Some of the steers were so weak that they died on deck ... as they were dying, butchers cut their throats so their beef could be called fresh.
The only one who desired to go ashore there, I made my way, when it was dark and the last load of steers was being transferred to shore, down below to the hold of the coaster. I stood in a corner, behind an iron ladder, so that the cattle couldn't crush me during the night ... for the Chinese had turned them loose, there, in a mass.
I stumbled ashore at Tongku, a station up a way on the banks of the Pei Ho river.
My first night ashore in China was a far cry from the China of my dreams ... the Cathay of Marco Polo, with its towers of porcelain.... I crept, to escape a cold drizzle, under the huge tarpaulin which covered a great stack of tinned goods—army supplies. A soldier on guard over the stack, an American soldier, spotted me.
"Come, my lad," lifting up the tarpaulin, "what are you doing there?"
"—Trying to keep from the wet!"
"—run off from one of the transports?"
"Yes," was as good an answer as any.
"You're pretty cold ... your teeth are chattering. Here, take a swig o' this."