Camps and Trails in China Part 22

Captain Clive said to him, "Do you think the Chinaman will die?" Looking very judicial the native replied, "Sir, he _may_ die, and yet, he may live." "But," said Clive, "he will probably die, won't he?" "Yes," was the answer, "and yet perhaps he will live." That was all the satisfaction he was able to get.

Clive told us of another native who formerly had been in his company. He had been transferred and one day the Captain met him in Rangoon. When asked if his pay was satisfactory the answer was typical, "Sir, it is good, but not _s-o-o_ good!"

On the afternoon of our fourth day in Ma-li-pa a heliograph from Rangoon announced that "The Asiatic Zoological Expedition of the American Museum of Natural History is especially commended to His Majesty's Indian Government and permission is hereby granted to carry on its work in Burma wherever it may desire." This was only one of the many courtesies which we received from the British.

The morning following the receipt of the heliogram we broke camp at daylight. When the last mule of the caravan had disappeared over the brown hills toward China we regretfully said farewell and rode away. If we are ever again made "prisoners of war" we hope our captor will be as delightful a gentleman as Captain Clive.

CHAPTER x.x.xIII

HUNTING PEAc.o.c.kS ON THE SALWEEN RIVER

From Ma-li-pa we traveled almost due north to the Salween River. The country through which we pa.s.sed was a succession of dry treeless hills, brown and barren and devoid of animal life. On the evening of the third day we reached the Salween at a ferry a few miles from the village of Changlung where the river begins its great bend to the eastward and sweeps across the border from China into Burma.

The stream has cut a tremendous gorge for itself through the mountains and the sides are so precipitous that the trail doubles back upon itself a dozen times before it reaches the river 3,500 feet below. The upper half of the gorge is bare or thinly patched with trees, but in the lower part the gra.s.s is long and rank and a thin dry jungle straggles along the water's edge. The Salween at this point is about two hundred yards wide, but narrows to half that distance below the ferry and flows in a series of rapids between rocky sh.o.r.es.

The valley is devoid of human life except for three boatmen who tend the ferry, but the deserted rice fields along a narrow shelf showed evidence of former cultivation. On the slopes far up the side of the canon is a Miao village, a tribe which we had not seen before. Probably the valley is too unhealthy for any natives to live close to the water's edge and, even at the time of our visit in early March, the heated air was laden with malaria.

The ferrymen were stupid fellows, half drugged with opium, and a.s.sured us that there were no mammals near the river. They admitted that they sometimes heard peac.o.c.ks and, while our tents were being pitched on a steep sand bank beneath a giant tree, the weird catlike call of a peac.o.c.k echoed up the valley. It was answered by another farther down the river, and the report of my gun when I fired at a bat brought forth a wild "pe-haun,"

"pe-haun," "pe-haun" from half a dozen places.

The ferry was a raft built of long bamboo poles lashed together with vines and creepers. It floated just above the surface and was half submerged when loaded. The natives used a most extraordinary contrivance in place of oars.

It consisted of a piece of tightly woven bamboo matting three feet long and two feet wide at right angles to which was fastened a six-foot handle. With these the men nonchalantly raked the water toward them from the bow and stern when they had poled the raft well into the current. The invested capital was not extensive, for when the ferry or "propellers" needed repairs a few hours' work in the jungle sufficed to build an entirely new outfit.

All of the peac.o.c.ks were on the opposite side of the river from our camp where the jungle was thickest. On the first morning my wife and I floated down the river on the raft for half a mile and landed to stalk a peac.o.c.k which had called frequently from a rocky point near the water's edge. We picked our way through the jungle with the utmost caution but the wary old c.o.c.k either saw or heard us before we were within range, and I caught just a glimpse of a brilliant green neck as he disappeared into the bushes. A second bird called on a point a half mile farther on, but it refused to come into the open and as we started to stalk it in the jungle we heard a patter of feet among the dry leaves followed by a roar of wings, and saw the bird sail over the tree tops and alight on the summit of a bush-clad hill.

