PART FOUR
ACHIEVEMENT IN CHENGTU

23
Bach Home in Chengtu
(1913)

Liu Pei-yun was by this time an adept at managing travel, and he was able to care for us very well on this journey. Our party was the four in our family and two young Canadian ladies who needed an escort to Chengtu. We were glad to have them, but I wonder what they thought of me. I knew fairly well what they thought of Bob, as everything fell on his shoulders, though the cook relieved him of some details. I was not able to use my hands to amount to anything and rode along day after day with my painful wrists laid on a hot-water bottle in my lap. Some evenings I was too tired too eat, every noise in the inn would bother me, and I was about at the end of my string.

The children had a clever and unusual sedan chair that I had had made by a rattan shop in Shanghai. It had two seam, facing each other, with a table-like shelf between them. A heavy blanket covering seats and the entire bottom of the chair, put in before the children were seated, together with traveling rugs and cushions, made them as cozy as could be. They could even lie back and doze when the mood pleased.^[1] However, there are many other details to be thought of when traveling with young children. Getting them in and out of the chair is always a skirmish. And when their chair is put down during teashop rests, there must be a vigilant warding off of gifts of food pressed on them by friendly Chinese. Also, of course, Bob had the responsi-

[1] The only problem with the double sedan chair was that the children were not always in the mood for dozing. Two small boys, closely facing each other all day with their feet occupying the same space between them, would find it difficult—even if they were good little boys—not to get restless and combative before the day was done. Rhythm is very important in sedan chair carrying (as also in carrying loads with a shoulder pole). In chair carrying, the trick is that the carriers in front and back must always be perfectly out of step (if they keep in step the occupant of the chair is apt to get seasick). Sudden movements and shifts of weight in the chair make it hard for the carriers. I regret that we often heard the earnest exhortation "bu tiao " (don't jump about).

bilities for the carriers and our progress. At the same time he had a somewhat fault-finding wife, who was far from her usual form and who wanted more attention than any man in such a position could find time to give her.

Still, there were pleasures, real and doubtful, on the way. I see by my diary that on one of the last days of the year we had "a lovely, bright frosty morning with some thin ice in the rice fields. We saw strawberries amid white-frosted foliage as the sun came out. It warmed us after a chilly two hours. We spent the night at Hwangkioshu and slept next the piggies."

This journey ended as so many have done for us in Szechwan. The little house on Wenmiaogai stood ready for us. Though I had not seen it for over a year, and had been in many nicer places, it looked just like home to me. Bob had been getting along any old way, without curtains up or rugs down. Everything needed attention at once. We arrived home on January 5 [1913], and in ten days the whole house was clean and running about as usual. I tried to rest, but a thousand things were needing my supervision. We had several things done on the second floor: renovations in our bedroom, a more convenient door cut into the children's room, and a new closet built.

One day not long after our return I had a brisk fire burning in our bedroom fireplace while I was unpacking boxes and trunks. I was puzzled by a constant smell of smoke. Going to the fireplace, I stood beside it and happened to put my hand on the wall. I gave a jump, for the plaster was as hot as my hand could bear. I rushed to one of the glass doors onto the veranda and called to the servants that the house was on fire. One of them ran to the Y for Bob while the others began to fetch water. It took some time to get enough water poured on to quench the fire in the beams close to the chimney and in the lathwork. While repairs were made, we moved to the guest room.

In January we heard that a new man and his wife were to come to the Chengtu YMCA. Of course, this was welcome and exciting news and we were eager to know more about them. Many letters and telegrams were exchanged before their arrival in April. Mr. Richardson was a science man and came to help utilize the Science Hall as planned and set up by Dr. Wilson. They lived with us for some weeks and then settled into the residence next door where the Wilsons had been.

Bob became busy this year with plans for a central YMCA. As a result of official changes, a former public building was not being used. The YMCA was able to secure this as a gift. The Chinese-style buildings were repaired and thus became the site of the city YMCA.^[2]

About this time there was a craze among Chinese students for the study of

[2] The already existing YMCA, next door to us and close to the government university, now became a branch of the main, city YMCA, devoted to serving students. It would be interesting to know more about how a Chinese government (municipal or provincial?) was persuaded to donate a building to a private, Christian organization. It probably reflects Bob's success in recruit-

ing influential leaders of the local community to serve as sponsors and members of the Y's board of directors. One may assume that it also indicates that the original Y was proving popular and was seen as performing a useful function in China's modernizing society.

Esperanto. Several of them came to us and wanted to study it. We finally took it up to please them. Eventually, both of us were teaching Esperanto classes. I had almost forgotten this, but recall now how eagerly we conned the few textbooks available to us and how much enthusiasm there was in the study. I was also teaching in a Chinese school to please an old pupil of mine who liked "my English." I was also working away at Chinese and sewing, so there was little time to waste.

There was no chance to get away to the hills that summer, but along in July Mabelle Yard and I felt we needed a little change. We put our heads together and decided to go to Lingaisze, the fine temple at Kwanhsien, for a short stay. Miss Collier, our friend of the Tatsienlu trip in 1908, joined us and we had a wonderful time. Miss Collier stayed with some of the Methodist ladies. Mabelle and I had written ahead, and rooms had been secured for us. These were two tiny rooms off an upper court. Both faced onto the court, but access to the better room was through the other. We had our cots set up in the inner room, and my old amah, who had accompanied us, slept in the other.

At first, Mabelle and I arranged to board with some friends. However, we soon found that the unusual nature of our adventure made this unnecessary. We slept late and rustled up our own breakfast of crackers and cocoa, with the help of an alcohol stove, tinned milk, and an extra bottle of drinking water. For the noon meal we were almost sure to have an invitation. And for the evening meal we were in great demand. Indeed, sometimes we had more than one invitation; and we actually did not have time to make the entire round. Our friends entered into the spirit of our frolic in fine style; but the thought that two women with husbands and young children could, and would, leave them to go off on such an excursion filled their minds with blank amazement.

We had left well-managed households; competent amahs were with our children; and our husbands had promised to devote time to their homes. We reveled for ten days in the joy of not having to get up at any special time, and in being able to throw off all responsibility. My old gardener had come with us, and he carried plenty of bath water for our tub. We lay in our beds, under our nets, waited on by Amah and feeling like two schoolgirls off on a lark. We rose when we pleased, dressed as cooly as we could, and sallied forth to visit or to be entertained. We went to dine with some English people and were explaining our holiday to them. I told the husband, a Cambridge man, that we just wanted to forget the trammels of our daily existence in stuffy city

compounds, taking a brief interlude to enjoy things we desired but could not get. He was so worked up by this recital of longings that he rushed about and tore open a new box of stores to provide some especially fine cheese wherewith to grace their dinner table for us.

While we were having this carefree existence, it appeared that our husbands in Chengtu were the recipients of much attention from the ladies, both married and single. It got about the foreign community in no time that Mrs. S and Mrs. Y, such a heartless pair as you never heard of, had gone to the hills, leaving their husbands and children in the city heat. Poor men, and poor children! "We must have them over for tea," said this one and that. The men were invited out to evening dinners and picnic suppers, and something was "on" all the time. It was well for the digestion of our spouses that Mabelle and I did not stay away any longer.

That trip did us both much good, but when I got home to find my two offspring a sight to behold with prickly heat (meantime the large bottle clearly marked "Prickly Heat Lotion" standing untouched in plain sight on a shelf in the bathroom), I began to wonder how the minds of fathers work in the summertime. Strenuous attention on my part, together with plenty of cool baths, cured the children in a few days' time. And I was glad to be home, where I could also sense the appreciation of the other members of the family. This summer outing of ours was never understood by some. Even a year or more later I had a letter from an English friend in another part of the province saying she had heard of this trip without my husband and children. She wondered if it could be true, and was eager to "hear the truth" from me. I wrote her the facts and we are still friends.

Aside from an upset among provincial officials, there was little excitement that fall. Everyone was busy, and we kept on in the usual way, seeing more and more. of Chinese friends and having excellent contacts with them. And it was good having the Richardsons as neighbors in the house next door.

The new year of 1914 began with a gathering of a good number of Americans for a progressive breakfast at the Methodist compounds. We started the children to eating their entire meal at the Canright house. Then the grown-ups had fruit at a nearby house; ham and eggs at another; hot waffles and maple syrup at a third; ending with coffee and doughnuts at the last place. We were all keen for such frolics at this time and thoroughly enjoyed the affair. So we launched 1914!

24
Third Son
(1914)

The new, main YMCA, which had to be Bob's chief concern, was near the middle of the city. The Science Hall and student branch were more or less in the hands of Mr. Richardson. This meant that Bob was away from home a great deal more. Occasionally, he came home for lunch (he kept a horse and could get about more rapidly than by foot or chair). But he usually remained away all day, eating Chinese food at noon in some restaurant.^[1] It became more and more lonely for the children and myself. Bob's getting home in the evening depended on the activities at the Y. Several nights a week, he had classes, and these could keep him out until 10:30. A few classes still met in our house, and I was teaching a number of pupils.

Early in the year, I began to have definite trouble with my stomach. After some queer symptoms and a hemorrhage, the doctor pronounced it to be ulceration of the stomach. He thought it came from eating the native flour, which was ground by millstones made of sandstone. The grit in it was often noticeable. For weeks and weeks I lived on nothing but small amounts of milk sipped at frequent intervals. I did not remain in bed, because the doctor wanted me to keep up and around, thinking I would not lose so much strength that way. We had bought a huge upholstered chair from some British friends who left China shortly before this, and I almost lived in that chair. I would come downstairs and sit in it all morning; take a nap in the nursery after tiffin; and then sit in the chair again until bedtime. By the first of April I was supposed to be over this ailment; but I had little strength, and every

[1] A few years later, I—and eventually my brothers—went every Saturday to have lunch with "Dad." Some of the Y staff often ate with us. The people in whatever restaurant we patronized knew Bob well and knew what he liked to eat—most of all, baozi (steamed meat dumplings that are a Szechwan specialty). For some reason, these were father-and-son affairs: Grace probably regarded them as a welcome respite. They were certainly a big weekly event for her sons.

evening found me simply worn out with the day's affairs. We were expecting a daughter in May.

On the twentieth of April Bob left about noon to go to Penghsien. He was hunting a place for the summer and planned to go to Cave Mountain to see if we could rent rooms there. He rode his horse and expected to be gone only a few days. He had not been away twenty-four hours when I knew there was something in the air. I sent for the cook and told him plainly that he would have to attend to the many affairs of the household; keep a fire, if it meant all night; and do whatever he was told by the doctor and whoever came to help.

The first thing was to send for Dr. Canright. Very soon he and his wife, Marguerite Irwin (a nurse), and Mabelle Yard were all there. I had a bad time and spent longer in bed than with all three of the previous children. Every time I attempted to aid in the work of Nature I would feel that I was fainting. They then gave me whiskey, and I know not what, to keep me going.^[2] At last, when the doctor was downstairs having a cup of coffee, they called him; he thought I must have collapsed and rushed upstairs to find the baby born. This was at 10:00 P.M. on April 21, 1914.

All these months I had wanted a daughter so much, and the doctor had kept telling me he thought it was to be a girl. Whether he did this from guesswork, knowledge of occult signs, or for the pure psychology of suggestion, I do not know. But when the child was born, I was not conscious. The first words I heard were, "Oh, she's all right now." I supposed they referred to the baby. Such a glow of satisfaction and joy as swept over me! I can remember it to this day. Then suddenly, when I had opened my eyes, Margaret Canright said, "Don't you want to see the baby? He's a lovely little fellow." I was struck dumb and shook my head. Finally I murmured, "And I've gone through all this for a boy!" I had never seen the other children until they were bathed and dressed and fixed in the usual baby way, brought in by the nurse; but this time Margaret insisted that I should see the child at once. She held him close to me so that I could look at him, rolled in his receiving blanket. He was moving his tiny face and blinked at me knowingly; suddenly I felt a great bond between us. He had an understanding eye. I felt reconciled to the possession of a third son. They asked me his name and I said, "Richard Montgomery."

At daylight, unknown to me, the doctor sent a runner for Bob. This man overtook him on the hills the following morning, twenty-four hours later. When Bob read the note, he turned in his saddle, called to his traveling companions, and turned his horse's head toward Chengtu. Late that afternoon he

[2] The grocery storeroom, always kept locked, was an attractively mysterious place. One of the mysteries to us boys was a never-touched bottle of whiskey. Our queries brought only. a vague reply: medicinal purposes. Until I read Grace's account, I never knew that any of it had been "used."

came creeping in his stocking-feet up the stairs at home, having left his muddy riding boots outside the front door.

I had had a terrific chill on the afternoon of the twenty-second, and the doctor had given me some strong medicine, so strong that while it eventually brought me out of the chill, it also brought out on me some atrocious water blisters. When Bob arrived the next afternoon, he was amazed to find me a sight with these miserable blisters on my face, hands, hair, and all about. But we had the baby, even if he had arrived a fortnight ahead of time, and we were together; so what did blisters matter. And they were gone in a few days.

Bob asked what I thought we had better name the child. I said he was already named! We had earlier agreed on "Richard," should it be a boy. Bob had suggested "Colton" for the middle name. I did not much like the sound of the initials "R.C.S." and also wanted to name the child for an old college friend whose surname was Montgomery. So when the baby's father was not at hand at the birth, I took the occasion to give my choice of a name. Bob was somewhat surprised.

Bob had secured a small temple at Cave Mountain and took us there about the middle of June.^[3] The mountain gets its name from the fact that there are a number of caves in small peaks that rise from the main ridge. Most of these hills had temples on them, so that, instead of one or two large temples, there were numerous small ones. The one we had was called Fairy Cave. Below our peak there was a fine spring in the Thunder God Cave. During the summer Bob rigged a windlass on the point of the hill, above and behind our temple, so that the servants could draw up water and save carrying it by bucket and shoulder pole up the steep side of the cliff. Of course, a coolie had to be at the bottom to fill the buckets, as the spring was inside the cave. But the plan was workable; Bob was always one for such improvements.

Our temple was unique. A long flight of stone steps led straight up the hillside to it. Inside, at the level of the main door, there was a large room at the left and, adjoining it, a small room. We took these for bedroom and bathroom. Carpenters soon fixed the bedroom so that it could be securely locked. Just outside the bathroom was a steep wooden stairway leading down to a little room below. It was given to the two amahs, who could thus be within hearing of my voice at night: only my floor boards were between us. To the right of the front entrance was a frightfully dirty room which we had whitewashed for a kitchen. There were rooms behind it for the servant. From the tiny stone courtyard inside the main entrance, a flight of stone steps mounted to the main room of the temple. This was enclosed only on

[3] Cave Mountain, Peony Mountain, Kwanhsien, and one more important place still to come into this story, lay in an arc in the foothills along the north edge of the Chengtu plain. They were about forty to fifty miles north to northwest of Chengtu. Behind them were real mountains, up to 13,000 feet, and even higher in the west toward Tibet.

three sides, with the front entirely open. Here we hung our hammock in front of the idols in their high glass case. With a few canvas and cane chairs and a folding table for meals, the place soon looked like a summer sitting room.

On both sides and above the court were pavilions built in the same three-sided manner, but without any of the gods that filled the rear of the main hall. Above, up more stairs and through several passages, one came to the Fairy Cave. It was not extensive, was dry and cool, and we could keep food there if we wished. I have rarely seen a nicer cave. Still higher up there was a clever little pagoda-like pergola which was a sort of topknot to the whole temple complex. I thought I'd climb up there every day, but of course I did not. There were really too many steps for me, and with youngsters I was always afraid they might slip. There was a fine view from the little eyrie, but from where we were we could see no other abode of man.

Bob got us fixed in this place and went back to the city, leaving me a revolver (which I could shoot!), and telling the servants to be vigilant.^[4] No one could get into our place at night unless he climbed the hill above and dropped down from the crags onto our roof. The lattice windows which opened from my bedroom were nailed shut, and those in the outer wall of the temple (unusual in such a wall and only there because they were high above the ground) had wooden bars across them. There was no priest in our temple. We rented it from the local township headmen and had entire possession.

After a few weeks a young Canadian came to sleep in one of the half-open side rooms on the living room level. He was studying Chinese and took his meals with a family who lived nearby, but they had no bedroom for him. An oil sheet hung up for a front to his room gave all the privacy needed. Soon after he came I was awakened at night by queer sounds. I thought someone must be crying out in a bad dream. It went on night after night, and my sleep was greatly disturbed.

Alone as we were on that mountainside, I felt somewhat apprehensive. I asked the servants about it and they told me it was our guest. They insisted that it was he, praying aloud to his God in the middle of the night! That very night I heard it again and, slipping from my bed, crept to the window toward the court and listened. His room was on the opposite side of the court and above the level of my room. I could see a dim light there behind his oil sheet. Sure enough, the young man was praying in a most highfalutin and emotional manner. He would cry out in a loud voice, asking the attention of the Deity, then mumble off a long string of petitions. Soon his voice would rise again in a high-pitched screech calling on God to look upon him, a miserable

[4] Grace's diary for 1908 mentions that she practiced shooting a revolver while at their mountain camp near Tatsienlu.

sinner; and the gamut of petitions would again be uttered with variations of tone and intensity of feeling. On and on he prayed, haranguing the Almighty, with an ebb and flow in his passion like that of waves on the seashore.

I did not know what to do, but a few days later a solution came. When the gentleman was having tea with me one afternoon, I began to talk very seriously to the cook as he served us. I got off quite a stream of Chinese and the gentleman, seeing that I was much in earnest about something, asked me what I had been saying. I said I had been speaking about talking and yelling late at night; that I thought it must come from the servants and wanted it stopped. He said nothing, but after this did his praying so that we did not participate in its emotions. He did not, incidentally, stay long in the Mission.

The small level patches between our hills were all under cultivation, mostly of corn, and the farmers were much concerned to keep wild pigs from their precious harvest.^[5] By the time that night praying stopped, the corn was ripened and we had new shouting and yelling to enliven the hours of darkness. Their yodels and cries made the night vocal. I used to look down on them from my high windows as they prowled among the cornstalks. Now and then the report of a blunderbuss would waken one from sound slumber.

Amid these surroundings, we heard of the beginning of the World War in August. The news was brought us by some Canadian friends who came to call on the evening of the fifth. They were sure it would be finished in six weeks, or three months at the longest, but I remarked, "You may be surprised, for the Germans may give you a run for your money." This somewhat thoughtless remark was taken to indicate that I was a German sympathizer, and was quoted months and even years later, though it never held any such significance to me. We soon had to watch our tongues. All the British, no matter how friendly they had been earlier, immediately became "subjects of a nation at War." They were war conscious in a way that, it seems to me, we Americans never were, even after the States entered the conflict.

We spent most of the summer without Bob, but he came now and then for weekends or short stays. Once while Bob was with us, word came from Kwanhsien that Mr. Richardson, our Y associate, was ill with typhoid fever and needed a nurse. We had two on Cave Mountain, and Marguerite Irwin offered to go. Bob started off on a rainy day to take her across country, along the flanks of the mountains. She had a chair, and Bob his horse. It was a terrible trip, most of it in pouring rain. One never knows how long these storms will last; and the longer the wait, the more difficult travel becomes. At

[5] These mountain farmers in Szechwan depend heavily on corn: it seems to be as important in their lives as corn is in Mexico. Yet the books all say that corn is native to the Americas. I have never found an account of how it got to the far west of China; but Spanish Catholic missionaries reached Szechwan in the seventeenth century.

one place, crossing a flooded river, he had to carry her on his back some distance from a boat to the shore. She was a large, heavy, nervous woman, and he had many experiences with her before they reached Kwanhsien. It was highly diverting to hear the horse coolie tell of their adventures by land and water. Bob had also a tale to tell, and Marguerite a longer one.

We had terrific storms that year. One night there was an especially violent one with sheets of rain, blinding flashes of lightning, and thunder that seemed to shake the very foundations of our temple. Over our heads was nothing except rafters and tiles laid on wooden stringers. In the midst of this cataclysm of the elements some of the roof tiles directly over my bed were lifted by the gale. A regular spout of water, filthy from the uprooting of the tile, poured down and soaked my net and bedding; then the tile fell back into place again. It was a thoroughly cross young woman who had to get out of her bed, wet and dirty, seeking dry quarters and finding none. The whole room seemed to leak that night, and I was deadly sick of temple living. But the next day, when the sun shone and everything sparkled with freshness, the whole situation was altered; I looked out of my high windows and was glad to be alive and in the mountains. We put everything out to sun and were happy as grigs—the children, servants, and all.

