Chapter 9: The Formation of an Anti-Tax Alliance Among the Villages
41
Chief Douning invited the female chiefs of nearby Xinkang, Madou, and Xiaolong communities to her living room to discuss countermeasures. Imaina passed around the tax increase order to the attending chiefs.
Maya said, “I also received this tax increase order only a few days ago. I immediately convened a meeting of the elders. The consensus is that, at this tribal council, each village should first reach an agreement, and then we will act together.”
Vasha, the female chief of Xiaolong, said, “The elders in my community unanimously believe that we cannot make any more concessions. Life is already hard enough for everyone.”
Douning said, “If you do not wish to continue letting the red-haired foreigners take whatever they want and extort us endlessly, I have an idea. When the tax officer Pias comes to explain, we will seize him and take the foreigners in each village as hostages, forcing the red-haired foreigners to concede and withdraw the tax increase order. What do you sisters think of this method?”
Elisa had some concerns and said tactfully, “Taking tax officials, foreign missionaries, and foreign merchants as hostages may very well anger the red-haired foreigners and provoke them to attack the villages with force. You had better think it through carefully.”
Vasha said, “Elisa, your Xinkang community is close to Fort Zeelandia and frequently trades with foreign merchants from various countries. It is not surprising that you would consider things from the perspective of the red-haired foreigners.”
Elisa said, “Sister Vasha, why do you say that? I simply do not want the situation to escalate and become uncontrollable.”
Maya mediated, saying, “Sisters, please do not lose your tempers. If we hold officials and missionaries in our hands, the red-haired authorities will certainly have concerns and accept our negotiation terms.”
Elisa said worriedly, “I always feel that doing this will bring significant repercussions.”
Vasha said displeasedly, “You have so many concerns. Are we supposed to just let the red-haired foreigners butcher us at will?”
Douning said, “Enough. We will proceed with this decision. We will keep the tax officials and missionaries as hostages and force the red-haired foreigners to the negotiating table. Pias will be arriving shortly. We will act according to the situation. Imaina, go gather the strong men of the community and have them assemble at the meeting hall, ready to act. When Pias and his group arrive at the venue, seize them upon hearing the signal.”
Imaina said, “Understood. I will go gather the men right away.”
42
After half an hour, the stifling afternoon heat was finally eased slightly by a faint sea breeze. Pias, Bosimen, and several attendants arrived at Douning’s residence. Her estate was located at the center of the tribe, surrounded by tall trees whose interwoven branches formed a dim green canopy. The ancient stone sculptures in the courtyard were bathed in a golden glow from the sunlight, appearing both mysterious and tranquil. When Imaina received them, she stood in the courtyard, her face betraying no emotion, yet her gaze carried a hint of vigilance.
The attendants remained in the courtyard. Several of them laid out mats in the shade, lowering their heads to drink fruit juice to quench their thirst, their subdued laughter tinged with fatigue. Imaina led Pias and Bosimen into the living room. The air inside was heavy. Exquisite woven fabrics from various regions hung on the walls. The light shifted with the shadows outside the windows, creating a somber atmosphere. Several chiefs sat upright at the table, their expressions serious. When they saw the two men enter, their expressions tightened unconsciously, and the air seemed to carry the scent of impending tension.
Pias looked around uneasily and spoke cautiously, “Chiefs, I have come here to convey an order… The decision to raise taxes was issued by Chief Peter. I am merely carrying out orders. I ask for your understanding.”
He paused, a trace of doubt flashing in his eyes, as if he sensed something was wrong. Vasha immediately interjected, her tone sharp. She stood up and walked toward Pias. Their eyes met, and the tension grew even heavier. “Tax officer, when you unilaterally raise taxes, have you ever considered the reaction of the people? Do you know how much resentment this will provoke?”
Pias’s gaze flickered, and his tone became even weaker. “This is a directive from above. I am only executing orders. I truly have no choice. Please be understanding.” He forced a slight smile, but it appeared particularly insincere.
Vasha’s voice grew sharper as she pressed forward, her arms folded across her chest, her tone as cutting as a blade. “You say ‘just following orders,’ but we are the ones who must go back and face our people. What is that supposed to mean? How are we to explain this?”
Maya nodded gently and stood up to add, “Vasha is right. If we swallow our anger again this time and allow the red-haired foreigners to take whatever they want, how will we explain this to our people in the future?”
