{"collection":"folklore-oral-tradition","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_78356/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_78356","id":"gutenberg_78356","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/78356","summary":null,"tags":["Andaman Islands (India) -- Social life and customs","Folklore -- India -- Andaman Islands"],"text":"THE\n ANDAMAN ISLANDERS\n\n A STUDY IN SOCIAL ANTHROPOLOGY\n (ANTHONY WILKIN STUDENTSHIP RESEARCH, 1906)\n\n\n BY\n A. R. BROWN, M.A.\n FORMERLY FELLOW OF TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE\n\n\n CAMBRIDGE\n AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS\n 1922\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n TO\n Dr A. C. HADDON, F.R.S.\n AND\n Dr W. H. R. RIVERS, F.R.S.\n\n TO WHOSE INSTRUCTION AND KIND ENCOURAGEMENT IS DUE\n WHATEVER VALUE IT MAY POSSESS,\n THIS WORK OF APPRENTICESHIP IS DEDICATED.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nThis book contains some part of the results of anthropological research\ncarried out in the Andaman Islands in the years 1906 to 1908, under the\nterms of the Anthony Wilkin Studentship in Ethnology of the University\nof Cambridge. The funds supplied by the studentship were supplemented\nby grants from the Royal Society and from the government of India. In\nits original form the monograph was presented as a fellowship thesis at\nTrinity College. The work of rewriting it was interrupted by absence\nfrom England and was only completed in 1914. There has since been a\nlong delay in publication as a result of the war.\n\nThe book deals with the social institutions of the tribes of the Great\nAndaman. These had previously been studied by Mr E. H. Man to whose\nwork I have been obliged to make many references in order that my\naccount may be as complete as possible. I should have preferred to\ndevote my attention almost exclusively to the natives of the Little\nAndaman, about whom very little is known. I found, however, that it was\nnot possible in the time at my disposal to do any satisfactory work\namongst these people owing to the difficulty of language. The natives\nof the Little Andaman know no language but their own, and that is so\nlittle related to the languages of the Great Andaman that even a\nthorough knowledge of the latter is of almost no use in an attempt to\nlearn the former. I spent nearly three months camped with natives of\nthe Little Andaman, giving most of the time to learning their language.\nNo one who has not actually made the attempt to learn the language of a\nsavage people without the help of an interpreter, can form an adequate\nidea of the difficulties of the task. At the end of three months I\nfound that at the same rate of progress it would take me two or three\nyears to learn to speak the language sufficiently well to begin to\nquestion the natives about their customs and beliefs and understand\ntheir answers. I was therefore regretfully compelled to give up the\nidea of making a study of the people of the Little Andaman, and devoted\nthe remainder of my time to the study of the tribes of the Great\nAndaman, particularly those of the North Andaman among whom Mr Man had\nnot worked. I kept one boy from the Little Andaman with me for some\nmonths in the hope that he would learn sufficient Hindustani to act as\nan interpreter and so enable any future investigator to begin work with\nthe great advantage that I had lacked.\n\nIn my work amongst the natives of the Great Andaman I at first made use\nof Hindustani, which the younger men and women all speak more or less\nimperfectly, and gradually acquired a knowledge of the dialects of the\nNorth Andaman. Towards the end of my stay in the islands I was able to\nobtain the services as interpreter of a man of the Akar-Bale tribe who\nspoke English well and was of considerable intelligence. He is shown in\nthe photographs of Plates V and XIII. With his help I was able to do\nsome work with the Akar-Bale and A-Pu\u010dikwar tribes, and I found that\nwith such an interpreter I was able to obtain much fuller and more\nreliable results than I could by using my own knowledge of the native\nlanguage supplemented by Hindustani. If I had had his services from the\noutset my work would have been much easier and more thorough.\n\nThe results of my researches on the physical anthropology of the\nAndaman Islanders have not been published. I hoped to be able to obtain\nthe services of some one more competent in such matters than myself to\nassist or direct me in the measurement and study of the collection of\nskulls and skeletons that I brought to England and that is now in the\nAnthropological Museum at Cambridge. In this I was disappointed, and\nabsence from England has prevented me from completing my work in this\nbranch of research.\n\nThe languages of the Andaman Islands are chiefly of interest as\naffording material for the study of comparative grammar and the\npsychology of language. I had hoped to be able to make some use of the\nlarge mass of linguistic material collected by Mr E. H. Man and\narranged by Sir Richard Temple, which the latter was so kind as to\npermit me to examine. Mr Man, however, expressed the intention of\npublishing that material himself. Therefore, rather than delay longer,\nI began the publication of my own linguistic studies in a series of\npapers in the journal Anthropos, of which, however, only the first had\nappeared when the outbreak of war interrupted them [1]. I cannot say\nwhen the publication of these notes will be resumed.\n\nChapters V and VI of the present work contain an attempt at an\ninterpretation of the Andamanese customs and beliefs, which I regard as\nthe most important and hope will be the most valuable part of the book.\nIt is some years since they were written and although they have\nundergone some revision they now seem to me so inadequately to express\nmy thought that I could wish to rewrite them entirely. At the time they\nwere written (1910) they exhibited an attempt to develop a new method\nin the interpretation of the institutions of a primitive people. That\nmethod will not perhaps seem so novel now as it would have done then.\nHowever, I hope that the two chapters will still have value as an\nexample of the method which I believe to be fundamental in the science\nthat has lately come to be known as social anthropology [2].\n\nOf the many imperfections of the book I am, I think, only too well\naware. It is indeed an apprentice work, for it was through my work in\nthe Andamans that I really learnt anthropology. However good may be his\npreliminary training (and mine under Drs Haddon, Rivers and Duckworth\nat Cambridge was, I think, as thorough as possible) it is only by\nactually living with and working amongst a primitive people that the\nsocial anthropologist can acquire his real training. Naturally work\ndone while learning how to do it must necessarily be faulty.\n\nIt is very late now to place on record my obligations to the officers\nof the settlement of Port Blair, particularly to Colonel Herbert and\nColonel Browning, the successive chief commissioners, for their\nkindness and help during my stay in the islands.\n\nTo Dr Haddon and Dr Rivers I am obliged for reading the proofs and for\nmany helpful suggestions.\n\n\nA. R. BROWN.\n\nUniversity of Cape Town,\nJanuary 1922.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n CHAP. PAGE\n Introduction 1\n I. The Social Organisation 22\n II. Ceremonial Customs 88\n III. Religious and Magical Beliefs 136\n IV. Myths and Legends 186\n V. The Interpretation of Andamanese Customs and Beliefs:\n Ceremonial 229\n VI. The Interpretation of Andamanese Customs and Beliefs:\n Myths and Legends 330\n Appendix A. The Technical Culture of the Andaman Islanders 407\n Appendix B. The Spelling of Andamanese Words 495\n Index 499\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF PLATES AND MAPS\n\n\nFrontispiece. An Andaman Islander shooting fish with bow and arrow on\nthe reefs at Port Blair\n\nPLATE\nI. A young man of the North Andaman To face p. 26\nII. A young married woman ,, ,, ,, 27\nIII. A man of the North Andaman and his son. (The\n man\u2019s height is 1438 mm., 4 feet 8 inches) ,, ,, ,, 28\nIV. A married woman of the Great Andaman wearing\n belts of Pandanus leaf and ornaments of\n Dentalium shell ,, ,, ,, 29\nV. A man of the Akar-Bale tribe with South\n Andaman bow and arrows, wearing belt and\n necklace of netting and Dentalium shell.\n (Height 1494 mm., 4 feet 9 inches) ,, ,, ,, 30\nVI. Portion of the village of Moi-lepto,\n Akar-Bale tribe. On the right is an\n unfinished mat of palm leaves for the roof of\n a new hut ,, ,, ,, 32\nVII. A hut in the village of Moi-lepto, showing ,, ,, ,, 34\n the mode of construction\nVIII. A village of the Middle Andaman ,, ,, ,, 36\nIX. Woman decorated with odu clay ,, ,, ,, 120\nX. Woman decorated with odu clay ,, ,, ,, 121\nXI. Three men and a young woman decorated with\n odu clay ,, ,, ,, 122\nXII. A young man decorated with white clay in\n readiness for a dance ,, ,, ,, 124\nXIII. A man with a pattern of white clay on his\n face ,, ,, ,, 125\nXIV. A woman with her child ,, ,, ,, 126\nXV. A young married woman, showing pattern\n scarified on body and arms ,, ,, ,, 127\nXVI. A girl during the ceremony at puberty,\n decorated with strips of Pandanus leaf ,, ,, ,, 128\nXVII. A woman wearing clay on her forehead as a\n sign of mourning ,, ,, ,, 129\nXVIII. A girl wearing her sister\u2019s skull ,, ,, ,, 132\nXIX. The peace-making dance of the North Andaman ,, ,, ,, 134\nMap 1. South-eastern Asia, showing the present\n distribution of the Negrito Race ,, ,, ,, 6\nMap 2. The Andaman Islands, showing the distribution\n of tribes ,, ,, ,, 11\n\n\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF FIGURES IN THE TEXT\n\n\n PAGE\n Plan of Andamanese Village 34\n\n Fig. 1. Section of Little Andaman bow, in the middle and\n near the end 420\n ,, 2. Shoulder of Little Andaman bow 420\n ,, 3. Bow-string of twisted fibre, Little Andaman 421\n ,, 4. Diagram showing the method of making the loop\n in the end of the Little Andaman bow-string 421\n ,, 5. Section of bow from North Sentinel Island 422\n ,, 6. Section of Jarawa bow 422\n ,, 7. Upper end of South Andaman bow 423\n ,, 8. Section across the blade of a South Andaman bow 424\n ,, 9. Loop of bow-string, South Andaman 425\n ,, 10. Ornament on South Andaman bow 426\n ,, 11. Section across the blade of a North Andaman bow 427\n ,, 12. North Andaman bow seen from the front 429\n ,, 13. North Andaman bow; A, in the half-strung or\n reversed position; B, in the fully strung\n position 429\n ,, 14. Toy bow of the North Andaman 432\n ,, 15. Section across the middle of four Semang bows 434\n ,, 16. Fish-arrow of the Great Andaman 437\n ,, 17. Head of pig-arrow, Great Andaman 437\n ,, 18. Pig-arrow with detachable head, Great Andaman 437\n ,, 19. Method of making the cord of the Great Andaman\n pig-arrow 437\n ,, 20. Pig-arrow, Little Andaman 440\n ,, 21. Head of Jarawa pig-arrow 440\n ,, 22. Arrow with head of Areca wood, Great Andaman 440\n ,, 23. Harpoon, Great Andaman 440\n ,, 24. Turtle net, South Andaman 442\n ,, 25. Knot used in making the North Andaman turtle net 443\n ,, 26. North Andaman fish-gig 444\n ,, 27. Boar\u2019s tusk, used as a spokeshave 448\n ,, 28. Adze and knife 449\n ,, 29. Method of making bamboo mat, Little Andaman 456\n ,, 30. Diagram showing the technique used in making\n mats of thatch 457\n ,, 31. Diagram showing the technique used in Great\n Andaman mats 457\n ,, 32 a, 32 b. Pot, tied up for carrying, North\n Andaman 459, 460\n ,, 33. Basket for carrying pot, South Andaman 461\n ,, 34. Portion of basket of Little Andaman 462\n ,, 35. Portion of basket of South Andaman 464\n ,, 36. Pig\u2019s skull with basket-work, Jarawa 466\n ,, 37. Diagram showing netting needle, and method of\n netting 471\n ,, 38. Shape of North Andaman pot 473\n ,, 39. Shape of South Andaman pot 474\n ,, 40. Necklaces of mangrove seed-tops, Great Andaman 480\n ,, 41. Diagram showing method of making ornamental cord,\n Little Andaman 481\n ,, 42. Designs incised or painted on belts of Pandanus\n leaf, Great Andaman 484\n ,, 43. Designs on bamboo necklace from the North Andaman 485\n ,, 44. Transverse section of canoe and outrigger 487\n ,, 45. Showing manner in which the boom is connected\n with the float 488\n ,, 46. Paddle 489\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nThe Andaman Islands are part of a chain of islands stretching from Cape\nNegrais in Burma to Achin Head in Sumatra. This line of islands forms a\nsingle geographical system, as it were a submarine range of mountains,\nthe highest points rising here and there above the surface of the\nocean. Some 80 miles or so from Cape Negrais lies the first of the\nislands in the chain, Preparis Island, between which and the mainland\nthe sea depth does not exceed 100 fathoms. Southwards of this the\nsubmarine ridge sinks to a depth of about 150 fathoms, rising again to\nform the small group of islands known as the Cocos, some 50 miles from\nPreparis. Geographically the Cocos may be regarded as part of the\nAndaman Group. Landfall Island, the most northerly point of the\nAndamans proper, is only distant from them some 30 miles, and the sea\ndepth between does not exceed 45 fathoms. The Andaman Group itself\nconsists of the Great and Little Andaman with their outlying islets,\nand occupies a distance approximately north and south of about 210\nmiles. Eighty miles to the south of the Andamans lie the Nicobar\nIslands, a scattered archipelago occupying a distance of about 160\nmiles from north to south. The sea between the Andamans and the\nNicobars is over 700 fathoms deep. Deep sea also divides the Nicobars\nfrom Sumatra, which is about 110 miles distant from the most southerly\npoint of Great Nicobar.\n\nThis line of islands is part of a long fold extending from the eastern\nend of the Himalayas, which includes the Arakan Yomah Range of Burma\nand the Andaman and Nicobar Islands and finds its continuation in the\nislands off the west coast of Sumatra [3].\n\nOn the west the Andamans are separated from the coast of Madras, 700\nmiles distant, by the Sea of Bengal. On the east the Andaman Sea, a\ndepression with a depth of over 1000 fathoms, separates the Andamans\nand Nicobars from the Malay Isthmus and Peninsula. Across the Andaman\nSea, less than 100 miles distant from the Andamans, there runs a line\nof volcanic activity, marked by two small islands, Barren Island in\nLat. 12\u00b0 15\u00b4 N. and Long. 93\u00b0 50\u00b4 E., and Narkondam in Lat. 13\u00b0 26\u00b4 N.\nand Long. 95\u00b0 15\u00b4 E. [4]\n\nThe Cocos, the Andamans and the Nicobars are now part of the Indian\nEmpire. The Cocos Islands are occupied by a station for wireless\ntelegraphy. In the Andaman Islands there is a penal settlement at Port\nBlair, to which are sent the criminals of India and Burma. The Nicobars\nare treated as one with the Andamans for administrative purposes.\n\nUntil the nineteenth century the Cocos Islands were uninhabited. The\nAndamans and the Nicobars have for many centuries been inhabited by two\nentirely different races. The Andamanese belong to that branch of the\nhuman species known to anthropologists as the Negrito race. They are\nshort of stature with black skins and frizzy hair. The Nicobarese, on\nthe other hand, resemble the races of Indo-China and Malaya, and have\nbrown skins and lank hair, and are of medium stature.\n\nThe Andaman Islands consist of the Great Andaman and the Little\nAndaman, and a number of smaller islands. The Great Andaman may be\nregarded as one island, although it is divided by narrow sea water\ncreeks into four areas, often spoken of as separate islands and called\nNorth Andaman, Middle Andaman, Baratang and South Andaman. It is a long\nnarrow stretch of land with a much indented coast, surrounded by many\nsmaller islands, of which the most important are Interview Island off\nthe west coast, Ritchie\u2019s Archipelago on the east, Rutland Island at\nthe extreme south, and the outlying North Sentinel Island. The length\nof the Great Andaman with Rutland Island is nearly 160 miles, while the\nbreadth from sea to sea is nowhere more than 20 miles. The Little\nAndaman lies to the south of the Great Andaman, about 30 miles distant\nfrom Rutland Island, from which it is separated by a shallow strait\nwith a maximum depth of only 21 fathoms. The island is about 26 miles\nlong from north to south and about 16 miles wide.\n\nViewed from the sea the islands appear as a series of hills, nowhere of\nany great height, covered from sky-line to high-water mark with dense\nand lofty forest. The hill-ranges run approximately north and south, in\nthe same direction as the islands themselves, and attain a greater\nelevation on the east than on the west. The highest point of the North\nAndaman is Saddle Peak (2402 feet), that of Middle Andaman is Mt\nDiavolo (1678 feet), while the South Andaman has the Mt Harriett Range\n(1505 feet), and in Rutland Island there is Mt Foord (1422 feet). There\nare no streams of any size. The water drains from the hills into tidal\ncreeks running through mangrove swamps, often many miles in length. The\ncoast is broken by a number of magnificent harbours. The shores are\nfringed with extensive coral reefs, and on these and in the creeks\nthere is abundance of fish and molluscs.\n\nThe islands, save for the clearings of the Penal Settlement, are\ncovered with dense tropical forest. There are few mammals, the only two\nof any size being a species of pig (Sus andamanensis, Blyth) and a\ncivet-cat (Paradoxurus tytlerii, Tytler). The other mammals are a few\nspecies of rats, a tree-shrew and some species of bats. Of birds there\nare many different species, some of them peculiar to the islands. The\nreptiles include a considerable number of species of snakes, and a few\nspecies of lizards, of which the most noteworthy is the large Monitor\nlizard (Varanus salvator).\n\nThe climate is warm and moist, and fairly uniform throughout the year.\nThe mean temperature for the year at Port Blair is about 86\u00b0 F. (80\u00b0 F.\non the wet bulb thermometer). The lowest temperatures are recorded in\nJanuary and February, and the highest in March, April, or May. The\naverage lowest temperature in the South Andaman over a period of seven\nyears is 66\u00b77\u00b0 F., the minimum during that period being 63\u00b0 F. The\naverage highest temperature in the shade for the same period was 96\u00b0\nF., the maximum being 97\u00b0. The average diurnal variation is 10\u00b0.\n\nThe average rainfall of seven stations in the Penal Settlement of Port\nBlair, for a period of seven years, was 138 inches per annum, the\naverages of the different stations varying from 104 to 172 inches. For\nthe same period the average number of rainy days in the year was 177,\nthe minimum being 160 and the maximum 196.\n\nThe islands are sufficiently far from the Equator to have a single\nwell-defined rainy season. The greater part of the rain falls during\nthe south-west monsoon, which lasts from the middle of May to the\nmiddle of November. The north-east monsoon extends over the other six\nmonths of the year, which include the dry and hot seasons.\n\nThe average weather can be shown most conveniently by means of a\ncalendar.\n\n\nJanuary. Cool; little or no rain; wind N.N.E.; nights sometimes foggy.\n\nFebruary. Cool; little or no rain; wind N.N.E.; very clear; light airs.\n\nMarch. Hot by day, cool nights; little or no rain; wind N.N.E.; light\nairs, occasional haze; the weather gets hotter as the month passes.\n\nApril. Very hot; little or no rain; wind variable, off-shore at night\nand on-shore by day; calm and hazy.\n\nMay. The first half of the month like April; the south-west monsoon\nsets in about the 15th; the remainder of the month cooler and with wind\nW.S.W.\n\nJune. Fairly cool; heavy rains; wind W.S.W., squally.\n\nJuly. }\n }\nAugust. } Do. do. do. do.\n }\nSeptember. }\n\nOctober. Variable wind and weather; generally some calm weather;\nwaterspouts may occur.\n\nNovember. During the first half of the month the wind and weather are\nvery uncertain; a cyclone may occur; after the middle of the month the\nnorth-east monsoon sets in.\n\nDecember. Fairly cool; not much rain; wind N.N.E.\n\n\nMany of the violent cyclonic storms that sweep across the Sea of Bengal\nseem to form themselves a little to the south of the Andamans. Cyclones\nof exceptional violence struck Port Cornwallis in 1844 and Port Blair\nin 1864 and 1891.\n\nThe aborigines of the Andaman Islands have been in their present home\nfor a great many centuries. It is not possible to say with any degree\nof certainty how or when they first reached the islands. Geological and\nother evidence would seem to show that the Andamans were united to the\nmainland along the line of the Arakan Fold in later Tertiary times, but\neven this is perhaps not quite certain [5]. In any case the period of\npast land connection seems to be so remote that it had probably ceased\nto exist at the time when the islands were peopled by the ancestors of\nthe present natives. If the ancestors of the Andamanese reached the\nislands at the time of a past land connection, they can only have done\nso from the Arakan region of Burma. On the other hand, if they\ntravelled by sea they must almost certainly have started from the\nBurmese coast (Pegu or Arakan). The north-east monsoon would drift them\nthence on to the Andamans. It is conceivable that they might have\ntravelled from Sumatra by way of the Nicobars, but the north-east\nmonsoon would have opposed their progress in this direction, while the\nsouth-west monsoon would have driven them to the east of the Andamans\n[6]. It is hardly possible to imagine them coming from the Malay\nPeninsula across the wide stretch of the Andaman Sea. The balance of\nprobability is in favour of the view that the Andamans were peopled,\neither by sea or by land, from the region of Lower Burma.\n\nOf the Negrito race, to which the Andamanese belong, there are two\nother branches still in existence. The first of these consists of the\npeople who may be conveniently spoken of as the Semang, inhabiting the\ninterior of the Malay Peninsula between 5\u00b0 and 7\u00b0 N. Latitude. The\nother branch of this primitive race is found in the interior of the\nPhilippine Islands. From their present distribution it is clear that\nthe Negritos must at some long past time have wandered over a wide area\nin south-eastern Asia. The connection between the Andamanese and the\nSemang can only have been either through Sumatra and the Nicobars, or,\nmore probably, by way of Lower Burma. Communication between the Malay\nPeninsula and the Philippine Islands must have been either by way of\nBorneo or Celebes, or else by way of Annam and Cochin China. It is\ncertainly many centuries, and probably many thousands of years, since\nthe three surviving branches of the race were cut off from all\ncommunication with each other [7].\n\nIn the Malay Peninsula and in the Philippines the Negritos have for a\nlong time been living in contact with other races. They have been\ndriven back from the coasts and fertile valleys into the less\naccessible districts. There is ample evidence that they have adopted\nmany of the customs of the races around them, and have even adopted to\na great extent the language of their alien neighbours. The original\nNegrito culture and language and even perhaps the original physical\ntype have been modified in these two branches of the race.\n\nIn the case of the Andaman Islanders it is possible that they have been\nentirely isolated in their island home, and have not been affected by\ncontact with other races, but have been free to develop their own\nculture in adaptation to their own environment. If a hypothesis to this\neffect were accepted we should see in the Andamanese the direct\ndescendants, in physical character, in language, and in culture, of the\noriginal Negrito race. In historical times it is known that the islands\nhave been avoided by mariners navigating the adjacent seas, owing to\nthe fact that the natives attacked all strangers who landed or were\nwrecked upon their shores. Moreover, the islands offered little\ninducement to visitors or settlers. The coconut, which is one of the\nmainstays of life in tropical islands, was not found in the Andamans\nprior to the first European settlement.\n\nThe earliest authentic reference to the Andaman Islands seems to be\nthat of two Arab travellers dating from A.D. 871. In the eighteenth\ncentury the Abb\u00e9 Renaudot translated the account of these travels. Of\nthe Andamans we read, \u201cAu de-l\u00e0 de ces deux Isles on trouve la mer\nappell\u00e9e d\u2019Andeman. Les peuples qui habitent sur la coste, mangent de\nla chair humaine, toute cru\u00eb. Ils sont noirs, ils ont les cheveux\ncrespus, le visage et les yeux affreux, les pieds fort grands et\npresque longs d\u2019une coud\u00e9e, et ils vont tout nuds. Ils n\u2019ont point de\nbarques, et s\u2019ils en avoient ils ne mangeroient pas tous les passants\nqu\u2019ils peuvent attraper. Les vaisseaux se trouvant retardez dans leur\nroute par les vents contraires, sont souvent obligez dans ces mers de\nmouiller \u00e0 la coste o\u00f9 sont ces Barbares pour y faire de l\u2019eau, lors\nqu\u2019ils ont consomm\u00e9 celle qu\u2019ils avoient \u00e0 bord. Ils en attrapent\nsouvent quelques-uns, mais la pluspart se sauvent [8].\u201d\n\nIt would seem that the Chinese and Japanese knew the islands in the\nfirst millenium A.D., and referred to them by the names Yeng-t\u2019o-mang\nand Andaban respectively [9]. Marco Polo gives a brief notice of the\nislands. \u201cAngaman is a very large island, not governed by a king. The\ninhabitants are idolaters, and are a most brutish and savage race,\nhaving heads, eyes, and teeth resembling those of the canine species.\nTheir dispositions are cruel, and every person, not being of their own\nnation, whom they can lay their hands upon, they kill and eat [10].\u201d\nSome of Marco Polo\u2019s statements about the Andamans, as that the natives\nlive on rice and milk, and that they have coconuts, and plantains, are\nincorrect. It is evident that all he knew of the islands was derived\nfrom hearsay. The passage quoted is only of importance as showing that\nthe reputation of the Andamanese was such as to cause them to be feared\nand avoided.\n\nA more trustworthy account is that of Master Caesar Frederike, who\npassed near the Nicobars in 1566. \u201cFrom Nicubar to Pegu is, as it were,\na row or chain of an infinite number of islands, of which many are\ninhabited with wild people; and they call those islands the Islands of\nAndemaon, and they call their people savage or wild, because they eat\none another: also, these islands have war one with another, for they\nhave small barques, and with them they take one another, and so eat one\nanother: and if by evil chance any ship be lost on those islands, as\nmany have been, there is not one man of those ships lost there that\nescapeth uneaten or unslain. These people have not any acquaintance\nwith any other people, neither have they trade with any, but live only\nof such fruits as those islands yield [11].\u201d\n\nThere are numerous references to the Andamans in the seventeenth and\neighteenth century, and all of them show that the islands were feared\nand avoided. During these and the previous centuries wrecks must have\noccurred in considerable numbers, and it is probable, from what is now\nknown of the natives, that the mariners would be immediately slain.\nVisits were also paid by ships whose water supply had run out, and by\nMalay pirates. There is evidence that boats, either Malay or Chinese,\nsometimes visited the islands in search of edible birds\u2019 nests and\ntrepang. In some cases Andamanese were captured and carried off as\nslaves. It is extremely improbable that such visitors ever succeeded in\nestablishing friendly relations with the islanders.\n\nThere is one way in which the life of the Andamanese was affected by\nthe vessels that visited or were wrecked upon their shores, since it\nwas by this means that they learnt the use of iron.\n\nIt is impossible now to determine the date at which they became\nacquainted with the metal. The earliest reference to the subject is in\nan account of a visit to the Andamans in 1771, where it is shown that\nthe natives were at that time aware of the value of iron [12]. Until\nthe middle of the nineteenth century the only supply of the metal was\nfrom wrecks, of which there have always been a fair number.\n\nUntil the end of the eighteenth century there was no attempt made to\nopen up communication with the Andaman Islands, although the Nicobar\nIslands were the scene of several attempts to establish a colony. In\n1788, owing to the menace to shipping constituted by the islands and\ntheir inhabitants, the East India Company, under Lord Cornwallis,\ncommissioned Archibald Blair to start a settlement, convicts being sent\nas labourers. The settlement was founded in September, 1789, in the\nharbour now known as Port Blair, but then called Port Cornwallis. In\nspite of the hostility of the natives the colony seems to have been\nsuccessful. In 1792 it was transferred from the first site to the\nharbour in the North Andaman now known as Port Cornwallis. The transfer\nwas made with the idea of creating a naval base, for which the spot\nchosen was well adapted. Unfortunately the new site proved to be very\nunhealthy, and in 1796 the scheme was abandoned, the convicts were\ntransferred to Penang, and the settlers returned to India.\n\nDuring the next sixty years the islands remained unoccupied save by the\naborigines. There were a number of wrecks in different parts of the\nislands, and in some cases the crews were slain. In 1839 a geologist,\nDr Helfer, visited the islands in the hope of finding minerals, and was\nkilled by the natives. In 1844 two transports, the Briton and the\nRunnymede, were wrecked in a cyclone on Ritchie\u2019s Archipelago, one of\nthe ships being thrown high up over a reef into a mangrove swamp. The\ncrew and soldiers were safely landed, and were eventually rescued with\nhardly any loss of life. As they were a large party they were safe from\nthe possible attacks of the natives, and they lived on stores rescued\nfrom the wrecks.\n\nIn view of the number of wrecks that occurred on the islands and the\ndesirability of establishing there some harbour where vessels might\nsafely call for water or shelter from storms, the East India Company\nagain considered the question of colonizing the Andamans. When the\nCompany, at the end of the Indian Mutiny, found themselves with a large\nnumber of prisoners on their hands, it was decided to create a new\nPenal Settlement, and the site of the settlement of 1788 was chosen for\nthis purpose, and renamed Port Blair.\n\nThe Penal Settlement was established in March 1858, and has been in\nexistence ever since. The aborigines were hostile from the outset, and\ngave much trouble by their raids. They made a determined effort to oust\nthe invaders from their country. To establish friendly relations with\nthem an institution known as the Andamanese Homes was founded, to\nprovide free rations and lodging, and medical attendance, to such of\nthem as could be induced to visit the Settlement. Through the efforts\nof successive officers in charge of these Homes friendly relations were\nestablished, first of all with the Aka-Bea tribe in the neighbourhood\nof Port Blair, then with other tribes of the South Andaman, and at a\nlater date with the inhabitants of the North Andaman and the Little\nAndaman. At the present day there is only one body of Andamanese still\npersistently hostile, and these are the so-called J\u030ca\u0324rawa of the\ninterior of the South Andaman. These J\u030ca\u0324rawa, since about 1870, have\nmade repeated attacks on isolated parties of convicts and forest\nworkers and on the friendly Andamanese. Punitive expeditions have been\nsent against them on several occasions, and attempts to set up friendly\nrelations with them have been made by leaving presents in their huts,\nand by capturing some of them and keeping them for a time at Port\nBlair. At the present time the J\u030ca\u0324rawa are as hostile as ever.\n\nAlthough of one race throughout, the Andaman Islanders are divided into\nseveral groups, with differences of language and culture. There are two\nmain divisions, which will be spoken of as the Great Andaman Group and\nthe Little Andaman Group respectively. The Great Andaman Group includes\nall the natives of the Great Andaman with the exception of those of the\ninterior of the South Andaman who are known as J\u030ca\u0324rawa. The Little\nAndaman Group includes all the inhabitants of the Little Andaman, those\nof the North Sentinel Island and the J\u030ca\u0324rawa of the South Andaman.\n\nThese two different divisions exhibit many differences of language and\nculture. All the languages of the Great Andaman Group are closely\nrelated to one another. They have the same grammatical structure, and a\nlarge number of roots are the same in all or in several of them. In the\nsame way the language of the J\u030ca\u0324rawa, so far as it is known, is very\nsimilar to that of the natives of the Little Andaman. On the other hand\nwhen the language of the Little Andaman is compared with the Great\nAndaman languages there is a very striking difference. Of a vocabulary\nof several hundred words collected in the Little Andaman there were\nless than a dozen in which the root or stem was clearly the same as\nthat of words in the Great Andaman. While the grammatical structure of\nthe languages of the two groups is fundamentally the same, this can\nonly be shown in a somewhat detailed analysis, and there are many\nimportant differences.\n\nWith regard to technical culture the same grouping appears. There is a\ngeneral similarity between all the tribes of the Great Andaman Group,\nwhile the J\u030ca\u0324rawa and the inhabitants of the Little Andaman have a\ntechnical culture of their own that is markedly different from that of\nthe other division.\n\nThe natives of the Great Andaman Group are divided into tribes, of\nwhich there are ten, each with its own distinctive language or dialect,\nand with a name. The following is a list of these tribes, passing from\nnorth to south:\u2014Aka-\u010cari, Aka-Ko\u0331ra, Aka-Bo, Aka-J\u030ceru, Aka-Kede,\nAka-Ko\u0331l, O\u0331ko\u0331-J\u030cuwo\u0331i, A-Pu\u010dikwar, Akar-Bale, and Aka-Bea. In each case\nthe name is given in the form in which it is used by the tribe itself.\nThus the Aka-Bea speak of the A-Pu\u010dikwar as Aka-Bo\u01f0ig-yab, and refer to\nthe Akar-Bale as Aka-Bala-wa, and there are similar variants of other\ntribal names.\n\nThe natives of the Little Andaman refer to themselves as \u00d6nge (men). It\nis probable that the so-called J\u030ca\u0324rawa of the South Andaman have the\nsame word. In a vocabulary obtained by Colebrooke in 1790 from a J\u030ca\u0324rawa\nnear Port Blair, the word Mincopie is given as meaning a native of the\nAndaman Islands. This would seem to be simply the same phrase as the\nLittle Andaman M\u2019\u00f6nge-bi = I am \u00d6nge, or I am a \u201cman.\u201d The word J\u030ca\u0324rawa\nis apparently derived from the Aka-Bea language, but is now used by all\nthe friendly natives (i.e. the natives of the Great Andaman Group) to\ndenote those of the Little Andaman Group. In the official publications\ndealing with the Andamans, however, the term J\u030ca\u0324rawa has come to be\napplied solely to the hostile natives of the Great Andaman. It is in\nthis sense that the word is used in the present work, the name \u00d6nge\nbeing reserved for the natives of the Little Andaman. It must be\nremembered, however, that the so-called J\u030ca\u0324rawa probably call themselves\n\u00d6nge, while the \u00d6nge of the Little Andaman are called J\u030ca\u0324rawa by the\nnatives of the friendly tribes of the Great Andaman. The name Mincopie\nwas at one time common in ethnological literature as a term for the\nAndaman Islanders.\n\nIt is convenient to divide the tribes of the Great Andaman Group into\ntwo subdivisions, to be spoken of as the Northern Group (including the\nfirst four tribes mentioned above) and the Southern Group (including\nthe other six tribes). Between these two divisions there are a number\nof differences of culture. They have, for example, different forms of\nbow, and different kinds of baskets. The differences between them are\nmuch slighter than those between the Great Andaman tribes and the\nnatives of the Little Andaman, but they are of sufficient importance to\nmake it necessary to distinguish them from one another.\n\nThe different divisions of the Andamanese may for convenience be set\nout in the form of a table.\n\n\n I. Great Andaman Group.\n\n A. Northern Group, including the tribes:\u2014\n\n Aka-\u010cari,\n Aka-Ko\u0331ra,\n Aka-Bo,\n Aka-J\u030ceru.\n\n B. Southern Group, including the tribes:\u2014\n\n Aka-Kede,\n Aka-Ko\u0331l,\n O\u0331ko\u0331-J\u030cuwo\u0331i,\n A-Pu\u010dikwar,\n Akar-Bale,\n Aka-Bea.\n\n II. Little Andaman Group.\n\n A. The inhabitants of the Little Andaman (\u00d6nge).\n B. The J\u030ca\u0324rawa of the South Andaman.\n C. The inhabitants of the North Sentinel Island.\n\n\nThe distribution of these different groups as it was in 1858 is shown\non the map.\n\nThere is one important feature of this distribution that requires a few\nwords of explanation, and that is the presence in the South Andaman of\nthe J\u030ca\u0324rawa who are allied by language and technical culture to the\nnatives of the Little Andaman. There can be no doubt that the J\u030ca\u0324rawa\nare the descendants of emigrants who at some time in the past made\ntheir way across from the Little Andaman and thrust themselves in upon\nthe inhabitants of Rutland Island and the South Andaman, maintaining\ntheir footing in the new country by force of arms.\n\nThe identity of the flora and fauna of the Little Andaman with those of\nthe Great Andaman and the shallowness of the strait between the\nislands, suggests that at no very remote period they have been united\nby a continuous land connection. Whether or not this connection existed\nat the time when the islands were first peopled, it is at any rate\nreasonable to suppose that the original ancestors of the present\nAndamanese had one language and one culture. Once the Little Andaman\nwas peopled, the strait between it and the Great Andaman seems to have\nacted as an effective barrier, to keep the two divisions of the race\napart for many centuries. During the period of this separation each\ndivision followed its own line of development, with the result that\nthere arose the considerable differences of language and culture that\nnow exist.\n\nAt a much later date than this separation of the Andamanese into two\nisolated groups, and after the typical differences of language and\nculture had been developed, a party of natives must have made their way\nby canoe from the north of the Little Andaman to Rutland Island. They\nwould have found that country occupied by natives of the Great Andaman\nGroup. In spite of this they succeeded in establishing themselves in\nthe South Andaman, and became the progenitors of the present J\u030ca\u0324rawa.\nOwing to the difference of language all communication between the\nLittle Andaman invaders and those already occupying the invaded country\nwould be impossible. (At the present day a native of the Little Andaman\ncannot make himself understood to a native of one of the Great Andaman\ntribes.) The result has been that the J\u030ca\u0324rawa have lived in a state of\nconstant warfare with their neighbours, and this hostility has lasted\ndown to the present day.\n\nIt is only on the above hypothesis that it is possible to explain how\nit comes about that we find in the South Andaman people with language\nand technical culture very similar to that of the Little Andaman, and\ndiffering from that of the remaining inhabitants of the Great Andaman.\nIt is impossible to say how long it is since this invasion from the\nLittle Andaman took place. At the end of the eighteenth century the\nJ\u030ca\u0324rawa were to be found in the neighbourhood of Port Blair. Lieutenant\nColebrooke in 1790 came across an individual of this tribe and obtained\nfrom him a vocabulary. A comparison of this vocabulary with the\nlanguage of the Little Andaman shows it to be essentially the same\nlanguage [13].\n\nA few words must be said on the position of the natives of the North\nSentinel Island. Almost nothing is known of these people. What little\ninformation is available concerning their weapons and implements seems\nto point to their belonging to the Little Andaman Division. There is no\ncommunication between them and either the Great Andaman or the Little\nAndaman. It is possible that they have been separated from the other\nAndamanese as long as those of the Little Andaman have been separated\nfrom those of the Great Andaman, and would therefore constitute a third\nseparate division. The South Sentinel Island is uninhabited.\n\nThe total area of the Andamans is estimated to be about 2500 square\nmiles. This area is divided as follows:\u2014\n\n\n Sq. miles.\n North Andaman, being the territory of the four tribes 540\n Aka-Cari, Aka-Kora, Aka-Bo, and Aka-Jeru\n Middle Andaman and Baratang, occupied by four tribes, 790\n Aka-Kede, Aka-Kol, Oko-Juwoi and A-Pucikwar\n The Archipelago, occupied by the Akar-Bale tribe 140\n The South Andaman, occupied by the Aka-Bea and the Jarawa 630\n North Sentinel Island 30\n Little Andaman 370\n ----\n 2500\n\n\nIt is not possible to give accurately the area occupied by each tribe,\nas the boundaries are difficult to discover. The Aka-Bea is in an\nexceptional position, as there was no definite boundary between them\nand the J\u030ca\u0324rawa. The two parties of natives lived in the same territory\nat enmity with each other. It would seem that the Aka-Bea kept on the\nwhole more to the coast, while the J\u030ca\u0324rawa lived in the interior.\n\nLeaving aside the Aka-Bea, the largest of the Great Andaman tribes, as\nregards area of territory, was the Aka-Kede, which possessed over 300\nsquare miles. After this tribe in order of size come the A-Pu\u010dikwar,\nAka-J\u030ceru and Aka-Ko\u0331ra tribes, while the smaller ones are the O\u0331ko\u0331-J\u030cuwo\u0331i,\nAka-Ko\u0331l, Aka-Bo, Akar-Bale and Aka-\u010cari, the last being perhaps the\nsmallest of all.\n\nIn 1901 an enumeration of the natives of the Great Andaman was\nattempted in connection with the census of India. Such an enumeration\nwas of course very difficult, and liable to considerable error. The\nresults are given in the following table:\u2014\n\n\n Name of Tribe Adults Children Total\n Males Females Males Females\n Aka-Cari 16 15 6 2 39\n Aka-Kora 31 32 14 19 96\n Aka-Bo 15 16 7 10 48\n Aka-Jeru 98 80 26 14 218\n Aka-Kede 24 30 3 2 59\n Aka-Kol 6 2 3 11\n Oko-Juwoi 21 19 7 1 48\n A-Pucikwar 31 14 2 3 50\n Akar-Bale 5 10 3 1 19\n Aka-Bea 14 16 3 4 37\n --- --- -- -- ---\n Total 261 234 74 56 625\n\n\nThese figures are likely to be more accurate for the southern tribes\n(the last five on the list) than for the northern tribes. It is\nprobable that, in the North Andaman, some of the persons enumerated\nwere entered under the wrong tribe. For many years the officers of the\nAndamans did not know of the existence of the Aka-Ko\u0331ra and Aka-Bo\ntribes, and members of these tribes have fallen into the habit of\ndescribing themselves to Europeans as either Aka-J\u030ceru or Aka-\u010cari. My\nown opinion is that the numbers given for the Aka-J\u030ceru tribe are too\nlarge, while those of the Aka-Ko\u0331ra and Aka-Bo, and perhaps also the\nAka-Kede, are too small.\n\nFor the census of 1901 an attempt was made to estimate the numbers of\nthe J\u030ca\u0324rawa and the natives of the Little Andaman, any attempt at\nenumeration being impossible. The estimate given was as follows:\u2014\n\n\n Little Andaman 672\n South Andaman Jarawa 117\n Rutland Island Jarawa 351\n North Sentinel Island 117\n ----\n Total 1257\n\n\nThis estimate is not of any great value. As regards the Little Andaman,\nmy own information would lead me to estimate their numbers at between\n600 and 700, thus agreeing with the estimate above. Concerning the\nNorth Sentinel Island nothing is known on which a satisfactory estimate\ncould be based. The figures for the Rutland Island J\u030ca\u0324rawa are certainly\nvery much too high. In 1907 I spent some weeks on Rutland Island trying\nto get into touch with the J\u030ca\u0324rawa there. At that time there were\ncertainly not more than 50 all told on the island. I was only able to\ndiscover one camp, and that had been deserted just before it was\ndiscovered, but had not contained a dozen persons. The Rutland Island\nJ\u030ca\u0324rawa have been cut off from the other J\u030ca\u0324rawa by the spread of the\nconvict Settlement since about 1885. The majority of the J\u030ca\u0324rawa now\ninhabit the interior and western coast of the South Andaman north of\nPort Blair.\n\nDuring the last fifty years the numbers of the Andamanese have been\ngreatly diminished. This has been the result of the European occupation\nof the islands, and is chiefly due to new diseases that have been\nintroduced amongst them. Syphilis was introduced among the tribes of\nthe South Andaman about 1870, and this has now spread among all the\nGreat Andaman tribes (that is, excluding the hostile J\u030ca\u0324rawa). A large\nnumber of natives are infected, and the disease is responsible directly\nand indirectly for a considerable increase in the death-rate. In March,\n1877, an epidemic of measles broke out among the Andamanese, introduced\nwith a batch of convicts from Madras, and spread rapidly from one end\nof the Great Andaman to the other. In six weeks 51 out of 184 cases\ntreated in hospital proved fatal. It is almost certain that the\nproportion of deaths was much greater in the case of those, the vast\nmajority, to whom no medical aid could be given. A writer on the\nAndamans [14] has estimated that the mortality from measles and its\nsequelae was one-half if not two-thirds of the whole population of the\nGreat Andaman. Other diseases which were formerly unknown to the\nislands seem also to have been introduced, including influenza.\n\nWhile the death-rate amongst the friendly Andamanese has been\nenormously increased, the birth-rate has at the same time fallen to\nalmost nothing. This is evident from the proportion of adults to\nchildren in the population table given above. In 1907, out of a total\nof about 500 natives whom I saw at different times, there were not more\nthan a dozen children of less than five years old. A birth is a rare\noccurrence, and of the children born very few survive infancy.\n\nThis decrease of population has not as yet affected the Little Andaman.\nThe natives of this island have had very little contact with the Penal\nSettlement or with the tribes of the Great Andaman, and have thus\nescaped the diseases which are mainly responsible for the depopulation\nof the larger island.\n\nSeveral attempts have been made to estimate the former population of\nthe Andamans. In the \u201cCensus Report\u201d for 1901 the estimate given is\n4800 for the whole group. Mr M. V. Portman has given an estimate of\n8000. It seemed to me that one of these is too small and the other too\nlarge. Judging from what it is possible to learn about the habits of\nthe natives, and the food supply available, I should estimate that the\nformer population of the islands (in 1858) was about 5500 [15]. An\nestimate for the proportion of the different groups is as follows:\u2014\n\n\n Estimated former Density per\n population. square mile.\n\n North Andaman (four tribes) 1500 2\u00b775\n Middle Andaman with Baratang 2250 2\u00b75\n and Ritchie\u2019s Archipelago\n South Andaman (Aka-Bea and Jarawa) 1200 2\u00b70\n Little Andaman and North Sentinel 700 1\u00b775\n ---- ----\n Total 5650 2\u00b725\n\n\nWith regard to the comparative density per square mile of the different\ngroups it may be pointed out that the reason for the smaller density of\nthe South Andaman is the fact that the Aka-Bea and J\u030ca\u0324rawa were living\nthere at war with one another, and the territory was therefore probably\nnot so fully occupied as in other parts of the islands where boundaries\nbetween neighbouring tribes were well defined. The food supply of the\nLittle Andaman does not seem to be so abundant as that of the Great\nAndaman in proportion to its area. It must be remembered that length of\ncoast-line is of more importance to the Andamanese than the actual area\nof their country. The natives of the Little Andaman are not able to\nharpoon turtle and large fish, which constitute an important element of\nthe food supply of the tribes of the Great Andaman.\n\nIf the figures of the above estimate be correct, it will be seen that\nthe population of the North Andaman has been reduced in less than fifty\nyears (1858\u20131901) to about 27 per cent. of its former volume, while in\nthe same period the population of the Middle Andaman and South Andaman\nhas been reduced to about 18 per cent. As the tribes in the south were\nthe first to come into contact with the Settlement, their numbers have\ndiminished more rapidly than those of the northern tribes. It is\nprobable that in another fifty years the natives of the Great Andaman\ntribes will be extinct.\n\nThe diminution of population has combined with other causes to alter\nconsiderably the mode of life of the islanders. What were formerly\ndistinct and often hostile communities are now merged together. The\ndifferent languages have become corrupt, and some tribes have adopted\ncustoms of other tribes and have abandoned their own. Most of the\nyounger men and women of the friendly tribes of the Great Andaman now\nspeak a little Hindustani (Urdu) in a somewhat corrupt form. The\nfriendly natives are under the charge of an officer of the Settlement,\nknown as the Officer in Charge of the Andamanese. A Home and Hospital\nare provided for them in Port Blair, and natives from all parts, even\nfrom the extreme north, go there either to be treated in the Hospital\nor to stay at the Home. During certain parts of the year some of the\nnatives are employed in collecting trepang (b\u00eache de mer) under the\ndirection of petty officers, who are natives of India or Burma. The\ntrepang, together with wild honey and shells collected by the\nAndamanese, is sold, and the money is devoted to the service of the\nAndamanese Department. There is also a grant of money from the\nGovernment of India, in return for which the Officer in Charge must,\nwhen necessary, provide Andamanese to track and capture any convicts\nwho may run away from the Penal Settlement. The funds thus made\navailable serve to provide the natives with blankets, cloth, iron tools\nand scrap iron, rice, sugar, tea and tobacco. The result of this system\nis that there is a free circulation of natives in all parts of the\nGreat Andaman. Whereas, formerly, the natives kept carefully to their\nown part of the country, they now make long journeys, either in their\nown canoes, or in Government launches, and members of the northern\ntribes are to be found at Port Blair and elsewhere in the south, while\nmen and women of the southern tribes are to be found engaged in\ncollecting trepang in the north.\n\nThe natives of the Little Andaman have as yet scarcely been affected by\nthese changes. Within recent years, however, some of the natives of the\nnorthern part of the Little Andaman have been in the habit of making\nperiodical visits to Rutland Island in their canoes, and occasionally\ncome as far as Port Blair. Their chief reason for visiting the\nSettlement is to obtain iron for their arrows and adzes, but they have\nalso begun to appreciate sugar and tobacco.\n\nThe manners and customs of the Andaman Islanders have formed the\nsubject of a number of writings. By far the most important of these is\na work by Mr E. H. Man, who was for some years an officer of the Penal\nSettlement of Port Blair, and for four years of that time was in charge\nof the Andamanese Home. Mr Man made a special study of the language of\nthe Aka-Bea tribe and compiled an extensive vocabulary, which, however,\nhas never been published. His observations on the manners and customs\nof this tribe and others of the South Andaman were published in the\nJournal of the Anthropological Institute of the year 1882 (Volume XII),\nand were reprinted in the form of a book On the Aboriginal Inhabitants\nof the Andaman Islands. As the reprint is difficult to obtain, the\nreferences to Mr Man\u2019s work in the chapters that follow are all to the\npages of the Journal of the Anthropological Institute, Volume XII.\n\nAnother writer on the Andamanese is Mr M. V. Portman, who was for some\nyears an officer of the Andaman Commission, and was for a long time in\ncharge of the Andamanese. His Manual of the Andamanese Languages,\nLondon, 1887, is full of errors and entirely unreliable. A later work,\nentitled Notes on the Languages of the South Andaman Group of Tribes,\nCalcutta, 1898, is of much greater value, and though not entirely free\nfrom errors, is on the whole useful and accurate. Mr Portman has also\ncompiled A History of Our Relations with the Andamanese (2 volumes,\nCalcutta, 1899), which contains a mass of information on the subject\nwith which it deals, but does not add very much to our knowledge of the\nAndamanese themselves. The British Museum possesses an excellent\ncollection of photographs of the Andamanese taken by Mr Portman.\n\nA good general description of the islands and of their inhabitants by\nColonel Sir Richard Temple, who was for many years Chief Commissioner\nof the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, is contained in Volume III of the\nCensus of India, 1901, here referred to as \u201cCensus Report\u201d 1901.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nTHE SOCIAL ORGANISATION\n\n\nIn the present chapter we are to deal with the customs and institutions\nby which the natives of the Great Andaman regulate the conduct of\npersons one to another. At the outset it is necessary to get as clear\nan idea as possible of the structure of the Andamanese society. That\nstructure, as will be shown, is extremely simple.\n\nWhat is really of interest to the ethnologist is the social\norganisation of these tribes as it existed before the European\noccupation of the islands. The changes that have taken place in recent\nyears have been extensive, the most important being the great\ndiminution in numbers and the merging together of what were formerly\ndistinct and often hostile communities. It is fairly easy, however, to\ndiscover from the natives themselves what was the constitution of the\nsociety in former times, though there remain a few points about which\nno satisfactory information can be obtained.\n\nWhen the islands were first occupied by the British, before\ndepopulation had affected their institutions, the natives of the Great\nAndaman were to be found living in small communities scattered over the\nislands, mostly on the coast, but some of them in the forest of the\ninterior of the island. Each such community, which will be spoken of as\na \u201clocal group,\u201d was independent and autonomous, leading its own life\nand regulating its own affairs. Each group had occasional relations\nwith other neighbouring groups; visitors might pass from one to\nanother; or the two groups might meet together for a few days and join\nin feasting and dancing. On the other hand there were often quarrels\nbetween neighbouring groups, which might result in a state of feud\nbetween them for many months. Between communities separated from one\nanother by a distance of only 50 miles or even less there were no\ndirect relations whatever. The members of one community kept to their\nown part of the country, only leaving it to visit their friends within\na narrow radius.\n\nThese local groups were united into what are here called tribes. A\ntribe consisted of a number of local groups all speaking what the\nnatives themselves regard as one language, each tribe having its own\nlanguage and its name. The tribe was of very little importance in\nregulating the social life, and was merely a loose aggregate of\nindependent local groups.\n\nThe local groups are further distinguished by the natives themselves as\nbeing of two kinds according as they lived on the coast or inland. This\ndivision was independent of that into tribes. Some tribes consisted of\ncoast-dwellers only, while others included both coast-dwellers and\nforest-dwellers.\n\nWithin the local group the only division was that into families. A\nfamily consists of a man and his wife and their unmarried children own\nor adopted.\n\nThese were the only social divisions existing among the Andamanese, who\nwere without any of those divisions known as \u201cclans\u201d which are\ncharacteristic of many primitive societies.\n\nThe natives of the Great Andaman (leaving aside the J\u030ca\u0324rawa, who by\nlanguage and culture belong to the Little Andaman division of the race)\nare divided into ten tribes, each occupying a certain area of country.\nEach tribe consists of a number of persons who speak what is regarded\nby the natives themselves as one language. That the tribe is\nfundamentally a linguistic group is shown by the tribal names. These\nare all formed from a stem with the prefix aka-, which prefix is used\nin the languages of the Great Andaman to convey a reference to the\nmouth and thereby to the function of speech. Thus in the Aka-J\u030ceru\nlanguage the stem po\u014b means \u201ca hole of any kind,\u201d and aka-po\u014b means\n\u201cthe mouth,\u201d there being no other word for that part of the body. In\nthe same language the stem -ar- meaning \u201cto talk\u201d can only be used with\nthe prefix aka-, as ak\u2019-ar-ka, \u201che says.\u201d The prefix which is\ncharacteristic of the tribal names, indicates, therefore, that these\nare really the names of languages.\n\nThe meanings or derivations of some of the tribal names have not been\nascertained with certainty. The name Aka-\u010cari is derived from the word\n\u010dari meaning \u201csalt water,\u201d and therefore means \u201cthe salt-water\nlanguage.\u201d Similarly the name Aka-J\u030ceru is derived from \u01f0eru, a species\nof Sterculia from which canoes are made. In the Northern languages the\nword ot-bo means \u201cthe back\u201d of anything, and o\u014b-ko\u0331ra means \u201cthe hand.\u201d\nIt is possible that the names Aka-Bo and Aka-Ko\u0331ra are derived from\nthese stems (the ot- and the o\u014b- being prefixes), but there is no\nevidence that they are associated with them in the minds of the natives\nof the present day. Among the Southern tribes the name Akar-Bale is\nderived from a word meaning \u201cthe other side\u201d of a creek or strait, thus\nreferring to their position in the Archipelago. The name A-Pu\u010dik-war\n(of which the Aka-Bea equivalent is Aka-Bo\u01f0ig-yab) means \u201cthose who\nspeak our own language,\u201d from a stem pu\u010dik (Aka-Bea, bo\u01f0ig) which means\n\u201cbelonging to ourselves\u201d as opposed to strangers of the same race. Mr\nPortman [16] gives the following meanings of the other tribal names of\nthe South and Middle Andaman, but the derivations are somewhat\ndoubtful.\n\n\n Aka-Bea Fresh water.\n O\u0331ko\u0331-J\u030cuwo\u0331i They cut patterns on their bows.\n Aka-Ko\u0331l Bitter or salt taste.\n\n\nI may take this opportunity of pointing out two errors in the names of\nthe tribes given in the \u201cCensus Report\u201d of 1901. The name Aka-\u010cari is\ngiven as Aka-Chariar; the stem -ar- means \u201cto talk\u201d and is not an\nessential part of the tribal name; Aka-\u010cari-ar-bom means \u201che talks the\n\u010cari language.\u201d The name Aka-Bo is given as Aka-Tabo; t\u2019a-Bo means \u201cI\n(am) Aka-Bo,\u201d just as t\u2019a-J\u030ceru means \u201cI (am) Aka-J\u030ceru,\u201d the prefix aka-\nbeing contracted to a- after the personal pronoun t\u2019 = I or my.\n\nAlthough the natives themselves thus recognize and give names to ten\ndistinct languages, all of them are closely related. There is, on the\nwhole, not a great deal of difference between two neighbouring\nlanguages. A man of the Aka-J\u030ceru tribe could understand without any\ngreat difficulty a man speaking Aka-Bo. On the other hand many of the\nlanguages included two or even more distinct dialects. In the Akar-Bale\ntribe there were two dialects, one in the southern half of the\nArchipelago, which was allied to Aka-Bea, and the other in the northern\nhalf, showing affinities with A-Pu\u010dikwar. Even in such a small tribe as\nthe Aka-\u010cari it would seem that there were differences of dialect.\nThus, even from the point of view of language, the tribe was not\nentirely homogeneous.\n\nLeaving aside the Aka-Bea, the average extent of territory occupied by\na tribe was about 165 square miles. Of the nine tribes the largest, as\nregards area, was the Aka-Kede, with over 300 square miles, while the\nsmallest was probably the Aka-\u010cari, with less than 100 square miles.\nSave in the case of the Akar-Bale tribe, which occupied the islands of\nRitchie\u2019s Archipelago, it is difficult to find any marked geographical\nfeatures that might be supposed to have determined the extent and the\nboundaries of the different tribes.\n\nThe Aka-Bea tribe was in an abnormal position as there was no\nrecognized boundary between them and the J\u030ca\u0324rawa. Together, these two\ndivisions of the Andamanese occupied an area of about 600 square miles.\nThe Aka-Bea seem to have kept more to the coast while the J\u030ca\u0324rawa\noccupied the interior of the South Andaman and Rutland Island.\n\nIf the estimate previously given [17] of the former population of the\nislands be correct, the nine tribes (leaving aside the Aka-Bea) would\nhave formerly contained about 3750 persons of all ages. At the present\ntime the four tribes of the North Andaman number altogether about 400,\nof whom about 100 or less are children. The other six tribes taken\ntogether (including the almost extinct Aka-Bea) number about 200, of\nwhom not more than 30 are children. Mr Man estimated the numbers of the\nAka-Bea tribe (called by him Bo\u01f0ig-\u014bi\u01f0i-da) in 1882 at about 400, and\nsupposes them to have numbered about 1000 in 1858. In 1901 that tribe\nconsisted of only 37 persons.\n\nBesides the division into tribes, and independent of it, the Andamanese\nrecognize another division into coast-dwellers and forest-dwellers. In\nthe Aka-Bea language the coast-dwellers are called Ar-yoto, while the\nforest-dwellers are called Erem-taga. The difference between them is\ndue solely to the difference of their food supply. The Ar-yoto obtain\nmuch of their food from the sea. They are expert in fishing and turtle\nhunting. They make canoes and use them not only for hunting but also\nfor travelling from one camp to another. Some portion of their food\nthey also obtain from the forest, edible roots and fruits and the flesh\nof the wild pig being the chief. On the other hand the Erem-taga rely\nsolely on the forest and the inland creeks for their food supply. Their\nonly use for canoes is in the creeks. They are entirely ignorant of\nsuch matters as turtle or dugong hunting, but they are more at home\nthan the coast-dwellers in the forest, and are generally more skilful\nat pig-hunting. The advantage certainly rests with the coast-dwellers,\nfor they have both the sea and the forest to draw upon for their\nsustenance.\n\nSome tribes consist only of coast-dwellers, such as the Aka-\u010cari, the\nAkar-Bale and perhaps the Aka-Ko\u0331l. On the other hand the Aka-Bo,\nalthough their territory includes a part of the west coast, are, by\ntheir occupations and mode of life, forest-dwellers, and the same seems\nto have been the case of the O\u0331ko\u0331-J\u030cuwo\u0331i. The A-Pu\u010dikwar, the Aka-Kede,\nthe Aka-J\u030ceru and perhaps also the Aka-Ko\u0331ra tribes contained both\ncoast-dwellers and forest-dwellers.\n\nEach tribe formerly consisted of a number of independent local groups.\nThe local group, and not the tribe, was the land-owning group, each one\nowning or exercising hunting rights over a certain recognized area. At\nthe present time, owing to the breakdown of the local organisation,\nthrough the settlement of the islands and the resulting decrease of\npopulation, it is difficult to ascertain what area of country was\noccupied by each of these local groups. In many cases it would seem\nthat the boundaries between two neighbouring groups are not very\nclearly defined, there being portions of forest over which the members\nof both hunted when the groups were at peace [18]. There is no doubt\nthat in the more favourable localities, particularly on the coast, the\ncountry occupied by a single group was smaller than in places of less\nabundant food supply. It is probable that the forest-dwelling local\ngroups occupied considerably larger areas in each case than the coast\ngroups. Some of the coast-dwelling groups seem to have occupied areas\nof less than ten square miles.\n\nIt is not easy to discover at this time exactly what number of persons\nwould have been included in one local group. Mouat, who visited the\nislands in 1857\u20138, says of the natives, \u201cThey are rarely or never seen\nliving alone, several of their little huts being raised in the same\nlocality, where they dwell together in numbers varying between thirty\nand three hundred [19].\u201d In another passage he states, \u201cThey are\ngenerally divided into small groups, the numbers of which vary\nconsiderably, some not containing more than ten individuals, while in\nothers as many as two or three hundred may be found. The great majority\nof these groups of the natives consist on an average of from thirty to\nfifty men, women, and children, although sometimes as many as three\nhundred are found together [20].\u201d It is probable that, if so small a\nparty as ten were seen, they were a hunting party spending a day or a\nfew days away from the main camp. On the other hand so large a number\nas three hundred could only be found together on the occasion of one of\nthe periodical meetings of several local groups for purposes of\nfestivity. Mouat\u2019s statement that the groups consisted on the average\nof from thirty to fifty persons, agrees very well with the statements\nof the natives themselves, and may be taken as being fairly accurate.\nMr Man, writing in 1882, speaks of the Andamanese as divided into\ncommunities \u201ceach consisting of from twenty to fifty individuals,\u201d and\nelsewhere says that \u201cpermanent encampments vary in size and consist of\nseveral huts, which in all are rarely inhabited by more than from fifty\nto eighty persons [21].\u201d\n\nFrom the information that I was able to obtain from the natives\nthemselves I came to the conclusion that an average local group\nconsisted of from 40 to 50 persons of all ages, the average number of\nlocal groups to a tribe being about 10. This would give the average\nextent of country occupied by each local group as about 16 square\nmiles, but some groups certainly had a larger territory than this and\nsome had smaller.\n\nMr M. V. Portman speaks of the tribes of the southern part of the Great\nAndaman as being divided into what he calls \u201csepts,\u201d but he does not\nexplain what he means by that term. He states that the Aka-Bea were\ndivided into seven septs, the A-Pu\u010dikwar into four, the Akar-Bale into\ntwo, while the Aka-Ko\u0331l and O\u0331ko\u0331-J\u030cuwo\u0331i had no real subdivisions [22].\nWhatever Mr Portman may have meant by the term sept, it is clear that\nhe did not use it to denote what is here called a local group, but some\nlarger subdivision of the tribe. What these septs seem to have been are\ngroups consisting each of four or five local groups having friendly\nrelations with one another and meeting together occasionally at the\nfestival gatherings to be described later in the present chapter.\n\nThere were, strictly speaking, no distinctive names for the local\ngroups. A local group might be denoted by a reference to the district\nthat it occupied or to one of its chief camping places. Thus, in the\nAkar-Bale tribe, those occupying the island of Teb-\u01f0uru were spoken of\nas Teb-\u01f0uru-wa, the word wa meaning \u201cpeople,\u201d and the inhabitants of\nthe east coast of Havelock Island were similarly denoted as\nPuluga-l\u2019ar-mugu-wa from the name of the district that they occupied.\nIn the tribes of the North Andaman the word equivalent to wa of the\nSouth is koloko. Some of the local groups of the Aka-Bo tribe were\ndistinguished as Teraut buliu koloko, Kelera buliu koloko, Teradikili\nbuliu koloko etc., from the names of the creeks (buliu) that they\noccupied. In the Aka-\u010cari tribe the local group occupying the island of\nTo\u0331nmuket and the adjoining mainland were called Taroto\u0331lo koloko. When a\nman was asked to what part of the country he belonged he would\ngenerally answer by mentioning one of the chief camping places of his\nlocal group. Thus a man of the Taroto\u0331lo koloko might say that he\nbelonged to Laropuli, this being one of the chief camps of that\ncountry. A man of the Teraut buliu koloko might similarly say that he\nbelonged to the village of \u010cai\u010due.\n\nA man or woman is generally regarded as belonging to the local group in\nthe country of which he or she was born. There is nothing, however, to\nprevent a person from taking up his residence with any other local\ngroup if he so wishes, and if the members of that group are willing to\nwelcome him. It would seem that there were a fair number of such cases\nin which a man or a woman left his or her own local group to join\nanother. In particular, when two young people belonging to different\ngroups got married they might fix their residence either with his or\nwith her parents.\n\nThe local group, as stated above, was characterised as the land-owning\ngroup. A man might hunt over the country of his own group at all times,\nbut he might not hunt over the country of another group without the\npermission of the members of that group. Even at the present day, when\nthe local organisation has largely broken down, some of these hunting\nrights are still observed. I noticed a case in which some of the men\nasked and obtained permission to hunt pig in a certain part from a man\nwho was explained to be the owner of that part of the country, being\none of the few survivors of the local group to which it belonged. It\nwould, in former times, have been an offence that might easily have led\nto a serious quarrel for the men of one group to hunt or fish in the\ncountry or the waters of another group without having been granted\npermission to do so.\n\nWithin the territory of each local group there are a number of\nrecognized camping places. During the greater part of every year the\nmembers of the local group would be found living together at one or\nother of these. Some of these camping-grounds have been in use for many\ncenturies, as is shown by the heaps of refuse many feet deep, chiefly\nconsisting of the shells of molluscs and the bones of animals. Such\nkitchen-middens, as they have been called, are to be found in numbers\nall around the coasts of the islands.\n\nIn the case of the coast-dwelling communities the camping sites are\nalways close to the sea-shore or to a creek, so that they can be\nreached by canoe. In the case of those dwelling inland this is of\ncourse not so. In any case one of the chief factors determining the\nchoice of the site is the existence of a supply of fresh water. This is\nof extreme importance in the case of a site to be occupied during the\ndry season when fresh water becomes scarce.\n\nWithin their own territory the local group is what we may speak of as\nsemi-nomadic. The coast-dwellers rarely reside continuously at the same\nspot for more than a few months, but shift from one camp to another,\nmoved by different causes. If a death occurs the camp is deserted for\nseveral months and a new one is occupied. A change of camp often takes\nplace at a change of season, some spots presenting particular\nadvantages, such as shelter from the prevailing wind, or better hunting\nor fishing, at certain times of the year. Another cause of the\nabandonment of a camp by the coast-dwellers is that all refuse is\nthrown away close to the camp, and after a few months the decaying\nanimal matter thus accumulated renders the spot uninhabitable. The\nnatives seem to find it easier to move their camp than to clear away\ntheir refuse. The truth is, perhaps, that they are so accustomed to\nchange their camp from one spot to another, in order to make the best\nuse of the natural resources available, that there is no necessity for\nthem to take those sanitary measures that would be essential if they\nwished to remain for many months continuously at the same place.\n\nThe forest-dwellers are less nomadic in their habits than the\ncoast-dwellers. One of the reasons for this is that as they cannot\nconvey their belongings from one place to another by canoe, but must\ncarry them overland, the moving of a camp is a more tiresome business\nwith them than it is with the coast-dwellers. During a great part of\nthe year the forest-dwellers were accustomed to remain at one camp,\nwhich was thus the chief camp of the group. In particular they would\nspend there the whole of the rainy season. During the cool and hot\nseasons they would leave the chief camp for a few months, leading\nduring that time a more nomadic life, living in temporary hunting camps\nand paying visits to their friends in other groups. At the opening of\nthe rainy season they would return once more to the main camp.\n\nThe camps of the natives of the Great Andaman may be distinguished as\nbeing of three kinds. Of the first kind are what may be spoken of as\npermanent encampments. Certainly every group of the forest-dwellers,\nand probably every group of the coast-dwellers had its permanent\nencampment, which was, so to speak, the headquarters of the group. At\nthis spot there would be erected either a communal hut, or a carefully\nbuilt village. Communal huts have in recent times fallen into disuse,\nas the natives now wander about the islands much more freely than was\ntheir wont. I did not see a single one in the Great Andaman during my\nvisit, though I was told of one that was falling to ruins in the\ninterior of the Middle Andaman. One such communal hut was photographed\nin 1895 by M. L. Lapicque, at a spot called Lekera-l\u2019un-ta [23]. It was\nperhaps the last that the natives of the Great Andaman erected. What\nthe communal hut was like it is possible to discover both from the\nstatements of the natives and also from the fact that they are still to\nthe present day used by the natives of the Little Andaman and by the\nJ\u030ca\u0324rawa. The hut was roughly circular in form and might be as big as 60\nfeet in diameter and 20 or 30 feet high at the centre. The shape was\nsomewhat that of a beehive. Two concentric circles, one of tall posts\nnear the centre and the other of shorter posts near the circumference,\nwere connected by horizontal and sloping roof-timbers, and on these\nwere laid and fastened a number of mats of palm-leaves. These mats\nreached, as a rule, as far as the ground, a small doorway being left on\none side.\n\nSuch communal huts, while still used in the Little Andaman and by the\nJ\u030ca\u0324rawa, and formerly used by the forest-dwellers of the Great Andaman,\nwere apparently not often erected by the coast-dwellers of the larger\nisland at the time the islands were occupied in 1858. Mr Man seems to\nhave regarded them as being peculiarly characteristic of the J\u030ca\u0324rawa and\nthe natives of the Little Andaman [24]. There is evidence, however,\nthat even the coast-dwellers formerly erected such huts, for in the\nAkar-Bale tribe there are several places with names such as Paru\u014b Bud\nand Golugma Bud, which show that communal huts existed there at some\ntime. The word bud is used to denote a communal hut, as compared with a\nvillage, which is called barai\u01f0.\n\nA large communal hut took some little time to erect. The posts had to\nbe cut and erected, this being the work of the men, and the palm-leaves\nhad to be collected and then made into mats by the women. Once the hut\nwas built it would last for several years, and if it were in fairly\nconstant use, particularly if it were not abandoned in the rains, it\nmight be used, with a little occasional patching, for ten years or even\nmore.\n\nAmong the coast-dwellers it was more usual to erect at the headquarters\na semi-permanent village. A portion of such a village is shown in the\nphotographs reproduced in Plates VI and VII.\n\nThe village occupied a small clearing in the forest close to the\nsea-shore at a place called Mo\u0331i-lepto in the country of the Akar-Bale\ntribe. A spring or soak close to the village provided the fresh water.\nThe site is a favourite one as it is well sheltered, and is within\nconvenient distance of good fishing and turtle hunting grounds. It was\nformerly one of the chief camping places of the local group known as\nthe Boroin wa (Hill people).\n\nThe village was composed of eight huts, ranged round a central open\nspace, and all of them facing inwards towards the centre. This open\nspace is kept clear and clean for dancing, and is simply the village\ndancing ground. Each of the single huts was occupied by a family group,\nconsisting of a man and his wife with their children and dependants.\nOne hut was occupied by an old widower and a bachelor.\n\nThe way the huts are built can be seen in the photographs. In the\nsimplest form the hut consists of a sloping roof made of palm-leaves,\nerected on four posts, two taller ones at the front and two short ones\nat the back. A hut of this kind is shown in Plate VII. If more shelter\nis required a second roof is added in such a way that the top of one\noverhangs the top of the other. In some cases a third roof may be added\non one side. In Plates VI and VII two mats of palm-leaf are shown in\nthe course of construction, lying on the ground.\n\nHuts such as these, in which the leaves are first made into a mat which\nis then attached to the rafters, will last for some time. Even if the\nvillage be deserted for several weeks, at any rate in the dry weather,\nvery little work will be needed to make it habitable again when the\noccupants return to it.\n\nA second kind of camp was made when the natives did not intend to stay\nmore than two to three months. Such camps were erected by the forest\nfolk during the dry season, or at any time when they were compelled to\nleave their chief camp through the death there of one of their number.\nSuch a temporary camp is always put up in the form of a village, and\nnever as a communal hut. The huts are similar to those already\ndescribed, but are made more carelessly. The thatching leaves, instead\nof being made into mats, are simply tied in bundles on to the rafters.\nA hut of this kind will last quite well for three months or so and it\ncan be built very rapidly at any place where there is a sufficient\nsupply of thatching leaves. At the present day the natives rarely build\na permanent camp for themselves, but are contented with temporary camps\nof the kind here described.\n\nA third kind of camp remains to be briefly mentioned, which we may call\nthe hunting camp. A hunting party (which may include women as well as\nmen) spending a few days away from one of the main camps will erect for\nthemselves a few huts or shelters consisting of nothing more than a\nsimple lean-to of leaves.\n\nCaves or rock shelters suitable for human occupation are almost unknown\nin the Andamans. In the Archipelago there are one or two small rock\nshelters that are occasionally used by a hunting party away from home\nfor a night. I was told by the natives that on one of the islands off\nthe west coast of the North Andaman there is a rock shelter of a fair\nsize that was formerly used as one of their chief camps.\n\nThe following figure will give an idea of the Andamanese village and\nits arrangement. In hunting camps which are intended only to be\noccupied for a few days or a few weeks, this arrangement is not\nobserved, but the huts or shelters are placed so as to give shelter\nfrom the prevailing wind with no particular regard to the respective\nposition of the different units.\n\nThe constitution of the local group is illustrated by the arrangement\nof the village. The whole village consists of a number of separate\nhuts, each hut occupied by a family. A family consists of a man and his\nwife and such of their children own or adopted as are not of an age to\nbe independent. Besides the families each group necessarily contains a\nsmall number of unmarried men and widowers and some unmarried girls and\nwidows. The unmarried men and widowers without children occupy a\nseparate hut (or huts) which we may speak of as the bachelors\u2019 hut. Mr\nMan states that the spinsters (i.e., the unmarried women who are of\nmarriageable age) and widows occupy a hut of their own similarly to the\nbachelors [25]. In the camps that I visited I did not find any such\nspinsters\u2019 hut. What unmarried females there were, I found attached to\none or other of the families of the village, each one living in the hut\nof some married relative, generally the parent or foster-parent.\n\nAll the huts face inwards towards an open space which is the dancing\nground of the village, and, except in exposed situations, are generally\nentirely open in front. At some convenient spot on one side of the\ndancing ground is to be found the communal cooking place of the\nvillage. This is generally close to the bachelors\u2019 hut, as it is the\nbachelors who attend to such cooking as is carried on there. Besides\nthe public cooking place each family has its own fireplace in its own\nhut, on which a fire is kept continually alight. In the village two or\nmore families may build their huts adjoining one another in such a way\nthat they become for all practical purposes one hut, of which each\nfamily retains its own special portion. Two brothers will thus often\nmake a sort of common household.\n\nThe communal hut, in the way in which it is arranged, and even in the\nway in which it is built, is really a village with all the huts drawn\ntogether so that each one is joined to the one next to it and the roofs\nmeet in the middle. In the centre of the hut there is an open space\ncorresponding to the dancing ground of the village. It is even used as\na dancing ground, though for this purpose it is somewhat small. It is\nthe public part of the hut. Around this are arranged the different\nfamilies, each occupying its own special portion of the hut, which is\nmarked off by means of short lengths of wood laid on the floor. The\npublic cooking place is sometimes inside the hut, and there is the\nspace marked off for the unmarried men. The advantage of the communal\nhut is that it affords a better protection from the weather; its\ndisadvantage is that it leaves almost no room for dancing.\n\nThus it may be seen that the arrangement of the camp shows very plainly\nthe constitution of a local group, consisting as it does of a few\nfamilies. Each group seems to have contained, on an average, about ten\nfamilies, with a few unmarried males and females.\n\nThe Andaman Islanders depend for their subsistence entirely on the\nnatural products of the sea and the forest. From the sea they obtain\ndugong, turtle (both green and hawksbill), an enormous variety of\ndifferent sorts of fish, crustaceans (crabs, crayfish and prawns) and\nmolluscs. Fish and crabs are also to be found in the salt-water creeks\nwhich in many places penetrate inland for some miles. From the forest\nthey obtain the flesh of the wild pig, wild honey, and a large number\nof vegetable foods\u2014roots, fruits, and seeds.\n\nThe life of the forest folk is more simple and uniform than that of the\ncoast people and we may therefore consider it first. During the rainy\nseason, which lasts from the middle of May to the end of September, the\nlocal group lives at its headquarters camp, which, as we have seen,\nformerly often took the form of a communal hut. During this season\nanimal food is plentiful, as the jungle animals are in good condition;\non the other hand there is not much vegetable food to be obtained. The\nfollowing brief account will give an idea of how the day is spent in\nsuch a camp at that time of year. Some time after sunrise the camp\nbegins to be astir. The various members of the community make a meal of\nany food that may have been saved from the day before. The men start\noff for the day\u2019s hunting. At the present time dogs are used for\npig-hunting. These dogs were obtained in the first instance from the\nSettlement of Port Blair, and their use in pig-hunting was learnt from\nthe Burmese convicts. Nowadays every married man has at least one dog\n[26]. Before the dogs were obtained, hunting was a pursuit requiring a\ngreat deal more skill than it does at present. A hunting party consists\nof from two to five men. Each man carries his bow and two or three pig\narrows, and one of the party carries a smouldering fire-brand. They\nmake their way through the jungle until they find the fresh tracks of a\npig, or follow up some of the usual pig runs until they come upon the\nanimal feeding. In former days much skill was required to creep\nnoiselessly through the jungle until they were sufficiently near either\nto discharge an arrow, or, if the jungle were more open, to rush in\nupon the animal shouting and shoot it before it could escape. At the\npresent day it is the dogs that scent out the pig and bring it to bay,\nwhen the natives shoot it with their arrows.\n\nWhen a pig has been killed it may be tied up and carried to the camp on\nthe shoulders of one of the hunters, or a fire may be lighted then and\nthere and the pig eviscerated and roasted. A cut is made in the abdomen\nand the viscera removed. The cavity is filled with leaves, the joints\nof the legs are half severed and the carcase is placed on the fire and\nturned over and shifted until every part is evenly roasted. It is then\nremoved from the fire, the burnt skin is scraped clean and the meat is\ncut up. Meanwhile the intestines or some of the internal organs are\ncooked and eaten by the hunters. The meat is tied up in leaves and is\ncarried to the camp. If the pig be carried home whole the process of\nroasting it and cutting it up is performed in exactly the same way at\nthe public cooking place of the camp, the meat being distributed only\nafter it has been thus partially cooked.\n\nIf the hunting party should come across a civet cat (Paradoxurus) or a\nmonitor lizard they would endeavour to kill it [27], but the main\nobject of every hunting party is to obtain pork. Snakes and even rats\nare killed and eaten. Birds, though plentiful in the islands, are not\noften obtained, for the density of the jungle and the height of the\ntrees in which the birds conceal themselves, make it very difficult for\nthe natives to shoot them with their bows and arrows. A man does not\ncare to risk the loss of his arrow in a chance shot at a bird. The\nAndamanese do not trap either birds or animals, though some of the\nbirds, particularly the rail, might be very easily caught in traps.\n\nAs the hunting party traverses the forest they may come across roots or\nfruits or seeds, or wild honey, and these are collected and carried\nhome. In the rainy season only small combs of black honey are to be\nfound [28], and these are generally consumed by the hunters on the\nspot.\n\nThe provision of the vegetable food of the community is the work of the\nwomen, who must also supply the camp with firewood and water. While the\nmen are away hunting the women, attended by the children, cut and carry\nthe firewood, and either remain in the camp making baskets or nets or\nother objects, or else go into the forest to look for fruits and seeds.\nThus by midday the camp may be quite deserted, save perhaps for one or\ntwo old men and women, and a few of the children.\n\nIn the afternoon the women return with what food they have obtained and\nthen the men come in with their provision. The camp, unless the hunters\nhave been unsuccessful, is then busy with the preparation of the\nevening meal, which is the chief meal of the day. If a pig has been\nbrought home whole it is cooked at the public cooking place and is then\ncut up. The meat is distributed amongst the members of the community\nand the woman of each family then proceeds to cook the family meal. The\npork, after it has been roasted and cut up, is further cooked by being\nboiled. The family meal is prepared at the fire that each family has in\nits hut. The meal is a family one, partaken by a man and his wife and\nchildren. The bachelors cook and eat their own meal, and the unmarried\nwomen also eat by themselves.\n\nAfter the meal is over, darkness having by this time fallen, the men\nmay spend an hour or two in dancing to the accompaniment of a song sung\nby one of them with the help of a chorus of women. In that case they\nwould probably eat another meal after the dance was over. Another\nfavourite amusement for the evening is what may be called \u201cyarning.\u201d A\nman sits down with a few listeners and tells them, with few words, and\nwith many dramatic gestures, how he killed a pig. The same man may go\non with tale after tale, till, by the time he finishes he has killed\ntwenty or thirty pigs. Finally the whole camp retires to rest and\nnothing is to be seen but the dim light of the little fires burning in\neach hut or in each of the family quarters.\n\nOn a day when there is plenty of food left from the day before, or on a\nday of stormy weather even when food is not too plentiful, the men may\nremain in camp instead of going hunting. They busy themselves with\nmaking weapons and implements, such as bows, arrows, adzes, etc.\n\nOn occasions when game is not very plentiful a party of hunters may\nstay away from the camp for a few days, not returning till they have\nbeen successful in obtaining a fair supply of food. The women and\nchildren and old men, with perhaps a few of the able bodied men also,\nremain at home and provide for themselves as well as they can, the\nwomen devoting their time to collecting what vegetable foods are in\nseason.\n\nAt the end of the rainy season there comes a brief period of unsettled\nweather, called by the natives of the North Andaman Kimil, and by those\nof the South, Gumul. During this season some of the vegetable foods\nbegin to be available, though not in any quantities. At this time of\nthe year the natives are able to obtain and feast upon what they regard\nas great delicacies, the larvae of the cicada and of the great\ncapricornis beetle. The cool season, when fruits and roots are\nplentiful, begins at the end of November. The forest dwellers leave\ntheir main encampment during this season. Some of them go off to pay\nvisits to their friends of other local groups. Such visits may last two\nor three months. Those who remain occupy temporary camps in convenient\nplaces. The men join the women in looking for roots and fruits, and do\nnot spend so much of their time in hunting. Some of the men visit the\nmain camp at intervals of a few days to see that it is all right. As\nthe cool season gives way to the hot season (March to May) honey begins\nto be plentiful. At that time hunting for pig is almost abandoned. The\npigs are in poor condition, and even when one is killed it is often\nleft in the jungle by the natives as not being good enough to eat. On\nthe other hand everyone is busy collecting honey. This is work in which\nboth men and women join, though it is the men who climb up the trees\nand cut down the honeycomb. The natives have no means of keeping the\nhoney for more than a very short time, as it rapidly ferments. While it\nis plentiful they almost live on it, supplementing it with roots and\nfruits and with fish, if they are near a creek. Towards the end of the\nhot season the fruit of the Artocarpus chaplasha, which is a favourite\nfood of the natives, becomes ripe. The men and women, at this time,\nspend much of their time collecting the fruit. When it is collected the\nfruit is broken open and each of the seeds is sucked to obtain the\njuicy pulp or aril with which it is surrounded, and which has a very\npleasant taste. The seeds are then partly boiled and are buried in the\nground to remain there for a few weeks, when they will be dug up again\nand cooked and eaten. Any natives who may have been away from home on a\nvisit, return before the Artocarpus comes into fruit in order to take\ntheir share in collecting it and providing a supply of the seeds for\nconsumption in the rainy season. The natives then return to the\nheadquarters camp and make any necessary repairs to the hut in\npreparation for the rainy season, which begins about the middle of May.\n\nThe coast-dwellers are not quite so much influenced by the seasons as\nthe forest-dwellers. They can fish and collect molluscs all the year\nround. In the rainy season they divide their time between hunting pig\nin the forest and fishing or turtle hunting. They do not need, however,\nto remain at the same camp during the whole of the rainy season, but\nafter a month or two at one place can move to what they hope to find\nbetter hunting grounds. During the cool and hot seasons they pay visits\nto one another. In the fine weather the men often go off on\nturtle-hunting expeditions for several days, leaving the women and\nchildren and older men in the village, where they provide for\nthemselves with vegetable food and with fish and molluscs from the\nreefs.\n\nIt is during the fine weather that there take place the meetings of two\nor more local groups that are an important feature of the social life\nof the Andaman Islanders. These meetings will be described later in the\npresent chapter.\n\nBesides their food, which they must find from day to day, the natives\nhave need of nothing save their weapons and implements. Of these each\nperson makes his own, each man making his own bow, arrows, adze, etc.,\nwhile the wife makes her baskets, nets and so on.\n\nThe economic life of the local group, though in effect it approaches to\na sort of communism, is yet based on the notion of private property.\nLand is the only thing that is owned in common. The hunting grounds of\na local group belong to the whole group, and all the members have an\nequal right to hunt over any part of it. There exists, however, a\ncertain private ownership of trees. A man of one of the local groups of\nthe coast may notice in the jungle a tree suitable for a canoe. He will\ntell the others that he has noticed such a tree, describing it and its\nwhereabouts. Thenceforward that tree is regarded as his property, and\neven if some years should elapse, and he has made no use of it, yet\nanother man would not cut it down without first asking the owner to\ngive him the tree. In a similar way certain men claim to possess\ncertain Artocarpus trees, though how the ownership in these cases had\narisen I was unable to determine. No one would pick the fruit off such\na tree without the permission of the owner, and having received\npermission and gathered the fruit he would give some part of it to the\nowner of the tree.\n\nA pig belongs to the man whose arrow first strikes it, though if the\narrow merely glanced off and did not remain in the wound it would not\ngive any claim to ownership. A turtle or a dugong or big fish belongs\nto the man who throws the harpoon with which it is taken. A honeycomb\nbelongs to the man who climbs the tree and cuts it down. The fish that\na man shoots belong to him, and to a woman belong the roots she digs\nup, the seeds that she collects, the fish or prawns that she takes in\nher net or the molluscs that she brings from the reefs. Any weapon that\na man makes belongs to him alone to do what he pleases with, and\nanything that a woman makes is her own property. A man is not free to\ndispose of the personal property of his wife without her permission.\n\nIn the village each family erects and keeps in repair its own hut, and\nthe wife provides the hut with the firewood and water needed. In the\ncase of a communal hut it would seem that this is really an example of\na possession common to the whole group. This is so, however, only in\nappearance. The hut is built by all the different families, but each\nfamily is regarded as owning a certain portion of the hut when it is\nfinished, and it is the family that keeps this part of the hut in\nrepair.\n\nA canoe is cut by a number of men together. From the outset, however,\nit is the property of one man, who selects the tree and superintends\nthe operation of cutting it into shape. He is always one of the older\nmen, and he enlists the services of the younger men to help him. When\nfinished the canoe is his property, and he can do with it what he\npleases, giving it away, if he wishes, and no one has any share of\nownership in a canoe on the ground that he helped to make it.\n\nWhile all portable property is thus owned by individuals, the\nAndamanese have customs which result in an approach to communism. One\nof these is the custom of constantly exchanging presents with one\nanother. When two friends meet who have not seen each other for some\ntime, one of the first things they do is to exchange presents with one\nanother. Even in the ordinary everyday life of the village there is a\nconstant giving and receiving of presents. A younger man or woman may\ngive some article to an older one without expecting or receiving any\nreturn, but between equals a person who gives a present always expects\nthat he will receive something of equal value in exchange. At the\nmeetings that take place between neighbouring local groups the exchange\nof presents is of great importance. Each of the visitors brings with\nhim a number of articles that he distributes amongst the members of the\ngroup that he visits. When the visitors depart they are loaded with\npresents received from their hosts. It requires a good deal of tact on\nthe part of everyone concerned to avoid the unpleasantness that may\narise if a man thinks that he has not received things as valuable as he\nhas given, or if he fancies that he has not received quite the same\namount of attention as has been accorded to others.\n\nIt is considered a breach of good manners ever to refuse the request of\nanother. Thus if a man be asked by another to give him anything that he\nmay possess, he will immediately do so. If the two men are equals a\nreturn of about the same value will have to be made. As between an\nolder married man and a bachelor or a young married man, however, the\nyounger would not make any request of such a nature, and if the older\nman asked the younger for anything the latter would give it without\nalways expecting a return.\n\nAlmost every object that the Andamanese possess is thus constantly\nchanging hands. Even canoes may be given away, but it is more usual for\nthese to be lent by the owner to his friends.\n\nIt has been stated above that all food is private property and belongs\nto the man or woman who has obtained it. Every one who has food is\nexpected, however, to give to those who have none. An older married man\nwill reserve for himself sufficient for his family, and will then give\nthe rest to his friends. A younger man is expected to give away the\nbest of what he gets to the older men. This is particularly the case\nwith the bachelors. Should a young unmarried man kill a pig he must be\ncontent to see it distributed by one of the older men, all the best\nparts going to the seniors, while he and his companions must be\nsatisfied with the inferior parts. The result of these customs is that\npractically all the food obtained is evenly distributed through the\nwhole camp, the only inequality being that the younger men do not fare\nso well as their elders. Generosity is esteemed by the Andaman\nIslanders one of the highest of virtues and is unremittingly practised\nby the majority of them.\n\nWithin the local group there is no such thing as a division of labour\nsave as between the two sexes. In the coastal groups every man is\nexpected to be able to hunt pig, to harpoon turtle and to catch fish,\nand also to cut a canoe, to make bows and arrows and all the other\nobjects that are made by men. It happens that some men are more skilful\nin certain pursuits than in others. A skilful turtle-hunter, for\nexample, may be an indifferent pig-hunter, and such a man will\nnaturally prefer to devote himself to the pursuit in which he appears\nto most advantage.\n\nThe division of labour between the sexes is fairly clearly marked. A\nman hunts and fishes, using the bow and arrow and the harpoon; he makes\nhis own bows and arrows, his adze and knife, cuts canoes and makes rope\nfor harpoon lines. A woman collects fruits and digs up roots with her\ndigging stick; she catches prawns and crabs and small fish with her\nsmall fishing net; she provides the firewood and the water of the\nfamily and does the cooking (i.e. the family cooking, but not the\ncommon cooking, which is entirely done by men); she makes all such\nobjects as baskets, nets of thread, and personal ornaments either for\nherself or her husband.\n\nThere is no organised government in an Andamanese village. The affairs\nof the community are regulated entirely by the older men and women. The\nyounger members of the community are brought up to pay respect to their\nelders and to submit to them in many ways. It has already been shown\nhow, in the distribution of food, the elders get the best share. When\nit is a question of shifting camp to some better hunting ground the\nopinion of the older men would weigh against that of the younger if\nthey disagreed. It must not be thought, however, that the older men are\ntyrannical or selfish. I only once heard a young man complain of the\nolder men getting so much the best of everything. The respect for\nseniority is kept alive partly by tradition and partly by the fact that\nthe older men have had a greater experience than the younger. It could\nprobably not be maintained if it regularly gave rise to any tyrannical\ntreatment of the younger by the elder.\n\nThe respect for seniors is shown in the existence of special terms of\naddress which men and women use when speaking to their elders. In the\nlanguages of the North Andaman there are two such terms, Mai or Maia,\napplied to men, with a meaning equivalent to \u201cSir,\u201d and Mimi, applied\nto women. These words may be used either alone or prefixed to the\npersonal name of the person addressed. A younger man speaking to an\nolder one whose name was Bora would address him either as Mai (Sir), or\nas Maia Bora (Sir Bora).\n\nIn the tribes of the South Andaman there are exactly similar terms. In\nthe Aka-Bea tribe Maia or Maiola is used in addressing men and \u010cana or\n\u010canola in speaking to women. In Akar-Bale the equivalent terms are Da\nand In. Besides these terms there is in these tribes another, Mam, Mama\nor Mamola, which may be used in speaking to either men or women, and\nwhich implies a higher degree of respect than Maia or \u010cana. In these\ntribes also there is a special way of showing respect by adding the\nsuffix -la to the name of the person addressed, as Bia, Biala, Woi\u010do,\nWoi\u010do-la, etc.\n\nIn the legends of the Andamanese these titles are nearly always\nprefixed to the names of the legendary ancestors, as Maia J\u030cutpu and\nMimi Biliku in Aka-J\u030ceru, or Da Duku and In Bain in Akar-Bale. The moon\nis similarly spoken of as Sir Moon (Maia Ogar in Aka-Bea) and the sun\nas Lady Sun (\u010cana Bodo).\n\nBesides the respect for seniority there is another important factor in\nthe regulation of the social life, namely the respect for certain\npersonal qualities. These qualities are skill in hunting and in\nwarfare, generosity and kindness, and freedom from bad temper. A man\npossessing them inevitably acquires a position of influence in the\ncommunity. His opinion on any subject carries more weight than that of\nanother even older man. The younger men attach themselves to him, are\nanxious to please him by giving him any presents that they can, or by\nhelping him in such work as cutting a canoe, and to join him in hunting\nparties or turtle expeditions. In each local group there was usually to\nbe found one man who thus by his influence could control and direct\nothers. Amongst the chief men of several friendly local groups it would\ngenerally happen that one of them, by reason of his personal qualities,\nwould attain to a position of higher rank than the others. Younger men\nwould be desirous of joining the local group to which he belonged. He\nwould find himself popular and respected at the annual meetings of the\ndifferent groups, and his influence would thus spread beyond the narrow\nlimits of his own small community.\n\nThere was no special word to denote such men and distinguish them from\nothers. In the languages of the North Andaman they were spoken of as\ner-kuro = \u201cbig.\u201d\n\nSuch men might perhaps be spoken of as \u201cchiefs,\u201d but the term is\nsomewhat misleading, as it makes us think of the organised\nchieftainship of other savage races.\n\nThe above statement is not quite in agreement with what has been\nwritten by Mr Man on the same subject, and what he says is therefore\nreproduced here. \u201cTheir domestic policy may be described as a communism\nmodified by the authority, more or less nominal, of the chief. The head\nchief of a tribe is called maia igla, and the elders, or sub-chiefs,\ni.e. those in authority over each community, consisting of from 20 to\n50 individuals, maiola. The head chief, who usually resides at a\npermanent encampment, has authority over all the sub-chiefs, but his\npower, like theirs, is very limited. It is exercised mainly in\norganising meetings between the various communities belonging to his\ntribe, and in exerting influence in all questions affecting the welfare\nof his followers. It is the chief alone, as may be supposed, who\ndirects the movements of a party while on hunting and fishing\nexpeditions, or when migrating. It is usually through his intervention\nthat disputes are settled, but he possesses no power to punish or\nenforce obedience to his wishes, it being left to all alike to take the\nlaw into their own hands when aggrieved. The aryoto and eremtaga in\neach tribe have their own head chief, who are independent the one of\nthe other. As might be assumed from the results of observations made of\nother savage races, whose sole or chief occupation consists in hunting\nor fishing, the power of the chiefs is very limited, and not\nnecessarily hereditary, though, in the event of a grown-up son being\nleft who was qualified for the post, he would, in most instances, be\nselected to succeed his father in preference to any other individual of\nequal efficiency. At the death of a chief there is no difficulty in\nappointing a successor, there being always at least one who is\nconsidered his deputy or right-hand man. As they are usually, on these\noccasions, unanimous in their choice, no formal election takes place;\nhowever, should any be found to dissent, the question is decided by the\nwishes of the majority, it being always open to malcontents to transfer\ntheir allegiance to another chief, since there is no such thing as\nforced submission to the authority of one who is not a general\nfavourite. Social status being dependent not merely on the accident of\nrelationship, but on skill in hunting, fishing, etc., and on a\nreputation for generosity and hospitality, the chiefs and elders are\nalmost invariably superior in every respect to the rest. They and their\nwives are at liberty to enjoy immunity from the drudgery incidental to\ntheir mode of life, all such acts being voluntarily performed for them\nby the young unmarried persons living under their headship [29].\u201d\n\nWhere Mr Man speaks of the \u201cauthority\u201d of the chiefs it would be better\nto speak of \u201cinfluence.\u201d Of authority the leading men have little or\nnone, but of influence they have a good deal. Should any one venture to\noppose a popular chief he would find the majority of the natives,\nincluding many of his friends, siding against him. The words \u201cchief\u201d\nand \u201cauthority\u201d seem to imply some sort of organised rule and\nprocedure, and of this there is nothing in the Andamans. Mr Man also\nimplies that in each tribe there is always one recognized headman, but\nin reality each tribe may possess two or three leading men in different\nparts of the country, each with his own following. In any case a man\u2019s\ninfluence is largely confined to his own local group, for it is only at\nthe annual meetings that the men of other groups come in contact with\nhim.\n\nThe early officers of the Andamanese Homes (before the time of Mr Man)\nestablished a system of chieftainship in the islands by selecting a few\nof the more trustworthy and intelligent men, whom they dignified with\nthe title of raja, and who acted as the intermediaries between the\nOfficer in Charge of the Andamanese and the natives. This system has\nbeen continued to the present day, and the natives have adopted the\ntitle raja for these men, having themselves no word for a chief. Where\na man is selected who is already respected and esteemed by the natives\nhis influence is considerably increased through the position thus\nassigned to him. The natives themselves do not recognize that he has\nany authority over them, but if he be a man of generosity and tact, the\nmajority will always support him, and his advice in any matters of\nmoment will be readily followed.\n\nWomen may occupy a position of influence similar to that of the men.\nThe wife of a leading man generally exercises the same sort of\ninfluence over the women as her husband does over the men. A woman,\nhowever, would not exercise any influence over the men in matters\nconnected with hunting. They do have a good deal of influence in\nconnection with quarrels either of individuals or of local groups.\n\nThere are certain men, and possibly sometimes women, who have an\ninfluence over their fellows owing to their being credited with the\npossession of supernatural powers. These men, called in Aka-J\u030ceru\noko-\u01f0umu (literally \u201cone who speaks from dreams\u201d), will be described in\na later chapter. As they are believed to have command over the powers\nthat produce and cure sickness everyone tries to be on good terms with\nthem, avoiding giving them offence in any way, and seeking their favour\nby presents of food or other things. It sometimes happens that a chief\n(the leading man of a local group) is at the same time a medicine-man\nor oko-\u01f0umu, but the two positions are entirely distinct and separate,\nand a man may be a medicine-man who possesses none of the qualities\nthat are necessary for a head man.\n\nThere does not appear to have been in the Andamans any such thing as\nthe punishment of crime. We may distinguish two kinds of anti-social\nactions which are regarded by the natives as being wrong. The first\nkind are those actions which injure in some way a private individual.\nThe second are those, which, while they do not injure any particular\nperson, are yet regarded with disapproval by the society in general.\n\nAmongst the anti-social actions of the first kind are murder, or\nwounding, theft and adultery, and wilful damage of the property of\nanother.\n\nNo case of one Andamanese killing another has occurred in recent years.\nQuarrels sometimes occur between two men of the same camp. A good deal\nof hard swearing goes on, and sometimes one of the men will work\nhimself up to a high pitch of anger, in which he may seize his bow and\ndischarge an arrow near to the one who has offended him, or may vent\nhis ill-temper by destroying any property that he can lay his hands on,\nincluding not only that of his enemy but also that of other persons and\neven his own. At such a display of anger the women and children flee\ninto the jungle in terror, and if the angry man be at all a formidable\nperson the men occasionally do the same. It apparently requires more\ncourage than the natives usually possess to endeavour to allay such a\nstorm of anger. Yet I found that the slightest show of authority would\nimmediately bring such a scene to an end. A man of influence in his\nvillage was probably generally equal to the task of keeping order and\npreventing any serious damage from taking place. It was probably rare\nfor a man so far to give way to his anger as to kill his opponent.\n\nSuch murders did, however, occasionally take place [30]. The murderer\nwould, as a rule, leave the camp and hide himself in the jungle, where\nhe might be joined by such of his friends as were ready to take his\npart. It was left to the relatives and friends of the dead man to exact\nvengeance if they wished and if they could. If the murderer was a man\nwho was much feared it is probable that he would escape. In any case\nthe anger of the Andamanese is short-lived, and if for a few months he\ncould keep out of the way of those who might seek revenge, it is\nprobable that at the end of that time he would find their anger cooled.\n\nA man who is liable to outbursts of violent anger is feared by his\nfellows, and unless he has other counterbalancing qualities, he is\nnever likely to become popular. He is treated with outward respect, for\nevery one is afraid of offending him, but he never acquires the esteem\nof others. There is a special nickname, Taren\u01f0ek, in the North Andaman,\nto denote such a man [31].\n\nQuarrels were more likely to occur at the meetings of different local\ngroups that took place in the fine weather, and such quarrels might\noccasionally end in the murder of some one. In such a case the quarrel\nwould be taken up by the group of the murdered man, and a feud would be\nset up between them and the local group to which the murderer belonged.\nSuch was one of the common causes of origin of the petty warfare that\nformerly existed in the Andamans, which will be referred to later in\nthe present chapter.\n\nCases of theft seem to have been rare. It was left to the aggrieved\nperson to take vengeance upon the thief, but if he killed him or\nseriously wounded him he would have to expect the possible vengeance of\nthe relatives and friends. Adultery was regarded as a form of theft. I\ngathered that a man had the right to punish his wife for\nunfaithfulness, but if the punishment were too severe it would be an\noccasion for a quarrel with her relatives. It was difficult for the\naggrieved husband to punish the man who had offended against him. If he\nkilled him he would lay himself open to the revenge of the relatives.\nThe most he could do was to vent his anger in violent words.\n\nWomen also occasionally quarrel with one another and swear forcibly at\none another, or even get so far as to destroy one another\u2019s belongings,\nor to fight with their fists or sticks. The men hesitate to interfere,\nand the quarrel can only be stopped by some woman of influence.\n\nThe frequent occurrence of serious quarrels is prevented both by the\ninfluence of the older men and by the fear that everyone has of the\npossible vengeance of others should he in any way offend them.\n\nThere are a number of actions which, while they do not offend any\nparticular person, are regarded as being anti-social. One of these is\nlaziness. Every man is expected to take his proper share in providing\nboth himself and others with food. Should a man shirk this obligation,\nnothing would be said to him, unless he were a young unmarried man, and\nhe would still be given food by others, but he would find himself\noccupying a position of inferiority in the camp, and would entirely\nlose the esteem of his fellows. Other qualities or actions that result\nin a similar loss of esteem are marital unfaithfulness, lack of respect\nto others and particularly to elders, meanness or niggardliness, and\nbad temper. One man was mentioned to me as being a bad man because he\nrefused to take a wife after he had reached the age when it is\nconsidered proper for a man to marry. In recent times at least one\nyoung man has refused to undergo the privations connected with the\ninitiation ceremonies. This was of course a case of gross rebellion\nagainst the customs of the tribe, but there was no way of punishing him\nor of compelling him to conform, save by showing him that he was an\nobject of contempt and ridicule to others. Probably such a refusal to\nconform to tribal customs could not have taken place before the British\noccupation of the islands.\n\nAnother class of wrong actions consists in the breaking of ritual\nprohibitions. There are, for example, as will be shown in a later\nchapter, a number of actions which it is believed may cause bad\nweather, such as burning bees\u2019-wax or killing a cicada. There is,\nhowever, no punishment that can be meted out to any one who does any of\nthese things. The punishment, if we may call it so, is a purely\nsupernatural one, and it strikes not only the offender but every one\nelse as well. In the legends of the Andamanese there are one or two\nstories related of how one of the ancestors, being angry, deliberately\nperformed one of the forbidden actions and thus brought a storm that\ndestroyed many human beings [32]. There are other ritual prohibitions\nthe non-observance of which is supposed to bring its own punishment on\nthe offender, who, it is believed, will be ill.\n\nThe medicine-men (oko-\u01f0umu) are credited with the power to work evil\nmagic, and by its means to make other people ill, and even to kill\nthem. A man suspected of evil magic might be liable to the vengeance of\nthose who thought that they had been injured by him, but though the\npractice was regarded as reprehensible it does not seem that the\nsociety ever acted as a whole to punish a man suspected of it.\n\nChildren are reproved for improper behaviour, but they are never\npunished. During their years of infancy they are much spoilt, not only\nby their parents but by every one. During the period of adolescence\nevery boy and girl has to undergo a somewhat severe discipline, to be\ndescribed in a later chapter. This probation, if it may be so called,\nis enforced by a unanimous public opinion. The discipline lasts until\nthe man or woman is married and a parent, or if childless as so many\nnow are, until he or she has settled down to a position of\nresponsibility.\n\nThus, though the Andaman Islanders had a well developed social\nconscience, that is, a system of moral notions as to what is right and\nwrong, there was no such thing as the punishment of a crime by the\nsociety. If one person injured another it was left to the injured one\nto seek vengeance if he wished and if he dared. There were probably\nalways some who would side with the criminal, their attachment to him\novercoming their disapproval of his actions. The only painful result of\nanti-social actions was the loss of the esteem of others. This in\nitself was a punishment that the Andamanese, with their great personal\nvanity, would feel keenly, and it was in most instances sufficient to\nprevent such actions. For the rest, good order depended largely on the\ninfluence of the more prominent men and women.\n\nWe have so far considered only the general regulation of conduct in the\nlocal group, without giving any attention to the more special\nregulations dependent on relationships by blood and by marriage. In all\nhuman societies there is a system of rights and duties regulating the\nconduct towards one another of persons who are related either by\nconsanguinity or through marriage. In primitive societies these\nparticular rights and duties occupy a position of preponderating\nimportance, owing, no doubt, to the small number of persons with whom\nany single person comes into effective social contact. When a large\nproportion of the men and women with whom any person comes in contact\nare related to him, it is clear that relationship must count for a good\ndeal in regulating the everyday life of the people.\n\nDifferent societies have different systems of relationship. This means,\nnot only that they attach different duties to particular relations, but\nalso that they have different ways of reckoning the relationships\nthemselves. The vast majority of primitive peoples have some one or\nother form of what is known to ethnologists as the \u201cclassificatory\nsystem of relationship [33].\u201d This system is intimately connected with\nthe existence of the social divisions known as \u201cclans.\u201d In the Andamans\nthere are no clans, and the system of relationship is fundamentally\ndifferent from all the classificatory systems.\n\nTo understand the Andamanese system it is necessary to examine the\nterms by which they denote the different kinds of relationship which\nare recognized [34]. In many societies having the classificatory system\nof relationship the terms which are used to denote relationship are\nalso used as terms of address, just as we use the terms \u201cFather\u201d and\n\u201cMother.\u201d In the Andamans this is not so. There are special words that\nare used as terms of address, but these do not imply any relationship\nbetween the speaker and the person spoken to. In the North Andaman\nthose terms are Maia (= Sir) and Mimi (= Lady). These are used by\nyounger men and women in speaking to older persons. For the rest,\npersons are addressed freely by their personal names. There are no\nterms of address that imply any relationship of consanguinity between\nthe person speaking and the person whom he addresses. This is an\nimportant feature of the Andamanese system, distinguishing it from the\nsystems of many other primitive societies.\n\nThe following is a list of terms used to denote relationship in the\nNorth Andaman. There seems to be very little difference in this matter\nbetween the four tribes of the North (Aka-\u010cari, Aka-Ko\u0331ra, Aka-Bo and\nAka-J\u030ceru).\n\n\n aka-mai his father\n aka-mimi his mother\n ot-tire his child\n ot-otoatue his older brother\n ot-otoatue-\u010dip his older sister\n ot-arai-\u010dulute his younger brother\n ot-arai-\u010dulute-\u010dip his younger sister\n ot-e-bui or e-bui his wife (her husband)\n e-pota-\u010diu his father-in-law\n e-pota-\u010dip his mother-in-law\n ot-otone his son-in-law.\n\n\nAka-mai and aka-mimi. The words for \u201cfather\u201d and \u201cmother\u201d are derived\nfrom the terms of address Maia and Mimi by the addition in each case of\nthe prefix aka-. By itself the term Maia is used by any man or woman in\nspeaking to a man older than himself or herself without implying any\nrelation between them beyond that of respective age. The addition of\nthe prefix aka- changes the word, giving it the meaning \u201cthe father of\nsomebody.\u201d Thus Maia Bora means \u201cMr Bora\u201d or \u201cSir Bora,\u201d if we may so\ntranslate it, but Bora aka-mai means \u201cBora\u2019s father,\u201d and aka-mai Bora\nmeans \u201chis or her father Bora.\u201d The Aka-J\u030ceru equivalent for \u201cmy father\u201d\nis t\u2019a-mai, the t\u2019 being the personal pronoun \u201cmy,\u201d after which the\nprefix aka- is contracted to a-. Similarly \u201cthy father\u201d is \u014b\u2019a-mai and\n\u201ctheir father\u201d or \u201ctheir fathers\u201d is n\u2019a-mai. The word aka-mimi is in\nevery respect exactly parallel to aka-mai. These two terms are only\nused when it is necessary to refer to the actual father or mother of\nanybody. For example, if a man be asked A\u010diu \u014b\u2019a-mai bi? (Who your\nfather is?), he will reply by giving the name of his own father.\n\nThe stem maia clearly relates to the social position of the father of a\nfamily. A man who is a father, or while not having any children, is\nmarried and occupies an equivalent social position to a father, is\naddressed by the term which shows his social position, Maia. When I\ncall a man Maia, I do not imply that he is my father nor that he is\nrelated to me at all, but only that he is a father. On the other hand,\nthe prefix aka- added to the stem makes a possessive form, so that\naka-mai means \u201chis father\u201d and t\u2019a-mai means \u201cmy father.\u201d The word mimi\nis exactly parallel. By itself, the stem simply shows that the person\naddressed is a mother, while aka-mimi means \u201chis mother.\u201d\n\nOt-tire. The word \u201cchild,\u201d when there is no reference to the child of\nsome particular person, is translated e-tire, -tire being the stem and\ne- the prefix [35]. With a change of prefix from e- to ot-, a\npossessive form is made, so that ot-tire always means \u201chis or her\nchild,\u201d with reference to some particular person understood. Thus Bora\not-tire would mean \u201cthe child of Bora,\u201d while Bora e-tire or e-tire\nBora would mean \u201cthe child Bora.\u201d The phrase t\u2019ot-tire (my child) is\nused by either a man or a woman to denote his or her child.\n\nOt-otoatue and ot-arai-\u010dulute. I was unable to find in the languages of\nthe North Andaman any words which could properly be translated\n\u201cbrother\u201d or \u201csister.\u201d The two words here given are used by the\nAndamanese to denote persons older or younger than the speaker, whether\nthey be brothers and sisters or not. The derivation of ot-otoatue could\nnot be ascertained, but the word means \u201che who was born before me,\u201d and\nit is used in this sense to denote any person of the speaker\u2019s\ngeneration who is older than himself. If it is necessary to emphasise\nthe female sex of the person spoken of, the suffix -\u010dip is added. An\nalternative word of exactly the same meaning is ot-areupu (fem.\not-arep-\u010dip). The word ot-arai-\u010dulute is formed from the stem \u010dulu or\n\u010dulutu meaning \u201cfollowing\u201d or \u201cafter,\u201d which always takes the prefix\narai-. (This prefix conveys a reference to position in time or space.)\nThe stem is found in such phrases as tio \u014b\u2019arai-\u010dulutu-bom, \u201cI will\nfollow you\u201d (literally tio = I, \u014b\u2019 = thou, \u010dulutu = after, and -bom,\nverbal suffix), and tarai-\u010dulik \u201cafterwards\u201d (t-arai-\u010dulu-ik). The\nprefix ot- added in front of the usual prefix arai- determines the\nparticular use of the word as referring to human beings. Thus the word\not-arai-\u010dulute means, literally, \u201che or she who was born after me.\u201d It\nis used in this sense by a man or woman to denote any person of the\nsame generation who is younger than himself. The suffix -\u010dip may be\nadded to denote a female. Alternative words of the same meaning are\not-ara-li\u010du and ot-ara-bela.\n\nThese words are not, properly speaking, terms of relationship, but\nserve only to denote the respective ages of two persons. I did not\ndiscover any terms whatever by which a man can distinguish his own\nbrother or sister from any other man or woman of the same age.\n\nOt-e-bui. The stem -bui means \u201cto marry,\u201d as in n\u2019 e-bui-om = they are\nmarried. \u201cMy husband\u201d or \u201cmy wife\u201d is simply t\u2019e-bui or t\u2019ot-e-bui.\n\nE-pota-\u010diu and e-pota-\u010dip. The derivation of these words was not\ndiscovered. They are the terms by which a man distinguishes his wife\u2019s\nfather and mother, and a woman her husband\u2019s father and mother.\n\nOt-otone. The word and its meaning are somewhat doubtful. It was\nsometimes used by a man to denote his daughter\u2019s husband, and perhaps\nalso his son\u2019s wife. I once heard it applied to a younger sister\u2019s\nhusband. It may be compared with the same word as used in the South\nAndaman to be mentioned presently.\n\nSo far as could be discovered, there are no words in the languages of\nthe North Andaman for grandfather, grandmother, uncle, aunt, cousin,\netc. The terms given above can be combined to describe relatives of\nthis kind, as\n\n\n T\u2019a-mimi aka-mai my mother\u2019s father\n Ot-e-bui ot-arai-\u010dulute his wife\u2019s younger brother\n \u014a\u2019ot-a-mai ot-arai-\u010dulute thy father\u2019s younger brother\n T\u2019ot-otoatue ot-tire my older brother\u2019s child.\n\n\nThese compound terms are not often used, however.\n\nThe terms of relationship of the Akar-Bale tribe may be taken as\nrepresentative of the tribes of the South Andaman. The following list\ncontains all the more important of them.\n\n\n da father\n ab-atr father\n in mother\n ar-bua child\n ar-kodire child (father speaking)\n ab-atet child (mother speaking)\n mama grandparent\n \u01f0at grandchild\n en-toaka-\u014ba older brother or sister\n ar-dotot younger brother or sister\n otoni son-in-law\n oten daughter-in-law\n ab-i-\u014ba consort (husband or wife)\n aka-yat parent of child\u2019s consort\n aka-bua consort\u2019s younger brother or sister\n ep-taruo-\u014ba step relative\n ot-\u010dat-\u014ba relative by adoption\n aka-kuam younger relative\n ab-\u010duga older relative (male)\n ab-\u010dupal older relative (female).\n\n\nDa and in. Da is the common term of address used when speaking to an\nolder man to whom the speaker wishes to show respect. A man will speak\nof his own father as dege da, dege being the personal pronoun \u201cmy\u201d as\nused before a word that has no prefix. The term In is the common term\nof address used in speaking to women. A man or woman will refer to his\nor her own mother as deg\u2019 in. The use of these two terms as applied to\nparents is very similar to the use of aka-mai and aka-mimi in the North\nAndaman, with the difference that in Akar-Bale the stem da or in does\nnot take a prefix to modify its meaning. While the use of the terms Da\nand In as terms of address does not in the least imply that there is\nany relationship between the person speaking and the person addressed,\nyet the phrase dege da would in general be understood as referring to\nthe speaker\u2019s own father.\n\nAb-atr. This is a word descriptive of the relationship of a father to\nhis child. I never heard a man refer to his own father by this term,\nbut it is heard in such phrases as deg\u2019 in l\u2019ab-atr = my mother\u2019s\nfather. It conveys a definite notion of the physiological relation\nbetween a father and his children, and might be translated \u201che who\ncaused me to be conceived.\u201d There is probably a feminine equivalent\nmeaning \u201cmother,\u201d but it was not noted.\n\nAr-bua, ar-kodire and ab-atet. The Akar-Bale word for \u201cinfant\u201d is\nab-liga or ab-dareka. The latter word is the phonetic equivalent of the\ne-tire of the Northern languages. A parent often speaks of his or her\ninfant son as d\u2019ab-bula, and of his infant daughter as d\u2019ab-pal,\nab-bula and ab-pal being the terms for \u201cmale\u201d and \u201cfemale [36].\u201d The\nexact use of the term ar-bua is difficult to determine. The stem -bua\nmay be used by itself without a prefix. Dege bua (my child) would\nrefer, I believe, only to the child of the speaker. On the other hand,\na man would use the term d\u2019ar-bua as referring not only to his own\nchild but also to the child of a brother or a sister, or even to a\nperson who was not related to him at all. So far as it could be\ndetermined, it seems that a man or woman might apply this term (ar-bua)\nto any person of the same generation as his or her children, whether a\nrelative or not. It thus means \u201ca person of the same generation as my\nown children,\u201d and describes, not relationship, but respective age. The\nword ar-kodire refers to the own child of a man, and ab-atet similarly\nrefers to the own child of a woman. The two words together are thus\nequivalent to the ot-tire of the North Andaman, the Akar-Bale\ndistinguishing between the offspring of a man (ar-kodire) and the\noffspring of a woman (ab-atet).\n\nMama. The word is translated above as meaning \u201cgrandparent,\u201d but it has\na wider meaning than this. It is used as a term of address to convey\nmore respect than is conveyed by the terms Da and In, and is thus used\nin addressing any man or woman who is considerably older than the\nspeaker. With the personal pronoun, dege mama, it may be applied by a\nman or woman to any of his grandparents, and also to his father-in-law\nand mother-in-law, and to other senior relatives.\n\nJ\u030cat. The word was explained to me by the natives as meaning\n\u201cgrandchild.\u201d It seems to be a sort of reciprocal of mama, and is\napparently applicable by any old man or woman to any child of the same\ngeneration as his or her own grandchildren.\n\nEn-toaka-\u014ba and ar-dotot. These two words are used in exactly the same\nway as the words ot-otoatue and ot-arai-\u010dulute of the North Andaman.\nThey are not properly terms of relationship, but may be equally used in\nreferring to non-relatives. En-toaka-\u014ba means \u201che who was born before\nme,\u201d and ar-dotot means \u201che who was born after me.\u201d I was not able to\ndiscover any word by which a person could distinguish his own brother\nor sister from others of the same age. It is not certain, however, that\nsuch a word does not exist.\n\nOtoni and oten. These are masculine and feminine forms of the same\nword, and are used to denote a daughter\u2019s husband and a son\u2019s wife.\nOtoni is also applied to a younger sister\u2019s husband, and oten to a\nyounger brother\u2019s wife. The derivation of the words was not discovered.\n\nAka-yat. This is the native name for the relationship subsisting\nbetween a person\u2019s parents and his parents-in-law. My own mother or\nfather is aka-yat to my wife\u2019s father or mother.\n\nAka-bua. The word is derived from the stem bua, meaning \u201cchild.\u201d It is\napplied by a man to the younger brothers and sisters of his wife, and\nby a woman to the younger brothers and sisters of her husband.\n\nAb-i-\u014ba. The word is translated \u201cconsort,\u201d and means either husband or\nwife. It is derived from the verbal stem -i- meaning \u201cto marry\u201d\n(on-i-re), ab- being the prefix, and -\u014ba the verbal suffix.\n\nEp-taruo-\u014ba. The word is used to denote a step-child, or a younger\nstep-brother or sister.\n\nOt-\u010dat-\u014ba. The word means \u201cadopted.\u201d \u201cMy adopted child\u201d is simply\nexpressed as d\u2019ot-\u010dat-\u014ba, while \u201cmy foster father\u201d is dege da\not-\u010dat-\u014ba. The stem is -\u010dat-, -\u014ba being the verbal suffix and ot- the\nprefix.\n\nAka-kuam. In spite of several enquiries, I was unable to ascertain the\nsignificance of this word. I heard it applied on different occasions to\na younger brother or sister, to a younger first cousin, and to the\nbrothers and sisters of a wife. The only suitable translation would\nseem to be \u201cmy younger relative,\u201d but it is not certain that it even\nimplies any relationship at all. It is perhaps really a term denoting\nrespective social status and is used by a married man to denote other\nmarried men who are somewhat younger than himself, and with whom he is\non friendly terms.\n\nAb-\u010duga and ab-\u010dupal. These are the masculine and feminine forms of one\nword. Mr Portman [37] gives them as meaning \u201cmarried man\u201d and \u201cmarried\nwoman.\u201d I heard them used, however, with the personal pronoun. Thus a\nman applied the term ab-\u010duga to his older brother, his older sister\u2019s\nhusband, and to his father\u2019s brother. In this usage these two terms\nseem to be in a sense reciprocal to aka-kuam. A younger married man\nwill refer to older married men and women as his ab-\u010duga and ab-\u010dupal,\nwhile they will call him aka-kuam.\n\nIn his work on the Andamanese, Mr E. H. Man gives a long list of terms\nof relationship for the Aka-Bea tribe [38]. It will be of some interest\nto compare the terms there given with those of the Akar-Bale tribe\ndescribed above.\n\nD\u2019ab-maiola (D\u2019ab-mai-ola). This is translated by Mr Man as \u201cfather.\u201d\nIn Aka-Bea the term Maia is the term of address corresponding to the Da\nof Akar-Bale and to the Mai of the North Andaman. The suffix -ola,\nadded to this and other terms of address serves to convey additional\nrespect, as Maia, Mai-ola, \u010cana, \u010can-ola, Mama, Mam-ola. Thus\nab-mai-ola corresponds to the aka-mai of the Northern languages.\n\nDia Maia. This is given by Mr Man as applicable to the following\nrelatives:\u2014my father\u2019s brother, my mother\u2019s brother, my father\u2019s\nsister\u2019s husband, my mother\u2019s sister\u2019s husband, my father\u2019s father\u2019s\nbrother\u2019s (or sister\u2019s) son, my husband\u2019s grandfather, my wife\u2019s\ngrandfather, my wife\u2019s sister\u2019s husband (if elder), my husband\u2019s\nsister\u2019s husband (if elder).\n\nDia maiola. My grandfather, my grandfather\u2019s brother, my grandmother\u2019s\nbrother, my elder sister\u2019s husband.\n\nIt must be remembered that these terms are not properly terms of\nrelationship at all. Any man who is older than the speaker is Maia or\nMai-ola to him, the latter implying a slightly higher degree of respect\nthan the former. It is probable that the three different terms given\nabove are not used by the natives with the very precise distinctions\nthat are drawn by Mr Man. It may be noted that Mr Portman writes in\nthis connection:\u2014\u201dMaia is an Honorific, equivalent to the English\n\u2018Sir,\u2019 and is used when addressing a male elder. A son calls his father\n\u2018Sir,\u2019 and uses no other word in speaking to, or of, him. A pronoun\n Dia maiola [39].\u201d\nemphasises the relationship, as: My Father\n\nD\u2019 ab-\u010danola. Given by Mr Man as meaning \u201cmy mother.\u201d It is the\nfeminine equivalent of d\u2019 ab-mai-ola, \u010cana being the feminine of Maia,\nand corresponding to the In of Akar-Bale and the Mimi of Aka-J\u030ceru.\n\nDia \u010danola. This is given as the Aka-Bea translation of the\nfollowing:\u2014my father\u2019s sister, my mother\u2019s sister, my father\u2019s\nbrother\u2019s wife, my mother\u2019s brother\u2019s wife, my grandmother, my great\naunt, my father\u2019s father\u2019s sister\u2019s daughter, my mother\u2019s mother\u2019s\nsister\u2019s daughter, my husband\u2019s grandmother, my wife\u2019s grandmother, my\nhusband\u2019s sister (if senior and a mother), my elder brother\u2019s wife (if\na mother). In its formation the term is the feminine equivalent of dia\nmai-ola, while in its use it is the equivalent both of this term and of\ndia maia. This serves to show that there is no real precise distinction\nbetween dia maia and dia mai-ola, such as Mr Man\u2019s list would seem to\nimply. Dia \u010dan-ola is not, properly speaking, a term of relationship.\nAny married woman senior to the speaker is entitled to be addressed as\n\u010cana or \u010can-ola.\n\nD\u2019 ab-\u010dabil. Mr Man gives this as translating \u201cmy father, my\nstep-father.\u201d The feminine equivalent would seem to be d\u2019 ab-\u010danola,\nwhich is given for \u201cmy mother\u201d and \u201cmy step-mother.\u201d Mr Portman gives\nab-\u010dabil and ab-\u010dana as the Aka-Bea terms for \u201cmarried man\u201d and\n\u201cmarried woman [40].\u201d The two words are the equivalents of the\nAkar-Bale ab-\u010duga and ab-\u010dupal.\n\nD\u2019 ar-odi-\u014ba. This word is given by Mr Man as one of the equivalents\nfor \u201cmy father.\u201d It is parallel to the Akar-Bale term ab-atr, and is\nstrictly a term of physiological relationship, meaning \u201che who caused\nme to be conceived.\u201d\n\nD\u2019ab-eti-\u014ba. This is translated by Mr Man as \u201cmy mother.\u201d It is the\ncorresponding term to d\u2019ar-odi-\u014ba, and refers to the physiological\nrelationship.\n\nD\u2019ab-we\u01f0i-\u014ba or d\u2019ab-we\u01f0eri-\u014ba. This also means \u201cmy mother,\u201d and is\nonly an alternative word for the above. The stems eti and we\u01f0i or\nwe\u01f0eri seem to be two stems meaning the same thing.\n\nD\u2019ar-odi-re or d\u2019ar-odi-yate. Given by Mr Man as meaning \u201cmy son\u201d (if\nover three years of age, father speaking). It is the equivalent of the\nAkar-Bale ar-kodire.\n\nD\u2019ab-eti-re, d\u2019ab-eti-yate, d\u2019ab-we\u01f0i-re, d\u2019ab-we\u01f0i-yate,\nd\u2019ab-we\u01f0eri-re, d\u2019ab-we\u01f0eri-yate. These are all given by Mr Man as\ntranslating \u201cmy son\u201d (if over three years of age, mother speaking).\nThey are equivalent to the Akar-Bale ab-atet.\n\nThe above words seem to be derived from three stems, -odi-, -eti-, and\n-we\u01f0i- (or -we\u01f0eri-), the stems -eti- and -we\u01f0i- having exactly the\nsame meaning, and belonging, perhaps, to different dialects. The words\nare formed by the addition of the prefixes ar- and ab-, and the verbal\nsuffixes -\u014ba, -re, -yate. Thus we have ar-odi-\u014ba, \u201cfather,\u201d and\nar-odi-re or ar-odi-yate, \u201cson.\u201d Similarly we have ab-eti-\u014ba, \u201cmother,\u201d\nand ab-eti-re or ab-eti-yate, \u201cson\u201d (mother speaking), while similar\nequivalents are made from the stem -we\u01f0i-. The words given as meaning\n\u201cson\u201d may also be used to mean \u201cdaughter,\u201d but when it is necessary to\nemphasise the female sex, the suffix -pail (meaning \u201cfemale\u201d) is added,\nas d\u2019ar-odi-re-pail, d\u2019ab-eti-re-pail.\n\nDia ota and dia kata. These are given by Mr Man as meaning respectively\n\u201cmy son\u201d and \u201cmy daughter\u201d (if under three years of age, either parent\nspeaking). Ota and kata are the terms for the male and female genitals.\n\nDia ba. This is given by Mr Man as meaning \u201cmy daughter\u201d (if over three\nyears of age, either parent speaking). It is the phonetic equivalent of\ndege bua in Akar-Bale.