“When in thy hammock, should the thought_The man among the monkeys; or, Ninety days in apeland To which are added: The philosopher and his monkeys, The professor and the crocodile, and other strange stories of men and animals

disappointments, in thy ups and downs through life, break in upon thee,

and throw thee into a pensive mood, the owl will bear thee company.

She will tell thee that hard has been her fate too; and at intervals,

‘Whip-poor-Will,’ and ‘Willy come go,’ will take up the tale of sorrow.

Ovid has told thee how the owl once boasted the human form, and lost it

for a very small offence; and were the poet alive now, he would inform

thee that ‘Whip-poor-Will’ and ‘Willy come go’ are the shades of those

poor African and Indian slaves who died worn out and broken-hearted.

They wail and cry ‘Whip-poor-Will,’ ‘Willy come go,’ all night long; and

often, when the moon shines, you see them sitting on the green turf, near

the houses of those whose ancestors tore them from the bosom of their

helpless families, which all probably perished through grief and want,

after their support was gone.”

The Essequibo charmed Waterton. “Here the finest green-heart grows, and

wallaba, purple-heart, siloabali, sawari, buletre, tauronira, and mora,

are met with in vast abundance, far and near, towering up in majestic

grandeur, straight as pillars, sixty or seventy feet high, without a knot

or branch.

“Traveller, forget for a little while the idea thou hast of wandering

further on, and stop and look at this grand picture of vegetable nature;

it is a reflection of the crowd thou hast lately been in, and though a

silent monitor, it is not a less eloquent one on that account. See that

noble purple-heart before thee! Nature has been kind to it. Not a hole,

not the least oozing from its trunk, to show that its best days are

passed. Vigorous in youthful blooming beauty, it stands, the ornament of

these sequestered wilds, and tacitly rebukes those base ones of thine

own species who have been hardy enough to deny the existence of Him who

ordered it to flourish here.

“Behold that one next to it! Hark! how the hammerings of the red-headed

woodpecker resound through its distempered boughs! See what a quantity

of holes he has made in it, and how its bark is stained with the drops

which trickle down from them! The lightning, too, has blasted one side of

it. Nature looks pale and wan in its leaves, and her resources are nearly

dried up in its extremities: its sap is tainted; a mortal sickness, slow

as a consumption, and as sure in its consequences, has long since entered

its frame, vitiating and destroying the wholesome juices there.

“Step a few paces aside, and cast thine eye on that remnant of a mora

behind it. Best part of its branches, once so high and ornamental, now

lie on the ground in sad confusion, one upon the other, all shattered

and fungus-grown, and a prey to millions of insects, which are busily

employed in destroying them. One branch of it still looks healthy! Will

it recover? No, it cannot: Nature has already run her course, and that

healthy-looking branch is only as a fallacious good symptom in him who

is just about to die of a mortification, when he feels no more pain and

fancies his distemper has left him; it is as the momentary gleam of a

wintry sun’s ray close to the western horizon. See! while we are speaking

a gust of wind has brought the tree to the ground, and made room for its

successor.

“Come further on, and examine that apparently luxuriant tauronira on thy

right hand. It boasts a verdure not its own; they are false ornaments it

wears; the bush-rope and bird-vines have clothed it from the root to its

topmost branch. The succession of fruit which it hath borne, like good

cheer in the houses of the great, has invited the birds to resort to it,

and they have disseminated beautiful, though destructive, plants on its

branches, which like the distempers vice brings into the human frame,

rob it of all its health and vigour; they have shortened its days, and

probably in another year they will finally kill it, long before nature

intended that it should die.

“Ere thou leavest this interesting scene look on the ground around thee,

and see what everything here below must come to.

“Behold that newly-fallen wallaba! The whirlwind has uprooted it in its

prime, and it has brought down to the ground a dozen small ones in its

fall. Its bark has already begun to drop off! And that heart of mora

close by it is fast yielding, in spite of its firm, tough texture.

“The tree which thou passedst but a little ago, and which perhaps has

laid over yonder brook for years, can now hardly support itself, and in

a few months more it will have fallen into the water.

“Put thy foot on that large trunk thou seest to the left. It seems entire

amid the surrounding fragments. Mere outward appearance, delusive phantom

of what it once was! Tread on it, and, like the fuss-ball, it will break

into dust.

“Sad and silent mementoes to the giddy traveller as he wanders on!

Prostrate remnants of vegetable nature, how incontestably ye prove what

we must all at last come to, and how plain your mouldering ruins show

that the firmest texture avails us nought when Heaven wills that we

should cease to be!—

“‘The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous palaces,

The solemn temples, the great globe itself,

Yea, all which it inhabit, shall dissolve,

And, like the baseless fabric of a vision,

Leave not a wreck behind.’

“Cast thine eye around thee, and see the thousands of nature’s

productions. Take a view of them from the opening seed on the surface,

sending a downward shoot, to the loftiest and the largest trees, rising

up and blooming in wild luxuriance; some side by side, others separate;

some curved and knotty, others straight as lances; all, in beautiful

gradation, fulfilling the mandates they had received from Heaven, and,

though condemned to die, still never failing to keep up their species

till time shall be no more.”

Waterton, in his usual clear manner, goes to the root of the matter in

his account of the celebrated wourali poison. “Though the wourali poison

is used by all the South American savages betwixt the Amazons and the

Oroonoque, still the Macoushi tribe makes it stronger than any of the

rest. The Indians in the vicinity of the Rio Negro are aware of this, and

come to the Macoushi country to purchase it.

“Much has been said concerning this fatal and extraordinary poison. Some

have affirmed that its effects are almost instantaneous, provided the

minutest particle of it mixes with the blood; and others again have

maintained that it is not strong enough to kill an animal of the size and

strength of a man. The first have erred by lending a too willing ear to

the marvellous, and believing assertions without sufficient proof. The

following short story points out the necessity of a cautious examination:—

“One day, on asking an Indian if he thought the poison would kill a man,

he replied, that they always go to battle with it; that he was standing

by when an Indian was shot with a poisoned arrow, and that he expired

almost immediately. Not wishing to dispute this apparently satisfactory

information, the subject was dropped. However, about an hour after,

having purposely asked him in what part of the body the said Indian was

wounded, he answered without hesitation, that the arrow entered betwixt

his shoulders, and passed quite through his heart. Was it the weapon, or

the strength of the poison, that brought an immediate dissolution in this

case? Of course the weapon.

“The second have been misled by disappointment, caused by neglect in

keeping the poisoned arrows, or by not knowing how to use them, or by

trying inferior poison. If the arrows are not kept dry, the poison loses

its strength, and in wet or damp weather it turns mouldy, and becomes

quite soft. In shooting an arrow in this state, upon examining the place

where it has entered, it will be observed that, though the arrow has

penetrated deep into the flesh, still by far the greatest part of the

poison has shrunk back, and thus, instead of entering with the arrow,

it has remained collected at the mouth of the wound. In this case the

arrow might as well have not been poisoned. Probably it was to this that

a gentleman, some time ago, owed his disappointment, when he tried the

poison on a horse in the town of Stabroek, the capital of Demerara; the

horse never betrayed the least symptom of being affected by it.

“Wishful to obtain the best information concerning this poison, and as

repeated inquiries, in lieu of dissipating the surrounding shade, did but

tend more and more to darken the little light that existed; I determined

to penetrate into the country where the poisonous ingredients grow, where

this pernicious composition is prepared, and where it is constantly used.

Success attended the adventure; and the information acquired made amends

for one hundred and twenty days passed in the solitudes of Guiana, and

afforded a balm to the wounds and bruises which every traveller must

expect to receive who wanders through a thorny and obstructed path.

“Thou must not, courteous reader, expect a dissertation on the manner

in which the wourali poison operates on the system; a treatise has been

already written on the subject, and, after all, there is probably still

reason to doubt. It is supposed to affect the nervous system, and thus

destroy the vital functions; it is also said to be perfectly harmless,

provided it does not touch the blood. However, this is certain, when

a sufficient quantity of it enters the blood, death is the inevitable

consequence; but there is no alteration in the colour of the blood, and

both the blood and flesh may be eaten with safety.

“All that thou wilt find here is a concise, unadorned account of the

wourali poison. It may be of service to thee some time or other, shouldst

thou ever travel through the wilds where it is used. Neither attribute

to cruelty, nor to a want of feeling for the sufferings of the inferior

animals, the ensuing experiments. The larger animals were destroyed in

order to have proof positive of the strength of a poison which hath

hitherto been doubted; and the smaller ones were killed with the hope of

substantiating that which has commonly been supposed to be an antidote.

“It makes a pitying heart ache to see a poor creature in distress and

pain; and too often has the compassionate traveller occasion to heave

a sigh as he journeys on. However, here, though the kind-hearted will

be sorry to read of an unoffending animal doomed to death, in order to

satisfy a doubt, still it will be a relief to know that the victim was

not tortured. The wourali poison destroys life’s action so gently, that

the victim appears to be in no pain whatever; and probably, were the

truth known, it feels none, saving the momentary smart at the time the

arrow enters.

“A day or two before the Macoushi Indian prepares his poison, he goes

into the forest, in quest of the ingredients. A vine grows in these

wilds, which is called wourali. It is from this that the poison takes its

name, and it is the principal ingredient. When he has procured enough

of this, he digs up a root of a very bitter taste, ties them together,

and then looks about for two kinds of bulbous plants, which contain a

green and glutinous juice. He fills a little quake, which he carries on

his back, with the stalks of these; and lastly, ranges up and down till

he finds two species of ants. One of them is very large and black, and

so venomous, that its sting produces a fever; it is most commonly to be

met with on the ground. The other is a little red ant, which stings like

a nettle, and generally has its nest under the leaf of a shrub. After

obtaining these, he has no more need to range the forest.

“A quantity of the strongest Indian pepper is used; but this he has

already planted round his hut. The pounded fangs of the Labarri snake,

and those of the Counacouchi, are likewise added. These he commonly has

in store; for when he kills a snake, he generally extracts the fangs, and

keeps them by him.

“Having thus found the necessary ingredients, he scrapes the wourali vine

and bitter root into thin shavings, and puts them into a kind of colander

made of leaves: this he holds over an earthen pot, and pours water on the

shavings: the liquor which comes through has the appearance of coffee.

When a sufficient quantity has been procured, the shavings are thrown

aside. He then bruises the bulbous stalks, and squeezes a proportionate

quantity of their juice through his hands into the pot. Lastly, the

snake’s fangs, ants, and pepper are bruised, and thrown into it. It is

then placed on a slow fire, and as it boils, more of the juice of the

wourali is added, according as it may be found necessary, and the scum

is taken off with a leaf; it remains on the fire till reduced to a thick

syrup of a deep brown colour. As soon as it has arrived at this state a

few arrows are poisoned with it, to try its strength. If it answer the

expectations, it is poured out into a calabash, or little pot of Indian

manufacture, which is carefully covered with a couple of leaves, and over

them a piece of deer’s skin, tied round with a cord. They keep it in the

most dry part of the hut; and from time to time suspend it over the fire,

to counteract the effects of dampness.

“The act of preparing this poison is not considered as a common one: the

savage may shape his bow, fasten the barb on the point of his arrow, and

make his other implements of destruction, either lying in his hammock, or

in the midst of his family; but, if he has to prepare the wourali poison,

many precautions are supposed to be necessary.

“The women and young girls are not allowed to be present, lest the

Yabahou, or evil spirit, should do them harm. The shed under which it

has been boiled is pronounced polluted, and abandoned ever after. He who

makes the poison must eat nothing that morning, and must continue fasting

as long as the operation lasts. The pot in which it is boiled must be a

new one, and must never have held anything before, otherwise the poison

would be deficient in strength: add to this, that the operator must take

particular care not to expose himself to the vapour which arises from it

while on the fire.

