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 canon 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 mountain-side 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 canon. 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 canon 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 canon 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 mountain-side.
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 heart-broken 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.
CHAPTER XVI
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 Yuen-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 Yuen-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: “Yuen-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 Yuen-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 Yuen-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 Yuen-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 Yuen-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 enquirer into Indo-Chinese ethnology.
A tribe has entered Yuen-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. Inter-tribal 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).
CHAPTER XVII
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 Yuen-nan it is called “wild cow.”
The specific relationships of the serows are by no means satisfactorily determined. Mr. Pocock, Superintendent of the London Zooelogical 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 Yuen-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 Zooelogical Garden; we saw a serow in the Zooelogical Park at Calcutta and one from Darjeeling is owned by the London Zooelogical 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. [Footnote: “Mountain Goat Hunting with the Camera,” by Henry Fairfield Osborn. Reprinted from the tenth _Annual Report of the New York Zooelogical 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 Yuen-nan, far above the clouds, at the edge of the snow.
CHAPTER XVIII
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 canon 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 snowlike 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 Yuen-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. [Footnote: “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 Yuen-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.
CHAPTER XIX
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.
CHAPTER XX
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 Canon 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 mountain-sides we passed through a parklike 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 Canon of the Colorado, nevertheless its grandeur is hardly less imposing and awe-inspiring. If Yuen-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 paddys 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 Yuen-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 Yuen-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.
CHAPTER XXI
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 mid-winter 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 Yuen-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 Yuen-nan, when we were there, a pair of horns were worth $100 (Mexican).
Thanksgiving morning dawned gray and raw with occasional flurries of haillike 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 parklike 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 (_Blarina_). 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.
CHAPTER XXII
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 Yuen-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 Yuen-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.
CHAPTER XXIII
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 canon 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 Yuen-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 Yuen-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 Yuen-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.
CHAPTER XXIV
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 Yuen-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 Yuen-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 mountain-side or can be diverted by irrigating ditches, the ground is beautifully terraced for rice paddys, 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 zooelogical 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 canon 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 canon. 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 deg.+ or 20 deg.+ Fahr. 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 Hongkong 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 _piece de resistance_. 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 Yuen-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 Hongkong had just arrived.
Through the good offices of Mr. Howard Page, manager of the Standard Oil Company of Yuen-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