_By_ THOMAS BELT
On the dryer ridges near the Artigua River, a valuable timber tree, the
"nispera," as it is called by the native, is common. It grows to a great
size, and its timber is almost indestructible; so that we used it in the
construction of all our permanent works. White ants do not eat it, nor,
excepting when first cut, and before it is barked, do any of the
wood-boring beetles. It bears a round fruit about the size of an apple,
hard and heavy when green, and at this time is much frequented by the
large yellowish-brown spider-monkey, which roams over the tops of the
trees in bands of from ten to twenty. Sometimes they lay quiet until I
was passing underneath, when, shaking a branch of the nispera tree, they
would send down a shower of the hard round fruit; but fortunately I was
never struck by them. As soon as I looked up, they would commence
yelping and barking, and putting on the most threatening gestures,
breaking off pieces of branches and letting them fall, and shaking off
more fruit, but never throwing anything, simply letting it fall. Often,
when on lower trees, they would hang from the branches two or three
together, holding on to each other and to the branch with their fore
feet and long tail, whilst their hind feet hung down, all the time
making threatening gestures and cries.
Sometimes a female would be seen carrying a young one on its back, to
which it clung with legs and tail, the mother making its way along the
branches, and leaping from tree to tree, apparently but little
encumbered with its baby. A large black and white eagle is said to prey
upon them, but I never saw one, although I was constantly falling in
with troops of the monkeys. Don Francisco Velasquez, one of our
officers, told me that one day he heard a monkey crying out in the
forest for more than two hours, and at last, going out to see what was
the matter, he saw a monkey on a branch and an eagle beside it trying to
frighten it to turn its back, when it would have seized it. The monkey,
however, kept its face to its foe, and the eagle did not care to engage
with it in this position, but probably would have tired it out.
Velasquez fired at the eagle, and frightened it away. I think it likely,
from what I have seen of the habits of this monkey, that they defend
themselves from its attack by keeping two or three together, thus
assisting each other, and that it is only when the eagle finds one
separated from its companions that it dares to attack it.
Sometimes, but more rarely, a troop of the white-faced cebus monkey
would be fallen in with, rapidly running away, throwing themselves from
tree to tree. This monkey feeds also partly on fruit, but is incessantly
on the look-out for insects, examining the crevices in trees and
withered leaves, seizing the largest beetles and munching them up with
the greatest relish. It is also very fond of eggs and young birds, and
must play havoc among the nestlings. Probably owing to its carnivorous
habits, its flesh is not considered so good by monkey eaters as that of
the fruit-feeding spider-monkey.
It is a very intelligent and mischievous animal. I kept one for a long
time as a pet, and was much amused with its antics. At first, I had it
fastened with a light chain; but it managed to open the links and escape
several times, and then made straight for the fowls' nests, breaking
every egg it could get hold of. Generally, after being a day or two
loose, it would allow itself to be caught again. I tried tying it up
with a cord, and afterwards with a rawhide thong, but had to nail the
end, as it could loosen any knot in a few minutes. It would sometimes
entangle itself around a pole to which it was fastened, and then unwind
the coils again with the greatest discernment. Its chain allowed it to
swing down below the verandah, but it could not reach to the ground.
Sometimes, when there was a brood of young ducks about, it would hold
out a piece of bread in one hand and, when it had tempted a duckling
within reach, seize it by the other, and kill it with a bite in the
breast. There was such an uproar amongst the fowls on these occasions,
that we soon knew what was the matter, and would rush out and punish
Mickey (as we called him) with a switch; so that he was ultimately cured
of his poultry-killing propensities. One day, when whipping him, I held
up the dead duckling in front of him, and at each blow of the light
switch told him to take hold of it, and at last, much to my surprise, he
did so, taking it and holding it tremblingly in one hand.
[Illustration: A CEBUS MONKEY]
He would draw things towards him with a stick, and even use a swing for
the same purpose. It had been put up for the children, and could be
reached by Mickey, who now and then indulged himself with a swing on it.
One day, I had put down some bird skins on a chair to dry, far beyond,
as I thought, Mickey's reach; but, fertile in expedients, he took the
swing and launched it towards the chair, and actually managed to knock
the skins off in the return of the swing, so as to bring them within his
reach. He also procured some jelly that was set out to cool in the same
way. Mickey's actions were very human like. When any one came near to
fondle him, he never neglected the opportunity of pocket-picking. He
would pull out letters, and quickly take them from their envelopes.
Anything eatable disappeared into his mouth immediately. Once he
abstracted a small bottle of turpentine from the pocket of our medical
officer. He drew the cork, held it first to one nostril, then to the
other, made a wry face, recorked it, and returned it to the doctor.
One day, when he got loose, he was detected carrying off the cream-jug
from the table, holding it upright with both hands, and trying to move
off on his hind limbs. He gave the jug up without spilling a drop, all
the time making an apologetic chuckle he often used when found out in
any mischief, and which always meant, "I know I have done wrong, but
don't punish me; in fact, I did not mean to do it--it was accidental."
Whenever, however, he saw he was going to be punished, he would change
his tone to a shrill, threatening note, showing his teeth, and trying to
intimidate. He had quite an extensive vocabulary of sounds, varying from
a gruff bark to a shrill whistle; and we could tell by them, without
seeing him, when it was he was hungry, eating, frightened, or menacing;
doubtless, one of his own species would have understood various minor
shades of intonation and expression that we, not entering into his
feelings and wants, passed over as unintelligible.