LIFE IN CAPTIVITY.
The accounts given by the earliest observers of gorillas would lead
us to expect that the attempt to tame even young apes of this species
must be fruitless. Du Chaillu tells us that he obtained a young male
gorilla, a creature of from two to three years old, which was quite as
furious and unmanageable as any adult specimen could have been. The
negroes of the district between the Rembo and Cape Santa Catharina
had surprised the mother and her young one in the forest, and after
killing the former, they succeeded, with great difficulty, in capturing
the latter by throwing a cloth over his head. By means of a wooden
slave-fork, fixed upon its neck, the animal was transported to the
village in which Du Chaillu was staying at the time. Young as he was,
the gorilla displayed extraordinary strength, and after he had been
successfully fastened into his cage, he contrived to attack his new
master again, tearing his trousers, and then retreating sullenly into
a corner. He would only eat the wild berries and fruits collected for
him in the forest, and also the soft parts of pine-apple leaves. He
escaped from his cage, and was only recaptured, after many fruitless
endeavours, by throwing a net over him. The traveller adds that he had
never seen so furious a creature as this gorilla. He flew at every one
who came near him, bit the bamboo lattice-work of his cage, and showed,
on every possible occasion, that he was of a thoroughly malicious and
unkindly nature. He broke loose a second time, and was again captured,
and at the end of ten days he died suddenly.
Somewhat later Du Chaillu obtained a young female gorilla, which clung
affectionately to its mother’s dead body, so that all the spectators
were affected by its grief. The creature was too young to be fed on
anything but milk, and since this was unattainable, it died three days
after its capture.
Reade, Lenz, and Buchholz were more fortunate in their experience with
the gorillas captured by them, and Lenz wrote to me as follows about
one of these animals:--“On my return to the Gaboon from a journey to
Okanda, I was attacked by a somewhat serious fever which hung about me
for a long while. A living gorilla, which was brought to the German
factory on the Gaboon, was some compensation to me for this involuntary
idleness. The creature came from Kamma (Fernand Vaz), the place from
which Du Chaillu also obtained his specimens, and was captured out of
a troop of eight animals. A small dog, which had been somewhat injured
by an old gorilla, afterwards killed, prevented the young one from
escaping until a negro came up, seized it by the neck, and got another
man to bind its hands. In this way the gorilla was conveyed to the
basket-factory of the house, and there, as is unfortunately done in
most cases, the two large canine teeth were filed off for fear of his
using them to bite his captors.
“This gorilla is a young, male specimen, probably two years old, and
has reconciled himself to captivity and to intercourse with men with
no great difficulty. A long, slender iron chain is fastened round his
neck, which gives him plenty of room to move about; but for the greater
part of the day he sits in a cask, and makes himself very comfortable
in the straw. He is very susceptible to cold, wind, and rain, and a
thick sail-cloth is wrapped round the cask at night. He generally
adopts a squatting position, with his arms folded across his breast,
and he is always observant of surrounding objects. He always seats
himself so as to have nothing at his back, but to keep his enemies
before him. When asleep, he stretches himself at full length on his
back or side, using one hand as a kind of pillow; and he never sleeps
like other apes, in a squatting position. He goes upon all-fours with
the soles of his hindhands on the ground, while the forehands are
closed, so that he goes upon the knuckles, and he has the lateral gait
characteristic of the species. At this moment he suffers terribly from
the so-called dissous or sand-fly; both his forehands are full of
blisters, which contain the eggs of this annoying little insect.
“In any attempt to transport the gorilla, the question of food is
necessarily the most important. We have already offered him rice,
bread, milk, etc., such things as may be obtained on board ship, as
well as in Europe, but with indifferent success. He has occasionally
eaten some bread, and has taken ship’s biscuit more readily, and once
he ate some rice, but for the most part he does not touch it. His
favourite food is a red fruit, very common here, of which he eats the
inner kernel; he is likewise fond of bananas and oranges, and above
all, of sugar-cane, which he takes from my hand with evident pleasure,
and chews. He will also take a glass of water from my hand, carry it
steadily to his mouth, and drink it up. Only on rare occasions, when he
was much excited, I have heard him utter a growling noise; generally he
is quite dumb.” This animal died on the voyage to Europe, and its body,
preserved in rum by Pansch and Bolau, was used by me in some of the
researches of which I have given an account.
