Robbie Taggart

by Michael Phillips

She nodded, the tears escaping and running in two glistening rivulets down her cheeks.

  “He is with our Lord now, little Chi-Yueh. We can rejoice.”

  “I know, Papa,” she replied, then laid her head on his chest and wept.

  They comforted each other for some minutes, but at length the present situation intruded back upon them. Ruth was the first to mention what had been at the back of Robbie’s mind since he had regained consciousness.

  “Papa,” said the girl, “Mr. Pike is also dying.”

  “Dear child, I am so sorry you must see all this,” said Robbie tenderly. “I must go to him. Will you help me up?”

  Leaning on his daughter for support, Robbie limped to the neighboring bed where Pike lay. The wretched figure had never looked so pathetic, yet with nearly all the life drained out of it, his face seemed somehow less evil, more vulnerable. Sensing someone near, his eyes opened.

  “Am I dreamin’,” croaked the raspy voice, “or are ye hauntin’ me even in the pit o’ hell?”

  “No, Ben,” answered Robbie quietly, “we are still on this earth, and you are awake.”

  “I’m dyin’,” Pike said flatly.

  “I believe you are, Ben. Perhaps it is time you made a few things right.”

  Pike’s eyes glazed over, then squeezed shut.

  “None o’ this would ’ave ’appened if ye’d been ’ere to help me, Hank!” he finally said, though with great effort. “Why’d ye run off an’ leave me—I needed ye!”

  “This isn’t Hank, Ben. I’m Robbie, his son.”

  “Oh . . . you—” replied the weak voice bitterly. “’Tis yer fault . . . ye took him. He was me only friend.”

  “I took him, Ben?”

  “He left the sea ’cause o’ you. Left me, his friend! Left me alone . . . left me t’ stump about the world on one leg, which would ’ave ne’er happened if it hadna been for yer bein’ born!”

  “But, Ben,” said Robbie, “he left the sea before I was even born.”

  “An’ if it hadna been for you, he’d ’ave stayed wi’ me, an’ I’d still ’ave me leg! But the justice o’ the gods came back t’ haunt the blag’ard! Ha! ha! Now it’s you what has t’ live wi’out a hand! Ha! ha! A leg fer a hand, isn’t that what they say? An eye for an eye! Ha! ha!”

  In disjointed pieces, some of which he was unable to put together until much later, over the course of the next two hours Robbie listened to a bitter, tragic account of how a man’s whole life could be destroyed by a misplaced and groundless hatred.

  Benjamin Pike and Hank Taggart had taken their first berth together on an East Indiaman bound for China. They were but children then, but even in those days Pike had exhibited erratic, antisocial, and sometimes violent behavior. Hank, from whom Robbie had inherited his good-natured friendliness, felt pity for the sometimes-surly lad who could get along with no one but him. Hank was a year or two older, and became to Pike as an older brother—probably the first, and only, taste he had ever had of true brotherly affection. For all Robbie could tell, his father had given Pike the only affection of any kind the poor man had ever known, for his entire family life before running away to the sea had been as twisted and cruel as he himself had later become.

  Hank was able to moderate Pike’s inflammatory temper, many times preventing a disgusted captain from throwing him off a ship. When people asked Hank why he associated with such a bum of the sea, he could find no ready answer, other than that Pike had no one else. There were times when Pike would even turn on Hank in a crazed fit. Such moments caused the older of the two young men to seriously consider a parting of the ways with his oft-demented friend. But when Pike came back full of apologies, Hank was always too kindhearted to turn him away. Despite Ben’s idealistic illusions of one day taking his master’s certificate, the truth was that he would never have lasted a month at sea without his friend Hank.

  When Hank married Robbie’s mother, he stayed with the sea because it was all he knew. But shortly before his son was born, his ship hit a nasty typhoon just out of Singapore in the China Sea. The fierce winds had dismasted the vessel, and Hank had narrowly missed being thrown into the sea by the falling debris.

  The incident shook him. There had, of course, been dangers at sea before; the life of a sailor is a life of constant peril. But with family responsibilities now weighing heavily upon him, Hank realized more than ever how hazardous sea life was.

