Monkeys In the Mast

Indian Ocean off the coast of Madagascar, late 19th century

There were dozens of them. Dozens of monkeys in dozens of cages being cared for by a dozen jackasses. 'Cared for' is deployed generously, because the level of care could barely be considered life sustaining, had the monkeys' journey not started from a baseline of very good health. 'Jackass' is also generously used because these miscreants would have to be viewed through rose-colored goggles to be considered as decently as jackasses.

The monkeys had been captured and caged on Madagascar. Since their discovery by Western civilization in 1859, monkey ownership had been all the rage for personal bragging rights. These monkeys were en route to being sold to private zoos or wealthy Western citizens and their ever insatiable appetite to enrich their lives with pet monkeys. Sad beasts, both. The monkeys for their sordid forthcoming future of captivity, and the rich citizens errantly seeking fulfillment through possessions.

Monkeys in the wild live in hierarchical communities rife with rivalries and cliques. They know their standing within their community. But this was a long way removed from the wild landscapes of their home. As if by a form of simian mental telepathy, they knew, did these monkeys, that their current setting allowed for no such luxury of a hierarchy. If they were to prevail it would be through a shared struggle and camaraderie against a common enemy.

When dealing with jackasses it becomes a waiting game. The monkeys must await an opportunity or a mistake, recognize that opportunity, then know what to do with it. They could see they were no match against the steel cages, but also figured they'd fare adequately enough against the men. They needed only that chance. 

The men spent much of their time drinking hooch, playing cards and fighting. Very little of it with success. Maintaining the cargo occupied only minimal brain power, which was good because that threshold could be met by this lot, though not by a wide margin. The monkeys, though, their interactions were total awareness. All eyes, watching, learning and planning.

The men approached the cages twice daily with bananas and bowls of water. They'd unlock a cage, toss in the bananas, change the water bowl, then watch their captives after closing and locking it. Just sit back and watch as if it were their own personal zoo exhibit. The monkeys, too, doing the same, sitting back with banana in hand watching their captors.

At these feeding times they resisted the self-serving behavior in the wild. One caged monkey would grab the banana bunch, pull one off, then pass the bunch around the horn, each monkey cooperating. They ate their bananas and watched the human detritus who was watching them from just beyond the cage. Really creepy, if you were aware of it, which the jackass was not, so he watched with amusement. The monkeys watching with something more constructive in mind than entertainment.

One night shortly after taking to sea on a glorious cloudless night there was a gentle summer breeze, like so many other nights at this time of year. Millions of stars poked through the black canopy above as if pin pricks in a blanket with a backdrop of illumination.

Then came the opportune jackass as all the monkeys knew would occur. He struggled locking the cage. Too much hooch in his belly played games on his vision and he was certain the keyhole kept moving. He didn't struggle for long because one of the monkeys had aptly recognized the opportunity to strike.

Without hesitation the monkey slammed the gate outward striking the man full in the face. Given his fermented state he went down without a grunt or cry. With its hand still on the gate the monkey stepped forward. One foot outside the cage stood in freedom, the other still in captivity, as if testing the water temperature of a pool before diving in. He turned to look back as his compadres. With only minimal vocalizing they all knew what to do.

The lead monkey grabbed the key and went from cage to cage unlocking his compatriots. He lacked the learned dexterity having no experience with keys and locks, but its skills of observation, in conjunction with an opposable thumb, eventually yielded the desired result. Over and over again.

 

The thing about monkeys is that they are deceptively strong. They appear physically no more imposing than a skinny grade school boy. Looks, though, can be deceiving. A monkey could easily handle any of these men in the event a physical scuffle were to commence, as it soon would. Appearances aside, monkeys are a dangerous foe, especially for someone unsuspecting with no time to prepare a sensible defense. Someone who maybe expects to find dozens of monkeys caged up only to find them loose on the deck and angry would find himself to be disadvantaged.

The card game and drinking below deck were unaware of the budding chaos. A man emerged on deck with a jug in hand. He closed the door behind him, yawned and stretched. Standing at the rail taking a hearty swig to finish the hooch then tossed the empty jug into the sea. He unbuttoned his breaches to release his bladder into the ocean while looking up at the beautiful stars overhead. Only to him, having seen this remarkable vision thousands of time before it meant no more to him than if it really was only light behind a curtain with pinholes. That's when he heard it. A squeak or something.

Turning his head he saw dozens of dark shapes on deck. Like a bunch of skinny little boys all staring in his direction. In his state of hooch it struck him odd that the boys had such long arms. That's when he noticed one of the cages was open. Turning, he realized they were all open and there was a monkey directly in front of him. A squeak vocalized from its throat, the monkey.

A surprised "Oh" emanated from the man.

Then the altercation, ever so brief. A yell as he tumbled over board.

