“Remember the word that I said unto you, A servant is not greater than his lord.”
IT was not far from midnight when the litters appeared. By special arrangement, they were to put up for the night in our own stables, so that the early start might be made with the utmost possible secrecy. We had expected them earlier in the evening; and as the time wore on, and still they did not come, we felt some uneasiness, in the fear that, with the omen of the blood-red moon to daunt them, the men had thought better of the bargain. It was with no small relief, therefore, that we heard the clatter of hoofs upon the stones; and our hearts went up in praise to God that He had put the means of escape actually under our hand.
Those last moments that closed our happy station life at Lu-an—I cannot dwell upon them. The sorrow upon our hearth was, in a very real and solemn sense, even unto death; and yet behind it all was the peace of God, and beyond it, we knew well, was the glory of God. My precious wife was borne up by Divine strength for the physical fatigues of that laborious night: so indeed were we all. In sweet unconsciousness, our two little darlings lay asleep, side by side, on the bare bedframe, ready dressed for the moment of flight. My wife and Miss Gates packed as calmly and methodically as if they were leaving for an ordinary visit or itineration. There was haste, but no hurry.
All was carried through in the quietness and confidence of God’s strength, and with a conscientiousness which left every room and every cupboard as neat and orderly as if the expected absence were but for a few days.
By lantern light we packed the three litters. It seemed like a dream. Only just off the road, and now, could it be that we were really taking the road again After weary weeks of peril, we were at the home so often longed for: could it be that we were really leaving it again, to face peril certainly not less grave than that we had already passed through? For myself, I know I put the things in with a heartache that often groaned itself out to God.
And now the muleteers were here to give the finishing touches to the litters, and to warn us that the hour had come. For the last time we knelt together in our loved home beside the sleeping children, and commended ourselves and the little flock we were leaving into the hands of our Father and theirs. Then, lifting the dear little ones in our arms, and locking the doors behind us, we took our seats and were hoisted once more to the mules’ backs.
The first streaks of light were breaking over the hills as the little cavalcade stole across the wide compound; and, like light from heaven, the promise was flashed into my dear wife’s heart, “I shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the Lord.” Precious promise! How many a time it carried her over the power of death in the awful “valley of the shadow” she was just entering, the sequel will show.
Silently we passed out by the big gate into the main north street. Sheng-min accompanied us, leading the donkey—our own animal. P’ao-rï remained to close the gate behind us and shoot the bar, that our flight might not be perceived. He then scaled the wall, and rejoined us farther down the street. One other elected to follow us—our faithful dog, “Bobs.”
With an almost human instinct, he seemed to divine that there was trouble before us, and that he should never see us again; and nothing would turn him back, though never before had he attempted to leave the premises when we were going away.
The dead stillness of the sleeping city palled upon the sense and intensified the nerve-strain. The road-bells upon the mules’ necks had been dispensed with; but even so, the ring of their hoofs upon the stones had, to my anxious ears, a sound about it so loud and penetrating that one felt it could hardly fail to call the curious from their beds. So far as I could judge, as I sat behind the close-drawn curtain, not a soul was met with. In absolute silence we pressed on, down the north street, across the east and west streets, into the by-road running parallel to the south street. The moments seemed minutes, the minutes hours. At length we struck across into the main street, close down by the great south gate. A few moments more and we were halted before the massive barrier, fast closed against us.
Loud and long the drivers knocked at the gatekeeper’s door. In vain; not a sound from within, nor any that answered. The light was broadening in the east, and ere long men would be astir, and the precious moments upon which our hope of getting outside the city hung, were swiftly passing. “Be still, and know that I am God”: the Spirit breathed the word into my heart, and there was perfect peace.
Then a loud, uncouth voice, demanding who we were and what we wanted at that time of day; and— an insolent refusal to open the gate. What happened upon this I could not tell. There was silence for a time; then voices in hot debate, and then—were my ears deceived? the creaking of the huge iron-plated leaves as they swung slowly, slowly open! Then the drivers’ call to the animals; and a moment later we were without the city.
