Chapter VIII: Preface (2)

Spiritually, the condition of the seminary while Mateer was there was away above the ordinary. In the winter of 1857-58 a great revival had swept over the United States, and across the Atlantic. In no place was it more in evidence than in the theological schools; it quickened immensely the spiritual life of the majority of the students. One of its fruits there was the awakening of a far more intense interest in foreign missions. I can still recall the satisfaction which some of us who in the seminary were turning our faces toward the unevangelized nations had in the information that this strong man who stood in the very first rank as to character and scholarship had decided to offer himself to the Board of Foreign Missions for such service as they might select for him. It was a fitting consummation of his college and seminary life.

Yet it was only slowly, even in the seminary, and after much searching of his own heart and much wrestling in prayer, that he came to this decision. Outside of himself there was a good deal that tended to impel him toward it. The faculty, and especially Dr. Plumer, did all they could wisely to press on the students the call of the unevangelized nations for the gospel. Representatives of this cause—missionaries and secretaries—visited the seminary, where there were, at that time, more than an ordinary number of young men who had caught the missionary spirit. In college, Mateer, without seeking to isolate himself from others, had come into real intimacy with scarcely any of his fellow-students. He says in the autobiographical sketch, “I minded my own business, making comparatively few friends outside of my own class, largely because I was too bashful to push my way.” In the seminary he, while still rather reserved, came nearer to some of his fellow-theologues; and especially to one, Dwight B. Hervey, who shared with him the struggle over duty as to a field of service. They seem to have been much in conference on that subject.

On the 21st of January, 1860, he presented himself before the Presbytery of Ohio, to which the churches of Pittsburg belonged, passed examination in his college studies, and was received under the care of that body; but he had not then made up his mind to be a missionary. On the 12th of April of the same year he went before the Presbytery of Butler, at Butler, Pennsylvania (having at his own request been transferred to the care of that organization, because his parents’ home was now within its bounds), and was licensed to preach. Yet still he had not decided to be a missionary. He was powerfully drawn toward that work, and vacillation at no time in his life was a characteristic; there simply was as yet no need that he should finally make up his mind, and he wished to avoid any premature committal of himself, which later he might regret, or which he might feel bound to recall.

The summer of 1860 he spent in preaching here and there about Pittsburg, several months being given to the Plains and Fairmount churches; followed by a visit home, and another in Illinois.

When the seminary opened in the autumn, he was back in his place. One of the duties which fell to him was to preach a missionary sermon before the Society of Inquiry. He did this so well that the students by vote expressed a desire that the sermon should be published. In his Journal he notes that the preparation of this discourse “strengthened his determination to give himself to this work.” Before the Christmas recess Dr. J. Leighton Wilson, one of the secretaries of the Presbyterian Board of Foreign Missions, visited the seminary, and in conference did much to stimulate the missionary spirit. He found in Mateer an eager and responsive listener. On the 12th of December Mateer wrote a long letter to his mother, in which he expresses feeling, because without warrant some one had told her that he had offered himself to the Foreign Board. He says, “I am not going to take such an important step without informing you of it directly and explicitly.” Then he proceeds to tell her just what was his attitude at that time:

I have thought of the missionary work this long time, but not
very seriously until within the last couple of years. Ever
since I came to the seminary I have had a conviction to some
degree that I ought to go as a missionary. That conviction has
been constantly growing and deepening, and more especially
of late. I have about concluded that so far as I am myself
concerned it is my duty to be a missionary. I have thought a
great deal on this subject and I think that I have not come to
such a conclusion hastily. It has cost me very considerable
effort to give up the prospects which I might have had at home.
The matter in almost every view you can take of it involves
trial and self-denial. I need great grace,—for this I pray. But
even if I have prospects of usefulness at home, surely nothing
can be lost in this respect by doing what I am convinced is
my duty. Indeed, one of the encouraging features, in fact the
great encouragement, is a prospect of more extended usefulness
than at home. This may seem not to be so at the first view, but
a more careful consideration of all the aspects of the case
will, I think, bring a different conclusion.

The letter is very full, and lays bare his whole mind and heart as he would be willing to do only to his mother. It is a revelation of this strong, self-reliant, mature but filial-spirited and tenderly thoughtful young Christian man and prospective minister, to a mother whom he recognized as deserving an affectionate consideration such as he owed to no other created being.

On the 7th of January, 1861, he received a letter from his mother, in which she gave her consent that he should be a foreign missionary, naming only one or two conditions which involved no insuperable difficulty. In a student prayer meeting about three weeks later he took occasion in some remarks to tell them that he had decided to offer himself for this work. Still, it was not until the 5th of April, and when within two weeks of graduation, that he, in a full and formal letter, such as is expected and is appropriate, offered himself to the Board. In his Journal of that date, after recording the character of his letter, he says: “This is a solemn and important step which I have now taken. During this week, while writing this letter, I have, I trust, looked again at the whole matter, and asked help and guidance from God. I fully believe it is my duty to go. My greatest fear has been that I was not as willing to go as I should be, but I cast myself on Christ and go forward.” On the 13th of April he received word from the Board that he had been accepted, the time of his going out and his field of labor being yet undetermined.

