Quemoy had not been on our Taiwan itinerary, but asking a reporter in the Far East if he wished to see Quemoy is comparable to inquiring of a small boy if he would like to go to the circus. Furthermore few American civilians have been and none had stayed for more than the "quickie" VIP tour. Our invitation was for three days.
Geographically Quemoy is a small archipelago of six islands, located two to six miles off the coast of Fukien Province on the southeast coast of China. The Nationalists or Free China control four of the islands: Big Quemoy, Little Quemoy, Ta Tan and Erhtan. The Communist Chinese have Chiao Yu and Hsiao Tan. Doubtless, Quemoy, only slightly larger than Staten Island, is one of the smallest though, hottest chips of land in the present international chess game of world politics.
Known to the West and to its local citizenry by its Fukien name of Quemoy, the island is known in Taiwan and wherever Mandarin is spoken as Kinmen (pronounced Ginmen); both names, translated into English, mean the "golden gate". To Chinese of every political faith, Quemoy is just that. To the Nationalists Quemoy is the gate back to the Mainland. To the Communists it is the gate to Taiwan and the rest of the West. Nationalist troops on Quemoy blockade the sea routes, north and south on the China Coast. They make Amoy, once one of China's most important ports, now a dead and useless one. Think of New York City with enemy guns commanding the Brooklyn Narrows and troops occupying Staten Island.
The Nationalists consider the Quemoy outpost politically, militarily and psychologically essential to the defense of Free China. To President Chiang Kai-shek and his military staff, to hold Quemoy is not just a face saving gesture, not for bargaining purposes but for sound strategic reasons. Quemoy is a base for radar watching, for intercepting air and sea operations of the Communists, for guerrilla and intelligence infiltrating to the Mainland, as well as the all important springboard for the return trip to the Mainland.
"To abandon Quemoy," the Chinese intelligence officer declared, "would be disastrous. It would lead to the disintegration of political and public morale; it would finish our overseas support. From Quemoy alone there are some 60,000 overseas Chinese who are loyal to our government."
Across the narrow straits, the Communists are equally anxious to take Quemoy. They know they will never take Taiwan without an initial battle on Quemoy. They must conquer the resistance of these island peoples before attempting to win the Taiwanese.
For hundreds of years these small islands have played an important role in China's history. During the Feudal wars of the Chin Dynasty the first settlers came as political refugees. Then pirates made it a hideout and operational center. Three hundred years ago, the remnants of the Ming loyalists were driven from the Mainland, and the famous General Koxinga made Quemoy headquarters for his army. From here he took his army to conquer the Dutch who had for 38 years been occupying Taiwan. The Manchus came, the Japanese came, and in 1949 the Nationalists retreating from the Mainland, left a garrison of hardened troops here to cover the evacuation of the armed forces and government.
"The Nationalists have remained, repulsed invasions, ignored heavy shellings, and today laugh at the Communist pleadings to surrender," our officer escort concluded the story of Quemoy during the one and one-half hour flight across the Taiwan Straits. On the Air Force chart he traced our course from Taipei, provisional capital of the Chinese government, southwest to the Pescadores and then slightly northwest to Quemoy. The slight detour, he explained, was a necessary precaution and safety factor to keep clear of the Communist radar screens.
As we approached the island we were flying only a few hundred feet above the choppy water "just to be sure no flakhappy Red gunner might sight the plane." For the same reason the plane avoided circling and made straight for the landing strip.
Our plane bounced slightly on the uneven graveled airfield but rolled to a halt besides waiting military jeeps. Chinese officers of Quemoy Defense Command and a number of Americans attached to our Advisory Training Group greeted us warmly and curiously. Female visitors were rare species here. Introductions were made with the ceremony that only the Chinese preserve for all occasions, front line or drawing room. We felt oddly important with all the courtesies.
