AT LAST THE ORDER CAME to depart. Some of OUT people who had houses to which they might go, and means of support, had already returned to Shanghai. We were to leave Camp in time to catch a six o'clock boat from Yangchow, on Saturday morning, October 6th. At Chinkiang we were to be transferred by Japanese Army trucks to the Railway Station, and a special train was to take us to Shanghai. A few of the Campers remained to see the baggage away, and close up the Camp. Some of the hospital patients were to be sent down later in the day by plane. The old people were spared the early start, and were to travel in the afternoon, getting a night train with sleeping cars to Shanghai. Everything that thoughtful care could do to make the trip easy was attended to, and though all did not turn out as planned, the fault did not lie with our kind and efficient officers.
I well remember the last evening in that room that had sheltered us so long. Beds and bedding were packed, and the trunks were all away. Pictures and bookcases were taken down from the walls: it looked bare indeed. The geranium had been cut down, and some of its roots pared off, and it was packed in a special bag to return to its own home. Mr. and Mrs. W., our neighbors in the room, were amongst the old people who were to leave later in the day; so they still had their bedding, and kindly lent us each a rug or some bit of bedding, so we could stretch out on the floor to get a little sleep.
We were away a little after five the next morning. All the Campers who were remaining, came down to see us off, and help with the hand baggage. We had a good tug, and a large barge pulled by it. It was a glorious morning, and how exhilarating it felt to be free, and on the way HOME. We reached Chinkiang in good time, but the Japanese efficiency hopelessly broke down. We had a long wait for trucks, and finally many of us had to walk to the railway station, which we did not mind in the least. Another wait, and the special train arrived. Again the Japanese efficiency had broken down, and we found it half full of Chinese, even before we had a chance to get crowded in like sardines, and found seats where we could. Our people had been organized in companies, and a man with an assistant in charge of each. I had charge of one company, so by the time my flock and all their hand baggage were stowed safely away, the only available spot was on my bag in the middle of the aisle. It was a long, hot journey, and we watched the ravages of war all along the way. The trains were in very poor shape, as well as the roadbed, so we could not go quickly. We reached Shanghai North Station just about six in the evening, and were met by some of our own men and boys who had gone down before us. With them were American soldiers, and in less time than it takes to tell, we and our baggage found ourselves in American Army trucks, being driven through familiar streets, to the Embankment Building, where lodging had been prepared for us.
“We were like them that dream." How true it was! We felt dazed and stupid coming back to real life. But kindness, courtesy and efficiency were everywhere. Rooms were allotted to us, and we found ourselves on the third floor, with a room to ourselves, and a lovely wide cool verandah off it, that looked out over the Post Office, Soochow Creek, the Garden Bridge and the Whangpoo River beyond. The old familiar street sounds came up to us; a street-car bell, the honk of a motor horn, Chinese children playing; all so familiar, yet all so strangely new. Not four blocks away was Quinsan Gardens, where the Book Room had found a home for so many years, so we were on familiar ground. Our room was part of a flat of three rooms and kitchen with two big cupboards, and, perhaps best of all a BATHROOM! We had not seen a bathroom, or had a real bath for nearly three years. (That does not mean we had never washed). My sister kindly decided to live in one of the cupboards, so that we might have our room to ourselves, a luxury that no words are adequate to describe. Perhaps she also thought it would be nice to have a room to herself. Other families were in the other two rooms.
And then we went downstairs to a great room fitted out as a dining room. We each were given a plate; and it was not either tin or granite; how strange it seemed! We had food helped to us; not ladled out of a huge pot, one great unrecognizable mess of S.O.S. But a nice helping of meat, with good vegetables kept apart from it; and then we had real pudding, and cups of cocoa; and they were not granite cups either. And there was a table cloth on the table, and knives and forks to eat with. One little girl of eight confided, "Mummie has been teaching me how to use a knife and fork, for I never saw people use them before.”
After that we went to a great store room, and each person was given a good army cot, and as many blankets as you wanted. We took ours up to our new room, and made them up on the verandah, and my sister had hers further down the same verandah. We still seem able to feel the delicious cool breeze that swept in over that verandah from the Whangpoo. We had a flat-top desk and a chair in the flat. I think that was all the furniture. But we did not care. We were going Home. It was a palace to us.
