Robbie Taggart

by Michael Phillips

  “I hate them too much to care anymore.”

  “Nien, Isaiah loved these people enough to die trying to reach them. His death is a reminder of Jesus’ death. We will honor his death, and allow God to use it, by doing the same.”

  The words were difficult to say, for Robbie’s flesh cried out for revenge too. But he had learned from Wallace long ago that the values of the kingdom of God were directly opposite those of the kingdom of man. And in God’s kingdom, a mighty and valiant warrior had just been called home, giving cause for rejoicing in heaven. Even if he had to force the words out, he knew they were true. And if they were at the moment only a forced mental response in the midst of his terrible human grief, one day they would settle deeply into his heart, and become a calling to guide the rest of his life in the footsteps of both his Master and his mentor.

  But with the world still swirling in disarray around him, Robbie could give little more thought to just what Dr. Wallace’s death might mean to him. From their position inside the chapel, Shan-fei and Miss Trumbull had been spared seeing the cruel events of the past moments. Now Robbie looked up to see them slowly approaching. He stood, another heartbreaking task confronting him.

  Robbie walked toward his mother-in-law, opening his arms to receive her just as she realized that the prostrate form around whom the men were kneeling was her husband. Scarcely uttering a sound, she fainted into his arms.

  Yet even now the rush of events did not cease.

  A young man came running into the yard. Robbie recognized him vaguely. From another village, he had come to the mission’s services once or twice.

  “Another mob has formed!” he panted, breathless. “Men on horses . . . the people are stirred up again. They have gone wild and are burning the village . . . Kuo-hwa’s house . . . he has been hurt.”

  For the first time Robbie realized that his friend had not been among the group of mission defenders. He did not stop to question this, nor why Kuo-hwa should have been singled out.

  He gave Shan-fei into the care of Ying and Miss Trumbull, embraced the weeping Chang once more, gave Li one last pat on the shoulder and a sincere look of thanks, then sped away to help his friend.

  65

  Last Battle Against Old Enemies

  From the bridge Robbie could see several small blazes scattered throughout the village.

  Half the mission contingent had followed him on hearing the newcomer’s report, and now, seeing for themselves the truth of the man’s words, they all raced in various directions toward the fires. These were soon joined by additional villagers who had remained tightly shut up in their homes during the riot. Though they had wanted no involvement in the madness that had erupted, they could not now turn their backs on neighbors in need. Moreover, if the fires started in the homes of Christians blazed out of control and spread, the whole village would ultimately be endangered.

  Instead of crossing the bridge, Robbie continued to his left. Kuo-hwa lived at the northern end of the village, across the far bridge. But as Robbie neared the area, he saw there were no fires here. The rioters had gone east from the mission, and had not reached this section of Wukiang.

  Kuo-hwa’s house appeared sound, but the air was uncannily quiet.

  Robbie paused. He could sense a different kind of danger. The questions he had not had time to consider previously now began tumbling into his wary mind.

  Kuo-hwa surely would have come to the defense of the mission if he had been able. Why had he been absent? And if his home was one of the few remaining untouched, why had his name been specifically mentioned?

  Slowly he approached the darkened door of the little hut, knocking several times before hearing movement from within.

  “Who is it?” came a small, tremulous voice from behind the closed door.

  “It is Robbie Taggart.”

  The door opened a crack. The pale and ancient face of Kuo-hwa’s mother appeared. Assuring herself it was indeed a friend, she opened the door more fully.

  “There is so much trouble in the village,” she said as an explanation for her caution. “I am alone and was afraid.”

  “I understand. Where is Kuo-hwa?”

  “He went away with the other white man about an hour ago.”

  “The other white man?” queried Robbie, his stomach tightening in dreaded anticipation of the answer to his question.

  “The man who said he was your friend.”

  “My friend?”

  “He was here some days ago—the man with one leg. He took my son with him.”

  “Took him?” asked Robbie. “As a prisoner?”

  “The man said you needed his help. My son went willingly, but in much anxiety.”