Falkenstein gives an attractive description of the gorilla represented
in Figs. 3, 4, during the first months of his captivity: “When this
animal reached the station (Chinxoxo, in Loango) it was our first care
to procure all the forest fruits within reach, as well as a she-goat,
in order to restore the young anthropoid’s failing strength. It can
easily be supposed that we watched his attempts to eat with great
interest, and were very much relieved when he not only readily drank
milk, but ate various fruits with evident increase of appetite, and
especially those of _Anona senegalensis_, which are of about the size
of a walnut, with a rough husk, and grow in the savannahs. In spite
of this, however, he remained for a long while so weak that he would
fall asleep while eating, and he passed great part of the day crouching
asleep in a corner. He gradually became accustomed to cultivated
fruits, such as bananas, guavas, oranges, and mangoes, and as he became
stronger, and was more often present at our meals, he began to demand
for himself whatever he saw us eating. Since he was thus gradually
accustomed to eat all kinds of food, the likelihood of transporting him
successfully to Europe was increased.”
This is perhaps the only way in which other and possibly older
specimens can be rendered fit to endure the passage to Europe. Every
attempt to embark them immediately after their capture, without
previously weaning them from their old modes of life, and adapting them
slowly and systematically to their altered conditions, has invariably
resulted, sooner or later, in sickness and death. Falkenstein also
recommends, relying on the experience he has had of apes in a state of
nature, that this species should be supplied with some form of animal
food. He gives this further account of the captive gorilla:--
“In the course of a few weeks he became so accustomed to his
surroundings, and to the people whom he knew, that he was allowed to
run about at liberty, without fear that he would make any attempt to
escape. He was never chained, nor confined to a cage, and was watched
only in the way that little children are watched when they are at play.
He was so conscious of his own helplessness that he clung to human
companionship, and displayed in this manner a wonderful dependence
and trustfulness. He showed no trace of mischievous, malicious, or
savage qualities, but was sometimes self-willed. He expressed the
ideas which occurred to him by different sounds, one of which was the
characteristic tone of importunate petition, while others expressed
fright or horror, and in rare instances a sullen and defiant growl
might be heard.
“In his moods of exuberant satisfaction and simple pleasure, he might
be seen to rub his breast with both fists, while raising himself on
his hind legs. Moreover, he often expressed his feelings after quite
a human fashion, by clapping his hands together, an action which
no one had taught him; and he executed such wild dances, sometimes
overbalancing himself, reeling to and fro, and whirling round, that we
were often disposed to think that he must be drunk. Yet he was only
drunk with pleasure, and this impelled him to display his strength in
the wildest gambols.
“His dexterity in eating was particularly remarkable. If any of the
other apes chanced to enter his chamber nothing was safe from them;
they snatched greedily at everything, only to throw it away with a
certain aversion, or carelessly to let it drop. The gorilla behaved
quite differently: he took up every cup or glass with instinctive
care, clasped the vessel with both hands, and set it down again so
softly and carefully that I cannot remember his breaking a single
article of our household goods. Yet we never taught the creature the
use of our vessels and other manufactured articles, since we wished
to bring him to Europe, as far as possible in a state of nature. His
behaviour at meal-times was quiet and mannerly; he only took as much
as he could hold with his thumb, fore, and middle finger, and looked
on with indifference when any of the different forms of food heaped
up before him were taken away. If, however, nothing was given him,
he growled impatiently, looked narrowly at all the dishes from his
place at table, and accompanied every plate carried off by the negro
boys with an angry snarl or a short, resentful cough, and sometimes
he sought to seize the arm of the passer-by in order to express his
displeasure more plainly by a bite or a blow. In another minute he
would play with the negroes as with his fellows, and this distinguishes
him altogether from other apes, and especially from baboons, who appear
to feel an instinctive hatred against many of the black race, and take
a peculiar pleasure in displaying their animosity against them.
“He drank by suction, stooping over the vessel without even putting
his hands into it or upsetting it, and in the case of smaller vessels,
he carried them to his mouth. He was a skilful climber, but sometimes
his high spirits made him careless, and he once fell to the ground
from a tree, which was fortunately not very high. His cleanliness was
remarkable, for if by accident he touched a spider’s web, or rubbish of
any kind, he sought to brush it off with absurd horror, or held out his
hands to have it done for him. There was no offensive smell about him.
It was his favourite amusement to play and paddle about in the water,
nor did the fact that he had just taken a bath prevent him from amusing
himself by rolling in the sand with other apes immediately afterwards.
