CAMPS
AND TRAILS IN CHINA
A NARRATIVE
OF EXPLORATION, ADVENTURE, AND SPORT IN LITTLE-KNOWN CHINA
BY
ROY
CHAPMAN ANDREWS, M.A.
ASSOCIATE
CURATOR OF MAMMALS
IN THE AMERICAN MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY
AND LEADER OF THE MUSEUM'S ASIATIC ZOÖLOGICAL EXPEDITION OF 1916-1917;
FELLOW NEW YORK ACADEMY OF SCIENCES;
CORRESPONDING MEMBER ZOÖLOGICAL SOCIETY OF LONDON,
MEMBER OF THE BIOLOGICAL SOCIETY OF WASHINGTON;
AUTHOR OF WHALE HUNTING WITH GUN AND CAMERA
AND
YVETTE
BORUP ANDREWS
PHOTOGRAPHER
OF THE ASIATIC ZOÖLOGICAL EXPEDITION
1918
PART
THREE
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
XXVI
Chinese
New Year at Yung-chang
Y.
B. A.
Traveling to Yung-chang—New
Year's customs—Inhabitants of the city—Foot-binding—Caves—Water
buffaloes—Chinese cow-caravans—Yung-chang mentioned
by Marco Polo
CHAPTER
XXVII
Traveling
Toward the Tropics
Shih-tien plain—Curious
inhabitants of the city—A tropical valley at Ma-po-lo—"A
little more far"—A splendid camp—Many new mammals—Preparing
specimens—Sambur—Trapping
CHAPTER
XXVIII
Meng-ting:
a Village: of Many Tongues
The first Shan village—Priscilla
and John Alden—Meng-ting—The Shan mandarin—Young
priests—The market—Photographing under difficulties—Suppression
of opium growing
CHAPTER
XXIX
Camping
on the Nam-ting River
A beautiful camp—The
"Dying Rabbit"—Sambur hunting—Jungle fowl—Civets—Pole
cats and other animals
CHAPTER
XXX
Monkey
Hunting
Strange calls in the
jungle—Our first gibbons—Relationship and habits—Langurs
and baboons—A night in the jungle
CHAPTER
XXXI
The
Shans of the Burma Border
An unfriendly chief—Honest
natives—Houses at Nam-ka—Tattooing—Shan tribe—Dress
CHAPTER
XXXII
Prisoners
of War in Burma
Y.
B. A.
The mythical Ma-li-ling—Across
the frontier into Burma—The mafus rebel—Ma-li-pa—Captain
Clive—Guarding the border—Life at Ma-li-pa
CHAPTER
XXXIII
Hunting
Peacocks on the Salween River
The valley at Changlung—The
ferry—Peacocks—The stalker stalked—Habits of peafowls
CHAPTER
XXXIV
The
Gibbons of Ho-mu-shu
Climbing out of the
Salween Valley—A Shan village—Ho-mu-shu—Camping
on a mountain pass—Gibbons—An exciting hunt and a narrow
escape—Habits of the "hoolock"
CHAPTER
XXXV
Teng-yueh:
a Link with Civilization
Tai-ping-pu—Flying
squirrels—Lisos—A bat cave—Mail—Teng-yueh—Mr.
Ralph Grierson—Tibetan bear cubs
CHAPTER
XXXVI
A
Big Game Paradise
Gorals at Hui-yao—Deer—Splendid
hunts
CHAPTER
XXXVII
Serow
and Sambur
Monkeys at Hui-yao—Muntjacs—A
new serow—We move camp to Wa-tien—A fine sambur
CHAPTER
XXXVIII
Last
Days in China
Return to Teng-yueh—Packing
the specimens—Results of the Expedition—On the road
to Bhamo—The chair coolies—Burma vs. China—In
civilization again—Farewell to the Orient
CAMPS AND TRAILS IN
CHINA
CHINESE NEW YEAR AT
YUNG-CHANG
Y. B. A.
The last half of the
expedition began January 13 when we left Ta-li Fu with a caravan
of thirty miles for Yung-chang, eight days' travel to the south.
The mafus although they had promised faithfully to come
"at daylight" did not arrive until nearly noon and in consequence
it was necessary to camp at Hsia-kuan at the foot of the lake.
We improved our time
there in hunting about for skins and finally purchased two fine
leopards and a tiger. The latter had been brought from the Tonking
frontier. There were a number of Tibetans wandering about the
market place and in the morning a caravan of at least two hundred
horses followed by twenty or thirty Tibetans, passed into the
city while it was yet gray dawn. They were bringing tea from P'u-erh
and S'su-mao in the south of the province and although they had
already been nearly a month upon their journey there was still
many long weeks of travel before them ere they reached the wind-blown
steppes of their native land.
The trip to Yung-chang
proved uninteresting and uneventful. We crossed a succession of
dry, thinly forested mountains from 7,000 to 8,000 feet high which
near their summits were often clothed with a thick growth of rhododendron
trees. The beautiful red flowers flashed like
fire balls among the green leaves, peach trees were in full blossom
and in some spots the dry hills seemed about to break forth in
the full glory of their spring verdure. We crossed the Mekong
near a village called Shia-chai on a picturesque chain suspension
bridge of a type which is not unusual in the southern and western
part of the province. Several heavy iron chains are firmly fastened
to huge rock piers on opposite sides of the river and the roadway
formed by planks laid upon them. Although the bridge shakes and
swings in a rather alarming manner when a caravan is crossing,
it is perfectly safe if not too heavily loaded.
In the afternoon of
January 21, we rode down the mountain to the great Yung-chang
plain, and for two hours trotted over a hard dirt road. The plain
is eighteen miles long by six miles wide and except for its scattered
villages, is almost entirely devoted to paddy fields. The city
itself includes about five thousand houses. It is exceedingly
picturesque and is remarkable for its long, straight, and fairly
clean streets which contrast strongly with those of the usual
Chinese town. At the west, but still within the city walls, is
a picturesque wooded hill occupied almost exclusively by temples.
We ourselves camped
between two ponds in the courtyard of a large and exceptionally
clean temple just outside the south gate of the city. It was the
Chinese New Year and Wu told us that for several days at least
it would be impossible to obtain another caravan or expect the
natives to do any work whatever. It was a very pleasant place
in which to stay although we chafed at the enforced delay, but
we made good use of our time in photographing and developing motion
picture film, collecting birds and making various excursions.
Chinese New Year is
always interesting to a foreigner and at Yung-chang we saw many
of the customs attending its celebration. It is a time of feasting
and merry making and no native, if he can possibly avoid it, will
work on that day. Chinese families almost always live under one
roof but should any male member be absent at this season the circumstances
must be exceptional to prevent him from returning to his home.
It is customary, too,
for brides to revisit their mother's house at New Year's. On our
way to Yung-chang and for several days after leaving the city,
we were continually passing young women mounted on mules or horses
and accompanied by servants returning to their homes. New clothes
are a leading feature of this season and the dresses of the brides
and young matrons were usually of the most unexpected hues for,
according to our conception of color, the Chinese can scarcely
be counted conspicuous for their good taste. Purple and blue,
orange and red, pink and lavender clash distressingly, but are
worn with inordinate pride.
These visits are not
an unalloyed pleasure to the bride's family. Dr. Smith says in
"Chinese Characteristics":
When she goes to
her mother's home, she goes on a strictly business basis. She
takes with her it may be a quantity of sewing for her husband's
family, which the wife's family must help her get through with.
She is accompanied on each of these visits by as many of her
children as possible, both to have her take care of them and
to have them out of the way when she is not at hand to look
after them, and most especially to have them fed at the expense
of the family of the maternal grandmother for as long a time
as possible. In regions where visits of this sort are frequent,
and where there are many daughters in
a family, their constant raids on the old home are a source
of perpetual terror to the whole family, and a serious tax on
the common resources.*
Religious rites and
ceremonies form a conspicuous part in the New Year's celebration.
At this time the "Kitchen God," according to current superstition,
returns to heaven to render an account of the household's behavior.
The wily Chinese, however, first rubs the lips of the departing
deity with candy in order to "sweeten" his report of any evil
which he may have witnessed during the year.
Usually all the members
of the family gather before the ancestral tablets, or should these
be lacking as among many of the laboring classes, a scroll with
a part of the genealogy is displayed and the spirits of the departed
are appeased and honored by the burning of incense and the mumbling
of incantations. While strict attention is paid to the religious
observance to the dead, at New Year's the most punctilious ceremony
is rendered to the living.
After the family have
paid their respects to one another the younger male members go
from house to house "kowtowing" to the elders who are there to
receive them. The following days are devoted to visits to relatives
living in the neighboring towns and villages, and this continues,
an endless routine, until fourteen days later the Feast of the
Lanterns puts an end to the "epoch of national leisure."
The Chinese are inveterate
gamblers and at New Year's they turn feverishly to this form of
amusement which is almost their only one. But they also have to
think seriously about paying their debts
for it is absolutely necessary for all classes and conditions
of men to meet their obligations at the end of the year.
Almost everyone owes
money in China. According to the clan system an individual having
surplus cash is obliged to lend it (though at a high rate of interest)
to any members of his family in need of help. However, a Chinaman
never pays cash unless absolutely obliged to and almost never
settles a debt until he has been dunned repeatedly.
The activity displayed
at New Year's is ludicrous.
Each separate individual
[says Dr. Smith] is engaged in the task of trying to chase down
the men who owe money to him, and compel them to pay up, and
at the same time in trying to avoid the persons who are struggling
to track him down and corkscrew from him the amount of
his indebtedness to them! The dodges and subterfuges to which
each is obliged to resort, increase in complexity and number
with the advance of the season, until at the close of the month,
the national activity is at fever heat. For if a debt is not
secured then, it will go over till a new year, and no one knows
what will be the status of a claim which has actually contrived
to cheat the annual Day of Judgment. In spite of the excellent
Chinese habit of making the close of a year a grand clearing-house
for all debts, Chinese human nature is too much for Chinese
custom, and there are many of these postponed debts which are
a grief of mind to many a Chinese creditor.
The Chinese are
at once the most practical and the most sentimental of the human
race. New Year must not be violated by duns for debts,
and the debts must be collected New Year though it be.
For this reason one sometimes sees an urgent creditor going
about early on the first day of the year carrying a lantern
looking for his creditor [=debtor]. His artificial light shows
that by a social fiction the sun has not yet
risen, it is still yesterday and the debt can still be claimed....
We have but to imagine
the application of the principles which we have named, to the
whole Chinese Empire, and we get new light upon the nature of
the Chinese New Year festivities. They are a time of rejoicing,
but there is no rejoicing so keen as that of a ruined debtor,
who has succeeded by shrewd devices in avoiding the most relentless
of his creditors and has thus postponed his ruin for at least
another twelve months.
For, once past the
narrow strait at the end of the year, the debtor finds himself
again in the broad and peaceful waters, where he cannot be molested.
Even should his creditors meet him on New Year's day, there
could be no possibility of mentioning the fact of the previous
day's disgraceful flight and concealment, or indeed of alluding
to business at all, for this would not be "good form" and to
the Chinese "Good Form" (otherwise known as custom), is the
chief national divinity.*
Yung-chang appears
to be almost entirely inhabited by Chinese and in no part of the
province did we see foot-binding more in evidence. Practically
every woman and girl, young or old, regardless of her station
in life was crippled in this brutal way. The women wear long full
coats with flaring skirts which hang straight from their shoulders
to their knees. When the trousers are tightly wrapped about their
shrunken ankles, they look in a side view exactly like huge umbrellas.
One day we visited
a cave thirty li north of the city where we hoped to find
new bats. A beautiful little temple has been built over the entrance
to the cavern which does not extend more than forty or fifty feet
into the rock. But twenty li south of Yung-chang, just
beyond the village of A-shih-wo, there is an enormous cave
which is reported to extend entirely through the hill. Whether
or not this is true we can not say for although we explored it
in part we did not reach the end. The central corridor is about
thirty feet wide and at least sixty or seventy high. We followed
the main gallery for a long distance, and turned back at a branch
which led off at a sharp angle. We were not equipped with sufficient
candles to pursue the exploration more extensively and did not
have time to visit it again. The cave contained some beautiful
stalactites of considerable size, but the limestone was a dull
lead color. We found only one bat and these animals appear not
to have used it extensively since there was little sign upon the
floor.
At Yuang-chang we
saw water buffaloes for the first time in Yün-nan but found them
to be in universal use farther to the south and west. The huge
brutes are as docile as a kitten in the hands of the smallest
native child but they do not like foreigners and discretion is
the better part of valor where they are concerned.
Water buffaloes are
only employed for work in the rice fields but Chinese cows are
used as burden bearers in this part of the province. Such caravans
travel much more slowly than do mule trains although the animals
are not loaded as heavily. Two or three of the leading cows usually
carry upon their backs large bells hung in wooden frameworks and
the music is by no means unmelodious when heard at a distance.
Marco Polo, the great Venetian traveler, refers to Yung-chang
as "Vochang." His account of a battle which was fought in its
vicinity in the year 1272 between the King of Burma and Bengal
and one of Kublai Khan's generals is so interesting that I am
quoting it below:
When the king of
Mien [Burma] and Bangala [Bengal], in India, who was powerful
in the number of his subjects, in extent of territory, and in
wealth, heard that an army of Tartars had arrived at Vochang
[Yung-chang] he took the resolution of advancing immediately
to attack it, in order that by its destruction the grand khan
should be deterred from again attempting to station a force
upon the borders of his dominions. For this purpose he assembled
a very large army, including a multitude of elephants (an animal
with which his country abounds), upon whose backs were placed
battlements or castles, of wood, capable of containing to the
number of twelve or sixteen in each. With these, and a numerous
army of horse and foot, he took the road to Vochang, where the
grand khan's army lay, and encamping at no great distance from
it, intended to give his troops a few days of rest.
As soon as the approach
of the king of Mien, with so great a force, was known to Nestardín,
who commanded the troops of the grand khan, although a brave
and able officer, he felt much alarmed, not having under his
orders more than twelve thousand men (veterans, indeed, and
valiant soldiers); whereas the enemy had sixty thousand, besides
the elephants armed as has been described. He did not, however,
betray any sign of apprehension, but descending into the plain
of Vochang, took a position in which his flank was covered by
a thick wood of large trees, whither, in case of a furious charge
by the elephants, which his troops might not be able to sustain,
they could retire, and from thence, in security, annoy them
with their arrows....
Upon the king of
Mien's learning that the Tartars had descended into the plain,
he immediately put his army in motion, took up his ground at
the distance of about a mile from the enemy, and made a disposition
of his force, placing the elephants in the front, and the cavalry
and infantry, in two extended wings, in their rear, but leaving
between them a considerable interval. Here he took his own station,
and proceeded to animate his men and
encourage them to fight valiantly, assuring them of victory,
as well from the superiority of their numbers, being four to
one, as from their formidable body of armed elephants, whose
shock the enemy, who had never before been engaged with such
combatants, could by no means resist. Then giving orders for
sounding a prodigious number of warlike instruments, he advanced
boldly with his whole army towards that of the Tartars, which
remained firm, making no movement, but suffering them to approach
their entrenchments.
They then rushed
out with great spirit and the utmost eagerness to engage; but
it was soon found that the Tartar horses, unused to the sight
of such huge animals, with their castles, were terrified, and
by wheeling about endeavored to fly; nor could their riders
by any exertions restrain them, whilst the king, with the whole
of his forces, was every moment gaining ground. As soon as the
prudent commander perceived this unexpected disorder, without
losing his presence of mind, he instantly adopted the measure
of ordering his men to dismount and their horses to be taken
into the wood, where they were fastened to the trees.
When dismounted,
the men without loss of time, advanced on foot towards the line
of elephants, and commenced a brisk discharge of arrows; whilst,
on the other side, those who were stationed in the castles,
and the rest of the king's army, shot volleys in return with
great activity; but their arrows did not make the same impression
as those of the Tartars, whose bows were drawn with a stronger
arm. So incessant were the discharges of the latter, and all
their weapons (according to the instructions of their commander)
being directed against the elephants, these were soon covered
with arrows, and, suddenly giving way, fell back upon their
own people in the rear, who were thereby thrown into confusion.
It soon became impossible for their drivers to manage them,
either by force or address. Smarting under the pain of their
wounds, and terrified by the shouting
of the assailants, they were no longer governable, but without
guidance or control ran about in all directions, until at length,
impelled by rage and fear, they rushed into a part of the wood
not occupied by the Tartars. The consequence of this was, that
from the closeness of the branches of large trees, they broke,
with loud crashes, the battlements or castles that were upon
their backs, and involved in the destruction those who sat upon
them.
Upon seeing the
rout of the elephants the Tartars acquired fresh courage, and
filing off by detachments, with perfect order and regularity,
they remounted their horses, and joined their several divisions,
when a sanguinary and dreadful combat was renewed. On the part
of the king's troops there was no want of valor, and he himself
went amongst the ranks entreating them to stand firm, and not
to be alarmed by the accident that had befallen the elephants.
But the Tartars by their consummate skill in archery, were too
powerful for them, and galled them the more exceedingly, from
their not being provided with such armor as was worn by the
former.
The arrows having
been expended on both sides, the men grasped their swords and
iron maces, and violently encountered each other. Then in an
instant were to be seen many horrible wounds, limbs dismembered,
and multitudes falling to the ground, maimed and dying; with
such effusion of blood as was dreadful to behold. So great also
was the clangor of arms, and such the shoutings and the shrieks,
that the noise seemed to ascend to the skies. The king of Mien,
acting as became a valiant chief, was present wherever the greatest
danger appeared, animating his soldiers, and beseeching them
to maintain their ground with resolution. He ordered fresh squadrons
from the reserve to advance to the support of those that were
exhausted; but perceiving at length that it was impossible any
longer to sustain the conflict or to withstand the impetuosity
of the Tartars, the greater part of his troops being either
killed or wounded, and all the field covered with
the carcasses of men and horses, whilst those who survived were
beginning to give way, he also found himself compelled to take
to flight with the wreck of his army, numbers of whom were afterwards
slain in the pursuit....
