IN THE ANDAMANS
AND NICOBARS

THE NARRATIVE OF A CRUISE IN THE SCHOONER
"TERRAPIN," WITH NOTICES OF THE ISLANDS,
THEIR FAUNA, ETHNOLOGY, Etc.

By C. BODEN KLOSS

WITH MAPS AND ILLUSTRATIONS

LONDON
JOHN MURRAY, Albemarle Street, W.
1903

THE "TERRAPIN" IN KWANG-TUNG STRAIT.

TO

WILLIAM LOUIS ABBOTT

IN FELLOWSHIP WITH WHOM I SPENT MANY ENJOYABLE
MONTHS ON THIS AND FORMER CRUISES

PREFACE

The following pages are the result of an attempt to record a cruise, in a schooner, to the Andaman and Nicobar Islands in the Bengal Sea, the main purpose of which was to obtain good representative collections (now in the National Museum, Washington, U.S.A.) of natural history and ethnological objects from the places visited. Special attention was given to the trapping of small mammals, which, comprising the least known section of the island fauna, were the most interesting subject for investigation. Sixteen new varieties were obtained in the Andamans and Nicobars together, thus raising the known mammalian fauna of those islands from twenty-four to forty individuals, while the collections also included ten hitherto undescribed species of birds. All the collecting and preparation was done by my companion, whose guest I was, and myself, for we were accompanied by no native assistants or hunters. Broadly speaking, one half of the day passed in obtaining specimens, the other in preserving them; and such observations as I have been able to chronicle were, for the greater part, made during the periods of actual collecting and the consequent going to and fro.

In order to give a certain completeness to the account, I have included a more or less general description of the two Archipelagoes, their inhabitants, etc.; the chapters of this nature are partly compiled from the writings of those who had had previous experience of the islands, and for the most part the references have been given.

I cannot but regard the illustrations, which are a selection from my series of photographs, as the most valuable part of this work, but I hope that my written record, in spite of its imperfections, may stimulate some more competent observer and chronicler than myself to visit the latter islands—for the Andamans have already been described[1] in an admirable monograph by one who dwelt there for many years—before it is too late. Ethnically, much remains to be done, and every day that goes by produces some deterioration of native life and custom. To this end I have added many details about supplies, anchorages, etc., that might otherwise seem superfluous.

Of those who entertained and assisted us during the voyage, thanks are specially due to Mr P. Vaux of Port Blair, for his hospitality to us during our stay in that place;[2] and I am greatly indebted to Messrs O. T. Mason, G. S. Miller, and Dr C. W. Richmond, respectively, for the photographs of the Nicobarese pottery and skirt, for permission to include here much information from the report on the Andaman and Nicobar mammals, and for a list of the new species of birds obtained, which, however, up to the present, have not received specific designations. I have also to gratefully acknowledge the help rendered me by Mr E. H. Man, C.I.E., who, besides volunteering to read through the proof sheets, has given me much information, and corrected a number of inaccuracies. To my sister, for her superintendence of the book since my departure from England, and to my publishers for their kindness and assistance in many ways, I must not omit to offer my thanks.

October, 1902.

CONTENTS

PART I

PART II

APPENDICES

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

ILLUSTRATIONS IN TEXT

IN THE ANDAMANS AND
NICOBARS

PART I

INTRODUCTION

The Terrapin—Crew—Itinerary of the Cruise—Daily Routine—Provisions and Supplies—Collecting Apparatus—Guns—Shooting—Path-making—Clothing—Head-dress—A Scene in the Tropics—Native Indolence—Attractive Memories.

The Terrapin, captain and owner Dr W. L. Abbott, is a Singapore-built teak schooner of 40 tons register and 67 tons yacht measurement. She is 65 feet long on the water-line, and 16 feet broad, and has been given an almost box-shaped midship section, partly to afford sufficient inside space for the ballast (iron), but principally with the idea that when she takes the ground she may not heel to any uncomfortable extent. The draught is 7½ feet, but two years' experience has proved that this is too much for the class of cruising she is engaged in. The crew are berthed forward, and aft is a large hold where tanks containing about 3 tons of water, supplies, cables, etc., are stored. A large raised trunk hatch about 2½ feet high covers the central third of the boat, leaving 3-feet gangways on either side. This structure affords ample head-room below, and gives coolness and abundant ventilation by means of windows which open all round it. Sailing in the tropics, with the thermometer constantly standing at 84° or so in the shade, necessitates for any comfort a very different arrangement from what would be fitting at home. Whenever possible, the boat, while anchored, is covered with awnings from stem to stern. Under the hatch are a large saloon, two cabins, pantry, etc.

The crew—five ordinary seamen, a serang (boatswain), and sailing-master—are Malays; for natives are far more satisfactory in nearly every way on a small boat in the tropics than white men, even if the latter could be obtained. They can put up with more restricted quarters, are less inclined to grumble under the peculiar circumstances, or be disobedient, are more at home in every way in the surroundings and with the people one meets, are little trouble to cater for, and, most important of all, keep in good health and can stand the sun. A Chinese "boy" and cook are also carried.

Forward on deck there is a small iron galley for the preparation of meals, and aft repose two boats—an 18-feet double-ender for four oars, and a beamy 10-feet dinghy that best carries a crew of three. The schooner steers with a wheel.

The Terrapin left Singapore in October 1900 and, subsequent to calling at Penang, cruised off the coast of Tenasserim and among the islands of the Mergui Archipelago until I joined her late in December. A few days were then spent in the peninsula, where several deer and wild pig were obtained; then visiting High Island—where an unsuccessful search was made for Sellung[3] skeletons, and a number of birds and small mammals added to the collection—she left for the Andamans.

On the return voyage from the Nicobars we called at Olehleh, the port for Kota Rajah, Dutch capital of Acheen. Even a dissociation from them of only three months made the pink-white skins of the Europeans—sun-avoiding Dutch—seem strange and unhealthy.

Having spent a day or two at this place, where we first heard of the accession of King Edward VII., we skirted the north coast of Sumatra, with its park-like stretches of grass and forest, drifting along almost in the shadow of its great volcanic mountains, and then, crossing the northern entrance of the Malacca Straits, anchored once more in the harbour of Penang.

At Klang, in Selangor, we stopped a night to visit the museum at Kwala Lumpor, and were passed by the Ophir and her consorts as they steamed to Singapore; which place we ourselves reached, after a slow passage down the coast, on the 27th of April 1901, thus bringing the cruise to an end.

The day's programme during the voyage was simple. We rose before 5 A.M.; and after a hurried chota hazri, rowed ashore the moment it grew at all light. The next five hours were passed collecting in the jungle; and then returning on board, after a bath, change, and breakfast, the preservation of specimens went on until two o'clock; next came tea, then more work until about 3 P.M., when we once more rowed ashore and sought for fresh material until darkness set in. Then after another bath and change came dinner, and by the time the second batch of specimens was disposed of, we were quite ready for mattress and pillow on deck; for unless it rained we never slept below. The development of photographs often kept me up till midnight, since they had to be manipulated in a small pantry which could only be thoroughly darkened after sunset. I have seldom been in a warmer place.

Some consideration should be given to the provisioning of a boat when cruising away from regular supplies for health is largely dependent on this point.

For so long as flour will keep good it is pleasant to have fresh bread, but experience on this and other cruises is that it gets full of weevils after three months in a small boat. While tinned provisions and bottled fruits are very well for a time, one rapidly tires of them, and then there is nothing like the old stand-bys of salt beef and pork, ship's biscuits, rice, etc. Potatoes and onions will keep well for six months, and "sauerkraut," or Chinese preserved greens, are useful articles. Many of the birds shot for specimens—on this cruise, megapodes, pigeons, and whimbrel—form welcome additions to the table, and one gets occasionally wild pig and deer; while even of such unorthodox animals as squirrels, the larger kinds—Sciurus bicolor attains almost the size of a hare, which it much resembles in flavour—are by no means despicable. When we were under sail, there were always lines towing astern of the vessel, which often produced bonito, dolphin, barracouta, edible shark, and other varieties, and we carried a seine, which, when stretched across the mouth of a tidal creek, was nearly always certain to entangle some kind of fish in its meshes, while with a casting-net catches of what one might call "whitebait" were often made.

One is rarely able to obtain much else than fowls from natives, and except in towns and large villages, where there are regular bazaars and markets, even fruit other than coconuts and bananas is scarce. Tinned and bottled preserves soon become insipid to the palate, but dried fruit, such as apples, apricots and prunes, we found far more attractive, and they should always be carried when native supplies are uncertain. In fact, beyond a few necessaries such as milk, butter, jam, tea, coffee, sugar, cheese and curry stuffs, and a few more luxurious articles, like soups, pickles—but those who have tried a well-seasoned piece of salt junk will admit that these and mustard are almost absolute necessities—sauces, etc., the fewer tinned provisions there are the better, so far as health in the tropics is concerned. When one can keep the hen-coop well stocked, and there is plenty of rice on board, one never feels like grumbling while there is any amount of work to be done.

In the matter of collecting apparatus, the newer powders are preferable, as with them there is less chance, through absence of smoke, of losing sight of the specimen as it falls, which is often the case otherwise. It is well to have cartridge cases of different colours for ease in selection, and the sizes of shot most useful seem to be:—SSG for pigs, deer, and large monkeys; AA and II for monkeys, eagles, and other large birds; V for pigeons, and others of similar size in high tree tops; VIII for the same at moderate range, and for smaller birds and squirrels, etc., when distant; while 2 drams of powder and ½ ounce of XI shot—the cartridge filled out by several wads between the two—is most useful for small birds and animals up to 20 yards, and for others at proportionate distances. For such little things as sunbirds, and for snakes, lizards, or for point-blank shots, we carried auxiliary barrels, about 9 inches long, that can be slipped in and out of the gun like an ordinary cartridge, and which fired an extra long .32 calibre brass cartridge loaded with a pinch of dust shot (No. XIII). These were invaluable for obtaining the smaller specimens without smashing, and had a killing range of about 12 yards.

There is no more perfect weapon for the collecting naturalist than the three-barrelled guns that we used—shot barrels fully choked, and the third, placed beneath the others, rifled for long .380 cartridges. With one of these, the auxiliary barrel, and a proper selection of cartridges, one is ready for anything that may turn up other than the larger "big game," for the equipment is so portable that there is no temptation ever to leave part of it behind.

The only drawback to such an outfit lies in the time lost in selecting a suitable cartridge for each shot, but the perfect specimens obtained by this method are ample compensation for the extra trouble involved. Even in this way accidents sometimes happen however, as when on one occasion, while walking through some grass, a tiny button-quail sprang up, and was knocked over at close range with what was thought to be a small charge of No. XI shot. The specimen was not found at once, but as it was the first of the kind obtained (and has since proved to be of a new species), the search was persisted in until after a quarter of an hour a little purple pulp attached to a wing was discovered. The collector had forgotten which barrel contained the smaller cartridge, and, pulling the wrong trigger, had fired a full charge of No. VIII from about that distance in yards, at a wretched little bird about the size of a sparrow!

To fire at flying birds in the jungle is both wasteful and unprofitable, for while a bird is only to be seen for a moment as it flashes between the branches, even if hit, it infallibly becomes lost in the dense luxuriance of vegetation. The chances in the favour of the quarry are, however, largely increased by a careful selection of the smallest cartridge possible on each occasion, often a tiresome stalk, and a large amount of dodging about to get a clean shot through the leaves and branches, so that the event is by no means a more foregone conclusion than sport in the open.

Besides bags for cartridges and specimens, with extractor, knife, string, cotton-wool, and wrapping paper, it is absolutely essential, if it is intended to penetrate the jungle at all, that one should carry some sort of implement—cutlass, parang, or macheté—to hew a way through the tangled undergrowth.

It is far the best plan, when shooting in the tropics, not to indulge in a too elaborate outfit. The most suitable and common-sense clothing consists of a stout cotton suit of pyjamas, grey or brown in colour for preference, with pockets; the ends of the trousers should be tied round the ankles with string, to keep out the ants and leeches, and only when these and thorns are very bad need stronger trousers and puttees be worn. Such clothes are easily put on and off, are comfortable, and are not heavy when soaked with water, rain, and perspiration.

On board ship, when away from civilisation, we invariably wore a similar dress, or the national garment of Malaya, the sarong, than which nothing is more comfortable in a hot climate, unless it be the exceedingly sensible dress of the tropic-dwelling Chinese.

For head-dress there is no better gear than an old felt hat (terai), which can be rolled up and put away in the game-bag when one is in the shade of the forest. In one of the most delightful books that has been written about the East, the following lines occur:[4] "Given a thick jungle, trees 200 feet high, and a mushroom-helmeted sportsman, it will be seen that comfort and a large bag are incompatible. A long training in the Sistine Chapel is necessary for this work. Absurd as it may seem, my spine in the region of the neck eventually became so sore that I was on more than one occasion compelled to give myself a rest." With the latter part of the passage I perfectly concur, for one often stands for minutes at a time staring vainly upwards, to where, right overhead, the specimen that one knows is there, is vocally proclaiming its presence, and the effect on the back of the neck is, after a time, often one of excruciating agony. Strangely enough, large birds like parrots and pigeons are often the most difficult to see.

But why the helmet in the shade of the forest? We ourselves never wore hats except when out in the open or going to and fro between the schooner and the shore, while the sun was high, and experienced no ill effects from being without them at other times, although one of us made it a practice to keep his head shaved for the sake of coolness. Though they perhaps lay me open to an accusation of thick-headedness, I mention these facts to show that it is not necessary to burden oneself with an awkward sola topee with the idea of evading danger from the sun in such circumstances.

A cloudless sky and a blazing sun; a long stretch of yellow beach lapped by a calm sea of brilliant green above the reef, verging into an intense sapphire in the distance. Inland, swelling hills clothed in densest jungle—the topmost ridge capped by a delicate tracery of foliage that stands out clear cut in the pure atmosphere. Adjoining the sandy shore a grass-grown level expanse, with a grove of stately palm trees, through which runs a rippling brook, and lastly, two or three native huts and their occupants, so that one can lie, pyjama-clad, in the shade, and consume young coconuts without first having to climb for them.

"Only to hear and see the far-off brine,
Only to hear were sweet, stretched out beneath the pine."

Is it fair that we should call the native of the tropics lazy because in some parts of his domain the labour of an hour supplies his daily wants? The working man of colder climates, by eight and even twelve hours' occupation, obtains no more, and often less. The others are the true lotos-eaters, and when one is amongst them one often feels, as doubtless they do themselves, could they formulate their sensations:

"... Why should we toil alone,
We only toil who are the first of things,
And make perpetual moan,
Still from one sorrow to another thrown:
. . . . . .
'There is no joy but calm!'
Why should we only toil, the roof and crown of things?"

These are one's thoughts, while captivated by the charm of the islands, and if feelings change when analysed in more virile countries, the transformation of ideas only goes to show how relative to circumstances are such things as industry and idleness.

The foregoing are a few prosaic items about a form of life which, although when indulged in too long, it perhaps causes now and again a desire for the amenities of civilisation and a shirt-front, yet when it is over, always leaves a longing for further experiences whenever one is haunted by thoughts of the palms, the sunlight, and the sea; wanderings in the jungle; strange birds, animals, and vegetation, and pleasant memories of easy-going islanders.

ANDAMAN AND NICOBAR ISLANDS

CHAPTER I

BARREN ISLAND AND THE ARCHIPELAGO

Shipboard Monotony—Edible Sharks—Calm Nights—Squalls—Barren Island—Appearance—Anchorage—Landing-place—Hot Spring—Goats—The Eruptive Cone—Lava—Paths—Interior of the Crater—Volcanic Activity—Fauna—Fish—The Archipelago—Kwang-tung Strait—Path-making—The Jungle—Birds—Coral Reefs—Parrots—Two New Rats—Inhabitants.

We were six days out from land before Barren Island hove in sight. Since New Year's Day,[5] when we got up anchor amongst the islands of the Mergui Archipelago, the schooner had been carried by the lightest of breezes towards the Andamans. The days slipped by, each one as monotonous as its predecessor; there was no change in the wind, save when it fell calm for a space, and the sun was so hot that we gladly sought shelter in the cabin, where occupation might be found with a book. Once we harpooned a porpoise, but he broke away from the iron, and now and again, on a line trailing astern, we caught a small shark, immediately claimed by the cook, to appear later on the table; for although the name seems instinctively to prejudice one against them, all sharks are edible, and the smaller species, which can scarcely include human material in their dietary scale, are by no means to be despised when fresh provisions are unobtainable, in spite of being often somewhat dry and flavourless.

But the nights were ample compensation for any possible discomfort by day. Around was the calm flat sea, and overhead a pale blue sky, across which swung the tropic moon, so bright that all but the larger stars were drowned in light. Then, when the heat of day was over, we would take our pillows on deck and—in a perfect silence but for the creaking booms and the water gurgling in the scupper-pipes—watch mast and stars swing slowly to and fro until sleep brought unconsciousness of the night and its beauty.

But it is not always so even in the tropics, and the contrary, and not infrequent, experience, without going to extremes, is the squall of a moonless night.

As the dense clouds rapidly advance from the horizon and blot out the stars, one is left in inky darkness broken only by the glimmer of the lamps in the binnacle. Soon the wind comes tearing down and whistles loudly in the rigging, while with lowered sail, the vessel seems to fly through the water—judging by the rolling wings of foam that stream from her shoulders and gleam weirdly in the green and red rays of the sidelights. Presently the rain falls in a stinging chilly torrent, killing the breeze and leaving the boat rolling uncomfortably on the surface; and when the furious downpour is over, and the night is quiet once more, all that remains to show the past disturbance is sodden canvas, stiffened cordage, and the uneasy heave of the wind-whipped sea.

So the squall passes—generally leaving a calm behind it—having in a little space squandered enough unavailing breeze to have helped the vessel on her course for hours to come.

At last, one evening, we saw Narkondam from the masthead, about sixty miles away; and next morning Barren Island had risen above the horizon. These two little islands, eastern outliers of the Andamans, and connecting links between the eruptive regions of Burma and Sumatra, are both of volcanic origin, though the former is now extinct.

Barren Island, about two miles in diameter, is merely the crater of a volcano rising abruptly from the sea, which, a quarter of a mile from shore, is nearly everywhere 150 fathoms or more in depth.

THE LANDING-PLACE, BARREN ISLAND.

Approaching from the east, we caught a glimpse, while still some distance off, of the black tip of an eruptive cone, showing above the rim of the crater, which at a nearer view proved to be of igneous basalt, clothed on the outer slopes with a growth of creepers, bushes, and of trees 50 to 60 feet high, frequented by numbers of fruit pigeons.

On the north-west side of the island the wall of the old crater has been broken down, and a large gap about a hundred yards wide at the base affords an easy means of access to the interior. It is through this opening that the best view of the cone is obtained from seawards.

As we sailed past the gap that afternoon the scene was one of striking beauty. Against a background of bright blue sky the little island rose from a sea of lapis-lazuli, which ceaselessly dashed white breakers on the rocky shores. The steep brown slopes, part clothed in brilliant green, framed in the cone—a black and solid mass, round which a pair of eagles circled slowly.

Fortunately for those vessels which may visit the island, there is one place off-shore where soundings can be obtained with the handline, and there we came to anchor in 15 fathoms, a little beach and clump of coconut palms bearing N.N.E., a quarter of a mile away.

Sails were soon stowed and we rowed off to reconnoitre the gap, which is the only practicable landing-place; everywhere else the land slopes steeply to the sea. To the south a heavy swell was breaking on the shore, but in the little cove formed here the sea was perfectly calm, and so clear that as we passed into shallower water the coral bottom, 10 fathoms down, was plainly visible.

A rough wall of lava about a dozen feet high stretches across the opening, and to the left of this, among the stones and boulders of the shore, we found, below high-water mark, a little stream of fresh water trickling to the sea; it is the only water on the island, and at that time was at a temperature of 97.5° F.[6]

The only inhabitants of any size that the island can boast of are a large herd of goats, whose well-worn tracks show plainly on every slope and cliff. A score of these animals, left in 1891 by the station steamer from Port Blair, have so thriven that their descendants must now be numbered in hundreds, and are so free from fear, and unsuspicious, that had we needed them we could have butchered any quantity.

From the landing-place the ground slopes gently upward to the floor of the crater, which is about 50 feet above sea level. In the centre of this rises the little cone of slightly truncated form. Symmetrical in outline, 1000 feet high and perhaps 2000 feet in diameter at the base, there is nothing it reminds one of more closely than a huge heap of purplish-black coal-dust, with patches and streaks of brown on the top.

To right and left of the base, and thence towards the sea, flows a broad black stream of clinkery lava, the masses of which it is composed varying in dimensions from rugged blocks of scoriæ a ton or more in weight to pieces the size of one's fist. The journey across it would be one of some difficulty, were it not that the goats, coming from all parts of the island in their need for water, by constantly travelling to and fro in the same line, have worn a smooth and deep path from side to side, some 200 yards distant from the sea.

THE ERUPTIVE CONE, BARREN ISLAND.

The level ground at the base of the cone, widest on the southern side, is covered with tall bamboo grass and various kinds of low bushes. On the inner slopes of the crater, the south and east sides, which are of rocky formation, support a certain amount of small forest, in which we quickly noticed the absence of such tropical forms as palms, rattans and lianas, and of trees more than 60 or 70 feet high and 4 or 5 feet in diameter;[7] the remaining sides, composed mainly of volcanic ash, afford foothold only to a coarse tussocky plant growing in clumps on the loose black dust. We found these latter slopes not at all an attractive scene of operations, for the feet sank and slipped at every step, and raised at the same time clouds of fine black dust.

During the day the heat in the interior was extreme, for the sun's rays beat down upon, and were reflected from, the dark slopes, while the wall of the crater completely cut off any sea breeze. We did not ascend the cone, for our stay was to be short, and we wished to investigate the fauna as fully as possible; but from reports of the visits paid to the island once every three or four years from Port Blair, it would seem that the slight signs of activity still existent consist of an issue of steam and the continued sublimation of sulphur; while of the two cones which form the top, one is cold, and already bamboo grass and ferns are beginning to clothe the entire summit. There is ample proof in those details which have been recorded of the island during the last century that the volcano is rapidly becoming quiescent, and is indeed, perhaps verging on a condition of extinction, as has long been the case with Narkondam.

Captain Blair, who passed near in 1795, writes of enormous volumes of smoke and frequent showers of red-hot stones. "Some were of a size to weigh three or four tons, and had been thrown some hundred yards past the foot of the cone. There were two or three eruptions while we were close to it; several of the red-hot stones rolled down the sides of the cone and bounded a considerable way beyond us.... Those parts of the island that are distant from the volcano are thinly covered with withered shrubs and blasted trees."

A few years later Horsburgh records an explosion every ten minutes, and a fire of considerable extent burning on the eastern side of the crater. In the next thirty years, the subterranean forces had considerably diminished in activity, and at the end of that period only volumes of white smoke with no flame were to be seen. Drs Mouat and Liebig, who visited the island within a few months of each other in 1857, write respectively of volumes of dark smoke, and clouds of hot, watery vapour. In 1866, a whitish vapour was emitted from several deep fissures, and about 1890, steam was seen to be issuing at the top from a sulphur-bed, which was liquid and pasty, and a new jet was coming from a lump on the sloping side of the cone; while the sole evidence of activity now to be observed is the deposition of sulphur, and an escape of steam that often condenses on the surface rocks.

Concerning the fauna of the island, birds—inside the crater—were not numerous: commonest were a little white-eye (Zosterops palpebrosa), and the Indian cuckoo, which swarmed everywhere, its loud cries, "ko-el, ko-el," resounding in all directions. The only mammals other than the goats were rats, which, while of one species (Mus atratus, sp. nov.), afford a rather curious example of range of colouring, for while many were of the usual brown shade, a great number were of a glossy coal-black, much resembling in tint the lava and volcanic dust in which they made their homes. The island is everywhere riddled with their holes, but though so numerous, the land-crabs may fairly claim to divide the place with them. Trapping for rats was a failure, for no sooner was one caught than it would be torn to pieces by the crabs, who in other instances would spring the trap long before the others were attracted by the bait.

Altogether we landed four times, but soon found that very little variety was to be obtained: the sea, however, swarmed with fish, and many fine catches of rock-cod, trigger-fish, and mullet, 20 to 70 lbs. in weight, were made by the crew.

Late one evening we left Barren Island, and with a fair though moderate breeze, which, however, soon drew round against us, covered the 36 miles to the Andamans proper, and anchored before noon next day in the Kwang-tung Juru.

From a distance, all the islands of the Archipelago appear to rise to about the same height,—between 500 and 600 feet—presenting a fairly level sky-line from north to south, and with the exception of East Island, which shows a white sandy beach, all seem fringed with thickets of mangroves.

The strait, which is about a mile wide, separates the islands of John and Henry Lawrence, and with its smooth water and low banks, on which the veil of mangrove and jungle, extending to the water's edge, is broken at short intervals by small bluffs of pale clay shale, might easily, but for its brilliant blue colour, be mistaken for a quiet river.

We landed in the afternoon on the eastern shore, and at once set to work cutting a path, for here was the densest kind of Andaman jungle, and although within it one comes across little patches where the bush is fairly open, it is, on the whole, a wild tangled mass of trunks and branches, bound together by countless ropes of creeping bamboo and thorny rattan.

Cutting right and left, avoiding a thick bush here and a hanging screen of creepers there, perspiring at every step, we forced a sinuous way in from the beach, until, coming upon a well-trodden pig-track, we found progress so much easier, that, with a little chopping now and again, we were able to move about with some degree of freedom, and along the path so slowly made, a long line of traps was set and baited in readiness for night.

Such a performance is one that regularly occurs during the first visit to each fresh locality in which one collects, and on these occasions the noise caused by chopping away branches and crashing through the bushes very naturally makes the denizens of the jungle conspicuous by their absence.

Afterwards, however, as you move quietly along the path, with all the faculties freely given to the detection of those various objects to the desire for possession of which your presence is due, the jungle seems a much less lonely place, and after days spent in wandering in its shade, during which a bit more path has been cut here, and a few more yards of open space added there, you find that you can take quite a long walk, entirely uninterrupted by use of the parang hanging at your side.

Among the few birds shot that first afternoon were the beautiful Andamanese oriole, with gorgeous plumage of black and yellow, and a peculiar cuckoo—Centropus andamanensis—soberly clad in brown and grey. This bird was a source of much disappointment on one occasion. There are no squirrels known to the Andamans, and seeing what I took for one, without waiting, in the momentary excitement of an apparently fresh discovery, to look more closely, I made a rapid snap-shot, and down tumbled a cuckoo; my consequent disgust may be imagined. The bird, however, can easily be mistaken for a small mammal, for besides resembling one, with its dark brown plumage and fairly long tail, its habit is to spring from bough to bough and creep along the branches in a very rodent-like manner.

Warned by the fading daylight, we returned to the shore, and found a quarter of a mile of dry coral between ourselves and the water, with the dinghy high and dry, so, after making it fast to the mangroves, we picked a way across the reef and hailed the schooner for another boat.

These coral-reefs, although their beauty of form and colour—an endless change of myriad shapes and tints—when seen through the clear water from a boat above is quite beyond description, awaken far less admiration when they have to be crossed on foot while the tide is low. It is impossible for even natives to cross them barefooted. Nearest the shore comes first a belt of mud and coral débris that is easily traversed; next lies a broad strip of sharp and brittle madrepores which break and crumble beneath one's weight; while, seaward, rise from deep water the Astræas—great solid masses of which the reefs are mostly built; and as one jumps from mound to mound, one vaguely wonders at which of those in front a slip may occur, and as the least result plunge one head over heels into the pools around. With a small boat, however, shallow and quick-turning, it is generally possible to pass through these latter and reach a point, where, protected by boots, the shore may be attained at the slight expense of a wetting below the knees.

To escape this unpleasant little journey, we moved a day or two later farther up the strait to where the shore was free from coral, and therefore more accessible, although having reached it, we were confronted by a precipitous cliff of crumbling earth, but when the top was gained, after a zigzag climb, we moved on level ground covered with heavy jungle.

The smaller species of birds were very rare here, but we got almost immediately the first specimen of the island parrots—the brilliant green Palæornis magnirostris. This bird is the local representative of a continental form, from which it differs only in the enormous size of the bill, which in the male is of bright scarlet.

It is a somewhat callous thing to attempt to do, but should one succeed in only severely wounding a parrot, others of the species are sure to be obtained. The cries of the injured bird so attract its companions that they will gather near from all parts within hearing, and seem so possessed with curiosity to know what is wrong, as to be, for the time, perfectly oblivious of the collector and his gun, while they sit around or fly nearer and nearer to their wounded companion and answer its loud croaking notes with others equally harsh.

Parrots of three species were very numerous, and perhaps the most frequent noise in the jungle was their shrill scream, uttered as they flew from tree to tree. Many big black crows, too, flopped—a word which exactly describes their movement—noisily about, and, when hidden by a screen of leaves, we mimicked their cawing notes, more bewildered birds it would be difficult to find. In these woods the larger birds were fairly common, and the traps obtained for us numerous rats of two varieties, one of which squealed pitifully when approached (Mus stoicus, sp. nov., and M. flebilis, sp. nov.).

The Archipelago is inhabited by a tribe known as Aka-Balawa, now on the verge of extinction, as it numbers only twenty individuals; but the sole traces of occupation we came across were the decayed remains of a canoe, lying up one of the mangrove creeks that branch off from the strait.

We remained here three days, all that could be spared from the time given to the cruise, and early on January 11th left for Port Blair.

CHAPTER II

PORT BLAIR

We enter the Harbour—Surveillance—Ross Island Pastimes—Visit the Chief Commissioner—The Harbour—Cellular Jail—Lime Kilns—Phœnix Bay—Hopetown—Murder of Lord Mayo—Chatham Island—Haddo and the Andamanese—Tea Gardens—Viper Island and Jail—The Convicts—Occupations—Punishments—Troops—Departure.

A fresh breeze from the north raised an army of dancing white-caps on the sea, as, rolling along with the wind astern, we made the run to Port Blair in about seven hours.

Easily picking up the Settlement while some distance off, on account of its proximity to Mount Harriet—a pointed hill rising about 1200 feet—we came to anchor to the south of the jetty inside Ross Island, and were immediately boarded by one of the native police—a representative of which body was always on board during the day throughout our stay. This measure is taken to see that the crews of vessels in the harbour hold no communication with the convicts, and also for the prevention of smuggling.

Soon afterwards the doctor and port officer came aboard: both these gentlemen seemed at first to regard us with some suspicion, and indeed by this time, more than two months out from port, we were certainly a rather ruffianly looking party.

The island of Ross is situated at the mouth of the harbour, and tends greatly towards its protection. It is hilly, about 200 acres in area, and is divided into two almost equal parts by a wall running east and west across it; the southern portion is occupied by the barracks of the convicts, and the other contains the headquarters of the Settlement.

On the summit stands the pleasant-looking residence of the Chief Commissioner; the church, and the barracks (architecturally modelled on Windsor Castle) for European troops; both the latter built of a handsome brown stone quarried on the mainland. Below these come the mess, containing a fine library and some beautiful examples of wood-carving executed by Burmese convicts; then the brown-roofed bungalows of the Settlement officers, all bowered in tropic foliage, amongst which graceful palms and traveller's trees stand prominently forth; and lower still, near the sea, are the treasury, commissariat stores, and other Government buildings. The whole place—in itself of much natural beauty—is kept in most perfect condition by a practically unlimited supply of convict labour.

At first sight, it seemed an altogether delightful spot to find in such an isolated corner of the earth; but its melancholy aspect is quickly and forcibly brought home to one by a visit to the jail on Viper Island, and by the continuous presence of the convicts, who are rendered conspicuous by their fetters, or neck-rings, supporting the numbered badges by which the wearers are distinguished.

As usual with our countrymen, "when two or three are gathered together" in distant portions of the world, plentiful facilities for outdoor amusements have come into being. There are cricket and tennis grounds—the latter both concrete and grass—near which a band of convicts discourses very fair music several times a week. There is a sailing club too, and nearly every Saturday throughout the year races for a challenge cup are held in the breezy harbour, at which a score of various craft are often found competing; and the Volunteer Rifle Corps has some thirty members, who compete with gun and revolver for a numerous list of prizes and trophies. Good salt-water fishing is to be had with the rod, for fish in great variety are everywhere abundant; and on the mainland, near Aberdeen, golf and hockey are played.

ROSS ISLAND (northern extremity).

With all this, it is probable that the gentler sex find things somewhat dull at times, for shopping, in the feminine sense of the word, is impossible. There are no shops, and the wants of the community are supplied by a co-operative store, at which, it is reported, in more than one year recently, articles have been sold at a price considerably under cost. Besides this, there is only the native bazaar, which is, of course, ubiquitous in the East.

Before visiting the Nicobars, it is necessary for all vessels to obtain a permit, so, in duty bound, we called one morning on the Chief Commissioner, and to him we are indebted for much information that became valuable in the next few months.

Colonel Temple, who takes much interest in the natives of his district, particularly from a philological standpoint, possesses a very complete ethnological collection of Andamanese and Nicobarese articles, and an aviary containing a great number of the birds inhabiting the two groups of islands. All these objects we were fortunate enough to see, and so gained at the outset a very good idea of those things we were so anxious to obtain specimens of for ourselves.

One morning, in the company of Mr P. Vaux, acting port officer, we made a delightful tour round the harbour in one of the Government launches.

Port Blair is a long, ragged indentation, about seven miles from head to mouth, broken and diversified by numerous little bays and promontories. The shores—intersected by numerous roads—are almost entirely cleared from jungle, and since they have been in this condition, fever has been practically unknown amongst the European community.

Passing first close by the suburb of Aberdeen, which is on the mainland just opposite Ross, we obtained a good view of the Cellular Jail, a huge building of red-brown bricks, with long arms—three storeys in height—stretching from a common centre like the rays of a starfish. It has been built almost entirely from local resources, and with local establishment and labour, and holds 663 cells and the accompanying jail buildings. Here each newcomer is incarcerated in solitude for six months, with the double intention of such confinement acting both as a moral sedative and a warning of what may happen again if his behaviour is not satisfactory in future.

We steamed along past the brickfields; the kilns, where, from the raw coral, lime is manufactured; but as the salt cannot be thoroughly washed out, and subsequently effloresces from the mortar, the result is a rather inferior quality.

