"Give me a job as conductor on one of your trains running from Peking to Hankow."

"Why do you want it?" he asked.

"When I get to Hankow I will quit and I shall then be several hundred miles farther along on my trip—at your expense," I replied with a smile.

Sze thought this was a great joke and, laughing, said, "Why, I can do better than that for you; I will give you a pass."

"All right," I said, "I won't forget that and when the time comes for me to leave Tangshan I will remind you of it."

"What's more," continued Sze, "I will give you a letter of introduction to my brother in Hankow. He is vice-president of the Chinese Steamship and Navigation Company and I am sure he will give you a pass on the Yangtsze River from Hankow to Shanghai."

"Fine business; and maybe I will be able to get a lift there from some one that will shoot me through to Manila," I concluded, feeling that the conversation had been a very profitable one.

When the time came for my departure from Tangshan Sze was true to his word. President Young gave me a railroad pass from Tangshan to Peking, distance of two hundred miles; Sze's pass from Peking to Hankow was over nine hundred miles and the letter to his brother brought the third pass down the Yangtsze River to Shanghai, a distance of nine hundred miles more. As a result I obtained free passage for two thousand miles in China—and all first-class. If all the circumstances were reversed, what chance would a young Chinese, working his way in America, have of teaching in the University of California, living with the president of the college, getting a pass from an high official of the Southern Pacific from San Francisco to St. Louis and thence down the Mississippi to New Orleans?

For my services as substitute professor in the college I received one hundred and twenty-five dollars (gold) plus my room and board and this, together with the railway and steamship passes I obtained, made the month I spent in Tangshan a very profitable one. I prized more highly, however, the unique experience of living with a high-class Chinese family and the insight I had of Chinese home life. But above all I value the good and loyal Chinese friends I made.

CHAPTER VII

ADRIFT IN THE CHINESE EMPIRE

President Young accompanied me from Tangshan to Peking, to which latter city he made frequent trips in connection with his position as member of the Imperial Government Boards of Education and Transportation. I had planned to take the slow train from Peking to Hankow, which runs only in the day time and goes on a siding for the night. This train would leave at eight the following morning and, as we arrived in Peking in the afternoon, I had the evening to spend there.

All American-educated Chinese are known as "returned students" and about a dozen of these fellows were guests of President Young at dinner at the Wagon Lits Hotel to meet me. As they were all graduates of American colleges and spoke English they employed this language exclusively, when they were together, in order to keep in practice and also to cement this common bond which existed amongst them. Mr. Ponson Chu, one of the number, displayed a Psi Upsilon Fraternity pin on the breast of his Oriental costume and this emblem immediately attracted my attention, for I was a member of the same society. Chu was from the Yale chapter with the class of 1909 and he and I became brothers at once.

After dinner we rented rickshaws for the evening and the Chinese started out to "show me the town." This was a rare opportunity; for it gave me access to places of which, alone, I should not have known the existence. We hopped into our rickshaws and were on our way. We passed the Legation compounds, went through the massive and imposing Chien-Mien Gate and in a few minutes were lost in the swarms of roving humanity in the Chinese City. We found our way through the narrow streets crowded with vendors, wrangling merchants, camels and what not. Finally we came to our first stop, a bohemian café—to describe the place in western parlance. This café, which represented the best thing of its kind in the capital, was a quaint old building composed of several rooms in each of which were a few tables. We seated ourselves at three of these tables and ordered refreshments—which consisted of tea and dried watermelon seeds. Shortly, a bevy of young Chinese girls, employed by the institution, came in and sat with us, partook of the food and engaged in the conversation so far as their limited mentalities would permit. These dainty little creatures, ranging in age from twelve to sixteen years, were neatly dressed in tight pajama-like garments. Their hair was greased and cut in such fantastic designs and they were so mentally deficient and so bashful that it was hard for me to realise they were human beings. One of our number put in an order for a Chinese orchestra and in a few minutes an old fellow appeared with an instrument somewhat similar to a violin. This musical contrivance had but one string. The sounds it emitted, after its operator got into action, were enough to drive the most placid man insane. To complete the musical bedlam a confusion of discordant tones was added by the voices of several female singers who rendered a number of selections at the request of one of our party.

We visited several establishments of this sort and in one of them I was treated to the sight of seeing two Manchu Princesses accompanied by their eunuchs. These women entered with their male attendants, hanging languidly on their arms. The women were tall, graceful creatures—each smoking a cigarette, and were dressed in beautiful one-piece robes of rich blue colour. Their hair was done up in the characteristic Manchu fashion on a framework extending from the rear of the head. They were beautiful women.

The following morning I was at the station ready to board the slow train through China to Hankow. As there were no dining arrangements on these trains I came fully provided with provisions. Extending from each coat pocket was a loaf of French bread; canned goods disfigured the symmetry of my trousers in front and two bottles of beer added to my unshapely appearance in the rear. Foreigners very seldom take this slow train and the passenger list consists exclusively of natives who are making short trips.

I had just seated myself in my compartment when an Englishman entered and asked if I would mind if a Russian shared quarters with me. I had no objections and the Russian came in. The train pulled out and as soon as my new travelling companion had his luggage adjusted I attempted to engage him in conversation. The man could not speak a word of English and I knew nothing of Russian. I was in for three days of silence, I thought. We resorted to gestures and drawing pictures. In this way, I learned that my new friend was an artist and, I informed him by the same means, of my purposes in life.

To confine myself to the truth it must be stated that the Russian knew two words of the English language and these were, "President Taft." I discovered this when he took from his little travelling trunk two small glasses and a bottle of Benedictine. He poured out the liquor, handed a glass to me and, drinking a toast, said, "President Taft." I would not be outdone so I returned the compliment by toasting a name which I thought ought to be the Russian for Nicholas. The artist recognised it and his face was one radiant smile as he drank his glass. These were the only words which passed between us during our three days together and they were made coherent with the bottle as a welcome interpreter.

The painter had, among his belongings, a large pamphlet with Russian phrases on one page and the English equivalent on the other. By means of this booklet we were able to exchange ideas. Sometimes, however, it would require almost an hour to put across a simple thought.