Mabelle was ill that summer and I used to go over to their temple to help care for her. We had no doctor on our mountain, and it stormed too badly for a messenger to go for one. However, she began to improve with the weather, and all went well.

25
Furlough at Last
(1915)

At last the summer was over and we were back in Chengtu, glad as ever to be inside the walls of the little Chinese compound again. Everything in the whole house was moldy and had to be cleaned and sunned. The servants and I were busy as beavers for days.

I had had the Montessori equipment sent out from America and began to use it to teach the two older boys. Jack thus unconsciously learned his alphabet and started to read. He took to it like a duck to water and enjoyed everything from the first.^[1] Bob, being younger, needed more encouragement. He was the imaginative one, always ready to visualize a situation for play or a story. I created "Pop-eyed Pig" and "Mr. Tumble-toes" for his amusement, and tales of these two odd companions were heard in our nursery for several years. "Our Bob," as he was usually called to distinguish him from his father, asked me one day to look at his "white gloves," and although they did not look so white to me, he proudly announced that they were "real skin."

I tried to keep the children out of the kitchen save when they saw me there, but it was a treat for them to help with some special dish now and then. The making of mincement was one such occasion. Small Bob, drying himself on the hearth rug after his bath one evening that fall, announced in a prideful manner: "Of course, I am just a yittle boy and can have only a tiniest taste of a piece of mince pie, but I can help mama make all them pies' insides!" The phrase, "tiniest taste," came from me, and I doubt if he fully sensed its meaning. They did help with the mincemeat, and in a few such activities I tried to keep alive the desire to do something for the home at holiday time, which is so hard to cultivate in children brought up among the many servants of the East.^[2]

[1] Grace is right that the learning was "unconscious." To this day, I cannot remember anything at all about this Montessori experience.

[2] We boys may all have helped Grace in the kitchen, but Bob was the only one to derive

much lasting benefit. He became in later years a quite competent cook. And Grace is wrong in thinking that we kept out of the kitchen save when she was there.

26
At a meeting with the governor in Chengtu (about 1915). The tall man in
the center is Harry Openshaw; young Bob and Jack are in the foreground.

During this year 1 read sixty-four books and longed for more. I wrote four hundred and five letters, a good many more than I received. I taught less than in any year since our arrival in China, but I now had three young children as my first care. I had good help, but never allowed the amah to have responsibility for the children. Their food was my immediate concern, and I always attended to that myself with the cook's aid.

Ties that bind friends often make the world very small. Early in 1915 we learned through friends that Mrs. Tracy, who had visited us in Nanking in 1912, was in India. As soon as I heard this, I told Bob that she and her party would be in China that spring. She had told us in Nanking that she would make the trip west to visit us. Before the end of March we had a telegram saying that she and her cousin would come to Szechwan, bringing Will Lockwood of the Shanghai Y with them. Mr. Harvey of the National Committee of the YMCA was already planning to visit us at this time, so we had a party of four to entertain. Soon we were exchanging telegrams; when Bob was away on a short trip, I had to decipher and reply to several long code messages.^[3]

[3] The coded messages that Grace refers to were not for security but to save money. It was the general practice to use commercial codes in which five-letter code groups stood for common

statements or whole phrases. incidentally, it seems noteworthy that the general secretary of the Shanghai Y (Mr. Lockwood) escorted Mrs. Tracy on this long trip (she had also had a Y escort on her 1912 trip to Nanking). She, or her fairly recently deceased husband, must have supported the YMCA very generously.

These last messages were because of trouble in the Tracy party's travel. They had taken a small steamer at Ichang. This was wrecked, and they spent a week in various small craft: police boat, sampan, and junk. Finally, they reached Wanhsien and were able to telegraph us. From Wanhsien it was possible to go across country by chair and reach Chengtu in fourteen days. The normal alternative would require at least ten days by houseboat to Chungking and then ten days by sedan chair to Chengtu. The problem was safety. Fortunately, Bob got back from his trip and was able to ask the opinion of his friend, the governor, about travel in the Wanhsien district. He was assured that all would be safe, and thus the party came.^[4]

Bob's trips to the hills that year had been in connection with securing land for bungalows. He had found a mountain named White Deer Summit (Bailuding), which was not far from Peony Mountain (where we had gone in 1911) and Cave Mountain (where we were in 1914). At the end of March in 1915, Bob finally was able to sign a 99-year lease for the whole mountaintop, which was a zhaizi and enclosed by a rough stone wall.^[5]

Our furlough, which I had hoped would materialize in 1913, had been deferred until 1914. Then I was ill, and the birth of our third son would have made travel very difficult. Now it was the spring of 1915 and still nothing was definite, though we hoped to go that fall. I was beginning to feel the strain very keenly. Our clothes were worn out, and we had not ordered foreign food supplies. Now, in the midst of this uncertainty, we were to have guests from afar, ones we would wish to entertain as nicely as we could. When Chengtu friends learned of our problem, they were lovely. Several offered me anything in their storerooms.

Mrs. Tracy's party stayed eight days, and they saw a spring fair and the places of interest in the city. At a new theater run by a friend of ours, they were vastly entertained by a performance of The Prodigal Son . Some of the realism was startling. A haft-grown pig appeared on the stage, and the prodigal attempted to eat from his food basin. We knew the actor taking the lead, so it was doubly interesting. Our friends were also struck by the layout of Chinese theaters, the freedom of conversation, and the incessant and interminable eating and drinking throughout the performance. Waiters were constantly passing in and out, running about with tea, kettles of boiling

[4] It may be noted that Bob did not ask the advice or permission of any consul, either the British in Chengtu or the American in Chungking, for this travel. And the governor, having promised safety, may have had an interest in assuring it.

[5] A zhaizi was a stronghold or stockade, usually built on a mountaintop, to serve as a place of refuge from banditry or civil war.

water, and various things to eat. Every so often an attendant would appear at one side of the hall with a large container of hot Turkish towels, just wrung out from boiling water. Someone in the audience would raise a hand, and in a trice the attendant would toss him a steaming towel.

We enjoyed Mrs. Tracy's visit and were sorry to see her go. But the important news was that Mr. Harvey had told us that we were to go on home leave at once. For the time being, preparations for that had to blot out everything else.

It is inevitable that plans made in one country to be worked out in another country cannot be perfect. When we went to Szechwan under the Y, we well knew its distance and isolation. But the man in America told us there would be compensations: Bob would go to the Coast every year for a conference of Y workers; I would have all expenses paid to accompany him every second year. Once on the ground, we soon saw the futility of such promises. We had now been in China nine and a half years and had gone only once to the Coast, and that by consular order. In all this time, we were just having our first visit by a member of the National Committee of the YMCA in China. Our isolation precluded much of the give-and-take and pleasant cooperation enjoyed by the other YMCAs in China.

Packing and more packing was the order of the day, and social events crowded upon one another. Officials and friends on every side wished to entertain Bob. We were both honored at a large reception given by the American Methodists. They were our nearest neighbors, and we belonged to their Chinese church. At one Chinese men's dinner, so many speeches were made that Mr. Harvey later teased Bob about things said there by Chinese who hated to see Hsieh An-tao leave. (This was Bob's Chinese name.) There was little time for sleep. Indeed, Bob never got to bed on the last night before our departure.

We remained in our own home until the last. Calls continued up to the moment of departure. May 20 was a pleasant day and we were up early. The governor of the province and several other officials came to wish us well. Three University of California men, just arrived in the city on a scientific trip, came by for a brief meeting.^[6] We ate tiffin with the Richardsons and were off at two in the afternoon.

Numerous friends were waiting out beyond the East Gate to see us off. On account of the low water in the river, our two boats awaited us thirty li below the city. Bert Brace accompanied us to them and remained for the night to

[6] The UC scientists were led by Dr. George D. Louderback, professor of Mineralogy and Geology at Berkeley. He was accompanied by Messrs. Eaton and Taliaferro. To the Chinese (and perhaps some envious foreigners), the farewell call by the governor meant considerable "face" for Bob and the YMCA.

have a last long talk with Bob about Y matters.^[7] After midnight Bert caught a few winks of sleep and was up and away at 4:00 in the morning when the boatmen roused to activity.

At last we cast off and were afloat on the Min River, starting the long water route to San Francisco. We lay about, lazy and thankful to rest. Even the discovery that we had forgotten the silver money arranged for by Bob did not worry us. On the first day we stopped long enough for Bob to call on the local missionaries and buy a few dollars. At Kiating, where we stopped for two days, we bought more, and all was well. Mr. Harvey had one boat and we the other. Jack slept with Mr. Harvey, and they both ate with us. We soon fell into a routine: meals, naps, short walks at stops, baths, and bed. I began now to be thankful that the two elder lads were not entirely dependent on an amah and could do a few things for themselves.

The usual things happened: Jack, on a walk with his father, fell into a small creek; the cook burned a whole batch of biscuits; I had trouble with the baby about his bottle. He was then over a year old, and I had never dreamed to travel with a bottle. He drank water from a cup, but no power on earth could force him to take milk that way. We had tried for weeks on end, and he only set his teeth the harder. Finally, the doctor said he was losing weight and we would have to give him the bottle. How happy and sweet he was as soon as he saw it! What a nuisance for a big baby with teeth and taking eggs and such things. But boat life was pleasant, and our food was good. On the evening of May 28 we tied up at Chungking.

Here we spent five sweltering days. At first it looked as though we would have to go to Ichang by houseboat, but at last we left on a small Chinese steamer, the Ta Chuan . We went aboard one evening and spent an awful night. The decks were too narrow to lie on, and loading went on all night with yells and raucous sounds to keep things in a turmoil. About daylight there came a terrific thunderstorm, and as soon as it abated our ship started. A breeze then swept over us, and we ran for clothes, more and more of them, until we were in sweaters fairly hugging ourselves to keep warm!

In another week we were in Shanghai. It was wonderful to be in a foreign-style city again. Everyone lived so luxuriously. There was ice; Bob and I realized how greatly we had missed it. We visited hard with our friends, and the days passed quickly. Our ship sailed on the twenty-sixth of June. We had a perfect day in Honolulu, going to bathe at Waikiki with friends. We docked at San Francisco on July 20. My mother was there with the Service relatives from Berkeley to meet us.

[7] We had encountered the Braces at Kuling in the summer of 1912 while they were awaiting permission to travel to Szechwan. Bert Brace was actually a member of the Canadian Methodist Mission who was loaned by that mission to serve as a secretary in the Chengtu YMCA. He would now be the senior foreign secretary during Bob's absence.

In Berkeley, we hired a nursemaid to come from noon till the children were in bed. That slice of her time cost us as much as our whole full-time corps of Chengtu servants. She made it possible for me to go with Bob to visit the Panama-Pacific Exposition in San Francisco and also to call on friends.^[8] We made a short visit to San Bernardino. (My father had not attended our wedding and had not seen Bob since 1903.) We went on east in September and stopped in Cleveland, Ohio, to leave the children in capable trained-nurse hands, where they had the oversight of Mr. and Mrs. Robert E. Lewis, our friends from the landing in Shanghai in 1905.

Next was New York and a Y conference at Atlantic City. The good fellowship was a joy; we loved seeing the Hurreys, Coltons, and other old friends we had not seen since before we went to China. Of course we met many new secretaries and members of the International Committee.

One lady has remained forever in my memory. She was the wife of a Committee member and graciously invited me to ride with her on the Boardwalk one evening. I remember her clothes, fussy and ornate, just as she was puffy and impressive. It soon became clear why she chose me for a ride: she wanted to do me good! She had heard me say that I was an only daughter; she knew then that she should tell me what a wrong thing I was doing by going to China; I ought to think of my mother and remain in America. I laughed. My mother was full of zeal for missions, I told her, but felt that I had almost too good a time. It was true that she did not want me to return to Szechwan (chiefly because of the distance and difficulties of travel), but she was glad to have me in the Orient.

The plump lady looked at me and shook her head, at first slowly and ponderously, then briskly and even alarmingly. "Now, why do you talk so to me? I know a mother's heart and I know how your mother feels. You are doing a wrong thing in going to China. I have a daughter and I would not think of having her go to such a place to live. Travel is all right, but living is another thing entirely. And you have stayed away ten years. It is all wrong." She regarded me as a brand, not plucked from the burning, but ready even to jump back into the fire. The next day someone tried to introduce us, but she forestalled it with emphasis, "I already know Mrs. Service."

Someone also wanted to introduce a Y secretary named George Helde to us. He put them off, saying that he didn't care to meet folks who were stupid enough to stay ten years in the far reaches of China without any return to America. George came to China that year, and two years later became Bob's associate in Chengtu.

[8] Grace seems to have forgotten, but I also went to the Exposition. I remember it vividly: I saw my first airplane (doing loops in the sky) and a live American Indian (standing around in feathers and war paint and looking bored).

Back in Cleveland, we moved into a furnished house in East Cleveland. Bob was to work in the Central Cleveland Y under Mr. Lewis, who was then the Metropolitan general secretary. We found an excellent colored maid, and Jack was happy attending first grade in a nearby public school.

In November we went to the Mayo Clinic. Bob was found to be in perfect condition. They found my blood very poor; were sure I had had gallstones in China; and were concerned about the stomach ulcers. They did not remove my tonsils, though I told them I had had much "rheumatic sore throat" in China. They agreed with my Cleveland doctor and wanted me to have plenty of rest and quiet, free from all responsibility. This was a hard thing to plan when one maid was all that the budget could carry. I was lucky to have her for the work in the house while I played nursemaid.

Mrs. Tracy, our visitor in Nanking and Chengtu, now proposed a delightful plan for six weeks in early 1916. We hired a nurse-housekeeper, and I went to Florida as Mrs. Tracy's guest. It was all like a dream come true. As the train left Cleveland on a day in late February, I let my household cares slip off my shoulders. A suite at the Ormond Beach Hotel awaited us. There were delightful motor trips around the vicinity, a longer one of several days to the central lake district, a jaunt to Key West by the East Coast Railway, a weekend at Miami, and twenty-four hours at Palm Beach where we stayed at the Royal Poinciana and followed the gay round of the pleasure seekers through a day's cycle. Finally, we motored to Jacksonville and there separated. I came north by way of Chattanooga to visit relatives. After all this gayety, I reached Cleveland to find measles.

Late in the spring I had another treat when I was allowed to accompany Bob on an eastern trip. This took us to a Y conference in New Jersey, and then on a tour of various important cities from Washington to Montreal and Toronto. Bob was to observe city Y methods that might be helpful in developing the work in Chengtu. In New Hampshire we had a weekend at Mrs. Tracy's farm. In Boston we visited Bob Feustel, an old Purdue friend. From his home I moved to a boarding house to be with our old friend from West China, Dr. Florence O'Donnell, who was now Florence Piers of Halifax. We had not met since she left Chengtu in 1908. Now she had three children, including a young daughter, Virginia, named for our first baby. How we visited and talked Chinese and laughed and enjoyed ourselves!

Soon we were back in Cleveland, packing for California and the ocean trip. We visited in Michigan^[9] and Iowa, had a few days in my home at San

[9] Bob's grandfather (John Service) took up land in 1840 near what is now Weston, Michigan. It was from here that Bob's father (also John Service) started off across the plains to California in 1859. And it was here that Bob was born in 1879 while his parents were back visiting the old home.

Bernardino, and then ten days with my parents at Long Beach, which the boys loved. Back in Berkeley, we enjoyed Father Service's first motor car, a Chandler. We were to have had a month there, and then sail from Vancouver on September 7. Because a railroad strike was threatened for September 1, we had suddenly to hurry our departure by several days. Bob always regretted this and the short time he had with his parents on this furlough. He should have asked for more time with them, but he never asked for any favors for himself. He never saw either parent again, for both died before our return to America eight years later.

26
Return to China
(1916)

Our ship from Vancouver was the Empress of Russia . We found more than sixty friends on board and had such a good time with them that we did not meet many new people, In Tokyo we visited Cameron Hayes, our old associate from Chengtu, who was now married and involved in YMCA work for the Chinese students in Japan. After Japan we spent two days in a typhoon. The air was stifling because every door and porthole had to be kept fast closed.^[1] The ship rolled so badly that I slept for part of the time on the floor. I had an elaborate method of pinning sheets to hold Dick [age two] in his berth. Because of the storm we spent a night beating up and down off the bar at the mouth of the Yangtze. With daylight and a falling wind, we were able to cross and arrived safely at last in Shanghai.

As soon as I reached China, I began to have tonsil trouble. It was decided that I must have an operation while we were still in Shanghai. They worked on me for two and a half hours and still could not remove all of the tonsils, which were "imbedded." I had ether, and it was necessary to give me oxygen twice during the operation. What a time! Bob had been told that it would take half an hour, so he was dreadfully alarmed at the delay (of which I was totally unconscious), I felt like a rag after this ordeal and, though I was better, suffered for eight years longer with tonsil problems before I could get them all out and my throat clean.

[1] The air on shipboard was stifling because air conditioning had not yet arrived. If the weather was reasonably good, fresh air was brought into one's cabin by an air scoop projecting outside an open porthole. The ships of that day still burned coal. Our ship took on coal at Nagasaki, and Grace omits what most impressed this seven-year-old: long lines of little Japanese women, scantily clad because of the heat, working through the night under bright floodlights, passing baskets of coal from hand to hand up long ladders from the coal barges up the side of the great ship and in to the bunkers. Like mechanical toys, their brisk pace never changed or slackened, and their sound was like a great flock of sparrows. Soon they all became black with coal dust.

The river trip was pleasant. We made the last section (Ichang to Chungking) by the Shu-hun with the famous Captain Plant in command. The ship was not large, and its engines of 2,400 horsepower made the whole vessel vibrate; but they had the power to negotiate the rapids and gave us a feeling of safety.^[2] The bridge was low, as Captain Plant wanted to be close enough to shout to his crew above the thundering din of the rushing waters in the rapids. The front of the top deck was thus available for the passengers. We had brought some rattan easy chairs so that we could sit there to enjoy the beauties of gorge and river. Nowadays such chairs are provided. We had a fine view of the dangerous Goose Tail Rock just above the west end of the Windbox Gorge. It stands some eighty feet above low water, and when the river is high its top may be forty feet under water. Junk pilots, Captain Plant told us, regard this place as the most dangerous in all China. Indeed, at certain flood levels they will not take boats either up or down.

In Chungking we learned that the overland road to Chengtu was unsafe.^[3] Nonessential baggage was left in Chungking, and we had to travel with a military escort. The things left behind were to be forwarded by river when that was possible. We spent a day at Tzechow in order not to arrive in Chengtu on Sunday, so we actually arrived on November 20. Bert Brace and Newton Hayes met us outside the city. The Richardsons had left China for good during our absence, and Newton Hayes had arrived to join the Y staff. He was China-born, unmarried, clever, and pleasant; and we knew him well from Nanking days in 1912.

Friends began to call as soon as we were inside our gate. How jolly it was to be at home again. Mabelle Yard had four of our former servants there awaiting us, so the usual routine could quickly be established. Books, furniture, and various things which had been loaned to friends had all been returned and put in place. The house was clean and windows were washed, and plenty of cooked food was sent by friends, so that we ate tiffin soon after arrival.

[2] The legendary Captain S. Cornell Plant devoted most of his life to proving that steam navigation of the Yangtze above Ichang was feasible. He learned the river so well that he could match the Chinese pilots. With this knowledge, he designed, owned, and commanded the first successful ships to pass the gorges and reach Chungking. These upper-Yangtze craft needed great power and maneuverability and were quite special for their day: shallow draft, twin engines, and four rudders. The current in some rapids could be about fifteen knots. Sometimes the ships would literally have to pull themselves upstream by putting a cable ashore and using the capstan to gain more power. On these occasions the coal stokers did their utmost. Stories of red-hot funnels were often heard; personally, I cannot attest to more than scorched paint.

[3] "Unsafe" in these circumstances meant that bandits were active. This was a perennial problem of warlord China. They could be local hoodlums taking advantage of the breakdown of effective government; or they might be defeated, "disbanded," or simply unpaid soldiery. The hoodlums, if caught, might lose their heads (to be exhibited in some public place such as the nearest city gate). The soldier-bandits had a fair chance of instant redemption by being absorbed into one of the many competing warlord armies.

December was busy with unpacking and settling, and with teas, dinners, and receptions. We had no kitchen stove (the new one had been left with the heavy baggage in Chungking); a temporary, but not very satisfactory, expedient was to build a coke-burning Chinese stove in a corner of the outdoor laundry. The most satisfying thing about our return was the warm welcome from the Chinese. They made us feel that they were sincerely glad to see us back again.