At Phœnix Bay, a little farther up the harbour, where we landed to inspect the shipyard and workshops, are sheds fitted up with apparatus for blacksmiths and latheworkers, carpenters and woodcarvers, where occupation is provided for more than 600 skilled workmen. The numerous boats one sees passing to and fro in the harbour are built here, for the shipyard can undertake anything from a 250-ton lighter or 70-feet steam-launch down to a half—rater or the smallest dinghy. The materials for construction are close to hand, since the woods used (padouk for the planking and pyimma for frames) are obtained from the neighbouring forests.

Some years ago Phœnix Bay was a swamp, but now large, brick, steam workshops and wooden sheds of the marine yard, in which the lighters and launches are constructed and repaired, stand on the land reclaimed; and connected with these is a slipway, one of the largest in India, that is entirely of local construction—the whole of the ironwork of the carriage, rails, wheels, and ratchet, having been cast on the spot.

Almost opposite Phœnix Bay, the station of Hopetown, conspicuous by its aqueduct, stands on the northern shore. It was here that in 1872 Lord Mayo, the most popular of Indian Viceroys, was murdered by a fanatical prisoner.

ANDAMANESE MEN.

The Viceroy had visited Mount Harriet in order to judge of its suitability as a sanatorium, and had just finished the descent. "... The ships' bells had just rung seven; the launch, with steam up, was whizzing at the jetty stairs; a group of her seamen were chatting on the pierhead. It was now quite dark, and the black line of the jungle seemed to touch the water's edge. The party passed some large loose stones to the left of the head of the pier, and advanced along the jetty, two torchbearers in front ... and the Viceroy stepped quickly forward before the rest to descend the stairs to the launch. The next moment the people in the rear heard a noise, as of 'the rush of some animal,' from behind the loose stones; one or two saw a hand and a knife suddenly descend in the torch-light. The private secretary heard a thud, and instantly turning round, found a man 'fastened like a tiger' on the back of the Viceroy. In a second, twelve men were on the assassin; an English officer was pulling them off, and with his sword hilt keeping back the native guards, who would have killed the assailant on the spot. The torches had gone out; but the Viceroy, who had staggered over the pier side, was dimly seen rising up in the knee-deep water and clearing the hair off his brow with his hand, as if recovering himself. His private secretary was instantly by his side in the surf, helping him up the bank. 'Burne,' he said quietly, 'they've hit me.' Then in a louder voice, which was heard on the pier—'I'm all right, I don't think I'm much hurt,' or words to that effect. In another minute he was sitting under the smoky glare of the re-lit torches, on a rude native cart at the side of the jetty, his legs hanging loosely down. Then they lifted him bodily out of the cart, and saw a great dark patch on the back of his light coat. The blood came streaming out, and the men tried to stanch it with their handkerchiefs. For a moment or two he sat up in the cart, then he fell heavily backwards. 'Lift up my head,' he said faintly; and said no more."[8]

Leaving Phœnix Bay, we steamed past Chatham Island, where the sawmills are situated, and where a number of hospital convalescents are kept busy with the easy task of manufacturing rope and mats from the coir prepared in Viper Jail. On the approach of a hurricane, vessels in port proceed up harbour and anchor above this island, where they are secure from all danger.

Our next stopping-place was at Haddo, where we visited the Andamanese in their Homes, and out on the water saw a number of natives fishing from canoes.

The sheds in which the aborigines are domiciled are substantial structures of attap, standing near the sea in the shade of coco palms. We found present eight or nine women, and twice that number of men and boys, who, on catching sight of our advance, ran out of doors to meet us. Two or three babies present were carried by the mothers in a broad band suspended from forehead or shoulder. The first thought that flashed into one's mind on perceiving them, with their small stature, sooty skins, and frizzly hair, was that here were a number of juvenile negroes ("niggers"): they are, however, far better-looking than that people, and some of the women might almost be called pretty, even when judged from a European standpoint.

For clothing, the men wore breech-clouts of red cotton, and strings of beads or small shells about the neck: the ornaments of the women consisted of similar necklaces, and several girdles of beads or bark, in the lowest of which a green leaf was inserted, by way of apron. The hair of the women was slightly shorter than the men's, but worn in a similar fashion—all but a circular patch on the top of the head, like a skull-cap, was shaved away, and this was often divided by a broad band of bare skin running from back to front. Chest and back were covered with skin decoration of the cicatrice type, which, healing without any tendency to keloid, left a smooth mark, distinguished by its lustre only from the normal surface. Many had smeared themselves with fat, which gave the skin a very shiny appearance.

ANDAMANESE WOMEN.

The bows carried were of the recurved paddle type that attains its greatest development in the Andamans,[9] and the arrows were armed with formidable iron points and barbs: the heads of these are detachable, and are connected with a shaft by a short cord of fibre, which is wound about the arrow by twisting the head in its socket. These arrows are used in shooting pig, and of course much impede the escape of any animal, by the shaft disengaging from the head and catching in the undergrowth of the jungle. The bows were constructed of white wood, and handled with the recurved end downward.

The foreheads of some of the women were daubed with white clay, and one, in addition to a quantity of coral ornaments, wore suspended from her neck a human skull daubed with red earth. This, however, is not, as was long supposed, a sign of conjugal mourning, for any of the relatives or intimate friends of a deceased person are qualified to wear his disinterred bones, and the skull often passes round amongst a considerable number of people.

We were agreeably surprised at the appearance of the natives, as they were clean, pleasant-looking, and merry, apparently somewhat childish in disposition, and much given to chatter and laughter.

On leaving, we flung a number of small coins amongst them, and these were scrambled for with great noise and excitement.

The Homes are occupied from time to time only by the natives, who are allowed to go and come as they please, and while dwelling in them are supplied with provisions. Love of the jungle, and the life to which they are born, is so deeply rooted in the aborigines, that although they occupy the sheds intermittently for varying periods, few have been found who are sufficiently attracted by the neighbouring civilisation to become permanent residents.

As we proceeded up the harbour we caught a glimpse, at the head of Navy Bay, of the tea gardens which have for some time been established there. The product is very coarse and strong, and finds favour with the European troops in India, and with the Madras Army.

Lastly we came to Viper Island, which has been not inappropriately christened "Hell," for in Viper Jail are kept the very worst of the prisoners in the Settlement, and it must not be forgotten that here are collected the scum of the whole immense Indian Empire and of Burma as well. No one is sent to the islands who has less than seven years to serve, and many here, perhaps, are those, who, but for some flaw in the evidence which convicted them, might long ago have paid the last penalty for their crimes.

Viper Island is elevated in parts with a somewhat broken surface, and the Jail, with its grey-and-white walls, standing among a group of trees, shows picturesquely from the summit of a hill. A number of convicts are confined to the island, besides those in the prison, and to accommodate them barracks have been erected in various spots.

We landed on a jetty, and, passing by the guardhouse at its foot, soon climbed the little hill, on the top of which the prison is situated. First, and grimmest sight of all, came the condemned cells and the gallows, and then we passed—accompanied by a guard of police—through room after room full of men reclining on slabs of masonry. The shackled inmates of these wards, who rose unwillingly with clanking irons at the word of command, are under the control of promoted convicts made responsible for their behaviour. The effect of our entrance varied with different individuals; some, apparently apathetic and sullen, took no notice whatever, while others seemed to evince the liveliest curiosity.

As the day of our visit was a Sunday, no work was being done: all the inmates were undisturbed, save a few whose heads were being cropped, and some convalescents receiving their midday ration—a chapátí, and an ample portion of coarse boiled rice.

The scope allowed for employment in the prison is somewhat limited, for, while the work must be of sufficient severity to act as a punishment, it must of necessity be of such a nature that the tools accessory to it are not of a kind that can be used by those handling them in an attack on jailers or fellow-prisoners. Among the tasks set are coir-pounding, in which a certain quantity must be produced and made into bundles every day: the heavy mallets used are fastened, for safety, by a short lanyard to the beam on which the husk is broken up. Again, oil has to be expressed from a given weight of copra by pounding the material in iron mortars with unwieldy wooden pestles. Wool-teasing is yet another form of occupation.

Besides the wards, there are a number of cells for solitary confinement; some of these were occupied by prisoners suspected of malingering, others by those awaiting punishment.

This last, of course, takes various forms, from—for instance—the dark cell, where an offender may be incarcerated for twenty-four hours, to castigation with a rattan, in which, it is said, the maximum sentence of thirty strokes can be applied so severely as to be fatal to the recipient. Lastly, of course, comes execution by hanging, which is inflicted in the case of those prisoners, who, being already under severe sentence, attempt the lives of their fellows, their warders, or the officials of the Settlement.

The transportation of European offenders is now discontinued, but a large number of female convicts are engaged mainly in turning the wool prepared in Viper Jail into blankets.

Caste—a most important point in connection with people of India—is carefully respected, and the Brahmin prisoners are nearly all employed as cooks.

The majority of the convicts are from the Indian Peninsula, and are resident for life. Of the Burmese, however, the greater part are serving sentences of ten years, for engaging too recklessly in the national pastime of dacoity, and many of them are employed in the jungle and as boatmen.

To maintain discipline, and for the protection of the Settlement, a military force of about 440 men is stationed at Aberdeen, Ross, and Viper—two companies of European and four of native troops—and a battalion of military police.

After leaving Viper Island we returned to the headquarters of the Settlement, where next day we left behind the last post of civilisation met with, until three months later we reached Olehleh, the most northerly of the Dutch colonies in Acheen.

CHAPTER III

MACPHERSON STRAIT—SOUTH ANDAMAN AND RUTLAND ISLAND

Gunboat Tours—South Andaman—Rutland Island—Navigation—Landing-place—Native Camp—Natives—Jungle—Birds—Appearance of the Natives—Our Guests—Native Women: Decorations and Absurd Appearance—Trials of Photography—The Village—Food—Bows, Arrows, and Utensils—Barter—Coiffure—Fauna—Water—New Species.

After leaving Port Blair, where we got up anchor at half-past three in the morning to make the most of a light breeze, we sailed slowly along the coast of South Andaman, until, rounding the point of the south-east corner, we came to anchor in Macpherson Strait.

Just outside the port we met the R.I.M.S. Elphinstone returning from a census-taking visit to the Nicobars; three or four times a year she makes a ten days' trip round the group, stopping at a few of the more important places; and these cruises are almost the only thing that brings home to the natives the fact that they are under the British raj.

For some distance south of the Settlement the land consists of undulating grassy hills, dotted with coco palms, and streaked by gullies, in which dark clumps of jungle still remain. It is an ideal country for game, and some years ago hog-deer were introduced; but, although they have multiplied, they are very rarely seen, and have afforded but little sport.

Nearer the strait, the hills by the coast are still covered with forest; and between the stretches of sandy shore at their feet grow luxuriant thickets of mangroves.

ANDAMANESE SHELTER.

Rutland Island, rising on the east in tall precipitous cliffs, on the north slopes gently to the strait, which on both sides is bordered by alternate tracts of yellow beach and bright green mangrove.

We hauled round Bird's Nest Cape—a bare rocky headland of serpentine, still producing those edible delicacies which are responsible for the name—and, with a man aloft to con a passage along the coral-reef, carefully avoided a rock near mid-channel, and took up a berth in quiet waters about a mile from the entrance of the strait.

When sailing along little known shores, especially in the tropics, a look-out man should always be stationed at the masthead, for from that place dangers of reef and rock unnoticed from the deck are plainly visible. Year by year coral-reefs increase, and banks alter so greatly that entire reliance cannot be placed on the chart, even though it be of comparatively recent date.

We landed on South Andaman in a little bay, whose waters lapped a beach of golden sand. It was, as usual, nearly filled with coral, but fortunately the tide was never so low that we could not land directly on the shore. To left and right the land rose in gentle hills, on the one hand forest, and on the other grass-clothed, but beyond the centre, where it was flat, lay an expanse of tangled swamp.

Although their tracks, made since the last high tide, ran all along the beach, we saw no natives then or later; but just within the bush we found an old camping-place—cold ashes, heaps of broken shells, and a dilapidated hut about 6 feet square and high, made of light branches stuck in the ground, with tops drawn together and covered with a few palm leaves laid stem downwards.

That night a fire shone brightly on the beach of Rutland Island; and so next morning, while Abbott in the dinghy went north to make the round of the traps, I, with a crew in the whaleboat, rowed across the strait, and when we were within two or three hundred yards of the shore, a tall native ran down the beach and commenced waving a flag on the end of a long pole.

As the sea was pounding heavily on the reef, a couple of men were left in the boat to keep it off shore, and the rest of us, jumping overboard, waded to the beach. Two or three other natives now arrived, and we showed our good intentions by slapping them on their backs, with broad grins, to the latter part of which process they responded most heartily.

It was too early in the day to get to work with the camera, so, after fetching my gun from the boat, I struck into the jungle and spent an hour with the more clothed of its inhabitants.

The jungle was of the kind that may perhaps be best described as forest: that is to say, it was fairly free from the usual superabundance of rattans, lianas, and all those creeping growths which close the intervals among the trees with a thorny network of vegetation, and compel the intruder to go where he can and not where he will. Mighty trees towered upwards, branches interlacing and shutting out the sun, while down below, in the aisles of tree-trunks, stood the smaller brethren and the saplings, waiting the fall of some neighbouring giant to give them in turn room to lift their branches towards the light.

Little blue fly-catchers, utterly fearless, flitted about in the lower bushes, and, higher up, golden-billed grackles hopped or flew from branch to branch, their loud clear whistles resounding through the forest, whilst from the tops of the biggest trees came the deep "boom, boom," of the great fruit-pigeons. However, although birds were fairly numerous, I got but few prizes—best among them, perhaps, a pretty little olive-green and yellow minivet (Pericrocrotus andamanensis), and a black racquet-tailed drongo (Dissemuroides andamanensis), a bird whose flight, as its long tail feathers stretch out behind, is extremely graceful, and who possessed one of the sweetest combination of notes heard in the jungle.

With such specimens in my bag, I presently came on a little stream, and after following its course to the sea, tramped along the shore, and so came back once more to the boat.

A large fire had been made on the beach, and near it, in spite of the hot sun, the men sat fraternising with the members of the native party—five men and boys, three women, and three children.

In this little company there proved to be the three biggest men we saw among the Andamanese; in height, they stood 5 feet 4¾ inches, 5 feet 3¼ inches, and 5 feet 2 inches respectively.[10] Although possibly a little weak proportionately in the legs, where the skin covering the knee was so thickened and corrugated as to almost resemble callosities, the members of the party were well built and not ungraceful, but spoilt in most cases by a varying degree of distension of the abdomen: this state of things is caused by the immense amount of food they will, when possible, consume at a sitting; but the striking appearance of the eldest matron of the tribe was a more or less temporary feature, principally due to the interesting condition in which she was.

It was a pleasure to photograph these people, for they submitted to the operation most docilely; and when, after taking a series of pictures, I gave a graphic invitation to breakfast—pointing to my mouth, and rubbing that portion of the figure situated in the middle front—the men of the party all accepted the offer, and, reinforced by them, we returned to the Terrapin.

Arrived on board, they were at first rather inquisitive, but after inspecting the schooner and spending a little time below watching us at work, they went forward, and seemed quite comfortable amongst the men. As soon as it could be prepared, a large pailful of boiled rice was placed before them, and this was finished without any sign of flagging being shown. What a convenience the absence of tight clothing must be at such times!

The next few hours were passed by them lying on deck in the sun, where, out of regard for their feelings, we left them undisturbed, except for the few moments during which they were measured. To a second bucket of rice, offered before they left, they failed to do proper justice, but took what remained ashore, where the women probably had their share.

We ran across the strait under canvas, before a light breeze, and the sail was a source of huge amusement to all but the youngest of the party, who was intermittently busied in returning to daylight all the food he had previously consumed.

Following what seems a wide-spread custom, the ladies ashore, had, to some extent, got themselves up for the reception of visitors. Although the previous dress—a small bunch of grass slung from the waist by a cord—fulfilled all requirements, they were now further decorated with an almost complete coating of ochreous clay, through which black eyes, nose, and lips showed below a bald pate with ludicrous effect. The babies, too, had been glorified in the same manner, and we felt quite bashful and shabby in our old pyjamas.

So absurdly comical did they appear, that it was only by much perseverance I was able to photograph them again, for whenever I attempted to adjust the focus, the picture on the screen gave rise to such fits of laughter that the camera was in danger of being upset. Even the boat's crew, unemotional Malays as they were, lay about, doubled up in paroxysms of laughter, which, increased by the looks of wonder and the ingenuous smiles with which my subjects persisted in regarding us, continued until the point of sheer exhaustion was reached. The old lady of the party and myself became great friends, and when on our departure I presented her with my handkerchief (all that I then had left) as a souvenir of our visit—as I gravely tied it about her head, I am sure we made an impressive picture.

The huts, or cháng, were four in number, and stood side by side just within the jungle, with the fronts facing inland. On a sloping framework of thin branches, raised about 4 feet at the upper edge, and covering a piece of ground 6 feet square, were laid sufficient palm leaves to make a rain-proof shelter. The front and sides were left completely unprotected, the earth below was covered with more palm leaves, and a small fire was burning on the ground below an upper corner of each roof.

The only food they appeared to be supplied with was obtained from the large trees beneath which the camp stood—a small round fruit with a green skin, and a pleasantly-flavoured pulpy flesh; a large quantity of dark-coloured beeswax was lying about, so honey was probably plentiful and easily obtained.

By signs, we gave the men to understand that we wished to purchase bows and arrows, and while these were being produced from some hiding-place in the jungle, whither the natives requested us not to accompany them, the women and children regaled themselves with a parcel of sugar which had been brought for their special benefit.

We eagerly bought up all visible belongings that could be carried off. Among these were small pots made from the joints of the giant bamboo, conical baskets of rattan fibre, and large buckets carved from solid wood, any cracks being sewn up with rattan and luted with wax; all these were furnished with slings for ease in carrying.

The bows were not of the kind regarded as typical of the Andamanese, but are fashioned in the style to which we are accustomed at home, with this peculiarity—that instead of the rounded side or "belly" being nearest the string, it is away from the archer when the weapon is held ready for use. They are about 5 feet long, and of a material resembling rosewood; the tips are cut away, so as to leave a shoulder for the string to rest on, and below these points the bow is whipped for an inch with fine cord. The string is of twisted fibre, with a loop at either end, made by taking a half-hitch and then twisting in the loose end for a short distance.

Arrows have the shaft of bamboo, to which is attached a long point of hard wood, and the joint is whipped. Some of the arrows used for fishing are triple-headed. A fairly deep notch is made to receive the bowstring, and the butt of the arrow is tightly scored transversely, with the idea of affording a better grip. The lengths varied from 45 to 66 inches.

While being strung, the bow is held almost vertically, with one end resting on the ground. A foot is then placed on the centre, and the upper end drawn towards the operator until the loop can be slipped over it.

The pull used may be anything between 50 and 60 lbs., and though in the jungle, with their silent step and quality of remaining unseen, the Andamanese are dangerous as enemies, in the open they would be less formidable, for it is doubtful whether their arrows will carry more than a hundred yards, and certainly their shooting, as we ourselves saw, possessed little accuracy at more than a quarter of that distance.

In return for the various articles obtained, we gave an axe, a parang, a file, a number of long French nails, and a quantity of red cotton, with which things they seemed very satisfied; and we left behind, as a parting gift, a good supply of rice and leaf tobacco.

The dress of the women I have already described: their heads were bald, entirely shaved of hair. The men were only partially cropped, and what hair was left was short, and had much the appearance of a small skull-cap. Those who were ornamented with clay had applied it in long stripes down arms and body, and across the face, while for further decoration some wore a cord about the waist, or armlets of fibre tightly fastened round the biceps.

We found the shores of South Andaman a splendid locality for collecting. One morning in particular I remember. On landing we saw all about the beach the tracks of numerous pigs that had come down in the night to obtain a meal of the trepang, crabs, and molluscs left exposed by the ebb tide; and I had not been five minutes ashore before I knocked over an equal number of beautiful parrots (P. faciatus), a species we found everywhere very common throughout the Andamans.

A little group of coco palms, in a corner of the bay, marks a spring from which we obtained good water, and adjacent stood a small leafless tree, whose branches, however, bore quantities of a brilliant red blossom (Ixora, sp.?). To this came birds in such numbers that I remained beneath it all the morning. Here I obtained our first specimens of the Andaman sun-bird, a tiny thing with olive back, blue throat, and yellow breast, and also one of the most beautiful of kingfishers (Halcyon saturatior), a glorious combination of bright chestnut, white, and vivid blues that one could never tire of admiring. Common was the little crested bulbul, clothed in black and white, with crimson ear-coverts, and equally so the brilliant-plumaged oriole, while the sleek-looking Andaman myna, soberly feathered in black and white, occurred in no small numbers. Indeed, birds came and went so quickly, that I was often hard put to it to select the proper cartridge, and frequently three or four specimens at a time lay waiting to be stowed away in the game bag.

Time and place combined to make a naturalist's paradise, and I did not desist from collecting until my stock of wool, paper, and ammunition were exhausted. It must not be thought, however, that such an experience is in any way common, for it is seldom that the work is so easy or the harvest so large.

Amongst the birds obtained on South Andaman was a pigeon that has since proved to be new (Osmotreron, sp. nov.); while, as far as mammals were concerned, rats of two species—one hitherto unrecorded, Mus taciturnus, sp. nov., and M. andamanensis—were fairly common; and we were fortunate in obtaining a palm-civet, of the species peculiar to the islands, which for several nights had been committing depredations along the line of traps; and also a single example of a new shrew (Crocidura andamanensis).

CHAPTER IV

THE CINQUES AND LITTLE ANDAMAN

Position of the Cinques—Anchorage—Clear Water—The Forest—Beach Formation—Native Hut—Little Andaman—Bumila Creek—Natives—Flies—Personal Decoration—Dress and Modesty—Coats of Mud—Coiffure—Absence of Scarification—Elephantiasis—A Visit to the Village—Peculiar Huts—Canoe—Bows and Arrows—The Return Journey—A Slight contretemps—Andamanese Pig—We leave the Andamans.

The channel that separates Rutland Island from Little Andaman is about 28 miles wide, and is everywhere less than 50 fathoms in depth. Several small wooded islets rise above its shallow waters, leaving in the centre, however, a clear stretch of sea—the Duncan Passage—which is sometimes traversed by ships passing through the Archipelago.

At the northernmost group of these islets, the Cinques, we spent a day, before visiting the coast of Little Andaman. The two islands, which are narrow and hilly, stretch for about 6 miles in an almost N. and S. direction, and are almost joined by a reef of rocks awash at high tide; they are only 3 miles distant from the south-east end of Rutland Island, and 9 miles from Macpherson Strait. We anchored between the islands, in a little bay in the shore of the northernmost, with the reef of rocks to the eastward.

Here, as in all such islands where there are no streams or mangrove swamps, the water was excessively clear—so clear that we could perceive fish swimming amongst the coral, and the anchor lying on the bottom 10 fathoms below.

The forest on the southern and western shores presents a striking contrast to the jungle of the other islands, and bears witness to the strength of the south-west monsoon. The slopes of the hills are scantily covered with grass, and on the lower ground, amongst the starved and twisted trees, numerous dead branches show white against the scanty foliage of the other wind-warped limbs. Below, the effect is stranger still, for the shrubs and bushes grow in rows running inland from the beach, so that one can walk up and down between them as in the lines of an artificial plantation.

The beach on which we landed was composed entirely of white coral sand, and upon it we found graceful branches of a brown and white coralline (Isis hippurus), and numbers of pearly-chambered spirulas. After forcing a way through the matted foliage, we reached the more protected parts of the island, where the jungle was of a more luxuriant description; but animal life was very scarce everywhere, and our list of the avifauna contains the names of ten species only.

There are no permanent inhabitants, but the Cinques are occasionally visited by the natives (Öngés of Little Andaman and natives from Port Blair), who probably find it a good locality for turtle and fish. We picked up in the jungle an arrow of a kind afterwards obtained at Little Andaman, and discovered a path that ran from south to north, where, on the shore of a little sandy cove, stood a hut similar to those already seen, save that sides had been added, thus making a semicircular shelter, and a small platform of sticks erected above the fireplace. A number of baskets hung from the roof, and for flooring, instead of palm leaves, there was an old teak grating and some planks—flotsam, perhaps, from a shipwrecked vessel.

At midnight a fair breeze sprang up and we made sail, crawling slowly southward by its help, until, twelve hours later, we dropped anchor off the coast of Little Andaman.

Eyubelong, as it is called by its inhabitants, the Öngés—a tribe, who, by their bows, absence of scarification, and other indications, seem to be closely akin to the Jarawas—is in shape an irregular ellipse, with an area of rather more than 250 square miles, and a level verdure-clad surface that rises gradually to a height of 600 feet in the interior towards the south. It has no harbour on its coasts, but on the northern shores two or three creeks run inland for short distances. We brought up off the northern of these, by name Bumila, which seemed to offer a well-protected anchorage; but when the boat was sent off with a sounding-line to make observations, we found that coral reefs, stretching from either side, so narrowed and complicated the entrance that it would be a task of some difficulty to take the schooner in, and one still more so to get her out, against the prevailing breeze. The lead, too, at low tide, gave the greatest depth as 8 feet, and even in the channel large coral heads rose irregularly from the bottom: it was, therefore, decided that we should make a short stay only, and that during it the Terrapin should remain outside.

Already a group of natives had gathered on the beach, all waving bunches of leaves, and since we had been warned that all the tribes but those at the north end were still hostile, we concluded that this particular band were displaying that token of friendship common to nearly all savages—the green branch of a tree. Very soon, however, we found that the waving leaves were for a far more practical purpose, and that the creek thoroughly deserved its name. Bumila is S. Andamanese for "fly," and I don't think I ever saw so many of those pestiferous insects together at one time. They swarmed round the natives and settled on their naked bodies in hundreds, and no sooner had we landed than we were assailed in so impartial a fashion that we quickly followed the example of the inhabitants and supplied ourselves with defensive branches.

The Andamanese were quite friendly—although they are said to be treacherous and scarcely to be trusted in the south-western portion of the island—so, after a short survey of the creek, we returned to the Terrapin, accompanied by a legion of flies, together with as many natives as the boat would hold, and the latter were soon at work on as hearty a meal as that made by their countrymen at Rutland Island. The party met at Rutland Island were also Öngés and were merely visiting Rutland Island on their way to or from Port Blair.

By the time we landed again in the afternoon, the number of waiting natives had increased to about thirty, and they continued to arrive until between sixty and seventy were present, of all ages and both sexes.

One of our party, who stands some inches over 6 feet in his socks, and is proportionately built, was a contrast to a group of natives, none of whom were more than 5 feet in height; and nothing impressed my mind more forcibly than this sight with the racial diminutiveness of the Negrito race.

By way of ornament, the men rang the changes on chaplets and armlets made from the inner bark of a tree, and necklaces and girdles of cord, in which was twisted some bright yellow material of a straw-like nature. Similar ornaments were worn by the women, who, in addition, wore for dress an apron, or bunch of a fibre resembling bass, suspended in front from the centre of the girdle. Everything but the aprons was freely parted with, but the modesty of the women was so strong—although the men go completely unclad—that we could not obtain them until we thought of tendering sufficient cloth beforehand to serve as a skirt, and then, after draping this about themselves, they were able to remove the girdle without doing violence to their praiseworthy scruples. Both sexes wore also about the neck a small reticule or purse, of netted twine, which served as a hold-all, and often contained tobacco, pipes, and fruit.

Both men and women cover themselves with a thick wash of reddish clay, which, when fresh, gives them a very striking appearance. On one of the men thus ornamented, the coating was applied in this wise:—On the face a circular patch extending from brow to chin, but leaving nose and lips black; on the front and back of the body large elliptical patches, through which, while wet, the fingers were evidently drawn, leaving broad bands of four black stripes; the arms were covered to half-way down the forearm, and the wash was applied to the legs from mid-thigh to shin. Several natives, besides this simple adornment, were daubed on head and shoulders with a greasy mixture of red pigment and fat.

The heads of both sexes were in various stages between baldness and a covering of hair of fair thickness: they shave, however, before the tufts reach the spiral state seen in the natives frequenting Port Blair, and the hair is never allowed to attain any length on temples and nape. Like those seen at Rutland Island, their bodies were free from the tattooing or scarification so noticeable on the South Andamanese. The man who seemed to be chief of the tribe provided the only case of elephantiasis remarked among these islands: it occurred with him in a very mild form—merely a slight swelling of the left leg.[11]

Having taken a series of photographs, during which operation the women were the cause of much laughter, as they stood in a row before the camera, we started off westwards along the beach to visit the village and obtain more curiosities. We set a rattling pace along the hot sand, to see what the little people could do; but when, after travelling nearly four miles, we reached the huts they occupied, those who had started with us were still up, although they had to break into a jog trot now and then to keep their position. They moved with a very springy action, and a swing of the body from the hips.

ÖNGÉ HUT, LITTLE ANDAMAN.

The huts stand singly, at distances of several hundred yards from each other, just within the shade of the jungle where it comes down to the beach, and are very different in style and construction from the majority of those of the northern islands. They are built to the shape of a somewhat flattened cone, about 13 feet high, and 30 feet in diameter. On a framework of light sticks, supported by twenty or more upright poles planted irregularly about the interior, a thick covering of large mats is laid. The mats are made by fastening the stripped mid-ribs of a species of fern-palm side by side with a rattan lashing after the style of a "chick," and then securing at right angles to the foundation thus constructed a thick layer of the pinnæ of the same plant. For doors, several of the lower mats are arranged to roll up, and leave an opening about 4 feet square. Sleeping platforms are formed by laying split bamboos lengthwise on a framework, measuring about 5 feet by 4 feet, which is raised above the ground on legs 6 to 18 inches high. Each hut contains a number of such bed-places, and beside each of them were the ashes of a small fire.[12]

Little Andaman Canoe.

Near the hut lay a nearly completed dug-out canoe (of the wood of Sterculia campanulata), about 28 feet long by 3 feet wide and deep, of the usual Andamanese form, with sawed-off ends, and projecting platforms at bow and stern, forming convenient places to stand on when spearing turtle and fish. The sides were left about 1¼ inches thick; and although the canoe was constructed from soft wood, even now, when they possess a few iron tools, such as small axes and files, the work must be one of painful slowness.[13]

Their bows and arrows were like those from Rutland Island: many of the former, however, were only 5 feet in length, while of the latter some, in addition to the hardwood tip, had a bent nail lashed on in such a way as to form both point and barb, and the butts of all were left smooth.

By the time we had finished at the encampment, night was drawing near, but fifteen or twenty men accompanied us when returning. In the growing darkness the journey back was far from easy: now we were ploughing through loose sand and climbing over fallen trees, now dodging among mangrove roots, or splashing thigh-deep through the water, which had risen with the incoming tide. In such circumstances the natives showed their superiority to ourselves by their agility in making a way amongst roots and fallen trees, and by either their better eyesight in the dark or familiarity with the path. Evidently they had come with the intention of accompanying us on board; for when the boat was reached, all got into it, and we had some trouble in persuading them to leave. The coral bottom at the anchorage was very bad holding-ground, and had it come on to blow, we might have been compelled to put to sea, in which case we did not wish to return. The natives were perfectly harmless, as they had no weapons; but we had no desire to leave an unpleasant impression for the benefit of future visitors, so had recourse to gentle measures only. All, however, clung to the sides and thwarts of the boat, and gave vent to a chorus of refusal, "Nai, nai," and the childish behaviour continued, until one, more hardly pressed than the others, jumped overboard with a yell of rage, when the rest immediately followed suit. We then found that a rowlock had been carried off; but when we turned towards the shore with the momentary idea of recovering it, the natives all disappeared into the jungle, so we rowed off with three oars, and reached the schooner about 7.30 P.M.

Next morning, on landing to shoot, we found the little contretemps of the night before entirely ignored, for a party of natives was waiting for us at the creek.

Although, probably, not collected on before, the island, during the few hours we spent on it, produced nothing fresh in the way of birds. Abbott, however, bagged the pig peculiar to the group (Sus andamanensis), which, like the human inhabitants, is diminutive in stature. Our specimen, although a full-grown boar, stood only 20 inches high at the shoulder, and was just double that in length of head and body. He was skinned on the spot, and the carcase, together with a viviparous shark we had caught during the night, and a quantity of red cotton, we presented to the natives as a parting gift, and then, shaking hands with them all round, we said farewell to the Andamans and put to sea.

“Scare-devil,” or device for exorcising evil spirits.

CHAPTER V

KAR NICOBAR

To the Nicobars—A Tide-Race—A Change of Scene—Sáwi Bay—Geological Formation—V. Solomon—Mūs Village—Living-Houses—Kitchens—Fruit-Trees—The Natives—Headman Offandi—"Town-Halls"—Death-House—Maternity Houses—Hospitals—Floods—"Babies' Houses"—Birds—Oil Press—Canoes—Offandi—"Friend of England"—"Frank Thompson"—"Little John"—Thirst for Information—Natives' Nick-names—Mission School Boys' Work—A Truant—The Advantage of Canoes—A Spill—Our Method of Landing—Collecting Native Birds—A new Bat—Coconuts—V. Solomon—The Nicobarese and Christianity—Water—Area of Kar Nicobar—Geology—Flora—Supplies.

"21st January 1901.—The American yacht Terrapin anchored at Sáwi Bay about 7 P.M. I sent men to inquire about the vessel, and the gentlemen on board informed me that they had come via Port Blair, and would land early next morning.

"22nd January 1901.—Early this morning Dr Abbott and Mr Kloss landed and came to 'Temple Villa,' and gave me to understand the object of their visit. They remained here till the 27th inst., and I gave them every possible help. They left the island well pleased with their visit. Many Nicobarese came from other villages with articles in the hope of purchasing rum, but they were sadly disappointed: as I had begged the gentlemen not to encourage the people with spirits, and they complied with my request."—From the diary of Catechist V. Solomon.

IN THE VILLAGE OF MŪS, KAR NICOBAR.

The wind was fair, but light, as, on 20th January 1901, we left Bumila Creek for the Nicobars, and we sailed slowly along the western coast of Little Andaman with the shore in full view. A sandy beach ran all along, with here and there a crop of rock breaking out, and behind it, stretching right across the island, spread dense unbroken jungle.

At distant intervals along the shore stood several of the peculiar conical huts, and as we proceeded southward the forest gradually assumed the grey and twisted look due to the force of the south-west winds.

Now, however, all was calm and still, and the Terrapin sailed on such a steady upright keel, that photographs taken the day before were developed without spilling any of the solution used from the shallow dishes. Heavy rain, with which we filled the tanks, fell during the night, and at noon next day we sighted the low island of Kar Nicobar, lying some 22 miles away.