The first night we stopped at Tchang Te Fou and I made arrangements with the station master for the Russian and myself to sleep in the car. Most of the interior cities of China are surrounded by a wall and the railway stations are usually outside of this wall and often a couple of miles away. Before retiring the Russian and I had agreed, by means of the English-Russian pamphlet, to enter the walls of Tchang Te Fou and see the town and at the same time get something to drink, as the water on the train was very poor. We walked the two miles from the station to the city, entered the big gate and were soon wandering up the main street. We were at once a source of curiosity as our advent was, no doubt, the chief event of the year.

This city is seldom, if ever, visited by foreigners and we learned afterwards that there were only two in residence, these being missionaries. Consequently we were the main feature of interest to the simple but treacherous-looking inhabitants. As we proceeded up the street in the hope of finding a soda fountain or a saloon we accumulated a long train of curious citizens, beggars, naked children and nondescripts, who followed us and examined us with child-like simplicity. We finally came to a shop which had the appearance of a drug store. We looked over its stock for some thirst-quenching liquid. By this time our train of natives had increased to two hundred and they stood at the entrance of the shop while the proprietor restrained them from coming in. I spied two bottles of some unknown make of American beer perched on a shelf amidst Chinese medical concoctions and bought them. The Russian and I then made our way through the crowd at the door and started down the street to the train. The gang of Chinese tacked on and a solid procession of half the population of China, so it seemed to us, marched behind us. It was beginning to get dark and, as it was no uncommon thing for foreigners to enter some Chinese cities and never be heard of again, I became somewhat alarmed when several of the hangers-on began to beg for money and, when none was forthcoming, to pull at our coats and molest us. Two of the Chinese were especially persistent, one jerking the Russian's coat and the other making an effort to get his hands in my pockets. What a situation! It looked as though two speechless companions in danger would have to clean out the whole crowd of several hundred Chinese. The Russian gave me a look which I interpreted to mean that there was nothing to do but fight. The mere suggestion of such a thing unconsciously made me act and in a flash I swung on one of my assailants. I connected with his chin and floored him. Ideas go in and out of a man's brain in rapid succession in such moments, and I thought that the Russian and I would now have to fight the whole mob. I was mistaken. I didn't know my men, for the blow that ruined my opponent dispersed the entire crowd and they fled in all directions like chaff before the wind. A crisis had been passed and the Russian and I made haste to the station where we safely spent the night in the train.

The next day we had more trouble. This time it was with the railway police. I was showing a number of photographs of Chinese to my Russian friend when a policeman came along and asked in French if he could see them. I acquiesced, thinking the officer was simply interested. He wanted to show them to some of his friends in another car. I gave my consent with a nod of my head. As he had not returned at the end of an hour, I went through the train to find him. He was showing them to a score of his countrymen and said that he would bring them back in a few minutes. I returned to my car. Shortly the policeman appeared and gave me all the pictures except two. These he said he wanted to keep. I protested with him in French, for this was the language used by the employés of this railroad. He became so angry that he attempted to take back the photographs he had returned. The Russian came to my assistance and we threw the policeman out of our compartment into the aisle of the car. I took his number and told him that I would report him to Mr. Tze, the official of the railroad company who had given me my pass. The policeman recognised Tze's name and at once calmed down and said that he would return the missing pictures immediately. He did not return and I went after him again only to learn that he had got off the train at the last station. The man was now beyond reach and I was out two of my photographs. Why he wanted them, I don't know. It is hard to diagnose the workings of some people's brains and this policeman was one of them.

The second night our train went on a siding at Tchu Me Tien, a small isolated village. The station master would not grant us permission to sleep in the car, so we had to put up at a Chinese inn. A Japanese hotel is a model of cleanliness. A Chinese hotel is usually the reverse. This inn at Tchu Me Tien was the essence of filth, discomfort and heat. It is a safe statement to make that it was one of the most unsanitary, dilapidated and uncomfortable domiciles on this earth. The building was alive with naked and unwashed Chinese; our bedroom was occupied by a dozen hop-head coolies; the beds were made from the hardest wood obtainable; the unsanitary toilet was only a few feet away; the thermometer was hovering about the boiling point; and mosquitoes were as numerous as raindrops in Oregon and as large as bats. With all these inconveniences and pests, coupled with the fear of being robbed during the night by the proprietor of the hotel assisted by his guests, neither the Russian nor myself—who rested on the same plank together—got a wink of sleep.

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The Nanking Japanese hotel proved to be a difficult institution to find for, after dragging me about two-thirds of the streets of the town, the coolie admitted that he didn't know where it was. At last I saw the Japanese consul's house and directed my rickshaw man to it. From the consul I learned where the Japanese hotel was. In five minutes I was a properly registered guest of the place.

I retained the service of the rickshaw coolie and with a map set out to see Nanking. I passed through the ruins of the old Imperial City where a few Manchus still reside and out of the walls to the Ming tombs. The rickshaw slowly conveyed me along the avenue of hideous monuments erected over the graves of the late members of the Ming dynasty. When I came to the end I alighted and ascended to the summit of the huge structure built over the supposed remains of Woo Hung, the first emperor of the Ming line, who died some six hundred years ago. I sat down and gazed over the distant walls to the city of Nanking nestled in the mist. There I remained in deep reflection. My thoughts had floated across the Pacific to places where I had friends and relatives. Just at this lonesome moment a neatly dressed Scotchman came along and sat down beside me.

"What are you doing, old chap?" he enquired.

"Just knocking about the country," I replied.

"Are you going to Shanghai?"

"Yes, I shall probably go down to-morrow afternoon."

"Where do you intend to stay while there?"

"Oh, I suppose that I shall put up at some hotel."

"I live in Shanghai and am going there in the morning. Can't you come and stay with me?"

I thanked him but declined, giving as an excuse the fact that I had some friends whom I expected to meet. The Scotchman persisted.

"I should be very pleased to entertain you. If you are unable to find your friends be sure and look me up," he said.

I am not of a suspicious nature but, when the Scotchman extended such an urgent invitation on so short acquaintance, I immediately thought that he was a bunko man of some sort and that he intended to "shanghai" me.

"Thanks," I concluded, "if I can't find my friends I shall look you up." Shanghai is a city of a million and a half people and, as the Scotchman—who didn't give his name—left, I dismissed the incident from my mind, never expecting to see him again.

