The Black-Bearded Barbarian | Page 8

its
loveliness. They saw lofty green mountains piercing the clouds. They
saw silvery cascades tumbling down their sides, flashing in the sunlight,
and, below, terraced plains sloping down to the sea, covered with
waving bamboo or with little water-covered rice-fields. It was all so
delightful that no wonder they cried,
"Illha Formosa! Illha Formosa!"
"Beautiful Isle! Beautiful Isle." Since that day the "Beautiful Isle,"
perhaps the most charming in all the world, has been called Formosa.
And, somehow, Mackay longed to see this Beautiful Isle before he
decided where he was going to preach the gospel. And so when the
kind friends at Swatow said, "Stay and work with us," he always
answered, "I must first see Formosa."
So, one day, he sailed away from the mainland toward the Beautiful
Isle. He landed at Takow in the south of the island, just about
Christmas-time. But Formosa was green, the weather was hot, and he
could scarcely believe that, at home in Oxford county, Ontario, they
were flying over the snow to the music of sleigh-bells. On New Year's
day he met a missionary of this south Formosa field, named Dr. Ritchie.
He belonged to the Presbyterian Church of England, which had a fine
mission there. For nearly a month Mackay visited with him and studied
the language.
And while he visited and worked there the missionaries told him of the
northern part of the island. No person was there to tell all those
crowded cities of Jesus Christ and His love. It would be lonely for him

there, it would be terribly hard work, but it would be a grand thing to
lay the foundations, to be the first to tell those people the "good news,"
the young missionary thought. And, one day, he looked up from the
Chinese book he was studying and said to Dr. Ritchie:
"I have decided to settle in north Formosa."
And Dr. Ritchie's quick answer was:
"God bless you, Mackay."
As soon as the decision was made, another missionary, Dr. Dickson,
who was with Mr. Ritchie, decided to go to north Formosa with the
young man, and show him over the ground. So, early in the month of
March in the year 1872, the three men set off by steamship to sail for
Tamsui, a port in north Formosa. They were two days making the
voyage, and a tropical storm pitched the small vessel hither and thither,
so that they were very much relieved when they sailed up to the mouth
of the Tamsui river.
It was low tide and a bare sand-bar stretched across the mouth of the
harbor, so the anchor was dropped, and they waited until the tide
should cover the bar, and allow them to sail in.
This wait gave the travellers a fine opportunity to see the country. The
view from this harbor of the "Beautiful Island" was an enchanting one.
Before them, toward the east, rose tier upon tier of magnificent
mountains, stretching north and south. Down their sloping sides
tumbled sparkling cascades and here and there patches of bright green
showed where there were tea plantations. Farther down were stretches
of grass and groves of lovely feathery bamboo. And between these
groves stretched what seemed to be little silvery lakes, with the
reflection of the great mountains in them. They were really the famous
rice-fields of Formosa, at this time of the year all under water. There
were no fences round their little lake-fields. They were of all shapes
and sizes, and were divided from each other by little green fringed
dykes or walls. Each row of fields was lower than the last until they
came right down to the sea-level, and all lay blue and smiling in the

blazing sunlight.
As the young missionary stood spellbound, gazing over the lovely,
fairylike scene, Mr. Ritchie touched his arm.
"This is your parish, Mackay," he whispered smilingly.
And then for the first time since he had started on his long, long
journey, the young missionary felt his spirit at peace. The restlessness
that had driven him on from one Chinese port to another was gone.
This was indeed HIS parish.
Suddenly out swung a signal; the tide had risen. Up came the anchor,
and away they glided over the now submerged sand-bar into the harbor.
A nearer view showed greater charms in the Beautiful Isle. On the
south, at their right, lay the great Quan Yin mountain, towering
seventeen hundred feet above them, clothed in tall grass and groves of
bamboo, banyan, and fir trees of every conceivable shade of green.
Nestling at its feet were little villages almost buried in trees. Slowly the
ship drifted along, passing, here a queer fishing village close to the
sandy shore, yonder a light-house, there a battered Chinese fort rising
from the top