to the door and looked out. Again the thunder of the rain had ceased,
the sun was shining brightly, and mist was rising from the earth. He
could see with his mind's eye the thick jungle extending hundreds of
miles away and growing darker and darker. It was not the thought of the
jungle which troubled him, but of the inhabitants whose hearts were
darker than their skins, darker than the shadows of night which would
soon settle down. He had now a new question to trouble his peace.
"What can one man do?" he said to himself.
* * * * *
Ten more years passed, and this morning the sun shone clear and
unclouded. The rains were over, and fine weather was certain for weeks
to come. David remembered as he rose that the eleventh anniversary of
his coming to Africa had passed unnoticed. He had an important matter
on his mind and he dressed quickly and came and stood at the doorway of
the mission house, waiting a little impatiently for his breakfast.
The mission house had changed in appearance; the roof was sound and the
floor safe to walk upon and there was comfortable furniture everywhere.
Even more changed was the aspect of everything without. It seemed as
though on all sides the jungle had been pushed back and the sunlight
had been let in. Before the mission house was a garden; near by stood a
chapel; here were dormitories; there were workshops. Surrounding the
mission grounds were plantations of coffee trees.
Not only were there pleasant things to look at, but there were pleasant
things to hear, the sound of children singing, the cheerful jingling of
the breakfast dishes, and, above all, the soft pleasant splash of the
waterfall in the river.
There were even funny sounds. A pet monkey sat on the porch railing and
chattered at David—whom, by the way, we should now call Mr. Day. The
poor monkey had yesterday learned a lesson which all naughty creatures
must learn, to keep his hands away from that which did not belong to
him. His aim in life was mischief; he liked to steal, to tear down
pictures from the wall, to open ink bottles and smear ink over nice
clean paper, or, better still, over paper which had been laboriously
covered with reports.
But yesterday, in hunting for ink, he had opened a bottle of strong
ammonia. For a moment he had been paralyzed by the fumes, then he
coughed and sputtered and scolded and screamed and ran to the top of
one of the tall palm trees in front of the house. He would never open
any more bottles! He seemed to be saying so as he chattered.
[Illustration:
_Courtesy Women's Missionary Society, United Lutheran Church_
OLD MISSION CHAPEL BUILT BY DR. DAY, AND HIS COFFEE INDUSTRY
Dr. Day believed that not only must men be taught about Jesus, but they
must be given work to keep them busy and create self-respect.]
After breakfast a bell rang, and Mr. Day hurried to the chapel. It was
time for prayers, and then he would get at his important task. He had,
besides a loving heart, a good head, and he believed that it was not
enough to teach men about Jesus and to persuade them to have faith in
Him. One must also give them work to do so that their minds and hands
might be occupied and they might be self-respecting and busy. Then the
tempter would not be able to win them back to sin.
Each boy and girl and each man and woman in the mission had a task. In
the first place they went to school, and hundreds had learned to read
the Bible, some so well that they could teach others. They did the work
in the mission house and on the coffee plantations, they toted the
baggage, and they farmed for themselves.
Mr. Day not only believed that they should work, but he believed that
they should have good tools and labor-saving devices just as the white
people had, and this morning a long-looked-for steam engine was to be
set in place. There was no use to try to have any other work done, or
even to keep school. Mr. Day was excited, but he was the least excited
of all the people for miles around.
He conducted chapel soberly, and then he went down to the river,
followed by a great crowd. There were little girls in neat gingham
dresses and little boys in white cotton trousers and shirts and older
folks who were also clean and neatly dressed. Behind them came another
throng who lived near by, but who did not belong to the mission. At
their head was a chief who had fixed himself up for the occasion by
borrowing all the clothing his friends owned. He wore shoes which were
too tight, and consequently he took mincing, awkward steps. The rest of
his wardrobe consisted of three heavy coats, the lower one very long,
the upper one cut off so as to show the tails of the other two, and a
high paper collar.
Like all the rest, he was afraid of the large object which lay at the
landing. Not much of it was to be seen through the crate which covered
it, but he could tell that it was black and dangerous looking. He
muttered as he went along.
