He set off with his dogs at a fast pace. The ice was rough but appeared strong, although to the east could be heard terrific noises as immense blocks of ice were being smashed by the incoming Atlantic waves. For nearly four miles all went well and there was less than half a mile to go when Dr. Grenfell perceived that he was traveling over soft “sish” ice. Terrific explosions could be heard all around, and soon no pan of ice larger than ten feet square could be seen. Soon the dogs and komatik sank into the soft slob ice, and the doctor realized that he was in a dangerous and almost hopeless dilemma.
The lines of the traces were still lashed around Dr. Grenfell’s wrists, and by hanging onto them he was able to drag himself up onto a huge pan of ice; as this was being driven rapidly out to sea, it was immediately abandoned for another which was larger and firmer. So far only one of the dogs had been lost. In the meantime, however, the situation was made worse because the wind, which was now offshore, had driven the ice pan more than one hundred yards farther out to sea. The wind was steadily increasing, a rising, bitter, icy blast causing even the dogs to suffer intensely. Some yards away Dr. Grenfell could see the pan of ice on which was his komatik, his warm clothing and his thermos bottle, matches and wood, but there was no possibility of reaching them. As far as he could remember, no inhabitant had ever been caught adrift on the ice in that bay, and there didn’t seem one chance in a thousand that he could be rescued. To protect himself from freezing, he cut down his long boots as far as the feet and made a kind of jacket which protected him slightly from the bitter wind.
There is probably no greater dog lover in all the world than Dr. Grenfell, but at last the situation became so desperate that he was forced to kill three of the dogs in order to have their skins for protection. He envied the dead beasts as they lay on the ice because their sufferings were over, while for him there seemed only the prospect of a lingering death caused by starvation and exposure. When night came he was ten miles out to sea, with three dogs left. He knew that if there was any possibility of making a fire there were homes in the distance from which it could be seen, for he could see their twinkling lights out of the darkness, but the few matches he had in a box were soaked to a pulp and quite useless. He made a windbreak out of the carcasses of the dead dogs, took off his clothes, wrung them out, swung them in the wind and then put them on, hoping that the heat of his body would cause them to dry. By this time his hands were so frozen as to be almost useless.
Among the few things he had been able to drag onto the ice pan was a large box containing some old football clothes which he had worn at college more than twenty years previously, and so he stood on the ice pan wearing red, yellow, and black stockings of football days and a striped flannel shirt; half frozen as he was, he could not help seeing the funny side of the situation, and he grimly thought to himself that if he had to die, he might as well die in his football clothes as any others.
It was a moonlit night and he lay down beside the dogs and slept, waking up every few minutes, as it seemed likely his little island of ice was going to be smashed to atoms. Then something unexpected happened. The wind seemed to die down completely, and the thought came to Dr. Grenfell that he was still within sight of cottages on the mainland. He decided to make some kind of a distress signal, so he strapped together the frozen legs of the dead dogs and, though he hated to part with it, he used his shirt; as soon as daylight came he waved this strange flag of distress, with the very faint hope that it might be seen.
More than once he thought of giving up. It all seemed so ridiculous. The cliffs with the tiny cottages perched upon them were miles away, and the chance of anyone seeing him was small. He thought he saw men in the distance against the cliffs, but the objects turned out to be trees. Several times he was sure he saw a boat appearing and disappearing on the surface of the water, and he kept on waving frantically in the hope of attracting attention; then it proved to be a piece of ice bobbing up and down. He had slept, however, and he felt that he could last for a good many hours yet, if only, when the sun came up, the ice pan did not melt under its rays. One moment as he stood waving his shirt at the barren and lonely cliffs, he almost burst out laughing when he thought of how ridiculous his position was, when suddenly a strange and unexpected thing happened.
He had laid his wood and matches out to dry in the sun and was searching on the ice pan for a piece of transparent ice which he could use as a burning glass, when the idea came to him that if he could make a fire that would last even for half an hour, the strange sight would surely attract some of the settlers on that lonely coast. Then he saw in the distance what looked like the glitter of an oar, but he had been disappointed so often he refused to entertain the idea that it was really a boat. A minute or two later, however, he saw it again and this time the glitter was very distinct, but as his sunglasses had been lost and he was now partially sun blind, he would not trust his vision. But the third time he saw the glint of an oar, the black streak of a boat’s hull was seen against the slob ice, and he knew that rescuers were near. The boat drew nearer and nearer until he could make out the faces of the men. They shouted to him: “Don’t get excited. Keep on the ice pan where you are.” As a matter of fact, they were more excited than he was, for Dr. Grenfell is one of the most courageous men who ever lived. The boat drew nearer and one man leaped onto the ice pan and grasped the hand of the doctor. Not a word was spoken. The emotion of the man was greater than that of Dr. Grenfell and he felt unable to speak. He thoughtfully had brought with him a thermos bottle with hot tea in it, and soon the doctor and the dogs were hoisted on board and they started for home, forging their way through the open water, having occasionally to push large pans of ice apart with the oars.
