The monkey, as if it were a rational being, looked down at one of his hind legs, and put his finger into the wound where the ball had entered.
“Well, now, I do declare,” said Prose, “but the poor beast understands you.”
Seymour examined the leg without any resistance on the part of the monkey, who continued to look first at the wound, and then in their faces, as if to say, “Why did you do it?”
“Macallan, come here,” ejaculated Seymour, “and see if you can assist this poor little fellow.”
Macallan came up, and examined the wound. “I think it will recover; the bone is not broken, and no vital part is touched. We’ll bandage it up, and take him home.”
“How very like a human being it is,” observed Courtenay; “it appears only to want speech—it’s really excessively annoying.”
“Rather mortifying to our pride, I grant,” replied Macallan.
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
Seymour tore up his handkerchief for bandages, and the monkey was consigned to the care of a native. (Par parenthèse, it eventually recovered; and from the peculiarity of its history, and the request of Seymour, was allowed by Captain M— to remain on board of the frigate, where it became a great favourite. High Caste, on the contrary, disappeared a few days after his reception, having been thrown overboard by some of the people that he had bitten, and Captain M— made no inquiries after him. So much for the two monkeys.)
By this time the natives had collected the game, which was carried in procession before the officers. The leopards and panthers, which they skinned and rudely stuffed with grass, in an incredibly short time, leading the procession, followed by the wild boars, deer, and antelopes, each carried between two men, slung under bamboos, which rested on their shoulders. The procession having passed in review before them, continued its course to the town, followed by crowds of people who had come out to join the sport.