The years go by like clouds. In 1902, Dr Murphy was no longer a
schoolboy, running about Mussoorie, but a surgeon employed by Simla
municipality, and familiar with the little monkeys there, who lived on
Jacko Hill. They overran the town, these little men; and took every
possible advantage of the toleration of the good Hindus. Perhaps it is
needful to mention that Indians are so indulgent that European
naturalists in India are continually surprised at the slight fear of
men among wild birds and beasts. Thus it was that "Hindu prejudice"
protected the monkeys at Simla, though nobody suffered more from them
than the Hindus; but even they agreed with Dr Murphy that "something
must be done," when the little men from Jacko insisted on entering his
house and removing the bread from the breakfast table.
It would be a long story to tell the plans that failed. The plan that
worked was beautiful in its simplicity.
Two earthen pots were buried before the eyes of the monkeys, looking
on. Only the thick and narrow rims were left above ground. What this
was for, no monkey could comprehend, and the more of them that
gathered, the more they seemed perplexed. A "multitude of counsellors"
may bring confusion instead of wisdom. It was the easiest thing in the
world for any of them to put in his hand and feel the emptiness of the
pots. But, why were they buried there? "Hum--hum," none of them could
tell.
When they were about to disperse and dismiss the matter, as one of the
many mysterious eccentricities of men, Dr Murphy put grain into the
pots in front of them. This was a sudden illumination to the assembly.
To keep grain safe from monkeys is one of the continual problems of
Simla life. "And this is _his_ way of doing it," thought the monkeys
to themselves.
They did not delay to show him what they thought of his device and
him. It was really too ridiculous. One of their leading men came
straight to the pots and put a hand into one of them, keeping his eyes
on Dr Murphy. It was as easy as ever to put a hand in; but, when his
clenched fist was full of grain, he could not take it out.
After one or two ineffectual attempts to withdraw his hand, he put the
other hand into the other pot, which had been placed convenient for
that very purpose. Perhaps, when he put in the second hand, his object
was to find out what was holding the first; but when it also touched
the grain, the force of habit made him grab with it also, a
beautifully human trait of character; and there he stood with both his
hands in chancery, meaning by chancery a place that does not readily
let anything out that once comes in.
There he remained standing. It never came into his head to open his
hands and withdraw them empty. He was an emblem of many an
Anglo-Indian, who has "heard the East a-calling," and seeking a "soft
job," has wandered where his tribe cannot thrive, but is detained by
what he has in hand, and cannot find the heart to forego. The monkey
stood there, with both hands full, quite wealthy for a monkey, but a
helpless prisoner. If there had been pots enough, his kinsmen would
all have come and done likewise; but there were only two, and he had
monopolised them; and now he had to endure the multitudinous advice of
the empty-handed monkeys, and their criticism, and ...
That was not all he had to endure. Dr Murphy took a whip and proceeded
to chastise him, not very severely, but sufficiently to keep him from
thinking clearly in the abstract. Then the hubbub thickened round the
doctor. The tribe that dwelt on Jacko gathered clamorous. Quick, from
the hill and almost every tree, wherever tribesmen were who heard the
news, they hastened to the great indignation meeting, all seeming to
talk at once, and making hideous grimaces, at which, to their
surprise, Dr Murphy laughed aloud. They did not understand his noises
and grimaces; but what they could not fail to see was his
indifference. Whack, whack, whack! He continued the flogging amidst a
chorus of disapproval, quite equal to that of the United Press
Association.
The prisoner broke away. The pots had not been very strong; and in his
struggles he had broken off the rims. With an earthenware bracelet on
each wrist and both hands full of grain, he reached the nearest tree;
and there he opened his hands and dropped the grain. "All that a man
hath he will give for his life." But in this instance, the general
opinion of observers was that the grain was dropped by inadvertence,
as the monkey opened his hands in haste to climb, forgetting what he
held.
By a similarly inadvertent knock against the tree, he broke one of his
bracelets as he went up. Well for him if he had broken both! He joined
the crowd that had come to help him, with still a bracelet (of a pot's
rim) on one of his wrists. This caused an immediate revulsion of
feelings. His friends became his persecutors. They crowded round him,
pushing and pulling him, smacking and scratching him, and biting him
till the blood came. In a few minutes that leading monkey would have
been dead, and perhaps they would have been carrying his corpse to the
hill, as some people said they used to do, but suddenly, as the
persecuted one was floundering about, the fatal pot's rim broke and
fell in pieces to the ground. Behold, he was now as the other monkeys
were, different from the rest no more, but sore afflicted and in
agony. They succoured him now, like a prodigal returned, and helped
him gently away, leaving the kind doctor sad to see how far beyond his
intentions the poor fellow had been punished. The doctor declared he
would never set that trap again.
But how very human it was! To translate the fine verse of Béranger's
song ("Les Fous")--
"As we toe the line, we duffers,
If anyone quits the crowd,
Whatever he does or suffers,
We all of us yell aloud.
The crowd runs to kick him, or slays him,
And afterwards sees it was blind;
Then we set up his statue, and praise him
As a credit to all mankind."