"Who ever knew an honest brute
At law his neighbours prosecute,
Bring action for assault and battery
Or friends beguile with lies and flattery?"
The fact that all animals possess ideas, no matter how small those ideas may be, implies reason. That these ideas are transmitted from one animal to another, no one can doubt in the light of our present scientific knowledge. "Be not startled," says the distinguished animal authority, Dr. William T. Hornaday, "by the discovery that apes and monkeys have language; for their vocabulary is not half so varied and extensive as that of the barnyard fowls, whose language some of us know very well." The means by which ideas are transmitted from one animal to another can be rightly described by no other term than language.
It is evident that there are many kinds of language: the written; the spoken; the universal, which implies the motion, sign, and form language; the language of the eye, by which ideas are exchanged without words or gestures; and lastly, a mode of expression little known to the human world, but universal among animals. This language is spoken by no man, but is understood by every brute from the tiniest hare to the largest elephant; it is the language whereby spirit communicates with spirit, and by which it recognises in a moment what it would take an entire volume to narrate. In its nature it differs essentially from all other languages, yet we are justified in thinking of it as a language because its function is to transmit ideas from one animal to another. Every form of language is used by animals, and each has its own peculiar language or "dialect" common to its tribe only, though occasionally learned by others. All the emotions—fear, caution, joy, grief, gratitude, hope, despair—are disclosed by some form of language.
It would be interesting to know how the use of the word "dumb" ever became applied to animals, for in reality there are very few dumb animals. Doubtless the word was originally employed to express a larger idea than that of dumbness, and implied the lack of power in animals to communicate successfully with man by sound or language. The real trouble lies with man, who is unable to understand the language spoken or uttered by the animals.
The gesture language is commonly used by many of the tribes of Southern Africa, and some of the Bushmen are unable to converse freely after dark, because their visible gestures are needed as an aid to their spoken words. Only a few years ago there were almost as many different languages among the North American Indians as there were different tribes, and yet each tribe had a sign-language which any Indian in any part of the world might understand. In fact it was so simple that it might be practically mastered in a few hours, and through it one might converse with the Indians of the world without knowing a single word of their spoken language. And this is exactly what the animals do with their universal language.
Who does not understand the meaning of a dog when he approaches his master, after receiving a reprimand for some misdemeanor, with downcast head and lowered tail? Or who could fail to interpret the glee when he has done a noble deed and been praised by his master? His is the language of gesture and look, and is very similar to that in use by our deaf-and-dumb men throughout the world.
The Hindoos invariably talk to their elephants, and it is astonishing how they understand. Bayard Taylor says that "the Arabs govern their camels with a few cries, and my associates in the African deserts were always amused whenever I addressed a remark to the dromedary who was my property for two months; yet at the end of that time the beast evidently knew the meaning of a number of simple sentences. Some years ago, seeing the hippopotamus in Barnum's museum looking very stolid and dejected, I spoke to him in English, but he did not even open his eyes. Then I went to the opposite corner of the cage, and said in Arabic, 'I know you; come here to me.' I repeated the words, and thereupon he came to the corner where I was standing, pressed his huge, ungainly head against the bars of the cage, and looked in my face with a touch of delight while I stroked his muzzle. I have two or three times found a lion who recognised the same language, and the expression of his eyes, for an instant, seemed positively human."
Every one familiar with the habits of dogs believes that they have a language. Certain shepherds are quite particular about the company their dogs keep. This story is told of a couple of shepherds meeting in a market-place in Scotland, each accompanied by his dog, one of which was a sheep-murderer, the other a faithful and respectable dog. They seemed to strike up a great friendship, "and soon assumed so remarkable a demeanour in their conversation that their owners consulted together on their own account, and agreed to set a watch upon them. On that very evening both dogs started from their homes at the same hour, joined each other, and set off after the sheep." It is unquestionable that these dogs had a sufficiency of language to understand each other. The criminal had invited his innocent young friend to join him in his mischief, and they agreed upon the time to meet and each kept his appointment. It is likely that there was not an audible sound uttered during their conversation, but that they used the language of look and gesture, and while it was not understood by their masters, it was entirely comprehended by themselves.
Another instance of canine language is given by John Burroughs, who says that a certain tone in his dog's bark implies that he has found a snake.
There is an old maxim which says: "The empty wagon makes the most noise," and it is interesting to note that the loudest-mouthed and most loquacious of all the animals are the lemurs, who are the least intelligent members of their great family. They chatter, scream, squeak, and grunt from morning till night, and two of them can make more noise than a cageful of apes and monkeys. The orangs and chimpanzees, on the other hand, exceptionally wise and gifted linguists, seldom utter a word or cry, except under extraordinary circumstances, and then briefly.