SPORT ROUND T’AI-YÜAN FU
In the summer of 1911 we returned to China, with the idea of carrying
out extensive explorations in Mongolia and Manchuria.
We reached T’ai-yüan Fu in July, when, the rainy season being at its
height, it was impossible to start our contemplated journey for some
time.
I tried one short trip into the mountains of the Ning-wu district, but
it ended in disaster, my head servant being accidentally shot by one of
his companions.
Subsequently disquieting rumours anent the impending outbreak began to
circulate, so that I decided to wait a while to see how things were
going, before starting on a long journey northwards.
In view of the general unrest in the country, we had decided that my
wife should not accompany me on this journey, but I soon found a
pleasant and able companion and assistant in Mr. F. W. Warrington, son
of Professor A. W. Warrington of the Shansi University.
For the time being we contented ourselves with short excursions round
the city and into the adjoining country, and were very successful.
September, in China the best month of the year, arrived, and with it the
thought of the pheasants and other game, only waiting for the
sportsman’s gun. We decided therefore to try our luck in the mountains
west of T’ai-yüan Fu.
Elsewhere I have described hunting in this particular bit of country,
but as I have not done so in the present volume, and as our experiences
were typical of what a hunter in these parts usually goes through, a
brief description will perhaps not tire the reader.
Hiring mules to carry our stores, and accompanied by one of the railway
officials, a Frenchman and a very good fellow, we left the city in high
spirits. It was just the right sort of day for travel, and our ponies,
fresh from a good summer’s rest, curvetted and careered in their anxiety
for a gallop across the flats.
After seeing our mules across the swollen river in safety, and
traversing the low-lying loess terraces on the western side of the
valley, we entered a deep gorge in the limestone formation. Being well
mounted, we had long since outstripped the mules, so when we found a
clear stream a couple of miles up the gorge we dismounted to have lunch
and await the slow-moving train.
We finished our lunch and then put in time searching for fossils. The
hours slipped by, but brought no sign of the mules, so that we began to
wonder what had become of them. Finally we rode back to the nearest
village, some three miles along the road, and made inquiries of the
natives. No, the mules had not passed through the village: no one had
seen them. This was awkward. What had become of those mules, or where to
go in search of them, we were entirely at a loss to know. We did not
want to return to T’ai-yüan and spoil our trip, and yet to go on into
the mountains without any prospect of food or shelter did not commend
itself as a much better alternative. Finally, by much questioning, we
learned that there was another path up to the spot where we wished to
camp. Putting everything on one cast of the dice, we decided to make for
our original goal on the chance that our outfit and servants had already
arrived there by this other path.
As night was fast coming on, we borrowed a lantern and set out to make
the twelve miles of mountain path as fast as possible. Daylight lasted
another half-hour or so, allowing us to get well into the gorge. Our
plucky little ponies kept up a sharp trot, even in the darkness, till we
reached the end of the boulder-strewn gorge. We then began a steep and,
under the circumstances, somewhat dangerous ascent. For upwards of two
hours we climbed, sometimes zigzagging up the steep face of a mountain,
at other times winding along the edge of a precipice. Once we missed the
path and found ourselves at the end of a narrow ledge, looking down into
the inky depths of a yawning chasm. Carefully retracing our steps we
regained the path, which, owing to numerous landslides, caused by recent
rains, was obliterated in many places for yards at a stretch. It was
with the utmost difficulty that our sure-footed ponies picked their way
over these masses of jagged rock.
At last, however, we reached the village of Shêng-yeh, and to our great
relief found that our mules had arrived in safety, and had put up at a
little temple. We soon forgot our trying experiences in anticipation of
a good week’s sport amongst the pheasants.
We got a camp fire going, and were soon comfortably enjoying a good
dinner, followed by a smoke, a chat and bed.
Early the next morning we were astir, and after a hasty breakfast we set
out over the brush-covered hills. It was not long before we began to
flush pheasants, and had excellent shooting. As we traversed the ridges
and intervening ravines, bouquet after bouquet of fine young birds, led
by magnificent old cocks, rose in front of us, and our guns rang out
incessantly. Now and then a hare, breaking cover, would form a little
diversion; while once or twice great excitement reigned as a fat
woodcock burst out of some thick coppice of young pines and went
rocketing away, sometimes falling to one or other of the guns.
Presently, as we worked down a long ridge, the unearthly and
awe-inspiring cry of the eared pheasant (_Crossoptilon manchuricum_)
rang out from a clump of pines on the opposite slope, to be taken up and
thrown back from several other points in the underbrush. To my
companions the peculiar noise was new, but to me it was a familiar
sound, though I was surprised to hear it in this locality.
