July 19, 1913 
FOREST AND STREAM 
71 
On the Lower Reaches of the Yang-Tse Kiang 
II.—A Day’s Goose Shooting 
By F. T. PETERS 
I F you travel some 400 miles up the Yang-tse, 
you will come to an island, about five miles 
in length by one and a half across. Its name 
is immaterial and quite unpronouncable. It lies 
low in the water, and is as flat as a pancake. 
A bund some twenty feet high skirts its banks 
and forms an effective barrier to prying eyes 
on the many passing steamers. Save for a line 
of trees on the northern shore—the island lies 
east and west—and except for a few patches of 
reeds, is devoid of any growth, and is very 
little cultivated. A narrow lake runs down the 
center, a few dilapidated farm buildings are 
scattered here and there, and there is one tiny 
village taking what shelter it can from the trees 
on the north shore. 
It was under the lee of this island that we 
anchored our craft one day in the late December. 
A gloomy, sullen sky and a biting wind, which 
caused some ugly chow-chow water at the point 
which gave us a lee. The three of us put off 
in our small boat, and a few minutes later were 
clambering up the bund. Here we separated, one 
going toward the upper, the other the lower end 
of the island, while I struck in across the fields 
toward the center. The ground was wet and 
boggy underfoot. I made my way toward a 
farm, situated on a slightly rising mound hard 
by the lake. Once there I commanded a view 
of the surroundings. 
The house itself was deserted, the wind 
whistled drearily through the eaves and threw 
catspaws on the surface of the lake. On the 
far side the single row of trees standing as they 
did at regular intervals apart against the back¬ 
ground of the mud-brown swirling river added 
a curious effect of melancholy to the scene, 
heightened by the deep gloom of the winter’s 
day, and by the shrill cries of the wildfowl 
borne to me on the breeze. 
The lake here was over a quarter of a mile 
in width. Patches of reeds broke its surface. 
I looked round for a boat, but could find none 
save an old sampan that might have done duty 
in the Ark. On the other shore I could see 
great flocks of geese, and a white patch here 
and there showing the presence of swan. 
To walk round the lake was plainly out of 
the question if I wished to shoot that day. To 
wade it—I took a furtive sounding, the pole 
stopped at three feet, and then sank two more 
in soft mud—impossible. I was in a quandary 
until I caught sight of one of the tubs—I can 
use no other word—so generally in use in the 
inland of China. 
If you were to cut through a barrel, whose 
top say is two and a half feet in diameter, about 
a foot from the ground, you would get a fac¬ 
simile of one of these tubs. Carry it to the 
nearest pond and attempt to do a little naviga¬ 
tion in it. I think you will find once is enough. 
Choosing me a stout bamboo pole and sling¬ 
ing my gun over my shoulder, I launched my gal¬ 
lant craft and boldly, but cautiously—if there 
is such a combination—stepped aboard. 
The wind blew a little more fiercely, and 
a few flakes of snow began to fall as I sallied 
forth into open water. I negotiated that pas¬ 
sage kneeling, punting myself along, my motion 
being more like that of a top than anything 
else that I can think of. Enough to say that I 
arrived at the far shore with about four inches 
of water in the hold and violent cramp in both 
legs. 
As I approached the other side the geese 
got up with one mighty roar of wings, and for 
the moment the sky was literally black with them. 
Some indeed passed within range, but just then 
I was otherwise employed. 
On landing I made my way along a small 
bund into the fields. Snow had begun to fall, 
and it was impossible to see any distance. About 
a hundred yards from the water’s edge I halted. 
It was as good a place as any, as the geese 
must surely pass over it in some numbers, flight¬ 
ing to the lake. I trusted to the other guns 
to keep them on the move. So putting down 
my gun, I set to work. I had brought with me 
a spade, and after about an hour’s labor, had 
dug a passable pit. I returned to the lake for 
my tub, and put it in the bottom of the pit, as 
the water was coming in too rapidly to make it 
pleasant standing. 
And I said to myself as I stepped inside, 
now for the geese. Save for the soft sound 
of falling snow the silence was complete. It 
was late in the afternoon, and to say the least, 
decidedly chilly. 
I had been waiting some time before the 
distant “honk, honk,” warned me of an incom¬ 
ing flight. Through the thick flakes of the snow 
the birds swung into view—a great string of 
geese. I let the first two flocks pass by, rather 
high to make certain with a twelve-bore. My 
restraint was rewarded a minute later by a nice 
lot which passed about twenty-five yards over 
my head. I chose the last two for the sake of 
the table and brought them down. It was first 
blood and warmed me up as does a nip of neat 
spirit. 
By half-past four it was too dark to shoot. 
I had secured five birds, one of them an old 
veteran, who must have seen much life, some¬ 
thing to think that he met a clean death, shot 
through the head. 
The sound of birds was now almost con¬ 
tinuous, now afar off and now so close that I 
could almost feel the beat of their wings. There 
is something to my mind almost ludicrous in 
the old goose at times. 
One evening on this same island I was 
standing under cover of the high bund, my head 
on a level with the top, when four geese came 
flighting in from the river. They passed right 
over me and were so close that I could have 
stretched up my hand and caught a hold of their 
legs. 
I think we were both equally surprised, as 
I had not seen their approach, but the ludicrous 
expression of astonishment depicted on the 
face of that leading goose made me shout with 
laughter. 
So ungainly, too, they sailed straight on, 
unable to alter their course as rapidly as they 
might have desired, merely uttering a series 
of hoarse croaks, unlike the teal, who in similar 
(Continued on page 94.) 