  “Do you know where?”

  The old woman shook her head, but pointed north, in the direction of the rice fields.

  Robbie turned in the direction she had indicated and ran off as quickly as his bruised legs would take him. Even as he did so his mind filled with the memory of a similar trap he had rushed into ten years before. Then he had dashed in foolishly to do battle against those who had dared to harm someone he loved. He had been armed and prepared to kill if necessary.

  But his heart had changed since then. On this night, he knew only that he was powerless in his own strength to rescue his friend, but also that love and prayer were the only weapons necessary. He would not rush in to do battle against earthly powers, but prepared to give his life, if necessary, against the principalities of darkness. For he knew the armor of God was upon him. God would be his strength and his deliverance. His only calling was to follow the example of his Lord and lay down his life, if it came to that, for his friend.

  Wallace had shown him the way tonight. In giving his life and spilling his own blood, he had demonstrated to Robbie the fullest example of God’s power to deliver His people out of the bondage of fearing the hands of men.

  No longer was Robbie Taggart afraid of what men could do to him. As he ran toward whatever destiny awaited him, Robbie felt as never before the power of peaceful forbearance in the face of physical persecution. He had looked death in the face this night, and at last he knew that it could not conquer him. It could not conquer anyone whose hope rested in the Lord of the universe.

  He was compelled to continue on, drawn toward a necessary confrontation—a spiritual confrontation for which God had been preparing him for the last decade. He would face a battle, as much against emotions within himself as against any mortal enemy. It would be a battle where no physical power would avail him. An ache in his arm where his hand had once been reminded him of the futility of physical prowess and earthly might. Tonight he had received new wounds. A deep cut over his eye and the one on his ear still throbbed and bled, while many other bruises and cuts from the blows of the angry rioters made him conscious of his earthly body. Yet these wounds only served to focus his mind on the truth that the Spirit of God does not dwell in a tabernacle made with hands.

  Our only purpose is to bring glory to God!

  “Oh, God,” Robbie prayed, “let me be worthy to follow in the footsteps of your servant! Strengthen me in the might of your Spirit, Lord, and strip me of all thoughts of power in myself.”

  As he ran, suddenly two figures rushed out of the darkness and grabbed him. Robbie neither struggled nor fought. He had expected them. He had known all along that he was the target, not Kuo-hwa. But God was with him. He would be delivered by the Lord’s protective hand, even if that meant he was about to join Wallace in his homeward journey through death into life. God would be glorified!

  They prodded him savagely across a field, shoving him, twisting his arm, knocking him with blows to the ground, taunting him and reviling him each step of the way, until they arrived at a small campfire that burned in the lee of a grove of mulberries. There in the dim, eerie, flickering light, he discerned Pike and Wang, both hunched down by the fire-like specters. Though many of his former attitudes had gone the way of the cross, Robbie half expected to feel the same surge of h
atred he had experienced when he had first seen Pike on the chapel steps. Yet amazingly he now felt only a forlorn sense of compassion for these two pathetic men.

  “I knows ye like a book, laddie! ha! ha!” laughed the old seaman. “Only I did expect more of a fight from you. Ha! ha!”

  “Where is Kuo-hwa?”

  Pike cocked his head. Following its direction, in the shadows a few feet away, Robbie saw his friend sitting, bound and gagged. In his eyes Robbie read Kuo-hwa’s apology for so endangering him.

  “Have no fear, Kuo-hwa,” said Robbie. “God is with us.”

  “You will learn fear before this night is over,” spoke Wang for the first time. “Tonight you will die, Robbie Taggart!”

  “Do you expect that to trouble me, Wang?” asked Robbie, standing tall between the two captors who still held him. “I am only disturbed that I have been the cause for such hate and bitterness to so harden your hearts. But I am praying, for I still believe there is hope for you. And for you also, Ben.”

  “Don’t do me no favors!” retorted Pike. “You always was too good. It used to weaken me. But it ain’t going to work no more. You Taggarts have haunted me long enough!”

