“Father, forgive them!”
THE day was wearing to late afternoon, and ere long we must expect the return of the Boxer officer with his braves. We had no reason to believe that the people were any the less disposed than heretofore to complete the program they had set themselves, the first part of which they had already carried out. The stripping, doubtless, was but the prelude to the killing, as they had said. They still swarmed menacingly about us, giving us to believe that it was merely a question of time—a brief respite only, not a final reprieve. A clear indication of this seemed to be given when the booth keeper at length came out, and once more ordered us off the premises.
There was nothing for it but to resume the old seat beneath the saplings. We knew that we were doomed—that, humanly speaking, all hope of escape was gone, and that any moment now the Boxers would be on the spot. Besides, to attempt to leave the place would only call forth suspicion and provoke the ever-threatening attack. So we quietly sat down again on the slope, to be once more confronted by the instruments of death.
It was at this particular period that the climax of suspense was reached. For we could not but realize that, according to their declared intention, the next event was to be death. They had taken what they wanted: what else was there left to them to do but to kill us?
The inner experience of that hour was a singular one, in the way in which anxiety and rest existed side by side. How anxiously my eyes were forever turning in the direction of the spot where the Boxer leader disappeared, expecting momently the dread sight of his reappearance; and then how fearfully would they wander back to the actual evidences of the destruction awaiting us! And yet, over against all the dread, how marvelously balanced was the deep peace of God!
As we sat, I need hardly say we prayed, not so much for ourselves as for our would-be murderers. It was no light compensation for the bitterness of the cross that we should be given by His grace, in the fellowship of His sufferings, the fellowship also of His constraining love; and even the very prayer from His own Cross, “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.” To find it possible to be possessed at such a time by the spirit of divine love and compassion instead of by the natural spirit of resentment and hate, was to us a tangible evidence of the truth of the Gospel we had preached such as no philosophy in the world could reason us out of.
What, I wonder, would the rationalism of the so-called “Higher Critic” have done for us, as we sat for hours facing our murderers and watching them make ready the instruments of a cruel death I could almost wish that the wise who affect to speculate on the verities of the Eternal Truth by their comfortable fireside, and so lightheartedly from the ease of a professor’s chair cut “the lively Oracles” with the penknife of an impious exegesis, were put for a few hours into the crucible of a Boxer persecution, with their “higher” reasonings for their only stay and solace.
I do not envy the man who should find himself compelled to make the experiment. One thing, however, I must believe. If he were spared to come out of it sane, it would be minus his make-believes, with the wholesome conviction of his sinful folly stamped upon his heart, and upon his lips the honest confession that of all men he had been the most miserable.
I can never sufficiently thank God that, when I received His Word, I “received it not as the word of men, but as it is in truth, the Word of God, which effectually worketh also in them that believe.” Had my faith not been founded upon that Rock before the flood arose and the stream beat vehemently upon it, in those awful weeks of the ever-shadowing presence of the king of terrors, I know that my reason must have given way. It was “by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God,” as recorded in the Book of His inspiration, that I and those with me lived then. Our mental and physical, as well as our spiritual life, was supernaturally sustained by it. Through the written Word laid up in our hearts, the Eternal Word manifested to us both Himself and the Father. Jesus Himself drew near and talked with us by the way; and the words that He spoke to us, they were spirit and they were life.
It was literally as though I heard His living voice beside me. Now He was breathing in my ear, “Fear not them which kill the body, and after that have no more that they can do; but fear Him, which after He hath killed hath power to cast both soul and body into hell. Yea, I say unto you, Fear Him.”
“Fear thou not, for I am with thee; be not dismayed, for I am thy God; I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of My righteousness.”
“Fear none of those things which thou shalt suffer. Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life.”
Then He would speak in the word of the promise: “When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned, neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.” And I knew it for my Lord’s own voice when the words echoed within: “Said I not unto thee that, if thou wouldest believe, thou shouldest see the glory of God?” “Verily, verily, I say unto you, If a man keep my saying, he shall never see death.”
These passages in particular stand out with peculiar distinctness from amongst the many that were borne in upon my heart that day. I rested my whole soul upon the “Verily, verily I say unto thee” of Him whom I knew to be the Truth, and whose “saying” I had, in His strength, sincerely and earnestly sought to “keep”; and I relied upon Him to fulfill to me the promise, “Thou shalt never see death” — “thou shalt see the glory of God.” How graciously and abundantly He met my expectation! I proved the literal truth of His words; for I bear record that He gave me such a sight of the glory of God as to eclipse the sight of death and to deliver me from all my fears.
I remember well the comfort wherewith I was comforted of God over the story of Stephen’s last hour.
