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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
"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."
"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