IN THE GRIP OF FAMINE.
On the way to the town, in the blazing heat, and living mostly on roots
dug from the wayside, the youngest son, my prospective husband, died
of exhaustion. I don’t think any of us minded, as we were too far gone
ourselves. I only remember feeling some relief that now I need never be
married into that family. How we reached the town I don’t know; but we
got there at last, and for a few days lived on a little rice doled out
from a temple near the river. The stores of grain supposed to be reserved
in every town against famine were found to be bad from neglect, and it
was only with difficulty a riot was prevented. The official dared not
show his face, as there were rumors that he had been pocketing some of
the relief money given by the Government.
On the third day we were all of us too weak to fight our way through the
crowd to where rice was being distributed. Near by was a shop where a
kind of coarse wheat bread was sold. My mother-in-law eyed it hungrily.
There were few about, so she went up to the man and whispered to him. He
looked across to me, and then I saw him give her a lump of bread, which
she clutched eagerly and disappeared down a back street. I never saw her
again. She had sold me to the baker for a piece of bread!
I was at the time too starved and ill to be frightened, and the man
appeared to be kind and good, and told me not to be afraid. He brought
me to his wife, a pleasant woman with a kind face, who gave me a little
food, and after a while I slept. Then began a new life for me. At first
I was terribly afraid lest my old enemy should come back and try to get
me away. My new-found friends I soon began to like. The man was a small
trader, who had done well in previous years, and though, like all the
others, they were hard pressed by the famine, they had money enough to
tide them over the worst. They had no children, so the man bought me as a
servant for his wife, and I found in her a good mistress.
Meanwhile the distress grew. Many of the officials were so corrupt as
to try to make money out of the calamities of the people. Transit by
water was very slow, so it was long before relief came. At last we heard
that kindly foreigners were bringing up some boat-loads of flour for the
destitute people. It was when these boats arrived that I saw a foreigner
for the first time in my life. There were two of them who attended to
the transport of the rice from the boats to a temple. A strong force of
soldiers prevented the rush of the hungry crowd, and the foreigners used
to steal out late at night and early in the morning giving tickets to the
destitute and taking care that they were not imposed upon by those whose
need was not so great.
[Illustration: Making idols in China.
“The idols in the temple could not help.”]
They told from time to time a strange story of a new religion of love,
and of Someone called the Lord Jesus, who had sent them in to save the
starving. They were very kind, and gave the people work, widening and
draining the road. My new father was greatly impressed by all this, and I
overheard him say that such a doctrine as this was worth listening to.
It was at that time that my new-found friends determined to leave
that part and retire to their home far away in the country. A long
boat journey brought us at last to a small farm, lying at the foot
of a steep hill, crowned, as is usual, by a temple. Here in this new
home I began a new life. My friends were very religious, and belonged
to the vegetarians. Nearly all the best and most spiritual people in
China belong to this sect. They are earnest worshippers of idols, and
give large sums of money to priests, and in their life are careful and
self-denying. One of their chief reasons for becoming vegetarians was
that they had no son. This they regarded as the sure sign of the wrath
of the gods. To appease them they had made many pilgrimages to famous
shrines, but without finding peace.
When New Year came, there was a celebrated and much-attended festival on
the Fairy Hill, near our home. From far and near crowds came to worship
in the temple of the goddess, bestower of sons and healer of smallpox.
Beggars, in all stages of filthiness, lined the roads reaping a rich
harvest from the worshippers, eager to accumulate merit by acts of
charity. My father joined the procession that started one day from our
village. Fasting and in silence they wended their way across the fields,
each man with a stick of burning incense in his hand, and preceded by
banners and an idol in a shrine. Arrived at the temple the noise was
deafening. Drums and gongs clashed, innumerable crackers spluttered,
and the air was heavy with the smoke of incense. My father knelt before
the grim idol. The priest shook together a lot of bamboo slips, from
which my father took one, and the priest handed to him the corresponding
response of the idol. Anxiously he stepped outside and read. Would it be
favorable? Would the angry gods regard his prayer at last? He read the
printed slip, and a look of intense disappointment passed over his face,
for he read thus:
From sickness no release;
In lawsuits no success;
Your children hard to rear;
From false charges no redress;
The lost will not be found,
Nor flocks nor herds increase;
From marriage no good luck,
And from labor no release.
Such was the result of many prayers and much fasting. Truly the gods keep
their wrath for ever.