Say unto Tyrus, O thou that art
situate at the entry of the sea, which art a merchant of the people for
many isles, Thus saith the Lord God; O Tyrus, thou hast said, I am of
perfect beauty... Behold, therefore, I will bring strangers upon thee,
... and they shal draw their swords against the beauty of thy wisdom. - Esk. xxvii. 3, xxviii. 7.
The sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. - Eph. vi. 17.
I cling to yon crowded city,
Though I shrink from its woe and sin.
> Bonar.
Though I shrink from its woe and sin.
> Bonar.
If we sail up the south-eastern coast of China, from Hong-Kong, we come about four hundred miles further to the mouth of a large river named the Min, which with its tributaries, waters nearly the whole of the great province of Fuh-Kien, comprising a territory nearly as large as England without Wales, with a population of probably twenty millions. Let us in imagination ascend this noble stream.
As we approach the mouth, steering cautiously through a somewhat intricate channel between picturesque little islands, lofty granite mountains rise before us, and between their almost perpendicular precipices we enter the narrow channel of the Min. Further on, where the gorge widens a little, Chinese villages nestle at the foot of the cliffs, or crown the lower spurs of the mountains, each with its watch-tower rising conspicuous above the low houses; and here and there a hill-torrent leaps from the precipice into the valley below. Signs of Chinese industry meet the eye on all sides, every terrace or ledge of rock being assiduously cultivated. After threading another narrow passage, with columns of rocks on either side piled up to a height of a thousand feet, we emerge into a fertile valley eight or ten miles broad, in the midst of which, ten miles further up the river, stands Fuh-Chow, the capital of the province. As we approach the city, the loftiest peak in the surrounding mountain chain rises on our right. It is called Kushan, or the Drum mountain, and its summit, which is 3,900 feet high, is occasionally, in the depth of winter, white with snow for a few hours. In a hollow at the foot of the peak, and about 2,000 feet above the plain, is a famous Buddhist monastery, a favourite retreat for the foreign residents in Fuh-Chow in the hot season; and within its hospitable walls our missionaries have frequently been thankful to take refuge from the almost intolerable atmosphere of the city.
The thickening forest of masts, both of Chinese and of smaller foreign vessels, and the numerous boat-building yards lining the river bank, warn us that we are nearing the capital; and presently a rough but massive bridge, built of enormous blocks of granite, and no less than a third of a mile in length, stretches across the stream. This the Wan-show-Keaou, or bridge of ten thousand ages. On our left, as we approach it, is the populous suburb of Nantai, where, on a rising ground, stand the houses of the European merchants. The city lies away to the right, approached from the bridge by a narrow winding street nearly three miles long. Let us land at the bridge and traverse this pattern of a Chinese street, with our eyes wide open while our guide explains to us the many curious sights that are to be seen.
What a busy and confused scene! How quickly the thronging crowds move to and fro! Yet there are few accidents, and little or no wrangling. We have been told that the people of Fuh-Kien are more turbulent and independent than most Chinamen; and we were prepared, on the other hand, for a certain amount of order from a people so tenacious of forms and ceremonies; but here we find apparent disorder and yet no disturbance - a crowd of avaricious tradesmen pushing their business with the utmost consideration for those around them. The road is very badly paved, and we are thankful that we have to step into the deep holes and over the dirty heaps in the dry season. In wet weather we should prefer to occupy the sedan chairs in which wealthy citizens are borne on the shoulders of their servants.
Let us enter one of the houses. At first sight they seem to be built with their backs to the front, but we find that we are really looking at the front, and that the door is the only opening to the low one-story shed in which these wonderful people crowd, more like hens in a fowl-house than like human beings. The doors, which are sometimes oval of leaf-shaped, are placed so as not to be opposite to each other, in order to inconvenience the evil spirits which this clever people dread so much. The shop front is open with a double counter, so that the proprietor may serve in the street as well as in his shop. The foundations are of stone, the frame-work of wood, and the walls of lath and plaster, though sometimes of mud; the roof alone shows by its shape the tented origin of the building. Each tradesman erects a tablet to one of the gods that preside over mercantile transactions, before which he burns incense sticks twice a day. As we return to the street we inquire the name of the tradesman who has so politely shown us his premises, and our guide points to a sign of some seven feet in height, containing his name, and a motto, “Mutual Advantage.” Next door we see an enterprising firm trading under the title, “Rising Goodness,” and so on all up the street.
