PHILOSOPHICAL REMARKS ON "LIFE"--A MONKEY SHOT AND A MONKEY FOUND--JACKO
DESCRIBED.
"Such is life!" There is deep meaning in that expression, though it is
generally applied in a bantering manner to life in all its phases, under
all its peculiar and diversified circumstances. Taking a particular
view of things in general, we may say of life that it is composed of
diverse and miscellaneous materials--the grave and the gay; the sad and
the comic; the extraordinary and the commonplace; the flat and the
piquant; the heavy and the light; the religious and the profane; the
bright and the dark; the shadow and the sunshine. All these, and a
great deal more, similar as well as dissimilar, enter into the
composition of what we familiarly term life.
These elements, too, are not arranged according to order, at least,
order that is perceptible to our feeble human understandings. That
there does exist both order and harmony is undeniable; but we cannot see
it. The elements appear to be miscellaneously intermingled--to be
accidentally thrown together; yet, while looking at them in detail there
seems to us a good deal of unreasonable and chaotic jumble, in regarding
them as a whole, or as a series of wholes, it becomes apparent that
there is a certain harmony of arrangement that may be termed
kaleidoscopically beautiful; and when, in the course of events, we are
called to the contemplation of something grand or lovely, followed
rather abruptly by something curiously contemptible or absurd, we are
tempted to give utterance to the thoughts that are too complicated and
deep for rapid analysis, in the curt expression "Such is life."
The physician invites his friends to a social _reunion_. He chats and
laughs at the passing jest, or takes part in the music--the glee, or the
comic song. A servant whispers in his ear. Ten minutes elapse, and he
is standing by the bed of death. He watches the flickering flame; he
endeavours to relieve the agonised frame; he wipes the cold sweat from
the pale brow, and moistens the dry lips, or pours words of true,
earnest, tender comfort into the ears of the bereaved. The contrast
here is very violent and sudden. We have chosen, perhaps, the most
striking instance of the kind that is afforded in the experience of men;
yet such, in a greater or less degree, is life, in the case of every one
born into this wonderful world of ours, and such, undoubtedly, it was
intended to be. "There is a time for all things." We were made capable
of laughing and crying; therefore, these being sinless indulgences in
the abstract, we _ought_ to laugh and cry. And one of our great aims in
life should be to get our hearts and affections so trained that we shall
laugh and cry at the right time. It may be well to remark, in passing,
that we should avoid, if possible, doing both at once.
Now, such being life, we consider that we shall be doing no violence to
the harmonies of life if we suddenly, and without further preface,
transport the reader into the middle of next day, and a considerable
distance down the river up which we have for some time been travelling.
Here he (or she) will find Ailie and her father, and the whole party in
fact, floating calmly and pleasantly down the stream in their canoe.
"Now, this is wot I do enjoy," said Rokens, laying down his paddle and
wiping the perspiration from his brow; "it's the pleasantest sort o'
thing I've known since I went to sea."
To judge from the profuse perspiration that flowed from his brow, and
from the excessive redness of his face, one would suppose that Rokens'
experience of "pleasant sort o' things" had not hitherto been either
extensive or deep. But the man meant what he said, and a well-known
proverb clears up the mystery--"What's one man's meat is another's
poison!" Hard work, violent physical exertion, and excessive heat were
Rokens' delight, and, whatever may be the opinion of flabby-muscled,
flat individuals, there can be no reasonable doubt that Rokens meant it,
when he added, emphatically, "It's fuss-rate; tip-top; A1 on Lloyd's,
that's a fact!"
Phil Briant, on hearing this, laid down his paddle, also wiped his
forehead with the sleeve of his coat, and exclaimed--"Ditto, says I."
Whereupon Glynn laughed, and Jim Scroggles grunted (this being _his_
method of laughing), and the captain shook his head, and said--
"P'r'aps it is, my lads, a pleasant sort o' thing, but the sooner we're
out of it the better. I've no notion of a country where the natives
murder poor little boys in cold blood, and carry off your goods and
chattels at a moment's notice."
The captain looked at Ailie as he spoke, thereby implying that she was
part of the "goods and chattels" referred to.
"Shure it's a fact; an' without sayin' by yer lave, too," added Briant,
who had a happy facility of changing his opinion on the shortest notice
to accommodate himself to circumstances.
"Oh, the monkey!" screamed Ailie.
Now as Ailie screamed this just as Briant ceased to speak, and,
moreover, pointed, or appeared to point, straight into that individual's
face, it was natural to suppose that the child was becoming somewhat
personal--the more so that Briant's visage, when wrinkled up and tanned
by the glare of a tropical sun, was not unlike to that of a large
baboon. But every one knew that Ailie was a gentle, well-behaved
creature--except, perhaps, when she was seized with one of her gleeful
fits that bordered sometimes upon mischief--so that instead of supposing
that she had made a personal attack on the unoffending Irishman, the
boat's crew instantly directed their eyes close past Briant's face and
into the recesses of the wood beyond, where they saw a sight that filled
them with surprise.