As we neared the north-west part, after an 80 miles' sail, a large village of beehive huts on posts came into view, and the immense number of coconut palms along the eastern shore was very striking.

West of the point, we sailed into a strong tide-race, the current running against the wind at a rate of 4 to 5 knots, and knocking up a heavy, broken sea, in which the schooner yawed and rolled about, taking water on board from every direction. Although the wind was dead aft, it was long before we made any way. With the fore-topsail down, we remained stationary; with it up, we gradually moved ahead. After a time, however, the tide slackened, and we sailed slowly into Sáwi Bay, where we found a Moulmein brig, the Princess of Wales, loaded to her bulwark rail with coconuts, and passing close by we anchored inshore of her, in 7 fathoms, just as night fell.[14]

An hour or two later, a large outrigger canoe brought alongside a party of men—some of whom spoke English fairly—to ascertain what we were; and by the rays of a lantern, we obtained our first glimpse of the Nicobarese, who appeared, with yellow-brown skin, straightish hair, and medium stature, to be somewhat akin to Malays.

Here was a change indeed, both in place and people. From islands densely jungle-covered to open stretches of grass-land and groves of coco palms: from a little, black-skinned, frizzly-haired race, in an exceedingly low plane of existence, to a brown-complexioned, lank-haired people, of fair height, who are almost semi-civilised, live in good dwellings, cultivate food products, and possess domesticated animals.

The houses alone were typical of the change of race: those of the Negro peoples—the stock to which the Andamanese belong—are built directly on the ground, while here, among a group of (practically) the Malayan race, the dwellings were universally raised on piles.[15]

We landed next morning by wading through the surf, for the sea, though smooth off-shore, was breaking on the beach.

The shores of the bay rose precipitously from a beach of sand to an average height of 30 feet, and showed plainly the island formation of grey clay, sandstone, and overlying beds of upheaved coral. Here and there, buttresses of sandstone stood out boldly from the softer cliff, which had crumbled away between them. Above, the land ran inward in a level, unbroken stretch.

KAR NICOBARESE FAMILY AND DWELLING-HOUSE, WITH LOUNGE BENEATH.

We were met almost immediately by Mr V. Solomon, a Christian Madrassi, who fills the positions of meteorological observer, port officer, schoolmaster, and catechist, and acts unofficially as magistrate and amateur doctor. When we had satisfied him that we were not the proverbial filibustering American schooner—or still more heinous, laden with a cargo of spirits—he offered every assistance in his power, and put the schoolhouse at our disposal, should we care to live ashore.

A flight of broad stairs, built against the cliff, led to its top, and then, after traversing two or three hundred yards of broad road, the agent's bungalow—"Temple Villa"—and the schoolhouse, both standing on an open piece of land purchased from the natives, were reached.

In the clearing were sheds for the meteorological instruments, a very deep well, the only one in Kar Nicobar, and enclosures for several Indian cows that were kept by the agent. The Nicobarese do not use milk, and a herd of cattle given to them when the settlement at Nankauri was abolished, are now roaming over Trinkat in a semi-wild state, very occasionally losing one or two of their numbers by the spears of the natives, to whom, at times, they afford a welcome supply of food. The common pigeon was introduced into Kar Nicobar in 1898, and numbers of them were to be seen in the vicinity of the bungalow.

The village lay just beyond, on the eastern shore, for this part of the island is merely a narrow arm projecting from the main portion in a northern direction.

Mūs has a population of 530, and covers about half a square mile of ground, the various groups of houses being scattered irregularly about in picturesque disorder amongst thickets of fruit-trees and fenced-in gardens.

All the buildings stand on thick piles,[16] about 7 feet high, but vary in architectural type. The living-houses (pati), roughly about 20 feet in diameter, and 15-20 feet in height from floor to apex, are in shape something between an inverted basin and a pie-dish, covered with a heavy thatch of lallang grass. Without windows or visible entrance, the interior is reached by a neatly-made ladder of bamboo, or notched pole, through a trapdoor in the floor, which works on hinges and has an alarum attached, so that any nocturnal intruder will make his presence known.

The top of each pile is fitted with a large, circular, wooden disc, to prevent the entry of rats and reptiles,[17] and beneath the house, in the shade, there is generally a swing, and also a platform of springy cane that serves the native for a lounge. Baskets, bag-shaped and wide-meshed, hang from the piles, and in these the hens are put when it is laying-time.

Inside, the walls are generally neatly lined with thin battens of areca palm attached horizontally; up in the roof, a kind of attic is formed, by means of a light shelving of areca or other palm wood, having a square aperture left in the centre for entrance. On the floor, which is also grated, are the wooden clothes-chests that contain the family possessions, betel-boxes, the mats of areca palm leaf, and the wooden head-rests which are used when sleeping; and from the walls hang baskets, spears, crossbows, suspensory contrivances made from small branches with part of the twigs left on, and also some tobacco, coconuts, and a piece of pork—the offering to the spirits.

The other type of building (kamun telika) is used as a kitchen; it has a ridged but curved roof, an oblong floor, rounded at the back and in front, and a platform, and a semicircular projection of the roof to shade the doorway.

A KITCHEN HOUSE, MŪS VILLAGE.
(Showing method of construction.)

At the further end the fireplace is situated. A flat block of wood is hollowed out and covered with sand or clay, and huge clay pots—often with a capacity of many gallons—stand above it, on pieces of stone, raising them clear of the coconut husks which are the principal fuel. Around lie pandanus fruit, the boards and shells with which it is prepared for eating, and the thorn-armed leaf-stems of the rattan, which the natives use for grating up coconut. Up in the roof, are stuck, between the thatch and the rafters, hollowed-out wooden troughs, in which the food of the pigs, dogs, and other animals is prepared; flat wooden dishes, provision baskets, and fans for blowing up the fire, made of the sheathing petiole of palm trees, while, across the beams, are hung coconut shells—joined in pairs by a short rattan handle—which contain the day's supply of water.

The thatch of the houses—generally of lallang grass, but sometimes of palm leaf—is fastened to a framework, built with vertical rafters of the mid-ribs of the coco palm, joined crossways by battens of areca wood, of which material the grated floor is also made. Until recently, the whole structure was held together by careful mortising and lashings of cane, but now it is evident from the newer buildings that nails are coming into use among the natives of this island for such work.

The houses stand in groups, on open sandy ground, and interspersed with them are plantations (ya) of bananas, melons, and sweet potatoes—protected from the numerous roving pigs by zigzag fences of rails piled horizontally between double posts—and clumps of fruit-trees of many varieties—coconut, orange, lime, shaddock, soursop, jack champada, tamarind and papaya.

Sturdy brown-skinned natives, clad in the scantiest kissáts[18] of red cotton, and wearing picturesque chaplets of white palm leaf with long projecting ends (tá-chökla), stared at us as we walked through the village; children and women, with a piece of cotton cloth hitched round the waist, disappeared in the houses as we approached. The teeth of all were stained by constant betel-chewing, and, since the blacker the colour the more beautiful is the owner according to local standard, to produce this effect the teeth are never cleaned.

The dwelling-place of the headman (mah), who is named Offandi, in no way differed from the others. We made our presence known from below. "Wait," came a voice, "wait till I've got my clothes on," and soon after the chief appeared in a rusty suit of black broadcloth, and a damaged, bowler hat. He was a short but exceedingly strong-looking man, with a thick neck and bullet head, and wore a very slight moustache. We shook hands all round, and commenced asking each other questions in English as we strolled through the village. Then, after ascertaining that we should be pleased to see him on board later, and provide spirituous refreshment, Offandi left us.

He was said to be very well off, possessing large numbers of coco palms, but the other staple of wealth (pigs) he has to buy.

We presently reached, near the shore, a group of buildings known as Elpanam (The Place).[19] Principal among these were two buildings, in which feasts and meetings take place. While of the same shape as the living-houses, they were much larger in every way. The roof and floor are built on the ground, and then, by the combined efforts of the whole village, are raised to the supports on which they rest. They were constructed inside of laths of areca, closely bound together, and fastened horizontally to a framework covered with grass thatch, a foot or more in thickness.

The floors were gratings of split palm wood, but a great portion was planked, and on this solid part a large fireplace was built of clay.

In the centre hung a rack, from which the joints of pork are suspended at feast-times, and beneath were placed boards to catch falling fat and grease.

Strings of pigs' jaws were hung across the upper part of the roof, and showed the number of animals consumed at the last feast—a ceremony that sometimes lasts a month.

The pigs, which are killed for these occasions by being speared through the heart, are doubtless an introduced species, for they attain immense proportions and are of many colours:—black and white, brown, brown and white, etc. The young, however, are all striped when born.

DEATH HOUSE, HOSPITALS, MATERNITY HOUSES, AND BURIAL-GROD, MŪS VILLAGE.

Adjacent to these "Town Halls"[20] are the stores of the Burmese traders, some buildings which are equivalent to the hospital of civilisation, and several maternity houses, where women take up their residence shortly before confinement.[21]

The starting-point in life, and also the place of departure, is for the Nicobarese of this village one and the same, for next to the house appointed for his birth is another—the "House of Pollution"—to which he is carried to die; and yet a few paces further is the burial-field, with its group of grave-posts, where his body will be bestowed for a time. Not for long will it rest even there, for in a few years the skeleton will be disinterred and cast into the jungle—the skull alone, if he has been a man of some importance in life, being allowed to find in the grave an abiding place.

The shores of Kar Nicobar are in places very low, and during bad weather the waves have been known to roll up the beach and flood Elpanam a foot in depth, carrying away canoes, etc. To subdue the sea on these occasions, tamiluanas (medicine-men) and their followers, adorned with garlands, walk in procession along the beach, with devil-destroying rods and leaves, with which they strike the water, and then surround Elpanam with palm leaves, and perform other ceremonies.

On the outskirts of the village, we saw here and there small huts called Talik n'gi—the place of the baby. To these, mothers come from Elpanam with the newborn child, and spend several months in solitude, attended only by their husbands, before returning to the village—a very sensible proceeding, and one worthy of imitation in more civilised communities. It seems only common justice that any unpleasantness caused by ourselves in our earliest moments should be confined to those most responsible for our appearance. So the Kar Nicobarese appear to think, and have accordingly taken measures to prevent new arrivals becoming a nuisance to their future companions, for many of the houses in the village contained perhaps twenty inmates; doubtless, also, it is well for babies not to be subjected to too much companionship and attention.[22]

Again in the village we made the acquaintance of the oldest inhabitant, yclept "Friend of England," who, judging from the number of his chits, is a man of some note and many acquaintances.

Clothed at first in an infinitesimal native garment, he retired for a few moments, and then appeared in white jacket, knickerbockers, and top hat, carefully brushed in the wrong direction. He, too, would pay us a visit on board, provided that liquid sustenance were afforded; and having satisfied himself on this point, he intimated that we might count on his appearance that afternoon.

Our attention was attracted by a somewhat rude mechanical contrivance, beneath a tree, which we were told was a press for extracting oil from coconuts. Two large blocks of wood, one above the other, were placed closely against the trunk. In the upper surface of the topmost log a shallow depression had been made, and from this a channel ran to one edge, which ended in a kind of lip. In the trunk itself a hole had been scooped, to receive the end of a long beam of wood.

A quantity of coconut kernel having been placed in the basin, the beam is inserted in the tree, and a native standing on the outer end, by jumping up and down exerts so much pressure on the coconut that the oil oozes out, and running down the channel, drips from the lip into an earthenware pot placed beneath.

"TALIK N'GI" (the place of the baby), MŪS VILLAGE.

Here and there about the houses stood a kind of bench-seat, that was merely the limb of a tree with several of the branches left projecting, and trimmed in such a way that the whole piece would balance firmly.

We obtained a number of birds in the trees about the village; one in particular (Ixora, sp.?), whose leafless branches bore a quantity of large red flowers, was frequented by flocks of white-eyes (Zosterops(?), sp. nov.), munias, and sunbirds, (Arachnechthra(?), sp. nov.), and by the chestnut-rumped myna (Sturnia erythropygia), a bird only known from this island, although we later collected on Kachal a new species that closely resembles it.

Oil Press (Kar Nicobar).

The canoes (áp) belonging to the village were drawn up on the shore of Sáwi Bay, for the other beach is fully exposed to the monsoon, and also fronted by an awkward reef. These vessels—all dug-outs—constructed from a single trunk (Calophyllum spectabile),[23] are very narrow in proportion to their length, and of graceful shape. After the canoe is hollowed, it is somewhat spread out by cross-pieces of wood, which are lashed from gunwale to gunwale, at intervals of about a foot. To give the requisite stability, an outrigger is attached:—To two projecting spars or wings lashed to the canoe, a log of very light wood (Sterculia alata), about three-quarters the length of the hull, and sharp at either end, is fastened, and the correct level of this float is maintained by each wing being bound to, and resting in, the angle made by three intersecting pairs of hardwood pegs, which are driven into the outrigger. The vessels are further provided with ornamental projecting stem- and stern-pieces (C. inophyllum), carved in a variety of designs, and sometimes painted red. No paint or wood-oil is used on the canoes, but the outer surface of the hull is charred all over, with the idea of protecting it from the effects of the water.

The paddles are about 4 feet long, very light and thin, made of a hard red-brown wood (Garcinia speciosa), with lancet-shaped blades, and handles without any form of cross-piece, but flattened at the top.

In the afternoon, Offandi came on board, and after drinking a glass of rum, begged for a bottleful to take ashore. As this request was not complied with, he cried threateningly in a menacing tone, "What, you refuse me then?" but calmed down on learning, that, although we were not at liberty to supply him with spirits "for consumption off the premises," he could have what he wanted whenever he liked to come aboard. A bottle of Eno fully restored his good humour, and drew forth expressions of friendship: "You good man, I love you; you do me good turn, I make return." This reciprocity is the basis of Kar Nicobarese relations with strangers—value for value, and no gifts; although Offandi once presented us with an edible bird's-nest without asking for an equivalent.

One man, "Sweet William" of Lapáti, carried this trait so far, that he wanted a steamer to take him to England, in order that he might there build a house for himself, and occupy a piece of land in lieu of the plot at Mūs that has been purchased by the Indian Government.

KAR NICOBARESE.

The headman was, for a Nicobarese, a very travelled individual, for he had spent a month in Calcutta, ten days in Penang, and various periods at Port Blair; and as a result, had a really working knowledge of several languages. English, Hindustani, and Kamortan, he speaks well, and has some acquaintance with Malay and Burmese.[24]

Visits to the Terrapin occurred frequently during our stay, but none were of long duration, for a growing squeamishness on the part of our guests generally cut them short.

Although accustomed to travel in canoes, they could not withstand the motion of the schooner. Indeed, for the whole time we lay in Sáwi Bay, the Terrapin, on account of the swell that set into the bay, so rocked and rolled at her anchor that life on board was scarcely comfortable. The fiddle was always on the table, the preparation of our specimens went on under difficulties, and at night sleep was almost impossible unless we wedged ourselves on our mattresses by means of extra cushions and pillows. The vessel frequently took water over her sides, until at times it almost seemed that she would roll her masts out. We generally had to exercise the greatest care in leaving or boarding the ship, and yet with it all the sea was quite unbroken save for the line of surf along the beach. The bigger trading-vessels—brigs and barquentines—anchored more off shore, and, because of their greater size, were scarcely affected by the motion.

Whenever the tide was low, the reef-bordered portions of the coast were always frequented by various parties of natives, busily occupied in searching in the pools and under the coral boulders for fish, crabs, and molluscs; at night, when the sea was calm, bright fires blazed on the water and the shore, and marked where fish-spearing was going on from sheltered ledges of rock or slowly-moving canoes.

Of all the people, "Friend of England" was perhaps the most amusing. He was infected with the garrulity of old age, and made the most of his opportunities by unblushing mendicancy.

As he came alongside, sitting—a very dignified figure in top-hat and white knickerbockers—upright and motionless in his canoe, which was manned by juvenile paddlers, he always, as he neared the schooner, took from his pocket an old silk cravat and arranged it round his neck.

After a few coconuts or oranges had been handed up, the old man would come below and shake hands all round. "I want smoke cigar, I want drink rum," was followed by a prompt refusal of anything smaller than a tumbler. Then would come the invariable preamble: "You my friend, I your friend; we give presents and make return,"—with reference to the coconuts; followed by demands for medicine, turpentine, camphor, quinine, scent, and Eno; and as all his wants could not be satisfied, he professed he could not understand why on earth we had come without these things. When we came again we were to bring all of them, and we should then be great friends. He desired that we would convey the following to every one at home—foreigners he did not like:—"You go tell all men—Come here, come here, come here. I Friend of England, I good man. You bring much medicine, you give me—we be great friends, I make return. I plenty good man; I speak true, I no lie!"

He carried a large number of chits from officers of ships that had called here during many years past, and was very anxious that we should add to the number.[25]

"FRIEND OF ENGLAND."

Poor old "Friend of England"! his lines are no longer cast in pleasant places. His last wife, the widow of a friend, became blind, and he can no longer obtain another on account of his old age; he has become estranged from his son because of his too amorous conduct towards the latter's wife, and has had to pay several fines on account of similar behaviour towards other neighbours.

Our last glimpse of him as he made for the shore, after having been assisted to his canoe, generally caught him in the act of undoing his cherished necktie and restoring it, carefully folded, to his pocket.

One day—when we had so far broken through our rule as to give him a bottle of rum and water to take ashore "for medicine after we had gone"—going a couple of hours later into the village, we found "Friend of England" tottering up a path, and tried to take his portrait. But the old scamp, who all his life had lived in the sun, refused on this occasion to come out of the shade, and was so afflicted with involuntary staggers, that the result of several exposures was a very qualified success, and lost much of the impressiveness of the original, through his unwillingness to don his necktie in the customary Byronic style.

One of our guides about the island was "Frank Thompson," one of Mr Solomon's "most promising pupils, and a sincere Christian"—a rather stupid-looking youth, who had spent some years at the Port Blair School. I fear that we regarded him with some contempt, for he seemed to have developed into nothing better than a hanger-on at the Agency, and although he spoke English fairly well, and could doubtless read and write a little, in the jungle he proved to be quite useless. Birds he could scarcely ever see; he did not know the way about, and after a few miles, he was blowing and panting, and groaning inquiries as to how much farther he was to go. Thompson however could beg as well as the rest, nor was he out of his element when the rum and cigars were being passed round.

A very different character was my shikari "Little John," native name unknown. This man was perhaps, on the whole, the best specimen physically of a Nicobarese that we came across. A handsome, rather scornful, face, with aquiline nose, was only spoiled by the occurrence of the Mongolian fold in the inner corner of the eyelids. His curly black hair was worn long, in a thick bushy mass, as far as his shoulders, where it was cut off straight across. Though only 5 feet 6 inches in height, he was splendidly built: was 40 inches round the chest, 13½ inches round the biceps, and 15 inches round the calf. The natives admitted that he was about the strongest man in the village of Mūs.[26]

He was awfully keen on collecting; could creep noiselessly through the jungle, and saw birds that I took long to distinguish, even after he had pointed them out. He was also a good "pot-shot," and nothing delighted him more than to carry the gun, and after having it loaded with cartridge suitable to the occasion, to fire at and bring down the specimen, when he would hand the weapon to me and dash away amongst the undergrowth to retrieve his booty, bringing it back with the greatest care.

He was an unwearying hunter, and would often creep about for ten minutes at a time, under some tree, in order to point out for my approval, and get a clear shot at, some bird whose presence he had discovered in the dense foliage.

He used to accompany us on board the schooner, and after having breakfasted with the crew, would sit in the cabin with a cigar, watching us as we worked at the skins, and improving his little English by constant inquiries: "How you call dis? What you call dat?"

The desire of the Nicobarese to learn words, and acquire the name of anything they do not know, is great, and their powers of memory are astonishing. The exercise of these linguistic abilities is most marked in the headmen, or "captains" as they love to be called—a title inherited from the times when English skippers used to trade amongst these islands, and bestow by request their own names (and others less complimentary, but more pointed) on the natives they particularly favoured in their commercial transactions.

Nor were these our only acquaintances. "Sweet William" (who had a mouth and teeth like a shark's), W. L. Distant, Tom Noddy, Lady Clara, Sam Weller, and many others, came to see us. There was, too, Mr Corney Grain, who, many people may not be aware, is chief of a village in Sáwi Bay, and who dresses in two yards of pink ribbon.

In this way we were never at a loss for company, for when the above were engaged, there was always a reserve in the persons of Jack Robinson, Tom Tuson, Kingfisher, Young Edwin, James Snooks, Lorenzo, Lady-killer, and others.

Mr Solomon's efforts in education have received little support from the community; for by handing over their children to his discipline, the parents lose their assistance in the routine of daily work, no small portion of which falls to the younger generation, since almost all special work is done by small boys. These are very helpful in climbing the coco palms for the nuts required for barter, and they are of much assistance to the foreign traders also, who, to induce the boys to aid them, supply them with food, and give them presents of tobacco and other things. However, some fifteen or twenty boys, from 8 to 14 years of age, have now been given up to the mission school,[27] to receive a little daily instruction and drill, on condition that the onus of feeding and clothing them shall not fall upon the parents.

Out of school hours these boys make themselves generally useful by fetching and carrying, preparing food, etc., and acting as crew of the agent's canoe.

That such a life is not universally pleasing to the youngsters themselves, is witnessed by the fact that a short time ago one of them ran away to the jungle, where he remained, and was able to support himself, until caught and brought back after a three months' disappearance.

He was a mischievous-looking boy, who found it hard to refrain from grinning while his portrait was being taken, for I secured his likeness as affording a marked example of the features of prognathism and epicanthus as occurring among the Nicobarese.

We found the services of these boys most welcome on several occasions. Frequently the surf in the bay was sufficient to promise at the least a thorough wetting when leaving shore for the schooner in our own boat. It was, as a rule, simple enough to land, but the reverse proceeding was a less simple matter. In such a case, we used one of the native canoes and a crew of mission lads.

After loading the light hull with our impedimenta, it was an easy business to place it at the water's edge, and, at a suitable opportunity, run it out into waist-deep water, jump on the almost uncapsizable hull, and with quickly-grasped paddles—no troublesome operation of shipping lengthy oars in row-locks—force the slender craft beyond the breakers. Arrived at the schooner, a biscuit apiece seemed to be considered ample reward by our young friends (biscuits, stale bread, and old crusts are in great request among the Nicobarese), who, after disposing of them, would return to their canoe and disappear into the darkness with cheery farewell cries: "Good-night; good-night, sar; go-o-od-night."

MISSION BOYS AND BURMESE TEACHER, KAR NICOBAR.

Early in our visit, we one morning met with a mishap when landing in our stumpy dinghy through some more than usually heavy surf. The surroundings were scarcely such as one would connect our late Laureate with, but at the moment of catastrophe, some lines of his flashed into my mind:

"'Courage,' he said, and pointed to the land,
'This mounting wave will roll us shoreward soon,'"

and indeed it did. A big breaker rose under the stern, and flung the boat, its contents, and ourselves, far up the beach. Fortunately our guns and cartridges were made up into bundles with waterproof canvas, so no harm was done beyond losing a rowlock.

From the incident we learned a lesson, and thereafter, had the proverbial New Zealander been on the beach in the early mornings, he might have seen a little boat approach the shore, with a blue-clad, brown-skinned Malay and a couple of white men in puris naturalibus. Outside the belt of surf, the latter would jump overboard, and, seizing favourable opportunities, wade to and fro with sundry bundles. Presently the dinghy would return, with a solitary occupant, to a schooner in the bay, while the others, after assuming a simple toilet and a peculiar sporting equipment, would disappear from his view, leaving the Antipodean observer alone on the shore. Although a little farther from the village, the best landing-place when the sea is rough is on the stretch of sand next to that adjacent to Mūs, and just to westward and inside the rocky point that separates the two strips of beach.

Sometimes we shot in the scrub and plantations surrounding the village, and sometimes we went a few miles along the bay towards Sáwi, now walking on the beach, now along the brow of the cliffs. The view from these last was very beautiful: on the one hand a forest of palms, pandanus and casuarina trees, on the other a line of waving grass; and below, the blue sea breaking in snowy rollers on a golden beach.

At times we met parties of natives proceeding from village to village in picturesque groups—the men carrying nothing but a dáo, their warm-brown stalwart figures relieved only by the red kissát and white chaplet of pandanus with which their hair was bound; and the women draped in scarlet cotton, and adorned with chains of rupees and numerous silver bangles.

All would stare stolidly, and pass in silence; for in the Nicobars, where one man is as good as the next, and no degrees of rank are known, there are no words of greeting or graceful salutes such as one would meet with amongst strange Malays or natives of India.

The forest at Sáwi was open, and although of a heavy description, grew on land that seemed of very recent formation. It contained some of the finest specimens of urostigma trees we had ever seen, whose many aëreal roots, springing from a wide expanse of ground, met far overhead in support of immense masses of foliage.

In this heavy jungle we obtained specimens of Astur butleri, a little forest hawk with back and wings of a beautiful dark grey, allied species to which are found in several of the other islands. Here, too, we met with Carpophaga insularis, a variety of a widely-spread fruit-pigeon, C. ænea, from which it differs only in having a plumage slightly less bright. We made acquaintance also with Palæornis erythrogenys, an exceedingly pretty parrot, and the only bird of its kind occurring in the Nicobars until P. caniceps is reached in the southern islands; but of the mound-building megapodes we had expected to find, there was no trace, although it was said they occurred in the middle of the island.

We obtained in the jungle one specimen of a hitherto unknown fruit-bat (Pteropus faunulus); but of rats, although they are probably numerous, one only was trapped (Mus burrulus, sp. nov.); crabs in nearly every instance making off with the baits.

As a rendezvous after our collecting excursions, we generally chose "Temple Villa," where we could sit and chat with the agent on the manners and customs of the natives among whom he lived, and drink the water of young coconuts freshly plucked from the trees surrounding the bungalow.

The coconut of the Nicobars, although small, is nowhere excelled for sweetness and flavour, and on reaching the schooner, drenched with perspiration after a morning's wandering in the forest, and perhaps a long row under the hot midday sun, we daily made appreciative trial of them the moment we stepped on board.

The natives are very expert in opening them with the dáo. Holding the nut in the palm of the left hand, they slash off a portion of the husk, toss it round and remove another slice, until, with three or four cuts, the tender shell at the upper end is exposed, and only requires a slight tap to be broken through and allow the delicious water inside to reveal itself with a spurt.

The life of the Nicobarese is full of curious observances and ceremonies, of which, perhaps, no man knows more than Mr Solomon, who has spent five years among the people, and is engaged in the preparation of a vocabulary of their language.

In his capacity as catechist, he has not succeeded in converting any of his adult neighbours to Christianity, although one or two are occasionally present at his Sunday services. We met with one proselyte to Mohammedanism among them, but he, having been adopted by a trader when a boy, was taken to the Maldives and spent some years there. The natives as a body are still as averse to foreign influence on this point as they have been in the past, when missionary endeavour—Moravian and Jesuit—time after time met with complete failure. In the second quarter of the last century they expelled two priests of the latter sect from the island, and Captain Gardner, in 1851, gives an account of the same fate befalling a pair of Moravians.[28] "Having converted a few natives, disputes arose between these and their heathen countrymen. They were of such a serious nature that it was determined to hold a general council of delegates from every village to consider a remedy for the evil. They came to the conclusion, that, as they had always lived in love and amity with each other before the arrival of the missionaries, with their strange story of the first woman stealing the orange, etc., the obvious remedy was to send them away. Accordingly, the missionaries were waited on, and told respectfully that they must leave at the first opportunity: that the natives were not to be joked with, and must be obeyed. The mission house was then burnt down, and a fence erected round the spot, inside which no native will step. It is unholy ground, they say, where the devil first landed; for, until the missionaries brought him with them, he had never been in the island, or knew where it was. I was told that a day is now set apart in the year when all the inhabitants assemble to drive the devil out of the island."

On the fourth morning of our visit our sympathy was due to Mr Solomon on the occasion of his wife's death—an event that occurred with some suddenness as the result of an apoplectic fit. One sequel to this was, that on the following night the entire village was engaged in expelling the spirit of the deceased from the neighbourhood with much ceremony and noise.

Kar Nicobar has an area of about 50 square miles, with a surface that is exceedingly level, as the highest point it attains is barely 200 feet above the sea-level; only in the north does the coast rise in low cliffs, and all round the shore is a fringe of coral-reef.

The geological formation consists of a foundation of serpentine, on which rest thick clay beds and layers of sandstone, exposed in parts, and in some places overlaid by upheaved coral banks, the whole having acquired a covering of sandy alluvium and drift, which was deposited before upheaval, with an additional layer of vegetable débris since accumulated.

With the exception of an indigenous coco palm zone, where coralline alluvium has formed, the beach forest of Casuarinas, Barringtonias, Ficus, Pandani, Hibiscus, Calophyllums, and other characteristic species, and irregular strips of inland forests, containing canebrake and bamboo, with Terminalias and Sterculias, the whole island appears to be covered with stretches of coarse lallang grass, dotted with tall screw-pines (Pandanus mellori), bearing the large globular fruit that supplies the inhabitants with their staple food; or with the natives' plantations of coconuts, betel, plantains, and yams. The nature of the forests depends entirely on the character of the soil and on the composition of the underlying rock.

WOMEN AND CHILDREN, KAR NICOBAR.

Although ranking only fourth or fifth in point of size, Kar Nicobar contains nearly three-fifths of the total population of the group; the number of its inhabitants has remained stationary for many years, and has lately been ascertained to stand at a trifle under 3500.

"The people of Kar Nicobar ought to be among the most contented in the world. Everyone lives on terms of perfect equality with his neighbours. Beyond occasional illnesses, they have no cares or troubles, and there is absolutely no struggle for existence, coconuts and pandanus, their staple foods, being in such profusion that a child old enough to climb a tree could support himself without exertion."[29]

Our sojourn at Kar Nicobar lasted from the 21st to 27th of January, and was spent in making a collection of the fauna (which was not entirely without result in the way of new species), and in obtaining as much information as possible about the natives during the opportunities open to us. Besides this, we secured, through the agent, a fairly representative series of such articles as are used by the islanders in their daily occupations and pursuits.

The well from which we filled our tanks was situated near the agent's house: no good water was to be obtained elsewhere in the bay. In this well the water rose and fell with the tides, the explanation of which is, not that the sea-water is filtered by the coral sand, but that fresh and salt water do not combine; the former rests on the latter, which is of course heavier, and the close and porous coral rock prevents the mixture of the two.

Having given all the time we could spare to Kar Nicobar, and found it a most interesting locality and one worthy of far more protracted attention, it was with feelings of regret that on the 26th we, as Dampier would say, "refreshed ourselves very well with hens, coconuts, and oranges, and the next day sailed from thence."

CHAPTER VI

TILANCHONG

Batti Malv—Tilanchong—Novara Bay—Terrapin Bay—Form and Area of Tilanchong—Birds—Megapodes—A Swamp—Crocodile—Megapode Mound—Wreck and Death of Captain Owen, 1708—We leave Tilanchong—Foul Ground—Kamorta.

On our course to Tilanchong, we passed, after leaving the south end of Kar Nicobar, within a few miles of the little island of Batti Malv. It is scarcely more than a mile in length, and except towards the N.W., where it is somewhat flattened, falls steeply to the sea from a height of 150 feet. It is uninhabited, but the low jungle with which it is covered is the abode of countless numbers of pigeons—principally of the Nicobar variety—which are said to be so tame and fearless that they can be killed with sticks.

A little later Teressa hove in sight, a grey cloud on the horizon, and soon after we caught sight of our destination right ahead. It was midnight before the island was reached, and not caring to find an anchorage in the dark, we drifted gently northward under jib and mainsail, until at daybreak we were opposite the extreme point, where we turned and ran slowly south, keeping close inshore.

TERRAPIN BAY, TILANCHONG.

All the way along until the centre is reached, the island, 500 feet high and nowhere more than a mile and a half broad, rises in almost precipitous cliffs of serpentine, with deep water at their feet, while the principal vegetation consists of thickets of pandanus in the gullies, and here and there, in spite of the rocky ground, patches of luxuriant forest. We passed three small beaches, above which grew a few coco palms, and then came to Novara Bay, about 3 miles from the north end of the island, where the Austrian frigate anchored in 1858. It was, however, on account of the steepness of the land, an impracticable place for collecting. South of this point the island is everywhere covered with dense jungle, and for the next 4 miles expands to a breadth of more than a mile, attaining in the centre its greatest elevation in Maharani Peak, a little over 1000 feet in height. A short distance further on, and opposite two rocky islets, each about 80 feet high, we found a good anchorage, which, being unnamed on the chart, was promptly christened "Terrapin Bay." It affords fair protection in the north-east monsoon, and shoals gradually from 12 fathoms to the beach. The latter is about three-quarters of a mile long, and is divided by a huge mass of rocks covered with casuarina trees, behind which is a small stream of brackish water. Numerous coco palms shade the beach, and beyond them is a stretch of flat, jungle-covered land. Good water may be obtained at a little sandy spot beyond the rocks forming the northern point of the bay. There is also an anchorage on the other side of the island in Castle Bay.

Tilanchong is 9 miles long and 1¼ miles broad at its widest point, and has an area of about 7 square miles. It is rocky, and everywhere covered with jungle, except in the north, and in shape resembles a flying bird with the north and south extremities as wings, and the broader part in the centre, head, and body.

Our landing at midday was a pleasant contrast to the experiences of Kar Nicobar; the sea was fairly calm, and damage to guns and ammunition was no longer to be feared. On entering the jungle, which at first was somewhat thin, we were immediately struck by the extreme fearlessness of the birds, and the immense number of lizards, of a species peculiar to this island (Gonyocephalus humeii), which abounded everywhere. Every tree-trunk in the forest was the resting-place of two or three of the latter, and as one moved along it was to an accompaniment of scurrying reptiles that dropped from the adjacent branches and darted off to a less immediate neighbourhood. Especially did they swarm in the jungle growing on the dry coral sand above the beach. Besides this small species we found a Varanus lizard, 5 to 6 feet long—very common. We frequently saw them, or heard their noisy rush through the bushes, as, disturbed by our approach, they galloped out of danger. Of the birds, the splendid fruit-pigeons (Carpophaga insularis), generally so wary and unapproachable, denizens of the highest tree-tops, were so unsuspicious that time after time we knocked them over with a pinch of dust shot, and parrots and Nicobar pigeons were obtained with almost equal ease. The latter, whose range extends from these islands eastward to the Solomons, are extremely beautiful birds. The feet are plum-coloured, and the stumpy tail, which is almost hidden by the wings, is snow-white. The head and neck are a delicate grey, while the long, flowing hackles and the rest of the plumage are of a glorious metallic green, iridescent in the sunlight, with shining tints of gold, purple, and blue.