So the problem of his life work was at length solved, as surely as it could be by human agency. It had been his mother’s wish that he should wait a year before going to his field, and to this he had no serious objection; but as matters turned out, more than two years elapsed before he was able to leave this country. This long delay was caused by the outbreak of the Civil War, and the financial stringency which made it impossible for the Foreign Board to assume any additional obligations. Much of the time the outlook was so dark that he almost abandoned hope of entering on his chosen work, though the thought of this filled his heart with grief. He was intensely loyal to the cause of the Union, and if he had not been a licentiate for the ministry he almost certainly would have enlisted in the army. He records his determination to go if drafted. Once, indeed, during this period of waiting he was a sort of candidate for a chaplaincy to a regiment, which fortunately he did not secure. For several months he preached here and there in the churches of the general region about Pittsburg, and also made a visit to towns in central Ohio, one of these being Delaware, the seat of the Ohio Wesleyan University. Not long afterward he received an urgent request from the Old School Presbyterian Church in that town to come and supply them. About the same time the churches of Fairmount and Plains in Pennsylvania gave him a formal call to become their pastor, but this he declined. He accepted the invitation to Delaware, I suppose partly because it left him free still to go as a missionary whenever the way might open. At Delaware he remained eighteen months, until at last, in the good providence of God, he was ordered “to the front” out in China.

The story of his service of the church in that place need not be told here except in brief. It must, however, be clearly stated that it was in the highest degree creditable to him. In fact, the conditions were such that one may see in it a providential training in the courage and patience and faithfulness which in later years he needed to exercise on the mission field. The church was weak, and was overshadowed somewhat even among the Presbyterian element by a larger and less handicapped New School organization; and was sorely distressed by internal troubles. For a while after Mateer came, it was a question whether it could be resuscitated from its apparently dying stale. At the end of his period of service it was once more alive, comparatively united, and anxious to have him remain as pastor.

On November 12, 1862, while in charge of the church at Delaware, he was ordained to the full work of the ministry, as an evangelist, by the Presbytery of Marion, in session at Delaware.

On December 27, 1862, he was married in Delaware, at the home of her uncle, to Miss Julia A. Brown, of Mt. Gilead, Ohio. Two years before they were already sufficiently well acquainted to interchange friendly letters; later their friendship ripened into mutual love; and now, after an eight months’ engagement, they were united for life. Mateer says in his Journal, “The wedding was very small and quiet; though it was not wanting in merriment,” and naïvely adds, “Found marrying not half so hard as proposing.” Julia, as he ever afterward calls her, was a superbly good wife for him. In her own home, in the schoolroom, in the oversight of the Chinese boys and girls who were their pupils, in the preparation of her “Music Book,” in her labors for the evangelization of the women, in her journeyings,—hindered as she was most of the time by broken health,—she effectively toiled on, until at last, after thirty-five years of missionary service, her husband laid away all of her that was mortal in the little cemetery east of the city of Tengchow, by the side of her sister, Maggie (Mrs. Capp), who had died in the same service, and of other missionary friends who had gone on before her.

When they were married they were still left in great uncertainty as to the time when the Board could send them out, or, indeed, whether the Board could send them out at all. They went on their bridal trip to his parents’ home in western Pennsylvania, reaching there on Wednesday, December 31. Just a week afterward he received a letter from the Board announcing their readiness to send them to China. The record of his Journal deserves to be given here in full.

