THE DEATH OF AARON AND ELISHEBA
At the end of forty-two long days at sea we arrived at Liverpool. It
was near the end of autumn. The weather was cold and foggy. Elisheba
was failing in health, as I feared she would do in coming from the
warm, humid climate along the equator, and, at the same time, having to
undergo a change of food.
On arriving at the end of our long and arduous voyage, I secured
quarters for them, and quickly had them stowed away in a warm, sunny
cage. Elisheba began to recover from the fatigue and worry of the
journey, and for a time was more cheerful than she had been since I had
known her. Her appetite returned, the symptoms of fever passed away,
and she seemed benefited by the voyage rather than injured. Aaron was
in the best of health, and had shown no signs of any evil results from
the trip.
On reaching the landing-stage in Liverpool, some friends who met us
there expressed a desire to see them, and I opened their cage in the
waiting-room for that purpose. When they beheld the throng of huge
figures with white faces, long skirts and big coats, they were almost
frantic with fear. They had never before seen anything like it, and
they crouched back in the corner of the cage, clinging to each other
and screaming in terror.
When they saw me standing by them they rushed to me, seized me by the
legs, and climbed up to my arms. Finding they were safe here, they
stared for a moment, as if amazed at the crowd, and then Elisheba
buried her face under my chin, and refused to look at any one. They
were both trembling with fright, and I could scarcely get them into
their cage again; but after they were installed in their quarters with
Dr. Cross, they became reconciled to the sight of strangers in such
costumes.
In their own country they had never seen anything like this, for the
natives to whom they were accustomed wear no clothing as a rule, except
a small piece of cloth tied round the waist, and the few white men
they had seen were mostly dressed in white; but here was a great crowd
in skirts and overcoats, and I have no doubt that to them it was a
startling sight for the first time.
During the first two weeks after arriving at this place, Elisheba
improved in health and temper until she was not like the same creature;
but about that time she contracted a severe cold. A deep, dry cough,
attended by pains in the chest and sides, together with a piping
hoarseness, betrayed the nature of her disease, and gave just cause for
apprehension.
During frequent paroxysms of coughing she pressed her hands upon
her breast or side to arrest the shock, and thus lessen the pain it
caused. When quiet, she sat holding her hands on her throat, her head
bowed down, and her eyes drooping or closed. Day by day the serpent of
disease drew his deadly coils closer and closer about her wasting form,
but she bore it with a patience worthy of a human being.
The sympathy and forbearance of Aaron were again called into action,
and the demand was not in vain. Hour after hour he sat with her locked
in his arms, as he is seen in the portrait given herewith. He was not
posing for a picture, nor was he aware how deeply his manners touched
the human heart. Even the brawny men who work about the place paused to
watch him in his tender offices to her, and his staid keeper was moved
to pity by his kindness and his patience.
For days she lingered on the verge of death. She became too feeble to
sit up, but as she lay on her bed of straw, he sat by her side, resting
his folded arms upon her, and refusing to allow any one to touch her.
His look of deep concern showed that he felt the gravity of her case,
in a degree that bordered on grief. He was grave and silent, as if he
foresaw the sad end that was near at hand. My frequent visits were a
source of comfort to him, and he evinced a pleasure in my coming that
bespoke his confidence in me and faith in my ability to relieve his
suffering companion; but, alas! she was beyond the aid of human skill.
On the morning of her decease, I found him sitting by her as usual.
At my approach he quietly rose to his feet, and advanced to the front
of the cage. Opening the door, I put my arm in and caressed him. He
looked into my face, and then at the prostrate form of his mate. The
last dim sparks of life were not yet gone out, as the slight motion of
the breast betrayed, but the limbs were cold and limp. While I leaned
over to examine more closely, he crouched down by her side and watched
with deep concern to see the result. I laid my hand upon her heart to
ascertain if the last hope was gone; he looked at me, and then placed
his own hand by the side of mine, and held it there as if he knew the
purport of the act.
Of course, to him this had no real meaning, but it was an index to the
desire which prompted it. He seemed to think that anything that I did
would be good for her, and his purpose, doubtless, was to aid me. When
I removed my hand, he removed his; when I returned mine, he did the
same; and to the last gave evidence of his faith in my friendship and
good intentions. His ready approval of anything I did showed that he
had a vague idea of my purpose.