Our visit had been planned with military precision and within minutes we were whisked away. The road to the hostel was a well-paved, tree-bordered highway. "This was built by our Army troopers," Colonel Chou Kia, who was to be our guide for the next three days, explained. "Every stone was laid, every pint of cement was mixed by hand. Each company was given so many feet to do every day and they competed to do more. It has been said that a cement mixer would have slowed our boys down.
"The road saves a lot of money in maintenance both on road repairs and on our vehicles. It's ten inches thick and withstands all the hottest weather. During the rainy season the clay and dirt roads are impassable and would be a great liability in an emergency. If necessary the paved road can be used for temporary landing of aircraft. We have finished ten miles of paving and now plan to do some auxiliary roads."
On the air chart we had noted that the island was shaped like an egg timer and now Colonel Chou filled in the statistics. "It's about fourteen miles long, two miles wide at its narrow waist, and seven miles wide at the base. Tao Wu Shan, the highest point, is 1063 feet above the sea."
The first impression of Quemoy is of a rocky, sandy, windy island, not unlike one of the Carribean Leewards. Across the western horizon, as though someone had penciled a line on the hazy sky, was the Chinese mainland. Here some 200,000 Communist soldiers were deployed; within easy striking distance were seven jet airbases, and some of the largest Russian artillery.
Here too we needed no reminders that we were in a war zone - airplanes, trucks, buildings were camouflaged with eerie grey, brown, black paint to resemble rocks; dugouts were covered with nets, tied here and there with greenrags which sure enough from a distance looked as the terrain of the fields. The dugouts and pillboxes looked much as defenses we had seen after the war in Yugoslavia, in France and Germany, but there the artillery had been removed and soldiers no longer were on guard. Here guns were cocked in readiness; men were on 24-hour alert.
Our hostel, a semi-Quosnet affair, looked as though some six-year olds had been finger painting with green paint, but inside were comfortable living quarters for the two dozen Americans stationed here to aid in training the Chinese in the use of American equipment. After coffee and doughnuts - as good as any to be had on 42nd Street - we were invited to the briefing room, which resembled a one-room country school. Maps and diagrams covered the walls. Captain Jim Walsh, a balding young Georgian, wearing combat boots and khaki fatigues, gave a short geographic and historical lecture on Quemoy. The Americans had dubbed most points with American names - Observation Hill, Horses Neck, Van Fleet Point, Double Breasts.
"This is good duty," Captain Walsh declared. "Every soldier likes the front lines, and this happens to be the only front line in the world today. What other front ever had good climate, warm sun, cool breezes, excellent beaches, interesting people, horseshoes or tennis after work, movies five nights a week. Why we get movies here before they hit Atlanta! Our per diem makes the take-home a little higher than if we were on Taiwan and that is attractive, but the important reason is the interest we feel in the job. Here we can watch our efforts take hold, see our training in being. We have a chance to know our counterparts in the Chinese army. As for danger, it's true we get a shelling now and then, but it's usually a bunch of leaflets. I've extended the usual four-month tour to eight and would like to spend my entire 12-month China assignment out here. I really feel much safer here than in Times Square."
Having an hour before lunch, we called at the Officers' Club, a key-hole-shaped building in the middle of a water reservoir. Here around a round chow bench we were served green tea and talked with General Hu Lien, Commanding officer of Quemoy. Gen. Hu was beginning a second five-year tour, having served from 1949 to 1954 in the earliest days of the defense of the island. A Shensi man, he had spent many of his fifty-four years fighting the Communist, and although his family of four sons and four daughters lived in Taiwan, he preferred the front line where he could keep his eye on the enemy.
He spoke of Quemoy with great affection. "At one time it was a beautiful island of great forests, fierce tigers and dangerous snakes. Some one hundred thousand people lived here. The Ming army loyalists cut down the trees to build boats to sail to Taiwan. With the trees gone, both snakes and wild animals disappeared. Men folk went overseas and gradually the island was only a bleak sand dune."
