In a certain locality where the hawks-bill turtle congregate in untold numbers, a remarkable deviation from the general habit has been observed.  Several of the islands are composed of a kind of conglomerate of coral debris, shells and sand.  With strange perversity some turtle excavate in the rock cylindrical shafts about 18 inches deep by 6 inches diameter with smooth perpendicular sides.  There is no adjunct to the flippers which appears to be of service in the digging, yet the holes are such that a man would find it impossible to make without the use of a chisel.  Whether they are dug with the flippers, or bored, or bitten out with the bill, does not appear to be known.  Eggs varying in numbers from 120 to 150 are deposited in each shaft, and covered loosely with the spoil from the excavation.

When the young are hatched only those on top are able to clamber out.  They represent but a very small percentage of the family.  The majority die miserably, being unable to get out of what is their tomb as well as their birthplace.  In the vicinity are sandy beaches on which other hawks-bill turtle deposit their eggs in accordance with time-honoured plans, and successfully rear large families.  Why some individuals should be at such pains to defeat the universal instinct for the propagation and preservation of their species, is a puzzle.  Moreover, hundreds of these anomalous nests are excavated some distance beyond high-water, in country where the growth of grass is so strong and dense as to form an almost impenetrable barrier to those infantile turtle which have the fortune to get out of the death-traps, and in obedience to instinct, endeavour to reach the sea.  Is it that Nature, “so careful of the type” imposes Malthusian practices to avoid the danger of overcrowding the “never-surfeited sea?” Notwithstanding the positive check upon increase, the young are produced in myriads.

“Sambo,” a black boy, who had visited this isle, on his return to shores where turtle are less numerous, sought to impress his master with the substantial charms of the faraway North.  “When,” he said, “you come close up, you look out.  Hello!  You think about stone.  No stone; altogether turtle!”

There, to within a recent date, might be seen the bones of fourteen great green turtle side by side in a row.  At first glance the scene seems a sanctified death-place for the species, until you are informed that a visitor to the isle, astonished at the number of turtle on the beach, and eager to secure an abundance of fresh meat, turned over fourteen, intending to call again for them.  Circumstances prevented him from re-visiting the place, and the turtle, being unable to right themselves, perished.