The International Committee of the YMCA (in New York) had decided in 1916 to buy land and build us a residence. Bob had talked plans in Shanghai. As soon as we reached Chengtu, a land agent was put to work. In June 1917, after much correspondence, we were told to buy land near the university. But the money was not immediately available and matters were delayed. In April 1918 word came to buy at once. This was done; but no house was built until after we left Chengtu in 1921.

There was more result on another building project. Bob, it will be recalled, had signed a lease in March 1915 for White Deer Summit. We and several other families had quickly started building bungalows. When ours was planned, we did not know that we would be leaving that spring. And when the furlough news came, Bob had no chance to make trips to supervise the construction. The bungalow had been completed and had been rented for the summers of 1915 and 1916. But the head carpenter had turned the plan half around: our east living room faced north, and the mountain panorama could best be enjoyed from the kitchen!

Bob's personal life always settled about a house: he wanted more than anything else of a personal nature to own homes of his own. Our mountain, White Deer Summit, actually had a fairly fiat top (which made it good both as a place of refuge and as a summer resort). The highest knob was called Big Round Top (Da Yuan-bao) by the Chinese. Bob had originally asked that he, as finder, have first chance at this site. Now he decided to build another bungalow—on Round Top. All that winter we were tremendously happy, making plans for a Y residence in Chengtu and for our own bungalow on the mountain. We sold the "old" bungalow, completed the plans in February [1917], and started building in the spring.

When we started our return from America I had thought to send the children to the recently established school for foreign children run by the Canadian Methodist Mission in Chengtu. But when we reached Shanghai in the fall of 1916, I learned there was already a rumpus at the school. Some criticized the teacher; others valiantly upheld her. It seemed to me that it would be impossible, as a parent, to avoid getting involved. I immediately decided to teach the children myself and ordered supplies from the Calvert School of Baltimore.

Jack had been through the first grade in Ohio and the teacher had told me to have him skip the second grade. I taught him first from books I had, and when the Calvert supplies arrived, he went into the third grade. Small Bob had been a kindergarten pupil for half a year in Ohio, and he now began the first grade of Calvert. To shorten a long story of teaching: I prepared Jack for high school, Bob for the sixth grade, and Dick for the fourth, except for some outside teaching which the latter had when small. We used every grade prepared by the Calvert School, including the kindergarten work which I gave Dick. I liked the excellently planned sheets sent for daily lesson use, and found the textbooks all that could be desired.

We usually had school from 8:30 to 12:30 every school day morning, taking a half-hour recess and perhaps a run or two around the house in between a couple of lessons. I found this schedule hard to keep and was obliged to cut down on Chinese calls, both receiving and replying. Many Chinese friends liked to visit about eleven in the forenoon and could not understand how I could be occupied at such an hour. I had to give household orders the night before, do accounts then also, and arrange everything to free my time for teaching. It sounds easy, it writes even easier, but it takes more mental resolution than one would imagine. Any classes I taught at the Y (and I always had some there) were held in the early afternoon when the children had naps.

Some American friends wanted me to form a class and teach their children along with mine. I had no inclination for this and knew it would make trouble with the Canadians, who already felt somewhat touchy because I did not send the boys to their school. Two or three of their ladies had long talks with me concerning these matters. I felt then, and still feel, that I was wise in giving our sons American teaching in our own home. They had companionship, and always at weekends I made a point of having them meet other children for good playtimes, so that they did not suffer from being alone.^[4]

January 1917 was damp and penetratingly cold, with plenty of drizzle and much slipperiness under foot. We were talking, talking, talking of war matters, becoming more and more exercised over reports from the British and French. The few Germans in the city tried to maintain friendship with us Americans, but this became increasingly difficult. There was a sharp earthquake in Chengtu, and the Chinese took it to be a portent of evil.

On one of the bleakest nights of this dark period, Bob and I were invited to dine with the new governor. The evening turned out to be spectacular. We

[4] We had good times, but the number of places to play was limited. Inside the city, there were the American Methodist and Canadian Methodist compounds. Outside the city, there were the American and Canadian parts of the West China Union University campus. In about 1916 the Davies family moved to Chengtu, and we had a new, and popular, alternative: the American Baptist compound.

entered through the beautiful main entrance of the Huangcheng (the grand, walled seat of government).^[5] Everything was dripping wet as we proceeded in our closed sedan chairs down the long line through four huge gates hung with flags used like curtains drawn aside. The way to the official residence was marked by big red-banded lanterns on poles set in sockets in the stone pavement. I counted a hundred lanterns, and there were many more not in this direct line. The dancing reflections on the broad expanse of wet stone pavement enchantingly offset the dark, low, horizontal lines of buildings and roofs. Darkness in sky and wet stones, flame in the lanterns and red pillars, a warmth of pageantry against the night: we had all of the Orient in our slow progress to the upper rooms and our reception there.

It was an innovation for such an official to entertain ladies with the gentlemen. We thought that both sexes might eat together. It turned out to be entirely "proper": the ladies ate in the women's apartments. The only new-style thing was that the governor, himself, brought the married men after the meal to get their wives. Thus I had an opportunity to meet His Excellency.

Bob wore evening clothes, and I a blue silk dress with long georgette sleeves and a slightly low neck. We were both well wadded inside, not knowing what to expect in the way of temperature. I was wearing my riding tights and a thick "Spenser." However, there were charcoal braziers and even a foreign stove in our dining room, so we were comfortable.

The meal served was a foreign-style one, thought to be the height of style at the time in Chengtu, and we had everything from pheasant to hare. I tried to talk to the governor's wife, who was a pleasant person from near Shanghai. We were the only American couple there, and we never did figure out just how we were included. Until that evening, Bob and this governor had never met. Bob had sent his card at New Year as a matter of etiquette; a few days later the invitation arrived.^[6]

The Yards had their fourth daughter in late January and almost immediately had to depart on furlough. We joined with the American Methodists in giving a farewell reception for Jim and Mabelle. It was a gay occasion and there were several felicitous speeches. For his part, Bob prepared a letter supposedly written to Jim by one of his Chinese students of English. In reality this letter was a skillful mosaic of sentences taken from a few of the many letters Bob and I had been receiving from our young students: only a few words had been altered to fit the circumstances. It caused much mirth, but there is space here for only a snippet:

[5] The Huangcheng (see note 5 to chapter 19) was built in the Ming dynasty (fourteenth century) and was like a scaled-down Forbidden City.

[6] At this official banquet the governor's principal foreign guests undoubtedly were the foreign consuls: British, French, and Japanese. But there was no American consul, and so Bob was invited. This story will be continued.

Please recept my sincere and respectful congratulations for your fourth noble and fair child was born. How pity it is not a son! Do you not think? Referring to that bad chance, I am filled with deep sympathy, and hoping all are renewed now.

In that same month of February, America broke relations with Germany, and by April we were in the war. At home, we were reading aloud Mr. Britling Sees It Through .^[7]

[7] Mr. Britling Sees It Through (1916) was a novel by H. G. Wells that described "the effects of the first two years of World War I on the emotional and intellectual life of Mr. Britling, an English writer who loses a son and a German friend on different sides in the war. He is finally able to build an optimistic philosophy for the future" (The Reader's Encyclopedia , p. 692).

27
White Deer Summit
(1917)

In June we went to White Deer Summit where we were to have the Yard bungalow for a month while our new place was being completed. We arrived on the mountain in a rain and all of us were wet. I had ridden Bob's horse most of the way up, letting him take his own time. We reached the summit and, unexpectedly, found that the road descended toward the Yard bungalow. I neglected to have the saddle girth checked, and the result was a tumble. The mud was terrible where I fell and I was a sight. Worse, my glasses fell off and it was getting dark. After much search they were found in thick shrubbery.

Our former bungalow was the only one occupied (the season was just starting), and the occupants were expecting us for supper. We finally arrived at 7:45, only to find that they had decided the weather was impossible for travel and so had gone to bed at 7:30! They were amazed to have five wet, draggled, and muddy folk arrive, all desirous of hot baths and food. By now a heavy mist had enveloped the mountain; it became clammy and cold, and we shivered after the heat of the plain.

Bob had to return to Chengtu after a few days. I went to Round Top every day to watch the progress on our new bungalow. Also, I had to answer a great many questions. The living room was L-shaped. It had windows in all four directions, two outside doors opening onto two verandas; and two interior doors to a hall and guest room. This room with its nine windows and four doors was considered very odd [see fig. 27]. Some British friends insisted (in spite of having seen the plan) that such a room could not be! They felt that I must be putting something over on Bob during his absence.

As we were not going to stay, we did not try to settle in the Yard house. The roof leaked badly, so it was a time of continual removal; boxes, beds, and

27
A plan, from Jack's memory, of the bungalow at Round Top. The bungalow
was built during the summer of 1917; the semicircular veranda extension was
added a year later.

belongings seemed to need shifting for every rain, and these came daily. At night, the cook (Liu Pei-yun) put his pugai on the floor outside my bedroom door. Several times we heard sneak thieves, but we had the heavy lattice windows nailed shut so they could not be opened. As there were no curtains, I undressed in the dark, and in the morning dressed behind my bed net.

One night there was a low, tense yelling. The wild, threatening note was alarming. I got up in the pitch dark and found Liu sitting on the floor, alert and listening. Through the crack of my door we whispered back and forth, debating what it might be. Finally he announced it must be Amah having a nightmare. We then boldly lit a lantern and Liu went through my bedroom to the little back hall and called up to Amah, who slept in the attic. Eventually he was obliged to climb halfway up the ladder. At last, with a final wild screech, she came to consciousness and our worry was ended.

During that spring, the military leaders of the three western provinces—Yunnan, Kweichow, and Szechwan—had been at odds. Yunnan troops had been in Chengtu for a long time; they were eased out at the end of April, and we were glad to see them go. Unrest continued, however.^[1] In early July

[1] At the end of 1915, President Yuan Shih-kai announced that he was changing his title to emperor. The first to say no was a Yunnanese general, and his first move was to invade Szechwan, where the local commander had decided to stick with Yuan rather than the Republic. The next-door province of Kweichow quickly joined the Republicans and also invaded Szechwan. Yuan fell, but the Yunnan and Kweichow armies remained. Szechwan had obvious attractions: it was many times richer and more populous than their own provinces, and control of even a part of Szechwan's opium trade was a prize worth fighting for. First, a Yunnan general was top man in Chengtu. By the spring of 1917 he apparently decided that his position was a bit exposed: he withdrew to the southwest of the province (where he could still control the Min and Yangtze rivers). The Kweichow commander then aspired to control Chengtu. Szechwanese forces disagreed, hence the heavy fighting during the summer of 1917. (Kweichow lost this fight, but was not finished.)

stories of general warfare and indiscriminate burning of houses began to reach our mountaintop. As our carpenters and masons were all from the city, they became exceedingly nervous and kept wanting to return home.

When Bob left us on June 27, he had planned to return in a fortnight to check the construction and to bring money. He also expected to send some money by friends who would be coming ahead of him. Time went on and no money came—though plenty of rumors reached us every day. I borrowed all I could in order to pay the workmen and try to hold them. But no foreigner on the mountain had much silver, and things soon became desperate.

One Britisher arrived and reported that the city was in complete turmoil. Life there had become too dangerous for him; he knew that Bob would soon be coming to the hill. My reaction was the opposite. I knew Bob's only thought at such times was to help: to serve those in trouble. When there were dangers, his impulse was to go to the scene so he could help the weak to places of safety and try to prevent pillaging and burning. Our neighbors on Wenmiaogai said he was a "strong helper," and this pleased him greatly, though he never would repeat it outside his most intimate circle.

Later, I found that the North China Herald of Shanghai had carried a news item about Chengtu dated July 19, 1917:

The sights in many of the burnt quarters of the city are truly heart-rending. Reuter's correspondent has not yet found any one who blames General Liu Tsun-hou for what has occurred. After General Tai Kan's exit the citizens raised flags in honor of Liu Tsun-hou. The French Consulate has suffered severe damage and is uninhabitable from shells and bricks crashing through the roof. Mr. Hibbard of the Canadian Mission saved the missionary girls' school; Mr. Cook of the Church Missionary Society put out a fire near his mission; and Mr. R. R. Service of the Y.M.C.A. saved the American Methodist Hospital and also put out a fire threatening the block of buildings which contains the offices of the American Bible Society and the Foreign Office.

This last mentioned block also contained the post office, and Bob received the warm thanks of the postal commissioner. The Herald's correspondent did not know that Bob was also sheltering some schoolgirls in our house. The American Methodist girls' school had closed for the summer vacation, but it had been impossible to send home some of the boarding pupils. With the city in such chaos and full of roving soldiery, the teacher in charge did not dare to leave them in the school building, so she brought them to our quiet home. Bob turned over the place, and the girls settled in the downstairs rooms, leaving him the study. Where Bob slept was determined by the fighting; it was cooler upstairs, but bullets came through now and then. The girls were in the house for several weeks. When they left, the Hoffmans, who lived near the university and the south parade ground, came and occupied our

house for a while. Many bodies of men killed in the fighting lay unburied for a long time on the parade ground; the Hoffmans were anxious to get away from the vicinity.

In the meantime, I had given my last dollar to the cook on July 12. Things were at an impasse. There was no choice but to send a runner for Bob. This is the only time in our married life when we were separated that I sent for my husband, and he understood that it was not because of my own fear or of my own will. I was responsible for our workmen and had to have assistance, being at the end of my resources.

On the night of July 16 we were having what the Irish term a "tempest." Torrents of rain were falling, and our house shook with the heavy reverberations of thunder, seemingly beneath our very feet. There had been no word from Bob and I was disappointed. The cook and I figured that the messenger should be back; we had begun to fear that he had been frightened by the fighting or perhaps seized by soldiery and impressed as a load carrier. I had almost fallen asleep when, soon after ten, I heard Bob's whistle. By the time I had roused the cook, Bob was fumbling at the door. We hastily lit candles and lanterns. What a sight met our eyes!

Bob had come on his home. He reached the foothills late in the day and had to cross a torrent by a plank bridge. The horse slipped off with Bob on his back. They both rolled together in the raging water among the boulders, Bob weighed down by his money pouch full of silver dollars. They were fortunate to get out with only a few cuts and bruises, for there had been tragedies at that crossing.

The pony was left at the temple at the base of our mountain, and the priests insisted on giving Bob some hot tea and rice and a small native oil lantern. He came up the mountain by a very steep path that we called The Devil's Stairway. Soon the lantern fell and broke. He struggled on "by feeling" and by the fitful illumination of the lightning. Every stitch was soaked. Blood ran down in a trickle by one ear. His hat had been lost in the stream. He looked haggard and worn. But he was there and he assured me that all was well.

That was one time when I cried. When I saw Bob, I just sat down and wept; and even the cook knew why. He went out to the kitchen, blew up the coals of the coke fire, scrambled eggs and heated up some chicken, and told Bob that I had not eaten much for two days and he thought I had been worried. Of course Bob said that he did not want any trouble taken to prepare food at that hour. But, always the athlete and mindful of his physique, he tore off his wet garments and gave himself a brisk rubdown. Finally, after I had taken care of his cuts, he sat in pyjamas and wrapped in a blanket while we both ate our late snack together.

My troubles were over. Bob reassured the men, paid out money, and re-

ported that other men were on their way (for some had already left because I lacked money to pay them). His presence and plenty of dollars worked wonders for the construction. In a week we were moved into the new bungalow. And Bob was off to the city, where things were still far from calm.

I was happy on the hill fixing up Round Top, and every letter from Bob told of his delight. A home of our own ! It harked back to days before our marriage when he often used to hope for such a place. Those who had wondered about its plan now came to see; they agreed that the house was not only possible but that it was also pleasant and indeed all that one might wish for on our site. I sewed curtains and fixed wall lamps made of little Standard Oil tin lamps in Chinese glass cases. We did everything we could to make the place look like a home.^[2] When Bob came for a few days in August, we had a gloriously happy time. A big chicken supper for all the adults on the hill was one event: twenty were present.

One September night when the lads and I were there alone we had a terrific storm. The thunder rolled with its most alarming resonance, and it seemed, as Grandmother used to say during Iowa tornadoes, that we could "taste brimstone." The next morning we discovered that the big wooden tub for catching rain water that stood under the eaves at the southwest corner of the house had been hit by lightning. Several wooden staves had been twisted and torn as though they had been cloth. We were lucky that the lightning struck so near water. That day it rained eight inches in a few hours.^[3]

When we returned from furlough the year before, we had brought a

[2] Our family spent five summers (1917-21) in this house on White Deer Summit. For us boys they were happy times. Many things must have contributed. One obvious plus was that, compared with life in the city, we were free. No compound walls; no traveling by sedan chair to other distant compounds; no need to arrange and schedule play. Soon there were about twenty bungalows (each a family) scattered about the almost undeveloped top of a mountain. For the children it was something like an idyllic and extended version of a city block in small-town America. But this freedom was possible, in a sense, only because our stockaded mountaintop was itself a super-compound. Except for our servants, no Chinese lived on the mountain: we were our own little world. Proof of the distance from unhygienic China was the fact that on the mountain, and only on the mountain, we were permitted to go barefoot or—usually preferable on account of wear and tear—to don Chinese straw sandals.
When travel to China became possible for Americans, White Deer Summit was one of the places I wanted to return to. On my first visits to Chengtu, none of my guides had ever heard of the mountain. By the third visit, in 1980, I had done some research. I hired a car, rode to the base of the mountain, and walked up (via the Devil's Stairway, in a miserable drizzle). It was easy to find our site: Round Top was the highest knob. But nothing remained except the rough, squared, sandstone blocks that had been the bases for the posts. After the last foreigners had left (about 1950), the farmers from below had regarded the houses as abandoned. Gradually the houses were dismantled to salvage the building materials. Today the mountaintop has become a plantation of medicinal herbs; and the small crew who work there have built a much simpler hut.

[3] I always had somewhat of a proprietary attitude about this lightning strike. My bed was in the corner nearest to the tub, so my head may have been only about six feet away. Perhaps, since our house was the highest point of the mountain, without even large trees around it, it is surprising that we were not hit more often. One feature of living on a mountaintop was that we were completely dependent on rainfall for our water supply. Fortunately, summer was the rainy season; and we had plenty of rain-catching tubs.

portable Columbia "Grafonola." We enjoyed it all year, but it was at the mountain that we got the acme of pleasure from it. As we passed through the villages people used to ask whether we had brought the talking box. Women on tiny bound feet, old men and maidens, little urchins, countrymen, babies on backs, all climbed the long steep path to our hilltop and sat or stood entranced to hear what came forth from that box. I was often weary of cranking it, but the children were glad to relieve me. We served many cups of tea to these listeners and talked to them as well as we could (their mountain dialect was very different from what we were used to in the city). Sometimes they brought their corn pones and sat quietly outside as music was played in our living room. They especially liked songs by Harry Lauder: they said he sounded happy even though they could not understand the words.

That year we suffered greatly from the censoring of our letters. Some of them reached us as mere lacework. And for some mysterious reason the American postal authorities sent our letters via the Atlantic and Burma! It would appear that they expected the Burma-China border to be equipped with railway service, whereas nothing of this sort is in existence even today. We constantly wrote our relatives to mark our letters "Via Seattle" or "Via San Francisco." But it did no good: the letters were still sent by Burma and took four months to reach us instead of the usual two by the Pacific. Furthermore, many letters sent the long way were lost and never reached us.

28
Shadows of a Distant War
(1917-18)

There were certain foreigners in Chengtu who felt that "missionaries" should not have contacts with any Chinese officials. During that summer a peculiarly subtle and insinuating letter was published in the North China Herald .^[1] It hinted that "activities" and friendships between certain missionaries and officials in Szechwan were endangering the lives and well-being of all the foreigners in the province. It was signed "From the Cave of Abdullam." We knew who had instigated it, but for a time the authorship was a mystery. The community was interested to discover his identity, as Bob was not the only man mentioned. It finally came out that the writer was a British teacher in one of the government schools. He had often come to our house and had as often been treated in a friendly manner. Feeling against him became very strong, and he lost all the contacts he had enjoyed among the missionary group.

Bob was an American Y secretary, loaned to the Chinese YMCA movement. He was responsible to the China National Committee of the Y; and it was his business to cultivate and know Chinese students, gentry, and officials. In all his relations, he took the most scrupulous care to maintain an even balance between all the military and civilian factions among the Chinese community. He was able to make these men feel that he was not partisan, and sought the welfare of all, the peace of the city, and the good of every one.

He had been amused to hear that he had been reported to be "an enemy of General X." When General X left town he had sent a special messenger with a particularly fine gift as a token of his regard, thanking Bob for all his kindness to himself and his troops, who had been entertained at the Y's science hall. Bob sent word that he could not accept: a donation to the YMCA would be better. Another official sent a military decoration. Still another presented

[1] The letter appeared in the Herald of July 21, 1917.

many rolls of Kweichow pongee, excellent for men's suits. Bob did not accept any gifts that had been offered because of his position in the Y.

