chiefs have their followers well in hand; every monkey having his own
especial duties, which he is very careful to fulfil. When the stores
of food which have been collected are getting low, the elders of the
tribe--grey beards with long manes--meet together and decide where
they shall go to lay in fresh supplies. This important point being
settled, the whole body of monkeys, even down to the very little ones,
leave the woods or mountain ravine where they live, and form into
regular order. First scouts are posted; some being sent on to places
in advance, others being left to guard the rear, while the main body,
made up of the young and helpless monkeys, follow the chiefs, who
march solemnly in front and carefully survey every precipice or
doubtful place before they suffer anyone to pass over it.
It is not at all easy, even for an elderly and experienced monkey, to
keep order among the host of lively chattering creatures for whose
safety he is responsible, and indeed it would often be an impossible
task if it were not for the help of the rear-guard. These much-tried
animals have to make up quarrels which often break out by the way; to
prevent the greedy ones from stopping to eat every scrap of fruit or
berry that hangs from the trees as they pass, and to scold the mothers
who try to linger behind in order to dress their children's hair and
to make them smart for the day.
Under these conditions, it takes a long time even for monkeys to
reach their destination, which is generally a corn-field, but, once
there, scouts are sent out to every rock or rising ground, so as to
guard against any surprise. Then the whole tribe fall to, and after
filling their cheek pouches with ears of corn, they make up bundles to
tuck under their arms. After the long march and the hasty picking,
they begin to get thirsty as well as hungry, and the next thing is to
find some water. This is very soon done, as they seem able to detect
it under the sand, however deep down it may be, and by dint of taking
regular turns at digging, it does not take long before they have laid
bare a well that is large enough for everybody.
Monkeys love by nature to imitate what they see, and have been known
to smoke a pipe, and to pretend to read a book that they have seen
other people reading. But sometimes they can do a great deal more than
this, and show that they can calculate and reason better than many
men. A large Abyssinian monkey was one day being taken round Khartoum
by its master, and made to perform all sorts of tricks for the
amusement of the bystanders. Among these was a date-seller, who was
squatting on the ground beside his fruit. Now the monkey was
passionately fond of dates, but being very cunning was careful not to
let this appear, and went on performing his tricks as usual, drawing
little by little nearer to the date basket as he did so. When he
thought he was near enough for his purpose, he first pretended to die,
slowly and naturally, and then, after lying for a moment on the sand
as stiff as a corpse, suddenly bounded up with a scream straight in
front of the date-seller's face, and stared at him with his wild eyes.
The man looked back at him spell-bound, quite unaware that one of the
monkey's hind feet was in the date basket, clawing up as much fruit as
its long toes could hold. By some such trick as this the monkey
managed to steal enough food daily to keep him fat and comfortable.
No cleverer monkey ever lived than the ugly old Sally, who died at
the Zoological Gardens of London only a few years ago. Her keeper had
spent an immense deal of time and patience in training her up, and it
was astonishing what she was able to do. 'Sally,' he would say,
putting a tin cup full of milk into her hands, with a spoon hanging
from it, 'show us how you used to drink when you were in the woods,'
upon which Sally stuck all her fingers into the milk and sucked them
greedily. 'Now,' he continued, 'show us how you drink since you became
a lady,' and then Sally took the spoon and drank her milk in dainty
little sips. Next he picked up a handful of straw from the bottom of
the cage, and remarked carelessly, 'Here, just tear those into six,
will you, all the same length.' Sally took the straws, and in half a
minute the thing was done. But she had not come to the end of her
surprises yet. 'You're very fond of pear, I know,' said the keeper,
producing one out of his pocket and cutting it with his knife; 'well,
I'm going to put some on my hand, but you're not to touch it until
I've cut two short pieces and three long ones, and then you may take
the second long one, but you aren't to touch any of the rest.' The man
went on cutting his slices without stopping, and was quite ready to
begin upon a sixth, when Sally stretched out her hand, and took the
fourth lying along the row, which she had been told she might have.
Very likely she might have accomplished even more wonderful things
than this, but one cold day she caught a chill, and died in a few
hours of bronchitis.