The Tartars having
collected their force after the slaughter of the enemy, returned
towards the wood into which the elephants had fled for shelter,
in order to take possession of them, where they found that the
men who had escaped from the overthrow were employed in cutting
down trees and barricading the passages, with the intent of
defending themselves. But their ramparts were soon demolished
by the Tartars, who slew many of them, and with the assistance
of the persons accustomed to the management of the elephants,
they possessed themselves of these to the number of two hundred
or more. From the period of this battle the grand khan has always
chosen to employ elephants in his armies, which before that
time he had not done. The consequences of the victory were,
that he acquired possession of the whole of the territories
of the king of Bangala and Mien, and annexed them to his dominions.*
TRAVELING TOWARD THE
TROPICS
We left Yung-chang
with no regret on Monday, January 28. Our stay there would have
been exceedingly pleasant under ordinary conditions but it was
impossible not to chafe at the delay occasioned by the caravan.
Traveling southward for two days over bare brown mountainsides,
their monotony unrelieved except by groves of planted pine and
fir trees, we descended abruptly into the great subtropical valley
at Shih-tien.
Mile after mile this
fertile plain stretches away in a succession of rice paddies and
fields of sugar cane interspersed with patches of graceful bamboo,
their summits drooping like enormous clusters of ostrich plumes;
the air is warm and fragrant and the change from the surrounding
hills is delightful. However, we were disappointed in the shooting
for, although it appeared to be an ideal place for ducks and other
water birds, we killed only five teal, and the great ponds were
almost devoid of bird life. Even herons, so abundant in the north,
were conspicuous by their absence and we saw no sheldrakes, geese,
or mallards.
At Shih-tien we camped
in a beautiful temple yard on the outskirts of the town, and with
Wu I returned to the village to inquire about shooting places.
We seated ourselves in the first open tea house and within ten
minutes more than a hundred natives had filled the
room, overflowed through the door and windows, and formed a mass
of pushing, crowding bodies which completely blocked the street
outside. It was a simple way of getting all the village together
and Wu questioned everyone who looked intelligent.
We learned that shooting
was to be found near Gen-kang, five days' travel south, and we
returned to the temple just in time to receive a visit from the
resident mandarin. He was a good-looking, intellectual man, with
charming manners and one of the most delightful gentlemen whom
we met in China.
During his visit,
and until dinner was over and we had retired to our tents, hundreds
of men, women and children crowded into the temple yard to gaze
curiously at us. After the gates had been closed they climbed
the walls and sat upon the tiles like a flock of crows. Their
curiosity was insatiable but not unfriendly and nowhere throughout
our expedition did we find such extraordinary interest in our
affairs as was manifested by the people in this immediate region.
They were largely Chinese and most of them must have met foreigners
before, yet their curiosity was much greater than that of any
natives whom we knew were seeing white persons for the first time.
Just before camping
the next day we passed through a large village where we were given
a most flattering reception. We had stopped to do some shooting
and were a considerable distance behind the caravan. The mafus
must have announced our coming, for the populace was out en
masse to greet us and lined the streets three deep. It was
a veritable triumphal entry and crowds of men and children followed
us for half a mile outside the town, running
beside our horses and staring with saucer-like eyes.
On the second day
from Shih-tien we climbed a high mountain and wound down a sharp
descent for about 4,000 feet into a valley only 2,300 feet above
sea level. We had been cold all day on the ridges exposed to a
biting wind and had bundled ourselves into sweaters and coats
over flannel shirts. After going down about 1,000 feet we tied
our coats to the saddle pockets, on the second thousand stripped
off the sweaters, and for the remainder of the descent rode with
sleeves rolled up and shirts open at the throat. We had come from
midwinter into summer in two hours and the change was most startling.
It was as though we had suddenly ridden into an artificially heated
building like the rooms for tropical plants at botanical gardens.
Our camp was on a
flat plain just above the river where we had a splendid view of
the wide valley which was like the bottom of a well with high
mountains rising abruptly on all sides. It was a place of strange
contrasts. The bushes and trees were in full green foliage but
the grass and paddy fields were dry and brown as in midwinter
The thick trees at the base of the hills were literally alive
with doves but there were few mammal runways and our traps yielded
no results. That night a muntjac, the first we had heard, barked
hoarsely behind the tents.
The yamen "soldier"
who accompanied us from Shih-tien delivered his official dispatch
at the village (Ma-po-lo) which lies farther down the valley.
The magistrate, who proved to be a Shan native, arrived soon after
with ten or twelve men and we discovered that there was but one
man in the village who spoke Chinese.
The magistrate at
Ma-po-lo by no means wished to have the responsibility of our
safety thrust upon him and consequently assured us that there
were neither game nor hunters in this village. Although his anxiety
to be rid of us was apparent, he was probably telling the truth,
for the valley is so highly cultivated (rice), and the cover on
the mountainsides so limited, that it is doubtful if much game
remains.
In the morning the
entire valley was filled with a dense white fog but we climbed
out of it almost immediately, and by noon were back again in winter
on the summits of the ridges. The country through which we passed
en route to Gen-kang was similar to that which had oppressed
us during the preceding week—cultivated valleys between high
barren mountains relieved here and there by scattered groves of
planted fir trees. It was a region utterly hopeless from a naturalist's
standpoint and when we arrived at a large town near Gen-kang we
were well-nigh discouraged.
During almost a month
of travel we had been guided by native information which without
exception had proved worthless. It seemed useless to rely upon
it further, and yet there was no other alternative, for none of
the foreigners whom we had met in Yün-nan knew anything about
this part of the province. We were certain to reach a tropical
region farther south and the fact that there were a few sambur
skins for sale in the market offered slight encouragement. These
were said to come from a village called Meng-ting, "a little more
far," to the tune of four or five days' travel, over on the Burma
frontier.
With gloom in our
hearts, which matched that of the weather, we left in a pouring
rain on February 5, to slip and splash
southward through veritable rivers of mud for two long marches.
In the afternoon of the second day the country suddenly changed.
The trail led through a wide grassy valley, bordered by heavily
forested hills, into a deep ravine. Along the banks of a clear
stream the earth was soft and damp and the moss-covered logs and
dense vegetation made ideal conditions for small mammalian life.
We rode happily up
the ravine and stood in a rocky gateway. At the right a green-clothed
mountain rose out of a tangle of luxuriant vegetation; to the
left wave after wave of magnificent forested ridges lost themselves
in the low hung clouds; at our feet lay a beautiful valley filled
with stately trees which spread into a thick green canopy overhead.
We camped in a clearing
just at the edge of the forest. While the tents were being pitched,
I set a line of traps along the base of the opposite mountain
and found a "runway" under almost every log. About eight o'clock
I ran my traps and, with the aid of a lantern, stumbled about
in the bushes and high grass, over logs and into holes. When I
emptied my pockets there were fifteen mice, rats, shrews, and
voles, representing seven species and all new to our collection.
Heller brought in eight specimens and added two new species. We
forthwith decided to stay right where we were until this "gold
mine" had been exhausted.
In the morning our
traps were full of mammals and sixty-two were laid out on the
table ready for skinning. The length, tail, hind foot, and ear
of each specimen was first carefully measured in millimeters and
recorded in the field catalogue and upon a printed label bearing
our serial number; then an incision was made in the belly,
the skin stripped off, poisoned with arsenic, stuffed with cotton,
and sewed up. The animal was then pinned in position by the feet,
nose, and tail in a shallow wooden tray which fitted in the collecting
trunk.
The specimens were
put in the sun on every bright day until they were thoroughly
dry and could be wrapped in cotton and packed in water-tight trunks
or boxes. We have found that the regulation U.S. Army officer's
fiber trunk makes an ideal collecting case. It measures thirty
inches long by thirteen deep and sixteen inches wide and will
remain quite dry in an ordinary rain but, of course, must not
be allowed to stand in water. The skulls of all specimens, and
the skeletons of some, are numbered like the skin, strung upon
a wire, and dried in the sun. Also individuals of every species
are injected and preserved in formalin for future anatomical study.
Larger specimens are
always salted and dried. As soon as the skin has been removed
and cleaned of flesh and fat, salt is rubbed into every part of
it and the hide rolled up. In the morning it is unwrapped, the
water which has been extracted by the salt poured off, and the
skin hung over a rope or a tree branch to dry. If it is not too
hot and the air is dry, the skin may be kept in the shade to good
advantage, but under ordinary field conditions it should be placed
in the sun. Before it becomes too hard, the hide is rolled or
folded into a convenient package hair side in, tied into shape
and allowed to become "bone dry." In this condition it will keep
indefinitely but requires constant watching, for the salt absorbs
moisture from the air and alternate wetting and drying is fatal.
We soon trained two
of our Chinese boys to skin both large
and small animals and they became quite expert. They required
constant watching, however, and after each hide had been salted
either Mr. Heller or I examined it to make sure that it was properly
treated.
On our first day in
camp we sent for natives to the village of Mu-cheng ten li
distant. The men assured us that there were sambur, serow, and
muntjac in the neighborhood, and they agreed to hunt. They had
no dogs and were armed with crossbows, antiquated guns, and bows
and arrows, but they showed us the skins of two sambur in proof
of their ability to secure game.
Like most of the other
natives, with the exception of the Mosos on the Snow Mountain,
these men had no definite plan in hunting. The first day I went
out with them they indicated that we were to drive a hill not
far from camp. Without giving me an opportunity to reach a position
in front of them, they began to work up the hill, and I had a
fleeting glimpse of a sambur silhouetted against the sky as it
dashed over the summit.
Two days later while
I was out with ten other men who had a fairly good pack of dogs,
the first party succeeded in killing a female sambur. The animal
weighed at least five hundred pounds but they brought it to our
camp and we purchased the skin for ten rupees. South of
Gen-kang the money of the region, like all of Yün-nan for some
distance from the Burma frontier, is the Indian rupee which
equals thirty-three cents American gold; in that part of the province
adjoining Tonking, French Indo-China money is current.
My Journal of February
8 tells of our life at this camp, which we called "Good Hope."
The weather is delightful
for the sun is just warm enough for comfort and the nights are
clear and cold. How we do sleep! It seems hardly an hour from
the time we go to bed until we hear Wu rousing the servants,
and the crackle of the camp-fire outside the tent. We half dress
in our sleeping bags and with chattering teeth dash for the
fire to lace our high boots in its comfortable warmth.
After breakfast
when it is full daylight, my wife and I inspect the traps. The
ground is white with frost and the trees and bushes are dressed
in silver. Every trap holds an individual interest and we follow
the line through the forest, resetting some, and finding new
mammals in others. Yvette has conquered her feminine repugnance
far enough to remove shrews or mice from the traps by releasing
the spring and dropping them on to a broad green leaf, but she
never touches them.
We go back to meet
the hunters and while I am away with the men, the lady of the
camp works at her photography. I return in the late afternoon
and after tea we wander through the woods together. It is the
most delightful part of the day when the sun goes down and the
shadows lengthen. We sit on a log in a small clearing where
we can watch the upper branches of a splendid tree. It is the
home of a great colony of red-bellied squirrels (Callosciurus
erythraeus subsp.) and after a few moments of silence we
see a flash of brown along a branch, my gun roars out, and there
is a thud upon the ground.
Yvette runs to find
the animal and ere the echoes have died away in the forest the
gun bangs again. We have already shot a dozen squirrels from
this tree and yet more are there. Sometimes a tiny, striped
chipmunk (Tamiops macclellandi subsp.) will appear on
the lower branches, searching the bark for grubs, and after
he falls we have a long hunt to find him in the brown leaves.
When it is too dark to see the squirrels, we wander slowly back
to camp and eat a dinner of delicious
broiled deer steak in front of the fire; over the coffee we
smoke and talk of the day's hunting until it is time to "run
the traps."
Of all the work
we enjoy this most. With lanterns and a gun we pick our way
among the trees until we strike the trail along which the traps
are set. On the soft ground our feet are noiseless and, extinguishing
the lanterns, we sit on a log to listen to the night sounds.
The woods are full of life. Almost beside us there is a patter
of tiny feet and a scurry among the dry leaves; a muntjac barks
hoarsely on the opposite hillside, and a fox yelps behind us
in the forest. Suddenly there is a sharp snap, a muffled squeal,
and a trap a few yards away has done its work. Even in the tree
tops the night life is active. Dead twigs drop to the ground
with an unnatural noise, and soft-winged owls show black against
the sky as they flit across an opening in the branches.
We light the lanterns
again and pass down the trail into a cuplike hollow. Here there
are a dozen traps and already half of them are full. In one
is a tiny brown shrew caught by the tail as he ran across the
trap; another holds a veritable treasure, and at my exclamation
of delight Yvette runs up excitedly. It is a rare Insectivore
of the genus Hylomys and possibly a species new to science.
We examine it beside the lantern, wrap it carefully in paper,
and drop it into a pocket by itself.
The next bit of
cotton clings to a bush above a mossy log. The trap is gone
and for ten minutes we hunt carefully over every inch of ground.
Finally my wife discovers it fifteen feet away and stifles a
scream for in it, caught by the neck and still alive, is a huge
rat nearly two feet long; it too is a species which may prove
new.
When the last trap
has been examined, we follow the trail to the edge of the forest
and into the clearing where the tents glow in the darkness like
great yellow pumpkins. Ours is delightfully warmed by the charcoal
brazier and, stretched comfortably on the beds, we write our
daily records or read Dickens for half
an hour. It is with a feeling of great contentment that we slip
down into the sleeping bags and blow out the candles leaving
the tent filled with the soft glow of the moonlight.
MENG-TING: A VILLAGE
OF MANY TONGUES
During the eight days
in which we remained at the "Good Hope" camp, two hundred specimens
comprising twenty-one species were added to our collection. Although
the altitude was still 5,000 feet, the flora was quite unlike
that of any region in which we had previously collected, and that
undoubtedly was responsible for the complete change of fauna.
We were on the very edge of the tropical belt which stretches
along the Tonking and Burma frontiers in the extreme south and
west of the province.
It was already mid-February
and if we were to work in the fever-stricken valleys below 2,000
feet, it was high time we were on the way southward. The information
which we had obtained near Gen-kang had been supplemented by the
natives of Mu-cheng, and we decided to go to Meng-ting as soon
as possible.
The first march was
long and uneventful but at its end, from the summit of a high
ridge, we could see a wide valley which we reached in the early
morning of the second day. The narrow mountain trail abruptly
left us on a jutting promontory and wandered uncertainly down
a steep ravine to lose itself in a veritable forest of tree ferns
and sword grass. The slanting rays of the sun drew long golden
paths into the mysterious depths of the mist-filled valley. To
the right a giant sentinel peak of granite rose gaunt and naked
from out the enveloping sea of green which
swelled away to the left in huge ascending billows.
We rested in our saddles
until the faint tinkle of the bell on the leading mule announced
the approach of the caravan and then we picked our way slowly
down the steep trail between walls of tangled vegetation. In an
hour we were breathing the moist warm air of the tropics and riding
across a wide valley as level as a floor. The long stretches of
rank grass, far higher than our heads, were broken by groves of
feathery bamboos, banana palms, and splendid trees interlaced
with tangled vines.
Near the base of the
mountains a Shan village nestled into the grass. The bamboo houses,
sheltered by trees and bushes, were roofed in the shape of an
overturned boat with thatch and the single street was wide and
clean. Could this really be China? Verily, it was a different
China from that we had seen before! It might be Burma, India,
Java, but never China!
Before the door of
a tiny house sat a woman spinning. A real Priscilla, somewhat
strange in dress to be sure and with a mouth streaked with betel
nut, but Priscilla just the same. And in his proper place beside
her stood John Alden. A pair of loose, baggy trousers, hitched
far up over one leg to show the intricate tattoo designs beneath,
a short coat, and a white turban completed John's attire, but
he grasped a gun almost as ancient in design as that of his Pilgrim
fathers. Priscilla kept her eyes upon the spinning wheel, but
John's gaze could by no stretch of imagination be called ardent
even before we appeared around a corner of the house and the pretty
picture resolved into its rightful components—a surprised,
but not unlovely Shan girl and a well-built,
yellow-skinned native who stared with wide brown eyes and open
mouth at what must have seemed to him the fancy of a disordered
brain.
For into his village,
filled with immemorial peace and quiet, where every day was exactly
like the day before, had suddenly ridden two big men with white
skins and blue eyes, and a little one with lots of hair beneath
a broad sun helmet. And almost immediately the little one had
jumped from the horse and pointed a black box with a shiny front
at him and his Priscilla. At once, but without loss of dignity,
Priscilla vanished into the house, but John Alden stood his ground,
for a beautiful new tin can had been thrust into his hand and
before he had really discovered what it was the little person
had smiled at him and turned her attention to the charming street
of his village. There the great water buffalos lazily chewed their
cuds standing guard over the tiny brown-skinned natives who played
trustingly with the calves almost beneath their feet.
Such was our invasion
of the first Shan village we had ever seen, and regretfully we
rode away across the plain between the walls of waving grass toward
the Nam-ting River. Two canoes, each dug out of a single log,
and tightly bound together, formed the ferry, but the packs were
soon across the muddy stream and the mules were made to swim to
the other bank. Shortly after leaving the ferry we emerged from
the vast stretches of rank grass on to the open rice paddies which
stretched away in a gently undulating plain from the river to
the mountains. Strangely enough we saw no ducks or geese, but
three great flocks of cranes (probably Grus communis) rose
from the fields and wheeled in ever-widening spirals
above our heads until they were lost in the blue depths of the
sky.
Away in the distance
we saw a wooded knoll with a few wisps of smoke curling above
its summit, but not until we were well-nigh there did we realize
that its beautiful trees sheltered the thatched roofs of Meng-ting.
But this was only the "residential section" of the village and
below the knoll on the opposite side of a shallow stream lay the
shops and markets.
We camped on a dry
rice dike where a fringe of jungle separated us from the nearest
house. As soon as the tents were up I announced our coming to
the mandarin and requested an interview at five o'clock. Wu and
I found the yamen to be a large well-built house, delightfully
cool and exhibiting several foreign articles which evinced its
proximity to Burma.
We were received by
a suave Chinese "secretary" who shortly introduced the mandarin—a
young Shan not more than twenty years old who only recently had
succeeded his late father as chief of the village. The boy was
dressed in an exceedingly long frock coat, rather green and frayed
about the elbows, which in combination with his otherwise typical
native dress gave him a most extraordinary appearance.
