The Journey Begins: Departure from England

On November 17, 1869, I embarked on a significant journey aboard the Achilles, a vessel belonging to the Holts Blue Funnel shipping line. Our departure from Liverpool coincided with the historic opening of the Suez Canal, though this new maritime shortcut proved unusable for our large-tonnage ship due to insufficient depth, forcing us to take the longer route around the Cape of Good Hope.

During our voyage, we encountered a remarkable geological phenomenon near Mauritius. The captain was astonished to discover that an earthquake had dramatically altered the coastal landscape – where deep waters had previously existed, a small island had suddenly emerged. This incident highlighted the dynamic nature of our planet and served as an early indication of the many surprises that awaited us in foreign lands.

Mauritius had earned a notorious reputation among European military forces as one of the most health-threatening postings, with alarmingly high mortality rates. However, we learned upon arrival that conditions had improved dramatically. Investigation revealed that the key to this transformation lay in relocation – while old barracks had been situated in low-lying areas prone to malaria (though the mosquito-borne nature of the disease wasn’t yet understood), the new barracks occupied a hilltop position, offering natural protection from the deadly fevers that had previously decimated European troops.

Arrival in China: First Impressions and Challenges

My journey to China included a fortuitous meeting with Reverend George Moule, who would later become a bishop. He boarded our ship in Hong Kong, returning from his first furlough in England, and accompanied us to Shanghai. Reverend Moule displayed exceptional kindness in welcoming me to China and offered valuable advice about language learning. When I mentioned suggestions to avoid studying Chinese during the voyage due to significant regional pronunciation differences, he concurred but recommended focusing on radicals instead – the 212 foundational components that serve as keys to deciphering Chinese characters.

On February 12, 1870, I finally arrived in Shanghai, where I was met by Mr. Thomas, formerly of the London Missionary Society and then pastor of the Union Church. His hospitality knew no bounds – he insisted I stay at his home until my departure for Chefoo (modern Yantai) on February 24. Upon reaching Chefoo on February 27, I received a warm welcome from my colleague Mr. Laughton, who would play a significant role in my early missionary work.

The establishment of foreign legations in Beijing in 1860 had transformed Chefoo, Tianjin, and Niuzhuang (later Yingkou) into China’s first treaty ports. This political development prompted several missionary societies from Shanghai and Ningbo to relocate northward, partly due to the more temperate climate but primarily to be closer to China’s centers of power. The British Baptist Missionary Society had established a station in Chefoo in 1860, sending Dr. Hall and Mr. Kloekers (father of Mrs. Holman Bentley of the Congo mission) as pioneers. However, by the time of my arrival in 1869, the mission had suffered severe setbacks – Dr. Hall had succumbed to cholera while treating patients, Mr. Kloekers had returned to England, and two other missionaries, Mr. McMechan and Mr. Kingdon, had been recalled within a year or two. Mr. Laughton, with seven years of service in China, remained as the mission’s sole representative – a man of remarkable natural ability and dedication. Tragically, I would soon lose his valuable guidance and experience when he died of typhus in June of that same year.

Pioneering Missionaries in Chefoo

Chefoo hosted an extraordinary group of missionary pioneers when I arrived. Among them stood several remarkable figures who would leave lasting impacts on China’s religious and educational landscape:

Dr. Alexander Williamson of the London Missionary Society had begun his missionary career in 1865. His linguistic abilities were extraordinary – within twelve months of arrival, he had written a book on botany in Chinese. However, his intense labors took a physical toll, forcing him to return home temporarily. He later returned as a representative of the National Bible Society of Scotland, eventually earning a Doctor of Laws from Glasgow University for his published travel accounts of northern China. His later works included Natural Theology and The Life of Christ, and in his final years, he established the Chinese Book and Tract Society, which I would later direct in 1891.

The American Presbyterian Mission boasted three particularly outstanding members: Reverend John L. Nevius, who would later be elected chairman of the American section at the 1890 Shanghai Missionary Conference; Reverend Hunter Corbett, an indefatigable preacher who traveled extensively throughout eastern Shandong; and Reverend Calvin Mateer, a pioneer of scientific education in missionary work whose chemistry demonstrations I assisted with in Chefoo. Observers noted that if the American Presbyterian Mission had sent only these three men, their work’s value would have exceeded their cost tenfold.

