No. 4. How Wan. A frail young girl with bound feet was brought to this country to be the wife of a man who had died while she was en route. Refused a landing, she was detained in the Mission by immigration officials, while the young man's parents made frantic efforts to secure her admission to the country. She remained here, a prisoner, for two years. Thousands of dollars were expended without avail, and How Wan was deported. Nothing daunted, they accompanied her as far as Japan, and returned with her, secured a license and landed her as a merchant's wife. She lived with the family in a dark basement on Sacramento street, where the mother-in-law abused her with such cruelty that, shrinking girl as she is, she found courage to send word to us if we did not come to her rescue she must relieve herself by suicide—the Chinese woman's only hope. We began at once to plan to get her taken to the steamer to hid good-bye to some friends, and rescued her at the Pacific Mail dock. She is now a grateful member of our household family, and is unbinding her feet.
No. 5. During the St. Louis Exposition a Chinese company brought from China a large number of women for exhibition in the Fair.
Four of these, upon learning that they were not to be returned at the close of the exposition, as agreed, but were destined to be sold into houses of prostitution in San Francisco, refused to land, and were brought to the Mission by the Commissioners of Immigration.
These Chinese were arrested, the case tried in Federal Court, these girls being the principal witnesses; yet twelve supposedly good men dismissed the criminals, and the case was lost.
Surrounded by the genial environment of our Mission, the minds of these four girls unfolded in a remarkable manner; fascinated with their studies, they constantly begged us to intercede with the authorities that they might remain in the Mission and obtain an education; but, although every effort was made, they were deported after a seven months' stay.
They had learned to love our Home life, had united with our Christian Endeavor Society and had become interested in all our work, and we would be quite unreconciled to their departure did we not know that our missionaries in Shanghai stand ready to receive and care for them when they arrive.
No. 6. Seen Fah. The first beams of the rising sun shone bright and hopefully into a pleasant room in the Presbyterian Mission Home one morning last autumn. It threw its cheerful radiance over a group of three gathered there to plan an important undertaking, lighting the bright, eager faces of two young Chinese girls, and giving renewed courage to the anxious heart of the Superintendent. What important event had to be discussed? What serious matter decided? News had reached the Mission Home, a few hours before, of a young Chinese girl just landed in San Francisco and sold for three thousand dollars. Plans to save this helpless and innocent child, before it was too late, were the subject of discussion at that early morning meeting. In such a serious undertaking every possibility of failure must be carefully guarded against. Each possible device of the wily Highbinder slave-owner must he conjectured and frustrated. So the three planned this campaign: "When is Detective —— coming?" asked Chan Yuen, as a step sounded on the quiet street below. "At six he promised to be here with one of his trustiest men. It is best to reach Chinatown early, that our coming may not be signaled by those on the streets at a later hour. If the alarm is given, every slave den will be doubly bolted and barred; and perhaps little Seen Fah, whom we wish to save, will be spirited away beyond reach of help." Well did the questioner know the terrible truth of these words. A sympathetic shade of sorrow and anxiety crossed her bright face. She, too, was a rescued girl and had not forgotten the dark, mysterious ways of Chinatown. The Superintendent rose to answer the summons of a small electric bell. Two trusted detectives had arrived. After a short conference, the rescuing party set forth on its strange mission. One who had eagerly thought and planned for the success of the undertaking felt her heart throbbing between hope and fear, but was reassured when a slender hand slipped into hers and a sweet, encouraging voice whispered: "I have faith to believe God will give us the girl." Faith triumphed that day. Through two of Chinatown's most desolate old tenements, upstairs and downstairs in dark closets and unexpected corners, while Highbinders uttered imprecations in the alleys below, the rescue party kept up a diligent search for many hours. When at last the quest was about to be abandoned as hopeless, suddenly a cry of success echoed through every gloomy corner of the old building—Seen Fah was found! A small, dark closet, overlooked in the earlier hours of the search, was discovered. A lighted candle soon revealed a pile of empty rice bags and broken boxes. Pulling these away, the object of the long search was discovered, nearly smothered beneath the debris. Dazed and terrified, but safe, Seen Fah was at last in the hands of friends—and the slave ring had lost just three thousand dollars. Later on, Seen Fah and her new friends were haled into court. As usual, the sleek, well-paid attorney appeared for the Chinese owners. But they and he were alike powerless to drag back into slavery the rescued girl. There was but one course for the court to pursue. Finding that Seen Fah was over fourteen, she was allowed to choose for herself between the life of Chinatown and that offered by the Mission. She chose the Christian Home; so to its care Judge Cook consigned her. To-day, a free happy girl, Seen Fah joins gayly in the simple, wholesome life of her new surroundings. Rescued before the blight of slavery actually darkened her life, she will never fully understand from how great a danger her guardian angel snatched her. But we who do know thank daily the kind Providence who thus protects His own.
