APRIL 1913. AGE 25
DR. ZWEMER had left for Jedda when a telephone call came from the Hassoon Family on Good Friday, the twenty-first of March. It was to say that their guest was far from well. Mrs. Zwemer went over at once to the house by the railroad station, and found that Borden had seen the doctor already, who had told him to stay in bed. There was headache and some fever, but nothing serious apparently. He had been out a good deal in connection with his canvass of the city and with the zikrs that were going on, and might have contracted influenza, which was prevalent at the time.
Next morning the message was that he was better, so that it was a surprise to hear in the afternoon that he had been taken to the hospital. It was probably heat stroke, the doctors said, but no one could see the patient.
Easter Sunday came with all its gladness, but a shadow lay on the little missionary community, for Borden’s place was empty. The hospital was five miles away, but after the morning service one of his friends went out to obtain fuller information.
“He was told,” wrote Mrs. Zwemer, scarcely believing it possible, “that Mr. Borden had cerebral meningitis—which stunned us all. I chased the doctor from place to place, and saw him personally that evening, but he would not give any hope, only that Mr. Borden was no worse, and that serum had been injected into the spinal cord.”
So the blow fell, and that bright strong young life was suddenly challenged by suffering, if not death itself. Over the succeeding days a veil of mystery is hung—at least for those who were watching, near and far, with stricken hearts. As day by day the cables carried messages of alternate hope and fear, life seemed to stand still for many, and a great volume of prayer went up to God without ceasing.
One tragic element in the situation was that the relatives in America were unable to communicate with Mrs. Borden. She had already left with her younger daughter to join William in the Lebanon Mountains for the summer, sailing for Alexandria direct. They were not due in Gibraltar till the first of April, and efforts to reach them by wireless proved unsuccessful. Happily the older sister, who had just returned from India with her family, was still in London. Upon hearing of the illness she set out for Cairo at once, but it was the second of April before she could arrive.
Meanwhile Mr. Gairdner was visiting the patient daily, and Mr. Giffen of the American Mission obtained permission to see him once and again. The risk of infection was very serious, but Mrs. Zwemer could not keep away. Repeatedly she visited and prayed with him, bearing also all the burden of communication by letter and cable with those at home.
It was there in America that consternation and sorrow found their fullest expression. Miss Whiting, Mrs. Borden’s sister, set aside everything to be in the Borden home in New York, answering letters and cables and keeping in touch with the large circle of inquiring friends. To her sister she wrote:
I telephoned Mr. Frost and he came up of his own accord and remained until the following day at noon. He was most kind and could do a good deal of inquiring, writing notes, etc., while I had to be out. Mr. Delavan Pierson suggested a circle of prayer in which he and his wife would join; so Mr. Frost arranged this with Mr. Don O. Shelton.
Mr. Shelton telephoned me that hardly anything else had been thought of for the day—all the workers of the Institute met with him in the morning, and the Board of Directors in the afternoon, and that prayer would be continued strong and steady until William’s recovery was assured.
Laura telegraphed Mrs. H. who went at once to Dr. A. B. Simpson, and there also daily prayer is offered. You, of course, are as earnestly thought of as William.... I telephoned the Erdman and telegraphed to many others, trying not to leave out any one you would wish to have reached. Mr. Frost wrote to Mr. Crowell... who would be the one to speak to William’s friends at the Moody Church.... Charlie Campbell spent all one afternoon here. In many ways he made William seem so near!
And then, a little later:
It has been a blessing and even a joy to be here, where I could come in touch with your friends and William’s, and to hear them speak the words of love and admiration and sorrow. Even the men are not ashamed to be found in tears. No one, no one can understand. They and we can only know. Dr. W. J. Erdman showed the marks of the struggle in his face and bearing as he said:
“It is the strangest, most mysterious working of the divine providence I have ever experienced. The, world had such need of William!”