\n\nDia ba-lola. Given as the equivalent of:\u2014my grandson (either\ngrandparent speaking), my brother\u2019s grandson (male or female speaking),\nmy sister\u2019s grandson (male or female speaking). The same phrase with\nthe addition of -pail, meaning \u201cfemale,\u201d is given as equivalent to:\u2014my\ngranddaughter, my brother\u2019s granddaughter, and my sister\u2019s\ngranddaughter (male or female speaking).\n\nD\u2019ar-ba. According to Mr Man this term is applicable by a male or\nfemale to the son of a brother, a sister, a half-brother, a\nhalf-sister, or of a male or female first cousin. With the addition of\n-pail, meaning \u201cfemale,\u201d it is applicable to the daughter of any of the\nabove.\n\nAd en-toba-re, ad en-toba-\u014ba, ad en-toka-re, ad en-toka-\u014ba. These terms\nare given by Mr Man as alternative equivalents for \u201cmy elder brother\n(male or female speaking).\u201d The stem is -toba- or -toka-, with the\nprefix en- and the verbal suffix -re or -\u014ba. The ad is a special form\nof the first personal pronoun, generally d\u2019. With the addition of\n-pail, meaning \u201cfemale,\u201d the term is applicable to an elder sister. The\nword corresponds, both phonetically and in meaning, to the Akar-Bale\nen-toaka-\u014ba.\n\nD\u2019ar-doati-\u014ba. Given as meaning \u201cmy younger brother (male or female\nspeaking).\u201d With the addition of -pail, it is applied to a younger\nsister. Mr Man gives the word as being also applicable to a first\ncousin, if younger than the speaker.\n\nD\u2019ar-we\u01f0i-\u014ba or d\u2019ar-we\u01f0eri-\u014ba. These are given by Mr Man as\nalternative terms for \u201cyounger brother,\u201d and, with the addition of\n-pail, for \u201cyounger sister.\u201d It is to be noted that the stem -we\u01f0i- or\n-we\u01f0eri- is the same that occurs in one of the terms for \u201cmother,\u201d but\nthat the prefix is different, being in this case ar- instead of ab-.\n\nDia mama. This is given as meaning \u201cmy wife\u2019s brother, or my husband\u2019s\nbrother (if of equal standing).\u201d\n\nDia mam-ola. Given as the equivalent of the following:\u2014my husband\u2019s\nfather, my husband\u2019s mother, my wife\u2019s father, my wife\u2019s mother, my\nhusband\u2019s elder brother, my wife\u2019s brother (if older), my husband\u2019s\nsister\u2019s husband (if older), my wife\u2019s sister (if older and a mother),\nmy husband\u2019s brother\u2019s wife (if older), my wife\u2019s brother\u2019s wife (if\nolder).\n\nMama and Mam-ola are terms of address in Aka-Bea. Mam-ola implies a\nsomewhat greater degree of respect than Mama, and this in its turn is\nmore respectful than Mai-ola or Maia.\n\nD\u2019aka-kam. Mr Man gives this as a term applicable to the following\nrelatives:\u2014my younger brother, my younger half-brother. With the\naddition of -pail, it is applicable to a younger sister or half-sister.\n\nDia otoniya and dia otin. The first of these terms is given as\nmeaning:\u2014my son-in-law (male or female speaking), and my younger\nsister\u2019s husband (male or female speaking). The second term is\nfeminine, and is given as applicable to the following:\u2014daughter-in-law,\nhusband\u2019s sister (if younger), husband\u2019s brother\u2019s wife (if younger),\nwife\u2019s brother\u2019s wife (if younger). The terms are thus equivalent,\nphonetically and in meaning, to the Akar-Bale terms otoni and oten.\n\nAka-yakat. This is given as the relationship subsisting between a\nmarried couple\u2019s fathers-in-law, and between their mothers-in-law. It\nis the equivalent of the Akar-Bale word aka-yat.\n\nD\u2019aka-ba-bula and d\u2019aka-ba-pail. The meaning of the first of these is\ngiven as \u201cmy husband\u2019s brother (if younger),\u201d and of the second as \u201cmy\nyounger brother\u2019s wife.\u201d The suffixes -bula and -pail mean \u201cmale\u201d and\n\u201cfemale\u201d respectively. The term aka-ba is the phonetic equivalent of\nthe Akar-Bale word aka-bua. The latter seems to be applied to the\nyounger brothers and sisters of a man\u2019s wife or of a woman\u2019s husband,\nand to these alone. The use of these terms and of the terms otoni and\noten, as recorded from the Akar-Bale tribe, may be compared with the\nusage stated by Mr Man, as there is some disagreement. In the following\ntable the Aka-Bea terms are given as they are found in Mr Man\u2019s list,\nwhile those of the Akar-Bale tribe are given from my own information.\n\n\n Aka-Bea Akar-Bale\n\n Husband\u2019s younger brother aka-ba-bula aka-bua\n Husband\u2019s younger sister otin aka-bua\n Wife\u2019s younger brother aka-bua\n Wife\u2019s younger sister aka-bua\n Younger brother\u2019s wife aka-ba-pail oten\n Younger sister\u2019s husband otoniya otoni.\n\n\nIt will be observed that the Akar-Bale list is consistent and logical\nthroughout. It seems probable that there is an error in Mr Man\u2019s list,\nand that \u201chusband\u2019s younger sister\u201d should be aka-ba-pail instead of\notin, while \u201cyounger brother\u2019s wife\u201d should be otin instead of\naka-ba-pail. This would make the Aka-Bea list consistent with itself\nand with the Akar-Bale list.\n\nMr Man gives, in addition to the terms discussed above, a number of\ncompound terms, which we may examine briefly.\n\nD\u2019ar-\u010dabil-entoba-re. This is given as applicable to any first cousin\nor half-brother who is older than the speaker. The feminine form is\ngiven as d\u2019ar-\u010danol-a-entoba-yate.\n\nD\u2019ar-\u010dabil-entoba-re lai-ik-yate. This is applicable to the wife of any\nfirst cousin or half-brother, if older than the speaker. As lai-ik-yate\nmeans \u201chis wife,\u201d this is a descriptive term. There is a similar term\ndia \u010danol a-entoba-yate lai-ik-yate for the husband of an older female\ncousin or half-sister.\n\nD\u2019ar-ba lai-ik-yate. This means \u201cthe wife of my ar-ba,\u201d and is\ntherefore applicable to the wife of the son of a brother or sister or\ncousin, and to the husband of a daughter of a brother or sister or\ncousin.\n\nThere are a few other similar compounds that need not be given.\n\nIn Mr Man\u2019s list a step-son is given as eb-aden-ire. The word for\nadoption is ot-\u010dat-\u014ba, d\u2019ot-\u010dat-\u014ba meaning \u201cmy adopted child\u201d and\nd\u2019ab-mai-ot-\u010dat-\u014ba \u201cmy adopted father.\u201d\n\nThe system of terms of relationship of the Andamanese is of great\ninterest as being fundamentally different from the systems of other\nuncivilized peoples. It is by no means easy to discover the exact usage\nof the different terms that are mentioned above. It is, however,\npossible to gain a general idea, probably accurate in essentials, of\nthe way in which the Andamanese languages express the notions of\nkinship.\n\nWe may consider first the terms of address and the terms of\nrelationship formed from them. The terms of address are:\u2014\n\n\n Aka-Jeru Aka-Bea Akar-Bale\n\n Maia or Mai Da Maia Sir\n Mimi In Cana Lady\n ...... Mama Mama or mamola.\n\n\nThe first of these is used in addressing males and the second in\naddressing females, while the third may be used either for males or for\nfemales and implies a higher degree of respect than the others.\n\nIn all the languages of the Great Andaman a man refers to his own\nfather and mother by adding a personal pronoun to the words meaning\n\u201cSir\u201d and \u201cLady.\u201d In Aka-J\u030ceru a man speaks of his father as t\u2019a-mai,\nand of his mother as t\u2019a-mimi, the a- being a contracted form of the\nprefix aka-. This prefix is always used in this way in the Northern\nlanguages. It is not possible to say ti\u010do maia, which would be the\nliteral equivalent of dege da in Akar-Bale. In the Akar-Bale language\nthe translation of \u201cmy father\u201d and \u201cmy mother\u201d is dege da and deg\u2019 in,\nthe dege being the personal pronoun \u201cmy\u201d as used before a word that has\nno prefix. The same formation is present also in the A-Pu\u010dikwar and\nAka-Ko\u0331l languages. For example in Aka-Ko\u0331l \u201cmy father\u201d is tiye tao, and\n\u201cmy mother\u201d tiye in. In the Aka-Bea language, according to the\ninformation given by Mr Man, the word maia (or maiola) may be used\ncombined with a prefix, as in d\u2019ab-maiola = \u201cmy father,\u201d or it may be\nused simply with the personal pronoun as dia maia or dia maiola.\nAccording to Mr Man these last two terms are applied not to a man\u2019s own\nfather, but to the other persons whom he addresses as maia. This is\ncontradicted by Mr Portman who gives dia maiola as the Aka-Bea for \u201cmy\nfather.\u201d\n\nIn the Aka-Bea and Akar-Bale languages (as also in A-Pu\u010dikwar and\nAka-Ko\u0331l) a man always addresses his grandparent or his father-in-law or\nmother-in-law by the term Mama or Mamola. He is therefore able to refer\nto these persons by adding the personal pronoun to the term of address,\nas dege mama in Akar-Bale. This cannot, however, be regarded as\nproperly a term denoting relationship, for a man may apply the term\nMama to a man or woman to whom he is not related at all [41].\n\nThe next kind of words that we may consider are those that describe the\nrespective social position of two persons. Such are the words\not-otoatue and ot-arai-\u010dulute in Aka-J\u030ceru, meaning \u201che who was born\nbefore me\u201d and \u201che who was born after me\u201d respectively. These terms do\nnot, strictly speaking, convey any idea of consanguinity, although they\nare commonly used to refer to a brother or a sister. Exactly equivalent\nterms are found in all the languages, for example the en-toaka-\u014ba and\nar-dot-ot of Akar-Bale. I was not able to discover in Aka-J\u030ceru nor yet\nin Akar-Bale any term to denote a brother or a sister. In Aka-Bea,\nhowever, Mr Man records the term ar-we\u01f0i-\u014ba or ar-we\u01f0eri-\u014ba. The stem\n-we\u01f0i- or -we\u01f0eri-, as we shall shortly see, is a verbal stem referring\nto the act of birth, -\u014ba is a verbal suffix, and the prefix ar- conveys\na reference to position in space or time. The whole word seems to mean\n\u201che or she who was born in the same womb as myself,\u201d and is therefore\nstrictly a word meaning \u201cbrother or sister.\u201d It is possible that\nsimilar words exist in Akar-J\u030ceru and Akar-Bale, but I never came across\nthem.\n\nOther terms descriptive of social status are the Akar-Bale terms\nab-\u010duga and ab-\u010dupal which refer to married men and women particularly\nthose older than the speaker. These also are not properly terms of\nrelationship, though a man may refer to some of his relatives as\nd\u2019ab-\u010duga, adding the personal pronoun to what is properly a word\ndescriptive of the social position of the person in question. In\nAka-Bea the equivalent terms are ab-\u010dabil and ab-\u010dana. It would seem\nthat the term aka-kuam (aka-kam in Aka-Bea) is of the same kind, being\napplicable by an older married man to a younger. At any rate I was\nunable to discover that it conveyed to the natives any notion of\nrelationship.\n\nThere are a certain number of terms that are descriptive of definite\nrelationships. In the North ot-e-bui, and in Akar-Bale ab-i-\u014ba are both\nof them derived from verbal stems meaning \u201cto marry\u201d and are used to\ndenote a husband or a wife. In the North I did not discover any term\ndescriptive of a father or a mother save those derived from the terms\nof address. In Akar-Bale and Aka-Bea there are such terms; ab-atr in\nAkar-Bale means \u201cfather\u201d while the word for \u201cmother\u201d was not noted; in\nAka-Bea a father is ar-odi-\u014ba, and a mother is ab-eti-\u014ba. These words\nare descriptive of the physiological relation between a parent and a\nchild. A man\u2019s adopted mother could not be his ab-eti-\u014ba, for this term\napplies only to the woman from whose womb he issued. Similarly an\nadopted father or a step-father could not be ab-atr or ar-odi-\u014ba. There\nare similar words for child, which also refer to the physiological\nrelation of a child to its parent. In the North the stem -tire means\n\u201coffspring.\u201d The offspring of a plant, that is the young shoots, are\ndenoted by the term era-tire, the prefix era- serving to convey a\nreference to trees and plants. The offspring of an animal or of a human\nbeing is e-tire. The word e-tire means \u201cthe child of somebody\u201d without\nreference to any particular person as the parent. In the form ot-tire\nthe word means \u201chis or her child\u201d with reference to some person\nunderstood. A man or woman cannot in strict accuracy apply the term\not-tire to his adopted child, though I believe that it might be used in\nthis loose sense at times. An adopted child is \u201che whom I have\nadopted,\u201d t\u2019oi-\u010dolo-kom. In Akar-Bale and Aka-Bea there are different\nterms for \u201cchild\u201d according as the reference is to the child of a man\nor to that of a woman. Thus in Akar-Bale the child (in the\nphysiological sense) of a father is ar-kodire, and the child of a\nmother is ab-atet. In Aka-Bea the physiological relation of a father\nand child is denoted by the verbal stem -odi-. This stem takes the\nprefix ar-. The word for father is formed by adding the verbal suffix\n-\u014ba (ar-odi-\u014ba). The word for child (father speaking) is formed by\nmeans of the verbal suffix -re or -yate (ar-odi-re or ar-odi-yate). We\nmay translate d\u2019ar-odi-\u014ba as meaning \u201che who caused me to be conceived\u201d\nwhile d\u2019ar-odi-re or d\u2019ar-odi-yate means \u201chim whom I caused to be\nconceived.\u201d In the same language the physiological relation of a mother\nand a child is denoted by the stem -eti-. This stem takes the prefix\nab-. A mother is ab-eti-\u014ba, and the child of a mother is ab-eti-re or\nab-eti-yate, the verbal suffixes being used in a way similar to that in\nthe case of the terms for father and child. In Aka-Bea there is also a\nstem -we\u01f0i- or -we\u01f0eri- which has exactly the same meaning as -eti- and\ncan be substituted for it in the terms meaning mother and child, as\nab-we\u01f0i-\u014ba = mother, ab-we\u01f0i-re = child.\n\nOther descriptive words used to denote specific relationships are\ne-pota-\u010diu and e-pota-\u010dip and ot-otone in the Northern languages. The\nderivations of these words have not been ascertained. Similar terms in\nAkar-Bale are otoni and oten and aka-yat. In this language I did not\ndiscover any word descriptive of the relationship of father-in-law or\nmother-in-law. Finally there are such terms as ot-\u010dat-\u014ba (adopted) and\nep-taruo-\u014ba (step-relative).\n\nThe most noteworthy feature of these terms is that it is impossible by\nmeans of them to deal with relationships that are at all distant. Thus\nthere is no term by which a man can describe his grandfather. In\nAkar-Bale the phrase dege mama might mean a grandfather, but it might\nequally refer to a father-in-law. It is true that the simple terms may\nbe combined as Aka-J\u030ceru \u201caka-mimi aka-mai\u201d = \u201chis mother\u2019s father,\u201d or\nAkar-Bale \u201cdeg\u2019 in l\u2019ab-atr\u201d = \u201cmy mother\u2019s father,\u201d but these\ncompounded terms are apparently not often used by the natives. A second\nnoteworthy feature is the existence of terms to denote physiological\nrelationships (as opposed to merely juridical relationships) such as\nthe Aka-Bea ar-odi-\u014ba, etc. Finally there is the apparent entire\nabsence, so far as could be determined, of any classification of\nrelatives such as is characteristic of the classificatory systems of\nrelationship. Where there does seem to be some sort of approach to such\nclassification, as in the use of the Akar-Bale term dege mama, we find\nthat it is really based not on relationships of consanguinity and\nmarriage, but on respective social status [42].\n\nAs, in the languages of the Andamans, there are few words serving to\ndenote relationship, and on the contrary a developed system of terms\ndenoting social status, so in the social organisation of the Andamans\nthere are very few special duties between relatives, and the conduct of\npersons to one another is chiefly determined by their respective social\npositions. This will become evident as we proceed, and it will thus be\nshown that there is a close connection between the way the natives\ndenote relationships and the way in which their social life is affected\nby questions of relationship.\n\nWe have already seen that in the Andamanese social organisation the\nfamily is of great importance. A family is constituted by a permanent\nunion between one man and one woman. In one of its aspects this union\nis a sexual one. By marriage a man acquires the sole right to sexual\ncongress with the woman who becomes his wife. At the same time it is\nthe duty of a married man to avoid sexual relations with other women\nwhether married or unmarried. Promiscuous intercourse between the sexes\nis the rule before marriage, and no harm is thought of it. The love\naffairs of the boys and girls are carried on in secret, but the older\nmembers of the camp are generally fully aware of all that goes on. What\ngenerally happens is that after a time a youth forms an attachment with\nsome girl and a marriage between them results from their love affair.\n\nIt is impossible, at the present time, to discover exactly how the\nAndamanese formerly regarded infidelity on the part of a wife or\nhusband. In the Great Andaman there is great laxity in this matter at\nthe present day. Quarrels sometimes arise when a husband discovers an\nintrigue between his wife and another man, but very often the husband\nseems to condone the adultery of his wife. Mr E. H. Man, writing on\nthis subject, says that \u201cconjugal fidelity till death is not the\nexception, but the rule,\u201d and adds, \u201cIt is undoubtedly true that\nbreaches of morality have occasionally taken place among a few of the\nmarried persons who have resided for any length of time at Port Blair,\nbut this is only what might be expected from constant association with\nthe Indian convict attendants at the various homes; justice, however,\ndemands that in judging of their moral characteristics we should\nconsider only those who have been uninfluenced by the vices or virtues\nof alien races [43].\u201d At the present time conjugal infidelity is very\ncommon and is lightly regarded. It is almost certain that the\nestablishment of the Penal Settlement amongst them has affected their\nmorals in this particular, but there does not seem to be any very\nsatisfactory evidence that their former morality was quite so strict as\nMr Man would have us believe. One piece of evidence in this matter is\nthat the spread of syphilis, when it was first introduced amongst them\nseems to have been very rapid, and yet this was before many of the\ntribes had been very seriously affected by the Settlement.\n\nBesides the special sexual relation between a husband and wife there is\na special economic relation, if we may speak of it as such. The two\nshare one hut between them, or one portion of a communal hut. It is the\nduty of the wife to provide the fire-wood and the water for cooking and\ndrinking, and to cook the meals at the family fire. It is the duty of\nthe husband to provide flesh food for himself and for his wife, while\nit is her duty to provide and prepare vegetable food.\n\nA marriage is not regarded as fully consummated until the birth of a\nchild. Mr Man states that the survivor of a childless couple is not\nlooked upon as the chief mourner. A father who has been away from home\ngreets his wife first on his return and then greets his other\nrelatives; but if no child has been born to him a husband first greets\nhis blood-relatives (father, mother, brothers, etc.) and only after\nthat does he visit his wife.\n\nThe only regulation of marriage is on the basis of relationship.\nMarriage is forbidden between near consanguinei. The exact rules, in\nthis matter, if indeed there be any exact rules, are difficult to\ndiscover. It is quite clear that a man would not be permitted to marry\nhis sister or half-sister, nor his father\u2019s or mother\u2019s sister, nor his\nbrother\u2019s or sister\u2019s daughter. The question is more difficult when it\ncomes to the matter of cousins. In 1908 I only found one pair of first\ncousins who were married to one another, this being in the Aka-Bo\ntribe. The husband and wife were the son and daughter of two brothers.\nMr E. H. Man writes that \u201cmarriage is only permissible between those\nwho are known to be not even distantly connected, except by wedlock,\nwith each other; so inexorable indeed is this rule, that it extends and\napplies equally to such as are related merely by the custom of\nadoption.\u201d He adds that marriage between first cousins is forbidden. I\nwas not able to satisfy myself on this point, but it seemed to me that\nwhile such a marriage as that of first cousins was not actually\nregarded as wrong, and therefore forbidden, it was regarded as\npreferable that a man should marry a woman not so nearly related to\nhim. No distinction is made between different kinds of cousin [44].\n\nMy observations did not confirm Mr Man\u2019s statement that persons related\nby adoption are forbidden to marry. It is necessary, however, to\ndistinguish two different kinds of adoption. When the parents of a\nchild of less than six or seven years of age die, the child is adopted\ninto some other family. We may call this \u201corphan adoption.\u201d As will be\nexplained later, there is another custom by which children of over\nseven or eight are adopted by a married couple belonging to a local\ngroup other than that of the parents, and live with them till they come\nof age. The parents of the child are still alive and they visit him or\nher at frequent intervals. No bar to marriage is set up by this kind of\nadoption. An adopted son may marry the daughter of his foster-parents.\nIndeed when children are betrothed it is the rule for the girl to be\nadopted by the boy\u2019s parents, at any rate for a time. On the other hand\nit is quite possible that a child adopted when of tender years (as an\norphan) would not be permitted to marry a child of his or her\nfoster-parents. I was unable to satisfy myself on this point.\n\nThere seems to be a prejudice against a woman marrying a man younger\nthan herself. Some of the women with whom I talked expressed strong\ncontempt at the idea of marrying a man younger than themselves.\nUnfortunately, I neglected to obtain statistics as to the frequency\nwith which such marriages occur, if they occur at all.\n\nBeyond the prohibition of the marriage of near kin, I could not find\nany restriction on marriage. A man may marry a woman from his own local\ngroup or from another, from his own or from another tribe. That\nmarriages between persons belonging to the same local group did occur\nin former times I was able to ascertain with certainty but I was not\nable to determine the proportion of such marriages to the whole number.\nIt is probable that the majority of marriages, or at any rate a large\nproportion, were between persons belonging to different local groups.\n\nMarriages are arranged by the older men and women. Children are\nsometimes betrothed by their parents while they are still infants. I\nfound one such case in the North Andaman, and the betrothed couple,\nthough they were yet small children, were spoken of as being \u201cmarried.\u201d\nSuch betrothals are not very common at the present time.\n\nWhen the parents of a youth who is of suitable age to be married\nperceive that he has formed an attachment with a girl, they take it\nupon them to arrange a marriage. The matter is first of all talked over\nbetween the young man and his parents. The man\u2019s parents do not\nthemselves speak to the girl\u2019s parents of the matter, but request some\none or more of their friends to do so. From the moment that the\npossibility of a marriage exists the man\u2019s parents avoid speaking to\nthe girl\u2019s parents. Any communication between them is carried on\nthrough a third person. They send presents to each other, of food and\nother objects. The recipient of such a present hastens to make a return\nof equal value. If the marriage is arranged the parents on each side\nbecome related to one another by the relationship denoted in Akar-Bale\nby the word aka-yat. The duties implied by this relationship will be\ndescribed later.\n\nWhen a marriage has finally been arranged an evening is appointed for\nthe ceremony. In the North Andaman this is as follows. The bride is\nseated on a mat at one end of the dancing ground, her relatives and\nfriends sitting near her. Torches or heaps of resin are lighted near\nby, so that the ceremony may be seen by the on-lookers. The bridegroom\nis seated with his friends at the other end of the dancing ground. One\nof the older and more respected men addresses the bride, telling her\nthat she must make a good wife, must provide for her husband such\nthings as it is the duty of a wife to obtain or make, must see that he\ndoes not run after other women, and must herself remain faithful to\nhim. He then addresses the bridegroom to the same effect, and taking\nhim by the hand or arm, leads him to where the bride is seated and\nmakes him sit down beside her. The relatives and friends weep loudly,\nand the young couple look very self-conscious and uncomfortable. The\nshyness of the young man is such that he often attempts to run away,\nbut he is caught by his friends, who are prepared for such an attempt.\nAfter some minutes the officiating elder takes the arms of the bride\nand bridegroom and places them around each other\u2019s necks. After a\nfurther interval he again approaches and makes the bridegroom sit on\nthe bride\u2019s lap [45]. They sit so for some minutes and the ceremony is\nover. The other members of the community generally have a dance on such\nan occasion, but in this the newly wedded pair do not join. A hut has\nalready been prepared for them, and all their friends make them\npresents of useful objects with which to start housekeeping. They\nretire shyly to their new hut, while their friends continue dancing.\nThe day after the ceremony the bride and bridegroom are decorated by\ntheir friends with white clay. For a few days the newly married couple\nare very shy of each other, hardly venturing to speak to or look at one\nanother: but they soon settle down to their new position in the life of\nthe community. During the early days of their marriage they are\nabundantly supplied with food by their friends. They are not addressed\nor spoken of by name, but if their names be A and B, the husband is\ncalled \u201cthe husband of B\u201d while the wife is called \u201cthe wife of A.\u201d\n\nIn the South Andaman the ceremony is much the same as in the North, the\nonly difference being that the bridegroom is led to where the bride is\nsitting and is made to sit on her lap straightway, remaining there for\na few minutes.\n\nWhen a husband dies his widow may marry again if she wishes. As a rule\nI believe that it is not considered fitting that she should take\nanother husband before the end of her mourning for her former one. Mr\nMan says \u201cit is not considered decorous that any fresh alliance should\nbe contracted until about a year had elapsed from the date of\nbereavement [46].\u201d I knew of one case, however, of a woman with a young\nchild who married again only a fortnight or so after her husband\u2019s\ndeath.\n\nMr Man speaks of a custom \u201cwhich all but compels a bachelor or widower\nto propose to the childless widow of his elder brother or cousin (if\nshe be not past her prime), while she has no choice beyond remaining\nsingle or accepting him; should she have no younger brother-in-law (or\ncousin by marriage), however, she is free to wed whom she will. It\nshould be added that marriage with a deceased wife\u2019s younger sister is\nequally a matter of necessity on the part of a childless widower [47].\u201d\n\nI was not able to come across a case in which a man had actually\nmarried his elder brother\u2019s widow in recent years. The natives whom I\nquestioned confirmed Mr Man\u2019s statement, which, moreover, was based on\nat least one instance known to him as having occurred. It may be noted\nthat in his description of this instance Mr Man says that the woman\nmarried her husband\u2019s \u201cbrother or cousin,\u201d leaving us in doubt as to\nwhich of these two relatives it really was. There is an ambiguity in\nthe use of the term \u201cyounger brother,\u201d for the Andamanese have no word\nmeaning simply \u201cyounger brother,\u201d but only such terms as ot-arai-\u010dulute\nand the equivalents in other languages, which apply to any younger\nperson, whether actually a brother or cousin or not.\n\nThe recent changes in the social life of the Andamanese render it\ndifficult to determine what was the former practice in matters of this\nsort, but I believe that the custom was this, that when a man of a\nlocal group died the older men selected one of the unmarried men and\nrequired him to marry the widow. They selected a man who was younger\nthan the deceased, that is who was his ot-arai-\u010dulute, and gave the\npreference to an unmarried younger brother if there were one, or to a\nrelative of the deceased, such as a father\u2019s brother\u2019s son.\n\nIt may be noted that this custom may conflict with the other custom,\npreviously mentioned, that a woman objects to marrying a man younger\nthan herself. In the case mentioned by Mr Man a young man was compelled\nto marry a woman who was considerably his senior [48].\n\nI believe that, in connection with, or underlying this custom there was\nan objection against a widow marrying a man who was older than her\nformer husband (and who would therefore be his ot-otoatue). I regret\nthat I cannot speak with certainty on these matters.\n\nWe may turn now to the duties to one another of parents and children.\nDuring their infancy the children are in the care of the mother.\nChildren are, however, such favourites with the Andamanese that a child\nis played with and petted and nursed not only by his own father and\nmother but by everyone in the village. A woman with an unweaned child\nwill often give suck to the children of other women. Babies are not\nweaned till they are three or four years old.\n\nBefore the children can walk, they are carried about by the mother, and\nsometimes by the father or other persons, in a bark sling (called \u010diba\nin Aka-J\u030ceru), which is shown in Plate XIV. After they can walk the\nchildren generally accompany their mothers in their expeditions near\nthe camp for firewood or vegetables. When they are not with their\nmothers they amuse themselves with games in the village or on the\nbeach. All the children of the coast villages learn to swim when they\nare very young, in fact almost as soon as they learn to walk, and many\nof their games are conducted in the water.\n\nWhen a boy reaches the age of five or six his father makes him a toy\nbow and arrows, and sometimes a toy canoe. From this time the boy\nbegins to learn the occupations of men and begins to pick up knowledge\nabout the animals and trees and fishes of his country. The girl,\naccompanying her mother on her expeditions to gather roots and seeds,\nor to catch fish or pick up molluscs on the reefs, learns what it is\nnecessary for women to know.\n\nUntil the age of about eight to ten a child lives with his parents,\nhaving a place in the family hut, and a share of the family meal. The\nchildren are treated with extreme kindness, and are never punished, and\nhardly ever scolded. Should the parents die the children are adopted by\nfriends or relatives, and such adopted children are treated by the\nfoster-parents in exactly the same way as their own children.\n\nAt the age of ten, or a little before, a change is often brought about\nin the life of a child, owing to the custom of adoption. Mr Man writes\nof this custom as follows:\n\n\u201cIt is said to be of rare occurrence to find any child above six or\nseven years of age residing with its parents, and this because it is\nconsidered a compliment and also a mark of friendship for a married\nman, after paying a visit, to ask his hosts to allow him to adopt one\nof their children. The request is usually complied with, and\nthenceforth the child\u2019s home is with his (or her) foster-father: though\nthe parents in their turn adopt the children of other friends, they\nnevertheless pay continual visits to their own child, and occasionally\nask permission (!) to take him (or her) away with them for a few days.\nA man is entirely at liberty to please himself in the number of\nchildren he adopts, but he must treat them with kindness and\nconsideration, and in every respect as his own sons and daughters, and\nthey, on their part, render him filial affection and obedience. It not\nunfrequently happens that in course of time permission to adopt a\nfoster-child is sought by a friend of the soi-disant father, and is at\nonce granted (unless any exceptional circumstance should render it\npersonally inconvenient), without even the formality of a reference to\nthe actual parents, who are merely informed of the change, in order\nthat they may be enabled to pay their periodical visits [49].\u201d\n\nThe above passage is quoted because Mr Man had better opportunities of\nobservation in this matter than myself. At the present day there are\nnot many children in the Andamans, and this is an obstacle in the way\nof this custom of adoption. From my own observation, however, I should\nput the age at which it is customary for children to be adopted at\nhigher than six or seven. I found children of about seven or eight\nstill living with their own parents. The usual age of adoption seemed\nto me to be from nine or ten years upwards.\n\nA man and his wife adopt in this way children belonging to a local\ngroup other than their own. The adopted child lives with his or her\nfoster-parents, having a place in their hut and a share of their meals.\nFrom about the age of ten children of both sexes begin to be of service\nto their parents or foster-parents in many ways. The foster-parents\ntreat their adopted children in exactly the same way that they would\ntreat their own children, and the children on the other hand show the\nsame regard and affection to their foster-parents that they do to their\nown parents, and assist them in every way that they can. Their own\nparents come to visit them at regular intervals.\n\nThe period of childhood is brought to an end at about the age of\npuberty by certain ceremonies to be described in the next chapter.\nAfter the beginning of these ceremonies a boy ceases to live in the hut\nof his parents or his foster-parents, and must live with the young\nunmarried men and widowers in what has been called the bachelors\u2019 hut.\nFrom this time until he marries, his services are constantly required\nby his parents or by his foster-parents, and he is expected to obey\nthem and help them in any way he can. It is only after his marriage\nthat he becomes relatively independent and free to please himself in\nhis own actions, and even then he is required to provide his parents or\nhis foster-parents with food, and to serve them in any way they may\nneed.\n\nA girl, during the period between the beginning of the initiation\nceremonies and her marriage, continues, at any rate, in some cases, and\nin these days, to live with her parents or with foster-parents. Mr Man\nstates that the unmarried women and girls occupy a spinsters\u2019 hut\nsimilar to the bachelors\u2019 hut. It is possible that this was the former\ncustom. I found instances of an unmarried girl occupying a place in the\nhut of a married couple who made use of her services and controlled her\nconduct, regarding her in the light of a foster-daughter. On one\noccasion I found two unmarried girls occupying a separate hut adjoining\nthat of a married couple, who looked after the girls who occupied it.\n\nThe position of an unmarried girl is very similar to that of an\nunmarried youth. She is required to help her elders, in particular\neither her parents or her foster-parents, i.e. the married couple under\nwhose care she is for the time being.\n\nAfter marriage a son continues to help his parents, providing them with\nfood and seeing that they are comfortable. If either a man or a woman\nlives in a local group other than that of his or her parents, he or she\npays frequent visits to them.\n\nFrom the time that a youth or girl ceases to belong to the family\nhousehold, his or her duties to the parents are really only the same in\nkind as the duties that every young man and woman owes to all the older\nmen and women. Though there is no difference in kind, yet a man or\nwoman is expected to show more affection and respect for his or her own\nparents than to other persons of the same social standing.\n\nThe only other relationship, besides that of husband and wife and that\nof parents and children, which exists inside the family, is that\nbetween children of the same parents. The conduct of brothers to one\nanother depends on their respective ages. The younger is expected to\ngive way to the elder, while the latter protects and looks after the\nformer. The relation of sisters to one another is similar.\n\nThe duties of a man and woman to his or her relatives, other than those\nto parents, brothers and sisters, and even to some extent the duties to\nthese near relatives, are not distinguishable in kind from the duties\nhe or she owes to other persons who are not relatives. Thus a young\nmarried man owes certain duties to all the older married men of about\nthe age of his father. These duties are the same in kind as those\ntowards his own father and his foster-father, the only difference being\nthat he must defer more to his own father than to other men, and must\nbe more constant in his attentions to him. I could not discover any way\nin which a man distinguished, in his dealings with them, his father\u2019s\nbrother from his mother\u2019s brother. They are both of them older men whom\nhe must respect and to whom he must make presents of food. Similarly a\nfather\u2019s sister is not distinguished, so far as I could discover, from\na mother\u2019s sister. A man treats both of them in much the same way that\nhe treats his own mother, or any other woman of the same age. There is\nonly a slight difference in connection with parents-in-law. A man would\nnot be so familiar with his parents-in-law as he would with his parents\nor their brothers or sisters, and treats them with more deference and\nrespect. This is borne out by the Akar-Bale custom of applying to a\nfather-in-law or mother-in-law the same term of address (Mama) that is\nused in speaking to grandparents and others to whom it is required to\nshow particular deference.\n\nIn the same way there is very little difference between the way a man\nconducts himself towards his elder brother and his conduct towards any\nother man of the same age. Brothers are often close comrades, putting\ntheir huts next to one another in the same village, joining together\nwhenever possible in hunting or fishing expeditions, and so on; but a\nman may have a comrade who is not his brother, whom he will treat in\nexactly the same way.\n\nThe general attitude of a married man to other married men somewhat\nyounger than himself is very much that towards a younger brother. As\nbetween men and women one special duty appears in this connection. A\nmarried man may not and will not have any close dealings with the wife\nof a man younger than himself. It is not considered fitting that he\nshould speak to her. If he wished to have any communication with her,\nhe would do so through some third person. It would be regarded as a\nwrong thing to do if he were ever to touch her. The only explanation\nthat the natives give of this custom is by saying that a man feels\n\u201cshy\u201d or \u201cashamed\u201d towards his younger brother\u2019s or friend\u2019s wife. The\ncustom is exactly the same with respect to the wife of any younger man,\nwhether a brother, a cousin, or a stranger.\n\nThis custom depends on the distinction between older and younger. A man\nmay be on terms of familiarity with the wife of a man older than\nhimself, whom he would treat much as he would an elder sister.\n\nThere is one special relationship which has peculiar duties attaching\nto it, and this is the relationship between the father and mother of a\nman on the one hand and the father and mother of the man\u2019s wife on the\nother. In the Akar-Bale language such persons are said to be aka-yat to\none another. A man or a woman will not have any immediate dealings with\na person who is his aka-yat. He will not speak to him, and if they\nshould meet or be sitting near to one another they would avoid looking\nat each other. On the other hand a man is constantly sending presents\nto his aka-yat. The natives say that two persons in this relation feel\n\u201cshy\u201d or \u201cashamed.\u201d (There is only one word in Andamanese for these two\nEnglish words, ot-\u01f0ete in Aka-J\u030ceru.) The shyness begins at the moment\nwhen a marriage between their respective children is first discussed as\na possibility, and lasts apparently till death.\n\nAs throwing a little light on this peculiar relation it may be\nmentioned that a similar relation exists between two men who have been\nthrough either the turtle-eating ceremony or the pig-eating ceremony\n(to be described in the next chapter) on the same occasion. Two such\nmen will avoid any contact with one another, not speaking to nor\nlooking at each other when they chance to meet, but on the other hand\nthey will be constantly giving each other presents of all kinds,\nsending them through some third person.\n\nThe main features of the relationship system of the Andaman Islanders\nmay be briefly summed up. The duties that one person owes to another\nare determined much less by their relation to one another by\nconsanguinity and marriage, than by their respective ages and social\nstatus. Even within the family, which nevertheless is of importance,\nthe duty of a child to a parent is very little different from his duty\nto any other person of the same age. There is very little of any\nspecial customs relating to conduct towards different kinds of\nrelatives. Corresponding to this we find very few terms to denote\nrelationships and a considerable development of the terms which denote\nage and social status. Thus a man\u2019s duties to his elder brother are\nmuch the same as those towards the other men of the same age, and we\nfind that there is no word for \u201celder brother\u201d but only a term by which\na man distinguishes all the men of his own generation older than\nhimself from those who are younger. Similarly there are no duties that\na man owes to his father\u2019s brother or to his mother\u2019s brother which he\ndoes not also owe, in perhaps a less degree, to other men of the same\nage, and there is no term by which he can distinguish his father\u2019s\nbrother from those others.\n\nIf this account of the system of relationship be accurate it will be\nseen that the Andamanese society contrasts very strongly, in this\nmatter, with other primitive societies [50].\n\nIt remains for us only to examine the social relations between the\ndifferent local groups. Two neighbouring groups, whether of the same\ntribe or of different tribes, might be either friendly towards one\nanother or unfriendly. Friendly relations were kept alive by several of\nthe customs of the Andamanese, by the intermarriage of members of\ndifferent groups, by the adoption of children from one group to\nanother, and by the fact that a man of one group might take up his\nresidence more or less permanently with another (particularly when he\nmarried a woman of that group, or was adopted when a boy by one of the\nmen belonging to it). All these customs served to bind some persons in\nthe one group to persons in the other, and thus prevent the two groups\nfrom becoming entirely unfriendly to one another.\n\nWhen two neighbouring local groups were friendly to one another\ncommunication between them was kept up by visitors from one group to\nanother, and by occasional meetings of the whole of the two groups.\n\nEither a single person or a family might at any time pay a visit to\nanother camp, staying a few days or weeks or even longer. A man would,\nhowever, only go visiting when he was sure of a welcome. Such visits\nwere most frequent in the fine months of the year (December to May). As\na husband and wife in many instances belonged to different local groups\nthey would, if living with the man\u2019s parents, pay a visit every year to\nthe parents or other relatives of the wife. The parents of a child that\nhad been adopted by a member of another local group would make a point\nof visiting the child when they could. Visitors to a camp would always\ntake with them presents to be given to their hosts. A visitor was\nhospitably entertained, being given the best of the food, and joined\nhis hosts in their hunting and fishing expeditions. The duty of\nhospitality is one upon which the Andamanese lay stress.\n\nThe meetings of two or more local groups were organised from time to\ntime by the more prominent men. The time and place of the meeting would\nbe fixed and invitations sent out to the neighbours. The visitors, men,\nwomen and children, would arrive at the appointed time, and would be\naccommodated as well as possible by the hosts. During the first few\nhours, as the natives themselves told me, everyone would feel a little\nshy and perhaps frightened, and it would take some time for this\nfeeling to wear off. The visitors would bring with them various\nobjects, such as bows, arrows, adzes, baskets, nets, red paint, white\nclay, and so on. These were given by the visitors to their hosts, and\nother presents were received in return. Although the natives themselves\nregarded the objects thus given as being presents, yet when a man gave\na present to another he expected that he would receive something of\nequal value in return, and would be very angry if the return present\ndid not come up to his expectations. A man would sometimes mention,\nwhen giving his present, that he would like some particular object in\nexchange, but this was the exception and not the rule, and the process\ncannot be spoken of as barter. In certain cases it undoubtedly served a\nuseful economic purpose. Thus if a local group had no red ochre or\nwhite clay in their own country they could obtain these commodities by\nexchange with others who had. In the case of a meeting between forest\nand coast dwellers, the former could obtain such things as shells, red\npaint made with turtle fat, and other objects with which they could not\nprovide themselves in any other way. It was in this way also that the\niron obtained from a wreck on one part of the coast would be spread\nover a large area. For the most part, however, as each local group, and\nindeed each family, was able to provide itself with everything that it\nneeded in the way of weapons and utensils, the exchange of presents did\nnot serve the same purpose as trade and barter in more developed\ncommunities.\n\nThe purpose that it did serve was a moral one. The object of the\nexchange was to produce a friendly feeling between the two persons\nconcerned, and unless it did this it failed of its purpose. It gave\ngreat scope for the exercise of tact and courtesy. No one was free to\nrefuse a present that was offered to him. Each man and woman tried to\nout-do the others in generosity. There was a sort of amiable rivalry as\nto who could give away the greatest number of valuable presents.\n\nThe visitors remained with their hosts for a few days. The time was\nspent in hunting, feasting and dancing, and in the exchange of presents\nabove described. The hosts made every effort to provide the camp with\nplenty of good things. The guests took their share in the hunting and\nfishing expeditions. Every evening was spent in singing and dancing.\nSome of the men were sure to have composed new songs for such an\noccasion.\n\nSuch meetings as these were sometimes the means of bringing to an end\npast quarrels between the local groups, but occasionally they were the\ncause of new quarrels. The hosts, or some of them, might think that\nthey had been shabbily treated in the matter of presents, or the guests\nmight complain that they were not well enough entertained. It often\nneeded a man of strong influence to maintain harmony in the camp. Angry\nwords might lead to the rapid breaking up of a meeting, and even result\nin a feud between the two groups.\n\nQuarrels between individuals, as we have seen, were often taken up by\nfriends on each side. This was particularly the case when the two\nopponents belonged to different local groups. Before the days of the\nsettlement of the islands there often arose in this way petty quarrels\nbetween neighbouring local groups. In some instances there appear to\nhave been feuds of long standing; in others there was a quarrel, a\nfight or two, and the enemies made peace with one another, until a\nfresh cause of disagreement should arise.\n\nIt does not seem that there was ever such a thing as a stand-up fight\nbetween two parties. The whole art of fighting was to come upon your\nenemies by surprise, kill one or two of them and then retreat. A local\ngroup that had some grievance against another would decide to make an\nattack. They might seek and obtain the aid of friends from other local\ngroups. The men who were to take part in the expedition would paint\nthemselves and put on various ornaments and join in a dance [51]. They\nwould then set out, either by land or by sea, in the direction of the\nencampment they meant to attack. Their weapons consisted of bows and\narrows, and they carried no shields or other defensive weapons. They\nwould not venture to attack the enemy\u2019s camp unless they were certain\nof taking it by surprise. For this reason such attacks were generally\nmade either in the evening when the camp would be busy with the\npreparation of the evening meal, or at early dawn, when every one would\nbe asleep. The attacking party would rush the camp and shoot as many\nmen as they could. If they met with any serious resistance or lost one\nof their own number they would immediately retire. Those attacked, if\nthey were really taken by surprise, were generally compelled to save\nthemselves by flight. Though the aim of the attacking party was to kill\nthe men, it often happened that women or children were killed. The\nwhole fight would last only a few minutes, ending either with the\nretirement of the attackers before resistance, or the flight of those\nattacked into the jungle. A wounded enemy would be killed if found.\n\nSuch attacks and counter-attacks might be continued for some years,\nthus establishing a feud between two neighbouring local groups. More\nusually, however, after one or two such fights peace would be made. In\nthe tribes of the North Andaman there was a special peace-making\nceremony, that will be described in the next chapter. All peace\nnegotiations were conducted through the women. One or two of the women\nof the one group would be sent to interview the women of the other\ngroup to see if they were willing to forget the past and make friends.\nIt seems that it was largely the rancour of the women over their slain\nrelatives that kept the feud alive, the men of the two parties being\nwilling to make friends much more readily than the women.\n\nAn example of a long-continued feud, which, to all appearance, has been\nin existence for several centuries, is that between the Aka-Bea and the\nJ\u030ca\u0324rawa of the South Andaman. The J\u030ca\u0324rawa have the advantage over the\nAka-Bea that their camps are situated in the dense forest and are\ndifficult to find, while the camps of the Aka-Bea are mostly along the\nsea-coast. At the present day the J\u030ca\u0324rawa take some precautions against\nbeing surprised in their camp by a hostile party. The camp is often\nplaced on the top of a hill and the trees in the neighbourhood are cut\ndown so that they have a good view. The paths leading to the camp are\nalso cleared and made wider than is usual in a native path. At times it\nwould seem that they keep sentries on the look-out.\n\nThe Aka-Bea and the J\u030ca\u0324rawa were inveterate enemies. Whenever two\nparties of them met by any chance, or came in the neighbourhood of one\nanother, the larger party would attack the other. When the Settlement\nof Port Blair was established, friendly relations were set up with the\nAka-Bea, and since that time the hostility of the J\u030ca\u0324rawa has been\ndirected not only against the friendly Andamanese (Aka-Bea, etc.) but\nalso against the inhabitants of the Settlement [52].\n\nSuch a thing as fighting on a large scale seems to have been unknown\namongst the Andamanese. In the early days of the Penal Settlement of\nPort Blair, the natives of the South Andaman combined in large numbers\nto make an attack on the Settlement, but this seems to have been an\nunusual course of action in order to meet what was to them an\naltogether unusual contingency, their territory having been invaded by\na large force of foreigners. Their only fights amongst themselves seem\nto have been the brief and far from bloody skirmishes described above,\nwhere only a handful of warriors were engaged on each side and rarely\nmore than one or two were killed. Of such a thing as a war in which the\nwhole of one tribe joined to fight with another tribe I could not find\nany evidence in what the natives were able to tell me of their former\ncustoms.\n\nAs showing within what narrow limits the different local groups held\ncommunication with one another, it may be mentioned that till the year\n1875 the Aka-Bea natives of Port Blair did not know of the existence of\nthe Aka-Ko\u0331l tribe, less than fifty miles distant, nor of any of the\ntribes further north. As a general rule it may be said that no man knew\nanything of any of the natives living more than twenty miles from his\nown part of the country.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nCEREMONIAL CUSTOMS\n\n\nIn such a society as that of the Andaman Islanders it is possible to\ndistinguish three different ways in which the actions of individuals\nare regulated or determined by the society. There are, first of all,\nwhat we may distinguish as \u201cmoral customs,\u201d whereby the actions of\nindividuals in relation to one another are regulated on principles of\nright and wrong conduct. It was with customs of this kind that we were\nconcerned in the last chapter. Secondly, the activities by which the\nnatives obtain their food and make the various objects of which they\nhave need are determined by tradition. Such activities are purely\nutilitarian and they are regulated, not by commandments similar to\nthose of the moral law, but by accumulated technical knowledge as to\nthe means by which a particular object may be attained. These we may\nspeak of as the \u201ctechnical customs\u201d of the society.\n\nThere are customs of a third kind which are distinguishable both from\nmoral customs and from technical customs. For example, when a man dies,\nhis near relatives observe certain mourning customs, such as covering\ntheir bodies with clay. Such customs are distinguished from technical\ncustoms by having no utilitarian purpose. They are distinguished from\nmoral customs by this, that they are not immediately concerned with the\neffects of the action of one person upon another.\n\nIt is difficult to find a satisfactory name for all the customs of this\nkind. A large number of them may be spoken of as \u201cceremonial customs,\u201d\nand it is this that explains the title of the present chapter.\n\nIt is not pretended that this division of social customs into three\ndifferent kinds is of any great or permanent value, and it is only\nintroduced as an aid to the exposition of the customs of the\nAndamanese. It will be argued in a later chapter that many of the\ncustoms described in the present chapter have a common psychological\nbasis.\n\nOf any customs in connection with the birth of children I was able to\nlearn very little, as no births at which I could be present occurred\nduring my stay at the islands. Earlier writers have given very little\ninformation on this subject.\n\nDuring the latter part of the period of pregnancy, and for about a\nmonth after the birth of the child, the mother and father must observe\ncertain restrictions. In particular there are certain foods that they\nmay not eat. The statements of different informants on this matter did\nnot quite agree with each other, and it seems that there were slightly\ndifferent rules in different tribes. According to an Akar-Bale\ninformant the man and woman may not eat dugong, honey and yams; they\nmay eat the flesh of small but not of full-grown pigs and turtle. An\ninformant of one of the Northern tribes said that the woman may not eat\nfull-grown pig, Paradoxurus, turtle, dugong, the fish komar, monitor\nlizard, honey and yams; her husband may eat these things but must\ncarefully avoid eating certain fishes.\n\nThe natives give two different reasons for these rules. One is that if\nthese foods be eaten by the parents the child will be ill. The other is\nthat the parents themselves will be ill. The latter is the explanation\nmost commonly offered.\n\nThe baby is named some time before it is born, and from that time the\nparents are not addressed or spoken of by name. For example, if the\nname chosen be Rea, the father will be spoken of as Rea aka-mai (Rea\u2019s\nfather) instead of by his own name. The mother may be referred to as\nRea it-pet, from the word it-pet meaning \u201cbelly.\u201d This practice is\ncontinued till some weeks after the birth, when the use of the names of\nthe parents is once more resumed.\n\nIn child-birth the woman is assisted by the matrons of the camp. She is\nseated in her hut in the village on fresh leaves, and a piece of wood\nis placed at her back for her to lean against. Her legs are flexed so\nthat her knees may be clasped by her arms. The only manipulation is\npressure exerted on the upper part of the abdomen by one of the\nattendant women. The umbilical cord is severed with a knife, formerly\nof cane or bamboo, but in these days of iron. The after-birth is buried\nin the jungle. The infant is washed and then scraped with a Cyrena\nshell. After a few days he (or she) is given a coating of clay (odu).\n\nIf a baby dies and within a year or two the mother again becomes\npregnant, it is said that it is the same baby born again, and the name\nof the deceased child is given to it. Thus one woman had three children\nof the same name, the first two having died soon after birth. According\nto the native ideas this was really the same child born three times. It\nis only those who die in infancy that are thus reincarnated.\n\nIn the Northern tribes it is believed that a woman can tell the sex of\nher unborn child. If she feels it on the left side it is a male,\nbecause men hold the bow (the typical masculine implement) in the left\nhand. If she feels it on the right side it is a female, because it is\nin her right hand that a woman holds her fishing net.\n\nA married man who is childless and desires a child will wear a \u010diba\n(sling of bark used for carrying children) round his shoulders when he\nis sitting in camp. The \u010diba and the way it is used for carrying\nchildren may be seen in the photograph in Plate XIV. If a childless\nwoman wishes to have a child she may catch, cook and eat a certain\nspecies of small frog.\n\nAt a place called Tonmuket in the North Andaman there is a spot to\nwhich it is said that women may resort if they wish to become pregnant.\nOn the reef at this spot there are a large number of stones which,\naccording to the legend, were once little children. The woman who\ndesires a child walks out on to the reef when the tide is low and\nstands upon these stones. It is believed that one of the baby souls\nwill enter her body and become incarnate [53].\n\nIn the North Andaman there is some sort of association between the\nunborn souls of babies, the green pigeon and the Ficus laccifera tree.\nThe same name, Re\u014bko, is used to denote both the green pigeon and also\nthe Ficus laccifera, of the fruit of which the pigeon is very fond. The\nbelief of the natives is sometimes stated by saying that the souls of\nunborn children live in the Ficus trees, and that if a baby dies before\nit has been weaned its soul goes back to the tree. Another statement of\nthe natives is that it is when the green pigeon is calling that the\nsoul of a baby goes into its mother. The Ficus is to a certain extent\ntabu. I was told that the tree must not be cut or damaged. Nevertheless\nthe natives do cut the tree in order to obtain the bark of the aerial\nroots from which they prepare a fibre that they use for making personal\nornaments. There is no tabu in connection with the green pigeon, which\nmay be killed and eaten.\n\nIn most primitive societies, if not in all, there are ritual or\nceremonial observances in connection with the change by which a boy or\ngirl becomes a man or woman. The ceremonies that are performed to mark\nthis change are commonly spoken of in ethnological literature as\n\u201cinitiation ceremonies.\u201d The term is not perhaps the best that could be\nchosen, but usage has rendered it familiar.\n\nThe life of an Andaman Islander is divided into three well-marked\nperiods, corresponding roughly with the physiological periods of\nchildhood, adolescence, and maturity. The first period lasts from birth\ntill about the advent of puberty; the second lasts from puberty till\nafter marriage; the third extends from marriage to death.\n\nDuring the period of childhood the boy or girl lives with his or her\nparents, or, in the later years of the period, with adopted parents,\nhaving a place in the family hut and a share in the family meal. A girl\ncontinues to live with her parents or with her adopted parents until\nshe marries. When boys have finished growing, and have reached the\ncondition of young men, they cease to live with their parents or\nadopted parents and, until they are married, they occupy a bachelors\u2019\nhut of their own, and have their own meal.\n\nEvery boy and girl has to undergo the operation of scarification. This\nis begun when the child is quite young, and a small portion of the body\nis operated on. The operation is repeated at intervals during\nchildhood, until the whole body has been scarified. A small flake of\nquartz or glass is used, and a series of fine incisions are made in the\nskin. The usual method is to cover a small portion of the skin with a\nnumber of parallel rows of short cuts. The choice of the design (if it\ncan be called such) rests entirely with the person who performs the\noperation, who is in all cases a woman. The incisions leave scars that\ncan usually only be seen when close to the person. In the photograph of\nPlate XV a pattern of scars may be seen. In this case the incisions\nbecame infected and raised scars were produced, and it is for this\nreason that they are visible in the photograph. In ordinary cases\nraised scars are not produced and the scarification is hardly visible\nin a photograph.\n\nThe only reason that the natives give for this custom is either that it\nimproves the personal appearance, or else that it helps to make the\nchild grow strong.\n\nIn the case of a girl the period of childhood is brought to a close by\na ceremony that takes place on the occasion of her first menstrual\ndischarge. The ceremony I describe is that in use in the Northern\ntribes, but I believe that the ceremony of the Southern tribes is very\nsimilar. On the occurrence of the first menstrual discharge the girl\ntells her parents, who weep over her. She must then go and bathe in the\nsea for an hour or two by herself. After that she goes back to her\nparents\u2019 hut or to a special shelter that is put up for the occasion.\nShe is not required to go away from the camp. All ornaments are removed\nfrom her, only a single belt of Pandanus leaf being left, with an apron\nof \u010dainyo leaves. Strips of Pandanus leaf are attached round her arms\nnear the shoulders and round her wrists, and others are placed as bands\ncrossing her chest from the shoulder to the waist on the opposite side,\nand crossing her abdomen from the iliac crest on the one side to the\ntrochanter on the other. These are so attached that the long loose ends\nhang down at the girl\u2019s side. Bunches of leaves, either \u010delmo\n(Tetranthera lanc\u00e6folia) or, if these be not obtainable, poramo\n(Myristica longifolia) are fastened beneath her belt before and behind.\nOther leaves of the same kind are placed for her to sit upon. The\nstrips of Pandanus leaf and the bundle of leaves are visible in the\nphotograph reproduced in Plate XVI.\n\nThus covered with leaves the girl must sit in the hut allotted to her,\nwith her legs doubled up beneath her and her arms folded. A piece of\nwood or bamboo is placed at her back for her to lean against, as she\nmay not lie down. If she is cramped she may stretch one of her legs or\none of her arms, but not both arms or both legs at the same time. To\nfeed herself she may release one of her hands, but she must not take up\nthe food with her fingers; a skewer of \u010dainyo wood [54] is given her\nwith which to feed herself. She may not speak nor sleep for 24 hours.\nHer wants are attended to by her parents and their friends, who sit\nnear her to keep her from falling asleep.\n\nThe girl sits thus for three days. Early every morning she leaves the\nhut to bathe for an hour in the sea. At the end of the three days she\nresumes her life in the village. For a month following she must bathe\nin the sea every morning at dawn.\n\nDuring the ceremony and for a short time afterwards the girl is not\naddressed or spoken of by name, but is referred to as Alebe or Toto.\nThe meaning of the first word is not known. Toto is the name of the\nspecies of Pandanus from which women\u2019s belts are made and the leaves of\nwhich are used in the ceremony. On the occasion of this ceremony the\ngirl is given a new name, her \u201cflower-name,\u201d and from this time till\nafter the birth of her first child she is never addressed or spoken of\nby the name which she had as a child, but only by the name given to her\nat this ceremony. The name given is that of a plant or tree which is in\nflower at the time. If the ceremony takes place when the \u01f0ili is in\nflower she is called J\u030cili; if when the \u01f0eru is in flower she is named\nJ\u030ceru, and so on. These names will be mentioned again later in the\npresent chapter.\n\nAfter this ceremony the girl is said to be aka-ndu-kolo\u0331t. For some time\nafterwards she must not have her head shaved, and she must not use red\npaint or white clay.\n\nI was not able to learn much about the native ideas in connection with\nthe menstrual function. According to the account given me by one\ninformant I gathered that the girl\u2019s first menstrual discharge is\nsupposed to be due to sexual intercourse. The man\u2019s breath goes into\nher nose and this produces the discharge. It is believed that if a man\nwere to touch a girl during this period, either during the ceremony or\nfor some time after it, his arm would swell up.\n\nAt every recurrence of the menstrual period a woman is required to\nabstain from eating certain foods. According to an Akar-Bale informant\nthese are, in that tribe, pork, turtle, Paradoxurus, honey and yams. An\nAka-\u010cari informant added to the above list dugong, monitor lizard, and\nthe fish komar. If she ate any of these things at such a time she would\nbe ill. This continues throughout her life till the climacteric. A\nmenstruating woman is not required to leave the camp, as she is in many\nsavage communities.\n\nFrom the moment of the ceremony just described the girl enters a new\ncondition which is denoted in the Aka-J\u030ceru language by the word aka-op\n(aka-yaba in Aka-Bea). This word means that the person to whom it is\napplied is under certain ritual restrictions, chiefly concerned with\nfoods that may not be eaten.\n\nIn the case of a boy there is no physiological event so clearly marked\nas there is in that of a girl. It rests with the relatives and friends\nto decide when the boy is to become aka-op. It would seem that in the\nSouthern tribes there is no ceremony on this occasion. Among the\nNorthern tribes the boy is made aka-op by means of a ceremony that\nconsists of making the scars on his back that are customary in these\ntribes [55].\n\nWhen the friends and relatives of a boy decide that he is old enough to\nhave the incisions made in his back a dance is held in the evening, and\nthe boy is required to dance through the whole night till he is tired.\nAs soon as morning breaks he is made to bathe in the sea for two hours\nor so. He is then seated in some convenient place, not in a hut. The\nboy kneels down and bends forward till his elbows rest on the ground in\nfront. One of the older men takes a pig-arrow and with the sharpened\nblade makes a series of cuts on the boy\u2019s back. Each cut is horizontal,\nand they are arranged in three vertical rows, each row consisting of\nfrom 20 to 30 cuts. When the cutting is finished the boy sits up, with\na fire at his back, until the bleeding stops. During the operation and\nfor a few hours following it the boy must remain silent. There is no\ntreatment of the wounds to produce raised scars. The scars are much\nmore noticeable on some men than on others.\n\nThe boy does not receive a new name on this occasion, but for a few\nweeks his own name is dropped and he is addressed and spoken of as\nE\u01f0ido. From this time the boy is described as being oko-tali\u014b-kolo\u0331t,\nthis being the masculine term corresponding to aka-ndu-kolo\u0331t for girls.\nFrom the time the cuts are made on his back the boy becomes aka-op and\nis under certain restrictions as to what foods he may eat.\n\nWhen the wounds on his back are thoroughly healed similar cuts are made\non his chest. I found a certain number of men who had no visible scars\non their chests, but in the North Andaman every man has the three rows\nof scars on his back. Some of the women of the North Andaman have\nsimilar scars on their chests and a very few have them also on the\nback. These scars on women are not regularly made as part of the\ninitiation ceremonies, and may be made after the woman has been married\nfor some years.\n\nDuring the period that a boy or girl is aka-op he or she is required by\nthe customs of the tribe to abstain from eating certain foods. The\nexact rules in this matter differ from tribe to tribe. More\nparticularly there are important differences between the coast-dwellers\non the one hand and the jungle-dwellers on the other. The general\nprinciple, however, is in all cases the same. The boy (or girl) must\nabstain from all the chief foods of the people, and since he could not\nabstain from them all at one time without starving, he takes them in\nturn. It is in the order in which the different foods are forbidden\nthat the chief differences occur.\n\nIn the Aka-\u010cari tribe of the North Andaman, where all are\ncoast-dwellers, the boy or girl, during the first part of the aka-op\nperiod must not eat turtle, dugong, porpoise, komar (a fish), hawksbill\nturtle, the two kinds of edible grubs (pata and \u010dokele), the monitor\nlizard, the flying fox (Pteropus), certain birds (perhaps all birds),\ncertain shell-fish, the four varieties of mangrove seed (kao, \u010dimi,\nkabal and kaplo), three edible roots (mino, labo and mikulu), and a\nlarge number of other vegetable foods, including lo\u0331itok, poroto (if\ncooked, but it may be eaten raw), bi\u01f0o, \u010doro\u014bo, celet, buro\u014b, bui,\nbakle, \u010do, \u010datali, and kata. A certain number of fishes must be added\nto this list. This period is brought to a end by the turtle-eating\nceremony which will be presently described. After this ceremony,\nturtle, which is one of the chief foods of the Aka-\u010cari, may be eaten,\nalthough certain parts of the turtle (such as the intestinal fat) are\nstill forbidden, and the youth is also allowed to eat many of the other\nfoods previously forbidden. On the other hand he is now required not to\neat pork and a number of other foods both animal and vegetable. During\nthis second period certain minor ceremonies take place, as for instance\non the first occasion on which turtle\u2019s eggs are eaten. This period is\nbrought to an end by the pig-eating ceremony. After that the youth is\nagain free to eat pork. As turtle and pork are the two most important\nfoods the ceremonies and observances in connection with these occupy a\nposition of greater importance. After the pig-eating ceremony the youth\nis made free of one food after another, until some time after he is\nmarried he becomes free to partake of any of the foods available. In\nthe case of some of the more important foods, such as honey, dugong,\nporpoise, the fish komar, etc., there is a sort of minor ceremony. The\nonly ceremonies of any great importance in this tribe are the\nturtle-eating and the pig-eating ceremonies.\n\nIn the forest-dwelling communities of the North Andaman things are\nnecessarily different. These people only eat such foods as turtle,\ndugong, etc. when they are visiting their friends on the coast. The\nthree most important ceremonies amongst these people are the\n\u0144yuri-eating, the pig-eating and the honey-eating ceremonies. (The\n\u0144yuri is a fish that is found in the creeks.) According to my\ninformants of the Aka-Bo tribe the foods that must be avoided during\nthe first part of the abstention period are all species of fish found\nin inland creeks (\u0144yuri, burto, bari, bol, kuato), the monitor lizard,\nsucking-pig, two species of snake (or-\u010dubi and uluku-\u010dubi), a number of\nvegetable foods and also honey. After the \u0144yuri-eating ceremony the\ndifferent kinds of fish mentioned may be eaten, but the youth or girl\nmust then abstain from pork.\n\nThese examples, without entering into further details, will suffice to\nshow what is the nature of the aka-op period. During that period the\nyouth must abstain for a certain length of time from each one of the\nmore important foods of his community. After a certain period of\nabstention he is permitted to eat the particular food. On each occasion\nof thus eating a food for the first time after the abstention, there\nare certain ritual customs that must be observed, and these customs are\nmore important in some cases (such as pig, turtle and honey) than in\nothers. In the case of some of the foods the only ritual observed is\nthat the food must be given by an older man, who is himself free to eat\nit, that it must be eaten in silence, and that the man must be painted\nafterwards with clay (odu). In the case of pork and turtle, however,\nthere are fairly elaborate ceremonies. The ceremonies are very similar\nin different parts of the islands. The description given below applies\nto the coast-dwellers of the North Andaman. In these communities the\nperiod of abstention from turtle and other foods begins in the case of\na girl at the first menstruation, and in the case of a boy when his\nback is cut. It may last only one year or several years, according to\ncircumstances, and is brought to a close by the turtle-eating ceremony.\nThe details of this are exactly the same in the case of a girl and a\nboy.\n\nWhen the older men decide that it is time for a boy who has been\nabstaining from turtle to be released from the restriction, a\nturtle-hunting expedition is arranged, and this is continued until a\nfair number of good turtle are captured. The best of these is selected,\nkilled, and cooked. The youth is seated in a hut, either that of his\nparents, or one placed at his disposal by a friend or one specially\nbuilt [56]. All his ornaments are removed. (In the case of a girl one\nbelt of Pandanus leaf is retained.) He is seated on leaves of the\nHibiscus tiliaceus, or if these be not obtainable, on those of the\nMyristica longifolia, and a bundle of the same leaves is placed under\nhis folded arms so as to cover his belly, while another bundle is\nplaced at his back where there is some sort of rest provided for him to\nlean against. He must sit still with folded arms and with legs\nstretched out in front, the two big toes clasping each other. He sits\nfacing towards the open sea, and a fire is placed near him, generally\njust beyond his feet.\n\nSome man is chosen to take charge of the ceremony. This may be one of\nthe older men of the community to which the youth belongs or a\ndistinguished visitor, if there be any such present in the camp at the\ntime. This man selects some of the meat and fat of the cooked turtle,\nplacing them in a wooden dish. He comes to where the youth is seated,\nwhile the friends and relatives gather round. Taking some of the fat he\nrubs it first over the lips and then over the whole body of the youth,\nwhile the female relatives of the latter sit near and weep loudly. When\nthe youth\u2019s body is thoroughly covered with fat the man who is\nperforming the ceremony takes some burnt oxide of iron, such as is used\nfor making red paint, and rubs it over the youth\u2019s whole body, except\nthe hair of his head. He then takes a piece of turtle fat and places it\nin the youth\u2019s mouth, feeding him thus with a few mouthfuls which the\nyouth eats in silence. At this point the weeping of the relatives is\ntaken up again with renewed vigour and then gradually comes to an end.\nHaving fed the youth the man then proceeds to massage him. He first\nstands behind him and placing his hands on his shoulders presses down\non them with all his weight. Then he seizes a roll of flesh on each\nside of the youth\u2019s belly and shakes it up and down as though to shake\ndown what has been eaten. The arms are next massaged and the wrists and\nknuckles are forcibly flexed so as to make the joints \u201ccrack.\u201d The legs\nare similarly massaged, either with the hands or with the feet, the\nperformer (in the latter case) standing on the outstretched legs of the\nyouth and rolling the muscles beneath his feet [57]. The joints of the\ntoes are forcibly bent with the hand to make them \u201ccrack\u201d if possible.\nA mixture of clay (odu) and water has been prepared in a wooden dish.\nThe performer dips his hands into this and spatters it over the youth\u2019s\nbody from head to foot, either by holding his hands near the youth and\nclapping them together, or by jerking the clay off his fingers with a\nflicking motion. During the whole of these proceedings the youth sits\npassive and silent.\n\nThe first part of the ceremony is now over. The food tray containing\nturtle meat and fat, cut into small pieces, is placed beside the youth\nand he is provided with a skewer of the wood of the Hibiscus tiliaceus,\nas he may not touch the meat with his fingers. He must sit in the same\nposition with legs outstretched and arms folded and surrounded with\nHibiscus leaves. To feed himself he may unloose one arm, and when his\nlegs are cramped he may double them up beneath him. He may not lie down\nnor speak nor sleep for 48 hours. During this period he may eat nothing\nbut turtle and drink nothing but water [58]. The man in charge of the\nceremony sits behind him and gives him instructions as to what foods he\nmay and what he may not eat after the ceremony. Some of the men and\nwomen take it in turn to sit beside the youth, attending to his wants\nand talking or singing to keep him awake.\n\nOn the morning of the third day a belt and necklace are made of pieces\nof the creeper called terkobito-balo, i.e. \u201ccentipede creeper\u201d (Pothos\nscandens), and these are placed round the youth\u2019s waist and neck. On\nthis day he is permitted to sleep. Either on the same day, or early the\nnext morning, he has a bath in the sea, to remove some of the red paint\nand clay, and he is then decorated with red paint made of red ochre and\nturtle fat, and with white clay (to\u0331l-odu). The red paint is put on in\nstripes over his body, and his ears are daubed with it. The white clay\nis put on in a zig-zag pattern to be described later, the lines of\nwhite clay alternating with those of red paint. This decoration is done\nby female relatives.\n\nEarly on the morning of the fourth day, soon after daybreak, the whole\nvillage is astir. One of the older men takes his stand by the\nsounding-board used for marking time at dances, and the women sit down\nnear him. The youth comes out from his hut and stands in the middle of\nthe dancing ground, and five or six men stand round him in a circle,\neach of them facing towards the youth. Each of the men, including the\nyouth, holds in each hand a bundle of twigs of the Hibiscus tiliaceus\nor, if such be not obtainable, of the Myristica longifolia. The man at\nthe sounding-board sings a song, beating time with his foot, in the\nusual way, on the sounding-board, and at the chorus the women join in\nand mark the time by clapping their hands on their thighs. The song may\nbe on any subject and is selected by the singer from his own repertory.\nA song referring to turtle-hunting is preferred. During the first song\nthe dancers stand at their positions on the dancing ground, lifting up\ntheir leaf bundles at short intervals and bringing them down against\ntheir knees. The singer then commences a new song or repeats the former\none, and when the song comes to an end the youth and those with him\nbegin their dance. Each dancer flexes his hips so that his back is\nnearly horizontal. He raises his hands to the back of his neck so that\nthe two bundles of leaves in his hands rest on his back. With knees\nflexed he leaps from the ground with both feet, keeping time to the\nbeating of the sounding-board, which is about 144 beats to the minute.\nAt the end of every eight jumps or so, the dancer brings his hands\nforwards, downwards and backwards, giving a vigorous sweep with the\nbundles of leaves, which scrape the ground at each side of his feet,\nand then brings back the bundles to their former position. They dance\nthus for 15 or 30 seconds and then pause to rest. The dance is repeated\nseveral times, until the youth is tired out. As the dance is extremely\nfatiguing this does not take long [59].\n\nThe youth then returns to his hut and resumes his former position. He\nmay now, if he wishes, talk to his friends and he may sleep. He must\nretain the bundles of Hibiscus leaves and the necklace and belt of\nPothos leaves. The dance is sometimes repeated in the afternoon. It is\nin any case repeated on each of the two days following, and after that\nthe youth resumes his ordinary life. For a week or two he may not touch\na bow and arrow. The Pothos leaves are worn till they are faded and are\nthen discarded. The paint on the body wears off and is not renewed, but\nhis ears are kept painted with red paint. For some weeks the youth is\nsupposed to be in an abnormal condition and is carefully watched by his\nfriends.\n\nAt the turtle-eating ceremony a new name is given to the youth. This\nname, however, never seems to be used afterwards either in speaking of\nor to the person to whom it belongs. A youth of the Aka-J\u030ceru tribe\nwhose birth name was \u010cop (from a species of tree) and whose nick-name\nor second name was Komar (from a species of fish) had two new names\ngiven to him on the occasion of the turtle-eating ceremony, \u010cokbi-\u010diro\n(meaning turtle-liver) and Pile\u010dar (high-tide). Neither of these names\nwas ever used in addressing him.\n\nThe turtle-eating ceremony is called in the Northern tribes either\n\u010cokbi-\u01f0o, \u010cokbi-kimil, or Kimil-\u01f0o. The word \u010dokbi means \u201cturtle,\u201d and\n\u01f0o means \u201ceating.\u201d The word kimil is more difficult to translate. With\nthe prefix ot- or er- it means \u201chot\u201d as in T\u2019 ot-kimil-bom, \u201cI am hot.\u201d\nFrom the time of the commencement of the ceremony the youth or girl is\nsaid to be in a condition denoted by the word aka-kimil. During this\ntime, i.e. during the ceremony and for some months afterwards, he or\nshe is not addressed or spoken of by name but is referred to as\n\u201cKimil,\u201d the word being thus used as a term of address or a substitute\nfor the personal name. A person who is in this condition is described\nas aka-kimil-kolo\u0331t. (Before the ceremony the youth is oko-tali\u014b-kolo\u0331t\nand the girl is aka-ndu-kolo\u0331t.) In the Aka-Bea tribe the turtle-eating\nceremony is called Yadi-gumul or Gumul-leke, yadi being the word for\n\u201cturtle\u201d in that language, and leke being the equivalent of the \u01f0o of\nAka-J\u030ceru, that is \u201ceating.\u201d A youth or girl who is passing or has\nrecently passed through the ceremony is said to be aka-gumul, and is\naddressed and spoken of, not by name, but by the term Guma [60].\n\nIn the coast-dwelling communities of the Northern tribes, the youth or\ngirl who has passed through the turtle-eating ceremony is thereafter\nfree to eat turtle flesh (though not the liver nor the intestinal fat\nof the turtle) and a certain number of the other foods that were\npreviously forbidden. On the other hand, he or she is now forbidden to\neat pork and a number of other foods which previously were permitted.\nThe period during which these new prohibitions are in force may last\nfor a few months or for a year or even longer. It is, however,\ngenerally shorter than the first period of abstention from turtle. It\nis brought to an end by a pig-eating ceremony which is similar in many\nways to the turtle-eating ceremony already described. A boar must be\nkilled if the initiate be a youth, or a sow if it be a girl who is to\ngo through the ceremony. The youth is seated in a hut on leaves of the\n\u010delmo (Tetranthera) and the carcase of the boar is brought and pressed\nupon the youth\u2019s shoulders and back by one of the men. The girl is not\ntreated in this way. The pork is then cooked and the youth is first\nanointed and then fed with some of the fat. He is then rubbed with red\nochre, massaged and splashed with clay, just as in the turtle-eating\nceremony. He must sit silent with arms crossed, and covered with\nTetranthera leaves for a day and a night. During this time he may only\neat pork, and must not touch his food with his hands but must use a\nskewer of Tetranthera wood. On the following day he is decorated with\nwhite clay (to\u0331l-odu) and with red paint, and takes part in a dance. The\ndance is almost exactly the same as the dance on the occasion of the\nturtle-eating ceremony, the only differences being that instead of\nHibiscus leaves those of the Tetranthera are used, and that the dancer\ndoes not leap with both feet from the ground, but raises one foot and\nstamps with it.\n\nIn the Northern tribes these are the two most important ceremonies.\nAfter the pig-eating ceremony the youth is free to eat pork and a\ncertain number of previously forbidden foods. There remain a\nconsiderable number of foods, however, which he is still forbidden. In\nconnection with each of these there is some sort of minor ceremony. The\nolder men, when occasion arises, offer the youth or girl some of the\nforbidden food, first rubbing it over his or her mouth. The food is\nthen eaten in silence. I only saw one such ceremony, when a man ate for\nthe first time after his abstention the intestinal fat of the turtle.\nThe man was about 24 years of age and had long since been through the\nchief ceremonies, and was married. The ceremony is perhaps more\nelaborate in the case of the similar first eating of honey, dugong and\na few other foods. One after another of the food prohibitions is\nremoved until the man or woman is free to eat anything. There is no\nregular order in which this takes place, as in each case it is\ndetermined by chance circumstances. The only order that is rigorously\nobserved is that of the two chief ceremonies connected with pork and\nturtle. These two are the principal meat foods of the coast-dwellers.\n\nThe above description applies strictly only to the coast-dwellers of\nthe North Andaman (Aka-\u010cari, Aka-J\u030ceru and Aka-Ko\u0331ra). I was not able to\nsee any ceremonies performed by the jungle-dwellers. The old men of the\nAka-Bo tribe told me that the period of abstention begins when a boy or\ngirl is forbidden to eat the fish \u0144yuri (Plotosus sp., probably P.\narab), and a certain number of other foods, not including pork. The\nfirst ceremony is the eating of the \u0144yuri. The boy or girl is seated on\nleaves (kibir or tare or ra-\u010diro) and bundles of these are placed in\nhis belt before and behind. A belt of Pandanus leaf is worn by the boys\nat this ceremony as well as by the girls. The initiate sits with his\nlegs doubled up beneath him, and is fed with the fish. The ceremony\nlasts only one day. There is no special dance, but the initiate joins\nin an ordinary dance at the end of the ceremony, being decorated for\nthis purpose with white clay. After this ceremony the youth must\nabstain from pork and other foods. The pig-eating ceremony, which\ncloses this period of abstention, lasts altogether for three or four\ndays, the initiate remaining awake for one night. The leaves used are\nthe same as those of the first (fish-eating) ceremony. The third\nimportant ceremony of these communities is the honey-eating. The\ninitiate sits cross-legged and honey is rubbed over his or her\nshoulders and chest, and he or she is fed with it.\n\nI was told by one of my informants that in the Aka-Kede tribe the\npig-eating ceremony precedes the turtle-eating, but I could not obtain\nreliable information about the ceremonies of this tribe.\n\nMy informants of the Akar-Bale tribe, which consists of coast-dwelling\ncommunities only, told me that the period of abstention begins with\nturtle, honey, turtle\u2019s eggs, yams, and a number of fruits and seeds.\nThis period lasts for three or four years. Then comes the turtle-eating\nceremony, which is said to be similar in its details to that already\ndescribed from the North Andaman. After this ceremony the initiate may\nnot eat dugong, porpoise and a considerable number of fishes (including\nTetrodon sp., Plotosus sp., Anguilla bengalensis, Trygon bleekari, T.\nsiphen, Urogymnus asperrimus, Carcharias gangeticus, etc.). He must\nalso abstain from turtle\u2019s eggs, pig, yams, honey, and certain fruits\n(e.g. Artocarpus chaplasha, Mimusops littoralis, Baccaurea sapida,\netc.). A few months after the turtle-eating ceremony there is a minor\nceremony of eating turtle\u2019s eggs, the eggs being eaten in silence and\nthe meal followed by a dance. After another period follows the ceremony\nof eating pig\u2019s kidney-fat. Then, as opportunity occurs, the initiate\neats dugong, honey and the other forbidden foods, one after another.\nThe ceremony in each case is not elaborate except in connection with\nsuch important foods as dugong and honey.\n\nMr E. H. Man has given a description of the ceremonies of the Aka-Bea\ntribe, which shows that they are essentially similar to those of the\nNorth. He does not distinguish between the ceremonies of the aryoto\n(coast-dwellers) and those of the eremtaga (jungle-dwellers). He states\nthat the fasting period (aka-yaba) is divided into three parts, the\nfirst ending with the yadi- (turtle) gumul, the second with the a\u01f0a-\n(honey) gumul, and the third with the reg-\u01f0iri- (kidney-fat of pig)\ngumul.\n\nAs I was not able to witness the honey-eating ceremony, I venture to\nreproduce below the description that Mr Man gives of this ceremony as\nit is conducted in the Aka-Bea tribe.\n\n\u201cWhen the honey fast is to be broken a quantity of honeycombs,\naccording to the number assembled, are on the appointed day procured:\nthe aka-yab being placed in the midst of the group, the chief or other\nelder goes to him with a large honeycomb wrapped in leaves; after\nhelping the novice to a large mouthful, which he does by means of a\nbamboo or iron knife, he presents the remainder to him, and then leaves\nhim to devour it in silence: this he does, not, however, by the\nordinary method, for it is an essential part of the ceremony that he\nshould not use his fingers to break off pieces, but eat it\nbear-fashion, by holding the comb up to his mouth and attacking it with\nhis teeth and lips. After satisfying his present requirements, he wraps\nwhat is left of the comb in leaves for later consumption. The chief\nthen takes another comb and anoints the youth by squeezing it over his\nhead, rubbing the honey well into his body as it trickles down. The\nproceedings at this stage are interrupted by a bath, in order to remove\nall traces of the honey, which would otherwise be a source of\nconsiderable inconvenience by attracting ants. Beyond the observance of\nsilence, and continued abstention from reg-\u01f0iri (pig\u2019s kidney-fat), the\nyouth is under no special restrictions, being able to eat, drink and\nsleep as much as he pleases. Early the following morning the lad\ndecorates himself with leaves of a species of Alpinia, called \u01f0ini\n[61], and then, in the presence of his friends, goes into the sea (or,\nif he be an eremtaga, into a creek) up to his waist, where, locking his\nthumbs together, he splashes as much water as possible over himself and\nthe by-standers, occasionally ducking his head under the surface as\nwell. This is considered a safeguard or charm against snakes, and the\nonlookers cry \u201co\u0331to-pedike, kinig wara-\u01f0obo lo\u0331tike\u201d (Go and splash\nyourself, or Wara-\u01f0obo [62] will get inside you), for they imagine that\nunless they go through this splashing performance, this snake will by\nsome means enter their stomachs and so cause death. The only difference\nbetween the sexes with respect to the a\u01f0a-gumul is that with females it\ncannot take place until after the birth of the first child; they are\nalso required to abstain from honey during each subsequent pregnancy;\nand in their case, too, a chief or elder (preferably a relative)\nofficiates, and not a woman [63].\u201d\n\nWe may now proceed to the ritual customs connected with death and\nburial. In all the Great Andaman tribes disease and death are supposed\nto be due to the spirits of the jungle and the sea. The subject will be\ndealt with in the next chapter.\n\nOn the occurrence of a death the news quickly spreads through the camp,\nand all the women collect round the body and, sitting down, weep loudly\nuntil they are exhausted. The women then retire and the men come and\nweep over the corpse. All the adult members of the community then\nproceed to cover themselves with a wash of common clay smeared evenly\nover their bodies and limbs. This clay is of the kind called odu in\nAka-J\u030ceru and og in Aka-Bea. The nearer relatives and more intimate\nfriends of the deceased also plaster some of the same clay on their\nheads.\n\nSome of the women, generally, but not necessarily, relatives, remove\nany ornaments the dead person may have been wearing, shave the head and\ndecorate the body. This decoration consists of lines of fine pattern in\nwhite clay alternating with bands of red paint. A band of red paint is\nplaced across the upper lip passing from ear to ear and the ears\nthemselves are smeared with the pigment. The greater the estimation in\nwhich the deceased person is held the greater is the care lavished upon\nthis the last decoration.\n\nThus decorated the body is prepared for burial. The legs and arms are\nflexed so that the knees come up under the chin and the fists rest\nagainst the cheeks. A Cyrena shell (or sometimes in these days a steel\nknife) is placed in the closed hand. A sleeping mat is wrapped round\nthe body, and over this a number of the large palm leaves known as ko\u0331bo\n(Aka-J\u030ceru) are arranged and the whole is made into a bundle and tied up\nwith rope. Before the ropes are all tied the relatives of the dead\nperson take their last farewell by gently blowing on the face of the\ncorpse.\n\nThe male relatives and friends then proceed to the spot selected for\nthe burial, one of them carrying the corpse slung on his back. If the\nburial place can be reached by canoe, no hesitation is shown in making\nuse of a canoe for the purpose. There are not, so far as could be\ndiscovered, any rules as to which of the men shall undertake the\nburial. Such relatives as brother, father, son or husband generally\ntake the leading part. The women take no part in the actual burial.\nThere are two modes of disposing of the body, in a grave dug in the\nground, or upon a platform placed in a tree. The latter is considered\nthe more honourable form of burial, and is only adopted in the case of\na man or woman dying in the prime of life. The same grave is not used\ntwice, in the case of interment, though a new grave may be made close\nto an old one. The natives said that the same tree might be used\nseveral times for platform-burial, but there was no opportunity of\nproving this statement. There are not, generally speaking, any regular\nburying grounds. Any convenient spot may be chosen so long as it is at\nsome little distance from the camp. It does happen, however, that\ncertain spots are fairly regularly used. In the case of one burial that\nI witnessed the spot chosen was about a mile distant from the camp, the\njourney being made in a canoe, and there were already five or six\ngraves at the same place.\n\nIn the case of interment a hole is dug three or four feet in depth, the\ndigging being done with an adze and a digging stick, and sometimes a\nwooden dish is used to scoop out the soil. The body is placed in the\nhole and the ropes tied round it are severed. The body is placed\nslightly on its side facing the east. I asked some of the natives the\nreason for this orientation, and was told that if the custom were not\nobserved the sun would not rise and the world would be left in\ndarkness. A pillow of wood is placed under the head, and a log of wood\nat each side of the corpse. Sometimes some object that has been worn by\nthe deceased, such as a belt or necklace, is placed in the grave. The\nsoil is then replaced, all present helping. Beside the grave a fire is\nlighted and some water contained in a bamboo vessel or in a nautilus\nshell is left for the corpse. In some cases the bow belonging to the\ndeceased, if it be a man, and a few arrows are placed on the grave. In\nthe Aka-\u010cari tribe a harpoon and line are substituted for the bow and\narrows, and a bamboo harpoon shaft is erected vertically in the grave\nnear the right hand of the body. In the same tribe it is usual to\nsuspend near the grave a bundle of the prepared fibre of Anadendron\npaniculatum such as is used for making thread. There are probably\nslight variations of custom in this respect in different tribes or even\nin different cases in the same tribe.\n\nIn the case of platform-burial a platform of sticks is erected in a\ntree, twelve feet or so above the ground, and the body is placed\nthereon, lying sideways facing the east. Water and fire are placed\nbeneath the tree. Mr Man states that in cases of tree-burial they are\ncareful not to select a fruit tree or one of a species used for the\nmanufacture of their canoes, bows and other implements. Such natives as\nI questioned on this point said that this was not so and that they\nwould use any suitable tree whether one that was useful or not. I was\nunable definitely to prove the point, as I did not see a single\ninstance of tree-burial during my stay in the islands. A tree that is\nsometimes used for this purpose is the Ficus laccifera, which as we\nhave seen has a special connection with the spirits of new-born\nchildren. On the coast, mangrove trees, such as the Rhizophora or\nBruguiera, are said to be used.\n\nWhen the burial is completed, whether in a grave or a tree, plumes made\nof shredded palm-leaf stem koro (Aka-J\u030ceru) or ara (Aka-Bea) are\nattached near the graves to the branches of trees or shrubs or to\nsticks put up for the purpose. This is done, it is said, to show any\nnative, who might inadvertently approach, that there has been a burial\nat the spot. The undergrowth is cleared for a short distance round the\ngrave.\n\nThe men then return to the camp, where the women have been busy packing\nup all belongings. Plumes of shredded palm-leaf stem (koro) are put up\nat the entrance to the camp, to show chance visitors that there has\nbeen a death. The camp is then deserted, the natives moving to some\nother camping ground until the period of mourning is over, when they\nmay, if they wish, return to the deserted village. No one goes near the\ngrave again until the period of mourning is over.\n\nIn the case of very young children the burial ceremony is different.\nThere is no general mourning of the whole camp. Only the father and\nmother and a few other relatives weep over the dead body. The head of\nthe corpse is shaved and the body is decorated in the same way as that\nof an adult. The body is wrapped up in palm leaves (Licuala), the limbs\nbeing flexed. The fire is then removed from its customary place and a\ngrave is dug there in the floor of the hut. In this the child\u2019s body is\nplaced, the grave is filled in and the fire replaced above it. Not only\nis the camp not deserted, but there seems to be an obligation on the\nparents not to leave the place until the bones have been dug up, or at\nany rate for some weeks after the death. If the mother went away, the\nnatives say, the baby would cry for its mother\u2019s milk. This is the\ncustom of the Northern tribes. Referring to the Southern tribes, Mr Man\nsays that the baby is buried beneath the fireplace and the camp is then\ndeserted, the mother placing beside the grave a shell containing some\nmilk squeezed from her breasts. Some of my informants of the Southern\ntribes (Akar-Bale, etc.) told me however that the camp would not be\ndeserted in the case of the death of an infant, thus contradicting Mr\nMan\u2019s statement. As there was no opportunity of testing the point by\nreference to an actual case, it must be left as doubtful. In the\nNorthern tribes when an older child dies the body is buried away from\nthe camp, but the latter is not, at any rate in all instances,\ndeserted, though the hut in which the death occurred may be destroyed\nand a new one built a short distance away. It is only in the case of\nthe death of an adult that the camp is abandoned.\n\nIn connection with the burial of a baby beneath the hearth there is a\nbelief that the soul of the dead baby may re-enter the mother and be\nborn again. This would seem to be one of the reasons why the mother\ndoes not leave the camp when her baby dies.\n\nShould a person die while on a visit, he or she is buried in the usual\nway and news of the death and place of burial is sent to the relatives.\nA stranger who dies or is killed is buried unceremoniously or is cast\ninto the sea. Among the Northern tribes the body of such a one used in\nformer days to be disposed of by cutting it into pieces and burning it\non a fire. The natives say that if this be done the \u2018blood\u2019 and the\n\u2018fat\u2019 of the dead man go up to the sky and this removes all danger to\nthe living from the dead man. The blood of persons so burnt is seen in\nthe sky at sunset. If a man were killed in a fight between two\ncommunities and his body remained with the enemy, they would dispose of\nit in this way. If the friends secured the body they would bury it in\nthe usual way. It may be worthy of remark that this custom of burning\nthe bodies of slain enemies is perhaps the real origin of the belief\nthat the Andamanese are or were cannibals. We can well imagine that\nwhen, as must have often happened, sailors venturing to land on the\nislands have been killed and the survivors have seen the bodies of\ntheir companions cut up and placed on fires, they would readily\nconclude that they were witnessing a cannibal feast. There can be no\ndoubt whatever that since the islands were occupied in 1858 the\ninhabitants have not practised cannibalism, and there is no good reason\nto suppose that they once followed the custom and then abandoned it.\n\nThe burial is conducted, if possible, on the day of the death. If it\nhas to be deferred till the morrow all the inhabitants of the camp keep\nawake. The relatives sit round the corpse weeping at intervals, while\nsome of the men take it in turn to sing songs during the hours of\ndarkness. This, so they say, is to keep away the spirits that have\ncaused the death, and so prevent them from further mischief. When a man\nor woman dies in the prime of life after a short illness the friends\nand relatives often break out in anger which they express in different\nways. A man will shout threats and curses at the spirits that he\nconceives to be responsible for the death of his friend. He may pick up\nhis bow and discharge his arrows in all directions, or in some other\nway give expression to his angry feelings. On the occasion of a death\nin one of the Akar-Bale villages the relatives expressed their grief by\ncutting down a coconut tree that grew there.\n\nThe period of mourning for near relatives\u2014parent, adult child, consort,\nbrother or sister\u2014lasts for several months. In the case of a young\nchild only the parents mourn. The essentials of mourning are (1) the\nuse of clay (odu), and (2) abstention from certain foods, from dancing,\nand from the use of white clay (to\u0331l) and red paint. As stated above,\nevery adult in the camp covers himself or herself with clay on the\ndeath of an adult member of the community, but when this wears off, or\nis washed off in the course of two or three days, it is not renewed.\nThe near relatives retain this covering of clay for many weeks,\nconstantly renewing it. The clay is smeared evenly over the body, and\nis not put on in patterns, as on other occasions. The relatives, but\nnot the others, plaster some of the same clay on their heads. A widow\nmourning for her husband covers her whole head with a thick layer of\nclay, renewing it from time to time. For a lesser degree of mourning,\nthe custom is to plaster clay on the forehead only. After some weeks or\nmonths of mourning, the near relatives discontinue the use of clay on\ntheir bodies, but retain a band of clay over the forehead as shown in\nPlates IX, X, and XVII.\n\nThe name of the clay thus used is odu in the Northern languages, and a\nmourner is called aka-odu. In the Aka-Bea language the name of the clay\nis og and the term for a mourner is aka-og.\n\nDuring the period of mourning the name of the dead person is carefully\navoided and no one uses it. If it is necessary to refer to the dead\nthis is done by using some such phrase as \u201che who is buried by the big\nrock\u201d or \u201che who is laid in the fig tree\u201d or by mentioning the name of\nthe place of burial. There is no prohibition against mentioning the\nname itself in other connections. Thus if a man were called Buio, from\nthe name of a species of Mucuna, it is not necessary to avoid the word\nbuio when speaking of the plant. Further if there is another person\nalive of the same name as the dead man it is not necessary to avoid the\nname in referring to the living individual. The custom is that a dead\nperson must not be spoken of unless it is absolutely necessary, and\nthen must not be spoken of by name. After the period of mourning is\nover the dead person may again be spoken of by name.\n\nDuring the period of mourning a near relative of the deceased is never\naddressed or spoken of by name. There are certain terms which are used\nfor this purpose, being terms of address that can be substituted for\nthe names that are avoided. Thus in the Aka-J\u030ceru language one such term\nis Bolok, meaning \u201corphan,\u201d used in addressing or speaking of a person\nwho has lately lost a parent. Another term of the same language is\nRopu\u010d, applicable to one who has lost a brother or sister. After the\nperiod of mourning is over the use of the personal name of the mourner\nis resumed.\n\nDuring the period of mourning the near relatives of the deceased are\nrequired by custom to abstain from dancing and from using red paint or\nwhite clay. The white clay here referred to is that called to\u0331l or\nto\u0331l-odu in Aka-J\u030ceru and tala-og in Aka-Bea, and is used for decorating\nthe body on ceremonial occasions, such as that of a big dance. Further,\nthe mourners must abstain from eating certain foods. The customs with\nregard to the foods to be avoided are different in different parts.\nThere is however the universal rule that coast-dwellers must not eat\nturtle, and jungle-dwellers must avoid pork. Other foods that are\nincluded amongst those to be avoided are dugong, certain fishes such as\nthat called komar in Aka-J\u030ceru, and in some parts yams and honey.\n\nThe exact duration of the period of mourning is difficult to discover.\nIt seems to vary considerably in different cases. In all cases it must\nlast long enough for the flesh to decay from the bones. The proceedings\nat the end of mourning consist of (1) digging up the bones of the dead\nman or woman and (2) a dance in which all the mourners join. The bones\nare generally dug up by the men who performed the burial. They cover\nthemselves with clay (odu) and proceed to the grave or tree and dig up\nor take down the bones and weep over them. These are then washed in the\nsea or a creek and are taken back to camp. Here they are received by\nthe women who weep over them in their turn. The skull and jawbone are\ndecorated with red paint and white clay, and each separately has a band\nof ornamental netting attached to it so that it may be worn around the\nneck. Additional ornament is frequently added in the form of strings of\nDentalium or other shells. The skulls and jawbones of deceased\nrelatives are preserved for a long time, and are worn round the neck\neither in front or behind. The photograph in Plate XVIII shows a woman\nwearing the skull of her deceased sister. Like all their other\npossessions these relics are lent or exchanged, passing from one person\nto another, until sometimes a skull may be found in the possession of a\nman who does not know to whom it belonged. The other bones are also\npreserved. The limb bones are generally painted with red paint and\nwhite clay and are kept in the roof of the hut. They are not treasured\nas much as the skull and jaw, and are often mislaid. Thus, while every\ncamp is sure to contain a number of skulls and jaw-bones it is\ncomparatively rarely that the limb bones are to be found. The other\nbones are made into strings, such bones as those of the hand and foot\nbeing used as they are, while ribs and vertebrae are broken up into\npieces of convenient size. The bones or pieces of bone are attached to\na length of rope by means of thread and the string thus produced is\noften ornamented with the dried yellow skin of the Dendrobium and with\nshells. The whole is covered with red paint. These strings of bone are\nworn as cures for and preventives of illness. If a man has a head-ache,\nfor instance, he will attach one of the strings round his head. They\nare in almost constant use in every camp and every man and woman is\nsure to possess one or two. The bones are made into strings by the\nfemale relatives of the deceased and are then given away as presents.\n\nIn the North Andaman the skull of a baby is preserved by enclosing it\nin a small basket just big enough to contain it, the top of the basket,\nwhich is narrower than the lower part, being only finished after the\nskull is placed inside, so that it cannot fall out and can only be\nremoved by unfastening the rim of the basket. Mr Man states that\nchildren\u2019s skulls are not carried in baskets, except temporarily as\nwhen travelling, fishing, etc., but are preserved from injury by being\nentirely covered with string [64]. This applies only to the tribes of\nthe South and Middle Andaman.\n\nAt about the time that the bones are recovered there takes place a\nspecial ceremony referred to as \u201ctaking off the clay\u201d or \u201cthe shedding\nof tears.\u201d The object of this ceremony is to release the mourners from\nthe restrictions that they have had to observe. The ceremony takes\nplace in the evening, and an occasion is chosen when there are plenty\nof people in the camp. The mourners, male and female, remove the odu\nclay from their foreheads and decorate themselves with red paint and\nwhite clay in the way described in connection with dancing. They also\nput on what ornaments of Pandanus leaf or netting and Dentalium shell\nthey may possess or be able to borrow. When all the members of the camp\nare assembled around the dancing ground one of the male mourners takes\nhis stand at the sounding-board and sings a song. This song does not\nrefer in any way to the dead man or woman; it is just an ordinary song\nof hunting or canoe-cutting or any other subject, though it may have\nbeen specially composed for the occasion. Those women who are not in\nmourning sit near the singer and take up the chorus. When the song is\nfairly started the mourners, male and female, begin to dance. There is\nnothing special about the dance, which is exactly like any other dance.\nAfter dancing for a short time the mourners seat themselves at one end\nof the dancing ground and their friends begin to weep and wail.\nEverybody present joins in the lamentation until they are tired. The\nmourners then rise and again dance. After a time the women retire and\nseat themselves with the chorus, but the men continue the dance (in\nwhich they are joined by the other men present), till they are tired,\nwhich often means till near dawn. After this ceremony the mourners are\nfree to eat any of the foods up till then forbidden, and are free once\nmore to use red paint and white clay and to take their part in all\ndances and other festivities.\n\nIt has been seen from the preceding descriptions that the Andamanese\nhave a number of ritual customs relating to food. There are certain\noccasions in the life of every individual when he or she must abstain\nfrom eating certain foods. A person mourning for the death of a\nrelative is subjected to restrictions of this kind, and so are the\nparents of a new-born child for a short period before and after the\nbirth. A woman must not eat certain things when she is menstruating.\nRestrictions as to diet are imposed by custom on all persons who are\nill. The most important restrictions, however, are those imposed on\nevery boy and girl during the period of adolescence. During this period\nof life, as we have seen, the initiate is required to abstain for a\nlonger or shorter period from all the most important foods of the\nAndamanese.\n\nMr Man states that \u201cevery Andamanese man or woman is prohibited all\nthrough life from eating some one (or more) fish or animal: in most\ncases the forbidden dainty is one which in childhood was observed (or\nimagined) by the mother to occasion some functional derangement; when\nof an age to understand it the circumstance is explained, and cause and\neffect being clearly demonstrated, the individual in question\nthenceforth considers that particular meat his yat-tub, and avoids it\ncarefully. In cases where no evil consequences have resulted from\npartaking of any kind of food, the fortunate person is privileged to\nselect his own yat-tub, and is of course shrewd enough to decide upon\nsome fish, such as shark or skate, which is little relished, and to\nabstain from which consequently entails no exercise of self-denial\n[65].\u201d\n\nAlthough I made repeated enquiries amongst the natives of both the\nNorth and the South Andaman I was not able to confirm this observation\nof Mr Man. It is quite true that if a certain food is observed to\ndisagree with a child he or she is taught to avoid that food for the\nrest of life, but it is not necessary for every person to have some\nforbidden food. Many men told me that they were under no such\nprohibition and might eat any food they liked, apart from the\nrestrictions on special occasions. On a minor point it may be noted\nthat skate and even shark are not by any means so little relished as\nthe statement of Mr Man would imply. The liver of skates and rays, and\neven the liver of sharks is rather regarded as a delicacy.\n\nI noticed on several occasions that men would not eat certain foods\nwhen they were away from their own part of the islands. Thus one man of\nthe North Andaman told me that he would not eat dugong when he was with\nme in the South Andaman. Another said that though he would eat the fish\nkomar when he was at home, he would not eat it when he was in a strange\nplace, as at the Settlement of Port Blair, for fear that it would make\nhim ill.\n\nIn the North Andaman I was told that when a dugong is caught and the\npeople feast on it they do not leave the camp till some hours after the\nmeat is all finished, either to go fishing or hunting. The reason they\ngive for this is that the spirits of the jungle and the sea may smell\nthem, attracted by the odour of the food they have eaten and may cause\nthem to be ill. They therefore remain in the camp and eat up all the\ndugong and do not venture out till they begin to feel hungry and must\ngo in search of food. I believe that the same custom is observed in the\nSouth Andaman also.\n\nA few other customs connected with food may be mentioned here. There is\nonly one way in which a turtle may be killed [66]. It must be laid on\nits back with its head pointing towards the open sea, and a skewer of\nwood is then thrust through the eye-socket into the brain. The natives\nsay that if a turtle were killed in any other way than this, the meat\nwould be \u201cbad,\u201d i.e., uneatable.\n\nTurtle meat may only be cooked on a fire of the wood of the Hibiscus\ntiliaceus.\n\nA pig is killed as it runs, without ceremony, but there is one special\nway in which it must be cut up. The pig is first disembowelled, and the\njoints of the legs are severed. The abdominal cavity is then filled\nwith leaves, of which only certain special kinds are used. It is placed\non a fire and roasted whole, and is then cut up. Should the carcase be\ncut up by any other than the traditional method, the natives believe\nthat the meat would be \u201cbad,\u201d and they would not eat it.\n\nA number of beliefs relating to vegetable foods will be mentioned in\nthe next chapter.\n\nIn several of the ceremonies described in this chapter it will be\nnoticed that the weeping of relatives and friends occurs as an\nessential part of the ceremony. The female relatives of a youth or girl\nwho is being initiated come and weep over him or her at the\nturtle-eating ceremony. Their friends weep over, or with, the mourners\nat the dance at the end of mourning. The friends of a bride and\nbridegroom weep over them when they are married. The friends and\nrelatives weep over a corpse before it is buried and over the bones\nwhen they are recovered. In all cases it is real weeping. The man or\nwoman sits down and wails or howls, and the tears stream down his or\nher face. On one occasion I asked the natives to show how it was done\nand two or three of them sat down and were immediately weeping real\ntears at my request. The weeping in this way is really a ceremony or\nrite. When two friends or relatives meet who have been separated from\none another for a few weeks or longer, they greet each other by sitting\ndown, one on the lap of the other, with their arms around each other\u2019s\nnecks, and weeping and wailing for two or three minutes till they are\ntired. Two brothers greet each other in this way, and so do father and\nson, mother and son, mother and daughter, and husband and wife. When\nhusband and wife meet, it is the man who sits on the lap of the woman.\nWhen two friends part from one another, one of them lifts up the hand\nof the other towards his mouth and gently blows on it.\n\nReference has already been made in this chapter to a number of customs\nrelating to personal names. It will be useful to bring together the\nscattered references, and give a general account of the whole matter.\n\nEvery Andaman Islander has a personal name that is given to him or her\nbefore birth, and which we may speak of as the birth-name. As soon as a\nwoman realises that she is pregnant, she and her husband begin to think\nof a name for the child. The name is selected by the parents, but the\nsuggestions of their friends and relatives are always considered. It is\nregarded as a compliment to name the child after some man or woman.\nSometimes a man may request the parents that the child shall be named\nafter him, and such a request is rarely, if ever, refused. The names\ngiven before birth are of course applicable to both sexes, there being\nno difference between the names of men and those of women. There are a\nconsiderable number of names in common use, but some of them are more\npopular at a given time and place than others. It therefore happens\nthat there are several persons, both men and women, bearing the same\nname.\n\nEach of the names in common use has a meaning, but it is not always\neasy to obtain an adequate and accurate explanation of the meaning from\nthe natives themselves [67]. In a certain number the derivation is\nobvious. Many names are the names of objects such as trees, fish or\nother animals, or even such objects as rope or mats. A few examples\nfrom the North Andaman are:\u2014\n\n\n Buio Mucuna sp., a plant with edible beans.\n Bol Hibiscus tiliaceus.\n \u010cop a tree with edible nuts.\n Ko\u0331nmo Dioscorea sp.\n \u010cokbi turtle.\n Maro honey.\n Meo a stone.\n \u010ceo a knife.\n Bani the oriole.\n\n\nIn the case of a number of names it is not possible to discover with\ncertainty the derivation, and the statements of the natives regarding\nthem do not always agree. Such names in the North Andaman, with their\nmeanings as stated by the natives, are:\u2014\n\n\n Kea one who turns in his sleep.\n Bo\u0331i\u010do one who wrestles.\n Elpe one who comes and goes.\n Ki\u01f0e\u0331ri one who walks backwards and forwards.\n Nimi one who catches hold.\n\n\nSome time after a child is born it is given a nick-name. Nick-names may\nbe given at any time of life, and some persons may have several\nnick-names given to them at different times. New nick-names are from\ntime to time invented, but there are a certain number of recognized\nnames from which a choice is usually made. A few examples from the\nNorth Andaman are:\u2014\n\n\n Ra-t\u2019ot-bet\u010d pig\u2019s hair.\n Renya-\u010dope much baggage, or many possessions.\n Po\u0331i\u010do-tomo the wood (literally flesh) of the Sterculia\n (po\u0331i\u010do) tree.\n Lau-tei spirit blood.\n Luremo rope.\n Remu-to\u0331i a piece of iron.\n \u010cokbi-\u010diro turtle liver.\n Taren\u01f0ek angry.\n\n\nDuring childhood boys and girls are addressed by either the birth-name\nor the nick-name.\n\nWhen a girl reaches the age of puberty she receives a new name. This is\none of a limited number of names, each of which is the name of a tree\nor plant. The name given to the girl is that of the tree or plant that\nis in flower at the time of her first menstruation.\n\nThere is a succession of trees and plants flowering one after another\nthroughout the year. The natives describe the different parts of the\nyear by reference to the plants in flower at the time. The plants\nselected as typical of the different seasons all have flowers from\nwhich the native bees make honey. Each of them has a distinctive scent\nand gives to the honey made from it a distinctive flavour. The\nflower-names are given below in Aka-Bea and Aka-J\u030ceru.\n\n\n Aka-Bea Aka-J\u030ceru\n\n \u010cilipa \u010celibi From the middle of November to the middle of\n February.\n Moda Mukui }\n Ora Oko\u0331r }\n Jidga } From the middle of February to the middle of\n Yere J\u030ceru } May, in order.\n Pataka Bo\u0331tek }\n Balya Puliu }\n\n Re\u010de Re } From the middle of May to the end of August.\n \u010cagara \u010cokoro }\n\n \u010carapa \u010carap } September, October and the first half of\n \u010cenra To\u0331ro\u0331k? } November.\n Yulu J\u030cili }\n\n\nFrom the time that a girl receives her flower-name her birth-name and\nnick-name fall entirely out of use. No one would address an unmarried\ngirl by any name except the flower-name. This continues until some time\nafter the girl is married. Properly speaking a woman should be known by\nher flower-name from the advent of puberty until after the birth of her\nfirst child. In these days of childless women the flower-name drops out\nof use after a few years of married life. After the birth of her first\nchild the woman is known by her birth-name or by a nick-name. Thus a\nwoman who was named before her birth Kaba (from kabal, a species of\nmangrove) was called by that name until puberty; thereafter she was\ncalled J\u030cili (her flower-name) until the birth of her first child; after\nthis event she is again called Kaba, and no one would think of\naddressing her as J\u030cili. A woman named Ele (lightning) at birth was\nknown by this name until puberty, and thereafter was called Bo\u0331tek. When\nI knew her she had been married for three years or so, but had not had\na child. A few of the younger men and women addressed her as Ele, but\nthe older people still called her Bo\u0331tek. If she should bear a child,\nthe name Bo\u0331tek would fall entirely out of use and she would be known as\nEle by both her juniors and her seniors.\n\nIn the case of a boy there is nothing corresponding to the flower-names\nof girls. He continues to be known by his birth-name and his nick-name\nfrom the time he is born until he dies. During adolescence a youth has\nto pass through certain ceremonies of initiation as described in the\npresent chapter. At the turtle-eating ceremony the youth is given a new\nname, of the nature of a nick-name. The name given in this way is never\nused either in addressing the youth or in speaking of him. It is\npossible that he also receives a new name on the occasion of the\npig-eating ceremony, but of this I am not sure. Though girls pass\nthrough the same ceremonies as boys, I did not discover whether or not\nthey also are given new names on these occasions.\n\nNames are used freely in speaking of and to one another. An older\nperson always speaks of or to the younger one by the name alone. When a\nyounger person is speaking to an older one it is customary and polite\nto use one of the terms of address, either by itself, or prefixed to\nthe name of the person spoken to, as Maia Buio, Mimi Kaba, etc. A\nnative generally hesitates to tell his own name, and if asked the\nquestion \u201cWhat is your name?\u201d often asks a bystander to give the\nrequired information. There is, however, no hesitation about mentioning\nthe name of any other person, except under certain special conditions.\n\nThere are certain occasions when the name of a man or woman is\ntemporarily avoided. After the death of a relative and during the\nperiod of mourning, a mourner\u2019s name is not mentioned, either in\nspeaking to him or of him. There are a few terms that may be used\ninstead. One who has lost a parent is addressed as Bolok, one who has\nlost a brother or sister as Ropu\u010d. For a short time before and after\nthe birth of a child the names of the father and mother are not\nmentioned. A bride and bridegroom are not addressed or spoken of by\nname for a short period after their marriage, though if their names be\nA and B there seems to be no harm in referring to A as \u201cthe husband of\nB,\u201d or to B as \u201cthe wife of A.\u201d During the initiation ceremonies\nthrough which every boy and girl must pass, the name of the initiate is\navoided. Thus on the occasion of the turtle-eating ceremony or the\npig-eating ceremony, during the few days the ceremony lasts and for a\nfew weeks afterwards, the youth or girl is never addressed or spoken of\nby name, but is referred to as Kimil. During the ceremony that takes\nplace on the occasion of the advent of puberty, and for some weeks\nafter, a girl is not spoken of or to either by her birth-name or her\nflower-name, but is called Toto. When a boy, in the Northern tribes,\nhas the scars made on his back, which show him to be no longer a child,\nhis name is avoided for a few weeks and he is called E\u01f0ido.\n\nThe name of a dead man or woman is not mentioned during the period of\nmourning, which lasts for some months after the death.\n\nIn the preceding portions of the chapter reference has been made\nseveral times to the ornamentation of the body with clay and pigment.\nIn the Great Andaman three different substances are used for painting\nthe body. These are (1) a common clay of which different specimens are\ngray, yellow or pink, called odu in Aka-J\u030ceru and og in Aka-Bea; (2) a\nfine white pipe-clay which is rarer than the common clay and is more\nhighly prized, called to\u0331l or to\u0331l-odu in Aka-J\u030ceru and tala-og in\nAka-Bea; (3) a red pigment made by mixing burnt oxide of iron with\nanimal or vegetable fat or oil, called keyip in Aka-J\u030ceru and ko\u0331iob in\nAka-Bea.\n\nThe common clay (odu) is used in three different ways. After the death\nof a relative a man or woman smears himself all over with this clay and\nplasters it on his head. From this custom a person who is mourning for\na dead relative is called aka-odu in Aka-J\u030ceru or aka-og in Aka-Bea. The\nsame clay is used at a certain stage of the initiation ceremonies, as\ndescribed above, being spattered over the initiate in the turtle-eating\nand pig-eating ceremonies. The third and most common use of this clay\nis to decorate the bodies of men and women with patterns called (in\nAka-J\u030ceru) e\u0331ra-puli. These patterns are always made by the women, who\ndecorate each other and their male relatives. The clay is mixed with\nwater in a wooden dish or a shell and the mixture is applied to the\nbody with the fingers. There is an almost indefinite variety in the\npatterns employed, although there are a certain number of what may be\ncalled usual designs. Each woman vies with others in her endeavours to\nproduce some novelty of detail in her designs, and a successful\ninnovation is immediately copied by others. I was able to watch the\nrise and development and ultimate disappearance of \u201cfashions\u201d in this\nconnection in one of the camps of the North Andaman.\n\nThe design is made in one of two ways. It may, in some cases, be formed\nby painting with the finger on the body, that is by tracing white (or\ngray) lines on a black surface. A design of this kind is shown on the\nback of the man on the right in the photograph of Plate XI. On the\nother hand, an equally common method is to cover a part of the body\nwith an even smear of clay and then to scrape it away either with the\nfingers or with a small fish-bone or with a little instrument made of\nsmall strips of bamboo, so as to leave a design of black lines where\nthe skin shows through the smeared clay. Two not very striking designs\nof this kind are shown in Plates IX and X. As a rule the designs are\nmore or less symmetrical, the right and the left sides of the body\nbeing treated alike, but in a few cases different patterns are made on\nthe two sides, and I have seen a man with one side of his body painted\nand the other not. The painting may cover the whole of the body and\nlimbs with the exception of the hands and feet, or it may be confined\nto the front and back of the trunk, or it may be on the front only. The\nface is often painted, the designs being made with greater care than\nthose on the body.\n\nThese patterns are made in the afternoon after the men return from\ntheir day\u2019s hunting, and always either just before or just after a\nmeal.\n\nIf a man be asked what pattern he is painted with, he replies by\nmentioning the food that he has just eaten. A man who has been eating\nturtle will say that the painting on his body is \u010dokbi-t\u2019e\u0331ra-puli,\nturtle pattern, while if he has been eating pork he will call it\nra-t\u2019e\u0331ra-puli, pig pattern. There is not, however, a strict uniformity\nin the use of particular patterns in connection with special foods.\nWhen the whole camp has been feasting on turtle many different and\n(apparently) unrelated designs are to be seen on the bodies of the men\nand women. I did not find it possible, even after a study of the\nmatter, to distinguish by means of the design a man who has been eating\nturtle from one who has been eating pork. There is one design, or group\nof closely related designs, that seemed to be based on the pattern of\nthe plates on a turtle\u2019s carapace. A pattern of this distinctive kind\nwas never, so far as my experience went, used except after eating\nturtle. Other patterns, however, which were used after eating turtle,\ndid not seem to me to be related in any way to what I may call the\nspecific turtle pattern. In some of the patterns used after eating pork\nI noticed a tendency to make use of vertical lines or bands on the back\nand chest. There may be a connection here with the longitudinal\nmarkings on the back of the wild pig.\n\nOf special patterns I was only able to discover two. One of these is\ncalled kimil-t\u2019e\u0331ra-puli and is only used to paint a person who is\naka-kimil, i.e., who has just been through one of the initiation\nceremonies. This pattern is shown on the back of a man in the\nphotograph reproduced as Plate XI (the second figure from the left).\nAnother special pattern is called toto-t\u2019e\u0331ra-puli (Pandanus pattern),\nand is used, I believe, to decorate a girl after the ceremony at her\nfirst menstruation.\n\nThe fine white clay called to\u0331l-odu in Aka-J\u030ceru is used in a different\nway and on different occasions. When it is used to ornament the body it\nis always applied in one customary pattern. The name of this pattern in\nAka-J\u030ceru is o\u0331r-\u010dubi-t\u2019e\u0331ra-bat, from the name of a species of snake,\no\u0331r-\u010dubi. Exactly the same name is used in A-Pu\u010dikwar,\nwara-\u010dupi-l\u2019ar-par. Mr Man gives the Aka-Bea name as \u01f0obo-tarta\u014ba, from\n\u01f0obo the name for snake in general. A man decorated with this \u201csnake\npattern,\u201d as it may be called, is shown in Plate XII, and a pattern of\nthe same kind is shown on the head of the man in Plate XIII. The\npattern is built up of zig-zag lines. They are made by taking a little\nof the clay mixed with water between the thumb and first finger; by a\nmovement of the thumb the space between the nail and the skin of the\nfinger is filled with the clay, and the end of the finger is then\napplied to the skin so that it leaves a short and fine line of clay. A\nzig-zag line is thus built up of short lines each a finger\u2019s breadth in\nlength. A second line is then added, not parallel to the first, but\nopposed to it, so that the two lines together form a row of lozenges. A\nthird and sometimes a fourth or fifth line are similarly added. As\nshown in Plate XII the lines of pattern are carried down the front of\nthe body, down the sides of the arms, and down the front of the legs,\nand they are similarly worked on the back of the body, and the back of\nthe legs. The face also is decorated. These patterns are made by the\nwomen. It is one of the duties of a wife to decorate her husband in\nthis way when occasion requires.\n\nThe only reason that the natives give for ornamenting themselves in\nthis way is that it makes them \u201clook well.\u201d On the occasion of a big\ndance many of the performers are thus ornamented. This is always so at\nthe dances held when two or more local groups meet together. There are\ncertain special occasions, already mentioned in this chapter, when the\nuse of the \u201csnake pattern\u201d is required by custom. One of these is the\ndance at the end of mourning. During the period of mourning the\nmourners are forbidden to make use of this form of decoration. The same\npattern is used to decorate a bride and bridegroom after their\nmarriage. In the initiation ceremonies the youth or girl is decorated\nin this way before the dances at the turtle-eating and pig-eating\nceremonies. The same pattern is also made on a corpse before burial.\n\nIn all these cases the whole body is decorated. On less ceremonial\noccasions, such as an ordinary dance when there are no visitors of\nimportance in the camp, a man frequently has his face alone decorated\nwith white clay, as in the photograph of Plate XIII.\n\nThe third kind of material used for painting the body is red paint.\nThis is applied in two different ways. When a man or woman is ill he or\nshe is generally to be seen with some part of his body smeared with red\npaint. For colds and coughs the chest and neck are painted. In fevers\nred paint is smeared on the upper lip. Besides the medical use of red\npaint, if we may call it so, there is a ceremonial use, the pigment\nbeing used in combination with white clay, lines of red paint being\napplied to the body between the lines of clay of the snake pattern. It\nis used in this way to decorate the body of a dead person for burial,\nand on ceremonial occasions such as the dance at the end of mourning\nand the dances in connection with the initiation ceremonies.\n\nMost of the ornaments worn at various times by the Andaman Islanders\nhave a ceremonial or a magical purpose. The only things worn by men\nthat can be considered to have a utilitarian value are the belt of rope\nand the necklet of string. The belt may be a plain piece of rope, or it\nmay be ornamented with the yellow skin of a species of Dendrobium. It\nserves as a receptacle in which the natives carry such things as adzes,\nfish, roots, or even arrows. It is the one object that is constantly\nworn by men. The string necklet is simply a length of thin string tied\nround the neck. It serves as a means of carrying a knife and skewer.\nThe knife, in former days made of a slip of cane, but in these times\nfrom a piece of scrap iron, is attached to a skewer of Areca wood by a\nshort length of rope or stout string. By sliding either the knife or\nthe skewer under the necklet at the back of the neck the double\nimplement hangs securely in a position where it is not likely to get\nlost when running through the jungle, and where it is immediately\naccessible when wanted. The necklet also serves as a means of carrying\nbees\u2019-wax, which is in constant use amongst the natives, a small ball\nof the wax being attached to one of the ends of the string of which the\nnecklet is made.\n\nAs a rule, in everyday life, the men wear only a belt, or a belt and\nnecklace. Those natives who visit the Settlement of Port Blair have\nbeen required by the European officers to wear a strip of cloth over\nthe genitals. It has now become the rule to wear such a loin cloth\nwhenever they are in the neighbourhood of a European. This, however, is\na modern custom, and in former times the men went freely with no\ncovering whatever, as do the inhabitants of the Little Andaman at the\npresent time. As showing the extent to which the natives have been\ninfluenced in this matter by outside opinion, it may be mentioned that\nat the present day many of the younger men, particularly those who have\nbeen brought up at Port Blair, regard it as very immodest to be seen\nwithout some covering over the genitals.\n\nOn ceremonial occasions, such as the dance at the end of mourning, or a\nbig dance-meeting, the men put on a number of ornaments. A common\ncostume on such occasions consists of a belt, necklace, bracelets, and\ngarters of netting and Dentalium shell. A belt and necklace of this\nkind are to be seen in Plate V, and garters are worn by the woman in\nPlate IX. An alternative costume for men consists of a set of ornaments\nof Pandanus leaf (belt, chaplet, bracelets and garters), decorated with\nDentalium and other shells. Garters of this kind are shown in Plate\nXII.\n\nOther objects are worn by the natives for magical purposes. Chief\namongst these are the strings made of human bones which are worn to\nprevent and cure sickness. The bones are attached to a length of rope,\nand this is generally decorated with shells or with Dendrobium skin.\nThese strings of bones are worn most commonly as chaplets, necklaces or\nbelts, but they may also be made into garters and bracelets. The bones\nof animals, such as pig, turtle, dugong, etc., are treated in exactly\nthe same way as human bones, and ornaments made of them are commonly\nworn.\n\nThere are a number of other ornaments that are commonly worn, not only\non ceremonial occasions, which, unlike the strings of human bones, do\nnot obviously have a magical purpose. Such are necklaces made of\nvarious kinds of shells, and of mangrove seeds. At the present time the\nnatives obtain beads from Port Blair and make ornaments of these.\n\nThe ordinary costume of the women is different from that of the men.\nEvery woman and girl wears at least one belt of Pandanus leaf. There is\none kind of belt that is always worn by married women and which may not\nbe worn by unmarried girls. There is another kind of belt that may only\nbe worn by unmarried girls. The women of the Southern tribes wear a\nbundle of leaves of the Mimusops littoralis laid one over another\nsuspended from the front of the belt so as to cover the pudenda. In the\nNorthern tribes it was formerly the custom for the women to wear a\nsimilar apron of the leaves of a plant called \u010dainyo, and over this\nthey also wore a tassel of shredded palm-leaf stem (koro). Within\nrecent years the Northern tribes have given up their own custom in this\nmatter and have adopted the custom of the Southern tribes.\n\nWomen often wear round the neck a piece of string similar to that worn\nby the men, but as they do not carry knives it does not serve the same\npurpose. It is more usual for a woman to wear a necklace of some sort.\nNowadays they are rather fond of necklaces of beads which they obtain\nfrom the Settlement at Port Blair. In former times different kinds of\nshells were used, such as the Dentalium octogonum.