Chapter IV: Trip to Hsi-Wan-Tzŭ

On our return from the Shensi Relief Expedition, Warrington and I spent a month in Tientsin, after which, things having apparently settled down, I decided to make a trip to Kalgan, a town situated on the southern border of Inner Mongolia. My object was to discover suitable hunting grounds for our spring and summer work.

Thus on February 17, having spent the night at Peking, I boarded the Peking-Kalgan train, and before long found myself being whirled along at a good speed over the great alluvial plain of North Chihli towards the famous Nan-k’ou pass.

After stopping about half an hour at Nan-k’ou station, where there is an hotel, and where an extra engine is usually added, the train entered a deep and narrow valley. The grade being very heavy, we ascended this valley but slowly.

As usual the engines pushed from behind, and the passengers were able to obtain an excellent view, by standing on the end platform of the guard’s van. As the train neared the head of the valley we caught glimpses of the towers and battlements of the Great Wall, winding snake-like over the tops of the hills. At Ch’ing-lung-ch’iao (clear dragon bridge) station, those who wish to view the ancient relic of bygone struggles between the Chinese and Tartars leave the train and climb the steep and rocky slopes to various points of vantage. They will see a fine old wall in an excellent state of preservation, marked at intervals with square towers. If, however, they imagine that what they see represents the whole of the Great Wall as it is to-day, they are greatly mistaken. This is only one of a few sections that are in good repair, doubtless due to its proximity to the capital of the Empire. But a few miles westward from this point the Wall becomes a mere ridge of earth, while the watch towers have fallen into disrepair. These conditions prevail all the way to the end of the Wall in Chinese Turkestan.

From Ch’ing-lung-ch’iao the train continued its upward climb for another four hundred feet, when it passed through a long tunnel, and began to descend on to a wide plain. Crossing the plain, which looked very bleak and barren, we passed Huai-lai Hsien, a small town situated upon a rocky prominence on the south side of the railway. Later we entered a narrow, winding valley, at the mouth of which we noticed some coal mines. The Ta-yang Ho makes passage of a chain of mountains by this valley. The line follows the northern side, passing a small town named Hsiah-hua-yuan. Presently the valley widens out once more into a small plain, on which is situated the important city of Hsuan-hua Fu. Here our train stopped for a few minutes.

After leaving this place the line bends northward, leaving the main valley, and, following the course of a smaller one, finally reaches Kalgan.

We arrived at about seven o’clock, after an eleven hours’ journey. Putting up at a Chinese hotel, I went in search of the British American Tobacco Company’s headquarters. Here I found my friends G. W. Brodie and F. M. Schröder, whose acquaintance I had recently made in Tientsin, and received a kind invitation to have my meals with them while in Kalgan.

They told me they were expecting two friends from Tientsin, R. K. Douglas and R. G. Buchan, who were on their way up for a shooting trip.

Next morning my friends took me for a ride round Kalgan. The town in some ways is typical of those along the border, though it presents many peculiar features of its own. The name Kalgan by which it is known to Europeans, is the Mongol one, and is never used by Chinese. Instead they call it Chang-chia-k’ou, which means “the mouth, or opening of the Chang family,” and signifies that originally the place must have consisted of a few buildings situated at the mouth of the valley, and occupied by a family named Chang. A great many Chinese place-names originated after this manner. The actual town, or that part enclosed by a town wall, is very small, but the suburbs are very extensive, spreading over the whole of the valley and reaching right up along the deep and narrow gorge leading up to the Han-nor-pa pass. This last section, which is mainly composed of camel inns and business establishments dealing directly with the Mongols, and which lies outside the Great Wall (northern loop), is known as K’ou-wai (outside the mouth). The next section, which consists of cart inns for Chinese, artisans’ workshops and private Chinese houses, is known as Shang-pu (upper town). The lowest section, known as Hsia-pu (lower town), is much the largest and includes the walled town and a large area of godowns, hotels, inns and business establishments, all of which have sprung into existence since the opening of the railway.

