Apes and Monkeys: Their Life and Language

by R. L. Garner

With the ever-present belief that animals could talk to each other, I observed from year to year certain things which tended to confirm it. About sixteen years ago an instance occurred which forever removed from my mind all doubt or wavering. Prior to that time I had observed that animals of the higher orders appeared to have the better types of speech and, concurrent with this belief, I tabulated many facts. In 1884 I made a visit to the Cincinnati Zoölogical Garden, where I was deeply impressed with the conduct of a school of monkeys occupying a cage which also contained a large mandrill. This savage baboon was an evident source of terror to the smaller inmates of the cage. A brick wall separated the cage into two compartments. The one was intended for summer and the other for winter occupancy. Through this wall was a small doorway, large enough to admit the passage of the occupants. I observed that two or three of the monkeys kept continual watch over the conduct of the baboon and reported to the other monkeys every movement that he made. When he was lying still, the monkeys passed back and forth without fear, but the instant he rose to his feet or gave any sign of disquiet the fact was promptly reported by the monkeys on watch to those in the adjoining compartment, and they acted in accordance with the warning. I was not able to determine the exact thing they reported, but the nature of the report was evident, and I resolved to learn more fully its meaning. After spending some hours watching their conduct and listening to the sound which controlled it, I became convinced that what they said was sufficiently definite to guide the actions of those to whom it was addressed. In fact I should have been willing to intrust my own safety to those warnings. After a brief study of those sounds I was able to understand the attitude of the baboon towards his neighbors; and while the warning contained no elaborate detail that I could understand, the nature of his actions was made evident. I observed that a certain sound of warning caused them to act in a certain way, and a certain other sound caused them to act differently.

From this start I determined to learn the speech of monkeys. I did not suspect that the task would be so great as it has proved to be. I did not foresee the difficulties that have since become apparent. Year by year, as new ideas came to me, new barriers arose and the horizon continually widened. Yet I was not discouraged at the poor success of my first efforts. From time to time I visited the various collections of monkeys in this country and even availed myself of those found with traveling shows, hand organs, and elsewhere.

After some years of casual study it occurred to me that the phonograph would be a great aid in solving this problem. It would enable me to make more accurate comparisons of the sounds made by different monkeys; and after duly considering the matter I went to Washington and made my purpose known to Dr. Baker, of the Smithsonian Institution. This at first evoked from him a smile, but after explaining the means by which it was hoped to accomplish the end he looked upon the novel feat as a new step in the science of speech.

Having secured a phonograph, I repaired to the animal house then adjoining the Smithsonian Institution. At that time there were but two live monkeys there, and these were the nucleus around which has grown the present National Zoölogical Park at Washington. These two monkeys were of different species, but had for some time occupied the same cage. I had the female removed from the cage and carried into another room. Then the phonograph was placed near her cage, and by various means she was induced to utter a few sounds which were recorded upon the wax cylinder. The machine was then placed near the cage containing the male and the record repeated to him. His conduct plainly showed that he recognized the sound and understood the nature of it. He searched the horn from which the sounds proceeded and appeared to be perplexed at not finding the monkey that had made them. He traced the sound to its proper source, but, failing to find his mate, he thrust his arm into the horn and felt around the sides of it in the vain hope of finding her. The expression of his face was a study worthy of the best efforts of the physiognomist.

Then a few sounds of his voice were recorded upon another cylinder and were delivered to the female, who showed signs of recognition; but as this record was very indistinct it did not evoke from her the interest which the other had evoked from him.

This is doubtless the first instance in the history of speech that an attempt was ever made to reduce the speech of monkeys to record. While this first experiment was crude and the results were not conclusive, it pointed in the right direction and it inspired to further efforts to find the fountain head from which flows the great river of human speech.

Some critic at that time declared that this experiment could be of no scientific value, because the monkey had been provoked to make the sounds recorded, and the sounds so evoked were only sounds of anger or profanity. It was not a matter of concern to me whether these words were moral or profane, so long as they were speech sounds of a monkey and were so recognized by other monkeys. If a monkey uses profanity, he doubtless has some other forms of speech.

Shortly after this experiment I went to Chicago and made a record of a brown Cebus monkey. This record was of a sound most commonly used by that species. I had no exact idea as to its meaning, but its frequent use caused me to select it as one of their most important words. Having secured this, I returned to New York. There I selected a monkey of the same species and to him reproduced the record. He instantly gave signs of understanding it and replied to it. Again and again this sound was reproduced and he repeatedly answered it. He looked at the horn from which it came, then at the moving instrument, and drew back from them. But as the sound continued to proceed from the horn his interest seemed to awaken. He approached the horn and cautiously peeped into it. The sound was repeated. He thrust his arm into the horn and peeped around the outside to see if he had scared the monkey out. Failing to find him, he again retired from the horn, but responded to the sounds. He appeared to regard the thing with a kind of superstition. He seemed conscious of the fact that there should be a monkey there, but failing to find it he evinced suspicion. I do not know to what extent he regarded this as a spook, but he evidently realized that it was some unusual thing.

In this experiment certain facts may be observed. The record delivered to him nothing but the cold, mechanical sound. The elements of gesture, etc., were entirely eliminated as factors in the problem, so that the monkey had nothing to interpret except the sound. This would indicate that the speech sound of a monkey as well as that of man carried with it a fixed and constant meaning. This conclusion has since been confirmed by ample and varied experiments with mechanical devices of many kinds.

Among the defects observed in this experiment was the fact that I had not provided a means of recording the sound made in reply to the record. Subsequently I secured another instrument to do this. In this manner I obtained a reply, and thus I had the two cylinders for comparison. In like manner I repeated the experiment of delivering the record with one machine and recording the reply with another, until I had secured records of the speech sounds of nearly all the monkeys in captivity in this country. Taking these records at my leisure, I carefully compared and studied them, until I was able to interpret nine sounds of the speech of the Capuchin monkeys, and, incidentally, a few sounds of a great number of other species.