But in Cairo, in the shaded room at the Anglo-American hospital, who shall say that there was question or mystery? Suffering there was, intense and prolonged, for Borden was fighting the bravest fight of all his life. But he was not alone. Had not his prayer from childhood been that the will of God should be done in his life? There was no shrinking now. All those Easter days, as he lay there, he could not but think of the young doctor missionary whose sudden call had come just in the same way. Only a few weeks previously he had stood by that new-made grave. What if, for himself too, the call had come? No reserve, no retreat, no regrets had any place in Borden’s consecration to God. With Adam McCall, the young leader on the Congo, falling as one of the first missionary pioneers in that great region of Central Africa, he might have said:
Thou knowest the circumstances, Lord. Do as Thou pleasest, I have nothing to say. I am not dissatisfied that Thou are about to take me away. Why should I be? I gave myself, body, mind and spirit to Thee―consecrated my whole life and being to Thy service. And now, if it please Thee to take me instead of the work I would have done for Thee, what is that to me? Thy will be done.
Glory, not only mystery, surrounds the earthly close of such a life.
Among the friends who risked infection and were permitted to see him was his dear Syrian host, who wrote:
As soon as I stepped into the room, he, in spite of his great suffering, gave me a wonderful smile which is printed on my memory. He then sat up in bed, but very soon had to lay himself down again... I sat by his bedside for a short time and spoke to him with all the oriental and brotherly kindness I could master at that critical moment. I was greatly astonished that all his sufferings did not hinder him from showing gratitude and love. I passed my hand over his forehead and wiped away the drops of sweat that stood there, and asked God to help and cure him. He smiled again and held my hand in his and pressed it very gently but warmly, in such a manner which made me feel his love. He was not so very able to speak much, but his eyes spoke, and transmitted to my heart all that was in his heart and mind. And thus I left him for the last time.
Meanwhile Mrs. Borden and her younger daughter were nearing Cairo. Dr. Zwemer had returned from Jedda, where he had been enabled to witness for Christ within thirty miler of Mecca itself, and while in quarantine at Suez had received “the terrible tidings of Borden’s illness.” From the second Sunday he was with him frequently, and even then there seemed hope, at times, that the patient’s splendid constitution would hold out. He recognized his elder sister who had come from London and with the nurses was doing all that love and skill could devise. He knew that his mother was expected, and asked for her in semi-consciousness, often saying: “Poor Mother! Poor Mother!” His work, too, was much upon his heart, for in delirium he talked about it constantly.
“This is the fifteenth day,” Dr. Zwemer wrote early in April, “and he is slightly better tonight, although this morning the doctor had no hope. Mrs. Zwemer has done heroic work, both in visiting and in praying, as well as keeping in touch with Mrs. Borden by cable. The latter will be in Brindisi tonight and sails for Port Said tomorrow.”
Three days later it was still with a glimmer of hope that he left for Port Said to meet the steamer. They had hardly cast anchor before he was on board, at five A.M., bringing what seemed good news to those who had so dreaded the arrival. In the relief of hearing that William was still living, the beauty of the spring morning and the novelty of all around them impressed itself upon the younger members of the party, one of whom wrote:
We went ashore in small boats, and everything was very interesting and strange. Our steamer was over-run with Arabs and Negroes of all descriptions. The harbor sparkled with light and bright colors. The ride from the water’s edge to the railway station was also fascinating, with the first high palms, the veiled women and the bright picturesque costumes of the Arabs.
We left by train at 8 A.M. and had a fine run to Ismailia, following for many miles the banks of the Suez Canal. It was surprising to find the canal so narrow, and that yet the largest ocean steamers can pass through.... Almost at once after leaving the canal, the desert began—long stretches of sand with beautiful vistas, far away, where the sand would look bright pink. Here and there would be a green patch, wherever water was to be found, while hard by the same soil was just barren wilderness....
