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
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED
TO PRESIDENT HENRY FAIRFIELD OSBORN
AS AN EXPRESSION OF GRATITUDE AND ADMIRATION
Let us
probe the silent places, let us seek what luck betide us;
Let us journey to a lonely land I know.
There's a whisper on the night-wind, there's a star agleam to
guide us,
And the Wild is calling, calling . . . let us go.
—Service
PREFACE
The object of this
book is to present a popular narrative of the Asiatic Zoölogical
Expedition of the American Museum of Natural History to China
in 1916-17. Details of a purely scientific nature have been condensed,
or eliminated, and emphasis has been placed upon our experiences
with the strange natives and animals of a remote and little known
region in the hope that the book will be interesting to the general
reader.
The scientific reputation
of the Expedition will rest upon the technical reports of its
work which will be published in due course by the American Museum
of Natural History. To these reports we would refer those readers
who desire more complete information concerning the results of
our researches. At the time the manuscript of this volume was
sent to press the collections were still undergoing preparation
and the study of the different groups had just begun.
Although the book
has been largely written by the senior author, his collaborator
has contributed six chapters marked with her initials; all the
illustrations are from her photographs and continual use has been
made of her daily journals; she has, moreover, materially assisted
in reference work and in numerous other ways.
The information concerning
the relationships and distribution of the native tribes of Yün-nan
is largely drawn from the excellent reference work by Major H.R.
Davies and we have followed his spelling of Chinese names.
Parts of the book
have been published as separate articles in the American Museum
Journal, Harper's Magazine, and Asia and to the editors
of the above publications our acknowledgments are due.
That the Expedition
obtained a very large and representative
collection of small mammals is owing in a great measure to the
efforts of Mr. Edmund Heller, our
companion in the field. He worked tirelessly in the care and preservation
of the specimens, and the fact that they reached New York in excellent
condition is, in itself, the best testimony to the skill and thoroughness
with which they were prepared.
Our Chinese interpreter,
Wu Hung-tao, contributed largely to the success of the Expedition.
His faithful and enthusiastic devotion to our interests and his
tact and resourcefulness under trying circumstances won our lasting
gratitude and affectionate regard.
The nineteen months
during which we were in Asia are among the most memorable of our
lives and we wish to express our deepest gratitude to the Trustees
of the American Museum of Natural History, and especially to President
Henry Fairfield Osborn, whose enthusiastic endorsement and loyal
support made the Expedition possible. Director F. A. Lucas, Dr.
J. A. Allen and Mr. George H. Sherwood were unfailing in furthering
our interests, and to them we extend our hearty thanks.
To the following patrons,
who by their generous contributions materially assisted in the
financing of the Expedition, we wish to acknowledge our great
personal indebtedness as well as that of the Museum; Mr. and Mrs.
Charles L. Bernheimer, Mr. and Mrs. Sidney M. Colgate, Messrs.
George Bowdoin, Lincoln Ellsworth, James B. Ford, Henry C. Frick,
Childs Frick, and Mrs. Adrian Hoffman Joline.
The Expedition received
many courtesies while in the field from the following gentlemen,
without whose cooperation it would have been impossible to have
carried on the work successfully. Their services have been referred
to individually in subsequent parts of the book: The Director
of the Bureau of Foreign Affairs of the Province of Yün-nan; M.
Georges Chemin Dupontès, Director de l'Exploration de la Compagnie
Française des Chemins de Fer de l'Indochine et du Yün-nan, Hanoi,
Tonking; M. Henry Wilden, Consul de France, Shanghai;
M. Kraemer, Consul de France, Hong Kong; Mr. Howard Page, Standard
Oil Co., Yün-nan Fu; the Hon. Paul Reinsch, Minister Plenipotentiary
and Envoy Extraordinary to the Chinese Republic, Mr. J. V. A.
McMurray, First Secretary of the American Legation, Peking; Mr.
HAG. Evans, British-American Tobacco Co., Hong Kong; the Rev.
William Hanna, Ta-li Fu; the Rev. A. Kok, Li-chang Fu; Ralph Grierson,
Esq., Teng-yueh; Herbert Goffe, Esq., H. B. M. Consul General,
Yün-nan Fu; Messrs. C. R. Kellogg, and H. W. Livingstone, Foochow,
China; the General Passenger Agent, Canadian Pacific Railroad
Company, Hong Kong; and the Rev. H.R. Caldwell, Yenping, who has
read parts of this book in manuscript and who through his criticisms
has afforded us the benefit of his long experience in China.
To Miss Agnes F. Molloy
and Miss Anna Katherine Berger we wish to express our appreciation
of editorial and other assistance during the preparation of the
volume.
ROY
CHAPMAN ANDREWS
YVETTE BORUP ANDREWS
JUSTAMERE HOME,
Lawrence Park,
Bronxville, N. Y.
May 10, 1917.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I
The
Object of the Expedition
The importance
of the scientific exploration of Central Asia—The region
which the Asiatic Zoölogical Expedition investigated—Personnel
of the Expedition—Equipment—Applicants for positions
upon the Expedition
CHAPTER
II
China
in Turmoil
Yuan
Shi-kai—Plot to become emperor of China—The Rebellion—Our
arrival in Peking—Passports for Fukien Province—Admiral
von Hintze, the German Minister—En route to Shanghai—Death
of Yuan Shi-kai
CHAPTER
III
Up
the Min River
Y.
B. A.
Arrival
at Foochow—Foochow—We leave for Yen-ping—The Min
River—Our first night in a sampan—Miss Mabel
Hartford—Brigands at Yuchi—Yen-ping—Trapping at
Yen-ping
CHAPTER
IV
A
Bat Cave in the Big Ravine
The Temple in the
Big Ravine—Hunting serow—A bat apartment house
CHAPTER
V
The
Yen-Ping Rebellion
A message from Mr.
Caldwell—Refugees from Yen-ping—Situation in the city—Fighting
on Monday morning—Wounded men at the hospital—We do
Red Cross work—More fighting—A Chinese puzzle—The
missionaries save the city—The narrow escape of a young Chinese—The
mission cook—Return to Foochow
CHAPTER
VI
Hunting
the Great Invisible
Tiger lairs—Mr.
Caldwell's method of hunting—His first tiger—Habits
of tigers—Experiences with the Great Invisible—Killing
a man eater—Chinese superstitions—Hunting in the lair
CHAPTER
VII
The
Blue Tiger
Arriving at Lung-tao—The
blue tiger—Mr. Caldwell's first view of the beast—The
lair in the Long Ravine—Bad luck with the tiger—A meeting
in the dark—Ling-suik monastery—Life at the temple—Fukien
Province as a collecting ground
CHAPTER
VIII
The
Women of China
Y.
B. A.
Schools for girls—Position
of women—The Confucian rules—Woman's life in the home—Foot
binding—Early marriage—A Chinese wedding
CHAPTER
IX
Voyaging
to Yün-nan
Outfitting in Hong
Kong—Food—Guns—Cameras—En route to
Tonking—The Island of Hainan—We engage a cook at Paik-hoi—Arrival
in Haiphong—Loss of our Ammunition—Hanoi—The railroad
to Yün-nan Fu—Yün-nan—The Chinese Foreign Office endorses
our plans
CHAPTER
X
On
the Road to Ta-li fu
Our caravan—The
Yün-nan pack saddle—Temple camps—Chinese mafus—Roads—Country—Ignorance
of a Chinese scholar—New mammals—Village life—Opium
growing—An opium scandal—Goitre—The Chinese "Mountain
schooner"—Horses—Miss Morgan—Brigands—Our
guard of soldiers
CHAPTER
XI
Ta-li
fu
Hsia-kuan—Summer
temperature—Lake—Graves—Pagodas—Mr. H. G.
Evans—Foreigners of Ta-li Fu—Chinese mandarins—Mammals
at Ta-li—Caravan horses and mules—The cook becomes ill
CHAPTER
XII
Li-Chiang,
and the "Temple of the Flowers"
Traveling to Li-Chiang—Our
entrance into the city—The surprise of the foreigners—The
temple—Excellent collecting—Small mammals—The Moso
natives—Customs—The Snow Mountain—Baron Haendel-Mazzetti
CHAPTER
XIII
Camping
in the Clouds
Moso hunters—Primitive
guns—Crossbows and poisoned arrows—Dogs—A porcupine—New
mammals—We find a new camp on the mountain
CHAPTER
XIV
The
First Goral
Killed near camp—A
sacrifice to the God of the Hunt—Small mammals—The second
goral
CHAPTER
XV
More
Gorals
Gorals almost invisible—Heller
shoots a kid—Collecting material for a Museum group—A
splendid hunt—Two gorals—A crested muntjac
CHAPTER
XVI
The
Snow Mountain Temple
The first illness
in camp—Serow—Death of the leading dog—Rain—Two
more serows—Lolos—Non-Chinese tribes of Yün-nan
CHAPTER
XVII
Gorals
and Serows
Relationship—Appearance
of the serow—Habits—Gorals
CHAPTER
XVIII
The
"White Water"
Y.
B. A.
Our new camp—A
serow—We go to Li-Chiang—A burial ceremony—Ancestor
worship
CHAPTER
XIX
Across
the Yangtze Gorge
Traveling to the river—Inaccuracy
of the Chinese—First view of the gorge—The Taku ferry—Caves
CHAPTER
XX
Through
Unmapped Country
Along the rim of the
gorge—A beautiful camp at Habala—New mammals—Photographic
work—Phete village—Stupid inhabitants—Strange natives—The
"Windy Camp"—Hotenfa
CHAPTER
XXI
Traveling
Toward Tibet
A hard climb—Our
highest camp—A Lolo village—Thanksgiving with the Lolos
CHAPTER
XXII
Stalking
Tibetans with a Camera
Y.
B. A.
Caravans—Tibetans—Dress—Appearance—Photographing
frightened natives—Reason for suspicion
CHAPTER
XXIII
Westward
to the Mekong River
Snow—Photographing
natives—The Snow Mountain again—The Shih-ku ferry—Cranes—"Brahminy
ducks"—A well-deserved beating—Chinese soldiers
CHAPTER
XXIV
Down
the Mekong Valley
Arrival at Wei-hsi—The
Mekong River—Lutzu natives—Difficulties in the valley—An
unexpected goral—Christmas—The salt wells—A snow
covered pass—Duck shooting—Return to Ta-li Fu
CHAPTER
XXV
Missionaries
We Have Known
Our observations on
work of missionaries in Fukien and Yün-nan Provinces—Mode
of living—Servants—Voluntary exile—Medical missionaries—A
missionary's experience with the brigands at Yuchi
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
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Our camp on the Snow
Mountain at an altitude of 12,000 feet.
Yvette Borup Andrews
with a pet Yün-nan squirrel
Edmund Heller
Roy Chapman Andrews and a goral
A Chinese hunter and
a muntjac
Brigands killed in the Yen-ping Rebellion
The Ling-suik monastery
A priest of Ling-suik
A Chinese mother with
her children
Chinese women of the coolie class with bound feet
Cormorant fishers
on the lake at Yün-nan Fu
Our camp at Chou Chou on the way to Ta-li Fu
The Pagodas at Ta-li
Fu
The dead of China
The residence of Rev.
William J. Hanna at Ta-li-Fu
The gate and main street of Ta-li Fu
One of the pagodas
at Ta-li Fu
A Moso herder
A Moso woman
The Snow Mountain
A cheek gun used by
one of our hunters
The first goral killed on the Snow Mountain
Hotenfa, one of our
Moso hunters, bringing in a goral
Another Moso hunter with a porcupine
A typical goral cliff
on the Snow Mountain
A serow killed on
the Snow Mountain
The head of a serow
The "white water"
A Liso hunter carrying
a flying squirrel
The chief of our Lolo hunters
A Lolo village
Lolos seeing their photographs for the first time
Travelers in the Mekong
valley
Two Tibetans
The gorge of the Yangtze
River
A quiet curve of the
Mekong River
The temple in which
we camped at Ta-li Fu
A crested muntjac
The south gate at
Yung-chang
A Chinese bride returning to her mother's home at New Year's
A Chinese patriarch
Young China
A Shan village
A Shan woman spinning
A Kachin woman in
the market at Meng-ting
One of our Shan hunters with two yellow gibbons
Our camp on the Nam-ting
River
The Shan village at Nam-ka
The head of a gibbon
killed on the Nam-ting River
A civet
A Shan girl
A Shan boy
A suspension bridge
Mrs. Andrews feeding one of our bear cubs
A sambur killed at
Wa-tien
The head of a muntjac
A mountain chair
The waterfall at Teng-Yueh
MAP I. The red line
indicates the travels of the Expedition
MAP II. Route of the
Expedition in Yün-nan
CAMPS AND TRAILS IN
CHINA
THE OBJECT OF THE
EXPEDITION
The earliest remains
of primitive man probably will be found somewhere in the vast
plateau of Central Asia, north of the Himalayan Mountains. From
this region came the successive invasions that poured into Europe
from the east, to India from the north, and to China from the
west; the migration route to North America led over the Bering
Strait and spread fanwise south and southeast to the farthest
extremity of South America. The Central Asian plateau at the beginning
of the Pleistocene was probably less arid than it is today and
there is reason to believe that this general region was not only
the distributing center of man but also of many of the forms of
mammalian life which are now living in other parts of the world.
For instance, our American moose, the wapiti or elk, Rocky Mountain
sheep, the so-called mountain goat, and other animals are probably
of Central Asian origin.
Doubtless there were
many contributing causes to the extensive wanderings of primitive
tribes, but as they were primarily hunters, one of the most important
must have been the movements of the game
upon which they lived. Therefore the study of the early human
races is, necessarily, closely connected with, and dependent upon,
a knowledge of the Central Asian mammalian life and its distribution.
No systematic palaeontological, archaeological, or zoölogical
study of this region on a large scale has ever been attempted,
and there is no similar area of the inhabited surface of the earth
about which so little is known.
The American Museum
of Natural History hopes in the near future to conduct extensive
explorations in this part of the world along general scientific
lines. The country itself and its inhabitants, however, present
unusual obstacles to scientific research. Not only is the region
one of vast intersecting mountain ranges, the greatest of the
earth, but the climate is too cold in winter to permit of continuous
work. The people have a natural dislike for foreigners, and the
political events of the last half century have not tended to decrease
their suspicions.
It is possible to
overcome such difficulties, but the plans for extensive research
must be carefully prepared. One of the most important steps is
the sending out of preliminary expeditions to gain a general knowledge
of the natives and fauna and of the conditions to be encountered.
For the first reconnaissance, which was intended to be largely
a mammalian survey, the Asiatic Zoölogical Expedition left New
York in March, 1916.
Its destination was
Yün-nan, a province in southwestern China. This is one of the
least known parts of the Chinese Republic and, because of its
southern latitude and high mountain systems, the climate and faunal
range is very great. It is about equal in size to
the state of California and topographically might be likened to
the ocean in a furious gale, for the greater part of its surface
has been thrown into vast mountain waves which divide and cross
one another in hopeless confusion.
Yün-nan is bordered
on the north by Tibet and S'suchuan, on the west by Burma, on
the south by Tonking, and on the east by Kwei-chau Province. Faunistically
the entire northwestern part of Yün-nan is essentially Tibetan,
and the plateaus and mountain peaks range from altitudes of 8,000
feet to 20,000 feet above sea level. In the south and west along
the borders of Burma and Tonking, in the low fever-stricken valleys,
the climate is that of the mid-tropics, and the native life, as
well as the fauna and flora, is of a totally different type from
that found in the north.
The natives of Yün-nan
are exceptionally interesting. There are about thirty non-Chinese
tribes in the province, some of whom, such as the Shans and Lolos,
represent the aboriginal inhabitants of China, and it is safe
to say that in no similar area of the world is there such a variety
of language and dialects as in this region.
Although the main
work of the Expedition was to be conducted in Yün-nan, we decided
to spend a short time in Fukien Province, China, and endeavor
to obtain a specimen of the so-called "blue tiger" which has been
seen twice by the Reverend Harry R. Caldwell, a missionary and
amateur naturalist, who has done much hunting in the vicinity
of Foochow.
The white members
of the first Asiatic Zoölogical Expedition included Mr. Edmund
Heller, my wife (Yvette Borup Andrews) and myself. A Chinese interpreter,
Wu Hung-tao, with five native assistants
and ten muleteers, completed the personnel.
Mr. Heller is a collector
of wide experience. His early work, which was done in the western
United States and the Galápagos Islands, was followed by many
years of collecting in Mexico, Alaska, South America, and Africa.
He first visited British East Africa with Mr. Carl E. Akeley,
next with ex-President Theodore Roosevelt, and again with Mr.
Paul J. Rainey. During the Asiatic Zoölogical Expedition Mr. Heller
devoted most of his time to the gathering and preparation of small
mammals. He joined our party late in July in China.
Mrs. Andrews was the
photographer of the Expedition. She had studied photography as
an amateur in Germany, France, and Italy, as well as in New York,
and had devoted especial attention to the taking of photographs
in natural colors. Such work requires infinite care and patience,
but the results are well worth the efforts expended.
Wu Hung-tao is a native
of Foochow, China, and studied English at the Anglo-Chinese College
in that city. He lived for some time in Teng-yueh, Yün-nan, in
the employ of Mr. F. W. Carey, Commissioner of Customs, and not
only speaks mandarin Chinese but also several native dialects.
He acted as interpreter, head "boy," and general field manager.
My own work was devoted mainly to the direction of the Expedition
and the hunting of big game.
In order to reduce
the heavy transportation charges we purchased only such equipment
in New York as could not be obtained in Shanghai or Hong Kong.
Messrs. Shoverling, Daly & Gales furnished our guns,
ammunition, tents, and general camp equipment, and gave excellent
satisfaction in attention to the minor details which often assume
alarming importance when an expedition is in the field and defects
cannot be remedied. All food and commissary supplies were purchased
in Hong Kong. (See Chapter IX).
When the announcement
of the Expedition was made by the American Museum of Natural History
it received wide publicity in America and other parts of the world.
Immediately we began to discover how many strange persons make
up the great cities of the United States, and we received letters
and telegrams from hundreds of people who wished to take part
in the Expedition. Men and boys were the principal applicants,
but there was no lack of women, many of whom came to the Museum
for personal interviews.
Most of the letters
were laughable in the extreme. One was from a butcher who thought
he might be of great assistance in preparing our specimens, or
defending us from savage natives; another young man offered himself
to my wife as a personal bodyguard; a third was sure his twenty
years' experience as a waiter would fit him for an important position
on the Expedition, and numerous women, young and old, wished to
become "companions" for my wife in those "drear wastes."
Applicants continued
to besiege us wherever we stopped on our way across the continent
and in San Francisco until we embarked on the afternoon of March
28 on the S. S. Tenyo Maru for Japan.
Our way across the
Pacific was uneventful and as the great vessel drew in toward
the wharf in Yokohama she was boarded by the usual crowd of natives.
We were standing at the rail when three Japanese
approached and, bowing in unison, said, "We are report for leading
Japanese newspaper. We wish to know all thing about Chinese animal."
Evidently the speech had been rehearsed, for with it their English
ended abruptly, and the interview proceeded rather lamely, on
my part, in Japanese.
Japan was reveling
in the cherry blossom season when we arrived and for a person
interested in color photography it was a veritable paradise. We
stayed three weeks and regretfully left for Peking by way of Korea.
But before we continue with the story of our further travels,
we would like briefly to review the political situation in China
as a background for our early work in the province of Fukien.
CHINA IN TURMOIL
During the time the
Expedition was preparing to leave New York, China was in turmoil.
Yuan Shi-kai was president of the Republic, but the hope of his
heart was to be emperor of China. For twenty years he had plotted
for the throne; he had been emperor for one hundred miserable
days; and now he was watching, impotently, his dream-castles crumble
beneath his feet. Yuan was the strong man of his day, with more
power, brains, and personality than any Chinese since Li-Hung
Chang. He always had been a factor in his political world. His
monarchical dream first took definite form as early as 1901 when
he became viceroy of Chi-li, the province in which Peking is situated.
It was then that he
began to modernize and get control of the army which is the great
basis of political power in China. Properly speaking, there was
not, and is not now, a Chinese national army. It is rather a collection
of armies, each giving loyalty to a certain general, and he who
secures the support of the various commanders controls the destiny
of China's four hundred millions of people regardless of his official
title.
Yuan was able to bind
to himself the majority of the leading generals, and in 1911,
when the Manchu dynasty was overthrown, his plots and intrigues
began to bear fruit. By crafty juggling of the rebels and Manchus
he managed to get himself elected president
of the new republic, although he did not for a moment believe
in the republican form of government. He was always a monarchist
at heart but was perfectly willing to declare himself an ardent
republican so long as such a declaration could be used as a stepping
stone to the throne which he kept ever as his ultimate goal.
As president he ruled
with a high hand. In 1913 there was a rebellion in protest against
his official acts but he defeated the rebels, won over more of
the older generals, and solidified the army for his own interests,
making himself stronger than ever before.
At this time he might
well have made a coup d'état and proclaimed himself emperor
with hardly a shadow of resistance, but with the hereditary caution
of the Chinese he preferred to wait and plot and scheme. He wanted
his position to be even more secure and to have it appear that
he reluctantly accepted the throne as a patriotic duty at the
insistent call of the people.
Yuan's ways for producing
the proper public sentiment were typically Chinese but entirely
effective, and he was making splendid progress, when in May, 1915,
Japan put a spoke in his wheel of fortune by taking advantage
of the European war and presenting the historical twenty-one demands,
to most of which China agreed.
This delayed his plans
only temporarily, and Yuan's agents pushed the work of making
him emperor more actively than ever, with the result that the
throne was tendered to him by the "unanimous vote of the people."
To "save his face" he declined at first but at the second offer
he "reluctantly" yielded and on December 12, 1915, became emperor
of China.
But his triumph was
short-lived, for eight days later tidings
of unrest in Yün-nan reached Peking. General Tsai-ao, a former
military governor of the province, appeared in Yün-nan Fu, the
capital, and, on December 23, sent an ultimatum to Yuan stating
that he must repudiate the monarchy and execute all those who
had assisted him to gain the throne, otherwise Yün-nan would secede;
which it forthwith did on December 25.
Without doubt this
rebellion was financed by the Japanese who had intimated to Yuan
that the change from a republican form of government would not
meet with their approval. The rebellion spread rapidly. On January
21, Kwei-chau Province, which adjoins Yün-nan, seceded, and, on
March 13, Kwang-si also announced its independence.
About this time the
Museum authorities were becoming somewhat doubtful as to the advisability
of proceeding with our Expedition. We had a long talk with Dr.
Wellington Koo, the Chinese Minister to the United States, at
the Biltmore Hotel in New York. Dr. Koo, while certain that the
rebellion would be short-lived, strongly advised us to postpone
our expedition until conditions became more settled. He offered
to cable Peking for advice, but we, knowing how unwelcome to the
government of the harassed Yuan would be a party of foreigners
who wished to travel in the disturbed area, gratefully declined
and determined to proceed regardless of conditions. We hoped that
Yuan would be strong enough to crush this rebellion as he had
that of 1913, but day by day, as we anxiously watched the papers,
there came reports of other provinces dropping away from his standard.
On the Tenyo Maru
we met the Honorable Charles Denby, an ex-American Consul-General
at Shanghai and former adviser to Yuan Shi-kai
when he was viceroy of Chi-li. Mr. Denby was interested in obtaining
a road concession near Peking and was then on his way to see Yuan.
His anxiety over the political situation was not less than ours
and together we often paced the decks discussing what might happen;
but every wireless report told of more desertions to the ranks
of the rebels.
It seemed to be the
beginning of the end, for Yuan had lost his nerve. He had decided
to quit, and one hundred days after he became emperor elect he
issued a mandate canceling the monarchy and restoring the republic.
But the rebellious provinces were not satisfied and demanded that
he get out altogether.
About this time we
reached Peking, literally blown in by a tremendous dust storm
which seemed an elemental manifestation of the human turmoil within
the grim old walls. Our cousin, Commander Thomas Hutchins, Naval
Attaché of the American Legation, was awaiting us on the platform,
holding his hat with one hand and wiping the dust from his eyes
with the other.
The news we received
from him was by no means comforting for in the Legation pessimism
reigned supreme. The American Minister, Dr. Reinsch, was not enthusiastic
about our going south regardless of conditions, but nevertheless
he set about helping us to obtain the necessary visas for our
passports.
We wished first to
go to Foochow, in Fukien Province, where we were to hunt tiger
until Mr. Heller joined us in July for the expedition into Yün-nan.
Fukien was still loyal to Yuan, but the strong Japanese influence
in this province, which is directly opposite the
island of Formosa, was causing considerable uneasiness in Peking.
We were armed with
telegrams from Mr. C. R. Kellogg, of the Anglo-Chinese College,
with whom we were to stay while in Foochow, assuring us that all
was quiet in the province, and through the influence of Dr. Reinsch,
the Chinese Foreign Office visaed our passports. The huge red
stamp which was affixed to them was an amusing example of Chinese
"face saving." First came the seal of Yuan's impotent dynasty
of Hung Hsien, signifying "Brilliant Prosperity," and directly
upon it was placed the stamp of the Chinese Republic. One was
almost as legible as the other and thus the Foreign Office saved
its face in whichever direction the shifting cards of political
destiny should fall.
At a luncheon given
by Dr. Reinsch at the Embassy in Peking, we met Admiral von Hintze,
the German Minister, who had recently completed an adventurous
trip from Germany to China. He was Minister to Mexico at the beginning
of the war but had returned to Berlin incognito through England
to ask the Kaiser for active sea service. The Emperor was greatly
elated over von Hintze's performance and offered him the appointment
of Minister to China if he could reach Peking in the same way
that he had traveled to Berlin. Von Hintze therefore shipped as
supercargo on a Scandinavian tramp steamer and arrived safely
at Shanghai, where he assumed all the pomp of a foreign diplomat
and proceeded to the capital.
The Americans were
in a rather difficult position at this time because of the international
complications, and social intercourse was extremely limited. Dinner
guests had to be chosen with the greatest care and one
was very likely to meet exactly the same people wherever one went.
Peking is a place
never to be forgotten by one who has shared its social life. In
the midst of one of the most picturesque, most historical, and
most romantic cities of the world there is a cosmopolitan community
that enjoys itself to the utmost. Its talk is all of horses, polo,
racing, shooting, dinners, and dances, with the interesting background
of Chinese politics, in which things are never dull. There is
always a rebellion of some kind to furnish delightful thrills,
and one never can tell when a new political bomb will be projected
from the mysterious gates of the Forbidden City.
We spent a week in
Peking and regretfully left by rail for Shanghai. En route
we passed through Tsinan-fu where the previous night serious fighting
had occurred in which Japanese soldiers had joined with the rebels
against Yuan's troops. On every side there was evidence of Japan's
efforts against him. In the foreign quarter of Shanghai just behind
the residence of Mr. Sammons, the American Consul-General, one
of Yuan's leading officers had been openly murdered, and Japanese
were directly concerned in the plot. We were told that it was
very difficult at that time to lease houses in the foreign concession
because wealthy Chinese who feared the wrath of one party or the
other were eager to pay almost any rent to obtain the protection
of that quarter of the city.
A short time later
it became known to a few that Yuan was seriously ill. He was suffering
from Bright's disease with its consequent weakness, loss of mental
alertness, and lack of concentration. French doctors were called
in, but Yuan's wives insisted upon treating
him with concoctions of their own, and on June 6, shortly after
three o'clock in the morning, he died.
Even on his death-bed
Yuan endeavored to save his face before the country, and his last
words were a reiteration of what he knew no one believed. The
story of his death is told in the China Press of June 7,
1916:
According to news
from the President's palace the condition of Yuan became critical
at three o'clock in the morning. Yuan asked for his old confidential
friend, Hsu Shih-chang, who came immediately. On the arrival
of Hsu, Yuan was extremely weak, but entirely conscious.
With tears in his
eyes, Yuan assured his old friend that he had never had any
personal ambition for an emperor's crown; he had been deceived
by his entourage over the true state of public opinion
and thus had sincerely believed the people wished for the restoration
of the monarchy. The desire of the South for his resignation
he had not wished to follow for fear that general anarchy would
break out all over China. Now that he felt death approaching
he asked Hsu to make his last words known to the public.
In the temporary
residence of President Li Yuan-hung, situated in the Yung-chan-hu-tung
(East City) and formerly owned by Yang Tu, the prominent monarchist,
the formal transfer of the power to Li-Yuan-hung took place
this morning at ten o'clock. Yuan Chi-jui, Secretary of State
and Premier, as well as all the members of the cabinet, Prince
Pu Lun as chairman of the State Council, and other high officials
were present.
The officials, wearing
ceremonial dress, were received by Li-Yuan-hung in the main
hall and made three bows to the new president, which were returned
by the latter. The same ceremony will take place at two o'clock,
when all the high military officials will assemble at the President's
residence.
The Cabinet, in
a circular telegram has informed all the
provinces that Vice-President Li-Yuan-hung, in accordance with
the constitution, has become president of the Chinese Republic
(Chung-hua-min-kuo) from the seventh instance.
So ended Yuan Shi-kai's
great plot to make himself an emperor over four hundred millions
of people, a plot which could only have been carried out in China.
He failed, and the once valiant warrior died in the humiliation
of defeat, leaving thirty-two wives, forty children and his country
in political chaos.
UP THE MIN RIVER
Y. B. A.
Three days after leaving
Shanghai we arrived at Pagoda Anchorage at the mouth of the Min
River, twelve miles from Foochow.
We boarded a launch
which threaded its way through a fleet of picturesque fishing
vessels, each one of which had a round black and white eye painted
on its crescent-shaped bow. When asked the reason for this decoration
a Chinese on the launch looked at us rather pityingly for a moment
and then said: "No have eye. No can see." How simple and how entirely
satisfactory!
The instant the launch
touched the shore dozens of coolies swarmed like flies over it,
fighting madly for our luggage. One seized a trunk, the other
end of which had been appropriated by another man and, in the
argument which ensued, each endeavored to deafen the other by
his screams. The habit of yelling to enforce command is inherent
with the Chinese and appears to be ineradicable. To expostulate
in an ordinary tone of voice, pausing to listen to his opponent's
reply, seems a psychological impossibility.
There had been a mistake
about the date of our arrival at Foochow, and we were two days
earlier than we had been expected, so that Mr. C. R. Kellogg,
of the Anglo-Chinese College, with whom we were to
stay, was not on the jetty to meet us. We were at a loss to know
where to turn amidst the chaos and confusion until a customs officer
took us in charge and, judiciously selecting a competent looking
woman from among the screaming multitude, told her to get two
sedan chairs and coolies to carry our luggage. She disappeared
and ten minutes later the chairs arrived. Dashing about among
the crowd in front of us, she chose the baggage for such men as
met with her approval and after the usual amount of argument the
loads were taken.
We mounted our chairs
and started off with apparently all Foochow following us. As far
as we could see down the narrow street were the heads and shoulders
of our porters. We felt as if we were heading an invading army
as, with our thirty-three coolies and sixteen hundred pounds of
luggage, we descended upon the homes of people whom we did not
know and who were not expecting us. But our sudden arrival did
not disturb the Kelloggs and our welcome was typical of the warm
hospitality one always finds in the Far East.
No matter how long
one has lived in China one remains in a condition of mental suspense
unable to decide which is the filthiest city of the Republic.
The residents of Foochow boast that for offensiveness to the senses
no town can compare with theirs, and although Amoy and several
other places dispute this questionable title, we were inclined
to grant it unreservedly to Foochow. It is like a medieval city
with its narrow, ill-paved streets wandering aimlessly in a hopeless
maze. They are usually roofed over so that by no accident can
a ray of purifying sun penetrate their dark corners. With no ventilation
whatsoever the oppressive air reeks with
the odors that rise from the streets and the steaming houses.
In Foochow, as in
other cities of China, the narrow alleys are literally choked
with every form of industrial obstruction. Countless workmen plant
themselves in the tiny passageways with the pigs, children, and
dogs, and women bring their quilts to spread upon the stones.
There is a common saying that the Chinese do little which is not
at some time done on the street.
The foreign residents,
including consuls of all nationalities, missionaries, and merchants,
live well out of the city on a hilltop. Their houses are built
with very high ceilings and bare interiors, and as the occupants
seldom go into the city except in a sedan chair and have "punkahs"
waving day and night, life is made possible during the intense
heat of summer.
A telegram was awaiting
us from the Reverend Harry Caldwell, with whom we were to hunt,
asking us to come to his station two hundred miles up the river,
and we passed two sweltering days repacking our outfit while Mr.
Kellogg scoured the country for an English-speaking cook.
One middle-aged gentleman
presented himself, but when he learned that we were going "up
country," he shook his head with an assumption of great filial
devotion and said that he did not think his mother would let him
go. Another was afraid the sun might be too hot. Finally on the
eve of our departure we engaged a stuttering Chinese who assured
us that he was a remarkable cook and exceptionally honest.
If you have never
heard a Chinaman stutter you have something to live for, and although
we discovered that our cook was a shameless rascal he was worth
all he extracted in "squeeze," for whenever
he attempted to utter a word we became almost hysterical. He sounded
exactly like a worn-out phonograph record buzzing on a single
note, and when he finally did manage to articulate, his "pidgin"
English in itself was screamingly funny.
One day he came to
the sampan proudly displaying a piece of beef and, after
a series of vocal gymnastics, eventually succeeded in shouting:
"Missie, this meat no belong die-cow. Die-cow not so handsome."
Which meant that this particular piece of beef was not from an
animal which had died from disease.
The first stage of
our trip began before daylight. We rode in four-man sedan chairs,
followed by a long procession of heavily laden coolies with our
cameras, duffle-sacks, and pack baskets. The road lay through
green rice fields between terraced mountains, and we jogged along
first on the crest of a hill, then in the valley, passing dilapidated
temples with the paint flaking off and picturesque little huts
half hidden in the reeds of the winding river. It was a relief
to get into the country again after passing down the narrow village
streets and to breathe fresh air perfumed with honeysuckle.
A passenger launch
makes the trip to Cui-kau at the beginning of the rapids, but
it leaves at two o'clock in the morning and is literally crowded
to overflowing with evil-smelling Chinese who sprawl over every
available inch of deck space, so that even the missionaries strongly
advised us against taking it. The passengers not infrequently
are pushed off into the water. One of the missionaries witnessed
an incident which illustrates in a typical
way the total lack of sympathy of the average Chinese.
A coolie on the Cui-kau
launch accidentally fell overboard, and although a friend was
able to grasp his hand and hold him above the surface, no one
offered to help him; the launch continued at full speed, and finally
weakening, the poor man loosed his hold and sank. This is by no
means an isolated case. Some years ago a foreign steamer was burned
on the Yangtze River, and the crowds of watching Chinese did little
or nothing to rescue the passengers and crew. Indeed, as fast
as they made their way to shore many of them were robbed even
of their clothing and some were murdered outright.
Our first day on the
Min River was the most luxurious of the entire Expedition, for
we were fortunate in obtaining the Standard Oil Company's launch
through the kindness of Mr. Livingston, their agent. It was large
and roomy, and the trip, which would have been worse than disagreeable
on the public boat, was most delightful. The Min is one of the
most beautiful rivers of all China with its velvet green mountains
rising a thousand feet or more straight up from the water and
often terraced to the summits.
Perched on the bow
of our boat was a wizened little gentleman with a pigtail wrapped
around his head, who said he was a pilot, but as he inquired the
channel of everyone who passed and ran us aground a dozen times
or more to the tremendous agitation of our captain, we felt that
his claim was not entirely justified.
The river life was
a fascinating, ever-changing picture. One moment we would pass
a sampan so loaded with branches that it seemed like a
small island floating down the stream. Next
a huge junk with bamboo-ribbed sails projecting at impossible
angles drifted by, followed by innumerable smaller crafts, the
monotonous chant of the boatmen coming faintly over the water
to us as they passed.
When evening came
we had reached Cui-kau. The sampans in which we were to
spend eight days were drawn up on the beach with twenty or thirty
others. Right above us was the straggling town looking very much
like the rear view of tenement houses at home. Darkness blotted
out the filth of our surroundings but could do nothing to lessen
the odors that poured down from the village, and we ate our dinner
with little relish.
Our beds were spread
in the sampans which we shared in common with the four
river men who formed the crew. There was only a mosquito net to
screen the end of the boat, but all our surroundings were so strange
that this was but a minor detail. As we lay in our cots we could
look up at the stars framed in the half oval of the sampan's
roof and listen to the sounds of the water life grow fainter and
fainter as one by one the river men beached their boats for the
night. It seemed only a few minutes later when we were roused
by a rush of water, but it was daylight, and the boats had reached
the first of the rapids which separated us from Yen-ping, one
hundred and twenty miles away.
In the late afternoon
we arrived at Chang-hu-fan where Mr. Caldwell stood on the shore
waving his hat to us amidst scores of dirty little children and
the explosion of countless firecrackers. Wherever we went crackers
preceded and followed us—for when a Chinese wishes to register
extreme emotion, either of joy or sorrow,
its expression always takes the form of firecrackers.
There had been a good
deal of persecution of the native Christians in the district,
and only recently a band of soldiers had strung up the native
pastor by the thumbs and beaten him senseless. He was our host
that night and seemed to be a bright, vivacious, little man but
quite deaf as a result of his cruel treatment. He never recovered
and died a few weeks later. Mr. Caldwell had come to investigate
the affair, for the missionaries are invested by the people themselves
with a good deal of authority.
We spent that night
in the parish house just behind the little church, a bare schoolroom
being turned over to us for our use, and it seemed very luxurious
after we had set up our cots, tables, chairs, and bath tub; but
the house was in the center of the town and the high walls shut
out every breath of pure air. The barred windows opened on a street
hardly six feet wide, and while we were preparing for bed there
was a buzz of subdued whispers outside. We switched on a powerful
electric flashlight and there stood at least forty men, women
and children gazing at us with rapt attention, but they melted
away before the blinding glare like snow in a June sun.
