|
When they returned from
their trip, Mackay and A Hoa with the assistance of some of their
Christian friends set about looking for a new house in a more
wholesome district. It was much easier for the missionary to rent
a place now, and he managed to secure a comfortable home upon
the bluff above the town. It was a dryer situation and much more
healthful. Here one room was used as a study and every morning
when not away on a tour a party of young men gathered in
it for lessons. Sometimes, what with traveling, preaching,
training his students, visiting the sick, and pulling teeth,
Mackay had scarcely time to eat, and very little to sleep. But
always as he came and went on his travels, his eyes would wander
to the mountains where the savages lived, and with all his heart
he would wish that he might visit them also.
His Chinese friends held
up their hands in dismay when he
broached the subject. To the mountains where the Chhi-hoan lived!
Did Kai Bok-su not know that every man of them was a practised
head-hunter, and that behind every rock and tree and in the
darkness of the forests they lay in wait for any one who went
beyond the settled districts? Yes, Kai Bok-su knew all that, but
he could not quite explain that it was just that which made the
thought of a visit to them seem so alluring, just that which made
him so anxious to tell them of Jesus Christ, who wished all men
to live as brothers. A Hoa and a few others who had caught the
spirit of the true soldier of the cross understood. For they had
learned that one who follows Jesus must be ready to dare
anything, death included, to carry The news of his salvation to
the dark corners of the world.
But the days were so
filled with preaching, teaching, and
touring, that for some time Mackay had no opportunity for a trip
into the head-hunters' territory. And then one day, quite
unexpectedly, his chance came. There sailed into Tamsui harbor,
one hot afternoon, a British man-of-war, named The Dwarf. Captain
Bax from this vessel visited Tamsui, and expressed a desire to
see something of the life of the savages in the: mountains. This
was Mackay's opportunity, and in spite of protests from his
friends he offered to accompany the captain. So together they
started off, the sailor-soldier of England and the soldier of the
cross, each with the same place in view but each with a very
different object.
It took three days
journey from Tamsui across rice-fields and up
hillsides to reach even the foot of the mountains. Here there
lived a village of natives, closely related to the savages. But
they were not given to head-hunting and were quite friendly with
the people about them. Mackay had met some of these people on a
former trip inland, and now he and Captain Bax hired their chief
and a party of his men to guide them up into savage territory.
The travelers slept that
night in the village, and before dawn
were up and ready to start on their dangerous undertaking. Before
them in the gray dawn rose hill upon hill, each loftier than the
last, till they melted into the mountains, the territory of the
dreaded head-hunters. They started off on a steady tramp, up
hills, down valleys, and across streams, until at last they came
to the foot of the first mountain.
Before them rose its
sheer side, towering thirty-five hundred
feet above their heads. It was literally covered with rank growth
of all kinds, through which it was impossible to move. So a plan
of march had to be decided upon. In front went a line of men with
long sharp knives. With these they cut away the creepers and
tangled scrub or undergrowth. Next came the coolies with the
baggage, and last the two travelers. It was slow work, and
sometimes the climb was so steep they held their breath, as they
crept over a sheer ledge and saw the depth below to which they
might easily be hurled. The chief of the guides himself collapsed
in one terrible climb, and his men tied rattan ropes about him
and hauled him up over the steepest places.
During this wearisome
ascent the most untiring one was the
missionary; and the sailor often looked at him in amazement. His
lithe, wiry frame never seemed to grow weary. He was often in the
advance line, cutting his way through the tangle, and here on
that first afternoon he met with an unpleasant adventure.
The natives had warned
the two strangers to be on the lookout for
poisonous snakes, and Mackay's year in Formosa had taught him to
be wary. But he had forgotten all danger in the toilsome climb.
He was soon reminded of it. They were passing up a slope covered
with long dense grass when a rustling at his side made the young
missionary pause. The next moment a huge cobra sprang out from a
clump of grass and struck at him. Mackay sprang aside just in
time to escape its deadly fangs. The guides rushed up with their
spears only to see its horrible scaly length disappear in the
long grass.
