From North Pole to Equator: Studies of Wild Life and Scenes in Many Lands

by Alfred Edmund Brehm

That the dog-like monkeys recognize and distinguish between cause and effect can be certified by every unprejudiced observer. They open doors and windows, drawers, cupboards, and boxes, untie knots, and overcome other obstacles when they have once seen how to set about it; but they also invent means to attain similar ends. A female baboon, which I brought up in my family, got hold of a kitten with the intention of making a pet of it and mothering it, but was scratched by the terrified bundling. The monkey carefully examined the kitten’s paws, pressed the claws forward, looked at them from above, from beneath, and from the side, and then bit them off to secure herself against further scratches. My brother and I used to startle the same baboon by pouring a little heap of powder on the ground in front of her, and setting it alight by means of a piece of burning tinder. The sudden blazing up of the powder gave our baboon such a fright every time that she screamed loudly and sprang back as far as her tether would allow. After this trick had been played upon her several times in succession, she protected herself from further annoyance by beating the glowing tinder with her hand till the spark was extinguished, and then eating up the powder. In another case she conjured up fear and horror for herself. Like all monkeys without exception, she regarded creeping things, and above all snakes, with a boundless horror which was most amusing. We often teased her by putting a snake, live, dead, or stuffed, into a broad tin box, which was handed to her closed. After a time she knew the box and its contents perfectly, but her curiosity always mastered her, and she opened it every time, to run away screaming directly afterwards.

Not content with recognizing causes really present, this monkey, when she suffered any annoyance, sought for probable ones. Something or someone must bear the blame of her discomfort. Thus her anger was directed against the first person who came in sight. If she was chastised, she was not angry with her master and keeper, but with anyone else who was present during her punishment; such a one must have been the cause of the harsh treatment she received from her usually kind master. She had thus exactly the same suspicions as small-minded human beings are apt to have in like circumstances.

Notwithstanding her own extreme sensitiveness to any punishment, even if only threatened, and also to quizzing and teasing, the baboon in question could never refrain from tormenting, annoying, and even ill-treating other animals. Our crabbed old badger-dog was lying comfortably in the sun enjoying his mid-day nap. The baboon saw this, slipped quietly up to him, looked with a sly twinkle of her little eyes into the dog’s face to make sure that he was really asleep, then suddenly seized the sleeper’s tail and brought him back with a violent pull from dreamland to reality. The dog angrily rushed at the disturber of his peace to avenge the insult. But the monkey escaped the threatened punishment with a single leap over the advancing dog, and in the next instant she had seized the tail and repeated the outrage, obviously enjoying the powerlessness of her furious opponent, until the latter, almost beside himself with anger and excitement, unable even to bark, but gasping and foaming, tucked his tail between his legs and fled, leaving the enemy in possession of the field. If the baboon could have laughed, the parallel between her behaviour and that of a mischievous boy would have been complete. As it was, the scorn and ridicule with which the vanquished dog was overwhelmed were intelligible enough. The baboon herself took teasing very ill, would even become furious if laughed at by an unprivileged person, and never omitted to take her revenge on the first opportunity, even if that should not occur for weeks. But then she was a monkey, and felt herself such, therefore regarded a dog as a creature of a lower order, her insolence towards which was as pardonable as that of every other creature towards herself was reprehensible and worthy of punishment.

Of this self-esteem, or rather over-esteem, the dog-like monkeys give daily proofs to every careful observer. The baboon in question, like all monkeys, was exceedingly fond of pets, and in particular of a long-tailed monkey which shared her cage, and could be trusted even out of the cage with it, because it was always by the baboon’s side as if under a charm. It slept in her arms, and obeyed her slavishly. The baboon expected such obedience and took it as a matter of course; but she demanded the most absolute subjection at meal-times. While the good-natured and obedient long-tailed monkey unresistingly allowed its foster-mother to pick out all the titbits, the latter only left for the little one what was absolutely necessary, and if it did succeed in storing something in its pouches, simply opened these again and appropriated the contents to her own use.