God had wrought for us very signally, as He that openeth and no man shutteth; for while we had to pay a certain sum, not only was the amount demanded a comparatively trifling one—(10,000 cash)—but it was nothing short of a miracle that the man should agree to receive money at all in the circumstances; and we gave Him the praise, as we hurried on through the narrow suburb out into the open.
It was broad daylight now; but as yet we had met no one to challenge us. I began to breathe freely as the distance from the city increased, and a sweet sense of freedom seemed borne in upon the fresh morning air. At the pace we were traveling, we might even hope to reach Kao-p’ing Hsien (forty miles distant) before we halted for the night and before our flight was discovered. So I thought, and so I prayed.
We had gone about ten “li” —between three and four miles—when I found that Miss Gates’ litter, which should have been close behind mine, was nowhere to be seen. Thinking that our two litters had outpaced hers, I called a halt to give her time to come up with us. The enforced delay troubled me sorely, as every moment was of consequence. We waited some minutes, but there was no sign of her coming. Just as I was giving the muleteer orders to turn and go back for her, P’ao-rï came running up to say that, shortly after clearing the suburb, a small band of men had given chase, held up the litter, and demanded so much money before they would let her go on. She was free now, and would be up with us directly. I saw at once that, with the discovery of our flight, our chance of escape was, humanly speaking, gone.
As soon as she came tip with us, Miss Gates urged us to hurry on with what speed we might. There was no question but that, as soon as the world was astir, we should be hard pressed by other robbing bands from the city; and not a moment was to be lost. Oh the heart-cry that was going up to God from the concealment of those litters! The dear children were awake, and it was hard to silence the gleeful laugh and prattle that might betray us. They could not understand why they might not “draw the blinds” now it was morning, nor why they must “sit all in the dark and keep so quiet, as though it were bedtime.” But their absolute obedience in a situation that, to a child, would be trying to a degree—cooped up and cramped as they were within the narrow space of a darkened litter, with every object of interest shut out from view—was beyond praise. Indeed, so far from being a trouble, the presence of our little ones was the greatest cheer and comfort to us. Except for the sorrow that they should be exposed to such suffering, we could not be sufficiently thankful for their company.
We must have been pushing on steadily for close upon another hour, when we found ourselves suddenly pulled up. The noise of men pursuing told its own story. The fact of our flight was out, and the issue was in the hands of God.
From that time on, until we reached our first halting place—a distance of some fifteen “li” farther—we were dropping cash at intervals in varying sums to satisfy the insolent demands of these robbers. If there was any demur, we were stopped and detained until the demand was complied with. No actual violence was offered us at this time. Sheng-min and P’ao-rï succeeded in so holding them, that they were taken up for the time being with the contents of the cash bag. Not until this store was exhausted did they turn their thoughts to other things.
It was just at the crisis when the cash bag had nothing more to offer them, that we reached the market town of Han-tien, somewhere about nine o’clock. To our surprise, instead of passing through and on we were driven into the inn, the mules stabled, and ourselves shown to a room on the east side of the quadrangle. Not long afterward, we discovered that our muleteers had played us false, and that we were the victims of designed treachery. They had been in collusion with the robbers by the way, and it was they who had betrayed us now into the hands of our enemies. From that hour for forty days to come we were to know no rest day or night, under the ever present sense of storm and tempest and the shadow of death.
We took from our litters only such of our things as we needed for an ordinary halt, in confident expectation of resuming the journey an hour or so later. But any such hope was soon dispelled. The courtyard was fast filling with men; and from the tenor of their talk and general demeanor, the boys gathered at once that mischief was determined. Under pretext, therefore, of fetching out pillows and coverlets for a siesta, they contrived to bring in all the silver we had with us—one hundred and forty-eight ounces. Dividing the ingots amongst us, we succeeded in secreting them upon our persons without being observed.