My thoughts dwelt much upon it; for, in a certain sense, our circumstances resembled his; and I prayed the Lord Jesus to be to each one of us then what He had proved Himself to His servant in the same great conflict of sufferings; and the testimony of each one of us afterward was that we had seen “the glory of God and Jesus,” as we sat on that slope beneath the saplings. In a letter written from Hankow by my beloved wife to a dear friend of hers in Dover, I find her summarizing her own experience thus:
“The first message that meets me after our terrible journey seems just to express all He has done for us— ‘If it had not been the Lord who was on our side, then they had swallowed us up alive’; and, oh, yes, our hearts do say, ‘Blessed be the Lord who hath not given us a prey.’ I can only write a little, but it may bring comfort to know all is well. All is deep praise to Him; for the experience has been so blessed—the experience of His power to cover and keep in perfect peace, only seeing glory when face to face with death—the experience of His tender carrying and enabling love when brought nigh unto death on the road—all has been blessed experience of Him.”
And Miss Gates has had the joy of giving publicly at home the same personal testimony to the grace of God.
One thought that was largely used of God to my comfort, especially in regard to the weak ones with me, was that the dismissal of Stephen’s spirit from the body was not the effect of the stoning, but of a direct loosing act on the part of Christ, in response to His call, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.” For, only the moment before, he had “cried with a loud voice”: his life was yet strong in him. Again, he was in full possession of consciousness at the moment he breathed his last, for he prayed, “Lord, lay not this sin to their charge”; “and when he had said this” —immediately following upon it— “he fell asleep.” The expression, too, “he fell asleep,” seemed to me at variance with the thought of a dissolution involving conscious pain and distress. And so I gathered from these considerations that, however distressing the attendant circumstances of our end might be, yet the end itself would not be so. The flight of the spirit would be taken in obedience to the loosing touch of its Redeemer, and would be directly dependent on that touch alone. The moment of its separation from the body would be the moment of its reception at His hands; and the experience to the faithful servant of his spirit’s entrance into the rest of God might only be set forth by the idea of a “falling asleep” —so gentle, so quiet, go easy is his departure. And so I rejoiced to think that, however terrifying to the natural man the mode of death awaiting us might be, our compassionate Lord would, in response to our call, Himself set the spirit free, and that we too should know only what Stephen knew—not a struggling, agonizing dismissal under the blows of torturing weapons, but, under the painless loosing of Love’s gentle hand, a placid “falling asleep.”
One other passage I cannot but refer to, as having formed the foundation of God’s consolations to my soul in the hour of death: “But now in Christ Jesus, ye who once were far off are made nigh by the Blood of Christ.”
How those unspeakably precious words, “MADE NIGH BY THE BLOOD OF CHRIST,” stood out before my eyes in letters of light! The ground of my settled peace then was the knowledge that God had made peace through the blood of His Son’s Cross, and the certain assurance that through faith in His blood I had redemption, the forgiveness of my sins. When all the humbling and distressing sense of sin as a believer, and of having fallen short of the glory of God, rose up before me (as at such a time it could not fail to do), to know that the precious blood of Christ had fully met for me the claims of God’s holiness, and that He, the Propitiation for my sins, was Himself my Advocate with the Father—this was the sure foundation of rest for my soul. The Spirit of God witnessed with my spirit that I was, on the ground of the atoning sacrifice of my all-holy, all-sufficient Substitute, a child of God, in the nearness of actual sonship; and the knowledge of my acceptance in the Beloved of the Father gave the peace that passeth all understanding. I desire to bear this testimony that the blood of Christ, Who is our peace, was the alone ground of my perfect peace in the immediate prospect of my appearing before God, the Judge of all.
This, then, was the comfort wherewith we ourselves were comforted of God, in all the tribulation of those weeks of daily dying. My experience was not unique. It was shared by my companions in suffering to a degree which led me again and again to glorify God in them. And I know that many others, who were called to pass the same road at that period, will find in my testimony an echo of their own inner experience.
How long we continued to sit there I could not say. The time seemed interminable. The sun was dropping to the west, and still the mob held back, and still the Boxers had not come. At length, to my amazement, one of the men (probably a “shae-sheo,” or village elder) called to us: “What are you sitting there for? We don’t want you here. Be off with you! Tseo pa!”
The cry, “Tseo, tseo!” was taken up, and I saw our God-given opportunity.
“We have no wish to stay here,” I said. “If my respected elder brother will allow us to go quietly on our way, we will go at once.”
We got up and moved off. Once more the crowd fell back before us, as if held by an unseen power, and not a hand was lifted to touch us as we passed on to the Kao-p’ing road.