How well I remember my first experience of that fearsome call, or rather
series of calls. I was at the time away in the high mountains of Western
Shansi, and was stalking a deer through a dense forest, when the noise
rang out within a few yards of me, echoing through the dark arches of
the pines and sending cold shivers down my back. I did not then discover
the perpetrator of the discordant cries. Later when I was out in Kansu,
and was traversing some dark and wooded gorges high up in the Lu-p’an
mountains, I was again startled by the same indescribable sound, which
seemed to issue from the throat of some fearsome beast of prey lurking
in the gloomy depths of those mountain gorges. It was not till the
winter of 1909, while on the expedition dealt with in the foregoing
chapter, that I discovered it was the eared-pheasant’s challenge which
had so startled me. Thus the sound which now caused my companions to
look round in something approaching trepidation, was to me the sweetest
of music, as I remembered the fine sport I had already had with these
birds.
We hurried round the top of the ridge, and having arrived at a point
above the spinny whence the calls had issued, we worked slowly down
through the young pines. We had not gone far when three fine birds broke
cover and went gliding across the valley. The trees prevented anybody
shooting, but we carefully noted where the birds settled. One lighted in
a pine tree near the bottom of the ravine, while the other two settled
higher up the slope, and in their usual manner began to run upwards at
top speed. Hurrying down we approached the tree in which the bird had
settled, but nothing could be seen of it. Suddenly it broke cover once
more and I managed to get in a shot that made the feathers fly. The bird
continued, however, and reached the opposite slope. Again we hurried
across to the spot where it stopped, but could find no trace of it.
Jimmy, our pointer, soon picked up the warm scent, however, and there
ensued a long and exciting chase through the underbrush. None of us
could see the quarry, which was running with wonderful speed through the
dense hazel-scrub. At last Jimmy caught it and held it till we came up.
It turned out to be a magnificent cock, which must have weighed six or
seven pounds. The other two made good their escape.
It was indeed a surprise to me to find this bird, which usually inhabits
the highest and wildest regions of the country in such close proximity
to the thickly populated country round T’ai-yüan Fu.
On our way back to camp a few more common pheasants were bagged. With
this we were satisfied for the time being, and decided to devote the
next day or two to hunting pigs.
Accordingly on the following day we shouldered our rifles, and set off
towards country, where previous experience had taught me we might
reasonably expect to find pigs.
We soon came upon fresh trails, and choosing one, we followed it for
many miles through the most picturesque country. At first the trail led
along the bottom of a deep ravine, down which flowed a gurgling brook,
and the sides of which, stratified and steep, presented a veritable
fairyland of ferny grottoes and spongy mossbanks, half hidden by twining
creepers, hanging in enchanting festoons. Soon our way was barred by a
sill of rock, harder than the rest, over which fell a sparkling cascade
of crystal water. Still following the path marked by the deep spore of
our quarry, we climbed up the slippery slopes, to be drenched by showers
of dew from the autumn-tinted leaves, which soon would go to increase
the richness of the soft mould under our feet. Scrambling upward through
rending thorn-scrub, close matted bryony and fast searing hazel, we next
came out upon terraces of long, waving grass, which in turn gave place
to gentle shale slopes, dotted over with sapling pines and dense bushes,
on which the golden berries hung in rich and tempting clusters. Through
all this the spore we followed was plain, but presently, as it emerged
upon the rocky bluffs of sandstone, it became more difficult to follow,
till it was lost in an extensive patch of hazel-scrub, through which
only a pig could force its way, and where, in all probability, our
quarry was lying up for the day.
Thus we spent two fruitless but interesting days—interesting because of
the wonders of nature presented at every step.
Here, in loose coils, lies a viper, his lithe form flattened to catch
the full benefit of the sun’s rays, while an ugly swelling in the region
of his stomach shows that he has recently dined. On an overhead bough is
perched an angry chipmunk, screaming at the cold-eyed monster, thus
giving vent to his feelings for the loss of his luckless mate. There, in
a damp hollow, sits a great toad, his fat sides and throat throbbing and
his golden eye ever watchful for some hovering fly or careless, crawling
beetle. Soon there passes through the woods a troop of lively,
chattering tomtits, each tiny bird examining the under surfaces of the
leaves, searching amongst the scales of the pine-cones, prying into
every crack and cranny of the bark, or exploring the hollows under the
gnarled and twisted roots, in its everlasting hunt for ants, spiders and
grubs. Swish! Down from the blue vault of heaven swoops a fierce hawk.
