CHAPTER VI.

LIFE IN CAPTIVITY.

The accounts given by the earliest observers of gorillas would lead us to expect that the attempt to tame even young apes of this species must be fruitless. Du Chaillu tells us that he obtained a young male gorilla, a creature of from two to three years old, which was quite as furious and unmanageable as any adult specimen could have been. The negroes of the district between the Rembo and Cape Santa Catharina had surprised the mother and her young one in the forest, and after killing the former, they succeeded, with great difficulty, in capturing the latter by throwing a cloth over his head. By means of a wooden slave-fork, fixed upon its neck, the animal was transported to the village in which Du Chaillu was staying at the time. Young as he was, the gorilla displayed extraordinary strength, and after he had been successfully fastened into his cage, he contrived to attack his new master again, tearing his trousers, and then retreating sullenly into a corner. He would only eat the wild berries and fruits collected for him in the forest, and also the soft parts of pine-apple leaves. He escaped from his cage, and was only recaptured, after many fruitless endeavours, by throwing a net over him. The traveller adds that he had never seen so furious a creature as this gorilla. He flew at every one who came near him, bit the bamboo lattice-work of his cage, and showed, on every possible occasion, that he was of a thoroughly malicious and unkindly nature. He broke loose a second time, and was again captured, and at the end of ten days he died suddenly.

Somewhat later Du Chaillu obtained a young female gorilla, which clung affectionately to its mother’s dead body, so that all the spectators were affected by its grief. The creature was too young to be fed on anything but milk, and since this was unattainable, it died three days after its capture.

Reade, Lenz, and Buchholz were more fortunate in their experience with the gorillas captured by them, and Lenz wrote to me as follows about one of these animals:--“On my return to the Gaboon from a journey to Okanda, I was attacked by a somewhat serious fever which hung about me for a long while. A living gorilla, which was brought to the German factory on the Gaboon, was some compensation to me for this involuntary idleness. The creature came from Kamma (Fernand Vaz), the place from which Du Chaillu also obtained his specimens, and was captured out of a troop of eight animals. A small dog, which had been somewhat injured by an old gorilla, afterwards killed, prevented the young one from escaping until a negro came up, seized it by the neck, and got another man to bind its hands. In this way the gorilla was conveyed to the basket-factory of the house, and there, as is unfortunately done in most cases, the two large canine teeth were filed off for fear of his using them to bite his captors.

“This gorilla is a young, male specimen, probably two years old, and has reconciled himself to captivity and to intercourse with men with no great difficulty. A long, slender iron chain is fastened round his neck, which gives him plenty of room to move about; but for the greater part of the day he sits in a cask, and makes himself very comfortable in the straw. He is very susceptible to cold, wind, and rain, and a thick sail-cloth is wrapped round the cask at night. He generally adopts a squatting position, with his arms folded across his breast, and he is always observant of surrounding objects. He always seats himself so as to have nothing at his back, but to keep his enemies before him. When asleep, he stretches himself at full length on his back or side, using one hand as a kind of pillow; and he never sleeps like other apes, in a squatting position. He goes upon all-fours with the soles of his hindhands on the ground, while the forehands are closed, so that he goes upon the knuckles, and he has the lateral gait characteristic of the species. At this moment he suffers terribly from the so-called dissous or sand-fly; both his forehands are full of blisters, which contain the eggs of this annoying little insect.

“In any attempt to transport the gorilla, the question of food is necessarily the most important. We have already offered him rice, bread, milk, etc., such things as may be obtained on board ship, as well as in Europe, but with indifferent success. He has occasionally eaten some bread, and has taken ship’s biscuit more readily, and once he ate some rice, but for the most part he does not touch it. His favourite food is a red fruit, very common here, of which he eats the inner kernel; he is likewise fond of bananas and oranges, and above all, of sugar-cane, which he takes from my hand with evident pleasure, and chews. He will also take a glass of water from my hand, carry it steadily to his mouth, and drink it up. Only on rare occasions, when he was much excited, I have heard him utter a growling noise; generally he is quite dumb.” This animal died on the voyage to Europe, and its body, preserved in rum by Pansch and Bolau, was used by me in some of the researches of which I have given an account.

