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THE Government steamer to which I had been appointed was the Indian Marine station ship, Kwang Tung, at Port Blair, Andaman Islands, where the penal settlement of India is located. The Chief Commissioner in charge of the Andamans and Nicobars lives in the Residency on Ross Island, which is situated at the mouth of a deep inlet. In this lie the islands on which the convict prisons are built.

The Andaman Islands are situated on the eastern side of the Bay of Bengal, are rock-bound and hilly, and are covered with forests of dense jungle in which wild pig abound. The aborigines are Negritos, small, woolly and black, and resemble the Bushmen of South Africa. Their permanent habitation consists of a single large circular hut, built on the ground; this accommodates an entire village. These people do not till the land and they are therefore dependent for food on what they can kill or find, and are compelled to wander about the island in parties to hunt for food.

They are very dexterous in their use of the bow and arrow, by means of which they shoot pigs, fish, iguanas, etc. They also use a spear or harpoon to catch turtle and large fish, from their dug-out canoes.



The Nicobar Islands lie immediately south of the Andamans. The southernmost islands are hilly and covered with forests of large trees and jungle, in which quantities of rattan cane of many kinds are found, specimens of which have measured over 1,000 feet in length. These islands are fringed with coral reefs, and cocoanut trees are plentiful on the low-lying sand near the sea. The banks of the streams are very lovely on account of the large tree-ferns and the magnificent jungle foliage.

British vessels used, in the old days, to trade at the Nicobar Islands for copra, but now only Indian and Chinese vessels call there, the latter carrying away bêche-de-mer for food, also betel nut, mother-of-pearl shells, and rattan cane.

The aborigines, who are allied to the Malays, are copper-coloured, with straight black hair, and live mostly in small circular huts built on piles. They keep pigs and chicken, use a spear to catch fish, and a large scimitar-shaped knife without a handle, called a dhá, for cutting their way through the dense jungle, and for many other purposes. These people have well-shaped and graceful canoes, fitted with a light out-rigger to keep them from turning over.



The station ship I was in was directly under the orders of the Chief Commissioner at Port Blair. She had been built for the Chinese Navy, and was purchased by the Indian Government. This vessel was a paddle brig-rigged steamer of about 220 feet in length, with a comfortable large saloon under the poop, round which the captain's quarters and passenger cabins were placed. The officers lived in the wardroom, but messed in the saloon with the captain and the occasional passengers we carried.



The Kwang Tung had a tender named the Nancowry, a vessel of about 80 tons, which was usually stationed at the port of Nancowry in the Nicobar Islands, after which port she had been christened.

The Kwang Tung's crew had all-English officers, a captain, four deck and three engineer officers, and a gunner who messed alone. The remainder of the crew were Indian. The Nancowry's commanding officer was one of the four members of the Kwang Tung's complement of officers. She also had an English gunner, but the rest of her crew were Indian. The Nancowry was a ketch-rigged screw steam-vessel, and sailed fairly well. Neither vessel could steam more than about seven knots, but they were both very comfortable and I enjoyed every minute I spent in them.



It so happened that we four deck officers on the Kwang Tung's books at this time had been newly recruited from the Mercantile Marine, and the life we now led was both new and delightful to us.

I remained in the Indian Marine for nearly two years, all of this time being spent at the Andamans and Nicobars, on either the Kwang Tung or the Nancowry.

When Andamanese fish for turtle they remain quietly in their dug-outs by night in the broken water outside the surf which breaks on their rock-bound coast, and listen for a turtle to come to the surface to breathe.

They show great skill in being able to distinguish the sound of the breathing from the noise of the surf.

As soon as they hear a turtle they paddle up to it noiselessly, and one man thrusts a harpoon into its back and springs on to it, holding its two front flippers with his hands, and its two back flippers with his legs, to prevent it from diving. In the meanwhile, his comrades pull on the line attached to the harpoon head, the shaft of which, being detachable, has already been recovered, and land the turtle in their dug-out on its back. How they manage to do this in their very cranky crafts in a rough sea is a marvel, especially as they never lose a turtle after harpooning it.



As soon as the turtle has been secured, they paddle to the nearest inlet, make up a fire and have a meal, for they may have been days without food. They usually carry smouldering embers in their canoes to save themselves the trouble of kindling a fire by friction, which is very laborious work.


