CHAPTER VII

ADRIFT IN THE CHINESE EMPIRE

PRESIDENT YOUNG accompanied me from Tangshan to Peking, to which latter city he made frequent trips in connection with his position as member of the Imperial Government Boards of Education and Transportation. I had planned to take the slow train from Peking to Hankow, which runs only in the day time and goes on a siding for the night. This train would leave at eight the following morning and, as we arrived in Peking in the afternoon, I had the evening to spend there.

All American-educated Chinese are known as "returned students" and about a dozen of these fellows were guests of President Young at dinner at the Wagon Lits Hotel to meet me. As they were all graduates of American colleges and spoke English they employed this language exclusively, when they were together, in order to keep in practice and also to cement this common bond which existed amongst them. Mr. Ponson Chu, one of the number, displayed a Psi Upsilon Fraternity pin on the breast of his Oriental costume and this emblem immediately attracted my attention, for I was a member of the same society. Chu was from the Yale chapter with the class of 1909 and he and I became brothers at once.

After dinner we rented rickshaws for the evening and the Chinese started out to "show me the town." This was a rare opportunity; for it gave me access to places of which, alone, I should not have known the existence. We hopped into our rickshaws and were on our way. We passed the Legation compounds, went through the massive and imposing Chien-Mien Gate and in a few minutes were lost in the swarms of roving humanity in the _Chinese City_. We found our way through the narrow streets crowded with vendors, wrangling merchants, camels and what not. Finally we came to our first stop, a bohemian café--to describe the place in western parlance. This café, which represented the best thing of its kind in the capital, was a quaint old building composed of several rooms in each of which were a few tables. We seated ourselves at three of these tables and ordered refreshments--which consisted of tea and dried watermelon seeds. Shortly, a bevy of young Chinese girls, employed by the institution, came in and sat with us, partook of the food and engaged in the conversation so far as their limited mentalities would permit. These dainty little creatures, ranging in age from twelve to sixteen years, were neatly dressed in tight pajama-like garments. Their hair was greased and cut in such fantastic designs and they were so mentally deficient and so bashful that it was hard for me to realise they were human beings. One of our number put in an order for a Chinese orchestra and in a few minutes an old fellow appeared with an instrument somewhat similar to a violin. This musical contrivance had but one string. The sounds it emitted, after its operator got into action, were enough to drive the most placid man insane. To complete the musical bedlam a confusion of discordant tones was added by the voices of several female singers who rendered a number of selections at the request of one of our party.

We visited several establishments of this sort and in one of them I was treated to the sight of seeing two Manchu Princesses accompanied by their eunuchs. These women entered with their male attendants, hanging languidly on their arms. The women were tall, graceful creatures--each smoking a cigarette, and were dressed in beautiful one-piece robes of rich blue colour. Their hair was done up in the characteristic Manchu fashion on a framework extending from the rear of the head. They were beautiful women.

The following morning I was at the station ready to board the slow train through China to Hankow. As there were no dining arrangements on these trains I came fully provided with provisions. Extending from each coat pocket was a loaf of French bread; canned goods disfigured the symmetry of my trousers in front and two bottles of beer added to my unshapely appearance in the rear. Foreigners very seldom take this slow train and the passenger list consists exclusively of natives who are making short trips.

I had just seated myself in my compartment when an Englishman entered and asked if I would mind if a Russian shared quarters with me. I had no objections and the Russian came in. The train pulled out and as soon as my new travelling companion had his luggage adjusted I attempted to engage him in conversation. The man could not speak a word of English and I knew nothing of Russian. I was in for three days of silence, I thought. We resorted to gestures and drawing pictures. In this way, I learned that my new friend was an artist and, I informed him by the same means, of my purposes in life.

To confine myself to the truth it must be stated that the Russian knew two words of the English language and these were, "President Taft." I discovered this when he took from his little travelling trunk two small glasses and a bottle of Benedictine. He poured out the liquor, handed a glass to me and, drinking a toast, said, "President Taft." I would not be outdone so I returned the compliment by toasting a name which I thought ought to be the Russian for Nicholas. The artist recognised it and his face was one radiant smile as he drank his glass. These were the only words which passed between us during our three days together and they were made coherent with the bottle as a welcome interpreter.

