“But thanks be unto God which always leadeth us in triumph in Christ.”
THE crossing, which occupied some three hours, was effected without any noteworthy incident. There was nothing attractive about the monotonous dead-level of the banks on either side, nor could one exactly say that with two carts and six mules on board, plus escort and crew, the accommodation was all that could be desired. Yet the bliss of that sail on the bosom of the Huang Ho was beyond anything I have known, in past careless days of pleasure on home waters.
The luxury of unconscious movement after the agony of the springless cart; the relaxation of spirit in the knowledge that, with another dreaded barrier past, and progress towards the goal steadily maintained, the chances of death were diminishing; and above all, the deep sweet peace of God, in presence of a fresh manifestation of His glorious power in our behalf; combined to lend a zest that constituted it the most memorable experience of its kind I have ever enjoyed.
We were not taken immediately to the opposite bank, but to a point at some considerable distance down, either for privacy, to ensure our greater safety, or as a more convenient landing place for the route chosen. Beyond a traveler’s booth or two, the deep cart ruts from the water’s edge, and the casual groups of riverside loafers waiting for a job, one would never have known it for a ford at all. As the boat drew in and touched bottom, truly it seemed to me, in spite of all we had heard of ugly rumor and gloomy forecast, that we had reached the farther shore of the Red Sea. “With His own right hand, and with His holy arm had He gotten Himself the victory;” and in the sight of it, the wilderness and the enemies on before could be calmly faced. As we set foot on “the other side,” to which we had so often prayed and longed to be brought, in the will of God, it seemed too good to be true; and the only fitting language of the heart, in reviewing the way by which we had been led hither, was, “The Lord is my strength and song, and He is become my salvation.”
An uncomfortable delay occurred, just at the moment when all was in readiness to resume the cart journey, due to a noisy demonstration by the boatmen. With the soldiers at their back, they came down upon us for “tsiu-ts’ien” (wine-money)—a traveler’s bonus or gratuity which custom has converted into an unwritten law, and which is practically demanded as a right. Strictly speaking, it was the escort’s place to make it over to them, not ours; for we were Government prisoners, and were being taken on at Government expense. However, that was nothing to them. Having failed to pick our pockets directly, they would do it indirectly; for their moral support of the claim could never be so disinterested as to have no eye to the main chance. Happily, to give way now, without losing face, or forfeiting the principle for which we had before contended, was as possible as it was expedient. “Wine-money,” at least, was not blackmail, and really in the spirit of a thank-offering, not grudgingly or of necessity, I handed them what I could out of sheer gratitude at finding oneself with a whole skin on the other side. It was reassuring to find that the bounty was received with every token of satisfaction; and for the remainder of the journey to Yung-tsï, we were left in peace.
Owing to the fact that we were unable to make any diary records, I can now do no more than present the reader with a general sketch of our journeyings through Ho-nan for the next eleven days, until we reached the city of Sin-yang Cheo, on the confines of the province of Hu-peh. During that period, we traveled on an average 90 li (30 miles) a day, or a distance of between 300 and 400 miles, in the course of which we passed through the yamen of ten cities (including Yung-tsi) in the following order:..
CART
July 15. Yung-tsï Hsien
July 16. Cheng-cheo
July 17. Sin-cheng Hsien
July 18. Hü-cheo
July 19. Yin-ling Hsien
July 20. Yen-ch’eng Hsien
July 21. Si-p’ing Hsien
July 22. Sui-p’ing Hsien
July 23. (On the road).
BARROW
July 24. K’ioh-shan Hsien.
July 25. (On the road).
July 26. Sin-yang Cheo.
An uninteresting list of odd-sounding names; but how many a picture does it conjure up before my mind! How many a variation does it strike from the chords of memory, of joy and sorrow, hope and depression, comfort and disappointment! Against each of those names must be written the word “prison”; and between each successive name and the next must be read the sufferings of prisoners en route to prison.
We had now reached the period of fiercest heat, and henceforth until the end of our journeyings we had to face the “dog days” of the abnormally hot summer. Yet, severe as was the ordeal, I have often thanked God that our flight was “not in the winter.” Nothing more distressing can I imagine than a condition of things of the kind we had to endure, under the rigors of excessive cold. Stripped as we were of even the necessaries of life (let alone the comforts) with nothing but a thin calico garment next the skin, I do not see how we could have survived it. And yet, in face of what we did survive, I fear to say even this much; for the seasons are God’s; and, if His will be so, He can work for him that waiteth for Him not less effectually in cold than in heat.
At every yamen the rumors we had heard at Wu-chi were confirmed, so that (as I have already said) we were kept in a state of perpetual uncertainty as to what was awaiting us on before. The continual expectation of attack by the way, with the possibility of execution at the hands of the next Mandarin, created a nervous tension which nothing but communion with God could relieve. When we came within sight of the city whither we were bound, I cried in my heart, “O God, carry us out of it in peace, if it be Thy will”; and when we left it, in the new joy of a fresh experience of answered prayer, it was still to pray, in view of the next city ahead, “O my God, for Thy glory go before; and carry us in in peace, even as heretofore.” For when we left a yamen, we never knew what might befall us on the street ere we reached the gate of exit; and when we entered a city gate, with the certainty of a following mob, riot might assail us even before we reached the yamen precincts. In covering the distance, too, between city and city, what eventualities might not occur—in the meeting of an idol procession, the encountering of theatricals, or the lighting upon a fair; not to mention the always possible display of anti-foreign feeling at any time, in any town or hamlet we passed through. So, whether it were hamlet, town, city, or yamen, we prayed our way in and we prayed it out.
