too many. One of the doctors, in the best English he had, sought to console me by saying, “You’ll be all right. Just stay here a few days, and all will be well.” Actually, that field hospital was the last place I wanted to be. The Lord was with us, and after a few hours of rest and changing of bandages, we were able to carry on. That evening, because of their desire to appease the first Am erican visitor to shed blood on Quemoy, a special dinner was held. Way back in the mountain caverns, carved right out of the solid granite, we had one of the most interesting times I think I have ever been privi leged to share. The nationalist army has gone down as far as seven stories into the granite rock to dig out their positions and placements in the formid able fortress. But the evening permitted questions and answers, for the General, who for security reasons, of course, must remain anonymous, was trained at Cambridge and spoke very good Eng lish. What were some of the questions? Why keep Quemoy? What’s its value, just a little rock jutting out of the sea. In the past three years, the Commu nists have built no less than 40 jet airstrips ringing around the area. First of all, Quemoy has a strategic position, guarding the sea lanes to the mainland, preventing any shipping to such large coastal ports as Fuchow. Now, with the dire famine in the land, these waterways become more signifi cant. I could see that the spirit of the Freedom Fighters on Quemoy was one of the last efforts of the democratic governments of the Far East as a bul wark against Satantic Communism. To be sure, it is small, but at least it is better than nothing. Your news maga zines clearly reveal that should Quemoy fall, or be taken, or be given, the entire Orient could come under the scope of the Reds, and our face before the peo ple of those lands would be greatly weakened. It was a military secret as to how many men were there on Quemoy. The native church, which is a thrill- 28
FRONTIERS (cont.) Approaching the rocky mountainous island, the plane shoots upward sharp ly to avoid the peaks, then dips down to the valley for the runway. Needless to say, I was glad to see terra firma. The missionary who accompanied me, Mr. Hans Wilhem of Orient Crusades, was placed in one jeep, and I in the other. With each of us were some of the Chinese officers. We were hoping to take pictures of various spots on the island. The tour of inspection had just started. Rounding one bend of the nar row road and coming down the hill, I thought our. driver was pulling to the side to allow us to take some pictures. Then, in the seconds that followed, I noticed him vociferously moving the steering wheel which refused to re spond, and in another instant, we ca reened off a tree, turning over in the trench on my side, my head breaking into the window and causing several gashes on the scalp. I was pinned into my side of the jeep and didn’t know what to do, feeling the warm blood streaming down my face. The next thing I knew I was being pulled out of the overturned jeep, and taken to a field hospital for emergency treatment. A most unforgettable expe rience, for I couldn’t talk to any of them, and they couldn’t talk to me, until our missionary friend and inter preter finally arrived. After the physi cal repairs the procession of generals and admirals began. They came to express their profound apologies. I lay in bed recounting the events and thanked the Lord over and over again that He had spared my life. I thought of the verse the Psalmist wrote when he offered praise to the Lord for deliverance by saying, “Who redeemeth thy life from destruction.” I tell you, the Doxology took on new meaning for me. In the hours that followed, I re called that we had come on an even day, and that the Reds usually shell Quemoy on the odd day . . . tomorrow. I had tried to count the shell holes in the ceiling and walls, but they were far
Made with FlippingBook - Online Brochure Maker