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.