Daring Deeds

by Archer Wallace

  A new enemy in the shape of a swarm of bees, numbering thousands, now assailed the caravan. The insects covered the ground for some two hundred yards in every direction from the tree whence they had descended. The men ran for their lives, many of them dropping their loads. Some of them actually cried like children and called upon their mothers. The bishop was driven back in an attempt to reach the deserted loads. Draping himself in his mosquito curtains, he tried again and succeeded, but not without being stung most pitifully. Jones was almost totally blind for two days as the result of his injuries.

  When the bishop and his caravan passed through the Masai country, they found the natives less savage than they had feared. They were very hard to satisfy in the matter of tribute. They demanded a great deal in the way of beads and ornaments, and even when they had been given all they asked for, they would steal more, tear open the lids, and search the boxes, and the bishop’s men were afraid to say very much. More than once they gathered around in a very threatening attitude, and it would not have taken very much to stir the Masai up so that they would have annihilated the strangers. Yet the missionary was fortunate in handling them with such skill and patience and tact that he escaped unharmed. The very day after he left, he encamped at a place where not long before, the Masai fighters had surrounded a caravan of a thousand men and cut them all to pieces.

  Every night before he went to sleep, the missionary wrote in his diary an account of the day’s events. Thus we are able to have a vivid picture of what he passed through and of what his thoughts were. Often there are sentences showing that he thought of his wife and children in England, whom he was destined never to see again. One Sunday night he wrote in his diary:

  “We had two very pleasant services today and we have passed this Sunday in absolute rest and peace. I lay stretched on my back in quiet contemplation and sweet dreams of dear ones at home, and often longing, and wondering, whether I shall ever see them again.” To show how tired he sometimes was at the close of the day, he wrote: “Last Friday night as I was going to bed I took a bite from a biscuit and fell asleep with the first mouthful still in my mouth and the rest in my hand.”

  When the bishop reached Kwa Sundu he decided to leave all but fifty of the natives behind while he pushed on to Victoria Nyanza on the way to Uganda. The savage King Mtesa of Uganda had died on October 10, 1884, and his son, King Mwanga, reigned in his place. Mtesa had not been a good man, but at least he had been somewhat friendly toward the missionaries. Mwanga had a deep-seated hatred of all white men, and when rumors reached Uganda that the bishop was approaching, his anger was aroused.

  Without knowing these things, Hannington pressed on toward the death trap. He came to Usoga, where Chief Lubwa, a vassal of Mwanga, was the ruler. This man faced Hannington and angrily demanded ten guns and three barrels of powder. Hannington, of course, refused. He was requested to remain three days, but he again refused. Then Lubwa caused the war drums to be beaten and Hannington was soon surrounded by a thousand soldiers. Hannington gave his consent to stay one day and a soldier was placed to guard him in his tent and follow him if he moved away. Near his tent was a hill from which he got a splendid view of the Nile, and while he was looking over it a terrible thing happened. Here is his own account of it:

  “I asked my headman, Brahim, to come with me to the point close at hand whence I had seen the Nile, as our men had begun to doubt its existence; several followed up, and one, pretending to show me another view, led me farther away, when suddenly all twenty ruffians set upon us. They violently threw me to the ground and proceeded to strip me of all valuables. Thinking they were robbers, I shouted for help, when they forced me up and hurried me away, as I thought, to throw me down a precipice close at hand. I shouted again, in spite of one threatening to kill me with a club. Twice I nearly broke away from them, and then grew faint with struggling, and was dragged by the legs over the ground. I said, ‘Lord, I put myself in Thy hands. I look to Thee alone.’ Then another struggle, and I got to my feet, and was thus dashed along. More than once I was violently brought into contact with banana trees, some trying in their haste to force me one way, others the other, and the exertion and struggling strained me in the most agonizing manner.