The next morning was The Lord's Day. How I love that name, instead of Sunday. We started early for Brenan Road, and just before we turned in at our lane, we met Mrs. C., our dear S. How glad we were to see her, and what a welcome we got. But one of the warmest welcomes (how hard it is to compare welcomes!) was from the dirty, ragged children of the straw huts, who used to come to Sunday School. What joy, unfeigned joy, to see us again! What excitement! What running back and forth to tell their mothers and friends, and soon most of the village were out shaking our hands, in a welcome that leaped over Chinese etiquette, (where one only shakes one's own hands), and shouting and smiling: "The foreigners are back again!" Do you wonder we love China? Is there any hardship living in The Badlands to have such neighbors?
And we saw dear Mr. W. and his little family. And we marveled at the way they had cared for the property in spite of everything, and we marveled at their stories of God's faithfulness and loving care for them. Mr. W. told me about the business, and how they had constantly increased his rent. All this I had expected, and was fully prepared to hear of a big debt waiting for me to pay; but I had forgotten Who was looking after these dear ones. I asked rather anxiously: "And how much do you owe, Mr. W?" I wish you could have heard the note of triumph and unspeakable joy in his voice as he replied: "Not one cent. We have never owed one cent! Often on the morning of rent day, we had nothing: but never once did we not have enough when it was time to pay!" What a lesson in God's faithfulness for this dear brother, and for me! But some of us are slow to learn these blessed lessons.
And then S. told us the property was too deeply flooded to be able to walk to our house by the old path, so we had to go round by the outside lane, and the Children's Refuge. And S. brought us in, and showed us our house. She took us into our living room, filled with memories of romping, happy children; or friends in uniform singing together round the old piano. But all was still and empty. The damp had eaten the floor away. The pretty walls that our landlord had fixed for us just before John's wedding, were stained with damp right to the ceiling. In front of the fireplace, cold and cheerless now, stood the old wicker sofa, looking shabbier than ever it had looked. Somehow as we gazed about, empty bookcases all around the room, not a picture or text on the walls, the big old dining table and a few shabby chairs deep in dust; the room that used to be so bright and gay, seemed filled with sadness. And as we gazed at the familiar objects, S. pointed to the old sofa, and remarked: "Jimmie lived in this room; he used to spend hours in here praying, and on that sofa he died not many weeks ago.”
Perhaps you know Jimmie: it was he who helped Mr. and Mrs. Collier so much, as told in their book: "Covered Up In Kowloon." Finally he came on foot from Hongkong to Shanghai. It was Jimmie; poor, penniless, homeless, waif as he was, who kept sending money back to them in Hongkong to help in their need. Dear, faithful, loving laddie; thy toils and sorrows and sufferings are over; those bright, earnest eyes have seen the King in His beauty; he is with Christ, which is far better. But my eyes would fill with tears as I thought of a day, years before when I met Jimmie for the first time; and I could still hear him say, "Say, Mister, I ain't got no New Testament." And how easily I was taken in, for Jimmie could not read a word, but he got the New Testament. And I thought of another day, not so many weeks later, when a tousled black head was bowed over a bare wooden floor, soaked with tears, and a sixteen or seventeen year old boy realized for the first time the price the Savior had paid for him, and he was sobbing out the heartbroken confession: "I ain't worth ten cents to de Lord Jesus." But the Savior had claimed His purchase, and if I mistake not, that lad so scorned and despised and laughed at down here has heard, in glad surprise, his Master say: "Well done, good and faithful servant: enter thou into the joy of thy Lord." And I think I hear Jimmie reply: "Why should the King recompense me with such a reward?”
But thoughts travel faster than words, so I said to S.: "Tell me all about it.”
“He was out in the villages preaching. He kept preaching all the time, but you know he had nothing; and everybody was so poor, and he got thinner and thinner. We didn't know he was so sick, but when he came back from the country after being away for several weeks, he just lay down on the sofa there, too tired to get up again, and a few days after he went Home in perfect peace. I think he really starved to death.”
We still stood in silence, deep in thought of that brave young soldier of Jesus Christ, who so recently had just here laid down his life for his Lord and the Gospel. I wonder if there are any young soldiers of Jesus Christ amongst my readers who are ready and willing to step into Jimmie's place?
