Onlayn kitobni bepul oʻqing: ta muallif  Among the Head-Hunters of Formosa

Janet B. Montgomery McGovern

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AMONG THE HEAD-HUNTERS OF FORMOSA

MAN AND WOMAN OF YAMI TRIBE IN REGALIA WORN AT THE SPRING FESTIVAL IN HONOUR OF THE SEA-GOD.

(See page 149.)

AMONG THE HEAD-HUNTERS
OF FORMOSA

By JANET B. MONTGOMERY MCGOVERN, B.L.

Diplomée in Anthropology, University of Oxford

WITH A PREFACE BY
R. R. MARETT, M.A., D.Sc.
READER IN SOCIAL ANTHROPOLOGY, UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD

ILLUSTRATED

T. FISHER UNWIN LTD
LONDON: ADELPHI TERRACE

First published in 1922

(All rights reserved)

TO
W. M. M.
MY SON AND THE COMPANION OF MY WANDERINGS

“No human thought is so primitive as to have lost bearing on our own thought, or so ancient as to have broken connection with our own life.”

E. B. Tylor, Primitive Culture.

PREFACE

To treat her as a goddess has always been accounted a sure way of winning a lady’s favour. To the cynic, therefore, it might seem that Mrs. McGovern was bound to speak well of her head-hunting friends of the Formosan hills, seeing that they welcomed her with a respect that bordered on veneration. But of other head-hunters, hailing, say, from Borneo or from Assam, anthropologists have reported no less well, and that though the investigators were accorded no divine honours. The key to a just estimate of savage morality is knowledge of all the conditions. A custom that considered in itself is decidedly revolting may, on further acquaintance with the state of culture as a whole, turn out to be, if not praiseworthy, at least a drawback incidental to a normal phase of the ruder life of mankind.

The “grizzled warrior,” we are told, who made oblation to our authoress, bore on his chin the honourable mark of the man-slayer. To her Chinese coolie that formidable badge would have been enough to proclaim the wearer seban—the kind of wicked animal that defends itself when attacked. Thus, if it merely served to warn an invading alien to keep his distance, this crude advertisement of a head-hunting habit would be justified, from the standpoint of the survival of the hard-pressed aborigines. Even had a threat of cannibalism been thrown in, its protective value could hardly be denied; for, much as men object to be killed, they commonly deem it worse to be killed and eaten. Though reputed to be man-eaters, however, the savages of Formosa are not so in fact. Indeed, the boot is on the other foot. I remember Mr. Shinji Ishii telling us at a meeting of the Folk-lore Society that, despite their claim to a higher form of civilization, the Chinese of the adjoining districts will occasionally partake of a head-hunter, chopped up small and disguised in soup: the principle implied in the precaution being, I dare say, sound enough, namely, that of inoculation, though doubtless the application is unfortunate.

Meanwhile, head-hunting has for these wild-folk a function and significance that are not to be understood so long as we consider it as a thing apart. The same canon of interpretation holds good of any other outstanding feature of the social life. Customs are the organic parts of a body of custom. To use a technical expression, they are but so many elements composing a single “culture-complex.” Modern research is greatly concerned with the tracing out of resemblances due to the spread of one or another system of associated customs. The method is to try to work back to some ethnic centre of diffusion; where the characteristic elements of the system, whatever might have been their remoter derivation, have been thoroughly fused together, in the course of a long process of adaptation to a given environment. Thereupon it becomes possible to follow up the propagation of influence as it radiates from this centre in various directions outwards. Now it may well be that the tradition rarely, or never, is imparted in its entirety. Selection, or sheer accident, will cause not a little to be left behind. On the other hand, the chances are all against one custom setting forth by itself. Customs tend to emigrate in groups. Thus head-hunting, and a certain mode of tattooing, and the institution of the skull-shelf, and the requirement that a would-be husband must display a head as token of his prowess, are on the face of them associated customs, and such as are suited to have been travelling companions. Hence it is for the ethnologist to see whether he cannot refer the whole assortment to some intrusive culture of Indonesian or other origin.

Yet lest one good method should corrupt the science, we should not forget that there is another side to the study of culture; though from this side likewise there is equal need to examine customs, not apart, but in their organic connexion with each other. Whencesoever derived, the customs of a people have an ascertainable worth here and now for those who live by them. The first business, I should even venture to say, of any anthropologist, be his sphere the study or the field, is to seek to appreciate a given culture as the expression of a scheme of values. Every culture represents a set of means whereby it is sought to realize a mode of life. Unconsciously for the most part, yet none the less actually, every human society pursues an ideal. To grasp this ideal is to possess the clue to the whole cultural process as a spiritual and vital movement. The social inheritance is subject to a constant revaluation, bringing readaptation in its train. There is a selective activity at work, and to apprehend its secret springs one must keep asking all the time, what does this people want, and want most? unconscious though it may largely be, the want is there. Correspondingly, since it is a question of getting into touch with a latent process, the anthropologist must employ a method which I can only describe as one of divination. He must somehow enter into the soul of a people. Introjection, or in plainer language sympathy, is the master-key. Objective methods so-called are all very well; but if, as sometimes happens, they lead one to forget that anthropology is ultimately the science of the inner man, then they but batter at a closed door.

A sure criterion, then, by which to appraise any account of a savage people consists in the measure of the sympathy shown. A summary sketch that has this saving quality will be found more illuminating than many volumes of statistics. Literally or otherwise, the student of wild-folk must have undergone initiation at their hands. Having become as one of themselves, he is qualified to act as their spokesman, putting into such words as we can understand the felt needs and aspirations of a less self-conscious type of humanity. Here, for instance, Mrs. McGovern, though writing for the general public, and reserving a full digest of her material for another work, has sought to present an insider’s version of the aboriginal life of Formosa. She was willing to become an initiate, and did in fact become so, almost overshooting the mark, as it were, through translation to a super-human plane. So throughout she tries to do justice to the native point of view. She says enough to make us feel that, despite certain notions more or less offensive to our conscience, the ideal of the Formosan tribesman is in important respects quite admirable. He is on the whole a good man according to his lights. Allowance being made for his handicap, he is playing the game of life as well as he can.

Having thus dealt briefly with principles of interpretation I perhaps ought to stop short, since an anthropologist as such has nothing to do with the bearing of his science on questions of political administration. Mrs. McGovern, however, has a good deal to say about the means whereby it is proposed to convert head-hunters into peaceable and useful citizens. Without going into the facts, upon which I am incompetent to throw any fresh light, I might venture to make some observations of a general nature that depend on a principle already mentioned. This principle was, that to understand a people is to envisage its ideal. The practical corollary, I suggest, is that, to preserve a people, one must preserve its ideal so far as to leave its vital and vitalizing elements intact. In other words, in purging that ideal, as may be done and ought to be done when it is sought to lift a backward people out of savagery, great care should be taken not to wreck their whole scheme of values, to cause all that has hitherto made life worth living for them to seem cheap and futile. Given sympathetic insight into their dream of the good life—one that is, probably, not unlike ours in its main essentials—it ought to prove feasible to curtail noxious practices by substituting better ways of satisfying the same needs. Contact with civilization is apt to produce among savages a paralysis of the will to live. More die of depression than of disease or drink. They lose their interest in existence. Their spirit is broken. When the policy is to preserve them, the mere man of science can lend a hand by pointing out what indeed every experienced administrator knows by the time he has bought his experience at other people’s expense. Given, then, the insider’s point of view, a sense of what the savage people itself wants and is trying for, and given also patience in abundance, civilization may effectively undertake to fulfil, instead of destroying.

R. R. Marett.

INTRODUCTION

Among the Head-hunters of Formosa contains the substance of observations made during a two-years’ stay in Formosa—from September 1916 to September 1918. The book is written for the general reader, rather than for the specialist in anthropology or ethnology. Hence many details—especially those concerning minor differences in manners and customs among the various aboriginal tribes—have been omitted; for these, while perhaps of interest to the specialist, would prove wearying to the layman.

Inadequate as the treatment of the subject may seem to the anthropologist, I venture to hope that such information as the book contains may stimulate interest, and perhaps encourage further investigation, before it is too late, into the tribal customs and habits of a little-known, and rapidly disappearing, people.

A writer—signing himself “P. M.”—discussing the aborigines of Formosa, in the China Review (vol. ii) for 1873, says: “Decay and death are always sad sights to contemplate, and when decay and death are those of a nation or race, the feeling is stimulated to acuteness.”

If this feeling in connection with the aborigines was aroused in a European resident in Formosa in 1873, how much more strongly is this the case to-day—nearly half a century later—when the aboriginal population has dwindled from approximately one-sixth of the population of the island (an estimate given by Keane in his remarks on Formosa, in Man Past and Present) to about 3 per cent. of the entire population—a decline of 15 per cent. in less than fifty years. Under the present system of “benevolent assimilation” on the part of the Japanese Government the aboriginal population seems declining at an even more rapid rate than it did under Chinese rule, which ended in 1895. Hence if the mistake which was made in the case of the Tasmanians—that of allowing them to die out before definite or detailed information regarding their beliefs and customs was gained—is to be avoided in the case of the Formosan aborigines, all anthropological data available, both social and physical, should be gained without further delay. Up to this time apparently but little has been done in the way of scientific study of these people, in spite of the fact that, as Keane points out, Formosa “presents a curious ethnical and linguistic connecting link between the continental and oceanic populations of Asia.”

Dr. W. Campbell, writing in Hastings’ Encyclopædia of Religion and Ethics (vol. vi) remarks: “The first thing to notice in making any statement about the savages of Formosa is the extreme paucity of information which is available.” If anything which I—the first white woman to go among certain of the tribal groups of these savages—am able to say will make less this “extreme paucity of information,” then I shall feel that the time spent in writing this book has not been wasted.

I must add that I am deeply indebted to Dr. Marett, of Oxford, who most kindly read the greater part of the book in manuscript form; and again in proof.

