Among the Head-Hunters of Formosa

by Janet B. Montgomery McGovern

It is before these treasures that the priestesses dance, and also before them that at the semi-annual festivals they place offerings of millet and millet wine, also sometimes of fruit and other food, chanting as they do so. This chanting is supposed to invoke the spirits of the moon-ancestors, who come down during the ceremony and bestow blessings upon the tribe. In other groups within the Tsarisen tribe, where there are no sacred jars or stones, the priestesses arrange the food-offerings in little piles close together, forming a circle: this to simulate the full moon. To step within the charmed circle would be sacrilege unspeakable; an offence so serious that only the death of the offender, the tribes-people say, would remove from the tribe the blight that otherwise would fall upon it. It is not on record that any member of the tribe has ever had the temerity to attempt this; and no member of any other tribe is allowed to come near the sacred spot.

North of the Tsarisen are the Tsuou and Bunun tribes; the former a very small tribe, numbering now less than two thousand, the latter numbering about fifteen thousand, roughly speaking.

The religious belief—or rather religious ceremonial, for with primitive people ritual apparently counts for more than dogma—of the Tsuou is closely bound up with what is sometimes called “tree-worship.” That is, within, or very near, each village there is a certain tree which is regarded as holy; and once a year—at harvest-time—millet wine is sprinkled near the roots of the tree, and singing, dancing, and feasting carried on under its branches. I do not consider, however, that this constitutes true tree-worship, nor do I think that the Tsuou have a “tree-cult.” Rather, their ceremonial is connected with ancestor-worship, for they seem to think that the spirits of their ancestors dwell in the sacred trees, and it is to these spirits that wine is offered at harvest time, and invocations made.

The Tsuou also regard a certain orchid which grows in that part of the island as being of peculiar sanctity. They transplant it from the forest where it grows to the ground at the root of the sacred tree of each village. During the dry season the priestesses water it, and always they tend it with scrupulous care. This custom also is obviously connected with the reverence in which the tribes-people hold their ancestors, for the latter, they believe, wore this orchid when they went to battle with neighbouring tribes, and through its magic efficacy achieved victory. The Tsuou seem to think that in some way this orchid will eventually restore—or be instrumental in restoring—the former dominance and prosperity of their tribe.

The Bunun, unlike their neighbours, the Tsuou, regard a certain kind of tall grass, which grows in the mountainous region in which they live, as being of even greater sanctity than trees. Twice a year—at seed-time and at harvest-time—great bundles of this green grass are brought into the houses, millet wine is sprinkled before the doorway of each house, and invocations to ancestors are sung and danced in the open, between the houses of each village.

Among the Bunun, as also among all the tribal groups of the great Taiyal “nation,”[72] there exists the peculiar custom of starting a “new fire” at the time of the sowing and harvest festivals. This “new fire” is ceremonially kindled. At other times, should the fire go out (though this is considered a thing of evil omen), or should hunters, away from home, wish to start a fire, flint-and-steel percussion is used—this method apparently having been learned from the Dutch of the seventeenth century, or possibly from the Chinese. On the ceremonial days of the year, however—the days when offerings are made to ancestors—fire must be kindled by a method in use in the “days of the fathers.”

Among the Bunun this takes the form of the “fire-drill”—the twirling of a pointed stick of hard wood of some sort in a depression made in a stick of softer wood, until the friction heats the flakes of soft wood, thus “eaten away,” to a point where flame can be produced by placing against this hot wood-dust bits of very dry grass or leaves, and blowing upon it. In order thus to produce fire, the chief of the tribal group—among the Bunun usually a man—shuts himself up alone in his hut, which for the time being it is tabu for his subjects to approach, twirling the fire-drill and blowing upon the wood-dust and tinder, until the sacred fire is “born.” From the flame thus kindled is lighted first his own domestic fire; then those of all the other members of the village or group, who, after the actual kindling of the flame, are invited into the hut of the chief.

The Taiyal method of lighting the sacred fire is a little different from that employed by the Bunun. Among the Taiyal the duty of producing the ceremonial “new fire” devolves upon the priestesses. These “vestals of the flame,” however, are not virgins. Only middle-aged and elderly women are priestesses; and all those whom I saw—or of whom I heard when among the Taiyal—were widows, and usually the mothers of children. What becomes of the Taiyal spinsters one wonders; there seem to be none. Yet they are a strictly monogamous people; and considering how frequently the men of this tribe lose their heads—in a very literal sense—a disproportion of women, consequently a number of unmarried ones, might be expected. But this does not seem to be the case, judging both from my own observation and also from the reply to questions put to the Japanese Aiyu (military police) stationed at various points among the Taiyal. It may be that those anthropologists[73] are right who hold that the so-called hardships of savage life—frequent insufficiency of food, necessity of hard physical toil on the part of the women, and similar conditions—result in a greater number of male infants being born than is the case under conditions of civilization.[74] (A not impossible hypothesis: since many stock-breeders hold that the relative leanness or fatness of cattle has a decided effect upon the sex of the offspring—“lean years,” i.e. those of scarcity of food, more males; “fat years,” those of plenty, more females. This fact—if it be a fact—may also be the basis of the popular idea that shortly after wars a greater number of males among the genus homo are born than at other times.)

However, to return to our muttons—that of sacred fire, as produced by the Taiyal. On the ceremonial day when the “new fire” is to be kindled, the chief priestess of each group carefully unsheathes her “fire machine” from the wrapping of bamboo leaves in which it is kept swathed during the greater part of the year. This “fire machine” consists of two pieces of bamboo. One piece, used as a saw, is sharpened on one edge to a knife-like keenness; the other edge is left blunt. This blunt edge is held in the hand of the officiating priestess. In a shallow groove cut in the other piece of bamboo the priestess inserts the sharp edge of the short, wedge-shaped, bamboo saw. To and fro she draws it, chanting as she does so. Usually she is seated in the open, before the door of her hut, her congregation of apparently awestruck subjects being seated in a semicircle, at a respectful distance from her. Gradually the bamboo saw “eats” down through the other piece of bamboo across which it is being drawn. The sawdust resulting is as hot as that which is produced by means of the fire stick, or “drill,” already described, and by applying to this dust tinder—very dry grass, usually—and by blowing upon it, flame is produced. When the tinder actually lights, the priestess gives a cry of exultation, which is echoed by the waiting people; then feasting and dancing begin.