\n\nWith the exception that men wear the belt of rope, and women wear the\nbelt of Pandanus leaf and the apron of leaves, there is no difference\nbetween the ornaments worn by men and by women. On the occasion of a\ndance or other ceremony a woman may wear any of the objects described\nas being worn by men on such occasions. They also wear in the same way\nstrings of human or animal bones.\n\nOne object which would seem to have a purely utilitarian purpose is the\nsling used for carrying children (called in Aka-J\u030ceru \u010diba). This\nobject, however, seems to have its ceremonial uses also. In one of the\ninitiation ceremonies that I saw, the man who was officiating wore such\na sling round his shoulders during the ceremony.\n\nIn the earlier parts of this chapter reference has been made several\ntimes to the dance of the Andaman Islanders. For the natives the dance\nis both a means of enjoyment and also a ceremony. The period of\nmourning for the dead is brought to a close by a dance, in which all\nthe mourners join. As will be shown later, a dance was generally held\nbefore a fight, in former times when fights occurred. The ceremony by\nwhich two hostile local groups made peace with one another was a dance.\n\nIn the initiation ceremonies there are special dances, which have\nalready been described, in connection with the pig-eating and\nturtle-eating ceremonies. With the exception of these special dances,\nand the peace-making dance to be described later, there is only one\nkind of dance in any given tribe. Thus the dance at the end of\nmourning, or before setting out on an attack on enemies, is in all\nessentials exactly the same as the dance in which the natives indulge\nwhen the day\u2019s hunting has been successful and the evening is fine.\n\nThe time for dancing, except in connection with certain ceremonies, is\nat night, after the evening meal. The dance takes place on the open\nground in the centre of the village. This is swept clean by the women\nand the younger men. One or two fires are lighted, and little heaps of\nresin are placed in convenient situations to provide lights. These have\nto be replenished from time to time as the dance proceeds. Near one end\nof the dancing ground is placed a sounding-board, upon which it is the\nduty of one man to beat time with his foot. A sounding-board is a piece\nof wood somewhat of the shape of a large shield, cut from the hard\nPterocarpus tree. One is shown in Plate VI. Behind the sounding-board,\nor a little to one side of it, the women, who form the chorus, sit in a\nrow, with their legs stretched out in front of them, facing the\ndancing-ground. The men who intend to dance sit or stand round the edge\nof the space reserved for the dance.\n\nWhen all is ready a man who has volunteered to sing the first song\ntakes his stand at the sounding-board, and sings his song through. When\nhe reaches the chorus the women take it up and repeat it after him, and\nas they do so each woman marks time by clapping her hands on the hollow\nformed by her thighs, the legs being crossed one over the other at the\nankle. The singer continues to sing, thus leading the chorus, and at\nthe same time marks the time of the song by beating on the\nsounding-board with his foot. As soon as the chorus begins the dancers\nbegin to dance. The step of each dancer is the same, but there is very\nlittle attempt to form a figure. When the singer and the chorus get\ntired, the singing ceases, but the man at the sounding-board continues\nto mark time for the dancers. The singer repeats his song several\ntimes, and he may sing several songs, each repeated several times. When\nhe gets tired he is relieved by another man. In a dance that lasts for\nany time, one singer succeeds another, and the singing and dancing are\nkept up continuously, sometimes for five or six hours.\n\nThe above description applies to all the tribes of the Great Andaman,\nbut there are some differences between the four tribes of the North\nAndaman, and the tribes of the Middle and South Andaman.\n\nIn the North Andaman the song is sung through once from beginning to\nend by the singer, and is then repeated three or four times by the\nchorus. In the South Andaman each song consists of one verse and a\nrefrain, if we may speak of them thus. The singer sings the verse and\nthe refrain, and then the refrain only is repeated an indefinite number\nof times by the chorus.\n\nIn the dance of the Southern tribes, each dancer dances alternately on\nthe right foot or on the left. When dancing on the right foot the first\nmovement is a slight hop with the right foot, then the left foot is\nraised and brought down with a backward scrape along the ground, then\nanother hop on the right foot. These three movements, which occupy the\ntime of two beats of the song, are repeated until the right leg is\ntired, and the dancer then changes the movement to a hop with the left\nfoot, followed by a scrape with the right and another hop with the\nleft. The time of the movement is as follows, the upper line being the\nrhythm of the dance, while the lower line shows the beats of the song,\nwhich is marked on the sounding-board and by the clapping of the women.\n\n [Music Notes] or [Music Notes]\n\nThe body of the dancer is bent slightly forward from the hips, the legs\nbeing flexed at the knees and the back being curved well inwards. There\nare several ways of holding the hands and arms, one of the commonest\nbeing to hold the arms outstretched in front on a level with the\nshoulders, while the thumb and forefinger of one hand are interlocked\nwith those of the other. When a man does not wish to cease altogether\nfrom dancing but desires to have a short rest, he marks the time by\nraising each heel alternately from the ground. As a man dances he\nremains in one spot for a short time, and then, still continuing the\nsame step, moves for a yard or two around the circle of the dancing\nground. Every now and then a dancer is to be seen trotting from one\nposition to another across the dancing ground, abandoning the step of\nthe dance, but still keeping time to the song.\n\nThe Northern tribes have now adopted the same kind of dance as the\ntribes of the South, but formerly their dance was slightly different.\nThere was a little more attempt at forming a figure, the dancers moving\nfor the most part in a circle, some in one direction and others in the\nother. The step was as follows: a step forward with the right foot, a\nhop on the right foot, a scrape with the left, then another hop with\nthe right, a step forward with the left foot, a hop with the left, a\nscrape with the right and a hop with the left. The rhythm is as\nfollows:\u2014\n\n [Music Notes]\n\nThe lower line shows the beats on the sounding-board.\n\nSome of the dancers occasionally break into the regular Southern step.\nA dancer sometimes changes from the usual step to another called ko\u0331i,\nin which each foot is alternately struck on the ground and scraped\nbackwards. Other slight variations of the movement may be introduced.\n\nIn both the Southern and the Northern dance each dancer pleases himself\nas to the direction in which he moves, and the step that he adopts at\nany given moment. All the dancers, however independently of one another\nthey dance, keep strict time to the music.\n\nWomen do not, as a rule, join in the ordinary dances held in the\nevening. Their share in the entertainment consists of forming the\nchorus. When they do dance, as they do on certain occasions, such as\nthe dance at the end of mourning, their step is different from that of\nthe men. In the Southern tribes the female dancer stands at one spot\nwith knees flexed and lifts her heels alternately from the ground in\ntime to the music, thus producing a slight swaying or swinging motion\nof the hips. After dancing thus at one spot for a few moments, she\nmoves forward a few steps to a new position, keeping time to the music\nin all her movements, and then repeats the same performance. The arms\nare swung in time to the dance, or else are held before the breast with\none wrist crossed over the other.\n\nIn the Northern tribes the common dance of the women is a sort of\nmodification of that of the men. A woman advances across the ground in\nregular time, but at every third step she gives a peculiar little hop\nwhich has something of the effect of a bobbing curtsey. The time is as\nfollows:\u2014\n\n [Music Notes]\n\nl and r standing for left and right foot, and the accent indicating the\nhop or curtsey. Every now and then a dancer stops and remains at one\nspot, alternately scraping each foot backwards, holding her knees\nflexed, and swinging both arms together.\n\nThe ordinary dance of the Andamanese, as described above, must always\nbe accompanied by a song, and the purpose of every song is to serve as\nthe accompaniment to a dance. Every man composes his own songs. No one\nwould ever sing (at a dance) a song composed by any other person. There\nare no traditional songs. Women occasionally compose songs, but I never\nheard a woman sing at a dance except in the chorus.\n\nEvery man composes songs, and the boys begin to practise themselves in\nthe art of composition when they are still young. A man composes his\nsong as he cuts a canoe or a bow or as he paddles a canoe, singing it\nover softly to himself, until he is satisfied with it. He then awaits\nan opportunity to sing it in public, and for this he has to wait for a\ndance. Before the dance he takes care to teach the chorus to one or two\nof his female relatives so that they can lead the chorus of women. He\nsings his song, and if it is successful he repeats it several times,\nand thereafter it becomes part of his repertory, for every man of any\nage has a repertory of songs that he is prepared to repeat at any time.\nIf the song is not successful, if the chorus and dancers do not like\nit, the composer abandons it and does not repeat it. Some men are\nrecognized as being more skilful song-makers than others.\n\nThe songs all deal with everyday subjects such as hunting or cutting a\ncanoe. The important thing about a song is not its sense, but its\nsound, i.e., its rhythm and melody. A translation of an Akar-Bale song,\nwhich is quite typical, is \u201cPo\u0331io, the son of Mam Golat, wants to know\nwhen I am going to finish my canoe. He comes every day. That is why I\nmake haste to get it launched as soon as possible.\u201d Another on the same\nsubject runs: \u201cKnots are very hard to cut with an adze. They blunt the\nedge of the adze. How hard I am working cutting these knots.\u201d The\nsinger here refers to the cutting of a canoe. A number of songs in the\nnative languages with translations, are given by Mr Portman [68]. To\nthese the reader may refer for further information.\n\nAccording to the statements of the natives it was formerly the custom\nto have a dance before setting out to a fight. There was no special\nwar-dance, the warriors joining in an ordinary dance such as has just\nbeen described. Those who intended to take part in the attack on their\nenemies, i.e., all the able-bodied adult males, decorated themselves\nwith red paint and white clay, and put on ornaments of Pandanus leaf or\nnetting and shells. Each man held in his hands or placed in his belt or\nhead-dress plumes of shredded Tetranthera wood (called \u010delmo in\nAka-J\u030ceru, u\u01f0 in Aka-Bea). These plumes of shredded wood are now often\nworn or carried in an ordinary dance, but I believe that in former\ntimes they were the distinctive sign of a war-dance. To make them, a\nshort length of the wood is taken (generally a piece of an old broken\npig-arrow) and the wood is carefully shredded with a Cyrena shell, care\nbeing taken not to break any of the longitudinal fibres. One end is\nthen tied with a piece of string or fibre. Similar plumes are made from\nPandanus wood, and are carried or worn in a similar manner.\n\nWhen the attacking party set out from their village each man wears a\nplume of shredded Tetranthera wood thrust into the back of his belt.\nThey rub their bows with the shredded wood, and say that this has the\neffect of making their own bows shoot well and those of their enemies\nshoot badly.\n\nIf a man kills another in a fight between two villages, or in a private\nquarrel, he leaves his village and goes to live by himself in the\njungle, where he must stay for some weeks, or even months. His wife,\nand one or two of his friends may live with him or visit him and attend\nto his wants. For some weeks the homicide must observe a rigorous tabu.\nHe must not handle a bow or arrow. He must not feed himself or touch\nany food with his hands, but must be fed by his wife or a friend. He\nmust keep his neck and upper lip covered with red paint, and must wear\nplumes of shredded Tetranthera wood (\u010delmo) in his belt before and\nbehind, and in his necklace at the back of his neck. If he breaks any\nof these rules it is supposed that the spirit of the man he has killed\nwill cause him to be ill. At the end of a few weeks the homicide\nundergoes a sort of purification ceremony. His hands are first rubbed\nwith white clay (to\u0331l-odu) and then with red paint. After this he may\nwash his hands and may then feed himself with his hands and may handle\nbows and arrows. He retains the plumes of shredded wood for a year or\nso.\n\nIn the North Andaman, and possibly in the South also, there was a\nceremony by which two hostile local groups made peace with one another.\nWhen the two groups have agreed to make friends and bring their quarrel\nto an end, arrangements are made for this ceremony. The arrangements\nare made through the women of the two parties. A day is fixed for the\nceremony, which takes place in the country of the group that made the\nlast attack. In the village of this group the dancing ground is\nprepared, and across it is erected what is called a koro-\u010dop. Posts are\nput up in a line, to the tops of these is attached a length of strong\ncane, and from the cane are suspended bundles of shredded palm-leaf\n(koro). The appearance of this construction may be seen from the\nphotograph reproduced in Plate XIX. The women of the camp keep a\nlook-out for the approach of the visitors. When they are known to be\nnear the camp, the women sit down on one side of the dancing ground,\nand the men take up positions in front of the decorated cane. Each man\nstands with his back against the koro-\u010dop, with his arms stretched out\nsideways along the top of it. None of them has any weapons.\n\nThe visitors, who are, if we may so put it, the forgiving party, while\nthe home party are those who have committed the last act of hostility,\nadvance into the camp dancing, the step being that of the ordinary\ndance. The women of the home party mark the time of the dance by\nclapping their hands on their thighs. I was told that the visitors\ncarry their weapons with them, but when the dance was performed at my\nrequest the dancers were without weapons. The visitors dance forward in\nfront of the men standing at the koro-\u010dop, and then, still dancing all\nthe time, pass backwards and forwards between the standing men, bending\ntheir heads as they pass beneath the suspended cane. The dancers make\nthreatening gestures at the men standing at the koro-\u010dop, and every now\nand then break into a shrill shout. The men at the koro stand silent\nand motionless and are expected to show no sign of fear.\n\nAfter they have been dancing thus for a little time, the leader of the\ndancers approaches the man at one end of the koro and, taking him by\nthe shoulders from the front, leaps vigorously up and down to the time\nof the dance, thus giving the man he holds a good shaking. The leader\nthen passes on to the next man in the row while another of the dancers\ngoes through the same performance with the first man. This is continued\nuntil each of the dancers has \u201cshaken\u201d each of the standing men. The\ndancers then pass under the koro and shake their enemies in the same\nmanner from the back. After a little more dancing the dancers retire,\nand the women of the visiting group come forward and dance in much the\nsame way that the men have done, each woman giving each of the men of\nthe other group a good shaking.\n\nWhen the women have been through their dance the two parties of men and\nwomen sit down and weep together.\n\nThe two groups remain camped together for a few days, spending the time\nin hunting and dancing together. Presents are exchanged, as at the\nordinary meetings of different groups. The men of the two groups\nexchange bows with one another.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nRELIGIOUS AND MAGICAL BELIEFS\n\n\nThe Andaman Islanders believe in the existence of a class of\nsupernatural beings which I propose to denote by the term \u201cspirits.\u201d\nThe native name for these spirits is lau, lao or yau in the languages\nof the North and Middle Andaman, and \u010dauga in the South Andaman. While\nall spirits are denoted together by the term lau or \u010dauga, there are\ncertain special classes of spirits. There are, for instance, spirits\nthat haunt the jungles of the islands. These are called in the North\nAndaman Ti-miku Lau, from the word ti-miku meaning the forest, or more\naccurately \u201cland.\u201d (The only land known to the Andamanese is covered\nwith forest.) In Aka-Bea the name for these jungle spirits is E\u0331rem\n\u010cauga, the word e\u0331rem being the equivalent in that language of the\nNorthern ti-miku. In the North Andaman the Ti-miku Lau are often called\nBido Te\u010d Lau, i.e., spirits of the Calamus leaf, bido being the name of\nthe Calamus tigrinus. This cane is armed with strong thorns, and in\nsome parts of the jungle forms absolutely impenetrable thickets. The\nnatives say that the spirits haunt these thickets, and hence their\nname.\n\nThere are other spirits that live in the sea. Although these may be\nincluded under the term Lau or \u010cauga, when it is used in a general\nsense, yet there is a special name for the sea spirits, J\u030curua in the\nNorth Andaman, and J\u030curuwin in Aka-Bea. The J\u030curua are beings of the same\nnature as the Ti-miku Lau, with the difference that they live in the\nsea, while the latter live in the forest.\n\nIn the South Andaman the natives also speak of another class of spirits\nwho live in the sky and are called Mo\u0331rua or Mo\u0331rowin.\n\n\nWhen an Andamanese man or woman dies he or she becomes a spirit, i.e.,\na Lau or \u010cauga. The bones of a dead person, which are dug up after the\nflesh has decayed, are called Lau to\u0331i in the North Andaman, to\u0331i being\nthe word for \u201cbone.\u201d The skull is Lau t\u2019e\u0331r-\u010do, from the word e\u0331r-\u010do\nmeaning \u201chead.\u201d Exactly similar terms are in use in Aka-Bea, the bones\nof a dead man being called \u010cauga ta (spirit bones).\n\nThe Andamanese relate legends, to be described in the next chapter,\nwhich concern the doings of mythical ancestors. As all Andamanese, when\nthey die, become Lau, these ancestors are of course included under that\nterm. They are often distinguished from the spirits of persons recently\ndead by being denoted as Lau t\u2019e\u0331r-kuro, from the word e\u0331r-kuro meaning\n\u201cbig,\u201d and applied to human beings to denote importance of social\nposition. Just as a man who occupies a prominent position in his tribe\nis called a \u201cbig\u201d man (e\u0331r-kuro), so the ancestors of the Andamanese\nlegends are called \u201cbig\u201d spirits. The Aka-Bea use a similar term, \u010cauga\ntaba\u014ba, to distinguish the ancestors from the spirits of ordinary\npersons.\n\nThe name Lau or \u010cauga is also applied by the Andamanese to the natives\nof India and Burma whom they see in the Penal Settlement of Port Blair.\nThe Aka-J\u030ceru name for the Penal Settlement is Lau-t\u2019ara-nyu, literally\n\u201cthe village of the spirits.\u201d At the present time the term Lau or \u010cauga\nis not applied to Europeans, who are generally spoken of in the North\nAndaman by the Hindustani word \u201csahib.\u201d Natives of the North Andaman\ntold me that in former times (before 1875) they applied the term Lau to\nEuropeans also not distinguishing them from other light-skinned aliens.\nThe necessity for distinguishing between Asiatics, such as natives of\nIndia, and Europeans, has only arisen since they have come to have\ndealings with the Penal Settlement.\n\nThe term Lau is not applied by the Andamanese to aliens of their own\nrace. Nor would it be applied, I believe, to men of other black races\nsuch as the African negro. I showed the natives photographs of Semang\nfrom the Malay Peninsula and also of natives of Africa and New Guinea,\nand in all cases they called them J\u030ca\u0324rawa, that being the term applied\nby the Great Andaman tribes to the natives of the Little Andaman. On\nthe other hand they called Polynesians Lau.\n\nFor many centuries the Andaman Islanders have been accustomed to see\nlight-skinned men visit their shores in ships, Europeans, natives from\nthe coasts of India, Burma and Malaya, and occasionally perhaps\nChinese. To these aliens they gave the name of Lau, apparently\nregarding them as visitors from the only other world they knew of, the\nworld of spirits [69]. The clothes that these \u201cspirits\u201d wore they\ncalled Lau ot-\u01f0ulu, the word ot-\u01f0ulu meaning \u201ccold.\u201d\n\nThe spirits of the forest and the sea are believed to be generally\ninvisible, but there are tales of men and women who have seen them, and\ntheir personal appearance is sometimes described. The descriptions vary\nconsiderably from one informant to another. One of the commonest\nstatements is that they are light or white skinned. (The Andamanese\nvocabulary does not allow of any distinction between white and a light\ngray or a light shade of colour.) One man, however, said that the\nforest spirits are black (or dark), while the sea spirits are white (or\nlight). I was told several times that the spirits have long hair and\nbeards (the Andamanese having, as a rule, no beard, and their hair,\nbeing frizzy, never growing to any length). Their arms and legs are\nsaid to be abnormally long, while they have only small bodies. Though\nthere is no uniformity in the way in which the natives describe the\nspirits of the jungle and the sea, there is a notable tendency to\nassociate them with the grotesque, the ugly, and the fearful. There is\na common belief that the spirits, both of the jungle and of the sea,\ncarry about with them lights, which several men and women claim to have\nseen.\n\nIn reply to the question as to how the spirits of the forest and the\nsea originated, the natives all agree in saying that they are the\nspirits of dead men and women.\n\nThe jungle spirits live in a village (or villages) in the forest. There\nis a belief that mortals wandering by themselves in the jungle have\nbeen captured by the spirits. Should the captive show any fear, my\ninformants said, the spirits would kill him, but if he were brave they\nwould take him to their village, detaining him for a time, and then\nreleasing him to return to his friends. A man to whom such an adventure\nhas happened will be endowed for the rest of his life with power to\nperform magic. He will pay occasional visits to his friends the\nspirits. The natives told me of one such man who died not many years\nago. At irregular intervals he used to wander off into the jungle by\nhimself and remain absent for a few hours, sometimes for a day or two.\nHe returned to the village after such an absence looking strange and\nwearing ornaments of shredded palm-leaf (koro) which he claimed had\nbeen placed upon him by the spirits.\n\nSave for persons who have made friends with them, and have thereby\nbecome endowed with magical powers, all contact with the spirits of the\njungle and the sea, or with the spirit of a dead man, is dangerous. The\nspirits are believed to be the cause of all sickness and of all deaths\nresulting from sickness. As a man wanders in the jungle or by the sea,\nthe spirits come invisibly and strike him, whereupon he falls ill, and\nmay die. A man or woman is more likely to be attacked by the spirits if\nhe or she is alone, and it is therefore always better to be in company\nwhen away from the village. The spirits rarely venture into the village\nitself, though they may prowl round it, particularly at night. They are\nmore dangerous at night than during the day.\n\nThere are many objects that are believed to have the power of keeping\nspirits at a distance, and thus of preserving human beings from the\ndanger of sickness. Amongst the most important of these are fire,\narrows, human bones, bees\u2019-wax, and red paint. A man or a woman leaving\na hut to go only a few yards at night will always carry a fire-brand as\na protection against spirits that may be prowling in the neighbourhood.\nIf the night be dark a torch is carried in addition to the fire-stick.\n\nThe Andamanese will never whistle at night, as they believe that the\nnoise of whistling would attract spirits. On the other hand they\nbelieve that singing will keep the spirits away.\n\nThe spirits that haunt the woods and waters of a man\u2019s own home are\nregarded as being less dangerous to him than those of a country in\nwhich he is a stranger. A man of the Aka-\u010cari tribe who was with me in\nRutland Island had a cold on his chest. He asked me for permission to\nreturn to his own country, explaining that the spirits of Rutland\nIsland were, so to speak, at enmity with him, and that if he stayed\nlonger he would be seriously ill, and perhaps die, while on the other\nhand, the spirits of his own country were friendly towards him, and\nonce he was amongst them he would quickly recover.\n\nThere is a belief that the spirits feed on the flesh of dead men and\nwomen. The jungle spirits eat those who are buried on land, and the\nJ\u030curua devour those who are drowned or otherwise lost in the sea.\n\nMr Man\u2019s account of the spirits of the jungle and sea contains an\nimportant error, which needs to be pointed out. He writes as though\nthere were only one E\u0331rem \u010cauga (jungle spirit) and only one J\u030curuwin\n(sea spirit), whereas each of these names is the name not of a single\nindividual but of a class of supernatural beings of which there is an\nindefinite number. The following is Mr Man\u2019s account:\u2014E\u0331rem-\u010dauga-la,\nthe \u201cevil spirit of the woods, has a numerous progeny by his wife \u010cana\nBadgi-lola, who remains at home with her daughters and younger\nchildren, while her husband and grown up sons roam about the jungles\nwith a lighted torch attached to their left legs, in order that the\nformer may injure any unhappy wights who may meet them unprotected, and\nin the dark; he generally makes his victims ill, or kills them by\nwounding them internally with invisible arrows, and if he is successful\nin causing death, it is supposed that they feast upon the raw flesh.\u201d\n\u201cAs regards J\u030curuwin, the evil spirit of the sea, they say that he too\nis invisible, and lives in the sea with his wife and children, who help\nhim to devour the bodies of those who are drowned or buried at sea;\nfish constitute the staple of his food, but he also occasionally, by\nway of variety, attacks the aborigines he finds fishing on the shores\nor by the creeks. The weapon he uses is a spear, and persons who are\nseized with cramp or any sudden illness, on returning from, or while on\nthe water are said to have been \u2018speared\u2019 by J\u030curuwin. He has various\nsubmarine residences, and boats for travelling under the surface of the\nsea, while he carries with him a net, in which he places all the\nvictims, human or piscine, he may succeed in capturing [70].\u201d\n\nMr Portman correctly translates the word J\u030curuwin as meaning \u201cthe\nspirits of the sea\u201d using the plural and not the singular [71].\n\nFurther references to the Andamanese beliefs about the spirits will be\nfound later in the chapter. It is necessary at this point to consider\nan entirely different class of beings.\n\nThe Andaman Islanders personify the phenomena of nature with which they\nare acquainted, such as the sun and the moon. Before relating in detail\nwhat could be learnt about their beliefs on these matters, it is\nnecessary to call attention to one feature of these beliefs. Different\nstatements, not only of different informants, but even of the same\ninformant, are often quite contradictory. For example, it is sometimes\nsaid that lightning is a person, and at other times it is said that\nlightning is a fire-brand thrown across the sky by a mythical being\nnamed Biliku. These two statements, which to all logical thinking are\nincompatible, are both given, and apparently both equally believed, by\nthe same person. Many examples of such contradictions will be found in\nwhat follows, and it is important to point out their existence\nbeforehand.\n\nAbout the sun and moon, the most usual statement in all the tribes is\nthat the sun is the wife of the moon and the stars are their children.\nIn the North Andaman the moon is Maia Dula (Aka-\u010cari) or Maia \u010cirikli\n(Aka-J\u030ceru), the sun is Mimi Diu and their children the stars are \u010catlo,\nthe larger ones, and Kata\u0144 the smaller. \u010catlo is the name of a species\nof finely marked beetle, and kata\u0144 is the name of the common fire-fly.\nIndividual stars or constellations are not recognized.\n\nAnother version from the same tribes is that the moon (Dula) is female,\nand has a husband named Maia Tok, while the sun (Diu or To\u0331rodiu) is\nmale.\n\nIn the Aka-J\u030ceru tribe there is a belief that the moon (Maia \u010cirikli)\ncan, when he wishes, turn himself into a pig, and come down to earth\nand feed on the things that the pigs eat. There is a legend that on one\noccasion the moon thus turned himself into a pig and came down to earth\nto eat the \u010duei fruit. A man named Maia \u010coinyop met the moon (in the\nform of a pig) in the forest, and shot him with an arrow. \u010cirikli (the\nmoon) took out his knife and killed the unfortunate \u010coinyop, cutting\noff his head, which he left behind, and taking the body up to the sky\nwhere he ate it.\n\nIn the A-Pu\u010dikwar tribe the most common statement is that the moon\n(Puki) is male and that the sun (Puto) is his wife. A different\nstatement from the same tribe is that the moon is female and is the\nwife of a being named Tomo. Tomo seems to be to some extent identified\nwith the sun. Thus one informant said that it is Tomo who sends the\nfine weather, and that it is he who sends the daylight every day. Where\nTomo lives, in the sky, it is always day and is always fine. When the\nnatives die their spirits go up to the sky and live with Tomo. We shall\nsee in the next chapter that, according to some of the legends, Tomo is\nthe first ancestor of the Andamanese.\n\nYet another version is that the moon was made by Tomo out of opalescent\nstone, and it is Tomo who, in some way, regulates its passage across\nthe sky.\n\nA belief about the moon which is found in all the tribes, both of the\nNorth and the South, is that he will be very angry if there is any\nfire, or any bright light, visible when he rises in the evening shortly\nafter sundown. At such times the natives are careful to cover up their\nfires so that they only smoulder without flame. Mr Man refers to this\ncustom. \u201cFrom fear of displeasing Maia Ogar (Mr Moon), during the first\nfew evenings of the third quarter, when he rises after sundown, they\npreserve silence, cease from any work on which they may be engaged\u2014even\nhalting should they be travelling\u2014and almost extinguishing any light or\nfire that may be burning. This is owing to the belief that he is\njealous of attention being distracted to other objects than himself at\nsuch a time, or of any other light being employed than that which he\nhad been graciously pleased to afford so abundantly. By the time the\nmoon has ascended a few degrees, however, they restore their fires and\nresume their former occupations, as they consider that they have\nsufficiently complied with Maia Ogar\u2019s wishes and requirements. The\nglowing aspect of the full moon on its first appearance above the\nhorizon is supposed to indicate that Maia Ogar is enraged at finding\nsome persons neglecting to observe these conciliatory measures; there\nis also an idea that, if he be greatly annoyed, he will punish them by\nwithdrawing or diminishing the light of his countenance [72].\u201d\n\nAs regards the waxing and waning of the moon, Mr Man says that these\nare explained by the Aka-Bea \u201cby saying that they are occasioned by\n\u2018his\u2019 applying a coating of cloud to his person by degrees, after the\nmanner of their own use of ko\u0331iob (red paint) and tala-o\u0331g (white clay)\nand then gradually wiping it off [73].\u201d In the Aka-Kede tribe the\nnatives say that as Maia \u010cirike (Sir Moon) goes across the sky, his\ntongue hangs out of his mouth, sometimes more, sometimes less, and that\nit is the tongue that is visible, that gives the light. I did not hear\nany explanation of the waxing and waning of the moon in the tribes of\nthe North Andaman. In these tribes the new moon is called Dula e-tire,\ni.e. the \u201cbaby moon,\u201d the word e-tire denoting the young offspring of\nan animal or a human being.\n\nWith regard to a lunar eclipse Mr Man writes that \u201cin case Maia Ogar\nshould be so ill-advised as permanently to withhold his light or render\nhimself in other ways still more disagreeable, whenever the moon is\neclipsed some persons at once seize their bows and twang them as\nrapidly as possible, thereby producing a rattling sound as if\ndischarging a large number of arrows, while others commence at once\nsharpening their rata (arrows). Of course this hostile demonstration is\nnever lost upon the moon, who does not venture to hurt those who show\nthemselves ready to give him so uncomfortable a reception. Their\nimmunity from harm on these occasions has given rise to some joking at\nthe expense of the luminary in question, for, during the continuance of\nthe eclipse, they shout in inviting tones to the hidden orb as\nfollows:\u2014Ogar, laden balak ban lebe \u014b\u2019idoati! doati! doati! (O Moon, I\nwill give you the seed of the balak! show yourself! appear! appear!)\nThis is said derisively, for, although these seeds are largely consumed\nby the pigs, the aborigines do not consider them fit for food [74].\u201d\n\nIt may be noted that the invitation to the moon to eat balak seeds is\nnot perhaps derisive, but may be connected with the belief that the\nmoon can turn himself into a pig in order to feed on the things that\npigs eat.\n\nThere was no eclipse of the moon during my stay in the islands. The\nnatives of the North Andaman told me that on such an occasion they\nfrighten the moon into showing himself again by lighting the end of a\nbamboo arrow-shaft, and shooting it from a bow in the direction of the\nmoon. Another custom of which they told me is to take plumes of\nshredded Tetranthera wood (\u010delmo or u\u01f0) and blow on them towards the\nmoon.\n\nMr Man states that \u201ca solar eclipse alarms them too much to allow of\ntheir indulging in jests or threats, &c.: during the time it lasts they\nall remain silent and motionless, as if in momentary expectation of\nsome calamity [75].\u201d\n\nThere are several different accounts in the North Andaman of the\nphenomena of day and night. The night is often personified and is\ncalled Mimi Bat (Lady Night). One version is that it is she who makes\nthe night while Maia To\u0331rodiu makes the day. Diu is the name of the sun,\nand to\u0331ro-diu really means \u201cthe full sun\u201d and refers to the middle part\nof the day when the sun is well up in the sky.\n\nAnother Northern version is that the daylight is made by a being named\nTauto\u0331bitatmo\u0331 who lives in the sky. He shuts up the day under a stone\nevery evening and lets it out every morning. Of Tauto\u0331bitatmo\u0331 I was told\nthat he is sometimes to be seen in the evening sky, but I was not able\nto discover to what natural phenomenon reference was made. I was also\nunable to discover the meaning of the name, which is a compound, tau\nbeing the sky.\n\nStill another version from the same tribes is that it is a being named\nMaia \u010cara who makes the daylight. \u010cara seems to be the equivalent of\nthe Tomo of the A-Pu\u010dikwar and other Southern tribes. He is sometimes\nsaid to have been the first ancestor, and sometimes the creator, of the\nAndamanese. He lives in the sky.\n\nAnother belief about the night connects it with the spirits. The Lau\n(spirits) in the sky, wrap up the night in a cloth or mat. When they\nunroll the cloth it becomes dark. The natives of the North Andaman\nformerly called cloth lau-ot-\u01f0ulu, from a stem -\u01f0ulu meaning \u201ccold.\u201d\nThey were only acquainted with cloth through seeing it used by the\naliens who visited their shores, and whom they called spirits (Lau).\n\nIn the North Andaman thunder and lightning are commonly personified.\nThe lightning is Ele or Ali, and the thunder is Korude or Korule. Some\nof the natives spoke of Mimi Ele (female) and others of Maia Ele\n(male). He lives in the sky, which is regarded as being made of stone\n(or rock) and is called tau-meo (the sky-stone). The lightning is due\nto his shaking his foot. One rather obscure statement was to the effect\nthat Ele spends most of his time asleep or lying down and doing\nnothing. When the weather gets bad Lato (a being that I could not\nidentify), comes and worries Ele and wakes him up. Then Ele gets angry\nand shakes his leg. This is the lightning.\n\nThunder (Korude) also lives in the sky. It is said that he makes the\nthunder by means of a large round stone. One account is that he rolls\nthe stone about over the sky. Another is that he makes the stone hot,\nand this produces the thunder.\n\nAn entirely different explanation of thunder and lightning, which is\nfound in all the tribes, is that they are made by two beings named\nTarai and Biliku, to be described later on in this chapter.\n\nI never heard the rain (\u01f0i\u010de\u0331r) spoken of as a person in the same way as\nthunder and lightning. One explanation of rain is that the sky-stone\n(tau-meo) gets cold, and this turns the mist (milite) into rain.\nAnother is that in the sky there is a large hollow or pool, which gets\nfilled with water and then overflows. Still another version is that the\nrain is made by a being (or beings) named \u010caito\u014b, who seems to be\nfemale and lives in the sky. I could not obtain any satisfactory\ninformation about her.\n\nIn all parts of the islands the rainbow is believed to have some\nconnection with the spirits of the jungle or of the sea. One very\ncommon statement is that it is a bridge of cane that stretches between\nthis world and the world of departed spirits. It is along the rainbow\nthat the spirits travel when they visit the earth. It is necessary to\ncorrect a statement by Mr Portman on this matter. In connection with\nthe Aka-Bea word for the rainbow, pidga-l\u2019ar-\u010dauga, he says \u201cThe root\npidga (a rainbow) must not be confounded with the root pidga \u2018a cane\u2019\nor \u2018rattan.\u2019 The Andamanese have certain legends regarding the uses of\nthe rainbow, and these have been hitherto understood as referring to\n\u2018canes.\u2019 Pidga-l\u2019ar-\u010dauga means \u2018the rainbow (bridge) by which the\nspirits (cross)\u2019 [76].\u201d Mr Portman is in error. The word pidga means\n\u201ccane\u201d and the whole word means \u201cthe cane of the spirits.\u201d It is the\nwhole word that is the name of the rainbow, and not the word pidga. An\nexactly similar compound name for the rainbow exists in each of the\nlanguages of the Great Andaman. The name of the particular species of\nlarge cane varies, being pidga in Aka-Bea, peta in A-Pu\u010dikwar, pir in\nAka-J\u030ceru, and so on. Apart from the fact that the natives themselves\nsay that the rainbow is a \u201ccane,\u201d Mr Portman would have us believe that\nin each of the different languages there are two exactly similar words,\ndifferent in the different languages, one of which means \u201ccane\u201d and the\nother \u201crainbow,\u201d while there is no connection between the words. Thus\nAka-Bea would have pidga meaning \u201ca kind of cane\u201d and pidga meaning \u201ca\nrainbow.\u201d Aka-J\u030ceru would have pir meaning \u201ccane\u201d and pir meaning\n\u201crainbow.\u201d\n\nThe rainbow is generally regarded as an evil omen, being believed to be\na precursor of sickness. One Aka-J\u030ceru statement is that it is made by a\nbeing called To\u0331lito\u0331\u014b and that when it appears somebody will be ill.\n\nThe only explanation of the tides that I heard was to the effect that\nthey are caused by a fish, a species of Tetrodon, called \u010dolmo in\nAka-J\u030ceru and pit in Aka-Kede, which drinks up the water and then lets\nit out again.\n\nThe Andaman Islands are occasionally visited by earthquakes. An\nAka-Kede account of how earthquakes are caused is that when a man dies\nhe goes to the spirit world which is beneath the earth. The spirits\nhold a ceremony. My informant spoke of the ceremony as Kimil, which is\nthe name of the initiation ceremonies. At this ceremony they have a\ndance similar to the peace-making dance described in the last chapter,\nbut instead of erecting a screen such as is used in that ceremony, they\nmake use of the rainbow. As they shake the rainbow in dancing this\ncauses earthquakes. The ceremony which newly-arrived spirits have to\nundergo in the world after death is a po\u0331ro\u0331to kimil, i.e., the initiate\neats po\u0331ro\u0331to (Caryota sobolifera).\n\nAmong the most important of the Andamanese beliefs are those relating\nto the weather and the seasons. These are under the control of two\nbeings named Biliku, Bilik or Puluga, and Tarai, Teriya, or Daria.\nThere are a certain number of points in which the statements of one\ninformant may differ from those of another in connection with these two\nmythical beings, but there are also a certain number of points on which\nthere is absolute unanimity in all the tribes of the Great Andaman.\n\nThe first belief in which there is entire unanimity is that of the\nconnection of Biliku and Tarai with the two chief winds that are known\nin the Andamans. Biliku lives in the north-east and is connected with\nthe north-east monsoon. Tarai lives in the south-west and is connected\nwith the south-west monsoon. The connection is shown in the names of\nthese winds, which are as follows:\u2014\n\n\n Language N.E. Wind S.W. Wind\n\n Aka-Cari, Aka-Bo, Aka-Kora, Aka-Jeru Biliku boto Tarai boto\n Oko-Juwoi, Aka-Kol and A-Pucikwar Bilik to Teriya\n Akar-Bale Puluga toa Daria\n Aka-Bea Puluga ta Deria\n\n\nIn the Northern tribes the word bo\u0331to means \u201cwind.\u201d Biliku bo\u0331to must be\ntranslated \u201cthe Biliku wind,\u201d and Tarai bo\u0331to is similarly \u201cthe Tarai\nwind.\u201d It would be incorrect to translate the name Biliku bo\u0331to as \u201cthe\nwind of Biliku,\u201d for this would be rendered in Aka-J\u030ceru by Biliku i\u010do\nbo\u0331to. In A-Pu\u010dikwar the south-west wind is called Teriya simply, the\nname of the mythical being connected with the wind being used as the\nname of the wind itself, just as is the case with the name Ele\n(lightning). On the other hand the north-east wind is called not Bilik\nbut Bilik to\u0331. The same thing occurs also in the Akar-Bale and Aka-Bea\nlanguages.\n\nMr Portman translates the Aka-Bea term Puluga ta as \u201cGod\u2019s wind,\u201d and\nhe adds, in explanation, \u201cPuluga ta means \u2018God\u2019s wind,\u2019 and the reason\nfor the name is not known. Some vague ideas regarding the direction of\nGod\u2019s dwelling in the sky are the probable origin of the term [77].\u201d As\nregards the translation of the Andamanese name Puluga by the English\n\u201cGod\u201d more will be said later. Leaving that aside, it is important to\nnote that Puluga ta does not mean \u201cPuluga\u2019s wind.\u201d The word for wind in\nAka-Bea is given by Mr Portman himself as wul-\u014ba, and the Akar-Bale and\nA-Pu\u010dikwar equivalents are poat-\u014ba and po\u0331te, being forms of the same\nstem as the Northern bo\u0331to. The translation of \u201cPuluga\u2019s wind\u201d in\nA-Pu\u010dikwar would be Bilik l\u2019iye po\u0331te, but this is not a phrase that the\nnatives ever use. It is not possible to translate \u201cPuluga\u2019s wind\u201d\naccurately in Akar-Bale. Puluga poat-\u014ba would mean \u201cPuluga blowing\u201d the\n-\u014ba being a verbal ending. In any case Bilik to\u0331, and Puluga toa are not\nto be translated as meaning \u201cPuluga\u2019s wind.\u201d\n\nIt may be observed, in reference to Mr Portman\u2019s statement, that the\nnotions of the Andamanese as to the direction of the dwelling of Puluga\nin the sky are very far from vague. The natives all agree that Puluga\nor Biliku lives in the direction from which the north-east wind blows,\nreally N.N.E. This is shown in geographical names. For example the side\nof Havelock Island that faces north-east is called Puluga-l\u2019ar-mugu,\nmeaning \u201cthe side that faces Puluga,\u201d from ar-mugu meaning \u201cfront\u201d or\n\u201cface.\u201d\n\nThere are two matters, then, on which there is absolute unanimity in\nall the tribes of the Great Andaman, one being the connection of Biliku\n(or Puluga) with the north-east and of Tarai (or Deria) with the\nsouth-west, and the other being the connection of these two beings with\nthe winds that blow from these two opposite points of the compass.\n\nThe connection of these two beings with winds is shown in another way\nin the A-Pu\u010dikwar tribe, where the winds are divided into two\ndivisions. One division contains only the south-west wind, which is of\nextreme regularity, and blows steadily for about five months in every\nyear. This wind is called Teriya. The other division contains all the\nother winds, and they are collectively denoted by the term Bilik. They\nare distinguished by names, as J\u030cila Bilik (the east Bilik, from \u01f0ila,\neast), Ko\u0331ico Bilik (the west Bilik), Me\u0331tepur Bilik, \u010co\u0331liatum Bilik,\nRartear Bilik, and Ko\u0331i\u010dor-to\u0331\u014b Bilik. Here we find the name Bilik used\nnot as the name of a single person, but as a common name for a class of\nbeings who are the winds personified. The same use of the term is found\nalso in the Aka-Ko\u0331l tribe.\n\nEven in the Akar-Bale tribe something of the same kind is found. One\nAkar-Bale man said that Puluga has two brothers, J\u030cila Puluga (East\nPuluga) and Koai\u010do Puluga (West Puluga); the one sends all the easterly\nwinds and the other all the westerly ones.\n\nIn the Andamans the year is divided into two nearly equal portions.\nDuring the season of the south-west monsoon, which lasts from May to\nSeptember, the wind blows steadily from the south-west. This is the\nrainy season. Violent storms never or only very rarely occur during the\nseason of the south-west wind. From December to March the wind blows\nmostly from the N.N.E., occasionally changing to E.N.E. or N.E. In the\nperiods at the change of the monsoon (from N.E. to S.W. in April and\nMay, and from S.W. to N.E. in October and November) the wind is\nvariable, and may blow at times from E.S.E. or W.N.W.\n\nThe south-west wind (properly speaking W.S.W.) is identified, as we\nhave seen with Tarai (Deria). Although Biliku (Puluga) is specially\nconnected with the north-east wind, yet all the winds other than the\nsouth-west are commonly supposed to be sent by Biliku. Thus we have\nseen that in the A-Pu\u010dikwar tribe the different winds are named, each\nof them (with the exception of the south-west) being a Bilik.\n\nIt comes about, in this way, that the year is divided into two\nportions, one of which is specially connected with Biliku (Puluga),\nwhile the other is specially connected with Tarai (Deria). These two\nseasons are not quite of equal length. The Tarai season lasts only\nwhile the south-west monsoon is blowing, which, in an average year, is\nbetween four and five months. The other seven months are connected with\nBiliku and are divided into three portions, (1) the stormy season of\nOctober and November, (2) the cold season of December to February, and\n(3) the hot season of March and April.\n\nThere are many points relating to Biliku and Tarai about which there is\nno general agreement amongst the tribes, or, in some cases, even within\nthe same tribe. In the North Andaman Biliku is regarded as female, and\nis called Mimi Biliku, while Tarai is male and is called Maia Tarai.\nThis is so in all the four tribes, Aka-\u010cari, Aka-Bo, Aka-Ko\u0331ra and\nAka-J\u030ceru. A statement that is frequently made by the natives of these\ntribes is that Tarai and Biliku are husband and wife. While this is the\nmost common statement, there are, however, other versions of the\nmatter. In order to show the lack of uniformity in statements about\nBiliku and Tarai in the Northern tribes I reproduce a few extracts from\nmy note-books written down exactly as they were given to me.\n\n(1) Biliku is the wife of Tarai and they have a child named Per\u01f0ido.\n(This statement was made to me a great many times in the North Andaman,\nand may be regarded as the most usual form of the belief.)\n\n(2) Biliku is the wife of Tarai. Their children are the sun and moon.\n(Heard only once.)\n\n(3) The husband of Biliku is Per\u01f0ido and her children are Totaimo, Mite\n(cicada) and Tarai.\n\n(4) Biliku is unmarried, but she has a son Per\u01f0ido, and her other\nchildren are To\u0331ro\u0331i, \u010celene, \u010coto\u0331t, and \u010cerei. These four are the names\nof birds.\n\n(5) Biliku is the wife of Tarai. Their children are To\u0331ro\u0331i, Taka, \u010coto\u0331t,\nPoruato\u0331ko, Kelil, Co\u0331pcura, Benye, Biratkoro, \u010cereo, Milidu, Bobelo,\nKo\u0331lo. These are all names of birds.\n\n(6) Biliku has a husband To\u0331ro\u0331i (a bird). Tarai has a wife Kelil (a\nbird).\n\nIn the Aka-Kede tribe the most common statement, at any rate in the\nnorthern part of the tribe, is that Bilika is female, and that Tarai is\nmale. One Aka-Kede man, from the southern part of the tribe said that\nBilika was male.\n\nIn the Aka-Ko\u0331l and A-Pu\u010dikwar tribes Bilik is generally spoken of as\nbeing male, and Teriya is also male. Other versions from these tribes\nare as follows:\u2014\n\n(1) Bilik is female and Teriya is her husband. Their children are the\nwinds, \u010coliatum Bilik, Me\u0331tepur Bilik, and Wo\u0331i\u010do-l\u2019arpat Bilik.\n\n(2) There is a male Bilik and a female Bilik, who are husband and wife.\nTheir children are Ko\u0331i\u010do\u0331r-to\u0331\u014b Bilik, Ko\u0331i\u010do Bilik, Jila Bilik, Me\u0331tepur\nBilik, Rartear Bilik, and Teriya. These are the winds.\n\n(3) Bilik is male. His wife is In \u010caria, and their children are Kao\n(prawn) and Mo\u0331rua (the sky).\n\nIn the Akar-Bale tribe the most usual statement is that both Puluga and\nDaria are male, and this was apparently also the common belief of the\nAka-Bea.\n\nIn the North Andaman the name Biliku is also the word for \u201cspider,\u201d but\nno meaning (save as the name of the mythical being) was discovered for\nthe name Tarai. In the South and Middle Andaman no meaning was\ndiscovered, either for the name Bilik or Puluga, or for the name Teriya\nor Deria. Although this book does not deal with the Little Andaman, it\nis worth while to mention that there also the natives believe in a\nmythical person who lives in the north-east and sends the storms. This\nbeing is female and is named \u00d6luga. The monitor lizard is also called\n\u00f6luga in the language of the Little Andaman. It is obvious, however,\nthat the names Biliku, Puluga, \u00d6luga are all of them different forms of\nthe same word.\n\nAs we have already seen, it is Biliku and Tarai who send the winds.\nTarai sends the south-west wind, which brings the rain. Biliku sends\nthe other winds which bring either fine weather, or, at times, violent\nstorms. One Akar-Bale account of the matter (literally translated as\ntold to me) is as follows. \u201cOnce upon a time Puluga and Daria were\ngreat friends, but they quarrelled. Puluga said that he was the bigger\n(more important). Daria said that he was. So now they are always\nquarrelling. Puluga sends the wind for one period. Then Daria sends his\nwind.\u201d\n\nAccording to the statement of an Akar-Bale man, Puluga makes the wind\nby fanning with a very large kwar-to\u014b leaf.\n\nRain and thunder and lightning that come with the south-west wind are\nbelieved to be due to Tarai. Storms that come during the season\nconnected with Biliku are made by Biliku and are due to her anger. When\na big storm comes the natives say \u201cBiliku is angry.\u201d Lightning is\nexplained as being a fire-brand thrown by Biliku across the sky when\nshe is angry, and thunder is said to be her voice growling. Another\nexplanation of lightning is that it is a pearl-shell, called be in the\nNorth Andaman, thrown by Biliku, the bright flash of the\nmother-of-pearl being seen as it crosses the sky. Still another\nstatement from the North Andaman is that Biliku makes the lightning by\nstriking a pearl-shell (be) against a stone.\n\nAlthough Biliku is generally mentioned when a native is asked about\nlightning, yet Tarai also wields the lightning and the thunder. On one\noccasion when I was talking to a native I referred to the thunder and\nlightning that were at the moment coming up from the south-west, making\na remark to the effect that Biliku was getting angry about something,\nand was corrected by him with \u201cNo, that is Tarai.\u201d\n\nThere are a certain number of actions that are believed by the natives\nto arouse the anger of Biliku (Puluga), and thereby cause storms. There\nare three of these that are of importance.\n\n(1) Burning or melting bees\u2019-wax.\n\n(2) Killing a cicada, or making a noise, particularly a noise of\ncutting or banging wood, during the time that the cicada is \u201csinging\u201d\nin the morning and evening.\n\n(3) The use of certain articles of food, of which the chief are the\nseeds of the Entada scandens, the pith of the Caryota sobolifera, two\nspecies of Dioscorea (yam), and certain edible roots, of which may be\nmentioned those called in Aka-J\u030ceru, labo, mikulu, \u01f0i and lo\u0331ito.\n\nIn this matter there is an entire unanimity of belief in all the tribes\nof the Great Andaman. All the natives agree in saying that any of these\nthree actions causes the anger of Biliku or Puluga and so brings bad\nweather.\n\nThe natives do, as a matter of fact, melt all the bees\u2019-wax they\nobtain, in order to purify it, and render it suitable for use in the\nvarious ways in which they employ it. Also they do make use of all the\nplants mentioned under (3) whenever they are in season. They give\nvarious explanations of this variance between their precepts and their\nactions. Some of my informants said that though these actions may bring\nrain and storms, yet they would rather submit to the bad weather than\ngo without some of their most prized vegetable foods. Others again say\nthat there is always a chance that Biliku may not notice that the\nplants have been disturbed, particularly if no fragments are left lying\nabout the camp, and if, when taking the roots, the creepers are not\ndisturbed. Another statement is that it is really only during the\nseason of storms, called the Kimil season in Aka-J\u030ceru, that it is\ndangerous to eat these foods, that is, during the months of October and\nNovember. After this season has passed there is no longer any danger of\nviolent storms and the foods in question may be freely eaten.\nNevertheless the natives do eat these foods in the months of October\nand November.\n\nMr Man records the native beliefs about bees\u2019-wax and the plants in\nquestion. \u201cThere is an idea current that if during the first half of\nthe rainy season they eat the Caryota sobolifera, or pluck or eat the\nseeds of the Entada purs\u0153tha, or gather yams or other edible roots,\nanother deluge would be the consequence, for Puluga is supposed to\nrequire these for his own consumption at that period of the year; the\nrestriction, however does not extend to the fallen seeds of the Entada\npurs\u0153tha, which may be collected and eaten at any time with impunity.\nAnother of the offences visited by Puluga with storms is the burning of\nbee\u2019s wax, the smell of which is said to be peculiarly obnoxious to\nhim. Owing to this belief it is a common practice secretly to burn wax\nwhen a person against whom they bear ill-will is engaged in fishing,\nhunting, or the like, the object being to spoil his sport and cause him\nas much discomfort as possible; hence arises the saying amongst them,\nwhen suddenly overtaken by a storm, that some one must be burning wax\n[78].\u201d\n\nIt must be noted that it is not only the \u201cburning,\u201d but also the\nmelting of bees\u2019-wax that angers Puluga. As regards the plants\nmentioned by Mr Man none of these is available for food during the\nearly part of the rainy season. At that time the yams are not formed,\nthe pith of the Caryota palm is not ripe and is uneatable, and the only\navailable seeds of the Entada would be those of the last season that\nhad not fallen from the pods or that had lain on the ground without\nhaving germinated. Thus the prohibition as stated by Mr Man amounts to\nnothing. The subject will be discussed in a later chapter. It may be\nremarked, however, that it is a fact easily to be observed that the\nnatives do regard the gathering of these vegetable foods during the\nlater portion of the rainy season and during the first part of the cool\nseason (i.e. from October to December), as being an action that may\noffend Biliku. I was myself able to observe this on several occasions,\nas when once, at the very end of the rainy season, I, not then knowing\nthe belief, asked a native to cut for me one of the pods of the Entada\nas a botanical specimen, whereupon the native, after fulfilling my\nrequest, explained to me that there would probably be a storm next day\nas the result of our action.\n\nIn all the tribes of the Great Andaman I found a belief that Biliku or\nPuluga will be angry if anybody makes a noise, particularly a noise of\nchopping, breaking or banging wood, during the time the cicada is\nsinging. The cicada \u201csings\u201d as the natives call it, during the short\ninterval between dawn and sunrise, and during that between sunset and\ndarkness. It is at these times that no noise may be made. The\nAndamanese do observe this custom, and refrain from making any noise at\nsuch times. For instance, if a man were singing, he would cease until\nthe cicada were silent again. In all the tribes I found that this\nprohibition was connected in the minds of the natives with Puluga, the\nreason of the custom being always explained to me by saying that any\nbreach of it would infallibly bring bad weather. In the North Andaman\nthe cicada (mite) is commonly spoken of as the \u201cchild\u201d of Biliku,\nBiliku ot-tire.\n\nMr Man refers to this custom. In one place he says that the first\nparents of the Andamanese were told by Puluga \u201cthat, though they were\nto work in the wet months, they must not do so after sundown, because\nby doing so they would worry the butu, which are under Puluga\u2019s special\nprotection. Any noise, such as working (kopke) with an adze, would\ncause the butu\u2019s head to ache, and that would be a serious matter.\nDuring the cold and dry seasons work may be carried on day and night,\nas the butu is then seldom seen, and cannot be disturbed [79].\u201d\n\nThe butu here mentioned is the cicada. The prohibition is not, however,\nas Mr Man says, against working, but against making a noise. Nor does\nthe prohibition against noise extend to the whole night, but only to\nthe short interval between sunset and darkness, for it is during this\ninterval that the cicada is singing. As soon as the cicada is silent\nyou may make as much noise as you please.\n\nAnother reference by Mr Man to the same custom is as follows: \u201cBetween\ndawn and sunrise they will do no work, save what is noiseless, lest the\nsun should be offended and cause an eclipse, storm, or other misfortune\nto overtake them. If, therefore, they have occasion to start on a\njourney or hunting expedition at so early an hour, they proceed as\nquietly as possible, and refrain from the practice, observed at other\ntimes of the day, of testing the strength of their bow-strings, as the\nsnapping noise caused thereby is one of those to which the sun objects\n[80].\u201d\n\nThis is really the same prohibition as that already mentioned, against\nmaking a noise when the cicada is singing. The interesting point, which\nwill be discussed in a later chapter, is that Mr Man\u2019s informant\nassociated the prohibition not with Puluga, but with the sun. All the\nnatives with whom I talked on the matter said that they would make no\nnoise at such a time for fear of offending the cicada, and therefore\nPuluga or Biliku, and so bringing a storm.\n\nAs regards the prohibition against killing the cicada, this seems to\nrefer only to the imago. So far as I was able to observe, the natives\ndo carefully avoid killing the cicada in its full-grown form. On the\nother hand the grub of the cicada is regularly killed and eaten, being\nregarded as a delicacy. It is only eaten during the months of October\nand November.\n\nIn connection with the cicada, and with the weather, there is a rite\nwhich was described to me, but which I did not see performed. According\nto the account given of this rite, which is called \u201ckilling the\ncicada,\u201d its purpose is to produce fine weather. It takes place in\nDecember, at the end of the season during which they eat the grub. When\nthe time agreed upon for the performance of the ceremony arrives, all\nthe members of the community are careful to be in the camp before\nsunset. As soon as the sun sets and the cicad\u00e6 begin their shrill cry,\nall the men, women and children present begin to make as much noise as\nthey possibly can, by banging on the sounding-board, striking the\nground with bamboos, beating pieces of wood together, or hammering on\nthe sides of canoes, while at the same time shouting. They continue the\nnoise, which entirely drowns that of the cicada, until after darkness\nhas fallen. The rite may be performed, I believe, two or more times, on\nsuccessive evenings. My informant explained the rite by saying that the\nnatives have been eating the cicada, and the rite is intended to \u201ckill\u201d\nthose that are left. After the rite the cicada disappears and is not\nseen or heard for some weeks, and there follow four months of fine\nweather with little rain.\n\nThe beliefs relating to bees\u2019-wax, to the various edible roots, and to\nthe cicada, are the same in all the Great Andaman tribes, and are by\nfar the most important of those connected with Biliku. In the North\nAndaman Biliku is supposed to be angry if any one kills a biliku\n(spider), a reo (a species of insect making a noise like a cicada,\nduring the daytime, which I often heard, but never saw), or a \u010datlo (a\nspecies of beetle). There is also a bird, which I was not able to\nidentify, called to\u0331ro\u0331i, which belongs to Biliku and may not be killed.\n\nIn the A-Pu\u010dikwar tribe it is said that two species of fish, called\nunakoro and liwat belong to Bilik and may not be killed. A mollusc,\ncalled towa, also belongs to Bilik, and is for that reason never eaten.\nA bird called Bilik-l\u2019ar-dala (probably the same bird that is called\nto\u0331ro\u0331i in the North Andaman) may not be killed.\n\nIn the Akar-Bale tribe I was told that two kinds of wood, bukura and\nworago, must not be used for firewood, for fear of offending Puluga, to\nwhom they belong. Bukura is a species of Diospyros (ebony).\n\nThe only punishment that Biliku ever inflicts on human beings when she\nis angry with them for any reason, is to send violent storms. The way\nto stop a storm seems to be to frighten Biliku. One means of doing this\nis to throw the leaves of the Mimusops littoralis in the fire. These\nleaves explode with the heating of the juices and make a crackling or\npopping noise, which it is said that Biliku dislikes. I believe,\nhowever, that if any one were thus to burn Mimusops leaves during fine\nweather, it would be regarded as likely to cause a storm. The most\nefficacious means of stopping a storm is to do some of the things that\nBiliku most dislikes. To burn bees\u2019-wax, or to go into the jungle and\ndamage or destroy the creepers that belong to her, these are the heroic\nremedies against Biliku\u2019s anger.\n\nThe question of the Andamanese beliefs about storms is complicated by\nthe fact that although all storms are said to be made by Puluga or\nBiliku, yet there is an alternative and contradictory belief that\nstorms are made by the spirits of the sea (J\u030curua). It is said that if a\npiece of the Anadendron paniculatum creeper were to be burnt there\nwould be a great cyclone, but this appears to be associated, not with\nBiliku, but with the spirits of the sea. It will be shown later that\nthere is a special connection between the J\u030curua and this plant. The\nbelief that a storm will arise if turtle fat be allowed to burn in the\nfire seems also to be connected with the J\u030curua and not with Biliku. The\nsame is probably the case with a belief that rain will come if a Ficus\nlaccifera tree be damaged.\n\nSome of the methods used to stop storms are also probably connected\nwith the spirits and not with Biliku. One such method is to go into the\nsea and swish arrows about in the water. One oko-\u01f0umu (medicine-man) of\nthe North Andaman is reputed to have stopped a big cyclone by taking a\nfew pieces of Anadendron paniculatum and crushing them, and then diving\ninto the sea and placing the crushed creeper under a stone. An oko-\u01f0umu\nwho died while I was in the islands is supposed to have been able to\nstop a storm by similarly placing leaves and twigs of the Ficus\nlaccifera (re\u014bko) under a rock in the sea.\n\nTo complete the account of this part of the Andamanese beliefs it is\nnecessary to quote what Mr Man writes about the tribes of the South\nAndaman. Mr Man describes Puluga as a \u201cSupreme Being\u201d and says that\nsome of the beliefs of the Andamanese relating to him \u201capproximate\nclosely to the true faith concerning the Deity.\u201d Mr Portman, following\nMr Man, in this as in many other matters, translates the name Puluga by\nthe English word \u201cGod.\u201d Mr Man\u2019s statements are as follows:\u2014\n\n\u201cOf Puluga they say that\u2014\n\n\u201cI. Though His appearance is like fire, yet He is (nowadays) invisible.\n\n\u201cII. He was never born and is immortal.\n\n\u201cIII. By him the world and all objects, animate and inanimate were\ncreated, excepting only the powers of evil.\n\n\u201cIV. He is regarded as omniscient while it is day, knowing even the\nthoughts of their hearts.\n\n\u201cV. He is angered by the commission of certain sins, while to those in\npain or distress he is pitiful, and sometimes deigns to afford relief.\n\n\u201cVI. He is the Judge from whom each soul receives its sentence after\ndeath, and to some extent, the hope of escape from the torments of\nJ\u030cereg-l\u2019ar-mugu is said to affect their course of action in the present\nlife.\n\n\u201cPuluga is believed to live in a large stone house in the sky, with a\nwife whom he created for himself: she is green in appearance and has\ntwo names, \u010cana Aulola (Mother Fresh-water Shrimp), and \u010cana Palak\n(Mother Eel); by her he has a large family, all, except the eldest,\nbeing girls; these last, known as morowin (sky spirits or angels), are\nsaid to be black in appearance, and, with their mother, amuse\nthemselves from time to time by throwing fish and prawns into the\nstreams and sea for the use of the inhabitants of the world. Puluga\u2019s\nson is called Pi\u01f0\u010dor: he is regarded as a sort of archangel, and is\nalone permitted to live with his father, whose orders it is his duty to\nmake known to the morowin.\n\n\u201cPuluga is said to eat and drink, and, during the dry months of the\nyear, to pass much of his time in sleep, as is proved by his voice\n(thunder) being rarely heard at that season; he is the source whence\nthey receive all their supplies of animals, birds, and turtles; when\nthey anger him he comes out of his house and blows, and growls, and\nhurls burning faggots at them\u2014in other words, visits their offences\nwith violent thunderstorms and heavy squalls; except for this purpose\nhe seldom leaves home, unless it be during the rains, when he descends\nto earth to provide himself with certain kinds of food; how often this\nhappens they do not know since, nowadays, he is invisible [81].\u201d\n\nMr Man\u2019s comparison between the Andamanese belief in Puluga and the\nChristian belief in a God, will be discussed in a later chapter when we\ncome to deal with the interpretation of the Andamanese beliefs. It is\nto be noted that Mr Man does not make any reference to Deria (Tarai),\nnor does he mention the association of Puluga with the north-east.\n\nAs regards the personal appearance of Puluga, the statements of\ndifferent informants are not in agreement. One A-Pu\u010dikwar man described\nBilik as being very big, about the height of one of the posts of my hut\n(which was eighteen feet), white-skinned like a European, having a long\nbeard, and carrying a bow of the J\u030ca\u0324rawa type.\n\nThe legends connecting Puluga with the creation of the world will be\ngiven in the next chapter.\n\nI am not able to confirm Mr Man\u2019s statement that Puluga is omniscient,\nand in fact there are some customs of the natives that are in\ncontradiction with any such belief. When they dig up yams (which belong\nto Puluga) they take the tuber and replace the \u201ccrown\u201d with the\nattached stem in the ground, and explain this by saying that if they do\nso Puluga will not notice that the yam has been taken. Whenever they do\nany of the things that displease Puluga, they seem to believe that\nthere is a possibility that Puluga may not discover what has been done.\nIt may be noted that there is no means of distinguishing in Andamanese\nbetween \u201call\u201d and \u201ca great deal.\u201d Thus a statement the Puluga knows\n\u201ceverything\u201d may be equally well translated \u201cPuluga knows a great\ndeal.\u201d Between these two statements there is no difference for the\nAndamanese, but there is a great difference for us, and for this reason\nthe use of the word \u201comniscient\u201d is misleading.\n\nMr Man says that Puluga \u201cis angered by the commission of certain sins.\u201d\nIn this connection it is necessary to refer to another passage in Mr\nMan\u2019s work. \u201cThat they are not entirely devoid of moral consciousness\nmay, I think, in some measure, be demonstrated by the fact of their\npossessing a word, yub-da, signifying sin or wrong-doing, which is used\nin connection with falsehood, theft, grave assault, murder, adultery,\nand\u2014burning wax (!), which deeds are believed to anger Puluga-la, the\nCreator [82].\u201d Although I made very careful and repeated enquiries, I\nwas unable to meet with a single native who believed that such actions\nas the murder of one man by another, or adultery, aroused the anger of\nPuluga. The only actions at which Puluga is angry are those purely\nritual offences, such as burning or melting wax, killing a cicada,\ndigging up yams, etc., which have already been mentioned.\n\nThe Andamanese beliefs connected with the life after death will be\ndescribed later in the present chapter.\n\nAs regards the \u201cstone house\u201d in which Puluga is said to live, this\nreally means, I believe, a cave. In the North Andaman Biliku is\nfrequently spoken of as living in a cave (e\u0331ra-po\u014b). Also, it may be\nrecalled, the sky is generally regarded as consisting of stone or rock,\nand it is in the sky the Puluga lives.\n\nThe son of Puluga, mentioned by Mr Man, Pi\u01f0\u010dor, is a being about whom I\nwas able to learn very little. In the North Andaman the same being is\nnamed Per\u01f0ido, and is said to be the son of Biliku. The Morowin, whom\nMr Man describes as the daughters of Puluga, are sky spirits. The most\nusual belief in the South Andaman is that there are both male and\nfemale Morowin. They are beings of somewhat the same nature as the\njungle spirits and the sea spirits. An Akar-Bale informant told me,\n\u201cThe Morua are sky spirits. They eat only pork and nothing else. They\nare angry if pork is roasted, and make the people ill. They used to\nlive in the big ba\u01f0a (Sterculia) trees, but now they live in the sky.\u201d\n\nIn this connection it may be mentioned that there is a belief\nthroughout the Andamans that it is dangerous to roast pork. In the\nNorth Andaman the natives commonly say that the spirits of the jungle\nare angry if pork be roasted, and may be attracted to the spot and\ncause the natives to be ill. An Akar-Bale belief, connecting the danger\nwith the spirits of the sky has just been mentioned. Mr Man\u2019s version\nof the matter is as follows:\u2014 \u201c... there is a company of evil spirits\nwho are called \u010dol, and who are much dreaded. They are believed to be\ndescendants of Maia \u010col who lived in antediluvian times. They generally\npunish those who offend them by baking or roasting pig\u2019s flesh, the\nsmell of which is particularly obnoxious to them, as it is also to\nPuluga, who therefore, often assists them in discovering the\ndelinquent; the same risk does not attend boiling pork, which the\nolfactory nerves of the fastidious \u010dol are not keen enough to detect.\nWhile the Andamanese say that they are liable to be struck by\nE\u0331rem-\u010dauga-la or J\u030curuwin at any time or in any place, the \u010dol strike\nthose only who offend them, and that during the day while they are\nstationary, this being necessitated by the distance from the earth of\ntheir abode, whence they hurl their darts; an invisible spear is the\nweapon they always use, and this is thrown with unerring aim at the\nhead of their victims, and is invariably fatal. As these demons are\nconsidered especially dangerous on the hottest days, they are\napparently held accountable for the deaths from sunstroke which happen\nfrom time to time [83].\u201d\n\nIt may be remarked that \u010col is the name of a species of bird (probably\nthe racket-tailed drongo), which is named from its call\u2014\u010dol, \u010dol, \u010dol.\nI did not hear the name used to denote what Mr Man calls demons, except\nin so far as the birds themselves are supposed to have supernatural\npowers. There is, perhaps, some sort of connection between the \u010dol (the\nbirds, that is) and the sky-spirits, Morowin or Morua, but I was not\nable to satisfy myself on the point. The connection of them both with\nPuluga is still more obscure.\n\nAnother belief in connection with pigs is that any person who cuts up a\npig badly is liable to be punished. Mr Man states, on this subject,\n\u201cPuluga never himself puts any one to death, but he objects so strongly\nto seeing a pig badly quartered and carved that he invariably points\nout those who offend him in this respect to a class of malevolent\nspirits called \u010col, one of whom forthwith despatches the unfortunate\nindividual [84].\u201d\n\nI was not able to find any evidence that Puluga is believed to be angry\nif a pig is badly quartered. From the natives with whom I talked on the\nsubject I received two different statements. One was to the effect that\nif a pig is badly cut up the meat will be bad and anyone who eats it\nwill be ill. The other was that if a pig is badly cut up the spirits of\nthe jungle will be angry and will punish the offender. In neither case\nwas there any reference to Puluga or Biliku.\n\nIn general it may be said that the natives believe that the only\npunishment that Puluga or Biliku ever sends against those who offend\nhim or her in any way is bad weather, and I did not myself meet with\nany exception to this rule.\n\nOne other observation by Mr Man may be mentioned. He says, \u201cWhen they\nsee a dark cloud approaching at a time when rain would prove very\ninconvenient, as when hunting, travelling, etc., they advise Puluga to\ndivert its course by shouting \u2018Wara-J\u030cobo kopke, kopke, kopke\u2019\n(Wara-J\u030cobo will bite, bite, bite (you)). If in spite of this a shower\nfalls they imagine that Puluga is undeterred by their warning [85].\u201d\n\nIt is clear from the above discussion of the matter that there is not\nany complete agreement in the beliefs concerning Puluga (Biliku) even\nin any one tribe of the Andamans. There are many different statements\nabout this being which cannot be made consistent with one another\nwithout doing violence to the evidence. At the same time, amid all the\ndifferences and inconsistencies there are a certain number of points\nabout which there is a general agreement throughout the whole of the\ntribes of the Great Andaman. One of these is the connection of Puluga\nand Daria with the weather, with the two chief winds, and with the\npoints of the compass from which these winds blow. The other is the\nbelief that certain actions, such as melting bees\u2019-wax, digging up\nyams, etc., are disliked by Puluga, and are punished by him (or her)\nwith stormy weather. On these matters there is entire agreement amongst\nthe natives of all the tribes, and they are to the natives themselves\nby far the most important part of the beliefs concerning Puluga.\n\nWe have seen that the Andamanese believe in two different kinds of what\nmay be called, for want of a better term, supernatural beings. In the\nfirst place there are the spirits, the Lau or \u010cauga, and the J\u030curua,\ninhabiting the forest and the sea respectively. These are all\nassociated by the natives with ghosts, i.e. with the spirits of dead\nmen and women. In the second place there are other beings connected\nwith the sun and moon, lightning and thunder and the monsoons (Biliku\nand Tarai). These are all associated with the phenomena of nature.\nThere are many points of contact between these two classes of beings.\nThus there are two alternative explanations of bad weather, one that it\nis due to the spirits (particularly the spirits of the sea), the other\nthat it is due to the anger of Biliku. This is a point that will be\nreferred to again in a later chapter.\n\nIt is possible that there are beliefs in other supernatural beings who\nare neither spirits of the dead nor connected with natural phenomena.\nThe only being of such a nature that I was able to discover anything\nabout is one called Nila or \u0143ila. This is the name of an evil being who\nis supposed to live in hollow Pterocarpus trees. When he smells human\nbeings near his tree he comes out and kills them with his knife. I\nfound this belief in the A-Pu\u010dikwar tribe, but was not able to find any\ntrace of a similar belief in the North Andaman, though of course I\ncannot say that it does not exist there. Mr Man mentions this same\nbeing. \u201cThis spirit Nila is supposed to live in ant-hills, and to have\nneither wife nor child; he is not regarded as such a malevolent\npersonage as Erem-\u010dauga-la, and, though he is always armed with a\nknife, he rarely injures human beings with it, or when he does so, it\nis not in order to feed upon their bodies, for he is said to eat earth\nonly [86].\u201d Mr Man adds, in a footnote that \u201ccases have been cited of\npersons who have been found stabbed, whose deaths have been attributed\nto Nila: the possibility of the individuals in question having been\nmurdered is scouted.\u201d\n\nThe version given by Mr Man is not quite in agreement with the\ninformation given to me, but I was unfortunately not able to learn\nanything more about the nature of Nila.\n\nAs throwing some additional light on the way in which the Andamanese\nthink of the supernatural beings that have been mentioned above, I add\nhere a brief description of a sort of dramatic or pantomimic dance that\nI witnessed in the North Andaman. Many savage tribes in different parts\nof the world are in the habit of performing dances or pantomimes in\nwhich the performer represents a supernatural being. In the Andamans\nthere are no regular performances of this kind. The solitary one that I\nwitnessed was entirely exceptional.\n\nThe performer was a man named Kobo. This man, according to the\nstatements of the natives, had, at one time of his life, died and come\nback to life again. Owing to this fact he was endowed with special\nmagical powers, and had some reputation as a magician or medicine-man\n(oko-\u01f0umu). During the time that he was dead (probably a few hours of\nunconsciousness), he is supposed to have visited the world of spirits,\nand while there he saw many things and learnt much about the spirits.\nAmong other things he witnessed a dance in which the spirits and other\nsupernatural beings took part. All these things he was able to remember\nwhen he returned to life.\n\nThe performance was given one afternoon on the ordinary dancing ground\nof the village. The performer sat on his haunches in a hut at one end\nof the dancing ground. Thrust into the back of his belt he wore a bunch\nof leaves sticking out somewhat after the manner of a cock\u2019s tail, but\nhe had no other ornament. The spectators, consisting of men, women and\nchildren, were seated round the edge of the dancing ground, which had\nbeen swept clean. On one side sat a few women who acted as chorus.\nThere was no sounding-board.\n\nThe performer began to sing a song, composed on the model of the songs\nof the South Andaman (with a short refrain) which has now for some\nyears been adopted by the Northern tribes in preference to their own.\nAs he finished the song the women of the chorus took up the refrain,\nrepeating it over and over again, and marking time by clapping their\nhands on their thighs. The performer came out of his hut and performed\na dance. At a signal from him the chorus ceased and he returned to his\nhut. In this way he sang several songs, repeating each one several\ntimes, and performed a number of short dances. In nearly every case the\nstep of the dance was some simple modification of the step in common\nuse at an ordinary dance. Thus in one dance he danced very violently\nand pretended to hurt his leg through the violence of his dancing,\nmaking angry signs to the chorus to stop their clapping, of which, of\ncourse, they took no notice. In another dance he stopped at short\nintervals and violently scratched his sides and then doubled himself up\nwith laughter. In yet another, he danced with the step of the women\u2019s\ndance, covering his face with his hands and pretending to be very\nbashful. In still another he stood on tiptoe on the right foot and\nstamped with his left foot in time to the chorus of women. In some of\nthe dances he walked round the open space within the circle of\nspectators, sometimes in a crouching attitude, and at other times in\nother attitudes. All these dances aroused great amusement amongst the\nspectators. It was unfortunately impossible for me to understand them\nall or to obtain an adequate explanation of them either at the time or\nlater.\n\nOf the songs that were sung one was \u201cThe tide has gone down over the\nreef. I walk round the world. There is great wind and rain.\u201d\n\nSome of these dances I was able to understand even without explanation.\nOne of them represented Biliku. The performer held in his right hand a\nshell, and as he danced grotesquely round the open space he looked\nfiercely at the spectators and threatened to throw the shell at them.\nMany of the women and children could not prevent themselves from\nstarting backwards when he thus threatened them, but their fears were\nimmediately dispelled in laughter. The shell was not a pearl-shell (be)\nbut a Cyrena shell (bun), but I believe that this was because there was\nno pearl-shell available. The representation of Biliku was thus reduced\nto a single gesture, that of threatening the natives with her\npearl-shell (lightning).\n\nAnother dance represented the jungle spirits (Bido-te\u010d Lau). In this he\nfirst hid himself behind a screen of bido leaves (Calamus tigrinus)\nthat had been prepared, singing a song. The leaves represented a clump\nof the Calamus palm such as is supposed to be the favourite haunt of\nthe jungle spirits. After having sung for some time behind his screen\nof leaves, he came out with a bow and arrow in his hand, and as he\ndanced in front of the spectators he pretended to shoot at them.\n\nIn another dance he represented Ele, the lightning. He sat on a stone\nthat had been placed in the middle of the open space, swinging his arms\nto the time of the chorus, and every now and then shaking his leg.\n\nThis observation is an important one in several ways. Although I asked\nthe man to repeat it, in order that I might make fuller notes and\nobtain explanations of many obscure points, and although he grudgingly\nsaid that he would, yet he did not do so. He was, moreover, very\nreserved over the matter, and not very willing to talk about his own\nperformance.\n\nI believe that the performance was an entirely exceptional affair. I\nnever at any other time either saw or heard of one man or even several\nmen, giving a dance for the amusement of others. I think that the whole\nthing was entirely the invention of the performer. He had given the\nsame performance, or one very similar, at least once before the\noccasion on which I saw it.\n\nWe may now turn to the Andamanese beliefs relating to the soul and the\nlife after death.\n\nThe vital principle is at different times identified by the Andamanese\nwith the pulse, the breath, with the blood and with the fat,\nparticularly the kidney-fat. Thus the body of a slain enemy is burnt so\nthat the blood and fat may be consumed in smoke and ascend to the sky\nwhere they will no longer be a danger to those who have slain him.\n\nThe nearest approach to our notion of a soul that the natives possess\nis their belief concerning the double or reflection seen in a mirror.\nIn the Northern tribes the word ot-\u01f0umulo means \u201creflection,\u201d and also\n\u201cshadow,\u201d and is also nowadays applied to a photograph. The word\not-\u01f0umu, in the same languages, means \u201ca dream\u201d or \u201cto dream.\u201d We may\nperhaps translate the word ot-\u01f0umulo as meaning \u201csoul.\u201d In the Aka-Bea\nlanguage ot-yolo is \u201creflection,\u201d while there is a different word,\not-diya or ot-lere, for \u201cshadow,\u201d and neither of the words has any\nconnection with the word \u201cdream\u201d which is taraba. Mr Man translates the\nword ot-yolo as \u201csoul.\u201d\n\nThe fact that the words for dream and reflection, double or shadow are\nfrom the same root in the Northern languages is of interest. Dreams are\nsometimes explained by saying that the sleeper\u2019s double (ot-\u01f0umulo) has\nleft his body and is wandering elsewhere. Dreams are regarded as being\nveridical, or at any rate, as having importance. One man told me how,\nin a dream the night before, his ot-\u01f0umulo had travelled from where we\nwere to his own country and had there seen the death of the baby of a\nwoman of his own tribe. He was fully convinced that the baby must\nreally have died.\n\nAn Andamanese will never, or only with the very greatest reluctance,\nawaken another from sleep. One explanation of this that was given to me\nwas that the ot-\u01f0umulo or double of the sleeper may be wandering far\nfrom his body, and to waken him suddenly might cause him to be ill.\n\nThe principle on which dreams are interpreted is a very simple one. All\nunpleasant dreams are bad, all pleasant ones are good. The natives\nbelieve that sickness is often caused by dreams. A man in the early\nstages of an attack of fever, for instance, may have a bad dream. When\nthe fever develops he explains it as due to the dream. If a man has a\npainful dream he will often not venture out of the camp the following\nday, but will stay at home until the effect has worn off. The natives\nbelieve that they can communicate in dreams with the spirits, but the\npower to do this regularly is the privilege of certain special\nindividuals, known as oko-\u01f0umu (dreamers). However, an ordinary\nindividual may occasionally have dreams of this kind.\n\nI found that any attempt to study the dreams of such a people as the\nAndamanese is made very difficult by the fact that it is never possible\nto tell how far the original dream has been arranged and altered by the\nwaking imagination. So far as my observations went the majority of\ndreams are either visual or motor, or both. Further reference to dreams\nwill be made later in connection with magic.\n\nWhen a man or woman dies the double (or as some of the natives explain\nit, the breath) leaves the body and becomes a spirit (lau or \u010dauga). By\ndeath a man ceases to exist as a man, and begins a new existence as a\nspirit.\n\nWhenever I asked the natives whence came the spirits of the jungle and\nthe sea I received the answer that they are the spirits of dead men and\nwomen. On the other hand, when I put in another form what might seem to\nbe the same question, and asked what became of a man\u2019s spirit after his\ndeath, I received many different and inconsistent answers. As it would\ntake too much space to transcribe every answer that I received to this\nquestion, a number of typical ones are selected. Any attempt to\nreconcile the statements of different men or of the same men on\ndifferent occasions can only produce a false impression of the real\ncondition of the native beliefs, and therefore the statements are kept\nseparate, and each one is given as it was taken down.\n\nThe first is from the Northern tribes. Exactly similar statements were\nmade to me by men of several tribes. \u201cWhen a man dies he becomes a Lau\nand wanders about the jungle. At first he keeps near the grave or the\nplace where he died, but after a while he finds that is no good, and so\nhe goes to live with the other spirits. If he is drowned he becomes a\nJ\u030curua.\u201d A second account, varying from the above in only one\nparticular, is also from one of the Northern tribes (Aka-\u010cari). \u201cWhen a\nman dies he becomes a Lau or a J\u030curua and lives with the other spirits.\nIf he be a jungle-dweller he becomes a Lau and lives in the jungle. If\nhe be a coast-dweller he becomes a J\u030curua and lives in the sea. All the\nAka-\u010cari become J\u030curua when they die. The spirit stays in his own\ncountry. The spirits of a man\u2019s own country (whether Lau or J\u030curua) are\nfriendly to him, but those of another country are dangerous and will\nmake him ill.\u201d\n\nAn entirely different statement frequently made to me by men of the\nNorthern tribes is that when a man dies the spirit (Lau) either\nimmediately, or after the lapse of some time, goes to another world\nthat lies under this one and is called Maramiku. This world of spirits\nis said to be just like the actual world, with forest and sea, and all\nthe familiar animal and vegetable species. The inhabitants spend their\ntime just as the Andamanese do on earth, hunting, fishing and dancing.\n\nStill another statement that is commonly made in the North is that the\nspirits of the dead go to live in the sky. Two such statements are as\nfollows: \u201cWhen a man dies his ot-\u01f0umulo (double) goes up to the sky and\nbecomes a Lau (spirit).\u201d \u201cA man\u2019s spirit wanders in the jungle till the\nflesh has rotted from the bones, and then goes away to the sky.\u201d Other\nstatements were very similar to these two.\n\nTurning now to the Southern tribes, one informant of the A-Pu\u010dikwar\ntribe gave me the following account: \u201cWhen a man or woman dies the\nspirit goes away to the east or north-east and goes over the edge of\nthe world, remaining in a place called Lau-l\u2019u\u014b-ci\u014b (Spirit\u2019s House)\nwhere there is a large hut in a jungle similar to that on earth. There\nthey live just as men do on earth, hunting and fishing, and so on.\nBeyond the home of the spirits is Puta-ko\u0331i\u010da, the home of the sun and\nmoon. The rainbow is the path by which the spirits come to visit their\nfriends on earth, which they do in dreams. The rainbow is made of canes\n(? a cane).\u201d\n\nAnother version from the same tribe was to the effect that after death\nthe spirits of the dead go to live in the sky with a mythical being\nnamed Tomo. This Tomo, according to some of the legends, was the first\nancestor of the Andamanese. By one of my best informants he was\nidentified to some extent with the sun, and consequently with light and\nwith fine weather. This man stated that in the world of the spirits it\nis never night as Tomo is always there. The spirits always have plenty\nof pork and turtle, and spend their time dancing and enjoying\nthemselves.\n\nOne old man of the A-Pu\u010dikwar tribe, who had some reputation as a\nmedicine-man, said that the spirits of medicine-men lived apart from\nthe spirits of ordinary men and women, and are called not Lau but\nBilik. He told me how he had been visited in a dream by Bo\u0331i\u010do Bilik;\nthat is by the spirit of one Bo\u0331i\u010do who had, when he lived, been a great\nmedicine-man, and who, now that he was dead, had become a Bilik, as\ndistinguished from an ordinary Lau. It is the Bilik who control the\nweather. They can also cause or cure sickness in living men. The Bo\u0331i\u010do\nmentioned above was alive when my informant was a young man.\n\nIn the Akar-Bale tribe one man told me that the breath (ig-peti) of a\ndying person goes up to the sky and becomes a spirit. Another belief of\nthe same tribe is that the spirits of the dead go to J\u030cereg-l\u2019ar-mugu,\nwhich is under the earth. From the same tribe comes the following\naccount: \u201cWhen a man or woman dies, the spirit first of all goes\nsouthward to the country of the Aka-Bea, and then returns to\nGudna-l\u2019ar-bo\u014b in Kuai\u010do-bur (in the Akar-Bale country). It then goes\nto J\u030cila-buaro in J\u030cila (East Island) and from there to Kere-tuaur. The\ninhabitants of the last-named place are warned of the approach of the\nspirit by the cries of the birds tao (Eudynamis honorata, Indian koel\nor brain-fever bird) and bil (Australian goggle-eyed plover). At one\ntime the people of Lu\u014b-tauar used to catch the spirits in big nets made\nfor the purpose. They were taught to do this by a wise woman named In\nGolat. The spirits try to run away, but they get caught at the place\ncalled Guamo-leber. The people then throw them into the sea, and they\n(the spirits) then go to \u010cauga-l\u2019u\u014b-ji\u014ba (Spirit\u2019s Home) and remain\nthere.\u201d The above is given exactly as it was translated to me by an\nAkar-Bale man who knew English and who acted as my interpreter on the\noccasion. There is much in it that I do not understand and that my\nquestions failed to elucidate. It is given as an example of the nature\nof some of the more obscure of the Andamanese beliefs. To understand\nfully many of their statements on this and other matters would need a\nmore complete knowledge of the language than I possessed, and a longer\ntime than I was able to give.\n\nThe various examples given above are sufficient to show the general\nnature of the Andamanese beliefs. In every tribe there are alternative\nand inconsistent beliefs as to the place where spirits go, which by\ndifferent accounts is in the sky, beneath the earth, out to the east\nwhere the sun and moon take their rise, or in the jungle and sea of\ntheir own country. One thing is clear, that the Andamanese ideas on the\nsubject are floating and lacking in precision. There is no fixity or\nunanimity of belief amongst them.\n\nTo these various accounts from the natives themselves, must be added\nthe description of the beliefs of the Aka-Bea tribe as recorded by Mr\nMan. This may best be given in the writer\u2019s own words. \u201cThe world,\nexclusive of the sea, is declared to be flat and to rest on an immense\npalm-tree (Caryota sobolifera) called barata, which stands in the midst\nof a jungle comprising the whole area under the earth. This jungle,\n\u010daitan (Hades) is a gloomy place, for, though visited in turn by the\nsun and moon, it can, in consequence of its situation, be only\npartially lighted: it is hither the spirits (\u010dauga) of the departed are\nsent by Puluga to await the Resurrection.\n\n\u201cNo change takes place in \u010daitan in respect to growth or age; all\nremain as they were at the time of their departure from the earth, and\nthe adults are represented as engaged in hunting, after a manner\npeculiar to disembodied spirits. In order to furnish them with sport\nthe spirits of animals and birds are also sent to \u010daitan, but as there\nis no sea there, the \u010dauga of fish and turtle remain in their native\nelement and are preyed upon by \u01f0uruwin. The spirits (\u010dauga) and souls\n(ot-yolo) of all children who die before they cease to be entirely\ndependent on their parents (i.e. under six years of age) go to \u010daitan,\nand are placed under a rau tree (Ficus laccifera) on the fruit of which\nthey subsist. As none can quit \u010daitan who have once entered, they\nsupport their stories regarding it by a tradition that in ages long\npast an oko-paiad was favoured in a dream with a vision of the regions\nand of the pursuits of the disembodied spirits.\n\n\u201cBetween the earth and the eastern sky there stretches an invisible\ncane bridge (pidga-l\u2019ar-\u010dauga) which steadies the former and connects\nit with \u01f0ereg (paradise); over this bridge the souls (ot-yolo) of the\ndeparted pass into paradise, or to \u01f0ereg-l\u2019ar-mugu, which is situated\nbelow it: this latter place might be described as purgatory, for it is\na place of punishment for those who have been guilty of heinous sins,\nsuch as murder. Like Dante, they depict it as very cold, and therefore\na most undesirable region for mortals to inhabit. From all this it will\nbe gathered that these despised savages believe in a future state, in\nthe resurrection, and in the threefold constitution of man.\n\n\u201cIn serious illness the sufferer\u2019s spirit (\u010dauga) is said to be\nhovering between this world and Hades, but does not remain permanently\nin the latter place until some time after death, during which interval\nit haunts the abode of the deceased and the spot where the remains have\nbeen deposited. In dreams it is the soul which, having taken its\ndeparture through the nostrils, sees or is engaged in the manner\nrepresented to the sleeper.\n\n\u201cThe Andamanese do not regard their shadows but their reflections (in\nany mirror) as their souls. The colour of the soul is said to be red,\nand that of the spirit black, and, though invisible to human eyes, they\npartake of the form of the person to whom they belong. Evil emanates\nfrom the soul, and all good from the spirit; at the resurrection they\nwill be re-united and live permanently on the new earth, for the souls\nof the wicked will then have been reformed by the punishments inflicted\non them during their residence in \u01f0ereg-l\u2019ar-mugu.\n\n\u201cThe future life will be but a repetition of the present, but all will\nthen remain in the prime of life, sickness and death will be unknown,\nand there will be no more marrying or giving in marriage. The animals,\nbirds, and fish will also re-appear in the new world in their present\nform.\n\n\u201cThis blissful state will be inaugurated by a great earthquake, which,\noccurring by Puluga\u2019s command, will break the pidga-l\u2019ar-\u010dauga and\ncause the earth to turn over: all alive at the time will perish,\nexchanging places with their deceased ancestors [87].\u201d\n\nThis account given by Mr Man, must, I think, be received with great\ncaution. To one who has talked to the Andamanese on these subjects it\nseems probable that Mr Man has here combined into a single consistent\nversion, a number of independent statements, which, as the natives\nbelieve them, are not parts of an organised doctrine, but are separate\nfrom and often inconsistent with each other. Added to this there is the\nfact that Mr Man has so written down the native beliefs as to bring out\nthe greatest possible degree of resemblance to the Christian mythology.\nThis is clear from his use of the words Hades, paradise, etc. Allowance\nmust therefore be made for the fact that Mr Man evidently found some\npleasure in tracing analogies between the mythology of the Andamanese\nand the Christian doctrines.\n\nOwing to the importance attaching to all Mr Man\u2019s statements it is\nnecessary to examine critically the account transcribed above. We may\nbegin with what is said of the doctrine of the threefold nature of man.\nBy this it would seem to be meant that man is regarded as composed of\nbody, soul and spirit. It is quite certain that the Andamanese mean\ndifferent things by the words ot-yolo (reflection) here translated\n\u201csoul,\u201d and \u010dauga translated \u201cspirit.\u201d The difference is this, that a\nman, while he is still alive, has a \u201cdouble\u201d or \u201csoul\u201d if the latter\nword be preferred, while when he is dead he becomes a spirit. Thus the\nspirit is not a part of a man while he is alive. The word \u010dauga (or\nlau) is simply the name of a particular class of beings which includes\nall dead men and women. The bones of a man become \u201cspirit-bones\u201d\n(\u010dauga-ta) when he dies, just as he becomes a spirit. To compare the\nAndamanese belief with the Christian doctrine that each man possesses,\nwhile he is alive, both a soul and a spirit, these being different\nthings, is therefore misleading. For this reason it is perhaps\nunfortunate to translate the Andamanese \u010dauga as meaning spirit, but\nthere does not seem to be any other convenient English word.\n\nMr Man\u2019s account would seem to imply that the native belief is that at\ndeath the soul (reflection) of a man goes to one place (J\u030cereg or\nJ\u030cereg-l\u2019ar-mugu) while his spirit goes elsewhere (to \u010caitan). In the\ncase of children however, Mr Man makes a difference, for both the souls\nand spirits of children go to \u010caitan. Mr Man compares \u010caitan to Hades,\nJ\u030cereg to paradise and J\u030cereg-l\u2019ar-mugu to purgatory.\n\nI do not think that the Andamanese have any such complicated doctrine\nas this. It seems to me almost certain that Mr Man has received from\nthe natives several different statements, similar to some of those\ngiven earlier, and that he has combined and reconciled them as well as\nhe could. Some of his informants, apparently, described the world after\ndeath as being beneath the earth, and gave the name of it as \u010caitan\n[88]. Other informants seem to have spoken of [vJ]ereg or\nJ\u030cereg-l\u2019ar-mugu. I think it improbable that any one native should have\nstated, as Mr Man\u2019s account would seem to imply, that the soul of a\ndead man goes to one place, while the man himself (now a spirit) goes\nsomewhere else. Mr Man\u2019s description of \u010caitan corresponds almost\nexactly to the descriptions given to me by the Akar-Bale and A-Pu\u010dikwar\nof J\u030cereg-l\u2019ar-mugu, and to the descriptions of Maramiku given by the\nNorthern tribes. If \u010caitan be really an Aka-Bea word, it would seem to\nbe only another name for J\u030cereg-l\u2019ar-mugu.\n\nOne of the most important points in Mr Man\u2019s statement is that while\nthe souls of good men go to paradise as he puts it, the souls of bad\nmen are condemned to torture in purgatory [89]. In my own enquiries I\ndid not come across any definite belief of this nature, but I am not\nprepared to deny its existence. All that I can say is that I did not\nfind any evidence whatever that good men and bad men (in any meanings\nin which those words could be used by the natives) receive different\ntreatment after death. In talking to men of the Akar-Bale and\nA-Pu\u010dikwar tribes I did not hear of J\u030cereg as a distinct place from\nJ\u030cereg-l\u2019ar-mugu. The latter name is of course a compound, from ar-mugu\n= front, and might mean either \u201cthe place fronting or facing J\u030cereg\u201d or\n\u201cthe place J\u030cereg, fronting us.\u201d\n\nMr Man states that the souls and spirits of young children go to \u010caitan\nwhere they subsist on the fruit of a rau tree (Ficus laccifera). In the\nNorth Andaman I found a belief that the souls of children, before they\nare born, live in the Ficus trees, but these are the real trees on\nearth that are in question, and not a mythical tree in the next world.\nIt is commonly believed that if a baby dies the soul enters the mother\nagain and is born a second time. It is possible that what Mr Man\nrelates as to the souls of children after death living in a Ficus tree\nin \u010caitan may really refer to real fig trees on earth.\n\nAs regards the resurrection spoken of by Mr Man, I was also so\nunfortunate as to obtain no information. As will be shown in a later\nchapter, there are several myths of the world coming to an end and\nstarting afresh, and these myths are generally associated with Puluga\nor Biliku. All the versions that I heard, however, referred to the past\nand not to the future [90].\n\nThe Andamanese speak of unconsciousness as \u201cdeath,\u201d and regard a person\nwho has been unconscious for some time as having been dead and returned\nto life again. I was once told that an old man in the village was\n\u201cdead\u201d and found him in a state of coma from which he recovered and\nlived for several days. There are stories of persons having returned to\nlife even after they have been buried. One such tale was told me in the\nNorth Andaman. A man died and was buried. As his friends and relatives,\nafter packing up their belongings, were leaving the camp in their\ncanoes, the man\u2019s voice was heard calling. His wife and mother turned\nback and met him and took him in their canoe. He lived for some time\nafter this and then he died and was buried again. Again the same thing\nhappened, the dead man re-appearing just as they were setting off in\ntheir canoes from the camp that they were deserting on account of his\ndeath. Finally the man died a third time. When he was buried this time\nthe men dug a very deep hole some distance from the camp, and then\nhurried back to the camp and hastily gathered up their belongings and\nleft it. Nothing more was seen of the dead man, but when, after the\nlapse of some months, they went to dig up the bones, they found the mat\nand leaves and rope in which the corpse had been bound, but there were\nno bones.\n\nAmongst the coast-dwellers of the North Andaman I found a belief that\nthe soul of a dying man goes out with the ebbing tide.\n\nThere are, amongst the Andamanese, certain individuals who are\ndistinguished from their fellows by the supposed possession of\nsupernatural powers. These specially favoured persons correspond, to\nsome degree, with the medicine-men, magicians or shamans of other\nprimitive societies. The name for these medicine-men in the North\nAndaman is oko-\u01f0umu, meaning literally \u201cdreamer\u201d or \u201cone who speaks\nfrom dreams\u201d from a stem -\u01f0umu the primary meaning of which refers to\nthe phenomena of dreams. In Aka-Bea the corresponding term is\noko-paiad, and according to Mr Man, this term also means \u201cdreamer.\u201d Mr\nPortman, however, gives taraba as the Aka-Bea word for \u201cdream\u201d or \u201cto\ndream.\u201d\n\nAccording to a statement by Mr Man, only men can possess the powers\nthat entitle them to be regarded as oko-paiad [91]. The natives whom I\nquestioned told me that a woman may possess the same powers, though it\nis more usual for men to become famous in this way than women. There is\nno very clear dividing line between those who are oko-\u01f0umu or oko-paiad\nand those who are not; one person may possess the powers in only a\nslight degree, so as scarcely to differentiate him from others, while\nanother may be much more highly gifted.\n\nAt the present time it is no longer possible to obtain full and\nsatisfactory information on this subject. Most of the old oko-\u01f0umu and\noko-paiad are now dead. Amongst the younger men there are a few who\npretend to the position, but the recent intercourse with foreigners has\nproduced a degree of scepticism in such matters that makes it difficult\nor nearly impossible to obtain any reliable information as to the\nformer beliefs from any but the very old men. To this difficulty must\nbe added that in talking to some of the very few old men who could have\ngiven more valuable information I had to make use of an interpreter,\nand though they might have been willing to confide to me some of the\nsecrets of their profession they would not do so before a younger man\nof their own race.\n\nThe powers of a dreamer, supernatural as they are, can only be acquired\nby supernatural means, through contact in one way or another with the\nspirits (i.e. the Lau or \u010cauga). One way of coming into contact with\nthe spirits is by death. If a man should, as the natives put it, die\nand then come back to life again, he is, by that adventure, endowed\nwith the power that makes a medicine-man. One man of the Aka-Ko\u0331ra tribe\nwas pointed out to me as having obtained his powers in this way. It\nwould seem that during a serious illness he was unconscious for some\ntwelve hours or so, and his friends thought that he was dead. A\nmedicine-man whom I met with in the A-Pu\u010dikwar tribe was said to have\ndied and come to life again three times. Another man, whom I did not\nmeet, was described to me as a great oko-\u01f0umu, and from the description\ngiven it seemed to me that he was subject to epileptic fits. As against\nthis, however, Mr Man states that \u201cepilepsy is a recognised form of\nmalady, but the fits are not regarded in a superstitious light [92].\u201d\n\nAnother way in which a man can acquire magical powers is by direct\ncommunication with the spirits. A man who died a few years ago was\nbelieved by the natives to have once met with some spirits in the\njungle, and to have acquired in this way the powers of an oko-\u01f0umu. He\nused to go off into the jungle by himself at intervals and hold\ncommunication with the spirits with whom he had made friends. From such\na visit he had returned with his head decorated with shredded palm-leaf\nfibre (ko\u0331ro) which had, so he said, been placed on him by the spirits.\nThis man had a reputation as a powerful oko-\u01f0umu.\n\nIn a less degree the powers of an oko-\u01f0umu may be obtained through\ndreams. It is believed that certain men have the power of communicating\nwith the spirits in dreams, and such men are oko-\u01f0umu. If a man or boy\nexperiences dreams that are in any way extraordinary, particularly if,\nin his dreams he sees spirits, either the spirits of dead persons known\nto him when alive, or spirits of the forest or the sea, he may acquire\nin time the reputation of a medicine-man.\n\nA man may claim some degree of magical power, and yet his claims may\nnot be recognized by others. Each oko-\u01f0umu has to make his own\nreputation, and to sustain it when made. This he can only do by\ndemonstrating his power to others. Once this reputation is his, he not\nonly receives the respect of others but also makes a considerable\npersonal profit. Every one is anxious to be on good terms with one who\nis believed to have extraordinary powers. Hence a man who is an\nacknowledged oko-\u01f0umu is sure to receive a good share of the game\ncaught by others, and presents of all kinds from those who seek his\ngood-will.\n\nAs the name implies, and in whatever way his power may have been\nobtained, an oko-\u01f0umu is privileged to dream in a way that less\nfavoured persons do not. In his dreams he can communicate with the\nspirits of the dead. In dreams, also, so the natives say, he is able to\ncause the illness of an enemy or to cure that of a friend.\n\nBy his communication with the spirits, in dreams, or in waking life,\nthe oko-\u01f0umu acquires magical knowledge that he is able to turn to\naccount in curing illness and in preventing bad weather. When a person\nis ill the oko-\u01f0umu is often consulted as to the best means of treating\nthe patient. His treatment is often limited to the recommendation, or\nthe application, of some one or other of the recognized remedies. He\nmay undertake to dispel the spirits that are supposed to be the cause\nof the disease, which he does by addressing them and conjuring them to\ngo away, or by the use of one or other of the substances and objects\nthat are believed to have the power of keeping spirits at a distance.\nSometimes the oko-\u01f0umu will promise to cure the patient by means of\ndreams. It is believed that in his dreams he can communicate with the\nspirits and can persuade them to help him to cure the sick person.\n\nBesides their power of causing or curing sickness, the oko-\u01f0umu are\ncredited with being able to control the weather. As has been shown, the\nAndamanese believe that the weather is under the control of two beings\nnamed Biliku and Tarai. There is, however, an alternative and\ncontradictory belief, which is also held, that the weather is\ncontrolled by the spirits, and particularly by those of the sea. The\nmeans taken by magicians or others to prevent bad weather can be\ndivided into two kinds according as they are directed against Biliku or\nTarai, or against the spirits of the sea. As an example of the very\nsimple rites which are performed for this purpose, two cases may be\nquoted. One of the oko-\u01f0umu of the Northern tribes, now dead, once\nstopped a very violent storm by crushing between two stones a piece of\nthe Anadendron paniculatum and diving with it into the sea where he\nplaced it under a rock on the reef. A more recent example is very\nsimilar. A man still living, named J\u030cire Pile\u010dar, who was, in a way, the\nsuccessor of the man formerly mentioned, is said to have stopped a\nviolent storm by using the leaves and bark of the Ficus laccifera in\nthe same way, that is by crushing them and placing them under a rock in\nthe sea. In both these cases it would seem that the rite was directed\nnot against Biliku and Tarai, but against the J\u030curua.\n\nApart from his power to communicate directly with the spirits, the\noko-\u01f0umu owes his position to a superior knowledge of the magical\nproperties of common substances and objects. This knowledge he is\nsupposed to obtain from the spirits. However, a lesser degree of\nknowledge on such matters is possessed by everybody. Thus in the\ntreatment of sickness there are a number of magical remedies of which\nanyone can make use without consulting an oko-\u01f0umu.\n\nA complete enumeration of all the things that are believed to possess\nmagical properties is, of course, not possible, but the following notes\nrefer to all the most important.\n\nWe may consider first of all the magical properties of mineral\nsubstances. One of the most important of these is red ochre. Yellow\nochre, which is found in pockets in many parts of the islands, is\ncollected and burnt, when it turns red, and the powder so obtained is\neither used by itself or is made into a paint with pig or turtle fat.\nThe powder is mixed with water and taken internally. Red paint is\napplied to the throat and chest for coughs and colds and sore throats,\nand round the ear for ear-ache. When a man feels unwell he often smears\nred paint on his upper lip just below his nostrils. In this way, the\nnatives say, the \u201csmell\u201d of the paint cures his sickness. The paint is\nsometimes used as a dressing for wounds or centipede bites. Its use for\nornamenting the body on ceremonial occasions has already been noted in\nthe last chapter.\n\nIn the North Andaman a soft red stone is found, called talar. This is\nused as a substitute for red paint. It is rubbed on the body, or it is\npowdered and the powder is mixed with water and taken internally.\n\nWhite clay (to\u0331l-odu in Aka-J\u030ceru) is sometimes used medicinally, both\nexternally and internally. The commoner clay (odu in Aka-J\u030ceru) is\nplastered on sores, and has the effect of keeping off flies, if it does\nnothing else.\n\nAn olive-coloured earth (called \u010dul\u014ba in Aka-Bea), found in certain\nsprings, is prized as a remedy. It is mixed with water and taken\ninternally as a general remedy for all sorts of complaints.\n\nTurning now to the magical properties of vegetable substances, there\nare a large number of these, and some of them have not been botanically\nidentified.\n\nThe Anadendron paniculatum is a plant from which the Andamanese obtain\na valuable fibre, which they use for their bow-strings, and for thread\nwith which to make their arrows and harpoons. A number of magical\nproperties are attributed to this plant. Rheumatism is supposed to be\ndue to the \u201csmell\u201d of the plant getting into the system when the fibre\nis being prepared [93]. The \u201csmell\u201d of the green plant, or of the fibre\nuntil it has been thoroughly dried for some days, is believed to\nfrighten away turtle. A man who has been preparing the fibre would not\ndream of joining a turtle-hunting expedition, for his presence in the\ncanoe would be sufficient to drive away all the turtle. A\nturtle-hunting expedition would be a failure if a piece of the green\ncreeper were in the canoe. A man who has been handling the plant may\nnot cook turtle, for the meat would be \u201cbad,\u201d i.e., uneatable. The same\nthing would happen if turtle meat accidentally came in contact with a\npiece of the plant. All this applies only to the green creeper, and not\nto the fibre after it has been properly prepared and dried. The fibre\nitself is used for binding the heads of turtle-harpoons, so it is\nevidently regarded as harmless.\n\nIf a piece of the Anadendron creeper were burnt in the fire the natives\nbelieve that it would drive all the turtle away from the neighbourhood,\nor, according to another statement, that there would be a great storm.\n\nSo far we have considered the properties of the plant only in so far as\nthey make it dangerous to handle. It has other and beneficial\nproperties. It is said that a man swimming in waters infested with\nsharks would be safe from them if he had a piece of the Anadendron\ncreeper with him, in his belt or necklace. The creeper is also supposed\nto preserve anyone who carries it from the attacks of the sea spirits\n(J\u030curua).\n\nThe Hibiscus tiliaceus is a small tree from which the natives obtain\nthe fibre which they make into rope, used now for harpoon lines and in\nformer times for turtle-nets. The leaves of this tree are believed to\nhave the power of keeping away the spirits of the sea. They have no\nefficacy, however, against the spirits of the forest. Leaves of the\nHibiscus tiliaceus are used in the turtle-eating ceremony described in\nthe last chapter. For cooking turtle the only wood that may be used is\nthe Hibiscus. If any other wood were used the meat would not be good.\nIn this connection it is necessary to point out an error in the\nstatements of Mr Man. He says that the wood of the alaba must never be\nused for cooking turtle, though it may be used for cooking pig, and\nthat Puluga is angry if this commandment is not observed and sends\neither the sun or moon to punish the offender [94]. There is evidently\nan error here. The alaba is the Hibiscus tiliaceus. Mr Man identifies\nit with the Melochia velutina, but this is an error. Now the custom in\nconnection with the Hibiscus (alaba) is not that it may not be used for\ncooking turtle, but that no other kind of wood must be used. It is\ndifficult to see how Mr Man fell into the error, unless he mistook a\nstatement regarding the yo\u0331lba (Anadendron paniculatum) for a statement\nrelating to alaba (Hibiscus tiliaceus). We have just seen that if the\nAnadendron comes in contact with turtle meat the meat will be bad, and\nthat if it is burnt there will be a storm.\n\nAnother plant that provides fibre for thread is the Gnetum edule. There\nis a belief that the green creeper of this plant will drive away\nturtle, if a piece of it be taken in a canoe.\n\nMagical properties are attributed to the Ficus laccifera tree. These\ntrees are believed to be the home of the yet unborn souls of children.\nI was told in the North Andaman that if a tree of the species were cut\nthere would be a storm. The bark of the aerial roots of the tree\naffords a fibre used in the Little Andaman for bow-strings, but only\nused in the Great Andaman for making personal ornaments. It is possible\nthat some magical properties are attributed to the ornaments made from\nthis fibre.\n\nThe Pterocarpus dalbergioides is one of the most striking trees of the\nAndamans. It has a very hard red wood, from which the natives make\ntheir sounding-boards. There is an obscure belief in the A-Pu\u010dikwar\ntribe (and possibly also in other tribes) that it is dangerous to look\nat the tree when it is in flower. I was twice told a story of how some\npeople were affected by looking at the flowers, and either went mad or\ndied. On one occasion my interpreter translated the words of my\ninformant by saying \u201cThey saw the flowers, and went giddy, and they all\nwent to hell (J\u030cereg-l\u2019ar-mugu).\u201d Men must be careful when the tree is\nin flower, not to look at it too long. In the North Andaman I was told\nthat string games (\u01f0ipre) must not be played when the Pterocarpus tree\nis in flower. They may be indulged in with safety at any other time of\nthe year. (String games, according to one statement, were invented by\nthe Lau, while another account attributes the invention to the crab.)\n\nThe Tetranthera lanc\u00e6folia is a small tree from which the natives\nobtain the wood for the shafts of their pig arrows. The leaves of this\ntree are believed to have the power to keep away the spirits of the\nforest. They are used in the pig-eating ceremony described in the last\nchapter. The wood is shredded and made into plumes, and these plumes\nare believed to have magical properties. They are worn by a man who has\nkilled another, and are believed to protect him from the vengeance of\nthe spirit of the dead man.\n\nA common remedy for sickness of different kinds is a small tree called\ngugma in Aka-Bea, which Mr Man identifies as being Trigonostemon\nlongifolius. The leaves of this tree are made into a bed for the\npatient to lie upon. They are also crushed and rubbed over the\npatient\u2019s body, or he is made to inhale the odour of the crushed\nleaves. The natives say that it is the \u201csmell\u201d of the plant that\npossesses medical properties. The \u201csmell\u201d will drive away turtle, and\nleaves should therefore not be taken in a canoe. A man who has been\nhandling the leaves would not go turtle-hunting.\n\nAnother remedy is a species of Alpinia. The leaves and stems of this\nplant are chewed and the juice swallowed for certain ailments. The\nplant is also used when taking honey. A man takes some of the leaves in\nhis mouth and chews them well. Before taking the honeycomb he sprays\nthe saliva from his mouth over and around it. He may also rub the\nchewed leaves over his body. The natives say that in this way they are\nable to prevent the bees from stinging them.\n\nMagical properties are attributed to a number of plants that have not\nbeen botanically identified. Thus the leaves of a small tree called\ntare in Aka-J\u030ceru are crushed and moistened with water and rubbed over\nthe body as a remedy for illness. A strip of bark from the same tree is\ntied round the chest of a man with a pain in his chest. The bark of two\ntrees called (in Aka-J\u030ceru) tip and laro is crushed and moistened and\nrubbed over a sick man\u2019s body. The leaves of a plant called pare are\ncrushed with water and the infusion is drunk by persons suffering from\ndiarrh\u0153a and abdominal pains. A creeper called korotli is crushed and\ntied round a limb in cases of snake-bite. The seeds of the Entada\nscandens are heated in the fire and applied (while hot) to such wounds\nas that from the tusk of a boar.\n\nThere are a certain number of trees and plants about which the natives\nsay that any person cutting them will become blind. The names of four\nof these in Aka-J\u030ceru are \u01f0in, burut, de\u014b, and mit.\n\nWe may turn now to animals and animal substances. Magical properties\nare attributed to bees\u2019-wax, particularly to black bees\u2019-wax. In a case\nof pleurisy black bees\u2019-wax was heated until it was soft, and then\nsmeared over the man\u2019s chest. Bees\u2019-wax is believed to keep away the\nspirits of the forest.\n\nIf a man be bitten by a snake and the snake be killed it is skinned and\nthe inner surface of the skin is applied to the wound.\n\nA hiccough is supposed to be the result of inadvertently swallowing a\ntree lizard, whose call rather resembles the sound of a person\nhiccoughing.\n\nThe condition popularly called \u201cpins and needles\u201d or described as an\narm or leg \u201cgoing to sleep\u201d is believed by the Andamanese to be due to\nthe bite of a rat. If a man wakes up in the night with one of his limbs\nbenumbed in this way, he believes that a rat has bitten him while he\nslept.\n\nThe Andamanese say that the bite of a civet-cat (Paradoxurus) will\nproduce cramp. I was once told that if a man eats the flesh of the\ncivet-cat and then goes into the water he will become \u201clame.\u201d This\nmeans, I think, that he will have cramp, and so will be unable to swim.\n\nThe flesh and particularly the fat of the flying fox (Pteropus) is\nbelieved to be a remedy for rheumatism. An old man who was suffering\nfrom this ailment once asked me to shoot for him some of these bats,\nwhich he cooked and ate.\n\nIf turtle-fat be permitted to burn in the fire there will be a storm.\n\nMention has already been made of the magical value attributed to human\nbones. They are esteemed as a means of driving away spirits, and\ntherefore of curing or preventing sickness. A human jaw-bone was\nhanging in my hut in such a position that it could swing in the wind.\nThe natives attributed to this the illness from which I and several of\nthem were suffering at the time, and asked me to put the bone away in a\nbasket, where it could not move.\n\nBones of animals are made into ornaments in the same way as human\nbones, and magical properties of a similar kind seem to be attributed\nto them.\n\nOf other objects possessing magical properties the most important is\nfire. Fire is believed to have the power of keeping away spirits of the\nsea and of the forest. A fire is always kept alight beside a sick man\nor woman. For dysentery stones are heated in a fire and the patient is\nrequired to defecate on to these.\n\nIn conclusion, mention must be made of one favourite remedy of the\nAndamanese, namely scarification. The part of the body that is the seat\nof pain is scarified, as the forehead for headaches, the cheek for\ntoothache. A number of very small incisions are made in the skin close\ntogether, with a sharp flake of quartz or glass. The incisions are just\ndeep enough to cut through the skin and cause a little blood to ooze\nout, but not so deep as to produce a flow of blood. The operation is\nthe work of women. It is probably more frequently used than any other\nremedy except red paint and human bones.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nMYTHS AND LEGENDS\n\n\nThe Andamanese have a number of stories which are told to the younger\npeople by their elders and relate to the doings of their ancestors in a\ntime long ago. Some of these stories are recorded in the present\nchapter. A difficulty in the way of giving any clear and readable\naccount of them is the fact that there are many slightly different\nversions of one and the same legend. To some extent the variations are\nlocal, each tribe, and even each portion of a tribe having its own set\nof legendary stories. Besides these local variations there are also\nindividual variations. Two men of the same tribe may relate what is\nsubstantially the same story, yet each chooses his own words and\ngestures, and to some extent they may even arrange the incidents\ndifferently.\n\nIn the last chapter it was mentioned that there are certain\nindividuals, known as oko-\u01f0umu in the North Andaman and oko-paiad in\nthe South, who are believed to have special knowledge as to the spirits\nand as to the magical efficacy of remedies for sickness. It is these\noko-\u01f0umu also who are the authorities on the legendary lore of the\nAndamanese. In the case of magical remedies there is a certain common\nstock of beliefs as to the efficacy to be attributed to different\nsubstances, such as leaves of different plants, and on the basis of\nthese beliefs the oko-\u01f0umu elaborates the remedies that he uses in\nparticular cases. Each oko-\u01f0umu, however, prides himself on being, to\nsome extent, original. An example of this has been already mentioned.\nWhen a great storm arose an oko-\u01f0umu of one of the Northern tribes\nsucceeded in stopping it (in the belief of the natives) by placing a\npiece of the crushed stem of the Anadendron creeper under a particular\nstone in the sea. On a later occasion another storm arose, and the\nsuccessor of the first-mentioned oko-\u01f0umu was appealed to that he might\nexert his powers. He did not simply imitate his predecessor, but he\nplaced a piece of crushed bark and twigs of the Ficus laccifera in the\nsea under a different stone. In very much the same way there is a\ncommon stock of beliefs as to the events that took place in the time of\nthe ancestors, but each oko-\u01f0umu builds up on this basis his own\nparticular set of legends, so that it is rarely that two of them tell\nthe same story in the same way. An oko-\u01f0umu may obtain for himself a\nreputation by relating legends of the ancestors in a vivid and amusing\nway. Such a man would be able to invent new stories by combining\ntogether in his own way some of the traditional incidents. The desire\non the part of each oko-\u01f0umu to be original and so to enhance his own\nreputation is a fertile source of variation in the legends.\n\nThis lack of traditional form, which is a very important characteristic\nof the Andamanese mythology, may be compared with their lack of\ntraditional songs. Just as every man composes his own songs, so, within\ncertain limits, every oko-\u01f0umu relates in his own way the legends of\nhis tribe. But whereas every man is a composer of songs, only a certain\nnumber are regarded as having authority to speak on the legends.\n\nUnderlying the legends of any tribe there are a certain number of\nbeliefs or representations with which every native is familiar. It is\non the basis of these that the oko-\u01f0umu elaborates his own doctrine, if\nwe may call it so, which he hands on to his followers, who in turn may\nbecome oko-\u01f0umu and produce further slight modifications of their own.\nThus the legends are continually being changed, though in any one\ngeneration the changes introduced are slight, and it would take a long\ntime for important changes in belief to be brought about. There is\nevidence, however, that a succession of leading men in the A-Pu\u010dikwar\ntribe have succeeded in introducing a new doctrine as to the weather,\nmaking Bilik the name of a class of beings instead of the name of a\nsingle being, and that this doctrine, while it has not entirely ousted\nthe former beliefs, has yet succeeded in gaining currency not only in\nthe A-Pu\u010dikwar tribe, but also in the Aka-Ko\u0331l and O\u0331ko\u0331-J\u030cuwo\u0331i tribes.\n\nAt the present time it is only possible to recover a small part of the\nmany different legends with their variants. The introduction of many\nnew interests into the lives of the natives, through the European\nsettlement and the many changes it has produced, has caused the ancient\nlegends to be neglected. Most of the old oko-\u01f0umu have died without\nleaving any followers to take their place. Many of the legends recorded\nhere are merely what some of the men not specially skilled in legendary\nlore can remember of the stories told them in former days by oko-\u01f0umu\nwho are now dead.\n\nOne feature of the legends that must be pointed out is their\nunsystematic nature. The same informant may give, on different\noccasions, two entirely different versions of such a thing as the\norigin of fire, or the beginning of the human race. The Andamanese, to\nall appearance, regard each little story as independent, and do not\nconsciously compare one with another. They thus seem to be entirely\nunconscious of what are obvious contradictions to the student of the\nlegends. It is necessary to emphasise the fragmentary and unsystematic\nnature of the Andaman mythology because Mr Man, in his work on the\nAndamanese, has brought together a number of legends from the tribes of\nthe South Andaman and has combined them into a continuous and fairly\nconsistent narrative, and has thus, undoubtedly not intentionally,\ngiven a wrong impression to the reader of what the nature of the\ndisconnected stories really is. While each of the stories included in\nMr Man\u2019s account is derived directly from the natives, it would seem\ncertain that the arrangement of them into a more or less consistent\nnarrative is due to Mr Man.\n\nIn recording the legends in this chapter, only the English translation\nis given. In some cases the legends were translated on the spot and\nwritten down in English. In other cases they were written down in the\nnative language and then translated. When I was recording the legends I\nvery frequently had to ask what was meant by a particular statement,\nthe meaning of which might be quite clear to a native, but which was\nobscure to one not accustomed to thinking in the same way as the\nnatives. In some cases I could obtain no satisfactory explanation, and\nsuch legends are given in this chapter in as nearly as possible an\nexact literal translation of the original. In other cases the\nexplanations given by the natives have been incorporated in the\ntranslation itself.\n\nIn order to give the reader a fair idea of the nature of the legends as\nthey are told, one is here given in the native language (Aka-\u010cari) with\na word-for-word translation.\n\n\n A Maia Dik i\u01f0okoduko; o ko\u0331nmo te\u010d in\u01f0ukte\u0331rto\u0331ia;\n Sir Prawn makes fire; yam leaf catches fire;\n\n ko\u0331nmo te\u010d bi ikterbie; kete ui\u01f0oko; ui\u01f0okobiko;\n yam leaf is dry; that one it burns; he makes a fire;\n\n Maia Dik ubenoba; Maia Totemo emato; u\u01f0okil uektebalo;\n Sir Prawn slept; Sir Kingfisher takes; he fire with he runs away\n\n Maia Totemo \u01f0okobiko; Maia Totemo ta\u01f0eo ubiko;\n Sir Kingfisher makes a fire; Sir Kingfisher fish (food) cooks;\n\n upetil ubeno; Maia Mite \u01f0uktebalo uemato.\n his belly in he sleeps; Sir Dove runs away taking.\n\n\nThe above translation is hardly comprehensible without a little\nexplanation. The word i\u01f0oko means \u201csomething burns,\u201d the word ubiko\nmeans \u201che cooks (by roasting).\u201d The compound i\u01f0okobiko may mean either\n\u201che makes a fire and cooks something at it\u201d or it may simply mean \u201che\nmakes up a fire (by adding firewood).\u201d The word i\u01f0okoduko has a quite\ndifferent meaning, \u201cto produce fire.\u201d The derivation of in\u01f0ukte\u0331rto\u0331ia is\nuncertain, as I am not sure of the proper use of er-to\u0331ia; it is\ntranslated on the basis of the explanation given me by the man who told\nthe story. The word ikterbie is descriptive of the dryness of dead\nleaves.\n\nA free translation would be as follows: \u201cIt was Sir Prawn who first\nproduced or obtained fire. Some yam leaves, being shrivelled and dry by\nreason of the hot weather, caught fire and burnt. The prawn made a fire\nwith some firewood and went to sleep. The kingfisher stole fire and ran\naway with it. He made a fire and cooked some fish. When he had filled\nhis belly he went to sleep. The dove stole fire from the kingfisher and\nran away.\u201d It is implied that it was the dove who gave the fire to the\nancestors of the Andamanese.\n\nVersions of legends of the origin of fire are given by Mr Portman, in\neach of the languages of the Southern group of tribes. [95]\n\nAll the legends relate to events that are supposed to have happened in\nthe past, and deal with the doings of the ancestors of the Andamanese.\nIn the North Andaman the ancestors are sometimes called Lau t\u2019er-kuro,\ni.e. the big spirits, \u201cbig\u201d being used in the sense of our word\n\u201cchief.\u201d Another term for them is N\u2019a-mai-koloko, from n\u2019 or nio =\nthey, aka-mai = father, and koloko = people, so that the phrase\nliterally means \u201cthe father people,\u201d or the ancestors. In the South\nAndaman the ancestors are sometimes called \u010cauga taba\u014ba, which is the\nequivalent of Lau t\u2019er-kuro. Mr Man seems to have misunderstood the\nexact meaning of this term. He writes: \u201cLa\u010di Lora-lola, the chief of\nthe survivors from the Deluge [96], gave, at his death, the name of\n\u010cauga taba\u014ba to their descendants.... The \u010cauga taba\u014ba are described as\nfine tall men with large beards, and they are said to have been long\nlived, but, in other respects and in their mode of living they did not\ndiffer from the present inhabitants. The name seems to have been borne\ntill comparatively recent times, as a few still living are said to\nremember having seen the last of the so-called \u010cauga taba\u014ba [97].\u201d\n\nMr Man has evidently not realised that the term \u010dauga cannot be applied\nto any living Andamanese, but may be applied to every dead one. The\n\u010cauga are the spirits of dead natives, and new \u010cauga are continually\ncoming into existence by death. Any person who is of such importance\nwhen alive as to form the subject of legends or stories after his death\nmay be distinguished (after his death only) as a \u010cauga taba\u014ba. The name\nmay thus be applied to the purely mythical ancestors of the legends,\nand also to the spirits of men recently dead whose memory is preserved\nowing to fame acquired in some way when they were alive. It is thus\npossible that some of the natives with whom Mr Man formerly conversed\nare now \u010cauga taba\u014ba, i.e. big spirits, having been \u201cbig men\u201d when they\nwere alive.\n\nAnother name sometimes used in the South Andaman to denote the\nancestors is Tomo-la [98]. This word, however, is sometimes used in the\nsingular to denote the mythical first man. Its use is thus similar to\nthat of the name Bilik in the A-Pu\u010dikwar tribe, which is used both as\nthe name of a single mythical being and also as the name of a class of\nbeings. Only the early ancestors of the Andamanese, i.e. those about\nwhom the legends are related, can be called Tomo-la.\n\nAmong the ancestors who appear in the legends there are a few who bear\nnames that are used as personal names of men and women at the present\ntime, and who appear in the legends simply as men and women. The larger\nnumber of the ancestors, however, bear names that are those of species\nof animals. In each case the ancestor is identified with the species\nwhich bears the same name. Yet others of the mythical ancestors have\nnames that are neither personal names at the present day, nor names of\nanimals. It may perhaps be supposed that in all such cases the name has\nsome sort of meaning, but in many instances it was not found possible\nto discover the meaning with certainty.\n\nWhen speaking of the ancestors, the natives generally add to the name\nthe appropriate title. These titles are, in the North Andaman Maia\n(Sir) and Mimi (Lady), in Akar-Bale Da (Sir) and In (Lady), and in\nAka-Bea Maia and \u010cana.\n\nThere are legends as to the origin of mankind, i.e., of their own race,\nfor they did not recognize, until recently, the existence of any men of\nother races than their own, calling aliens Lau (spirits). There is,\nhowever, no unanimity in their beliefs as to how mankind originated,\neven in any one tribe. An Aka-Bo legend is as follows:\n\n\u201cThe first man was J\u030cutpu [99]. He was born inside the joint of a big\nbamboo, just like a bird in an egg [100]. The bamboo split and he came\nout. He was a little child. When it rained he made a small hut for\nhimself and lived in it. He made little bows and arrows. As he grew\nbigger he made bigger huts, and bigger bows and arrows. One day he\nfound a lump of quartz and with it he scarified himself. J\u030cutpu was\nlonely, living all by himself. He took some clay (ko\u0331t) from a nest of\nthe white ants and moulded it into the shape of a woman. She became\nalive and became his wife. She was called Ko\u0331t. They lived together at\nTeraut-buliu. Afterwards J\u030cutpu made other people out of clay. These\nwere the ancestors. J\u030cutpu taught them how to make canoes and bows and\narrows, and how to hunt and fish. His wife taught the women how to make\nbaskets and nets and mats and belts, and how to use clay for making\npatterns on the body.\u201d\n\nThe same story was told me by Aka-J\u030ceru men, the only difference being\nthat they gave the name of the place where J\u030cutpu lived differently,\nmentioning a spot in the Aka-J\u030ceru country.\n\nFrom the Aka-J\u030ceru I also obtained what is really another version of the\nsame legend, though the name of the first ancestor is given\ndifferently. \u201cThe first man came out of the buttress of a po\u0331i\u010do\n(Sterculia) tree, and was called Po\u0331i\u010dotobut (Sterculia buttress). He\nhad no wife, so he cohabited with an ant\u2019s nest (ko\u0331t) and thus obtained\na large number of children. These were the first Andamanese, and\nPo\u0331i\u010dotobut taught them all their arts and customs. Po\u0331i\u010dotobut lived at\nBo\u0331ro\u0331\u014b Buliu (in Aka-J\u030ceru country).