PAUL AND VIRGINIA
Life on a tea-estate--My animal friends--Two brown bears--Brutus, the
monkey--Always in mischief--The Brazilian Macaw.
At Colombo I basely deserted Chang, leaving him to the charge of his
kind friend the butcher, who dispatched him, on the steamship _Kaiser’s_
arrival at Southampton, to my cousin at Aldershot; and for some weeks I
heard no more of my old favourite.
We stayed a few days at Colombo, and from there took a small steamer up
to Assam, where my father had a tea-estate, which needed his personal
supervision for a time. The change after my gay and busy life in Japan
was very great. My father was away riding all day, and I was left alone
at the bungalow except for the natives belonging to the estate, who
could hardly be considered companions.
At first I felt rather forlorn and desolate, and longed more than ever
for some girl friend to keep me company, but gradually I became very
dependent upon the society of a large and strange variety of animals, to
which I grew very much attached. Endless are the tales I could relate
about the faithfulness and sagacity of various of my horses and dogs--to
say nothing of birds of all descriptions, from the macaw--which saved my
life from a desperate thief one night by his keen sense of hearing when
I was alone in the bungalow--to the little bantam hen that laid an egg
for my breakfast every morning on my bed.
My strangest companions, I think, however, were two brown bears who went
by the names of Paul and Virginia. Why they were thus called I forget.
My father found them as little cubs about three weeks old in the jungle,
their mother having been killed a day or so previously by one of the men
on the estate. The poor little beasts were nearly starved when I first
saw them, but they rapidly recovered after having a few pints of warm
milk poured down their throats. We fed them out of an old soda-water
bottle wrapped in flannel, and it answered the purpose admirably.
As the cubs grew older they became the most delightful little creatures,
and as playful as two kittens. Paul was always the larger and stronger
of the two, but little Virginia was like a ball of brown fur, and had
the gentlest and most winning ways imaginable. Like all bears, they
dearly liked water, and we had a zinc bath made for them in the
compound, in which they would sit for hours during the heat of the
day--one at one end of the tub, and one at the other; swaying their
bodies backwards and forwards as if they loved to hear the splash of the
water against the sides.
As Paul grew bigger, however, he found that there was not sufficient
room for him and Virginia to bathe together; so, hurrying to the bath a
little before the appointed bathing hour, he would jump in, lie down
flat at the bottom of the tub, and effectually prevent his sister from
taking her morning ablutions until he had finished, and the water had
become most distinctly muddy. Poor Virginia’s face was a study. Round
and round the bath she used to pace, uttering from time to time a
plaintive whine, but all of no avail; Paul ignored her existence
completely until his morning bath was finished, although at other times
they were excellent friends--in fact, a most devoted couple.
They had a constant companion in the shape of a small gray monkey named
Brutus. Now, Brutus may have been ‘an honourable man,’ but my Brutus was
a most dishonest monkey. Had it not been for his strange friendship with
the bears, I think I could not have stood his vagaries. Nothing was
sacred to him. Once my brush and comb disappeared, and when all efforts
to find them had been unavailing, I heard a mocking chuckle, and
discovered Brutus on the roof calmly brushing and combing himself with
my lost property, just as he had, doubtless, observed me doing. Needless
to say, when my brush and comb came into my possession, they were not of
much further use to me.
I cannot mention a quarter of Brutus’s many offences and mischievous
ways. If only he had exercised his talents in some useful capacity, he
would have been, indeed, a valuable addition to the family. He nearly
put an end to himself one day by trying to shave his little gray chin
with my father’s razors; and had I not been near at the time and heard
his piteous and truly human yells, he would certainly have bled to
death, as he had given himself a frightful gash behind the neck,
completely severing one ear. His appearance for several weeks afterwards
resembled an old woman with the toothache, and it was a long time before
he ventured into my father’s room again, although he made up for it by
persecuting the cook almost to distraction. He was an intensely jealous
little beast, and took a most violent dislike to a black kitten
belonging to the kitchen regions. One day the kitten disappeared, and
the poor little thing’s body was found in a saucepan of boiling soup.
Brutus, in a fit of jealous rage, had thrust his victim into the
saucepan on the fire, carefully replacing the lid so that no escape was
possible.
The monkey’s friendship with the bears was purely mercenary. He was a
lazy little beast, and found that riding was the pleasantest way of
getting about the country. He therefore used to accompany Paul and
Virginia in all their expeditions, springing lightly on the back of one
or the other, holding on by their thick brown fur, and sticking to his
seat like any jockey.
It was the funniest thing in the world to see the trio starting off for
a long excursion into the jungle; and I think in time that Bruin and his
sister got quite fond of their little master.
