The wind was fair, but light, as, on 20th January 1901, we left Bumila Creek for the Nicobars, and we sailed slowly along the western coast of Little Andaman with the shore in full view. A sandy beach ran all along, with here and there a crop of rock breaking out, and behind it, stretching right across the island, spread dense unbroken jungle.

At distant intervals along the shore stood several of the peculiar conical huts, and as we proceeded southward the forest gradually assumed the grey and twisted look due to the force of the south-west winds.

Now, however, all was calm and still, and the Terrapin sailed on such a steady upright keel, that photographs taken the day before were developed without spilling any of the solution used from the shallow dishes. Heavy rain, with which we filled the tanks, fell during the night, and at noon next day we sighted the low island of Kar Nicobar, lying some 22 miles away.

As we neared the north-west part, after an 80 miles' sail, a large village of beehive huts on posts came into view, and the immense number of coconut palms along the eastern shore was very striking.

West of the point, we sailed into a strong tide-race, the current running against the wind at a rate of 4 to 5 knots, and knocking up a heavy, broken sea, in which the schooner yawed and rolled about, taking water on board from every direction. Although the wind was dead aft, it was long before we made any way. With the fore-topsail down, we remained stationary; with it up, we gradually moved ahead. After a time, however, the tide slackened, and we sailed slowly into Sáwi Bay, where we found a Moulmein brig, the Princess of Wales, loaded to her bulwark rail with coconuts, and passing close by we anchored inshore of her, in 7 fathoms, just as night fell.*

* Such tide-races are not uncommon among the Nicobar Islands, and later we met with several others, though none so severe as this first. The tides round Kar Nicobar run with great velocity; a rate of 7 knots has been noted to the eastward of the island.

An hour or two later, a large outrigger canoe brought alongside a party of men-some of whom spoke English fairlyto ascertain what we were; and by the rays of a lantern, we obtained our first glimpse of the Nicobarese, who appeared, with yellow-brown skin, straightish hair, and medium stature, to be somewhat akin to Malays.

Here was a change indeed, both in place and people. From islands densely jungle-covered to open stretches of grass-land and groves of coco palms: from a little, black-skinned, frizzlyhaired race, in an exceedingly low plane of existence, to a browncomplexioned, lank-haired people, of fair height, who are almost semi-civilised, live in good dwellings, cultivate food products, and possess domesticated animals.

The houses alone were typical of the change of race: those of the Negro peoples-the stock to which the Andamanese belong-are built directly on the ground, while here, among a group of (practically) the Malayan race, the dwellings were universally raised on piles.*

We landed next morning by wading through the surf, for the sea, though smooth off-shore, was breaking on the beach.

The shores of the bay rose precipitously from a beach of sand to an average height of 30 feet, and showed plainly the island formation of grey clay, sandstone, and overlying beds of upheaved coral. Here and there, buttresses of sandstone stood out boldly from the softer cliff, which had crumbled away between them. Above, the land ran inward in a level, unbroken stretch.

We were met almost immediately by Mr V. Solomon, a Christian Madrassi, who fills the positions of meteorological observer, port officer, schoolmaster, and catechist, and acts unofficially as magistrate and amateur doctor. When we had satisfied him that we were not the proverbial filibustering

The Semangs, a group of Negritoes in the Malay Peninsula, surrounded by dominant peoples dwelling in pile-buildings, still retain their practice of building huts akin to those of the Andamanese.