I returned to my rickshaw and was soon again within the city walls where I spent the remainder of the afternoon visiting the Gung Yuam or old Examination Hall.

This hall was one of the most interesting institutions in my Chinese travels. It was the place where the students from many provinces came to take the government examinations in the Chinese classics. It consisted of rows of cells where the students were sealed in for several days to write their essays. There were twenty-five thousand of these cells, sufficient to accommodate that many students at one time, and the whole institution covered several acres. In addition to the cells there were many buildings which were used by the government officials and examiners. The place was last used in 1904 and since that time has rapidly decayed and through neglect, characteristic of the Chinese, was in a poor state of preservation. It was the only one still remaining in China and it is a pity that it is soon to be destroyed.

My companion on the train to Shanghai was a Japanese. With the smattering of English he knew, coupled with the fragments of the Japanese language I had picked up in Japan, we carried on a fairly intelligent conversation. From him I learned the address of a Japanese hotel in Shanghai and he kindly offered to accompany me to it. We arrived in the big city and in a moment were lost in the tremendous tides of humanity. I thought I had never seen so many people before. The Japanese conducted me to the hotel. The proprietor consigned us to the same room. I didn't object. I was only surprised.

Shanghai was in holiday attire and throngs of people were celebrating the coronation of King George V of Great Britain. I walked the streets and watched the happy crowds. A feeling came over me that I was out of it, that my stay in the city would be a wearisome one and that while every one else would be enjoying the celebration I could not take part in it. As I was thus musing, I heard a shout from the street.

"Did you find your friends?" It was the Scotchman whom I had met in Nanking.

"No," I shouted back, at once making up my mind to accept the stranger's invitation. I concluded that I had never been drugged or "shanghaied" and I was willing to take the chance. If any one made a suspicious move I would swing on him first and put up a good fight while the affair lasted.

"Come on with me, then," said the Scotchman.

"All right," I replied.

I returned to the Japanese hotel, checked out and immediately moved into the Scotchman's apartments.

This mysterious man whom I held in such suspicion and to whom I attributed such unworthy motives was Mr. John E. Hall, a prominent importer of steel rails, and one of the most respected citizens of Shanghai. I entered Hall's spacious apartments, was introduced to several of his friends and was soon seated at the dinner table putting away one of the finest meals any mortal ever ate. Everything in the line of good food and good liquor graced Hall's table, and every convenience and comfort from bath-room to billiard table was to be found in his residence.

I was given a guest card to the Shanghai Club, the finest in the Far East. I had a ticket to the Coronation service at the Cathedral. I sat in a reserved seat and viewed the parade. I was taken to all the points of interest in the city, both by day and by night, and if there was anything on the map too good for me, I didn't know it. This was a sample of hospitality hard to beat.

During my wanderings about Shanghai with Hall, I was taken, in the early hours of the morning, after the electrical parade which took place as a part of the coronation celebration, to the Carlton Café—a bohemian resort. As I entered this café, in company with a dozen of Hall's friends, I was startled to hear my name called out from the midst of the huge throng of midnight merrymakers. Here I was five thousand miles from home, and, so far as I was aware, there was not a soul I knew in the city. My name rang through the air again. I looked about and at last recognised a woman, who was standing on a table, as the source of the call. I soon discovered that she was inebriated and in a second I recalled that I had met her on the steamer Asia crossing the Pacific. I immediately went over to her, shook hands with her and exchanged the usual platitudes which are employed when people meet.

My friends wanted to know where I had met the lady, and informed me that she was one of the most notorious women of the Shanghai underworld. On the steamer she had given her name as Mrs. Davis and there was nothing in her demeanour during the voyage to indicate that she was not a respectable woman. It was on this basis that I had met her. Presently she came over to our table and asked if I would come and have tiffin with her the next day. I accepted.

"Where shall I come?" I enquired.

"Sixteen Soo Chow Road," she said. "Are you surprised?"

Either way I might have answered this question would have given offence, so I evaded it with an assurance that I would be on hand for tiffin the next day.

Sixteen Soo Chow Road was guarded by two policemen. They took no notice of me and I walked straight in and asked for Mrs. Davis. No one in the house knew her by that name. In a few minutes I found her and was cordially received. The place was in a great state of excitement, for one of the women had taken four shots at a prominent merchant of Shanghai early in the morning in one of the city's cafés. The woman was under arrest and this accounted for the presence of the policemen at the entrance. I did not like the idea of being about for fear I would be called as a witness and become mixed up in a nasty scrape which I knew nothing about. However, I decided to be a man and see the meal out. Tiffin was brought in and Mrs. Davis, for she was still Mrs. Davis to me, entertained me as would the hostess of the most respectable home in the world. After a good meal and a pleasant call I took my leave. I was somewhat wiser from my study of human nature. I also had made another friend in this world.

I made arrangements with the skipper of a British tramp steamer to take me to Hongkong and before long I found myself on the shores of this beautiful island ready for new experiences. Hongkong proved to be a poor field for adventure and after seeing the sights I went up the river to Canton. In both places I put up at Japanese hotels where I thrived on Japanese diet at Japanese prices. I returned to Hongkong and after a few days along the waterfront I sailed for Manila on a British tramp.

Before the ship got under way a United States Quarantine officer made a cursory examination of the crew before she would be allowed to leave for the Philippines. As he passed me he said, without stopping, that I had malaria. This was cheerful news, for a Hankow doctor had told me that I had a touch of dry pleurisy and a Canton physician had prescribed a mixture for dysentery. I said to myself when the American Quarantine doctor made his lightning-speed diagnosis, "That is a delightful thought; I must have all the diseases under the sun." I hadn't been feeling very well, which I attributed to the long period I had lived on Japanese and Chinese food and the irregular life I had been leading, so I discounted the contradictory statements of all my physicians and concluded that with good food and regular hours in Manila I would soon be in normal shape.

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system

However, I had no time to think of ailments, for the second day out found the ship in the roughest sea I had ever experienced. The captain informed me that we were on the outskirts of a typhoon and that he had changed the course of the ship in order to run away from it. Typhoons, which are common to the China Sea during the fall of the year, are tremendous whirlwinds which are often several hundred miles in circumference and, when the weather prophets know of their existence, all ships are not allowed to leave port. Our ship, however, got under way before any indications of the typhoon were evident. If a boat encounters one of these terrific storms its chances for getting out are about one in a hundred.

