The specimens that were kept in the Gardens in New York were very fine. One of them was mentally equal to any other specimen hitherto in captivity. There were two kept in the Cincinnati Gardens which were also very fine. So far as I am aware, there have never been but nine of these apes brought to America; but six of these lived longer, and four of them grew to be larger, than any other specimens of this race have ever done in captivity. For some reason they never survive long in England or other parts of Europe. This is probably due to some condition of the atmosphere. It cannot be from a difference of treatment.
I have seen a large number of chimpanzees; most of them were in captivity; yet I have seen enough of them in a wild state to gain some idea of their habits and manner. Those described will be sufficient to show the mental character of the genus.
CHAPTER XIX
Other Kulu-Kambas—A Knotty Problem—Instinct or Reason—Various Types
Whether the kulu-kamba is a distinct species of ape, or only a well-marked variety of the chimpanzee, he is by far the finest representative of his genus. Among those that I have seen are some very good specimens, and the clever things that I have witnessed in them are sufficient to stamp them as the highest type of all apes.
On board a small river steamer that plies the Ogowé was a young female kulu that belonged to the captain. Her face was not by any means handsome, and her complexion was darker than that of any other kulu I have ever seen. It was almost a coffee color. There were two or three spots yet darker in shade, but not well defined in outline. The dark spots looked as if they had been artificially put on the face. The color was not solid, but looked as if dry burnt umber had been rubbed or sprinkled over a surface of lighter brown. Although she was young (perhaps not more than two years old), her face looked almost like that of a woman of forty. Her short, flat nose, big, flexible lips, protruding jaws, and prominent arches over the eyes, with a low, receding forehead, conspired to make her look like a certain type of human being one frequently sees. This gave her what is known as a dish-face, or concave profile.
She had a habit of compressing her nose by contracting the muscles of the face, curling her lips as if in scorn and at the same time glancing at those around her as if to express the most profound contempt. Whatever may have been the sentiment in her mind, her face was a picture of disdain, and the circumstances under which she made use of these grimaces certainly pointed to the fact that she felt just as she looked. At other times her visage would be covered with a perfect smile. It was something more than a grin, and the fact that it was used only at a time when she was pleased or diverted showed that the emotion which gave rise to it was perfectly in keeping with the face itself. In repose her face was neither pretty nor ugly. It did not strongly depict a high mental status, nor yet portray the instincts of a brute; but her countenance was a safe index to her mind. This is true of the chimpanzee more, perhaps, than of any other ape. The gorilla doubtless feels the sense of pleasure, but his face does not yield to the emotion, while the opposite passions are expressed with great intensity, and with the common chimpanzee it is the same way, but not to the same extent.
The kulu in question was more a coquette than a shrew. She plainly showed that she was fond of flattery; not perhaps in the same sense that a human being is, but she was certainly conscious of approbation and fond of applause. When she accomplished anything difficult, she seemed aware of it; and when she succeeded in doing a thing which she ought not to do, she never failed to express herself in the manner described above. She always appeared to be perfectly conscious of being observed by others, but she was defiant and composed. There is nothing known in the catalogue of mischief that she was not ready to tackle at any moment and take her chances on the result. From the stokehole to the funnel, from the jack-staff to the rudder, she explored that boat. To keep her out of mischief, she was tied on the saloon deck with a long line; but no one aboard the vessel was able to tie a knot in the line which she could not untie with dexterity and ease. Her master, who was a sailor and an expert in the art of tying knots, exhausted his efforts in trying to make one that would defy her skill.
On one occasion I was aboard the little steamer when the culprit was brought up from the main deck, where she had been in some mischief, and was tied to one of the rails along the side of the boat. The question of tying her was discussed, and at length a new plan was devised. In the act of untying a knot she always began with the part of the knot that was nearest to her. It was now agreed to tie the line around one of the rails on the side of the deck, about halfway between the two stanchions that supported it, then to carry the loose ends of the line to the stanchion, and make them fast in the angle of the stanchion and the rail. As soon as she was left alone she began to examine the knots. She made no attempt at first to untie them, but she felt them, as if to see how firmly they were made. She then climbed upon the iron rail around which the middle of the line was tied and slackened the knot. She pulled first at one strand and then at the other; but one end was tied to the stanchion and the other to her neck, and she could find no loose end to draw through. First one way and then the other she drew this noose. She saw that in some way it was connected with the stanchion. She drew the noose along the rail until it was near the post; she climbed down upon the deck, then around the post and back again; she climbed up over the rails and down on the outside, and again carefully examined the knot; she climbed back, then through between the rails and back, then under the rails and back, but she could find no way to get this first knot out of the line. For a moment she sat down on the deck and viewed the situation with evident concern. She slowly rose to her feet and again examined the knot; she moved the noose back to its place in the middle of the rail, climbed up by it, and again drew it out as far as the strands would allow. Again she closed it; she took one strand in her hand and traced it from the loop to the stanchion; then she took the other end in the same manner and traced it from the loop to her neck. She looked at the loop and then slowly drew it out as far as it would come. She sat for a while holding it in one hand, and with the other moved each strand of the knot. She was in a deep study and did not even deign a glance at those who were watching her. At length she took the loop in both hands, deliberately put it over her head and crawled through it. The line thus released dropped to the deck; she quickly descended, took hold of it near her neck, and found that it was untied; she gathered it up as she advanced towards the other end that was tied to the post, and at once began to loosen the knots about it. In a minute more the last knot was released. She then gathered the whole line into a bundle, looked at those around her with that look of contempt which we have described, and departed at once in search of other mischief. Her air of triumph and content was enough to convince any one of her opinion of what she had done.
If this feat was the result of instinct, the lexicons must give another definition for that word. There were six white men who witnessed the act, and the verdict of all of them was that she had solved a problem which few children of her own age could have done. Every movement was controlled by reason. The tracing out of cause and effect was too evident for any one to doubt. Almost any animal can be taught to perform certain feats, but that does not show innate capacity. The only true measure of the faculty of reason is to reduce the actor to his own resources and see how he will handle himself under some new condition; otherwise the act will be, at least in part, mechanical or imitative. In all my efforts to study the mental caliber of animals I have confined them strictly to their own judgment, and left them to work out the problem alone. By this means only can we estimate to what extent they apply the faculty of reason. No one doubts that all animals have minds which are receptive in some degree. But it has often been said that they are devoid of reason and controlled alone by some vague attribute called instinct. Such is not the case. It is the same faculty of the mind that men employ to solve the problems that arise in every sphere of life, the one which sages and philosophers have used in every phase of science, differing only in degree.