We had not long separated before I caught sight of two megapodes scuttling through the bushes—dull-brown birds about the size of a six-months'-old chicken. They disappeared before I could shoot, but, close by to where they had been, I found one of their laying-places, a mound of fresh earth about 4 feet high and 12 feet in diameter, disturbed by recent working.

For a few hundred yards beyond the beach the soil is very light and friable, a mixture of vegetable loam and disintegrated coral; but behind this it becomes swampy, supporting a densely-matted growth, and while collecting amongst this, I lost my bearings and spent a warm half-hour cutting a way back to the more open forest in the vicinity of the boat.

A MEGAPODE.

"January 30.—This morning got my first megapode. Soon after landing, I saw a Nicobar pigeon on the ground, and while stalking it to get a close shot, noticed near by three birds, of much the same size, dancing about amongst some bushes. They were out of sight most of the time, but I 'browned' the place with a heavy charge, and running up found a cock megapode lying dead. In appearance the bird is not unlike a partridge, though larger, and it has the same drooping tail; the feet, however, are out of all proportion, and are remarkable for their extraordinary strength and size; the plumage is olive-brown in colour, except on the head, which is thinly covered with pale greyish feathers, while the cheeks are naked and of a bright vermilion.

"Going further south than yesterday, I found beyond the rock, in the middle of the beach, what was probably once a fair-sized lagoon, but is now an open swamp nearly overgrown with grass and nipah palms. Several small water-birds and a couple of herons were flying about, and of the latter I obtained a white variety.

"We spent about an hour on shore in the afternoon and saw some more megapodes, but failed to get a shot at them: they frequent the open jungle directly bordering the shore, where the soil is so light that they can build their mounds with ease."

"January 31.—On leaving the jheel this morning, as I walked over the rise of ground that separates it from the sea, I saw a crocodile lying half-in and half-out of the water, but before I could get near enough for a shot-cartridge to take effect he turned and swam off; as he rose and fell with the waves, he looked like a log of wood, but all the while made steadily seaward; he was about 10 feet long, and brilliantly marked with yellow.

"In the afternoon I took the camera ashore to get photos of a nest-mound. Just as I was entering the jungle by the mound, I noticed that earth was being thrown in a continuous shower from the top. Soon a bird ran out from a depression there; I shot it, and at the noise another jumped out for a moment and then went on digging, but appearing again a few seconds later, I got it also. It was about to lay, but the shot had unfortunately broken the egg: there is no external difference in the appearance of the sexes, but these were a pair, and it is therefore evident that when the hen is about to deposit the egg, the male assists in excavating the hole in which it is to be buried for incubation. The mound on which they were busy was between 7 and 8 feet high, and rather more than 100 feet in circumference, and had a large coco palm growing through the centre. It would certainly be the work of a number of birds, and must have taken many years to build."

We got four more megapodes on February 1, one of them containing an unbroken egg of a size remarkable for so small a bird; it measured 3⅜ inches by 2³⁄₁₆ inches.[30] The shell is very thick, and when new of a pinkish colour, which changes in the earth to a dirty buff. The temperature of a nest-mound, which we dug into without success in a search for eggs, rapidly increased towards the centre: it was composed of light sandy soil, with apparently no addition of leaves or grass other than that lying about on the earth employed by the birds; the species does not seem purposely to include vegetable matter for causing heat by fermentation.

We failed, whilst here, to obtain a single specimen of a rat; the island is much cut up with holes, high and low, but they are those of crabs, who here also—as on Barren Island and in Kar Nicobar—made off with our baits, leaving behind in some of the traps a quarry we did not at all desire. The only mammal obtained was a large fruit-bat (Pteropus nicobaricus), of which Abbott found a camp up the stream and shot several for specimens. Tracks of pig were seen.

A MEGAPODE MOUND.

The island is uninhabited, and seems to have been in the same state for some time. In Hamilton's Voyages some account is given of the adventures of a shipwrecked crew, whose vessel, commanded by a Captain Owen, was lost there in 1708. They found the place unpeopled, and, making fires in the night, were taken off by several canoes that came across from the Nankauri group.

Their further adventures, although more properly appertaining to the history of the central islands of the Nicobars, may as well, for the sake of continuity, be given here.

"The natives," writes Hamilton, "... very courteously carried the shipwrecked men to their islands of Ning and Goury, with what little things they had saved of their apparel and other necessaries.

"The captain had saved a broken knife about four inches long in the blade, and he having laid it carelessly by, one of the natives made bold to take it, but did not offer to hide it. The captain, finding his knife in the poor native's hand, took it from him and bestowed some kicks and blows on him for his ill manners, which were taken very ill, for all in general showed they were dissatisfied with the action; and the shipwrecked men could observe contention arising among those who were their benefactors in bringing them to the island, and others who were not concerned in it: however, next day, as the captain was sitting under a tree at dinner, there came about a dozen of the natives towards him and saluted him with a shower of darts made of heavy wood, with their points hardened in the fire, and so he expired in a moment.

"How far they had a mind to pursue their resentment I know not, but the benefactors of the shipwrecked men kept guard about their house till next day, and then presented them with two canoes, and fitted them with outleagers to keep them from overturning, and put some water in pots, some coconuts and dry fish, and pointed to them to be immediately gone, which they did.

"Being six in company, they divided equally, and steered their course for Junkceylon, but in the way one of the boats lost her outleager and drowned all her crew. The rest arrived safely, and I carried them afterwards to Masulipatam."

People from Kamorta, from which it can be seen, and who own the plantations on it, come to the island from time to time for the sake of the coconuts, of which there are a fair quantity, and we found traces of visitors in the remains of two tumble-down huts and a liberal scattering of pigs' skulls.

We weighed anchor at 10 a.m., but it was an hour and a half later before we passed the two off-lying islets, for, every few seconds, flaws of wind, coming over the high land, so changed in force and direction that we could get no steerage way, but helplessly boxed the compass all over the bay before we caught a steady breeze. We found deep water between the islets close to the southernmost; everywhere else the ground seemed foul. With a 3-knot breeze we sailed along the western shore, which at this end is much lower than the north, and densely wooded, presenting to view several white beaches and groves of coco palms, while not far from shore are numerous off-lying rocks that continue in a south-easterly direction for about 3 miles from the end of Tilanchong and terminate in a fair-sized islet, named Isle of Man.[31]

The island of Kamorta lies some 12 miles to the south, the adjacent part rising in low grass-covered hills, with occasional trees dotted about: along the coast runs a fringe of vegetation and coconut trees, while in the centre, where the island is about 450 feet high, it is more thickly covered with forest. Trinkat, closely adjoining it on the east, is very low, and from the sea, seems overgrown with jungle. Darkness had fallen before we reached the southern entrance of Beresford Channel, that runs between it and Kamorta, and proceeding inwards for a short distance, we anchored at 9.45 p.m.

CHAPTER VII

TRINKAT

Beresford Channel—A Deserted Village—Jheel—Bird Life—Wild Cattle—Scenery—Photographs—Port Registers—Tanamara—Population—Customs—The Shom Peṅ—The Sequel to a Death—Interior of the Houses.

Trinkat is a low, flat island about five miles long and one wide, separated from Kamorta by the narrow strait in which we anchored. This is much choked with coral-reefs, on which every now and then the sea breaks unexpectedly in low waves which run along their edges throwing up clouds of spray. Several villages, fronted by rows of streamer-decorated poles, were in sight on the western shores, and further up the channel a junk from Penang was anchored, the first we had seen. The island is nowhere higher than 80 or 90 feet, and is superficially of limestone formation—raised coral: the shores are fringed with jungle and coco palms, while the latter are frequent also in the patches of jungle occurring in the interior,[32] which, however, consists mainly of open undulating grassy land.

We landed, after crossing the reef, near a couple of huts, built of palm leaves and rough planks, that seemed deserted. A great number of pigs were roaming about in company with dogs, fowls, and a cat. The huts were surrounded for some distance by palm trees growing in thick scrub undergrowth. A little way along a path we arrived at a small jheel, on which were a diver and several whistling teal. Birds were numerous amongst the trees, where parrots (P. erythrogenys) and pigeons dwelt in flocks, and on the ground megapodes ran about calling to each other, but were too well concealed, by the tall grass and bushes that grew everywhere, for successful collecting. We got here the Nicobar fly-catcher, in plumage of dark chestnut, with steely-black head, and Geocichla albigularis, a pretty grey, olive and cinnamon thrush, a shy bird that kept down on the ground or hid itself in low bushes. Out in the open, amongst the grass, we found numbers of small warblers (Cisticola cisticola), an occasional snipe or two, and flocks of little button-quail (Excalfactoria(?), sp. nov.), while a herd of about fifty semi-wild cattle roamed about, most of them descendants of a number turned out here in '88, when the settlement at Nankauri was given up. They suffer but little loss in numbers at the hands of the natives, for the Government allows no guns in the islands, and it is only very occasionally that a number of men will combine and slaughter a beast with spears.

From the interior the scene was very beautiful; rolling grassy downs were dotted with numerous dwarf pandanus trees (P. furcatus), amongst which the cattle, black, white, and brown, moved slowly. All around was thick jungle, through breaks in which the sea was visible on either hand, and in the west, the sun, shining from behind a dark cloud, painted the hills and harbour of Nankauri in tones of grey and gold. The photographs which I took of this scenery were spoilt, thanks to a liberty taken by the too inquisitive Chinese "boy," who privately satisfied his curiosity as to the appearance of the plates before they had been removed from the slides and developed.

In the evening the Government Agent, who is a native of India, came across from the harbour and brought the Port Register, in which we entered our arrival. These registers, bound in heavy brown leather, stamped with the arms of the Indian Government, we were often to meet with in future; one is in the possession of nearly every coast village except those of Great Nicobar, and some of the remarks in them are very interesting; others are equally amusing, as when some Nakodah, vain of his proficiency in English, tries to express himself in that language, to the utter bepuzzlement of any one who may come after and see what has been written.

In crossing the island next day, I stampeded the cattle, who are rather shy of any moving object, although later I was able to crawl to within five or six yards of the herd, thus learning how simple a matter it would be for the natives to exterminate it. In the interior there are several deep ditches of running water leading into small swamps where the cattle drink. The shore on the eastern side is formed in places by small bluffs of clay marl, above which can be traced the overlying beds of coral.

That afternoon, while preparing specimens, we received a visit from a swarthy gentleman in a suit of white drill—the trousers "a world too long," gracefully falling in concertina-like folds about his naked ankles. He saluted us gravely, and tendered a small pocket-book. "What is your name?" said we. "You will find it," said our dignified visitor, "in the book." So the book was referred to, and he stood revealed as Captain Tanamara, Headman of Malacca, recommended by Mr E. H. Man,[33] as intelligent and willing to be useful to whoever should stop at Nankauri Harbour. He is certainly more ingenious than the majority of the natives, and speaks English, Hindustani, a little Burmese, Kar Nicobarese, and Malay, which last indeed is known by most of the people from here southwards.

The population, he told us, was decreasing: formerly each house was occupied by a number of people, as is still the condition of things in Kar Nicobar, but now there are at most three or four to a hut.[34] He and many other men have no children, the usual number of which is but one or two in each family. Occasional polygamy and easy arrangements for divorce prevail here, and the custom of the husband residing at his wife's house is also in vogue, but in the case of an influential man, or a headman, it is otherwise. He was much interested in a kingfisher (H. occiputalis) that was being skinned, and begged for the eyes, which, he said, formed a valuable specific in cases of sleeplessness!

One of the most attractive features of the Nicobars is the existence of a wild inland tribe—the Shom Peṅ[35]—in the interior of the southern island. These people are known by reputation all over the group, and seem to fill the part of a national "bogey man." From Tanamara, who has visited Great Nicobar in the station steamer, we obtained a few details. He had never seen them, and owned with much candour that he was "plenty 'fraid," and for that reason did not go on shore. He told us, however, that they are similar in appearance to the Nicobarese, but wear garments of rattan and bark only. They are friendly until they see any article belonging to the coast people which they may covet, and then a raid is made, and murder generally ensues in getting possession of it.[36]

The abandoned condition of the houses near which we landed was caused by a death which took place in one of them a short time previously. This was followed by immediate desertion, which, however, is only temporary. Everything going on seemed to have suddenly stopped; dáos were lying on the floor, clothes hung from pegs in the walls, food, half-cooked, still stood in the pots. The animals wandered about uncared-for, cats and dogs in a very famished condition.

Inside this house was quite a small museum: there were large figures, daubed with red and black paint, of men and women with eyes of pearl shell, Polynesian fashion, and drapings of palm leaf and cotton; smaller images and various grotesque heads, sharks, birds, and crocodiles, all carefully carved, and painted in red and blue; painted turtle skulls by the dozen. Spears, cross-bows, and water-vessels hung from the walls, with boards on which were human figures, pigs, fish, fowls, and palm trees, all very well drawn, and not conventionalised in design. On a shelf above the fireplace were piles of wooden plates, dishes, and food-baskets, and below them the big Chaura pots were standing on blocks of stone above the ashes.[37]

We only obtained one megapode on Trinkat, and it was found in a trap. They are probably numerous, for we saw several, and heard frequent calls. The undergrowth is very thick, and the ground covered with tall grass, and although to move about is easy, it is not easy to see these birds until one is almost upon them, when they disappear before one can get a shot. A few rats (Mus burrus, sp. nov.) were caught in the traps, and we shot a few additional specimens, and this is the only island we visited in the Nicobars where they seemed other than extremely scarce.

“Scare-devil,” or device for exorcising evil spirits.

CHAPTER VIII

NANKAURI

The Harbour Shores—A Village—Kanaia—Canoe—Feeding the Animals—Collecting-ground—Mangrove Creeks—Preparations for a Festival—Burial Customs—Malacca Village—Houses—Visit Tanamara—Furniture—Talismans and "Scare-devils"—Beliefs—Festivities—A Dance—An Educated Native—Tanamara and his Relations—Cigarettes—Refreshments—The Collections—Geology—Flora—Population—Piracy.

On the morning of the 5th we weighed anchor, and proceeded to Nankauri harbour. The entrance is about a quarter of a mile wide, and its northern coast, once the site of the Government settlement, is the only open grassy portion of the harbour shores. Just within the point stands the flag-staff, and above it, on the crest of a low hill, a little graveyard lies within the shade of casuarinas. A long jetty of coral blocks runs out from the shore, and near by is the house of the agent. Opposite, on either side of Mayo Point, are the villages of Malacca and Inúanga, and behind them the forest-clad slopes stretch to grassy uplands.

INÚANGA VILLAGE, NANKAURI HARBOUR.

We sailed into Spiteful Bay, which lies just behind the southern point of the harbour entrance, and anchored in 12 fathoms, mud and sand, close to a little village of a dozen houses standing above the beach.[38] In front of these and planted in shallow water, rose a number of tall poles, each made of several spars bound end to end with rattan, and ornamented at intervals with bunches of palm leaves. These the natives call kanaia: they have, we were told repeatedly, no superstitious significance; one is put up for each inhabited house in the village, and renewed periodically.[39]

Landing at the village (matai) is easy, for below the water-level the sandy shore slopes downwards at an angle of 45°, a condition made possible by the tranquility of the harbour water. The houses, (n'gi) are less solidly built than those of Kar Nicobar, possess a small side-wall about 4 feet high, of boards, and a pointed finial crowning the conical roof; but do not have the protective discs on the supports: the door, too, and a number of small windows open in the sides, and the latter are all supplied with shutters that swing freely on a wooden hinge.

A new and very large canoe was lying on the beach, the dug-out portion, without additions, measuring 42 feet long by 3 feet wide and 3 feet deep. The hull was charred, and decorated by grooved bands running at short intervals from gunwale to gunwale round the outside. Canoes are fitted, according to size, with from one to four short bamboo masts, each supported by four wide-spreading stays of rattan, and on these are hoisted lateen sails with a short tack of about 12 inches, made of cotton or pandanus leaves. The masts are never stepped on the floor of the canoe, but always on one of the crossbars or thwarts.

The people about the village were feeding their dogs and pigs with a kind of gruel in wooden troughs, and as the animals were judged to have enough, each was smacked on the head and sent off; no greediness nor crowding was allowed, and the pigs were far better behaved than the generality of their species.

We found the jungle near the houses quite impracticable, both from its tangled nature and the steepness of the ground it covered. A walk along the shore produced only a whimbrel (Numenius phœopus), which, although not bad for the pot, is too wide-spread a species to be of much value ornithologically.

Experiences next day on the opposite side of the bay were little more encouraging. Scrambling up a steep hill, we found a small stretch of flat land on the top, where ran one or two faint paths, along which the traps were placed. Birds were very scarce, and as it began to rain, we returned to the dinghy, and rowed round the bay, looking for kingfishers. The boat was paddled up all the creeks in the thick belt of mangroves that fringe the shores, but there was no sign of the bird we were after—the large stork-billed Pelargopsis—and we had to be content with whimbrels. The creeks, which in many cases are only just broad enough to row in, often wind for long distances among the mangroves, and on a dull day are depressing places, with but little life in them. In the bay itself we saw many beautiful branching corals of kinds far too delicate to grow in the more disturbed water of the sea; much of the growth which spreads all over the bottom was, however, killed by the mud and fresh water that comes down through the mangroves.

NANKAURI CANOE, WITH FESTIVAL DECORATIONS.

Our arrival in the harbour was coincident with the beginning of a feast, which was to continue for a week or so. Two new canoes, decked with most gorgeous banners, flags, and streamers flying from small poles,[40] were launched on the first day, and, to an accompaniment of singing, rowed across to the northern shore to obtain young coconuts for the coming festivity. These joyous occasions the natives call, in imitation of our English custom, "making Christmas"; and over the door of those houses where the gatherings are held they fasten a number of branches.[41] We entered one of the houses thus decorated. Outside were large heaps of green coconuts, and inside other refreshment in the shape of several big jars of toddy; the interior was prepared for dancing. Immense quantities of cotton print, of every pattern and colour imaginable, were hung from rattans crossing the upper portion of the roof to within about 7 feet from the floor; the upper part was a nearly solid mass of cotton. On a framework in the centre of the floor, covered with alternate strips of red and white cotton, so that it seemed to be made of barbers' poles, were suspended a large number of spoons, forks, and soup-ladles. Everything else in the house was pushed back against the walls in order that the floor might be clear, and as the place was rather dark, it was illuminated by a lamp made from half a coconut-shell, containing melted pigs' fat and a strip of rag. The spoons and forks, in which the natives invest nearly all they obtain by the sale of their coconuts, are purchased from the Burmese and Indian traders. For soup-ladles they give 20 rupees; table-spoons 10 rupees, and smaller sizes 5 rupees. They are of electro-plate and German metal, but the people apparently think them silver, and did not seem to believe us when we told them otherwise, so we did not press the point. Considering the large number they possess, the knowledge might be painful, and since they are destroyed at the owner's death, it perhaps does not matter much. "It's an ill wind that blows nobody good," and the traders ought to do very well at such prices.

The large public dances of the northern island are not held here, but two or three private houses are prepared for the occasion as above described.

The people of these islands employ in everyday life far more clothing than the Kar Nicobarese, and a great proportion of them wear some other garment—trousers or jacket—in addition to their national apparel. Formerly, they wore the white palm-leaf head-dress, but it was given up when imported garments became common.

A custom of partially exhuming the bodies of the dead exists here, and whenever celebrated is the occasion of a special feast (Koruâk). In the Northern Islands the entire remains are disinterred, carefully cleaned, wrapped up once more, and reburied; here, the skull and jawbone only are retained.

The local population greatly deprecates the method of their northern countrymen.

It would appear, by the way, that the present custom is no degradation of the past, for more than a century ago the head only was disinterred and cleansed.

KITCHEN AND DWELLING-HOUSE, WITH FESTIVAL TREE, NANKAURI.

"On the anniversary of the festival—if it can be so called—their houses are decorated with garlands of flowers, fruit, and branches of trees. The people of each village assemble, dressed in their best attire, at the principal house in the place, where they spend the day in a convivial manner. The men sitting apart from the women, smoke tobacco and intoxicate themselves, while the latter are nursing the children, and employed in preparation for the mournful business of the night. At a certain hour of the afternoon, announced by striking the goung (an instrument of brass somewhat like the gurry of Bengal—it sounds more hollow), the women set up the most dismal howls and lamentations, which they continue without intermission till about sunset, when the whole party gets up and walks in procession to the burying-ground. Arrived at the place, they form a circle round one of the graves, when a stake, planted exactly over the head of a corpse, is pulled up. The woman who is nearest of kin to the deceased steps out from the crowd, digs up the skull and draws it up in her hands. (The office is always performed by the women, whichever sex the skull belongs to. A man in a fantastic garb officiates as priest.) At sight of the bones her strength seems to fail her; she shrieks, she sobs, and tears of anguish abundantly fall on the mouldering object of her pious care. She cleans it from the earth, scrapes off the festering flesh, and laves it plentifully with the milk of fresh coconuts, supplied by the bystanders; after which, she rubs it over with an infusion of saffron, and wraps it carefully up in a piece of new cloth. It is then deposited in the earth, and covered up; the stake is replanted, and hung with the various trappings and implements belonging to the deceased. They proceed then to the other graves; and the whole night is spent in repetitions of these dismal and disgustful rites.

"On the morning following, the ceremony is concluded by an offering of many fat swine, when the sacrifice made to the dead affords an ample feast to the living: they besmear themselves with the blood of the slaughtered hogs; and some, more voracious than others, eat the flesh raw."[42]

A few hundred yards from the houses in the bay, and on the seaward side of the same point, is situated the larger village where the headman resides; the path connecting the two crosses the site of one of the old Moravian mission establishments, where the brick foundations of some of the buildings once standing there may yet be seen.[43]

This larger village[44] contains fifteen to twenty houses closely packed together, and fronted by a tall row of kanaia standing in the water. Bamboo posts, too, split at the upper end and spread out fanwise, are planted at intervals along the beach; they are put up yearly by every man in the village, to keep fever and devils (iwi) away; and several grotesque figures of crocodiles (yéo), placed in little shelters, raised on poles, prevent their living counterparts from attacking the villagers when they enter the water.

The houses are of two kinds, round and rectangular; the latter are used as kitchens and storerooms, but there is a fireplace in the others, where much of the cooking is done. The conical roofs are made of attaps of nipah palm, neatly fastened to a framework of thick rattan by lashings of cane, the sides and floor are generally of roughly-hewn boards; inside, about 3 feet from the wall, a circle of posts helps to support the roof, which, in some cases, is entirely lined with horizontal laths of wood. The apex is crowned outside by a high, carved finial. Access is obtained by means of a notched pole, and to permit the entrance of domestic animals, a tree trunk, split and hollowed out to form a trough, slopes gently up from the ground to door or window. Beneath the houses are platforms on which the natives keep their store of pandanus and coconuts, their spare pots and baskets, and peculiar bundles of wood. This latter is neatly cut into billets about 1 foot long, and packed into circular bundles, 2 or 3 feet in diameter, by means of a tight lashing of cane.[45]

One afternoon we paid a visit to Tanamara. He and his wife have no children, but have adopted a little girl from Chaura, whose parents are dead. This custom of adoption is, he says, not at all uncommon. Tanamara's father and mother live with him; the former, "England" by name, is an old, white-headed man, who is nearly eighty; he professes to know nothing about the piratical atrocities which formerly occurred in this group of islands, although many of them happened at a period sufficiently late in his life for him to have fully comprehended such events.

TANAMARA'S "KAREAU."

The interior and contents of the house were very similar to what we had already seen in Trinkat. Opposite the door stood the fireplace—a bed of clay on the floor—above which was a mantle-shelf or rack, where are kept pots, baskets, trays, etc. A grated floor formed a small chamber immediately under the roof, where baskets and odds-and-ends are stowed away. Several boxes, packed with the family possessions of cotton and spoons, stood against the walls, on which hung various charms—small figures (kareau), carved scrolls, tassels of palm leaf, and pigs' skulls—all for scaring away devils. Hanging in the centre was a grass string, with a few small coconuts attached: these are for the purpose of feeding the house, and are periodically renewed: the object so nourished does not seem possessed of much acumen, however, for small green nuts, which have been blown down or have fallen from disease, seem quite good enough to sustain it. The house also contained some almost life-sized human figures (odiau), carved from wood, painted and clothed. These were not at all badly shaped, and show an appreciation of anatomical detail unusual among uncivilised people. The shape of the Nicobarese head, and the peculiar angle at which the teeth are set, were well noticed: the swelling muscles, the toes and fingers, even the sharpness of the shin-bone in front of the leg, and the form of the knee-cap, were faithfully copied. They were all supplied with a piece of rancid pork hung from the neck or placed in the mouth.[46]

Several pictures (hentá) drawn on slabs of wood were placed against the walls. These originate from an attack of fever. They are drawn by the village artist by order of the doctor (menlúana), who tells him what he should make. The latter is paid in kind for his work. Of frequent occurrence are pigs, crocodiles and coconut trees, whilst almost always there appears a scene of men seated at a table and drinking rum from large glasses. If the patient make a good recovery, the picture is kept as a potent charm, since it has been successful in scaring away the spirits of illness; otherwise, it is thrown away. A bird (kaláng)[47] commonly made during fever will also produce recovery.

We could not persuade the people to part with any of these, neither would they sell one of the large figures. Tanamara has a life-sized statue, painted black, with a white face, and although he was offered in exchange a dress-suit and a white sun-helmet, which he much coveted, he would not part with his double: its price was far above rupees. I was, however, permitted to photograph both pictures and figure; although, while the latter was being moved from the house to the beach, he was in an agony of apprehension, for he believes that if any accident should happen to it, illness on his part would follow, while, had we broken it or taken it away, he himself would certainly die. The object of these figures is to keep devils from working harm to their owners. Some people have none, while others sometimes possess two or more.

"February 7.—The people are far too occupied with their feasting to take much notice of our presence: on shore I found them so busy and excited that the photographs I had hoped for could not be obtained. Every day four large canoes go across to the other side of the harbour for coconuts, of which very few grow about the village: all the vessels are gaily decorated, and the paddlers are in holiday attire—collars of split banana leaf (fūm), beads, new cottons, and red paint on their noses.

"Tanamara came on board to tell us that the dance, at which by arrangement we are to be spectators, will be ready to-morrow morning; but that, to give a proper dance, the performers require to be jolly, and to be jolly needs a bottle of rum, which under the circumstances it was our duty to supply. He only stopped to beg for a glass of spirits, and then returned to the amusements on shore. Laughter, cheers, and singing have been going on in the village all the evening."

NANKAURI MAN WITH DANCING COLLAR AND PAINTED NOSE.

"February 8.—About nine o'clock this morning, taking with us a supply of liquid—half water, half rum—we landed at the village, and were received with a cordiality which doubtless owed its warmth partly to the presence of the bottles. In the banqueting-house we found dancing still in progress, that, judging from the noise made, had lasted throughout the night. All the cottons had been taken down, but the stand of spoons still remained in the centre of the floor. Every one still on his legs was very hilarious; we were shown large jars which last evening were full of toddy. Lying about the sides of the floor people were sleeping, some from sheer weariness, some from intoxication. All were gaily dressed; bright cottons hung from the shoulders like a cloak, round the neck were strings of beads and collars of frilled banana-leaf, now faded; many wore ear-stretchers of red and white cotton made into rosettes, and the men were crowned with chaplets of twisted print: we saw several handsome belts, made of silver wire and rupees (almost the only use to which money is put), and some wore armlets of silver not unlike those brass-wire ornaments affected by Dyak women.

"In dancing, the people—men, women, and children—form a circle, or portion of a circle, round the spoons, and, with arms intertwined and hands on each others' shoulders, move slowly towards the right, with measured step, to the accompaniment of general chanting—to me it sounded like 'ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah,' ad infinitum, only varied in tone and rhythm.[48] The regularity of the movement is broken at intervals by a step or two in the opposite direction, or a pause with a pirouette on one leg, and now and then a heavy stamp on the floor. One old woman, who danced most perseveringly, was so intoxicated, that, whenever her neighbours took away the support of their arms, she fell over, and was too helpless to rise unaided.

"Seated on boxes we watched the performance, and the doctor, presiding over the rum bottles, repeatedly filled a small glass, from which each imbibed, turn and turn about. At our feet squatted a number of half-drunken people, gabbling away in a mixture of Nicobarese, Malay, and English; not all so stupid, however, that some could not detect the water in the tipple.

"Tanamara, who was fairly clear-headed at first, received the finishing touch from the rum, and before we left embraced Abbott with fervent gratitude: 'You good man, I love you; you make us all nice and drunk. Oh, I feel so nice!'

"The dancing was very monotonous, and before long we were glad to get out to the open air: the hut was ventilated by a small doorway only, and the vitiated atmosphere in which people had been moving for the last twelve hours was by no means pleasant. Children and boys were present, but no young women; in fact, at all times we only caught sight of the latter as they bolted into the houses on our approach, and none were forthcoming for the camera."

"February 9.—Everything is quiet on shore to-day after the dissipation which left off yesterday. Tanamara came on board with a headache; he was sure it could be cured with rum, but got a heavy dose of Eno instead. We gave him a few ducks he was very anxious to possess. It is to be hoped there is a drake among them—a point that was somewhat doubtful—for then we shall have benefited the community to the extent at least of introducing a new domestic animal to the islands."

"February 10.—Gave Tanamara a watch this afternoon, to spur him to further efforts in collecting curiosities. His wife, whom he calls 'my Mary,'[49] desires to visit the schooner this evening; but although she is uninvited, and comes by her own wish, she has bargained for two fathoms of red cotton in payment for the honour done us.

GROUP OF DANCERS, NANKAURI HARBOUR.

"We met a man on shore who was for a time at the school formerly kept for natives at Port Blair. He lays claim to the name of William Brown, and speaks English very well; his education otherwise has resulted in giving him a contempt for the native superstitions, of which he speaks with sneers, and meanwhile has replaced them by no other tenets. The train of events that brings such a condition of things about seems somewhat injudicious. A knowledge—a small knowledge—of the 'three R's' is of very little use to a native who has sooner or later to return to his national mode of existence. His experience may unsettle him, and is no suitable training for his future life, while it must leave him at a disadvantage among his countrymen, who have been bred to the conditions under which their existence will be passed."

"February 11.—Tanamara came on board last evening with his brother-in-law (Hamól) and nephew (Térrok). He was half-drunk with toddy, and brought—it was quite a family party—his wife (Helpak) and mother (Mert). A canoe-load of dishes, spears, and charms, which accompanied them, we purchased with old clothes, wire, and rice. The headman is as great a beggar as the others, perhaps more so, by virtue of his position and his English. Our conversation was continually interrupted by demands for one thing or another as he remembered them: things for his father, mother, wife, each request insinuatingly prefaced by the words 'my friend.' 'My friend, you give me—; My friend, I want—.' But for this fault, he is a fairly favourable specimen of a Nicobarese, and is certainly more intelligent than the rank and file; but, like many that we met, he is somewhat spoilt by contact with more civilised conditions.

"We had on board a quantity of American cigarettes, packed in cardboard boxes, each containing a dozen, and a coloured picture of a young woman in an evening gown! These packets were very useful as small presents, or as an answer to a request for a smoke. 'Oh, my dear!' exclaimed Tanamara, as he lovingly gazed at the picture from his packet. But he soon became dissatisfied, for she was a blonde and he likes brunettes, while what he was most anxious to obtain was the portrait of a Malay woman.

"Our small supply of spirits coming to an end, Abbott manufactured a new kind of cocktail from the medical stores—tincture of cardamoms, essence of ginger, sugar, and water, with a few spoonsful of rum to give the mixture a bouquet. This fiery liquid was received with some suspicion at first; but when I told them it was the favourite tipple of the C.C. at Port Blair (may I be forgiven), Tanamara and his brother—it was too stiff for the others—drank it down, although the tears stood in their eyes."

Of the fauna, we obtained from day to day little of interest: the jungle was without paths, and too thick even to see much in. No rats were trapped, but one specimen was brought us in a bottle by a native, and this has proved to be Mus alexandrinus, totally unrecorded until now from the Andamans or Nicobars. Pigeons were common, but megapodes scarce, and the only one obtained was caught in a trap. The vicinity of the harbour, though a somewhat unproductive hunting-ground for the ornithologist, for those interested in the natives, is, like Kar Nicobar, a most satisfactory locality.

Nankauri is a heart-shaped island, with an area of 19 square miles, and a maximum height of 534 feet. The bed rock consists of serpentinous magnesian, which is exposed in places. It is covered by a plastic white or yellowish clay and clay marl, with intervening beds of quartz sandstone, formed, like the clay, by the disintegration of the plutonic rock. The clay beds are similar to those which cover most of the northern islands, and contain silica, alumina, magnesia, and iron, but usually no lime, except in the form of gypsum, found in crevices. Portions of the clay cliffs exposed to the sun are covered with a fine efflorescence of sulphate of magnesia (Epsom salts). Professor Ehrenberg found in 1850, on examining specimens sent him by Dr Rink (Galathea Expedition), that this formation is a polycistina clay similar to that of Barbadoes.

NANKAURI MAN WITH SILVER NECKLACE.

About one-third of the island is covered with grass: a belt of forest runs all round the coast, but in the interior is restricted to the valleys and more sheltered slopes. The most useful species are: Garcinias, Calophyllums, Myristica irya, which yields good timber; Sterculia campanulata and Terminalia procera, which grow to immense sizes. The Nicobar and many other palms occur in numbers, and a wild species of cinnamon is common, as also is Amomum fenzlii, the leaves of which are used for cigarette wrappings, and the fruit much eaten by the natives.

But little fruit is grown about the villages: limes, guavas, and soursops are commonest. In the way of supplies, coconuts, pigs, and a few fowls might be obtained from the natives, and beef by shooting the wild cattle. Water in the harbour is very bad, and scarce.[50]

By a comparison of the census returns (1886 and 1901), the population would seem to have been stationary for many years: it now consists of 224 individuals.