I was sitting on the deck talking to the ship's doctor when the boat gave a lurch which threw us both headlong against the railing. Before we could find something to hold to the ship pitched in the opposite direction and we were thrown like rag dolls through the open hatchway upon a pile of cargo. From this point we gradually found our way to the mess-room. This was the first indication that we were in the vicinity of a typhoon. The boat was a freighter and did not carry regular passengers and, besides the crew, the extra travellers consisted of a dozen Chinese coolies, a United States cable ship officer and myself.

The sea became rougher and rougher and if this was only the rim of a typhoon what on earth would the centre of it be? All night the ship pounded, swayed and lurched and the wind blew at a terrific rate. The skipper remained on the bridge and had what little he ate served to him there. In the morning the sea, instead of being calmer, as we had all hoped, was ten-fold worse and the captain announced that we were in the middle of the typhoon, and when asked what our chances were he simply shook his head. When the experienced skipper looked worried and considered that our prospects for reaching shore were small, unless something extraordinary occurred, I philosophically—as did all the others on board—resigned myself to the fact that I only had a day or two at most to live. We were as helpless as babes.

The waves ran thirty and forty feet high and constantly broke over the ship at the two hatchways. Fifteen feet of water dashed and redashed across the deck in a mad torrent. Occasionally a wave would break over the top of the mess-room, which was perched high upon the stem of the boat, and the force of its blow seem to promise that one more would cave in the sides of the ship and end it all. It was impossible to serve meals and we all munched at pieces of bread or chunks of meat—or any food we could get our hands on.

I had never imagined that the ocean could become so terrific and a ship so helpless. Each time I saw the tremendous mountains of water rush towards the vessel I would think it was all over. The ship would cringe, dip and twist and in some mysterious way, half submerged, ride the treacherous monster and, having got safely by, would instantly be confronted with another equally as treacherous and terrible. To survive these waves was a miracle.

With the heavy sea and the fearful wind the ship's engines were powerless and the boat was swept about like a cork. To add to our perilous situation the engine room was becoming flooded, although four pumps were frantically sucking out the water. Thus we battled with the sea for three days, not knowing when the end would come, but always living in the hope that the extraordinary thing would occur which the captain longed for.

Thank God, it did occur. During the third night the wind changed and it began to rain. I never saw rain in such quantities before nor do I ever expect to see it again. But every drop was a blessing, for it did its share to quiet the waves, and it was only a few hours before the sea had abated to a point where comparative safety was reached and the ship was able to make some headway. A more thankful and happy crowd could not be found at that moment on land or sea than the few men on that ship. The first meal after the subsiding of the waves was as happy a reunion and joyous occasion as any Christmas gathering I ever attended.

The next day the sea had calmed down to almost normal and the captain discovered that we had been driven five hundred miles out of our course. He headed the bow of his ship towards Manila and, on the morning of the sixth day, we pulled into port. We were all intact, but the faithful ship was a dismantled wreck. The Manila authorities had given us up as lost and our experiences took up a column on the front page of each of the daily papers.

CHAPTER VIII

RURAL CHINA BY CART

Richardson was en route to Peking as a third-class passenger. He had just been discharged—with thanks—from his position of physics teacher at the Tientsin Middle School. After his dismissal it took him about ten minutes to gather his meagre belongings together and get out of town.

In the Chinese capital he stayed at the native Y.M.C.A. which was conducted by Americans and where his travelling comrade had put up a few weeks before. His bill was one dollar, Chinese money, a day. The Young Men's Christian Association is found in nearly every large city in the Orient. Many of its plants are housed in substantial and well-equipped buildings and it does a most valuable work. The men in charge of these institutions are a fine lot and are representative of the best type of Americans. Without exception, they received us with the greatest cordiality possible and the recollection of their hospitality will long remain with us. The many secretaries we met were often invaluable to us for the advice they gave us, their suggestions and the courtesies they extended to us, and we were always welcomed to their accommodations at very reasonable prices.

In many ways Peking was the most interesting and fascinating city of our travels. It is different from any other place in the world. Richardson circled this oriental capital on foot. He walked along the top of the twelve miles of huge walls which surround it. Peking has a population of over a million people and is divided into four cities, viz.: The Tartar City, inhabited by the middle classes; the Imperial City, within the Tartar City, where reside most of the government officials; the Forbidden City, in the centre of the Imperial City, in which the Emperors lived and where the President of the Republic of China now has his residence; and the Chinese City where the lower classes live. Surrounding the entire metropolis is a great wall forty feet high and sixty-two feet wide at the base.

The Imperial City occupies a space of nearly two square miles and is enclosed by a wall twenty feet high. There are four spacious entrances, each with three gateways, the middle one being opened only for the Emperor or President. The Forbidden City is laid out on a grand scale and is surrounded by massive pink-tinted walls thirty feet high and thirty feet thick. Within are many palaces, private residences, apartments for visitors and government officials and the necessary quarters for an enormous retinue of domestics of various rank. Foreigners without permits or the Chinese, except high officials, are not allowed in this city.

Connecting the Tartar and Chinese cities is the immense and imposing Chien-Mien Gate with its four oriental towers. The view from the top of this gate is one of the most wonderful metropolitan pictures in the world. Directly before one's eyes are the yellow-tiled palaces of the Forbidden City, whose roofs look like sheets of glittering gold under the rays of the oriental sun. To the right are the costly and substantial houses of the Legation Quarter. Far to the left the Bell and Drum Towers loom up like western skyscrapers. In a remote corner of the Chinese City the stately Temple of Heaven with its rich blue roof rests in the haze of the oriental atmosphere. Beneath one is a bee-hive of human beings. Tens of thousands pass through the Chien-Mien Gate each day. Nearly every means of conveyance that one can imagine, except roller skates and submarines, can be seen creeping through the arched openings of the huge gate. Camels, donkeys, rickshaws, the elaborate equipages of officials, carts, men, women and children on foot, form an endless stream from the time the gates are opened at six in the morning until they close at midnight. A touch of the West is added by the roar of trains whose tracks pierce the walls of the Chinese capital with their numerous tunnels.

