The little apes called càyí are scarce a span long, when full grown;
they are merry, playful, and, if tamed young, extremely docile. But they
can seldom be allowed to walk up and down the house at large, for,
wanting to touch and taste every thing, they throw down ink-stands and
other vessels, spill liquors, tear books, and break every thing made of
glass. They put their fingers into boxes, lamps, and jugs, smell them,
and dirt the table and people's clothes. They steal every thing fit to
eat that they can lay hands on. They are, therefore, tied with a long
slender cord in such a manner that they may be able to go up and down.
We had a little ape of this kind in the town of St. Joachim, which
readily unclasped the men's spurs when they returned from riding. I have
seen others take a journey seated on the back of a dog, and by mimicking
the actions of men, like buffoons, excite both anger and ridicule. It
is, therefore, no wonder that apes of this kind should be prized both by
Indians and Europeans, and bought at a high price. Potatoes are their
daily fare, but they also feed sometimes on flesh, bread, or any thing
made of flour. Great care must be taken not to give them too large a
portion, otherwise they will eat till they burst. In the woods, when
quite young, they are carried about on the backs of their mothers, round
whose necks they put their arms, like infants, and in this manner are
borne along the boughs of trees, wherever there is any chance of finding
food. An Indian, therefore, who wants a live ape, kills the mother with
an arrow, and the little one never suffers itself to be torn from her
without howling. I will tell you something still more surprizing, and
which seems almost incredible. The Guaranies sometimes remain in the
woods four days together, employed in hunting wild beasts. Having killed
a number of apes, they consume part of them on the journey, and roasting
the rest to prevent their growing putrid from the heat of the sun, carry
them to the town to be eaten at home. The little apes, which are kept
alive for diversion, know their mothers when roasted and blacker than a
coal, and adhere so tenaciously to their shoulders, that their running
away is not the least to be apprehended. Who does not admire the filial
affection of these animals, which, though imitators of mankind in other
respects, may certainly be their instructors in this?