Poor Brutus felt the loss of his companions keenly, and for several days refused to take food. In fact, I quite thought he would have died. But one morning, on looking for him in his box where he always slept, I found he had disappeared. I hunted for him in vain, and had just come to the conclusion that he must have committed suicide from grief, when one of the coolies came to me in great excitement to say Brutus had been seen riding one of the goats. True enough, riding in state on one of the largest goats in the herd was seen the truant, looking very proud of himself, and seemingly perfectly content with his new companions. How the goats approved of their rider I cannot say; anyhow, willing or unwilling, they had to put up with his company. Every morning, as soon as the herd were released from the enclosure where they passed the night and turned out on the hills, Brutus would spring on to the back of the foremost goat and disappear with them for the day, only returning at evening for his supper.
About this time my supply of goat’s milk, which I always took for my breakfast and supper, began to diminish. I inquired the reason of the cook, but could get no satisfactory solution. The quantity became less and less, and one day I was informed with many apologies that there was none, as Brutus had taken it all!
Thinking that probably the coolies were cheating me and selling the milk, I abused every member of the household roundly, and threatened, if no milk were forthcoming for my supper that evening, they would one and all be dismissed.
At sunset that evening, however, my cook came and begged me to come with him to the enclosure where the goats were being milked. On my arrival there, what was my amazement to see Brutus calmly milking one of the goats, drinking a little from time to time with much relish, whilst the remainder trickled along the ground in a long white stream. The goat seemed perfectly unconcerned, and stood quietly nibbling some grass as if nothing unusual was occurring. We then discovered that all the other goats had already been milked, probably at intervals during the day, whenever it suited the pleasure and wishes of Master Brutus, who evidently seemed to consider that he was performing a very meritorious action. I thought differently, however. I was particularly fond of goat’s milk, and I was in a country where good things were not to be had for the asking, nor for money either, for that matter.
So after this I decided to shut Brutus up in a large cage, anyhow for a time, until I could find some other plan to keep him out of mischief. For the next few days I was away from home a good deal riding in the district with my father, and did not notice Brutus particularly. Naturally he would be feeling somewhat bored, but a little punishment would do him good.
One evening about a week later, on returning home from a long ride, I went as usual to take the little prisoner his supper. I thought the cage seemed unusually quiet, but supposed he was asleep. On looking in, however, I saw a tragic sight. How it had happened, to this day I know not, but suspended by a long string from the top of his cage hung Brutus quite dead, evidently strangled. One end of the string still fastened together a portion of the roof of his wooden prison; the other end was tightly wound round and round his little gray throat.
I have never kept another monkey. They are too human.
The only other member of my happy family that I brought home to England was the Brazilian macaw, which I have already mentioned. Arara is, without exception, the most beautiful and by far the most intelligent bird I have ever seen. I have him still, and long may he live, for he will never have an equal. I believe he is about a hundred and fifteen years old; but as the macaw belonging to the Emperor of Japan is on the best authority a hundred and thirty years old, there is every hope my old favourite may still have many years before him. Arara formerly belonged to a naval officer, who brought him from Rio de Janeiro, where his ship was stationed. On leaving there Captain R---- brought the macaw with him to Colombo, but the long confinement in a cage much too small, and indifferent food and treatment, affected his health and temper so much that my friend decided to part with him, and I became the happy possessor of Arara. It is difficult to describe his plumage and its wonderful combination of different colouring. His back and breast are bright crimson, his tail feathers a vivid electric blue, and his wings emerald green. His eye is a bright yellow--I say eye advisedly, as he possesses but one, owing to a fight on board ship with a young eagle. This loss, however, rather adds to his personal appearance, giving him a most cunning expression as he gazes down from his perch, always on the alert as to what is going on.