As we approach the city gates, it seems as if some calamity within the walls had compelled the whole population to migrate into the suburbs, and to do their business in the open air, for here we see not only travelling fruiterers, pastrymen, cooks, and vendors of gimcracks, but blacksmiths, tinkers, and shoe-makers too. We are not surprised to see a bookseller’s stall, but we are not prepared for a migratory banker or chemist and druggist, who, one would suppose, must necessarily settle in a fixed place, that we may know where to find them. We are considerably amused by the sight of a placid Chinaman having his head shaved in a quite nook of this fancy fair. We are not surprised to learn that a wise and paternal government compels them to submit to this trying operation, and that those who rebel against the Tartars, who have ruled for more than two centuries, let their hair grow, and cut off their queues. It is very easily seen that nothing but duty would cause them to put up with such a continual affliction. As we proceed, we miss the rows of gas lamps to which we have been accustomed, but if only we could be here at the time of the “Feast of Lanterns,” we should find much more to admire in the effect produced by the lighting up of a vast number of paper lanterns, of all sizes and shapes and covered with all sorts of devices.
And now we meet with several tradesmen whose business we cannot comprehend - chiromancers, fortune-tellers, and choosers of lucky days. The dentist hangs round his neck a ghastly string of grinders and fangs as evidences of his skill; but what testimonials shall we require before we do business with the gentleman “who chooses lucky days”? And yet he does a good business, for no Chinaman can be married, or buried, or take any important step, except on a lucky day. The Chinaman, with all his shrewdness and ability, is as much a slave to his superstitions as the most degraded negro.
But what is this procession of gaily dressed folk coming down the street with gongs beating and fireworks cracking? The white dresses notwithstanding, there is a sad look about the people forming the procession. It is a funeral party. This is their lucky day for carrying the dead parent to his last home. All the rites have been performed, and the widow and children are sadly wending their way to a small knoll in the country, there to lay their loved one down in the hope that if they continue to pay the required subscription, the departed one will wander about in the world of spirits, clothed and fed and supplied with ready money. That is all.
The Buddhist or Taouist priest tells them nothing of a Day of Judgment, nothing of a Heaven; without hope himself, he gives them none. These busy thronging multitudes literally have no religion that will influence their lives in the present, or give them hope for the future. They have no God; they are given up to selfishness; they carry on their trade without any day of rest; they are told that their profits will be larger if they burn incense before certain idols, and that their luck will be better if once a year they observe certain ceremonies which bear a semblance to idolatrous worship, and so they do as they are advised. Their God is Self, and the only objects of worship they at all care about are their ancestors.
They may call themselves Buddhists, and summon the Buddhist priest to conduct every domestic religious ceremony; or they may profess Taouism, and pay some homage to its multitude of divinities; or if they belong to the literary classes, they will hold both Buddhists and Taouists in contempt, and hold proudly to the moral maxims of Confucius; but whichever of the three national religions may claim them as adherents, their real faith, such as it is, is in the ancestral worship which prevailed in China long before Confucius taught the five cardinal virtues, or Taouist austerities and magical ceremonies were thought of, or Buddhism covered the land with temples and pagodas, convents and monasteries, priests and nuns. Go into any house we may choose, everywhere we shall find the ancestral tablets - pieces of board twelve inches long and three broad, each with the name, rank, and date of birth and death of the person it commemorates. Is it a rich man’s house? There is a hall set apart for the tables. Is it the hovel of the poor? They adorn a special shelf in the single room. Before these ancestral tablets are prayers and incense offered, especially on the 1st and 15th of the month. It is the worship of the dead.
Before we reach the gate of the city we are to witness another procession peculiar to China. A number of porters carrying various articles of dress and household furniture are parading the street, ostentatiously displaying a bride’s contribution to the furniture of her future home. We do not see the bride herself in her gay marriage chair on her way from her old home to her new one, but we know that she is entirely giving up her own family and joining that of her husband. She will live with their parents, for it is a common thing to find three generations living together in tolerable peace and harmony.
As we enter the southern gate we notice a curious sight - a basket carrier collecting something which he evidently values very highly, and which we are surprised to learn are only scraps of waste paper with the Chinese character written on them. They have been taught by Confucius to venerate the written character, and therefore they collect the paper in this way to be afterwards carefully burned.
