circumstances combined to give the report credibility. Why, for
instance, was the long, unusual trip down the river taken just before
our boat was to start? What did it mean that, after the murder of the
Christians was known, no sum of money could induce a Lāo man to take a
letter to Bangkok? If the story of the fate of our messenger were true,
the act was the act of a madman—and there is no telling what a madman
may not do. He was in a position to keep us from escaping; and if he had
really gone so far as that, he evidently did not intend that we should
be heard from alive.
For a time we virtually resigned ourselves to what seemed inevitable
fate. When we could get no letters sent, we actually began writing the
history of those days on the margins of books in our library, so that,
if we were never heard from again, some of the precedent circumstances
of our end might thus, perhaps, come to light. It was a great relief,
therefore, when an influential Burmese, knowing our situation, offered
to carry a letter through to our friends in Bangkok.
On September 29th, when the letters carried by the Burmese were written,
we were still under the impression that our boatman had been murdered,
and that neither he nor the letters and reports carried by him had been
heard from. It was the knowledge that these rumours were false, and that
he had passed Rahêng in safety, that first relieved our minds. So, too,
his arrival in Bangkok gave our friends there the first assurance of our
safety. With this explanation the letters themselves will give the best
idea of our situation in those dark days. The following is from a letter
of Dr. S. R. House to our Mission Board in New York, printed in the
_Presbyterian Record_ of February, 1870. It is dated November 11th,
1869.
“Since our last mail was despatched, tidings have been received
from the mission families in North Laos which have greatly
distressed and alarmed us, causing no little anxiety for their
personal safety. This outburst of persecution from which they
are now suffering must have been quite unlooked for, for their
letters down to September 10th were full of encouragement. Never
had the king and the princes[8] seemed more friendly; never had
their prospects seemed brighter. Seven interesting converts had
been baptized since the year began, and they had just been
enjoying a wonderfully favourable opportunity to make the gospel
message known to the people from every part of the kingdom....
What has caused this sudden change in the demeanour of the king
of Chiengmai toward our missionaries there, does not appear....
Footnote 8:
That is the Prince of Chiengmai and the nobility. These terms are so
used generally throughout this correspondence.—ED.
“Thus far they seem to have had no apprehension for themselves
personally; but the next letter, of two days’ later date,
indicates that something had occurred or had come to their
knowledge which led them to believe that their own lives were in
jeopardy. On September 29th Mr. McGilvary writes hurriedly to
his father-in-law, Rev. D. B. Bradley, M.D., of the A. M. A.
mission as follows:—
“‘Dear Father and Mother:—We write to tell you that we may be in
great danger. If you never hear from us more, know that we are
in heaven. Send some one up here to look after our Christians,
and do not, we beg you, grieve over the loss of our lives. Two
of our church members died at the martyr’s stake on the 14th of
September. Warrants are out for the others. What is before us we
do not know. We are all peaceful, and very happy. We have
written letters giving the full facts, but dare not send them
for fear of their interception.
“‘Lung Puk left here on the 12th direct for Bangkok. Should he
never reach you, you may fear the worst for us.... He had a
large mail with our reports, etc. Should worst come to worst, we
have counted the cost beforehand, and our death will not be in
vain. Love to all the dear ones. Good-bye, dear father, mother,
brothers, sisters, and friends—perhaps till we meet in heaven!’”
Dr. House then continues:
“That these letters—the last one especially—awakened our deepest
solicitude, I need not assure you. The brethren from the
Pechaburī station reached Bangkok, to attend the annual session
of Presbytery, the very day the startling tidings came; and
anxious were our deliberations, and earnest our prayers in
behalf of those brethren beloved and their helpless families. A
month had then elapsed since the date of the letters. Were they
still in the land of the living?
“It was deemed advisable that some of our number should proceed
as far up the river as possible—to Rahêng at least—to learn the
existing state of things and extend all possible assistance.
After consultation this service devolved on Bros. McDonald and
George.
“Owing to the peculiar allegiance which holds the Lāo tribes
tributary to the Siamese, it was thought best not to press any
doubtful treaty rights and claims through the United States
Consul—that is, the protection they would be entitled to claim
anywhere on the soil of Siam proper—but to throw ourselves on
the friendliness and goodwill of the Siamese Government as old
residents here, most of us, who are greatly troubled lest harm
should befall our friends who are living in one of their
tributary states. What could they do to help us?
“The deputation, consisting of Dr. Bradley, Mr. McDonald, Mr.
George, and myself, were most kindly received by the new Regent
of the kingdom, the late Prime Minister—were received in every
respect as friends, and the best endeavours of the Siamese
Government were promised. A government official would be
despatched at once bearing a letter to the king of Chiengmai,
enjoining on him to give protection to the missionaries. But the
Regent added, ‘It is difficult to deal with a man so moody and
arbitrary as this Chief of Chiengmai. He is like King Theodore
of Abyssinia.’—This too significant comparison had already
suggested itself in anything but an agreeable way to ourselves.