The painter had, among his belongings, a large pamphlet with Russian phrases on one page and the English equivalent on the other. By means of this booklet we were able to exchange ideas. Sometimes, however, it would require almost an hour to put across a simple thought.

The first night we stopped at Tchang Te Fou and I made arrangements with the station master for the Russian and myself to sleep in the car. Most of the interior cities of China are surrounded by a wall and the railway stations are usually outside of this wall and often a couple of miles away. Before retiring the Russian and I had agreed, by means of the English-Russian pamphlet, to enter the walls of Tchang Te Fou and see the town and at the same time get something to drink, as the water on the train was very poor. We walked the two miles from the station to the city, entered the big gate and were soon wandering up the main street. We were at once a source of curiosity as our advent was, no doubt, the chief event of the year.

This city is seldom, if ever, visited by foreigners and we learned afterwards that there were only two in residence, these being missionaries. Consequently we were the main feature of interest to the simple but treacherous-looking inhabitants. As we proceeded up the street in the hope of finding a soda fountain or a saloon we accumulated a long train of curious citizens, beggars, naked children and nondescripts, who followed us and examined us with child-like simplicity. We finally came to a shop which had the appearance of a drug store. We looked over its stock for some thirst-quenching liquid. By this time our train of natives had increased to two hundred and they stood at the entrance of the shop while the proprietor restrained them from coming in. I spied two bottles of some unknown make of American beer perched on a shelf amidst Chinese medical concoctions and bought them. The Russian and I then made our way through the crowd at the door and started down the street to the train. The gang of Chinese tacked on and a solid procession of half the population of China, so it seemed to us, marched behind us. It was beginning to get dark and, as it was no uncommon thing for foreigners to enter some Chinese cities and never be heard of again, I became somewhat alarmed when several of the hangers-on began to beg for money and, when none was forthcoming, to pull at our coats and molest us. Two of the Chinese were especially persistent, one jerking the Russian's coat and the other making an effort to get his hands in my pockets. What a situation! It looked as though two speechless companions in danger would have to clean out the whole crowd of several hundred Chinese. The Russian gave me a look which I interpreted to mean that there was nothing to do but fight. The mere suggestion of such a thing unconsciously made me act and in a flash I swung on one of my assailants. I connected with his chin and floored him. Ideas go in and out of a man's brain in rapid succession in such moments, and I thought that the Russian and I would now have to fight the whole mob. I was mistaken. I didn't know my men, for the blow that ruined my opponent dispersed the entire crowd and they fled in all directions like chaff before the wind. A crisis had been passed and the Russian and I made haste to the station where we safely spent the night in the train.

The next day we had more trouble. This time it was with the railway police. I was showing a number of photographs of Chinese to my Russian friend when a policeman came along and asked in French if he could see them. I acquiesced, thinking the officer was simply interested. He wanted to show them to some of his friends in another car. I gave my consent with a nod of my head. As he had not returned at the end of an hour, I went through the train to find him. He was showing them to a score of his countrymen and said that he would bring them back in a few minutes. I returned to my car. Shortly the policeman appeared and gave me all the pictures except two. These he said he wanted to keep. I protested with him in French, for this was the language used by the employés of this railroad. He became so angry that he attempted to take back the photographs he had returned. The Russian came to my assistance and we threw the policeman out of our compartment into the aisle of the car. I took his number and told him that I would report him to Mr. Tze, the official of the railroad company who had given me my pass. The policeman recognised Tze's name and at once calmed down and said that he would return the missing pictures immediately. He did not return and I went after him again only to learn that he had got off the train at the last station. The man was now beyond reach and I was out two of my photographs. Why he wanted them, I don't know. It is hard to diagnose the workings of some people's brains and this policeman was one of them.

The second night our train went on a siding at Tchu Me Tien, a small isolated village. The station master would not grant us permission to sleep in the car, so we had to put up at a Chinese inn. A Japanese hotel is a model of cleanliness. A Chinese hotel is usually the reverse. This inn at Tchu Me Tien was the essence of filth, discomfort and heat. It is a safe statement to make that it was one of the most unsanitary, dilapidated and uncomfortable domiciles on this earth. The building was alive with naked and unwashed Chinese; our bedroom was occupied by a dozen hop-head coolies; the beds were made from the hardest wood obtainable; the unsanitary toilet was only a few feet away; the thermometer was hovering about the boiling point; and mosquitoes were as numerous as raindrops in Oregon and as large as bats. With all these inconveniences and pests, coupled with the fear of being robbed during the night by the proprietor of the hotel assisted by his guests, neither the Russian nor myself--who rested on the same plank together--got a wink of sleep.