One day, two of my friends and I, with a large party of Andamanese, landed on the edge of a reef that skirted the shore, after having waded through pools of water. While walking, a startled fish darted across our path, but as it was some 15 yards ahead we saw nothing of it, only the ripple it made in passing. An Andamanese shot an arrow at it, which seemed to strike its mark, but toppled over; he then shot a second arrow and this time pinned his fish, which by now was much farther away. On bringing it to me he showed me the spot where the first arrow had hit a bone in the fish's head, the fish being a small shark nearly two feet long.

After we had landed, the same man stuck an arrow in the sand and from a distance of about 25 yards hit it three times in succession. Taking into consideration that the bow used was about a foot longer than his own height, and so strongly strung that no one in our party could bend it sufficiently to shoot an arrow, it was no mean achievement; particularly as the shaft of the arrows they use is not much thicker than a large pencil.

One day a party of unfriendly Andamanese killed a ticket-of-leave convict, so a punitive expedition, consisting of some British officers, Sikh police and friendly Andamanese, was sent against them. A fight ensued in the jungle during which an arrow from one of the unfriendlies passed through the woolly hair of one of the friendly Andamanese, who promptly returned the fire and pinned his adversary in the chest with a pig arrow. He had held a fish arrow in his bow before the incident, but coolly changed it before shooting. When asked why he had made the change, he simply replied that if he had shot the man with a fish arrow, which has only a small iron point and barb, it could have been taken out and the man's life saved; but if he shot him with a pig arrow, which has a wide knife blade and two long barbs, his friends would kill him in trying to take it out, if the arrow had not already done so.

The shaft of the pig arrow used by the Andamanese is detachable from the head. The head is secured to the shaft about three inches from the end by means of a cord, so that when a pig has been hit and runs through the thick scrub, the shaft works free from the head, and the projecting three inches soon hook into some obstacle and stop the pig, which only increases its pain by pulling. The hunters then find the pig by its squeals of pain.

On one occasion, when the Nancowry lay at anchor about two miles from the shore, I heard Andamanese singing in the distance; the sound came at long intervals, but no Andamanese could be seen anywhere.

At last, after gazing through my glasses, I saw some black objects come to the surface of the water, which, instead of being ducks, as I thought at first, turned out to be the heads of a party of Andamanese swimming out to the vessel. They swam under water, and on coming up to breathe sang for a short time. On arriving alongside I invited them aboard. Each of them held in his hand his long bow and two fish arrows, which with the blade of a knife stuck through a string tied round the left forearm, is all the outfit they carry.

The party was very merry, and after they had been given some biscuits, swam ashore again.

During the honey season the Andamanese consume large quantities of honey. One day I happened to be walking through the jungle with a couple of friends, accompanied by several Andamanese, when one of them discovered a honeycomb attached to the branch of a tall tree. He immediately prepared to get it by collecting a few leaves of a certain plant in a bunch, climbing the tree, and when near enough gently brushing the bees away from the honeycomb. Strangely enough, he was not attacked by the bees, while we, on the other hand, had to run into the thick jungle for protection, and therefore did not see the honeycomb cut from the branch.

As soon as we reached a safe place, the Andamanese with us collected some large leaves which they spread out on the ground, and when their companion arrived with the honeycomb it was placed on the leaves and divided amongst them. We did not partake of any.

During the periods when the Andamanese are away from their village hut, they erect a lean-to for their party to protect themselves from the prevailing wind and rain, and one finds these scattered about in the jungle.

The life the Andamanese live in their large circular village hut is very remarkable. Picture to yourself a large circular dome-shaped hut, with perpendicular sides some four to five feet high, in which are several openings which serve as entrances and are the only means of ventilation and light. Then imagine several groups of about twenty savages sitting on the ground in a circle round a fire clapping their hands, while a man thumps on a hollow log with his heel, producing the sound of a drum, and others dance. They sometimes sing as well. While this din is in progress there are other groups round the sides of the hut sleeping peacefully.

The aborigines on the Little Andaman, the island at the south end of the group, were very suspicious when I was in these waters; therefore when visitors landed at that island they had to take precautions.

We generally spread the boat's awning as a protection against a shower of arrows, as these fellows have been known to wade out on to a submerged reef with their bows and arrows secured to their feet, and when near enough to a boat approaching the landing beach, stoop down, pick up their bows and let fly a volley of arrows.

If an awning is spread over the boat the arrows generally stick into the awning, unless the boat is very close to the natives.

On going ashore in a canoe one morning with a friend, to bathe, the natives seemed quite friendly. While we were swimming, the gunner in one of the ship's boats distributed biscuits to the natives on the beach.