We heard through Chinese and others that a certain man had said he would force Bob out of the province, that he had collected information on his friendship with officials, and would use it "at the proper time." One of the generals told Bob he had been informed that we were people without social standing of any kind and should not be received by officials. The general laughingly said that whether or not Bob had social standing elsewhere, he certainly did have it in Chengtu, and that he was glad to have him as a friend!^[2]

The American consul of our district [resident in Chungking] knew of our work and friendships in Chengtu and never criticized them at all. It could be said that the criticisms were an indication of Bob's success in making contacts. He refused to let these rancorous statements bother him and carried on in his normal way. He always took pleasure in his social contacts with Chinese. In the good fellowship around the table at feasts he seemed to expand, become a raconteur, and surprised those who knew him as a quiet man at gatherings of his own nationals.^[3]

Personally I suffered greatly that year. It started with rheumatism in January and then proceeded into neuritis. It seemed that pain lived with me, and I wondered how it would be to feel free from that bondage. I sought to fill my days so that I would have little time to think of my own limitations.

We Americans had an American Association, partly to keep up our feeling of being separate from the British, and partly to facilitate contacts with our consul in Chungking. I happened to be the secretary. Our group had been raising money for the Red Cross. That spring we decided to give a large benefit for the French Red Cross. To supplement the local activities, I circularized every American in Szechwan, asking for contributions to our fund.

There were still a few Germans in Chengtu, and one of them had been to Chungking. When he returned, he brought a few cases of groceries for a couple of young Americans. The road had been blocked for travel, and anyone was glad to find some way to get his goods transported. (Our own trunks, which had to be left in Chungking when we returned from furlough

[2] Bob's social contacts with Chengtu's officialdom do seem to have been unusual. Grace's diary indicates at least seven personal meetings with the governor of Szechwan in 1914 and six in 1915. My experience as a consular officer in China was limited, but I can understand how a local consul could, in one of Grace's favorite expressions, "have his nose out of joint." A part of the basis for Bob's cordial official relations was certainly the fact that he was representing an organization with a Chinese board of directors who were leaders in the local community.

[3] Bob's conviviality at the feast table seems all the more noteworthy because he would normally be the only person present who was a teetotaler. Grace is right: there was a kind of instant rapport between Bob and most Chinese, which showed itself in a vivacious and lighthearted side of his personality.

in 1916, still sat there—filled with clothes for the children and many other things we needed.) Some of our British friends, more violent in their outlook at this time than the French, heard of this kindness done for Americans by a German. The fat was in the fire.

As secretary of the American Association, I received a letter from the French saying that, in view of our contacts with Germans, they could not permit us to give a benefit for the French Red Cross. We gave up our benefit plans, but at quiet teas in our homes we passed the hat until we had a suitable gift to forward to the French. We knew who was back of the whole business: our consul asked for information, and a letter from our association informed him of the facts.^[4]

Obviously, it had now become impossible to maintain friendly relations with the Germans who remained in Chengtu. Much as they sought to keep up their end of the acquaintance, we had to drop them. I wrote a note to one of the ladies whom I had enjoyed and felt glad to know before this trouble began. She did not reply, and neither did her husband; but another German, a single man, who evidently held great rancor and wished to voice it, wrote an exceedingly nasty note which rankled in my heart for days. How wrong war can be, thus to taint even the contacts of isolated Westerners living on the other side of the globe from the field of combat!^[5] Now all these matters can be disposed of in a few sentences; at the time they made a vast amount of talk and could create misunderstanding and hard feeling even between friends of the same nationality.

Not all was bad. The attitude of the British consul, which at first was critical toward Americans, grew more friendly as the war progressed and officials of his nation were required to show friendliness to Americans.^[6] We had some debate about whether we should follow the example of our homelands in things like "meatless" or "sugarless" days. But there was no shortage where

[4] The "instigator" of the anonymous letter and the person "back of the whole business" was the British consul general in Chengtu. Meyrick Hewlett held this post from 1916 to 1922. His book Forty Years In China (London: Macmillan & Co., 1943) has much interesting detail about Chengtu and the labyrinthine politics of the day. The theme of the letter was that the friendship of some missionaries (prominently Bob) with a particular military leader or political group could bring retribution on the heads of all missionaries if some other group seized power. The complaint was imaginary. The interests of an organization like the YMCA required that it have the approval (and, if possible, active support) of the governing authorities; and it is clear that the Y under Bob's leadership was consistently successful in gaining this, despite several sharp changes in the warlord governments.

[5] Grace might have noted that, except for the British and French consuls, all of the people involved were missionaries preaching the Word of the same God.

[6] Grace concedes that Consul General Hewlett became more agreeable, but suggests that it was because he had received instructions to be more friendly to Americans. Be that as it may, my own recollections of the consul general are all favorable. Each year on Empire Day (May 24) we were all invited to his garden party. There was a small circular enclosure heaped with small gifts. Each child had a pole with a line and hook to fish for goodies. If I remember rightly, there was no limit on the number of fish that one might catch.

we were, and any renunciation by us could not possibly assist the war effort. So most of us kept on in our normal way of life, saving all we could for the constant appeals for war funds.

One thing we could do was knit. We Americans did it for the American Expeditionary Force in Siberia. As long as the wool lasted, I knit a sweater a week. These were of the sleeveless sort. After much effort, we managed to get some wool up river. Finally, no more of the heavy sweater wool could be had. So we turned to socks, until that wool also gave out.

I agreed to take on the work of statistical secretary of the West China Missions Advisory Board. This involved sending information forms to all missionaries in the provinces of Kweichow, Yunnan, and Szechwan, tabulating these returns, and then compiling a list with all their names and titles (in English and Chinese) and various other relevant details. It was a job that took time and much attention of a painstaking variety which is rarely appreciated; and there was no pay. After some years at the job I did receive a word of appreciation from someone at the Coast who spoke of our West China statistics as being the best received.

Our children always had pets, and there was a procession of them through these years: dogs, cats, rabbits, monkeys, ponies, a badger, goldfish, canaries, turtles, and various other animals that came our way. Dick wanted a goat. The coolie, thinking of the commission on such a purchase, brought one to the compound. I found it tethered to the fence near the tennis court. Dick knew that I hated the everlasting blatting of these creatures, so he stood by to assure me, "this goat uses its mouth only for eating." The young goat promptly added a vociferous blat to his remark, thereby killing the deal.

During these days I was teaching English to a Chinese businessman older than I. He was a fat, jolly person with a charming manner, a big family, and ambitions of taking a world tour where English would be useful. As long as I knew the family and as often as I heard them speak of various relatives, I was never able to unravel the relationships in their home circle. His first wife had died, leaving a number of grown and adolescent children. The grown sons had families. Also the father had several concubines with children. Then he had married a second time about a dozen years previous to the time of which I write, and this new "real wife" (with the status of a Number One) had already borne him eight children. In addition there were various older relatives, hangers-on and dependents, and a swarm of servants. Certainly, fifty to sixty people lived in the house—which was dirty and poorly kept in spite of the many helpers.

We had known the family for years, but after I began to teach the husband, I found that he was placing considerable trust in me. This resulted in some responsibility which I unwittingly incurred. The husband had to go into hiding. In disturbed times such as we were experiencing in Szechwan,

with rival warlords and various military coups changing the rulers of the province, wealthy men were in danger of being seized and squeezed (even tortured!) until their tormentors had extracted every dollar they could wring from them and their family. The Szechwan expression for this was "grabbing a fat pig," and that was the danger that the husband faced.

When the husband left the city, he knew his wife was not well. He told his family that if she did not improve, they were to send for me and do whatever I said. He said nothing to me of this situation. When he told me good-bye, he asked if I would be willing to advise his wife should she need it. Thinking this was a polite way of hinting that I was a woman of discernment, I agreed to do so.

I soon found that my responsibility was heavier than I had ever dreamed. A messenger came to tell me that the wife was ill and wished to see me. I immediately called on her and found her in a bad way; she lacked appetite, was as thin as a thread, and seemed worried and nervous. She would not hear of entering the only missionary hospital for women, or even of going there by sedan chair for an examination. I finally got her to agree that I could bring a foreign doctor to see her at her own home. I accompanied this gentleman (our good friend, Dr. W. R. Morse).

The wife was in bed, where she had been for some time. She was dressed in stiff satin, even wearing a fiat satin bandeau-like bonnet, much affected by Chinese ladies in those days. She looked more like a clay figure than a flesh-and-blood woman. Her bed was a mammoth wooden structure enclosed by curtains fastened tightly down on three sides and drawn apart in front. Chinese beds are placed with one side, not the headboard, against a wall, so these drawn curtains were on the front of the bed. At the rear and about two feet higher than the bed there was a long shelf with small drawers below. On the shelf were medicines, food, tea, and a great collection of oddments. In the drawers, some of them half open, were more eatables, rolls of silver dollars, jewels, and a heterogeneous lot of treasured possessions.

At first she did not want to permit the doctor to touch her; after persuasion, this was allowed. Then there was the problem of an abdominal examination. I had to get into the bed, where I sat awkwardly at its foot inside the curtain. A Chinese woman (servant, relative, or what-not) got in at the head of the bed. Finally, with all her clothing on and the curtains partially drawn around the four of us, the doctor was permitted to lay a hand on the patient's well-covered abdomen. After a great deal of talk, the physician assured us all—the room by this time was crowded with people, including several grown-up stepsons—that the wife had anemia and urgently needed hospital care, good food of a suitable kind, rest, and tonics.

I made several visits before I could obtain her consent to this departure from her usual course of life. Finally, a day was set. I sent word to the hospi-

tal, where I had prepared the way and spoken for a private room. I went to the house to escort her to the hospital—but she was in bed as usual with all her things about her. She had decided that she could not go. Everything depended on her: she gave out all the money; her hands, weak as they were, controlled every detail of the establishment. She kept insisting that she could not think of leaving. "Yes, you can," said I, "you can leave the housekeeping affairs with your old aunt." She demurred, but I sat down and said that I would stay until she was ready for me to escort her to the hospital.

She was horrified at this and was sure that my children needed me at home, and that it would soon be time for my noon meal. "Don't worry about me," I told her, "I can eat whatever you have here." After I had stayed three hours and eaten a meal, she capitulated. She ordered her sedan chair, changed her clothes, and made ready to leave. I took her to the women's hospital run by the Canadian Methodist Mission. For days she was nervous and ill at ease, and I made several visits to reassure her. For one thing, she hated the comfortable iron hospital bed. It seemed so open and exposed! I asked that the bed be moved into a corner. This was done, but she told me the next day that she had been unable to sleep. In the dead of night, when left alone by the nurse, she had dragged her mattress off onto the floor and slept there! As she expressed it, "I've had eight children, but I've never slept in a bed without sides."

The bathing of her person and the daily cleaning of her room were more trials, and she was greatly irked because no chickens were allowed in the room. She kept telling me, as she told the nurses, that chickens loved to be around under foot and would pick up scraps and keep floors clean. I am glad to say that the wife improved greatly in the hospital. She even became fond of some of the innovations (to her) which she came to know were rules of life there. When I last heard of her, she was a patroness of the institution.

About this time a Chinese friend of Bob's felt, because of a sudden political change, that his life was in great danger. He came to us secretly at night, begging shelter. We kept him on the condition that he remain in our guest room, holding no communication with anyone. Bob then arranged his affairs with another Chinese friend. After forty-eight hours in our home, the man was able to leave at night in the care of his friend, who was a well-known man in the city. A few years later, in happier times, the man who had sought refuge returned from the Coast and came to call. He brought gifts and said that he owed his life to our discretion. Then, before we realized it, he was on his knees to perform the kowtow. Bob quickly stepped to his side and raised him, saying that we did not need such proof of his feeling.

We were saddened in April 1918 by the death of Mother Service. She was eleven years younger than her husband, and we had never thought she might

go first. It was hard to realize that death had come so close to us while we were going on as usual about our small daily affairs. No cablegram had been sent to us, even to say that she was ill, so it was a shock to open an ordinary envelope and be confronted with such news. She had always been lovely to me, and I knew her as a person with a deep understanding of life.

29
Our Mountain Home
(1918)

It was wonderful that year to have the bungalow waiting for us. After all the summers spent hither and yon, amid this or that discomfort, it seemed too good to be true to have a place of our own. The mountain, White Deer Summit, stands by itself, a bit in front of the main range. Although its elevation is 6,000 feet, it is actually only a foothill. In one direction, we looked out over the Chengtu plain, 4,000 feet below. In the other, we had a fine panorama of mountain peaks, rising in the far distance to perhaps 20,000 feet. Most of the nearer mountains we named, and climbed, during the summers we spent there. Some day these Szechwan alps will be as popular as European and American mountains.^[1]

Szechwan is a land of cloud and vapor. Winds constantly moved cloud-masses around our summit, and often we seemed to be in the center of a vortex of moving cloud. On one side we could see immense, puffy vapor-forms going one way while on the other side of the house the same sort of cloud-masses were moving in the opposite direction. The effects of these heavenly changes made us at times feel that we lived in an unreal world. Beautiful colors at sunset spread all the glories of the sky, not only above us, but frequently at our very feet. And when the soft wetness of clouds lay on our summit we knew ourselves to be wrapped in the same down-like fluff which we could see on clear days lying on the distant peaks.

We never felt the restrictions of overpopulation or possible infection on that clean mountaintop, so the children could run about as American lads play in their own mountains. The two older boys had soon explored the mountain far and near and had a good knowledge of its hidden recesses. They maintained what they called a "scout camp" in the woods and used to

[1] It has taken a long time, but Grace's prediction may be coming true. The Chinese have recently (1986) started developing large-scale tourist facilities in a nature reserve and scenic area at Jiuzhaigou (Nine Village Gorge) about two hundred miles north of White Deer Summit.

go there with another playmate for tremendous stuffings of fried potatoes and eggs, two things they learned to cook for themselves.^[2] They took the potatoes all pared and boiled, so it was not much work for the frying. This was done in chicken fat, our commonest form of cooking oil in those days. Chicken was our only summertime meat, beef and mutton not being available.^[3]

As soon as I reached the mountain, I began the construction of a summerhouse not far from our bungalow, and a laundry and fuel storeroom at the rear of our lower-level kitchen yard. Later in the summer Bob brought up some carpenters and started them on a large new veranda off our living room.^[4] This was like an extra room. It stood high off the ground and somewhat overhung the cliff along the outer edge. By making it semicircular, we did not have to cut down as many trees. We had bamboo sun blinds, a hammock, rattan chairs, and small tables. How many happy hours we spent there, alone and with friends! The children liked the open rafters, where they were allowed to climb like young monkeys. The additional space was especially welcome for chicken suppers and such high jinks because we could take in more friends and be that much the happier. Day and night, and in the moonlight, the veranda was lovely.

That summer we took a fine trip to Tientai, an 8,000-foot mountain on the next range. We spent a night at the temple on the summit. The main work at the temple was preparing soda ash by burning bracken gathered on the slopes. A big fire of this, all banked with ashes in a particular way, was kept burning for many days. Lower down on the mountain there was a small factory where a certain variety of scrub bamboo was made into coarse brown paper, using this same soda ash. We could hear the workers cutting the bamboo and taking it to chutes down which it was rushed to the steeping vats below. All this with many shouts and cries.

The views from Tientai (which means Terrace of Heaven) were lovely and gave us a wider sweep than from our own hill. Nothing exceeds the summer verdure of these wild mountains. The varying shades of green rest the eyes, and there are flowers in the glens, marvelous glimpses of land- and cloud-scapes, and tinkling waterfalls throwing a sudden spray of silver over green

[2] Our camp, where we built a simple lean-to in the thickest part of the woods, was a secret known only to the four members. Nearby was a low spot that was obviously a favorite wallow for wild pigs. And in the soft earth we thought once that we were seeing the paw mark of a leopard. Our sketchy ideas of scouting came from the magazine Boys' Life .

[3] Beef (water buffalo) and mutton (goat) could be found in this part of China only in the larger towns. Pork, however, was easily available even in the small mountain villages. But we, and our fellow foreigners, never considered using pork—which to the Chinese is "meat"— except in the rather uncommon form of ham. In eating Chinese food, pork of course could not be avoided—and we all enjoyed it.

[4] The porch can be seen in figure 27. One thing nice about it was that its outer edge put us above the trees.

bank or rocky cliff. We had no definite schedule but roamed as we pleased. Dick we had left with Mrs. Canright, as he was too young for the climbing, but Ted Canright took his place with us and thus we had three boys for the excursion.

There was some excitement at one wild spot where the road crossed the river. The bridge was merely a series of tree trunks sawed in two lengthwise and laid from boulder to boulder. Iron chains through a hole at one end kept the logs from being swept away by the frequent summer floods, though of course they had to be relaid on their boulders. I was using a light mountain sedan chair and was glad to be carried across such places. But my rear carrier was a big man who was afraid of becoming dizzy, so we had to get someone to take his place on the chair while he trusted his bulk to the strong limbs and steady head of a small load-carrier. The lads also were taken over on the backs of carriers. Generally in such spots there were swinging bridges, but at that particular place the banks were too low.

The cook made a lot of jelly from mountain crab apples that year. It was so delicious that it was hard to save enough for our return to the city. It was especially enjoyed during the winter with our roast goose at holiday time. We always missed real apples in Szechwan, but now they have been introduced there [by the missionaries] and can be bought each year with greater ease.

Bob, as usual, was down in Chengtu most of the summer and came up to us now and then. He was away in late August when we had a visit from a thief. Our bedroom windows all had stout vertical wooden bars. I was not afraid at night but kept a small kerosene lantern lit and turned down very low. By experimenting, I had found that the best draft-free place for this was on the floor under my dressing table. On rainy nights I always put my clothes inside a closet or cupboard, but this particular night was not damp and when I undressed I had laid them on Bob's bed.

In the middle of the night I woke suddenly to a queer little tinkling sound. My bed was in a corner and against the wall. When I opened my eyes they fell at once on a peculiar sight. Some white object, entirely without legs or feet , was slowly moving across the room toward the window farthest from me. Of course, without glasses I could not see well, for I am very near-sighted. But I could see enough to make me sure the object itself was not of a terrifying nature. No matter what it was, with one leap I threw off the bedclothes and seized the specter in both hands. It proved to be my corset, and the jingle which had wakened me was the rattle of the hose supporters. As soon as I took hold of it, I realized that there was a long bamboo pole involved. I found myself holding one end while Mr. Robber held the other. He could see me, but I had only a fleeting glimpse of his form outside the window, for I immediately let forth a piercing shriek of "Robbers! come quickly!"

The pilferer dropped his pole in hot haste and tore off into the shrubbery before the servants could come.

There was a guest in the house (Miss Wellwood, familiarly known as Lucy Belle). I called to ask if she missed any of her belongings, Yes, all her underclothing was gone! The children awoke, even Amah came into my room, and there was great talk and excitement. As soon as I heard the man leave, I had thrown open my bedroom door, which gave onto the small front veranda. The first thing that came to my eye there was a snug little white bundle. This proved to be Lucy Belle's underwear. The robber had taken her things first and was at mine when he was stopped. He did get off with a few pieces of mine, but he had been too frightened to remember the other bundle.

The children looked to see if their things were safe, but Amah had put away everything there, so the robber found nothing to tempt him in their room. What most provoked me was that I had a loaded revolver in the chiffonier and should have fired it in the air as soon as the man left. He would at least have known that we had arms. We always had a revolver in such mountain places, and let it be known that we had one, for it acted as a preventative. I do not recall that we used it more than once or twice, and always to fire into the air. However, Bob was a man who felt one should have firearms. He kept a revolver and a shotgun for years in China, never with a thought of using them against Chinese but only to fill a certain need in his mind. He simply considered that people in faraway places should have such things.

That summer we finally received the trunks and boxes that we had had to leave in Chungking. From the summer of 1916 when we had packed the trunks in East Cleveland, Ohio, to the summer of 1918 when they arrived in Chengtu was a long wait. But one box was not received, and to this day has never been found. We could have spared groceries better than that particular case, for it held all the books we had purchased in America plus a number of old ones—including my Bible. We had bought extra books for the children and did not use them in Ohio, telling the youngsters we would have them all fresh to read to them in China. It was a vain hope. All had our names, and often addresses, written in them, so one would think we might have heard of them.