Scarcely anything in my life ever came so unexpectedly. A peal
of thunder in the clear winter sky would not have surprised
us more. The letter was handed me in the morning when I came
downstairs at grandfather’s. After reading it, I took it
upstairs and read it to “my Jewel.” In less than three minutes
I think our minds were made up. Her first exclamation after
hearing the letter I shall not forget: “Oh, I am glad!” That
was the right ring for a missionary: no long-drawn, sorrowful
sigh, but the straight-out, noble, self-sacrificing, “Oh, I am
glad!” I shall remember that time, that look, that expression.
If I did not say, I felt, the same. I think I can truly say I
was and am glad. My lifelong aspiration is yet to be realized.
I shall yet spend my life and lay my bones in a heathen land.
I had fully made up my mind to labor in this country, and most
likely for some time in Delaware; but how suddenly everything
is changed! The only regret I feel is that I am not five years
younger. What a great advantage it would give me in acquiring
the language! But so it is, and Providence made it so. I had
despaired of going, and despairing I was greatly perplexed to
understand the leadings of Providence in directing my mind so
strongly to the work, and bringing me so near to the point of
going before. Now I understand the matter better. Now I see
that my strong persuasion that I would yet go was right. God
did not deceive me. He only led me by a way that I knew not.
Just when the darkness seemed to be greatest, then the sun
shone suddenly out. How strange it all seems! The way was all
closed; no funds to send out men to China; and I could not go.
Suddenly two missionaries die, and the health of another fails;
and the Board feels constrained to send out one man at least,
to supply their place; and so the door opens to me. And I will
enter it, for Providence has surely opened it. As I have given
myself to this work, and hold myself in readiness to go, I will
not retrace my steps now. Having put my hand to the plow, I
will not look back. I do not wish to. It is true, however, that
preaching a year and a half has bound strong cords around me
to keep me here. I cannot go so easily now as I might have done
when I first left the seminary. It will be a sore trial to tear
myself away from the folks at Delaware. They will try hard, I
know, to retain me; but I think my mind is set, and I must go.
I must go; I am glad to go; I will go. The Lord will provide
for Delaware. I commit the work there to his hands. I trust and
believe that he will carry it on, and that it will yet appear
that my labor there has not been in vain. Yesterday I was
twenty-seven years old. I hope to chronicle my next birthday in
China. The Lord has spared me twenty-seven years in my native
land. Will he give me as many in China! Grant it, O Lord, and
strengthen me mightily to spend them all for thee!

This strong, persistent, conscientious, self-controlled, consecrated man had found his life work at last.

IV

GONE TO THE FRONT

“If there had been no other way to get back to America, than
through such another experience, it is doubtful whether I
should ever have seen my native land again.”—AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL
SKETCH, 1897.

The choice of the country to which he should go as a missionary had been with him a subject of earnest consideration and prayer. He says in his Journal, under date of September 12, 1862:

The Board wished me to go to Canton, China, at first. This was
altogether against my inclinations and previous plans; but the
Board would not send me anywhere else, until in the last letter
they offered to send me to Japan; I have long had thoughts of
northern India or of Africa; and especially have I wished to go
to some new mission where the ground is unoccupied, and where
I would not be entrammeled by rules and rigid instructions.
The languages of eastern Asia are also exceedingly difficult
and the missionary work is peculiarly discouraging among that
people.

Two days later, however, he sent the Board a letter saying that he would go to Japan. When his field finally was specifically designated, it was north China. He was to be stationed at Tengchow, a port that had been opened to foreign commerce in the province of Shantung.

The Mateers remained at Delaware until late in April. Until that time he continued in charge of his church. In a touching farewell service they took leave of their people, and traveled by slow stages toward New York.

Going to live in China was then so much more serious a matter than it is now that we can scarcely appreciate the leave-takings that fell to the lot of these two young missionaries. The hardest trial of all was to say good-by to mother and to father, and to brothers and sisters, some of whom were yet small children, and for whom he felt that he might do so much if not separated from them by half the distance round the world.

At length on July 3, 1863, they embarked at New York on the ship that was to carry them far to the south of the Cape of Good Hope, then eastward almost in sight of the northern shores of Australia, and finally, by the long outside route, up north again to Shanghai. They were one hundred and sixty-five days, or only about two weeks short of half a year, in making the voyage. During that long period they never touched land. It needs to be borne in mind that in 1863 the Suez Canal had only been begun; that the railroads across our continent had not been built; and that no lines of passenger steamers were running from our western coast over to Asia. No blame, therefore, is chargeable to the Board of Missions for sending out their appointees on a sailing vessel. The ship selected was a merchantman, though not a clipper built for quick transit, was of moderate size, in sound condition, and capable of traveling at fairly good speed. Accompanying the Mateers were Hunter Corbett and his wife, who also had been appointed by the Board, for Tengchow. There were six other passengers, none of whom were missionaries, and, besides the officers, there was a crew of sixteen men.

At best the voyage could not be otherwise than tedious and trying. The accommodations for passengers were necessarily scant, the staterooms, being mere closets with poor ventilation, and this cut off in rough weather. The only place available for exercise was the poop deck, about thirty feet long; thus walking involved so much turning as greatly to lessen the pleasure, and many forms of amusement common on larger vessels were entirely shut out. Food on such a long voyage had to be limited in variety, and must become more or less stale. Of course, it was hot in the tropics, and it was cold away south of the equator, and again up north in November and December. Seasickness is a malady from which exemption could not be expected. When a company of passengers and officers with so little in common as to character and aims were cooped together, for so long a time, in narrow quarters, where they must constantly come into close contact, a serious lack of congeniality and some friction might be expected to develop among them.