\u201d\n\nThe association between the origin of the Andamanese and an ant\u2019s nest\n(ko\u0331t) is retained in another legend, told by an Aka-J\u030ceru man. \u201cTarai\n(the south-west monsoon) was the first man. His wife was Ko\u0331t. They\nlived at Tarai-era-po\u014b [101]. Their children were Tau (the sky), Bo\u0331to\n(wind), Piribi (storm), and Air (the foam on a rough sea).\u201d\n\nAn entirely different legend, of which, however, I could not obtain a\ndetailed version, is also found in the Aka-J\u030ceru tribe. This is to the\neffect that the first living being was Maia \u010cara [102]. He made the\nearth, and caused it to be peopled with inhabitants. He also made the\nsun and moon. In the last chapter \u010cara was mentioned as a mythical\nbeing associated with the sun, with daylight and with fine weather. One\nof my informants of the Aka-J\u030ceru tribe said that \u010cara had a wife named\nNimi (a common personal name), and that his children were \u010ceo (knife),\nIno (water), Loto, and Luk. It is Maia \u010cara, according to one commonly\nreceived account, who makes the daylight every day.\n\nI could not obtain any Aka-Kede legend as to the origin of mankind. One\ninformant of that tribe said that it was Bilika (the north-east\nmonsoon) who made the world and the first men and women, but he could\ngive me no detailed legend.\n\nIn the Aka-Ko\u0331l and A-Pu\u010dikwar tribes there are several versions of a\nlegend that makes the monitor lizard (Varanus salvator) the progenitor\nof the Andaman race. In all the versions there is no mention of how the\nlizard himself originated. The following was told me by an Aka-Ko\u0331l man.\n\u201cWhen Ta Pe\u0331tie (Sir Monitor Lizard) was aka-go\u0331i (i.e. unmarried, but\nhaving completed the initiation ceremonies), he went into the jungle to\nhunt pig. He climbed up a Dipterocarpus tree, and got stuck there\n[103]. Beyan (civet-cat, Paradoxurus) found him there, stuck in the\ntree. She released him and helped him to get down. The two got married.\nTheir children were the Tomo-la (i.e. the ancestors).\u201d\n\nAnother legend telling how the monitor lizard obtained a wife was\nrelated to me on more than one occasion by A-Pu\u010dikwar men. \u201cThe first\nof the ancestors (Tomo-la) was Ta Pe\u0331tie (Sir Monitor Lizard). He lived\nat Tomo-la-tog. At first he had no wife. One day, when he was out\nfishing, he found a piece of black wood of the kind called ko\u0331lotat\n(Diospyros sp.). He found it in the creek, and brought it to his hut,\nwhere he put it on the little platform over the fire [104]. He sat down\nby the fire and set to work over an arrow that he was making. As he\nbent over his work he did not see what was happening. By and by he\nheard some one laugh, and looked up. Then he saw that the piece of wood\nhad turned into a woman. He got up and took her down from the platform.\nShe sat down with him and became his wife. They had a son named Po\u0331i (a\nspecies of small bird, possibly a woodpecker), and afterwards many\nother children. They lived together for a long time at Tomo-la-tog. One\nday Ta Pe\u0331tie went fishing and was drowned in the creek. He turned into\na kara-duku.\u201d\n\nThere is some doubt about the translation of the word kara-duku. It is\nan Aka-Bea word, although it was used as given above, by an A-Pu\u010dikwar\nman. Mr Man translates it \u201ccachalot.\u201d Mr Portman says that kara-duku is\n\u201ccrocodile,\u201d but that the cachalot, the proper name of which is\nbiriga-ta, is also sometimes called kara-duku [105]. The only authority\nfor the existence of crocodiles in the Andamans is the statement of Mr\nPortman, who says that the natives killed one in the Middle Andaman and\nbrought the bones to him. Although I was in many of the creeks of the\nAndamans at different times I never saw a crocodile, and none of the\nother officers of the Settlement, who have repeatedly explored a large\npart of the islands, ever seems to have seen one, so that the one\nrecorded by Mr Portman may possibly have been a single one that had\ncome oversea from the mainland of Asia.\n\nAnother A-Pu\u010dikrwa account of the origin of the first woman Ko\u0331lotat, is\nas follows: \u201cAt first there were no women, only men. A man called\nKo\u0331lotat came to live in the A-Pu\u010dikwar country. Ta Pe\u0331tie (Sir Monitor\nLizard) caught him and cut off his genitals and made him into a woman.\nShe became his wife. Their children were the first of the ancestors\n(Tomo-la).\u201d\n\nAnother account given by members of the A-Pu\u010dikwar tribe is that the\nfirst man was Tomo, or Tomo-la. One version that I heard is that Tomo\nmade the world and peopled it with the ancestors. He made the moon\n(Puki) who is his wife. Tomo and his wife invented all the arts of the\nAndamanese and taught them to the ancestors. After his death Tomo went\nto live in the sky, where he now is. It is Tomo who sends the fine\nweather, while Bilik sends the bad weather. In the world where Tomo now\nlives it is always daylight and is always fine. When men die their\nspirits go up to the sky and live with Tomo. The man who gave me this\nversion said that he did not know how Tomo originated, but was quite\nsure that he was not made by Bilik. Tomo came first and Bilik came\nafterwards. The Andamanese are all the children of Tomo [106].\n\nIn disagreement with this story, another man of the same tribe said\nthat Tomo was made by Bilik. He (i.e., Tomo) had a wife Mita (Dove),\nand they were the ancestors of the Andamanese. Yet another informant\nsaid: \u201cTa Tomo was the first man. He made bows and arrows and canoes.\nHis canoes were made of the wood of the Pandanus tree. Mita (Dove) was\nhis wife. It was she who first made nets and baskets and discovered the\nuses of red paint and white clay.\u201d When I asked how Tomo and his wife\noriginated my informant replied that he did not know.\n\nA species of bird (perhaps a woodpecker), called Po\u0331i in A-Pu\u010dikwar and\nKo\u0331io in Aka-Ko\u0331l, is often said to have been the son of Tomo. I was once\ntold that Ko\u0331io was the first of the Andamanese, from whom they are all\ndescended, and that his wife was Mita. Another informant said that\nPe\u0331tie (Monitor Lizard) was the first man and Mita was his wife, while\nstill another stated that Ta Mita (Sir Dove) was the progenitor of the\nrace, making the dove male instead of female. These different versions\nwill give some idea of the contradictory nature of the statements of\nthe Andamanese. All of them come from only two tribes, the A-Pu\u010dikwar\nand the Aka-Ko\u0331l.\n\nFrom the Akar-Bale tribe I obtained the following legend. \u201cPuluga made\nthe first of the ancestors. He made one man and one woman called Nyali\nand Irap [107]. He gave them fire, and taught them how to hunt and\nfish, and how to make bows and arrows and baskets and nets. The place\nwhere they lived is called Irap because they lived there [108].\u201d\n\nAnother Akar-Bale version is that the first man was Da Duku (Sir\nMonitor Lizard), and that his wife was In Bain (Lady Civet-cat).\n\nMr E. H. Man, in his account of the South Andaman, says that there are\na few discrepancies in their accounts of the creation and origin of the\nhuman species, but in the main features all the natives with whom he\nspoke are agreed. The world was created by Puluga, who then made a man\nnamed Tomo, the first of the human race. Tomo was black, like the\npresent Andamanese, but was much taller and bearded. Puluga showed him\nthe various fruit-trees in the jungle, which then existed only at\nWota-emi, a spot in the country of the A-Pu\u010dikwar tribe. The wife of\nTomo was \u010cana Elewadi (Lady Crab), and as to her origin there are\ndifferent legends. According to some, Puluga created her after he had\ntaught Tomo how to sustain life; others say that Tomo saw her swimming\nnear his home and called to her, whereupon she landed and lived with\nhim; while a third story represents her as coming pregnant to Kyd\nIsland, where she gave birth to several male and female children, who\nsubsequently became the progenitors of the present race. Tomo had two\nsons and two daughters by \u010cana Elewadi; the names of the former were\nBiro-la and Bo\u0331ro-la, and of the latter Rie-la and \u010co\u0331rmi-la.\n\nA story that tells how Tomo came to his end states that one day, while\nhunting, he fell into the creek called Yara-tig-\u01f0ig and was drowned. He\nwas at once transformed into a kara-duku (which Mr Man translates as\n\u201ccachalot\u201d). \u010cana Elewadi, ignorant of the accident that had befallen\nher husband, went in a canoe with some of her grandchildren to\nascertain the cause of his continued absence; on seeing them, Kara-duku\nupset their skiff and drowned his wife and most of her companions. She\nbecame a small crab, of a description still named after her, elewadi,\nand the others were transformed into lizards (duku). Another version of\nthis story is that, wearied with an unsuccessful day\u2019s hunting, Tomo\nwent to the shore, where he found a \u010didi (Pinna) shell-fish; while\nplaying with it, it fastened on him, and he was unable to free himself\nuntil a baian (Paradoxurus) seized the \u010didi and liberated him at the\nexpense of one of his members. Shortly after this he saw his wife and\nsome of their children coming after him in a canoe; unwilling that they\nshould become aware of the misfortune that had befallen him he upset\nthe canoe, drowning its occupants and himself. He then became\nkara-duku, and the others duku, which are now plentiful in the jungles\n[109].\n\nIn some of the preceding legends reference is made to Biliku or Puluga.\nThere is a very general belief, in all parts of the islands, that in\nthe time of the ancestors, Biliku or Puluga lived on earth. Each tribe\nhas at least one spot in its territory that is pointed out as the place\nwhere Biliku (or Puluga) lived. In some tribes there are three or four\nsuch places, each of which is claimed as the original home of Biliku by\nthe people living in the neighbourhood. In many cases the name of the\nspot contains a reference to the legend, as Puluga l\u2019od-barai\u01f0 (the\nvillage of Puluga) in Akar-Bale or Biliku era-po\u014b (the cave of Biliku)\nin the North Andaman.\n\nI was able to obtain a few legends relating to the time when Biliku\nlived on earth, though there were probably many more that I was not\nfortunate enough to hear.\n\nThe following is an Aka-J\u030ceru legend:\n\n\u201cIn the time of the ancestors Biliku lived at Ar-ko\u0331l. One day the\npeople caught a turtle and brought it to the camp. Biliku was sitting\nthere. They asked her if she would eat some of it. She said \u2018No.\u2019 They\nput the meat in the roof of the hut and went away. When they had gone\nBiliku ate the whole turtle. Then she went to sleep. The people came\nback and found the turtle gone. They said \u2018Biliku has eaten it.\u2019 They\nleft the camp and all went to Tebi-\u010diro. They left Biliku asleep. Some\nof the people went to hunt for turtle. Their canoe passed near Ar-ko\u0331l.\nBiliku saw the people in the canoe. She called to them and asked to be\ntaken with them. The people refused saying \u2018You ate up all the turtle.\u2019\nBiliku had a round stone and several be shells (pearl shells). She\nthrew the shells at the people in the canoe. The first shell did not\nhit them but came back and fell at her feet; and so also with the\nsecond. Then Biliku got very angry and threw a third time. The shell\nstruck the canoe and killed all the people in it. The canoe and its\noccupants became a reef of rocks that is still there. The other people\nat Tebi-\u010diro called across to Biliku saying \u2018Come over here.\u2019 She\nanswered \u2018Very well! I am coming.\u2019 She took the stone that she had and\nput it in the sea, and it floated. She got on to it to cross over. When\nshe had got half way across Biliku and her stone sank in the sea. They\nbecame two big rocks that are there still.\u201d This legend refers to the\nwest coast of the North Andaman. The pearl shells that Biliku throws\nseem to be lightning, and the round stone the one that she rolls about\nto make thunder.\n\nA few other statements about Biliku and Tarai from the four tribes of\nthe North Andaman are given below just as they were taken down in my\nnote-books.\n\n(1) \u201cBiliku lived at Pura-\u2019ra-po\u014b in the time of the ancestors. Her\nhusband was Pe\u0331r\u01f0ido and her children Totaimo, Mite (cicada) and Tarai.\nShe made the sun and the moon. It was she who first invented all the\nthings that are now made and used by women, such as baskets, nets,\netc., and it was she who discovered fire, and who first discovered the\nuse of edible roots such as ko\u0331nmo and mino (two species of Dioscorea).\u201d\n\n(2) \u201cBiliku used to live at \u010caura. She had a husband Tarai and a son\nPe\u0331r\u01f0ido, and a daughter Mite. She used to live only on certain\nvegetable foods, lo\u0331ito, pata, bui, \u010do, ko\u0331nmo and mino and others. It\nwas Biliku who made the earth (the forest, ti-miku). She began at\n\u010caura.\u201d\n\n(3) \u201cBiliku lived at Ar-Ko\u0331l in the time of the ancestors. Her husband\nwas Tarai and their children were the birds, To\u0331ro\u0331i, Taka, \u010coto\u0331t,\nPoruatoko, Kelil, Mite, \u010co\u0331p\u010dura, Benye, Biratkoro, \u010cereo, Milidu,\nBobelo, Ko\u0331lo, and Teo.\u201d (Aka-J\u030ceru.)\n\n(4) \u201cBiliku lived at Poroket. She was unmarried. She had a son Pe\u0331r\u01f0ido,\nand her other children were To\u0331ro\u0331i, \u010celene, \u010coto\u0331t and \u010cerei. (These four\nare the names of birds.) It was Pe\u0331r\u01f0ido who invented all the arts of\nthe Andamanese such as their bows and arrows, etc.\u201d (Aka-Bo?)\n\n(5) \u201cBiliku used to live at Pe\u010d-meo with her husband To\u0331ro\u0331i (a bird).\nShe used to eat lo\u0331ito, and when anyone else ate that root she was\nangry. Tarai lived at \u010caro\u014ba with his wife Kelil (a bird). He ate only\nmikulu.\u201d (Aka-Ko\u0331ra.)\n\n(6) \u201cTarai has very long legs and a short body. He used to live on a\nsmall island beyond Interview Island, which is now submerged. When\nTarai goes to sleep he breathes very heavily and this makes the wind.\u201d\n\nThe next is an Aka-Kede legend. \u201cIn the days of the ancestors Bilika\nlived at Purum-at-\u010dape in the Aka-Kede country, with her husband\nPo\u0331ro\u0331kul. One day Po\u0331ro\u0331kul was out hunting. He returned with a pig that\nhe had killed and came to the creek on the other side of which was his\nhome (Co\u0331ti-te\u0331r-buli Buliu). Laden as he was with the pig he could not\nswim across the creek. Bilika was sleeping, but her children were\nplaying near and saw their father on the other side of the creek. They\nran and told their mother that their father was coming but could not\ncross the creek. Bilika went and lay down on one bank of the creek and\nstretched out her leg so that it reached the other bank. Po\u0331ro\u0331kul walked\nacross her leg and so reached home.\u201d\n\nWhile it is clear from this legend that Bilika was of super-human size,\nthe same was also true of her husband, if we may judge from another\nlegend. \u201cPo\u0331ro\u0331kul made for himself a bow (of the large southern\npattern), with which to shoot pig. At this time the sky was low down\nnear the earth, only just above the tops of the trees. When Po\u0331ro\u0331kul had\nfinished his bow he lifted it upright. The top of it struck the sky and\nlifted it up to its present position where it has remained ever since.\u201d\n\nIn another legend from another part of the Aka-Kede tribe Bilika is\nspoken of as being male. \u201cBilika lived at Po\u0331ro\u0331\u014b-et-\u010do with his wife\nMite. They had a child. The ancestors ate Bilika\u2019s food, lo\u0331ito and kata\nand other plants. Bilika was very angry. He used to smell their mouths\nto see if they had eaten his food. When he found a man or woman who had\ndone so he would cut his throat. The ancestors were very angry with\nBilika, because he killed the men and women when they ate his foods.\nThey all came together and killed Bilika and his wife Mite. Maia Burto\n(a species of fish) took the child (of Bilika) away to the north-east.\u201d\n\nOwing to my lack of knowledge of the Aka-Kede language there are some\npoints of the above legend that remain obscure. I think that the child\nof Bilika is also named Bilika, and that it is he (or she) who now\nlives in the north-east and sends the storms. The plants (lo\u0331ito, kata,\netc.), called here the \u201cfood\u201d of Bilika, are those mentioned in the\nlast chapter as specially belonging to Bilika, who is angry when the\nnatives eat them. As regards the name, Mite, of Bilika\u2019s wife, I do not\nknow whether this is the name of the bronze-winged dove, or of the\ncicada. In some of the Andamanese languages the names of these two are\nvery similar, the only difference being a very slight one in the way of\npronouncing the two vowels.\n\nThe A-Pu\u010dikwar people who live on the east coast of Baratang Island say\nthat in the beginning the ancestors lived at a place called Wota-emi,\nand Bilik lived opposite to them across the strait at a place called\nTo\u0331l-l\u2019oko-tima. In a rock at Wota-emi there is a large peculiarly\nshaped hollow. This is said to be where Bilik used to sit when he was\non earth.\n\nAn Akar-Bale legend is as follows. \u201cIn the days of the ancestors Puluga\nlived at J\u030cila off the east coast of Henry Lawrence Island and the\nancestors lived at Puluga l\u2019od-barai\u01f0 (the village of Puluga) on the\nmain island just opposite to J\u030cila. Puluga was always getting angry with\nthe ancestors, because they dug up yams and ate \u010dakan (Entada scandens)\nand barata (Caryota sobolifera). When he was angry he used to destroy\ntheir huts and property. So the people sent him out of the world,\nsaying \u2018We do not want you here. You are always angry with us.\u2019 Puluga\nwent away to the north-east.\u201d\n\nIt is worth while to note that J\u030cila is north-east from Puluga\nl\u2019od-barai\u01f0, just as To\u0331l-l\u2019oko-tima is north-east from Wota-emi. In\nboth cases there is a narrow strait between the place where the\nancestors lived and the home of Puluga or Bilik.\n\nThere are a number of different legends that relate how the ancestors\nfirst obtained fire [110]. In many of these legends there is a\nreference to Biliku or Puluga. A common statement in the North Andaman\nis that \u201cFire was stolen from Biliku by Maia Tiritmo (Sir Kingfisher).\u201d\nSome of the legends give further details. An Aka-\u010cari legend is as\nfollows:\n\n\u201cBiliku had a red stone and a pearl shell (be). She struck them\ntogether and obtained fire. She collected firewood and made a fire. She\nwent to sleep. Mite (the bronze-winged dove) came and stole fire. He\nmade a fire for himself. He gave fire to all the people in the village.\nAfterwards fire was given to all the places. Each village had its own.\u201d\n\nThe next is an Aka-J\u030ceru version.\n\n\u201cIn the days of the ancestors they had no fire. Biliku had fire. While\nBiliku slept Maia Lir\u010ditmo (Sir Kingfisher) came and stole fire. As he\nwas taking the fire Biliku awoke and saw him. Lir\u010ditmo swallowed the\nfire. Biliku took a pearl shell (be) and threw it at Lir\u010ditmo and cut\noff his head. The fire came out (of his neck). The ancestors got the\nfire. Lir\u010ditmo became a bird.\u201d\n\nThe next is also, I believe, an Aka-J\u030ceru story. \u201cMaia Tiritmo (Sir\nKingfisher) lived at Tolepar Buruin. He had no fire. When he caught\nfish he had no fire with which to cook it. He went to the place where\n\u010co\u0331k\u010dura (heron) lived. There was no fire there. Tiritmo took some\nrotten wood of the pi\u0144 tree and hit it on a rock, and thus made fire.\nHe gave fire to \u010co\u0331k\u010dura. \u010co\u0331k\u010dura gave fire to Totemo (a species of\nkingfisher). Totemo gave it to all the others.\u201d\n\nA slightly different and less detailed version of the same story is as\nfollows:\n\n\u201cTiritmo made fire. Totemo stole fire (from Tiritmo) and gave it to\nMo\u0331i\u010do (Rail). Mo\u0331i\u010do gave fire to all the people.\u201d\n\nThe next version, which was taken down in Aka-J\u030ceru, I did not fully\nunderstand.\n\n\u201cSome one shot an arrow. The arrow hit the hill of fire. Tiri\u0144 (a\nspecies of kingfisher) found the arrow. It was on fire. He took the\nfire to his camp. He would not give fire to any one. The others asked\nhim. They went to their homes. At night they came to Tiri\u0144\u2019s hut and\nstole fire. They went away, each to his own place.\u201d\n\nThere is a certain amount of obscurity about two other versions, which\nare given in a translation as nearly literal as possible. \u201cMaia Dik\n(Sir Prawn) made fire. Some ko\u0331nmo (yam) leaves caught fire, being dry.\nMaia Dik made a fire. Maia Dik slept. Maia Totemo (Sir Kingfisher)\nstole fire and ran away. Maia Totemo made a fire. He cooked fish. When\nhe had eaten, he slept. Maia Mite (Sir Dove) stole fire (from Totemo)\nand ran away.\u201d\n\nThe other is as follows. \u201cPiribi got fire from a stone. He threw fire\nat Bilika. It set some ko\u0331nmo (yam) leaves on fire. \u010co\u0331rolo (Parrot) got\nfire (from the burning leaves). He gave it to the ancestors.\u201d\n\nThese two legends were taken down in Aka-\u010cari, but they are perhaps\nreally Aka-Ko\u0331ra or Aka-J\u030ceru stories. I have the word piribi in my notes\nas meaning a storm, but the translation is doubtful.\n\nThe next is an Aka-Kede version of what is the most widespread of the\nlegends.\n\n\u201cThe ancestors had no fire. Bilika had fire. The ancestors tried to\nsteal fire from Bilika. Lirtit (Kingfisher) went one night while Bilika\nwas sleeping and stole fire. Bilika awoke and saw him going away with\nthe fire. She threw a pearl shell (ba) at him, which cut off his wings\nand his tail. Lirtit dived into the water and swam with the fire to\nBet-\u2019ra-kudu and gave it to Te\u0331pe. Te\u0331pe gave fire to Mite (the\nbronze-winged dove). Mite gave it to the others [111].\u201d\n\nAn Aka-Kede legend of the origin of the sun may conveniently be given\nin this place, as it is connected with the possession of fire by\nBilika. \u201cBilika made fire of purum wood. One day, when she was very\nangry, she started throwing fire about. One large fire-brand she threw\ninto the sky, and there it became the sun.\u201d This legend explains the\nname of the place Purum-at-\u010dape, at which Bilika is said to have lived\nwhen on earth. Purum is the name of a tree, not identified; at means\neither \u201cfire\u201d or \u201cfire-wood,\u201d and \u010dape means a village or a hut. The\nwhole word therefore means \u201cPurum fire village.\u201d\n\nI did not obtain any legend of the origin of fire from the Oko\u0331-J\u030cuwo\u0331i\nand Aka-Ko\u0331l tribes, but a version from each of these tribes has been\ngiven by Mr Portman. A translation of Mr Portman\u2019s Oko\u0331-J\u030cuwo\u0331i story is\nas follows [112]. \u201cMo\u0331m Mirit [113] stole a fire-brand from\nKuro-t\u2019on-mika while Bilik was sleeping. He gave the brand to the late\nLe\u010d, who then made fire at Karat-tatak-emi.\u201d\n\nMr Portman\u2019s Aka-Ko\u0331l story is somewhat obscure. \u201cBilik was sleeping at\nTo\u0331l-l\u2019oko-tima. Luratut (Kingfisher) took away fire to Oko-emi. Ko\u0331lotat\nwent to Min-to\u0331\u014b-ta (taking with him fire from Oko-emi). At Min-to\u0331\u014b-ta\nthe fire went out. Ko\u0331lotat broke up the charred firewood and made fire\nagain (by blowing up the embers). They (the people there) became alive.\nOwing to the fire they became alive. The ancestors (Ja\u014bil) thus got\nfire at Min-to\u0331\u014b-ta village.\u201d\n\nFrom the A-Pu\u010dikwar tribe I only obtained one version of the fire\nlegend. \u201cWhen the ancestors lived at Wota-emi, Bilik lived at\nTo\u0331l-l\u2019oko-tima across the strait. In those days the ancestors had no\nfire. Bilik took some wood of the tree called pe\u0331rat and broke it and\nmade fire for himself. Luratut (Kingfisher) came to To\u0331l-l\u2019oko-tima\nwhile Bilik was sleeping and stole some fire. Bilik awoke and saw\nLuratut. He (Bilik) took up a lighted brand and threw it at Luratut. It\nhit him in the back of the neck and burnt him. Luratut gave the fire to\nthe people at Wota-emi. Bilik was very angry about this and went away\nto live in the sky.\u201d\n\nThe kingfisher of the story (Alcedo beavani?) has a patch of bright red\nfeathers on its neck. This is where it was burnt by the brand thrown by\nBilik.\n\nMr Portman gives a slightly different version from the same tribe\n[114]. \u201cBilik was sleeping at To\u0331l-l\u2019oko-tima. Luratut went to bring\nfire. He caught hold of the fire, and in doing so burnt Bilik. Bilik\nawoke and seized some fire. He hit Luratut with the fire. Then he hit\nTar\u010dal (a fish) with the fire. \u010calter (another species of kingfisher)\ncaught hold of the fire. He gave it to the ancestors at Wota-emi. The\nancestors made fires.\u201d\n\nFrom the Akar-Bale tribe I obtained the following legend: \u201cThe people\nhad no fire. Dim-do\u0331ri (a fish) went and fetched fire from\nJ\u030cereg-l\u2019ar-mugu (the place of departed spirits). He came back and threw\nthe fire at the people and burnt them, and marked them all. The people\nran into the sea and became fishes. Dim-do\u0331ri went to shoot them with\nhis bow and arrows, and he also became a fish.\u201d This story is supposed\nto account for the bright colouring of certain species of fish.\n\nMr Portman gives a somewhat similar version from the same tribe [115].\n\u201cDim-do\u0331ra (a fish), a very long time ago, at Keri-l\u2019o\u014b-tower, was\nbringing fire from Puluga\u2019s platform (fireplace). He, taking the fire,\nburnt everybody with it. Bolub and Tarko\u0331r and Bili\u010dau fell into the sea\nand became fishes. They took the fire to Rokwa-l\u2019ar-to\u014ba village and\nmade fires there.\u201d\n\nAnother Akar-Bale legend is that fire was given to the first ancestors\n(Da Duku and In Bain) by Puluga. Still another is that fire was\nobtained by the ancestors from Aga, the skink (Mabuia tytleri). The\nmist that is often seen hanging over the jungle in small patches, after\nrain or at dawn, is said to be the smoke of Aga\u2019s fire. An island in\nthe Archipelago is called Aga l\u2019od-baraij, Aga\u2019s village.\n\nMr Portman gives an Aka-Bea legend, which, however, relates that the\nevents took place at Wota-emi in the A-Pu\u010dikwar country [116].\n\n\u201cPuluga was asleep at To\u0331l-l\u2019oko-tima. Luratut came, stealing fire. The\nfire burnt Puluga. Puluga awoke. Puluga seized some fire. Taking the\nfire he burnt Luratut with it. Luratut took the fire. He burnt\nTar-\u010deker (another kind of kingfisher) with it in Wota-emi village. The\nancestors lit fires. They (the ancestors) were the Tomo-la.\u201d\n\nMr Man gives three different versions of legends as to the origin of\nfire. According to the first of these, Puluga, after he had made the\nfirst man, Tomo, gave him fire and taught him its use. Puluga obtained\nfire by stacking in alternate layers two kinds of wood known as co\u0331r and\nber, and then bidding the sun to come and sit on or near the pile until\nshe ignited it, after which she returned to her place in the sky [117].\nThe second version is that Puluga came to Tomo with a spirit named La\u010di\nPu\u014ba Ablola to instruct Tomo, who at his direction, prepared a pyre and\nthen struck it, on which the fire was kindled and Pu\u014ba Ablola proceeded\nto teach him how to cook food [118]. This legend contains an obvious\ncontradiction. La\u010di Pu\u014ba Ablola, as is shown by the name itself (La\u010di =\nthe late), is the name of some one who is supposed to have lived and\ndied and so become a spirit. Yet at the same time Tomo is supposed to\nhave been the first of the Andamanese. There is the possibility,\nhowever, that this inconsistency is due not to the natives themselves,\nbut to Mr Man\u2019s transcription. It is possible that the legend is that\nfire was discovered and was given to the ancestors (the Tomo) by a\nperson who, being dead, is now La\u010di Pu\u014ba Ablola, but who was then alive\nand one of the ancestors (Tomo) themselves.\n\nA third legend about fire given by Mr Man is associated by him with\nanother legend about a flood that once overwhelmed the ancestors.\nAccording to Mr Man\u2019s version the fires were all extinguished by the\nflood, so that the few survivors were left without fire. \u201cAt this\njuncture one of their recently deceased friends appeared in their midst\nin the form of a bird named Luratut. Seeing their distress he flew up\nto Mo\u0331ro, the sky, where he discovered Puluga seated beside his fire; he\nthereupon seized and attempted to carry away in his beak a burning log,\nbut the heat, or weight, or both, rendered the task impossible, and the\nblazing brand fell on Puluga, who, incensed with pain, hurled it at the\nintruder; happily for those concerned, the missile missed its mark and\nfell near the very spot where the survivors were deploring their\ncondition. As Luratut alighted in their midst at the same moment, he\ngained the full credit for having removed the chief cause of their\ndistress [119].\u201d\n\nWe may now consider a group of legends that relate how a great\ncatastrophe overwhelmed the ancestors. In many of the versions the\nlegend relates how the ancestors were transformed into animals. Some of\nthe legends are connected with Biliku or Puluga and others are\nconnected with the first discovery of fire. Beginning with the North\nAndaman, the following is, I believe, an Aka-J\u030ceru version. \u201cMimi \u010cara\nonce broke some firewood in the evening (while the cicada was singing).\nA great storm came and killed many people, who were turned into fishes\nand birds. The water rose up till it covered the trees. Mimi \u010cara and\nMimi Kota took the fire and went up the hill to the cave at \u014aaram. They\ncarried the fire under a cooking-pot. They kept the fire alight in the\ncave, until the storm was over.\u201d\n\nAnother Aka-J\u030ceru legend was taken down hurriedly and the full details\nwere not obtained. \u201cThe people made a noise in the evening when Mite\n(the cicada) was singing. Mite went to see her mother Biliku. Her\nmother saw her eyes and face. She looked bad. Her eyes were red (with\nweeping). Biliku was very angry. There was a big storm and heavy rain.\nBiliku threw her pearl shells (lightning). She went mad. She destroyed\nthe whole world. Biliku went up to live in the sky. The earth was bare\n(literally, empty). One day Biliku dropped a Dipterocarpus seed from\nthe sky. Out of this all the different kinds of tree grew, and the\nearth was again covered with forest.\u201d There was more of the legend,\nwhich I was unable at the time to understand, and which I did not hear\nagain. My informant added \u201cIt was on this occasion that Maia Taolu\nsaved the fire.\u201d\n\nAn Aka-\u010cari legend relates how the birds and beasts and fishes arose.\n\u201cMaia Dik (Sir Prawn) once got angry and threw fire at the people (the\nancestors). They all turned into birds and fishes. The birds flew into\nthe jungle. The fishes jumped into the sea. Maia Dik [120] himself\nbecame a large prawn which is still called by the same name.\u201d In\nconnection with this legend it must be remembered that it was Maia Dik,\naccording to one legend, who first discovered the use of fire. One\nversion of the story said that he made fire by striking a piece of\npara\u014bo wood. Then he threw the burning wood about amongst the ancestors\nand they turned into birds and fishes.\n\nAn Aka-J\u030ceru version is very similar. \u201cThe people were all asleep. Maia\nKo\u0331lo (Sir Sea-eagle) came and threw fire amongst them. They awoke in a\nfright and all ran in different directions. Some ran into the sea and\nbecame fishes and turtle; others ran into the jungle and became birds.\u201d\n\nThe Aka-Kede version of the catastrophe that overtook the ancestors is\nas follows. \u201cIt was at the place called \u010cilpet. The people collected a\nlot of honey. They refused to give any to Ko\u0331po-tera-wat (a bird, not\nidentified). The latter got very angry, and in the evening, when the\ncicad\u00e6 were singing he made a great noise and disturbed their song.\nThen there arose a great storm, and it rained very heavily, and the sea\nrose over the land. It rose very rapidly till only the top of a big\nDipterocarpus tree showed above the water. The people took refuge in\nthe branches of this tree. Mima Mite (Lady Dove) managed to rescue some\nfire and keep it alight under a cooking pot. The waters at length\nsubsided. Then the people did not know how to get down from the tree.\nMima \u010carami-lebek made a long piece of string and with this she lowered\nthe people safely to the ground.\u201d The \u010darami-lebek, which was not\nidentified, is a species of bird that lives, so the natives say, only\nat the top of the very tallest trees of the forest.\n\nAn Aka-Ko\u0331l version of the same legend is as follows: \u201cAt first there\nwere no birds in the jungle and no fish in the sea. The ancestors were\nplaying one evening and making a noise while the peti (cicada) was\nsinging. Then Bilik got angry and sent a great cyclone. All the people\nwere turned into birds and fishes and turtles and jungle beasts.\u201d\n\nThere is an A-Pu\u010dikwar legend that, in the days of the ancestors, there\nwas a big cyclone. There was a flood at Wota-emi and the water rose up\nover the trees. Some of the ancestors climbed up into a big\nDipterocarpus tree and remained there till the waters had subsided. I\nwas not able to hear any more detailed version of the legend.\n\nThe following legend explaining how the ancestors were turned into\nanimals was told me by an A-Pu\u010dikwar man, but it is probably really of\nAkar-Bale origin.\n\n\u201cIt was in the days of the ancestors. Ta Ko\u0331lwo\u0331t (Sir Tree-lizard) went\nover to a big meeting at Teb-\u01f0uru (in the Archipelago). There was a lot\nof dancing. Ko\u0331lwo\u0331t decided to give a big dancing party of his own. He\ninvited everybody and they all came to his place. Ko\u0331lwo\u0331t danced a great\ndeal. He began to get wild. All the people were afraid, because he was\nvery strong. They caught hold of him by the arms. Ko\u0331lwo\u0331t got very\nangry. He threw the people from him. He threw them so violently that\nsome fell in the sea and became fishes and turtle. Others fell on\ndifferent islands and became birds and animals. No one could hold\nKo\u0331lwo\u0331t. At last Berep (a species of crab) caught hold of his arm and\nwould not let go. And thus Berep stopped him. Before this there had\nbeen no birds in the jungles nor any fish in the sea.\u201d\n\nA more complete version of this story was obtained from the Akar-Bale\ntribe. \u201cDa Tigbul (Sir Dugong) took all the people to dance at Kwai\u010do.\nIn Bain (Lady Civet-cat) told Da Kwo\u0331ko\u0331l (Sir Tree-lizard) that people\nwere coming from Tar-mugu to dance and that Da Karami [121] would\nquarrel with him. Da Kwo\u0331ko\u0331l replied \u2018Oh! I don\u2019t care. I can fight all\nthose people easily enough.\u2019 All the people came together for the dance\nand Karami quarrelled with Kwo\u0331ko\u0331l. The latter got very angry. The\npeople were afraid. Tigbul (Dugong) caught hold of Kwo\u0331ko\u0331l by the arm.\nKwo\u0331ko\u0331l threw him from him with such force that Tigbul fell into the sea\nand became a dugong. Then Ko\u010durag-boa caught hold of Kwo\u0331ko\u0331l and Kwo\u0331ko\u0331l\nthrew him into the jungle [122]. Kwo\u0331ko\u0331l threw all the people into the\nsea or into the jungle and they became birds and beasts and fishes. No\none could hold him. Da Kwo\u0331ko\u0331l went away to Teb-\u01f0uru. The people told Da\nBerag (Sir Crab) what had happened at Kwai\u010do and how no one could hold\nDa Kwo\u0331ko\u0331l. Da Berag went after him to Teb-\u01f0uru. Da Kwo\u0331ko\u0331l had covered\nhimself with ko\u0331iob (red paint) [123]. Da Berag pretended that he wanted\nsome paint to put on his upper lip, saying that he was sick. There was\nno more red paint in the place, so Da Kwo\u0331ko\u0331l said \u2018You had better come\nand take some off me.\u2019 Da Berag put his nose to Kwo\u0331ko\u0331l\u2019s arm as though\nto get some paint, and bit deeply into Kwo\u0331ko\u0331l\u2019s shoulder. Kwo\u0331ko\u0331l could\nnot get loose, and so he died. The people at Teb-\u01f0uru attacked Da Berag\nand beat him. They could not kill him, because his skin was too hard,\nso they threw him into the sea. When Kwo\u0331ko\u0331l\u2019s mother, Keg\u014ba, came and\nfound her son dead she was very angry. She wept for a long time. Then\nshe went into the jungle and cut the plant to\u0331kul which belongs to\nPuluga. Puluga was angry because the to\u0331kul was cut and sent a big storm\nwhich killed Keg\u014ba and all the other people in that place.\u201d\n\nMr Man records another version of this legend.\n\n\u201cTo explain the origin of certain fish, they say that one day before\nthe Deluge, Maia Ko\u0331lwo\u0331t went to visit an encampment of the Tomola\nsituated in the Archipelago. While engaged in his song the women,\nthrough inattention to his instructions, marred the effect of the\nchorus, so, to punish them, he seized his bow, whereupon the whole\nparty in terror fled in all directions; some escaping into the sea were\nchanged into dugongs, porpoises, sharks, and various other fish which\ntill then had not been seen [124].\u201d\n\nMr Man gives still another version of the same story. \u201cOne day, at the\ncommencement of the rainy season, a tomola named Berebi came to visit\nKo\u0331lwo\u0331t\u2019s mother, \u010cana Erep, with the express intention of seeing her\nson, of whom he was extremely jealous. When he appeared Berebi\ntreacherously bit him in the arm, but his teeth became fixed in the\nflesh and he was therefore unable to detach himself from his victim,\nwhose friends promptly avenged his murder, and disposed of the corpses\nby throwing them into the sea. (Ko\u0331lwo\u0331t, after death, was transformed\ninto a species of tree-lizard, which is still named after him, and\nBerebi became a fish called Ko\u014bo, which is armed with a row of\npoisonous barbs in its back.) The bereaved mother, in her rage, grief\nand despair, committed various acts, against which Tomo had been warned\nby Puluga, and while so doing incited others to follow her example by\nthe following words:\u2014\n\n\n e, e, e, dia ra-gumul l\u2019ab-dala,\n e, e, e, \u014bul ka\u01f0a pi\u01f0 pugatken,\n e, e, e, \u014bul \u010doaken toaiken,\n e, e, e, \u014bul boarato aga-kolaken,\n e, e, e, \u014bul gono boa\u014bken,\n e, e, e, \u014bul to\u014b \u010doara boa\u014bken,\n e, e, e, \u014big arlot pulai\u01f0oken.\n\n\nThe translation of which is:\u2014\n\n\n e, e, e (sobbing)\u2014 My grown-up handsome son,\n ,, ,, ,, ,, Burn the wax,\n ,, ,, ,, ,, Grind the seed of the \u010dakan (Entada),\n ,, ,, ,, ,, Destroy the barata (Caryota),\n ,, ,, ,, ,, Dig up the gono (yam),\n ,, ,, ,, ,, Dig up the \u010dati (yam),\n ,, ,, ,, ,, Destroy everything.\n\n\nThereupon Puluga was exceeding wroth, and sent the flood, that which\ndestroyed all living things with the exception of two men and two\nwomen.\n\n\u201cThis tradition is preserved in the following lines:\u2014\n\n\n Keledoat ibaji lar \u010dora,\n Ra-gumul ab-gorga en ig-boadi\n Ra-gumul le liga koarna\n Ra-gumul ab-gorka\n Toala arbo eb dagan \u010doarpo.\n\n\nThe meaning of which is:\u2014\n\n\n Bring the boat to the beach\n I will see your fine grown-up son,\n The grown-up son who threw the youths (into the sea)\n The fine grown-up son,\n My adze is rusty, I will stain my lips with his blood.\n\n\nIn this, as in all their songs and chants, a good deal is left to the\nimagination, but from their explanations which have been given by the\naborigines, the following appear to afford some light on the\nsubject:\u2014Berebi, being jealous of the renown Ko\u0331lwo\u0331t had won for himself\nby his numerous accomplishments and great strength, took advantage of\nmeeting him and his mother one day on the water to ask them to let him\nenter their boat. On their complying with his request, he provided\nhimself with a rusty adze and hone, remarking on the rusty condition of\nthe former; then taking Ko\u0331lwo\u0331t by the arm he sniffed it from the wrist\nto the shoulder as if admiring the development of the muscles; while\ndoing so he muttered the threat of staining his lips with blood, which\nhe shortly after fulfilled in the manner already described [125].\u201d\n\nAs the songs given in this legend are in the Akar-Bale language\n(Southern dialect), it is probable that the legend is an Akar-Bale one.\nIt is really another version of the legend already given.\n\nAnother Akar-Bale story tells how the first ancestors Duku, the monitor\nlizard, and Bain the civet-cat, managed to keep the fire alight when a\nflood overwhelmed them. \u201cOne day in the time of the ancestors there\ncame a great storm, and the water rose over the land. The rain put out\nthe fires. Da Duku (Sir Monitor Lizard) took a smouldering log and\ntried to climb up a tree with it. He could not climb with the fire in\nhis hand. His wife In Bain (Lady Civet-cat) took the fire from him and\ntook it up to the top of a hill and there kept it alight till the rain\nstopped and the water went away. The hill is called Bain l\u2019it-\u010dapa\n(Bain\u2019s fire) to the present day.\u201d The hill is a rather steep-sided\nhill of no great height in Havelock Island.\n\nMr Portman [126] connects the story of the flood with the story of the\ndispersion of the ancestors over the islands. Referring to the names of\nthe tribes he says, \u201cThe Andamanese state that these names were given\nto the different tribes by Maia Tomo-la when they were dispersed after\na cataclysm. They have a tradition that this group of tribes was once\nall one tribe, and that the Andaman Islands were much larger than at\npresent. Some great cataclysm occurred during which part of the islands\nsubsided and many aborigines were drowned, the remainder being\nseparated into different territories as at present by the orders of\nMaia Tomo-la, apparently the chief at that time of the collected tribe.\n(The above is of course a matter-of-fact version of the fanciful and\nimpossible legends of the Andamanese.)\u201d\n\nThe dispersion legend in the South Andaman is connected with the name\nof the A-Pu\u010dikwar tribe. The name (of which the Aka-Bea equivalent is\nAka-Bo\u01f0ig-yab) means \u201cthose who talk the original language,\u201d it being\nbelieved that the A-Pu\u010dikwar language was the one originally spoken by\nthe ancestors.\n\nThe only version of the dispersion legend that I heard was from the\nAka-Kede tribe. It was to the effect that Bilika once seized all the\nancestors and put them in a netted bag (such as the natives use for\ncarrying small objects of various kinds). She (or he) took them out a\nfew at a time and put them in different parts of the country, where\ntheir descendants have been ever since.\n\nMr Man speaks of a legend of how the tribes came to be dispersed over\nthe islands. From his account it would seem that there were two\ndifferent dispersions, one before the Deluge, and a second after it. Mr\nMan\u2019s account is as follows. \u201cTomo lived to a great age, but even\nbefore his death his offspring became so numerous that their home could\nno longer accommodate them. At Puluga\u2019s bidding they were furnished\nwith all necessary weapons, implements, and fire, and then scattered in\npairs all over the country. When this exodus occurred Puluga provided\neach party with a distinct dialect. It would almost seem that, without\nstraining the legend to suit facts, we might discern in this a faint\necho of the Biblical account of the confusion of tongues and dispersion\nat Babel [127].\u201d\n\n\u201cConsequent on the disappearance of Tomo and his wife, the duties of\nheadship over the community at Wota-emi devolved on one of their\ngrandchildren, named Ko\u0331lwo\u0331t, who was distinguished by being the first\nto spear and catch turtles. The tomola remained on the islands long\nafter Tomo\u2019s transformation, but after Ko\u0331lwo\u0331t\u2019s death, according to one\nlegend, they grew disobedient, and as Puluga ceased to visit them,\nbecame more and more remiss in their observance of the commands given\nat the creation. At last Puluga\u2019s anger burst forth, and, without any\nwarning, he sent a great flood that covered the whole land, and\ndestroyed all living. Four persons (two men, Lo\u0331ra-lola and Po\u0331i-lola,\nand two women, Ka-lola and Rima-lola), who happened to be in a canoe\nwhen the catastrophe occurred, were able to effect an escape. When the\nwaters subsided, they found themselves near Wota-emi, where they landed\nand discovered that every living thing on earth had perished; but\nPuluga re-created the animals, birds, etc. [128].\u201d\n\n\u201cWhen, for the second time in their history, their numbers had\nincreased to so great an extent that it became impossible for them to\nremain together in one spot, an exodus, similar to the first, took\nplace; each party being furnished with fire and every other essential,\nstarted in a different direction, and on settling down adopted a new\nand distinct dialect. They each received a tribal name, and from them\nhave sprung the various tribes still existing on the islands [129].\u201d\n\nIn the Southern tribes there is a legend to account for the origin of\nnight. The following version was obtained from the A-Pu\u010dikwar tribe.\n\u201cIn the early days of the world, in the time of the ancestors, there\nwas no night; it was always day. Ta Pe\u0331tie (Sir Monitor Lizard) went\ninto the jungle to dig up yams. He found some yams. He also found some\nresin (teki), and a cicada (ro\u0331to). He brought them to the camp of the\nancestors at Wota-emi. He sat down and the people came round him. Ta\nPe\u0331tie took the cicada and rubbed it between his hands and crushed it.\nAs he did this the cicada uttered its cry. Then the day went away and\nit was dark. It remained dark for several days. The ancestors came\ntogether and tried to get back the day. They made torches of resin, and\ndanced and sang songs. First Kotare (a bird) sang a song, but he could\nnot get back the daylight. Then Bumu (a beetle?) sang, but the day\nwould not come. Then Pecero\u0331l (the bulbul, Otocompsia emeria) sang, and\nafter him Ko\u0331io (a bird), but both in vain. Then Ko\u0331\u014boro (a species of\nant) sang a song and morning came. After that, day and night followed\none another alternately.\u201d\n\nA similar legend was obtained from the Akar-Bale tribe. \u201cDa Te\u014bat [130]\nlived at Golugma Bud. He went fishing one day and got only one small\nfish of the kind called \u010delau (Glyphidodon sordidus?). He turned to go\nhome, and as he went he shot his arrows before him into the jungle\n[131]. Then he went after his arrows to find them again. As he went he\nspoke to the fruits of the jungle, asking them their names. In those\ndays the ancestors did not know the names of the fruits and trees.\nFirst he asked the puiam, and then the guluba, and then the \u010dakli, but\nnone of them replied to him. Then he found his first arrow. It was\nstuck fast in a big yam (gono). He took the arrow and said to the yam\n\u2018What is your name?\u2019 At first the yam did not answer. Te\u014bat turned to\ngo away. He had gone a few steps when the yam called him back, saying\n\u2018My name is gono.\u2019 Te\u014bat replied \u2018Oh! I did not know. Why did not you\nsay so before?\u2019 He dug up the yam, which was a very big one. He went\noff to look for his second arrow. As he went he spoke to the stones of\nthe jungle, asking their names, but none of them replied. Then he found\nhis second arrow fixed in a large lump of resin (tug) [132]. He took\nthe arrow, and as he was going away the resin called him back, saying\n\u2018Here! my name is tug; you can take me along with you.\u2019 So Te\u014bat took\nthe resin. Then Te\u014bat found a cicada (rita), and he took that also.\nWhen Te\u014bat got to the hut (bud), everyone came to look at the things he\nhad brought. He showed them the yam. He told them its name and showed\nthem how to cook it. This was the first time that the ancestors ate\ngono. Then Te\u014bat took in his hand the cicada and squashed it between\nhis palms. As he killed it the cicada uttered its cry and the whole\nworld became dark. When the people saw that it was dark they tried to\nbring back the daylight. Te\u014bat took some of the resin and made torches.\nHe taught the people how to dance and sing. When Da Ko\u0331\u014boro (Sir Ant)\nsang a song the day came back. After that the day and night came\nalternately.\u201d\n\nMr Man records a different version of this story.\n\n\u201cThe manner in which the world was illuminated at the beginning is not\nclearly to be ascertained from their legends, for one story states that\nthe sun and moon were subsequently created at Tomo\u2019s request, as he\nfound that, under the then existing circumstances, it was impossible to\ncatch fish by night or to hunt by day; while, in direct disagreement\nwith this, another story tells us that night was a punishment brought\nupon mankind by certain individuals who angered Puluga by killing a\ncaterpillar. The tale informs us that the sun, one day, burned so\nfiercely as to cause great distress. Two women named \u010cana Limi and \u010cana\nJ\u030cara\u014bud, became exceedingly irritable, and while in this unhappy frame\nof mind they discovered a caterpillar (gurug) and a certain plant\ncalled utura. By way of venting their spleen, one crushed the helpless\ngrub, and the other destroyed the plant. These wanton acts so\ndispleased Puluga that he determined to punish them, and to teach them\nto appreciate the privilege of daylight, which they had hitherto\nuninterruptedly enjoyed. He accordingly visited the earth with a\nlong-continued darkness, which caused every one much inconvenience and\ndistress. At last their chief, Maia Ko\u0331lwo\u0331t, to whom reference has\nalready been made, hit upon a happy expedient of inducing Puluga to\nrestore the former state of things by trying to assure him that they\nwere quite unconcerned, and could enjoy themselves in spite of light\nbeing withheld from them. To accomplish this, he invented the custom of\ndancing and singing, the result of which was that Puluga, finding that\nthey had frustrated his intention, granted, as a first concession\nalternate periods of day and night, and subsequently, moved by the\ndifficulties often occasioned by the latter, created the moon to\nmitigate their troubles. It is in this way that they account for the\nsame word being used to denote a caterpillar and night [133].\u201d\n\nFrom the Akar-Bale tribe I obtained a legend about the origin of death.\nNo other version of the same legend was obtained.\n\n\u201cAt J\u030co\u0331\u014bo-l\u2019ar-bo\u0331\u014b lived In Kalwadi with her sons Yaramurud and Toau\n[134]. Yaramurud went to hunt pig for his mother, but was unsuccessful.\nWhen he came home his mother brought him some pork that was in the hut.\nAs he took his knife from the back of his neck to cut the meat with it,\nhe cut himself [135]. Then his mother knew that he was dead. She said\nto him \u2018You are dead now. You had better go away. We do not want you\nhere any more.\u2019 She took him up and carried him into the jungle and\nburied him, returning home. Very soon Yaramurud returned. His mother\nexclaimed \u2018Oh! I thought you had gone.\u2019 He replied \u2018Mother, I did not\ndie. Why did you bury me?\u2019 But she knew he was dead, so she took him\nand buried him again. He came back again. This happened three times.\nThen Kalwadi took him into the jungle to a big dumla tree (Pisonia\nexcelsa), in which there was a big hole. She kicked the tree with her\nfoot and said \u2018You go in there.\u2019 Yaramurud went inside. \u2018Well! Have you\ngone?\u2019 his mother asked. He answered \u2018Yes!\u2019 \u2018Tell me how the spirits\n(\u010dauga) talk\u2019 she asked him, and he replied \u2018To\u0331 kit [136].\u2019 Then his\nmother knew that he was with the spirits, and said \u2018Oh! my child, you\nare finished now. You will never come back again.\u2019 After a few days\nYaramurud came back (as a spirit) to see his brother Toau. Toau was\nbusy building a hut. When Yaramurud saw him he killed him. Before this\nthere had been no death. But In Kalwadi told the people, saying \u2018You\nsee what has happened; well, we shall all of us die like this, like\nthese two have done\u2019.\u201d\n\nThere is a widespread legend to account for the origin of creeks and\nislands. The following is an A-Pu\u010dikwar version.\n\n\u201cAt first there was only one big island with the sea all round it.\nThere were no small islands and no creeks. Ko\u0331\u014boro (a species of ant)\nmade a turtle net and went fishing. He caught a very big fish of the\nkind called ko\u0331ro-\u014biti-\u010dau in his net, and dived down and attached a\nrope to its tail. The fish got very angry and made furious plunges to\nget away, striking the land in its struggles, and each time knocking\noff a bit of the land or making a long split. This is the origin of the\nsmaller islands and the creeks.\u201d\n\nMr Man records the same legend, but says it was Tomo who caught the\nfish [137]. In an Akar-Bale version it was Da Pe\u010dero\u0331l who caught the\nfish (ko\u0331ro\u014badi). Pe\u010dero\u0331l is the bulbul (Otocompsia emeria). I have the\nname ko\u0331ro\u014badi in my notes as being Sphyraena acutipinnis, but the\nidentification is a doubtful one. In the Aka-Kede tribe there is a\nversion in which it is stated that one of the ancestors captured a fish\ncalled talepo. This does not seem to be the same species of fish as\nthat called ko\u0331ro-\u014biti-\u010dau or ko\u0331ro\u014badi in the South. In the North\nAndaman the legend is that Pe\u0331r\u01f0ido, the son of Biliku, shot a large eel\n(bol) with an arrow, and in its endeavours to get free from the arrow\nthe eel wriggled about till it made all the creeks.\n\nIn the Southern tribes there is a legend that relates how the pig first\ngot its senses. A version from the A-Pu\u010dikwar tribe is as follows.\n\n\u201cTa Mita (Sir Dove) went into the jungle and found a lot of pigs. They\ndid not run away when he came because they had no eyes to see him, no\nears to hear, and no nostrils with which to smell. They had no mouths.\nMita made mouths for them and gave them tusks which he made of tobur\nwood. He made eyes and ears and nostrils in their heads and taught them\nhow to grunt and how to sneeze [138].\u201d\n\nAnother version from the same tribe is as follows.\n\n\u201cAt first the pigs had neither nose nor ears nor eyes. They used to\nstand about at Wota-emi when the ancestors lived there. The people ate\na great many of them. They were such a nuisance that Mita (Dove), the\nwife of Tomo, thought of a plan to get them out of the way. She bored\nholes in their heads, two for eyes, two for ears, and two for nostrils.\nThe pigs ran off into the forest where they have been ever since.\u201d\n\nI did not obtain any version of this legend from the Northern tribes.\nThe Aka-Kede have a different legend about the pigs.\n\n\u201cAt first there were no pigs. One of the ancestors, Mimi \u010cau (Lady\nCivet-cat), invented a new game, and made the ancestors run on all\nfours and grunt. Those playing were turned into pigs, and went to live\nin the jungle. Mimi \u010cau became a civet-cat (\u010dau).\u201d\n\nIn the North Andaman there is a legend connected with the pig which\nexplains the origin of the dugong.\n\n\u201cPe\u0331r\u01f0ido was the first man to catch a pig. He went into the forest and\nfound a pig. Pe\u0331r\u01f0ido was hungry. He caught the pig and took it home.\nThe pig had no eyes nor ears nor mouth. Pe\u0331r\u01f0ido did not disembowel the\npig, nor did he sever the joints of its legs [139]. He made a fire and\nput the pig on it. The pig swelled up in the heat of the fire and\nburst. This made holes in the pig\u2019s head, two for ears, two for eyes,\ntwo for nostrils. The pig perceived that it was being burnt. It jumped\nup from the fire and ran away. Pe\u0331r\u01f0ido threw a ko\u0331bo (Licuala) leaf at\nit. The pig ran into the sea and became a dugong. The leaf became its\nflipper.\u201d\n\nIn the Aka-\u010cari tribe there is a legend describing the origin of\nturtles.\n\n\u201cAt first there was only one big turtle. He came to the camp of the\nAka-\u010cari people and called them, saying \u2018Bring your canoes and catch\nme.\u2019 They got into their canoes and followed the turtle. They could not\ncatch him. The turtle swam away and the canoes followed. When the\ncanoes were far from land the big turtle came and upset the canoes. The\nmen were all turned into turtles of the same kind and size as those\nthat are seen now. The canoes (and the big turtle?) were turned into a\nreef.\u201d\n\nIn the South Andaman it is supposed that the custom of scarifying the\nskin was invented by the first ancestor of the Andamanese, the monitor\nlizard. An Akar-Bale version of the story is as follows.\n\n\u201cDuku (Monitor Lizard) lived with his wife Bain (Civet-cat). Duku said\n\u2018I am going to scarify myself.\u2019 His wife tried to dissuade him. He\nwould not listen to her. He went into the jungle and found a piece of\nto\u0331lma (quartz) and scarified himself all over. His wife was very angry\nand asked him why he had done it. Duku replied \u2018I look very well like\nthis, and you will see, all the other people will do the same\u2019.\u201d\n\nMr Man gives a version of the same legend.\n\n\u201cMaia Duku, who appears to be identical with Tomo, is said to have been\nthe first to tattoo himself. One day, while out on a fishing\nexpedition, he shot an arrow; missing its object it struck a hard\nsubstance which proved to be a piece of iron, the first ever found.\nWith it Duku made an arrow-head and tattooed himself, after which he\nsang the ditty:\u2014\n\n\n To\u0331\u014b ma lir pire\u014ba? to\u0331\u014b yitiken! to\u0331\u014b yitiken!\n to\u0331\u014b ma lir pire\u014ba? to\u0331\u014b yitiken!\n\n\nthe interpretation of which is\n\n\n \u2018What can now strike me?\n I am tattooed, I am tattooed!\u2019 etc. (Da capo) [140].\u201d\n\n\nIt would seem that Mr Man, or else his informant, was not very clear\nabout the details of the legend. In the South Andaman scarification is\nnever performed with an arrow-head, nor with any instrument of iron,\nbut with a flake of quartz or glass. It is only in the North and Middle\nAndaman that an arrow-head is used for such a purpose, and even then it\nis only so used to make the big scars on the back and chest, the\nordinary scarification being performed with a flake of stone or glass.\nThe legend is certainly a Southern one, and the song given is in the\nAka-Bea language. The accuracy of the transcription of the legend\ntherefore seems very doubtful.\n\nYams and honey, being two of the most important foods of the Andaman\nIslanders, are the subject of several legends. A common belief about\nyams is that they were made, or their qualities were first discovered,\nby Biliku or Puluga. We have already seen that there is a special\nconnection between Biliku (or Puluga) and the yams and other edible\nroots. There are also other legends, however, on the same subject. An\naccount of the first discovery of the yam called gono is contained in\nthe Akar-Bale legend of the origin of night, already given [141].\n\nIn the North Andaman the following tale is told about the discovery of\none kind of yam.\n\n\u201cMaia Dik (Sir Prawn) discovered ko\u0331nmo (Dioscorea sp.). He was very\nhungry and went to look for something to eat. He found a very large\nko\u0331nmo. There was only one ko\u0331nmo. He cooked it in the fire and ate as\nmuch as he could. He dashed the remainder on a rock, and the fragments\nscattered everywhere and grew into fresh plants. After this there were\nplenty of ko\u0331nmo everywhere.\u201d\n\nA legend is also told in the North Andaman about the first discovery of\nanother kind of yam.\n\n\u201cMaia Pulimu (Sir Fly) and Maia Mo\u0331i\u010do (Sir Rail) went to hunt pig. They\nkilled one pig. There was nothing to tie up the pig (to carry it home).\nMaia Pulimu went to look for a creeper (with which to tie up the pig).\nHe caught hold of a creeper and pulled it and found it was a mino\n(Dioscorea sp.). Maia Pulimu was a long time away. Maia Mo\u0331i\u010do went and\nfound some creeper for himself and tied up the pig and carried it home.\nWhen Maia Pulimu came back he found that Maia Mo\u0331i\u010do had gone and taken\nthe pig. He followed him and went home. He showed the ancestors how to\ncook and eat mino.\u201d\n\nI believe that there is a fuller version of this legend, which I was\nunable, however, to obtain. Another of my informants told me the story\nas follows.\n\n\u201cMimi Mo\u0331i\u010do (Lady Rail) had a son Pulimu (Fly). Pulimu found a mino in\nthe forest and brought it to his mother. They roasted it in the fire.\u201d\n\nMr Man gives a story from the South Andaman.\n\n\u201cAnother of their antediluvian ancestors was famous for propagating\nyams. This was Maia Bumroag, who in shooting an arrow, struck the\ncreeper belonging to the favourite variety called gono; his curiosity\nbeing excited he dug up the root, and tasted it: the result being\nsatisfactory, he informed his friends of his discovery, and they all\nfeasted upon it; when they had had sufficient, he scattered the remains\nin different directions; this apparent waste so angered his mother\nthat, on pretence of shaving him, she split his head open with a flint.\nAfter his death it was found that the act for which he had suffered had\ntended to the spread of the plant which is now plentiful [142].\u201d\n\nIn the North Andaman it is supposed that honey was discovered by\nPe\u0331r\u01f0ido the son of Biliku.\n\n\u201cPe\u0331r\u01f0ido was the first to eat honey. One day he went to shoot fish. He\nsaw a nyuri (Plotosus sp.). The nyuri disappeared amongst the roots of\nthe mangrove trees. Pe\u0331r\u01f0ido was looking for the fish. There was a\nhoneycomb in a mangrove tree. Pe\u0331r\u01f0ido saw its reflection in the water.\nHe took some fire and tried to get the honey out of the water [143].\nThe water put out the fire. He could not get the honey. He went home\nand told his mother what he had been doing. She went with him and saw\nthe honey. \u2018What a fool you are\u2019 she said, \u2018don\u2019t you see that it is in\nthe trees.\u2019 Pe\u0331r\u01f0ido took some fire and smoked out the bees and took the\nhoney. After that Pe\u0331r\u01f0ido used to go and collect honey. He ate it all\nhimself. He did not tell the others (the ancestors) about it. Maia\nPo\u0331rubi (Sir Frog) found out that Pe\u0331r\u01f0ido was getting honey and eating\nit. He went in to the forest to look for some. He found five or six\ncombs. He ate them all and brought none home to his children. Be\u0331re\u0331t (a\nsmaller species of frog) was the child of Po\u0331rubi. One day Be\u0331re\u0331t said to\nhis father \u2018Bring us some honey.\u2019 The children went with their father\nand showed him the combs in the trees. Po\u0331rubi went up the tree, and\neach time he ate the honey in the tree and did not bring any of it down\nfor his children. Then Be\u0331re\u0331t saw another honeycomb in a very tall tree.\nHe pointed it out to his father. Po\u0331rubi went up to get it. Be\u0331re\u0331t cut\nthe creeper up which his father had climbed [144]. Po\u0331rubi wrapped up\nthe honeycomb to bring it down. Be\u0331re\u0331t said \u2018Father, this creeper is\nbad. How will you come down?\u2019 Po\u0331rubi replied \u2018How can it be bad, when I\nhave just climbed up it?\u2019 Be\u0331re\u0331t made some sharp stakes of \u010do\u0331m (Areca)\nwood, and put them round the tree. Po\u0331rubi jumped (or fell) from the\ntree on to the stakes and was killed. Be\u0331re\u0331t took the honey and ran away\nhome.\u201d\n\nIn the Aka-\u010cari tribe there is another legend connected with the frog\n(po\u0331rubi) which may conveniently be given here.\n\n\u201cThe ancestors were at enmity with Maia Po\u0331rubi. They went to kill him.\nThey shot him with their arrows, but they could not kill him. Maia\nPo\u0331rubi caught hold of them all in his arms, and jumped into the sea. He\njumped from the hill called \u010cauanara. He found a big round stone\n(boulder) and put the people under it and left them there. All the\npeople turned into stone, and may be seen there now. The next night\nsome more of the people went to hunt turtle near Maia Po\u0331rubi\u2019s place.\nThey caught a turtle and shouted [145]. Maia Po\u0331rubi heard them\nshouting. \u2018They are coming again to kill me,\u2019 he said. While they were\ncatching turtle he threw a round stone at them. The stone sank the\ncanoe. The canoe and the people in it were turned to stone.\u201d\n\nA story in which there is a connection between honey and a toad is\ngiven by Mr Man.\n\n\u201cAnother curious fable is told to account for a drought from which\ntheir early ancestors suffered: it relates that once upon a time, in\nthe dry season, a woodpecker discovered a black honeycomb in the hollow\nof a tree; while regaling himself on this dainty he observed a toad\neyeing him wistfully from below, so he invited him to join in the\nfeast; the toad gladly accepted, whereupon the woodpecker lowered a\ncreeper, giving instructions to his guest to fasten his bucket (dakar)\nthereto, and then to seat himself in it, so that he might be drawn up.\nThe toad complied with the directions and the woodpecker proceeded to\nhaul him up; but just when he had brought him near the comb he\nmischievously let go the creeper, and his confiding and expectant guest\nexperienced an unpleasant fall. The trick so exasperated him that he at\nonce repaired to the streams far and near in the island and drained\nthem, the result of which was that great distress was occasioned to all\nthe birds, as well as to the rest of the animate creation. The success\nof his revenge so delighted the toad that, to show his satisfaction,\nand to add to the annoyance of his enemies, he thoughtlessly began to\ndance, whereupon all the water flowed from him, and the drought soon\nterminated [146].\u201d\n\nOne of the incidents of the North Andaman story of the frog (Po\u0331rubi)\nand his son (Be\u0331re\u0331t) appears in a different story from the South and\nMiddle Andaman. The following is an Aka-Ko\u0331l version of this legend.\n\n\u201cTa Mita (Sir Dove) and Ta Ko\u0331io (a species of small bird) went hunting\ntogether and got a great number of pigs. Ta Ko\u0331io told Ta Mita to get\nsome canes to tie up all the pigs. As soon as Ta Mita had gone to look\nfor the cane, Ta Ko\u0331io went up a big Dipterocarpus tree, taking half the\npigs with him. He came down and took the rest of the pigs. He stayed up\nin the tree with the pigs. When Ta Mita came back he found that the\npigs had disappeared. He was very angry and went home. As there was\nnothing to eat, Mita and his two children, \u010cada and \u010coda (two species\nof fish) went fishing. Ko\u0331io was still up the tree. He was cooking the\npigs up there. Mita and his children passed under the tree and some\nburning resin [147] fell on them. In this way they discovered that Ko\u0331io\nwas in the tree. Mita planned to punish Ko\u0331io. He cut a great number of\nsharp stakes of Areca wood and fixed them all round the tree, pointing\nupwards. Ko\u0331io was asleep. Mita made the tree sink into the ground. As\nsoon as it was low enough he took some water and threw it into the ear\nof the sleeping Ko\u0331io, who awoke in a fright and jumped from the tree.\nHe was impaled on the stakes of wood and so died.\u201d\n\nAnother version of the same tale was obtained from the Akar-Bale tribe.\n\n\u201cDa Bumu (a species of bird) went hunting pig with Da Berakwe (another\nspecies of bird), and they got a large number of pigs. Then Berakwe\nsaid to Bumu \u2018We want some cane to tie up all these pigs. You go and\nget it.\u2019 When Bumu had gone Berakwe climbed up into a big Dipterocarpus\ntree, taking all the pigs with him, except one very small one which he\nleft behind. When Bumu came back with the cane he found only one small\npig, and he was very angry. He went home with the pig. Bumu\u2019s wife\nYako\u014b (a species of fish) said \u2018I am very hungry. We will go and get\nsome fish by night.\u2019 At night Yako\u014b went out to get some fish and she\npassed under the tree where Berakwe was cooking his pigs. Some burning\nresin fell on her and burnt her. She looked up and saw Berakwe and said\n\u2018Oh! there you are; you stole all my husband\u2019s pigs.\u2019 She went home and\ntold Bumu. In the morning Bumu got up very early and cut a number of\npointed stakes of Areca (\u010dam) wood, and fixed them all round the tree\nwhere Berakwe was, with the sharp points upwards. Then Bumu made the\ntree sink gradually into the ground. Berakwe fell from the tree on to\nthe stakes and so was killed. Bumu and his wife got the pigs.\u201d\n\nMr Man records a version of the same story.\n\n\u201cThe legend regarding the origin of the evil spirits known as \u010co\u0331l is as\nfollows:\u2014Their ancestor, Maia \u010co\u0331l, one day stole a pig which had been\ncaptured by Maia Ko\u0331lwo\u0331t, and climbed up into a gurjon-tree with his\nprize. Now Maia Ko\u0331lwo\u0331t was remarkable for his great strength, and being\nenraged, determined to revenge himself; he thereupon planted a number\nof spikes all round the tree in which the thief had taken refuge, and\nthen proceeded to force it into the ground. On finding that if he\nremained where he was, he must inevitably be buried alive, Maia \u010co\u0331l\nsprang off the tree, and thereby met a more terrible fate, for he was\nimpaled on the spikes, and perished miserably. His disembodied spirit\ndid not pass to \u010caitan (Hades), but took up its abode on the invisible\nbridge, where, by Puluga\u2019s orders, numbers of his descendants were sent\nto join him, in the form of black birds with long tails [148].\u201d\n\nIn reference to this version it may be noted that the \u010co\u0331l are not\n\u201cspirits\u201d if that word is used to translate the native term \u010dauga or\nlau. \u010co\u0331l is the name of a species of bird, which I believe is the\nracket-tailed drongo. These birds, though according to Mr Man they live\non the rainbow, are to be seen every day in the jungle, and may be\nheard calling \u010do\u0331l! \u010do\u0331l! \u010do\u0331l!\n\nThroughout the Great Andaman there is a belief in a huge animal that\nhaunts the jungles, or that haunted them in the days of the ancestors.\nIn the North Andaman this beast is called J\u030cirmu. In the days of the\nancestors it is supposed to have lived at Ulibi-ta\u014b, where it attacked\nand killed any men and women who came in its way. No detailed legend\nabout the J\u030cirmu was obtained.\n\nIn the Akar-Bale language Ko\u010durag-boa is the name of the same or a\nsimilar monster. In the A-Pu\u010dikwar language it is called U\u010du. This is\nthe name applied to two rocks of limestone which are situated about two\nor three miles south of Wota-emi, one being in a mangrove swamp, and\nthe other some little way out in the sea. The following legend is told\nabout these rocks.\n\n\u201cIn the early days of the Andamanese, Ta Pe\u0331tie (Sir Monitor Lizard),\nthe first ancestor, went into the jungle and found a \u010do\u0331ti tree, up\nwhich he climbed to eat the fruit. The other people (who lived with him\nat Wota-emi) came and found him, and Ta Pe\u0331tie threw down some of the\nfruit to them, which they ate. The people began to bully Pe\u0331tie to make\nhim throw down more of the fruit. Pe\u0331tie got angry and said \u2018If you\nbully me like that I will call the U\u010du, and they will kill you all.\u2019\nThe people only laughed at him. Pe\u0331tie called the U\u010du, calling \u2018Dire!\ndire!\u2019 The U\u010du came, one male and one female. They caught all the\npeople and ate them. Only Pe\u0331tie they did not eat because he was up in\nthe high tree. The U\u010du went off to cross the strait to To\u0331l-l\u2019oko-tima.\nThey had eaten so much that they were very heavy and stuck in the sand\nand mud at the edge of the mangrove swamp. When Pe\u0331tie came down from\nthe tree he found all the people gone. He said \u2018Hallo! the U\u010du must\nhave eaten them all.\u2019 He went to look. He found the U\u010du stuck fast at\nthe edge of the mangrove swamp, so that they could not move. He cut\nopen their bellies and all the people came out, for the U\u010du had\nswallowed them whole. The U\u010du are there to this day.\u201d\n\nWhen elephants were first introduced into the Andamans for the use of\nthe Forest Department, they were named U\u010du by the natives, and have\never since retained that name. Similarly the natives of the Northern\ntribes call them J\u030cirmu.\n\nIn the Akar-Bale tribe there is a legend to account for the origin of a\nrock standing in the sea at a place called Kwai\u010do-bur.\n\n\u201cRa-gumul Kwo\u0331ko\u0331l went fishing with his bow and arrows in the sea. His\nbow and arrows and he himself were turned into stone, and may be seen\nthere to the present day.\u201d\n\nKwo\u0331ko\u0331l is the common tree-lizard. Ra-gumul is the term applied to a\nyouth or girl who has just passed through the pig-eating ceremony\ndescribed in Chap. II. A youth is not permitted to handle a bow for\nsome days after the ceremony in question. A version of the same legend\nis recorded by Mr Man.\n\n\u201cThe story regarding certain Tomola who failed to observe the rules for\nneophytes, states that, on the day after they broke their fast of\nreg-\u01f0iri (kidney-fat of pig), they left the encampment without giving\nnotice of their intention to their friends, and the result was that,\nwhen they were missed and searched for, it was found that they had gone\nto the shore to fish, and had there met a sad fate; the body of one was\ndiscovered adhering to a large boulder, and turned into stone, while\nthe other, likewise in a state of petrifaction, was standing erect\nbeside it [149].\u201d\n\nA reef on the east side of Ritchie\u2019s Archipelago is said to have\noriginated as follows.\n\n\u201cThe people of Kwai\u010do went to J\u030cila to hunt turtle, taking two canoes.\nWhile they were away their wives made up a big fire in the evening at\nKwai\u010do. The hunters and their canoes were turned to stone, and formed\nthe reefs that are now there.\u201d\n\nI believe that the explanation of this story is the belief that the\nmoon is angry when a bright fire is visible at the time when he rises\nin the evening shortly after sunset [150].\n\nThere seems to be a legend relating to a large snake called o\u0331r-\u010dubi in\nthe North Andaman, but I was not able to obtain a detailed version. The\nfollowing was told me in Aka-J\u030ceru.\n\n\u201cAt Dalamio, in the time of the ancestors, there used to be a big snake\nof the kind called o\u0331r-\u010dubi. He used to catch men and women when they\nwere gathering honey, and kill them and eat them.\u201d\n\nAn Akar-Bale version is a little fuller.\n\n\u201cThere was a man named Bi\u010da who went to look for honey in the jungle.\nHe saw a big snake (wara-\u01f0obo) and from its neck was hanging a\nhoneycomb. The snake was as big as a tree. \u2018Why don\u2019t you make your\nhoney in the trees?\u2019 Bi\u010da said to the bees. He went home and called\nseveral of the men. They took their bows and arrows. They found the\nsnake, and shot it with a great many arrows. They could not kill the\nsnake, which ran away and was never seen again.\u201d\n\nAn Akar-Bale story relates how the first murder came to pass.\n\n\u201cDa Ko (Sir Crow) was the first of the Andamanese. He lived at\nKared-\u010dar-buaro with his wife In Mud (Lady Dove). He had a friend,\nBadgi-beria (Hawk). Badgi-beria had no wife and was jealous of Da Ko\nand wanted to get his wife. When Da Ko knew this he was very angry. He\nwent into the jungle and hid himself. By and by he saw Badgi-beria and\nMud coming along the path together. He took his bow and arrows and\nkilled them.\u201d\n\nAnother Akar-Bale story about the dove is as follows.\n\n\u201cMud and Kulal were cooking pig and got very hot. They went to bathe\nand were turned into birds.\u201d\n\nMud is the bronze-winged dove, Chalcophaps indica, and kulal is the\nteal, Nettium albigulare.\n\nIn the North Andaman there are tales about the sea-eagle (ko\u0331lo). One is\nto the effect that at first he used ko\u0331bo (Licuala) leaves to fly with.\nThis was before he had wings of his own. Another story is as follows.\n\n\u201cMaia Ko\u0331lo (Sir Sea-eagle) lived at \u010cona in Tau-\u2019ra-miku. He had a hut\nin the top of a to\u0331ro\u0331ktato tree. He was unmarried. When the men went\nfishing he used to steal their wives. He would only take good-looking\ngirls. He would call out to a girl to come and catch hold of his foot,\nsaying \u2018I have a fish for you.\u2019 If an old or ugly woman came, he would\nsay \u2018No! not you; go away.\u2019 When a young woman came and caught hold of\nhis foot he flew away with her to his hut in the tree.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nTHE INTERPRETATION OF ANDAMANESE CUSTOMS AND BELIEFS: CEREMONIAL\n\n\nThe present chapter is devoted to an attempt to interpret some of the\nbeliefs and customs of the Andaman Islanders, as they have been\ndescribed in the earlier part of this work. By the interpretation of a\ncustom is meant the discovery, not of its origin, but of its meaning.\nThe system of beliefs and customs that exists to-day in the Andamans is\nthe result of a long process of evolution. To seek the origin of these\ncustoms, as the word origin is here used, is to seek to know the\ndetails of the historical process by which they have come into\nexistence. In the absence of all historical records, the most that we\ncould do would be to attempt to make a hypothetical reconstruction of\nthe past, which, in the present state of ethnological science, would be\nof very doubtful utility [151].\n\nIt is otherwise with the meaning of these customs. Every custom and\nbelief of a primitive society plays some determinate part in the social\nlife of the community, just as every organ of a living body plays some\npart in the general life of the organism. The mass of institutions,\ncustoms and beliefs forms a single whole or system that determines the\nlife of the society, and the life of a society is not less real, or\nless subject to natural laws, than the life of an organism. To continue\nthe analogy, the study of the meaning of savage customs is a sort of\nsocial physiology, and is to be distinguished from the study of\norigins, or changes of custom in just the same way that animal\nphysiology is distinguished from the biology that deals with the origin\nof species, the causes of variation, and the general laws of evolution.\n\nThe problems that this chapter presents are therefore not historical\nbut psychological or sociological. We have to explain why it is that\nthe Andamanese think and act in certain ways. The explanation of each\nsingle custom is provided by showing what is its relation to the other\ncustoms of the Andamanese and to their general system of ideas and\nsentiments.\n\nThus the subject of the present chapter is not in any way affected by\nquestions of the historical origin of the customs with which it deals,\nbut is concerned only with those customs as they exist at the present\nday. Nor are we concerned with the comparison of the customs of the\nAndamanese with those of other savage races. Such comparisons are not\nonly valueless for our purpose, but might be misleading. To draw any\nvalid conclusion from the comparison of two apparently similar customs\nin two different societies, we must be sure that they are really\nsimilar, and to do this we need to know the true meaning of each of\nthem considered by itself. The true comparative method consists of the\ncomparison, not of one isolated custom of one society with a similar\ncustom of another, but of the whole system of institutions, customs and\nbeliefs of one society with that of another. In a word, what we need to\ncompare is not institutions but social systems or types.\n\nIt is often urged that in ethnology description and interpretation\nshould be most carefully separated. So far as this means that the facts\nobserved by the ethnologist should be recorded free from all bias of\ninterpretation, the necessity cannot be too often or too strongly\nurged. If, however, it is meant to imply that efforts at interpretation\nare to be excluded from works of descriptive ethnology, there is much\nto be said against such an opinion. In trying to interpret the\ninstitutions of a primitive society the field ethnologist has a great\nadvantage over those who know the facts only at second hand. However\nexact and detailed the description of a primitive people may be, there\nremains much that cannot be put into such a description. Living, as he\nmust, in daily contact with the people he is studying, the field\nethnologist comes gradually to \u201cunderstand\u201d them, if we may use the\nterm. He acquires a series of multitudinous impressions, each slight\nand often vague, that guide him in his dealings with them. The better\nthe observer the more accurate will be his general impression of the\nmental peculiarities of the race. This general impression it is\nimpossible to analyse, and so to record and convey to others. Yet it\nmay be of the greatest service when it comes to interpreting the\nbeliefs and practices of a primitive society. If it does not give any\npositive aid towards a correct interpretation, it at least prevents\nerrors into which it is only too easy for those to fall who have not\nthe same immediate knowledge of the people and their ways. Indeed it\nmay be urged, with some reason, that attempts to interpret the beliefs\nof savages without any first-hand knowledge of the people whose beliefs\nare in question, are at the best unsatisfactory and open to many\npossibilities of error.\n\nThe present position of ethnological studies may well be regarded as\nanomalous. Many of the observers engaged in recording the customs of\nprimitive people are very imperfectly acquainted with modern theories\nof sociology. One result of this is that they often neglect to record\nanything concerning matters that are of fundamental importance for the\ntheorist [152]. On the other hand those engaged in elaborating\nhypotheses do not, as a rule, observe for themselves the facts to be\nexplained, but have to rely on what are in many cases imperfect\ndocuments, being thus unwittingly led into errors that might have been\navoided. In this science, as in others, if progress is to be made, the\nelaboration of hypotheses and the observation and classification of\nfacts must be carried on as interdependent parts of one process, and no\nadvantage, but rather great disadvantage, results from the false\ndivision of labour whereby theorists and observers work independently\nand without systematic cooperation. The most urgent need of ethnology\nat the present time is a series of investigations of the kind here\nattempted, in which the observation and the analysis and interpretation\nof the institutions of some one primitive people are carried on\ntogether by the ethnologist working in the field.\n\nIt is clear that such studies need to be based on a scientific and\ncarefully elaborated method. Unfortunately ethnologists are not yet\nagreed as to the methods of their science. The question of method is\ntherefore, at the present time, of the greatest importance, and for\nthis reason I have tried, in the present chapter, to present the\nargument in such a way that the various steps of the analysis shall be\nimmediately apparent, so that the reader may be able not only to judge\nthe value of the conclusions, but also to form a clear idea of the\npsychological methods by which they are reached.\n\nAny attempt to explain or interpret the particular beliefs and customs\nof a savage people is necessarily based on some general psychological\nhypothesis as to the real nature of the phenomena to be explained. The\nsound rule of method is therefore to formulate clearly and explicitly\nthe working hypothesis on which the interpretation is based. It is only\nin this way that its value can be properly tested.\n\nThe hypothesis that seems to be most usually adopted by English writers\non anthropology is that the beliefs of savage peoples are due to\nattempts on the part of primitive man to explain to himself the\nphenomena of life and nature. The student of human customs, examining\nhis own mind, finds that one of the motives most constantly present in\nhis consciousness is the desire to understand, to explain\u2014in other\nwords what we call scientific curiosity. He concludes that this motive\nis equally insistent in the mind of primitive man. Thus he supposes\nthat primitive man, wishing to explain the phenomena of death and of\nsleep and dreams, framed a hypothesis that every man possesses a soul\nor spiritual double [153]. The hypothesis, once formulated, is supposed\nto have been accepted and believed because it satisfied this need of\ncomprehension. On this view the belief in a soul (animism) is exactly\nsimilar in character to the scientific belief in atoms, let us say. The\nsame general hypothesis appears in the explanation of totemism as\nhaving arisen as a theory invented by primitive man in order to explain\nthe phenomena of pregnancy and childbirth [154].\n\nOn this hypothesis the beliefs are primary, arising first merely as\nbeliefs and then acquiring the power to influence action and so giving\nrise to all sorts of ceremonies and customs. Thus these customs are\nonly to be explained by showing that they depend on particular beliefs.\nThis hypothesis, which we may call the intellectualist hypothesis, has\nnever, so far as I am aware, been very clearly formulated or defended,\nbut it does seem to underlie many of the explanations of the customs of\nprimitive man to be found in works on ethnology.\n\nA second hypothesis explains the beliefs of primitive man as being due\nto emotions of surprise and terror [155], or of awe and wonder [156]\naroused by the contemplation of the phenomena of nature.\n\nBoth these hypotheses may be held together, one being used to explain\nsome primitive beliefs and the other to explain others [157].\n\nDoubtless there are other psychological hypotheses underlying the many\nattempts that have been made to explain the customs of primitive\npeoples, but these two seem to be the most important and the most\nwidespread. They are mentioned here, not in order to criticise them,\nbut in order to contrast them with the hypothesis to be formulated in\nthe present chapter [158].\n\nStated as briefly as possible the working hypothesis here adopted is as\nfollows. (1) A society depends for its existence on the presence in the\nminds of its members of a certain system of sentiments [159] by which\nthe conduct of the individual is regulated in conformity with the needs\nof the society. (2) Every feature of the social system itself and every\nevent or object that in any way affects the well-being or the cohesion\nof the society becomes an object of this system of sentiments. (3) In\nhuman society the sentiments in question are not innate but are\ndeveloped in the individual by the action of the society upon him. (4)\nThe ceremonial customs of a society are a means by which the sentiments\nin question are given collective expression on appropriate occasions.\n(5) The ceremonial (i.e. collective) expression of any sentiment serves\nboth to maintain it at the requisite degree of intensity in the mind of\nthe individual and to transmit it from one generation to another.\nWithout such expression the sentiments involved could not exist.\n\nUsing the term \u201csocial function\u201d to denote the effects of an\ninstitution (custom or belief) in so far as they concern the society\nand its solidarity or cohesion, the hypothesis of this chapter may be\nmore briefly resumed in the statement that the social function of the\nceremonial customs of the Andaman Islanders is to maintain and to\ntransmit from one generation to another the emotional dispositions on\nwhich the society (as it is constituted) depends for its existence.\n\nThe present chapter contains an attempt to apply this hypothesis to the\nceremonial customs of the Andaman Islanders. An attempt will be made to\nshow that there is a correspondence between the customs and beliefs of\nthe Andamanese and a certain system of social sentiments, and that\nthere is also a correspondence between these sentiments and the manner\nin which the society is constituted. It is an attempt to discover\nnecessary connections between the different characters of a society as\nthey exist in the present. No attempt will be made to discover or\nimagine the historical process by which these customs have come into\nexistence.\n\nFor the clearer understanding of the argument it is necessary to draw\nattention to a few rules of method that will be observed. (1) In\nexplaining any given custom it is necessary to take into account the\nexplanation given by the natives themselves. Although these\nexplanations are not of the same kind as the scientific explanations\nthat are the objects of our search yet they are of great importance as\ndata. Like the civilised man of Western Europe the savage of the\nAndamans seeks to rationalise his behaviour; being impelled to certain\nactions by mental dispositions of whose origin and real nature he is\nunaware, he seeks to formulate reasons for his conduct, or even if he\ndoes not so when left to himself he is compelled to when the enquiring\nethnologist attacks him with questions. Such a reason as is produced by\nthis process of rationalisation is rarely if ever identical with the\npsychological cause of the action that it justifies, yet it will nearly\nalways help us in our search for the cause. At any rate the reason\ngiven as explaining an action is so intimately connected with the\naction itself that we cannot regard any hypothesis as to the meaning of\na custom as being satisfactory unless it explains not only the custom\nbut also the reasons that the natives give for following it. (2) The\nassumption is made that when the same or a similar custom is practised\non different occasions it has the same or a similar meaning in all of\nthem. For example, there are different occasions on which a personal\nname is avoided; it is assumed that there is something in common to all\nthese occasions and that the meaning of the custom is to be discovered\nby ascertaining what that common element is. (3) It is assumed that\nwhen different customs are practised together on one and the same\noccasion there is a common element in the customs. This rule is the\ninverse of the last. As an example may be mentioned the different\ncustoms observed by mourners, which may be assumed to be all related to\none another. The discovery of what is common to them all will explain\nthe meaning of each. (4) I have avoided, as being misleading as well as\nunnecessary, any comparison of Andamanese customs with similar customs\nof other races. Only in one or two instances have I broken this rule,\nand in those I believe I am justified by special considerations.\n\nWe can conveniently begin by considering the Andamanese marriage\nceremony, which is one of the simplest and most easily understood. The\nmain feature of it is that the bride and bridegroom are required\npublicly to embrace each other. In the North Andaman the embrace is\nmade gradually, by stages as it were, each stage being more intimate\nthan the preceding. At first the two sit side by side, then their arms\nare placed around each other, and finally the bridegroom is made to sit\non the bride\u2019s lap [160].\n\nEverywhere in human life the embrace is employed as an expression of\nsuch feelings as love, affection, friendship, i.e. of feelings of\nattachment between persons. There is no need to enquire into the\npsycho-physical basis of this expression. It is probably intimately\nrelated to the nursing of the infant by the mother, and is certainly\nvery closely connected with the development of the sex instinct. It is\nsufficient for our purpose to satisfy ourselves that the embrace in all\nits forms does always express feelings of one generic kind. Nor is it\nnecessary for us to consider the peculiar form of the Andamanese\nembrace, in which one person sits down and extends his or her legs,\nwhile the other person sits on the lap so formed and the two wrap their\narms round one another\u2019s necks and shoulders.\n\nThe meaning of the marriage ceremony is readily seen. By marriage the\nman and woman are brought into a special and intimate relation to one\nanother; they are, as we say, united. The social union is symbolised or\nexpressed by the physical union of the embrace. The ceremony brings\nvividly to the minds of the young couple and also to those of the\nspectators the consciousness that the two are entering upon a new\nsocial relation of which the essential feature is the affection in\nwhich they must hold one another.\n\nThe rite has two aspects according as we regard it from the standpoint\nof the witnesses or from that of the couple themselves. The witnesses,\nby their presence, give their sanction to the union that is thus\nenacted before them. The man who conducts the ceremony is merely the\nactive representative of the community; in what he does and says he\nacts as a deputy and not as a private individual. Thus the ceremony\nserves to make it clear that the marriage is a matter which concerns\nnot only those who are entering into it, but the whole community, and\nits occasional performance serves to keep alive this sentiment with\nregard to marriage in general. The existence of the sentiment is shown\nin the reprobation felt and often expressed at an irregular marriage,\nin which the couple unite without a ceremony; such a union showing a\ncontemptuous or careless thrusting aside of an important social\nprinciple.\n\nFor the witnesses, then, the ceremony serves to awaken to activity and\nto express this sentiment; but it also serves as a recognition on their\npart of the change of status of the marrying pair. It makes them\nrealise that henceforward the young couple must be treated no longer as\nchildren but as responsible adults, and it is thus the occasion of a\nchange of sentiment towards those whose social position is being\nchanged. For in the society of the Andamans there is a very marked\ndivision between married and unmarried persons in the way in which they\nare regarded by others, and in respect of their place in the community.\n\nThe married couple are made to realise, in a different way and with a\nmuch greater intensity of feeling, these same two things; first, that\ntheir union in marriage is a matter that concerns the whole community,\nand second, that they are entering a new condition, with new privileges\nbut also with new duties and obligations. For them, indeed, the\nceremony is a sort of ordeal from which they would only too gladly\nescape, and which, by the powerful emotions it evokes in them very\nvividly impresses upon them what their marriage means.\n\nThe wedding gifts that are bestowed upon the young couple are an\nexpression of the general good-will towards them. The giving of\npresents is a common method of expressing friendship in the Andamans.\nThus when two friends meet after separation, the first thing they do\nafter having embraced and wept together, is to give one another\npresents. In most instances the giving is reciprocal, and is therefore\nreally an exchange. If a present be given as a sign of good-will the\ngiver expects to receive a present of about equal value in return. The\nreason for this is obvious; the one has expressed his good-will towards\nthe other, and if the feeling is reciprocated a return present must be\ngiven in order to express it. So also it would be an insult to refuse a\npresent offered, for to do so would be equivalent to rejecting the\ngood-will it represents. At marriage the giving is one-sided, no return\nbeing expected, for it is an expression not of personal friendship on\nthe part of the givers, but of the general social good-will and\napproval. It is for this reason that it is the duty of everybody who is\npresent to make some gift to the newly-married pair.\n\nIn another simple ceremony, the peace-making ceremony of the North\nAndaman [161], the meaning is again easily discovered; the symbolism of\nthe dance being indeed at once obvious to a witness, though perhaps not\nquite so obvious from the description given. The dancers are divided\ninto two parties. The actions of the one party throughout are\nexpressions of their aggressive feelings towards the other. This is\nclear enough in the shouting, the threatening gestures, and the way in\nwhich each member of the \u201cattacking\u201d party gives a good shaking to each\nmember of the other party. On the other side what is expressed may be\ndescribed as complete passivity; the performers stand quite still\nthroughout the whole dance, taking care to show neither fear nor\nresentment at the treatment to which they have to submit. Thus those of\nthe one side give collective expression to their collective anger,\nwhich is thereby appeased. The others, by passively submitting to this,\nhumbling themselves before the just wrath of their enemies, expiate\ntheir wrongs. Anger appeased dies down; wrongs expiated are forgiven\nand forgotten; the enmity is at an end.\n\nThe screen of fibre against which the passive participants in the\nceremony stand has a peculiar symbolic meaning that will be explained\nlater in the chapter. The only other elements of the ceremony are the\nweeping together, which will be dealt with very soon, and the exchange\nof weapons, which is simply a special form of the rite of exchanging\npresents as an expression of good-will. The special form is\nparticularly appropriate as it would seem to ensure at least some\nmonths of friendship, for you cannot go out to fight a man with his\nweapons while he has yours.\n\nThe purpose of the ceremony is clearly to produce a change in the\nfeelings of the two parties towards one another, feelings of enmity\nbeing replaced through it by feelings of friendship and solidarity. It\ndepends for its effect on the fact that anger and similar aggressive\nfeelings may be appeased by being freely expressed. Its social function\nis to restore the condition of solidarity between two local groups that\nhas been destroyed by some act of offence.\n\nThe marriage ceremony and the peace-making dance both afford examples\nof the custom which the Andamanese have of weeping together under\ncertain circumstances. The principal occasions of this ceremonial\nweeping are as follows: (1) when two friends or relatives meet after\nhaving been for some time parted, they embrace each other and weep\ntogether; (2) at the peace-making ceremony the two parties of former\nenemies weep together, embracing each other; (3) at the end of the\nperiod of mourning the friends of the mourners (who have not themselves\nbeen mourning) weep with the latter; (4) after a death the relatives\nand friends embrace the corpse and weep over it; (5) when the bones of\na dead man or woman are recovered from the grave they are wept over;\n(6) on the occasion of a marriage the relatives of each weep over the\nbride and bridegroom; (7) at various stages of the initiation\nceremonies the female relatives of a youth or girl weep over him or\nher.\n\nFirst of all it is necessary to note that not in any of the\nabove-mentioned instances is the weeping simply a spontaneous\nexpression of feeling. It is always a rite the proper performance of\nwhich is demanded by custom. (As mentioned in an earlier chapter, the\nAndamanese are able to sit down and shed tears at will.) Nor can we\nexplain the weeping as being an expression of sorrow. It is true that\nsome of the occasions are such as to produce sorrowful feelings (4 and\n5, for example), but there are others on which there would seem to be\nno reason for sorrow but rather for joy. The Andamanese do weep from\nsorrow and spontaneously. A child cries when he is scolded or hurt; a\nwidow weeps thinking of her recently dead husband. Men rarely weep\nspontaneously for any reason, though they shed tears abundantly when\ntaking part in the rite. The weeping on the occasions enumerated is\ntherefore not a spontaneous expression of individual emotion but is an\nexample of what I have called ceremonial customs. In certain\ncircumstances men and women are required by custom to embrace one\nanother and weep, and if they neglected to do so it would be an offence\ncondemned by all right-thinking persons.\n\nAccording to the postulate of method laid down at the beginning of the\nchapter we have to seek such an explanation of this custom as will\naccount for all the different occasions on which the rite is performed,\nsince we must assume that one and the same rite has the same meaning in\nwhatever circumstances it may take place. It must be noted, however,\nthat there are two varieties of the rite. In the first three instances\nenumerated above the rite is reciprocal, i.e. two persons or two\ndistinct groups of persons weep together and embrace each other, both\nparties to the rite being active. In the other four instances it is\none-sided; a person or group of persons weeps over another person (or\nthe relics of a person) who has only a passive part in the ceremony.\nAny explanation, to be satisfactory, must take account of the\ndifference between these two varieties.\n\nI would explain the rite as being an expression of that feeling of\nattachment between persons which is of such importance in the almost\ndomestic life of the Andaman society. In other words the purpose of the\nrite is to affirm the existence of a social bond between two or more\npersons.\n\nThere are two elements in the ceremony, the embrace and the weeping. We\nhave already seen that the embrace is an expression, in the Andamans as\nelsewhere, of the feeling of attachment, i.e. the feeling of which\nlove, friendship, affection are varieties. Turning to the second\nelement of the ceremony, we are accustomed to think of weeping as more\nparticularly an expression of sorrow. We are familiar, however, with\ntears of joy, and I have myself observed tears that were the result\nneither of joy nor of sorrow but of a sudden overwhelming feeling of\naffection. I believe that we may describe weeping as being a means by\nwhich the mind obtains relief from a condition of emotional tension,\nand that it is because such conditions of tension are most common in\nfeelings of grief and pain that weeping comes to be associated with\npainful feelings. It is impossible here to discuss this subject, and I\nam therefore compelled to assume without proof this proposition on\nwhich my explanation of the rite is based [162]. My own conclusion,\nbased on careful observation, is that in this rite the weeping is an\nexpression of what has been called the tender emotion [163]. Without\ndoubt, on some of the occasions of the rite, as when weeping over a\ndead friend, the participants are suffering a painful emotion, but this\nis evidently not so on all occasions. It is true, however, as I shall\nshow, that on every occasion of the rite there is a condition of\nemotional tension due to the sudden calling into activity of the\nsentiment of personal attachment.\n\nWhen two friends or relatives meet after having been separated, the\nsocial relation between them that has been interrupted is about to be\nrenewed. This social relation implies or depends upon the existence of\na specific bond of solidarity between them. The weeping rite (together\nwith the subsequent exchange of presents) is the affirmation of this\nbond. The rite, which, it must be remembered, is obligatory, compels\nthe two participants to act as though they felt certain emotions, and\nthereby does, to some extent, produce those emotions in them. When the\ntwo friends meet their first feeling seems to be one of shyness mingled\nwith pleasure at seeing each other again. This is according to the\nstatements of the natives as well as my own observation. Now this\nshyness (the Andamanese use the same word as they do for \u201cshame\u201d) is\nitself a condition of emotional tension, which has to be relieved in\nsome way. The embrace awakens to full activity that feeling of\naffection or friendship that has been dormant and which it is the\nbusiness of the rite to renew. The weeping gives relief to the\nemotional tension just noted, and also reinforces the effect of the\nembrace. This it does owing to the fact that a strong feeling of\npersonal attachment is always produced when two persons join together\nin sharing and simultaneously expressing one and the same emotion\n[164]. The little ceremony thus serves to dispel the initial feeling of\nshyness and to reinstate the condition of intimacy and affection that\nexisted before the separation.\n\nIn the peace-making ceremony the purpose of the whole rite is to\nabolish a condition of enmity and replace it by one of friendship. The\nonce friendly relations between the two groups have been interrupted by\na longer or shorter period of antagonism. We have seen that the effect\nof the dance is to dispel the wrath of the one group by giving it free\nexpression. The weeping that follows is the renewal of the friendship.\nThe rite is here exactly parallel to that on the meeting of two\nfriends, except that not two individuals but two groups are concerned,\nand that owing to the number of persons involved the emotional\ncondition is one of much greater intensity [165]. Here therefore also\nwe see that the rite is an affirmation of solidarity or social union,\nin this instance between the groups, and that the rule is in its nature\nsuch as to make the participants feel that they are bound to each other\nby ties of friendship.\n\nWe now come to a more difficult example of the rite, that at the end of\nmourning. It will be shown later in the chapter that during the period\nof mourning the mourners are cut off from the ordinary life of the\ncommunity. By reason of the ties that still bind them to the dead\nperson they are placed, as it were, outside the society and the bonds\nthat unite them to their group are temporarily loosened. At the end of\nthe mourning period they re-enter the society and take up once more\ntheir place in the social life. Their return to the community is the\noccasion on which they and their friends weep together. In this\ninstance also, therefore, the rite may be explained as having for its\npurpose the renewal of the social relations that have been interrupted.\nThis explanation will seem more convincing when we have considered in\ndetail the customs of mourning. If it be accepted, then it may be seen\nthat in the first three instances of the rite of weeping (those in\nwhich the action is reciprocal) we have conditions in which social\nrelations that have been interrupted are about to be renewed, and the\nrite serves as a ceremony of aggregation.\n\nLet us now consider the second variety of the rite, and first of all\nits meaning as part of the ceremony of marriage. By marriage the social\nbonds that have to that time united the bride and bridegroom to their\nrespective relatives, particularly their female relatives such as\nmother, mother\u2019s sister, father\u2019s sister and adopted mother, are\nmodified. The unmarried youth or girl is in a position of dependence\nupon his or her older relatives, and by the marriage this dependence is\npartly abolished. Whereas the principal duties of the bride were\nformerly those towards her mother and older female relatives,\nhenceforth her chief duties in life will be towards her husband. The\nposition of the bridegroom is similar, and it must be noted that his\nsocial relations with his male relatives are less affected by his\nmarriage than those with his female relatives. Yet, though the ties\nthat have bound the bride and bridegroom to their relatives are about\nto be modified or partially destroyed by the new ties of marriage with\nits new duties and rights they will still continue to exist in a\nweakened and changed condition. The rite of weeping is the expression\nof this. It serves to make real (by feeling), in those taking part in\nit, the presence of the social ties that are being modified.\n\nWhen the mother of the bride or bridegroom weeps at a marriage she\nfeels that her son or daughter is being taken from her care. She has\nthe sorrow of a partial separation and she consoles herself by\nexpressing in the rite her continued feeling of tenderness and\naffection towards him in the new condition that he is entering upon.\nFor her the chief result of the rite is to make her feel that her child\nis still an object of her affection, still bound to her by close ties,\nin spite of the fact that he or she is being taken from her care.\n\nExactly the same explanation holds with regard to the weeping at the\ninitiation ceremonies. By these ceremonies the youth (or girl) is\ngradually withdrawn from a condition of dependence on his mother and\nolder female relatives and is made an independent member of the\ncommunity. The initiation is a long process that is only completed by\nmarriage. At every stage of the lengthy ceremonies therefore, the\nsocial ties that unite the initiate to these relatives are modified or\nweakened, and the rite of weeping is the means by which the\nsignificance of the change is impressed upon those taking part in it.\nFor the mother the weeping expresses her resignation at her necessary\nloss, and acts as a consolation by making her feel that her son is\nstill hers, though now being withdrawn from her care. For the boy the\nrite has a different meaning. He realises that he is no longer merely a\nchild, dependent upon his mother, but is now entering upon manhood. His\nformer feelings towards his mother must be modified. That he is being\nseparated from her is, for him, the most important aspect of the\nmatter, and therefore while she weeps he must give no sign of\ntenderness in return but must sit passive and silent. So also in the\nmarriage ceremony, the rite serves to impress upon the young man and\nwoman that they are, by reason of the new ties that they are forming\nwith one another, severing their ties with their families.\n\nWhen a person dies the social bonds that unite him to the survivors are\nprofoundly modified. They are not in an instant utterly destroyed, as\nwe shall see better when we deal with the funeral and mourning customs,\nfor the friends and relatives still feel towards the dead person that\naffection in which they held him when alive, and this has now become a\nsource of deep grief. It is this affection still binding them to him\nthat they express in the rite of weeping over the corpse. Here rite and\nnatural expression of emotion coincide, but it must be noted that the\nweeping is obligatory, a matter of duty. In this instance, then, the\nrite is similar to that at marriage and initiation. The man is by death\ncut off from the society to which he belonged, and from association\nwith his friends, but the latter still feel towards him that attachment\nthat bound them together while he lived, and it is this attachment that\nthey express when they embrace the lifeless corpse and weep over it.\n\nThere remains only one more instance of the rite to be considered. When\nthe period of mourning for a dead person is over and the bones are\nrecovered the modification in the relations between the dead and the\nliving, which begins at death, and is, as we shall see, carried out by\nthe mourning customs and ceremonies, is finally accomplished. The dead\nperson is now entirely cut off from the world of the living, save that\nhis bones are to be treasured as relics and amulets. The weeping over\nthe bones must be taken, I think, as a rite of aggregation whereby the\nbones as representative of the dead person (all that is left of him)\nare received back into the society henceforth to fill a special place\nin the social life. It really constitutes a renewal of social relations\nwith the dead person, after a period during which all active social\nrelations have been interrupted owing to the danger in all contact\nbetween the living and the dead. By the rite the affection that was\nonce felt towards the dead person is revived and is now directed to the\nskeletal relics of the man or woman that once was their object. If this\nexplanation seem unsatisfactory, I would ask the reader to suspend his\njudgment until the funeral customs of the Andamans have been discussed,\nand then to return to this point.\n\nThe proffered explanation of the rite of weeping should now be plain. I\nregard it as being the affirmation of a bond of social solidarity\nbetween those taking part in it, and as producing in them a realisation\nof that bond by arousing the sentiment of attachment. In some instances\nthe rite therefore serves to renew social relations when they have been\ninterrupted, and in such instances the rite is reciprocal. In others it\nserves to show the continued existence of the social bond when it is\nbeing weakened or modified, as by marriage, initiation or death. In all\ninstances we may say that the purpose of the rite is to bring about a\nnew state of the affective dispositions that regulate the conduct of\npersons to one another, either by reviving sentiments that have lain\ndormant, or producing a recognition of a change in the condition of\npersonal relations.\n\nThe study of these simple ceremonies has shown us several things of\nimportance. (1) In every instance the ceremony is the expression of an\naffective state of mind shared by two or more persons. Thus the weeping\nrite expresses feelings of solidarity, the exchange of presents\nexpresses good-will. (2) But the ceremonies are not spontaneous\nexpressions of feeling; they are all customary actions to which the\nsentiment of obligation attaches, which it is the duty of persons to\nperform on certain definite occasions. It is the duty of everyone in a\ncommunity to give presents at a wedding; it is the duty of relatives to\nweep together when they meet. (3) In every instance the ceremony is to\nbe explained by reference to fundamental laws regulating the affective\nlife of human beings. It is not our business here to analyse these\nphenomena but only to satisfy ourselves that they are real. That\nweeping is an outlet for emotional excitement, that the free expression\nof aggressive feelings causes them to die out instead of smouldering\non, that an embrace is an expression of feelings of attachment between\npersons: these are the psychological generalisations upon which are\nbased the explanations given above of various ceremonies of the\nAndamanese. (4) Finally, we have seen that each of the ceremonies\nserves to renew or to modify in the minds of those taking part in it\nsome one or more of the social sentiments. The peace-making ceremony is\na method by which feelings of enmity are exchanged for feelings of\nfriendship. The marriage rite serves to arouse in the minds of the\nmarrying pair a sense of their obligations as married folk, and to\nbring about in the minds of the witnesses a change of feeling towards\nthe young people such as should properly accompany their change of\nsocial status. The weeping and exchange of presents when friends come\ntogether is a means of renewing their feelings of attachment to one\nanother. The weeping at marriage, at initiation, and on the occasion of\na death is a reaction of defence or compensation when feelings of\nsolidarity are attacked by a partial breaking of the social ties that\nbind persons to one another.\n\nIn the ceremonial life of the Andamans some part is played by dancing,\nand it will be convenient to consider next the meaning and function of\nthe dance. It is necessary, however, to deal very briefly with this\nsubject and omit much that would have to be included in an exhaustive\nstudy. Thus the ordinary Andaman dance may be looked upon as a form of\nplay; it also shows us the beginnings of the arts of dancing, music and\npoetry; and therefore in any study pretending to completeness it would\nbe necessary to discuss the difficult problem of the relation between\nart, play and ceremonial in social life, a subject of too wide a scope\nto be handled in such an essay as this. For our present purpose we are\nconcerned with the dance only as a form of social ceremonial.\n\nIf an Andaman Islander is asked why he dances he gives an answer that\namounts to saying that he does so because he enjoys it. Dancing is\ntherefore in general a means of enjoyment. It is frequently a\nrejoicing. The Andaman Islanders dance after a successful day of\nhunting; they do not dance if their day has been one of disappointment.\n\nPleasurable mental excitement finds its natural expression in bodily\nactivity, as we see most plainly in young children and in some animals.\nAnd in its turn mere muscular activity is itself a source of pleasure.\nThe individual shouts and jumps for joy; the society turns the jump\ninto a dance, the shout into a song.\n\nThe essential character of all dancing is that it is rhythmical, and it\nis fairly evident that the primary function of this rhythmical nature\nof the dance is to enable a number of persons to join in the same\nactions and perform them as one body. In the Andamans at any rate it is\nclear that the spectacular dance (such as the performance described on\npage 164) is a late development out of the common dance. And it is\nprobable that the history of the dance is everywhere the same, that it\nbegan as a common dance in which all present take some active part, and\nfrom this first form (still surviving in our ball-room dances) arose\nthe spectacular dance in which one or more dancers perform before\nspectators who take no part themselves.\n\nIn the Andamans the song is an accompaniment of the dance. The dancing\nand singing and the marking of the rhythm by clapping and by stamping\non the sounding-board are all parts of the one common action in which\nall join and which for convenience is here spoken of as the dance. It\nis probable that here again the Andamanese practice shows us the\nearliest stage in the development of the song, that song and music at\nfirst had no independent existence but together with dancing formed one\nactivity. It is reasonable to suppose that the song first came into\ngeneral use in human society because it provides a means by which a\nnumber of persons can utter the same series of sounds together and as\nwith one voice, this being made possible by the fixed rhythm and the\nfixed pitch of the whole song and of each part of it (i.e. by melody).\nOnce the art of song was in existence its further development was\ndoubtless largely dependent upon the esthetic pleasure that it is able\nto give. But in the Andamans the esthetic pleasure that the natives get\nfrom their simple and monotonous songs seems to me of quite secondary\nimportance as compared with the value of the song as a joint social\nactivity.\n\nThe movements of the ordinary Great Andaman dance do not seem to me to\nbe in themselves expressive, or at any rate they are not obviously\nmimetic like the movements of the dances of many primitive folk. Their\nfunction seems to be to bring into activity as many of the muscles of\nthe body as possible. The bending of the body at the hips and of the\nlegs at the knees, with the slightly backward poise of the head and the\ncommon position of the arms held in line with the shoulders with the\nelbows crooked and the thumb and first finger of each hand clasping\nthose of the other, produce a condition of tension of a great number of\nthe muscles of the trunk and limbs. The attitude is one in which all\nthe main joints of the body are between complete flexion and complete\nextension so that there is approximately an equal tension in the\nopposing groups of flexor and extensor muscles. Thus the whole body of\nthe dancer is full of active forces balanced one against another,\nresulting in a condition of flexibility and alertness without strain.\n\nWhile the dance thus brings into play the whole muscular system of the\ndancer it also requires the activity of the two chief senses, that of\nsight to guide the dancer in his movements amongst the others and that\nof hearing to enable him to keep time with the music. Thus the dancer\nis in a condition in which all the bodily and mental activities are\nharmoniously directed to one end.\n\nFinally, in order to understand the function of the Andamanese dance it\nmust be noted that every adult member of the community takes some part\nin it. All the able-bodied men join in the dance itself; all the women\njoin in the chorus. If anyone through ill-health or old age is unable\nto take any active part, he or she is at least necessarily a spectator,\nfor the dance takes place in the centre of the village in the open\nspace towards which the huts usually face [166].\n\nThe Andamanese dance (with its accompanying song) may therefore be\ndescribed as an activity in which, by virtue of the effects of rhythm\nand melody, all the members of a community are able harmoniously to\ncooperate and act in unity; which requires on the part of the dancer a\ncontinual condition of tension free from strain; and which produces in\nthose taking part in it a high degree of pleasure. We must now proceed\nto examine very briefly the chief effects on the mental condition of\nthose taking part [167].\n\nFirst let us consider some of the effects of rhythm. Any marked rhythm\nexercises over those submitted to its influence a constraint, impelling\nthem to yield to it and to permit it to direct and regulate the\nmovements of the body and even those of the mind. If one does not yield\nto this constraining influence it produces a state of restlessness that\nmay become markedly unpleasant. One who yields himself utterly to it,\nas does the dancer when he joins in the dance, still continues to feel\nthe constraint, but so far from being unpleasant it now produces a\npleasure of a quite distinct quality. The first point for us to note\ntherefore is that through the effect of rhythm the dance affords an\nexperience of a constraint or force of a peculiar kind acting upon the\nindividual and inducing in him when he yields himself to it a pleasure\nof self-surrender. The peculiarity of the force in question is that it\nseems to act upon the individual both from without (since it is the\nsight of his friends dancing and the sound of the singing and marking\ntime that occasions it), and also from within (since the impulse to\nyield himself to the constraining rhythm comes from his own organism).\n\nA second effect of the rhythm of the dance is due to the well-known\nfact that a series of actions performed rhythmically produces very much\nless fatigue than actions not rhythmical requiring the same expenditure\nof muscular energy. So the dancer feels that in and through the dance\nhe obtains such an increase of his personal energy that he is able to\naccomplish strenuous exertions with a minimum of fatigue. This effect\nof rhythm is reinforced by the excitement produced by the rapid\nmovements of the dancers, the loud sounds of the song and clapping and\nsounding-board, and intensified, as all collective states of emotion\nare intensified, by reason of being collective; with the result that\nthe Andaman Islanders are able to continue their strenuous dancing\nthrough many hours of the night [168].\n\nThere is yet a third most important effect of rhythm. Recent psychology\nshows that what are called the esthetic emotions are largely dependent\nupon motor images. We call a form beautiful when, through the movements\nof the eye in following it, we feel it as movement, and as movement of\na particular kind which we can only describe at present by using such a\nword as \u2018harmonious.\u2019 Similarly our esthetic appreciation of music\nseems to be largely dependent on our feeling the music as movement, the\nsounds appealing not to the ear only but to stored-up unconscious motor\nmemories. With regard to dancing, our pleasure in watching the\ngraceful, rhythmical and harmonious movements of the dancer is an\nesthetic pleasure of similar nature to that obtained from the\ncontemplation of beautiful shapes or listening to music. But when the\nindividual is himself dancing it does not seem quite fitting to call\nhis pleasure esthetic. Yet the dance, even the simple dance of the\nAndamans, does make, in the dancer himself, partly by the effect of\nrhythm, partly by the effect of the harmonious and balanced tension of\nthe muscles, a direct appeal to that motor sense to which the\ncontemplation of beautiful forms and movements makes only an indirect\nappeal. In other words the dancer actually feels within himself that\nharmonious action of balanced and directed forces which, in the\ncontemplation of a beautiful form we feel as though it were in the\nobject at which we look. Hence such dancing as that of the Andaman\nIslanders may be looked upon as an early step in the training of the\nesthetic sense, and to recognize all that the dance means we must make\nallowance for this fact that the mental state of the dancer is closely\nrelated to the mental state that we call esthetic enjoyment.\n\nLet us now consider the effects of the dance as a social or collective\nactivity. First, the dance affords an opportunity for the individual to\nexhibit before others his skill and agility and so to gratify his\npersonal vanity. It is very easy to observe the action of this harmless\nvanity in the dancers, and particularly in the man who takes the place\nat the sounding-board and acts as soloist or leader of the chorus. The\ndancer seeks to feel, and does feel, that he is the object of the\napprobation and admiration of his friends. His self-regarding\nsentiments are pleasantly stimulated, so that he becomes conscious, in\na state of self-satisfaction and elation, of his own personal value.\nThis stimulation of the self-regarding sentiment is an important factor\nin the total effect produced by the dance.\n\nSecondly, the dance, at the same time that it stimulates pleasantly the\nself-regarding sentiment, also affects the sentiments of the dancer\ntowards his fellows. The pleasure that the dancer feels irradiates\nitself over everything around him and he is filled with geniality and\ngood-will towards his companions. The sharing with others of an intense\npleasure, or rather the sharing in a collective expression of pleasure,\nmust ever incline us to such expansive feelings. It is certainly a\nreadily observable fact that in the Andamans the dance does produce a\ncondition of warm good-fellowship in those taking part in it. There is\nno need to enquire more closely into the mental mechanisms by which\nthis is brought about.\n\nThe Andaman dance, then, is a complete activity of the whole community,\nin which every able-bodied adult takes some part, and is also an\nactivity in which, so far as the dancer himself is concerned, the whole\npersonality is involved, by the innervation of all the muscles of the\nbody, by the concentration of attention required, and by its action on\nthe personal sentiments. In the dance the individual submits to the\naction upon him of the community; he is constrained, by the immediate\neffect of rhythm as well as by custom, to join in, and he is required\nto conform in his own actions and movements to the needs of the common\nactivity. The surrender of the individual to this constraint or\nobligation is not felt as painful, but on the contrary as highly\npleasurable. As the dancer loses himself in the dance, as he becomes\nabsorbed in the unified community, he reaches a state of elation in\nwhich he feels himself filled with energy or force immensely beyond his\nordinary state, and so finds himself able to perform prodigies of\nexertion. This state of intoxication, as it might almost be called, is\naccompanied by a pleasant stimulation of the self-regarding sentiment,\nso that the dancer comes to feel a great increase in his personal force\nand value. And at the same time, finding himself in complete and\necstatic harmony with all the fellow-members of his community,\nexperiences a great increase in his feelings of amity and attachment\ntowards them.\n\nIn this way the dance produces a condition in which the unity, harmony\nand concord of the community are at a maximum, and in which they are\nintensely felt by every member. It is to produce this condition, I\nwould maintain, that is the primary social function of the dance. The\nwell-being, or indeed the existence, of the society depends on the\nunity and harmony that obtain in it, and the dance, by making that\nunity intensely felt, is a means of maintaining it. For the dance\naffords an opportunity for the direct action of the community upon the\nindividual, and we have seen that it exercises in the individual those\nsentiments by which the social harmony is maintained.\n\nIt was formerly the custom, I was told, always to have a dance before\nsetting out to a fight. The reason for this should now be clear. When a\ngroup engages in a fight with another it is to revenge some injury that\nhas been done to the whole group. The group is to act as a group and\nnot merely as a collection of individuals, and it is therefore\nnecessary that the group should be conscious of its unity and\nsolidarity. Now we have seen that the chief function of the dance is to\narouse in the mind of every individual a sense of the unity of the\nsocial group of which he is a member, and its function before setting\nout to a fight is therefore apparent. A secondary effect of the dance\nbefore a fight is to intensify the collective anger against the hostile\ngroup, and thereby and in other ways to produce a state of excitement\nand elation which has an important influence on the fighting quality of\nthe Andaman warrior.\n\nAn important feature of the social life of the Andamans in former times\nwas the dance-meetings that were regularly held and at which two or\nmore local groups met together for a few days. Each local group lived\nfor the greater part of the year comparatively isolated from others.\nWhat little solidarity there was between neighbouring groups therefore\ntended to become weakened. Social relations between two groups were for\nthe most part only kept up by visits of individuals from one group to\nanother, but such visits did not constitute a relation between group\nand group. The function of the dance-meetings was therefore to bring\nthe two groups into contact and renew the social relations between them\nand in that way to maintain the solidarity between them. Those\nmeetings, apart from the provision of the necessary food, were entirely\ndevoted to the exchange of presents and to dancing, the two or more\nparties of men and women joining together every night in a dance. We\nhave already seen that the exchange of presents is a means of\nexpressing solidarity or mutual good-will. It is now clear that the\ndance serves to unite the two or more groups into one body, and to make\nthat unity felt by every individual, so creating for a few days a\ncondition of close solidarity. The effects of the meeting would\ngradually wear out as months went by, and therefore it was necessary to\nrepeat the meeting at suitable intervals.\n\nThus it appears that not only the ordinary dance, but also the\nwar-dance, and the dance-meetings owe their place in the life of the\nAndaman Islanders to the fact that dancing is a means of uniting\nindividuals into a harmonious whole and at the same time making them\nactually and intensely experience their relation to that unity of which\nthey are the members. The special dances at initiation ceremonies and\non other occasions will be dealt with later in the chapter, on the\nbasis of the general explanation given above.\n\nOn the occasion of a dance, particularly if it be a dance of some\nimportance, such as a war-dance, or a dance of two groups together, the\ndancers decorate themselves by putting on various ornaments and by\npainting their bodies with red paint and white clay. The explanation of\nthe dance cannot therefore be regarded as complete till we have\nconsidered the meaning of this personal adornment connected with it.\n\nIf the Andaman Islander be asked why he adorns himself for the dance,\nhis reply is invariably that he wishes to look well, to improve his\npersonal appearance. In other words his conscious motive is personal\nvanity.\n\nOne of the features of the dance, and a not unimportant one, is that it\noffers an opportunity for the gratification of personal vanity. The\ndancer, painted, and hung over with ornaments, becomes pleasantly\nconscious of himself, of his own skill and agility, and of his striking\nor at least satisfactory appearance, and so he becomes also conscious\nof his relation to others, of their admiration, actual or possible, and\nof the approval and good-will that go with admiration. In brief, the\nornamented dancer is pleasantly conscious of his own personal value. We\nmay therefore say that the most important function of any such adorning\nof the body is to express or mark the personal value of the decorated\nindividual.\n\nThis explanation only applies to certain bodily ornaments and to\ncertain ways of painting the body. It applies to the painting of white\nclay, with or without red paint, that is adopted at dances and on other\nceremonial occasions. It applies to such personal ornaments as those\nmade of netting and Dentalium shell which constitute what may be called\nthe ceremonial costume of the Andamanese. It is of these that the\nnatives say that they use them in order to look well.\n\nThe occasions on which such personal decoration is used are strictly\ndefined by custom. In other words the society dictates to the\nindividual when and how he shall be permitted to express his own\npersonal value. It is obvious that personal vanity is of great\nimportance in directing the conduct of the individual in his dealings\nwith his fellows, and much more amongst a primitive people such as the\nAndamanese than amongst ourselves, and it is therefore necessary that\nthe society should have some means of controlling the sentiment and\ndirecting it towards social ends. We have seen that the dance is the\nexpression of the unity and harmony of the society, and by permitting\nat the dance the free expression of personal vanity the society ensures\nthat the individual shall learn to feel, even if only subconsciously,\nthat his personal value depends upon the harmony between himself and\nhis fellows.\n\nThe bride and bridegroom are painted with white clay, and wear\nornaments of Dentalium shell on the day following their marriage. We\nhave seen that marriage involves a change of social status, and we may\nsay that it gives an increased social value to the married pair, the\nsocial position of a married man or woman being of greater importance\nand dignity than that of a bachelor or spinster. They are, after\nmarriage, the objects of higher regard on the part of their fellows\nthan they were before. It is therefore appropriate that the personal\nvalue of the bride and bridegroom should be expressed so that both they\nthemselves and their fellows should have their attention drawn to it,\nand this is clearly the function of the painting and ornaments.\n\nAfter the completion of any of the more important of the initiation\nceremonies, such as the eating of turtle, the initiate is painted with\nwhite clay and red paint and wears ornaments of Dentalium shell. This\nis exactly parallel to the painting of the bride and bridegroom. The\ninitiate, by reason of the ceremony he has been through, has acquired\nnew dignity and importance, and by having fulfilled the requirements of\ncustom has deserved the approval of his fellows. The decoration of his\nbody after the ceremony is thus the expression of his increased social\nvalue.\n\nA corpse, before burial, is decorated in the same manner as the body of\na dancer. This, we may take it, is the means by which the surviving\nrelatives and friends express their regard for the dead, i.e. their\nsense of his value. We need not suppose that they believe the dead man\nto be conscious of what they are doing. It is to satisfy themselves\nthat they decorate the corpse, not to satisfy the spirit. When a man is\npainted he feels that he has the regard and good-will of his fellows,\nand those who see him, at any rate in the instance of a bridegroom or\ninitiate, realise that he has deserved their regard. So, to express\ntheir regard for the dead man they paint the inanimate body. Hence it\nis that the greater the esteem in which the dead man or woman is held,\nthe greater is the care bestowed on the last painting.\n\nWe may conclude therefore that the painting of the body with white clay\nand the wearing of ornaments of Dentalium shell is a rite or ceremony\nby which the value of the individual to the society is expressed on\nappropriate occasions. We shall find confirmation of this later in the\nchapter.\n\nBefore passing on to consider the meaning of other methods of\ndecorating the body there is one matter that is worthy of mention. It\nis often assumed or stated that both personal ornament and dancing,\namongst uncivilised peoples, are connected with sexual emotion. It is,\nof course, extremely difficult to disprove a statement of this sort. So\nfar as the Andamanese are concerned I was unable to find any trace\nwhatever of a definitely sexual element in either their dances or their\npersonal adornment. It may be recalled that both men and women wear\nexactly the same ornaments on ceremonial occasions, and this is to some\nextent evidence that such have no sexual value. It is possible that\nsome observers might see in the dance of the women (which is only\nperformed on rare occasions) a suggestion of something of a sexual\nnature. I was unable to find that the natives themselves consider that\nthere is anything suggestive of sex in either the dance of the men or\nthat of the women. If it were true that the most important feature of\nthe dance was that it appealed in some way to sexual feelings it is\ndifficult to see how we are to explain the different occasions on which\ndancing takes place, as before a fight, at the end of mourning, etc.,\nwhereas these are adequately accounted for by the hypothesis that the\ndance is a method of expressing the unity and harmony of the society.\nSimilarly the explanation of personal ornament as being connected with\nsexual feeling would fail to account for the occasions on which it is\nregarded as obligatory. There is therefore, I believe, no special\nconnection between the dancing and personal ornament of the Andamanese\nand sexual feeling. It would still be possible to hold that there is a\ngeneral connection of great importance between the affective\ndispositions underlying these and other customs and the complex\naffective disposition that we call the sex instinct. The nature of that\nconnection, important as it is, lies outside the scope of this work.\n\nI remarked above that the explanation which I have given of the meaning\nof personal ornament does not apply to all the objects that the Andaman\nIslanders wear on their body, but only to certain of them. If an\nAndaman Islander be asked why he paints himself with white clay, or why\nhe wears a belt or necklace of Dentalium shell he replies that he does\nso in order to look well; but if he be asked why he wears a string of\nhuman bones round his head or neck or waist, he gives quite a different\nanswer, to the effect that he does so in order to protect himself from\ndangers of a special kind. According to circumstances he will say\neither that he is wearing the bones to cure himself of illness, or else\nthat he wears them as a protection against spirits. Thus while some\nthings are worn on the body in order to improve the personal\nappearance, and consequently, as explained above, to give the\nindividual a sense of his own value, others are worn because they are\nbelieved to have a protective power, and thereby arouse in the person a\nsense of security. Exactly the same sort of protective power is\nattributed to things that cannot be worn on the body, such as fire, and\nit will therefore be convenient to consider together all the things\nthat afford this kind of protection, whether they can be worn on the\nbody or not.\n\nThe interpretation here offered is that the customs connected with this\nbelief in the protective power of objects of various kinds are means by\nwhich is expressed and thereby maintained at the necessary degree of\nenergy a very important social sentiment, which, for lack of a better\nterm, I shall call the sentiment of dependence. In such a primitive\nsociety as that of the Andamans one of the most powerful means of\nmaintaining the cohesion of the society and of enforcing that\nconformity to custom and tradition without which social life is\nimpossible, is the recognition by the individual that for his security\nand well-being he depends entirely upon the society. Now for the\nAndaman Islander the society is not sufficiently concrete and\nparticular to act as the object of such a sentiment, and he therefore\nfeels his dependence upon the society not directly but in a number of\nindirect ways. The particular way with which we are now concerned is\nthat the individual experiences this feeling of dependence towards\nevery important possession of the society, towards every object which\nfor the society has constant and important uses.