Janet B. Montgomery McGovern.

Salzburg, Austria.
March 1922.

NOTE

Among other valuable suggestions, Dr. Marett has called my attention to the fact that the word “caribou” (sometimes spelt carabao) is used in this book to describe an animal other than the American reindeer. It is quite true that no dictionary would define “caribou” as meaning the hideous, almost hairless, beast of the bovine species used in certain parts of Indonesia for ploughing the rice-paddies, and whose favourite recreation—when not harnessed to the plough—is to lie, or to stand, buried to its neck in muddy water; yet this beast is so called both in the Philippines and in Formosa; that is, by English and Americans resident in these islands. By the Japanese the animal is called sui-gyu; by the Chinese shui-niu (as nearly as the sound can be imitated in English spelling); the characters being the same in both languages, but the pronunciation different.

In connection with the pronunciation and the English spelling of Chinese and Japanese words, the spelling is of course phonetic. This applies to the names of places, as well as to other words. As regards Formosan place names, the difficulty of adequate transliteration is aggravated by the fact that the Chinese-Formosans and the Japanese, while using the same written characters, pronounce the names quite differently. In spelling the names of places, I have followed that system usually adopted in English books. There can, however, be no hard and fast rules for Sino-Japanese spelling; therefore the Japanese gentleman to whom I am indebted for the map who has spelled Keelung with a single “e,” is quite “within his rights” from the point of view of transliteration.

J. B. M. M.

CONTENTS

PREFACE

pp.

9

-

14

INTRODUCTION

pp.

15

-

18

PART I

DESCRIPTION OF THE ISLAND AND ITS INHABITANTS

CHAPTER I

IMPRESSIONS FROM A DISTANCE

Scepticism regarding the Existence of a Matriarchate—Glimpse of Formosa from a Steamer’s Deck in passing—Hearsay in Japan concerning the Island Colony—Opportunity of going to Formosa as a Government Official

pp.

27

-

35

CHAPTER II

IMPRESSIONS AT FIRST-HAND

The Voyage from Kobe to Keelung—The History of Formosa as recounted by a Chinese-Formosan—A Visit to a Chinese-Formosan Home—The Scenery of Formosa—Experience with Japanese Officialdom in Formosa

pp.

36

-

68

CHAPTER III

PERSONAL CONTACT WITH THE ABORIGINES

A New Year Visit to the East Coast Tribes—Received by the Taiyal as a Reincarnation of one of the seventeenth-century Dutch “Fathers.”

pp.

69

-

85

CHAPTER IV

THE PRESENT POPULATION OF FORMOSA

Hakkas and other Chinese-Formosans, Japanese, Aborigines

pp.

86

-

92

PART II

MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF THE ABORIGINAL TRIBES

CHAPTER V

RACIAL STOCK

Physical Appearance pointing to Indoneso-Malay Origin—Linguistic Evidence and Evidence of Handicraft—Tribal Divisions of the Aborigines—Moot Question as to the Existence of a Pigmy People in the Interior of the Island

pp.

95

-

108

CHAPTER VI

SOCIAL ORGANIZATION

Head-hunting and associated Customs—“Mother-right” and Age-grade Systems—Property Rights—Sex Relations

pp.

109

-

129

CHAPTER VII

RELIGIOUS BELIEFS AND PRACTICES

Deities of the Ami and Beliefs of this Tribe regarding Heaven and Hell—Beliefs and Ceremonials of the other Tribes of the South—Descent from Bamboo; Carved Representations of Glorified Ancestors and of Serpents; Moon Worship; Sacred Tree, Orchid, and Grass—The Kindling of the Sacred Fire by the Bunun and Taiyal Tribes—Beliefs and Ceremonials of the Taiyal—Rain Dances; Bird Omens; Ottofu; Princess and Dog Ancestors—Yami Celebrations in Honour of the Sea-god

pp.

130

-

151

CHAPTER VIII

MARRIAGE CUSTOMS

The Point of View of the Aborigines regarding Sex—Courtship preceding Marriage—Consultation of the Bird Omen and of Bamboo Strips as to the Auspicious Day for the Wedding—The Wedding Ceremony—Mingling by the Priestess of Drops of Blood taken from the Legs of Bride and Groom; Ritual Drinking from a Skull—Honeymoon Trips and the setting-up of House-keeping—Length of Marriage Unions

pp.

152

-

162

CHAPTER IX

CUSTOMS CONNECTED WITH ILLNESS AND DEATH

Belief that Illness is due to Evil Ottofu—Ministrations of the Priestess—A Seventeenth-century Dutch Record of the Treatment of the Dying by the Formosan Aborigines—The “Dead Houses” of the Taiyal—Burial of the Dead by the Ami, Bunun, and Paiwan Tribes beneath the Hearth-stone of the Home—“Green” and “Dry” Funerals

pp.

163

-

172

CHAPTER X

ARTS AND CRAFTS

Various Types of Dwelling-houses peculiar to the Different Tribes—Ingenious Suspension-bridges and Communal Granaries common to all the Tribes—Weapons and the Methods of their Ornamentation—Weaving and Basket-making—Peculiar Indonesian Form of Loom—Pottery-making—Agricultural Implements and Fish-traps—Musical Instruments: Nose-flute; Musical Bow; Bamboo Jews’-harp—Personal Adornment

pp.

173

-

185

CHAPTER XI

TATTOOING AND OTHER FORMS OF MUTILATION

Cutting away of the Lobes of the Ears and knocking out of the Teeth—Significance of the Different Designs of Tattoo-marking among the Taiyal—Tattooing among the Paiwan

pp.

186

-

192

CHAPTER XII

METHODS OF TRANSPORT

Ami Wheeled Vehicle resembling Models found in early Cyprian Tombs—Boat-building and the Art of Navigation on the Decline.

pp.

193

-

197

CHAPTER XIII

POSSIBILITIES OF THE FUTURE

“Decadent” or “Primitive”—A Dream of White Saviours from the West

pp.

198

-

199

CHAPTER XIV

CIVILIZATION AND ITS BENEFITS

To “wonder furiously”—Better Government, or Worse?—Comparison of Standards—A Conversation with Aborigine Friends—The Question of Money—Tabus

pp.

200

-

215

INDEX

pp.

217

-

220

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

MAN AND WOMAN OF YAMI TRIBE IN REGALIA WORN AT THE SPRING FESTIVAL IN HONOUR OF THE SEA-GOD

Frontispiece

FACING PACE

ANTHROPOLOGICAL MAP OF FORMOSA

27

GATEWAY OF THE OLD CHINESE WALL FORMERLY SURROUNDING THE CITY OF TAIHOKU

36

“CARIBOU,” OR WATER-BUFFALO, USED BY THE CHINESE-FORMOSANS

52

MEN AND YOUNG WOMEN OF THE TAIYAL TRIBE ON A STATE VISIT TO THE CITY OF TAIHOKU

52

AUTHOR IN RICKSHA IN THE CITY OF TAIHOKU

66

USUAL FORM OF

TORO

(PUSH-CAR)

66

TWO MEN OF THE TAIYAL TRIBE BRIBED BY GIFTS TO HAVE THEIR PICTURE TAKEN

70

AUTHOR IN

TORO

GOING UP INTO TAIYAL TERRITORY

70

“FACTORY” FOR EXTRACTING CAMPHOR IN THE MOUNTAINS OF FORMOSA

90

MEN OF THE BUNUN TRIBE

98

YAMI TRIBESPEOPLE OF BOTEL TOBAGO IN FRONT OF “BACHELOR-HOUSE”

98

TAIYAL WOMAN, AND A WOMAN LIVING AMONG THE TAIYAL BELIEVED TO BE PART PIGMY

102

WOMAN OF YAMI TRIBE OF BOTEL TOBAGO

102

MAN OF TAIYAL TRIBE AND WOMAN LIVING AMONG THE TAIYAL SUSPECTED OF HAVING A STRAIN OF PIGMY BLOOD

108

AUTHOR’S SECRETARY MAKING NOTES OF TAIYAL DIALECT

108

TAIYAL TRIBESPEOPLE

114

SKULL-SHELF IN A TAIYAL VILLAGE

114

TWO PAIWAN MEN AND A YOUNG WOMAN IN FRONT OF THE HOUSE OF A PAIWAN CHIEF

120

FAMILY OF THE AMI TRIBE

134

GLORIFIED ANCESTOR OF THE PAIWAN TRIBE CARVED ON A SLATE MONUMENT

134

AUTHOR WITH TWO TAIYAL GIRLS IN FRONT OF TAIYAL HOUSE

172

TAIYAL WARRIOR IN CEREMONIAL BLANKET

172

PAIWAN VILLAGE OF SLATE

176

AUTHOR IN THE DRESS OF A WOMAN OF THE TAIYAL TRIBE

180

A TAIYAL WOMAN AT HER LOOM

184

WOMAN OF AMI TRIBE MAKING POTTERY

184

PART I

DESCRIPTION OF THE ISLAND AND ITS INHABITANTS

ANTHROPOLOGICAL MAP OF FORMOSA.

Scale 1:2,000,000. Heights in feet

CHAPTER I

IMPRESSIONS FROM A DISTANCE

Scepticism regarding the Existence of a Matriarchate—Glimpse of Formosa from a Steamer’s Deck in passing—Hearsay in Japan concerning the Island Colony—Opportunity of going to Formosa as a Government Official.