Generally speaking, it was a time of hanging in simple faith upon God, apart from any special realization of His nearness. But there were occasions when the consciousness of the Divine environing was such that I knew it as certainly as Elisha in Dothan or Paul in Corinth. At those rare and blessed times, in the very midst of excited mobs, every particle of fear vanished, and I realized nothing but the serenity of an absolute security, the conviction of which I would seek to impart to my little son, saying, “We have nothing to fear, darling boy. These people have no power to hurt us, for the Lord God has covered us with His wing. Our real guard is, not these Chinese soldiers, but God’s bright angels; and if he were to open our eyes, as He did the eyes of Elisha’s servant, we should see just the same sight as he saw—horses and chariots of fire round about us.”
At the close of our long day’s weary ride, we were usually lodged either in the guard room or in a cell immediately adjoining that occupied by convicts. The former was, as a rule, only divided off from the common prison by a barrier of strong wooden bars, within which the chained criminals were caged like beasts. The clanking of their fetters gave indication of their whereabouts before the eye had become sufficiently accustomed to the perpetual gloom to detect it; and then how sad and revolting the sight that revealed itself!—a sight the horror of which never grew less, familiar as we became with it. Thank God, we were spared the fate, meted out to some of our brethren, of being thrust in among them. Even as it was, the near neighborhood of such a place was enough to sicken one; though indeed the heart went out to them—poor darkened souls, fast bound in the misery and iron of a more terrible captivity than that which was seen!
One such guard room stands out before me with peculiar distinctness. I remember the utter weariness and bodily distress of our condition when we were driven into the huge yamen courtyard, and the more than usual difficulty we had to face in the swarming thousands that hedged us in. It was one of those occasions to which I have referred when the runners and soldiers failed to make any impression on the mob until the bamboo was brought into play; for we were left where we were set down, until definite orders from the Lao-ie had been received. We were then hustled to the guard room and locked in until dark. It was, I think, the strangest room I was ever in for old-world curiosity. In the center of the room, facing the entrance, was an elaborate structure of ornamental wood, carved in the rudest and most grotesque style of the most pronounced Chinese type, its tawdry monsters and pagodas thick in immemorial dust and curtained with cobwebs. The design was ludicrously childish, and looked like a huge toy transplanted from some barbaric nursery. Doubtless it had a religious significance, as occupying the place of (or possibly enshrining) the usual votive tablet. From the low ceiling, slung on nails, were rows of the mushroom-shaped, red-tasseled hats worn by the yamen folk, and the filthy walls were hung with a medley of pre-historic arms, cudgels, uniforms and accoutrements. At the farther end of the room from where we had been ordered to lie was the strong barrier, separating from the prison, from behind the bars of which peered the eerie faces of the victims of crime. They talked and laughed freely with the jailer on duty over the latest addition to their numbers in the persons of the “foreign devils,” with their eyes intent upon us. The arrival of mealtime created a diversion in favor of their stomachs, when the food was pushed in through a sliding panel and taken greedily, amid much rattling of chains, as though it were the one event of the day. Lying on rush mats, or lounging on benches round the room, half naked, the twelve or fifteen men comprising the guard smoked their opium and tobacco, while they indulged in the coarse and boisterous hilarity common to their class.
In our state of exhaustion, the noise was distracting and the stench insufferable; while so vitiated was the whole moral atmosphere that we could not but pray to be delivered from having to pass the night in it. An earnest representation, on the ground of any wife’s critical state of health, met with better success than I had dared to hope for; and a runner was at last dispatched to negotiate an interview for us with one of the secretaries, with a view to getting a change of quarters. In the tender mercy of God, he returned with the marvelous news that “the Chang-fang” (Bursar?) “would see us”; and under his guidance Miss Gates and I sallied forth by lantern light to the interview. Nothing could have been outwardly kinder than the reception accorded us. Our request was readily complied with; and though the change was still to prison quarters in another part of the courtyard, and the cell allotted to us a dismantled building with the roof half off and strewn with debris, yet we had the unspeakable comfort of being alone, in quietness and fresh air; and before that, the minor inconveniences disappeared.