That night was not
a pleasant one. The heat was intense, the mosquitoes worse, and
every dog and cat in the village seemed to choose our court yard
as a dueling ground in which to settle old scores. The climax
was reached at four o'clock in the morning, when directly under
our windows there came a series of earsplitting squeals followed
by a horrible gurgle. The neighbors had chosen that particular
spot and hour to kill the family pig, and
the entire process which followed of sousing it in hot water and
scraping off the hair was accompanied by unceasing chatter. Boiling
with rage we dressed and went for a walk, vowing not to spend
another night in the place but to sleep in the sampans.
On the whole our river
men were nice fellows but they had the love of companionship characteristic
of all Chinese and the inherent desire to huddle together as closely
as possible wherever they were. On the way up the river to Yuchi
every evening they insisted on stopping at some foul-smelling
village, and it was difficult to induce them to spend the night
away from a town. Moreover, at our stops for luncheon they would
invariably ignore a shady spot and choose a sand bank where the
sun beat down like a blast furnace.
The Chinese never
appear to be affected by the sun and go bareheaded at all seasons
of the year, shading their eyes with one hand or a partly opened
fan. A fan is the prime requisite, and it is not uncommon to see
coolies almost devoid of clothing, dragging a heavy load and with
the perspiration streaming from their naked bodies, energetically
fanning themselves meanwhile.
Mr. Caldwell was en
route to Yuchi, one of his mission stations far up a branch
of the Min River, and as there was a vague report of tiger in
that vicinity we joined him instead of proceeding directly to
Yen-ping. The tiger story was found to be merely a myth, but our
trip was made interesting by meeting Miss Mabel Hartford, the
only foreign resident of the place. She has lived in Yuchi for
two years and at one time did not see a white person for eight
months with the exception of Mr. Caldwell
who was in the vicinity for three days. It requires four weeks
to obtain supplies from Foochow, there is no telegraph, and mails
are very irregular, but she enjoys the isolation and is passionately
fond of her work.
She has had an interesting
life and one not devoid of danger. In 1895 she was wounded and
barely escaped death in the Hwa Shan (Flower Mountain) massacre
in which ten women and one man were brutally murdered by a mob
of fanatic natives known as "Vegetarians." The Chinese Government
was required to pay a considerable indemnity to Miss Hartford,
which she accepted only under protest and characteristically devoted
to missionary work in Kucheng where the massacre occurred.
Conditions at Yuchi
when we arrived were most unsettled and for some months there
had been a veritable "reign of terror." A large band of brigands
was established in the hills not far from the city, and we were
warned by the mandarin not to attempt to go farther up the river.
A few months earlier several companies of soldiers had been sent
from Foochow, and the result of turning loose these ruffians upon
the town was to make "the remedy worse than the disease."
The soldiers were
continually arresting innocent peasants, accusing them of being
brigands or aiding the bandits, and shooting them without a hearing.
At one time accurate information concerning the camp of the robbers
was received and the soldiers set bravely off, but when within
a short distance of the brigands the commanders began to quarrel
among themselves, guns were fired, and the bandits escaped. A
Chinaman must always "save his face," however, and when they returned
to Yuchi they arrested dozens of people
on mere suspicion and executed them without the vestige of a trial.
Finally conditions became so intolerable that no one was safe,
and after repeated complaints by the missionaries, a new mandarin
of a somewhat better type was sent to Yuchi.
As it was impossible
to do any collecting farther up the river because of the bandits,
we left for Yen-ping two days after arriving at Yuchi. Yen-ping
is a wonderfully picturesque old city, situated on a hill at a
fork of the river and surrounded by high stone walls pierced and
loopholed for rifle fire. Such walls, while of little use against
artillery, nevertheless offer a formidable obstacle to anything
less than field guns as we ourselves were destined to discover.
The Methodist mission
compound encloses a considerable area on the very summit of the
hill, backed by the city wall, and besides the four dwelling houses,
comprises two large schools for boys and girls. Mr. Caldwell's
residence commands a wonderful view down the river and in the
late afternoon sunlight when the hills are bathed in pink and
lavender and purple a more beautiful spot can hardly be imagined.
But the delights of
Yen-ping are somewhat tempered by the abominable weather. In summer
the heat is almost unbearable and the air is so nearly saturated
from continual rain that it is impossible to dry anything except
over a fire. From all reports winter must be almost as bad in
the opposite extreme for the cold is damp and penetrating; but
the early fall is said to be delightful.
The larger part of
Fukien, like many other provinces in China, has been denuded of
forests, and the groves of pine which remain
have all been planted. This deforestation consequently has driven
out the game, and except for tigers, leopards, wolves, wild pigs,
serows and gorals, none of the large species is left. However,
the dense growth of sword grass and the thorny bushes which clothe
the hills and choke the ravines give cover to muntjac, or barking
deer, and many species of small cats, civets, and other Viverines.
These animals come to the rice paddies, which fill every valley,
to hunt for frogs and fish, but it is difficult to catch them
because of the Chinese who are continually at work in the fields.
We spent a week trapping
about Yen-ping and although we caught a good many animals they
were almost always stolen together with the traps. We had this
same difficulty in Yün-nan as well as in Fukien. None of us had
ever seen natives in any part of the world who were such unmitigated
thieves as the Chinese of these two provinces. The small mammals
are hardly more abundant than the larger ones for the natives
wage an unceasing war on those about the rice paddies and have
exterminated nearly all but a few widely distributed forms.
A BAT CAVE IN THE
BIG RAVINE
A few days after our
arrival in Yen-ping we went with Mr. Caldwell and his son Oliver
to a Taoist temple seven miles away in a lonely ravine known as
Chi-yuen-kang. The walk to the temple in the early morning was
delightful. The "bamboo chickens" and francolins were calling
all about us and on the way we shot enough for our first day's
dinner. Both these birds are abundant in Fukien Province but it
is by no means easy to kill them for they live in such thick cover
that they can only be flushed with difficulty.
Early in the morning
we frequently heard the francolins crowing in the trees or on
the top of a hill and when a cock had taken possession of such
a spot the intrusion of another was almost sure to cause trouble
which only ended when one of them had been driven off.
For two miles and
a half the Big Ravine is a narrow cut between perpendicular rock
walls thickly clothed to their very summits with bamboo and a
tangle of thorny vines. In the bottom of the gorge a mountain
torrent foams among huge boulders but becomes a gentle, slow moving
stream when it leaves the cool darkness of the canyon to spread
itself over the terraced rice fields.
About a mile from
the entrance two old temples nestle into the hillside. One stands
just over the water, but the other clings
to the rock wall three hundred feet above the river, and it was
there that we made our camp.
The old priest in
charge did not appear especially delighted to see us until I slipped
a Mexican dollar into his hand—then it was laughable to see
his change of face. The far end of the balcony was given up to
us while Mr. Caldwell and Oliver put up their beds at the feet
of a grinning idol in the main temple.
We had come to Chi-yuen-kang
to hunt serow (see Chapter XVII) and had brought with us
only a few traps for small mammals. Harry had seen several serow
exhibited for sale on market days in towns along the river, and
all were reported to have been killed near this ravine. There
was a village of considerable size at the upper end and here we
collected a motley lot of beaters with half a dozen dogs to drive
the top of a mountain which towered about two thousand five hundred
feet above the river.
Never will we forget
that climb! We tried to start at daylight but it was well toward
six o'clock before we got our men together. A Chinaman would drive
an impatient man to apoplexy and an early grave for it is well-nigh
impossible to get him started within an hour of the appointed
time, and with a half dozen the difficulty is multiplied as many
times. Just when you think all is ready and that there can be
no possible reason for delaying longer, the whole crowd will disappear
suddenly and you discover that they have gone for "chow." Then
you know that the end is really in sight, for chow usually is
the last thing.
We waited nearly two
hours on this particular morning before we started on the long
climb to the top of the mountain. The sun
was simply blazing, and in fifteen minutes we were soaked with
perspiration. When we were half way up the dogs disappeared in
a small ravine overgrown with bamboo and sword grass and suddenly
broke into a chorus of yelps. They had found a fresh trail and
were driving our way.
Harry ran to a narrow
opening in the jungle, shouting to us to watch another higher
up. We were hardly in position when his rifle banged, followed
by such a bedlam of yells and barks that we thought he must have
killed nothing less than one of the hunters. Before we reached
them Harry appeared, smiling all over, and dragging a muntjac
(Muntiacus) by the fore legs. He had just made a beautiful
shot, for the clearing he had been watching was not more than
ten feet wide and the muntjac flashed across it at full speed.
Caldwell fired while it was in midair and his bullet caught the
animal at the base of the neck, rolling it over stone dead.
This beautiful little
deer in Fukien is hardly larger than a fox. Its antlers are only
two or three inches in length and rise from an elongated skin-covered
pedicel instead of from the base of the skull as in all other
members of the deer family. On each side of the upper jaw is a
slender tusk, about two inches long, which projects well beyond
the lips and makes a rather formidable weapon.
We hoped that this
muntjac was going to prove a "good joss," but instead a disappointing
day was in store for us. When we had worked our way to the very
summit of the mountain under a merciless sun and over a trail
which led through a smothering bamboo jungle, we saw dozens of
fresh serow tracks. The animals were there
without a doubt and we were on the qui vive with excitement.
We selected positions
and the men made a long circuit to drive toward us as Caldwell
had directed. After half an hour had passed we heard them yelling
as they closed in, but what was our disgust to see them solemnly
parading in single file up the bottom of the valley on an open
trail and carefully avoiding all thickets where a serow could
possibly be. As Harry expressed it, "all the animals had to do
was to sit tight and watch the noble procession pass." The beaters
very evidently knew nothing whatever about driving nor were we
able to teach them, for they seriously objected to leaving the
open trails and going into the bush.
We worked hard for
serow but the men were hopeless and it was impossible to "still
hunt" the animals at that time of the year. The natives say that
in September when the mushrooms are abundant in the lower forests
the serow leave the mountain tops and thick cover to feed upon
the fungus, and that they may be killed without the aid of beaters,
but at any time the hunt would involve a vast amount of labor
with only a moderate chance of success. After we had left Fukien,
Mr. Caldwell purchased a fine male and female serow for us which
are especially interesting as they represent a different subspecies
(Capricornis sumatrensis argyrochcaetes) from those we
killed in Yün-nan.
Chi-yuen-kang did
yield us results, however, for we discovered a wonderful bat cave
less than a mile from our temple. Its entrance was a low round
hole half covered with vegetation, and opening into a high circular
gallery; from this three long corridors branched off like fingers
from the palm of a giant's hand. The cave
was literally alive with bats. There must have been ten thousand
and on the first day we killed a hundred, representing seven species
and at least four genera. This was especially remarkable as it
is unusual to find more than two or three species living together.
The cave was a regular
bat apartment house for each corridor was divided by rock partitions
into several small rooms in every one of which bats of different
species were rearing their families. The young in most instances
were only a few days old but were thickly clustered on the walls
and ceilings, and each and every one was squeaking at the top
of its tiny lungs. The place must have been occupied for scores,
if not hundreds, of years for the floor was knee-deep with dung.
When we returned the
day after our first visit we found that many of the young bats
had been removed by their parents and in some instances entire
rooms had been vacated. After the first day the odor of the cave
was so nauseating that to enable us to go inside it was necessary
to wear gauze pads of iodoform over our noses.
The bats at this place
were killed with bamboo switches but later we always used a long
gill net which had been especially made in New York. We could
hang the net over the entrance to a cave and, when all was ready,
send a native into the galleries to stir up the animals. As they
flew out they became entangled in the net and could be caught
or killed before they were able to get away. It was sometimes
possible to catch every specimen in a cavern, and moreover, to
secure them in perfect condition without broken skulls or wings.
If a bat escaped from
the net it would never again strike it,
for the animals are wonderfully accurate in flight and most expert
dodgers. Even while in a cave, where hundreds of bats were in
the air, they seldom flew against us, although we might often
be brushed by their wings; and it was a most difficult thing to
hit them with a bamboo switch. Their ability in dodging is without
doubt a necessary development of their feeding habits for, with
the exception of a few species, bats live exclusively upon insects
and catch them in the air.
It is a rather terrifying
experience for a girl to sit in a bat cave especially if the light
has gone out and she is in utter darkness. Of course she has a
cap tightly pulled over her ears, for what girl, even if she be
a naturalist's wife, would venture into a den of evil bats with
one wisp of hair exposed!
All about is the swish
of ghostly wings which brush her face or neck and the air is full
of chattering noises like the grinding of hundreds of tiny teeth.
Sometimes a soft little body plumps into her lap and if she dares
to take her hands from her face long enough to disengage the clinging
animal she is liable to receive a vicious bite from teeth as sharp
as needles. But, withal, it is good fun, and think how quickly
formalin jars or collecting trays can be filled with beautiful
specimens!
THE YEN-PING REBELLION
On Sunday, June 18,
we went to the bat cave to obtain a new supply of specimens. Upon
our return, just as we were about to sit down to luncheon, four
excited Chinese appeared with the following letter from Mr. Caldwell:
DEAR ROY:
There was quite
a lively time in the city at an early hour this morning. The
rebels have taken Yen-ping and it looks as though there was
trouble ahead. Northern soldiers have been sent for and the
chances are that either tonight or tomorrow morning there will
be quite a battle. Bankhardt, Dr. Trimble and myself have just
made a round of the city, visiting the telegraph office, post
office and other places, and while we do not believe that the
foreigners will be molested, nevertheless it is impossible to
tell just what to expect. It is certain, however, that the Consul
will order all of us to Foochow if news of the situation reaches
there. Owing to the uncertainty, I think you had better come
in to Yen-ping so as to be ready for any eventuality.
After talking the
situation over with Dr. Trimble and Mr. Bankhardt, we all agreed
that the wisest thing is for you to come in immediately. I am
sending four burden-bearers for it will be out of the question
to find any tomorrow, if trouble occurs tonight. The city gates
are closed so you will have to climb up the ladder over the
wall behind our compound. Best wishes.
HARRY.
P. S.—Later:
It is again reported that Northern soldiers are to arrive tonight.
If they do and trouble occurs your only chance is to get to
Yen-ping today.
H.
C.
The camp immediately
was thrown into confusion for Da-Ming, the cook, and the burden-bearers
were jabbering excitedly at the top of their voices. The servants
began to pack the loads at once and meanwhile we ate a roast chicken
faster than good table manners would permit—in fact, we took
it in our fingers. We were both delighted at the prospect of some
excitement and talked almost as fast as the Chinese.
In just one hour from
the time Harry's letter had been received, we were on the way
to Yen-ping. It was the hottest part of the day, and we were dripping
with perspiration when we left the cool darkness of the ravine
and struck across the open valley, which lay shimmering in a furnace-like
heat. At the first rest house on the top of the long hill we waited
nearly an hour for our bearers who were struggling under the heavy
loads.
Three miles farther
on a poor woman tottered past us on her peglike feet leaning on
the arm of a man. A short distance more and we came to the second
rest house. We had been there but a few moments when three panting
women, steadying themselves with long staves and barely able to
walk on feet not more than four inches long, came up the hill.
With them were several men bearing household goods in large bundles
and huge red boxes.
The exhausted women
sank upon the benches and fanned themselves while the perspiration
ran down their flushed faces. They looked
so utterly miserable that we told the cook to give them a piece
of cake which Mrs. Caldwell had sent us the day before. Their
gratitude was pitiful, but, of course, they gave the larger share
to the men.
It was not long before
other women and children appeared on the hill path, all struggling
upward under heavy loads, or tottering along on tightly bound
feet. Probably these women had not walked so far in their entire
lives, but the fear of the Northern soldiers and what would happen
in the city if they took possession had driven them from their
homes.
Farther on we had
a clear view across the valley where a long line of people was
filing up to a temple which nestled into the hillside. Half a
mile beyond were two other temples both crowded with refugees
and their goods. Hundreds of families were seeking shelter in
every little house beside the road and were overflowing into the
cowsheds and pigpens.
At six o'clock we
stood on the summit of the hill overlooking the city and half
an hour later were clambering up the ladder over the high wall
of the compound, just behind Dr. Trimble's house. We were wet
through and while cooling off heard the story of the morning's
fighting. It seemed that a certain element in the city was in
cooperation with the representatives of the revolutionary organization.
These men wished to obtain possession of Yen-ping and, after the
rebellion was well started, to gather forces, march to Foochow,
and force the Governor to declare the independence of the province.
The plot had been
hatching for several days, but the death of Yuan Shi-kai had somewhat
delayed its fruition. Saturday, however, it was known throughout
the city that trouble would soon begin.
Sunday morning at half past three, a band of one hundred men from
Yuchi had marched to Yen-ping where they were received by a delegation
of rebels dressed in white who opened to them the east gate of
the city. Immediately they began to fire up the streets to intimidate
the people and in a short time were in a hot engagement with the
seventeen Northern soldiers, some of whom threw away their guns
and swam across the river. The remaining city troops were from
the province of Hunan and their sympathies were really with the
South in the great rebellion. These immediately joined the rebels,
where they were received with open arms. It was reported that
the tao-tai (district mandarin) had asked for troops from
Foochow and that these might be expected at any moment; thus when
they arrived a real battle could be expected and it was very likely
that the city would be partly destroyed.
We had a picnic supper
on the Caldwell's porch and discussed the situation. It was the
opinion of all that the foreigners were in no immediate danger,
but nevertheless it was considered wise to be prepared, and we
decided upon posts for each man if it should become necessary
to protect the compound.
Hundreds of people
were besieging the missionaries with requests to be allowed to
bring their goods and families inside the walls, but these necessarily
had to be refused. Had the missionaries allowed the Chinese to
bring their valuables inside it would have cost them the right
of Consular protection and, moreover, their compound would have
been the first to be attacked if looting began.
On Monday morning
while we were sitting on the porch of Mr.
Caldwell's house preparing some bird skins, there came a sharp
crackle of rifle fire and then a roar of shots. Bullets began
to whistle over us and we could see puffs of smoke as the deep
bang of a black powder gun punctuated the vicious snapping of
the high-power rifles. The firing gradually ceased after half
an hour and we decided to go down to the city to see what had
happened, for, as no Northern troops had appeared, the cause of
the fighting was a mystery.
We went first to the
mission hospital which lay across a deep ravine and only a few
yards from the quarters of the soldiers. At the door of the hospital
compound lay a bloody rag, and we found Dr. Trimble in the operating
room examining a wounded man who had just been brought in. The
fellow had been shot in the abdomen with a 45-caliber lead ball
that had gone entirely through him, emerging about three inches
to the right of his spine.
From the doctor we
got the first real news of the puzzling situation. It appeared
that all the men who had arrived Sunday morning from Yuchi to
join the Yen-ping rebels were in reality brigands and, to save
their own lives, the Hunan soldiers quartered in the city had
played a clever trick. They had pretended to join the rebels but
at a given signal had turned upon them, killing or capturing almost
every one. Although their sympathies were really with the South,
the Hunan men knew that the rebels in Yen-ping could not hold
the city against the Northern soldiers from Foochow and, by crushing
the rebellion themselves, they hoped to avert a bigger fight.
As we could not help
the doctor he suggested that we might be of some assistance to
the wounded in the city, and with rude crosses
of red cloth pinned to our white shirt sleeves we left the hospital,
accompanied by four Chinese attendants bearing a stretcher. In
the compound we met a chair in which was lying an old man groaning
loudly and dripping with blood. Beside him were his wife and several
boys. The poor woman was crying quietly and, between her sobs,
was offering the wounded man mustard pickles from a small dish
in her hand! Poor things, they have so little to eat that they
believe food will cure all ills!
The bearers set the
chair down as we appeared and lifted the filthy rag which covered
a gaping wound in the man's shoulder, over which had been plastered
a great mass of cow dung. Just think of the infection, but it
was the only remedy they knew!
We took the man upstairs
where Dr. Trimble was preparing to operate on the fellow who had
been shot in the abdomen. The doctor was working steadily and
quietly, making every move count and inspiring his native hospital
staff with his own coolness; the way this young missionary handled
his cases made us glad that he was an American.
On the way down the
hill several soldiers passed us, each carrying four or five rifles
and slung about with cartridge belts—plunder stripped from
the men who had been killed. A few hundred yards farther on we
found two brigands lying dead in a narrow street. The nearest
one had fallen on his face and, as we turned him over, we saw
that half his head had been blown away; the other was staring
upward with wide open eyes on which the flies already were settling
in swarms.
There was little use
in wasting time over these men who long ago had passed beyond
need of our help, and we went on rapidly
down the alley to the main thoroughfare. Guided by a small boy,
we hurried over the rough stones for fifteen minutes, and suddenly
came to a man lying at the side of the street, his head propped
on a wooden block. An umbrella once had partly covered him but
had fallen away, leaving him unprotected in the broiling sun.
His face and a terrible wound in his head were a solid mass of
flies, and thousands of insects were crawling over the blood clots
on the stones beside him. At first we thought he was dead but
soon saw his abdomen move and realized that he was breathing.
It did not seem possible that a human being could live under such
conditions; and yet the bystanders told us that he had been lying
there for thirty hours—he had been shot early the previous
morning and it was now three o'clock of the next afternoon.
The man was a poor
water-carrier who lived with his wife in the most utter poverty.
He had been peering over the city wall when the firing began Sunday
morning and was one of the first innocent bystanders to pay the
penalty of his curiosity. I asked why he had not been taken to
the hospital, and the answer was that his wife was too poor to
hire anyone to carry him and he had no friends. So there he lay
in the burning sun, gazed at by hundreds of passersby, without
one hand being lifted to help him.
Our hospital attendants
brushed away the flies, placed him in the stretcher and started
up the long hill, followed by the haggard, weeping wife and a
curious crowd. On every hand were questions: "Why are these men
taking him away?" "What are they going to do with him?" But several
educated natives who understood said, "Ing-ai-gidaiie"
(A work of love). They got right there a
lesson in Christianity which they will not soon forget. It is
seldom that Chinese try to help an injured man, for ever present
in their minds is the possibility that he may die and that they
will be responsible for his burial expenses.
We left the stretcher
bearers at the corner of the main street with orders to return
as soon as they had deposited the man in the hospital and, under
the guidance of a boy, hurried toward the east gate where it was
said seven or eight men had been shot. Our guide took us first
to a brigand who had been wounded and left to die beside the gutter.
The corpse was a horrible sight and with a feeling of deathly
nausea we made a hurried examination and walked to the gate at
the end of the street.
A dozen soldiers were
on guard. We learned from the officer that there were no wounded
in the pile of dead just beyond the entrance, so we turned toward
the river bank and rapidly patrolled the alleys leading to the
tao-tai's yamen (official residence) where the firing had
been heaviest. The yamen was crowded with soldiers, and
we were informed that the dead had all been removed and that there
were no wounded—a grim statement which told its own story.
The yamen is
but a short distance from the hospital so we climbed the hill
to the compound. The sun was simply blazing and I realized then
what the wounded men must have suffered lying in the heat without
shelter. We returned to the house and were resting on the upper
porch when suddenly, far down the river, we saw the glint of rifle
barrels in the sunlight, and with field glasses made out a long
line of khaki-clad men winding along the shore trail. At the same
time two huge boats filled with soldiers
came into view heading for the water gate of the city. These were
undoubtedly the Northern troops from Foochow who were expected
Monday night.
Even as we looked
there came a sudden roar of musketry and a cloud of smoke drifted
up from the barracks right below us—then a rattling fusillade
of shots. We could see soldiers running along the walls firing
at men below and often in our direction. Bullets hummed in the
air like angry bees and we rushed for cover, but in a few moments
the firing ceased as suddenly as it began.
We were at a loss
to know what it all meant and why the troops were firing upon
the Northern soldiers whom they wished to placate. It was still
a mystery when we sat down to dinner at half past seven, but a
few minutes later Mr. Bankhardt rushed in saying that he had just
received a note from the tao-tai. The mandarin's personal
servant had brought word that the Northern soldiers, who had just
entered the city, were going to kill him and he begged the missionaries
for assistance. Bankhardt also told us of the latest developments
in the situation. It seems that the city soldiers supposed the
Northern troops to be brigands and had fired upon them and killed
several before they discovered their mistake. A very delicate
situation had thus been precipitated, for the Northern commander
believed that it was treachery and intended to attack the barracks
in the morning and kill every man whom he found with a rifle,
as well as all the city officials.
The story of the way
in which the missionaries acted as peacemakers, saved the tao-tai,
and prevented the slaughter which surely would have taken place
in the morning, is too long to be told here,
for it was accomplished only after hours of the talk and "face
saving" so dear to the heart of the Oriental. Suffice it to say
that through the exercise of great tact and a thorough understanding
of the Chinese character they were able to settle the matter without
bloodshed.
The following day
twenty brigands were given a so-called trial, marched off to the
west gate, beheaded amid great enthusiasm, and the incident was
closed. In the afternoon a messenger called and delivered to each
of us an official letter from the commander of the Northern troops
thanking us for the part we had played in averting trouble and
bringing the matter to a peaceful end.
An interesting sidelight
on the affair was received a few days later. A young man, a Christian,
who was born in the same town from which a number of the brigands
had come, went to his house on Monday night after the fight and
found seven of the robbers concealed in his bedroom. He was terrified
because if they were discovered he and all his family would be
killed for aiding the bandits. He told them they must leave at
once, but they pleaded with him to let them stay for they knew
there were soldiers at every corner and that it would be impossible
to get away.
While he was imploring
them to go, a knock sounded at the door. He pushed the brigands
into the courtyard, and opened to three soldiers. They said: "We
understand you have brigands in your house." He was trembling
with fear, but answered, "Come in and see for yourself, if you
think so."
The soldiers were
satisfied by his frank open manner and, as they knew him to be
a good man, did not search the house, but went away. The poor
fellow was frightened nearly to death, but
as his place was being watched it was impossible for the brigands
to leave during the day.
At night they stripped
themselves, shaved their heads, and dressed like coolies, and
were able to get to the ladder down the city wall just below the
mission compound where they could escape into the hills.
The day after this
occurrence, about four o'clock in the afternoon, a breathless
Chinese appeared at the house with a note to Mr. Bankhardt saying
that his Chinese teacher and the mission school cook had been
arrested by the Northern soldiers and were to be beheaded in an
hour. We hurried to the police office where they were confined
and found that not only the two men but three others were in custody.
The mission cook owned
a small restaurant under the management of one of his relatives
and, while Bankhardt's teacher and the other man were sitting
at a table, some Northern soldiers appeared, one of whom owed
the restaurant keeper a small amount of money. When asked to pay,
the soldier turned upon him and shouted: "You have been assisting
the brigands. I saw some of them carrying goods into your house."
Thereupon the soldiers arrested everyone in the shop.
The police officials
were quite ready to release the teacher and the other man upon
our statements, but they would not allow the cook to go. His hands
were kept tightly bound and he was chained to a post by the neck.
The soldier who arrested him was his sole accuser, but of course,
others would appear to uphold him in his charge if it were necessary.
The cook was as innocent
as any one of the missionaries, but it required several hours
of work and threats of complaint to the
government at Foochow to prevent the man from being summarily
executed.
We were not able to
get any mail from Foochow during the rebellion because the constant
stream of Northern soldiers on their way up the river had paralyzed
the entire country to such an extent that all the river men had
fled.
The soldiers were
firing for target practice upon every boat they saw on the river
and dozens of men had been killed and then robbed. The Northern
commander told us frankly that this could not be prevented, and
when we announced that we were going to start will all the missionaries
down the river on the following day, he was very much disturbed.
He insisted that we have American flags displayed on our boats
to prevent being fired upon by the soldiers.
Although it had taken
eight days to work our way laboriously through the rapids and
up the river from Foochow to Yen-Ping, we covered the same distance
down the river in twenty-four hours and had breakfast with Mr.
Kellogg at his house the morning after we left Yen-Ping. In two
days our equipment was repacked and ready for the trip to Futsing
to hunt the blue tiger.
HUNTING THE "GREAT
INVISIBLE"
For many years before
Mr. Caldwell went to Yen-ping he had been stationed at the city
of Futsing, about thirty miles from Foochow. Much of his work
consisted of itinerant trips during which he visited the various
mission stations under his charge. He almost invariably went on
foot from place to place and carried with him a butterfly net
and a rifle, so that to so keen a naturalist each day's walk was
full of interest.
The country was infested
with man-eating tigers, and very often the villagers implored
him to rid their neighborhood of some one of the yellow raiders
which had been killing their children, pigs, or cattle. During
ten years he had killed seven tigers in the Futsing region. He
often said that his gun had been just as effective in carrying
Christianity to the natives as had his evangelistic work. Although
Mr. Caldwell has been especially fortunate and has killed his
tigers without ever really hunting them, nevertheless it is a
most uncertain sport as we were destined to learn. The tiger is
the "Great Invisible"—he is everywhere and nowhere, here
today and gone tomorrow. A sportsman in China may get his shot
the first day out or he may hunt for weeks without ever seeing
a tiger even though they are all about him; and it is this very
uncertainty that makes the game all the more fascinating.
The part of Fukien
Province about Futsing includes mountains
of considerable height, many of which are planted with rice and
support a surprising number of Chinese who are grouped in closely
connected villages. While the cultivated valleys afford no cover
for tiger and the mountain slopes themselves are usually more
or less denuded of forest, yet the deep and narrow ravines, choked
with sword grass and thorny bramble, offer an impenetrable retreat
in which an animal can sleep during the day without fear of being
disturbed. It is possible for a man to make his way through these
lairs only by means of the paths and tunnels which have been opened
by the tigers themselves.
Mr. Caldwell's usual
method of hunting was to lead a goat with one or two kids to an
open place where they could be fastened just outside the edge
of the lair, and then to conceal himself a few feet away. The
bleating of the goats would usually bring the tiger into the open
where there would be an opportunity for a shot in the late afternoon.
Mr. Caldwell's first
experience in hunting tigers was with a shotgun at the village
of Lung-tao. His burden-bearers had not arrived with the basket
containing his rifle, and as it was already late in the afternoon,
he suggested to Da-Da, the Chinese boy who was his constant companion,
that they make a preliminary inspection of the lair even though
they carried only shotguns loaded with lead slugs about the size
of buckshot.
They tethered a goat
just outside the edge of the lair and the tiger responded to its
bleating almost immediately. Caldwell did not see the animal until
it came into the open about fifty yards away and remained in plain
view for almost half an hour. The tiger seemed to suspect danger
and crouched on the terrace, now and then
putting his right foot forward a short distance and drawing it
slowly back again. He had approached along a small trail, but
before he could reach the goat it was necessary to cross an open
space a few yards in width, and to do this the animal flattened
himself like a huge striped serpent. His head was extended so
that the throat and chin were touching the ground, and there was
absolutely no motion of the body other than the hips and shoulders
as the beast slid along at an amazingly rapid rate. But at the
instant the cat gained the nearest cover it made three flying
leaps and landed at the foot of the terrace upon which the goat
was tied.
"Just then he saw
me," said Mr. Caldwell, "and slowly pushed his great black-barred
face over the edge of the grass not fifteen feet away.
"I fired pointblank
at his head and neck. He leaped into the air with the blood spurting
over the grass, and fell into a heap, but gathered himself and
slid down over the terraces. As he went I fired a second load
of slugs into his hip. He turned about, slowly climbed the hill
parallel with us, and stood looking back at me, his face streaming
with blood.
"I was fumbling in
my coat trying to find other shells, but before I could reload
the gun he walked unsteadily into the lair and lay down. It was
already too dark to follow and the next morning a bloody trail
showed where he had gone upward into the grass. Later, in the
same afternoon, he was found dead by some Chinese more than three
miles away."
During his many experiences
with the Futsing tigers Mr. Caldwell has learned much about their
habits and peculiarities, and some of his
observations are given in the following pages.
"The tiger is by instinct
a coward when confronted by his greatest enemy—man. Bold
and daring as he may be when circumstances are in his favor, he
will hurriedly abandon a fresh kill at the first cry of a shepherd
boy attending a flock on the mountainside and will always weigh
conditions before making an attack. If things do not exactly suit
him nothing will tempt him to charge into the open upon what may
appear to be an isolated and defenseless goat.
"An experience I had
in April, 1910, will illustrate this point. I led a goat into
a ravine where a tiger which had been working havoc among the
herds of the farmers was said to live. This animal only a few
days previous to my hunt had attacked a herd of cows and killed
three of them, but on this occasion the beast must have suspected
danger and was exceedingly cautious. He advanced under cover along
a trail until within one hundred feet of the goat and there stopped
to make a survey of the surroundings. Peering into the valley,
he saw two men at a distance of five hundred yards or more cutting
grass and, after watching intently for a time, the great cat turned
and bounded away into the bushes.
"On another occasion
this tiger awaited an opportunity to attack a cow which a farmer
was using in plowing his field. The man had unhitched his cow
and squatted down in the rice paddy to eat his midday meal, when
the tiger suddenly rushed from cover and killed the animal only
a few yards behind the peasant. This shows how daring a tiger
may be when he is able to strike from the rear, and when circumstances
seem to favor an attack. I have known tigers
to rush at a dog or hog standing inside a Chinese house where
there was the usual confusion of such a dwelling, and in almost
every instance the victim was killed, although it was not always
carried away.
"There is probably
no creature in the wilds which shows such a combination of daring
strategy and slinking cowardice as the tiger. Often courage fails
him after he has secured his victim, and he releases it to dash
off into the nearest wood.
"I knew of two Chinese
who were deer hunting on a mountainside when a large tiger was
routed from his bed. The beast made a rushing attack on the man
standing nearest to the path of his retreat, and seizing him by
the leg dragged him into the ravine below. Luckily the man succeeded
in grasping a small tree whereupon the tiger released his hold,
leaving his victim lying upon the ground almost paralyzed with
pain and fear.
"A group of men were
gathering fuel on the hills near Futsing when a tiger which had
been sleeping in the high grass was disturbed. The enraged beast
turned upon the peasants, killing two of them instantly and striking
another a ripping blow with his paw which sent him lifeless to
the terrace below. The beast did not attempt to drag either of
its victims into the bush or to attack the other persons near
by.
"The strength and
vitality of a full grown tiger are amazing. I had occasion to
spend the night a short time ago in a place where a tiger had
performed some remarkable feats. Just at dusk one of these marauders
visited the village and discovered a cow and her six-months-old
calf in a pen which had been excavated in
the side of a hill and adjoined a house. There was no possible
way to enter the enclosure except by a door opening from the main
part of the dwelling or to descend from above. The tiger jumped
from the roof upon the neck of the heifer, killing it instantly,
and the inmates of the house opened the door just in time to see
the animal throw the calf out bodily and leap after it himself.
I measured the embankment and found that the exact height was
twelve and a half feet.
"The same tiger one
noon on a foggy day attacked a hog, just back of the village and
carried it into the hills. The villagers pursued the beast and
overtook it within half a mile. When the hog, which dressed weighed
more than two hundred pounds, was found, it had no marks or bruises
upon it other than the deep fang wounds in the neck. This is another
instance where courage failed a tiger after he had made off with
his kill to a safe distance. The Chinese declare that when carrying
such a load a tiger never attempts to drag its prey, but throws
it across its back and races off at top speed.
"The finest trophy
taken from Fukien Province in years I shot in May, 1910. Two days
previous to my hunt this tiger had killed and eaten a sixteen-year-old
boy. I happened to be in the locality and decided to make an attempt
to dispose of the troublesome beast. Obtaining a mother goat with
two small kids, I led them into a ravine near where the boy had
been killed. The goat was tied to a tree a short distance from
the lair, and the kids were concealed in the tall grass well in
toward the place where the tiger would probably be. I selected
a suitable spot and kneeled down behind a bank of ferns and grass.
The fact that one may be stalked by the
very beast which one is hunting adds to the excitement and keeps
one's nerves on edge. I expected that the tiger would approach
stealthily as long as he could not see the goat, as the usual
plan of attack, so far as my observation goes, is to creep up
under cover as far as possible before rushing into the open. In
any case the tiger would be within twenty yards of me before it
could be seen.
"For more than two
hours I sat perfectly still, alert and waiting, behind the little
blind of ferns and grass. There was nothing to break the silence
other than the incessant bleating of the goats and the unpleasant
rasping call of the mountain jay. I had about given up hope of
a shot when suddenly the huge head of the man-eater emerged from
the bush, exactly where I had expected he would appear and within
fifteen feet of the kids. The back, neck, and head of the beast
were in almost the same plane as he moved noiselessly forward.
"I had implicit confidence
in the killing power of the gun in my hand, and at the crack of
the rifle the huge brute settled forward with hardly a quiver
not ten feet from the kids upon which he was about to spring.
A second shot was not necessary but was fired as a matter of precaution
as the tiger had fallen behind rank grass, and the bullet passed
through the shoulder blade lodging in the spine. The beast measured
more than nine feet and weighed almost four hundred pounds.
"Upon hearing the
shots the villagers swarmed into the ravine, each eager not so
much to see their slain tormentor as to gather up the blood. But
little attention was paid to the tiger until every available drop
was sopped up with rags torn from their clothing, whilst men
and children even pulled up the blood-soaked grass. I learned
that the blood of a tiger is used for two purposes. A bit of bloodstained
cloth is tied about the neck of a child as a preventive against
either measles or smallpox, and tiger flesh is eaten for the same
purpose. It is also said that if a handkerchief stained with tiger
blood is waved in front of an attacking dog the animal will slink
away cowed and terrified.
"From the Chinese
point of view the skin is not the most valuable part of a tiger.
