The monkeys of the Old World, like those of the New, fall into two groups to which the rank of families may perhaps be granted, although the dentition is essentially alike in both. We call the one type Dog-like, the other Man-like, and we may go the length of saying that the former teach us what monkeyhood really is, while the latter rise above it. For the first group especially, my opening remarks hold good. Among them we find monkeys beautiful and ugly, attractive and repulsive, lively and serious, good-natured and malicious. Really misshapen monkeys there are none, for we must admit that even those which appear to us ugly are symmetrical in form. Yet some of them are, in many respects, odd-looking creatures. Their chief external characteristics are, the more or less protruding muzzle, reminding one of a dog’s, the proportionately short arms, the tail, always present though often shortened to a mere stump, the more or less developed ischial callosities, and the cheek-pouches present in most species. The dentition includes the usual number of thirty-two teeth arranged in an unbroken series. They occur in all three continents of the Old World, and are most numerous in Africa.
Their endowments and characteristics place them far above the marmosets and New-World monkeys. They usually walk very well, though some of them hobble along in a comical fashion; they are able, without difficulty, to stand on their legs alone, thus raising themselves to their full height, and in that position they can walk more or less easily. They climb well under all circumstances, though some do so only among trees, others among the rocks; some of them are also excellent swimmers. The climbing of the arboreal species is almost like flight, if I may so speak—for their skill among the branches surpasses all expectation. Leaps of from eight to ten yards are to them quite possible achievements. From the topmost boughs of a tree they leap to a lower one, which is forcibly bent downwards by the shock, from this at the moment of rebound they give themselves a strong impetus, and, stretching tail and hind-legs out behind them to steer their course, shoot like an arrow through the air. The branch of a tree, even if it be covered with the sharpest thorns, is to them a well-made road, a climbing plant is a path or a ladder according to its position. They climb forwards or backwards, on the under or upper side of a branch; in leaping or falling they catch a thin twig with one hand, and remain hanging as long as they please in every imaginable position; then they climb leisurely on the branch, and proceed on their way as coolly as if they were on level ground. If the hand misses the desired twig it is caught by the foot; if it breaks under the sudden shock they catch in falling at a second, a third, and if all break they spring to the ground, no matter the distance, and climb up again by the first available trunk or climbing-plant. Compared with the clinging and creeping of their relatives in the New World theirs appears, and really is, a free, unfettered motion which surmounts all obstacles. The former are blunderers, the latter finished artists; the former slaves of the trees, the latter lords of the branches.
Their voice is as highly developed as their power of movement. Theirs is no chirping or whistling, no whining or howling; on the contrary, they utter many different sounds expressing the mood of the moment, and quite intelligible even to us. Comfort or discomfort, desire or satisfaction, good-will or ill-will, love or hate, indifference or anger, joy or pain, confidence or mistrust, attraction or repugnance, affection or dislike, submissiveness or defiance, but above all any sudden emotion, such as fear or horror, find adequate expression, comparatively limited though the voice may be.[70]
What we may call their mental endowments correspond to their physical powers. It may be well to emphasize that the hand, which among them first attains to full development, gives them a considerable advantage over other animals, and makes some of their actions appear more remarkable than they really are; for instance, it renders them capable of many skilful devices which would be impossible to a dog and to any of those animals which we are wont to reckon among the cleverest of mammals. A high degree of deliberateness must be conceded to them. Their excellent memory treasures up the most various impressions, and their discriminating intelligence makes these a store of experiences, which are turned to good account as opportunity offers. Thus they act with full consciousness of what they are doing, according to circumstances, and not as impotent slaves of a power outside themselves, but with independence, freedom, and variety, cunningly seizing every advantage, and making use of every expedient which they believe will further their end. They distinguish between cause and effect, and attempt to achieve or nullify the latter by applying or removing the former. They not only recognize what benefits or injures them, but they know whether they do right or wrong, judging either from the standard of some loved one, or that of some master.[71] It is not blind chance, but a recognition of what is profitable that regulates and guides their actions, makes them submit to the judgment of the most capable, moves them to live and act together, teaches them to form communities for the weal or woe of the individual, to share joy and sorrow, good fortune and misfortune, safety and danger, plenty and scarcity,—in other words, to form an alliance based on reciprocity—which teaches them to employ powers and means not theirs by inheritance, and, finally, presses into their hands weapons with which Nature did not supply them. Passions of all kinds, it is true, often gain a victory over their circumspection; but these very passions are proof of the liveliness of their sensations, or, what comes to the same thing, of their mental activity. They are as susceptible as children, as irritable as weak-minded men, and thus very sensitive to every kind of treatment they may receive; to love and dislike, to encouraging praise and chilling blame, to pleasant flattery and wounding ridicule, to caresses and chastisement. Nevertheless they are not so easily managed, still less so easily trained to anything, as a dog or any other clever domestic animal, for they are self-willed in a high degree, and almost as conceited as human beings. They learn without difficulty, but only when they wish to, and by no means always when they ought to, for their self-conceit rebels against any submission which they do not see to be to their own advantage. They are quite aware that they are liable to be punished, and may loudly express their disapprobation of the expected chastisement beforehand, yet still refuse to do what is required of them; while, on the other hand, they will execute it willingly and with the liveliest expressions of understanding, when the task happens to suit their humour. Whoever ventures to doubt their self-esteem has only to watch their way of treating other animals. Unless terrified by their strength and dangerousness, they invariably regard other animals as playthings, whether they tease them and play tricks upon them, or fondle them and load them with caresses.
