Life soon fell into a routine at the school. John McCarthy’s sister was the housekeeper, and she awoke the students at 5:30 each morning with a cup of tea. Then it was breakfast, followed by one hour of personal prayer and Bible study. After prayer and Bible study came six hours of language study. Most of the other women in the school were enthusiastic about their future, but Florence found herself dreading what lay ahead. In her journal she let out her feelings:
The other women here say they have never felt the Lord so near. To me He has never seemed so far away. They speak of the dear Chinese, of how their hearts go out to them. I think they are dreadful. Perhaps the sickness and drugs have drained every bit of buoyancy out of me, but I am in a dark, dark valley of humiliation. I am so bitterly disappointed. I did so want to give the Lord a glad and joyful offering.
Gradually, though, Florence began to adjust to life in China and her Mandarin studies. The language was more difficult than she had imagined, and her studies were interrupted when she was asked to go to Chin-kiang for five weeks to nurse a missionary who had rheumatic fever.
Finally, in February 1892, Florence was assigned to her first missionary posting at Kiu-kiang, in Kiang-si province to the west. This was a well-established mission station staffed by two single women missionaries, a Chinese Bible teacher and her son, and a young evangelist and his wife.
Again, the journey to Kiu-kiang involved a boat trip, this time across P’oyang Lake and up the Kuangsin River. In all, eleven women graduates of the language school, including seven Swedes, set out on the journey with a male missionary escort. The women would be dropped at various mission stations along the way.
When Florence arrived at Kiu-kiang, she found the local dialect almost impossible to understand. On the first Sunday there, Florence was asked by one of the other missionaries to give her testimony during the morning service. Florence had never done this in English, much less Chinese. However, in her eight months with the China Inland Mission, she had learned one thing—you should give yourself to every opportunity, even if you feel you cannot do it well.
After Florence had said a few introductory words, several people in the front row snickered. Within a minute just about all the Chinese people in attendance were laughing loudly. Florence made a couple more attempts and then sat down. She had never felt so humiliated in her life, and by the people she was supposed to love and serve.
When the meeting was over, the local Bible teacher, Mrs. Hong, patted Florence on the hand. “It will be all right. Let your heart rest,” she said. “If you eat our rice, you will soon speak our words.”
Much to Florence’s relief, Mrs. Hong proved to be correct. Now that she was spending almost all her time with Chinese people, Florence found her Mandarin improving each day. She also began to accept and even enjoy the Chinese way of doing things.
Florence had not been in Kiu-kiang long when Mrs. Hong invited her to visit a village about nine miles away. Instead of dreading the bone-shaking wheelbarrow ride, Florence had by now learned to balance on the barrow perfectly, and she could sit on it happily for hours at a time.
Mrs. Hong was an elderly woman who was nearly blind, and they traveled slowly for her sake. They arrived in the village in midafternoon and were immediately invited into a convert’s home for a meal. The walls of the house were made of dried mud over which had been stretched a tile roof. The roof tiles were black from the smoke of the fire in the kitchen. On the other side of the room from the kitchen was a pigsty that housed a sow and several squealing piglets. Florence and Mrs. Hong sat on the uneven earthen floor between the kitchen and the pigsty, and the meal was spread before them. The whole family gathered round as they ate rice, stewed melon, and salted vegetables. Anything that was not eaten by the humans was scooped up by the scavenging chickens that scooted in and out of the house. Florence smiled as she ate, thinking of how different this was from eating with her aunts in England with maids and butlers in attendance.
That night Florence and Mrs. Hong slept on an old bedstead whose metal frame had been piled with fresh straw for a mattress. Florence was surprised at the good night’s sleep she had on the old bedstead.
Florence continued to visit outlying villages and learn more of the local language until May 1893, when the mission superintendent for the area, Mr. Orr-Ewing, asked her to take charge of the mission’s work at Ho-k’eo. Miss Gibson, the missionary who headed up the work there, consisting of a large church with four outstations, was taking a year’s furlough.
Florence’s heart sank when she heard the news. Miss Gibson was the best Mandarin speaker in the province, and she knew all of the local customs and ways of getting things done. Florence, on the other hand, was still struggling with the language and was constantly making awkward mistakes in front of Chinese people. Still, she packed up her few belongings and set out on the two-day barrow ride to her new home in Ho-k’eo.
Florence’s new home was not nearly as comfortable as her previous one. A flood had swept through the house two weeks before, and everything was damp and moldering. Florence did her best to continue the work Miss Gibson had done, but it was difficult, especially when she got malaria and had to be nursed by the Chinese workers.
Although very challenging, the twelve months at Ho-k’eo helped Florence gain confidence in the culture and language, and when Miss Gibson arrived back, Mr. Orr-Ewing suggested that Florence open up a new mission station in nearby Ien-shan. A large house was secured at Ien-shan, and Florence and several other women missionaries moved in. The house was soon inundated with curious local people who came to see what Christians were like. The locals did not knock; they just walked into the house. Sometimes there were as many as twenty people wandering around the house, checking what was in the trunks, watching Florence bake scones in a kerosene tin oven, or asking questions about the Christian faith.