\n\nThe most prominent example of such an object is fire. It may be said to\nbe the one object on which the society most of all depends for its\nwell-being. It provides warmth on cold nights; it is the means whereby\nthey prepare their food, for they eat nothing raw save a few fruits; it\nis a possession that has to be constantly guarded, for they have no\nmeans of producing it, and must therefore take care to keep it always\nalight; it is the first thing they think of carrying with them when\nthey go on a journey by land or sea; it is the centre around which the\nsocial life moves, the family hearth being the centre of the family\nlife, while the communal cooking place is the centre round which the\nmen often gather after the day\u2019s hunting is over. To the mind of the\nAndaman Islander, therefore, the social life of which his own life is a\nfragment, the social well-being which is the source of his own\nhappiness, depend upon the possession of fire, without which the\nsociety could not exist. In this way it comes about that his dependence\non the society appears in his consciousness as a sense of dependence\nupon fire and a belief that it possesses power to protect him from\ndangers of all kinds.\n\nThe belief in the protective power of fire is very strong. A man would\nnever move even a few yards out of camp at night without a fire-stick.\nMore than any other object fire is believed to keep away the spirits\nthat cause disease and death. This belief, it is here maintained, is\none of the ways in which the individual is made to feel his dependence\nupon the society.\n\nNow this hypothesis is capable of being very strictly tested by the\nfacts, for if it is true we must expect to find that the same\nprotective power is attributed to every object on which the social life\ndepends. An examination of the Andamanese beliefs shows that this is\nso, and thereby confirms the hypothesis.\n\nIn their daily life the Andamanese depend on the intrinsic qualities of\nthe materials they use for their bows and arrows and harpoons and other\nhunting implements, and it can be shown that they do attribute to these\nimplements and to the materials from which they are made powers of\nprotection against evil. Moreover it is even possible to apply a\nquantitative test and show that the more important the place a thing\noccupies in the social life the greater is the degree of protective\npower attributed to it. Finally I shall be able to show that as\ndifferent materials are used for special purposes so they are supposed\nto have certain special powers of protection against certain sorts of\ndanger. Thus the hypothesis I have stated is capable of being as nearly\ndemonstrated as is possible in such psychological enquiries as the one\nwe are engaged in.\n\nA man carrying his bow and arrows is supposed to be less likely to fall\na victim to the spirits than one who has no weapons with him. One way\nof stopping a violent storm is to go into the sea (storms being\nsupposed to be due to the spirits of the sea) and swish the water about\nwith arrows. The natives sometimes wear a necklace formed of short\nlengths of the bamboo shaft of a fish-arrow. All the examples of such\nnecklaces that I met with had been made from an old arrow. I asked a\nnative to make one for me, and although he could readily have made one\nfrom bamboo that had never served as an arrow he did not do so, but\nused the shaft of one of his arrows. Such a necklace may therefore be\ndescribed as an arrow in such a form that it can be worn round the neck\nand thus carried continually without trouble. The protective power of\nthe bow is at first sight not quite so evident, but the material used\nfor the string is regarded as possessing protective power, and to this\nI shall return shortly.\n\nThe best demonstration of the truth of the explanation offered is to be\nfound by considering the different vegetable fibres of which use is\nmade. The most important of these are the Anadendron paniculatum (used\nfor bow-strings and for fine string), the Hibiscus tiliaceus (used for\nrope) and the Gnetum edule (used for string, and inferior to the\nAnadendron). All these fibres are believed to possess power to keep\naway dangers, but there is a sort of specialisation in their use.\n\nThe fibre of the Hibiscus is used mainly in the hunting of turtle and\nbig fish. Consequently the tree itself from which the fibre is obtained\nis believed to possess the power of warding off all dangers connected\nwith turtle and the sea. There is a custom that turtle flesh may only\nbe cooked with wood of the Hibiscus, otherwise it will be uneatable. In\nthe turtle-eating ceremony the initiate who, as we shall see later, is\nin a condition of danger by reason of having eaten turtle for the first\ntime after a period of abstention, is seated on Hibiscus leaves and\nholds a bundle of the same leaves before him. At the same ceremony the\nleaves of this tree are used in the dance, and the initiate is given a\nskewer made from its wood with which to feed himself. If for any reason\nthe leaves of the Hibiscus are not obtainable when the ceremony is\nperformed those of the Myristica longifolia are used instead. Now this\nis the tree from which the natives always make their canoe paddles,\nwhich, like ropes of Hibiscus fibre, are used in hunting turtle. This\nspecialisation is therefore easy to understand; the natives habitually\nmake use of the Hibiscus and the Myristica in turtle-hunting; they use\nthe intrinsic qualities of these trees in their actual struggles with\nturtle and large fish, and by means of these qualities they are able to\nsucceed in overcoming their prey; they therefore come to believe that\nthese trees possess special powers which not only enable them to\nconquer the turtle itself but also are able to protect them from the\nevil influences that they believe (for reasons to be explained later)\nresult from the eating of its flesh.\n\nThis explanation is readily verified by considering an exactly parallel\ninstance. In the pig-eating ceremony at initiation the leaves of the\nHibiscus or the Myristica are not used, and are regarded as valueless.\nPaddles and ropes are of no use in hunting pigs. The leaves that are\nused in this ceremony are those of the Tetranthera lanc\u00e6folia. It is\nfrom this tree that are obtained the shafts of pig-arrows. Hence the\nrelation of the tree to the pig is exactly parallel to that of the\nHibiscus to turtle. It is by making use of the qualities of the wood\nthat they are able to destroy the pig and so they believe that its\nleaves will enable them to destroy the dangers that result from the\neating of the animal.\n\nThe leaves of the Tetranthera are also used, however, in the ceremony\nat a girl\u2019s first menstruation, and I cannot pass over this without an\nexplanation. It is to be found in the fact that pig-arrows are used in\nfighting, so that the tree comes to have a special relation to the\nshedding of blood. Plumes of shredded Tetranthera wood (made from an\nold arrow-shaft) must be worn by a homicide during the period of\n\u201cpurification\u201d as a protection against the dangers that are believed to\nthreaten him because he has shed blood. The same plumes were formerly\nalways carried in a dance preceding a fight, and at such times the\nnatives used to rub their bows with the shredded wood in order to\nensure success in battle. Thus it is clear that there is a special\nconnection between this tree and the shedding of blood, due to the fact\nthat pig-arrows, of which the shafts are made from it, are used in\nfighting as well as for killing pigs and other animals. It is probable\nthat this is the explanation of the use of the leaves during the\nceremony at a girl\u2019s first menstruation.\n\nThese examples afford a crucial test of the hypothesis here maintained.\nNot only is the protective power of these substances explicable by the\nfact that they are things on which the society depends in its daily\nlife, but the special uses of each of them as amulets are only\nexplicable when we consider the different uses to which they are put as\nmaterials.\n\nThe fibre of the Anadendron paniculatum is used for making thread,\nbow-strings, the cords of pig-arrows, and for binding the heads and\nbarbs of harpoons and arrows. It has therefore no special relation to\neither pig or turtle. There is a belief, however, that the plant does\npossess special protective powers that make it efficacious against\ncertain dangers coming from the sea. A piece of the plant tied round\nthe neck or worn in the belt of a swimmer is believed to protect him\nfrom sharks and other dangerous fish. A piece of it crushed and placed\nin the sea is said to have stopped a violent storm on one occasion.\nThus the Anadendron seems to possess a special power which makes it a\nsource of protection against dangers from the sea. The same is true of\nthe Gnetum edule, though, as this fibre is less valued than that of the\nAnadendron, it is not supposed to be so powerful in its effects. In\nregard to the specialisation in the use of these two plants as amulets\nit seems likely that it is due to a notion of opposition between the\nthings of the forest and the things of the sea. The Andamanese live in\na double environment; the jungle-dwellers live entirely in the forest\nand have dealings with forest things; they develop knowledge and powers\nthat make them better woodsmen than the coast-dwellers. The latter live\nby the sea and are chiefly occupied with things of the sea, being\nskilled in the occupations of fishing and canoeing. There is thus a\ncontrast or opposition between the life of the forest and the life of\nthe shore that runs through all the social life, and I believe that it\nis this opposition which explains the belief that the Anadendron and\nthe Gnetum, which are essentially forest things, are possessed of a\nquality that makes them contrary or opposed to all things of the sea.\n\nPersonal ornaments are made from the fibres that have been mentioned\n(Hibiscus, Anadendron, Gnetum), and we are justified, I think, in\nregarding such ornaments as being to some extent amulets. I purchased\nfrom a man in the Little Andaman a charm that was hanging round his\nneck, which he seemed to value highly. I imagined that it might contain\na human bone, but when I had unwound the ornamental thread with which\nit was bound and opened out the covering of bark I found inside the\nparcel only a carefully folded length of rope made from Hibiscus fibre.\n\nThere is one fibre from which the natives of the Great Andaman make\nthemselves ornaments, which they do not regularly use in any other way,\nnamely that of the Ficus laccifera. We may perhaps regard this as a\ngenuine and demonstrable example of a survival in custom. The natives\nof the Little Andaman, who, until their recent contact with those of\nthe Great Andaman, did not know the use of the Anadendron, use the\nfibre of the Ficus for their bow-strings. We are justified in assuming,\nI believe, that the natives of the Great Andaman made a similar use of\nthe same fibre before they had learnt to use the Anadendron. In those\ndays much of the power that is now attributed to the Anadendron,\nbecause of its service as the material for bow-strings, must then have\nbeen attributed to the Ficus. When the substitution of the superior\nAnadendron fibre came about, the belief in the efficacy of the Ficus\ndid not disappear, although the ground of the belief (if we may call it\nso) had ceased to exist. If this be so, then the present use of the\nFicus fibre as an amulet is an example of survival. It may be noted\nthat the qualities of the Ficus are supposed to be similar to those of\nthe Anadendron. Thus while one medicine-man stopped a storm with\nAnadendron, another did the same thing on another occasion with Ficus.\n\nThe above examples are sufficient to justify the generalisation that\nthe Andamanese attribute protective power to all those substances on\nthe strength and other qualities of which they rely in order to obtain\ntheir food or overcome their enemies. There are one or two other\npositive instances that have not been mentioned. Bees\u2019-wax, which is\nused for waxing thread and bow-strings, is believed to have power to\nkeep spirits away and to cure sickness. Cane, which is used by the\nnatives for many different purposes, seems also to have its use as an\namulet, for belts and other personal ornaments are made of pieces of\ncane attached to a length of rope.\n\nNegative instances are more difficult to discover. When I was in the\nAndamans I had not formulated the explanation that is offered here, and\nI therefore did not make any search for negative instances that might\nhave afforded a means of testing the value of the hypothesis. I have no\nsatisfactory evidence that protective power is attributed to iron, or\nto the shells that were formerly used, as iron now is, for the heads\nand barbs of arrows, but it is quite possible that I may have\noverlooked evidence that was really there. I do not think that any\nparticular protective properties are attributed to such things as the\nmaterials from which baskets are made and the clay that is used for\npottery. These things, however, may be regarded as luxuries rather than\nnecessities; they are not of the same immediate service to the society\nin its fundamental activity (that of providing food) as are weapons and\nthe materials used in them.\n\nThere are still two important kinds of amulets that remain to be\nconsidered. First, protective power is attributed to the bones of\nanimals, which are made into personal ornaments; these cannot be dealt\nwith until we have considered some of the beliefs relating to food.\nSecondly, a very high degree of protective power is attributed to human\nbones, but the discussion of this belief must wait till we have\ndiscovered the meaning of the funeral customs of the Andamanese.\n\nTo conclude the present argument, it would seem that the function of\nthe belief in the protective power of such things as fire and the\nmaterials from which weapons are made is to maintain in the mind of the\nindividual the feeling of his dependence upon the society; but viewed\nfrom another aspect the beliefs in question may be regarded as\nexpressing the social value of the things to which they relate. This\nterm\u2014social value\u2014will be used repeatedly in the later part of this\nchapter, and it is therefore necessary to give an exact definition. By\nthe social value of anything I mean the way in which that thing affects\nor is capable of affecting the social life. Value may be either\npositive or negative, positive value being possessed by any thing that\ncontributes to the well-being of the society, negative value by\nanything that can adversely affect that well-being.\n\nThe social value of a thing (such as fire) is a matter of immediate\nexperience to every member of the society, but the individual does not\nof necessity consciously and directly realise that value. He is made to\nrealise it indirectly through the belief, impressed upon him by\ntradition, that the thing in question affords protection against\ndanger. A belief or sentiment which finds regular outlet in action is a\nvery different thing from a belief which rarely or never influences\nconduct. Thus, though the Andaman Islander might have a vague\nrealisation of the value of Hibiscus, for example, that would be\nsomething very different from the result on the mind of the individual\nof the regular use of the leaves of that tree in initiation ceremonies\nas a protection against unseen dangers. So that the protective uses of\nsuch things are really rites or ceremonies by means of which the\nindividual is made to realise (1) his own dependence on the society and\nits possessions, and (2) the social value of the things in question.\n\nI have had to postpone to the later parts of the chapter the\nconsideration of some of the objects possessing protective power, but I\nventure to state here three propositions some part of the evidence for\nwhich has already been examined, and which will be sufficiently\ndemonstrated, I hope, before the end of the chapter. They are as\nfollows: (1) any object that contributes to the well-being of the\nsociety is believed to afford protection against evil; (2) the degree\nof protective power it is believed to possess depends on the importance\nof the services it actually renders to the society; (3) the kind of\nspecial protection it is supposed to afford is often related to the\nkind of special service that it does actually render.\n\nWe were led to the consideration of the protective power of objects\nthrough an attempt to understand the meaning of the methods of\nornamenting the body in the Andamans. We have seen that some ornaments\nare worn in order to express the personal value of the individual,\nwhile others are worn for the sake of the protection they are believed\nto afford. We have also seen that one method of painting the body (with\nwhite clay) is a means of expressing the personal value of the painted\nindividual. We will next consider the use of the clay called odu. This\nclay is painted on the body of a mourner and is the outward sign of\nmourning; it is used at certain stages of the initiation ceremonies; it\nis also regularly used for painting the body with the designs known as\ne\u0331ra-puli. According to the rule of method laid down at the beginning of\nthe chapter we must seek some common explanation of these different\nuses of the same substance.\n\nWe may consider, first of all, the patterns (e\u0331ra-puli) that are made\nwith this clay on the body and face after eating certain foods such as\npork and turtle.\n\nMr Man gives two explanations of the use of these paintings of clay.\nDuring the hot season, he says, the natives \u201cendeavour to lessen the\ndiscomfort caused by the heat by smearing their bodies with a\nwhite-wash of common white clay and water.\u201d He adds: \u201cit has long been\nerroneously believed that they have recourse to this expedient in order\nto allay the inconvenience which they would otherwise suffer from the\nbites of mosquitoes and other jungle pests; but the true reason for the\npractice is, I am well assured, that which I have given above [169].\u201d\nIn another place he says: \u201cAfter eating pork or turtle they are in the\nhabit of smearing og over their bodies with their fingers, in the\nbelief that it affects their breath, and that evil spirits will be\nunable to detect, and therefore will not be attracted to, them by the\nsavoury smell of the food of which they have partaken. Again, when\nheated by travelling or by hunting or dancing, they have recourse to\nthe same wash, but in these cases it is applied thinly [170].\u201d\n\nThere are here two explanations of fundamentally different character.\nFirst the Andamanese practice of painting their bodies with clay is\nexplained as having a purely utilitarian purpose, being intended to\ncool them when they are heated. In the second statement the explanation\ngiven is that the custom is intended to protect them from danger.\n\nMy own observations do not altogether agree with the statements of Mr\nMan. I found that the natives painted themselves just as much in the\ncold season as in the hot season. The principal, if not the sole,\noccasion on which the clay is used is after or immediately before a\nmeal, and therefore generally in the late afternoon or evening when the\nheat of the day is past. I do not feel so satisfied as Mr Man appears\nto be, that the clay really has the effect of keeping a person cool,\nparticularly when it is remembered that the painting may consist of a\nfew lines each as broad as a finger. Moreover, Mr Man\u2019s explanation\ndoes not afford any reason for the fact that the clay is always applied\nin some sort of pattern. If it were merely to keep himself cool, we\nshould expect to see a man cover himself all over with a plain coating\nevenly spread over the body. Such an even coating is never used, in the\nGreat Andaman tribes, except by persons mourning for the dead, and is\nthe essential mark of a mourner.\n\nIt is easy to explain how Mr Man has fallen into an error in this\nmatter. On many occasions, when I questioned the natives as to their\nreason for painting themselves with clay I received the answer, \u201cWhen\nwe have eaten pork or turtle or dugong, we become ot-kimil and so we\ntake clay and paint ourselves.\u201d Now the word ot-kimil in the Aka-J\u030ceru\nlanguage is the word that the natives use to express what we mean by\nthe word \u201chot.\u201d But while \u201chot\u201d may always be translated by ot-kimil or\ner-kimil, the latter word cannot always be adequately rendered in\nEnglish by the word \u201chot.\u201d Mr Man seems to have supposed that when an\nAndaman Islander says \u201chot\u201d he means by the word only what we mean,\nwhereas he really means a great deal more.\n\nLet us examine briefly the word in question. In the languages of the\nNorth Andaman the stem is -kimil. With the prefix ot- or er- it is used\nto mean \u201chot\u201d as in T\u2019ot-kimil-bom, \u201cI am hot,\u201d or Ino ot-kimil bi or\nIno er-kimil bi, \u201cThe water is hot.\u201d Used by itself the stem kimil is\nthe name of the latter part of the rainy season, when the weather is\nnot hot but cool. A youth or girl who is passing through the initiation\nceremonies is said to be aka-kimil, and is addressed or spoken of as\nKimil, instead of by his or her proper name. The turtle-eating ceremony\nis called \u010dokbi-kimil, or \u010dokbi-\u01f0o or kimil-\u01f0o, \u010dokbi meaning \u201cturtle\u201d\nand \u01f0o meaning \u201ceating.\u201d The word \u201chot\u201d is used by the natives in\nseveral unusual ways when they are talking their own language or\nHindustani. Thus a stormy or rough sea is said to be \u201chot,\u201d and one\nnative in describing to me (in Hindustani) the cessation of a cyclone\nsaid \u201cthe sea became cold.\u201d A person who is ill is said to be hot, and\ngetting well is expressed by the phrase \u201cgetting cool.\u201d\n\nIn the Aka-Bea language the word \u201chot\u201d is translated by Mr Portman by\nthe stem uya. The stem kimil appears in the form gumul in only some of\nthe uses it has in the Northern languages. Gumul is the name of the\nlatter part of the rainy season. A youth passing through the initiation\nceremonies is said to be aka-gumul and is addressed or spoken of as\nGuma. The turtle-eating ceremony is called gumul-le-ke, le-ke meaning\n\u201ceating.\u201d The word thus means \u201cthe gumul eating\u201d and is the literal\nequivalent of the kimil-\u01f0o of the North.\n\nThe uses of the word kimil may be summarised as follows:\n\n(1) to mean \u201chot\u201d in the sense of the English word;\n\n(2) in connection with illness;\n\n(3) in speaking of stormy weather;\n\n(4) as the name of the latter part of the rainy season;\n\n(5) to denote the condition of a youth or girl who is passing through\nor has recently passed through the initiation ceremonies, and to denote\nthe ceremonies themselves;\n\n(6) to denote a condition in a person consequent on eating certain\nfoods, and perhaps sometimes due to other causes, to remedy or obviate\nwhich the natives make use of clay painted in patterns on their bodies.\n\nIt is probable, then, that when a native says that after eating food he\nis ot-kimil and therefore paints himself with clay he does not mean\nsimply that he is hot. This will be still more evident when we consider\nthe second explanation of the custom that is given by the natives. Many\nof those whom I questioned stated that after eating dugong, pork,\nturtle, etc., the body emits an odour, that this odour may attract the\nspirits of the jungle or the sea, and that to obviate this they paint\nthemselves with clay. This agrees exactly with what Mr Man says in the\nsecond passage quoted above. It is confirmed by other customs. I was\ntold that a man who has eaten dugong will not leave the camp until some\ntime after the dugong meat is all finished, for fear that the spirits\nmay smell him and do him harm. It is to be noted in passing that\npainting the body with clay does not by any means remove the odour that\ndoes actually characterise a native after he has been eating fat meat\nof any kind. We must be careful, in this instance also, not to assume\nthat an Andaman Islander means by \u201csmell\u201d exactly what we mean by it\nand nothing more. It will be shown later in the chapter that the\nAndamanese identify the smell of an object with its active magical\nprinciple. One example may be given here to show this. The origin of\nrheumatism in the legs is explained by the natives as being the result\nof the common practice of preparing the fibre of the Anadendron\npaniculatum by scraping it on the thigh. During this process, they say,\nthe \u201csmell\u201d of the plant enters the thigh and is the cause of rheumatic\nor sciatic pains.\n\nThe natives give yet a third statement of their reasons for using clay.\nOn many occasions I asked them what would happen if they ate pork or\nturtle and did not paint themselves. In every case I received the reply\nthat any man who did such a thing would almost certainly be ill.\n\nWhen a number of persons give three different reasons for one and the\nsame action, and are equally sincere throughout, it is to be presumed\nthat the three different statements are so many different ways of\nsaying one and the same thing. We may therefore conclude that the\nAndaman Islanders believe that there is a peculiar power in foods (or\nin some foods) which makes it dangerous to eat them. This danger may be\nexpressed by saying that the person who has eaten food will, unless he\ntakes certain precautions, be liable to be ill. Now sickness is\nbelieved to be caused by the spirits of the jungle and the sea, and\ntherefore an alternative or equivalent statement of the same belief is\nthat after a person has eaten food he is in danger from the spirits. We\nmay therefore conclude that the word ot-kimil, when it is used to\ndescribe the condition of a person who has eaten food, denotes simply\nthis condition of danger, and nothing more. For this we shall find\nample confirmation later on. Subject to such later confirmation I will\nhere state what has been maintained, which is (1) that the e\u0331ra-puli\npatterns are to be explained as being protective, (2) that the eating\nof food is regarded as dangerous, and (3) that this danger is\nassociated in the minds of the natives with sickness and with the\nspirits. It will be convenient to leave the first of these three\npropositions for later discussion and take up the second, seeking to\nfind the meaning of this belief in the dangerous properties of food.\n\nNot all foods are equally dangerous. I was able to establish roughly a\nsort of scale. The most dangerous foods are dugong; the fish called\nkomar; some of the snakes; the internal fat such as the kidney-fat or\nthe intestinal fat of pig, turtle, monitor lizard and Paradoxurus; the\nliver of sharks, sting-rays and Plotosus; and honey. Next in order come\nthe flesh of pigs, turtle, monitor lizard and Paradoxurus and of the\nfishes mentioned above; also the eggs of turtle. To these should\nperhaps be added the edible grubs and some vegetable foods such as the\nyams and the Artocarpus fruit and seed. Lowest in the scale, that is,\nleast dangerous, are molluscs and the commoner sorts of fish and\nvegetable foods.\n\nThe principles underlying this grading of foods are two. Those foods\nthat are difficult or dangerous to procure are considered more\ndangerous than others. Thus all the fishes that are thought most\ndangerous to eat are actually dangerous, such as the sharks, the\nsting-rays, the armed Plotosus, and the fish komar that has a powerful\nspike on its head with which it can inflict a dangerous wound. Secondly\nthe foods that are most prized are regarded as being more dangerous\nthan those that are less prized. The internal fat of animals is\nregarded as a great delicacy and therefore occupies a high place in the\nscale. It is this also that explains the position of honey and of the\nedible grubs. The dugong, which is of all foods the most difficult and\ndangerous to procure, and is at the same time more highly prized than\nany other, is regarded as more dangerous to eat than any other.\n\nIt is this difference in the danger attributed to different foods that\ngives the clue to the explanation of the beliefs relating to them. The\nhypothesis I wish to put forward is that the custom of painting the\nbody after eating food is an expression of the social value of food.\n\nIn a simple community such as that of the Andaman Islands, in which the\nnecessary food has to be provided from day to day, food occupies a\npredominant position, and is the chief source of those variations or\noscillations between conditions of euphoria and dysphoria that\nconstitute the emotional life of the society. Food is obtainable only\nby the expenditure of effort, and the effort is a communal one. The\nobtaining of food is the principal social activity and it is an\nactivity in which every able-bodied member of the community is required\nby custom to join. A man\u2019s first duty to the society may be defined as\nthe duty of providing food for himself and others, and no one is looked\non with more contempt than one who is lazy or careless in this respect.\nOn the contrary the man who stands highest in the esteem of others is\nthe skilful hunter who is generous in distributing to others the food\nhe obtains. The food provides the community with its chief joys and\nsorrows. When food is scarce the whole community suffers. The men spend\nall their time in hunting but are disappointed. They have to fall back\nupon foods that are little relished, such as the commoner kinds of\nmolluscs. On the contrary when there is plenty of food the whole\nsociety rejoices together. Every one has as much as he or she can eat.\nHunting and fishing become pleasant sports instead of arduous labour.\n\nViewing the matter from its relation to the feelings of the individual\nwe may say that it is particularly in connection with food that he is\nmade to feel that he is a member of the community, sharing with others\ntheir joys and sorrows, taking part in a common activity, often\ndependent upon others for the satisfaction of his hunger, and obliged\nby custom to share with those others what he himself obtains. Thus food\nis, for the Andaman Islander, the one object above all others that\nserves to awaken in him day after day the feeling of his relation to\nhis fellows. It is also the source of a very large proportion of his\njoys and sorrows, his excitements and disappointments. Thus it is that\nwhen the natives wish to amuse each other it is by tales of hunting\nthat they do so, and a large proportion of their songs relate to the\ngetting of food.\n\nIt is thus clear that food becomes an important secondary object of the\nfundamental affective dispositions that regulate the emotional attitude\nof the individual to the society to which he belongs. It is connected\nvery closely with the feeling of moral obligation; the most valued\nmoral qualities in the Andaman Islands are energy in providing food and\ngenerosity in distributing it; among the worst faults are laziness in\nhunting and meanness in giving to others. Similarly food is closely\nassociated with the feeling of dependence. During childhood,\nparticularly, the individual has to depend on others for his food; even\nlater in life the food that a man eats is more often provided by others\nthan by himself; he depends on the community even for his daily\nnourishment.\n\nDifferent foods have different social values. Thus a dugong provides a\nlarge supply of a highly-prized delicacy, but on the other hand can\nonly be obtained by strenuous and dangerous efforts of skilful hunters.\nAt the other end of the scale the social value of shell-fish is very\nlittle. They are not relished and are only eaten when there is nothing\nbetter, while the labour of obtaining them is simply one of drudgery\nrequiring little skill.\n\nFinally it must be pointed out that the value of food is both positive\nand negative. It is the source of conditions of social euphoria when it\nis plentiful; while it is equally the source of social dysphoria when\nit is lacking. In other words, on different occasions it is the source\nof both pleasurable and painful states of the fundamental social\nsentiments.\n\nAll these experiences connected with food organise themselves around\nthe notion that foods, or the animals that are used for food, are\nthings to be treated carefully, with respect, or, in other words, with\nritual precautions. The sense of the social value of food reveals\nitself as a belief that food may be a source of danger unless it is\napproached with circumspection, and this belief, translated into\naction, gives rise to the rite of painting the body after eating. This\ndoes not mean that when the Andaman Islander eats turtle he is actually\nin a state of fear; he feels that he would have reason to be afraid if\nit were not that the society has provided him with a means of avoiding\nthe dangers of turtle eating. What he does feel, then, as I have tried\nto show, is not a fear of food but a sense of the value of food.\n\nThis interpretation will, I hope, be amply justified later, and the\npsychological processes assumed by it will be further illustrated. One\npoint needs to be emphasised here, namely that the suggested\ninterpretation affords, as no other would seem to do, an explanation of\nthe fact that some foods are believed to be more dangerous than others,\nand that while it is obligatory to paint the body after eating the more\ndangerous foods, it is not necessary to do so after eating those that\nare less dangerous. If the rite is simply the expression of the social\nvalue of foods, it will follow that different food substances, having\ndifferent social values, must be subject to differences in ritual\ntreatment.\n\nThere are a few other customs connected with food, recorded in an\nearlier chapter, which show that in general food is regarded as\nsomething that may only be approached with ritual precautions. A turtle\nmust be killed with its head towards the open sea, and must be cut up\nin one particular way, otherwise the meat would be \u201cbad.\u201d A pig must\nalso be cut up in a particular way, and must be stuffed with certain\nleaves before it is roasted. A man will not eat certain foods when he\nis away from his own country, as he is afraid that to do so might make\nhim ill. (This corresponds to the belief that there is less chance of\nillness in one\u2019s own country than away from it, and that the spirits of\na strange place are more dangerous than those that haunt the jungles\nand the waters of a man\u2019s own home.) All these customs, I believe, are\nso many different expressions of the social value of food.\n\nI have maintained earlier in the chapter that the sense of the social\nvalue of such things as fire and the materials used for weapons\ntranslates itself into the belief that these things afford protection\nagainst danger. This would seem, at first sight, to be contradicted by\nthe explanation that I have just given of the belief in the danger of\nfood. The apparent contradiction must be faced and resolved before we\ncan proceed further.\n\nFirst, it can be shown that the various things that are regarded as\naffording protection when used according to custom, are also believed\nto be dangerous, just in the same way that food is dangerous. One\nexample of this will suffice. The fibre of the Anadendron paniculatum,\nwhich is used for bow-strings and other purposes, has been shown to\npossess a power which gives it efficacy against dangers of the sea such\nas sharks. This same power, however, may have injurious effects if the\nplant is handled without proper precautions. Thus, if a piece of the\ngreen creeper, or a person who has recently been handling it, should be\nin a canoe, it would be impossible to capture turtle from that canoe,\nas they would be driven away by the \u201csmell\u201d of the plant. If a piece of\nthe creeper were burnt in the fire there would be a great storm,\naccording to one statement, or all the turtle would be driven away from\nthe vicinity, according to another. The handling of the plant in the\npreparation of the fibre, by scraping it on the thigh, is believed to\nbe the cause of rheumatism. Turtle meat that might by accident come in\ncontact with the plant would be dangerous and would therefore not be\neaten. These different beliefs show us that while this plant possesses\npowers that make it of service to the society, both directly as a\nmaterial for weapons, and indirectly as a magical protection against\nevil, it is also dangerous, i.e. it will produce undesirable effects\nunless treated with the proper ritual precautions.\n\nNow just as materials such as the Anadendron are dangerous but may yet\nbe used protectively, so it can be shown that the things used for food\nare also capable of affording protection against evil. It may be\nrecalled that an important element of the treatment of sickness is by\nthe use of special foods. Yams, honey, the fat of turtle and dugong and\nother foods are believed to possess curative properties. The flesh of\nthe flying-fox is used as a remedy for rheumatism. But the clearest\nevidence is provided by the custom of wearing ornaments made of the\nbones of animals that have been eaten. These ornaments are believed to\npossess protective powers of the same kind as those attributed to human\nbones, but they are considered to be more particularly of value to the\nhunter when he is in the forest or on the sea. They are made chiefly\nfrom the bones of those animals that are believed to be most dangerous\nto eat. These animals are difficult and often dangerous to capture or\nkill. When obtained they become very important sources of well-being to\nthe society. The Andamanese express their sense of the social value of\nthese animals in the belief that it is necessary to adopt certain\nmeasures of ritual precaution in dealing with them. When these due\nprecautions are taken, however, then the society is able to make use of\nthe flesh to serve its own ends. So, when an animal has been eaten, and\nhas thus been made to serve as a source of advantage, of strength, the\nbones, which are the permanent remains of the feast, acquire a symbolic\nvalue as evidence of past social well-being, and omens of future\nsecurity. They are a visible proof of the ability of the society to\nprotect itself and its members from the dangers that are believed to\nthreaten the human being in the most important activity of his life,\nthe obtaining and eating of food.\n\nFormerly the Andamanese preserved the skulls of all large animals such\nas pigs, turtle and dugong. At the present day they no longer preserve\nthe skulls of pigs, giving as their reason that owing to the dogs\nobtained from Europeans they now have little difficulty in killing\npigs; but they still preserve the skulls of dugongs, and a fair\nproportion of the skulls of turtle. The J\u030ca\u0324rawa still seem to preserve\nwith great care the skulls of all the pigs they kill, going to the\npains of enclosing each one in a case of basket-work. These skulls, we\nmust conclude, are more than mere trophies of the chase. As visible\nproofs of the ability of the society in the past to overcome the\nhostile powers of nature, they form, as it were, the guarantee of a\nsimilar ability in the future, and I believe that their preservation is\nregarded as a means of ensuring success in hunting as well as\nprotection for the hunters. The turtle skulls that are often suspended\nunder the forward platform of a canoe, are, I believe, intended both to\nprotect the occupants of the canoe from the dangers of the sea and to\nhelp them to obtain a good catch.\n\nThe Andamanese belief in the power of the bones of animals to protect\nthem from danger and to bring them luck, is therefore very similar to\ntheir belief in the protective power of the materials used for weapons\nand implements. The consideration of the apparent contradiction\nmentioned above has led us to a more exact statement of the real\nbeliefs in these matters. They believe, we may say, that all the things\nfrom the jungle and the sea of which they make use as food or as\nmaterials, are dangerous unless approached with proper ritual\nprecautions, but when so approached they become sources of strength and\nwell-being and also of protection from unseen dangers.\n\nTo return to the main argument, which was concerned with the meaning of\nthe patterns of clay painted on the body after eating the more\ndangerous foods, it would seem that this action is really a rite or\nceremony, of the same general character as other ceremonial customs of\nthe Andamans. It is an action required by custom, the performance of\nwhich on appropriate occasions serves to keep alive in the mind of the\nindividual a certain system of sentiments necessary for the regulation\nof conduct in conformity to the needs of the society. By it the\nindividual is made to feel (or to act as though he felt) that his life\nis one of continually repeated dangers from which he can only be\npreserved by conforming to the customs of the society as they have been\nhanded down by tradition. He is made to feel that the eating of food is\nnot merely the satisfaction of an animal appetite, but an act of\ncommunion, that the food itself is something \u201csacred\u201d (if we may use\nthat word in the sense of the original Latin \u201csacer\u201d). It serves also,\nlike any other rite in which all join, to make the individual feel the\nsolidarity and unity of the community; all share in the common repast\nand the common danger, and each man sees on his neighbour the clay with\nwhich he himself is daubed.\n\nOf course it is probable that the Andamanese custom of painting the\nbody after eating, like our own grace before and after meat, with which\nit is parallel, tends to become a formality accompanied by little real\nfeeling, but it can be shown, I believe, that such customs do possess a\nreal value\u2014a real psychological function\u2014in keeping alive ideas and\nsentiments that will on occasion play an important part in influencing\nconduct.\n\nWe have not yet completed the study of the Andamanese beliefs about\nfood. To do so we must examine the initiation ceremonies. I hope to\nshow that these ceremonies are the means by which the society\npowerfully impresses upon the initiate the sense of the social value of\nfood, and keeps the same sense alive in the minds of the spectators of\nthe ceremony.\n\nThe position in the social life occupied by a child is different from\nthat of an adult; the child is dependent upon and closely united to his\nparents, and is not an independent member of the community. To this\ndifference in social position there corresponds a difference in the\nattitude of a person towards a child and towards an adult, and also a\ndifference in the attitude of a child and that of an adult towards the\nsociety. As the child grows up a change takes place in his position in\nthe social life, and this must be accompanied by a change in the\nemotional dispositions of the child himself in so far as these regulate\nhis attitude towards the society, and by a change in the attitude\ntowards the child of the other members of the group. The initiation\nceremonies are the means by which these changes are brought about, and\nby which, therefore, the child is made an independent member of the\nsociety.\n\nThe ceremonies have two aspects according as we regard them from the\npoint of view of the society or from that of the initiate. For the\nsociety they are to be described as the recognition of the change of\nstatus of the initiate, just as the marriage ceremony is the social\nrecognition of the change of status by marriage. For the initiate they\nconstitute a sort of moral or social education.\n\nTo fit a child for his proper place in the community he needs to be\neducated. Part of the process consists of learning how to hunt, how to\nmake bows and arrows, and so on. This necessary knowledge he acquires\ngradually by imitation of his elders, in which he is guided and\nencouraged by them. But in addition to this he has to acquire those\nsentiments or emotional dispositions which regulate the conduct of\nmembers of the society and constitute morality. Part of this education\nin morality, this education of the sentiments, takes place gradually as\nthe child grows up, less by any actual instruction than by processes of\nimitation and suggestion; but in this connection an extremely important\npart is played by the initiation ceremonies. That the long series of\nabstentions and ceremonies does have a very powerful emotional effect\non the youth or girl may be readily observed by an eye-witness; that\ntheir permanent effect is to create in his or her mind a number of\nsentiments that previously existed not at all or only in an undeveloped\ncondition will be shown in the course of the present argument.\n\nSince in the life of the Andamans by far the most important social\nactivity is the getting of food, and it is in connection with food that\nthe social sentiments are most frequently called into action, it is\ntherefore appropriate that it should be through his relation to food\nthat the child should be taught his relation to the society, and thus\nhave those sentiments implanted in him or brought to the necessary\ndegree of strength. During his infancy the child is almost entirely\nunrestrained and acts with great comparative freedom. He does not\nrealise, in any adequate manner, that the food with which he is freely\nprovided (for children are the last to suffer hunger) is only obtained\nby skill and effort, nor does he realise that he will one day be\nrequired to labour to supply food for others. There follows a period of\nrestraint, during which the growing boy or girl has to give up eating\ncertain relished foods, and has to pass through a number of ceremonies,\nsome of them painful, and all solemn and awe-inspiring. These\nrestraints on the action of the individual are not imposed by one\nperson, but by the whole society backed by the whole force of\ntradition. Through a series of years, just at what is, for\nphysiological reasons, the most impressionable age, the individual\nlearns to subordinate his own desires to the requirements of the\nsociety or of custom, as explained to him by his elders. He is thus\nimpressed, in a forcible manner, with the importance of the moral law,\nand at the same time he is impressed with a sense of the social value\nof food. The ceremonies thus afford a moral education adapted to the\nrequirements of life as it is lived in the Andamans. It would need a\nvery lengthy analysis to show all the effects of the ceremonies on the\nemotional life of those who undergo them, and for the purpose of this\nchapter such an analysis is unnecessary. It will suffice merely to\nmention a few of the more important. As stated above, the ceremonies\nteach the boy or girl self-control or self-restraint, and they do so in\nrelation to one of the two fundamental human instincts,\u2014hunger. The\ncutting of the boy\u2019s back in the North Andaman gives a still sharper\nlesson in self-control in the endurance of pain. Secondly the\nceremonies teach the initiate, for the first time in life, to view life\nand its duties and obligations seriously. The various ceremonies are\nall very solemn affairs for the initiate. Again, the growing boy or\ngirl is made to feel very strongly the importance of conforming to the\ncustoms of the community to which he belongs, thus having implanted in\nhis mind what is certainly one of the most powerful of the sentiments\nthat regulate conduct in the Andamans. In this connection there may\nalso be mentioned the respect for elders which is a most important\nelement in the regulation of social life in all savage communities, and\nwhich is strongly impressed on the initiate throughout the ceremonies.\nAnd yet again, the ceremonies awaken and develop in the adolescent that\nfear of unseen danger which, as we shall see later, has a very\nimportant place in the mental life of the Andamanese and an important\nfunction in their moral life. Finally, the whole series of abstentions\nand ceremonies serves to develop in the mind of every new member of the\nsociety that sense of the social value of foods with which our argument\nhas been concerned, which may be briefly described as being a\nrealisation that food is a possession of the society, that not only the\npower to obtain food, but also the power to use it without danger is\nsomething that the individual owes to the society, and that the\nbestowal upon him of this power involves the acceptance on his part of\ncorresponding obligations.\n\nWe may say, to look at the matter under another aspect, that the\ninitiation ceremonies teach the youth or girl to realise what is\nimplied in being a member of the society by putting him or her during\nthe period of adolescence in an exceptional position, and, as it were,\noutside the society. The youth is no longer a child and may not act as\na child; but he is not yet an adult and may not act as adults do. He\nfeels himself cut off, as it were, from the ordinary life of the group,\nhaving as yet no share in it. As a child he was not yet aware of what\nit means to be a member of a society, but now, by means of the\nceremonies, his attention is directed to the society and its life, by\nhis being placed in a position of isolation outside it. He begins to\nlook forward to the time when he will take his proper place as an\nadult, and his share in the common life of the camp. At each step of\nthe ceremonies he feels that he is brought a little closer, until at\nlast he can feel himself a man amongst men. Thus he is brought to a\nconsciousness of all that it must mean to him to be a member of the\ncommunity; he is taught the significance and value of social communion.\n\nSince the greater part of social life is the getting and eating of\nfood, to place a person outside the social life would be to forbid him\nfrom partaking of the food that is obtained by the society and consumed\nby it. This, however, would result in his starvation. The same object\nis attained, however, by making the initiate abstain for a period from\na number of the most important and relished foods, and then making him\nabstain for a second period from the others. This is not the only way\nhowever in which the initiate is cut off from social communion. A youth\nor girl who is aka-op is not permitted to dance, nor to be decorated\nwith red paint and white clay. It is in the dance that the community\nexpresses most completely its own unity. Being forbidden to join in the\ndance is therefore to be excluded from the common life. Painting the\nbody with red paint and white clay is, as we have seen, a way of\nexpressing that the individual is aware of his own position as a member\nof the group having the approval and good-will of his fellows. Thus\nthese other prohibitions reinforce and supplement the prohibition\nagainst eating certain foods during the period of adolescence, and the\nconsideration of them serves to confirm the interpretation just given.\nI believe that the aka-op is also forbidden to use odu clay as a sign\nof mourning, and if this be so it is of considerable significance, as\nwill be evident after we have considered the meaning of this use of\nclay. Unfortunately I am not quite sure of the facts, and so the point\nmust be left.\n\nTo discuss in detail all the features of these ceremonies would take\nmuch space. I propose therefore to take as typical of the others the\nceremony of turtle-eating and to explain its various features. When\nthis ceremony is performed the youth has been compelled for many months\nto abstain from eating turtle, and has thus learnt to realise the\nsocial value of food in general and of turtle in particular. He is now\nto have the same lesson impressed upon him in a different way. The\nprevious part of his education has been the continuous action over a\nlong period of a not very powerful emotion. He has had to sit quietly\nwhile others regaled themselves with turtle meat and to be satisfied\nwith less tasty food. At times he has probably gone hungry because the\nonly food in camp was of kinds that were forbidden to him. The ceremony\nhe is now to go through acts by producing in the space of a few days a\nvery intense emotional experience. We have seen that the sense of the\nsocial value of food takes the form of a belief that food is dangerous\nto eat, and that its dangers may only be avoided by ritual precautions.\nAt the turtle-eating ceremony the initiate is eating turtle for the\nfirst time as an adult, and is therefore exposed to great danger which\nmakes it necessary to guard him with every possible ritual precaution.\nThis, at any rate, is what the initiate himself is made to feel, and it\nis through this that the ceremony has its emotional effects. The\ninitiate is not, of course, himself possessed by a simple feeling of\nfear, though the emotional state of his mind is built up on the basis\nof the fear instinct. What he is about to do is a matter of great\ndanger to himself, but at the same time the precautions that are to be\ntaken are such as entirely to remedy that danger if they are properly\nobserved. Thus what he experiences is an intense feeling of the\nimportance and solemnity of the ritual in which he is to take part.\n\nAll the details of the ceremony are readily to be explained as so many\ndifferent ways of warding off the danger that threatens the initiate.\nHe is seated on leaves of the Hibiscus tiliaceus, which, as we have\nseen, possess special efficacy against dangers connected with turtle.\nLeaves of the same kind are placed under his arms so as to cover his\nbelly, where, we may suppose, the danger is most intense. A fire is\nplaced near him, between him and the open sea. It has already been\nshown that fire is believed to afford protection against dangers of\nthis sort, and the appropriateness of the position is due to the fact\nthat in this instance it is from the sea and the things of the sea that\ndanger is to be feared. He may not feed himself with his fingers, but\nmust use a skewer of Hibiscus wood. This is clearly only one more\nprecaution against danger, though the ideas connected with it are\nsomewhat obscure. At the beginning of the ceremony the initiate is fed\nwith turtle by a man who conducts the ceremony and who represents the\nsociety, that latter fact being sometimes symbolised by his wearing\nround his shoulders a bark sling such as is used for carrying children.\nThis means, I think, that it is the society that \u201cgives\u201d the food to\nthe initiate, giving him at the same time the power to use it with\nsafety. The older man hands on to the younger the right and the power\nto eat which he himself possesses. He makes himself responsible, as it\nwere, for the action of the initiate. At one stage of the performance\nthe initiate is rubbed over with red ochre. This is to be understood by\nrecalling that red ochre and red paint are regarded by the natives as\nvaluable remedies against sickness and against the spirits that cause\nsickness. Immediately afterwards the body of the initiate is spattered\nwith odu clay. The use of this clay after eating food was explained as\na method of avoiding the dangers supposed to result from eating such\nfoods as turtle. It is clear that exactly the same explanation will\napply to its use in the initiation ceremonies. I have not found a\nsatisfactory explanation of the peculiar manner in which it is applied.\nThat the youth is not allowed to sleep for the first two days of the\nceremony will be explained later in the chapter, when it will be shown\nthat sleep itself is regarded as a condition of danger.\n\nA notable incident is that at the beginning of the ceremony the female\nrelatives of the initiate are required by custom to come and weep over\nhim. An explanation of this has already been given, but may well be\nrepeated. At each stage of the initiation ceremonies the initiate is\nwithdrawn from the position of dependence that the child necessarily\noccupies, and as children are, for the most part, under the care of\ntheir elder female relatives, the ceremonies result in a partial\ndestruction of those bonds that unite the initiate to his mother or his\nfoster-mother and her sisters or to his own elder sisters. The weeping\nof the female relatives is as it were a reaction against this lessening\nof solidarity. It is evident why the rite is necessarily one-sided. The\nfemale relatives need to feel that they are not being entirely cut off\nfrom the initiate, and so they affirm their attachment to him by\nweeping over him. On the other hand the important thing for the\ninitiate himself is to feel that the bonds that united him as a child\nto the women who cared for him are now severed or modified; he must no\nlonger depend on them but must learn to depend on himself; hence it is\nnecessary that he should not weep but should remain passive and as it\nwere indifferent under the tears that are shed over him.\n\nThe last part of the ceremony consists of a dance, in which the youth\ndances in the middle surrounded by a ring of men. As we have seen that\ndancing is in general an affirmation of solidarity between those taking\npart, and an expression of the unity of the society, we may well regard\nthis dance as an affirmation of the solidarity that now exists between\nthe youth and the other dancers, who are representatives of the society\nof adults. There is something more in the dance than this however. I\npointed out that one of the results of taking part in a dance is to\nproduce in the individual an experience of increased personal force,\nand it is obvious that this is a very appropriate feeling for the\ninitiate who, by his long abstention from turtle, and by the ceremony\nhe has just been through, has acquired an increase of personal force,\nan addition to his social personality. Before the dance the initiate is\ndecorated with white clay (the snake pattern) and red paint. I have\nexplained this particular method of painting the body as being a means\nof expressing and so producing or reinforcing the feeling of elation\naccompanying the recognition by an individual of his own social value,\nof the fact that he has deserved and obtained the good-will and regard\nof his fellows. The youth who has been through the period of restraint\nand the ordeal of the ceremony has done his duty and has earned the\napprobation of his friends. It is for this reason that he alone of the\ndancers is decorated with the painting that serves to express or arouse\nthe elation or self-satisfaction that it is right for him to feel. The\npainting is the mark of the increase in social value of the initiate\nbrought about by the turtle-eating ceremony.\n\nThere is one aspect of the dance that may be mentioned as being of\nimportance, and which will be referred to again later, namely that the\nmovements seem to be in a way imitative of the movements of turtle in\nthe water. The leaves used in the dance are those that possess magical\nefficacy against dangers from turtle.\n\nI have not been able to satisfy myself as to the meaning of the belt\nand necklace of Pothos scandens worn by the initiate in the dance and\nfor some days afterwards. It is probable that the clue to this lies in\nthe resemblance of the leaves to the shape of a phallus, but I have no\nclear evidence that this is the real explanation, and therefore offer\nit as merely a surmise.\n\nIf the natives be asked the reason for these ceremonies they often\nreply that their purpose is to make the youth or girl grow up strong.\nBy this word \u201cstrong\u201d they seem to mean in the first instance\nable-bodied, skilful (in hunting, etc.) and above all able to avoid or\nresist disease. They believe that anyone who did not pass through the\nceremonies would be certain to die at an early age, and they recall the\ninstance of one young man who refused to submit to the ceremonies who\ndied before reaching maturity. Now, since the danger that they fear in\neating food is said to be sickness, we may translate their statement\ninto other terms by saying that the purpose of the initiation\nceremonies is to endow the initiate with the power to eat the dangerous\nfoods with comparative safety.\n\nIt would seem that an infant, being completely dependent upon his\nparents, is protected by that dependence from the danger of foods, but\nthe adult is only able to make use of food with safety by reason of the\npossession within himself of a special power with which it is the\npurpose of the initiation ceremonies to endow him. Each kind of food\nhas its own kind of dangerous power, and therefore every individual\nneeds to be endowed with the special power to avoid each kind of\ndanger. For this reason there is a separate ceremony for each of the\nimportant kinds of food. Thus we see very clearly that, for the\nAndamanese, food, or the power to make use of food without danger, is\nessentially a possession of the society, and one function of the\ninitiation ceremonies is to keep alive this sentiment.\n\nBut there is a further meaning, I think, lying behind the statement\nthat the initiation ceremonies endow the youth or girl with strength. I\nhave already argued that all the most important social sentiments are\nclosely associated with the sense of the social value of food, and\nalthough the initiation ceremonies are chiefly concerned with food,\nthat is only because that is the easiest way by which to get at the\nmain system of social sentiments. So that behind the special meaning of\nthe ceremonies with relation to food we must look for a more general\nmeaning in relation to the social life in general. This may be\nconveniently stated by saying that the purpose of the ceremonies is to\nendow the individual with a social personality. By the social\npersonality of a person I mean the sum of those qualities by which he\nis able to affect the society. It is, in other words, what gives him\nhis social value. The social personality depends in the first place on\nthe social status of the individual. A young child seems to be regarded\nas having no social personality. He is not an independent member of the\nsociety, and therefore has no immediate social value, no direct effect\non the general social life. At any rate the social personality of a\nchild is something very different from that of an adult. So, since the\ninitiation ceremonies provide the passage from childhood to manhood or\nwomanhood we may describe them as the means by which the society endows\nthe child with an adult social personality.\n\nBut the social personality of an individual also depends on his\npersonal qualities, his strength and intelligence, his skill as a\nhunter, and on his moral qualities, whether he is mean or generous,\nquarrelsome or good-tempered, and so on, for all these things help to\ndetermine the place he occupies in the social life and the effects he\nhas upon it. Above all, the social personality depends upon the\ndevelopment in the individual of those sentiments by which the social\nlife is regulated and by which the social cohesion is preserved. Now we\nhave seen that the initiation ceremonies do serve to develop these\nsentiments in the mind of the initiate, and we may therefore say that\nin this respect also it is true that the initiation ceremonies serve to\ndevelop in the child the social personality of an adult.\n\nThe consideration of the initiation ceremonies has served to confirm\nthe hypothesis that the Andamanese customs relating to food are all of\nthem different modes of expressing the social value of foods. We have\nnow to consider the nature of the dangers that are supposed to accrue\nfrom the eating of food if due precautions be not taken. One statement\nof the natives is that the danger they fear is sickness. Now sickness\nof all kinds is believed by the Andamanese to be caused by certain\nsupernatural beings called Lau or \u010cauga,\u2014the spirits of the dead; and\nfurther, we have seen that the danger connected with food is sometimes\nsaid to be the danger of an attack by the spirits. So that it is\nevident that to understand the meaning of the fear of foods it is first\nof all necessary to understand the notions they have about the spirits,\nand to do this we shall have to consider the various customs relating\nto death and burial.\n\nFor the society a death is the loss of one of its members, one of its\nconstituent parts. A person occupies a definite position in society,\nhas a certain share in the social life, is one of the supports of the\nnetwork of social relations. His death constitutes a partial\ndestruction of the social cohesion, the normal social life is\ndisorganised, the social equilibrium is disturbed. After the death the\nsociety has to organise itself anew and reach a new condition of\nequilibrium. In reference to the small community of the Andamans we may\ntranslate the above statement into terms of personal feeling by saying\nthat the death removes a person who was the object of feelings of\naffection and attachment on the part of others and is thus a direct\noffence against those sentiments in the survivors.\n\nThough the dead man has ceased to exist as a member of the society, it\nis clear that he has by no means ceased to influence the society. On\nthe contrary he has become the source of intense painful emotions.\nWhere the affection that was felt towards him was previously a source\nof pleasure it now becomes a source of pain. Defining the \u201csocial\npersonality\u201d of an individual as being the sum of characteristics by\nwhich he has an effect upon the social life and therefore on the social\nsentiments of others, we may say that by death the social personality\nis not annihilated but undergoes a profound change, so that from being\nan object of pleasurable states of the social sentiments it becomes an\nobject of painful states. This is expressed by the Andamanese by saying\nthat by death a man or woman becomes a Lau.\n\nThe burial customs of the Andaman Islanders, however, are not to be\nregarded as simply the expression of natural personal feeling. They are\na collective and ritual expression of a collective feeling. This is\nevident from the fact that they are regulated in every detail by\ncustom. It is the duty of the relatives and friends to mourn, whether\nthey feel sorrow or not, and it is equally their duty to mourn only for\na certain period.\n\nThe cohesion of a social group, by which is maintained its existence as\na group, depends directly on the existence of a collective system of\nsentiments or affective dispositions that bind every member to every\nother. The death, or removal by any other means, of a member of the\ngroup is a direct attack against these sentiments. Now whenever a\nsentiment of any kind is subjected to an attack of such a kind as this\nthere are only two possible alternatives; either the sentiment must\nsuffer a diminution of its intrinsic energy, and thus be less capable\nof controlling behaviour in the future; or it must find an outlet in an\nexpressive action of some sort which serves as a reaction of defence or\ncompensation and restores the sentiment to its former condition of\nstrength. The typical example of such an emotional reaction is anger;\nanything that wounds our self-regarding feelings arouses our anger; if\nit did not do so those feelings would gradually weaken. This law holds\ntrue of collective sentiments as well as of individual sentiments. If\nthe society permitted its solidarity to be attacked, whether by death\nor by any other means, without reacting in such a way as to give relief\nto wounded social feelings and so to reinstate them in their former\ncondition, these sentiments would lose their strength and the society\nits cohesion. The burial customs of the Andamanese are to be explained,\nI believe, as a collective reaction against the attack on the\ncollective feeling of solidarity constituted by the death of a member\nof the social group.\n\nThe man being dead, the first thing that the society does is to sever\nits connection with him, and the first step in this process is to get\nrid of the body by burying it or placing it in a tree, to abandon the\ncamp at which he died, and temporarily to drop the use of his name. It\nis often supposed that customs such as these, which are found in many\nprimitive societies, are due to the fear of the dead man\u2019s spirit. That\nthere is an element of fear present is undoubtedly true, but this fear\ndoes not seem to be by any means instinctive, and therefore comparable\nto the fear that some animals exhibit towards the dead body of one of\ntheir species. On the contrary the fear itself needs to be explained,\nand this will have to be attempted later.\n\nThere is one group of facts which show very clearly that the burial\ncustoms are not solely due to an instinctive fear of dead bodies,\nnamely that the customs vary according to the social position of the\ndeceased. A child plays very little part in the general life of the\ncommunity; hence on the death of a child the camp is not deserted and\nonly the parents are subjected to the mourning ritual. Similarly the\ndeath of a person who has for long been so ill as not to be able to\ntake any important part in social life has very little effect on the\ncommunity as a whole; the body of such a one is disposed of with scant\nceremony and mourning is perfunctory. On the other hand the death of a\nnoted hunter in the prime of life, of a man who is esteemed as a\nleader, is a much greater loss; the whole community mourns for him; his\nbody is placed on a tree instead of in the ground, showing that his\ndeath is regarded as something different from the death of a person who\nis interred. The body of a stranger who dies or is killed is not\nburied, but is thrown into the sea or cut up and burnt. The explanation\nthat the natives give of this custom of burning the body is that it\nserves to dispel danger that might accrue from the presence of the dead\nbody of a stranger. The blood and the fat of the dead man, from which\nthey appear to fear evil influences, are, they say, driven up to the\nsky in the smoke of the fire and are thus rendered harmless.\n\nThere is, then, a close correspondence between the manner of burial and\nthe social value of the person buried, and it is evident that the\ndifferences in the mode of disposing of the body are quite inexplicable\non the assumption that the funeral customs are solely due to the fear\nof the dead.\n\nBefore burial the corpse is decorated with white clay and red paint. We\nhave already seen that this is an expression on the part of the\nsurvivors of their regard for the deceased. A living man or woman is\ndecorated in this way when, for some special reason, it is desired to\nexpress the fact that he or she has the good-will and regard of others,\nand it is applied to the dead body with exactly the same meaning. Fire\nand water are placed beside the grave. It is not necessary to suppose\nthat the Andamanese believe that the spirit of the dead man makes any\nuse of these, any more than it is necessary for us to believe that the\nspirit enjoys the flowers that it is our custom to place upon the\ngrave. The action in each case is symbolical.\n\nThe dead man was bound by ties of solidarity to those still living. Now\nthat he is dead those ties have not ceased to exist, but continue until\nthe society has recovered from the effects of the death, for they are\nbased on deep-seated and elaborately organised sentiments. I believe\nthat the mourning customs of the Andamanese are to be explained on this\nbasis, as being the means by which the social sentiments of the\nsurvivors are slowly reorganised and adapted to the new condition\nproduced by the death. The severance of the dead man from the society\nis not a sudden but a gradual process, during which his relatives and\nfriends, being still attached to him by social ties, are in an abnormal\ncondition which may be defined as a partial separation from the world\nof living men and women and a partial aggregation to the world of the\ndead (i.e. the spirit world). This abnormal condition of the mourner is\nshown chiefly in his or her withdrawal from participation in the\nordinary life of the society. We have seen that the eating of food is,\nfor the Andamanese, one of the most important of social actions, a kind\nof communion of the society, and that during the period of adolescence\na youth is separated or withdrawn from the common life of the group by\nbeing forbidden to eat certain foods. So, in strict conformity with the\nsame set of notions, the mourner is separated from the normal life of\nthe society by being forbidden to eat pork or turtle, these being the\nmost important foods that the Andamanese have [171]. Like the aka-op,\nalso, the mourner is forbidden to take part in a dance, or to decorate\nhimself with red paint and white clay, for by these actions the Andaman\nIslander becomes conscious of his position as a member of a closely\nunified group, and it is necessary for the mourner, as for the aka-op,\nto feel that for the time being he is cut off from the ordinary life of\nthe group. The disuse, during the period of mourning, of the name of a\nmourner is to be explained, as we shall see more plainly later, on the\nsame principle, the personal name being what marks the person\u2019s\nposition in the social life, so that the temporary dropping of the name\nshows that for the time being the person is not occupying his normal\nsocial position.\n\nThe distinctive sign of a mourner is the use of clay, which is smeared\nover the body and head, and from the name of this clay is derived the\nterm that denotes a mourner (aka-odu). It is possible to explain this\nalso as a symbolic expression of the separation of the mourner from the\nworld of living men and his aggregation to the world of the dead. In\nhis everyday life the Andaman Islander is black from head to foot.\nDuring mourning he turns himself as nearly as possible white from head\nto foot, by covering his body all over with clay. It must be remembered\nthat the spirits of the dead are said to be white or light in colour.\nThis is undoubtedly one of the reasons why the (light-coloured) natives\nof India are called spirits (Lau), while men of such a dark-coloured\nrace as the African negroes are not referred to by this term. The use\nof clay would therefore seem to serve not only to make the mourner\nunlike his ordinary self, but to make him like the spirits of the dead.\n\nOf course, the natives explain all these customs of mourning as being\nexpressions of sorrow for their loss, and this is, from the simple\nstandpoint of everyday life, an adequate and true explanation. From the\nstandpoint of psychology, however, what we need to know is why the\nsorrow is expressed in just these ways and no others. Moreover, the\nnatives give as a further reason for the mourning customs that if they\ndid not observe them they would be liable to sickness or even death.\n\nI have said that the Andamanese believe that by death a man or woman\nbecomes a Lau, but there is a little uncertainty in the statements of\nthe natives as to whether he becomes a spirit at once, immediately\nafter the death, or whether he does so only after the flesh of the body\nhas decayed. Both statements are sometimes made, but it seems common to\nthink of the dead person during the period of mourning not as a spirit\n(Lau) but as a dead man (empilo). We may best express the ideas of the\nnatives by saying that the process by which a man becomes a spirit is\none that takes some months to complete, and is only ended when the\nbones are dug up. An interesting insight into their notions in this\nmatter is afforded by a belief, about which unfortunately I have very\nscanty information, to the effect that when a man dies he is initiated\ninto the world of the dead by a ceremony resembling the ceremonies by\nwhich a youth is initiated into manhood. In the statement of an\nAka-Kede informant the ceremony was spoken of by the term kimil, which\nis generally used for the initiation ceremonies, and was described as a\npo\u0331ro\u0331to-kimil, i.e., a ceremony in which the dead man ate po\u0331ro\u0331to\n(Caryota sobolifera) in just the same way that a youth eats turtle\n(\u010dokbi) at the \u010dokbi-kimil. There is independent evidence that there is\na special connection between the spirits of the dead and the Caryota\npalm [172].\n\nThe description of this ceremony (of initiation into the world of the\ndead) that was given to me stated that in it the shredded fibre named\nko\u0331ro was used in just the same way as the leaves of the Hibiscus are\nused in the turtle-eating ceremony. Further, as in the peace-making\nceremony men stand against a suspended cane from which depend bunches\nof this same ko\u0331ro, so in the initiation into the spirit world the\ninitiate has to stand against the rainbow while the dancing spirits\nshake it and him. It is this shaking of the rainbow (according to my\ninformant) that causes earthquakes. It may be recalled that the rainbow\nis regarded as a sort of bridge between this world and the spirit\nworld, and that its name is \u201cthe spirit\u2019s cane,\u201d so that it would seem\nthat it is regarded as like a cane with ko\u0331ro fibre suspended from it,\nsuch as is used in the peace-making ceremony.\n\nThe explanation of the use of this ko\u0331ro fibre was postponed earlier in\nthe chapter, and may well be undertaken here. It serves as a sign that\nthe spot where it is placed is tabu, or, in more precise terms, that\nthe spot must be avoided because of the presence there of a force or\npower that makes things dangerous. This force is present at the grave\nof a dead man, and therefore the fibre is placed at the grave to mark\nthe fact, while a bunch is similarly suspended at the entrance to a\nvillage that is deserted after a death. In the peace-making ceremony\nthe members of the one party stand against a suspended cane to which\nare attached strips of the fibre. The meaning of this, I think, is that\nit thus forbids the members of the other party from attacking them. If\na man were to leave the screen of ko\u0331ro, he would, I believe, be liable\nto be killed by the enemy party; it is only as long as he stands\nagainst it with his arms outstretched that he is safe, because while\nthere he is tabu.\n\nHow then does this belief in the fibre as a mark of tabu come about?\nThe fibre is worn by the women of the Little Andaman to cover their\npudenda, and it was formerly worn in this way by the women of the North\nAndaman. We may conclude that this was an old element in the Andaman\nculture dating back to the remote period when the inhabitants of the\nLittle Andaman became separated from those of the Great Andaman. Now in\na very special sense the sexual organs of women are tabu, and, without\ndiscussing the matter in detail, we may suppose that the Andaman\nIslander regards the genitals of women as a spot in which resides the\nsame sort of force or power that makes the spirits, or the body of a\ndead man, dangerous. One point may be mentioned as throwing light on\nthis subject, and helping forward the argument, namely that the natives\nof the North Andaman often use the expression Lau-buku (meaning\nliterally \u201cspirit-women\u201d or \u201cfemale spirits\u201d) to denote women\ncollectively instead of the phrase that might be expected\u2014n\u2019e-buku. It\nwould seem that by reason of their sex and the special ideas that are\nassociated with it, women are regarded as having a very special\nrelation with the world of spirits. We may conclude that the ko\u0331ro\nfibre, being a convenient material for the purpose, was first used as a\ncovering for the women, and in this way came to be used as a sign of\ntabu in general, or else that for some unknown reason the fibre was\nselected as a suitable material to mark any kind of tabu, and so came\nto be used both as a covering for women and also as a sign of warning\nat the grave and the village that has been visited by death [173].\n\nTo return from this digression to the question of the initiation of the\ndead man into the world of spirits, it is clear that since such\nceremonies take time to accomplish there is a period during which the\ndead man is in an indeterminate position; he is no longer a member of\nthe society of the living, and has not yet become a member of the\nsociety of the dead. As long as he is thus situated his relatives and\nfriends are still attached to him, so that he still remains as it were\nin partial contact with the living. During this time the society is\nstill suffering the ill effects of the death, and the process of\nreadjustment by means of the customs of mourning is still taking place.\nAt the end of it the dead man becomes completely absorbed in the spirit\nworld, and as a spirit he has no more part in or influence over the\nsocial life than any other spirit, and the mourning is brought to a\nclose by means of a ceremony.\n\nThis ceremony has two parts. One is the recovery of the bones and their\nreaggregation to the society, a rite which we may regard as the final\nsettling of the dead man in his proper place. All that is left of him,\nwho was once a source of strength to the community, who had once\u2014as it\nis here expressed\u2014a social value, are the bones, his name, and the\nmemory of him that his friends retain. We may suppose that the bones\nstill have something of the value that originally attached to their\nowner, and indeed it is evident that they have, for after they are\nrecovered they are affectionately treasured as relics by the relatives.\nBy the end of the period of mourning the painful feelings aroused by\nthe death have died down, so that the dead man is now the object only\nof memories that are pleasant, or, at the worst, bitter-sweet. The\nbones, then, are visible evidences of the fact that the society has\nrecovered from the disruptive shock of the death, and this is why they\nare dug up as soon as the recovery is complete, or rather in order to\ncomplete it, and are thereafter treasured. It should now be clear why\nthe Andamanese attribute to the bones of dead persons the power to\nprotect them from unseen dangers. Like the bones of animals that have\nbeen eaten they are visible and wearable signs of past dangers overcome\nthrough the protective action of the society itself, and are therefore\na guarantee of similar protection in the future. And as the death of a\nmember is an enormously more important event for the community than the\nmere killing and eating of a dugong, so an enormously greater\nprotective power is attributed to the human bones than to those of any\nanimal.\n\nThe bones, then, are dug up, and brought into camp, where they are wept\nover just as a friend who has been absent is wept over. All that is\nleft of the former person returns to the social life, henceforward to\noccupy a definite place in it, and the weeping is the rite of\naggregation, the expression of the attachment of those who weep to the\nbones that now return to them from the grave. The skull and jawbone and\nthe long bones are then decorated with red paint and white clay, this\nbeing the way in which the relatives express their sense of the value\nof them. The other bones are made up into strings and distributed to be\nused on occasion as amulets.\n\nSoon after the digging up of the bones the other part of the ceremony\nof the end of mourning takes place. We have seen that while the dead\nman was in an indeterminate position his relatives were still attached\nto him by social bonds, but now that he has finally become a spirit,\nand is for ever definitely cut off from the human society, these bonds\ncease to exist. The mourners, therefore, who have been cut off from the\nnormal social life are free to return to it and even if they should not\nso desire, yet it is their duty to do so. The return of the mourners to\nthe society is marked by a dance. The clay that has marked their\ncondition is taken off, and they are decorated with white clay and red\npaint and all the ornaments usual on ceremonial occasions. Thus\ndecorated they dance, the women on this occasion being required to\ndance as well as the men. The dance is interrupted shortly after it is\nbegun in order that those who have not been mourning may weep with the\nmourners. The weeping, according to the explanation at the beginning of\nthe chapter is a rite of aggregation by which the mourners are welcomed\nback to the society, just as returning friends are welcomed after an\nabsence. It has nothing whatever to do, I believe, with the dead person\nfor whom they have been mourning, but is merely an expression of\nsolidarity between those still alive. Dancing and the decorations used\nin the dance, I have argued, are means by which the society expresses\nits own unity, and makes the individual realise what it means to be one\nof a group, so that in this dance we see the society once more coming\ntogether to continue its common life, and compelling those who have\nbeen cut off from it to feel, even against their inclinations, that\nthey have become once more units of the social body. After this\nceremony the mourners are relieved from the restrictions to which they\nwere subjected.\n\nIn order to complete this discussion of the burial customs it is\nnecessary to explain why a person\u2019s name should be dropped from use\nafter his death, and although this will require a digression of some\nlength, this seems the most convenient point at which to deal with it.\nThere is a very special relation between the name of anything and its\nfundamental characteristics, which in logic we describe by saying that\nthe latter are included in the connotation of the name. The way in\nwhich the Andamanese represent this relation to themselves is shown in\none of the legends. At a time when the ancestors did not know either\nthe names or the uses of the different objects to be found in their\ncountry, one of them, Da Te\u014bat by name, walked through the forest\nenquiring of the objects he met what were their names. From most of\nthem he received no reply, but the yam and the resin replied to him and\ngave him their names. The legend shows that as soon as the hero of the\ntale knew the name of the yam he immediately knew that it was of use as\na food and that it required to be cooked in a particular way, although\nhe was till then ignorant of those important properties. Similarly,\nhaving discovered the name of the resin he knew that it could be made\ninto a torch and so used to give light.\n\nThere is, to the mind of the Andaman Islander, a somewhat similar and\nvery important connection between a person\u2019s name and what is here\ncalled his social personality, and this is exhibited in the customs\nwhereby the name is avoided on certain occasions. A consideration of\nthe different instances will show, I think, that the name is always\navoided whenever the owner is for any reason prevented from taking his\nor her usual place in the life of the society. At such times the social\npersonality is as it were suppressed, and the name which represents it\nis therefore also suppressed.\n\nFrom the moment of her first menstruation to the date of her marriage,\nor more strictly to the date of her first parturition, the birth-name\nof a woman is dropped from use and she is called by her flower-name. A\nwoman only attains her complete social personality as a mother. As a\nchild she has not the power to become a mother. She acquires that power\nat her first menstruation and therefore from that time until this new\nvirtue is actively exercised she is in a position in which one of her\nvirtues, one of the qualities making up her social personality, is in\nabeyance. Therefore her name (her birth-name) is not used and she is\ngiven a temporary name in its place, a flower-name. She is, as it were,\nin blossom, and only when her body ripens to its fruit is she a\ncomplete woman.\n\nAt certain stages of the initiation ceremonies the name of a youth or\nof a girl (the flower-name in this instance) is avoided for a certain\nperiod. Such occasions are during, and for some time after, any of the\nmore important ceremonies, such as the cutting of the boy\u2019s back, the\npuberty ceremony of the girl, the turtle-eating and pig-eating\nceremonies. After a boy\u2019s back is cut he is addressed and spoken of for\nsome time as E\u01f0ido, his own name not being spoken. Similarly during and\nafter the turtle-eating or the pig-eating ceremony he is addressed and\nspoken of by the name Kimil. The explanation of these customs is that\nat these times the initiate is in an abnormal position by reason of the\nceremony that has taken place, and is not permitted to take an ordinary\npart in social life. After the initiation ceremony, for example, the\nyouth is not permitted to handle a bow for some weeks (the bow being\nthe typical masculine implement).\n\nThe names of a newly-married couple are avoided for a few days after\ntheir marriage. Marriage produces an important change in the social\npersonality, and this change is expressed in the marriage ceremony, but\nall such changes take time, and it is some days at least before the\nmarried couple can be expected to have settled down in their new\npositions. For these days, therefore, their names are not used. The\nsame sort of explanation will hold for the custom of dropping the names\nof a father and mother before and after the birth of a child,\nparticularly the first born.\n\nAt the turtle-eating ceremony of the North Andaman coast-dwellers the\nyouth is given a new name. It is possible that a girl is also given a\nnew name at this time, and that another name is also given to the youth\nat the pig-eating ceremony, but on these points I neglected to make\nsufficient enquiry. The name given at the turtle-eating ceremony is\nnever used and is not likely to be known except to those who were\npresent at the ceremony, and therefore serves no such purpose as the\nflower-name of the girl. The giving of the name is simply the mark of\nthe change of social personality brought about by the ceremony. The\nyouth receives an addition to his personality and therefore receives an\nadditional name. It is significant that all the names given at this\nceremony have reference to the sea and to things of the sea,\nparticularly to turtle, such as \u010cokbi-\u010diro, turtle-liver, \u010cokbi-tei,\nturtle-blood, etc.\n\nDuring the period of mourning, when, as we have seen, the mourner is\nwithdrawn from the ordinary life of the society, his name is not used,\nshowing that during this period his social personality is in a state of\npartial suppression. After the mourning period is over the mourner,\nwhen he resumes his social personality, resumes at the same time his\nname.\n\nNow death is the most fundamental modification of the social\npersonality that is possible and therefore the name of a person\nrecently dead is strictly avoided. Death, however, does not destroy the\nsocial personality utterly and for ever, but produces in it a profound\nchange, which begins at the death itself and is only completed at the\nend of and by means of the customs of mourning. After the mourning is\nover the virtues of the dead man affect the survivors through memory,\nand his bones form a precious possession of the community, thus\nconstituting for him a new social value, a new personality. During the\nperiod of change, while the personality does not exist in the same form\nas before the death, but does not yet exist in the form in which it\nwill when he lives only in the memory of his friends, the name is not\nused. After the mourning period is over the name may again be used.\n\nIn general then, it may be said that at any period in which a person is\nundergoing a critical change in his condition in so far as it affects\nthe society his name falls out of use, to be resumed when the period of\nchange is over. The reason for this is that during such periods of\nchange the social personality is suppressed or latent and therefore the\nname which is closely associated with the social personality must be\nsuppressed also.\n\nThe customs of burial and mourning are therefore seen to be not simply\nthe result of natural feelings of fear and sorrow but ritual actions\nperformed under a sense of obligation and strictly regulated by\ntradition. They are means by which the society acts upon its members,\ncompelling them to feel emotions appropriate to the occasion. Since the\ndead person has, by his death, become a cause of social disruption, all\ncontact with him must be avoided. But the dead man had a certain value\nto the society, and as a thing of any kind cannot be valued unless its\nloss is felt as a source of pain, so if the community did not mourn\nwhen it lost one of its members that feeling of the social value of\nindividuals on which the existence of the society depends would soon\ndiminish in strength, thereby weakening the social cohesion.\n\nIt is now possible for us to understand the Andamanese beliefs about\nthe spirits. The basis of these beliefs, I wish to maintain, is the\nfact that at the death of an individual his social personality (as\ndefined above) is not annihilated, but is suddenly changed. This\ncontinuance after death is a fact of immediate experience to the\nAndaman Islanders and not in any way a deduction. The person has not\nceased to exist. For one thing his body is still there. But above all\nhe is still the object of the social sentiments of the survivors, and\nthereby he continues to act upon the society. The removal of a member\nof the group is felt not as something negative but as the positive\ncause of great social disturbance.\n\nThe spirits are feared or regarded as dangerous. The basis of this fear\nis the fact that the spirit (i.e. the social personality of a person\nrecently dead) is obviously a source of weakness and disruption to the\ncommunity, affecting the survivors through their attachment to him, and\nproducing a condition of dysphoria, of diminished social activity. The\nnatural impulse of the Andaman Islander or of any other human being,\nwould be, I believe, not to shun the dead body of a loved one, but to\nremain near it as long as possible. It is the society, acting under a\nquite different set of impulses, that compels the relatives to separate\nthemselves from the remains of the one they loved. The death of a small\nchild has very little influence on the general activity of the\ncommunity, and the motive for severing connection with the dead that is\npresent in the case of an adult, either does not exist or is so weak as\nto be overruled by the private feelings of affection, and so the child\nis buried in the hut of the parents, that they may continue to keep it\nnear them. This affords a good test of the hypothesis, and gives strong\nsupport to the view that the fear of the dead man (his body and his\nspirit) is a collective feeling induced in the society by the fact that\nby death he has become the object of a dysphoric condition of the\ncollective consciousness.\n\nIf the Andamanese are asked what they fear from the spirit of a dead\nman they reply that they fear sickness or death, and that if the burial\nand mourning customs are not properly observed the relatives of the\ndead person will fall sick and perhaps die.\n\nThe basis of this notion of the spirits is that the near relatives of\nthe deceased, being bound to him by close social ties, are influenced\nby everything that happens to him, and share in his good or evil\nfortune. So that when by sickness and resulting death he is removed\nfrom the community, they are as it were drawn after him. For this\nreason they are, during the period of mourning, between life and death,\nbeing still attached to the dead man. Contact with the world of the\ndead is therefore regarded as dangerous for the living because it is\nbelieved that they may be drawn completely into that world. Death is a\nprocess by which a person leaves the living world and enters the world\nof the spirits, and since no one dies willingly he is conceived as\nbeing under a compulsive force acting from the world of spirits. Now\nsickness is a condition that often ends in death, a first stage of the\nway leading to the world of spirits. Hence sickness is conceived by the\nAndamanese as a condition of partial contact with that world. This is\nwhat is meant by the statement that sickness and death come from the\nspirits.\n\nThe way the Andamanese think about the spirits is shown in the\nAkar-Bale legend of the origin of death [174]. Yaramurud, having died\nthrough an accident, self-caused, becomes a spirit, but he does so only\nunder the compulsion exercised upon him by his mother, who, now that he\nis dead, insists that he must go away from the world of the living and\nbecome a spirit. The spirit then comes back to see his brother and by\nthis contact causes the brother\u2019s death. The story implies that it was\nnot because Yaramurud was evilly disposed towards his brother that he\nkilled him, but on the contrary it was his attachment to his relative\nthat caused him to return to visit him, and death followed as a result\nof this contact of the living man with the spirit. Since that time\ndeaths have continued to occur in the same way. Thus it appears that\nthe Andamanese conceive that the spirits do not cause death and\nsickness through evil intention, but through their mere proximity, and,\nas the legend very clearly shows, the burial customs are intended to\ncut off the unwilling spirit from contact with the living. This\nexplains also why during the period of mourning the relatives of a dead\nperson are thought to be in danger of sickness, and have more to fear\nfrom the spirit than others, for since it is they who were most\nattached to him during life it is they who are most likely to suffer\nfrom contact with him after he is dead. It was Yaramurud\u2019s brother who\nwas the first to die through the influence of the spirits.\n\nThe feelings of the living towards the spirits of the dead are\ntherefore ambivalent, compounded of affection and fear, and this must\nbe clearly recognized if we are to understand all the Andamanese\nbeliefs and customs. We may compare the relation between the society of\nthe living and the society of the dead to that between two hostile\ncommunities having occasional friendly relations. That the Andamanese\nthemselves look upon it in some such way is shown by the belief that\nthe ceremony by which a dead man is initiated into the world of spirits\nresembles the peace-making ceremony. The dead man, up to the time of\nhis death, has been living in a state of enmity with the spirits, and\nbefore he can enter their community and share their life he has to make\npeace with them in the same way that men make peace with one another\nafter they have been at war.\n\nThis notion of hostility between the society and the world of spirits\nis found in other primitive societies, and seems everywhere to have a\ndefinite social function. The removal of a member of the community\neither by death or otherwise is a direct attack on the social\nsolidarity and produces in primitive societies an emotional reaction of\nthe same general character as anger. This collective anger, if freely\nexpressed, serves as a compensating mechanism, satisfying and restoring\nthe damaged sentiment [175]. But this can only happen if there is some\nobject against which the anger can be directed. In the instance of\nhomicide the social anger is directed against the person responsible\nfor the death and against the social group to which he belongs. In the\ninstance of death from sickness some other object has to be found, and\namongst primitive peoples there are two chief ways in which this is\ndone. An example of one method is afforded by the tribes of Australia,\namongst whom there is a strong and constant hostility between\nneighbouring local groups, with a result that the anger at a death from\nsickness directs itself against some community with which the group of\nthe dead man is at enmity and it is believed that some member of that\ncommunity has caused the death by magic. The Andamans afford an example\nof the second method. Amongst them it would seem that the enmity\nbetween different local groups (except as concerns the J\u030ca\u0324rawa in the\nSouth Andaman) was never very strong and the belief in evil magic was\nnot highly developed, so that the anger at a death is directed against\nthe spirits, and sometimes find expression in violent railings against\nthem, accompanied by all the bodily manifestations of extreme rage and\nhatred.\n\nNow though the Andamanese regard the spirits with fear and hatred, and\nbelieve that all contact with them is dangerous for living men, yet\nthey do not look on them as essentially evil, for that would conflict\nwith their own feelings of attachment to their dead friends.\n\nI gathered a few hints that they even believe that at times the spirits\ncan and will help them. Thus a man will call on the sea-spirits of his\nown country to send plenty of turtle (over which the spirits seem to be\nassumed to have power) when he is going hunting. A very important fact\nin this connection is the different way in which a native regards the\nspirits of his own country and of other parts, the latter being thought\nto be much more dangerous than the former because presumably they are\nthe spirits not of relatives and friends but of strangers at the best\nor enemies at the worst.\n\nThere is other evidence that the Andamanese do not regard the power\nthat is possessed by the spirits as being essentially evil. This power,\nwhereby the spirits are able to cause sickness, seems to be shared by\nthe bones of dead men. Indeed the Andamanese call such bones\n\u201cspirit-bones\u201d (lau-to\u0331i, \u010dauga-ta). Now this power in the bones (though\nit may at times be supposed to cause sickness) is more commonly made\nuse of in order to prevent or cure it.\n\nThe most conclusive evidence that the power of the spirits is not\nintrinsically evil, but may be used to produce both good and evil is\nafforded by the beliefs about medicine-men or dreamers (oko-\u01f0umu).\nThere are three ways in which a man can become a medicine-man. The\nfirst is (as the natives put it) by dying and coming back to life. Now\nwhen a man dies he becomes a spirit and therefore acquires the peculiar\npowers and qualities of a spirit, which he retains if he returns to\nlife. Secondly, if a man straying in the jungle by himself be affronted\nby the spirits, and if he show no fear (for if he is afraid they will\nkill him) they may keep him with them for a time and then let him go.\nSuch a man, on his return, is regarded as being a medicine-man, and\npossessing all the powers of medicine-men. I was told of one man who\nbecame a medicine-man in this way within living memory, and it was\nstated that when he returned from the forest where he had been kept by\nthe spirits for two or three days he was decorated with ko\u0331ro fibre. We\nhave seen that this fibre is used by the spirits in the ceremony by\nwhich they initiate dead men, and its presence on the returned warrior\nwas perhaps accepted by his friends as evidence that he had been\ninitiated by the spirits. The third and last way in which a man may\nbecome a medicine-man is by having intercourse with the spirits in his\ndreams. This is a point to which it will be necessary to return later.\nFor the present it is sufficient to note that in every instance the\npower of the medicine-man is believed to be derived from his contact\nwith the spirits in one of the three possible ways.\n\nWe are justified in concluding that the special power of the\nmedicine-man, by which he is distinguished from his fellows, is simply\nthe same power that is possessed by the spirits, from contact with whom\nhe has obtained it. The medicine-man is believed to be able both to\ncause and to cure sickness, to arouse and to dispel storms. In other\nwords he has power for both good and evil, and we must conclude that\nthe spirits have the same. Moreover, it is commonly said that the\nmedicine-man is able to produce the effects he does, whether they be\nharmful or beneficial to his fellows, by communicating with the spirits\nin dreams and enlisting their aid. This would seem to prove the point\nthat I am here concerned with, that the power possessed by the spirits,\nthough contact with it is always dangerous, may yet in certain\ncircumstances be of benefit to the society, and is therefore not\nessentially evil in nature.\n\nThe Andamanese believe that a medicine-man communicates with the\nspirits in sleep, and this is not the only evidence that they believe\nsleep to be a condition in which contact with the world of spirits is\neasier than in waking life. It is believed that sickness is more likely\nto begin during sleep than when awake. During the initiation ceremonies\nthe initiate is required to abstain from sleep after eating pork or\nturtle, and this would seem to be because sleep is regarded as\ngenerally dangerous and therefore to be avoided on such occasions as\nthis when every precaution needs to be taken.\n\nThe explanation of this belief seems to lie in the fact that sleep is a\ncondition of diminished social activity, in which the individual is\nwithdrawn from active social life, and is therefore also withdrawn from\nthe protection of the society. After eating turtle the initiate is in\nurgent need of the protection of the society, which would be lost to\nhim if he were permitted to sleep. After a death, when the corpse\nremains in the camp all night the people remain awake, and since there\nis no other common activity in which they can join, they sing, and thus\nprotect themselves from the spirits that are present as the cause of\nthe death.\n\nThis explanation implies that all conditions of diminished social\nactivity on the part of an individual are dangerous. One example of\nsuch a condition is sickness, in which the sick person is unable to\npursue his ordinary occupations. Other examples are afforded by a\nmother, and to a certain extent a father during the period preceding\nand following the birth of a child, and by a woman during the menstrual\nperiod. All these, as various customs show, are believed by the\nAndamanese to be conditions of danger in which it is necessary to take\nritual or magical precautions. A better example for our purpose is that\nof an adolescent during the period covered by the initiation\nceremonies, when, as we have seen, he is as it were cut off from the\nsociety, and there is abundant evidence that the Andamanese believe\nthis to be a state of danger. Another example is the condition of a\nhomicide during the period of his isolation. Lastly, we have seen that\na mourner is cut off from the ordinary social life, and it may now be\nnoted that the native explanation of the restrictions observed in that\nstate is that if things were not done thus the mourner would be ill; in\nother words the condition of mourning is one of danger, and the ritual\nreferring to it is the means by which the danger (from the spirit\nworld) is avoided. This explanation does not conflict with the one\npreviously given but on the contrary we can now see that the notion\nthat the mourner is in a position partly withdrawn from active\nparticipation in social life necessarily involves the belief that he is\nin a condition of danger.\n\nWe may conclude that every condition in which the individual is\nwithdrawn from full participation in active social life is regarded as\ndangerous for him, and that this is at least one of the reasons why\nsleep is so regarded. We have already noted that all conditions of\ndanger tend to be thought of as due to contact with the spirits, and\nsleep is therefore supposed to be a state in which such contact is\neasier than in waking life. Now sleep is visited by dreams and it comes\nabout that the dream-life, by reason of its contrast with waking-life,\nis seized upon by the Andamanese as a means by which the nature of the\nspirit world may be represented to the imagination.\n\nThe Andaman Islander seems to regard the dream-world as a world of\nshadows or reflections, for he uses the same word to denote a shadow, a\nreflection in a mirror, and a dream (the stem -\u01f0umu in Aka-J\u030ceru). Now\nwhen a man enters this shadow-world in sleep he is, as we have seen,\nconceived as coming into partial contact with the world of spirits.\nHence the Andaman Islander believes that in dreams he may communicate\nwith the spirits, that dreams may be a cause of sickness, and that in\ndreams a medicine-man can cause or cure sickness in his fellows. In\nthis shadow-world the man himself becomes as it were a shadow, a mere\nreflection of himself; it is not he that lives and acts in his dreams\nbut his ot-\u01f0umulo, his double, his shadow-self, or, as we might say,\nhis soul. It is but a step from this to the representation of the\nspirit-world as a similar world of shadows and dream-shapes, and to the\nconclusion that when a man dies it is his ot-\u01f0umulo that becomes the\nspirit.\n\nTo summarise the argument, the belief in the world of spirits rests on\nthe actual fact that a dead person continues to affect the society. As\nthe effect is one of disorganisation, whereby the social sentiments are\nwounded, the dead are avoided and the spirits are regarded with fear.\nBut as a recently dead person is still regarded with feelings of\nattachment by his friends, the resulting final attitude towards the\nspirits is ambivalent. By a simple step the spirits come to be regarded\nas the cause of sickness and death, and therefore as hostile to living\nmen. Yet, as the beliefs about medicine-men show, it is possible for\nexceptional individuals to be on terms of friendship with the spirits.\nFinally, the dream-life affords a means by which the spirit-world may\nbe represented in a simple and concrete manner. This last feature (the\nassociation of the spirits with dreams) I believe to be a secondary\nelaboration of the primary or fundamental belief which shows itself in\nthe ritual of death and mourning, serving only to rationalise it and\nmake it more concrete. This need of concrete representation of the\nspirit-world shows itself in other beliefs, in which may be seen the\ntendency to become self-contradictory that is often the mark of ideas\nthat arise as the result of attempts to rationalise conative and\naffective impulses. The spirits are, on the one hand, as it were\nshadows or images of living men, and yet, since they are feared and\ndisliked, they are often represented as being repulsive and inhuman,\nwith long legs and short bodies, with long beards and ugly faces [176].\nThe spirits must be thought of as somewhere, but there is no\nconsistency in the statements as to where that somewhere is; one man\nwill say that they live in the sky, another that they are under the\nearth, a third will point to a particular island as their home; at the\nsame time it is evident from other statements that they vaguely\nconceive them as being everywhere, in the forest and the sea.\n\nWe are now in a position to understand what the Andaman Islander means\nwhen he says that the danger he fears from food is from the spirits.\nThe greatest evil that can happen to the community is the sickness or\ndeath of its members, and these are believed to be the work of the\nspirits. The sense of the social value of food takes the form of a\nbelief that food is dangerous, and inevitably the danger comes to be\nconceived as that of sickness or death, and is therefore associated in\ntheir minds with the spirits.\n\nBut there is a more fundamental reason than this. I have tried to show\nthat it is because food has such important effects for good and evil on\nthe social life that it is believed to be endued with a peculiar power\nwhich makes it necessary to approach it with ritual precautions. If\nthis thesis be valid it should be capable of generalisation, and we\nshould find the same power attributed to every object or being that is\ncapable of affecting in important ways the well-being of the society.\nWe should expect that the Andamanese would attribute this power not\nonly to the more important things used for food but also to such things\nas the weather and dead men (i.e., the spirits). Now this, if the\nargument has been correct, is exactly what we do find, and we have here\nthe reason why the Andaman Islander, when asked what he fears from\neating dangerous foods, replies that he fears sickness or the spirits\nof the dead.\n\nWe may formulate in precise language the beliefs that underlie the\nceremonial, remembering always that the Andaman Islanders themselves\nare quite incapable of expressing these beliefs in words and are\nprobably only vaguely conscious of them. (1) There is a power or force\nin all objects or beings that in any way affect the social life. (2) It\nis by virtue of this power that such things are able to aid or harm the\nsociety. (3) The power, no matter what may be the object or being in\nwhich it is present, is never either essentially good or essentially\nevil, but is able to produce both good and evil results. (4) Any\ncontact with the power is dangerous, but the danger is avoided by\nritual precautions. (5) The degree of power possessed by anything is\ndirectly proportioned to the importance of the effects that it has on\nthe social life. (6) The power in one thing may be used to counteract\nthe danger due to contact with the power in some other thing.\n\nWe have studied this power in the animals and plants used for food and\nthe things used as materials. It is this that makes turtle dangerous to\neat and Anadendron fibre dangerous to prepare, and it is this also that\nmakes animal bones or the leaves of Hibiscus available for protection.\nWe have now seen that the same power is present in dead men, in their\nbodies, their bones, and in the spirit-world to which dead men go. All\ncontact with the world of the dead is highly dangerous, and yet we have\nseen that human bones may be used for protection and that even the\nspirits may be induced to heal sickness or allay storms. We have also\nseen that the same power is present in the oko-\u01f0umu, and we have made\nthe important discovery that it is through contact with the spirits\nthat he acquires the power. This reveals another important principle.\n(7) If an individual comes into contact with the power in any thing and\nsuccessfully avoids the danger of such contact, he becomes himself\nendowed with power of the same kind as that with which he is in\ncontact. Now although the oko-\u01f0umu possesses a very special social\nvalue, yet every man and woman has some social value, some of that\npower which makes any being capable of affecting the society for good\nor ill, and we can now see that the initiation ceremonies are the means\nby which the individual is endowed with power (or, as the natives say,\nmade strong) by being brought into contact with the special power\npresent in each of the important kinds of food. The initiation of the\nordinary man or woman is parallel to the initiation of the oko-\u01f0umu\nsave that in one instance it is the power in foods and in the other\nthat in the spirits with which the initiation is concerned.\n\nIt has been held in this chapter that the society or the social life\nitself is the chief source of protection against danger for the\nindividual. If this be so then the society itself possesses this same\npower with which we are dealing, and we must expect to find that\ncontact with this power is also dangerous for the individual. Now the\noccasion on which the individual comes into contact with the power in\nthe society is in the dance, and I found evidence that the natives\nbelieve that dancing is dangerous in exactly the same way as eating\nfood. Confirmation of this will appear later.\n\nIt would seem that for the Andaman Islander the social life is a\nprocess of complex interaction of powers or forces present in the\nsociety itself, in each individual, in animals and plants and the\nphenomena of nature, and in the world of spirits, and on these powers\nthe well-being of the society and its members depends. By the action of\nthe principle of opposition the society\u2014the world of the living\u2014comes\nto be opposed to the spirits\u2014the world of the dead. The society itself\nis the chief source of protection to the individual; the spirits are\nthe chief source of danger. Hence all protection tends to be referred\nto the society and all danger to the spirits. In the initiation\nceremonies it is the society that protects the initiate against the\ndangers of food, and those dangers are referred, generally if not quite\nconsistently, to the spirits, with which at first sight they would seem\nto have nothing to do.\n\nIt is now at last possible to understand the uses of the word ot-kimil\nwhich were first discussed on page 267 above. When the word is used in\nreference to a person who has just partaken of food it denotes a\ncondition of danger produced by contact with the power in foods. This\ncondition results at any time from the eating of any of the more\nimportant foods, but is clearly produced in an extreme form when a food\nsuch as turtle or pork is being eaten for the first time at a ceremony\nof initiation. Hence the initiate is most intensely kimil and is\ntherefore addressed and spoken of by that term, or as we might say \u201cthe\nkimil person.\u201d\n\nUsed in reference to sickness the word denotes a condition of danger\ndue to contact with that power (in the spirits or in food) which is the\ncause of sickness. Used in reference to storms it again denotes a\ncondition of danger for the society. Storms are sometimes said to be\ncaused by the spirits [177]. This is also the explanation of the use of\nthe word to denote a particular season of the year. The Kimil season is\nby no means hot, but cool; it is, however, the season at which violent\ncyclones are most likely to occur, being the period of the change from\nthe south-west to the north-east monsoon. It is therefore a season of\ndanger to the society from that power which produces storms.\n\nFinally, a man who has joined in a dance is said to be ot-kimil and\nseems to be regarded as being in a condition of danger similar to that\nproduced by food. It might be thought that in this instance the word is\nonly used in its literal meaning of \u201chot,\u201d but I believe that this is\nnot so. The dance is the occasion on which the individual comes most\nclosely into contact with the power in the society itself, and I\nbelieve that this contact is regarded as dangerous and therefore as\nmaking the individual ot-kimil.\n\nThus we see that in its various uses the word ot-kimil denotes a\ncondition of danger due to contact with that power on the interaction\nof the different manifestations of which the well-being of the society\ndepends.\n\nHow is it then that to denote this condition the Andamanese use a word\nwhich, primarily, seems to mean \u201cheat\u201d? The answer is that they\nconceive the qualities that give to objects their social values as\nbeing the manifestations of a kind of energy, and as being similar to\nthe kind of energy which they know best, that of heat. The\npsychological basis of this is not difficult to discover. The eating of\nfood is productive of bodily heat (the Andamanese live in a hot climate\nand eat much fat, it must be remembered), so that the power present in\nfoods is inevitably thought of as a sort of heat or heat-producing\nenergy. In the dance the Andaman Islander experiences, as we have seen,\nan increase in his own personal force or energy, and this also is\nassociated with the sensation of bodily heat produced by dancing. All\nother bodily activities result in the sensation of heat (in hunting and\nwork of all kinds) and as it is in his activities that the social value\nof the individual is manifested this value is itself conceived as a\nsort of heat-producing energy. Further the Andamanese seem to associate\nwith the idea of heat all conditions of mental activity and excitement.\nWe ourselves do the same, as shown by such words as \u201cardour,\u201d \u201czeal,\u201d\netc. and such phrases as \u201cthe heat of anger, or enthusiasm,\u201d and there\nis good ground for thinking that all such associations or symbolisms\n(sensory metaphors) have a physiological basis. Finally, fire which (as\nwe shall see better in the next chapter) is regarded by the Andamanese\nas the most important possession of the society, and which (as we have\nalready seen) has in a very high degree the power that makes objects\ncapable of affecting the society, is for this reason in a suitable\nposition to become the archetype of all forms of energy, activity or\nforce. This system of notions of the Andamanese that the world is the\narena of a continual struggle of forces present in the society itself,\nin each individual, in the substances that are used for foods and\nmaterials, in fire, in storms and sunshine, and in the spirits and\nbones of the dead, is, as I have tried to show, the result not of any\nprocess of reasoning but of the immediate social experience, and as it\nis in the heat of his own body, and in states of excitement of his own\nmind, that the individual does actually experience the effects of these\nforces upon himself he uses the same word to denote all conditions of\nheat and all conditions of the manifestation of this energy, organising\naround that word as well as he can his somewhat vague conceptions.\n\nIn case this symbolism should still seem strange, and the explanation\nof it unsatisfactory, it is as well to show by means of a couple of\nquotations that in other primitive societies differing widely from the\nAndamanese similar uses of the words hot and heat are to be found. In\nhis work on the Achehnese (Vol. I, p. 305) C. Snouck Hurgronje writes\nthus of the natives of the Malay Archipelago: \u201cIn the native language\nof the E. Archipelago all happiness, rest and well-being are united\nunder the concept of \u2018coolness,\u2019 while the words \u2018hot\u2019 and \u2018heat\u2019\ntypify all the powers of evil. Thus when a person has either just\nendured the attack of a \u2018hot\u2019 influence or has luckily contrived to\nescape it, the adat prescribes methods of \u2018cooling\u2019 in order to confirm\nhim in the well-being which he has recovered or escaped losing. The\nsame methods are also adopted for charming away evil things and baneful\ninfluences, the removal of which is regarded as an imperative\nnecessity. For instance, the completion of a house, and various\ndomestic festivities, are made the occasion for a process of \u2018cooling\u2019;\nso also with a ship when newly built or after holding of a kanduri on\nboard; and before the padi is planted out the ground must be purified\nfrom \u2018hot\u2019 or dangerous influences.\u201d In this instance we find the word\n\u201chot\u201d used only in reference to evil forces. In the Andamans there is\nno line drawn between good and evil forces. In spite of the differences\nbetween them it is clear that the same mental process is responsible\nfor the symbolic use of the word \u201chot\u201d in the Andamans and in the Malay\nArchipelago.\n\nIn Codrington\u2019s The Melanesians, p. 191, we find an example of the same\nmode of thought. \u201cThat invisible power which is believed by the natives\nto cause all such effects as transcend their conception of the regular\ncourse of nature and to reside in spiritual beings, whether in the\nspiritual part of living men or in the ghosts of the dead, being\nimparted by them to their names and to various things that belong to\nthem, such as stones, snakes, and indeed objects of all sorts, is that\ngenerally known as mana. By means of this men are able to control or\ndirect the forces of nature, to make rain or sunshine, wind or calm, to\ncause sickness or remove it, to know what is far off in time and space,\nto bring good luck or prosperity or to blast and curse. In the New\nHebrides, the Banks\u2019 Islands, the Solomon Islands about Florida as in\nNew Zealand and many of the Pacific Islands the word in use is mana. In\nSanta Cruz a different word malete is used, which bears however the\nsame meaning. At Saa in Malanta all persons and things in which this\nsupernatural power resides are said to be saka, that is, hot. Ghosts\nthat are powerful are saka; a man who has knowledge of the things which\nhave spiritual power is himself saka; one who knows a charm which is\nsaka mutters it over water, saru\u2019e and makes the water \u2018hot,\u2019 ha\u2019asaka.\nThe people of Mala Masiki, the lesser part of the island, which is cut\nin two not far from its south-eastern end by a narrow channel, think\nthat the men of the larger part, Mala Paina, are very saka. If one of\nthese visiting the Saa people points with his finger, suisui, there is\ndanger of death or calamity; if one of them spits on a man he dies at\nonce.\u201d Here again there are important differences, as might be expected\nin such different cultures as those of Melanesia and the Andamans, and\nyet it is clear that there is a fundamental similarity of mental\nprocess.\n\nThe nature of this symbolic representation of the forces that affect\nthe social life may be made clear by considering another example. The\nnatives say that they use odu clay after eating because their bodies\ngive off an odour which would attract the spirits if they did not paint\nthemselves. The power of an object, by virtue of which it has what may\nbe called magical efficacy, is sometimes identified with its odour. A\nnumber of the plants that are used as remedies for sickness, such as\nthe Trigonostemon, are possessed of strong and characteristic odours,\nand the natives think that it is through the odour that they effect a\ncure. Similarly the powerful properties attributed to the Anadendron,\nwhereby it will cause rheumatism, keep away sharks and spirits, and\nturn turtle-meat bad, or stop a storm, are all said to be the results\nof its \u201csmell.\u201d The stimulating power of olfactory sensations probably\nhas much to do with the development of these beliefs, but the\ndiscussion of their psycho-physiological basis would lead us too far\naway from the main subject, interesting as it would be.\n\nIn the jungles of the Andamans it is possible to recognize a distinct\nsuccession of odours during a considerable part of the year as one\nafter another the commoner trees and lianas come into flower. When, for\nexample, the species of Sterculia called in the North Andaman \u01f0eru\ncomes into blossom, it is almost impossible to get away from the smell\nof it except on the sea-shore when the wind is from the sea. Moreover\nthese various flowers give their scent to the honey that is made from\nthem, so that there is also a succession of differently flavoured kinds\nof honey. The Andamanese have therefore adopted an original method of\nmarking the different periods of the year by means of the different\nodoriferous flowers that are in bloom at different times. Their\ncalendar is a calendar of scents [178].\n\nNow they seem to regard each flower-period as possessing its own\nparticular kind of force, of which the scent is the manifest sign, and\nto think that the succession of these different forces produces the\nsuccession of different fruits, the whole generative energy of nature\nbeing conceived as the result not of one force but of many, following\none another in regular rotation. When a girl reaches puberty the\nnatives think of her as having blossomed as it were, the later ripening\nbeing the birth of her children, and so she, like the plants of the\njungle, is under the influence of the same natural forces that produce\nthe successive blossoming and fruiting of the different species.\nTherefore, when a girl reaches her blossoming time she is given, for a\nname, to be used until she bears her fruit, the name of that particular\nodoriferous plant that is in flower at the time, it being this\nparticular one of the successive forces of the forest life that has\nbrought her childhood to an end.\n\nUnder the influence of muscular exertion the human body gives off a\ncharacteristic odour, of one generic kind, but differing somewhat in\nevery individual. The odour of the body, being the immediate result of\nactivity, may therefore well be regarded by the Andamanese as being\nclosely connected with the virtue or energy of the person. Further, the\neating of certain foods, such as dugong, turtle and pork, causes the\nbody of the Andaman Islander to give out a noticeable and recognizable\nodour, different from that of mere perspiration. The natives themselves\nseem to distinguish different odours for these different foods, but I\nwas not myself able to appreciate such differences. The Andamanese see\nin this odour given off after eating a manifestation of the energy that\nhas been absorbed with the food, which energy it is that makes the food\nboth necessary for life and also a source of danger. This seems to be\nthe meaning of the belief that the spirits are attracted to a man by\nthe odour of the food he has eaten unless he paint himself with clay.\n\nWe can now at last return to the rite of painting the body with odu\nclay after eating. I have suggested that the use of this clay in\nmourning is a means by which the mourner marks the fact that he is in a\npeculiar relation to the spirit-world, spirits being believed to be\nlight in colour. The mourner is in contact with the spirit-world\nthrough his connection with the dead person, and to mark his condition\nhe paints himself to resemble the spirits, thereby affirming his\nsolidarity with them. The clay protects him from the danger that\nresults from any contact with the spirit-world. According to the rule\nof method laid down at the beginning of the chapter we must find a\nsimilar explanation of the use of odu after eating.\n\nWe have seen that it is the same kind of force in the spirits and in\nthe animals used for food that makes them both dangerous. Yet at the\nsame time there is a sense in which it is true that each kind of thing\nhas its own peculiar kind of force. The ceremony of turtle-eating\nendows a youth with power to avoid the dangers of turtle but it does\nnot give him the power to avoid the dangers of pork. Hibiscus leaves\nare efficacious against turtle, but against the pig Tetranthera leaves\nmust be used. In describing the patterns painted on the body after\neating it was stated that there is a tendency to connect particular\ntypes of pattern with particular kinds of food. Thus a design commonly\nused after eating turtle suggests the plates of the turtle\u2019s carapace,\nand a pattern used after eating pork similarly suggests the\nlongitudinal markings on the pig\u2019s back. This would seem to indicate\nthat when a man has eaten turtle he paints himself so as to identify\nhimself with the animal he has eaten, and similarly with other foods,\njust as in mourning he paints himself so as to identify himself with\nthe spirit-world. In other words, the painting of the body with odu\nserves to show that there is a relation between the individual and some\nsource of power, which relation can best be described as one of\nsolidarity with the species, whether of animals or supernatural beings,\nin which the power resides. The mourner is in contact with the\ndangerous powers of the world of death, and by expressing his\nsolidarity with that world he avoids the dangers that might result from\nhis condition. For the fear of any being and a feeling of solidarity\ntowards that being are incompatible with one another. Similarly a man\nwho has eaten turtle is in contact with the power that resides in the\nturtle species, a power that may be dangerous, but which when mastered\nand made use of by proper precautions is a source of well-being, of\nstrength. By painting himself with a pattern that reminds him in some\nway of the turtle he expresses his solidarity with the turtle species\nand so obviates the dangers of his condition.\n\nThis interpretation is made more probable by the consideration of the\ndances of the initiation ceremonies. In the dance at the turtle-eating\nceremony the movements of the dancers suggest the movements of a turtle\nswimming. If the resemblance be not imaginary we may regard this as\nanother method of affirming the solidarity of the dancers with the\nturtle species. We should then have to conclude that the dance at the\npig-eating ceremony is similarly imitative of the movements of a pig,\nand though this is quite possible it is not so obvious.\n\nThis same kind of clay is used in the initiation ceremonies. At the\nturtle-eating and pig-eating ceremonies it is spattered over the body\nof the initiate from head to foot. I have no explanation to offer for\nthis peculiar method of application. After the ceremony is over the\ninitiate is painted with clay in a pattern called kimil-t\u2019e\u0331ra-puli\nwhich consists of a background of the clay on which a pattern of\nseparate spirals is made with the finger. The pattern is to be seen in\nPlate XI. I cannot put forward with any confidence the explanation I\nhave to offer of this pattern, for I have no means of confirming it,\nand it is therefore little more than a guess. It is that the spiral or\ncircle is a symbol of the camp and therefore of the society and the\nsocial life in general, the basis of the symbolism being the roughly\ncircular or elliptical form of the village or communal hut, and the\ncircular form of the dance (more noticeable in the Little Andaman than\nin the Great Andaman). If this be really the meaning of the symbol then\nthe explanation of its use in the initiation ceremonies would be that\nin these ceremonies the youth is preserved from danger by the force\ninherent in the society, which affords protection to all its members,\nand the use of the symbol of the society would therefore be most\nappropriate.\n\nThe act of painting the body with odu clay is therefore a rite which\nadvertises the fact that an individual is in intimate contact with some\nsource of that power which belongs to the things that affect the social\nlife, and it thereby serves to keep alive the sentiments associated\nwith that notion of power. The painting after eating reminds the\nindividual of his dependence upon and obligation towards the society,\nand, since all join in the rite, it serves also to maintain the unity\nof the community.\n\nWe may now return to the question of the meaning of personal ornament\nin general. It is a commonplace of psychology that the development of\nthe sense of self is closely connected with the perception of one\u2019s own\nbody. It is also generally recognized that the development of the moral\nand social sentiments in man is dependent upon the development of\nself-consciousness, of the sense of self. These two important\nprinciples will help us to appreciate the hypothesis to which the\ndiscussion has now led, that in the Andamans the customary regulation\nof personal ornament is a means by which the society acts upon,\nmodifies, and regulates the sense of self in the individual.\n\nThere are three methods of ornamenting the body in the Andamans, (1) by\nscarification, (2) by painting, and (3) by the putting on of ornaments.\n\nThe natives give two reasons for the custom of scarification, that it\nimproves the personal appearance and that it makes the boy or girl grow\nup strong. Both these mean that scarification gives or marks an added\nvalue. The explanation of the rite would therefore seem to be that it\nmarks the passage from childhood to manhood and is a means by which the\nsociety bestows upon the individual that power, or social value, which\nis possessed by the adult but not by the child. The individual is made\nto feel that his value\u2014his strength and the qualities of which he may\nbe proud\u2014is not his by nature but is received by him from the society\nto which he is admitted. The scars on his body are the visible marks of\nhis admission. The individual is proud or vain of the scars which are\nthe mark of his manhood, and thus the society makes use of the very\npowerful sentiment of personal vanity to strengthen the social\nsentiments.\n\nTurning now to the painting of the body, we have seen that the pattern\nof white clay serves to make both the painted individual and those who\nsee him feel his social value, and we have seen that this\ninterpretation explains the occasions on which such painting is used.\nTo complete the argument it is necessary to consider the occasions on\nwhich the use of white clay is forbidden.\n\nThose to whom this prohibition applies are (1) a youth or girl who is\naka-op, i.e., who is abstaining from certain foods during the\ninitiation period, (2) a mourner, (3) a homicide during the period of\nisolation, and (4) a person who is ill. All these persons are excluded\nfrom full participation in the active social life, and therefore the\nsocial value of each of them is diminished. It would obviously be wrong\nfor a person in such a condition to express by decorating himself a\nsocial value that he did not at the time possess.\n\nThe occasions on which this style of painting is used or forbidden are\nthus all satisfactorily explained by our hypothesis. It remains to\nconsider the nature of the painting itself, and how far it is an\nappropriate means of expression. To do this we must discuss very\nbriefly some of the processes of symbolic thought of the Andamanese.\nConditions of well-being (both individual and social) are associated in\nthe minds of the Andamanese with fine weather, both directly (through\nphysiological action) and indirectly (through the effect of fine\nweather on the social life). Hence Tomo, who, as we shall see in the\nnext chapter, is a personification of fine weather, is a being who is\nconnected with goodness and happiness. With fine weather, and therefore\nwith individual and social well-being, the Andamanese associate\nbrightness and whiteness (for which they have only one word) and any\nbright or light colour. The association of light and dark with euphoric\nand dysphoric conditions respectively has a psycho-physical basis, for\nit seems to be universal in human nature. Now the clay that the\nAndamanese call to\u0331l-odu is the whitest substance they know, and is for\nthis reason fitted to be symbolical of conditions of well-being. Fine\nweather is associated, in the minds of the Andamanese with honey,\nbecause in the season of fine weather honey is plentiful, and is also\nassociated for a similar reason with snakes. Sweetness itself is\nuniversally associated with pleasant things, again through a\npsycho-physical link. The Andamanese believe in a special connection\nbetween honey and a species of large snake called wara-\u01f0obo or or-\u010dubi\n[179], so that this snake comes to be representative of fine weather\nand sweetness and therefore generally of states of well-being. Now,\nthroughout the Great Andaman the pattern in which white clay is painted\non the body is called after this snake, and the zig-zags of which the\npattern is composed may be supposed to be representative of the snake\nitself. When, therefore, a man paints himself with white clay in a\npattern which he regards as representing the snake wara-\u01f0obo, it is\nevident that the painting is meant to express a condition of\nwell-being, with which the snake itself, and whiteness, are, by a\nnumber of links, closely associated. This is not all, however. The\nAndamanese, we may not doubt, derive from the painted pattern an\nesthetic pleasure due to its rhythmical character, its shape as an\narrangement of lines and spaces. Further it provides the pleasure that\nwe obtain from a thing elegantly and skilfully made, and this explains\nwhy so much care is taken in the making of the pattern. This pleasure\nat what we may call the beauty of the pattern heightens the effect\nproduced by its symbolic references. The real value of the pattern, its\npleasure-giving quality, is transferred to the man on whose body it is\nexecuted. He himself is pleased with it, proud of it, and so becomes\npleased with and proud of himself, for the pattern by being imprinted\non his body becomes part of him. The sense of self attaches to it, as\nwith us the sense of self attaches to our clothes.\n\nIt would be interesting to carry the analysis of the mental processes\ninvolved in all this a stage or two further, but enough has been said,\nI hope, to show that the nature of the painting with clay is\nappropriate to its use as marking or expressing value.\n\nPatterns are sometimes painted with this same white clay on the face\nalone, such patterns being built up either of the zig-zags of the snake\npattern, or of rhythmically arranged series of short lines. The use of\nsuch paintings is regulated by a sort of etiquette. By so having his\nface decorated a man expresses that he is pleased with himself, and\nobviously there are occasions on which it is appropriate and others on\nwhich it is inappropriate that he should feel thus. A man who has been\nsuccessful in the day\u2019s hunting, for example, is quite justified in\nhaving his face ornamented in this way, and it is on such occasions as\nthis that the custom is observed.\n\nWhen a man is painted for a dance, or on any other ceremonial occasion,\nwith white clay, he is also painted at the same time with red paint. In\nthese instances we must suppose that the red paint serves the same\npurpose as the pattern of white clay with which it is combined, namely\nto make the decorated person pleasantly aware of his or her social\nvalue. Red paint is also used, however, in sickness, and on other\noccasions, as affording protection against evil, particularly evil from\nthe spirit-world.