Some examples, for which I myself can vouch, or which I know to be thoroughly authentic, may strengthen the assertions I have just made.
As I was travelling in Bogosland, on my first ride into the mountains I fell in with a large band of the Hamadryas baboons, referred to by Sheikh Kemal el Din Demiri in his narrative. Drying their streaming hair in the sunshine, they sat picturesquely grouped on the highest points of a cliff, and, on being greeted with rifle bullets, they beat an organized retreat and fled. Continuing my journey through the narrow, winding, rocky valley of the Mensa, I came upon them some time later, this time in the valley itself, just as they were preparing to ascend the rocky wall of the other side to seek safety from such annoying disturbances. A considerable number had already crossed the valley; the majority were in the act of crossing. Our dogs, beautiful, slender greyhounds, accustomed to fight successfully with hyænas and other beasts of prey, rushed towards the baboons, which, from a distance, looked more like beasts of prey than monkeys, and drove them hastily up the precipices to right and left. But only the females took to flight; the males, on the other hand, turned to face the dogs, growled, beat the ground fiercely with their hands, opened their mouths wide and showed their glittering teeth, and looked at their adversaries so furiously and maliciously that the hounds, usually bold and battle-hardened, shrank back discomfited, and almost timidly sought safety beside us. Before we had succeeded in stirring them up to show fight, the position of the monkeys had changed considerably, and when the dogs charged a second time nearly all the herd were in safety. But one little monkey about half a year old had been left behind. It shrieked loudly as the dogs rushed towards it, but succeeded in gaining the top of a rock before they had arrived. Our dogs placed themselves cleverly, so as to cut off its retreat, and we hoped that we might be able to catch it. But that was not to be. Proudly and with dignity, without hurrying in the least, or paying any heed to us, an old male stepped down from the security of the rocks towards the hard-pressed little one, walked towards the dogs without betraying the slightest fear, held them in check with glances, gestures, and quite intelligible sounds, slowly climbed the rock, picked up the baby-monkey, and retreated with it, before we could reach the spot, and without the visibly disconcerted dogs making the slightest attempt to prevent him. While the patriarch of the troop performed this brave and self-sacrificing deed, the other members, densely crowded on the cliff, uttered sounds which I had never before heard from baboons. Old and young, males and females, roared, screeched, snarled, and bellowed all together, so that one would have thought they were struggling with leopards or other dangerous beasts. I learned later that this was the monkeys’ battle-cry: it was intended obviously to intimidate us and the dogs, possibly also to encourage the brave old giant, who was running into such evident danger before their eyes.[72]
Fig. 45.—Old Baboon Rescuing Young One.
A few days later I learned by experience that these self-reliant animals are a match even for men. On our return from the Bogosland, we fell in with a large herd, possibly the same one, and we opened fire upon them from the valley with seven double rifles. Our shots had an indescribable effect. The same battle-cry which I had heard before rang out again, and, as if at the command of a general, they prepared for resistance. While the screaming females with the young ones fled in all haste over the crest of the rock beyond range of our guns, the adult males, casting furious glances, beating the ground with their hands, and barking rather than roaring, sprang upon projecting stones and ledges, looked down on the valley for a few moments, continually growling, snarling, or screaming, and then began to roll stones down upon us with so much vigour and adroitness that we immediately saw that our lives were in danger and took to flight. If it had not been possible for us to clamber up the opposite wall of the narrow valley, and so to escape the monkeys’ fire, we should have been utterly routed. The clever animals not only conducted their defence on a definite plan, but they acted in co-operation, striving for a common end, and exerting all their united strength to attain it. One of our number saw one monkey drag his stone up a tree that he might hurl it down with more effect; I myself saw two combining their strength to set a heavy stone a-rolling.
No animals but the higher apes adopt such means of defence, and no other male animal runs into danger to rescue a helpless young one of his species. Such traits must not be ignored, and cannot be misinterpreted, for they speak for themselves better and more loudly than all the sophistical analysis which refuses to admit that animals have intelligence and the power of spontaneous action.