A staff officer interrupted, "And then the rats took over. People and rats waged a constant battle. Quemoy's only claim to fame was as the place of bubonic plague which annually killed thousands of people. Wiping out the plague was the first project of the Chinese American Joint Commission for Rural Reconstruction (JCRR). Rats breeded faster than we could kill them, but these trained men were regular Pied Pipers. They isolated, studied the lice, killed, and finally controlled them. In the last five years not a single death has been caused by plague."
"Quemoy has always had problems," General Hu sighed. "Snakes, pirates, Manchus, rats and then the Communists."
"The Chinese Reds attempted to take Quemoy on October 24, 1949," Admiral Koo, the Naval officer, explained. "General Hu was our commander then too. It was a dark, windy night when their armada of junks, sampans, and sailing fishing boats carrying some 16,000 Communists tried to invade the island. Their plan, to land on the Narrow waistline, was doomed by a high tide and changing winds. The entire fleet was beached on the marshes of the far corner of the island, Horse's Head. Here we were able to blockade an escape and kill or capture the whole party. Some 7,300 were killed, 8,500 captured or surrendered. We lost about 1,200 dead, 1,700 wounded."
General Hu smiled a cat-eating-the-canary grin. "And that was the last time the Commies tried to come ashore."
After a hearty spaghetti and meatball lunch, we began our tour with a drive through one of the many long tunnels which honeycomb the island. Men live, ammunition and supplies are stored in these underground passages. From the subterranean depths we went to the island's summit on Tai Wu Shan or Observation Hill. Two thirds of the way up, the road ends in front of a 100-foot cliff. Across the stone face are chiseled four Chinese characters in a calligraphy more art than penmanship, President Chiang's words and admonition, "Remember what happened at Chu."
"Chu refers to an ancient city in northwest China," Colonel Chou explained. "Some 3000 years ago, about the time Hannibal was crossing the Alps into Rome, the great Chinese Emperor of Chi was driven from his kingdom to take refuge in Chu. Here with his loyal subjects he stayed long enough to regroup and prepare for a counterattack. In a few years he was able to recover his entire lost kingdom. We soldiers on Quemoy and in Taiwan often say to each other, 'remember we are at Chu.'"
We climbed the stone steps to the 1200-foot top and looked across the island, at the farms and settlements. Not far away stood an ancient Buddhist temple with bells tinkling to frighten devils and just beyond a radar screen slowly revolved screening the activities of the Mainland "devils". Then we turned our attention toward China too; through high-powered telescopes we studied the coastline. Even the amateur could see that Big and Little Quemoy effectively blocked the channel of Amoy harbor.
Our next stop was the military cemetery, an altogether pleasant resting place with each grave shaded by a newly planted eucalyptus tree. We strolled between the rows of markers as Colonel Chou read the names and dates of the men's deaths. A rather macabre and unusual aspect were the many open graves awaiting coffins, awaiting death.
As we jeeped across the island, the results of soil erosion and the fight against it were most apparent. Every mile seemed have a different likeness-"red clay hills of Georgia," "just like Grand Canyon", "white buttes of Arizona," "desolate as West Texas", "truck gardens of the Jersey flats". We pointed at one small field that reminded us of Iowa, "Surprised to see them growing corn."
Colonel Chou laughed, "That is kaoliang, same as your sorghum. General Hu introduced it for camouflage but the people use it in the manufacture of Bia Gar, the vodka of the Chinese. The strong, clear liquor is a favorite of all Chinese. The farmers barter kaoliang for rice and are given an even swap."
In general the farm looked well cared for and prosperous, the farmers hardworking and healthy. "What a difference from when we first came," Chou exclaimed. "Before 1949 Quemoy was on the verge of blowing and washing away. Every year tons of soil washed into the sea; General Hu ordered the planting of trees and grass for camouflage purposes but their usefulness in soil conservation and as windbreaks soon became apparent. The farmers got interested and JCRR began soil studies, introduced crop variations and began a health program.
