Calvin Wilson Mateer, forty-five years a missionary in Shantung, China

by D. W. Fisher

In those early days Pei-taiho in the north, and Kuling and Mokansan in the south, had not been opened as summer resorts. Chefoo and Tengchow were the only places available for such a purpose, and there were in neither of them any houses to receive guests, unless the missionaries opened theirs. Tengchow became very popular, on account of the beauty of its situation, the comparative cleanness of the town, and the proximity to a fine bathing beach. As a usual thing, if one mentions Tengchow to any of the old missionaries, the remark is apt promptly to follow: “Delightful place! I spent a summer there once with Dr. Mateer.” Pleasant as he made his own home to his little friends, and to veterans and recruits, he was equally agreeable in the homes of others who could enter into his spheres of thought and activity. He was often a guest in the house of Dr. Fitch and his wife at Shanghai, while putting his books through the press. He was resident for months in the China Inland Mission Sanitarium, and in the Mission Home at Chefoo. Dr. Fitch and his wife, and Superintendent Stooke of the Home, tell with evident delight of his “table talk,” and of other ways by which he won their esteem and affection.

When the summer guests were flown from Tengchow, the missionaries were usually the entire foreign community,—a condition of things bringing both advantages and disadvantages as to their work. On the one hand, the cause which they represented was not prejudiced by the bad lives of certain foreigners coming for commercial or other secular purposes from Christian lands. On the other hand, they were left without things that would have ministered immensely to their convenience and comfort, and which they often sadly needed for their own efficiency, and for their health and even for their lives. This was largely due to the tedious and difficult means of communication with the outside world. For instance, it was six weeks until the goods which the Mateers left behind them at Chefoo were delivered to them at Tengchow. Letters had to be carried back and forth between Tengchow and Chefoo, the distributing point, by means of a private courier. When, by and by, the entire band joined together and hired a carrier to bring the mail once a week, this seemed a tremendous advance. The cost of a letter to the United States was forty-five cents.

But the most serious of all their wants was competent medical attention. How Mateer wrote home, and begged and planned, and sometimes almost scolded, about sending a physician to reinforce their ranks! In the meantime they used domestic remedies for their own sick, or sent them overland to Chefoo, or in case of dire necessity brought up a physician from that city. Mateer soon found himself compelled to attempt what he could medically and surgically for himself and wife, and also for others, and among these the poor native sufferers. One of his early cases was a terribly burnt child whom he succeeded in curing; and another was a sufferer from lockjaw, who died in spite of all he could do; and still another case was of a woman with a broken leg. He tried his hand at pulling a tooth for his associate, Mr. Mills, but he had to abandon the effort, laying the blame on the miserable forceps with which he had to operate. Later he could have done a better job, for he provided himself with a complete set of dental tools, not only for pulling teeth and for filling them, but also for making artificial sets. All of these he often used. On his first furlough he attended medical lectures at Philadelphia and did a good deal of dissection. A closet in the new house held a stock of medicines, and by administering them he relieved much suffering, and saved many lives, especially in epidemics of cholera. The physicians who, in response to the appeals of the missionaries, were first sent to the station at Tengchow did not remain long; and for many years the most of the medicine administered came out of the same dark closet under the stairs of “the New Home.”

VI
HIS INNER LIFE

“I am very conscious that we here are not up to the standard that we ought to be, and this is our sin. We pray continually for a baptism from on high on the heathen round us; but we need the same for ourselves that we may acquit ourselves as becomes our profession. Our circumstances are not favorable to growth either in grace or in mental culture. Our only associates are the native Christians, whose piety is often of a low type; it receives from us, but imparts nothing to us. Mentally we are left wholly without the healthy stimulus and the friction of various and superior minds which surround men at home. Most whom we meet here are mentally greatly our inferiors, and there is no public opinion that will operate as a potent stimulus to our exertions. It may be said that these are motives of a low kind. It may be so; but their all-powerful influence on all literary men at home is scarcely known or felt till the absence of them shows the difference.”—LETTER TO THE SOCIETY OF INQUIRY, IN THE WESTERN THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY, October 1, 1867.

We have now reached a stage in this narration where the order of time can no longer be followed, except in a very irregular manner. We must take up distinct phases of Mateer’s life and work, as separate topics, and so far as practicable consider each by itself. This is not at all because in him there was any lack of singleness of aim or of persistence. This man, from the time when he began his labors in China until he finished his course, without interruption, put his strength and personality into the evangelization of the people of that great empire. But in doing this he found it necessary to follow along various lines, often contemporaneously, though never out of sight of any one of them. For our purpose it is best that to some extent they should be considered separately.

But before we proceed further it appears desirable to seek an acquaintance with his inner life. By this I do not mean his native abilities, or his outward characteristics as these were known and read by all men who came much into contact with him. It is from the soul life, and especially the religious side of it, that it seems desirable to lift the veil a little. This in the case of anyone is a delicate task, and ought to be performed with a good deal of reserve. In the instance now in hand there is special difficulty. Mateer never, either in speech or in writing, was accustomed to tell others much about his own inward experiences. For a time in his letters and in his Journal he occasionally breaks over this reticence a little; but on November 27, 1876, he made the last entry in the Journal; and long before this he had become so much occupied with his work that he records very little concerning his soul life. Still less had he to say on that subject in his letters; and as years went by, his occupations compelled him to cut off as much correspondence as practicable, and to fill such as he continued with other matters. Nothing like completeness consequently is here undertaken or is possible.

A notion that is current, especially among “men of the world,” is that a missionary is almost always a sentimental dreamer who ignores the stern realities of life. It has been my work to train a good many of those who have given themselves to this form of Christian service, and to have a close acquaintance with a good many more; and I cannot now recall one of whom such a characteristic could be honestly affirmed. I have in mind a number of whom almost the opposite is true. Certainly if to carry the gospel into the dark places of the earth with the conviction of its ultimate triumph is to be called dreaming, then every genuine missionary is a sentimentalist and a dreamer; and Mateer was one of them. But in meeting the experiences of life and in doing his work, he was about as far removed from just accusation of this sort as anyone could be. Indeed, he was such a matter-of-fact man that his best friends often wished that he were less so. I have carefully gone over many thousands of pages of his Journal and of his letters and papers, and I recall only one short paragraph that savors of sentimentality. It is so exceptional that it shall have a place here. In a letter written to a friend (Julia, I suspect), in the spring of 1861, he says:

I have lived in the country nearly all my life, and I much prefer its quiet beauty. I love to wander at this season over the green fields, and listen to the winds roaring through the young leaves, and to sit down in the young sunshine of spring under the lee of some sheltering bank or moss-covered rock. I love to think of the past and the future, and, thus meditating, to gather up courage for the stern realities of life.