Falkenstein gives an attractive description of the gorilla represented in Figs. 3, 4, during the first months of his captivity: “When this animal reached the station (Chinxoxo, in Loango) it was our first care to procure all the forest fruits within reach, as well as a she-goat, in order to restore the young anthropoid’s failing strength. It can easily be supposed that we watched his attempts to eat with great interest, and were very much relieved when he not only readily drank milk, but ate various fruits with evident increase of appetite, and especially those of _Anona senegalensis_, which are of about the size of a walnut, with a rough husk, and grow in the savannahs. In spite of this, however, he remained for a long while so weak that he would fall asleep while eating, and he passed great part of the day crouching asleep in a corner. He gradually became accustomed to cultivated fruits, such as bananas, guavas, oranges, and mangoes, and as he became stronger, and was more often present at our meals, he began to demand for himself whatever he saw us eating. Since he was thus gradually accustomed to eat all kinds of food, the likelihood of transporting him successfully to Europe was increased.”

This is perhaps the only way in which other and possibly older specimens can be rendered fit to endure the passage to Europe. Every attempt to embark them immediately after their capture, without previously weaning them from their old modes of life, and adapting them slowly and systematically to their altered conditions, has invariably resulted, sooner or later, in sickness and death. Falkenstein also recommends, relying on the experience he has had of apes in a state of nature, that this species should be supplied with some form of animal food. He gives this further account of the captive gorilla:--

“In the course of a few weeks he became so accustomed to his surroundings, and to the people whom he knew, that he was allowed to run about at liberty, without fear that he would make any attempt to escape. He was never chained, nor confined to a cage, and was watched only in the way that little children are watched when they are at play. He was so conscious of his own helplessness that he clung to human companionship, and displayed in this manner a wonderful dependence and trustfulness. He showed no trace of mischievous, malicious, or savage qualities, but was sometimes self-willed. He expressed the ideas which occurred to him by different sounds, one of which was the characteristic tone of importunate petition, while others expressed fright or horror, and in rare instances a sullen and defiant growl might be heard.

“In his moods of exuberant satisfaction and simple pleasure, he might be seen to rub his breast with both fists, while raising himself on his hind legs. Moreover, he often expressed his feelings after quite a human fashion, by clapping his hands together, an action which no one had taught him; and he executed such wild dances, sometimes overbalancing himself, reeling to and fro, and whirling round, that we were often disposed to think that he must be drunk. Yet he was only drunk with pleasure, and this impelled him to display his strength in the wildest gambols.

“His dexterity in eating was particularly remarkable. If any of the other apes chanced to enter his chamber nothing was safe from them; they snatched greedily at everything, only to throw it away with a certain aversion, or carelessly to let it drop. The gorilla behaved quite differently: he took up every cup or glass with instinctive care, clasped the vessel with both hands, and set it down again so softly and carefully that I cannot remember his breaking a single article of our household goods. Yet we never taught the creature the use of our vessels and other manufactured articles, since we wished to bring him to Europe, as far as possible in a state of nature. His behaviour at meal-times was quiet and mannerly; he only took as much as he could hold with his thumb, fore, and middle finger, and looked on with indifference when any of the different forms of food heaped up before him were taken away. If, however, nothing was given him, he growled impatiently, looked narrowly at all the dishes from his place at table, and accompanied every plate carried off by the negro boys with an angry snarl or a short, resentful cough, and sometimes he sought to seize the arm of the passer-by in order to express his displeasure more plainly by a bite or a blow. In another minute he would play with the negroes as with his fellows, and this distinguishes him altogether from other apes, and especially from baboons, who appear to feel an instinctive hatred against many of the black race, and take a peculiar pleasure in displaying their animosity against them.