Another notable figure was Reverend J.B. Hartwell of the Southern Baptist Convention, whose gracious manners earned him early affection and trust from Chinese communities. His diplomatic skills were proven when he successfully persuaded officials in Tengzhou to open city gates for civilians during a Taiping Rebellion attack.

First Convert and Early Ministry

The baptism of my first convert marked a significant milestone in my missionary work. Before accepting him into church membership, during catechism instruction, I asked: “Are all people sinners in God’s eyes?” His humble response – “I don’t know about others, but I know I am a great sinner” – struck me profoundly, revealing his genuine spiritual understanding. This man’s subsequent faithfulness became legendary – nearly two decades later, missionaries in Manchuria discovered him maintaining his Christian faith without any pastoral support, a living testimony to the durability of true conversion.

In these early years, I was fortunate to secure an exceptional local assistant named Ch’ing, a former Taiping Rebellion civil officer who had received theological training under Mr. Laughton. Supported by the Grosvenor Baptist Church of Manchester, Ch’ing proved invaluable in bridging cultural and linguistic gaps.

Missionary Travels and Perils

In 1871, I undertook five missionary journeys, including a particularly adventurous 600-mile expedition from Manchuria to the Korean border with Robert Lilley, a Scottish Bible Society representative known as China’s wittiest foreigner before Reverend Arthur Smith’s arrival. This perilous journey nearly ended in disaster several times:

Our voyage began ominously when our German sailing ship ran aground near the Manchurian port of Niuzhuang during a fierce southern gale. The violent rocking shattered a large mirror into countless pieces, and the captain, trembling over his charts, believed we would lose the entire vessel. Fortunately, we managed to navigate to deeper waters with only minor damage to the ship’s copper plating.

Land travel presented different challenges. During the rainy season (July-August), flooded and muddy roads became impassable, forcing us to wait two weeks for suitable transportation to Fengtian (modern Shenyang). When we finally secured three mule-drawn carts loaded with gospel tracts and books, I suffered severe sunstroke on departure day. Mr. Lilley supported me as we covered ten miles, my pain so intense I couldn’t bear light or the cart’s jostling. That evening, an opium tincture (later confirmed by The Lancet as proper sunstroke treatment) provided miraculous relief. For subsequent travel, I wore a pillow on my head as insulation – while this amused Europeans, Chinese observers found Lilley’s pith helmet more remarkable, comparing it to a spittoon.

Bandit threats added constant danger. East of Fengtian, we heard alarming reports of robber bands. One midnight, frantic knocking at our inn revealed cart drivers fleeing bandits who had stolen their goods. Our Chinese servants, terrified, wanted to return to Chefoo but stayed out of loyalty after we resolved to continue. We distributed our money in hidden locations – no easy task with Chinese silver ingots that had to be heated and cut into smaller pieces by blacksmiths before being sewn into clothing.

Our closest brush with bandits occurred when eleven armed horsemen approached. Taking refuge at a farmstead, we watched as the startled bandits – upon suddenly seeing two Europeans at close range – exclaimed “Aiya! Extraordinary!” and fled. When they returned with reinforcements, we chose not to use our revolvers (carried at Chefoo friends’ insistence) but instead offered them gospel tracts, which they declined as illiterates. The encounter ended peacefully, with the bandits claiming mere curiosity about foreigners they’d never seen.

Other travel hazards included suspicious locals who mistook us for foreign bandits (resulting in barricaded towns and armed guards), difficult accommodations (including a probable former prison with shackle rings still embedded in the brick sleeping platform), and hostile officials. However, we also experienced remarkable hospitality – in one town, after being refused at all inns, I sat on a street stone until a local chef invited me to comfortable private quarters where I stayed two weeks, forming lasting friendships with educated locals.

Perhaps most significantly, these travels exposed me to China’s vast needs – from corrupt currency systems that exploited the poor to government neglect that left communities vulnerable to bandits. I witnessed both the heartbreaking contrast between Manchuria’s natural abundance and Korea’s famine, and the tragic consequences of poor infrastructure that isolated villages from markets and justice.