_HOW THE CAYMAN WAS KILLED_
Waterton's _Wanderings in S. America_.
In the year 1782 there was born in the old house of Walton, near
Pontefract, in Yorkshire, a boy named Charles Waterton, who afterwards
became very famous as a traveller and a naturalist. As soon as he
could walk, he was always to be found poking about among trees, or
playing with animals, and both at home and at school he got into many
a scrape through his love of adventure. He was only about ten when
some other boys dared him to ride on a cow, and of course he was not
going to be beaten. So up he got while the cow was only thinking how
good the grass tasted, but the moment she felt a strange weight on her
back, she flung her heels straight into the air, and off flew Master
Waterton over her head.
Many years after this, Waterton was travelling in South America,
seeing and doing many curious things. For a long time he had set his
heart on catching a cayman, a kind of alligator that is found in the
rivers of Guiana. For this purpose he took some Indians with him to
the Essequibo, which falls into the sea not far from Demerara, and was
known to be a famous place for caymans. It was no good attempting to
go after them during the long, bright day. They were safely in hiding,
and never thought of coming out till the sun was below the horizon.
So Waterton and his Indians waited in patience till the moon rose, and
everything was still, except that now and then a huge fish would leap
into the air and plunge again under water. Suddenly there broke forth
a fearful noise, unlike the cry of any other creature. As one cayman
called another answered; and although caymans are not very common
anywhere, that night you would have thought that the world was full of
them.
The three men stopped eating their supper of turtle and turned and
looked over the river. Waterton could see nothing, but the Indian
silently pointed to a black log that lay in the stream, just over the
place where they had baited a hook with a large fish, and bound it on
a board. At the end of the board a rope was fastened, and this was
also made fast to a tree on the bank. By-and-bye the black log began
to move, and in the bright moonlight he was clearly seen to open his
long jaws and to take the bait inside them. But the watchers on shore
pulled the rope too soon, and the cayman dropped the bait at once.
Then for an hour he lay quite still, thinking what he should do next,
but feeling cross at having lost his supper, he made up his mind to
try once more, and cautiously took the bait in his mouth. Again the
rope was pulled, and again the bait was dropped into the river; but in
the end the cayman proved more cunning than the Indians, for after he
had played this trick for three or four times he managed to get the
fish without the hook, and when the sun rose again, Waterton knew that
cayman hunting was over for that day.
For two or three nights they watched and waited, but did not ever get
so near success as before. Let them conceal a hook in the bait ever so
cleverly, the cayman was sure to be cleverer than they, and when
morning came, the bait was always gone and the hook always left. The
Indians, however, had no intention of allowing the cayman to beat them
in the long run, and one of them invented a new hook, which this time
was destined to better luck. He took four or five pieces of wood about
a foot long, barbed them at each end, and tied them firmly to the end
of a rope, thirty yards long. Above the barb was baited the flesh of
an acouri, a creature the size of a rabbit. The whole was then
fastened to a post driven into the sand, and the attention of the
cayman aroused to what was going on by some sharp blows on an empty
tortoiseshell, which served as a drum.
About half-past five the Indian got up and stole out to look, and then
he called triumphantly to the rest to come up at once, for on the hook
was a cayman, ten feet and a half long.
But hard as it had been to secure him, it was nothing to the
difficulty of getting him out alive, and with his scales uninjured,
especially as the four Indians absolutely refused to help, and that
left only two white men and a negro, to grapple with the huge monster.
Of these, too, the negro showed himself very timid, and it was not
easy to persuade him to be of any use.
The position was certainly puzzling. If the Indians refused their
help, the cayman could not be taken alive at all, and if they gave it,
it was only at the price of injuring the animal and spoiling its skin.
At length a compromise occurred to Waterton. He would take the mast of
the canoe, which was about eight feet long, and would thrust it down
the cayman's throat, if it showed any signs of attacking him. On this
condition, the Indians agreed to give their aid.