His good-humour and shyness, or rather roguishness, deserves special
mention as his strongest characteristic. When he was chastised, as it
was necessary to do at first, he never resented the punishment, but
came up with a beseeching air, clinging to my feet, and looking up with
an expressive air which disarmed all displeasure. When he was anxious
to obtain anything, no child could have expressed its wishes in a more
urgent and caressing manner. If in spite of this he did not obtain what
he wanted, he had recourse to cunning, and looked anxiously about to
see if he was watched. It was just in these cases, when he obstinately
pursued a fixed idea, that it was impossible not to recognize a
deliberate plan and careful calculation. If, for example, he was not
allowed to leave the room, or, again, was not allowed to come in, he
would, after several attempts to get his own way had been baffled,
apparently submit to his fate and lie down near the door in question
with assumed indifference. But he soon raised his head in order to
ascertain whether fortune was on his side, edging himself gradually
nearer and nearer, and then, looking carefully round, he twisted
himself about until he reached the threshold; then he got up, peered
cautiously round, and with one bound galloped off so quickly that it
was difficult to follow him.
“He pursued his object with equal pertinacity when he felt a desire for
the sugar or fruit which was kept in a cupboard in the eating-room; he
would suddenly leave off playing and go in an opposite direction, only
altering his course when he believed that he was no longer observed.
He then went straight to the room and cupboard, opened it, and made a
quick and dexterous snatch at the sugar-box or fruit-basket, sometimes
closing the cupboard doors behind him before beginning to enjoy his
plunder, or, if he was discovered, he would escape with it, and his
whole behaviour made it clear that he was conscious of transgressing
into forbidden paths. He took a special, and what might be called a
childish, pleasure in making a noise by beating on hollow articles, and
he seldom omitted an opportunity of drumming on casks, dishes, or tin
trays, whenever he passed by them--a noisy amusement to which he was
much addicted during our homeward voyage on board the steam-vessel, in
which he was at liberty to roam about. He very much disliked strange
noises. Thunder, the rain falling on the skylight, and especially the
long-drawn note of a pipe or trumpet threw him into such agitation as
to cause a sudden affection of the digestive organs, and it became
expedient to keep him at a distance. When he was slightly indisposed,
we made use of this kind of music with results as successful as if we
had administered purgative medicine.”
My personal observations enable me to add but little to this excellent
and exhaustive account. It is well known that this ape throve in the
Berlin Aquarium. His skin, especially on the extremities, was at first
covered with dry, cracked patches, which the late veterinary surgeon
Gerlach believed to be due to mange; but these gradually disappeared,
and as they scaled off the skin became smooth and of a dark black
colour, and there was a fresh growth of hair. The creature generally
slept in the bed of his keeper Viereck, covered himself up in an
orderly manner, and ate at the man’s table of plain but nourishing
food, cooked by the keeper’s wife. He sometimes ate fruit, and bananas
were occasionally provided for him. When taking his meals, drinking,
etc., I saw that he always behaved with good manners. He often moved
freely about in an office-room of the Aquarium, and he was as obedient
to the Director as to his keeper. He was generally good-tempered,
fond of play, but rather mischievous, and he would snatch roughly,
and occasionally try the sharpness of his teeth. Sometimes he tried
to seize from visitors things which attracted his curiosity, such as
the trimmings of ladies’ bonnets, lace falls, and the like. But on the
whole he behaved with propriety, playfulness, and good temper, and
there was much which resembled man in his look and bearing.
Early in 1876, before leaving Africa, this ape suffered from malaria,
and he subsequently suffered from other complaints, from which he
recovered. He died in November, 1877, of a galloping consumption.[121]
The gorilla now living in the Berlin Aquarium is also very playful and
affectionate.
The chimpanzees which have up to this time been observed in captivity,
have been, while in good health, lively and amusing animals, and
generally good-tempered. Buffon in 1740 possessed a specimen about
two years of age, and this ape always walked upright, even when he
carried heavy loads. It is known that other apes can also be trained to
adopt this posture. Buffon’s chimpanzee had a serious and melancholy
expression, moved slowly, was gentle and patient, and obedient to a
word or sign. He offered people his arm, walked with them in an orderly
manner, sat down to table like a man, opened his napkin and wiped his
lips with it, made use of his spoon and fork, poured out wine and
clinked glasses, fetched a cup and saucer and put in sugar, poured
out tea, let it get cold before drinking it; but, while doing all
this, he did not seem happy. He ate all the ordinary food of men, but
preferred fruit, and he was not so fond of wine as of milk, tea, and
sweet liqueurs. He was friendly with every one, coming close to them,
and taking pleasure in their caresses. He took such a fancy to one
lady, that when other people approached her he seized a stick and began
to flourish it about, until Buffon intimated his displeasure at such
behaviour.