We partake a slight refreshment at one of the curious bamboo stalls, which does duty as a cookshop, and provides warm and tasty rice puddings and hot tea at all hours of the day, and then, passing on through the city, we catch sight of a European face in a room used as a temporary chapel by the side of this teeming highway. And now for the first time do we thoroughly appreciate the difficulties of a missionary to the Chinese. There stands the missionary, in a conspicuous garb, speaking with difficulty, in a language he has been learning for several years, to a people who are worldly above all others, thoroughly conceited, believing in their own wisdom, and filled with contempt for the poor “foreign devil,” as he is frequently called; taught from their earliest childhood to venerate all that he condemns, and to despise all that he teaches to be good and right, while the slightest disposition to heed the things that be of God is the signal for persecution from every relative and friend he has. How can we expect him to hear and embrace the saving truths of the Gospel? Yet in spite of all this, we see here, supporting the words of the foreigner, a Native catechist and a Native pastor, whose sincerity none can doubt, to whose honesty the suspicious and distrustful Chinese are themselves ready to bear witness. The sight lends vigour to our steps, and we continue our journey to the Mission premises with a lighter heart and with renewed hope.
Presently we arrive at the highest bit of ground in the city, called the Wu-shih-shan, or Black-Stone Hill, and on this, amid pleasure-grounds and temples, we should have found, until lately, the Church Missionary Society’s Mission buildings. Why we shall not see them there now will appear further on.
From the summit we survey the whole town; and the surrounding plain, to the foot of the mountains, and extending north and south twenty miles, is spread before us like a map. It is a fine sight. The city indeed, though it is frequently spoken of by the Chinese as the “Banyan City,” owing to the many trees of that name to be found growing in the town, is not very picturesque. It appears “like a solid mass of murky roofs,” the streets being too narrow for us to distinguish them from the elevation on which we stand. Here and there lofty ornamented poles or walls of a bright red colour rise above the houses, and mark the temples and the Mandarin dwellings. But beyond the walls, which are seven miles in circumference, and broad plain, encircled by the mountains, intersected by canals, studded with rural villages, temples, and fish-ponds, and richly cultivated, affords a beautiful prospect. Facing the north-west, where the Min emerges from the mountain range, we are looking in the direction whence come the two great staples of Fuh-Chow commerce, timber and tea. The famous black tea district of Bohea (so called from a mountainous chain of that name) lies beyond those hills; and wood of many and varied kinds - comphor-wood especially - abounds up the course of the river. Mr. Wolfe thus refers to this view, and the thoughts suggested by it, in a letter written in 1863, soon after his arrival at Fuh-Chow: -
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* In the engraving, the hill in the left foreground is Wu-shih-shan, or Black-Stone Hill. About the left centre of the picture, on this hill, will be observed a white wall; behind it a house with a slightly gabled roof looking as pagoda. This wall surrounds what used to be the C.M.S. Mission compound; and the house was the original mission-house, afterwards burnt down, but replaced by a new one built by the late Rev. J. E. Mahood. To the right, but lower down, and almost exactly in the centre of the picture, is another English-looking house, which was used as a girls’ school, and as the residence of the Native Pastor, the Rev. Wong Kiu-taik. Between the two houses, and a little behind, is a large Taouist temple. Another hill, crowded with buildings, will be seen in the background, with a famous pagoda half-way up it. Just beneath this pagoda, between the two hills, a building stands up from the mass of houses: this is the city gate, the lower ground to the right being the suburbs.
If the sight of a single city overwhelms the missionary with the vastness of his work, as well it may, what must be his feelings as he thinks of the great province of which it is the capital, with its twenty millions of souls - not to speak of all China, with its four hundred million - spread out beyond! Fuh-Chow means “the happy city”, and Fuh-Kien “happily established”; and certainly, with their diversified scenery, their rich produce, and their industrious people, the city and the province only need the Gospel - the Fuh-yin or “happy message” - with its blessed provision of grace and pardon, life and peace, to make them indeed abodes of true happiness. How the Fuh-yin was carried to Fuh-Chow, and from city to city over the mountains and valleys of Fuh-Kien, will be told in subsequent chapters.
Were ye not fain to doubt how Faith could dwell
Amid that dreary glare, in this world’s citadel?
But ...
... be ye sure that Love can bless
E’en in this crowded loneliness,
Where ever-moving myriads seem to say,
Go - thou art nought to us, nor we to thee - way!
> Keble.
Come, O Thou all-victorious Lord,
Thy power to us make know;
Strike with the hammer of Thy word,
And break these hearts of stone.
> C. Wesley.
(First chapter of The Story of Fuh-Kien Mission of the Church Missionary Society, by Eugene Stock; Third edition published in 1890.)
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