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.