  “In spite of all, and feeling I was being dragged away to be murdered at a distance, I sang ‘Safe in the Arms of Jesus,’ and then laughed at the very agony of my situation. My clothes torn to pieces so that I was exposed, wet through with being dragged along the ground; strained in every limb, and for a whole hour expecting instant death, hurried along, dragged, pushed, at about five miles an hour, until we came to a hut, into the court of which I was forced. Now, I thought, I am to be murdered. As they released one hand, I drew my finger across my throat, and understood them to say decidedly, No.”

  It was a wretched hut into which he was cast. While there was a fire, there was no chimney and no ventilation. It was overrun with rats and many other kinds of vermin, while the stench was abominable. He was in constant pain and almost consumed with thirst. There were fully twenty men in this miserable hovel with him.

  He had a premonition that he would be put to death. On October 29, 1885, he wrote in his diary: “A hyena howled near me last night, smelling a sick man, but I hope it is not to have me yet.” That same day he was conducted to an open space in the village and surrounded by his own men. At first he thought that the worst was over and that he was going to be released, but he was soon undeceived. With a wild shout Lubwa’s savage warriors fell upon Hannington’s natives, who were disarmed, and very soon the ground was covered with the dead and the dying. Then they closed around the bishop. As they did so he drew himself up to his full height and, summoning what little strength he had, told them to tell their king that he was about to die for the people of Uganda. As they still hesitated to take his life, he pointed to his own gun, which one of them took up and fired at him. He fell dead. The last words of his diary, which were written perhaps just an hour before this took place, were:

  “If this is the last chapter of my earthly history, then the next will be the first page of the heavenly—no blots and smudges, no incoherence, but sweet converse in the presence of the Lamb!”

  It was later proven that King Mwanga had ordered the slaying of Hannington and all his followers.

  It has often been said that this brave man did even more by his death than by his magnificent life. Within a few weeks after the news of his martyrdom reached London, fifty men had offered themselves for service in the African mission field, and the memory of Bishop Hannington remains an inspiration to this day.

  CHAPTER XI.

  A FOUNDATION-BUILDER IN WEST CHINA.

  He Kept a Whole Crowd At Bay With His Cane.

  BY PICKING and selling beechnuts for ten cents a quart, Virgil C. Hart earned enough money to buy his first Greek grammar; by chopping one hundred and eighty cords of wood for a neighboring farmer, he secured sufficient funds to begin a four years’ course in Gouverneur Wesleyan Seminary; and, later, by renting an acre of land in Evanston, Illinois, and selling the vegetables that he grew upon it, he was able to pay his way through college, from which he graduated in 1865.

  Soon several prominent persons had their eyes on the young preacher. A committee from his Alma Mater waited upon him and offered him a splendid position on the college staff, as teacher of Greek and Hebrew. It was a tempting offer, and most men would have jumped at the chance. Not so Virgil Hart. He did not hesitate for an instant. He thanked the college authorities for their flattering invitation, but told them that his mind was made up once and for all. He had answered God’s call to go to China, and never for a moment did he doubt the wisdom of that choice.

  On the morning of December 20, 1865, Mr. Hart and his bride, together with several other missionaries, set sail for the Far East. It was a long journey. Not until the following May did Mr. Hart reach Foochow, a Chinese city, with a population of nearly a million, which was to be his first field of labor.

  One of the hardest
tasks awaiting the missionary on his arrival in China is that of learning what is perhaps the most difficult language in the world to acquire. A man needs not only lots of brains, but a large amount of “stick-to-it-iveness,” or he will soon give up in despair. A very slight change in tone will give an altogether different meaning to a word.

  A missionary one day came into his courtyard and called to his “boy” (Chinese servant) at the upstairs window, “Throw down my flag.” The boy made some answer but did not move. Again came the command, “Throw down my flag. Do you hear me?” The boy turned in despair to the missionary’s wife, who was near, and said, “He wants me to throw you down into the courtyard.” By a very slight mistake in pronunciation, the missionary was using the word “wife” instead of “flag.” Virgil Hart, however, proved himself an apt student of the language, for in less than one year from the time of his arrival he was able to preach to the natives in their own language, and very rarely did he make a mistake.