The bears’ favourite sleeping-place was at the top of a short, stunted
tree just outside my room. This had its disadvantages, as their presence
attracted other bears from the neighbourhood, which had not the friendly
and harmless dispositions of Paul and Virginia. From time to time
numerous ducks and chickens began to disappear in a mysterious way. A
small and favourite dog also vanished, and, during the night, we
frequently heard sounds of stealthy footsteps on the veranda, and,
although my father rushed out with his gun to investigate, nothing was
visible. In the morning, however, the invaders were tracked right into
the jungle, as, wherever they had come, they had left devastation
behind, tearing up roots, breaking down hedges, and doing terrible
damage in our vegetable garden. In vain were traps laid, and coolies set
to watch round the house. All was of no avail. Our live-stock grew
gradually less and less, one by one the fowls disappeared, and we were
in despair. Affairs reached a climax, however, one morning, when one of
our coolies was missing, and, after a long search, his mangled remains
were discovered some distance from the house, evidently the victim of
the midnight invaders.
This settled the question. Paul and Virginia must go--but where?
Although they would have been accepted at the Zoological Gardens in
Calcutta, we did not like the idea of subjecting them to confinement in
a cage. At last my father reluctantly decided to shoot them; and one
morning a court-martial was held in the compound, attended by all the
coolies on the estate; a grave was dug, the condemned were led out, two
reports resounded through the still morning air--one following quickly
after another--two brown heaps lay on the ground motionless, and now
nothing is left of poor Paul and his sister but a grassy mound, with a
little wooden inscription bearing their names and the date.
Poor Brutus felt the loss of his companions keenly, and for several days
refused to take food. In fact, I quite thought he would have died. But
one morning, on looking for him in his box where he always slept, I
found he had disappeared. I hunted for him in vain, and had just come to
the conclusion that he must have committed suicide from grief, when one
of the coolies came to me in great excitement to say Brutus had been
seen riding one of the goats. True enough, riding in state on one of the
largest goats in the herd was seen the truant, looking very proud of
himself, and seemingly perfectly content with his new companions. How
the goats approved of their rider I cannot say; anyhow, willing or
unwilling, they had to put up with his company. Every morning, as soon
as the herd were released from the enclosure where they passed the night
and turned out on the hills, Brutus would spring on to the back of the
foremost goat and disappear with them for the day, only returning at
evening for his supper.
About this time my supply of goat’s milk, which I always took for my
breakfast and supper, began to diminish. I inquired the reason of the
cook, but could get no satisfactory solution. The quantity became less
and less, and one day I was informed with many apologies that there was
none, as Brutus had taken it all!
Thinking that probably the coolies were cheating me and selling the
milk, I abused every member of the household roundly, and threatened, if
no milk were forthcoming for my supper that evening, they would one and
all be dismissed.
At sunset that evening, however, my cook came and begged me to come with
him to the enclosure where the goats were being milked. On my arrival
there, what was my amazement to see Brutus calmly milking one of the
goats, drinking a little from time to time with much relish, whilst the
remainder trickled along the ground in a long white stream. The goat
seemed perfectly unconcerned, and stood quietly nibbling some grass as
if nothing unusual was occurring. We then discovered that all the other
goats had already been milked, probably at intervals during the day,
whenever it suited the pleasure and wishes of Master Brutus, who
evidently seemed to consider that he was performing a very meritorious
action. I thought differently, however. I was particularly fond of
goat’s milk, and I was in a country where good things were not to be had
for the asking, nor for money either, for that matter.
So after this I decided to shut Brutus up in a large cage, anyhow for a
time, until I could find some other plan to keep him out of mischief.
For the next few days I was away from home a good deal riding in the
district with my father, and did not notice Brutus particularly.
Naturally he would be feeling somewhat bored, but a little punishment
would do him good.
One evening about a week later, on returning home from a long ride, I
went as usual to take the little prisoner his supper. I thought the cage
seemed unusually quiet, but supposed he was asleep. On looking in,
however, I saw a tragic sight. How it had happened, to this day I know
not, but suspended by a long string from the top of his cage hung Brutus
quite dead, evidently strangled. One end of the string still fastened
together a portion of the roof of his wooden prison; the other end was
tightly wound round and round his little gray throat.
I have never kept another monkey. They are too human.
