Part 9

“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”!

In the afternoon the curiosity of every one was gratified by the arrival of the long train with the Commissioner at its head. The two “white kolās” were none other than our associates in the Siamese mission, the Rev. N. A. McDonald, and the Rev. S. C. George. Were ever guests more welcome! The story was soon told of the receipt of our letters in Bangkok, and of the negotiations which had resulted in their coming with a Royal Commissioner and with a “Golden Seal,” as the royal letter is called. We now knew definitely that the Commissioner had come on the business of the mission and the treatment of the Christians. But our brethren did not know the contents of the royal letter. No human sagacity could yet predict what turn affairs would take. Was the mission to be securely established, or were we to be escorted safely out of the country? The Commissioner immediately notified the Prince of his arrival with the “Golden Seal,” and awaited His Highness’ pleasure. The Prince’s curiosity and anxiety were guarantee that there would be no delay. Nine o’clock next morning was named as the hour for the audience. The Commissioner notified us to be ready. An officer was sent with a palanquin to escort the “Golden Seal” under the golden umbrella to the palace.

Mr. Wilson and I, of course, joined the procession. On reaching the grand reception hall at the palace, we encountered such an array of princely state as we had never before seen among the Lāo. Every prince, princess, and officer who could come was already there. I quote from Mr. McDonald’s official report to the Board, dated February 2d, 1870, an account of the audience. (_Presbyterian Record_, June, 1870.)

“The next morning after our arrival the Regent’s letter was conducted in state to the palace under the royal umbrella, and the golden tray containing it was placed on a stand near the middle of the hall. Very soon the king entered the hall apparently calm, but pale with suppressed rage. We arose and bowed to him, and then resumed our seats. The Siamese officers, however, remained prostrate before him, as did every other one in the hall. The king immediately broke the seal and handed the letter to the Siamese secretary to read. After the reading of the letter he looked up, evidently quite relieved, and remarked, ‘This letter does not amount to so much. It gives the missionaries privilege to remain if they wish, or to go if they prefer.’”

Mr. McDonald, then, as a member of the Commission, addressed the King, referring to the kindness with which the missionaries had been received by him on their arrival—which was in keeping with the favour shown them in Bangkok, and with the beneficent nature of their work—but regretting that late difficulties had made their stay unpleasant. Among other things he referred to the desertion of their servants. But neither he nor the royal letter made the slightest reference to the murder of the Christians. Mr. McDonald then proceeds:

“What I said did not seem to rouse him. He continued to suppress his rage, and replied, ‘As to servants, he had never placed any hindrance. He had put to death a couple of fellows—a thing which he had a right to do, since they had failed to do their allotted government work. But that was his own business.’”

The Prince evidently thought that the affair was ended, and was preparing to close the audience, greatly relieved that the one dreaded point had not been referred to either in the letter or in the conference. But to stop there would have been an inexcusable blunder on our part. Not only had the good name of the Christians been tarnished, but our own also, if we had made all this great fuss about nothing. It was a difficult thing to face the Prince before his whole court, and charge him with falsehood; but he had driven us to it. If he had not lied, we had. For once we were called upon to stand before kings for His name’s sake; and I believe that words were given to me to speak.

I said that I was sorry to be compelled to say that the Prince knew that he had not spoken the truth. There was not a man or woman in that audience, nor in the whole country, who did not know that those two men had been put to death for no other pretended reason than that they were Christians. It was done and was proclaimed to be done as a warning to others. They had not refused to do government work. The charge that they had failed to get the slabs for the stockade was a subterfuge. There was not a word of truth in it, as the officer through whom it was done, then present, well knew. When these men received the order to get the slabs, they started immediately, but were at once arrested, and were not allowed to get them. In no sense were they dealt with as criminals. On that very day (over three months after the order), not one-fifth of the men in the province had as yet brought in their timbers, and nothing was said about it. In this country it was an unheard-of thing, even for the gravest offences, to decoy men out from their homes into the jungle, and to kill them there with no pretence of a trial. There was a Sanām (Court), there were regular officers of law, even down to the executioner. In the case of these men, not a single form of law had been observed. By the Prince’s own order they had been treacherously arrested, led out into the jungle, and cruelly clubbed to death in the presence of a lawless mob by a ruffian hired to do it.