“Though this and other precautions are taken, such as frequent washing

the face and hands, still the Indians think that it affects the health;

and the operator either is, or, what is more probable, supposes himself

to be, sick for some days after.

“Thus it appears that the making the wourali poison is considered as a

gloomy and mysterious operation; and it would seem that they imagine it

affects others as well as him who boils it; for an Indian agreed one

evening to make some for me, but the next morning he declined having

anything to do with it, alleging that his wife was with child!

“Here it might be asked, are all the ingredients just mentioned

necessary, in order to produce the wourali poison? Though our opinions

and conjectures may militate against the absolute necessity of some of

them, still it would be hardly fair to pronounce them added by the hand

of superstition, till proof positive can be obtained.

“We might argue on the subject, and by bringing forward instances of

Indian superstition, draw our conclusion by inference, and still remain

in doubt on this head. You know superstition to be the offspring of

ignorance, and of course that it takes up its abode amongst the rudest

tribes of uncivilised men. It even too often resides with man in his more

enlightened state.

“The Augustan age furnishes numerous examples. A bone snatched from the

jaws of a fasting bitch, and a feather from the wing of a night owl—‘ossa

ab ore rapta jejunæ canis, plumamque nocturnæ strigis’—were necessary for

Canidia’s incantations. And in after times Parson Evans, the Welshman,

was treated most ungenteelly by an enraged spirit, solely because he had

forgotten a fumigation in his witch-work.

“If, then, enlightened man lets his better sense give way, and believes,

or allows himself to be persuaded, that certain substances and actions,

in reality of no avail, possess a virtue which renders them useful

in producing the wished-for effect, may not the wild, untaught,

unenlightened savage of Guiana add an ingredient which, on account of

the harm it does him, he fancies may be useful to the perfection of his

poison, though, in fact, it be of no use at all? If a bone snatched from

the jaws of a fasting bitch be thought necessary in incantation; or if

witchcraft have recourse to the raiment of the owl, because it resorts to

the tombs and mausoleums of the dead, and wails and hovers about at the

time that the rest of animated nature sleeps; certainly the savage may

imagine that the ants, whose sting causes a fever, and the teeth of the

Labarri and Counacouchi snakes, which convey death in a very short space

of time, are essentially necessary in the composition of his poison; and

being once impressed with this idea, he will add them every time he makes

the poison, and transmit the absolute use of them to his posterity. The

question to be answered seems not to be if it is natural for the Indians

to mix these ingredients, but if they are essential to make the poison.

“So much for the preparing of this vegetable essence; terrible importer

of death, into whatever animal it enters. Let us now see how it is used;

let us examine the weapons which bear it to its destination, and take a

view of the poor victim, from the time he receives his wound till death

comes to his relief.

“When a native of Macoushia goes in quest of feathered game or other

birds, he seldom carries his bow and arrows. It is the blow-pipe he then

uses. This extraordinary tube of death is, perhaps, one of the greatest

natural curiosities of Guiana. It is not found in the country of the

Macoushi. Those Indians tell you that it grows to the south-west of them,

in the wilds which extend betwixt them and the Rio Negro. The reed must

grow to an amazing length, as the part the Indians use is from ten to

eleven feet long, and no tapering can be perceived in it, one end being

as thick as the other. It is of a bright yellow colour, perfectly smooth

both inside and out. It grows hollow; nor is there the least appearance

of a knot or joint throughout the whole extent. The natives call it

ourah. This, of itself, is too slender to answer the end of a blow-pipe;

but there is a species of palma, larger and stronger, and common in

Guiana, and this the Indians make use of as a case, in which they put

the ourah. It is brown, susceptible of a fine polish, and appears as if

it had joints five or six inches from each other. It is called samourah,

and the pulp inside is easily extracted by steeping it for a few days in

water.

“Thus the ourah and samourah, one within the other, form the blow-pipe of

Guiana. The end which is applied to the mouth is tied round with a small

silk-grass cord, to prevent its splitting; and the other end, which is

apt to strike against the ground, is secured by the seed of the acuero

fruit, cut horizontally through the middle, with a hole made in the end,

through which is put the extremity of the blow-pipe. It is fastened

on with string on the outside, and the inside is filled up with wild

bees’-wax.

“The arrow is from nine to ten inches long. It is made out of the leaf of

a species of palm-tree, called Coucourite, hard and brittle, and pointed

as sharp as a needle. About an inch of the pointed end is poisoned. The

other end is burnt to make it still harder, and wild cotton is put round

it for about an inch and a half. It requires considerable practice to

put on this cotton well. It must just be large enough to fit the hollow

of the tube, and taper off to nothing downwards. They tie it on with a

thread of the silk-grass, to prevent its slipping off the arrow.

“The Indians have shown ingenuity in making a quiver to hold the arrows.

It will contain from five to six hundred. It is generally from twelve

to fourteen inches long, and in shape resembles a dice-box used at

backgammon. The inside is prettily done in basket work, with wood not

unlike bamboo, and the outside has a coat of wax. The cover is all of one

piece, formed out of the skin of the tapir. Round the centre there is

fastened a loop, large enough to admit the arm and shoulder, from which

it hangs when used. To the rim is tied a little bunch of silk-grass,

and half of the jaw-bone of the fish called pirai, with which the Indian

scrapes the point of his arrow.

“Before he puts the arrows into the quiver, he links them together by two

strings of cotton, one string at each end, and then folds them round a

stick, which is nearly the length of the quiver. The end of the stick,

which is uppermost, is guarded by two little pieces of wood crosswise,

with a hoop round their extremities, which appears something like a

wheel; and this saves the hand from being wounded when the quiver is

reversed, in order to let the bunch of arrows drop out.

“There is also attached to the quiver a little kind of basket, to hold

the wild cotton which is put on the blunt end of the arrow. With a quiver

of poisoned arrows slung over his shoulder, and with his blow-pipe in

his hand, in the same position as a soldier carries his musket, see

the Macoushi Indian advancing towards the forest in quest of powises,

maroudis, waracabas, and other feathered game.

“These generally sit high up in the tall and tufted trees, but still

are not out of the Indian’s reach; for his blow-pipe, at its greatest

elevation, will send an arrow three hundred feet. Silent as midnight

he steals under them, and so cautiously does he tread the ground that

the fallen leaves rustle not beneath his feet. His ears are open to the

least sound, while his eye, keen as that of the lynx, is employed in

finding out the game in the thickest shade. Often he imitates their cry,

and decoys them from tree to tree, till they are within range of his

tube. Then taking a poisoned arrow from his quiver, he puts it in the

blow-pipe, and collects his breath for the fatal puff.

“About two feet from the end through which he blows, there are fastened

two teeth of the acouri, and these serve him for a sight. Silent and

swift the arrow flies, and seldom fails to pierce the object at which it

is sent. Sometimes the wounded bird remains in the same tree where it was

shot, and in three minutes falls down at the Indian’s feet. Should he

take wing, his flight is of short duration, and the Indian, following the

direction he has gone, is sure to find him dead.

“It is natural to imagine that, when a slight wound only is inflicted,

the game will make its escape. Far otherwise; the wourali poison almost

instantaneously mixes with blood or water, so that if you wet your

finger, and dash it along the poisoned arrow in the quickest manner

possible, you are sure to carry off some of the poison. Though three

minutes generally elapse before the convulsions come on in the wounded

bird, still a stupor evidently takes place sooner, and this stupor

manifests itself by an apparent unwillingness in the bird to move. This

was very visible in a dying fowl.

“Having procured a healthy full-grown one, a short piece of a poisoned

blow-pipe arrow was broken off and run up into its thigh, as near as

possible betwixt the skin and the flesh, in order that it might not

be incommoded by the wound. For the first minute it walked about, but

walked very slowly, and did not appear the least agitated. During the

second minute it stood still, and began to peck the ground; and ere half

another elapsed, it frequently opened and shut its mouth. The tail had

now dropped, and the wings almost touched the ground. By the termination

of the third minute it had sat down, scarce able to support its head,

which nodded, and then recovered itself, and then nodded again, lower and

lower every time, like that of a weary traveller slumbering in an erect

position; the eyes alternately open and shut. The fourth minute brought

on convulsions, and life and the fifth terminated together.

“The flesh of the game is not in the least injured by poison, nor does

it appear to corrupt sooner than that killed by the gun or knife. The

body of this fowl was kept for sixteen hours, in a climate damp and

rainy, and within seven degrees of the equator; at the end of which time

it had contracted no bad smell whatever, and there were no symptoms of

putrefaction, saving that, just round the wound, the flesh appeared

somewhat discoloured.

“The Indian, on his return home, carefully suspends his blow-pipe from

the top of his spiral roof; seldom placing it in an oblique position,

lest it should receive a cast.

“Here let the blow-pipe remain suspended, while you take a view of the

arms which are made to slay the larger beasts of the forest.

“When the Indian intends to chase the peccari, or surprise the deer, or

rouse the tapir from his marshy retreat, he carries his bow and arrows,

which are very different from the weapons already described.

“The bow is generally from six to seven feet long, and strung with a cord

spun out of the silk-grass. The forests of Guiana furnish many species of

hard wood, tough and elastic, out of which beautiful and excellent bows

are formed.

“The arrows are from four to five feet in length, made of a yellow

reed without a knot or joint. It is found in great plenty up and down

throughout Guiana. A piece of hard wood, about nine inches long, is

inserted into the end of the reed, and fastened with cotton well waxed. A

square hole, an inch deep, is then made in the end of this piece of hard

wood, done tight round with cotton to keep it from splitting. Into this

square hole is fitted a spike of Coucourite wood, poisoned, and which

may be kept there or taken out at pleasure. A joint of bamboo, about as

thick as your finger, is fitted on over the poisoned spike, to prevent

accidents and defend it from the rain, and is taken off when the arrow is

about to be used. Lastly, two feathers are fastened on the other end of

the reed, to steady it in its flight.

“Besides his bow and arrows, the Indian carries a little box, made of

bamboo, which holds a dozen or fifteen poisoned spikes, six inches long.

They are poisoned in the following manner:—A small piece of wood is

dipped in the poison, and with this they give the spike a first coat. It

is then exposed to the sun or fire. After it is dry, it receives another

coat, and is then dried again; after this a third coat, and sometimes a

fourth.

“They take great care to put the poison on thicker at the middle than

at the sides, by which means the spike retains the shape of a two-edged

sword. It is rather a tedious operation to make one of these arrows

complete; and as the Indian is not famed for industry, except when

pressed by hunger, he has hit upon a plan of preserving his arrows which

deserves notice.

“About a quarter of an inch above the part where the Coucourite spike is

fixed into the square hole, he cuts it half through; and thus, when it

has entered the animal, the weight of the arrow causes it to break off

there, by which means the arrow falls to the ground uninjured; so that,

should this be the only arrow he happens to have with him, and should

another shot immediately occur, he has only to take another poisoned

spike out of his little bamboo box, fit it on his arrow, and send it to

its destination.

“Thus armed with deadly poison, and hungry as the hyæna, he ranges

through the forest in quest of the wild beasts’ track. No hound can act

a surer part. Without clothes to fetter him, or shoes to bind his feet,

he observes the footsteps of the game, where a European eye could not

discern the smallest vestige. He pursues it through all its turns and

windings with astonishing perseverance, and success generally crowns his

efforts. The animal, after receiving the poisoned arrow, seldom retreats

two hundred paces before it drops.

