Chapter XVII: The Coral Island of Sikayana (3)

We found ourselves compelled to retrace our steps by the same break-neck path by which we had ascended the peak. On the shore we encountered some of the natives, whose curiosity had got the better of their apprehensions, and who now slunk out of the forest, to discover what was our peculiar object in landing on the island. Among their number was a native doctor, and Eewee exorciser; he was however in no way distinguishable from the rest of his brethren, unless by the inordinate length of his hair, which flowed down far below his shoulders. One of the members of the Commission, desirous of getting at the treatment pursued by these sly knaves when they go to work with their poor credulous dupes of patients, promised this dusky disciple of AEsculapius a present, if he would cure him by his own method, and affected to have an intolerably severe pain in the left arm. The Manluena displayed his treatment with a vengeance; he laid hold of the supposed sufferer by the arm, which he pinched and punched, till there was not a spot that had not received his attentions, while during the entire process he now screamed aloud, now whistled, now blew vigorously upon the bare skin, as though endeavouring to expel the Evil Spirit. According to the belief of these poor people, every bodily pain is nothing other than a demon magically introduced into the system through the evil influence of an Eewee. The Manluena commenced to pinch the arm from above, performing this anything but agreeable manipulation with his hands lubricated with cocoa-nut oil, from above downwards, the object being to drive out the Eewee from the arm by the finger points! Although the doctor had not used his patient very tenderly, he nevertheless in the opinion of the natives had not appeared to put forth all his powers, and had made use of far fewer noises and contortions than had been usual with him when one of themselves was undergoing treatment. Moreover his original confidence seemed to fail him in his anxiety lest some mischance should befall him in case this attempt at a cure should miscarry, and accordingly he speedily made off, after he had been complimented with a few threepenny bits for his trouble, nor did he again make his appearance the whole day.

Some of the members of the Expedition had resolved to ramble quite round the island; the circumference of which is little if at all more than eight English miles. At early morning they had started with their guns and botanical boxes on their shoulders full of the most buoyant expectation of securing an ample store of curiosities, starting from the east coast and thence to the north side of the island; and towards sunset they made their appearance at the south side, foot-sore and nearly exhausted. In the ardour of the chase and of collecting "specimens," they had plunged so deep into the forest, thereby losing all trace of the direction by which they had entered, that as the sun was already beginning to descend, they had no alternative but to hew a path with their hatchets through the thickest of the forest, so as to reach the beach once more. At times hanging by creepers, at others swimming at various spots where the rocks dipped perpendicularly into the sea, they at length arrived at the spot where we were re-embarking, hungry, thirsty, and in a state of such extreme exhaustion that we at first were really apprehensive for their lives. Singularly enough these severe hardships were followed by no evil consequences to any one of the party, though the recollection of them will surely not fade out of their memory for the rest of their lives.

The 21st March, being a Sunday, was duly observed, and was kept as a much-needed day of rest, no boat going to shore. Towards noon a pretty smart shower of rain fell, the first for six months. Several of the natives came off in their canoes, and brought fowls, eggs, cocoa-nuts, and various other fruits, as also monkeys and parrots. Rupees, English shillings and sixpences, were evidently not unknown to them, as they greatly preferred these in exchange to mere toys and showy articles.

On the 22nd we made an excursion to a bay on the island of Great Nicobar or Sambelong. All that portion of the coast lying opposite our anchorage was quite uninhabited, evidently in consequence of the entire absence at this point of the cocoa-palm, whereas on the west coast there are several good-sized villages. Unfortunately, however, these lay at far too great a distance from the frigate to permit of an excursion being made thither. As our boat, after an hour's rowing, approached the little bay, we perceived at the mouth of a small creek the singular spectacle of a dead mangrove forest. Some great storm had apparently thrown up a sand-drive here, so as to cut off the supply of sea-water even at full tide. As the mangrove only flourishes in salt or brackish water, it had thus been deprived of its vital element, and the trees had accordingly perished in the fresh water. But the lofty stems still stood, withered and blighted, a ghastly garden of death amidst delicious green peaks covered with forest. As the sun rose, a white vapour lay like a winding-sheet over the dead swamp: one felt the uncomfortable sensation of being in a place where miasmata were poisoning the air, while the soil was generating death. The rigid skeletons of these trees recall to the recollection of the stranger, who stands marvelling at the all-powerful energies of Nature to create and destroy in these regions, how many corpses of his fellow-Europeans are mouldering beneath the damp soil of this island! Fortunately the river has once more broken through the bar, and given access to the sea-water, so that beneath the dead forest a fresh green vegetation was fast springing up.