Matters being thus arranged, Waterton then placed his men--about seven
in all--at the end of the rope and told them to pull till the cayman
rose to the surface, while he himself knelt down with the pole about
four yards from the bank, ready for the cayman, should he appear,
roaring. Then he gave the signal, and slowly the men began to pull.
But the cayman was not to be caught without a struggle. He snorted and
plunged violently, till the rope was slackened, when he instantly
dived below. Then the men braced all their strength for another
effort, and this time out he came and made straight for Waterton.
[Illustration: THE CAPTURE OF THE CAYMAN]
The naturalist was so excited by his capture, that he lost all sense
of the danger of his position. He waited till the cayman was within a
few feet of him, when he flung away his pole, and with a flying leap
landed on the cayman's back, twisting up the creature's feet and
holding tightly on to them. The cayman, very naturally, could not in
the least understand what had happened, but he began to plunge and
struggle, and to lash out behind with his thick scaly tail, while the
Indians looked on from afar, and shouted in triumph.
To Waterton the only fear was, lest the rope should prove too weak for
the strain, in which case he and the cayman would promptly disappear
into the depths of the Essequibo. But happily the rope was strong, and
after being dragged by the Indians for forty yards along the sand, the
cayman gave in, and Waterton contrived to tie his jaws together, and
to lash his feet on to his back. Then he was put to death, and so
ended the chase of the cayman.
_THE STORY OF FIDO_
Fido's master had to go a long journey across the country to a certain
town, and he was carrying with him a large bag of gold to deposit at
the bank there. This bag he carried on his saddle, for he was riding,
as in those days there were no trains, and he had to travel as quickly
as he could.
Fido scampered cheerfully along at the horse's heels, and every now
and then the man would call out to her, and Fido would wag her tail
and bark back an answer.
The sun was hot and the road dusty, and poor Fido's little legs grew
more and more tired. At last they came to a cool, shady wood, and the
master stopped, dismounted, and tied his horse to a tree, and took his
heavy saddle-bags from the saddle.
He laid them down very carefully, and pointing to them, said to Fido,
'Watch them.'
Then he drew his cloak about him, lay down with his head on the bags,
and soon was fast asleep.
Little Fido curled herself up close to her master's head, with her
nose over one end of the bags, and went to sleep too. But she did not
sleep very soundly, for her master had told her to watch, and every
few moments she would open her eyes and prick up her ears, in case
anyone were coming.
[Illustration: THE WOUNDING OF FIDO]
Her master was tired and slept soundly and long--much longer than he
had intended. At last he was awakened by Fido's licking his face. The
dog saw that the sun was nearly setting, and knew that it was time
for her master to go on his journey.
The man patted Fido and then jumped up, much troubled to find he had
slept so long. He snatched up his cloak, threw it over his horse,
untied the bridle, sprang into the saddle, and calling Fido, started
off in great haste. But Fido did not seem ready to follow him. She ran
after the horse and bit at his heels, and then ran back again to the
woods, all the time barking furiously. This she did several times, but
her master had no time to heed her and galloped away, thinking she
would follow him.
At last the little dog sat down by the roadside, and looked
sorrowfully after her master, until he had turned a bend in the road.
When he was no longer in sight she sprang up with a wild bark, and ran
after him again. She overtook him just as he had stopped to water his
horse at a brook that flowed across the road. She stood beside the
brook and barked so savagely that her master rode back and called her
to him; but instead of coming she darted off down the road still
barking.
Her master did not know what to think, and began to fear that his dog
was going mad. Mad dogs are afraid of water, and act in a strange way
when they see it. While the man was thinking of this, Fido came
running back again, and dashed at him furiously. She leapt at the legs
of his horse, and even jumped up and bit the toe of her master's boot.
Then she ran down the road again, barking with all her might.
Her master was now sure that she was mad, and, taking out his pistol
he shot her. He rode away quickly, for he loved her dearly and could
not bear to see her die.
He had not ridden very far when he stopped suddenly. He felt under his
coat for his saddle-bags. They were not there!
Could he have dropped them, or had he left them behind in the wood
where he had rested? He felt sure they must be in the wood, for he
could not remember having picked them up or fastening them to his
saddle.