The old man looked on me in mingled astonishment and rage. Possibly till then he thought we had not been able to learn the facts and particulars in the case. More likely he thought that no one would dare thus openly and publicly to expose them. But what was said had the desired effect. Up to this point the Prince’s position had been impregnable. To assault it successfully would have required the production of evidence; and no man in the country, high or low, would have dared to testify against him. But this unexpected challenge was more than he could endure. He flung all caution to the winds. In an instant his sole defence was abandoned. Mr. McDonald says:

“‘Yes,’ he said, ‘he had killed them because they had embraced the Christian religion. And he would continue to kill every one who did the same. Leaving the religion of the country was rebellion against him, and he would so treat it. If the missionaries would remain to treat the sick, they might do so. But they must not make Christians; they must not teach the Christian religion. If they did, he would expel them from the country’.... At one time I feared that he might become uncontrollable, and break over all restraints, and do us some personal injury. The Siamese officer also was alarmed for our safety.”

Matters now had been brought to a crisis. The Christians had been proved to be not malefactors, but martyrs. We now understood each other, and all parties understood the situation. The Prince’s bravado before the Commissioner in one sense was politic. He had read between the lines of the King’s letter that the Siamese were afraid of him; and he was quite willing to have it so. On the other hand, his attitude might have the effect of convincing them that he was a dangerous man, to be dealt with accordingly—and I believe it did.

But, as Mr. McDonald goes on to say, “It was useless to attempt any further argument. The missionaries merely told him that it was their intention to remain. The conversation then turned to other subjects, and the Prince became more calm. After returning to the house of Mr. McGilvary, and after anxious consultation and prayer, it was considered best to abandon the mission for a time.”

The Commissioner strongly advised us to withdraw. Mr. McDonald was naturally timid, and hardly felt safe till he was fairly out of the country. He and Mr. George were sure that it would not be safe for us to remain a single day after the Commissioner departed; and Mr. Wilson agreed with them. Such, then, was the report made to the Board, and the number of the _Record_ from which we have quoted above announced the dissolution of the mission.

The news of the scene in the palace spread like wild-fire over the city. We had scarcely reached home when our neighbours and friends began to send us secret messages that it would be foolish to remain. The Prince was like a lion bearded in his den. When the Commissioner left there was no telling what he might do. The Commissioner naturally felt some responsibility for our safety, and desired to have us return with him. I so far consented as to allow the Commissioner to send word to the Prince that we would retire as soon as we conveniently could. Yet, from what I knew of the feeling of the people toward us, I could not see that it was the will of Providence that the mission should be abandoned. Nor did I believe that it would be hazardous to remain. The Prince evidently had no thought of actually renouncing his allegiance to Siam. He had been directed to see to our safety, if we wished to remain. I think, too, that I understood him better than did either our own friends or the Commissioner. His bluster at the audience was for effect. It was more than probable that, after sober thought, he himself would realize that he had gone too far. Before the coming of the Commissioner he had been summoned to Bangkok; he was at that time busy preparing boats for the journey, and was soon to start. He was too shrewd a man to wish us to appear there before him as witnesses against him. It was, I thought, more than probable that he would meet more than half-way any advance made toward him, though we could not expect him to make the advance himself.