That was not the only
escape of the young adventurer, for there
were wild animals as well as poisonous snakes along the line of
march, and the man in the front was always in danger. But at the
front Mackay must be in spite of all warning. Nobody moved fast
enough for him.
At last they reached the
summit of the range. They were now on
the dividing line between Chinese ground and savage territory,
and the men who dared go a step farther went at terrible risk.
The head-hunters would very likely see that they did not return.
But Mackay was all for
pushing forward, and Captain Bax was no
less eager. So they spent a night in the forest and the next day
marched on up another and higher range. As they journeyed, the
travelers could not but burst into exclamations of delight at the
loveliness about them. Behind those great trees and in those
tangles of vines might lurk the head-hunters, but for all that
the beauty of the place made them forget the dangers. The great
banyan trees whose branches came down and took root in the earth,
making a wonderful round leafy tent, grew on every side. Camphor
trees towered far above them and then spread out great branches
sixty or seventy feet from the ground. Then there was the rattan
creeping out over the tops of the other trees and making a thick
canopy through which the hot tropical sun-rays could not
penetrate.
And the flowers!
Sometimes Mackay and Bax would stand amazed at
their beauty. They came one afternoon to an open glade in the
cool green dimness of the forest. On all sides the stately
tree-ferns rose up thirty or forty feet above them, and
underneath grew a tangle of lovely green undergrowth.
And upon this green
carpet it seemed to their dazzled eyes that
thousands of butterflies of the loveliest form and color had just
alighted. And not only butterflies, but birds and huge insects
and all sorts of winged creatures, pink and gold and green and
scarlet and blue, and all variegated hues. But the lovely things
sat motionless, sending out such a delightful perfume that there
could be no doubt that they were flowers,--the wonderful orchids
of Formosa! Mackay was a keen scientist, always highly interested
in botany, and he was charmed with this sight. There were many
such in the forest, and often he would stop spellbound before a
blaze of flowers hanging from tree or vine or shrub. Then he
would look up at the tangled growths of the bamboo, the palm, and
the elegant tree-fern, standing there all silent and beautiful,
and he would be struck by the harmony between God's work and
Word. "I can't keep from studying the flora of Formosa," he said
to Captain Bax. "What missionary would not be a better man, the
bearer of a richer gospel, what convert would not be a more
enduring Christian from becoming acquainted with such wonderful
works of the Creator?"
At last they stood on the
summit of the second range and saw
before them still more mountains, clothed from summit to base
with trees. They were now right in savage territory and their
guide clambered out upon a spur of rock and announced that there
was a party of head-hunters in the valley below. He gave a long
halloo. From away down in the valley came an answering call,
ringing through the forest. Then far down through the thicket
Mackay's sharp eyes descried the party coming up to meet them.
Just then their own guide gave the signal to move on, and the
missionary and Captain Bax walked down the hill--the first white
men who had ever come out to meet those savages.
Half-way down the slope
the two parties came face to face. The
head-hunters were a wild, uncouth-looking company, armed to the
teeth. They all carried guns, spears, and knives and some had
also bows and arrows slung over their backs. Their faces were
hideously tattooed in a regular pattern, while they wore no more
clothes than were necessary. A sort of sack of coarse linen with
holes in the sides for their arms, served as the chief garment,
and generally the only one. Every one wore a broad belt of woven
rattan in which was stuck his crooked pointed knife. Some of the
younger men had their coats ornamented with bright red and blue
threads woven into the texture. They had brass rings on their
arms and legs too, and even sported big earrings. These were ugly
looking things made of bamboo sticks. The head-hunters were all
barefooted, but most of them wore caps--queer looking things, made
of rattan. From many of them hung bits of skin of the boar or
other wild animals they had killed. They stood staring
suspiciously at the two strangers. Never before had they seen a
white man, and the appearance of the naval officer and the
missionary, so different from themselves, and yet so different
from their hated enemies, the Chinese, filled them with amazement
and a good deal of suspicion. After a little talk with the
guides, however, the visitors were allowed to pass on. As soon as
they began to move, the savages fell into line behind them and
followed closely. The two white men, walking calmly onward, could
not help thinking how easy it would be for one of those
fierce-looking tattooed braves to win applause by springing upon
both of them and carrying their heads in triumph to the next
village.