After a long time the Nile deposit began to appear―dark soil, very different from the sandy stretches, and getting more and more black as we came into the cultivated land of Goshen. There, Arab life was all around us. Already in the desert we had seen camels wandering about, either alone or with Bedouin in floating garments. Now we passed real native villages―mud huts, people sitting around, children, veiled Moslem women, men loading camels, families riding on donkeys.... We had morning prayers and sang hymns, that one especially with the chorus:
“Stayed upon Jehovah, hearts are fully blest;
Finding as He promised, perfect peace and rest.”
Afterward this meant so much to Mrs. Borden and Joyce.
At Ismailia, halfway to Cairo, a telegram was brought to us: “William not so well.” Dr. Zwemer said it had been like that all the time. Having reached a certain satisfactory level, he would drop below that level every second day, improving again the next day, so that we need not be over-anxious....
We went on. It was only a few stations farther that a second telegram came to Dr. Zwemer, right to the car. It was the end.
I cannot tell you about that next hour or so on the train. Dr. Zwemer was the greatest comfort―but oh, it was dreadful! It broke my heart to see Mrs. Borden and sweet little Joyce. We reached Cairo at 1 P.M. William had passed away at 9 A.M. I cannot believe it even yet...
The funeral had to be the same afternoon. His death was absolutely peaceful, without any struggle; he just simply stopped breathing. Dear, dear Mrs. Borden―what a sorrow, what a loss!
When she could write, ten days later, Mrs. Borden herself told all the rest there was to tell―and it was everything:
I do not want you to think of us as overwhelmed, for we are not. God’s loving care and mercy have been evident on every side; and it has been a real joy to be in the place where William, in those few short weeks, became so honored and loved, and was so happy! The missionaries have all been most kind and thoughtful, and Dr. and Mrs. Zwemer wonderful in their loving sympathy and untiring efforts on our behalf. Dr. Zwemer has been son and brother in one. He loved William and could scarcely speak of him with unbroken voice. Mr. Gairdner, head of the language school where William was studying, visited him daily through all his illness, though it is considered dangerous to go near the sufferer. The nurses they tell me were devoted, and so were the Arab boy-attendants, night and day, keeping the flies away. As yet, it is all more like a dream than reality.
But I wanted to tell you just one thing that you may not hear from anyone else: and that is that, when we saw him, it seemed as though William had been transformed into the very likeness of Christ, through suffering. I should never have known him, his beard and mustache had grown and the contour of his face was changed.
We had been in doubt as to whether to go to the hospital to see him, altered as he would inevitably be; but thank God, we did―Joyce and I with Mr. Gairdner. We were told not to go near the bed, but that at a distance it would be safe. We approached a long, low building, standing right on the ground, so that it seemed as though we might be going to the tomb itself, and the question “Who will roll us away the stone?” was almost on my lips. The door was opened, and immediately we were in the presence of all that remained here of our William.
I was so shocked at the change that I turned to beg Joyce not to look or to come in, but she had already done so, and said in the gentlest voice―afterward, I thought, like the voice of an angel: “But Mother, did you see how he looks like all the pictures of Christ―the crucified Christ?”
I looked again, and then indeed I saw.
One hardly dared speak of it to others, fearing it would be thought irreverent or fanciful. But I did mention it to Douglas in Mr. Gairdner’s hearing, who quietly said: “Yes, and you only stood at the threshold. If you had gone nearer you would have seen the resemblance more clearly.”
I said that, standing there, I could only think of the words: “His visage was more marred than any man’s.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Gairdner, “His visage―more marred than any man’s.”
It put such a holy, wonderful touch upon it all.
“Perfect through suffering.” It was as though we had been permitted a glimpse into the mystery of suffering, human and Divine, and had seen that through it God had, so to speak, given the final touches to William’s life.
“Christ Jesus my Lord―for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and do count them but refuse, that I may win Christ, and be found in Him.”
“And Jesus, looking upon him, loved him.”