Perhaps some day I will tell you Jimmie's story, but it must not be now.
And then S. got her keys, and took us upstairs and unlocked our bedroom door. We did not even know it had a key before, but she and Tien Chei had managed all. And there was the same old furniture, untouched, and the tears again would come to our eyes as we realized how these dear Chinese women at such cost had cared for, and protected our belongings.
We were to meet to remember the Lord in the afternoon; the way the early Christians, in New Testament days, used to meet. My sister was anxious to go to the Hospital to see Tien Chei, for over all our joy hung this deep, deep sorrow. This dear child, who was so unspeakably dear to us, and who had so lavishly spent and been spent for us, was lying fighting a losing fight for life. S. kindly asked us to dinner with her, and meanwhile we went to the hospital. I will not try to describe that meeting: it was not for the public eye. It is strange how often we find the deeper the love, the keener the pain that goes with it.
“I will give her My cross of suffering,
My cup of sorrow to share,
But in robes of white,
In the cloudless light,
All shall be righted there.”
We returned to Brenan Road, and there in the little upstairs sunroom, that we had built years before for Hope's bedroom, a room that was filled with sweet memories, as S. well knew, she had prepared a delicious, but simple meal. The four of us sat around the old familiar table, a small, solid, square oak table, we had bought years before from our friend, Mr. Tennant, when he went home. We sat and talked, and S. told us of the joys and sorrows; of the faithfulness of God, and how He had befriended them, and seen them through all their troubles. And we talked of C.'s future, dear Chun Lai and S.'s eldest son. I think both she and we longed to see him in the Book Room, the work so dear to his father's heart; but we all knew this could not be yet, and there was an offer to apprentice him to a carpenter. The time went all too quickly, and we could not leave those parts without seeing our dear friends at the Children's Refuge next door. So taking leave of S. and her little flock, we knocked at the familiar gate, and the same familiar, quiet, happy face appeared when the gate was opened. What a welcome, even from the gate-keeper, who said more with her eyes than her lips. And we walked up a roadway, through the nice grounds, finding even they had suffered from the floods. And there were old old friends, safe and sound, even though older and more worn. The head of the Refuge was of German birth and she alone had been allowed to stay. She was very far from young, I suppose well past the three-score and ten, and the burden had been very heavy. There were more than four hundred children, and all the Chinese workers, and many of the sources of supply had been completely cut off.
Before going into Camp we had sent her over a Scroll, with a picture on it of a barrel and of a cruse: and on it the words: "The barrel of meal shall not waste, neither shall the cruse of oil fail." She took us upstairs to a tiny room, where there was a chair, a small table, and opposite the table, framed and hanging on the wall was this scroll. Then she told us that it was here she came to be alone, and to wrestle in prayer for the needs and safety of her great family. She told us how the Japanese military had come to the Refuge to inform her that it was now under their jurisdiction. All these things she had spread out before the Lord in that little room, and once again we listened to the story of our Father's gracious, loving, faithful care; and how in face of the most appalling difficulties, every need had been met, and the children and helpers were all safe and well.
We came down the lane and round to the meeting room. It is a nice room, about twenty-four feet square, with a post in the middle of it, and a cinder floor. The walls were bare gray brick, but they have been tinted, and they are adorned with large Gospel posters in Chinese. The same old familiar benches are there, and better still, many of the old familiar faces are there, too. Dear Mr. F. and Mr. T., fruits of Mr. C.'s labors in Shanghai, are both there with their families. How good it is to see them once again! And their faces just beam with gladness when they see us. Mr. F. especially, has the most infectious smile: it seems to light up his whole face and take away the marks of care and age and make him look quite young and boyish. It was a very small company. Our poor head-man had gone elsewhere, and other faces were missing. But I believe the Lord was there, and what a privilege and joy it was to remember Him once again, after having been deprived of this blessed feast for more than two and a half years.
We went to supper with our dear friends at the Refuge, and then returned to our comfortable beds on the verandah of the Embankment Building, tired but, oh, so happy.