As they came down farther
into the valley, they passed the place
where the savages had their camp. Here naked children and
tattooed women crept out of the dense woods to stare at the
queer-looking Chinamen who had white faces and wore no cue.
The march through this
valley, even without the head-hunters at
their heels, would not have been easy. The visitors clambered
over huge trunks blown across the path, and tore their clothes
and hands scrambling through the thorny bushes. The sun was still
shining on the mountain-peaks far above them, but away down here
in the valley it was rapidly growing dark and very cold. They had
almost decided to stop and wait for morning when a light ahead
encouraged them to go on. They soon came upon a big camp-fire and
round it were squatted several hundred savages. The firelight
gleaming upon the dark, fierce faces of the head-hunters and on
their spears and knives, made a startling picture.
They were round the
visitors immediately, staring at the two
white men in amazement. The party of savages who had escorted
them seemed to be making some explanation of their appearance,
for they all subsided at last and once more sat round their fire.
The newcomers started a
fire of their own, and their servants
cooked their food. The white men were in momentary danger of
their lives. But they sat on the ground before the fire and
quietly ate their supper while hundreds of savage eyes were fixed
upon them in suspicious, watchful silence.
The meal over the
servants prepared a place for the travelers to
sleep, and while they were so doing, the young missionary was not
idle. He longed to speak to these poor, darkened heathen, but
they could not understand Chinese. However, he found several poor
fellows lying prostrate on the ground, overcome with malaria, and
he got his guide to ask if he might not give the sick ones
medicine. Being allowed to do so, he gave each one a dose of
quinine. The poor creatures tried to look their gratitude when
the terrible chills left them, and soon they were able to sink
into sleep.
Before he retired to his
own bed of boughs, the young missionary
sang that grand old anthem which these lonely woods and their
savage inhabitants had never yet. heard:
All people that on earth
do dwell,
Sing to the Lord with
cheerful voice.
But these poor people
could not "sing to the Lord," for they had
never yet so much as heard his name.
All night the missionary
lay on the ground, finding the chill
mountain air too cold for sleep, and whenever he looked out from
his shelter of boughs he saw hundreds of savage eyes, gleaming in
the firelight, still wide open and fixed upon him.
Day broke late in the
valley, but the travelers were astir in the
morning twilight. The mountain-tops were touched with rosy light
even while it was dark down in these forest depths.
The chilled white men
were glad to get up and exercise their
stiffened limbs. There were several of their party who could
speak both Chinese and the dialect of these mountaineers, and
through them Mackay persuaded the chief of the tribe to take them
to visit his village.
He seemed reluctant at
first and there was much discussion with
his braves. Evidently they were more anxious to go on a head-hunt
than to act the part of hosts. However, after a great deal of
chatter, they consented, and the chief and his son with thirty
men separated themselves from the rest of the band and led the
way out of the valley up the mountainside. The travelers had to
stop often, for, besides the natural difficulties of the way, the
chief proved a new obstacle. Every mile or so he would apparently
repent of his hospitality. He would stop, gather his tattooed
braves about him and confer with them, while his would-be
visitors sat on the ground or a fallen tree-trunk to await his
pleasure. Finally he would start off again, the travelers
following, but no sooner were they under way than again their
uncertain guide would stop. Once he and his men stood motionless,
listening. Away up in the boughs of a camphor tree a little
tailor-bird was twittering. The savages listened as though to the
voice of an oracle.