Bosimen quickly stood up, attempting to ease the tension. He extended his hands, his tone gentle. “Chiefs, I understand your difficulties. Do not make any hasty decisions. Pias and I will bring your opinions back to Fort Zeelandia and convey them to the authorities.”
Douning stared at Bosimen, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly, her tone filled with unquestionable resolve. “In that case, please convey our views to your superior and ask him to withdraw the tax increase order.”
Bosimen’s expression turned awkward. His fingers unconsciously tightened around the document in his hand, and his tone became helpless. “This… I am afraid that is not something I can promise. I do not have the authority to make such a decision.”
Douning’s gaze remained cold as she smiled faintly. “Officer Pi, what do you say?”
Sweat formed on Pias’s forehead. His hands unconsciously braced against the edge of the table, and his voice carried urgency. “Please do not make things difficult for me! I am also carrying out orders. There is nothing I can do about this…”
Douning let out a cold laugh, lowered her head, and clapped her hands lightly as she gave her command. “In that case, we will have no choice but to keep Pias here as a ‘guest’ until your superior agrees to withdraw the order.”
Her tone carried a trace of coldness, as if the decision had already been made. Pias’s eyes widened instantly, his lips trembling slightly, his voice filled with shock. “You had better think carefully about the consequences of doing this!”
Douning ignored his threat and clapped her hands lightly, calling out, “Imaina!”
Imaina quickly walked to the window, picked up the horn hanging there, and blew it forcefully. The sound was deafening, echoing through the surrounding valleys and rapidly spreading across the entire village. Upon hearing the signal, the tribal men in the meeting hall immediately drew their knives, long staffs, and ropes, assembling swiftly in the square in perfect order.
The leader, Makawu, stepped forward and shouted commands, “Brothers, the chief has given orders. The purpose of this operation is to capture them. Do not harm their lives.” A cold glint flashed in his eyes as he directed the men to split into two groups and surround Douning’s residence.
Seeing the situation, the attendants brought by Pias surrendered immediately, completely incapable of resistance. Makawu issued a low command, “Detain these red-haired foreigners in the meeting hall and guard them strictly.” The attendants were quickly taken away, helpless.
Makawu then led four villagers back into the house and said politely yet firmly, “Chief Douning, everything has been handled properly. Please rest assured.”
Douning nodded and turned to Bosimen, her tone devoid of emotion. “Bosimen, please convey to Chief Peter in Fort Zeelandia that we await his people for negotiations. As for Pias and his attendants, we will treat them well.”
Bosimen nodded helplessly. “I will.” He bowed deeply to Douning.
Douning turned to Makawu, her tone calm yet carrying an undeniable authority. “Makawu, take the tax officer to the guest house and treat him as a guest.”
Makawu responded respectfully, “Yes, Chief. This way, Tax Officer.”
Afterward, Pias was taken away by Makawu and the tribal men. As he stepped out of the living room, the bright sunlight outside illuminated his stunned face.
43
In the morning light, sunlight streamed through the towering windows of the Madou Community Christian Church, falling upon the wooden pews and casting a layer of soft golden radiance. Father Matthews stood before the simple pulpit, flipping through the Bible in his hands, explaining the scriptures to the congregation in a calm yet powerful tone. The air inside the church was filled with a faint fragrance, emanating from the flickering candles and the scent of fresh wood in one corner. When he spoke of a deeply meaningful passage, the worshippers bowed their heads in contemplation, completely absorbed.
However, the church doors suddenly swung open, and Chief Maya entered accompanied by Walu and several community members. Her steps were steady, carrying an invisible authority, while Walu scanned the surroundings with calm eyes, exuding alertness, ready to act at a moment’s notice.
Maya’s gaze settled on Matthews, her tone slightly cold and firm: “Father, I apologize for disturbing your sermon. The chief has urgent matters to discuss with you.”
Matthews paused slightly, then turned to the gathered congregation: “Brothers and sisters, please take a short break.” He put down the Bible, his tone gentle but tinged with unease; the unexpected visitors had instantly changed the atmosphere of the church. The worshippers whispered among themselves, the soft murmur echoing in the air, revealing their curiosity and doubts about the visitors.
Without further hesitation, Matthews nodded at Maya: “Let’s go to the back room to talk, Chief.”
The three walked together to the church’s rear lounge. The dim yellow light inside gave the room a somewhat dark appearance, and the scent of fresh wood permeated the space. Matthews and Maya sat opposite each other, while Walu stood behind Maya, arms crossed, body slightly leaning forward, displaying tense vigilance.