“The Siamese move slowly at the best, and the brethren who have
consented to go on this errand so full of perplexity and
possible peril started several days before the royal messenger’s
preparations were completed. We are waiting with the greatest
solicitude further tidings. I must say from what I know of the
character of the man in whose hands and at whose mercy they are,
that I have great fears. Others here, however, are confident
that no harm can come to them personally.”
The following, from a note of mine to the Board, will throw further
light on our letter to our friends and on our situation. It was dated
October 31st, while we were anxiously waiting for the reply to our
letters.
... “But the particular fact that filled us with deepest anxiety
when we sent that note to Bangkok, was a rumour that the king
had, in person, stopped a boat in charge of our old servant whom
we had sent down to Bangkok after money and supplies, and had
put him, his wife, and all the boatmen to death. That rumour was
currently believed here, and we had so many questions asked us
about them by persons in high and in low station, that we were
constrained almost to believe it. And if that had been done, we
knew not what would come next. Of course we had serious
apprehensions regarding our own safety; yet our duty was clear.
However dangerous our position, we felt that flight would be
more dangerous.... Our strength was to sit still....
“After waiting a month in suspense about our servants, we have
just learned, on pretty good authority, that they were not
murdered. They have been reported as having passed Rahêng. In a
few days we shall know the truth. If they are safe, our greatest
fears were groundless. We wait to see the Lord’s purpose in
reference to this people. We yet believe they are purposes of
mercy. The excitement has somewhat died down, and we have daily
many visitors. But there is great fear of the authorities. No
one feels safe; no one knows what will come next.”
I quote from a letter of Mr. Wilson to the Board the following account
of the suffering and death of the martyrs, written January 3d, 1870,
after all the various rumours had been sifted, and the facts were
clearly known. Meantime the Commission referred to in the letter of Dr.
House had come, and this letter was brought to Bangkok by it on its
return. This letter and the one cited just above were printed in the
_Foreign Missionary_ for March and for May, 1870.
“Till within a very short time before their execution, we had no
apprehension that any serious obstacle would be thrown in the
way of the Lāo becoming Christians. All the baptisms had taken
place publicly. The number, and some of the names, of the
Christians had been given in answer to questions asked by the
younger daughter of the king, and by others of royal blood. We
had become convinced that the king must know that some of his
people had become disciples of Jesus. His two daughters had
assured Mr. McGilvary that no one should be molested for
becoming Christians. With such an assurance from the highest
princesses in the land, we flattered ourselves that the king
would tolerate Christianity. The fearlessness, also, with which
all but Nān Chai professed Christ, made us feel that there was
no danger to the life of any one who had received baptism.
“Nān Chai, however, seemed anxious. Some two months before his
baptism he requested us to write to Bangkok and get the King of
Siam to make proclamation of religious toleration. Not a month
before his baptism he asked me, ‘If the king should call me and
ask, “Are you a disciple of Jesus?” would it be wrong to say
“No”?’ We knew that for some time he had loved the Saviour, but
he was following Him tremblingly. His position as overseer
(ex-abbot) of the monastery made his renunciation of Buddhism a
more noticeable event, and rendered him more liable to
persecution than some of the others. I may here state that those
who, after leaving the monastery, are appointed overseers of the
temple, are, by virtue of their position, exempt from the call
of their masters to do government work. Nān Chai belonged to
this class. His resignation of this post when he became a
Christian, both proved his sincerity, and made him a mark for
Buddhist hate and reproach.
“Noi Sunya’s work was to tend the king’s cattle, and in this way
he performed his share of public service. He also worked a farm,
and was a physician. He was of a genial disposition and cheerful
temper, always looking on the bright side of life, happy
himself, and trying to make others happy. He was thus a general
favourite. His reception of the truth was hearty and childlike.
How his face beamed with joy that communion Sabbath! Next day,
Monday, September 6th, about noon, he started for his walk of
nine miles across the plain to Mê Pō Kā. In bidding him good-bye
we little thought we should see his face no more.
“Our teacher, Nān Chai, came in the following Thursday, somewhat
sad because the head man of his village was urging him for some
government work and supplies that were then being raised for the
army. After resigning the oversight of the temple, being
virtually without a master, he had come in to the city to put
himself under the king’s younger daughter. On Saturday morning,
the 11th, she gave him his protection papers, for which he paid
the usual three rupees. Some ten days before, when Mr. McGilvary
had called with him in reference to this matter, he had, at the
princess’ request, made a statement of his Christian faith, even
to the repeating of a prayer.