We soon discovered
that the Chinese secretary who did all the talking was the "power
behind the throne." He accepted my gift of a package of tea with
great pleasure, but the information about hunting localities for
which we asked was not forthcoming. He first said that he knew
of a place where there were tiger and leopard, but that he did
not dare to reveal it to us for we might be killed by the wild
animals and he would be responsible for our deaths; bringing to
his attention the fact that tigers had
never been recorded from the Meng-ting region did not impress
him in the slightest.
It did tend to send
him off on another track, however, and he next remarked that if
he sent us to a place where the hunting was disappointing we probably
would report him to the district mandarin. Assurances to the contrary
had no effect. It was perfectly evident that he wished only to
get us out of his district and thus relieve himself of the responsibility
of our safety. During the conversation, which lasted more than
an hour, the young Shan was not consulted and did not speak a
word; he sat stolidly in his chair, hardly winking, and except
for the constant supply of cigarettes which passed between his
fingers there was no evidence that he even breathed.
The interview closed
with assurances from the Chinaman that he would make inquiries
concerning hunting grounds and communicate with us in the morning.
We returned to camp and half an hour later a party of natives
arrived from the yamen bearing about one hundred pounds
of rice, a sack of potatoes, two dozen eggs, three chickens, and
a great bundle of fire wood. These were deposited in front of
our tent as gifts from the mandarin.
We were at a loss
to account for such generosity until Wu explained that whenever
a high official visited a village it was customary for the mandarin
to supply his entire party with food during their stay. It would
be quite polite to send back all except a few articles, however,
for the supplies were levied from the inhabitants of the town.
We kept the eggs and chickens, giving the yamen "runners"
considerably more than their value in money, and they gratefully
returned with the rice and potatoes.
On the hill high above
our camp was a large Shan Buddhist monastery,
bamboo walled and thatched with straw, and at sunset and daybreak
a musical chant of childish voices floated down to us in the mist-filled
valley. All day long tiny yellow-robed figures squatted on the
mud walls about the temple like a flock of birds peering at us
with bright round eyes. They were wild as hawks, these little
priests and, although they sometimes left the shelter of their
temple walls, they never ventured below the bushy hedge about
our rice field.
In the village we
saw them often, wandering about the streets or sitting in yellow
groups beneath the giant trees which threw a welcome shade over
almost every house. They were not all children, and finely built
youths or men so old that they seemed like wrinkled bits of lemon
peel, passed to and fro to the temple on the hill.
There is no dearth
of priests, for every family in the village with male children
is required to send at least one boy to live a part of his life
under the tutelage of the Church. He must remain three years,
and longer, if he wishes. The priests are fed by the monastery,
and their clothing is not an important item of expenditure as
it consists merely of a straw hat and a yellow robe. They lead
a lazy, worthless life, and from their sojourn in religious circles
they learn only indolence and idleness.
The day following
our arrival in Meng-ting the weekly market was held, and when
Wu and I crossed the little stream to the business part of the
village, we found ourselves in the midst of the most picturesque
crowd of natives it has ever been my fortune to see. It was a
group flashing with color, and every individual a study for an
artist. There were blue-clad Chinese, Shans with tattooed legs,
turbans of pink or white, and Burmans dressed
in brilliant purple or green, Las, yellow-skinned Lisos, flat-faced
Palaungs, Was, and Kachins in black and red strung about with
beads or shells. Long swords hung from the shoulders of those
who did not carry a spear or gun, and the hilts of wicked looking
daggers peeped from beneath their sashes. Every man carried a
weapon ready for instant use.
Nine tribes were present
in the market that day and almost as many languages were being
spoken. It was a veritable Babel and half the trading was done
by signs. The narrow street was choked with goods of every kind
spread out upon the ground: fruit, rice, cloth, nails, knives,
swords, hats, sandals, skins, horns, baskets, mats, crossbows,
arrows, pottery, tea, opium, and scores of other articles for
food or household use.
Dozens of natives
were arriving and departing, bringing new goods or packing up
their purchases; under open, thatched pavilions were silent groups
of men gambling with cash or silver, and in the "tea houses" white-faced
natives lay stretched upon the couches rolling "pills" of opium
and oblivious to the constant stream of passersby.
It was a picturesque,
ever changing group, a kaleidoscopic mass of life and color, where
Chinese from civilized Canton drank, and gambled, and smoked with
wild natives from the hills or from the depths of fever-stricken
jungles.
After one glimpse
of the picture in the market I dashed back to camp to bring the
"Lady of the Camera." On the way I met her, hot and breathless,
half coaxing, half driving three bewildered young priests resplendent
in yellow robes. All the morning she had been trying vainly to
photograph a priest and had discovered these
splendid fellows when all her color plates had been exposed. She
might have succeeded in bringing them to camp had I not arrived,
but they suddenly lost courage and rushed away with averted faces.
When the plate holders
were all reloaded we hurried back to the market followed by two
coolies with the cameras. Leaving Yvette to do her work alone
I set up the cinematograph. Wu was with me and in less than a
minute the narrow space in front of us was packed with a seething
mass of natives. It was impossible to take a "street scene" for
the "street" had suddenly disappeared. Making a virtue of necessity
I focused the camera on the irregular line of heads and swung
it back and forth registering a variety of facial expressions
which it would be hard to duplicate. For some time it was impossible
to bribe the natives to stand even for a moment, but after one
or two had conquered their fear and been liberally rewarded, there
was a rush for places. Wu asked several of the natives who could
speak Chinese if they knew what we were doing but they all shook
their heads. None of them had ever seen a camera or a photograph.
The Kachin women were
the most picturesque of all the tribes as well as the most difficult
to photograph. Yvette was not able to get them at all, and I could
do so only by strategy. When Wu discovered two or three squatting
near their baskets on the ground I moved slowly up behind them
keeping in the center of the crowd. After the "movie camera" was
in position Wu suddenly "shooed" back the spectators and before
the women realized what was happening they were registered on
twenty-five or thirty feet of film.
One of the Kachin
men, who had drunk too much, suddenly became
belligerent when I pointed the camera in his direction, and rushed
at me with a drawn knife. I swung for his jaw with my right fist
and he went down in a heap. He was more surprised than hurt, I
imagine, but it took all of the fight out of him for he received
no sympathy from the spectators.
Poor Yvette had a
difficult time with her camera operations and a less determined
person would have given up in despair. The natives were so shy
and suspicious that it was well-nigh impossible to bribe them
to stand for a second and it was only after three hours of aggravating
work in the stifling heat and dust that she at last succeeded
in exposing all her plates. Her patience and determination were
really wonderful and I am quite sure that I should not have obtained
half her results.
The Kachin women were
extraordinary looking individuals. They were short, and strongly
built, with a mop of coarse hair cut straight all around, and
thick lips stained with betel nut. Their dress consisted of a
short black jacket and skirt reaching to the knees, and ornamented
with strings of beads and pieces of brass or silver. This tribe
forms the largest part of the population in northern Burma and
also extends into Assam. Yün-nan is fortunate in having comparatively
few of them along its western frontier for they are an uncivilized
and quarrelsome race and frequently give the British government
considerable trouble.
There were only a
few Burmans in the market although the border is hardly a dozen
miles to the west, but the girls were especially attractive. Their
bright pretty faces seemed always ready to break into a smile
and their graceful figures draped in brilliant sarongs
were in delightful contrast to the other,
not over-clean, natives.
The Burma girls were
not chewing betel nut, which added to their distinction. The lips
of virtually every other woman and man were stained from the red
juice, which is in universal use throughout India, the Malay Peninsula,
and the Netherlands Indies. In Yün-nan we first noted it at the
"Good Hope" camp, and the Shans are generally addicted to the
practice.
The permanent population
of Meng-ting is entirely Shan, but during the winter a good many
Cantonese Chinamen come to gamble and buy opium. The drug is smuggled
across the border very easily and a lucrative trade is carried
on. It can be purchased for seventy-five cents (Mexican) an ounce
in Burma and sold for two dollars (Mexican) an ounce in Yün-nan
Fu and for ten dollars in Shanghai.
Opium is smoked publicly
in all the tea houses. The drug is cooked over an alcohol lamp
and when the "pill" is properly prepared it is placed in the tiny
bowl of the pipe, held against the flame and the smoke inhaled.
The process is a rather complicated one and during it the natives
always recline. No visible effect is produced even after smoking
several pipefuls, but the deathly paleness and expressionless
eye marks the inveterate opium user.
There can be no doubt
that the Chinese government has been, and is, genuinely anxious
to suppress the use of opium and it has succeeded to a remarkable
degree. We heard of only one instance of poppy growing in Yün-nan
and often met officials, accompanied by a guard of soldiers, on
inspection trips. Indeed, while we were in Meng-ting the district
mandarin arrived. We were sitting in our
tents when the melodious notes of deep-toned gongs floated in
through the mist. They were like the chimes of far away cathedral
bells sounding nearer and louder, but losing none of the sweetness.
Soon a long line of soldiers appeared and passed the camp bearing
in their midst a covered chair. The mandarin established himself
in a spacious temple on the opposite side of the village, where
I visited him the following day and explained the difficulty we
had had at the Meng-ting yamen. He aided us so effectually
that all opposition to our plans ended and we obtained a guide
to take us to a hunting place on the Nam-ting River, three miles
from the Burma border.
CAMPING ON THE NAM-TING
RIVER
Every morning the
valley at Meng-ting was filled with a thick white mist and when
we broke camp at daylight each mule was swallowed up in the fog
as soon as it left the rice field. We followed the sound of the
leader's bell, but not until ten o'clock was the entire caravan
visible. For thirty li the valley is broad and flat as
at Meng-ting and filled with a luxuriant growth of rank grass,
but it narrows suddenly where the river has carved its way through
a range of hills.
The trail led uncertainly
along a steep bank through a dense, tropical jungle. Palms and
huge ferns, broad-leaved bananas, and giant trees laced and interlaced
with thorny vines and hanging creepers formed a living wall of
green as impenetrable as though it were a net of steel. We followed
the trail all day, sometimes picking our way among the rocks high
above the river or padding along in the soft earth almost at the
water's edge. At night we camped in a little clearing where some
adventurous native had fought the jungle and been defeated; his
bamboo hut was in ruins and the fields were overgrown with a tangle
of throttling vegetation.
We had seen no mammals,
but the birds along the road were fascinating. Brilliant green
parrots screamed in the tree tops and tiny sun-birds dressed in
garments of red and gold and purple, flashed across the trail
like living jewels. Once we heard a strange whirr and saw a
huge hornbill flapping heavily over the river, every beat of his
stiff wing feathers sounding like the motor of an airplane. Bamboo
partridges called from the bushes and dozens of unfamiliar bird
notes filled the air.
At eleven o'clock
on the following morning we passed two thatched huts in a little
clearing beside the trail and the guide remarked that our camping
place was not far away. We reached it shortly and were delighted.
Two enormous trees, like great umbrellas, spread a cool, dark
shade above a sparkling stream on the edge of an abandoned rice
field. From a patch of ground as level as a floor, where our tents
were pitched, we could look across the brown rice dykes to the
enclosing walls of jungle and up to the green mountain beyond.
A half mile farther down the trail, but hidden away in the jungle,
lay a picturesque Shan village of a dozen huts, where the guide
said we should be able to find hunters.
As soon as tiffin
was over we went up the creek with a bag of steel traps to set
them on the tiny trails which wound through the jungle in every
direction. Selecting a well-beaten patch we buried the trap in
the center, covered it carefully with leaves, and suspended the
body of a bird or a chunk of meat by a wire over the pan about
three feet from the ground. A light branch was fastened to the
chain as a "drag." When the trap is pulled this invariably catches
in the grass or vines and, while holding the animal firmly, still
gives enough "spring" to prevent its freeing itself.
Trapping is exceedingly
interesting for it is a contest of wits between the trapper and
the animal with the odds by no means in favor of the former. The
trap may not be covered in a natural way; the surroundings may
be unduly disturbed; a scent of human hands
may linger about the bait, or there may be numberless other possibilities
to frighten the suspicious animal.
In the evening our
guide brought a strange individual whom he introduced as the best
hunter in the village. He was a tall Mohammedan Chinese who dressed
like a Shan and was married to a Shan woman. He seemed to be afflicted
with mental and physical inertia, for when he spoke it was in
slow drawl hardly louder than a whisper, and every movement of
his body was correspondingly deliberate. We immediately named
him the "Dying Rabbit" but discovered very shortly that he really
had boundless energy and was an excellent hunter.
The next morning he
collected a dozen Shans for beaters and we drove a patch of jungle
above camp but without success. There were many sambur tracks
in the clearings, but we realized at once that it was going to
be difficult to get deer because of the dense cover; the open
places were so few and small that a sambur had every chance to
break through without giving a shot.
Nearly all the beaters
carried guns. The "Dying Rabbit" was armed with a .45-caliber
bolt action rifle into which he had managed to fit a .303 shell
and several of the men had Winchester carbines, model 1875. The
guns had all been brought from Burma and most were without ammunition,
but each man had an assortment of different cartridges and used
whichever he could force into his rifle.
The men worked splendidly
under the direction of the "Dying Rabbit." On the second day they
put up a sambur which ran within a hundred feet of us but was
absolutely invisible in the high grass. When we returned to camp
we found that a civet (Viverra) had
walked past our tent and begun to eat the scraps about the cook
box, regardless of the shouts of the mafus and servants
who were imploring Heller to bring his gun. After considerable
difficulty they persuaded him that there really was some cause
for their excitement and he shot the animal. It was probably ill,
for its flesh was dry and yellow, but the skin was in excellent
condition.
Civets belong to the
family Viverridae and are found only in Asia and Africa.
Although they resemble cats superficially they are not directly
related to them and their claws are only partly retractile. They
are very beautiful animals with a grayish body spotted with black,
a ringed tail, and a black and white striped pointed head. A scent
gland near the base of the tail secretes a strong musk-like odor
which, although penetrating, is not particularly disagreeable.
The animals move about chiefly in the early morning and evening
and at night and prey upon birds, eggs, small mammals, fish, and
frogs. One which we caught and photographed had a curious habit
of raising the hair on the middle of its back from the neck to
the tail whenever it was angry or frightened.
Although there were
no houses within half a mile of camp we were surprised on our
first night to hear cocks crowing in the jungle. The note was
like that of the ordinary barnyard bird, except that it ended
somewhat more abruptly. The next morning we discovered Chanticleer
and all his harem in a deserted rice field, and he flew toward
the jungle in a flash of red and gold.
I dropped him and
one of his hens with a right and left of "sixes" and found that
they were jungle fowl (Gallus gallus) in full plumage.
The cock was a splendid bird. The long neck feathers (hackles)
spread over his back and wings like a shimmering
golden mantle, but it was hardly more beautiful than the black
of his underparts and green-glossed tail. Picture to yourself
a "black-breasted red" gamecock and you have him in all his glory
except that his tail is drooping and he is more pheasant-like
in his general bearing. The female was a trim little bird with
a lilac sheen to her brown feathers and looked much like a well-kept
game bantam hen.
The jungle fowl is
the direct ancestor of our barnyard hens and roosters which were
probably first domesticated in Burma and adjacent countries long
before the dawn of authentic history. According to tradition the
Chinese received their poultry from the West about 1400 B. C.
and they are figured in Babylonian cylinders between the sixth
and seventh centuries B. C. ; although they were probably introduced
in Greece through Persia there is no direct evidence as to when
and how they reached Europe.
The black-breasted
jungle fowl (Gallus gallus) inhabit northern India, Burma,
Indo-Chinese countries, the Malay Peninsula, and the Philippine
Islands; a related species, G. lafayetti, is found in Ceylon;
another, G. sonnerati, in southern India, and a fourth,
G. varius, in Java.
We found the jungle
fowl wild and hard to kill even where they were seldom hunted.
During the heat of the day they remain in thick cover, but in
cloudy weather and in the early morning and evening they come
out into clearings to feed. At our camp on the Nam-ting River
we could usually put up a few birds on the edge of the deserted
rice fields which stretched up into the jungle, but they were
never far away from the edge of the forest.
We sometimes saw single
birds of either sex, but usually a cock had with him six or eight
hens. It was interesting to watch such a flock feeding in the
open. The male, resplendent in his vivid dress, shone like a piece
of gold against the dull brown of the dry grass and industriously
ran about among his trim little hens, rounding up the stragglers
and directing his harem with a few low-toned "clucks" whenever
he found some unusually tempting food.
It was his duty, too,
to watch for danger and he usually would send the flock whirring
into the jungle while they were well beyond shotgun range. When
flushed from the open the birds nearly always would alight in
the first large tree and sit for a few moments before flying deeper
into the jungle. We caught several hens in our steel traps, and
one morning at the edge of a swamp I shot a jungle fowl and a
woodcock with a "right and left" as they flushed together.
We were at the Nam-ting
camp at the beginning of the mating season for the jungle fowl.
It is said that they brood from January to April according to
locality, laying from eight to twelve creamy white eggs under
a bamboo clump or some dense thicket where a few leaves have been
scratched together for a nest. The hen announces the laying of
an egg by means of a proud cackle, and the chicks themselves have
the characteristic "peep, peep, peep" of the domestic birds. After
the breeding season the beautiful red and gold neck hackles of
the male sometimes are molted and replaced by short blackish feathers.
There seems to be
some uncertainty as to whether the cocks are polygamous, but our
observations tend to show that they are. We never saw more than
one male in a flock and in only one or
two instances were the birds in pairs. The cocks are inveterate
fighters like the domestic birds and their long curved spurs are
exceedingly effective weapons.
We set a trap for
a leopard on a hill behind the Nam-ting River camp and on the
second afternoon it contained a splendid polecat. This animal
is a member of the family Mustelidae which includes mink, otter,
weasels, skunks, and ferrets, and with its brown body, deep yellow
throat, and long tail is really very handsome. Polecats inhabit
the Northern Hemisphere and are closely allied to the ferret which
so often is domesticated and used in hunting rats and rabbits.
We found them to be abundant in the low valleys along the Burma
border and often saw them during the day running across a jungle
path or on the lower branches of a tree. The polecat is a blood-thirsty
little beast and kills everything that comes in its way for the
pure love of killing, even when its appetite has been satisfied.