As to the actual existence of matriarchates I had always been sceptical. Matrilineal tribes, and those matrilocal—that was a different matter. The existence of these among certain primitive peoples had long been substantiated. But that the name should descend in the line of the mother, or that the newly married couple should take up its residence in the tribe or phratry of the bride, has not of necessity meant that the woman held the reins of power. Quite the reverse in many cases, as actual contact with peoples among whom matrilineal and matrilocal customs existed has proved to every practical observer.[1]

Those lecturers in the “Woman’s Cause” who boasted of the “great matriarchates of old” I thought weakened, rather than strengthened, the cause they would advocate by attempting to bring to its aid evidence builded on the sands. The great “matriarchates of antiquity” I was inclined to class with the “Golden Age” of the Theosophists, as representing a state of affairs not only “too good to be true,” but one in which the wish was—to paraphrase—father to the belief. And as to prehistoric matriarchates, representing a highly evolved state of civilization—in anything like the present-day significance of that word—I am still sceptical; as sceptical as I am of a Golden Age preceding the day of Pithecanthropus and his kind.

But a land which is, as regards its aboriginal inhabitants—now confined to a few tribes, and those fast diminishing, in its more mountainous and inaccessible portions—sufficiently matripotestal to justify its being called a matriarchate, I have found. And this, as is often the case with a quest of any sort, rather by accident. Residence among the American Indians of New Mexico, of Arizona, and of Nevada, and a slight knowledge of the natives of certain of the Pacific Islands—particularly those of Hawaii and of the Philippines—had led me to give up the idea of finding a genuine matriarchate even among primitive peoples. Too often I had found that where those who had “passed by” had spoken of a “matriarchal state” as existing, investigation had proved one that was only matrilineal or matrilocal.

It was in Formosa that I found these matriarchal people; Formosa, that little-known island in the typhoon-infested South China Sea, so well called by its early Portuguese discoverers—as its name implies—“the beautiful.” Indeed, it was the beauty of Formosa that first attracted me. I shall never forget the first glimpse that I caught of the island as I passed it, going by steamer from Manila[2] to Nagasaki. There it lay, in the light of the tropical sunrise, glowing and shimmering like a great emerald, with an apparent vividness of green that I had never seen before, even in the tropics. During the greater part of the day it remained in sight, apparently floating slowly past—an emerald on a turquoise bed. For on that day there was no typhoon or threat of typhoon, and on such a day the China Sea can, with its wonderful blueness and calm, make amends for the many other days on which, like the raging dragon that the Chinese peasants believe it veritably to be, of murky green, spitting white foam, deck-high, it threatens—and often brings—death and destruction to those who venture upon it. Nor was the emerald island a jewel in the rough. The Chinese call it Taiwan, a name which means, in the characters of their language, Terrace Beach,

.[3] This name the Japanese—the present masters of the Island—have adopted; and it is not an inappropriate one. Nor do the terraces refer to those small, low-lying ones of the rice-paddies which for some centuries Chinese coolies have cultivated on the fertile east coast of the island; but rather to those bolder mountain terraces, carved by the hand of Nature, and covered with that wild verdure which only tropical rains, followed by tropical sunshine, can produce.[4] These terraces—gleaming brilliant green, and seeming to refract the sunlight of that April day, as we sailed across the Tropic of Cancer, which cuts Formosa through the middle—were curiously like the facets of a great emerald, polished and carefully cut.

The glimpse which I caught that day of the shining island with its vivid colouring, and seemingly wondrously carved surface, remained with me as a pleasant memory during the several years that I spent in Japan.

Although Formosa is now a Japanese colony—has been since 1895—one is able to get curiously little definite information in Japan regarding the island. From the Japanese themselves one hears only of the marvellous energy and skill of the Japanese in exploiting the resources of the island—sugar, camphor, tea—and the manufacture of opium, a Government monopoly. From the English, Scottish, and Canadian missionaries stationed in Formosa, who sometimes spend their summers in Japan, one hears more of the exploiting, on the part of the Japanese, of the Chinese population of Formosa—a fact which later I found to be cruelly true.

Now and then, while I was in Japan, I heard vague rumours of head-hunting aboriginal tribes in the mountains of Formosa, but regarding these I could gain little exact information. The Japanese, when questioned about the aborigines, were either curiously uncommunicative, or else launched at once into panegyrics concerning the nobility of the Japanese authorities in Formosa in allowing dirty, head-hunting savages to live, especially as some of these dirty head-hunters had dared to rebel against the Japanese Government of the island. Of the manners and customs of the aborigines, however, the Japanese seemed wholly ignorant. Nor were the missionaries from Formosa much better informed, as far as the aborigines were concerned. Their mission work, they said, was confined to the Chinese population of the island, with now and then tactful attempts at the conversion of the Japanese. But as for the aboriginal tribes—yes, they believed there were such people in the mountains; one of their number, when going from one Chinese village to another in the interior of the island, had seen a queen or “heathen priestess” of the aborigines carried on the shoulders of her followers. More they did not know—yes, probably it was true that these savages cut off people’s heads whenever they had a chance. They were heathen—what could one expect?...

While failing to get much accurate information regarding the aborigines of Formosa, I managed, on the other hand, to get a good deal of misinformation. One book in particular, I remember, written obviously by one who had never been there, gave the impression that the whole island was inhabited by savages, with a “small sprinkling at the ports of Japanese, Chinese, English, and Filipinos.”

The most trustworthy information concerning Formosa—as I later learned, after I myself had been to the island—was that obtained through the columns of the Japan Chronicle, an English newspaper published in Kobe. This information was in connection, particularly, with “reprisal-measures” of extraordinary severity taken by the Japanese Government of Formosa against certain of the aboriginal tribes, some members of which had risen in revolt against the Japanese gendarmerie (Aiyu-sen) placed in authority over them. This curiously cruel strain in the Japanese character was at that time difficult for me to believe[5] (I had not then been in Korea, or in any of the other Japanese dependencies). But what was said of the Formosan aborigines aroused my interest to such an extent that I was anxious to study them at first-hand.

Circumstances, however, prevented my going to Formosa for some time. A “foreigner”—American or European—anywhere in the Japanese Empire is always more or less under surveillance; in the colonies—Formosa and Korea—more rather than less. Any attempt to go to Formosa to carry out independent investigation of the aborigines would, I knew, have been politely thwarted by the Japanese authorities. A “personally conducted tour” could, finances permitting, have easily been arranged. I would have been most politely received by the Japanese officials of the island, and escorted by them to those places which they wished me to see, and introduced to those people whom they wished me to meet. Such had been the experience of several “foreigners” who had gone to visit the island and “study its people.” To live for any length of time in Formosa one must satisfy the Japanese authorities that definite business demands one’s presence there. At that time I had no “definite business which demanded my presence” in Formosa. Nor had a “bradyaga”[6] like myself the capital to start a business in tea or sugar, which would have given a credible excuse for living in the island. Besides, a woman tea-exporter!—the Japanese authorities would scarcely have been satisfied.

My desire to learn at first-hand something of the aborigines of Formosa remained, therefore, more or less an inchoate inclination on my part, and I turned my attention to other things. Then, curiously enough, as coincidences always seem curious when they affect ourselves, a few months later, when I was in Kyoto, studying Mahayana Buddhism,[7] came an offer from a Japanese official to go to Formosa as a teacher of English in the Japanese Government School in Taihoku, the capital of the island.[8]

I had taught English in Japan—both in Tokyo and Kagoshima[9]—and I knew that however Japanese people in different parts of the empire might vary in other respects, on one point, at least, they were singularly alike; that is, in their incapacity for the ready assimilation of a European tongue. This in rather curious contrast to their ability for imitation in other respects. No; teaching English to Japanese was no sinecure. But it opened for me the way to go to Formosa; it gave me an “excuse for being,” as far as existence on that island was concerned. Consequently I accepted the offer to teach in the school which had been built for the sons of Japanese officials in Formosa,[10] and in September 1916 I sailed from Kobe, Japan, for Keelung, the northernmost port of Formosa.

CHAPTER II

IMPRESSIONS AT FIRST-HAND

The Voyage from Kobe to Keelung—The History of Formosa as recounted by a Chinese-Formosan—A Visit to a Chinese-Formosan Home—The Scenery of Formosa—Experience with Japanese Officialdom in Formosa.

Formosa lies about a thousand miles south of Kobe—six hundred and sixty miles, it is estimated, south of Kagoshima, the southernmost point of Japan proper—and the voyage of four days down through the Tung Hai (Eastern China Sea) was a warm one, the latter part especially. Before Keelung was reached, the wraps that had been comfortable when leaving Japan were discarded in favour of the thinnest clothing that could be unpacked from bags or steamer-trunk. Two Scottish missionaries, returning to their work among the Chinese-Formosan in the southern part of the island, were the only other foreigners[11] (white people) on board. The other passengers—certainly of first and second class—were, with one exception, Japanese; chiefly Japanese officials, who, with their families, were going to take up their duties in the island colony of the empire; or to resume these duties after a summer vacation spent in Japan. The one exception was—as exceptions usually are—the most interesting person on board. This was a Chinese-Formosan; one who, in the days before the Japanese possession, had belonged to one of the “old” families of the island—as people all over the world are accustomed to reckon age in connection with “family” (au fond, how curiously alike are we all—Oriental and Occidental—in the little snobbishnesses that make up the sum of human pride—and human childishness).

GATEWAY OF THE OLD CHINESE WALL

Formerly surrounding the city of Taihoku, the capital of Formosa.

At any rate, in the days when “old” families in Formosa meant also wealthy families, this Chinese-Formosan, then young, had been sent to Hongkong, to be educated in an English college there. Consequently it was in excellent English that he told me something both of the early history of Formosa, as this had been recorded in old Chinese manuscripts, and also something of the traditions of the Chinese peasantry regarding the origin of the island. This—the origin—was connected, as are almost all things else in China, in the minds of the people, with the dragon. It seems that, according to popular legend—which the early Chinese geographers repeated in all seriousness—the particular dragon which was responsible for the origin of Formosa was one of more than usual ferocity. The home of this prince among dragons was Woo-hoo-mun (Five Tiger Gate), which lies at the entrance of Foochow, a town on the South China coast. One day his dragonship, being in a frolicsome mood, went for a day’s sport in the depths of the ocean. In his play he brought up from the ocean-bed sufficient earth to mould into a semblance of himself; Keelung being the head; the long, narrow peninsula, ending in Cape Garanbi, the southernmost point of the island, being the tail; the great mountain-range running from north to south—of which Mt. Sylvia and Mt. Morrison[12] are the two highest peaks—representing the bristling spines on the back of the dragon.