This was the only peac.o.c.k which we were ever able to flush when it had already gained cover. Usually the birds depend entirely upon their ability to hide or run through the bushes. After several attempts we learned that it was impossible to stalk the peac.o.c.ks successfully. The jungle was so crisp and parched that the dry leaves crackled at every step and even small birds made a loud noise while scratching on the ground.

The only way to get the peac.o.c.ks was to watch for them at the river when they came to drink in the early morning and evening. Between two rocky points where we had first seen the birds there was a long curved beach of fine white sand. One morning h.e.l.ler waited on the point nearest camp while my wife and I posted ourselves under a bush farther down the river. We had been sitting quietly for half an hour when we heard a scratching in the jungle. Thinking it was a peac.o.c.k feeding we turned our backs to the water and sat motionless peering beneath the bushes. Meanwhile, h.e.l.ler witnessed an interesting little drama enacted behind us.

An old male peac.o.c.k with a splendid train stole around the point close to the water, jumped to a high stone within thirty yards of us and stood for a full minute craning its beautiful green neck to get a better view as we kneeled in front of him totally unconscious of his presence. After he had satisfied his curiosity he hopped off the observation pinnacle and, with his body flattened close to the ground, slipped quietly away. It was an excellent example of the stalker being stalked and had h.e.l.ler not witnessed the scene we should never have known how the clever old bird had fooled us.

The following morning we got a peahen at the same place. h.e.l.ler had concealed himself in the bushes on one side of the point while I watched the other. Shortly after daylight an old female sailed out of the jungle on set wings and alighted at the water's edge. She saw h.e.l.ler almost instantly, although he was completely covered by the vines, and started to fly, but he dropped her with a broken wing. Recovering herself, she darted around the rocky point only to meet a charge of B.B.'s from my gun. She was a beautiful bird with a delicate crown of slender feathers, a yellow and blue face patch and a green neck and back, but her plumes were short and inconspicuous when compared with those of the male.

Probably these birds had never before been hunted but they were exceedingly shy and difficult to kill. Although they called more or less during the entire day and we could locate them exactly, they were so far back in the jungle that the crackling of the dry leaves made a stalk impossible. We tried to drive them but were unsuccessful, for the birds would never flush unless they happened to be in the open and cut off from cover. Apparently realizing that their brilliant plumage made them conspicuous objects, the birds relied entirely upon an actual screen of bushes and their wonderful sight and hearing to protect themselves from enemies.

They usually came to the river to drink very early in the morning and just before dusk in the afternoon, but on cloudy days they might appear at almost any hour. If undisturbed they would remain near the water's edge for a considerable time or strut about the sand beach just at the edge of the jungle. At the sound of a gun or any other loud sharp noise the peac.o.c.ks would answer with their mournful catlike wail, exactly as the domesticated birds will do.

The Chinese believe that the flesh of the peafowl is poison and our servants were horrified when they learned that we intended to eat it. They fully expected that we would not survive the night and, even when they saw we had experienced no ill effects, they could not be persuaded to touch any of it themselves. An old peac.o.c.k is too tough to eat, but the younger birds are excellent and when stuffed with chestnuts and roasted they are almost the equal of turkey.

The species which we killed on the Salween River is the green peafowl (_Pavo munticus_) which inhabits Burma, Sumatra, Java, and the Malay Peninsula. Its neck is green, instead of purple, as is that of the common Indian peac.o.c.k (_Pavo cristatus_), and it is said that it is the most beautiful bird of the world.

The long ocellated tail coverts called the "train" are dropped about August and the birds a.s.sume more simple barred plumes, but the molt is very irregular; usually the full plumage is resumed in March or even earlier.

The train is, of course, an ornament to attract the female and, when a c.o.c.k is strutting about with spread plumes, he sometimes makes a most peculiar rustling sound by vibrating the long feathers.

The eight or ten eggs are laid on the bare ground under a bush in the dense jungle, are dull brownish white and nearly three inches long. The chicks are sometimes domesticated, but even when born in captivity, it is said they are difficult to tame and soon wander away. The birds are omnivorous, feeding on insects, grubs, reptiles, flower buds, young shoots, and grain.

