After leaving Teressa, we encountered fresh breezes and squally weather until we anchored in darkness near the shore of Kachal. At daybreak next morning we weighed, and again started—with scarce a breath of wind—for the bay on the west coast where we intended to stay.
With Kachal we returned again to the tropical island of common type in these seas, for it is entirely jungle-covered, with no traces of grass-land visible.
On account of their geological structure, the Nicobars fall botanically into two divisions—the northern islands, including perhaps Nankauri, are largely covered with grass, with coco palms and pandani growing in the interior; while the southern group, consisting of Kachal, with Great and Little Nicobar, are entirely forest-covered. Tilanchong, although belonging to the others by position, should nevertheless be classed with the latter islands.
Several canoes from a small village on the north-west coast came off to inspect the schooner as we slowly drifted along. Their occupants seemed less prepossessing than those people we had just left, for they looked somewhat dirty in person and were dressed in discarded old clothes, or the cheap cottons and loose trousers supplied by the Chinese. The Nicobarese are not so partial to water as the Malays, and they by no means improve matters by unnecessarily clothing their bodies with cast-off garments and once gaudy cottons, which they never, or rarely, dream of washing.
We reached West Bay by midday, and anchored in 2½ fathoms. A junk was lying farther in, the fourth we had seen. From the southern shore, coral-reefs project for some distance, both into the bay and seaward, and at low tide the swell breaks upon them heavily; while, at the same time, two rocks project above water inside the harbour, near the north beach, and must be borne in mind when choosing an anchorage. Fifteen or sixteen houses, surrounded by coconuts, are scattered along half a mile of beach, and at its head the bay narrows and then extends inland among mangroves and their attendant swamps.
Our first expedition was up the bay, which we found opened out into a shallow lagoon nowhere more than 2 or 3 feet deep. The dinghy grounded often, and we were unable to reach firm land anywhere, so thick was the belt of mangroves. Rowing up some of the small creeks winding among them, we saw several flocks of herons (Sumatranus javanica), while sandpipers, curlew and whimbrel were common on the mud-banks, and pigeons and parrots in the taller trees.
In several places occur those stretches of dead mangroves only seen when the trees are large, and which are infallible evidence of the growth of land; for when such trees first took root, a certain amount of salt water must have been present, while, when they are found dead, the roots are nearly always silted up with solid matter, which first causes the water to become stagnant, and finally replaces it. Having served their purpose, they die, and stand white and gaunt until brought down by the wind or gradual decay.
At sunset, large flocks of whimbrel, travelling seaward down the mouth of the lagoon, afforded some fair shooting, for they were very wild, and flew past us at an amazing pace as we fired at them from the boat hidden in the mangroves.
On the northern side of the bay, where much of our collecting was done, we found, behind the houses, a number of paths leading among coconut and pandanus palms, tangled grass, and bushes. Beyond this scrub, in which gaudy-leaved crotons were not uncommon,[63] was the jungle, fairly open, but without any large trees.
The land in the neighbourhood of this coast, and probably as far as the hills inland and on the eastern side, which rise 800 feet, is of very recent formation, and consists of almost undecayed coral débris mixed with sand and vegetable loam, a compound scarcely sufficiently fertile to support a heavy forest at present.