Unbounded as is the arrogance and self-esteem of the dog-like monkeys, they are thoroughly well aware when they have done wrong, that is, have done something deserving of punishment. Schomburgk gives a most instructive example of this. In the Zoological division of the Botanic Gardens at Adelaide an old sacred macaque lived in a cage with two younger members of the same species, over whom, as a matter of course, he ruled despotically. One day, irritated by something or other, he attacked his keeper and wounded him dangerously by biting through an artery on the wrist. For this Schomburgk condemned him to death, and commissioned another keeper to carry out the sentence by shooting him. The monkeys were quite accustomed to fire-arms, which were often used in the gardens for killing injurious animals, and though they knew their effect they were not disquieted in the least when these were brought into their immediate neighbourhood. The day after the misconduct of the old tyrant the two young monkeys remained quietly at the food-trough on the appearance of the keeper intrusted with the execution of their comrade, but the criminal himself fled with the utmost haste into his sleeping cage, and no amount of coaxing could entice him out of it. An attempt was made to lure him forth by setting down food; but he did what he had never done before, saw his two subjects eat up the dainty fare and did not venture to take part in the meal. Not till the suspected keeper had retired did he venture to creep forth, seize a few crumbs, and retire in fear and trembling to his hiding-place again. At length he was persuaded to come out a second time, and the door of his retreat was closed. When he saw the keeper with his weapon approaching, he knew that he was lost. Frantically he threw himself on the door of his sleeping cage to open it if possible, and not succeeding he rushed through the whole cage examining every corner and space in the hope of finding a means of escape; at last, seeing that there was no possibility of flight, he threw himself despairingly on the ground and surrendered himself, his whole body trembling and shuddering, to the fate which overtook him a moment later.

Fig. 46.—Macaque or Bonnet-monkey (Macacus sinicus) and Snake.

It must be admitted that no mammal of any other order, not even the dog, who has associated with us, and been educated, and, strictly speaking, formed by us for thousands of years, acts in the manner described, or exhibits such a high degree of intelligence. And yet a wide gulf lies between the dog-like monkeys and the anthropoid apes, of which I have said that they rise even above the average of monkeyhood.

By the anthropoid apes we understand those which in their structure most resemble man, but are externally distinguished from him by the very prominent canine teeth, the relatively long arms and short legs, the structure of the hand, the ischial callosities present in some species, and the hairy covering of the body. They inhabit the tropical countries of Asia and Africa (the former being richer in species), and they are divided into three families, of which one is confined to Africa. Each of these families embraces only a few species, but probably we do not know nearly all of them as yet.

The structure of the anthropoid apes points to an arboreal life; they are most excellent climbers, though by no means slaves to the tree any more than the langurs, long-tailed monkeys, and macaques. Their movements, however, both among the branches and on the ground, are quite different from those of all other monkeys. In climbing up a tree, particularly a smooth trunk without branches, they take the same position as a man would do, but, thanks to their long arms and short legs, they make much more rapid progress than the most expert human climber; and when they have reached the branches they put every gymnast to shame by the variety and security of their movements. With outstretched arms they seize one branch, with the feet they clasp a parallel one, about half their height lower down, and, using the upper branch as a rail, they walk along the lower one so quickly, though without the least sign of effort, that a man walking underneath must exert himself vigorously to keep pace with them. On reaching the end of the branch, they seize any available bough or twig of the next tree and proceed on their way in the same manner, with undiminished speed, yet without hurry. In ascending they seize hold of any branch strong enough to bear their weight, and swing themselves upwards with equal ease whether they are holding the branch with both hands or only with one; in descending, they let themselves hang with both arms and search about for a new foothold. Sometimes they amuse themselves by swinging freely for some minutes; sometimes, clasping a branch with arms and feet, they walk, for a change, on its lower surface; in short, they assume every imaginable position, and execute every possible movement. Quite unrivalled masters of climbing are the long-armed apes or gibbons, anthropoid apes with arms so disproportionately long that, when outstretched, they measure thrice as much as their upright bodies. With incomparable speed and security they climb up a tree or bamboo-stem, set it, or a suitable branch swinging, and on its rebound spring over spaces of from eight to twelve yards, so lightly and swiftly, that they seem to fly like a shot arrow or an alighting bird. They are also able to alter the direction of a leap while actually springing, or to cut it suddenly short by seizing a branch and clinging to it—swinging, rocking, and finally climbing up by it, either to rest for a little, or to begin the old game anew. Sometimes they spring through the air in this manner three, four, or five times in succession, so that one almost forgets that they are subject to the law of gravity. Their walking is as awkward as their climbing is excellent. Other anthropoid apes are able to traverse a considerable distance in an upright position—that is, on their feet alone, without special difficulty, though when in haste they always fall on all-fours, resting on the inturned knuckles of the fingers and the outer edges of the feet, and throwing the body laboriously and clumsily forward between the extended arms. But the long-armed apes move in an upright position only in cases of extreme necessity, and then they hop rather than walk. When the distance to be covered is a short one they raise themselves to their full height, and preserving their balance by extending their arms, now more, now less, spread out the great toes as far as possible, and patter pitiably along with short, quick steps. Their power of movement must therefore be characterized as one-sided, for their superiority over the other anthropoid apes in climbing does not counterbalance their helplessness on the ground.