What had happened was this: the night before four men had been out on the cliffs, cutting up seals which they had killed in the previous fall. As they were leaving for their homes, the keen eyes of one of the fishermen detected something unusual on the ice. None of them could make out what it was, but as soon as they returned to the settlement they got the one good spyglass on that section of the coast and hurried out to the cliffs again. By this time it was almost dark, but with the aid of the glass they could see that there was a man on the ice and that he was frantically waving a distress signal. They guessed at once who it was, and while it was utterly impossible to rescue him in the middle of the night, as soon as dawn came, a volunteer crew was organized and the boat set out facing the heavy breakers through the merciless pans of ice to rescue the doctor.
When Dr. Grenfell and his three dogs were safely landed at the village, every person there gave them a welcome. When the doctor wrote about his life, he said:
“I must have looked a weird object as I stepped ashore, tied up in rags, stuffed out with oakum, and wrapped in the bloody dog skins. The news had gone over to the hospital that I was lost, so I at once started north for Saint Anthony, though I must confess that I did not greatly enjoy the trip, as I had to be hauled like a log, my feet being so frozen that I could not walk. For a few days subsequently I had painful reminders of the adventure in my frozen hands and feet, which forced me to keep to my bed—an unwelcome and unusual interlude in my way of life. In our hallway stands a bronze tablet:
To the Memory of Three Noble Dogs
Moody
Watch
Spy
Whose lives were given
For mine on the ice
April 21, 1908.
“The boy whose life I was intent on saving was brought to the hospital a day or so later in a boat, the ice having cleared off the coast temporarily; and he was soon on the highroad to recovery.”
CHAPTER V.
AMONG THE HEADHUNTERS OF FORMOSA.
The Savages Were Taken Aback When Met by Expressions of Friendliness.
WHEN the steamship America left the docks at San Francisco bound for Hong Kong in the fall of 1871, among the many passengers was a young man who stood apart from the crowd and, unlike the others, did not wave farewell to anyone.
His name was George L. Mackay, and he was about to realize a life- long ambition and become a missionary in distant Formosa. As he leaned against the deck railing and watched the ever-widening strip of water between the vessel and the shore, he saw in imagination a Canadian farmhouse with its garden and orchard and gently sloping meadows where his life up to that day had been spent.
After a journey of nearly a month, Formosa, “The Beautiful Isle,” came in sight. He eagerly viewed tier upon tier of magnificent mountains stretching north and south, the rice fields for which the island is famous, the little villages almost buried in trees nestling at the foot of great mountains, and then at last the town of Tamsui, which was to be the home of the young missionary, came into view. It seemed to him that it was at once the prettiest and dirtiest place he had ever seen. The town lay along the bank of the river at the foot of a hill. This bluff rose abruptly behind it to a height of two hundred feet.
In her story of his life, Marian Keith tells how the natives of Formosa came to nickname Mackay “the black-bearded barbarian.”
“The main thoroughfare wound this way and that, only seven or eight feet wide at its best. It was filled with noisy crowds of men who acted as if they were on the verge of a terrible fight. But the older missionaries knew that they were merely acting as Chinese crowds always do. On each side were shops—tea shops, rice shops, tobacco shops, and many other kinds. And most numerous of all were the shops where opium, one of the greatest curses of Chinese life, was sold. The front wall of each was removed, and the customers stood in the street and dickered with the shopkeeper, while at the top of his harsh voice the latter swore by all the gods in China that he was giving the article away at a terrific loss. Through the crowd pushed hawkers, carrying their wares balanced on poles across their shoulders. Boys with trays of Chinese candies and sugar cane yelled their wares above the din. The visitors stumbled along over the rough stones of the pavement until they came to the market place. Foreigners were not such a curiosity in Tamsui as in the inland towns, and not a great deal of notice was taken of them, but occasionally Mackay could hear the now familiar words of contempt—‘Ugly barbarian’—‘Foreign devil’—from the men that passed them. And one man, pointing to Mackay, shouted, ‘Ho! The black-bearded barbarian!’”
After having spent many months facing discouragements, but occasionally being greatly cheered by the friendly attitude of many natives, George Mackay heard of those strange people, the headhunting savages, who lived among the mountains. These cruel and savage people were always on the lookout for unwary farmers who went too near the woods. The headhunters would pounce upon such an unsuspecting victim and carry off his head in a bag. The young missionary was greatly interested in these people. He looked up toward the mountains where they dwelt. “Some day I will visit them,” he said. His friends said little, but resolved that they would not be partners in any such hazardous journey.
In the meantime Mackay applied himself to learning the somewhat difficult language of the people, and after a while understood it well enough to preach acceptably. He went on many long tours through the northern part of the island, and his name, “the black-bearded barbarian,” was soon widely known. Often the mob followed him down the streets of towns, shouting curses and throwing stones. His amazing courage and kindly good nature, however, generally had the result of changing their temper, although on more than one occasion he narrowly escaped with his life.
It was a long time before he could realize his ambition of journeying to the mountains where the savage headhunters dwelt. All his friends discouraged him whenever he broached the subject. They told him that once he passed a certain line, behind every rock and tree in the darkness of the forest the savages lay in wait for wayfarers, and that to go among them would be like committing suicide.