“He drank by suction, stooping over the vessel without even putting his hands into it or upsetting it, and in the case of smaller vessels, he carried them to his mouth. He was a skilful climber, but sometimes his high spirits made him careless, and he once fell to the ground from a tree, which was fortunately not very high. His cleanliness was remarkable, for if by accident he touched a spider’s web, or rubbish of any kind, he sought to brush it off with absurd horror, or held out his hands to have it done for him. There was no offensive smell about him. It was his favourite amusement to play and paddle about in the water, nor did the fact that he had just taken a bath prevent him from amusing himself by rolling in the sand with other apes immediately afterwards. His good-humour and shyness, or rather roguishness, deserves special mention as his strongest characteristic. When he was chastised, as it was necessary to do at first, he never resented the punishment, but came up with a beseeching air, clinging to my feet, and looking up with an expressive air which disarmed all displeasure. When he was anxious to obtain anything, no child could have expressed its wishes in a more urgent and caressing manner. If in spite of this he did not obtain what he wanted, he had recourse to cunning, and looked anxiously about to see if he was watched. It was just in these cases, when he obstinately pursued a fixed idea, that it was impossible not to recognize a deliberate plan and careful calculation. If, for example, he was not allowed to leave the room, or, again, was not allowed to come in, he would, after several attempts to get his own way had been baffled, apparently submit to his fate and lie down near the door in question with assumed indifference. But he soon raised his head in order to ascertain whether fortune was on his side, edging himself gradually nearer and nearer, and then, looking carefully round, he twisted himself about until he reached the threshold; then he got up, peered cautiously round, and with one bound galloped off so quickly that it was difficult to follow him.

“He pursued his object with equal pertinacity when he felt a desire for the sugar or fruit which was kept in a cupboard in the eating-room; he would suddenly leave off playing and go in an opposite direction, only altering his course when he believed that he was no longer observed. He then went straight to the room and cupboard, opened it, and made a quick and dexterous snatch at the sugar-box or fruit-basket, sometimes closing the cupboard doors behind him before beginning to enjoy his plunder, or, if he was discovered, he would escape with it, and his whole behaviour made it clear that he was conscious of transgressing into forbidden paths. He took a special, and what might be called a childish, pleasure in making a noise by beating on hollow articles, and he seldom omitted an opportunity of drumming on casks, dishes, or tin trays, whenever he passed by them--a noisy amusement to which he was much addicted during our homeward voyage on board the steam-vessel, in which he was at liberty to roam about. He very much disliked strange noises. Thunder, the rain falling on the skylight, and especially the long-drawn note of a pipe or trumpet threw him into such agitation as to cause a sudden affection of the digestive organs, and it became expedient to keep him at a distance. When he was slightly indisposed, we made use of this kind of music with results as successful as if we had administered purgative medicine.”

My personal observations enable me to add but little to this excellent and exhaustive account. It is well known that this ape throve in the Berlin Aquarium. His skin, especially on the extremities, was at first covered with dry, cracked patches, which the late veterinary surgeon Gerlach believed to be due to mange; but these gradually disappeared, and as they scaled off the skin became smooth and of a dark black colour, and there was a fresh growth of hair. The creature generally slept in the bed of his keeper Viereck, covered himself up in an orderly manner, and ate at the man’s table of plain but nourishing food, cooked by the keeper’s wife. He sometimes ate fruit, and bananas were occasionally provided for him. When taking his meals, drinking, etc., I saw that he always behaved with good manners. He often moved freely about in an office-room of the Aquarium, and he was as obedient to the Director as to his keeper. He was generally good-tempered, fond of play, but rather mischievous, and he would snatch roughly, and occasionally try the sharpness of his teeth. Sometimes he tried to seize from visitors things which attracted his curiosity, such as the trimmings of ladies’ bonnets, lace falls, and the like. But on the whole he behaved with propriety, playfulness, and good temper, and there was much which resembled man in his look and bearing.