Bob unpacked the trunks in Chengtu before I returned from the mountain. The first one was our newest and best trunk, which held most of the new woolens we had bought in America. The blankets, sheets, and other items were in good condition. Another trunk had been riddled by moths and silver fish. Crib blankets were a sight. Bob lost four good American suits which he had counted on for the coming years. The third trunk, packed with woolens, had evidently been dropped in the river. Everything was ruined, but a few things could be used in spite of their drenching. My winter coat

was faded on one side, but it still kept me warm and I used it for some years in that condition.

Perhaps the greatest thrill of these long-delayed boxes was the arrival of a real, honest-to-goodness American cook stove. On October 2, after cooking on a native makeshift stove for twenty-two months, we had a meal prepared on this new range. I took great pride in my kitchen in those days, and no one could find much satisfaction in a dirty, smoky, coke-burning stove of the Szechwan type with its hard-to-manage oven and "fire-eye" holes that were so hard on our foreign saucepans.

That fall we received some Tibetan rugs from the Ogdens. They had been very helpful to us at Tatsienlu in the summer of 1908 but had now moved on and fulfilled their dream of establishing their mission in Batang. The rugs were made by boys and women in their mission, and they needed to sell them to support the work. I had been asked to act as Chengtu agent and agreed out of friendship for these faraway people, thirty days' travel away. The rugs were attractive, and Chengtu people bought quite a number.

Bob and I were sitting quietly by the fire one evening when a note came in from Newton Hayes, Bob's associate in the Y. We supposed it was some local matter and opened it without any special thrill. When we read the words "THE WAR IS OVER" we were greatly excited and could talk of little else for days. The word reached us in Chengtu on November 13.

30
Bob Reaches Forty
(1919)

Since early that year [1918] we had been expecting George and Ruth Helde. We were naturally pleased to have a new couple for the Y, and this addition held a particular joy. On the Pacific crossing to China in 1916, Ruth Tolman had been a favorite among those we met on shipboard. She had married George Helde at language school in Peking. We had expected them in the spring, but the Legation [believing that travel was unsafe] would not permit them to start for the West. They finally reached Chungking early in November and we welcomed them to Chengtu on the twenty-third. Bob rode out about forty li to meet them, and we were all excited and pleased.

The very next week was Thanksgiving, and I was full of plans and work. The American community was to have dinner with us. Our house was not adequate, so a large unused room at the Student Y next door was borrowed. We had it thoroughly cleaned and whitewashed, and a carpenter put together a table to fit the crowd. I had only my own linen, dishes, and silver, so things took some arranging. It helped to have the children eat first, and my cheap silver plate that we had for the mountains all came in handy. We made the room lovely with tall feathery bamboos standing around the walls, and the table was cheerful with the bright colors of autumn fruits and chrysanthemums.

At 11:00 o'clock there was a Thanksgiving service at the American Methodist compound. A subscription was taken for Red Cross work with the [American] expedition in Siberia. They had sent us a plea for help, as there was great need among prisoners of war and refugees in the cold weather there. We were on this day able to raise some $750 to send the Red Cross for this work.^[1] As soon as the service was over, the Americans began to wander

[1] When Grace did not specify, it can be assumed that she was referring to Chinese dollars. The Chinese dollar was usually about half the value of the American dollar, but at this time (1918) it was worth a little more than the American dollar.

along to our house [about fifteen minutes by foot or sedan chair] and very soon drifted over to our improvised dining room.

Of course, other American women helped in preparing food, but all the geese had to be kept hot in our range. By a good deal of careful scheming by our cook, we had hot and attractive food. There were no turkeys in Szechwan, so goose was best for the main dish. The mince and pumpkin pies were excellent, the hot rolls superb, and the coffee extra good. One of the Methodist ladies was responsible for the latter. We had hired a large charcoal stove such as the Chinese use for providing tea at large parties. This was in a small side room and provided as much boiling water and coffee as any emergency could demand. Charcoal braziers warmed the dining room. Thirty-one adults and sixteen children gathered for this celebration.^[2]

Early in December the YMCA ended its membership campaign with a total of 1,008 paid members. Bob was much pleased. There were several celebrations that month in honor of the end of the war. We especially enjoyed the large reception by the military governor to celebrate the Allies' victory.^[3] The courts of the yamen were hung with many red banners; some one told us that over five hundred were used. The Heldes were our guests during this period and we enjoyed taking them about with us.

The end of the year was saddened by the fact that one of the Chinese Y secretaries had to be dismissed for taking a secondary wife, of his own choice, when he already had a wife, chosen by his parents and not to his liking. These situations are very difficult; here the circumstances were particularly hard. If he had sought a divorce openly, the change might have been achieved in the spirit of compromise that the Chinese know so well; but he had used deception, and the whole thing was not pleasant. Bob had much sympathy for him, but under the circumstances he could not remain working in a Christian organization.

In these years mail and telegrams were constantly being delayed by fighting and rumors of fighting.^[4] On January 5, 1919, we received fifteen telegrams from the Coast. Most of them were about war relief funds. One told us that the Heldes were on their way. As they had arrived six weeks earlier, they could laugh with us. When the news came of the death of Theodore Roosevelt,

[2] In my memory this American occasion has had special significance because we were to be forty-eight—one for each state. Could it be that forty-eight were expected and one was unable to get there?

[3] The victory celebration, so far as China was concerned, was to prove an empty one. In the postwar settlement at Versailles, China's allies (including the United States) allowed Japan to take over the German colony of Tsingtao and former German rights in Shantung. Chinese resentment, culminating in the May Fourth Movement (of 1919), was a milestone in turning China away from the Western democracies and toward the Russian model.

[4] It was not only fighting that might delay telegrams. In those prewireless days, there was only a copper wire strung across hundreds of bandit-infested miles. Copper was valuable: it could be made into money or brass cartridges.

the Chinese asked us many questions. The seemed to admire "Luo Si-fu" and were always interested in anecdotes about him.

That month I made myself a dress entirely by hand. It was crepe satin of a lovely soft shade of grey. I had a pattern from America. The dress itself was severely plain, almost like a square-necked slip. To wear with it, I had a black velvet tunic, an old-rose fichu affair of georgette, and a lavendar over-dress in the new, long, straight panel effect with silk fringe of the same color at the lower edge. I had sent to a California dressmaker for the tunic and fichu, and Mabelle Yard bought the over-dress for me in America. It really gave me three costumes. High-lacing grey shoes were a perfect match with the crepe satin, and a black velvet hat completed the ensemble.

That winter Bob was talking of a trip for the next summer up into the timber country of our old friend, Yao Bao-san. In 1918 Yao lived some six months on our compound in Chengtu, and many were the tales he told us. Bob wanted to take me and the two older boys to see the wild border country that Yao described in such an interesting way.^[5] He had me order khaki riding clothes from Shanghai. To go with the breeches I had short slit skirts, buttoning straight up mid-front and mid-back. There were also khaki Norfolk jackets with pockets, and I made soft pongee shirts. After all these preparations; the trip into the high timber did not materialize that year, but the clothes were fine for White Deer Summit. Khaki was hard to get that year, and a supply that we ordered for the lads' clothes was lost en route on the river. I finally found some locally, but at the price I had to pay it would have been much cheaper to dress them in pure silk of heavy quality.

In January Bob took the two older boys and the Heldes up to White Deer Summit for a few days, and they all enjoyed the snow.^[6] I spent the time while they were away trying to get rid of some of my pain. I rested, dozed, and took massage from a friend kind enough to devote time to me, but it seemed that nothing was of much help. Bob came back with an attack of malaria, which usually showed up each winter but usually did not keep him down for more than a day or two. This spell in 1919 was longer than most, and he was in bed a week, making light of his afflictions. After he had an ulcerated tooth pulled, he was soon fit again and at his work as usual.

I was having painful dentistry done that spring and once took small Dick with me to the dentist. When he knew I was suffering, he came to the chair,

[5] The country that interested Bob was west of the Min River, north of Kwanhsien. It was somewhat similar to the high country around Tatsienlu, lying along the eastern edge of the Tibetan plateau and populated mainly by Tibetans, with Chinese living as traders in the towns. Along the lower valley slopes there were conifer forests. Yao was in the business of cutting logs and floating them downstream, into the Min, and finally to Chengtu.

[6] Snow was a novelty because it was never seen in Chengtu. But Bob had more on his mind than just seeing snow. He passionately loved ice cream and had lived for thirteen years in Chengtu without any. Our mission was to check the loading of an improvised ice house: it was an undertaking that seemed to mystify all the Chinese involved. (To be continued.)

took my hand and kissed it fervently. It amused the dentist, who said he had never seen such a thing from a five-year-old lad.^[7] I was busy knitting socks for our men in Siberia. And greatly to my enjoyment, I wrote a paper on "The Sonnet," which I presented before our Fortnightly Club in April.^[8] On spare evenings I plugged away at the old mission statistics, which always filled any gap in the routine of daily existence. With teaching and household duties, my time was more than full.

That spring Newton Hayes had a bad time with his eyes. He was living with us, and we both tried to help him as much as possible. He could not use his eyes and had to sit with a dark shade over them, his back to the window. He was able to help me, though, by hearing Jack do his school reading. The text was The Courtship of Miles Standish ; Jack read it off in good style. We finally had to arrange for Newton to go down river. Among other things, this meant green and red curtains for the inside of his boat to protect against the glare.

There was much illness in the city that spring. One pathetic case was the cook who had worked for fifteen years for the Methodist ladies not far from us. He was working for them as usual up to five days before his death. When taken ill, he stayed in bed at his home just around the corner from the mission. Lulu Golisch had been in to see him several times. He sent word on Tuesday that he was getting better. Then on Wednesday afternoon he got out of his bed and went into the back room of his little place. He arranged two benches (bandeng ) at a suitable distance from each other. On these he laid two narrow doors (Chinese doors turn on wooden pins and can easily be lifted out of their sockets). He then lay on the doors, composed himself, and asked his sister, who was taking care of his sick wife and himself, to send for Miss Golisch. A neighbor went for Lulu but came back to report that she had gone to the university. He then asked that someone stand on the street to call her in when she passed by on her way home. He told his sister to ask Lulu to look after his two little girls, left some word for his wife about his property, and just lay there and died. When Lulu came home about five that afternoon, they called her in and there he was, all "laid out" by his own hand. He had

[7] So far as dentistry was concerned, Chengtu was one of the most fortunate cities in inland China. The medical school at the West China Union University had a dental department whose teaching staff included several highly qualified dentists from the Canadian Methodist Mission.

[8] The Fortnightly Club can probably best be described as a literary society with broad interests. The evening meetings were held in members' homes and usually involved a potluck supper. Grace's topic was no idle interest: she wrote a good deal of poetry, and the sonnet form was a particular favorite (she liked the challenge that the formula imposed). Other organizations of the foreign community in Chengtu included the University Book Club and the West China Border Research Society, which by this time was publishing a regular journal. Another community effort was a monthly magazine, the West China Missionary News , to which Grace was an irregular contributor.

28
The family in Chengtu about the time of Bob's fortieth birthday, 1919.

been dead about twenty minutes. The Chinese know a lot about death, and they expect it—even prepare for it—in a way quite unknown to most of us.

Those years Bob carried on a large program of YMCA boys' clubs in the government schools. There were Bible study groups, athletics, English conversation classes, and oratory contests. All this activity took a vast amount of time and energy. The speeches given by the lads in the oratory contests were mostly on old Chinese heroes, and various teachers, both Chinese and foreign, were invited to be the judges. Bob thus became known to many boys of the city. Not long ago on the Coast I met a man who spoke of knowing Bob in one of these clubs. He said Bob was the first foreigner he had ever met, and that he wanted to meet others after meeting him. We never went on the street without seeing some young chaps smiling at us and greeting Bob in a friendly way.

At the end of May Bob was busy with an athletic meet that he had in charge.^[9] I asked him what we should do about his fortieth birthday, which the Chinese consider a notable milestone on life's way and which was coming up on the fourth of June. He said he would invite some men guests for tea, so I had better have a good supply of cake and cookies. He had tried to keep the date from the Chinese, fearing they might get up some celebration. I was suspicious, though, when an embroidery man, who called on other business, told me his shop was preparing an embroidered scroll for Hsieh An-tao's birthday. The cook did his best and made heaps of cookies and such things on June 3, leaving cakes to be made on the birthday morning.

The chance never came. The next morning, before we were even up, there was a great clatteration in the tingzi in front of the house. The gateman called up that all the Y staff had arrived. It was indeed true! There they were, singing gay matins to awaken Bob. And of course all stomachs were empty. A good hot dish of mian (noodles) would have been better than the tea that we had to offer them, and the plates of small cakes and cookies simply vanished before their hungry advances. When their gifts had been received and they had gone, I was appalled. With such a beginning, no one could tell what the day would bring forth. I urged Bob to leave the compound, for if we could tell people he was not at home, surely they would not expect to come in and eat mightily.

When Bob did leave, I went over the situation with the cook. All meals were given the go-by for the day. The great need was for more sweets, cookies, and cakes for the afternoon. The cook was to keep to the kitchen and forgo all other errands; the coolie could run for him; and the Boy and Amah were to fetch and carry. In the meantime I sent a note to my faithful friend Lulu Golisch, asking her if she would play good neighbor and have her cook make some cookies for us. By that afternoon we had a truly formidable array of baked foods in sight. And thus, with the help of friends, we managed to come through the day. Bob received lovely gifts, among them several satin scrolls, colorful and emblazoned with good wishes. Chinese characters are so artistic that they make scrolls of great beauty without any other decoration.

After all the guests had gone, the Boy showed me the few vestiges of cakes and cookies that remained. I could have managed better a second time. But one has only one fortieth birthday!^[10]

[9] The YMCA is usually credited with introducing modern sport competition into China. This included especially Ping-Pong, but also basketball and track and field athletics.

[10] My understanding was that it was expected that a male member of a good Confucian family would have become a grandfather by the age of forty. This would ensure that the tablets of his ancestors (and himself) would properly be cared for. We three boys (aged nine to five) tried to keep out of the way but also found the day notable. Each group of well-wishers, all day long, seemed to arrive with firecrackers. Fantastic!

31
Climbing Higher
(1919)

The Round Top bungalow at White Deer Summit was more to our liking than ever that summer, and it took us only a couple of days to be all settled. It meant everything for the lads, who could roam and climb to their hearts' content. Cultivated fields with their unsavory fertilization were far below us: our mountaintop was all wild country.^[1] Bob could join us only for long weekends now and then, but his visits were times of the greatest happiness. During cool, damp weather, we would have a coke fire in the living room fireplace. Many evenings we popped corn and sat with no light save that from the luminous coke. We especially loved this black fuel with its glowing, fiery incandescence topped by vivid blue, dancing flames.

Our youngsters came near missing their Fourth of July celebration. Fireworks that had been expected from Chengtu did not arrive. The few simple firecrackers that the cook was able to find at a village market had to suffice. Then about 6:00 P.M. on the Fourth, as I was returning from a stroll, the three boys met me with the exciting news that Lao Liu, Bob's horse coolie, had arrived. He had been delayed by a bad storm on the two-day trip from Chengtu. I hastily sent out a note inviting all the children on the hill (save a few with whooping cough). As soon as supper was finished, we hung "Old Glory" in front of the bungalow, and everything was set for a gay evening. There were a lot of "Shadows of the Moon in a Dish" (whirligigs that rise from a plate, giving off showers of sparks), "Spirit Swords" (fire rockets), "Electric Lights" (which produce a brilliant blue light), and a few other

[1] The stockaded mountaintop was now becoming less wild. More bungalows were being constructed. A residents' association built community facilities such as tennis courts. We all joined work teams to improve paths, build seats at view points, and so forth. Some of us boys made a little income (figured in coppers) as ball boys at the tennis courts. And I delivered the mail (just for the glory of it).

things such as "Fire Wells." One of these had fifteen fireballs that rose in a series of ever-ascending arcs.

I devoted a good part of the next day to trying out my new fireless cooker. We had brought it from America in 1916, but it did not reach us in time to be used on the mountain until this summer of 1919. I roasted a chicken and made two cakes. In the afternoon I had a few ladies in for tea, and when they arrived I had two tins of baking-powder biscuits all ready to lift from the cooker. Everyone was interested. The hot coke fire in our native kitchen stove was ideal for heating the radiators. Our servants regarded the whole apparatus as some kind of magic. When the steam first puffed from the relief valve on the cooker's lid, Amah was terribly frightened and rushed off to a far corner. "What," she exclaimed, "will this foreign thing do next!"^[2]

Chinese guests on the mountain were just as hard to plan for as in the city. One Friday, the head of the mintuan (constabulary) in the village at the foot of the mountain sent word that he would call the next day. We expected a short visit for tea, so I had the cook make a very nice cake. On Saturday morning I went out on an errand. When I returned, the guest had arrived— bringing nine retainers. Although the morning had started out bright and beautiful, by twelve noon it was raining pitchforks. A meal, obviously, had to be offered. The servants knuckled right in without a word of direction from me and got up a very good Chinese meal. They had to use their own rice, as we had little on hand. This is where Chinese servants are strong: they regard such emergencies as involving the whole family and do not want to fail in courtesy. With two Chinese guests already staying in the house, there were thirteen men to be fed.

At the end of July the Braces returned from furlough bringing with them a young American, Earl Dome, for the Chengtu Y. Bob brought Earl up to White Deer Summit in August, and he was with us for the rest of the summer, though he sometimes had to be placed with other friends to make room for other guests. During the annual meeting of the White Deer Summit Association we had a regular house party, including our old friends Harry and Lona Openshaw.

Jack celebrated his birthday [in early August] with a big cake, candles, and fifteen hundred firecrackers. I was reading Boswell's Life of Johnson , and also George Adam Smith's Life of Henry Drummond , along with various light literature.

In August Bob and I took the two older boys and Earl Dome on a trip into the high mountains. It was going to be wild country, with few temples and those mostly broken down, with few priests or available supplies. Before we left, the cook baked a lot of bread and biscuits. We also had some tins of soda

[2] After the novelty wore off, I don't recall that the fireless cooker was used very often. Bob was one of the world's great enthusiasts for gadgets. It is a trait that he passed on to his sons.

biscuits. And in some places we could buy cornmeal, which we made into mush and fried for breakfast.

I had a very light mountain sedan chair carried by two men. Three men carried the food supplies, and three more transported our cots and bed rolls. Then there was the Boy, who could cook well enough for our simple needs and was a better traveler than the cook. And finally, even though the horse was left at home, we had the horse coolie, Lao Liu, because he was such a competent and useful man for such adventures. Having these ten Chinese, who had to eat, put a limit on how far we could get into the wilds. Jack walked all the way, along with Bob and Earl, but Bobbie sometimes had a ride on a carrier's back-frame.

We skirted Tientai (which we had climbed the year before) and struck out for Jiufeng (Nine Peaks). We always found a temple to camp in, but they were in all stages of dilapidation. The one where we stayed the first night had merely two caretakers, no priests, and all the idols had been placed in the only large room with a good roof. The next one was a bit better, with three or four priests. By the third night we were in a very good temple, with a lot of priests, at the top of Nine Peaks.

The elevation here was 10,500 feet. We had a suite of three rooms, but life seemed to gravitate to the public fire in the front room of the temple. This was a roofed court with an earth floor and an ever-burning fire of pine logs. Hanging by long soot-laden chains from the rafters was always a huge kettle of boiling water, and perhaps one of steaming brick tea as well. Circling the fire were low benches made from the curved boles of trees. A trunk cut into half made two planks: adding wooden pegs made two very solid benches. Here we sat among the other travelers and pilgrims, priests at leisure, and our own carriers—all on the same level there on the high mountain. I thought of our ancient Anglo-Saxon forebears in their old halls.

The next day Bobbie and I took things easy while the two men and Jack climbed the highest of the Nine Peaks. It was 11,725 feet, and they had magnificent views.

Our next mountain was Yunhua (Cloud Flowers). The approach was wonderful, following a mountain torrent up a steep valley with wild scenery and lovely cascades and waterfalls. One suspension bridge was made of iron rods, about forty inches long, with rings at each end and linked together to form chains. It was a good place to stop for a picnic lunch. We had baked beans, quickly heated on our alcohol stove, while our men regaled themselves on corn pones which they had carried in their sashes.

Our temple that night was dedicated to the Goddess of Mercy but was a wild and desolate ruin. There was no priest, only a half-blind caretaker who could barely see us. Everything was filthy, the roof half gone, only one room in decent repair—and that was open at one end. There was a corn field

nearby, and we soon had a campfire boiling fresh ears of field corn still in the milky stage. We made a supper of Campbell's soup, crackers, and corn, sharing the latter with the men.