A large-leaved tree of the palm species overhung the banks of the river
and formed a support to a wild vine and several bright-flowering
parasitical plants that drooped in graceful luxuriance from its branches
and swept the stream, which at that place was dark, smooth, and deep.
On the top of this tree, in among the branches, sat a monkey--at least
so Ailie called it; but the term ape or baboon would have been more
appropriate, for the creature was a very large one, and, if the
expression of its countenance indicated in any degree the feelings of
its heart, also a very fierce one--an exceedingly ferocious one indeed.
This monkey's face was as black as coal, and its two deep-seated eyes
were, if possible, blacker than coal. Its head was bald, but the rest
of its body was plentifully covered with hair.
Now this monkey was evidently caught--taken by surprise--for instead of
trying to escape as the canoe approached, it sat there chattering and
exhibiting its teeth to a degree that was quite fiendish, not to say--
under the circumstances--unnecessary. As the canoe dropped slowly down
the river, it became obvious that this monkey had a baby, for a very
small and delicate creature was seen clinging round the big one's waist
with its little hands grasping tightly the long hair on the mother's
sides, its arms being much too short to encircle her body. Ailie's
heart leapt with an emotion of tender delight as she observed that the
baby monkey's face was white and sweet-looking; yes, we might even go
the length of saying that, for a monkey, it was actually pretty. But it
had a subdued, sorrowful look that was really touching to behold. It
seemed as though that infantine monkey had, in the course of its brief
career, been subjected to every species of affliction, to every
imaginable kind of heart-crushing sorrow, and had remained deeply meek
and humble under it all. Only for one brief instant did a different
expression cross its melancholy face. That was when it first caught
sight of the canoe. Then it exposed its very small teeth and gums after
the fashion of its mother; but repentance seemed to follow instantly,
for the sad look, mixed with a dash of timidity, resumed its place, and
it buried its face in its mother's bosom.
At that moment there was a loud report. A bullet whistled through the
air and struck the old monkey in the breast. We are glad to say, for
the credit of our sailors, that a howl of indignation immediately
followed, and more than one fist was raised to smite the trader who had
fired the shot. But Captain Dunning called the men to order in a
peremptory voice, while every eye was turned towards the tree to observe
the effect of the shot. As for Ailie, she sat breathless with horror at
the cruelty of the act.
The old monkey gave vent to a loud yell, clutched her breast with her
hands, sprang wildly into the air, and fell to the ground. Her leap was
so violent that the young one was shaken off and fell some distance from
its poor mother, which groaned once or twice and then died. The baby
seemed unhurt. Gathering itself nimbly up, it ran away from the men who
had now landed, but who stood still, by the captain's orders, to watch
its motions. Looking round, it observed its mother's form lying on the
ground, and at once ran towards it and buried its little face in her
breast, at which sight Ailie began to cry quietly. In a few seconds the
little monkey got up and gently pawed the old one; then, on receiving no
sign of recognition, it uttered a faint wail, something like
"Wee-wee-wee-wee-oo!" and again hid its face in the breast of its dead
parent.
"Ah! the poor cratur," said Briant, in a tone of voice that betrayed his
emotion. "O, why did ye kill her?"
"Me ketch 'im?" said Bumble, looking inquiringly at the captain.
"Oh, do!" answered Ailie, with a sob.
The negro deemed this permission sufficient, for he instantly sprang
forward, and throwing a piece of net over the little monkey, secured it.
Now the way in which that baby monkey struggled and kicked and shrieked,
when it found itself a prisoner, was perfectly wonderful to see! It
seemed as if the strength of fifty little monkeys had been compressed
into its diminutive body, and King Bumble had to exert all his strength
in order to hold the creature while he carried it into the canoe. Once
safely there and in the middle of the stream, it was let loose. The
first thing it did on being set free was to give a shriek of triumph,
for monkeys, like men, when at last _allowed_ to do that which they have
long struggled in vain to accomplish, usually take credit for the
achievement of their own success.
Its next impulse was to look round at the faces of the men in search of
its mother; but the poor mother was now lying dead covered with a cloth
in the bottom of the canoe, so the little monkey turned from one to
another with disappointment in its glance and then uttered a low wail of
sorrow. Glynn Proctor affirmed positively that it looked twice at Phil
Briant and even made a motion towards him; but we rather suspect that
Glynn was jesting. Certain it is, however, that it looked long and
earnestly at Ailie, and there is little doubt that, young though it was,
it was able to distinguish something in her tender gaze of affection and
pity that proved attractive. It did not, however, accept her invitation
to go to her, although given in the most persuasive tones of her silver
voice, and when any of the men tried to pat its head, it displayed such
a row of sharp little teeth and made such a fierce demonstration of its
intention to bite, that they felt constrained to leave it alone. At
last Ailie held her hand towards it and said--
"Won't it come to me, dear, sweet pet? _Do_ come; I'll be as kind to
you almost as your poor mother." The monkey looked at the child, but
said nothing.
"Come, monkey, dear puggy, _do_ come," repeated Ailie, in a still more
insinuating voice.
The monkey still declined to "come," but it looked very earnestly at the
child, and trembled a good deal, and said, "Oo-oo-wee; oo-oo-wee!"