Early in 1876, before leaving Africa, this ape suffered from malaria, and he subsequently suffered from other complaints, from which he recovered. He died in November, 1877, of a galloping consumption.[121] The gorilla now living in the Berlin Aquarium is also very playful and affectionate.

The chimpanzees which have up to this time been observed in captivity, have been, while in good health, lively and amusing animals, and generally good-tempered. Buffon in 1740 possessed a specimen about two years of age, and this ape always walked upright, even when he carried heavy loads. It is known that other apes can also be trained to adopt this posture. Buffon’s chimpanzee had a serious and melancholy expression, moved slowly, was gentle and patient, and obedient to a word or sign. He offered people his arm, walked with them in an orderly manner, sat down to table like a man, opened his napkin and wiped his lips with it, made use of his spoon and fork, poured out wine and clinked glasses, fetched a cup and saucer and put in sugar, poured out tea, let it get cold before drinking it; but, while doing all this, he did not seem happy. He ate all the ordinary food of men, but preferred fruit, and he was not so fond of wine as of milk, tea, and sweet liqueurs. He was friendly with every one, coming close to them, and taking pleasure in their caresses. He took such a fancy to one lady, that when other people approached her he seized a stick and began to flourish it about, until Buffon intimated his displeasure at such behaviour.

Dr. Traill, of Liverpool, obtained a female chimpanzee which likewise came from the Gaboon, and which, as soon as she came on board, reached out her hand to some of the sailors, and remained on good terms with the whole crew, including the cabin-boy. When the sailors were at meals the ape regularly appeared, and begged for her portion. When angry she made a baying noise like a dog, and on another occasion she wailed like a spoiled child, scratching herself vehemently. She was lively and cheerful in warm regions, but the nearer the vessel approached to northern latitudes the more inert she became, and was glad to wrap herself in a warm coverlet. She seemed uneasy in an upright position, and when she assumed it she rested her hands on her thighs. Her hands were very strong, and she could hold on to a cord and swing for a long while without interruption. She gradually acquired a taste for wine, and once stole a bottle and uncorked it with her teeth. She was fond of coffee and sweetmeats, ate with a spoon, drank from a glass, and took pleasure in imitating the behaviour of men. She was attracted by shining metals, pleased with articles of clothing, and often put on a hat. She was unclean, and of a timid disposition.

According to the account of Captain Grandpré, a female chimpanzee on board his vessel would heat the oven, taking care that no coals fell out, and carefully watching until it was of the right heat, of which she would inform the baker. She fulfilled all the duties of a sailor, such as drawing up the anchor, furling and making fast the sails. She patiently endured maltreatment by a brutal mate, stretching out her hands imploringly to ward off his blows. But after this she refused all food, and died in five days of grief and hunger.

A chimpanzee in Brosse’s possession was sick, and twice blooded. When he again fell ill, he held out his arm as if to demand another venesection.

In reading these accounts, which have gone the round of various old-fashioned books on natural history, the question arises what we are or are not to believe, for many particulars appear to be exaggerated. Dr. Hermes, the director of the Berlin Aquarium, disputes the assertion made by others that the female chimpanzee, Molly, which was kept for a long while in that establishment, poured out wine for herself at an evening party, and clinked glasses with a neighbour.[122]

There is, however, an account given by Broderip of a male chimpanzee, which was brought from the Gambia, and placed in the London Zoological Gardens in 1835, which appears to be simple and faithful. The creature, clothed in a little jacket, nestled for the most part in the lap of an old female keeper. When he had nothing else to do, he played with his toes, just as a child does under like circumstances. He took Broderip’s hand without fear, and touched the ring on one of his fingers with his teeth, but without bending it. He tried all artificial substances with his teeth. He held fast to his keeper’s gown when she proposed to leave him, and he played with Broderip like a child. He displayed great terror when an anaconda was brought into the room in a basket, and did not dare to take an apple from off the closed lid of the basket; but as soon as the snake and its basket were removed, he ate the apple and became cheerful again. He willingly placed himself in a swing, and held on to the cords with both hands. He generally slept in a sitting position, leaning forwards with folded arms, or sometimes resting his face on his hands. But he would also sleep upon his belly, with his feet drawn up, and his head on his arms.