  “What have I ever done to you, Ben?”

  “Ye was born, that’s what! An’ ye’re jist like him—”

  “Enough of this!” shouted Wang, jumping to his feet. He pulled a pistol from his belt and strode menacingly up to Robbie. “How would you like to die, barbarian!”

  “Any method you choose will have the same end—bringing me into the presence of my God.”

  “Bah!”

  “But for your own sake, Wang, I implore you,” said Robbie, “you will only be driving yourself further away from the only One who can help you if you stain your hands with more blood.”

  “Preach no more to me, you vermin!” shrieked Wang. He spat hatefully into Robbie’s face. “If you are so willing to die, then let us make it a slow death.” Wang smashed the butt of his pistol into Robbie’s face. He staggered back, but his captors held him fast.

  “That’s it!” screamed Pike. “Mess up his pretty face!”

  Wang leveled several more blows into Robbie’s face and head with the back of his hand, to the gleeful encouragement of Pike. Then he rammed his fists three or four times into Robbie’s stomach. As Robbie doubled over, his knees buckled beneath him, but Wang’s two lackeys prevented him from falling to the ground. When Robbie at last was able to lift his head again, his eyes were closed.

  “Dear God, forgive them,” he gasped in a barely audible voice. “Reveal your love to them!”

  Robbie’s prayer only further incensed Wang. “You waste your breath with your prayers, you white fool!” he spat. “If you must pray, then do so for yourself—I am finished with you! Do you hear? Whatever you utter now will be the last words you ever say!”

  Wang stepped back several paces and took aim with his pistol.

  “Goodbye, laddie,” called Pike. “I might be a little sorry ye had to end this way, but I’ll have no peace till ye’re dead and gone. I only wish I could have been the one to do ye in mysel’.”

  Wang cocked his gun, savoring the moment for which he had waited so long. But in the pause that followed, suddenly the camp seemed to erupt to life.

  Robbie could only make out blurry images through his swollen eyes, but the figures on horseback were unmistakable as they tore through the little fireside gathering.

  Robbie heard the expected shot from Wang’s gun, but did not feel the sudden impact of the bullet. Knocked off balance by the sudden rush of a dozen horsemen, Wang’s shot fired wildly, missing Robbie.

  Robbie’s captors let him go in order to dash for cover under the mulberries. He stood swaying, still on his feet, desperately trying to sharpen his senses in order to take in what was happening.

  “What is the meaning of this?” cried Wang, peering into the darkness in an attempt to identify the intruders. “Pien . . . is that you? What are you trying to do, spoil everything, you fool!”

  “That, my lord, is precisely what I intend to do!” returned the lieutenant triumphantly. “Your schemes will indeed be spoiled! I will no longer pay for your whims! And most of your army agrees with me. You are now speaking to the new commander. You may be my soldier if you—”

  “You filthy vermin!” shouted Wang, swinging his pistol in the direction of his former servant. He fired before Pien could respond, but in the darkness Wang’s aim was off, and the shot hit the man to Pien’s left.

  Pien raised his own rifle, but desperation had quickened Wang’s reaction, and he instantly lunged to the right, leaping out of the perimeter of the glow of the fire. Surrounded by darkness and the mulberry trees, Wang deftly made his escape.

  “After him!” ordered Pien.

  Two of his men raced off, but already the sound of pounding hoofs could be heard as Wang sped away on one of his own mounts, which had been tied among the trees.

  In the meantime, Pike had been stunned by the rapid reversal of events. At first all he could grasp was that somehow Robbie had again eluded death. But Pien’s shout brought him to his senses. Suddenly he realized his imminent danger. He too must escape!

  Slowly he tried to hobble inconspicuously away, no easy trick with a wooden leg. However, Pien’s wits were quicker.

  “Not so fast, pig!” cried the new warlord, his rifle swinging around and taking direct aim at Pike’s head.

  “It’s about time ye got rid of Wang,” said Pike with a forced laugh. His voice was shaky as he recovered himself, but he had no hesitation about changing sides, especially with his head in the sights of Pien’s weapon.