"What are they doing?"
Mackay asked of one of his men, when the
head-hunters stopped a second time and stared earnestly at the
boughs above.
"Bird-listening,"
explained the guide. A few more questions drew
from him the fact that the savages believed the little birds
would tell them whether or not they should bring these strangers
home. They always consulted the birds when starting out on a
head-hunt, he further explained. If the birds gave a certain kind
of chirp and flew in a certain direction, then all was well, and
the hunters would go happily forward. But if the birds acted in
the opposite way, nothing in the world could persuade the chief
to go on. Evidently the birds gave their permission to bring the
travelers home, for in spite of many halts, the savages still
moved forward.
They had been struggling
for some miles through underbrush and
prickly rattan and the white men's clothes were torn and their
hands scratched. Now, however, they came upon a well-beaten path,
winding up the mountainside, and it proved a great relief to the
weary travelers. But here occurred another delay. The savages all
stopped, and the chief approached Mackay and spoke to him through
the interpreter. Would the white man join him in a head-hunting
expedition, was his modest request. There were some Chinese not
so far below them, cutting out rattan, and he was sure they could
secure one or more heads. He shook the big net head-bag that hung
over his shoulder and grinned savagely as he made his proposal.
If the white men and their party would come at the enemy from one
side, he and his men would attack them from the other, he said,
and they would be sure to get them all. The incongruity of a
Christian missionary being invited on a head-hunt struck Captain
Bax as rather funny in spite of its gruesomeness. This was a
delicate situation to handle, but Mackay put a bold front on it.
He answered indignantly that he and his friend had come in peace
to visit the chief, and that he was neither kind nor honorable in
trying to get his visitors to fight his battles.
The interpreter
translated and for a moment several pairs of
savage eyes gleamed angrily at the bold white man. But second
thoughts proved calmer. After another council the savages moved
on.
They were now at the top
of a range, and every one was ordered to
halt and remain silent. Mackay thought that advice was again to
be asked of some troublesome little birds, but instead the
savages raised a peculiar long-drawn shout. It was answered at
once from the opposite mountain-top, and immediately the whole
party moved on down the slope.
Here was the same lovely
tangle of vines and ferns and beautiful
flowers. Monkeys sported in the trees and chattered and scolded
the intruders. Down one range and up another they scrambled and
at last they came upon the village of the head-hunters.
It lay in a valley in an
open space where the forest trees had
been cleared away. It consisted of some half-dozen houses or huts
made of bamboo or wickerwork, and the place seemed literally
swarming with women and children and noisy yelping dogs. But even
these could not account for the terrible din that seemed to fill
the valley. Such unearthly yells and screeches the white men had
never heard before.
"What is it?" asked
Captain Bax. "Has the whole village gone
mad?"
Mackay turned to one of
his guides, and the man explained that
the noise came from a village a little farther down the valley. A
young hunter had returned with a Chinaman's head, and his friends
were rejoicing over it. The merrymaking sounded to the visitors
more like the howling of a pack of fiends, for it bore no
resemblance to any human sounds they had ever heard.
Fortunately they were
invited to stop at the nearer village and
were not compelled to take part in the horrible celebration. They
were taken at once to the chief's house. It was the best in the
village, and boasted of a floor, made of rattan ropes half an
inch thick. All along the outside wall, under the eaves, hung a
row of gruesome ornaments, heads of the boar and deer and other
wild animals killed in the chase, and here and there mingled with
them the skulls of Chinamen. The house held one large room, and,
as it was a cold evening, a fire burned at either end of it. At
one end the men stood chatting, at the other the women squatted.
The visitors were invited to sit by the men 's fire. There were
several beds along the wall, two of which were offered to the
strangers. But they were not prepared to remain for the night,
and had decided to start back before the shadows fell.