On this occasion our abode, though part of the prison buildings and adjacent to the convict cells, was detached from them, so that we enjoyed the rare luxury of real privacy. So much so indeed, that I was not aware that we were in ward at all, until a little incident revealed it. Our door having been left open, and finding therefore that we were free to go in and out at our own sweet will, I indulged my liberty to the extent of making a little tour of inspection. A narrow passage from the door led to a small quadrangle where, in a line with our own tiny room, I found myself before a long low building. In the darkness I did not notice that the door was fitted with the unmistakable bars, and I stood there trying curiously to pierce the secrets of the gloom within, when they were revealed, with a shock that made me recoil, by the clank of chains. At the same moment a figure rose from a bench close by and confronted me with a surly challenge, and the order to get back to my own quarters. I realized then that we were actually in the yamen prison and under surveillance. This was disquieting, to say the least, as tending to create the dread that the kindly reception given us was only official “hsü-kia,” veiling other motives and sinister designs.
We were not always so fortunate in our accommodation. Indeed, I remember this cramping crumbling cabin as the most wholesome of its kind in our experience. Once we were locked for several hours into a dark and noisome hole, some ten feet by six, with the narrowest of arrow slits in the thick brick wall, opening off a small courtyard two sides of which were prison cages filled with victims. It was only the “t’ait’ai’s” interest in the children that under God was the means of saving us from the otherwise certain misery of a night there. The usual thing was a small dark filthy room, destitute of furniture in any shape or form, plentiful in vermin, and reeking with miasma. One scarcely dared to look at the floor before lying down. The offensive odor, that could not be disguised, told its own story; and we could only ask for grace to endure it.
I gladly turn from such a subject, distressful still, even in the memory of it. Our prison experiences were not all darkness. Gleams of light from time to time broke through to cheer us, tokens always of the merciful kindness of Him Who had never left us, and Whose word was pledged never to forsake us. Three times the children were sent for by one and another Mandarin at their wives’ request, and treated with great kindness. On one of these occasions, Miss Gates was allowed to accompany them to the official apartments; on the other two they were summoned alone. There was no help for it—the order was imperative; and though our hearts sank at the thought, we were obliged to submit. I remember how my wife’s eyes filled, and how I felt myself, as we watched the two babes, in sweet obedience to our wish, tearfully but without remonstrance walk the length of the courtyard hand in hand under the runner’s charge, and then disappear within the inner enclosure. For how did we know that we should not be put to death, and they retained, to be adopted and brought up in the yamen? In point of fact, at one of the yamens we passed through, so charmed were the ladies with the “iang ua-tsï” (foreign babes) that the idea of adoption was not only entertained, but the proposal actually made, the Mandarin offering to buy them of us, in the assurance that, under such conditions of poverty, we could never be proof against the temptation of so handsome a bid! I need not say their reappearance was hailed with intense relief and thanksgiving; and that, not merely on the score of their safe restoration to us, but because of the tokens for good which they brought with them, in the shape of choice confectionery and strings of cash. Our heads were safe, we felt, for that night at least, and we could lay them down in peace.
The recollection of one other such occasion lingers pleasantly in my memory, when, however, the order of proceeding was reversed, and instead of the children visiting the yamen, the yamen came to visit the children. We were actually honored with a visit in our prison quarters from the “t’ai-t’ai” and her family, accompanied by several ladies of her suite. It was a great event for us; and, notice having been given beforehand, we had time to make such preparations as the circumstances would admit. In due course they arrived—without pomp or fuss of any kind, just walking (or rather hobbling) in, in a simple natural way, and taking the chairs placed for them in the tiny courtyard. The rich hues of their embroidered silks and the bright colored garments of the children contrasted strangely with our own forlorn appearance and squalid surroundings; but everything gave way before the satisfaction of seeing real live foreign babies, and the outward demonstrations of friendly interest wore lively and voluble to a degree. The family consisted of three dear little girls, the eldest about ten, whose manners were as engaging as their looks, and gave one the impression of their having received the nearest thing to a careful training conceivable to China. When the shy reserve began to thaw, and the first feelings of rather fearful curiosity to give way before the discovery that the little strangers were flesh and blood like herself, it was pretty to see the eldest child take them by the hand and prattle to them in her own vernacular. The many days of terror, pain, and privation, had left their mark upon our darlings; and the merry laugh and dancing smile habitual to them before had now faded quite away. Only a settled sadness in the wan little face was left to tell its own tale of what they had passed through—so sad and so settled that it seemed as though they could never laugh again. The little girl’s parting gift of sweetmeats did just succeed in recovering the faintest reminiscence of a smile, as the sight of “goodies” lit up the listless features for one brief moment, and they bowed their thanks in native fashion. So kindly vas this good lady disposed towards us that later on she sent the children a further gift of money and—most welcome of all—a “pi-tsï” (or wadded quilt) to sleep on. The Lord remember it to her!
This was not the only “cup of cold water” given us during these eleven days, to call out praise to God and prayer for the givers. Another “t’ai-t’ai,” also after a visit from the children, sent a “pi-tsï” as a small offering to their mother—a gift which touched us the more that some such provision had become a matter of really vital importance to my wife, and had been made a subject of definite prayer. Now and again one and another article of clothing would come in for the little ones, until we had quite a bundle of goods (tiny enough, truly, but still a bundle) which we could call our own. Perhaps the most serviceable end it answered, whether “pi-tsï” or bundle, was to be sat upon; and oh, the unspeakable comfort of having something between bone and board in the awful cart and barrow rides—something soft, and (in the case of the cart) something slightly higher than the level of one’s feet!