\n\nThis double use of red paint is to be explained by reference to the\ncolour symbolism of the Andaman Islanders. For them the colour red is\npre-eminently the colour of blood and of fire. There is ample evidence\nof this which it is perhaps not necessary to state. Now blood is\nidentified with the warmth of the body and with life; the blood and the\nfat are sometimes spoken of as the two vital principles. Fire, as I\nhave already shown, is taken as a symbol of activity and of mental\nexcitement. Thus the colour comes to be associated in the minds of the\nAndamanese with all euphoric conditions, with excitement, vitality,\nmental and bodily activity, and with energy or force in general. It is\npossible that this symbolism, which seems to be much the same in all\ndivisions of mankind, has a psycho-physical basis in the stimulating\ndynamogenic power of sensations of redness.\n\nWhen a person is sick he is in need of vitality, of energy, and so his\nbody is daubed with the red paint that is a symbol of the things that\nhe needs, and by a simple mental process he comes to believe that by\napplying the paint to his body he increases his energy and vitality,\nand so helps himself to get rid of the sickness. At a dance, or on\nother ceremonial occasions, it is required that the individual shall\nhave a sense of his own value, and for this he must experience that\nsense of personal force and vitality that is produced, as we have seen,\nby the action of the dance. This effect is reinforced by the use of the\nred paint which is the symbol of that condition of energy and vitality\nthat it is (for some special reason) necessary for him to feel. As the\nvalue of the individual depends upon his strength or force, the red\npaint is thus a suitable means of expressing the value of him on whose\nbody it is painted, and really expresses, though by different means,\nexactly the same thing as the pattern of white clay with which it is\ncombined.\n\nWe are now in a position to understand the use of white clay and red\npaint in the purification of a homicide. This takes place at the end of\na period of isolation, during which the man is entirely cut off from\nthe social life, and lives in a condition of supposed extreme danger on\naccount of the blood that he has shed. During this time he may not use\nhis hands to touch food, and at the end his hands are purified by the\napplication to them of red paint and white clay. It is clearly because\nthese two substances are both of them in different ways symbols of\nconditions of well-being that magical virtue is ascribed to their use\nin this instance. It is perhaps worth while to recall that both red\nochre and white clay are sometimes given internally as remedies against\nsickness.\n\nFor the sake of the argument it has been necessary to separate the two\nmotives underlying the use of personal ornament, the desire for\nprotection and the desire for display. But we now see that these two\nmotives are very intimately related and are really both involved in\nevery kind of ornament. All ornament in some way marks the relation of\nthe individual to the society and to that force or power in the society\nto which he owes his well-being and happiness. When painting or\nornament is used to give protection, it is, as we have seen, the\nprotective power of the society itself that is appealed to, and what is\nexpressed is the dependence of the individual on the society. When\nornament or paint is used for display it is again the dependence on the\nsociety that is expressed, though in a different way and on occasions\nof a different kind. We have seen that scarification is also a means of\nmarking the dependence of the individual on the society, and it is very\nimportant to note that the Andamanese sometimes explain it as due to\nthe desire for display and sometimes to the need of protection\n(enabling the child to grow strong and so avoid the dangers of\nsickness), showing very clearly that there is some intimate connection\nbetween these two motives, or at any rate that one and the same method\nof ornamentation can satisfy both. There is the further example of red\npaint, which is combined with the pattern of white clay for purposes of\ndisplay, and is also constantly used in many ways as affording\nprotection.\n\nWe are thus brought to the final conclusion that the scarification and\npainting of the body and the wearing of most if not all of the\ncustomary ornaments are rites which have the function of marking the\nfact that the individual is in a particular permanent or temporary\nrelation to that power in the society and in all things that affect the\nsocial life, the notion of which we have seen to underlie so much of\nthe Andaman ceremonial.\n\nThe scarification of a boy or girl leaves permanent marks of the\npermanent relation between the adult and the society. By means of it\nand the initiation ceremonies that follow or accompany it, and of which\nit may really be considered to be a part, the society gives the\nindividual his social value, of which the scars remain as a visible\nsign for him to be proud of, and at the same time endows him with the\npower to avoid the dangers with which his life is beset.\n\nThe paintings of clay after food mark the temporary relation between\nthe individual and the power present in the food he has eaten. It is\nchiefly thought of by the natives themselves as protective, as we have\nseen, but it also gives an opportunity for the exercise of personal\nvanity, for much care is taken in the designing and execution of the\npattern, which therefore affords the painted individual much the same\nsort of satisfaction as the snake pattern of white clay. It calls his\nattention to his own appearance, and makes him feel pleased or\nsatisfied with himself, conscious of his own personal value. A\ncondition of unity and harmony is produced in the community by a feast\nas well as by a dance, and in each instance that harmony is expressed\nby the painting of every member with the same material in a similar\ndesign. The relation of the individual to the society is made visible\non his body. By means of the paintings after food the society not only\nprotects itself from danger but also rejoices in the well-being that is\nproduced by a supply of relished food. Inversely it can now also be\nshown that the painting of white clay and red paint worn at a dance and\nafter marriage and initiation is not only a means of display but is\nalso protective. Both red paint and white clay are used to give\nprotection in sickness, and they are similarly used in the purification\nof the hands of a homicide. Moreover we have seen, in reference to the\nword ot-kimil, that the dance is a condition of danger by reason of the\ncontact it involves between the individual and the power of the\nsociety. The few days following an initiation ceremony are definitely\nbelieved to be a period of danger for the initiate, and during this\ntime the pattern of white clay and red paint must not be washed off but\nmust be allowed to wear off. By the time the last traces of the pattern\nhave disappeared the danger is considered to be over. There is evidence\nthat the first few days of marriage are regarded as a period of danger.\nIt would seem that the natives do attribute to the painting with white\nclay and red paint some power of protection, but this is hidden under\nthe importance of such painting as a means of display.\n\nOf the various ornaments that are worn on the body some would seem to\nbe worn almost solely for purposes of display, because they are\npleasing to the eye. Such are the necklaces and other ornaments of\nsmall shells. It would seem that the same motive is also responsible\nfor the use of the yellow skin of the Dendrobium of which the\nAndamanese are so fond. The ornaments of netting and shell seem to be\nworn primarily for display, but it is quite possible that some\nprotective power is attributed to them, as to the paintings of white\nclay with which they are regularly worn. The belts of Pandanus leaf\nthat are worn by women are a mark of the sex, and the style of belt\nworn differs with the social status of the woman. They thus serve to\nexhibit the special social value of the woman in so far as it depends\nupon her sex and her social status, but I believe that the Andamanese\nattribute to the belt and to the apron of leaves worn with it a power\nof protection against the special dangers to which women are believed\nto be subject. This is suggested by the use of the Pandanus leaf in the\nceremony at a girl\u2019s first menstruation [180]. I failed to discover any\nspecial ideas connected with the ornaments of Pandanus leaf that are\nsometimes worn by both men and women at dances. The ornaments that are\nworn primarily for their protective power are those made of human and\nanimal bones and those of pieces of canes or of fibres of Hibiscus or\nFicus. These are always made decorative by the addition of shells and\nyellow Dendrobium skin, and therefore besides their primary function\nalso serve as means of display.\n\nIt is clear then that in the various methods of ornamenting the body\nthe two chief motives that we have considered are so combined that they\ncan hardly be estimated separately, and it is this mingling of motives\nthat has led us to the final understanding of the meaning and social\nfunction of bodily ornament. Each of the different kinds of ornament\nserves to make manifest the existence of some special relation between\nthe individual and the society, and therefore of some special relation\nbetween him and that system of powers on which the welfare of the\nsociety and of the individual depends. One of the most important\naspects of the relation of the individual to the society is his\ndependence upon it for his safety and well-being and this is revealed\nin all painting and ornament worn for protection. But the society not\nonly protects the individual from danger; it is the direct source of\nhis well-being; and this makes itself felt in the customary regulation\nby which the use of the more important ornaments used for display is\nconfined to occasions on which it is quite clear that his happiness is\ndirectly due to the society, such as a dance or feast. Thus the customs\nrelating to the ornamentation of the body are of the kind that I have\nhere called ceremonial. They are means by which the society exercises\non appropriate occasions some of the important social sentiments,\nthereby maintaining them at the necessary degree of energy required to\nmaintain the social cohesion.\n\nTo complete the discussion of ornament in general it is necessary to\nrefer very briefly to the ornamentation of objects such as bows, canoes\nand baskets. Such ornamentation consists of (1) incised patterns (on\nbows, etc.), which may be compared with the scarification of the body,\n(2) painting with red paint and white clay (bows, canoes, skulls,\netc.), or with prepared wax (Nautilus shell cups, etc.), (3) patterns\nmade with the yellow skin of the Dendrobium (baskets, etc.), and (4)\nshells attached by thread (baskets, baby-sling, etc.). The important\npoint to note is that the decoration applied to utensils is of the same\ncharacter throughout as that which, when applied to the body, has been\nshown to be an expression of the social value of the person. Thus the\npattern painted on a canoe with white clay and red paint is the same as\nthat on the body of a dancer. It would seem, therefore, that the\nornamentation of utensils is a means of expressing or marking the\nsocial value of the decorated object, and it might even be held that\nthe application of ornament to utensils is really a matter of\nceremonial. Just as a newly married man is painted with the snake\npattern which wears off and is not renewed, so a new canoe or a new\nSouth Andaman bow is painted with the same pattern as soon as it is\nfinished, and after this pattern wears off it is not renewed. It is the\nact of bringing a new canoe or bow into use that is the occasion of the\nceremonial expression of its value, if we may so regard the painting. A\nnew relation is established between the society and an object, which\nthereby acquires a special social value, just as a youth acquires a\nspecial new social value at the conclusion of one of the initiation\nceremonies. This example is sufficient to show that at least there is\nnothing in the ornamentation of utensils that conflicts with the\nexplanation of bodily ornament given in this chapter [181].\n\nIt is time to bring the argument to a conclusion. It should now, I\nhope, be evident that the ceremonial customs of the Andaman Islands\nform a closely connected system, and that we cannot understand their\nmeaning if we only consider each one by itself, but must study the\nwhole system to arrive at an interpretation. This in itself I regard as\na most important conclusion, for it justifies the contention that we\nmust substitute for the old method of dealing with the customs of\nprimitive people,\u2014the comparative method by which isolated customs from\ndifferent social types were brought together and conclusions drawn from\ntheir similarity,\u2014a new method by which all the institutions of one\nsociety or social type are studied together so as to exhibit their\nintimate relations as parts of an organic system.\n\nI have tried to show that the ceremonial customs are the means by which\nthe society acts upon its individual members and keeps alive in their\nminds a certain system of sentiments. Without the ceremonial those\nsentiments would not exist, and without them the social organisation in\nits actual form could not exist. There is great difficulty, however, in\nfinding a suitable method of describing these sentiments. In attempting\nto put into precise words the vague feelings of the Andaman Islander\nthere is always the danger that we may attribute to him conceptions\nthat he does not possess. For he is not himself capable of thinking\nabout his own sentiments.\n\nIn the attempt to exhibit the meaning of the ceremonial I have shown\nthat it implies a complex system of beliefs about what I have called\npower, and have stated those beliefs in more or less precise terms. But\nthe Andaman Islander is of course quite incapable of making similar\nstatements or even of understanding them. In his consciousness appear\nonly the very vaguest conceptions, such as those associated with the\nword kimil or with odours. We, in order to understand his customs must\nsubstitute for such vague notions others capable of precise statement,\nmust formulate in words the beliefs that are revealed in his actions,\nbut we must be careful not to fall into the error of attributing to him\nthe conceptions by which we make clear to ourselves his indefinite\nsentiments and notions and the ceremonies in which they are expressed.\n\nWith this qualification, then, the ceremonial of the Andaman Islands\nmay be said to involve the assumption of a power of a peculiar kind,\nand we have been able to formulate certain principles which, although\nthe native is quite incapable of stating them as principles, are\nrevealed in the ceremonial. This power, though in itself neither good\nnor evil, is the source of all good and all evil in human life. It is\npresent in the society itself and in everything that can affect in\nimportant ways the social life. All occasions of special contact with\nit are dangerous, i.e., are subject to ritual precautions.\n\nIt should already, from the course of the argument, be plain that this\npower or force, the interaction of whose different manifestations\nconstitutes the process of social life, is not imaginary, is not even\nsomething the existence of which is surmised as the result of\nintellectual processes, but is real, an object of actual experience. It\nis, in a few words, the moral power of the society acting upon the\nindividual directly or indirectly and felt by him in innumerable ways\nthroughout the whole course of his life [182].\n\nOne of the most important ways in which the individual experiences the\nmoral force of the society of which he is a member is through the\nfeeling of moral obligation, which gives him the experience of a power\ncompelling him to subordinate his egoistic desires to the demands of\nsocial custom. The individual feels this force acting upon him both\nfrom outside and from inside himself. For he recognizes that it is the\nsociety with its traditions and customs that constrains him through the\nforce of public opinion, and yet the conflict between customary duty\nand selfish inclination takes place in his own mind and is experienced\nas the clash of antagonistic mental forces. The moral sense within\nimpels towards the same end as the social opinion without.\n\nThis force of moral obligation is felt not only in relation to right\nand wrong conduct towards other persons, but is also felt in all\nritual, whether negative or positive.\n\nThe moral force of the society is also felt, in a quite different way,\nin all states of intense collective emotion, of which the dance affords\na good example. I have shown how in the dance the individual feels the\nsociety acting upon him, constraining him to join in the common\nactivity and regulate his actions to conform with those of others, and,\nwhen he so acts in harmony with them, giving him the experience of a\ngreat increase of his own personal force or energy. All ceremonies in\nwhich the whole community takes part give the individual the experience\nof the moral force of the society acting upon him in somewhat the same\nway as the dance.\n\nThus in these and other ways the individual does experience the action\nof the society upon himself as a sort of force, not however as a\nphysical force, but as a moral force, acting directly in his own mind\nand yet clearly felt as something outside his own self, and with which\nthat self may be in conflict.\n\nHow is it, then, that this force comes to be projected into the world\nof nature? The answer to that question, which can only be very briefly\nindicated here, is to be found in the conclusions at which we have\narrived with regard to social values. The moral force of the society is\nexperienced by the individual not only directly but also as acting upon\nhim indirectly through every object that has social value. The best\nexample of this process is found in the things used for food. Thus, in\nthe Andamans, food is very closely connected with the feeling of moral\nobligation, as we have seen. Further, food is one of the principal\nsources of those alternations of social euphoria and dysphoria in\nwhich, through the action of the collective emotion, the individual\nexperiences the action of the society upon his own well-being. When\nfood is plentiful happiness spreads through the community and the time\nis spent in dancing and feasting so that the individual feels a great\nincrease in his own personal force coming to him from the society or\nfrom the food. On the other hand, when food is scarce and hunting\nunsuccessful the community feels itself thwarted and restrained and\nexperiences a sense of weakness, which collective feeling has for its\nimmediate object the food the lack of which is its origin.\n\nSimilarly with the phenomena of the weather and all other objects that\nhave social value, they are all associated in the mind of the\nindividual with his experience of the action of the society upon\nhimself, so that the moral force of the society is actually felt as\nacting through them.\n\nBut it is really through the ceremonial that this is mainly brought\nabout. It is in the initiation ceremonies that the moral force of the\nsociety acting through foods is chiefly felt, and the same experience\nis repeated in a less intense form in the rite of painting the body\nafter food. It is similarly through the protective use of the materials\nused for weapons and through the various ritual prohibitions connected\nwith them that the moral force of the society acting through them is\nchiefly felt. The argument has been that it is by means of the\nceremonial that the individual is made to feel the social value of the\nvarious things with which the ceremonial is concerned. Putting this in\nother words we can now define the ceremonial as the means by which the\nindividual is made to feel the moral force of the society acting upon\nhim either directly, or in some instances indirectly through those\nthings that have important effects on the social life. By its action\nupon the individual the ceremonial develops and maintains in existence\nin his mind an organised system of dispositions by which the social\nlife, in the particular form it takes in the Andamans, is made\npossible, using for the purpose of maintaining the social cohesion all\nthe instinctive tendencies of human nature, modifying and combining\nthem according to its needs.\n\nAs an example of such modification of primary instincts let us briefly\nconsider that of fear, to which, from the time of Petronius [183] to\nthe present day, so much importance has been attributed in relation to\nthe origin of religion. In childhood any fear of danger makes the child\nrun to its mother or father for protection, and thus the instinct of\nfear becomes an important component of that feeling of dependence that\nthe child has towards its parents. The primitive society uses the fear\ninstinct in much the same way. The Andaman Islander, through the\nceremonies and customs of his people, is made to feel that he is in a\nworld full of unseen dangers,\u2014dangers from the foods he eats, from the\nsea, the weather, the forest and its animals, but above all from the\nspirits of the dead,\u2014which can only be avoided by the help of the\nsociety and by conformity with social custom. As men press close to one\nanother in danger, the belief in and fear of the spirit-world make the\nAndaman Islander cling more firmly to his fellows, and make him feel\nmore intensely his own dependence on the society to which he belongs,\njust as the fear of danger makes the child feel its dependence upon its\nparents. So the belief in the spirit-world serves directly to increase\nthe cohesion of the society through its action on the mind of the\nindividual. An important law of sociology is that the solidarity of a\ngroup is increased when the group as a whole finds itself opposed to\nsome other group; so, enmity between two tribes or nations increases\nthe solidarity of each; and so also, the antagonism between the society\nof the living and the world of the dead increases the solidarity of the\nformer.\n\nThe argument is now concluded. I have examined, as fully as space would\npermit, all the more important features of the Andaman ceremonial, and\nhave tried to show what part they play in the social life of the\nAndamans. At the end of our enquiry it is well to ask if any definition\nof ceremonial can be given more exact than the vague one with which we\nstarted. The chapter has shown that what I have denoted as ceremonial\nconsists of (1) collective actions, (2) required by custom, (3)\nperformed on occasions of changes in the course of social life, and (4)\nexpressing the collective sentiments relating to such social change. By\nthe first part of the definition we exclude the magical practices of\nthe medicine-men, which however it has been convenient to consider in\nconnection with the ceremonial, as it has helped us to understand some\nof the ideas underlying both magic and ceremonial. If we are not to\nexclude the rite of painting after eating food we must regard the\nobtaining of a good supply of food as being a change in the course of\nsocial life even though it occurs very frequently, and even every day\nfor weeks together. It must be admitted, however, that the definition\ndoes not give us any very clear dividing line between ceremonial and\nart, play, or morals. The painting of the body with white clay after\nmarriage or initiation must, I think, be regarded as ceremonial, while\nthe painting of a new bow or canoe with the same clay in the same\npattern should perhaps more conveniently be called art. But what are we\nto say of the painting worn at a dance or the face-painting that a man\noccasionally wears when there is no special reason? The dance at the\nend of mourning is clearly a ceremony, but can we say the same of the\nordinary dance after a successful hunt? And if it be not ceremonial,\nshall we call it art or play? When friends are required to give\npresents to a newly-married couple are we to call this obligation one\nof ceremonial, of etiquette or of morals? These and similar questions\nare perhaps incapable of a satisfactory answer, nor does it seem\nnecessary to attempt to find one. Those elements of culture that we now\ndifferentiate and call by different names were, in primitive societies,\nundifferentiated and not clearly to be distinguished from one another,\nand a striving after too great a precision of definition in dealing\nwith such a culture as that of the Andamans leads, I think, not to a\nclearer understanding, but to the opposite. The main thing is to keep\nclose to the facts. In this chapter I have examined a number of facts\nwhich are plainly related and the question of how we are to label them\nis one that may well be left till such time as we shall have acquired a\nmore profound insight into the nature of culture in general and the\ncomplex forces involved in its existence and growth. For the present,\nsome vagueness in our provisional classifications need not greatly\nperturb us.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nTHE INTERPRETATION OF ANDAMANESE CUSTOMS AND BELIEFS: MYTHS AND LEGENDS\n\n\nIn the last chapter I tried to explain, by reference to psychological\nprinciples, the more important ritual and ceremonial observances of the\nAndamanese; in the present chapter I shall deal in a similar manner\nwith the legends recorded in Chapter IV. That is to say, I propose to\nexplain, not how the legends arose, but what they mean, what part they\nplay at the present time in the mental life of the Andaman Islander.\nCustoms that seem at first sight meaningless or ridiculous have been\nshown to fulfil most important functions in the social economy, and\nsimilarly I hope to prove that the tales that might seem merely the\nproducts of a somewhat childish fancy are very far indeed from being\nmerely fanciful and are the means by which the Andamanese express and\nsystematise their fundamental notions of life and nature and the\nsentiments attaching to those notions.\n\nI propose to analyse a few of the more important legends, and will\nbegin with the Akar-Bale story of the origin of night and day [184].\nThe explanation of this story depends on the connection of day and\nnight with the cicada. This species of cicada, of which I do not know\nthe scientific name, always makes a noise (\u201csings\u201d as the natives say)\nduring the short interval of twilight between sunset and darkness and\nbetween dawn and sunrise. It is possible that individual insects of the\nspecies make a noise at other times of the day and night, but I do not\nremember to have heard them, and it is only at the beginning and end of\nthe day that they are all to be heard singing together. The song of the\ncicada, as day gives place to night and as night changes to day is one\nof the most familiar of all natural phenomena to the Andamanese.\nAnother fact that is made use of in the legend is that if one of these\ninsects be crushed as was the cicada of the story, or even if it be\ntaken up in the hand, it will utter its shrill and plaintive note, not\nunlike the cry of a human being in pain. Finally, fully to understand\nthe tale, it is necessary to remember that in all the tribes of the\nGreat Andaman Division there is a prohibition against killing the\ncicada. The meaning of this prohibition will have to be discussed in\nconnection with the legend.\n\nThe facts stated above enable us to understand what may be called the\nskeleton of the legend. One of the ancestors killed a cicada (a\nforbidden act), the cicada uttered its cry (as it does when hurt), and\nas a result, darkness covered the world (as it always does when the\ncicada sings in the evening). Leaving aside, for the present, the rest\nof the story, we may try to make clear to ourselves just what this part\nof it expresses. The explanation that I propose is to the effect that\nthe legend is simply an expression or a statement of the \u201csocial value\u201d\nof the phenomenon of the alternation of day and night. By the social\nvalue of anything I mean, as explained in the last chapter, the way in\nwhich that thing affects the life of the society (either beneficially\nor adversely) and therefore the way in which it affects the social\nsentiments of the individuals who compose the society. There is no need\nto discuss at length and in all its bearings, the way in which the\nalternation of day and night affects the social life of the Andamanese.\nThe one outstanding feature of first importance is that the day is the\ntime of social activity whereas the night is a period when the society\nis, as a rule, not active. It was shown in the last chapter that one of\nthe most important elements in the mental complex revealed by a study\nof the ceremonial is the recognition of the fact that it is on the\nactivity of the society that the individual depends for his security\nand well-being. So long as he can feel that he is an active member of\nan active community the individual feels that he has for his support\n(morally and physically) a great force on which he can rely. If, for\nany reason, he is temporarily cut off from the society and from\nparticipation in its life, he is in a position of insecurity, and\nbelieves himself to be in danger from the powers of the world of\nspirits. It is an inevitable result of this that the daytime, when the\nsociety is active, should be felt to be a period of comparative\nsecurity, while the night, when all social activity ceases, should be\nfelt to be a period of comparative insecurity. That the day and night\nare so regarded is shown in the belief of the natives that the spirits\nare more to be dreaded during the night than during the day.\n\nThe Andaman Islander, like many other savages, is afraid of the dark.\nIt might perhaps be thought that this fear is immediate and\ninstinctive, a result of the physiology of the human nervous system,\nbut that, I think, would be a false assumption. Many infants would seem\nnot to be at first afraid of darkness, but to learn to fear it, as they\nlearn to fear many other things. It is not possible here to enter into\na discussion of the matter, but I would hold that in the Andaman\nIslanders and probably in other savages, the fear of darkness, of\nnight, is a secondary or induced feeling, not by any means instinctive,\nand is in large part due to the social sentiments, to the fact that at\nnight the social life ceases. The savage feels, and rightly so, that\nfor everything he has and is, for the safety and well-being of his body\nand the comfort of his soul, he depends on the communal life in which\nhis own life is merged. When, at the close of day, the social life\nceases, he feels, should anything occur to direct his attention to his\nown condition, less secure than when the social life is proceeding\nactively around him [185].\n\nThe interpretation that I would offer of the Akar-Bale legend is that\nit is an expression of these sentiments relating to the night, an\nexpression that takes advantage of the connection between the song of\nthe cicada and the alternation of night and day. One feature of the\nmanner of expression will be explained later in the chapter, namely\nthat it takes the form of a story relating to a mythical period of the\npast. For the present the necessity of this particular form must be\naccepted as a postulate. Granting this it remains only to show that the\nlegend does express the social value of night as defined above.\n\nThe fear of night, or rather, since that fear is rarely more than\npotential, the feeling that night is a time of insecurity, is part of\nthe general attitude of fear or respect towards the forces of nature\nthat are believed to be possible sources of danger to the society. Now\nit has been shown that this particular attitude to nature finds\nexpression in ritual prohibitions of various kinds. For instance, the\nAndaman Islander translates his feeling of the social value of food\nsubstances into the belief that such things must be treated with ritual\nprecautions. Applying this to the case before us, we must first\nrecognize that to the Andaman Islander the alternation of day and night\nand the singing of the cicada are not separate phenomena but are two\nparts or aspects of one and the same recurring event. Now, the night\nand the day are things that cannot be handled, i.e., cannot be\nimmediately subject to the actions of human beings, while the cicada\ncan be handled. Hence it is to the cicada that the need of precaution\nis referred. Any interference with the cicada is forbidden, and this\nprohibition serves as a mark or expression of the social value of that\nalternation of night and day with which the cicada is so intimately\nassociated [186].\n\nThe legend of the Akar-Bale tribe is simply an elaboration of this\ntheme. In the beginning there was no night, no darkness. Social life\nwas continuous and was not subject to periods of diminished intensity.\nThen one of the ancestors (apparently in a fit of temper owing to his\nlack of success in fishing) crushed a cicada, and the cry of the insect\nbrought darkness upon the world. The darkness, with its inhibition of\nactivity, is clearly regarded as an evil, i.e., as a manifestation of\nforce hostile to the society, and this accords with the definition of\nthe social value of night given above, where it was shown that this\nvalue is negative, that night is a source of social dysphoria.\n\nThis interpretation is confirmed by the statements about the night made\nin the North Andaman (where this legend does not seem to exist), such\nas that the night is made by the spirits (Lau) who draw a mat or cloth\nacross the sky. When we remember that the spirits are the embodiment of\nthe forces hostile to the society we see how this statement expresses\nthe feeling that night is the time when such hostile forces are in the\nascendant.\n\nThe Akar-Bale story, besides giving an account of the origin of night,\nrelates the invention of singing and dancing. There is no specific\nreference to dancing in the story as recorded from my Akar-Bale\ninformant. The reference is found, however, in the version recorded by\nMr Man [187] and it is implicit even in the Akar-Bale version. Dancing\nis always accompanied by a song, and every song is composed with the\nexpress intention of being sung at a dance. Thus, for the Andamanese,\nsinging and dancing are merely two aspects of one and the same\nactivity.\n\nDancing, except on a few special ceremonial occasions, always takes\nplace at night. Night, as we have seen, is a source of social\ndysphoria. It prevents the pursuit of the common social activities,\nsuch as hunting or making canoes or weapons. The condition produced by\ndarkness can be neutralised by means of singing and dancing, the dance\nbeing a condition of intense social euphoria, in which social activity\nis at its maximum, and all the social sentiments are pleasurably and\nintensely excited.\n\nThis belief that dancing and singing are means by which the evil\ninfluence of darkness can be overcome is shown in the custom observed\nwhen a corpse remains in a camp all night, of sitting round it and\nsinging, in order (so the natives say) to keep away the spirits that\nhave caused the death. They do not dance, because the pleasurable\nexcitement of the more intense activity would be incompatible with the\ncondition naturally resulting from a death. This custom affords clear\nevidence that singing, and in a yet higher degree the combined activity\nof singing and dancing, possess magical efficacy against the dangers\nprevalent at night.\n\nThis relation between the (negative) social value of night and the\n(positive) social value of dancing and singing is simply and clearly\nexpressed in the legend. It was the \u201csinging\u201d of the cicada that\nproduced the darkness. The ancestors, finding themselves overwhelmed\nwith darkness, set to work to remedy this evil by singing (and, it is\nto be presumed, by dancing to the song). One after another they sang a\nsong, just as at a dance one man after another sings until he is tired.\nFinally, after the dance had gone on for a number of hours, Ko\u0331\u014boro took\nhis turn at singing and the night came to an end and day appeared. So\neffectual was the means adopted of neutralising the evils of darkness\nthat it finally resulted in the return of the daylight in which\nordinary social life is possible.\n\nThe reference to resin in the legend can be easily understood. The\nAndamanese use resin to provide the light by which they dance, as well\nas for torches for fishing on dark nights. It is their only artificial\nlight, and without resin a dance would be a very poor affair. Thus the\nsocial value of resin is that it affords a means of neutralising to a\ncertain extent the effects of darkness.\n\nThese are, I think, all the essential elements of the story. One of the\nancestors, under the influence of an anti-social passion, killed a\ncicada, which uttered its cry, and thereupon the world was covered with\ndarkness. The ancestors then made torches of resin which enabled them\nto neutralise the darkness to some extent. They then invented dancing\nand singing and after they had continued for a number of hours the\nlight came back. Since that time day and night regularly alternate with\none another, and the cicada sings at each period of change. Men have\nlearnt how to use resin for artificial light, and how to remedy the\neffects of darkness by dancing and singing.\n\nThe legend is thus simply the expression in a particular form of the\nrelation between the society and a certain natural phenomenon in terms\nof what have been called social values. We find expressed the social\nvalues of night and of resin and dancing. It may be noted that the\nlegend also gives a special social value to the ancestors, different\nfrom and greater than that of men or women at the present day. The\nancestors of the Andamanese were able to do many things that men cannot\ndo now; they were able to affect the processes of nature in a way that\nis no longer possible. This notion of the social value of the\nancestors, of the past, will be shown to be one of the most important\nelements in the legends, it being this that is responsible for the\ngeneral form of the stories. The consideration of this subject,\nhowever, must be postponed.\n\nThere are still a number of points of the legend that have not been\nconsidered. It is not easy to account for the inclusion in this story\nof the discovery of the yam. It is possible that there is some ground\nof association between the yam and the cicada, but I do not certainly\nknow of any such. There is a legend recorded by Mr Man from the Aka-Bea\ntribe, and given above [188], in which an account is given of the lucky\ndiscovery of the first yam by the chance shooting of an arrow. It is\ntherefore quite likely that the yam story first existed quite\nindependently, and that it has become incorporated in the legend of the\norigin of night on account of the fact that the incident of the\nshooting of an arrow was found in both of them.\n\nThere is one reason for the inclusion of the yam incident that it is\nworth while to note. By its means it is told how Da Te\u014bat discovered a\nnew object of each of the three kinds\u2014animal, vegetable, and mineral.\nThe new animal was the cicada, the new vegetable was the yam, and the\nnew mineral was the resin, which, as the story shows, the natives\nclassify as a \u201cstone,\u201d although they know its vegetable origin. The\nstory is thus rounded off and given an air of completeness and\nsymmetry.\n\nThe incident of the shooting of the three arrows is of some interest as\ngiving us an idea of how the Andamanese think of chance or luck.\nArrows, it must be remembered, are regarded as being possessed of\nmagical power. Further, the ancestors themselves possessed powers that\ndo not belong to living men, as is shown repeatedly in the legends. The\nancestor shoots an arrow, and, by reason of his power and that of the\narrow, it strikes an important object and leads him to a discovery. The\nmere striking of the object by the arrow seems to give him a certain\ndegree of power over the object, whereby he forces it to reveal its\nname. (We have already seen, by a reference to this very story, that\nthere is an important connection between the name of an object and its\nsocial value [189].) Thus, in common with other primitive peoples, the\nAndaman Islanders regard what we call luck or chance as due to the\naction of the magical powers possessed by objects and by human beings.\n\nThere is one point that is not very plain in the Akar-Bale version, but\nI think we must take it that Da Te\u014bat was disgusted at his lack of\nsuccess in fishing. His irritation was not diminished but rather\nincreased by the fact that he did succeed in procuring one small and\nworthless fish. His shooting of the arrows must be regarded, I think,\nas the result of his anger. He might be supposed to address his arrows\nas follows: \u201cYou have not succeeded in hitting any fish at which I\naimed you; let me see if you can hit anything on your own account, when\nI take no aim.\u201d In this way he was led to the discovery of the yam, the\nresin and the cicada, for though it is not explicit, it is evident that\nit was the third arrow that led him to the cicada. His irritation was\nnot yet appeased however, and he crushed the cicada, thus bringing\ndarkness over the world. We must infer that he was aware of what he was\ndoing, for as soon as he had discovered the yam and the resin he learnt\ntheir names and thereby learnt all there was to know about them and\ntheir properties, and we must suppose that he similarly learnt the name\nof the cicada, and that to injure it would cause darkness. In the\nAka-Bea legend recorded by Mr Man it is expressly stated that the\nancestors who performed the actions that led to the first darkness did\nso because they were annoyed by the continuous heat of the sun [190].\n\nNow we have here a very important feature of the legend which it will\nnot do to overlook. We shall find that it is a principle of the Andaman\nlegends that evil results follow from evil actions. Night, which, by\nreason of its negative social value, is regarded as an evil, is shown\nto be the result of the misbehaviour of one of the ancestors in giving\nway to anti-social feelings of anger or annoyance. It is a case of like\nproducing like. When an individual gives way to such feelings as anger\nhe becomes a source of danger to the society, or at any rate a source\nof social dysphoria by disturbing the harmony of the community. Thus,\nin the legend, it was the wickedness of the ancestor in giving way to\nhis feeling of irritation that led to the social disaster. Inversely,\nit was through the combined effort of the ancestors joining in a\nharmonious action (singing and dancing) that the day was brought back.\n\nThe events of the legend are supposed to have taken place at a spot\nnamed Golugma. I only visited this spot once and did not take\nparticular note of it, nor have I information about the position it\noccupied in the social life of that part of the island in former times.\nWe do know, however, from the name Golugma Bud, that at one time it was\nthe site of a communal hut and was therefore an important camping\nplace. It may have been a place at which dance-meetings were frequently\nheld, and this would be a sufficient reason for its selection as the\nlegendary site of the first dance.\n\nOne of the minor motives of the Akar-Bale version of this story is the\nidentity of the ancestor who appears as the chief actor. I regret to\nsay that I have never found the exact meaning of the word te\u014bat. Though\nI asked the natives to bring me a specimen they did not do so. It is\nprobably either a species of spider or of ant. However, even if I had\nsucceeded in identifying the te\u014bat, it is possible that I should not\nhave discovered the reason why this particular creature was selected as\nthe hero of the story. This can be shown by considering another of the\nincidents of the story. All the ancestors who sang and tried to bring\nback the day failed except the ko\u0331\u014boro. This is a species of small red\nant. Whenever I heard this story told or referred to, this particular\nincident (the successful singing of ko\u0331\u014boro) caused great amusement\namongst the listeners. It was obvious that it was a good joke. Yet in\nspite of my endeavours on more than one occasion I was unable to see\nwhat the joke was.\n\nIn the A-Pu\u010dikwar version of the same legend [191] it was Pe\u0331tie, the\nmonitor lizard, who crushed the cicada and brought darkness. This is to\nbe explained not on the basis of any particular characteristic of the\nlizard, but as being due to the position that this animal occupies in\nthe A-Pu\u010dikwar mythology in general as the first ancestor of the\nAndamanese. As the first progenitor he is made responsible for the\norigin of all sorts of things. The story of the origin of night must\nhave a chief actor, and in the absence of any important ground for\nselecting any other of the ancestors the A-Pu\u010dikwar story-teller falls\nback on the monitor lizard.\n\nIn the above analysis I have drawn a distinction between what may be\ncalled major and minor motives of the story. The validity of the\ninterpretation of the legends offered in this chapter depends on the\nvalidity of this distinction, and it is therefore important to provide\na method by which we can separate major from minor motives. This can\nonly be done when there are several versions of the same legend. Major\nmotives may be defined as those which appear in all the versions of one\nlegend, while minor motives are those which may vary from one version\nto another without producing any fundamental change in the legend\nitself. Thus, by a comparison of the Akar-Bale and the A-Pu\u010dikwar\nversions it can be shown that the identity of the chief actor is a\nminor and not a major motive.\n\nIf we compare the Akar-Bale legend with the Aka-Bea version recorded by\nMr Man we see that they have in common (1) the explanation of the\norigin of night as due to the breaking of a rule, (2) the tracing back\nof the trouble to the anti-social passion of anger on the part of the\nactor or actors, (3) the account of the origin of dancing and singing\nas a means of neutralising the effects of darkness. All the other\nelements of the story are different in the two versions. In the Aka-Bea\nstory it is the killing of a grub (gurug) that brings on the night,\nwhich is itself called gurug. What the meaning of this may be I cannot\nsay. I did not hear this version of the story, and was not able to make\nany enquiries concerning it. All that it is necessary to note is that\nboth the legends express the social value of night, and they both\nexpress it in very much the same way, the difference being that the\nAkar-Bale version makes use of the connection between night and day and\nthe cicada, while the Aka-Bea story makes a similar use of some\nconnection (not yet explained) between the night and a grub.\n\nThus the comparison of different versions confirms the interpretation\nhere given. The legend expresses the negative social value of night as\na period when social activity is diminished and the power of protection\nof the society therefore lessened. It does so by telling how the night\nfirst arose as the result of disobedience to a ritual prohibition,\ni.e., of meddling with the forces of nature. It traces the original\ncause yet further back to the anger of one of the ancestors, anger\nbeing itself a source of social disturbance. It passes on to express\nthe social value of the dance, with its accompanying song, and exhibits\nthe relation, within the system of social values, of dancing and\ndarkness. Thus, although the manner of expression may differ, yet what\nis expressed is the same in both versions, and we are therefore\njustified in regarding this as the essential content of them.\n\nAn exactly parallel explanation can be given of the Andaman notions\nrelating to the moon. The social value of moonlight is due to the fact\nthat it enables the natives to fish and catch turtle and dugong by\nnight. A clear moonlight night affords the best opportunity for\nharpooning dugong. During the second quarter the light of the moon\nsteadily increases, and the period of moonlight falls in the first part\nof the night. After the change to the third quarter the light steadily\ndiminishes, and moreover there is a gradually increasing period of\ncomplete darkness at the beginning of the night. The natives do not\ncare to get up in the middle of the night to go fishing or hunting\nturtle. Therefore the second quarter is the time when they undertake\nsuch expeditions, and after the change to the third quarter they\nabandon them largely or entirely, and if they do go out they have to\ndepend on torches. Therefore we may say that during the second quarter\nthe moon gives valuable help to the natives, but during the third\nquarter withdraws that help.\n\nAt the beginning of the third quarter the moon rises in the evening\nwith a ruddy hue. The natives explain this red and swollen appearance\nby saying that the moon is angry. When a man does something that hurts\nor damages another it is generally (in Andamanese life) because he is\nangry. So to say that the moon is angry is equivalent to saying that he\nis damaging or hurting someone, as he is indeed damaging the society by\nwithdrawing the light by which for the past week or so they have been\nable to capture fish and turtle. The phenomena of the change of the\nmoon in so far as they affect the social life are represented as if\nthey were the actions of a human being. We may describe this briefly by\nsaying that the moon is personified, using that term in a special sense\nto be defined more exactly later. Amongst the Andamanese, as amongst\nourselves, anger is associated with heat, and this explains why the red\nglow of the moon when he rises during the first few nights of the third\nquarter is regarded as the visible sign of his anger.\n\nEven the moon, however, is not to be expected to be angry without a\ncause. The natives say that the anger is due to some bright light\nhaving been visible at the time the moon rises. The personification is\nthus further elaborated. The moon gives the light by which fishing and\nturtle hunting at night are possible. This light has a positive social\nvalue, and its withdrawal is an evil. They therefore regard the moon as\njealous, so jealous that if anyone makes use of an artificial light, as\nof a fire or torch or burning resin, the moon immediately is consumed\nwith anger and withdraws the light that has been of so much use and has\nnot been sufficiently appreciated. This belief is a means by which the\nvalue of the moonlight is recognized. Thus the beliefs about the moon\ncan be interpreted in exactly the same way as the legend about night;\nboth express, in accordance with the same psychological laws, the\nsocial values of natural phenomena.\n\nI will next consider not a single legend but a number of different\nstories, running through all of which we can find a single major\nmotive. I have recorded [192] three legends which relate, with some\ndifferences of detail, how in the beginning the ancestors had no fire,\nhow fire was introduced by one of them, and how many of them, being\nburnt or frightened, were turned into animals of different kinds. In\none version [193] the sea-eagle came into the camp of the ancestors and\nthrew fire amongst them; whereby many of them being frightened were\nturned into animals. Another version is very similar, the chief actor,\nhowever, being the prawn [194]. In an Akar-Bale version Dim-do\u0331ri, now a\nfish, obtained the fire and burnt some of the ancestors with it so that\nthey became fishes [195].\n\nThis legend is a widespread one, being found both in the north and in\nthe south of the islands. The fact that the actor is different in the\nthree recorded versions proves that the identity of the hero of the\ntale is a minor motive, i.e., one that may be varied without affecting\nthe essential meaning of the myth.\n\nThe story serves as an explanation of the markings on birds and fishes,\nthese being where the ancestor who became the species was burnt by the\nfire. Thus the legend is of the kind that is often called etiological.\nThe common method of explaining such legends is to say that they are\ncrude attempts on the part of primitive man to explain the natural\nphenomena with which they deal, in this case the bright colours of\nbirds and fishes. Such an interpretation cannot be regarded as\nadequate. Why should the Andaman Islanders want to explain the markings\nof animals? Why should they explain them in the form of a legend, and\nwhy should the legend take this peculiar form?\n\nThe clue to the true interpretation of the three stories mentioned must\nbe sought in the social value of fire. It was shown in the last chapter\nthat fire is regarded as the symbol of social life and social activity,\nthe centre around which the social life revolves, the source from which\nit draws its force. We may say, in a word, that it is the possession of\nfire that makes social life (as the Andamanese know it) possible. It\nwas shown that it is on account of this relation of the society to fire\nthat the latter is believed to be a source of security, of protection\nagainst the spirits. Now amongst all the creatures that inhabit the\nworld, man is the only one that possesses and makes use of fire. Here,\nthen, is the fundamental notion that is expressed in these legends. At\nfirst, so the story runs, animals and human beings were one, were not\ndistinguished. Then came the discovery of fire. Some of the\n(undifferentiated) ancestors fled from the fire, because they were\nafraid of it, or because it burnt them. They became birds and beasts\nand fishes, retaining their fear of the fire, and being cut off for\never from the human society which, from that moment, constitutes itself\naround the fire. It is the possession of the fire that makes human\nbeings what they are, that makes life as they live it possible. It is\nequally (according to the legend) the lack of fire, or the lack of\nability to make use of fire, that makes the animals what they are, that\ncuts them off from participation in human life.\n\nThis, briefly, is the way I would explain the legend mentioned above,\nand ample confirmation will be forthcoming when we consider some of the\nother legends. Attention may be called here to a very significant\nphrase in a version of the fire legend recorded by Mr Portman [196] to\nthe effect that \u201cit was on account of the fire (i.e. of the possession\nof fire) that the ancestors became alive.\u201d\n\nThe three stories considered above contain three motives. (1) They\nexpress the social value of fire, by making the foundation of human\nsociety (through the differentiation of men and animals) depend on the\ndiscovery of fire. (2) They express a peculiar notion as to the\nrelation of the human species to other animals, which is found also in\nother legends. (3) They give a legendary explanation of some of the\ncharacteristics of animals, such as the bright colours of certain birds\nand fishes.\n\nIt would seem that these same motives are present in many of the\nlegends relating to the origin of fire. In the common version of the\nfire legend the fire is stolen from Biliku (Puluga) by the kingfisher.\nThis bird has a patch of bright red feathers at the neck and these are\nexplained as being where he was struck by the fire or the pearl-shell\n(lightning) flung by Biliku. In one variant the kingfisher swallowed\nthe fire and had his head cut off by the lightning, whereupon the fire\ncame out of his neck where the red feathers now are. In most of the\nversions it would seem to be implied that though the kingfisher\nsucceeded in obtaining fire for the use of the ancestors, he was\nhimself unable to profit by his own exertions, for he was turned into a\nbird condemned to eat his fish raw for ever. In one story, however,\nfrom the Aka-Kede tribe, it would seem that the kingfisher, by the\npossession of fire, and through the loss of his wings and tail, became\na man. There is a lack of logic here which it is worth while to note.\nAlthough the kingfisher became a man yet the legend is clearly based on\nthe explanation of the red feathers of the bird\u2019s neck as due to the\naction of the fire. The psychological significance of such\ninconsistencies as this will have to be discussed later on.\n\nLet us now consider another group of legends. We have seen that one\nexplanation (in the mythological sense) of how the birds arose is that\nthey were ancestors who fled from the fire. There are other stories\nthat give a different account and relate that the animals came into\nexistence through a great flood or storm that overwhelmed the\nancestors. Both of these legends are to be found in the same tribes.\nTheir incompatibility does not prevent them from being both equally\naccepted. If it can be shown that the story of the flood is simply an\nalternative method of expressing the same set of representations that\nunderlie the story of the origin of the animals through the discovery\nof fire, the interpretation of the latter will be in some degree\nconfirmed.\n\nOne account of the flood or storm, variants of which were obtained from\nboth the north and south of the islands, tells how the ancestors only\nwith great difficulty succeeded in saving the fire. Although it is not\nexplicitly stated, we may conclude, I think, that it was because some\nof the ancestors kept their fire alight that they remained human, while\nthose who lost their fire were turned into animals. If my personal\nimpressions are of any value, this is really the idea that does\nunderlie the legend in the native mind. Thus it would appear that this\nversion of the flood myth is simply a reversal of the fire legend\npreviously considered. They both express the same thing in different\nways. They both make the possession of fire the thing on which social\n(i.e., human) life depends, the fundamental difference between man and\nanimals.\n\nIt may be objected to this interpretation that in some of the versions\nof the flood myth there is no reference to the ancestors being turned\ninto animals, while in others there is no reference to the saving of\nthe fire. The reply to this is that if we are to understand the legends\nwe must not consider each separately, but must seek out the connections\nbetween the different stories, connections that are not always obvious.\nThus, as there are, in each of the tribes, different versions of a\nflood myth it might be supposed that the natives believe in several\ndifferent floods having taken place in the times of the ancestors. Mr\nMan seems to have come to the conclusion that there were two distinct\nfloods. I am fully satisfied, from personal knowledge, that the natives\nthink of only one flood or catastrophe, and refer to it all the\ndifferent legends. Sometimes a man will relate how the flood came and\nthe fire was nearly lost, but will make no mention of the origin of\nanimals at this time. At another time the same man will relate how the\nflood turned the ancestors into animals, but will make no mention of\nthe saving of the fire. To understand the meaning of the legends we\nmust connect these different stories together, for we know that they\nare connected in the minds of the Andaman Islanders themselves. Every\nnative knows that it was at the time of the flood that the animals came\ninto existence and he may remember this fact when he hears the story of\nhow the fire was nearly lost. Similarly, when he hears the story of how\nthe animals came into existence he remembers the other story of how the\nfire was nearly lost. Thus one man gave me a legend of the flood which\nexplained the origin of the animals, and at the very end he mentioned\nas an afterthought \u201cIt was at this time that the fire was saved by Maia\nTaolu.\u201d\n\nWhen we thus connect the different stories relating to the flood we see\nthat they express a definite system of representations or beliefs,\nwhich are found in all the tribes, and that this system is sometimes\ncompletely and sometimes partially expressed in the different versions.\nOn the interpretation here suggested the major motives of the flood\nmyth are (1) the social value of fire as expressed by making the\ndifference between man and the animals depend on its possession by the\nformer and not by the latter, and (2) the notion of the animals as\nhaving once been one with the ancestors. These two motives are both\npresent in the legends of the origin of fire that were previously\nconsidered. It can be shown that even the third motive of the fire\nlegend manages to creep into the flood story. In the Aka-Kede version\n[197] the dove is mentioned as having saved the fire. The connection\nbetween the dove and the fire (which appears in other legends) [198]\nwould seem to have its basis in the shining plumage of the bird, just\nas the kingfisher is connected with the fire through the red feathers\nof its neck.\n\nThe details of the legends may be briefly mentioned. One Aka-J\u030ceru\nversion [199] explains how one of the ancestors made a noise by\nbreaking firewood while the cicada was singing and so raised a great\nstorm, in which the fire was nearly lost, and in which many of the\nancestors were turned into animals. This version is a fairly complete\nexpression of the fundamental representations on which the whole group\nof legends is based. There is an elaboration of one point in that an\naccount is given of how the cyclone was brought about. This is a\nseparate motive which will be discussed and explained later in\nconnection with the Biliku myth.\n\nAnother legend from the same tribe [200] relates to a storm that was\ncaused in the same way, and that resulted in the destruction of the\nwhole world. The fire, which was nearly extinguished, was saved by one\nof the ancestors. No mention was made of the ancestors being turned\ninto animals. This version, however, as I have recorded it, is\nincomplete. I was unfortunately unable to understand some of what the\nnarrator told me.\n\nThe Aka-Kede version [201] similarly does not distinctly state that the\nancestors who were destroyed by the flood were turned into animals, but\nthe fact that the three persons mentioned in the legend are all birds\nsuggests that it was at this time that the birds originated. The bird\ncalled \u010darami-lebek, having lowered the surviving ancestors to the\nground with their fire, remained at the top of the Dipterocarpus tree\nand has been there ever since. The Aka-Ko\u0331l version of the same story\n[202] simply states that the ancestors were turned into animals in a\ncyclone, but contains no mention of the rescue of the fire.\n\nIn a number of these legends it is stated that the ancestors saved\nthemselves by climbing up into a tall tree or into the trees. This is\nto be explained by the fact that the birds all live up in the trees,\nand a great many of them can never be seen save overhead. The top of\nthe forest is where the birds live, it is their world, raised above the\nworld of men and women. The flood drove the inhabitants up to the tops\nof the trees. The birds remained there and only the human beings came\ndown again. As the original inhabitants were driven up into the trees\nby water covering the land we may complete the myth by saying that\nthose who failed to reach the upper world were on that account\ncompelled to spend the rest of their existence in the water as fish and\nturtle. This is, I think, what the legend really means. Thus the story\nof the flood gives a picture of a threefold world, the waters below\nwith their inhabitants the fishes and turtle and other marine\ncreatures, the solid earth, and the upper region of the top of the\nforest where the flowers bloom and the butterflies and other insects\nand the birds pass their lives. This representation of the top of the\nforest as a world in itself may seem strange to one who has never seen\na tropical forest, but to one who has spent months beneath it the\nforest-top of the Andamans does seem a world in itself, near yet\ninaccessible, a world where there is a gay and interesting life in the\nsunshine above, of which the wanderer in the deep shade beneath can\nonly catch occasional glimpses as he gazes up through the tangle of\nboughs and leaves. For the natives of the islands therefore the top of\nthe forest is an alien world into which they can only penetrate with\nextreme difficulty, by climbing, and with the life of which they have\nlittle to do. Similarly the waters of the sea are another world into\nwhich they can only penetrate for a few moments at a time by diving\n[203].\n\nIt may be said that, on this view, no allowance is made for the\nexistence of terrestrial animals. That is true, but it must be\nremembered that there are very few such animals in the Andamans. The\ncivet-cat and the monitor lizard and some of the snakes are as much\narboreal in their habits as they are terrestrial. There remain only the\npig and the rat as true terrestrial animals, and it may be noted that\nneither of these two animals ever figures in the legends as an\nancestor. There are independent legends that relate to the origin of\nthe pig, and the rat seems to be of so little importance that no\nexplanation of its origin would seem to be necessary. Moreover the\nmonitor lizard and the civet-cat, which are partly terrestrial, occupy\nfor this reason exceptional positions in the legends. Thus there is a\nlegend recorded from the Aka-Kede tribe which accounts for the\nsimultaneous origin of the civet-cat and the pigs through a game of the\nancestors [204]. The monitor lizard is in an altogether exceptional\nposition in that it is equally at home in the trees, on the ground and\nin the water of a creek. It is in a way free of all the three divisions\nof the world. This helps us to understand why in some of the tribes the\nmonitor lizard is regarded as the original ancestor not only of the\nAndamanese but also of all the animals, including the birds of the\nforest and the fishes of the sea. The civet-cat cannot live in the\nwater as the lizard can [205], but can climb trees and run on the\nground. In many of the legends the civet-cat is said to be the wife of\nthe monitor lizard. It will be remembered that in the Akar-Bale story\nit is the civet-cat, the wife of the first ancestor (the monitor\nlizard), who saved the fire from the flood by climbing up to the top of\na steep hill with it. Thus it may be seen that the position of the\nmonitor lizard and the civet-cat in the legends of the Andamanese is\npartly determined by the position that these two animals occupy in\nrelation to the threefold division of the world revealed in the story\nof the flood.\n\nThe repeated mention of the Dipterocarpus tree in these legends would\nseem to indicate that it is a motive of importance. The tree is the\ntallest tree of the Andaman forests, and is very common, but it is\nprobable that this does not afford an adequate explanation, and that\nthere are other ideas connected with it in the minds of the Andamanese\nthat would justify the place it occupies in the mythology. In one\nAka-J\u030ceru story the whole forest is said to have sprung from a\nDipterocarpus seed dropped by Biliku after she had destroyed the\noriginal forest in her anger. It may be noted in passing that in the\nlanguages of the North Andaman the word for this tree is the same as\nthe word for dugong.\n\nLet us now briefly examine the story of the origin of animals as\nrecorded from the Akar-Bale tribe [206]. There are three variants of\nthis story. The one recorded from an A-Pu\u010dikwar informant [207] must\nreally be regarded, I believe, as an imperfect reproduction of the\nAkar-Bale version. The version given by Mr Man [208] is also of\nAkar-Bale origin, as is shown by the fact that the phrases in it are in\nthe Akar-Bale language. A comparison of these variants shows that the\nmain purpose of the story is to relate how a great storm or cyclone\nvisited the islands in the times of the ancestors and turned many of\nthem into animals. The storm was brought about by the action of one of\nthe ancestors who in anger did some of the things that are known to\nanger Puluga and cause a storm.\n\nIn some of the other legends we find the same motive. Thus in an\nAka-J\u030ceru legend [209] the flood is said to have been caused by one of\nthe ancestors breaking firewood while the cicada was singing. In an\nAka-Kede version [210] this part of the story is further elaborated,\nand a reason is given for this action on the part of the ancestor.\nKo\u0331po-tera-wat was angry with the rest of the ancestors because they\nrefused to give him any of the honey they had collected, and he\ntherefore deliberately performed the action that brought the storm. The\npurpose of these elements of the legend is to explain how the great\nflood came about, by tracing it to the anti-social action of some one\nor more of the ancestors, just as the night is supposed to have been\nproduced by an ancestor who performed a forbidden action. In the\nAka-Kede version and also, as we shall see, in the Akar-Bale story, the\nmatter is traced still further back and the anti-social action of the\nancestor is explained as being caused by his anger which had been\naroused by a disagreement with the ancestors. The origin of the\ncatastrophe that separated the once united ancestors into animals and\nhuman beings is thus traced to the fact that they could not live\ntogether sociably and in harmony.\n\nIn the Akar-Bale story the part which explains how one of the ancestors\ncame to give way to anger is highly elaborated. It starts with the\nquarrel of the tree-lizard with some of the ancestors. (It may be noted\nin passing that the tree-lizard is quarrelsome in reality.) This leads\nto the death of the lizard (or his transformation into an animal that\nstill bears the name), and so to the grief of his mother and her anger\nagainst the ancestors who have killed her son. This elaboration of one\npart of the story tends to obscure the meaning of the whole. This is\nparticularly the case in the version recorded by myself in which the\nanger of the tree-lizard is the direct cause of the change of some of\nthe ancestors into animals. The narrator sets out to explain how a\nflood or cyclone came and turned the ancestors into fishes and birds.\nHe elaborates the details of the first part of the story to such an\nextent that he loses sight of the conclusion. The purpose of the story\nas explaining the origin of animals remains in his mind, however, and\ngives rise to the description of how some of the animals had their\norigin as animals (i.e., were cut off from the human society) by being\nthrown by the lizard into the forest or into the sea. The legend in\nthis form may therefore be regarded as giving an alternative\nexplanation of the separation of the animals from the human society,\nthe cause of the separation being a great quarrel in which they were\nall involved. In other words, human society is only possible if\npersonal anger be subordinated to the need of good order; the animals\nare cut off from human society because they could not live peaceably\ntogether without quarrelling.\n\nThe examination of the variants of the flood-myth has taken us away\nfrom the main argument. In the various stories there are two separable\nelements. There is first the explanation of how a disastrous flood or\nstorm was caused by the non-observance of ritual prohibitions connected\nwith Biliku (Puluga). This element will have to be considered in\nrelation to the Biliku myth. There is secondly the account of how\nthrough the flood or storm the birds and fishes became separated from\nthe human race, and the three regions of the world, as the Andaman\nIslander knows it, became established. It is this second element that I\nhave sought to explain. To repeat the argument, I would hold that it is\nreally through the loss of the fire that the birds and fishes became\ncut off from mankind, and that therefore this element of the legends of\nthe flood expresses exactly the same notion as the legend of the\ncatastrophe that followed the discovery of fire. The two groups of\nlegends result from the way the Andaman Islander feels about the fire\nas being the one thing on which the society most completely depends for\nits welfare.\n\nThe preceding analysis has shown that the legends relating to the\norigin of animals, whether through the action of fire, or by the flood,\nserve to express the social value of fire. If this interpretation be\ncorrect we have a close parallel to the explanation of the story of the\norigin of night. In both cases, it has been argued, what the legend\nreally expresses is the way in which a particular phenomenon (fire, in\none case, the alternation of day and night in the other) affects the\nlife of the society and the sentiments on which that life depends. The\nlegends of the catastrophe, however, obviously contain another element\nof importance, revealing as they do a certain way of thinking about the\nanimals. This element has not yet been explained. The representation of\nthe birds, etc., as ancestors is not confined to one particular legend\nor group of legends, but runs through them all. Its explanation is\ntherefore better postponed until we come to deal with the general\nfeatures of the mythology, and will then have to be undertaken.\n\nLet us now turn to the legends that concern Biliku (Puluga) and Tarai\n(Deria), which are of capital importance in the Andaman mythology. The\nclue to the understanding of them lies in the Andamanese notions about\nthe weather and the seasons. In the Andaman Islands the year may be\ndivided into four seasons. There is the cool season lasting from the\nbeginning of December to the middle of February; immediately following\nthis is the hot season from February to the middle of May; then comes\nthe rainy season, from May to the end of September; October and\nNovember constitute a short season to themselves. In the cool season\nthe weather is uniformly cool; there is very little rain, and storms\nare almost unknown; the wind blows uniformly from the N.E. In the hot\nseason there is little or no rain; the wind is generally N.E., but may\nbe variable; summer lightning is frequent, but there are no violent\nstorms except at the very end of the season. During the rainy season,\nafter a short period of uncertain stormy weather with which it begins,\nthe wind blows uniformly from the S.W.; it rains heavily, sometimes\nevery day for weeks together, but violent storms (cyclones) are very\nrare. Between the rainy season proper and the cool season there is a\nperiod of six or eight weeks in which the weather is unsettled; the\nwind is variable; fine weather alternates with storms that are\nsometimes of terrific violence; waterspouts are frequent; it is at this\nseason that violent cyclonic storms are likely to occur. This season is\ncalled by the Andamanese Kimil (Gumul of Aka-Bea). We have seen in the\nlast chapter that the word kimil denotes a condition of social danger,\nor of contact with the power possessed by all things that can affect\nthe life and safety of the society. It is obviously in this sense, and\nnot as meaning \u201chot,\u201d that it is applied to the season in question, for\nthe months of October and November are fairly cool, certainly very much\ncooler than February and March. We shall find that this is an important\npoint in connection with the Biliku myth.\n\nThe life of the Andaman Islander is profoundly affected by the\nalternation of the seasons. There are, first of all, the violent\ncyclonic storms that occasionally occur. Such a storm may uproot the\njungle for miles, making it impassable for years to come, and thus\ndestroying some of the native hunting grounds. The wind is sometimes so\nviolent as to tear every leaf from the trees in its path. While the\nstorm lasts there is danger to the lives of the natives. An old man\nrecounted to me how on the occasion of a violent cyclone he and the\nothers of his village took refuge in the sea and on the open shore from\nthe danger of falling trees, and remained there till the violence of\nthe storm had abated. The usual name for a cyclone in Aka-J\u030ceru is\nto\u0331ko-po\u0331r, i.e. \u201cfalling wood\u201d or \u201cfalling trees.\u201d Even if all the\nnatives escape the danger of death or injury, there is still the\nextreme fear and discomfort of the experience. If a storm lasts for any\nlength of time the natives, who are unable or afraid to go out hunting,\nhave to do without food until it is over. Incidentally the storm may\ndestroy their huts, canoes, and other property and thus cause loss that\nhas to be made up by toil.\n\nThe second important effect of the seasons on the life of the\nAndamanese is through the food supply. During the cool season, and the\nsucceeding hot season, a number of vegetable foods, including the very\nimportant roots and some of the most prized fruits, are available. On\nthe other hand, during these seasons the land animals are in poor\ncondition. In the hot season, at any rate, lizards, snakes and the\ncivet-cat are not eaten. Pigs are breeding and are in such poor\ncondition that often a pig that has been killed is left in the jungle\nas being not good enough to eat. The hot season is pre-eminently the\nseason of honey, which is so abundant that the natives are able to\nobtain much more than they can consume. In the rainy season there are\nfew vegetable foods and very little honey, but on the other hand the\njungle animals are in good condition and flesh food is abundant; fish\nare more plentiful in this season than during the dry weather. In the\nKimil season (October and November) the natives add to their food\nsupply two varieties of grub (the larv\u00e6 of the cicada and of a beetle)\nwhich are regarded as great delicacies. Roughly we can say that the\nrainy season is the season of flesh food, the Kimil season is the\nseason of grubs, the cool season is the season of fruits and roots, and\nthe hot season is the season of honey.\n\nBy reference to the prevailing wind the year may be divided into two\nparts, the N.E. monsoon from November to May, and the S.W. monsoon from\nMay to November.\n\nI propose to show that the Andaman Islanders express the social value\nof the phenomena of the weather and the seasons, i.e., the way these\nphenomena affect the social life and the social sentiments, by means of\nlegends and beliefs relating to the two mythical beings whom they call\nBiliku and Tarai. Using the word personification in a sense to be\ndefined later in the chapter, we may say that the Andamanese personify\nthe weather and the seasons in the persons of Biliku and Tarai. Biliku\nis associated with the N.E. monsoon; she lives in the N.E.; the wind\nfrom that quarter is called \u201cthe Biliku wind\u201d; to Biliku, therefore,\nbelong the cool and the hot seasons, these being the seasons of the\nN.E. monsoon. Tarai is associated with the S.W. monsoon; he lives in\nthe S.W.; the wind from that quarter is called \u201cthe Tarai wind,\u201d or, in\nAka-Bea, simply Deria; to Tarai therefore belongs the rainy season. It\nis possible to show that the Andaman Islanders associate with these two\nbeings all the phenomena of the weather and the seasons, and are able\nto represent the changes of the latter as though they were the actions\nof human or anthropomorphic beings.\n\nIn the mass of beliefs and stories relating to Biliku and Tarai there\nare some elements on which there is absolute agreement in all the\ntribes of the Great Andaman Division. I propose to treat these as being\nthe most important elements. There is absolute unanimity, for instance,\nas to the connection of Biliku and Tarai with the N.E. and the S.W.\nrespectively, and with the winds that blow from these two points of the\ncompass. Further, this belief does not conflict in any way with any\nother belief of the Andamanese. There is similar unanimity in the\nbeliefs that Biliku is angry at the digging up of yams, and at the\nmelting of bees\u2019-wax. There are other matters on which the agreement is\nfairly general but not absolute. For instance, there is a common belief\nthat it was Biliku who first discovered fire, but there are also\nlegends as to the origin of fire in which Biliku does not figure. I\npropose to treat such elements as these as being of secondary\nimportance. Finally there are other elements with regard to which the\nbeliefs of different tribes are not in agreement. For instance, in the\nSouth Andaman Puluga is regarded as male, while in the North Andaman\nBiliku is female. I propose to regard such elements as being of only\nminor importance, i.e., as not being closely connected with the central\nnotion or notions expressed in the myth.\n\nApplying the strict method outlined above, we may begin by noting that\nthere is complete unanimity in regard to the connection of Biliku and\nTarai with the N.E. and the S.W. respectively, and therefore with the\nmonsoons. No interpretation of the myth can be adequate unless it sets\nout from this fact. The connection is so firmly fixed that it appears\nin the names of the winds themselves [211]. Even in this matter of the\nwinds, however, there is a slight difference in the detail of the\nbeliefs in different tribes. In the North Andaman it would seem that\nonly the two principal winds are recognized; the S.W. wind (more\naccurately W.S.W.) is called \u201cthe Tarai wind\u201d (not, be it noted, \u201cthe\nwind of Tarai\u201d); the N.E. (or more accurately N.N.E.) wind is called\n\u201cthe Biliku wind.\u201d These two winds are by far the most important, as\nthe former blows steadily throughout the rainy season and the latter\nblows with almost equal steadiness throughout a good part of the cool\nand hot seasons. In the Aka-Bea and Akar-Bale tribes the general belief\nseems to be precisely the same as in the North Andaman. Only the two\nprincipal winds are considered to be of importance and one is\nassociated with Deria and the other with Puluga. In these two tribes,\nas in the North Andaman, practically no notice is taken of the\nexistence of winds from other quarters. In the A-Pu\u010dikwar tribe there\nis a notable difference, of great importance to the true interpretation\nof the legend. There is a dual division of the winds; the S.W. wind is\ncalled Teria; the other winds (of which a number are recognized) are\nall called Bilik. Thus Bilik is a generic name for a number of winds,\nnamely for all the northerly or easterly winds, including not only the\nN.E., but also the N.W. and S.E. winds. The S.W. wind is called by a\nsimple name, Teria, or as it would be better rendered in English \u201cthe\nTeria.\u201d The other winds are called by compound names such as Me\u0331tepur\nBilik, Ko\u0331i\u010do Bilik, etc., which we can only translate as \u201cthe N.E.\nBilik,\u201d \u201cthe East Bilik,\u201d etc.\n\nTwo things of importance are shown by the consideration of these facts.\nThe first is that there is a sense in which it may be said that the\nAndaman Islanders personify the winds in the persons of Biliku and\nTarai; they apply to the natural phenomenon a name which is also the\nname of a mythological person, and they apply it directly and not in a\npossessive form, i.e., they say \u201cthe Bilik\u201d or \u201cthe Biliku wind\u201d and\nnot \u201cBiliku\u2019s wind.\u201d The second is that only the S.W. wind is\nassociated with Tarai and all the other winds are associated with\nBiliku.\n\nThe last point is one of considerable importance in the interpretation\nof the myth. If we divide the year by reference to the prevailing\nwinds, then the rainy season, with the exception of its beginning and\nits end, belongs to the S.W. wind; the hot season (save its end) and\nthe cool season may be regarded as belonging to the N.E. wind, though\nthe wind may be variable in the hot season; there remain two portions\nof the year, at the change of the monsoon, when the wind is variable,\nwhich cannot be classified as belonging strictly to the S.W. or to the\nN.E. wind. The fact that all these variable winds are denoted in the\nA-Pu\u010dikwar tribe by the name Bilik shows that in this tribe they are\nall classified with the N.E. wind. In this way the year is divided into\ntwo slightly unequal parts, one belonging to Teria or Tarai including\nthe whole of the rainy season except the end and the very beginning,\nthe other belonging to Bilik (Biliku) including the Kimil season, the\ncool season, the hot season, and even the first few days of the rainy\nseason. This strict division only appears in the A-Pu\u010dikwar tribe, but\nit will be shown that an approximation to the same notion is found in\nthe other tribes.\n\nThere is general agreement in all the tribes in the belief that storms\nare due to Biliku or Tarai. Both of them send rain and thunder and\nlightning, but whenever mention is made in the legends of a violent\nstorm it is always Biliku who is mentioned as causing it, and never by\nany chance Tarai. Thus, in regard to this matter of storms, it is\nevident that Biliku is more important than Tarai, and this is only one\nexample of the preponderance of Biliku over her consort. This\npreponderance will need to be explained as one of the essentials of the\nmyth [212].\n\nWe have already seen how the Andaman Islander represents any natural\nphenomenon having negative social value as though it were the result of\nthe action of a person in anger, this being the one anti-social passion\nwith which he is most familiar in his own life. Thus the withdrawing of\nthe light of the moon after the full is explained as being due to the\nanger of the moon. The negative social value of a violent storm is\nobvious. In accordance with the general principles of his mythology the\nAndaman Islander therefore explains the storm as being due to the anger\nof a personal mythical being. But storms are intimately connected with\nthe winds, so that it must be Biliku and Tarai (in whom the winds are\npersonified) who are responsible for the storms. Further, in the\nAndamans, violent storms are very rare except at two special periods of\nthe year, at the change of the monsoon. This gives a further ground of\nassociation with Biliku and Tarai between whom the seasons are divided.\nWe have seen that in classifying the winds the natives (of one tribe at\nany rate) associate with Tarai only the steady S.W. wind which brings\nnot cyclones and violent storms but steady rain, while all the other\nwinds are associated with Biliku. If this be so it is clear that a\ncyclone, with its wind veering from one quarter to another, must be the\nwork of Biliku. Further, if the Biliku season be regarded as including\nall the periods of variable northerly and easterly winds as well as the\nperiod of the steady N.E., then we can say that it is only in the\nBiliku period that violent storms are likely to occur. It is evident\ntherefore that an examination of the natural phenomena themselves gives\nus an adequate reason for the preponderance of Biliku over Tarai in the\nlegends. This will be made even more evident as we proceed.\n\nAnother law of the Andaman mythology is that a person, such as the\nmoon, is never angry without cause. There are a number of actions that\nare believed by the Andamanese to cause the anger of Biliku; of these\nthere are three of extreme importance, all the others being certainly\nof much less importance. It is necessary, therefore, to examine these\nthree carefully and find their meaning.\n\nThere is absolute agreement in all the tribes with regard to the belief\nthat Biliku is angry and sends bad weather when bees\u2019-wax is melted or\nburnt. The season of honey is the hot season from February to May.\nDuring the rainy season scarcely any honey is to be found and that only\nof the inferior (black) variety. It is clear therefore that honey\nbelongs particularly to the Biliku portion of the year. During the hot\nseason honey is abundant and large quantities are collected. As the\nnatives make use of the wax, and as this is useless till it has been\nmelted, this is the special season of the melting of bees\u2019-wax. At the\nbeginning of the season the Biliku wind blows calmly from the N.N.E. As\nthe season draws to a close the wind becomes variable, uncertain, and\nin some years violent storms occur ushering in the rains of the S.W.\nmonsoon. Year after year the wax-melting season comes to a close in\nstormy weather. Now stormy weather and the anger of Biliku are, for the\nAndaman Islander, one and the same thing, so that to say that the anger\nof Biliku follows the melting of bees\u2019-wax is in one sense simply a\nstatement of actual observable fact.\n\nAnother belief about which there is absolute unanimity in all parts of\nthe Islands is that Biliku is angry when certain plants are cut down or\ndug up. These plants include some of the most valuable vegetable foods\nof the Andamanese, such as the yams and the pith of the Caryota palm.\nAmongst the roots and fruits associated with Biliku there are one or\ntwo that were not botanically identified. All of them, however, about\nwhich I was able to obtain any information whatever, are available as\nfood during the cool and hot seasons, and either not at all or in very\nsmall quantities during the rainy season. On the other hand, of the\nvegetable foods that are available during the rainy season, not one is\never mentioned as being in any way connected with Biliku. Further,\namongst all the foods of the cool and hot seasons only those are\nintimately connected with Biliku which begin to be available during the\nKimil season. A few examples may be mentioned. The yams and other\nedible roots are not found at all in the rainy season, but the tubers\nbegin to form in the Kimil season (October and November) and small\nquantities of these roots are available for food at that time. By the\ntime the cool season has set in the roots become abundant, and they\ncontinue to be found until well on into the hot season. All these roots\nare regarded as being specially connected with Biliku and are spoken of\nas her foods. The same thing applies to the Caryota sobolifera of which\nthe pith is eaten either raw or cooked. The pith begins to form in the\nKimil season, and this highly prized food is available right through\nthe cool season. The fruit of the Cycas, which is another of those\nbelonging to Biliku, also begins to ripen at the beginning of the cool\nweather. As regards the Entada scandens, Kurz, in his Burmese Flora,\nmentions it as seeding in the \u201ccold season.\u201d I neglected to take note\nof the relation of this plant to the seasons, but the statement of Kurz\nmay be relied on. Thus it is seen that the vegetable foods that are\nassociated with Biliku are those that begin to be available for food\nduring the Kimil season and are abundant during the cool season. Now\nthe Kimil season, which is really the opening of the N.E. or Biliku\nmonsoon, is the season at which cyclonic storms are likely to occur.\nHere again therefore, as in the case of bees\u2019-wax, there is a definite\nground of association in familiar natural phenomena. Year after year,\nas these foods begin to ripen and to be eaten, the islands are visited\nwith stormy weather, sometimes of exceptional violence. When the\nAndaman Islander says that the stormy weather which is the sign of the\nanger of Biliku follows the digging up of yams and the cutting down of\nthe Caryota palm or the gathering of the seeds of the Cycas or Entada,\nhe is stating what is an actual fact.\n\nThe case of these vegetable foods is in one way different from that of\nbees\u2019-wax. The melting of the wax goes on for some weeks before the\nanger of Biliku is finally aroused, when storms come to punish the\noffenders, and the change of season cuts short the supply of honey. In\nthe case of the roots, etc., it would seem that it is only the first\nstep that counts. The danger lies in the beginning of the season. Once\nthe anger of Biliku has burst forth the bad weather ceases, the danger\nis past, and weeks of fine weather ensue, during which the natives may\neat freely of the foods in question without fear of consequences. In\nthis connection considerable importance may be attached to a statement\nmade to me on more than one occasion, to the effect that the most\nefficient way of stopping a storm is to go into the forest and destroy\nthe plants that belong to Biliku, i.e., do the very things that make\nher angry. We may apply this to the events of the Kimil season. The\nnatives begin to dig up yams and collect other vegetable foods, and\nthereupon Biliku becomes angry and stormy weather follows. All that the\nnatives have to do is to show sufficient persistence in continuing to\neat yams, etc., and the anger of Biliku is bound to subside and the\nstormy weather to cease.\n\nThere is a third belief that is generally accepted in all parts of the\nGreat Andaman, that Biliku is angry if a cicada be killed, or if a\nnoise be made while the cicada is singing in the morning or the\nevening. The interpretation of this belief is made difficult by the\nfact that there is also an association between the cicada and the day\nand night. Thus Mr Man states that the prohibition against making a\nnoise at dawn (while the cicada is singing) is associated not with\nPuluga but with the sun [213].\n\nThe grub of the cicada is eaten during the Kimil season, and at no\nother time of the year. Here the association is simple enough. The\nkilling of the cicada (grub) takes place only during a brief season,\nand this is the season when cyclones occur. However, the grub of a\nbeetle is eaten at the same season and yet I never heard of any\nconnection between Biliku and this other grub. Certainly if there is a\nbelief in such a connection it is very much less important than the\nbelief relating to the cicada. Further, there is the belief that if the\nimago of the cicada be killed or if a noise be made while the cicada is\nsinging, Biliku will be angry and will send bad weather, which is\nobviously not simply the result of the custom of eating the grub of the\ncicada during the Kimil season.\n\nThe relation of the cicada to Biliku is almost certainly due to the\nconnection of the insect with the seasons. Unfortunately, not then\nrecognizing the importance of the matter, I did not, while in the\nAndamans, take particular note of the relation of the life-cycle of the\ncicada to the revolution of the seasons, and I am reluctant to trust to\nvague memories of matters to which I did not pay special attention. Mr\nMan states, apparently on the authority of a native, that during the\ncold and dry seasons the cicada is seldom seen (and is therefore\npresumably also seldom heard). What I believe to be the life-cycle of\nthe insect is as follows. During the rainy season only the adult\ninsects are to be found. They lay their eggs at some period during the\nrainy season, possibly towards the end. In October and November the\neggs have developed into pup\u00e6, and it is these that the natives eat;\nbut apparently the adult insects, or some of them, still survive at\nthis time and are to be seen and heard. By about December the last of\nthe adult insects die out and the grubs have not yet attained the adult\nform, so that there is a period during which no adult insects are\neither seen or heard. It is probable that the new generation makes its\nfirst appearance in adult form as soon as the first rains of the rainy\nseason begin.\n\nThe essential point, on which we can base an interpretation of the\nmyth, is that the cicada is not seen or heard during the fine weather\n(December to March). It probably, as stated above, makes its\nreappearance just at the period of the stormy weather that ushers in\nthe rainy season. Similarly, it does not disappear until after the end\nof the stormy period of the Kimil season. (I have certainly heard and\nseen the insect in October, and to the best of my recollection in\nNovember also.) Thus the cicada is definitely associated with the part\nof the year including the rainy season and the two stormy periods at\nits beginning and end. I believe that this is the fundamental fact that\nexplains the Andamanese beliefs about the connection of the insect with\nthe weather.\n\nI was told of a ceremony that was held at the end of the Kimil season\nin the Akar-Bale tribe (and possibly in other tribes also) the purpose\nof which was said to be to ensure fine weather for some months and\nwhich is called \u201cKilling the cicada.\u201d The ceremony consists of doing\nthe very thing that is believed to produce storms, viz., making a noise\nwhile the cicada is singing in the evening. As soon as the cicad\u00e6 begin\nto sing all the persons in camp make as much noise as they can by\nbanging bamboos on the ground, striking the sounding-board, or\nhammering on the sides of canoes, thus making just the kinds of noise\nthat are said to be most disliked by the cicada. According to the\nstatement of my informant this ceremony results in \u201ckilling\u201d all the\ncicad\u00e6 so that they are not heard again for many weeks, and while this\nsilence lasts fine weather is assured. The meaning of this little\nceremony is plain when we recall the fact that though the digging up of\nyams and the cutting down of the Caryota palm anger Biliku and result\nin storms yet sufficient persistence in these actions, and therefore in\nany others that are displeasing to Biliku, results in dispelling the\nbad weather. Thus it is seen that although the matter is a little more\ncomplicated, yet the belief in the connection of the cicada with Biliku\nand with bad weather can be explained on exactly the same lines as the\nbeliefs about bees\u2019-wax and vegetable foods. The fact that the same\nexplanation can be given of the three most important prohibitions\nconnected with Biliku gives a high degree of probability to the\ninterpretation here offered. These three beliefs are the only ones of\nreal importance. I am unable to explain the connection of Biliku with\nthe species of fish, the bird and the two kinds of wood mentioned on\npage 156. In the North Andaman there is a definite association between\nBiliku and spiders, the generic name for \u201cspider\u201d being biliku. I\nbelieve that this could be explained on the same basis as the\nconnection with the cicada, i.e., through the connection of spiders\nwith the changes of the seasons, but as I unfortunately neglected to\ntake note of the habits of the spiders of the Andamans I cannot speak\nwith any certainty and therefore prefer not to enter into a discussion\nof the subject [214].\n\nThe explanation that I have to offer of these beliefs relating to\nBiliku and to the things that offend her is that they are simply the\nstatement in a special form of observable facts of nature. The rainy\nseason comes to an end, the wind becomes variable, yams and other\nvegetable products begin to ripen and are used for food, and stormy\nweather comes, some years bringing cyclones of exceptional violence.\nThen follows a period of steady N.E. winds with fine weather and\nabundance of vegetable foods, during which the noise of the cicada is\nnot to be heard. Then comes the honey season, when everyone is busy\ncollecting honey and melting bees\u2019-wax. The wind becomes very variable,\nstorms come, the fine weather comes to an end and the rainy season\nbegins again. These facts affect the feelings of the Andaman Islander\nand he expresses his impressions by regarding all these happenings as\nif they were the actions of an anthropomorphic being. The vegetable\nproducts, the cicada, and the honey all belong to Biliku. When the yams\nare dug up she is angry, or in other words, storms occur; a storm is\nthe anger of Biliku. The cessation of the song of the cicada removes\none of the possible causes of the anger of Biliku, and therefore marks\nthe period of fine weather. That anger appears once more when the\nnatives busy themselves with melting bees\u2019-wax.\n\nIt may be noted that these beliefs about Biliku give an expression of\nthe social value of honey and bees\u2019-wax and of vegetable foods such as\nyams. The Andaman Islands provide few fruits containing natural sugar.\nYet the natives are inordinately fond of sweet things; they greatly\nenjoy the sugar that they now obtain from the Settlement of Port Blair.\nHoney, which was almost their only sweet food in former times, was\ntherefore very greatly valued. Apart from the yams and other foods\nassociated with Biliku there are very few productions of the Andamans\ncontaining starch in a palatable form. To the native who has been\nliving during the rainy season almost entirely on meat and fish, the\nstarchy foods of the stormy season (yams, Caryota, etc.) are of great\nvalue, and they are very highly prized. Thus the foods associated with\nBiliku all have a high value.\n\nWe all know how the value of an object is increased if, in order to\nobtain it, we have to make some considerable effort or sacrifice, or\nput ourselves in danger of some evil. Reversing this mental process,\nthe Andaman Islander expresses his sense of the value of honey and yams\nby the statement that to obtain them he must be prepared to risk the\nanger of Biliku with its results. It was shown in the last chapter that\nthe value of food in general is expressed in the belief that all food\nis more or less dangerous to eat, and that ritual precautions must be\nobserved if the danger is to be avoided. Here in the Biliku myth, we\nhave a further example of the same sort of mental process, in relation\nnot to all foods in general but to a few foods of special value. Yet\nanother example may be given. Roast pork is highly relished by the\nnatives, and they believe that the roasting of pork offends certain\nspirits of the sky and is therefore dangerous [215].\n\nReturning now to the subject of Biliku as the sender of cyclones, it is\nnecessary for the argument, even at the risk of repetition, to show (1)\nthat this is by far the most important attribute of Biliku, and (2)\nthat it follows immediately from her connection with the N.E. monsoon.\n\nTaking the second point first, we may note, in the first place, that\nwhile Tarai is associated with the steady S.W. wind which blows with\nvery little variation for months at a time, Biliku is associated with\nthe variable winds of the hot season. Now a characteristic of a\ncyclonic storm is the way in which the wind veers from one quarter to\nanother. Further, as most of the cyclones that cross the Andamans\ntravel from the south-east in a north-westerly direction, and the\nmovement of the cyclone is in a counter-clockwise direction, the first\nwind of a cyclonic storm when it strikes the islands comes from the\nnorth-east. This may be seen from the accompanying diagram. It is only\nat the very end of the storm, when the storm centre has passed, that\nthe wind blows from the south-west. Thus it is clear that the\nassociation of cyclones with Biliku and not with Tarai is determined by\nthe nature of the phenomena which the Biliku-Tarai myth sets out to\nexplain.\n\nThat the most important attribute of Biliku is her connection with the\ncyclones is evident when we consider the legends in which she is\nmentioned. In most of the legends in which her name occurs [216] she is\nspoken of as being angry with the ancestors, and we know that a cyclone\nand the anger of Biliku are, for the Andaman Islander, one and the same\nthing. In some of the stories mention is made of a great storm that\nBiliku sent which nearly destroyed the world. All through the legends\nwe find her pictured as a being whose anger is to be feared, who has\nthe power to destroy human life and human property. Tarai is never\nmentioned in this way, for the rains of the south-west monsoon\nthemselves have no such power.\n\nWe are now in a position to compare the characters of Biliku and Tarai\nand explain their relative positions in the myth. The reason for the\npreponderance of Biliku lies in the fact that it is she who sends\ncyclones, while Tarai sends nothing more than heavy showers of rain.\nTarai is never responsible for the destruction of life and property,\nwhereas Biliku is. Thus the preponderance of Biliku follows from the\nessentials of the myth. Secondly, Tarai is constant, ever the same,\nwhereas Biliku is changeable. The rainy season of one year is exactly\nlike that of another, and during the time it lasts the weather is\nconsistent throughout. On the contrary, one year the Biliku season\nbrings a terrific storm, and another year it is much less violent,\nwhile, from day to day during certain parts of the Biliku season the\nweather is unsettled, so that you cannot tell what the morrow will\nbring with it. It is obvious that this uncertainty about the actions of\nBiliku, the fact that she cannot altogether be reckoned with, would\ntend to make her of greater importance in the eyes of the Andamanese\nthan her consort Tarai.\n\nLet us now consider the question of the sex of Biliku. On this matter\nthere is a lack of agreement. In the North Andaman Tarai is declared to\nbe male and Biliku female. It can readily be shown that this results\nfrom the position of Biliku and Tarai as regulating the seasons. Tarai\nrules over the rainy season, in which the chief food is the flesh of\nanimals of the land and of the sea; it is the business of men to\nprovide flesh-food. On the contrary Biliku rules over the seasons in\nwhich the chief foods are vegetable products of different kinds; it is\nthe business of women to provide such foods. It is only men who go out\nhunting for pigs or turtle or who harpoon or shoot fish, and it is\nalways the men who attend to the first part of the cooking of pig,\nturtle and dugong; it is the women who dig up the yams and collect the\nfruits and seeds, and it is the women also who cook them. There is a\nvery real sense, then, in which flesh foods may be called the foods of\nmen, and vegetable foods may be called the foods of women, and, since\nflesh foods are the foods of Tarai and vegetable foods are the foods of\nBiliku, there is a sound reason for calling Tarai male and Biliku\nfemale.\n\nThis way of thinking of Biliku as female is in harmony with her\ncharacter as outlined above. Women (in the Andamans) are notoriously\nuncertain, changeable creatures. You can always reckon fairly well what\na man will do, but not so with a woman. Moreover, when the Andaman\nIslander wishes to picture to himself a pair of closely associated\nbeings, it is natural that he should compare them to the most closely\nassociated couple with which he is familiar,\u2014husband and wife. This\ntendency leads him to make the sun and moon man and wife in many of his\nlegends, and it may well be expected to have its influence on the\nBiliku myth also.\n\nIn the South Andaman however, both Puluga and Daria are said to be\nmale. It can be shown that this view is also appropriate in its way.\nThe Akar-Bale say that Puluga and Daria were once friends, but have\nquarrelled and now live at opposite ends of the earth and are\nperpetually renewing their quarrel. Daria has things to himself for a\nfew months (the S.W. monsoon) and sends his wind; then Puluga makes an\nattack on him; some weeks of unsettled weather ensue while they are\nfighting, until Daria is beaten and Puluga takes over the control of\nthe weather and sends the N.E. wind. By and by, however, Daria shows\nhimself again and there is another quarrel, with its unsettled and\nstormy weather, which ends in the defeat of Puluga and the\nreinstatement for a period of Daria. Even the bald language in which it\nis stated does not quite hide the poetical grandeur of this conception\nof the world as the arena of two battling giants in a never-ending\nquarrel. Those who have lived through a tropical cyclone with its wind\nchanging from one quarter to another, its consummate violence, its\nsudden onslaught, its pause (that is felt to be merely a pause) as the\ncentre of the disturbance reaches and passes you, and then its sudden\nrenewal of the mad combat with the wind coming now from the opposite\nquarter, cannot but recognize in the Akar-Bale myth a successful\nattempt to describe such a storm in figurative language.\n\nSuch a combat could only be pictured by the Andamanese as taking place\nbetween two men, and the myth in this form therefore necessarily\ninvolves the belief that both Puluga and Daria are male. It is evident,\ntherefore, that this view has some justification, that it does enable\nthe Andaman Islander to express the feelings and impressions evoked in\nhim by the phenomena of the weather. I venture to think, however, that\nthe southern myth is not quite so satisfactory as the northern one,\ndoes not translate quite so well all the different features of the\nnatural phenomena with which it deals [217].\n\nA most important element of the myth is the connection of Biliku\n(Puluga) with fire. In all the tribes there are legends that represent\nBiliku as the first possessor of fire, which was, according to some\nversions, given by her to the ancestors, and according to others stolen\nfrom her by one of them. There can be no doubt that these legends owe\ntheir origin to the connection between Biliku the storm-sender and\nlightning.\n\nThere are several different beliefs about the lightning. According to\none of these the lightning (Ele) and the thunder (Korude) are persons,\nwho produce the phenomena of the same name. Another belief is that\nthunder and lightning are produced by Biliku and Tarai. On the whole,\nit would seem that the latter belief is the one which is most\nfrequently present to the minds of the natives. A man seeing lightning\nin the sky will say, according to the season, the prevailing wind,\netc., Biliku \u010datobom, or Tarai \u010datobom; \u201cBiliku (or Tarai) is at work.\u201d\nThere are different accounts, however, of the way in which Biliku makes\nthe lightning. One belief is that it is a fire-brand flung by her\nthrough the sky; a second is that it is a mother-of-pearl shell (be)\nsimilarly flung; yet a third statement is that she produces the\nlightning by striking a pearl shell (be) on a red stone.\n\nThere is no doubt that the Andamanese regard lightning as fire; the\ncharring of trees struck by it is sufficient to convince them of this.\nThus lightning and the sun are the only two natural fires that they\nknow. (With the relation of Biliku to the sun I shall deal later.) As\nthe wielder of lightning Biliku thus becomes the possessor of fire. The\nsimplest of the different beliefs, the one following immediately from\nthe natural phenomena, would be, therefore, that which makes the\nlightning a fire-brand. This is, on the whole, the one that is most\nusually expressed, at any rate in the South Andaman.\n\nThe explanation of lightning as a shell depends not only upon the\npearly lustre of this kind of shell, but also on other features of it.\nThe shell in question (be) is used by women alone, and its use is\nconfined to slicing yams and other vegetables in preparing them for\nfood. Its association with Biliku therefore follows from the view of\nBiliku as female and as being especially associated with yams and other\nvegetable foods. Granting this fundamental connection, then the\nbrightness of the shell, its keen edge and the way in which it can be\nmade to skim through the air, will explain the statement that lightning\nis just such a shell thrown by Biliku. In the South Andaman, where\nPuluga is regarded as male, this belief about the pearl shell would be\nout of harmony with the rest of the myth, and, as we should expect, it\nis not found. However, the Aka-Bea word for lightning (be-i\u014ba, the -i\u014ba\nor -\u014ba being a suffix) suggests that they may have had a similar belief\nin the past [218].\n\nIn the North Andaman the two views of lightning as a fire-brand and as\na shell are both held, because they both, in different ways, fit in\nwell with the rest of the myth. There is yet a third view in which\nthese two contradictory beliefs are, as it were, reconciled. This is\nthat Biliku produces lightning by striking a pearl shell against a red\nstone.\n\nIn the North Andaman the action of throwing a shell or a fire-brand is\nregarded as typical of Biliku; this is the way in which she is pictured\nby the native, and in which she would doubtless be portrayed if the\nAndamanese had a pictorial art. In the dance described in an earlier\nchapter, in which the dancer gave representations of various mythical\nbeings, Biliku was represented by the dancer holding a shell in his\nhand and dancing round threatening to throw the shell at the\nspectators.\n\nThe representation of Biliku or Puluga as throwing her lightning in the\nform of a fire-brand or a shell appears in several of the legends of\nthe origin of fire, and in particular in the legend of which different\nversions are found in all parts of the islands that tells how the\nkingfisher stole fire from Biliku and how the latter flung a fire-brand\nor a shell at the thief.\n\nThe most usual form of the fire legend, and the only one that I ever\nheard, is that in which the fire is stolen. Mr Man has recorded a\nversion in which Puluga is represented as giving the fire to the\nancestors. Considerable importance attaches to this motive of the story\nas it reveals to us the way in which the Andamanese usually think of\nBiliku and of their own relation to her. She is not, so far as these\nstories go, a benefactress who by the invention of fire has earned the\ngratitude of men, but rather a person with whom the human society, both\nin the time of the ancestors and at the present day, is in a condition\nof opposition. Though Biliku had fire, yet she kept it for herself and\nit was only obtained from her by stealth. She was angry when her fire\nwas stolen and tried to punish the offender.\n\nThis opposition between Biliku and the ancestors is shown in other\nlegends. In some of the stories she is represented not as living with\nthe ancestors, but as living on one side of a narrow strait while the\nancestors lived on the other, as in the Akar-Bale and A-Pu\u010dikwar\nlegends. She is thus separated from the ancestors in the minds of the\nnatives. In the Aka-Kede legend the ancestors eat the foods that Bilika\nregards as specially belonging to her, and she kills them. As a result\nthe ancestors join together and kill Bilika. In the Akar-Bale version\nsomething of the same sort appears; Puluga is always getting angry with\nthe ancestors because they eat vegetable foods, and in his anger he\ndestroys their huts and other property (as a cyclone does, and as an\nAndaman Islander is sometimes known to do in a fit of temper); at last\nthe ancestors send him away out of the world. In the A-Pu\u010dikwar legend\nBilik goes away from the world in anger because the ancestors steal his\nfire. In the Aka-J\u030ceru version Biliku eats up all the food of the\nancestors, and so they go away and leave her; she then destroys them\nwith her shells (lightning) and finally perishes in an attempt to cross\nthe sea on a stone. All these legends seem to express much the same\nthing in different ways, namely the existence of a condition of\nhostility between Biliku and human beings, based on the fact that the\nlatter venture to make use of the things (yams, etc.) that Biliku\nregards as peculiarly her property. There can be no doubt that this is\nthe usual way in which the Andamanese conceive the relation between\nBiliku and the ancestors, and therefore, since the ancestors represent\nthe society in its beginnings, between Biliku and themselves. This\nrelation is quite in agreement with what we have seen to be the\nessential basis of the myth. The natives obtain from the N.E. monsoon\nthings highly valued, such as yams and honey, but they are given as it\nwere grudgingly after a period of storms, and finally taken away in\nanother period of storms.\n\nThis view of Biliku as hostile to mankind is not, however, absolutely\nuniversal if we are to accept Mr Man\u2019s account of the myths of the\nSouth Andaman. Mr Man describes Puluga as the creator of the world and\nthe beneficent ruler of mankind. Although I could not find a native who\nheld exactly the same views about Puluga as those that Mr Man\nrepresents as being the views commonly held in the tribes he studied\n(Aka-Bea and A-Pu\u010dikwar), yet there is no doubt that at times, and more\nparticularly in the southern tribes, the natives do regard Puluga as\nthe benefactor and even the creator of the human race [219].\n\nThe representation of Biliku as hostile to mankind depends upon her\nposition as the angry storm-sender, and this, as the legends show, does\nseem to be the more usual way of regarding her. But there is another\nand contrary aspect of Biliku. The revolution of the seasons brings to\nthe Andamanese new supplies of relished foods,\u2014the grubs of the Kimil\nseason, the yams and honey of the cool and hot seasons. One of the\nAndamanese names for the season of the N.E. monsoon means \u201cthe season\nof abundance.\u201d Therefore Biliku, as the personification of this season,\nis herself the giver of good things. This aspect finds a partial\nexpression in the legends. Biliku is regarded as having created or\ndiscovered the use of all the natural productions associated with her.\n(In one legend it is Pe\u0331r\u01f0ido, the son of Biliku, who discovers honey\nwith his mother\u2019s help.) She thus occupies a position similar to that\nof the other ancestors, towards whom the men of the present feel\ngrateful for the benefits they have bestowed on mankind. This view of\nBiliku as benefactress is often extended in the North Andaman to the\nbelief that it was she who invented all the arts now practised by\nwomen, and there are traces of a belief that it was her son Pe\u0331r\u01f0ido who\nwas similarly responsible for the arts practised by men.\n\nThis view of Biliku as a benefactress, although it conflicts to some\nextent with the view of her as on the whole hostile to mankind, yet,\nsince it springs from the essential basis of the myth, cannot be\noverlooked. During the stormy season the Andaman Islander may well\nforget every aspect of Biliku save that she is responsible for the\nstorms of which he goes in fear, but during the fine weather of the\nN.E. monsoon, when there is no longer any fear of a violent storm and\nwhen he is enjoying an abundance of the good things that he regards as\nespecially belonging to Biliku, his feeling towards her must be of a\nvery different nature; she is then the being who gives him the fine\nweather, the relished foods. Thus, contrary though they be, these two\naspects of Biliku are both integral parts of the myth.\n\nBut Biliku is also the first possessor of fire, and we have seen that\nfire is regarded by the Andamanese as the source of the life of\nsociety, and therefore, in a way, of all life. Biliku as the source\nfrom which comes the fire is also the source of life. This view of\nBiliku is certainly to be found in all parts of the islands, though it\nhas been developed more in the South than in the North. Biliku thus\nbecomes responsible for the beginning of the society, and since the\nwhole universe centres in the society, of the whole universe. She\nbecomes the being who created or arranged the order in which men live.\n\nFor the honour of this position Biliku has, however, a competitor.\nBesides the lightning there is another natural source of fire, the sun.\nWe find therefore two different (and contrary) developments of the myth\nof the beginning of the world. In one of these the sun is associated\nwith Biliku, is regarded as belonging to her or made by her. For\ninstance, in an Aka-Kede legend, she is stated to have made the sun by\nthrowing a flaming brand into the sky. By this means Biliku becomes the\nsole source of fire and therefore of life. This is the position that\nPuluga occupies in the versions of the legends recorded by Mr Man. In\nthose legends Puluga gives fire to the first human beings by making the\nsun come down to earth and ignite a pile of wood. The alternative\ndevelopment makes the sun independent of Biliku and it is then the sun,\nor a mythical person associated directly with the sun, who becomes the\nmaker of the world, the source of life. Unfortunately, I did not obtain\nmuch detailed information about this development of the myth. In the\nNorth Andaman the being named \u010cara is associated with the sun and with\nfine weather, and is certainly sometimes regarded as the maker of the\nworld. In the South Andaman it is Tomo who is associated with the sun.\nMen and women, when they die, go to live with Tomo in the sky. It is\nTomo who is responsible for all things being as they are. He was the\nfirst being; it was he who arranged the order of nature; and similarly\nit was he who created the social order, so that a question as to why\nsome custom is observed is often answered by saying that it was Tomo\nwho made it so. In Mr Man\u2019s account Tomo is degraded to the position of\nbeing merely the first man made by Puluga, but in the accounts that\nwere given to me by the natives of the Akar-Bale and A-Pu\u010dikwar tribes\nTomo was a rival of Puluga; sometimes one and sometimes the other was\nspoken of as being the supreme maker of all things. An Akar-Bale man of\nvery high intelligence, who had been educated as a Christian, in trying\nto explain to me statements about Tomo made by another Akar-Bale who\nwas regarded as an authority on the legends of his tribe, said that\nTomo was the same thing to the Akar-Bale that God is to the Christian.\nWhen I asked him if it was not rather Puluga who was the Andaman\nequivalent of God, he said that some people might think so, but that\naccording to the old man to whom I was talking it was Tomo and not\nPuluga who occupied the position [220].\n\nThere is only one more point that needs to be discussed, and that is\nthe connection of Biliku with the spirits. It is clear that Biliku and\nTarai must be distinguished from the spirits (Lau), yet at the same\ntime Biliku is brought into relation with the spirits by the existence\nof two alternative explanations of bad weather. One of the explanations\nis that storms are due to Biliku, while the other is that they are due\nto the spirits, particularly the spirits of the sea. Both these\nbeliefs, contradictory as they seem, are held by the Andamanese. The\nconnection of the spirits with the weather is due to the fact that the\nweather is a thing that can limit the activity of the society, and we\nsaw in the last chapter that there is a tendency to associate with the\nspirits of the dead all things that in any way interfere with the\nsmooth progress of social life. When it is said that a storm can be\nstopped by swishing arrows in the sea, or by placing in the sea a piece\nof Anadendron creeper, it is to the spirits of the sea, who are afraid\nof arrows and of the Anadendron, that the storm is attributed, and not\nto Biliku.\n\nIn the A-Pu\u010dikwar tribe I found an association of Bilik with the\nspirits. One man of this tribe (a medicine-man or dreamer) stated that\nthe Bilik are a distinct class of spirits, distinct from the Lau and\nthe J\u030curua, yet similar to them. It is the Bilik who control the\nweather. Certain men, when they die, become not Lau or J\u030curua, but\nBilik. Thus in one of his dreams that he related to me he met and\nconversed with the spirit of a deceased friend whom he spoke of as\nBoi\u010do Bilik, Boi\u010do having been his name when he was alive. A\nmedicine-man is able to control the weather through his communication\nwith the Bilik in dreams. In this tribe therefore we find a doctrine\naccording to which Bilik is not the name of a single being but of a\nclass of beings similar in essentials to the other two classes of\nspirits. It seemed to me possible that these beliefs are a\ncomparatively late introduction by some of the medicine-men of the\ntribe. The Boi\u010do about whom my informant Tora dreamed seemed to have\nhad some part in the development of the doctrine. This does not,\nhowever, in the least detract from its value as affording us an insight\ninto the beliefs of the Andamanese.\n\nThese beliefs clearly spring from an attempt to distinguish from one\nanother the different northerly and easterly winds, each of the\nrecognizable winds being regarded as a separate person, and from the\nmerging together of the two contrary beliefs in the weather as\nregulated by spirits and by Bilik and Teria. The general system of\nbeliefs about spirits as being responsible for all things that may\naffect human well-being inevitably leads to the notion that the weather\nis controlled by the spirits, and this is implied also in the belief\nthat a medicine-man (whose power is derived from contact with the\nspirits) is also able to influence the weather to some extent. This\ndoctrine, however, conflicts with the view of the weather and the\nseasons as controlled by Biliku and Tarai, who are not spirits but\npersonifications of natural phenomena. It is perhaps this conflict\nbetween doctrines, both of them important and indeed necessary, that\nhas led to the elaboration of the peculiar beliefs met with in the\nA-Pu\u010dikwar tribe.\n\nI have dealt with most of the more important details of the\nBiliku-Tarai myth, and have tried to show that the whole myth is an\nexpression of the social value of the phenomena of the weather and the\nseasons. These phenomena affect the social life in certain definite\nways and thereby become the objects of certain sentiments; these\nsentiments are expressed in the legends. Biliku and Tarai are\npersonifications of the N.E. and S.W. monsoons; as such they are\nresponsible for the weather; feelings awakened by the weather are\ntherefore referred to Biliku and Tarai; thus the fear of a cyclone at\ncertain periods of the year is expressed as a fear of the anger of\nBiliku. Since the time when men go in fear of storms is also the time\nwhen they are just beginning to dig up yams and eat them, the myth\nconnects the anger of Biliku with the digging up of yams, and similarly\nin the cases of honey and the cicada. As Biliku is associated with\nvegetable foods, and these are things with which women chiefly have to\ndo, Biliku (in the North Andaman) is regarded as female; Tarai, being\nassociated with flesh foods, is male; the two are therefore conceived\nas wife and husband. As the maker of storms Biliku is responsible for\nthe lightning and is therefore possessed of fire. She thus comes to be\nregarded as the first possessor of fire. This gives rise to stories of\nhow the ancestors obtained their fire from Biliku, and as she is\ngenerally regarded as being hostile rather than friendly towards\nmankind, the stories relate how the fire was stolen from her. But\nbesides being the maker of storms Biliku is also the dispenser of the\ngood things of the season of the N.E. monsoon and when this aspect of\nthe procession of the seasons is prominent before their minds the\nnatives think of Biliku as a benefactress of mankind. As she is the\npossessor of fire, and as fire is the source of the life of the\nsociety, she comes to be regarded as herself the source of life, though\nthere is an alternative myth that gives this position to a being\nassociated with the sun.\n\nSuch is a brief outline of the explanation that I have tried to\ndemonstrate. It may be objected that there are a few important details\nand several minor details that I have not explained. To that extent my\nexplanation is incomplete, but I hope that I have given sufficient\nevidence for it to justify us in using it as an integral part of the\nexplanation of the meaning and function of the Andaman mythology in\ngeneral.\n\nIt is not necessary, for the purpose of this chapter, to examine one by\none all the legends recorded. Indeed, there are many details of the\nAndaman mythology that I cannot explain, owing simply, I believe, to my\nlack of insight into the ways of thought of the natives. The examples\nalready considered are sufficient for the argument. If the\ninterpretations given of these be correct we can base on them certain\ngeneral conclusions.\n\nI have explained some of the more important of the legends as being\nexpressions or statements of the social value of natural phenomena. The\nalternation of day and night, for example, affects the life of the\nsociety in a certain definite manner and this gives rise to a certain\nway of thinking and feeling about the phenomenon in question. These\nthoughts and feelings, however, remain vague and without fixity until\nthey are formulated and expressed either in the form of some definite\nrule of behaviour, such as the prohibition against noise while the\ncicada is singing, or in some concrete statement, such as that afforded\nby the legend of the origin of night. Similarly the legends relating to\nthe origin of fire or the saving of the fire during the flood serve to\ngive definite and permanent form to the vague feelings that result from\nthe way in which the possession of fire affects the social life.\nFinally, I have tried to show that the myths relating to Biliku and\nTarai are nothing but the expression in concrete form of the ideas and\nfeelings that result from the effects of the weather and the seasons on\nthe life of the Andaman Islanders. From these examples I now propose to\ndraw a general conclusion. All the legends, I wish to maintain, are\nsimply the expression in concrete form of the feelings and ideas\naroused by things of all kinds as the result of the way in which these\nthings affect the moral and social life of the Andaman Islanders. In\nother words the legends have for their function to express the social\nvalues of different objects,\u2014to express in general the system of social\nvalues that is characteristic of the Andaman social organisation. To\njustify this general statement it will be necessary to show how it\ncomes about that these representations are expressed in the form of\nmyths and legends dealing with the ancestors and with such\nanthropomorphic beings as Biliku and Tarai.\n\nThroughout the myths we meet with examples of what I have called the\npersonification of natural phenomena. It is now necessary to give a\nmore exact definition of this term. By it I mean the association of a\nnatural phenomenon with the idea of a person in such a way that the\ncharacteristics of the phenomenon may be regarded as though they were\nactions or characteristics of the person. The simplest form is that in\nwhich the phenomenon itself is spoken of and thought of as if it were\nan actual person. Thus the sun and the moon are spoken of as Lady Sun\nand Sir Moon. Similarly, in the North Andaman, the night is personified\nand is called Lady Night (Mimi Bat). In many cases of personification\nhowever, while the person may or may not possess the same name as the\nphenomenon, the latter is said to be produced by the former. Thus, in\nthe North Andaman, Ele is the name of the lightning, and Ele is spoken\nof as a person; yet, if we enquire further, we are told that Ele (the\nperson) produces the lightning by shaking his leg. A somewhat similar\ncase is that of Biliku and Tarai. These two beings are said to produce\nthe winds that blow from the different quarters of the compass. But\nwhen we enquire as to the names of the winds, we find that in the South\nAndaman (A-Pu\u010dikwar tribe) the S.W. wind is called Teria, and the other\nwinds are all called Bilik. Thus the name of the person is also used as\nthe name of the phenomenon of which he is (in the phraseology here\nused) the personification. In the North Andaman we find a difference,\nthe winds being called \u201cthe Biliku wind\u201d and \u201cthe Tarai wind.\u201d It is\nnecessary to insist on this translation of the native Biliku bo\u0331to and\nTarai bo\u0331to. We should expect, if Biliku were simply a person who\nproduced the winds, that the latter would be called \u201cthe wind of\nBiliku,\u201d a possessive form (Biliku i\u010do bo\u0331to) being used, but this is\nnot so, and the phrase habitually used can only be properly translated\n\u201cthe Biliku wind\u201d just as we might say \u201cthe north wind.\u201d Thus, even in\nthe North Andaman Biliku and Tarai are used as the names of the two\nchief winds.\n\nIn all these cases, sun and moon, Biliku and Tarai, etc., I propose to\nuse the term personification, as being the most convenient and not\nliable to be misunderstood after having been carefully defined. We have\nnow to seek an explanation of this process of personification. A great\ndeal has been written on the subject of personification in mythology,\nand it is therefore not without diffidence that I venture to put\nforward an explanation which can only be very briefly stated in this\nplace and would require for its full exhibition a lengthy psychological\nexplanation.\n\nAn insight into the process of personification is afforded by\nconsidering our own use of figurative language. We talk of the angry\nstorm, the raging sea. In such cases we allow ourselves for a moment to\nregard the natural phenomenon as if it were a person or the action of a\nperson, and we do not even trouble distinctly to express the \u201cas if.\u201d\nWe use such phrases in order to attain a more forcible expression of\nour thoughts and feelings. How is it that such expressions succeed in\nthe purpose for which they are used?\n\nThe reason would seem to be that our knowledge and understanding of\npersons is much more intimate than our knowledge of things. The fact\nthat we are able, by the action of sympathy, to know what persons with\nwhom we are in contact are feeling, gives us an understanding of them\nthat we can never reach with inanimate objects.\n\nIn all human society the most important elements of the experience of\nthe individual are due to his relations with other persons. In the\ndevelopment of the emotional life of the child, persons intervene at\nevery turn, and there is thus built up a system of sentiments and\nrepresentations which forms the very foundation of the individual\u2019s\naffective life. In other words the first organised experience that the\nindividual attains is all connected with persons and their relations to\nhimself. This early experience provides a basis on which we may and do\norganise later experiences. The perception of the leaping waves and\nlashing spray of a sea in tempest arouses in us a vague emotional\nreaction, but it is an experience that we have not learned to formulate\nexactly. The feeling awakened in us is, so to speak, unclassified,\nthere is no exact word by which we can express it. We therefore fall\nback upon that system of affective experiences that have been\nclassified, and for which we do have adequate words, and we apply the\nword \u201cangry\u201d to the scene before us. At the utterance of the word, with\nits appeal to infantile memories and to the long series of experiences\nthat have been associated with it, the emotion becomes more definite,\nif not more intense. We are thus enabled to classify our present\nexperience, to associate it with past experiences that have been\narranged in our minds in an organised system, and to find a place for\nit in that system.\n\nApplying this to the case of the myths we must first of all note that\nthe Andaman Islander has no interest in nature save in so far as it\ndirectly affects the social life. Scientific and artistic interest in\nnature are products of civilisation. The Andaman Islander has no desire\nto understand the processes of nature as a scientist would wish to do,\nnor has he any conception of nature as a subject of esthetic\ncontemplation. Natural phenomena affect him immediately by their\ninfluence on his own life and on the life of his fellows, and are\nthereby the source of a number of emotional experiences. In order to\nexpress these he has to make use of that part of his own experience\nthat is already thoroughly organised, namely, that relating to the\nactions of one person as affecting another or as affecting the society.\nOnly in this way is he able to organise his experiences arising from\nthe processes of nature, to classify and render definite the vague\nimpressions that are aroused in him. He interprets nature in terms of\nthe world with which he is most familiar, the world of persons, being\nenabled to do so by the presence within him of a regulated and definite\nbody of experience which he has derived from his relations with persons\nfrom the time of his first awakening to the consciousness of the\nexternal world.\n\nThere is a parallelism here, as in many other matters, between the\npsychological development of the individual and that of the race. The\nfundamental need for the child is to learn to accommodate himself to\nhis environment. In this environment by far the most important objects\nare persons\u2014parents and other children\u2014and the first business of the\ngrowing child is to learn to adapt his actions to the requirements of\nthis intercourse with persons. This is so overwhelmingly important that\nthe other need (of adapting himself to inanimate objects) is quite\novershadowed by it. The child has to make experiments and observations\nupon persons, to learn how they will act. He meets with such a\nphenomenon as anger, for example, the anger of a parent, or of another\nchild, and by means of a succession of experiences he comes to a\nsatisfactory understanding of this particular thing, and what it means\nwith reference to himself and his actions. This notion of the anger of\na parent becomes the nucleus around which is organised the experience\nof similar phenomena. In play or sometimes in earnest, the child treats\nall sorts of inanimate objects and events connected with them as if\nthey were persons or the actions of persons. By this means, and by this\nmeans alone, he is able to exercise himself in his newly acquired\nexperience and to extend and organise it yet further.\n\nIn the history of the race the development of society depends upon the\norganisation of personal relations. The task of man in primitive\nsociety is therefore similar to the task of the child. The needs of his\nlife compel him above everything else to devote himself to organising\nthat part of his experience that relates to the actions of persons upon\none another; all else is subordinated to this supreme need; and just as\nthe child organises and develops his experience by treating inanimate\nobjects as if they were persons in such a way that we can hardly tell\nif he is in play or in earnest, so primitive man, in exactly the same\nway, organises and develops his social experience by conceiving the\nwhole universe as if it were the interaction of personal forces.\n\nThis explanation of the nature of personification helps us to\nunderstand some of the Andamanese beliefs. Natural phenomena such as\nthe alternation of day and night, the changes of the moon, the\nprocession of the seasons, and variations of the weather, have\nimportant effects on the welfare of the society. The latter, in so far\nas it is regulated from within, depends on the adaptation of persons to\none another. Men must learn to live in harmony, to sacrifice their own\ndesires at times to the needs of others, to avoid occasions of giving\noffence, and not readily to give way to anger when offence is given.\nThe Andaman Islander represents this fundamental law of the society as\nthough it were the fundamental law of the whole universe. When any evil\nbefalls the society it is as though some personal power were in\nquestion, as though some one were angry at some offence. Thus the moon\nand Biliku are represented as persons who can be offended and whose\nanger has unpleasant results. Conversely when all goes well it is\nbecause there is harmony or solidarity between men and the nature\nbeings which affect men\u2019s lives. In a word, the forces with which the\nAndaman Islander is most familiar as affecting his welfare are those of\nsolidarity and opposition; it is solidarity that maintains the harmony\nof social life, opposition that destroys it. The forces of nature in so\nfar as they affect the society are therefore represented as being of\nthe same nature; there can be either solidarity or opposition between\nmen and nature; the former leads to well-being, the latter to\nmisfortune.\n\nThus the personification of natural phenomena is one of the methods by\nwhich the Andaman Islander projects into the world of nature the moral\nforces that he experiences in the society. The process is essentially\nsimilar to that described in the last chapter in connection with the\nceremonial, save that there the forces we were considering were largely\nimpersonal. Perhaps, rather than speaking of it as a projection of\nmoral forces into nature, we should regard it as a process of bringing\nwithin the circle of the social life those aspects of nature that are\nof importance to the well-being of the society, making the moon and the\nmonsoons a part of the social order and therefore subject to the same\nmoral forces that have sway therein.\n\nThe personification of natural phenomena is not, however, the only\nmethod by which their social value can be expressed. The Akar-Bale\nlegend of the origin of day and night, as we saw at the beginning of\nthe chapter, expresses the social value of the alternation of light and\ndarkness by means of a story of how it originated in the time of the\nancestors. If we seek to understand all that this legend means we must\nask why the Andaman Islanders believe in the existence of the\nancestors, and why they attribute to them the characteristics that are\nexhibited in the stories they tell about them. The ground of the belief\nin the ancestors is to be found in the existence of a sentiment\nfundamental in all human society, which I shall call the feeling of\ntradition. When an Andaman Islander is asked the question \u201cWhy do you\ndo so and so?