The whole village came to
the chief's house and crowded round the
newcomers, men first, women and children on the outskirts, and
dogs still farther back. Several men came forward and claimed
Mackay as a friend. They touched their own breasts and then his,
in salutation, grinning in a most friendly manner. The young
missionary was at first puzzled, then smiled delightedly. They
were some of the poor fellows to whom he had given quinine the
evening before in the valley.
This greeting seemed to
encourage the others. They became more
friendly and suddenly one man who had been circling round the
visitors touched the back of Mackay's head and exclaimed, "They
do not wear the cue! They are our kinsmen." From that moment they
were treated with far greater kindness, and on several other
visits that Mackay made to the head-hunters, they always spoke
with interest of him as kinsman.
But all danger was not
over. The savages were still suspicious,
and at any moment the newcomers might excite them. So they
decided to start back at once, while every one was in a friendly
mood. They made presents to the chief and some of his leading
men; and left with expressions of good-will on both sides.
By evening they had
reached the valley where they had first met
the savages and here they prepared to spend the night. They had
no sooner kindled their fires than from the darkness on every
side shadowy forms silently emerged,--the savages come to visit
them! They glided out of the black forest into the ring of
firelight and squatted upon the ground until fully five hundred
dusky faces looked out at the travelers from the gloom. It was
rather an unpleasant situation, there in the depths of the
forest, but Mackay turned it to good account. First he and
Captain Bax made presents to the headmen and they were as pleased
as children to receive the gay ornaments and bright cloth the
travelers gave them. And then Mackay called their interpreter to
his side and they stood up together, facing the crowd. Speaking
through his interpreter, the missionary said he wished to tell
them a story. These mountain savages were veritable children in
their love for a story, as they were in so many other ways, and
their eyes gleamed with delight.
It was a wonderful story
he told them, the like of which they had
never heard before. It was about the great God, who had made the
earth and the people on it, and was the Father of them all. He
told how God loved everybody, because they were his children.
Chinese, white men beyond the sea like himself and Captain Bax,
the people of the mountains,--all were God's children. And so all
men were brothers, and should love God their Father and each
other. And because God loved his children so, he sent his Son,
Jesus Christ, to live among men and to die for them. He told the
story simply and beautifully, just as he would to little
children, and these children of the forest listened and their
savage eyes grew less fierce as they heard for the first time of
the story of the Savior.
The next day, after a
toilsome journey, the travelers reached the
plain below. They had made their dangerous trip and had escaped
the head-hunters, but as fierce an enemy was lying in wait for
both, an enemy that in Formosa devours native and foreigner
alike. Captain Bax was the first to be attacked. All day, as they
descended the mountain, the rain came down in torrents, a real
Formosan rain that is like the floodgates opening. The travelers
were drenched and chilly, and just as they emerged from the
forest Captain Bax succumbed to the enemy. Malaria had smitten
him.
Shaking with chills and
then burning with fever, he was placed in
a sedan-chair and carried the remainder of the way, three days'
journey, to the coast, where the medical attendants on board his
ship cured him. Mackay was feeling desperately ill all the way
across the plain, but with his usual determination he refused to
give in until he almost staggered across the threshold of his
home.
The house had been closed
in his absence. It was now damp and
chilly and everything was covered with mold. He lay down in his
bed, alternately shivering with cold and burning with fever. In
the next room A Hoa, who had gone to bed also, heard his teeth
chattering and came to him at once. It was a terrible thing to
the young fellow to see his dauntless Kai Bok-su overcome by any
kind of force. It seemed impossible that he who had cured so many
should become a victim himself. A Hoa proved a kind nurse. He
stayed by the bedside all night, doing everything in his power to
allay the fever. His efforts proved successful, and in a few days
the patient was well. But never again was he quite free from the
dreaded disease, and all the rest of his life he was subject to
the most violent attacks of malaria, a terrible memento by which
he was always to remember his first visit to the head hunters. |
