TRAVELING TOWARD THE TROPICS
We left Yung-chang with no regret on Monday, January 28. Our stay there
would have been exceedingly pleasant under ordinary conditions but it
was impossible not to chafe at the delay occasioned by the caravan.
Traveling southward for two days over bare brown mountain-sides, their
monotony unrelieved except by groves of planted pine and fir trees, we
descended abruptly into the great subtropical valley at Shih-tien.
Mile after mile this fertile plain stretches away in a succession of
rice paddys and fields of sugar cane interspersed with patches of
graceful bamboo, their summits drooping like enormous clusters of
ostrich plumes; the air is warm and fragrant and the change from the
surrounding hills is delightful. However, we were disappointed in the
shooting for, although it appeared to be an ideal place for ducks and
other water birds, we killed only five teal, and the great ponds were
almost devoid of bird life. Even herons, so abundant in the north,
were conspicuous by their absence and we saw no sheldrakes, geese, or
mallards.
At Shih-tien we camped in a beautiful temple yard on the outskirts
of the town, and with Wu I returned to the village to inquire about
shooting places. We seated ourselves in the first open tea house and
within ten minutes more than a hundred natives had filled the room,
overflowed through the door and windows, and formed a mass of pushing,
crowding bodies which completely blocked the street outside. It was
a simple way of getting all the village together and Wu questioned
everyone who looked intelligent.
We learned that shooting was to be found near Gen-kang, five days'
travel south, and we returned to the temple just in time to receive a
visit from the resident mandarin. He was a good-looking, intellectual
man, with charming manners and one of the most delightful gentlemen
whom we met in China.
During his visit, and until dinner was over and we had retired to our
tents, hundreds of men, women and children crowded into the temple
yard to gaze curiously at us. After the gates had been closed they
climbed the walls and sat upon the tiles like a flock of crows. Their
curiosity was insatiable but not unfriendly and nowhere throughout
our expedition did we find such extraordinary interest in our affairs
as was manifested by the people in this immediate region. They were
largely Chinese and most of them must have met foreigners before, yet
their curiosity was much greater than that of any natives whom we knew
were seeing white persons for the first time.
Just before camping the next day we passed through a large village
where we were given a most flattering reception. We had stopped to do
some shooting and were a considerable distance behind the caravan. The
_mafus_ must have announced our coming, for the populace was out _en
masse_ to greet us and lined the streets three deep. It was a veritable
triumphal entry and crowds of men and children followed us for half
a mile outside the town, running beside our horses and staring with
saucer-like eyes.
[Illustration: A Chinese Patriarch]
[Illustration: Young China]
On the second day from Shih-tien we climbed a high mountain and wound
down a sharp descent for about 4,000 feet into a valley only 2,800 feet
above sea level. We had been cold all day on the ridges exposed to a
biting wind and had bundled ourselves into sweaters and coats over
flannel shirts. After going down about 1,000 feet we tied our coats to
the saddle pockets, on the second thousand stripped off the sweaters,
and for the remainder of the descent rode with sleeves rolled up and
shirts open at the throat. We had come from mid-winter into summer in
two hours and the change was most startling. It was as though we had
suddenly ridden into an artificially heated building like the rooms for
tropical plants at botanical gardens.
Our camp was on a flat plain just above the river where we had a
splendid view of the wide valley which was like the bottom of a well
with high mountains rising abruptly on all sides. It was a place of
strange contrasts. The bushes and trees were in full green foliage but
the grass and paddy fields were dry and brown as in mid-winter. The
thick trees at the base of the hills were literally alive with doves
but there were few mammal runways and our traps yielded no results.
That night a muntjac, the first we had heard, barked hoarsely behind
the tents.
The _yamen_ "soldier" who accompanied us from Shih-tien delivered his
official dispatch at the village (Ma-po-lo) which lies farther down the
valley. The magistrate, who proved to be a Shan native, arrived soon
after with ten or twelve men and we discovered that there was but one
man in the village who spoke Chinese.
The magistrate at Ma-po-lo by no means wished to have the
responsibility of our safety thrust upon him and consequently assured
us that there were neither game nor hunters in this village. Although
his anxiety to be rid of us was apparent, he was probably telling the
truth, for the valley is so highly cultivated (rice), and the cover on
the mountain-sides so limited, that it is doubtful if much game remains.
