AN ARMY OF 2000 COMMUNISTS, soon increased to Mk, was now in possession of the district, and the people, already suffering from semi-famine conditions, had to see their meager supplies disappear as before hungry locusts. But that was a minor misery. For when the Reds abandoned Tsingteh the next morning, they left many dead behind them and carried away many captives. Their next destination was Miaosheo, the little town twelve miles across the mountains; and how john and Betty must have dreaded what that would mean for their dear friends there.
Over that familiar road John walked, a prisoner, carrying his precious little one, not yet three months old. Betty was on horseback part of the way, and they both smiled at the few people who saw them as they passed. That little Helen was there at all seems to have been the first miracle in her deliverance, for her life was to have been taken even before they left Tsingteh. Part of the torture of her parents, it is stated, was that their captors discussed before them whether or not they should kill the infant out of hand, to save trouble. And this would have been done, but that an unexpected protest was raised by one who was looking on. Who he was or where he came from does not appear. He had been released from prison by the communists when they sacked the town, and now dared to come forward and urge that the baby at any rate had done nothing worthy of death.
“Then it’s your life for hers!” was the angry retort.
“I am willing,” replied the old farmer. And it is stated that he was killed on the spot.
At any rate the little life was spared, and John and Betty had their treasure with them as they traveled wearily over the mountains to Miaosheo.
Arriving in the town, how they must have longed to go to the home of their friends, the Wangs! But, of course, terror reigned supreme. All who could had fled, before the looting of the place began. Betty and John were hurried into the postmaster’s shop and left there under guard, thankful to be out of sight of all that was taking place.
“Where are you going?” asked the postmaster, when he recognized the prisoners.
“We do not know where they are going,” John answered simply, “but we are going to Heaven.”
The postmaster offered them fruit to eat. Betty took some—she had the baby to nurse but John made the most of the opportunity for writing again to Shanghai. This note he entrusted to the postmaster to forward for him.
Miaosheo, An. December 7, 1934
China Inland Mission
DEAR BRETHREN,
We are in the hands of the communists here, being taken from Tsingteh when they passed through yesterday. I tried to persuade them to let my wife and baby go back from Tsingteh with a letter to you, but they wouldn’t let her, and so we both made the trip to Miaosheo today, my wife traveling part of the way on a horse.
They want $20,000 before they will free us, which we have told them we are sure will not be paid. Famine relief money and our personal money and effects are all in their hands.
God give you wisdom in what you do and give us grace and fortitude. He is able.
Yours in Him,
JOHN C. STAM
Not a word of self-pity or of fear. Not a sign of faltering. He who had sent them was with them. They were strong in the quiet strength of Him who said: “For this cause came I unto this hour. Father glorify thy name.”
Afraid? Of What?
To feel the spirit’s glad release?
To pass from pain to perfect peace,
The strife and strain of life to cease?
Afraid—of that?
Afraid? Of What?
Afraid to see the Saviour’s face,
To hear His welcome, and to trace
The glory gleam from wounds of grace?
Afraid—of that?
Afraid? Of What?
A flash, a crash, a pierced heart;
Darkness, light,
O Heaven’s art!
A wound of His a counterpart!
Afraid—of that?
Afraid? Of What?
To do by death what life could not—
Baptize with blood a stony plot,
Till souls shall blossom from the spot?
Afraid—of that?
“Baptize with blood a stony plot, till souls shall blossom from the spot”—oh, how John and Betty longed, whether by life or by death, to win precious souls to Christ from South Anhwei!
Little remains to be told; for, thank God, their sufferings were not prolonged. When the communists again turned their attention to them, they were taken to a house belonging to some wealthy man who had fled. There they were put in a room in an inner courtyard, closely guarded by soldiers, and though Betty seems to have been left free to care for the baby, John was tightly bound with ropes to a post of the high, heavy bed.
How long must have seemed the hours of that winter night, when he was not able to move or even change his position!
I’m standing, Lord:
There is a mist that blinds my sight.
Steep jagged rocks, front, left, and right,
Lower, dim, gigantic, in the night.
Where is the way?
I’m standing, Lord:
The black rock hems me in behind.
Above my head a moaning wind
Chills and oppresses heart and mind.
I am afraid!