Almost always before a hunt is made, or a trap is built, the villagers
burn incense before the temple god, and an agreement is made to
the effect that if the enterprise be successful the skin of the
beast taken becomes the property of the gods. Thus it happens
that in many of the temples handsome tiger-skin robes may be found
spread in the chair occupied by the noted 'Duai Uong,' or the
god of the land. When a hunt is successful, the flesh and bones
are considered of greatest value, and it often happens that a
number of cows are killed and their flesh mixed with that of the
tiger to be sold at the exorbitant price cheerfully paid for tiger
meat. The bones are boiled for a number of days until a gelatin-like
product results, and this is believed to be exceptionally efficacious
medicine.
"Notwithstanding the
danger of still-hunting a tiger in the tangle of its lair, one
cannot but feel richly rewarded for the risk when one begins to
sum up one's observations. The most interesting result of investigating
an oft-frequented lair is concerning the animal's food. That a
tiger always devours its prey upon the spot where it is taken
or in the adjacent bush is an erroneous idea. This is often true
when the kill is too heavy to be carried
for a long distance, but it is by no means universally so. Not
long ago the remains of a young boy were found in a grave adjacent
to a tiger's lair a few miles from Futsing city. No child had
been reported missing in the immediate neighborhood and everything
indicated that the boy had been brought alive to this spot from
a considerable distance. The sides of the grave were besmeared
with the blood of the unfortunate victim, indicating that the
tiger had tortured it just as a cat plays with a mouse as long
as it remains alive.
"In the lair of a
tiger there are certain terraces, or places under overhanging
trees, which are covered with bones, and are evidently spots to
which the animal brings its prey to be devoured. On such a terrace
one will find the remains of deer, wild hog, dog, pig, porcupine,
pangolin, and other animals both domestic and wild. A fresh kill
shows that with its rasp-like tongue the tiger licks off all the
hair of its prey before devouring it and the hair will be found
in a circle around what remains of the kill. The Chinese often
raid a lair in order to gather up the quills of the porcupine
and the bony scales of the pangolin which are esteemed for medicinal
purposes.
"In addition to the
larger animals, tigers feed upon reptiles and frogs which they
find among the rice fields. On the night of April 22, 1914, a
party of frog catchers were returning from a hunt when the man
carrying the load of frogs was attacked by a tiger and killed.
The animal made no attempt to drag the man away and it would appear
that it was attracted by the croaking of the frogs."
"One often finds trees
'marked' by tigers beside some trail or
path in, or adjacent to, a lair. Catlike, the tiger measures its
full length upon a tree, standing in a convenient place, and with
its powerful claws rips deeply through the bark. This sign is
doubly interesting to the sportsman as it not only indicates the
presence of a tiger in the immediate vicinity but serves to give
an accurate idea as to the size of the beast. The trails leading
into a lair often are marked in a different way. In doing this
the animal rakes away the grass with a forepaw and gathers it
into a pile, but claw prints never appear."
THE BLUE TIGER
After one has traveled
in a Chinese sampan for several days the prospect of a
river journey is not very alluring but we had a most agreeable
surprise when we sailed out of Foochow in a chartered house boat
to hunt the "blue tiger" at Futsing. In fact, we had all the luxury
of a private yacht, for our boat contained a large central cabin
with a table and chairs and two staterooms and was manned by a
captain and crew of six men—all for $1.50 per day!
In the evening we
talked of the blue tiger for a long time before we spread our
beds on the roof of the boat and went to sleep under the stars.
We left the boat shortly after daylight at Daing-nei for the six-mile
walk to Lung-tao. To my great surprise the coolies were considerably
distressed at the lightness of our loads. In this region they
are paid by weight and some of the bearers carry almost incredible
burdens. As an example, one of our men came into camp swinging
a 125-pound trunk on each end of his pole, laughing and chatting
as gayly as though he had not been carrying 250 pounds for six
miles under a broiling sun.
Mr. Caldwell's Chinese
hunter, Da-Da, lived at Lung-tao and we found his house to be
one of several built on the outskirts of a beautiful grove of
gum and banyan trees. Although it was exceptionally clean for
a Chinese dwelling, we pitched our tents a short distance
away. At first we were somewhat doubtful about sleeping outside,
but after one night indoors we decided that any risk was preferable
to spending another hour in the stifling heat of the house.
It was probable that
a tiger would be so suspicious of the white tents that it would
not attack us, but nevertheless during the first nights we were
rather wakeful and more than once at some strange night sound
seized our rifles and flashed the electric lamp into the darkness.
Tigers often come
into this village. Only a few hundred yards from our camp site,
in 1911, a tiger had rushed into the house of one of the peasants
and attempted to steal a child that had fallen asleep at its play
under the family table. All was quiet in the house when suddenly
the animal dashed through the open door. The Chinese declare that
the gods protected the infant, for the beast missed his prey and
seizing the leg of the table against which the baby's head was
resting, bolted through the door dragging the table into the courtyard.
This was the work
of the famous "blue tiger" which we had come to hunt and which
had on two occasions been seen by Mr. Caldwell. The first time
he heard of this strange beast was in the spring of 1910. The
animal was reported as having been seen at various places within
an area of a few miles almost simultaneously and so mysterious
were its movements that the Chinese declared it was a spirit of
the devil. After several unsuccessful hunts Mr. Caldwell finally
saw the tiger at close range but as he was armed with only a shotgun
it would have been useless to shoot.
His second view of
the beast was a few weeks later and in the
same place. I will give the story in his own words:
"I selected a spot
upon a hilltop and cleared away the grass and ferns with a jackknife
for a place to tie the goat. I concealed myself in the bushes
ten feet away to await the attack, but the unexpected happened
and the tiger approached from the rear.
"When I first saw
the beast he was moving stealthily along a little trail just across
a shallow ravine. I supposed, of course, that he was trying to
locate the goat which was bleating loudly, but to my horror I
saw that he was creeping upon two boys who had entered the ravine
to cut grass. The huge brute moved along lizard-fashion for a
few yards and then cautiously lifted his head above the grass.
He was within easy springing distance when I raised my rifle,
but instantly I realized that if I wounded the animal the boys
would certainly meet a horrible death.
"Tigers are usually
afraid of the human voice so instead of firing I stepped from
the bushes, yelling and waving my arms. The huge cat, crouched
for a spring, drew back, wavered uncertainly for a moment, and
then slowly slipped away into the grass. The boys were saved but
I had lost the opportunity I had sought for over a year.
"However, I had again
seen the animal about which so many strange tales had been told.
The markings of the beast are strikingly beautiful. The ground
color is of a delicate shade of maltese, changing into light gray-blue
on the underparts. The stripes are well defined and like those
of the ordinary yellow tiger."
Before I left New
York Mr. Caldwell had written me repeatedly urging me to stop
at Futsing on the way to Yün-nan to try
with him for the blue tiger which was still in the neighborhood.
I was decidedly skeptical as to its being a distinct species,
but nevertheless it was a most interesting animal and would certainly
be well worth getting.
I believed then, and
my opinion has since been strengthened, that it is a partially
melanistic phase of the ordinary yellow tiger. Black leopards
are common in India and the Malay Peninsula and as only a single
individual of the blue tiger has been reported the evidence hardly
warrants the assumption that it represents a distinct species.
We hunted the animal
for five weeks. The brute ranged in the vicinity of two or three
villages about seven miles apart, but was seen most frequently
near Lung-tao. He was as elusive as a will o' the wisp, killing
a dog or goat in one village and by the time we had hurried across
the mountains appearing in another spot a few miles away, leaving
a trail of terrified natives who flocked to our camp to recount
his depredations. He was in truth the "Great Invisible" and it
seemed impossible that we should not get him sooner or later,
but we never did.
Once we missed him
by a hair's breadth through sheer bad luck, and it was only by
exercising almost superhuman restraint that we prevented ourselves
from doing bodily harm to the three Chinese who ruined our hunt.
Every evening for a week we had faithfully taken a goat into the
"Long Ravine," for the blue tiger had been seen several times
near this lair. On the eighth afternoon we were in the "blind"
at three o'clock as usual. We had tied a goat to a tree nearby
and her two kids were but a few feet away.
The grass-filled lair
lay shimmering in the breathless heat, silent save for the echoes
of the bleating goats. Crouched behind the screen of branches,
for three long hours we sat in the patchwork shade,—motionless,
dripping with perspiration, hardly breathing,—and watched
the shadows steal slowly down the narrow ravine.
It was a wild place
which seemed to have been cut out of the mountain side with two
strokes of a mighty ax and was choked with a tangle of thorny
vines and sword grass. Impenetrable as a wall of steel, the only
entrance was by the tiger tunnels which drove their twisting way
through the murderous growth far in toward its gloomy heart.
The shadows had passed
over us and just reached a lone palm tree on the opposite hillside.
By that I knew it was six o'clock and in half an hour another
day of disappointment would be ended. Suddenly at the left and
just below us there came the faintest crunching sound as a loose
stone shifted under a heavy weight; then a rustling in the grass.
Instantly the captive goat gave a shrill bleat of terror and tugged
frantically at the rope which held it to the tree.
At the first sound
Harry had breathed in my ear "Get ready, he's coming." I was half
kneeling with my heavy .405 Winchester pushed forward and the
hammer up. The blood drummed in my ears and my neck muscles ached
with the strain but I thanked Heaven that my hands were steady.
Caldwell sat like
a graven image, the stock of his little 22 caliber high power
Savage nestling against his cheek. Our eyes met for an instant
and I knew in that glance that the blue
tiger would never make another charge, for if I missed him, Harry
wouldn't. For ten minutes we waited and my heart lost a beat when
twenty feet away the grass began to move again—but rapidly
and up the ravine.
I saw Harry watching
the lair with a puzzled look which changed to one of disgust as
a chorus of yells sounded across the ravine and three Chinese
wood cutters appeared on the opposite slope. They were taking
a short cut home, shouting to drive away the tigers—and they
had succeeded only too well, for the blue tiger had slipped back
to the heart of the lair from whence he had come.
He had been nearly
ours and again we had lost him! I felt so badly that I could not
even swear and it wasn't the fact that Harry was a missionary
which kept me from it, either. Caldwell exclaimed just once, for
his disappointment was even more bitter than mine; he had been
hunting this same tiger off and on for six years.
It was useless for
us to wait longer that evening and we pushed our way through the
sword grass to the entrance of the tunnel down which the tiger
had come. There in the soft earth were the great footprints where
he had crouched at the entrance to take a cautious survey before
charging into the open.
As we looked, Harry
suddenly turned to me and said: "Roy, let's go into the lair.
There is just one chance in a thousand that we may get a shot."
Now I must admit that I was not very enthusiastic about that little
excursion, but in we went, crawling on our hands and knees up
the narrow passage. Every few feet we passed side branches from
the main tunnel in any one of which the tiger might easily have
been lying in wait and could have killed us as we passed. It was
a foolhardy thing to do and I am free to
admit that I was scared. It was not long before Harry twisted
about and said: "Roy, I haven't lost any tigers in here; let's
get out." And out we came faster than we went in.
This was only one
of the times when the "Great Invisible" was almost in our hands.
A few days later a Chinese found the blue tiger asleep under a
rice bank early in the afternoon. Frightened almost to death he
ran a mile and a half to our camp only to find that we had left
half an hour before for another village where the brute had killed
two wild cats early in the morning.
Again, the tiger pushed
open the door of a house at daybreak just as the members of the
family were getting up, stole a dog from the "heaven's well,"
dragged it to a hillside and partly devoured it. We were in camp
only a mile away and our Chinese hunters found the carcass on
a narrow ledge in the sword grass high up on the mountain side.
The spot was an impossible one to watch and we set a huge grizzly
bear trap which had been carried with us from New York.
It seemed out of the
question for any animal to return to the carcass of the dog without
getting caught and yet the tiger did it. With his hind quarters
on the upper terrace he dropped down, stretched his long neck
across the trap, seized the dog which had been wired to a tree
and pulled it away. It was evident that he was quite unconscious
of the trap for his fore feet had actually been placed upon one
of the jaws only two inches from the pan which would have sprung
it.
One afternoon we responded
to a call from Bui-tao, a village seven miles beyond Lung-tao,
where the blue tiger had been seen that day. The natives assured
us that the animal continually crossed a
hill, thickly clothed with pines and sword grass just above the
village and even though it was late when we arrived Harry thought
it wise to set the trap that night.
It was pitch dark
before we reached the ridge carrying the trap, two lanterns, an
electric flash-lamp and a wretched little dog for bait. We had
been engaged for about fifteen minutes making a pen for the dog,
and Caldwell and I were on our knees over the trap when suddenly
a low rumbling growl came from the grass not twenty feet away.
We jumped to our feet just as it sounded again, this time ending
in a snarl. The tiger had arrived a few moments too early and
we were in the rather uncomfortable position of having to return
to the village by way of a narrow trail through the jungle. With
our rifles ready and the electric lamp cutting a brilliant path
in the darkness we walked slowly toward the edge of the sword
grass hoping to see the flash of the tiger's eyes, but the beast
backed off beyond the range of the light into an impenetrable
tangle where we could not follow. Apparently he was frightened
by the lantern, for we did not hear him again.
After nearly a month
of disappointments such as these Mr. Heller joined us at Bui-tao
with Mr. Kellogg. Caldwell thought it advisable to shift camp
to the Ling-suik monastery, about twelve miles away, where he
had once spent a summer with his family and had killed several
tigers. This was within the blue tiger's range and, moreover,
had the advantage of offering a better general collecting ground
than Bui-tao; thus with Heller to look after the small mammals
we could begin to make our time count for something if we did
not get the tiger.
Ling-suik is a beautiful
temple, or rather series of temples, built into a hillside at
the end of a long narrow valley which swells out like a great
bowl between bamboo clothed mountains, two thousand feet in height.
On his former visit Mr. Caldwell had made friends with the head
priest and we were allowed to establish ourselves upon the broad
porch of the third and highest building. It was an ideal place
for a collecting camp and would have been delightful except for
the terrible heat which was rendered doubly disagreeable by the
almost continual rain.
The priests who shuffled
about the temples were a hard lot. Most of them were fugitives
from justice and certainly looked the part, for a more disreputable,
diseased and generally undesirable body of men I have never seen.
Our stay at Ling-suik
was productive and the temple life interesting. We slept on the
porch and each morning, about half an hour before daylight, the
measured strokes of a great gong sounded from the temple just
below us. Boom—boom—boom—boom it went, then
rapidly bang, bang, bang. It was a religious alarm clock
to rouse the world.
A little later when
the upturned gables and twisted dolphins on the roof had begun
to take definite shape in the gray light of the new day, the gong
boomed out again, doors creaked, and from their cell-like rooms
shuffled the priests to yawn and stretch themselves before the
early service. The droning chorus of hoarse voices, swelling in
a meaningless half-wild chant, harmonized strangely with the romantic
surroundings of the temple and become our daily matin and
evensong.
At the first gong
we slipped from beneath our mosquito nets
and dressed to be ready for the bats which fluttered into the
building to hide themselves beneath the tiles and rafters. When
daylight had fully come we scattered to the four winds of heaven
to inspect traps, hunt barking deer, or collect birds, but gathered
again at nine o'clock for breakfast and to deposit our spoil.
Caldwell and I always spent the afternoon at the blue tiger's
lair but the animal had suddenly shifted his operations back to
Lung-tao and did not appear at Ling-suik while we were there.
Our work in Fukien
taught us much that may be of help to other naturalists who contemplate
a visit to this province. We satisfied ourselves that summer collecting
is impracticable, for the heat is so intense and the vegetation
so heavy that only meager results can be obtained for the efforts
expended. Continual tramping over the mountains in the blazing
sun necessarily must have its effect upon the strongest constitution,
and even a man like Mr. Caldwell, who has become thoroughly acclimated,
is not immune.
Both Caldwell and
I lost from fifteen to twenty pounds in weight during the time
we hunted the blue tiger and each of us had serious trouble from
abscesses. I have never worked in a more trying climate—even
that of Borneo and the Dutch East Indies where I collected in
1909-10, was much less debilitating than Fukien in the summer.
The average temperature was about 95 degrees in the shade, but
the humidity was so high that one felt as though one were wrapped
in a wet blanket and even during a six weeks' rainless period
the air was saturated with moisture from the sea-winds.
In winter the weather
is raw and damp, but collecting then would
be vastly easier than in summer, not only on account of climatic
conditions, but because much of the vegetation disappears and
there is an opportunity for "still hunting."
Trapping for small
mammal is especially difficult because of the dense population.
The mud dikes and the rice fields usually are covered with tracks
of civets, mongooses, and cats which come to hunt frogs or fish,
but if a trap is set it either catches a Chinaman or promptly
is stolen. Moreover, the small mammals are neither abundant nor
varied in number of species, and the larger forms, such as tiger,
leopard, wild pig and serow are exceedingly difficult to kill.
While our work in
the province was done during an unfavorable season and in only
two localities, yet enough was seen of the general conditions
to make it certain that a thorough zoölogical study of the region
would require considerable time and hard work and that the results,
so far as a large collection of mammals is concerned, would not
be highly satisfactory. Work in the western part of the province
among the Bohea Hills undoubtedly would be more profitable, but
even there it would be hardly worth while for an expedition with
limited time and money.
Bird life is on a
much better footing, but the ornithology of Fukien already has
received considerable attention through the collections of Swinhoe,
La Touche, Styan, Ricketts, Caldwell and others, and probably
not a great number of species remain to be described.
Much work could still
be done upon the herpetology of the region, however, and I believe
that this branch of zoology would be well worth investigation
for reptiles and batrachians are fairly
abundant and the natives would rather assist than retard one's
efforts.
The language of Fukien
is a greater annoyance than in any other of the Chinese coast
provinces. The Foochow dialect (which is one of the most difficult
to learn) is spoken only within fifty or one hundred miles of
the city. At Yen-ping Mr. Caldwell, who speaks "Foochow" perfectly,
could not understand a word of the "southern mandarin" which is
the language of that region, and near Futsing, where a colony
of natives from Amoy have settled, the dialect is unintelligible
to one who knows only "Foochow."
Travel in Fukien is
an unceasing trial, for transport is entirely by coolies who carry
from eighty to one hundred pounds. The men are paid by distance
or weight; therefore, when coolies finally have been obtained
there is the inevitable wrangling over loads so that from one
to two hours are consumed before the party can start.
But the worst of it
is that one can never be certain when one's entire outfit will
arrive at its new destination. Some men walk much faster than
others, some will delay a long time for tea, or may give out altogether
if the day be hot, with the result that the last load will arrive
perhaps five or six hours after the first one.
As horses are not
to be had, if one does not walk the only alternative is to be
carried in a mountain chair, which is an uncomfortable, trapeze-like
affair and only to be found along the main highways. On the whole,
transport by manpower in China is so uncertain and expensive that
for a large expedition it forms a grave obstacle to successful
work, if time and funds be limited.
On the other hand,
servants are cheap and usually good. We
employed a very fair cook who received monthly seven dollars Mexican
(then about three and one-half dollars gold), and "boys" were
hired at from five to seven dollars (Mexican). As none of the
servants knew English they could be obtained at much lower wages,
but English-speaking cooks usually receive from fifteen to twenty
dollars (Mexican) a month.
It was hard to leave
Fukien without the blue tiger but we had hunted him unsuccessfully
for five weeks and there was other and more important work awaiting
us in Yün-nan. It required thirty porters to transport our baggage
from the Ling-suik monastery to Daing-nei, twenty-one miles away,
where two houseboats were to meet us, and by ten o'clock in the
evening we were lying off Pagoda Anchorage awaiting the flood
tide to take us to Foochow. We made our beds on the deck house
and in the morning opened our eyes to find the boat tied to the
wharf at the Custom House on the Bund, and ourselves in full view
of all Foochow had it been awake at that hour.
The week of packing
and repacking that followed was made easy for us by Claude Kellogg,
who acted as our ministering angel. I think there must be a special
Providence that watches over wandering naturalists and directs
them to such men as Kellogg, for without divine aid they could
never be found. When we last saw him, he stood on the stone steps
of the water front waving his hat as we slipped away on the tide,
to board the S. S. Haitan for Hong Kong.
THE WOMEN OF CHINA
Y. B. A.
The schools for native
girls at Foochow and Yen-ping interested us greatly, even when
we first came to China, but we could not appreciate then as we
did later the epoch-making step toward civilization of these institutions.
How much the missionaries
are able to accomplish from a religious standpoint is a question
which we do not wish to discuss, but no one who has ever lived
among them can deny that the opening of schools and the diffusing
of western knowledge are potent factors in the development of
the people. The Chinese were not slow even in the beginning to
see the advantages of a foreign education for their boys and now,
along the coast at least, some are beginning to make sacrifices
for their daughters as well. The Woman's College, which was opened
recently in Foochow, is one of the finest buildings of the Republic,
and when one sees its bright-faced girls dressed in their quaint
little pajama-like garments, it is difficult to realize that outside
such schools they are still slaves in mind and body to those iron
rules of Confucius which have molded the entire structure of Chinese
society for over 2400 years.
The position of women
in China today, and the rules which govern the household of every
orthodox Chinese, are the direct heritage
of Confucianism. The following translation by Professor J. Legge
from the Narratives of the Confucian School, chapter 26,
is illuminating:
Confucius said:
"Man is the representative of heaven and is supreme over all
things. Woman yields obedience to the instructions of man and
helps to carry out his principles. On this account she can determine
nothing of herself and is subject to the rule of the three obediences.
"(1) When young
she must obey her father and her elder brother;
"(2) When married,
she must obey her husband;
"(3) When her husband
is dead she must obey her son.
"She may not think
of marrying a second time. No instructions or orders must issue
from the harem. Women's business is simply the preparation and
supplying of drink and food. Beyond the threshold of her apartments
she shall not be known for evil or for good. She may not cross
the boundaries of a state to attend a funeral. She may take
no steps on her own motive and may come to no conclusion on
her own deliberation."
The grounds for
divorce as stated by Confucius are:
"(1) Disobedience
to her husband's parents;
"(2) Not giving
birth to a son;
"(3) Dissolute conduct;
"(4) Jealousy of
her husband's attentions (to the other inmates at his harem);
"(5) Talkativeness,
and
"(6) Thieving."
A Chinese bride owes
implicit obedience to her mother-in-law, and as she is often reared
by her husband's family, or else married to him as a mere child,
and is under the complete control of his
mother for a considerable period of her existence, her life in
many instances is one of intolerable misery. There is generally
little or no consideration for a girl under the best of circumstances
until she becomes the mother of a male child; her condition then
improves but she approaches happiness only when she in turn occupies
the enviable position of mother-in-law.
It is difficult to
imagine a life of greater dreariness and vacuity than that of
the average Chinese woman. Owing to her bound feet and resultant
helplessness, if she is not obliged to work she rarely stirs from
the narrow confinement of her courtyard, and perhaps in her entire
life she may not go a mile from the house to which she was brought
a bride, except for the periodical visits to her father's home.
It has been aptly
said that there are no real homes in China and it is not surprising
that, ignored and despised for centuries, the Chinese woman shows
no ability to improve the squalor of her surroundings. She passes
her life in a dark, smoke-filled dwelling with broken furniture
and a mud floor, together with pigs, chickens and babies enjoying
a limited sphere of action under the tables and chairs, or in
the tumble-down courtyard without. Her work is actually never
done and a Chinese bride, bright and attractive at twenty, will
be old and faded at thirty.
But without doubt
the crowning evil which attends woman's condition in China is
foot binding, and nothing can be offered in extenuation of this
abominable custom. It is said to have originated one thousand
years before the Christian era and has persisted until the present
day in spite of the efforts directed against it. The
Empress Dowager issued edicts strongly advising its discontinuation,
the "Natural Foot Society," which was formed about fifteen years
ago, has endeavored to educate public opinion, and the missionaries
refuse to admit girls so mutilated to their schools; but nevertheless
the reform has made little progress beyond the coast cities. "Precedent"
and the fear of not obtaining suitable husbands for their daughters
are responsible for the continuation of the evil, and it is estimated
that there are still about seventy-four millions of girls and
women who are crippled in this way.
The feet are bandaged
between the ages of five and seven. The toes are bent under the
sole of the foot and after two or three years the heel and instep
are so forced together that a dollar can be placed in the cleft;
gradually also the lower limbs shrink away until only the bones
remain.
The suffering of the
children is intense. We often passed through streets full of laughing
boys and tiny girls where others, a few years older, were sitting
on the doorsteps or curbstones holding their tortured feet and
crying bitterly. In some instances outhouses are constructed a
considerable distance from the family dwelling where the girls
must sleep during their first crippled years in order that their
moans may not disturb the other members of the family. The child's
only relief is to hang her feet over the edge of the bed in order
to stop the circulation and induce numbness, or to seek oblivion
from opium.
If the custom were
a fad which affected only the wealthy classes it would be reprehensible
enough, but it curses rich and poor alike, and almost every day
we saw heavily laden coolie women steadying themselves
by means of a staff, hobbling stiff-kneed along the roads or laboring
in the fields.
Although the agitation
against foot binding is undoubtedly making itself felt to a certain
extent in the coast provinces, in Yün-nan the horrible practice
continues unabated. During the year in which we traveled through
a large part of the province, wherever there were Chinese we saw
bound feet. And the fact that virtually every girl over
eight years old was mutilated in this way is satisfactory evidence
that reform ideas have not penetrated to this remote part of the
Republic.
I know of nothing
which so rouses one's indignation because of its senselessness
and brutality, and China can never hope to take her place among
civilized nations until she has abandoned this barbarous custom
and liberated her women from their infamous subjection.
There has been much
criticism of foreign education because the girls who have had
its advantages absorb western ideas so completely that they dislike
to return to their homes where the ordinary conditions of a Chinese
household exist. Nevertheless, if the women of China are ever
to be emancipated it must come through their own education as
well as that of the men.
One of the first results
of foreign influence is to delay marriage, and in some instances
the early betrothal with its attendant miseries. The evil which
results from this custom can hardly be overestimated. It happens
not infrequently that two children are betrothed in infancy, the
respective families being in like circumstances at the time. The
opportunity perhaps is offered to the girl to attend school and
she may even go through college, but an inexorable custom brings
her back to her parents' home, forces her to submit to the engagement
made in babyhood and perhaps ruins her life
through marriage with a man of no higher social status or intelligence
than a coolie.
Among the few girls
imbued with western civilization a spirit of revolt is slowly
growing, and while it is impossible for them to break down the
barriers of ages, yet in many instances they waive aside what
would seem an unsurmountable precedent and insist upon having
some voice in the choosing of their husbands.
While in Yen-ping
we were invited to attend the semi-foreign wedding of a girl who
had been brought up in the Woman's School and who was qualified
to be a "Bible Woman" or native Christian teacher. It was whispered
that she had actually met her betrothed on several occasions,
but on their wedding day no trace of recognition was visible,
and the marriage was performed with all the punctilious Chinese
observances compatible with a Christian ceremony.
Precedent required
of this little bride, although she might have been radiantly happy
at heart, and undoubtedly was, to appear tearful and shrinking
and as she was escorted up the aisle by her bridesmaid one might
have thought she was being led to slaughter. White is not becoming
to the Chinese and besides it is a sign of mourning, so she had
chosen pink for her wedding gown and had a brilliant pink veil
over her carefully oiled hair.
After the ceremony
the bride and bridegroom proceeded downstairs to the joyous strain
of the wedding march, but with nothing joyous in their demeanor—in
fact they appeared like two wooden images at the reception and
endured for over an hour the stares and loud criticism of the
guests. He assumed during the ordeal a look of bored indifference
while the little bride sat with her head
bowed on her breast, apparently terror stricken. But once she
raised her face and I saw a merry twinkle in her shining black
eyes that made me realize that perhaps it wasn't all quite so
frightful as she would have us believe. I often wonder what sort
of a life she is leading in her far away Chinese courtyard.
VOYAGING TO YÜN-NAN
We had a busy week
in Hong Kong outfitting for our trip to Yün-nan. Hong Kong is
one of the best cities in the Orient in which to purchase supplies
of almost any kind, for not only is the selection excellent, but
the best English goods can be had for prices very little in excess
of those in London itself.
The system which we
used in our commissary was that of the unit food box which has
been adopted by most large expeditions. The boxes were packed
to weigh seventy pounds each and contained all the necessary staple
supplies for three persons for one week; thus only one box needed
to be opened at a time, and, moreover, if the party separated
for a few days a single box could be taken without the necessity
of repacking and with the assurance that sufficient food would
be available.
Our supplies consisted
largely of flour, butter, sugar, coffee, milk, bacon, and marmalade,
and but little tinned meat, vegetables, or fruit because we were
certain to be able to obtain a plentiful supply of such food in
the country through which we were expecting to travel.
Our tents were brought
from New York and were made of light Egyptian cotton thoroughly
waterproof, but we also purchased in Hong Kong a large army tent
for the servants and two canvas flies to protect loads and specimens.
We used sleeping bags and folding cots, tables and chairs, for
when an expedition expects to remain in
the field for a long time it is absolutely necessary to be as
comfortable as possible and to live well; otherwise one cannot
work at one's highest efficiency.
For clothing we all
wore khaki or "Dux-back" suits with flannel shirts and high leather
shoes for mountain climbing, and we had light rubber automobile
shirts and rubber caps for use in rainy weather. The auto shirt
is a long, loose robe which slips over the head and fastens about
the neck and, when one is sitting upon a horse, can be so spread
about as to cover all exposed parts of the body; it is especially
useful and necessary, and hip rubber boots are also very comfortable
during the rainy season.
Our traps for catching
small mammals were brought from New York. We had two sizes of
wooden "Out of Sight" for mice and rats, and four or five sizes
of Oneida steel traps for catching medium sized animals such as
civets and polecats. We also carried a half dozen No. 5 wolf traps.
Mr. Heller had used this size in Africa and found that they were
large enough even to hold lions.
Mr. Heller carried
a 250-300 Savage rifle, while I used a 6-1/2 mm. Mannlicher and
a .405 Winchester. All of these guns were eminently satisfactory,
but the choice of a rifle is a very personal matter and every
sportsman has his favorite weapon. We found, however, that a flat
trajectory high-power rifle such as those with which we were armed
was absolutely essential for many of our shots were at long range
and we frequently killed gorals at three hundred yards or over.
The camera equipment
consisted of two 3A Kodaks, a Graphic 4 × 5 tripod
camera, and Graflex 4 × 5 for rapid work. We have
found after considerable field experience
that the 4 × 5 is the most convenient size to
handle, for the plate is large enough and can be obtained more
readily than any other in different parts of the world. The same
applies to the 3A Kodak "postcard" size film, for there are few
places where foreign goods are carried that 3A films cannot be
purchased.
All of our plates
and films were sealed in airtight tin boxes before we left America,
and thus the material was in perfect condition when the cans were
opened. We used plates almost altogether in the finer photographic
work, for although they are heavier and more difficult to handle
than films, nevertheless the results obtained are very superior.
A collapsible rubber dark room about seven feet high and four
feet in diameter was an indispensable part of the camera equipment.
This tent was made for us by the Abercrombie & Fitch Company,
of New York, and could be hung from the limb of a tree or the
rafters of a building and be ready for use in five minutes.
The motion pictures
were taken with a Universal camera, and like all other negatives
were developed in the field by means of a special apparatus which
had been designed by Mr. Carl Akeley of the American Museum of
Natural History. This work required a much larger space than that
of the portable dark room and we consequently had a tent made
of red cloth which could be tied inside of our ordinary sleeping
tent.
Our equipment was
packed in fiber army trunks and in wooden boxes with sliding tops.
The latter arrangement is especially desirable in Yün-nan, for
the loads can be opened without being untied from the saddle,
thus saving a considerable amount of time and trouble.
It was by no means
an easy matter to get our supplies together,
but the Lane & Crawford Company of Hong Kong pushed the making
and packing of our boxes in a remarkably efficient manner; as
the manager of one of their departments expressed it, "the one
way to hurry a Chinaman is to get more Chinamen," and they put
a small army at work upon our material, which was ready for shipment
in just a week.
While in Hong Kong
we were joined by Wu Hung-tao, of Shanghai, who acted as interpreter
and "head boy" as well as a general field manager of the expedition.
He formerly had been in the employ of Mr. F. W. Gary, when the
latter was Commissioner of Customs in Teng-yueh, Yün-nan, and
he was educated at the Anglo-Chinese College of Foochow. Wu proved
to be the most efficient and trustworthy servant whom we have
ever employed, and the success of our work was due in no small
degree to his efforts.
We left for Tonking
on the S. S. Sung-kiang, commanded by Harry Trowbridge,
a congenial and well-read gentleman whose delightful personality
contributed much toward making our week's stay on his ship most
pleasant. On our way to Haiphong the vessel stopped at the island
of Hainan and anchored about three miles off the town of Hoi-hau.
This island is 90 by 150 miles long, is mountainous in its center,
but flat and uninteresting at the northwest.
A large part of the
island is unexplored and in the interior there is a mountain called
"the Five Fingers" which has never been ascended, for it is reported
that the hill tribes are unfriendly and that the tropical valleys
are reeking with deadly malaria. The island undoubtedly would
prove to be a rich field for zoölogical work as is shown by the
collections which the American Museum of
Natural History has already received from a native dealer; these
include monkeys, squirrels, and other small mammals, and bears,
leopards, and deer are said to be among its fauna.
The next night's steaming
brought us to the city of Paik-hoi on the mainland. In the afternoon
we went ashore with Captain Trowbridge to visit Dr. Bradley of
the China Inland Mission who is in charge of a leper hospital,
which is a model of its kind. The doctor was away but we made
ourselves at home and when he returned he found us in his drawing
room comfortably enjoying afternoon tea. He remarked that he knew
of a Chinese cook who was looking for a position, and half an
hour later, while we were watching some remarkably fine tennis,
the cook arrived. He was about six feet two inches high, and so
thin that he was immediately christened the "Woolworth Building"
and, although not a very prepossessing looking individual he was
forthwith engaged, principally because of his ability to speak
English. This was at six o'clock in the afternoon and we had to
be aboard the ship at eight. The doctor sent a note to the French
Consul and the cook returned anon with his baggage and passport.
Obtaining this cook was the only really rapid thing which I have
ever seen done in China!
When the Sung-kiang
arrived in Haiphong the next afternoon we were besieged by a screaming,
fighting mob of Annamits who seized upon our baggage like so many
vultures, and it was only by means of a few well-directed kicks
that we could prevent it from being scattered to the four winds
of Heaven. After we had designated a sampan to receive
our equipment the unloading began and several trunks had gone
over the side, when Mr. Heller happened
to glance down just in time to see one of the ammunition boxes
drop into the water and sink like lead. The Annamits, believing
that it had not been noticed, went on as blithely as before and
volubly denied that anything had been lost. We stopped the unloading
instantly and sent for divers. The box had sunk in thirty feet
of muddy water and it seemed useless to hope that it could ever
be recovered, but the divers went to work by dropping a heavy
stone on the end of a rope and going down it hand over hand.
After two hours the
box was located and brought dripping to the surface. Fortunately
but little of the ammunition was ruined, and most of it was dried
during the night in the engine room. Because of this delay we
had to leave Haiphong on the following day, and with Captain Trowbridge,
we went by train to Hanoi, the capital of the colony.
Hanoi is a city of
delightful surprises. It has broad, clean streets, overhung with
trees which often form a cool green canopy overhead, beautiful
lawns and well-kept houses, and in the center of the town is a
lovely lake surrounded by a wide border of palms. At the far end,
like a jewel in a crystal setting, seems to float a white pagoda,
an outpost of the temple which stands in the midst of a watery
meadow of lotus plants. The city shops are excellent, but in most
instances the prices are exceedingly high.
Like all the French
towns in the Orient the hours for work are rather confusing to
the foreigner. The shops open at 6:30 in the morning and close
at 11 o'clock to reopen again at 3 in the afternoon and continue
business until 7:30 or 8 o'clock in the evening. During the middle
of the day all houses have the shutters closely drawn,
and because of the intense heat and glare of the sun the streets
are absolutely deserted, not even a native being visible. In the
morning a petit déjeuner, remarkable especially for its
"petiteness," is served, and a real déjeuner comes later
anywhere from 10 to 12:30.
About 6 o'clock in
the evening the open cafés and restaurants along the sidewalk
are lined with groups of men and women playing cards and dice
and drinking gin and bitters, vermouth or absinthe. There is an
air of happiness and life about Hanoi which is typically Parisian
and even during war time it is a city of gayety. An immense theater
stands in the center of the town, but has not been opened since
the beginning of the war.
We had letters to
M. Chemein Dupontés, the director of the railroads, as well as
to the Lieutenant-Governor and other officials. Without exception
we were received in the most cordial manner and every facility
and convenience put at our disposal. M. Dupontés was especially
helpful.
Some time before our
arrival a tunnel on the railroad from Hanoi to Yün-nan Fu had
caved in and for almost a month trains had not been running. It
was now in operation, however, but all luggage had to be transferred
by hand at the broken tunnel and consequently must not exceed
eighty-five pounds in weight. This meant repacking our entire
equipment and three days of hard work. M. Dupontés arranged to
have our 4000 pounds of baggage put in a special third class carriage
with our "boys" in attendance and in this way saved the expedition
a considerable amount of money. He personally went with us to
the station to arrange for our comfort with the chef de gare,
telegraphed ahead at every station upon
the railroad, and gave us an open letter to all officials; in
fact there was nothing which he left undone.
The railroad is a
remarkable engineering achievement for it was constructed in great
haste through a difficult mountainous range. Yün-nan is an exceedingly
rich province and the French were quick to see the advantages
of drawing its vast trade to their own seaports. The British were
already making surveys to construct a railroad from Bhamo on the
headwaters of the Irawadi River across Yün-nan to connect with
the Yangtze, and the French were anxious to have their road in
operation some time before the rival line could be completed.
