A momentary glance of a pitta gave for a few days (until we obtained a series of specimens) a fresh zest to collecting; this bird also was hitherto unrecorded from the locality, and proved to be a new species, although closely resembling P. cucullata.
A short distance from the shore, some immense banian trees grew so high that the pigeons and parrots which swarmed in their branches for the fruit were often completely beyond reach of the gun. The trees possessed, moreover, some wonderful aëreal roots (70 feet high), and, standing on the edge of an open space within the jungle, offered an opportunity for photography too good to be passed by. While the plate was being exposed—an operation of some minutes—a diminutive pig, bearing a striking resemblance to the Andaman species, trotted out from the surrounding foliage and leisurely inspected the camera. It was the first of the kind we had seen, and I had to reproach myself with leaving my gun at the boat.
FIG TREE WITH AËREAL ROOTS, LITTLE NICOBAR.
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]