Thus according to tradition was created the island of Formosa, or Taiwan, which is in area about half the size of Scotland, but is in shape long and narrow, being about 265 miles long[13] and—at its widest point—about 80 miles wide. It is separated from China by the Formosa Channel, sometimes called Fokien Strait, which is at the widest about 245 miles, but at the narrowest only 62 miles; the dragon seeming to prefer to build this memorial of himself almost within sight of his permanent abiding-place. Indeed the Chinese-Formosan fishermen declare that on a clear day the coast-line of China may be discerned from the west coast of Formosa. But this I, myself, have never seen—the curve of the earth, alone, would, I think, prevent its being actually seen—and I am inclined to think that the fishermen mistake the outline of the Pescadores, small islands lying between China and Formosa, but nearer the latter, for China proper. That is, if their imagination does not play them false altogether, and build for them out of the clouds on the horizon a semblance of the coast-line of the home of their ancestors—something sacred to every Chinese, whatever the conditions of starvation or servitude which drove his ancestors from the motherland.

Something of the early historical, or pseudo-historical, records of Formosa my Chinese-Formosan fellow-voyager on the Osaka Shosen Kaisha steamer also told me. It seems that the first mention in Chinese records of the island is in the Sui-Shu—the history of the Sui Dynasty, which lasted from A.D. 581 to 618, according to Occidental reckoning. At that time Chinese historians and also geographers believed Formosa to be one of the Lu-chu (

) group; that long chain of tiny islands which dot the sea from the south of Japan to the north of Formosa, like stepping-stones, or—as they more strongly reminded me when I first saw them—like the stones which Hop-o’-my-Thumb dropped from his pocket when he and his brothers were carried away into the forest, that they might find their way back home.

According to early Chinese historians the aboriginal inhabitants of Formosa up to about the sixth century A.D. were a gentle and peaceable people, making no objection to Chinese settlements on the coast of the island. Then in about the second half of the sixth century—as nearly as Oriental and Occidental systems of reckoning time can be correlated (the beginning of the Sui dynasty) there swept up from “somewhere in the south” bands of fierce marauders who conquered the west coast of the island and drove the surviving aboriginal inhabitants into the central mountains. A little later—in about the seventh century—the Chinese historian, Ma Tuan-hiu, says a Chinese expedition went to Formosa, with the intention of forcing the new inhabitants to pay tribute to China. This, however, these “new inhabitants”—of Malay origin presumably—refused to do. Consequently great numbers were killed by the Chinese, who also burned many native villages, and used the blood of the slain inhabitants for caulking their boats. To one who knows the peculiar reverence with which blood is regarded by all primitive peoples, and the many ceremonies, religious and social, in which the use of blood makes the ceremony sacred, it is easily comprehensible that the caulking of Chinese boats with the blood of their kinsmen caused greater consternation among the Formosan savages than the mere slaughter of a greater number of their people would have done.

In spite, however, of the ruthless measures taken by the Chinese in their efforts to extort tribute, the “wild men of the South” held their ground, and the Chinese were at last obliged to leave the island without tribute, and without having exacted the promise of it. This, according to Chinese records, was an unprecedented occurrence when sons of the Flowery Kingdom were dealing with barbarians.

For several centuries Chinese records seem to have made little or no mention of Formosa; then in the twelfth century occurred an event even more extraordinary, as far as the relations between China and Formosa were concerned. This was the appearance in the sea-coast villages of Fokien Province, China, of a band of several hundred Formosans. These men came, it is said, for the purpose of pillaging iron from the homes and shops of the Chinese. This metal they valued above anything else in the world,[14] because they had learned that it could be made into spear-heads and arrow-heads, also into knives, more serviceable than those made of flint. They were not able, apparently, to smelt the crude ore, but they understood the building of forges, and were skilful in “beating ploughshares into swords”—to paraphrase. Locks, bolts, nails, from the houses of the Chinese villagers, were grist to the mill of these Formosans, as was anything else made of iron on which they could lay their hands. It is said that before they could be driven away they had secured a large store of iron, in various forms, much of which they succeeded in carrying off in their boats. This is the only occasion on record on which the Formosan “barbarians” ventured to cross the channel which separates their island from China; or at least the only one on which they succeeded in doing so.

It was not until the Yuan dynasty (in the early part of the fourteenth century), during a war between China and Japan, that a Chinese expedition proved that Formosa did not belong to the Lu-chu group; this with tragic consequences to an eminent Chinese scholar of the day. The history of the Yuan dynasty records that “a literate of Fokien Province advised attacking Japan through the Lu-chu Islands.” This literate, believing Formosa to be one of the Lu-chu group, begged the Chinese admiral, Yangtsian, to set sail first for that island. It seems that it had been the intention of Admiral Yangtsian to sail from North China directly to Japan, but, with that respect for reputed scholarship characteristic of the Chinese, the admiral listened to the advice of the literate; the latter being promoted to naval rank, and asked to join the expedition as adviser.

This expedition proved that the principal island of the Lu-chu group lay many li to the north of Formosa. China was the gainer in geographical knowledge; but the admiral lost the advantage which he probably would have gained had he sailed from North China, and his adviser, the literate, lost his head—not figuratively, but literally. Even after this expedition, however, Formosa was still called “Little Lu-chu.”

It was not until the time of the Ming dynasty (1368-1644) that the island seems to have been called Taiwan. In Chinese records of this period the name “Taiwan,” as applied to the island, appears for the first time. Indeed, for some reason, Chinese authorities seem to consider that the “authentic history” of the island begins from the time of the Ming dynasty. The event which in Chinese chronicles dates the beginning of this “authentic history” was the visit—an unintentional one—in about 1430, of the eunuch, Wan San-ho, an officer of the Chinese Court. Wan San-ho had been on a visit to Siam, and was on his way back to China, when the boat on which he was sailing was struck by a typhoon and blown so far out of its course that the captain was obliged to take refuge in the nearest port, which happened to be on the south-west coast of Formosa, near the present town of Tainan.[15] It is recorded that Wan San-ho remained for some time on the island, and when he eventually returned to China took back with him herbs and plants of high medicinal value. It is said that the Chinese still use in their pharmacopœia herbs grown from the seeds of those brought from Formosa by Wan San-ho in the fifteenth century. For the accuracy of this statement I, of course, cannot vouch; nor could my Chinese-Formosan friend who first told me the story of Wan San-ho. He, however, evidently believed it to be true.

It was also during the Ming dynasty that the first association of the Japanese with Formosa is recorded. This was about the close of what is known in Japanese history as the Ashikaga dynasty, which lasted from 1336 to 1443. At this time the Japanese Empire was torn by internal conflict, and was the scene of constant strife between contending political parties, the followers of the Great Daimyos. During this period of disorder Japanese pirates, under the banner of Hachiman (the Japanese God of War), plundered the villages on the coast of China and established headquarters, first on the Pescadores—the small group of islands off the west coast of Formosa—and later at the port that is now known as Keelung, on Formosa proper.

This seems to have been a harvest-time for Japanese pirates. Unrestrained by authority at home, and finding no enemy stronger than themselves on the sea, they made raids not only on the towns of the China Coast, but made successful plundering expeditions even as far south as Siam. The booty from these raids, it seems, was first brought to Keelung, then sent to Japan, where it was sold at a high profit. Those were days in which bold buccaneers waxed fat.

Nor were the Japanese pirates allowed to reap the harvest alone. At the same time that these men had headquarters at Keelung, in the north of Formosa, Chinese pirates had established headquarters near Tainan, in the southern part of the island. If the records report truly, the intercourse between the Chinese and Japanese pirates does not seem to have been unfriendly, even while their respective nations were at war with each other—outlaws presumably being absolved from the obligations of patriotism. This state of affairs lasted for over a hundred years. During the sixteenth century Formosa, which was then known to the Japanese as “Takasago,” seems to have become a sort of “clearing-house” between China and Japan—a link between nations the “respectable” portions of whose populations were estranged. In the early part of that century the Chinese pirates were united under the leadership of Gan Shi-sai, grandfather of the famous Koksinga, shrines to whose memory recently erected by the Japanese—because it has been learned that his mother was a Japanese—one sees everywhere in Formosa at the present time.[16]

The sixteenth century was a rather noteworthy one in the history of Formosa. It was during this century that the Hakkas—the outcaste class of China—fled to Formosa to escape persecution in the mother-country. And more important, at least from the European point of view, it was in the sixteenth century that Europeans first learned—as far as there is any record—of the existence of the island. It is sometimes said that the Portuguese had a fort in Keelung about 1590. Of this there seems to be no definite proof. Not only was this the opinion of the Chinese-Formosan who first gave me in outline the history of the island, but later investigation on my own part failed to find proof, or even trustworthy evidence, of the existence of such a fort. However, there can be little doubt that the Portuguese navigators, sailing down the west coast of the island, gave to it the name by which it is known to-day to Europeans—“Ilha Formosa” (Beautiful Island).[17] The Dutch navigator Linschotten, in the employ of the Portuguese, so recorded it in his chart in the latter part of the sixteenth century.

It was early in the next century that the Dutch, as a nation, first came into touch with Formosa. In 1604 the Dutch admiral, Van Narwijk, sailed for Macao, in the south of China; but a typhoon—that frequent occurrence in the China Sea—drove him to the Pescadores. While there he gained a knowledge of the near-by large island of Formosa, which knowledge, it is said, was responsible for the later—temporary—Dutch dominance of the island. Another typhoon, however, resulting in another wreck, brought about the actual first landing of Dutchmen on Formosa proper. This was in 1620, when a Dutch merchant ship was wrecked near the present town of Tainan.