Evolving Missionary Methods

Early evangelistic efforts in Chefoo followed conventional missionary practices of street preaching and chapel services, but with disappointing results. Local merchants had collectively vowed never to enter foreign chapels, leaving audiences composed mainly of curious rural passersby. After two years of minimal impact, I shifted strategy to seek out “worthy” individuals as Jesus instructed – the “good soil” for gospel seeds.

This approach led me to a sixty-year-old salt worker living eight miles from Chefoo. His devoutness astonished me – he had created a spotless worship space in his home and recognized one of our hymns as identical to his sect’s worship song. His profound religious experience, predating my own, humbled me and revealed my limited understanding of Chinese religious history. Though I never saw him again, this encounter reshaped my perspective on spiritual preparation in Chinese culture.

Another innovative approach involved adapting to local gathering patterns. Recognizing that spring temple fairs attracted massive crowds, I attended the Huilongshan festival near Song Village. After securing permission to speak from a pagoda between courtyards, I addressed thousands who had come for religious rituals and market trading. While many listened curiously, several extended invitations to their villages – a response far exceeding chapel results. My two-week pre-fair stay with a local scholar’s family also yielded lasting friendships and cultural exchange opportunities.

Challenges of Cultural Adaptation

Attempting to settle in Ninghai, twenty miles from Chefoo, revealed deep anti-foreign sentiment. After successfully renting a house, news of a foreign resident sparked such opposition that my landlord was arrested and tortured. Despite British consular intervention and polite official meetings, local elders petitioned vehemently against the rental. When I occupied the house regardless, hostility escalated to shouted insults, thrown stones, and nightly filth smeared on my gate. Recognizing no receptive audience and recalling Jesus’ instruction to flee persecution (Matthew 10:23), I withdrew peacefully – an early lesson in discerning when to persist and when to redirect efforts.

Cultural barriers also emerged in theological discussions. In Laiyang, a truth-seeker named Liu taught me a crucial lesson about Chinese religious syncretism when he showed equal reverence for Confucian, Taoist, and Christian texts, believing all contained divine truth. This encounter convinced me of the need to address Chinese philosophical frameworks (like yin-yang and five elements theory) through demonstrations of natural philosophy and science – an approach I later implemented with Chinese assistants through physics and chemistry experiments.

Literary Evangelism and Unusual Responses

In 1872, a novel evangelistic method emerged through a Shanghai newspaper contest (likely run by Young J. Allen) offering prizes for best Chinese essays answering “Who do you say I am?” (Matthew 16:15). The following year produced a remarkable submission from a xiucai (literary graduate) whose profound mystical reflections on Christ’s nature – though deemed too unorthodox for publication by the Baptist Missionary Society – revealed the fascinating intersections between Christian thought and Chinese spirituality.

The essay’s poetic passages described Christ as permeating yet eluding physical perception (“like salt in seawater… like flower fragrance”), transcending form and division while embodying ultimate reality. Though blending Christian and Taoist concepts (identifying Christ with the Dao), the writer grasped profound theological truths about Christ’s divine nature and indwelling presence. This unexpected fruit of literary evangelism demonstrated both the possibilities and challenges of gospel transmission across cultural boundaries.

Expansion to Jinan and Notable Conversions

In autumn 1873, I visited Jinan, Shandong’s provincial capital, with Robert Lilley and United Presbyterian Mission’s Mr. McIntyre. We observed China’s extraordinary examination system in action, with 12,000 scholars competing for 95 provincial degrees. While cautiously avoiding literary candidates (remembering Hangzhou’s anti-foreign scholar riots), we freely interacted with military examination candidates.

Here I met an engaging Henan military officer who became an eager Christian convert. His baptism in Jinan’s beautiful lake – possibly the first immersion baptism locals had witnessed – drew crowds before whom he eloquently explained the rite’s meaning while dripping wet. This five-month Jinan stay also introduced me to two significant but troubled American Presbyterian missionaries: Reverend McIlvaine, who nearly quit missionary work over lack of converts before recommitting to simple good works, and Mr. Crossett, whose spiritual struggles led to breakdown and eventual death in poverty despite extraordinary devotion.