On the third morning
we found two civets in the traps. The cook told me that some animal
had stolen a chicken from one of his boxes during the night and
we set a trap only a few yards from our tent on a trail leading
into the grass. The civet was evidently the thief for the cook
boxes were not bothered again.
Inspecting the traps
every morning and evening was a delightful part of our camp life.
It was like opening a Christmas package as we walked up the trails,
for each one held interesting possibilities and the mammals of
the region were so varied that surprises were always in store
for us. Besides civets and polecats, we caught mongooses, palm
civets, and other carnivores. The small
traps yielded a new Hylomys, several new rats, and an interesting
shrew.
We saw a few huge
squirrels (Ratufa gigantea) and shot one. It was thirty-six
inches long, coal black above and yellow below. The animals were
very shy and as they climbed about in the highest trees they were
by no means easy to see or shoot. They represent an interesting
group confined to India, Siam, the Malay Peninsula, the islands
of the Dutch East Indies, and Borneo.
MONKEY HUNTING
Our most exciting
sport at the Nam-ting camp was hunting monkeys. Every morning
we heard querulous notes which sounded much like the squealing
of very young puppies and which were followed by long, siren wails;
when the shrill notes had reached their highest pitch they would
sink into low mellow tones exceedingly musical.
The calls usually
started shortly after daylight and continued until about nine
o'clock, or later if the day was dark or rainy. They would be
answered from different parts of the jungle and often sounded
from half a dozen places simultaneously. The natives assured us
that the cries were made by hod-zu (monkeys) and several
times we started in pursuit, but they always ceased long before
we had found a way through the jungle to the spot from which they
came. At last we succeeded in locating the animals.
We were inspecting
a line of traps placed along a trail which led up a valley to
a wide plateau. Suddenly the puppy-like squealing began, followed
by a low tremulous wail. It seemed almost over our heads but the
trees were empty. We stole silently along the trail for a hundred
yards and turned into a dry creek bed which led up the bottom
of the forested ravine. With infinite caution, breathing hard
from excitement, we slipped along, scanning the top of every tree.
A hornbill sitting on a dead branch caught
sight of us and flapped heavily away emitting horrid squawks.
A flock of parrots screamed overhead and a red-bellied squirrel
followed persistently scolding at the top of its voice, but the
monkeys continued to call.
The querulous squealing
abruptly ceased and we stood motionless beside a tree. For an
instant the countless jungle sounds were hushed in a breathless
stillness; then, low and sweet, sounded a moaning wail which swelled
into deep full tones. It vibrated an instant, filling all the
forest with its richness, and slowly died away. Again and again
it floated over the tree tops and we listened strangely moved,
for it was like the music of an exquisite contralto voice. At
last it ceased but, ere the echoes had reached the valley, the
jungle was ringing with an unlovely siren screech.
The spell was broken
and we moved on, alert and tense. The trees stretched upward full
one hundred and fifty feet, their tops spread out in a leafy roof.
Long ropelike vines festooned the upper branches and a luxuriant
growth of parasitic vegetation clothed the giant trunks in a swaying
mass of living green. Far above the taller trees a gaunt gray
monarch of the forest towered in splendid isolation. In its topmost
branches we could just discern a dozen balls of yellow fur from
which proceeded discordant squeals.
It was long range
for a shotgun but the rifles were all in camp. I fired a charge
of BBs at the lowest monkey and as the gun roared out the tree
tops suddenly sprang into life. They were filled with running,
leaping, hairy forms swinging at incredible speed from branch
to branch; not a dozen, but a score of monkeys, yellow, brown,
and gray.
The one at which I
had shot seemed unaffected and threw itself full twenty feet to
a horizontal limb, below and to the right. I fired again and he
stopped, ran a few steps forward and swung to the underside of
the branch. At the third charge he hung suspended by one arm and
dropped heavily to the ground stone dead.
We tossed him into
the dry creek bed and dashed up the hill where the branches were
still swaying as the monkeys traveled through the tree tops. They
had a long start and it was a hopeless chase. At every step our
clothes were caught by the clinging thorns, our hands were torn,
and our faces scratched and bleeding. In ten minutes they had
disappeared and we turned about to find the dead animal. Suddenly
Yvette saw a splash of leaves in the top of a tree below us and
a big brown monkey swung out on a pendent vine. I fired instantly
and the animal hung suspended, whirled slowly around and dropped
to the ground. Before I had reloaded my gun it gathered itself
together and dashed off through the woods on three legs faster
than a man could run. The animal had been hiding on a branch and
when we passed had tried to steal away undiscovered.
We found the dead
monkey, a young male, in the creek bed and sat down to examine
it. It was evidently a gibbon (Hylobates), for its long
arms, round head, and tailless body were unmistakable, but in
every species with which I was familiar the male was black. This
one was yellow and we knew it to be a prize. That there were two
other species in the herd was certain for we had seen both brown
and gray monkeys as they dashed away among the trees, but the
gibbons were far more interesting than the others.
Gibbons are probably
the most primitive in skull and teeth of all the anthropoid, or
manlike, apes,—the group which also includes the gorilla,
chimpanzee, and orangutan. They are apparently an earlier offshoot
of the anthropoid stem, as held by most authorities, and the giant
apes and man are probably a later branch. Gibbons are essentially
Oriental being found in India, Burma, Siam, Tonking, Borneo, and
the Islands of Hainan, Sulu, Sumatra, and Java.
For the remainder
of our stay at the Nam-ting River camp we devoted ourselves to
hunting monkeys and soon discovered that the three species we
had first seen were totally different. One was the yellow gibbon,
another a brown baboon (Macacus), and the third a huge
gray ape with a long tail (Pygathrix) known as the "langur."
On the first day all three species were together feeding upon
some large green beans and this happened once again, but usually
they were in separate herds.
The gibbons soon became
extremely wild. Although the same troop could usually be found
in the valley where we had first discovered them, they chose hillsides
where it was almost impossible to stalk them because of the thorny
jungle. Usually when they called, it was from the upper branches
of a dead tree where they could not only scan every inch of the
ground below, but were almost beyond the range of a shotgun. Sometimes
we climbed upward almost on our hands and knees, grasping vines
and creepers, drawing ourselves up by tree trunks, crawling under
thorny shrubs and bushes, slipping, falling, scrambling through
the indescribable tangle. We went forward only when the calls
were echoing through the jungle, and stood motionless
as the wailing ceased. But in spite of all our care they would
see or hear us. Then in sudden silence there would be a tremor
of the branches, splash after splash of leaves, and the herd would
swing away through the trackless tree tops.
The gibbons are well
named Hylobates or "tree-walkers" for they are entirely
arboreal and, although awkward and almost helpless on the ground,
once their long thin hands touch a branch they become transformed
as by a miracle.
They launch themselves
into space, catch a limb twenty feet away, swing for an instant,
and hurl themselves to another. It is possible for them to travel
through the trees faster than a man can run even on open ground,
and when one examines their limbs the reason is apparent. The
fore arms are so exceedingly long that the tips of the fingers
can touch the ground when the animal stands erect, and the slender
hands are longer than the feet.
The gibbons were exceedingly
difficult to kill and would never drop until stone dead. Once
I shot an old male with my 6-1/2 mm. Mannlicher rifle at about
one hundred yards and, even though the ball had gone clear through
his body, he hung for several minutes before he dropped into a
tangle of vines.
It was fifteen minutes
before we were able to work our way through the jungle to the
spot where the animal had fallen, and we had been searching for
nearly half an hour when suddenly my wife shouted that a monkey
was running along a branch above our heads. I fired with the shotgun
at a mass of moving leaves and killed a second gibbon which had
been hiding in the thick foliage. Instead of running the animals
would sometimes disappear as completely
as though they had vanished in the air. After being fooled several
times we learned to conceal ourselves in the bushes where we could
watch the trees, and sooner or later the monkeys would try to
steal away.
The langurs and baboons
were by no means as wild as the gibbons and were found in larger
herds. Some of the langurs were carrying babies which clung to
their mothers between the fore legs and did not seem to impede
them in the slightest on their leaps through the tree tops.
The young of this
species are bright orange-red and strangely unlike the gray adults.
As they grow older the red hair is gradually replaced by gray,
but the tail is the last part of the body to change. Heller captured
one of the tiny red monkeys and brought it back to camp in his
coat pocket. The little fellow was only a few days old, and of
course, absolutely helpless.
When it was wrapped
in cotton with only its queer little wizened face and blue eyes
visible it had a startling resemblance to a human baby until its
long tail would suddenly flop into sight and dispel the illusion.
It lived only four days in spite of constant care.
There are fifty-five
species of langurs (Pygathrix) all of which are confined
to the Orient. In some parts of India the animals are sacred and
climb about the houses or wander in the streets of villages quite
without fear. At times they do so much damage to crops that the
natives who do not dare to kill the animals themselves implore
foreigners to do so. The langurs are not confined to the tropics,
but in the Tibetan mountains range far up into the snow and enjoy
the cold weather. In the market at Li-chiang we saw several
skins of these animals which had been brought down by the Tibetans;
the hair was long and silky and was used by the Chinese for rugs
and coats.
The species which
we killed at the Nam-ting River camp, like all others of the genus
Pygathrix, was interesting because of the long hairs of
the head which form a distinct ridge on the occiput. We never
heard the animals utter sounds, but it is said that the common
Indian langur, Pygathrix entellus, gives a loud whoop as
it runs through the tree tops. Often when a tiger is prowling
about the jungle the Indian langurs will follow the beast, keeping
in the branches just above its head and scolding loudly.
The baboon, or macaque,
which we killed on the Nam-ting was a close relative of the species
(Macacus rhesus) which one sees parading solemnly about
the streets of Calcutta, Bombay, and other Indian cities. In Agra,
the home of the beautiful Taj Mahal, the Monkey Temple is visited
by every tourist. A large herd of macaques lives in the grounds
and at a few chuckling calls from the native attendants will come
trooping over the walls for the food which is kept on sale at
the gate. These animals are surprisingly tame and make most amusing
pets.
On one of our hunts
my wife and I discovered a water hole in the midst of a dense
jungle where the mud was trodden hard by sambur, muntjac, wild
boar, and other animals. We decided to spend a night watching
beside it, but the "Dying Rabbit" who was enthusiastic in the
day time lost his courage as the sunlight waned. Very doubtfully
he consented to go.
Although the trip
netted us no tangible results it was an experience of which we
often think. We started just at dusk and
installed ourselves in the bushes a few yards from the water hole.
In half an hour the forest was enveloped in the velvety blackness
of the tropic night. Not a star nor a gleam of light was visible
and I could not see my hand before my face.
We sat absolutely
motionless and listened to the breath of the jungle, which although
without definite sound, was vibrant with life. Now and then a
muntjac barked hoarsely and the roar of a sambur stag thrilled
us like an electric shock. Once a wild boar grunted on the opposite
bank of the river, the sound coming to us clear and sharp through
the stillness although the animal was far away.
Tiny forest creatures
rustled all about us in the leaves and a small animal ran across
my wife's lap, leaping frantically down the hill as it felt her
move. For five hours we sat there absolutely motionless. Although
no animals came to the water hole we were silent with a great
happiness as we groped our way back to camp, for we had been close
to the heart of the jungle and were thrilled with the mystery
of the night.
THE SHANS OF THE BURMA
BORDER
We saw many Shans
at the Nam-ting River, for not only was there a village half a
mile beyond our camp, but natives were passing continually along
the trail on their way to and from the Burma frontier. The village
was named Nam-ka. Its chief was absent when we arrived, but the
natives were cordial and agreed to hunt with us; when the head
man returned, however, he was most unfriendly. He forbade the
villagers from coming to our camp and arguments were of no avail.
It soon became evident that only force could change his attitude,
and one morning, with all our servants and mafus, we visited
his house. He was informed that unless he ceased his opposition
and ordered his men to assist us in hunting we would take him
to Meng-ting for trial before the mandarin. He grudgingly complied
and we had no further trouble.
We found the Shans
at Nam-ka to be simple and honest people but abnormally lazy.
During our three weeks' stay not a single trap was stolen, although
the natives prized them highly, and often brought to us those
in which animals had been caught. Shans were continually about
our camp where boxes were left unlocked, but not an article of
our equipment was missed.
The Nam-ka Shans elevated
their houses on six-foot poles and built an open porch in front
of the door, while the dwellings at Meng-ting and farther up the
valley were all placed upon the ground.
The thatched roofs overhung several feet and the sides of the
houses were open so that the free passage of air kept them delightfully
cool. Moreover, they were surprisingly clean, for the floors were
of split bamboo, and the inmates, if they wore sandals, left them
at the door. In the center of the single room, on a large flat
stone, a small fire always burned, but much of the cooking was
done on the porch where a tiny pavilion had been erected over
the hearth.
The Shans at Nam-ka
had "no visible means of support." The extensive rice paddies
indicated that in the past there had been considerable cultivation
but the fields were weed-grown and abandoned. The villagers purchased
all their vegetables from the Mohammedan hunter and two other
Chinese who lived a mile up the trail, or from passing caravans
whom they sometimes entertained. In all probability they lived
upon the sale of smuggled opium for they were only a few miles
from the Burma border.
Virtually every Shan
we saw in the south was heavily tattooed. Usually the right leg
alone, but sometimes both, were completely covered from the hip
to the knee with intricate designs in black or red. The ornamentations
often extended entirely around the body over the abdomen and waist,
but less frequently on the breast and arms.
All the natives were
inordinately proud of these decorations and usually fastened their
wide trousers in such a way as to display them to the best advantage.
We often could persuade a man to pose before the camera by admiring
his tattoo marks and it was most amusing to watch his childlike
pleasure.
The Shan tribe is
a large one with many subdivisions, and it is probable that at
one time it inhabited a large part of China south of the Yangtze
River; indeed, there is reason to believe that the Cantonese Chinamen
are chiefly of Shan stock, and the facial resemblance between
the two races certainly is remarkable.
Although the Shans
formerly ruled a vast territory in Yün-nan before its conquest
by the Mongol emperors of China in the thirteenth century A. D.,
and at one time actually subdued Burma and established a dynasty
of their own, at present the only independent kingdom of the race
is that of Siam. By far the greatest number of Shans live in semi-independent
states tributary to Burma, China, and Siam, and in Yün-nan inhabit
almost all of the southern valleys below an altitude of 4,000
feet.
The reason that the
Chinese allow them to hold such an extent of fertile land is because
the low plains are considered unhealthy and the Chinese cannot,
or will not, live there. Whether or not the malarial fever of
the valleys is so exceedingly deadly remains to be proved, but
the Chinese believe it to be so and the result is the same. Where
the Shans are numerous enough to have a chief of their own they
live in a semi-independent state, for although their head man
is subordinate to the district Chinese official, the latter seldom
interferes with the internal affairs of the tribe.
The Shans are a short,
strongly-built race with a distinct Mongolian type of features
and rather fair complexions. Their dress varies decidedly with
the region, but the men of the southern part of the province on
the Nam-ting River wear a pair of enormous trousers, so baggy
that they are almost skirtlike, a white jacket,
and a large white or pink turban surmounted by a huge straw hat.
The women dress in a white jacket and skirt of either striped
or dark blue cloth; their turbans are of similar material and
may be worn in a high cylinder, a low oval, or many other shapes
according to the particular part of the province in which they
live.
PRISONERS OF WAR IN
BURMA
Y. B. A.
The camp at Nam-ka
was a supremely happy one and we left it on March 7, with much
regret. Its resources seemed to be almost exhausted and the Mohammedan
hunter assured us that at a village called Ma-li-ling we would
find excellent shooting. We asked him the distance and he replied,
"About a long bamboo joint away." It required three days to get
there!
Whether the man had
ever been to Ma-li-ling we do not know but we eventually found
it to be a tiny village built into the side of a hill in an absolutely
barren country where there was not a vestige of cover. Our journey
there was not uneventful. We left Nam-ka with high hopes which
were somewhat dampened after a day's unsuccessful hunting at the
spot where our caravan crossed the Nam-ting River.
With a Shan guide
we traveled due north along a good trail which led through dense
jungle where there was not a clearing or a sign of life. In the
afternoon we noted that the trail bore strongly to the west and
ascended rapidly. Soon we had left the jungle and emerged into
an absolutely treeless valley between high barren hills. We knew
that the Burma frontier could not be far away, and in a few moments
we passed a large square "boundary stone";
a hundred yards on the other side the hills were covered with
bright green stalks and here and there a field glistened with
white poppy blossoms. The guide insisted that we were on the direct
road to Ma-li-ling which for the first time he said was in Burma.
On our map it was marked well over the border in Chinese territory
and we were greatly puzzled.
About six o'clock
the brown huts of a village were silhouetted against the sky on
a tiny knoll in the midst of a grove of beautiful trees, and we
camped at the edge of a water hole. The pool was almost liquid
mud, but we were told that it was the only water supply of the
village and its cattle. As though to prove the statement a dozen
buffalos ambled slowly down the hill, and stood half submerged
in the brown liquid, placidly chewing their cuds; meanwhile blue-clad
Shan women with buckets in their hands were constantly arriving
at the pond for their evening supply of water. We had no filter
and it was nauseating to think of drinking the filthy liquid but
there was no alternative and after repeated boiling and several
strainings we settled it with alum and disguised its taste in
tea and soup.
After dinner we questioned
the few natives who spoke Chinese, but we became only more and
more confused. They knew of no such place as Ma-li-ling and our
Shan guide had discreetly disappeared. But they were familiar
with the trail to Ma-li-pa, a village farther west in Burma and,
moreover, they said that two hundred foreign soldiers were stationed
there. We were quite certain that they must be native Indian troops
but thought that a white officer might perhaps be in command.
We did not wish to
cross the frontier because of possible political difficulties
since we had no permits to shoot in Burma, but there seemed to
be no alternative, for we were hopelessly bewildered by the mythical
Ma-li-ling. We eventually discovered that there were two villages
by that name—one in Burma, and the other in China, where
it was correctly placed on the map which we were using.