"To begin with in the old days they didn't grow anything but sweet potatoes and their diet was terribly inadequate. Pests ate up half the crop before they could harvest it. JCRR taught the farmers to spray, irrigation and soil improvement. The new cabbage, onions, kaoliang, watermelon, sugar cane gave the people new energy and new interest. The soldiers got interested and began growing "victory gardens" of their own. They brought watermelon seeds and with about $3000NT worth of seeds and a lot of care they have built up a half a million dollar business. (All Taiwan dollars)."
In many ways the island reminded us of "old China". We missed the rice paddies but otherwise the farmers looked as 500,000,000 million peasants on the mainland, men and boys in pointed straw coolie hats, managing the plow behind a cumbersome ox. Women in pajamas hoed in the tiny sweet potato patches or scrubbed clothes in any convenient ditch. The homes, large brick houses sprawled in every direction and in the yards pigs rutted, chickens and ducks scratched, fat, smiling babies waddled, and dogs wagged.
Across the landscape we noticed a great many poles as though men had been drilling for oil. These poles we were told marked the water wells. Water, one of the island's biggest problems, had always been in inadequate supply. After the '49 Communist invasion, the bodies of the dead had been unceremoniously dumped into the old wells. Naturally this polluted and ended their usefulness. Rainwater was unreliable. Last year for eight months not a single drop of rain fell. Again it was the JCRR who began a welling digging project. Already some 3000 have been dug and another 2500 are planned. These, 12 to 50 feet deep, provide water for animals and irrigation and operated by pulleys and buckets. Having water has helped increase acreage production from 12 to 20%, and at the same time has cut down illness and the lice hazard.
We asked if the farmers had shown any tendency to run away because of danger. "Not at all. When we offered to take civilians to Taiwan less than three percent went. These people have lived with danger so long they consider it normal. During the few shellings we have had in the daytime, they have just watched or a few minutes and then gone on with their plowing. In the nine years of war, only 53 civilians have been killed. Actually the custom of Quemoy has been for the young men to leave home and go overseas to seek their fortune. They return to marry and after a few years go a broad again leaving their wives to take care of children and old parents. Dependents of overseas men account for about 15,000 of the 45,000 civilians and remittances from abroad amount to over 500,000 NT per month.
"When we first came the only people with enough to eat or clothes to wear were the overseas dependents, but now all have clothes and these people eat better; in fact they feed their hogs better food than they were eating in 1952, and now they even eat pigs."
At this precise moment our jeep came to stop by a pigsty and one of the Americans in the party pointed to a huge boar. "Biggest pig I ever saw," she declared.
"It's one of the new breed," Col Chou said. "They are getting bigger every year, but five years ago it was different. The scrawny hogs would grow almost to maturity and then suddenly they died of cholera. JCRR began isolating the diseased animals, studied them and began inoculating all piglets. A Berkshire boar was brought to Quemoy to introduce new blood to the old stock. Unfortunately the first boar had four white legs and to the superstitious peasants white means mourning. Even a funeral is called a white affair. They refused to breed their sows with the new boar, until some courageous Four H lads, less superstitious than their fathers, started the experiment. With clean sties, better food, in three years the hog population increased seven times and the difference between the new and old hogs was so noticeable that all farmers were lining up their sows for breeding. In the old days it took 14 months for a hog to weigh from 120 to 140 pounds, today in eight months it will weigh 160 to 200 pounds. Where we at one time imported 500 hogs per month to supply the military and supplement the civilian supply, we now have a surplus. In fact the slaughter tax of $240 Taiwan Dollars (about $7US) per head represents 45% of the government's income and pays the bigger share of the school bills."
And this is no small sum when you consider that over 51% of the 46,000 civilians is under 20 years of age. Chinese still repeat "one mouth two hands" to any suggestion that birth control might be an excellent thing to introduce, and last year on Quemoy there were 2500 births to 500 deaths.