“In passing overland from the Essequibo to the Demerara, we fell in with

a herd of wild hogs. Though encumbered with baggage, and fatigued with

a hard day’s walk, an Indian got his bow ready, and let fly a poisoned

arrow at one of them. It entered the cheek-bone, and broke off. The wild

hog was found quite dead about one hundred and seventy paces from the

place where he had been shot. He afforded us an excellent and wholesome

supper.

“Thus the savage of Guiana, independent of the common weapons of

destruction, has it in his power to prepare a poison, by which he can

generally ensure to himself a supply of animal food; and the food so

destroyed imbibes no deleterious qualities. Nature has been bountiful

to him. She has not only ordered poisonous herbs and roots to grow in

the unbounded forests through which he strays, but has also furnished

an excellent reed for his arrows, and another, still more singular, for

his blow-pipe; and planted trees of an amazing hard, tough, and elastic

texture, out of which he forms his bows. And in order that nothing might

be wanting she has superadded a tree which yields him a fine wax, and

disseminated up and down a plant not unlike that of the pine-apple, which

affords him capital bow-strings.

“Having now followed the Indian in the chase and described the poison,

let us take a nearer view of its action, and observe a large animal

expiring under the weight of its baneful virulence.

“Many have doubted the strength of the wourali poison. Should they ever

by chance read what follows, probably their doubts on that score will be

settled for ever.

“In the former experiment on the hog some faint resistance on the part of

nature was observed, as if existence struggled for superiority; but in

the following instance of the sloth, life sank in death without the least

apparent contention, without a cry, without a struggle, and without a

groan. This was an Ai, or three-toed sloth. It was in the possession of a

gentleman who was collecting curiosities. He wished to have it killed, in

order to preserve the skin, and the wourali poison was resorted to as the

easiest death.

“Of all animals, not even the toad and tortoise excepted, this poor

ill-formed creature is the most tenacious of life. It exists long after

it has received wounds which would have destroyed any other animal; and

it may be said, on seeing a mortally wounded sloth, that life disputes

with death every inch of flesh in its body.

“The Ai was wounded in the leg, and put down on the floor, about two feet

from the table; it contrived to reach the leg of the table, and fastened

itself on it, as if wishful to ascend. But this was its last advancing

step: life was ebbing fast, though imperceptibly; nor could this singular

production of nature, which has been formed of a texture to resist death

in a thousand shapes, make any stand against the wourali poison.

“First one fore-leg let go its hold, and dropped down motionless by its

side; the other gradually did the same. The fore-legs having now lost

strength, the sloth slowly doubled its body and placed its head betwixt

its hind legs, which still adhered to the table; but when the poison had

affected these also it sank to the ground, but sank so gently, that you

could not distinguish the movement from an ordinary motion; and had you

been ignorant that it was wounded with a poisoned arrow, you would never

have suspected that it was dying. Its mouth was shut, nor had any froth

or saliva collected there.

“There was no subsultus tendinum, or any visible alteration in its

breathing. During the tenth minute from the time it was wounded it

stirred, and that was all; and the minute after life’s last spark

went out. From the time the poison began to operate, you would have

conjectured that sleep was overpowering it, and you would have exclaimed,

‘Pressitque jacentem, dulcis et alta quies, placidæque simillima morti.’

“There are now two positive proofs of the effect of this fatal

poison—viz., the death of the hog, and that of the sloth. But still these

animals were nothing remarkable for size; and the strength of the poison

in large animals might yet be doubted, were it not for what follows.

“A large well-fed ox, from nine hundred to a thousand pounds’ weight,

was tied to a stake by a rope sufficiently long to allow him to move

to and fro. Having no large Coucourite spikes at hand, it was judged

necessary, on account of his superior size, to put three wild-hog arrows

into him. One was sent into each thigh just above the hock, in order to

avoid wounding a vital part, and the third was shot transversely into the

extremity of the nostril.

“The poison seemed to take effect in four minutes. Conscious as though

he would fall, the ox set himself firmly on his legs, and remained quite

still in the same place, till about the fourteenth minute, when he

smelled the ground, and appeared as if inclined to walk. He advanced a

pace or two, staggered, and fell, and remained extended on his side, with

his head on the ground. His eye, a few minutes ago so bright and lively,

now became fixed and dim; and though you put your hand close to it, as if

to give him a blow there, he never closed his eyelid.

“His legs were convulsed, and his head from time to time started

involuntarily; but he never showed the least desire to raise it from the

ground; he breathed hard, and emitted foam from his mouth. The startings,

or subsultus tendinum, now became gradually weaker and weaker; his hinder

parts were fixed in death; and in a minute or two more his head and

fore-legs ceased to stir.

“Nothing now remained to show that life was still within him, except that

his heart faintly beat and fluttered at intervals. In five-and-twenty

minutes from the time of his being wounded, he was quite dead. His flesh

was very sweet and savoury at dinner.

“On taking a retrospective view of the two different kinds of poisoned

arrows, and the animals destroyed by them, it would appear that the

quantity of poison must be proportioned to the animal; and thus those

probably labour under an error who imagine that the smallest particle of

it introduced into the blood has almost instantaneous effects.

“Make an estimate of the difference in size betwixt the fowl and the ox,

and then weigh a sufficient quantity of poison for a blow-pipe arrow,

with which the fowl was killed, and weigh also enough poison for three

wild-hog arrows, which destroyed the ox, and it will appear that the fowl

received much more poison in proportion than the ox. Hence the cause why

the fowl died in five minutes, and the ox in five-and-twenty.

“Indeed, were it the case that the smallest particle of it introduced

into the blood has almost instantaneous effects, the Indian would not

find it necessary to make the large arrow; that of the blow-pipe is much

easier made, and requires less poison.

“And now for the antidotes, or rather the supposed antidotes. The Indians

tell you that if the wounded animal be held for a considerable time up to

the mouth in water, the poison will not prove fatal; also that the juice

of the sugar-cane, poured down the throat, will counteract the effects of

it. These antidotes were fairly tried upon full-grown healthy fowls, but

they all died, as though no steps had been taken to preserve their lives.

Rum was recommended, and given to another, but with as little success.

“It is supposed by some that wind introduced into the lungs by means of

a small pair of bellows would revive the poisoned patient, provided the

operation be continued for a sufficient length of time. It may be so: but

this is a difficult and a tedious mode of cure, and he who is wounded

in the forest, far away from his friends, or in the hut of the savages,

stands but a poor chance of being saved by it.

“Had the Indians a sure antidote, it is likely they would carry it about

with them, or resort to it immediately after being wounded, if at hand;

and their confidence in its efficacy would greatly diminish the horror

they betray when you point a poisoned arrow at them.

“One day while we were eating a red monkey, erroneously called a baboon,

in Demerara, an Arowack Indian told an affecting story of what happened

to a comrade of his. He was present at his death. As it did not interest

this Indian in any point to tell a falsehood, it is very probable that

his account was a true one. If so, it appears that there is no certain

antidote, or, at least, an antidote that could be resorted to in a case

of urgent need; for the Indian gave up all thoughts of life as soon as he

was wounded.

“The Arowack Indian said it was but four years ago that he and his

companion were ranging in the forest in quest of game. His companion

took a poisoned arrow, and sent it at a red monkey in a tree above him.

It was nearly a perpendicular shot. The arrow missed the monkey, and,

in the descent, struck him in the arm, a little above the elbow. He was

convinced it was all over with him. ‘I shall never,’ said he to his

companion, in a faltering voice, and looking at his bow as he said it, ‘I

shall never,’ said he, ‘bend this bow again.’ And having said that, he

took off his little bamboo poison box, which hung across his shoulder,

and putting it together with his bow and arrows on the ground, he laid

himself down close by them, bid his companions farewell, and never spoke

more.

“He who is unfortunate enough to be wounded by a poisoned arrow from

Macoushia had better not depend upon the common antidotes for a cure.

Many who have been in Guiana will recommend immediate immersion in water,

or to take the juice of the sugar-cane, or to fill the mouth full of

salt; and they recommend these antidotes because they have got them from

the Indians. But were you to ask them if they ever saw these antidotes

used with success, it is ten to one their answer would be in the negative.

“Wherefore let him reject these antidotes as unprofitable, and of no

avail. He has got an active and a deadly foe within him, which, like

Shakspeare’s fell Sergeant Death, is strict in his arrest, and will allow

him but little time—very—very little time. In a few minutes he will be

numbered with the dead. Life ought, if possible, to be preserved, be

the expense ever so great. Should the part affected admit of it, let a

ligature be tied tight round the wound, and have immediate recourse to

the knife:—

“‘Continuo, culpam ferro compesce priusquam,

Dira per infaustum serpant contagia corpus.’

“Several experiments were subsequently made with the wourali poison.

In London an ass was inoculated with it, and died in twelve minutes.

The poison was inserted into the leg of another, round which a bandage

had been previously tied a little above the place where the wourali was

introduced. He walked about as usual, and ate his food as though all were

right. After an hour had elapsed the bandage was untied, and ten minutes

after death overtook him.

“A she-ass received the wourali poison in the shoulder, and died

apparently in ten minutes. An incision was then made in its windpipe, and

through it the lungs were regularly inflated for two hours with a pair

of bellows. Suspended animation returned. The ass held up her head, and

looked around; but the inflating being discontinued, she sank once more

in apparent death. The artificial breathing was immediately recommenced,

and continued without intermission for two hours more. This saved the ass

from final dissolution: she rose up and walked about; she seemed neither

in agitation nor in pain. The wound through which the poison entered was

healed without difficulty. Her constitution, however, was so severely

affected, that it was long a doubt if ever she would be well again. She

looked lean and sickly for above a year, but began to mend the spring

after; and by Midsummer became fat and frisky.

“The kind-hearted reader will rejoice on learning that Earl Percy,

pitying her misfortunes, sent her down from London to Walton Hall, near

Wakefield. There she went by the name of Wouralia. Wouralia was sheltered

from the wintry storm; and when summer came she fed in the finest

pasture. No burden was placed upon her, and she ended her days in peace.

“Poor Wouralia breathed her last on the 15th of February, 1839, having

survived the operation nearly five-and-twenty years.”

Of a certainty, the woodpecker is closely associated with tree-life; no

animal or bird so much so. Waterton tells you that “you would not be long

in the forests of Demerara without noticing the woodpeckers. You meet

them feeding at all hours of the day. Well may they do so. Were they

to follow the example of most of the other birds, and only feed in the

morning and evening, they would be often on short allowance, for they

sometimes have to labour three or four hours at the tree before they

get to their food. The sound which the largest kind makes in hammering

against the bark of the tree is so loud, that you would never suppose

it to proceed from the efforts of a bird. You would take it to be the

woodman, with his axe, trying by a sturdy blow, often repeated, whether

the tree were sound or not. There are fourteen species here; the largest

the size of a magpie, the smallest no bigger than a wren. They are all

beautiful; and the greater part of them have their heads ornamented with

a fine crest, movable at pleasure.

“It is said that if you once give a dog a bad name, whether innocent or

guilty, he never loses it. It sticks close to him wherever he goes. He

has many a kick and many a blow to bear on account of it; and there is

nobody to stand up for him. The woodpecker is little better off. The

proprietors of woods, in Europe, have long accused him of injuring their

timber by boring holes in it, and letting in the water, which soon rots

it. The colonists in America have the same complaint against him. Had he

the power of speech, which Ovid’s birds possessed in days of yore, he

could soon make a defence. ‘Mighty lord of the woods,’ he would say to

man, ‘why do you wrongfully accuse me? why do you hunt me up and down

to death for an imaginary offence? I have never spoiled a leaf of your

property, much less your wood. Your merciless shot strikes me at the very

time I am doing you a service. But your short-sightedness will not let

you see it, or your pride is above examining closely the actions of so

insignificant a little bird as I am. If there be that spark of feeling

in your breast which they say man possesses, or ought to possess, above

all other animals, do a poor injured creature a little kindness, and

watch me in your woods only for a day. I never wound your healthy trees.