It is this new factor that makes Kalgan unique amongst the border towns. On one side of the river, which is spanned by a strong stone bridge, we have a busy centre, presenting many of the features of a treaty port, with corrugated iron sheds, Europeanized shop-fronts, one or two foreign-built bungalows, railway sidings and so on. On the other side we have a centre, just as busy, but typically Oriental. Here are bazaars, where the crafty Celestial temptingly displays, upon the usual small stalls, a gaudy array of trinkets, cloth, ornaments and toys, for the benefit of the innocent Mongol, whose mount, a soft-eyed camel, stands patiently behind, his great jaws for ever working from side to side as he chews the cud, while his master pits his own simple nature against that of the wily stall-keeper in a futile attempt to drive a bargain. A little further up the valley is a wide, open space, used as a horse and cattle market. Here, when a fair is in progress, occur scenes of unusual interest. The Mongols, who bring down their herds, bivouac in the open, making picturesque little groups. The women accompany their husbands and take equal part in the work of selling off their stock. When sales are brisk one witnesses the wildest scenes, as reckless riders tear up and down, regardless of life and limb, in an effort to show their mounts off to the best advantage. The air is filled with the choking dust of a thousand hoofs, while the noise and din are terrific. All this we saw and more, as we rode up the valley in the warm winter sun, and a very enjoyable day we spent.

The evening train brought Douglas and Buchan, with their outfit of tents and greyhounds. They very kindly asked me to join their party. This I was glad to do, as it would take me into new country, besides offering the chance of some sport.

Carts were hired, and on February 20 we left Kalgan. It had been decided that the nearest point where we could hope to get any shooting was Hsi-wan-tzŭ, where, we were told, a certain amount of small timber, growing on the steep mountains, gave shelter to a few roe-deer and some small game. Our road lay up the main valley northward from Kalgan, and soon we were up to our necks in trouble. The whole valley was one mass of ice, accumulated during the winter by the daily overflowing of the permanent stream and the nightly freezing of the surface water. Now, the weather becoming daily more mild, this ice had weakened considerably, so that the wheels of our heavily laden carts went through, while the teams slipped and floundered about in their desperate struggles to disengage the unwieldy vehicles. No sooner was one cart free than the next would fall into the same difficulty. By dint of much exertion, the breaking of ice, and the concentration of horse power upon the cart in difficulties, our carters finally succeeded in getting them across the half-mile or so of ice on to dry ground. So long did this take, however, that we could not accomplish more than fifteen miles the first day, and were obliged to put up at a small village named Hsin-yin-tzŭ, where we obtained comfortable quarters.

PLATE VII.

CROSSING THE YELLOW RIVER.
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YEN-CH’UAN HSIEN, NORTH SHENSI.

_Opposite p. 88._]
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The following day we continued up the valley, now running in an easterly direction. We were hampered by more ice in a very rotten condition. Hearing that there was some good pheasant shooting to be had up a valley on the south side of the road, we thought we would try our luck. After a ride of about four miles we reached the head of this side valley and, leaving our ponies at a farm, climbed up towards some scanty scrub-oak and hazel. Three pheasants and a covey of partridges were the only game flushed. Disappointed and hungry, we returned to our ponies, and after a hearty meal, hurried back to overtake the carts. This we did by riding hard, finally reaching Hsi-wan-tzŭ just as it was getting dark.

That night we put up at a small inn, but next morning, on paying a visit to the Catholic missionaries, received a pressing invitation to stay with them. Father R——, the head of this Mission, very kindly placed three bedrooms, a dining-room and a kitchen at our disposal, and begged us to make ourselves at home. He also told us where we might find game, and appointed two of the natives of the village to act as guides. Needless to say, these hospitable arrangements met with great appreciation on our part. Throughout our stay we were as comfortable as we could have been in our own homes.

We found that we would have to ride five or six miles to reach the hunting grounds, but we scarcely minded this as we were well mounted. It was decided to commence operations at once, so off we rode, following our guides, who were also mounted. They led us up a long, winding valley, the slopes of which grew more wooded as we ascended. At last, having arrived at a farm near the head, we left our ponies and began to climb up through the heavy snowdrifts. We saw plenty of deer tracks, but no deer. The snow was very deep, and the uphill climbing was the severest I had ever experienced. In places we had to force our way through waist-deep drifts, getting ourselves soaked to the skin. The first day’s hunt proved a failure, but we decided we would change our tactics, and go in for drives, thus saving ourselves the fatigue and discomfort of working through the snow. This method proved far more successful, and it was only the somewhat wild shooting of some of us that prevented our securing a really good bag.