The other men came out at a mad scramble. Only they weren't mad so much as confused. Emerging into this melee steeped in confusion was mere child's play to this organized and determined coterie of monkeys and their viscous rampaging sentiment.

The melee's thrust started near the galley entrance and quickly oozed inside. The monkeys prevailed and their carnage was devastating, disgusting, and complete. Monkeys knew no such thing as a mercy rule. The men's suffering would be slow, those who had not already succumbed.

In their frenzied state after subduing the men they scampered throughout the ship unrestrained. They found the food supplies and ate their fill, then got into the men's sleeping quarters and the hull. Wreckage followed them like the wake of a heavy cruiser. 

The sun rose a few hours later to a ship full of monkeys. With the excitement dying down they got bored and emerged back to the main deck in the heat of high noon. It was hot, but the ocean breeze effectively functioned as a cooling countervail. A few fatally injured men were strewn about. Their lights had not yet been extinguished for some, but would be gone before the sun would set.

The monkeys did what monkeys do. They climbed. This sailing ship was a veritable joyful playground jungle gym for beasts who could master such climbing feats. They took to the masts like natural sailing mammals. The day passed with no further excitement. The second day, though, would require decision making. 

A few nautical miles off the port side was another sailing vessel, this one manned by humans. Eager to exchange news after so many months out to sea they signaled to the monkey ship by means of their nautical flags. The monkeys did not signal back because they knew not the communicating code of human mariners. Plus they didn't know where the signal flags were stowed.

Impatient for news and riled up at the perceived snub, the manned ship changed course. It headed directly toward the monkey ship. They were determined to get their news exchange as is expected courtesy between vessels at sea. The sea breeze was robust causing the interception in a short time. As the distance closed and visibility became clear, the developing scene that took shape was remarkable, for both ships.

From a distance close enough to toss a lime, depending on one's arm strength, the denizens of both ships paused with all eyes looking at the other. The men saw a wooden sailing ship, much like their own, with no sign of humans, but dozens of monkeys hanging from the mast. They also saw cages on deck, open and empty. The monkeys saw a vessel like their own had been only two days before. A ship with men on the loose.

"Monkeys. What do you make of that," asked the captain playfully to his first mate.

"It would appear, sir, that monkeys have mastered sailing craft. Or have escaped from the cages," replied the first mate, half joking.

"Well, no doubt on your commendable observation skills. What do you suspect of the men aboard?"

"I suspect their ending was unpleasant."

"What do you think is on the ship? Or more specifically, what is there for us to commandeer once the monkeys are under control," without really contemplating by what means one might control a monkey.

The manned ship, with little further discourse, decided they would board the monkey ship. The monkeys meanwhile, without discussion or consultation, eagerly awaited another opportunity. After their practice run two days prior this new interaction would go even smoother than did before. All eyes were on the approaching ship. As it got closer they looked around at each other, a visual leveling up of confidence, then instinctively positioned themselves into some vestige of battle formation.

In the sailors' defense, they couldn't possibly have known what they were about to engage. Monkeys on a ship. Two items with seemingly no likely possibility of overlap, yet here it was occurring in real life, monkeys at the helm of an ocean-faring vessel. What to expect was the quandary. Before game planning a proper course of action, the choice to engage the monkey ship had been enacted.

The sailors eased their ship adjacent, then lay a plank across for passage. With very little vocalization, as if issuing instructions by means of eye contact, the monkeys' course of action was settled. They would grapple. Only this time they were a well practiced troop and the rage swelled deeply as they were the first on the plank to communicate across.

The monkeys held advantage and would not relinquish. The men, still not certain what might transpire reacted with deadly hesitation. The monkeys, with no wasted motion swept across the planks with the frightening efficiency of battle-experienced pirates.

A repeat of two days earlier unveiled itself in the beauty of full daylight and a clear field of engagement. There were some monkey losses as a few of the men managed to unsheathe a sword for a swing or two before being overpowered. There were several musket shots, but few humans can move as quickly as a monkey. How could they possibly lead the erratic movements of such a beast with a firearm. Despite being experienced with musketry this firing was not successful. But the concluding wave of monkey aggression was.

The monkeys now dominated two ships. Afloat at sea awaiting what probability or improbability might follow. The masts, both of them, festooned with monkeys staring ahead at the sun setting out over the horizon of a beautiful deep blue. Dolphins ahead in the surf jumping out of the water as if leading a mammalian parade celebrating the victory.

[Inspired by two things. A short story by Mark Helprin, the title of which eludes me. Also by a fantastic painting in a Los Angeles pub where I watched my brother's band perform in January. The painting was a wooden sailing ship enveloped in what appeared to be fruitless defensive battle against a giant octopus. The ocean is wonderful, and so are monkeys. wdk]