“On that same Saturday afternoon a message came from the head
man of the village for Nān Chai’s immediate return home. The
message was so urgent that he concluded not to wait for the
accustomed Sabbath morning worship. Knowing that there was a
disposition on the part of some of the public officers to find
fault with the Christians, I thought it best for him to go home,
and not return to us till quiet should be restored. He seemed
very sad, and said that his master was disposed to oppress him.
All that I could say did not rouse him from his depression. He
took leave of us about ten o’clock at night. When we awoke on
Sabbath morning, he was gone. We know now that shortly after the
princess had given him her letters of protection on Saturday
morning, she despatched a messenger to the head man of the
village ordering Nān Chai’s arrest. Imagine that Sabbath
morning’s walk of nearly nine miles, much of the way through
water nearly knee-deep! Dear gentle heart, full of care and
fear!
“He reached home about noon. After dinner he called upon the
head man of the village; but no one knew the nature of the
conference. He was permitted to sleep at home that night. Next
morning came the order from the chief man of the district for
the overseers of the temples and those doing the king’s own work
to appear at his house. This order included, of course, both our
brethren, Noi Sunya and Nān Chai. But to make their attendance
doubly sure, armed men were sent with clubs and pikes to conduct
them to the appointed rendezvous. Noi Sunya took leave of his
wife and six children in tears. He knew what that call and those
clubs and spears meant. When they reached the house of the
district chief, they found a large armed force ready to receive
them. When arrested at their homes they had been charged with
refusing to do the king’s work. But now Nān Chai was asked, ‘Are
you an overseer of a temple?’ He answered, ‘I was, but am not
now.’ ‘Have you entered the religion of the foreigners?’ ‘Yes.’
Noi Sunya was asked the same question, to which he also answered
‘Yes.’
“They were then seized, and after further examination were told
that they had been condemned to death. While Nān Chai was giving
the reason of the faith that was in him, one of the examiners
kicked him in the eye, leaving it bloodshot and causing it to
swell till the eye was closed. The arms of the prisoners were
tied behind their backs. Their necks were compressed between two
pieces of timber (the death-yoke) tied before and behind so
tightly as painfully to impede both respiration and the
circulation of the blood. They were thus placed in a sitting
posture near a wall, and cords were passed through the holes in
their ears and tied to a beam above. In this constrained and
painful position—not able to turn their heads or bow them in
slumber—they remained from Monday afternoon till Tuesday morning
about ten o’clock, when they were led out into the jungle and
executed.
“When Nān Chai was arrested, his wife started on a run to inform
us, supposing that he would be brought to the city to undergo a
regular trial. In that case she hoped the missionaries could
ensure his release. She had arrived in sight of our house, when
a messenger from the head man of the village overtook her, and
informed her that if she called on us, it would be at the risk
of her life. She returned immediately, to join him at the
district chief’s house; but was informed that if she made the
least demonstration of grief, she too would be put to death. She
sat down by her husband for a time. They conversed together as
opportunity offered, being narrowly watched by the merciless
guard. The prisoners both said, ‘Oh, if the missionaries were
here, we should not have to die!’ Nān Chai’s last words to his
wife were, ‘Tell the missionaries that we die for no other cause
than that we are Christians.’ One of the guards angrily asked
what he had said. She saw that it was best for her to retire,
and they parted.
“When Nān Chai knew that he and his comrade were doomed, he said
to one of the officers, ‘You will kill us; we are prepared. But
I beg you not to kill those who are in the employ of the
missionaries. They are not Christians, and are not prepared to
die.’ What a triumph of faith in this once fearful disciple!
What a noble forgetfulness of self in that earnest request for
the lives of others!
“And now, after a long and weary night of painful watching, the
morning of Tuesday, the 14th, dawns upon them. The hour is come.
They are led out into the lonely jungle. They kneel down. Nān
Chai is asked to pray. He does so, his last petition being,
‘Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.’ The tenderness of the scene
melts his enemies to tears. The heads of the prisoners—prisoners
for Jesus’ sake—are drawn back by slightly raising the cruel
yoke they have worn for more than twenty hours. The executioner
approaches with his club. Nān Chai receives the stroke on the
front of the neck. His body sinks to the ground a corpse.... Noi
Sunya receives upon the front of his neck five or six strokes;
but life is still not extinct. A spear is thrust into his heart.
His body is bathed in blood, and his spirit joins that of his
martyred brother. Their bodies were hastily buried. Their graves
we may not yet visit....
“Only a few days before his death Nān Chai wrote, at Mrs.
