BRIGHT LITTLE CEBIDAE.
Next to man, in descending the scale of animal life, come the Quadrumana, or Four-handed Animals. They are represented by the Apes, Baboons, Monkeys and Lemurs. Excepting the last, and a few other species, these animals are not very pleasing in aspect or habits, some of them, the larger apes and baboons, being positively disgusting. The air of grotesque humanity that characterizes them is horribly suggestive of human idiocy, and we approach an imprisoned gorilla or baboon with much the same repugnance that we do a debased and brutal maniac. This aversion seems not to be produced so much by the resemblance that the ape bears to man, as by the horror felt lest man should degenerate to the condition, character and physiognomy of the ape. But to the naturalist, who sees wonder or beauty in all things animate, these creatures are no less pleasing than others that are not so repugnant.
Were we to take a survey of the varied forms which the Quadrumana of the Old World assume, we would find that the forms would show such diversification that there would hardly seem scope for further modifications. Yet the prolific power of nature is so inexhaustible, that the depth of our researches would only bring to light objects of such infinite variety of form as to overwhelm the mind with surprise and admiration. Thus it would be found to be with the Cebidæ, or American Monkeys. While they would be shown to possess the chief characteristics of the monkey nature, thus establishing their close relationship with the Old World monkeys, yet they would be seen to exhibit the strangest modification of details. Their four hand-like paws, and other quadrumanous peculiarities, would indicate their status in the animal kingdom, while sundry differences of conformation would show that they were intended to live under conditions that would ill suit their relatives on the other side of the globe. Curious it is to observe how the same idea of animal life is repeated in various lands and climates, even though seas, impassable to creatures unaided by the light of civilized reason, intervene. So we have the Simiadæ of Asia and Africa represented by the Cebidæ of America. Nor is this wonderful idea restricted exclusively to the man-like animals. The lion, tiger and other feline races of the Eastern Continent find Western representatives in the puma and jaguar, and the same circumstance may be observed of nearly all the mammalia, the birds, the reptiles, the fishes, and, in short, through the entire animal kingdom.
But of all the monkeys of the New World, and they are numbered by hundreds included in several genera and species, there are none that deserve more consideration than the Capuchin Monkeys. They are active, little animals, lively and playful. So similar are all the species in general habits, that a description of one will equally serve for any other. Their youthfulness and sportive manners make them very desirable companions, and hence we frequently find them domesticated by the native Indians and European settlers. Like other small monkeys, the Capuchin often strikes up a friendship for other animals that may happen to live in or near its home, the cat being one of the most favored of its allies. It is sometimes the case this familiarity is carried so far that the cat is turned into a horse by the monkey, who, seated upon her back, perambulates the premises. More unpromising subjects, we are told, have been pressed into similar service. Humboldt cites the case of one that was accustomed to catch a pig every morning, and, mounted upon its back, was known to retain its seat during the entire day. Even when the pig was feeding in the savannas its rider remained firm, and bestrode the animal with as much pertinacity as one skilled in equestrianism would the most rampant steed.
No little difficulty is experienced in settling the species of the Capuchins, for their fur is rather variable in tint, and some individuals differing so greatly as to cause them to look like another species. The general color of the Capuchin—Cebus apella—is a golden olive, a white fur bordering the face in some, though not in all individuals. Cebus fatuellus, commonly called the Horned Sapajou or Capuchin, is much more conspicuous than the last, as the erect fringe of hair that projects so prominently from the forehead indicates it at once: hence from the front, the hair assumes the appearance of two tufts or horns, from which peculiarity the animal derives its name. These horns are not completely developed until the monkey has attained maturity. There is also a manifest difference in color of hair, the Sapajou having a constant tinge of red in its fur. It is usually of a deep brown color, but in some individuals there is a marked resemblance to that peculiar purple-black which is obtainable by diluting common black ink with water, while in others the ruddy hue is so pronounced as to impart a chestnut tint to the animal’s hair. The fringed crest is tipped with gray.
Perhaps no more interesting form of the Capuchins exists than the Weeper Monkey, or Sai, or, as it is called in the books, Cebus capucinus. As in the case of the two preceding species, it is an inhabitant of Venezuela and Brazil, and as lively as any of its congeners. Like its brethren, its tail is invested with a dense growth of hair, but this does not interfere with its prehensile powers. The Sai is possessed of a large amount of intelligence, and its quaint little ways make it a great favorite with those who delight to watch its quick and agile movements. While things of a vegetable character constitute the chief part of its food, yet it manifests a fondness for various kinds of insects, and is sometimes known to ascend to higher prey, for it has been observed to feed upon birds, which it devours with avidity, not even waiting to pluck off the feathers. Eggs are also thought to form a no inconsiderable part of this Capuchin’s diet.
Some few years ago, Prof. Cope had in his possession a tame Sai, which was kept in a cage, or, rather, was supposed to be kept in it, for the animal had a strong aversion to confinement, and was sure to break loose therefrom sooner or later. When in durance vile, and wishing to break prison, he always directed his attention to the hinges, and no matter how firmly they were fixed, he was sure before long to extract the staples, pull out the nails, and so open the door at the hinges, and not at the latch.
Finding that the cage could not hold him, his master had him confined by a strap fastened around the waist, after the fashion of monkeys. The strap, however, proved to be of no more use than the cage, for the crafty animal soon contrived to open it, and this he did by ingeniously picking out the threads by which the strap was sewn to the buckle, and so rendering the fastenings useless.