The central group of islands was once notorious for the frequent disasters occurring to vessels calling there. It was for long thought that the numerous total losses that occurred in the Bengal Sea were due to storms and cyclones; but at length the discovery was made, that, from the beginning of the century until the British occupation, the vicinity of Nankauri Harbour was the habitat of a band of pirates, who cut off and murdered the crews of many vessels calling to trade and supply themselves with water or provisions. The headquarters of the band appear to have been in Expedition Harbour, and from there, whenever a vessel anchored at the islands, they sallied out, and either getting on board under the guise of peaceful natives, took the crews by surprise with a sudden attack, or else cut up landing-parties, and then captured the weakened vessel.

In this way, always by treachery and never in open warfare, they succeeded in capturing ship after ship.

There is some ground for belief that, for a time, the piratical goings-on were carried out under the leadership of an Englishman named William Worthington. The dates given in the various accounts of him are contradictory; but it appears that, about 1808, Worthington deserted at Nankauri from the frigate Bucephalus, and that for some years subsequently the pirates were directed by a man who gave that name as his.

In 1814, the Ceres was boarded by an Englishman, who stated that he had been left behind by a man-of-war. After inspecting the vessel, he left, and next day, as the anchor was being hove up, he arrived at the head of about thirty canoes, and made a futile attack on the ship.

A short time after, the brig Hope was cut off. An Englishman, who had previously stated he was Worthington, deserter from the Bucephalus, murdered the captain and mate, and the natives despatched the crew, with the exception of two or three, who escaped in a boat and in some way arrived at Rangoon.

At length Worthington was either expelled from the harbour, or left with some home-going Bompokans; but be that as it may, a man of that name lived for some years on Teressa and Bompoka, where several captains met with, or received letters from, him. Their opinions of his character differed. He was last seen in December 1820, when he reported that a ship from Bengal had been cut off and massacred at Nankauri, with several others previously, by natives led by Kafirs. He stated that after he deserted at Nankauri, he was unable to leave until he had paid a ransom to the natives. His death took place the same year, and the natives with whom he lived afterwards gave him the best of characters: that "John," as they called him, had long dwelt quietly and amicably amongst them. His seems to have thus been a case of "devil turned monk," and his career amongst the natives akin to the records of the better-known "beach-combers" of the early days in the Pacific.[51]

In a paper contributed to the Journal of the Indian Archipelago, 1847, the missionary, Chopard, says that silver had a peculiar attraction for the natives, and was the chief article which induced them to butcher, by treachery always, crews of vessels calling at the harbour. He knew a Kamortan, thirty-five years of age, who recollected eight vessels which had been cut off there in that manner.

In 1833, a Cholia vessel was cut off in the false harbour of Nankauri (Expedition Harbour) and everyone murdered. In 1844, Captain Ignatius Ventura, from Moulmein, commanding the Mary, anchored on the north side of Teressa at two o'clock, and an hour later he and his crew were murdered. In the same year, Captain Law met the same fate on Kamorta. In 1845, a vessel, having taken in part of her cargo at Kachal, sailed to the false harbour at Nankauri to complete, and all hands were murdered.[52]

"While I was at Kar Nicobar," Captain Gardner writes in 1857,[53] "two vessels were cut off at Nankauri, the crews massacred, and the ships plundered and scuttled." In 1840, the Pilot, South Sea whaler, was cut off there, and the captain, mates, and twenty-five men murdered; the third mate, surgeon, and seven men escaped to sea in a boat.[54] In 1844, the cutter Emilia visited Nankauri, and her captain was murdered within an hour of landing, but the boat escaped.

Piracy in the Nicobars came to an end with the occupation of Nankauri Harbour by the Indian Government in 1869; but two years previous to that it had been necessary to send there a British punitive expedition, on account of the atrocities committed by the natives. A notification of the event was made by Captain N. B. Bedingfield, who commanded the expedition, in the first of the Port Registers entrusted to the Nankauri natives.

"TO ALL WHOM IT MAY CONCERN.

"Whereas the natives of these islands have been guilty of several acts of piracy; the crews of no less than four vessels have been massacred; a white woman and two children have been kept prisoners for about two years and a half, and after being most cruelly treated, the poor woman, used for the very vilest purposes, was, with her children, first poisoned and afterwards knocked on the head: Her Majesty's ships Wasp and Satellite were sent to endeavour to liberate any captives that might still remain on the Islands, and to punish the natives for their crimes.

"Several towns implicated have been burnt, all the war canoes destroyed, and other punishments inflicted ..." etc., etc.

Nor was this the only case of the kind, for although most of the vessels disposed of were native, the total included not a few European. There is another instance on record, in which a European woman was taken ashore and so brutally abused by the band of pirates that she died next day.

It is believed that the origination of these practices cannot be traced to the natives, but is due to the settlement of a body of Malays, who attracted a number of the inhabitants to themselves, and then formed a gang to plunder all vessels calling at the harbour, consequent upon a successful massacre of the crew.

OBJECTS FROM NANKAURI HARBOUR.

CHAPTER IX

KAMORTA

The Old Settlement—The Cemetery—F. A. de Röepstorff—Mortality—Birds—The Harbour—Appearance of Kamorta—Dring Harbour—Olta-möit—Buffalo—Spirit Traffic—Cookery—Ceremonial Dress—A Visit from Tanamara—Geology—Flora—Topography—Population—Hamilton's Description.

On several occasions we crossed the harbour and visited the locality of the convict settlement formerly established on Kamorta, but given up in 1888, when the buildings were dismantled, and sepoys and prisoners withdrawn to Port Blair.

The jetty on which one lands is more than a hundred yards long, and although solidly constructed of coral blocks, is now in need of partial repair. To the right is a long sea-wall, and on the other hand a small boat harbour, both built of coral. Beyond the agent's house at the foot of the jetty, one walks along a grass-grown road shaded by an avenue of tall casuarinas, and passes several large wells of strong brickwork, and a large tank for rain water, with various other traces of past occupation, till on the hill-top one comes on the remains of the Government bungalow, of which only the foundations are now to be seen. A little farther on is the only building now standing—the old powder store—"where nothing's here that's worth defence, they leave a magazine!"

On another hill close by—from which are to be seen the whole stretch of the beautiful harbour, the distant forest-clad slopes of Kachal and the grassy interior of Kamorta—lies the little cemetery with its two occupants—Nicolas Shimmings, chief engineer of the R.I.M.S. Kwangtung, and Frederick Adolph de Röepstorff, a Dane by nationality, and for some time superintendent of the settlement. Tanamara told us of his death, which occurred in 1883. Complaint had been made that one of the sepoys of the small force stationed here was in the habit of stealing the natives' coconuts; him the superintendent reprimanded, and threatened to send to Port Blair for punishment. Next day the sepoy shot at and wounded de Röepstorff while the latter was in the act of mounting a horse. The injured man despatched a letter to the Andamans by a Burmese trader, but died before the arrival of a steamer, five days later. He was nursed and buried by the Nicobarese, who would not allow the Indian servants to approach him.[55] "He was," said Tanamara, "a good man, a very good man." He took much interest in all that surrounded him, and besides contributing accounts of the Andamans and Nicobars to the journals of the Asiatic Society of Bengal, he made large collections of lepidoptera for the Calcutta Museum, and compiled vocabularies of several of the local languages.[56]

Nowadays, all that marks our possession of these islands is the Colonial Jack, presided over by a Hindu; all that shows our past occupation, fallen brickwork, grass-grown roads and graves: these things, and the result of our contact with the native inhabitants. In the north, some knowledge of the English speech, and the beginning of education; here the suppression of piracy.

The agent told us that in the group people were dying almost day by day; the cause, from his description, ague and malaria.[57] Beyond two or three slight cases of elephantiasis, we ourselves noticed no symptoms of disease amongst the adults, but the children nearly all seemed to be suffering from yaws.

The country around the settlement is very undulating, and covered with long grass growing on a sterile clay. It was almost lifeless, for we saw little more than wagtails, pipits, and an occasional button-quail (Turnix albiventris and Excalfactoria, sp. nov.); but in one of the numerous gullies between the hills we found a little jheel where formerly paddy had been grown, and floating on its surface was a small flock of whistling teal (Dendrocygna javanica). A couple were dropped before they flew out of range, and next day we met in the same place a larger number, which all got off scot free; but a falcon (F. peregrinus), that like ourselves had just made an unsuccessful attack, was soon reposing in a game-bag, in company with a chestnut heron (A. cinnomomea), and a redshank.

On February 11th, when we left our anchorage, the breeze was very light, and bore the schooner slowly through the calm waters of the harbour as we steered for the western exit.

All around, the shores sloped downward, covered with dense forest, but now and again the inland hills rose grass-clad above the tree-tops; on either hand we passed small villages, Itoë (six houses), and Pachoak (five houses), placed just above the edge of the water.

The western opening is bold and rocky, but very narrow; and among the boulders of the shore are several blow-holes, from which, when the sea rolls on the beach, spouts of water fly upwards and break into showers of spray.

Outside, the wind was still light, and we tacked along the coast for some hours before it strengthened. Much of this side of Kamorta consists of low broken hills with pointed summits looking like volcanic cones—a grassy country, varied by occasional small patches of forest—while along the shore low bluffs and stretches of coco palms succeed each other.

Soon we passed the entrance of Expedition Harbour, a deep, land-locked bight, separated from Nankauri Harbour by a narrow strip of land; this was the reputed headquarters of the band of piratical savages who formerly committed so many depredations in this neighbourhood. Near by, Mount Edgecombe, of a very volcanic appearance, rises about 400 feet.

This shore seems but little inhabited, for until we reached our destination at 4 P.M., we saw only one small village of four or five houses.

The wind was off the land when we arrived at Dring Harbour, and since the entrance was narrowed by rocks and reefs projecting from either side, we lowered all sail and warped in.

The bay is about half a mile square, and the head, which is slightly wider than the mouth, is bordered by a long sandy beach, backed by a belt of scrub and palm trees, from a quarter to half a mile in depth. The other shores are partially formed by small cliffs, with a thin fringe of jungle, bounding grassy hills and downs.

DWELLING-HOUSES, DRING HARBOUR, KAMORTA.
(Partially constructed, and complete.)

The village of Olta-möit (fifteen to twenty houses), "Captain John," headman, lies along the beach, which abuts at the southern end upon a fair-sized creek leading to a mangrove swamp at the back of the houses. Several natives came on board at once, in expectation of a feed; none spoke English, but all understood Malay.

The patch of jungle about the village is rather small, and to reach more necessitated a walk of some miles; we succeeded, however, in adding to our collection a diminutive serpent-eagle (Spilornis minimus), and caught sight in the denser jungle of a fresh variety of a little forest hawk. Specimens were also obtained of a small bat which has since been named Pipistrellus camortæ.

The neighbourhood of the harbour has for long been frequented by descendants of buffaloes, turned loose by the Danes when they abandoned their settlement at Nankauri. Formerly it is said that large herds were to be met with in the neighbourhood; but we learnt, both from the inhabitants and from the Port Register, that the animals are now becoming very scarce, and only a few have recently been killed by visitors from the station gunboat.

I was out after them on two consecutive days. Both had been preceded by nights of rain, through which tracking was much facilitated. The country round is very undulating, often broken by deep gullies, and covered here and there with small patches of jungle, while everywhere are scattered pandanus trees, either in clumps or singly. On both occasions I picked up fresh tracks in the red clayey soil when some distance from the village, and after following them for several miles lost them in distant jungle. There seemed to be only two animals in the neighbourhood—one very large indeed, and the other of much smaller size. This decline in numbers is not due to the natives, who, with their spears only, could cause little destruction, and who evince no eagerness to pursue.

Tracks of pig were innumerable, and every now and then a bunch of little quail whirled away from beneath my feet. Although out by 5 A.M., I was not early enough; at three o'clock on a moonlight night one would probably be more fortunate.

In 1870, chital and sambhar were turned out on Kamorta, but nothing is now seen of them, except by the natives, who state that from time to time a few have been perceived here, and at Trinkat, which they reached by swimming the narrow channel intervening.

One afternoon was devoted to the exploration of the creek, which is rather deep at the mouth, and navigable by boat for several miles; all this distance it is bordered by the usual wearisome mangrove forest, in which, however, we saw numbers of parrots, whimbrel, and pigeons.

The proportion of old men among the people of the village seemed even greater than was the case at Malacca. On the headman, John, we met with the only case of tattooing found in the islands—probably the work of some Burmese trader, for neither Nicobarese nor Shom Peṅ tattoo or scarify themselves.

A second junk joined that already in the harbour the day after our arrival, and everybody on shore was soon drunk. The inference is obvious. The authorities at Port Blair prohibit the supply of intoxicants to the natives, and whenever they are found on board trading vessels, spirits are confiscated, and a small fine levied, in cash or articles of barter to the value of about a hundred dollars. This, however, is not always a sufficient deterrent, and on a second conviction, the Chinese skipper is awarded six months' rigorous imprisonment in the jail at Viper Island, Port Blair. The spirit is invaluable to the traders in their dealings with the natives, and is so inexpensive, that they can afford to risk its loss, since the chance of discovery is about one in a hundred.

A small feast was held during our visit, for which a number of pigs were prepared. Torches, made by binding immense palm leaves together, were set fire to, and the bristles singed off by fanning the flame on to the animals as they lay on the ground.

"Captain John" was resplendent for the occasion in a neng and dress-coat, and a friend of his looked very imposing in an officer's frogged and braided tunic.

The day before we left we were surprised by the appearance of Tanamara, who arrived with one companion in a small canoe. He had declined to come up in the schooner, on the excuse that fever-devils and other evil spirits were very active in this locality. He was, he assured us, very sorry for us alone up here, and had had a dream which resulted in his setting out. (I am uncharitable enough to think that that dream had something to do with rum!) He did not wish to be seen by the shore people, of whom he seemed afraid, for he stayed aboard all day, and in the evening, when some of them came off to the ship, left for a time in his canoe. Next morning he departed at daybreak, that he might not be observed from the village.

We ourselves made sail a few hours later, with the intention of visiting Teressa. We took in water at Dring, but the only supplies obtained were coconuts.

Kamorta is 15 miles long, and of a general width of 4 miles: it attains in the extreme south-west a height of 735 feet, and in the centre rises 435 feet, but the average elevation is about 200 feet. It is of the same geological structure as Nankauri, but is covered with far less forest, and its extensive grassy downs are dotted with patches of scrub, bracken, and pandani. The presence of casuarinas high up in the middle of the island is peculiar. This species as a rule is found only on the coasts, but here they were planted by the Settlement authorities at the Government cattle-stations (between 1869-88), as it was found that this tree delights in the polycistina clay. The neighbourhood of Dring Harbour is extremely well watered, as nearly each one of the many gullies has either a stream or pond in it. A stratum of a sandy nature underlies the surface clay of this district, and by washing away, causes the latter to fall in, with the result that a number of curious hollows are formed on the tops of the rolling hills. This tendency leads to parts of the downs becoming terraced as if by artificial agency. Some thirty villages are scattered along its coasts, and the population, according to the census, has increased, principally by immigration from Chaura and other islands, from 359 in 1886 to 488 at the present day.

Of the central group of islands, Hamilton writes:—

"Ning and Goury are two fine, smooth islands, well inhabited, and plentifully furnished with several sorts of good fish, hogs, and poultry; but they have no horses, cows, sheep, nor goats, nor wild beasts of any sort but monkeys. They have no rice nor pulse, so that the kernels of coconuts, yams, and potatoes serve them for bread.

Along the north end of the easternmost of the two islands are good soundings, from 6 to 10 fathoms sand, about 2 miles offshore. The people come thronging on board in their canoes, and bring fowl, cocks; fish, fresh, salted, and dried; yams, the best I ever tasted; potatoes, parrots, and monkeys, to barter for old hatchets, sword-blades, and pieces of iron hoops, to make defensive weapons against their common disturbers and implacable enemies the Andamaners; and tobacco they are very greedy for; for a leaf, if pretty large, they will give a cock; for 3 feet of an iron hoop a large hog, and for 1 foot in length, a pig. They all speak a little broken Portuguese, but what religious worship they use I could not learn."[58]

CHAPTER X

KACHAL AND OTHER ISLANDS

Heavy Surf—Teressa—Bompoka—A Native Legend—Hamilton—Chaura—Wizardry—Pottery—Kachal Typical of the Tropics—Nicobarese Dress—West Bay—Lagoon—Mangroves—Whimbrel—Formation of Kachal—Birds—Visitors to the Schooner—Fever—Chinese Junks—Thatch—Relics—The Reef—Megapodes—Monkeys—Full-dressed Natives—Medicine—A Death Ceremony—Talismans—Fish and Fishing—Geology.

For some hours after we left Dring the breeze was very faint, but at midday a heavy squall with rain overtook us and carried us onward, so that we were soon sailing along the southern shore of Teressa.

The island of Bompoka, which lies but a short distance from its south-east end, is high, with a central tableland, whence the ground slopes gently downwards in every direction, and is covered with forest and grass.

Seen from a distance, Teressa looks like two islands, for it is elevated at either end: the northern part is covered with forest; the southern end is all grass-land, save for a fringe of scrub and large coco-palm groves along the coast. This portion of the shore is very rocky in places, and numerous points of off-lying reefs project from the water.

A heavy swell was running from the south-west, and rank on rank of breakers—10 feet or so in height—were rolling shorewards, throwing up clouds of smoke-like foam. It would have been impossible to land without danger of losing guns, camera, etc., so we decided not to make the attempt, and therefore put about for Kachal, with the less regret in that the locality did not seem to hold out much promise as a collecting ground.

There is no harbour on its coasts, for the shores of the island, which is crescent-shaped, are almost unbroken. We afterwards heard that, two or three months previously, a Chinese junk, whose crew all reached the shore, had been wrecked on the reefs fronting this part of the island.

In their customs, style of architecture, and in the more general absence of talismans and demon-exorcising regalia, the people of Teressa and Bompoka are said to resemble those of Kar Nicobar, but their language possesses great dialectical variation.

Teressa is 34 square miles in area, and rises in the north to nearly 900 feet. The bed rock is serpentine, covered with sandstone, and there is a fringe of recent coralline alluvium round the shore, while beds of coral on the high land of the interior indicate upheaval since the formation of the older alluvium.

The soil of the grass-lands is of an igneous clay formation—magnesian clay, formed by disintegration of the plutonic rocks, whose upheaval in two successive stages brought the Nicobars into existence. Overlying it in many places are the beds of coral, and to these formations the grassy downs of the island are confined—lallang, with occasional screw-pines, a bracken-like fern (Gleichenia dichotoma), delicate ground orchids, and various scrubby plants (Kydia calycina), which point to the occurrence of annual fires. The transition from grass-land to high forest, which appears on the sandstone, is very sudden.

The graceful Nicobar palm (Ptychoraphis augusta) is common in the jungle. Whole groves of this beautiful tree fill the moister ravines, and give a characteristic appearance to the forest. Nearly equally conspicuous are large numbers of Sterculia campanulata.

Fruit and vegetables are the same as are found on Kar Nicobar, with the addition of tobacco, of which several small fields have been raised from seed imported from the west coast of India.

The census returns of 1901 give the population of Teressa as 624, making the number of inhabitants 50 more than in 1886.

Bompoka, having the appearance of a truncated cone, and 634 feet high, is an oblong-shaped island, about 4 square miles in area, separated from Teressa by a channel 50 fathoms in depth, and scarcely more than 2 miles wide. Its inhabitants, who number less than a hundred, and the people of Teressa, have an interesting legend to account for the formation of the island. Once upon a time a vessel, having a prince for its captain, visited Teressa, where he, on landing, was murdered by the inhabitants. His wife was taken on shore and treated with the greatest respect; but, since the spot on which her husband's blood was shed was always before her eyes, she was very miserable. One night, however, she was advised in a dream, by her mother, to remove the bloody spot from Teressa if she would be happy. This she did, and Bompoka was thus separated from that island.[59]

The geological formation and the vegetation are similar to those of Teressa. The inhabitants have good plantations of fruit-trees—papaya, plantains, and limes—neatly fenced to keep out the pigs. At Poahat, on the west coast, good water is to be obtained from a stream at the back of the village.

These two islands, with perhaps Chaura, seem those referred to by Hamilton as the Somerera Islands, so called because "on the south end of the largest island is a hill that resembles the top of an umbrella or somerera. They are fine champaign ground, and, all but one, well inhabited. The island Somerera lies about 8 leagues to the northward of Ning and Goury (the Nankauri group), and is well inhabited for the number of villages that show themselves as we sail along the shores. The people, like those of Ning and Goury, are very courteous, and bring the product of their island aboard of ships to exchange for commodities. Silver nor gold they neither have nor care for, so the root of all evil can never send out branches of misery, or bear fruit to poison their happiness! The men's clothing is a bit of string round the middle, and about 1½ feet of cloth, 6 inches broad, tucked before and behind, within that line. The women have a petticoat from the navel to the knee, and their hair close shaved; but the men have their hair left on the upper part of the head and below the crown, but cut so short that it hardly comes to their ears."

Chaura, which lies 7 miles north-westward of Teressa, has an area of about 3 square miles only. It is generally low, and the only jungle it possesses is a little at the south end, where it rises almost perpendicularly in a rocky pinnacle to a height of about 350 feet, having the appearance, with the contiguous low portion, of a broad-brimmed hat. It was on this account termed Sombrero by the Portuguese navigators of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, who were probably the first Europeans to have any commercial dealings with the Nicobarese.

The people are very well off, on account of their trade in canoes and pottery: but to obtain the articles imported by the traders, canoe voyages are made to other islands, as the anchorage at Chaura is exceedingly precarious, and after the native requirements are provided for there are but few nuts to spare for trade, so that vessels are hardly ever known to call. The island is the best cultivated in the group, and besides abounding in oranges, limes, and other fruit, is covered with coconuts; and toddy being common, drunkenness is fairly prevalent. One of the institutions of the place is the door mat; for a large flat sponge, which is found in numbers on the reefs, is placed at the bottom of every house-ladder, for the natives to wipe their feet on!

Although the smallest, it is at the same time the most densely populated of the islands, for, in spite of decreasing numbers, which may perhaps be due to emigration, the people of Chaura number (January 1901) some 522 in all; in 1886 the population fell only a few short of 700. We were told that they are taller, more powerful, and darker-skinned than the other Nicobarese, and also dolichocephalic.

Through an exaggerated reputation for magic, they are greatly feared throughout the group, and have for this reason developed a most independent and overbearing demeanour. Various circumstances assist the cultivation of these traits—the value in which their canoes[60] are held throughout the Archipelago, for one; but the most important of all is the monopoly[61] which the island of Chaura possesses in the manufacture of pottery.

Throughout the Nicobars there is an inherent belief that should anyone—other than a native of Chaura in Chaura—attempt to make a vessel of clay, he is doomed to almost immediate destruction. This fate was formerly supposed to follow the act of even eating food cooked in any pottery other than manufactured on the island, but this part of the superstition is now losing force, and the Nicobarese freely provide themselves with pots made at Port Blair.

The women of Chaura—for the men take no part in the construction of the pots—cleanse and prepare the clay, by washing out the rougher particles and kneading it with fine sand. The operator seats herself on the ground by a slab of wood, on which she lays a ring of coco-palm pinnæ neatly bound together. Upon this ring she sets a shallow dish, neatly lined with a circular piece of plantain leaf. With a lump of clay, the bottom of the vessel to be constructed is moulded in the dish, and upon this basis, by means of ropes of clay, the work is built up, the operator turning the pot round and round, and shaping it with her eye and hand. The vessel is set aside on a platform under the hut for a day or so, to dry: only the smallest kind can be prepared for the kiln without an interval of waiting.

The pot when dry is scraped with a shell, and then reversed, and all superfluous material removed by means of a fine strip of bamboo moistened with water, while the fingers, also wet, are gently passed over the inner and outer surfaces in order to smooth them. The pot is then replaced on the platform for ten days more.

Chaura Pottery.

The kiln is prepared by sticking bits of broken pottery in the ground, a few inches apart, and on these the pot is set upside down. In the space beneath it, a layer of fine wood ash, and a quantity of coconut-shells and scraps of firewood, are heaped. A wheel-like object, larger in circumference than the pot, is placed on its upturned base, and against this rest sticks of firewood stood on end. When the fire is kindled, two or three women fan the flame, and with wooden pokers prop up and replace the fuel. When the vessel is baked, it is removed with the same implement and placed on dry sand.

Coloured stripes are laid on by means of strips of unripe coconut husk pressed against the vessel while hot—the acid juice turning black the moment it touches the heated surface. Finally a handful of moist husk is passed over the inner and outer sides, imparting a light-copper colour to the parts not stained by the deeper dye, and the vessels are stored for a time to season.[62]

The pots vary in size, from a capacity of half a pint to five gallons or more, and also in shape, some having a perfectly straight plain lip, while in others the edge is turned out or rounded, but all are alike in having a more or less rounded base.

After leaving Teressa, we encountered fresh breezes and squally weather until we anchored in darkness near the shore of Kachal. At daybreak next morning we weighed, and again started—with scarce a breath of wind—for the bay on the west coast where we intended to stay.

With Kachal we returned again to the tropical island of common type in these seas, for it is entirely jungle-covered, with no traces of grass-land visible.

On account of their geological structure, the Nicobars fall botanically into two divisions—the northern islands, including perhaps Nankauri, are largely covered with grass, with coco palms and pandani growing in the interior; while the southern group, consisting of Kachal, with Great and Little Nicobar, are entirely forest-covered. Tilanchong, although belonging to the others by position, should nevertheless be classed with the latter islands.

Several canoes from a small village on the north-west coast came off to inspect the schooner as we slowly drifted along. Their occupants seemed less prepossessing than those people we had just left, for they looked somewhat dirty in person and were dressed in discarded old clothes, or the cheap cottons and loose trousers supplied by the Chinese. The Nicobarese are not so partial to water as the Malays, and they by no means improve matters by unnecessarily clothing their bodies with cast-off garments and once gaudy cottons, which they never, or rarely, dream of washing.

We reached West Bay by midday, and anchored in 2½ fathoms. A junk was lying farther in, the fourth we had seen. From the southern shore, coral-reefs project for some distance, both into the bay and seaward, and at low tide the swell breaks upon them heavily; while, at the same time, two rocks project above water inside the harbour, near the north beach, and must be borne in mind when choosing an anchorage. Fifteen or sixteen houses, surrounded by coconuts, are scattered along half a mile of beach, and at its head the bay narrows and then extends inland among mangroves and their attendant swamps.

Our first expedition was up the bay, which we found opened out into a shallow lagoon nowhere more than 2 or 3 feet deep. The dinghy grounded often, and we were unable to reach firm land anywhere, so thick was the belt of mangroves. Rowing up some of the small creeks winding among them, we saw several flocks of herons (Sumatranus javanica), while sandpipers, curlew and whimbrel were common on the mud-banks, and pigeons and parrots in the taller trees.

In several places occur those stretches of dead mangroves only seen when the trees are large, and which are infallible evidence of the growth of land; for when such trees first took root, a certain amount of salt water must have been present, while, when they are found dead, the roots are nearly always silted up with solid matter, which first causes the water to become stagnant, and finally replaces it. Having served their purpose, they die, and stand white and gaunt until brought down by the wind or gradual decay.

At sunset, large flocks of whimbrel, travelling seaward down the mouth of the lagoon, afforded some fair shooting, for they were very wild, and flew past us at an amazing pace as we fired at them from the boat hidden in the mangroves.

On the northern side of the bay, where much of our collecting was done, we found, behind the houses, a number of paths leading among coconut and pandanus palms, tangled grass, and bushes. Beyond this scrub, in which gaudy-leaved crotons were not uncommon,[63] was the jungle, fairly open, but without any large trees.

The land in the neighbourhood of this coast, and probably as far as the hills inland and on the eastern side, which rise 800 feet, is of very recent formation, and consists of almost undecayed coral débris mixed with sand and vegetable loam, a compound scarcely sufficiently fertile to support a heavy forest at present.

Pigeons and glossy starlings were common, and we obtained specimens of a small forest hawk which had not been met with on the more open island (Astur, sp. nov.): we shot also a new chestnut myna (Sturnia, sp. nov.), somewhat similar to that met with on Kar Nicobar. Grackles (Eulabes intermedia), of which only one specimen on Nankauri had yet been seen, were fairly numerous, and the presence of a drongo, the first of its kind observed since leaving the Andamans, was recorded.

Numbers of Blyth's dove (Macropygia rufipennis) frequented the scrub near the village. We were astonished to find the crops of all those shot completely filled with large red chillies only. It is almost impossible to conceive anything more pungent than a red pepper, and the bird must have an extraordinary interior to patronise such a diet exclusively. This unusual food had no effect on the flesh, for its flavour in no way differed from more rationally feeding members of the same species.

Now and again we would have visitors on the schooner, for in the evening people often came on board to watch us as we sat preparing specimens, and although on these occasions we generally obtained information from the natives concerning the locality and their customs, they were, as a rule, more bent on satisfying their own curiosity than our desire for knowledge.

One man showed us a ring, about 1½ inches in diameter, of a bone-like substance, and related a story about it of some large jungle-dwelling animal, from whose eye, or eye-socket, it was made. "This animal," he said, "was bigger than a pig, and very scarce"; further than that he was not intelligent enough to give a description!

Another native, "Yassan" by name, brought a letter originally belonging to his father, and written by de Röepstorff, who is now almost forgotten. Yassan was more intelligent than his companions, and we made arrangements with him to obtain for us a collection of charms and curiosities.

He was a man of some standing locally, was thrice-wedded, kept each of his "better-halves" in a separate house, and was at the time blessed with three children, all the offspring of one proud mother. Our conversation was carried on in Malay; but on one occasion, when we were at fault as to his meaning, he was asked to explain himself in Hindustani. He smiled rather wickedly, and immediately surpassed a Kling in volubility. Thereafter we stuck to the easier language, and guessed what we did not understand. These natives undoubtedly include some wonderful linguists among their number.

Once or twice the chinchews[64] of the junks brought for treatment Chinese suffering from malaria; the crews, they said, always contracted fever when visiting the Nicobars, and even if they do not suffer from it on the spot, it invariably occurs before reaching Penang. These particular vessels had been only a month at Great Nicobar, and a fortnight at this place, obtaining copra and rattan, but already several members of the crews were incapacitated from hard work.

Those junks trading at the Nicobars—where they remain during the greater portion of the north-east monsoon—that come immediately from Singapore, but originally from China, make the voyage and return between the last-named two places in the other (south-west) monsoon, which is the bad weather season in these waters, but the contrary in the China Sea.

The houses in the village were very similar in appearance to those we had just left, but were roofed with attaps of pandanus leaf. The process of thatching cannot be an enjoyable occupation, for either edge of the pandanus leaf is armed with a row of thorns, while the lower side of the mid-rib is provided with a third row set in the reverse direction; thus in brushing against a clump of young pandanus one is not only pricked when approaching, but scratched while getting away.[65]

Behind the village we found a fairly recent grave, around which the possessions of the deceased had been deposited—a wooden chest with the lid wrenched off, clothing, spoons, forks, tools, axes, dáos, and other things, forming a miscellaneous collection that was rapidly rotting away. There they would stay until destroyed by the exposure, for no one would venture to help himself, however valuable or useful the articles might be.

In front of one house was a solitary example of kanaia, set up on land, however, instead of in the water: possibly the south-west monsoon blows too strongly on this coast for their general erection. The name of this village is Ol-kolo-kwák.

To reach land on the southern side of the bay we had to cross a broad reef of coral and coral sand, thickly overgrown with grass and corallines, and dotted with various species of holothurians. The forest on shore came right down to the water; and once inside it, we found ourselves in very truth in the home of the megapode.

No sooner were we under the trees than we immediately saw the birds—for the jungle is very open—running about, singly or in parties of twos or threes. From all round came their cries, perhaps best described as loud, ringing calls ending in a rapid cackle, to the sound of which the following syllables bear some resemblance—"ūrr-rak, ūrr-rak, ur-r-rak, rak, rak, rak, rak!" The megapode hardly ever takes to flight when startled, but runs quickly away among the bushes; the only occasion on which I ever saw these birds use their wings was when once I suddenly walked into a party of four, scratching at the foot of a large tree. Two ran off, but the others rose clumsily in the air, and after flying a short distance, attempted to settle on a low branch, on which they alighted very awkwardly, and immediately lost their balance and fell off. The feet, although very large and strong, are not adapted for grasping, and the tail is far too short to be of any use as a balance.

Several birds seem to occur somewhat locally: it was on this side of the bay only that we obtained Spilornis minimus, while the little forest hawk seemed confined to the northern shore.

We were unable to reach the hills in the centre of the island from the harbour, as the swamp at its head stretches out long arms to right and left, cutting off the land bordering the coast from the interior.

Kachal is the most northerly of the Nicobars in which monkeys are present, and, taking into account the scarcity of other mammalian fauna and the absence of this genus from the Andamans, it seems certain that they have been introduced. Their non-occurrence in Tilanchong—an island eminently suited to their requirements—goes to bear out this statement; for, so far as we know, it has never been permanently inhabited, and thus, unlike the other islands, offers no reason for monkeys being brought there.

The people of Ol-kolo-kwák told us these animals were very numerous in the jungle round the village, but several days passed before we met with them. On the first occasion, we each obtained a specimen from the same herd. They turned out to be macaques—one was a fine old male, weighing 21 lbs., an unusually large size—with fur so dark as to be almost black, but greyish-white on the under parts. Having regard to the colour, the species has since been named Macacus umbrosus.

We saw them only once again, and then I found myself within a few yards of an immense male who was on the ground. My cartridge missed fire, and, immediately the click of the falling hammer caught his ear, he bolted. This proved to be our last chance of obtaining another example from Kachal. That one always loses the best specimens, is proverbial: this monkey was the biggest macaque I had ever seen.

Such mishaps during one's earlier opportunities are always most vexatious; later we found monkeys very numerous in the other islands.

On 22nd February a Chinese junk passed northward, and the same day another arrived, and anchored in the harbour; that night there was carousal in the village and the noise of much singing.

Visitors to the Terrapin were fairly continuous during our stay here, and the appearance of some of them was as ludicrous as it was striking.

One man, who wore a battered "billycock" on his head, had encased his feet and legs in a pair of rubber jackboots; between these extremities he sported a sailor's jersey, and the usual T bandage.

But, impressive as was this man's apparel, it was quite put out of the running by the grande parure of a fellow-dandy who arrived later. A top-hat worn sideways, and draped with a spotted cotton handkerchief where a mourning band might be, a gunner's jacket, thickly laced with yellow braid, and a light-blue pair of Chinese breeches, combined harmoniously (!) with heavy bead necklaces, and a face profusely bedaubed with red oil-paint. This gentleman's idea of refreshment was brandy, and to obtain it he had furnished himself with a supply of fowls, with which he was prepared to purchase it at the rate of a chicken a drink.