There is a flutter, a tiny cry of distress, and away goes the cruel
marauder, bearing in his talons the mangled and lifeless form of one of
the lively little tits. The others, momentarily awed by the tragedy,
vanish from sight. Presently, as the exuberant and irrepressible energy
of each tiny songster once more predominates, first one, and then
another, makes a quick dart through the bushes, till the whole troop is
once more flitting from tree to tree and bush to bush, chirping and
singing as though nothing had happened. Next, the angry scolding of a
pair of magpies announces to all the world that they can see a fox
sneaking through the scrub upon a covey of unsuspecting partridges. Poor
Reynard! his crafty designs thus revealed to his quarry, who hasten to
place themselves out of danger, and fearing that he may bring the
hunters down upon himself, he creeps away to his lair, there to nurse
his hate against those spoil-sports, who, if the truth were known, are
guilty of crimes every whit as bad as his own.
Absorbing though all this might be, it was somewhat disheartening not to
sight a pig. It became evident that the valleys we were working afforded
too much cover for them, so we decided to try the slopes on the other
side of the ridge.
Once more, as rosy-fingered dawn drew aside the purple veil of night, we
shouldered our rifles and made for the sparsely wooded slopes, where we
had discovered the eared pheasants. Before long we came upon the fresh
tracks of two good-sized pigs. We followed these up all the morning
without sighting anything larger than hares, pheasants and woodcocks,
though there were not wanting signs that the pigs were but a little
distance ahead. At noon we rested in a beautiful ravine, where we made a
hearty meal of cold pheasant and bannock, washed down with long draughts
of water from the cool stream which gurgled at our feet.
PLATE VI.
[Illustration:
FRONT VIEW OF NORTH CHINA WILD PIG, SHOT AT SHÊNG-YIEH, NEAR TÂI-YÜAN
FU.
]
[Illustration:
HUNTING PARTY ON SUMMIT OF HIGH PEAK, NEAR TÂI-YÜAN FU.
_Opposite p. 72._]
]
The best part of the afternoon was behind us when signs in the trail,
which we had taken up again after lunch, convinced me that we were close
up to the pigs. Warrington and I were down at the bottom of a ravine,
while our French friend was sauntering along the top of the ridge,
looking very bored with the proceedings, and audibly wishing that we
would confine our attentions to easier game. Suddenly his voice, choking
with suppressed excitement, rang out. “Peeg! Peeg!” Looking up we saw
our companion, his face ablaze, beckoning to us with one hand and
pointing to a magnificent boar with his gun held in the other. His
weapon was a treble-barrelled shot-gun and rifle combined. As soon as he
was sure we had seen the pig, he turned and let drive at him with both
barrels of bird shot, following this up with the rifle. At the same
moment our own pieces rang out, but the pig, stung into madness, tore up
the hill and across the ridge. Down the other side he went, regardless
of every impediment, leaving a trail of scattered rocks and uprooted
bushes. He had gained the bottom of the ravine and was well up the
opposite slope before we reached the top of ours. Here in a dense pine
spinney we lost sight of him and were too exhausted to trail him
further, so he escaped with a dose of No. 4 shot in his hind quarters.
Our time, regulated by the duration of our friend’s leave, was almost at
an end, so we decided to finish up with a grand drive, in which we hoped
to settle the vexed question as to who should claim the honours of the
chase.
Unfortunately for me, it proved to be my off day, so that but for a nice
right and left at the commencement of the drive, and a bird here and
there throughout the day, I missed everything. Warrington on the other
hand did particularly well, and the Frenchman increased his total bag by
several brace of pheasants. The result of the day’s shooting was a win
for Warrington. This finished our little trip, and we returned without
adventure to T’ai-yüan Fu.
We found that the Revolution had just broken out in Hankow, and that the
general unrest and excitement was increasing. Being loth to risk my
outfit, and knowing that if the North joined in the rebellion against
the Manchu power, it would be impossible to travel with any safety, I
decided further to postpone our intended journey into Mongolia, spending
the time instead in a short camping trip down the river.
Thus it was that on October 12 we found ourselves comfortably settled
under canvas upon the bank of the Fên River, about five miles south of
T’ai-yüan Fu.
Round us the farmers were busy harvesting rich crops of beans and
sorghum. The weather was superb, with just sufficient nip in it to make
a stove at night pleasant, and to send the blood coursing through one’s
veins as one tramped along in the early mornings, watching the sky for
the long lines of migrating geese, or beating the scrub and underbrush
for hares and quails.
All night long we had heard the honking of wild geese as they passed
southward, fleeing from the northern cold, which was steadily advancing
to lay its grip upon the land, and now as the grey dawn spread its light
over field and flood, we crept out towards one of the numerous dykes
which intersect these flatlands, and crouched behind it in hopes that
the oncoming geese, flying low as is their wont when there is frost in
the air, would afford us a few shots.
We were not disappointed, for presently the familiar cry was heard, and
barely above the horizon we could see a long V-shaped line, which
steadily drew nearer. Then we saw another, and another, till it seemed
as though from the north advanced a conquering army, the many battalions
of which were bearing down upon us. On they came, till the first row was
almost within range of our guns, when, suddenly, at a warning cry from
the leader, who formed the apex of the V, and had evidently caught sight
of something that raised his suspicions, the whole flock rose high into
the air, passing safely over us.
