At sea, a very little thing goes a very long way, and you will suppose that this incident of the monkeys gave us plenty to talk about and to wonder at. At the dinner table that evening old Keeling favoured us with a long yarn about a French craft that capsized somewhere off the Scilly Islands with four men in her: how the air in her hold kept her buoyant; how the fellows climbed into the run and sat with their heads against the ship’s bottom; how one of them strove with might and main to knock a plank out, that he might see if help was about, in nowise suspecting that if he let the air escape the hull would sink; how, all unknown to the wretched imprisoned men, a smack fell in with the capsized craft and tried to tow her, but gave up after the line had parted two or three times; how she finally stranded upon one of the Scilly Isles; and how one of the inhabitants coming down to view the wreck, shot away as though the devil were in chase of him, on hearing the sound of voices inside. Mr. Johnson whispered to me: ‘I _don’t_ believe it;’ and Colonel Bannister listened with a fine incredulous stare fixed upon the skipper’s crimson countenance; but the rest of us were vastly interested, especially the elder ladies, who, behind old Keeling’s back, spoke of him as ‘a love.’ We settled it amongst us to purchase the monkeys from the boat’s crew which had rescued them, leaving the ape for the seamen to make a pet of. The matter was talked over at that dinner, and I overheard Miss Temple ask Mr. Colledge to try to secure the little monkey with the red waistcoat for her. She was the only one of the ladies who wanted a monkey. ‘Would _you_ like one, Miss Hudson?’ said I. She shuddered in the prettiest way. ‘Oh, I hate monkeys,’ she cried; ‘they are so like men, you know!’ ‘Then, by every law of logic,’ bawled the colonel with a loud laugh, ‘you must hate men more, madam. Don’t you see?--ha! ha! Why do you hate monkeys? Because they are like men. How much, then, must you hate men, the original of the monkey!’ He roared with laughter again. In fact, there never was a man who more keenly relished his own sallies of wit than Colonel Bannister. Miss Hudson coloured, and fanned herself. ‘I hate monkeys too,’ cried Mr. Greenhew, ‘and for the reason that makes Miss Hudson averse to them;’ and here he looked very hard at the colonel. ‘Well, certainly a fellow-feeling don’t _always_ make us kind,’ murmured Mr. Riley in an audible voice, and putting a glass into his eye to look around him as he laughed. Here the steward said something in a low voice to Mr. Prance, who looked at me, and said in a hollow tragic tone: ‘Five of the monkeys have gone dead, sir.’ I called the news down the table to the captain. ‘I’m sorry to hear it, Mr. Dugdale,’ he answered in a dry voice; ‘but you don’t want me to open a subscription list for the widows, do ye?’ ‘Can any one say if the little chap with the red waistcoat’s dead?’ cried Mr. Colledge.