The crew of a Malay prahu from Penang had selected this dull spot for a regular settlement, in order to collect ripe cocoa-nuts, and Trepang, the edible sea-slug (_Holothuria_) already mentioned, the latter for the Chinese market. These people occupied a large wooden shed, and were provisioned for a somewhat long stay. Except this shed there was not one single hut here, all around being nothing but dense forest and swamp; but some natives of the island of Kondul came over in their canoes to trade hens and eggs with us. The Malay vessels which visit these islands almost all come hither from Penang, about the beginning of the N.E. monsoon, and remain during the whole of the dry season, so as to take in a full cargo of the various natural produce of the island. They bring for barter fine Chinese tobacco, calico, knives, axes, hatchets, cutlasses, clothes, and black round hats. In former years they also imported the betel shrub into Great Nicobar for propagation; where, in fact, it has been planted, and has since then increased to such an extent that its importation is no longer remunerative. With the commencement of the S.W. monsoons and the rainy season, the Malay traders with their profitable cargoes make their way back to Penang, and the other places along the coast of the peninsula of Malacca. Thanks to the presence of these people, the members of the Expedition were enabled to compare the Nicobar idiom with that of the Malays, and could thus ascertain the exceeding discrepancies between these two languages.[15] These merchants ordinarily bring with them a few individuals who have a slight knowledge of the Nicobar language, as the Malay tongue is not understood anywhere in this archipelago.

One of the Malay seamen, named Tschingi, from Penang, whose caste was indicated by the long stripes of a bluish green colour painted upon his dark brown forehead, peculiar to the Hindu god Siva, told us that he recollected being employed as a boy in the service of Pastor Rosen on the island of Kamorta, with whom he remained till his return to Europe. He spoke with much admiration of that estimable and thoroughly deserving gentleman, and remarked that many Chinese and other settlers had accompanied him to Kamorta, all of whom speedily succumbed to the fever.

The native known as John Bull, who had followed us hither from Pulo Milu, made his appearance at the bay, accompanied by some of his kindred, and brought us some provisions. He seemed firmly to believe that in the interior of the island of Sambelong, in its southern part, there existed some wild inhabitants of a different race, Baju-oal-Tschua (or junglemen, as he called them), who lived entirely in the woods, in small huts erected upon the banks of the streams, and were so timid that they took to flight so soon as any one endeavoured to approach them. He also told us that in the S. and S.W. sides of Sambelong there were eleven villages: viz. Hinkoata, Changanhei, Hinhaha, Haengangloeh, Kanalla, Taeingha, Dayak, Kanchingtong, Dagoak, Hinlawua, and Kalemma.

In the course of the day, not only was a highly successful onslaught made on the denizens of the woodland, but even the fishes in bay were not exempted from our attentions;--a net, which was flung over the side and retained there barely half an hour, being hauled ashore with upwards of a hundred weight of small fish. Of this the entire ship's company partook, and sufficient was left over for the next day. Our quarry in the swamps and forest consisted of snipes, of a splendidly plumed Maina bird (_Gracula Indica_), eagles, and apes; unfortunately a number of the animals shot were lost by their retreating into the thicket, where they could not be recovered.

On the morning of the 23rd of March the frigate again made sail and steered along the west coast of Great Nicobar, while two boats' crews were despatched with the requisite instruments to examine this quite unexplored coast. This plan, however, proved only half successful. The tremendous surf, into which the long swell setting in from the S.W. is broken hereabouts, hurled the larger boat upon the beach with such violence that it was capsized, by which a great portion of her freight was utterly lost, and her crew could only escape to shore by swimming. The smaller, or jolly-boat, returned to the ship with two of her crew to fetch assistance for these woe-begone wights. One of the latter, who coolly spoke of the accident as a "_piccola disgrazietta_,"[16] with the same breath informed us that almost all the instruments, note-books, and implements of the chase which had been taken on board, were irretrievably gone. Another quarter-boat was despatched to bring off our shipwrecked companions, who meanwhile remained on the shore in anything but enviable plight, soaked to the skin, hungry and thirsty, and busily employed in fishing up some few of the articles that had been overturned into the water. At last both boats got safely back in company about midnight, but under such circumstances that it was out of the question to think of prosecuting the examination that had been commenced. We now lay a course for the southern bay of Great Nicobar, where, shortly after 9 P.M. of the 24th March, we cast anchor near the little stream called "Galatea" by the Danish expedition. The midshipman intrusted with the commission of selecting the most suitable spot to disembark, returned after several hours' absence, with the little consolatory intelligence, that along the entire reach of coast which he had examined, there was but one solitary spot at which it was possible to land without danger from a boat of European construction. In the course of the day we received numbers of natives on board; among the rest, one man still young, with immense spectacles, which undoubtedly were worn much more for personal adornment than for use. They brought off for sale a few apes, parrots, hens, swine, cocoa-nuts, as also some rosin, tortoise-shell, amber, and a few large eggs of a species of wood-pigeon, called by the natives Mekeni, of which unfortunately we did not succeed in seeing a single specimen, despite our utmost exertions.