"We no made for do dis ting. 'Merican man got dat sense. Country man
too fool; no sava (know) dem ting called steam. Sava cook, sava eat,
sava rice; but dis ting pass him."
As they approached the river's edge, the men of the mission pressed
forward to the side of Mr. Day, whom they called Daddy. They were very
proud of their importance, but they were half afraid. Daddy was already
fastening the ropes to the boat in which the engine rested.
"Now, boys, pull her up!" he called.
There was giggling and laughing as a hundred hands laid hold on the
ropes. There was also a great deal of boasting, such as boys do in our
country.
"Me strong man!"
"Me pull powerful!"
"Dis ting nosing! Me pull whole house."
"Me pull whole tree down!"
"Ready, all together!" called Daddy.
In a few minutes the boat was high up on the sand beside a strong
tripod of poles and the mission wagon which had been placed there. With
still louder shouts the heavy box was swung into the wagon. There was
laughter and more boasting.
"Me pull strongest of all!"
But now came the tug-of-war. The wagon sank deep into the soft soil and
when it would not move, each black man let go the rope and began to
shout reproaches at his mate.
"You no work!"
"You weak man!"
"You little baby!"
Daddy was for a moment in despair. Then his ever-ready smile returned,
and he said to a bystander, "Get a drum."
The drummer began to beat, the crowd began to sing, the boys and
girls began to dance, and the wagon moved. The rope was so long that
the women and children could take hold. In a little while the engine
had come to the end of its long journey from York, Pennsylvania, to
Muhlenberg Mission, Africa.
But it was not yet set up, and Mr. Day was puzzled. He stood earnestly
reading the directions, and then he began to give orders. He was so
pressed upon by the crowd that he had to shout to them to stand back.
A smart mission boy read the number on the engine.
"Him say, 'No two four one seven.' That him name."
They were all so busy with their own thoughts that they did not see
that the last section of the engine was in place and that Daddy had
filled the boiler with water.
Suddenly a black boy began to yell.
"Daddy burn him engine up! Daddy burn him engine up!"
Daddy smiled again and piled under the boiler the splintered wood from
the crate. The fire grew hotter and hotter, the people forgot their
fear and pressed closer and closer.
Daddy was elated; for years he had prayed for this engine, and for
months he had known that it was coming and had wondered whether he
would be able to set it up and run it. Now here it was, put together,
and with the steam pressure mounting higher and higher. He could not
express his joy, but he had something at hand which could. He supposed
that this fine engine had a fine whistle and he opened the valve and
set it off.
Such a sound had never been heard in that part of the world. It was
shriller than the monkey's chatter; it was more penetrating than the
roll of the war-drums. Men, women, children—everybody—ran for the
woods. Even the goats and the chickens fled. Daddy laughed and laughed,
and presently they began to venture back.
"How he live for (does he) holler?" asked one.
"He shoot off wif he mouf!"
"Daddy say he have biler. Where de biler?"
"Yonder de biler!" And half a dozen fingers pointed to the smoke-stack.
Daddy let the fire go down and went back to the mission porch. It was
almost noon, and the hot sun commanded all men with white skins to
get under cover. He sat down to tell his friends in America that the
engine was in place, and, as he wrote, he remembered his arrival at the
mission, its desolation, the sinking of his heart. His pen dropped from
his fingers.
One man had, after all, done a great deal.
Mr. Day had, after awhile, a new title, given to him by a college at
home. First he had been Dave, then David, then he had been the Reverend
Mr. Day, then "Daddy," and now he was "the Reverend Doctor Day."
Probably he liked "Daddy" best of all.
He had ceased entirely as he grew older to think about other people
caring for him; what he wished for was to care for other people. He had
had many to love, the dear wife who worked with him, and two babies
whom they could only keep for a little while. Then there was Leila, a
little daughter who was brought up in America. When she was nine years
old she went to Africa, but lived only a short time.
He had also hundreds, even thousands, of black boys and girls and men
and women, those who came to the mission as children and married there
and bought themselves little farms near by, and those who came and
stayed only a little while and then went back to the jungle. Of these,
some forgot all they had learned, except one thing, that here was a man
who had come from so far away that they could not measure the distance,
simply to do them good.
