His first concern was to get a dwelling-place, and he went from
house to house inquiring for some place to rent. Everywhere he
went he was turned away with rough abuse, and occasionally the
dogs were set upon him.

But at last he was successful. Up on the bank of the river, a
little way from the edge of the town, he found a place which the
owner condescended to rent. It was a miserable little hut, half
house, half cellar, built into the side of the hill facing the
river. A military officer had intended it for his horse-stable,
and yet Mackay paid for this hovel the sum of fifteen dollars a
month. It had three rooms, one without a floor. The road ran past
the door, and a few feet beyond was the river. By spending money
rather liberally he managed to hire the coolie who had
accompanied him to south Formosa. With his servant's help Mackay
had his new establishment thoroughly cleaned and whitewashed, and
then he moved in his furniture. He laughed as he called it
furniture, for it consisted of but two packing boxes full of
books and clothing. But more came later. The British consul, Mr.
Frater, lent him a chair and a bed. There was one old Chinese,
who kept a shop near by, and who seemed inclined to be friendly
to the queer barbarian with the black beard. He presented him
with an old pewter lamp, and the house was furnished complete.

Mackay sat down at his one table, the first night after he was
settled. The damp air was hot and heavy, and swarms of tormenting
mosquitoes filled the room. Through the open door came the murmur
of the river, and from far down in the village the sounds of
harsh, clamorous voices. He was alone, many, many miles from home
and friends. Around him on every side were bitter enemies.