The next day we arrived at the top (10,300 feet) in time for the men to climb the highest peak, which they were disappointed to find was only 11,300 feet. This temple was in much better condition. We had a fairly good room, and could cook at a central open fire as at Nine Peaks. But what a worried time as I had there!

When we arrived, I found that small Bob could not speak aloud. Croup, I well knew, was in the offing. I never traveled in those days without camphorated oil, squills, and ipecac. I hastened to the road box; to my horror none of the three indispensables was there. I remembered setting them out for packing, but that was little help on our high and remote mountain. But I was not without resource. As soon as we ate, I put the child to bed, rolling him tightly in a woolen blanket. I gave him all the very hot cocoa that he could swallow. Meanwhile the Boy made a batch of porridge, using our home-prepared cracked wheat. With this at the sticky-mush stage, I soon had the child packed in poultices around the neck and chest. They were hot, hotter, and he thought hottest, but I kept at work, scraping off one lot of porridge and replacing the poultices with fresh, hotter porridge until the child was red as any lobster.

I really was in a frenzy to have him so ill with croup at that elevation and when we were having a pleasure jaunt. I even began to think it would be better to be a woman who wanted to sit at home in a giddy summer dress than one to scour off to mountain tops with the men folks. What would l have done had anything gone wrong? One does not need to answer, for it all ended well. Finally, Bobbie began to speak easily. I changed the poultices once again, gave him a potash tablet to suck, and he fell asleep, worn out with my attentions.

At that time we were the only Americans who had made the Cloud Flowers ascent. And, according to the records, I was the first Western woman to climb Cloud Flowers and the eighth foreigner to go up Nine Peaks.^[3] Now many have gone up those heights. In the summer season pilgrims come to worship at the shrines, and a few priests will go up from lower temples with food, bedding, and such things to care for the visitors. We were a little too late on that 1919 trip for the pilgrim season.

There was much beauty on these mountain tops. Flowers spread a veritable carpet on fiat places and were in every nook and cranny. The eidelweiss

[3] In view of the important contribution of the stout-legged sedan-chair bearers, perhaps "ascent" would be a better word than "climb" to describe Grace's achievement. The accuracy of these records probably depends on whether those notebooks at the summit temples, in which we and other travelers inscribed their names, had been left there by the first Westerners to arrive.

was particularly fine that year. We had magnificent views of higher mountains—some perhaps as high as 20,000 feet. Often we were overtaken by rain storms and sometimes took refuge in caves or shacks along the way. Once I found a dry place in a cave used by potash burners. They were black with dirt and soot, and seemed to live animal-like lives at their grimy toil. A few torn and dirty pieces of bedding, with rude bowls, chopsticks, and a kettle, appeared to be their only equipment.

Down near the foot of the mountain we failed to make the day's planned stage. A desolate building was our only choice for the night. It turned out to be an old temple, most of which was rented to some rough-looking blacksmiths who were working, somewhat mysteriously, at night. We wondered if they supplied weapons to bandits, and when we discovered they were making gun barrels we were sure of it.^[4] The only room available for us was also a storeroom for occupied coffins awaiting burial. We four slept in our cots at one end, and Earl laid himself out on a door at the other. His cot and another load had failed to arrive with us, so we loaned him bedding; and for a bed, the door was the best to be had.

The next day we went on to White Water River and its copper smelter. And then up our hill and back to Round Top's hospitality. After these trips the bungalow looked luxurious and oh, so clean . To sit at table with dainty linen and one's usual garments felt like entering into a new existence.

We never forgot that trip. It meant croup to me, and the feeling that I had won out. One remembered story, though, concerned our Boy—faithful, conscientious Lao Wu. At the Nine Peaks temple, the only water was in huge storage tubs under the eaves. To get water, one had to stand on a bench, reach over the top, and use a dipper. Sent to get water soon after our arrival, Lao Wu found himself confronted with a massive tub higher than he was. But near the bottom was a wooden bung. A wrench removed the bung, but Lao Wu found himself sent sprawling by a cold stream that hit him in the solar plexus. The priest-custodian of the temple kitchen delivered a thorough and systematic cursing of the ancestors and entire family of the unfortunate principal. Lao Wu looked unhappy thereafter if Nine Peaks were even mentioned.

[4] My recollection of the weapons making is a little less sinister. There was one busy forge, with a master gunsmith and a couple of apprentices. The master was proud of his skill and happy to have an audience (we were almost certainly the first Westerners he had ever seen). There was some banter, initiated by Bob, about the intended use of the gun they were making. Strictly for hunting, insisted the gunsmith. I was skeptical about its accuracy. "Don't be too sure," said Bob, "Daniel Boone used to shoot squirrels with a gun just about like that."

32
Last Rites for Confucius
(1920)

We were back in the city by late September and soon as busy as ever. Some Chinese friends wanted me to teach them Latin. With teaching the boys at home and teaching at the Y, I reluctantly had to decline.^[1] Supplies that we had ordered in April of 1918 reached us on the last day of September in 1919. Our latest arrival, Earl Dome, had to be housed. By cutting a few doors between side rooms in the compound next door (originally the Methodist school and now partly a residence for the Heldes), Bob arranged a very convenient suite. Earl continued to board with us.

The usual Autumn Sacrifice at the Temple of Confucius was to be in early October.^[2] The temple was very close to us: it provided the name for our street (Temple of Learning Street). Women were not usually allowed to attend the ceremony, so we had never been. This year Bob obtained permission for us to go (they asked me to dress in dark colors to be less conspicuous).

Ancient custom decreed that these rites take place when the air is most calm and serene; they were usually timed to end just before dawn. We got up about 1:00 A.M. , had coffee and a good lunch, and set off in a drizzle. By 2:30 we were at the temple. Then, in good Chinese fashion, there was a wait. The ceremony did not begin until the rain stopped at 4:15, but there were interesting things to watch. A Chinese friend with us was secretary to an official and was able to secure good places for us; also he could explain everything.

The great stone terraces in front of the temple were all decorated for the

[1] Grace had taught high school Latin for two years between graduation and her marriage.

[2] This must have been very nearly the last year that these state ceremonies to honor Confucius were performed. The iconoclastic spirit of the May Fourth Movement was sweeping the country, but the rise of the Kuomintang would soon substitute Sun Yat-sen as a new cult figure to bow to. The Temple of Confucius was one of the few buildings in Chengtu entitled to have imperial-yellow glazed-tile roofs. Within the grounds were some magnificent gingko trees (which were a favorite roost for a great flock of noisy crows).

affair. One of the spectacular aspects was the lighting. Besides many small lanterns, there were two tremendous "heavenly candles" about twenty-five feet high that flanked the middle flight of stone steps up to the main temple hall and were made of bundles of bamboos tied tightly together. The bamboos were very dry and had been well soaked in pitch and oil; they burned with a mighty blaze, giving plenty of light for the scene. The "candles" were as large as good-sized tree trunks; and the smoke, as we found when the breeze veered and blew it our way, was extremely acrid.

The civil governor was the master of ceremonies and must have marched up and down the steps more than a score of times. His permanent station was on the lower level in the center of the large red carpet for the officials. He advanced to the upper level and into the temple building at least seven times during different parts of the ceremony. There was chanting. A strange ancient-style orchestra played most of the time. And every part of the action was announced. This is an important part of every Chinese ceremony or ritual; even at a wedding, for instance, every detail must be announced and then followed out in what seems to us to be a very formal manner.

Most of the ceremony was conducted outside the temple, though the civil governor entered and bowed to the chief tablet (that of Confucius), and the other principal officials did the same to the tablets of the twelve disciples of Confucius. It was odd to see the officials in frock coats and top hats going through the bows and observances of olden times: fortunately, they did not have to perform the prostrations that used to be required. We wished they had been wearing the gorgeously embroidered and colorful robes of imperial days.

After all the bowing and orating were over and the celebrants began to leave, the majordomo gave us permission to go up into the main temple. Here we saw the sacrifices, the ritual utensils, and the old stone musical instruments which hung from a wooden rack. The sacrifices, which had been prepared and put in place before the ceremonies, were on wooden tables and were so arranged that they did not show the marks of having been killed and drawn. The tablet to Confucius was in the center; before it, there was a sheep on the left, a pig on the right, and a huge ox in the center. The sheep and pig carcasses were without hair, but the ox had only the head scraped clean. At the sides were tables for each group of three disciples; on each table was a pig and a sheep.

Shortly before the event, Bob had had the characters "Hua Yang" placed on his calling cards. At that time Chengtu city was divided into two wards, one of them being Hua Yang. After living ten years in a ward, a man was entitled by custom to show his township on his card. It interested Chinese very much that Bob, a foreigner, had wanted to do this. Several people mentioned this to us at these Confucian ceremonies.

Just about this time there was a flurry of activity at the Y to coincide with the civic celebration of the National Day. We all went to a dinner at the city Y on October 8. On that day, 17,500 people visited the building. There were various exhibit rooms, and throngs went in to see charts showing the evils of poor ventilation, bad sanitation, opium smoking, and such things. The visitors were all men and boys. In the evening, crowd after crowd came in to see stereopticon pictures portraying modern developments such as electricity, telephones, good roads, and so forth. There were lectures every fifteen minutes on popular subjects. This went on for days, and each night the Y staff were exhausted.

The Brace family bad a lot of illness that fall, but it was a fifty-minute ride by sedan chair to their home.^[3] Ruth Helde and I went over as often as possible and tried to help in every way we could. Chair transportation took up so much precious time that one wonders how we carried on as well as we did. All we could do was simply to put ourselves back into the Middle Ages and then settle down to be happy under medieval conditions.

The Methodists had a visit by a party of notables in connection with their mission centenary. Bob was asked to take them to call on some of the officials. It did not matter to Bob that he was already more than normally busy; he always loved to help anyone he could, and he had often helped men from the [West China Union] University in making contacts with officials. We were invited to a tiffin with the American guests under the wonderful old trees in the Methodist compound.^[4] Stanley High was one of the men in the party. I was much impressed by a Mrs. Wood, who had short hair and seemed to be fond of it.

We felt the Methodists were lucky to have these visitors, who seemed able to bring them up to date on so many subjects. I wished I could have sat down to talk for hours with people who could read all they wanted from large public libraries and who seemed to be well informed on a thousand and one things. Mrs. Wood's husband came to our gate to meet Bob before some trip they were to take. I had a number of things in mind to ask him. But he would not come in, and stood out there waiting while I was wishing with all my heart that we could make him come in for awhile.

This being out of touch was one of the hard things about being so far in the west of China. The journey to us had to be figured, not in miles, but in weeks of travel. The National Committee of the YMCA in Shanghai was sup-

[3] It may be recalled that Bert Brace was a member of the Canadian Methodist Mission who had been loaned to the YMCA. His mission connection meant that he was provided a house in the mission's compound, which was in the far corner of the city from where all the other Y people were living. It was in the Canadian Methodist compounds that the Anglo-Saxon community had been concentrated in 1911 (chapter 18).

[4] All the American children who grew up in Chengtu will remember the swing and various ropes that hung from one of those "wonderful old trees."

posed to keep in contact with the local Associations. But when trips for their secretaries were planned, Chengtu was left out. It was too much time to give to one Association when so many others, nearer the coast and easier to reach, also had to be visited. It worked both ways: if Chengtu was out of touch with the National Committee, the National Committee also lacked knowledge of our situation and working conditions.

Now, after the strenuous fall, it was decided that Bob should go to a Y conference in Shanghai. He begrudged the time away from his work: in the end, by making all possible haste, he was able to cut his absence to ten days less than three months. He left in a great whirl, working at the Y to the last and signing a thousand membership cards. (The Y had become so popular that cards were being counterfeited: Bob's actual signature was required as proof that the card was bona fide.) He took an empty trunk for all the purchases that friends had beseeched. Travelers to the Coast always expected to be so burdened.

He took a small boat to Chungking. The servants had prepared an excellent lay-out of food, and he had paid the boat captain to put on extra rice so they could make fewer stops. He also had extra rowers so the men could work in shifts and thus get at least fourteen hours' travel a day. He took his horse coolie as his only servant (Lao Liu still talks of this marvelous trip and the sights of Shanghai!). And there was a friend. This was an ex-official out of a job and desirous of seeing a bit of the world. To keep his departure quiet, he had stayed at our house the last two days before the departure. He was a YMCA member and a Mohammedan. This had to be considered in preparing the food for Bob. For instance, we used no lard, had the fowls roasted rather than fried, and provided chicken fat for frying.

There were the usual affairs to keep us busy that winter, but everything seemed pointless without Bob. Letters from him were sporadic, and he complained in them of receiving none from me, though I wrote daily. I had taken on some extra teaching. In addition, I was taking a couple of courses with the Extension Division of the University of California, our alma mater at Berkeley. I had wanted a course on the history of the Pacific Basin: they offered none, so I settled on the history of early California. I worked on this for some time but finally faced a serious problem. The course, and especially the assigned thesis topic, required access to a library. I read the texts and then had to give up. In my writing course I was soon vexed with the criticisms. My subject matter was chiefly drawn from China and the affairs of our daily lives. I soon found a most peculiar slant in the mind of whoever corrected my themes. My attitudes, plain descriptions, and characterizations were all questioned; I began to think my critic must be some unfledged youth who knew nothing of alien lands or mentalities beyond his own. So both courses came to naught.

Meantime, Christmas was approaching. Bob was pushing as fast as pos-

sible. He had a swift trip to Hankow on a large British steamer. Then— because the captain remembered him from 1912—he was able to crowd onto a tiny ship for the trip to Ichang. But at Ichang the river was so low that no more steamers were attempting the upper river. Bob had no choice but to take a small houseboat to Chungking. That ended hopes for a Christmas reunion.

On New Year's Day, we went on a spur-of-the-moment picnic to the big temple outside the North Gate. Earl Dome rode Bob's horse, but when we were outside the city he walked and Jack asked to ride. Things went well until, suddenly, something frightened the horse. All at once I saw the pony running wildly, with Jack swaying in the saddle. Just then the horse passed a man carrying earthen crockets in two baskets with a carrying pole. Jack's leg caught the rope of one of the baskets, causing it to bang against the horse's leg. The pony reared straight up, and Jack went off in a pathetic heap in the dust. It was a dirt road, but with raised stone blocks like stepping-stones along one side. My heart sank, and all the child's life flashed through my mind in a second. Then we heard him crying out and knew he was not killed.^[5] Earl gave him first aid, and the doctor saw him when we got back to the city in the evening. One ear was partially torn loose at the top (by hitting the corner of a paving stone), but it healed well.

On the same day, coincidentally, we lost our beautiful pointer dog, Scout.^[6] He must have gotten out the front gate when the gateman's attention was elsewhere. Neighbors let us know that soldiers had him. The servants tried to get him back but were helpless. After a few days Earl went to the parade ground near us. He was told that the commandant was out, so asked for the next in command. After a long delay, an officer came to hear his questions. This man assured Earl that no foreign dog had been seen. As he escorted Earl's departure, Earl saw a coolie at the far side of the field leading Scout. He slapped his leg and let out a cry for the dog. Overjoyed, Scout gave tongue, tore the leash from the coolie's grasp, and bounded across the field to throw himself in ecstasy on Earl. There was great rejoicing that evening over the safe return of "Sigao," as the servants pronounced his name.

When Bob reached Chungking on his return trip from Shanghai, he had found most of the Yard family there. They were on their return from furlough and had been delayed there by illness. Then Jim had been called to Peking on some mission business. Rather than wait any longer for Jim's return, they decided to make the overland trip to Chengtu with Bob. They reached

[5] The family has always insisted that my crying out was in Chinese: "Ai-ya, ai-ya."

[6] Scout was a beautiful spotted pointer who had been given to us as a puppy by Mr. Cavalieri, the Italian gentleman who was the head of the (Chinese) postal service for western Szechwan. Very few "foreign" dogs had been seen in Chengtu, and they attracted great interest. It was, appropriately, Mr. Cavalieri who introduced me to philately.

Chengtu on January 16 [1920]. We met them outside the East Gate, and it was a real red-letter day. Bob had brought us all gifts, and we asked hundreds of questions—about things and people at the Coast, shops, happenings, travels.

Mabelle's servants were awaiting her return, and she was soon settled in her house. When her children were in bed in the evenings, she often carne down to have dinner with us. Then Jim finally arrived. The big excitement about his return was that he brought a motorcycle. The machine, the like of which had never been seen in Chengtu, caused terror and the wildest excitement. Jim had a good many adventures with his iron steed, but it was never really practical in the old narrow streets crowded with men and animals.^[7]

In February Bob took the lads again for a short trip to White Deer Summit.^[8] That year Bob was successful in having ice stored there, and several times when the weather got warm in the spring we had some brought to the city by a carrier. As soon as a load arrived, we would make ice cream and invite friends; if there was enough ice, we made more and invited more friends. With one large batch of one hundred pounds of ice, we made twenty-two quarts of ice cream.^[9] No easily obtained delicacy could ever have been so enjoyed and appreciated. Luckily, we had our own cows, so we had cream.

In March the Cavalieris of the Post Office gave a never-to-be-forgotten costume party. I made myself a square-necked basque and panniers of rose-flowered cretonne bought on the street. My hair was dressed high and powdered, with a long curl hanging down on one shoulder. I also had a black velvet band around my neck and a couple of black patches on my face. With the help of Chinese friends, Bob appeared in the complete outfit of an "indi-

[7] Jim Yard's motorcycle had to be carried, slung between poles, on the backs of men for the ten-day trip from Chungking to Chengtu. It was the first motor vehicle of any kind in Chengtu—and probably in all of Szechwan. Chengtu streets were not only narrow and crowded; they were paved, if at all, with rough sandstone slabs. Finally, Jim was no motor mechanic, and no other was available when, inevitably, it needed fixing. The motorcycle was exciting for the short while that it ran; then it became an exhibit in the YMCA's scientific museum.

[8] This trip to White Deer Summit was a sort of milestone for me. I walked all the way on the trip home. This involved a long second-day stage of one hundred li (thirty plus miles). Bob did not believe in excessive praise, but he did indicate satisfaction that I would in future be able to "keep up with the men." (I was ten.)

[9] Our ability to produce so much ice cream was partly due to the several years that it took to achieve success in storing and preserving ice on the mountain. (The ice was limited in supply: it had to come from the rainwater tubs at the corners of our bungalow. And it was very hard to persuade the frugal caretaker to be profligate enough in using straw and sawdust for insulating.) The first year the plan was made, Bob ordered a two-quart hand-cranked freezer from Montgomery Ward. When it arrived it did not look large enough for our pent-up appetites. A four-quart freezer was then ordered. And the next year it was a six-quart freezer. There were three flavors: vanilla, maple, or fresh peach (the best!). All this took a lot of cranking, but the servants were happy: they got all the brine from the freezers (salt was expensive, and not a drop was lost). Regrettably, Bob never succeeded in having ice last into the summer so that we could have ice cream on the mountain.

gent Hanlin ," an old Confucian scholar of the highest grade. With black mustache, huge glasses, and a cap with a queue sewed into it, many could not identify him for some time. Madame Bodard, the French consul's wife, was also dressed by Chinese as a Chinese and was superlatively effective.^[10]

What I recall as the most pleasure was the planning of costumes out of what we had or could get locally: fixing my own clothes; making a wig for Earl Dome out of raw silk thread, parted, curled, and tied with a black bow; and doing odd and unexpected things for others. We had no "outside amusements" and so had to make what we could, deriving from our own efforts the acme of enjoyment.

On March 18, the anniversary of our engagement, Bob gave me a set of the most exquisite white satin scrolls, each embroidered to represent a season. The card with them said: "In fragrant memory of a day / Long ago and far away." Just after this, I lost the ruby out of my engagement ring. It was there when I dressed, but as I put on my hat to go out calling, I saw it was gone. The servants and all of us spent hours of searching, all to no effect.

For more than two years I had been urging the YWCA to start work in Chengtu. When two American YW secretaries finally arrived, I was disappointed to be unable to meet and entertain them. All that had to be left to Mabelle Yard. I had been in the doctor's hands all that spring, and by the middle of May was down with flu and laryngitis. I had quite a bit of fever and ached all over, and Bob could get no nurse. Finally, one of my good Canadian friends, Kathryn Ross, gave up time from her rest and recreation hours each day to come over to bathe, rub, and fix me up, telling the cook what to prepare for me, and helping in the ways that only a trained nurse knows. For once, I was too ill to manage the house or meals.

I was still weak when June came. The servants aired and sunned the woolens, and Bob helped put them away. He wanted to get me away to the hills. There was a cholera scare in the city, and he pushed up our departure by several days. I was hardly able to get ready before we were off.

