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,[37] 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[38] 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[39] 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 (Chinese characters) 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[40] 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[41] 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[42] 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.

[43]

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[44] took back with him herbs and plants of high medicinal value. It is said that the Chinese still use in their pharmacop?ia 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.[45] 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]

[46]

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[47] 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 dep?t 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 dep?t “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[48] (hairy barbarian) mad. They naturally were not familiar with the European classics. The Dutch captain apparently was, since he repeated the famous man?uvre—said to have been responsible for the founding of Carthage[19]—of cutting the ox-hide into very thin strips. With the raw hide[49] rope thus made he succeeded in encircling a piece of ground amply large for the building of a goods dep?t.

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.

[50]

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 Care?o 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[51] 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 Care?o 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[52] 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 [53]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[54] 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[55] 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 na?veté 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.[56] 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[57] 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[58] 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[59] 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[60] 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.

[61]

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[62] 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[63] 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[64] 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[65] 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[66] 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 [67]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[68] 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.”