Odd people

by Mayne Reid

But longer still, and to a far greater extent, have their human inhabitants perplexed the ethnologist; and here we arrive at the true peculiarity of the Andaman Islands,—that is to say, the people who inhabit them. With perhaps no exception, these people are the most truly savage of any on the face of the globe; and this has been their character from the earliest times: for they have been known to the ancients as far back as the time of Ptolemy. Ptolemy mentions them under the title of anthropophagi (man-eaters); and the Arabs of the ninth century, who navigated the Indian Ocean, have given a similar account of them. Marco Polo adopts this statement, and what is still more surprising, one of the most noted ethnologists of our own time—Dr Latham—has given way to a like credulity, and puts the poor Andamaners down as “pagan cannibals.” It is an error: they are not cannibals in any sense of the word; and if they have ever eaten human flesh,—of which there is no proof,—it has been when impelled by famine. Under like circumstances, some of every nation on earth have done the same,—Englishmen, Germans, Frenchmen, Americans,—of late years frequently,—in the mountains of New Mexico and California.

The charge of cannibalism against these miserable beings rests on no other foundation than the allegations of Chinese sailors, and the vague statements of Ptolemy and the Arabs above mentioned.

The Chinese have occasion now and then to visit the Andaman Islands in their junks, to collect the edible nests of the swallow (hirundo esculenta),—which birds have extensive breeding-places on the cliffs that overhang the coast of the Great Andaman. The “trepang,” or sea-slug, is also found in large quantities upon the rocks near the shore; and this is equally an object of commerce, and esteemed an article of the greatest luxury, among the mandarins, and other rich celestials who can afford to indulge in it.

Now and then, a junk has been wrecked among these rocks; and its miserable crew have fallen a victim to the hostility of the natives: just as they might have done on more civilised coasts, where no cannibalism was ever suspected to exist. Crews of junks have been totally destroyed,—murdered, if you please,—but it would not be difficult to show, that this was done more from motives of revenge than from a mere sanguinary instinct or disposition; but there is no proof whatever of, even a single case, of true cannibalism. Indeed there are strong reasons for our disbelief in this horrid custom,—so far as regards the poor savages of the Andamans. An incident, that seems to give a flat contradiction to it, occurred during the occupancy of the island by the East-India Company in the year 1793; and other proofs of non-cannibalism have been obtained at a still more recent period, to which we shall presently allude.

The incident of 1793 was as follows: A party of fishers belonging to the settlement enticed an Andaman woman to come near, by holding out presents of food. The woman was made captive by these treacherous men; who, instead of relieving her hunger, proceeded to behave to her in the most brutal and unfeeling manner. The cries of the poor creature brought a numerous troop of her people to the spot; who, rushing out of the thickets from every side, collected around the fishermen; and, having attacked them with spears and arrows, succeeded in killing two of their number. The rest with difficulty escaped to the settlement; and, having obtained assistance, a large party set out to search for the bodies of their companions. There was but little expectation that these would be recovered: as all were under the belief that the savages must have carried them away for the purpose of making a cannibal feast upon them. There had been ample time for the removing of them: since the scene of the struggle was at a considerable distance from the fort.

The searchers, therefore, were somewhat astonished at finding both bodies on the spot where they had fallen, and the enemy entirely gone from the ground! The bodies were disfigured in the most shocking manner. The flesh was pierced in every part,—by spears, no doubt,—and the bones had been pounded with heavy stones, until they were mashed into fragments; but not a bit of flesh was removed, not even an arm or limb had been severed!

The other instance to which we have promised to allude occurred at a much more recent period,—so late, in fact, as the period of the King of Delhi’s imprisonment. It will be fresh in the memory of my readers, that his Hindoo majesty was carried to the island of Great Andaman, along with a number of “Sepoy” rebels, who had been taken prisoners during the late Indian revolt. The convict settlement was restored, especially for this purpose; and a detachment of “East-India Company’s troops” was sent along with the rebel sepoys to guard them. It was supposed that the troops would have great difficulty in the performance of their duty: since the number of their prisoners was larger than could be fairly looked after; and, it was well-known, that, if a prisoner could once get clear of the walls of the fort, it would be altogether idle to pursue him. The chase after a fugitive through the tangled forests of the Andamans would be emphatically a “wild-goose” chase; and there would be ten chances to one against his being recaptured.

Such, in reality, did it appear, for the first week or two, after the settlement was re-established. Numerous prisoners escaped into the woods, and as it was deemed idle to follow them, they were given up as “lost birds.”

In the end, however, it proved that they were not all lost,—though some of them were. After a week or two had expired, they began to straggle back to the fort, and voluntarily deliver themselves up to their old guards,—now one, now another, or two or three at a time,—but all of them in the most forlorn and deplorable condition. They had enjoyed a little, liberty on the Andaman isles; but a taste of it had proved sufficient to satisfy them that captivity in a well-rationed guard-house was even preferable to freedom with a hungry stomach, added to the risk which they ran every hour of the day of being impaled upon the spears of the savages. Many of them actually met with this fate; and others only escaped half dead from the hostile treatment they had received at the hands of the islanders. There was no account, however, that any of them had been eaten,—no evidence that their implacable enemies were cannibals.

Such are a few arguments that seem to controvert the accusation of Ptolemy and the two Arab merchants,—in whose travels the statement is found, and afterwards copied by the famous Marco Polo. Probably the Arabs obtained their idea from Ptolemy, Marco Polo from the Arabs, and Dr Latham from Marco Polo. Indeed, it is by no means certain that Ptolemy meant the Andaman Islands by his Islae bonae Fortunae, or “Good-luck Isles,”—certainly a most inappropriate appellation. He may have referred to Sumatra and its Battas,—who are cannibals beyond a doubt. And, after all, what could Ptolemy know about the matter except from vague report, or, more likely still, more vague speculation,—a process of reasoning practised in Ptolemy’s time, just as at the present day. We are too ready to adopt the errors of the ancient writers,—as if men were more infallible then than they are now; and, on the other hand, we are equally prone to incredulity,—often rejecting their testimony when it would conduct to truth.