The common peafowl (_Pavo cristatus_) is a native of India, Ceylon, and a.s.sam. It is held sacred by some religious castes and we saw dozens of the birds wandering about the grounds of the temples in Benares, Agra, and Delhi. Peafowl are said to be rather disagreeable pets because they often attack infirm persons and children and kill young poultry.

In some parts of Ceylon and India the birds are so abundant and easily killed that they do not furnish even pa.s.sable sport, but in other places they are as wild and difficult to shoot as we found them to be on the Salween River. In India it is a universal belief among sportsmen that wherever peafowls are common, there tiger will be found.

A very beautiful variety which seems to have arisen abruptly in domestication is the so-called "j.a.panned" or black-shouldered peac.o.c.k named _Pavo nigripennis_ by Mr. Sclater. In some respects it is intermediate between _P. munticus_ and _P. cristatus_ and apparently "breeds true" but never has been found in a wild state. Albino specimens are by no means unusual and are a feature of many zoological gardens.

Peac.o.c.ks have been under domestication for many centuries and are mentioned in the Bible as having been imported into Palestine by Solomon; although the bird is referred to in mythology, the Greeks probably had but little knowledge of it until after the conquests of Alexander.

In the thick jungle only a few hundred yards from our camp on the Salween River I put up a silver pheasant (_Euplocamus nycthemerus_), one of the earliest known and most beautiful species of the family Phasianidae. Its white mantle, delicately vermiculated with black, extends like a wedding veil over the head, back and tail, in striking contrast to the blue-black underparts, red cheek patches, and red legs.

This bird was formerly pictured in embroidery upon the heart and back badges of the official dresses of civil mandarins to denote the rank of the wearer, and is found only in southern and western China. It is by no means abundant in the parts of Yun-nan which we visited and, moreover, lives in such dense jungle that it is difficult to find. The natives sometimes snare the birds and offer them for sale alive.

We also saw monkeys at our camp on the Salween River, but were not successful in killing any. They were probably the Indian baboon (_Macacus rhesus_) and, for animals which had not been hunted, were most extraordinarily wild. They were in large herds and sometimes came down to the water to skip and dance along the sand and play among the rocks. The monkeys invariably appeared on the opposite side of the river from us and by the time we hunted up the boatmen and got the clumsy raft to the other sh.o.r.e the baboons had disappeared in the tall gra.s.s or were merrily running through the trees up the mountain-side.

The valley was too dry to be a very productive trapping ground for either small or large mammals, but the birds were interesting and we secured a good many species new to our collection. Jungle fowl were abundant and pigeons exceedingly so, but we saw no ducks along the river and only two cormorants.

Very few natives crossed at the ferry during our stay, for it is a long way from the main road and the climb out of the gorge is too formidable to be undertaken if the Salween can possibly be crossed higher up where the valley is wide and shallow. While we were camped at the river the heat was most uncomfortable during the middle of the day and was but little mitigated by the wind which blew continually. During mid-summer the valley at this point must be a veritable furnace and doubtless reeks with fever.

We slept under nets at night and in the early evening, while we were watching for peac.o.c.ks, the mosquitoes were very troublesome.

CHAPTER x.x.xIV

THE GIBBONS OF HO-MU-SHU

It is a long hard climb out of the Salween valley. We left on March 24 and all day crawled up the steep sides on a trail which doubled back and forth upon itself like an endless letter S. From our camp at night the river was just visible as a thin green line several thousand feet below, and for the first time in days, we needed a charcoal fire in our tents.

We were _en route_ to Lung-ling, a town of considerable size, where there was a possibility that mail might be awaiting us in care of the mandarin.

Although ordinarily a three days' journey, it was more than four days before we arrived, because I had a sharp attack of malaria shortly after leaving the Salween River and we had to travel half stages.

When we were well out of the valley and at an alt.i.tude of 5,000 feet, we arrived at a Chinese town. Its dark evil-smelling houses, jammed together in a crowded ma.s.s, and the filthy streets swarming with ragged children and foot-bound women, were in unpleasant contrast to the charming little Shan villages which we had seen in the low country. The inhabitants themselves appeared to no better advantage when compared with their Shan neighbors, for their stares and insolent curiosity were almost unbearable.