At that time a Japanese colony was, with the permission of China, established at this point. The Dutch captain, after having first been refused by the Japanese land on which to build a depôt for his goods—or that portion which he had saved from the wreck—at last persuaded the men from Dai Nippon to allow him to build a depôt “if this could be built on ground no larger than that which could be covered with an ox-hide.” The “heaven-descended”[18] thought the Ketto-jin (hairy barbarian) mad. They naturally were not familiar with the European classics. The Dutch captain apparently was, since he repeated the famous manœuvre—said to have been responsible for the founding of Carthage[19]—of cutting the ox-hide into very thin strips. With the raw hide rope thus made he succeeded in encircling a piece of ground amply large for the building of a goods depôt.

The Chinese-Formosan, in relating this story, was so convulsed with laughter that, in spite of his excellent English, it was at first difficult to understand him. It seemed that what especially excited his risibility was the idea—to him ludicrous—that a man of any other nationality should be able to outwit a Japanese in a “sharp deal.” He declared the story “too good to be true,” but in the accounts of the early history of Formosa which I have read since hearing the Chinese-Formosan recount the story, there seems evidence for its verity.

At the time, however, when this incident is supposed to have occurred—the early part of the seventeenth century—the Chinese were really the masters both of the Pescadores and of Formosa proper. It was they who, in 1622, gave the Dutch permission to establish a fort on one of the Pescadore islands. This was done under the command of Admiral Cornelius Reyersz, who wished to have a stronghold from which he could sally forth to attack the Portuguese at Macao. The next year an agreement was reached between Holland and China by which the Dutch were to remove from the Pescadores to Formosa. In 1624 the Dutch built Fort Zelandia, the ruins of which are still to be seen at Anping, the harbour-town near Tainan.

The building of Fort Zelandia marked the beginning of Dutch dominance in Formosa, a period which, though lasting less than forty years, is one that has never been forgotten by the aboriginal inhabitants of the island, as I found later, when I went among them. During this time, however, the Dutch were not left in undisturbed control of the island. Another European nation cast covetous eyes upon the “Ilha Formosa.” Spain organised an expedition under the command of Don Antonio de Careño de Valdez, which in 1626 set forth from Manila, then a Spanish possession, and sailed north to the “Beautiful Island.” The Spaniards succeeded in establishing a colony at Keelung, which they called Santissima Trinidad, and afterwards built a fort—San Domingo—at the other northern port of the island, called by the Chinese and Japanese Tamsui.

For some years it seems there was a struggle between the Dutch and Spanish for the domination of the island. Then in 1641 the greater part of the Spanish troops in Formosa were recalled to Manila, in order to take part in an expedition against the Moors[20] in Mindanao, the southernmost island of the Philippine group. This gave the Dutch an opportunity of which they were not slow to take advantage. They renewed their attacks upon the Spanish garrison, now greatly weakened. The following year—1642—this surrendered, and the last Spaniard—including the priests and the Dominican Friars, who had come over with Don Careño de Valdez—left the island.

The Dutch were now left for a time undisputed masters of Formosa. They built forts on the ruins of those evacuated by the Spanish at Tamsui and Keelung. The old Dutch fort at Tamsui is still standing, and is in a good state of preservation. It has walls eight feet thick, and is used to-day as the British Consulate of the island.[21]

For about twenty years after the Spanish surrender in Formosa, Dutch prosperity in the island was at its height. It is said that during this time there were nearly three hundred villages under Dutch jurisdiction, divided for convenience of administration into seven provinces. The population of these villages, while recorded as being “native,” evidently consisted of Chinese-Formosans. Finding that agriculture was not progressing among these people, the Dutch minister, Gravius, is said to have sent to the East Indies for “water-buffaloes,” the so-called caribou, and when these arrived he distributed them among the Chinese population of the island. “Water-buffaloes”—descendants of those imported by the seventeenth-century Dutch—are used to-day by the Chinese-Formosans for ploughing their rice-paddies (see illustration).

“CARIBOU,” OR WATER-BUFFALO, USED BY THE CHINESE-FORMOSANS.

This is said to be a descendant of those introduced by the Dutch in the seventeenth century.

MEN AND YOUNG WOMEN (MEN CROUCHING, WOMEN STANDING) OF THE TAIYAL TRIBE ON A STATE VISIT TO THE CITY OF TAIHOKU.

Besides the Chinese population of Formosa under Dutch administration, the aboriginal tribes in the mountains also acknowledged Dutch supremacy, as they had never acknowledged Chinese, and as, more recently, they have never been reconciled to Japanese. Later, when I myself went among the aborigines, I received interesting confirmation of the account given me by the Chinese-Formosan on the boat, as the reason, apparently, that I was able to get into as close touch with them as I did was because they regarded me as the reincarnation of one of the seventeenth-century Dutch, whose rule over them, three hundred years ago, has become a sacred tradition.

This tradition among the aborigines confirms the records made by Father Candidius, and other Dutch missionaries of the period; although the records, naturally, go more fully and accurately into detail. If record and tradition are to be relied upon, the Dutch rule of Formosa was marked by unusual benevolence, sagacity, and sympathy with the aboriginal people; tradition in this instance carrying more weight than record, as the former is that of the subject people. Apparently the Dutch administrators allowed the natives much liberty regarding their own form of government; there was no interference in the choice of headmen or chieftains on the part of the various tribes; nor was there interference in the administration of tribal justice by these headmen. The chief of each of the most important tribes was invested with a silver-headed staff, bearing the Dutch commander’s coat of arms. This was supposed to be used as an insignia of authority. Thus only indirectly, and in a manner appealing to the vanity of the savage chieftains, was recognition of the over-lordship of the Dutch enforced. As also indirect was the influence exerted over the chiefs, by a great feast given once a year by the Dutch governor, to which it is said the chieftain of every aboriginal tribe was invited, and where matters both inter-tribal and intra-tribal were discussed. At the conclusion of this feast presents were distributed, and the chieftains sent home with the blessing of the Dutch governor.[22]

This time of peace and prosperity for the aboriginal tribes—the memory of which has remained among them as that of a Golden Age—was brought to an abrupt end in 1661, through the invasion of Formosa by the Chinese pirate Koksinga, before referred to, and his followers, who seem to have poured in hordes into the island. The Dutch made a brave resistance; but, in all, they numbered only a little over two thousand, and were unable to hold their own against the vastly greater number of Chinese, who came over from the mainland in the train of Koksinga. The latter is said to have owned three hundred boats, in which he brought his followers from China.

In 1662 Governor Cogett, the Dutch commander, surrendered to Koksinga. Then the Dutch who remained alive, both those who had composed the garrison and also the settlers with their families—the latter said to have numbered about six hundred—left the island as speedily as was possible, most of them sailing for the near-by Dutch East Indies.

From that time until 1895—the close of the Sino-Japanese War—when Formosa passed into the hands of the Japanese, the Chinese were lords of the island. Of this period of Chinese dominance—over two hundred years—I learned little from the Chinese-Formosan on the boat. He passed on to the recounting of the sufferings of his own people—the Chinese on the island—under Japanese rule, and the injustice to which they had been subjected for twenty years. Of this he was still speaking when the little steamer, rounding the rocky islet, the last of the Lu-chu group, which lies—or rather, rears upward—as a sort of natural fortification in front of the chief harbour of the island, puffed noisily into Keelung bay. My Chinese friend, on bidding me good-bye, said he hoped that while I was in Formosa I would come to his home and meet his wives—one of whom, especially, was very intelligent and spoke a little English.

“Bradyaga”[23] though I am, and accustomed to meeting all sorts and conditions of—wives of men, I must, I think, for a moment have looked startled. It was the man’s English accent and his English point of view regarding many matters that made his casual reference to his plural household seem incongruous. He must have noticed this (indeed it was his remark that revealed my own naïveté to myself; I thought I had my features under better control), for he smiled and said: “I know in Europe and in America it is different; certain things are done sub rosa—and denied. It is a question which is better. But come to my home and see for yourself how our system works.”

Later I met the wives of my Chinese-Formosan friend. There were three of them—the intelligent one, the pretty one, and the eldest and most honoured one, who was the mother of the eldest son and heir. At least the last was called the “Great Wife” and the “Honourable One” by the others; but there was no trace of shame or of dishonour in the position of any of the women. All seemed very proud, very happy, and curiously affectionate toward each other and—greater test of a woman’s affection—even toward each others’ children. Nor do I think that they were “showing off” for my benefit; it was said by all who knew them that this was their habitual attitude. Other lands, other manners—and morals, perhaps.

As I went away from that interview with the several Mrs.——, I startled my ricksha-man—who thought I was giving him some incomprehensible order—by humming, to the tune of a chant I had learned from an aboriginal tribe in the mountains (for this was after I had been in Formosa for several months), some words written, I think, by Kipling:

“There are nine-and-sixty ways of constructing tribal lays,

And every single one of them is right.”

Then I met a missionary acquaintance. So preoccupied was I with thoughts suggested by the visit I had just paid that I almost passed the missionary without speaking. Turning back, I apologized both for my seeming discourtesy in not speaking, and also for the barbaric chant, to the tune—if tune it could be called—of which I was humming Kipling’s words.

“A visit I have just made suggested the words, I suppose,” I explained, laughing, “or brought them up from some depth of the subconscious; I was rather fond of quoting them once.” Then I told the missionary of the visit from which I was returning.

“Disgusting heathen!” she exclaimed. “Besides, what have ‘different ways of constructing tribal lays’ to do with heathen immorality?” She frowned and looked puzzled. Then added more gently, as if explaining to a child: “‘Lays,’ you know, means poetry, and ‘constructing tribal lays’ just means writing poetry; nothing whatever to do with the heathen and their horrible ways.”

