Chapter III: 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.

FRONT VIEW OF NORTH CHINA WILD PIG, SHOT AT SHÊNG-YIEH, NEAR TÂI-YÜAN
FU.
]

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.