I should perish for want in the attempt. The sound bark would easily

resist the force of my bill; and were I even to pierce through it, there

would be nothing inside that I could fancy, or my stomach digest. I often

visit them, it is true, but a knock or two convinces me that I must go

elsewhere for support; and were you to listen attentively to the sound

which my bill causes, you would know whether I am upon a healthy or an

unhealthy tree. Wood and bark are not my food. I live entirely upon the

insects which have already formed a lodgment in the distempered tree.

When the sound informs me that my prey is there, I labour for hours

together till I get at it; and by consuming it, for my own support, I

prevent its further depredations in that part. Thus I discover for you

your hidden and unsuspected foe, which has been devouring your wood in

such secrecy that you had not the least suspicion it was there. The hole

which I make in order to get at the pernicious vermin will be seen by

you as you pass under the tree. I leave it as a signal to tell you that

your tree has already stood too long. It is past its prime. Millions of

insects, engendered by disease, are preying upon its vitals. Ere long it

will fall a log in useless ruins. Warned by this loss, cut down the rest

in time, and spare, O spare, the unoffending woodpecker.’”

With what evident love of his own work in life does Waterton call the

manhood of England to the glorious sport of travel! Wisely he declares

that “the youth who incautiously reels into the lobby of Drury Lane,

after leaving the table sacred to the god of wine, is exposed to more

certain ruin, sickness, and decay, than he who wanders a whole year

in the wilds of Demerara. But this will never be believed; because

the disasters arising from dissipation are so common and frequent in

civilised life, that man becomes quite habituated to them; and sees daily

victims sink into the tomb long before their time, without ever once

taking alarm at the causes which precipitated them headlong into it.

“But the dangers which a traveller exposes himself to in foreign

parts are novel, out-of-the-way things to a man at home. The remotest

apprehension of meeting a tremendous tiger, of being carried off by a

flying dragon, or having his bones picked by a famished cannibal—oh,

that makes him shudder! It sounds in his ears like the bursting of a

bombshell. Thank Heaven, he is safe by his own fireside!

“Prudence and resolution ought to be the traveller’s constant companions.

The first will cause him to avoid a number of snares which he will find

in the path as he journeys on; and the second will always lend a hand

to assist him if he has unavoidably got entangled in them. The little

distinctions which have been shown him at his own home ought to be

forgotten when he travels over the world at large; for strangers know

nothing of his former merits, and it is necessary that they should

witness them before they pay him the tribute which he was wont to receive

within his own doors. Thus, to be kind and affable to those we meet, to

mix in their amusements, to pay a compliment or two to their manners and

customs, to respect their elders, to give a little to their distressed

and needy, and to feel, as it were, at home amongst them, is the sure way

to enable you to pass merrily on, and to find other comforts as sweet

and palatable as those which you were accustomed to partake of amongst

your friends and acquaintance in your native land. We will now ascend

in fancy on Icarian wing, and take a view of Guiana in general. See an

immense plain! betwixt two of the largest rivers in the world, level as

a bowling-green, save at Cayenne, and covered with trees along the coast

quite to the Atlantic wave, except where the plantations make a little

vacancy amongst the foliage.

“Though nearly in the centre of the torrid zone, the sun’s rays are

not so intolerable as might be imagined, on account of the perpetual

verdure and refreshing north-east breeze. See what numbers of broad and

rapid rivers intersect it in their journey to the ocean, and that not a

stone or a pebble is to be found on their banks, or in any part of the

country, till your eye catches the hills in the interior. How beautiful

and magnificent are the lakes in the heart of the forests, and how

charming the forests themselves, for miles after miles on each side of

the rivers! How extensive appear the savannas or natural meadows, teeming

with innumerable herds of cattle where the Portuguese and Spaniards are

settled, but desert as Saara where the English and Dutch claim dominion!

How gradually the face of the country rises! See the sand-hills all

clothed in wood first emerging from the level, then hills a little

higher, rugged with bold and craggy rocks, peeping out from amongst the

most luxuriant timber. Then come plains, and dells, and far-extending

valleys, arrayed in richest foliage; and beyond them, mountains piled on

mountains, some bearing prodigious forests, others of bleak and barren

aspect. Thus your eye wanders on, over scenes of varied loveliness and

grandeur, till it rests on the stupendous pinnacles of the long-continued

Cordilleras de los Andes, which rise in towering majesty, and command all

America.

“How fertile must the lowlands be, from the accumulation of fallen leaves

and trees for centuries! How propitious the swamps and slimy beds of the

rivers, heated by a downward sun, to the amazing growth of alligators,

serpents, and innumerable insects! How inviting the forests to the

feathered tribes, where you see buds, blossoms, green and ripe fruit,

full-grown and fading leaves, all on the same tree! How secure the wild

beasts may rove in endless mazes! Perhaps those mountains, too, which

appear so bleak and naked, as if quite neglected, are, like Potosi, full

of precious metals.”

Sagely and befitting an instructor, he gives excellent advice upon many

points, very necessary to be known of those who are engaged in seeing

the face of the earth. “I would here, gentle reader, wish to draw thy

attention, for a few minutes, to physic, raiment, and diet. Shouldst thou

ever wander through these remote and dreary wilds, forget not to carry

with thee bark, laudanum, calomel, and jalap, and the lancet. There are

no druggist shops here, nor sons of Galen to apply to in time of need. I

never go encumbered with many clothes. A thin flannel waistcoat under a

check shirt, a pair of trousers, and a hat, were all my wardrobe; shoes

and stockings I seldom had on. In dry weather they would have irritated

the feet, and retarded me in the chase of wild beasts; and in the rainy

season they would have kept me in a perpetual state of damp and moisture.

I eat moderately, and never drink wine, spirits, or fermented liquors

in any climate. This abstemiousness has ever proved a faithful friend;

it carried me triumphant through the epidemia at Malaga, where death

made such havoc about the beginning of the present century; and it has

since befriended me in many a fit of sickness, brought on by exposure

to the noon-day sun, to the dews of night, to the pelting shower, and

unwholesome food.

“Perhaps it will be as well, here, to mention a fever which came on,

and the treatment of it; it may possibly be of use to thee, shouldst

thou turn wanderer in the tropics: a word or two also of a wound I got

in the forest, and then we will say no more of the little accidents

which sometimes occur, and attend solely to natural history. We shall

have an opportunity of seeing the wild animals in their native haunts,

undisturbed and unbroken in upon by men. We shall have time and leisure

to look more closely at them, and probably rectify some errors which,

for want of proper information, or a near observance, have crept into

their several histories.

“It was in the month of June, when the sun was within a few days of

Cancer, that I had a severe attack of fever. There had been a deluge of

rain, accompanied with tremendous thunder and lightning, and very little

sun. Nothing could exceed the dampness of the atmosphere. For two or

three days I had been in a kind of twilight state of health, neither ill

nor what you may call well; I yawned and felt weary without exercise, and

my sleep was merely slumber. This was the time to have taken medicine;

but I neglected to do so, though I had just been reading, ‘O navis

referent in mare te novi fluctus, O quid agis? fortiter occupa portum.’

I awoke at midnight; a cruel headache, thirst, and pain in the small of

the back, informed me what the case was. Had Chiron himself been present,

he could not have told me more distinctly that I was going to have a

tight brush of it, and that I ought to meet it with becoming fortitude. I

dozed, and woke, and startled, and then dozed again, and suddenly awoke,

thinking I was falling down a precipice.

“The return of the bats to their diurnal retreat, which was in the thatch

above my hammock, informed me that the sun was now fast approaching to

the eastern horizon. I arose, in languor and in pain, the pulse at one

hundred and twenty. I took ten grains of calomel and a scruple of jalap,

and drank during the day large draughts of tea, weak and warm. The physic

did its duty; but there was no remission of fever or headache, though the

pain of the back was less acute. I was saved the trouble of keeping the

room cool, as the wind beat in at every quarter.

“At five in the evening the pulse had risen to one hundred and thirty,

and the headache almost insupportable, especially on looking to the

right or left. I now opened a vein, and made a large orifice, to allow

the blood to rush out rapidly; I closed it after losing sixteen ounces.

I then steeped my feet in warm water, and got into the hammock. After

bleeding, the pulse fell to ninety, and the head was much relieved; but

during the night, which was very restless, the pulse rose again to one

hundred and twenty, and at times the headache was distressing. I relieved

the headache from time to time, by applying cold water to the temples,

and holding a wet handkerchief there. The next morning the fever ran

very high, and I took five more grains of calomel and ten of jalap,

determined, whatever might be the case, this should be the last dose of

calomel. About two o’clock in the afternoon the fever remitted, and a

copious perspiration came on; there was no more headache, nor thirst, nor

pain in the back, and the following night was comparatively a good one.

The next morning I swallowed a large dose of castor oil: it was genuine,

for Louisa Backer had made it from the seeds of the trees which grew

near the door. I was now entirely free from all symptoms of fever, or

apprehensions of a return; and the morning after I began to take bark,

and continued it for a fortnight. This put all to rights.

“The story of the wound I got in the forest, and the mode of cure, are

very short. I had pursued a red-headed woodpecker for above a mile

in the forest, without being able to get a shot at it. Thinking more

of the woodpecker, as I ran along, than of the way before me, I trod

upon a little hardwood stump, which was just about an inch or so above

the ground; it entered the hollow part of my foot, making a deep and

lacerated wound there. It had brought me to the ground, and there I lay

till a transitory fit of sickness went off. I allowed it to bleed freely,

and on reaching head-quarters washed it well and probed it, to feel if

any foreign body was left within it. Being satisfied that there was none,

I brought the edges of the wound together, and then put a piece of lint

on it, and over that a very large poultice, which was changed morning,

noon, and night. Luckily, Backer had a cow or two upon the hill; now, as

heat and moisture are the two principal virtues of a poultice, nothing

could produce those two qualities better than fresh cow-dung boiled:

had there been no cows there, I could have made it with boiled grass

and leaves. I now took entirely to the hammock, placing the foot higher

than the knee; this prevented it from throbbing, and was, indeed, the

only position in which I could be at ease. When the inflammation was

completely subdued I applied a wet cloth to the wound, and every now and

then steeped the foot in cold water during the day, and at night again

applied a poultice. The wound was now healing fast, and in three weeks

from the time of the accident nothing but a scar remained; so that I

again sallied forth sound and joyful, and said to myself—

“‘I, pedes quo te rapiunt et auræ

Dum favet sol, et locus, i secundo

Omine, et conto latebras, ut olim,

Rumpe ferarum.’

Now, this contus was a tough light pole, eight feet long, on the end of

which was fixed an old bayonet. I never went into the canoe without it;

it was of great use in starting the beasts and snakes out of the hollow

trees, and in case of need, was an excellent defence.”

In some parts of the Guiana forests Mr. Waterton saw the Vanilla growing

luxuriantly. It creeps up the trees to the height of thirty or forty

feet. He found it difficult to get a ripe pod, as the monkeys are very

fond of it, and generally take care to get them before the traveller

could. The pod hangs from the tree in the shape of a little scabbard.

Vayna is the Spanish for scabbard, and Vanilla for little scabbard. Hence

the name.

