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The Lieutenant and Commander,
Being Autobigraphical Sketches of His Own Career, from Fragments of Voyages and Travels
by Basil Hall (1862)
Chapter XIII: Sailor's Pets
A dog is the most obvious and natural pet for a gentleman; but still,
a dog, with all his familiarity, is a selfish sort of companion, for
he generally bestows his whole sociability either upon his master, or
his master’s servant who feeds him, or upon his master’s friend who
accompanies him to the fields. To all others he is not only cold, but
often surly and impertinent. This, indeed, would matter little, if
there were not unfortunately a proverb extant, which has led perhaps
to more squabbles, duels, and other uncharitableness, than most other
causes of dispute. This pugnacious proverb, “Love me, love my dog,”
being interpreted, signifies, “If you kick my dog, I kick you.” Then
follows, if not the kick, words which hurt honour quite as much, and
in the end too often draw away the life-blood of warriors who, but
for some mangy cur, might have fought themselves into companionship in
public usefulness and fame with “Duncan, Howe, or Jarvis.”
No dog, therefore, can ever become a very general favourite of the crew; for it is so completely his nature to be exclusive in his regards, that were a whole pack of hounds on board, they would not be enough, nor afford a tenth part of the amusement which a single monkey serves out to a ship’s company. I take good care, accordingly, never to be without one in any ship I command, on the sheer principle of keeping the men employed, in a good humoured way, when they chance to have no specific duty to attend to. It must be recollected that we are often exposed to long periods of inaction, during which mischief is very apt to be brewed amongst the people.
But if a good monkey be allowed to run about the ship, I defy any one
to continue long in a bad humour.
Jacko is an overmatch for the demon
of idleness, at least if light hearts and innocent diversions be
weapons against which he cannot long contend. Be this as it may, I
make a rule of entering a monkey as speedily as possible after
hoisting my pendant; and if a reform takes place in the table of
ratings, I would recommend a corner for the “ship’s monkey,” which
should be borne on the books for “full allowance of victuals,”
excepting only the grog; for I have observed that a small quantity of
tipple very soon upsets him; and although there are few things in
nature more ridiculous than a monkey half-seas over, yet the reasons
against permitting such pranks are obvious and numerous.
When Lord Melville, then First Lord of the Admiralty, to my great surprise and delight, put into my hands a commission for a ship going to the South American station, a quarter of the world I had long desired to visit, my first thought was, “Where now shall I manage to find a merry rascal of a monkey?” Of course, I did not give audible expression to this thought in the First Lord’s room; but, on coming down-stairs, I had a talk about it in the hall with my friend, the late Mr. Nutland, the porter, who laughed, and said,—
“Why, sir, you may buy a wilderness of monkeys at Exeter ’Change.”
“True! true!” and off I hurried in a Hackney coach. Mr. Cross, not only agreed to spare me one of his choicest and funniest animals, but readily offered his help to convey him to the ship. “Lord, sir!” said he, “there is not an animal in the whole world so wild or fierce that we can't carry about as innocent as a lamb; only trust to me, sir, and your monkey shall be delivered on board your ship in Portsmouth Harbour as safely as if he were your best chronometer going down by mail in charge of the master.” Accordingly he was in a famous condition for his breakfast next morning, when the waterman ferried him off from Common Hard to the hulk, on board which the officers had just assembled. As the ship had been only two or three days in commission, few seamen had as yet entered; but shortly afterwards they came on board in sufficient numbers; and I have sometimes ascribed the facility with which we got the ship manned, not a little to the attractive agency of the diverting vagabond, recently come from town, the fame of whose tricks soon extended over Portsea; such as catching hold of the end of the sail-maker’s ball of twine, and paying the whole overboard, hand over hand, from a secure station in the rigging; or stealing the boatswain’s silver call, and letting it drop from the end of the cat-head; or his getting into one of the cabin ports and tearing up the captain’s letters, a trick at which even the stately skipper can only laugh.
One of our monkey’s grand amusements was to watch some one arranging
his clothes bag. After the stowage was completed, and everything put
carefully away, he would steal round, untie the strings, and having
opened the mouth of the bag draw forth in succession every article of
dress, first smell it, then turn it over and over, and lastly fling it
away on the wet deck. 
It was amusing enough to observe, that all the
while he was committing any piece of mischief he appeared not only to
be under the fullest consciousness of guilt, but living in the perfect
certainty that he was earning a good sound drubbing for his pains.
Still the pleasure of doing wrong was so strong and habitual within
him, that he seemed utterly incapable of resisting the temptation.
While thus occupied, and alternately chattering with terror, and
screaming with delight, till the enraged owner of the property burst
in upon him, hardly more angry with Jacko than with his malicious
messmates, who, instead of preventing, had rather encouraged the
pillage.
All this was innocent, however, compared to the tricks which the blue-jackets taught him to play upon the jolly marines. How they set about this laudable piece of instruction, I know not; but the antipathy which they established in Jacko’s breast against the red coats was something far beyond ordinary prejudice, and in its consequences partook more of the interminable war between cat and dog. At first he merely chattered, or grinned contemptuously at them; or, at worst, snapped at their heels, soiled their fine pipe-clayed trousers, or pulled the cartridges out of their cartouch-boxes, and scattered the powder over the decks; feats for which his rump was sure to smart under the ratan of the indignant sergeant, to whom the “party” made their complaint. Upon these occasions the sailors laughed so heartily at their friend Jacko, as he placed his hands behind him, and, in an agony of rage and pain, rubbed the seat of honour tingling under the sergeant's chastisement, that if he could only have reasoned the matter, he would soon have distrusted this offensive but not defensive alliance with the Johnnies against the Jollies. Sometimes, indeed, he appeared to be quite sensible of his absurd position, caned by his enemy, and ridiculed by his friends, in whose cause he was suffering. On these occasions, he often made a run, open-mouthed, at the sailors; in return for which mutinous proceeding he was sure to get a smart rap over the nose from his own party, which more than counterpoised the anguish at the other extremity of his person, giving ludicrous occupation to both his hands, and redoubling the shouts of laughter at his expense. In short, poor St. Jago literally got what is currently called monkey’s allowance, viz. “more kicks than halfpence.”