Again he was confined to the cage and carefully watched. Having rid himself of the strap, he began to consider how he might apply it to some useful purpose. So, having perceived that some food had fallen beyond his reach, he took one end of the strap in his paw, flung the other over the morsel of food, and so drew it toward him. In this feat he displayed great accuracy of aim, seldom missing the object which he desired. Once or twice, when he had to make a longer throw than usual, he loosened his hold of the strap. The first time that this happened, some one handed him the poker. He took it, drew the strap toward him, and resumed its use as before.
No intelligent person can deny that these acts were prompted by reason. So far from even being aided by instinct, the animal was certainly acting in direct opposition to it. The instinct of an animal when confined or tethered in any way is to break loose by main strength, and the instinct of the monkey would have impelled him to force his way through the bars of the cage or to strain at the strap until he had broken it in two. But it was his reason that taught him to look for the weak part in both cage and strap, and, having found it, to devote his energies to that part until he had succeeded in his object.
JACK AT DINNER.
Showing His Use of Table Implements.
Was it possible for instinct to teach him that the hinges were the weak part of his cage, and that, if he could only remove the staples or nails, the door would open and he would be free? Could instinct teach him that the stitches of the strap-buckle were to the strap what the staples and nails were to the hinges, and that if he could but pick out the threads, the fastenings of the strap would be rendered of no effect? Neither could instinct teach him to use the strap after the manner of a lasso, nor to employ the poker in regaining his lost weapon.
Not only did he thus show his ability to deal with the obstacles that stood in the way of his freedom, and without even the slightest suggestion from the mind of his master, but he also gave evidence that he had the capacity to profit by many of the civilities by which he found himself surrounded in the life in which he was placed. Monkeys are remarkable for their power of imitation, and Jack, as this Capuchin was called, proved himself to be no ordinary fellow in this respect. He had seen his master eat out of a dish, using knife, fork and spoon when occasion demanded, and nothing would do but an abandonment of his old habits—the using of his fingers, which his ancestors were wont to do—and the assumption of civilized practices. In time he became quite skilful in the use of these table implements and showed greater dexterity in handling them than many a man has shown. Accustomed to their use, he would never have things any other way. The writer has repeatedly been present when he was taking his meals. Seated upon the ground, his head and body slightly bent forward, with his plate of food before him, the ground serving him as a table, Jack would help himself in a quiet, cool and deliberate manner, all the while evincing in movement and look an air of the most consequential importance. To say that he was proud of the success which he had achieved in the correct use of table implements but tamely expresses the feeling which would dominate his bosom at such times. No human individual who had accomplished some wonderful discovery or striking feat at arms that had caused the earth to resound with his praises, could have felt more of the emotion than Jack. Indeed, it was a remarkable feat for Jack, and he had a right to feel vain over its accomplishment. All the while he was eating he would chatter in his uncouth guttural tongue, as though he had learned, like his human brethren, that conversation gave relish to a meal and was a powerful aid to digestion.
While Jack was a very useful fellow to have about, especially where cats without owners abounded, for he was a terror upon these feline nuisances, yet he had a few faults which detracted very much from his otherwise good character. Like some boys, he was addicted to the habit of throwing stones, but I am more than half disposed to believe that this was an acquired propensity, which he had learned by seeing his master engaged in a similar diversion, or perhaps, which is not at all unlikely, he had been trained to such exercise and pastime by his master. Well, he could throw stones with considerable force, and with as much precision as any well-trained lad of fourteen summers could do. Let the master but give him a stone, and say, “Now, Jack, hit that fellow,” and Jack needed no second telling. Throwing his right arm back, just as a boy would do, in order to give the necessary impetus to the missile, he would send the stone flying in the right direction. It required no little skill and celerity of movement to dodge the projectile, as the writer had more than once learned by painful experience, for Jack’s wonderful and well-directed aim seldom went astray of its purpose.
Towards his master Jack showed great deference and attention, and was ever ready to obey his slightest wish. No one’s society he enjoyed better. It was always a pleasure to be near him, but strangers he seemed to despise and treat as enemies. He would always eye them with a suspicious look, and could never tolerate their presence for any considerable length of time without giving vent to his annoyance by the most angry vociferations and hideous grimaces. Should this not have the effect of causing them to retire, he would emphasize his objection to their presence by pelting them with stones and such other missiles as were convenient to hand. That he had a considerable affection for his master, and respected him, no stronger evidence could be given than what has already been adduced.
After all that has been said concerning Jack, yet the world is full of people, educated and intelligent as they consider themselves to be, who cannot see that this bit of flesh and spirit has been endowed by the same wise Creator with the same traits of character, but differing in degree, that they themselves possess. Going back to the ingenuity which Jack displayed in the cases of the cage and the strap referred to, it may be said to his credit that even Baron Trench himself could not have shown greater skill in the discovery of the weak parts of his prison and bonds than did this so-called brute, nor could he have exhibited more patience and perseverance in working at them. Indeed, there are many human beings that would not have been half so sensible as Jack, but still we must believe that such high intelligence, comparatively speaking, must inevitably perish with the body, through which as a vehicle it was made to manifest itself. All intelligence is an emanation from the Divine Intelligence, and, when the life has gone out of the body from which it was made to shine forth, then it, instead of perishing with the material, returns to the Source of all intelligence, not to be re-absorbed, but, as I think, to continue as a separate intelligence, drawing its life and light from the great Central Head, like as the planets derive theirs from the centre of our material universe—the Sun.