When we parted she adjured me to be more careful about wearing my sun-helmet, assuring me that it was necessary in that climate. “If one does not,” she explained, “something might happen to one—to one’s head, you know,” she added significantly, “and it would be a dreadful thing in a heathen country....”

To go back for a moment to the day of my landing:

As my first glimpse of Formosa from a passing steamer, a few years before, had fascinated me, so did my first glimpse of the island after I had landed. Not the Formosa of Keelung quay with its hordes of starving, skin-and-bone dogs—several of them dragging about on three legs or with paralysed hindquarters—nosing for food among the refuse,[24] or its crowd of screaming, guttural-voiced ricksha-coolies and vegetable-and-fish pedlars; or the arrogant Japanese officials—all in military uniform, with swords strapped at their sides[25]—bullying the Chinese-Formosans. But the Formosa of the country through which I passed in going from Keelung to Taihoku; the Formosa of scenery surpassing that of Japan proper, both in natural beauty and in the picturesqueness of the tiny peasant-villages, each village protected from tornadoes by a clump of marvellously tall bamboos, whose feathery tops of delicate green seemed to cut into the deep blue of the tropical sky; each house protected from evil spirits by cryptic signs—said to be quotations from Confucius—written, or painted, in black on red paper,[26] and pasted above and at both sides of each doorway. Every village was further protected by a temple of brilliant and varied colouring, on the roof of which wonderfully moulded dragons writhed or reared. The inhabitants of these villages were, of course, Chinese-Formosans. Very picturesque were these too, in their bright blue smocks and black trousers; men and women dressed so much alike that at a little distance they were indistinguishable. Only on nearer view was it clear that those who wore tinsel ornaments in their hair and walked as if on stilts were women. When these hobbled still nearer the cause of their queer stilted walk was obvious. Their feet were “bound,” i.e. deformed and distorted, pathetically—and to Western eyes abhorrently—out of shape.

Up to this time I had always supposed that only among the “upper classes” in China were the feet of the women bound; those of the class who could afford to go always in ricksha or sedan-chair. But all the women of the Chinese-Formosans—except those of the despised Hakkas—bind their feet; rather, have them bound in infancy. A woman with unbound feet is regarded as a sort of pariah, and her chances of a “good marriage”—that goal of every Chinese woman—are almost nil.[27]

These peasant and coolie-women hobbled nearer to see the train as it stopped at the little stations between Keelung and Taihoku, especially when it was reported that there was a white woman aboard. Many of them could not walk without the aid of a stick or without resting one hand on the shoulder of a small boy, thus maintaining their balance. “Lily feet” were obviously a handicap in the carrying of such burdens as most of these women had on their backs. In some cases the bundles consisted of babies strapped Indian-papoose fashion to the shoulders of the mothers—a custom common to both Chinese and Japanese women; in other cases, of heavy bundles of food or of faggots. Unattractive as were the figures of the women—the entire leg being undeveloped, as the result of the cramping of the feet from infancy—their faces were generally attractive; sweet, with a wistful, rather pathetic expression. Only the lips and teeth of the older women were often hideously disfigured from the habit of beetle-nut chewing. The women out of doors who were not burden-bearing were kneeling at the side of the streams and canals, used for irrigating the rice-paddies, busily engaged in washing the family linen—very much in public—or pounding it between stones. As these washerwomen—and they seemed legion, for the Chinese devote as much time to the washing of their clothing as the Japanese do to that of their bodies—knelt, I saw the soles of their feet. In the case of some of the poorer and more ill-dressed women, the splashing water had displaced the rags with which their feet were bound, and the “shoes” which were supposed to cover them. The feet themselves—those members which every lily-footed woman most carefully conceals—were exposed. The sight was not a pleasant one.

I turned to watch the men, most of whom were working in the rice-paddies. Some of them were ploughing—with much the same sort of plough as those supposed to have been used by the ancient Egyptians. To these ploughs were harnessed great “water-buffaloes.” Here was picturesqueness unmarred by a suggestion of pain, even of pain proudly borne, as in the case of the women. The greyness of the “water-buffaloes” made a pleasing contrast to the vivid green of the rice-paddies and to the blue smocks and high-peaked, yellow, dried-bamboo-leaf helmets of the men. There are few things more pleasing to the eye than a carefully terraced Chinese rice-paddy in full verdure, with its graceful slopes and intricate curves of shimmering green. If one approaches too near, the olfactory sense is unpleasantly assailed. But on this first day in Formosa I was not too near. I saw only the beauty—beauty of unusual richness and variety; for, as a background to the rice-paddies, and peasant villages and multi-coloured temples, beetled the great mountain crags, all glowing in the brilliance of tropical September sunshine.

So beautiful was the scenery of the island that after I was settled in Taihoku I made frequent excursions through the country, scraping what acquaintance I could—by means of sign language and the few words of Chinese-Formosan dialect that I had learned from my servants—with the peasants, and taking “snapshots” of their houses and temples, and of their children. Attractive as are all Oriental children, these little ones seemed particularly so; perhaps because of the quaintness of Chinese children’s costume, certainly as this is still worn in Formosa.

On one of these excursions into the country I passed through Keelung. My kodak was in my hand, but the idea of taking a picture in Keelung never occurred to me. In the first place, I knew that the taking of photographs of any sort in this port was one of the many things “strongly forbidden” by Japanese officialdom. In the second place, Keelung is a squalid and dirty town, with none of the picturesqueness of the open country or of the tiny peasant-villages. There was no temptation to photograph its ugliness, or the flaunting evidences of its vice—vice of the mean, sordid type of Oriental, sailor-haunted port-towns. I was hurrying through this hideous town as quickly as possible, in order to reach a stretch of open country, which I knew lay beyond, and which commanded a beautiful view of the sea and of fantastically rearing rocky islets, when I felt my arm roughly grasped. Turning around, I beheld a Japanese policeman. Clanking his sword as he spoke, he demanded my name and address; also he peremptorily demanded to know what I meant by coming to take photographs in the great colonial port-town of his Imperial Majesty, and asked if I did not know that this made me guilty of the unspeakably abominable crime of lack of respect for his August Majesty. I explained that I was not taking pictures in Keelung, had not done so, and had no intention of so doing; that there was nothing there worth photographing.

“But the fortifications,” he began; “you may be looking——” Then he stopped, apparently rather abashed.

“What fortifications?” I asked. “I did not know that there were any. Where are they?”

“Oh no, of course,” he answered, with confusion rather curious in a Japanese policeman. “Of course there are not any now. Only there might be some, one day, and——” Suddenly his brow cleared, as if under the inspiration of an idea that would elucidate matters. “Anybody might be a German—a German spy, you know, looking for a site to build some fortifications perhaps.”

Although this was during the Great War, I knew that in Formosa the fear on the part of the Japanese Government of a “German spy” was practically nil. Also the Japanese policeman was sufficiently intelligent to be able to distinguish one to whom English was the mother-tongue (I was speaking with my secretary as I walked) from a German, even though the latter were speaking English.[28] But in those days of war-hysteria when many English-speaking people became excitedly sympathetic at the suggestion of German spies and their machinations——. Yes, it was a clever move on the part of the policeman. But it aroused my curiosity.

Afterwards I made several trips to Keelung, but without my camera. And once, quite by accident, I learned how strongly fortified that port is at the present time, and with what ingenuity the fortifications are concealed. But that forms no part of the present narrative....

The fact that I had taken a “photographic apparatus” to Keelung was recorded against me in the police records of Taihoku, and brought several calls of an inquisitorial nature from the police.

To inquisitorial calls from the police and from other Japanese officials, however, I became accustomed during my residence in Formosa. My object in going there was to devote my leisure time—that not engaged in teaching—to the study of the aboriginal tribes of the island. There were reports—reports confirmed and denied—of a pigmy race among the aborigines. These reports still further stimulated my interest. I knew there were really pigmies—the Aetas—in the Philippines. Were there, or were there not, such people in the mountains of Formosa? I determined to find out.

My teaching duties occupied only four days a week. The other three days of each week, besides all the days of the rather frequent vacations, were supposedly my own, to employ as I felt inclined. It was supposed apparently by both school officials and police officials (the duties of the two seem curiously interlinked in the Japanese Empire) that inclination would lead me to devote this leisure to attending tea-parties at the houses of the missionaries in the city and to distributing pocket Testaments among the young men of the school. My predecessor (who had resigned the school-post in order to take up avowed missionary work) had, it seemed, so devoted her leisure, and to the mind of Japanese officialdom it was incomprehensible that what one seiyō-jin woman had done all others should not, as a matter of course, wish to do. When it was learned that my inclination lay in another direction—that of tramping the island, especially the mountains, and getting into as close touch as possible with the aborigines—I received several calls from horrified officials. The Director of Schools was especially insistent (he said he was requested to be so by the Chief of the Police Department) in wishing to know why I was not satisfied with ricksha-rides about the city. This after I had made him understand that I was not a missionary and that I was not particularly interested in either pink teas or Testament distribution. “Why you want to walk?” he demanded. “Japanese ladies never walk; only coolie-women walk.”

I explained that obviously I was not a Japanese, also that I was not at all certain that I was a lady, and that if the distinction between coolie-woman and lady lay in the fact that the one walked and the other did not, I much preferred being classed in the former category.

He scratched his head rather violently—a Japanese habit when puzzled or annoyed. Suddenly the light of a great idea seemed to dawn upon him. “Ah,” he exclaimed exultantly, the recollection of some missionary speech or sermon evidently being made to serve the occasion, “but they will say you are immoral, and Christian ladies do not like to be thought immoral.”

This struck me as being amusing—for several reasons.

“Yes,” I said, “and who is likely to think me immoral?”

“Oh, everybody,” he answered impressively. “And they will publish it in the papers—all the Japanese papers in the city, and in the island,” he emphasized, “that you are immoral. And, anyhow, you must do in Rome as the Romans do,” he added triumphantly, evidently thinking he had convicted me out of the mouth of one of the sages of my own Western world. Ever afterwards this: “Do in Rome as the Romans do” was a favourite phrase of his when he tried to insist upon my regulating my life in every detail upon the model of that of a Japanese woman.