Medical Missions and Travels with Dr. Brown

December 1873 brought a valuable colleague – Dr. William Brown from Edinburgh, whose medical expertise and dedication greatly enhanced our work. Our joint 1874 journey through eastern Shandong’s counties established a productive model: Dr. Brown treated patients while I preached in waiting rooms, with local magistrates providing order-keepers upon notification of our arrival.

Dr. Brown’s treatments often produced dramatic results – like instantly relieving a man’s debilitating abdominal pain – that amazed patients and created eager demand. Our travels also revealed unexpected reciprocity: in Song Village, where I’d previously stayed before the Huilongshan festival, an innkeeper refused payment, remembering my earlier kindness in sharing knowledge about the outside world.

Tragically, this promising partnership ended when Dr. Brown left for New Zealand in April 1874, leaving me again as the British Baptist Mission’s sole China representative. His subsequent distinguished career as Dunedin professor and physician, honored by the city after thirty years’ service, testified to abilities that might have transformed Shandong’s medical missions had circumstances differed.

Cultural Encounters and Observations

Winter social gatherings among Chefoo’s small foreign community produced fascinating cultural exchanges. My lecture on “Possession in China,” delivered to missionaries, merchants, Catholics, Protestants, believers and skeptics alike, sparked lively discussion and inspired Reverend John Nevius’s later comprehensive study Demon Possession, published posthumously. The lecture described genuine cases of personality-altering spirit possession and haunted locations avoided for decades – phenomena corroborated by Jesuit-educated Mr. Ferguson’s accounts of Catholic exorcisms.

Chinese proverbs like “plant melons, get melons; plant beans, get beans” sometimes met exceptions, as demonstrated by two Chinese boys raised equally by missionary widow Mrs. Holmes. While one abandoned his education for lucrative work but later repaid her kindness generously, the other – sent to America for schooling – returned to foment anti-foreign rebellion before fleeing to America, where he ironically promoted Confucianism’s superiority over the Christianity that had saved his life.

Return to Jinan and Travel Conditions

My 1874 return to Jinan after rainy season highlighted northern China’s transportation challenges. Muddy roads required collective efforts to free mule carts, sometimes sparking violent conflicts with farmers protecting fields from detouring travelers. My diplomatic intervention in one such standoff earned carters’ gratitude and safe passage.

In Jinan, I nursed a Presbyterian assistant through life-threatening typhoid, only to contract the fever myself. Reverend McIlvaine interrupted his vacation to care for me, beginning his own spiritual recovery from earlier despair. My immunity from this episode later proved providential when working among typhoid-stricken famine victims.

China’s road systems presented unique challenges – from dust-choked dry season routes to impassable rainy season bogs that halted trade for months. Narrow urban streets like Tianjin’s caused endless cart disputes until the Boxer Rebellion’s destruction allowed wider rebuilding. Travel options ranged from officials’ sedate palanquins (20 miles/day) to merchants’ covered carts (30 miles/day) and the ubiquitous wheelbarrows – unique Chinese vehicles capable of carrying half-ton loads up to 20 miles daily, sometimes even sail-powered in Shandong’s coastal winds.

Conclusion: Lessons from Early Missionary Work

These early years in China taught invaluable lessons about cross-cultural ministry: the importance of adapting methods to local contexts, the need for patience when results seem slow, and the wisdom of discerning when to persist versus when to redirect efforts. From language learning challenges to medical crises, bandit threats to cultural misunderstandings, each experience deepened my understanding of China’s needs and how best to address them.

The missionary pioneers I encountered – whether brilliant linguists like Williamson, devoted educators like Mateer, or struggling idealists like McIlvaine and Crossett – all contributed to a growing Western understanding of China while facing the immense challenges of bridging East and West. Their successes and failures alike informed subsequent missionary approaches, just as my early travels through Manchuria and Shandong revealed both the profound needs and remarkable resilience of Chinese communities.

These formative experiences laid the foundation for decades of subsequent work, shaping my approaches to evangelism, education, and famine relief while constantly reminding me that effective ministry requires both unwavering commitment and flexible adaptation to the people one serves.