  “Now it is your turn, wai-chu! And what pleasure it will give me!”

  “No!” cried Robbie, leaping toward Pike, even as the words were still falling from Pien’s mouth. Two shots rang out almost simultaneously.

  One was from Pien’s rifle. Robbie could not immediately tell whether it had found its mark. The other shot must have come from one of Pien’s men, and as Robbie’s body shielded Pike, he felt a sharp, searing pain as the bullet pierced his right leg. He braced himself for another volley of shots. But none came.

  Instead, Pien’s commanding voice barked an order Robbie never expected to hear.

  “Cease your firing!”

  Slowly and painfully Robbie turned and looked up toward the voice where its owner still sat atop his horse.

  “That snake you have tried to protect,” said Pien in answer to Robbie’s questioning look, “is the only foreign blood I wish to have on my hands. I have no grievance against you. Move aside.”

  Robbie looked at Pike. He saw a widening circle of blood in the sea captain’s abdomen where Pien’s shot had found its mark. Barely conscious, Pike’s face was contorted with agony, and something almost akin to shame.

  “What’d ye do a fool thing like that for, laddie?” he asked weakly.

  “Your life is of great value to God, Ben,” answered Robbie, “and I could treat it with no less care.”

  “Ye’re crazy,” croaked Pike.

  But Pien was becoming impatient. “You are free to go, Taggart. I will do everyone a great favor to eliminate this lizard.”

  “Leave him in God’s hands, Pien,” replied Robbie. “He will give him the justice and love due him.”

  “And rob me of my pleasure?”

  “Then you will have to kill me also.”

  Pien snorted with disgust. “That snake is right. You are crazy! Have your way; he is half dead now anyway.”

  With a jerk at the reins of his horse, Pien swung around and rode away with his small contingent at his heels.

  Turning his attention back toward Pike, Robbie ripped off his own shirt, wadded it up, and pressed it against the wound to stop the flow of blood.

  “I hates you, Robbie Taggart!” cried Pike in response to Robbie’s ministration. “Let me die. It’s the only way I’ll ever be rid of you.”

  As he had a hundred times before, Robbie puzzled over
Pike’s aversion to him. But there was no time to ponder now. Pike would die if he did not move quickly. All at once Robbie felt it of paramount importance to do everything possible to keep the old man alive.

  66

  Out of the Depths of the Past

  Bracing himself painfully on his wounded leg, Robbie untied Kuo-hwa and sent him in search for a cart. When Kuo-hwa returned, they lifted the wounded seaman onto the vehicle and began to inch their way back toward the village.

  By the time they reached the mission, Robbie was so numbed with pain that he could barely react to the horror that greeted him. The residence had burned completely to the ground, only the brick chimney remaining. The wall of the chapel facing the fire was badly charred, but by God’s grace the building had not ignited.

  He collapsed in front of the hospital, the only building untouched by the fire. The last thing he was aware of was Ruth’s loving arms around him as she covered his face with kisses.

  When he drifted back into consciousness an hour later, he lay in one of the crisp, clean hospital beds much as he had on that first day he had arrived at Christ’s China Mission, and as on that day, his whole body ached. Only now the pain was intensified in his right leg. Unlike that first day, however, he would not hear Hsi-chen’s sweet, comforting voice speaking to him out of the darkness. Nor would Isaiah Wallace’s austere countenance greet him in the morning.

  Dear God! he cried silently, I need you now more than ever.

  As if in answer to his cry, Ruth bent over him, wiping a cool cloth across his brow. He took her hand in his and knew that God never brought His children sorrow without joy following it in return. He had heard the Chinese proverb that sorrow was the container into which one’s joy was poured; the larger the container, the greater volume of joy it can hold. And as he felt his daughter’s hand, he knew it was true.

  “Papa,” Ruth asked, tears filling her eyes, “you won’t die, will you?”

  “No, my dear.”

  He paused.

  “Ruth,” he went on, “do you know about your grandfather?”