One burning day we were set down in the late afternoon at the yamen of our destination, and, after the usual exciting preliminaries, taken to the guard room. The crowd grew to such dimensions, and became so hopelessly unmanageable in their feverish anxiety to get near us, that at length the guard ordered me outside, if perhaps a good long stare at me might allay their suspicions and quiet their feelings. A chair was set in the midst of this seething mass of latent riot; and there I sat for something like a couple of hours in benign loneliness, striving to convey the impression of innocence by look and manner where speech was denied me. What was my dismay when a man came pressing through the dense crowd, elbowed his way to where I was sitting, and, addressing me as “sheng fu” (holy father), prostrated himself before me and made the “k’eh t’eo” by striking the forehead thrice upon the ground. The man was of course a Roman Catholic; and I knew well that if the suspicion once gained ground that we were his co-religionists, certain riot and death were before us. I instantly rose, therefore, and, dragging him to his feet, told him, with much warmth and in a voice intended for all the bystanders to hear, that such an act was an offense to me; that the Je-su Kiao (Protestant Church) and the T’ien Chu Kiao (Roman Catholic Church) were two separate and distinct churches; that the one had no “lai-uang” (intercourse) with the other; and that as I belonged to the Je-su Kiao, I could have nothing to do with him. However, he persisted in having his say to the effect that he was himself a refugee, the church to which he belonged having been broken up by the Boxers; and that hearing of the arrival of a priest (!) in the city, he had come to bring me the sad tidings and to warn me that we could never hope to get through. I told the poor fellow I was sincerely sorry for him in his distress, and commended him to the mercy of God; but anything beyond this would have been utterly misconstrued. It was not the time to show feeling appreciative of his professed sympathy with myself, especially when he dropped on his knees again and produced as his credentials a Roman prayer book with a colored picture slipped inside of his patron saint “St. Joseph!” I had to be loud in my Protestant protestations, and stern in my determination to know nothing of him and his ilk; and I begged him to begone. This vigorous action revealed what had been working in the mind of the people. They had suspected us of being Romanists; and now that the suspicion was removed by my open repudiation of the T’ien Chu Kiao, the tide of feeling turned, and my “Job’s comforter” was hustled off with more haste than ceremony to the outskirts of the crowd, when he made the best of his way out and I saw him no more.
From that time their lively demonstrations died away, and ere long we were left in comparative quiet. A considerable number still visited us out of pure curiosity in the guard room; among whom was one old woman, who evinced a really touching sympathy for us. She sat on and on talking with Miss Gates and drinking in the words of eternal life, as if they were to her in very truth “living waters”; and when at last she had most reluctantly to go, having noticed that the “kiao-sï’s” little rush fan was worn literally to shreds, she presented her with her own—a gift which at such a time was valued, not only as a precious boon in itself, but yet more as a gracious token of unsuspected love.
The treatment dealt out to us by the Mandarins of these various cities was, speaking generally, of such a character as to leave the impression that, whether for or against us, they were anxious one and all to be rid of us and to shunt the awkward business of extreme measures, entailed by our unfortunate arrival, on to the next man. It was clearly a case of wishing us farther and washing their hands of as much of the responsibility as they conveniently could. For this reason we were invariably refused an audience—with one notable exception which I may here relate.
A grave period of suspense awaited us at Yung-tsï, where the question of no “uen-shu” almost decided the Lao-ie to send us back across the River. Other counsels prevailed, however; and for reasons known only to himself and God, he deemed it expedient to pass us on to his next-door neighbor of Cheng-cheo. Possibly he knew the temper of the man and judged that the method he was certain to employ would be a shorter and easier solution than his own, of the problem, “What to do with the foreign devils?” Accordingly to Cheng-cheo we were sent.
Arrived at the city, enormous crowds thronged us to the yamen, the courtyard of which was soon a sight to behold. We were dismounted about the center of the great square, and left as usual to shift for ourselves. The natural instinct of self-preservation led us to seek refuge as near the gates of the second courtyard as we could: for access there would (we argued) be the more readily granted if we were found to be close at hand in the dire event of trouble. The gates were approached from a broad platform, which in its turn was reached by a flight of some dozen long stone steps. To a position at the base of these steps we made the best of our poor way.
It being early afternoon, the sun’s power was still excessive, and with the pressure and growing restlessness of the great multitudes the heat was distressing. Presently the gate opened, and the “men-shang” (or Mandarin’s deputy), holding our papers in his hand, stepped forward to the edge of the platform and ordered us to stand before him. So there on the topmost step we stood, behind us a troubled sea of excitability, and before us a face to make one tremble. We were then put through an examination much as follows, Miss Gates being the chief speaker:
“What country do you foreign devils come from?”
“Your Excellency’s little children are from Great England.”
“And how far off may Great England be?”
“Thirty thousand ‘li’ of water” (i.e. 10,000 miles by sea).
“Ai-is! You have not come all that distance to the Middle Kingdom for nothing. What are you here for?”