In his fourth journey to South America, he has something more to say

regarding the sloth, and it is worth listening to:—“Here,” in Demerara,

“I had a fine opportunity once more of examining the three-toed sloth.

He was in the house with me for a day or two. Had I taken a description

of him as he lay sprawling on the floor, I should have misled the

world, and injured natural history. On the ground he appeared really a

bungled composition, and faulty at all points; awkwardness and misery

were depicted on his countenance; and when I made him advance he sighed

as though in pain. Perhaps it was that by seeing him thus, out of his

element as it were, that the Count de Buffon, in his history of the

sloth, asks the question—‘Why should not some animals be created for

misery, since, in the human species, the greatest number of individuals

are devoted to pain from the moment of their existence?’ Were the

question put to me, I would answer, I cannot conceive that any of them

are created for misery. That thousands live in misery there can be no

doubt; but then, misery has overtaken them in their path through life,

and wherever man has come up with them, I should suppose they have seldom

escaped from experiencing a certain proportion of misery.

“After fully satisfying myself that it only leads the world into error to

describe the sloth while he is on the ground, or in any place except in

a tree, I carried the one I had in my possession to his native haunts.

As soon as he came in contact with the branch of a tree, all went right

with him. I could see, as he climbed up into his own country, that he was

on the right road to happiness; and felt persuaded more than ever that

the world has hitherto erred in its conjectures concerning the sloth, on

account of naturalists not having given a description of him when he was

in the only position in which he ought to have been described, namely,

clinging to the branch of a tree.”

The vampires also come in for further notice. He says that “independent

of the hollow trees, the vampires have another hiding-place. They clear

out the inside of the large ants’ nests, and then take possession of

the shell. I had gone about half a day down the river, to a part of the

forest where the wallaba-trees were in great plenty. The seeds had

ripened, and I was in hopes to have got the large scarlet ara, which

feeds on them. But, unfortunately, the time had passed away, and the

seeds had fallen.

“While ranging here in the forest, we stopped under an ants’ nest; and,

by the dirt below, conjectured that it had got new tenants. Thinking it

no harm to dislodge them, ‘vi et armis,’ an Indian boy ascended the tree;

but, before he reached the nest, out flew above a dozen vampires.

“I have formerly remarked that I wished to have it in my power to say,

that I had been sucked by the vampire. I gave them many an opportunity,

but they always fought shy; and though they now sucked a young man of

the Indian breed very severely, as he was sleeping in his hammock in the

shed next to mine, they would have nothing to do with me. His great toe

seemed to have all the attractions. I examined it minutely as he was

bathing it in the river at daybreak. The midnight surgeon had made a hole

in it, almost of a triangular shape, and the blood was then running from

it apace. His hammock was so defiled and stained with clotted blood, that

he was obliged to beg an old black woman to wash it. As she was taking it

down to the river side, she spread it out before me, and shook her head.

I remarked, that I supposed her own toe was too old and tough to invite

the vampire-doctor to get his supper out of it; and she answered, with a

grin, that doctors generally preferred young people.

“Nobody has yet been able to inform me how it is that the vampire manages

to draw such a large quantity of blood, generally from the toe; and the

patient, all the time, remains in a profound sleep. I have never heard

of an instance of a man waking under the operation. On the contrary, he

continues in a sound sleep, and at the time of rising, his eyes first

inform him that there has been a thirsty thief on his toe.

“The teeth of the vampire are very sharp, and not unlike those of a rat.

If it be that he inflicts the wound with his teeth (and he seems to

have no other instruments), one would suppose that the acuteness of the

pain would cause the person who is sucked to awake. We are in darkness

in this matter; and I know of no means by which one might be enabled to

throw light upon it. It is to be hoped that some future wanderer through

the wilds of Guiana will be more fortunate than I have been, and catch

this nocturnal depredator in the fact. I have once before mentioned that

I killed a vampire which measured thirty-two inches from wing to wing

extended; but others, which I have since examined, have generally been

from twenty to twenty-six inches in dimension.”

Mr. Waterton corrects a common mistake as to the statements concerning

the imitative actions of monkeys in casting back at men fruit and sticks

in return for being pelted with stones. He believes that “travellers

have erred in asserting that the monkeys of South America throw sticks

and fruit at their pursuers. I have had fine opportunities of narrowly

watching the different species of monkeys which are found in the wilds,

betwixt the Amazons and the Oroonoque. I entirely acquit them of acting

on the offensive. When the monkeys are in the high trees over your head,

the dead branches will now and then fall down upon you, having been

broken off as the monkeys pass along them; but they are never hurled from

their hands.

“Monkeys, commonly so called, both in the old and new continent, may be

classed into three grand divisions—namely, the ape, which has no tail

whatever; the baboon, which has only a short tail; and the monkey, which

has a long tail. There are no apes and no baboons as yet discovered in

the New World. Its monkeys may be very well and very briefly ranged under

two heads—namely, those with hairy and bushy tails, and those whose tails

are bare of hair underneath, about six inches from the extremity. Those

with hairy and bushy tails climb just like the squirrel, and make no

use of the tail to help them from branch to branch. Those which have

the tail bare underneath towards the end find it of infinite advantage

to them in their ascent and descent. They apply it to the branch of the

tree, as though it were a supple finger, and frequently swing by it from

the branch like the pendulum of a clock. It answers all the purposes of a

fifth hand to the monkey, as naturalists have already observed.

“The large red monkey of Demerara is not a baboon, though it goes by that

name, having a long prensile tail.[2] Nothing can sound more dreadful

than its nocturnal howlings. While lying in your hammock in these gloomy

and immeasurable wilds, you hear him howling at intervals, from eleven

o’clock at night till daybreak. You would suppose that half the wild

beasts of the forest were collecting for the work of carnage. Now it is

the tremendous roar of the jaguar, as he springs on his prey; now it

changes to his terrible and deep-toned growlings, as he is pressed on all

sides by superior force; and now you hear his last dying moan, beneath a

mortal wound.

[2] I believe _prensile_ is a new-coined word. I have seen it,

but do not remember where.

“Some naturalists have supposed that these awful sounds, which you would

fancy are those of enraged and dying wild beasts, proceed from a number

of the red monkeys howling in concert. One of them alone is capable of

producing all these sounds; and the anatomist, on an inspection of the

trachea, will be fully satisfied that this is the case. When you look at

him, as he is sitting on the branch of a tree, you will see a lump in his

throat the size of a large hen’s egg. In dark and cloudy weather, and

just before a squall of rain, this monkey will often howl in the daytime;

and if you advance cautiously, and get under the high and tufted tree

where he is sitting, you may have a capital opportunity of witnessing his

wonderful powers of producing these dreadful and discordant sounds.

“His flesh is good food; but when skinned his appearance is so like that

of a young one of our own species, that a delicate stomach might possibly

revolt at the idea of putting a knife and fork into it. However, I can

affirm, from experience, that after a long and dreary march through these

remote forests, the flesh of this monkey is not to be sneezed at, when

boiled in Cayenne pepper, or roasted on a stick over a good fire. A young

one tastes not unlike kid, and the old ones have somewhat the flavour of

he-goat.

“I mentioned, in a former adventure, that I had hit upon an entirely

new plan of making the skins of quadrupeds retain their exact form and

feature. Intense application to the subject has, since that period,

enabled me to shorten the process, and hit the character of an animal

to a very great nicety, even to the preservation of the pouting lip,

dimples, warts, and wrinkles on the face. I got a fine specimen of the

howling monkey, and took some pains with it, in order to show the immense

difference that exists betwixt the features of this monkey and those of

man.

“I also procured an animal which has caused not a little speculation and

astonishment. In my opinion, his thick coat of hair, and great length

of tail, put his species out of all question; but then, his face and

head cause the inspector to pause for a moment, before he ventures to

pronounce his opinion of the classification. He was a large animal, and

as I was pressed for daylight, and, moreover, felt no inclination to have

the whole weight of his body upon my back, I contented myself with his

head and shoulders, which I cut off, and have brought them with me to

Europe. I have since found that I acted quite right in doing so, having

had enough to answer for. The head alone, without saying anything of

his hands and feet, and of his tail, which is an appendage, Lord Kames

asserts, belongs to us.

“The features of this animal are quite of the Grecian cast; and he has

a placidity of countenance which shows that things went well with him

when in life. Some gentlemen of great skill and talent, on inspecting

his head, were convinced that the whole series of its features has been

changed. Others again have hesitated, and betrayed doubts, not being able

to make up their minds whether it be possible that the brute features of

the monkey can be changed into the noble countenance of man.—‘Scinditur

vulgus.’ One might argue at considerable length on this novel subject,

and perhaps, after all, produce little more than prolix pedantry. ‘Vox et

præterea nihil.’

“Indian-rubber belongs to the tree-world, and if ever there should

be a great demand for large supplies of gum-elastic, commonly called

Indian-rubber, it may be procured in abundance far away in the wilds of

Demerara and Essequibo.

“Some years ago, when I was in the Macoushi country, there was a capital

trick played upon me about Indian-rubber. It is almost too good to be

left out of these Wanderings, and it shows that the wild and uneducated

Indian is not without abilities. Weary and sick, and feeble through loss

of blood, I arrived at some Indian huts, which were about two hours

distant from the place were the gum-elastic trees grew. After a day and a

night’s rest, I went to them, and with my own hands made a fine ball of

pure Indian-rubber; it hardened immediately as it became exposed to the

air, and its elasticity was almost incredible.

“While procuring it, exposure to the rain, which fell in torrents,

brought on a return of inflammation in the stomach, and I was obliged

to have recourse again to the lancet, and to use it with an unsparing

hand. I wanted another ball, but was not in a fit state the next morning

to proceed to the trees. A fine interesting young Indian, observing my

eagerness to have it, tendered his services, and asked two handfuls of

fish-hooks for his trouble.

“Off he went, and, to my great surprise, returned in a very short time.

Bearing in mind the trouble and time it had cost me to make a ball, I

could account for this Indian’s expedition in no other way except that,

being an inhabitant of the forest, he knew how to go about his work in

a much shorter way than I did. His ball, to be sure, had very little

elasticity in it. I tried it repeatedly, but it never rebounded a yard

high. The young Indian watched me with great gravity; and when I made him

understand that I expected the ball would dance better, he called another

Indian, who knew a little English, to assure me that I might be quite

easy on that score. The young rogue, in order to render me a complete

dupe, brought the new moon to his aid. He gave me to understand that the

ball was like the little moon, which he pointed to, and by the time it

grew big and old the ball would bounce beautifully. This satisfied me,

and I gave him the fish-hooks, which he received without the least change

of countenance.

“I bounced the ball repeatedly for two months after, but I found that it

still remained in its infancy. At last I suspected that the savage (to

use a vulgar phrase) had come Yorkshire over me, and so I determined to

find out how he had managed to take me in. I cut the ball in two, and

then saw what a taut trick he had played me. It seems he had chewed some

leaves into a lump, the size of a walnut, and then dipped them into the

liquid gum-elastic. It immediately received a coat about as thick as a

sixpence. He then rolled some more leaves round it, and gave it another

coat. He seems to have continued this process till he had made the ball

considerably larger than the one I had procured; and, in order to put his

roguery out of all chance of detection, he made the last and outer coat

thicker than a dollar. This Indian would, no doubt, have thriven well in

some of our great towns.”

[Illustration]

THE MONKEY AMONGST MEN, OR THE HOUSE IN REGENT’S PARK.

[Illustration]

THE MONKEY AMONGST MEN, OR THE HOUSE IN REGENT’S PARK.

OLD WORLD MONKEYS.

