Children of the Mountains

It was a comfort when it came to parting from our Liangchow friends that Dr. Kao felt he could be spared from home a few weeks longer and decided to accompany us to our next stopping -place. Compassed with love to the last, there were few dry eyes when the cart was packed and ready and we stood together — a large company — to commend one another to the Lord in prayer. Beneath the rough exterior of Kansu speech and manner, what treasures we had found of warmth of heart!

And now, though we had to retrace our steps across the Liangchow plain and down the fortified road as far as Pingfan, we were turning southward to the most interesting section of all this interesting province — the region last wrested from Tibet, and still largely populated by Tibetans mingled with Moslems of various sects and races. Mongolians too are found in numbers along that Tibetan border¬ land, and have their hereditary princes in the city of Sining to which we were travelling, while the mountains we had to cross are the retreat of aboriginal tribes, like those in south-west China, some of them a remnant of the once powerful Huns who seem to have settled here, despite the barrier of the Great Wall.

“For this province of Kansu occupies an important place in the history of the Chinese empire,” writes one who knows it well, “having been the scene of much fierce fighting and the home of many strange peoples. From here, it is commonly believed, went forth the Huns, who, under their leader, Attila, became the scourge of Europe during the fourth century. Here the Chinese have struggled for long years with the Tibetans and Mongols, and ruins of former days bear silent witness to the bitterness of those wars. Here also, during later years, Chinese and Moslem have met in mortal combat, each striving for supremacy over the other. Blood has flowed like water throughout the province, and the struggle is suspended rather than ended.” 1

It was with our own struggle we were chiefly occupied, however, as we crossed the mountains, for the journey proved a desperate undertaking so near the Chinese New Year. We did not know till afterwards that carts had practically given up that route as too dangerous for wheeled vehicles. The cold in the inns at night was intense, and the torrentbeds up which we travelled by day were almost impassable. For in places where springs abounded the water had frozen as it overflowed, and for miles together the track was just one sheet of ice. Where this was level it could be negotiated, but when the river-bed rose more or less steeply between

1 From The Crescent in North-West China, by G. Findlay Andrew, O.B.E., p. 7. precipitous banks our situation can be better imagined than described.

And sometimes we were on the top of cliffs, climbing by zigzag paths that were entirely un¬ protected. With the mountain above us on one side and the river-bed far below on the other, there could be no escape if the cart slipped and the mules were unable to hold their footing. This nearly happened on one icy expanse, when Dr. Taylor could not leave the cart, as some one had to sit on the front to keep the shafts weighed down. So steep and slippery was the road that cart and mules slid back, in spite of all that could be done, and there was nothing behind but the precipice. It was a moment for holding on in prayer, and then — just in time — the animals regained their footing, and with the help of other mules that came up we were able to climb the pass.

That same day, coming down on the farther side, the road was worn away at some of its sharp curves until it seemed impossible to make the bend. There was no way to turn the cart, the road was too narrow, cut out of the mountain-side. But how were we to go on? At one of the bends a plank bridge spanned a frozen torrent, and I saw as we came up to it that the road was broken down just where the turn had to be made. The carter, who was walking beside the mules, went straight on and — somehow — we gained the bridge and passed over. Not a sound was made, not a word was said, but a moment later he turned and looked at Dr. Kao who was following on horseback, and I saw that his face was white under the tan. Dr. Kao told us afterwards of the horror he felt when the outside wheel of the cart slipped over the edge, just before we made the bridge. For a two-wheeled vehicle this should have proved fatal — yet we were kept in safety!

But there were easier times as we reached more open country, and some quiet hours in the inns when we were able to learn from Dr. Kao more about his work and experiences. Gradually we came to know the names of all the Christians at Kanchow and something about their history. He told us also of evangelistic journeys before he went up there, and of his love for the people of the mountains.

One of his first preaching tours had been taken on foot, carrying his own pack, while he was still working with Dr. King in the hospital. From the hills around Lanchow he had seen mountain ranges to the north among which were many towns and villages where the Gospel was unknown. It was difficult to reach them, for strange to say they had no shops or markets, no inns or food-stalls. Nothing, it seemed, was to be bought, save at certain seasons of the year, not even bread. Still his heart went out to the people so that he could not rest, and one winter, when Dr. King was able to spare him for a time, he determined to go and see what could be done.

Dressed like a mountaineer and carrying all the food he could, with his books and bedding, he set out. It was lonely in the mountains, so much so that he bought a little dog to keep him company and watch his belongings when he laid them down. One night they were by themselves in a temple full of idols, but in another the priest came up, saying kindly:

“You will freeze to death here, all alone; come and share my k’ang.”

