Hudson taylor, god’s venturer

Chapter 8

“We really ought to go and tell them about Christ,” they decided. How could the poor idolaters with their little god-shelves and sticks of incense turn from idol worship and superstition if they never heard of the One True God? So they had embarked on a day’s missionary activity among them, glad enough to be free for a few hours from the grind of language study. Very well pleased with themselves they were now, as they relaxed at last, lulled by the lapping of the water on the sides of the boat. The junk dwellers they had met had been friendly and willing enough to receive the neat little booklets hand to them, written in their own language. Some had even assured the young missionaries that having read them themselves, they would pass them on to others, at the ports to which they were going. It had been a day well spent, and now, as evening drew on, could they but get past the Chinese Imperial Fleet safely, they would be back in Shanghai before dark.

The problem was whether they could get past the Imperial Fleet safely. The boatmen were decidedly apprehensive about it, and not at all pleased that the three honorable gentlemen had left so late to return. It was comparatively safe for native junks to cross the waters during the daytime, but to float around after dark, under the very noses of the Imperial guns, was a different matter. The Imperial guns had a habit of going off with very little provocation indeed, and anything seen moving on the waters after dark was liable to be suspect as belonging to the rebels. It was altogether too late to be setting out on the return journey, and the boatmen did not like it. Even the missionaries were feeling slighly uneasy.

“If they know we are English and American, it will be all right,” said Hudson. As belonging to the neutral Western Powers, whose warships were at anchor in the harbor, and whose armed men were ready to protect their lives and property should they be assailed, they could move about in comparative safety. “But know do they to know, when it is dark?” How indeed? White kins and light hair could not be seen after dark. Only their voices could betray that they were not Chinese then. Only their voices...Suddenly Edkins had an idea.

They were just lapsing into silence, the last ship having been passed, when the boatmen said urgently. “Again sing! Again sing!” But why? They were now approaching the Imperial Fleet, they were told, the ships they had just passed were harmless cargo boats! “Quick! Quick! Sing! Sing!” hissed the boatmen.

“ ‘The spacious firmament on high,’ “ gasped Edkins, and burst into song forthwith, the other two accompanying him. Over the waters three young voices floated, proclaiming sturdily that “ ‘the blue etheral sky, the unwearied sun, the moon, and the stars that round her burn, in reason’s ear they all rejoice, and utter forth a glories voice, forever singing as they shine. The hand that made us is divine!’ ”

It took three verses of eight lines each to advertise it adequately, and the last line was sung over twice, which certainly helped to spin it out. But alas! They reached their triumphant conclusion just as they were passing the largest ship in the fleet! “The hand that made us is divine” was followed by silence, as the three songsters sat breathing somewhat heavily after their exertions. And then, from the Imperial vessel was heard the ominous sound of an alarm gong being frantically beaten!

“What next?” cried Edkins. “We must go on singing. There’s not a moment to lose!” and without waiting for a suggestion he started singing again. Simultaneously Hudson commenced singing something else, while Quarterman, evidently inspired by the situation, struck up, “Blow ye the trumpet, blow!” to a rollicking tune! The effect of the musical medley on those who listened was not reassuring! The men on the warship shouted, and for a few moments all were shouting something different at the tops of their voices. The Imperial Fleet, expecting some Rebel treachery, prepared to repel any attack. And the missionaries, realizing that the guns were all likelihood being trained on them, heard an authoritative voice from the ship demanding.

“Who goes there?”

“Great English Nation!” chorused Hudson and Edkins in reply.

“Flowery Flag country!” boomed Quarterman, the American.

“White devils! White devils!” yelled the boatmen. “White devils on board!”
“Where going?” came from the Imperial ship.

“Shanghai.”

“Doing what?”

“Preaching their religion. White devils preaching their religion,” explained the boatmen. This singular announcement might have been expected to produce panic, but strangely enough, it had the reverse effect. The Imperial Fleet grasped the situation. The boat was permitted to proceed.

“What do you mean by calling us white devils?” demanded the missionaries as they drew away from the fleet. “We may be white, but we are not devils,” they said severely. “We are men of flesh and blood, created by the One True God, as you are. Devils are without bodies, and cannot be seen. Furthermore, they are evil spirits, enemies of the One True God, full of wicked intent toward mankind. Devils indeed! Surely you can see we are not devils but men like yourselves!”

The boatmen were very contrite, the more so as they had not received their money. They had grossly offended the three honorable lords, they said. Also, they were but low and uncultured fellows, and could not read a single letter, never having been to school. The exalted countries from which the honorable lords emanated were places of great learning and wisdom, unlike the poor and despicable land to which they had now come. They, the unworthy boatmen, had been greatly enlightened since the honorable lords had condescended to sit in their poor vessel and speak words of pricelss wisdom. Never again, they asserted, under any amount of pressure, would they ever refer to the eminent and exalted ones from the Great British Nation and the Flowery Flad Country in such a way.

The missionaries tried to explain that they were not offended, only anxious that they should be recognized as human beings who had come to them with a message from the One True God. They parted on the shore on the best of terms, and that evening, as the boatmen squatted down with bowls and chopsticks to consume their evening meal of steamed rice, they agreed that the white devils were really very artless and harmless, and if somewhat unreasonable, at any rate they were generous with their money.

Hudson hurried away as quickly as possible when they landed, for he was afraid he would not be in time to cross the creek to the native city where he was living. Indeed, he arrived just as the last plank of the drawbridge was being withdrawn, and returned to his home tired, hungry, but happy. Sitting in his little white-washed room he tackled his evening meal with zest. It comprised a bowl of steamed rice, and four little plates of Chinese vegetables and chopped meat, eaten with chopsticks instead of with knife and fork. Already it seemed quite natural to eat that sort of food in that sort of manner, and Hudson did good justice to it before going to bed.

It was nearly a year since he had set sail from Liverpool on the Dumfries. For the first few months after landing in Shanghai he had stayed in the hospitable compound of the London Missionary Society, where he had employed a Chinese man to teach him the language. Now, however, he had left the comfortable security of the International Settlement, with its Consulates and guards of well-armed European and American soldiers. He was living alone in a ramshackle native house near the North Gate of the Chinese City. He was constantly within the sound and sight of fighting, and the misery and suffering around him were appalling. Whole houses had been destroyed by gunfire, many poor people were homeless, beggars seemed to swarm the streets with their pathetic cries for “Bread! Bread!” It was no unusual things to see captured soldiers being dragged along by their pigtails to be beheaded, or to hear their screams as they were tortured. The street in which he lived was one which the Imperialists had threatened to burn, and every night Hudson went to bed realizing that he might have to jump up and flee for his life before morning. He always saw that his swimming belt was properly blown up before he went to sleep, for in the event of a sudden attack, he decided he would jump with it into the creek, and swim across to the International Settlement.

It was an eerie feeling to be alone in the upper rooms of the old house, with its innumerable passages and outhouses, in such circumstances, and many a time he would turn to his Bible to read some comforting passage before kneeling to pray. As he did so, however, he found that his fears were calmed. It was as though the strong, reassuring voice of a protecting Presence spoke to him, and he went to sleep as peacefully as he had when he was a child with his mother telling him a story.