As we were on our way back to the ship to dress for breakfast, we passed the captain's gig with a party on their way to visit the island. We had finished dressing when the gig returned amid great excitement, for it appeared that one of the party had been struck on the head by a savage with a stone axe. An armed crew promptly proceeded ashore and caught the man who had delivered the blow; he was taken to Port Blair and kept there for a while as a punishment.

It appears that this man had arrived on the beach after all the biscuits had been distributed, and had got none. Consequently when the captain's party arrived without more biscuits, he crept up behind one of them and delivered a blow with his axe, to show his dissatisfaction. Luckily for the victim, his cap saved the blow from being fatal. These people can be likened to a lot of children who, having arms, are dangerous to anyone not on his guard.

There was amongst the convicts at Port Blair an old Indian gentleman who had taken an active part in the Mutiny, and though he had behaved well while a convict, and had been allowed his freedom on ticket of leave in the Settlement of Port Blair, he was not allowed to leave the islands because of the influence he had brought to bear against the British Raj during the Mutiny.

While I was in charge of the Nancowry, and on a visit to Port Blair, this old gentleman came on board my vessel as she lay near the landing place on the shore opposite to Ross Island, and was shown into my cabin.

As I did not know much Hindustani and he could not speak English, we could not get far in either of those languages; so I tried him at Arabic and was glad to find that he understood and spoke it quite well, and he told me all about himself in that language. He told me how bitterly he had repented the part he had taken in the Mutiny, and of his wish to revisit his home before he died. In one way and another the old man was very interesting. The Indian members of my crew marvelled at my being able to converse with the old gentleman in an eastern language they did not know.


The Port Blair Regatta used to be a great affair, when everyone who could muster a boat entered her for one or more events. But the sailing races were the most exciting, especially as the Regatta was held during the N.E. monsoon, when there used to be a fairly fresh breeze, and those taking part were afforded many thrills.

My friend Puttock and I used to sail a great deal together in a small tub-like dinghy which he owned; she had one mast and a large sail with bamboo strips running across it like the sails on a Chinese junk. The craft was so short and beamy that she had no speed.

Our captain had a beautiful Maltese skiff which had two masts, on which she carried well-made French lateen sails. She could beat any boat of her own size, but not while sailed by her owner, as he was too excitable to get the most out of his boat in a race. Therefore he usually allowed others to sail his skiff for him in races, which disappointed the commander of a British gunboat that visited Port Blair, who also had a smart skiff that sailed fast and well. It did not take long before one commander challenged the other, and when Puttock and I sailed our captain's skiff and won the race easily, the gunboat commander felt that he had been cheated, as he considered the captain should have sailed his own boat.

One day at lunch, while the sailing merits of the two skiffs we had on board were being discussed, Puttock undertook to beat the captain if he sailed his own boat, in a race across the harbour, starting from a point which brought the wind then blowing dead astern. The distance across the harbour is about one mile.

All being prepared, our boats were held in position with sails down ready for the signal to start. I was Puttock's crew, and the captain had an experienced officer as his crew. When the signal was given we were all much too busy getting our sail up and the boat trimmed to think of anyone else; but as soon as we were snug we had a good look at our antagonist, and we both had a good laugh because the very thing we had gambled on had happened.

The captain's skiff had no booms on her sails, so a couple of light spars were prepared for the race across the harbour; but these had evidently been forgotten at the last moment, so Puttock romped home an easy winner, which would have been impossible had the booms on the captain's skiff been used. The captain, being a good fellow, enjoyed the joke against himself as much as any of us.


There is a hill about 2,000 feet high on the main island adjacent to Port Blair, named Mount Harriet, on the summit of which a sanatorium has been built.

The hill is very steep and its sides are covered with dense jungle, so that the fine road (about ten feet wide) that leads to the sanatorium has a fairly steep gradient, though the engineer who constructed it had cut the road from a landing place some considerable distance away.

While walking down the road from the Mount Harriet Sanatorium, with my gun over my shoulder, I saw a large snake emerge from the jungle above the road, heading to cross it at an angle that would cut my path where we would meet. I was swinging along at too fast a pace to stop. Instinctively, my right hand grasped my gun, and before I had time to think the snake lay dead at my feet as I passed over it.

As soon as I pulled up, I returned to the snake, which measured over six feet in length, I do not think that it had left the jungle for the purpose of attacking me, even though it had its head up; but as we were bound to have collided had I not shot it, it would have bitten me without a doubt. I have no idea if it was poisonous or not.