The k’ang was a small one and the priest was an opium-smoker, so while he lay there in the light of his opium-lamp Kao sat close beside him, telling of One who can deliver from the power as well as the penalty of sin.

He had reached a hamlet called Siao-kia p’u-tsi when his supplies ran out, and had forgotten that he was hungry in preaching to a crowd of people standing round a fire on the village street. The warmth was grateful and the interest of his audience drew him on. Among them was an old woman who was a leader, they told him, in idol worship, and very keen about making pilgrimages to famous temples to burn incense. After listening for a time with the rest, she raked the fire together and said:

“You go on with your preaching; I am going to get you some tea. And there is a loaf baking here in the fire. By the time you have finished, it will be ready.”

Kao did not know what she meant by a loaf in the fire, but he went on with his address. Presently the old lady returned with a tea-pot and cups. Then, putting a hook into the fire, she produced a small iron oven which she opened, disclosing a loaf baked to perfection. It was round like the oven and had a crisp, brown crust all over it, and such a tempting smell! The young preacher was hungry enough to think it the most delicious thing he ever tasted. Half the loaf made him a good meal, with plenty of hot tea.

“Keep the other half,” said the kindly soul.

“There is no food to be bought up here, and you will need some supper.”

It was with a full heart Kao went on, after that, telling of a God who knows and cares about all our needs and Who is a real Father to those who trust Him. When he was leaving at last, the old woman said:

“Give me a copy of each of your tracts. I want to put them up round my room. Some one may come, some day, who will be able to read them for us.”

Farther back in the mountains, he was going along on the same journey, hungry but happy, when he met an old man who looked at him earnestly and said:

“Lama, what temple do you come from?”

“From heaven’s temple,” was the unexpected answer, “and I have brought you this precious Book which tells the way to heaven.”

“Heaven or no heaven,” exclaimed the other, “I will go and fetch you something to eat, and then you shall tell me about it.”

He was as good as his word, and listened with others as Kao explained the wonderful tidings of a Saviour’s love.

It is not always that fruit follows from such conversations. The seed still falls on the wayside and on the stony ground, though here and there the messenger is rejoiced by finding a prepared heart. This was notably so in Dr. Kao’s experience the first time he visited the south of the province. On the way to the Choni lamasary, travelled by thousands of pilgrims, he noticed an elderly man in front of him who looked like a Buddhist devotee. Quickening his pace to overtake him, he dismounted and asked whether “the Venerable Grandfather” would not like to ride. This led to friendly interchange of questions, and in due course Kao inquired what was the traveller’s occupation.

“I am a preacher,” was the prompt reply; “a preacher of the luminous doctrine of the great lord Buddha.”

“Will you not preach to me? This would be a good opportunity.”

“Delighted,” said the old man. “I am never more happy than when some one will listen to my Doctrine.”

Earnestly and well he held forth about vegeta¬ rianism and worship of Buddha, while Dr. Kao walked beside him, asking questions to draw out all he had to say. Then the noonday halt was made, and they went together into the wayside inn.

“I have been very discourteous,” remarked the stranger as they finished their rice. “I have not yet inquired as to your occupation.”

“Well,” replied Dr. Kao pleasantly, “I am — I am a preacher.”

“A preacher! Why did you not tell me? Do you also propagate the great Fu-tao?”

“Not exactly. My teaching is somewhat
different -”

“Then, brother, let us make a bargain,” said the old man, quick to see an opportunity. “If your teaching is better than mine, I will be your disciple; and if mine is better than yours, then you will be my disciple.”

“Good!” said Dr. Kao. “We are of one mind. Let us at once set out.”

Hour after hour they walked together, leading the horse, for the old man would not ride, and the more he heard the more his interest deepened. Find¬ ing that he could read, Dr. Kao got out his Bible, and in the inn that night they turned to many passages that made the saving message plain. They prayed together before going to rest — the first prayer Mr. Ho had ever heard in the Name of Jesus. Next morning at daybreak he awoke Dr. Kao and said to his surprise:

“Brother, I am not going on to the temple to-day. I am going home.”

“What is the matter? Are you sick?”

“No, I am not ill, but my heart has found the peace it longed for. Brother, your teaching is better far than mine. Henceforth, I am a believer in Jesus.”

Taking off his long rosary he handed it to Dr. Kao, with other objects used in worship and much valued.