Following is an example of the way in which these drives were carried out. The natives having decided on a likely wood, away up towards the end of a long valley, stationed us in various positions of vantage. I was placed opposite the wood on a sunny slope. Buchan was placed at the mouth of a side ravine near the end of the wood. Douglas and Schröder were placed at intervals further up the same ravine. The beaters then made a long detour, and reaching the other end of the wood, commenced to work through it, shouting and yelling as they came. Suddenly their cries redoubled, and, looking carefully, I could make out the forms of several deer breaking through the small timber. The herd, which contained five deer, came bounding diagonally down the slope. At the edge of the wood one of them broke back up the hill again, while the other four made straight across the valley towards me. Something turned them, however, and I lost my chance of a good shot, as they disappeared into a side ravine. The lone deer continued along the wooded slope, and I turned my attention to him. He was a little too far for me and going at a great speed in spite of the deep snow. At last he cleared the wood and started up the ravine in which my companions were stationed. He escaped a bullet from Buchan’s rifle by a miracle, only to fall at a shot from Douglas. This was our first blood, and we returned to Hsi-wan-tzŭ very pleased with the day’s sport.

On another occasion we were similarly placed along a narrow ravine, which skirted a wooded slope. Again a small herd of roe-deer were started up by the beaters, and again they ran the gauntlet of our fire. Having successfully evaded Schröder, Buchan and myself, they rounded the shoulder of a hill and ran right into Douglas, who was equal to the occasion and bagged two. One of these was wounded only in the hind leg, and gave the party a long chase through the deep snowdrifts, before he finally succumbed to a long shot from Schröder’s rifle.

In this way four very pleasant though strenuous days were spent. Daily we rode out, first up the main valley, and then up one of the side ravines, to the spot, from which we meant to commence operations. Daily a small band of beaters gathered behind us, as we rode through the scattered villages along our path; and daily we tramped miles through the deep snow or sat impatiently on some sunny slope while the beaters did their work. By noon we were usually in such a ravenous state of hunger, that no matter what kind of luck we were having, we would one and all find our way back to the shack where we had left our ponies, in search of something wherewith to replenish our exhausted vitality. The first man back was expected to prepare food for all. We could usually secure potatoes and eggs, which with the bacon and cold meat brought in our saddle-bags, formed the basis of many a rare culinary masterpiece.

Each night on returning to the Mission, a well cooked dinner awaited us, while usually Father R—— joined us at coffee time and sat smoking and chatting till late in the evening. The amusing thing about these social evenings was the fact that conversation was carried on in no fewer than five different languages. The Father could speak French, Chinese and a little German and Spanish, but no English, so that Douglas conversed with him in French, Schröder plied his German and Spanish, while I soon fell back on Chinese, as being the language which came to me most readily.

We learned that all the natives of Hsi-wan-tzŭ were Catholics, as also were many of the natives of the surrounding villages. The magnificent building in which we now rested was built after the Boxer outbreak. The fathers and brothers of the Mission grow their own crops, make their own wine, and brew their own beer. They also own small herds of cattle and sheep, so that the Mission is practically self-supporting. Father R—— gave us some of the wine and we found it excellent, especially some that had lain in their vaults since 1901.

At last our Tientsin friends announced their intention of returning to civilization, as their time was up. We left Hsi-wan-tzŭ on February 26. The roads were in even worse condition than when we came out, so that it was not till the afternoon of February 28 that we arrived back in Kalgan.

The whole country through which we passed, including that round Hsi-wan-tzŭ, was very rough, and consisted chiefly of igneous and metamorphic formations, though in parts plutonic rocks predominated. These mountains, which form the ragged edge of the Mongolian Plateau, have been deeply eroded. They are bare of vegetation, not because they lack fertility, but because the natives denude them, year by year, of their entire herbage. This is due to the absence of coal in the district, which, being transported from long distances, is very expensive. There seemed to be very little room, except along the valley bottoms, for cultivation, but the natives looked prosperous enough.