[10] The son of the French consul, Mr. Bodard, has written at least two books about his growing up in Chengtu (Lucien Bodard, The French Consul , Knopf, 1977; and Le Fils du Consul , Grasset, 1975). His life seems to have been a bit more exotic and exciting than mine, especially his experiences with his amah.

33
To Shanghai with Jack
(1920)

On June 5 we reached Round Top, and it was satisfying indeed to see Bob's "surprise" for me. He had had the whole living room panelled in the clean, prettily grained oak that we had originally used for the ceiling. Sandpapered and polished, it made the room lovely. But in spite of Bob's care, I was not surprised. On the way up the hill, when the way seemed long and I was weary, the Boy tried to divert me by telling how the Master had spent a lot of heart on having the walls of the "big room" covered with wood.^[1] (The Boy hoped I would like it because much money had been spent.)

George and Ruth Helde were in a cottage near us, and she was expecting her first child. Two doctors and a trained nurse were also nearby. With the stage thus set, everything seemed ready for the arrival of small Tom Helde, which occurred on June 13. But all the efforts of the doctors, nurse, and those who loved her could not keep her bright presence. A friend staying with us looked after the children so I could give all my time to helping in the emergency. With things looking desperate, I sent a runner to the city for Bob.

Ruth died early on the sixteenth. Bob arrived that afternoon and at once gave attention to the tasks that had to be done: a coffin made, a grave dug. There were carpenters on the hill building new bungalows, so the coffin could be made in a few hours. Dry oak logs that we had left over from our panelling were cut into planks, and it was constructed from them. I chose a beautifully soft and dainty comforter as lining, and we tacked it in place in the casket. Ruth's mother had sent it to her that spring. On the seventeenth there was a little service, and we laid Ruth away, her grave placed near our bungalow in a thicket of shrubbery north of the house.

[1] "Spent a lot of heart" is a literal translation of a very common Chinese phrase, fei xin , which undoubtedly is exactly what the Boy said.

We had consulted quite a bit about the location, but Bob had forgotten that the property was leased from a temple: the priests should have been consulted. That night, word came from the temple that no woman could be buried on temple land. This seemed the last straw, but Bob found a solution. The Chengtu YMCA had bought some land on the slope of the mountain for a projected camp. A grave site was chosen on the upper part of this land, just outside the west gate of our zhaizi wall. The next day, while two friends took George for a long hike, Bob secured enough men to accomplish an arduous task. By nightfall the new grave was covered with ferns and flowers.

Ruth was a lovely person: talented, sweet-natured, helpful. She was to me like a younger sister, and the sudden parting was hard. There were no good-byes. She never even knew she had a son; unconsciousness closed her eyes, and she never saw us again, but slipped away into the Hereafter with no word to anyone.

There were many plans suggested for little Tom, but in the end his father decided to take him to his grandparents in America. In the meantime, Miss Wall, the nurse, would take care of him for the summer.

In late August Bob came up from Chengtu. George and Earl Dome joined us on a trip back to Nine Peaks and the temple that we had visited the year before. The men tried to climb the high mountain behind the Nine Peaks range. They failed to reach the summit but had some thrilling experiences in cold and dampness.^[2] The rest of us took short rambles and sat around the fire on the curved benches, listening to talk from pilgrims and others. As arranged, a coolie arrived from White Deer Summit during our stay with fresh bread, rolls, and cookies. It was something that the men thought the food was adequate.

Soon after our return to Round Top we had word by letter of Father Service's death in California.^[3] Without either of his parents, Bob felt everything would be greatly changed at home.

We had an excitement while returning from the hills to Chengtu at the end of the summer. We had planned, as usual, to spend a night with Canadian friends in the city of Penghsien. When we reached there, some military row was going on and the city gates were closed. While we were in the street outside the gate, there was a volley of shots. At once the street was empty with not a person in sight. The lads were ahead with their father. Before I knew what was happening, I found myself inside a shop with the board shutters closed. My chair men assured me, "Don't worry; we are here and you do not need to fear anything." Still, a woman does feel a bit queer to find herself

[2] We got to about 13,000 feet (by Bob's aneroid barometer) but found ourselves blundering about on wet rock in a dense fog that prevented picking a practical route. The Chinese name for the mountain, Big Baldy (Da Guangguang Shan), was very apt.

[3] Father Service died on July 5; the letter did not reach his son until the end of August.

in that sort of predicament. Bob finally got all of us—children, loads, men, and wife—into a fairly decent temple outside the city, where we spent the night. The next day we resumed our journey without misadventure.

Soon after our return to Chengtu, we moved into the next-door residence that the Heldes had been occupying. At the same time, the Yards moved into our former house.^[4] It was also decided that I would go to the Coast, taking the baby down for George and escorting Jack to the American School in Shanghai. An English girl, recently back from the Chefoo School, would come for lessons with Bobbie and Dick, who would also be under the direct eye of "Aunt Mabelle."

Preparing for my trip, I had the amah change the paper liners in my bureau drawers. As she was doing it, I looked to make sure she had cleaned every corner. There, in a far corner of the lowest drawer, was the ruby from my engagement ring, winking at me as though it had never been a source of anxiety for months. What rejoicing!

There had been some fighting in the province, but by late September the situation looked better for travel. On October I our party started for Chungking. We had two small mat-roofed river boats; on one were Harry Openshaw and George Helde, while Dr. Laura Jones, Jack, baby Tom, and I had the other. The two men ate on our boat, so we ran but one kitchen under the skillful management of our old helper, Liu Pei-yun. Several Chinese boats attached themselves to us, either for companionship or for the hope of a sheltering wing.

We reached Suifu early on October 5, and Laura went off with the two men to call on the American Baptists. I told them I would perhaps go ashore in the afternoon, when Laura said she would return to be with the baby. I was getting clean clothes out of boxes when I heard a commotion. There were a couple of soldiers outside, talking to the boatmen. The captains had gone to buy rice, and even my cook was off foraging for eatables. The soldiers said that our boats would have to move at once: there was going to be fighting, and we would be right in the line of fire. I said, "No," and they as earnestly said, "Yes." I replied, "It is impossible for us to move. You can see that. The two boat captains have gone ashore to buy rice and supplies. The

[4] Considering that Grace and Bob had lived in this house for thirteen years and had expended much care in planning and improving, it seems surprising that Grace's account is so terse. Both houses, the Heldes' and ours, were rented from the American Methodists, the Yards' mission. The mission was adding staff and needed more housing. With George Helde's leaving and his return uncertain, his house was available. The Yards and Services were the closest of friends (Grace and Mabelle seem to have managed to spend some time together almost daily). So there was enthusiasm on all sides for the Yards to be the Methodists to move to Temple of Learning Street. But they had four children; we, with my imminent departure to boarding school in Shanghai, had only two; and our house was the larger of the two. So it was sensible for us to move to the Helde house and for the Yards to take over ours. It was a move that, under the circumstances, was gladly made.

gentlemen of our party are not here. The boats will have to remain here so these men will know where to find us. You will have to postpone fighting until tomorrow when we will be gone." "But you will be hit by bullets," said they. "No," I insisted, "just wait till tomorrow to do your fighting."

The soldiers went away, and we saw and heard no more of them. Nothing was heard or seen of any fighting, either. And we stayed right at that mooring until we left the city early next morning.

I had laid out freshly laundered summer clothes. When Harry arrived back and said I was expected for afternoon tea, I started to change. But Harry would not hear to it. The streets were full of mud and terribly dirty: I had better go as I was. I was wearing one of my khaki mountain outfits with very short skirt, riding breeches, and high brown boots. Taking his advice, I arrived to find my hostess in a flowered chiffon with ruffles and furbelows, and a very elaborate tea party laid in my honor. How dangerous it often is for women to dress for men, not for other women!

It had been a queer day all around, but the climax came next morning at breakfast. Harry had been back in the city during the evening for a Baptist Mission meeting (and had to be lowered by rope over the city wall to rejoin us after the gates were closed). At breakfast he had a great laugh: "You should have heard the remarks about your clothes, Grace." It seemed that the comment was not so much about khaki as the shortness of my skirt. And the fact that it was his advice did not appear to bother him a bit.

Below Luchow we were held up twice by being hailed from the bank. The first time, there were a few shots. These were soldiers wanting to know who we were. The second batch yelled wildly and shot in a more purposeful manner. There was nothing to do but turn in to the shore. We had been warned of bandits in that vicinity and had hidden our valuables (my watch was in the tin of baby food). When we reached shore and saw the ragtag and bobtail group awaiting us, we concluded that our fears were realized.

Harry began to tell the chief that I was the wife of Hsieh An-tao of Chengtu, doing a good deed by taking a motherless infant to Shanghai. He spoke as though the man must have been a friend of Hsieh An-tao (Bob). And the man said he was! He even gave us his huge red card bearing his name, Iron Hand, and asked that we take it back with his regards to Hsieh An-tao.^[5] Best of all, he waved to us to proceed. But the Chinese boats that had been hoping to slip by in our company were detained—presumably for plunder.

Bob, we learned later, had never heard of Iron Hand. But, since it was an assumed name, it was not impossible that they may have met under other

[5] Traditionally, calling cards increased in size with the status of the person. It was not surprising, then, that Iron Hand's card was "huge."

circumstances. Men in China sometimes take to banditry after disappointments or reversals of fortune.

We had to pass another area where robbers were said to be exceedingly fierce. Fortunately, the river was quite wide, and we held well out from the shore. Fifteen or twenty shots were fired at us, and we could plainly hear the yells and threats of the bandits ordering us to draw in. But we feared to tempt our luck too far, so held our course and did not stop. George was on the boat with us women and children, while Harry was on the other craft.^[6] Late that afternoon we tied up at Chungking and were welcomed by Dr. McCartney, who brought fresh bread for our evening meal.

After a few days, George, little Tom, Jack, and I started down river on the Robert Dollar .^[7] The ship was chockablock with Chinese passengers, apparently because of a sudden shift in military power in Szechwan. Many of our fellow passengers were Chinese gentlemen who seemed to be men of affairs. Later we learned that several were emissaries of Dr. Sun Yat-sen who had been sent by him to Chungking to prepare for the removal of the Sun regime from Canton to Szechwan. This having been frustrated by the recent political changes, they were in a great fever to leave. One fine-looking gentleman was much alone and seemed to converse with no one, but he once spoke to me in fluent English.^[8]

Silk-garmented men, with luxurious bedding rolls, lined up for deck pas-

[6] There is a bit more to the bandit episode. Since we knew which side of the river the bandits were on, trunks and baggage had been shifted in the hold under the cabin to make a protected space for Grace, Laura, and the baby. As soon as the shooting and shouting started, our boatmen went over the side (the side away from the shots). This surprised and alarmed George, who felt we should be making all speed to get out of range. He rushed out onto the foredeck and took an oar; not to be outdone in manliness, I did likewise. (Chinese oars are long and rather cumbersome; the rower stands erect, facing forward. The effect of our effort on the speed of the boat could only have been minimal.) As the current gradually took us farther from the bandits, the boatmen came back aboard and resumed real rowing. Harry thought this was very funny. He was on the other boat; his boatmen went overboard; and Harry, so he alleged, napped through it all. Harry—and our boatmen—had had more experience. There were bullet splashes near us, but George and I could be thankful that the bandits' aim, or ammunition, were so poor.

[7] It is fact, probably forgotten by most, that for many years the Robert Dollar Steamship Company of San Francisco operated ships on the Upper Yangtze. We always took them if we could. They were American; and Captain Dollar was a good friend of the YMCA (if my memory is correct, he gave the money for a Y building in Hankow).

[8] Sun Yat-sen's position in Canton was precarious, but the history books do not seem to mention any plan at this time for Sun Yat-sen to move his base to Szechwan. Since the 1911 Revolution, both North and South had sought to gain support among the various competing military groups in Szechwan. In late 1920 several Szechwanese generals worked together long enough to expel the Yunnanese, who had been "guests" for many years. The generals then denounced both North and South, hailed the "federalist" movement then popular in China, and announced that Szechwan should be governed by Szechwanese (themselves). The Sun Yat-sen representatives that Grace mentions had probably been dealing with the just-ousted Yunnanese. Anyone interested in the chaotic history of Szechwan during these years should consult Robert A. Kapp, Szechwan and the Chinese Republic: Provincial Militarism and Central Power , 1911-1938 (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1973).

sage until there was no spot without an occupant. The captain saw that the men lay so thick on the deck outside my cabin door that I could not leave my room without stepping on someone and moved me into an officer's cabin on the top deck. This was a fine large room. Of course I had the baby and Jack with me, and we all enjoyed the space and comfort.

We transshipped at Ichang and Hankow and reached Shanghai on October 23. Little Torn was turned over to Mrs. Peter of the Y, who cared for him while his father arranged for the trip to America. Jack went at once to the Shanghai American School, which at that time was in rented buildings on North Szechwan Road. He was late in entering, and so young [eleven], that they would not consent to have him go into high school. This was in spite of the facts that he had completed the Calvert School and I had been teaching him algebra and Latin. So he was obliged to take the eighth grade, and the year was not as stimulating and profitable as it should have been.

In Szechwan, conditions had been so disturbed that we had received no parcel mail for over a year. All my friends wanted shopping done. Earl Dome had become engaged, and I had a long list to buy for them, separately and together. Carriages were still much in use, and I hired one for several days. With Liu Pei-yun to guard my purchases while I was in shops, I made the rounds. It seemed that I finally had enough to start a store. For instance, I bought over eighty pounds of knitting yarn.

But one could not shop in the evenings. Those were given up to friends. They entertained me in what seemed to my Szechwan eyes a very sophisticated manner. My home-made grey crepe satin found favor even in the assemblies of the well-dressed. But I also bought a few things for myself. One of them was a dress of deep old-rose georgette, which was most useful and for years a joy to the eye.

My Shanghai friends never could understand the difficulties of our travel, and I had many a quiet laugh as people told me of their troubles in reaching nearby mountain resorts. They were as serious about their troubles as I was about mine, though a sense of humor helped to lighten mine. Good tailors I envied, and the shops available to my friends on the Coast. But I never even considered being weary of Szechwan and its life and drawbacks. There were always compensations.

One thing that pleased me in Shanghai was visiting the two Szechwan boys who had been sent down by the Fortnightly Club in Chengtu to attend the School for the Blind. About two years earlier I had surveyed conditions of the blind in Chengtu. The paper that I then presented to the Club aroused so much interest that we resolved to work toward establishing a school for the blind in Chengtu. As a first step toward this, our Club had sent two blind boys down to Shanghai in 1919. Whether or not we could eventually set up a school, these trained lads would show the people in Szechwan what could be

accomplished for those handicapped by loss of vision. The lads were glad to have a visitor from Szechwan, and I left a money gift for them.

I stayed in Shanghai with a dear friend. She had had some trouble with servants, she told me, but now she was happy that her staff was all right and working well. One afternoon when she was out, I came home about five o'clock. Contrary to custom, the outside screen door was not latched. So, without ringing, I walked in and went to the dining room to get myself a drink of water. As I entered the room, the Boy was in the act of climbing out of the transom above the locked door of my friend's storeroom, which opened off the dining room. He held some tins in the front part of his gown held up like an apron. We looked at each other, and I went up stairs to my room. Almost at once he knocked on my door. Was there anything I wanted? Did I want a bath? Could he fix me tea? And so on—there was nothing he would not be glad to do. The next morning the water came early and hot. Previously, he had grumbled about accommodations for Liu Pei-yun and insisted there was no room for him. Now he was all smiles and kindness to Liu. And I was fairly embarrassed with his attentions.

As my hostess was so happy with her staff, I decided not to repay her kindness by alarming her. But my usual seat at the dining table faced the door to the storeroom. One day as we sat there, I asked her to what it led. She told me, and I asked if she kept it locked. She replied that she certainly did, and I asked if the transom was fastened. She said she thought not, and I remarked that I thought it should be nailed shut. She looked somewhat surprised at the advice—perhaps it was at my interest in her affairs—but said she would follow my suggestion.

All through the weeks of travel, and the busy days of shopping and seeing friends, there had been an undercurrent of sadness. I knew I had to return and leave Jack, who was only eleven and seemed a slip of a lad to be so far from his parents. It was not only the miles, but the difficulties of communication. Letters were often lost, and telegrams delayed. At last I could delay no longer if I was to secure a steamer through the Gorges.

By putting my luggage on a Hankow steamer and then taking the train to catch the ship at Nanking, I could save a day. This gave me the whole of a Saturday with Jack. We made a day' of it: tiffin at a restaurant to please him, and dinner with old friends who promised to have an eye on his welfare. He was annoyed because some of the boys at school, with a little knowledge of Latin, had nicknamed him "slave." "Ich dien," I pointed out, was the motto of England's ruling house. Service was a name of which one should be proud. He could change the poor connotation the boys had given the name.^[9] Soon

[9] Whatever means Grace had in mind, the means l found most effective on the name question was combat. I could hardly have been intimidating: I was undersized and completely inexperienced in such activity. Fortunately, no upper-grade boys persisted in using the hated name.

after dinner we had to say good-bye, and I turned my face to the West alone.

George Helde took me to the night train for Nanking, and next morning I was waiting on the landing hulk when my steamer pulled in. Liu welcomed me, but I was amazed when I saw my cabin. The bed and every other available space in the room was piled high with parcels of all kinds and sorts. All these things had been sent to the ship by Shanghai people who wished me to carry them to Szechwan friends. Before I could even settle my hand luggage into the room, I had to call in the room boy to help in stowing all this impedimenta. At Hankow, I had to buy a large straw koré , and in Ichang we had to descend to the up-river favorite; the ubiquitous huge market basket with a net cover, into which all manner of things can be stuffed—and stuffed. Thus Liu and I finally coped with all the bundles that had come our way.

34
Ten Years for the Chengtu Y
(1921)

When I boarded the ship at Nanking, I found good company. There was a party of Baptists and several Methodists, all bound for Szechwan. My cabin mate was a very pleasant young American nurse, joining the Methodists. At Hankow the head of the Baptist party asked if Liu could help with transshipping their things. Besides personal baggage, they had supplies for their work—in hospitals, schools, and churches. Liu did this but then begged me to excuse him from further work with this gentleman. First, Liu said, they were supposed to have 165 pieces; then he was told the total was 164; a little later it was 166! "This man," in Liu's words, "is a friend, but he is a dangerous man when managing baggage."

At Ichang, the good ship we had hoped to catch had left the day before. The prospect was that we might have to wait a week or more for another good boat. I had no wish to go to the China Inland Mission Home after those long days with my precious little girl there in 1906. Refuge was found with the ladies of the Scotch Mission, who put two hospital beds in an unused study for the nurse and me. With time to spare, I decided to overhaul my luggage, which had been packed in a great hurry. A trunk in which I had placed most of the things bought for Earl Dome's bride was full of cockroaches!

It was an old trunk—the hinges were loose—and it had been down in the ship's hold. Such a time as Liu and I had with large basins of boiling water for scalding and drowning.

After many trips to shipping offices, there seemed little hope of passage on any of the better ships. The water was too low to permit them any more trips through the Gorges. Then it was a scramble to get on any boat that would attempt the trip. Finally, a dozen or so of us foreigners left Ichang on November 12 aboard the old Mei Shun . She was a miserable ship. The captain, who did not care for women passengers and made no bones about saying so, told

me that she "had sewing machines for engines." But I had no mind to try another houseboat trip and would take any steamer that went.

The captain was a Lett or a Finn, I forget which, and had a wife, or perhaps a companion, with him, but she could not speak English. The ship was tiny, and was crammed with passengers, freight, and luggage. There were only three cabins and one lavatory; about half a dozen men slept on tables and seats in the small saloon. This, the only public room, was so small that the cook had to serve three sittings for every meal. The galley was certainly no larger than six by six, but we had fine meals from a cook trained in the "American manner." He even produced delicious golden-baked biscuits as flaky as one's heart could desire, and his hot cakes made us all eager for breakfast.

On such a small ship in falling water, the rapids were formidable. The whole boat shook at the throb of our engines under forced draft, and the captain's temper was decidedly on edge. Slowly we would crawl up a channel and have a try at its passage, only to slip back as though no machinery was forcing us upward. Nature was simply too much for that old ship. Then lines would have to be put out; there would be a vast amount of yelling; and hundreds of men would bend to the task of helping us up the stream. We passengers tried to keep off the narrow deck and out of the way. At Wild Rapid our ship had to try four times. Twice cables snapped, and we fell back in considerable danger. But the captain knew how to handle this ship in such an emergency. He kept her nose straight, and we escaped the rocks always lying in wait. At New Rapid it was the same story. Just as we were struggling up, pulling ourselves by cable and winch, the palatial Loong Mow steamed past us, carrying the Baptist party we had left behind in Ichang. My companion, the nurse, ran out to wave a towel to our friends, and the captain bellowed: "All you — — missionaries keep off the deck!"