“I do not want them any more,” he said. “But there is one thing — do you think you could give it to me?”

“What is that? I will indeed, if I can.”

“Why, the Book! Could you let me have it to take home to my people?”

It was Kao’s own Bible, the only copy he had with him, but he did not hesitate.

“Take it, gladly,” he said, putting it into the old man’s hands. “It is God’s own Word, and He will give you His Holy Spirit that you may understand

So they parted — the new believer going back to his people with the message they had never heard, and Dr. Kao promising to visit him later, if the way opened.

Words are poor to Jell the joy it is to bring the message of salvation to hearts prepared to receive it. Would there be more such hearts if there were more prayer behind the messengers? And where messengers cannot go at present, is there not all the more need for prayer to precede them and prepare the way?

All through the mountains we were crossing on that journey to Sining, thousands of tribes-people are to be found, a hardy, independent race who have never had a missionary. Many centuries ago, it would seem, they came from the far north-east (Chihli) with their prince, Li Chin, to fight against the Tibetans. Most of the province of Kansu belonged to Tibet at that time and until much later. Li Chin was successful and divided the district between himself and his twelve chief officers, hence the present thirteen clans with their hereditary princes. Keeping to their own language and distinctive dress and following their own customs, here are these people to-day, accessible and friendly, but practically untouched by the Gospel.2

1 Li Chin’s grave is still preserved. It is at a place called Hsiang-tang, a day or two south-east of Nienpai, on the short road to the capital of the province. A tombstone marks the spot, around which a protecting wall has recently been erected.

2 Amongst them are still found a few of the T’u-kuh-huen, descendants of the Huns who seem to have inhabited the region long before the invasion under Li Chin.

The nearest Chinese city to which they come freely is Nienpai, which we pass on this journey. Though not important in itself, it is the centre of a large, populous district, as populous as that of Sining, and is the place from which the tribes-people could most easily be reached. Aborigines and Tibetans live in the valleys and back among the mountains, so that the little city is compassed with them on three sides and has a good deal to do with the suzerainty exercised over them by the Chinese. Five hereditary princes still seem to have considerable standing among the tribes — two of the Li family, two of the Ki, and one of the Lui family or clan. They are supported by taxes received from the aborigines, but are under the control of the Chinese District Magistrate.

Very little is known about these interesting people, save such information as Mr. Ridley has been able to gather. Year by year he has gone up to Wei-yiien-pu early in March, when they hold their annual festival, a gathering of the clans that lasts for about ten days. Very gay and animated is the scene when the women come out in all their finery, and there is much music and dancing. The younger people are specially fond of singing. They sit on the ground in a circle, many circles, and have com¬ petitions. At times two of the girls put their heads together and sing so closely in unison that it sounds like one voice only. At other times they face each

1 One of the princes has his official residence in Sining, occupying the house in which Mr. and Mrs. Ridley lived during the Mohammedan rebellion, the first missionary home in the city. We called to see him, but were disappointed to find him away in the mountains.

H
other and sing. What a power Gospel hymns
might be, put into the language of this music-loving
people!

Religiously they are Buddhists and worship idols, though they are not given to continual repetition of meaningless prayers like the Tibetans, nor are they so much under the control of the lamas. The men are skilful horsemen, and the women work on the farms. The soil is poor and unproductive, though spiritually a precious harvest might be reaped. But souls have to be gathered and tended one by one, and for this something more is needed than preaching at the fair once a year, important as that has been.

Li Ch’en-pang and his wife had grown old in their little home at the Sining end of the district before the first Christian came to their door. He was a man with a pack, selling books, and as Mr. Li could speak Chinese may not have realised at first that they were tribes-people. In a quiet way he made friends, until they invited him in and asked him to stay the night. Picture the scene after the evening meal, as the old couple listened — two whose hearts God opened.

Months went by before the colporteur came again, but the old people had not forgotten. This second visit decided them to become Christians, and soon their sons-in-law, daughters, and grandchildren knew that the idols had disappeared from the old home and that something had brought a joy and peace never known there before. They were near enough to Sining to come in and inquire for themselves — a little over twenty miles — and often on Sunday the men are down at the services. It is more difficult for the women, but Mrs. Li, one of her daughters, and a grandson’s wife are now baptized, as well as their husbands.

One Christian home among the aborigines of Kansu; one little light amid the darkness! But for many days’ journey the villages stretch away in that great sweep to the Yellow River, with no witness to the love and saving power of Christ. Who will, by prayer, prepare the way for the messengers God will surely send to these long-neglected tribes of north-west China?