I left the Russian at Hankow and began rambling again by myself. I found an hotel in the Japanese concession of the city and there I put up during my week's stay in Hankow. I deteriorated into a simple tourist. I "did" Hankow, and I "did" Wu-Chang and Han Yang, the cities on the opposite banks of the Yangtsze River. Before leaving Hankow I presented my letter of introduction to Mr. Tze and obtained my steamship passage down the river. I sailed on the steamer _Hsin Chang_.

Three days and three nights on the picturesque Yangtsze as a first-class passenger, and the _Hsin Chang_ pulled into Nanking. Although my pass was good to Shanghai I concluded to leave the ship at Nanking and go on to the coast by train. I therefore landed, hailed a rickshaw and gave instructions to the coolie to haul me to a Japanese hotel.

American and European hotels were impossible for me on account of their high rates and the Chinese hotels were out of the question because of their filth. There are many Japanese in China and each large city has at least one of their hotels, which are always clean and cheap.

The Nanking Japanese hotel proved to be a difficult institution to find for, after dragging me about two-thirds of the streets of the town, the coolie admitted that he didn't know where it was. At last I saw the Japanese consul's house and directed my rickshaw man to it. From the consul I learned where the Japanese hotel was. In five minutes I was a properly registered guest of the place.

I retained the service of the rickshaw coolie and with a map set out to see Nanking. I passed through the ruins of the old Imperial City where a few Manchus still reside and out of the walls to the Ming tombs. The rickshaw slowly conveyed me along the avenue of hideous monuments erected over the graves of the late members of the Ming dynasty. When I came to the end I alighted and ascended to the summit of the huge structure built over the supposed remains of Woo Hung, the first emperor of the Ming line, who died some six hundred years ago. I sat down and gazed over the distant walls to the city of Nanking nestled in the mist. There I remained in deep reflection. My thoughts had floated across the Pacific to places where I had friends and relatives. Just at this lonesome moment a neatly dressed Scotchman came along and sat down beside me.

"What are you doing, old chap?" he enquired.

"Just knocking about the country," I replied.

"Are you going to Shanghai?"

"Yes, I shall probably go down to-morrow afternoon."

"Where do you intend to stay while there?"

"Oh, I suppose that I shall put up at some hotel."

"I live in Shanghai and am going there in the morning. Can't you come and stay with me?"

I thanked him but declined, giving as an excuse the fact that I had some friends whom I expected to meet. The Scotchman persisted.

"I should be very pleased to entertain you. If you are unable to find your friends be sure and look me up," he said.

I am not of a suspicious nature but, when the Scotchman extended such an urgent invitation on so short acquaintance, I immediately thought that he was a bunko man of some sort and that he intended to "shanghai" me.

"Thanks," I concluded, "if I can't find my friends I shall look you up." Shanghai is a city of a million and a half people and, as the Scotchman--who didn't give his name--left, I dismissed the incident from my mind, never expecting to see him again.

I returned to my rickshaw and was soon again within the city walls where I spent the remainder of the afternoon visiting the Gung Yuam or old Examination Hall.

This hall was one of the most interesting institutions in my Chinese travels. It was the place where the students from many provinces came to take the government examinations in the Chinese classics. It consisted of rows of cells where the students were sealed in for several days to write their essays. There were twenty-five thousand of these cells, sufficient to accommodate that many students at one time, and the whole institution covered several acres. In addition to the cells there were many buildings which were used by the government officials and examiners. The place was last used in 1904 and since that time has rapidly decayed and through neglect, characteristic of the Chinese, was in a poor state of preservation. It was the only one still remaining in China and it is a pity that it is soon to be destroyed.

My companion on the train to Shanghai was a Japanese. With the smattering of English he knew, coupled with the fragments of the Japanese language I had picked up in Japan, we carried on a fairly intelligent conversation. From him I learned the address of a Japanese hotel in Shanghai and he kindly offered to accompany me to it. We arrived in the big city and in a moment were lost in the tremendous tides of humanity. I thought I had never seen so many people before. The Japanese conducted me to the hotel. The proprietor consigned us to the same room. I didn't object. I was only surprised.