The following morning, 26th March, amid occasional premonitory symptoms of the approach of the rainy season, the naturalists and some officers endeavoured to effect a landing at a place where alone it seemed possible for the broad, clumsy boats of our western waters. In this we succeeded. Again we were able, although drenched to the skin, to set foot on Nicobar soil. It was for the last time we did so. Not a single vestige could be discerned along the beach of any human habitations:--all was thick tropical forest, fringed with enormous _Barringtoni[oe] Gigante[oe]_, which in all their primeval weirdness flung their branches over the water, interlaced in wild confusion. After half an hour's wandering along the hot beach, we came unexpectedly, at a point somewhat south of our point of disembarkation, upon a couple of wretched disconsolate-looking huts. Not a human being was visible,--only a pair of hens and a pig, which were parading about untended; the bamboo poles, which usually figure in front of the native huts, had been carried away. However, in their absence it did not cost us much trouble to penetrate into the interior. A few weapons of war or the chase, a number of hollowed-out perfumed cocoa-nut shells suspended above the fire-place, a pair of elegantly plaited baskets, a boat's sail made of pandanus leaves, some straw mats, and a couple of marvellously finished figures, formed the very miscellaneous inventory of this Nicobar household. The figures (cut in wood) and a very neatly-executed basket attracted to themselves our special attention as interesting specimens of the industry and taste of the natives of Nicobar. We could not resist possessing ourselves of these, at the same time leaving in recompense a quantity of shining six-penny pieces, fully twenty times the utmost possible value of what had been taken away, depositing them in one of the baskets which was suspended in a conspicuous position in the middle of the hut.

Adjoining this hamlet was a forest of cocoa-palms. We penetrated into it, and suddenly found ourselves, to our great astonishment, on the track of a well-worn footpath, which was probably, with the exception of the paths in Great Nicobar and Pulo Milu, in better condition than any other we had hitherto encountered in the Nicobar Islands. What more natural than to suppose that a path so well worn must necessarily lead to an important settlement? It passed first through an extensive and splendid palm-plantation, and afterwards through a very beautiful clump of leafy trees, fringing a little brook, whose channel, it being then the end of the dry season, was quite dried up. Frequently we were obliged to clamber over steep blocks of rock, with footsteps hewn in them by the hand of man, for facilitating the passage, and at last, after a scramble of several hours, highly interesting, but exceedingly fatiguing, we reached a cleared spot on the sea-beach, but without being able to discern the remotest trace of any human habitations. On the contrary, it seemed to admit of no doubt that this path, as also some spots that had been cleared, were nothing but the preparations for an intended settlement, which can only be successfully carried out here where the cocoa-palm and screw-pine have first struck root. Some of the sailors, who accompanied us as porters and escort, went forward as far as the extreme point of the bay, but there also they found no trace of any human abode. After a brief rest we returned by the same track, to the spot at which we had disembarked, where we were joined by some of the officers, who, more fortunate than ourselves, had encountered some of the natives, and had even seen them in their dwellings. They spoke of the interiors of the huts they visited as being quite as wretched as those on the other islands, only the inhabitants did not seem so shy or timorous. Far from this, they had regaled our lucky companions with palm-wine, and had accompanied them till they fell in with us. With this visit ended the thirty-second day of our stay in the Nicobar Archipelago, only one half of that period having been spent on land, the rest having been occupied in beating about against unfavourable winds.

Before, however, we take our departure from this most interesting group of islands, _en route_ for the Sunda Islands and China, we shall be excused for briefly recapitulating the main results of our observations and investigations, while referring the reader for a more detailed specification of our labours to the various special divisions yet to appear.

The Nicobar Islands, situated right in the most important highway of commerce, which is destined to acquire yet greater importance, so soon as the projected opening of the Suez Canal has been carried out, and extending in their general direction from S.S.E. to N.N.W., seem like an extension of the main central mountain-chain of Sumatra, which is prolonged yet further to the northward through the Andaman group, and in its crescent-shaped arrangement, with the convexity towards the westward, corresponds with Cape Negrais in the peninsula of Malacca. If from this Archipelago, as a centre, a circle be described of about 1200 nautical miles of radius, it will include the most important commercial cities of India, as well as Ceylon, the majority of the Sunda Islands, and Cochin China. The winds usually prevalent here greatly facilitate the passage of vessels from the adjoining islands and coasts of _terra firma_, and proportionately enhance the importance of this Archipelago.

With but few exceptions, the shores of the whole group of islands consist of coral sand, or are fringed with coral banks, which latter extend seaward to a depth of thirty fathoms. In like manner almost all the bays seem to be edged with coral reefs, if indeed they are not actually studded with them. The promontories frequently present cliffs both above and below the level of the ocean, extending a couple of miles into the sea, which, what with the occasional rapid currents and light breezes, are not always very easily weathered. The prevailing winds are the two monsoons, the N.E. in the months of November, December, January, February, and March, the S.W. in May, June, July, August, and September. During the months of April and October, there are variable winds and calms, extending more or less into the adjoining months. The currents vary in direction with the passages between the islands, and depend upon the ebb and flow of the tide, varying in force and direction with the tidal phenomena. Ordinarily these make themselves felt during the making of the tide from S.W. to N.E., and in a contrary direction during the ebb.

Due south of Kar-Nicobar, we found while lying at anchor a current running 3-1/2 miles an hour, two days after the full moon; north of Little Nicobar, near the small island of Treis, where the current compelled us to anchor, its velocity, as we experienced two days after new moon, is as high as 4-1/2 miles an hour. These observations refer to a period when the velocity of the current was at its maximum. In light winds, and when near the coast, one must always let go the anchor, or at least lay out a kedge, the latter however being barely sufficient at several spots immediately after the full or the new moon. According to observations made during five days about the period of full moon, the course of tide at Kar-Nicobar may be assumed at 9h. 40m., and the difference in height between ebb and flood at five feet.