While we were discussing
the matter a tremendous altercation arose between the Chinese
mafus and the servants. For some time Roy did not interfere,
supposing it to be a personal quarrel, but the disturbance at
last became unbearable. Calling Wu we learned that because we
had been so careful to avoid English territory the mafus
had conceived the idea that for some reason we were afraid to
meet other foreigners. Since we had inadvertently crossed into
Burma it appeared to them that it would be an opportune time to
extort an increase of wages. They announced, therefore, that unless
extra money was given them at once they would untie the loads
and leave us.
They were hardly prepared
for what followed, however. Taking his Mannlicher rifle, Roy called
the mafus together and told them that if any man touched
a load he would begin to shoot the mules and that if they made
the slightest resistance the gun would be turned on them. A mafus'
mules represent all his property and they did not relish the turn
affairs had taken. They subsided at once, but we had the loads
guarded during the night. In the morning the mafus were
exceedingly surprised when they learned that we were going to
Ma-li-pa and their change of front was
laughable; they were as humble and anxious to please as they had
been belligerent the night before.
The trail led over
the same treeless rolling hills through which we had passed on
the previous afternoon. There was only one village, but it was
surrounded by poppy fields in full blossom. It must be a rather
difficult matter for a native living in China near the border
to understand why he should not be allowed to produce the lucrative
opium while only a few yards away, over an imaginary line, it
can be planted without restriction. Poppies seem to grow on hillsides
better than on level ground. The plants begin to blossom in late
February and the petals, when about to fall, are collected for
the purpose of making "leaves" with which to cover the balls of
opium. The seed pods which are left after the petals drop off
are scarified vertically, at intervals of two or three days, by
means of a sharp cutting instrument. The operation is usually
performed about four o'clock in the afternoon, and the opium,
in the form of dried juice, is collected the next morning. When
China, in 1906, forbade the consumption of opium and the growing
of poppies, it was estimated that there were from twenty-five
to thirty millions of smokers in the Empire.
We reached Ma-li-pa
about one o'clock in the afternoon and found it to be a straggling
village built on two sides of a deep ravine, with a mixed population
of Shans and Chinese. It happened to be the weekly market day
and the "bazaar" was crowded. A number of Indian soldiers in khaki
were standing about, and I called out to Roy, "I wonder if any
of them speak English." Instantly a little fellow approached,
with cap in hand, and said, "Yes, Madame, I speak English."
One cannot realize
how strange it seemed to hear our own language from a native in
this out-of-the-way spot! He was the "compounder," or medical
assistant, and told us that the hundred native troops were in
charge of a white officer whose house was on the opposite side
of the river gorge. He guided us to a temple and, while the mules
were being unloaded, in walked a tall, handsome young British
officer who introduced himself as Captain Clive. He was almost
speechless with surprise at seeing me, for he had not spoken a
sentence in English or seen a white person since his arrival at
this lonely post five months before.
He asked us at once
to come to his quarters for tiffin and we accepted gladly. On
the way he gave us our first news of the outside world, for we
had been beyond communication of any sort for months, and we learned
that the United States had severed diplomatic relations with Germany.
Captain Clive's bungalow
was a two-room bamboo house with a broad veranda and thatched
with straw. It was delightfully cool and dark after the glare
of the yellow sun-baked plains about us, and in perfect order.
The care which Britishers take to keep from "letting down" while
guarding the frontiers of their vast empire is proverbial, and
Captain Clive was a splendid example of the Indian officer. He
was as clean-shaved and well-groomed as though he had been expecting
us for days and the tiffin to which we sat down was as dainty
and well served as it could have been in the midst of civilization.
The great Lord Clive
of India was an ancestor of our young officer who had been temporarily
detached from his regiment, the 129th Baluchis, and sent on border
duty. He was very unhappy, for his brother
officers were in active service in East Africa, and he had cried
to resign several times, but the Indian government would not release
him. When we reached Rangoon some months later we were glad to
learn that he had rejoined his regiment and was at the front.
Ma-li-pa was a recently established "winter station" and in May
would be abandoned when the troop returned to Lashio, ten days'
journey away. Comfortable barracks, cook houses, and a hospital
had been erected beside a large space which had been cleaned of
turf for a parade ground.
Captain Clive was
in communication by heliograph with Lashio, at the end of the
railroad, and received a résumé of world news two or three
times a week. With mirrors during the day and lanterns at night
messages were flashed from one mountain top to another and, under
favorable conditions, reached Lashio in seven or eight hours.
We pitched our tents
a short distance from the barracks in an open field, for there
was no available shade. Although Captain Clive was perfectly satisfied
with our passports and credentials he could not let us proceed
until he had communicated with the Indian government by heliograph.
The border was being guarded very closely to prevent German sympathizers
from crossing into Burma from China and inciting the native tribes
to rebellion.
In December, 1915,
a rather serious uprising among the Kachins in the Myitkyina district
on the upper waters of the Irawadi River had been incited by a
foreigner, I believe, and Clive had assisted in suppressing it.
The Indian government was taking no further
chances and had given strict orders to arrest and hold anyone,
other than a native, who crossed the border from China.
Very fortunately H.
B. M. Consul-General Goffe at Yün-nan Fu had communicated with
the Lieutenant-Governor of Burma concerning our Expedition and
we consequently expected no trouble, but Captain Clive could not
let us proceed until he had orders to do so from the Superintendent
of the Northern Shan States. Through a delayed message this permission
did not reach him for five days and in the meantime we made the
most of the limited collecting resources which Ma-li-pa afforded.
Clive ordered his
day like all the residents of Burma. He rose at six o'clock and
after coffee and rolls had drill for two hours. At half past ten
a heavy meal took the place of breakfast and tiffin; tea, with
sandwiches and toast, was served at three o'clock, and dinner
at eight. His company was composed of several different native
tribes, and each religious caste had its own cook and water carrier,
for a man of one caste could not prepare meals for men of another.
It is an extraordinary system but one which appears to operate
perfectly well under the adaptable English government. Certainly
one of the great elements in the success of the British as colonizers
is their respect for native customs and superstitions!
The company drilled
splendidly and we were surprised to hear all commands given in
English although none of the men could understand that language.
This is done to enable British and Indian troops to maneuver together.
Captain Clive, himself, spoke Hindustani to his officers. In the
evening the men played football on the
parade ground and it seemed as though we had suddenly been transported
into civilization on the magic carpet of the Arabian Nights.
Every morning we went
shooting at daylight and returned about nine o'clock. Conditions
were not favorable for small mammals and although we could undoubtedly
have caught a few civets, mongooses, and cats we did not set a
line of steel traps for we expected to leave at any time. Our
attention was mostly devoted to bird collecting and we obtained
about two hundred interesting specimens.
We had our mid-morning
meal each day with Captain Clive and he dined with us in the evening.
He had brought with him from Lashio a large quantity of supplies
and lived almost as well as he could have done at home. Although
the days were very warm, the nights were cold and a camp fire
was most acceptable.
Captain Clive was
on excellent terms with the Chinese authorities and, while we
were there, a very old mandarin, blind and infirm, called to present
his compliments. He had been an ardent sportsman and was especially
interested in our guns; had we been willing to accept the commission
he would have paid us the money then and there to purchase for
him a Savage .250-.300 rifle like the one we were carrying. The
old gentleman always had been very loyal to the British and had
received several decorations for his services.
A few days after our
arrival a half dead Chinaman crawled into camp with his throat
terribly cut. He had been attacked by brigands only a few miles
over the border and had just been able to reach Ma-li-pa. The
company "compounder" took him in charge and, when Clive asked
him about the patient, his evasive answers
were most amusing; like all Orientals he would not commit himself
to any definite statement because he might "lose face" if his
opinion proved to be wrong.
Captain Clive said
to him, "Do you think the Chinaman will die?" Looking very judicial
the native replied, "Sir, he may die, and yet, he may live."
"But," said Clive, "he will probably die, won't he?" "Yes," was
the answer, "and yet perhaps he will live." That was all the satisfaction
he was able to get.
Clive told us of another
native who formerly had been in his company. He had been transferred
and one day the Captain met him in Rangoon. When asked if his
pay was satisfactory the answer was typical, "Sir, it is good,
but not s-o-o good!"
On the afternoon of
our fourth day in Ma-li-pa a heliograph from Rangoon announced
that "The Asiatic Zoölogical Expedition of the American Museum
of Natural History is especially commended to His Majesty's Indian
Government and permission is hereby granted to carry on its work
in Burma wherever it may desire." This was only one of the many
courtesies which we received from the British.
The morning following
the receipt of the heliogram we broke camp at daylight. When the
last mule of the caravan had disappeared over the brown hills
toward China we regretfully said farewell and rode away. If we
are ever again made "prisoners of war" we hope our captor will
be as delightful a gentleman as Captain Clive.
HUNTING PEACOCKS ON
THE SALWEEN RIVER
From Ma-li-pa we traveled
almost due north to the Salween River. The country through which
we passed was a succession of dry treeless hills, brown and barren
and devoid of animal life. On the evening of the third day we
reached the Salween at a ferry a few miles from the village of
Changlung where the river begins its great bend to the eastward
and sweeps across the border from China into Burma.
The stream has cut
a tremendous gorge for itself through the mountains and the sides
are so precipitous that the trail doubles back upon itself a dozen
times before it reaches the river 3,500 feet below. The upper
half of the gorge is bare or thinly patched with trees, but in
the lower part the grass is long and rank and a thin dry jungle
straggles along the water's edge. The Salween at this point is
about two hundred yards wide, but narrows to half that distance
below the ferry and flows in a series of rapids between rocky
shores.
The valley is devoid
of human life except for three boatmen who tend the ferry, but
the deserted rice fields along a narrow shelf showed evidence
of former cultivation. On the slopes far up the side of the canyon
is a Miao village, a tribe which we had not seen before. Probably
the valley is too unhealthy for any natives to live close to the
water's edge and, even at the time of our
visit in early March, the heated air was laden with malaria.
The ferrymen were
stupid fellows, half drugged with opium, and assured us that there
were no mammals near the river. They admitted that they sometimes
heard peacocks and, while our tents were being pitched on a steep
sand bank beneath a giant tree, the weird catlike call of a peacock
echoed up the valley. It was answered by another farther down
the river, and the report of my gun when I fired at a bat brought
forth a wild "pe-haun," "pe-haun," "pe-haun" from half a dozen
places.
The ferry was a raft
built of long bamboo poles lashed together with vines and creepers.
It floated just above the surface and was half submerged when
loaded. The natives used a most extraordinary contrivance in place
of oars. It consisted of a piece of tightly woven bamboo matting
three feet long and two feet wide at right angles to which was
fastened a six-foot handle. With these the men nonchalantly raked
the water toward them from the bow and stern when they had poled
the raft well into the current. The invested capital was not extensive,
for when the ferry or "propellers" needed repairs a few hours'
work in the jungle sufficed to build an entirely new outfit.
All of the peacocks
were on the opposite side of the river from our camp where the
jungle was thickest. On the first morning my wife and I floated
down the river on the raft for half a mile and landed to stalk
a peacock which had called frequently from a rocky point near
the water's edge. We picked our way through the jungle with the
utmost caution but the wary old cock either saw or heard us before
we were within range, and I caught just
a glimpse of a brilliant green neck as he disappeared into the
bushes. A second bird called on a point a half mile farther on,
but it refused to come into the open and as we started to stalk
it in the jungle we heard a patter of feet among the dry leaves
followed by a roar of wings, and saw the bird sail over the tree
tops and alight on the summit of a bush-clad hill.
This was the only
peacock which we were ever able to flush when it had already gained
cover. Usually the birds depend entirely upon their ability to
hide or run through the bushes. After several attempts we learned
that it was impossible to stalk the peacocks successfully. The
jungle was so crisp and parched that the dry leaves crackled at
every step and even small birds made a loud noise while scratching
on the ground.
The only way to get
the peacocks was to watch for them at the river when they came
to drink in the early morning and evening. Between two rocky points
where we had first seen the birds there was a long curved beach
of fine white sand. One morning Heller waited on the point nearest
camp while my wife and I posted ourselves under a bush farther
down the river. We had been sitting quietly for half an hour when
we heard a scratching in the jungle. Thinking it was a peacock
feeding we turned our backs to the water and sat motionless peering
beneath the bushes. Meanwhile, Heller witnessed an interesting
little drama enacted behind us.
An old male peacock
with a splendid train stole around the point close to the water,
jumped to a high stone within thirty yards of us and stood for
a full minute craning its beautiful green neck to get a better
view as we kneeled in front of him totally
unconscious of his presence. After he had satisfied his curiosity
he hopped off the observation pinnacle and, with his body flattened
close to the ground, slipped quietly away. It was an excellent
example of the stalker being stalked and had Heller not witnessed
the scene we should never have known how the clever old bird had
fooled us.
The following morning
we got a peahen at the same place. Heller had concealed himself
in the bushes on one side of the point while I watched the other.
Shortly after daylight an old female sailed out of the jungle
on set wings and alighted at the water's edge. She saw Heller
almost instantly, although he was completely covered by the vines,
and started to fly, but he dropped her with a broken wing. Recovering
herself, she darted around the rocky point only to meet a charge
of BBs from my gun. She was a beautiful bird with a delicate crown
of slender feathers, a yellow and blue face patch and a green
neck and back, but her plumes were short and inconspicuous when
compared with those of the male.
Probably these birds
had never before been hunted but they were exceedingly shy and
difficult to kill. Although they called more or less during the
entire day and we could locate them exactly, they were so far
back in the jungle that the crackling of the dry leaves made a
stalk impossible. We tried to drive them but were unsuccessful,
for the birds would never flush unless they happened to be in
the open and cut off from cover. Apparently realizing that their
brilliant plumage made them conspicuous objects, the birds relied
entirely upon an actual screen of bushes and their wonderful sight
and hearing to protect themselves from enemies.
They usually came
to the river to drink very early in the morning and just before
dusk in the afternoon, but on cloudy days they might appear at
almost any hour. If undisturbed they would remain near the water's
edge for a considerable time or strut about the sand beach just
at the edge of the jungle. At the sound of a gun or any other
loud sharp noise the peacocks would answer with their mournful
catlike wail, exactly as the domesticated birds will do.
The Chinese believe
that the flesh of the peafowl is poison and our servants were
horrified when they learned that we intended to eat it. They fully
expected that we would not survive the night and, even when they
saw we had experienced no ill effects, they could not be persuaded
to touch any of it themselves. An old peacock is too tough to
eat, but the younger birds are excellent and when stuffed with
chestnuts and roasted they are almost the equal of turkey.
The species which
we killed on the Salween River is the green peafowl (Pavo munticus)
which inhabits Burma, Sumatra, Java, and the Malay Peninsula.
Its neck is green, instead of purple, as is that of the common
Indian peacock (Pavo cristatus), and it is said that it
is the most beautiful bird of the world.
The long ocellated
tail coverts called the "train" are dropped about August and the
birds assume more simple barred plumes, but the molt is very irregular;
usually the full plumage is resumed in March or even earlier.
The train is, of course, an ornament to attract the female and,
when a cock is strutting about with spread plumes, he sometimes
makes a most peculiar rustling sound by vibrating the long feathers.
The eight or ten eggs
are laid on the bare ground under a bush
in the dense jungle, are dull brownish white and nearly three
inches long. The chicks are sometimes domesticated, but even when
born in captivity, it is said they are difficult to tame and soon
wander away. The birds are omnivorous, feeding on insects, grubs,
reptiles, flower buds, young shoots, and grain.
The common peafowl
(Pavo cristatus) is a native of India, Ceylon, and Assam.
It is held sacred by some religious castes and we saw dozens of
the birds wandering about the grounds of the temples in Benares,
Agra, and Delhi. Peafowl are said to be rather disagreeable pets
because they often attack infirm persons and children and kill
young poultry.
In some parts of Ceylon
and India the birds are so abundant and easily killed that they
do not furnish even passable sport, but in other places they are
as wild and difficult to shoot as we found them to be on the Salween
River. In India it is a universal belief among sportsmen that
wherever peafowls are common, there tiger will be found.
A very beautiful variety
which seems to have arisen abruptly in domestication is the so-called
"japanned" or black-shouldered peacock named Pavo nigripennis
by Mr. Sclater. In some respects it is intermediate between P.
munticus and P. cristatus and apparently "breeds true"
but never has been found in a wild state. Albino specimens are
by no means unusual and are a feature of many zoölogical gardens.
Peacocks have been
under domestication for many centuries and are mentioned in the
Bible as having been imported into Palestine by Solomon; although
the bird is referred to in mythology, the Greeks probably had
but little knowledge of it until after
the conquests of Alexander.
In the thick jungle
only a few hundred yards from our camp on the Salween River I
put up a silver pheasant (Euplocamus nycthemerus), one
of the earliest known and most beautiful species of the family
Phasianidae. Its white mantle, delicately vermiculated with black,
extends like a wedding veil over the head, back and tail, in striking
contrast to the blue-black underparts, red cheek patches, and
red legs.
This bird was formerly
pictured in embroidery upon the heart and back badges of the official
dresses of civil mandarins to denote the rank of the wearer, and
is found only in southern and western China. It is by no means
abundant in the parts of Yün-nan which we visited and, moreover,
lives in such dense jungle that it is difficult to find. The natives
sometimes snare the birds and offer them for sale alive.
We also saw monkeys
at our camp on the Salween River, but were not successful in killing
any. They were probably the Indian baboon (Macacus rhesus)
and, for animals which had not been hunted, were most extraordinarily
wild. They were in large herds and sometimes came down to the
water to skip and dance along the sand and play among the rocks.
The monkeys invariably appeared on the opposite side of the river
from us and by the time we hunted up the boatmen and got the clumsy
raft to the other shore the baboons had disappeared in the tall
grass or were merrily running through the trees up the mountainside
The valley was too
dry to be a very productive trapping ground for either small or
large mammals, but the birds were interesting and we secured a
good many species new to our collection.
Jungle fowl were abundant and pigeons exceedingly so, but we saw
no ducks along the river and only two cormorants.
