This is the theory of the thoughtless.
The Newfoundland dog which, in the summer of 1866, I saw leap from a bridge into a rapid-running deep creek and rescue a two-year-old child from death, thought—and quickly at that. In a second he appreciated the value of a critical moment, and estimated not only the magnitude but the quality of the danger. No human being could have taken in the whole situation more completely or caused the physical organization to respond to the brain command with greater celerity. The whole incident was over by the time the first on the spot of the would-be human rescuers had taken off his coat.
Crowley, the remarkable chimpanzee, who had his home in the Central Park Menagerie for about four years, proved to be a most convincing item of testimony in favor of the intellectual development of one of the lower animals. The gradual and certain unfolding of his intelligence betrayed the presence of a quantity of natural brainpower almost equal to that of an intelligent child of his own age.
Among his numerous accomplishments was a complete outfit of the table manners of the average well-bred human being. His accurate holding of knife, fork, and spoon, his perfect knowledge of their use, and the delicate application to his lips of the napkin, proved the possession of exceptional knowledge and a well-ordered memory.
The things he did and the words he tried to speak, for he made thousands of efforts every day to utter his thoughts, would make a convincing list of items all going to prove the presence of a capacity for thinking quite worthy of consideration.
In elaborating the various powers which he employed in his methods of expression he showed remarkable ingenuity. He, no doubt, reflected upon his deficiencies, and thought the whole matter over with reference to means of communication with those he cared to converse with, and then, from out the store of his natural capacities, invented an extensive combination of hand and feet signs with the variety of sounds at his command, which finally enabled him to make himself perfectly understood by those about him.
The intellectual development of Crowley, of which I have given only an inadequate idea, came from kind treatment and constant contact with his keeper and the director of the menagerie, both of whom were his devoted friends and teachers.
These little character sketches, as they may perhaps be described, were written for the purpose of awakening the personal interest of those who may read them, with the hope also of enlisting their active influence in behalf of spreading abroad a better understanding of the nature of our four-footed friends and servants, who give so much and receive so little in return. The better appreciation of their exceptionally fine qualities will surely lead to closer relations between them and their masters, and, in the end, insure better treatment for those humble and confiding creatures which the Creator has placed so completely in the power of man.
Fiction plays but a little part in these pages. It has long been a source of pleasure to me to note the marks of intelligence in the animals that we admit to our companionship, that we make a part of our family rule and association. These sketches are nearly all based upon personal experiences and observations of my own. They are my plea for their greater civil rights—at least in the way of kindness and appreciation. Incidentally I have given such local color to the stories as they require. The first sketch, for example, has for its frame the pleasant hills and valleys of Vermont. It recalls old days worth the recording and a people of pure Anglo-Saxon blood worth a lasting memory.
R. C. H.