In these waters, and in a still more marked degree in the latitude of Sumatra, occurs a belt within which the wave-currents form what is known to English navigators as "The Ripples." The sea here is ranged zone-fashion, so to speak, as though in fact in a state of ebullition, and makes a considerable noise, yet without there being anything to indicate an increased strength of current; since, on the contrary, we found when reaching these tracts, that the velocity of current was if anything rather diminished. We conceive this phenomenon may be attributed to the agitation caused by partial tidal currents, crossing each others' course, and occasionally even running counter to each other, as also to certain special conditions of ocean temperature at varying depths. The changes of the tides at points of the coast, proportionally speaking so near each other, are so widely different in point of time, and the height reached by the waves is so little uniform, that any such phenomenon as the above must naturally make itself perceptible at the surface in the open sea.

While the change of tide at Kar-Nicobar takes place every 9h. 40m., that of Cape Diamond in Sumatra is laid down in the English chart at 12h., and on the sand-banks in the Straits of Malacca at only 5h. 30m. The difference in elevation assigned exhibits a similar discrepancy in the estimates; that for Kar-Nicobar being stated at five feet, that for Cape Diamond at 10 feet, and on the sand-banks already mentioned at 15 feet. The hurricanes of the Bay of Bengal never visit the Nicobars; they seem to originate part in or about the Andaman Islands, part from the west coast of Sumatra, proceeding in the former case towards the northern portions of the gulf, and in the latter towards the Coromandel coast and Ceylon.

During the S.W. monsoon, in which occurs the rainy season, frequent thunder-storms and even gales of wind occur, especially in the vicinity of Great Nicobar. The dry N.E. monsoon again brings fine weather, but sometimes blows with considerable strength.

Kar-Nicobar has no regular harbour, but presents on its north side a spacious land-locked bay nearly rectangular, the holding ground of which is a coral sand of from 10 to 16 fathoms, and is thoroughly sheltered to the S.W. and N.E. During the N.E. monsoon it is advisable to lie somewhat closer in with the northern promontory of the island. At this season it is difficult to find any spot at which small boats can disembark. However, near the northern point it is possible to reach the shore in a small cove, the western boundary of which presents an open space of coral sand, where it is possible to lie to in deep water with even a good-sized boat. The village of Saoui, which gives its name to the roadstead, is not readily accessible during the N.E. monsoon in consequence of the surf, but the very next indentation of the coast facing eastwards, which is protected seaward by a coral reef, offers a well-sheltered point of disembarkation, where the boats can be beached on the smooth coral sand, and thereafter drawn up high and dry.

During the N.E. monsoon it is also practicable to avail oneself of the bay on the S. side of Kar-Nicobar, or to anchor anywhere along the W. side of the island, but such anchorages possess no other protection than is afforded by long points of land projecting far into the ocean, and usually protracted by coral reefs.

Both in the bay of Saoui, and on the south side of Kar-Nicobar, are found small brooks, which run with water even during the dry season. It is difficult however to water hereabouts, because these rivulets are blocked up with sand-bars, not to speak of the obstacles interposed to the landing of boats, by the tremendous surf and the low swampy shore at most periods of the year. In cases of extreme necessity, however, the little rivulet called the Areca might with some difficulty be made available.

Chowra, Kamorta, and Bampoka, have no regular anchorages; a vessel must be content to ride to leeward of that coast, which will act as a shelter against whichever monsoon happens to be blowing. Disembarkation by means of boats is extremely difficult, and it is much better to make use of a native canoe, which, after transporting the visitor through the surf to the land, can be more easily drawn up on the beach.

Tillangschong possesses a beautiful harbour on the S. side, which however is open to the S.E., but during the greater part of the year affords an excellent anchorage. The most southerly point has numerous cliffs and needles of rock where it projects into the sea, but it is possible to approach within a few fathoms of the southernmost of these with vessels of any size.

On the west side of the island, at the spot where its two halves may be said to blend, the northernmost rugged, the more southerly flat, a pretty good anchorage will be found, which seems to be sheltered towards the S.W. by several solitary projecting rocks. Generally speaking, but more especially to the N. and E., this island presents a steep precipitous shore, so that, with the exception here and there of a few solitary rocks, close in to the shore, there is nothing but clear deep water around almost the entire island to within about 10 fathoms of the land.

The harbour of Nangkauri is rather roomy, but of very unequal though for the most part considerable depth; the soundings in its midst giving between 20 and 30 fathoms. The promontories are all more or less low-lying, and thickly beset with coral reefs, and caution is the more necessary, since it is far from unusual after working in from 20 to 16 fathoms, to find the water shoal suddenly to four or even three fathoms. The anchorage formed by the two islands of Kamorta and Nangkauri has two entrances, from the east and from the west, the navigation of which by large ships demands the utmost vigilance. The western entrance is barely a cable's length in width, while the island of Nangkauri has hardly any fair-way for vessels along its exterior coast-line. In consequence of the two islands trending towards each other at that point, the harbour near its middle is greatly narrowed, so that there may almost be said to be two harbours. In either of them a vessel is quite safe, being in fact so thoroughly sheltered from all winds that the heat is occasionally overpowering.