He answered me, and on His face
A look ineffable of grace,
Of perfect, understanding love,
Which all my murmuring did remove.
I’m standing, Lord:
Since Thou hast spoken,
Lord, I see Thou hast beset—these rocks are Thee!
And, since Thy love encloses me,
I stand and sing.
No one knows what passed between John Betty. Those hours are sacred to Him who, for love of us, hung long hours in darkness upon a cross. Certain it is that His love, His nearness strengthened them, for Betty was to plan with all a mother’s tenderness for the infant they might have to leave behind, alone and orphaned. Could that little life survive? And if it did, what then? But had they not given her to God in that so-recent dedication, service? Would He not care for His own?
Never was that little one more precious than when they looked their last on her baby sweetness, as they were summoned next morning and led out to die. Yet there was no weakening. Those who witnessed the tragedy marveled, as they testify, at the calmness with which both John and Betty faced the worst their misguided enemies could do. Theirs was the moral, spiritual triumph in that hour when the very forces of Hell seemed to be let loose. Painfully bound with ropes, their hands behind them, stripped of their outer garments and John barefooted (he had given Betty his socks to wear) they passed down the street where he was known to many, while the Reds shouted their ridicule and called the people to come and see the execution.
Like their Master, they were led up a little hill outside the town. There, in a clump of pine trees, the communists harangued the unwilling onlookers, too tenor-stricken to utter protest. But no, one man broke the ranks? The doctor of the place and a Christian expressed the feelings of many when he fell on his knees and pleaded for the life of his friends. Angrily repulsed by the Reds, he still persisted, until he was dragged away as prisoner, to suffer death when it appeared that he too was a follower of Christ.
John had turned to the leader of the band, asking mercy for this man, when he was sharply ordered to kneel—and the look of joy on his face afterward told of the unseen Presence with them as his spirit was released. Betty was seen to quiver, but only for a moment. Bound as she was, she fell on her knees beside him. A quick command, the flash of a sword which mercifully she did not see—and they were reunited.
Absent from the body... present with the Lord.
Thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.
Cabled home, the news brought anguish to many a stricken heart, and prayer went up day and night for the helpless little one, alone amid such dangers. From the Stam home in Paterson came the following reply to a telegram of sympathy from the Mission headquarters:
Deeply appreciate your consolation. Sacrifice seems great, but not too great for Him who gave Himself for us. Experiencing God’s grace. Believe wholeheartedly Romans 8:2828And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose. (Romans 8:28).
To sorrowing friends, Mr. Stam wrote at the same time:
Our dear children, John and Betty, have gone to be with the Lord. They loved Him. They served Him and now they are with Elm. What could be more glorious? It is true, the manner in which they were sent out of this world was a shock to us all, but whatever of suffering they may have endured is now past, and they are both infinitely blessed with the joys of Heaven.
As for those of us who have been left behind, we are reminded by a telegram from one of John’s former schoolmates, “Remember, you gave John to God, not to China.”
Our hearts, though bowed for a little while with sadness, answered, “Amen.” It was our desire that he as well as we should serve the Lord, and if that could be better done by death than life, we would have it so. The sacrifice may seem great now, but no sacrifice is too great to make for Him who gave Himself for us.
We are earnestly praying that it will all be for God’s glory and the salvation of souls. How glad we shall be if through this dreadful experience many souls shall be won for the Lord Jesus. How glad we shall be if many dear Christian young people shall be inspired to give themselves to the Lord as never before, in a life of sacrifice and service!
We are honored by having sons and daughters minister for our Lord among the heathen, but we are more signally honored that two of them have received the martyr’s crown.
We are sure that our dear brother and sister, Dr. and Mrs. C. E. Scott, both join us in saying, “The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.”
~~~
Darkness had fallen upon the streets of Miaosheo. Behind closed doors people spoke in whispers of the tragedy of the morning. In a deserted home a little baby cried and slept alone.
All that night and on into the second day no one crossed the threshold. On the hillside where they had fallen lay the two who loved best, silent and still. Could there have a more helpless little life, a more hopeless situation? No one dared approach the Louse, for the Reds were only three miles away. They might at any time return, and spies seemed to be everywhere. Yet as the old Bible-woman in Tsinan said through her tears: “The angels themselves took care her!”
