A Tale of Red Pekin Read online

  CHAPTER III.

  THE RISING IN THE VILLAGE.

  "Teacher, they are coming--burning, looting, killing!"

  "Not our people, surely?" said Mr. St. John.

  "No; but they will join, never fear, when their blood is up; they willforget all your kindness. The lady and the children should retire."

  "Yes, yes, Christine," said Mr. St. John, hurriedly; "go into the blueroom and remain there with the children until I join you; but if I amnot able to do so you know what we arranged--put on the Chinese dress,escape through the house, which will bring you out on the road toWei-hai-wei, and may God bless and be with my dear wife and children."

  "Paul, a wife's place is by her husband's side."

  "Yes, yes, my dearest, but the children!"

  "Oh, Paul, I am torn in two. I do not know what to choose.

  "Darling, you have not to choose, God has chosen for you; only one waylies open."

  "Yes, but oh, my dear husband--you must let me weep for one moment--toknow that we may never meet again, that you may be going to death--eventorture!" She lifted her lovely, agonized eyes to his.

  "It is very, very hard to bear, my dearest; the only thing that makes itpossible is the love of Christ; but, Christine," he said, hopefully, "Ibelieve we shall meet again in this world; if not, my darling wife, youwill know that I shall be with Christ, and be the first to welcome youto the City of the King. All the paths lead there in the end, do theynot?"

  "Yes, yes, my beloved husband, we shall meet again in glory, even if wemay not here. Good-bye, good-bye! Cicely and Rachel, come with me,darlings."

  Rachel had been wondering what it was all about; why her mother wascrying, and why they were saying good-bye; but she prepared to followMrs. St. John, to whom she was very devoted. Cicely still clung to herfather.

  "Let me stay with you, father, father darling." The little white faceraised to his, the gray eyes, so like his wife's, all touched himinfinitely; but he loosened her arms gently from about his neck.

  "My sweet child, it could not be: you must let me judge, darling. Ishould love to have you, but it is quite impossible."

  "Oh father, do--do let me stay."

  "Cicely," said her father, tenderly, "I know you do not wish to unnerveme. I am sure you do not wish to make it harder for me, and, my dearlittle girl, it would increase my pain and anxiety in a ten-fold degreeif I knew you were not in safety. Be my own sweet, brave child. Kissme and then run up to your mother. I know you will do all you can forher."

  "Yes, yes; good-bye, good-bye, father darling."

  "Good-bye, my own dear child, my precious Cicely. Please God, we shallmeet very soon again."

  He watched her as she turned slowly away, weeping quietly.

  "The bitterness of death is passed," he said to himself. "Now may theLord enable me to do His will whatever it may be, and face with couragewhatever lies before me."

  The room into which Mrs. St. John had retired with the nurse andchildren opened on to the side of the house, and it was possible to getfrom the verandah to the Mission-house, and from the Mission-house againto that of one of the native Christians hard by, and so on and soon--from one house to another, if only the people were willing--withoutever being seen in the public street for about a mile, till the road toWei-hai-wei was reached. It had been decided between the husband andwife that if things looked serious they should escape in this way fromthe house and village to Wei-hai-wei. They were to put on Chinesedresses, so as to court observation as little as possible, and takemoney and food for the journey.

  Mr. St. John moved quickly forward to the front of the house. He wasbeloved in the village and widely known, and hoped that his influencemight prevent further bloodshed; and then he could not leave the nativeChristians. If only he could persuade the rioters to return, somethingmight still be saved, and he would gain time for his wife and children.He lifted up his heart to God, and walked forward into the courtyard,his head erect, his face lighted up with the courage which God gives tothose who put their trust in Him. He needed it all to-day. The sightwhich met his view, when he turned the corner, was disquieting in theextreme. The din was terrific; the courtyard a mass of howling, franticrioters. Glancing hastily back to the house to see that all was rightthere, he suddenly turned pale. On the verandah overlooking thecourtyard stood a small, slight figure he knew only too well--thelittle, white face of the child whom he loved.

  "Oh, father, father darling, don't go; oh, come back to us; they willkill you."

  "Cicely, for God's sake, my darling, go back to your mother. I must domy duty. You are only increasing my anxiety tenfold; go back at once."The little figure suddenly disappeared, and, with a sigh of relief, Mr.St. John went out and faced the angry crowd. What he saw gave him thekeenest pain and apprehension. Their hands were literally red withblood. They had killed several of the native Christians, dragging theirbodies along with them in fiendish triumph. One poor fellow lay at Mr.St. John's feet; he was suffering from frightful wounds, but he wasstill alive, and as for the moment the attention of the crowd wasdistracted by a fresh disturbance from without, the clergyman managed todraw him into the house, and place him for a moment in a position ofsafety. He did what he could for the poor fellow; gave him a longdraught of water, and staunched the flowing blood, but it was evident tothe practised eye of the physician that his life was ebbing fast away.Yet the cross of Christ still triumphed--tortured, wounded, bleeding todeath, on his face there lay the light which was not of this world.