The ship also, on that voyage, encountered distinctive annoyances and dangers. For weeks after they sailed they were in constant dread of Confederate privateers. Once they were so sure that they were about to be captured by a ship which they mistook for one of these destroyers of American commerce that they hastily prepared as well as they could for such a catastrophe. When they sailed from New York, the battle of Gettysburg was in progress and still undecided; and it was not until October 15 when they were overtaken by a vessel which had sailed eleven days after them from New York, that their anxiety as to the result was relieved, and their hearts were thrilled with exultation, by the news that Meade was victorious, and also that Vicksburg had fallen. Out among the islands to the northeast of Australia the ship was caught in a current, and was forced so rapidly and nearly on the wild, rocky shores of an uncivilized island that the captain himself despaired of escaping wreck. Providentially a breeze from the land sprang up and carried them out of danger. They were overtaken by no severe storms. Several times their patience was sorely tested by protracted calms; in the Pacific it once took them seventeen days to make three hundred and forty miles.

All of these things lay beyond the control of the officers and crew, and the missionaries accepted them as trials to which they ought quietly and patiently to submit. But imagine as added to this a half year’s subjection to the arbitrary and autocratic rule of a captain who was ignorant except as to seamanship; who was coarse and constantly profane in speech; who was tyrannical and brutal so far as he dared to be, and yet when boldly faced by those who were able to bring him to account for his conduct was a contemptible coward; who skimped the people on board of food adequate in quantity or decently fit in quality, partly because of stingy greed, and partly from a desire thus to gratify his malignant disposition; who hated missionaries and seemed to have a special pleasure in making their lives on his ship as uncomfortable as possible; who barely tolerated such religious observances as the asking of a blessing at meals, or a service for social worship on the Sabbath in the cabin, and who forbade all attempts to do any religious work, even by conversation, among the crew; who was capable of descending to various petty meannesses in order to gratify his base inclinations; and who somehow yet managed to secure from officers under him a measure of sympathy and coöperation in his conduct. When we have as fully as possible grasped these things, we can understand why Dr. Mateer, half a lifetime afterward, wrote to his college classmates that if in order to reach America it had been necessary to repeat the experience of that outward voyage, it is doubtful if ever again he had seen his native land.

But at last this voyage was nearing its end. They might have reached port some days earlier, had it not been that all the crew except three or four had—through lack of proper food and other bad treatment—been attacked by scurvy, a disease already then having been almost shut out even from sailing vessels on long trips. On December 16 they had the happiness of going ashore at Shanghai, where they soon found a welcome in the homes of missionaries and of other friends. Corbett was not well, and Mateer always believed that the health of both Julia and Corbett was permanently injured by the treatment received on that outward voyage.

On the voyage the missionaries warned the captain that they would surely hold him to account for his conduct, when they reached Shanghai. They kept their word. After consultation with the missionaries on the local field, with a lawyer, and with the American consul, they determined to proceed with formal charges against him. Learning of this, he lost no time in coming to them, and, with fear and trembling, he begged that they would have mercy on him. A second interview was appointed, but Corbett was too unwell to see him, and Mateer had to meet him alone. In his Journal he says:

I took the paper which had been read to the consul, and read it
to him giving copious comments and illustrations, at the same
time asking him to explain or correct if he could. I never in
my life gave any man such a lecturing. I just kept myself busy
for an hour and a half telling him how mean and contemptible
a scoundrel he was. I then offered him as a settlement of
the matter a paper which I proposed to publish, stating in
it that he had apologized and that we had agreed to suspend
prosecution. From this he pled off in the most pitiful manner,
saying that he would be ruined by it.

The third day he came again and made such an appeal for mercy that Mateer’s sympathy, and also his desire to avoid detention at Shanghai, led him to agree to accept a private apology, and to refer the matter to the interested parties at New York. Years afterward Mateer, on going aboard a coasting steamer bound for Shanghai, discovered that this man was the captain. He at once cancelled his passage, and went ashore until he could secure a place on another vessel.

Tengchow is distant more than five hundred miles from Shanghai. The only way to reach it was by a second voyage northward along the coast to Chefoo, and thence overland. On January 3, 1864, the Mateers and the Corbetts went aboard the little coasting steamer “Swatow,” bound for Chefoo. They had a head wind, and the ship was almost empty of cargo. They suffered again from seasickness, and from cold on account of lack of bed-clothing. On the evening of the third day out, at about half-past eight, they were sitting around the stove expecting soon to be at Chefoo, when suddenly the vessel struck the bottom and the bell rang to reverse the engine. Bump followed bump, until it seemed as if she must go to pieces. The captain, though not unfamiliar with the route, had allowed himself to be deceived by the masts of a sunken ship, and supposing this to be a vessel at anchor in the harbor of Chefoo, had gone in, and his steamer was now hard and fast on the bottom, about fifteen miles down the coast from his destination. We will allow Mateer in his Journal to tell his own story.