In 1952 less that 10% of the children were in school; today over 90% are enrolled in one of the 43 primary schools or in the one Middle School. Until 1954 the Middle School had been in Old Quemoy but during the heavy shelling in September, 1954, the school suffered a direct hit and several students were killed. The school was moved out of range of shells, but today every school holds regular evacuation drills.
We visited the Middle School, which was really a series of 17 classrooms; the rooms were badly overcrowded with young men jostling to hold the edge of the bench ends. Of the 800 students, 720 were boys. As we went from room to room, our approach was marked by every student standing at rigid attention. Unfamiliar with such respect, we grinned foolishly and hurried along. As we reached the principal's office, a bugle sounded from an upper balcony. "What is that?" We asked half fearing an alert for trench drill.
"It's the signal for the students to assemble to meet you. We are hoping you will say a few words to them."
This unexpected request was more fearsome than an alert. What in the world did we have to say to 800 Chinese boys and girls? However, the hopping noise of boys being released from class was as recess in New York or Iowa, and for a moment we were pleased with the thought of our being the reason for their brief holiday. But stagefright returned as we entered the assembly hall.
The barn-like room might comfortably have held 400 people but tightly packed between its walls were 800 standing teenagers plus teachers and visitors. True to Chinese form the Seniors lined the front rows while the shorter boys of the junior classes were out of sight in the rear. The little fellows just couldn't see the stage and from time to time, from here, from there, up popped a head like jacks-in-the-boxes.
As we ascended the small platform, all 800 began a deafening applause. The principal explained that we were "honorable visitors from America" (more applause) and then a flowery, flattering speech of their pleasure in our honoring them. Our meager, inadequate Chinese did little justice to the expectations, but after bringing messages from America and wishing them well, an inspiration dawned. "Would you sing for us?"
All Chinese youths love to sing and their response was a lusty martial song which would do credit to the cheering section of any American university. As we were leaving, the Senior girls waylaid us and the spokesman shyly recited, "Your sympathy and kindness in coming to see us is very much appreciated. Would you do us the great honor of allowing a photograph to be taken of you with us." Giggling, smiling, hiding their embarrassment behind handkerchiefs, we lined up for the photo.
From the school we visited the Women's Auxiliary Corp headquarters; actually the home of a prosperous businessman had been turned into neat barracks. Some 30 young women were living here on the island doing chores as varied as disc jockeys for the local broadcasting to the mainland, teaching Mandarin to soldiers, entertaining the troopers with songs and dances. For our entertainment they did some Chinese and Taiwan aborigines dances.
At dinner that evening we sat beside the Colonel in charge of the American advisors. A handsome youngish man, he told us he was a veteran of 24 years in the Army - Mindanao, Japanese prison camps, Korea. Luck and pluck had brought him through and his war adventures he recounted as calmly as he described Colorado ranching. He preferred front line duty; he said a desk job in Washington made him nervous and jumpy.
The excellent New Yorker-cut steak dinner was a gay and unusual military affair. Officers sat with men, Chinese with Americans (negro, white and Indian), plus the added touch of a French priest. Rather like a party at Lindys. No one seemed to give the Communists across the Straits a single thought. The Chinese Generals were toasted; the American advisors were toasted; a Lieutenant toasted a Colonel, a Colonel toasted a Sergeant, a Sergeant toasted a Major, and everyone toasted Quemoy.
The evening's entertainment was the showing of an American crime film, a monstrous gangster affair of murder for sale. Guns banged and heads fell. It was the only gunfire we heard during our three-day stay at the front, but it seemed to us that had the Communists selected it a more suitable propaganda film could not have been found to alienate Americans.