Very few natives crossed
at the ferry during our stay, for it is a long way from the main
road and the climb out of the gorge is too formidable to be undertaken
if the Salween can possibly be crossed higher up where the valley
is wide and shallow. While we were camped at the river the heat
was most uncomfortable during the middle of the day and was but
little mitigated by the wind which blew continually. During midsummer
the valley at this point must be a veritable furnace and doubtless
reeks with fever. We slept under nets at night and in the early
evening, while we were watching for peacocks, the mosquitoes were
very troublesome.
THE GIBBONS OF HO-MU-SHU
It is a long hard
climb out of the Salween valley. We left on March 24 and all day
crawled up the steep sides on a trail which doubled back and forth
upon itself like an endless letter S. From our camp at night the
river was just visible as a thin green line several thousand feet
below, and for the first time in days, we needed a charcoal fire
in our tents.
We were en route
to Lung-ling, a town of considerable size, where there was a possibility
that mail might be awaiting us in care of the mandarin. Although
ordinarily a three days' journey, it was more than four days before
we arrived, because I had a sharp attack of malaria shortly after
leaving the Salween River and we had to travel half stages.
When we were well
out of the valley and at an altitude of 5,000 feet, we arrived
at a Chinese town. Its dark evil-smelling houses, jammed together
in a crowded mass, and the filthy streets swarming with ragged
children and foot-bound women, were in unpleasant contrast to
the charming little Shan villages which we had seen in the low
country. The inhabitants themselves appeared to no better advantage
when compared with their Shan neighbors, for their stares and
insolent curiosity were almost unbearable.
The region between
the Salween River at Changlung and Lung-ling is as uninteresting
to the zoologist as it could possibly be,
for the hills are dry and bare and devoid of animal life. Lung-ling
is a typical Chinese town except that the streets are wide and
it is not as dirty as usual. The mandarin was a jolly rotund little
fellow who simulated great sympathy when he informed me that he
had received no mail for us. We had left directions to have a
runner follow us from Yung-chang and in the event that he did
not find our camp to proceed to Lung-ling with the mail. We learned
some weeks later that the runner had been frightened by brigands
and had turned back long before he reached Meng-ting.
We had heard from
our mafus and other natives that black monkeys were to
be found on a mountain pass not far from the village of Ho-mu-shu,
on the main Yung-chang-Teng-yueh road and, as we were certain
that they would prove to be gibbons, we decided to make that our
next hunting camp. It was three stages from Lung-ling and, toward
evening of the second day, we again descended to the Salween River.
The valley at this
point is several miles wide and is so dry that the few shrubs
and bushes seem to be parched and barely able to live. At the
upper end a picturesque village is set among extensive rice fields.
Although a few Chinese live there, its inhabitants are chiefly
Shans who are in a transitory state and are gradually adopting
Chinese customs. The houses are joined to each other in the Chinese
way and are built of mud, thatched with straw. In shape as well
as in composition they are quite unlike the dwellings of the southern
Shans. The women wore cylindrical turbans, about eighteen inches
high, which at a distance looked like silk hats, and the men were
dressed in narrow trousers and jackets of Chinese
blue. I believe that some of the Shan women also had bound feet
but of this I cannot be certain.
We camped on a little
knoll under an enormous tree at the far end of the village street,
and a short time after the tents were up we had a visit from the
Shan magistrate. He was a dapper energetic little fellow wearing
foreign dress and quite au courant with foreign ways. He
even owned a breech-loading shotgun, and, before we left, sent
to ask for shells. He presented us with the usual chickens and
I returned several tins of cigarettes. He appeared to be quite
a sportsman and directed us to a place on the mountain above the
village where he said monkeys were abundant.
We left early in the
morning with a guide and, after a hard climb, arrived at a little
village near the forest to which the magistrate had directed us.
Not only did the natives assure us that they had never seen monkeys
but we discovered for ourselves that the only water was more than
a mile away, and that camping there was out of the question.
The next day, April
1, we went on to Ho-mu-shu. It is a tiny village built into the
mountainside with hardly fifty yards of level ground about it,
but commanding a magnificent view over the Salween valley. Although
we reached there at half past two in the afternoon the mafus
insisted on camping because they swore that there was no water
within fifty li up the mountain. Very unwillingly I consented
to camp and the next morning found, as usual, that the mafus
had lied for there was a splendid camping place with good water
not two hours from Ho-mu-shu. It was useless to rage for the Chinese
have no scruples about honesty in such small matters, and the
head mafu blandly admitted that he
knew there was a camping place farther on but that he was tired
and wanted to stop early.
As we gained the summit
of the ridge we were greeted with a ringing "hu-wa," "hu-wa,"
"hu-wa," from the forest five hundred feet below us; they were
the calls of gibbons, without a doubt, but strikingly unlike those
of the Nam-ting River. We decided to camp at once and, after considerable
prospecting, chose a flat place beside the road. It was by no
means ideal but had the advantage of giving us an opportunity
to hunt from either side of the ridge which for its entire length
was scarcely two hundred feet in width. The sides fell away for
thousands of feet in steep forest-clad slopes and, as far as our
eyes could reach, wave after wave of mountains rolled outward
in a great sea of green.
Our camp would have
been delightful except for the wind which swept across the pass
night and day in an unceasing gale. My wife and I set a line of
traps along a trail which led down the north side of the ridge,
while Heller chose the opposite slope. We were entranced with
the forest. The trees were immense spreading giants with interlaced
branches that formed a solid roof of green 150 feet above the
soft moss carpet underneath. Every trunk was clothed in a smothering
mass of vines and ferns and parasitic plants and, from the lower
branches, thousands of ropelike creepers swayed back and forth
with every breath of wind. Below, the forest was fairly open save
for occasional patches of dwarf bamboo, but the upper canopy was
so close and dense that even at noon there was hardly more than
a somber twilight beneath the trees.
Our first night on
the pass was spent in a terrific gale which howled up the valley
from the south and swept across the ridge
in a torrent of wind. The huge trees around us bent and tossed,
and our tents seemed about to be torn to shreds. Amid the crashing
of branches and the roar of the wind it was impossible to hear
each other speak and sleep was out of the question. We lay in
our bags expecting every second to have the covering torn from
above our heads, but the tough cloth held, and at midnight the
gale began to lull. In the morning the sun was out in a cloudless
sky but the wind never ceased entirely on the pass even though
there was a breathless calm among the trees a few hundred feet
below.
My wife and I had
just returned from inspecting our line of traps about nine o'clock
in the morning when the forest suddenly resounded with the "hu-wa,"
"hu-wa," "hu-wa" of the gibbons. It seemed a long way off at first,
but sounded louder and clearer every minute. At the first note
we seized our guns and dashed down the mountainside, slipping,
stumbling, and falling. The animals were in the giant forest about
five hundred feet below the summit of the ridge and as we neared
them we moved cautiously from tree to tree, going forward only
when they called. It was one of the most exciting stalks I have
ever made, for the wild, ringing howls seemed always close above
our heads.
We were still a hundred
yards away when a huge black monkey leaped out of a tree top just
as I stepped from behind a bush, and he saw me instantly. For
a full half minute he hung suspended by one arm, his round head
thrust forward staring intently; then launching himself into the
air as though shot from a catapult he caught a branch twenty feet
away, swung to another, and literally flew through the tree tops.
Without a sound save the swish of the branches
and splash after splash in the leaves, the entire herd followed
him down the hill. It was out of range for the shotgun and my
wife was ten feet behind me with the rifle, but had I had it in
my hand I doubt if I could have hit one of those flying balls
of fur.
We returned to camp
with sorrow in our hearts, but two days later we redeemed ourselves
and brought in the first new gibbons. We were sitting on a bed
of fragrant pine needles watching for a squirrel which had been
chattering in the upper branches of a giant tree, when suddenly
the wild call of the monkeys echoed up the mountainside
They were far away
to the left, and we ran toward them, stumbling and slipping on
the moss-covered rocks and logs, the "hu-wa," "hu-wa," "hu-wa"
sounding louder every moment. They seemed almost under us at times
and we would stand motionless and silent only to hear the howls
die away in the distance. At last we located them on the precipitous
side of a deep gorge filled with an impenetrable jungle of palms
and thorny plants. It was an impossible place to cross, and we
sat down, irresolute and discouraged. In a few moments a chorus
of howls broke out and we saw the big black apes swinging along
through the trees, two hundred yards away. Finally they stopped
and began to feed. They were small marks at that distance but
I rested my little Mannlicher on a stump and began to shoot while
Yvette watched them with the glasses. One big fellow swung out
on a branch and hung with one arm while he picked a cluster of
leaves with the other. Yvette saw my first shot cut a twig above
his head but he did not move, and at the roar of the second he
dropped heavily into the vines below. A
brown female ran along the branch a few seconds later and peered
down into the jungle where the first monkey had fallen. I covered
her carefully with the ivory head of the front sight, pulled the
trigger, and she pitched headlong off the tree.
For a few seconds
there was silence, then a splash of leaves and three huge black
males leaped into full view from the summit of a tall tree. They
were silhouetted against a patch of sky and I fired twice in quick
succession registering two clean misses. The bullets must have
whizzed too close for comfort and they faded instantly into the
forest like three black shadows.
For ten minutes we
strained our eyes into the dense foliage hoping to catch a glimpse
of a swaying branch. Suddenly Yvette heard a rustling in the low
tree beneath which we were sitting and seized me violently by
the arm, screaming excitedly, "There's one, right above us. Quick,
quick, he's going!"
I looked up and could
hardly believe my eyes for not twenty feet away hung a huge brown
monkey half the size of a man. Almost in a daze I fired with the
shotgun. The gibbon stopped, slowly pivoted on one long arm and
a pair of eyes blazing like living coals, stared into mine. I
fired again point blank as the huge mouth, baring four ugly fangs,
opened and emitted a bloodcurdling howl. The monkey slowly swung
back again, its arm relaxed and the animal fell at my feet, stone
dead.
It was a magnificent
old female. By a lucky chance we had chosen, from all the trees
in the forest, to sit under the very one in which the gibbon had
been hiding and she had tried to steal away unnoticed.
While my wife waited
to direct me from the rim of the gorge, I climbed down into the
jungle to try and make my way up the opposite side where the other
monkeys had fallen. It was dangerous work, for the rocks were
covered with a thin layer of earth which supported a dense growth
of vegetation. If I tried to let myself down a steep slope by
clinging to a thick fern it would almost invariably strip away
with a long layer of dirt and send me headlong.
After two bad falls
I reached the bottom of the ravine where a mountain torrent leaped
and foamed over the rocks and dropped in a beautiful cascade to
a pool fifty or sixty feet below. The climb up the opposite side
was more difficult than the descent and twice I had to return
after finding the way impassable.
A sheer, clean wall
almost seventy feet high separated me from the spot where the
gibbons had fallen. I skirted the rock face and had laboriously
worked my way around and above it when a vine to which I had been
clinging stripped off and I began to slide. Faster and faster
I went, dragging a mass of ferns and creepers with me, for everything
I grasped gave way.
I thought it was the
end of things for me because I was hardly ten feet above the precipice
which fell away to the jagged rocks of the stream bed in a drop
of seventy feet. The rifle slung to my back saved my life. Suddenly
it caught on a tiny ragged ledge and held me flattened out against
the cliff. But even then I was far from safe, as I realized when
I tried to twist about to reach a rope of creepers which swung
outward from a bush above my head.
How I managed to crawl
back to safety among the trees I can remember only vaguely. I
finally got down to the bottom of the canyon,
but felt weak and sick and it was half an hour before I could
climb up to the place where my wife was waiting. She was already
badly frightened for she had not seen me since I left her an hour
before and, when I answered her call, she was about to follow
into the jungle where I had disappeared. We left the two monkeys
to be recovered from above and went slowly back to camp.
The gibbons of Ho-mu-shu
are quite unlike those of the Nam-ting River. They represent a
well-known species called the "hoolock" (Hylobates hoolock)
which is also found in Burma.
The males, both old
and young, are coal black with a fringe of white hairs about the
face, and the females are light brown. Their note is totally unlike
the Nam-ting River gibbons and, instead of sitting quietly in
the top of a dead tree to call to their neighbors across the jungle
for an hour or two, the hoolocks howl for about twenty minutes
as they swing through the branches and are silent during the remainder
of the day. They called most frequently on bright mornings and
we seldom heard them during cloudy weather.
Apparently they had
regular feeding grounds, which were visited every day, but the
herds seemed to cover a great deal of territory. Like the gibbons
of the Nam-ting River, the hoolocks traveled through the tree
tops at almost unbelievable speed, and one of the most amazing
things which I have ever witnessed was the way in which they could
throw themselves from one tree to another with unerring precision.
On April 5, we received
the first mail in nearly three months and our share amounted to
105 letters besides a great quantity of magazines. Wu had ridden
to Teng-yueh for us and, as well as the
greatly desired mail, had a basket of delicious vegetables and
a sheaf of Reuter's cablegrams which were kindly sent by Messrs.
Palmer and Abertsen, gentlemen in the employ of the Chinese Customs,
who had cared for our mail. Mr. Abertsen also sent a note telling
us of a good hunting ground near Teng-yueh.
We spent an entire
afternoon and evening over our letters and papers and, through
them, began to get in touch with the world again. It is strange
how little one misses the morning newspaper once one is beyond
its reach and has properly adjusted one's mental perspective.
And it is just as strange how essential it all seems immediately
one is again within reach of such adjuncts of civilization.
On April 6, we had
the first rain for weeks. The water fell in torrents, and the
roar, as it drummed upon the tent, was so incessant that we could
barely hear each other shout. Because of the long dry spell our
camp had not been made with reference to weather and during the
night I waked to find that we were in the middle of a pond with
fifteen inches of water in the tent. Shoes, clothes, guns, and
cameras were soaked, and the surface of the water was only an
inch below the bottoms of our cots. This was the beginning of
a ten days' rain after which we had six weeks of as delightful
weather as one could wish.
TENG-YUEH; A LINK
WITH CIVILIZATION
After a week on the
pass above Ho-mu-shu we shifted camp to a village called Tai-ping-pu,
ten miles nearer Teng-yueh on the same road. The ride along the
summit of the mountain was a delight, for we passed through grove
after grove of rhododendrons in full blossom. The trees were sometimes
thirty feet in height and the red flowers glowed like clusters
of living coals among their dark green leaves. In the northern
part of Yün-nan the rhododendrons grow above other timber line
on mountains where it is too high even for spruces.
It rained continually
during our stay at Tai-ping-pu. I had another attack of the Salween
malaria and for five or six days could do little work. Heller,
however, made good use of his time and killed a beautiful horned
pheasant, Temmick's tragopan (Ceriornis temmincki), besides
half a dozen langurs of the same species as those we had collected
on the Nam-ting River. He also was fortunate in shooting one of
the huge flying squirrels (Petaurista yunnanensis) which
we had hoped to get at Wei-hsi. He saw the animal in the upper
branches of a dead tree on the first evening we were in Tai-ping-pu
but was not able to get a shot. The next night he watched the
same spot and killed the squirrel with a charge of "fours." It
measured forty-two and one-quarter inches from the nose to the
end of the tail and was a rich mahogany red grizzled with whitish
above; the underparts were cream white.
As in all flying squirrels, the four legs were connected by a
sheet of skin called the "patagium" which is continuous with the
body. This acts as a parachute and enables the animal to sail
from tree to tree for, of course, it cannot fly like a bat. As
these huge squirrels are strictly nocturnal, they are not often
seen even by the natives. We were told by the Lutzus on the Mekong
River that by building huge fires in the woods they could attract
the animals and shoot them with their crossbows.
A few weeks later
we purchased a live flying squirrel from a native and kept it
for several days in the hope that it might become tame. The animal
was exceedingly savage and would grind its teeth angrily and spring
at anyone who approached its basket. It could not be tempted to
eat or drink and, as it was a valuable specimen, we eventually
chloroformed it.
Just below our camp
in a pretty little valley a half dozen families of Lisos were
living, and we hired the men to hunt for us. They were good-natured
fellows, as all the natives of this tribe seem to be, and worked
well. One day they brought in a fine muntjac buck which had been
killed with their crossbows and poisoned darts. The arrows were
about twelve inches long, made of bamboo and "feathered" with
a triangular piece of the same wood. Those for shooting birds
and squirrels were sharpened to a needle point, but the hunting
darts were tipped with steel or iron. The poison they extracted
from a plant, which I never saw, and it was said that it takes
effect very rapidly.
The muntjac which
the Lisos killed had been shot in the side with a single arrow
and they assured us that only the flesh immediately surrounding
the wound had been spoiled for food. These
natives like the Mosos, Lolos, and others carried their darts
in a quiver made from the leg skin of a black bear, and none of
the men wished to sell their weapons; I finally did obtain a crossbow
and quiver for six dollars (Mexican).
Two days before we
left Tai-ping-pu, three of the Lisos guided my wife and me to
a large cave where they said there was a colony of bats. The cavern
was an hour's ride from camp, and proved to be in a difficult
and dangerous place in the side of a cliff just above a swift
mountain stream. We strung our gill net across the entrance and
then sent one of the natives inside to stir up the animals while
we caught them as they flew out. In less than half an hour we
had twenty-eight big brown bats, but our fingers were cut and
bleeding from the vicious bites of their needle-like teeth. They
all represented a widely distributed species which we had already
obtained at Yün-nan Fu.
From Lung-ling I had
sent a runner to Mr. Evans at Ta-li Fu asking him to forward to
Teng-yueh the specimens which we had left in his care, and the
day following our visit to the bat cave the caravan bearing our
cases passed us at Tai-ping-pu. We, ourselves, were about ready
to leave and two days later at ten o'clock in the morning we stood
on a precipitous mountain summit, gazing down at the beautiful
Teng-yueh plain which lay before us like a relief map. It is as
flat as a plain well can be and, except where a dozen or more
villages cluster on bits of dry land, the valley is one vast watery
rice field. Far in the distance, outside the gray city walls,
we could see two temple-like buildings surrounded by white-walled
compounds, and Wu told us they were the
houses of the Customs officials.
Teng-yueh, although
only given the rank of a "ting" or second-class Chinese city,
is one of the most important places in the province, for it stands
as the door to India. All the trade of Burma and Yün-nan flows
back and forth through the gates of Teng-yueh, over the great
caravan road to Bhamo on the upper Irawadi.