Hiding in the hills nearby were refugees who had fled from the communists, hungry and homeless. And among them, strange.to say, were the Evangelist Lo and his wife, who were to have come weeks before to settle in Miaosheo. Had they done so, they would have been occupying the mission premises, and would undoubtedly have been killed by the Reds or taken prisoners. Detained in unexpected ways, they only reached the town a few hours before its capture and looting. Had they been a little later they would have met refugees on the road, and would not have come at all. As it was, they had arrived and were staying the night with Mrs. Wang and her family when the trouble came.
With the first appearance of soldiers, the younger woman fled to the mountains, but Evangelist Lo and Mrs. Wang’s son lingered to see what was happening. The advance guard of the Reds were seeking the headmen of the town, and someone pointed out these two, Wang immediately ran for his life, but Lo, not being a headman, stood his ground. He was of course taken prisoner, but Chang the medicine seller (who gave his life next day in a vain effort to save his missionary friends) was able to identify him.
“This man is a stranger here,” he said. “I know him. He distributes tracts and treats diseases, as I do. He only came last night to Miaosheo.”
Not realizing that “tracts” were Christian publications, the Reds gave Lo his freedom. Marveling at his deliverance, he quietly walked away, and as quickly as possible joined the refugees. For two days and two nights they suffered cold and hunger in their mountain refuge, not daring to make a fire. Happily there were wild chestnuts for food, and one man had a sickle, and cut enough grass to protect them a little, in place of bedding.
A rumor reached them on the second day that the Reds had a foreigner captive. “Could it be the Roman Catholic priest from Tsingteh?” Lo questioned. His own missionaries had doubtless been warned in time to make their escape. But later arrivals said that there were two foreigners brought by the Reds to Miaosheo, a husband and wife, and that they had been publicly executed. Harrowing details were given; and in great distress, Lo set out to learn more about what had transpired. It was Sunday morning, December 9. From their hiding place the refugees had seen government troops come into the valley, in pursuit of the Reds. There was desultory fighting, which had drawn the communists away from the town. So the Wangs returned to their home, and with them Mr. La’s wife and child, the latter very ill from cold and exposure.
The place was strangely quiet, and even from people who were about, Lo could learn very little. No one dared speak out, for fear of communist spies, and his good friend the medicine seller could not be found. Just as he was leaving the street, however, to explore the hill, an old woman ventured to whisper that there was a baby, a foreign baby, still alive. Urged to say more, she only pointed furtively in the direction of an empty house. Wondering what he should find, he entered it. Room after room showed traces of the bandit army. “The place was silent and aware.” It seemed deserted. But—what was that? A little cry! Lo hastened to the inner chamber, and soon the baby, left alone for almost thirty hours, was in his kind arms.
He found her lying on the bed, just as her mother’s hands and heart had planned. Safe in her sleeping bag with its zipper fastening, little Helen was warm and snug, and seemingly none the worse for her long fast. Taking her with him, Lo went on up the hill, for the saddest part of his task was yet before him.
The finding of his missionary friends was, as he wrote, “an unspeakable tragedy.” Grief and horror almost overwhelmed him. But immediate action was necessary, for the Reds might be returning at any time. Happily Mrs. Lo was on hand to take charge of the baby. With the help of Mrs. Wang and her son, coffins were procured and the bodies wrapped in white cotton material, the only thing to be had in the town. Meanwhile a crowd had gathered on Eagle Hill, as Mr. Birch wrote a few days later:
Nothing but sorrow and regret were expressed for the death of this fine young couple. Some even dared to curse the Reds for their crime. When they had done all they could, the three Christians bowed in prayer. Then straightening himself, Lo addressed the people.
“You have seen,” he said, “these wounded bodies, and you pity our friends for their suffering and death. But you should know that they are children of God. Their spirits are unharmed, and are at this moment in the presence of their heavenly Father. They came to China and to Miaosheo, not for themselves but for you, to tell you about the great love of God, that you might believe in the Lord Jesus and be eternally saved. You have heard their message. Remember, it is true. Their death proves it so. Do not forget what they told you—repent, and believe the Gospel.”
Lo tells me that many of the listeners wept. Personally, I have not seen tears in China, in response to our message. Why the change? Why the melted hearts? They had had a demonstration of the love and power of God, and the truth of the Gospel. We expect much fruit from the triumphant death and faithful testimony of these two Shining Ones.