The region between the Salween River at Changlung and Lung-ling is as uninteresting to the zoologist as it could possibly be, for the hills are dry and bare and devoid of animal life. Lung-ling is a typical Chinese town except that the streets are wide and it is not as dirty as usual. The mandarin was a jolly rotund little fellow who simulated great sympathy when he informed me that he had received no mail for us. We had left directions to have a runner follow us from Yung-chang and in the event that he did not find our camp to proceed to Lung-ling with the mail. We learned some weeks later that the runner had been frightened by brigands and had turned back long before he reached Meng-ting.

We had heard from our _mafus_ and other natives that black monkeys were to be found on a mountain pa.s.s not far from the village of Ho-mu-shu, on the main Yung-chang-Teng-yueh road and, as we were certain that they would prove to be gibbons, we decided to make that our next hunting camp. It was three stages from Lung-ling and, toward evening of the second day, we again descended to the Salween River.

The valley at this point is several miles wide and is so dry that the few shrubs and bushes seem to be parched and barely able to live. At the upper end a picturesque village is set among extensive rice fields. Although a few Chinese live there, its inhabitants are chiefly Shans who are in a transitory state and are gradually adopting Chinese customs. The houses are joined to each other in the Chinese way and are built of mud, thatched with straw. In shape as well as in composition they are quite unlike the dwellings of the southern Shans. The women wore cylindrical turbans, about eighteen inches high, which at a distance looked like silk hats, and the men were dressed in narrow trousers and jackets of Chinese blue. I believe that some of the Shan women also had bound feet but of this I cannot be certain.

We camped on a little knoll under an enormous tree at the far end of the village street, and a short time after the tents were up we had a visit from the Shan magistrate. He was a dapper energetic little fellow wearing foreign dress and quite _au courant_ with foreign ways. He even owned a breech-loading shotgun, and, before we left, sent to ask for sh.e.l.ls. He presented us with the usual chickens and I returned several tins of cigarettes. He appeared to be quite a sportsman and directed us to a place on the mountain above the village where he said monkeys were abundant.

We left early in the morning with a guide and, after a hard climb, arrived at a little village near the forest to which the magistrate had directed us. Not only did the natives a.s.sure us that they had never seen monkeys but we discovered for ourselves that the only water was more than a mile away, and that camping there was out of the question.

The next day, April 1, we went on to Ho-mu-shu. It is a tiny village built into the mountain-side with hardly fifty yards of level ground about it, but commanding a magnificent view over the Salween valley. Although we reached there at half past two in the afternoon the _mafus_ insisted on camping because they swore that there was no water within fifty _li_ up the mountain. Very unwillingly I consented to camp and the next morning found, as usual, that the _mafus_ had lied for there was a splendid camping place with good water not two hours from Ho-mu-shu. It was useless to rage for the Chinese have no scruples about honesty in such small matters, and the head _mafu_ blandly admitted that he knew there was a camping place farther on but that he was tired and wanted to stop early.

As we gained the summit of the ridge we were greeted with a ringing "hu-wa," "hu-wa," "hu-wa," from the forest five hundred feet below us; they were the calls of gibbons, without a doubt, but strikingly unlike those of the Nam-ting River. We decided to camp at once and, after considerable prospecting, chose a flat place beside the road. It was by no means ideal but had the advantage of giving us an opportunity to hunt from either side of the ridge which for its entire length was scarcely two hundred feet in width. The sides fell away for thousands of feet in steep forest-clad slopes and, as far as our eyes could reach, wave after wave of mountains rolled outward in a great sea of green.

Our camp would have been delightful except for the wind which swept across the pa.s.s night and day in an unceasing gale. My wife and I set a line of traps along a trail which led down the north side of the ridge, while h.e.l.ler chose the opposite slope. We were entranced with the forest. The trees were immense spreading giants with interlaced branches that formed a solid roof of green 150 feet above the soft moss carpet underneath. Every trunk was clothed in a smothering ma.s.s of vines and ferns and parasitic plants and, from the lower branches, thousands of ropelike creepers swayed back and forth with every breath of wind. Below, the forest was fairly open save for occasional patches of dwarf bamboo, but the upper canopy was so close and dense that even at noon there was hardly more than a somber twilight beneath the trees.