The Monkey House is always a favoured resort with those who visit the

Zoological Gardens, and, in spite of its somewhat close atmosphere

and very disagreeable odour, one of the most attractive spots in the

institution. As the number of species is very considerable, it will be

impossible to condense the needful information into the limits of a

single paper. I purpose, therefore, to separate the subject into two

divisions, namely, the Monkeys of the Old and New Worlds. This is not

merely an arbitrary classification to suit the present purpose, but is

founded upon important differences of structure, which will be mentioned

when we arrive at the history of the New World Monkeys.

* * * * *

The young observer is probably aware that the apes, monkeys, and baboons

are distinguished from all other animals by the structure of their limbs.

They have no feet suited for progression on a level surface, but are

furnished with four quasi-hands, enabling them to cling to the branches,

among which is their chief residence. In consequence of this structure,

they are totally unable to walk properly, or even to stand upright,

their knees being always bent, and their fore hands ready to act as feet.

Indeed, I have seen many a man walk better on his hands than any monkey

on its feet.

Many writers have laid much stress on the hand-like form of the fore

paws, and founded upon that structure a theory that the Quadrumana bear

some relation to mankind. The opposable thumb is the chief characteristic

upon which these writers insist for the support of their theory. Now, if

we examine the fore and hind paws of any monkey, we shall find that in

the fore paws the thumb, although it can be opposed to the fingers, is a

very small and undeveloped member, scarcely visible in some species, and

entirely absent in others. It is not used for the many delicate purposes

to which the human thumb is applied, nor does it aid in the grasp of the

branches. On the contrary, when the monkey seizes a branch, the thumb

lies by the side of the fingers, and is unemployed until the animal is at

rest.

Now look at the hind paws. It is true that the thumb is very large and

opposable, and that it can grasp very tightly; but there its mission

ends. It is essentially a grasping member, like the foot of the parrot,

or any other scansorial bird, and is used for that purpose alone. It has

not the slightest claim to be elevated to the rank of a hand, and is, in

common with the fore paw, nothing more or less than an arboreal foot.

Before leaving the subject, I must briefly mention that the head is not

set on the neck like that of man. The hole through which the spinal cord

passes into the brain is set so far back upon the skull that the muzzle

is thrown downwards; and, like all other animals, the monkey is incapable

of assuming the erect aspect of man.

* * * * *

The great apes, such as the Orang-outan and the Chimpanzee, have

unfortunately died. We should also observe that, as it is some years

since the Rev. J. G. Wood wrote these papers, the _personnel_ of

the cages will have changed. We pass, therefore, onwards to that

group of pretty, long-tailed monkeys that are ranked under the genus

Cercopithecus, a name which I do not translate, because your Greek

Lexicons will explain its meaning. They are all natives of Africa, and

extremely plentiful in different parts of that vast continent, so that

they are frequently brought to England, and may be seen in menageries,

accompanying barrel-organs, or even domesticated as pets in private

houses.

Several species of one genus are often placed in the same cage, so that,

in order to distinguish them, it will be necessary to examine their form

and colour with care, and then to compare the animal with the description.

* * * * *

Our first example is the Mona (_Cercopithecus Mona_), a native of Western

Africa. This monkey is brown, with darkish limbs, and a dark band across

the forehead, and there is a light spot upon each side of the tail. At

present here is only one specimen of this monkey. It is a pretty little

creature—that is, if we can call any monkey pretty—and is not more

mischievous than the generality of these creatures, while it is, perhaps,

a little more endurable.

So much, however, depends upon the management of the animal, that the

conduct of any isolated individual forms no guide to the character of

the species. I have now before me two printed accounts of the Mona, in

one of which it is said to be mischievous, malicious, passionate, and

disobedient, while in the other its character is stated to be mild,

affectionate, and docile. But these accounts are founded on the conduct

of living specimens, and the conclusion which I deduce from them is,

that the owner of the first-mentioned animal was unsympathetic and

hasty-tempered, while the possessor of the second was fond of the little

creature under his care, and behaved kindly to it.

I do not particularly recommend a monkey as a pet, because the animal

requires great attention in this climate, and, unless its habitation be

kept most scrupulously clean, the odour which it exhales is positively

horrible. See, for example, how beautifully clean are the cages in the

Zoological Gardens, and yet how very unpleasant is their odour. If,

therefore, a monkey should be presented to any reader of this book, I

strongly recommend him to transfer it to some public institution.

Some lads, however, are monkey-mad, and would prefer to keep the animal.

If they should by any chance do so, let them give the animal plenty of

space wherein it may exercise its active limbs, and, above all things,

keep it in a warm room during cold or wet weather. In this climate the

monkeys generally die from diseased lungs, and they must accordingly be

shielded from draughts and moisture.

* * * * *

For our next examples we must pass under the tunnel, and visit the room

in which those wonderful Spider Monkeys are placed. In a moderately-sized

cage are several specimens of two closely-allied species, which may be

easily distinguished by attending to the descriptions.

The first of these creatures is the Moustache Monkey (_Cercopithecus

Cephus_). It is a very little and a very elegant monkey, looking quite

brilliant with its yellow tufts on the side of its face, and its blue

skin. In the same cage are some specimens of the Red-eared Monkey

(_Cercopithecus erythrotis_), also with yellow tufts on the side of the

face. They can, however, be at once distinguished from the last-mentioned

species by the colour of the bare skin on the face, which is pink instead

of blue. The long tail, moreover, is of a bright chestnut hue, darkening

towards the tip. This species comes from Fernando Po, a little island on

the western coast of Africa, in the Bight of Biafra, where the lover of

animals finds abundantly birds, beasts, and fishes. Both these little

creatures are meek, gentle, and somewhat timid. They do not, however,

seem to present any salient point worthy of particular mention. One

little fellow is very conspicuous among its companions by the sable

tintings of its fur, and its white eyebrows. This is the Pluto Monkey

(_Cercopithecus Pluto_), so called because its dark and sombre hues are

thought to be emblematical of the gloomy King of Orcus.

Closely allied to these monkeys are the Mangabeys, several specimens of

which are in the Zoological Gardens. Two species may be seen in the same

cage in the Monkey House, and very funny creatures they are.

Of these two animals, the Lunulated Monkey is, perhaps, the greatest

favourite with the public, not because it is more engaging in its

manners, but on account of its petulance and the quaint manner in which

it shows its displeasure.

It takes offence very readily, and, like certain irritable human beings,

always thinks that some one is ridiculing it, and straightway flies

into a passion. It dashes at its supposed foe, squeaks with rage, grins

furiously, showing all its teeth, and agitates its eyebrows violently,

producing a most absurd effect, as the skin of that part of the face

is nearly white, and its alternate display and concealment never

fail to raise much merriment among the spectators. This, of course,

only irritates the monkey still further, and those who happen to be

standing in front of the cage will act wisely by holding themselves well

aloof, for the monkey darts its hand between the bars with wonderful

rapidity, and will tear a piece out of a lady’s dress, or sadly injure a

coat-skirt, before the keeper can interfere.

Even when no one is attempting to irritate it, the creature utters a few

occasional growls, as if to give warning that it does not mean to be

offended without taking notice of the insult. The colour of this monkey

can be very well imitated by diluted lampblack, and the creature can

always be recognised by the white eyelids. Both these monkeys come from

Western Africa.

Of the genus Macacus there are several examples. There are no less than

seven specimens of the Bonnet Macaque (_Macacus pileatus_), a monkey that

may be recognised by the manner in which the hair of the head is parted

in the middle, after the fashion of the modern dandy. The general tint of

the fur is pale brown, but that of the head is black—a peculiarity which

has earned for the creature its popular name. These monkeys are funny

little fellows, with a peculiar wistful, peering expression in their

faces, which I do not remember to have noticed in any other species.

They are fond of gathering together in the window, selecting the spot

where the sunbeams fall; and there they squat all in a group, so closely

pressed together that no separate bodies can be distinguished, and they

seem to be little more than a large bunch of fur, from which a number of

heads and tails protrude confusedly.

The Round-faced Macaque (_Macacus cyclopis_) deserves a passing notice.

It is a stout, sturdy little creature, with rather short limbs in

proportion to the size of its body, a bold, pinky face, and fur of

a sooty brown colour. Though strong and muscular, and climbing with

wonderful address, it is hardly so active as the more slenderly-made

monkeys; and when it leaps from a small height to the ground it comes

down with a thump and a flounce, as if the limbs were not accustomed to

such exertion. It is a native of Formosa.

I regret to say that the Pig-tailed Macaques (_Macacus nemestrinus_) are

dead. They were, perhaps, the most amusing denizens of the Monkey House,

with unrivalled capabilities of planning and executing mischief, and

always having so comical an air about them that even the sufferer from

their misdeeds could not be angry with them. I hope that new specimens

will arrive, when they may be recognised by the peculiarity from which

they derive their name, their slender, short tails bearing a singular

resemblance to the caudal extremities of the porcine tribe.

[Illustration: BONNET AND MACAQUE MONKEYS.—_Page 252._]

[Illustration: RHESUS MONKEY AND YOUNG.—_Page 253._]

There are two specimens of the Toque (_Macacus radiatus_), odd little

creatures, which look just as if they had been crying. One looks as if it

had been drinking as well, for its face is quite red and flushed. They

are not quite so strong-jawed as some of the species, and, therefore,

prefer buns to nuts, the shells being often too hard for them. This

species is sometimes called the Zati, and sometimes is described under

the name of Capped Macaque. It is a native of India. The common Macaque

(_Macacus cynomolgus_) is also represented by several specimens. The

colour of its fur is greenish brown above, and yellowish or whitish

below. All the species of this genus bear a great resemblance to each

other, and the young naturalist will find that the task of distinguishing

them is at the same time difficult and instructive.

* * * * *

The Rhesus is a lively and amusing animal. There are no less than ten

specimens of this monkey in the establishment, one of which, a remarkably

fine fellow, called Jumbo by the keeper, is in the habit of displaying

some very singular antics.

He climbs upon a strong bar that crosses his cage, and, fixing his hands

tightly, jumps up and down rapidly with his hind paws, bringing them

down on the bar with a mighty thump, and shaking the whole place with

the violence of his exertions. The keepers have their pet names for all

the conspicuous monkeys. Jumbo is the largest of them, and next in order

come Jim and Nancy. Nancy is not permitted to associate with the other

monkeys, because she has a baby, and her companions would assuredly tease

and worry both the mother and her child.

By special favour the reader may, perhaps, be permitted to see this

interesting pair of animals, and it is pretty to watch the care which

the parent takes of her offspring, and the extreme jealousy with which

she regards the least movement of the spectator. She flies forward with

grinning teeth and flashing eyes, shakes the bars of her cage violently,

and chatters her wrathful defiance to the imagined enemy. The little one

is in its way quite as shy, and whenever it takes alarm it leaps at its

mother, clasps her round the neck and waist with its hands and feet, and

lies, not on her back, as artists so frequently misrepresent, but under

her belly, pressed so tightly to her body and buried so deeply in her

fur, that at a little distance it cannot be distinguished. The rapidity

of the movement is really astonishing. There is a quick spring, and in an

instant the little creature is snugly settled in its natural cradle.

The baby looks ten times as old as the mother. Its face is puckered into

a hundred wrinkles, and its skin hangs loose and flabby on its cheeks.

While I was watching this interesting pair, both mother and child became

actuated by a common emotion. Their eyes sparkled with excitement; they

glared anxiously through the bars of the cage, and they chattered with

eager expectation. The keeper had put his hand into the pocket where he

kept his apples, and the monkeys had seen the movement. The desired fruit

was cut and given to the expecting animals, and then, I regret to say,

the mother monkey displayed a more unamiable character than I should have

thought her capable of possessing.