In the morning the entire valley was filled with a dense white fog but
we climbed out of it almost immediately, and by noon were back again
in winter on the summits of the ridges. The country through which we
passed _en route_ to Gen-kang was similar to that which had oppressed
us during the preceding week--cultivated valleys between high barren
mountains relieved here and there by scattered groves of planted fir
trees. It was a region utterly hopeless from a naturalist's standpoint
and when we arrived at a large town near Gen-kang we were well-nigh
discouraged.
During almost a month of travel we had been guided by native
information which without exception had proved worthless. It
seemed useless to rely upon it further, and yet there was no other
alternative, for none of the foreigners whom we had met in Yün-nan knew
anything about this part of the province. We were certain to reach a
tropical region farther south and the fact that there were a few sambur
skins for sale in the market offered slight encouragement. These were
said to come from a village called Meng-ting, "a little more far," to
the tune of four or five days' travel, over on the Burma frontier.
With gloom in our hearts, which matched that of the weather, we left
in a pouring rain on February 6, to slip and splash southward through
veritable rivers of mud for two long marches. In the afternoon of the
second day the country suddenly changed. The trail led through a wide
grassy valley, bordered by heavily forested hills, into a deep ravine.
Along the banks of a clear stream the earth was soft and damp and the
moss-covered logs and dense vegetation made ideal conditions for small
mammalian life.
We rode happily up the ravine and stood in a rocky gateway. At the
right a green-clothed mountain rose out of a tangle of luxuriant
vegetation; to the left wave after wave of magnificent forested ridges
lost themselves in the low hung clouds; at our feet lay a beautiful
valley filled with stately trees which spread into a thick green canopy
overhead.
We camped in a clearing just at the edge of the forest. While the
tents were being pitched, I set a line of traps along the base of the
opposite mountain and found a "runway" under almost every log. About
eight o'clock I ran my traps and, with the aid of a lantern, stumbled
about in the bushes and high grass, over logs and into holes. When I
emptied my pockets there were fifteen mice, rats, shrews, and voles,
representing seven species and _all new to our collection_. Heller
brought in eight specimens and added two new species. We forthwith
decided to stay right where we were until this "gold mine" had been
exhausted.
In the morning our traps were full of mammals and sixty-two were laid
out on the table ready for skinning. The length, tail, hind foot,
and ear of each specimen was first carefully measured in millimeters
and recorded in the field catalogue and upon a printed label bearing
our serial number; then an incision was made in the belly, the skin
stripped off, poisoned with arsenic, stuffed with cotton, and sewed up.
The animal was then pinned in position by the feet, nose, and tail in a
shallow wooden tray which fitted in the collecting trunk.
The specimens were put in the sun on every bright day until they were
thoroughly dry and could be wrapped in cotton and packed in water-tight
trunks or boxes. We have found that the regulation U. S. Army officer's
fiber trunk makes an ideal collecting case. It measures thirty inches
long by thirteen deep and sixteen inches wide and will remain quite
dry in an ordinary rain but, of course, must not be allowed to stand
in water. The skulls of all specimens, and the skeletons of some, are
numbered like the skin, strung upon a wire, and dried in the sun. Also
individuals of every species are injected and preserved in formalin for
future anatomical study.
Larger specimens are always salted and dried. As soon as the skin has
been removed and cleaned of flesh and fat, salt is rubbed into every
part of it and the hide rolled up. In the morning it is unwrapped, the
water which has been extracted by the salt poured off, and the skin
hung over a rope or a tree branch to dry. If it is not too hot and the
air is dry, the skin may be kept in the shade to good advantage, but
under ordinary field conditions it should be placed in the sun. Before
it becomes too hard, the hide is rolled or folded into a convenient
package hair side in, tied into shape and allowed to become "bone dry."
In this condition it will keep indefinitely but requires constant
watching, for the salt absorbs moisture from the air and alternate
wetting and drying is fatal.
We soon trained two of our Chinese boys to skin both large and small
animals and they became quite expert. They required constant watching,
however, and after each hide had been salted either Mr. Heller or I
examined it to make sure that it was properly treated.
On our first day in camp we sent for natives to the village of Mu-cheng
ten _li_ distant. The men assured us that there were sambur, serow, and
muntjac in the neighborhood, and they agreed to hunt. They had no dogs
and were armed with crossbows, antiquated guns, and bows and arrows,
but they showed us the skins of two sambur in proof of their ability to
secure game.