All was a scene of indescribable confusion. The captain lost
all self-possession and all authority over his men. Most of
his crew and servants were Chinese or Malays, and on such an
occasion the worst features of their character shine out. They
refused to do anything and went to packing up their few goods
and at the same time seizing everything they could get hold
of. They went everywhere and into everything, pilfering and
destroying. Meanwhile the waves were striking the vessel at
a fearful rate, and threatening to break it into pieces. We
knew not what to do, or what we could do. The mates and two
passengers (a merchant and an English naval officer) lowered
a boat and, pushing off, succeeded in landing and in making a
rope fast from the ship to the shore. They found that we were
much nearer the land than we had supposed. We were now in a
great quandary what to do, whether to remain on the ship, or
get in the boat and go ashore. We mostly inclined to remain,
but the captain urged us to go ashore. While the wind remained
moderate we could stay on the ship with safety; but if the wind
should increase before morning we might be in danger of our
lives. The captain said that he thought that it was not more
than eight or nine miles to Chefoo, and he was anxious that
word should be sent there. We at length yielded to his advice,
and about eleven o’clock got into a boat and managed to get
ashore through the surf. It was a bitter cold night, and we
loaded ourselves with blankets which we supposed would come
into requisition to keep us warm. Our party consisted of nine
passengers (we four, Rev. Williamson and wife and child, and
Rev. McClatchie—all missionaries—and Mr. Wilson, a merchant,
and Mr. Riddle, a naval officer) and six Chinamen. Our hope was
to set out in the direction of Chefoo, get a lodging for the
ladies and Mr. Corbett by the way, while the rest of us pushed
on to Chefoo to obtain assistance. We started off according to
this plan, but soon found our way stopped by fields of ice,
and we were compelled to turn from our course and seek the
hills which towered up in the distance. The walking was very
fatiguing; indeed, the ground was covered several inches with
snow, and at many places there were large cakes and fields of
ice. After long and weary tramping and turning and disputing
about the best way, we at length reached the hills. I mounted
to the top of the first hill and tried to get the party to go
up over the hill and directly inland until we should find a
house or village. Other counsels prevailed, however, and we
wandered along the foot of the hill the best part of a mile.
At length I got in the lead, and persuaded them that no houses
would be found unless we went inland from the barren beach.
We then crossed the ridge at a low place and retraced our
steps on the other side of it, and finally, after much urging,
persuaded those who wanted to sit down until morning to follow
on inland on the track of some of our Chinamen. We soon came
to a village, which was indeed a welcome sight. We were cold,
and our feet were wet, and we were very tired, especially the
ladies. Our troubles were not over yet, however, for we could
not induce any of the Chinese to let us in. It was now four
o’clock, and we were suffering from the effects of five hours’
wandering in the snow and cold. Yet they persistently closed
their doors and kept us out. Mr. Williamson and Mr. McClatchie
could talk to them some, yet they refused to receive us.

At last, after shivering in the cold about an hour, we
succeeded in getting into a sort of shanty, which, however,
afforded but very poor comfort. There was a heated kang in it,
and the ladies managed to warm their feet on this. When it
began to get light Mr. Riddle and Mr. Wilson started to Chefoo,
thinking the city was only half a mile distant. This was what
Mrs. Williamson understood the natives to say. Some time after
Mr. McClatchie started, supposing it was three miles. We made
breakfast on boiled rice and sweet potatoes which the people
brought us.

I started back to see what had become of the ship, and to look
after our things. I found the vessel all sound and everything
safe. I succeeded in getting several trunks of mine and Mr.
Williamson’s landed on the beach, and got some of them started
up to the village, which was at least two miles from the
ship. Mr. Williamson then went down and succeeded in getting
a variety of other things brought off and carried up to the
village. It was a beautiful calm day, but we feared that a gale
might spring up, as gales were frequent in this region at that
time of year. In such a case the vessel must quickly be broken
in pieces, and everything destroyed.

We now began to look around for the night, and it was not a
very comfortable prospect. Some English people came from Yentai
(just across the bay from Chefoo) to survey the wreck of a
vessel that had been cast away some time before at the same
place, and they very kindly sent us some supper—their own, in
fact—and also brought us a supply of furs and blankets. We had
one large kang heated, and on this five stowed themselves,
covering themselves with the blankets, while I made a bed and
slept on the ground. The rest of the little room was filled
with trunks and Chinese rubbish of various kinds. We slept
very comfortably, however, and as we were very tired and had
not slept a wink the night before, our sleep was sweet and
refreshing to us. We had great cause to be thankful for even
such accommodations in the circumstances.

We made our breakfast on two dozen boiled eggs and some bread
which the Englishmen had left us. I started immediately to the
ship, intending, as the day was fine, to try and get as much
as possible of the goods belonging to us off the ship, and
to store them there until they could be taken to Yentai. As
I came over the top of the hill and looked out on the sea, I
saw a steamer coming which I knew was the English gunboat from
Chefoo. My heart bounded with joy at the sight. At last we were
to get help, and to reach Yentai without going overland. All
our goods also would no doubt be saved.