Leaving Kalgan we returned to Tientsin, and were just in time to witness the looting and burning of the Chinese portion of that treaty port by the native troops and police. The same thing having happened in Pekin but two nights before, things were getting pretty lively once more. The soldiers who had indulged in the looting of these places decamped in hundreds, and scattering through the country made travelling somewhat hazardous. Pao-ting Fu, and other large towns along the Pe-Han Railway, were next cleaned out by disaffected troops, and we were hourly expecting news that the Sixth Division troops stationed at T’ai-yüan Fu had revolted. All my collecting and camping outfit, to say nothing of my surveying instruments, my wife’s and my entire wardrobe, and all our household gods, were stored in this town.

As I could not hope to do any useful work in Mongolia without these things, and as they could not be replaced in China, I decided to make an effort to recover them. Thus, accompanied by Warrington and a friend named Donald R. Woods, I proceeded to T’ai-yüan Fu. On arrival we found all our property exactly as we had left it, and were also successful in recovering a substantial sum of money from the agents of one of the banks destroyed by fire at the outbreak of the Revolution.

The city was in the hands of the Sixth Division troops, who kept the inhabitants in a perpetual state of terror. Although they had received orders to return to Peking, they were demanding the sum of taels 50,000 before they would leave. But for the fact that the city had already been looted, they would certainly have mutinied and fallen on the luckless townsfolk. Finally they were content with a payment of taels 25,000 and left the province quietly.

While in T’ai-yüan Fu we were fortunate in getting some really good sport in the way of wild-fowling. It happens that along the whole of the western wall inside the city there are marshes and ponds, which have always formed good feeding grounds for snipe and wild ducks. Visiting these ponds early one morning, we soon discovered some large flocks of ducks. A shot or two set them flying, when, by crouching behind some mud dykes, we enjoyed for a few minutes some splendid flight shooting, as the disconcerted birds repeatedly flew back and forth over our heads. Our fun, however, was soon stopped, for the guard at the West Gate came hurrying up and begged us to leave off firing. It turned out that the rapid discharging of our fowling pieces had alarmed the inhabitants of the suburbs, who, thinking that a fresh outbreak had occurred, came hurrying up armed ready for war. Needless to say, we decided to forego our sport and returned to our quarters.

Next day, however, we took train to a small village named Pei-ho-liu, where we could indulge without fear of interruption. Here a beautiful stream bubbles up from the base of a low sandstone outcrop, and is used to irrigate a large area of rice-fields, where, in the season, snipe are very plentiful. Scarcely had we formed up in line with intervals of thirty or forty yards between each of us, than the snipe commenced to rise, and for several hours the sport was fast and furious. Of course many birds escaped, but plenty were added to the bag, which increased steadily. By lunch time we each had several couple of snipe, so we all repaired to a small shrine at the source of the spring, where we made a hearty meal.

After lunch, as there were still several hours before the return train was due, we set out once more for the paddy fields. The snipe had collected again while we were at lunch, so that we had some more good shooting. The usual rivalry existed and each man anxiously sought out the most likely spots, in the hopes of securing a bird or two more than the others. Some quails were flushed and potted, though a trio of pheasants, rising on thundering wings from some long grass, managed to elude the scattering of small shot that followed them, as they whirled away towards the hills.

At last we decided that we had had enough, so returned to the station, where we counted our bag. It consisted of twenty-five couple of snipe, three quail and a brace of plovers.

A few days later we had packed all our effects, and, having secured a goods wagon, stowed them away, leaving sufficient space for ourselves. We had decided to travel down by goods train, so as to guard our stuff from any would-be looters. This was an excellent arrangement, for with camp beds, tables and chairs we made ourselves very comfortable, and, by keeping the big doors of the car open, enjoyed an uninterrupted view of the beautiful Shansi scenery, throughout the whole day’s journey.

We arrived back in Tientsin without any untoward incident, and, having arranged everything to our satisfaction, left for Kalgan on April 23, on our way to the wild sheep country in the K’uei-hua-ch’êng district of North Shansi.