Appalled at what he had just heard, and down to his last hope, Hudson read the name from the front of the final envelope. “Dr. Walter Medhurst.”
“Now that’s a name I recognize. Everyone knows the Medhursts. They live in the London Missionary Society compound,” said the clerk enthusiastically, before going on to give Hudson directions for the two-mile walk to the compound.
Not far beyond the British Consulate, the streets turned to mud. Hudson picked his way along, trying to keep his feet as dry as possible until he came to the large, arched gateway to the compound. The gates were open, so Hudson went in. On one side was a building that looked like a hospital, and on the other side, several low houses. A Chinese servant was sweeping the open courtyard. He came running over as soon as he saw Hudson. He bowed three times and waited for Hudson to speak.
“Is Dr. Medhurst in? I have a letter of introduction for him,” said Hudson.
The servant stared. Hudson could tell that he’d not understood a word. There was no one else in sight to ask, so he simplified his language and slowly tried again. “Me want Doctor Med-hurst.”
A smile lit up the servant’s eyes. “Doc-cor Me-hurse gone,” he said, waving his hands toward the gate to underscore what he was saying.
Hudson’s shoulders slumped. What did “gone” mean? The way things were turning out, gone could mean anything from out on an errand to dead!
“Where…has…Doctor…Medhurst…gone?” he asked slowly.
The servant beamed, evidently delighted his English had been understood. “Yes, gone,” he said enthusiastically waving his arms again. “Gone.”
Hudson stood wondering what to do. The apple trees at the back of the compound were casting long shadows across the courtyard. It would be dark soon, and he was beginning to wish he’d stayed on the Dumfries until she docked. As sunset approached, the air was getting cold, and the few shillings in his pocket surely would not be enough to pay for a night’s lodging. Things looked bleak. Everyone he had an introduction to was either dead or gone.
He looked at the door to the hospital, wondering if there was anyone inside who might understand English. As if to answer his thoughts, the door swung open and out walked a European man. Seeing Hudson, he walked over and held out his hand. Relieved, Hudson shook it heartily.
“Edkins,” he introduced himself in a strong English accent. “May I help you?”
Hudson handed him the letter of introduction. Edkins read it, then explained that Dr. Medhurst and his family had moved to a safer part of the city, since the compound was within earshot, and cannonshot, of the fighting. But Dr. Lockhart, Medhurst’s partner, might be able to help him. Edkins showed Hudson into one of the nearby houses and went off to find Dr. Lockhart.
As Hudson waited, news of his arrival spread quickly. A procession of curious people stopped in to ask him who he was and what he was doing in China. How did he get here? No new ship had docked in the past week, had it? Were there other newcomers? Was he a doctor or a minister?
This last question proved the most difficult. When he said he was neither a doctor nor a minister, just a missionary, several people looked at him strangely. Someone even asked how a person could call himself a missionary without either correct church or medical training. It was a question that surprised Hudson, coming as it did from another missionary. It was also a question he would be asked over and over again during his stay in Shanghai.
Finally, Dr. Lockhart arrived. He welcomed Hudson and offered him a room in his house until he could get on his feet. Hudson was glad to take it, and after eating dinner with the Burdons, a young missionary couple at the compound, he went to bed. And for the first time in a long, long while, the bed wasn’t rocking.
He was awakened a few hours later by bright flashes and the crash of cannonballs as they hit the nearby old city wall. The flashes lit up the bedroom, and the crashes made the oil lamp on the nightstand rattle. But soon Hudson grew used to the light and noise and fell asleep again.
He awoke to new sounds the next morning. “My pleasure in awakening and hearing the cheerful song of birds may be better imagined than described. The green corn waving in the fields, budding plants in the garden, and sweetly perfumed blossoms on some of the trees were indeed delightful after so long at sea,” he wrote to Amelia in a letter. Of course, he did not tell her about the cannonfire during the night.
Things aren’t so bad after all, he thought, as he pulled on his boots. He decided he would go back to the British Consulate and collect the letter of credit from the Chinese Evangelization Society and, he hoped, some other letters from family and friends back home. Then he would stroll along the river’s edge keeping watch for the Dumfries. When she docked, he would unload his belongings and settle into his new room. It was a good plan but, as circumstances would have it, not one that worked.
Chapter 9
“If Only They Knew of the Living God”
Hudson walked out the compound gates and headed towards the Hwang-poo River. Dr. Lockhart’s servant followed him at a distance. But eager as he was to reach the consulate office, Hudson couldn’t help stopping along the way. Everything fascinated him. Shanghai was so different from London. Certainly London was busy, but Shanghai seemed so much busier. Even though the city was under siege, everywhere he looked there was activity. By the side of the muddy road was an old man making lanterns from red paper. Two boys were selling brightly colored birds in bamboo cages. Another man was selling oval-shaped, green fruit, unlike anything Hudson had seen before. A woman nursing a baby squatted beside a grass mat with cups of cooked rice arranged on it. Anyone who wasn’t selling something seemed to be carrying something. As at the dock the day before, men were weaving in and out of the crowd, balancing bamboo poles across their shoulders. One man scurried by with live roosters tied by their feet dangling from his pole. Another man had embroidered silk pillows tied to his. Young men also went by pushing wheelbarrows loaded with huge clay pots filled with water. Everywhere there was the sound of people talking, laughing, and bartering. The air was also filled with interesting smells: the smell of food cooking in large woks over open fires, of live pigs and chickens and ducks, of the fragrant incense sold by merchants, and of the open sewers that ran alongside the street. The smells hung in the air, at times making Hudson want to breath deeply to savor them and at other times causing him to gag.