When not arrayed in these exotic costumes, everyone wore merely the neng, and perhaps a fillet of twisted cotton about the head.

A man who came to be doctored was treated with a glass of Eno, and an aloes pill, which he slowly sucked! This latter is the sort of medicine natives like, and as the awful bitterness of the drug became evident to his palate, the fellow doubtless thought it very effective treatment indeed. Give a native 10 grains of quinine in sugar-coated tabloids, and he probably holds you a very poor sort of doctor; but dissolve that same quinine in a large glass of water, and make him drink the solution slowly—he will perchance recover on the spot! Faith and imagination, both in savagedom and civilisation, have a lot to do with these matters.

The women of the village were very shy and timid, but we now and again saw one or two going about their daily business; the children, however, could not get used to us, and fled screaming whenever we appeared.

A few days before we arrived at the village a woman had died there, and during our stay a performance for ridding the place of the ghost was gone through.

A large catamaran was constructed and rigged like a schooner, with sails made of green coco-palm leaves. The local doctor or bobo[66] then went through certain ceremonies, at which we were not present, and finally seized the ghost or devil and threw it into the boat, which was pushed off, and drifting away, was carried out to sea, where it disappeared.

The Malays have an almost similar custom to this, in the employment of the kapal hantu (ghost ship). This they use during times of pestilence, or in cases of individual sickness; but instead of forcing the evil spirits into it, they are attracted by a show of coloured rice, etc. Once they are cajoled on board, the vessel is pushed off, and carries the illness to whatever fresh locality it may reach.[67]

The day before we left, Yassan, who had promised to collect, brought in a number of charms—figures of crocodiles, birds, women, men, and some fever pictures, called here déūshi (derived from the Portuguese for God, and is applied to the representations of the Deity in the pictures on boards and spathes). The people had but few scruples with regard to parting with such things. After being paid, he asked for a chit and a bottle of rum, "to use, mixed with eggs, as a medicine for his stomach!"

In the waters of the bay we caught quantities of small fish, which, although easily obtained by us with the seine, cannot be a staple of diet in the case of the natives, who have no nets. I once observed a native in a canoe following a shoal, and making casts with a many-pronged fish-spear; he continually threw his weapon, but during the ten minutes I watched him, he caught nothing at all.

There is no good water here, and to fill our tanks we dug holes just above high-water mark; the liquid that filtered in was slightly brackish, and gave a heavy deposit of earthy matter.

Any quantity of coconuts may be obtained, with a few chickens and perhaps a pig or two.

Kachal is about 62 square miles in area, and reaches a height of 835 feet on the eastern side, which is composed of hills of calcareous sandstone and marbly slate, formed in deep seas during the Tertiary period. The western side, which is of very recent formation, consists of a flat shore plain of coralline alluvium, mixed with decayed vegetable matter and loam brought down from the hill. It is covered with dense forest throughout. The population is stated to be 281—an increase of 100 in the last fifteen years.

CHAPTER XI

LITTLE NICOBAR AND PULO MILO

A Tide-rip—Islets—A Cetacean—Pulo Milo—Timidity of the Natives—Little Nicobar—Geology—Flora—Population—Site for a Colony—Jungle Life—Banian Trees—The Houses and their Peculiarity—The Natives—Practices and Beliefs—The Shom Peṅ—The Harbour—We ascend a River—Kingfishers—Water—Caves—Bats and Swallows—Nests—A Jungle Path—Menchál Island—Collections—Monkeys—Crabs.

Sailing across the Sombrero Channel, some 30 miles wide, between Kachal and Little Nicobar, we passed the islet of Meroë. It is low-lying, and about 1 mile in length. A yellow beach separates the dark crown of jungle and coconuts from the sea, except at the southern end, which is slightly elevated and rocky.

On its western side, a tide-rip—to which the chart ascribes a strength of 5 knots an hour at times—caught us, and we were in some danger of being carried inshore, but that the breeze was just strong enough to bear the schooner safely past. The tides in the channel set strongly, and are said to attain in parts a velocity of as much as 5 knots at springs.

South of Meroë are the islets of Trak and Treis, and from the deck the red sandstone cliffs of the latter could be seen with much distinctness. Little Nicobar, rising 1400 feet, showed broken and hilly, completely covered with dense jungle, and beyond it Great Nicobar loomed faintly above the horizon.

During the afternoon, when in the vicinity of Meroë, we were somewhat excited by a glimpse at what was perchance a specimen of the killer whale (Orca gladiator). The first hint we obtained of the presence of such an animal, was conveyed by the sight of a long black fin showing above the water immediately in the course of the schooner.

As we sailed over the spot where it had been, we perceived, while looking over the side, a stout, rotund body of a deep black colour, marked with large patches of a yellowish hue about the head and the posterior portion of the back. Only a momentary glance was obtained before it faded from sight in deep water, but we judged it to be some 15 feet in length.

The dorsal fin distinctly differed in shape from that figured in descriptions of the killer; instead of being more or less triangular, it was sabre-like, long, narrow, and curved.[68]

We were all day journeying from Kachal to Little Nicobar, and had to anchor for the night somewhere west of Pulo Milo. As it became dark, immense flocks of pigeons left the forests of Little Nicobar for Trak and Treis, where they roosted for the night, and when day dawned we saw them passing back again. That morning, however, we made sail again, and reached our anchorage in a very short time.

The harbour is a fairly good one, and is formed by the coast of the island here bending to form a right angle, and by the island of Milo, which forms a protection on the west. Good shelter is afforded during the south-west monsoon—the most important consideration; and at other times only strong northerly winds need be feared.

We found 7 fathoms sand in the centre of the channel where we rounded to; and soon after the sails were down, three wild-looking fellows in black Chinese jackets came alongside, followed presently by a couple of old men clothed in red cotton.

For some unexplained reason, they seemed much afraid, and were with difficulty induced to believe that our intentions were nothing but good. From answers to questions, we learned that the people of Little Nicobar have nearly all died—a piece of information that one seems to obtain everywhere but in Kar Nicobar and Chaura. The name of the island they gave as Pulo Panjang (Malay=Long Island); it is called "Ong" in their own language; among themselves the Nicobarese do not employ the names familiar to us.[69]

Little Nicobar, the second largest island of the Archipelago, has an area of 58 square miles. It is broken up into hilly ranges, the highest summits being Mount Deoban, 1428 feet, near the centre of the island, and Empress Peak, 1420 feet, at the north-east corner.

The bed rock is a calcareous sandstone, easily disintegrated, and overlaid by a deep soil capable of sustaining a rich and varied vegetation. The hills are thickly wooded from base to summit, and there are no grassy spaces like those found on the northern islands.

The nature of the forest varies according to position and soil. In the beach forest, Pandanus larum and P. odoratissimus, Hibiscus tiliaceus, Barringtonia speciosa, Terminalia catappa, and Calophyllum inophyllum, are extremely plentiful; in the littoral forest of the level inlets, Mimusops littoralis, Calophyllum spectabile (canoe wood), and Eugenias, are the best represented species; while palms (Ptychoraphis augusta and Areca catechu) and cane-brakes are common in the moister parts. The high forest of the hills contains fine specimens of Terminalia procera, C. spectabile, Myristica irya, Artocarpus lakoocha, and Garcinia speciosa. No Dipterocarpus trees occur.

The population of Little Nicobar and Pulo Milo is 67: in fact, with the exception of Kondul, the inhabitants are fewer than those of any other island of the group. Its people speak, with some variations, the dialect of Nankauri: only for certain objects, and these, singular to say, of first necessity—coconuts, palms, pandanus, etc.—do they employ different expressions.[70] The same language is spoken by the people of Great Nicobar. According to Hamilton, they all partook, two hundred years ago, of the unpolished nature of their mountainous islands, and were more uncivil and surly than those of the northward!

Should the group again receive a European settlement, I know of no spot more suited to the purpose than this: in accommodation for shipping only is it excelled by the splendid harbour at Nankauri; in all else it is far superior—in the formation and greater area of ground, in fertility of soil, and in the presence of water.

We landed first on Little Nicobar near some ruined huts which once formed the village of Makachiaṅ, deserted since 1898, when the few remaining people either died or removed elsewhere; and after passing through a belt of coco palms, found ourselves in the jungle.

Much of the surface was level; but here and there little chains of sandstone hills, rising two or three hundred feet, wound about. The trees were of immense height, and in many places beneath them one moved about as freely as in an English forest.

Although this open vegetation is much more pleasant to traverse, it is not half so satisfactory for collecting purposes as the denser jungle, for it contains far less, both in variety and numbers, of birds and animals.

Megapodes, singly, in pairs, or in little flocks, ran about and sought busily for food, calling to each other meanwhile, until, alarmed by the sight of such unwonted intruders as white men, they scurried swiftly away. Overhead, so high as to be almost out of shot, pigeons, grackles, and parrots fluttered and cried, while, running up and down the branches, we saw, for the first time, the Nicobar tupai or tree-shrew, a little insectivorous animal, which, at a casual glance, might be taken for a squirrel. They were very common; but, unlike their representatives in the Malay Peninsula, etc., which are ground animals, we saw them only in the trees.[71]

It was soon evident that we had no cause to regret not having obtained more monkeys at Kachal, for here they abounded; and after discovering how common they were we would cold-bloodedly arrange every morning as to who should murder the specimen for the day.

Here a new bird was added to the islands' fauna (and to science) in the shape of a little Rhinomyias, quietly clothed in dull-brown plumage, which frequented the undergrowth of dense jungle and possessed a rather sweet note.

A momentary glance of a pitta gave for a few days (until we obtained a series of specimens) a fresh zest to collecting; this bird also was hitherto unrecorded from the locality, and proved to be a new species, although closely resembling P. cucullata.

A short distance from the shore, some immense banian trees grew so high that the pigeons and parrots which swarmed in their branches for the fruit were often completely beyond reach of the gun. The trees possessed, moreover, some wonderful aëreal roots (70 feet high), and, standing on the edge of an open space within the jungle, offered an opportunity for photography too good to be passed by. While the plate was being exposed—an operation of some minutes—a diminutive pig, bearing a striking resemblance to the Andaman species, trotted out from the surrounding foliage and leisurely inspected the camera. It was the first of the kind we had seen, and I had to reproach myself with leaving my gun at the boat.

FIG TREE WITH AËREAL ROOTS, LITTLE NICOBAR.

Pulo Milo is only about half a square mile in area, but is thickly covered with a growth of pandanus and coconut trees and jungle, above which hundreds of tall slim palms have forced their heads.

The little village of four houses lies on its eastern shore, fronted by a coral-reef that offers but little impediment to a landing-party: one tall pole, with bunches of palm leaf, stood on the beach—the last we met with.

The houses were all of quadrangular form, but with a peculiar feature about the roofs; for the slope from apex to eaves, instead of being straight, was in some markedly rounded, and in others the curve ran unbrokenly across the top from edge to edge. They were thatched with the leaves of the nipah palm, and the side walls, 2 to 4 feet in height, were built of rough-hewn planks laid horizontally, or of slabs of bamboo split and flattened out. The doors were closed by chicks of palm leaf, which in the daytime were propped out to shade the interior from the sun.

The natives soon overcame their distrust of us, and one evening "Shongshire," the headman, and others from the village, came on board. The former was a stately old gentleman, in spite of his top-hat, and somewhat resembled our old acquaintance, "Friend of England." With him was another old man of a most vivacious temperament, who gave us information in a very graphic manner as we all sprawled, chatting, on the cabin roof.

"There were only about a dozen people in the harbour," he said, "although in his boyhood many lived there; all however, were now dead from sickness and the 'orang bubu.' The former, he believed, was caused by eating turtle, and a kind of large fish that appeared near the shore at that period. The latter (apparently) were evil spirits that eat men, and are let loose by a wizard."[72]

Although the belief in evil spirits is quite as strong as in the central group, there is a great falling-off both in the elaboration and in the abundance of the instruments employed in exorcising them. In none of the houses was there either a large figure or a picture, or more than one or two of those minor charms which are met with in such abundance at Nankauri, while outside the dwellings the only representative of the signs and warnings to demon trespassers to "Keep off the grass," so numerous in that place, was a rudely-carved post daubed with paint.

The dead here, once buried, are left to rest in peace, and the somewhat loathsome process of digging up and cleaning the bones is not gone through.

It is probable that all this is a case of desuetude rather than the original absence of custom, and that such decay of ceremonial is due to the little value of public opinion, which is of no weight now that the population is so small. Taking into account that such religious accessories as they do possess, and that similar articles in Great Nicobar, together with the architectural type, etc., occur also at Nankauri, it is to be inferred that there was a time when these people in no way differed in observances from the inhabitants of that locality, who still retain in full the paraphernalia by which they outwardly mark the practice and maintenance of their superstitions.

Concerning the Shom Peṅ, we heard that though resembling the Nicobarese in appearance, they use a different language.

They are fairly numerous, and those living near the shore are on friendly terms with the coast people, bartering jungle produce and rattans. It is not wise, however, to go into the interior of Great Nicobar, as the wild men (orang utan) will murder strangers for the sake of their clothes and ornaments. They themselves are clothed in bark apparel. Their houses are either light shelters, the materials of which they carry about in their journeys, fitted with bunks one above the other, beneath the lowest of which a small fire smoulders; or are of a more substantial construction, with a fence[73] surrounding each house cluster.

HOUSES, PULO MILO.

In shape, Pulo Panjang is roughly a parallelogram, but its north-west side is somewhat eaten away; and the bay thus formed makes, together with Pulo Milo, a most effective harbour.

At the apex of this is a small secondary bay, where a little river, rising in the hills inland, debouches through a broad belt of mangroves. The salt-water basin, although partially choked with coral, would, in the event of settlement, serve well as a small boat harbour.

We ascended the stream several times in search of the big storkbilled kingfisher (Pelargopsis leucocephala), which, strangely, occurs again in Borneo, and at no spot between that island and the Nicobars; the case of the megapode is exactly parallel.

The river at first ran through a forest of young, but lofty, mangroves (Bruguiera gymnorhiza), whose straight stems, leaning towards each other across the stream, bore a certain resemblance to an assemblage of scaffold-poles. At length, when the land became less swampy, they gave place to a fringe of nipah or attap palms, the fruit of which looks like an exaggerated pine cone, and is sometimes eaten by Malays, while from the tender inner shoot, the same people obtain a wrapper for their cigarettes.[74]

Finally, where the banks became dry and solid, they were overgrown by luxuriant jungle—a mixture of forest trees, bamboos, palms and rattans, with here and there bordering the stream, a many-footed, white-skinned pandanus, and often a beautiful tree fern (Alsophila albasetecea), that immediately brought to my mind the blue hills and equally lovely valleys of New Zealand.

The stream, although maintaining a depth of 5 to 10 feet, at length became very narrow, and we were compelled, in order to proceed, to chop away the network of vegetation that overhung the water. Now and again it ran through open spaces covered with tall and matted grass, and then between banks a dozen feet high; but when we were forced to stop, unable to proceed further, the water was still brackish, although we had almost reached the hills in which it takes its source. The banks were frequented by herons, redshanks and other waders, and kingfishers (both P. leucocephala, with sandy head and body and blue wings, and the tiny bengalensis, the counterpart of our English bird). Several beautiful butterflies were seen, a rather common species, with velvety black wings, blotched with turquoise, constantly flitting up and down the course of the stream.

We obtained good water in the harbour; slightly to the west of the little bay, a rocky hill makes an angle with a little beach of bright sand, and at the point of junction a path leads to the spring a few yards inland, where, in the jungle, the trickling water runs down a face of black rock, and collects in a stony basin. By forming a slight dam at the foot of the rock, any quantity can be collected.

In the rocky hill just mentioned, we discovered several caves, which run inwards from mouths situated at the water's level. These are the homes of thousands of tiny leaf-nosed bats (Hipposideros nicobarulæ, sp. nov.), and immense numbers of the bird's-nest swift (Collocalia linchii).

The largest of these caves is about 50 feet deep, and 20 feet high at the entrance; but at the back the accumulation of guano is so great that there is barely room to stand. As we entered with a lantern, our feet sinking ankle-deep into the soft chocolate-coloured floor, there was a continual rush of little bats and birds overhead as they sought to escape, and with a leafy branch we knocked over a number of each kind before going to the end.

JUNGLE VEGETATION, LITTLE NICOBAR.

The rock at the back was covered with countless numbers of the shallow cup-shaped nests of saliva-gummed moss: so closely were they built, that in many cases one could not place a fingertip on the rock between them, and often they were constructed one on the side of the other. Nearly every one contained two comparatively large, white eggs, or ugly, unfledged nestlings. Fortunately for the birds, they are builders of the green variety of nest; for had these been white, they would not long have remained undisturbed by the Chinese.

Swifts and bats—the one as graceful as the other is hideous—would seem queer neighbours, although there is a certain affinity between the two, for both enjoy the same food—flies and other insects—and obtain it on the wing without mutual interference; for the first hunt by day, and the others are nocturnal. In the cave, the swallows breed at the inner end, while the bats congregate near the mouth.

Another small cave was inhabited by bats only, and so thickly were they suspended from the walls, that one could kill a dozen at one blow. For long after we left the spot, clouds of swifts whirled about the entrance; but the bats, when disturbed, immediately disappeared in the jungle above.

The only path on Little Nicobar runs across its northern peninsula. It starts near a couple of dilapidated huts opposite Pulo Milo, and, running first through a belt of tangled scrub, crosses the little range of hills near the western coast, and then, traversing a stretch of rich flat soil, covered with splendid open forest, and great numbers of the Nicobar palm (P. augusta), finally comes out on the east coast opposite the small island of Menchál, which lies a mile or so distant, and is only half a square mile in area. It is covered with forest, containing many coco palms and tree ferns, and also clumps of two species of giant bamboo (Bambusa brandisii and Gigantochloa macrostachya). It is of sandstone formation, covered with deep soil or sharply-worn coral. Somewhat farther down the coast is a small village, and the path has been made to connect this with Pulo Milo.

The forest through which the path ran was our favourite collecting ground. We met there for the first time the beautiful little sunbird Aethopyga nicobarica, with crown and tail dark shining blue, throat and breast scarlet, through which ran two moustachial streaks of brilliant blue, the remaining plumage olive grey, but further ornamented by patches of bright yellow beneath the wing and on the back. This is the male, for the hen bird, as in all sunbirds, is of very inconspicuous plumage. This species is very local in distribution, and does not occur in the northern islands.

Astur soloensis, the forest hawk, was not uncommon, but took pains to obtain, for it was very wary. Before beginning to call, one had to hide in a bush, or behind a tree trunk, and the chances were that when the bird did arrive it would perch behind you, and then, since its swooping flight is perfectly noiseless, one remained in ignorance of its proximity. Then, too, it might rest five yards away or fifty: in the former case, if you were not prepared with a suitable cartridge, the bird was lost, for there would be no time to reload; in the latter event, it was better to knock it over straightway than run risks in bringing it closer. Once they become frightened, or see what is making the call, they are off, not to return, "charm you never so wisely."

A parrot—Palæornis caniceps—restricted entirely to the two southern islands of the Nicobars, was very common about here, where its screams and chattering often broke the prevailing silence of the jungle. For such a bird, it was clad in sober colours; for, saving a grey head, across the front of which—like a pair of spectacles—there ran a patch of black feathers, the plumage was of green only. The whole scheme was somewhat relieved in the male by an upper mandible of scarlet.

Monkeys abounded, and on some days we might see as many as fifty or a hundred. They are so numerous that in both Little and Great Nicobar the coco palms, except in the neighbourhood of villages, are altogether unproductive, and this, according to the natives, is because the monkeys screw off every nut the moment it begins to form.[75]

They, too, are very timid in some ways, but one is able to get at them through their intense curiosity. The attempt to stalk a herd of these animals is often a futile proceeding; but if, when you have seen them, you keep quite still, and attract their attention by some unusual noise, such as a continued tapping on your gun-barrel, you will generally have them all round you in a very short time.

The effect, on the monkey, of man's appearance, is most interesting. The expression of their emotions is certainly almost human, as they sit and stare at him, coughing and snarling with anger and contempt, drawing back their heads and throwing the hand before the face with a gesture of abhorrence, and other movements indicative of shocked and outraged feelings. But predominant is the expression of absolute horror, which, coming from those we consider our still degraded cousins, is to our superiority very aggravating.

A troop of monkeys travelling through the forest and feeding as they move, is also worth watching. Their presence is plainly indicated, even when some distance off, by the crashing noise made as they leap from tree to tree. Having reached the extremity of one branch, the monkey, with a swing and a flying leap, conveys himself to another, not alighting as a rule on a bough of any size, but generally coming down on all fours amongst the small twigs, a bunch of which is immediately embraced.

In their manner of feeding they show a perpetual craving for change, the most fruitful tree not detaining them for many moments; while for each fruit from which a single bite is taken, half a dozen are plucked and thrown down.

Crabs swarmed nearly everywhere: scarlet hermits, that dragged about their variously-shaped domiciles in which they shut themselves up and lay inert when disturbed; and the hideous, purplish land-crabs, that scrambled away waving threatening claws at sight of a stranger. So numerous and rapacious were all these, that a week's assiduous trapping for mammals only produced one specimen, since the baits were always immediately discovered and devoured by the unwelcome and valueless crustacean.

Before we left, a number of men from Great Nicobar arrived in a large canoe: they were proceeding to Nankauri on one of the expeditions undertaken by the Nicobarese when they desire to obtain the pottery manufactured only by the women of Chaura.

We weighed anchor at sunrise on March 4th, having added a pitta, an owl, and the Rhinomyias—all new species—to the avifauna of the islands during a most satisfactory visit of seven days.

CHAPTER XII

KONDUL AND GREAT NICOBAR

The Anchorage—The Island—Villages—We leave Kondul—Great Nicobar—Anchorage—Collecting—Up the Creek—A Bat Camp—Young Bats—Traces of the Shom Peṅ—Bird Life—Fish—Ganges Harbour—Land Subsidence—Tupais—We Explore the Harbour—A Jungle Pig—"Jubilee" River—Chinese Navigation—Rainy Weather—Kondul Boys—Coconuts—Chinese Rowing.

On the same day, we anchored as night fell, close to the island of Kondul, having sailed down the west side of Little Nicobar—a coast of sand-beaches and steep jungle-covered hills—and crossed the St George's Channel, which divides the latter island from Great Nicobar.

Kondul is 2 miles in length, and half a mile wide, and, while running N.N.E. and S.S.W., lies too far from the larger island to form a harbour, although sheltered water is nearly always to be found on its lee-side.

We dropped anchor in 7 fathoms, opposite a little beach and some coconut palms on the western shore, and next morning rowed to the village on the other side, meeting on the way a strong tide-rip, off the south-east point, that for long kept us from making any progress.

The island is about 400 feet high, and its grey cliffs of slate and sandstone rise steep and bare until they meet the dense jungle with which the upper part is covered. Only on the east is there any flat land, and there, on a stretch of coral soil, are situated the houses and gardens of the natives, who now number some 38 individuals.

We landed behind a projection of the reef which afforded shelter from the swell, and were met by the headman "Dang," who brought with him the shipping register.

Some of the buildings were round, others rectangular in shape, and supported by leaning-posts in addition to the piles; and here and there were erected a few slightly carved and painted stumps, draped with bunches of palm leaves.

The headman's house contained small figures of a man, woman, and child, and some painted nuts, also a large mirror in a gilt frame—a useless object probably obtained from the Chinese in return for some thousands of coconuts. We learned that there were many Shom Peṅ on the neighbouring coast, but that they were very nomadic, and badly disposed towards strangers.

Our talk over, we left the house and rambled about, behind the village, in a plantation of coco palms, bananas, and limes growing in rich alluvial soil; and then, proceeding along the shore, crossed a little stream, and making a détour round a mass of broken rocks, reached a further village of three houses. Here the people were rather nervous at first, especially when asked to stand for their photographs, and needed much reassuring before we got on satisfactory terms; but Jangan takot, kita orang baik (Don't be afraid, we are good men), and similar expressions, before long brought about more friendly relations.

After purchasing a supply of coconuts, limes, and as many chickens as could be obtained, we returned to the schooner and sailed for the north coast of Great Nicobar, known to the natives as "Sambelong," or "Lo-öng."

With the wind ahead, it was once more evening before we reached the little bay where we had decided to stop. Anchoring, at first temporarily, at the mouth, in 5 fathoms, the dinghy went off to sound, and ascertain whether we might enter. The bottom was sand and coral, and shoaled rapidly, until at the mouth we found a sandbar that almost dried at low tide. Of a village which we expected to see, since it was marked on the chart, there was no trace.

MAN WITH PANDANUS FRUIT, KONDUL.

On the morning following our arrival, we set to work, on the right shore of the bay, to cut a path up the steep hills which rise immediately from the water. This caused so much noise, however, that nearly every animal and bird was scared from the neighbourhood; and since we could only proceed along the summit of the hills, where such specimens as were shot were in danger of rolling down the steep sides and being lost, after setting a number of traps, we returned to the boat and set out to explore the bay.

The little basin at its head was surrounded by steep hills, but on the right a stream flowed through a gap in the latter. Beyond this the land sank, and opened out into a seemingly interminable mangrove swamp, through which the river wound deviously.

From the mangroves overhanging the stream we obtained several nests of a sunbird (Arachnechthra, sp. nov.). These in shape were something like an old-fashioned net purse, covered with lichen, and were suspended from the ends of branches. The entrance was in the side, and in each we found two pale-brown eggs mottled with a darker pigment.

Half-an-hour's row brought us to the end of navigation, and at that point we met with a vast colony of fruit-bats (Pteropus nicobaricus), occupying the mangroves on either side of the river.

At a small computation, several thousand animals must have been hanging head downwards from the branches, and the surrounding atmosphere was impregnated with the musty odour of their bodies. When we disturbed them, they gave vent to a continuous "skirling" noise, somewhat like the song of cicadas, but less shrill in tone.

By nature they are very fearless, and the majority merely stared inquisitively; a few spread their great wings and flapped heavily away for a short distance, and others crawled actively along the branches back downwards.

All the females carried, clinging to the breast, a young one of about one-third full growth; these the mothers hugged to themselves with a folded wing, but when unsupported, the young found no difficulty in maintaining its position, by means of its excessively sharp claws and its suction grip on the parent's teat. When the latter crawled about, the baby was supported in the membrane of the wing, which bagged slightly with the weight. I should imagine that it is not thoroughly weaned until the birth of a fresh offspring.

The action of these bats when climbing a vertical branch, is similar to a man's in shinning up a pole. The wings are first raised and a tight grip taken with the claw on the thumb, then the feet are drawn up, and, after they obtain a hold, the wings are once more lifted. When taking to flight, they swing to and fro once or twice, and then let go in a backward direction.

Several were obtained for specimens, and amongst them were two old females, which were shot without damage to the accompanying young. These latter I afterwards attempted to rear. At first they made no effort to escape, but clung tightly to the mother's teat. When they arrived on board, I put them into a box, fitted with a perch, from which they could suspend themselves, but I found they had barely strength to sustain their position by means of the hind feet only.

For food I gave them bananas mashed into a pulp, and a weak solution of condensed milk. The former, after masticating and extracting the juice, they would eject, but the milk was readily lapped up, or sucked from my finger tip.

The two did not agree well, but remained during the day in opposite corners of the box. At night they were very restless and noisy, continually uttering shrill cries, and often fighting. When I had owned them a few days, they escaped one night from their rough cage, and at daybreak were found high in the rigging. Later they escaped again and disappeared; reaching, I believe, the adjacent shore.

After exploring the neighbourhood, we found a good patch of flat jungle on the east shore of the bay, and near the sandbar across the mouth discovered a faint path leading inward. Following this across some damp ground, we saw numerous tracks of men and dogs, which certainly pointed to the presence of Shom Peṅ, as the Nicobarese said they themselves never went inland; but although we searched the locality thoroughly, we failed to obtain more pronounced signs of occupation.

The forest abounded in life. Nearly every morning—generally the first bird obtained, and only seen thus early—a beautiful pitta was shot. Nicobar pigeons, sometimes in large flocks, every now and then rose with loud flight from the ground, where they were busy searching for food; for, unlike the big grey fruit-pigeons, with green-bronze back and wings (Carpophaga insularis), these birds are ground-feeders. The little brown Rhinomyias was very plentiful, as was the tiny kingfisher, Ceyx tridactyla, a most gorgeous bird, with coral-red feet and bill, and plumage of brilliant yellow, orange, blue, and lilac.

In a deep rocky ravine (that in the wet season must be filled with running water), arched over with tall jungle trees, and containing beautiful tree ferns, whose waving heads rose above the edge, I shot our first full-plumaged specimen of the Nicobar fly-catcher. Though not of brilliant colouration—for the slightly-crested head is of steely blue-black hue, and the remaining plumage of a silky-white (saving the large feathers of the wings, which are delicately pencilled with black, and the quills and edges of the tail feathers, the two central being several inches long, which are marked with the same colour), with blue bill and feet—this bird is to me perhaps the most beautiful of all the Nicobar avifauna; and while there are many of far more gorgeous plumage, none can approach it in delicacy, and the quiet beauty of its colouring.

Tracks of pig were very numerous in the low ground, and we often met with herds of monkeys making their way through the jungle; no rats, however, were trapped in this place, although crabs were scarcer than usual.

Water we obtained on the east side of the basin, just within the sandbar, but we had some difficulty in discovering it. The skipper, while engaged in the search, reported having found a number of spiked stakes planted in the jungle, similar to the ranjows of the Dyaks.

An old man, named Barawang, arrived one day in a canoe. He spoke English fairly, and said he was headman for the west coast, producing a Port Register in support of his statement. He formerly lived at Pulo Pét, but fled thence with his family to Kondul to escape a raiding party of Shom Peṅ.

The waters of the bay swarmed with shoals of little fish, which were much preyed upon by the ikan parang,[76] a long, thin, sabre-shaped fish with a formidable set of teeth; it is often seen darting along above the surface of the water, which it just flicks with its tail. Of the small fry we caught immense quantities with a casting-net, and obtained larger varieties with the seine, by fixing it on stakes across the mouth of the creek at high water; by the time the tide had fallen, several fish had invariably become entangled in the meshes.

On the 10th we made sail, and proceeded a little further along the coast to Ganges Harbour, anchoring just within its eastern point. If the chart is correct, changes have taken place on the coast since the last survey. We lay opposite a small stretch of flat land, and where the plan gives the coast-line nearly straight, a little bay now exists, where stand stumps of dead trees, about which the low tides expose a broad expanse of black mud.

After wading through the mud to reach the shore, we found that much of the low-lying ground was merely swamp. Part however, was covered with tall, open jungle, in which were numbers of pigeon and parrots. There were no monkeys, but tupais (Tupaia nicobarica) were plentiful. These appear to be entirely arboreal in habits, and are quite as active as squirrels in running along branches, or climbing about amongst smaller twigs in search of insects. Their cry is a sort of trilling squeak, which is easily confounded with the call of a bird.

In crossing to the further side we found plentiful traces of Shom Peṅ—a faint path, a ruined hut, heaps of shells, and split seed-cases of the Barringtonia speciosa. The edge of the land was rapidly being eroded, and many tall casuarina trees, with roots undermined by the water, lying prostrate in the sea. At either end, this disappearing beach was hemmed in by rising ground and rocks, which at its eastern termination contained a little stream and basin of good water.

On the 12th we rowed about the shores of the harbour, landing every now and then to search for the aborigines. The only signs of man's presence discovered, however, were rows of stakes set up across the creeks in the mangroves. One of these rows we utilised to hang our own net on, and obtained there such an abundant catch of small fish that we returned the greater part to the sea.

The shore-line is much more indented than the outline given on the chart, and in the shallow water and mud of a little bay, rows of tree trunks still stood, two or three hundred yards from the land. This subsidence, however, is local in its occurrence, for everywhere else in the Archipelago signs of elevation are markedly present, and it is to be attributed to seismic agency—earthquakes having several times been experienced in the group—and not to a general depression of the land.

The following day we went still farther afield, and crossed the harbour to a beach where stood a grove of coconut trees and a small hut. The trees were without fruit, and the house, though deserted, contained a number of bundles of split rattan, such as a small section of the Shom Peṅ trade in with the coast people. The plantation was surrounded by hilly country, covered with tall, open jungle: birds were scarce, and a hawk and a megapode were all we obtained in the way of feathered booty; but, immediately on landing, Abbott caught sight of a couple of pigs, and knocked over the boar with a bullet. Though very similar to the Andamanese pig in size and appearance, it had patches of white on the feet. From it a new species has been described, under the name of Sus nicobaricus.

While rowing back to the Terrapin, we were overtaken by a blinding squall of wind and rain, which half-filled the boat and made the men (who sat with their feet on the thwarts) very uneasy, lest they should be polluted by contact with the blood and water that swished about in the bottom.

Next day we extended our search still farther, and ascended a little river, to which the name of "Jubilee" has been given by the surveyors. We rowed up several arms of this stream that wound to and fro in the mangroves, but only found a small fishing weir constructed of rattans. The muddy shores swarmed with water-birds—herons, whimbrel, redshanks, and others—and we surprised a monstrous crocodile, little less than 20 feet long, who rushed into the stream long before our guns were ready. Returning to the mouth, we landed and walked for a couple of miles along the beach; but the shore was everywhere covered with dense tangled scrub, behind which lay the swamps of the river.

On the last day of our stay, a junk arrived from Dring, where it had taken in a cargo of coconuts. It was handled very clumsily, and nearly ran on the reef before the anchor was down, eventually having to make sail again and beat up to a more suitable place. Considering the happy-go-lucky manner in which these junks are navigated, it must be admitted that they have good fortune—they have a compass, indeed, but all those we met were totally unprovided with charts.

Our mornings in this place were spent in searching for Shom Peṅ; the afternoons were passed in adding to the collections. The traps produced a couple of rats only; but we obtained several specimens of the storkbilled kingfisher, which was common about the shores of the bay. Several turtle were observed on the sea, but the harpoon never being at hand when requisite, they always escaped unmolested.

Possibly because of the proximity of high land—for Mount Thuillier, 2100 feet, the highest point of the Nicobars, rises near the northern end of the island—a good deal of rain fell every day, and somewhat spoiled the enjoyment of wandering in the jungle. At night when we lay in Ganges Harbour, it was nearly always calm, and many mosquitoes came from shore to plague us.

BOYS OF KONDUL.