AUTHOR IN RICKSHA IN THE CITY OF TAIHOKU.

USUAL FORM OF TORO (PUSH-CAR).

(Author has vacated seat by the side of Japanese policeman, in order to take “snapshot.”)

I am afraid I did not conceal my amusement on this occasion as well as I should have done. Japanese officials take themselves, and like to be taken, very seriously. I did not wish the Director to know that I saw through his ruse—and that of certain other of the Japanese officials—a ruse directed towards keeping me from coming into personal contact with the aborigines of the island and with the more intelligent Chinese-Formosans, except when under the immediate surveillance of the Japanese.

The Director said that it would be “all right” if he accompanied me on my excursions into the mountains. Now the Director happened to be a married man; his wife happened to be a Japanese lady who “of course did not walk.” I tried to explain that if he really thought there was danger of a scandal, the companionship of a married man on these excursions, one whose wife was left at home, would not tend to lessen this danger.

“I am afraid I must continue to go my wicked way without the protection of your companionship,” I said; “and if ‘they’—whoever ‘they’ may be—annoy you with questions as to the object of my excursions into the mountains, or if they are inquisitive as to whether I go there for the purpose of a romance, legitimate or otherwise, tell them that I am one of those who like to ‘eat of all the fruit of the trees of the garden of the world——’”

“Huh?” roared the Director. Both hands were at his head now.

“Tell them ‘Yes’ to anything they ask about me,” I said, “if that will set their minds at rest and prevent their annoying you with impertinent questions, as you say they annoy you.”

“I’ll tell them you are immoral, that’s what I’ll tell them; if you don’t just go about where you can ride in rickshas, like other ladies,” wrathily exclaimed the Director, attempting to rise and make a dignified exit. Unfortunately, however, the Director happened to be fat, and happened not to be accustomed to sitting in a chair.[29] Also his sword had become entangled in the wicker-work arm of the chair, so that, when he rose, the chair rose with him. This slightly spoiled the effect of the dignified exit. It may have been due to the fact that it was necessary to extricate him from the chair, that, before leaving, he became sufficiently mollified to concede: “If you want exercise more than other ladies, you may play tennis-ball on the school-grounds.”

CHAPTER III

PERSONAL CONTACT WITH THE ABORIGINES

A New Year Visit to the East Coast Tribes—Received by the Taiyal as a Reincarnation of one of the seventeenth-century Dutch “Fathers.”

In spite of the objections of the Director, and the suspicions of the police and of the hydra-headed ‘they,’ I did not, while in Formosa, confine either my interests or my exercise to ricksha-riding[30] or to “tennis-ball.”

My chief interest lay with the mountain tribes—the aborigines; my chief exercise consisted in what my Japanese friends called “prowling” among these tribes. Sometimes accompanied by another English teacher and a servant, sometimes by my son or secretary, sometimes quite alone, I went up into the mountains; going as far as I could by “trolly” (or toro, as the Japanese call it[31])—a push-car, propelled by Chinese-Formosan coolies, on rails laid by the Japanese—rather, under their instructions—into the mountains, for the purpose of bringing camphor-wood and crude camphor down to the great camphor-refining factory in Taihoku. From the terminus of the toro line I “prowled.”

For permission to go into the mountains—and permission for almost every movement on the part of a “foreigner” is necessary in the Japanese Empire, in Formosa even more than in Japan proper—I am indebted to Mr. Hosui and to Mr. Marui, the two most courteous Japanese officials whom I met in Formosa. I wish here to express my gratitude to both.[32]

The tribe that I first studied, and of which I saw perhaps more than of any other during my residence in Formosa, was the great Taiyal tribe of the north—reputed to be the most bloodthirsty on the island, and whose territory now covers almost as much as that of all the other tribes together.[33] From Taiyal territory I sometimes “prowled” over into that of the Saisett and Bunun tribes. This was perhaps not strictly according to official permission; I was told that it was “too dangerous.” But the spice of danger—perhaps also the “forbidden-fruit” element—made these walks the more interesting; and I still have my head on my shoulders.

TWO MEN OF THE TAIYAL TRIBE BRIBED BY GIFTS OF HAT AND CIGARETTES TO HAVE THEIR PICTURE TAKEN.

AUTHOR IN TORO (PUSH-CAR), GOING UP INTO TAIYAL TERRITORY.

The southern tribes I approached by water from the east coast; my first visit to them being during the first Christmas—rather, New Year[34]—vacation that I spent on the island. Of this visit I retain a somewhat vivid recollection, for two reasons. One because of the great cliffs of the east coast, a glimpse of which I caught in passing; the other because of the novel mode of debarkation, necessitated by stormy weather, at Pinan,[35] a port in Ami territory, just north of that occupied by the Paiwan and Piyuma tribes.

I embarked at Keelung, on one of the small coasting steamers, sailing around the east coast to Takao,[36] the southernmost port of the island. It was just south of Giran[37] that we passed the great cliffs, said to be the highest in the world. For about twenty-five miles these giant cliffs rise perpendicularly from the sea to a height of about 6,000 feet. This towering wall of granite—for such the rock seemed to be—is one of the most imposing sights that in my wanderings about the world I have seen.

The weather was grey and drizzling when we left Keelung, but it was just after we had left Karenko,[38] the first port south of the great cliffs—the second day out—that the storm broke. Those who have weathered a storm in a small boat know what this means. In all the guide-books, and other books dealing with Formosa, that I have seen, it is said that the sea-route, up and down the coast of the island, “can be safely followed only during six months of the year,” i.e. the spring and summer months. “Safely” is probably, like other words, a matter of individual definition. Personally I should be inclined to substitute the word “comfortably” for “safely,” judging from my own experience, both on this trip and on a subsequent one. That is, as far as the actual voyage is concerned, if one be content to remain on board the steamer from Keelung to Takao, where there is a good harbour. With the exception of one or two who disembarked at Karenko, the other passengers—all Japanese, naturally—seemed glad enough to do this. I, however, had not come on this trip for the sake of the sea-voyage, or with the object of reaching Takao—now a Japanese town, the southern terminus of the railway which starts from Keelung in the north—and which I could much more easily have reached by rail had I wished to visit it. Takao, like all the other large towns of the island, is on the western side of the great mountain range,[39] contains no aborigines, and, especially to one who has lived for some years in Japan, is of no especial interest.

The purpose of my trip was to study the aborigines of the east coast and those who lived in the narrow south-eastern peninsula of the island. It had not been possible for me to obtain police permission to cross—or to attempt to cross—the great mountain range; therefore I knew that my only hope of studying the eastern and south-eastern aboriginal tribes lay in landing at Pinan. The captain tried to dissuade me. He said that no man among his passengers would think of landing; much less should a woman attempt it. Would I not wait until another trip when the weather was calmer, or when I had a companion—one of my own race (on this occasion I happened to be quite alone and the only “foreigner” on board). He really did not like to take the responsibility.... But I assured him that he would be absolved of all responsibility “if anything happened” to me—a euphemism that he several times used, in his rather good, Scotch-accented English (he had been about the world among seafaring men). Also that my Government would not hold his Government responsible if “anything happened.” My blood would be on my own head.

The captain at last rather lost patience. He told me of some sensible missionaries—he stressed the adjective (he seemed to think I was a senseless one; apparently he could not conceive of any white woman wanting to go among “heathen” except for the purpose of “converting” them)—who in similar stormy weather had sailed around the island three times before they had dared to attempt a landing at a Chinese-Formosan village on the coast. I explained that the length of my vacation would not make such a proceeding possible in my case, and that rather than go on to Takao, I preferred to go ashore—or to attempt to do so—in one of the canoes in which some men of the Ami tribe had put out from shore, and in which they were evidently endeavouring to reach the ship. I was told it was their custom to do this, whenever a Japanese ship approached, in order to barter commodities.

The captain said rather grimly that would be my “only chance on this trip,” as, with the exception of a few articles which he would give the savages, if they succeeded in reaching the ship when it came to anchor, he would not attempt to discharge the cargo he had for Pinan, but would defer that until the return voyage from Takao....

The Ami canoes succeeded in reaching the ship, and I succeeded in persuading the captain to have a ladder lowered for me to descend. This, however, only after further argument, for the captain declared he had believed I was only “bluffing” (where he had learned this delightfully expressive word I do not know), when I had said that I was willing to trust myself to the Ami and to one of their canoes. He said, however, that these coast Ami were sek-huan—“half-tame,” he explained, when interpreting the expression—and that as far as my life was concerned, this would probably not be in danger, if I succeeded in reaching the shore; that is, so long as I did not venture into the interior. On this point I would make no promise, and the captain did not press the matter. He was probably glad to be rid of a passenger whom he evidently regarded as a missionary of less than average missionary intelligence. To do him justice, however, when the canoes were tossing on the waves at the side of the ship, he called down to one of the savages, who was evidently the chief, or leader, of those who had ventured out, a few words in mixed Japanese and Ami dialect. This he assured me was an order to look well after my life and comfort. The fact that I understood enough Japanese to know that the captain referred to me as the “mad one,” did not detract from my appreciation of his order.

I clung to the ladder until the crest of a wave brought the little canoe sufficiently high for me to drop into the arms of the chief, who deposited me, also the small bag I had with me—which one of the crew of the steamer had thrown down to him—in the bottom of the boat. Then shouting an order to the men in the several other canoes, the chief and the one other man in the same canoe with him—and me—began to paddle for shore. The order that the chief shouted was evidently to the effect that the men in the other boats were to wait and get certain things from the steamer, for on looking back, when the canoe in which I was rose on the crest of a wave, I could see bundles being lowered from the ship’s side into the canoes. What these contained I do not know, and soon it became impossible to watch, for the waves rose higher; the salt water was in my eyes, and was pouring constantly over my head and face. I was drenched to the skin, in spite of the supposedly waterproof coat that I wore. The chief’s assistant had given up paddling and was vigorously bailing the boat with a large gourd, or calabash. The chief alone paddled.