“We are here because we have been sent here by the one living and true God, the Creator and Saviour of all men, to preach the glad news of His salvation for all men, through the forgiveness of their sins.”
“To be sure. You are of the T’ien Chu Kiao” (the Roman Catholic religion).
“No—we have nothing whatever to do with the T’ien Chu Kiao. We are of the Je-su Kiao. The two religions are separate and distinct.”
“Je-su Kiao? Je-su Kiao?” (with a scowl). “But what else have you come to this, country for, besides preaching?”
“For nothing else.”
“Don’t tell me you are not here to make money out of us. What’s your ‘mai-mai’?” (trade).
“We have no ‘mai-mai.’ Our sole work is to persuade men to repent and turn to God from idols, by believing in Jesus His Son, who died for them and rose again from the dead.”
“And pray, how long have you been in the country preaching this doctrine?”
Miss Gates answered for herself, “Fourteen years; and I for myself and family,” “Three years.”
Fixing his eyes on my queue, he sneered, “You only three years, and grown all that hair? That’s too good! Where have you been residing in China?”
“In the province of Shan-si, at the prefectural city of Lu-an.”
“In Shan-si Lu-an Fu, eh? And where are you going now?”
“We are going back for a time to our own land, and are on our way to Han-kow.”
“Oh yes, of course,” he sneered again; “skulking out of the country. And for what reason, I should like to know?”
“It is not by our own wish that we are going. Your Excellency knows well that we have no choice in the matter, owing to the disturbances created by the Ta Tao Huei.”
Such a reference to the Patriotic League of Boxers brought out the latent fury. Pointing to the papers that quivered in his hand and glaring the passion with which he shook, he thundered, “I’ll tell you what you are. You are a parcel of runaways, and you shall be dealt with accordingly.”
This was an evident allusion to Yü-hsien’s order that all foreigners resident in Shan-si were to be forwarded direct to him at the provincial capital of T’aiyüen Fu, in accordance with the Imperial decree issued for our extermination; and harmonized with the report in circulation that the fords of the Yellow River were to be closed against fugitives from that province.
The ominous manner of the man and his yet more ominous utterance could not fail to arouse the gravest apprehension for our safety. It seemed only too evident that we were in the hands of a Boxer official of the Yühsien type; and if the order for our destruction were not carried out there, it would only be to give the Shan-si murderer the satisfaction of doing the deed himself, seeing that we belonged to his jurisdiction. The “runaways” were to be sent back, or the “menshang’s” words had no meaning.
He had scarcely finished speaking when who should present himself at the gate but the Ta Lao-ie himself. And now was enacted one of the most extraordinary and withal most shameful scenes in all our varied experience of either. In the fever of his passion, he had not allowed himself time even to robe; and he hurried on to the platform bareheaded and fighting his way into a soiled gown. Official etiquette could be dispensed with where the “iang kuei-tsï” were in question. Ordinary decorum even was thrown away on such scum. And so we were treated with the contempt we deserved, a contempt that came back upon himself (poor wretched old man!) in sincere pity that he should make himself thus vile in the eyes of his people.
From the moment of his appearance, the Mandarin’s mouth was filled with cursing and bitterness, launched against us with all the vehemence of frenzy. Pacing the platform like one possessed, he stormed and raved and raved and stormed, hurling invective and anathema with an exhaustless energy that could only be of the devil. At length, wheeling suddenly upon me he said, (or rather shrieked), into my face: “You ‘devils’ ought to have your heads off, every one of you—do you hear? Do you know that there is an Imperial Edict out for your destruction? You may thank your lucky stars that I don’t behead you here and now: indeed, it is only by the greatest stretch of mercy that I spare you.”
As he spoke, he suited the action to the word, and with the edge of his hand chopped and sawed my neck so violently that I felt the blow for hours afterward. Then, having delivered himself thus far, he disappeared within the gate.
I had not been able to follow fully and connectedly the gist of his remarks, but had already concluded from the manner of their delivery that they boded nothing else than our execution. When, however, the practical demonstration of his meaning was given, by the very action of beheadal, all room for doubt was taken away, and turning to the ladies I said: “There is to be no miscarriage of the death sentence this time. He means to out off our heads without a shadow of a doubt.”
Imagine my relief when Miss Gates was able to reassure me by giving the exact tenor of his words as quoted above, and the meaning of his action as interpreted in their light! But really I do not know which was the greater—the sense of relief or of amazement that came over me. The virulence of his hate against us was such as to exceed anything we had yet experienced, in the way of official malevolence openly expressed. To believe it possible that, animated by such feelings and with every facility at his disposal for gratifying them in the way most agreeable to himself, he should yet hesitate to put us to death, was out of the question on any mere natural hypothesis. I cannot sufficiently emphasize the miraculous nature of our escape on this occasion. The following elements in the situation will serve to illustrate it in some degree.
