“'Shall I wash your face, Crowley?' asked his keeper.
“'Ooh! ooh! ooh!' exclaimed Crowley, moving away disgusted. 'That means no,' explains the attendant.
“'Here's an orange, baby.'
“'Ut, oot, oot, oot!' and Crowley thrust out a fist eagerly. His other expressions are more complex, except with regard to pain or pleasure. With the first he utters a yell that would startle a Sioux Indian; when pleased, the ends of his mouth stretch to each ear, while he dances and mumbles with enjoyment.
“By the summer of 1885 Crowley weighed fifty pounds and was very vigorous. A new cage was made for him in the west end of the monkey house; it was about ten feet long, six feet high, and of the same width, open on all sides, and protected by a grating of iron wire, the thickness of a lady's little finger. One of the new features introduced in it was a swing or trapeze; a wooden bar suspended at one end of the cage by two stout ropes from the ceiling. At the other end of the cage was a spring board, to enable him to indulge to his full bent in his propensity for leaping. When placed in his new quarters he made a dignified circuit of his room, walking as erect as possible, only resting on the knuckles of his hands, or supporting himself by holding to the grating, He inspected the spring-board as if accustomed to spring-boards of various patterns, and passed on without testing its elasticity. The trapeze he eyed with some curiosity, but did not deign to try it.
“At the close of his second summer, it was decided that many changes would be needed another year, to fit that place for his growth. When standing erect, and flat on his feet, Crowley was now nearly four feet in height. He had outgrown the baby chair provided for him the first year, and it was succeeded by one better suited to a person of his size and importance. A bedstead of oak was procured, so that instead of stretching himself on the hard floor, he could sleep like other people. The bedstead was five feet long and three feet wide, giving him ample room to turn around without rolling out; but for greater security it was attached to the floor with iron braces, which defied, for the time, Mr. Crowley's ingenuity to unscrew, and his strength to remove from their places.
“Crowley had a fondness for music. Whenever his attendant produced a mouth organ and played on it “Sweet Violets,” or “Yankee Doodle,” the chimpanzee's whole attention was at once arrested. He would listen for a few moments intently, and as the air proceeded, a state of great nervous excitement would come upon him. His body would begin to sway in unison with the attendant's foot as it beat upon the floor, until at last, no longer able to contain himself, he would spring up and down in a chimpanzee jig, which appears to be a kind of cross between a Virginia reel and an Irish break-down, keeping this up until he became exhausted or the music ceased. When the instrument was given to him and held for him, he would blow upon it and try to reproduce the sounds which caused him pleasure, and when he succeeded, an expression of delight would brighten his flexible features. But his performances were never such as to warrant his applying for a situation in Theodore Thomas's orchestra or even in an ordinary street band.
“With the winter of 1887-88 Crowley entered upon his fifth year. He had attained the weight of nearly one hundred pounds, and when erect he stood quite four feet two inches in his bare feet. His hands were as big and knotted as those of a negro laborer inured to toil, and his muscles were thoroughly developed. His temper did not improve, and it became necessary to apply a whip to him occasionally to keep him under discipline. During the winter he had an attack of pneumonia, and when the fever came on all his bluster and bad temper disappeared. His strength left him and he became quite helpless, lying all day on the floor in the center of his cage, his head resting on one arm for a pillow, with a piece of heavy bagging beneath him for a mattress. When strangers entered his cage he was too weak to raise his head. Many physicians called to see him and tender their services. He recognized their kindness and their purpose with a low grunt, which often ended in a fit of coughing.