\u201d he very frequently replies \u201cBecause our fathers did so\nbefore us.\u201d This answer expresses in its simplest form the feeling of\ntradition. In all his actions, in the way he obtains and cooks his\nfood, in the way in which he makes his various implements and weapons,\nin the moral and ritual customs that he is required to observe, the\nnative acts in accordance with tradition. If he should ever feel\ninclined to deviate from it he finds himself in conflict with a\npowerful compulsive force. In tradition, therefore, the individual is\naware of a force stronger than himself, to which he must submit whether\nhe will or not. Further, he is aware that the power which he possesses,\nas a member of the society, whereby he is able to face the hostile or\nat best indifferent forces of nature and provide himself with food and\nmaintain himself in security and happiness, is not simply a product of\nhis own personality, but is derived by him from the past. Towards this\npast, therefore, on which his own life so obviously depends, he feels a\ngrateful dependence. So long as he acts in conformity with tradition he\ncan enjoy safety and happiness, because he is relying on something much\ngreater than his own qualities of mind and body.\n\nTo put the matter in a few words, the individual finds himself in\nrelation with an ordered system\u2014the social order\u2014to which he has to\nadapt himself. The two chief moments in his affective attitude towards\nthat order are his sense of his own dependence upon it and of the need\nof conforming to its requirements in his actions. It is this,\u2014his sense\nof his own relation to the social order,\u2014that the Andaman Islander\nexpresses in the legends about the ancestors, which recount how that\norder came into existence as the result of actions of anthropomorphic\nbeings.\n\nSome of the legends recount the invention of weapons or implements or\nthe discovery of the uses of natural objects. In one of the North\nAndaman stories it is said that all the weapons and implements now used\nby men were invented by the first man, whose name, J\u030cutpu, probably\nmeans \u201calone,\u201d i.e., the man who was at first by himself. This first\nman made himself a wife from the nest of the white ant. The regulated\nsociety of the ants, and the numerous population that a nest contains,\ngive this story its symbolic meaning.\n\nBesides what may be called general culture legends, of which the story\nof J\u030cutpu is an example, there are several special culture legends\nrelating to various discoveries and inventions, such as the tale of how\nthe use of yams for food was first discovered, or that which tells how\nthe monitor lizard discovered quartz and scarified himself with it. By\nmeans of these legends the Andaman Islander expresses his sense of his\nown dependence on the past. He pictures a time when the social order as\nit now is had not begun, or was just beginning; the knowledge he now\npossesses was then being acquired, the weapons he uses were being\ninvented, the moral and ritual laws that he obeys were in process of\nbeing formulated.\n\nIt is obvious that the Andaman Islander cannot regard the ancestors as\nbeing persons exactly like himself, for they were responsible for the\nestablishment of the social order to which he merely conforms and of\nwhich he has the advantage. He says, therefore, that they were bigger\nmen than himself, meaning by this that they were bigger mentally or\nspiritually, rather than physically, that they were endowed with powers\nmuch greater than those even of the medicine-men of the present time.\nThis explains the magical powers that are attributed to many, or indeed\nto all, of the ancestors; the belief in the existence in the past of\nmen or beings endowed with what we may almost call supernatural powers\nis the inevitable result of the way in which the man of to-day feels\ntowards the men of the past on whose inventions and discoveries he is\ndependent for his daily nourishment [221].\n\nBesides the social order there is another, the order of nature, which\nis constantly acting upon the social order. To this also the individual\nhas to adapt himself, and his knowledge of how to do so is equally\nderived from the past. The order of nature only affects him through the\nsocial order, and the two therefore necessarily seem to him merely two\nparts of one whole,\u2014the order of the universe. In the legends he tells\nhow not only the social order but also the order of nature came into\nexistence; an example is the story of the origin of night.\n\nThe Andaman Islander finds himself in an ordered world, a world subject\nto law, controlled by unseen forces. The laws are not to him what\nnatural laws are to the scientist of to-day, they are rather of the\nnature of moral laws. He recognizes only one meaning of the word right\nand of the word wrong; right action is that which is in conformity with\nlaw, wrong action is that in opposition to the law; it is wrong to give\nway to anger, it is wrong to kill a cicada, or to have a bright light\nin camp when the moon is rising in the third quarter, and it is wrong\nalso to try and use unsuitable material for an implement or weapon.\nWrong actions always lead to harm; if you use unsuitable wood for your\nbow it will break and your labour be wasted; if you kill a cicada it\nwill rain heavily; if you give way to anger readily you will earn the\ndislike of your fellows that may some day lead to your undoing. Right\nand wrong mean acting in accordance with the laws of the world or in\nopposition to them, and this means acting in accordance with or in\nopposition to custom. Custom and law are indeed here two words for the\nsame thing.\n\nThe forces of the world, as the Andaman Islander conceives them, are\nnot the blind mechanical forces of modern science: rather are they\nmoral forces. Their action upon human beings is not only to be\nwitnessed in external events, but is to be experienced in the man\u2019s own\nconsciousness or conscience. He feels within himself their compulsion\nwhen he would run counter to them, and their support when he leans upon\nthem. The law of the world, then, is a moral law, its forces are moral\nforces, its values moral values; its order is a moral order.\n\nThis view of the world is the immediate and inevitable result of the\nexperience of man in society. It is a philosophy not reached by painful\nintellectual effort, by the searching out of meanings and reasons and\ncauses; it is impressed upon him in all the happenings of his life, is\nassumed in all his actions; it needs only to be formulated. And the\nargument of this chapter has been that it is as the expression or\nformulation of this view of the world as an order regulated by law that\nthe legends have their meaning, fulfil their function.\n\nThe legends of the Andamanese then, as I understand them, set out to\ngive an account of how the order of the world came into existence. But\nthe Andaman Islander has no interest in any part of it except in so far\nas it affects his own life. He is interested in the procession of the\nseasons or the alternation of day and night, or the phases of the moon,\nonly in so far as these things have effects upon the community. In\nother words he is interested in natural phenomena only in so far as\nsuch phenomena are really parts of the social order. This I have\nexpressed earlier in the chapter by saying that the legends deal not\nwith all aspects of natural phenomena but only with their social\nvalues.\n\nA fundamental character of the natural order (as of the social order)\nis uniformity; the same processes are for ever repeated. This character\nof nature the legends take for granted; they assume that if a force is\nonce set into action it will continue to act indefinitely. They assume\nalso a period in which the present order did not exist. Anything that\nhappened in that period has gone on happening ever since. One of the\nancestors discovered how to cook yams, and men have been cooking yams\nin the same way down to the present day. A cicada was crushed and cried\nout and the night came, and since then the darkness has come every\nevening as soon as the cicada sings. In one of the legends the tree\nlizard was quarrelsome, and has remained so. Thus the legends represent\nthe social order, including such natural phenomena as may be said to\nbelong to it, as being due to the interaction of forces of a special\ncharacter that came into existence in the beginning and have continued\nto act uniformly ever since. In this way they express two most\nimportant conceptions, that of uniformity (or law) and that of the\ndependence of the present on the past.\n\nIt is the need of expressing these two conceptions that gives the\nlegends their function. They are not merely theoretical principles but\nare both intensely practical. The law of uniformity means that certain\nactions must be done and others not done if life is to run smoothly;\nany deviation from uniformity in conduct is dangerous as being contrary\nto the law that regulates the universe. What actions are to be done and\nwhat are to be left undone was determined once for all in the past when\nthe present order came into existence. The knowledge of what to do and\nwhat to avoid doing is what constitutes the tradition of the society,\nto which every individual is required to conform.\n\nThe legends, then, set out to express and to justify these two\nfundamental conceptions. They do so by telling how the social order\nitself came into existence, and how, also, all those natural phenomena\nthat have any bearing on the social well-being came to be as they are\nand came to have the relation to the society that they possess.\n\nOne group of facts that have an obvious relation to the society\nconsists of the geographical features of the islands. The more notable\nfeatures of the part of the country in which a man lives, and which he\nregards as his own, are intimately connected with his moral sentiments.\nHis attachment to his group necessarily involves an attachment to the\ncountry of the group. The same sort of thing exists amongst ourselves.\nThis attachment of the members of a group to their own country\nexplains, I think, the part played by what may be called \u201clocal\nmotives\u201d in the legends of the Andamanese. Such motives are of\nconsiderable importance, of much more importance than would appear from\nthe stories that I have transcribed. The recent changes in their mode\nof life have had far more influence on the local organisation of the\ntribes than on any other part of their social organisation, and this\nhas not been without its effect on the legends. We may say, briefly,\nthat the local motives of the legends serve to express the social\nvalues of localities. In general each locality has its own versions of\nthe legends, in which the events related are supposed to have taken\nplace at some spot or other in the neighbourhood. Thus all the more\nprominent features of a locality are associated with the events of the\nlegends. In some cases tales are told that explain these features as\nhaving come into existence when the ancestors were alive; a reef of\nrocks was formerly a canoe, for instance. A few such legends were\nrecorded in an earlier chapter, but it is probable that there were a\nvast number of similar tales that I did not hear. In some cases a\nlocality has a special social value and therefore a special place in\nthe legends. Thus Wota-Emi was the great meeting-place for the natives\nwho lived on Baratang and on parts of the South Andaman and the Middle\nAndaman, and was also sometimes visited by the natives of the\nArchipelago. Consequently Wota-Emi is represented in the legends of the\nA-Pu\u010dikwar tribe as being the great meeting-place or dwelling-place of\nthe ancestors. The effect of these associations between the places with\nwhich he is familiar and the events of the legendary epoch in the mind\nof the Andaman Islander probably is similar to the effect on ourselves\nof the historical associations of our own country; they serve to make\nhim aware of his attachment to his country or to express his sense of\nthat attachment.\n\nThere still remains a most important feature of the legends which has\nnot yet been explained, namely the position of the animals as\nancestors. Many of the actors in the legends bear the names of animals\nbut at the same time are spoken of as though they were human beings.\nMany of the legends explain how some species of animal arose from some\none of the ancestors who became an animal and the progenitor of the\nspecies. Thus, in the North Andaman, Kolo was one of the ancestors; he\nmade wings for himself out of palm-leaves, and so was able to fly; he\nlived a solitary life in his home at the top of a tree, and was in the\nhabit of stealing men\u2019s wives; in the end he became the sea-eagle, and\nthis species still bears the name kolo. It is necessary to define as\nexactly as possible what meaning these stories have to the natives. It\nis not simply that the legendary person is a man with the name and some\nof the characteristics of an animal; nor is it simply that the\nlegendary person is the ancestor of the species of which he bears the\nname. We can only adequately express the thought of the Andamanese by\nsaying that he regards the whole species as if it were a human being.\nWhen, in the legends, he speaks of \u201cSea-eagle\u201d he is thereby\npersonifying the species in the sense in which the word personification\nhas been used throughout this chapter; he is regarding the\ncharacteristics of the species as if they were characteristics or\nactions or results of actions of a person. Admittedly this is a vague\ndescription, but the vagueness is in the mental phenomenon described;\nthe Andamanese do not, in this matter, think clearly and analyse their\nown thoughts. However, we can help ourselves to understand their\nthoughts by recalling the tales that amused us as children, in which\nthe fox or the rabbit of the tale was an embodiment of the whole\nspecies.\n\nThe part played in the legends by any particular animal is determined\neither immediately or indirectly by its observable characteristics.\nThus the connection of the kingfisher with fire is due to the fact that\nhe is a fish-eating bird, and that he has a patch of bright red\nfeathers, red being, in the Andamanese mind, always associated with\nfire. The other birds that are mentioned in the different versions of\nthe fire legend either possess remarkable plumage (as the dove, and the\nparrot) or are fish-eating birds. The Andamanese regard fish as the\nfundamental human food, having only one word for \u201cfood\u201d and \u201cfish,\u201d and\nthey never eat their fish raw as the kingfisher does. In the Akar-Bale\nstory of the origin of the animals the tree lizard is characterised by\nhis quarrelsomeness, and by the fact that he is very difficult to catch\nhold of; these are both actual characteristics of the animal itself.\nThe crab appears in the same legend as a person with a very powerful\ngrip, and with a hard shell to his body. The monitor lizard has his\nplace in the legends determined by the fact that he can climb trees,\nrun on the ground and swim in the water, and is thus equally at home at\nthe top of the trees, on the ground, or in the creek. I have already\ngiven this as one of the reasons why he is chosen as the first ancestor\nof all the animals and of human beings. The lizard also seems to be\nregarded by the Andamanese as a particularly libidinous animal, and is\ntherefore regarded as the inventor of sexual intercourse and of\nprocreation. Why he should have this sexual reputation I do not know\n[222]. The tale of how the lizard invented scarification depends on the\nfact that the marks on the lizard\u2019s skin bear a strong resemblance to\nthe marks that the natives make on their own skins with sharp fragments\nof quartz. The position of the Paradoxurus or civet-cat in the stories\nin which she appears is due to the fact that while she can live in the\ntrees or on the ground she cannot swim; hence, when the flood came, she\nfled from the water and climbed a steep hill and thus kept the fire\nalight. In the light of these examples we are justified, I think, in\nassuming that in all cases, even when the meaning is not clear, the\npart played by any animal in the legends is due to some actual\ncharacteristic of it.\n\nThere is thus a parallelism between the personification of natural\nphenomena and the personification of animal species. I have shown that\nthe characteristics of such beings as Biliku and Tarai are all to be\nexplained by a consideration of the actual characteristics of the\nphenomena of which they are the personification (the winds) and of the\nphenomena immediately connected therewith. The same thing has now been\nshown to be true with regard to the personified animals. The process of\npersonification is carried out in exactly the same way in the two\ndifferent classes of cases. I gave as the reason for personifying\nnatural phenomena the fact that in this way, and in this way only, the\nAndaman Islander is able to express the sentiments that are aroused in\nhim by them. We must see if we can justify the personification of\nanimals by a similar argument.\n\nThe habits of observation fostered in the mind of the Andaman Islander\nby his method of winning his sustenance lead him to take a lively\ninterest in all the creatures of the jungle and the sea, about whose\nways he therefore has a great store of knowledge. Every tree and plant\nof the forest, every bird and insect, every creature that lives in the\nsea or on the reef has its name. His interest, however, in the case of\nmany of the animals has little or no relation to practical life, for he\ndoes not make use of them for food or in any other way. There is here\ntherefore something that contradicts the fundamental assumption of the\nphilosophy that is expressed in the legends, there is a lack of mental\nunity. These interests in the birds and insects are not correlated with\nthe central mass of interests that control the Andamanese mind and give\nit its unity. Although his philosophy assumes that everything in which\nhe takes an interest has some meaning in reference to his own life, yet\nhere are things that at first sight have no such meaning. The\ncorrelation that is lacking in his experience is brought about by means\nof the legends; a meaning is provided for the apparently meaningless.\nThe fundamental interest of the Andaman Islander, as of all men in\nprimitive societies, is his interest in persons and personal relations.\nBy regarding the animals as persons and relating stories about them he\nis able to correlate his interest in them with the fundamental basis of\nhis mental life.\n\nThis explanation does not perhaps sound very satisfactory. We do not at\npresent understand the forces that compel the normal mind to strive\nafter unity in its experience. Let us examine the matter a little more\nclosely. All the thoughts and feelings of the Andaman Islander (or at\nany rate all those that are expressed in the legends) centre in the\nsociety; for him the world is merely a stage on which the social drama\nis perpetually enacted. He coordinates all his thoughts, emotions, and\ninterests around the society, and in the legends he builds up a picture\nshowing the connection between the society and those phenomena of\nnature that affect it. The majority of the animals (the birds, the\ninsects, and innumerable kinds of fish), not being used for food, or in\nany other way, bear no apparent relation to the social life. Yet by\nreason of the woodcraft developed by the necessities of his life he is\ncompelled to take notice of these creatures and to become interested in\ntheir ways. Here, therefore, are two conflicting elements in his\nconsciousness, (1) his belief that the whole of nature derives its\nmeaning and interest from its relation to the society, and (2) his\nconsciousness of an alien world (of the birds, etc.) which seems to\nhave no direct relation to the society, and which nevertheless he\ncannot help being constantly aware of. The Andaman Islander, as I have\nstated more than once, does not possess any scientific or abstract\ninterest in nature. He never asks himself \u201cWhat is the meaning of\nthis?\u201d in the same way that a scientist of our own civilisation might\ndo. He asks \u201cWhat is the meaning of this thing in relation to me and my\ninterests and feelings, and to the social life of which my life is a\nfragment?\u201d It is because he does feel the need of answers to questions\nof this kind that the conflict we have noticed arises. This conflict\nhas to be resolved, and there are apparently three alternatives: (1) to\nadmit that there is a meaning in nature apart from its relation to the\nsociety, (2) to refuse to take any interest in birds and insects, (3)\nto explain away the apparent lack of relation. It is this third\nalternative that is chosen by the Andaman Islander, and there are\nobvious reasons why it should be so. The explanation is accomplished in\na direct and simple manner. In the beginning men and animals were one;\nthen came an event or series of events (the discovery of fire, the\ngreat flood, or a great quarrel amongst the ancestors) whereby the men\nand the animals became cut off from one another, to live henceforward\nin the same world, but separated by an unseen barrier.\n\nThe argument may be put in another way that may perhaps be more\nconvincing. The actual sentiment that is aroused in the mind of the\nnative by the animals is that here is an important and interesting part\nof the universe that is alien to him, from which he is cut off in some\nstrange way. It is this real sentiment, itself the inevitable result of\nhis life and his surroundings, that is expressed in the belief in the\nanimals as ancestors.\n\nIf this explanation be correct we should expect to find that the\nanimals that figure in the legends are those that have no immediate\nsocial value either as food or in any other way, while on the other\nhand the animals that are used for food will not appear in the legends,\nor will occupy therein a very different place from the others. The only\nland animal that is regularly used for food is the pig. It is therefore\na confirmation of the explanation that we find that the pig is never\nunder any circumstances regarded as one of the ancestors, that is to\nsay, is never personified in the same way that other animals are. One\nlegend about the pig [223] explains, not how the animal came into\nexistence (that seems to be assumed), but how it acquired its senses.\nAnother legend [224] tells how the civet-cat persuaded some of the\nancestors to play a game in which they pretended to be pigs, and they\nwere turned into these animals. Here we are clearly dealing with\nsomething different from the ordinary process of personification, for\nwe have not one ancestor in whom the species is personified, but a\nnumber of persons who were suddenly changed from men and women into\npigs by the magical performance of the civet-cat. In the sea there are\nseveral animals that are regularly used for food. The dugong is spoken\nof as an ancestor in an Akar-Bale legend, but in the North Andaman\nthere is a story of how the dugong originated from a pig that Pe\u0331r\u01f0ido\ntried to roast without first disembowelling it and cutting the joints\nof its legs. There is also in the North Andaman a story of how turtles\noriginated [225]. The existence of these legends shows that the pig,\nthe turtle and the dugong occupy a different position in the minds of\nthe Andamanese from that of the other animals. This serves, in some\nmeasure, to confirm the explanation given above.\n\nWe may briefly consider what may be regarded as a kind of negative\ninstance by which to test the argument. The world of the stars\nconstitutes a part of the universe just as alien, just as devoid of\napparent meaning as that of the birds. We may ask therefore how it is\nthat the Andaman Islanders have no star myths of the kind that are\ncommon in other primitive societies. The answer is, I think, that the\nAndamanese do not have their attention called to the stars. As their\ncamps are in the dense forest there are very few occasions on which\nthey see the sky at night. When fishing at night on the reefs or in\ncanoes they are too busy to pay much attention to the stars. They have\nnot learnt to relate the procession of the stars and the change of the\nseasons, nor have they learnt to tell the time at night from their\ndeclination. Their navigation is only along the coast and they have\ntherefore no use for the stars as guides of direction. On the contrary,\nwherever we find a developed star-mythology we find that the stars are\nstudied either as guides to navigation or journeying overland, or as\ngiving indications of the changes of the seasons.\n\nWe have considered all the more important aspects of the subject matter\nof the legends; it remains for us to turn to the form and enquire how\nit comes about that the representations which analysis reveals are\nexpressed in just the way they are, in a word, why the expression takes\nthe form of a story. It is obvious that in this place no attempt can be\nmade to deal with the general problems of the psychology of\nstory-telling. All that I wish to do is to point out one or two reasons\nwhy the legend is an appropriate form (perhaps we might say, the only\npossible form) for the expression of the view of the world that is\nrevealed in the Andaman mythology.\n\nThe Andamanese, like other savages, have not acquired the power of\nthinking abstractly. All their thought necessarily deals with concrete\nthings. Now the story form provides a means of expressing concretely\nwhat could otherwise only be put in an abstract statement. (A large\npart of the interpretation of the legends, as here undertaken, consists\nin restating the content of the legends in abstract terms.) Moreover,\neven if the Andaman Islanders were capable of thinking abstractly, yet,\nsince what they need to express are not thoughts so much as feelings\n(not intellectual so much as affective processes), they would still\nneed a concrete form of expression. For it is a familiar fact that the\nconcrete has a much greater power of awakening or appealing to our\nfeelings than has the abstract. In particular the story has ever been a\npopular medium by which to appeal to sentiments of all kinds.\n\nThe chief ground for the interest in stories shown by children and by\nsavages is, I believe, that they afford the means of exercising the\nimagination in certain specific directions and thereby play an\nimportant part in enabling the individual to organise his experience.\nThe course of the development of the human mind (from childhood to\nadolescence, and from the earliest human ancestor to ourselves) depends\nupon or involves the existence at certain stages of growth (and to a\ncertain extent throughout the whole process) of a conscious egoistic\ninterest. Mankind, to develop what we call character and conscience,\nmust learn to take a conscious interest in himself, in his own actions,\nand their motives. The development of this self-consciousness in\nchildren is a process of great interest to the psychologist and has\nalready been studied in an imperfect fashion. You have only to watch a\nchild playing a game in which he or she enacts some imaginary part to\nsee how such games afford a means by which the child develops and\nwidens his interest in himself. Children, and many grown-up people\n(particularly during conditions of lessened mental activity), indulge\nin what are called daydreams, which take the form of an imaginary\nsuccession of adventures of which the dreamer is always the hero. The\ncharacter of daydreams is that they are always frankly egoistic and\nboastful. Now this sort of interest in stories is found in the\nAndamanese, though not in the legends. At the end of a day a group of\nAndamanese may often be seen seated round a fire listening while one of\nthem recounts adventures. The narration may be merely an exaggerated\naccount of real happenings, but is more often purely fictitious. The\nnarrator will tell, with few words, but with many expressive gestures,\nhow he harpooned a turtle or shot a pig. He may, if his hearers are\ncontent to remain and listen, as they sometimes are, go on killing pig\nafter pig for an hour or two together. The point to be noted is that\nthese tales are always frankly egoistic and boastful, and it is for\nthis reason that they may well be compared with the daydreams of the\nmore civilised.\n\nBesides this egoistic interest in stories there is another that is\nclosely connected with it in origin and function. The necessities of\nsocial life, particularly in childhood and in primitive societies where\na small number of people are constantly reacting upon one another,\ninvolve an intense degree of interest in persons and personal\nqualities. This interest is aroused and fostered by the constant play\nof personal forces in the social life. Its strength accounts, I\nbelieve, for the power of appeal to sentiments that is possessed by\nstories.\n\nIt is a commonplace that in many forms of play the child or the adult\n(and it is also true of animals) exercises faculties that are important\nparts of the system of habits or dispositions by which the individual\nadapts himself to his surroundings. We may regard the interest in\nstories as similar to play-interests in general. Life in society\nrequires the individual to develop a faculty of what may be called\ncharacter-estimation, whereby he may judge the motives that are likely\nto influence the conduct of another person. I have myself noticed that\nsavages such as the Andaman Islanders and the Australian aborigines are\nas a rule good judges of character. They can quickly estimate how to\nadapt their conduct and conversation to the character of a person they\nmeet for the first time. They are often excellent mimics, being able to\nimitate exactly the tone of voice or manner of walking or any other\nidiosyncrasy of a person whom they have only seen for a short time. I\nbelieve, then, that the legends of the Andamanese may be regarded as a\nmeans whereby they give exercise to their interest in human character,\njust as in other kinds of play they exercise other interests and\nfaculties that are integral parts of their adaptation to their\nenvironment. By means of the personification of natural phenomena and\nof species of animals, and through the assumption of the existence of\nthe ancestors and their times, they are able to develop a special kind\nof unwritten literature, which has for them just the same sort of\nappeal that much of our own literature has for us. Doubtless it is not\na very polished form of art; the characterisation that it exhibits is\nsimple and even crude; the story is not told very skilfully, and indeed\nthe story-teller relies much on his use of expressive gesture to convey\nhis meaning; nevertheless it does fulfil amongst the Andamanese the\nsame sort of function that more developed literary art does in\ncivilised society.\n\nThere remains one other matter to be dealt with briefly. I have pointed\nout on several occasions that the legends contain inconsistencies. Some\nof these only appear when the real meaning of the legend is discovered,\nbut others are on the surface. It is clear that the Andamanese do not\nalways apply to their legends the laws of logical consistency. It must\nnot, however, be supposed that they are equally illogical in other\nmatters, for this is not so. In matters of everyday practical life the\nAndamanese show just as much sound commonsense as the inhabitants of a\ncivilised country. They are excellent observers of natural phenomena\nand are capable of putting their observations to practical use. In any\nattempt to explain their mythology, therefore, it is necessary to show\nwhy in this sphere they do not apply their powers of reasoning. We can\nunderstand this when we recall the purpose of the legends as here\ndescribed, which is, not to give rational explanations, but to express\nsentiments. When there are two alternative rational explanations of a\nphenomenon between which we cannot definitely choose we say that either\none or other is probably true. In those mental processes in which the\npurpose is to find a symbolic expression for sentiments or desires, the\neither-or relation is inadmissible owing to the very nature of the\nthought-process itself. If two expressions of the same sentiment are\npresent, both equally adequate, we must either reject one of them or by\nmaking use of both on different occasions admit the possibility of\ninconsistency. Where the inconsistency becomes more or less obvious we\nexpect the reason to step in and insist that a choice shall be made.\nBut a mind intent on expressing certain feelings, faced with two\nalternative and equally satisfactory but inconsistent symbols, will\nhesitate to choose between them even at the command of the desire for\nlogical consistency. It will cling as long as possible to both of them.\nThis is just what the Andaman Islander seems to do in his mythology.\nThe view of lightning as a person who shakes his leg seems to express\nin some way certain notions of the natives about the lightning. The\nalternative explanation of lightning as a fire-brand thrown by Biliku\nalso satisfies in some way his need of expressing the impressions that\nthe phenomena make upon him. In spite of the inconsistency he clings to\nboth symbols as best he can.\n\nThe very existence of inconsistencies of this kind proves without any\ndoubt that the mental processes underlying the legends of the\nAndamanese are not similar to those that we ourselves follow when we\nattempt to understand intelligently the facts of nature and of life,\nbut rather are to be compared to those that are to be found in dreams\nand in art,\u2014processes of what might conveniently be called symbolic\nthought. It would perhaps hardly be necessary to point this out were it\nnot that many ethnologists still try to interpret the beliefs of\nsavages as being the result of attempts to understand natural facts,\nsuch as dreams, death, birth, etc. Such writers assume that the savage\nis impelled by the same motive that so strongly dominates themselves,\nthe desire to understand,\u2014scientific curiosity\u2014and that such beliefs as\nanimism or totemism are of the nature of scientific hypotheses invented\nto explain the facts of dreaming and of death on the one hand and of\nconception and birth on the other. If this view of the nature of\nprimitive thought were correct it would be impossible to conceive how\nsuch inconsistencies as those that we meet with among the Andamanese\ncould be permitted. On the view that the myths of primitive societies\nare merely the result of an endeavour to express certain ways of\nthinking and feeling about the facts of life which are brought into\nexistence by the manner in which life is regulated in society, the\npresence of such inconsistencies need not in the least surprise us, for\nthe myths satisfactorily fulfil their function not by any appeal to the\nreasoning powers of the intellect but by appealing, through the\nimagination, to the mind\u2019s affective dispositions.\n\nThe thesis of this chapter has been that the legends are the expression\nof social values of objects of different kinds. By the social value of\nan object is meant the way in which it affects the life of the society,\nand therefore, since every one is interested in the welfare of the\nsociety to which he belongs, the way in which it affects the social\nsentiments of the individual. The system of social values of a society\nobviously depends upon the manner in which the society is constituted,\nand therefore the legends can only be understood by constant reference\nto the mode of life of the Andamanese.\n\nThe legends give us in the first place a simple and crude valuation of\nhuman actions. Anger, quarrelsomeness, carelessness in observing ritual\nrequirements are exhibited as resulting in harm. This is the moral\nelement of the stories strictly so called, and is to be observed in\nmany of them. The young men who failed to observe the rules laid down\nfor those who have recently been through one of the initiation\nceremonies were turned to stone. The quarrelsomeness of the lizard led\nto the ancestors being turned into animals. The bad temper of one of\nthe ancestors resulted in darkness covering the earth, or in a great\ncyclone in which many were destroyed.\n\nSecondly, the legends as a whole give expression to the social value of\nthe past, of all that is derived from tradition, whether it be the\nknowledge by which men win their sustenance, or the customs that they\nobserve. In the wonderful times of the ancestors all things were\nordered, all necessary knowledge was acquired, and the rules that must\nguide conduct were discovered. It remains for the individual of the\npresent only to observe the customs with which his elders are familiar.\n\nThe legends of a man\u2019s own tribe serve also to give a social value to\nthe places with which he is familiar. The creeks and hills that he\nknows, the camping sites at which he lives, the reefs and rocks that\nact as landmarks by reason of any striking feature they may present,\nare all for him possessed of a historic interest that makes them dear\nto him. The very names, in many cases, recall events of the far-off\nlegendary epoch.\n\nAgain, many of the legends express the social value of natural\nphenomena. By reference to Biliku and Tarai, for instance, the native\ncan express what he feels with respect to the weather and the seasonal\nchanges that so profoundly affect the common life. Finally, in the\nlegends he is able to express what he feels about the bright plumaged\nbirds and the other creatures with which he is constantly meeting in\nthe jungles, which are a source of perennial interest, and are yet so\nclearly a part of the world cut off from himself and his life, having\nno immediately discernible influence upon his welfare.\n\nThis system of social values, or rather this system of sentiments, that\nwe find expressed in the legends is an essential part of the life of\nthe Andamanese; without it they could not have organised their social\nlife in the way they have. Moreover the sentiments in question need to\nbe regularly expressed in some way or another if they are to be kept\nalive and passed on from one generation to another. The legends, which\nare related by the elders to the young folk, are one of the means (the\nvarious ceremonial customs analysed in the last chapter being another)\nby which they are so expressed, and by which their existence is\nmaintained.\n\nAlthough the term \u201csocial value\u201d has been used as a convenient\nexpression, yet the meaning of the legends might be expressed in other\nways. We may say, for instance, that they give a representation of the\nworld as regulated by law. The conception of law which they reveal is\nnot, however, that to which we are accustomed when we think of natural\nlaw. We may perhaps adequately state the Andaman notion by saying that\nmoral law and natural law are not distinguished from one another. The\nwelfare of the society depends upon right actions; wrong actions\ninevitably lead to evil results. Giving way to anger is a wrong action,\nas being a cause of social disturbance. In the legends the catastrophes\nthat overwhelmed the ancestors are in many instances represented as\nbeing caused by some one giving way to anger. There is a right way and\na wrong way to set about making such a thing as a bow. We should\nexplain this by saying that the right way will give a good serviceable\nweapon, whereas the wrong way will give an inferior or useless one. The\nAndaman Islander tends to look at the matter from a different angle;\nthe right way is right because it is the one that has been followed\nfrom time immemorial, and any other way is wrong, is contrary to\ncustom, to law. Law, for the Andaman Islander, means that there is an\norder of the universe, characterised by absolute uniformity; this order\nwas established once for all in the time of the ancestors, and is not\nto be interfered with, the results of any such interference being evil,\nranging from merely minor ills such as disappointment or discomfort to\ngreat calamities. The law of compensation is absolute. Any deviation\nfrom law or custom will inevitably bring its results, and inversely any\nevil that befalls must be the result of some lack of observance. The\nlegends reveal to our analysis a conception of the universe as a moral\norder.\n\nHere I must conclude my attempt to interpret the customs and beliefs of\nthe Andaman Islanders, but in doing so I wish to point out, though\nindeed it must already be fairly obvious, that if my interpretation be\ncorrect, then the meaning of the customs of other primitive peoples is\nto be discovered by similar methods and in accordance with the same\npsychological principles. It is because I have satisfied myself of the\nsoundness of these methods and principles, by applying them to the\ninterpretation of other cultures, that I put forward the hypotheses of\nthese two chapters with an assurance that would not perhaps be\njustified if I relied solely on a study of the Andamanese. To put the\nmatter in another way, I have assumed a certain working hypothesis, and\nI have shown that on the basis of this hypothesis there can be built up\na satisfactory explanation of the customs and beliefs of the\nAndamanese. But the hypothesis is of such a nature, stating or\ninvolving as it does certain sociological or psychological laws and\nprinciples, that if it be true for one primitive people it must be true\nfor others, and indeed, with necessary modifications, must be true of\nall human society. Such a hypothesis, it is obvious, cannot be\nadequately tested by reference only to one limited set of facts, and it\nwill therefore be necessary, if it is to become something more than a\nhypothesis, to test its application over a wider range of ethnological\nfacts.\n\nThe matter is so important that it is necessary, even at the risk of\nwearisome repetition, to give a final statement of the hypothesis that,\nin this chapter and the last, has been applied to and tested by the\nfacts known to us concerning the Andaman Islanders.\n\nIn an enquiry such as this, we are studying, I take it, not isolated\nfacts, but a \u201cculture,\u201d understanding by that word the whole mass of\ninstitutions, customs and beliefs of a given people. For a culture to\nexist at all, and to continue to exist, it must conform to certain\nconditions. It must provide a mode of subsistence adequate to the\nenvironment and the existing density of population; it must provide for\nthe continuance of the society by the proper care of children; it must\nprovide means for maintaining the cohesion of the society. All these\nthings involve the regulation of individual conduct in certain definite\nways; they involve, that is, a certain system of moral customs.\n\nEach type of social organisation has its own system of moral customs,\nand these could be explained by showing how they serve to maintain the\nsociety in existence. Such an explanation would be of the\npsychological, not of the historical type; it would give not the cause\nof origin of any custom, but its social function. For example it is\neasy to see the function of the very strong feelings of the Andamanese\nas to the value of generosity in the distribution of food and of energy\nin obtaining it, and as to the highly reprehensible nature of laziness\nand greediness (meaning by the latter word, eating much when others\nhave little). It has only been by the cultivation of these virtues, or\nby the eradication of the opposite vices, that the Andaman society has\nmaintained itself in existence in an environment where food is only\nobtainable by individual effort, where it cannot be preserved from day\nto day, and where there are occasional times of scarcity. It could be\nshown, to take a further example, how the manner in which the life of\nthe family is organised is closely related to certain fundamental\nsocial needs. If we were attempting an explanation of the Andamanese\nculture as a whole and in all its details it would be necessary to\nexamine all the moral customs of the people and show their relations\none to another and to the fundamental basis on which the society is\norganised.\n\nThe necessary regulation of conduct in a given society depends upon the\nexistence in each individual of an organised system of sentiments. That\nsystem of sentiments or motives will clearly be different in different\ncultures, just as the system of moral rules is different in societies\nof different types. Yet there is, so to speak, a general substratum\nthat is the same in all human societies. No matter how the society may\nbe organised there must be in the individual a strong feeling of\nattachment to his own group, to the social division (nation, village,\nclan, tribe, caste, or what not) to which he belongs. The particular\nway in which that sentiment is revealed in thought and action will\ndepend upon the nature of the group to which it refers. Similarly, no\nsociety can exist without the presence in the minds of its members of\nsome form or other of the sentiment of moral obligation\u2014the sentiment\nthat certain things must be done, certain other things must not be\ndone, because those are right, good, virtuous, these are wrong, bad,\nvicious or sinful. Further, though perhaps less important, yet not less\nnecessary, there is the sentiment of dependence in its various\nforms\u2014dependence on others, on the society, on tradition or custom.\n\nFor a culture to exist, then, these sentiments (and others connected\nwith them, that need not be enumerated) must exist in the minds of\nindividuals in certain definite forms, capable of influencing action in\nthe direction required to maintain the cohesion of the society on its\nactual basis of organisation. This, we may say, is the social function\nof these sentiments.\n\nLeaving aside altogether the question of how sentiments of these kinds\ncome into existence, we may note that they involve the existence of an\nexperience of a particular type. The individual experiences the action\nupon himself of a power or force\u2014constraining him to act in certain\nways not always pleasant, supporting him in his weakness, binding him\nto his fellows, to his group. This force is clearly something not\nhimself\u2014something outside of him therefore, and yet equally clearly it\nmakes itself felt not as mere external compulsion or support, but as\nsomething within his own consciousness\u2014within himself, therefore. If we\nwould give a name to this force we can only call it the moral force of\nsociety. The very existence of a human society, the argument has run,\nnecessarily involves the existence of this actual experience of a moral\nforce, acting through the society upon the individual, and yet acting\nwithin his own consciousness. The experience, then, is there, but it\ndoes not follow that the primitive man can analyse his own experience;\nit is obvious enough that such analysis is beyond him. Still the\nexperience does lead him to form certain notions or representations,\nand it is possible to show how these notions are psychologically\nrelated to the experience of a moral force.\n\nThe experience of this moral force comes to the individual in definite\nconcrete experiences only. We first learn to experience our own\ndependence in our dealings with our parents, and thus we derive the\nconcrete form in which we clothe our later adult feeling of our\ndependence upon our God. Or, to take an example from the vast number\nprovided by the customs of the Andamanese, the Andaman Islander, like\nother savages, the main concern of whose lives is the getting and\neating of food, inevitably finds his experience of a moral force most\nintimately associated with the things he uses for food. Inevitably,\ntherefore, he regards food as a substance in which, in some way, the\nmoral force is inherent, since it is often through food that the force\nactually affects him and his actions. The psychology of the matter can\nbe traced, I hope, in the arguments of the last chapter. From the\nanalysis there given of different customs and beliefs it should be\nobvious that the way in which the Andaman Islander regards all the\nthings that influence the social life is due to the way in which they\nare associated with his experience of the moral force of the society.\n\nIn this way there arises in the mind of primitive man, as the result of\nhis social life and the play of feeling that it involves, the more or\nless crude and undefined notion of a power in society and in nature\nhaving certain attributes. It is this power that is responsible for all\nconditions of social euphoria or dysphoria because in all such\nconditions the power itself is actually experienced. It is the same\npower that compels the individual to conform to custom in his conduct,\nacting upon him both within as the force of conscience and without as\nthe force of opinion. It is the same force on which the individual\nfeels himself to be dependent, as a source of inner strength to him in\ntimes of need. It is this force also that carries him away during\nperiods of social excitement such as dances, ceremonies or fights, and\nwhich gives him the feeling of a sudden great addition to his own\npersonal force.\n\nThe Andamanese have not reached the point of recognizing by a special\nname this power of which they are thus aware. I have shown that in some\nof its manifestations they regard it, symbolically, as being a sort of\nheat, or a force similar to that which they know in fire and heat. In\nmore developed societies, however, we find a nearer approach to a\ndefinite recognition of this power or force in its different\nmanifestations by means of a single name. The power denoted by the word\nmana in Melanesia, and by the words orenda, wakan, nauala, etc.,\namongst different tribes of North America, is this same power of which\nI have tried to show that the notion arises from the actual experience\nof the moral force of the society.\n\nThese sentiments and the representations connected with them, upon the\nexistence of which, as we have seen, the very existence of the society\ndepends, need to be kept alive, to be maintained at a given degree of\nintensity. Apart from the necessity that exists of keeping them alive\nin the mind of the individual, there is the necessity of impressing\nthem upon each new individual added to the society, upon each child as\nhe or she develops into an adult. Even individual sentiments do not\nremain in existence in the mind unless they are exercised by being\nexpressed. Much more is this the case with collective sentiments, those\nshared by a number of persons. The only possible way by which such\ncollective sentiments can be maintained is by giving them regular and\nadequate expression.\n\nHere then, according to the argument of the last chapter, we find the\nfunction of the ceremonial customs of primitive peoples such as the\nAndamanese. All these customs are simply means by which certain ways of\nfeeling about the different aspects of social life are regularly\nexpressed, and, through expression, kept alive and passed on from one\ngeneration to another. Thus the customs connected with foods serve to\nmaintain in existence certain ways of feeling about foods and the moral\nduties connected with them, and similarly with other customs.\n\nAffective modes of experience (sentiments, feelings or emotions) can be\nexpressed not only in bodily movements but also by means of language. I\nhave tried to show that the function of the myths and legends of the\nAndamanese is exactly parallel to that of the ritual and ceremonial.\nThey serve to express certain ways of thinking and feeling about the\nsociety and its relation to the world of nature, and thereby to\nmaintain these ways of thought and feeling and pass them on to\nsucceeding generations. In the case of both ritual and myth the\nsentiments expressed are those that are essential to the existence of\nthe society.\n\nThroughout these two chapters I have avoided the use of the term\nreligion. My reason for this is that I have not been able to find a\ndefinition of this term which would render it suitable for use in a\nscientific discussion of the beliefs of such primitive peoples as the\nAndamanese.\n\nWhen we use the term religion we inevitably think first of what we\nunderstand by that term in civilised society. It is not possible, I\nbelieve, to give an exact definition which shall retain all the\nconnotations of the word as commonly used and which shall at the same\ntime help us in the study of the customs of undeveloped societies. The\ndefinition of religion that seems to me on the whole most satisfactory\nis that it consists of (1) a belief in a great moral force or power\n(whether personal or not) existing in nature, and (2) an organised\nrelation between man and this Higher Power. If this definition be\naccepted it is clear that the Andamanese have religious beliefs and\ncustoms. They do believe in a moral power regulating the universe, and\nthey have organised their relations to that power by means of some of\ntheir simple ceremonies. Yet it does not seem possible to draw a sharp\ndividing line between those beliefs and customs that properly deserve\nto be called religious, and others which do not deserve the adjective.\nIt is not possible, in the Andamans, to separate a definite entity\nwhich we can call religion from things that may more appropriately be\nregarded as art, morality, play, or social ceremonial.\n\nNevertheless the purpose of these two chapters has been to explain the\nnature and function of the Andamanese religion. Amongst the fundamental\nconditions that must be fulfilled if human beings are to live together\nin society is the existence of this thing that we call religion, the\nbelief in a great Unseen Power, between which and ourselves it must\never be the great concern of life to establish and maintain harmony.\nThe Andaman Islander with his somewhat childish faith, the Australian\nblack-fellow decorated with paint and feathers impersonating his\ntotemic ancestor, the Polynesian sacrificing human victims on the marae\nof his god, the Buddhist following the Holy Eight-Staged Path, are all\nfollowing in however different ways the same eternal quest.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX A\n\nTHE TECHNICAL CULTURE OF THE ANDAMAN ISLANDERS\n\n\nIn this appendix I shall give a brief account of the technical culture\nof the Andaman Islanders, with a few comparative notes on the\ntechnology of the Semang of the Malay Peninsula and the Negritos of the\nPhilippine Islands. The Andamanese, the Semang and the Philippine\nNegritos are so similar in physical characteristics that it is\nreasonable to suppose that they are descended from a single stock. It\nis on the basis of this hypothesis that they are all spoken of as\nbelonging to one race, the Negrito race. It is therefore of some\ninterest to compare the culture of these three different peoples to see\nif we can determine what was the culture of their ancestors.\n\nIn such hypothetical reconstructions of the past it is necessary to\nproceed with extreme caution, as there is no means of controlling\nresults. The method I have adopted is to compare first of all the\ndifferent types of technological products or activities found in\ndifferent parts of the Andamans in order to determine as far as\npossible what was the technical culture of the ancestors of the\nAndamanese when they first reached the islands, and what changes have\ntaken place since the islands were occupied. It is only this primitive\nor generalised Andamanese culture that can be compared with that of the\nSemang or the Philippine Negritos.\n\nFrom the point of view of technical culture the natives of the Andamans\nmust be separated into two main divisions, which will be spoken of as\nthe Great Andaman Division and the Little Andaman Division respectively\n[226]. The most plausible explanation of the differences of culture and\nlanguage between these two divisions has been mentioned already. We\nmust assume that when the islands were first peopled, or at some later\ntime, the inhabitants of the Little Andaman became isolated from those\nof the Great Andaman. The language and the technical culture of each of\nthe two groups underwent a number of changes during the many centuries\nthat followed. At a much later date, after the differences between the\ntwo divisions had been developed, and probably not many centuries ago,\na party or several parties of natives must have made their way from the\nLittle Andaman as far as Rutland Island. Here they came in conflict\nwith the natives of the Great Andaman Division, and in this way arose\nthe antagonism between the Jarawa (the immigrants from the Little\nAndaman) and the other natives of the South Andaman (who formed in 1858\nthe Aka-Bea tribe), which has lasted down to the present day. We shall\nfind that the technical culture of the Jarawa has been only very\nslightly influenced by contact with the natives of the Great Andaman\nDivision, and therefore differs very little from that of the Little\nAndaman at the present day.\n\n\n Primitive Andaman Culture\n |\n _____________/ \\____________\n / / \\\n ________/|\\________ / \\\n / | \\ / \\\n N. Sentinel Little Jarawa Southern Northern\n Andaman Group Group\n \\____________ ____________/ \\_____ _____/\n \\/ \\/\n Little Andaman Division Great Andaman\n Division\n\n\nI have provisionally included the natives of the North Sentinel Island\nin the Little Andaman Division. The ground for so doing is that the\nform of bow in use in the North Sentinel Island is similar to that of\nthe Little Andaman and unlike that of the Great Andaman. Unfortunately,\nalmost nothing is known about the technology of the North Sentinel, and\nnothing whatever about the language. It is possible that the natives of\nthis outlying islet have been isolated for many centuries from both the\nLittle Andaman and the Great Andaman, and further information about\nthem might show that their technology is different in important\nrespects from that of the Little Andaman.\n\nWithin the Great Andaman Division there are a number of differences in\ntechnology between the tribes of the North Andaman and those of the\nSouth Andaman and Middle Andaman.\n\nIn order to render the exposition and argument that follows more easily\nunderstood the supposed relations of the different types of culture are\nshown in the form of a diagram or tree. The justification for this\narrangement will appear as we proceed.\n\nThere is only very scanty information available about the technical\nculture of the Negritos of the Malay Peninsula, whom we may speak of as\nthe Semang. There are differences of technology between the Semang of\ndifferent parts, and a careful study of these differences would serve\nto throw much light on changes that have been introduced since the\nSemang were isolated from the rest of their race. There is no doubt\nthat the Semang have adopted many elements of their present culture\nfrom their neighbours the Sakai and others. In some instances it is\npossible to trace this external influence, but in others it is doubtful\nwhether we are dealing with a primitive Semang form or with a form\nadopted from their neighbours [227].\n\nThe same thing must be said about the Philippine Negritos. Our\ninformation is not sufficient to enable us to discuss the local\ndifferences, nor to determine what elements of the culture have been\nintroduced by contact with other races [228].\n\n\n\nHABITATIONS.\n\nThe huts of the Andamanese are best understood by considering first of\nall the simplest and most temporary structures. A man away from the\nmain camp at night (on a hunting expedition) erects for himself a\nsimple shelter of leaves. Such hunting shelters vary considerably\naccording to circumstances. In the rainy season they are built much\nmore substantially than in the dry season. Sometimes shelter is found\nbetween the buttresses of large trees, a few leaves being added. There\nis, however, one type of hunting shelter that is usual. Two poles are\ncut and erected perpendicularly in the ground so that they stand about\nfour feet apart and about four feet high. To the top of these is tied,\nwith cane or creeper, a horizontal pole. A few poles or sticks of\nsufficient length are placed so as to lean against the horizontal pole\nat an angle of about 45\u00b0, the ends resting on the ground. On these are\nplaced any leaves that can be obtained, preferably the leaves of canes\nand other palms. The shelter thus consists of a single rectangular\nroof, one end of which rests on the ground, while the other rests on a\nhorizontal bar attached to the top of two perpendicular supports. The\nshelter is built facing to leeward.\n\nThe usual family hut of the Andamans is built on exactly the same\nprinciples as a hunter\u2019s shelter, but, being intended for occupation\nfor some weeks or even months, is more carefully built. For a small\nhut, to be occupied by one family, four posts are erected, two at the\nback being from two to four feet high above the ground, while two at\nthe front are from five to seven feet high. Two horizontal poles are\nattached, one to the top of the front posts and the other to the back\nposts, with strips of cane. If poles of a convenient size and forked at\nthe top are available these may be used for the posts of the hut, the\nhorizontal poles being supported in the forks, but a native would not\ntrouble to search for such timbers, being satisfied with an unforked\npost. A few slender timbers, preferably of mangrove wood (Bruguiera),\nare placed on the two horizontal poles and bound to them with cane.\nThese rafters, as they may be called, project for a foot or two above\nor beyond the higher horizontal, and similarly project a foot beyond\nthe lower one so as almost to reach the ground.\n\nIn the better kind of hut a mat is made of palm leaves, and this mat is\nplaced on the rafters and tied to them with strips of cane. To make a\nmat a number of strips of bamboo or cane of sufficient length are taken\nand placed on the ground parallel to each other. Leaves of a species of\ncane are collected and each leaf is divided into two parts down the\nmiddle. These half-leaves are then attached to the strips of bamboo or\ncane, by means of strips of the outside of canes, the technique being\nwrapped-twined work. The half-leaves are attached so that the leaflets,\nwhich are attached to the leaf-stem at an angle, incline alternately to\none side and the other. The photograph reproduced in Plate VII shows a\nhut of the kind here described. Mats in course of making are shown\nlying on the ground in Plates VI and VII.\n\nA quicker, but less efficient way of thatching the hut is to take the\nhalf-leaves such as are used for making a mat and fasten them in\nbundles of five or six directly to the rafters.\n\nHuts of this type, each occupied by a single family, are built by the\nnatives of the Great Andaman Division in the form of villages. The\nJarawa and the natives of the Little Andaman build similar huts in\ntheir hunting camps, occupied during the fine weather.\n\nSome huts of this type are provided with a floor raised above the\nground. Such a floor is erected on short posts, and may be made of\nbamboos or of planks or pieces of broken-up canoes. A floor of this\nkind, raised a foot or so above the ground, is shown in Plate VII. Huts\nare sometimes to be seen with a floor raised as much as three feet\nabove the ground.\n\nThe simple Andaman hut as above described is entirely open at the front\nand on each side. In an exposed situation screens of palm-leaves may be\nerected at the side. If still more shelter is required, a hut may be\nbuilt with two roofs. Such a hut requires six posts, two taller ones\nsix or seven feet high, and four shorter ones, two on each side. For\nsuch a hut two mats are made, and are so attached that one mat projects\nabove the other. No attempt is made to fasten the two mats together at\nthe top, but on the contrary a space of several inches is left between\nthem to allow the smoke of the fire to escape, rain being excluded by\nthe overhang of one of the mats. Huts of this type may be seen in Plate\nVI.\n\nEach of the huts hitherto described is occupied by a single family. In\norder to understand the communal huts it is necessary to consider the\narrangement of small huts in a camp or village. In the tribes of the\nGreat Andaman there are two main types of such arrangement. The first\ntype is that of the hunting camp, which is occupied for a few nights\nonly. In this all the huts are placed facing in the same direction (to\nleeward) and in a line with one another. The second type is that of a\nvillage to be occupied for some weeks or months. In this the huts are\narranged round an open space, all facing inwards, as described earlier\nin this book [229]. All encampments in the Great Andaman tend to\nconform to one or other of these types, but variations are introduced\naccording to the nature of the site occupied. Thus in a hunting camp\nthe site may not permit of the erection of the huts in one line. A\nvillage is, as a rule, only put up at a spot that has been used from\ntime immemorial, where there is an open space of sufficient size, but\nif, for any reason, a site is selected where there is not room to\narrange all the huts around the dancing ground, the arrangement of the\nvillage may be irregular.\n\nThe hunting camps of the Jarawa are sometimes arranged on the same\nprinciple as those of the tribes of the Great Andaman Division, i.e.,\nall facing in one direction and as nearly in one line side by side as\nthe site will allow.\n\nThe natives of the Little Andaman erect hunting camps in the fine\nweather. In the only one that I have seen the huts were arranged\nirregularly so as to make the best use of the available space.\n\nA few words must be said on the sites chosen for encampments. It must\nbe remembered that the islands are entirely covered with forest. The\nnatives will not, if they can avoid it, put their camp under high\ntrees, for fear of the danger of falling branches in a storm. At the\nsame time they prefer a situation where there is an open space\nsurrounded with forest so that they are sheltered from the wind. The\ncoast-dwellers always camp immediately within the jungle on the shore\nof the sea or of a creek. The forest-dwellers usually choose a position\non a hill or ridge, and this is particularly the case with the Jarawa.\nThe camp must be close to a supply of fresh water. In the tribes of the\nGreat Andaman Division no precautions are taken against a possible\nattack by enemies, but the Jarawa do take precautions, clearing the\ntrees around their camps so that they have a good view of the\napproaches, and even, apparently, placing look-out stations at the tops\nof the paths [230].\n\nAmongst the coast-dwelling tribes there are sites that have been used\nfor encampments for many centuries. At these spots there are found\nheaps of refuse that have accumulated year by year. These\nkitchen-middens, as they are sometimes called, consist of the shells of\nmolluscs, bones of animals, stones that have been used for cooking,\nfragments of pottery, and loam produced from decayed wood and other\nrefuse.\n\nThe two types of camp arrangement which are seen in the village and the\nhunting camp are exhibited in two different types of communal hut. One\nof these, corresponding to the hunting camp, may be termed the long\nshelter. It is apparently only used in the North Sentinel Island. A hut\nof this type was seen by Mr Gilbert Rogers in 1903. It was rectangular,\n40 feet long and 12 feet wide. The roof was supported on three rows of\nsmall posts ranging in height from 3 feet at the back to 6 feet at the\nfront of the hut. The roof projected about 2 feet in either direction\nbeyond the posts and was about 2 feet from the ground at the back and 7\nfeet above the ground at the front. There were twelve places for fires,\nsix in front and six at the back of the hut, and near each, on the\nright-hand side, was a platform supported on four sticks, of the usual\nAndamanese type, for keeping food. There were two rows of sleeping\nplaces which were separated by small poles, making rectangles on the\nground about 5 feet by 4 feet, each of which was probably occupied by a\nman and his wife and small children [231].\n\nThe relation of this type of communal hut, in which all the members of\none local group are brought together under a single roof of one slope,\nto the ordinary family hut of the Andamans, and the arrangement of the\nhunting camp in a line, is obvious.\n\nTo the arrangement of huts in a village around a central open space\ncorresponds the second type of communal hut, which may be called the\nround hut. Communal huts of this type were formerly built by the\nnatives of the Great Andaman Division, but have fallen into disuse in\nrecent times, owing to the natives having become much more migratory in\ntheir habits. Huts of the same type are built at the present day by the\nnatives of the Little Andaman and by the Jarawa.\n\nIn its typical form this kind of hut is built by erecting two circles\nof posts, a smaller circle of tall posts, and a wider circle of shorter\nposts. The tops of these posts are connected by horizontal and sloping\ntimbers, which make the framework of the roof. The roof is made of a\nnumber of mats of palm-leaves, which are laid on the rafters and tied\nto them with strips of cane. The mats are made in exactly the same way\nas the smaller mats used for the small huts and already described. They\nare sometimes rectangular in shape, though occasionally an attempt is\nmade to make them narrower at the top and broader at the bottom. They\nare arranged on the roof so as to overlap one another and thus make the\nhut rain-proof. They are not joined in the centre, but a small space is\nleft for the smoke of the fires to escape, and the rain is prevented\nfrom entering by letting one or two of the mats overhang the others at\nthe top.\n\nIn the round huts of the Jarawa and the Little Andaman there is no\ncentre-post, and according to the statements made to me by the natives\nof the Great Andaman they did not use a centre-post for their huts. In\nthe description attached to a photograph in the British Museum Mr\nPortman speaks of the centre-post of a communal hut, which is shown in\nthe photograph still standing, although the hut had been pulled down.\nIt would therefore seem that in the Great Andaman the natives did\nsometimes erect a centre-post for their round huts. The typical round\nhut, however, has no centre-post.\n\nIt is clear that the round hut has been developed from the village. If\nall the small huts of a village be drawn together so as to touch each\nother, and if the mats of thatching be lengthened so as to meet and\noverlap in the middle, we have a round hut in its typical form. The\nevidence that this is so is afforded by the thatching, consisting of\nseparate mats, often rectangular in shape (like the mats used for\nfamily huts), placed so as to overlap one another. This crude way of\nthatching could hardly have originated in any other way. Further\nevidence is afforded, as we shall see, by the internal arrangement of\nthe hut.\n\nAlthough the hut is here called a round hut, it must not be supposed\nthat the shape is always regularly circular. It may be somewhat oval,\nand in any case is rarely very regularly constructed. In general,\nhowever, the shape approaches more or less nearly to a circle.\n\nHuts of this kind vary in size according to the number of families\noccupying them. The height in the middle may be as much as 30 feet and\nthe diameter may be 60 feet. The smallest I have seen was a Jarawa hut\non Rutland Island, which was only nine feet high and 15 feet maximum\ndiameter. In exposed situations the mats of thatching reach as far as\nthe ground, but huts are sometimes built in sheltered situations with a\nspace of a foot or two left between the ends of the thatch and the\nground. A low doorway is provided on one side.\n\nWithin the hut there is a central space that is the common part of the\nhut and corresponds to the dancing ground of the village. In the wet\nseason the communal fire is situated in this open space, and here the\ncommunal cooking is performed. In Jarawa huts the roof of the central\npart of the hut is hung with trophies of the chase consisting of pigs\u2019\nskulls bound with cane. In former times the natives of the Great\nAndaman Division hung similar trophies in their round huts. Around the\ncentral space are the spaces allotted to the different families, these\nbeing marked off by means of short lengths of wood laid on the ground.\n\nIt is thus clear that the basis of Andamanese architecture is the use\nof a single rectangular roof giving a shelter open at the front. This\nis the usual form of the hunter\u2019s shelter and of the family hut in the\nvillage. For additional shelter two such roofs may be used, but no\nattempt is made to join them, one being made to overlap the other.\nThere are two customary modes of arranging huts, either side by side\nfacing in the same direction or round an open space facing inwards.\nWhere, instead of separate roofs for each family, we have a united\nroof, these two arrangements of the camp give rise to two different\ntypes of communal hut, the long hut and the round hut.\n\nIn a village each hut is occupied by one family. In the communal hut\n(of either type) each family has a special portion of the hut marked\noff for its special use. Whether in a village or in a communal hut each\nfamily has its own small fire, at which the family meals are prepared.\nAt one side of this fire is erected a small platform about a foot above\nthe ground, supported on either three or four upright sticks. This\nplatform is used for storing food. The natives of the Little Andaman\nerect low bamboo platforms to serve as beds, arranged round the\ncommunal hut, each family having its own. In the Great Andaman the\nnatives, as a rule, make a bed of leaves on the ground and lay a\nsleeping mat on the top of this. In damp situations, however, they\nsometimes, as already mentioned, make a floor to the hut, raised a foot\nor two above the ground, and sleep on that. The Jarawa have a habit of\nsleeping in the wood-ashes of their fires in their cold weather hunting\ncamps.\n\nTurning now to the Semang, we find some differences in respect to their\nhabitations. Those of the Semang who have not been influenced to a\ngreat extent by their neighbours and have not settled down to\nagricultural pursuits, never camp in the same spot for more than a few\ndays, and have therefore no need to build anything except temporary\nshelters [232].\n\nThe Semang often erect their shelters in trees, well above the surface\nof the ground. This is a feature which distinguishes them from the\nAndamanese. It seems probable that these tree-shelters have been\nadopted by the Semang as a protection against wild beasts [233]. As\nthere are no dangerous beasts in the Andamans, the extra labour\ninvolved in building a shelter in the branches of a tree instead of on\nthe ground would serve no useful purpose. The difference in this\nrespect between the Semang and the Andamanese is therefore due to a\ndifference in the circumstances in which they live.\n\nThe typical form of Semang shelter, occupied by one family, is erected\nby planting three or four stout sticks or poles in the ground in a row\nat an angle of about 60\u00b0 or 75\u00b0 and lashing palm-leaves across these.\nThe screen or roof thus formed is further supported, if necessary, with\none or two poles used as props in front [234]. These shelters are\nsimilar to the Andaman shelters in having a single sloping rectangular\nroof, but differ from them in being supported, not by upright posts,\nbut in an altogether less adequate manner. However, the Semang shelters\nare apparently very easy to erect, and as they are only occupied for a\nnight or two there is no inducement to the natives to make them more\nsubstantial.\n\nThe Semang sometimes make a shelter by planting a number of palm-leaves\nin the ground in a semicircle so that the overhanging ends meet in the\ncentre [235].\n\nAs the Semang are constantly moving from place to place, they have\nlittle use for a communal hut of substantial build. One communal\nshelter has been described, which contained eleven sleeping-places\narranged in two long rows. The upright timbers of the shelter consisted\nof young saplings planted in two opposite rows, across them being\nlashed the leaves of a palm. There were, besides, two central posts or\npillars, each about a third of the distance from either end of the\nshelter, and a dozen poles placed as props or wind-braces in various\npositions and at various angles, in order to strengthen the structure\nand keep it from being blown over in a high wind. The two slopes of the\nroof were not united over a ridge-pole, but a longitudinal aperture was\nleft between them for about two-thirds of the entire length of the\nroof, and through the gap thus caused the greater part of the smoke\nfrom the many fireplaces issued. All round the walls were ranged a\nnumber of bamboo sleeping-platforms, five to six feet in length by\nabout three feet in breadth. The owner of each sleeping-platform or\nfamily unit possessed a separate fire or hearth [236].\n\nWe have only scanty information about the huts of the Philippine\nNegritos. In Zambales (Luzon) a certain number of the Negritos have\nadopted a settled mode of life and depend on agriculture for some part\nof their subsistence. The most advanced of these have adopted the form\nof hut common amongst their neighbours. The less settled Negritos of\nZambales erect huts which are almost exactly the same as the family\nhuts of the Andamanese. Two short upright posts are erected for the\nback of the hut, and two taller ones for the front, and on these four\nposts a rectangular roof of one slope is erected. A bamboo floor or\nplatform is erected a foot or so above the ground, just as in some\nAndaman huts [237]. In the Zambales huts the upright posts are forked\nand the horizontal poles are supported in the fork.\n\nAt Casiguran the Negritos erect palm-leaf shelters similar to those of\nthe Semang. A few poles are thrust into the ground at an angle and in a\nrow and palm-leaves are attached to these, the screen being further\nsupported with props [238].\n\nA comparison of the three branches of the Negrito race in the light of\npresent information shows that the usual form of habitation amongst\nthem is a sloping roof or screen of palm-leaves. One form of this, the\nsimplest to construct, but only suitable as a temporary shelter, is in\ncommon use amongst the Semang and is found amongst the Negritos of\nCasiguran. The other form, more permanent but requiring more labour to\nerect, is in common use in the Andamans and amongst the Negritos of\nZambales. Of communal huts we have no evidence in the Philippines. The\ncommunal shelter of the Semang consists of two screens leaning towards\none another. The two types of communal hut of the Andamans are both\nderived from the family hut.\n\n\n\nHUNTING, FISHING, ETC.\n\nThe Andaman Islanders depend for their subsistence entirely upon the\nnatural productions of the forest and the sea. They make no attempt\nwhatever to cultivate the soil. Until the introduction of dogs in 1858\nthey had no domestic animals. Young pigs are occasionally kept in\ncaptivity till they are grown, but they are killed for food and are not\nbred in captivity. Thus the Andamanese provide themselves with food by\nthree different forms of activity: (1) collecting such things as roots\nand fruits and honey, (2) fishing in the sea and in the creeks, (3)\nhunting the wild animals of the forest.\n\nFor hunting the Andamanese rely entirely on the bow and arrow. Since\nthey have had dogs they occasionally make hunting spears, but they did\nnot do so in former times. They make no use whatever of any method of\ntrapping game or birds. For fishing they also make use of the bow and\narrow, wading out on to the reefs and shooting the fish, and in this\nthey are very skilful. Crustaceans, such as crabs and crayfish, are\ncaptured in the same way. In the North Andaman a sort of short fish\nspear was formerly in use as an occasional substitute for the bow and\narrow. In all parts of the islands small nets are used by the women for\ncatching small fish and prawns. In the Great Andaman large nets were\nformerly used for capturing turtle, dugong and large fish near the\nshore. At the present time the natives of the Great Andaman Division\nmake use of harpoons with which they capture turtle, dugong and large\nfish from their canoes. Harpoons are not used in the Little Andaman.\nThe Andamanese are also aware of methods of poisoning or stupefying\nfish in pools by means of certain plants that they crush and place in\nthe water, but I have never seen them use this method of fishing,\nalthough they say that they formerly did so. They have no fish hooks\nand no fish traps. At the present time a few of the natives have learnt\nto take fish with hook and line, but they are unable to make hooks for\nthemselves, and have to obtain them from the Settlement at Port Blair.\n\nIn collecting roots a digging stick is used, and a hooked pole is used\nfor gathering fruit, but they have no other special implements in use\nin collecting natural productions, and have no need of any. The adze is\nused for obtaining molluscs and for cutting honey-combs from hollow\ntrees.\n\nIt is thus clear that by far the most important utensil of the\nAndamanese is the bow and arrow. We may say that they are essentially a\nbow and arrow people. This is even more true of the natives of the\nLittle Andaman Division than of those of the Great Andaman Division.\n\nIt may be noted here that the Andamanese have no weapons that are used\nonly for fighting. They fight with their chief hunting weapon, the bow\nand arrow. Nor have they any special defensive weapons, the shield\nbeing unknown.\n\nThe Semang in their natural condition depend for their subsistence on\ncollecting roots and fruits from the forest, on catching fish in the\nstreams, and on hunting animals. Their mode of subsistence is thus\nessentially the same as that of the Andamanese. One difference is that\nthey have not the sea from which to draw supplies, and another is that\nthe forests in which they live afford a much larger variety of game. A\nnumber of the Semang now practice a little rude agriculture which they\nhave undoubtedly adopted in imitation of their neighbours of other\nraces [239].\n\nThe principal weapon of the Semang, as of the Andamanese, is the bow\nand arrow. In hunting they also use spears [240], thus showing a\ndifference from the Andamanese. Some of the Semang make use of the\nblow-pipe with poisoned darts, but it is practically certain that they\nhave adopted the use of this weapon from their neighbours the Sakai\n[241]. They also make use to some extent of traps with which to capture\njungle animals and birds. The wilder Semang living in the mountains\nhave little opportunity of obtaining fish. Those of them that dwell\nnear rivers use fish-spears and harpoons for catching large fish, and a\nsmall basket-work scoop for catching small fry [242]. They also fish\nwith rod and line, the hooks being, as a rule, roughly manufactured\nfrom bits of brass or other wire [243]. The Semang have no special\nfighting weapons either offensive or defensive.\n\nIn the Philippines some of the Negritos practice a little rude\nagriculture [244]. It is practically certain that they have only\nadopted this mode of subsistence through contact with agricultural\npeoples of other races. They originally depended entirely upon\ncollecting, fishing and hunting, and even those who now grow a few\nscanty crops devote a large part of their energies to hunting and\ncollecting the natural products of the jungles [245]. The chief weapon\nof the Negritos of the Philippines, as of the Andamanese and the\nSemang, is the bow and arrow. They use the bow and arrow for shooting\nfish, having special fish-arrows [246]. It seems doubtful if they use\nspears, unless they have adopted them from their neighbours. In hunting\ndeer the Negritos of Zambales use large nets like fish nets. They are\nacquainted with the use of traps for game but they seem to prefer to\ndepend on the bow and arrow [247]. In the larger streams of Zambales\nthey make fishing weirs of bamboo, after the manner of the\nChristianised natives of the same part [248].\n\nAs the most important weapon of the Andamanese, and indeed of the\nNegritos in general, is the bow, we may consider this first. Different\nkinds of bow are in use in different parts of the Andamans, but by a\ncareful comparison of them it is possible to show how they are all\nderived from one original pattern.\n\nThe first kind of bow to be described is that in use in the Little\nAndaman. These bows are all made of a reddish-brown wood (possibly\nMimusops littoralis). They are cut with an adze from a straight piece\nof wood, and are planed but not polished. The length varies within\nfairly wide limits. Six specimens selected as typical have lengths of\n131, 150, 159\u00b75, 163, 168 and 188 centimetres, giving an average of\nabout 160 centimetres (= 63 inches). In section the bow is markedly\nconvex on the one side and slightly convex on the other. The two\nfigures (Fig. 1) show the section at the middle and at a point 7 cm.\nfrom the end of a typical specimen. The shape in section varies a\nlittle from one example to another, and the dimensions of breadth and\nthickness also vary. At the broadest point, which is in the middle, the\naverage breadth of six bows is 3\u00b72 cm., the broadest being 3\u00b77 cm., and\nthe narrowest 2\u00b73 cm. The average thickness in the middle is 1\u00b78 cm.,\nthe actual figures ranging from 2\u00b71 to 1\u00b73 cm. From the middle the bow\ntapers slightly towards each end. At a distance of 7 cm. from the end\nof the bow the average breadth is 1\u00b78 cm., and the average thickness\n1\u00b72 cm.\n\nThe flatter side is the inside of the bow. Referring to the figures,\nthe side marked A is that which faces a man as he holds the bow ready\nto shoot (called here the inside). C is thus the right-hand side and D\nthe left-hand. By breadth is meant the distance from C to D, and by\nthickness the distance from A to B.\n\nAt each end of the bow there is a shoulder, as shown in Fig. 2. The\nlength from the shoulder to the end of the bow, i.e. the length of the\npoint on which the string is looped, is about 10 to 12 mm. Both ends\nare the same. For a few centimetres below the shoulder the bow is\nserved over with string or fibre. In a carefully finished bow the\nserving is usually done with ornamental string, i.e. with string round\nwhich is twisted the dried yellow skin of the Dendrobium. In other\nexamples plain string is used, or a strip of twisted Ficus fibre, or\neven nowadays a twisted strip of cotton cloth.\n\nBows are never ornamented in the Little Andaman either with paint or\nwith incised patterns.\n\nThe bow-string of the Little Andaman is made of strips of the bark of\nthe Ficus laccifera. The number and width of the strips used depend on\nthe size of the bow. In a small bow now in the Cambridge Museum the\nstring is made of a single strip of bark about 1 cm. in width. This\nstrip is simply twisted, the twist being that of a right-hand or male\nscrew. When two strips are used they are not twisted around one another\nin the way that a two-ply rope is made, but are laid flat together and\ntwisted together, so that when the string is finished only one of the\nstrips is visible, the other being inside. In a stout string for a\nlarge bow three or four strips may be twisted together in this way. The\nbow-string is not a rope, but a twisted strand (Fig. 3.)\n\nAt one end of the string a loop is made, as shown in Fig. 4. The end is\ndoubled over to make a loop of the right size, a round turn is made\nover the standing part (A) and the end (B) is twisted in with the\nstanding part by untwisting the latter, laying the end in, and twisting\nup again. If this splicing, as it may perhaps be loosely called, be not\nsufficiently secure, it is served over or stopped with finer fibre of\nthe same kind. This loop is of sufficient size to slip down over the\nshoulders. At the other end the string is attached to the peg either\nwith a knot, or else by means of a small loop (just large enough to go\nover the peg, but not large enough to slip over the shoulder) made in\nexactly the same way as the loop already described. When the bow is to\nbe strung the larger loop is slipped over the peg at the top end of the\nbow and is pushed down over the shoulder. The other end (with the\nsmaller loop) is then slipped on the peg at the lower end, resting on\nthe shoulder. The lower end is placed on the ground, while the top end\nis held in the hand. The man places his foot against the middle of the\nbow and draws the top towards him until he is able to slip the top loop\nof the string up over the shoulder so that it catches the peg or tip.\nThe bow is then ready for use.\n\nToy bows are made for small boys of exactly the same general pattern as\nthe large bows. A toy bow of this kind, now in the Cambridge Museum, is\n107 cm. long and 18 mm. broad in the middle.\n\nThe next type of bow to be considered is that used by the natives of\nthe North Sentinel Island. I have only been able to see one specimen of\nthis type, which is in the British Museum. It is made of a different\nkind of wood from that used in the Little Andaman. The length is 155\u00b75\ncm., and the breadth at the middle is 4\u00b73 cm. The section in the\nmiddle, which is shown in Fig. 5, is slightly different from that of\nthe average Little Andaman bow, but it has the same feature of greater\nconvexity on the outside and less convexity on the inside, and it lies\njust within the range of variation of the Little Andaman type. The ends\nof the bow are shaped in the same way as those of the Little Andaman\nbow. The breadth at the shoulder, however, is 2\u00b75 cm., which is greater\nthan the corresponding measurement of the Little Andaman bow. The bow\nis not ornamented either with a painted or incised pattern. The string\nis missing. There is no binding at the ends below the shoulders, but\nthis has possibly been present and come off, as the specimen is one\nthat has been thrown away by its owner owing to the wood having split.\nSo far as we can tell from this single specimen the bow of the North\nSentinel differs very little from that of the Little Andaman.\n\nWe now come to the bows of the Jarawa of the South Andaman. The Jarawa\nof Rutland Island, of whom there are now very few, but of whom there\nwere a larger number twenty or thirty years ago, make bows exactly like\nthose of the Little Andaman, and apparently do not make any other kind.\nThe Jarawa to the north of Port Blair, who have been driven northwards\nby the spread of the Penal Settlement, also make bows of this type,\nwhich it is not possible to distinguish from Little Andaman bows. These\nnorthern Jarawa, however, also make bows of a different kind. These\nwill be spoken of as belonging to the \u201cmodified Jarawa type.\u201d They are\nlarger than Little Andaman bows, having an average length of about 185\ncm., with a breadth of about 5 cm. The section, throughout the greater\npart of the length, is either plano-convex, or, more frequently,\nconcavo-convex. The section of a typical example is shown in Fig. 6. At\nthe middle of the bow, where it is held in the hand, there is a slight\nthickening produced by a protuberance on the inside, i.e. on the flat\nor concave side. In a certain number of specimens the bow, instead of\nbeing straight, is slightly recurved outwards. Finally, the wood from\nwhich these bows are cut is not the same as that used in the Little\nAndaman.\n\nThe Little Andaman bow, the North Sentinel bow and the Jarawa bow are\nall varieties of one type. The Little Andaman form is probably nearest\nto the original of the type, and I shall show later how the\nmodifications found in the modified Jarawa type came to be adopted.\n\nWe now come to bows of a different type, of which there are two\nvarieties, one used in the South and Middle Andaman, and the other used\nin the North Andaman.\n\nThe bow of the South Andaman tribes is not cut from a straight piece of\nwood, but is cut from a tree that has bent in the course of its growth\ninto a suitable curve. A tree has to be found that will provide a piece\nof wood of the required shape. From this the bow is shaped with an\nadze, and is finished by planing with a boar\u2019s tusk.\n\nBows of this kind vary in length between 180 and 210 cm., the most\nusual length being between 190 and 195 cm. At the upper end the bow is\nbrought to a point approximately circular in section. From this point\nit broadens out until, at a distance of about 50 or 55 cm., or between\none-quarter and one-third of the length of the bow, it reaches its\nmaximum breadth, which is, on the average, about 5\u00b75 cm. The section of\nthe bow at this point is convex on the outer side, while on the inner\nside it may be flat or slightly concave, or even in rare instances\nslightly convex. In many specimens there is a very slightly raised keel\nrunning down the middle of the inside of the bow. The thickness of the\nbow at the point mentioned is usually 1\u00b75 to 1\u00b775 cm., and there is\nlittle variation in this respect in different specimens. (See Fig. 8.)\n\nAt the middle the bow decreases in breadth and increases in thickness\nto form a handle. At the handle the usual section may be described as\npear-shaped, the greatest diameter being the thickness (from inside to\noutside) and not the breadth.\n\nFrom the handle towards the lower end the bow again increases in\nbreadth, so that the lower portion is about the same breadth and\nthickness as the upper portion. At the lower end it tapers to a point,\ncircular in section, but the point is blunter than at the upper end.\n\nThus the whole bow consists of a leaf-shaped upper portion or blade\nwhich is straight (i.e. neither curved inwards nor outwards), a waist\nor handle, and a lower blade that is curved backwards or outwards at\nabout its middle, this being the position of the bend in the wood from\nwhich it is cut. A bow of this type is shown in Plate V.\n\nNear each end the bow is served over with string for a distance of 3 or\n4 cm., leaving a bare point at the upper end of about 7 cm. long, and a\npoint at the lower end of about 1\u00b75 cm. (Fig. 7.)\n\nA bow-string is made from the fibre of the Anadendron. A number of\nstrands of the fibre are taken and are waxed with black bees\u2019-wax. Four\nof these strands are taken, three of them are placed together and the\nfourth is wound spirally round them. When the end of the active strand\n(the one being twisted round the others) is neared, a new strand is\ntaken and laid in. The twisting is continued for a few turns and the\nnewly inserted one is then taken, the end of the first active strand\nbeing laid in and wound over in its turn. The process continues in this\nway, new strands being added until a cord of sufficient length has been\nmade. This is again waxed over on the outside.\n\nAt one end of the cord a knot is tied. At the other end a loop or eye\nis formed. To make this eye, when the cord is of sufficient length, the\nend of it is bent over to form a loop of about 1 cm. or a little more\nin diameter. This loop is then served over with thread made of\nAnadendron fibre. The serving is continued over the neck of the loop\nfor about 1\u00b75 cm. This gives an eye with the appearance shown in Fig.\n9. A loose strand of fibre is left at the neck of the loop. This is\nwound spirally over the cord, as described before, new strands being\nadded one after another until the cord has been treated in this way for\nabout 35 cm. from the eye. It is then stopped by serving it over for\nabout 2 cm. with Anadendron thread. It is clear from this description\nthat the cord is somewhat thicker for about 35 cm. from the end with\nthe eye than it is in the rest of its length.\n\nTo string the bow the knotted end of the bow-string is fastened round\nthe top end of the bow with a slip knot, so that it rests on the top of\nthe string serving. The bow is then turned upside down and the top end\n(now temporarily at the bottom) is fixed in the ground or against a\nstone, so that it will not slip. The other end of the bow is taken by\nthe left hand, while the cord is held in the right, the right foot is\nplaced against the handle or middle of the bow and the bow is bent, the\nend held by the hand being drawn towards the operator until he is able\nto slip over it the eye or loop at the end of the string.\n\nAfter the bow has been strung the upper portion, which before was\nstraight, is now curved inwards, and the bow therefore appears as\nS-shaped when seen from the side. When a man starts out hunting or\nfishing he strings his bow and tests it, and it remains strung till he\nreturns, when he unstrings it and places it in his hut.\n\nThe advantage of having a knot at one end of the string seems to be\nthat should the string be stretched by use it can be tightened by\naltering the position of the knot.\n\nAt the point where the nock of the arrow is placed when the bow is\ndrawn, it is usual to serve the string over with thread of Anadendron\nfibre.\n\nThe peculiar features of the South Andaman bow depend on the fact that\nthe bow takes advantage of the greater toughness and elasticity of wood\nthat has been compressed in the course of its growth. When the bow is\ndrawn the strain does not fall evenly, but, by reason of the shape of\nthe bow, is concentrated on one portion, namely the lower portion of\nthe bow where it is curved outwards. This is easily seen when a bow is\nstrongly drawn, for from the S-shape that it has before, it becomes\nvery nearly true arc-shaped when fully drawn. The lower portion of the\nbow works as though hinged, and thus the strain is largely borne by the\ncurved portion of the bow. Now this portion is cut from the concave\nside of a tree that has been bent while growing, and consequently the\nfibres of the wood are here stronger, tougher and more elastic. The\nresult is that for a given amount of energy spent in drawing the bow a\ngreater force of propulsion is given to the arrow than with a bow of\nthe Little Andaman type.\n\nThe breadth of the bow is necessitated by its shape, for if it were\nnarrow the string would slip round on to the outside of the bow. The\nnarrowing at the handle is necessary for holding the bow. The adoption\nof tapered ends instead of shoulders is a definite improvement as it\nmakes the bow less liable to split at the ends.\n\nThe bows of the South Andaman group of tribes are always decorated with\nincised patterns. The conventional pattern is shown in Fig. 10. One\nline of such pattern runs down each edge of both the inside and the\noutside of the bow, and on the inside a similar line of pattern runs\ndown the middle. When bows are newly made they are often also decorated\nwith designs in red paint and white clay, particularly if they are\nintended as gifts. These painted designs soon wear off and are not\nrenewed.\n\nIn these tribes bows are sometimes made of a size so large as to be\nalmost useless for hunting. One such bow, now in the Cambridge Museum,\nis 220 cm. long and with a maximum breadth of 10 cm. Such bows are very\ncarefully made and decorated and are intended as gifts. A man generally\nmakes such a bow with the deliberate intention of giving it to some\nperson whom he wishes to please. The bow that I have was specially made\nto give to me in this way. A man who possessed such a bow would not\ndream of using it in hunting, but he might use it in a shooting match,\nin order to show his skill.\n\nIn the South Andaman tribes toy bows are made for boys of somewhat the\nsame shape as the ordinary hunting bow. An example of such a bow, now\nin the Cambridge Museum, is 121 cm. long. It is cut from a bent piece\nof wood in such a way that the lower portion is curved outwards. The\nsection in the middle is plano-convex, very nearly the half of a\ncircle, the breadth being 26 mm. and the thickness 13 mm. It is\nbroadest in the middle, and tapers towards each end. When strung it\nassumes the typical S-shape of the South Andaman bow. It is served over\nwith thread at one end and with a strip of cotton cloth at the other,\nleaving two points for the string. The latter is of the usual South\nAndaman type, but of smaller dimensions.\n\nWe must turn now to the bow used by the four tribes of the North\nAndaman, which is of a somewhat different pattern from that just\ndescribed. It is, in the first place, shorter, lighter and more\nslenderly made. Of ten typical specimens the shortest is 153 cm. long,\nand the longest is 182 cm. The usual length is about 160 to 165 cm. In\nits broadest part the North Andaman bow is broader than the South\nAndaman bow, the breadth varying from 6\u00b75 to 7\u00b75 cm. in different\nspecimens.\n\nAlthough the North Andaman bow is, as a rule, cut from a curved piece\nof wood, it may, on occasion, be cut from a piece that is practically\nstraight.\n\nAt the upper end of the bow there is a long point. In a specimen that\nis in every way typical, at about 5 cm. from the point the section is\ncircular and the diameter is about 5 mm.; at about 30 cm. from the end\nthe section is slightly flattened or oval, and the maximum diameter\n(the breadth from side to side) is about 1\u00b75 cm. From this the bow\nbroadens fairly rapidly, until at a distance of about 60 cm. from the\nend it is 7 cm. broad. The section at a point 60 cm. from the end is\nshown in Fig. 11, where it may be seen to be convex on the outside and\nonly very slightly convex on the inside. At about 75 cm. from the end\nthe bow narrows in breadth to form a handle, at the same time\nincreasing slightly in thickness. The handle is approximately circular\nin section in the middle, which is about 95 cm. from the upper end, and\nabout 80 cm. from the lower end, the diameter being about 2\u00b72 cm. Below\nthe handle the bow broadens out once more into a lower blade which in\nshape and section is similar to the upper blade. At a distance of about\n30 cm. from the lower end the bow once more narrows off to a point\napproximately circular in section. The lower point of the bow is not so\nlong or so tapering as the upper point.\n\nThe whole bow thus consists of two blade-shaped portions tapering to a\npoint at each end, and with a waist or handle between them. The upper\nblade is straight, i.e. is not curved either outwards or inwards. The\nlower blade is curved outwards (like that of the South Andaman bow) in\nnearly every newly made bow and in every bow that has been in use.\n\nThe upper part of the bow is served over with string for about 1\u00b75 cm.\n(at a distance of 15\u00b75 cm. from the end in the bow that has been\ndescribed), and the lower end is similarly served (at a distance of 6\ncm. from the end). The general shape of the bow as seen from inside is\nshown in Fig. 12.\n\nThe bow-string of the North Andaman is made from Anadendron fibre in\nmuch the same way as described in connection with the South Andaman\nbow, but in the North there is a loop or eye at both ends of the\nstring. As soon as the first few centimetres of the cord have been made\n(by the method previously described) it is bent over into a loop, and\nthis loop is served with Anadendron thread, just as in the case of the\nSouth Andaman string. The making of the string then proceeds in the\nusual way until a sufficient length has been made, this depending, of\ncourse, on the length of the bow for which it is intended. The end is\nthen bent over into a loop, and this loop is served over with thread.\nThe loose end of fibre is not in this case (as it is in the South\nAndaman string) twisted round the standing part of the cord, but is\nlaid beside it, and the thread that has been used for serving is wound\nspirally round them both for a distance of about 10 cm. from the neck\nof the loop, so that the end is stopped.\n\nWhen the bow is to be strung the first made loop is slipped over the\ntop end of the bow so that it rests on the thread serving already\nmentioned, the neck of the loop being on the inside of the bow. The bow\nis then laid on the ground, inside downwards, a foot is placed on the\nmiddle, and the lower end of the bow is bent upwards (and therefore\noutwards) far enough to allow the other loop of the cord to be slipped\nover the end. The bow is now in what may be called the half-strung\nposition, and in order to understand the mechanical principles of this\ntype of bow it is necessary to make quite clear what this position is.\nIt is shown in Fig. 13, A. The string passes from the top to the bottom\non the outside of the bow, so that the bow is, so to speak, reversed,\nand is subjected to a strain that causes it to curve outwards. In most\nbows, when they are first made, there is an outward curve in the lower\nportion, owing to the bow having been cut from a curved piece of wood.\nWhen the bow is half strung this outward curvature is increased. If a\nbow be made from a straight piece of wood, an outward curve is produced\nby the operation of stringing it, as described above.\n\nAs soon as a bow is completed it is strung in the reversed position\ndescribed, and is then placed over a fire, in such a position that the\nlower (curved) blade is immediately above the fire. The smoke and heat\nof the fire season the wood of this portion of the bow. Any specimen of\na bow of this type, unless it has been newly made and not seasoned, is\nblackened on the inner surface of its lower part. The bow is left to\nseason in this way for some time. A man places his bow over the fire of\nhis own hut, which is kept constantly burning day and night. It must be\nremembered that all the time it is being seasoned the bow is subjected\nto a slight strain curving it outwards.\n\nAfter the bow has been sufficiently seasoned it is brought into use.\nWhen a bow that is half strung or strung in a reversed way is to be\nused, it is taken by the handle in the left hand, with the string away\nfrom the body, the bow being upside down. The lower part of the bow\n(i.e. what is really the top of the bow when it is in its normal\nposition) is rested against the thigh. The string is taken in the right\nhand and pulled over towards the body, so that the bow reverses itself\nand appears in the fully strung position shown in Fig. 13, B. It is\nthen ready for immediate use.\n\nA bow of this type is hardly ever entirely unstrung. When a man has\nfinished with his bow for the time being, he puts it once more in the\nhalf-strung position, by an action the reverse of that described above,\nand then hangs the bow over the fire. Thus while the bow is in active\nuse it is in the fully strung position, and at all other times it is\nkept in the half-strung position.\n\nIt is clear that the North Andaman bow depends on a principle that is\nnot made use of in the South Andaman bow, which we may state by saying\nthat if a piece of wood be subjected to the influence of heat and smoke\nwhile it is bent in one position it will acquire greater strength and\nelasticity to react against a strain that bends it in the opposite\ndirection. When the bow is fully strung it is S-shaped. When it is\ndrawn the greater part of the strain falls on the lower portion where\nit is curved outwards. It is this portion of the bow that is\nstrengthened by seasoning.\n\nThe North Andaman bow is very much lighter than the South Andaman bow\nand is much more elastic. I always found it very difficult to shoot\nwith a South Andaman bow, but on the other hand I found the North\nAndaman bow very easy to use. In drawing it only a slight pull is\nrequired in order to send an arrow with considerable velocity. The\ndisadvantage of the northern bow is that, owing to its slighter build,\nit does not last very long, and is liable to be broken. However, it\nonly takes a man a few days to make a new bow, string included, and the\nvery definite superiority of the North Andaman bow over that of the\nSouth Andaman amply compensates for its shorter life.\n\nBows of exactly the same shape but of smaller dimensions are made in\nthe North Andaman for boys, the length varying from about 90 cm. to\nabout 120 cm. For very small boys toy bows of a different pattern are\nmade. The bow is formed of a piece of wood about 90 cm. long and from 2\nto 2\u00b75 cm. broad in the middle. The section in the middle is\nconvexo-convex, with a high degree of convexity on the outside and a\nmuch slighter convexity on the inside. The bow tapers to a point at\neach end, but it tapers more gradually at the top than at the bottom.\nThe bow-string is a simple piece of string (two-ply) made of Anadendron\nfibre. It is tied to the lower end of the bow at a distance of 1\u00b75 to 3\ncm. from the end, and at the top it is tied at from 4 to 7 cm. from the\nend. The shape of a toy bow of this kind as seen from the side is shown\nin Fig. 14. It is not S-shaped, like the toy bow of the South Andaman\npreviously described, but the curvature is asymmetrical.\n\nI obtained a specimen of a toy bow made of bamboo. Unfortunately there\nwas no string, but it was probably intended to be strung in the fashion\nof the North Andaman toy bow just described. The outer surface of the\nbamboo was the outside of the bow, with the result that in section the\ninner side of the bow was more convex than the outer side. This is the\nonly bow in the whole of the Andamans in which I ever saw this feature.\nIn all other bows of whatever type the outer side is markedly convex\nand the inner side is either concave, flat or only slightly convex.\n\nIt is now possible to compare one with another the different forms of\nbow in use in the Andamans. It would seem almost certain that the North\nAndaman bow can only have been derived from the form in use in the\nSouth Andaman or from one very similar to it. It is only after they\nwere in the habit of making bows with an outward curve in the lower\nportion that the natives could have devised the method of seasoning\nthis portion of the bow and keeping it in the reversed or half-strung\nposition. It is unnecessary to argue the matter in detail, and we may\nconclude that the North Andaman type is derived from the South Andaman\ntype.\n\nIt is less certain, but still highly probable, that the South Andaman\nform was derived from a bow similar to that still in use in the Little\nAndaman. The South Andaman toy bow shows a stage intermediate between\nthe Little Andaman bow and the usual South Andaman form. The section of\nthis toy bow is very similar to that of the Little Andaman bow. It has\nno blades, and therefore no waist for the handle. The shape, however,\nis asymmetrical. Owing to the different method of stringing it, the\nshoulder at the end of the bow is unnecessary, and the bow is\nstrengthened (prevented from splitting so easily) by tapering the end\nto a point instead. The difference between the toy bow and the general\nSouth Andaman bow is the presence in the latter of the two blades and\nthe waist. The broadening of the bow into the blades is necessary in\norder to prevent it from accidentally reversing itself.\n\nWe have still to consider the modified form of the Jarawa bow. The\norigin of this is easy to discover by the examination of a few typical\nspecimens. Since the Jarawa have been in the South Andaman they have\nbeen in hostile contact with the tribes of the South Andaman Division.\nThey have had opportunities of handling bows of the kind made by these\ntribes, and they have apparently discovered that these bows are more\nefficient than their own, but they have had no opportunity, such as\nonly friendly intercourse would give, of discovering the principles on\nwhich the South Andaman bow is made. They have attempted to imitate it\nto the best of their ability, and this they have done (1) by making\ntheir bows longer and broader, (2) by making them concavo-convex in\nsection instead of convexo-convex, (3) by cutting them occasionally\nfrom wood that gives them an outward curve in the lower portion, (4) by\nimitating the shape of the handle without, however, giving the bow a\nwaist, (5) by serving over the bow-string with thread at the point\nwhere the arrow touches it, (6) by ornamenting their bows with incised\nand painted patterns. These are the only differences between the\nmodified Jarawa type and the Little Andaman type, and all these may be\nexplained as attempts to imitate the bows of the South Andaman\nDivision. In not a single one of the modified Jarawa bows that I have\nseen is the fundamental principle of the South Andaman bow successfully\napplied.\n\nWe may conclude that the ancestors of the Andamanese at one time used a\nbow resembling that in use in the Little Andaman at the present day,\nand that the S-shaped bow of the Great Andaman has been invented since\nthe separation of the two main divisions of the race.\n\nIt is not possible, owing to lack of sufficient information, to\ndetermine exactly the types of bow used by the Semang. The following\nnotes are based on only six specimens, two of which are in the Museum\nof Ethnology at Cambridge [249], while the others are in the British\nMuseum. Four of the specimens are sufficiently similar to one another\nto be regarded as belonging to one type, which seems to be the usual\ntype of Semang bow. In length they are 165, 174\u00b75, 182 and 197\u00b75 cm.,\nand at the middle they vary in breadth between 2\u00b75 and 3 cm. Three are\nof palm-wood, and the other is of a light-coloured but tough kind of\nwood. The shape of the section in the middle of the bow varies\nconsiderably in the different specimens, as shown in Fig. 15. There is\nsome uncertainty as to which is the inside, and which is the outside of\nthe bow. At each end there is a shoulder, the point or tip at one end\nbeing in every instance considerably longer than the other. The string\nin each case is a three-ply rope, having a spliced eye at one end and\nbeing fastened to the bow with a knot at the other end.\n\nThe other two specimens do not conform to this type. One is of wood,\n134 cm. long, and 3\u00b75 cm. broad in the middle. One end is provided with\na notch on each side for the string, while the other end has three\npairs of notches. The string is a three-ply cord with a loop or eye at\neach end. The other specimen is made of bamboo, and is 147 cm. long and\n2\u00b725 cm. broad in the middle. One end has one pair of notches and the\nother has two pairs. The string is two-ply with a loop at each end.\n\nWhat we may perhaps regard as the usual type of Semang bow thus differs\nfrom the bow of the Little Andaman in three important respects, (1) in\nhaving a longer point at one end than at the other [250], (2) in having\na string of three-ply rope instead of a strand of twisted fibre, and\n(3) in the variations in the section at the middle. From the four\nspecimens available it is not possible to determine around what norm or\nnorms the section of different specimens varies.\n\nTurning to the Negritos of the Philippine Islands, although a number of\nbows have been described by Meyer [251], the available information is\nnot sufficient to enable us to determine what are the different types,\nand what is their relation one to another. Amongst the different\nvarieties of bow used by the Negritos there is one which is very\nsimilar to the bow of the Little Andaman. It has a rounded or convex\nouter side, and a flattened inner side. The string loops on to a point\nat each end, and the string itself is formed of twisted fibre.\n\nFrom a study of the available material it seems that we are justified\nin concluding that the primitive Negrito bow was made of wood, with a\nshoulder at each end, probably with a section rounded on one side and\nflattened or keeled on the other, and that it had a string of twisted\nfibre with a loop or eye at one end, the other end being attached with\na knot.\n\nThe Andaman Islanders use two different kinds of arrows, one for\nshooting fish and the other for shooting pigs.\n\nThe common fish-arrow, as at present used in all parts of the Great\nAndaman Division, consists of three parts\u2014a shaft, a fore-shaft, and a\npoint. The shaft is a length of bamboo straightened by means of heat,\nand may vary in length from 70 to 110 cm. At one end the bamboo is cut\noff about 3 cm. beyond one of the nodes, and a nock is made (Fig. 16).\nAt this end the shaft is roughened with a Cyrena shell so as to give a\nfirm grip for the fingers. At the other end the shaft is tapered for\nabout a centimetre. At this end the bamboo is roughened with a shell to\ngive a hold to the thread with which it is bound. The fore-shaft is a\nlength of wood from 15 to 40 cm. long. One end is slightly tapered so\nthat it fits tightly into the end of the bamboo shaft. The other end is\ntapered to a point, which is flattened on one side. The fore-shaft is\ninserted into the end of the shaft and the joint is bound over for a\ndistance of about 2\u00b75 cm. with thread. The point consists of a piece of\niron wire, sharply pointed at both ends. This is laid against the\nflattened side of the fore-shaft and is bound to it with thread in such\na way that one point projects at the back to form a barb (Fig. 16).\nWhen the binding is completed it is covered entirely over with a\ncomposition made by melting together bees\u2019-wax, resin and red ochre.\nThe composition is melted over a fire, is applied with a short piece of\nwood and is then smoothed over with a hot Cyrena shell. Only the\nbinding attaching the point to the fore-shaft is covered with\ncomposition, and not that at the joining of the fore-shaft and the\nshaft.\n\nArrows of this kind are used for shooting fish, but they also serve to\nshoot snakes or rats and on rare occasions birds.\n\nSimilar fish-arrows are made in the Little Andaman, but they are larger\n(i.e. both longer and thicker) than those of the Great Andaman\nDivision. The two ends of the bamboo shaft are not roughened, and the\nbinding attaching the point to the fore-shaft is not covered with\ncomposition (which seems to be unknown in the Little Andaman) but with\nbees\u2019-wax only.\n\nThis seems to be the traditional form of fish-arrow of the Andamans.\nBefore iron was plentiful the point consisted either of the serrated\nbone from the tail of the sting-ray or of a piece of the tibia of a pig\nground down to the requisite dimensions on a piece of stone, and\nsharpened at each end.\n\nIn the Little Andaman fish-arrows are sometimes used with two or four\nprongs attached to a bamboo shaft. In the British Museum there is an\narrow from the North Sentinel Island with four prongs tied on to a\nwooden shaft, each prong being barbed by a detached piece of wood at\nthe end.\n\nA simple form of arrow is made in both the Great Andaman and the Little\nAndaman consisting of a bamboo shaft with a pointed wooden head, the\npoint being hardened in the fire. Such arrows are now very rarely used,\nsave for shooting at a mark, but it is probable that before iron was\nplentiful they were used as a substitute for the fish-arrow described\nabove, being easier to make although less serviceable.\n\nThe pig-arrow in use in the Great Andaman consists of a shaft, and a\nfore-shaft to which is attached a head. The shaft is a piece of the\nwood of the Tetranthera lanc\u00e6folia, cut from the tree and straightened\nby means of heat. At the narrower end a nock about 1 cm. deep is cut,\nand the arrow is served with thread of Anadendron fibre for about 1\u00b76\ncm. above the nock, in order to prevent splitting. At the other end the\nshaft is hollowed out to a depth of about a centimetre. This hollowing\nis done with the point of a fish-arrow or other similar piece of\npointed iron. For a distance of about 1\u00b75 cm. the end of the shaft is\nserved over with thread of Anadendron fibre, so as to prevent it from\nsplitting.\n\nThe fore-shaft consists of a piece of tough wood one end of which is\ncut to such a size that it will fit fairly tightly into the hollow at\nthe end of the shaft. At the other end it is split so as to admit the\nhead.\n\nThe head consists of a piece of iron broken into shape with the aid of\na stone hammer and then ground down and sharpened on a whet-stone or\nwith a file if one be obtainable. The usual shape is shown in Fig. 17.\nThe head is inserted into the split end of the fore-shaft and the end\nof the latter is then served over with thread. A few centimetres below\nthe head either one or two sharp-pointed pieces of iron wire are placed\nagainst the fore-shaft in the same plane as the head and are bound\nfirmly to it with the thread, so as to provide a barb or barbs.\n\nA cord is made and one end of it is attached to the shaft and the other\nend to the fore-shaft. This cord is made as follows. A number of\nstrands of Anadendron fibre are taken and waxed with bees\u2019-wax. These\nare made into a cord by the same method as that described in connection\nwith the Great Andaman bow-string, one strand being wrapped round the\nothers. About 40 cm. of single cord is made in this way and the two\nends are tied together. A piece of elastic wood is bent into the form\nof an arc and the loop of cord is placed over this so that it is\nstretched tight. A length of thread (of Anadendron fibre) is made and\nwound on to a fine netting needle or on to a thin slip of wood, and the\ntwo cords as they are stretched side by side are bound together with\nthis thread by the process known as \u201cnippering\u201d (Fig. 19). In this way\na firm and strong flattened cord is produced. One end of this is\nfastened to the fore-shaft immediately above the end that fits into the\nshaft. The other end is fastened to the shaft a few centimetres from\nthe end, leaving a short length of the shaft around which the cord may\nbe spirally wound when the arrow is in use. (Fig. 18.)\n\nFinally, the thread on the fore-shaft, i.e. that which holds the head\nand barbs in place, and also that which serves to attach the end of the\ncord, are covered with the composition already described as used on\nfish-arrows.\n\nArrows of this kind are used in pig-hunting. The fore-shaft is inserted\ninto the end of the shaft, the cord attaching the two being wound\nspirally round the end of the shaft. When a pig is struck the barbs\nprevent the head from coming out of the wound. As the pig attempts to\nrun away the shaft catches against the undergrowth of the jungle and\ncomes loose from the fore-shaft. Sooner or later the shaft becomes\nentangled in the undergrowth and holds the wounded pig fast till the\nhunters can come up with it and despatch it. It is obvious that the\ncord of the arrow needs to be so strong that the pig cannot break it.\n\nThe natives of the Great Andaman tribes say that before they had plenty\nof iron they made similar pig-arrows with heads of shell and barbs of\npig\u2019s bone.\n\nThe natives of the Little Andaman make a pig-arrow very similar to that\nof the Great Andaman tribes, but on the average somewhat longer. The\ncord attaching the fore-shaft to the shaft consists of a length of\ndouble two-ply rope of Hibiscus fibre. The binding of the arrow is done\nwith thread of the Gnetum fibre instead of Anadendron, and is not\ncoated with composition but is smeared with bees\u2019-wax. The barb (there\nbeing usually only one) is not fixed in the same plane as the head, but\nin the plane at right angles to it. (Fig. 20.)\n\nAmongst the Jarawa the head of the pig-arrow is attached to the\nfore-shaft by a different method, holes being made in the iron through\nwhich the thread that holds it is passed. (Fig. 21.)\n\nAnother kind of pig-arrow is sometimes made in the Great Andaman that\nhas not a detachable head. The shaft is a length of bamboo into one end\nof which is fitted a fore-shaft of wood. The end of this fore-shaft is\nsplit and a head of iron is inserted into it and bound there. Such an\narrow may be without barbs or may have one or two barbs of iron. It is\nused only rarely and then chiefly for despatching a pig that has\nalready been struck by an arrow of the usual kind. The natives say that\nin former times arrows of this kind were used in fighting in preference\nto ordinary pig-arrows, which, however, were also used.\n\nIn former times the natives of the Great Andaman, according to their\nown statements, made an arrow consisting of a bamboo shaft at the end\nof which was inserted a head made of Areca wood. An arrow of this kind,\nmade for me by a native, is shown in Fig. 22.\n\nNone of the arrows made in any part of the Andamans is feathered.\n\nIn a comparison of the arrows of the Andamanese with those of the\nSemang and the Philippine Negritos the most interesting point is that\nall three branches of the Negrito race use arrows with detachable\nheads. Arrows of this kind from the Philippines are described by Meyer\n[252].\n\nAn important point of difference would seem to be that while the\nAndamanese do not feather their arrows the Semang and the Negritos of\nthe Philippines do so. It would seem, however, from the account of\nSemang arrows given by Skeat [253] that the feathering is such that it\nis of no actual service in directing the flight of the weapon, and that\nit is doubtful whether the Semang really understand the principle of\nfeathering, or whether they do not employ it as the mutilated survival\nof more intelligent methods or perhaps make use of it for solely\nmagical purposes.\n\nAnother important point of difference is that the Semang poison their\narrows, while the Andamanese do not. In this connection it must be\nremembered that the former people have for long been neighbours of\npeople who use blow-pipes with poisoned darts.\n\nAfter the bow and arrow the most important hunting weapon of the Great\nAndaman is the harpoon which is used in capturing dugong, turtle,\nporpoise, and large fish. The harpoon consists of a head, a shaft and a\nline. The line is a length of rope of Hibiscus fibre of as much as\ntwenty fathoms or more in length. The shaft is a bamboo of about 18\nfeet in length. One end is cut off fairly near a node and is then\nserved over with thread, and slightly hollowed. The head consists of a\nlong piece of iron, such as a stout nail, brought to a sharp point at\none end. The other end is served over with thread in such a way as to\nmake it fit fairly tightly into the end of the bamboo shaft. Some\ndistance from the point of the head two barbs of iron are attached by\nthread, and between this point and the lower end the line is attached.\n(See Fig. 23.)\n\nA man using the harpoon stands on the forward platform of the canoe,\nholding the bamboo shaft in his hand. The head is inserted in the upper\nend of this, and the line passes over his shoulder and is coiled in the\nbottom of the canoe, the other end being attached to the forward\nout-rigger boom or to the thwart that takes its place in a large canoe.\nHe poles the canoe along the reef with the harpoon shaft. When about to\nmake a throw he raises the shaft till he can hold the butt end in his\nright hand, with the point directed towards the fish or turtle, and he\nthen leaps forward so that if he succeeds in his aim the weapon strikes\nwith all the force of his weight behind it. When the turtle or fish is\nstruck the bamboo shaft floats loose and this is secured by the man in\nthe water, who returns to the canoe. It may be necessary to strike the\nprey with a second harpoon, but if the first was well thrown the animal\nis firmly held by the line.\n\nHarpoons are not used in the Little Andaman. The natives of the Great\nAndaman say that they themselves have only used them since they were\nable to obtain iron and that before that time they could only capture\nturtle and dugong in nets. It would seem therefore that the harpoon has\nbeen invented or adopted by the tribes of the Great Andaman Division in\ncomparatively recent times, and was not an element of the primitive\nAndamanese culture.\n\nThe turtle net is no longer used, as the natives prefer the harpoon and\nhave all the iron they need. Such nets were formerly made of rope of\nHibiscus fibre. A net was about 150 cm. in width and of variable\nlength. One specimen that was made for me had an open mesh of about 25\ncm. square, while another had a smaller mesh. The knot used in a net\nfrom the South Andaman is the ordinary fisherman\u2019s knot shown in Fig.\n24 b. In a net from the North Andaman the knot used is a slip-knot, one\nstrand being tied with an overhand knot over another which it crosses\nat right angles as shown in Fig. 25.\n\nEach end of the turtle net is attached to a stake pointed at the lower\nend. The lower edge of the net is weighted with stones attached as\nshown in Fig. 24, while to the upper edge are attached a number of\nfloats, each consisting of a long thin stick of Hibiscus wood to the\nupper end of which is attached a tassel of fibre.\n\nThe net was placed in shallow water so that the stones rested on the\nbottom while the tassels at the upper ends of the floats appeared above\nthe surface. As soon as a turtle was entangled in the net the agitation\ncould be observed by those watching who would proceed to the spot to\nsecure their capture.\n\nSo far as is known it would seem that nets of this description are not\nused in the Little Andaman.\n\nThe Andamanese make practically no use of spears. At the present time\nthe natives of the Great Andaman Division sometimes make pig-spears of\na length of stout cane or rattan with a head of iron attached. The\nnatives themselves say that such spears have only been made since the\noccupation of the islands, and it is probable that they were first made\nin imitation of spears used by Burmese convicts for pig-hunting. They\nare hardly ever used, the pig-arrow being preferred.\n\nThe true fish-spear is unknown in the Andamans though use is sometimes\nmade of a harpoon similar to the turtle harpoon, but of smaller\ndimensions and with a finer line, for harpooning fish.\n\nIn the North Andaman a sort of fish-gig was formerly in use made of\nabout twelve pieces of Areca wood of about 105 to 110 cm. long and 1\ncm. or less broad and with tapered and sharp-pointed ends. These were\nfastened side by side by means of a strip of wood near one end, as\nshown in Fig. 26. This weapon was used for spearing small fish in pools\non the reef.\n\n\n\nCUTTING IMPLEMENTS.\n\nAt the present time the Andamanese make use of iron for their cutting\nimplements. It is uncertain when they first learnt the use of iron, but\nit was certainly before the end of the eighteenth century. What iron\nthey had was obtained from wrecks, of which there have always been a\nnumber on the Andamans. The metal has only become plentiful since the\nEuropean settlement of 1858.\n\nIt is highly probable that the Andamanese, though they may have learnt\nthe use of iron from implements used by visitors to their shores, have\nnot learnt from any other people the method of working the metal. Even\nat the present day they do not make any use of heat in the manufacture\nof their iron implements, the metal being worked cold. It seems highly\nprobable that they have simply adopted in connection with iron the\nmethods they formerly used in dealing with other materials,\nparticularly shells.\n\nThe materials used by the Andamanese, apart from iron, are wood, bone,\nshell and stone. We may begin by considering their use of stone.\n\nIn former times quartz flakes were used by the Andamanese for the two\npurposes of shaving and scarifying the skin, and for hardly any other\npurpose. (Among minor uses of stone flakes may be mentioned those of\ncutting the finger-nails, and sharpening boars\u2019 tusks.) A quartz pebble\nis held in the left hand and is struck with a hard rounded pebble of\nany suitable kind. A flake is thus knocked off and falls into the palm\nof the left hand. The flake is examined, and if it be suitable it is at\nonce used. If it be unsuitable it is thrown away and another made. For\nshaving, flakes with a sharp blade-like edge are required; for\nscarifying, flakes with a fine point are preferred. A flake is used\ntill its fine edge is lost and is then thrown away and another made.\nThus a woman who is shaving some one\u2019s head may use as many as twenty\nflakes one after another, and to obtain twenty suitable flakes she\nprobably makes as many as forty or even more. The kitchen-middens or\nheaps of refuse that are found on the sites of old encampments contain\nthousands of quartz pebbles that have been used as cores, and thousands\nof flakes.\n\nBesides quartz there is a flinty kind of stone that is used in much the\nsame way for making flakes. Suitable pieces of the stone are obtained\nand are placed in the fire for a few hours. They are taken out, and\nwhen they are cold are used in exactly the same way as a quartz pebble.\n\nAt the present time quartz is hardly ever used in this way, for the\nnatives greatly prefer glass, and they obtain sufficient old bottles\nfrom Port Blair to satisfy their requirements. The bottom of a bottle\nis treated in every way as though it was a quartz pebble, a flake being\nknocked off and used, and then another and so on till the operation in\nhand (whether shaving or scarifying) is completed. The flake is held\nbetween the thumb and first finger when it is being used. In no case is\na flake of quartz or glass ever kept. It is only made when required and\nafter having been used is thrown away.\n\nThe natives themselves say that they formerly never made any use of\nstone for cutting purposes save in the case of stone flakes as\ndescribed above. As against this there are three statements that must\nbe considered. Colebrooke, who visited the islands in 1789, says of the\nAndamanese that \u201ctheir canoes are hollowed out of the trunks of trees\nby means of fire and instruments of stone, having no iron in use\namongst them, except such utensils as they have procured from the\nEuropeans and sailors who have lately visited these islands; or from\nthe wrecks of vessels formerly stranded on their coasts.\u201d The accuracy\nof Colebrooke\u2019s statement is made doubtful by the fact that at the\npresent time (since 1858) the natives do not use fire in making their\ncanoes, and it seems improbable that if they had this custom in 1789\nthey should have discontinued it and have entirely forgotten that it\never existed. Further if they used implements of stone in 1789 it is\ncertainly strange that by 1858 they should have entirely forgotten that\nthey ever did so. When Mr Man was making his enquiries the oldest men\nall agreed in stating that they never used stone for their adzes. We\nmay conclude that Colebrooke\u2019s statement is untrustworthy.\n\nStoliczka records the finding in the South Andaman of a stone celt and\na stone arrow-head in the kitchen-middens of the South Andaman. The\nchief reason for doubting the value of this find is that Stoliczka\nstates that these implements were made of tertiary sandstone, which it\nis very hard to believe would be of any use whatever. We may therefore\nadopt the opinion of M. Lapicque [254] that Stoliczka had found\nfragments of a whet-stone of sandstone and had been mislead into\nthinking that he had found an axe and an arrow-head.\n\nA third statement that needs to be considered is one by Mr Portman, who\npresented to the British Museum an arrow with a head of stone made\nspecially for him by a native of the North Andaman who stated that in\nformer times such arrow-heads were used by the Andamanese. At the\npresent time the arrow-head is broken and it would seem to be so\nfragile as to be entirely worthless for the purpose to which it was\nsupposed to be put. The natives of the North Andaman whom I questioned\nstated that they did not use stone for their arrow-heads, but shell. We\nmay therefore hold that the evidence given by Mr Portman is not at all\nsatisfactory.\n\nIn the Akar-Bale tribe I heard a legend that at a certain spot there is\na kind of stone which was used by the ancestors for making adzes. I\nvisited the spot and the stone was pointed out to me. Unfortunately the\nspecimen that I took was lost and I am therefore unable to state what\nthe stone was, but it was such that it would have been utterly\nimpossible to make any sort of adze out of it. It was of a crystalline\nnature and was easily fractured by a blow against even a soft substance\nsuch as wood. It was clear that the native statements about it were\nmerely a legend having no historical value.\n\nWe may justifiably conclude that it is probable that the statement of\nthe natives to the effect that before they possessed iron in any\nquantity they made their adzes and arrow-heads out of shell and not out\nof stone, is correct. Their use of stone for cutting was therefore\nconfined to the flakes which have been described.\n\nThe most important material to the Andamanese seems to have been shell.\nMollusc shells were used in the natural form or after having been\nmanufactured. The chief shell used in its natural form is the Cyrena\nwhich serves at the present time as a knife, a scraper and a spoon.\nEven when they have knives of iron and steel they still use the Cyrena\nshell in preference for some purposes. It is used as a scraper in\npreparing fibres for rope and thread, in making arrows, as a knife for\ncutting thatching leaves and cane and even thread and rope, and for\nmaking incised patterns on bows and arrows. The shells are always to be\nfound lying about their encampments, and a few are always carried with\nthem when they migrate to a fresh camp. Those living inland obtain\ntheir supply of shells from their friends on the coast.\n\nWhen in use the shell is clasped between the thumb and first finger,\nthe thumb passing over the convex side and the finger round the hinged\nedge. The remaining fingers are used to clasp the object that is being\nscraped or cut. In cutting, the motion is away from the body, being\nproduced by a twist of the wrist. In scraping the motion is away from\nthe body, or from left to right. A knife of iron or steel is held in\nthis way by the natives whenever it is used for any purpose for which\nthey formerly would have used a shell. The blade is clasped near the\nhandle between the thumb and first finger, the back of the blade\npressing against the root of the thumb, and the handle away from the\nbody.\n\nAnother shell that is used in its natural form is a small whelk shell\nthat is used as a scraper for scraping off the outer skin of mangrove\nseeds in preparing them for food.\n\nA shell that is used in very nearly its natural form is a kind of pearl\nshell that grows along creeks through the mangrove swamps. The shell is\nonly very slightly curved and it is for this reason that it is selected\nas suitable. The weak edge or lip of the valve is broken away, and the\nedge is then slightly ground on a stone. This implement is used by\nwomen for slicing yams and certain other vegetables such as some kinds\nof seeds when they are being prepared for food.\n\nThe natives say that before iron was plentiful they used shells for the\nheads of their pig-arrows. Several different species of shell seem to\nhave been used, the chief concern being to obtain a piece of sufficient\nsize that was as nearly flat as possible. Such shells are those\nbelonging to the larger bivalves. The natives state that their method\nof working the shell was to break it roughly into shape with stones and\nthen grind it down on a whet-stone until it was given a sufficiently\nsharp point and edge. Some arrow-heads of shell were made for me by\nthis method at my request by one of the old men of the North Andaman.\n\nThe natives state that before they had iron they made their adzes of\nshell. Two different men of the North Andaman made two shell adzes for\nme, one of Pinna shell, and the other of a shell that I omitted to\nidentify. The Pinna shell adze seemed to me only suitable for light\nwork such as finishing off a bow or a canoe, as it seemed likely to\nbreak under a strong blow. The other adze was much stronger and\ntherefore capable of heavy work, and although the edge seemed to me to\nmake it a poor implement with which to cut down a tree yet it certainly\ndid not seem less suitable than the stone adzes used by many primitive\npeoples. If I were given a choice of implements with which to fell a\ntree, between the shell adze of the Andamanese and a stone axe of\nSouth-western Australia I should certainly choose the former.\n\nAccording to the natives they formerly used bone for the points of\ntheir fish-arrows and for the barbs of their pig-arrows. For both of\nthese purposes they now use iron. The bone was broken into a piece of\nsuitable length and then ground down with a whet-stone. Apparently the\nbone most frequently used was the tibia of the pig. For their\nfish-arrows they also made use of the bone of the tail of the\nsting-ray,\u2014its \u201csting.\u201d When the fish was caught the bone was knocked\noff and reserved for use. It required no treatment whatever, being\nsimply bound on to the point of the fore-shaft in the same way that an\niron point is now attached.\n\nColebrooke, in 1789, described their arrows as \u201cheaded with fish-bones\nor the tusks of wild hogs, sometimes merely with a sharp bit of wood\nhardened in the fire.\u201d By fish-bone he probably means the bone of the\nsting-ray. Where he writes the tusks of wild hogs we should probably\nread \u201cthe bones.