Owing to its hasty
construction and the heavy rainfall, or perhaps to both, the tunnels
and bridges frequently cave in or are washed away and the railroad
is chiefly remarkable for the number of days in the year in which
it does not operate; nevertheless the French deserve great credit
for their enterprise in extending their line to Yün-nan Fu over
the mountains where there is a tunnel or bridge almost every mile
of the way. While it was being built through the fever-stricken
jungles of Tonking the coolies died like flies, and it was necessary
to suspend all work during the summer months.
The scenery along
the railroad is marvelous and the traveling is by no means uncomfortable,
but the hotels in which one stops at night are wretched. One of
our friends in Hong Kong related an amusing experience which he
had at Lao-kay, the first hotel on the railroad. He asked for
a bath and discovered that a tub of hot water had been prepared.
He wished a cold bath, and seeing a large tank filled with cold
water in the corner of the room he climbed in and was enjoying
himself when the hotel proprietor suddenly rushed upstairs exclaiming,
"Mon Dieu, Mon Dieu, you are in the tank
of drinking water."
When we arrived at
Yün-nan Fu we found a surprisingly cosmopolitan community housed
within its grim old walls; some were consuls, some missionaries,
some salt, telegraph, or customs officials in the Chinese employ,
and others represented business firms in Hong Kong , but all received
us with open handed hospitality characteristic of the East.
We thought that after
leaving Hong Kong our evening clothes would not again be used,
but they were requisitioned every night for we were guests at
dinners given by almost everyone of the foreign community. Mr.
Howard Page, a representative of the Standard Oil Company, proved
a most valuable friend, and through him we were able to obtain
a caravan and make other arrangements for the transportation of
our baggage. M. Henry Wilden, the French Consul, an ardent sportsman
and a charming gentleman, took an active interest in our affairs
and arranged a meeting for us with the Chinese Commissioner of
Foreign Affairs. Moreover, he later transported our trunks to
Hong Kong with his personal baggage and assisted us in every possible
way.
We went to the Foreign
Office at half past ten and were ushered into a large room where
a rather imposing lunch had already been spread. The Commissioner,
a fat, jolly little man, who knew a few words of French but none
of English, received us in the most cordial way and immediately
opened several bottles of champagne in our honor. He asked why
our passports had not been visaed in Peking, and we pleased him
greatly by replying that at the time we were in the capital Yün-nan
was an independent province and consequently the Peking Government
had not the temerity to put their stamp
upon our passports.
Inasmuch as Yün-nan
was infested with brigands we had expected some opposition to
our plans for traveling in the interior, but none was forthcoming,
and with the exception of an offer of a guard of soldiers for
our trip to Ta-li Fu which we knew it would be impolitic to refuse,
we left the Foreign Office with all the desired permits.
The Chinese Government
appeared to be greatly interested in our zoölogical study of Yün-nan,
offered to assist us in every way we could suggest, and telegraphed
to every mandarin in the north and west of the province, instructing
them to receive us with all honor and to facilitate our work in
every way. None of the opposition which we had been led to expect
developed, and it is difficult to see how we could have been more
cordially received.
ON THE ROAD TO TA-LI
FU
On August 6, we dispatched
half our equipment to Ta-li Fu, and three days later we ourselves
left Yün-nan Fu at eleven o'clock in the morning after an interminable
wait for our caravan. Through the kindness of Mr. Page, a house
boat was put at our disposal and we sailed across the upper end
of the beautiful lake which lies just outside the city, and intercepted
the caravan twenty-five li [Footnote: A li in this
province equals one-third of an English mile.] from Yün-nan Fu.
On the way we passed
a number of cormorant fishers, each with ten or a dozen birds
sitting quietly upon the boat with outspread wings drying their
feathers. Every bird has a ring about its neck, and is thus prevented
from swallowing the fish which it catches by diving into the water.
After waiting an hour
for our caravan we saw the long train of mules and horses winding
up the hill toward us. There were seventeen altogether, and in
the midst of them rode the cook clinging desperately with both
hands to a diminutive mule, his long legs dangling and a look
of utter wretchedness upon his face. Just before the caravan reached
us it began to rain, and the cook laboriously pulled on a suit
of yellow oilskins which we had purchased for him in Yün-nan Fu.
These, together with a huge yellow hat, completed
a picture which made us roar with laughter; Heller gave the caption
for it when he shouted, "Here comes the 'Yellow Peril.'"
We surveyed the tiny
horses with dismay. As Heller vainly tried to get his girth tight
enough to keep the saddle from sliding over the animal's tail
he exclaimed, "Is this a horse or a squirrel I'm trying to ride?"
But it was not so bad when we finally climbed aboard and found
that we did not crush the little brutes.
A seventy-pound box
on each side of the saddle with a few odds and ends on top made
a pack of at least one hundred and sixty pounds. This is heavy
even for a large animal and for these tiny mules seemed an impossibility,
but it is the usual weight, and the businesslike way in which
they moved off showed that they were not overloaded.
The Yün-nan pack saddle
is a remarkably ingenious arrangement. The load is strapped with
a rawhide to a double A-shaped frame which fits loosely over a
second saddle on the animal's back and is held in place by its
own weight. If a mule falls the pack comes off and, moreover,
it can be easily removed if the road is bad or whenever a stop
is made. It has the great disadvantage, however, of giving the
horses serious back sores which receive but scanty attention from
the mafus (muleteers).
When we were fairly
started upon our long ride to Ta-li Fu the time slipped by in
a succession of delightful days. Since this was the main caravan
route the mafus had regular stages beyond which they would
not go. If we did not stop for luncheon the march could be ended
early in the afternoon and we could settle ourselves for the night
in a temple which always proved a veritable
"haven of rest" after a long day in the saddle. A few pages from
my wife's "Journal" of September fifteenth describes our camp
at Lu-ho-we and our life on the road to Ta-li Fu.
We are sitting on
the porch of an old, old temple. It is on a hilltop in a forest
grove with the gray-walled town lying at our feet. The sun is
flooding the flower-filled courtyard and throwing bars of golden
light through the twisted branches of a bent old pine, over
the stone well, and into the dim recesses behind the altar where
a benevolent idol grins down upon us.
We have been in
the saddle for eight hours and it is enchanting to rest in this
peaceful, aged temple. Outside children are shouting and laughing
but all is quiet here save for the drip of water in the well,
and the chatter of a magpie on the pine tree. Today we made
the stage in one long march and now we can rest and browse among
our books or wander with a gun along the cool, tree-shaded paths.
The sun is hot at
midday, although the mornings and evenings are cold, and tonight
we shall build a fragrant fire of yellow pine, and talk for
an hour before we go to sleep upon the porch where we can see
the moon come up and the stars shining so low that they seem
like tiny lanterns in the sky.
It is seven days
since we left Yün-nan Fu and each night we have come to temples
such as this. There is an inexpressible charm about them, lying
asleep, as it were, among the trees of their courtyards, with
stately, pillared porches, and picturesque gables upturned to
the sky. They seem so very, very old and filled with such great
calm and peace.
Sometimes they stand
in the midst of a populous town and we ride through long streets
between dirty houses, swarming with ragged women, filthy men,
and screaming children; suddenly we come to the dilapidated
entrance of our temple, pass through a courtyard, close the
huge gates and are in another world.
We leave early every
morning and the boys are up long before dawn. As we sleepily
open our eyes we see their dark figures silhouetted against
the brilliant camp fire, hear the yawns of the mafus
and the contented crunching of the mules as they chew their
beans.
Wu appears with
a lantern and calls out the hour and before we have fully dressed
the odor of coffee has found its way to the remotest corner
of the temple, and a breakfast of pancakes, eggs, and oatmeal
is awaiting on the folding table spread with a clean white cloth.
While we are eating, the beds are packed, and the loads retied,
accompanied by a running fire of exhortations to the mafus
who cause us endless trouble.
They are a hard
lot, these mafus. Force seems to be the only thing they
understand and kindness produces no results. If the march is
long and we stop for tiffin it is well-nigh impossible to get
them started within three hours without the aid of threats.
Once after a long halt when all seemed ready, we rode ahead
only to wait by the roadside for hours before the caravan arrived.
As soon as we were out of sight they had begun to shoe their
mules and that night we did not make our stage until long after
dark.
In the morning when
we see the first loads actually on the horses we ride off at
the head of the caravan followed by a straggling line of mules
and horses picking their way over the jagged stones of the road.
It is delightful in the early morning for the air is fresh and
brisk like that of October at home, but later in the day when
the sun is higher it is uncomfortably hot, and we are glad to
find a bit of shade where we can rest until the caravan arrives.
The roads are execrable.
The Chinese have a proverb which says: "A road is good for ten
years and bad for ten thousand," and this applies most excellently
to those of Yün-nan. The main caravan highways are paved with
huge stones to make them passable during the rainy season, but
after a few years' wear the blocks become
broken and irregular, the earth is washed from between them
and they are upturned at impossible angles. The result is a
chaotic mass which by no stretch of imagination can be called
a road. Where the stones are still in place they have been worn
to such glasslike smoothness by the thousands of passing mules
that it is well-nigh impossible to walk upon them. As a result
a caravan avoids the paving whenever it can find a path and
sometimes dozens of deeply-cut trails wind over the hills beside
the road.
We are seldom on
level ground, for ten per cent of the entire province is mountainous
and we soon lost count of the ranges which we crossed. It is
slow, hard work, toiling up the steep mountainsides, but once
on the ridges where the country is spread out below us like
a great, green relief map, there is a wonderful exhilaration,
and we climb higher with a joyous sense of freedom.
Yün-nan means "south
of the cloud" and every morning the peaks about us are shrouded
in fog. Sometimes the veil-like mists still float about the
mountain tops when we climb into them, and we are suddenly enveloped
in a wet gray blanket which sends us shivering into the coats
tied to our saddles.
For centuries this
road has been one of the main trade arteries through the province,
and with the total lack of conservation ideas so characteristic
of the Chinese, every available bit of natural forest has been
cut away. As a result the mountains are desert wastes of sandstone
alternating with grass-covered hills sometimes clothed with groves
of pines or spruces. These trees have all been planted, and ere
they have reached a height of fifteen or twenty feet will yield
to the insistent demand for wood which is ever present with the
Chinese.
The ignorance of the
need of forest conservation is an illuminating commentary on Chinese
education. Mr. William Hanna, a missionary
of Ta-li Fu, told us that one day he was riding over this same
road with a Chinese gentleman, a deep scholar, who was considered
one of the best educated men of the province. Pointing to the
barren hills washed clean of soil and deeply worn by countless
floods, Mr. Hanna remarked that all this could have been prevented,
and that instead of a rocky waste there might have been a fertile
hillside, had the trees been left to grow.
The Chinese scholar
listened in amazement to facts which every western schoolboy has
learned ere he is twelve years old, but of which he was ignorant
because they are not a part of Confucius' teachings. To study
modern science is considered a waste of time by the orthodox Chinese
for "everything good must be old," and all his life he delves
into the past utterly neglectful of the present.
Every valley along
the road was green with rice fields and this, together with the
deforestation of the mountains, is responsible for the almost
total lack of animal life. Night after night we set traps about
our temple camps only to find them untouched in the morning. There
were no mammals with the exception of a few red-bellied squirrels
(Callosciurus erythraeus sub sp.) and now and then a tree
shrew (Tupaia belangeri chinensis).
The latter is an interesting
species. Although it is an Insectivore, and a relative of the
tiny shrews which live in holes and under logs, it has squirrel-like
habits and in appearance is like a squirrel to which it is totally
unrelated. Instead of the thinly haired mouse-like tails of the
ordinary shrews the tupaias have developed long bushy tails and
in fact look and act so much like squirrels
that it is difficult to convince the white residents of Yün-nan,
who are accustomed to see them run about the hedges and walls
of their courtyards that the two are quite unrelated.
The tree shrews are
found only in Asia and are one of the most remarkable instances
of a superficial resemblance between unrelated animals with similar
habits. A study of their anatomy has revealed the fact that they
represent a distinct group which is connected with the monkeys
(lemurs).
Although birds were
fairly abundant the species were not varied. We were about a month
too early for the ducks and geese, which during the winter swarm
into Yün-nan from the north, and without a dog, pheasants are
difficult to get. In fact we were greatly disappointed in the
game birds, for we had expected good pheasant shooting even along
the road and virtually none were to be found.
The main caravan roads
of Yün-nan held little of interest for us as naturalists, but
as students of native customs they were fascinating, for the life
of the province passed before us in panoramic completeness. Chinese
villages wherever we have seen them are marvels of utter and abandoned
filth and although those of Yün-nan are no exception to the rule,
they are considerably better than the coast cities.
Pigs, chickens, horses
and cows live in happy communion with the human inmates of the
houses, the pigs especially being treated as we favor dogs at
home. On the door steps children play with the swine, patting
and pounding them, and one of my friends said that he had actually
seen a mother bring her baby to be nursed by a sow with her family
of piglets.
The natives were pleasant
and friendly and seemed to be industrious. Wherever the deforestation
had left sufficient soil on the lower hillsides patches of corn
took the place of the former poppy fields for opium. In 1906,
the Empress Dowager issued an edict prohibiting the growing of
opium, and gave guarantees to the British that it would be entirely
stamped out during the next ten years. Strangely enough these
promises have been faithfully kept, and in Yün-nan the hillsides,
which were once white with poppy blossoms, are now yellow with
corn. In all our 2000 miles of riding over unfrequented trails
and in the most out-of-the-way spots we found only one instance
where opium was being cultivated.
The mandarin of each
district accompanied by a guard of soldiers makes periodical excursions
during the seasons when the poppy is in blossom, cuts down the
plants if any are found, and punishes the owners. China deserves
the greatest credit for so successfully dealing with a question
which affects such a large part of her four hundred millions of
people and which presents such unusual difficulties because of
its economic importance.
Just across the frontier
in Burma, opium is grown freely and much is smuggled into Yün-nan.
Therefore its use has by no means been abandoned, especially in
the south of the province, and in some towns it is smoked openly
in the tea houses. In August, 1916, just before we reached Yün-nan
Fu there was an exposé of opium smuggling which throws
an illuminating side light on the corruption of some Chinese officials.
Opium can be purchased
in Yün-nan Fu for two dollars (Mexican) an ounce, while in Shanghai
it is worth ten dollars (Mexican). Tang
(the Military Governor), the Minister of Justice, the Governor's
brother and three members of Parliament had collected six hundred
pounds of opium which they undertook to transfer to Shanghai.
Their request that
no examination of their baggage be made by the French during their
passage through Tonking was granted, and a similar favor was procured
for them at Shanghai. Thus the sixty cases were safely landed,
but a few hours later, through the opium combine, foreign detectives
learned of the smuggling and the boxes were seized.
The Minister of Justice
denied all knowledge of the opium, as did the three Parliament
members, and Governor Tang was not interrogated as that would
be quite contrary to the laws of Chinese etiquette; however, he
will not receive reappointment when his official term expires.
As we neared Ta-li
Fu, and indeed along the entire road, we were amazed at the prevalence
of goitre. At a conservative estimate two out of every five persons
were suffering from the disease, some having two, or even three,
globules of uneven size hanging from their throats. In one village
six out of seven adults were affected, but apparently children
under twelve or fourteen years are free from it as we saw no evidences
in either sex. Probably the disease is in a large measure due
to the drinking water, for it is most prevalent in the limestone
regions and seems to be somewhat localized.
Every day we passed
"chairs," or as we named them, "mountain schooners," in each of
which a fat Chinaman sprawled while two or four sweating coolies
bore him up hill. The chair is rigged between a pair of long bamboo
poles and consists of two sticks swung by
ropes on which is piled a heap of bedding. Overhead a light bamboo
frame supports a piece of yellow oilcloth, which completely shuts
in the occupant, except from the front and rear.
The Chinese consider
it undignified to walk, or even to ride, and if one is about to
make an official visit nothing less than a four-man chair is required.
Haste is just as much tabooed in the "front families" as physical
exertion, and is utterly incomprehensible to the Chinese. Major
Davies says that while he was in Tonking before the railroad to
Yün-nan Fu had been constructed, M. Doumer, the Governor-General
of French Indo-China, who was a very energetic man, rode to Yün-nan
Fu in an extraordinarily short time. While the Europeans greatly
admired his feat, the Chinese believed he must be in some difficulty
from which only the immediate assistance of the Viceroy of Yün-nan
could extricate him.
In Yün-nan it is necessary
to carry one's own bedding for the inns supply nothing but food,
and consequently when a Chinaman rides from one city to another
he piles a great heap of blankets on his horse's back and climbs
on top with his legs astride the animal's neck in front. The horses
are trained to a rapid trot instead of a gallop, and I know of
no more ridiculous sight than a Chinaman bouncing along a road
on the summit of a veritable mountain of bedding with his arms
waving and streamers flying in every direction. He is assisted
in keeping his balance by broad brass stirrups in which he usually
hooks his heels and guides his horse by means of a rawhide bridle
decorated with dozens of bangles which make a comforting jingle
whenever he moves.
On the sixth day out
when approaching the city of Chu-hsuing
Fu we took a short cut through the fields leaving the caravan
to follow the main road. The trail brought us to a river about
forty feet wide spanned by a bridge made from two narrow planks,
with a wide median fissure. We led our horses across without trouble
and Heller started to follow. He had reached the center of the
bridge when his horse shied at the hole, jumped to one side, hung
suspended on his belly for a moment, and toppled off into the
water.
The performance had
all happened behind Heller's back and when he turned about in
time to see his horse diving into the river, he stood looking
down at him with a most ludicrous expression of surprise and disgust,
while the animal climbed out and began to graze as quietly as
though nothing had happened.
Chu-hsuing was interesting
as being the home of Miss Cordelia Morgan, a niece of Senator
Morgan of Virginia. We found her to be a most charming and determined
young woman who had established a mission station in the city
under considerable difficulties. The mandarin and other officials
by no means wished to have a foreign lady, alone and unattended,
settle down among them and become a responsibility which might
cause them endless trouble, and although she had rented a house
before she arrived, the owner refused to allow her to move in.
She could get no assistance
from the mandarin and was forced to live for two months in a dirty
Chinese inn, swarming with vermin, until they realized that she
was determined not to be driven away. She eventually obtained
a house and while she considers herself comfortable, I doubt if
others would care to share her life unless
they had an equal amount of determination and enthusiasm.
At that time she had
not placed her work under the charge of a mission board and was
carrying it on independently. Until our arrival she had seen but
one white person in a year and a half, was living entirely upon
Chinese food, and had tasted no butter or milk in months.
We had a delightful
dinner with Miss Morgan and the next morning as our caravan wound
down the long hill past her house she stood at the window to wave
good-by. She kept her head behind the curtains, and doubtless
if we could have seen her face we would have found tears upon
it, for the evening with another woman of her kind had brought
to her a breath of the old life which she had resolutely forsaken
and which so seldom penetrated to her self-appointed exile.
On our ninth day from
Yün-nan Fu we had a welcome bit of excitement. We were climbing
a long mountain trail to a pass over eight thousand feet high
and were near the summit when a boy dashed breathlessly up to
the caravan, jabbering wildly in Chinese. It required fifteen
minutes of questioning before we finally learned that bandits
had attacked a big caravan less than a mile ahead of us and were
even then ransacking the loads.
He said that there
were two hundred and fifty of them and that they had killed two
mafus; almost immediately a second gesticulating Chinaman
appeared and gave the number as three hundred and fifty and the
dead as five. Allowing for the universal habit of exaggeration
we felt quite sure that there were not more than fifty, and subsequently
learned that forty was the correct number and that no one had
been killed.
Our caravan was in
a bad place to resist an attack but we got
out our rifles and made for a village at the top of the pass.
There were not more than a half dozen mud houses and in the narrow
street between them perfect bedlam reigned. Several small caravans
had halted to wait for us, and men, horses, loads, and chairs
were packed and jammed together so tightly that it seemed impossible
ever to extricate them. Our arrival added to the confusion, but
leaving the mafus to scream and chatter among themselves,
we scouted ahead to learn the true condition of affairs.
Almost within sight
we found the caravan which had been robbed. Paper and cloth were
strewn about, loads overturned, and loose mules wandered over
the hillside. The frightened mafus were straggling back
and told us that about forty bandits had suddenly surrounded the
caravan, shooting and brandishing long knives. Instantly the mafus
had run for their lives leaving the brigands to rifle the packs
unmolested. The goods chiefly belonged to the retiring mandarin
of Li-chiang, and included some five thousand dollars worth of
jade and gold dust, all of which was taken.
Yün-nan, like most
of the outlying provinces of China, is infested with brigands
who make traveling very unsafe. There are, of course, organized
bands of robbers at all times, but these have been greatly augmented
since the rebellion by dismissed soldiers or deserters who have
taken to brigandage as the easiest means to avoid starvation.
The Chinese Government
is totally unable to cope with the situation and makes only half-hearted
attempts to punish even the most flagrant robberies, so that unguarded
caravans carrying valuable material which arrive
at their destination unmolested consider themselves very lucky.
So far as our expedition
was concerned we did not feel great apprehension for it was generally
known that we carried but little money and our equipment, except
for guns, could not readily be disposed of. Throughout the entire
expedition we paid our mafus and servants a part of their
wages in advance when they were engaged, and arranged to have
money sent by the mandarins or the British American Tobacco Co.,
to some large town which would be reached after several months.
There the balance on salaries was paid and we carried with us
only enough money for our daily needs.
Before we left Yün-nan
Fu we were assured by the Foreign Office that we would be furnished
with a guard of soldiers—an honor few foreigners escape!
The first day out we had four, all armed with umbrellas! These
accompanied us to the first camp where they delivered their official
message to the yamen and entrusted us to the care of others
for our next day's journey.
Sometimes they were
equipped with guns of the vintage of 1872, but their cartridges
were seldom of the same caliber as the rifles and in most cases
the ubiquitous umbrella was their only weapon. Just what good
they would be in a real attack it is difficult to imagine, except
to divert attention by breaking the speed limits in running away.
Several times in the
morning we believed we had escaped them but they always turned
up in an hour or two. They were not so much a nuisance as an expense,
for custom requires that each be paid twenty cents (Mexican) a
day both going and returning. They are of some use in lending
an official aspect to an expedition and in
requisitioning anything which may be needed; also they act as
an insurance policy, for if a caravan is robbed a claim can be
entered against the government, whereas if the escort is refused
the traveler has no redress.
It is amusing and
often irritating to see the cavalier way in which these men treat
other caravans or the peasants along the road. Waving their arms
and shouting oaths they shoo horses, mules or chairs out of the
way regardless of the confusion into which the approaching caravan
may be thrown. They must also be closely watched for they are
none too honest and are prone to rely upon the moral support of
foreigners to take whatever they wish without the formality of
payment.
We were especially
careful to respect the property on which we camped and to be just
in all our dealings with the natives, but it was sometimes difficult
to prevent the mafus or soldiers from tearing down fences
for firewood or committing similar depredations. Wherever such
acts were discovered we made suitable payment and punished the
offenders by deducting a part of their wages. Foreigners cannot
respect too carefully the rights of the peasants, for upon their
conduct rests the reception which will be accorded to all others
who follow in their footsteps.
TA-LI FU
On Friday, September
23, we were at Chou Chou and camped in a picturesque little temple
on the outskirts of the town. As the last stage was only six hours
we spent half the morning in taking moving pictures of the caravan
and left for Ta-li at eleven-thirty after an early tiffin.
About two o'clock
in the afternoon we reached Hsia-kuan, a large commercial town
at the lower end of the lake. Its population largely consists
of merchants and it is by all means the most important business
place of interior Yün-nan; Ta-li, eight miles away, is the residence
and official city.
At Hsia-kuan we called
upon the salt commissioner, Mr. Lui, to whom Mr. Bode, the salt
inspector at Yün-nan Fu, had very kindly telegraphed money for
my account, and after the usual tea and cigarettes we went on
to Ta-li Fu over a perfectly level paved road, which was so slippery
that it was well-nigh impossible for either horse or man to move
over it faster than a walk.
This was the hottest
day of our experience in Northern Yün-nan, the thermometer registering
85°+ in the shade, which is the usual midsummer temperature, but
the moment the sun dropped behind the mountains it was cool enough
for one to enjoy a fire. Even in the winter it is never very cold
and its delightful summer should make Northern Yün-nan a wonderful
health resort for the residents of fever-stricken
Burma and Tonking.
We rode toward Ta-li
with the beautiful lake on our right hand and on the other the
Ts'ang Shan mountains which rise to a height of fourteen thousand
feet. As we approached the city we could see dimly outlined against
the foothills the slender shafts of three ancient pagodas. They
were erected to the feng-shui, the spirits of the "earth,
wind, and water," and for fifteen hundred years have stood guard
over the stone graves which, in countless thousands, are spread
along the foot of the mountains like a vast gray blanket. In the
late afternoon sunlight the walls of the city seemed to recede
before us and the picturesque gate loomed shadowy and unreal even
when we passed through its gloomy arch and clattered up the stone-paved
street.
We soon discovered
the residence of Mr. H. G. Evans, agent of the British American
Tobacco Company, to whose care our first caravan had been consigned,
and he very hospitably invited us to remain with him while we
were in Ta-li Fu. This was only the beginning of Mr. Evans' assistance
to the Expedition, for he acted as its banker throughout our stay
in Yün-nan, cashing checks and transferring money for us whenever
we needed funds.
The British American
Tobacco Company and the Standard Oil Company of New York are veritable
"oases in the desert" for travelers because their agencies are
found in the most out-of-the-way spots in Asia and their employees
are always ready to extend the cordial hospitality of the East
to wandering foreigners.
Besides Mr. Evans
the white residents of Ta-li Fu include the Reverend William J.
Hanna, his wife and two other ladies, all
of the China Inland Mission. Mr. Hanna is doing a really splendid
work, especially along educational and medical lines. He has built
a beautiful little chapel, a large school, and a dispensary in
connection with his house, where he and his wife are occupied
every morning treating the minor ills of the natives, Christian
and heathen alike.
Ta-li Fu was the scene
of tremendous slaughter at the time of the Mohammedan war, when
the Chinese captured the city through the treachery of its commander
and turned the streets to rivers of blood. The Mohammedans were
almost exterminated, and the ruined stone walls testify to the
completeness of the Chinese devastation.
The mandarin at Ta-li
Fu was good-natured but dissipated and corrupt. He called upon
us the evening of our arrival and almost immediately asked if
we had any shotgun cartridges. He remarked that he had a gun but
no shells, and as we did not offer to give him any he continued
to hint broadly at every opportunity.
The mandarins of lower
rank often buy their posts and depend upon what they can make
in "squeeze" from the natives of their district for reimbursement
and a profit on their investment. In almost every case which is
brought to them for adjustment the decision is withheld until
the magistrate has learned which of the parties is prepared to
offer the highest price for a settlement in his favor. The Chinese
peasant, accepting this as the established custom, pays the bribe
without a murmur if it is not too exorbitant and, in fact, would
be exceedingly surprised if "justice" were dispensed in any other
way.
My personal relations
with the various mandarins whom I was constantly
required to visit officially were always of the pleasantest and
I was treated with great courtesy. It was apparent wherever we
were in China that there was a total lack of anti-foreign feeling
in both the peasant and official classes and except for the brigands,
who are beyond the law, undoubtedly white men can travel in perfect
safety anywhere in the republic. Before my first official visit
Wu gave me a lesson in etiquette. The Chinese are exceedingly
punctilious and it is necessary to conform to their standards
of politeness for they do not realize, or accept in excuse, the
fact that Western customs differ from their own.
At the end of the
reception room in every yamen is a raised platform on which
the visitor sits at the left hand of the mandarin; it would
be exceedingly rude for a magistrate to seat the caller on his
right hand. Tea is always served immediately but is not supposed
to be tasted until the official does so himself; the cup must
then be lifted to the lips with both hands. Usually when the magistrate
sips his tea it is a sign that the interview is ended. When leaving,
the mandarin follows his visitor to the doorway of the outer court,
while the latter continually bows and protests asking him not
to come so far.
Ta-li Fu and Hsia-kuan
are important fur markets and we spent some time investigating
the shops. One important find was the panda (Aelurus fulgens).
The panda is an aberrant member of the raccoon family but looks
rather like a fox; in fact the Chinese call it the "fire fox"
because of its beautiful, red fur. Pandas were supposed to be
exceedingly rare and we could hardly believe
it possible when we saw dozens of coats made from their skins
hanging in the fur shops.
Skins of the huge
red-brown flying squirrel, Petaruista yunnanensis, were
also used for clothing and the abundance of this animal was almost
as great a surprise as the finding of the pandas. This is often
true in the case of supposedly rare species. A few specimens may
be obtained from the extreme limits of its range, or from a locality
where it really is rare, and for years it may be almost unique
in museum collections but eventually the proper locality may be
visited and the animals found to be abundant.
We saw several skins
of the beautiful cat (Felis temmicki) which, with the snow
leopard (Felis uncia), it was said came from Tibet. Civets,
bears, foxes, and small cats were being used extensively for furs
and pangolins could be purchased in the medicine shops. The scales
of the pangolin are considered to be of great value in the treatment
of certain diseases and the skins are usually sold by the pound
as are the horns of deer, wapiti, gorals, and serows.
Almost all of the
fossil animals which have been obtained in China by foreigners
have been purchased in apothecary shops. If a Chinaman discovers
a fossil bed he guards it zealously for it represents an actual
gold mine to him. The bones are ground into a fine powder, mixed
with an acid, and a phosphate obtained which in reality has a
certain value as a tonic. When a considerable amount of faith
and Chinese superstition is added its efficacy assumes double
proportions.
Every year a few tiger
skins find their way to Hsia-kuan from the southern part of the
province along the Tonking border, but the good ones are quickly
sold at prices varying from twenty-five
to fifty dollars (Mexican). Ten dollars is the usual price for
leopard skins.
Marco Polo visited
Ta-li Fu in the thirteenth century and, among other things, he
speaks of the fine horses from this part of the province. We were
surprised to find that the animals are considerably larger and
more heavily built than those of Yün-nan Fu and appear to be better
in every way. A good riding horse can be purchased for seventy-five
dollars (Mexican) but mules are worth about one hundred and fifty
dollars because they are considered better pack animals.
On the advice of men
who had traveled much in the interior of Yün-nan we hired our
caravan and riding animals instead of buying them outright, and
subsequent experience showed the wisdom of this course. Saddle
ponies, which are used only for short trips about the city, cannot
endure continual traveling over the execrable roads of the interior
where often it is impossible to feed them properly. If an entire
caravan were purchased the leader of the expedition would have
unceasing trouble with the mafus to insure even ordinary
care of the animals, an opportunity would be given for endless
"squeeze" in the purchase of food, and there are other reasons
too numerous to mention why in this province the plan is impracticable.
However, the caravan
ponies do try one's patience to the limit. They are trained only
to follow a leader, and if one happens to be behind another horse
it is well-nigh impossible to persuade it to pass. Beat or kick
the beast as one will, it only backs up or crowds closely to the
horse in front. On the first day out Heller, who was on a particularly
bad animal, when trying to pass one of us began to cavort about
like a circus rider, prancing from side
to side and backward but never going forward. We shouted that
we would wait for him to go on but he replied helplessly, "I can't,
this horse isn't under my management," and we found very soon
that our animals were not under our management either!
In a town near Ta-li
Fu we were in front of the caravan with Wu and Heller: Wu stopped
to buy a basket of mushrooms but his horse refused to move ahead.
Beat as he would, the animal only backed in a circle, ours followed,
and in a few moments we were packed together so tightly that it
was impossible even to dismount. There we sat, helpless, to the
huge delight of the villagers until rescued by a mafu.
As soon as he led Wu's horse forward the others proceeded as quietly
as lambs.
We paid forty cents
(Mexican) a day for each animal while traveling, and fifteen or
twenty cents when in camp, but the rate varies somewhat in different
parts of the province, and in the west and south, along the Burma
border fifty cents is the usual price. When a caravan is engaged
the necessary mafus are included and they buy food for
themselves and beans and hay for the animals.
Ever since leaving
Yün-nan Fu the cook we engaged at Paik-hoi had been a source of
combined irritation and amusement. He was a lanky, effeminate
gentleman who never before had ridden a horse, and who was physically
and mentally unable to adapt himself to camp life. After five
months in the field he appeared to be as helpless when the caravan
camped for the night as when we first started, and he would stand
vacantly staring until someone directed him what to do. But he
was a good cook, when he wished to exert himself, and had the
great asset of knowing a considerable amount
of English. While we were in Ta-li Fu Mr. Evans overheard him
relating his experiences on the road to several of the other servants.
"Of course," said the cook, "it is a fine way to see the country,
but the riding! My goodness, that's awful! After the third day
I didn't know whether to go on or turn back—I was so sore
I couldn't sit down even on a chair to say nothing of a horse!"
He had evidently fully
made up his mind not to "see the country" that way for the day
after we left Ta-li Fu en route to the Tibetan frontier
he became violently ill. Although we could find nothing the matter
with him he made such a good case for himself that we believed
he really was quite sick and treated him accordingly. The following
morning, however, he sullenly refused to proceed, and we realized
that his illness was of the mind rather than the body. As he had
accepted two months' salary in advance and had already sent it
to his wife in Paik-hoi, we were in a position to use a certain
amount of forceful persuasion which entirely accomplished its
object and illness did not trouble him thereafter.
The loss of a cook
is a serious matter to a large expedition. Good meals and varied
food must be provided if the personnel is to work at its highest
efficiency and cooking requires a vast amount of thought and time.
In Yün-nan natives who can cook foreign food are by no means easy
to find and when our Paik-hoi gentleman finally left us upon our
return to Ta-li Fu we were fortunate in obtaining an exceedingly
competent man to take his place through the good offices of Mr.
Hanna.
LI-CHIANG AND "THE
TEMPLE OF THE FLOWERS"
We left a part of
our outfit with Mr. Evans at Ta-li Fu and with a new caravan of
twenty-five animals traveled northward for six days to Li-chiang
Fu. By taking a small road we hoped to find good collecting in
the pine forests three days from Ta-li, but instead there was
a total absence of animal life. The woods were beautiful, park-like
stretches which in a country like California would be full of
game, but here were silent and deserted. During the fourth and
fifth days we were still in the forests, but on the sixth we crossed
a pass 10,000 feet high and descended abruptly into a long marshy
plain where at the far end were the gray outlines of Li-chiang
dimly visible against the mountains.
Wu and I galloped
ahead to find a temple for our camp, leaving Heller and my wife
to follow. A few pages from her journal tell of their entry into
the city.
We rode along a
winding stone causeway and halted on the outskirts of the town
to wait until the caravan arrived. Neither Roy nor Wu was in
sight but we expected that the mafus would ask where
they had gone and follow, for of course we could not speak a
word of the language. Already there was quite a sensation as
we came down the street, for our sudden appearance seemed to
have stupefied the people with amazement. One old lady looked
at me with an indescribable expression and
uttered what sounded exactly like a long-drawn "Mon Dieu" of
disagreeable surprise.
I tried smiling
at them but they appeared too astonished to appreciate our friendliness
and in return merely stared with open mouths and eyes. We halted
and immediately the street was blocked by crowds of men, women,
and children who poured out of the houses, shops, and cross-streets
to gaze in rapt attention. When the caravan arrived we moved
on again expecting that the mafus had learned where Roy
had gone, but they seemed to be wandering aimlessly through
the narrow winding streets. Even though we did not find a camping
place we afforded the natives intense delight.
I felt as though
I were the chief actor in a circus parade at home, but the most
remarkable attraction there could not have equaled our unparalleled
success in Li-chiang. On the second excursion through the town
we passed down a cross-street, and suddenly from a courtyard
at the right we heard feminine voices speaking English.
"It's a girl. No,
it's a boy. No, no, can't you see her hair, it's a girl!" Just
then we caught sight of three ladies, unmistakably foreigners
although dressed in Chinese costume. They were Mrs. A. Kok,
wife of the resident Pentecostal Missionary, and two assistants,
who rushed into the street as soon as they had determined my
sex and literally "fell upon my neck." They had not seen a white
woman since their arrival there four years ago and it seemed
to them that I had suddenly dropped from the sky.
While we were talking
Wu appeared to guide us to the camp. They had chosen a beautiful
temple with a flower-filled courtyard on the summit of a hill
overlooking the city. It was wonderfully clean and when our
beds, tables, and chairs were spread on the broad stone porch
it seemed like a real home.
The next days were
busy ones for us all, Roy and Heller setting traps, and I working
at my photography. We let it be known that we would pay well
for specimens, and there was an almost
uninterrupted procession of men and boys carrying long sticks,
on which were strung frogs, rats, toads, and snakes. They would
simply beam with triumph and enthusiasm. Our fame spread and
more came, bringing the most ridiculous tame things—pigeons,
maltese cats, dogs, white rabbits, caged birds, and I even believe
we might have purchased a girl baby or two, for mothers stood
about with little brown kiddies on their backs as though they
really would like to offer them to us but hardly dared.
The temple priest
was a good looking, smooth-faced chap, and hidden under his
coat he brought dozens of skins. I believe that his religious
vows did not allow him to handle animals—openly—and
so he would beckon Roy into the darkness of the temple with
a most mysterious air, and would extract all sorts of things
from his sleeves just like a sleight-of-hand performer. He was
a rich man when we left!
The people are mostly
tribesmen—Mosos, Lolos, Tibetans, and many others. The
girls wear their hair "bobbed off" in front and with a long
plait in back. They wash their hair once—on their wedding
day—and then it is wrapped up in turbans for the rest of
their lives. The Tibetan women dress their hair in dozens of
tiny braids, but I don't believe there is any authority that
they ever wash it, or themselves either.