A male chimpanzee, which was kept in the Berlin Aquarium in 1876, was remarkable for his excessive liveliness. He had contracted a friendship with a fellow-captive, a young female orang, and their intimacy was confirmed by their games together, accompanied by many tender embraces. The small orang, a good-tempered, phlegmatic creature, allowed the chimpanzee to do what he pleased with her, and the former betrayed remarkable intelligence. In consequence of a general repair of his cage, Dr. Hermes, the director of the institution, to whom we owe this account, was obliged to keep the chimpanzee in his office, in company with himself and other officials. The chimpanzee soon accustomed himself to his new surroundings, and was on particularly friendly terms with Dr. Hermes’ two-year-old boy. When the child entered the room, the chimpanzee ran to meet him, embraced and kissed him, seized his hand and drew him to the sofa, that they might play together. The child was often rough with his playfellow, pulling him by the mouth, pinching his ears, or lying on him, yet the chimpanzee was never known to lose his temper. He behaved very differently to boys between six and ten years old. When a number of schoolboys visited the office, he ran towards them, went from one to the other, shook one of them, bit the leg of another, seized the jacket of a third with the right hand, jumped up, and with the left gave him a sound box on the ear; in short, he played the wildest pranks. It seemed as if he were infected with the joyous excitement of youth, which induced him to riot with the troop of schoolboys.

One day when Hermes gave his nine-year-old son a slight tap on the head, on account of some miscalculation in his arithmetic, the chimpanzee, who was also sitting at the table, gave the boy a smart box on the ear. If Hermes pointed out to him that some one was staring or mocking at him, and said, “Do not put up with it,” the creature cried, “Oh! oh!” and rushed at the person in question in order to strike or bite him, or express his displeasure in some other way. As he made distinctions in the age of human beings, so also with animals. He was gentle and considerate in his behaviour to young dogs and apes, while with older animals he was as boisterous as he was with the schoolboys. When he saw that Hermes was writing, he often seized a pen, dipped it in the inkstand, and scrawled upon the paper. He displayed a special talent for cleaning the window-panes of the aquarium. It was amusing to see him squeezing up the cloth, moistening the pane with his lips, and then rubbing it hard, passing quickly from one place to another.

Mafuca was a remarkable creature, not only in her external habits, but in her disposition. At one moment she would sit still with a brooding air, only occasionally darting a mischievous, flashing glance at the spectators; at another she took pleasure in feats of strength, or she roamed to and fro in her spacious enclosure like an angry beast of prey. She would insert the index finger of her right hand in the opening of a vessel which weighed thirty pounds, climb up the pole with it, and let it fall with a crash and clatter from a height of six feet. This ape would sometimes rattle the bars of her cage with a violence which made the spectators uneasy. She was fond of playing with old hats, which she set upon her head, and if the top was quite torn off, she drew it down upon her neck. Mafuca clawed at people who entered the vestibule of her cage and tried to tear their clothes. She hardly obeyed any one except Schöpf, the director of the Dresden Zoological Gardens, and when in a good humour she would sit on his knee and put her muscular arms round his neck with a caressing gesture. In spite of this, Schöpf was never secure from Mafuca’s roguish tricks, since her good-humour was of short duration. She was rather fond of the keeper, but not always obedient to him, and the whip was often in request, even at feeding-times. Mafuca was able to use a spoon, although somewhat awkwardly; and she could pour from larger vessels into smaller ones without spilling the liquor. She took tea and cocoa in the morning and evening, and a mixed diet between whiles, such as fruit, sweetmeats, red wine and water, and sugar.