We had not gone far, however, before they caught us up again, and made it pretty clear that they intended to dog our steps. Upon this, we again seated ourselves on a grassy sward by the roadside—to attempt to go on seemed idle; and once more we were surrounded. A supercilious young scholar, seeing us sitting thus as he drove by, dismounted in the hope of getting some sport out of us; and our answers to his questions upon our religion called out horrible execrations from the rest.
Up to the time of our being stripped, my wife had been able to retain her tiny pocket edition of the Oxford Bible, which she carried within the inner fold of her gown. The one, of course, had disappeared with the other; and the loss of the precious little volume was to her, and to us all, irreparable—more keenly felt than any other. And now, as we sat, we caught sight of it in the hands of one of our captors, who was toying carelessly with it or showing the curiosity to the bystanders. Who should that one be but the tramp! My dear wife’s joy at the sight of her lost treasure was very touching It was, however, only to be an aggravation of the trial of its loss; for the man’s hard heart was proof against all her tearful entreaties, and the last we saw of it was its disappearance—most sad irony!—into my pocket. This may seem a trifling matter to record; but in reality it formed an integral part of the sufferings of that most suffering day, and as such I could not omit to notice it.
The incident of the scholar had the effect of breaking the people’s reserve to us, and they showed greater readiness to talk to us than at any previous time. Though it followed the line marked out for them by their superior—that of rude, contemptuous questioning—yet it gave us an opportunity of preaching to them Jesus. The word was vehemently opposed by an old man, who had been very demonstrative when the scholar was talking with us, but whose rage now altogether broke bounds.
“Je-su, Je-su,” he thundered; “what do we want with your Je-su! We mean to drive you foreign devils out of China, and Je-su too. Away with Him, and away with you! Tseo pa!”
It seemed now in very truth that the end could not be delayed. The crowd made a threatening move towards us, as they again took up the cry, “Tseo, tseo!” We answered as before, in polite, conciliatory tones, that we had no wish to trouble them with our presence, but that it was themselves who would not allow us to go. If they for their part would undertake not to follow us, but just leave us alone, we would go our way and trouble them no more.
Once again they fell back as we rose to go. A fear seemed to have fallen upon them that paralyzed their arm. They made no attempt to follow us; and when we looked behind at the bend of the road, the way was clear.
How to make the best use of our liberty, and of the time at our disposal, was the problem now. Was there any way open to us by which we could baffle pursuit?
Happily, the rising ground on either side hid us well from sight. Lifting the children in our arms, we left the road they had seen us take, and passing through a quarry made for the fields beyond. Here we were overtaken by a sharp shower of rain, and having no shelter at hand were soon wet to the skin. In this, however, we saw the hand of God working for our good; for the friendly shower would both serve to deter the people, and also to convince them how false was the superstitious charge they had brought against us. On we pressed, seeking a temporary hiding place. But in vain. Nothing in the shape of cover could we see, look which way we would.
By the time the rain was over we had made some little distance, and my heart was beginning to take fresh courage when, as I turned to reconnoiter, I saw against the skyline the figures of scouts on the lookout, and I knew that we had been sighted. We at once made for the lower ground, where we should be for awhile hidden from their view; and in doing so, we came upon a small hollow just off the beaten track, and sufficiently high up to elude the observation of passersby. It was partially screened by shrubs, and large boulder stones were tumbled in it. Here was the very refuge we needed; and one by one—not without difficulty, owing to the treacherously balanced boulders —we stepped down into it. In another hour or so the sun would have set; and if only we could escape detection so long, we might then hope to get well away under cover of darkness. How anxiously we listened, as we crouched together, almost fearing lest the loud beat of the heart might betray us!
We had not been long seated when our ears caught the sound of voices and hurrying feet. They passed without seeing us, and we breathed again. A few minutes later, others were heard approaching; and they too passed ignorantly on. At last a couple of men happened to turn when they were all but past the spot, spied us huddling together, and stopped. The game was up. There was nothing for it but to put a good face on our discomfiture and descend to the roadway. The men then hastened on to report their discovery.
Worn out with all that we had already gone through that day, rain-bedraggled, and oh! so hungry, our plight seemed more hopeless than ever. It was just now, when in sore dejection we were wandering on to we knew not what of fresh buffetings and cruelty, that the Lord gave us another token that He was with us and tenderly caring for us, according to the word that He kept in our hearts, “I will in no wise fail thee, neither will I in any wise forsake thee.” Two men were seen coming over the field, and presently they called to us. Not knowing whether they were for or against us, Sheng-min answered the summons, and after a word with them bade us come. One of the two proved to be a gentleman from Lu-an city. With much compassion in his look and voice, he said, “I am so sorry for you. I would assist you, but am helpless to do so. Certain death awaits you: you cannot escape it. There are people there and there” — (pointing warningly) — “waiting to kill you. I would urge you, however, under any circumstances, to avoid the village before you. And yet I know,” he added, “that you cannot go far without losing your lives. It is very, very hard for you.” And with that he handed me twenty-five cash, saying, “Take this it is all I have on me.”