An important post
of the Chinese Foreign Customs, which are administered by the
British government as security for the Boxer indemnity, is situated
in this city, and we were looking forward with the greatest interest
to meeting its white population. At the time of our visit the
foreigners included Messrs. H. G. Fletcher and Ralph C. Grierson,
respectively Acting Commissioner and Assistant Commissioner of
Customs; Messrs. W. R. Palmer and Abertsen, also of the Customs;
Mr. Eastes, H. B. M. Consul; Dr. Chang, Indian Medical Officer,
and Reverend and Mrs. Embry of the China Inland Mission; Mr. Eastes,
accompanied by the resident mandarin, was absent on a three months'
opium inspection tour so that we did not meet him.
We reached Teng-yueh
on Sunday morning and camped in a temple outside the city walls.
Immediately after tiffin we called upon Mr. Grierson and went
with him to the Customs House where Messrs. Abertsen and Palmer
were living. We found there a Scotch botanist, Mr. Forrest, an
old traveler in Yün-nan who was en route to A-tun-zu on
a three-year plant-hunting expedition for an English commercial
firm. We had heard much of Forrest from Messrs. Kok and Hanna
and were especially glad to meet him because of his
wide knowledge of the northwestern part of the province. Mr. Forrest
was interested chiefly in primroses and rhododendrons, I believe,
and in former years obtained a rather remarkable collection of
these plants.
From Mr. Grierson
we first learned that the United States had declared war on Germany.
It had been announced only a week before, and the information
had reached Teng-yueh by cable and telegraph almost immediately.
It came as welcome news to us Americans who had been vainly endeavoring
to justify to ourselves and others our country's lethargy in the
face of Teuton insolence, and made us feel that once again we
could acknowledge our nationality with the pride we used to feel.
On Monday Mr. Grierson
invited us to become his guests and to move our caravan and belongings
to his beautiful home. We were charmed with it and our host. The
house was built with upturned, temple-like gables, and from his
cool verandah we could look across an exquisite flower-filled
garden to the blue mountains from which we had had our first view
of Teng-yueh the day before. The interior of the dwelling was
as attractive as its surroundings, and the beautifully served
meals were as varied and dainty as one could have had in the midst
of a great city.
Like all Britishers,
the Customs men had carried their sport with them. Just beyond
the city walls an excellent golf course had been laid out with
Chinese graves as bunkers, and there was a cement tennis court
behind the Commissioner's house. Mr. Grierson had two excellent
polo ponies, besides three trained pointer dogs, and riding and
shooting over the beautiful hills gave him an almost ideal life.
We found that Mr. Fletcher had a really
remarkable selection of records and an excellent Victrola. After
dinner, as we listened to the music, we had only to close our
eyes and float back to New York and the Metropolitan Opera House
on the divine harmony of the sextet from "Lucia" or Caruso's matchless
voice. But none of us wished to be there in body for more than
a fleeting visit at least, and the music already brought with
it a lingering sadness because our days in the free, wild mountains
of China were drawing to a close.
During the week we
spent with Mr. Grierson we dried and packed all our specimens
in tin-lined boxes which were purchased from the agent of the
British American Tobacco Company in Teng-yueh. They were just
the right size to carry on muleback and, after the birds and mammals
had been wrapped in cotton and sprinkled with napthalene, the
cases were soldered and made air tight. The most essential thing
in sending specimens of any kind through a moist, tropical climate
such as India is to have them perfectly dry before the boxes are
sealed; otherwise they will arrive at their destination covered
with mildew and absolutely ruined.
On the day of our
arrival in Teng-yueh we purchased from a native two bear cubs
(Ursus tibetanus) about a week old. Each was coal black
except for a V-shaped white mark on the breast and a brown nose.
When they first came to us they were too young to eat and we fed
them diluted condensed milk from a spoon.
The little chaps were
as playful as kittens and the story of their amusing ways as they
grew older is a book in itself. After a month one of the cubs
died, leaving great sorrow in the camp; the other not only lived
and flourished but traveled more than 16,000 miles.
He went with us on
a pack mule to Bhamo, down the Irawadi River to Rangoon, and across
the Bay of Bengal to Calcutta. He then visited many cities in
India, and at Bombay boarded the P. & O. S. S. Namur
for Hong Kong and became the pet of the ship. From China we took
him to Japan, across the Pacific to Vancouver, and finally to
our home at Lawrence Park, Bronxville, New York. After an adventurous
career as a house pet, when his exploits had made him famous and
ourselves disliked by all the neighbors, we regretfully sent him
to the National Zoölogical Park, Washington, D. C., where he is
living happily at the present time. He was the most delightful
little pet we have ever owned and, although now he is nearly a
full grown bear, his early life is perpetuated in motion pictures
and we can see him still as he came to us the first week. He might
well have been the model for the original "Teddy Bear" for he
was a round ball of fur, mostly head and ears and sparkling little
eyes.
A BIG GAME PARADISE
A few months previous
to our arrival, Mr. Abertsen had discovered a splendid hunting
ground near the village of Hui-yao, about eighty li from
Teng-yueh. He had been shooting rabbits and pheasants and, while
passing through the village, the natives told him that a large
herd of gnai-yang or "wild goats" lived on the side of
a hill through which a branch of the Shweli River had cut a deep
gorge.
Although Abertsen
was decidedly skeptical as to the accuracy of the report he spent
two days hunting and with his shotgun killed two gorals; moreover,
he saw twenty-five others. We examined the two skins and realized
at once that they represented a different species from those of
the Snow Mountain. Therefore, when we left Teng-yueh our first
camp was at Hui-yao.
Heller and I started
with four natives shortly after daylight. We crossed a tumbledown
wooden bridge over the river at a narrow canyon where the sides
were straight walls of rock, and followed down the gorge for about
two miles. On the way Heller, who was in front, saw two muntjac
standing in the grass on an open hillside, and shot the leader.
The deer pitched headlong but got to its feet in a few moments
and struggled off into the thick cover at the edge of the meadow.
It had disappeared before Heller reached the clearing but he saw
the second deer, a fine doe, standing on a rock.
Although his bullet passed through both lungs the animal ran a
quarter of a mile, and he finally discovered her several hours
later in the bushes beside the river.
In a short time we
reached an open hillside which rose six or seven hundred feet
above the river in a steep slope; the opposite side was a sheer
wall of rock bordered on the rim by an open pine forest. We separated
at this point. Heller, with two natives, keeping near the river,
while I climbed up the hill to work along the cliffs half way
to the summit.
In less than ten minutes
Heller heard a loud snort and, looking up, saw three gorals standing
on a ledge seventy-five yards above him. He fired twice but missed
and the animals disappeared around a corner of the hill. A few
hundred yards farther on he saw a single old ram but his two shots
apparently had no effect.
Meanwhile I had continued
along the hillside not far from the summit for a mile or more
without seeing an animal. Fresh tracks were everywhere and well-cut
trails crossed and recrossed among the rocks and grass. I had
reached an impassable precipice and was returning across a steep
slope when seven gorals jumped out of the grass where they had
been lying asleep. I was in a thick grove of pine trees and fired
twice in quick succession as the animals appeared through the
branches, but missed both times.
I ran out from the
trees but the gorals were then nearly two hundred yards away.
One big ram had left the herd and was trotting along broadside
on. I aimed just in front of him and pulled the trigger as his
head appeared in the peep sight. He turned a beautiful somersault
and rolled over and over down the hill, finally disappearing in
the bushes at the edge of the water.
The other gorals had
disappeared, but a few seconds later I saw a small one slowly
skirting the rocks on the very summit of the hill. The first shot
kicked the dirt beside him, but the second broke his leg and he
ran behind a huge boulder. I rested the little Mannlicher on the
trunk of a tree, covering the edge of the rock with the ivory
head of the front sight and waited. I was perfectly sure that
the goral would try to steal out, and in two or three minutes
his head appeared. I fired instantly, boring him through both
shoulders, and he rolled over and over stone dead lodging against
a rock not fifty yards from where we stood.
The two natives were
wild with excitement and, yelling at the top of their lungs, ran
up the hill like goats to bring the animal down to me. It was
a young male in full summer coat, and with horns about two inches
long. Our pleasure was somewhat dampened, however, when we went
to recover the first goral for we found that when it had landed
in the grass at the edge of the river it had either rolled or
crawled into the water. We searched along the bank for half a
mile but without success and returned to Hui-yao just in time
for tiffin.
In the afternoon we
shifted camp to a beautiful little grove on the opposite side
of the river behind the hunting grounds. Heller, instead of going
over with the caravan, went back along the rim of the gorge in
the pine forest where he could look across the river to the hill
on which we had hunted in the morning. With his field glasses
he discovered five gorals in an open meadow, and opened fire.
It was long shooting but the animals did not know which way to
run, and he killed three of the herd before they disappeared.
Our first day had, therefore, netted us
one deer and four gorals which was better than at any other camp
we had had in China.
We realized from the
first day's work that Hui-yao would prove to be a wonderful hunting
ground, and the two weeks we spent there justified all our hopes.
At other places the cover was so dense or the country so rough
that it was necessary to depend entirely upon dogs and untrained
natives, but here the animals were on open hillsides where they
could be still hunted with success. Moreover, we had an opportunity
to learn something about the habits of the animals for we could
watch them with glasses from the opposite side of the river when
they were quite unconscious of our presence.
There was only one
day of our stay at Hui-yao that we did not bring in one or more
gorals and even after we had obtained an unrivaled series, dozens
were left. Shooting the animals from across the river was rather
an unsportsmanlike way of hunting but it was a very effective
method of collecting the particular specimens we needed for the
Museum series. The distance was so great that the gorals were
unable to tell from where the bullets were coming and almost any
number of shots might be had before the animals made for cover.
It became simply a case of long range target shooting at seldom
less than three hundred yards.
Still hunting on the
cliffs was quite a different matter, however, and was as good
sport as I have ever had. The rocks and open meadow slopes were
so precipitous that there was very real danger every moment, for
one misstep would send a man rolling hundreds of feet to the bottom
where he would inevitably be killed.
The gorals soon learned
to lie motionless along the sheerest cliffs or to hide in the
rank grass, and it took close work to find
them. I used most frequently to ride from camp to the river, send
back the horse by a mafu, and work along the face of the
rock wall with my two native boys. Their eyesight was wonderful
and they often discovered gorals lying among the rocks when I
had missed them entirely with my powerful prism binoculars. Their
eyes had never been dimmed by study and I suppose were as keen
as those of primitive man who possibly hunted gorals or their
relatives thousands of years ago over these same hills.
There were many glorious
hunts and it would be wearisome were I to describe them all, but
one afternoon stands out in my memory above the others. It was
a brilliant day, and about four o'clock I rode away from camp,
across the rice fields and up the grassy valley to the long sweep
of open meadow on the rim of the river gorge.
Sending back the horse,
"Achi," my native hunter, and I crawled carefully to a jutting
point of rocks and lay face down to inspect the cliffs above and
to the left. With my glasses I scanned every inch of the gray
wall, but could not discover a sign of life. Glancing at Achi
I saw him gazing intently at the rock which I had just examined,
and in a moment he whispered excitedly "gnai-yang." By
putting both hands to the side of his head he indicated that the
animal was lying down, and although he pointed with my rifle,
it was full five minutes before I could discover the goral flat
upon his belly against the cliff, with head stretched out, and
fore legs doubled beneath his body. He was sound asleep in the
sun and looked as though he might remain forever.
By signs Achi indicated
that we were to climb up above and circle around the cliff to
a ragged promontory which jutted into space
within a hundred yards of the animal. It was a good three quarters
of an hour before we peered cautiously between two rocks opposite
the ledge where the goral had been asleep. The animal was gone.
We looked at each other in blank amazement and then began a survey
of the ground below.
Halfway down the mountainside
Achi discovered the ram feeding in an open meadow and we began
at once to make our way down the face of the cliff. It was dangerous
going, but we gained the meadow in safety and worked cautiously
up to a grassy ridge where the goral had been standing. Again
we crawled like snakes among the rocks and again an empty slope
of waving grass met our eyes. The goral had disappeared, and even
Achi could not discover a sign of life upon the meadow.
With an exclamation
of disgust I got to my feet and looked around. Instantly there
was a rattle of stones and a huge goral leaped out of the grass
thirty yards away and dashed up the hill. I threw up my rifle
and shot hurriedly, chipping a bit of rock a foot behind the animal.
Swearing softly at my carelessness, I threw in another shell,
selected a spot in front of the ram, and fired. The splendid animal
sank in its tracks without a quiver, shot through the base of
the neck.
I had just ejected
the empty shell when Achi seized me by the arm, whispering "gnai-yang,
gnai-yang, gnai-yang, na, na, na, na," and pointing to the
cliffs two hundred yards above us. I looked up just in time to
see another goral flash behind a rock on the very summit of the
ridge. An instant later he appeared again and stopped broadside
on with his noble head thrown up, silhouetted
against the sky. It was a perfect target and, resting my rifle
on a flat rock, I covered the animal with the white bead and centered
it in the rear sight. As I touched the hair trigger and the roar
of the high-power shell crashed back from the face of the cliff,
the animal leaped with legs straight out, whirling over and over
down the meadow and bringing up against a boulder not twenty yards
from the first goral.
That night as I walked
over the hills in the cool dusk I would not have changed my lot
with any man on earth. The breathless excitement of the stalk
and the wild thrill of exultation at the clean kill of two splendid
rams were still rioting in my veins. I came out of the valley
and across the rice fields to the blazing camp fire. Yvette ran
to the edge of the grove, her hands filled with wet photographic
negatives. "How many?" she called. "Two," I answered, "and both
big ones. How many for you?" "Fourteen color plates," she sung
back happily, "and all good."
SEROW AND SAMBUR
We had a delightful
visit from Mr. Grierson during our first week in camp. He rode
out on Thursday afternoon and remained until Sunday, bringing
us mail, war news, and fresh vegetables, and returning with goral
meat for all the foreigners in Teng-yueh. On the afternoon of
his visit I had killed three monkeys which represented a different
species from any we had obtained before. They were the Indian
baboon (Macacus rhesus) and were probably like those of
the Salween River at Changlung.
I found two great
troupes of the monkeys running along the opposite river bank.
The first herd was climbing up the almost perpendicular rock walls,
swinging on the bushes and sometimes almost disappearing in the
tufts of grass. I could not approach nearer than one hundred and
fifty yards and did some very bad shooting at the little beasts,
but a running monkey at that distance is a pretty uncertain mark,
and it requires a much better shot than I am to register more
hits than misses. I did kill two, but both dropped into the river
and promptly sank, so that I gave it up.
Less than a half mile
farther on another and larger troupe appeared among the boulders
just at the water's edge. Profiting by my experience, I kept out
of sight among the bushes and watched the animals play about until
one hopped to a rock and sat quietly for an instant.
I got six in this way, but we were able to recover only three
of them from the water.
Heller shot three
muntjac at Hui-yao, besides the doe which he killed on the first
day. One of the largest bucks had a pair of beautiful antlers
three and one half inches long from the burr to the tip. The skin-covered
projections, or pedicels, of the frontal bone, from the summits
of which the antlers grow, measured two and one-half inches from
the skull to the burrs. Evidently the muntjac are somewhat irregular
in shedding for, although they were all in full summer pelage,
two already had lost their antlers while the other had not. I
can think of no more delicious meat than the flesh of these little
deer and they seem to be as highly esteemed by the English sportsmen
of India as they are by the foreigners of China.
I did not see a muntjac
while at Hui-yao, but was fortunate in killing a splendid coal-black
serow which represents a sub-species new to science; although
the natives said that serow were known to occur in the thick jungle
on the south side of the river, none had been seen for years.
Heller and I had gone to this part of the gorge to hunt for a
troupe of monkeys which he had located on the previous day. We
had separated, Heller keeping close to the water while I skirted
the cliffs near the summit not far from the road which led through
the pine forest.
I was walking just
under the rim of the gorge when suddenly with a snort a large
animal dashed out of a thicket below and to the left. I caught
a glimpse of a great coal-black body and a pair of short curved
horns as the beast disappeared in a shallow gully, and realized
that it was a serow. A few seconds later it reappeared,
running directly away from me along the upper edge of the gorge.
I fired and the animal dropped, gave a convulsive twist, rolled
over, and plunged into the canyon
As the serow disappeared
we heard a chorus of excited yells from below, and it was evident
that some natives near the water had seen it fall. I had slight
hope that they might have rescued it from the river, but my heart
was heavy as we worked along the cliff trying to find a place
where it was possible to descend. A wood cutter whom we discovered
a short distance away guided us down a trail so steep that it
seemed impossible for a human being to walk along it, and in proof
I slid the last half of the way to the rocks at the river's edge,
narrowly escaping a broken neck.
When we reached the
stream it was only to find a flat wall against which the water
surged in a mass of white foam, separating us from the place where
the serow had fallen. I tried to wade around the rock but in two
steps the water was above my waist. It was evident that we would
have to swim, and I began to undress, inviting Achi and the wood
cutter to follow; the former refused, but the latter pulled off
his few clothes with considerable hesitation.
It was a swim of only
about forty feet around the face of the cliff but the current
was strong and it was no easy matter to fight my way to the other
side. After I had climbed out upon the rocks I called to the wood
cutter to follow and he slipped into the water. Evidently the
current was more than he had bargained for and a look of fear
crossed his face, but he went manfully at it.
He had almost reached
the rock on which I was standing with outstretched hand when his
strength seemed suddenly to go and he cried
out in terror. I jumped into the water, hanging to the rocks with
one hand and letting my legs float out behind. The wood cutter
just managed to reach my big toe, to which he clung as if it had
in reality been the straw of the drowning man and I dragged him
up stream until, to my intense relief, he could grasp the rocks.
We picked our way
among the boulders for a few yards and suddenly came upon the
serow lying partly in the water. I felt like dancing with delight
but the sharp rocks were not conducive to any such demonstrations
and I merely yelled to Achi who understood from the tone, if not
from my words, that the animal was safe.
The men who had shouted
when the animal fell over the cliff were only fifty feet away,
but they too were separated from it by a wall of rock and surging
water. They said that there was an easier way up the cliff than
the one by which we had descended, and prepared a line of tough
vines, one end of which they let down to us. We made it fast to
the serow and I kept a second vine rope in my hands, swimming
beside the animal as they dragged it to the other shore. It was
landed safely and the wood cutter was hauled over by the same
means.