No. 7. Kum Ping. She was married in the American Consulate at Hong Kong in the most approved European way. Her new husband had made a good impression on the old aunt who was her guardian, and for a small consideration in Mexican coin, Kum Ping became his property according to Chinese custom, as well as his legal wife by American law. When these arrangements were completed, passage was immediately engaged on the Korea, bound for that harbor of romance, San Francisco Bay. There was, however, to be little romance in the life of our small Chinese heroine. The man who made her his wife did so simply as a means toward an end, and that end was to be a life of slavery and degradation in California. The landing of slave girls in free America is prohibited by law, thus the slave-dealers must resort to the best means at their command to thwart or circumvent our laws. A witnessed marriage in China gives an American-born Chinaman the right to land his wife in this country, so many an innocent village girl crosses the ocean secure in the belief that she is the honored wife of a respectable husband. She is landed as such, and, alas! often finds out when too late that she is merely the chattel of an evil and unscrupulous Highbinder society, whose paid agent is the man to whom she is bound. Soon after the Korea's arrival in port, on the voyage in which we are interested, I visited the ship to interview the Chinese women on board, and there for the first time met our little dark-eyed friend, Kum Ping. She had been carefully coached on the way as to the visits she might receive from foreign missionaries, and the replies to all our questions showed a guarded suspicion that seemed quite hopeless. Our cheerful interpreter talked on, nevertheless, and finally won a quiet smile and the offer of some roast duck (a great delicacy among Chinese). All warnings about the dangers and wickedness of Chinatown apparently fell on deaf ears. "I am a married woman, my husband can take care of me. I do not need your protection!" was the rather indignant response. So we presented some bright flowers as a token of good will and friendship, and with them slipped into the small, soft hand a talisman that might help her out of future trouble. Just a slip of paper, but the magic of the name and number written there many an escaped slave girl can bear witness to. Some weeks passed by after our visit to Kum Ping on the steamer. She had landed, and, like hundreds of others, had simply disappeared from view in that place of many mysteries, old Chinatown. One night perhaps a month later, I was called to the reception room to see a strange visitor (Chinese) who refused to divulge either name or business to any one else. On meeting this messenger I noticed his great excitement and nervousness. Only after the door was tightly shut did he tell his errand. We listened with interest to his story of a young girl sold to a very cruel master, who beat her daily and never allowed her to leave the place in which she was closely guarded. Unless relief came soon she must end her life. Would the Mission try to save this poor girl? We gladly promised what help we could give, and our visitor left as quickly and mysteriously as he came, only leaving for our guidance a roughly sketched diagram of alley and house where the little captive could be found. There followed much planning and plotting. Our staunch friend, Sergeant Ross of the Chinatown squad, was summoned and consulted. The place was a difficult one to reach, but at last satisfactory plans were made, the day and hour set. There were three officers and three Chinese girls from the Mission. It was a good-sized rescue party and divided into three companies, we guarded well the three exits from the low-roofed house on Spofford alley. With Sergeant Ross leading and our courageous young interpreter at our side, we stealthily ascended the dark, narrow stairs to the second floor, where a heavy door barred the way, but for such obstacles our good officer was prepared. A few blows of his strong hammer made bolts and bars yield. We passed through into a small dark passage. From there could be heard on all sides sounds of excitement; light feet running hither and thither to places of escape, only to be turned back by the sight of our guards, who stood on watch. As we cautiously felt our way further in we were met by the baffled and angry keeper of the den—a woman, but not worthy the name. She fiercely demanded our business—there was no need to tell it, for she knew as well as we; but she wished to find some means of hindering our search for her newest and most valuable slave. A room was at length discovered in which we felt sure the treasure was hidden. Again Sergeant Ross had to force open a door. As it gave way, a small, dimly-lighted room opened before us. In the center cowered a Chinese girl. It needed not a second look to recognize in the frightened, anxious face before me Kum Ping of the steamer. Our talisman had worked its charm. She had proved to the depths the terrible truth of our warning, and now gladly entrusted herself to our care, while her almost frantic owner stormed, threatened and at last laid violent hands on the officer who was helping us. As we led the trembling Kum Ping out, a greatly excited crowd of chattering Chinese met us at the end of the passage at Spofford alley, and the news passed from lip to lip, "The Mission people have taken Woon Ha's new slave girl!" We would be glad to end the story of our little friend's troubles and safe escape with her arrival at last in the Mission Home that day. But how few rescues ever do end in that peaceful and pleasant way! There followed the usual train of lawyers and warrants. To avoid these unpleasant experiences, Kum Ping had to change her place of residence several times, the last time being the night before the fatal eighteenth of April. A warrant was served at ten o'clock that night, but being forewarned, the one named in it was with friends at some distance from the city. The warrant summoned us to court at two o'clock next day. God disposed of that case! No court has ever passed judgment on it. Long after the excitement of these days was over, Kum Ping returned to our Home; country air and a free life are working their spell. It is hard to recognize in the round, sun-tanned, happy face we see today, the unhappy slave girl of Woon Ha's den on Spofford alley.