In front of one house was a solitary example of kanaia, set up on land, however, instead of in the water: possibly the south-west monsoon blows too strongly on this coast for their general erection. The name of this village is Ol-kolo-kwák.
To reach land on the southern side of the bay we had to cross a broad reef of coral and coral sand, thickly overgrown with grass and corallines, and dotted with various species of holothurians. The forest on shore came right down to the water; and once inside it, we found ourselves in very truth in the home of the megapode.
No sooner were we under the trees than we immediately saw the birds—for the jungle is very open—running about, singly or in parties of twos or threes. From all round came their cries, perhaps best described as loud, ringing calls ending in a rapid cackle, to the sound of which the following syllables bear some resemblance—"ūrr-rak, ūrr-rak, ur-r-rak, rak, rak, rak, rak!" The megapode hardly ever takes to flight when startled, but runs quickly away among the bushes; the only occasion on which I ever saw these birds use their wings was when once I suddenly walked into a party of four, scratching at the foot of a large tree. Two ran off, but the others rose clumsily in the air, and after flying a short distance, attempted to settle on a low branch, on which they alighted very awkwardly, and immediately lost their balance and fell off. The feet, although very large and strong, are not adapted for grasping, and the tail is far too short to be of any use as a balance.
Several birds seem to occur somewhat locally: it was on this side of the bay only that we obtained Spilornis minimus, while the little forest hawk seemed confined to the northern shore.
We were unable to reach the hills in the centre of the island from the harbour, as the swamp at its head stretches out long arms to right and left, cutting off the land bordering the coast from the interior.
Kachal is the most northerly of the Nicobars in which monkeys are present, and, taking into account the scarcity of other mammalian fauna and the absence of this genus from the Andamans, it seems certain that they have been introduced. Their non-occurrence in Tilanchong—an island eminently suited to their requirements—goes to bear out this statement; for, so far as we know, it has never been permanently inhabited, and thus, unlike the other islands, offers no reason for monkeys being brought there.
The people of Ol-kolo-kwák told us these animals were very numerous in the jungle round the village, but several days passed before we met with them. On the first occasion, we each obtained a specimen from the same herd. They turned out to be macaques—one was a fine old male, weighing 21 lbs., an unusually large size—with fur so dark as to be almost black, but greyish-white on the under parts. Having regard to the colour, the species has since been named Macacus umbrosus.
We saw them only once again, and then I found myself within a few yards of an immense male who was on the ground. My cartridge missed fire, and, immediately the click of the falling hammer caught his ear, he bolted. This proved to be our last chance of obtaining another example from Kachal. That one always loses the best specimens, is proverbial: this monkey was the biggest macaque I had ever seen.
Such mishaps during one's earlier opportunities are always most vexatious; later we found monkeys very numerous in the other islands.
On 22nd February a Chinese junk passed northward, and the same day another arrived, and anchored in the harbour; that night there was carousal in the village and the noise of much singing.