Matthews lightly tapped the table, looking Maya directly in the eyes: “Chief, please speak directly if there is something you need.”
Maya spoke calmly: “Father, tax officer Pias has unilaterally increased taxes, forcing our villages to unite and take action.”
Matthews furrowed his brow slightly and remained silent for a moment before speaking slowly: “This is indeed a difficult problem. How do you plan to respond?”
Maya’s eyes flickered slightly, but her voice remained firm: “We will detain the foreigners in each village as leverage for negotiations with the authorities. We demand that the authorities withdraw their orders. This is the joint decision of the tribal chiefs’ council.”
A flicker of surprise crossed Matthews’ eyes. An uneasy premonition arose in his heart, and his tone became more cautious: “Do you mean that you intend for me to remain in the church, effectively under house arrest?”
Maya nodded, her expression unchanged: “Yes, Father. We will temporarily restrict your freedom of movement.”
Matthews took a deep breath, gently placing the Bible down, his fingers lingering slightly on the pages: “Actually, I do not mind temporary house arrest. What worries me more is the possibility of an overreaction from the authorities.”
Maya smiled faintly, her tone carrying a calm confidence: “We have already assessed that. The authorities will be willing to negotiate because they will have some caution.”
Matthews remained silent for a moment, then spoke earnestly: “Chief, the unilateral tax increase seems to have stirred public resentment. I believe the church will actively intervene. After all, unrest in this region will not be favorable for the church’s missionary work.”
Maya frowned, her tone carrying a hint of challenge: “So you mean, once the church intervenes, it will side with us?”
Matthews looked steadily into Maya’s eyes, his voice calm: “I cannot say that with certainty. But I am confident that the church will not sit idly by as the situation escalates and the tax resistance spreads into local unrest. At the very least, they will act as mediators, working quickly to resolve the matter.”
Maya’s lips curled slightly, a calculating gleam flashing in her eyes: “Very well, Father. I will take the liberty of granting you freedom of movement to go and consult with the regional bishop. You should depart as soon as possible.”
Matthews stood, bowing his head slightly in gratitude: “Thank you, Chief, for your trust. I will go see Bishop Gandhis immediately, and request him to intervene and negotiate with the officials of the governor’s office.”
The outer walls of the Zeeland Castle Governor’s Office gleamed coldly in the morning sun. The building, constructed of heavy stone blocks, appeared even more magnificent and imposing under the sunlight. A slightly cool sea breeze brushed in through the windows, carrying a hint of saltiness, yet it could not relieve the stifling indoor air. Bosman stepped into the quiet office and stood before Chief Peter’s desk, feeling an invisible pressure pressing against his chest.
Peter sat in his carved chair, brow furrowed, hands crossed on the desk, eyes coldly fixed on Bosman, as if awaiting a report that could not be avoided. Bosman spoke without further preamble, his tone heavy: “Report, Chief. Tax officer Pias’ talks with the village chiefs have broken down. He and his entourage are being detained in Xiaolong Village.”
Peter’s eyes suddenly blazed. He stood abruptly, scattering papers from the desk, which fluttered in the wind. Pointing outside, his voice full of anger: “These natives are audacious, deliberately challenging my authority! It seems I must show my strength and give them a painful lesson!”
Buckler stood beside him, his gaze calm, revealing no emotion, slightly bending to pick up the papers from the desk. His tone was even: “Chief, Pias and the foreign merchants are likely all in the hands of the natives. We cannot act rashly, lest they harm the hostages in desperation, causing an international incident. Should foreign powers intervene, our legitimacy here would be shaken.”
Peter slammed the desk loudly, the sound echoing through the spacious office: “Buckler, I understand your point, but I will not retreat! I must make them pay for seizing hostages and openly defying the office!”
Buckler calmly approached Peter, hands placed on the desk, meeting Peter’s gaze directly. He spoke softly: “Chief, shall we wait until the hostages are rescued before taking action?”
Peter’s face showed a trace of impatience, but he still asked firmly: “Do you have a better plan, Buckler?”
Buckler seemed to have anticipated Peter’s reaction. After a moment’s thought, he spoke with careful deliberation: “Chief, since the natives’ rebellion arose from the tax increase, we should, for the time being, concede to their demands and show goodwill. Let them release the hostages first. This is a temporary measure. It will stabilize the situation until our subsequent actions carry more leverage.”
Peter squinted, weighing Buckler’s proposal, then muttered through clenched teeth: “Do it your way. Once they have no leverage left, see how I deal with them!”
