IX
MARTYRDOM
In the course of these events our second year of work in Chiengmai had come to its end. We were now beyond the middle of the year 1869. As some indefinable sense of oppression in the air gives warning of the approaching storm, so there were ominous hints, and even some dark forebodings. Our Christian people—who understood far better than we did both the character of their rulers and the significance of furtive looks and innuendoes—were anxious. But they stood firm, and their faith strengthened ours.
In the light of subsequent events we now know that the most dangerous element in the gathering storm was the angry surprise of the Prince himself at the discovery that the old order seemed actually passing away under his very eyes; that his will was no longer supreme in men’s minds, nor always consulted in their actions—this and the deep treachery and ruthless cruelty of his nature which it brought into play. But there were other sinister influences at work also, and among them we must not overlook that of a certain Portuguese adventurer, Fonseca by name. He was a thoroughly unprincipled man, who, having played his game in Bangkok and lost, had worked himself into the favour of the Prince during his recent visit to the capital, and had accompanied him on his return to Chiengmai. The Prince was persuaded that this man could be of great service to him in the two matters which were then causing him most disquietude; namely, the defence of certain lawsuits involving large sums of money, brought against him in the British Consular Court by Burmese timber merchants; and the getting rid of the missionaries. These last were more in Fonseca’s way than they were in the Prince’s. He could accomplish his ends more readily if they were not there.
The most plausible excuse that could be offered for desiring to be rid of the missionaries was the failure of the rice crop that year. In the early part of the season there was no rain at all. When at last the fields had been planted, one of the worst floods ever known in that region destroyed all the lowland rice. Then, finally, the rains ceased prematurely, and the upland crop was cut off by drought. The presence of the missionaries in the country had offended the spirits, and they had withheld the rain. Such was the pretext urged in a petition sent to Bangkok to have the missionaries removed. The specific address of the petition to the Minister for Foreign Affairs and the United States Consul leads one to suspect that the matter was directed by some one who understood the order of official business much better than did the Lāo Prince.
The Minister forwarded the document to Mr. McDonald, the acting Vice-Consul at the time. Mr. McDonald replied to the Minister that there must be some mistake about it. It appeared that the scarcity of rice complained of had begun the year before the arrival of the missionaries; it was not confined to Chiengmai, but extended over all the northern provinces. He added roguishly, however, that he would strictly enjoin the American missionaries to be very careful in future not to cause any famine. Of all this secret plotting we were entirely ignorant at the time, and learned of it only long afterwards. While these plots were developing, I was frequently visiting the Prince, and all our relations with him were apparently satisfactory. But we knew that he was under the influence of a wily and unprincipled adversary.
The other matter in which Fonseca was supposed to be able to help his patron out of difficulties even more pressing, was the Burmese lawsuits pending before the British Consul. But the British government was the last party to permit officious meddling with its public business from such a quarter. It is presumed that there was evidence of his interference with official correspondence. This much is certain—a peremptory demand was made on the Siamese government for his recall. The official order sent up was too emphatic to be neglected. The man was sent out of the country in quite different style from that in which he entered it. This man is known to have been present at the consultation relative to the mission. If the jealousy and suspicion on the part of the Prince did not originate with him, there is no doubt that he at least worked on the Prince’s suspicious nature, increasing his jealousy of the growing popularity of the mission, and leading him to think that it would be wise to stop it in its incipiency.
Yet even when the blow was about to fall, we could not believe that the Prince was so treacherous as to plan to drive us out of the country, at the same time that he continued to treat us so kindly, and would even come to dine with us. We could not believe that the younger Princess, who had a predominating influence over her father, could encourage one of the Christians to put himself under her protection, only that he might the more surely be sent to his death a day or two later. We could not believe that an excursion down the river had been planned by the Prince, only that he might be out of reach when the executions should take place. We were still incredulous, even after we received reliable information from the agent of the Borneo Company that he had heard the Prince and a certain high officer consulting together to stop our work. The plan which he reported was to expel the converts from the country, giving their wives and children the option to follow them or to remain. After all, that would not have been so great a disaster. These men had no great possessions to lose. Their banishment would only plant the Gospel in other provinces or other lands.
When, in September, 1869, just before the fatal stroke, the Prince started on what purported to be a three weeks’ fishing trip, we thought that his absence would give us a respite from our present fears, and would afford him leisure for better thoughts. As his boats pushed off, we waved him a parting good-bye from the shore. His first business was at Lampūn, to secure the co-operation of the governor of that province in ridding the country of the new religion. Inasmuch as Sên Yā Wichai, the third convert mentioned above, was a Lampūn officer, it was thought prudent in his case to secure the action of his own immediate superior. He was at once sent for, and was condemned to death, but was saved by his young master, the governor’s son, on the plea that he was a backwoodsman, and knew no better.
Of the deep designs against us and our work we were thus either ignorant or incredulous till, on the evening of September 13th, just before dark, our night watchman came to us with the common excuse for leaving us, that some relative was dead or dying, and insisting that he must go immediately. In vain we urged that he must not leave us thus in the lurch. As a final argument, we threatened to dock him of a month’s wages. But wages were nothing to him then. “All that a man hath will he give for his life.” While we talked to him, he had reached the gate and was gone. So, also, fled the cook and the coolie, leaving only one blind Ngīo who had taken refuge with us.
Mr. Wilson then lived across the river on the new premises, and it was not until the next day that we learned that all his people, too, had fled in like manner and at the same hour. We went to Prayā Tēpasing, the Prince’s executive officer, to enquire the cause. He feigned surprise, and professed entire ignorance of any designs against the Christians. He said, however, that the Prince had given an order that the inhabitants of certain villages should bring in each a hewn slab of timber to repair the stockade. Possibly the scare might have somehow arisen from that. We were aware of the order, and had told the Christians that if pressed for time to procure the timber, they might each take a slab of ours. We now told the Prayā that we would ourselves be responsible for the timbers required of them. To assure us with regard to our servants, the Prayā sent for our cook, gave him a letter assuring his safety, and threatened, besides, to have him flogged if he deserted us. The cook remained with us all through these troubles, until we could find another to take his place. For some reason Mr. Wilson did not avail himself of this offer. He and Mrs. Wilson got on as they could without servants for several months.