But the urgent matter was to save little Helen; so leaving the coffins to the care of Mrs. Wang and her son, Lo hastened back to family. And what distresses, what alarms before them! Their money and few possessions left in Mrs. Wang’s home, had all been stolen. Their little boy of four, their only son, desperately ill. A journey of about a hundred miles had to be taken through mountainous country infested with bandits, to say nothing of communist soldiers. And most serious of all, they had a little foreign baby to hide and to protect.
On foot and as secretly as possible they made their escape from Miaosheo, the children hidden in two large rice baskets, hanging from the ends of a bamboo carrying pole. They would have had no money to pay the brave man who undertook to carry the baskets had they not found the provision Betty had made that last night for her baby. Inside the sleeping bag she had tucked away a clean nightdress and some diapers, all she had been able to bring with her, and among them she had pinned two five-dollar bills. It was enough, just enough to provide for the little party, with the help of young Chinese mothers along the way, who gladly fed the orphan baby at Mrs. Lo’s request.
It was no small cheer on this desperate journey when Mr. and Mrs. Lo, in spite of all their fears, saw their sick child come to himself again. After many hours of semi-consciousness he sat up and began to sing a hymn, and from that time steadily recovered.
Passing through Kinghsien, they were able to buy a tin of Lactogen. Mrs. Lo had been in the Wuhu Methodist hospital for Uenseng’s birth, and had learned the foreign way of caring for infants. She even had with her the feeding bottle used for her own baby, and was able to put little Helen on a proper three hours’ schedule for the rest of the way. Was it by chance that a woman thus equipped was at hand in that hour of need in a remote corner of inland China?
On December 14 Mr. Birch was alone in Süancheng, his wife being at Wuhu with the children. Just as lunch was served he heard sounds as of some unexpected arrival, followed by a knock at the door. A travel-stained woman came in, carrying a bundle. To his thankfulness, it was Mrs. Lo.
“This is all we have left,” she said brokenly.
Fearing that her husband had been killed and that she only had escaped with her child, he took the bundle she held out to him, and uncovered the sleeping face of little Helen Priscilla! Then Mr. Lo came in, having settled with the chair coolies, and the wonderful story was told which has given this little one the name of the “Miracle Baby.”
And a miracle indeed it seemed when it was found that the infant was so well that not even her mother could have wished to see her happier or better provided for. The doctors in the Wuhu hospital pronounced her to be in perfect health, and all hearts were won by her appealing sweetness. To the grandparents in Tsinan, Mrs. Walton wrote while in charge of her:
I am so anxious for you to see little Helen, for she is simply perfect! She is a beautiful baby, so well and strong and as good as gold. She scarcely ever cries. And she is such a dear combination of Betty and John. Her eyes are just like Betty’s. She smiles most of her waking moments, and coos and talks so sweetly!
To Dr. and Mrs. Scott the coming of this little one to their loving care in Tsinan seemed like a resurrection from the dead.
Everything about her deliverance [they wrote] tells of God’s love and power. And we know that if He could bring a tiny, helpless infant, not three months old, through such dangers in perfect safety, He could no less surely have saved the lives of her precious parents had that been in His divine plan for them.
Helen Priscilla Stam
Does the sacrifice seem wasted? Not to the two who gave their all. Not to watching angels, who never had the privilege of showing their love by sacrifice or suffering. What Betty felt about any offering of love to Christ, however costly, comes out in her lines on Mary’s gift of “Spikenard Very Precious”:
In Simon’s house, in Bethany, the Master sat at meat:
Purity and strength and pity shone upon His wondrous face,
And the hearts of all were burning at His words of heavenly grace—
When a woman came and poured her precious ointment on His feet.
Fragrance as of eastern gardens lingered sweetly in the air;
And the box that held the perfume, alabaster, exquisite,
Shattered lay upon the floor, a rainbow curving in each bit—
As a woman, kneeling, weeping, wiped His feet upon her hair.
Then to disapproving murmurs the assembled guests gave vent:
For the world cannot endure the “wasting” of a precious thing,
When it is a gift of utter consecration to the King—
But a woman, loving greatly, kissed His feet and found content.