Gorillas & Chimpanzees

by R. L. Garner

On the morning of her decease, I found him sitting by her as usual. At my approach he quietly rose to his feet, and advanced to the front of the cage. Opening the door, I put my arm in and caressed him. He looked into my face, and then at the prostrate form of his mate. The last dim sparks of life were not yet gone out, as the slight motion of the breast betrayed, but the limbs were cold and limp. While I leaned over to examine more closely, he crouched down by her side and watched with deep concern to see the result. I laid my hand upon her heart to ascertain if the last hope was gone; he looked at me, and then placed his own hand by the side of mine, and held it there as if he knew the purport of the act.

Of course, to him this had no real meaning, but it was an index to the desire which prompted it. He seemed to think that anything that I did would be good for her, and his purpose, doubtless, was to aid me. When I removed my hand, he removed his; when I returned mine, he did the same; and to the last gave evidence of his faith in my friendship and good intentions. His ready approval of anything I did showed that he had a vague idea of my purpose.

At length the breast grew still and the feeble beating of the heart ceased. The lips were parted and the dim eyes were half-way closed, but he sat by as if she were asleep. The sturdy keeper came to remove the body from the cage; but Aaron clung to it, and refused to allow him to touch it. I took the little mourner in my arms, but he watched the keeper jealously, and did not want him to remove or disturb the body. It was laid on a bunch of straw in front of the cage and he was returned to his place, but he clung to me so firmly that it was difficult to release his hold. He cried in a piteous tone, fretted and worried, as if he fully realised the worst. The body was then removed from view, but poor little Aaron was not consoled. How I pitied him! How I wished that he was again in his native land, where he might find friends of his own race!

After this, he grew more attached to me than ever, and when I went to visit him he was happy and cheerful in my presence; but the keeper said that while I was away he was often gloomy and morose. As long as he could see me or hear my voice, he would fret and cry for me to come to him. When I would leave him, he would scream as long as he had any hope of inducing me to return.

A few days after the death of Elisheba, the keeper put a young monkey in the cage with him for company. This gave him some relief from the monotony of his own society, but never quite filled the place of the lost one. With this little friend, however, he amused himself in many ways. He nursed it so zealously and hugged it so tightly that the poor little monkey was often glad to escape from him in order to have a rest. But the task of catching it again afforded him almost as much pleasure as he found in nursing it.

Thus he passed his time for a few weeks, when he was seized by a sudden cold, which in a few days developed into an acute type of pneumonia.

I was in London at the time and was not aware of this, but, feeling anxious about him, I wrote to Dr. Cross, in whose care he was left, and received a note in reply, stating that Aaron was very ill, and not expected to live. I prepared to go to visit him the next day, but just before I left the hotel I received a telegram stating that he was dead.

The news contained in the letter was a greater shock to me than that in the telegram, for which, in part, the former had prepared me; but no one can imagine how deeply these evil tidings affected me. I could not bring myself to a full sense of the fact. I was unwilling to believe that I was thus deprived of my devoted friend. I could not realise that fate would be so cruel to me; but, alas! it was true.

Not being present during his short illness or at the time of his death, I cannot relate any of the scenes attending them; but the kind old keeper who attended him declares that he never became reconciled to the death of Elisheba, and that his loneliness preyed upon him almost as much as the disease.

When I looked upon his cold, lifeless body, I felt that I was indeed bereft of one of the dearest and one of the most loyal pets that any mortal had ever known. His fidelity to me had been shown in a hundred ways, and his affections had never wavered. How could any one requite such integrity with anything unkind?