In spite of her evident fondness for her offspring, and her jealousy of

strangers, she behaved very selfishly, snatched a piece of apple from

her child and ate it herself, scolding it the while for daring to eat

anything which she wanted.

[Illustration: ANUBIS BABOON.—_Page 255._]

[Illustration: WANDEROO MONKEY.—_Page 255._]

The child, however, was by no means disposed to acquiesce in this

appropriation, and when its mother came to take away the next piece of

apple that was given to it, the little creature popped the morsel into

its mouth. The piece of apple was, however, so large, and the young

monkey’s mouth so small, that the greater portion projected from its

jaws. The mother made a sharp snatch at the projecting portion, but this

time the young one was too quick for her, and, striking the apple smartly

with the back of its hand, drove it fairly into its mouth. I really

thought that the little animal would be choked, so greatly were its

cheeks distended. But by some ingenious process it contrived to nibble

away the apple, and seemed rather pleased than inconvenienced by the huge

morsel which it had forced into its mouth.

* * * * *

In another cage is a small specimen of the Wanderoo (_Silenus veter_).

When adult and in good condition, this monkey is notable for the enormous

mane which falls over the head and shoulders, and bears a remarkable

resemblance to the full-dress wig of a judge. In the young specimen this

hairy mass is but short and scanty, and it is not until the creature has

reached its full growth that the wig flows around its head in such massy

waves. The top of the head is black, but the wig—if we may retain that

term—takes a greyish and sometimes a white hue along the sides, and gives

a very venerable aspect to the monkey.

The fur of the Wanderoo is very black, without any gloss, and in allusion

to this hue the Indians call it Neel-bhunder—_i.e._, Black monkey.

* * * * *

In a large cage at one end of the room sits in solitary state a fine

specimen of the Anubis Baboon (_Cynocephalus Anubis_). In all the

members of this genus the face is lengthened into a decided snout, at

the extremity of which are placed the nostrils. This peculiarity gives a

very morose aspect to the animals, which is certainly not belied by their

tempers. All the Cynocephali are natives of Africa.

The fur of the male Anubis is very thick over the shoulders and upper

parts of the body, and has a greenish cast, each hair being alternately

black and yellow. The nose and bare skin of the face are brown.

This specimen is rather tetchy in disposition; and as he is an enormously

powerful animal, the bars of his cage are defended by strong wire

network, so that he cannot pass his hand between them. One day a

gentleman who was visiting the Monkey House chose to act contrary to

regulations, and poked his stick through the bars for the purpose of

irritating the baboon. The animal immediately seized it, and a pulling

match commenced in which the baboon was easily victorious, dragging the

gold-headed stick into his cage and keeping it.

In spite of all precautions, I regret to say that some of the visitors

behave very badly to the animals. On Mondays especially, when the price

of admission to the Gardens is only sixpence, the monkeys are shamefully

teased.

The Anubis is always in a constant state of irritation on those days, and

on one occasion had recourse to a rather curious device. He took up a

handful of straw and fixed it on his perch close to the wires. This bunch

of straw he seemed to regard much as the combative Irishman regards the

coat-tail which he is trailing on the ground—resented with his utmost

fury every attempt to touch it.

I once put him in a terrible passion. He is very fond of raw eggs, and

the keeper produced a fine fresh one from his pocket. The Anubis saw it

at once, and descended from his perch in anxious expectation. Wishing

to see what the animal would do, I took the egg from the keeper, put it

under my coat, and walked away. The baboon immediately flew into a fury;

his eyes shot forth angry fires, and he jerked himself about in the

oddest manner; he uttered guttural grunts, and followed me about with his

eyes as if he would kill me.

I then returned the egg to the keeper, who opened the door of the cage

and flung the egg at the baboon. The animal caught it with the dexterity

of a juggler, and put it into his mouth. He then held his nose in the air

so as to permit the egg to roll to the back of his jaws, and with the

under-teeth he broke the egg-shell, permitting its contents to flow down

his throat. After the lapse of a few minutes, he just opened his mouth

and protruded the fragments of the egg-shell, each portion of which he

licked with economical care before he threw it on the floor of his cage.

On one occasion a gentleman, being anxious to discover the number of eggs

that the animal would take, purchased sixpennyworth on his way to the

Gardens. Eggs were then sold fourteen for a shilling. When he arrived

at the Monkey House he produced the basket of eggs, and threw them to

the baboon in rapid succession. The animal caught them all, and stowed

away six in his cheeks, three on either side. There was no space for the

seventh, so he ate it at once, and finished the others at his leisure.

Once or twice a rotten egg has intruded into his mouth, and on such

occasions his wrath is extreme.

This animal has a curious habit of sitting with his face to the wall, and

fixing all his four paws against it on a level with his nose.

* * * * *

In the opposite cage are two specimens of a North African species—namely,

the Arabian Baboon, sometimes called the Tartarin (_Cynocephalus

Hamadryas_). This is a very handsome species, with a mass of long grey

hair falling from the shoulders of the male, giving it a very poodle-like

aspect, especially when it is seated. It is much more quiet than the

Anubis, and is fond of assuming very remarkable attitudes, too numerous

and too varied to be described. In Mr. Waterton’s museum at Walton Hall

there is a splendid specimen of this beast, prepared after the unique

style of that eminent naturalist, perfectly hollow, and without wires

or any support whatever. It is so lifelike, indeed, that it is not

exhibited in the museum. This animal was obtained from a large travelling

menagerie, where it had lived for some time under the grandiloquent title

of Lion-slayer, though neither it nor any other baboon ever slew a lion

in their lives.

There is a small specimen of the Chacma, or Pig-faced Baboon

(_Cynocephalus porcarius_). This species inhabits Southern Africa, where

it is very plentiful in certain spots.

If taken when young the Chacma is easily tamed, and becomes a very

amusing animal, retaining its good-humour in spite of the teasing to

which it is so often subjected. The word Chacma is a corruption from the

Hottentot name of the animal, T’chakamma, the T’ representing one of

those strange clicking sounds peculiar to the South African languages, so

difficult of imitation, and so impossible of description.

In his native country the tame Chacma is often used for a very important

purpose—namely, the discovery of water. The animal is purposely deprived

of all liquid for a day or two, and is then suffered to go in search of

water, being led by a long rope. The keen instinct of the poor thirsty

animal is sure to guide it towards the desired object, and if any water

be near the spot the baboon is a certain guide to the stream or fountain.

Two other species of this genus are in the Monkey House, but neither of

them present any salient points of interest. One is the Guinea Baboon

(_Cynocephalus papio_), a very young and small specimen, and the other is

the Yellow Baboon (_Cynocephalus papioides_). This little animal can at

once be recognised by the peculiarity from which it draws its name, the

fur being conspicuously yellow. It is rather a good-tempered animal, and

gives very little trouble to the keeper.

The wonderful Mandrill (_Papio Mormon_) is, I am sorry to say, numbered

among the dead, but it is probable that its place may soon be filled by

another specimen. It is, without doubt, the most interesting among the

monkeys of the Old World, its ribbed cheeks being decorated with colours

so brilliant that they seem to have been laid on with a painter’s brush

dipped in the brightest tints which his palette could furnish.

NEW WORLD MONKEYS.

We now leave the true monkeys of the Old World, and pass to those of the

New. I say the _true_ monkeys, because we shall, in the course of the

present paper, recur to a portion of the Old World, as certain beings are

found there which undoubtedly belong to the quadrumanous order, but which

depart in many points from the characteristics of the true monkeys.

The rulers of the Zoological Gardens have done rightly in transferring

the greater number of the New World monkeys to a separate building. Their

peculiar temperament requires extended space, and their delicate lungs

need a combination of warmth and fresh air that cannot be obtained except

in a building devoted to the purpose.

[Illustration: BLACK-FACED SPIDER MONKEY.—_Page 259._]

Next to the Reptile House the visitor will see another door, upon

which is a placard calling attention to the Spider Monkeys. Passing up

a few stairs, we come to a room the centre of which is occupied by a

magnificent wire cage. In this cage are placed four specimens of the

Spider Monkey, a few lemurs, and a single specimen of the Moustache

Monkey, a creature which has been described at page 250 of our volume.

This little animal has been transferred to the Spider Monkeys’ cage for

the purpose of enlivening the normal inhabitants, who have a custom of

squatting together on the floor, winding their prehensile tails around

the general assemblage, and scolding every one who tries to disturb them.

There are three specimens of the Black-faced Spider Monkey (_Ateles

frontatus_), and one of the Greyish Spider Monkey (_Ateles hybridus_).

The latter animal can be at once recognised by the colour of its fur,

which is of a very light and nearly white grey, the hair being rather

long and coarse. The others are all known by their darker colour, a

blackish brown pervading their whole bodies, and their faces being

darker than the rest of their persons. One specimen of the Black-faced

Spider Monkey is in excellent health and spirits, and seldom fails

to afford its visitors the gratification of seeing it go through its

wonderful performances.

It has a regular series of feats, and goes through them as systematically

as if it were an acrobat performing before the public. First it climbs up

the wires until it has reached the longitudinal rafter that runs along

the top of the cage. Along this rafter it springs, holding only by its

hands, and swings along, hand over hand, with a certainty and lightness

that are peculiarly beautiful.

Having arrived at the other end of the rafter it grasps a rope, launches

itself into mid-air, swings once or twice, and then transfers itself to

a second rope, by means of which it swings diagonally across the cage,

lands safely upon the wires, and then goes to rejoin its companions.

When the four Spider Monkeys choose to gather themselves together,

scarcely any inducement can separate them. By a very necessary rule, no

one is allowed to feed the creatures in this room, so that these monkeys

cannot be enticed away from their companionship, and the cage is so

large, that, even if ill-conditioned visitors were to attempt to use

violence, they could not succeed.

I hope that the young observer will lose no time in proceeding to the

Zoological Gardens and examining the peculiarities of the Spider Monkeys,

because all the quadrumana are delicate beings at the best, and these

South American species are peculiarly affected by our climate.

The first point of importance in their structure is the long prehensile

tail, the tip of which is bare of fur and covered with soft black skin,

like that of the feet. It can grasp with very great power, and the animal

possesses the faculty of directing it as accurately as an elephant

directs its proboscis, so that it is able to seize the branches of the

tree, or to pick up any object within reach. I was going to say that

it can grasp the branches of the tree in which it _resides_, but this

expression would have been wrong. Monkeys have no residence; they are

essentially nomad in their characters, traversing continually the rocks

or forests of the country wherein they live, and neither needing nor

possessing a fixed residence. The chief use of a definite habitation is

to furnish a secure home for the young while they are helpless.

Thus, the rabbit retires to her burrow, the wolf or the lioness to her

den, and the squirrel to her cage. But the young of the monkey are never

helpless, like those of the animals just mentioned; they cling to their

mother’s body, bury themselves in her fur, and find therein a warm and

living cradle. It is noteworthy, too, that the young monkey suspends

itself in such a manner that it offers no impediment to its mother’s

movements, nor does it interfere with her equilibrium as she passes along

the branches.

The next important point in these monkeys is the peculiar formation of

their limbs. All monkeys are agile, but these creatures are especially

made for locomotion among branches, and in consequence they combine

strength and lightness in a very wonderful manner. Their heads are very

small and round, their bodies are slight and of trifling weight, while

their limbs are at once long, slender, and powerful.

