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

by D. W. Fisher

Tengchow itself was not very responsive to the gospel. The demand for books was soon satisfied to such an extent that sales became small. The novelty of street preaching and of the chapel services gradually was exhausted. The little church did not attract many on the Sabbath, except the regular attendants. True, a city of so many inhabitants might seem—notwithstanding such limitations as existed—a sufficient field for all the labor that could be put upon it by the little band of missionaries located there. But beyond the walls was all the rest of the province of Shantung, with none to evangelize it save the missionaries at Chefoo and Tengchow. That province is in area about one-third larger than the State of Pennsylvania; and it now has somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty millions of inhabitants, mostly scattered in innumerable villages, though frequently also concentrated in cities. The climate is about that of Kentucky, and the productions of the soil are not very different. Part of the surface of the country is hilly and some of it rises into mountains of moderate height; but most of it is level or slightly rolling. Writing to one of the secretaries of the Board, under date of May 10, 1869, Mateer thus expressed himself as to the strategic importance of Shantung in the tremendous enterprise of evangelizing China:

I think it is almost universally admitted that Tsinan fu [the capital, situated about three hundred miles southwest of Tengchow] offers the most promising field for missionary effort in China. The region in which this city lies is the religious center of China. Here both the great sages of China, Confucius and Mencius, were born. At Tai An, a short way to the south, the great religious festival of China is held, and there are unmistakable evidences that there is a religious element in the people of this province found nowhere else in China. I feel like saying with all my might, Let the Presbyterian Church strike for this province. It has given both religion and government to China in the ages that are past, and it is going to give Christianity to China in the future.

These pioneer missionaries in Shantung as promptly as possible sought, first by itineration, and later by opening new stations, to carry the gospel far and wide over the province. In this they labored under one serious inconvenience from which their brethren in much of south China are exempt. Down there it is easy to travel extensively on the rivers and the numerous canals. In Shantung the one great river is the Hoang, or Yellow, running from the west toward the east; and the one important canal is the Grand, running north and south; and both of these are so far remote from Chefoo and Tengchow that in the itineration of the missionaries from these places they were of little use. As a consequence they had to adopt the other methods of travel customary in that region. Even to-day, though a railway runs from the coast at Kiaochou, across Shantung to Tsinan fu, and another across the west end of the province and passing through Tsinan fu is almost completed, much of the territory is no more accessible than half a century ago. The traveler can hire a mule, or more probably a donkey, and—throwing his bedding across the packsaddle—make his way, with the owner of the animal running along as driver, to the place where, if he proceeds farther, he must hire a second mule or donkey; and so on to the end of his journey. One can also travel by wheelbarrow. These conveyances are considered to be quite genteel, and are much patronized by Chinese women. The wheels are big and clumsy, and, being innocent of oil, creak fearfully, and as the wheelbarrows are without springs the passenger is jolted excruciatingly. They are propelled by a man pushing by the handles, and often with the aid of another, and sometimes a donkey in front, and it may be with a sail to catch the wind. In the hilly regions the shentza, or mule litter, is common. In describing this conveyance Mateer said in one of his Sunday-school letters:

The motion is various and peculiar. Sometimes the mules step together, and sometimes they don’t. Now you have a plunging motion like the shaking of a pepper box, then comes a waving motion like the shaking of a sieve; and then a rolling motion like the rocking of a cradle, and then by turns these various motions mix up and modify each other in endless variety. I have often thought that if a man had a stiff joint, one of these shentzas would be a good thing to shake it loose. You are completely at the mercy of these two mules. If you are sitting up you think that you would be more comfortable lying down, and if you are lying down you think that you would be more comfortable sitting up. There is no relief from incessant shaking but to get out and walk.

The most genteel mode of travel is a two-wheeled cart, provided always that the track called a road is wide and level enough to permit it to be used. I fall back on the Sunday-school letter for a description of it:

A Chinese cart is heavy and clumsy to the last degree. It has no springs, no seat, no cushions, and is only wide enough for one to sit in it. The only way to keep your arms and head from being broken by the top, is to wedge yourself in with quilts and pillows. Passenger carts are usually drawn by two mules, one in the shafts and the other directly in front, hitched by two long ropes to the axle—one passing on each side of the shaft mule. The driver either walks, or rides on the back part of the shafts.... I took one ride in one of these big carts, which I shall remember while I live. We had all gone to a country station, one hundred and twenty miles from Tengchow, to a meeting of Presbytery. After Presbytery we wished to go on to another station forty miles distant. There had been a great rain, and the ground was soft, and we could get no conveyance. At length we got a big cart to carry our luggage and Dr. Mills and myself. For it they rigged up a top made of sticks and pieces of matting. The team consisted of a mule, a horse, and two oxen, with two drivers. Mrs. Mateer had a donkey to ride, and Mrs. Capp had a sedan chair. Dr. Mills and myself took turns in walking with the native elder and assistant. When we got all our effects, bedding, cooking utensils and so forth, in the cart there was only room for one to sit, and the other had to lie down. The first day we dragged through the soft earth fifteen miles, but in order to do it we had to travel an hour after night. It was pitch dark and we had no lantern. We came very near losing our way, and finally had no small trouble in reaching an inn, and when we did reach it what a fuss there was before we got stowed in and got our suppers! We obtained a small room for the ladies, but Dr. Mills and I did not fare so well. We had to sleep on the ground in a sort of shed which had no doors. The next day we got an early start, and found the roads a little better, and managed to make the other twenty-five miles. During the day we crossed a sandy river which was swollen by the rains, and there was some danger that we might stick fast in the sand. The native assistant crowded into the cart. The elder put one foot on the end of the axle, which in a Chinese cart projects several inches beyond the hub, and supported himself by holding on to the side of the cart. The second driver perched himself in the same way on the other end of the axle. The chief driver stood erect on the shafts, astride of the shaft mule. He flourished his whip with one hand and gesticulated with the other, and both drivers hurrahed at the top of their voices. The team got excited, and with heads and tails erect,—with a splash and a dash,—we went safely through.

There is one other mode of travel, and perhaps then still the most common of all, even with missionaries when itinerating, and that is to walk. When the traveler on foot comes to a river if he has long patience he may be ferried across; but if the stream is not very deep he may have to wade. Mateer, however, had a good strong physique and simple tastes, and was entirely free from any disposition to fret over small annoyances. In those earlier itinerating days he cheerfully took his full share in roughing it with other missionaries out in the province. He repeatedly took trips when all the provision he made for eating was a spoon and a saltcellar; the food he ate was such as he got at the inns and from place to place. His experiences in this line of evangelistic efforts had an important influence on his work in the school and the college. Certainly it was a great help toward that remarkable acquaintance with colloquial Chinese which is shown in his literary labors.

His first trip to the country was made on October 14, 1864, and therefore before he had learned the language sufficiently to enable him to do much missionary work. In reality it was just a visit by the entire foreign force stationed by both the Baptists and Presbyterians at Tengchow out to a Chinese Christian residing ten miles away. In a measure, however, it was a typical journey. The roads were execrably bad, and Mateer and another missionary had one mule between them, so that each walked half the way. On August 22 of the ensuing year he, and Corbett,—who had come up for the purpose,—started on a genuine itinerating tour. It was in one particular an unfavorable time. A Chinese inn at any season is apt to be uncomfortable enough to a person who has been accustomed to the conveniences and comforts of western civilization. In the Sunday-school letter already quoted Mateer said:

The inns in China are various in size, but similar in style. You enter through a wide doorway which is in fact the middle of a long, low house fronting on the street. On the one side of this door, or passageway, is the kitchen, which is usually furnished with one or two kettles, a large water jar, and a few dishes, with a meat-chopper and chopping block. Usually there is a little room partitioned off at the far end, which serves for office and storeroom. On the other side is a wide, raised platform about two feet high, made of mud brick. It answers for the muleteers and humbler guests, to sleep on. Inside of this front building is a court or yard with a long shed at one or both sides, and troughs for feeding mules and donkeys. At the further end of this court, and sometimes at one side, are rooms for guests. These rooms contain no furniture but a table and a bench or two, and sometimes a chair, with a rough board bedstead, or a raised brick platform to take the place of a bedstead. No towel, soap, or other toilet necessaries are furnished. They usually have one washbasin, which is passed round, and is used besides for washing the sore backs of mules, and for such other necessary uses. There are no stoves or other means of warming the rooms. Sometimes they build a fire of straw under those brick bedsteads, which invariably fills the room with smoke. Or, you can order a pan of charcoal, which will fill the room with gas. The houses are all one story and have no ceiling. The rafters are smoked as black as ink, and are always festooned with cobwebs. The rooms never have wooden floors. In the more stylish inns the floors are paved with brick, but in ordinary inns the floors are simply the ground. In the summer fleas and mosquitoes are superabundant, and they attack all comers without respect of persons. Every night there is in the courtyard a musical concert which continues at intervals till morning, and is free to all the guests. The tune is carried by the mules and donkeys, and the scolding and swearing of the muleteers make up the accompaniment. Voices of great excellence are often heard in America, but for real pathos and soul-stirring effect there is nothing like a dozen or two Chinese donkeys, when they strike in together and vie with each other for the preëminence. No common table is set, but meals are prepared to order and served to guests in their rooms. They are generally charged for by the dish.