Li-chiang was our
first collecting camp and we never had a better one. On the morning
after our arrival Heller found mammals in half his traps, and
in the afternoon we each put out a line of forty traps which brought
us fifty mammals of eleven species. This was a wonderful relief
after the many days of travel through country devoid of animal
life.
Our traps contained
shrews of two species, meadow voles, Asiatic white-footed mice,
spiny mice, rats, squirrels, and tree shrews. The small mammals
were exceedingly abundant and easy to catch, but after the first
day we began to have difficulty with the
natives who stole our traps. We usually marked them with a bit
of cotton, and the boys would follow an entire line down a hedge,
taking every one. Sometimes they even brought specimens to us
for sale which we knew had been caught in our stolen traps!
The traps were set
under logs and stumps and in the grass where we found the "runways"
or paths which mice, rats and voles often make. These animals
begin to move about just after dark, and we usually would inspect
our traps with a lantern about nine o'clock in the evening. This
not only gave the trap a double chance to be filled but we also
secured perfect specimens, for such species as mice and shrews
are cannibalistic, and almost every night, if the specimens were
not taken out early in the evening, several would be partly eaten.
Small mammals are
often of much greater interest and importance scientifically than
large ones, for, especially among the Insectivores, there are
many primitive forms which are apparently of ancestral stock and
throw light on the evolutionary history of other living groups.
Li-chiang is a fur
market of considerable importance for the Tibetans bring down
vast quantities of skins for sale and trade. Lambs, goats, foxes,
cats, civets, pandas, and flying squirrels hang in the shops and
there are dozens of fur dressers who do really excellent tanning.
This city is a most
interesting place especially on market day, for its inhabitants
represent many different tribes with but comparatively few Chinese.
By far the greatest percentage of natives are the Mosos who are
semi-Tibetan in their life and customs. They were originally an
independent race who ruled a considerable part
of northern Yün-nan, and Li-chiang was their ancient capital.
To the effeminate and "highly civilized" Chinese they are "barbarians,"
but we found them to be simple, honest and wholly delightful people.
Many of those whom we met later had never seen a white woman,
and yet their inherent decency was in the greatest contrast to
that of the Chinese who consider themselves so immeasurably their
superior.
The Mosos have large
herds of sheep and cattle, and this is the one place in the Orient
except in large cities along the coast, where we could obtain
fresh milk and butter. As with the Tibetans, buttered tea and
tsamba (parched oatmeal) are the great essentials, but
they also grow quantities of delicious vegetables and fruit. Buttered
tea is prepared by churning fresh butter into hot tea until the
two have become well mixed. It is then thickened with finely ground
tsamba until a ball is formed which is eaten with the fingers.
The combination is distinctly good when the ingredients are fresh,
but if the butter happens to be rancid the less said of it the
better.
The natives of this
region are largely agriculturists and raise great quantities of
squash, turnips, carrots, cabbage, potatoes, onions, corn, peas,
beans, oranges, pears, persimmons and nuts. While traveling we
filled our saddle pockets with pears and English walnuts or chestnuts
and could replenish our stock at almost any village along the
road.
Everything was absurdly
cheap. Eggs were usually about eight cents (Mexican) a dozen,
and we could always purchase a chicken for an empty tin can, or
two for a bottle. In fact, the latter was the greatest desideratum
and when offers of money failed to induce
a native to pose for the camera a bottle nearly always would decide
matters in our favor.
In Li-chiang we learned
that there was good shooting only twelve miles north of the city
on the Snow Mountain range, the highest peak of which rises 18,000
feet above the sea. We left a part of our outfit at Mr. Kok's
house and engaged a caravan of seventeen mules to take us to the
hunting grounds. Mr. Kok assisted us in numberless ways while
we were in the vicinity of Li-chiang and in other parts of the
country. He took charge of all our mail, sending it to us by runners,
loaned us money when it was difficult to get cash from Ta-li Fu
and helped us to engage servants and caravans.
It had rained almost
continually for five days and a dense gray curtain of fog hung
far down in the valley, but on the morning of October 11 we awoke
to find ourselves in another world. We were in a vast amphitheater
of encircling mountains, white almost to their bases, rising ridge
on ridge, like the foamy billows of a mighty ocean. At the north,
silhouetted against the vivid blue of a cloudless sky, towered
the great Snow Mountain, its jagged peaks crowned with gold where
the morning sun had kissed their summits. We rode toward it across
a level rock-strewn plain and watched the fleecy clouds form,
and float upward to weave in and out or lose themselves in the
vast snow craters beside the glacier. It was an inspiration, that
beautiful mountain, lying so white and still in its cradle of
dark green trees. Each hour it seemed more wonderful, more dominating
in its grandeur, and we were glad to be of the chosen few to look
upon its sacred beauty.
In the early afternoon
we camped in a tiny temple which nestled into a grove of spruce
trees on the outskirts of a straggling
village. To the north the Snow Mountain rose almost above us,
and on the east and south a grassy rock-strewn plain rolled away
in gentle undulations to a range of hills which jutted into the
valley like a great recumbent dragon.
A short time after
our camp was established we had a visit from an Austrian botanist,
Baron Haendel-Mazzetti, who had been in the village for two weeks.
He had come to Yün-nan for the Vienna Museum before the war, expecting
to remain a year, but already had been there three. Surrounded
as he was by Tibet, Burma, and Tonking, his only possible exit
was by way of the four-month overland journey to Shanghai. He
had little money and for two years had been living on Chinese
food. He dined with us in the evening, and his enjoyment of our
coffee, bread, kippered herring, and other canned goods was almost
pathetic.
A week after our arrival
Baron Haendel-Mazzetti left for Yün-nan Fu and eventually reached
Shanghai which, however, became a closed port to him upon China's
entry into the European war. It is to be hoped that his collections,
which must be of great scientific value and importance, have arrived
at a place of safety long ere this book issues from the press.
CAMPING IN THE CLOUDS
We hired four Moso
hunters in the Snow Mountain village. They were picturesque fellows,
supposedly dressed in skins, but their garments were so ragged
and patched that it was difficult to determine the original material
of which they were made.
One of them was armed
with a most extraordinary gun which, it was said, came from Tibet.
Its barrel was more than six feet long, and the stock was curved
like a golf stick. A powder fuse projected from a hole in the
side of the barrel, and just behind it on the butt was fastened
a forked spring. At his waist the man carried a long coil of rope,
the slowly burning end of which was placed in the crotched spring.
When about to shoot the native placed the butt of the weapon against
his cheek, pressed the spring so that the burning rope's end touched
the powder fuse, and off went the gun.
The three other hunters
carried crossbows and poisoned arrows. They were remarkably good
shots and at a distance of one hundred feet could place an arrow
in a six-inch circle four times out of five. We found later that
crossbows are in common use throughout the more remote parts of
Yün-nan and were only another evidence that we had suddenly dropped
back into the Middle Ages and, with our high-power rifles and
twentieth century equipment, were anachronisms.
The natives are able
to obtain a good deal of game even with
such primitive weapons for they depend largely upon dogs which
bring gorals and serows to bay against a cliff and hold them until
the men arrive. The dogs are a mongrel breed which appears to
be largely hound, and some are really excellent hunters. White
is the usual color but a few are mixed black and brown, or fox
red. Hotenfa, one of our Mosos, owned a good pack and we all came
to love its big red leader. This fine dog could be depended upon
to dig out game if there was any in the mountains, but his life
with us was short for he was killed by our first serow. Hotenfa
was inconsolable and the tears he shed were in sincere sorrow
for the loss of a faithful friend.
Almost every family
owns a dog. Some of those we saw while passing through Chinese
villages were nauseating in their unsightliness, for at least
thirty per cent of them were more or less diseased. Barely able
to walk, they would stagger across the street or lie in the gutter
in indescribable filth. One longed to put them out of their misery
with a bullet but, although they seemed to belong to nobody, if
one was killed an owner appeared like magic to quarrel over the
damages.
The dogs of the non-Chinese
tribes were in fairly good condition and there seemed to be comparatively
little disease among them. Our hunters treated their hounds kindly
and fed them well, but the animals themselves, although loyal
to their masters, manifested but little affection. In Korea dogs
are eaten by the natives, but none of the tribes with which we
came in contact in Yün-nan used them for food.
On our first day in
the temple Heller went up the Snow Mountain for a reconnaissance
and the party secured a fine porcupine. It is quite a different
animal from the American tree porcupines
and represents a genus (Hystrix) which is found in Asia,
Africa, and southern Europe. This species lives in burrows and,
when hunting big game, we were often greatly annoyed to find that
our dogs had followed the trail of one of these animals. We would
arrive to see the hounds dancing about the burrow yelping excitedly
instead of having a goral at bay as we had expected.
Some of the beautiful
black and ivory white quills are more than twelve inches long
and very sharp. A porcupine will keep an entire pack of dogs at
bay and is almost sure to drive its murderous weapons into the
bodies of some of them unless the hunters arrive in a short time.
The Mosos eat the flesh which is white and fine.
Although we were only
twelve miles from Li-chiang the traps yielded four shrews and
one mouse which were new to our collection. The natives brought
in three bats which we had not previously seen and began a thriving
business in toads and frogs with now and then a snake.
The temple was an
excellent place for small mammals but it was evident that we would
have to move high up on the slopes of the mountain if gorals and
other big game were to be obtained. Accordingly, while Heller
prepared a number of bat skins we started out on horseback to
hunt a camp site.
It was a glorious
day with the sun shining brilliantly from a cloudless sky and
just a touch of autumn snap in the air. We crossed the sloping
rock-strewn plain to the base of the mountain, and discovered
a trail which led up a forested shoulder to the right of the main
peaks. An hour of steady climbing brought us to the summit of
the ridge where we struck into the woods
toward a snow-field on the opposite slope. The trail led us along
the brink of a steep escarpment from which we could look over
the valley and away into the blue distance toward Li-chiang. Three
thousand feet below us the roof of our temple gleamed from among
the sheltering pine trees, and the herds of sheep and cattle massed
themselves into moving patches on the smooth brown plain.
We pushed our way
through the spruce forest with the glistening snow bed as a beacon
and suddenly emerged into a flat open meadow overshadowed by the
ragged peaks. "What a perfectly wonderful place to camp," we both
exclaimed. "If we can only find water, let's come tomorrow."
The hunters had assured
us that there were no streams on this end of the mountain but
we hoped to find a snow bank which would supply our camp for a
few days at least. We rode slowly up the meadow reveling in the
grandeur of the snow-crowned pinnacles and feeling very small
and helpless amid surroundings where nature had so magnificently
expressed herself.
At the far end of
the meadow we discovered a dry creek bed which led upward through
the dense spruce forest. "Where water has been, water may be again,"
we argued and, leading the horses, picked our way among the trees
and over fallen logs to a fairly open hill slope where we attempted
to ride, but our animals were nearly done. After climbing a few
feet they stood with heaving sides and trembling legs, the breath
rasping through distended nostrils. We felt the altitude almost
as badly as the horses for the meadow itself was twelve thousand
feet above the level of the sea and the air was very thin.
There seemed to be
no hope of finding even a suitable snow bank when it was slowly
borne in upon us that the subdued roaring in our ears was the
sound of water and not the effect of altitude as we both imagined.
Above and to the left was a sheer cliff, hundreds of feet in height,
and as we toiled upward and emerged beyond timber line we caught
a glimpse of a silver ribbon streaming down its face. It came
from a melting snow crater and we could follow its course with
our eyes to where it swung downward along a rock wall not far
from the upper end of the meadow. It was so hidden by the trees
that had we not climbed above timber line, it never would have
been discovered.
This solved the question
of our camp and we looked about us happily. On the way through
the forest we had noticed small mammal runways under almost every
log and, when we stood above the tree limit, the grassy slope
was cut by an intricate network of tiny tunnels. These were plainly
the work of a meadow vole (Microtus) and at this altitude
it certainly would prove to be a species new to our collection.
The sun had already
dropped behind the mountain and the meadow was in shadow when
we reached it again on our homeward way. By five o'clock we were
in the temple eating a belated tiffin and making preparations
for an early start. But our hopes were idle, for in the morning
three of the mules had strayed, and we did not arrive at the meadow
until two o'clock in the afternoon.
Our camp was made
just at the edge of the spruce forest a few hundred yards from
the snow stream. As soon as the tents were up we climbed to the
grassy slope above timber line, with Heller, to set a string of
traps in the vole runways and under logs
and stumps in the forest.
The hunters made their
camp beside a huge rock a short distance away and slept in their
ragged clothes without a blanket or shelter of any kind. It was
delightfully warm, even at this altitude, when the sun was out,
but as soon as it disappeared we needed a fire and the nights
were freezing cold; yet the natives did not seem to mind it in
the slightest and refused our offer of a canvas tent fly.
We never will forget
that first night on the Snow Mountain. As we sat at dinner about
the campfire we could see the somber mass of the forest losing
itself in the darkness, and felt the unseen presence of the mighty
peaks standing guard about our mountain home. We slept, breathing
the strong, sweet perfume of the spruce trees and dreamed that
we two were wandering alone through the forest opening the treasure
boxes of the Wild.
THE FIRST GORAL
We were awakened before
daylight by Wu's long drawn call to the hunters, "L-a-o-u H-o,
L-a-o-u H-o, L-a-o-u H-o." The steady drum of rain on our
tent shot a thrill of disappointment through me as I opened my
eyes, but before we had crawled out of our sleeping-bags and dressed
it lessened to a gentle patter and soon ceased altogether. It
left a cold, gray morning with dense clouds weaving in and out
among the peaks but, nevertheless, I decided to go out with the
hunters to try for goral.
Two of the men took
the dogs around the base of a high rock shoulder sparsely covered
with scrub spruce while I went up the opposite slope accompanied
by the other two. We had not been away from camp half an hour
when the dogs began to yelp and almost immediately we heard them
coming around the summit of the ridge in our direction. The hunters
made frantic signs for me to hurry up the steep slope but in the
thin air with my heart pounding like a trip hammer I could not
go faster than a walk.
We climbed about three
hundred yards when suddenly the dogs appeared on the side of the
cliff near the summit. Just in front of them was a bounding gray
form. The mist closed in and we lost both dogs and animals but
ten minutes later a blessed gust of wind drifted the fog away
and the goral was indistinctly visible
with its back to a rock ledge facing the dogs. The big red leader
of the pack now and then dashed in for a nip at the animal's throat
but was kept at bay by its vicious lunges and sharp horns.
It was nearly three
hundred yards away but the cloud was drifting in again and I dropped
down for a shot. The hunters were running up the slope, frantically
waving for me to come on, thinking it madness to shoot at that
distance. I could just see the gray form through the sights and
the first two shots spattered the loose rock about a foot low.
For the third I got a dead rest over a stone and as the crash
of the little Mannlicher echoed up the gorge, the goral threw
itself into the air whirling over and over onto the rocks below.
The hunters, mad with
excitement, dashed up the hill and down into the stream bed, and
when I arrived the goral lay on a grassy ledge beside the water.
The animal was stone dead, for my bullet had passed through its
lungs, and, although the front teeth had been smashed on the rocks,
its horns were uninjured and the beautiful gray coat was in perfect
condition. It so happened that this ram was the largest which
we killed on the entire trip.
When the hunters were
carrying the goral to camp we met Yvette and Heller on their way
to visit the traps just below snow line, and she returned with
me to photograph the animal and to watch the ceremonies which
I knew would be performed. One of the natives cut a leafy branch,
placed the goral upon it and at the first cut chanted a prayer.
Then laying several leaves one upon the other he sliced off the
tip of the heart, wrapped it carefully in the leaves and placed
it in a nearby tree as an offering to the God of the Hunt.
I have often seen
the Chinese and Korean hunters perform similar ceremonies at the
death of an animal, and the idea that it is necessary to propitiate
the God of the Hunt is universal. When I was shooting in Korea
in 1912, and also in other parts of China, if luck had been against
us for a few days the hunters would invariably ask me to buy a
chicken, or some animal to sacrifice for "good joss."
After each dog had
had a taste of the goral's blood we again climbed the cliff at
the end of the meadow. When we were nearly 2,000 feet above camp
the clouds shut in and, as the impenetrable gray curtain wrapped
itself about us, we could only sit quietly and wait for it to
drift away.
After an hour the
fog began to thin and the men sent the hounds toward a talus slope
at the base of the highest peak. Almost immediately the big red
dog picked up a trail and started across the loose rock with the
pack yelping at his heels. We followed as rapidly as possible
over such hard going but before we reached the other side the
dogs had rounded a sharp pinnacle and disappeared far below us.
Expecting that the goral would swing about the base of the peak
the hunters sent me back across the talus to watch for a shot,
but the animal ran down the valley and into a heavily wooded ravine
where the dogs lost his trail only a short distance above camp.
I returned to find
that Heller had secured a rich haul from the traps. As we supposed,
the runways which Yvette and I had discovered above timber line
were made by a meadow vole (Microtus) and in the forest
almost every trap had caught a white-footed mouse (Apodemus).
He also had several new shrews and we caught
eight different species of these important little animals at this
one camp.
Wu, the interpreter,
hearing us speak of shrews, came to me one day in great perplexity
with his Anglo-Chinese dictionary. He had looked up the word "shrew"
and found that it meant "a cantankerous woman!"
The following day
Heller went out with the hunters and saw two gorals but did not
get a shot. In the meantime Yvette and I ran the traps and prepared
the small mammals. While we were far up on the mountainside, Baron
Haendel-Mazzetti appeared armed with ropes and an alpine snow
ax. He was about to attempt to climb the highest peak which had
never been ascended but the drifts turned him back several hundred
feet from the summit. He dined at our camp and as all of us carefully
refrained from "war talk" we spent a very pleasant evening. During
his three years in Yün-nan he had explored and mapped many sections
of the province which had not been visited previously by foreigners
and from him we obtained much valuable information.
On the third morning
we were up before daylight and I left with the hunters in the
gray dawn. We climbed steadily for an hour after leaving camp
and, when well up on the mountainside, skirted the base of a huge
peak through a dense forest of spruce and low bamboo thickets,
emerging upon a steep grassy meadow; this abutted on a sheer rock
wall at the upper end, and below ran into a thick evergreen forest.
As we entered the
meadow the big red leading dog, trotted off by himself toward
the rock wall above us, and in a few moments we heard his sharp
yelps near the summit. Instantly the pack
was off stringing out in a long line up the hillside.
We had nearly crossed
the open slope and were standing on the edge of a deep gully when
the dogs gave tongue and as soon as the hunters were sure they
were coming in our direction we hurried to the bottom of the gorge
and began the sharp ascent on the other side. It was almost straight
up and before we had gone a hundred feet we were all gasping for
breath and my legs seemed like bars of lead, but the staccato
yelps of the dogs sounding closer and closer kept us going.
When we finally dropped
on the summit of the hill I was absolutely done. I lay flat on
my back for a few minutes and got to my knees just as the goral
appeared on the opposite cliff. The sight of the magnificent animal
bounding like rubber from ledges which his feet seemed hardly
to touch down the face of a sheer wall, will remain in my memory
as long as I live. He seemed the very spirit of the mountains,
a thing born of peaks and crags, vibrant with the breath of the
clouds. Selecting a spot which he must touch in the next flying
leap, I waited until his body darkened the sights and then pulled
the trigger.
The game little brute
collapsed, then struggled to his feet, and with a tremendous leap
landed on a projecting shelf of rock four yards below. Instantly
I fired again and he sank down in a crumpled gray mass not two
feet from the edge of the precipice which fell away in a dizzy
drop of six hundred feet.
The dogs were on him
long before we had worked our way down the canyon and up to the
shelf where he lay. He was a fine ram nearly as large as the first
one I had killed. I wanted to rest the dogs for they
were very tired from their two days of hunting, so I decided to
return to camp with the men. On the way a second goral was started
but it swung about the summit of the wooded ridge instead of coming
in my direction, giving one of the hunters a shot with his crossbow,
which he missed.
It was a beautiful
day. Above us the sky was clear and blue but the clouds still
lay thickly over the meadow and the camp was invisible. The billowy
masses clung to the forest line, but from the slopes above them
we could look far across the valley into the blue distance where
the snow-covered summits of range after range of magnificent mountains
lay shining in the sun like beaten silver. There was a strange
fascination about those mountains, and I thrilled with the thought
that for twelve long months I was free to roam where I willed
and explore their hidden mysteries.
MORE GORALS
Both gorals were fine
old rams with perfect horns. Their hair was thick and soft, pale
olive-buff tipped with brownish, and the legs on the "cannon bones"
were buff-yellow like the margins of the throat patches. Their
color made them practically invisible against the rocks and when
I killed the second goral my only distinct impression as he dashed
down the face of the precipice, was of four yellowish legs entirely
separated from a body which I could hardly see.
This invisibility,
combined with the fact that the Snow Mountain gorals lived on
almost inaccessible cliffs thickly covered with scrub spruce forest,
made "still hunting" impossible. In fact, Baron Haendel-Mazzetti,
who had explored this part of the Snow Mountains fairly thoroughly
in his search for plants, had never seen a goral, and did not
know that such an animal existed there.
Heller hunted for
two days in succession and, although he saw several gorals, he
was not successful in getting one until we had been in camp almost
a week. His was a young male not more than a year old with horns
about an inch long. It was a valuable addition to our collection
for I was anxious to obtain specimens of various ages to be mounted
as a "habitat group" in the Museum and we lacked only a female.
The preparation of
the group required the greatest care and
study. First, we selected a proper spot to reproduce in the Museum,
and Yvette took a series of natural color photographs to guide
the artist in painting the background. Next she made detail photographs
of the surroundings. Then we collected portions of the rocks and
typical bits of vegetation such as moss and leaves, to be either
dried or preserved in formalin. In a large group, perhaps several
thousand leaves will be required, but the field naturalist need
select typical specimens of only five or six different sizes from
each of which a plaster mold can be made at the Museum and the
leaves reproduced in wax.
After two days of
rain during which I had a hard and unsuccessful hunt for serows
we decided to return to the temple at the foot of the mountain
which was nearer to the forests inhabited by these animals. We
had already been in our camp on the meadow for nine days and,
besides the gorals, had gathered a large and valuable collection
of small mammals. The shrews were especially varied in species
and, besides a splendid series of meadow voles, Asiatic mice and
rats, we obtained a new weasel and a single specimen of a tiny
rock-cony or little chief hare, an Asiatic genus (Ochotona)
which is also found in the western part of North America on the
high slopes of the Rocky Mountains. Although we set dozens of
traps among the rocks we did not get another on the entire expedition
nor did we see indications of their presence in other localities.
The almost complete
absence of carnivores at this camp was a great surprise. Except
for weasels we saw no others and the hunters said that foxes or
civets did not occur on this side of the mountain even though
food was abundant.
On the day before
we went to the temple I had a magnificent hunt. We left camp at
daylight in a heavy fog and almost at once the dogs took up a
serow trail. We heard them coming toward us as we stood at the
upper edge of a little meadow and expected the animal to break
cover any moment, but it turned down the mountain and the hounds
lost the trail in the thick spruce woods.
We climbed slowly
toward the cliffs until we were well above the clouds, which lay
in a thick white blanket over the camp, and headed for the canyon
where I had shot my second goral. Hotenfa wished to go lower down
into the forests but I prevailed upon him to stay along the open
slopes and, while we were resting, the big red dog suddenly gave
tongue on a ridge above and to the right of us. It was in the
exact spot where my second goral had been started and we were
on the qui vive when the rest of the pack dashed up the
mountainside to join their leader.
In a few moments they
all gave tongue and we heard them swinging about in our direction.
Just then the clouds, which had been lying in a solid bank below
us, began to drift upward in a long, thin finger toward the canyon
On and on it came, and closer sounded the yelps of the dogs. I
was trembling with impatience and swearing softly as the gray
vapor streamed into the gorge. The cloud thickened, sweeping rapidly
up the ravine, until we were enveloped so completely that I could
hardly see the length of my gun barrel. A moment later we heard
the goral leaping down the cliff not a hundred yards away.
With the rifle useless
in my hands I listened to each hoof beat and the stones which
his flying feet sent rattling into the
gorge. Then the dogs came past, and we heard them follow down
the rocks, their yelps growing fainter and fainter in the valley
far below. The goral was lost, and as though the Fates were laughing
at us, ten minutes later a puff of wind sucked the cloud out of
the canyon as swiftly as it had come, and above us shone a sky
as clear and blue as a tropic sea.
Hotenfa's disgust
more than equaled my own for I had loaned him my three-barrel
gun (12 gauge and .303 Savage) and he was as excited as a child
with a new toy. He was a remarkably intelligent man and mastered
the safety catches in a short time even though he had never before
seen a breach-loading gun.
There was nothing
to do but hurry down the mountain for the dogs might bring the
goral to bay on one of the cliffs below us, and in twenty minutes
we stood on a ridge which jutted out from the thick spruce forest.
One of the hunters picked his way down the rock wall while Hotenfa
and I circled the top of the spur.
We had not gone a
hundred yards when the hunter shouted that a goral was running
in our direction. Hotenfa reached the edge of the ridge before
me, and I saw him fire with the three-barrel gun at a goral which
disappeared into the brush. His bullet struck the dirt only a
few feet behind the animal although it must have been well beyond
a hundred yards and almost straight below us.
Hardly had we drawn
back when a yell from the other hunter brought us again to the
edge of the cliff just in time to see a second goral dash into
the forest a good three hundred yards away in the very bottom
of the gorge.
Rather disappointed
we continued along the ridge and Hotenfa
made signs which said as plainly as words, "I told you so. The
gorals are not on the peaks but down in the forest. We ought to
have come here first."
There were not many
moments for regret, however, for this was "our busy day." Suddenly
a burst of frantic yelps from the red dog turned us off to the
left and we heard him nearing the summit of the spur which we
had just left. One of the other hunters was standing there and
his crossbow twanged as the goral passed only a few yards from
him, but the wicked little poisoned dart stuck quivering into
a tree a few inches above the animal's back.
The goral dashed over
the ridge almost on top of the second hunter who was too surprised
to shoot and only yelled that it was coming toward us on the cliff
below. Hotenfa leaped from rock to rock, almost like a goat himself,
and dashed through the bushes toward a jutting shelf which overhung
the gorge.
We reached the rim
at the same moment and saw a huge ram standing on a narrow ledge
a hundred yards below. I fired instantly and the noble animal,
with feet wide spread, and head thrown back, launched himself
into space falling six hundred feet to the rocks beneath us.
As the goral leaped
Hotenfa seemed suddenly to go insane. Yelling with joy, he threw
his arms about my neck, rubbing my face with his and pounding
me on the back until I thought he would throw us both off the
cliff. I was utterly dumfounded but seized his three-barrel gun
to unload it for in his excitement there was imminent danger that
he would shoot either himself or me.
Then I realized what
it was all about. We had both fired simultaneously
and neither had heard the other's shot. By mistake Hotenfa had
discharged a load of buckshot and it was my bullet which had killed
the goral but his joy was so great that I would not for anything
have disillusioned him.
It was a half hour's
hard work to get to the place where the goral had fallen. The
dogs were already there lying quietly beside the animal when we
arrived. My bullet had entered the back just in front of the hind
leg and ranged forward through the lungs flattening itself against
the breast bone; the jacket had split, one piece tearing into
the heart, so that the ram was probably dead before it struck
the rocks.
I photographed the
goral where it lay and after it had been eviscerated, and the
hunters had performed their ceremonies to the God of the Hunt,
I sent one of them back with it while Hotenfa and I worked toward
the bottom of the canyon in the hope of finding the other animals.
It was a delightfully
warm day and Hotenfa told me in his vivid sign language that the
gorals were likely to be asleep on the sunny side of the ravine;
therefore we worked up the opposite slope.
It was the hardest
kind of climbing and for two hours we plodded steadily upward,
clinging by feet and hands to bushes and rocks, and were almost
exhausted when we reached a small open patch of grass about two
thirds of the way to the summit.
We rested for half
an hour and, after a light tiffin, toiled on again. I had not
gone thirty feet, and Hotenfa was still sitting down, when I saw
him wave his arm excitedly and throw up his gun to shoot. I leaped
down to his side just as he fired at a big female goral which
was sound asleep in an open patch of grass
on the mountainside
Hotenfa's bullet broke
the animal's foreleg at the knee but without the slightest sign
of injury she dashed down the cliff. I fired as she ran, striking
her squarely in the heart, and she pitched headlong into the bushes
a hundred feet below.
How Hotenfa managed
to pack that animal to the summit of the ridge I never can understand,
for with a light sack upon my back and a rifle it was all I could
do to pull myself up the rocks. He was completely done when we
finally threw ourselves on the grass at the edge of the meadow
which we had left in the morning. Hotenfa chanted his prayer when
we opened the goral, but the God of the Hunt missed his offering
for my bullet had smashed the heart to a pulp.
On our way back to
camp the red dog, although dead tired, disappeared alone into
the heavy forest below us. Suddenly we heard his deep bay coming
up the hill in our direction. Hotenfa and I dropped our burdens
and ran to an opening in the forest where we thought the animal
must pass.
Instead of coming
out where we expected, the dog appeared higher up at the heels
of a crested muntjac (Elaphodus), which was bounding along
at full speed, its white flag standing straight up over its dark
bluish back. I had one chance for a shot at about one hundred
and fifty yards as the pair crossed a little opening in the trees,
but it was too dangerous to shoot for, had I missed the deer,
the dog certainly would have been killed.
I was heartbroken
over losing this animal, for it is an exceedingly rare species,
but a few days later a shepherd brought
in another which had been wounded by one of our Lolo hunters and
had run down into the plains to die.
When we reached the
hill above camp Yvette ran out to meet us, falling over logs and
bushes in her eagerness to see what we were carrying. No dinner
which I have ever eaten tasted like the one we had of goral steak
that night and after a smoke I crawled into my sleeping bag, dead
tired in body but with a happy heart.
THE SNOW MOUNTAIN
TEMPLE
On October 22, we
moved to the foot of the mountain and camped in the temple which
we had formerly occupied. This was directly below the forests
inhabited by serow, and we expected to devote our efforts exclusively
toward obtaining a representative series of these animals.
Unfortunately I developed
a severe infection in the palm of my right hand almost immediately,
and had it not been for the devoted care of my wife I should not
have left China alive. Through terrible nights of delirium when
the poison was threatening to spread over my entire body, she
nursed me with an utter disregard of her own health and slept
only during a few restless hours of complete exhaustion. For three
weeks I could do no work but at last was able to bend my "trigger
finger" and resume hunting although I did not entirely recover
the use of my hand for several months.
However, the work
of the expedition by no means ceased because of my illness. Mr.
Heller continued to collect small mammals with great energy and
the day after we arrived at the temple we engaged eight new native
hunters. These were Lolos, a wandering unit from the independent
tribe of S'suchuan and they proved to be excellent men.
The first serow was
killed by Hotenfa's party on our third day in the temple. Heller
went out with the hunters but in a few
hours returned alone. A short time after he had left the natives
the dogs took up the trail of a huge serow and followed it for
three miles through the spruce forest. They finally brought the
animal to bay against a cliff and a furious fight ensued. One
dog was ripped wide open, another received a horn-thrust in the
side, and the big red leader was thrown over a cliff to the rocks
below. More of the hounds undoubtedly would have been killed had
not the hunters arrived and shot the animal.
The men brought the
serow in late at night but our joy was considerably dampened by
the loss of the red dog. Hotenfa carried him in his arms and laid
him gently on a blanket in the temple but the splendid animal
died during the night. His master cried like a child and I am
sure that he felt more real sorrow than he would have shown at
the loss of his wife; for wives are much easier to get in China
than good hunting dogs.
The serow was an adult
male, badly scarred from fighting, and had lost one horn by falling
over a cliff when he was killed. He was brownish black, with rusty
red lower legs and a whitish mane. His right horn was nine and
three-quarters inches in length and five and three-quarters inches
in circumference at the base and the effectiveness with which
he had used his horns against the dogs demonstrated that they
were by no means only for ornaments. In the next chapter the habits
and relationships of the gorals and serows will be considered
more fully.
On the morning following
the capture of the first serow the last rain of the season began
and continued for nine days almost without ceasing. The weather
made hunting practically impossible for
the fog hung so thickly over the woods that one could not see
a hundred feet and Heller found that many of his small traps were
sprung by the raindrops. The Lolos had disappeared, and we believed
that they had returned to their village, but they had been hunting
in spite of the weather and on the fifth day arrived with a fine
male serow in perfect condition. It showed a most interesting
color variation for, instead of red, the lower legs were buff
with hardly a tinge of reddish.
November 2, the sun
rose in an absolutely cloudless sky and during the remainder of
the winter we had as perfect weather as one could wish. Yvette's
constant nursing and efficient surgery combined with the devotion
of our interpreter, Wu, had checked the spread of the poison in
my hand and my nights were no longer haunted with the strange
fancies of delirium, but I was as helpless as a babe. I could
do nothing but sit with steaming cloths wrapped about my arm and
rail at the fate which kept me useless in the temple.
The Lolos killed a
third serow on the mountain just above our camp but the animal
fell into a rock fissure more than a hundred feet deep and was
recovered only after a day's hard work. The men wove a swinging
ladder from tough vines, climbed down it, and drew the serow bodily
up the cliff; as it weighed nearly three hundred pounds this was
by no means an easy undertaking.
Our Lolo hunters were
tall, handsome fellows led by a slender young chief with patrician
features who ruled his village like an autocrat with absolute
power of life and death. The Lolos are a strange people who at
one time probably occupied much of the region south
of the Yangtze River but were pushed south and west by the Chinese
and, except in one instance, now exist only in scattered units
in the provinces of Kwei-chau and Yün-nan.
In S'suchuan the Lolos
hold a vast territory which is absolutely closed to the Chinese
on pain of death and over which they exercise no control. Several
expeditions have been launched against the Lolos but all have
ended in disaster.
Only a few weeks before
we arrived in Yün-nan a number of Chinese soldiers butchered nearly
a hundred Lolos whom they had encountered outside the independent
territory, and in reprisal the Lolos burned several villages almost
under the walls of a fortified city in which were five hundred
soldiers, massacred all the men and boys, and carried off the
women as slaves.
The pure blood Lolos
"are a very fine tall race, with comparatively fair complexions,
and often with straight features, suggesting a mixture of Mongolian
with some more straight-featured race. Their appearance marks
them as closely connected by race with the eastern Tibetans, the
latter being, if anything, rather the bigger men of the two."
[Footnote: "Yün-nan, the Link between India and the Yangtze,"
by Major H.R. Davies, 1909, p. 389.] They are great wanderers
and over a very large part of Yün-nan form the bulk of the hill
population, being the most numerous of all the non-Chinese tribes
in the province.
Like almost every
race which has been conquered by the Chinese or has come into
continual contact with them for a few generations, the Lolos of
Yün-nan, where they are in isolated villages, are being absorbed
by the Chinese. We found, as did Major Davies, that in some
instances they were giving up their language and beginning to
talk Chinese even among themselves. The women already had begun
to tie up their feet in the Chinese fashion and even disliked
to be called Lolos.
Those whom we employed
were living entirely by hunting and, although we found them amiable
enough, they were exceedingly independent. They preferred to hunt
alone, although they recognized what an increased chance for game
our high-power rifles gave them, and eventually left us while
I was away on a short trip, even though we still owed them considerable
money.
The Lolos are only
one of the non-Chinese tribes of Yün-nan. Major Davies has considered
this question in his valuable book to which I have already referred,
and I cannot do better than quote his remarks here.
The numerous non-Chinese
tribes that the traveler encounters in western China, form perhaps
one of the most interesting features of travel in that country.
It is safe to assert that in hardly any other part of the world
is there such a large variety of languages and dialects, as
are to be heard in the country which lies between Assam and
the eastern border of Yün-nan and in the Indo-Chinese countries
to the south of this region.
The reason of this
is not hard to find. It lies in the physical characteristics
of the country. It is the high mountain ranges and the deep
swift-flowing rivers that have brought about the differences
in customs and language, and the innumerable tribal distinctions,
which are so perplexing to the inquirer into Indo-Chinese ethnology.
A tribe has entered
Yün-nan from their original Himalayan or Tibetan home, and after
increasing in numbers have found the land they have settled
on not equal to their wants. The natural result has been the
emigration of part of the colony. The
emigrants, having surmounted pathless mountains and crossed
unbridged rivers on extemporized rafts, have found a new place
to settle in, and have felt no inclination to undertake such
a journey again to revisit their old home.
Being without a
written character in which to preserve their traditions, cut
off from all civilizing influence of the outside world, and
occupied merely in growing crops enough to support themselves,
the recollection of their connection with their original ancestors
has died out. It is not then surprising that they should now
consider themselves a totally distinct race from the parent
stock. Intertribal wars, and the practice of slave raiding so
common among the wilder members of the Indo-Chinese family,
have helped to still further widen the breach. In fact it may
be considered remarkable that after being separated for hundreds,
and perhaps in some case for thousands, of years, the languages
of two distant tribes of the same family should bear to each
other the marked general resemblance which is still to be found.
The hilly nature
of the country and the consequent lack of good means of communication
have also naturally militated against the formation of any large
kingdoms with effective control over the mountainous districts.
Directly we get to a flat country with good roads and navigable
rivers, we find the tribal distinctions disappear, and the whole
of the inhabitants are welded into a homogeneous people under
a settled government, speaking one language.
Burmese as heard
throughout the Irrawaddy valley is the same everywhere. A traveler
from Rangoon to Bhamo will find one language spoken throughout
his journey, but an expedition of the same length in the hilly
country to the east or to the west of the Irrawaddy valley would
bring him into contact with twenty mutually unintelligible tongues.
The same state of
things applies to Siam and Tong-king—one nation speaking
one language in the flat country and a Tower of Babel in the
hills (loc. cit., pp. 332-333).