At length the breast grew still and the feeble beating of the heart
ceased. The lips were parted and the dim eyes were half-way closed,
but he sat by as if she were asleep. The sturdy keeper came to remove
the body from the cage; but Aaron clung to it, and refused to allow
him to touch it. I took the little mourner in my arms, but he watched
the keeper jealously, and did not want him to remove or disturb the
body. It was laid on a bunch of straw in front of the cage and he
was returned to his place, but he clung to me so firmly that it was
difficult to release his hold. He cried in a piteous tone, fretted and
worried, as if he fully realised the worst. The body was then removed
from view, but poor little Aaron was not consoled. How I pitied him!
How I wished that he was again in his native land, where he might find
friends of his own race!
After this, he grew more attached to me than ever, and when I went to
visit him he was happy and cheerful in my presence; but the keeper said
that while I was away he was often gloomy and morose. As long as he
could see me or hear my voice, he would fret and cry for me to come to
him. When I would leave him, he would scream as long as he had any hope
of inducing me to return.
A few days after the death of Elisheba, the keeper put a young monkey
in the cage with him for company. This gave him some relief from the
monotony of his own society, but never quite filled the place of the
lost one. With this little friend, however, he amused himself in many
ways. He nursed it so zealously and hugged it so tightly that the poor
little monkey was often glad to escape from him in order to have a
rest. But the task of catching it again afforded him almost as much
pleasure as he found in nursing it.
Thus he passed his time for a few weeks, when he was seized by a sudden
cold, which in a few days developed into an acute type of pneumonia.
I was in London at the time and was not aware of this, but, feeling
anxious about him, I wrote to Dr. Cross, in whose care he was left,
and received a note in reply, stating that Aaron was very ill, and not
expected to live. I prepared to go to visit him the next day, but just
before I left the hotel I received a telegram stating that he was dead.
The news contained in the letter was a greater shock to me than that in
the telegram, for which, in part, the former had prepared me; but no
one can imagine how deeply these evil tidings affected me. I could not
bring myself to a full sense of the fact. I was unwilling to believe
that I was thus deprived of my devoted friend. I could not realise that
fate would be so cruel to me; but, alas! it was true.
Not being present during his short illness or at the time of his death,
I cannot relate any of the scenes attending them; but the kind old
keeper who attended him declares that he never became reconciled to the
death of Elisheba, and that his loneliness preyed upon him almost as
much as the disease.
When I looked upon his cold, lifeless body, I felt that I was indeed
bereft of one of the dearest and one of the most loyal pets that any
mortal had ever known. His fidelity to me had been shown in a hundred
ways, and his affections had never wavered. How could any one requite
such integrity with anything unkind?
To those who possess the higher instincts of humanity, it will not be
thought absurd in me to confess that the conduct of these creatures
awoke in me a feeling more exalted than a mere sense of kindness. It
touched some chord of nature that yields a richer tone; but only those
who have known such pets as I have known them can feel towards them as
I have felt.
I have no desire to bias the calm judgment or bribe the sentiment of
him who scorns the love of nature, by clothing these humble creatures
in the garb of human dignity; but to him who is not so imbued with
self-conceit as to be blind to all evidence and deaf to all reason, it
must appear that they are gifted with like faculties and passions to
those of man; differing in degree, but not in kind.
Moved by such conviction, who could fail to pity that poor, lone
captive, in his iron cell, far from his native land, slowly dying? It
may be a mere freak of sentiment that I regret not being with him to
soothe and comfort his last hours, but I do regret it deeply. He had
the right to expect it of me, as a duty.
Poor little Aaron! In the brief span of half a year he had seen his own
mother die at the hands of the cruel hunters; he had been seized and
sold into captivity; he had seen the lingering torch of life go out of
the frail body of Moses; he had watched the demon of death bind his
cold shackles on Elisheba; and now he had, himself, passed through the
deep shadows of that ordeal.
What a sad and vast experience for one short year! He had shared with
me the toils and dangers of the sea and land over many a weary mile. He
seemed to feel that the death of his two friends was a common loss to
us; and if there is any one thing which more than another knits the web
of sympathy about two alien hearts, it is the experience of a common
grief.
Thus ended the career of my _kulu-kamba_ friend, the last of my
chimpanzee pets. In him were centred many cherished hopes, but they did
not perish with him, for I shall some day find another one of his kind
in whom I may realise all that I had hoped for in him; but I cannot
expect to find a specimen of superior qualities, for he was certainly
one of the jolliest and one of the wisest of his race.
However fine and intelligent his successor may be, he can never
supplant either Moses or Aaron in my affections: for these two little
heroes shared with me so many of the sad vicissitudes of time and
fortune that I should be an ingrate to forget them or allow the deeds
of others to dim the glory of their memory.
I have all of them preserved, and when I look at them the past comes
back to me, and I recall so vividly the scenes in which they played the
leading _rôles_--it is like a panorama of their lives.