The next line delayed this manœuvre till too late. As our guns rang out,
two birds dropped back from the advancing line. One came hurtling down
and struck the bank like a cannon ball; the other, struggling
desperately to keep its balance, swerved to the left, and with a mighty
rush plunged into the swirling waters behind us, where presently it
could be seen floating rapidly down stream. It reached some mudbanks in
the centre, and leaving the water lay down to rest. It did not take long
to secure this bird, though a wetting was naturally the price.
After this incident, no more geese appeared, so setting up my little
accordion boat, we crossed the river to where some thick grass spread
over a large area of ground. This we beat through and were rewarded with
a couple of hares and a brace or two of quail.
That evening we set out a line of traps, which we visited thereafter at
dusk and dawn, and from which we drew a supply of specimens, including
gerbils (_Meriones psammophilus_), hamsters (_Cricetulus triton incanus_
and _C. andersoni_), and other rodents. We skinned these in the
mornings, while we spent the afternoons making excursions down the river
or hunting for game. We soon located some bustards, but as yet they were
too shy to allow of our near approach, having just run the gauntlet of
feather hunters from Mongolia southward.
These birds we hunted with rifles and on horseback, and at length
managed to get a flock close up to an irrigation canal. Stalking along
this, we came within a hundred yards of the bustards, then cautiously
peeping over the bank, each of us selected his bird and at a whispered
signal fired. Warrington’s bird dropped dead, but mine escaped, leaving
behind a few feathers shaved off its back by the bullet.
We discovered some badger holes and set traps for them, but succeeded
only in catching a mink, which however escaped, leaving a claw behind in
token of its carelessness.
As the days grew colder, more birds came down from the north, and soon
we noted large flocks of mallard and teal out on the muddy stretches.
We organized several shooting parties, made up of friends from the
T’ai-yüan community, and so would ride long distances over the plain,
taking everything as it came. In this way we secured many good bags of
ducks, geese and hare. Once as we were returning to camp a bustard,
flying overhead, was brought down by Warrington, who let drive from
horseback with No. 2 shot.
On more than one occasion during these excursions, Warrington, who as
yet was not familiar with the treacherous mud-flats, nearly came to
grief in the quicksands.
One day, having been tempted out upon the mud-flats by a large flock of
waterfowl, we succeeded in securing a goose and two mallards. I went
after the former, and my companion after the latter. After securing my
goose, I turned to see where Warrington was, and was horrified to see
him struggling almost up to his waist in sinking sands. Hurrying to his
rescue, I arrived just as he had succeeded in extricating himself. He
had lost his gun, however, the butt of which could be seen protruding
just above the surface of the mud. I went to try to secure it, but soon
found myself in difficulties, from which I had considerable trouble in
extricating myself. We then went inland and cut some sorghum stalks,
with which to make a safe path over the quicksands. Some Chinese helped
us carry these down to the river’s edge. One of them asked me what we
were trying to do, as I carefully laid the sorghum stalks out over the
treacherous surface. I pointed to the gunstock, and told him I wanted to
recover it, whereupon he walked into the quicksands, secured the gun and
returned without the least apparent effort. He explained the ease with
which he managed to do what we had found impossible by the fact that his
legs were bare, whereas we had boots and putties on.
On another occasion the pony which Warrington was riding bogged down in
a place that looked perfectly safe. The poor animal’s desperate
struggles only caused the sandy mud to engulf him further. But for the
timely assistance of some natives engaged in building a temporary
trestle bridge, who came running to our aid with ropes and poles, the
animal would certainly have been lost.
Thus we continued day after day, hunting, riding and trapping. Still the
province remained quiet, till at last we began to think that after all
we might venture upon our proposed expedition, and we were just
finishing up at camp on the river when an urgent letter reached us from
T’ai-yüan Fu, advising us to come in at once, as an outbreak was about
to occur.
A few days later the Shansi soldiers revolted, and raising the
Revolutionary flag, declared in favour of a Republic.
This effectually interrupted our work for many months to come. Advice,
which amounted to orders, from the Legations in Peking, resulted in all
Europeans in Shansi taking their wives and children to the coast.
Subsequently news of the murder of some missionaries and children and
the rumoured peril of the remaining Europeans in the adjoining province
of Shensi, led to the formation of the Shensi Relief Expedition, which
was placed under my leadership, and which kept Warrington and myself
very busy throughout the winter.
Accounts of the journey to and from Si-an Fu, the capital of Shensi,
have appeared elsewhere, so they need take up no space in this book.
Suffice it to say, we had an exciting and interesting journey which
ended in our safe arrival in Peking in January, 1912.