It was rather a blow next morning to see a notice posted that all Canadians returning to Canada were to report immediately for the last available ship, which was to sail on the 12th, only four days away: and for three of those days the whole city was to be given up to rejoicing and celebrations for victory. It meant a fearful rush. Before leaving Yangchow we had had a most kind letter from our old friend who had bought the printing plant, in which he invited us to stay with him when we returned to Shanghai, and offering to supply us with whatever money we might need until checks could be cashed.
There was so much we wanted to do in Shanghai, and so many people we wanted to see, that it was a sad disappointment to have only four days. I immediately went and looked up my kind friend, and borrowed a million dollars from him (I think it came to about thirty dollars of Canadian money). He gave me a most kind welcome, and loaded me with gifts for myself and my wife and the children, and loaned me a bicycle. Then he took me to the American Consulate in his own private Pedicar, where I found my wife waiting for me, and we commenced to arrange for our passage home. They kindly supplied us each with $25.00 American money to provide for traveling extras. We were almost the last to get this special grant, but how thankful we were for it. The godown roof was leaking badly, and the contractor wanted $40.00 American money to repair it; money which we did not have. We left my sister the $40.00 needed, and $10.00 proved ample to supply all our needs on the way home.
I must not try to describe those busy days in Shanghai. With the bicycle I got much more accomplished than otherwise would have been possible. The days passed all too quickly, and on the morning of the 12th, an Army truck was on hand to take us and our baggage down to the jetty, ready to embark. The last farewells were said, and it was not till the partings came that we realized how dear many of the friends made in Camp had become to us. Quite a number from our Camp were traveling on the same ship, so we had friends on the voyage.
When we reached the ship, we found it would not sail until late afternoon, so we walked up to the city, and how hot and tired we were. We went to a Chinese Christian tailor where I had ordered a cloth cap for the voyage, but it had not been ready in time, and now I was able to get it. At the tailor's we met our friend who loaned us the money, and he insisted on taking us out to a Chinese dinner, at a very nice new restaurant run by a friend of his. But the parting that lay before us did not harmonize with feasting, and we walked slowly back to the ship. My wife and I got on board, while my sister stood alone on the dock. It was very hard to leave her, especially knowing that Tien Chei, who was all she had, was lying so ill. But this very fact made it impossible for her to leave China: and it seemed as though my wife and I should not delay in getting back to the children. But I still see her standing at the foot of the gangplank, gazing after us: until finally she turned and went away alone.
We were traveling on an American Military Transport, the Lavaca. Under ordinary circumstances I expect we would have enjoyed the journey, but we were too weary, and our strength too much undermined, to let it be a pleasure. The ship seemed crowded, but we picked up more troops at Okinawa.
There was nowhere to sit down, not even at meals could we sit. Our dear friend, Dr. Gillison, had insisted on giving us his own chairs (ours had been lost), so we would be sure of seats, but we were not allowed to use them.
We called at Pearl Harbor, and from thence to San Francisco, after a trip of almost four weeks. Here we were given long letters from the children, and on these we feasted, while we waited for the time when we might disembark. At last a note was brought on board telling us that our two dear friends, Dr. Arthur Groth and Mr. J. H. Smith had motored up the night before from Los Angeles and were waiting on dock for us. We thanked God and took courage.
We reached San Francisco just after breakfast, but it was almost noon before we were allowed to go ashore. It was well these dear friends had come to meet us, for we seemed to be quite dazed coming back to the rush of civilization. They saw us through the customs, and a most thorough examination Uncle Sam gave us. I do not know what he expected to find. They got us sandwiches and milk; and they found out what we ought to do, and had a car waiting, with which to do it. Everybody was kind. Special offices had been provided to which we were taken. Our letters were mailed free of charge; we could send any telegrams we wanted, also without charge. We were given refreshments by the way, and were told where to go the next day to help ourselves to clothing from the Canadian Red Cross.
And then they drove us out to Mrs. Cross' house. How can I begin to describe all the kindness we received there? But it is all recorded above, and in that day will get its reward. For the first time for almost three years we were once again in a "home". The quiet and the rest was unspeakably soothing. Dr. Groth and Mr. Smith stayed through the evening, and we heard a little of the wonderful way the Lord had cared for our brother C. through the most unexpected means. And we heard of the way the Lord had opened the door for Mr. Smith to publish his News Letter. This was all news to us; we had heard nothing of it. But everything was news, and we could not take it all in. Our good friends left that night and were in Los Angeles next morning after another all-night drive.