To begin with, there was the violent antipathy of the Mandarin to the foreigner, as such. Then, the Imperial Edict ordering our destruction was in full force at this time, and was fully known to him. For, a week later, when the Saunders-Cooper party arrived at Cheng-cheo, they were treated to a repetition of much the same splenetic conduct on the part of the old Lao-ie, who, however, informed them that in exercising the prerogative of mercy, he was able to do so only and solely in virtue of a counter-edict from the Throne, issued but a few hours before their arrival, whereby the previous edict of extermination was annulled, and all foreigners were to be afforded safe conduct to the coast. The question then naturally arises—How came it that we, who were covered at the time of our arrival by no such safeguard, should have been let off? The more I think of it, the more inexplicable does it seem, and the more marvelous.
The “counter-edict” referred to would seem to have been the one that was issued by telegram, the original text of which only the more urgently enforced the decree of extermination. The two officials, however, who were charged with its transmission, with daring courage altered the fatal word “shah” (kill) into the word “pao” (protect), and the revised form in which it was actually issued, instead of reading (as the Empress Dowager intended it should), “All foreigners are to be killed without fail. If they withdraw (to the coast) they are none the less certainly to be killed” —ran thus: “All foreigners are to be protected without fail. If they withdraw (to the coast) they are none the less certainly to be protected.” For this heroic act, both officials were seized and put to death with cruel torture.
Another extraordinary factor against our escape at this time was the powerful incitement offered to the people by word and deed to be instant in requiring our destruction—if not actually to rise up and compass it themselves. Thousands in the vast area behind us were eager witnesses of the whole scene, and the bloodthirsty intentions of their chief could not be misread by them. The ravings of his fury, even if they were not heard by all, could be seen by all; and when they culminated in the acted suggestion of murder, it was enough to inflame them to the point of murder themselves. If ever a mob would have been justified in giving full vent to their anti-foreign feeling, it would have been the mob then gathered within the yamen precincts of Cheng-cheo. And why they did not can never be explained on any principle of natural causes. I think there can be no question that the old Mandarin, in taking the line he did, had this very object in view of stirring up the people to demand our immediate execution, that the ultimate responsibility might (in the event of a future inquiry) be referred to the uncontrollable action of the multitude. Yet they made no attack upon us, nor even a demonstration against us. Those who know the Chinese will be able to estimate the phenomenon at its true value.
Thus God wrought for us at Cheng-cheo. It was a notable miracle, not only by reason of the fact that we were not put to death there, but also that neither were we sent back (as seemed the inevitable alternative) to Shansi. Nay, more. In the short interval that we spent there—for small carts were brought and we were packed off to the next “hsien” with as little delay as possible—God touched the heart of the savage “men-shang” with something of compassion for the children; and when we left that terrible enclosure, we were the richer by a money gift of a thousand cash (made to them in sums of 500 each), and how vastly richer in the experience of the mighty love and keeping power of our God! We could say as literally, in our measure, as Israel said of old, that not only had He brought us forth, but that He had “brought us forth also with silver and gold.”
The treatment we received at the next yamen (Sin-cheng Hsien) was a gracious contrast to the terrors of Cheng-cheo. The Mandarin himself, it is true, refused to see us; but his chief secretary was exceedingly kind. On examining our papers, he had found that there was no regular “uen-shu,” and at once sent for us to inquire into the matter. It was a dreadful moment when he turned to me with, “There is no ‘uen-shu’ here. How is this?” The natural sequel would have been, “I have no alternative but to send you back; for I have no authority to forward you;” and my heart stood still as I waited for the next word after our explanations had been made. For some minutes he conferred with his colleagues, and then said, “I will do the best I can for you;” the result being a document as nearly equivalent to the coveted passport as it was possible to frame. The unaffected graciousness of his manner was in harmony with the kindness of this official act, and one could not but realize how truly noble the Chinese magnate is, when seen to advantage, as in this case. Whatever merit his memorandum possessed, it certainly seemed to lay the “uen-shu” difficulty once for all. Not that it could so settle the matter, I suppose, as to make it impossible for successive Mandarins to do other than send us forward; but the fact remains that we heard no more of it, and were sent forward in every case without any known demur.
Why we were not sent back from K’ioh-shan Hsien (or something worse)can only be explained to my mind by the fact that the supposed “edict of protection,” mentioned above, had just come to hand,—much to the Mandarin’s disgust, if one may judge from his behavior. In my dear wife’s increasingly suffering condition, I sought an audience, with a view to getting some amelioration of our prison hardships, only to meet with an insulting refusal. When the hour of departure came, we found that the journey was to be continued by barrow, the cart being considered too luxurious a mode of conveyance for such vile stuff; and thenceforth we traveled under conditions to which even the cart was comfort. Not only so, but we were sent off without so much as the prison allowance for food being made us for the road—30 cash per head—the only instance where we were so deprived.
Barrow traveling under ordinary conditions can, I believe, be made, not only tolerable, but actually agreeable. Where you are in sound health, and can command your barrowmen, furnish your barrows, and make your own dispositions, going when you please and halting where you please, all well and good. But where you have no choice in the matter, either as to barrows, men, time, place, physical condition, or anything else—well, try it and see. I can scarcely wish you a worse fate than barrow journeying after the manner of Chinese criminals.