One day there sailed into Tamsui harbor a British man-of-war vessel named The Dwarf. The captain of this vessel, whose name was Bax, was, like Mackay, keenly interested in the life of the headhunters and anxious to visit them in their native haunts. In spite of the protests from many friends, the two set off together, each anxious to see the savages, but with very different objects in view. It took the two men three days’ journey over the hills and across the rice fields to reach the foot of the mountains. The people in the villages through which they passed were quite friendly and generally warned Captain Bax and Mackay when they learned what their ambition was. Some of these men were induced to accompany them. They went ahead with long sharp knives to cut away the creepers and tangled scrub and undergrowth on the side of the mountains. At last, after a wearisome and dangerous journey, the summit of the mountain range was reached. It was the dividing line between Chinese ground and the savage territory. Anyone who went beyond that line did so at terrible risk, but without hesitation the two men made their decision to go forward.
On they went with their guides, past huge banyan trees and camphor trees that spread out great branches sometimes sixty or seventy feet in length. In spite of dangers that lurked at every step, the two men could not but exclaim at the amazing beauty all around them. Sometimes they saw stately tree ferns that rose up forty feet above them, and underneath the cool green undergrowth that seemed like a lovely carpet. They were still accompanied by some natives who hoped that, by showing a friendly attitude and presenting gifts, the headhunters would not shed blood. They were now right in the midst of the headhunter territory, and one of the native guides climbed upon a rock and announced that he could see a party of headhunters in the valley below. The man gave a long halloo. From away down the valley came an answering call ringing through the forest. Then far down through the thicket Mackay’s sharp eyes saw the party of savages coming to meet them, so they moved forward—the first white men who had ever come out to meet those savages.
The two parties came face to face. It was a strange meeting. The cool daring of the white men left the headhunters simply staggered. These savages were a wild, ferocious-looking gang armed to the teeth, and they all carried spears, knives, and guns. Some had bows and arrows swung over their backs. Like many savages in other parts of the world, they sought to make themselves look more hideous than ever by tattooing their faces, with the result that many of them looked positively ghastly. Every man had a broad belt of woven rattan around his waist in which was stuck his crooked, pointed knife. Most of them wore odd-looking caps made of rattan. Many of them had dangling from their belts, bones or skins of wild animals they had slain and eaten.
The headhunters stared at first suspiciously then defiantly at the two strangers. They had never seen white men before. They were taken aback when met by expressions of friendliness and offered gifts, and they allowed their visitors to pass. Then the savages fell into line and followed closely. The two white men walked calmly on, doubtless knowing how easy it would be for one of the fierce-looking, tattooed savages to spring upon them and carry away their heads in triumph.
The visitors pushed on through the valley, passing many camps of savages who looked up at them in amazement. At last they came to a big campfire around which were squatted several hundred savages. The firelight gleamed upon the dark, fierce faces of the headhunters, and as their spears and knives flashed in the firelight it made a very startling picture. There was much excited talk and wild gesticulation among the savages, and as the white men made their own fire and ate their supper, hundreds of eyes were fastened upon them, while the headhunters maintained a suspicious silence. At last, overcome by weariness, the white men and their guides lay down to sleep, but whenever they awoke they could see hundreds of eyes gleaming in the firelight still fixed upon them.
The next day the headhunters had evidently made up their minds at least to be outwardly friendly, and their chief made the amazing proposal to Mackay and Captain Bax, through an interpreter, that the two should join them on a headhunting expedition. He told them that there were some Chinese not very far away, getting rattan, and he felt sure they could secure several heads, and then he lifted up his big net he
ad bag that hung over his shoulder and he and his men grinned savagely as he made the suggestion. The proposal struck Captain Bax as being extremely funny, but Mackay knew they were in a delicate situation, for they must not insult the savages. He answered that as he and his friend had come in peace to visit the chief, it was not an honorable thing to do to ask them to fight in battle.
For a few moments Mackay and Bax did not know just what reception their words would meet with, but after holding a council among themselves, the savages moved on. They went to another village and were escorted 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 Chinese. 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 chests and then his, in salutation, grinning in a most friendly manner. The young missionary was at first puzzled, then smiled delightedly. They were some poor fellows to whom he had given quinine the evening before in the valley.
Mackay and Bax now decided to return, although they realized it might not be so easy getting away as it seemed. They made many presents to the chief and some of his leading men and expressed themselves as delighted with the treatment they had received. There were a great many gestures of good will on both sides, although the white men knew that they must be on the lookout for treachery at any moment. When evening came they had reached the valley where they had first met the savages, and here they decided to spend the night. They had no sooner kindled their fires than they could see, through the darkness, shadowy forms creeping noiselessly about; the savages were lingering near, reluctant to go. They did not want to appear unfriendly, however, and they came out of the darkness of the forest and gathered around the firelight until there were five hundred headhunters seated in a circle. It was an extraordinary situation and one filled with danger for the two white men and their guides. Once again Mackay and Bax made presents of gay ornaments and bright cloth and whatever they thought would please the savages, and then, speaking through an interpreter, Mackay said he would tell them a story. They were as pleased as children and gathered round to listen.
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