On the west side of Kamorta, six or seven miles north of the western entrance of the harbour, will be found a large sheet of water, called Ulala Bay, in the first half of which there is excellent anchorage; but the vapours emanating from the abundant mangrove swamps render residence here extremely unhealthy. As Ulala Cove runs for the most part parallel with Nangkauri Harbour, and is separated from the latter only by a range of low eminences, the near proximity of these mangrove swamps likewise imparts their baleful influence to the air of Nangkauri Harbour. There is absolutely no water here fit for drinking.

Katchal has large bays on both its west and its east sides, but they are almost entirely silted up with coral sand. The channel between Katchal and Kamorta is clear. Here we made short tacks in passing through, approaching the shores on either side within half a mile.

Little Nicobar has a good harbour on the north side, formed by the island of Pulo Milu and the N. coast of Little Nicobar, which is bent almost at a right angle. This anchorage is accessible in all winds, and is well sheltered, but a considerable portion adjoining the shore of Little Nicobar is rendered useless by banks of coral.

Notwithstanding the most careful examination of this part of the coast, we could not discover the spot, which in the Danish charts is marked as furnishing water fit for drinking, but perceived nothing save mangrove swamps, with numerous water-courses filled with brackish water, the two largest of which we navigated in our gondola as far as was practicable.

The island of Kondul in St. George's Channel forms another very fair anchorage; and similarly on the N. side of Great Nicobar, one finds several suitable bays, the most easterly of which, called Ganges Harbour, is fringed with coral banks, rendering it proportionately difficult of access. The anchorage of Kondul may be selected for one reason, namely, that it is land-locked towards both N.E. and S.W., besides having the additional advantage of being airy, and distant from the mangrove swamps, whereas in the bays on the N. coast of Great Nicobar these are of immense extent. One of these mangrove swamps in the central cove was traversed by one of the naturalists, the result of which was that he found a river debouching into the sea through the very heart of the swamp, which, however, so long as the sea-water could find entrance, was not of course drinkable.

On the west side of Great Nicobar, along the whole length of which we sailed, but which we could not visit more carefully, owing to want of time and the heavy S.W. swell of the ocean, several other promontories and coves are apparently available as harbours, and moreover may be supposed to be the embouchures of rivers. At the south point of Great Nicobar there is a large bay, which however being quite exposed from S.W. to S.E. must be anything but a safe anchorage during the S.W. monsoon. During the prevalence of the N.E. monsoon it seems tolerably well suited for an anchorage, if the eastern promontory be kept S.E. by S., and the anchor be cast in soundings of from 10 to 13 fathoms. Landing, however, is at all times a matter of difficulty, as the surf is very boisterous and the swell of the sea pretty heavy. Its most remote point is the mouth of the river Galatea, which, however, is closed by a sand-bar, and for that reason cannot be easily reached. This bay, owing to its configuration, is excessively hot and sweltering, and with reference to its salubrity cannot be recommended as a suitable abode.

The climate of the Archipelago, though tropical, is not nevertheless to be ranked among the hottest, in consequence of its insular position, and of the whole of the islands being thickly clothed with forest. Hence the quantity of rain, which, as has been seen, is sufficient to keep the rivers full even in the dry season. According to the meteorological observations made on these islands by various observers at different periods of the year, the average temperature does not exceed 77 deg. Fahr., much about the temperature of the fluid found in the fresh unripe cocoa-nut. But during the months of April and October respectively, at which period calms prevail in these islands, the maximum temperature of 86 deg. to 88 deg. Fahr. is reached.

Considering the violence with which rain falls, and that the dry season of the N.E. monsoon from November to March, and the damp season of the S.W. monsoon from April to October, are by no means so sharply defined on these islands as on the adjoining coasts of the mainland, the quantity of annual rainfall must be enormous. At certain times it is not much less than 100 or even 150 inches, and yet it probably is not so high as that presented by other localities, which experience the regular changes of the monsoons, as for instance, in the Straits of Malacca, where the annual rainfall is 208 inches, or Mahableshwur south of Bombay, where it amounts to no less than 254 inches! March is the dryest month in the year. During the whole of the month, which we spent on the islands or in their immediate vicinity, we only had three sharp thunder-storms. These become more frequent and severe during April, until about May or June the S.W. monsoon sets in and envelopes the islands in rain-clouds. Where some special physical configuration of the soil does not admit of the rapid carrying off of the redundant deluge of rain, the island must necessarily be unusually well off for water. Of the correctness of this theory we were enabled thoroughly to satisfy ourselves, since the close of the dry season is necessarily unfavourable to there being any water remaining in the streams and brooks; notwithstanding which even the smallest of the islands, Pulo Milu and Kondul, although their rivulets had ceased to flow, possessed a sufficient supply of sweet drinkable water among the numerous basin-shaped pools that occur in the beds of the various streams. From the forest-covered slopes of Tillangschong also, small streams of fresh water are continually trickling. The insignificant brooks and rivers of the large well-wooded islands lying further to the south of Great and Little Nicobar, are in like manner kept full the whole year by the blessed abundance of the watery element. On the other hand, the northern islands, so far at least as the marl-formation extends, seem to be but scantily supplied with water, especially on Kamorta, Nangkauri, Tringkut, and apparently Teressa and Bampoka as well. All the small streams on the two first-named islands, which fall into the Nangkauri harbour, were found to be very nearly dried up.