Travelling at the third-class mountain rate of two-thirds of a cent a mile, Richardson was sharing his small compartment on a Chinese train with a dozen coolies—on his way to Tai Yuam Fu. From Peking he had made a trip to the Ming tombs and had also visited the Great Wall with a party of American tourists. He was now on his way into the interior of Shansi Province to visit some college friends who were missionaries at a small town called Fen Chow Fu. The mission station was conducted by the American Board of the Congregational Church. Richardson went from Peking to Tchang Te Fou, a distance of one hundred and seventy miles, by train. This city was where the Russian artist and I had our trouble with the Chinese beggars. From this place Richardson took a branch line to Tai Yuan Fu, about two hundred miles west, where he spent the night as the guest of a young Britisher who was a Cambridge University graduate and was then doing medical missionary work. Tai Yuan Fu was the terminal of the railroad and Richardson had to complete his journey to the mission station by cart. This Chinese vehicle had been sent to meet him by his missionary friends.

In giving me an account of this eighty-mile Chinese cart trip, which required three days, Richardson told me that in order to appreciate his experiences I must keep in mind four facts. These were: first, a Chinese cart has neither springs nor cushions; second, Chinese country roads are simply two deep parallel ruts or grooves, made by the wheels of carts (these roads are never graded and in places the ruts are two or three feet deep); third, the portion of the road between the ruts was lined with rocks and boulders of every description and size; and fourth, it rained steadily the three days of his journey. He stated that, by putting these facts together and adding a liberal allowance of imagination, I could get some idea of a cart trip in China.

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At night and at noon-time he stopped at Chinese inns. "Inn" is a misnomer, however. The Chinese country inn is a stable-yard filled with mules, donkeys, dogs, pigs, chickens, babies and smells. This yard is surrounded by a long one-story building in which are the sleeping rooms, kitchens and eating compartments. All the rooms in an inn open on the yard and with their doorless entrances extend a hearty welcome to the numerous odours. Chinese hotels can be located by their characteristic odour.

A bedroom in one of these inns has no conveniences. There is a "thing" to sit on and a "thing" upon which to place food, but it requires a great deal of intuition to know that they are respectively a chair and a table. There is a brick platform in one corner of the room for a bed. This is called a kong in Shansi Province. Beneath these kongs a fire is built on cold nights. It was at Tai Yuam Hsien, where he spent the second night, that Richardson, while sleeping soundly on a kong, was awakened about two A.M. by being nearly baked. The coolie who was acting as stoker, had replenished the oven so generously with fuel that the bed resembled a crematory.

For two and a half days he didn't see a foreigner or meet a Chinese who could speak English. He communicated with his servant by means of signs. As he entered each village he at once became the chief object of interest. At the inns the scene on his arrival resembled a circus procession. All the youngsters, beggars and cripples followed him into the yard and watched the "animal" eat. At Tai Yuam Hsien they became so numerous and so persistent in their pleas for cash that Richardson had to flash his pistol to instil some fear into them and impress them with the fact that he was a dangerous man.

This three days' journey was filled with inconveniences, but gave Richardson an excellent opportunity to get a glimpse of Chinese rural life. The country through which he passed was green and the farms along the way gave a Mississippi Valley aspect to the scenery. The methods of farming were somewhat different, however. To see hundreds of acres of wheat planted in rows like radishes and hoed by hand was hardly American. There were no cows or horses but, instead, thousands of goats and sheep flocked the hills and valleys while mules and camels were the beasts of burden. The country was largely agricultural and there were but few walled cities, his course taking him through scores of little villages.

In each of the first two days the Chinese cart made thirty miles and the third day twenty. Richardson drove into Fen Chow Fu about six o'clock on the third evening and received a very cordial welcome from the members of the American mission station. Fen Chow Fu proved to be a walled town of about fifty thousand people and the score or more missionaries were the only foreigners. They entertained Richardson in real American fashion. The members of this little far away colony were mostly graduates of Carlton College, Minnesota, where Richardson had taken his freshman and sophomore years before going to Dartmouth.

After ten days as a guest of his friends, Richardson returned to the railroad at Tai Yuan Fu by Chinese cart. Three more uncomfortable days over the eighty-mile course with the same experiences as the inward trip and he arrived at the railroad without mishap. He took the first train and the following day was in Hankow. In this city he spent a comfortable week at the native Y.M.C.A.

It was at this time that one of the dreadful Chinese famines was ravaging the country a few miles distant from Hankow and thousands of people were dying of starvation. Large numbers of these homeless, naked and wretched creatures flocked to the city and roamed its narrow streets as beggars. They hardly had the strength to walk and they presented a sad sight with their fleshless bones, visible ribs and sunken faces. Real poverty was more in evidence in this section than in any part of the world we visited. Human beings were huddled in tiny huts built of rusty Standard Oil cans and located in a swamp. A whole family of six or eight would crawl in on their hands and knees to get a night's shelter from the cold and rain. During the day they would beg or attempt to sell some worthless trinkets or pieces of junk. I have seen a stock of goods spread out on the sidewalk which contained nothing but what would be consigned to the ash barrel in an American community. Rusty nails, pieces of glass, old newspapers, rags and wornout soles of shoes were on display. In some unaccountable way the vendor frequently found a purchaser.

It was in this poverty-stricken district that Richardson played the rôle of philanthropist. He bought an American dollar's worth of cash—small Chinese coins with a square hole in the centre which are sold on long strings. As soon as he began giving these away a hundred or more of these poor unfortunates gathered about him and piteously begged for some of the money. Starved creatures—ragged women, half-clad and shivering children, blind boys, men on all fours, paralytics and lepers—thronged about him and pleaded for some of his charity. He divided the money equally among the multitude, counting out the coins as he gave them away. He found that for his American dollar he had received twenty-seven hundred pieces of cash.

Richardson was the guest of some friends who were on the faculty of Boone's College in Wu Chang on the opposite bank of the Yangtsze River from Hankow. This school is under the auspices of the American Episcopal Church Mission and is one of the leading institutions of learning in the Empire. Here he spent several days in luxury, sleeping in a warm and comfortable room and enjoying American meals.

