Part 10 (2/2)

”D'ye think it is? Are you incurable already?” asked his friend.

”Too late to see the most a-stonis.h.i.+n' scrimmage I ever did behold in _my_ life,” said Disco.

The description of this scrimmage gave the worthy seaman a subject for conversation and food for meditation during the greater part of the time spent over the morning meal, and there is no saying how long he would have kept referring to and chuckling over it--to the great admiration and sympathy of the black fellows, who are, as a race, excessively fond of jocularity and fun--had not another of the denizens of the mangrove jungle diverted his attention and thoughts rather suddenly.

This was a small monkey, which, seated on a branch overhead, peered at the breakfast-party from among the leaves, with an expression of inquiry and of boundless astonishment that it is quite impossible to describe.

Surprise of the most sprightly nature, if we may say so, sat enthroned on that small monkey's countenance, an expression which was enhanced by the creature's motions, for, not satisfied with taking a steady look at the intruders from the right side of a leaf, it thrust forward its little black head on the left side of it, and then under it, by way of variety; but no additional light seemed to result from these changes in the point of observation, for the surprise did not diminish.

In one of its intent stares it caught the eye of Disco. The seaman's jaws stopped, as if suddenly locked, and his eyes opened to their widest.

The monkey seemed to feel uneasily that it had attracted attention, for it showed the smallest possible glimpse of its teeth. The action, coupled with the leafy shadows which fell on its countenance, had the effect of a smile, which caused Disco to burst into a loud laugh and point upwards. To bound from its position to a safer retreat, and thence stare at Disco with deep indignation, and a threatening display of all its teeth and gums, in addition to its looks of surprise, was the work of a moment on the part of the small monkey, whereat Dis...o...b..rst into a renewed roar of laughter, in which he was joined by the whole party.

”Are there many o' them fellows hereabouts?” inquired the seaman of Antonio.

”Ho, yis, lots ob 'em. T'ousands ebery whars; see, dare am morer.”

He pointed to another part of the umbrageous canopy overhead, where the face of a still smaller monkey was visible, engaged, like the previous one, in an earnest scrutiny of the party, but with a melancholy, rather than a surprised, expression of visage.

”Wot a miserable, broken-hearted thing!” said Disco, grinning, in which act he was immediately copied by the melancholy monkey, though from different motives.

Disco was very fond of monkeys. All his life he had felt a desire to pat and fondle those s.h.i.+vering creatures which he had been accustomed to see on barrel-organs in his native land, and the same strong impulse came over him now.

”Wot a pity the creeturs smell so bad, and ain't cleanly,” he remarked, gazing affectionately up among the leaves, ”they'd make such capital pets; why, there's another.”

This remark had reference to a third monkey, of large dimensions and fierce countenance, which at that moment rudely thrust the melancholy monkey aside, and took its place. The latter, with a humble air and action, took up a new position, somewhat nearer to the fire, where its sad countenance was more distinctly seen.

”Well, it does seem a particularly sorrowful monkey, that,” said Harold, laughing, as he helped himself to another canful of tea.

”The most miserable objic' I ever did see,” observed Disco.

The negroes looked at each other and laughed. They were accustomed to monkeys, and took little notice of them, but they were mightily tickled by Disco's amus.e.m.e.nt, for he had laid down his knife and fork, and shook a good deal with internal chuckling, as he gazed upwards.

”One would suppose, now,” he said softly, ”that it had recently seen its father and mother, and all its brothers and sisters, removed by a violent death, or sold into slavery.”

”Ha! they never see that,” said Harold; ”the brutes may fight and kill, but they never _enslave_ each other. It is the proud prerogative of man to do that.”

”That's true, sir, worse luck, as Paddy says,” rejoined Disco. ”But look there: wot's them coorious things round the creetur's waist--a pair o' the werry smallest hands--and, hallo! a face no bigger than a b.u.t.ton!

I do believe that it's--”

Disco did not finish the sentence, but he was right. The small melancholy monkey was a mother!

Probably that was the cause of its sorrow. It is a touching thought that anxiety for its tiny offspring perhaps had furrowed that monkey's visage with the wrinkles of premature old age. That danger threatened it on every side was obvious, for no sooner had it taken up its new position, after its unceremonious ejection by the fierce monkey, than the sprightly monkey, before referred to, conceived a plot which it immediately proceeded to carry into execution. Observing that the tail of the sad one hung down in a clear s.p.a.ce below the branch on which it sat, the sprightly fellow quickly, but with intense caution and silence, crept towards it, and when within a yard or so sprang into the air and caught the tail!

A wild shriek, and what Disco styled a ”scrimmage,” ensued, during which the mother monkey gave chase to him of the lively visage, using her arms, legs, and tail promiscuously to grasp and hold on to branches, and leaving her extremely little one to look out for itself. This it seemed quite capable of doing, for no limpet ever stuck to a solid rock with greater tenacity than did that infant to the maternal waist throughout the chase. The hubbub appeared to startle the whole monkey race, revealing the fact that troops of other monkeys had, un.o.bserved, been gazing at the strangers in silent wonder, since the time of their landing.

Pleasant however, though this state of things undeniably was, it could not be expected to last. Breakfast being concluded, it became necessary that Disco should tear himself from the spot which, having first solaced himself with a pipe, he did with a good grace, remarking, as he re-embarked and ”took the helm” of his canoe, that he had got more powerful surprises that morning than he had ever before experienced in any previous twelvemonth of his life.

Before long he received many more surprises, especially one of a very different and much less pleasant nature, an account of which will be found in the next chapter.

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