Dr. Traill, of Liverpool, obtained a female chimpanzee which likewise
came from the Gaboon, and which, as soon as she came on board, reached
out her hand to some of the sailors, and remained on good terms with
the whole crew, including the cabin-boy. When the sailors were at meals
the ape regularly appeared, and begged for her portion. When angry she
made a baying noise like a dog, and on another occasion she wailed
like a spoiled child, scratching herself vehemently. She was lively
and cheerful in warm regions, but the nearer the vessel approached to
northern latitudes the more inert she became, and was glad to wrap
herself in a warm coverlet. She seemed uneasy in an upright position,
and when she assumed it she rested her hands on her thighs. Her hands
were very strong, and she could hold on to a cord and swing for a long
while without interruption. She gradually acquired a taste for wine,
and once stole a bottle and uncorked it with her teeth. She was fond
of coffee and sweetmeats, ate with a spoon, drank from a glass, and
took pleasure in imitating the behaviour of men. She was attracted by
shining metals, pleased with articles of clothing, and often put on a
hat. She was unclean, and of a timid disposition.
According to the account of Captain Grandpré, a female chimpanzee on
board his vessel would heat the oven, taking care that no coals fell
out, and carefully watching until it was of the right heat, of which
she would inform the baker. She fulfilled all the duties of a sailor,
such as drawing up the anchor, furling and making fast the sails. She
patiently endured maltreatment by a brutal mate, stretching out her
hands imploringly to ward off his blows. But after this she refused all
food, and died in five days of grief and hunger.
A chimpanzee in Brosse’s possession was sick, and twice blooded.
When he again fell ill, he held out his arm as if to demand another
venesection.
In reading these accounts, which have gone the round of various
old-fashioned books on natural history, the question arises what we are
or are not to believe, for many particulars appear to be exaggerated.
Dr. Hermes, the director of the Berlin Aquarium, disputes the assertion
made by others that the female chimpanzee, Molly, which was kept for
a long while in that establishment, poured out wine for herself at an
evening party, and clinked glasses with a neighbour.[122]
There is, however, an account given by Broderip of a male chimpanzee,
which was brought from the Gambia, and placed in the London Zoological
Gardens in 1835, which appears to be simple and faithful. The creature,
clothed in a little jacket, nestled for the most part in the lap of an
old female keeper. When he had nothing else to do, he played with his
toes, just as a child does under like circumstances. He took Broderip’s
hand without fear, and touched the ring on one of his fingers with
his teeth, but without bending it. He tried all artificial substances
with his teeth. He held fast to his keeper’s gown when she proposed to
leave him, and he played with Broderip like a child. He displayed great
terror when an anaconda was brought into the room in a basket, and did
not dare to take an apple from off the closed lid of the basket; but
as soon as the snake and its basket were removed, he ate the apple
and became cheerful again. He willingly placed himself in a swing, and
held on to the cords with both hands. He generally slept in a sitting
position, leaning forwards with folded arms, or sometimes resting his
face on his hands. But he would also sleep upon his belly, with his
feet drawn up, and his head on his arms.
A male chimpanzee, which was kept in the Berlin Aquarium in 1876, was
remarkable for his excessive liveliness. He had contracted a friendship
with a fellow-captive, a young female orang, and their intimacy was
confirmed by their games together, accompanied by many tender embraces.
The small orang, a good-tempered, phlegmatic creature, allowed the
chimpanzee to do what he pleased with her, and the former betrayed
remarkable intelligence. In consequence of a general repair of his
cage, Dr. Hermes, the director of the institution, to whom we owe this
account, was obliged to keep the chimpanzee in his office, in company
with himself and other officials. The chimpanzee soon accustomed
himself to his new surroundings, and was on particularly friendly
terms with Dr. Hermes’ two-year-old boy. When the child entered the
room, the chimpanzee ran to meet him, embraced and kissed him, seized
his hand and drew him to the sofa, that they might play together. The
child was often rough with his playfellow, pulling him by the mouth,
pinching his ears, or lying on him, yet the chimpanzee was never known
to lose his temper. He behaved very differently to boys between six
and ten years old. When a number of schoolboys visited the office, he
ran towards them, went from one to the other, shook one of them, bit
the leg of another, seized the jacket of a third with the right hand,
jumped up, and with the left gave him a sound box on the ear; in short,
he played the wildest pranks. It seemed as if he were infected with the
joyous excitement of youth, which induced him to riot with the troop of
schoolboys.