Like most of the other natives, with the exception of the Mosos on the
Snow Mountain, these men had no definite plan in hunting. The first day
I went out with them they indicated that we were to drive a hill not
far from camp. Without giving me an opportunity to reach a position in
front of them, they began to work up the hill, and I had a fleeting
glimpse of a sambur silhouetted against the sky as it dashed over the
summit.
Two days later while I was out with ten other men who had a fairly good
pack of dogs, the first party succeeded in killing a female sambur. The
animal weighed at least five hundred pounds but they brought it to our
camp and we purchased the skin for ten _rupees_. South of Gen-kang the
money of the region, like all of Yün-nan for some distance from the
Burma frontier, is the Indian _rupee_ which equals thirty-three cents
American gold in that part of the province adjoining Tonking, French
Indo-China money is current.
My Journal of February 8 tells of our life at this camp, which we
called "Good Hope."
The weather is delightful for the sun is just warm enough for
comfort and the nights are clear and cold. How we do sleep! It
seems hardly an hour from the time we go to bed until we hear Wu
rousing the servants, and the crackle of the camp-fire outside the
tent. We half dress in our sleeping bags and with chattering teeth
dash for the fire to lace our high boots in its comfortable warmth.
After breakfast when it is full daylight, my wife and I inspect
the traps. The ground is white with frost and the trees and bushes
are dressed in silver. Every trap holds an individual interest and
we follow the line through the forest, resetting some, and finding
new mammals in others. Yvette has conquered her feminine repugnance
far enough to remove shrews or mice from the traps by releasing the
spring and dropping them on to a broad green leaf, but she never
touches them.
We go back to meet the hunters and while I am away with the men,
the lady of the camp works at her photography. I return in the late
afternoon and after tea we wander through the woods together. It
is the most delightful part of the day when the sun goes down and
the shadows lengthen. We sit on a log in a small clearing where we
can watch the upper branches of a splendid tree. It is the home of
a great colony of red-bellied squirrels (_Callosciurus erythræus_
subsp.) and after a few moments of silence we see a flash of brown
along a branch, my gun roars out, and there is a thud upon the
ground.
Yvette runs to find the animal and ere the echoes have died away
in the forest the gun bangs again. We have already shot a dozen
squirrels from this tree and yet more are there. Sometimes a tiny,
striped chipmunk (_Tamiops macclellandi_ subsp.) will appear on the
lower branches, searching the bark for grubs, and after he falls we
have a long hunt to find him in the brown leaves. When it is too
dark to see the squirrels, we wander slowly back to camp and eat a
dinner of delicious broiled deer steak in front of the fire; over
the coffee we smoke and talk of the day's hunting until it is time
to "run the traps."
Of all the work we enjoy this most. With lanterns and a gun we
pick our way among the trees until we strike the trail along which
the traps are set. On the soft ground our feet are noiseless and,
extinguishing the lanterns, we sit on a log to listen to the night
sounds. The woods are full of life. Almost beside us there is a
patter of tiny feet and a scurry among the dry leaves; a muntjac
barks hoarsely on the opposite hillside, and a fox yelps behind us
in the forest. Suddenly there is a sharp snap, a muffled squeal,
and a trap a few yards away has done its work. Even in the tree
tops the night life is active. Dead twigs drop to the ground with
an unnatural noise, and soft-winged owls show black against the sky
as they flit across an opening in the branches.
We light the lanterns again and pass down the trail into a cuplike
hollow. Here there are a dozen traps and already half of them
are full. In one is a tiny brown shrew caught by the tail as he
ran across the trap; another holds a veritable treasure, and at
my exclamation of delight Yvette runs up excitedly. It is a rare
Insectivore of the genus _Hylomys_ and possibly a species new to
science. We examine it beside the lantern, wrap it carefully in
paper, and drop it into a pocket by itself.
The next bit of cotton clings to a bush above a mossy log. The trap
is gone and for ten minutes we hunt carefully over every inch of
ground. Finally my wife discovers it fifteen feet away and stifles
a scream for in it, caught by the neck and still alive, is a huge
rat nearly two feet long; it too is a species which may prove new.
When the last trap has been examined, we follow the trail to the
edge of the forest and into the clearing where the tents glow in
the darkness like great yellow pumpkins. Ours is delightfully
warmed by the charcoal brazier and, stretched comfortably on the
beds, we write our daily records or read Dickens for half an hour.
It is with a feeling of great contentment that we slip down into
the sleeping bags and blow out the candles leaving the tent filled
with the soft glow of the moonlight.