He turned his horse and rode back again as hard as he could.
When he came to the brook he sighed and said, 'Poor Fido!' but though
he looked about he could see nothing of her. When he crossed the brook
he saw some drops of blood on the ground, and all along the road he
still saw drops of blood. Tears came into his eyes, and he felt very
sad and guilty, for now he understood why little Fido had acted so
strangely. She knew that her master had left behind his precious bags
of gold, and so she had tried to tell him in the only way she could.
All the way to the wood lay the drops of blood. At last he reached the
wood, and there, all safe, lay the bags of gold, and beside them, with
her little nose lying over one end of them, lay faithful Fido, who,
you will be pleased to hear, recovered from her wound, and lived to a
great age.
_BEASTS BESIEGED_
Adapted from Theophile Gautier.
Twenty-five years ago (in the winter of 1870-1871) Paris was closely
besieged by the Germans, who had beaten one French army after another
on the frontier, and had now advanced into the very heart of the
country. The cold was frightful, and no wood could be got, and as if
this was not enough, food began to give out, and the people inside the
city soon learned to know the tortures of hunger. There was no hay or
corn for the horses; after sheep and oxen they were the first animals
to be eaten, and then whispers were heard about elephants and camels
and other beasts in the Jardin des Plantes, which is the French name
for their Zoological Gardens.
Now it is quite bad enough to be taken from the forests and deserts
where you never did anything but just what you chose, and to be shut
up in a small cage behind bars; but it is still worse not to have
enough food to eat, and worst of all to be made into food for other
people. Luckily the animals did not know what was being talked about
in the world outside, or they would have been more uncomfortable than
they were already.
Any visitor to the Jardin des Plantes about Christmas time in 1870,
and for many weeks later, would have seen a strange sight. Some parts
of the Gardens were set aside for hospitals, and rows of beds occupied
every sheltered building. Passing through these, the visitor found
himself in the kingdom of the beasts, who were often much more gentle
than their gaolers.
After coming from the streets where nothing was the same as it had
been six months before, and everything was topsy-turvy, it was almost
soothing to watch the animals going on in their usual way, quite
regardless of what men might be doing outside. There was the white
bear swinging himself from side to side and rubbing his nose against
the bars, just as he had done on the day that he had first taken up
his abode there. There was a camel still asking for cakes, and an
elephant trumpeting with fury because he didn't get any. Nobody had
cakes for themselves, and it would have been far easier to place a
gold piece in the twirling proboscis. An elephant who is badly fed is
not a pretty spectacle. Its skin is so large that it seems as if it
would take in at least three or four extra bodies, and having only one
shrunken skeleton to cover, it shrivels up into huge wrinkles and
looks like the earth after a dry summer. On the whole, certain kinds
of bears come off best, for they can sleep all the winter through, and
when they wake up, the world will seem the same as when they last shut
their eyes, and unless their friend the white bear tells them in bear
language all that has happened they will never be any the wiser.
Still it is not all the bears who are lucky enough to have the gift of
sleep. Some remained broad awake, and stood idly about in the corners
of their dens, not knowing how to get rid of the time that hung so
heavily on their paws. What was the use for the big brown marten to go
up to the top of his tree, when there was no one to tickle his nose
with a piece of bread at the end of a string? Why should his brother
take the trouble to stand up on his hind legs when there was nobody to
laugh and clap him? Only one very young bear indeed, with bright eyes
and a yellow skin, went on his own way, regardless of spectators, and
he was busily engaged in looking at himself in a pail of water and
putting on all sorts of little airs and graces, from sheer admiration
of his own beauty.