Shanghai was in holiday attire and throngs of people were celebrating the coronation of King George V of Great Britain. I walked the streets and watched the happy crowds. A feeling came over me that I was out of it, that my stay in the city would be a wearisome one and that while every one else would be enjoying the celebration I could not take part in it. As I was thus musing, I heard a shout from the street.

"Did you find your friends?" It was the Scotchman whom I had met in Nanking.

"No," I shouted back, at once making up my mind to accept the stranger's invitation. I concluded that I had never been drugged or "shanghaied" and I was willing to take the chance. If any one made a suspicious move I would swing on him first and put up a good fight while the affair lasted.

"Come on with me, then," said the Scotchman.

"All right," I replied.

I returned to the Japanese hotel, checked out and immediately moved into the Scotchman's apartments.

This mysterious man whom I held in such suspicion and to whom I attributed such unworthy motives was Mr. John E. Hall, a prominent importer of steel rails, and one of the most respected citizens of Shanghai. I entered Hall's spacious apartments, was introduced to several of his friends and was soon seated at the dinner table putting away one of the finest meals any mortal ever ate. Everything in the line of good food and good liquor graced Hall's table, and every convenience and comfort from bath-room to billiard table was to be found in his residence.

I was given a guest card to the Shanghai Club, the finest in the Far East. I had a ticket to the Coronation service at the Cathedral. I sat in a reserved seat and viewed the parade. I was taken to all the points of interest in the city, both by day and by night, and if there was anything on the map too good for me, I didn't know it. This was a sample of hospitality hard to beat.

During my wanderings about Shanghai with Hall, I was taken, in the early hours of the morning, after the electrical parade which took place as a part of the coronation celebration, to the Carlton Café--a bohemian resort. As I entered this café, in company with a dozen of Hall's friends, I was startled to hear my name called out from the midst of the huge throng of midnight merrymakers. Here I was five thousand miles from home, and, so far as I was aware, there was not a soul I knew in the city. My name rang through the air again. I looked about and at last recognised a woman, who was standing on a table, as the source of the call. I soon discovered that she was inebriated and in a second I recalled that I had met her on the steamer _Asia_ crossing the Pacific. I immediately went over to her, shook hands with her and exchanged the usual platitudes which are employed when people meet.

My friends wanted to know where I had met the lady, and informed me that she was one of the most notorious women of the Shanghai underworld. On the steamer she had given her name as Mrs. Davis and there was nothing in her demeanour during the voyage to indicate that she was not a respectable woman. It was on this basis that I had met her. Presently she came over to our table and asked if I would come and have _tiffin_ with her the next day. I accepted.

"Where shall I come?" I enquired.

"Sixteen Soo Chow Road," she said. "Are you surprised?"

Either way I might have answered this question would have given offence, so I evaded it with an assurance that I would be on hand for _tiffin_ the next day.

Sixteen Soo Chow Road was guarded by two policemen. They took no notice of me and I walked straight in and asked for Mrs. Davis. No one in the house knew her by that name. In a few minutes I found her and was cordially received. The place was in a great state of excitement, for one of the women had taken four shots at a prominent merchant of Shanghai early in the morning in one of the city's cafés. The woman was under arrest and this accounted for the presence of the policemen at the entrance. I did not like the idea of being about for fear I would be called as a witness and become mixed up in a nasty scrape which I knew nothing about. However, I decided to be a man and see the meal out. _Tiffin_ was brought in and Mrs. Davis, for she was still Mrs. Davis to me, entertained me as would the hostess of the most respectable home in the world. After a good meal and a pleasant call I took my leave. I was somewhat wiser from my study of human nature. I also had made another friend in this world.

I made arrangements with the skipper of a British tramp steamer to take me to Hongkong and before long I found myself on the shores of this beautiful island ready for new experiences. Hongkong proved to be a poor field for adventure and after seeing the sights I went up the river to Canton. In both places I put up at Japanese hotels where I thrived on Japanese diet at Japanese prices. I returned to Hongkong and after a few days along the waterfront I sailed for Manila on a British tramp.

