CHAPTER III
Monkey Friends—Jokes—The Sound of Alarm—Jennie
A few years ago there lived in Charleston, S. C., a fine specimen of the brown Cebus. His name is Jokes. He was naturally shy of strangers, but on my first visit to him I addressed him in his native tongue, and he seemed to regard me very kindly. He ate from my hand and allowed me to handle and caress him. He watched me with evident curiosity, and invariably responded to the sound that I uttered in his own language. On one occasion I tried the effect of the peculiar sound of “alarm” or “assault” which I had learned from one of his species. It cannot be spelled or represented by letters. While he was eating from my hand I gave the peculiar, piercing note. He instantly sprang to a perch in the top of the cage, thence almost wild with fear he ran in and out of his sleeping apartment. As the sound was repeated his fears increased. No amount of coaxing would induce him to return to me or to accept from me any overtures of peace. I retired to the distance of a few feet from his cage, and his master finally induced him to descend from the perch; but he did so with great reluctance. I again gave the sound from where I stood, and it produced a similar result. The monkey gave out a singular sound in response to my efforts to appease him, but he refused to become reconciled.
After the lapse of eight or ten days I had not been able to reinstate myself in his good graces or to induce him to accept anything from me. At this juncture I resorted to harsher means of bringing him to terms; I threatened him with a rod. At first he resented this; but at length he yielded, and merely through fear he came down from his perch. When finally induced to approach, he placed the side of his head on the floor, put out his tongue, and uttered a plaintive sound having a slightly interrogative inflection. At first this act quite defied interpretation; but during the same period I was visiting a little monkey called Jack, and in him I found a clue to the meaning of this conduct. For strangers, Jack and I were very good friends. He allowed me many liberties, which the family assured me he had uniformly refused to others. On a certain visit to him he displayed his temper and made an attack upon me, because I refused to let go a saucer from which he was drinking milk. I jerked him up by the chain and slapped him; whereupon he instantly laid the side of his head on the floor, put out his tongue, and made just such a sound as Jokes had made on the occasion mentioned. It occurred to me that it was a sign of surrender. Subsequent tests confirmed this opinion.
Mrs. M. French Sheldon, in her journey through East Africa, shot a small monkey in a forest near Lake Charla. She graphically describes how the little fellow stood high up in the bough of a tree and chattered to her in a clear, musical voice until at the discharge of her gun he fell mortally wounded. When he was laid dying at her feet, he turned his bright little eyes pleadingly upon her as if to ask for pity. Touched by his appeal, she took the little creature in her arms and tried to soothe him. Again and again he touched his tongue to her hand as if kissing it, and seemed to wish in the hour of death to be caressed by the hand that had taken from him without reward that sweet life which could be of no value except it were spared to the wild forest where his kindred live. From her description of the actions of that monkey, his conduct was identical with that of the Cebus, and may justly be interpreted to mean “Pity me!” or “Spare me!” A Scotch naturalist, commenting on my description of this act and its interpretation, quite agrees with me, and states that he has observed the same thing in other species of monkeys.
During a period of many weeks I visited Jokes almost daily; but after the lapse of more than two months I had not won him back nor quieted his suspicions against me. On my approach he usually manifested fear and went through the act of humiliation above described.
Observing that he entertained an intense hatred for a negro boy who teased and vexed him, I had the boy come near the cage. Jokes fairly raved with anger. I took a stick and pretended to beat the boy. This greatly delighted Jokes. I held the boy near enough to the cage to allow the monkey to scratch and pull his clothes. This filled his little simian soul with joy. Releasing the boy, I drove him away by throwing wads of paper at him. This gave Jokes infinite pleasure. I repeated this a number of times, and by such means we again became good friends. After each encounter with the boy, Jokes came to the bars, touched my hand with his tongue, chattered, played with my fingers, and showed every sign of confidence and friendship. He always warned me of the approach of any one, and his conduct at such times was largely governed by my own. After this he never failed to salute me with the proper sound.
During this time I paid a few visits to another little monkey of the same species. Her name was Jennie. Her master had warned me in advance that she was not well disposed towards strangers. At my request he had her chained in a small side yard, which he forbade any of the family entering. On approaching the little lady for the first time, I gave her the usual salutation, which she responded to and seemed to understand. I sat down by her side and fed her from my hands. She viewed me with evident interest and curiosity. I studied her with equal interest. During the process of this mutual investigation a negro girl, who lived with the family, stealthily entered the yard and came up within a few feet of us. I determined to sacrifice this girl upon the altar of science. Placing her between the monkey and myself, I vigorously sounded the “alarm” or “warning.” Jennie flew into a fury. I continued to sound the alarm and at the same time pretended to attack the girl with a club and some paper wads. The purpose was to make the monkey believe that the girl had uttered the alarm and made the assault. With a great display of violence I drove the girl from the yard. For days afterward she could not feed or approach the little simian. This further confirmed the opinion as to the meaning of this sound. This sound can be fairly imitated by placing the back of the hand gently on the mouth and kissing it with great force, prolonging the sound. This imitation, however, is indifferent, but the quality of the sound is especially noticeable when analyzed on the phonograph. The pitch corresponds to the highest “F” sharp on a piano, while the word “drink” is about two octaves lower, and the word “food” is nearly three.
On one occasion I visited the Zoölogical Garden in Cincinnati, where I found in a cage a small Capuchin to whom I gave the name Banquo. It was near night and the visitors had left the house. The little monkey, worried out by the annoyance of visitors, sat quietly in the back of his cage, as though glad that another day was done. I approached the cage and uttered the sound which I have translated “drink.” The first effort caught his attention and caused him to turn and look at me. He rose and answered with the same word. He then came to the front of the cage and looked at me as if in doubt. I repeated the word. He again responded, and turned to a small pan in the cage. He took it up and placed it near the door through which the keeper passed food to him. He then turned to me and again uttered the word. I asked the keeper for some milk; but he brought me some water instead. The efforts of the little simian to secure the glass were very earnest, and his pleading manner and tone gave evidence of his thirst. I allowed him to dip his hand into the glass and lick the water from his fingers. When the glass was kept out of the reach of his hand he repeated the sound and looked beseechingly at me as if to say: “Please give me more.” This caused me to suspect that the word which I had translated “milk” also meant “water.” From this and other tests I finally determined that it meant “drink” in a broad sense and possibly also meant “thirst.” It evidently expressed his desire for something with which to allay his thirst. The sound is very difficult to imitate and quite impossible to write, but an idea of it is given elsewhere.
On one of my visits to the Chicago Garden I stood with my side to a cage containing a small Capuchin. I uttered the sound which had been translated “milk.” It caused him to turn and look at me, and on my repeating the sound a few times he answered very distinctly, using the same sound. Picking up the pan from which he usually drank, he brought it to the front of the cage, set it down, came up to the bars, and distinctly uttered the word. He had not been shown any milk or other kind of food. The man in charge then brought some milk, which I gave to the monkey, who drank it with great delight. I again held up his pan and repeated the sound. He used the same sound each time when he wanted milk. During this visit I tried many experiments with the word which I am now convinced means “food” or “hunger.” I was led to the belief that he used the same word for apple, carrot, bread, and banana. Later experiments, however, have caused me to modify this view, because the phonograph shows slight variations of the sound, and it is probable that these faint inflections may indicate different kinds of food. They usually recognize this sound, even when poorly imitated. In this word may be found a clue to the great secret of speech. And while I have taken but one short step toward its solution, these facts point out the way that leads to it.