GORALS AND SEROWS
Gorals and serows
belong to the subfamily Rupicaprinae which is an early
mountain-living offshoot of the Bovidae; it also includes
the chamois, takin, and the so-called Rocky Mountain goat of America.
The animals are commonly referred to as "goat-antelopes" in order
to express the intermediate position which they apparently hold
between the goats and antelopes. They are also sometimes called
the Rupicaprine antelopes from the scientific name of the chamois
(Rupicapra).
The horns of all members
of the group are finely ridged, subcylindrical and are present
in both sexes, being almost as long in the female as in the male.
Although no one would suspect that the gorals are more closely
related to the takins than to the serows, which they resemble
superficially, such seems to be the case, but the cranial differences
between the two genera are to a certain extent bridged over by
the skull of the small Japanese serow (Capricornulus crispus).
This species is most interesting because of its intermediate position.
In size it is larger than a goral but smaller than a serow; its
long coat and its horns resemble those of a goral but it has the
face gland and short tail of a serow. It is found in Japan, Manchuria
and southern Siberia.
The principal external
difference between the gorals and serows, besides that of size,
is in the fact that the serows have a short tail and a well developed
face gland, which opens in front of the
eyes by a small orifice, while the gorals have a long tail and
no such gland.
In the cylindrical
form of their horns the serows are similar to some of the antelopes
but in their clumsy build, heavy limbs and stout hoofs as well
as in habits they resemble goats. The serow has a long, melancholy-looking
face and because of its enormous ears the Chinese in Fukien Province
refer to it as the "wild donkey" but in Yün-nan it is called "wild
cow."
The specific relationships
of the serows are by no means satisfactorily determined. Mr. Pocock,
Superintendent of the London Zoölogical Society's Gardens, has
recently devoted considerable study to the serows of British India
and considers them all to be races of the single species Capricornis
sumatrensis. With this opinion I am inclined to agree, although
I have not yet had sufficient time in which to thoroughly study
the subject in the light of our new material.
These animals differ
most strikingly in external coloration, and fall into three groups
all of which partake more or less of the characters of each other.
Chinese serows usually have the lower legs rusty red, while in
Indian races they are whitish, and black in the southern Burma
and Malayan forms.
The serows which we
killed upon the Snow Mountain can probably be referred to Capricornis
sumatrensis milne-edwardsi, those of Fukien obtained by Mr.
Caldwell represent the white-maned serow Capricornis sumatrensis
argyrochaetes and one which I shot in May, 1917, near Teng-yueh,
not far from the Burma frontier, is apparently an undescribed
form.
Our specimens have
brought out the fact that a remarkable individual variation exists
in the color of the legs of these animals;
this character was considered to be of diagnostic value, and probably
is in some degree, but it is by no means as reliable as it was
formerly supposed to be.
Two of the serows
killed on the Snow Mountain have the lower legs rusty red, while
in two others these parts are buff colored. The animals, all males
of nearly the same age, were taken on the same mountain, and virtually
at the same time. Their skulls exhibit no important differences
and there is no reason to believe that they represent anything
but an extreme individual variation.
The two specimens
obtained by Mr. Caldwell at Yen-ping are even more surprising.
The old female is coal black, but the young male is distinctly
brownish-black with a chestnut stripe from the mane to the tail
along the mid-dorsal line where the hairs of the back form a ridge.
The horns of the female are nearly parallel for half their extent
and approach each other at the tips; their surfaces are remarkably
smooth. The horns of the young male diverge like a V from the
skull and are very heavily ridged. The latter character is undoubtedly
due to youth.
These serows are an
excellent example of the necessity for collecting a large number
of specimens from the same locality. Only by this means is it
possible to learn how the species is affected by age, sex and
individual variation and what are its really important characters.
In the case of the gorals, our Expedition obtained at Hui-yao
such a splendid series of all ages that we have an unequaled opportunity
for intelligent study. Serows are entirely Asian and found in
China, Japan, India, Sumatra and the Malay Peninsula.
On the Snow Mountain
we found them living singly at altitudes of from 9,000 to 13,000
feet in dense spruce forests, among the cliffs. The animals seemed
to be fond of sleeping under overhanging rocks, and we were constantly
finding beds which gave evidence of very extensive use. Apparently
serows seldom come out into the open, but feed on leaves and grass
while in the thickest cover, so that it is almost impossible to
kill them without the aid of dogs or beaters.
Sometimes a serow
will lead the dogs for three or four miles, and eventually lose
them or it may turn at bay and fight the pack after only a short
chase; a large serow is almost certain to kill several of the
hounds if in a favorable position with a rock wall at its back.
The animal can use its strong curved horns with deadly effect
for it is remarkably agile for a beast of its size.
In Fukien we hunted
serows on the summit of a high mountain clothed with a dense jungle
of dwarf bamboo. It was in quite different country from that which
the animals inhabit in Yün-nan for although the cover was exceedingly
thick it was without such high cliffs and there were extensive
grassy meadows. We did not see any serows in Fukien because of
the ignorance of our beaters, although the trails were cut by
fresh tracks. The natives said that in late September the animals
could often be found in the forests of the lower mountain slopes
when they came to browse upon the new grown mushrooms.
Mr. Caldwell purchased
for us in the market the skin of a splendid female serow and a
short time later obtained a young male. The latter was seen swimming
across the river just below the city wall and was caught alive
by the natives. The female weighed three hundred
and ten pounds and the male two hundred and ninety pounds.
Serows are rare in
captivity and are said to be rather dangerous pets unless tamed
when very young. We are reproducing a photograph taken and kindly
loaned by Mr. Herbert Lang, of one formerly living in the Berlin
Zoölogical Garden; we saw a serow in the Zoölogical Park at Calcutta
and one from Darjeeling is owned by the London Zoölogical Society.
Gorals are pretty
little animals of the size of the chamois. The species which we
killed on the Snow Mountain can probably be referred to Naemorhedus
griseus, but I have not yet had an opportunity to study our
specimens carefully. Unlike the serows these gorals have blackish
brown tails which from the roots to the end of the hairs measure
about 10 inches in length. The horns of both sexes are prominently
ridged for the basal half of their length and perfectly smooth
distally. The male horns are strongly recurved and are thick and
round at the base but narrow rapidly to the tips; the female horns
are straighter and more slender. The longest horns in the series
which we received measured six inches in length and three and
three-quarters inches in circumference at the base. Like the serows,
gorals are confined to Asia and are found in northern India, Burma,
and China, and northwards through Korea and southern Manchuria.
We hunted gorals with
dogs on the Snow Mountain for in this particular region they could
be killed in no other way. There was so much cover, even at altitudes
of from 12,000 to 15,000 feet and the rocks were so precipitous,
that a man might spend a month "still hunting" and never see a
goral. They are vicious fighters, and often
back up to a cliff where they can keep the dogs at a distance.
One of our best hounds while hunting alone, brought a goral to
bay and was found dead next day by the hunters with its side ripped
open.
On the Snow Mountain
we found the animals singly but at Hui-yao, not far from the Burma
frontier, where we hunted another species in the spring, they
were almost universally in herds of from six to seven or eight.
It was at the latter place that we had our best opportunity to
observe gorals and learn something of their habits. We were camping
on the banks of a branch of the Shwelie River, which had cut a
narrow gorge for itself; on one side this was seven or eight hundred
feet deep. A herd of about fifty gorals had been living for many
years on one of the mountain sides not far from the village, and
although they were seen constantly the natives had no weapons
with which to kill them; but with our high-power rifles it was
possible to shoot across the river at distances of from two hundred
to four hundred yards.
We could scan every
inch of the hillside through our field glasses and watch the gorals
as they moved about quite unconscious of our presence. At this
place they were feeding almost exclusively upon the leaves of
low bushes and the new grass which had sprung up where the slopes
had been partly burned over. We found them browsing from daylight
until about nine o'clock, and from four in the afternoon until
dark. They would move slowly among the bushes, picking off the
new leaves, and usually about the middle of the morning would
choose a place where the sun beat in warmly upon the rocks, and
go to sleep.
Strangely enough they
did not lie down on their sides, as do
many hoofed animals, but doubled their forelegs under them, stretched
their necks and hind legs straight out, and rested on their bellies.
It was a most uncomfortable looking attitude, and the first time
I saw an animal resting thus I thought it had been wounded, but
both Mr. Heller and myself saw them repeatedly at other times,
and realized that this was their natural position when asleep.
When frightened, like
our own mountain sheep or goats, they would run a short distance
and stop to look back. This was usually their undoing, for they
offered excellent targets as they stood silhouetted against the
sky. They were very difficult to see when lying down among the
rocks, but our native hunters, who had most extraordinary eyesight,
often would discover them when it was almost impossible for me
to find them even with the field glasses. We never could be sure
that there were no gorals on a mountainside, for they were adepts
at hiding, and made use of a bunch of grass or the smallest crevice
in a rock to conceal themselves, and did it so completely that
they seemed to have vanished from the earth.
Like all sheep and
goats, they could climb about where it seemed impossible for any
animal to move. I have seen a goral run down the face of a cliff
which appeared to be almost perpendicular, and where the dogs
dared not venture. As the animal landed on a projecting rock it
would bounce off as though made of rubber, and leap eight or ten
feet to a narrow ledge which did not seem large enough to support
a rabbit.
The ability to travel
down such precipitous cliffs is largely due to the animal's foot
structure. Professor Henry Fairfield Osborn has investigated this
matter in the mountain goat and as his
remarks apply almost equally well to the goral, I cannot do better
than quote them here:
The horny part of
the foot surrounds only the extreme front. Behind this crescentic
horn is a shallow concavity which gives the horny hoof a chance
to get its hold. Both the main digits and the dewclaws terminate
in black, rubber-like, rounded and expanded soles, which are
of great service in securing a firm footing on the shelving
rocks and narrow ledges on which the animal travels with such
ease. This sole, Smith states, softens in the spring of the
year, when the snow is leaving the ground, a fresh layer of
the integument taking its place. The rubber-like balls with
which the dewclaws are provided are by no means useless; they
project back below the horny part of the hoof, and Mr. Smith
has actually observed the young captive goats supporting themselves
solely on their dewclaws on the edge of a roof. It is probable
that they are similarly used on the rocks and precipices, since
on a very narrow ledge they would serve favorably to alter the
center of gravity by enabling the limb to be extended somewhat
farther forward.*
*"Mountain
Goat Hunting with the Camera," by Henry Fairfield Osborn.
Reprinted from the tenth Annual Report of the New York
Zoölogical Society, 1906, pp. 13-14.
There were certain
trails leading over the hill slopes at Hui-yao which the gorals
must have used continually, judging by the way in which these
were worn. We also found much sign beneath overhanging rocks and
on projecting ledges to indicate that these were definite resorts
for numbers of the animals. Many which we saw were young or of
varying ages running with the herds, and it was interesting to
see how perfectly they had mastered the art of self-concealment
even when hardly a year old. Although at Hui-yao almost all
were on the east side of the river, they did not seem to be especially
averse to water, and several times I watched wounded animals swim
across the stream.
Gorals are splendid
game animals, for the plucky little brutes inspire the sportsman
with admiration, besides leading him over peaks which try his
nerve to the utmost, and I number among the happiest hours of
my life the wonderful hunts in Yün-nan, far above the clouds,
at the edge of the snow.
THE "WHITE WATER"
Y. B. A.
October had slipped
into November when we left the temple and shifted camp to the
other side of the Snow Mountain at the "White Water." It was a
brilliant day and the ride up the valley could not have been more
beautiful. Crossing the gangheisa or "dry sea," a great
grassy plain which was evidently a dry lake basin, we followed
the trail into the forest and down the side of a deep canyon to
a mountain stream where the waters spread themselves in a thin,
green veil over a bed of white stones.
We pitched our tents
on a broad terrace beside the stream at the edge of the spruce
forest. Above us towered the highest peak of the mountain, with
a glacier nestling in a basin near its summit, and the snow-covered
slopes extending in a glorious shining crescent about our camp.
The moon was full, and each night as we sat at dinner before the
fire, the ragged peaks turned crimson in the afterglow of the
sun, and changed to purest silver at the touch of the white moonlight.
We have had many camps in many lands but none more beautiful than
the one at the "White Water."
The weather was perfect.
Every day the sun shone in a cloudless blue sky and in the morning
the ground was frozen hard and covered with snow-like frost, but
the air was marvelously stimulating. We
felt that we could be happy at the "White Water" forever, but
it did not prove to be as good a hunting ground as that on the
other side of the mountain. The Lolos killed a fine serow on the
first day and Hotenfa brought in a young goral a short time later,
but big game was by no means abundant. At the "White Water" we
obtained our first Lady Amherst's pheasant (Thaumalea amherstiae)
one of the most remarkable species of a family containing the
most beautiful birds of the world. The rainbow colored body and
long tail of the male are made more conspicuous by a broad white
and green ruff about the neck. The first birds brought alive to
England were two males which had been presented to the Countess
Amherst after whom the species was named. We found this pheasant
inhabiting thick forests where it is by no means easy to discover
or shoot. It is fairly abundant in Yün-nan, Eastern Tibet and
S'suchuan but its habits are not well known. Although the camp
yielded several small mammals new to our collection, we decided
to go into Li-chiang to engage a new caravan for our trip across
the Yangtze River while Heller remained in camp.
The direct road to
Li-chiang was considerably shorter than by way of the Snow Mountain
village and at three o'clock in the afternoon our beloved "Temple
of the Flowers" was visible on the hilltop overlooking the city.
As we rode up the steep ascent we saw a picturesque gathering
on the porch and heard the sound of many voices laughing and talking.
The beautiful garden-like courtyard was filled with women and
children of every age and description, and all the doors from
one side of the temple had been removed, leaving a large open
space where huge caldrons were boiling
and steaming.
We sat down irresolutely
on the inner porch but the young priest was delighted to see us
and insisted that we wait until Wu arrived. We were glad that
we did not seek other quarters for we were to witness an interesting
ceremony, which is most characteristic of Chinese life. It seemed
that about five years before a gentleman of Li-chiang had "shuffled
off this mortal coil." His soul may have found rest, but "his
mortal coil" certainly did not. Unfortunately his family inherited
a few hundred dollars several years later and the village "astrologer"
informed them that according to the feng-shui, or omnipotent
spirits of the earth, wind, and water, the situation of the deceased
gentleman's grave was ill-chosen and that if they ever hoped to
enjoy good fortune again they must dig him up, give the customary
feast in his honor and have another burial site chosen.
Every village has
a "wise man" who is always called upon to select the resting place
of the dead, his remuneration varying from two dollars to two
thousand dollars according to the circumstances of the deceased's
relatives. The astrologer never will say definitely whether or
not the spot will prove a propitious one and if the family later
sell any property, receive a legacy, or are known to have obtained
money in other ways, the astrologer usually finds that the feng-shui
do not favor the original place and he will exact another fee
for choosing a second grave.
The dead are never
buried until the astrologer has named an auspicious day as well
as an appropriate site, with the result that unburied coffins
are to be seen in temples, under roadside
shelters, in the fields and in the back yards of many houses.
Any interference by
foreigners with this custom is liable to bring about dire results
as in the case of the rioting in Shanghai in 1898. A number of
French residents objected to a temple near by being used to store
a score or more of bodies until a convenient time for burial and
the result was the death of many people in the fighting which
ensued. Mr. Tyler Dennet cites an amusing anecdote regarding the
successful handling of the problem by a native mandarin in Yen-ping
where we visited Mr. Caldwell:
The doctor pointed
out how dangerous to public health was the presence of these
coffins in Yen-ping. The magistrate had a census taken of the
coffins above ground in the city and found that they actually
numbered sixteen thousand. The city itself is estimated to have
only about twenty thousand inhabitants.
It was a difficult
problem for the magistrate. He might easily move in such a way
as to bring the whole city down about his head. But the Chinese
are clever in such situations, perhaps the cleverest people
on earth. He finally devised a way out. A proclamation was issued
levying a tax of fifty cents on every unburied coffin. The Chinese
may be superstitious, but they are even more thrifty. For a
few weeks Yen-ping devoted itself to funerals, a thousand a
week, and now this little city, one of the most isolated in
China, can truly be said to be on the road to health.*
*"Doctoring
China," by Tyler Dennet, Asia, February, 1918, p. 114.
There are very few
such progressive cities in China, however, and a missionary told
us that recently a young child and his grandfather were buried
on the same day although their deaths had
been nearly fifty years apart. The funeral rites are in themselves
fairly simple, but it is the great ambition of every Chinese to
have his resting place as near as possible to those of his ancestors.
That is one of the reasons why they are so loath to emigrate.
We often passed eight
or ten coolies staggering under the load of a heavy coffin, transporting
a body sometimes a month's journey or more to bury it at the dead
man's birthplace. A rooster usually would be fastened to the coffin
for, according to the Yün-nan superstition, the spirit of the
man enters the bird and is conveyed by it to his home.
There is a strange
absence of the fear of death among the Chinese. One often sees
large planks of wood stored in a corner of a house and one is
told that these are destined to become the coffins of the man's
father or mother, even though his parents may at the time be enjoying
the most robust health. Indeed, among the poorer classes, a coffin
is considered a most fitting gift for a son to present to his
father.
We established our
camp on the porch of the temple at Li-chiang and from its vantage
point could watch the festivities going on about us. The feasting
continued until after dark and at daylight the kettles were again
steaming to prepare for the second day's celebration.
By ten o'clock the
court was crowded and a hour later there came a partial stillness
which was broken by a sudden burst of music (?) from Chinese violins
and pipes. Going outside we found most of the guests standing
about an improvised altar. The foot of the coffin was just visible
in the midst of the paper decorations and
in front of it were set half a dozen dishes of tempting food.
These were meant as an offering to the spirit of the departed
one, but we knew this would not prevent the sorrowing relatives
from eating the food with much relish later on.
In a few moments a
group of women approached, supporting a figure clothed in white
with a hood drawn over her face. She was bent nearly to the ground
and muffled shrieks and wails came from the depths of her veil
as she prostrated herself in front of the altar. For more than
an hour this chief mourner, the wife of the deceased, lay on her
face, her whole figure shaking with what seemed the most uncontrollable
anguish. This same lady, however, moved about later among her
guests an amiable hostess, with beaming countenance, the gayest
of the gay. But every morning while the festivities lasted, promptly
at eleven o'clock she would prostrate herself before the coffin
and display heartrending grief in the presence of the unmoved
spectators in order to satisfy the demands of "custom."
Custom and precedent
have grown to be divinities with the Chinese, and such a display
of feigned emotion is required on certain prescribed occasions.
As one missionary aptly described it "the Chinese are all face
and no heart." Mr. Caldwell told us that one night while passing
down a deserted street in a Chinese village he was startled to
hear the most piercing shrieks issuing from a house nearby. Thinking
someone was being murdered, he rushed through the courtyard only
to find that a girl who was to be married the following day, according
to Chinese custom, was displaying the most desperate anguish at
the prospect of leaving her family, even
though she probably was enchanted with the idea.
On the third day of
the celebration in the temple at Li-chiang the feasting ended
in a burst of splendor. From one o'clock until far past sundown
the friends and relatives of the departed one were fed. Any person
could receive an invitation by bringing a small present, even
if it were only a bowl of rice or a few hundred cash (ten or fifteen
cents).
All during the morning
girls and women flocked up the hill with trays of gifts. There
were many Mosos and other tribesmen among them as well as Chinese.
The Moso girls wore their black hair cut short on the sides and
hanging in long narrow plaits down their backs. They wore white
leather capes (at least that was the original shade) and pretty
ornaments of silver and coral at their throats, and as they were
young and gay with glowing red cheeks and laughing eyes they were
decidedly attractive. The guests were seated in groups of six
on the stones of the temple courtyard. Small boys acted as waiters,
passing about steaming bowls of vegetables and huge straw platters
heaped high with rice. As soon as each guest had stuffed himself
to satisfaction he relinquished his place to someone else and
the food was passed again. We were frequently pressed to eat with
them and in the evening when the last guest had departed the "chief
mourner" brought us some delicious fruit candied in black sugar.
She told Wu that they had fed three hundred people during the
day and we could well believe it. The next morning the coffin
was carried down the hill to the accompaniment of anguished wails
and we were left once more to the peace and quiet of our beautiful
temple courtyard.
Sometimes a family
will plunge itself into debt for generations to come to provide
a suitable funeral for one of its members, because to bury the
dead without the proper display would not only be to "lose face"
but subject them to the possible persecution of the angered spirits.
This is only one of the pernicious results of ancestor worship
and it is safe to say that most of the evils in China's social
order today can be traced, directly or indirectly, to this unfortunate
practice.
A man's chief concern
is to leave male descendants to worship at his grave and appease
his spirit. The more sons, grandsons, and great-grandsons who
walk in his funeral procession, the more he is to be envied. As
a missionary humorously says "the only law of God that ever has
been obeyed in China is to be fruitful and multiply." Craving
for progeny has brought into existence thousands upon thousands
of human beings who exist on the very brink of starvation. Nowhere
in the civilized world is there a more sordid and desperate struggle
to maintain life or a more hopeless poverty. But fear and self-love
oblige them to continue their blind breeding. The apparent atrophy
of the entire race is due to ancestor worship which binds it with
chains of iron to its dead and to its past, and not until these
bonds are severed can China expect to take her place among the
progressive nations of the earth.
ACROSS THE YANGTZE
GORGE
In mid-November we
left the White Water with a caravan of twenty-six mules and horses.
Following the road from Li-chiang to the Yangtze, we crossed the
"Black Water" and climbed steadily upward over several tremendous
wooded ridges, each higher than the last, to the summit of the
divide.
The descent was gradual
through a magnificent pine and spruce forest. Some of the trees
were at least one hundred and fifty feet high, and were draped
with beautiful gray moss which had looped itself from branch to
branch and hung suspended in delicate streamers yards in length.
The forest was choked with underbrush and a dense growth of dwarf
bamboo, and the hundreds of fallen logs, carpeted with bronze
moss, made ideal conditions for small mammal collecting. However,
as all the species would probably be similar to those we had obtained
on the Snow Mountain, we did not feel that it was worth while
stopping to trap.
At four-thirty in
the afternoon we camped upon a beautiful hill in a pine forest
which was absolutely devoid of underbrush, and where the floor
was thinly overlaid with brown pine needles. Although the Moso
hunter, who acted as our guide, assured us that the river was
only three miles away, it proved to be more than fifteen, and
we did not reach the ferry until half past one the next afternoon.
We were continually
annoyed, as every traveler in China is, by the inaccuracy of the
natives, and especially of the Chinese. Their ideas of distance
are most extraordinary. One may ask a Chinaman how far it is to
a certain village and he will blandly reply, "Fifteen li
to go, but thirty li when you come back." After a short
experience one learns how to interpret such an answer, for it
means that when going the road is down hill and that the return
uphill will require double the time.
Caravans are supposed
to travel ten li an hour, although they seldom do more
than eight, and all calculations of distance are based upon time
so far as the mafus are concerned. If the day's march is
eight hours you invariably will be informed that the distance
is eighty li, although in reality it may not be half as
great.
In "Chinese Characteristics,"
Dr. Arthur H. Smith gives many illuminating observations on the
inaccuracy of the Chinese. In regard to distance he says:
It is always necessary
in land travel to ascertain, when the distance is given in "miles"
(li), whether the "miles" are "large" or not! That there
is some basis for estimates of distances we do not deny,
but what we do deny is that these estimates or measurements
are either accurate or uniform.
It is, so far as
we know, a universal experience that the moment one leaves a
great imperial highway the "miles" become "long." If 120 li
constitute a fair day's journey on the main road, then on country
roads it will take fully as long to go 100 li, and in
the mountains the whole day will be spent in getting over 80
li (p. 51).
In like manner,
a farmer who is asked the weight of one of his oxen gives a
figure which seems much too low, until he explains
that he has omitted to estimate the bones! A servant who was
asked his height mentioned a measure which was ridiculously
inadequate to cover his length, and upon being questioned admitted
that he had left out of account all above his shoulders! He
had once been a soldier, where the height of the men's clavicle
is important in assigning the carrying of burdens. And since
a Chinese soldier is to all practical purposes complete without
his head, this was omitted.
Of a different sort
was the measurement of a rustic who affirmed that he lived "ninety
li from the city," but upon cross-examination he consented
to an abatement, as this was reckoning both to the city and
back, the real distance being as he admitted, only "forty-five
li one way!" (p. 49) ...
The habit of reckoning
by "tens" is deep-seated, and leads to much vagueness. A few
people are "ten or twenty," a "few tens," or perhaps "ever so
many tens," and a strictly accurate enumeration is one of the
rarest of experiences in China.... An acquaintance told the
writer that two men had spent "200 strings of cash" on a theatrical
exhibition, adding a moment later, "It was 173 strings, but
that is the same as 200—is it not?" (p. 54).
A man who wished
advice in a lawsuit told the writer that he himself "lived"
in a particular village, though it was obvious from his narrative
that his abode was in the suburbs of a city. Upon inquiry, he
admitted that he did not now live in the village, and
further investigation revealed the fact that the removal took
place nineteen generations ago! "But do you not almost consider
yourself a resident of the city now?" he was asked. "Yes," he
replied simply, "we do live there now, but the old root is in
that village."
...The whole Chinese
system of thinking is based on a line of assumptions different
from those to which we are accustomed, and they can ill comprehend
the mania which seems to possess the Occidental to ascertain
everything with unerring exactness. The Chinese does not know
how many families there are in his native
village, and he does not wish to know. What any human being
can want to know this number for is to him an insoluble riddle.
It is "a few hundred," "several hundreds," or "not a few," but
a fixed and definite number it never was and never will be.
(p. 55.)
After breaking camp
on the day following our departure from the "White Water" we rode
along a broad trail through a beautiful pine forest and in the
late morning stood on an open summit gazing on one of the most
impressive sights which China has to offer. At the left, and a
thousand feet below, the mighty Yangtze has broken through the
mountains in a gorge almost a mile deep; a gorge which seems to
have been carved out of the solid rock, sharp and clean, with
a giant's knife. A few miles to the right the mountains widen,
leaving a flat plain two hundred feet above the river. Every inch
of it, as well as the finger-like valleys which stretch upward
between the hills, is under cultivation, giving support for three
villages, the largest of which is Taku.
The ferry is in a
bad place but it is the only spot for miles where the river can
be crossed. The south bank is so precipitous that the trail from
the plain twists and turns like a snake before it emerges upon
a narrow sand and gravel beach. The opposite side of the river
is a vertical wall of rock which slopes back a little at the lower
end to form a steep hillside covered with short grass. The landing
place is a mass of jagged rocks fronting a small patch of still
water and the trail up the face of the cliff is so steep that
it cannot be climbed by any loaded animal; therefore all the packs
must be unstrapped and laboriously carted up the slope on the
backs of the mafus.
At two-thirty in the
afternoon we were loading the boat, which carried only two animals
and their packs, for the first trip across the river. It was difficult
to get the mules aboard for they had to be whipped, shoved and
actually lifted bodily into the dory. One of the ferrymen first
drew the craft along the rocks by a long rope, then climbed up
the face of what appeared to be an absolutely flat wall, and after
pulling the boat close beneath him, slid down into it. In this
way the dory was worked well up stream and when pushed into the
swift current was rowed diagonally to the other side.
After four loads had
been taken over, the boatmen decided to stop work although there
was yet more than an hour of daylight and they could not be persuaded
to cross again by either threats or coaxing. It was an uncomfortable
situation but there was nothing to do but camp where we were even
though the greater part of our baggage was on the other side,
with only the mafus to guard it, and therefore open to
robbery.
About a third of a
mile from the ferry we found a sandy cornfield on a level shelf
just above the water, and pitched our tents. A slight wind was
blowing and before long we had sand in our shoes, sand in our
beds, sand in our clothes, and we were eating sand. Heller went
down the river with a bag of traps while we set forty on the hills
above camp, and after a supper of goral steak, which did much
to allay the irritation of the day, we crawled into our sandy
beds.
At daylight Hotenfa
visited the ferry and reported that the loads were safe but that
one of the boatmen had gone to the village and no one knew when
he would return. We went to the river with Wu as soon as breakfast
was over and spent an aggravating hour trying
by alternate threats and cajoling to persuade the remaining ferryman
to cross the river to us. But it was useless, for the louder I
swore the more frightened he became and he finally retired into
a rock cave from which the mafus had to drag him out bodily
and drive him into the boat.
The second boatman
ambled slowly in about ten o'clock and we felt like beating them
both, but Wu impressed upon us the necessity for patience if we
ever expected to get our caravan across and we swallowed our wrath;
nevertheless, we decided not to leave until the loads and mules
were on the other side, and we ate a cold tiffin while sitting
on the sand.
Heller employed his
time by skinning the twenty small mammals (one of which was a
new rat) that our traps had yielded. We took a good many photographs
and several rolls of "movie" film showing the efforts of the mafus
to get the mules aboard. Some of them went in quietly enough but
others absolutely refused to step into the boat. One of the mafus
would pull, another push, a third twist the animal's tail and
a fourth lift its feet singly over the side. With the accompaniment
of yells, kicks, and Chinese oaths the performance was picturesque
to say the least.
By five o'clock the
entire caravan had been taken across the racing green water and
we had some time before dark in which to investigate the caverns
with which the cliffs above the river are honeycombed. They were
of two kinds, gold quarries and dwelling caves. The latter consist
of a long central shaft, just high enough to allow a man to stand
erect; this widens into a circular room. Along the sides of the
corridor shallow nests have been scooped out to serve as beds
and all the cooking is done not far from
the door. The caves, although almost dark, make fairly comfortable
living quarters and are by no means as dirty or as evil smelling
as the ordinary native house. The mines are straight shafts dug
into the cliffs where the rock is quarried and crushed by hand.
THROUGH UNMAPPED COUNTRY
We left the Taku ferry
by way of a steep trail through an open pine and spruce forest
along the rim of the Yangtze gorge where the view was magnificent.
Someone has said that when a tourist sees the Grand Canyon for
the first time he gasps "Indescribable" and then immediately begins
to describe it. Thus it was with us, but no words can picture
the grandeur of this titanic chasm. In places the rocks were painted
in delicate tints of blue and purple; in others, the sides fell
away in sheer drops of hundreds of feet to the green torrent below
rushing on to the sea two thousand five hundred miles away.
The caravan wound
along the edge of the gorge all day and we were left far behind,
for at each turn a view more beautiful than the last opened out
before us, and until every color plate and negative in the holders
had been exposed we worked steadily with the camera.
We were traveling
northwestward through an unmapped region which Baron Haendel-Mazzetti
had skirted and reported to be one of vast forests and probably
rich in game. After six hours of riding over almost bare mountainsides
we passed through a park-like spruce forest and reached Habala,
a long thin village of mud and stone houses scattered up the sides
of a narrow valley.
Above and to the left
of the village rose ridge after ridge of dense spruce forest overshadowed
by a snow-crowned peak and cut by deep ravines, the gloomy depths
of which yielded fascinating glimpses of rocky cliffs—a veritable
paradise for serow and goral. Our camping place was a grassy lawn
as flat and smooth as the putting green of a golf course. Just
below the tents a streamlet of ice-cold water murmured comfortably
to itself and a huge dead tree was lying crushed and broken for
the camp fire.
The boys turned the
beautiful spot into "home" in half an hour and, after setting
a line of traps, we wandered slowly back through the darkness
guided by the brilliant flames of the fires which threw a warm
yellow glow over our little table spread for dinner.
We sent men to the
village to bring in hunters and after dinner four or five picturesque
Mosos appeared. They said that there were many serow, goral, muntjac
and some wapiti in the forests above the village, and we could
well believe it, for there was never a more "likely looking" spot.
Although the men did not claim to be professional hunters, nevertheless
they said that they had good dogs and had killed many muntjac
and other animals.
They agreed to come
at daylight and arrived about two hours late, which was doing
fairly well for natives. It was a brilliant day just warm enough
for comfort in the sun and we left camp with high hopes. However
it did not take many hours to demonstrate that the men knew almost
nothing about hunting and that their dogs were useless. Because
of the dense cover "still hunting" was out of the question and,
after a hard climb, we returned to camp to spend the remainder
of the afternoon developing photographs
and preparing small mammals.
Our traps had yielded
three new shrews and a silver mole as well as a number of mice,
rats, and meadow voles of species identical with those taken on
the Snow Mountain. It was evident, therefore, that the Yangtze
River does not act as an effective barrier to the distribution
of even the smallest forms and that the region in which we were
now working would not produce a different fauna. This was an important
discovery from the standpoint of our distribution records but
was also somewhat disappointing.
The photographic work
already had yielded excellent results. The Paget color plates
were especially beautiful and the fact that everything was developed
in the field gave us an opportunity to check the quality of each
negative.
For this work the
portable dark room was invaluable. It could be quickly erected
and suspended from a tree branch or the rafters of a temple and
offered an absolutely safe place in which to develop or load plates.
The moving-picture film required special treatment because of
its size and we usually fastened in the servants' tent the red
lining which had been made for this purpose in New York. Even
then the space was so cramped that we were dead tired at the end
of a few hours' work.
One who sits comfortably
in a theater or hall and sees moving-picture film which has been
obtained in such remote parts of the world does not realize the
difficulties in its preparation. The water for developing almost
invariably was dirty and in order to insure even a moderately
clear film it always had to be strained.
For washing the negative pailful after pailful had to be carried
sometimes from a very long distance, and the film exposed for
hours to the carelessness or curiosity of the natives. In our
cramped quarters perhaps a corner of the tent would be pushed
open admitting a stream of light; the electric flash lamp might
refuse to work, leaving us in complete darkness to finish the
developing "by guess and by gosh," or any number of other accidents
occur to ruin the film. At most we could not develop more than
three hundred feet in an afternoon and we never breathed freely
until it finally was dried and safely stored away in the tin cans.
We left Habala, on
November 23, for a village called Phete where the natives had
assured us we would find good hunters with dogs. For almost the
entire distance the road skirted the rim of the Yangtze gorge
and there the view of the great chasm was even more magnificent
than that we had left. While its sides are not fantastically sculptured
and the colors are softer than those of the Grand Canyon of the
Colorado, nevertheless its grandeur is hardly less imposing and
awe-inspiring. If Yün-nan is ever made accessible by railroads
this gorge should become a Mecca for tourists, for it is without
doubt one of the most remarkable natural sights in the world.
About two o'clock
in the afternoon we saw three clusters of houses on a tableland
which juts into a chasm cut by a tributary of the great river.
One of them was Phete and it seemed that we would reach the village
in half an hour at least, but the road wound so tortuously around
the hillside, down to the stream and up again that it was an hour
and a half before we found a camping place
on a narrow terrace a short distance from the nearest houses.
Next day we could
not go to the village to find hunters until mid-forenoon because
the natives of this region are very late risers and often have
not yet opened their doors at ten o'clock. This is quite contrary
to the custom in many other parts of China where the inhabitants
are about their work in the first light of dawn.
The hills above Phete
are bare or thinly forested and every available inch of level
ground is under cultivation with corn and a few rice paddies near
the creek; the latter were a great surprise, for we had not expected
to find rice so far north. The village itself was exceedingly
picturesque but never have we met people of such utter and hopeless
stupidity as its inhabitants. They were pleasant enough and always
greeted us with a smile and salutation, but their brains seemed
not to have kept pace with their bodies and when asked the simplest
question they would only stare stupidly without the slightest
glimmering of intelligence.
It required an hour's
questioning of a dozen or more people to glean that there were
no hunters in the village where they had lived all their lives,
but Wu, our interpreter, finally discovered a Chinese who told
us of a hunter in the mountains. He asked how far and the answer
was "Not very far."
"Well, is it ten li?"
"I don't know how
many li."
"Have you ever been
there?"
"Yes; it is only a
few steps."
"How long will it
take to get there?"
"About the time of
one meal."
We were not to be
deceived, for we had had experience with
native ideas of distance, and we ate our tiffin before starting
out on the "few steps." A steep trail led up the valley and after
three hours of steady riding we reached the hunter's village of
three large houses on a flat strip of cleared ground in the midst
of a dense forest.
The people looked
much like those of Phete but were rather anemic specimens, and
five out of eight had enormous goiters. They were exceedingly
shy at first, watching us with side glances and through cracks
in the wall. Wu learned that we were the first white persons they
had ever seen. I imagine that much of their unhealthiness was
due to too close intermarriage, for these families had little
intercourse with the people in Phete who were only "a few steps"
away.
As we were leaving
they began to eat their supper in the courtyard. The principal
dish consisted of mixed cornmeal and rice, boiled squash and green
vegetables. All the women were busy husking corn which was hung
to dry on great racks about the house. These racks we had noticed
in every village since leaving Li-chiang and they seemed to be
in universal use in the north.
The hunter had a flock
of sheep and we purchased one for $4.40 (Mexican) but there was
considerable difficulty in paying for it since these people had
never seen Chinese money even though living in China itself. For
currency they used chunks of silver the size of a walnut and worth
about one dollar (Mexican). The Chinese guide finally persuaded
the people of the genuineness of our money and we purchased a
few eggs and a little very delicious wild honey besides the sheep.
These people as well as those of Phete spoke the Li-chiang dialect
but with such variation that even our mafus
could understand them only with the greatest difficulty.
When we returned to
camp we found that the coolie who had been engaged to carry the
motion-picture camera and tripod had left without the formality
of saying "good-by" or asking for the money which was due him.
We had had considerable trouble with the camera coolies since
leaving Li-chiang. The first one carried the camera to the Taku
ferry with many groans, and there engaged a huge Chinaman to take
his place, for he thought the load too heavy. It only weighed
fifty pounds, and in the Fukien Province where men seldom carry
less than eighty pounds and sometimes as much as one hundred and
fifty, it would have been considered as only half a burden. In
Yün-nan, however, animals do most of the pack carrying, and coolies
protest at even an ordinary load.
