Wanderings in New South Wales, Batavia, Pedir Coast, Singapore, and China, Vol. 2 (of 2) : $b Being the journal of a naturalist in those countries, during 1832, 1833 and 1834Bennett, George
History
Wanderings in New South Wales, Batavia, Pedir Coast, Singapore, and China, Vol. 2 (of 2) : $b Being the journal of a naturalist in those countries, during 1832, 1833 and 1834
Bennett, George
Asia -- Description and travel; Natural history -- Australia -- New South Wales; New South Wales -- Description and travel
When the weather is cold, he may be seen huddled together, loses all his
lively and playful manner, sleeping much during the day, and giving up
all kind of exercise. Like the Lascars, who, as long as the weather is
hot, are capable of any duty, but when they arrive in a northern climate,
exposed to the bleak winds, they sink into a state of inaction, from
which it is almost impossible to rouse them; and many perish, as much
from the want of exercise as from the effects of climate.[56] The return
of warm weather imparted life to the animal, his activity returned, his
spirits revived, and his gambols and sportive gaiety were resumed.
Although every kindness was shown to him by the officers and crew, and
sweetmeats and other niceties were given to him by them by way of bribes,
to engage his confidence and good opinion, yet he would not permit
himself to be taken in the arms, or caressed familiarly by any person
on board during the voyage, except by the commander, the third officer,
and myself; but with any of the children he would readily gambol. It was
a strange fact, that he in particular avoided all those who wore large
bushy whiskers.
It was ludicrous to behold the terrified looks of the animal, if his
finger was taken towards a cup of hot tea, as if to ascertain the
temperature; and his attempt at remonstrating on the impropriety of such
conduct, together with his half-suppressed screams, were very diverting.
Among other amusements, he would frequently hang from a rope by one arm;
and, when in a frolicsome humour, frisk about, with his eyes shut, giving
him the appearance of a person hanging, and in the agonies of death.
When we spoke a ship at sea, his curiosity seemed to be much excited by
the novel object near us, for he would invariably mount up the rigging,
at a height sufficient to command a good view of the stranger, and
sometimes take up his position on the peak haulyards, just under the
flag, a signal, difficult no doubt for the stranger to comprehend; there
he would remain gazing wistfully after the departing stranger, until
he was out of sight—“give one parting, lingering look,” and then come
down on the deck again, and resume the sports from which the stranger’s
appearance had disturbed him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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