  When Pike heard of Hank Taggart’s decision, he turned on his friend in a violent rage. It was thus easier than Hank had anticipated to sever a ten-year friendship than it might otherwise have been. He tried to persuade Pike to leave with him, suggesting that they start a chandlery business together. But Pike was too angry and stubborn to listen. So the friendship came to a rocky end, with regret on Hank’s part, and hatred and bitterness on Pike’s.

  A few months later, Pike’s leg was crushed in an accident off Madagascar. Oddly enough, the weather had been perfectly calm at the time, and the falling mast had given way during a routine maintenance operation at mid-voyage. In his demented reasoning, Pike laid the blame on Hank for what had happened.

  While he lay recuperating, thinking about how it had been Hank’s absence on the ship that had led to the accident, he dreamed of finding Hank and getting even. But by the time he was back on his one good foot, Hank had taken to his landlocked roving life, and the embittered Pike, for whom a wooden leg was a constant reminder of the revenge he sought against his one-time friend, lost track of him. The hatred and insanity continued to eat away at Pike’s unsteady mind, until—of all good fortunes he could never have dreamed of!—one day he chanced to stumble upon Hank Taggart’s own son!

  Robbie would never understand the disease that had possessed Pike’s warped mind all those years since then. He would not even try. What mattered now was that Pike lay dying. No longer could Robbie think vengefully toward his father’s old friend for the cruelty and pain he had brought him. All feelings of animosity fell away. Robbie ached somehow to reach this man who spent more than two decades trying to exact vengeance on the son of the man who had done nothing but love him more than any other person in the world. If only he could somehow bring peace to his last moments!

  “Let me pray for you, Ben,” said Robbie, when Pike’s struggling voice concluded his twisted version of why he so despised Robbie Taggart.

  “Pray for yourself!” replied Pike spitefully. “Ye ain’t safe yet—Wang ain’t about to give up. He swore he’d see you dead—you an’ your whole family! I failed, but he won’t. You ain’t goin’ to be able to sleep nights wonderin’ when he’s goin’ to sneak in an’ slit your throat, or that pretty throat of that China doll daughter o’ yours!”

  “Let go of your hate, Ben. It’s killing you inside.”

  In reply, Pike grabbed Robbie’s left arm, holding the stump where the hand had once been. “I’m glad about this, do you understand! Glad! Now you’ll see what your father put me through all these years! I’ll never change! I’ll hate you till the day I die!”

  “Oh, Ben, you’ve been so confused. But I won’t ever give up praying for you. The Lord loves you, Ben. And I love you too, in Christ’s love.”

  “I hate you!” retorted the old sea captain, his broken voice now breaking into sobs. “You can’t love . . . I hate you!” His body shook with deep emotion. “Ye should never ’ave saved me life . . . Robbie . . . I don’t deserve—”

  “It was the only way I could show you that I forgive you, Ben,” replied Robbie through tears, kneeling beside the bed and laying a gentle hand on Pike’s forehead.

  “Robbie . . . don’t leave me . . . Robbie! . . . I don’t deserve—”

  But Benjamin Pike did not finish what he wanted to say. His arm fell suddenly lifeless to his side, dropping Robbie’s maimed arm as he slipped out of this world. He was dead.

  With a sigh of grief, Robbie rose, left the hospital, and sent Ying word that there would be another body to tend to that night. The poor young man was receiving a
n agonizing introduction to his position as the mission’s new medical attendant. Within minutes Ying was off to the village once again to seek Chang’s help in this most unpleasant assignment.

  67

  Not My Will, Lord

  That night was a sleepless one for Robbie as he tried to put the events of the last days into focus.

  How deeply he felt the loss of Isaiah! At least half a dozen times he told himself he’d have to discuss things with the doctor, only to be painfully jolted back time and again to the realization that he would no longer be able to do that in this world.