I had been in the boats of other Pacific islanders; these had been much more skilfully managed. I soon realized that in seamanship the Formosan aborigines could not compare with the Hawaians, the Filipinos, or with most of the peoples of the South Seas; perhaps for one reason, because their canoes carry no outrigger. Or is this effect, rather than cause? Is it because of their lack of seamanship at the present time that they venture into the waves in outriggerless canoes?

At any rate, whatever they lack in skill in the navigation of sea-craft, the Ami at least are not lacking in personal bravery, or in a sense of responsibility. When the canoe was swamped by the waves—as, soon after leaving the ship, I realized must inevitably be the case—the chief motioned me to get on his back, and when I had done so, began to swim for shore. He did this quite coolly, almost as if it were a matter of course, although he had never before seen a white woman; apparently regarding the whole affair from the Oriental, “it is ordered,” point of view. The other man in the boat seemed for a moment to be more at a loss, but at an order from the chief he dropped the now useless paddle, which for some reason (or none) he still held, and rescued my little travelling-bag, first taking the handle between his teeth, then, in spite of the waves, managing in a rather dexterous fashion—by means of the strip of homespun hemp-cloth which he had been wearing as a loin-cloth—to lash it to his shoulders, swimming with legs and one arm as he did so.

Thus from the water—literally—I reached the territory of the east coast tribes and southern tribes of the island. What I learned of their manners and customs I shall write in its proper place.[40] But I want here to record my appreciation of the courage and also the cool, matter-of-course calmness of the Ami chief, whose presence of mind undoubtedly saved my life on this occasion, as my own awkward attempts at swimming would never have carried me through those waves. So rough were they that it was with difficulty I was able even to cling to the back of the chief. Had the water been colder I should probably not have been able to do so. But at that latitude—a little south of the Tropic of Cancer—sea-water, even in January, is never numbingly cold.

Rather different was my experience on the occasion of another winter vacation during my stay in Formosa. That vacation I spent in the mountains, as I wished to visit certain sub-tribes of the Taiyal that I had not seen. Because of the altitude, it was—certainly by contrast with the plain below—bitterly cold. There had been flurries of snow during the day. I had with me, as guide and luggage-bearer, a Chinese-Formosan coolie, an elderly man, who was supposed to be well acquainted with the mountain trails—to have tramped them since his youth, when as a charcoal-burner he had ventured into the mountains for fuel. Thus had he recommended himself to me. However, perhaps because of the snowy greyness of the day, he managed to lose his way. I had—fortunately—a pocket compass with me. In such Chinese-Formosan dialect as I had acquired—inadequate enough—I attempted to explain the meaning of the pointing needle. My guide declared he understood, and said that in order to regain the trail we must go in a certain direction. Going in this way, it was necessary to cross a stream, which usually was little more than a shallow brook. Because of the winter rains,[41] however, this had become so swollen that it was almost a torrent, and when we reached it we found, instead of a shallow stream that could easily have been waded, or crossed over on stepping-stones, a great body of water, dashing over fallen trees, and swirling around boulders which normally lay far beyond its banks.

My guide, accustomed, as are all Chinese coolies—both in Formosa and on the mainland—to carrying burdens on his back, volunteered thus to carry me, declaring he could easily do so. I acquiesced; and thus “pick-a-back” fashion we started. The guide was a tall man, and, though the water came well up on his thighs, he felt his way carefully with a stout staff that he carried, and all seemed going well, in spite of the fact that it was growing dark, when, without warning, the man gave a startled, guttural cry—in the unexpected fashion of the usually phlegmatic Chinese when really frightened—shook me from his shoulders, and, stooping until his whole body was submerged in the water, shuffled rapidly to a boulder behind which he crouched. Dropped thus suddenly almost to my waist into very cold water, which was running with a swift current, I was nearly swept off my feet. I managed, however, to make my way to a boulder, near the one behind which my guide was cowering. As I drew myself up out of the water on to the boulder, I angrily demanded of him the reason of his extraordinary behaviour.

“Light of Heaven,” the man replied, in a low voice, between chattering teeth, “be not angry. It is a seban—a head-cutter—there.” With a motion of his head he indicated a figure that I had not seen, standing at the edge of the water.

“I was wary,” my guide continued, “I heard a movement in the bushes. I looked up—I saw. Now our heads must surely go. As it was with our fathers——” The man continued to murmur, growing more incoherent in his terror, and evidently more than half benumbed with the cold, as I found myself also becoming.

I decided that possible decapitation was preferable to freezing—especially as the agreeable stage of pleasant dreams, which is said to accompany actual death from cold, had not been reached; only that of extreme discomfort. The small weapon that I usually carried with me on these mountain trips was in my hand-bag, which, with my other impedimenta, was on the bank that we had left. My guide had promised to return for these things after carrying me across the water. However, there are times when it is better to flee from evils that one knows.... I hailed the seban, and, although he spoke a variety of Taiyal dialect a little different from that of which I knew a few words, he evidently understood the situation. Indeed, under the circumstances, words were scarcely necessary for such understanding. The man’s grin of comprehension pleased me. It was so human—so Aryanly human—that it was refreshing after the mask-like stolidity of both Chinese and Japanese to which for some time I had been accustomed; for these two peoples, however differing in other respects, are on this point at one. They equally regard it as a mark of the lowest breeding to allow any expression of emotion—of genuine feeling, of whatever kind—to be reflected in their features. Even the coolies, imitating their masters, have, as far as possible, adopted the code of the latter on this point. All wear a mask that is seldom, or never, dropped. The seban, however, are not trained in Confucian ethics; hence the play of joy and sorrow, of amusement and of other emotions, on their more mobile features.

The expression of that particular seban, at the moment, was one of mixed amusement and sympathy. I am afraid that he rather enjoyed the plight of the cowering Chinaman. For generations the Chinese-Formosans and the aborigines of the island have been hereditary foes. However, I made him understand that my guide—or the one who was supposed to act in that capacity—was not to be molested. The seban nodded in comprehension. Then by signs he made me understand that he would—if I so chose—carry me in safety to his side of the water, which he had seen I was trying to reach. My clothing was drenched, I was chilled to the bone, my fingers I found too numb to move. I realized that my hold on the boulder could not last much longer. The Chinese I knew could not be depended upon in the proximity of the seban. Indeed, the poor wretch (the Chinese) I feared could scarcely manage to get himself out of the water, so completely had he been unnerved by the unexpected appearance of the seban—one belonging, it seemed, to a sub-tribe which he had especial reason to fear. For me it was a choice between trusting myself unaided to the torrent—and, in my benumbed condition, I knew I should soon be swept off my feet—and accepting the offer of the friendly seban. Naturally I chose the latter alternative.

When I signalled the seban my acceptance of his offer, he again grinned, took his knife from his loin-cloth and, holding it out of reach of the water, stepped into the stream, which swirled about his loins. I was glad enough to slip from my precarious hold on the boulder to the shoulders of the seban, who, true to his word—as in my dealings with the aborigines I found them always to be with those who have not betrayed them—carried me safely to the shore. Then still holding me on his shoulders, for I was too benumbed with cold and fatigue to walk, he strode on to a fire a little distance away, around which a number of his people were gathered. I learned later that these were members of a village community higher up in the mountains, whose bamboo huts had been destroyed by recent torrential rains. The homeless people were camping temporarily near the foot of a great tree, in the branches of which the spirits of their ancestors were supposed to dwell; also the spirits of the Great White Fathers of Long Ago—obviously the seventeenth-century Dutch—to whom the priestesses of the demolished village had been offering constant prayers. My appearance among them was hailed as an answer to their prayers, which accounted for the fact, as I also later learned, that when I was carried into camp—a very benumbed and bedraggled goddess—both men and women fell on their faces, and some of the children fled shrieking in terror.

I have since wondered whether perhaps these two chance occurrences—one a storm at sea, the other a torrential rainfall in the mountains, which by accident brought me among two divisions of the aborigines, one those of the east coast, the other those of the northern mountains, in the fashion that I have described—had not something to do with the very friendly relations which existed between these “Naturvölker” and me. Certainly the rôle of the sea-born (or river-born) goddess was not one that I was anxious to play, or that I had in mind, on either occasion. But a few chance words of some of the people—after I had learned a little of their language—led me to believe that the fact that I had “come to them out of the water” contributed to the esteem in which I was held; made certain in their minds the conviction that I was the spirit of one of the beloved white rulers of old, returned from the elements. (Why a spirit should choose this particularly uncomfortable method of approach—or of return—was not quite clear.) That I had come among a matripotestal people probably accounted for the fact that none of the aborigines seemed to think it strange that the spirit of one of the Great White Fathers should choose to reappear in the body of a woman. That such a spirit had returned seemed to be the general supposition among the northern tribes. Among those of the south there were some who held, apparently, that a Goddess of the Sea (or “from out of the sea”) had come to them—one to whom semi-annual offerings were customarily made.

When I realized the reason for the regard in which I was held by these people a sense of the ludicrous overcame me. School-day struggles with Virgil—buried in some region of the subconscious—were recalled; these even more strongly when one day I overheard a discussion among some of the tribespeople regarding my walk. I neither hobbled as did the Chinese-Formosan women, nor did I walk with the toed-in, short steps of the Japanese women (a few of the coast aborigines had seen Japanese women).

“Feet strangely covered, stone-defying. With no burden on her back, freely, with long steps, she walks, as must the females of the gods from whom we spring.”

“Et vera incessu patuit dea,” etc. Curiously similar the idea, though the words in which this time it was voiced were those of this strange Malay dialect.... The childhood of the world! Still in odd comers it exists, and can, with seeking, be found.