His companion then came forward, and without saying more than “K’o lien, k’o lien” — “I am so sorry for you”—thrust into my hand a tin of condensed milk which he had recovered from the plundered supply of our litters.
What these words and acts of mercy meant to us at that juncture I cannot express. We were much moved. Indeed, my dear wife, with her thoughts centered on the needs of her little ones, could not refrain from tears at the sight of the milk, and again and again we thanked our kind benefactors in the name of the Lord Jesus.
Following our friend’s warning, we turned our steps in another direction, towards the village of Uangfang, where an evangelist of our church (Chin sienseng) was living; his wife only, however, being at home at this time. Our hope was that, if only we could reach her house unobserved in the darkness, she might be able to hide us in the loft until the storm had blown over. Fond hope, that was neither realized nor realizable And yet God allowed it, for the sustaining of our courage and the guiding of our steps in the prepared path.
Our change of direction was quickly noted, and a large body of men gave chase. We were now pressed hard, and the threatening attitude of the men kept us in constant expectation of attack. At length they made a rush for our boys. Sheng-min, a big, powerfully built fellow, defended himself; but the odds of thirty to one were too heavy, and he was borne to the ground. For several minutes the scene resembled a wild football scrimmage. Every now and again the poor lad became visible for a moment, struggling desperately; and my wife and Miss Gates covered their eyes as they cried out, “Oh, they are killing him, they are killing him!” Then he was wholly lost to sight, and we could but conclude that all was over with him. It was a time of awful suspense as we sat and waited for—we hardly dared to think what; for surely our turn would quickly succeed.
Then the gang scattered, some running in various directions, others eagerly scouring the ground. Some half-dozen ran for poor P’ao-rï, who had escaped their hands when the first rush was made, and was now standing near us. As he offered no resistance, they contented themselves with searching him from head to foot, and after robbing him of what little silver and cash he had on him, they made off.
Meantime, to our unspeakable wonder and joy, Sheng-min reappeared, bearing the evident traces of his conflict, but still sound of limb, through the miraculous keeping of God. Unknown to us, both he and P’ao-rï had secreted a portion of our silver in various parts of their clothing before leaving the inn at Han-tien, and had jealously guarded it until now against our future need. The discovery that he had ingots on him was enough. They wanted nothing else, and were content to let him go when they were satisfied that his all was in their hands. In the fierce scuffle, some of the silver and much of the cash in his wallet had scattered on the ground, and it was owing to this that many were kept from the further pursuit, so intent were they on the search for what they could pick up.
The path we had taken brought us out upon an open space, where we were met by an expectant crowd, who at once pointed us in a particular direction. Here again we experienced a remarkable interposition of God. A woman of their number, touched at the sight of our pitiable condition, compassionated us so far as to lend the ladies a needle and thread to mend the rents in the garments left to them. Hearing the talk that was going on around her, to the effect that they intended to kill us near the village towards which they were pointing us, she set up the customary wail for the dead, whereby we divined their intent, and, with Sheng-min and P’ao-rï to lead us, followed another path of their choosing. Only to find, however, further crowds awaiting us and coming to meet us all along the road. As they met us, they turned and went on with us. It was a steep incline all the way, and how wearily now we dragged along it! The presence of our native servants was an untold comfort—God’s own gift to us for such a time. But He was pleased now to remove one of them. I saw P’ao-rï forging on ahead, and then, at a point where the road curved to the right, disappear in the crowd. I imagined that he had gone on to reconnoiter, and that he would reappear farther on. But we never saw him again. This was a sore trial at the time; but the Lord was our confidence, and we rested in the assurance that it was the ordering of His perfect wisdom.
The reason of P’ao-rï’s disappearance I learned long afterward. As the village of Uang-fang was our objective, he decided to go on before and prepare Mrs. Chin against a surprise. In this way there would be no disturbance created by our arrival, and no unfortunate waiting at her door. As a matter of fact, he was doomed to the coldest of receptions. In her terror at the threats held out by the Boxers to all who professed “the foreign religion,” she (poor soul!) had recanted, and was burning incense as he went in. Her fright at seeing him was such that she affected not to know who he was. As for any thought of receiving us, it was out of the question. Indeed, it was as much as her life was worth to have even him shadowing her doorway; and she entreated him to begone without delay.
Baffled in his endeavor, P’ao-rï retraced his steps and sought for us high and low, but to no purpose; until at last, utterly wearied out and unable to find any clue to our whereabouts, he gave up the search and returned sadly home.