Читать книгу In the Andamans and Nicobars - C. Boden Kloss - Страница 22

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."