There was great excitement in Singapore when the story of the orang-outangs got about. Hordes of people came to see them unloaded. I called upon the police to keep the crowd back, for I was afraid the excitement might be too much for the beasts.
At my animal house, I put them in a quiet spot and left Ali in charge with strict orders against letting too many people come to see them. Then I went to the cable office and sent to the Antwerp Zoölogical Gardens news of the capture.
There was no question in my mind as to what the answer to my cablegram would be, and, before it arrived, I made all the arrangements for shipping. Antwerp offered $10,000 each for the animals delivered. I knew that I could get offers of $25,000 or more in the United States, but that the orangs would not be able to stand the voyage. I sent another message to Antwerp, saying that I was sailing and requesting that arrangements be made for shipping by rail from Marseilles.
A few days later, the cages were swung aboard and we started eastward. Ali accompanied me to care for the animals.
From the moment the steamer headed out to sea, the orang-outangs began to fail. They became deathly seasick, especially the female, and refused food. Ali and I were with them constantly, tempting their appetites with choice bits of food and doing everything possible to make them comfortable. The male grew better but the female lost strength rapidly. Finally she slumped down to the floor of the cage, unable to sit up; she paid no attention to us when we reached into the cage and touched her.
One morning she curled up on the floor, buried her face in her arms and died. Through her death I lost a great deal of money, but I could not help feeling relieved. She had been so abjectly miserable and she had seemed so human in her suffering! I have often wondered if the male had any idea that she was dead. He ceased to improve in health and he became morose. Many days of anxiety followed; every minute I expected the message that the poor fellow was dying.
The ship's carpenter built a vat, and we "pickled" the body of the female in salt water. I knew that some natural history museum would be glad to have such a specimen for mounting. We steamed into the harbor at Marseilles with the male still alive, and I thought that there was an even chance of getting him to Antwerp if the people there had followed my instructions and arranged transportation. An agent met me at the dock. Everything was prepared for us, and we lost no time in getting the beast to the train.
When we reached Antwerp, I felt like standing on the platform and whooping. My job was finished.
The men from the Gardens took charge and rushed the orang-outang out to the cage that had been built to receive him. We ran the transportation cage up to the door and cut away the bars. The orang-outang came out slowly, like a tired and sick old man. He was not interested in his new surroundings and he pushed away the food that we put before him. Veterinarians could do nothing for him. Ten days later he died.
Ali and I remained in Antwerp for several weeks. It was Ali's first trip to Europe, and not a very enjoyable one. He was bewildered and puzzled; he could not understand such a country. Only once did he venture out of the hotel without me, and then he did not go out of sight. He slept in my room on the floor—he would have nothing to do with a bed—and he would touch no food that was not vouched for by me.