The principal beverage of the natives of these islands is the fluid contents of the unripe cocoa-nut, while it should seem that they fetch the water required for house purposes from the pools of sweet water, which they find scattered here and there among the river-courses. Springs we saw none, with the exception of the old ruined one of the Moravian Brethren near the village of Malacca on the island of Nangkauri. Kar-Nicobar, although likewise belonging to the same marl-formation as the before-mentioned islands, has nevertheless no lack of drinkable water, since the expanse of land raised from eight to twelve feet above the level of the ocean constitutes the site of those singular springs, the sweet water in which rises and falls with the ebb and flow of the tide. The explanation of this singular phenomenon must not be sought for in the filtration of the sea-water by the coral rock, but is simply due to the rain-water, being the lighter, floating upon the surface of the sea-water, which is heavier, while the porous coral rock prevents the complete intermixture of the salt and fresh water. In the villages of Moose and Saoui on Kar-Nicobar we saw several such cisterns, which always had eight or ten feet good fresh water. Of rivers, properly so called, we found but two, one falling into the northern Bay of Kar-Nicobar, the other at the southern point of Great Nicobar. The former, which from the luxuriant growth of the cabbage tree along its banks we named "Areca-river," is navigable for flat-boats for about two miles from its mouth, at which point further progress is arrested by some small rapids. Here the water is quite sweet, holding but a very little chalk in solution.

We found no mineral waters or warm springs. The hardened marl deposits of Nangkauri harbour we perceived however to be encased in a crust an inch thick of sulphate of magnesia, and fine silk-like glistening fibres; this results from the clay-marl containing sulphate of magnesia, so that very possibly by digging cistern-shaped cavities, a bitter saline solution might be obtained similar to that at present obtained under similar circumstances at Billin in Bohemia.

In consequence of the extraordinarily rich vegetation, the dampness of the soil, and the numerous mangrove swamps all along the coast, the climate, as may readily be conceived, is at present anything but salubrious. During the changes of the monsoons especially, a fever breaks out of so malignant a type that it is very frequently fatal to Europeans.

But, so long as dense forest, creeping plants, and swamps encumber the soil, there can be no country within the tropics favourable to the health of man, and all immigrants or other persons who make a sufficiently long stay in such localities, prepare themselves for being visited by maladies of the most formidable nature, among which fever and dysentery play the most conspicuous part.

Similar conditions are occasionally met with in certain parts of Europe where swamp and uncultivated land are exposed to the influences of a high temperature, of which examples enough are furnished in the malaria of Italy, and the marsh fever of the lagoons of Venice and along the coasts of Istria. And if such visitations make less impression upon us in Europe, it is not that there is little danger, but simply because, as habit is second nature, the regularity of their return has ceased to attract attention.

This is precisely what the English have experienced in the East Indies, it is what the German emigrant is now going through on the banks of the Mississippi and Ohio, in Brazil and in Peru, until the forests are cleared and rendered productive, until, in short, advancing cultivation has dispelled those miasmata, which are inevitably developed amid the undisturbed voluptuousness of nature.

When at certain seasons of the year the vital principles of millions upon millions of organisms begin to be active, they throw off oxygen into the atmosphere, replacing it by absorbing carbonic acid; while, on the other hand, different organisms, in conformity with known chemical laws, are destroyed under similar conditions, and, under the influence of the atmosphere co-operating with humidity, ferment and become decomposed. From all which processes result products of emanation, which, caught up into the atmosphere and whirled away by the wind, become in their turn the means of nutriment and fertilization to other plants, thus imparting to tropical vegetation that marvellous rankness and super-abundance so fatal to the human frame. But the conditions which produce this tendency in the atmosphere to generate fever are not peculiar to certain localities, or strictly confined to these; they can be averted, and with them the vapours so prejudicial to health may be removed. We have but to raise up a barrier against that mighty all-devouring process of life and vegetation, which imperils our own conditions of existence, we have but to withdraw from the powerful agencies of chemical action the substances undergoing decomposition, to constrain the waters of heaven to follow certain definite directions, to drain every swamp, to clear the forest, to sweep away the dense underwood in order that the wind may wander unchecked over the now fertilized soil, and a wondrous alteration will take place in the climatic conditions of the Nicobar Islands. Of what may be achieved under such circumstances by energy and perseverance, the island of Penang, some 350 nautical miles distant, furnishes the most striking example, which within a very few decades has, by dint of the progressive clearing and cultivation of the soil, been converted from a den of fever and malaria, a spot shunned by all men as a residence, into one of the most healthy localities in the East, so much so indeed that it has been made a resort for invalids!

Seduced by the attractive beauty of the harbour of Nangkauri, the various attempts at founding a settlement have almost without exception been confined to that site. Upon a more close examination however of the precise spot selected for these settlements, it becomes at once apparent that they were for the most part pitched upon the neck of land which divides the land-locked ill-ventilated harbour of Nangkauri from the Bay of Ulala, surrounded as it is on all sides by thick mangrove swamps.