For twenty-three years Dr. Day worked on, almost without rest. Mrs. Day
came home to America, worn-out, but with high courage to the end of her
life. She would not let anyone say that she would not get well and
that she could not go back and work with Dr. Day.
"In Africa everything depends on how brave you are. I expect to go
back."
Dr. Day saw many of the missionaries who came to help him fall by his
side; he saw his first native helpers grow old and die, but he was as
brave as Mrs. Day.
"This is my work," he would say. "I need no rest. This is my place."
In 1896 he came home. It was December, and more than thirty years had
passed since that December day when he had started out in the bleak
morning leading his poor horses. He traveled on a fast steamer, but it
was clearly to be seen that before he reached the dock he would have
started on another journey. The friends who came to meet him found only
his tired body.
But all over the country hearts ached and ached, from Maine to
California and from Canada to Florida, and out in Africa there was
mourning. It was hard to realize that this was the boy who, when he was
young, had wished so desperately for "just one person to care for him."
Now thousands cared for him. The explanation is very simple, so simple
that any child can understand and can imitate him. It is this—he cared
for others.
VII
UNDER TWO FLAGS
It was New Year's Eve in China, even though the calendar on Jennie
Crawford's desk in the hospital in the city of Hanyang said,
"January 31, 1911." Three years ago, she had left her home in Lynn,
Massachusetts, to go to Hanyang because there were more nurses in the
state of Massachusetts than in all the great Chinese Empire.
"If I should live in China fifty years," she said to herself as she
looked at her calendar, "I'd never get used to February first or any
other day than the first day of January being New Year's Day. It seems
so strange to have a different day every year and none of them January
first."
She walked to the window and looked out. The night was stormy. Loud
peals of thunder startled the people who hurried along the streets, and
occasional flashes of lightning illuminated the crowds gathered there.
"It's not a good sign for the New Year," said one old Chinese to
another. "When it thunders on New Year's Eve there will be a bad year!"
"We must make sure tonight that the evil spirits are all frightened
away," answered his friend. "We must take no chances on any being left
to get into the New Year."
The two men joined the crowd who were beating gongs and setting off
firecrackers. Here and there Buddhist priests went up and down, urging
the people to make just as much noise as possible.
Inside the houses mothers were trying to rouse their sleepy children
because, unless the whole family kept awake and very watchful, the
evil spirits would get into the houses and stay all the year. When
the sleepy children could no longer hold their tired eyes open, their
mothers hurriedly fed them a vegetable with a bad odor so that the
spirits might be frightened away.
New Year's Day was clear and beautiful, and all China had holiday.
The shops were closed, and the houses were decorated with strips of
red paper inscribed with Chinese characters which meant "happiness,"
"long life," and other blessings. On most of the doors were pasted new
pictures of idols. These were the "door gods" who were expected to
frighten the evil spirits away.
It was a busy morning for Jennie Crawford. As in most hospitals, there
seemed to be more work than there were people to do it. She assisted
with two operations, she made a visit to every bed, sometimes saying
only a word of encouragement, but oftener lending a hand in a delicate
dressing or superintending the bathing of a very ill patient. She
was an expert nurse, and the poor women and children looked at her
affectionately, knowing that when her tender hands were compelled to
hurt them, it was because she loved them.
As Miss Crawford looked down the street, she could tell the houses of
Christians because on them were no hideous pictures, but, instead,
beautiful verses from the Bible giving God's promise to care for those
who trust in Him.
Everyone goes calling on New Year's Day in China, and many callers came
to bring good wishes to Miss Crawford. Little Mrs. Tsao, the wife of
the Chinese Christian pastor, came early. Her hair was brushed until it
shone like folds of black satin.
"Oh, that the light of God may this year shine upon China just as the
sun shines today!" she said.
Next came Miss Crawford's Chinese teacher, who was so dressed up for
the New Year that she scarcely knew him. He did not lift his hat as
he came in, for that would have been most impolite. From the long,
full sleeve of his coat, he took a package wrapped in a yellow silk
handkerchief. He unwrapped the package and handed one of his large,
red paper calling cards to Miss Crawford.
A procession of fifteen men from the Christian Church came together.