Shots were fired at us near the city of Kweichowfu, which had been looted by soldiers from Kweichow Province the night before we reached there. We were obliged to stay there for a day until the citizens would open their city gates; we needed coal, and they were at first too demoralized to do any business. Ninety li below Chungking we passed the Mei Tan beached after running onto rocks.^[1] The USS Monocacy was standing by, and we took her doctor up to Chungking.

On November 19 I was safe in Chungking, at the Davidson's once again and glad to be by a cozy fire. Irene Hutchison of the [English] Friends' Mis-

[1] The Mei Tan , as those familiar with the river would know, was a ship of the Standard Oil Company (Mei was the first character in the company's Chinese name: it was also the character for America). American oil companies in those days did not go in for flags of convenience: there were no Panamanian or Liberian gunboats on the Yangtze to give aid and fend off looters.

sion had just arrived on her return from home leave, and we decided to travel together. Fighting had closed the "Big Road" to Chengtu for over a year. One party had recently tried it, so we waited to hear how it had fared. Bob wrote that I should not travel without a foreign man in the party. The news, finally, was favorable, and I set out for Chengtu and home on November 26. It was my forty-first birthday.

There were five in our party: Mr. and Mrs. Starrett and my ship companion, the American nurse, all for the Methodist Mission; and Irene and I. The Starretts had been in China, but could not speak Mandarin. The nurse was entirely new, just out from America. My Chinese was not very abundant, but Irene could act as our spokesman. And I had Liu, on whom we depended largely for the management of the journey. Irene had a constant stream of visitors at villages and towns through which we passed. Word of her coming seemed to precede us, and her old pupils carne bearing gifts, so that her sedan chair was hung with squawking hens and slabs of ham all the way to Chengtu. The Starretts proved easy companions and, having lived on the Coast, knew something of China. The nurse, however, was fresh and green to all the ways of the Orient. We were afforded a good deal of amusement by some of her reactions—to rats and other friendly inn neighbors, for instance. But she took it all good-naturedly and endured our laughter with serenity.

Now that travel has changed so much, it is interesting to look back and see what we had to arrange and expect on this trip. All bedding, food, and luggage had to be carried by men. On this trip we had sixty-seven coolies. I handled all the accounts. In Chungking a $200 payment was made to the hong (company) which contracted for the men. I wrote ahead to the Methodist Mission in Tzechow [six days from Chungking] for another $200 to be ready when we arrived there. At Chengtu we had a final settlement. The sixty-seven carriers came to $670; inn money, food, tips to military escorts, and all extras brought the expenses of the ten-day overland trip, for five foreigners, to a total of $825 in Chinese currency.

In Chengtu it was a great satisfaction that my purchases pleased the friends who had entrusted me with their requests. The children were well, and it was wonderful to be back with Bob and the two at home, but I could not forget the empty feeling left by Jack's absence. I was so busy getting back into the routine of teaching, unpacking, and settling that I did not even go into my kitchen for four days after I arrived.

My special care had been spent on things for Earl's bride, and I was indeed thankful that she liked everything. The engagement and wedding rings had been next to my heart on the whole journey, and I was most thankful when I could deliver them. Our YMCA wedding came off on Christmas afternoon in the home of the Braces and was very beautiful. Earl had been living

since autumn in a small foreign-style house in the Manchu City . After the ceremony, they went there. We had our own Christmas dinner that evening, with the Yards and the two YW secretaries as our guests.

On the last night of 1920 I sat up to see the New Year in. Our house guest was a geology professor from Oberlin College named Hubbard. Bob was kept late at the Y, so we visited while we waited for him. Professor Hubbard and I talked of many things. lie urged me to think seriously of sending at least one son to Oberlin. I told him there was very little chance of it.^[2]

Soon after the new year, the Hodgkins returned to China and visited Chengtu for the tenth anniversary of the YMCA. The Chengtu Y had actually opened on December 23, 1910, but the tenth anniversary celebration was postponed to January 10, 1921, so that Dr. Hodgkin could be present. It was almost eleven years since the Hodgkins had returned to England. Their hosts, the Davidsons, had a tea for their old Chengtu friends. Out of a foreign community of over one hundred and seventy adults, fewer than twenty had been there for eleven years.

During the last part of their stay, the Hodgkins were our guests. A touching incident occurred when they left for their return to England. Our gardener had worked for them before he came to us. When they arrived to stay with us, I put this man in charge of their room. He was to get their baths, keep a fire going in their fireplace, and generally look after their needs. He did so, and very acceptably. When they left, Henry made a gift to the servants and then told us he wanted to leave a special present for Lao Chen. But it was not accepted. Lao Chen said it was through them that he had gotten a place with us; that they had always been kind to him; and that he could take no gift. He quoted Scripture: "Silver and gold have I not, but such as I have I give unto you." He wanted his loving service to them to be a gift. Henry, a wise man, accepted it.

Our usual round seemed very busy during that period. The YMCA was seething with life. Classes, lectures, and activities both at and away from the building absorbed Bob so that he spent his entire days there, eating noon meals in Chinese restaurants wherever he found himself. A group of Chinese friends had formed a mixed organization for social contacts. It was a new idea for men and women to meet together this way. There were about twenty Chinese married couples. Bob and I were the first foreigners invited to join. Later the Yards and the two YW secretaries became members. The latter were

[2] The point to the Oberlin story is that one of Grace's sons (namely, I) did go there. But it was none of Bob and Grace's doing. It was always taken for granted, as the son of two fervent Californians, that I would go to Berkeley. A prefreshman experience of summer session at Berkeley convinced me that I would prefer a smaller school—such as Oberlin, where friends were going. Grace and Bob, by cable from Shanghai, characteristically said that the choice was for me to make—but it was a blow. Young Bob did go to UC, but Dick chose Pomona. Moving from a small high school in China to a big place like the Berkeley campus was not easy.

the only unmarried folk in the group. The fortnightly meetings were pleasant with games and tea. Now and then we had a meal together. Children came with their parents in true Chinese style. We were also active in an Anglo-Saxon League that had been organized during the war. And there were other irons in the fire. When we looked back on our early days of 1906 and 1907, it seemed in 1921 that we were living in a continual whirl.

There was a serious famine in North China in 1921. The Red Cross organized a bazaar to raise money for relief. The YMCA loaned space in its building, and both Bob and I were involved. One activity was a large room with ten or twelve tables for serving tea and cakes in the foreign manner. Behind this was a smaller room where I served fancier refreshments, including coffee, which at that time was new to the Chinese and therefore seemed more luxurious. I took over a carpet, curtains, large mirrors, dishes, table linen, and table silver. There were two small tables with a total of eight seats.

I served the guests myself, and my costume was an old black satin dress, a tiny black velvet hat, and a black silk coat which the Chinese seemed to consider elegant. Some women came, but wealthy men were my best patrons. One day I was happy to serve the governor, and also to sell him a large cake. I think many of the men were intrigued to see a foreign lady serving food this way. Word had gone out that no spitting was allowed. In those days it was quite normal in Chinese homes, though spittoons were coming into use in a way that was not pleasing to most of us. My coffee shop took in slightly more than two hundred dollars.

Many other foreigners worked hard for the bazaar. One of the most popular was Jim Yard in shabby clothes and blackface makeup. As none of the Chinese had ever seen a real Negro, he was always followed by a fascinated crowd who strained to hear his patter—promoting the need for charity. The military band was there to play. A native theatrical troupe gave its services, There were jugglers and other entertainment. Every afternoon at four a musical program was put on by foreigners. And of course there were lectures and pictures about the famine. It was all very lao ray .^[3]

The entrance gate was a difficult spot, and Bob spent much of his time there. Many silk- and satin-garbed women with several children and amahs would try to push in on one ticket, never seeming to show any shame in hoping to beat down the gatekeeper in such a way. We took in over $3,500 but had hoped for $5,000. The old theater manager who took refreshment daily in my tearoom blamed the weather. He may have been right: the weather was unseasonably cold, and we even had a snow flurry one day.

To most of us, the bazaar had seemed a success. Foreigners and Chinese

[3] Lao ray is the Szechwan version of je nao , which might be translated as "bustling with noise and excitement." (The characters are the same, but the Szechwanese reverse them and change the initial n to l .)

had cooperated at every point. A good end had been served in a pleasant way. But not everyone agreed. Some missionaries were very angry at the YMCA for allowing Chinese actors to appear in the building! One foreigner even told Bob that he would take the matter to the British consul and have the Y forbidden to have actors there again! This was rather a joke, the Y being a purely Chinese organization not in any way under the British consul. The man who complained so bitterly was a British Baptist. The man who arranged for the actors to appear was an American Baptist. The YMCA had nothing to do with securing the troupe. So we just had a good laugh.

35
Farewell to Chengtu
(1921.)

For more than two years there had been discussion about opening YMCA work in Chungking. A group of Chinese there had asked for an Association to be organized, and the YMCA's National Committee in Shanghai had agreed that it would be carried out. Bob was the man who was spoken of to undertake this; and Bob, who loved pioneering, was much interested. Personally, I had always been intrigued by Chungking, the vitality of life in its crowded streets, and its rivers and hills. Selfishly, now that Jack was at school in Shanghai, there would be an advantage in being nearer the Coast. But our lives had become closely linked to Chengtu. Bob knew so many Chinese and had such wide interests. I was devoted to many friends, both Chinese and foreign. And then there was the bungalow at White Deer Summit: we would not be able to use it if we moved.

Other things entered into our thinking. Our home leave was due in 1922. It had been planned that I would take the children to Europe in 1921, having a year there before Bob came along to take us on to America. Bob, however, would not agree to take on the Chungking assignment unless he could have two years there before leaving for home leave. He felt that the task would require that much time in order to establish an organization of permanence and value. This meant that there could be no home leave until late 1923 or even 1924. Frankly, I wanted the European year. My plans had all been made with Miss Wellwood, a dear friend, and I hated to give them up. Also, I was not well. And I did not believe in always deferring furloughs.

Bob felt that duty always should come first. His devotion to the interests of the Y was ever the determining factor with him. In January 1920 I gave up plans for the European travel and told him that I agreed to the Chungking move if that seemed best. It was expected that we would move to Chungking sometime in 1921.

But early in 1921 it developed that there was some opposition to organizing a Y in Chungking. This was not from Chinese, but from some of our

foreign missionary friends. At least two missions were attempting to carry on programs in Chungking that were somewhat similar to the Y. At first they had indicated a friendly attitude. Then they began to fear that they would be overshadowed if the Y came in. To them, the YMCA had a national and international background, which meant influence and prestige. It would soon succeed in attracting strong local support. And this would tend to weaken their own sectarian efforts.

One foreign gentleman, we heard, expressed the view: "That man Service is a whirlwind and if he gets down here, he'll soon have the Y booming." Bob had always emphasized that the role of the Y in relation to the missions was to be "ready to help the Church in every way possible." At first, the facts were hard to believe. When we were forced to realize that the opposition was real, we withdrew our offer to go to Chungking. Our Chengtu friends hoped that we would remain there. And some of my friends congratulated me on escaping the Chungking climate.^[1]

The National Committee, though, decided to proceed with the plan to organize a Y in Chungking. And they wanted us to go there to do it. We would have a last summer at White Deer Summit and then move to Chungking. Our time suddenly was short; when spring ended, our life in Chengtu would also in effect come to an end. We decided to try to host the various organizations to which we belonged.

When the Fortnightly Club met at our home I presented a paper on George Bernard Shaw that I had been working on for two years. The subject was printed on our program as "G.B.S." Thinking only of my initials, one of the club members was heard to remark, "Well, I am surprised that Mrs. Service would give a whole evening about herself!" Meeting with our old friends of the Social Club gave us a new joy in those contacts. Bob was to speak at the university commencement. He tried so hard to prevent me from attending that I was determined to go. He spoke well and I was proud of him. His subject was "Laying down one's life in service for others."^[2] He talked with the students, not at them.

Jack arrived from Shanghai with George Helde on June 25. It was a joy to have the lad home again. He seemed well, thin but with a good appetite for home food. George also looked well, and we were glad to have him back in West China. He had brought clothes ordered for Bob in Shanghai, and some purchased for me in New York. He also brought a movie projector for the Y, and a generator to make it work.

[1] The Chungking climate is infamous: damp and foggy in winter, hot and muggy in summer. The Chinese refer to it as one of the "three furnaces." High hills, especially on the south bank of the Yangtze, block most breezes.

[2] Most of the talks that I heard Bob give usually brought in the theme of "service."

29
Bob and Grace's bookplate, drawn by Ferry Shaffer about 1923.
The mountain in the center is White Deer Summit. The knob on
the left of the summit is Round Top. The small pagoda, below
Round Top and in the center, is the pagoda at Fengtu near which
Virginia died in 1906. The structure at the lower right is the ornate
gate of the first Y building in Chengtu (mentioned in chapter 15).
The Chinese characters below it are Chengtu and Grace's Chinese
name. The building at the lower left is the YMCA at Chungking.
The characters below it are Chungking and Bob's Chinese name.
The characters on both structures are Qing Nian Hui (Youth
Association), the usual Chinese name of the YMCA.

Now we could leave for the bungalow at Round Top. All that summer my mind was constantly on our departure. The bungalow meant a great deal to all of us. The children loved it, but children can change allegiances easily. To Bob and me it meant home, our own rooftree . Practically every path on the mountains summit had been planned or worked on by Bob. He used to love to cut away underbrush and clear new trails to points where surprising new vistas could be enjoyed. I had built a summerhouse with rustic seats and so

Bob thought to place rustic seats here and there on his paths. We loved the whole hill, and it was a wrench to think of leaving.^[3]

The Y had stipulated that Bob was to have a real vacation that summer. He planned a mountain trip as his grand finale. It was the expedition he had thought of for years, but never felt he could take the time away from the Y to attempt. It would go beyond our nearby mountains, follow an old opium smugglers' trail across the main divide into the Min River valley, and reach Yao Bao-san's lumber country.^[4] They would cross wild high country, far from towns or temples, so had to be equipped for camping.

The party—Bob, Jack, George Helde, and Dr. Reginald Morse—set off at the end of July. I had made sleeping bags for Bob and Jack with wadding of silk floss and tried (not very successfully) to make them waterproof. We also prepared food to last them for a week, and a load of supplies was sent to meet them at Weichow after they had crossed Big Ridge. One thing I prepared for them was two five-gallon cans of zwieback. They had two cameras, two fine compasses, a new aneroid barometer which George had just brought from America, hypsometers, thermometers, and what not. Dr. Morse was planning to take head measurements. He was interested in "cranial index" research, and looked forward to working in unstudied territory. Bob had fourteen cheap watches for possible use in barter.

There were ten carriers. They had lighter than normal loads (none over

[3] After Grace and Bob left Chengtu, they had a bookplate made, which Grace used, I think, until her death. The central feature of the bookplate is the mountain White Deer Summit with Round Top clearly shown. See figure 29.

[4] The Opium Wars established, among other things, that the Chinese government could not prohibit the import of opium. The principal importer (shipping opium grown in India) was Great Britain. The official British attitude was that China could not rightfully limit imports while freely permitting opium to be grown within China. In 1907 an Imperial edict ordered that opium growing in China be eliminated within three years. It was astonishing, for a dynasty generally considered to be tottering and no longer effective, that this herculanean task was largely achieved. After confirming the facts by on-the-spot investigation, the British stopped the export of opium from India. An account of this can be found in Sir Alexander Hosie, On the Trail of the Opium Poppy (Boston: Small Maynard, 1915?).
One area where growing was not completely stopped was the Tibetan border country, where Chinese control was very light. This would include the tributary valleys of the Min River above Kwanhsien. To evade inspection at Kwanhsien, trails like ours were used to smuggle opium out to the Chengtu plain. The anti-opium measures continued to be enforced during the first years of the Republic. But as the warlords took over, the situation was reversed. Far from being prohibited, opium planting was encouraged. Everyone, and especially the generals, was able to make money from it. With opium freely planted everywhere, there was no longer any need for smuggling. When we made our trip in 1921, our trail had probably not been used for six or seven years. The area where timber was being cut by Yao Bao-san (see chapter 30, note 5) was west of Weichow and the Min River near Lifan and Tsakulao (Zagunao). This borderland area had been visited more than twenty years before us by an intrepid Victorian lady, Isabella Bird. Her astonishing account, The Yangtze Valley and Beyond , has recently been republished in paperback (London: Virago Press, 1985). Miss Bird has vivid descriptions of traveling through the Yangtze Gorges by junk and overland by sedan chair. For the Lifan-Tsakulao area, see her chapters 29-34.

fifty pounds), and and each man carried extra clothing and a supply of food (mostly dry corn cakes). There was a headman for the carriers, two servants, and the essential guide, who claimed personal knowledge of the smugglers' trail. The carriers were all fine, strong fellows and looked fit for anything as they stood about laughing with Bob before the departure. Bob's idea was always to have the men in good humor before setting off on any journey.

It was well that the whole caravan had been carefully planned. The trip proved even more strenuous than they had anticipated. They had to cross two high divides, often camping in what the Chinese call "cliff nests" (nooks under overhanging crags). After the heights, they had to negotiate a tortuous gorge where heavy rains forced them to build several bridges. Their food, and that of the carriers, was exhausted before they reached Weichow, the first town. Jack celebrated his twelfth birthday on the trip, and wrote an account that was printed in our small local monthly, West China Missionary News . After Bob's death, fourteen years later, Dr. Morse wrote in the same magazine about Bob and the way he proved his sterling qualities on that mountain expedition.^[5]

We left White Deer Summit earlier than usual that year. We had to prepare for our departure from Chengtu, and Jack had to be started on his way back to school in Shanghai. Adding to the problems, Dick was in and out of bed with an undiagnosed fever. Our last Chengtu days were more than full, with constant Chinese callers, engagements for this and that farewell meal, packing, and the thousand and one things that are more difficult in a land of medieval communications.

On September 2 there was a large farewell for Bob at the YMCA, with gifts, photographs, and speeches. The next day I fixed Dick up and left him with amah while I went to a tiffin in our honor. After tiffin I rushed home to see Dick and to dress for the farewell reception being given by the Braces and Domes. But when I reached our house, I found Chinese callers who had been awaiting me for three and a half hours! I felt I had to spend a few moments with them. When I arrived late at the reception, several asked me what could possibly have kept me so that I was late to a party being given in my honor!

[5] Very briefly, the smugglers' trail was overgrown and in places had disappeared, so the guide repeatedly got lost. The Da Liangzi (Big Ridge) that we had to cross was higher than we anticipated (about 15,000 feet). That would not have been so bad if, in heavy fog and above the timber line, the guide had not followed a wrong line of ducks (small piles of rocks to indicate a trail). This lost us most of a day—at high elevation, in bitter cold and wet, with all of us (and especially the load carriers) poorly equipped for these conditions. When we finally found and crossed the pass, night was coming on and it was vital that we get down to timberline where we could find firewood and some shelter. In the darkness, one of the carriers (whose load had been taken by others) straggled and could not be found. Searchers found him, dead of exposure, in the morning. Bob felt responsible and took it very hard. When we returned, he made provision—considered generous by the Chinese—for the man's family.

This lawn reception was a lovely affair, and it happened to be on the same grounds as the reception to welcome our Chengtu arrival in the spring of 1906.

On September 6, 1921, we left Temple of Learning Street at eleven in the morning, got on our boat, and dropped down a mile or so below the East Gate to a teahouse at the Thunder God Temple. Here some thirty YMCA friends, all Chinese save George Helde, Earl Dome, and Bert Brace, had gathered to share a farewell meal in our honor. Immediately afterward we returned to our boat and were off. Long and imposing strings of firecrackers set off by our devoted friends signalled the departure. While we had been eating ashore, Amah had made my bed. As soon as we came inside the boat from waving farewells, I undressed and retired, utterly weary. I had been miserable for a week, but could not give up.

Since we were transporting our household and all our possessions, we had four mat-roofed boats (wuban ) for the trip to Chungking. A Chinese Y secretary, Mr. Yuan, traveled with us; and with him was a young Chinese student bound for Shanghai. There were also four servants, two dogs, and two canaries. The horse coolie took the two ponies by land.^[6]

[6] With hindsight, it seems that this departure from Chengtu was a watershed in Bob's life. In the fifteen years since he had arrived there in 1906, Chengtu had become his field of accomplishment in a way that was remarkable for a foreigner. Unknowing, he passed, at the age of forty-two, the apex of his career.