Before retiring we had a look at the clear sky; stars hung low and bright as they always do above tropical lands, and the air was fresh with the smell of the sea. Not a sound was heard from across the water. My roommate remarked briskly, "I shall certainly be annoyed if we don't hear at least one shell explode tonight:"
The grey of dawn was welcomed by a rousing chorus of roosters crowing to the high-pitched twang of Chinese symphony. By no measure was it a pleasant alarm, and it took several seconds to remember where in the world we were. At five o'clock we didn't care and we wondered if it were necessary to start cheering the troops so early. All night the enemy had been treated to the broadcast; now the speakers were turned to the Island for its "early morning enjoyment."
My roommate stretched, grimaced and flatly stated, "Think if I were to be treated to this every morning, I'd defect."
Breakfast was hearty - tomato juice, a slice of ham, French toast with Log Cabin syrup, and a quart of coffee. Front line food had never been better.
Our first inspection that morning was Manus Point, called Van Fleet by American admirers of the famous General. We crossed the island by jeep and about half a mile from the point we were met by a young officer who snapped a sharp salute, bowed and motioned for us to follow him. We alighted and entered the trenches. For the next hour the strange feeling of being on a MGM lot during the making of a World War I movie haunted us. We crept along the dugouts where shells and supplies were piled high, gun and cannon were cocked in readiness. Soldiers in steel helmets stood at attention, tense and grim.
Behind the pillbox was a broadcasting station. Elaborate signs, dear to the hearts of all Chinese, proclaimed "Communists have not yet destroyed love. They shall not."
An officer in charge of propaganda was on hand to show us through the station where recordings were being taped for later broadcast. "Our job is to combat the enemy's efforts to broadcast by countering their broadcast with louder ones - a kind of jam session. Our programs use over and over Sun Yat-sen's three principles; we repeat President Chiang's message of freedom, urging the Mainlanders to defect to the free world and assuring them of freedom here. We tell them what is going on in the free world in industry, farming and among the people. We describe the excellent conditions of the Armed Forces and reports on how the Chinese soldiers who fought in Korea are faring in Taiwan. We describe the good life in the Free World and warn them against Russian intrigue and encourage them to resist the Soviets. Often local people broadcast personal messages to their relatives. Then our last job is to help keep up good morale among the troopers here on Quemoy.
"We broadcast 12 hours every night, 11 hours to the enemy and one hour to the Island. We speak Mandarin for the soldiers, Fukien for the civilian broadcasts.
"Now and then we have regular debates between the broadcasters here and on the Mainland. Once the Reds called the Nationalists 'running dogs of the American imperialists.' The Nationalists shouted back 'You running dogs of the Russian Communists, we can prove we are not American puppets.' And with that raising their voices louder, 'All Americans are rotten eggs,' they cried out, and then added, 'We dare you to say the same about the Soviets.' There was no answer and the Red station closed down for the day."
Our next stop was at the Agricultural Center where 83 retired but dedicated soldiers were working on reestablishing the Island's solidarity. Photographs taken before the Army came testified to the verbal descriptions of a "wind-swept sand dune". With the planting of over ten million trees, many little more than a foot high, the island began to look like an oasis. The seeds and seedlings these old men were growing were so good that a demand abroad had been created for them. Besides camouflage, soil conservation, windbreaks, beauty, and shade, the old Army officer explained, Quemoy needs wood for building and fuel. Eventually he hoped to see the day when the entire island would again be covered with forests.
Besides the new crops, the better animal stock, and the tree planting, JCRR was doing a great deal of work to revive the fishing industry. New nylon nets had proved very popular. Motors for the fishing sampans were making it possible to go further into new fishing grounds. A new harbor has given the fishermen a place to load and unload their catches. Before, the fishermen had been very poor folk but some were growing prosperous now. "From time to time mainland fishermen come to Quemoy to look around; they find the prosperity here very difficult to believe," the JCCR advisor told us. "One old man wandered around the town and finally stopped someone and asked if it were a holiday. So many people were wearing shoes.