[Illustration: THE DREAM OF THE HUNGRY LION]
Perhaps the most to be pitied of all were the lions, for they do not
know how to play, and could only lie about and remember the days when
towards sunset they crept towards the cool hill, and waited till the
antelopes came down for their evening drink. And then, ah _then_! but
that is only a memory, while stretched out close by is the poor
lioness in the last stage of consumption, and looking more like those
half-starved fighting lions you see on royal coats of arms than a real
beast. At such times most children would give anything to catch up the
Zoological Gardens and carry them right away into the centre of
Africa, and let out the beasts and make them happy and comfortable
once more. But that was not the feeling of the little boy who had been
taken by his mother to see the beasts as a treat for his birthday. At
each cage they passed he came to a standstill, and gazing at the
animal with greedy eyes, he said, 'Mother, wouldn't you like to eat
that?' Every time his mother answered him, 'No one eats these beasts,
my boy; they are brought from countries a long way off, and cost a
great deal of money.' The child was silent for a moment, but at the
sight of the zebra, the elk, or the little hyaena, his face brightened
again, and his voice might be heard piping forth its old question,
'Mother, wouldn't you like to eat that?'
It is a comfort to think that the horrid greedy boy was disappointed
in his hopes. Whatever else he may have eaten, the taste of lions and
of bears is still strange to him, for the siege of Paris came to an
end at last, and the animals were made happy as of old with their
daily portions.
_MR. GULLY_
He was a herring gull, and one of the largest I have ever seen. He was
beautiful to look at with his soft grey plumage, never a feather of
which was out of place. Of his character I will say nothing; that can
be best judged by reading the following truthful biography of my 'dove
of the waters.'
I cannot begin at the beginning. Of his youth, which doubtless, in
every sense of the word, was a stormy one, I know nothing. He had
already acquired the wisdom, or perhaps in his case slyness is a
better word, of years by the time that he came to us.
Gully was found one day in a field near our house in a very much
exhausted condition. He had probably come a long distance, which he
must have accomplished on foot, as he was unable to fly owing to his
wing having been pinioned.
He was very hungry and greedily bolted a small fish that we offered
him, and screamed for more. We then turned him into the garden, where
he soon found a sheltered corner by our dining-room window and went to
sleep standing on one leg. The other one he always kept tucked away so
that was quite invisible.
Next morning I came out to look for Gully and feed him. He had
vanished! I thought of the pond where I kept my goldfish, forty
beautiful goldfish. There sure enough was Mr. Gully swimming about
contentedly, but where were the goldfish? Instead of the crystal
clear pond, was a pool of muddy water; instead of forty goldfish, all
that I could make out, when Mr. Gully had been chased away and the
water given time to settle, was one miserable little half-dead fish,
the only survivor of the forty.
This was the first of Gully's misdeeds. To look at Gully, no one could
believe him to be capable of hurting a fly. He had the most lovely
gentle brown eyes you ever saw, and seemed more like a benevolent old
professor than anything else. He generally appeared to be half asleep
or else sunning himself with a contented smile on his thoughtful
countenance.
Gully next took to killing the sparrows; he was very clever at this.
When he had finished eating, the sparrows were in the habit of
appropriating the remnants of the feast. This Gully strongly
disapproved of, so when he had eaten as much as he wanted, he retired
behind a chair and waited till the sparrows were busy feasting, then
he would make a rush and seize the nearest offender. He sometimes used
to kill as many as from two to four sparrows a day in this manner. The
pigeons then took to coming too near his reach. At first he was afraid
of them and left them alone; but the day came when a young fan-tail
was foolish enough to take his airing on the terrace, close to Mr.
Gully's nose. This was too much for Mr. Gully, who pounced upon the
unfortunate 'squeaker' and slew him. _L'appetit vient en mangeant_,
and after this Mr. Gully took the greatest delight in hunting these
unfortunate birds and murdering them. No pigeon was too large for him
to attack. I only just succeeded in saving the cock-pouter, a giant
among pigeons, from an untimely death, by coming up in time to drive
Mr. Gully away from his victim.
After this we decided to shut Mr. Gully up. We thought he would make a
charming companion for the guinea-pigs. At that time I used to keep
about fifty of various species in a hen-run. So to the guinea-pigs
Gully was banished. At first the arrangement answered admirably, Gully
behaved as nicely as possible for about a month, and we were all
congratulating ourselves on having found such a good way out of our
difficulty, when all at once his thirst for blood was roused afresh.
One day he murdered four guinea-pigs and the next day three more of
these unfortunate little beasts.