One day when Hermes gave his nine-year-old son a slight tap on the
head, on account of some miscalculation in his arithmetic, the
chimpanzee, who was also sitting at the table, gave the boy a smart box
on the ear. If Hermes pointed out to him that some one was staring or
mocking at him, and said, “Do not put up with it,” the creature cried,
“Oh! oh!” and rushed at the person in question in order to strike or
bite him, or express his displeasure in some other way. As he made
distinctions in the age of human beings, so also with animals. He was
gentle and considerate in his behaviour to young dogs and apes, while
with older animals he was as boisterous as he was with the schoolboys.
When he saw that Hermes was writing, he often seized a pen, dipped it
in the inkstand, and scrawled upon the paper. He displayed a special
talent for cleaning the window-panes of the aquarium. It was amusing to
see him squeezing up the cloth, moistening the pane with his lips, and
then rubbing it hard, passing quickly from one place to another.
Mafuca was a remarkable creature, not only in her external habits, but
in her disposition. At one moment she would sit still with a brooding
air, only occasionally darting a mischievous, flashing glance at the
spectators; at another she took pleasure in feats of strength, or
she roamed to and fro in her spacious enclosure like an angry beast
of prey. She would insert the index finger of her right hand in the
opening of a vessel which weighed thirty pounds, climb up the pole with
it, and let it fall with a crash and clatter from a height of six feet.
This ape would sometimes rattle the bars of her cage with a violence
which made the spectators uneasy. She was fond of playing with old
hats, which she set upon her head, and if the top was quite torn off,
she drew it down upon her neck. Mafuca clawed at people who entered
the vestibule of her cage and tried to tear their clothes. She hardly
obeyed any one except Schöpf, the director of the Dresden Zoological
Gardens, and when in a good humour she would sit on his knee and put
her muscular arms round his neck with a caressing gesture. In spite of
this, Schöpf was never secure from Mafuca’s roguish tricks, since her
good-humour was of short duration. She was rather fond of the keeper,
but not always obedient to him, and the whip was often in request, even
at feeding-times. Mafuca was able to use a spoon, although somewhat
awkwardly; and she could pour from larger vessels into smaller ones
without spilling the liquor. She took tea and cocoa in the morning and
evening, and a mixed diet between whiles, such as fruit, sweetmeats,
red wine and water, and sugar.
Mafuca, for a while, was pleased with the companionship of a pretty
sea-cat monkey, but she teased the creature so much that a special
refuge was set apart for it, into which she could not enter. She was
so scared and terrified by a heavy thunderstorm that she seized her
sleeping playfellow by the tail and dashed it to the ground. She chased
the mice which ran about her cage with deadly fury. She was much afraid
of snakes, which is not usually the case with chimpanzees. If she was
left alone for any time she tried to open the lock of her cage without
having the key, and she once succeeded in doing so. On that occasion
she stole the key, which was hanging on the wall, hid it in her axilla,
and crept quietly back to the cage. With the key she easily opened the
lock, and she also knew how to use a gimlet. She would draw off her
keeper’s boots, scramble up to some place out of reach with them, and
throw them at his head when he asked for them. She could wring out wet
cloths, and blow her nose with a handkerchief. When her illness began,
she became apathetic, and looked about with a vacant, unobservant
stare. Just before her death, from consumption, she put her arms round
Schöpf’s neck when he came to visit her, looked at him placidly, kissed
him three times, stretched out her hand to him, and died.[123] The last
moments of anthropoids have their tragic side!
We owe to Wallace an interesting account of young orangs in a state
of captivity. This observer shot, near Simunjon, in Borneo, a large
female ape of this species, which had a young one about a foot long.
As Wallace carried this creature home, it took such a firm hold of his
beard that he had much difficulty in getting free, for the unequal
phalanges of the fingers in these animals are hook-shaped. At that time
the creature had not a single tooth, but the two lower front teeth were
cut a few days later. Unluckily, there was no milk, nor any female
animal to give suck to the little ape. Wallace was obliged to give
it rice-water from a bottle, with a quill inserted in the cork, from
which, after some attempts, it learned to suck very well. Sugar and
cocoa-milk were added, to make the pap more nourishing. When Wallace
put his finger in the creature’s mouth, it sucked at it vigorously,
then pushed it angrily away and began to scream, as a child does in
like circumstances. When it was fondled and caressed, it was quiet and
content, but began to scream again as soon as it was laid down; and for
the first two nights it was very noisy and restless.