Meantime, the news that the “iang-kuei-tsï” (“foreign devils”) were in the town had spread far and wide, and the inn was soon besieged. All day long they poured in from the surrounding hamlets, until one wondered how the streets could hold them. Foremost amongst them all, in the bitterness of hate, were the people of Su-tien; and with their advent, in the early afternoon, the situation began to take on a darker hue. Up till then I had been able to show myself in the courtyard without being molested, but now this was no longer possible. We realized that to all intents and purposes, we were no longer the occupants of a guestroom, but the inmates of a prison, From the first the landlord treated us with marked incivility and neglect—so much so, that we had the greatest difficulty in getting food. Though we had been traveling since dawn we were allowed to taste nothing till noon, and absolutely nothing after. From that hour until the following Sunday afternoon—two days and nights—not a morsel of food passed our lips.
As the day wore on the noise outside increased. Sheng-min and P’ao-rï mingled with the crowd to glean all they could of their intentions; and every now and then the one or other of them would slip in to let us know the result. The drift of it all was—revenge for the drought, and compensation for the loss of their harvest.
The Su-tien folk were not long in getting to business. We knew it by the agonizing cries of our faithful “Bobs,” as they stoned him to death just outside the door. Our donkey, too, was led away and put to a cruel death, though, I am thankful to say, we were spared the knowledge of it at the time.
Attention was now turned to our litters, and a search for silver began. As soon as we were made aware of it, I saw that it was no longer safe to conceal the money in our clothing. If they could not find it elsewhere, they would without doubt search our persons; and this would mean violence, to say the least— if not death. So, while they were engrossed outside, we divested ourselves of our small hoard, and hid it among the stuff on the “k’ang.” The fact that they dared to violate their traditions so far as to lay hands openly on travelers’ property secured within the walls of an inn, proved how far they were under the impulse of hatred and rage.
Meanwhile, a detachment of Boxers arrived at the inn and proceeded to discuss the situation with the leading men of the villages represented. Baffled in the search for silver, and burning with the spirit of revenge, they unanimously resolved to put us to death.
Sufficient justification for the crime, if any were needed, would be found in making it the alternative of an impossible sum, which they would demand as legitimate compensation for losses sustained through the drought, of which we were the cause. The amount agreed upon was 200 ounces of silver.
When Sheng-min came in to break the news, we saw that he was much agitated. Seating himself on the k’ang, he said, “The Boxers are here, and we are all to be killed”; then, burying his face in his hands, he leaned his head on Miss Gates’ shoulder and wept bitterly. We were all much affected—the more, that the little ones had caught up the words as they fell from his lips, and began to cry bitterly too, as they clung about us, questioning, “Oh, father! mother! what are they going to do to us? Are they going to kill us? really kill us?” What else should we do at such a time than draw nigh to God? Humbly and trustfully we lifted our eyes to Him from Whom alone our help could come; and as we looked at the things not seen, and yielded ourselves into His hand for life or death in the prayer that He alone might be glorified, the peace of God took possession of our hearts and stilled every fear. Even the darling children’s terror was hushed to rest as they repeated after their mother, while she kissed away their tears, “I will trust, and not be afraid”; and soon after they were wrapped in a calm, untroubled sleep.
We now urged Sheng-min and P’ao-rï to leave us to our inevitable doom, and to save their own lives while they might. They both refused, and that with the full knowledge that their identification with us would involve them in the same certain destruction.
I cannot speak as I would of such self-sacrifice. When the story of the Boxer persecution is fully told, it will be known that despised China can furnish instances of devotion that would adorn the records of any country in any age. Those dear lads literally laid down their lives for our sakes, in a surrender as disinterested as it was voluntary and deliberate.
They had scarcely gone out to resume their watch in the courtyard, when suddenly the air was filled with a tumult of shouts, yells, blows, and groans. We looked at one another, but dared not give audible expression to the conviction in all our minds that this was the beginning of the end for us—the murder of our boys. To judge from the sounds, they were being beaten to death—there could be no doubt of it; and my heart stood still as the horrid thud of blow after blow fell upon the ear. It was a time of mute crying to God in speechless anguish. A few minutes more, and it was over; the tumult ceased as suddenly as it had arisen. The door was flung open, and a “small” mandarin named Ma, from the Lu-an yamen, entered, lit his pipe and sat down. Others followed, with whom he conversed in low tones, completely ignoring us the while. At length he rose, and addressing us said that as we foreign devils had caused great suffering to the good people of the neighborhood, we were to be fined in a sum of 200 ounces of silver; that we should be detained until the money was forthcoming, and that therefore it was to our interest to pay up. To remonstrate, of course, was useless, though remonstrate we did. We respectfully reminded him that, as we had resided several years in the city, he must be aware that our teaching and our whole manner of life was against evil-doing, and that to take our money upon a false pretext was grossly unjust. Whereupon he sneeringly turned on his heel and went out, with his following.