By land it was twenty-eight miles to Chefoo, instead of the short distance supposed by the men who started to walk, but they had persisted; and at their instigation the gunboat had come to relieve the party left behind. After some failures the gunboat succeeded in pulling the “Swatow” into water where she again floated safely. The party out at the village returned, and the goods were brought back and put on board the gunboat, Mateer remaining over night with the steamer and coming up the next day to Chefoo. He notices in his Journal that although Corbett was in a very weak state, he seemed to suffer little or no bad effects from the first terrible night on shore; nor were the ladies apparently any the worse for their exposure. He mentions also that while some of the natives at the village were disposed to annoy them as much as possible, others of them were very kind, and he adds, “Never before did I feel my helpless condition so much as among those natives, with whom I could not speak a single word.”

Of course, they received a hearty welcome from the missionaries at Chefoo. On the following Wednesday they started for Tengchow, fifty-five miles away, traveling by shentza—a mode of travel peculiar to China, and developed largely because of the almost complete absence of anything like good wagon roads. It is simply a sort of covered litter, sustained between two mules, one in advance of the other; in it one reclines, and is jolted up and down by the motion of the animals, each going after his own fashion over rough paths which lead without plan across the plains and hills. Mateer’s Journal says of that trip:

We rode about fifteen miles and stopped for the night at a
Chinese inn. We had brought our eatables along, and, having
got some tea, we made a very good supper, and we went to bed
all together on a Chinese kang heated up to keep us warm. Next
morning it was bitter cold, and we did not get started until
about ten o’clock. I made them turn my shentza and Julia’s
around [that is, with the open front away from the wind] or I
do not know what we should have done. About five o’clock our
cavalcade turned into an inn, and we soon found to our chagrin
and vexation that we were doomed to spend another night in a
Chinese inn; which, by the way, is anything but a comfortable
place on a cold night. We made the best of it, however, and the
next morning we were off again for Tengchow, where we arrived
safely about two o’clock. At last our journeying was over,—set
down on the field of our labor.

They had reached the front. This was early in January, 1864.

V

THE NEW HOME

“Our new house is now done, and we are comfortably fixed in it.
It suits us exactly, and my impression is that it will suit
anyone who may come after us.... My prayer is that God will
spare us to live in it many years, and bless us in doing much
work for his glory.”—LETTER TO SECRETARY LOWRIE, December 24,
1867.

Tengchow is one of the cities officially opened as a port for foreign commerce, under the treaty of Tientsin, which went into actual effect in 1860. Although a place of seventy thousand or more inhabitants, and cleaner and more healthful than most Chinese towns, it has not attracted people from western nations, except a little band of missionaries. The harbor does not afford good anchorage; so it has not been favorable to foreign commerce.

When the Mateers came to Tengchow, missionary operations had already been begun both by the Southern Baptists and the American Presbyterians, though in a very small way. In fact, throughout the whole of China,—according to the best statistics available,—there were then on that immense field only something more than a hundred ordained Protestant missionaries, and as many female missionaries. There were also a few physicians and printers. The number of native preachers was about two hundred and fifty, and of colporteurs about the same. Few of these colporteurs and native preachers were full ministers of the gospel. There were sixteen stations, and perhaps a hundred out-stations. The Chinese converts aggregated thirty-five hundred.

In all Shantung, with its many millions of people, the only places at which any attempt had been made to establish stations were Chefoo and Tengchow, both on the seacoast. The Baptists reached the latter of these cities in the autumn of 1860. They were followed very soon afterward by Messrs. Danforth and Gayley and their wives, of the Presbyterian Board; and the next summer Mr. and Mrs. Nevius came up from Ningpo and joined them.

The natives seemed to be less positively unfriendly than those of many other parts of China are even to this day; yet it was only with protracted and perplexing difficulties that houses in which to live could be obtained. Not long after this was accomplished, Mrs. Danforth sickened and died, and was laid in the first Christian grave at Tengchow. Then came a “rebel,” or rather a robber invasion, that carried desolation and death far and wide in that part of Shantung, and up to the very walls of Tengchow, and left the city and country in a deplorable condition of poverty and wretchedness. Two of the Baptist missionaries went out to parley with these marauders, and were cut to pieces. Next ensued a period during which rumors were rife among the people that the missionaries, by putting medicine in the wells, and by other means, practiced witchcraft; and this kept away many who otherwise might have ventured to hear the gospel, and came near to producing serious danger. After this followed a severe epidemic of cholera, filling the houses and the streets with funerals and with mourning. For a while the missionaries escaped, and did what they could for the Chinese patients; but they were soon themselves attacked; and then they had to give their time and strength to ministering to their own sick, and to burying their own dead. Mr. Gayley first, and then his child, died, and a child of one of the Baptist missionaries. Others were stricken but recovered. The epidemic lasted longest among the Chinese, and this afforded the missionaries opportunity to save many lives by prompt application of remedies; and so tended greatly to remove prejudice and to open the way for the gospel. Ten persons were admitted to membership in the church, the first fruits of the harvest which has ever since been gathering. But a sad depletion of the laborers soon afterward followed. Mrs. Gayley was compelled to take her remaining child, and go home; Mr. Danforth’s health became such that he also had to leave; the health of Mrs. Nevius, which had been poor for a long time, had become worse and, the physician having ordered her away, she and her husband went south. This left Rev. Mr. Mills and his wife as the only representatives of the Presbyterian Board, until the Mateers and Corbetts arrived, about three years after the beginning of the station by Danforth and Gayley.