"Shoes seem to be a measure of prosperity. One old man here has told us he never had a pair of shoes before we came and started to help them, now he has a pair of rubber shoes for fishing and leather for town.
"These fishermen are important to us for they still sometimes see mainland folk - the fishing folk that is. They sometimes help distribute our gifts and of course they bring back stories of what is going on over there."
Colonel Chou interrupted, "You see Quemoy is a small testing ground; everything was in very bad condition when we came and now look at it. What we have done here, we shall do for all China."
At the Psych-War Command Center we were shown both Communist and Nationalist propaganda materials. To the Mainland by balloon, kites, shells hidden in food packages, in clothing, in matchboxes, cigarette packages, even in toothbrushes went word from the free world. A small round card, a kind of safety conduct pass, was enclosed for any defector who wished to come to Quemoy. To Quemoy, in shells or on kites, came cartoons and photos and harsh language against the free world. We recognized only a few photos; some from Little Rock, Arkansas, the Taiwan riots and a murder scene in Chicago - the Chinese calligraphy shouted out in bloody type, "is this what you want, gangsters, criminals, Americans?"
Outside several Chinese were filling large balloons with gas and the scene looked ever so much like the gate at Central Park Zoo. However, inside these red, yellow, green and blue balloons were carefully folded stories from the morning news. As we watched three dozen balloons drifted toward China.
Down on the beach a company of frogmen were busy lining up boats, bombs and a bamboo structure. Watching these men was an experience. Small in stature, they resembled the Orson Wells men from Mars more than earthly creatures. Their skin was bronzed to rich golden, their hardened muscles really did ripple as they walked or ran, and their young faces were eager but tough. They snapped to attention for each drill and we watched the most exhaustive, exhausting calisthenics we had ever seen, and all done with complete effortlessness. They lifted their torsos high in the air with fingers and toes firmly in the sand; they turned head through legs inside out so fast we had no idea how it was done. We watched men attacking each other with sharp knives which skinned the hair from their arms. Others tumbled, fought, kicked, pulled hair, tripped all at such speed one never knew who was down. A rubber boat was launched and out of sight while we were adjusting the lenses of our camera.
Then from far at sea came three motorboats, so quietly that only the faintest murmur of an engine could be heard. Some 100 yards from the beach one boat paused. Two men slipped into the water and swam ashore. On their bellies, over the sand they snaked toward the objective - the four bamboo poles representing a target. Brandishing their guns they inspected the premises. While one stayed on guard, the other wiggled back to signal all was well to their companions offshore. Then all three boats quickly beached and the frogmen jumped ashore, hastily rushed the beach to cover the area, guns in readiness, their faces tense with excitement, their eyes sharp for danger. The crew of the center boat surrounded the target and, working quickly but surely, they fastened the ammunition in place. Slowly, watchfully all the men but one withdrew to their boats. The lone man carried the fuse box to the edge of the water. When the boats were far enough away, the last frogmen pushed the trigger and was off to swim toward his lingering boat. We noted that our heart was beating wildly and with our eyes glued on their getaway, we were so startled when the bamboo poles blew sky high in a great geyser of powder and smoke, we forgot to think of danger. It was just too much like Hollywood to be the real thing.
During the afternoon our attention and minds were turned to more peaceful pursuits. We visited the Hero's Temple, a kind of Hall of Fame of living Chinese heroes whose photos with their deeds hang in the Chinese temple. Then to the Women's Association to hear the President of the organization outline the work of some 56 women groups on the island, the kind of things women's clubs always do plus more things of cheering them to read, acting as midwives. We were later received by the Civilian Magistrate of Quemoy; he droned out the statistics of improvements made in civilian government, in public works, in production both on farms, in town and on the sea.
The revenues listed a few hundred dollars collected from "superstition tax" and we inquired just what this might mean.