Their hair was plaited in long queues which hung down their backs. The
queues were tied with long black silk tassels which almost touched
the floor. All wore their longest and handsomest gowns. The bright
red buttons on top of their black satin caps meant that they brought
congratulations, for red is the color of happiness in China. Each man
bowed very low and shook his own hand instead of Miss Crawford's to
wish her a happy New Year.
All day long the callers came and drank tea and ate Chinese sweets. In
the evening Miss Crawford and her friend Jennie Cody, a teacher in the
Bible School, sat down together.
"The people in Hanyang are learning to trust us and to really love
us," said Jennie Crawford, happily. "Better still, they are learning
to trust and love God. Did you notice how many of the doors had Bible
verses over them today instead of those hideous gods? I'm glad every
day that I came to China."
"Would you still be glad if we had such fighting and riots here as they
had across the river in Hankow last week?" asked Jennie Cody.
Jennie Crawford laughed. "I've never had a chance to find out what I
would do in a battle," she said. "I'll tell you about that later."
"Things look as if you might have a chance to find out very soon," said
Jennie Cody.
Presently a native Bible teacher came in and sat down with them.
"We were talking about the rumors of war," said Miss Crawford. "Do you
think there will really be a revolution?"
"There must be a revolution," she answered. "You Americans would never
have had freedom to govern your own country if you had not had your
revolution. It is even worse in China. Three hundred years ago the
Manchus came from the north and took the government away from the
Chinese, put a Manchu emperor on the throne, and made the yellow flag
with its dragon the flag of China. They compelled the men of China to
plait their hair in queues, and whenever a Chinese man dared to cut off
his queue, the soldiers of the emperor cut off his head. The Chinese
want to be free to rule their own land as you do in America."
"I wish that China was a republic like the United States, but I'm
afraid I'd make a poor soldier in a revolution," said Jennie Cody.
* * * * *
In October came rumors of riots and warfare. One evening as Jennie
Crawford sat writing in her room in the school building, she heard a
loud knocking at the door and a voice calling. There stood Jennie Cody
holding up a letter. She had sped across the drill ground of the school
and along the dark city wall to the hospital.
"A letter has come from the father of a pupil," she gasped. "He is a
Chinese official and he says that there are rumors that a rebellion
will start tomorrow."
"We have heard many rumors of war," said Jennie Crawford. "This is only
another."
The next day passed and the next and the next and still all was quiet.
That night she slept without fear.
Early the following morning a Bible woman came to her. "I've been
up all night," she said. "The people are fleeing to the country by
hundreds, carrying on their backs bundles of bedding and clothing.
All night there has been a procession leaving the city. They say that
the revolution is beginning and that the hardest fighting will be
in Hanyang because the guns and powder are stored here in the great
arsenal, and both armies will try to capture that."
Before noon another letter came. Jennie Crawford read it quickly.
"The American consul says, 'All American women and children must leave
Hanyang for a place of safety at once. Fighting has begun near by!'"
Dr. Huntley, the physician in charge of the hospital, called a meeting
of all missionaries.
"We don't want to go," said Jennie Crawford. "The school is full of
girls, and the hospital is full of patients. We don't want to leave
them."
It was agreed that the women and children in the hospital and the girls
in the school would be safer at their homes. Jennie Crawford and the
teachers found escorts for pupils and patients, while Dr. Huntley went
across the river to Hankow to consult the British consul.
"The missionaries in Wuchang thought they would not have to leave,"
said the consul. "Now the gates of the city have been closed. The
American consul has been trying to get them out, but he cannot reach
them. Fighting is going on all round the mission. You must get the
American women and children out of Hanyang before the soldiers enter."
Dr. Huntley hurried home. The frightened boatman did not want to wait a
minute. As he stepped out of the boat, Dr. Huntley took out his watch.
"It is twenty minutes after four," he said. "Promise me that you will
wait here with your boat until five."
The boatman promised, and the doctor hurried to the hospital. At the
tea-table in the dining-room sat Mrs. Huntley with Jennie Crawford and
Jennie Cody.
"We have no choice, we must leave in thirty minutes," announced Dr.
Huntley. "Get together a few things and take no more than you can
carry."
