88 SEA SNAKES 



aged to get as far south as the Cape. Here it stops, and in the Atlantic, 

 strangely enough, no sea snake has ever been caught. We may conjecture 

 that they are prevented from entering the Atlantic by the cold Benguela 

 Current, which they encounter immediately they pass the southern tip 

 of Africa. The fact is that sea snakes are distinctly tropical creatures, 

 scarcely capable of thriving and breeding in the cold water along the 

 west coast of South Africa. Probably, however, it is only a question of 

 time before they appear in the Atlantic: their advance along the east 

 coast of Africa is presumably of recent date, and though in the long run 

 they would not survive in the Benguela Current, this would carry them 

 northwards into the Gulf of Guinea, where they would doubtless find 

 favourable conditions. 



It is hardly likely to be an accident which has made Pelamis the pioneer 

 in the westward advance of the sea snakes. While the great majority of 

 sea snakes are closely linked to the coast, catching their prey on the bottom, 

 this species has so far adapted itself to an aquatic existence that it has be- 

 come pelagic; in other words, it is independent of the coasts and sea-bed 

 and is able to catch its food among shoals of pelagic fish. 



Ceylon, the next station on the Galathea's route, is one of the classic 

 localities of sea snakes. Not only are a large number of species known 

 from the coasts of this tropical island, but many of the species are ex- 

 tremely abudant. But here also my hopes of a catch were disappointed. 

 We went straight into port at Colombo, and during our four days 

 there the south-west monsoon blew so hard that hunting for sea snakes 

 was out of the question. I was beginning to feel a little embarrassed, 

 especially since before calling at Colombo I had given a lecture on sea 

 snakes in which I had warned the crew against getting too near them 

 owing to their venom. However, two days after we left Ceylon our luck 

 changed. We had anchored in 14 metres of water off the former Danish 

 colony of Tranquebar in south-east India. The motor-boat was launched 

 and a small reconnaissance party set course towards the land. On our 

 way back we ran alongside one of the native fishing boats, a remarkable 

 type of vessel consisting of three slightly curved tree-trunks tied together. 

 The waves continually wash over these boats, but as the natives are 

 almost naked no harm is done. They were just hauling in their net when 

 we came up with them, and suddenly I saw one of the fishermen put his 

 arm into the net and pull out a writhing sea snake which, with an air 

 of indifference, he threw overboard before I had time to call him. This 

 was a bitter disappointment, but at least I now knew that there were 

 sea snakes about. And sure enough, no sooner had we begun fishing with 