The afternoon of that long and bitter day was closing in, and the twilight fast fading into darkness. What thoughts were ours in the gloom of our prison room! Betrayed, in the hands of the Boxers, and given over to certain death; our animals killed already; and, for aught we knew to the contrary, our two boys also—the situation could hardly be darker. But “the darkness hideth not from Thee”; nor could “the power of darkness” rob us of the light of God’s countenance.
Just at the moment when the outlook was darkest, the door opened, and in walked—Sheng-min! His appearance, just when we were mourning him as dead, was truly “light in the darkness” —the earnest of our Father’s care for us, the promise of His mercy for dark days yet before us. It was not he and P’ao-rï, after all, that had been attacked, but some three men who had spoken up for us when we were condemned to die, and had declared that the Boxers should not touch us,—a sentiment for which they had been set upon and severely beaten, but not actually killed. Later on, these poor fellows came in, and, showing us some of their ugly bruises, appealed to our compassion, as having suffered in our behalf; and we gave them some 8,000 cash (or about six ounces of silver) a piece.
A lamp was now brought in and set in a niche of the wall above the table. Ma Lao-ie followed, and others with him, until the room was full of men. Whether these men were the local representatives or just the Lao-ie’s own creatures I could not say. They were his for the business in hand—willing instruments, of one heart and of one mind.
Forms were fetched and ranged round the table, at the head of which the Lao-ie had seated himself with magisterial dignity, and the mock formality of a trial began. We were not required to leave our place on the k’ang, nor was any word directly addressed to us. The proceedings consisted apparently of a general indictment, which was supported by specific charges, sworn to by false witnesses. Truly “they laid to our charge things that we knew not” —things too vile to put on paper. Among the more innocent were old hackneyed stories of cutting out children’s eyes and hearts for purposes of alchemy, of bewitching the ground, spoiling the “fêng-shui,” and what not; reeled off in company with those of a more recent type, such as poisoning the wells, disturbing the repose of the Earth Dragon (by the introduction of railways), shutting up the heavens, frustrating the prayers of the needy, and blaspheming the gods. The dim flicker from the single strand of cotton twist, doing duty for a lamp above the Lao-ie’s chair, fell with uncertain light upon the livid faces of our accusers, revealing in part the passion that worked in every feature—a picture revolting enough at any time, but horrible in the distortions of semi-darkness. As charge after charge was brought forward and proved to the satisfaction of all, the excitement grew in intensity, until it reached the vehemence of fury. We were unanimously declared unfit to live, and sentence of death was passed.
Forthwith they fell to discussing the mode and time of execution. The suggestions selected for consideration were—to poison us with opium there and then; to behead us with the sword in the inn yard; to shoot us with a foreign gun they had in their possession; or to carry us outside on the street, and fall upon us en masse.
The last proposal found the most general acceptance, and was accordingly adopted. Its great recommendation, apparently, was that it would give an opportunity to all who had a grudge against us to gratify their feelings of revenge. It would, above all, shift the responsibility of the crime from the shoulders of any known individuals to those of the intangible many—always a consideration of moment with a Chinaman, and probably the one that settled the matter now.
The time chosen as most suitable for carrying the sentence into effect was daylight the following morning.
And with that the dark conclave broke up. And with it was ended the tenth day of the sixth moon.
Little did they think that there was One standing amongst them, Whom they knew not, but against Whom they were imagining vain things. One, in Whose sight the souls of the helpless little ones before them were precious, and Who was even now their light and their salvation. Of a truth, we realized what it was to be “accounted as sheep for the slaughter”; but we also tasted in that solemn hour the triumph of the word—
“Neither death... nor any other creature shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”