\u201d A boar\u2019s tusk is curved, and it seems impossible to\nimagine how it could possibly be used as an arrow-head or arrow-point.\n\nThe boar\u2019s tusk is used by the Andamanese as an implement, however,\nmaking a very efficient sort of spokeshave. The edge which is used is\nkept sharp by scraping with a quartz or glass flake or with a Cyrena\nshell. The edge is near the point (at a in Fig. 27) and the tusk is\nclasped at the other end between the forefinger and the root of the\nthumb (at b in Fig. 27), the movement being away from the body. It is\nused for planing bows and paddles, and in the hands of an Andaman\nIslander is a very efficient implement, producing a beautifully smooth\nand even surface.\n\nOf wood the Andamanese formerly made knives and arrow-points. The\nknives were made of a slip of bamboo or cane shaped and sharpened with\na Cyrena shell. Such knives were used for cutting meat and apparently\nfor no other purpose. A knife was always attached by a short length of\ncord to a skewer of pointed Areca wood. The double implement was used\nin cooking and eating, the skewer serving to lift pieces of meat in and\nout of a pot, while the knife served to cut them. At the present time\nthe cane or bamboo knife is replaced by a knife made from hoop-iron,\nbut the shape of the original implement is retained as nearly as\npossible and a skewer of Areca wood is generally attached to it.\n\nAs has been already stated the Andamanese formerly used hard wood such\nas that of the Areca palm for the points and heads of their arrows.\nThey do not seem to have made use of bamboo in this way.\n\nAt the present time iron is used for the blades of adzes, for the heads\nand barbs of pig-arrows, the points of fish-arrows, the heads of\nharpoons, and for knives. The method of working the metal is apparently\nexactly the same as the method they formerly used for working shell and\nbone. For the head of a pig-arrow a suitable piece of iron is taken and\na fragment of about the right size is broken off by means of a stone\nhammer. This is then roughly broken into the required shape, no heat\nbeing used, and no advantage being taken of the malleability of the\nmetal. The next process is to grind it on a whet-stone. The natives are\nalways eager to obtain files which enable them to do this part of the\nwork much more rapidly. When the arrow-head has been ground into shape\nthe edges are sharpened. Blades for adzes are made in exactly the same\nway from any suitable piece of iron or steel, such as a cutlass or an\nold file or a piece of thick hoop-iron. The adze-blade is attached to a\nhandle of mangrove wood by the method shown in Fig. 28.\n\nThe barbs of pig-arrows and the points of fish-arrows are made in the\nsame way by breaking the metal into a suitable shape and then grinding\nit on a whet-stone. It is probable that this was the method that was\nformerly used for dealing with bone for these purposes.\n\nIn the case of the knife, iron or steel is now substituted for cane or\nbamboo, but the knife has retained its shape in spite of the change of\nmaterial. The shape of a knife, whether of cane or of iron, with its\nattached skewer of Areca wood is shown in Fig. 28.\n\nIn the case of the harpoon the native tradition is that this implement\nwas only made after they had discovered the use of iron.\n\nAt the present time both the Semang and the Negritos of the Philippines\nmake use of iron. The Semang heat the iron until it is red-hot and then\nbatter it into shape between two stones [255]. The shapes of the iron\nweapons and implements which they make follow fairly closely those made\nby the Malays.\n\nIn an attempt to reconstruct the primitive Negrito culture it would\nseem that the most reasonable hypothesis is that the primitive Negritos\nhad no knowledge of iron and had not learnt to fashion implements out\nof stone, but relied entirely on such materials as wood, bone and\nshell. The Andamanese, becoming possessed of iron through wrecks upon\ntheir islands, applied to it the technique that they had developed for\ndealing with shell, and thereby invented their present method of\nworking iron without heating it. The Semang and the Negritos of the\nPhilippines probably first learnt the use of iron from their neighbours\nof other races. There is not at present any evidence to show that the\nNegritos ever had any method of working stone except the very simple\none at present in use in the Andamans for making flakes.\n\n\n\nSTRING, ROPE, MATS, BASKETS, AND NETTING.\n\nFor string, rope and thread the Andaman Islanders make use of a number\nof different vegetable substances, but they make no use whatever of any\nanimal substances. Some of the more important fibres, with their uses\nand the methods of preparing them, are mentioned below.\n\nThe bark of the Hibiscus tiliaceus, which occurs in the beach\nvegetation in all parts of the islands, provides the Andamanese with\none of their most important fibres. By the coast-dwellers of the Great\nand Little Andaman Divisions it is used for making rope. In the Great\nAndaman Division the rope made from it was formerly used for making\nturtle nets, and is now used for the lines of turtle harpoons, and for\nhawsers to attach a canoe either to a stone used as an anchor or to a\ntree. No other fibre is used for these purposes. The Hibiscus rope does\nnot seem to be much affected by salt water. The forest-dwellers of the\nGreat Andaman have less use for rope, and at the same time are not able\nto obtain so readily the Hibiscus fibre. What rope they do have is\ntherefore obtained from the coast-dwellers or is made of some other\nfibre. In the Little Andaman the Hibiscus is regularly used for rope.\nIt is also used for the short cord by which the detachable head of the\npig-arrow is attached to the shaft. In the Great Andaman a strip of the\nbark of the Hibiscus is used for the sling in which children are\ncarried. Strips of the bark are worn by the women of the Little Andaman\nacross their shoulders and breasts, as a sort of ornament.\n\nTo obtain the fibre young straight shoots of about 120 cm. in length\nare cut from the tree, those free from gnarls, and having a smooth\nbark, being chosen. The bark (inner and outer layers) is peeled off in\nstrips of from 1\u00b75 to 3 cm. in width. The inner or liber layer is then\nseparated from the outer layer of the bark, is well scraped with a\nCyrena shell and dried in the sun or over a fire. When dry it is worked\nin the hands until the various layers of fibre separate one from\nanother. It is then ready to be made into rope. The fibre is\ninterlacing, and when freshly made is a lustrous greyish brown. After\nexposure to salt water it turns a dark brown.\n\nMr E. H. Man, in his work on the Andamans, speaks of the Melochia\nvelutina as providing fibre for rope. This is an error. The tree to\nwhich Mr Man refers is the Hibiscus tiliaceus. It is extremely common\non the shores of the islands, as it is in many other parts of the\ntropics. It is very easily identified, as it bears its characteristic\nyellow flowers for a long time every year. There is no doubt whatever\nthat this is the tree from which the natives regularly obtain the fibre\nfor the rope they use in turtle-hunting and fishing and in their\ncanoes. Other writers, following Mr Man, have repeated his error in\ncalling it the Melochia velutina, for example Sir Richard Temple and Mr\nPortman. In Mr Portman\u2019s collection of photographs in the British\nMuseum there is a good photograph of a Hibiscus tiliaceus tree labelled\n\u201cMelochia velutina.\u201d I looked carefully in the Andaman jungles for the\nMelochia velutina but was unable to find it, and I am quite certain\nthat in any case, even if it be found there, it is not commonly used by\nthe natives for rope.\n\nThe bark of a number of other trees provides fibre of which the natives\noccasionally make use. Amongst these are one or more species of\nSterculia (S. villosa?), and a tree that I identified somewhat\ndoubtfully as Grewia laevigata. The coarse fibre of the liber layer of\nthese trees may be made into rope by the same method as that employed\nin dealing with Hibiscus tiliaceus. Very little actual use is made of\nthem however. A fibre which looks very like that obtained from one\nspecies of Sterculia is frequently used by the natives of the Little\nAndaman (and also by the Jarawa) for their personal ornaments. Mr\nPortman says that this fibre is obtained from the Celtis cinnamonea.\n\nA species of Hibiscus, which I believe is Hibiscus scandens, growing in\nthe jungles and not along the shore, provides a fibre that is prized by\nthe natives of the Great Andaman tribes for making string or fine rope.\nThe fibre is less easily obtained than that of the Hibiscus tiliaceus,\nbut owing to its quality (it is not so interlacing) is capable of being\nmade into finer rope and string. It is often made into string and then\nused for making netted bags. I did not find this fibre in use in the\nLittle Andaman, but as it is not very often met with even in the Great\nAndaman, it may possibly be used in the Little Andaman.\n\nThere are several species of Ficus in the Andaman forests, and the\nnatives know that they can obtain fibre from the bark of these trees.\nThe only one that is regularly made use of is the Ficus laccifera. The\nnatives of the Great Andaman Division use the bark of this tree for\nmaking their personal ornaments. In the Little Andaman it is used for\nbow-strings. A fibre called in the Little Andaman ulu, and said by Mr\nPortman to be obtained from the Ficus hispida, is used in that island,\nand by the Jarawa, for making personal ornaments.\n\nThe Gnetum edule, a climbing plant that is fairly common, is used in\nall parts of the Andamans for thread and string. The creeper is cut\ninto short lengths at the nodes and is dried for a few days. The outer\nlayer of bark is then scraped off with a Cyrena shell, and the liber\nlayer beneath it is peeled off in fine strips and these are made into\nthread or string. This string is used in the Great Andaman Division for\nmaking netted bags and fishing nets. In the Little Andaman it is used\nfor binding their arrows, as well as for netting.\n\nThe most valuable fibre of the Great Andaman tribes is that of the\nAnadendron paniculatum, which is used for string and thread and for\nbow-strings. Until recent times the method of preparing the fibre was\nnot known to the natives of the Little Andaman, but they have now\nlearnt it from the natives of the Great Andaman with whom they have\nbeen brought in contact, and the use of the fibre for string and thread\nis coming in amongst them.\n\nThe fibre is not easy to prepare. Long thin branches of the creeper are\ncut, which must be neither too young nor too old. To obtain these it is\noften necessary to climb up into high trees, for the Anadendron is a\nclimbing plant. The creeper is cut into lengths of from 20 to 40 cm.\nThe bark (inner and outer layers) is peeled off these in strips of from\n7 to 10 mm. in width. A strip of the bark is taken and placed on the\nthigh, inner surface downwards, and is scraped with a Cyrena shell\nuntil the outer bark is entirely removed and the fibres remain clean\nand separate. These are dried in the sun or over a fire and, if not\nneeded for immediate use, are stored for future occasion. The fibre is\nfine and of a light greyish brown colour. In its qualities it somewhat\nresembles ramie fibre. It is extremely strong.\n\nThere are a number of other trees and plants that are known by the\nnatives to afford fibre, but they are not used, or if they are, it is\nextremely rarely.\n\nThe Andaman jungles have a number of different species of Calamus, and\nthe canes or rattans of these are put to all sorts of uses, such as the\nmaking of baskets, the lashings and furnishings of canoes, and in\nbuilding huts. In the Little Andaman one species of cane is used to\nprovide the fibre for women\u2019s belts. The outer skin is removed and the\nremainder of the cane is divided into fine strips or threads. A bundle\nof these tied together constitutes the belt worn by the women of the\nLittle Andaman. The outer sheath of the leaf-stem of the Calamus\ntigrinus is used by the natives of the Great Andaman Division for\nmaking mats. Lengths of the leaf-stem are cut and the outer skin is\nremoved in strips of about 3 to 5 mm. in width. The still adhering pith\nis removed with a Cyrena shell, and the strips are dried in the sun and\nthen made into mats.\n\nThe leaf-stem of a species of palm is cut while green and is then\nshredded into long strips. The fibre thus obtained really consists of\nthe leaflets of the young unopened leaves of the palm. It is used in\nthe Little Andaman to make the tassel that women wear over the pudenda.\nThe women of the North Andaman formerly wore a tassel of this fibre,\nbut have now discontinued the custom, since their contact with the\nSouth Andaman. In the Great Andaman tribes this material has important\nceremonial uses. It is called ko\u0331ro in Aka-Jeru and ara in Aka-Bea, and\nhas been frequently mentioned in this volume. A tassel of the fibre is\nsuspended near the grave of a dead person and at the entrance of the\nvillage at which the death took place. In the North Andaman a suspended\ncane hung with a fringe of the fibre is erected for the peace-making\nceremony. (See Plate XIX.)\n\nTwo plants that were not identified are used in the North Andaman for\nmaking baskets. The methods of preparing these will be described later.\n\nThe natives of the Great Andaman Division make use of the leaves of the\nPandanus Andamanensium for making belts for women and ornaments that\nare worn on ceremonial occasions. These leaves do not seem to be used\nin the Little Andaman.\n\nThe pods of one or more species of Dendrobium are collected by the\nnatives of both Great Andaman and Little Andaman. They are roasted in\nthe fire, until the outer skin turns a bright yellow, and this is torn\noff in strips and used for ornamenting nets, baskets, rope, etc.\n\nThe above description includes all the more important vegetable\nsubstances used by the Andamanese for their rope, string, netting, and\nbasket-work. There are many other substances that they might use if\nthey wished, of the properties of which they are fully aware. Their\nknowledge of the trees and plants of the forests and of the peculiar\nproperties of each is very extensive. They themselves say that they use\nonly those that best serve their purposes.\n\nThe Andamanese make rope and string or thread, but in all cases it is\nonly two-ply. Rope is made by men only, and is used for the lines of\nturtle harpoons, and was formerly used for turtle nets. The ropes made\nfrom Hibiscus fibre are very strong and durable, being quite as good as\nthe best hempen ropes of the same diameter. In rope-making the Hibiscus\nor other fibre (Sterculia or Grewia) is taken and twisted into a long\nstrand, either with the fingers, or on the thigh by rolling beneath the\npalm of the hand, short lengths of fibre being added until a single\ntwisted strand of sufficient length and uniform thickness is produced.\nThe middle of this strand is passed over a piece of wood held by the\ntoes, one half of it being wound on to a reel (kutobi in Aka-Jeru) made\nby tying together crossways two pieces of cane or wood each about 20\ncm. long and 6 mm. in diameter. The other half of the strand is loose,\nand is held (near the point where it is tied to the wood held in the\ntoes) between the finger and thumb of the left hand, the rest of it\npassing across the palm, over the left forearm, under the armpit,\nacross the back and over the right shoulder, hanging down loosely to\nthe worker\u2019s right side. This arrangement is in order that the loose\nstrand shall not become entangled or get in the man\u2019s way as he works.\nThe reel is held in the right hand and is passed first under the left\nhand, then back again over it, the two strands being thus twisted into\na firm two-ply cord.\n\nThe natives of the Little Andaman make rope in much the same way, but\nthey pass the reel from right to left over the other strand and back\nunder it, the twist being thus in the opposite direction from that used\nin the Great Andaman.\n\nString or thread is made by both men and women. It is put to many uses,\nthe chief being for binding the heads of arrows, harpoons and spears\nand the ends of bows, and in making nets, baskets, mats and personal\nornaments. In making string the man or woman sits down with legs\noutstretched. Thin strands of fibre, varying in thickness according to\nthe thickness of the string required, are taken and each twisted singly\nby being rolled between the palm of the right hand and the right thigh,\nthe motion being away from the body. When a sufficient number of short\nsingle strands has been thus made, two of them are taken and placed\ntogether on the thigh, being held at one end in the left hand. The two\nstrands are rolled together beneath the palm of the right hand, the\nmotion being inwards towards the body. A well twisted thread is thus\nproduced. When some 10 cm. or so have been thus twisted, the thread is\nrolled once beneath the palm of the hand in the opposite direction,\ni.e. away from the body, this action rendering it more compact. As soon\nas the end of the two strands that are being twisted is neared, two\nmore are taken and joined on, first one and then the other, by being\nrolled in with the first two. Fresh strands are thus continually added\nas the string grows in length. String of any desired length is made in\nthis way, of considerable strength and of surprisingly uniform\nthickness.\n\nString is made in this way from the fibre of Anadendron, Gnetum and\nHibiscus scandens in the Great Andaman Division, and from Gnetum and\nulu fibre in the Little Andaman. In the Great Andaman string made from\nAnadendron fibre is rendered more durable by being waxed with black\nbee\u2019s-wax, but this treatment is not considered necessary for string\nmade from Gnetum fibre or from Hibiscus scandens.\n\nOrnamental rope is made for men\u2019s belts in the Great Andaman. Hibiscus\nfibre is twisted into a single strand. Around this strand strips of\nDendrobium skin are wound spirally so that it is entirely covered, and\nthe strand itself is twisted into a two-ply cord.\n\nTwo other forms of cord have been already mentioned, namely the\nbow-string, of twisted fibre of the Ficus laccifera in the Little\nAndaman, and of wrapped fibre of the Anadendron in the Great Andaman\nDivision, and the special cord used in the Great Andaman for attaching\nthe head of a pig-arrow to the shaft. The Andamanese make very little\nuse of plaited cord. I have only met with it in personal ornaments made\nof Pandanus leaf in the Great Andaman.\n\nThe mat-work of the Andamanese is very simple. The natives of the\nLittle Andaman make bamboo mats on which they sleep. Strips of bamboo\nof about 120 cm. in length and \u00b775 cm. in width are attached by means\nof thin strips of cane to other strips of bamboo at right angles to the\nfirst series. The technique is illustrated in Fig. 29 which shows the\nback and the front of a portion of such a mat. It is that usually known\nas wrapped-twined work.\n\nA similar technique is used in both the Little Andaman and the Great\nAndaman in making thatching of cane-leaves. There is a difference,\nhowever, the wrapping used in making thatch being that shown\ndiagrammatically in Fig. 30.\n\nThe natives of the Great Andaman make sleeping mats from the outer\nsheath of the leaf-stem of the Calamus tigrinus. Lengths of the\nmaterial are prepared and cleaned and are cut to a uniform length,\ngenerally about 60 to 80 cm., having a breadth of 3 to 5 mm. A length\nof thread, generally of the less valuable Gnetum fibre, but\noccasionally of Anadendron fibre, is made and is wound on to two\nnetting needles, one half on each. With this thread the strips of\ncane-leaf are fastened together. The technique is different in the\nNorth Andaman and in the South Andaman.\n\nIn the North the technique, which is represented diagrammatically in\nFig. 31, A is that known as wrapped-twined work. One of the two threads\nof which the work is composed is held taut, the needle on which it is\nwound being held in the toes, and the other thread is wrapped spirally\nround it, one of the strips of cane-leaf sheath being enclosed at every\nturn. Thus the method is exactly the same as that adopted in making\nmats of thatch.\n\nIn the South the technique is that known as twined work or fitching.\nThe two wefts (i.e. the threads) are twisted together in the same\ndirection one under the other, enclosing at each half turn one of the\nstrips of leaf-sheath. This is shown diagrammatically in Fig. 31, B.\n\nThe mat is made by parallel lines of such twining or wrapped-twining.\nAt each side of the mat the line of threading is quite close to the\nends of the strips of which the mat is made. In the South Andaman the\nwork on each side of the mat is different from that in the middle. Each\nof the two threads is alternately given a complete turn round one of\nthe strips of material.\n\nMats may be of any length, and examples vary from 1 metre to 10 metres.\nWhen in use about a metre and a half is unrolled and the remainder\nserves as a pillow. If the mat be short a split log does service as a\npillow instead, but the full-length mat is certainly a more comfortable\nbed. When a mat begins to wear or fall to pieces in some part it is not\nthrown away, but this part is kept rolled up, and an unbroken part of\nthe mat is unrolled to sleep on, the remainder being kept rolled up\neither at the head, where it forms a pillow, or at the foot. An old mat\nmay be continually increased in length by additions made to it. The\nwork of making these mats is performed by women only.\n\nThe Jarawa and the natives of the Little Andaman make mats of a\nsomewhat similar pattern, but I have not been able to secure one so as\nto see how it is made.\n\nTo explain the different forms of the Andamanese baskets, it is most\nconvenient to begin by considering the way in which the natives of the\nNorth Andaman tie up their pots. The small cooking-pots of the North\nAndaman are fragile things and are not easily made, and it is therefore\nnecessary to take care of them. A leaf of the Licuala palm is taken.\nThe leaflets are plaited over one another, close to the point of their\ninsertion in the petiole, so as to form a sort of rosette with leaflets\nradiating from it in every direction (Fig. 32 a). This is laid on the\nground, the pot is placed on it upside down, and the leaflets are\nbrought up all round the pot so as to meet at the point, and are there\nroughly fastened. Three strips of cane are then taken and are tied\ntogether crossways in the middle so as to form a sort of six-rayed star\nwith six approximately equal angles. This is laid on the ground with\nthe outer surface of the canes downwards, the pot is placed on it\nupside down, and the strips of cane are bent upwards over the pot so as\nto meet at the point. The ends of two opposite strips of cane are left\nprojecting for a few centimetres above the point, and the ends of the\nother four are fastened firmly down. Another strip of cane is now\nfastened round the middle of the pot, being applied to the six canes\npreviously mentioned by wrapping, i.e. a turn is taken with it round\neach of the six strips in turn. The pot is now safely tied up and can\nbe hung in the hut or carried on a journey without much fear of its\ncoming to grief. To use the pot it is of course necessary to untie it.\nA pot wrapped up in this way is shown in Fig. 32 a and b.\n\nIn the South Andaman the pots have rounded bottoms. They are not tied\nup in the same way as in the North Andaman, but for purposes of safety\nand carriage each pot is provided with a rude basket. The basket is\nmade so as to fit the pot. Six strips of cane are taken and tied\ntogether in the middle, as previously described. A stout strip of cane\nis then taken and is bent round into a circle so as to be just a little\nlarger than the outside rim of the pot. This, which is to form the rim\nof the basket, is placed in position and the six strips of cane before\nmentioned are bent round and attached to it. The manner of attaching\nthe uprights of the basket to the rim is shown in Fig. 33. The strip of\ncane forming the upright is thinned down beyond the point where it\nreaches the rim. It is given one turn round the rim, ascending on the\noutside and descending inside, then a half turn round the standing part\nof itself, immediately below the rim from left to right, then another\ncomplete turn round the rim ascending inside and descending outside, a\nhalf turn behind its own standing part below the rim, a third complete\nturn round the rim, and the end is fastened with an overhand knot.\n\nA thinner strip of cane is now taken and wound round the six uprights\n(the warp of the basket) being given a turn round one after another.\nThe technique is that known as wrapped work. If the strip be not long\nenough another is joined to it with a reef or sailor\u2019s knot. The weft\n(as this thinner strip may be called) is given five or six spiral\nturns, and thus leaves a very open and rather weak basket. The basket\nis then further strengthened by other strips of cane attached by one\nend to the rim and carried downwards, with one turn round each of the\nhorizontal canes (weft) and the other end attached to the centre of the\nbottom of the basket. A strip of cane or bark is attached to the rim by\nits two ends to provide a strap by which the basket with its pot may be\ncarried on the back. Before the pot is placed in it the basket is lined\nwith the leaflets of the Licuala palm.\n\nWe may now turn to the baskets of the Little Andaman, of which there\nare two varieties, one made with more care than the other. As regards\nshape both varieties are the same, and the shape is exactly that of the\nLittle Andaman pots.\n\nThe following is a description of a small but typical specimen of the\nbetter variety of Little Andaman basket. The foundation consists of\ntwelve whole canes. A little under 80 cm. of the cane is left whole,\nand at each end it is thinned down to a strip. The twelve canes are\ntaken in four bundles of three each and placed so as to cross each\nother in the middle. They are bent into a somewhat conical shape, and\nthe ends (where the cane is thinned) are attached to a rim composed of\na whole cane bent into a circle and tied. The method by which each of\nthe uprights or stakes is attached to the rim is shown in Fig. 34. It\nis almost identical with that used in the South Andaman pot basket. The\nweaving is then begun near the bottom of the basket. A thin strip of\nthe outside of a cane is taken, and is applied to the uprights (warp or\nstakes) by wrapped work, i.e. it is given a complete turn round each of\nthem in turn. This wrapped weaving is continued spirally from near the\nbottom of the basket to near the rim. Near the top of the basket,\nbetween 4 and 5 cm. from the rim, the weaving is so arranged that for\nabout three-quarters of the way round the basket there is a gap of\nabout 1\u00b75 cm. between two rows of weft (see Fig. 34). The purpose of\nthis will be mentioned later. The basket now consists of a rim to which\nare attached twelve uprights forming the warp of the basket, around\nwhich a fine strip of cane has been spirally wrapped from the bottom to\nthe top. Twelve fine strips of the outside of a cane are now taken. One\nend of each is fastened to the rim in between two of the stakes, the\nmode of fastening being shown in Fig. 34. The strip is then carried\ndown the basket, on the outside, as far as the bottom row of weaving,\nround which it is doubled, and is then wound spirally, from the bottom\nto the top of the basket, around its own standing part, including at\neach spiral turn one of the wefts. Thus each of these twelve strips of\ncane is attached to the outside of the basket by the process known as\nwrapped-twined work. The basket is furnished with a handle of bark\nfibre which is attached by its two ends to the rim on that side where\nthere is no gap between the rows of weft near the top.\n\nIn the less carefully made baskets of the Little Andaman there are a\nfew important differences. The stakes of the basket are not thin whole\ncanes, but are strips of larger canes. The weft is applied in wrapped\nwork, as in the basket already described, but the rows of weft are not\nso close together and are therefore not so numerous. After the first\nprocess, when the basket consists of stakes and horizontal (spiral)\nweft only, vertical strengthening strips are added, but these are\napplied, not in wrapped-twined work as in the basket described, but in\nwrapped work, in exactly the same way as in the South Andaman\npot-basket. Thus, apart from its shape, which is that of the Little\nAndaman pot, the Little Andaman basket of this kind is very similar to\nthe South Andaman pot-basket.\n\nThe natives of the Little Andaman make pots that are much larger and\ndeeper than those of the South Andaman, and have a more rounded bottom\nthan those of the North Andaman. For every pot a basket is made that\nexactly fits it, and in this basket it is stored and carried. Every\nbasket that is made in the Little Andaman, whether it be used for\ncarrying a pot or for any other purpose, is made of exactly the same\nshape.\n\nThe purpose of the gap that is left near the top of the basket as\ndescribed above is in order that strips of string or fibre may be tied\nacross the mouth of the basket, from side to side, in order to keep its\ncontents safe.\n\nWe may now return to the Great Andaman and consider the baskets of the\nSouth Andaman Group of tribes. These are made from the best canes. From\n80 to 120 fine strips of cane are taken which are to form the stakes or\nuprights. A slight hollow is made in the ground, and the strips of cane\nare placed crossways across one another in this hollow, the inner\nsurfaces of the canes being downwards. As the strips are being\narranged, and when the weaving is begun, the centre, i.e., the point\nwhere the strips cross one another in the middle of the hollow, is\npressed firmly beneath the heel so as to maintain them in position. The\nfirst few strips are sometimes tied together in the middle, but this is\nnot always done. When all the strips are arranged evenly the weaving of\nthe basket is begun with a length of thread, which is slewed in and out\nbetween the strips of cane, beginning as near the centre as possible,\nthe stroke being that of ordinary wicker-work. After four or five\nspiral turns have been taken with the thread it is fastened. The bottom\nof the basket is then reversed, the stakes being bent over, and the\nweaving proper is begun with a fine strip of cane. This is applied by\nwicker-work nearly as far as the top of the basket. At the top, the\nweaving is finished off with three or four spiral turns of\nwrapped-twined work in cane (see Fig. 35). The rim of the basket is\nformed of a thin piece of wood (circular in section) bent round into a\ncircle of the right size and the two ends tied together. The stakes or\nuprights are attached to this rim (after the weaving is finished) but a\nspace of about 5 cm. is left between the top of the weaving and the\nrim. The mode of attaching the uprights to the rim is shown in Fig. 35.\n\nThe South Andaman basket is really a conical basket with the bottom\nreversed or dented inwards to form a \u201ckick\u201d like the kick of a bottle.\nIf it were not for the kick it would be the same shape as the Little\nAndaman basket. The kick enables it to stand upright, although it is\ninclined to be top-heavy, but renders it unfit for carrying pots.\n\nThe space between the top of the weaving and the rim is to admit of\nstrings being tied across the mouth of the basket to keep its contents\nsafe.\n\nA handle of Hibiscus fibre is attached to the rim and rests across the\nfront of the chest when the basket is carried on the back.\n\nSouth Andaman baskets are sometimes ornamented, in the process of\nmaking, with strips of Dendrobium skin, applied horizontally by\noverlaid interlacing. The strip of Dendrobium skin is laid over the\nweft and woven in with it for one turn round the basket. I have never\nseen ornamentation with Dendrobium skin applied to the South Andaman\nbaskets by any method save this one.\n\nPatterns of red paint and white clay are occasionally painted on\nbaskets when they are newly made. Shells are sometimes attached to\ndifferent parts of the basket by thread, for the purpose of ornament.\n\nIn the North Andaman, baskets are made that differ in several important\nfeatures from those of the South Andaman. They are not made of cane but\nof two different materials. One of these is the stem of a creeper\ncalled \u010dup-to\u0331i. Lengths of the creeper are cut and dried and then split\nlengthways into two or three pieces according to their size. The outer\nbark or skin is then scraped off with a Cyrena shell. These strips are\nto form the stakes or warp of the basket. The other material is another\ncreeper called bobi. The long tough tendrils of this plant are taken\nand the soft outer sheath removed by drawing the tendril through a\npiece of split cane or bamboo bent double so that the tendril is\nscraped between the two inner surfaces. The fibre that remains is split\nlongitudinally into two pieces and dried.\n\nA bundle of strips of the \u010dup-to\u0331i is taken, sufficient in length and\nnumber for the required size of basket. The bundle is divided into two\nequal bundles and these are tied together in the middle crossways with\nthread. This cross forms the beginning of the basket. The weaving is\nbegun with thread, which is slewed in and out between the warp, from 4\nto 7 spiral turns being made. During this process the centre of the\nbasket, i.e., the cross, is pressed beneath the heel into a slight\nhollow made in the ground, to give it a curve which, in the finished\nbasket, will form the \u201ckick.\u201d The thread is tied, the bottom is turned\nupside down, the stakes are bent back and the weaving is continued, not\nwith thread but with strips of bobi, till a short distance from the top\nof the basket, and then three or four rows of wrapped-twined work are\nmade, the strip of bobi being coiled round the basket and attached to\nthe uprights with thread. A rim is made of a strip of cane bent into a\ncircle. This is placed inside the uprights and tied to them in two or\nthree places. The remaining portion of each of the uprights, projecting\nabove the rim, is bent down outside and slightly obliquely, and tied\ndown by a thread passing over each in turn and round the rim. A very\nrough and untidy rim is thus produced, and this is again served or\nbound over with thread. A handle of Hibiscus fibre is added.\n\nIn the North Andaman baskets, as in those of the South Andaman, a space\nof a few centimetres is left between the top of the weaving and the\nrim, there being for that space only warp or uprights and no weft. This\nallows string to be tied in any direction across the mouth of the\nbasket, so as to keep its contents safe.\n\nThe shape of the North Andaman baskets is different from that of the\nsouthern baskets, the former having a sort of belly at the bottom and\nnarrowing somewhat above. The result is that the northern baskets will\nstand more firmly, being less top-heavy when either full or empty than\nthose of the south.\n\nIn the North Andaman baskets are ornamented as they are made with\nworked-in strips of Dendrobium fibre. There are several different\nmethods of working this ornamentation, resulting in different patterns.\nBaskets are also ornamented, when new, with painted patterns in white\nand red, though this is not general, and occasionally shells are\nattached to them by thread.\n\nOne more form of basket-work remains to be briefly mentioned. The\nnatives of all parts of the islands were formerly in the habit of\npreserving as trophies the skulls of pigs and turtle that were killed\nin the chase. The natives of the Great Andaman Division do not now\ntrouble to preserve all the skulls of the pigs they kill, and they give\nas their reason for this that now that they have dogs the hunting of\npigs is not a sport that requires any great skill. The Jarawa however\nstill keep up the old custom, and they go so far as carefully to encase\nevery skull in basket-work. As may be seen from Fig. 36 the basket-work\nin question is of simple wrapped work, the material being strips of\ncane.\n\nIt is of some interest to consider the different forms of technique\nused by the Andamanese in dealing with flexible materials. Rope and\nstring are only made two-ply. It would seem that the Andamanese have\nnot discovered that three-ply cord is stronger for a given diameter\nthan two-ply. They have, in the bow-string of the Great Andaman, an\ninteresting form of cord that may perhaps best be described as wrapped\ncord. The making of a rope involves the twisting of two strands of\nmaterial around one another. The making of a wrapped cord involves the\nspiral wrapping of one strand of material round another. This is\nexactly the same process as \u201cserving,\u201d and it is one that is used by\nthe Andamanese in all sorts of ways. In serving their arrows with\nthread and in serving the ends of bows and the heads of harpoons the\nAndamanese have several different methods of making fast the ends, and\nI regret that I did not take more detailed notes on this subject. Their\nskill in handling this technique is shown in the strength of the\nbinding on their arrows.\n\nThis spiral wrapping of one strand round a flexible or rigid object\nlies at the base of much else in their technique. We have seen that\nthey make considerable use of wrapped-twined work. In this work a strip\nof material crosses at right angles a number of strips of the same or\nother material, and a weft is wound round the former, taking in one of\nthe latter at each turn. There are two methods of doing this, either by\nsimple spiral wrapping, as in the mats of thatch, or by what may be\ncalled \u201cright and left\u201d or \u201czig-zag\u201d wrapping, as in the bamboo mat of\nthe Little Andaman. A difference is also made according as the strip of\nmaterial around which the weft is wrapped is rigid, as in the Little\nAndaman bamboo mat or in thatching, or flexible, as in the North\nAndaman mat, where it is one thread while the weft is another thread.\n\nWrapped work, in which a strip of weft is wound successively round one\nafter another of a number of rigid stakes, is another very simple\nprocess that is employed in a number of different ways by the\nAndamanese. The most important development of wrapped work amongst them\nis seen in the pot-basket of the South Andaman, in the baskets of the\nJarawa and Little Andaman and in the pig\u2019s-skull basket-work of the\nJarawa.\n\nSimple twined work is rare in the Andamans. There is hardly any example\nof it except in the mats of the South Andaman. It would seem probable\nthat the North Andaman mat technique of wrapped-twined work is the\nearlier, being more in agreement with what we may call the technical\nhabits of the Andamanese, and that the South Andaman mat technique is a\nlater elaboration. In this connection it may be remembered that\nplaiting, in which also several wefts are twisted one over another, is\nrarely used in the Andamans.\n\nThe process of nippering, by which the natives of the Great Andaman\nmake the cord of their pig-arrows, and the somewhat similar process\nused in the Little Andaman in making personal ornaments, are quite in\naccordance with the general trend of the technique, but when such a\nprocess is applied to a number of parallel strips of material instead\nof to two only it constitutes a step towards wicker-work. It is\nnotable, however, that it is only in the Great Andaman that wicker-work\nis used, and this suggests that it has only been invented or adopted\nsince the separation of the two divisions of the Andamanese.\n\nIt is very tempting to regard the different forms of basket, in the\norder in which they are described above, as so many stages of a process\nof evolution. It is, at any rate, worth while to state the argument,\nand to show what the differences between them exactly are. In the North\nAndaman pot-covering we have (1) the technique simple wrapped work, and\n(2) the basis six strips of cane tied together in the middle. In the\nSouth Andaman pot-basket we have both these features, but the\ndifference in the shape of the pots allows them to be carried in a true\nbasket and we have therefore (3) a rim, with (4) a peculiar method of\nattaching the uprights to the rim, (5) a number of horizontal (wrapped)\nwefts instead of one or two, and (6) strengthening strips applied to\nthe horizontal wefts in wrapped work. In the rougher kind of basket\nmade in the Little Andaman we have nearly all the features of the South\nAndaman pot-basket. The only differences, apart from the shape of the\nbasket, which in each case follows the shape of the pot, are (2) more\nthan six uprights may be used, and (5) the number of horizontal wefts,\ni.e. the number of spiral turns taken round the basket, is as a rule\ngreater. In the more carefully made Little Andaman basket there are\nseveral differences. The uprights are fine whole canes instead of\nstrips of split cane. It is undoubtedly more difficult to procure whole\ncanes of the proper size than simply to split up larger canes, but\nwhere the technique is wrapped work the circular section of the\nuprights improves the quality of the resulting basket, as a strip of\ncane is more easily wound round a whole cane than round a split cane,\nand there is less chance of it breaking when a strain is put upon it.\nAnother difference is that in the better Little Andaman baskets the\nrows of weft are as close together as the peculiar technique will\nallow. This makes a finer and stronger basket, and is an obvious\nimprovement. The third difference is that in these baskets the\nstrengthening strips are applied not in wrapped work, but in\nwrapped-twined work, which, however, we have seen is a common technique\nin the Andamans. In the better baskets of the Little Andaman we find a\nspecial feature of some interest in the gap that is left in the weaving\nnear the rim, to allow of strings being tied across the mouth.\n\nWhen we look at the South Andaman basket the first thing that strikes\nus is that it is really a conical basket of much the same shape as the\nLittle Andaman basket, but with the bottom dented in to make a kick, so\nallowing the basket to stand on its bottom. This denting is only\nrendered possible, however, by the fact that the uprights of the South\nAndaman basket are thin strips of cane that can be easily bent, and\nthis again depends on the use of wicker-work in the basket instead of\nwrapped work. It must be remembered that the top of the weaving is\nfinished off with three rows of wrapped-twined work, and this suggests\nthat there may possibly have been a stage of development between the\nLittle Andaman basket and the South Andaman form, in which the uprights\nwere thin strips of cane, and the weft was applied in wrapped-twined\nwork from top to bottom. This, however, is only a surmise. It does\ncertainly seem probable that the South Andaman basket is derived\nimmediately from a form of basket similar to that of the Little\nAndaman, the great difference being the change to wicker-work\ntechnique. The method of attaching the uprights to the rim was\ndoubtless introduced owing to the fact that the original method is\nunsatisfactory when the uprights are thin and easily broken strips,\ninstead of stout ones.\n\nThe North Andaman basket seems to have been derived from one similar to\nthat of the South Andaman by the introduction of two changes, (1) the\nuse of different materials, and (2) the change of shape. The materials\nused in the north are such as to give a basket on the whole stronger\nand more durable than that of the south. If a heavy weight be carried\nin a southern basket the pressure of the basket on the back tends to\ncrack the canes of which it is composed. In the case of a northern\nbasket it may lose its shape, but the materials of which it is composed\nwill give or bend without cracking so readily. The shape of the\nnorthern basket is certainly an improvement, as it avoids the\ntop-heaviness of the southern shape. Both the northern and the southern\nbaskets have a gap between the top of the weaving and the rim, like the\nbasket of the Little Andaman.\n\nThus every step, or nearly every step, in a hypothetical process of\nevolution is exhibited in the different forms of basket-work. First we\nhave the pot-covering of the North Andaman, then the pot-basket of the\nSouth Andaman, then the rougher kind of Little Andaman basket, of the\nsame shape as the pot, then the South Andaman basket of cane with a\nkick and finally the basket of the North Andaman. The better kind of\nLittle Andaman basket is simply an independent improvement of the\nother, involving no new technique.\n\nHowever much or little probability we may attach to this hypothetical\nreconstruction of the history of basket-work in the Andamans, one thing\ndoes seem fairly certain, and that is that the original ancestors of\nthe Andamanese were not acquainted with wicker-work, or had no use for\nit. In the Little Andaman Division only wrapped work and wrapped-twined\nwork are used, and the wicker-work of the Great Andaman Division has\nalmost certainly been adopted since the two divisions were separated.\nThe consideration of the general technical bias of the Andamanese in\ntheir dealings with flexible materials supports the view that in their\ncase wicker-work is later than wrapped work and wrapped-twined work. It\nseems more than likely that the Andamanese of the larger island have\ninvented wicker-work in its simplest form on the basis of a previous\ntechnique of wrapped and wrapped-twined work. To us wicker-work seems\nsuch a simple process as almost to need no inventing. It must be\nrecognized however that the general bias of the Andamanese is against\nusing materials in this way. The Andaman Islander shows a decided\npreference for those processes in which he uses a single flexible\nmaterial which he winds or wraps round other rigid or flexible\nmaterial, as in nippering, or wrapped work or wrapped-twined work.\n\nIt is impossible to obtain confirmation of this view, however, from a\ncomparison of the Andamanese with the Semang and the Philippine\nNegritos. The Semang make mat-work bags and wallets of check, and they\nmake (or use) baskets of hexagonal work. Both check and hexagonal work\nare used by other races in the Malay Peninsula and in Malaysia\ngenerally. The present mats and baskets of the Semang cannot therefore\nbe regarded as original Negrito productions. They have almost certainly\nbeen adopted through contact with other cultures.\n\nThe same thing would seem to apply to the present basket-work of the\nPhilippine Negritos, of which however we know very little.\n\nNetted bags of string are made by the women of both the Great Andaman\nand the Little Andaman Divisions, and are used for carrying or storing\nsmall objects such as shells, fruit, roots, etc. The string used for\nthese is made from the fibre of the Gnetum edule in the Little Andaman,\nand is generally made from the same fibre in the Great Andaman, but in\nthe latter division the fibre of Hibiscus scandens is prized for this\npurpose and is used instead of that of the Gnetum when it is available.\nSmall hand fishing nets are made by the women in both divisions from\nthread of Gnetum fibre. In the Great Andaman Division netting is also\nused for personal ornaments, the thread used for this purpose being\ngenerally made from Anadendron fibre.\n\nThe mode of netting is always the same. Netting needles are used, made\nfrom slips of bamboo or cane, and varying in size according to the work\nfor which they are intended. The netting string or thread is wound on\nto this needle. For the foundation of the net a short length of string\nis taken and the two ends tied together, the loop thus formed being\nplaced over the big toe as the woman sits on the ground.\n\nThe knot used in netting is that known as the fisherman\u2019s knot, in use\nall over the world. The needle is held in the right hand, is passed\nfrom above downwards through the loop marked a in the figure, and is\ndrawn through far enough to leave a new loop b of the required size.\nThis loop is held between the thumb and forefinger of the left hand,\nthe uniformity in mesh being apparently obtained largely by the sense\nof touch. The needle is then passed through the new loop b again from\nabove and is drawn out leaving a loop c, through which the needle is\npassed once more, forming the finished knot, which is then drawn taut.\n\nWhen netting is made for personal apparel it is generally ornamented\nwith strips of Dendrobium skin worked in with the thread in the course\nof the netting. Netting for personal ornaments consists of a sort of\nbag open at both ends. Each end is tied with a string passed through\nthe ultimate loops, and this string serves to tie the band of net round\nthe waist or neck or wrist or knee.\n\nFishing nets are attached to a handle. The handles of the Little\nAndaman Division and those of the Great Andaman Division are different\nin shape. The Great Andaman net with its hoop can be folded up\ncompactly for carriage, while that of the Little Andaman cannot.\n\nThe nets of rope formerly used in the Great Andaman for catching turtle\nhave been already described.\n\n\n\nDOMESTIC IMPLEMENTS AND UTENSILS.\n\nThe Andamanese are perhaps the only people in the world who have no\nmethod of their own of making fire. At the present time they obtain\nmatches from the Settlement of Port Blair, and a few of them have\nlearnt, either from Burmese or from Nicobarese, a method of making fire\nby the friction of pieces of split bamboo. Formerly, however, they had\nno knowledge of any method by which fire could be produced. Fires were\nand still are carefully kept alive in the village, and are carefully\ncarried when travelling. Every hunting party carries its fire with it.\nThe natives are very skilful in selecting wood that will smoulder for a\nlong time without going out and without breaking into flame.\n\nThe most interesting of the Andamanese domestic utensils is undoubtedly\nthe cooking-pot. Pots are made in all parts of the Andamans where\nsuitable clay is to be found. The clay is obtained and is freed as far\nas possible from stones and gritty matter with the hands. It is then\nmoistened with water and kneaded on a board consisting of a portion of\na broken canoe. It is worked very stiff and after kneading is rolled\nbeneath the palm of the hand into long thin rolls. These are built up\ninto a pot by coiling, the requisite degree of thickness being obtained\nby pressure of the thumb and first finger. When the pot has been built\nup to the required size and shape, the surface, inside and out, is\nmoistened and is scraped over in all directions with an Arca shell. The\npot is dried in the sun for a few hours and is then baked by placing\ninside and around it pieces of burning wood. The pot often cracks in\nthe baking, and another has to be made.\n\nIn the North Andaman the pots are made with pointed bottoms, and are\ngenerally small, the largest having a capacity of only six or seven\npints. They are made by women only. In the South Andaman the pots have\nrounded bottoms and, on the average, are larger and thicker than those\nof the North Andaman. They are made by both men and women, the best\nbeing made by men. In the Little Andaman the pots are larger, and,\nparticularly, deeper than those of the South Andaman, and have somewhat\npointed bottoms. The pots of the Jarawa are similar to those of the\nLittle Andaman.\n\nIn the North Andaman pots are not ornamented, but in the South Andaman\nthey are decorated with usually simple patterns of dots and lines made\nwith a small pointed stick. The Little Andaman pots that I have seen\nwere not decorated.\n\nThe pots are used for cooking, i.e. for boiling meat and vegetables. In\nthe North Andaman small pots are specially made for melting the\ncomposition used for covering the binding on the heads of arrows.\n\nNeither the Semang nor the Philippine Negritos make any kind of\npottery. The origin of Andamanese pottery therefore is a problem of\nsome interest. It is almost certain that the early Andamanese were\nacquainted with pottery before they were divided into the Great Andaman\nand Little Andaman Divisions. One of the very few words which is the\nsame in all Andamanese languages is the word for pot, bu\u010du in the\nLittle Andaman, bu\u01f0 in Aka-Bea and pe\u010d in Aka-Jeru. The most reasonable\nhypothesis would therefore seem to be that the Andamanese learnt the\nmethod of making pottery by coiling before they reached the Andaman\nIslands but after they had become separated from that part of the\nNegrito race from which the Semang and the Philippine Negritos are\ndescended. Of course it is possible that the art of pottery may have\nbeen an original possession of the Negritos and that the Semang and\nPhilippine Negritos may have lost it. A people could easily lose the\nart if they were compelled in the course of their migrations to spend\nthree or four generations in a region that lacked clay suitable for the\npurpose.\n\nThe Andamanese make buckets of wood, which they use for carrying and\nholding a supply of water. A solid piece is cut from the trunk of a\nsoft-wooded tree and is hollowed out with a chisel made by attaching\nthe blade of an adze to a stick. The natural form of the wood is\nretained, only the bark being removed from the outside while the inside\nis chiselled out to leave sides of about a centimetre thick and a\nbottom of somewhat greater thickness. In order to render the bottom of\nthe bucket water-tight the natives of the Little Andaman pour over it\non the inside melted bees\u2019-wax. The natives of the Great Andaman use\nfor this purpose the same composition with which they cover the\nbindings of their arrows, which certainly is superior to bees\u2019-wax.\n\nA bucket of the shape used in the Great Andaman is shown in Plate VII,\non the left. A strip of cane is attached round the middle of the\nbucket, and to this in turn is attached another strip of cane which,\nbeing passed across the front of the chest, enables the bucket to be\ncarried on the back.\n\nThe buckets of the Little Andaman are cut with thinner sides than those\nof the Great Andaman. A strip of cane is fastened round the bucket near\nthe top. From this two other strips of cane are attached by both ends,\npassing under the bottom, and a third strip is attached which passes\nover the head and supports the bucket when it is carried on the back.\nIn the Little Andaman the outside of the bucket is charred with fire.\n\nOccasionally pieces of the giant bamboo, which does not grow in the\nAndamans, are found on the shore, having drifted from the Burma coast.\nWhen a sound piece is found it is made into buckets each formed of a\nsingle joint.\n\nWater vessels are made from bamboos that do grow in the islands. A\nlength of bamboo of good diameter is cut, containing three joints. The\npartition of the lowest node is preserved to serve as a bottom, and the\nother partitions are broken through with an arrow. This is the usual\nvessel used for carrying water on a journey by land or in a canoe, and\nfor keeping a supply of drinking water in the hut.\n\nA single joint of the same kind of bamboo is used as a cooking vessel.\nIt is cleaned, washed, and dried, and is then filled with meat tightly\npacked. The top is closed with leaves and the bamboo is placed on the\nfire until the meat is cooked. Meat is not cooked in this way for\nimmediate consumption. It will keep for twenty-four hours or even\nlonger if not opened. To obtain the contents the bamboo is split open\nwith an adze.\n\nTrays used for food are cut from soft wood of a species of Sterculia\nwith an adze. They are shallow and somewhat long and narrow, with\npointed ends.\n\nA large Pinna shell is occasionally used as a tray or dish for holding\nfood, or for mixing clay with water for painting. A Nautilus shell\nforms a fairly convenient cup or drinking vessel and is frequently used\nfor that purpose, as well as for baling out water from a canoe.\n\nBamboo tongs are made by bending double a piece split from a bamboo,\nand cutting the ends to the required shape. They are used for lifting\nfrom the fire anything too hot to be taken in the hand and are chiefly\nof service in cooking.\n\nDigging sticks are made from various kinds of wood, being simply\npointed at one or both ends. These sticks are not as a rule preserved,\nbut made as required with an adze and thrown away after use. They are\nused for digging up edible roots.\n\nHooks for picking fruit, such as the Artocarpus, are made by attaching\na small piece of wood to the end of a bamboo. Hooks for catching crabs\nare made from the wood of the Rhizophora by taking advantage of the\nnatural form where a small branch joins a larger one.\n\nThe fan-shaped leaf of a Licuala palm is made use of in many ways. The\nedges of the leaflets are sewn together with fine strips of cane, and\nthe sewn leaf is then used either as a sunshade or umbrella for\nprotection from sunshine or rain, as a sleeping mat if the proper\narticle be lacking, as a screen to make the roof or sides of a hut more\nwind or rain proof, as a wrapper for making objects of all sorts into\nbundles, and as a winding sheet for a corpse.\n\nTorches are made from resin, which is broken into small pieces and\nwrapped up in leaves of a species of Crinum (? lorifolium), a few\npieces of smouldering charcoal being added before it is tied up. The\ntorch is then parcelled by marling with a strip of cane or a length of\nsome tough creeper. These resin torches are used in turtle-hunting and\nfishing expeditions on dark nights.\n\nOther torches are made of fragments of rotten Dipterocarpus wood. They\nare used only in the village.\n\n\n\nPERSONAL ORNAMENT; GREAT ANDAMAN.\n\nAt the present time the natives of the Great Andaman Division obtain\nfrom the Settlement of Port Blair cloth which both men and women wear\nround the loins. They also obtain beads from which they make necklaces.\n\nThe following is a list of the various personal ornaments made by the\nnatives of the Great Andaman Division, and worn by them.\n\nRope girdle. Every man wears some sort of girdle round his waist, and\nthis was formerly the only object that was constantly worn by men. The\ngirdle may consist of a length of rope of Hibiscus fibre or a length of\nornamental cord made by wrapping the yellow skin of the Dendrobium over\ntwo strands of Hibiscus fibre and then twisting these into a two-ply\ncord.\n\nNecklaces and garters of string. Both men and women are often to be\nseen with a simple piece of string, usually of Anadendron fibre, tied\nround the neck or around the leg just below the knee.\n\nOrnaments of Pandanus leaf. Every married woman always wears a belt of\nPandanus leaf which she is never without for even a moment. When the\nbelt she is wearing needs renewing she puts the new one on before\ntaking the other off. To make such a belt two leaves of the Pandanus\nAndamanensium are taken and cut to a sufficient length (about 20 cm.).\nThe thorns at the edge of the leaf are removed by cutting off a strip\nof about 3 mm. wide from the edge, leaving a strip of leaf about 4 cm.\nbroad. The two leaves are placed one on the other and are wound\nspirally round in three turns so as to give a belt of six thicknesses\nof leaf, the upper surface of the leaf being on the outside of the\nbelt. The leaves are secured together by tying with thread at the back\nwhere the two ends just overlap. At the point where the leaves are tied\none or two bundles of strips of Pandanus leaf are attached with thread.\nThe bundle is made of a number of strips of leaf about 90 cm. long and\n2\u00b75 cm. broad which are chewed in the mouth to make them soft and then\nplaced together and served over with thread for about 12 cm. in the\nmiddle. Belts of this kind are generally worn by married women, but\nprecisely similar belts are worn by men on certain ceremonial\noccasions. They are called toto t\u2019er-bua in Aka-Jeru.\n\nA very similar belt is made in exactly the same way save that the\ntassel of leaves at the back consists of narrow strips of Pandanus leaf\ninstead of broad strips. This kind of belt is worn by women only.\nExamples may be seen in Plate IV (the lower belt of the two) and in\nPlate XVIII. It is called toto t\u2019er-nyarab in Aka-Jeru.\n\nA belt is made in much the same way out of Pandanus leaves split in\nhalf down the midrib, giving strips of about 2\u00b75 cm. broad. Such belts\nhave only a scanty tassel of thin strips of leaf at the back. They are\nworn by girls and women only. They are called kudu in Aka-Jeru.\n\nYet another variety of belt is made of whole leaves in exactly the same\nway as the toto t\u2019er-bua but has no tassel at the back. An example may\nbe seen in Plate IV (the upper belt). It is worn by women.\n\nGirdles are made of strips of Pandanus leaf of about 1\u00b725 cm. broad\nwithout any tassel, but with strings of Dentalium shell attached at\nvarious points. A girdle of this kind is shown in Plate XV.\n\nGirdles are also made by cutting a number of strips of leaf and\nsoftening them by chewing them in the mouth. These strips are laid\ntogether and either served over or marled with thread so as to make a\ngirdle of round section. A tassel of leaves similar to that of the toto\nt\u2019er-bua is attached to the back, and very frequently strings of\nDentalium shell are attached at various points. Such a girdle may be\nworn by either men or women. It is called toto t\u2019er-\u014bau in Aka-Jeru.\n\nYet another kind of girdle is made by splitting Pandanus leaves into\nthin strips and making them into a kind of wrapped cord, one strip\nbeing wrapped spirally round one or more others by the same technique\nas that used in making bow-strings. A number of coils of strands made\nin this way are tied together with thread at various points and a\ntassel similar to that of the toto t\u2019er-bua is added at the back. Such\ngirdles are usually improved by the addition of a few pendent strings\nof Dentalium shell. They may be worn by either men or women. Their name\nin Aka-Jeru is toto t\u2019er-mo\u0331i.\n\nOrnaments of Pandanus leaf to be worn either round the leg just below\nthe knee or round the wrist are made in exactly the same way as the\nbelt called toto t\u2019er-bua, each having a tassel of Pandanus leaf strips\nattached. Such garters and bracelets are worn at a dance by men.\n\nOther ornaments for wearing round the wrist or knee when dancing are\nmade by the same method as the girdle called toto t\u2019er-\u014bau, each having\na tassel of strips of leaf.\n\nSimilar dancing ornaments are made by plaiting strips of leaf into a\nthree-plait cord of the right length, a tassel of loose leaf strips\nbeing left at each end. These are tied round the wrist or knee.\n\nOrnaments for the knee or wrist, such as those shown on the legs of the\nman in Plate XII, are made by winding spirally a narrow strip of leaf\nand sewing it. A number of pendent strings of Dentalium shell are\nattached round it, and often strings are attached at the end of which\nsmall shells hang suspended which rattle against one another as the\nwearer walks or dances.\n\nChaplets or headdresses worn by men when dancing, and occasionally by\nwomen, are made of fairly broad strips of leaf in the same way as the\ntoto t\u2019er-bua. Such a chaplet may have a tassel of narrow strips of\nPandanus leaf at the back to which are attached shells that rattle as\nthe wearer moves, or it may have pendent strings of Dentalium shells\nround the hinder half of its circumference.\n\nIn making ornaments of Pandanus leaf such as the toto t\u2019er-bua the\nupper surface of the strip of leaf is usually ornamented with a design\nscratched on it with a pointed piece of wood. The design usually covers\nnot only the portion of leaf that is visible when the belt or other\nobject is finished, but also that portion which is not visible, being\nunderneath. Many ornaments of this kind are further decorated when\nfinished with the composition used for covering the bindings of arrows,\nwhich is applied with a pointed stick in simple geometrical patterns.\nThe woman shown in Plate X is wearing two belts that have been\nornamented with composition in this way.\n\nWoman\u2019s leaf apron. In the South Andaman the women wear a sort of small\napron consisting of a number of leaves of the Mimusops littoralis laid\none over the other, the stalk ends of the leaves being tucked in\nbetween the layers of a belt of Pandanus leaf. The leaves thus hang\nsuspended so as to cover, somewhat inadequately, the pudenda. The\nnatives say that the leaves of the Mimusops are chosen because they\nremain green longer than those of any other species. As soon as the\nleaves fade and turn yellow they are renewed. The appearance of the\nleaf apron may be seen in Plates IV and XV.\n\nThe women of the North Andaman have within recent years adopted the\nfashion of those of the South Andaman in this matter, but formerly they\nmade a similar use of a different kind of leaf from a plant called\n\u010dainyo in Aka-Jeru, and over the top of the leaves they wore a tassel\nof the fibre called ko\u0331ro.\n\nOrnaments of netting and Dentalium shells. Bands of netting (in shape\nof a cylinder or bag open at both ends) are made of suitable size to\ntie round the waist, the neck, the leg below the knee or the wrist.\nSuch netting is generally ornamented as it is being made with strips of\nDendrobium skin worked in the net. Along the lower edge of the band of\nnetting are attached a number of threads each having Dentalium shells\nstrung on to it like beads. Ornaments of this kind are shown in Plates\nV and IX. They are worn by both men and women, but usually only on the\noccasion of a dance or some other ceremony.\n\nOrnaments of bone, etc. These are made with human bones, with the bones\nof such animals as pig, turtle, dugong, Paradoxurus, monitor lizard, or\nwith pieces of wood or cane, or of coral, of suitable shape. A length\nof cord, of the fibre of the Hibiscus tiliaceus or of the Ficus\nlaccifera, is taken, and the bones are attached to it by thread. As a\nrule, strips of Dendrobium skin are worked in, being laid on the bone\nand bound over with the thread.\n\nOrnaments of shell. Various kinds of shells are perforated and attached\nto string and are worn round the neck, the head, the knee, or the\nwrist. A necklace of fresh-water shells (ino ko\u0331lo to\u0331i in Aka-Jeru) is\nshown in Plate IX. A necklace of small sea-shells is shown in Plate\nXIII. The favourite shell of the Great Andaman tribes is the Dentalium\noctogonum. The shells are collected from the shore by the women. The\nclosed end of each is bitten off with the teeth and the shells, which\nthus form cylindrical beads, are strung on to a piece of thread. These\nstrings of shell are worn as necklaces, as shown in Plates IV and XII,\nand are tied round the wrist and knee and ankle as shown in Plate IV.\n\nOrnaments of seed. The seed-tops of two or three species of mangrove\nare collected and strung on to thread and worn round the neck. Fig. 40\nshows the two kinds of mangrove seed commonly used in this way.\n\nBamboo necklaces. A necklace is sometimes made of a number of short\npieces of bamboo arrow-shaft threaded on to a string. The pieces of\nbamboo are ornamented with simple designs scratched or cut on them with\na shell.\n\nSling of bark. Another object that may perhaps be mentioned amongst\nobjects of personal ornament is the sling used in carrying children. It\nis made of a broad strip of the bark of the Hibiscus tiliaceus. Some\nslings are covered entirely with netting, while others are ornamented\nwith shells in various ways. Plate XIV shows one with strings of\nDentalium shell sewn on to it.\n\nDancing ornaments of Tetranthera wood. A piece of Tetranthera wood,\nusually part of the shaft of an old pig-arrow, about 30 to 35 cm. long,\nis taken and made into shavings with a Cyrena shell. The wood is shaved\ncarefully round and round, so as to make a continuous sheet of fibre,\nas though unwinding a roll of material. A bundle of these shavings is\ntied at one end and covered with red paint, and forms an object that is\ncarried in the hand or worn in the belt at dances.\n\n\n\nPERSONAL ORNAMENT; LITTLE ANDAMAN.\n\nThe personal ornaments of the Little Andaman and of the Jarawa are\ndifferent from those of the Great Andaman Division, and therefore need\nto be described separately.\n\nOrnaments of bark. Strips of bark (? Celtis cinnamonea) are worn by the\nmen round the waist and round the arm.\n\nOrnamental cord. These are the ornaments most frequently met with both\nin the Little Andaman and amongst the Jarawa. The basis is a strip of\ncane, varying in breadth in different examples. On one side of this are\nlaid strips of the yellow skin of the Dendrobium, varying in number\naccording to the breadth of the cane, and the whole is served over or\nbound with thread. The technique in shown in Fig. 41, which represents\ndiagrammatically the method adopted when there are two strips of\nDendrobium skin. Such ornamental cord is made in pieces of considerable\nlength. Often tassels of thread (of Ficus hispida fibre) are attached\nto it at intervals. The cord is worn wound round the waist, the neck,\nor the arm. Both men and women wear it.\n\nWoman\u2019s girdle. In the Little Andaman this is made of a number of fine\nstrips of cane tied together with thread. At the front is attached a\ntassel of fibre made from young unopened palm-leaves (the fibre called\nko\u0331ro in Aka-Jeru).\n\nWoman\u2019s shoulder strap. The women of the Little Andaman wear a strip of\nbark over the shoulders, crossing over the chest and passing beneath\nthe breasts.\n\nThe above brief description of the ornaments of the Andamanese is\nperhaps sufficient for the purpose of this appendix, which is to\ndetermine as far as possible the elements of a primitive Negrito\nculture. Any complete account of the subject would need a large number\nof figures and a discussion of many comparatively unimportant details.\nThe first point of importance to be noted is that the personal\nornaments of the Little Andaman Division differ markedly from those of\nthe Great Andaman Division. One difference is that the Pandanus leaf,\nwhich is used so much and in so many ways in the Great Andaman, seems\nnot to be used at all in the Little Andaman. Another is that shells,\nwhich are much used in the Great Andaman, are used to a far less extent\nin the Little Andaman. The natives of the Little Andaman told me that\nthey sometimes make ornaments of Dentalium shell, but I did not see any\nsuch ornament, nor any other ornament of shell, in use. The ornaments\nof netting worn in the Great Andaman, and forming the usual dancing\ncostume, seem not to be used in the Little Andaman. Finally, perhaps\nmost important of all, there is at present no evidence that the natives\nof the Little Andaman make ornaments of either human or animal bones.\nIn the Little Andaman the lower jaw of a child is preserved by the\nparents and is worn by them, but I never saw a human skull (whether of\nchild or adult) so worn, and I was not able to obtain any evidence of\nthe use of strings of human bones such as are constantly seen in a camp\nof the Great Andaman.\n\nThe points of similarity between the ornaments of the Little Andaman\nand those of the Great Andaman are very few. One of the most striking\nis the great use that is made in both divisions of the yellow skin of\nthe Dendrobium. It seems probable that here we have evidence of one\nelement of a primitive Negrito culture, for the Negritos of the\nPhilippines also are fond of using a yellow vegetable fibre for their\npersonal ornaments. So far as it is possible to judge from the figure\nand description, the armlet given by Meyer in Plate iii, No. 11, seems\nto be very similar to the ornamental cord of the Little Andaman. It is\ndescribed as a \u201cmit schwarz und gelben Grasstreifchen umflocktener\nBambus-reif.\u201d\n\nAnother point of resemblance between the Great Andaman and the Little\nAndaman is that in both very little use is made of feathers or flowers.\nThe natives of the Great Andaman never make use of the feathers of\nbirds. The Jarawa occasionally wear in a chaplet a feather of the\nking-crow (Dicrurus macrocercus) if we may judge from a specimen in the\nBritish Museum. The natives of the Little Andaman certainly do not as a\nrule make any use of feathers. It would seem, from all accounts, that\nthe Semang and the Philippine Negritos do not make any considerable use\nof feathers for personal ornament. We may perhaps hazard the conclusion\nthat this is a mark of the Negrito culture distinguishing them from\nsuch people as the Papuans or Australians in whose personal ornaments\nthe feathers of birds occupy an important place.\n\nIn the Great Andaman flowers are not used as personal ornaments. In the\nBritish Museum there is an ornament from the Little Andaman consisting\nof a strip of bark-fibre with a few flowers attached.\n\nAs regards personal ornament, therefore, the only elements of a\nprimitive Negrito culture that we seem to be able to trace in the\nAndamans at the present day are (1) the use of yellow vegetable fibre,\nand (2) the absence of any considerable use of feathers.\n\nOne element of a primitive Andamanese culture, though not necessarily\nof a primitive Negrito culture, would seem to be the use of a tassel of\nthe fibre obtained from an unopened palm-leaf which is used by women to\ncover their genitals in the Little Andaman, and was similarly used\nuntil recently in the North Andaman.\n\n\n\nHAIR-DRESSING, SCARIFICATION, AND BODY-PAINTING.\n\nAt the present time the usual method of hair-dressing in the Great\nAndaman is to shave a portion of the scalp all round so as to leave a\nsort of skull-cap of hair, as may be seen in many of the plates of this\nvolume. In some cases a \u201cparting\u201d is made by shaving a narrow strip\nover the crown. (See Plate XV, for example.) When the hair grows so\nlong as to be uncomfortable the whole head is shaved, and it is then\npermitted to grow again. In these days the natives cut their hair\nwhenever they have an opportunity of obtaining a pair of scissors. In\nthe Little Andaman women and old men are frequently to be seen with the\nhead entirely shaved. The younger men shave away the lower edge of the\nhair all round in the same way as the natives of the Great Andaman, but\nthis may be a recent practice.\n\nThe fashion of hair-dressing, at any rate for women, has changed within\nrecent times, for Mr Man wrote in 1882 that \u201cthe majority of the women\nevery week or ten days shave their heads almost entirely, leaving only\ntwo narrow parallel lines of hair, termed gor, from the crown to the\nnape of the neck [256].\u201d At the present time this style of\nhair-dressing has fallen entirely into disuse, and the women do their\nhair in the same way as the men.\n\nThe operation of shaving, which is done with a flake of glass or\nquartz, is performed by women, and never, or very rarely, by men.\n\nMention has been made in an earlier part of the work of the way in\nwhich the natives of the Great Andaman scarify the skin of the body and\nlimbs with a flake of glass or quartz. The Semang do not scarify\nthemselves in this way, but some, at any rate, of the Negritos of the\nPhilippines do.\n\nThe natives of the Great Andaman, as described earlier in this work,\npaint their bodies with a grey clay called odu or og, with a fine white\nclay, and with red paint made by mixing burnt oxide of iron with fat or\noil. The natives of the Little Andaman use the same kind of clay as\nthat called odu or og in the Great Andaman, but instead of applying it\nin patterns they smear it roughly on the back and front of the trunk.\nThey also use red paint, with which they smear their hair, a practice\nnever met with in the Great Andaman.\n\n\n\nORNAMENTATION.\n\nThe Andamanese have simple designs which they paint or incise on their\nbodies and on a great number of the objects that they make and use. A\nfew typical designs such as are incised or painted on belts of Pandanus\nleaf are shown in Fig. 42. A very large number of designs are based on\nthe zig-zag line. Examples are shown in Fig. 42 c, e, and g. In all\nparts of the Great Andaman and also in the Little Andaman the zig-zag\nline is associated with snakes. Thus in the Little Andaman the simple\nzig-zag line is called dobo kwolage (dobo = snake). In the North\nAndaman the design of zig-zag lines painted on the body with white clay\nis called or-\u010dubi t\u2019era-bat, or-\u010dubi being the name of a species of\nlarge snake.\n\nA number of other common designs consist of parallel lines of dots or\nof short strokes, an example of which is shown in Fig. 42 f.\n\nBy far the greater number of the Andamanese designs are based on the\nfollowing elements, (1) parallel lines crossing a surface from side to\nside at right angles to the edge or else in a sloping direction (about\n45\u00b0), (2) parallel lines of dots or of short lines, i.e. parallel\nbroken lines, as in Fig. 42 f, (3) zig-zag lines, which may be single,\nor parallel or opposed so as to make lines of lozenges. As an example\nof the way in which these elements may be combined two designs copied\nfrom bamboo necklaces are shown in Fig. 43.\n\nIt would perhaps be possible to show that there is a real connection\nbetween the ornamentation of the Andamanese and that of the Semang, as\nthere is certainly a considerable degree of superficial resemblance,\nbut at present we understand so little the psychological processes\nunderlying the use of ornament amongst primitive peoples that the\nsubject is one of considerable difficulty.\n\n\n\nCANOES.\n\nCanoes are in regular use on the coast in all parts of the islands.\nThere are three types of canoe. (1) The Little Andaman canoe, with one\noutrigger, propelled with paddles or with a pole. (2) The Great Andaman\nsmall canoe, with one outrigger, propelled with paddles or with a pole.\n(3) The Great Andaman large canoe, without outrigger, propelled with\noars.\n\nThe third kind of canoe mentioned above is a recent innovation. The\nnatives themselves say that such canoes have only been made in recent\ntimes, since they have been able to obtain a plentiful supply of iron\ntools, and so have been able to cut down and hollow out large trunks\n[257]. They seem to have been invented by the natives of the South\nAndaman, and copied by those of the Middle and North Andaman.\n\nCanoes of this type are propelled by rowing with short oars, except in\nshallow water where they are poled. This method of propulsion (rowing\nas opposed to paddling) was adopted in imitation of the boats with\nwhich they have become familiar since the European occupation.\n\nFor the small canoe of the Great Andaman five or six species of\nsoft-wooded trees are used, of which three are species of Sterculia. A\nsuitable tree is selected near the shore or a creek, and is felled.\nCare is taken to make it fall in a particular direction. Thus, if the\ntrunk is curved, the convex side of the curve will have to be the\nbottom of the canoe, and the tree should fall so that this side lies on\nthe ground. Trees are very rarely regular and before beginning the work\nof cutting the natives have to decide how it should be cut so as to\ngive the best result, i.e., the greatest stability.\n\nAfter the tree is felled the trunk is cut to the requisite length. The\ninside of the canoe is first roughly hollowed out with the adze, no use\nbeing made of fire. The bark is then removed from the outside of the\ntrunk and the two ends are shaped. Finally, the inside is carefully\nfinished with the adze so as to reduce the sides and bottom to the\nrequisite thickness.\n\nExcept at the stem and stern, the canoe retains the shape of the tree,\nonly the bark being removed, and the sides and bottom being formed of\nthe alburnum or sap-wood. At the stern a small platform is cut\nprojecting over the water, which serves as a seat for the steersman. At\nthe prow a larger platform is cut, on which the harpooner stands when\nhe is harpooning turtle or fish. Below these two platforms the ends are\nnot cut away squarely but are rounded from side to side. The prow of\nthe canoe is in every case the lower and therefore broader end of the\ntrunk. It is only in this way that a sufficiently large platform can be\nprovided for the harpooner.\n\nThe trees used for canoes have a pithy core and there is therefore a\nsmall patch in both the prow and the stern which would admit the water.\nIn former times these two places were caulked with bees\u2019-wax. At the\npresent time the natives often nail a piece of tin (part of an old\nkerosene tin, for example), with some rags beneath it, on the outside\nof the canoe at these two places.\n\nWhen the hull of the canoe is finished it is moved to the shore or to\nthe bank of a creek and the outrigger is attached. The float is a\nstraight spar of light wood. In the North Andaman the wood of the\nHibiscus tiliaceus is often used, but Mr Man says that in the South\nAndaman the float is always made from a species of Sterculia (mai in\nAka-Bea) [258]. The ends of the float are only roughly shaped. The\nbroader end of the float is forward.\n\nThe float is attached to a number of booms, of which there are never\nless than three in the smallest canoes, while there may be as many as\neight or nine in a large canoe. A medium-sized canoe has five or six\nbooms. The boom is a thin straight piece of tough wood, of which one\nend is sharpened and thrust right through two holes cut in the gunwales\nof the canoe opposite to one another, the sharpened end projecting for\na few inches on the port side of the canoe. The boom thus projects\nabout three feet on the starboard side on the level of the gunwale.\n\nWhere the boom passes through the gunwales of the canoe it is bound\nwith cane, and the cane is bound round the whole of that part of the\nboom that is within the canoe between the two gunwales. (See Fig. 44.)\nThis portion of the boom forms a seat for the man paddling the canoe,\nso that he sits on a level with the gunwale with his feet on the floor\nof the canoe.\n\nThe boom is attached to the float by means of sticks of tough wood.\nThese sticks, having pointed ends, are driven into the float, one\nperpendicular, and the other two at an angle on each side. The tops of\nthe three sticks are fastened to the boom a few inches from its end by\nmeans of a strip of cane. The arrangement of the three sticks is shown\nin Fig. 45.\n\nThe strip of cane with which the sticks are bound to the boom is wound\nspirally round the boom itself for a few inches and is then carried\ndown round the float and back to the boom again on the other side. The\nthree sticks provide an efficient resistance against a longitudinal\nthrust (i.e., a thrust in the same direction as the line of the canoe).\nThe strip of cane passing from the boom round the float and back to the\nboom again provides a resistance against any lateral thrust on the\nfloat. The three sticks, being driven in when the wood of the float is\ndry, do not readily work loose, as the water in which it is constantly\nimmersed keeps the wood swollen. The cane binding, including the stays\non each side, may work loose, but can readily be tightened or renewed.\nEach of the booms is attached to the float in exactly the same way, and\nthe whole arrangement is very efficient in keeping the float rigidly\nattached to the hull in such a position that it rests on the surface of\nthe water when the hull itself rides freely balanced.\n\nCanoes of this type vary in dimensions within wide limits. A small\ncanoe with only three booms, which would carry three persons, measured\n4\u00b785 metres in length over all with a beam of about 35 centimetres. A\nlarge canoe may measure as much as 9 metres with a proportionate beam.\n\nA well-made canoe will often balance well enough as it stands, but it\nis sometimes necessary to balance it with ballast of stones or pieces\nof coral. In any case the canoe is easily overturned in a rough sea\nunless the occupants can maintain the balance with their bodies. As the\ncanoe is made of light wood it cannot sink even when full of water, and\nthe natives easily right an overturned canoe, bale it out, and get in\nagain, even in a rough sea.\n\nThe furniture of a canoe consists of the ballast (of stone), a piece of\nstone (or sometimes a piece of tin) on which to keep a small fire\nsmouldering, an anchor consisting of a lump of coral or stone attached\nto a length of rope, a Nautilus shell or two for baling out the canoe,\na bamboo pole of about 18 feet in length for poling the canoe in\nshallow water, and paddles.\n\nIn the platform overhanging the prow a few holes are cut. These holes\nare sometimes used to attach the rope by which the canoe is fastened to\nan anchor. One or more turtle skulls are often attached so as to hang\ndown beneath the platform. In turtle-hunting expeditions on dark nights\na torch is slung beneath the forward platform so as to shed its light\non the water while the harpooner remains in shadow.\n\nWhen a canoe is finished it is decorated with designs painted on it\nwith red paint and white clay, particularly on the forward platform and\nalong the gunwale. These designs soon wear off when the canoe is in use\nand are not renewed.\n\nThe paddles used by the Andamanese vary considerably in size and to\nsome extent in shape, but the following description with its\naccompanying figure gives a fair idea of a typical specimen. The whole\npaddle has a length of 123\u00b75 centimetres, the shaft being 85\ncentimetres and the blade 38\u00b75 centimetres. The diameter of the shaft\nfrom the blade to the middle is 2\u00b76 centimetres, and from the middle\ntowards the handle end it tapers to a point. The shaft is circular in\nsection throughout its length. The blade is leaf-shaped, pointed\nbluntly at the apex. In section it is plano-convex, with a maximum\nthickness of 1\u00b73 centimetres and a width of 8\u00b77 centimetres. Paddles\nare cut with an adze from the wood of the Myristica longifolia and\nplaned with a boar\u2019s tusk. They are often ornamented, when new, with\npainted designs in red and white.\n\nIn deep water the canoe is paddled. Each of the occupants sits facing\nforward. The steersman sits on the stern platform. The others sit on\nthe seats provided by the outrigger booms. Each man paddles on which\nside he chooses. It rests with the steersman to maintain the canoe in\nits proper course. In shallow water the canoe is propelled with a pole.\nA man stands on the forward platform and poles the canoe, steering as\nhe does so. In a fairly large canoe a man at the stern may also take a\npole and, standing up, help to propel the canoe.\n\nAll the work connected with the making of canoes and paddles is done by\nmen alone, except the painting, which is usually done by women. It is\nthe men also who make most use of canoes.\n\nThe large canoe, that is now made by all the tribes of the Great\nAndaman Division, is simply a canoe of the same general shape as the\nGreat Andaman outrigger canoe, cut from a larger tree and without the\noutrigger. The shape of the hull, with its platforms fore and aft, is\nexactly the same. It seems that when the natives obtained a plentiful\nsupply of iron tools (after 1858) they began to cut down and hollow out\nlarger trees than formerly. Having made these larger canoes they found\nthat they would, when well cut and ballasted with stone, float quite\nwell without an outrigger. (It may be mentioned that the hull of a\nsmall canoe is always tested on the water before the outrigger is\nattached.) Indeed a well cut canoe of large size floats and balances\nbetter in a rough sea than a smaller one with an outrigger. It is\npossible that at first these large canoes were propelled with paddles\njust as the outrigger canoes are, the paddlers facing forward. Having\nlearnt to understand the principle of the oar, through their contact\nwith the Penal Settlement, the natives applied this principle to their\nown canoes. It could not, of course, be applied to the small canoes, as\nthe shape of the canoe and the position of the paddler make the use of\nan oar impossible. It could be applied very easily, however, to the new\nlarge canoes. In these the oarsman does not sit on a level with the\ngunwale, but sits down in the hull itself on a piece of wood resting on\nthe two sides of the hull a few inches above the floor. The gunwale of\nthe canoe is thus about on a level with the bottom of his sternum. A\nnumber of holes are made in the gunwale on each side, and by means of\nthese, loops of cane are attached to the gunwale. The oar, which is\nshaped in imitation of European oars, but with a short shaft, is thrust\nthrough the loop of cane, which serves as a fulcrum or rowlock. The\nrowers face aft. A man at the stern steers with a paddle. In shallow\nwater the large canoes are propelled with poles in exactly the same way\nas the smaller canoes.\n\nIn the bow, at about the position that would be occupied by the\nforemost boom in an outrigger canoe, holes are made in the gunwale on\neach side and a piece of wood is thrust through them as a sort of\nthwart. This is to provide a means of making fast the end of the\nharpoon line or the anchor line, and thus serves a purpose that is\nserved by the foremost boom in the outrigger canoe.\n\nThe large canoes are not quite so useful in turtle-hunting as the\nsmaller outrigger variety, as they cannot be so quickly turned when the\npursued turtle doubles. Very often a large canoe and a small canoe are\ntaken together on an expedition, the harpooning being mostly done from\nthe smaller one while the captured turtles are placed in the larger\none. A small canoe with three or four men cannot hold more than one or\nat most two big turtles, whereas as many as ten or a dozen can be\nstowed in one of the large canoes.\n\nThe chief use of the large canoes is to make journeys from place to\nplace. One of the largest will hold as many as thirty men and women\nwith their baggage, whereas an outrigger canoe would never carry more\nthan nine or ten. Further, there is less chance of an even heavily\nladen big canoe capsizing in a rough sea than of an outrigger canoe\ndoing so. One result of the introduction of the large canoe has\ntherefore been to enable the natives to move much more freely about the\nislands than formerly. The passage from the South Andaman to Ritchie\u2019s\nArchipelago, for instance, would only be attempted in an outrigger\ncanoe on a very calm day, whereas in a large canoe it can be\nsuccessfully accomplished even when there is something of a sea\nrunning.\n\nThe small canoe of the Little Andaman is fairly similar to that of the\nGreat Andaman. There are three differences. (1) The stem and stern are\nsquarely cut in the Little Andaman, instead of being rounded off. (2)\nThe outrigger booms are attached to the top of the gunwale by cane\nbinding which passes through holes made in the gunwales, instead of\nbeing themselves passed through holes in the gunwale. (3) The float is\nattached to the booms in a different and less efficient manner. Three\npointed hard-wood sticks are driven into the float, but they are all\nthree approximately perpendicular. They are bound at the top to the\nboom, but there are no stays of cane to maintain the float rigid\nagainst a lateral thrust. In other respects the Little Andaman canoe is\nthe same as the Great Andaman canoe.\n\nThe Jarawa of the South Andaman do not at the present time make use of\ncanoes. This is apparently because, through their hostility with the\nAka-Bea, they have been confined to the interior of the island. They\nmake rafts of bamboos lashed together for crossing creeks and inlets.\nThe forest-dwellers of the Great Andaman Division seem also to have\nmade occasional use of similar rafts for the same purpose.\n\nA canoe of the North Sentinel was seen by Mr Gilbert Rogers during a\nvisit to that island in 1903 [259]. It had been hollowed out of a tree\nand was about 15 feet long. The ends of the canoe were cut off\nperpendicularly to its length leaving a piece of the tree about one\ninch thick projecting for about three inches beyond either end to form\na small but rickety seat. The log from which the canoe was cut was\ncurved so that the ends were slightly higher than the middle. It had a\nfloat supported by six booms passing through holes cut in the sides of\nthe canoe. These booms were fastened to smaller pieces of stick fixed\ninto the sides of the canoe beneath them. The outrigger was attached to\neach boom by two small pointed sticks driven into the float and tied to\nthe boom above with cane. There was one small paddle, a Nautilus shell\nfor a baler, and five poles resting on the outrigger booms. These point\nto the canoe being poled along in the lagoon, which is quite shallow,\nrather than to its being used for long journeys or outside the reefs\nwhich surround the island. The canoe was 18 inches in diameter at the\nsmaller end and perhaps 30 inches wide at the larger end.\n\nThis description shows that the canoe of the North Sentinel is on the\nwhole more like that of the Little Andaman than like that of the Great\nAndaman.\n\nIt seems probable that the Andaman Islands were peopled by sea from the\ncoast of Burma. If this were so, then the original ancestors of the\nAndamanese must have been in possession of canoes. A consideration of\nthe present Andaman canoes suggests that their ancestors had canoes\nwith a single outrigger on the starboard side, with a number of booms.\nOf the different methods of attaching the booms to the float, it is\npossible that the method now in use in the Little Andaman (and\napparently also in the North Sentinel) is primitive, and that the Great\nAndaman attachment is an improvement that has been invented since the\nseparation of the two divisions. On the other hand it is not impossible\nthat the Great Andaman attachment is primitive, and that in the Little\nAndaman we have a degeneration that might be due to the fact that the\nLittle Andaman (and equally the North Sentinel) provides much less\nscope for maritime pursuits than the Great Andaman.\n\nThe recent invention of the large canoe in the Great Andaman and the\nadoption of the principle of the oar shows that the Andamanese readily\nadopt new inventions when these are clearly of service to them.\n\nTurning now to the Semang, as these people live inland they have no use\nfor canoes. They make rafts of bamboos lashed together with which they\nfloat down the rivers, returning overland.\n\nSome of the Philippine Negritos seem to live on the coast and possibly\nhave canoes, but nothing is known about these.\n\n\n\nCONCLUSION.\n\nThe examination of the technical culture of the Andamanese given above\nhas been sufficient to enable us to make a few statements as to what\nwas probably the culture of the Negritos before they were split up into\nisolated groups. It is highly probable that they obtained their\nsubsistence solely by hunting and collecting vegetable products. They\nhad bows and arrows, the form of bow being probably fairly similar to\nthat used at the present day in the Little Andaman, while for hunting\nthe larger animals they had arrows with detachable heads. They possibly\nhad no knowledge of any way of making implements of stone, but made use\nonly of such materials as wood, bone, and shell. It is not probable\nthat they possessed the art of making pottery, and their basketry and\nmat-work were probably confined to very simple forms. In their personal\nornaments there is reason to think that they showed a fondness for\nbright yellow vegetable fibre, and made little or no use of the\nfeathers of birds. The ornamentation of their utensils was probably\nconfined to the use of the simplest forms of geometric design with a\npreponderance of the zig-zag and the lozenge. Finally their huts\nconsisted of a single sloping roof sufficient to afford shelter for a\nsingle family or larger huts consisting of such small huts joined\ntogether.\n\nWe have seen that since the Andamanese have occupied their present\nhome, or at any rate since the Great Andaman Division and the Little\nAndaman Division have been separated from one another, many changes,\nsome of considerable importance, have taken place in the Andaman\ntechnology. In general it would seem that the technical culture of the\nGreat Andaman has changed more than that of the Little Andaman. Putting\naside the effect on the technology of the introduction of iron, there\nis no evidence that any of the changes that have taken place in the\nGreat Andaman have been due to outside influence. Important\nmodifications have taken place in the form of the bow, in the forms and\ntechnique of baskets, and in personal ornaments, and in all these\ninstances there is no reason to think that these changes have not been\nbrought about by the natives themselves without the influence of\ncontact with other people. Their method of working iron, based as it\nis, to all appearance, on their former method of working shell, shows\nthat even here, though the iron itself came to them from outside, and\neven though they may have learnt its use from seeing it used by aliens,\nstill they have not learnt from others how to fashion the metal into\nshape by heating it. Thus, so far as their technical culture is\nconcerned, there is no evidence whatever that the Andamanese have ever\nbeen influenced by contact with any other race since the time, now many\ncenturies ago, when they first reached the islands.\n\nOn the other hand there is some probability that the ancestors of the\nAndamanese, before they first reached the islands, or at any rate\nbefore the isolation of the Little Andaman from the Great Andaman, had\nlearnt from some other race how to make pottery, and it is possible\nthat at the same time they may have acquired other elements of their\nculture, such as the outrigger canoe. We may even give a guess as to\nthe particular culture from which the ancestors of the Andamanese may\nhave adopted these elements, which may well have been that of a branch\nof that people of whom an offshoot peopled the Nicobars.\n\nConfirmation of these hypotheses, if confirmation be ever forthcoming,\ncan only be obtained in the study of the history of races and of\nculture in south-eastern Asia. Until we have much fuller knowledge of\nthe culture of the Semang and the Negritos of the Philippines, any\nconclusions that may be drawn from the study of the Andamanese alone\nmust be regarded as provisional working hypotheses only, and it is as\nsuch that they are here put forward.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX B\n\nTHE SPELLING OF ANDAMANESE WORDS\n\n\nIn writing words of the Andaman languages I have used a slightly\nmodified form of the \u201cAnthropos\u201d Alphabet of Father Schmidt [260],\nwhich I consider to be by far the most scientific alphabet for writing\ndown the languages of primitive peoples. The consonants are\n\n\n k g y \u014b\n \u010d \u01f0\n \u0144\n t d n l r\n p b w m\n\n\nThe letter \u014b is used for the nasalised guttural stop (ng in English)\nwhich should always be written with one letter, since it is a single\nconsonant, quite distinct from the double consonant ng of \u201cungodly.\u201d\nThe letter \u0144 stands for a palatalised n, something like the sound in\nFrench \u201cagneau.\u201d The \u010d and \u01f0, which, in the \u201cAnthropos\u201d Alphabet\nrepresent the sounds in English \u201cchurch\u201d and \u201cjudge\u201d respectively,\nshould, I think, really be written t\u2032 and d\u2032. The t\u2032 is a palatalised\nt, as heard in \u201cTuesday,\u201d whereas the \u010d is a fricative, often regarded\nas a compound of t and sh. It is not always easy to distinguish t\u2032 from\n\u010d and d\u2032 from \u01f0, but I believe the Andamanese sounds are really t\u2032 and\nd\u2032, and this is to some extent confirmed by the fact that they have no\ns, z, sh or zh in their languages. I have used the \u010d and \u01f0 because\nformer writers had written these sounds ch and j and it seemed worth\nwhile to make some sacrifice of scientific exactness in order to avoid\ntoo great a divergence in spelling from previous workers in the same\nfield.\n\nThe remaining consonants may be pronounced as in English. I have not\ndistinguished between different varieties of the consonants l, r, t, d,\nk and g. Further I have not distinguished between p and p\u030c (the labial\nfricative). Many of the words of the Northern languages that I have\nwritten with a p are often pronounced with a p\u030c sound.\n\nThe vowels are\n\n\n i u\n e o \u00f6\n e\u0331 o\u0331\n a\u0324 a\u0331\u0331\n a\n\n\nThese may be pronounced as follows:\n\n\n i, intermediate between the vowels of \u201cit\u201d and \u201ceat.\u201d\n e, as the vowel in \u201csay.\u201d\n e\u0331, as the e in \u201cerror\u201d or the a in \u201cMary.\u201d\n a\u0324, as the a in \u201cman.\u201d\n a, as the a in French \u201cpas.\u201d\n a\u0331\u0331, as the a in \u201cpath.\u201d\n o\u0331, as the vowel in \u201cnot\u201d or in \u201cnought.\u201d\n o, as in \u201cgo.\u201d\n u, as the vowel in \u201cfool.\u201d\n \u00f6, nearly as the German \u00f6.\n\n\nI have not attempted to distinguish all the different varieties of\nvowel sounds that are found in the different dialects. Slightly\ndifferent but closely related sounds are represented by the same letter\n[261].\n\nIn writing Andamanese words I have followed the practice of separating\nby hyphens the affixes from the stems in each word. In the Andamanese\nlanguages there are two main classes of words. The first class consists\nof words each of which is a simple stem (without affixes). Such words\nare the names of what the Andaman Islander regards as simple\nindependent objects or things, such as roa, canoe, baraba, a mat, ra, a\npig. The second class consists of words each of which is formed of a\nstem and a prefix. In the language of the Little Andaman (and in that\nof the Jarawa as far as known) these prefixes are simple vowels, i-,\ne-, a-, o-, and u-. In the languages of the Great Andaman Division they\nare such as ot-, aka-, era-, e-, u-, ab-, etc. Such words are used to\ndenote dependent objects such as the parts, qualities or actions of a\nthing. Thus while a pig (ra) or a canoe (roa) is an independent object\nand is therefore denoted by a simple stem, the head or prow of a pig or\ncanoe, being a part of a \u201cthing,\u201d is denoted by a word (ot-\u010do)\nconsisting of a stem (-\u010do) and a prefix (ot-). So also the quality of\nbigness which may belong to a pig or a canoe is denoted by a word\n(er-kuro) consisting of a stem (-kuro) and a prefix (er-).\n\nThus the second class includes many words that we should call nouns,\nall the words we should call adjectives and practically all those we\nshould regard as verbs. In the Andamanese languages the distinction\nbetween nouns and adjectives is not very clear and even less so is the\ndistinction between adjectives and verbs. Whereas the distinction\nbetween things (independent objects) on the one hand, and the parts,\nqualities, actions, etc. of things on the other, is of the utmost\nimportance. For this reason I have thought it advisable always to\nseparate by a hyphen the prefix and the stem in words of the second\nclass.\n\nIn compound words or phrases in which the second word consists of\nprefix and stem it is common to insert before the prefix a t or an l.\nThus ra t\u2019er-kuro is \u201ca big pig\u201d and ra t\u2019ot-\u010do is \u201ca pig\u2019s head.\u201d In\nwriting such words I have placed an inverted comma between the t or l\nand the prefix. This infix t must not be confused with the first\npersonal pronoun in the North Andaman, Tio, contracted to T\u2019 before a\nprefix.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nNOTES\n\n\n[1] \u201cNotes on the Languages of the Andaman Islands,\u201d by A. R. Brown,\nAnthropos, Vol. IX, 1914, pp. 36\u201352 with map. This paper contains notes\non I, The Relations of the Andamanese Languages, and II, The Formation\nof Words in the Language of the Little Andaman.\n\n[2] I hope to be able to publish shortly the first volume of a work in\nwhich the same method is applied to the interpretation of the social\ninstitutions of the natives of Australia.\n\n[3] The formation of the Arakan Fold (including the Andaman and Nicobar\nIslands), dates from the middle of the Tertiary Period, and was\napparently connected with the great movements that produced the\nHimalaya-Alpine mountain system and the Circum-Pacific Fold. The\nAndaman Sea, in the later Tertiary period, was prolonged much further\nto the north, over the region now occupied by the Pegu Yomah.\n\n[4] This line of volcanic activity is a minor continuation of the Sunda\nRange of volcanoes of Java and Sumatra. It is continued northward,\nparallel to the Arakan Fold, as far as the extinct volcano of\nPuppadoung, east of Pagan, not far from Lat. 21\u00b0.\n\n[5] The flora of the Andamans and Cocos contains a number of species,\nthe presence of which can only be explained by the supposition of a\npast land connection with the Arakan region. (See Prain, \u201cThe\nVegetation of the Coco Group,\u201d Journ. Asiatic Soc. of Bengal, Vol. LX,\nPart II, pp. 283\u2013406.) On the other hand, the paucity of mammalian\nfauna is such as to lead to the conclusion that the islands were\nisolated at a period when the mammals now typical of the mainland did\nnot exist there. (See Miller, \u201cMammals of the Andaman and Nicobar\nIslands,\u201d Proc. National Museum, U.S.A. Vol. XXIV).\n\n[6] There is no evidence of the former existence of Negritos in the\nNicobars, but on the other hand, there is equally no direct evidence of\ntheir former presence in Lower Burma.\n\n[7] On the accompanying map of south-eastern Asia the regions now\noccupied by the Negritos are shown by the shading.\n\n[8] Anciennes Relations des Indes et de la Chine; De Deux Voyageurs\nMahometans, qui y allerent dans le neuvi\u00e8me si\u00e8cle; Traduites d\u2019Arabe\n(par M. l\u2019Abb\u00e9 Renaudot). Paris, MDCCXVIII, pp. 5 and 6.\n\n[9] Takakasu\u2019s Edition of I-tsing, pp. xxviii seq.\n\n[10] The Travels of Marco Polo, Edited by John Masefield, Everyman\u2019s\nLibrary, 1908, p. 347.\n\n[11] Extracts of Master Caesar Frederike: his Eighteene Yeeres\u2019 Indian\nObservations, Purchas: his Pilgrimes, London, 1625; Vol. II, p. 1710.\nIn spite of the repeated descriptions of the Andamanese by early\nwriters as ferocious cannibals, there is good reason to think that they\nhave not deserved quite so evil a reputation. If they had ever been\ncannibals they had certainly abandoned the custom by the time the\nislands were occupied in 1858. It is improbable that such inveterate\nman-eaters, as they are supposed to have been, would have entirely\naltered their ways in the course of a century or two. The legend\nprobably had its origin in the fact that the Andamanese attacked all\nstrangers who landed on their coasts, and (in the North Andaman, at any\nrate) often disposed of the bodies of slain enemies by cutting them in\npieces and burning them on a fire.\n\n[12] The account is that of a visit to the Andamans in 1771 by John\nRitchie, published in the Indian Antiquary, Vol. XXX, 1901, pp. 232\nseq. Two natives came off to the ship in a canoe, and Ritchie writes:\n\u201cI gave them some nails and bits of old iron which pleased them much;\nand about three in the afternoon, they went into the canoe, and tried\nhard to pull the chain plates from the vessel\u2019s side. They went astern\nwhen this would not do, and dragged strongly and long at the rudder\nchains; but these were too well fixed; and at last, they went towards\nthe shore at an easy rate, looking at their nails, and singing all the\nway.\u201d\n\n[13] In 1906 some Little Andaman visitors to Rutland Island captured a\nJarawa of that part. They told me that though he spoke differently from\nthem, they could understand him fairly well.\n\n[14] Portman, M. V., A History of Our Relations with the Andamanese,\nCalcutta, 1899.\n\n[15] This estimate is based on what the Andamanese were able to tell me\nof the conditions under which they formerly lived. Of course such an\nestimate can only be of small value. I think it is more probable that I\nhave underestimated the former population than that I have\noverestimated it.\n\n[16] Notes on the Languages of the South Andaman Group of Tribes, p.\n27.\n\n[17] Page 18 above.\n\n[18] A few small areas were not occupied at all, for example the\ngreater part of Saddle Peak in the North Andaman, which is covered with\ndense jungle and is supposed by the natives to be the haunt of large\nand deadly snakes and of evil spirits.\n\n[19] Mouat, F. J., Adventures and Researches among the Andaman\nIslanders, London, 1863, p. 313.\n\n[20] Loc. cit. p. 300.\n\n[21] Journ. Anthrop. Inst. Vol. XII, pp. 107 and 108.\n\n[22] Portman, Notes on the Languages of the South Andaman Group of\nTribes, p. 23.\n\n[23] The photograph is reproduced in Le Tour du Monde, 1895, p. 447.\n\n[24] See Journ. Anthrop. Inst. Vol. XII, p. 71.\n\n[25] Man, op. cit. p. 108.\n\n[26] In the North Andaman the times before the Settlement are spoken of\nas the time when there were no dogs, Bibi poiye = \u201cDog not.\u201d\n\n[27] They are only eaten in the rainy season.\n\n[28] There are two kinds of wild bee in the Andamans. A small species\nmakes black honeycombs in hollow trees, and these may be found at any\ntime of the year. A larger species of bee builds white combs suspended\nfrom the underside of branches in tall trees. Such combs are found in\nabundance only in the hot season, and not at all in the middle of the\nrainy season.\n\n[29] Man, in Journ. Anthrop. Inst. Vol. XII, p. 108.\n\n[30] The natives of the North Andaman were able to tell me of a few\ncases of murder which had occurred within the memory of those still\nliving.\n\nMr Portman in his History of Our Relations with the Andamanese records\na certain number of murders which occurred while he was in charge of\nthe Andamanese. One man, who had been imprisoned at Port Blair for\nmurder, committed another soon after his release and was hanged. Since\nthat date there has been no case of murder among the Great Andaman\ntribes. This is perhaps in part due to the punishment with which they\nare now threatened by the Government, but another cause is probably the\nbreakdown of the old social organisation which has in this respect\nrather improved their morals than the opposite.\n\n[31] The nickname is applied, however, not only to those who deserve it\nby their character, but also to others; for instance, one man was\ncalled Taren\u01f0ek because his maternal uncle was a man of violent temper.\n\n[32] See below, Chap. IV.\n\n[33] The classificatory system of relationship was first studied and\nnamed by Lewis H. Morgan, in Systems of Consanguinity and Affinity of\nthe Human Family, Washington, Smithsonian Institution, 1871. The\nsubject is also discussed in the same author\u2019s Ancient Society.\nAlthough there has been a good deal of attention paid to the systems of\nrelationship of savage tribes since the time of Morgan, there is no\ngeneral work on the subject that supersedes these two books.\n\n[34] The terms used in any society to denote relationships are of\ninterest to the ethnologist as an important means to the discovery of\nthe relationship system (i.e. the system of juridical and moral\ninstitutions) existing in the same society. Without a thorough\nknowledge of the terms in use and their exact meanings it is impossible\nto discover the rights and duties of relatives one to another. It is,\nhowever, sometimes forgotten that the study of terms of relationship is\nnot an end in itself but a means to a more important study.\n\n[35] In the Andamanese languages a large number of words are formed\nfrom a stem and a prefix. E-, ot-, aka-, ara-, ab- etc. are prefixes of\nthis kind. The function of the prefixes is (1) to show that the object\ndenoted by the word is in a dependent relation to some other object\nunderstood, as for instance that it is part of that other object, and\n(2) to modify the reference of the stem, as for instance while e-tire\nmeans the offspring of an animal or an human being, era-tire means the\noffspring of a tree or plant (the young shoots). For a description of\nthese prefixes the reader may be referred to the work of Mr Portman,\nNotes on the Languages of the South Andaman Group of Tribes.\n\n[36] Dege bula and dege pal mean \u201cmy husband\u201d and \u201cmy wife\u201d\nrespectively.\n\n[37] Notes on the Languages of the South Andaman Group of Tribes.\n\n[38] Man, op. cit. p. 421. The dia, or the d\u2019 before a prefix, in the\nwords of this list is the pronoun \u201cmy.\u201d\n\n[39] Portman, Notes on the Languages of the South Andaman Group of\nTribes, p. 255.\n\n[40] Op. cit. p. 100.\n\n[41] The natives commonly applied the term to me, in the form Mam-jula.\n\n[42] The systems of relationship of savage peoples are often very\ndifficult to study, even with a thorough mastery of the native\nlanguage. My account of the Andamanese system is not perhaps complete\nand is therefore open to error. Since the above account was written I\nhave had the opportunity of studying in Australia several examples of\n\u201cclassificatory\u201d systems of relationship, and can now say very\ndefinitely that such a system presents an extreme contrast to the\nsystem of the Andamans. My failure fully to comprehend the Andamanese\nsystem was partly due to the difficulties of the language, in which I\ndid not have time to become expert, and partly to the nature of the\nAndamanese terms, of which it is by no means easy to discover the\nmeaning, even with careful observation.\n\n[43] Man, op. cit. p. 135. He speaks of the wives as \u201cmodels of\nconstancy.\u201d\n\n[44] I collected a number of genealogies from the natives, but\nunfortunately my own inexperience in the use of the genealogical\nmethod, and my consequent inability to surmount the difficulties with\nwhich I met, made this branch of my investigations a failure.\n\n[45] When a husband and wife greet one another the man sits on the lap\nof the wife.\n\n[46] Man, op. cit. p. 139.\n\n[47] Ibid.\n\n[48] Man, op. cit. p. 139.\n\n[49] Man, op. cit. p. 125.\n\n[50] It would not be safe, however, to base any arguments of importance\nto sociology on the above description of the Andamanese system of\nrelationship alone. Although I tried to learn all that I could on the\nsubject, it is quite certain that I did not learn all that was to be\nlearnt, and it is possible that further enquiry might have shown that I\nwas mistaken in some of my observations. The difficulty of being really\nsure on these matters is due (1) to the fact that the breaking-up of\nthe old local organisation has produced many changes in their customs,\nand (2) to the difficulty of questioning the natives on matters\nconnected with relationships when they have no words in their language\nto denote any but the simplest relationships.\n\n[51] The dance is described in the next chapter.\n\n[52] In the years 1872 to 1902 inclusive the Jarawa made eight attacks\non camps of the friendly Andamanese in different places, in which two\nof the friendly Andamanese men and one girl were killed and three men\nand one boy were wounded. There were also one or two casual meetings\nbetween Jarawa and friendly Andamanese. One of the friendlies was\nsurprised and killed while turtle hunting in 1894. During the same\nyears the Jarawa made on different occasions about twenty attacks on\nparties of convicts or on separate individuals, killing altogether 27\nconvicts and two police constables, and wounding six other convicts. In\nthese skirmishes and in the expeditions to which they gave rise three\nJarawa were killed and seven wounded on various occasions, and several\ntimes Jarawa men, women or children were captured and afterwards\nreleased. A number of convicts have at different times run away from\nthe Settlement and as some of those were never after heard of they may\nbe supposed to have been killed by the Jarawa. For an official record\nof dealings with the Jarawa see the \u201cCensus Report\u201d 1901, pp. 68\u201390.\n\n[53] I could not obtain any definite legend about these stones, but one\ninformant said that when Biliku got angry and destroyed the world (see\nlater, Chap. IV) the children all became stones at this place.\n\n[54] This is the plant (not identified) of which the leaves were, till\nrecent times, worn by the women of the North Andaman to cover the\npudenda. In the South Andaman the leaves of the Mimusops littoralis are\nin use for this purpose, and the Northern tribes have recently given up\ntheir own custom and adopted that of the South.\n\n[55] Unfortunately I was not able to see this ceremony performed, and\nmy information is therefore derived from the statements of the natives.\n\n[56] There is no secrecy about any of the proceedings; the whole\nceremony is performed in the village and may be witnessed by anybody.\n\n[57] In the Southern tribes large stones are placed on the youth\u2019s\nthighs.\n\n[58] In these days the natives are very fond of tea, which they obtain\nfrom the Andamanese Homes; during the ceremony described above the\nyouth or girl is not permitted to drink tea.\n\n[59] I believe that the dance is intended to imitate the movement of a\nturtle as it swims through the water.\n\n[60] The meaning of the word kimil (or gumul) will be discussed in a\nlater chapter.\n\n[61] This plant is selected because it is associated with\nhoney-gathering; its bitter sap, being extremely obnoxious to bees, is\nsmeared over their persons when taking a comb, and enables them to\nescape scot free with their prize. (Note by Mr Man.)\n\n[62] This is believed to be the Ophiophagus elaps. (Note by Mr Man.)\n\n[63] Man, op. cit. p. 133.\n\n[64] Man, loc. cit. p. 143.\n\n[65] Man, op. cit. p. 354. Mr Man adds in a note that \u201cit is believed\nthat Puluga would punish severely any person who might be guilty of\neating his yat-tub, either by causing his skin to peel off (wainyake)\nor by turning his hair white and flaying him alive.\u201d On Puluga see\nlater, Chaps. III and IV.\n\n[66] Turtle are captured alive by means of harpoons, and may be kept\nalive several days before they are killed and eaten.\n\n[67] Mr M. V. Portman gives a list of personal names in use in the\nSouth Andaman in his Notes on the Languages of the South Andaman Group\nof Tribes, p. 70. The derivations of many of the names as there given,\nare, however, of doubtful accuracy.\n\n[68] Portman, Notes on the Languages of the South Andaman Group of\nTribes, pp. 166\u2013188.\n\n[69] A similar custom is found in many savage tribes. Thus in many\nparts of Australia the aborigines call white men by the same name that\nthey apply to the spirits of the dead.\n\n[70] Man, op. cit. pp. 158, 159.\n\n[71] Portman, Notes on the Languages, etc. p. 183.\n\n[72] Man, op. cit. p. 152.\n\n[73] Ibid. p. 160.\n\n[74] Man, op. cit. p. 160.\n\n[75] Ibid. p. 161.\n\n[76] Portman, Notes on the Languages of the South Andaman, p. 328.\n\n[77] Portman, Notes on the Languages of the South Andaman, p. 314.\n\n[78] Man, op. cit. pp. 153, 154.\n\n[79] Man, op. cit. p. 165.\n\n[80] Ibid. p. 153.\n\n[81] Man, op. cit. p. 157.\n\n[82] Man, op. cit. p. 112.\n\n[83] Man, op. cit. p. 159.\n\n[84] Ibid. p. 158.\n\n[85] Man, op. cit. p. 153.\n\n[86] Man, op. cit. p. 159.\n\n[87] Man, op. cit. p. 161.\n\n[88] I could not obtain any information about the word that Mr Man\ngives as chaitan. Some men of the South Andaman whom I questioned did\nnot seem to recognize the word, except as their way of pronouncing the\nUrdu word shaitan = devil.\n\n[89] In the \u201cCensus Report\u201d 1901, p. 62, Sir Richard Temple writes,\n\u201cThe Andamanese have an idea that the \u2018soul\u2019 will go under the earth by\nan aerial bridge after death, but there is no heaven nor hell nor any\nidea of a corporeal resurrection in a religious sense.\u201d\n\n[90] It may be noted that in the Andamanese languages there is no\nfuture tense of the verb, and it is often very difficult to know\nwhether a speaker is referring to the present or to the future.\nFurther, although there is a past tense, a native often uses the\npresent tense in a narrative relating to the past, so that a statement\nrelating to the past and one relating to the future may have exactly\nthe same grammatical form. Mr Ellis, writing in the Journal of the\nPhilological Society (1882) from information supplied by Mr Man, gives\na verbal suffix -ngabo denoting the future in the Aka-Bea language. Mr\nPortman points out that this is an error. (Notes on the Languages of\nthe South Andaman, p. 88.)\n\n[91] Man, op. cit. p. 96.\n\n[92] Man, op. cit. p. 83.\n\n[93] In preparing the fibre, the skin or bark of the young shoots of\nthe plant is torn off in strips and these are placed on the thigh and\nscraped with a Cyrena shell.\n\n[94] Man, op. cit. pp. 153 and 172.\n\n[95] Portman, Notes on the Languages, etc. p. 97.\n\n[96] The legend will be given later.\n\n[97] Man, op. cit. p. 169.\n\n[98] The suffix -la is added to personal names and to terms of address\nin order to express respect.\n\n[99] The name seems to mean \u201calone.\u201d\n\n[100] The giant bamboo does not grow in the Andamans, but pieces of it\nare often drifted ashore, having come from the coast of Burma. The\nnatives pick up these drift-wood bamboos and make buckets of them. It\nis possible that the bamboo from which the first man was born was just\nsuch a piece drifted up from the sea. Unfortunately I neglected to\nenquire on this point when taking down the legend.\n\n[101] The meaning of the name is \u201cthe cave of Tarai\u201d; I believe that\nthis is the name of a spot in the Aka-J\u030ceru country.\n\n[102] The meaning of the name was not discovered.\n\n[103] The lizard was caught in some way by his genital organs, but I\nwas unable to understand the story completely.\n\n[104] This is the small platform of sticks placed near or above the\nfire, on which the natives keep their food, and on which they often\nplace objects that they desire to dry.\n\n[105] Notes on the Languages, etc. p. 227.\n\n[106] When an old man of the A-Pu\u010dikwar tribe was giving me the\ninformation repeated above, an Andamanese man was with us who had been\nbrought up as a Christian and had some knowledge of the doctrines of\nthat faith. He explained to me that Tomo is the equivalent of the\nChristian God. This man belonged to the Akar-Bale tribe.\n\n[107] These names are common personal names among the aborigines of the\npresent day. Mr Portman derives Nyali from nam-da, the name of a tree,\nand Irap from pira-da meaning \u201cscattered,\u201d but these derivations are\nfar from being authenticated. (Portman, Notes on the Languages of the\nSouth Andaman Group of Tribes, p. 70.)\n\n[108] The place called Irap is at the north end of Havelock Island.\n\n[109] Man, op. cit. p. 164.\n\n[110] Until the settlement of Europeans on the islands the Andamanese\nhad no knowledge of any means of producing fire. It is necessary to\nremember this to understand some of their legends which relate how in\nthe time of the ancestors the fire was very nearly lost in a heavy\nstorm.\n\n[111] I understood that Lirtit, by the loss of his wings and tail,\nbecame a man.\n\n[112] Portman, loc. cit.\n\n[113] Mo\u0331m is a title indicating respect, and Mirit is the imperial\npigeon.\n\n[114] Portman, loc. cit.\n\n[115] Ibid.\n\n[116] Portman, loc. cit.\n\n[117] Man, op. cit. p. 164.\n\n[118] Ibid.\n\n[119] Man, op. cit. p. 167.\n\n[120] Dik was one of the ancestors. He was a giant and was so big that\nhe could go into the deepest water and never needed a canoe. He used to\nshoot dugong and porpoise with his bow and arrow. (The natives shoot\nsmall fish with a bow and arrows, but large fish and dugong and\nporpoise they take with harpoons.)\n\n[121] Karami is the name of a bird that was not identified.\n\n[122] Ko\u010durag-boa is the Akar-Bale name for a huge legendary animal.\n\n[123] When a man has killed another, either in a personal or a tribal\nquarrel, he has to observe several customs of which one is to keep\nhimself painted with red paint for several weeks.\n\n[124] Man, op. cit. p. 171.\n\n[125] Man, op. cit. pp. 167\u2013169.\n\n[126] Notes on the Languages, etc. p. 27.\n\n[127] Man, op. cit. p. 166.\n\n[128] Ibid.\n\n[129] Man, op. cit. p. 169.\n\n[130] This is the name of some creature that I did not identify,\nperhaps a kind of spider.\n\n[131] An Andaman Islander will often, when walking along the shore,\nshoot his arrows before him, either aiming at some object, or trying to\nsend each one as far as possible. I have never seen them do this in the\njungle, for they might easily lose the arrows.\n\n[132] The Andamanese classify resin as a \u201cstone\u201d although they know its\nvegetable origin.\n\n[133] Man, op. cit. p. 172.\n\n[134] Kalwadi is a small crab, yaramurud is the crow pheasant\n(Centropus andamanensis), and toau is the hawksbill turtle.\n\n[135] Knives are generally carried slipped into a string that is tied\nround the neck, the knife, with a skewer of sharpened wood that is\nattached to it, hanging at the back of the neck, where it is easily\naccessible and not likely to get lost.\n\n[136] I could obtain no explanation of the phrase, or word, to\u0331 kit. My\ninformant only said \u201cThat is the way the spirits talk.\u201d\n\n[137] Man, op. cit. p. 165.\n\n[138] The sneezing (the word is translated literally) is a sort of\nwhistling noise that the wild pigs make when they suspect danger.\n\n[139] The Andamanese always disembowel a pig and sever the joints of\nits legs before they place it on a fire.\n\n[140] Man, op. cit. p. 170.\n\n[141] Page 214.\n\n[142] Man, op. cit. p. 170.\n\n[143] In taking a honeycomb the natives often drive away the bees with\nfire or smoke.\n\n[144] In climbing a tall tree the Andamanese choose a stout cane or\nother creeper depending from one of the branches of the tree, and climb\nup it.\n\n[145] The natives express their joy at a success in hunting by\nshouting.\n\n[146] Man, op. cit. p. 173.\n\n[147] The narrator said \u201cresin.\u201d The Dipterocarpus tree does not\nproduce resin, but a sort of oil. The marks on the two fishes owe their\norigin to this incident.\n\n[148] Man, op. cit. p. 173.\n\n[149] Man, op. cit. p. 169.\n\n[150] Vide supra, p. 142.\n\n[151] The making of such hypothetical reconstructions of the past has\nbeen regarded by a number of writers as the principal if not the sole\ntask of ethnology. My own view is that such studies can never be of any\ngreat scientific value. Although, within narrow limits, particularly\nwhen the method is applied to the facts of language and material\nculture, it is possible to reach conclusions of some degree of\nprobability, yet by their very nature all such hypotheses are incapable\nof verification. Moreover, the purpose of scientific studies is to\ndiscover general laws, and hypotheses as to events in the past of which\nwe have and can have no certain knowledge will not provide suitable\nmaterial from which to draw generalisations.\n\n[152] It may be worth while to mention that the interpretation of\nAndamanese customs given in this chapter was not worked out until after\nI had left the islands. Had it been otherwise I should have made\ncareful enquiries into subjects which, as it was, escaped my notice.\n\n[153] Tylor, Primitive Culture, I, 387.\n\n[154] Frazer, Totemism and Exogamy, IV.\n\n[155] Max M\u00fcller, Physical Religion, p. 119.\n\n[156] Marett, Threshold of Religion.\n\n[157] McDougall, Introduction to Social Psychology, Chap. XIII, seems\nto combine the two hypotheses.\n\n[158] For a criticism of the hypotheses of animism and naturism as\nexplanations of primitive religion see Durkheim, Les Formes\n\u00c9l\u00e9mentaires de la Vie Religieuse, Book I, chapters 2 and 3.\n\n[159] Sentiment,\u2014an organised system of emotional tendencies centred\nabout some object.\n\n[160] See p. 73 above.\n\n[161] Page 134.\n\n[162] In a few words the psycho-physical theory here assumed is that\nweeping is a substitute for motor activity when the kinetic system of\nthe body (motor centres, thyroid, suprarenals, etc.) is stimulated but\nno effective action in direct response to the stimulus is possible at\nthe moment. When a sentiment is stimulated and action to which it might\nlead is frustrated, the resultant emotional state is usually painful,\nand hence weeping is commonly associated with painful states.\n\n[163] McDougall, Social Psychology.\n\n[164] Active sympathy, the habitual sharing of joyful and painful\nemotions, is of the utmost importance in the formation of sentiments of\npersonal attachment.\n\n[165] It is a commonplace of psychology that a collective emotion, i.e.\none felt and expressed at the same moment by a number of persons, is\nfelt much more intensely than an unshared emotion of the same kind.\n\n[166] It will be shown later in the chapter that when individuals are\nexcluded from participation in the dance it is because they are in a\ncondition of partial exclusion from the common life.\n\n[167] The psychology of dancing offers a wide field for study that has\nas yet, so far as I know, been barely touched. The following brief\nnotes are therefore necessarily incomplete and somewhat unsatisfactory.\n\n[168] I have known a dance to be continued for seven or eight hours,\neach dancer taking only short periods of rest; and it must be\nremembered that the Andamanese dance is more strenuous than our\nball-room dances.\n\n[169] Man, op. cit. p. 76.\n\n[170] Man, op. cit. p. 333.\n\n[171] In a number of tribes of Western Australia I found an exactly\nsimilar custom. It was formerly the rule that after the death of a near\nrelative the mourner must abstain from eating kangaroo, that being the\nlargest game animal. Since the establishment of sheep stations in their\ncountry, with the consequent great decrease in numbers of the kangaroo,\nit has come about that the animal which now provides their most\nimportant supply of meat is the sheep, and the modern rule is that a\nmourner must not eat mutton.\n\n[172] Page 171.\n\n[173] The brakes formed by the cane (bido) from the leaves of which the\nko\u0331ro fibre is obtained seem to be regarded as lurking places of the\nspirits. The natives often speak of the Bido-te\u010d-lau (Calamus leaf\nspirits).\n\n[174] Page 216.\n\n[175] The psychological function of individual anger is to restore to\ntheir normal condition the wounded self-regarding sentiments. The\nfunction of collective anger is similarly to restore the collective\nsentiments on which the solidarity of the society depends.\n\n[176] I once drew a few grotesque figures for the amusement of some\nAndamanese children, and they at once pronounced them to be \u201cspirits.\u201d\n\n[177] The Andamanese beliefs about storms and the weather generally\nwill be dealt with in the next chapter.\n\n[178] See above, p. 119.\n\n[179] See p. 227.\n\n[180] I am unfortunately obliged to leave a big gap in this chapter and\nin the book, owing to my inability to discuss the Andamanese notions\nabout sex. The natives of the Great Andaman at the present time show an\nunusual prudery in their conversation and dealings with white men, but\nthere is good reason to suspect that this is due to the influence of\nofficers who have been in charge of the Andaman Home in former years.\nAt the present time all the men except a few of the oldest in remote\nparts are very careful never to appear before a white man without some\ncovering although formerly they wore nothing. In their conversation in\nthe presence of a white man they are careful to avoid reference to\nsexual matters. The men of the Little Andaman who have not come under\nthe influence of the Andamanese Homes, still go naked and unashamed,\nand indulge in obscene gestures and jokes. At the time I was in the\nAndamans I failed to realise the very great importance of a thorough\nknowledge of the notions of a primitive people on matters of sex in any\nattempt to understand their customs, and therefore failed to make the\nnecessary enquiries.\n\n[181] In order to carry the analysis further it would be necessary to\nconsider in detail the whole question of the relation of art and\nceremonial, and that of the social function of art which is involved in\nit, and also to deal with the notion of \u201cvalue\u201d as it appears in\nprimitive societies. The material from the Andaman Islands is not\nsuitable for the discussion of these problems.\n\n[182] The exposition of this important thesis can only be given here in\nthe most abbreviated form. The thesis itself, as applied to primitive\nritual in general, owes its origin to Professor \u00c9mile Durkheim, and has\nbeen expounded by him (more particularly in his work Les Formes\n\u00e9l\u00e9mentaires de la Vie religieuse) and by Messieurs H. Hubert and M.\nMauss.\n\n[183] Primus in orbe deos fecit timor.\n\n[184] Page 214.\n\n[185] We have seen, in the last chapter, that any condition of the\nindividual in which he is withdrawn from active participation in the\ncommon life is regarded as one of danger from magico-religious forces\nantagonistic to the society.\n\n[186] It will be shown later in the chapter that some part of the\nrespect paid to the cicada is due to its connection not with the day\nand night but with the seasons of the year.\n\n[187] Page 215.\n\n[188] Page 221.\n\n[189] Page 294.\n\n[190] Page 215.\n\n[191] Page 213.\n\n[192] Pages 207 and 204.\n\n[193] Page 207.\n\n[194] Ibid.\n\n[195] Page 204.\n\n[196] Page 203.\n\n[197] Page 207.\n\n[198] Page 202.\n\n[199] Page 206.\n\n[200] Ibid.\n\n[201] Page 207.\n\n[202] Page 208.\n\n[203] The same threefold division of the world is seen in the beliefs\nabout the three kinds of spirits, those of the forest, those of the\nsea, and the Morua who, while spoken of as spirits of the sky, are\noften thought of as living in the tops of the tall trees.\n\n[204] Page 218.\n\n[205] It is worth while to recall here the belief that if a man goes\ninto the water after eating civet-cat he will not be able to swim.\n\n[206] Page 208.\n\n[207] Ibid.\n\n[208] Page 209.\n\n[209] Page 206.\n\n[210] Page 207.\n\n[211] It appears also in geographical names. Puluga-l\u2019ar-mugu, meaning\n\u2018the Puluga front\u2019 is the name of a part of the Archipelago facing the\nN.E. and means \u2018the side facing Puluga.\u2019\n\n[212] Although it is generally believed that storms (or more exactly,\nviolent storms or cyclones) are the results of the anger of Biliku, yet\nthere is a conflicting belief that storms are made by the spirits,\nparticularly the spirits of the sea.\n\n[213] Page 154.\n\n[214] The application of the name biliku to the spider is clearly a\nminor motive, and probably a late accretion. The name of the N.E.\nmonsoon is the same in all the divisions of the Andamans about which we\nhave information, with dialectic differences only. In the Little\nAndaman the form of the name is \u00d6luga, and the same name is given to\nthe monitor lizard. Presumably, therefore, there was originally one\nname throughout the Andamans for the N.E. monsoon (\u00d6luga, Puluga,\nBilik, Bilika, Biliku) and later this name was applied to the spider in\nthe North Andaman and to the monitor lizard in the Little Andaman. It\nmay be noted that the name of the monitor lizard varies from one\nlanguage to another in the Great Andaman.\n\n[215] It is to be noted that these tabus connected with Biliku are not\nabsolute prohibitions; they are beliefs that if certain things are done\nBiliku will be angry (i.e., there may be storms); if you do these\nthings you must risk the danger. It is exactly the same with the\nroasting of pork.\n\n[216] See, for instance, the Aka-J\u030ceru legend on pages 197\u2013198, the\nAka-Kede on page 200 and that from the Akar-Bale tribe on pages\n200\u2013201, and also the legends on pages 207, 208.\n\n[217] In a paper in Folk-lore, vol. xx, 1909, I put forward the\nhypothesis that probably at one time all the tribes of the Andamans\nregarded Biliku (Puluga) as female, and Tarai (Daria) as male. I am\nstill inclined to think that there is some evidence for this, but a\ndiscussion of what the Andamanese beliefs may have been in the past is\nentirely outside the scope of this chapter and is therefore omitted.\n\n[218] The stem be seems to be connected with the idea of cutting.\n\n[219] In dealing with the account given by Mr Man of the Andaman\nmythology it is necessary to remember that he was undoubtedly\ninfluenced by a very strong desire to show that the beliefs of the\nAndamanese about Puluga were really fundamentally the same as the\nbeliefs of the Christian about his God. It may be taken as certain that\nhe did not consciously allow this wish to affect his record of the\nAndaman beliefs, but it is very improbable that it did not\nunconsciously have a great deal of influence both on Mr Man and on his\ninformants.\n\n[220] To complete the discussion of this part of the subject it would\nbe necessary to deal with many points in the legends of the real\nmeaning of which I do not feel satisfied. I have, for instance, given\nno explanation of the position of Pe\u0331r\u01f0ido in the Biliku-Tarai myth,\nalthough this is probably an important matter. Nor have I traced to its\nsource the connection of Biliku (with her net, and her hole, or cave,\nin which she shuts herself up to sleep and from which she comes out to\nbring rain and storm) with the spider. Besides Tomo, Biliku has yet\nanother competitor for the position of control over the fine weather of\nthe hot season, namely the snake, or-\u010dubi (wara-\u01f0obo), which is\nregarded as being in some way the guardian of honey and of fine\nweather. There are legends that show the connection of this snake with\nhoney (page 227) and the same connection is shown in the honey-eating\nceremony (page 105). According to Mr Man, when the natives of the South\nAndaman see a dark cloud approaching and they do not wish it to rain\nthey threaten Puluga that they will call up the wara-\u01f0obo to bite him.\nThe snake, like other snakes, is only to be seen during the hot weather\nof the honey season. It may be remembered that it is from this snake\nthat the pattern used in decorating the body with white clay is named.\n\n[221] In the last chapter it was shown that the attribution of magical\nforce to such things as foods and human bones is simply the means by\nwhich the social values of these things are represented and recognized.\nSimilarly here the magical powers of the ancestors are simply the\nrepresentation of their social value, i.e. of the social value of\ntradition.\n\n[222] In Central Australia it is believed that if a boy who has not\nbeen initiated eats large lizards he will develop an abnormal and\ndiseased craving for sexual intercourse. (Spencer and Gillen, Native\nTribes of Central Australia, p. 471.) A friend who has observed the\nmonitor lizard in Australia tells me that the animal fully deserves its\nreputation.\n\n[223] Page 217.\n\n[224] Page 218.\n\n[225] Page 218.\n\n[226] See Introduction, p. 12.\n\n[227] The information here given as to the Semang is derived from two\nworks, Skeat and Blagden, Pagan Races of the Malay Peninsula, vol. 1,\nquoted as Skeat, and Rudolf Martin, Die Inlandst\u00e4mme der Malayischen\nHalbinsel, 1905, quoted as Martin.\n\n[228] The information about the Philippine Negritos is derived from\nReed, Negritos of Zambales, Manila, 1904, quoted as Reed, and A. B.\nMeyer, Die Philippinen, II, Die Negritos, Dresden, 1893, quoted as\nMeyer.\n\n[229] See p. 34.\n\n[230] See Census Report, 1901.\n\n[231] Supplement to the Andaman and Nicobar Gazette, January 2, 1904.\n\n[232] Skeat, p. 172.\n\n[233] Skeat, p. 174.\n\n[234] Skeat, p. 176, and plate. See also Annandale, Fasciculi\nMalayensis, Anthropology, Part I, Plate IV.\n\n[235] Skeat, p. 174.\n\n[236] Skeat, p. 177.\n\n[237] Reed, Plate xxxviii.\n\n[238] Meyer, Plate x.\n\n[239] Skeat, p. 341.\n\n[240] Skeat, p. 270.\n\n[241] Skeat, p. 280.\n\n[242] Skeat, p. 205.\n\n[243] Skeat, p. 205.\n\n[244] Reed, p. 44.\n\n[245] Reed, p. 44.\n\n[246] Reed, p. 47.\n\n[247] Reed, p. 47.\n\n[248] Reed, p. 48.\n\n[249] For information about the two specimens at Cambridge I am\nindebted to the kindness of Mr J. W. Layard.\n\n[250] According to Skeat the end with the longer point is the lower end\nof the bow (Skeat, p. 273), but Martin (p. 785) describes a bow of this\ntype and states that the longer point is the upper end.\n\n[251] Meyer, pp. 13\u201317 and Plates VI\u2013VIII.\n\n[252] Meyer, Plates VI and VIII.\n\n[253] Skeat, p. 274.\n\n[254] Lapicque, \u201cEthnographie des Iles Andaman,\u201d Bulletin de la Soci\u00e9t\u00e9\nd\u2019Anthropologie de Paris, 1894, p. 370.\n\n[255] Skeat, p. 383.\n\n[256] Man, op. cit. p. 77.\n\n[257] Man, Journ. Anthr. Inst. XII, p. 367, note 4.\n\n[258] Man, op. cit. p. 397.\n\n[259] Supplement to the Andaman and Nicobar Gazette, January 2, 1904.\n\n[260] Published in Vol. ii of the journal Anthropos, 1907.\n\n[261] Although I had acquired some knowledge of phonetics before I went\nto the Andamans, as a necessary part of the preliminary training of an\nethnologist, yet it was not really sufficient to enable me to deal in a\nthoroughly scientific manner with the problems of Andamanese phonetics,\nand my further studies of the subject give me reason to believe that my\nphonetic analysis of the Andaman languages was not as thorough as it\nmight have been.","title":"The Andaman Islanders : $b A study in social anthropology","tradition":"folklore-oral-tradition","translated_text":null,"word_count":200104}