When the Mateers and Corbetts came they were, of necessity, lodged in the quarters already occupied by the Mills family. These consisted of no less than four small one-story stone buildings clustered near together; one used for a kitchen, another for a dining room, a third for a guest room, and the fourth for a parlor and bedroom. Each stood apart from the other, and without covered connection. The larger of them had been a temple dedicated to Kwan Yin, whom foreigners have called the Chinese god of mercy. According to the universal superstition, the air is full of superhuman spirits, in dread of whom the people of China constantly live, and to avert the displeasure of whom most of their religious services are performed. Kwan Yin, however, is an exception in character to the malignancy of these imaginary deities. There is no end to the myths that are current as to this god, and they all are stories of deliverance from trouble and danger. To him the people always turn with their vows and prayers and offerings, in any time of special need. Partly because the women are especially devoted to this cult, and partly because mercy is regarded by the Chinese as a distinctively female trait, the easy-going mythology of the country has allowed Kwan Yin, in later times, to take the form of a woman. When the missionaries came to Tengchow, the priest in charge of this temple was short of funds, and he was easily induced to rent it to them. He left the images of Kwan Yin in the house. Just what to do with them became a practical question; from its solution a boy who lived with the Mateers learned a valuable lesson. When asked whether the idols could do anybody harm, he promptly replied “No”; giving as a reason that the biggest one that used to be in the room where they were then talking was buried outside the gate! At first a wall was built around the other idols, but by and by they were all taken down from their places and disposed of in various ways. Mateer speaks of a mud image of Kwan Yin, about four feet high, and weighing over two hundred pounds, still standing in his garret in 1870.

The coming of these new mission families into the Mills residence crowded it beyond comfort, and beyond convenience for the work that was imperative. The Mateers had the dining room assigned to them as their abode, this being the best that could be offered. Of course, little effective study could under such conditions be put on the language which must be acquired before any direct missionary labor could be performed. Under the loss of time he thus was suffering, Mateer chafed like a caged lion; and so, as soon as possible, he had another room cleared of the goods of Mr. Nevius, which had been stored there until they could be shipped, and then set to work to build a chimney and to put the place in order for his own occupation. Thus he had his first experience of the dilatory and unskillful operations of native mechanics. The dining room was left without a stove, and, on account of the cold, something had to be done to supply the want. In all Tengchow such a thing as a stove could not be purchased; possibly one might have been secured at Chefoo, but most probably none could have been obtained short of Shanghai. The time had already come for Mateer to exercise his mechanical gifts. He says:

Mr. Mills and I got to work to make a stove out of tin. We had
the top and bottom of an old sheet-iron stove for a foundation
from which we finally succeeded in making what proves to be a
very good stove. We put over one hundred and sixty rivets in
it in the process of making it. I next had my ingenuity taxed
to make a machine to press the fine coal they burn here, into
balls or blocks, so that we could use it. They have been simply
setting it with a sort of gum water and molding it into balls
with their hands. Thus prepared, it was too soft and porous to
burn well. So, as it was the time of the new year, and we could
not obtain a teacher, I got to work, and with considerable
trouble, and working at a vast disadvantage from want of proper
tools, I succeeded in making a machine to press the coal into
solid, square blocks. At first it seemed as if it would be a
failure, for although it pressed the coal admirably it seemed
impossible to get the block out of the machine successfully.
This was obviated, however, and it worked very well, and seems
to be quite an institution.

This machine subsequently he improved so that a boy could turn out the fuel with great rapidity.

The house, with the best arrangements that could be made, was so overcrowded that relief of some sort was a necessity. The Corbetts, despairing of getting suitable accommodations for themselves, went back to the neighborhood of Chefoo and never returned,—an immense gain for Chefoo, but an equally immense loss for Tengchow. Mills preferred to find a new house for himself and family, and—after the usual delays and difficulties because of the unwillingness of the people and of the officials to allow the hated foreigners to get such a permanent foothold in the place—he at length succeeded. But that was only a remote step toward actual occupation. A Chinese house at its best estate commonly is of one story; and usually has no floor but the ground and no ceiling but the roof, or a flimsy affair made of cornstalks and paper. The windows have a sort of latticework covered with thin paper; and it is necessary to tear down some of the wall, in order to have a sufficient number of them, and to give those which do exist a shape suitable for sash. The doors are low, few in number, rudely made, and in two pieces. A Chinese house may be large enough, but it is usually all in one big room.