  He had to face much bitter prejudice in Foochow and undergo a great deal of persecution. When he opened a school for children, all kinds of rumors were set afloat. It was reported that the children were severely flogged, that their eyes were pulled out, and many other foolish stories were circulated, all calculated to stir up trouble. Frequently, when passing along the street, men would shout insulting things after him, roughs would jostle him, and in many such ways try to start a quarrel. Sometimes when he was preaching in the open air, or distributing tracts, someone would start the cry, “Whip the foreigner,” or, “Kill the foreign devil.” This cry would act upon the people like tinder upon matchwood, and soon the whole crowd would be changed from the attentive listeners into a wild, shrieking, gesticulating, and dangerous mob. Sticks and stones would begin to fly, and Mr. Hart and his helpers would consider themselves fortunate if they got away with only a few bruises and hard knocks.

  But he was no coward. He was of the stuff of which heroes are made, and very soon the Chinese began to realize this. He never ran away. Often he would face the threatening mob and reason with them until he was able to turn the laugh upon the ringleaders. More than once he kept a whole crowd at bay with his cane while he backed into a place of safety. He was accustomed, after having been molested by a crowd, to return to the very spot where the trouble had occurred, and thus show the Chinese that he was not a coward. Courage is everywhere admired, and this splendid fearlessness did much in enabling him to win the respect, and even the admiration, of those who were seeking to persecute him.

  The many journeys that it was necessary for him to make were by no means holiday jaunts. Sometimes he traveled by sedan chair. This, to a man as active as he was, became extremely monotonous. At other times he rode in a wheelbarrow. Frequently, however, he chose walking in preference to either of these modes of travel. When night came he had to seek shelter in a Chinese inn, where, on account of the filth and vermin inside and the street noises and incessant chatter of the people outside, he used to pray that his sleep would be sound. Often the people in the inn would be much excited at having a “foreigner” there, and would inquisitively peek through the cracks in the door or partition to catch a glimpse of the “foreign devil.”

  Once, at Chengtu, he was staying at a hotel which had the reputation of being the best in the city. The apartments, however, were so foul that he sent for a load of lime to sprinkle over the floors, and a load of mud to plaster over the rat holes. Some time before, the British Consular General had stayed there, probably in the same apartments. Written on the wall he found these interesting lines:

  Within this room you’ll find the rats,

  At least a goodly score;

  Three catties each they’re bound to weigh,

  Or e’en a little more.

  At night you’ll find a myriad bugs

  That smell and crawl and bite;

  If doubtful of the truth of this,

  Get up and strike a light.

  One of the many evils with which the missionary had to contend was the use of opium by the Chinese. This is how he described its effect upon the people:

  “The sallow complexion of the people, their emaciated forms and languid movements, attract our attention everywhere along the river. I do not see a beautiful face or figure, nor a rosy cheek; a dead leaden color is in all faces, old and young, male and female. Upon the mountainsides are hundreds of laborers; approach these men and you will see the death-like pallor upon their faces. There is plenty of food and of excellent quality in China… Yet there is a want of energy and life among the people.”

  This wretched condition was due to the opium habit, to which millions of Chinese are slaves.

  Virgil Hart’s visits to the homeland were by no means resting periods. He was too active and his enthusiasm too great to permit him to take even the rest he really required. His return to China after a furlough in 1882 was marked by a most interesting welcome. His old friend and tutor, Tai Sien Sen, gave, in his honor, a typical Chinese feast.

  A typical Chinese feast—what kind of a feast is that? Well, just think of the biggest Thanksgiving dinner you ever had; then multiply that by three or four, and you will have some idea of the feast prepared in honor of Mr. Hart by his Chinese friend. On this particular occasion there was a duck apiece, then chicken soup, fish and mushrooms, boiled eggs, rice, chickens and mushrooms, bread, rock candy, dates, oranges, persimmons, tea, et cetera. The one trouble is that at such a feast the guest is expected to partake of everything, otherwise the host may be offended.