Before the ship got under way a United States Quarantine officer made a cursory examination of the crew before she would be allowed to leave for the Philippines. As he passed me he said, without stopping, that I had malaria. This was cheerful news, for a Hankow doctor had told me that I had a touch of dry pleurisy and a Canton physician had prescribed a mixture for dysentery. I said to myself when the American Quarantine doctor made his lightning-speed diagnosis, "That is a delightful thought; I must have all the diseases under the sun." I hadn't been feeling very well, which I attributed to the long period I had lived on Japanese and Chinese food and the irregular life I had been leading, so I discounted the contradictory statements of all my physicians and concluded that with good food and regular hours in Manila I would soon be in normal shape.

However, I had no time to think of ailments, for the second day out found the ship in the roughest sea I had ever experienced. The captain informed me that we were on the outskirts of a typhoon and that he had changed the course of the ship in order to run away from it. Typhoons, which are common to the China Sea during the fall of the year, are tremendous whirlwinds which are often several hundred miles in circumference and, when the weather prophets know of their existence, all ships are not allowed to leave port. Our ship, however, got under way before any indications of the typhoon were evident. If a boat encounters one of these terrific storms its chances for getting out are about one in a hundred.

I was sitting on the deck talking to the ship's doctor when the boat gave a lurch which threw us both headlong against the railing. Before we could find something to hold to the ship pitched in the opposite direction and we were thrown like rag dolls through the open hatchway upon a pile of cargo. From this point we gradually found our way to the mess-room. This was the first indication that we were in the vicinity of a typhoon. The boat was a freighter and did not carry regular passengers and, besides the crew, the extra travellers consisted of a dozen Chinese coolies, a United States cable ship officer and myself.

The sea became rougher and rougher and if this was only the rim of a typhoon what on earth would the centre of it be? All night the ship pounded, swayed and lurched and the wind blew at a terrific rate. The skipper remained on the bridge and had what little he ate served to him there. In the morning the sea, instead of being calmer, as we had all hoped, was ten-fold worse and the captain announced that we were in the middle of the typhoon, and when asked what our chances were he simply shook his head. When the experienced skipper looked worried and considered that our prospects for reaching shore were small, unless something extraordinary occurred, I philosophically--as did all the others on board--resigned myself to the fact that I only had a day or two at most to live. We were as helpless as babes.

The waves ran thirty and forty feet high and constantly broke over the ship at the two hatchways. Fifteen feet of water dashed and redashed across the deck in a mad torrent. Occasionally a wave would break over the top of the mess-room, which was perched high upon the stem of the boat, and the force of its blow seem to promise that one more would cave in the sides of the ship and end it all. It was impossible to serve meals and we all munched at pieces of bread or chunks of meat--or any food we could get our hands on.

I had never imagined that the ocean could become so terrific and a ship so helpless. Each time I saw the tremendous mountains of water rush towards the vessel I would think it was all over. The ship would cringe, dip and twist and in some mysterious way, half submerged, ride the treacherous monster and, having got safely by, would instantly be confronted with another equally as treacherous and terrible. To survive these waves was a miracle.

With the heavy sea and the fearful wind the ship's engines were powerless and the boat was swept about like a cork. To add to our perilous situation the engine room was becoming flooded, although four pumps were frantically sucking out the water. Thus we battled with the sea for three days, not knowing when the end would come, but always living in the hope that the extraordinary thing would occur which the captain longed for.

Thank God, it did occur. During the third night the wind changed and it began to rain. I never saw rain in such quantities before nor do I ever expect to see it again. But every drop was a blessing, for it did its share to quiet the waves, and it was only a few hours before the sea had abated to a point where comparative safety was reached and the ship was able to make some headway. A more thankful and happy crowd could not be found at that moment on land or sea than the few men on that ship. The first meal after the subsiding of the waves was as happy a reunion and joyous occasion as any Christmas gathering I ever attended.

The next day the sea had calmed down to almost normal and the captain discovered that we had been driven five hundred miles out of our course. He headed the bow of his ship towards Manila and, on the morning of the sixth day, we pulled into port. We were all intact, but the faithful ship was a dismantled wreck. The Manila authorities had given us up as lost and our experiences took up a column on the front page of each of the daily papers.