Eric returned to a portion of the first page and read it aloud to Cullen. “‘This past May we were again forced to evacuate from the restored Siaochang station to Tsangchow because the warlord armies there behaved more like ghastly thieves than soldiers. We—my staff and I—climbed into mule carts and prepared prayerfully for the grim and harrowing journey. We found a Methodist mission along the way and took temporary refuge there. For reasons perhaps only God can know, the soldiers robbed the Chinese who passed along the way but left us alone.’”
Already knowing what came next, Eric blew out a long breath. “Shall I continue?” he asked Cullen.
“Please.”
“She writes, ‘We had been told of how soldiers plundered the poor village people, and now we were seeing them at work. They kicked open doors, pushed their swords through them. We heard the cries of the terrified people inside. There was, of course, nothing to plunder from us, but once again we felt ashamed to go free.
“‘Soon another band of soldiers caught up with us. They blamed us for having a bodyguard and for breaking treaty rights. They made us walk while they took turns riding the carts. Things looked ugly for us. We had no supplies and yet here we were, caring for the war’s victims. One general came along and, feeling sorry for us, sent over some food.’” Eric looked up at Cullen, reading the rest from memory. “‘We heard he was murdered a short while later.’”
Cullen reached into his pocket for his pipe and a small pouch of tobacco. After preparing it, he struck a match, then touched it to the sweet leaves within the bowl. “There but by the grace of God, Eric,” he said between puffs. “There but by the grace of God.”
ALTHOUGH ERIC NEVER regretted leaving his great love of track and field for missionary work, he couldn’t help but note that the winner of the 1928 Summer Olympics 400-meter race, American Ray Barbuti, won with a time slower than Eric’s in 1924.
That fall, Rob and Ria, along with their new daughter, Peggy, arrived in Siaochang to help with the rebuilding of Siaochang Mission Hospital. Rob—now Dr. Robert Liddell—also became its medical superintendent and worked alongside Nurse Annie.
In October, Eric took part in the Far Eastern Games at Port Arthur, located at the southern tip of China’s Liaodong Peninsula. There he ran the 200 meters in 21.8 seconds and the 400 meters in 47.8, finishing first in both races.
But his most challenging race came later along the streets of the seaport city and the long dock to the boat aimed for Tientsin.
Eric had run the 400 meters at 2:45 p.m. with two goals in sight—first, the finish line; second, the 3:00 boat leaving for home. With only fifteen minutes between the two—literally only a little more than fourteen after the run—Eric had hired a taxi to wait for him. His plan was a simple one: run the race well, stand for the playing of “God Save the King,” dash to the taxi. The taxi would then hurry for the dock, and—on a wing and a prayer—Eric would board the boat with a few minutes to spare.
But after his win, in addition to “God Save the King,” the band played “La Marseillaise” for the French runner who took second. As soon as the last note echoed between the stands, Eric grabbed his overcoat and his bag and dived into the waiting taxi, which then sped to the dock.
When the taxi slid to a stop and Eric jumped out, he discovered that the boat he needed to be on in order to make it back to Tientsin in time for church the following day had already left the dock.
Eric ran to the edge of the dock, his eyes wide, his mouth gaping. Just then, a tidal wave rolled the steamer back toward the dock. Eric threw his bag onto the deck, backed up a dozen or more steps, ran, and leaped across fifteen feet of dark waves, landing safely alongside his bag.
Comic books for young readers and sports pages in Scotland later appeared recounting the tale with the Flying Scot sailing over new horizons—Olympic records, Asian political adventures, and the rails of moving ships.[35]
As Eric grew in his role as teacher, local hero, and leader, Florence MacKenzie continued to develop into a fetching young woman, even as the world she lived in stood on the brink of civil war. Now nearing seventeen, Florence, like Eric, taught her own Sunday school class. Eric, who seemed to look for any excuse to be near the beauty with the long auburn curls, often dropped by her classroom if only to ask if she needed anything.
“Anything at all?” he would inquire.
Florence would assure him all was well.
He also managed to show up, quite naturally, at home during the hours Jenny instructed Florence in her music lessons. “I made it just in time for tea,” he would say. In spite of their age difference, he noticed her more often at church socials, picnics, and the dramatic plays performed by the Sunday school classes. And he couldn’t help but note that while the ten years between their ages had not changed—and would not—the older Florence became, the less peculiar his growing interest in her felt.
In late 1928, Eric sent a circular letter to several friends informing them of how life had been treating him that year and confirming that he was well aware of the things going on, both in Scotland and in China.
The year has been one of ups and downs