It fell to these missionaries to get in order the house which Mills secured; and to do this in the heat of summer, and during a season of almost incessant downpour of rain. They were obliged not merely to supervise most unsatisfactory laborers, but also to do much of the work with their own hands. Eventually Mills fell sick, and Mateer alone was left to complete the job. Yet he records that on the first day of August his associate had gone to his new residence, and he and Julia were happy in the possession of the old temple for their own abode. Unfortunately both of them were taken down with dysentery. Of the day the Mills family left he says in a letter to one of his brothers:

Julia was able to sit up about half the day, and I was no
better. You can imagine what a time we had getting our
cooking stove up, and getting our cooking utensils out and
in order,—no, you can’t either, for you don’t know what a
Chinese servant is when of every three words you speak to him
he understands one, and misunderstands two. However, we did
finally get the machine going, and it works pretty well.

Here they remained three years; and, here, after they had built for themselves a really “new home,” they long continued to carry on their school work.

But experience soon convinced them that a new dwelling house was a necessity. The buildings which they occupied proved to be both unhealthy and unsuitable for the work they were undertaking. The unhealthiness arose partly from the location. The ground in that section of the city is low, and liable to be submerged in the rainy season. A sluggish little stream ran just in front of the place, passing through the wall by a low gate, and if this happened to be closed in a sudden freshet, the water sometimes rose within the houses. There was a floor at least in the main building, but it was laid upon scantlings about four inches thick, these being placed on the ground. The boards were not grooved, and as a consequence while making a tight enough floor in the damp season, in the dry it opened with cracks a quarter to half an inch wide. The walls were of stone, built without lime, and with an excess of mud mortar, and lined on the inside with sun-dried brick. The result of all this was that the dampness extended upward several feet above the floor, and by discoloration showed in the driest season where it had been. The floor could not be raised without necessitating a change in the doors and windows, and it was doubtful whether this could be made with safety to the house. It is no wonder that, under such conditions, Mrs. Mateer began to suffer seriously from the rheumatism that remained with her all the rest of her life. Added to the other discomforts, were the tricks played them by the ceiling. This consisted of cornstalks hung to the roof with strings, and covered on the lower side with paper pasted on. Occasionally a heavy rain brought this ceiling down on the heads of the occupants; and cracks were continually opening, thus rendering it almost impossible to keep warm in cold weather.

An appeal was made to the Board for funds for a new dwelling. Happily the Civil War was about over, and the financial outlook was brightening; so in the course of a few months permission for the new house was granted, and an appropriation was made. The first thing to do was to obtain a suitable piece of ground on which to build. Mateer had in his own mind fixed on a plot adjoining the mission premises, and understood to be purchasable. Such transactions in China seldom move rapidly. He bided his time until the Chinese new year was close at hand, when everybody wants money; then, striking while the iron was hot, he bought the ground.

Long before this consummation he was so confident that he would succeed that, foreseeing that he must be his own architect and superintendent, he wrote home to friends for specific information as to every detail of house-building. Nothing seems to have been overlooked. He even wanted to know just how the masons stand when at certain parts of their work.

Early in February in 1867 he was down at Chefoo purchasing the brick and stone and lime; and so soon as the material was on hand and as the weather permitted, the actual construction was begun. It was an all-summer job, necessitating his subordinating, as far as possible, all other occupations to this. It required a great deal of care and patience to get the foundations put down well, and of a proper shape for the superstructure which was to rest upon them. In his Journal he thus records the subsequent proceedings:

When the level of the first floor was reached I began the
brickwork myself, laying the corners and showing the masons one
by one how to proceed. I had no small amount of trouble before
I got them broken in to use the right kind of trowel, which
I had made for the purpose, and then to lay the brick in the
right way. I had another round of showing and trouble when the
arches at the top of the windows had to be turned, and then the
placing of the sleepers took attention; and then the setting of
the upper story doors and windows. The work went slowly on, and
when the level was reached we had quite a raising, getting the
plates and rafters up. All is done, however, and to-day they
began to put the roof on.... I hope in a few days I will be
able to resume my work again, as all the particular parts are
now done, so that I can for the most give it into the hands of
the Chinese to oversee.

The early part of November, 1867, the Mateers lived “half in the old and half in the new.” On November 21 they finally moved. That was Saturday. In the night there came up a fierce storm of snow and wind. When they awoke on Sabbath morning, the kitchen had been filled with snow through a door that was blown open. The wind still blew so hard that the stove in the kitchen smoked and rendered cooking impossible. The stair door had not yet been hung, and the snow drifted into the hall and almost everywhere in the house. Stoves could not be set up, or anything else done toward putting things in order, until Thursday, when the storm abated.