As he walked along, he wondered how he could describe the scene in his next letter to Amelia. The only thing he could think to compare it with was their visit to the Great Exhibition in London two years ago. But how orderly that had been compared to this!
Every few yards he stopped to examine something for sale or to peer through a gate. But he was also eager to get the letter of credit from the Chinese Evangelization Society, along with his instructions on where and how to proceed in setting up the mission in Shanghai. He thought the first thing they would want him to do would be to find somewhere permanent to live while he prepared to go into the heart of China.
The British Consulate loomed in front of him once again. He climbed the steps to the consulate and entered, glancing behind at Dr. Lockhart’s servant who was waiting on the bottom step. How nice it felt to be able to read all of the signs and charts and to know he spoke the same language as every other person in the room. There was a line at the mail counter, and Hudson found himself waiting behind a woman in a long, hooped dress that pinched in at her waist. Her dress would have been perfectly normal in London, but in Shanghai it looked strangely out of place and impractical for the crowded, muddy streets.
Finally, it was Hudson’s turn to collect his mail. He said his name clearly and held out his hands, ready for the pile of letters. The clerk handed him only one letter. Hudson immediately recognized the handwriting on the envelope as his mother’s. He waited for more letters. But instead of handing him more letters, the clerk said to him, “Two shillings please, there is insufficient postage on this letter. You owe the difference.”
Hudson reached into his jacket pocket and handed two shillings to the clerk, who entered the amount in a ledger and stamped “paid” beside it.
Still Hudson waited patiently for more letters. The clerk looked puzzled. “That’s it, sir,” he said, before addressing the man standing in line behind him.
Hudson moved away from the mail counter with the words, “That’s it, sir,” ringing in his ears. That wasn’t it. There was only one letter. The Burdons had told him a mail steamer came from England every month. They were much faster at making the trip from England than a sailing ship like the Dumfries. So how could it be that there was only one letter, and it wasn’t from the Chinese Evangelization Society? Where was their letter of credit? He needed that letter, and he needed it now. What did they expect him to do in China with no money and no instructions on how to proceed?
A second thought flashed through his mind. How do I keep the fact that I received no letter of credit from the other missionaries? After only one night at the London Missionary Society compound, Hudson could sense that the other missionaries thought the Chinese Evangelization Society was a joke. What would they think when they found out the society had left him without money or instructions on what they wanted him to do?
Hudson was still stunned as he left the British Consulate and headed to the docks. The fog had cleared, and the sight of the Dumfries sailing up the river cheered him up. It had been only a day, but it seemed like such a long time since he had seen Captain Morris.
The Dumfries docked amid much yelling and arm waving. As soon as the pilot disembarked, Hudson was allowed aboard. Captain Morris was glad to see him and gave him a hearty handshake. Then he ordered the crew to lower Hudson’s baggage onto the dock.
Hudson was grateful that Dr. Lockhart had sent along his servant with instructions to help him get his belongings back to the compound. There was no way he could have made himself understood to the laborers, or coolies, as they were called, who hung around the dock. Dr. Lockhart’s servant quickly hired seven coolies to transport Hudson’s belongings to the compound. They busily tied his things to ropes, then suspended them from bamboo poles. The first coolie had Hudson’s harmonium dangling on one end of his pole, balanced by several bundles of books on the other. Two of the other coolies had looped a rope through the handles of his sea chest and carried it suspended on a bamboo pole between them. The chest bounced up and down as they walked. Hudson led the procession of coolies through the streets back to the compound. As they moved along, they blended in with the clatter of activity going on around them.
It took Hudson only an afternoon to unpack his belongings and arrange them in his room. Unfortunately, his spare pair of shoes had been drenched on the voyage, probably when the hatch cover gave way during the storm in the Irish Sea, and so he had to discard them. He also had to discard a pile of his Bible study notes. Several ink bottles had broken and doused the pages in black ink so they couldn’t be read. As he unpacked, he had plenty of time to think about what he should do next. He read his mother’s letter over and over, hoping it would somehow give him an answer, but it didn’t.
By Sunday afternoon, he was getting restless. No new mail steamers had arrived, and he was not sleeping well. The crash of cannonballs hitting their target was keeping him awake at night. So it was a great relief when Alexander Wylie, the London Missionary Society printer, offered to take Hudson on a tour of the old walled city.
The old city was surrounded on three sides by fifty thousand troops from the Imperial Army. On the fourth side lay the International Settlement. As they walked through the busy streets of the International Settlement towards the old city, Alexander Wylie explained that because of the Treaty of Nanking, the Imperial Army had no power over the International Settlement. They couldn’t surround it or harm it in any way. The situation greatly frustrated the army because some foreigners, hoping to see them defeated, were helping the Red Turbans inside the old city. They were supplying them with food, armaments, and anything else that might give them an edge over the Imperial troops. With the rebels and the residents of old Shanghai receiving supplies and information about troop movements from foreigners, the siege could go on indefinitely. So naturally, the Imperial Army resented interfering foreigners.