The fore paws are small, and the observer must remark that the thumb

is almost entirely absent. A monkey does not grasp with its fore paws,

but merely _hooks_ its fingers over the branches, and so swings without

wasting its strength. The grasping power is chiefly evident in the hind

paws, the thumb of which is very large, and therefore possesses great

force. The inner surface of the hind paws is quite black, soft, and

silken to the touch, and little indicative of the enormous grasping power

which resides in them.

As instruments of terrestrial progression the limbs possess but few

capabilities. All monkeys have an awkward air while on the ground;

but these long-limbed creatures are peculiarly ill fitted to a level

surface. They can walk on their hind feet, and often do so, but it is in

a curious, waddling sort of gait, with the arms extended as balancers,

and the long tail curved high over the head like the letter S.

They often proceed along the floor of their cage in a very curious

manner. Without changing their seated posture they gather up their legs,

place their hands on the floor, and swing themselves along, using the

arms as crutches. This movement is exactly like the mode of progression

which has been related of the kangaroos in books of Natural History.

Awkward as this manœuvre may seem, it suits them well enough, and they

get along at a pace which really surprises those who see it for the first

time.

The nostrils are very wide apart, on account of a thick cartilage which

divides them, and the teeth present many remarkable peculiarities, which

need not be described except in a purely scientific work.

“I have elsewhere written an account of a Black Spider Monkey named

Sally, who, like the monkey in the fable, had seen the world, having

traversed the greater part of the globe by sea and by land. I afterwards

made her acquaintance, and was much pleased with her gentle manners.

“She was terribly impatient of cold, and, when allowed to go near a fire,

it was almost painful to see the eagerness with which she drank in the

heat. She would hold up her arm, and expose her side to the fire until

the hair began to shrivel and scorch; she would then turn the other side,

and repeat the process. She would lie strangely curled up on the flat

plate of the kitchen fender, spin round and round, as if she were a joint

to be roasted, and would cry piteously when removed from the pleasing

warmth.

“She was fond of climbing to the shoulders of those whom she liked, and

used to do so in rather a curious manner, not pulling herself up by

grasping the clothes, as is the custom with most monkeys, but by clasping

the limbs round the body. When she had reached the waist, she generally

put her hand into every pocket, in order to feel for apples or nuts, and

displayed little petulant signs of disapprobation when her search was

unsuccessful.

“I regret to say that poor gentle Sally is dead. She had lived for years

on board ship, alike unaffected by tropical suns or Arctic snows, but

the peculiar British climate did not suit her constitution, and in a few

months she succumbed to its influence.

“The only signs of anger that I have known the Spider Monkeys to manifest

is a slight shooting out of the lips, accompanied by a short, sharp,

impatient sound, something between a whistle and a squeak.”

* * * * *

In a smaller cage may be seen a beautiful specimen of the Squirrel

Monkey, sometimes called the Tee-Tee (_Callithrix sciureus_).

[Illustration: SQUIRREL.]

[Illustration: SQUIRREL MONKEY AND TEE-TEE.—_Page 263._]

This pretty and elegant little creature is scarcely larger than a rat,

with an innocent, baby-like countenance, and large, full, dark eyes. It

may at once be recognised by the pink face with a blackish spot on the

nose, and the yellow limbs, contrasting with the olive-coloured back. Its

tail is exceedingly long and particularly prehensile, though I have not

seen the creature suspend itself by that member, as is the case with the

Spider Monkeys.

In common with all its kin, it is a most gentle and delicate little

being—quite a lady’s pet—coming to the bars to be caressed, and

occasionally uttering the tiniest imaginable squeaklet. It does not

possess the selfish, grasping disposition which generally characterises

the monkey tribe. On one occasion the keeper gave two slices of orange

to itself and the Douroucouli, which inhabits the same cage. Just as

the Douroucouli was about to take its piece of fruit, a sharp-eyed and

quick-limbed Moustache Monkey, that inhabited an adjoining cage, leaped

across the top of its house, dropped along the wires, thrust its arm

through the partition, and seized the orange, darting away with its spoil

to the farther corner of its cage.

For a few moments I was amusing myself by laughing at the impertinent

thief as he sat grinning and chattering defiance to the keeper, and when

I turned to see how the Douroucouli bore his loss, I found the Tee-Tee

quietly sharing his piece of orange with the bereaved animal. Both were

nibbling and sucking away with perfect amity, and they resorted to the

same social expedient when another slice of the juicy fruit was put into

the cage.

In the same cage with the Tee-Tee is the curious Feline Douroucouli,

or Vitoe (_Nyctipithecus felinus_), a pretty, though sober-coloured,

little animal, mostly active during the night, but at times lively in the

daytime.

The fur of this animal is thick, deep, and soft, though not drooping. It

has a round face, a short, stumpy nose, and very large round eyes of a

beautiful chestnut hue. The general colour of the fur is greyish-brown;

there is a dark stripe over the top of the head, and just above each eye

is a patch of white. Its fingers are very long, and the tail is large,

full, and nearly black. This creature is found, as are all the tribe, in

the Brazils.

During the daytime it spends much of its time in its box, which is long

and narrow, with an aperture near each end, and the creature seems to

find some amusement in popping into one round hole, traversing the box,

and poking its head out of the other. When a slice of orange was given

to the Douroucouli, it did not attempt to eat it for some time, but

only patted it, and then licked its fingers, thus giving time to its

neighbour, the Moustache Monkey, to rob it of the dainty.

* * * * *

The last of the true New World Monkeys which can be described in these

pages will be found in the large Monkey House near the refreshment-room.

These are the Capucins, (_Cebus Apella_), of which there are several

specimens in the cages. They are funny little animals, of a singularly

sedate and grave aspect.

Two of them, called “Jack” and “Charley,” are notable for their

nut-cracking powers. Their jaws are too feeble to break the shell of a

well-grown nut, and accordingly they have learned to achieve that object

in another manner. Some time ago a very little monkey was placed in the

cage quite unable to crack nutshells, and the keeper, taking compassion

on his weakness, showed him how to break a nutshell by means of a large

pebble. The other monkeys learned the art by watching their comrade, and

it is very amusing to see one of them take a nut, put it into his mouth,

hunt under the straw for the pebble, drop the nut on the floor, pick up

the stone in both hands, smash the shell with a single blow, and pick up

the fragments in haste, lest the others should avail themselves of his

ingenuity.

Jack is also very fond of eggs, breaking one end by knocking it against

the floor, and then, inserting his hand, pulling out the semi-liquid

contents and eating them. For the benefit of those who read _Gulliver’s

Travels_, I may mention that the monkey might have found little favour at

the court of H.M. Golbasto Momarem Evlame Gurdilo Shefin Mully Ully Gue,

Emperor of Liliput, being an obstinate Big-endian, and never breaking his

eggs at the little end.

As to Charley, he developed tastes that to me were rather unexpected.

The keeper put his hand into his pocket, and, drawing out a dead mouse,

presented it to Charley, who received it with eagerness sparkling in

his eyes, and withdrew to the side of the cage, where he was nearly

surrounded by his fellows, who sat around him in eager expectation,

watching every movement, like small boys when one of their comrades has

an apple.

His first operation was to put the head in his mouth, to bite the skull

asunder with a single effort, and eat the brains. He then deliberated

upon the mouse, pulled off a leg, and laid it on the ground, whence it

was instantly seized and eaten by a companion. He seemed anxious to make

the treat last as long as possible, and after a lapse of half-an-hour he

had not quite finished the mouse. The keeper told me that he preferred

them just killed.

By some writers these monkeys are called Weepers. The colour of the

Capucin is rather variable: yellowish with an olive cast on the back, and

paler round the face.

MADAGASCAR MONKEYS.

In the wonderful island known by the name of Madagascar are several

members of the quadrumanous order, none of which are very like monkeys,

and one is so strange a being, that, for many years, systematic

zoologists did not know in which order it ought to be placed. In the same

room with the Spider Monkeys is a cage in which are placed two very fine

specimens of the Ring-tailed Lemur, or Macauco (_Lemur catta_). These

handsome creatures are very tame and gentle, and always grateful for a

little attention.

They are very pretty creatures, with their long snouts, full chestnut

eyes, large, intelligent ears, and soft chinchilla-like fur. Their

general colour is soft and slightly mottled grey, blackish upon the

top of the head, taking a warmer tint upon the back, and becoming pure

white below. The tail is very long and round, nearly white, and ringed

regularly with black throughout its length.

They are playful as kittens, and have great games in their cage, knocking

each other over, leaping about their house with wonderful activity, and

expressing amusement by jumping up and down from all the four paws, just

as a kitten does when she is greatly excited. One of them will swing by

its hind paws from a branch, give its companion a pat on the side of the

head, drop to the floor, and scurry off in hot haste, with its playfellow

in full chase. Suddenly it pulls up and sits on a branch, with its hind

feet clasping the bough and its tail swinging loosely below, and calmly

contemplates the prospect.

[Illustration: RING-TAILED LEMUR.—_Page 266._]

They took a great fancy to my pencil, and tried very hard to obtain it,

dropping suddenly along the wires, and making a dash at the pencil when

they thought that I was off my guard. Owing to the slenderness of their

limbs, they can thrust their paws to a surprising distance through the

bars. They became greatly excited when I offered them some bread, jumping

about, and uttering curious little murmuring cries. Each tried very hard

to monopolise the dainty, but, when they found out that each had its

proper share, they grew contented with their gift.

Their paws are quite as hand-like as those of the true monkeys; and

when the creature sits upright, feeding itself with its fingers, and

looking calmly in various directions, it assumes a peculiarly wise and

contemplative aspect. The fore paws are quite soft and rounded at their

tips, being finished off with a round black pad, which projects from

beyond the little blunt nails, so that the Lemur is quite unable to

scratch, though it can snatch and clutch quickly, and pull with great

force.

I have much more to say about these beautiful animals, but, as we shall

require some space for the description of the Aye Aye, I must pass to the

remaining specimens of the Lemur tribe.

In a smaller cage is a specimen of the White-fronted Lemur (_Lemur

albifrons_), a creature that at the time of my visit had hardly made

up its mind whether it would be playful or vicious. After some little

experience it found out that I meant it no harm, and so took up the

former line of conduct.

By degrees it organised a kind of game, and would play as long as I

chose to humour it. The creature turned its back to me, and pressed

itself against the side of the cage. I gave it a poke with my finger

or pencil, and the Lemur gave a kind of chatter, dashed to the top of

the cage, laid the side of its head upon the bars, opened its mouth,

squeaked, and then descended to resume its game. Like its ring-tailed

kinsfolk, it took a fancy to my pencil, and once or twice nearly

succeeded in pulling it out of my hand.

The general colour of this species is brown, with a warmer tinge upon

the sides, and round the face is a ruff of long, loose white hair, that

gives the creature an aspect not at all unlike that of a pantaloon

in a Christmas pantomime. I may mention that by many zoologists the

White-fronted Lemur is thought to be only the female of the Black-fronted

Lemur (_Lemur nigrifrons_).

In a corresponding cage is a specimen of the White-whiskered Lemur

(_Lemur leucomystax_).

This animal has lived in the collection for nearly two years, and

is quite tame and gentle. It is rather larger than the preceding

species, and is a very pretty creature. The fur is long, soft, and of a

reddish-brown colour upon the body, taking a black hue on the top of the

head. Instead of the ruff of white hair that surrounds the head of the

preceding species, there is a pointed tuft of white hair projecting from

each cheek, just like the whiskers of an old man.

The man among the monkeys; or, Ninety days in apeland To which are added: The philosopher and his monkeys, The professor and the crocodile, and other strange stories of men and animals · 第 14 / 15 章

“When in thy hammock, should the thought of thy little crosses and