  He felt a weight of responsibility such as he had never experienced before in his life. Not only were there the burdens of his personal questions, there was another element in his thoughts that he had scarcely considered until Ying had come to him two hours ago. The rioting and fires had left several church families homeless, more than could be handled in the village with relatives and friends. The mission-school rooms and hospital were already filled to capacity.

  What could the mission do to care for these people?

  Suddenly Robbie realized that all of them, including Ying, were looking to him for guidance and leadership. The reality of his new role that events had thrust upon him was as jarring as any of the events themselves.

  He had to make decisions about the mission and its people. It was now completely up to him to care for Ruth and Shan-fei, and to a lesser extent, Miss Trumbull and Ying. They would all be looking to him for their needs, their guidance, and their protection.

  Protection . . . that could well be his primary concern at the moment, with Wang still on the loose. Was it possible that after all that had happened, he would still come after Robbie, or his family, again? Perhaps Pike was wrong. Maybe after two defeats, with his followers scattered and apparently deserted to his lieutenant, the old warlord would give up his futile thirst for revenge.

  But could Robbie take that chance? Could he trust to that slim hope? Wang’s hatred had already survived more than twenty years. It seemed more likely that these defeats would only intensify his hatred still further.

  God’s mercy would protect, of course. But now that he had more than himself to consider, he had to think of the possibility of removing Ruth and Shan-fei from the reach of Wang’s hand. Might not his responsibility for them dictate that he take them away from Wukiang for a season? Was it best for them, or for the mission, to remain? With Robbie and Ruth and Shan-fei gone, perhaps the hostilities would settle down. Would he only bring further needless suffering on the local Christian population by remaining as an ongoing target of anti-British sentiment?

  “Dear God, what would you have me do?” he prayed when his mind was so full of thoughts that nothing made sense. “I know you can protect us. But how is it your will to do so? Direct me, Lord, to know your will.”

  Committing his concerns to God, and feeling drowsy at last, Robbie turned over and fell asleep. When he awoke before dawn, after only some three hours of sleep, he felt a peculiar sense of expectancy. He rose, dressed in haste as best he could, and went out.

  The morning was quiet and still. Making use of Pike’s crutch, which was far too short but at least kept him from falling, he hobbled toward the river, then upstream toward the wooded area.

  Grief-stricken with the morning’s remembrance of the past night’s terrible events, Robbie yet felt God’s presence all around him. Slowly he walked along, his spirit quiet, feeling a peaceful oneness with the gently flowing river beside him.

  “Lord,” he breathed, “you have something to say to me. I can feel it, but I can’t yet perceive the words, Lord.”

  On he walked for some time, turning back toward the mission at last just as the sun broke over the eastern horizon. Slowly gathering strength from his prayerful solitude, he felt God gradually stirring him up toward . . . toward something! A change was coming! He could sense that the Lord was pointing, directing his steps. But toward what . . . where?

  When he arrived back in time for a somber breakfast with his daughter and mother-in-law, prepared in the hospital by a number of the village women who had brought provisions for the ravaged mission, he still had no definite direction. But the sense of expectancy pervaded his spirit throughout the day. After breakfast, at the urging of the women, he lay back down in his bed, dozing off once or twice.

  By noon he could remain in bed no longer. His leg was painful, and he would probably limp for weeks, if not months. But the bullet had gone clean through, bleeding had been minimal, and one of the men from the village came to pack it with some medicinal herbs. Against the protests of the women, he got up again, and with Ying’s help made a few alterations to Pike’s old crutch so that it was transformed into a satisfactory cane for the larger man.

  Isaiah Wallace and Pike were laid to their final rest that afternoon. Robbie conducted the simple service. And despite the tense conditions that made many of the local church members nervous to associate themselves with the mission, there was a huge turnout, though no formal announcement of the event had been made. The greatest testimony to Wallace’s unique ministry was that a great number of those coming to pay their last respects to him were not associated with the church at all, but rather unbelievers who now realized how deeply they had been touched over the years, in ways they had never been fully aware of, by his godly service and charity to them.

  Pike received more of a send-off than he could ever have hoped for. But Robbie grieved that out of the scores of folk who passed by the graves, he was the only one who knew anything or cared about the old seaman.