Traps were set on the shore throughout our stay, and we thus obtained a specimen of a new shrew (Crocidura nicobarica), the largest known Oriental member of the sub-genus; while two rats—all that were caught—were both undescribed varieties, and have been named Mus pulliventer, and Mus burrescens.

Having filled up with water—obtained from a little stream trickling down a cool rocky ravine at the inner corner of the bay—we made sail early on the 16th, and returned to Kondul.

Two hours' run before the wind brought the schooner to our former anchorage, where we were immediately joined by a junk from the north, and shortly afterwards by our companion of Ganges Harbour. After breakfast we reached the village, subsequent to a hard pull in the whaleboat against wind and tide, and found the junks' crews busily loading their boats with bundles of rattan; and by a chat with one of the skippers, supplemented the scanty information of the Sailing Directory anent the west coast of Great Nicobar.

Very few people were about, and the headman, suffering from an attack of inflammation of the eyes, had wisely confined himself to the shade of his house. Four jolly little boys, however, bestirred themselves to get us a supply of coconuts. One, after putting a loop of fibre round his ankles, climbed a palm tree and hacked off all the fruit, and then we all set to and carried the plunder down to the boat—a very awkward task, unless one knows the correct method, for the coconut is both heavy and bulky. With a dáo a notch is made in the husk and a strip of fibre pulled out, with which the nuts are tied together two by two, and slung across a pole, to be comfortably balanced on the shoulders. To the owner of the tree we gave a bucket of rice, and to our juvenile assistants a length of bright cotton, which one, a bald-headed youngster, immediately annexed and wrapped round his shaven pate.

Towards evening they came to the schooner with an old man, bringing some more nuts and a few fowls; they joined the crew at the evening meal, but were very nervous, and one boy, whom the men wickedly pressed to stay, eventually took refuge in his canoe.

That night quite a small fleet—the two junks and ourselves—lay in the quiet anchorage. The cook and boy, smartly attired in black oiled calico, went off in the dinghy to visit their compatriots. The style of their garments must be held to excuse the absence of that quality in their rowing, for each man's stroke was a thing to itself, as he painstakingly illustrated the famous maxim of Mr Charles Bouncer, "Dig your oar in deep, and pull it out with a jerk!" Perseverance and a devious course brought them to their goal; but we retired to sleep with dubious opinions as to their safe return.

WEST COAST OF GREAT NICOBAR.

CHAPTER XIII

GREAT NICOBAR—WEST COAST

Pulo Kunyi—Area of Great Nicobar—Mountains—Rivers—The Village—The Shom Peṅ—Casuarina Bay—An ingenious "Dog-hobble"—In the Jungle—A Shom Peṅ Village—Men of the Shom Peṅ—A lazy Morning—-The Shom Peṅ again—Their Similarity to the Nicobarese—Food—Implements—Cooking-vessel—The Dagmar River—Casuarina Bay—Pulo Nyur—Water—A Boat Expedition—The Alexandra River—Shom Peṅ Villages—Kópenhéat—More Shom Peṅ—Elephantiasis—Pet Monkeys—Anchorage.

"March 17, 1901.—At 6.30 A.M. both junks left, and we followed half an hour later. The breeze was light, the sea smooth, and the Chinese kept ahead all the way: in fact, we only caught up the smaller just abreast of Pulo[77] Kunyi, our destination on the west coast, where we anchored shortly after the big junk about midday; the other boat did not stop, but sailed on for another village more to the south.

"Great Nicobar is the southernmost and the largest of the islands of the group, having a length of 30 miles north and south, and a breadth of from 7 to 14 miles, while the area is 334 square miles. The highest part of the island is that to the north, where Mount Thuillier attains an altitude of 2105 feet. A continuous range of hills runs down the east side of the island close to the coast, making the surface hilly; and near the centre a range 1333 feet high extends crossways in an E.N.E. direction. On the west side the hills are much more irregular in disposition, and there are broad alluvial plains between their bases and the sea.

"Both in vegetation and geological formation it resembles Little Nicobar, but is the only island of the group that possesses navigable rivers; for, when their bars are passable, the Dagmar and Alexandra rivers on the west, and the Galathea River in the south, can be ascended some distance towards the interior.

"The coastal population is barely two-thirds what it was computed at in 1886, and now numbers 87 only. In the interior are the Shom Peṅ, who, liberally estimated, may number from 300 to 400; but, as a few friendly families alone are all with whom communication has been held, it is impossible to arrive at any definite conclusion.

"Great Nicobar is the least known of all the islands; the Government steamer seldom visits it, on account of its few inhabitants, the rough weather frequently met with on its coasts, and the absence of harbours near the populated districts.

"As we sailed along the north-west portion, we perceived it to be low and flat for some distance inland, but towards the south the land rose in irregular forest-clad hills.

"The village of Pulo Kunyi lies along the shore of a small bay, from either end of which two long reefs of coral stretch out seaward to form the harbour. This is further protected by a submerged coral bank which lies across the mouth, leaving only two narrow passages to north and south, of which the former is the more practicable.

"With a man in the cross-trees and a lead from the junk, we got in safely—finding 6 fathoms in the middle of the entrance—and brought up in 3½ fathoms, in a well-sheltered anchorage where there was plenty of room for several small vessels to lie.

"As soon as all was shipshape on board, we went ashore with our guns. In the village, which consists of five buildings (sheds and houses), we met but two men—women and children had disappeared from fear of the Chinese and ourselves; but there are probably not more than ten inhabitants altogether.

MAN AND WOMAN OF THE SHOM PEṄ, AND A NICOBARESE.

"The Chinese were already at work, busily appropriating all the coconuts that lay about. When purchasing these, they give a bag of rice for 530 nuts, which sell at Singapore for $15. Barter worth $1 is given for half a dozen bundles of rattan, which fetch about $12 in the same market. The trade of this island is mostly in canes, for very few more coconuts are produced than suffice for the wants of the inhabitants.

"The one beehive hut in the village was occupied by an old man named Awang, with his wife and child. A large charm hung in the centre of the house—a frame about 8 feet by 6 feet, covered with palm leaves, across the top a row of birds, and at the foot a line of wooden men, each supplied with a ration of fat pork.

"Our persistent inquiries about the Shom Peṅ seemed to amuse Awang excessively; but we were delighted to find we had arrived in their neighbourhood at last. The aborigines live a short distance in the interior, and often come down to the coast; as they would do on the morrow, when we should have an opportunity of meeting them, since notice had been sent that the traders were waiting to purchase their stock of rattan.

"The inland tribe is split into two main divisions. The larger inhabits the interior proper, and is still hostile (there was a man in the village with some ugly open wounds beneath the shoulderblades, who had been speared by them close to the houses a year ago); the members of the other division, who form small settlements near the coast villages, are known as "mawas Shom Peṅ" (quiet, or tame Shom Peṅ), and are on intimate terms with the Nicobarese, fearing equally with them the wilder natives. When the latter are out on the warpath, the friendlies come down to the shore, and, with the coast people, leave the district by canoe until it is safe to return.

"The village is surrounded by open scrub and jungle, in which large numbers of screw-pines flourish. The little scarlet-breasted Aethopyga was common here, and numbers of them were flitting about the crowns of the coco palms, searching the fruit-stalks and bases of the leaves for insects.

"Good paths ran through the jungle, and following one to the southward, we reached the shore of Casuarina Bay, so named from the long grove of dark-foliaged trees that extends right along the coast. All round the head of the bay white surf rolled on the flat sandy beach, but there was a fair landing-place within the point, protected by a reef, and free from breakers.

"Before returning to the village we shot a number of tupais, some sunbirds, and a serpent-eagle. The local dogs all wore a large coconut slung loosely about the neck. This heavy burdening would hardly meet with the approval of the S.P.C.A.; but it prevents the dogs from chasing sows and their litters, and is a most effective hobble, as it hangs right between the fore-legs.

"Darkness was approaching as we passed through the village, and the fowls were all retiring to rest in the branches of the trees—a return to early habits that they may indulge in with security in these islands, where no mammal more dangerous than the monkey exists.

"The boat soon came off to fetch us in answer to a hail, and we returned to the schooner, where, after a bath and a dinner, we settled down to an evening's work."

A VILLAGE OF THE SHOM PEṄ.

"March 18.—Armed respectively with guns and camera, we struck inland, at sunrise, along a path running eastward through beautiful open forest. The ground was level, and our way lay for some time within sound of the breakers of Casuarina Bay. Picking up a bird now and again as we went along, we had proceeded some three or four miles when we heard the sound of voices in the bush. We stopped for a moment to listen, and then moved on. Presently the roof of a hut appeared between the trees. "Shom Peṅ!" we whispered, and, creeping down the path with the idea of getting among them before they could run, did they feel inclined, walked—oh, miserable swindle!—into a camp of Nicobarese rattan-gatherers; for the numerous bundles of canes hanging from the trees, and the heaps of scrapings, showed plainly what their occupation was.

"In a clearing about 30 yards across, surrounded by jungle, and standing in the shade of a few isolated trees, five huts stood along the bank of a little brook.

"Women and girls in waistcloths, busy preparing food from pandanus fruit, dropped their work when they caught sight of us, and rushed away for more clothes!

"Pigs, chickens, and dogs wandered about beneath the houses, and the only representative of the stronger sex was a young man, whose activity was much handicapped by a leg swollen with elephantiasis.

"The houses were small structures built on piles, 4 to 6 feet high, with open sides, and roofs of attaps.

"After taking photographs of the village, we returned to the shore, where consolation awaited us in the persons of three Shom Peṅ men, who had come in and were detained in Awang's house. Thither we proceeded, and took photographs and measurements of each. They were very docile, and stood like statues before the camera; neither did they object to being measured. We obtained from them a roll of coarse cloth—made from the inner bark of a tree,[78] which is stripped from the trunk and pounded—and a rattan basket, giving in return an extra quantity of red cotton, in token of goodwill, for they had been inclined to bolt when they first heard we were coming.

"In general appearance these men resembled the Nicobarese, but were of slightly darker complexion—muddy-coloured—and physically of more slender build, and leaner: they wore cotton kissáts, and large wooden ear-distenders.

"Through Awang, who enacted the part of interpreter, we arranged with them to come down the next morning, and bring their whole party, baskets, spears, and more cloth."

"March 19.—We did not shoot for long this morning, for fear of frightening the Shom Peṅ; but though we waited about till 10 o'clock, they had not appeared, and we then returned to the Terrapin.

"But for flies, which were rather numerous about the village, it was very pleasant lying in the shade of the palms, lazily watching the many butterflies which floated about, listening to the cries of oriole, calornis, and sunbird, and often catching glimpses of their brilliant plumage as they flew from tree to tree. In the clear waters of a little stream that flowed behind the village, we could see shoals of fish slowly drifting about, or poising themselves in the shade of the overhanging branches. The mouth of this stream is closed by the coral-reef, but a few small canoes are kept on its surface to carry the natives to the other bank. We were too lazy even to explore its course, but loafed drowsily beneath the coco palms, while

"All round the coast the languid air did swoon,
Breathing like one that hath a weary dream,"

until, stirred by prosaic thoughts of breakfast, we returned to the schooner. Hardly had we done so when we caught sight of a string of people walking along the beach, whereupon, gathering together the necessary paraphernalia for an interview, we jumped into a boat and were soon on shore again.

"The party consisted of five men, three women, and three girls—there were no boys or babies in it. They had brought with them several rolls of new bark cloth—pieces about 4 feet by 6 feet—which, when fresh, is much lighter in colour than the old piece we got before; some rattan baskets of various shapes, ear-distenders, and a bundle of spears made of the hard wood of the nibong palm. These spears are about 8 feet long, and half an inch in diameter, tapering towards the butt. The makers have grasped the principle of the sail and surgeon's needle, for the points are triangular, with sharp edges; immediately below them, slight barbs, generally six in number, are carved on the shaft.[79]

"In physique, the men were less robust than the coast people, but at the same time were tough and wiry-looking—the lesser chest and arm development being probably accounted for by the absence of paddling exercise, for they own no canoes.

WOMEN AND GIRLS OF THE SHOM PEṄ.

"In person they were somewhat dirty, more markedly in the case of the women, to whose clothes the odour of stale pandanus-bread clung strongly. All chewed quids of betel, lime, and sireh leaves.

"The teeth of one woman presented a most extraordinary appearance, that at first sight appeared to be a case of macrodontism; the upper row projected outwards at an extreme angle, and, when closely examined, proved to be concreted together by a substance that was apparently a deposit of lime from the ever-renewed quid.

"Their hair, like that of the Nicobarese, varied from wavy to curly, and so slightly did they differ from the coast people that if one did not know who they were, they would pass, unless carefully examined, for ordinary Nicobarese, so far as appearance and mode of life are concerned.

"In proof of this statement it will suffice if I say that the settlement which—with minds primed by tales of bark-garments and triple-storied, fenced-in huts—we had thought to be a camp of the coast people gathering rattan, was, in truth, the village of this identical party.

"Such a mistake was, under the circumstances, almost justifiable—their food, utensils for its preparation, cooking-pots, clothing, and domestic animals, were all exactly similar to those of the Nicobarese.

"It would appear, that, from constant intercourse with the shore people, the Shom Peṅ have adopted many of their customs, and become possessed of similar property. The leader of this party even spoke a few words of Malay.

"All of them willingly submitted to be photographed and measured, especially when they saw that after the process there was a reward of red cotton, or brass cartridge cases, to be used as ear-plugs. Such things as they received in this way, or in payment for baskets and other articles, were immediately handed over to the women.

"They seemed to indicate time by pointing to the sun, and by such a method we made them understand that we should pay another visit to their camp on the morrow."

"March 20.—We reached the Shom Peṅ village early in the morning, and found its occupants variously engaged—some sitting listlessly about, and others busied in splitting and cleaning the rattan which they trade with the coast people.

"The community was well supplied with food, in the shape of coconuts, bananas, and various tubers, besides possessing a plentiful store of pandanus fruit. Several young pigs, all obtained from the litters of wild sows, which are chased with a view to capture, were domiciled in cages within the houses.

Shom Peṅ Cooking-vessel (Great Nicobar).

"Principal amongst the articles in use were iron-pronged fish-spears, axes, and dáos, with baskets, of which we purchased a selection; but the most interesting object visible, and one that had been overlooked during our former visit, was an apparatus for preparing the food of pandanus paste.

MEN OF THE SHOM PEṄ.

"Some 6 inches above a clay hearth on the floor of the huts, a receptacle, about 3 feet by 3 feet by 6 inches, was formed of five sheets of thin green bark. These, two on a side, and the fifth doubled at the bottom to form a trough, were inserted at either end between split stakes, which—bound tightly together with rattans—pressed the edges of the sheets against each other. The lower part was thickly luted with clay, and where the edges of the bark overlapped, a strip of cane was stretched from stake to stake to compress the join. This ingenious vessel was narrow at the bottom but gaped widely at the mouth.

"In cooking the pandanus, a little water is first poured in, and the fruit piled above it and steamed; when sufficiently done, the bread is prepared by the same method as practised on the coast.

"Several paths led beyond the camp; and following one, we crossed a small stream by a tree bridge (a couple of saplings laid side by side), 300 or 400 yards beyond which we arrived at the bank of the Dagmar River, here a stream about 40 yards wide flowing between low jungle-covered banks.

"Once more by the sea we photographed Awang and his family, bought some of his belongings, and also took possession of about twenty megapodes' eggs which he had collected for us.

"The Shom Peṅ we had seen, he informed us, were all there were in the neighbourhood, although far back in the interior were other, but unfriendly, groups. The only child in the village was his own son, and the same old story was repeated—that where formerly there were two or three men with their families in each house, now there was only one.

"In the afternoon we walked along the shore of Casuarina Bay to the mouth of the Dagmar. Fortunately the tide was low, and exposed a broad strip of hard wet sand, which made the tramp very pleasant, in spite of the hot sun. On the way, we passed the half-dry bed of a small stream, crammed with thousands of a little black red-bellied mud-fish, so crowded together that numbers had died.

"The Dagmar River emerges suddenly from jungle, with banks almost free from mangrove and nipah, and makes its way to the sea through a curving channel in the sand, where at low tide it is very shallow.

"Bundles of rattan hung from several trees, and a small hut full of the same material stood near a path that evidently led to the Shom Peṅ village. More cane was to be seen across the river, and a canoe lay on the bank.

MEN OF THE SHOM PEṄ (in profile.)

"So much we discovered by a little exploring; then, after climbing a palm and refreshing ourselves with stolen coconuts, we set out on the return walk, in order to avoid being overtaken by darkness."

"March 21.—A light breeze set in shortly after 8 A.M., and we weighed anchor. It soon freshened somewhat, and we worked down the coast, tacking on and off. First we passed the point forming the north extremity of Casuarina Bay, distinguished by a single palm tree which rises high above the jungle, and next came abreast of Kópenhéat, marked by a grove of palms and a hut, finally bringing up at 1.15 P.M. in 9 fathoms, at a spot well protected by a reef from the S.W. swell, with a conspicuous round house bearing E. This anchorage was a little bay formed by the shore running roughly N. and W., and we were in an indentation of the reef, which, when the latter dries at low tide, is about 300 yards wide.

"The village here is called Pulo Nyur (Malay = Coconut Island), seven houses in all, and lies in the shade of palm trees broken into groups by intervening stretches of jungle.

"Going ashore in the afternoon we met in the largest house several men and boys from Pulo Bábi, the next village southward. Of the other buildings, four or five are uninhabited and falling to pieces. There was only one regular inhabitant in the place—a man whose father, brother, and wife had all died six months previously, and who, unless he could get another wife shortly, intended to leave the spot, which will probably soon be deserted, for his female acquaintances—not unnaturally—objected to such a lonely life.

"A year ago a man was killed by the Shom Peṅ on the outskirts of the village, and at the same time the man we saw at Pulo Kunyi barely escaped with his life.

"Several paths lead towards the interior, but the village has no (friendly) relations with the aborigines.

"Behind, and to one side, lay a large stretch of grass-covered swamp, on which a herd of monkeys was playing until we appeared, while numbers of herons, big and little, were perched in the surrounding trees. The morass was composed of a sort of sawdust-like paste, into which one sank up to the knees, yet the feet, when withdrawn, were not in the least soiled. In the jungle we got Nicobar pigeons, and a serpent-eagle that seemed to differ from the variety of Little Nicobar and Kachal (Spilornis, sp. nov.).

"A path from the beach led to a water-hole, which only required clearing out to afford a plentiful supply; the men set to work at this, and when they had got rid of the water, took from the hole a pailful of mudfish and eels.

"Learning in the evening, from people who came on board, that there were Shom Peṅ on the Alexandra River and at Kópenhéat, we determined on an expedition in search of them next day."

"March 22.—At sunrise we put off in the whaleboat, and now rowing and now sailing, as the wind served, and all the time keeping well out from shore, to clear the rollers that occurred at irregular intervals in most unexpected places, reached Casuarina Bay (about 6 miles) at 8 A.M.

"The breakers at the mouth of the Dagmar were too big for us to enter the river without an almost certain wetting, to avoid which we pulled back to the south end of the bay, and first wading ashore with the contents, ran the boat through the surf and quickly beached her. Almost at once we perceived within the jungle a deserted Shom Peṅ village of three huts, of a kind similar to those beyond Pulo Kunyi. In the camp were two or three platforms or lounges, roughly shaded by a few palm leaves, and some odds and ends were lying about; a small pig cage, food baskets made from the butt of a palm leaf, and a rude lamp—a shell, in which lay a bit of greasy rag supported on half a coconut.

"Several paths converged at the village, and these we followed up until each gradually came to an end—bundles and strips of rattan lying along them, showing plainly their raison d'être.

"One path, however, led past a second camp. Some of the huts were merely rough platforms built against the trunk of a tree; but others were evidently of the kind we had been told about at Pulo Milo—one platform above the other, respectively 3 and 7 feet above the ground, both partially protected by a number of long palm leaves leaning butt downwards against the structure. Continuing onward beyond this village we reached the Dagmar River, and searched along the bank for further paths without success.

"By midday, having thoroughly explored the locality, we returned to a tiffin of biscuits and sardines, with unlimited numbers of young coconuts, which one of the men quickly obtained from an adjacent tree. Then the boat was launched and loaded, and with the wind helping for part of the distance we travelled back to the Terrapin.

"As we passed Kópenhéat two men put out in a canoe with palm-leaf sails to inform us that a party of Shom Peṅ was then at their house. But it was now getting late, and the plates for the camera had all been exposed, so, after arranging for the aborigines to remain until next day, we parted from the canoe and proceeded to the schooner."

"March 22.—Off again by boat in the morning to Kópenhéat and met the Shom Peṅ, who had remained overnight; they having come a distance variously estimated at from half a day to two days' journey (!) down the Alexandra River in small canoes of Nicobarese construction.

"The headman, who was of the darkest complexion yet met with—a dull chocolate—spoke a little Malay. All were clothed—in far more garments than the Nicobarese—and generally very dirty.

"Most of these people were afflicted with elephantiasis in various stages—none seriously, however. Nicobar water is reported to be bad; but, considering the state of the water-holes that the Shom Peṅ paths lead to, no surprise can be felt that those who use such a supply should be suffering from this disease. Often the water of the coast natives is unsatisfactory enough in quality, but having plenty of coconuts, they hardly ever use it for drinking purposes.

HUT OF THE SHOM PEṄ.

"After we had finished with the people we gave them presents of cotton and sheath-knives, and then followed a path leading to the Dagmar through forest of a very open character. A walk of half a mile brought us to the bank of the river, here about 30 to 35 yards wide. There was very little current, owing to a sandbar across the mouth, which the natives say is dry at half-tide. The banks were jungle covered, and free from mangroves.

"Before leaving the village we bought some fowls, and a pair of young monkeys, said to be only three or four months old. They were imprisoned in a pig cage, and seemed half-starved, and were certainly very frightened as they sat clinging convulsively to each other.

"There is clear water, 300 or 400 yards wide, before Kópenhéat, with a reef on either side where the sea breaks heavily at high tide, but the anchorage is not so good as at Kunyi or Nyur."

CHAPTER XIV

GREAT NICOBAR—WEST AND SOUTH COASTS

"Domeat"—Malay Traders—Trade Prices—The Shom Peṅ Language—Place Names—Pulo Bábi—The growth of Land—Climbing a Palm Tree—Servitude—Population—Views on Marriage with the Aborigines—Towards the Interior—A Shom Peṅ Village—The Inhabitants—Canoe-building—Barter—The West Coast—South Bay—Walker Island—Chang-ngeh—Up the Galathea River—Water—We leave the Nicobars and sail to Sumatra.

We hove up anchor at 8 a.m.—the hour at which a breeze usually sprang up—and sailed for Pulo Bábi, a few miles down the coast, taking as passenger an old man named Domeat who had been staying at Kópenhéat.

He produced a number of chits for our perusal, and from one we learned that it was Domeat—now a toothless, but sturdy old gentleman, with nutcracker jaws and a benevolent expression—who brought news of the recovery of the body of Captain Elton, commander of the station gunboat, who was drowned in the surf while attempting to land at Trinkat Sambelong[80] village, on the east coast, in March 1881.

Most of the letters were written by Asiatics, and from them it seemed that the last Malay vessel to call at the islands arrived in 1877. Many formerly came to purchase coconuts, but this people, like our own nation, has been ousted from the trade by the inhabitants of China and the Indian Empire.

CANOE AT PULO NYUR, GREAT NICOBAR.

According to our informant, the Chinese pay the coast natives one packet of tobacco (value 2½d.) for three bundles of rattan, while the Nicobarese, who act merely as middlemen, and have the export trade in their hands, only give the Shom Peṅ one packet for six bundles! The bush aborigines have no settled dwelling-places, but wander about, although they have good gardens established in various localities. Their language is quite distinct from the Nicobarese,[81] but each knows enough of the others' speech to make themselves mutually understood. Asked, however, whether further south we could get a man who knew the Shom Peṅ language, Domeat replied: "When one of us sees a Shom Peṅ he runs away, and when a Shom Peṅ sees a Nicobar man he spears him!"[82]

Misunderstandings frequently occurred when we talked to him about the various places on the coast. The name given on the chart is often not known to the natives: the Chinese have another name, which is not given on the chart, and the natives have a third, but are generally familiar with that used by the traders.

I believe the following to be correct:—

We arrived off the village at 11 a.m., and worked in to an anchorage against a land breeze. The junks in whose company we had been at Kondul were already in the harbour—a square indentation, fringed with coral. With a look-out at the masthead we got in without accident, and anchored in a fairly sheltered position, but some distance outside the other vessels. Small streams debouch in either corner of the bay; but the village, which consists of a dozen or more houses, and is the largest on the west coast, lies to the south of the harbour, with the usual accompaniment of numerous coco palms.

As a heavy surf was breaking on the reef fronting the houses, we rowed up the bay and landed by a small hut, beside which was a well of good water, and from thence reached the village by a path leading through scrub and many screw-pines.

Interviewing the headman, we learnt that a Shom Peṅ settlement lay half a day's journey in the interior, and having arranged with Nyam (the headman) to guide us on the morrow, we set out, accompanied by his brother Puchree, on a stroll through the village.

This really consists of two settlements—that nearest the bay, Pulo Rotan or Koé, and the other to the south, which at high tide is cut off from the mainland by a marshy channel—Pulo Bábi or Kanal. There are more houses, both round and square than appear from seawards, but several are uninhabited and falling to pieces. Graves, placed between the houses, were marked by peeled sticks and young saplings, on which a foot or so of the branches had been left.

The land on which the village stood was of very recent formation, consisting entirely of sand, coral blocks, and débris of the roughest kind.

It would seem that the Nicobars are not only an area of elevation (as shown in Kar Nicobar, Trinkat, etc.), but also one of growth, as appears to be the case in the islands where there is a central mountain mass with radiating arms and shore plains; in these the central high land was first elevated, and formed a core for the extension of land by the agency of fringing reefs where the surrounding sea-bottom has only a slight inclination.

Of this latter phenomenon Pulo Bábi appears to be an example, since, for some distance inland the shore is flat, and composed of coral sand and débris, with a substratum of fresh-looking coral rock. The bay is becoming choked with coral, and between living reef and shore are broad belts of slimy mud, a little lower than some of the coral heads beyond, where the reef, having reached low-water level, has stopped in its growth and died. Meanwhile it is extending outward on its own talus, and at the same time débris and sand are cast continually shoreward, and, with the help of smaller coralline growths, fill up the interstices of the shore coral until a solid bank is formed, which, by further aid from the waves of the sea, and from the land and its vegetation, is raised above high water and in time becomes dry land.

Such action depends on the tides, slope of the sea-bottom, and the relation of one part of the shore to another in regard to contour and position, but particularly on the currents, which in some places would accumulate material and in others remove it.

The crowns of the palm trees were frequented by flocks of the black and white nutmeg-pigeon (Carpophaga bicolor), an uncommon bird in such a situation. Of those we shot, several lodged in the trees and were fetched down by the natives, who climbed with the ankles joined by a belt or piece of rattan, and who, when lifting the feet, did not clasp the trunk with the arms as we should, but placing one round it, pressed against it with the other hand.

We found two Shom Peṅ youths in the village, who seemed to be in a state of easy servitude, and were used for such work as carrying nuts or fetching water.

There were between twenty and thirty men and boys dwelling here, and the skipper (with whom the people were more communicative than with us) said, only four women! Although, by going to Naukauri Harbour, said Puchree, they could obtain wives,—who, however, refused to leave their own homes,—he lamented the almost total impotence of himself and neighbours in the way of offspring. Asked if they ever married Shom Peṅ women, he said, "No, they didn't like them; they were dirty and didn't wash"; and when we suggested that he should catch (tangkap) a young one, and first train her for a year or two, and teach her manners—"Too much trouble."

"March 25.—We met Nyam and a companion at his house about six o'clock, and after a walk of half a mile reached the bank of a little river some 30 feet wide. Here lay a canoe, and paddles being produced we travelled up-stream, wading now and again over the shallows, until, having progressed a mile or so, we landed on the same bank at a spot where a second path commenced. This we followed for 2 miles in a northerly direction, crossing by the way the stream itself and a little tributary by bridges of sapling, and so arrived at the Shom Peṅ village.

"We had already seen two kinds of buildings amongst these people; here we met with a third.

"The houses—five in number, and recently constructed—stood on piles about 12 feet high; in several cases a live tree being built in. These supports were strengthened by diagonal struts—a most uncommon form of scaffolding among savages. The floors were made of saplings placed side by side, and the side walls, about 3 feet high, of split nibong palm; while the roofs, which just afforded head-room at the apex, were roughly thatched with whole palm leaves, piled on butt downwards.

HUTS OF THE SHOM PEṄ.

"Each house was about 8 feet square, and at one end of each a small platform was attached, on which was the fireplace, with cooking apparatus of bark sheets covered with large green leaves, to prevent charring. In a corner of each hut was a shelf of split sticks, and a long trough of split and hollowed palm trunk sloped from ground to floor for the dogs and other animals to mount by. The ladders for human use were about 18 inches wide, with cross-pieces fastened on by rattan bindings.

"The village lay at the foot of a hill, above which the sun appeared between nine and ten o'clock, and was bounded on the other side by the bed of a stagnant brook. The trees about the houses were festooned with bundles of rattan, and the ground round them was littered deeply with the refuse scrapings. A few chickens and a miserable pariah cur or two wandered about, and several little pigs were caged in the huts.

"This party seemed less well-to-do than the others we had seen, for their only dress was cotton kissáts and waistcloths, and while possessing several pieces of bark cloth, in which they wrapped themselves at night, they had apparently no further clothing. Strings of coloured beads were worn about the neck, and their ear-lobes were distended by wooden plugs from 1 to 2 inches in diameter.

"They were of a most apathetic disposition. A few words were exchanged with our guides, whom the women immediately supplied with lime and sireh, and then, renewing their own quids, sat crouching in the doorways of the huts, or perhaps attended by request to the head of a neighbour who might be troubled with a parasitical itching. Although free from elephantiasis, the body of each individual was covered with the scaly symptoms of ringworm—tinea circinata tropica.

"After we had measured the whole party, there was sufficient light to photograph the village, to which, in the dark shade of the jungle, I gave an exposure of ten minutes. The portraits of the natives were taken under difficulties, for the only rays of sunlight that filtered through the branches shifted slowly with the rays of the sun, so that by the time the subject was posed and focussed, he was generally outside the patch of sunshine.

"We bought all the little property visible, and then returned to the schooner by path and canoe, having found that the so-called 'half-day's' journey resolved itself into a matter of little more than an hour.

"Later in the day we strolled through the coast village to watch the progress towards completion of a partially-finished canoe we had purchased. With a little supervision it was only a short afternoon's work for three or four men to cut and fit, by means of their dáos, the stem and stern, cross-pieces, outriggers, and float, and quickly do all the fastening required with tough strips of rattan.

"Our guides of the morning were rewarded with a sarong apiece and we purchased with rupees a pair of captive nutmeg-pigeons—somewhat uncommon pets—and a couple of grey-headed parrots (P. caniceps) that had been obtained as fledglings by the villagers.

"Once again on board we found canoes arriving with loads of coconuts and numbers of fowls. Old shoes were the principal articles demanded, but the skipper got six chickens for a white linen coat. Our estimable captain is actuated by a commercial spirit; his invariable greeting to a new arrival is 'Ah, hang sudah datang! apa hang bawa?'—'Ah, you've come! what are you bringing?'"

"March 26.—Spent an hour on shore, and then left with the breeze at 7 A.M. Sailing slowly down the coast we passed Henpoin, Pulo Kotah, and Henhóa, at all of which places are many coco palms, with one or two houses visible. Two or three miles inland a range of hills runs down the coast, and must form the eastern slope of the Galathea Valley; until their foot is reached, the country is low and level.

"Off South Point the wind became very light at midday, and subsequently we worked up and down against a strong north-westerly tide, barely maintaining our position. After a small advance, at 10 P.M. we were back again where we had been at noon, so, getting soundings of 9 fathoms, we anchored for the night."

MEN AND A BOY OF GREAT NICOBAR.

"March 27.—At daybreak the current was running S.S.W., at 2 knots. This slackened at nine o'clock, and with a light breeze from the N.E. we gradually made our way towards South Bay, until, the wind becoming more easterly, we tacked up it, and anchored towards the top in 7½ fathoms.

"The head, where the Galathea River debouches, is low and flat, but on either side the shores are a continuation of the hills, containing the river. The eastern cape is hilly and broken, but the western extremity tails off in a low stretch of flat land.

"Close to the western shore is Walker Island, a small grey block of rock that has been likened to a fort with sentries—the latter represented by columns of stone protected from detrition by boulders of harder formation, which once, of course, rested on the surface of the islet.

"Coconut trees grow all round the bay, and on the starboard hand we saw a dozen houses forming the village of Chang-ngeh, from which a canoe put off with two men. They, and two others far advanced in decrepitude, are the sole inhabitants of this portion of the island. Formerly there was on the eastern shore a village called Badói, but after some of its inhabitants had been killed by Shom Peṅ, it was deserted.

"We got ashore near the village at a spot sheltered from surf by a projecting reef. Close inspection showed that the houses were far more dilapidated than they appeared to be from the sea.

"Having obtained megapodes, dongos, and sunbirds by a short excursion into the jungle, we walked along the beach to examine the river mouth, in view of a journey up-stream next day.

"Coming from the right, where it runs for some distance parallel to the shore, the river turns suddenly and makes its way to the sea through a stretch of sand, leaving on the left a quiet backwater into which the current swirls. A continuous line of surf broke across the entrance, which was very narrow."

"March 28.—At sunrise, having made all preparations overnight, we loaded the boat with food and bedding, mosquito nets, and collecting apparatus, and put off for the expedition up-river.

"First we pulled ashore and landed some of the cargo, for with it all on board and a crew of five, the boat was too heavy to negotiate the breakers safely. Then we lay off the river's mouth watching the sea; swell after swell came sliding in, until one larger than the rest swung by, leapt up, and with the white foam rippling along its summit, fell over with a thunderous crash. Pulling hard all, we swept along on its top, then passed through the surf, and lay a few moments later on the quiet surface of the river without having shipped a drop of water. When the things landed had been fetched, we reloaded and pulled up-stream; the last glimpse of the sea showing a Chinese junk rounding the eastern extremity of the bay.

"At first the river was about 30 yards wide and ran between low banks covered with stretches of mangroves and forest alternating, both fronted by a border of nipah palms. About 2 miles onward the shores rose a little, and the vegetation changed to a tangle of jungle, with a network of climbing bamboo, rattans, and various kinds of creepers. The course of the stream ran through no heavy forest, and in many places the banks were fairly open, covered with scrub and patches of thick grassy vegetation.

