COMMUNICATIONS

In a letter written from Paotingfu, North China, December 31, 1920, H. W. Robinson '10 gives a few glimpses of the famine conditions in China in recounting his experiences with "bikes, blizzards, bad roads, and the end of the year."

"Bikes, blizzards, bad roads, and the end of the year," he says, "are the thoughts that are in my mind tonight; and I would that I had the poet's pen, that I might express them quite. But I haven't! I can only jot down without rhyme or reason some of the memories which are fresh in my mind from my trip into the country this week.

"When the Chinese people in the country ask me how far I can ride in one day on my 'bike,' I reply that it depends on the road and on the wind. Yesterday I realized more keenly than ever before how true that statement is. I left Paotingfu Tuesday morning, partly to escort two Chinese women helpers who were going down where we have some relief work, and partly to see that 350 wadded garments were safely delivered in a place where there is great need of clothing and partly to inspect hairnet classes, day schools, and gruel kitchens which we are running as means of famine relief. I got the women and the garments started off in good season in two Chinese carts; and I followed a few hours later on my bike. The roads were good (for Chinese roads) for the first forty li (three li are equal to one English mile) ; the weather was good, and I made good time.

"On the way I passed a good many people moving along the roads with utensils in their hands, as though they were going somewhere for gruel; and finally I came to the kitchen where gruel is given out each day,—five ounces (before it is cooked) to each person; and six hundred people from eight are thus served each day. This was not one of our own gruel kitchens, but is run by the county official. I was glad to see it, however, and to learn that so many people were getting a little help. This does not mean that each person gets five ounces for himself, but that only one person in a family is served and he must share it with the other members of the family. A little farther on I passed one of our own kitchens, where we give ten ounces to each of sixty people; and I was besieged here by the helpers to get garments for the people in that village. I had to tell them that the clothing I was taking with me was for regions farther south, where conditions were even worse than there; and that I could do nothing for them.

"At Chang Teng, fifty li from Paotingfu, I visited two of our hair-net classes, and had a consultation with one of our workers. (A hair-net class consists of about sixty poor girls who are given their food for a month, while they are being taught to make hair-nets such as American women wear. At the end of the month they return to their homes, where they continue to make the nets, earning from a few coppers a day to enough to buy their food.) Then I pushed on to Li Hsien, where I was to spend the night. Here I visited some more relief work the next morning. In this vicinity we have more hair-net classes, a gruel kitchen, and some day schools. I visited one each of these three on my second day out, and then rode on to the next county, Jao Yang. The day schools have one hundred students each who receive about five cents apiece each day, which is enough to keep them alive, and if we get funds for distributing grain later, these schools will serve as centers from which the distribution can be made. The teachers in charge of these schools will be in a position to know who are the most needy people.

"But I am not sticking to my subject. The weather and the roads continued to be good the second day, and I reached the place where I was to turn back. The two women and the cart of clothing had arrived safely. Just before bedtime it began to snow,—the first snow of the season in that region; and I remarked then that I might not be able to ride my bike the next day. The following day (which was yesterday) I found there were several inches of snow on the ground; but as it was dry and light my bike glided along fairly well, and I thought I would have no difficulty in getting back to Li Hsien, where I had spent the previous night. Some boys whom we had chosen to go to Paotingfu to enter an industrial relief shop were ready to go; so I told them they might go in the two carts that had brought the women and the garments. I wanted to visit another hair-net class, and thought I could easily catch up with the carts, if it should appear later that the snow was too deep to cycle all the way home. So I had the carters start ahead, and told them I would catch up with them later.

"That was where I made a mistake that cost me a hard day's work. By the time I had .finished inspecting the hair-net class, the wind had come up; and when I went out of the city gate I couldn't tell which way the carts had gone. It was new country to me; but I thought I knew the general direction in which I should go, and I followed the only tracks that were visible. But as soon as I got out of the city, I found that the. ruts and ridges all looked alike under the snow; and I couldn't ride a bit. I followed what I thought were the cart tracks; but before I had gone far the tracks were completely filled up, and soon the road was so covered with snow that I couldn't be sure where it was. I saw a village in the distance, and made for that, pushing my bike through the snow over ploughed grounds and wheat fields; but without finding any trace of a road. After an hour and three-quarters I reached the village; and upon inquiry I found that although I had traveled as far as was necessary in order to reach the river that I needed to cross, I was still ten li away from it.