On such a site did the settlers erect their huts, and there, often at but a short interval after their arrival, did they find their grave; and if a very few of their number resisted the deadly influence of the miasmatic vapours, if even they were able for several years to drag along a miserable existence in such a scene, these can only be regarded as striking examples of an unusual vigour of constitution. It is true that most of these missionaries who founded settlements here were by no means properly housed and fed, which in such a climate is a matter of absolute prime necessity for the preservation of health. Often when already attacked with fever they toiled, spade in hand, delving the ground amid the exhausting heat of a tropical day in order to secure the means of subsistence, or gathered shell-fish along the beach, or hunted for reptiles or birds through the swamps and forest, in order to provide themselves, by the sale of these natural curiosities in Europe, with the means of existence in those distant regions. Not without feelings of the keenest emotion and deepest sympathy is it possible to peruse the description given by one of these missionaries, Father Haensel, of his mode of life on the island of Nangkauri, where he lived for seven years amidst the greatest privations and hardships. "On my frequent excursions along the sea-coast," says the noble, high-souled missionary, "it sometimes happened that I was benighted, and I could not with convenience return to our dwelling; but I was never at a loss for a bed. The greater part of the beach consists of a remarkably fine white sand, which above high-water mark is perfectly clean and dry. Into this I dug with ease a hole large enough to contain my body, forming a mound as a pillow for my head; I then lay down, and by collecting the sand over me buried myself in it up to the neck. My faithful dog always laid across my body, ready to give the alarm in case of disturbance from any quarter. However, I was under no apprehensions from wild animals; crocodiles and caimans never haunt the open coast, but keep in creeks and lagoons; and there are no other ravenous beasts on the island. The only annoyance I suffered, was from the nocturnal perambulations of an immense variety of crabs of all sizes, the crackling noise of whose armour would sometimes keep me awake. But they were well watched by my dog, and if any one ventured to approach too near, he was sure to be suddenly seized and thrown to a more respectful distance. Or if a crab of a more tremendous appearance would deter my dog from exposing his nose to its claws, he would bark and frighten it away, by which however I was sometimes more seriously alarmed than the occasion required. Many a comfortable night's rest have I had in these sepulchral dormitories when the nights were clear and dry, and the heavens spangled with stars."[17]

After such a description, one cannot but feel astonished that any of these men, jealous for the faith, should have been able to linger on for years in such a plight, and assuredly no one will refuse to these heroes of Christianity their meed of the deepest admiration and gratitude, which they merit none the less that their labours among these natives were almost entirely unattended by any permanent good results.

It seems specially worthy of remark that the crew of the Austrian ship _Joseph and Theresa_, which spent as much as five months here, and that too during the rainy season (April to September), almost entirely escaped fever. This fact sufficiently proves that the rainy season is by no means the most unhealthy, but that the periods of transition from the dry to the wet season, and _vice versa_, must be considered as invariably prejudicial. At these times light variable winds alternate with thunder-showers, after which there is usually experienced great heat by solar radiation, which at once liberates the noxious emanations of the humid soil. Further on, during the actual rainy season, when the heavens are almost continually veiled, and the condition of the atmosphere and the soil is alike one of complete saturation, this phenomenon appears much less marked, and becomes in a corresponding degree less dangerous to human organization.

We are also of opinion that the time from the end of March to the end of April, as also the months of September and October, are the most insalubrious parts of the year, although on the Nicobars a man may be struck down with fever at any season, so soon as those precautions have been neglected, which are so necessary to observe in the uncultivated regions of the tropics. An instance on this point is furnished in the case of the crew of the Danish corvette _Galatea_. Of thirty individuals engaged in an exploring expedition up what is known as the Galatea river, in the southern Bay of Great Nicobar, and caught one night in a thunder-storm, which compelled them to remain in the forest wringing wet, no fewer than twenty-one fell ill of fever, which ultimately proved fatal in four cases.

So far as our own experience goes, the state of health on board the frigate during a stay of thirty-two days was highly satisfactory. During that entire period, out of 350 men only six took ill with fever, which number, however, at a later period during our passage to the straits of Malacca, was increased to 21. Singular to say, those of the ship's company, who during our stay had _never set foot_ on the Nicobar Islands, furnished the largest contingent of cases of fever, while of both officers and naturalists, who spent the whole day together among the swamps and the forest, and were exposed to all manner of fatigue, only three got upon the sick list. On the whole, however, even the few severer cases made an excellent recovery, and by the time we had anchored in the harbour of Singapore, all the fever patients were once more either quite well, or in a fair way towards convalescence.

As the examination of this Archipelago was, in consequence of the all but impenetrable forests, confined to the narrow strip of land along the shore, we had almost said to the region of cocoa-palms exclusively, its various geognostic features were very inadequately, yet withal approximately, ascertained. If we admit that a covering of vegetation of the utmost variety and primeval luxuriance, untouched by the hand of man, and entirely unreclaimed by cultivation, may be considered as the expressive feature by which an estimate could be arrived at of the different geognostic conditions of soil beneath, we may succeed in our attempt from the characteristics of this primeval vegetation, to come to some definite conclusion as to the quality and the greater or lesser productiveness of the ground. According to this method of computing, it would seem that,

I. The forest, in the ordinary acceptation of the term, includes 70/100 of the entire surface of the island:--the soil being limestone, rich in alkalies, spungy, with clay-sand, and exceedingly fertile.