One such person who came to check out the house was a man named Liao. He was an opium addict and asked Florence if she had medicines to cure him of his addiction. Florence explained that she did not but that Jesus Christ could change his life and help him overcome his addiction. After several visits Liao decided to become a Christian and asked God to help him overcome his addiction. It was not easy for him, and when he craved opium, he would visit the mission house, where the missionaries would pray for and with him. Slowly, over several weeks, Liao broke his addiction to opium. Florence was amazed at the change in Liao’s appearance. Now he held his shoulders back and his head high, and his face beamed with new life and vitality. Soon he began traveling to outlying villages, where he would tell people, “Yes, indeed, this Savior is a great Savior. He saved me from my opium.” Then Liao would point at his face and add, “Look at me. Am I not Hao-k’an, beautiful to behold.”
The work at Ien-shan was exhausting for Florence, especially when her malaria recurred. As the year progressed, Florence received letters from Australia, bearing the news that her oldest niece, Kathleen Deck, had gone to Fairymead to work with the Queensland Kanaka Mission. Florence’s sister-in-law Ellen, however, was finding it increasingly difficult to keep going with the work of the mission. When Florence had left Australia in 1891, the government had just passed an act ending the importation of Kanaka labor in three years. But under pressure from the sugarcane growers, the government had reversed itself and revoked the act. Now the Kanakas were a permanent part of the Queensland labor force.
This news tore Florence in two. After three years of learning the language, she was becoming quite fluent in Mandarin and felt she was now of some real use to the China Inland Mission. On the other hand, she could not get the needs of the Queensland Kanaka Mission out of her thoughts. She prayed that God would show her very clearly whether she should stay in China or go home and sort out the problems with the mission in Queensland. Florence was not prepared for the speed or the decisiveness of the answer to her prayer for guidance.
Chapter 8
“Not in Vain”
That following Sunday, Florence had a particularly busy day of preaching and praying with people. Things were finally winding down in the evening when a messenger told her that the landlord wanted to see her immediately. According to the messenger, the landlord was hiding in her kitchen.
As Florence crossed the courtyard to the house, she thought about how odd this was. The landlord lived about ten miles away in another village, and he never traveled at night. And why, she wondered, was he hiding in the kitchen?
When Florence opened the kitchen door she spotted her landlord sitting on a stool in the shadows. His hands were shaking, and he looked like he had seen a ghost.
“What is it?” Florence asked, walking over to him.
He held his finger to his lips. “Speak quietly,” he said.
“Well?” Florence whispered.
“It is the mandarin,” he replied. “He always boasted that he would never allow a Christian church at Ien-shan, and now he is making good on his word. Tonight he ordered soldiers to come to my house and beat me until I threw you out of this place, but someone warned me and I fled.”
Florence’s mind was whirling. She scarcely knew what to think. She was aware that the mandarin did not want Christians in his city, but she had been here for three months now and he had never protested her presence.
“Why is he doing this now?” she asked.
“His wife has been very ill this last year, and he has been watching over her. But she died yesterday morning, and now he has made it his mission to purge the city of you.”
“Lord help us,” Florence said. “We are no match for the power of a mandarin unless we have God’s help.”
“God’s help or not, you have to hide me somewhere or I will be killed,” the landlord replied.
“I suppose you can stay in the cellar,” Florence said. “It won’t be very comfortable, but you can’t see it from the road, and you should be safe there. In the meantime I will write to Miss Gibson and ask her to help us. She understands much more about these things than I do.”
Later that night Florence sat in her bedroom writing to Miss Gibson, begging her to come to Ien-shan as soon as the messenger gave her the letter.
After the messenger left with the letter, it was a matter of waiting to see what the mandarin would do next. Florence did not have to wait long to find out. On Tuesday he tried to get the local people to riot against Florence and burn down her house. When some Christian men came to the mission’s rescue, a nasty confrontation took place, and Florence was grateful that no one was killed. A week later the mandarin threatened the city rulers with a thousand blows each if they did not lay charges against Florence, and then he arrested the landlord’s wife.
In the midst of this, Miss Gibson arrived with a native evangelist from Ho-k’eo. Despite their understanding of local ways, neither of them could get the mandarin to listen to reason. Eventually Miss Gibson told Florence that the only way to get the landlord’s wife released from prison was to promise that they would all leave Ien-shan the following day. Less than three weeks after Florence had prayed to be shown whether she should stay or go, she was hurriedly packing her bags to leave.
Florence decided to travel to Shanghai to meet with Hudson Taylor. Another Australian missionary, Anne Bavin, accompanied her to the coast. When she arrived in Shanghai, Florence showed Hudson the letters pleading for her to go home to help the Queensland Kanaka Mission.
Two days later Hudson called Florence into his office. He handed the letters back to her. “I believe it is God’s will for you to go home,” he said.
“Do you think I should come back?” Florence asked.