We left Phete in the
early morning and camped about five hundred feet above the hunter's
cabin in a beautiful little meadow. It was surrounded with splendid
pine trees, and a clear spring bubbled up from a knoll in the
center and spread fan-shaped in a dozen little streams over the
edge of a deep ravine where a mountain torrent rushed through
a tangled bamboo jungle. The gigantic fallen trees were covered
inches deep with green moss, and altogether it was an ideal spot
for small mammals. Our traps, however, yielded no new species,
although we secured dozens of specimens every night.
There were a few families
of Lolos about two miles away and these were engaged as hunters.
They told us that serow and muntjac were abundant and that wapiti
were sometimes found on the mountains several
miles to the northward. Although the men had a large pack of good
dogs they were such unsatisfactory hunters that we gave up in
disgust after three days. They never would appear until ten or
eleven o'clock in the morning when the sun had so dried the leaves
that the scent was lost and the dogs could not follow a trail
even if one were found. Moreover, the camp was a very uncomfortable
one, due to the wind which roared through the trees night and
day.
We were rejoined here
by Hotenfa, who had left us at the Taku ferry to see if he could
get together a pack of dogs. He brought three hounds with him
which he praised exuberantly, but we subsequently found that they
did not justify our hopes. Nevertheless, we were glad to have
Hotenfa back, for he was one of the most intelligent, faithful,
and altogether charming natives whom we met in all Yün-nan. He
was an uncouth savage when he first came to us, but in a very
short time he had learned our camp ways and was as good a servant
as any we had.
TRAVELING TOWARD TIBET
Since the hunters
at the "Windy Camp" had proved so worthless and the traps had
yielded no small mammals new to our collection, we decided to
cross the mountains toward the Chung-tien road which leads into
Tibet.
The head mafu
explored the trail and reported that it was impassable but, after
an examination of some of the worst barriers, we decided that
they could be cleared away and ordered the caravan to start at
half past seven in the morning.
Before long we found
that the mafus were right. The trail was a mass of tangled
underbrush and fallen logs and led straight up a precipitous mountain
through a veritable jungle of dwarf bamboo. It was necessary to
stop every few yards to lift the loads over a barrier or cut a
passage through the bamboo thickets, and had it not been for the
adjustable pack saddles we never could have taken the caravan
over the trail.
Late in the afternoon
the exhausted men and animals dragged themselves to the summit
of the mountain, for it was not a pass. In a few hours we had
come from autumn to midwinter where the ground was frozen and
covered with snow. We were at an altitude of more than 15,000
feet and far above all timber except the rhododendron forest which
spread itself out in a low gray mass along the ridges. It was
difficult to make the slightest exertion
in the thin air and a bitterly cold wind swept across the peaks
so that it was impossible to keep warm even when wrapped in our
heaviest coats.
The servants and mafus
suffered considerably but it was too late to go on and there was
no alternative but to spend the night on the mountain. As soon
as the tents were up the men huddled disconsolately about the
fire, but we started out with a bag of traps while Heller went
in the opposite direction. We expected to catch some new mammals
during the night, for there were great numbers of runways on the
bare hillsides. The ground was frozen so solidly that it was necessary
to cut into the little Microtus tunnels with a hatchet
in order to set the traps and we were almost frozen before the
work was completed. The next morning we had caught twenty specimens
of a new white-bellied meadow vole and a remarkable shrew with
a long curved proboscis.
Everyone had spent
an uncomfortable night, for it was bitterly cold even in our sleeping
bags and the men had sat up about the fire in order to keep from
freezing. There was little difficulty in getting the caravan started
in the gray light of early dawn and after descending abruptly
four thousand feet on a precipitous trail to a Lolo village strung
out along a beautiful little valley we were again in the pleasant
warmth of late autumn.
The natives here had
never before seen a white person and in a few moments our tents
were surrounded by a crowd of strange-looking men and boys. The
chief of the village presented us with an enormous rooster and
we made him happy by returning two tins of cigarettes. The Lolo
women, the first we had seen, were especially surprising because
of their graceful figures and handsome
faces. Their flat turbans, short jackets, and long skirts with
huge flounces gave them a rather old-fashioned aspect, quite out
of harmony with the metal neck-bands, earrings, and bracelets
which they all wore.
The men were exceedingly
pleasant and made a picturesque group in their gray and brown
felt capes which they gather about the neck by a draw string and,
to the Lolos and Mosos alike, are both bed and clothing. We collected
all the men for their photographs, and although they had not the
slightest idea what we were about they stood quietly after Hotenfa
had assured them that the strange-looking instrument would not
go off. But most interesting of all was their astonishment when
half an hour later they saw the negative and were able to identify
themselves upon it.
The Lolos are apparently
a much maligned race. They are exceedingly independent, and although
along the frontier of their own territory in S'suchuan they wage
a war of robbery and destruction it is not wholly unprovoked.
No one can enter their country safely unless he is under the protection
of a chief who acts as a sponsor and passes him along to others.
Mr. Brooke, an Englishman, was killed by the Lolos, but he was
not properly "chaperoned," and Major D'Ollone of the French expedition
lived among them safely for some time and gives them unstinted
praise.
Whenever we met tribesmen
in Yün-nan who had not seen white persons they behaved much like
all other natives. They were, of course, always greatly astonished
to see our caravan descend upon them and were invariably fascinated
by our guns, tents, and in fact everything about us, but were
generally shy and decidedly less offensive
in their curiosity than the Chinese of the larger inland towns
to whom foreigners are by no means unknown. As a matter of fact
we have found that our white skins, light eyes, and hair are a
never failing source of interest and envy to almost all Orientals.
Yvette usually excited
the most curiosity, especially among the women, and as she wore
knickerbockers and a flannel shirt there were times when the determination
of her sex seemed to call forth the liveliest discussion. Her
long hair, however, usually settled the matter, and when the women
had decided the question of gender satisfactorily they often made
timid, and most amusing, advances. One woman said she greatly
admired her fair complexion and asked how many baths she took
to keep her skin so white. Another wondered whether it was necessary
to ever comb her hair and almost everyone wished to feel her clothes
and shoes. She always could command more attention than anyone
else by her camera operations, and a group would stand in speechless
amazement to see her dodge in and out of the portable dark room
when she was developing photographs or loading plates.
We made arrangements
to go with a number of the Lolos to a spot fifteen miles away
on the Chung-tien road to hunt wapiti (probably Cervus macneilli)
which the natives call maloo. Our American wapiti, or elk,
is a migrant from Asia by way of the Bering Strait and is probably
a relative of the wapiti which is found in Central Asia, China,
Manchuria and Korea.
At present these deer
are abundant in but few places. Throughout the Orient, and especially
in China, the growing horns when they are soft, or in the "velvet,"
are considered of great medicinal value
and, during the summer, the animals are trapped and hunted relentlessly
by the natives. In Yün-nan, when we were there, a pair of horns
were worth $100 (Mexican).
Thanksgiving morning
dawned gray and raw with occasional flurries of hail-like snow,
but we did not heed the cold, for the trail led over two high
ridges and along the rim of a tremendous gorge. To the south the
white summits of the Snow Mountain range towered majestically
above the surrounding peaks and, in the gray light, the colors
were beautiful beyond description. To the north we could see heavily
wooded mountain slopes interspersed with open park-like meadows—splendid
wapiti country.
Our tents were pitched
two hundred yards from the Chung-tien road just within the edge
of a stately, moss-draped forest. That night we celebrated with
harmless bombs from the huge fires of bamboo stalks which exploded
as they filled with steam and echoed among the trees like pistol
shots. Marco Polo speaks of the same phenomenon which he first
witnessed in this region over six hundred and thirty years ago.
About nine o'clock
in the evening we ran our traps with a lantern and besides several
mice (Apodemus) found two rare shrews and a new mole (Balkan).
I went out with the hunters at dawn but saw nothing except an
old wapiti track and a little sign. All during the following day
a dense fog hung close to the ground so that it was impossible
to hunt, and, on the night of December 2, it snowed heavily. The
morning began bright and clear but clouded about ten o'clock and
became so bitterly cold that the Lolos would not hunt. They really
suffered considerably and that night they
all left us to return to their homes. We were greatly disappointed,
for we had brilliant prospects of good wapiti shooting but without
either men or dogs and in an unknown country there was little
possibility of successful still hunting.
The mafus were
very much worried and refused to go further north. They were certain
that we would not be able to cross the high passes which lay between
us and the Mekong valley far to the westward and complained unceasingly
about the freezing cold and the lack of food for their animals.
It was necessary to visit the Mekong River, for even though it
might not be a good big game region it would give us a cross-section,
as it were, of the fauna and important data on the distribution
of small mammals. Therefore we decided to leave for the long ride
as soon as the weather permitted.
STALKING TIBETANS
WITH A CAMERA
Y. B. A.
The road near which
we were camped was one of the great trade routes into Tibet and
over it caravans were continually passing laden with tea or pork.
Many of them had traveled the entire length of Yün-nan to S'su-mao
on the Tonking frontier where a special kind of tea is grown,
and were hurrying northward to cross the snow-covered passes which
form the gateways to the "Forbidden Land."
The caravans sometimes
stopped for luncheon or to spend the night near our camp. As the
horses came up, one by one the loads were lifted off, the animals
turned loose, and after their dinner of buttered tea and tsamba
[Footnote: Tsamba is parched oats or barley, ground finely.]
each man stretched out upon the ground without shelter of any
kind and heedless of the freezing cold. It is truly the life of
primitive man and has bred a hardy, restless, independent race,
content to wander over the boundless steppes and demanding from
the outside world only to be let alone.
They are picturesque,
wild-looking fellows, and in their swinging walk there is a care-free
independence and an atmosphere of the bleak Tibetan steppes which
are strangely fascinating. Every Tibetan is a study for an artist.
He wears a fur cap and a long loose coat
like a Russian blouse thrown carelessly off one shoulder and tied
about the waist, blue or red trousers, and high boots of felt
or skin reaching almost to the knees. A long sword, its hilt inlaid
with bright-colored bits of glass or stones, is half concealed
beneath his coat, and he is seldom without a gun or a murderous
looking spear.
In the breast of his
loose coat, which acts as a pocket, he carries a remarkable assortment
of things; a pipe, tobacco, tea, tsamba, cooking pots,
a snuff box and, hanging down in front, a metal charm to protect
him from bullets or sickness.
The eastern Tibetans
are men of splendid physique and great strength, and are frequently
more than six feet in height. They have brick-red complexions
and some are really handsome in a full-blooded masculine way.
Their straight features suggest a strong mixture of other than
Mongolian stock and they are the direct antithesis of the Chinese
in every particular. Their strength and virility and the dashing
swing of their walk are very refreshing after contact with the
ease-loving, effeminate Chinaman whom one sees being carried along
the road sprawled in a mountain chair.
Of all natives whom
we tried to photograph the Tibetans were the most difficult. It
was almost impossible to bribe them with money or tin cans to
stand for a moment and when they saw the motion picture camera
set up beside the trail they would make long detours to avoid
passing in front of it.
What we could not
get by bribery we tried to do by stealth and concealed ourselves
behind bushes with the camera focused on a certain spot upon the
road. The instant a Tibetan discovered it he would run like a
frightened deer and in some mysterious
way they seemed to have passed the word along that our camp was
a spot to be avoided. Sometimes a bottle was too great a temptation
to be resisted, and one would stand timidly like a bird with wings
half spread, only to dash away as though the devil were after
him, when he saw my head disappear beneath the focusing hood.
Wu and a mafu
who could speak a little Tibetan finally captured one picturesque
looking fellow. He carefully tucked the tin cans, given for advance
payment, inside his coat, and with a great show of bravery allowed
me to place him where I wished. But the instant the motion picture
camera swung in his direction he dodged aside, and jumped behind
it. Wu tried to hold him but the Tibetan drew his sword, waved
it wildly about his head and took to his heels, yelling at the
top of his lungs. He was well-nigh frightened to death and when
he disappeared from sight at a curve in the road he was still
"going strong" with his coat tails flapping like a sail in the
wind.
One caravan came suddenly
upon the motion picture camera unawares. There were several women
in the party and, as soon as the men realized that there was no
escape, each one dodged behind a woman, keeping her between him
and the camera. They were taking no chances with their precious
selves, for the women could be replaced easily enough if necessary.
The trouble is that
the Tibetan not unnaturally has the greatest possible suspicion
and dislike for strangers. The Chinese he loathes and despises,
and foreigners he knows only too well are symptoms of missionaries
and punitive expeditions or other disturbances of his immemorial
peace. He is confirmed in his attitude by the
Church which throughout Tibet has the monopoly of all the gold
in the country. And the Church utterly declines to believe that
any foreigner can come so far for any end less foolish than the
discovery of gold and the infringing of the ecclesiastical monopoly.
Major Davies, who
saw much of the Yün-nan Tibetans, has remarked that it is curious
how little impression the civilization and customs of the Chinese
have produced on the Tibetans. Elsewhere, one of the principal
characteristics of Chinese expansion is its power of absorbing
other races, but with the Tibetans exactly the reverse takes place.
The Chinese become Tibetanized and the children of a Chinaman
married to a Tibetan woman are usually brought up in the Tibetan
customs.
Probably the great
cause which keeps the Tibetan from being absorbed is the cold,
inhospitable nature of his country. There is little to tempt the
Chinese to emigrate into Tibet and consequently they never are
there in sufficient numbers to influence the Tibetans around them.
A similar cause has preserved some of the low-lying Shan states
from absorption, the heat in this case being the reason that the
Chinese do not settle there.
WESTWARD TO THE MEKONG
RIVER
During the night of
December 4, there was a heavy fall of snow and in the morning
we awoke to find ourselves in fairyland. We were living in a great
white palace, with ceiling and walls of filmy glittering webs.
The long, delicate strands of gray moss which draped themselves
from tree to tree and branch to branch were each one converted
into threads of crystal, forming a filigree lacework, infinitely
beautiful.
It was hard to break
camp and leave that silver palace, for every vista through the
forest seemed more lovely than the one before, but we knew that
another fall of snow would block the passes and shut us out from
the Mekong valley. The mafus even refused to try the direct
route across the mountains to Wei-hsi and insisted on going southward
to the Shih-ku ferry and up the Yangtze River on the main caravan
route.
It was a long trip
and we looked forward with no pleasure to eight days of hard riding.
The difficulty in obtaining hunters since leaving the Snow Mountain
had made our big game collecting negligible although we had traveled
through some excellent country. The Mekong valley might not be
better but it was an unknown quantity and, whether or not it yielded
specimens, the results from a survey of the mammal distribution
would be none the less important, and we felt that
it must be done; otherwise we should have turned our backs on
the north and returned to Ta-li Fu.
As we rode down the
mountain trail we passed caravan after caravan of Tibetans with
heavily loaded horses, all bound for that land of mystery beyond
the snow-capped barriers. Often we tried to stop some of the red-skinned
natives and persuade them to pose for a color photograph, but
usually they only shook their heads stubbornly and hurried past
with averted faces. We finally waylaid a Chinese and a Tibetan
who were walking together. The Chinaman was an amiable fellow
and by giving each of them a glass jam tumbler they halted a moment.
As soon as the photograph had been taken the Chinese indicated
that he expected us to produce one and was thoroughly disgusted
when we showed him that it was impossible.
Repassing the Lolo
village, we followed the river gorge at the upper end of which
Chung-tien is located and left the forests when we emerged on
the main road. From the top of a ten thousand foot pass there
was a magnificent view down the canyon to the snow-capped mountains,
which were beautiful beyond description in their changing colors
of purple and gold.
Just after leaving
the pass we met a caravan of several hundred horses each bearing
two whole pigs bent double and tied to the saddles. The animals
had been denuded of hair, salted, and sewn up, and soon would
be distributed among the villages somewhere in the interior of
Tibet.
On the second day
we saw before us seven snow-crowned peaks as sharp and regular
as the teeth of a saw rising above the mouth of the stream where
it spreads like a fan over a sandy delta and empties into
the Yangtze. Here the mighty river, flowing proudly southward
from its home in the wind-blown steppes of the "Forbidden Land,"
countless ages ago found the great Snow Mountain range barring
its path. Thrust aside, it doubled back upon itself along the
barrier's base, still restlessly seeking a passage through the
wall of rock. Far to the north it bit hungrily into the mountain's
side again, broke through, and swung south gathering strength
and volume from hundreds of tributaries as it rushed onward to
the sea.
For two days we rode
along the river bank and crossed at the Shih-ku ferry. There was
none of the difficulty here which we had experienced at Taku,
for the river is wide and the current slow. It required only two
hours to transport our entire caravan while at the other ferry
we had waited a day and a half. Strangely enough, although there
are dozens of villages along the Yangtze and the valley is highly
cultivated, we saw no sign of fishing. Moreover, we passed but
three boats and five or six rafts and it was evident that this
great waterway, which for fifteen hundred miles from its mouth
influences the trade of China so profoundly, is here used but
little by the natives.
On the ride down the
river we had good sport with the huge cranes (probably Grus
nigricollis) which, in small flocks, were feeding along the
river fields. The birds stood about five feet high and we could
see their great black and white bodies and black necks farther
than a man was visible. It was fairly easy to stalk them to within
a hundred yards, but even at that distance they offered a rather
small target, for they were so largely wings, neck, legs, and
tail. We were never within shotgun range and indeed it would be
difficult to kill the birds with anything
smaller than BB or buckshot unless they were very near.
Heller shot our first
cranes with his .250-.300 Savage rifle. He stole upon five which
were feeding in a meadow and fired while two were "lined up."
One of the huge birds flapped about on the ground for a few moments
and lay still, but the larger was only wing-tipped and started
off at full speed across the fields. Two mafus left the
caravan, yelling with excitement, and ran for nearly half a mile
before they overtook the bird. Then they were kept at bay for
fifteen minutes by its long beak which is a really formidable
weapon. As food the cranes were perfectly delicious when stuffed
with chestnut dressing and roasted. Each one provided two meals
for three of us with enough left over for hash and our appetites
were by no means birdlike.
Although the natives
attempt to kill cranes they are not often successful, for the
birds are very watchful and will not allow a man within a hundred
yards. Such a distance for primitive guns or crossbows might as
well be a hundred miles, but with our high-power rifles we were
able to shoot as many as were needed for food.
The birds almost invariably
followed the river when flying and fed in the rice, barley, and
corn fields not far from the water. It was an inspiring sight
to see a flock of the huge birds run for a few steps along the
ground and then launch themselves into the air, their black and
white wings flashing in the sunlight. They formed into orderly
ranks like a company of soldiers or strung out in a long thin
line across the sky.
When we disturbed
a flock from especially desirable feeding grounds they would sometimes
whirl and circle above the fields, ascending higher and higher
in great spirals until they were lost to
sight, their musical voices coming faintly down to us like the
distant shouts of happy children.
When we returned to
Ta-li Fu in early January, cranes were very abundant in the fields
about the lake. They had arrived in late October and would depart
in early spring, according to Mr. Evans. We often saw the birds
on sand banks along the Yangtze, but they were usually resting
or quietly walking about and were not feeding; apparently they
eat only rice, barley, corn, or other grain.
This species was discovered
by the great traveler and naturalist, Lieutenant Colonel Prjevalsky,
who found it in the Koko-nor region of Tibet, and it was later
recorded by Prince Henri d'Orleans from Tsang in the Tibetan highlands.
Apparently specimens from Yün-nan have not been preserved in museums
and the bird was not known to occur in this portion of China.
Along the Yangtze
on our way westward we shot a good many mallard ducks (Anas
boscas) and ruddy sheldrakes (Casarca casarca); the
latter are universally known as "brahminy ducks" by the foreigners
in Burma and Yün-nan, but they are not true ducks. The name is
derived from the bird's beautiful buff and rufous color which
is somewhat like that of the robes worn by the Brahmin priests.
In America the name "sheldrake" is applied erroneously to the
fish-eating mergansers, and much confusion has thus arisen, for
the two are quite unrelated and belong to perfectly distinct groups.
The mergansers have narrow, hooked, saw-toothed beaks quite unlike
those of the sheldrakes, and their habits are entirely dissimilar.
The brahminy ducks,
although rather tough, are not bad eating.
We usually found them feeding in fields not far from the river
or in flooded rice dykes, and very often sitting in pairs on the
sand banks near the water. They have a bisyllabic rather plaintive
note which is peculiarly fascinating to me and, like the honk
of the Canada goose, awakens memories of sodden, wind-blown marshes,
bobbing decoys, and a leaden sky shot through with V-shaped lines
of flying birds.
Mallards were frequently
to be found with the sheldrakes, and we had good shooting along
the river and in ponds and rice fields. We also saw a few teal
but they were by no means abundant. Pheasants were scarce. We
shot a few along the road and near some of our camps, but we found
no place in Yün-nan where one could have even a fair day's shooting
without the aid of a good dog. This is strikingly different from
Korea where in a walk over the hillsides a dozen or more pheasants
can be flushed within an hour.
After two and one-half
days' travel up the Yangtze we turned westward toward Wei-hsi
and camped on a beautiful flat plain beside a tree-bordered stream.
It was a cold clear night and after dinner and a smoke about the
fire we all turned in.
Both of us were asleep
when suddenly a perfect bedlam of angry exclamations and Chinese
curses roused the whole camp. In a few moments Wu came to our
tent, almost speechless with rage and stammered, "Damn fool soldiers
come try to take our horses; say if mafu no give them horses
they untie loads. Shall I tell mafu break their heads?"
We did not entirely understand the situation but it seemed quite
proper to give the mafus permission to do the head-breaking,
and they went at it with a will. After
a volley of blows, there was a scamper of feet on the frozen ground
and the soldiers retired considerably the worse for wear.
When the battle was
over, Wu explained matters more fully. It appeared that a large
detachment of soldiers had recently passed up this road to A-tun-tzu
and four or five had remained behind to attend to the transport
of certain supplies. Seeing an opportunity for "graft" the soldiers
were stopping every caravan which passed and threatening to commandeer
it unless the mafus gave a sufficient bribe to buy their
immunity. Our mafus, with the protection which foreigners
gave them, had paid off a few old scores with interest. That they
had neglected no part of the reckoning was quite evident when
next morning two of the soldiers came to apologize for their "mistake."
One of them had a black and swollen eye and the other was nursing
a deep cut on his forehead; they were exceedingly humble and did
not venture into camp until they had been assured that we would
not again loose our terrible mafus upon them.
Such extortions are
every day occurrences in many parts of China and it is little
wonder that the military is cordially hated and feared by the
peasants. The soldiers, taking advantage of their uniform, oppress
the villagers in numberless ways from which there is no redress.
If a complaint is made a dozen soldiers stand ready to swear that
the offense was justified or was never committed, and the poor
farmer is lucky if he escapes without a beating or some more severe
punishment. It is a disgrace to China that such conditions are
allowed to exist, and it is to be hoped that ere many
years have passed the country will awake to a proper recognition
of the rights of the individual. Until she does there never can
be a national spirit of patriotism in China and without patriotism
the Republic can be one in name only.
DOWN THE MEKONG VALLEY
On December 11, we
had tiffin on the summit of a twelve thousand foot pass in a beautiful
snow-covered meadow, from which we could see the glistening peaks
of the vast mountain range which forms the Mekong-Salween divide.
In the afternoon we reached Wei-hsi and camped in a grove of splendid
pine trees on a hill overlooking the city. The place was rather
disappointing after Li-chiang. The shops were poor and it was
difficult to buy rice even though the entire valley was devoted
to paddy fields, but we did get quantities of delicious persimmons.
Wu told us that seven
different languages were spoken in the city, and we could well
believe it, for we recognized Mosos, Lolos, Chinese, and Tibetans.
This region is nearly the extreme western limit of the Moso tribe
which appears not to extend across the Mekong River.
The mandarin at Wei-hsi
received us hospitably and proved to be one of the most courteous
officials whom we met in Yün-nan. We were sorry to learn that
he was killed in a horrible way only a few weeks after our visit.
Trouble arose with the peasants over the tax on salt and fifteen
hundred rebelled, attacked the city, and captured it after a sharp
fight. It was reported that they immediately beheaded the mandarin's
wives and children, and boiled him alive in oil.
Although the magistrate
offered to assist us in every way we could obtain no information
concerning either hunting grounds or routes of travel. The flying
squirrels which we had hoped to find near the city were reported
to come from a mountain range beyond the Mekong in Burma, and
Wei-hsi was merely a center of distribution for the skins. Moreover,
the natives said it would be impossible to obtain squirrels at
that time of the year, for the mountain passes were so heavily
covered with snow that neither men nor caravans could cross them.
It was desirable,
however, to descend to the Mekong River in order to determine
whether there would be a change in fauna, and on Major Davies'
map a small road was marked down the valley. A stiff climb of
a day and a half over a thickly forested mountain ridge, frozen
and snow-covered, brought us in sight of the green waters of the
Mekong which has carved a gorge for itself in an almost straight
line from the bleak Tibetan plateaus through Yün-nan and Indo-China
to the sea.
Our second camp was
on the river at the mouth of a deep valley, near a small village.
Wu said that the natives were Lutzus and I was inclined to believe
he was right, although Major Davies indicates this region to be
inhabited by Lisos. At any rate these people both in physical
appearance and dress were quite distinct from the Lisos whom we
met later.
They were exceedingly
pleasant and friendly and the chief, accompanied by four venerable
men, brought a present of rice. I gave him two tins of cigarettes
and the natives returned to the village wreathed in smiles.
The garments of the
Lutzus were characteristic and quite unlike those of the Mosos,
Lisos or Tibetans. The women wore a long
coat or jacket of blue cloth, trousers, and a very full pleated
skirt. The men were dressed in plum colored coats and trousers.
The natives said that
monkeys (probably Pygathrix) were often seen when the corn
was ripe and that even yet they might be found in the forest across
the river. Heller spent a day hunting them, but found none and
we obtained only one new mammal in our traps. It was a tiny mouse
(Micromys) but the remainder of the fauna was essentially
the same as that of the Yangtze valley and the intervening country.
For three days we
traveled down the Mekong River. Although the natives said that
the trail was good, we discovered when it was too late that it
was too narrow and difficult to make it practicable for a caravan
such as ours. It was necessary to continually remove the loads
in order to lift them around sharp corners or over rocks, and
the mafus sometimes had to cut away great sections of the
bank. Usually only six or seven miles could be traversed after
eight or nine hours of exhausting work, and we were glad when
we could leave the river.
The Mekong, on an
average, is not more than a hundred yards wide in this region
and, like the Yangtze, the water is very green from the Tibetan
snows. The prevailing rock is red slate or sandstone instead of
limestone, as in the country to the eastward, and the sides of
the valley are so precipitous that it seems impossible for a human
being to walk over them, and yet they are patched with brown corn
fields from the summit to the water. Considering the small area
available for cultivation there are a considerable number of inhabitants,
who have gathered into villages and seldom live in isolated houses
as in the Yangtze valley. Wherever a stream comes
down from the mountainside or can be diverted by irrigating ditches,
the ground is beautifully terraced for rice paddies, but in other
places, corn and peas appear to be the principal crops. Very few
vegetables, such as turnips, squash, carrots or potatoes are raised,
which is rather remarkable, as they are so abundant in all the
country between the Mekong and the Yangtze rivers. In several
places the water was spanned by rope bridges. The cables are made
of twisted bamboo, and as one end must necessarily be higher than
the other, there are always two ropes, one to cross each way.
The traveler is tied by leather thongs in a sitting position to
a wooden "runner" which slides along the bamboo cable and shoots
across the river at tremendous speed.
The valley is hopeless
from a zoölogical standpoint. It is too dry for small mammals
and the mountain slopes are so precipitous, thinly forested, and
generally undesirable, that, except for gorals, no other large
game would live there. The bird life is decidedly uninteresting.
There are no cranes or sheldrakes and, except for a few flocks
of mallards which feed in the rice fields, we saw no other ducks
or geese.
On December 20, we
turned away from the Mekong valley and began to march southeast
by east across an unmapped region toward Ta-li Fu. We camped at
night on a pretty ridge thickly covered with spruce trees just
above a deep moist ravine. In the morning our traps contained
several rare shrews, five silver moles, a number of interesting
mice, and a beautiful rufous spiny rat. It was too good a place
to leave and I sent Hotenfa to inquire from a family of natives
if there was big game of any sort in the vicinity. He reported
that there were goral not far away, and at half past eight
we rode down the trail for three miles when I left my horse at
a peasant's house. They told us that the goral were on a rocky,
thinly forested mountain which rose two thousand feet above the
valley, and for an hour and a half we climbed steadily upward.
We were resting near
the summit on the rim of a deep canyon when Hotenfa excitedly
whispered, "gnai-yang" and held up three fingers. He tried
to show the animals to me and at last I caught sight of what I
thought was a goral standing on a narrow ledge. I fired and a
bit of rock flew into the air while the three gorals disappeared
among the trees two hundred feet above the spot where I had supposed
them to be.
I was utterly disgusted
at my mistake but we started on a run for the other side of the
gorge. When we arrived, Hotenfa motioned me to swing about to
the right while he climbed along the face of the rock wall. No
sooner had he reached the edge of the precipice than I saw him
lean far out, fire with my three-barrel gun, and frantically wave
for me to come. I ran to him and, throwing my arms about a projecting
shrub, looked down. There directly under us stood a huge goral,
but just as I was about to shoot, the earth gave way beneath my
feet and I would have fallen squarely on the animal had Hotenfa
not seized me by the collar and drawn me back to safety.
The goral had not
discovered where the shower of dirt and stones came from before
I fired hurriedly, breaking his fore leg at the knee. Without
the slightest sign of injury the ram disappeared behind a corner
of the rock. I dashed to the top of the ridge in time to see him
running at full speed across a narrow open ledge toward a thick
mass of cover on the opposite side of the canyon I
fired just as the animal gained the trees and, at the crash of
my rifle, the goral plunged headlong down the mountain, stone
dead.
It fell on a narrow
slide of loose rock which led nearly to the bottom of the valley
and, slipping and rolling in a cloud of red dust, dropped over
a precipice. The ram brought up against an unstable boulder five
hundred feet below us, and it required half an hour's hard work
to reach the spot.
When I finally lifted
its head one of the horns which had been broken in the fall slipped
through my fingers, and away went the goral on another rough and
tumble descent, finally stopping on a rock ledge nearly eleven
hundred feet from the place where it had been shot. We returned
to camp at noon bringing joy with us, for, as my wife had remarked
the day before, "We will soon have to eat chickens or cans."
Heller hunted the
gorals unsuccessfully the following day and we left on December
23, camping at night on a flat terrace beside a stream at the
end of a moist ravine. We intended to spend Christmas here for
it was a beautiful spot, surrounded by virgin forest, but our
celebration was to be on Christmas Eve. The following day dawned
bright and clear. There had not been a drop of rain for nearly
a month and the weather was just warm enough for comfort in the
sun with one's coat off, but at night the temperature dropped
to about 15°+ or 20°+ F. The camp proved to be a good one, giving
us two new mammals and, just after tiffin, Hotenfa came running
in to report that he had discovered seven gray monkeys (probably
Pygathrix) in a cornfield a mile away.
The monkeys had disappeared
ere we arrived, but while we were gone Yvette had been busy and,
just before dinner, she ushered us into
our tent with great ceremony. It had been most wonderfully transformed.
At the far end stood a Christmas tree, blazing with tiny candles
and surrounded by masses of white cotton, through which shone
red holly berries. Holly branches from the forest and spruce boughs
lined the tent and hung in green waves from the ridge pole. At
the base of the tree gifts which she had purchased in Hong Kong
in the preceding August were laid out.
Heller mixed a fearful
and wonderful cocktail from the Chinese wine and orange juice,
and we drank to each other and to those at home while sitting
on the ground and opening our packages. We had purchased two Tibetan
rugs in Li-chiang and Wei-hsi, as Christmas presents for Yvette.
These rugs usually are blue or red, with intricate designs in
the center, and are well woven and attractive.
To the servants and
mafus we gave money and cigarettes. When the muleteers
were brought to the tent to receive their gifts they evidently
thought our blazing tree represented an altar, for they kneeled
down and began to make the "chin, chin joss" which is always done
before their heathen gods.
Our Christmas dinner
was a masterpiece. Four days previously I had shot a pair of mallard
ducks and they formed the pièce de résistance. The dinner
consisted of soup, ducks stuffed with chestnuts, currant jelly,
baked squash, creamed carrots, chocolate cake, cheese and crackers,
coffee and cigarettes.
Christmas day we traveled,
and in the late afternoon passed through a very dirty Chinese
town in a deep valley near some extensive salt wells. Red clay
dust lay thick over everything and the filth of the streets and
houses was indescribable. We camped in
a cornfield a mile beyond the village, but were greatly annoyed
by the Chinese who insisted on swarming into camp. Finally, unable
longer to endure their insolent stares, I drove them with stones
to the top of the hill, where they sat in row upon row exactly
as in the "bleachers" at an American baseball game.
When we left the following
day we passed dozens of caravans and groups of men and women carrying
great disks of salt. Each piece was stamped in red with the official
mark for salt is a government monopoly and only licensed merchants
are allowed to deal in it; moreover, the importation of salt from
foreign countries is forbidden. For the purposes of administration,
China is divided into seven or eight main circuits, each of which
has its own sources of production and the salt obtained in one
district may not be sold in another.
In Yün-nan the salt
of the province is supplied from three regions. The water from
the wells is boiled in great caldrons for several days, and the
resulting deposit is earth impregnated with salt. This is crushed,
mixed with water, and boiled again until only pure salt remains.
After passing a village of considerable size called Pei-ping,
we began the ascent of an exceedingly steep mountain range twelve
thousand feet high. All the afternoon we toiled upward in the
rain and camped late in the evening at a pine grove on a little
plateau two-thirds of the way to the summit. During the night
it snowed heavily and we awoke to find ourselves in a transformed
world.
Every tree and bush
was dressed in garments of purest white and between the branches
we could look westward across the valley toward the Mekong and
the purple mountain wall of the Burma border. There were
still one thousand feet of climbing between us and the summit
of the pass. The trail was almost blocked, but by slow work we
forced our way through the drifts. Some of the mules were already
weak from exposure and underfeeding, and two of them had to be
relieved of their loads; they died the next day. Our mafus
did not appear to suffer greatly although their legs were bare
from the knees down and their feet had no covering except straw
sandals. Indeed when we discovered, on the summit of the pass,
a tiny hut in which a fire was burning, they waited only a few
moments to warm themselves.
We met two other caravans
fighting their way up the mountain from the other side, and by
following the trail which they had broken through the drifts we
made fairly good time on the descent. There had been no snow on
the broad, flat plain which we reached in the late afternoon and
we found that its ponds and fields were alive with ducks, geese,
and cranes. The birds were wild but we had good shooting when
we broke camp in the morning and killed enough to last us several
days.
On December 31, our
weary days of crossing range after range of tremendous mountains
were ended, and we stood on the last pass looking down upon the
great Chien-chuan plain. Outside the grim walls of the old city,
which lies on the main A-tun-tzu—Ta-li Fu road, are two large
marshy ponds and, away to the south, is an extensive lake. We
camped just without the courtyard of a fine temple, and at four
o'clock Yvette and I went over to the water which was swarming
with ducks and geese.
Neither of us will
ever forget that shoot in the glorious afternoon sunlight. Cloud
after cloud of ducks rose as we neared the pond and circled high
above our heads, but now and then a straggling
mallard or "pin tail" would swing across the sky within range;
as my gun roared out the birds would whirl to the ground like
feathered bombs or climb higher with frightened quacks if the
shot went wild. An hour before dark the brahminy ducks began to
come in. We could hear their melodious plaintive calls long before
we could see the birds, and we flattened ourselves out in the
grass and mud. Soon a thin, black line would streak the sky, and
as they drew nearer, Yvette would draw such seductive notes from
a tiny horn of wood and bone that the flock would swing and dive
toward us in a rush of flashing wings. When we could see the brown
bodies right above our heads I would sit up and bang away.
Now and then a big
white goose would drop into the pond or an ibis flap lazily overhead,
seeming to realize that it had nothing to fear from the prostrate
bodies which spat fire at other birds. The stillness of the marsh
was absolute save for the voices of the water fowl mingled in
the wild, sweet clamor so dear to the heart of every sportsman.
As the day began to die, hung about with ducks and geese, we walked
slowly back across the rice fields, to the yellow fires before
our tents. It was our last camp for the year and, as if to bid
us farewell as we journeyed toward the tropics, the peaks of the
great Snow Mountain far to the north, had draped themselves in
a gorgeous silver mantle and glistened against a sky of lavender
and gold like white cathedral spires.
On January 3, we camped
early in the afternoon on a beautiful little plain beside a spring
overhung with giant trees at the head of Erh Hai, or Ta-li Fu
Lake, which is thirty miles long. The fields and marshes were
alive with ducks, geese, cranes, and lapwings, and we had a
glorious day of sport over decoys and on the water before we went
on to Ta-li Fu.
Mr. Evans was about
to leave for a long business trip to the south of the province
and we took possession of a pretty temple just within the north
gate of the city. Here we read a great accumulation of mail and
learned that a thousand pounds of supplies which we had ordered
from Hong Kong had just arrived.
Through the good offices
of Mr. Howard Page, manager of the Standard Oil Company of Yün-nan
Fu, their passage through Tonking had been facilitated, and he
had dispatched the boxes by caravan to Ta-li Fu. Mr. Page rendered
great assistance to the Expedition in numberless ways, and to
him we owe our personal thanks as well as those of the American
Museum of Natural History.