Wilson’s request, a little slip which she forwarded to her
friends as a specimen of the Lāo language. The last line—the
last, no doubt, that he ever wrote—contained the following words
‘Nān Chai dai rap pen sit lêo. Hak Yēsū nak’ (Nān Chai has
become a disciple. He loves Jesus much).”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
X
THE ROYAL COMMISSION
After the despatch of our hurried notes by the Burmese on September
29th, 1869, we felt reasonably sure that our friends would learn the
news of our situation, and we were in a measure relieved. But at that
time we still believed the reports about the murder of Lung Puk. In
fact, it was these reports, which we had just heard before writing the
letters sent by the Burmese, that caused the great anxiety expressed in
them. But though we poured out our hearts and unburdened our fears to
our friends, no one in Chiengmai outside of our two families ever knew
the fears that agitated our breasts. For two months or more we still
feared that we might be treacherously murdered under colour as though it
were done by robbers or dacoits. We knew not on lying down at night what
might happen before dawn.
One of the hardest things of the situation was that, in the presence of
our own dear children, we felt obliged to speak to each other of these
matters by signs alone, since it seemed wise to conceal our fears from
them. When we had native callers, or in our visits to the natives, we
preached to them just as if nothing had happened. Some that we know were
sent as spies to see what we were doing and what we were planning to do,
had nothing to report except the Gospel message which they had heard.
Then was the time when a few tried friends endeared themselves forever
to us. Among these was the Princess Būa Kam, and the abbot of the Ūmōng
monastery, both of whom have been mentioned before. The silver plate
with a little rice or fruit from the Princess never ceased to come; and
the abbot often made an excuse of errands elsewhere in our neighbourhood
that he might have occasion to call and express his sympathy.
One incident which occurred before the various rumours had been cleared
up, though well-nigh tragic at the time, seemed afterward amusing
enough. After the appalling treachery of the younger daughter of the
Prince in regard to Nān Chai, while professing constantly such personal
friendship for us, we naturally regarded her with profound distrust.
What, then, was our surprise, when, one night in the darkest time of our
troubles, a summons came for me to go at once to her palace with the
officer who brought the message. I was by no means to wait till morning,
and I could get no clue to the object of the summons. But it was almost
a royal command. Whatever it might mean, nothing would be gained by
refusal; so I promised at once to go. But a difficulty arose. My wife
positively refused to let me go alone. If the worst were to come, she
would be there to see it.
So the children were left in bed, and off we walked three-fourths of a
mile in the dark to the palace. We found it brilliantly lighted up. Was
it for the final act? But our fears were soon allayed. The Princess
received us as she always had done—probably a little surprised to see
Mrs. McGilvary with me. A foreign rug was spread for us, and soon was
produced a formidable package of documents in English, which the
Princess wanted us to translate! They were from the court in Maulmein,
and had reference to the lawsuits. They had just arrived, and she could
not wait till morning. We glanced over them, gave her the substance of
them, and promised that if she would send her scribe down next day, we
would translate them. She was relieved to find that there was nothing
more formidable in them—and so were we. The whole interview did not last
more than fifteen minutes; and when ready to return, we were escorted
home by servants with lanterns.
For a time we had very few visitors even for medicine. But the
monasteries were always open, and we were welcomed in nearly all the
homes of the princes. I regularly called on the Prince. When he was in a
pleasant mood, I had pleasant conversations with him. If I found him
moody or busy, I paid my respects and retired. His elder daughter and
her husband were always pleasant, and she was always interested to talk
on the subject of religion.
Another friendship formed the year before was then a great comfort to
us, though no one could really help us. A wealthy Chinese, who had
charge of collecting nearly all the revenue of the government, had been
shot in the city of Lampūn, eighteen miles away. A messenger with an
elephant was sent, begging me to come at once. It seemed at first
impossible for me to go, but finally I did so. The ball had entered
below the knee while the man was lying down, had followed the bone, and
had lodged in the soft part of the thigh. It was extracted, and I
remained there till the patient was out of danger. The wife, a
Siamo-Chinese, was a merchant, and acted as our banker for ten years. At
this writing, the family has not yet forgotten the service rendered.
But our hourly thoughts were directed to Bangkok. What would be the
outcome of our letters? We were continually asked what we were going to
do. Our reply was that, of course, we intended to remain. There was no
telegraph then, nor even a monthly mail. It was not till November 26th
that the first news of what was doing in our behalf reached us. It was
brought by messengers sent on in advance to notify the government that a
Royal Commissioner had arrived in Lampūn, with two foreigners and a
train of eighteen elephants and fifty-three attendants. They were to be
in Chiengmai the next day. No intimation, however, was given as to what
the object of the Commission was. But plainly it must be a matter of no
slight importance.
Early on the morning of the 27th every one was on the alert. A body of
men under the direction of an officer were scrubbing the old sālā next
door to us, for the letter had asked that preparations be made for the
party. A prince whispered in our ears to enquire whether we knew what
the “Kā Lūang” was coming for. But we knew as little as he did. We were
so hopeful, however, that we began to prepare for our guests, too. The
whole place seemed in an attitude of expectancy. The sudden arrival of a
Kā Lūang was not an everyday occurrence. And then the two foreigners—two
“white kolās”!