Mafuca, for a while, was pleased with the companionship of a pretty sea-cat monkey, but she teased the creature so much that a special refuge was set apart for it, into which she could not enter. She was so scared and terrified by a heavy thunderstorm that she seized her sleeping playfellow by the tail and dashed it to the ground. She chased the mice which ran about her cage with deadly fury. She was much afraid of snakes, which is not usually the case with chimpanzees. If she was left alone for any time she tried to open the lock of her cage without having the key, and she once succeeded in doing so. On that occasion she stole the key, which was hanging on the wall, hid it in her axilla, and crept quietly back to the cage. With the key she easily opened the lock, and she also knew how to use a gimlet. She would draw off her keeper’s boots, scramble up to some place out of reach with them, and throw them at his head when he asked for them. She could wring out wet cloths, and blow her nose with a handkerchief. When her illness began, she became apathetic, and looked about with a vacant, unobservant stare. Just before her death, from consumption, she put her arms round Schöpf’s neck when he came to visit her, looked at him placidly, kissed him three times, stretched out her hand to him, and died.[123] The last moments of anthropoids have their tragic side!

We owe to Wallace an interesting account of young orangs in a state of captivity. This observer shot, near Simunjon, in Borneo, a large female ape of this species, which had a young one about a foot long. As Wallace carried this creature home, it took such a firm hold of his beard that he had much difficulty in getting free, for the unequal phalanges of the fingers in these animals are hook-shaped. At that time the creature had not a single tooth, but the two lower front teeth were cut a few days later. Unluckily, there was no milk, nor any female animal to give suck to the little ape. Wallace was obliged to give it rice-water from a bottle, with a quill inserted in the cork, from which, after some attempts, it learned to suck very well. Sugar and cocoa-milk were added, to make the pap more nourishing. When Wallace put his finger in the creature’s mouth, it sucked at it vigorously, then pushed it angrily away and began to scream, as a child does in like circumstances. When it was fondled and caressed, it was quiet and content, but began to scream again as soon as it was laid down; and for the first two nights it was very noisy and restless.

Wallace arranged a little box for the creature’s cradle, with a soft mat which was changed and washed every day. The little ape itself liked to be washed. As soon as it was dirty it began to scream, and never stopped until carried to the spring by its master, when it became quiet at once, although it struggled when first touched by the cold water, and made absurd grimaces when water was poured over its head. It was extremely fond of being dried and rubbed, and appeared to be perfectly happy when Wallace brushed its hair, lying quite still with extended arms and legs while the long hair on its back and arms was brushed out. At first it clung helplessly by all-fours to whatever it could get hold of, and Wallace had to be always on the watch to save his beard. When restless, it worked its hands above in the air, in search of something to hold, and if it got hold of a stick or piece of cloth with two or three of its hands, it was perfectly happy. In default of anything else, it nursed its own foot, and after a while it often folded its arms, and seized with each hand the long hair which grew below the opposite shoulder. The strength of the creature’s gripe soon diminished, however, and Wallace had to invent expedients for giving it exercise and strengthening its limbs. With this object he made a short ladder of three or four rounds, to which he suspended the young orang for a quarter of an hour at a time. At first it was pleased, but finding itself unable to assume a comfortable position when holding on by all four hands, it let go with one after another and at last fell to the ground. Often, when only hanging by two hands, it let go with one, in order to cross it over the opposite shoulder, and get hold of its own hair, and on finding this much more agreeable than the piece of wood, it let go with the other, and so fell to the ground, where it lay on its back with folded arms, quite content and apparently none the worse for its numerous tumbles.