Riding below the water line on an oriental steamer with Chinese coolies as fellow passengers is the antithesis of the comfort of an American Mission school. This was the sort of transportation Richardson enjoyed down the Yangtsze to Shanghai. Three days in the midst of unsanitary surroundings and curious and simple coolies were enough to make the ordinary American quit the trip and buy a first-class ticket home. Richardson was not that kind. He was anything but a quitter and although he enjoyed a good bed, clean food and intelligent companions as well as any one I ever knew, he could stand hardship and discomfort without a murmur. He often appeared to like them. In the face of the most discouraging environment he would simply smile and play the part of a philosopher.

He trooped down the gangway at Shanghai with his fellow passengers and in a few days trooped up another gangway on his way south. This time, however, he had obtained a rather luxurious berth. For ten dollars he was to be landed in the city of Victoria, on the island of Hongkong, by the Scotch captain of a British tramp steamer. He occupied a cabin on the upper deck, had the freedom of the ship and dined with the skipper in the main saloon. The voyage was a quiet one and he had plenty of time for reading undisturbed.

Richardson had tried Chinese steerage travel and found it very rough. He decided to make a change. From Hongkong he sailed in the hold of a Japanese steamer for Manila. According to his own statement it was the lowest stratum he had ever reached. The Japanese in the third-class quarters were an unintelligent and inferior lot. They acted like animals; the food was coarse and half cooked; the bunks were hard and full of vermin; the quarters were poorly ventilated; toilet conveniences did not exist; the sea was rough and nearly all the passengers were sick. Aside from this, the boat was very comfortable and it was a pleasant trip.

CHAPTER IX

ASSORTED JOBS IN THE PHILIPPINES

The Philippines proved to be a prolific field for jobs. It was our plan to settle in the Islands for several months and add to our exchequers before going on to India and Europe. Richardson held down three jobs during our three months' stay and for a few days drew pay from them all at the same time. I filled one position and declined two others. The American who couldn't get work in Manila at the time of our visit deserved to starve to death.

Many of the old Spanish laws are still in force and, before I could transact any business, I had to comply with the insular regulations and get a cedular or license. This certificate costs two pesos and must be held before carrying on any financial negotiations.

I was now ready to look for a job. The first day I had a chance to sign on as a government teamster caring for and driving a pair of mules at sixty dollars a month. I did not accept this position, but held it in reserve in case I couldn't land anything better. The second day, the city editor of the Cable-News American said that he had an opening as a reporter at eighty dollars a month. At last I got in touch with the Bureau of Education which I learned wanted a man in its industrial department. Four others had been under consideration for several days for the position when I arrived on the scene. I interviewed the director, Mr. Frank E. White, a charming man who has since died and, as I made a favourable impression, he asked me to call again.

My application was considered for a week and I conversed with several of the authorities of the Bureau. I didn't like the long time employed in coming to a conclusion on my case, for I expected to remain in Manila only a few months—a fact which I had to keep a secret to have any one hire me.

One afternoon during these negotiations I was on the Luneta attending the daily concert of the Philippine Constabulary Band, when I was startled by a war-whoop. I looked up to see a sturdy figure dressed in the white of the tropics bounding towards me. It was Richardson who had just arrived in Manila from China. It was the first we had seen or heard of one another for three months. That evening we spent several hours relating our experiences since we separated.

The next interview with the Bureau of Education was the final one. My qualifications evidently satisfied the authorities for Mr. White opened the conversation by saying:

"Well, we have decided to take you on, Mr. Fletcher—on one condition."

"What is that?" I asked.

"That you will remain permanently," responded Mr. White.

After all the days of negotiation the job now hung in the balance, for I intended to stay only three months at most and I wanted to be free to leave at any time. I couldn't afford to let this information loose or all would be lost.

"I can't agree to anything like that, Mr. White. I assume that you reserve the right to discharge me if my services are not satisfactory and I want the same privilege to quit if I find that I don't like the work or can't get along with you or your assistants," I said.

"Of course we take such matters into consideration," replied Mr. White. "You may go to work at once if you wish."

"There is one little matter which has not been mentioned yet," I added.

"What is that?" enquired the director.

"Compensation," I smiled.

"Two hundred pesos a month," said Mr. White with a laugh. This amount is equivalent to one hundred dollars.

"That is satisfactory," I concluded and was conducted into the department where I was to work. Now that I had the job I at once began to figure out how to get rid of it when the time came. A few minutes before I had been wondering how I was going to get it.

church

The Bureau of Education is one of the main divisions of the Insular Government and employs nearly two thousand men and women, the large majority of whom are scattered throughout the Islands as teachers. The head office in Manila has about one hundred and twenty on its staff, and these are divided among several departments. The Division of Publications and Industrial Information was the title of the department in which I was to work and my duties consisted of issuing bulletins, editing text-books, publishing the Philippine Craftsman (a monthly magazine of the Bureau) and preparing the annual report. This last embodied about fifty financial and statistical tables and twenty or more graphic charts showing the work accomplished by the Bureau during the year. This annual report turned out to be the main part of my duties and I was assisted by eight Filipinos who compiled most of the tables under my supervision. As the Governor-General of the Islands put in a rush order for this report my assistants and I were compelled to work until eleven o'clock each evening for about a month.

Immediately on his arrival in Manila Richardson started to look for a job. The first day, he met a friend from the Hawaiian Islands who was in the Philippines representing the Honolulu Planters' Association in obtaining Filipino labourers for the sugar plantations in Hawaii. This man said he would have a position open in a few weeks. Richardson informed him that he could not wait and would have to get something at once. The Hawaiian planter then agreed to take an option on his time at thirty dollars a week until a vacancy occurred. Richardson accepted this and remained in Manila to await developments.

The duties of the job for which Richardson was slated consisted of visiting several of the islands in a small steamer, manned by a Spanish captain and crew, and gathering labourers who would be taken to Manila and thence shipped to Honolulu. He was to have a motion picture apparatus, with an operator and lecturer who would accompany him in his visits to the small villages and towns and after showing the natives the wonders and advantages of life in Hawaii sign them on and ship them out.

