The sounds he uttered were various: when pleased at a recognition of his friends, he would utter a peculiar squeaking, chirping note; when irritated, a hollow, barking noise was produced; but when very angry, and frightened, or when chastised, the loud guttural sounds of ra, ra, ra, invariably followed. When I approached him for the first time in the morning, he greeted me with his chirping notes, advancing his face at the same time, as if intended for the purpose of salutation; but I did not feel desirous of trying the experiment, as I knew these animals were not in the habit of kissing, and I well knew they were in the habit of biting.
His look was grave, and manner mild, and he was deficient in those mischievous tricks so peculiar to the monkey tribe in general. In only one instance did I experience any mischief from him, and that was in his meddling with my inkstand: he seemed to have an extraordinary penchant for the black fluid—would drink the ink, (by placing his finger in the inkstand, and then sucking it,) and suck the pens, whenever an opportunity offered of gratifying this morbid propensity: his black coat did not suffer from his dabbling in ink, unlike many of the human species, who suffer both in constitution and apparel from meddling too much with it.
There was a degree of intelligence in the animal, beyond what is usually termed common instinct. These little miniatures of men,[55] (as they are satirically termed,) are said to possess more sagacity than other animals, and to be a close connecting link between the “powerful lord of the creation,” and creatures of an inferior genus. If it be true, as I have heard asserted, that intelligence is written in legible characters on the os frontis of the monkey tribe, I beg to add, that mischief and cunning also beam in their eye.
One instance of a very close approximation to, if it may not be considered absolutely an exercise of, the reasoning faculty, occurred in this animal. Once or twice I lectured him on taking away my soap continually from the washing-place, which he would remove, for his amusement, from that place, and leave it about the cabin. One morning I was writing, the ape being present in the cabin, when casting my eyes towards him, I saw the little fellow taking the soap. I watched him, without his perceiving that I did so; and he occasionally would cast a furtive glance towards the place where I sat. I pretended to write; he seeing me busily occupied, took the soap, and moved away with it in his paw. When he had walked half the length of the cabin, I spoke quietly, without frightening him. The instant he found I saw him, he walked back again, and deposited the soap nearly in the same place from whence he had taken it. There was certainly something more than instinct in that action: he evidently betrayed a consciousness of having done wrong, both by his first and last actions;—and what is reason if that is not an exercise of it?
When he walks in the erect posture, he turns the leg and foot outwards, which occasions him to have a waddling gait and to seem bow-legged. He would pace the deck, being held by his long arm; and then had a resemblance to a child just learning to step. The limbs, from their muscular and strong prehensile power, render the animal a fit inhabitant for the forest; enabling him to spring from tree to tree with an agility that we have frequently witnessed him display about the rigging of the ship: he would pass down the backstays, sometimes hanging by his hands, at others walking down them in the erect posture, like a rope-dancer, balancing himself by his long arms; or he would spring from one rope at a great distance to another, or would drop from one above to another below.
Being aware of his inability to escape pursuit, when running on a level surface, his first object, when about to make an attack, was to secure a rope, and swing towards the object he was desirous of attacking; if defeated, he eluded pursuit by climbing out of reach.
He has an awkward manner of drinking, by which the liquid is much wasted: he first applies his lips to the liquid, throwing the head up, which in some degree may be attributed to the prominency of the lower jaw: and if the vessel in which the liquid is contained should be shallow, he dips the paw into it, and holding it over the mouth, lets the liquid drop in. I never observed him lap with the tongue when drinking; but when tea or coffee was given to him, the lingual organ was carefully protruded for the purpose of ascertaining its temperature. This display of caution was not confined to this species of ape, as I know of several others which will do the same, when hot tea or coffee is given to them; shaking their sapient head violently, if they are heated by the liquid; but still, undeterred, will wait patiently until the hot liquid becomes sufficiently cool for bibulary purposes.
He soon knew the name of Ungka, which had been given to him, and would readily come to those to whom he was attached when called by that name. His mildness of disposition and playfulness of manner made him a universal favourite with all on board.
He was playful, but preferred children to adults. He became particularly attached to a little Papuan child (Elau, a native of Erromanga, one of the New Hebrides group,) who was on board, and whom it is not improbable he may have in some degree considered as having an affinity to his species. They were often seen sitting near the capstan, the animal with his long arm round her neck, lovingly eating biscuit together.
She would lead him about by his long arms, like an elder leading a younger child: and it was the height of the grotesque to witness him running round the capstan, pursued by, or pursuing, the child. He would waddle along, in the erect posture, at a rapid pace, sometimes aiding himself by his knuckles; but when fatigued, he would spring aside, seize hold of the first rope he came to, and, ascending a short distance, regard himself as safe from pursuit.