All the servants except
our faithful Wu left at Ta-li Fu but, with the aid of Mr. Hanna,
we obtained a much better personnel for the trip to the Burma
frontier. The cook, who was one of Mr. Hanna's converts, was an
especially fine fellow and proved to be as energetic and competent
as the other had been lazy and helpless.
Our work in the north
had brought us a collection of thirteen hundred mammals, as well
as several hundred birds, much material for habitat groups, and
a splendid series of photographic records in Paget color plates,
black and white negatives, and motion picture film. But what was
of first importance, we had covered an enormous extent of diverse
country and learned much about the distribution of the fauna of
northern Yün-nan. The thirteen hundred mammals of our collection
were taken in a more or less continuous line across six tremendous
mountain ranges, and furnish an illuminating cross section
of the entire region from Ta-li-Fu, north to Chung-tien, and west
to the Mekong River.
It is apparent that
in this part of the province, which is all within one "life zone,"
even the smallest mammals are widely spread and that the principal
factor in determining distribution is the flora. Neither the highest
mountain ridges nor such deep swift rivers as the Yangtze and
the Mekong appear to act as effective barriers to migration, and
as long as the vegetation remains constant, the fauna changes
but little.
MISSIONARIES WE HAVE
KNOWN
During our work in
Fukien Province and in various parts of Yün-nan we came into intimate
personal contact with a great many missionaries; indeed every
traveler in the interior of China will meet them unless he purposely
avoids doing so. But the average tourist seldom sees the missionary
in his native habitat because, for the most part, he lives and
works where the tourist does not go.
Nevertheless, that
does not prevent the coastwise traveler from carrying back with
him from the East a very definite impression of the missionary,
which he has gained on board ships or in Oriental clubs where
he hears him "damned with faint praise." Almost unconsciously
he adopts the popular attitude just as he enlarges his vocabulary
to include "pidgin English" and such unfamiliar phrases as "tiffin,"
"bund" and "cumshaw."
This chapter is not
a brief for the missionary, but simply a matter of fair play.
We feel that in justice we ought to present our observations upon
this subject, which is one of very general interest, as impartially
as upon any phase of our scientific work. But it should be distinctly
understood that we are writing only of those persons whom
we met and lived with, and whose work we had an opportunity to
know and to see; we are not attempting generalizations on the
accomplishments of missionaries in any other part of China.
There are three charges
which we have heard most frequently brought
against the missionary: that he comes to the East because he can
live better and more luxuriously than he can at home; that he
often engages in lucrative trade with the natives; and that he
accomplishes little good, either religious or otherwise. It is
said that his converts are only "rice Christians," and treaty-port
foreigners have often warned us in this manner, "Don't take Christian
servants; they are more dishonest and unreliable than any others."
It is often true that
the finest house in a Chinese town will be that of the resident
missionary. In Yen-ping the mission buildings are imposing structures,
and are placed upon a hill above and away from the rest of the
city. Any white person who has traveled in the interior of China
will remember the airless, lightless, native houses, opening,
as they all do, on filthy streets and reeking sewers and he will
understand that in order to exist at all a foreigner must be somewhat
isolated and live in a clean, well-ventilated house.
Every missionary in
China employs servants—many more servants than he could afford
at home. So does every other foreigner, whatever his vocation.
There is no such thing in China as the democracy of the West,
and the missionary's status in the community demands that certain
work in his house be done by servants; otherwise he and his family
would be placed on a level with the coolie class and the value
of his words and deeds be discounted. But the chief reason is
that the missionary's wife almost always has definite duties to
which she could not attend if she were not relieved from some
of the household cares. She leads in work among the women of the
community by organizing clubs and "Mutual Improvement Societies"
and in teaching in the schools or hospitals
where young men and women are learning English as an asset to
medical work among their own people. Servants are unbelievably
cheap. While we were in Foochow a cook received $3.50 (gold) per
month, a laundryman $1.75 (gold) per month, and other wages were
in proportion.
In Fukien Province
the missionaries receive two months' vacation. Anyone who has
lived through a Fukien summer in the interior of the province
will know why the missionaries are given this vacation. If they
were not able to leave the deadly heat and filth and disease of
the native cities for a few weeks every year, there would be no
missionaries to carry on the work. The business man can surround
himself with innumerable comforts both in his home and in his
office which the missionary cannot afford and, during the summer,
life is not only made possible thereby but even pleasant.
Yen-ping is eight
days' travel from Foochow up the Min River and it is by no means
the most remote station in the province. Very few travelers reach
these places during the year and the white inhabitants are almost
isolated. Miss Mabel Hartford lives alone at Yuchi and at one
time she saw only one foreigner in eight months. Miss Cordelia
Morgan is the sole foreign resident of Chu-hsuing Fu, a large
Chinese city six days from Yün-nan Fu. In Ta-li Fu, Reverend William
J. Hanna, his wife and two other women, are fourteen days' ride
from the nearest foreign settlement. In Li-chiang, Reverend and
Mrs. A. Kok and their three small children live with two women
missionaries. They are twenty-one days' travel from a doctor,
and for four years previous to our visit they had not seen a white
woman.
These are some instances
of missionaries whom we met in China who
have voluntarily exiled themselves to remote places where they
expect to spend their entire lives surrounded by an indifferent
if not hostile population. Can anyone possibly believe that they
have chosen this life because it is easier or more luxurious than
that at home?
Some of the men whom
we met had left lucrative business positions to take up medical
or evangelistic work in China where their compensation is pitifully
small—not one-third of the salary they were commanding at
home.
We did not meet any
missionaries who were engaging in trade with the natives even
though in some places there were excellent business opportunities.
Consider the doctors
as examples of the civilizing influences which missionaries bring
with them. We saw them in various parts of China doing a magnificent
work. Dr. Bradley has established a great leper hospital at Paik-hoi
where these human outcasts are receiving the latest and most scientific
treatment and beginning to look at life with a new hope. In Yen-ping,
at the time of the rebellion, we saw Dr. Trimble working hour
after hour over wounded and broken men without a thought of rest.
In Yün-nan Fu, Dr. Thompson's hospital was filled with patients
suffering from almost every known disease. In Ta-li Fu we saw
Mr. Hanna and his wife dispensing medicines and treating the minor
ills of patients waiting by the dozen, the fees received being
not enough to pay for the cost of the medicines. Why is it that
every traveling foreigner in the interior of China is supposed
to be able to cure diseases? Certainly an important reason is
because of the work done by the medical missionaries who have
penetrated to the farthest corners of the most remote provinces.
Aside from their medical
work, missionaries are in many instances the real pioneers of
western civilization. They bring to the people new standards of
living, both morally and physically. They open schools and emancipate
the Chinese children in mind and body. They fight the barbarous
customs of foot binding and the killing and selling of girl babies.
Until recent years it was not unusual to meet the village "baby
peddler" with from two to six tiny infants peddling his "goods"
from village to village. Not many years ago such a man appeared
before the mission compound at Ngu-cheng (Fukien) with four babies
in his basket. Three of these had expired from exposure and the
kerosene oil which had been poured down their throats to stupefy
them and drown their cries. The fourth was purchased by the wife
of the native preacher for ten cents in order to save its life.
This child was reared and has since graduated from the mission
schools with credit. In Foochow a stone tablet bearing the following
inscription stands beside a stagnant pool: "Hereafter the throwing
of babies into this pool will be punished by law." This was a
result of the work of the missionaries.
Their task is by no
means easy and, as Mr. Hanna once remarked, "Yün-nan Province
has broken the heart of more than one missionary." The Chinese
do not understand their point of view, and it is difficult to
make them see it. A Chinaman is a rank materialist and pure altruism
does not enter into his scheme of life. As a rule he has but two
thoughts, his stomach and his cash bag. It is well-nigh impossible
to make him realize that the missionary has not come with an ulterior
motive—if not to engage in trade, perhaps as a spy for his
government. Others believe that it is because China is so vastly
superior to the rest of the world that
the missionaries wish to live there. Eventually the suspicions
of the natives become quieted and they accept the missionary at
some part of his true worth.
At the time of the
rebellion in Yen-ping we saw Harry Caldwell, Mr. Bankhardt and
Dr. Trimble save the lives of hundreds of people and the city
from partial destruction because the Chinese officers of the opposing
forces would trust the missionaries when they would not trust
each other.
An excellent piece
of practical missionary work was done in Fukien Province, not
long after our visit there. As we have related in Chapter III,
several large bands of brigands were established in the hills
about Yuchi. Brigandage began there in the following way. During
a famine when the people were on the verge of starvation, a wealthy
farmer, Su Ek by name, decided to do his share in relieving conditions
by offering for sale a quantity of rice which he had accumulated.
He approached another man of similar wealth who agreed with him
to sell his grain at a reasonable price. Su Ek accordingly disposed
of his rice to the suffering people and, when he had remaining
only enough to sustain his own family until the following harvest,
he sent the peasants to the second man who had also agreed to
dispose of his grain.
This farmer refused
to sell at the stipulated price, and the people, angered at his
treachery, looted his sheds. He immediately went to Foochow and
reported to the governor that there was a band of brigands abroad
in Yuchi County under the leadership of Su Ek, and that they had
robbed and plundered his property.
Without warning a
company of soldiers swooped down upon the
community and arrested a number of men whose names the informer
had given. Su Ek made his escape to the hills but he was pursued
as a brigand chief, and was later joined by other farmers who
had been similarly persecuted. Unable to return to their homes
on pain of death they were forced to rob in order to live.
Su Ek and others were
finally decoyed to Foochow upon the promise that their lives would
be spared if they would induce their band to surrender. They met
the conditions but the government officials broke faith and the
men were executed. Similar attempts were made to enter into negotiations
with the brigands and in 1915 two hundred were trapped and beheaded
after pardons had been promised them. Naturally the robbers refused
to trust the government officials again.
The months which elapsed
between this act of treachery and the spring of 1916, were filled
with innumerable outrages. Many townships were completely devastated,
either by the bandits or the Chinese soldiers. Little will ever
be known of what actually took place under the guise of settling
brigandage, behind the mountains which separate Yuchi from the
outer world. It is well that it should not be known.
During the spring
of 1916 a missionary visited Yuchi. Business called him outside
the city wall and just beyond the west gate he saw the bodies
of ten persons who had that day been executed. Among these were
two children, brothers, the sons of a man who was reported to
have "sold rice to the brigands." The smaller child had wept and
pleaded to be permitted to kneel beside his older brother further
up in the row. He was too small to realize
what it all meant but he wanted to die beside his brother.
In the middle of the
field lay a man whose head was partly severed from his body and
who had been shot through and through by the soldiers. He was
lying upon his back in the broiling sun pleading for a cup of
tea or for someone to put him out of his misery. The missionary
learned the man's story. It appeared that years ago a law suit
in which his father had been concerned had been decided in his
favor. In order to square the score between the clans, the son
of the man who had lost the suit had reported that he had seen
this man carrying rice to the brigands. He had been arrested by
the soldiers, partially killed, and left to lie in the glaring
sun from nine o'clock in the morning until dark suffering the
agonies of crucifixion. Not one of those who heard his moans dared
to moisten the parched lips with tea lest he too be executed for
having administered to a brigand.
The missionary returned
to the city that night vowing that he would make a recurrence
of such a thing impossible or he would leave China. He took up
the matter with the authorities in Peking in a quiet way and later
with the military governor in Foochow. He was well known to the
brigands by reputation and visited several of the chiefs in their
strongholds. They declared that they had confidence in him but
none in the government—or its representatives. It was only
after assuming full responsibility for any treachery that the
brigands agreed to discuss terms.
Upon invitation to
accompany him to the 24th Township, the missionary was escorted
out to civilization by twenty-five picked men to whom the chief
had entrusted an important charge. As the
group neared the township the missionary sent word ahead to the
commander of the northern soldiers to prepare to receive the brigands.
[Illustration:
SEAL OF A PARDONED BRIGAND.]
As the twenty-five
bandits appeared upon the summit of a hill overlooking the city,
soldiers could be seen forming into squads outside the barracks.
Instantly the brigands halted, snapped back the bolts of their
rifles, and threw in shells. The missionary realized that they
suspected treachery and turning about he said, "I
am the guarantee for your lives. If a shot is fired kill me first."
With two loaded guns
at his back and accompanied by the brigands he marched into the
city, where they were received by the officials with all the punctilious
ceremony so dear to the heart of the Chinese. It had been a dangerous
half hour for the missionary. If a rifle had been fired by mistake,
and Chinese are always shooting when they themselves least expect
to, he would have been instantly killed.
This conference, and
others which followed, resulted in several hundred pardons being
distributed to the brigands by the missionary himself. The men
then returned to their abandoned homes and again took up their
lives as respectable farmers. Thus the reign of terror in this
portion of the province was ended through the efforts of one courageous
man. It is such applied Christianity that has made us respect
the missionary and admire his work.
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.
INDEX
Abercrombie &
Fitch Co., 76
Abertsen, Mr., Chinese Customs, employee of, 290,
294;
discovered hunting ground near Hui-yao, 298;
killed two gorals, 298
Africa, 4
Akeley, Carl E., 4, 76
Alaska, 4
Allen, Dr. J. A., x
American flags, 43
American Legation, Peking, xi
American Museum Journal, ix
American Museum of Natural History, 2, 5,
77, 200;
trustees of, specimens being prepared at,
321
Americans, 11
Ammunition, loss of, 79
Amoy, 16
Anas boscas (Mallard ducks), 186
Anglo-Chinese College, 4
Animal life, lack of, 89
Annamits, 78
Antlers, 306, 312
Ape, gray (Pygathrix), 255
Apodemus (white-footed mouse), 122,
176
Asia, x
Asia Magazine, quoted from, 152
Asiatic Zoölogical Expedition, 2;
members of, 3
Assam, 241
Assistants, 4
A-tun-zu, 198, 294
Babies, killing and
selling of, 206
Baboon, brown (Macacus), 255
Baboon, Indian (Macacus rhesus), 279
Bamboo chickens, 26
Bandits, attack of, 95
Bankhardt, Mr., 32, 40,
42, 207
Bat apartment house, 30
Bat cave, description of, 29;
experience of girl in, 31
Bats, method of killing, 30
Batrachians, 310
Bear cubs (Ursus tibetanus), purchased at Teng-yueg, 296
Bedding, 93
Berger, Anna Katherine, acknowledgment to, xi
Bering Strait, 1
Bernheimer, Mr. and Mrs. Charles L., x
Betel nut, 241, 242
Bhamo, 294, 315, 317,
319;
railroad from, 81;
road to, 318;
description of, 320
Big Ravine, description of, 26;
temples near, 26
Birds, game, 90
Balkan, 176
Boat, Chinese, eye on, 15
Bode, Mr., 99
Bohea Hills, 64
Bound feet, 34
Bowdoin, George, x
Bradley, Dr., 78;
established leper hospital at Paik-hoi, 205
Brahmin priests, 186
Brahminy ducks, 186;
habits of, 187
Bridge, suspension, description of, 213
Bridges, rope, 193
Brigand, seal of a pardoned, 210
Brigandage, 207, 208,
211
Brigands; beheading of, 36;
infest Yün-nan, 33;
description of, 96
British American Tobacco Co., Hong Kong , 97,
100
British East Africa, 4
Brooke, Englishman, killed by Lolos, 174
Buffaloes, 265;
water, 218
Bui-tao, 60, 61
Bureau of Foreign Affairs, Director of, x
Burial, expenses of, 39
Burma, 3, 91, 191;
border of, 197, 241;
girls of, 242, 243,
248;
mammals caught near, 250;
frontier of, 264, 265,
294, 316;
boundary of, 319
Burmans, 239, 241
Calcutta, 297,
321
Caldwell, Rev. Harry R., xi, 3,
17, 20, 21,
22, 23, 24,
26, 27, 28,
29;
letter from, 32;
house of, 36;
stationed at Futsing, 44;
tiger hunting, method of, 45,
46, 55, 56,
61, 64, 141;
obtains serows at Yen-ping, 142;
purchases serow skins in Fukien, 143,
152, 154, 207
California, 3
Callosciurus erythraeus, 89, 230
Camera equipment, 75
Canadian Pacific R.R. Co., Hong Kong , General Passenger Agent
of, xi
Cantonese, chiefly of Shan stock, 262
Capricornulus crispus, 140
Capricornis sumatrensis, 141
Capricornis sumatrensis argyrochaetes, 29,
141
Capricornis sumatrensis milne-edwardsi, 141
Caravan, robbing of, 96;
buying of, 104;
renting of, 104
Caravan ponies, 104
Caravans, distance traveled by, 158, 197
Cary, F.W., Commissioner of Customs, 4, 77
Casarca casarca (ruddy sheldrake), 186
Caverns, 162
Central Asia, 1
Central Asian plateau, 1
Cervus macneilli, 175
Chair-coolies, 317
Chairs, description of, 92, 317
Chang, Dr., 294
Chang-hu-fan, 20;
night at, 21
Changlung, 273;
ferry at, 274, 281
Chien-chuan, 198
Chi-li, 7
China, 1, 2;
aboriginal inhabitants of, 3;
press, 13;
inland mission, 78, 101
Chinaman, Cantonese, 242
Chinese, Republic, xi, 2;
army of, 7;
face saving, 11;
Foreign Office, 11;
screaming, habit of, 15;
lack of sympathy of, 19;
not affected by sun, 22;
love of companionship, 22;
bride of, 69;
wedding of, 72;
dress of, 72;
Commissioner of Foreign Affairs, meeting
with, 82;
education of, 88;
villages, description of, 90;
etiquette of, 102, 158,
190;
New Year, 212, 213,
214;
collecting debts of, 216
Chipmunk (Tamiops macclellandi), 230
Chi-yuen-kang, 26, 27,
29
Chou Chou, 99
Christians, native, persecution of, 21
Christianity, lesson in, 39
Christmas, 195;
celebration of, 196
Chu-hsuing Fu, 94, 204
Chung-tien, 172, 175,
176, 183, 201
Civet (Viverra), 246, 247
Clive, Captain, 268, 270,
272
Clothing, 75
Colgate, Mr. and Mrs. Sidney M., x
Collecting case, 228
Color plates, 240
Confucius, rules of, 67
Cook, difficulty in obtaining, 17;
description of, 105
Coolies, 54
Cormorants, 280
Corn, 91
Cows, used as burden-bearers by Chinese, 218
Cranes, 184;
habits of, 185, 199,
236
Crossbows, 229
Cui-kau, 18;
description of, 20
Da-Da, 45,
54
Daing-nei, 54, 66
Dâk (mail) bungalows, 319
Da-Ming, 33
Darjeeling, 144
Davies, Major H.R., ix, 93;
quoted, 137, 138,
139, 191
Dead, burying of, 151
Deer, 246, 301, 312,
313
Deer, barking, 63
Denby, Hon. Charles, 9
Dennet, Tyler, quoted, 152
D'Ollone, Major, member French Expedition, 174
D'Orleans, Prince Henri, 186
Dog, red, death of, 135
Dogs, description of, 115;
for food, 115
Doumer, M., Governor-General of French Indo-China, 93
Duai Uong, 51
Ducks brahminy, 90, 198;
shooting of, 199
Dupontès, Georges Chemin, assistance of, to expedition, 80
Eastes, Mr., Consul,
294
Education, foreign, 71
Elaphodus, 132
Elephants, 219, 222
Elk, 1
Ellsworth, Lincoln, x
Embry, Rev. and Mrs., China Inland Mission, members of, 294
Empress Dowager, 70;
issued edict prohibiting opium growing, 91
Equipment, purchase of, 4
Erh Hai or Ta-li Fu Lake, 199
Etiquette, 102
Europe, 1
European war, 8
Evans, H. G. , xi;
assistance of, 100,
106, 186, 200,
293
Expedition, announcement of, 5;
applicants for positions on, 5;
results of, 316
Expeditions, preliminary, 2
Eye on Chinese boat, 15
Farmer, Mr., 320
Fauna, mammalian, 316
Felis temmicki, 103
Felis uncia, 103
Ferry, 160
Fletcher, H. G. , 294, 295
Flying squirrel, 103, 191
Foochow, 3, 10, 11,
15, 16;
foreign residents of, 17;
streets of, 17, 23,
24, 35, 40;
mail from, 43;
schools for native girls at, 67;
woman's college at, 67,
206, 207, 209,
321
Food box, 74
Foot binding, origin of, 69;
method of, 70;
Natural Foot Society of, 70;
agitation against, 71
Forbidden City, 12
Ford, James B., x
Foreign Office, 97
Forest conservation, lack of, 88
Formosa, 11
Forrest, Mr., 294
Fossil animals, 103;
beds, 103
Francolins, 26
French Consul, 78
Frick, Childs, x
Frick, Henry C., x
Fukien Province, China, 3, 6,
10;
deforestation of, 24;
mammals of, 25, 26,
28, 29;
climate and temperature of, 63;
collecting in summer at, 63;
birds of, 64;
herpetology of, 64;
trapping for small mammals at, 64;
zoölogical study of, 64;
language of, 65;
travel in, 65;
servants in, 65;
serows hunted in, 143,
204;
missionary work in, 207
Funeral customs, 151, 153
Futsing, 43;
blue tiger hunting at, 54
Galápagos Islands,
4
Gallus gallus, 247
Gallus lafayetti, 248
Gallus sonnerati, 248
Gallus varius, 248
Gamblers, 215
Geese, 90, 198
Gen-kang, 224, 226,
229, 233
Gibbon (Hylobates), 253;
description of, 254,
255, 281;
hunting of, 285
Goffe, Consul-General at Yün-nan Fu, 270
Goitre, prevalence of, 92
Gorals, 25, 76;
first hunt for, 120;
ceremonies at death of, 121,
123;
collecting for groups, 126;
color of, 126;
invisibility of, 128;
description of, 144;
horns of, 144;
distribution of, 144;
hunting of, 144, 194;
fighting of, 145;
habits of, 146;
feet of, 146, 194;
hunting of, at Hui-yao, 302,
309
Great Invisible, 44
Grierson, Ralph C., xi, 294,
295, 305, 317
Grus communis, 236
Grus nigricollis, 184
Habala, 164;
hunting at, 165, 167
Hainan, description of, 77;
fauna of, 77
Haiphong, 77;
arrival at, 78, 79
Hanna, Rev. William J., xi, 79,
89, 101, 106,
201, 204, 205,
206, 294
Hanoi, description of, x, 79
Harper's Magazine, ix
Hartford, Mabel, 22, 23,
204
Heller, Edmund, 3, 4,
10, 61, 75,
79, 85, 94,
104, 105, 115,
116, 122, 123,
134, 135, 136,
146, 150, 161,
162, 173, 185,
195, 196, 227,
229, 247, 275,
276, 284, 291,
298, 299, 300,
306, 311, 312
Himalayan Mountains, 1
Hoi-hau, 77
Homes, 69
Ho-mu-shu, 281;
monkeys found near, 282,
283, 289, 291,
313
Hong Kong , purchase of supplies at, 74, 200,
297, 321
Hoolock (Hylobates hoolock), 289
Hornbill, 245, 252
Horses, size of, 85, 104
Hospital attendants, 38
Hotenfa, 129, 130, 131,
132, 134, 135,
161, 171, 174,
193, 194, 195
Hsia-kuan, description of, 99, 103,
212
Hui-yao, 142, 145, 298,
300, 301, 306;
reptiles and lizards found at, 310,
313, 315
Hunan, 35, 36
Hung-Hsien, 11
Hunters, 114
Hutchins, Commander Thomas, 10
Hwa Shan (Flower Mountain), massacre at, 23
Hylobates, 254, 289
Hylomys, 231, 251
Hystrix, 116
India, 1,
57, 321
Inns, 93
Irawadi River, 81, 269,
297, 320
Japan, 5,
8
Japanese newspaper reporters, 6
Joline, Mrs. Adrian Hoffman, x
Jungle fowl, 247, 248;
habits of, 248, 280
Kachins, 239,
269;
women, appearance of, 241
Katha, 320
Kellogg, C.R., xi, 11,
15, 17, 43,
61, 66
Kok, Rev. and Mrs. A., xi;
Pentecostal missionary, 108;
assistance of, 112,
204, 294
Koko-nor, 186
Koo, Wellington, 9
Korea, 6;
pheasants found in, 187
Kraemer, M., xi
Kucheng, 23
Kwang-si, 9
Kwei-chau Province, 3, 9,
137
Lane & Crawford
Company of Hong Kong , 77
Lang, Herbert, photograph of serow loaned by, 144
Languages and dialects, number of, 138;
reason for, 138, 139
Langur, 255
Langurs (Pygathrix), 257, 258
Lao-kay, first hotel on railroad, 81
Lapwings, 199
Las, 239
Lashio, 269
Legge, Prof. J., quoted, 68
Leopards, 25, 64
Leper hospital, 78
Li, length of, 84
Li-chang, 96;
animal life on route to, 107;
arrival at, 107;
camp in, 108;
collecting in, 109;
mammals of, 109;
important fur market at, 110;
inhabitants of, 117;
return to, 150, 155,
157, 190, 196,
254, 257
Li-Hung Chang, 7
Ling-suik, monastery of, 61;
description of, 62;
priests at, 62;
collecting at, 63
Lisos, 191, 239, 292
Livingstone, H.W., xi, 19
Loads, weight of, 54
Lolos, 3, 134, 136;
depredations of, 137;
independence of, 138,
170;
dress of, 173;
capes worn by, 174,
183, 190
London Zoölogical Society's Garden, 141
Long Ravine, blue tiger seen at, 57
Lucas, Dr. F.A., acknowledgment to, x
Lui, Mr., salt commissioner at Tsia-kuan, 99
Lung-ling, 281, 282,
294
Lung-tao, 45, 54, 60,
63
Lutzus, 191, 202
McMurray, J.V.A.,
xi
Macacus rhesus, 258, 279,
305
Mafus, description of, 87
Mail, 290
Malaria, 274, 291
Malay Peninsula, 57
Ma-li-ling, 264, 266
Ma-li-pa, 265;
poppy fields at, 267,
269, 270, 272,
273
Mallard ducks, 186, 199
Mammals, small, importance of, 110;
preparing of, 227
Man, primitive, migrations of, 1
Man-eater, killing of, 49
Mandalay, 320
Mandarins, relations with, 102, 248
Ma-po-lo, low valley at, 225;
game at, 226;
fog in, 226
Marco Polo, 104
Massacre in Hwa Shan (Flower Mountain), 23
Mazzetti-Haendel, Baron, 113, 123,
126, 164
Meadow vole (Microtus), 118, 122
Mekong, 191, 197
Mekong river, description of, 192, 193,
201, 292
Mekong-Salween divide, 190
Mekong valley, 177, 182;
vegetables in, 193;
zoology of, 193
Meng-ting, 226, 233;
description of, 236;
mandarin of, 236;
Buddhist monastery at, 238;
market at, 238;
Cantonese visit and buy opium at, 242;
fog at, 244;
valley at, 244;
birds at, 244
Mergansers, 186
Methodist mission, 24
Mexico, 4
Miao village, 273
Mice, 176
Micromys, 192
Microtus, meadow vole, 118, 122,
173
Min River, 15;
life on, 19, 22,
204
Mission hospital, 36;
China Inland, 101
Missionaries, 35, 40,
59, 67, 202;
servants of, 203;
natives trading with, 205;
civilizing influence of, 206
Mohammedan Chinese, married to a Shan, 246
Mohammedan hunter, 261, 264
Mohammedan war, 101
Mole, 176
Molloy, Agnes F., acknowledgment to, xi
Money, carrying of, 97;
transmitting of, 97
Monkey, 192, 195
Monkey temple, 258
Moose, 1
Morgan, Cordelia, 94, 95,
204
Mosos, 110;
description of, 111,
155, 165;
capes worn by, 174,
190, 229
Motion pictures, 76;
developing of, 315
Mountain goat, 1
"Mountain Goat Hunting with Camera," quoted from, 147
Mouse (Micromys), 192
Moving picture film, 166
Mu-cheng, 229, 233
Muntjac, description of, 28, 132,
225, 258, 292
Museum authorities, 9
Mustelidae, 250
Myitkyina district, 269
Naemorhedus griseus,
144
Nam-ka, Shans at, 260;
description of, 260;
camp at, 264
Nam-ting River, ferry at, 235, 243;
camping at, 244, 245;
hunters at, 246;
camp on, 249;
polecat trapped at, 250;
monkeys, hunting at, 252;
hornbill, seen at, 253;
monkeys found at, 258;
Shans seen at, 260;
caravan crossed, 264,
284, 289, 291,
318
Namur, S.S., 297
Natives, 91;
inaccuracy of, 158
New York, return to, 321
Ngu-cheng, 205
Non-Chinese tribes, 3
North America, 1
Northern soldiers, 35, 42
Northern troops, 40
Opium, 91;
growing of, 91;
inspection of, 91;
scandal, 91;
smuggling of, 91, 267;
smoking of, 318
Osborn, Henry Fairfield, quoted, 146, 147
Pack saddle, description
of, 85
Pack, weight of, 85
Page, Howard, 82, 84,
200
Paget color plates, 166, 200,
316
Pagoda Anchorage, 15, 66
Paik-hoi, 78;
leper hospital at, 205
Palaungs, 239
Palmer, Mr., 290, 294
Pandas, coats of, 103
Pangolin, scales of, 103
Parrots, 244
Partridges, bamboo, 245
Passports, 11
Pavo cristatus, 277
Pavo munticus, 277
Peacock, black-shouldered, 279
Peacock, hunting of, 274;
habits of, 277;
eggs of, 277;
domestication of, 278
Peacock, Indian, 277
Peafowl, killed on Salween River, 277;
flesh of, 277
Peking, 6, 7, 11,
12, 82, 209
Petaruista yunnanensis, 103
Phasiandae, 279
Pheasants, shooting of, 90;
Lady Amherst's, 150;
silver, 279;
horned, 291
Phete, 167;
country about, 168;
natives of, 168, 170
Photographic work, 166
Photographs in natural colors, 4
Photography, cinematograph, 316
Pigeons, 280
Pigs, killing of, 22;
wild, 25, 64;
treatment of, 90, 183
Pin-tail, 199
Pleistocene, 1
Pocock, Mr., 141
Polecat, 250
Polo, Marco, 176;
quoted, 219
Poppy blossoms, 265
Poppy fields, 91
Porcupine, description of, 115
Portable dark room, 166
Prjevalsky, Lieutenant-Colonel, 186
P'u-erh, 212
Pygathrix (monkeys), 192, 195,
258
Railroad, Hanoi to
Yün-nan, 80;
description of, 81
Rain, last of the season, 135, 290,
315, 317
Rainey, Paul J., 4
Rangoon, 269, 272, 279,
320, 321
Ratufa gigantea, 251
Rebellion of 1913, 8
Reinsch, Hon. Paul, xi, 10,
11
Republic, 16
Rhododendrons, 291
Rice, 168
Rice fields, 89
Rifle, Mannlicher, 75, 256,
266, 300;
Savage, 75, 271;
Winchester, 60, 75
Riot in Shanghai, 152
Roads, descriptions of, 87
Rocky Mountain sheep, 1
Roosevelt, Colonel Theodore, 4
Rupicapra, 140
Rupicaprine antelopes, horns of, 140
Salt, preparation
of, 196, 197
Salween River, 273, 278;
heat of, 280, 282,
283, 305
Sambur, 226, 229;
hunting of, 311;
blood of, 312
Sammons, Mr., American Consul-General, 12
Sampans, first night in, 20
San Francisco, 5
Scandinavian steamer, 11
Schools for native girls, 67
Sclater, Mr., 278
Screaming, Chinese habit of, 15
Sedan chairs, 16
Serows, 25;
hunt for, 27;
habits of, 29, 64;
hunting for, 134;
description of, 135;
color variation of, 136;
Japanese, 140;
difference from gorals, 140;
horns of, 141;
relationship of, 141;
appearance of, 141;
killed on Snow Mountain, 142;
obtained by Mr. Caldwell at Yen-ping, 142;
distribution of, 142;
habits of, 143;
weight of, 143, 305;
hunting of at Hui-yao, 306,
307, 308, 309
Servants, wages of, 204
Shanghai, 11, 12;
riot in, 152, 316
Shans, 3, 225, 238,
242, 282;
description of village of, 234,
245;
houses of, 260;
heavily tattooed, 261;
tribes of, 262;
description of, 262,
283, 318
Sheldrakes, 186
Sherwood, George H., assistance rendered to Expedition by, x
Shia-chai, 213
Shie-tien, 223;
bird life at, 223;
natives, curiosity of, 224,
225
Shih-ku ferry, 182, 184
Shoverling, Daly & Gales, ammunition, guns, tents, furnished
by, 4
Shrew, 173, 251
Shwelie River, 145
Singapore, 321
Slave raiding, 139
Smith, Arthur H., quoted, 158, 214,
215
Snow Mountain, camp at, 112;
traveling to, 112;
description of hunters at, 114;
mammalogy of, 116;
camp on slopes of, 118;
mammals collected at, 127;
serows killed on, 142,
166, 176, 182,
184
Soldiers, guard of, 97;
guns of, 97;
expense of, 97;
use of, 97;
treatment by natives of, 98;
fight with, 187;
extortions of, 188
South America, 4
Specimens, packing of, 296, 315
Squirrel, flying (Petaurista yunnanensis), 294;
Ratufa gigantea, 251;
red-bellied (Callosciurus erythraeus),
89, 230
S'suchuan Province, 3, 137,
174
S'su-mao, 178, 212
Standard Oil Co., xi;
launch of, 19, 82,
200
Su Ek, 207
Sun-birds, 244
Sung-kiang, S.S., 78
Tablets, ancestral,
description of, 215
Tai-ping-pu, 291, 293
Taku, 160, 184
Taku ferry, 164
Ta-li Fu, 83;
soldiers guard to, 99;
road to, 100;
graves at, 100;
lake at, 100;
mandarin at, 100;
pagodas at, 100, 104,
105, 183, 186,
193, 200, 201
Ta-li Fu Lake, description of, 199
Tamiops macclellandi, 230
Taoist temple, 26
Tao-tai, 35
Tartars, 219, 221
Temple, camp in, 86
Teng-yueh, 4, 141, 289,
291, 293, 294,
295, 298, 313;
return to, 315, 317
Tents, 74
Tenyo Maru, 5, 9
Thompson, Dr., 205
Tibet, 3, 103, 172,
178;
monopoly of gold in, 181,
183
Tibetan plateaus, 191
Tibetans, description of, 178;
photographing of, 179;
dislike for strangers of, 180;
influence of Chinese on, 181,
183, 190, 191,
212
Tiger, 22, 25, 64;
man-eating, 44;
lairs of, 45;
stalking a goat, 45;
habits of, 46;
daring of, 47;
strength of, 48;
excitement of hunting, 49;
weight of, 50;
blood of, 50;
skins in temples of, 51;
food of, 51;
hunting in lair of, 51;
flesh and bones of, 51;
marking trees by, 52;
skins of, 103
Tiger, blue, 3, 43, 55;
description of, 56;
hunting of, 57;
trying to trap, 60
Tonking, 3, 77, 81,
93, 178, 212
Tragopan, Temmick's, 291
Transportation, difficulties of, 321
Trapping, methods of, 110
Traps, steel, 75;
method of setting, 245
Trees, marking of, by tiger, 52
Tribes, non-Chinese, description of, 138
Trimble, Dr., 32;
house of, 34, 36,
37, 205, 207
Trowbridge, Captain Harry, 77, 78,
79
Tsai-ao, General, 9
Tsamba, 178
Tsang mountains, 100
Tsinan-fu, 12
Tupaia belangeri chinensis, 89
United States, 4
Universal Camera, 76
Ursus tibetanus, 296
Vegetarians, 23
Viverra, 246
Viverridae, 247
Vochang, 218
Vole, 176
Von Hintze, Admiral, 11
Wapiti, 1,
175
War, Mohammedan, 101
Was, 239
Waterhole, 258
Wa-tien, 310, 313
Wei-hsi, 182, 187, 190,
196
White Water, 149;
camp at, 149;
weather at, 149
Wild boar, 258
Wilden, Henry M., French Consul, 82
Wolves, 25
Woman's college at Foochow, 67
Women, position of, in China, 67
Worship, ancestor, 156
Wu-Hung-tao, interpreter, x, 4,
77, 87, 102,
105, 108, 123,
136, 168, 187,
191, 200, 213,
238, 267, 289,
294, 312, 318,
321
Yamen, 39
Yangtze River, 19, 81,
137, 150;
road to, 157;
crossing of, 161;
barrier to mammals, 163,
184, 187, 193,
201, 262
Yangtze gorge, description of, 160, 160,
167
Yen-ping, 20, 22;
climate of, 24;
description of, 24;
residence of Mr. Caldwell at, 24;
Methodist Mission at, 24;
trapping at, 25;
rebellion in, 33;
refugees from, 33;
fighting in, 34;
attacked by rebels in, 35;
wounded in, 36;
schools for native girls at, 67;
Chinese wedding at, 72;
missionary buildings of, 203,
205, 207
Yokohama, 5
Yuan, 7, 8, 10,
12
Yuan-Shi-kai, 7, 10;
death of, 12, 14,
34
Yuchi, 22;
brigands at, 23, 24,
35, 36, 204,
207, 208, 211
Yung-chang, Chinese New Year at, 212;
road to, 212, 214;
water buffaloes at, 218;
battle at, 218
Yung-chang-Teng-yueh road, 282
Yün-nan, xi;
size of, 2;
topography of, 3;
boundaries of, 3;
fauna of, 3;
natives of, 3;
language of, 3, 10,
25;
infested with brigands, 83;
zoölogical study of, 83;
meaning of, 88;
summer climate of, 99
Yün-nan Fu, 9;
foreign residents of, 82;
foreign office at, 97;
Dr. Thompson's hospital at, 205
Zoölogical Garden,
Berlin, 144
Zoölogical Park, Calcutta, 144
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