II. On the other hand, the grass vegetation proper may be set down at 15/100 of the surface: a barren, clay soil.

III. The cocoa forest may be estimated at 5/100 of the entire area; upon a fruitful soil of coral conglomerate, coral sand, and dried alluvium.

IV. In like manner the screw-pine forests cover 5/100 of the entire insular surface, the soil marshy but well suited for cultivation, with fresh-water bogs, and moist fresh-water alluvium.

V. Lastly, the mangrove forest in like manner may be roughly estimated at 5/100 of the superficial area, and is a swampy soil, unfitted for cultivation, consisting of salt-water marshes, and alluvium, moistened by salt-water.

The entire superficial area of the islands may be computed at about 627 square miles. Reckoning only 7/10 therefore of the surface as consisting of soil suitable for culture, which may undoubtedly be assumed as a fair approximation, we have a surface of 439 square miles capable of being made productive. But even the very ground now exclusively covered with grass, might be made productive with a more numerous population and a corresponding improvement in cultivation, so that these islands, now the abode of about 5000 savages, could easily support in comfort a population of over 100,000 industrious men.

At present the chief product of the islands is the cocoa-nut palm, which grows for the most part on the sea-shore, so far as the coral sand reaches. Within the same limits is the existence of the inhabitants confined, destitute as they are of industry or the capacity to cultivate the soil. This invaluable plant seldom extends far into the interior, and from this circumstance was named by a celebrated German traveller and botanist, Martius, the "Sea-shore palm." It is, however, as yet undecided whether the cocoa-palm is indigenous to the Nicobar Islands, or whether, cast on these shores by the waves, it has, by virtue of its well-known property of putting forth shoots even in salt-water, gradually propagated itself without any assistance from man.

It is said that the profit realized by those engaged in the trade in these nuts, amounts to from 20 to 40 per cent., and could greatly be increased, if, as for example in Ceylon, oil-presses were erected, by means of which the expense of transporting the heavy bulky loads of nuts would be economised, the oil being exported direct. On the more northerly islands the cocoa forest embraces proportionately a far larger area, those more to the south being much less abundantly supplied, especially Greater Nicobar, where there is hardly any. Accordingly the more northerly islands are much the more densely peopled, and the cocoa-palms are there subdivided as property, while on the southern islands they seem to be freely enjoyed in common.

Next in importance to the cocoa-nut palm, as a means of subsistence to the inhabitants, is the _Pandanus Melori_, of the family of the Pandaneae, the fruit of which (Melori or Caldevia of the Portuguese, the Larohm of the natives) supplies the place of rice and Indian corn, neither of which are grown on the island, owing to the ignorance of the islanders of the principles of cultivation, although the nature of the soil seems eminently suited to the production of both. From the huge fruit of this Pandanus, a species of bread is prepared, very similar to apple-marmalade, which is eaten by the natives along with the soft white kernel of the ripe cocoa-nut. The leaves are prepared as mats of every sort and description, and are occasionally used for the manufacture of sails.

The Bread-fruit tree (_Podocarpus incisa_), which furnishes such excellent nutriment, that, according to Cook,[18] three trees suffice to support a man during eight months, is found on the islands in single individuals, and we never happened to see its fruit used by the natives. The plantain too seemed but sparingly planted, although the elegant leafy green canopy of this the most important and nutritious plant, after the cocoa-nut, requires but little care in cultivation. The sugar-cane, the muscat-nut tree (_Myristia Moschatea_), and the _Cardamum Elettaria_,[19] grow and flourish on most of the islands, and orange and lemon trees of the most stupendous proportions may be met with, growing wild in the immediate vicinity of the native dwellings.

Of tubers we only found the yam growing in considerable quantities, but it seems to be cultivated by the natives more as an article of exchange with the ships visiting the islands, than for their own use. So far however as we could ascertain the capabilities of the soil, the Jucca (_Jakopha Manihot_), the sweet potato (the _Camote_ of the Spanish colonies), and other American tuberous roots, might flourish here at least as well as on the hot damp coasts of the western continent.

The number of plants collected by our botanists throughout this group of islands, amounts to 280 different species; however by a more thorough exploration of the Archipelago, the _Phanerogamous_ species may be increased one half in number.

There are also two plants, which, although they cannot be included among the vegetable products suited for the sustenance of man, must nevertheless be taken into account as contributing in an important degree to the subsistence of the natives. These are the Areca palm, and the Betel shrub.

The nut of the _Areca Cateehu_, and the green leaf of the _Piper Betle_, constitute as already mentioned, together with coral lime, the chief ingredients of _Betel_, that singular salivatory compound, which has become a prime luxury for the inhabitants of the Indies, and the adjacent islands. The Areca palm, with its graceful straight stem and elegant tuft of leaves, is indigenous to the entire group, and is found in considerable quantities. With the enormous demand for it as a salivatory, as also as an article of medicine, it might, had the natives the slightest turn for cultivation, yield a large profit as an article of commerce. The Betel shrub is also found in large quantities in these islands, and needs but little looking after.

The wealth of the forest in ornamental timber, and wood fit for building purposes, is so great that, if carefully surveyed and judiciously thinned, they would not only furnish the settler with cleared soil suitable for cultivation, but would likewise permit an immense profit to be realized.[20]