Such a performance is one that regularly occurs during the first visit to each fresh locality in which one collects, and on these occasions the noise caused by chopping away branches and crashing through the bushes very naturally makes the denizens of the jungle conspicuous by their absence. Afterwards, however, as you move quietly along the path, with all the faculties freely given to the detection of those various objects to the desire for possession of which your presence is due, the jungle seems a much less lonely place, and after days spent in wandering in its shade, during which a bit more path has been cut here, and a few more yards of open space added there, you find that you can take quite a long walk, entirely uninterrupted by use of the _parang_ hanging at your side. Among the few birds shot that first afternoon were the beautiful Andamanese oriole, with gorgeous plumage of black and yellow, and a peculiar cuckoo--_Centropus andamanensis_--soberly clad in brown and grey. This bird was a source of much disappointment on one occasion. There are no squirrels known to the Andamans, and seeing what I took for one, without waiting, in the momentary excitement of an apparently fresh discovery, to look more closely, I made a rapid snap-shot, and down tumbled a cuckoo; my consequent disgust may be imagined. The bird, however, can easily be mistaken for a small mammal, for besides resembling one, with its dark brown plumage and fairly long tail, its habit is to spring from bough to bough and creep along the branches in a very rodent-like manner. Warned by the fading daylight, we returned to the shore, and found a quarter of a mile of dry coral between ourselves and the water, with the dinghy high and dry, so, after making it fast to the mangroves, we picked a way across the reef and hailed the schooner for another boat. These coral-reefs, although their beauty of form and colour--an endless change of myriad shapes and tints--when seen through the clear water from a boat above is quite beyond description, awaken far less admiration when they have to be crossed on foot while the tide is low. It is impossible for even natives to cross them barefooted. Nearest the shore comes first a belt of mud and coral _débris_ that is easily traversed; next lies a broad strip of sharp and brittle madrepores which break and crumble beneath one's weight; while, seaward, rise from deep water the Astræas--great solid masses of which the reefs are mostly built; and as one jumps from mound to mound, one vaguely wonders at which of those in front a slip may occur, and as the least result plunge one head over heels into the pools around. With a small boat, however, shallow and quick-turning, it is generally possible to pass through these latter and reach a point, where, protected by boots, the shore may be attained at the slight expense of a wetting below the knees.