  In 1895 serious riots broke out. For some time there had been a growing spirit of hostility to the foreigners, but the missionaries had not realized the extent to which fanaticism in China could go, and when every mission house in Chengtu was destroyed, and the missionaries were in extreme danger, it came as a bolt from the blue.

  True, Dr. Hart and others had noticed the hostile spirit displayed by many towards foreigners. Scurrilous remarks were uttered as they passed along the streets. So frequent and pronounced were these manifestations of ill will that the ladies were afraid to walk upon the streets alone, and when obliged to leave their compounds always went in closed chairs. The officials were appealed to, but they ignored whatever requests the missionaries made. On the second day of the riots in Chengtu, an official actually issued the following statement:

  “At the present time we have ample evidence that foreigners deceive and kidnap small children. You soldiers and people must not be disturbed and flurried. When the cases are brought before us we certainly will not be lenient with them.” Was it any wonder, when officials took this attitude, that the mob became unmanageable and that much bloodshed and loss of valuable property resulted?

  Those were trying days for the missionaries and testing times for the Christian Church in West China. The magnificent loyalty to Christ of the native Christians was one of the amazing things of those months of bitter persecution. Since that time there has never been a question as to the sincerity and fidelity of the native Church. Nor was the heroism of the missionaries less manifest.

  The closing years of the nineteenth century were years of great activity for this foundation builder. He was enabled to realize his long cherished ambition of establishing a printing press—the first in West China—a department of missionary work which he regarded as one of the very greatest agencies for making known the gospel.

  In 1900, Dr. Hart was ordered home by his physician. Very much against his wishes he said goodbye to the land which had been his home for thirty-five years. His untiring zeal and restless energy had left him literally “worn out.” Four years later, on February 24, 1904, he passed peacefully away, leaving behind him a magnificent record of unselfish service.

  CHAPTER XII.

  A STRANGE COUNCIL OF PEACE.

  Then the Two Chiefs Approached Each Other.

  THERE have always been wars among the Indians along the Pacific coast. Farther back than anyone can remember, these fierce and bloody battles have taken place. After the
introduction of liquor and firearms by the white man, these clashes became more frequent. There was a time when the combatants could protect themselves from spears or shell-tipped arrows by wearing complete suits of armor made from the dry pelts of the thick-skinned sea lion, but even this heavy skin afforded no protection against gunshot.

  One of the fiercest tribes was that known as the Hydas. In the early part of last century these warriors had become the terror of the whole seacoast. They were among the first to discover the use of steel-edged tools and they became so clever at manufacturing immense cedar canoes that sometimes their boats were fifty and even sixty feet long. With a fleet of these remarkably seaworthy craft they sped over stormy waters on piratical expeditions, swooping unexpectedly on some village and murdering or carrying into slavery as many as possible of another tribe, then fleeing again in their canoes over the wide waters where none dared to follow. Thus they became the Vikings of the entire coast and exercised a savage ruling for hundreds of miles as far north as the coast of Alaska.

  In later years the bloodthirsty nature thus cultivated brought about its own retribution in fierce inter-tribal wars, which almost decimated the race. In feuds originated at their heathen orgies, whole families and sometimes whole villages were wiped out. The same conditions as to feuds and inter-tribal wars existed also among the other races of the Coast. When such a feud once commenced, it might go on almost indefinitely, as after the first mortal wound had been inflicted the killing must be kept up till the loss of the opposing tribes should be equal. A man of high class was held to be worth two men of lower class, or four slaves. Any man was worth two women of the same class, and so on, even to the mutilation of an ear or a wound of any nature whatsoever. It was not only ‘an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth,’ but a tooth of the same size and an eye of the same color. Insult followed by the suicide of the insulted party still further complicated affairs by requiring a life of equal value from the tribe of him who gave the ‘shame.’