CHAPTER VI.

IN THE GRIP OF FAMINE.

On the way to the town, in the blazing heat, and living mostly on roots dug from the wayside, the youngest son, my prospective husband, died of exhaustion. I don’t think any of us minded, as we were too far gone ourselves. I only remember feeling some relief that now I need never be married into that family. How we reached the town I don’t know; but we got there at last, and for a few days lived on a little rice doled out from a temple near the river. The stores of grain supposed to be reserved in every town against famine were found to be bad from neglect, and it was only with difficulty a riot was prevented. The official dared not show his face, as there were rumors that he had been pocketing some of the relief money given by the Government.

On the third day we were all of us too weak to fight our way through the crowd to where rice was being distributed. Near by was a shop where a kind of coarse wheat bread was sold. My mother-in-law eyed it hungrily. There were few about, so she went up to the man and whispered to him. He looked across to me, and then I saw him give her a lump of bread, which she clutched eagerly and disappeared down a back street. I never saw her again. She had sold me to the baker for a piece of bread!

I was at the time too starved and ill to be frightened, and the man appeared to be kind and good, and told me not to be afraid. He brought me to his wife, a pleasant woman with a kind face, who gave me a little food, and after a while I slept. Then began a new life for me. At first I was terribly afraid lest my old enemy should come back and try to get me away. My new-found friends I soon began to like. The man was a small trader, who had done well in previous years, and though, like all the others, they were hard pressed by the famine, they had money enough to tide them over the worst. They had no children, so the man bought me as a servant for his wife, and I found in her a good mistress.

Meanwhile the distress grew. Many of the officials were so corrupt as to try to make money out of the calamities of the people. Transit by water was very slow, so it was long before relief came. At last we heard that kindly foreigners were bringing up some boat-loads of flour for the destitute people. It was when these boats arrived that I saw a foreigner for the first time in my life. There were two of them who attended to the transport of the rice from the boats to a temple. A strong force of soldiers prevented the rush of the hungry crowd, and the foreigners used to steal out late at night and early in the morning giving tickets to the destitute and taking care that they were not imposed upon by those whose need was not so great.

[Illustration: Making idols in China.

“The idols in the temple could not help.”]

They told from time to time a strange story of a new religion of love, and of Someone called the Lord Jesus, who had sent them in to save the starving. They were very kind, and gave the people work, widening and draining the road. My new father was greatly impressed by all this, and I overheard him say that such a doctrine as this was worth listening to.

It was at that time that my new-found friends determined to leave that part and retire to their home far away in the country. A long boat journey brought us at last to a small farm, lying at the foot of a steep hill, crowned, as is usual, by a temple. Here in this new home I began a new life. My friends were very religious, and belonged to the vegetarians. Nearly all the best and most spiritual people in China belong to this sect. They are earnest worshippers of idols, and give large sums of money to priests, and in their life are careful and self-denying. One of their chief reasons for becoming vegetarians was that they had no son. This they regarded as the sure sign of the wrath of the gods. To appease them they had made many pilgrimages to famous shrines, but without finding peace.

When New Year came, there was a celebrated and much-attended festival on the Fairy Hill, near our home. From far and near crowds came to worship in the temple of the goddess, bestower of sons and healer of smallpox. Beggars, in all stages of filthiness, lined the roads reaping a rich harvest from the worshippers, eager to accumulate merit by acts of charity. My father joined the procession that started one day from our village. Fasting and in silence they wended their way across the fields, each man with a stick of burning incense in his hand, and preceded by banners and an idol in a shrine. Arrived at the temple the noise was deafening. Drums and gongs clashed, innumerable crackers spluttered, and the air was heavy with the smoke of incense. My father knelt before the grim idol. The priest shook together a lot of bamboo slips, from which my father took one, and the priest handed to him the corresponding response of the idol. Anxiously he stepped outside and read. Would it be favorable? Would the angry gods regard his prayer at last? He read the printed slip, and a look of intense disappointment passed over his face, for he read thus:

From sickness no release; In lawsuits no success; Your children hard to rear; From false charges no redress; The lost will not be found, Nor flocks nor herds increase; From marriage no good luck, And from labor no release.

Such was the result of many prayers and much fasting. Truly the gods keep their wrath for ever.