As Ailie did not quite understand this, she said, "Poor thing!" and
again held out her hand.
"Try it with a small taste o' mate," suggested Briant.
"Right," said the captain. "Hand me the biscuit-bag, Glynn. There,
now, Ailie, try it with that."
Ailie took the piece of biscuit offered to her by her father, and held
it out to the monkey, who advanced with nervous caution, and very
slowly, scratching its side the while. Putting out its very small hand,
it touched the biscuit, then drew back the hand suddenly, and made a
variety of sounds, accompanied by several peculiar contortions of
visage, all of which seemed to say, "Don't hurt me, now; _don't_ deceive
me, pray." Again it put forth its hand, and took the biscuit, and ate
it in a very great hurry indeed; that is to say, it stuffed it into the
bags in its cheeks.
Ailie gave it a bit more biscuit, which it received graciously, and
devoured voraciously; whereupon she put forth her hand, and sought to
pat the little creature on the head. The attempt was successful. With
many slight grins, as though to say, "Take care, now, else I'll bite,"
the small monkey allowed Ailie to pat its head and stroke its back.
Then it permitted her to take hold of its hand, and draw it towards her.
In a few minutes it showed evident symptoms of a desire to be patted
again, and at length it drew timidly towards the child, and took hold of
her hand in both of its delicate pink paws. Ailie felt quite tenderly
towards the creature, and stroked its head again, whereupon it seemed
suddenly to cast aside all fear. It leaped upon her knee, put its
slender arms as far round her neck as possible, said "Oo-oo-wee!"
several times in a very sad tone of voice, and laid its head upon her
bosom.
This was too much for poor Ailie; she thought of the dead mother of this
infant monkey, and wept as she stroked its hairy little head and
shoulders. From that time forward the monkey adopted Ailie as its
mother, and Ailie adopted the monkey as her child.
Now the behaviour of that monkey during the remainder of that voyage was
wonderful. Oh, you know, it was altogether preposterous, to say the
very least of it. Affection, which displayed itself in a desire to
conciliate the favour of every one, was ingrained in its bones; while
deception, which was evinced in a constant effort to appear to be intent
upon one thing, when it was really bent upon another, was incorporated
with its marrow!
At first it was at war with every one, excepting, of course, Ailie, its
adopted mother; but soon it became accustomed to the men, and in the
course of a few days would go to any one who called it. Phil Briant was
a particular favourite; so was Rokens, with whose black beard it played
in evident delight, running its slender fingers through it,
disentangling the knots and the matted portions which the owner of the
beard had never yet been able to disentangle in a satisfactory way for
himself; and otherwise acting the part of a barber and hairdresser to
that bold mariner, much to his amusement, and greatly to the delight and
admiration of the whole party.
To say that that small monkey had a face, would be to assert what was
unquestionably true, but what, also, was very far short of the whole
truth. No one ever could make up his mind exactly as to how many faces
it had. If you looked at it at any particular time, and then shut your
eyes and opened them a moment after, that monkey, as far as expression
went, had another and a totally different face. Repeat the operation,
and it had a third face; continue the process, and it had a fourth face;
and so on, until you lost count altogether of its multitudinous faces.
Now it was grave and pensive; anon it was blazing with amazement; again
it bristled with indignation; then it glared with anger, and presently
it was all serene--blended love and wrinkles. Of all these varied
expressions, that of commingled surprise and indignation was the most
amusing, because these emotions had the effect of not only opening its
eyes and its mouth to the form of three excessively round O's, but also
raised a small tuft of hair just above its forehead into a bristling
position, and threw its brow into an innumerable series of wrinkles.
This complex expression was of frequent occurrence, for its feelings
were tender and sensitive, so that it lived in the firm belief that its
new friends (always excepting Ailie) constantly wished to insult it; and
was afflicted with a chronic state of surprise at the cruelty, and of
indignation at the injustice, of men who could wantonly injure the
feelings of so young, and especially so small a monkey.
When the men called it, it used to walk up to them with calm, deliberate
condescension in its air; when Ailie held out her hand, it ran on its
two legs, and being eager in its affections, it held out its arms in
order to be caught up. As to food, that monkey was not particular. It
seemed to be omnivorous. Certain it is that it never refused anything,
but more than once it was observed quietly to throw away things that it
did not relish. Once, in an unguarded moment, it accepted and chewed a
small piece of tobacco; after which it made a variety of entirely new
faces, and became very sick indeed--so sick that its adopted mother
began to fear she was about to lose her child; but after vomiting a good
deal, and moaning piteously for several days, it gradually recovered,
and from that time entertained an unquenchable hatred for tobacco, and
for the man who had given it to him, who happened to be Jim Scroggles.
Ailie, being of a romantic temperament, named her monkey Albertino, but
the sailors called him Jacko, and their name ultimately became the
well-known one of the little foundling, for Ailie was not obstinate; so,
seeing that the sailors did not or could not remember Albertino, she
soon gave in, and styled her pet Jacko to the end of the chapter, with
which piece of information we shall conclude _this_ chapter.