* * * * *
The only other member of my happy family that I brought home to England
was the Brazilian macaw, which I have already mentioned. Arara is,
without exception, the most beautiful and by far the most intelligent
bird I have ever seen. I have him still, and long may he live, for he
will never have an equal. I believe he is about a hundred and fifteen
years old; but as the macaw belonging to the Emperor of Japan is on the
best authority a hundred and thirty years old, there is every hope my
old favourite may still have many years before him. Arara formerly
belonged to a naval officer, who brought him from Rio de Janeiro, where
his ship was stationed. On leaving there Captain R---- brought the macaw
with him to Colombo, but the long confinement in a cage much too small,
and indifferent food and treatment, affected his health and temper so
much that my friend decided to part with him, and I became the happy
possessor of Arara. It is difficult to describe his plumage and its
wonderful combination of different colouring. His back and breast are
bright crimson, his tail feathers a vivid electric blue, and his wings
emerald green. His eye is a bright yellow--I say eye advisedly, as he
possesses but one, owing to a fight on board ship with a young eagle.
This loss, however, rather adds to his personal appearance, giving him a
most cunning expression as he gazes down from his perch, always on the
alert as to what is going on.
[Illustration: ARARA]
Although Arara’s vocabulary is not large--these macaws are rarely taught
to speak--he says a few words very distinctly, and his imitation of
other animals is quite extraordinary.
Often I have hunted vainly for a cat in my room, hearing a piteous
mewing, and thinking one must be imprisoned in some cupboard, and all
the time it was Arara sitting on a branch of a tree below my window. His
imitation of the bleating of sheep, the cackling of hens, and the
crowing of cocks would puzzle the most observant.
I must not forget to mention what happened to that Chinese rascal Chang
after we left him at Colombo. Hearing nothing of him for over two
months, I fondly imagined he had settled down in England a respectable
and civilized dog. Alas, this was anything but the case.
One morning a letter arrived from my cousin at Aldershot, saying that,
after fighting with every dog in the regiment and mortally wounding two
pedigree poodles, that terrible chow-dog had finally and hopelessly
disgraced himself by appearing one morning on parade, completely
disorganizing the men, who were drawn up at attention, by wildly
careering, up and down between the lines, and jumping up at any he
chanced to recognise--a performance which did not improve the appearance
of their spotless pipe-clayed belts and clean tunics, the morning
happening to be rather muddy.
Finding that his affectionate greetings were not appreciated, Chang next
turned his attention to the legs of the Colonel’s horse, thereby much
disturbing that noble steed and his rider.
‘Whose dog is that?’ roared the Colonel, casting an infuriated glance
upon him.
‘Captain X----’s, sir,’ replied the orderly.
‘Confound it! what does he mean by keeping such a brute? Tell Captain
X---- to have the dog removed from the barracks immediately.’
Oh, I blush now to think of Chang’s disgrace. He was promptly billeted
at a neighbouring inn; but an evil spirit seems again to have possessed
his Celestial brain, and he was returned a few days later ‘with thanks,’
and an alarming bill for the slaughter of numerous chickens and ducks.
His subsequent career, I grieve to say, was a long succession of
iniquities. On our arrival in England we took him down with us to
Norfolk, thinking there he must be out of harm’s way. At first all went
well. He spent his time meekly lying under the dining-room table,
looking as pious as a China pug. But, alas! he chanced one day to
observe one of those irresistible pheasants he used to chase in the
mountains of Japan. From that moment he was lost. Furious keepers
brought tales of a ‘great yallow, savage baste havin’ scared them thur
burds, ‘til there’s no doin’ northin’ with ‘em’; of nests destroyed,
coops overturned, and countless other offences too numerous to recount.
Chang narrowly escaped being shot on more than one occasion; and from
that time until his departure from the land of game he was securely
imprisoned in the stable, there to repent his sins in solitude.
What was I to do with such a dog? My friends urged me to sell him, and I
had several excellent opportunities of doing so, but I could not in that
mercenary fashion part with my old companion.
Looking back on those days now, I marvel that we were not banished from
civilized society; but it is a long lane that has no turning, and at
last Chang began to reform. Whether it was the wire-muzzle I made him
wear, or the recollection of the well-deserved and severe thrashing he
received on the terrible occasion when he worried a flock of sheep, I
know not; but slowly and surely he gave up his many evil ways, until at
length he became the steady, sober watch-dog and ever constant and
faithful companion he is now.
As I look at my old favourite stretched out on the hearthrug at my feet
in a way peculiar to chows, I realize that we ran a great risk of
getting ourselves disliked in those days. It is of no use for him to
pretend he does not understand me, as I know by the placid smile on his
wicked old face and the sly wink in his sleepy eye that he does so
perfectly.
But I often wonder if dogs have any memories of the past, and if Chang
sometimes thinks, as I so often do, of those happy, far-off days in fair
Japonica.
[Illustration]
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WELLS GARDNER, DARTON AND CO., LTD., LONDON
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Transcriber’s Note
There was only one error detected during the preparation of this text,
which has been corrected, and is noted here. The reference is to the
page and line in the original.
110.1 of those statuesque faces[.] Added.