I had intended to
swim back for my clothes but discovered that Achi had disappeared,
taking my garments and those of the wood cutter with him. He evidently
intended to meet us on the hilltop, but it left us in the rather
awkward predicament of making our way through the thick brush
with only the proverbial smile and minus even the necktie.
The men fastened together
the serow's four legs, slipped a pole beneath them and toiled
up the steep slope preceded by a naked
brown figure and followed by a white one. The side of the gorge
was covered with vines and creepers, many of them thorny, and
pushing through them with no bodily protection was far from comfortable.
When we arrived at
the road on the rim of the gorge I was dismayed to find that Achi
was not there with my clothes. The wood cutter did not appear
to be greatly worried and indicated that we would find him farther
up the road. I walked on dubiously, expecting every second to
meet some person, and sure enough, a Chinese woman suddenly appeared
over a little hill. I dived into the tall ferns beside the road,
burrowing like a rabbit, and from the frightened way in which
she hurried past, she must have thought she had seen one of her
ancestral spirits stalking abroad. We eventually found the boy,
and, decently dressed, I faced the world again with confidence
and happiness.
On the way back to
camp we saw a goral on the cliffs across the river. It was high
up and fully three hundred and fifty yards away but, of course,
quite unconscious of our presence. My first two shots struck close
beside the animal, but at the third it rolled over and over down
the hill, lodging among the rocks just above the river.
Our entry into camp
was triumphal, for fully half the village acted as an escort to
the serow, an animal which few had ever seen. It was a female,
and probably weighed about two hundred and fifty pounds. The mane
was short and black and strikingly unlike the long white manes
of the Snow Mountain serows; the horns were almost smooth. Getting
this specimen was one of the lucky chances
which sometimes come to a sportsman, for one might hunt for weeks
in the same place without ever seeing another serow, as the jungle
is exceedingly dense and the cliffs so steep that it is impossible
to walk except in a few spots. The animal had been feeding on
the new grass just at the edge of the heavy cover and probably
had been sleeping under a bush when she was disturbed.
Besides mammals and
birds we made a fairly good collection of reptiles and lizards
at Hui-yao, but in all other parts of the province which we visited
they were exceedingly scarce. In fact, I have never been in a
place where there were so few reptiles and batrachians. We obtained
only one species of poisonous snake here. It was a small green
viper which we sometimes saw coiled on a low bush watching mouse
holes in the grass. Several species of nonpoisonous snakes were
more common but were nowhere really abundant.
We left Hui-yao the
day after I killed the serow for a village called Wa-tien where
there was a report of sambur. None of us had any real hope of
finding the huge deer after our former unsuccessful hunts, but
we camped in the early afternoon on an open hilltop five miles
from Wa-tien where the natives assured us the animals often came
to eat the young rice during the night.
We engaged four men
with three dogs as hunters, but awoke to find a dense fog blanketing
the valley and mountains. It was not until half past nine that
the gray mist yielded to the sun and left the hills clear enough
for us to hunt. We climbed a wooded ridge directly behind the
camp and skirted the edge of a heavily forested ravine which the
men wished to drive.
Heller took a position
in a bean field while I climbed to a sharp ridge above and beyond
him. In less than half an hour the dogs began to yelp in an uncertain
way. I saw one of them running down hill, nose to the ground,
and a few seconds later Heller fired twice in quick succession.
Two sambur had skirted the edge of the wood less than one hundred
yards away, but he had missed with both shots.
The trail led into
a deep ravine filled with dense underbrush. In a few moments the
dogs began to yelp again and, while Heller remained on the hillside
to watch the open fields, I followed the hounds along the creek
bed. Suddenly the whiplike crack of his Savage 250-300 rifle sounded
five times in quick succession just above our heads, and we climbed
hurriedly out of the gorge.
Heller shouted that
he had fired at a huge sambur running along the edge of a bean
field but the animal showed no sign of being hit. We easily picked
up the trail in the soft earth and in a few moments found several
drops of blood, showing that at least one bullet had found its
mark. The blood soon ceased and we began to wonder if the sambur
had not been merely scratched.
Heller had seen the
deer disappear in a second ravine, a branch of the one out of
which it had first been driven, and while he watched the upper
side I worked my way to the bottom to look for tracks. A few moments
later the natives began to shout excitedly just above me, and
Heller called out that they had found the deer, which was lying
stone dead half way down the side of the gorge in a mass of thick
ferns. The sambur had been hit only once but the powerful Savage
bullet had crashed through the shoulder into the lungs; it was
quite sufficient to do the work even on
such a huge animal and the deer had run less than one hundred
yards from the place where it had been shot.
It was a splendid
male, carrying a magnificent pair of antlers which measured twenty-seven
inches in length. The deer was about the size of an American wapiti,
or elk, and must have weighed at least seven hundred pounds, for
it required eight men to lift it. The Chinese hunters were wild
with excitement, but especially so when we began to eviscerate
the animal, for they wished to save the blood which is considered
of great medicinal value. They filled caps, sacks, bamboo joints,
and every receptacle which they could find after each man had
drunk all he could possibly force down his throat and had eaten
the huge clots which choked the thorax.
When the sambur was
brought to camp a regular orgy was held by our servants, mafus,
and dozens of villagers who gathered to buy, beg, or steal some
of the blood. Our interpreter, Wu, took the heart as his perquisite,
carefully extracted the blood, and dried it in a basin. The liver
also seemed to be an especial desideratum, and in fact every part
of the viscera was saved. Because the antlers were hard they were
not considered of especial value, but had they been in the velvet
we should have had to guard them closely; then they would have
been worth about one hundred dollars (Mexican).
We expected from our
easy hunt of the morning that it would not be difficult to get
sambur, and indeed, Heller did see another in the afternoon but
failed to kill it. Unfortunately, a relative of one of the hunters
died suddenly during the night and all the men went off with their
dogs to the burial feast which lasted several
days, and we were not able to find any other good hounds.
There were undoubtedly
several sambur in the vicinity of our camp but they fed entirely
during the night and spent the day in such thick cover that it
was impossible to drive them out except with good beaters or dogs.
We hunted faithfully every morning and afternoon but did not get
another shot and, after a week, moved camp to the base of a great
mountain range six miles away near a Liso village.
The scenery in this
region is magnificent. The mountain range is the same on which
we hunted at Ho-mu-shu and reaches a height of 11,000 feet near
Wa-tien. It is wild and uninhabited, and the splendid forests
must shelter a good deal of game.
The foothills on which
we were camped are low wooded ridges rising out of open cultivated
valleys, which often run into the jungle-filled ravines in which
the sambur sleep. Why the deer should occur in this particular
region and not in the neighboring country is a mystery unless
it is the proximity of the great forested mountain range. But
in similar places only a few miles away, where there is an abundance
of cover, the natives said the animals had never been seen, and
neither were they known on the opposite side of the mountain range
where the Teng-yueh—Tali-Fu road crosses the Salween valley.
On May 20, we started
back to Hui-yao to spend three or four days hunting monkeys before
we returned to Teng-yueh to pack our specimens and end the field
work of the Expedition. On the way my wife and I became separated
from the caravan but as we had one of our servants for a guide
we were not uneasy.
The man was a lazy,
stupid fellow named Le Ping-sang (which we had changed to "Leaping
Frog" because he never did leap for any cause whatever), and before
long he had us hopelessly lost.
It would appear easy
enough to ask the way from the natives, but the Chinese are so
suspicious that they often will intentionally misdirect a stranger.
They do not know what business the inquirer may have in the village
to which he wishes to go and therefore, just on general principles,
they send him off in the wrong direction.
Apparently this is
what happened to us, for a farmer of whom we inquired the way
directed us to a road at nearly right angles to the one we should
have taken, and it was late in the afternoon before we finally
found the caravan.
LAST DAYS IN CHINA
It was of paramount
importance to pack our specimens before the beginning of the summer
rains. They might be expected to break in full violence any day
after June 1, and when they really began it would be impossible
to get our boxes to Bhamo, for virtually all caravan travel ceases
during the wet season. Therefore our second stay at Hui-yao was
short and we returned to Teng-yueh on May 24, ending the active
field work of the Expedition exactly a year from the time it began
with our trip up the Min River to Yeng-ping in Fukien Province.
Mr. Grierson had kindly
invited us again to become his guests and no place ever seemed
more delightful, after our hot and dusty ride, than his beautiful
garden and cool, shady verandah where a dainty tea was served.
Our days in Teng-yueh were busy ones, for after the specimens
were packed and the boxes sealed it was necessary to wrap them
in waterproof covers; moreover, the equipment had to be sorted
and sold or discarded, a caravan engaged, and nearly a thousand
feet of motion-picture film developed. This was done in the spacious
dark room connected with Mr. Grierson's house which offered a
welcome change from the cramped quarters of the tent which we
had used for so many months.
Much of the success
of our motion film lay in the fact that it was developed within
a short time after exposure, for had we
attempted to bring or send it to Shanghai, the nearest city with
facilities for doing such work, it would inevitably have been
ruined by the climatic changes. Although cinematograph photography
requires an elaborate and expensive outfit and is a source of
endless work, nevertheless, the value of an actual moving record
of the life of such remote regions is worth all the trouble it
entails.
The Paget natural
color plates proved to be eminently satisfactory and were among
the most interesting results of the expedition. The stereoscopic
effects and the faithful reproduction of the delicate atmospheric
shading in the photographs are remarkable. Although the plates
had been subjected to a variety of climatic conditions and temperatures
by the time the last ones were exposed in Burma, a year and a
half after their manufacture, they showed no signs of deterioration
even when the ordinary negatives which we brought with us from
America had been ruined. The other photographs, some of which
are reproduced in this book, speak for themselves.
The entire collections
of the Expedition were packed in forty-one cases and included
the following specimens:
|
2,100 |
mammals |
|
800 |
birds |
|
200 |
reptiles and batrachians |
|
200 |
skeletons and
formalin preparations for anatomical study |
|
150 |
Paget natural
color plates |
|
500 |
photographic negatives |
| 10,000 |
feet of motion-picture
film. |
Since the Expedition
was organized primarily for the study of the mammalian fauna and
its distribution, our efforts were directed
very largely toward this branch of science, and other specimens
were gathered only when conditions were especially favorable.
I believe that the mammal collection is the most extensive ever
taken from China by a single continuous expedition, and a large
percentage undoubtedly will prove to represent species new to
science. Our tents were pitched in 108 different spots from 15,000
feet to 1,400 feet above sea level, and because of this range
in altitudes, the fauna represented by our specimens is remarkably
varied. Moreover, during our nine months in Yün-nan we spent 115
days in the saddle, riding 2,000 miles on horse or mule back,
largely over small roads or trails in little known parts of the
province.
In Teng-yueh we were
entertained most hospitably and the leisure hours were made delightful
by golf, tennis, riding, and dinners. Mr. Grierson was a charming
host who placed himself, as well as his house and servants, at
our disposal, utter strangers though we were, and we shall never
forget his welcome.
We decided to take
four man-chairs to Bhamo because of the rain which was expected
every day, and the coolies made us very comfortable upon our sleeping
bags which were swung between two bamboo poles and covered with
a strip of yellow oil-cloth. They were the regulation Chinese
"mountain schooner," at which we had so often laughed, but they
proved to be infinitely more desirable than riding in the rain.
With the forty-one
cases of specimens we left Teng-yueh on June 1, behind a caravan
of thirty mules for the eight-day journey to Bhamo on the outskirts
of civilization. Our chair-coolies were miserable specimens of
humanity. They were from S'suchuan Province and
were all unmarried which alone is almost a crime in China. Every
cent of money, earned by the hardest sort of work, they spent
in drinking, gambling, and smoking opium. As Wu tersely put it
"they make how much—spend how much!"
About every two hours
they would deposit us unceremoniously in the midst of a filthy
village and disappear into some dark den in spite of our remonstrances.
We would grumble and fume and finally, getting out of our chairs,
peer into the hole. In the half light we would see them huddled
on a "kang" over tiny yellow flames sucking at their pipes. At
tiffin each one would stretch out under a tree with a stone for
a pillow and his broad straw hat propped up to screen him from
the wind. With infinite care he would extract a few black grains
from a dirty box, mix them with a little water, and cook them
over an alcohol lamp until the opium bubbled and was almost ready
to drop. Then placing it lovingly in the bowl of his pipe he would
hold it against the flame and draw in long breaths of the sickly-sweet
smoke. The men could work all day without food, but opium was
a prime necessity.
It was almost impossible
to start them in the morning and it became my regular duty to
make the rounds of the filthy holes in which they slept, seize
them by the collars and drag them into the street. Force made
the only appeal to their deadened senses and we were heartily
sick of them before we reached Bhamo.
The road to Bhamo
is a gradual descent from five thousand feet to almost sea level.
Because of the fever the valleys are largely inhabited by "Chinese
Shans" who differ in dress and customs from the Southern Shans
of the Nam-ting River. Few of the men were
tattooed and the women all wore the enormous cylindrical turban
which we had seen once before in the Salween Valley.
At noon of the fifth
day we crossed the Yün-nan border into Burma. It is a beautiful
spot where a foaming mountain torrent rushes out of the jungle
in a series of picturesque cascades and loses itself in a living
wall of green. The stream is spanned by a splendid iron bridge
from which a fine wide road of crushed stone leads all the way
to Bhamo.
What a difference
between the country we were leaving and the one we were about
to enter! It is the "deadly parallel" of the old East and the
new West. On the one side is China with her flooded roads and
bridges of rotting timber, the outward and visible signs of a
nation still living in the Middle Ages, fighting progress, shackled
by the iron doctrines of Confucius to the long dead past. Across
the river is English Burma, with eyes turned forward, ever watchful
of the welfare of her people, her iron bridges and macadam roads
representing the very essence of modern thought and progress.
With paternal care
of her officials the British government has provided dâk
(mail) bungalows at the end of each day's journey which are open
to every foreign traveler. They are comfortable little houses
set on piles. Each one has a spacious living room, with a large
teakwood table and inviting lounge chairs. In a corner stands
a cabinet of cutlery, china, and glass, all clean and in perfect
order. The two bedrooms are provided with adjoining baths and
a covered passageway connects the kitchen with the house. All
is ready for the tired traveler, and a boy can be hired for a
trifling sum to make the punkah "punk."
Such comforts can only be appreciated when one has journeyed for
months in a country where they do not exist.
Our last night on
the road was spent at a dâk bungalow near a village only
a few miles from Bhamo. We were seated at the window, when, with
a rattle of wheels, the first cart we had seen in nine months
passed by. That cart brought to us more forcibly than any other
thing a realization that the Expedition was ended and that we
were standing on the threshold of civilization.
As Yvette turned from
the window her eyes were wet with unshed tears, and a lump had
risen in my throat. Not all the pleasures of the city, the love
of friends or relatives, could make us wish to end the wild, free
life of the year gone by. Silently we left the house and walked
across the sunlit road into a grove of graceful, drooping palms;
a white pagoda gleamed between the trees, and the pungent odor
of wood smoke filled the air.
The spot was redolent
with the atmosphere of the lazy East; the East which, like the
fabled "Lorelei," weaves a mystic spell about the wanderer whom
she has loved and taken to her heart, while yet he feels it not.
And when he would cast her off and return to his own again she
knows full well that her subtle charm will bring him back once
more.
The next morning we
entered Bhamo. It is a city of low, cool houses, wide lawns and
tree-decked streets built on the bank of the muddy Irawadi River.
Only a few miles away the railroad reaches Katha, and palatial
steamers run to Mandalay and Rangoon. We called upon Mr. Farmer,
the Deputy Commissioner, who offered the
hospitality of the "Circuit House" and in the evening took us
with him to the Club.
A military band was
playing and men in white, well-dressed women, and officers in
uniform strolled about or sipped iced drinks beside the tennis
court. We felt strange and shy but doubtless we seemed more strange
to them for we were newly come from a far country which they saw
only as a mystic, unknown land.
On June 9, at noon,
we embarked for the 1,200-mile journey to Rangoon, exactly nine
months after we had ridden away from Yün-nan Fu toward the Mountain
of Eternal Snow. Our further travels need not be related here.
When we reached civilization we expected that our transport difficulties
were ended; instead they had only begun. India was well-nigh isolated
from the Pacific and to expose our valuable collection to the
attacks of German pirates in the Mediterranean and Atlantic was
not to be considered even though it necessitated traveling two
thirds around the world to reach America safely.
We left Rangoon for
Calcutta, crossed India with all our baggage to Bombay, and after
a seemingly endless wait eventually succeeded in arriving at Hong
Kong by way of Singapore. There we separated from our faithful
Wu and sent him to his home in Foochow. It was hard to say "good-by"
to Wu, for his efficient service, his enthusiastic interest in
the work of the Expedition, and, above all, his willingness to
do whatever needed to be done, had won our gratitude and affection.
We ourselves went northward to Japan, across the Pacific to Vancouver,
and overland to New York, arriving on October 1, 1917, nearly
nineteen months from the time we left. We were never separated
from our collections for, had we left them,
I doubt if they would ever have reached America. It was difficult
enough to gather them in the field, but infinitely more so to
guide the forty-one cases through the tangled shipping net of
a war-mad world.
They reached New York
without the loss of a single specimen and are now being prepared
in the American Museum of Natural History for the study which
will place the scientific results of the Asiatic Zoölogical Expedition
before the public.
The story of our travels
is at an end. Once more we are indefinable units in a vast work-a-day
world, bound by the iron chains of convention to the customs of
civilized men and things. The glorious days in our beloved East
are gone, and yet, to us, the Orient seems not far away, for the
miles of land and water can be traversed in a thought. Again we
stand before our tent with the fragrant breath of the pines about
us, watching the glistening peaks of the Snow Mountain turn purple
and gold in the setting sun; again, we feel the mystic spell of
the jungle, or hear the low, sweet tones of a gibbon's call. We
have only to shut our eyes to bring back a picture of the bleak
barriers of the Forbidden Land or the sunlit streets of a Burma
village. Thank God, we saw it all together and such blessed memories
can never die.
PART
ONE
PART
TWO
|