With a record of eighteen days of sufferings such as I have related behind us, our fitness for this kind of travel may be imagined. The barrow is driven by two men, one pushing behind, the other pulling in front. We occupy a narrow board, one on either side of the single central wheel, which is protected by a wooden encasement, dividing us. Our back is to the direction in which we are going, and we have to arrange for the accommodation of our legs as best we can; only it must on no account be in such a way as to disturb the balance of the machine, or we shall hear of it again, if not in the way of an ugly spill, yet certainly in the way of ugly words from either Jehu.. Possibly the barrow may be fitted with the semblance of a “p’eng” —that is, a single strip of straw matting above us, tied to a flimsy rod of bent bamboo. If so, we are fortunate. But we are still more fortunate if the matting does not gape in seams or part from the strings. The great merit, however, of our barrow is the sweet music it discourses in the ears of its drivers-wheel-melodies from out the box in the center, to which the creaking of an ungreased cart wheel would be as Mendelssohn to a hurdy-gurdy. No orthodox barrowman would ever dream of running a silent barrow. The hideous screech that shreds the nerves is the hall mark of his line. He would as soon be without his professional creak as the coster without his cry. One slight alleviation is possible to the agony of ruthless jolt and crash in the shape of a thick hempen tyre, which can be fitted to the wheel when the nature of the road is such as to require it. But alas for us! when we entreat this kindness of them, our barrowmen invariably find that the nature of the road does not require it.
So we journey on, under the burning sun. At intervals of so many ‘li’, wayside booths are erected for the refreshment of travelers, generally a mere shanty of mud and stubble, occasionally a more substantial building of “t’u-p’ei” (sun-dried bricks); but always in either case a structure of thatch, however slender, before it, with tables, benches, and ever grateful shade. To pause here for a short five minutes, moisten the parched lips with a sip of water, or a slice of melon, and throw one’s self on the ground in utter weariness to ease the aching stiffness, is the one thing longed for and the next event looked forward to. How many times have I seen my poor wife and Miss Gates just drop from the barrow where it stopped and lay themselves down right there! The picture rises before me as I write of these two dear sufferers lying thus under a burning sun full stretch in the dust, for lack of other resting room, too weary and worn for words.
When, on arrival at our destination, we had at length been installed in our prison quarters, we would give our thoughts of course to the relief of our immediate needs. If a runner could be readily found for a “tip” to supply them at once, we were happy indeed. Often enough we had to wait some hours before food was brought to us, depending on the chance kindness of the guard for a cup of “k’ai-shui” (hot drinking water) in the meantime. Water in anything like sufficient quantity for purposes of ablution was a luxury to be dreamed of, perhaps, but never enjoyed. If, after the children had been washed, we contrived to get the small hand bowl replenished for our three selves, we looked upon it as a mercy of no small degree. Many a time have we washed in turn, all five of us, in the same water, and barely two pints of it at that. Occasionally we have longed in vain for water at all, and simply had to go without. The dog days, too!
In her tender care of the little ones my wife was as characteristically thorough as in her own home. Her strong sense of parental duty, combined with the devotion of a truly wonderful mother love, led her to fulfill these nursery ministries with her own hands almost to the last—that is, until her strength was absolutely gone. The fact that she became, towards the end of the flight, unequal to the task, was a more alarming symptom to me of the real exhaustion of her state than any other. Often and often did we entreat het to allow one of us to take her place while she rested; but the grateful smile that accompanied the refusal, as she avowed herself quite equal to her own loved work, was always to be taken as final. The “sheo-kin” (or coarse calico square) that served to shelter their head by day was the “Turkish glove”; and the towel—my one and only gown, of which I divested myself for the purpose. As far as it was possible to do so, she kept their hair decent with the use of the wooden comb, and with infinite pains cleansed their clothes from vermin. To her extreme care I attribute, under God, the really remarkable healing of their sun wounds. In answer to definite prayer, the raw blisters, which at one time showed ugly signs of suppuration, dried and cicatrized most satisfactorily; and by the time we reached Sin-yang Cheo, there was scarcely a trace of them to be seen. But more than this, I have not the slightest doubt that her devotion saved their lives. When food was difficult to get and scarcely to be had, I have known her frequently to give her own portion to them at a time when nourishment, however meager, was to her a vital necessity. Her jealousy to secure them their proper rest, in the daytime as well as by night, watched ceaselessly to that end; and never did she lay herself down until she was satisfied that they were as comfortable as she could make them.
One thing we had occasion to be devoutly thankful for. We were never once put in irons. This is noteworthy, as it must ever be borne in mind that until we reached the city of K’ioh-shan Hsien, the edict for our destruction was in full force, and our prison treatment at every yamen spoke to the fact. Once only were we warned that at the next city we should be chained, since the “Hsien” was notorious for dealing thus with his prisoners. We laid our trouble before God, willing, if it were for His glory, to suffer hardship even unto bonds; and on arrival, while we scarcely dared to look for any other than his usual treatment at the hard official’s hands, we found an abundant answer to our prayers, not only in the fact that we were spared the threatened suffering of chains, but that we experienced a measure of leniency beyond all expectation.