During his wait in Manila Richardson was afflicted with the common tropical malady of dengue and was confined to his bed for ten days. Dengue is a sort of tropical grippe which is conveyed by mosquitoes and attacks its victims by means of a fever, rash and sore bones in every part of the body. Probably its most aggravating features are its after-effects, for a severe case often leaves the patient in such shape that it requires several months to recover normal health. Fortunately Richardson, due to his rugged constitution and to the fact that his attack was comparatively light, was soon convalescent and recovered without the usual lingering after effects.

Richardson soon received word from his Honolulu planter friend that he was to report in Cebu, a town on the island of the same name about five hundred miles south of Manila. He took an inter-island steamer and in a few days reached his destination and was ready for duty. He expected to go to work at once. But the man in charge at Cebu informed him that he was not needed and instructed him to return to Manila. There was a hitch some place. After some difficulty about expense money, which the Cebu man refused to pay and which was adjusted satisfactorily to Richardson by wiring to the Honolulu representative in Manila, he returned north, arriving on a Wednesday morning. He was paid off until the end of the week, which made a total period of one month at thirty dollars a week with no work and an interesting trip with all expenses to Cebu and back.

He began, Wednesday afternoon, to look for another job and by evening he had obtained a position as shipping clerk for a wholesale grocery house at one hundred dollars a month. He went to work the next morning—Thursday. That evening, after dinner, he received a letter from the Bureau of Public Works, to which he had made application the afternoon before, which stated that he was wanted to go to the island of Mindanao, a thousand miles south of Manila, and take charge of the construction of several concrete bridges at a salary of one hundred and twenty dollars a month and expenses. This offer was especially tempting, not only for the increase in salary but for the opportunity it offered him to see more of the Islands—the motive for which he was travelling. The position called—so the man at the Bureau of Public Works stated—for a knowledge of structural engineering, cement work and drafting. Richardson was not an engineer and knew nothing about such subjects.

"What, do you think of my accepting this job?" asked Richardson of his travelling companion when he had finished reading his letter aloud.

"Take it," I said.

"But I don't know anything about structural engineering," he replied.

"What difference does that make? All jobs sound harder than they really are. Suppose you accept it and they find in a couple of weeks that you are no good and fire you, what do you care? You will be a thousand miles farther along on the trip at their expense," I said rather emphatically.

"All right," said Richardson. "To-morrow I will notify the grocery people that I intend to quit in the evening and I will sail for Mindanao on Saturday."

Richardson severed his connections with the wholesale grocery house the following night and began making preparations for his departure south. It will be remembered that the salary from his first position continued until the end of the week. He received pay from the grocery store for Thursday and Friday and his wages from the Bureau of Public Works began on Friday morning. He therefore drew pay from all three jobs on Friday.

Richardson didn't know a transit from a trombone and he knew no more about cement than a hair-dresser but, provided with a technical hand-book, he sailed, certain that he would be a competent engineer by the time he arrived at Zamboango on the island of Mindanao—in about a week. I saw him off and interestedly awaited word from him as to how matters would turn out.

I had rented a large room in the Imperial Hotel, one of the quaint old adobe Spanish buildings with iron-barred windows and folding doors, in the Intramuros or walled city. I had been living in this room for a few weeks when the proprietor, evidently thinking that it was too large for one person to occupy, placed another man in it without consulting me. As the new arrival appeared a good fellow, and also because I received a reduction in my rental, I made no objection. My new roommate was a man about thirty years of age by the name of Edwards. He had been a second-class yeoman in the United States Navy and, after serving several years, had bought his way out. According to his own statement he had enjoyed the reputation of having been the biggest drunkard in the Asiatic Squadron and in this contention he was upheld by members of the navy who knew him. He now, however, had been on the water wagon for six months and intended to remain there.

It was only a few days after the advent of Edwards that the proprietor, evidently still considering that the room was too large to be wasted on two persons, intruded a third. This man's name was Lakebank, and since (as in the first case) he appeared to be a decent sort of chap and the proprietor again reduced the rental, we concluded to allow him to remain. We all, however, agreed that he was to be the last. Lakebank was a rough, uncouth fellow with one of the finest dispositions in the universe and a heart as big as the ocean. He was chauffeur for one of the high officials of the Insular Government. The three of us got along very well together.

One evening as Edwards and I were eating the eternal chicken dinner of Manila, Lakebank arrived with a most disturbed look in his face. His eyes were nearly popping out of his head. I at once saw that something was wrong and enquired what the trouble was but received only a wink in reply. I took the hint and put the matter off until after dinner. Lakebank, who was very nervous and excited, then informed me that he had seen a man on the street, that afternoon, whom he recognised as his sister's husband and who, nine years ago in the United States, had left her on the night of the birth of their little girl. Later it was discovered that he had gambled away all her savings. He had never been seen or heard from, and was supposed to be dead, until Lakebank came face to face with him on a calle of Manila. Lakebank learned that his brother-in-law was going under the assumed name of Polly.

We discussed the matter for some time and I offered a number of suggestions as to how to handle the situation. The next day, Lakebank, acting on our conclusions, went to the office of Mr. Polly, who had a good position with the Insular Government, and stated that he wished to speak to him alone.

"Go right ahead. Everything my stenographer hears is confidential," said Mr. Polly.

"No, I want her out of the room," insisted Lakebank, "for I have something of a very serious nature to say to you."

"Don't mind her," repeated the man, "I assure you that everything you say will be kept a secret."

"All right then," and looking him squarely in the face Lakebank said, "I am James Lakebank, your brother-in-law. Your name is Ham, not Polly."

"Yes, yes, you are right; no one should be present," muttered Ham nervously and, as he staggered towards the door, he added, "Come with me." The two men left the office and wandered out on the street, both in silence, until they came to a secluded spot in an adjacent lumber yard where, sheltered from view, they sat speechless.

"What are you going to do about it?" Lakebank finally asked. Ham then opened his heart and in tears stated that he had never spent such remorseful years in his life as those which had elapsed since the night he left his wife. He explained that he went directly to Chicago, enlisted in the army and was detailed to Manila, where he had been ever since. He said that if his wife were willing he would join her again and to show his good faith, would give Lakebank five hundred dollars to send her so that she could come to San Francisco and meet him there. If she did not want to see him, she could keep the money for whatever purpose she wished. He enquired affectionately about the little girl who was born the night he deserted and whom he had never seen. He stated that he had saved several thousand dollars and that, if it was his wife's wish, he would return to America, resume his right name, join her and begin life all over again.