"Never was such a river for twisting and turning, and often as we steered round its S-shaped bends we seemed to swing the sun right round us.

"We rowed along steadily for a couple of hours, and then seeing a lime tree overhanging the stream, stopped to gather a hatful of fruit. A few yards further on—the bank about 12 feet high—one of the men spied a rough hut, a mere platform with a shade of palm leaves; but when we landed, although odds and ends of rattan lay about the ground, it was evident that it had been unoccupied for some time.

"Now and again along the river we saw coco palms and bananas, while kaladies or yams grew plentifully at the water's edge. The banks were covered here with jungle and there with stretches of reeds, looking not unlike clumps of Indian corn.

"Flocks of parrots flew screaming overhead, herons flapped lazily away in front, and now and then a monkey, startled by the unusual sight, cursed us vigorously from a tree. Often a tiny ceyx—a flash of lilac and orange—darted across the stream, and oftener still the little blue bengalensis flitted away before us.[83]

ON THE GALATHEA RIVER, GREAT NICOBAR.

"Once we ran aground on some rocks, and twice had to scramble on fallen tree-trunks spanning the river, and force the boat beneath them. But for such incidents we progressed steadily upwards until eleven o'clock, when we pulled to one of the banks, here only some 15 yards apart, and tying up the boat, proceeded to camp during the heat of midday.

"Then, after breakfast had been disposed of, it was delightful to lie on one's back in the shade of the jungle and watch the waving leaves against the sky; to search with the eyes for graceful ferns and orchids drooping from the branches overhead, and in a dreamy semi-slumber to listen to the calls of the birds, and the faint voices of the men as they rambled about in the forest. Presently, as the sun reached its highest point, all became quiet, and we dozed an hour away, to wake up, and—after boiling the kettle for some tea—start off once more.

"Gradually narrowing, the river maintained the same character, save that the banks became more open. At one fallen tree we had to unload the boat and haul it bodily over; several times we got round or under such obstacles with difficulty; and so, rowing and poling as the stream lessened, we went on, until at about five o'clock, the river, now only 25 feet wide, became so shallow and obstructed by fallen branches that we were forced to cease all attempt at further progress, and so made camp at a spot about 16 miles up-stream, almost in the latitude of Pulo Bábi. In the rainy season it would perhaps be possible to ascend a few miles higher.

"While daylight lasted, the boat was partly unloaded, sticks cut to support the mosquito nets, and supper prepared—heaped-up plates of snowy rice, eked out by various tinned commodities. Then after re-charging the dark slides beneath a rug, and covering the baggage with a tarpaulin in case of rain, we turned in.

"It was a glorious moonlight night and the cicadas sang us to sleep from the trees, while the mosquitoes hummed away vainly and viciously outside the net.

"Now and again, for a time, came the cry of some startled bird and the croaking of the tree-frogs; but when these died away the prevailing silence was broken only by the sound of the dew dripping from the trees, and the occasional fall of dead leaves or rotten branches."

"March 29.—We turned out at daybreak while the river was shrouded in mist, and after chota hazri, started down-stream.

"The water had fallen a foot during the night, and for some distance we could only use the oars to pole with. Presently, however, we were paddling quickly down the river, until we came to the fallen tree, where it was again necessary to unload.

"All the contents were stacked on the bank, and then, while the boat was on the trunk, I walked along the latter to take a snap-shot of the scene from the shore. Just as it was half-way across, our craft stuck fast; all, gathering themselves together, gave a mighty heave, and suddenly it slipped over, taking everyone by surprise. 'Din fell into the water, 'Dul fell into the boat, Mat straddled the tree, and Abbott, by a display of flying, gibbon-like agility, succeeded in landing safely in the stern. It was all very amusing to see from the shore; far too funny, indeed, at the time for me to get my photograph.

"This was the only obstacle, for, thanks to the low tide, we found no difficulty in passing beneath the other fallen trunks. About ten o'clock we were back at the hut and lime-tree, and stopped there for breakfast; then, after gathering a bucketful of fruit, were off again.

"With the sun almost overhead, it now became very hot on the water; but, pushing on, we reached the river-mouth soon after one o'clock and unloaded the boat once more before taking it through the breakers. From inshore they seemed much more formidable than from seaward, whence their height and the curl of falling water were hidden. We lay a short distance from the long, white lines that travelled across the bay, and watched them, backing and pulling to keep our place.

GALATHEA RIVER (highest point reached).

"A series of breakers fell, then in rolled a monster, and as it broke before us, we dashed in the waiting oars and sped forward at the next. Up went the prow, and we were over and in the hollow before a second; then over that and yet another, and we lay on the gently-heaving surface of the bay.

"Back once more beneath the schooner's awnings, we found a welcome supply of thirst-quenching coconuts, brought freshly from the village.

"The junk, after taking in a supply of water, had left the day before. It is customary for these vessels, after their business on the west coast is over, to sail round the north end of the island when leaving for Acheen, in order to make a slight gain to windward; but this one, having learned that we were going direct, decided to take a similar course."

On March 30 we went ashore for the last time and found a good supply of water at Badói, about 100 yards inside the jungle. The stream dies away before reaching the sea, but above the watering-place it can be followed for some distance by wading up the rocky bed.

We were now full up with wood and water, and having obtained a good supply of fowls and coconuts from the village, were ready to put to sea, so left at ten o'clock in the evening, with a light wind, and a tide running S.W.

"March 31.—At 9 A.M. the point below Mataita-âṅla bore W. about 7 miles. Squalls of wind and rain occurred, and a succession of waterspouts travelled across the horizon; between-times and for the rest of the day, we experienced a dead calm, and rolled about on the swell. Position at 4.30 P.M., 8 miles east of Campbell Bay."

"April 1.—There has been scarcely any wind, and we drifted N. by E. until Menchal and Kabra hove in sight. A school of sharks visited the schooner, and one about 7 feet long that was hooked, was given his quietus with a revolver bullet when hauled to the surface.

"Our live stock is flourishing. The three sober-looking parrots down in the cabin are becoming tamer day by day, and the pair of nutmeg pigeons will already eat chopped coconut from our hands.

"The monkeys, however, are of most interest, and are given daily exercise on deck. The male is an adept at the most horrible grimaces, but is an arrant coward, and, when startled, rushes to his companion, and, although the heavier of the two, puts his arms around her and is carried back downwards all over the place. When it is time to re-cage them, we have only to drive them together and they run into each other's arms, clasp convulsively, and incontinently roll over, when, as they lie squealing and grimacing on deck, they may be picked up and put back in their box. On one occasion this manœuvre was executed on the rail, and they fell overboard, sinking without a struggle, locked in a close embrace.

"Fortunately for them, the Terrapin was becalmed at the time, and they were recovered, to be very subdued for a time after the rescue, but none the worse for their experience.

"At 6 P.M. a light breeze sprang up, with signs of a squall from the north, and carried us along at a 2 to 3 knot pace through the night. A porpoise was harpooned under the bow, but broke away before it could be secured.

"On the 2nd the wind was light all day, save for a squall that compelled us to lower the foresail. Towards evening, Mount Thuillier, bearing W. by N., was just visible 50 miles away. The breeze freshened, and with darkness the last sign of the Nicobars dropped below the horizon, while daybreak revealed ahead of us the rounded summit of Pulo Bras."

HYDROGRAPHICAL CHART OF THE ANDAMAN AND NICOBAR ISLANDS.

PART II

CHAPTER I

THE ANDAMAN ISLANDS AND THEIR INHABITANTS

Position—Soundings—Relationship—Islands—Area—Great Andaman Mountains—Little Andaman—-Rivers—Coral Banks—Scenery—Harbours—Timber—Flora—Climate—Cyclones—Geology—Minerals—Subsidence—Earthquakes—History—Aborigines—Convicts and the Penal System—Growth and Resources of the Settlement—Products and Manufactures.

The Andamans, which together with the Nicobars form one of the minor dependencies of our Indian Empire, are situated in the Bengal Sea, between the parallels of 10° 30' and 14° 15' N. latitude, and the meridians 92° 10' and 93° 30' E. longitude, where they lie in a N. by E. direction. To the west the coast of Madras is some 700 miles distant, and eastward Tenasserim, bordered by the islands of the Mergui Archipelago, lies about 320 miles away. Intervening between them and Sumatra to the south lies the Nicobar group, and before Cape Negrais in Burma is reached the little island of Preparis must be passed.

Close to Cape Negrais terminate the Arakan Hills, one of a series of ranges that run down from the Eastern Himalayas; and just south of Acheen Head we have the Gunong Mas, Batu Mukuruh, and other mountains; therefore, looking at a map of the district, it seems difficult to avoid the conclusion that the whole of the islands last enumerated are nothing less than a continuation southward of the Arakan Hills.

But although they form a chain that seems to indicate a past union of Sumatra and Burma, investigation proves that this is far from being the case. For soundings in this part of the ocean show that between the Nicobars and the group of islands adjacent to the north-east point of Sumatra—entering from the open sea to the west, and thence trending north between the Andamans and Malay Peninsula almost as far as the latitude of Narkondam—there runs a long tongue of depressed ocean bed with depths everywhere over 1000 fathoms. This fact, together with the shallowness of the sea-bottom around and connecting the Andamans with the Arakan Yoma Peninsula, suggests the inference that the former were at one time past the termination of a seaward extension from Cape Negrais of the Arakan Yoma Range—a conclusion that is in some degree emphasized by the zoological and botanical conditions common to the two.

The principal islands are, Great and Little Andaman, Rutland and the Labyrinths, the Archipelago, North Sentinel, Interview Island, Landfall Island, and the Cocos, but there are many smaller adjacent, while to the eastward are the off-lying volcanic islets of Narkondam and Barren Island. The total area of the group is 2508 square miles.[84]

Great Andaman—in which may be included Landfall and Rutland Islands, for the whole land mass is so compact and divided up by such narrow shallow straits that it appears to be one single island that has been broken up by subsidence and adjoining volcanic action—is 142 miles long, and 17 miles broad at its widest point.

There are generally stated to be two straits, but as one of them bifurcates, the Great Andaman proper is really cut into four parts.

Austin Strait, which divides North from Middle Andaman, is very narrow and intricate, and not to be traversed by boats at low tide; but the Andaman Strait,—generally 2 to 3 cables wide—which separates South from Middle Andaman at a spot where the hills are lower than elsewhere, although intricate, and possessing a bar at its eastern mouth with a depth of 9 or 10 feet at low water, has depths from 10 to 14 fathoms throughout the narrower part, and nowhere less than 3 fathoms at low water. The stream is never strong, and the R.I.M.S. Investigator passed through three times while surveying the islands in 1888.

Homfray Strait cuts off Báratáng Island from Middle Andaman, and joins the Andaman at its western mouth. It is intricate and rocky, but has good depths, except at the eastern entrance, where there is a broad bar of 8 feet. The tidal stream is weak, and the narrowest part is 60 yards across.

The surface of Great Andaman is extremely irregular, and a central range of mountains runs from north to south, with an escarped face on the east, and a sloping declivity on the west, where marshy localities abound.

The highest point is Saddle Hill (2400 feet) in North Andaman: Mount Harriet (1200 feet) stands on the north shore of Port Blair; and Ford's Peak, in Rutland Island, rises 1400 feet; while there are half a dozen unnamed summits with heights between 1000 feet and 1700 feet.

Narkondam rises 2330 feet, from an oval-shaped base whose greatest diameter is 2 miles, and the crater walls of Barren Island, 2 square miles in area, attain an elevation of 1158 feet.

Little Andaman, some 25 miles south of Rutland, 23 miles long and 17 miles wide, with an area of about 220 square miles, is, on the contrary, level throughout, and gradually rises to a height of 600 feet in the centre. None of the other islands save Rutland attain this elevation.

Owing to its shape and conformation, there are no rivers and but few streams on Great Andaman, and during the dry season—January to April—there is some scarcity of water. Several creeks, however, are of sufficient depth to allow passage of boats for some distance into the interior. In the South Andaman the greater part of the drainage runs into the creeks, which ultimately leads off to the eastern shore, and in the North and Middle Andaman the bulk of the drainage seems to flow through gaps in the eastern range.

Little Andaman is swampy in many parts, and possesses a few small creeks.

On the western side, in which direction Great Andaman slopes gradually, banks of coral occur at distances of 20 and 25 miles from land. There are three of these, varying in length from 9 to 25 miles, all composed of dead coral and sand, with here and there single bunches of live coral 1 or 2 feet high. The water, which is so clear that on a calm day 8 or 9 fathoms looks like 20 feet, varies in its least depths from 3¾ to 6 fathoms, and, judged from the appearance of the bottom and the absence of reef-building coral, it seems probable that the surface débris of the banks is disturbed by the send of the sea, and that the rollers topple and break on the middle bank in the south-west monsoon, though they may not do so on the others.

This western coast is fully exposed to the south-west monsoon, and is by no means a desirable locality to be in at that season.

Dalrymple Bank, of the same nature, lies adjacent to Little Andaman, on the same side; but Invisible Bank, to the eastward, has depths of 17 to 50 fathoms, with a rock awash in the centre. This is of bluish-grey sandstone, so that the Bank, taking into account its irregular surface and the rapidly-increasing depths around, may be considered a submerged mountain-range, of the same formation as the oldest part of the Andamans—of which, Flat Rock, an isolated peak, rises alone above the sea. All these banks probably formed islands, or part of the Andamans, when the latter stood at a higher elevation than they do to-day.

Throughout the Archipelago the scenery is of exceeding beauty. The picturesquely undulating surface is clad everywhere, save where artificial clearings have been made, with the most luxuriant jungle, for, situated within the tropics, with a fertile soil, and a climate that for two-thirds of the year is somewhat moist, the islands are covered from hill-top to sea-beach with an unbroken mantle of dense vegetation, rendered almost impenetrable by cane-brakes and undergrowth of rattans and other creepers. All along the shores are either stretches of yellow sand or brilliant green mangroves, and the seas round the islands are of the clearest water imaginable.

The coast-line is everywhere deeply indented, and affords a number—most unusual for such a small group—of deep-water harbours and other anchorages, where complete shelter can be found for large ships in all weathers and seasons. The most known and the best—although Port Cornwallis is nearly as good, and has the advantage of being some twelve hours' steaming nearer to Calcutta and Rangoon—is Port Blair, where the Settlement has been placed; but on the same coast of Great Andaman are many others, the more important being, Macpherson's Straits, Shoal Bay, Port Meadows, Colebrooke Passage, and Stewart's Sound. On the west coast are situated, Port Andaman, Kwang-tung Harbour, Ports Campbell and Mouat, while in the Archipelago perfect anchorage is to be found either in Outram Harbour or in Charka-Juru,[85] Kwang-tung Strait, or Tadma-Juru.

These are well distributed all along the coasts, and were the Andamans situated in some position of greater political or commercial importance, they would form an invaluable possession for this reason. As it is, the islands are exploited merely as a convict establishment—an Indian Botany Bay—and the only industry of any magnitude appertaining to them is that of timber, for which indeed the harbours are very convenient, as the forests worked are all in the neighbourhood of the seashore, or are so placed that after the trees are felled the logs can be hauled by elephants to the many creeks, and floated down to where the vessels engaged in the business are anchored.

The geographical conditions, and more especially the Tertiary sandstone of which the large area of the islands consists, point to a former connection with Arakan, and, in accordance with these indications, it is found that the bulk of the flora is Burmese; but the forest trees are finer, being very lofty and straight, while not a few purely Malayan species find their northern limit in the Andamans. The flora is not related to that of Hindustan and India proper—a coincidence which can be partly explained by the insular climate and difference of soil.

The forests produce valuable woods, which can be used for many trade purposes—furniture; ship, boat and house building; railway carriages and sleepers; paving blocks, boxes, gun-carriages and stocks, pianos, etc.; and as profitable minor products, there are canes for furniture, rattans for walking-sticks, and gurjan oil. Some of the woods can be obtained in extremely large quantities; all possibly in sufficiency for any trade that may arise with the islands.

Palms abound; the banian and padouk, that resembles mahogany; marble-wood, of a black, mottled appearance; satin-wood; and the iron tree, which turns the edge of an axe, are all found in the forests, in beautiful confusion with cotton-trees, screw-pines, and arborescent euphorbias, and with large clumps of bamboos, 30 and 40 feet high; while all round the coasts, mangroves, the most satisfactory of firewoods, give shelter to lovely orchids.

A very conspicuous feature of the forests is the distribution (apart from the strictly littoral vegetation) into evergreen forest, very full of large gurjan trees (Dipterocarpeæ), and a leaf-shedding forest, containing a large proportion of padouk (Pterocarpus dalbergioides), or into a mixture of these two types.

The great peculiarity of the Andaman flora is that, with the exception of the Cocos Islands, which are covered with them, and thence indeed derive their name, no coconut palms naturally propagated are found in the Archipelago.[86] This is the more strange when it is remembered that all the shores of the Bengal Sea are the home of this tree, and that it simply teems in all the islands of the Nicobar group to the south. During the past thirty-five years advantage has been taken of trips in the Station steamer (or by other means) to plant coconuts at suitable localities[87] along the coasts of Great Andaman, and in recent years at Little Andaman. Great numbers of the nuts were consumed by the aborigines, or by wild pigs, but at several places fruit has been obtainable, for many years past, from trees which escaped destruction.

The climate of the Andamans is equatorial in its uniformity, and greatly resembles that of Tenasserim and Mergui. It is not generally healthy for Europeans, but improves from a hygienic point of view when the forest is cleared from any locality. During the first two months of the dry season strong winds blow from the north-east, causing sickness, and damage to vegetation.

As the islands are exposed to the full force of the south-west monsoon, only four months of fair weather (January to April) can be counted on. December and January are the coolest months, with a mean temperature of 79° and a mean minimum of 75°, while March and April are the warmest, with means of 82° and 83° respectively, and a mean daily maximum of 92° at Port Blair, where throughout the year the mean is 80°, the highest 96°, and the lowest 66°; so that the absolute range is 30°. The mean diurnal range is as much as 14° to 15° in February, March, and April, while between June and September it is only 8° or 9°. The mean temperature throughout the year is about 80°.

The south-west monsoon sets in, accompanied by heavy rain, in the early part of May, but occasionally in April, and lasts till October. March is the driest month, and January and February somewhat less so; but the rainy season lasts from the middle of May till the middle of October, and what is called the moderate season, from October to January. During the latter the average monthly rainfall is about 8 inches; in the rainy season it is 16 inches, with twenty-four rainy days per month; while, on the average, throughout the dry season rain falls on ten days to an extent of 5 inches. At Port Blair the mean humidity is 83 per cent, and the average annual rainfall is 117 inches; but elsewhere it varies from 100 to 155 inches, and there are about 180 wet days in the year.

At the change of the monsoons stormy weather is common, and the neighbourhood of the Andamans is considered to be the birthplace of many of the violent cyclones that occasionally visit the Indian and Burmese coasts of the Bay of Bengal.

The hurricanes generally both originate either between Ceylon or the N.W. portion of the bay, and take various courses, according to the season; but, although situated near the cradle of these storms, the islands are not often traversed by them. In 1864 one is recorded as having visited the locality, and on the night of November 1st, 1891, a violent cyclone passed over Port Blair, which, after travelling north-westward across the bay, did much further damage at the mouth of the Hugli and on the Orissa coast. The maximum velocity of the wind registered at Port Blair on the latter occasion was 111 miles.

Concerning the geology of the islands, it is curious that in the valley of the Irrawadi hot springs and other evidence of volcanic action occur in the same relative position to the Arakan Hills as the two islands of Narkondam and Barren Island occupy in respect to the Andamans. There seems little doubt that these two islands—now respectively extinct and quiescent—belong to the great line of volcanic disturbance that appears in Lower Burma and extends right through Sumatra and Java and the further islands of the Malay Archipelago. Thus it would seem that the Andamans proper, possessed of no volcanoes themselves, lie just outside the line of activity, and, with the Nicobars, occupy the same position with regard to the volcanic track as do the chain of islands west of Sumatra.

Possibly the land now constituting the Andamans first appeared above the sea as an extension of Cape Negrais in the latter part of the Tertiary epoch, at which time occurred the elevation of the Arakan Yoma Hills, and later became isolated by subsidence due to neighbouring volcanic action. As Mr A. R. Wallace points out,[88] the presence of active volcanoes produces subsidence of the surrounding area by the weight of every fresh deposit of materials ejected either in the sea or on land. "The subsidence such materials produce around them will, in time, make a sea if one does not already exist."

The Andamans are of Tertiary formation, and of similar geological structure to the Arakan Yoma Range, the line of elevation connecting them with which is represented by the Alguada Reef and Preparis Island. (The Cocos are an integral part of the Andamans.)

Two sedimentary formations have been distinguished up to the present, the one older, the other newer than the serpentine which intrudes in various localities. They have been called the Port Blair and Archipelago series respectively.[89]

The former, occurring in the south, consists of fine grey sandstone—the characteristic rock, generally non-calcareous—and beds of conglomerate and limestone as subsidiary members; red and green jasper also occur; possibly, however, of an older series than the sandstone in which they crop out. This series seems to be of early Tertiary or later age.

The second series,—Miocene, or even newer—of which the whole of the islands of the Archipelago are formed, consist typically of soft limestone, of coral and shell-sand, soft calcareous sandstones, and soft white clay, with occasionally a band of conglomerate, the pebbles of which seem to have been coral.

The intrusive rocks of the Andamans—similar to those of Manipur and Burma in the north, and the Nicobars to the south, and of later date than the Port Blair series—are of serpentine, often passing into crystalline diorite and gabbro.

The Archipelago series seem to cover a large area of the Andamans, while the Port Blair formation is restricted to the south. The greater part of Rutland Island is formed of serpentine, in which small layers of brown opal have been met with, and which throughout the group seems disseminated with minute crystals of chromium. The Cinques consist of intrusive rocks of serpentine, associated with metamorphosed, indurated, and sedimentary series, mostly calcareous. The rocks of Little Andaman are chiefly lime and sandstone, with a good deal of actual coral rock on the east and south coasts; while occasionally occur outcrops of an igneous nature. At Entry Island and Port Meadows, beds of volcanic origin exist.

In view of the connection with them, the apparent barrenness of the Arakan Hills goes to show that little may be expected from the Andamans in the way of mineral products. Amongst others, however, discoveries have been made of lignite, and the ores of chromium, copper, iron, and sulphur,[90] although not in quantities that would pay commercial development.

It is indubitable, as Kurz has shown,[91] that the Andamans are now undergoing subsidence; but there is ample evidence, in the raised coral beaches that fringe the shores, to show that in the immediate past this has been exceeded by elevation.

The islands have been subjected to earthquakes from time to time. The first recorded took place in August 1868, the next in February 1880, and several slight shocks occurred until December 1881, when a severe earthquake visited the group, made itself felt over a large area of the Bengal Sea and surrounding countries, did much damage to masonry at Port Blair, and raised waves 3 feet high, following each other at fifteen-minute intervals for a period of twenty-one hours. Another slight shock was experienced in February 1882.

The origin of the name Andaman appears to be somewhat doubtful, and it is, of course, a word unknown to the natives. It is, however, very old, and may—as Sir Henry Yule suggests in his Commentary on Marco Polo—perhaps be traced to Ptolemy (who flourished at Alexandria soon after the commencement of the Christian era), and if so, we have by him the first-known reference to the Archipelago, for he mentions a group of islands under the name of Good Fortune, Αγδαιμονος Νηδος, or the like—"The Angdaman Islands"—whence have come the names Agdaman, Angdaman, Andaman. Even at this early date the inhabitants were said to be cannibals.

Doubtless the Chinese knew of the group in comparatively early times, for they have records of the neighbouring Nicobar Islands going back for more than a thousand years.

Skipping a long period, we next come to the ninth century, and there have the accounts of Arab travellers (A.D. 871), which, although of an alarming description, are tolerably correct in some details. "The people eat human flesh quite raw; their complexion is black, their hair frizzled, their countenance and eyes frightful, their feet very large, and almost a cubit in length, and they go quite naked." Those ships, the story goes on to say, which have been set back by contrary winds, and compelled to anchor for the sake of water, commonly lose some of their men on these barbarous coasts, and it is fortunate that the natives have no ships or other vessels, otherwise they would seize and devour all the passengers.[92]

Reference to the Andamans in the thirteenth-century narrative of Marco Polo is very much of a traveller's tale. "Angamanain is a very large island. The people are without a king, and are idolaters, and no better than wild beasts. All the men of this island have heads like dogs, and teeth and eyes likewise; in fact, in face they are just like big mastiff dogs! They have a quantity of spices; but they are a most cruel generation, and eat everybody they can catch not of their own race. They live on flesh, and rice and milk, and have fruits different from ours." Colonel Yule suggests that Angamanain is an Arabic (oblique) dual, indicating "The two Andamans," viz., "The Great and the Little."

In 1563, Master Cæsar Frederike set out on his travels, and returning homeward three years later, passed near the Nicobars on his way from Malacca to Goa. "From Nicobar to Pegu is, as it were, a row or chain of islands, an infinite number, of which many are inhabited with wild people; and they call those islands the Islands of Andemaon, and their people savage or wild, because they eat one another. Also, these islands have war one with another; for they have small barques, and with them they take one another, and eat one another: and if by evil chance any ship be lost on those islands, as many have been, there is not one man of those ships that escapeth uneaten or unslain. These people have not any acquaintance with any other people, neither have they trade with any, but live only on such fruits as the islands yield."[93]

An Italian doctor, John Francis Gemelli, who made a voyage round the world, touched at the Nicobars in 1695, and refers incidentally to the neighbouring group. "Friday the 3rd, we were in sight of the island of Nicobar. The island pays an annual tribute of a certain number of human bodies to the island of Andemaon, to be eaten by the natives of it. These brutes rather than men, use, when they have wounded an enemy, to run greedily to suck the blood that runs. The Dutch are witness of this cruelty of theirs; for they, going with fire-ships to subdue them, and landing 800 men, though they were well entrenched to defend themselves against those wild people, yet they were most of them killed, very few having the good fortune to fly to their ships.... The chief motive of the Dutch to attempt the conquest of that island, was a report spread abroad that there was a well in that island whose water converted iron into gold, and was the true philosopher's stone.... No man in Europe or Asia can give any certain account of it, because those people have no commerce with any nation in the world." This vanished wonder was discovered by an English vessel that was driven to the islands; for a native who was carrying a shell of water accidentally spilt some of the contents on the anchor, and the part so wetted immediately turned into gold! The narrative goes on to say that the unhappy native, who thus by his clumsiness revealed the priceless secret, was immediately killed, not by his countrymen, as might perhaps be expected, but by the strangers! There is no mention of torture; but the well was neither discovered then nor since.[94]

The next historian is an Englishman, for Captain Alexander Hamilton, in his Account of the East Indies,[95] written about 1700, devotes some space to these islands. "The Andamans are surrounded by many dangerous rocks and banks, and they are all inhabited with cannibals, who are so fearless that they will swim off to a boat if she approach near the shore, and attack her with their wooden weapons, notwithstanding the superiority of numbers in the boat and the advantages of missive and defensive arms of iron, steel, and fire."

As an example of this, Hamilton tells of one, Captain Ferguson, whose ship, bound from Malacca to Bengal, in company with another, was driven by a strong current on some rocks, and lost. The second vessel was carried through a channel, and was completely powerless to aid those shipwrecked, "which," says our author, "gave ground to conjecture that they were all devoured by those savage cannibals."

This same chronicler met a native of the Andamans at Acheen in 1694, and says of the incident: "The Andamaners had a yearly custom to come to the Nicobar Islands with a great number of small praus, and kill and take prisoners as many Nicobarians as they could overcome." During one of these raids, however, the long-suffering Nicobarese armed themselves—it does not seem to have been their custom to resist—and, gathering together, gave battle to the invaders, and utterly defeated them; and on this occasion the man under discussion, then a boy of ten or twelve years, who had accompanied his father, was taken prisoner, and, spared on account of his youth, was made a slave.

Some years went by, and he was sold to the Achinese, who, being Mohammedans, taught him their religion; and he remained in Sumatra, until, on the occasion of his master's death, he was manumitted.

He had now become very homesick, and so, obtaining a boat, he set out during the fine season from the islands of Gomus (Pulo Bras) and Pulo-weh. "From here the furthermost of the Nicobars may be seen, and so one island may be seen from another, from the southernmost of those to Chitty-Andeman (Little Andaman), which is southernmost of the Andamans, distant from Acheen about a hundred leagues." Once home, and made much of by his relatives, who recognised him although he had long been considered dead, he acquainted them with his knowledge of God, "and would have persuaded his countrymen to learn of him how to adore God and to obey His laws, but he could make no converts."

After a month or so of the old life, he returned to Acheen with a quantity of quicksilver, which, he said, abounded in some of the Andamans; and thereafter he made several other voyages, always returning with a similar cargo. "Some Mohammedan faquirs would have accompanied him, but he would not suffer them, because, he said, he could not engage for their safety among his countrymen. When I saw him he was in company of a seid, whom I carried as a passenger to Surat, and from whom I had this account of his adventures."

Trustworthy history of the islands now begins; for, at the close of the eighteenth century, the Honourable East India Company sent small expeditions, under Colonel Colebrooke and Captain Blair, to report on the possibilities of the group. Their accounts were so satisfactory, that, in 1789, the latter was sent to establish a penal settlement in what was then called Port Cornwallis—now Port Blair.

All went well with Blair and his colony until 1792, when orders were received from Calcutta to transfer the whole establishment to the harbour in North Andaman, which, in turn, was to be known as Port Cornwallis. The first place of that name was henceforth for a time dubbed Old Harbour.

Colonel Syme, who was sent on a mission to Ava in 1795, visited the establishment on his voyage out, and found there a population of 700, including a company of sepoys. He estimated the aborigines at 2000 to 2500, and gives a very unflattering description of them. They then used rafts of bamboo in addition to canoes.[96]

The new settlement proved so unhealthy, that, after an existence of four years, its abandonment was decided on: the prisoners were transferred to Penang, and the troops returned to Bengal.[97]

For many years now, the group remained untenanted by a foreign element, and its isolation was broken only by the rendezvous at Port Cornwallis, in 1824, of the fleet carrying the army of Sir Archibald Campbell to Rangoon for the first Burmese war; by the murder, while ascertaining the mineral possibilities of the islands, of Dr Heifer, a Russian scientist employed by the H.E.I.C.; and by the simultaneous wrecks in 1844, on Sir John Lawrence Island, of the troopships Runnymede and Briton, which, in a hurricane one inky night, were flung, unknown to each other until morning dawned, right over the reef in among the trees of the jungle. Hardly a life was lost.

Before the Andamans again became the field of Government activity, the Cocos group, which lie 20 miles to the north of Great Andaman, were the scene of an unofficial attempt at colonisation.[98] The first settlers were two men on their way to Australia, who, struck with the beauty of the Great Coco, with its shore covered with innumerable coco palms and other trees, gave up their original plan, and were left there in the early part of 1849. There were no inhabitants; but the islands were frequented during the north-east monsoon by people from Tenasserim and Arakan, who came for the coconuts that were so plentiful. The only animals were rats; but the bays abounded with fish and turtle, and water was obtained by sinking wells in the beach.

In the middle of July, the Flying Fish—the ship that had landed the first settlers—brought a second batch from Moulmein, and the population then consisted of four men, two women, and four children, with a small number of Burmese and a few Lascars.

Some months passed, and the island remained unvisited; and the whole story of that time is one of incompetence, laziness, sickness, and starvation. Stores failed; while food procurable on the island only consisted of turtles, turtles' eggs, fish, and coconuts. The settlers were, besides, suffering from dysentery, fever, and other complaints, brought on by an unaccustomed mode of life, in dwellings that were mere hovels, and subjection to the inclemency of the rainy season. Their spirits became depressed, and despair succeeding discontent, they were more like an unfortunate shipwrecked party than immigrants who had landed to make a new home. Several of the colonists fell a prey to despondency, that in some cases amounted almost to mental derangement. Some of them died, and those who were rescued from that fate were brought away from the island in an utter state of destitution, emaciated in body and almost silly in intellect.

On October 29 the remaining settlers—of whom seven had died—were taken off, and reconveyed to Moulmein by the Company's ship Proserpine.[99]

In 1855, measures were proposed at Calcutta—for the Andamans were then an appanage of the East India Company—for the repression of the outrages practised by the Andamanese on those crews shipwrecked on their shores, and two years later—on the conclusion of the Mutiny—it was determined that a penal settlement should once more be established in the group; thus combining a headquarters, from whence the pacification of the aborigines might be undertaken, with an abode of punishment for such mutineers and others whose offences had not merited the death penalty.

It was at this date that Dr F. J. Mouat, who has given an account of his visit in Adventures and Researches among the Andaman Islanders, was sent, as head of a Commission, to examine the islands and select a suitable locality for the establishment of a penal settlement. The Commission spent about three weeks steaming about the coasts of the Archipelago, and finally decided on Old Harbour, to which they gave the name of Port Blair, in honour of its former resident.

A rather amusing incident occurred during the visit:—A nervous and imaginative member of an exploring party brought news of the proximity of a native village and a lurking body of aborigines. The doctor, without waiting for further information, or to be attacked, addressed his followers in a warlike speech, and gave the order to charge, which the company forthwith did with such vigour that two fiery spirits were knocked senseless by contact with burnt tree-stumps—a number of which the party had mistaken for natives. The expedition had, however, several serious conflicts with the aborigines, in which a few of the latter were killed.

On return of the Commission to Calcutta their advice was soon acted on, and the late General (then Captain) H. Man was sent to Port Blair to formally re-annex the Andamans and put matters in train, and following him a body of convicts arrived in charge of Dr J. P. Walker, who was appointed first Superintendent.

For some years the death-rate was excessive (averaging 18 per cent.), owing to the necessity of pushing forward clearing and building operations, and it was not until 1868, soon after the appointment of Colonel Man as Superintendent, that it fell to a more normal level (average for ten years, 2.7 per cent.).

The pacification of the natives, by means of Homes, a school, and visits paid to the tribes by the Station gunboat, went steadily on, until there now remain but two or three groups of Andamanese from whom any hostility is to be feared.

In 1872-3 the Andamans were formed in a Commissionership with the Nicobars, and a year later general attention was drawn to them by the death of Lord Mayo, Viceroy of India, at the hands of a convict.

The Andaman Islands are inhabited by people of pure Negrito blood, members of perhaps the most ancient race remaining on the earth, and standing closest to the primitive human type.