
and dwarfed. All around are monuments of human skill, and every
thing as little as the human mind. But when he steps beyond the crowds
of life and embarks on the