Next morning before breakfast Mr. Wilson came over to have a long walk and talk with me. He did not wish to express his fears before our children. He argued with all his logic that it was better to go while we safely could. His idea was to retire to Rahêng, where we would be under the direct protection of the Siamese government; for, after yesterday’s scene, he was sure we never could be safe in Chiengmai. So far as he was concerned, I thought it a good idea. He might go, and I would remain—at least as long as I could. He felt, however, that he would be to blame if any disaster happened to us. From all responsibility on that score I freely exonerated him. As I viewed the case, our personal risk was at an end so soon as the situation should be known in Bangkok. The Prince would no longer dare either to do anything or to cause anything to be done _secretly_ as once we feared he would. Therefore, notwithstanding the bluster of the day before, fear for our personal safety had little weight with me. But quite apart from the question of danger, there was much to be said in favour of Mr. Wilson’s going to Rahêng. The place was an important one for missionary work. The result might possibly be a station in both places, instead of in Chiengmai alone. His departure might seem some concession to the wishes of the Prince—would show less determination to thwart his known will. If there were any danger in remaining, it would be less for one family than for two. All I wanted was time to see the Lord’s will. At any rate, I was not willing to depart without having an audience with the Prince alone. Against this it was urged that the Prince had a special grudge against me, because of the vaccination of his little grandson, and that this would be increased by my having angered him the day before. But of this I was not afraid. The parents of the dear child had begged me never to think that they blamed me for it. As to what had happened the day before, I believed the Prince’s respect for me was higher than it would have been had I allowed him to bluff us with his bare-faced lie. The result of our walk was that Mr. Wilson agreed to have me call on the Prince the next day, though Mr. McDonald maintained that for himself he would not risk it.

So, next morning, I called at the palace at an hour when I knew I should find the Prince alone with his head-wife. And, just as I expected, he received me with unwonted cordiality. I referred to the friendship between him and my father-in-law, Dr. Bradley; to his cordial consent given to our coming to his country to teach the Christian religion and to benefit his people in other ways; to his kind reception of us when we came; to his granting us a place for a home; and to his many other acts of kindness. We had come to him as friends, and I could not bear we should part as enemies. As I had anticipated, his whole manner showed that he was pleased at my advance. That, too, he said, was his desire. We might remain at least till after his return from Bangkok, and take all the time needed for a comfortable departure. I thanked him for his consideration, and told him that Mr. Wilson would probably go at once. We shook hands and parted as if the scene in the palace had never occurred. I had won my point. What I wanted was time, and I had gained it. The Prince could not possibly return in less than six months’ time—it might be much longer.

In a few days our friends left us. Having no faith in the success of my new negotiations, or possibly thinking that I might be caught in a trap, they reported to the Board, as we have seen, that the mission was broken up—as technically it was. This last turn of affairs was merely a private arrangement between the Prince and myself.

Had the matter not passed beyond our power, I doubtless should have been credulous enough, or weak enough, to prefer that no further action should be taken by our friends in Bangkok. I did write to Dr. Bradley and to our mission to pursue a pacific policy, and to show the Prince all kindness, as, indeed, I knew they would. But I learned afterwards that their advances were hardly received with courtesy. Mr. George, who asked permission to send by some one of the numerous fleet of boats some parcels to us, was given to understand that the things would not be needed, as the Prince expected both families to leave Chiengmai upon his return.

XI

DEATH OF KĀWILŌROT

The Commissioner’s report of the attitude assumed by the Prince showed the Siamese government that the man in control of the northern provinces was of a spirit and temper that might be difficult to curb—that might at any time throw everything into confusion. Hitherto it had been their policy to strengthen his hands to any degree not inconsistent with his loyalty. Siam and Burma had long been rivals and enemies. A strong buffer-state in the north had been a necessity to Siam. But conditions were changed. Burma was now under English control, and had ceased to be a disturbing factor in the problem. A change in Siamese policy as regards the North was inevitable.

When the news of the murder of the Christians became known in Bangkok, our friends there deferred to the wishes of the Siamese government as expressed by the Regent—whose goodwill to the mission and to ourselves no one doubted. No steps, therefore, were taken to have the United States officially represented on the Commission. In this we believe our friends were providentially led. But Dr. House’s letter does not state, what was also the fact, that the United States Consul, in whose presence the Lāo Prince had given his official sanction to the establishment of the mission, was anxious that the United States should be so represented. And when that Commission so signally failed to accomplish anything satisfactory, it was the Consul’s turn to say to our friends, “I told you so.”