Mrs. Cross and her daughter showered on us every kindness that love could think of. We will not soon forget the delicious California melon she had for breakfast. Nor will we forget our horror, as we watched her wrap the rinds in oil paper. Then light began to dawn on my wife, and she asked: "I suppose you are putting them in the refrigerator to make pickle or jam?" Mrs. Cross gazed at her, I think wondering if she was quite right in her mind, and at last replied: "No, I am wrapping them up to put in the garbage pail." In Camp a piece of oil paper was such a treasure that it was used over and over again. And to wrap up what went into the garbage pail was worse waste than throwing away the melon skins. But we began to get adjusted, though I noticed our daughter Hope gave her mother the same look, when a week or two later she insisted on picking a good crust of bread out of the garbage pail (put there merely because it was stale), and then making a syrup tart out of it.
The Canadian authorities were working on a train passage for us to Seattle. Trains were very crowded, and it was almost impossible to get accommodation. It was about 11:30 one morning when we had a telephone call to say we would not be leaving for a day or two. Mrs. Cross had made us a delicious dinner, and we were just about to sit down, when again the telephone rang, this time to say that passages had been found, and we were to leave immediately. Our good hostess insisted on accompanying us to the ferry that took us over to the train. It was a long tiring trip for her. We had to leave the dinner untasted, and get something to eat at the tram station. It was getting late, so we took a taxi to the ferry station, getting there just on time, according to our instructions. Another long wait, I think two hours or more, and then we were given railway tickets, and a ticket for a compartment (we had never traveled in one in our lives before), right through to Victoria. Dear Mrs. Cross accompanied us to the door, as far as she might go, and turned to go back alone, looking very, very tired. And she had done all this only two weeks before for Miss Dear.
We had a good and comfortable trip to Seattle, and there, to the amazement of everybody, we succeeded in getting the last available stateroom on the Victoria boat. We spent the day in Victoria seeing to business affairs. We used to live there, and still kept our bank account there. We first went to the bank to draw money for our railway fares home: but were coolly advised we had nothing in the bank: the Government had taken everything. Each day brought its own surprises, most of them sad ones.
“Change and decay in all around I see
O Thou who changest not, Abide with me.”
And what comfort to know that He will abide with us, and that He is the Same, yesterday and today, and forever.
The bank graciously arranged to let us have what money we needed, and once again we got the last stateroom on the boat; this time for Vancouver. Miss Dear had returned home on a ship just two weeks ahead of us, and was staying with her sister Mrs. Whitaker, in Vancouver. We reached Vancouver on Saturday morning. We hoped to leave on Monday night, but were warned it would be impossible to get berths at such short notice. However, once more, as the Lord had so manifestly cared for us all along the way, He provided us with the very thing we needed,-a tourist section for Miss Dear and ourselves, straight through to Toronto.
Again I must pass by the multitude of kindnesses we received in Vancouver. We stayed with Dr. and Mrs. Whitaker, and made the acquaintance of their dear wee son. We had an excellent journey home, enjoying a little of some real Canadian winter air as we passed on our way: how different to the damp cold of the Yangtze Valley.
It was Friday morning, about seven-thirty, when we reached Toronto. A fine Christian soldier was in the seat next us, and he helped carry off our baggage. And as we passed through the doors at the Toronto Union Station there we saw those dear ones, not one missing, for whom we had waited so long. I could not describe that meeting, no matter how hard I were to try, and so my friends, I leave it: and the joy, and the feasting, and the gifts that followed. That day, I hope, may live forever in my memory, as one of the sweetest, most joyous days it has ever been my privilege to experience; and it points me forward to another Home coming, to another meeting even more joyous and more sweet, when not only will I greet once more those loved ones who are in that Home already, but I will see Him face to face, the One who was wounded for me. We shall see Him and be like Him, and shall go no more out!
Dear reader, have you also this blessed hope?
“O then what raptured greetings
On Canaan's happy shore,
What knitting severed friendships up,
Where partings are no more!
Then eyes with joy shall sparkle
That brimmed with tears of late;
Orphans no longer fatherless,
Nor widows desolate."
Dean Alford.