  "Teacher," he murmured, with a bright smile of recognition, "it is allover, and I am glad. Only a few minutes more and I shall be with Jesus.Do not look sad, I have no pain, and I am going to the land where thereis no more weariness, or persecution, or suffering." Suddenly his wholecountenance was eradiated with joy. "I see the gates of heaven opened,"he cried, with ecstasy, "and Jesus on the right hand of God waiting toreceive me. Oh, what a blessed thing to belong to Christ!"

  "Dear, dear fellow," said Mr. St. John, tenderly, holding the poor man'shand in a kind, gentle clasp. "How thankful I am that the Lord sent mehere. It has made it hard for you in this world, but this 'lightaffliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far moreexceeding and eternal weight of glory.'"

  "Yes, the glory; the glory, that is it," the dying man murmured almostinaudibly, and even as he spoke he seemed to pass away. Mr. St. Johnlaid him gently, reverently down. His heart was sad and yet throbbedwith joy. The pain was over for ever, and he was at rest with Jesus.He had no time for much thought; the noise seemed to be increasingwithout, and once more he turned to the court-yard. What he saw theresent the hot blood surging through his veins--tied to a post in thecourt-yard was a poor woman he knew, one of the converts who had butlately been baptized.

  Poor Daig Ong stood there in agony of fear, her hands were tied behindher back, and fastened to one of the posts in the court-yard; she wouldbe beaten to death unless someone interposed--this being a veryfavourite manner of execution amongst the Chinese. The man nearest toher raised his heavy stick; there was a dull, sickening thud, a groan ofpain. The man lifted his stick a second time, but, in a moment, beforeit could descend, Paul St. John was upon him. He had not been the bestathlete at Cambridge for nothing. With one blow he dispossessed the manwith the stick, the next instant the poor woman was free, and he wasstanding before her, his head thrown back, his nostrils dilated, eyesablaze with righteous indignation. Stern and beautiful he looked as hestood there, yet as he gazed over that sea of cruel yellow faces, morelike demons than men, his anger died away, and a vast wave of pitysurged in his breast; it was akin to that pity the Christ felt when Hegazed at Jerusalem and wept over it. All this hatred and cruelty andhideous passion were the result of devil thraldom--"and such were someof you." Yes, indeed, without Christ, wherein should any of us differ?

  "The poor woman was free, and he was standing beforeher."]

  How little
we in England, who speak of the reproach of Christ, know whatit really means in a heathen country. Perhaps we are coldly treated,and we think it hard if we have to put up with a sneer or a few unkindwords, and flatter ourselves with the conviction that we are bearing Hisreproach that we are suffering persecution; but when we look on theother picture our paltry woes dwindle into insignificance. Indeed, whenwe read, as we did last year, of the awful hardships and privations, thetorturing deaths, which our missionaries and the native Christiansunderwent, then we would sink into the ground for shame. We feel thatwe can never thank God enough for His mercies to us, the while we lookon our fellow Christians over the sea with an admiration a little,maybe, tinged with envy, in that they were accounted worthy to sufferfor that beloved Name, dearer and sweeter by far to every Christian thanany other on earth.

  For a brief moment there was a respite; a mob ever recognizes power, andthis was something they could not understand. What if the white man whostood there so fearlessly towering above them were an incarnation of oneof the gods? But no, the pictures of their gods were far different fromthis: they had cruel, wicked faces, like their own. Still theyhesitated. They had heard of this man, this great doctor, of hiswonderful cures. Suppose, now, he used his magic upon them, inflictingsome sore disaster, some awful punishment. Paul St. John noticed theirindecision and took advantage of it to whisper to the poor woman behindhim to slip back by degrees, and so make good her escape. They werestanding together at the entrance of the courtyard; the crowd, for themost part--the mad, surging, bloodthirsty crowd--stood between them andthe house. The eyes of the people seemed to be drawn to him as the onecentral figure; they watched him as a man on guard would watch everymovement of his opponent in a deadly duel.

  Daig Ong was permitted to pass out unperceived, and found refuge in ahouse belonging to one of the native Christians. When she was gone PaulSt. John breathed more freely. He knew that unless God wrought aspecial miracle in his favour this could not last long; yet he felt nofear, Jesus had never been so near. It seemed to him that the Lord wasactually standing there beside him, and something of the rapturousexaltation of his soul was visible in his countenance. He raised hishand to speak. The spell was broken. With one hideous cry, moredreadful, more cruel in its lust for blood than that of any wild beast,they sprang at him and threw him down and trod him underfoot. It waslike a storm picture--you look out and see the gallant little vesselbattling with the waves, borne up upon their crested billows, and thenext moment they roll over it, and only a ripple, a few bubbles, showthe place where it had been. A few minutes since, and Paul St. John hadstood before them like a beautiful avenging angel; now he lay theresilent and still, with his white face upturned to the pitiless sky.