Wallace arranged a little box for the creature’s cradle, with a soft
mat which was changed and washed every day. The little ape itself liked
to be washed. As soon as it was dirty it began to scream, and never
stopped until carried to the spring by its master, when it became quiet
at once, although it struggled when first touched by the cold water,
and made absurd grimaces when water was poured over its head. It was
extremely fond of being dried and rubbed, and appeared to be perfectly
happy when Wallace brushed its hair, lying quite still with extended
arms and legs while the long hair on its back and arms was brushed
out. At first it clung helplessly by all-fours to whatever it could
get hold of, and Wallace had to be always on the watch to save his
beard. When restless, it worked its hands above in the air, in search
of something to hold, and if it got hold of a stick or piece of cloth
with two or three of its hands, it was perfectly happy. In default
of anything else, it nursed its own foot, and after a while it often
folded its arms, and seized with each hand the long hair which grew
below the opposite shoulder. The strength of the creature’s gripe soon
diminished, however, and Wallace had to invent expedients for giving
it exercise and strengthening its limbs. With this object he made a
short ladder of three or four rounds, to which he suspended the young
orang for a quarter of an hour at a time. At first it was pleased, but
finding itself unable to assume a comfortable position when holding on
by all four hands, it let go with one after another and at last fell
to the ground. Often, when only hanging by two hands, it let go with
one, in order to cross it over the opposite shoulder, and get hold of
its own hair, and on finding this much more agreeable than the piece
of wood, it let go with the other, and so fell to the ground, where it
lay on its back with folded arms, quite content and apparently none the
worse for its numerous tumbles.
When Wallace saw how fond the creature was of hair, he endeavoured
to construct an artificial mother by stitching together a piece of
buffalo hide which he suspended about a foot from the ground. At
first this seemed quite successful, since the small orang could
cling round it and always find something hairy to which it held fast
with great persistency. Wallace now hoped that he had made the little
orphan happy, and so it was for a while, until it remembered its lost
mother and tried to suck. It raised itself so as to be quite close to
the hide, and hunted about for promising places; but when its mouth
was only filled with wool and hair it was much displeased, cried
vehemently, and gave up the attempt after two or three endeavours. On
one occasion it got some wool into its throat, and Wallace was afraid
it must be choked; but after a good deal of cough it threw it up, and
he destroyed the mock mother and relinquished the last attempt to give
the little creature some occupation.
At the end of a week Wallace began to feed the ape with a spoon. He
mixed soaked biscuit with egg and sugar, and sometimes with sweet
potatoes. It took this food readily, and made droll grimaces in order
to express its satisfaction or displeasure with what was offered. The
little being licked its lips, drew in its cheeks, and screwed up its
eyes with an expression of extreme content when it had a mouthful of
anything it particularly liked. On the other hand, when the food was
not sufficiently sweet and savoury, the orang turned it about in its
mouth for a moment, as if to taste it thoroughly, and then spat it out.
If the same food was presented again, it screamed violently and threw
its arms about like a passionate child.
Three weeks after Wallace obtained the young orang, a macaca (_Macacus
cynomolgus_), likewise young, was brought to him. The two animals
became at once the best of friends, neither showing the least fear of
the other. The small macaca had not the slightest scruple about sitting
on the other’s body, and even on its face. When Wallace fed the orang,
the macaca sat by to pick up any morsels which dropped, and when the
meal was over it licked off whatever remained on the orang’s lips,
and even tore open its mouth to see if anything remained there; then
it lay down on the poor creature’s body as if it were a comfortable
cushion. The small, helpless orang endured all these insults with the
most unexampled patience, only too glad to have something warm to cling
to and encircle fondly with its arms. But it had its revenge, for when
the other little ape wished to get away, the orang held on as long as
possible to the movable skin of the back or head, or to its tail, so
that it cost the macaca many violent struggles to escape.
Wallace carefully observed the different behaviour of these two
animals, which were of nearly the same age. All the observations
hitherto made show that very young anthropoids display a helplessness
resembling that of children of about the same age, although other
families of apes, in common with most young mammals, kittens, puppies,
etc., early attain to greater activity and independence.
When Wallace had kept the orang for about a month, and placed it on
the ground, its legs straggled outwards, or it overbalanced itself and
fell heavily forwards. When lying in its box, it would hold on to the
edge, and once or twice it fell out in consequence. If allowed to be
dirty or hungry, or otherwise neglected, it would cry loudly until it
received attention, or sometimes would cough or struggle like an adult
animal. If there was no one in the house, or if no one paid attention
to its cries, it would be quiet for a time, and only renew them when a
step was heard.