"Well," the Magistrate smiled, "a good many of our people are still worried about the condition of their ancestors. They go to the temples and spend money on joss sticks to have their fortunes told; they buy red scrolls to keep the devils from their doors, they buy food for their gods, they spend money on paper money, paper bicycles, paper furniture for the dead to use. Now the government hit upon the idea of collecting taxes for these superstitions. This is supposed to discourage the practice but these people with more money to spend are spending more on their gods and dragons.
"However, it's good to have the people happier. Two weeks ago the townspeople had their first big fair in twelve years. They wanted to thank their City God for bringing them prosperity. The parade lasted three hours and some 10,000 persons took part. All day they dressed up; they visited relatives, ate great quantities of pork, cake and other delicacies. They know they owe their good fortune to the National Government but they made a big effort to send their relatives on the Mainland some good cheer in rice cakes."
We wandered through the streets of old Quemoy, a quite typical Chinese town with narrow, narrow streets, tiny, tiny shops, hundreds of children and many old ladies with gold teeth. The smells of dried fish and sugared cakes was rather nauseating but the people were friendly and cheerful. The shops offered little for the visitor to buy except multicolored feather fans and a few useless silver trinkets. One gold-toothed ancient woman bowed to us and invited us to inspect her tiny premises. Through a Fukien interpreter we learned that she had a son in America and she was most grateful to all America for his good fortune. She explained that when he was married in Quemoy in 1953 they had only had three tables of guests at his wedding, evidently a very poor show. However, now due to the good fortune and prosperity of the Island, recent weddings were having as many as ten to 20 tables of guests. (The Chinese usually seat ten or twelve guests at their customary round tables.) This was her measure of the better times.
On our way to our hostel we stopped at the Catholic parish and church where the French Father Joseph Druetto, the only foreigner living on Quemoy, worked and ministered. After 27 years on the Mainland, the Communists had given him "the treatment and sent me packing." However, he elected to go to Quemoy to await the day he can go back to his old parish. Now he is a busy, busy man; by hand with the help of only a few Chinese laborers he has built his modest church. He ferments his own wine from American raisins for use in communion; he is doctor, nurse, confessor, confident to all. Known to the Chinese as "Father," to the Americans as "the character", he is loved by all. As a fairly steady visitor at the American hostel, he carries away beer bottles for the border of his garden but his real reason for the visits, he will tell you, is "the popcorn is so good."
We talked late that evening exchanging experiences of raids in Africa, bombings in Shanghai and Chungking, buzz bombs over London. Indeed our conversation was so noisy and descriptive that we found it hard to believe when two Army officers reported, "The Commies have sent over 103 round of propaganda shells tonight."
Our final day was a summing up; a quick visit to the tomb of the Ming prince who died here on his way to Taiwan; calling on some 180 patients at the military hospital and distributing "Life Savers" and smiles. Then to one of the 43 primary schools were the first graders, cute little tykes with Dutch bobs or shaved heads, shy smiles, sang their greetings to us.
Before lunch we had our final briefing, this time a staff officer of General Hu Lien. He summarized the accomplishments of the Nationalists: We have ten times as many hogs, three times as many fowls and fish, three times as much kaoliang and wheat, and 20 times as many vegetables. Our defenses make an enemy attack by air or sea impossible without their becoming an excellent target for Quemoy guns. Our offensive possibilities are being improved every day.
Our own conclusions were that we were sitting on one big question mark. Could the Nationalists hang on? Would the Communists think it worth the effort, the bloodshed, the possibility of another defeat to try to take it. At the moment they seemed to be counting on winning by attrition.
We are not prepared to discuss the military strength or vulnerability, but we can testify to the spectacular results of the tough little islands fight for better health, more production, and improved conditions for every day living.
One of the Americans who has spent six months on Quemoy is already making plans to return after the Nationalists take back the Mainland. "I am going to build a resort here. It is perfect for holidays: wonderful beaches, excellent climate, interesting scenery, and lots of Bai Gar."