The half-emptied teacups left on the table as the women hurried from
the dining-room were to remain there many days. Gathering up a few
things, they started for the boat as the sun was setting. On a hill
back of the hospital were six hundred soldiers of the Manchu Emperor.
"They are likely to fire!" said one of the servants.
But no gun was fired as the party went out. The boatman was waiting,
although he trembled with fear. The river was rough, and the waves
threatened to swallow the little boat, but it reached Hankow in safety.
The city was crowded, and the only rooms to be found were in a poor
little hotel. None of the party slept that night.
"If you hear a signal in the night," they were warned, "it will mean,
'Danger! Rise and dress!' If there is a second signal, it will mean,
'All gather near the gunboats!' A third signal will mean, 'Great
danger! American women and children get into the boats!'"
All night they listened, but they heard only the steady tramp, tramp of
the guards who marched up and down the streets.
In the morning a messenger called out, "The soldiers entered Hanyang in
the night!"
If the boatman had not waited, they would have been shut up in the city.
"Rich Chinese men and women are paying much money to be let down over
the walls in baskets, for the gates are closed, and no one can get out
any other way," said the messenger.
In the evening Jennie Crawford saw thirty girls coming down the street.
"Here come the schoolgirls from Wuchang!" she cried joyfully.
Each girl carried the few clothes she had been able to save tied up in
a square of cotton cloth.
"For two days and nights we were shut in the school building," said
one. "The bullets flew all round, and we could see burning buildings
every way we looked. Then the rescue party reached us. We had our
bundles all ready to leave at a moment's notice."
They were very tired, yet they stood bravely round the walls of the
room, for there were no chairs. Not one knew whether she had a home or
any friends left, but not even the youngest cried or complained.
"Extra! Extra!" shouted a newspaper messenger as he carried his papers
from house to house. "Twenty thousand troops on the way from Peking!"
Jennie Crawford bought a paper and everyone gathered round her.
"Twenty thousand of the Emperor's soldiers are on their way from
Peking!" she announced. "The British and American consuls advise all
foreign women and children to go on to Shanghai!"
On to Shanghai they went that evening. The city was crowded with many
refugees. At last they were safe with friends who were waiting for them
there, and who gave them a glad welcome.
But they did not stay in Shanghai. After a few days Dr. Huntley came
into the sitting-room one morning with a paper in his hand.
"The call has come for Red Cross doctors and nurses to go to Hankow,"
he said. "The wounded soldiers of both armies are being taken there,
and there is no one to care for them. I'm going to volunteer to return
as a Red Cross surgeon."
"I'll go with you as a Red Cross nurse," said Jennie Crawford.
[Illustration:
_Courtesy Woman's American Baptist Foreign Mission Society_
JENNIE CRAWFORD ADMINISTERING AN ANESTHETIC
Assisting with operations, lending a hand in delicate dressings, and
giving a word of encouragement and comfort wherever needed, Miss
Crawford became a beloved nurse.]
"Take me, too!" begged Jennie Cody.
"No Americans except doctors and nurses are allowed to enter the city,"
answered Dr. Huntley.
Jennie Cody looked up at him. "The one thing I have said I never, never
could be is a nurse, but I won't be a coward when Jennie Crawford needs
help, and wounded soldiers have no one to nurse them. Pin the red cross
on my arm and maybe that will give me courage."
When they bought tickets, the agent said, "You go at your own risk. I
can make no promise that you will ever reach Hankow. Many boats are
being fired on."
But as the boat with the red cross on its white flag went up the river,
the soldiers of both armies lowered their guns.
Such a different Hankow they found! The crowded streets were deserted;
even the beggars were gone. The smoke still hung over the ruins of many
buildings which had been burned. The fire had not touched an unfinished
hospital, and in it they found many wounded soldiers. Most of the
fighting was in Hanyang, and the Red Cross launches brought the wounded
men of both armies across the river.
Two nurses were already there for day duty, so Jennie Crawford and
Jennie Cody slept in the day and went on duty at night going up and
down between the rows of soldiers like angels of mercy. There were few
beds, and most of the men had to lie on straw on the floor with no
sheets or pillows.
"Which way will it go?" said Jennie Cody one day.