At the end of five weeks the two upper front teeth were cut, but
throughout that period the creature had not grown, and remained of the
same size and weight. This was doubtless owing to the want of milk or
other nourishing food. Cocoa-milk seemed to produce diarrhœa, of which
it was cured by castor-oil. A week or two later it sickened of what
appeared to be intermittent fever, and died within a week.[124]
In 1837 the Zoological Gardens in London received an orang of two or
three years old. He was for the most part sluggish and inert, but had
occasional fits of better humour and playfulness. When angry he would
attack strangers, but he generally sat cross-legged on a low stool,
or on the ground before the fire, wrapped in a woollen rug. When the
giraffes of the establishment inquisitively stretched their long
necks over the bars of the ape’s cage, the creature evinced no fear,
but tried to seize the long-legged animals by the muzzle. This orang
answered to his name, and was obedient to his keeper, often searching
in his pocket for the dainties concealed there. He was uneasy when
separated by the cage-bars from his master; and when confined in an
enclosure of cane interwoven with wire, he bent the wire asunder and
squeezed himself through the hole, so that the cage had to be made
stronger. The creature presented an absurd appearance dressed in a
jacket and breeches. When he desired any dainty that he saw, he looked
alternately at it and his keeper, and protruded his lips like a snout.
In drinking, this animal took the vessel in his hand, brought the rim
to his lips, and then drank with an air of gravity. I may here observe
that when anthropoids drink in this way, they generally take the vessel
in one hand, and support it with the back of the fingers of the other.
When the orang we have just described was disappointed in his desire to
obtain anything, he threw himself on the ground, howling and screaming
until he got his own way. He sometimes had furious fits of passion, in
one of which he tried to destroy the bars of his cage by hitting them
with the stool. As he did not succeed in this attempt, he gave vent
to his fury in a loud outcry, which only ceased on the return of his
keeper.
An orang brought by Montgomery to Calcutta in 1827, was less phlegmatic
than animals of this species usually are. He played with those who
carried him when they stooped over him, caught them by the hair, and
so on. He tried to scour his tin vessel with a cloth, throwing one
end over his shoulder, as he had seen the servants of the house do.
He was particularly fond of milk, tea, wine, and pandanos fruit. He
was very inquisitive, and tried everything that he could reach, first
with the fingers, then with the lips, and finally with his teeth. He
was fond of biting off the coat-lappets of his visitors. His absurd
gestures, combined with his air of solemnity, excited laughter even in
the grave natives. He was once drinking tea, when some one filled the
empty mug with water; he emptied it out upon the floor, threw himself
on his back, screamed, and struck his breast and belly with his hands.
His gait was clumsy and unsteady when he tried to walk upright. When
he went on all-fours, he sometimes supported himself on his hands
and swung himself forward with his feet. If he lost his balance in
walking upright, he fell upon his head, and then went on by turning
somersaults. As soon as he was unchained, he went into the house and
tried to get a portion of his master’s breakfast. In spite of his
usual inquisitiveness, he was not at all excited by the sight of his
melancholy countenance in the glass.
The large orang which was in the Berlin Aquarium in 1876 was a
sullen companion, and looked like an old Bedouin as he crouched down
and peered from under the covering which was thrown over him. His
keeper could only trust him when he brought him an orange, and if he
approached the bars of the cage without food, the ape flew at him,
gnashing his teeth. He was sluggish whenever he was not excited by
hunger. Then he started from his usually sitting position, and devoured
the food which was cautiously passed through the door. If kept waiting,
he threw himself on his back in a rage. When his hunger was satisfied,
he played with the straw, the cord, or with his blanket. When it was
necessary to change his straw, he was lured away by holding out an
orange at the top of his pole, and the change was effected while the
ape was tearing open the rind and sucking out its contents. In the
evening he never omitted to clear out a hole in the straw, and to roll
himself in his blanket. Gabriel Max has drawn a striking likeness of
the resigned attitude of a sick orang.