Another gracious fact I may also note here. By the route we followed, south of the Yellow River, we saw nothing more of the Ta Tao Huei. Pro-Boxers were rife enough in towns and cities; but the Boxer proper, with his distinctive badge and bearing, was nowhere in evidence. I also remarked that the use of the offensive term “iang kuei-tsï” (foreign devils), as applied to ourselves, became the exception rather than the rule, nothing harsher than the term “iang ren” (foreigners) taking its place. This was a greater relief to the mind than it is at all possible to convey to the home reader. The ominous hiss of the former expression affected the nerves until it became a positive terror, suggestive as it always was of the spirit of active hatred which might easily turn to murder; while in places where the milder “iang ren” was in vogue one usually found that such fears might be laid aside.
Indeed, the country folk were, on the whole, quiet and inoffensive, and gave no cause for serious alarm. How far this attitude would have been maintained had we made a prolonged stay among them is a question. Experience showed only too plainly that, as a rule, a couple of hours or so in any place was long enough. There were times when we had to hurry through a village or market town in instant fear of the threatening crowds that hooted us. Twice only were we allowed to sleep on the road, when the stages proved to be extra long; and then we were not dismounted, in the one case, till midnight, when all would be quiet and our arrival unobserved; while in the other, having been overtaken by rain, we were securely lodged in a “kong-kuan” (or official inn) with a strong escort at the gate.
The staple food on which we subsisted was rice “kan-fan” (dry rice) and “hsi-fan” (wet rice). Sometimes we were able to vary it with raw eggs and a preparation of bean curd, which looked and tasted not unlike junket, and was of a delicious coolness. For delicacies water melons and an occasional cucumber about exhaust the list. The usual drink was an infusion of leaves (either beech or elm, as far as I could judge) of a pale tea brown color, and dignified by the name of “ch’a” (tea). When served hot it. was not disagreeable, but lukewarm it was sickening. Thirst, however, never panders to the palate, and we eagerly took with thanksgiving whatever came to hand. Sometimes we could get neither “ch’a” nor “k’ai-shui,” when we were glad to drink from the well or the water butt, regardless of the rules of hygiene. On one occasion, I remember, at a wayside shanty, where we had halted for a few minutes, we called for “ch’a” in almost an agony of thirst. The soldiers and barrowmen, however, were draining the last drop of the slender supply, and nothing was left but water from the butt. The first draft fell to my wife, and the next to the children; but what was my dismay, when my turn came, to find it simply putrid! So thirsty was my wife that she had not noticed it! Death was in that pot to a certainty, and I could only pray God to keep us from the natural effects of such a potion. In course of time, the want of variety of food, along with the unappetizing character of the supply, almost nauseated one, and made eating a real penance. The dry rice was too dry, and the wet rice too wet; and even the “ts’ai” and the “ts’u” (vegetable and vinegar) failed to make it relishable. One happy day I found a man at a wayside booth selling a drink I had never heard of before, which he called “t’ien tsiu” — “wine of heaven.” Fearing that it might bear some suspicious relation to the ordinary Chinese “tsiu” —a spirit much like brandy—I hesitated to taste it; but on being assured by. Miss Gates, who knew it of old, that it was an unfermented drink corresponding very much to our lemonade, my teetotal scruples were at rest, and I invested in eight cash worth. Oh, the luxury of that draft “Wine of heaven” indeed it was to me and to us all—a most gracious gift from the hand of our Father in heaven. I never think of that chance (?) find without giving thanks again to God for what was in very truth a signal mercy.
The treatment we experienced at the hands of the soldiers of the escort was not invariably harsh. Anything like real kindness was exceptional; but a negative attitude of not unkindly indifference was by no means uncommon. Even a rough geniality would betray itself on occasion towards the little ones, with whom they would play and joke as we jolted along, when a weary smile would come back to the children’s eyes, as though they were too strange to it and too tired for it now. Two dear fellows gave us their “sheo-kin” to protect our heads, whereby we were each provided for in that way; and we seldom appealed to them in vain when we found difficulty in catering for ourselves on the road. There were times, indeed, when we sincerely regretted parting with one escort for another, especially if the change would not bear comparison. Many a time I have thanked God for the way those soldiers did their duty by us. One illustration must suffice. We came to a large village market, on entering which it became at once apparent that mischief was brewing. The people swarmed about the barrows with curses and threats, and had the guard wavered for a moment it would have gone hard with us. They hedged us in, however—a little bodyguard of eight amid thronging hundreds—ready to charge at the first suspicion of attack; and so we traversed the long stony street, expecting every moment to be engulfed, ourselves and our defenders. The mob pressed us to the gate, and then prepared to stone us; whereupon the escort turned and charged, and the crowd broke and disappeared.
Thus, amid all our varying trials and perils, God proved Himself to be still our God, faithful and true. And thus, with Him for refuge and strength, we passed on through the length of beautiful and fearful Ho-nan, until we came in His safe keeping to the border city of Sin-yang Cheo, on the confines of the province of Hu-peh.