  Later that afternoon, Robbie walked out to the old camphor tree, sat down for a few minutes quiet reflection. Ruth brought him a cold drink, but after a brief conversation left him to help her grandmother in the hospital.

  Quietly sipping his herbal drink, again the feeling of expectancy surged through him.

  “What is it, Lord?” he prayed.

  Robbie closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the trunk of the tree. He wondered how he could feel so peaceful in the midst of such heartache and turmoil. Yet was not that the true mystery of God’s peace? He considered all that remained unresolved around him—the housing needs, the medical requirements of the mission now that Wallace was gone, the continued unrest in the district, the church services—and tomorrow was Sunday. And still the threat of Wang and the violence spreading throughout the land hovered over the future.

  The mission’s home office would of course send replacements, would help them rebuild, would advise in the appropriate course of action. Yet Robbie realized that Wang and the violence in the area were not just his own personal problems to consider. Though Wang’s vengeance was directed at him and Shan-fei, the cruel warlord cared not what innocents were caught in the circle of his designs. Robbie’s daughter was in danger, but so also was the very work of the mission itself. It was a critical time in the mission’s history. Persecution usually did one of two things—destroyed, or fanned the flames of the Spirit still brighter. The riots, Wallace’s death, the fire—these circumstances, though destructive on the surface, could indeed be the catalyst ingredients toward a new phase of effective ministry to the Chinese. Robbie recalled the profound quote Wallace had spoken to him many times. The application had always before been personal. Yet now Robbie realized it spoke of the future of the mission as well: “The present circumstance, if surrendered to Jesus, is the best-shaped tool in the Master’s hand to chisel you for eternity. Trust Him then; do not push away the instrument, lest you spoil the work.”

  Yes, God was in control. The mission was His work, and would continue to be throughout all eternity. God’s work here in Wukiang was not done. If Robbie was to remain here, despite the dangers to his family and the mission itself, they would be under the covering of God’s protective care. Yet might not their absence, even if only for a season, be in the best interests of the long-term work?

  The thought of leaving struck Robbie with a twinge of sadness. He loved this place.
This was the only settled existence he had known in his life. He loved the simple Chinese people, and he loved the work God had called him to. His family was here, his friends. Could it be that he was now being called to leave all this behind? Was the work he had considered his life’s calling now at an end? What about the solemn trust Wallace had placed in him to carry the work forward? Why was he feeling the growing sense that he was to leave, when there was so much here to be done? What would Wallace say? Would it seem to the local congregation that he was abandoning the work?

  “Oh, Lord,” he prayed, “remove my own motives, and show me your decision. Not my will, Father, but yours be done.”

  As he uttered that prayer spoken by the Lord on the eve of His own death, Robbie heard a quiet voice deep within his spirit:

  “Home.”

  The moment the single word came, he had no doubt that it had come from God, and, moreover, that it spoke the Lord’s direction for him, not toward this distant country that had become his home, but rather to the homeland of his birth—Scotland!

  He knew also that this simple yet unexpected word of guidance from above had been the reason for the expectancy he had sensed all day. God was directing him to take his family where they would be safe from the evil designs of Wang, and return to Scotland. No doubt, in His eternal plan, the move would somehow prove best for the mission as well. Whether he could immediately understand all the implications did not matter. Robbie’s course was set—he must obey the voice of the Lord exactly as Moses had when God told him to go into the wilderness.

  All at once Robbie thought of Jamie. Since his own mother and father were now dead, it was natural that when his mind strayed to Scotland, he would think of Jamie—now Lady Graystone. They had kept in close touch through the years, and about five years ago he had learned that Derek Graystone had been killed in an Egyptian uprising. The family estate and title had thus passed to Edward.

  A smile crept across Robbie’s lips. Jamie was now a lady in every sense of the term, as she had always dreamed of being. And he was now a man, though in a spiritual way he had never dreamed of. Each of their destinies had, in a sense, been fulfilled along paths neither would have been able to anticipate.