Gibbons have often been observed in a state of captivity. Of the
slothful and inanimate siamang there is nothing of much interest to
report. The other species are, with few exceptions, phlegmatic, shy,
and timid, but hardly ever averse from human society. Within a month
Harlan was able to make a hulock so tame that he would hold on with
one hand to him, while putting the others on the ground, and so walk
about with his keeper. He came to his master’s call, seating himself
close to him on a chair, shared his breakfast, and took an egg or
chicken-bone off the table so neatly as not to soil the cloth. He was
fond of cooked rice, bread soaked in milk, bananas, oranges, coffee,
tea, chocolate, milk, etc. Generally he only dipped his fingers in the
drinking vessels and licked off the liquid, but he could drink in human
fashion. He searched the house for spiders and other creeping things,
and brushed away flying insects with his right hand. The creature was
very affectionate, and when Harlan came to him in the morning, he
greeted him with a joyful sound like a bark, which went on for about
a minute. He came to a call even when at a distance, and was pleased
to be combed, brushed, and fondled. Two other hulocks taken by Harlan
behaved in the same way.
The _Hylobates albimanus_ of the Berlin Aquarium, which I have already
mentioned, was, as described by Hermes, and also according to my own
observations, a very peaceable creature, although, if compelled to do
what he did not like, he sometimes tried to bite a little, especially
when just taken from his warm bed. But as soon as he was taken by the
hand or lifted up, his anger was appeased. Although much less lively
than the chimpanzee which was his companion, and less inclined to play,
he was pleased with children, and watchfully observed their movements.
His dexterity was wonderful. He was almost always present at dinner
and supper, when the table was covered with dishes, and he ran up and
down it, in order to go from one person to another, without touching,
still less upsetting, the smallest article. His food consisted chiefly
of white bread, milk, sweet cocoa, fruit, and Kiel sprats, of which
he was particularly fond, as well as of sweet grapes. Before taking
any liquid, he cautiously touched it with his tongue, to ascertain
that it was not too hot; then he drank it up, without taking the cup
or vessel in his hand, as the chimpanzee did. He did not like cold or
moist food, and would seldom touch a peeled pear, while willing to
eat it from Herme’s hand. Grapes were his favourite dainty, and if
hungry when he saw them, he uttered a gentle noise which resembled
the cry of a wood-pigeon. He often repeated this noise, _Hu_, _Hu_,
to express pleasure, surprise, or curiosity, or when the same sound
was uttered by others; and it was in this way that he greeted Hermes
when he came to his bed in the morning. He was happiest when seated on
a woman’s arm, with his long arms wound round her neck, and would sit
quiet in this position as long as he was permitted to do so, and when
taken away would scream like a child. When Frau Hermes left the room,
he would run after her, and try to scramble up as soon as he reached
her; if she took his hand, he went with her quietly. This gibbon may
be compared favourably with other anthropoids, on account of his
extraordinary cleanliness. He always returned to the place first used
for his necessities, and never made his bed or the room unclean. There
was not a trace of smell about him, so that he was quite an agreeable
companion; and he shared the bed of one of Dr. Hermes’ children without
causing the least disturbance or discomfort. He was fond of swinging to
and fro by a cord, to which he held with one hand.
A specimen of _Hylobates funereus_ was kept in Paris for about a year.
It was very intelligent, yet less so than other anthropoids. It knew
its keepers and frequent visitors, and was pleased to be fondled; but
it showed no preference for one person more than another, not even for
its keeper.
Martin describes how in 1840, in Paris, a live bird was let into the
cage of an _Hylobates agilis_. After watching its flight, the ape swung
himself on to a distant bough, which he seized with one hand and the
bird with the other. Its objects, both the bird and the bough, were
attained with as much certainty as if only one object had arrested its
attention. He bit off the bird’s head, plucked out the feathers, and
then threw it away.
Another female specimen of _Hylobates agilis_ suddenly attacked her
keeper, sprang upon him, scratched him with hands and feet, and bit him
on the breast, so that it was fortunate for the man that the creature
had shortly before lost her canine teeth. It was said that the same ape
had killed a man in Macao.
Anthropoids when kept in confinement suffer from caries of the teeth
and jaws, from chronic and acute bronchial and intestinal catarrhs,
from inflammation and consumption of the lungs, from inflammation of
the liver, from pericardial dropsy, from parasites of the skin and
intestines, etc. When ill, as we learn from many sources, these animals
display much resemblance to men. Among others, Bock observed an aged
male orang-utan in Sumatra, suffering from consumption, which lay
nearly all day wrapped in a coverlet, and was constantly racked by a
violent cough.[125]
On the skulls of wild gorillas and chimpanzees we find traces of caries
of the teeth and jaws, by which, therefore, these animals may be
affected in a state of nature, as well as by parasites on the skin and
intestines.