Bosman stood aside, listening. Though he dared not speak, he felt deep concern over the unfolding situation. He clearly sensed the hidden dangers behind this power struggle. Bowing slightly, he scanned Peter’s face, understanding that the chief had already made his decision. Peter raised his hand, took up a pen, and quickly wrote a letter, his fingers moving firmly across the paper. He handed it to Bosman: “Take this letter to the village chiefs. Tell them to release the tax officer first. Remember—do not reveal anything that might alert them or arouse suspicion.”
Bosman took the letter, stood upright, and replied softly: “Yes, Chief.” He felt the weight of the envelope, as if it carried not just words but the storm of events about to unfold. He turned to the door, gently closing it behind him, his sense of tension growing stronger.
45
Inside the Pro Min Zhecheng Christian Dominican Church, all was silent. Light from the stained-glass windows on the tall walls scattered across the stone floor, filling the surrounding space with a sacred glow. Yet this tranquility was soon broken. Father Pliny hurried in, his steps rapid and tense, carrying a sense of unease. His face was pale, eyes flickering with anxiety, his voice slightly trembling: “Bishop, there’s trouble in the parish.”
Gandhis stood before the altar, holding a thick Bible in his hands, his gaze calm and profound. Upon hearing Pliny’s words, he furrowed his brow slightly, set the book down, and turned to Pliny: “What’s happening in the parish?”
Pliny drew a deep breath, leaning slightly forward, his tone urgent: “Our people report that in several villages, both the foreigners and our personnel have been collectively placed under house arrest by the chiefs.”
Gandhis’ face showed confusion. He furrowed his brows, crossing his hands over his chest. The slight furrowing indicated his inner doubts: “How could this happen? We have always maintained friendly relations with the chiefs. Even if foreign merchants offended them, there is no reason for them to involve our people. There must be a reason behind this.”
Pliny extended a hand in a gesture of slight explanation: “The reason I learned is that the governor’s office ordered tax officer Pias to unilaterally increase taxes, which provoked strong dissatisfaction from the chiefs, leading them to unite and take action.”
Gandhis pondered for a moment, pacing back and forth, hands open: “If that is the reason, then the united action by the chiefs can be understood. But the chiefs should not be targeting our Dominican order specifically.”
At that moment, Matthews entered the church, his steps heavy and steady, his expression grave. He bowed slightly to Gandhis and spoke: “Bishop, our parish is in trouble.”
Gandhis smiled faintly, his expression still calm, though inner unease was evident: “Matthews has arrived. I can now get a clear understanding of the incident from him.” He gestured slightly for Pliny to step back, indicating Matthews should come closer.
Matthews greeted Gandhis and Pliny, then directly addressed the matter: “Bishop, here is what happened…” His tone was grave as he briefly described the events, eyes showing deep concern.
Gandhis nodded, realizing the situation was even more complex: “I only learned about tax officer Pias being held in Xiaolong Village from you. My concern is not just for the safety of our parishioners, nor only the detained foreign merchants, but also the potential retaliatory actions the governor’s office might take. If the situation escalates and spirals out of control, the entire Siraya parish will fall into prolonged unrest, which is highly unfavorable for our missionary work.”
Matthews furrowed his brow, clasping his hands in front of him, his voice low: “Bishop, I believe our Dominican order must immediately step in to mediate the dispute.”
Gandhis’ gaze gradually became firm. He lifted his head, his voice calm and authoritative: “As the regional bishop, I will certainly intervene to mediate. However, I intend to contact foreign merchants in the city and at Dayuan Port. We will act together, go to the governor’s office, and negotiate with Peter. This increases the chance of success.”
Pliny nodded slightly, stepped forward, his tone confident: “Bishop, what you say is correct. Acting together, Peter is unlikely to dismiss us.”
Gandhis took a deep breath, his eyes showing determination: “It is decided. You two act separately. Pliny, take my signed invitation and immediately invite the chairpersons of the foreign merchant associations from both locations to meet; Matthews, visit each village, explaining to the chiefs that the Dominican order and the merchant associations will intervene together to mediate. Advise the chiefs to remain calm during this period and treat the hostages well to avoid provoking the office.”
Matthews and Pliny answered in unison, their voices decisive and firm: “Yes, Bishop.”
After bowing, Matthews and Pliny quickly turned and departed. The air in the church remained heavy, with only the church bells drifting in on the wind, reminding all that the underlying tension of this turmoil was quietly spreading, and every action by the church would shape the turning of fate.