Lakebank did not know whether his sister would forgive Ham, or not, but informed him that he would write her of their meeting. The case interested me and I was eager to know the outcome. It would take several months for letters to be exchanged between Lakebank and his sister and the matter would not be settled until nearly a year after my departure from the Islands. Many months afterwards I heard from Lakebank. Ham returned to America, met his wife and little girl in San Francisco, were reunited and were happily situated in the States.

house

The penitentiary was situated on the shore of the island of Mindanao and was one of the Insular Government prisons. The institution consisted of several one-story, cement-walled and thatch-roofed houses which, in addition to containing the cells for the convicts, had rooms and accommodations for the guards and officers. The prisoners were largely recruited from the Moro tribe, nominal Mohammedans, with whom the United States has had much trouble. There were also a few Filipinos and a number of Chinese.

Richardson was comfortably situated in one of the cottages which were provided for the officials of the prison. The entire group of buildings was within a few hundred feet of the ocean and was buried in a luxuriant jungle of palms and evergreen trees of the tropics.

Each morning at six o'clock the convicts, attired in their striped uniforms, were conducted by a number of armed guards to a ravine across which the prison authorities had planned to build a bridge. The preliminary work of filling and grading was being done and it was to oversee this work that Richardson was assigned. All day long, under the tropical sun, he supervised the hauling, filling and levelling. It was a position a ten-year-old boy could have held. As the work progressed he, no doubt, would have had to use his knowledge of bridge construction. Fortunately, for those of posterity who are destined to use this bridge, he did not remain to complete the work.

Ten days on the job and he was notified that he was to be transferred to another part of the Islands. He was instructed to report to Manila for orders. His removal was due to the fact that the Manila office had sent six men to Mindanao when only four were needed and as he was the last to arrive he was naturally the first to go. He took a boat and reached Manila after an absence of one month during which he received one hundred and twenty dollars and expenses and two thousand miles travel, visiting many of the island ports en route.

As the Bureau of Education authorities had assumed that unless something extraordinary happened I was a fixture in my position, I expected to be thrown out when I notified them of my intention to leave. It also would look as though I were afraid that I could not pass the civil service examination which was scheduled for the next day and which I had to take to become a regular employé—for I was only a temporary man up to this time. The shortness of the notice might also cause trouble for, as we were to leave the Islands that day, I could give only a few hours' notice. On second thought I concluded that the Bureau could not justly object for I had come at a time when it was badly in need of a man to issue the annual report and I had finished this volume, having put in much overtime on it without extra remuneration.

However, everything passed off smoothly and, instead of being forced to stay or being kicked out, I was treated with the greatest kindness and consideration by every one from Director White down. I never before left a position with so much good will on the part of my employers. Mr. White expressed his regret and stated that he had planned to soon promote me and give me an increase in salary. He added that if at any time he could be of service to me I should not hesitate to call on him.

That evening Richardson and I sailed in the hold of a ship for Hongkong. After travelling through Japan, Korea, China and the Philippine Islands we left Manila with more coin than we had when we departed from Honolulu eight months before. We each were now worth about eight hundred dollars.

CHAPTER X

A PORT-HOLE VIEW OF SOUTHERN ASIA

With our eight hundred dollars each we felt somewhat flush. We realised, however, that it would probably be a long time before we could obtain positions that would pay us as well as those we had left in Hawaii, China and the Philippines, and we foresaw that we might have difficulty about getting work in Europe that would even pay our expenses. For these reasons, although now comparatively opulent, we decided to continue the steerage route.

We sailed from Hongkong in the forward part of the French Mail liner Caledonien for Saigon, Indo-China. Our only companions in the steerage on this three-day trip were thirty Japanese women of the underworld going to settle in the La Petite Paris, as Saigon is frequently called. The meals on this steamer were not bad in quality for steerage fare but were not numerous enough. The first meal of each day took place at nine o'clock in the morning and the second and last was served at eight in the evening. Each eater was allotted a piece of bread—the sturdy production of some French cook—a bottle of wine, meat and potatoes, and in the evening a pudding of some sort. We spent the long hours between meals reading or conversing to the best of our ability with the Japanese prostitutes.

The Caledonien began winding her way up the Mekong River to Saigon, about fifty miles inland. French Indo-China is a beautiful spot and Saigon with its fifty thousand inhabitants, many of whom are French, is indeed a miniature Paris. It is a gay little town with many substantial buildings, numerous cafés and ornate theatres. Scores of quaint tables, at many of the restaurants, are placed on the sidewalks and sometimes out into the street, completely closing it for traffic. At these tables hundreds of pleasure-loving French people sit during the afternoons and evenings, tranquilly sipping their wine. They chat and laugh as though they didn't have a care in the world. The natives of Cochin-China are Annanese, a similar people to the Chinese. Both the men and the women dress their hair in a knot on the top of their heads, and as they both wear trousers it is difficult for the new arrival to distinguish the sexes.

The steerage quarters of the Caledonien were crowded to their capacity by the large number of Frenchmen and women who came aboard at Saigon. In order to make room for his countrymen, the steward moved Richardson and me from our stateroom, in the forward part of the ship, to a cabin between the engines and the kitchen. We did not realise what sort of a place it was until it came time to retire. It was hotter than Hades and there was no more chance for a breath of fresh air to get into this dingy compartment than for light to penetrate a photographer's dark room. One glance was enough. We made our beds on the bow of the ship. We were rudely and suddenly awakened by the French steward, who was as mad as a man could be when he saw his clean bed-clothes on the dirty deck, covering two crusty Americans. He grabbed the sheets and blankets, uncovered us with one jerk and left us clad in only our night clothes to scramble nearly the length of the ship, through the steerage crowds, to our stateroom.

This French steward was a most irritable being and was continually worried at the actions of Richardson and myself. He would fly off into a fearful tirade of French when he found us taking a bath in the first-class passengers' tub, or when he saw us steal food from the breakfast table to sustain us until the evening meal, or when he discovered us asleep in a different part of the deck each night with the clean bed-spreads. He became so cranky that he even called us down when we spotted the coarse cloth on the table in the mess-room. He became so needlessly exasperated at whatever we did that Richardson and I devised means by which we could provoke the old fellow.