One evening a deputation, headed by the high priest, came and informed me that the wild boars had come down from the mountains at night, and were destroying the young shoots of the bamboo, which were then just coming through the ground, and were in the state in which they are highly prized as a vegetable for the table. "Well," said I, "what do you want me to do?"
"Will you be good enough to lend us the gun?"
"Yes; there it stands in the corner of the room."
"Oh, but you must load it for us."
"Very well, I will;" and I immediately loaded the gun with ball. "There, but take care and don't shoot yourselves." There was now a long pause; none had sufficient courage to take the gun, and a long consultation was held between them. At length the spokesman came forward, with great gravity, and told me they were afraid to fire it off, but that if I would go with them, and shoot the boar, I should have it to eat. This was certainly no great sacrifice on the part of the Budhist priesthood, who do not, or at least should not, eat animal food. We now sallied forth in a body to fight the wild boars; but the night was so dark that we could see nothing in the bamboo ravines, and, perhaps, the noise made by about thirty priests and servants warned the animals to retire to the brushwood higher up the hills. Be that as it may, we could neither see nor hear any thing of them, and I confess I was rather glad, than otherwise, as I thought there was a considerable chance of my shooting, by mistake, a priest instead of a wild boar.
The priests have two modes of protecting their property from the ravages of these animals. Deep pits are dug on the hill sides, and, as there are springs in almost all these places, the pits are scarcely finished before they are half full of water. The mouth of each pit is then covered over with a quantity of sticks, rubbish, and grass, to attract the animal, and no sooner does he begin to bore into it with his snout, than the whole gives way, and he is plunged, head foremost, into the pit, from which it is quite impossible for him to extricate himself, and he is either drowned or becomes an easy prey to the Chinese. These pits are most dangerous traps to persons unacquainted with the localities in which they are placed. I had several narrow escapes, and once in particular, when coming out of a dense mass of brushwood, I stept unawares on the treacherous mouth of one of them, and felt the ground under my feet actually giving way; but managing to throw my arms forward I caught hold of a small twig which was growing near, and by this means supported myself until I was able to scramble on to firmer ground. On turning back to examine the place, I found that the loose rubbish had sunk in, and a deep pit, half full of water, was exposed to my view. The pit was made narrow at the mouth and widening inside like a great China vase, being constructed in this manner to prevent the boar from scrambling out when once fairly in it. Had I fallen in, it would have been next to impossible to have extricated myself without assistance, and as the pits are generally dug in the most retired and wild part of the mountains, my chance would have been a bad one. The fate of my predecessor, Mr. Douglas, who perished in a pit of this kind on the Sandwich Islands, must still be fresh in the recollection of many of my readers, and his melancholy end naturally coming to my mind at the time, made me doubly thankful for my escape.
The other method of protecting the young bamboos from the ravages of the wild boar, is an ingenious one. A piece of bamboo wood, about eight or ten feet long, and rather thicker than a man's arm, is split up the middle to within a fourth of its length. This is made fast to a tree in the bamboo thicket, and at an angle of about forty-five degrees, the split part being left loose, a cord, also made of bamboo, is fastened to it by one end, and the other is led to some convenient place out of the thicket, where a man is stationed. When the boars come down in the dead of night to attack the young shoots, the man pulls the rope backwards and forwards, and clank, clank, clank goes the bamboo, producing a loud and hollow sound, which on a quiet evening may be heard at a great distance. The animals are frightened and make off to their dens on the hills. The first time I heard these things beating at night, all over the country, I imagined that some religious ceremony was going on, the hollow sounds of the bamboo being not unlike those produced by an instrument used in the Budhist worship in all Chinese temples.
There are a large number of Budhist temples scattered over all this part of the country. One, named Ah-yu-wang, which I also visited, is, like Tein-tung, of great extent, and seemingly well supported. They both own large tracts of land in the vicinity of the monasteries, and have numerous small temples in different parts of the district which are under their control. All the temples, both large and small, are built in the most romantic and beautiful situations amongst the hills, and the neighbouring woods are always preserved and encouraged. What would indicate the residence of a country gentleman in England, is in China the sign of a Budhist temple, and this holds good over all the country. When the weary traveller, therefore, who has been exposed for hours to the fierce rays of an eastern sun, sees a large clean looking house showing itself amongst trees on the distant hill-side, he may be almost certain that it is one of Budha's temples, where the priests will treat him not only with courtesy, but with kindness.
Poo-to, or the Worshipping Island, as it is commonly called by foreigners, is one of the eastern islands in the Chusan Archipelago, and seems to be the capital or stronghold of Budhism in this part of China. This island is not more than five or six miles in circumference, and, although hilly, its sides and small ravines are pretty well wooded, particularly in the vicinity of the numerous temples. As it is only a few hours' sail from Chusan, it had been visited at different times by a number of our officers during the war, all of whom spoke highly of its natural beauties and richness of vegetation. I was also informed that the resident priests were fond of collecting plants, particularly Orchidaceæ, and that their collections were much increased by the itinerant habits of the begging priests, who visit the most distant provinces of the empire, as well as by the donations of the lay devotees, who come to Poo-to at stated seasons of the year, to worship and leave their offerings in the temples. I therefore determined to visit the place in order to judge for myself, and accordingly set out in July, 1844, accompanied by my friend, Dr. Maxwell, of the Madras army.
Leaving Chusan at night, with the tide in our favour, we reached the island at sun-rise on the following morning. We landed, and pursued our way over a hill and down on the other side by a road which led us into a beautiful and romantic glen. It is here that the principal group of temples is built, and when we first caught a glimpse of them, as we wended our way down the hill, they seemed like a town of considerable size. As we approached nearer, the view became highly interesting. In front there was a large artificial pond, filled with the broad green leaves and noble red and white flowers of the Nelumbium speciosum,—a plant in high favour with the Chinese. Every body who went to Poo-to admired these beautiful water-lilies. In order to reach the monastery we crossed a very ornamental bridge built over this pond, which, when viewed in a line with an old tower close by, has a pretty and striking appearance.