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.