"I tried to hire a cart to take me and my bike ; but the wind was rising all the time, and no one who had a cart wanted to go out. Then I tried to find a man whom I could hire to push my bike; but that didn't appeal to the Chinese, who have only cloth shoes. So I pushed on to another village, and finally succeeded in getting a man to guide me to a village twenty li away, where I had acquaintances, and where I could get a cart to take me to Li Hsien. The guide was a great help, as he carried two sweaters and a small bag which I had strapped on to the bike. But the wind was blowing a gale in our faces, and the sunken Chinese roads were full of snow. The ploughed ground and the wheat fields were easier to travel over than the sunken roads filled with snow. Finally the guide offered to carry the bike on his back; so I took the sweaters and bag. When we changed again I pushed the bike where it was possible, and carried it where the drifts were too deep. (They were several feet deep in the sunken roads.)

"It was a weary journey; but since the spring wheat crop depends on the winter snow, the snow storm at this time was one of the greatest blessings that these poor people could have; and this thought helped to cheer me up. At quarter past three we reached the village where I thought I could find a cart to take me to Li Hsien; and I was then thirty li from that place. After a feed at the gruel kitchen, I succeeded in getting some farmer friends to promise to take me to the city, and we set out a little after four.

"I wish you might have seen our chariot. It was a big two-wheeled farm cart, to which they started to hitch three animals,-a mule, an ox, and a horse. When I remarked that too many animals might retard our speed, they said they would leave off the horse. 'But,' I continued, 'the ox will be too slow.' 'No,' said the farmer, 'he is very fast.' So off we went tandem,—the ox in front, and the mule in the shafts.

"My shoes were wet, so I decided to take them off and wrap my feet in a sheepskin coat which was in the cart. This was a fine arrangement until I got so cold that I decided I would have to get out and walk to keep warm; and then I found that my shoes were frozen stiff. By breaking a shoe lace, pulling off one of the loops, and nearly dislocating some of the joints in my foot, I finally succeeded in getting into the shoes, while the cart bumped along over ridges and ruts. We still had to travel across the fields most of the way ; and it was getting dark.

"When we had gone just half the distance, the farmer friends (they were two brothers) said they could no longer see where to go, and we had better spend the night at a nearby village; and they promised to take me in to Paotingfu the next morning. I told them they might stay at the village if they wished; but that if I could buy or borrow a lantern I would try and find my way into the city. My bedding was in Li Hsien; and a night in a Chinese country house at this time of year without my bedding didn't appeal to me. Fortunately, about that time we came to a place where the wind had not blown so hard, and we could see the tracks where the two carts had gone earlier in the day. Although it was dark, we could see enough to follow these tracks; and we followed them about twelve li into Li Hsien.

"But when we got to the city wall we found the gates closed and locked. However, there was a crack big enough for me to crawl in; and I found a guard inside who opened the gate and let us in. Perhaps I wasn't glad to see my baggage, with dry shoes and stockings, and plenty of covers for the night.

"This morning I tied the bike on the back of one of the Chinese carts, and we bumped along back to Chang Teng. On the road we passed others tramping through the snow, bringing all the bedding and clothing they will have for the winter, and traveling 160 li to work in an industrial relief shop where they will get nothing but their food and shelter. If that isn't pretty good proof that these men are 'up against it,' I don't know what is.

"From Chang Teng back to Paotingfu the roads were better trodden down, and I rode my bike again. As I passed those men on the road, going in that way for a job without wages, I decided that my Jay yesterday was a snap compared to what they are up against. The blizzard is over, and the bad roads are behind, and the bike and I are here in a comfortable house to witness the end of the year, the last hour of which had already arrived.

"All's well that ends well, says the proverb; and I guess it's true. Surely 1920 has been a grand year for me. As I compare my own lot with the lot of millions of others, I can only be thankful for the great blessings that have been given me. And even in connection with the hard trip I have just written about, I can't think of a single' thing to complain of in connection with it except that I made the fool mistake of letting those carts get out of my sight yesterday morning."