When Wallace saw how fond the creature was of hair, he endeavoured to construct an artificial mother by stitching together a piece of buffalo hide which he suspended about a foot from the ground. At first this seemed quite successful, since the small orang could cling round it and always find something hairy to which it held fast with great persistency. Wallace now hoped that he had made the little orphan happy, and so it was for a while, until it remembered its lost mother and tried to suck. It raised itself so as to be quite close to the hide, and hunted about for promising places; but when its mouth was only filled with wool and hair it was much displeased, cried vehemently, and gave up the attempt after two or three endeavours. On one occasion it got some wool into its throat, and Wallace was afraid it must be choked; but after a good deal of cough it threw it up, and he destroyed the mock mother and relinquished the last attempt to give the little creature some occupation.

At the end of a week Wallace began to feed the ape with a spoon. He mixed soaked biscuit with egg and sugar, and sometimes with sweet potatoes. It took this food readily, and made droll grimaces in order to express its satisfaction or displeasure with what was offered. The little being licked its lips, drew in its cheeks, and screwed up its eyes with an expression of extreme content when it had a mouthful of anything it particularly liked. On the other hand, when the food was not sufficiently sweet and savoury, the orang turned it about in its mouth for a moment, as if to taste it thoroughly, and then spat it out. If the same food was presented again, it screamed violently and threw its arms about like a passionate child.

Three weeks after Wallace obtained the young orang, a macaca (_Macacus cynomolgus_), likewise young, was brought to him. The two animals became at once the best of friends, neither showing the least fear of the other. The small macaca had not the slightest scruple about sitting on the other’s body, and even on its face. When Wallace fed the orang, the macaca sat by to pick up any morsels which dropped, and when the meal was over it licked off whatever remained on the orang’s lips, and even tore open its mouth to see if anything remained there; then it lay down on the poor creature’s body as if it were a comfortable cushion. The small, helpless orang endured all these insults with the most unexampled patience, only too glad to have something warm to cling to and encircle fondly with its arms. But it had its revenge, for when the other little ape wished to get away, the orang held on as long as possible to the movable skin of the back or head, or to its tail, so that it cost the macaca many violent struggles to escape.

Wallace carefully observed the different behaviour of these two animals, which were of nearly the same age. All the observations hitherto made show that very young anthropoids display a helplessness resembling that of children of about the same age, although other families of apes, in common with most young mammals, kittens, puppies, etc., early attain to greater activity and independence.

When Wallace had kept the orang for about a month, and placed it on the ground, its legs straggled outwards, or it overbalanced itself and fell heavily forwards. When lying in its box, it would hold on to the edge, and once or twice it fell out in consequence. If allowed to be dirty or hungry, or otherwise neglected, it would cry loudly until it received attention, or sometimes would cough or struggle like an adult animal. If there was no one in the house, or if no one paid attention to its cries, it would be quiet for a time, and only renew them when a step was heard.

At the end of five weeks the two upper front teeth were cut, but throughout that period the creature had not grown, and remained of the same size and weight. This was doubtless owing to the want of milk or other nourishing food. Cocoa-milk seemed to produce diarrhœa, of which it was cured by castor-oil. A week or two later it sickened of what appeared to be intermittent fever, and died within a week.[124]

In 1837 the Zoological Gardens in London received an orang of two or three years old. He was for the most part sluggish and inert, but had occasional fits of better humour and playfulness. When angry he would attack strangers, but he generally sat cross-legged on a low stool, or on the ground before the fire, wrapped in a woollen rug. When the giraffes of the establishment inquisitively stretched their long necks over the bars of the ape’s cage, the creature evinced no fear, but tried to seize the long-legged animals by the muzzle. This orang answered to his name, and was obedient to his keeper, often searching in his pocket for the dainties concealed there. He was uneasy when separated by the cage-bars from his master; and when confined in an enclosure of cane interwoven with wire, he bent the wire asunder and squeezed himself through the hole, so that the cage had to be made stronger. The creature presented an absurd appearance dressed in a jacket and breeches. When he desired any dainty that he saw, he looked alternately at it and his keeper, and protruded his lips like a snout. In drinking, this animal took the vessel in his hand, brought the rim to his lips, and then drank with an air of gravity. I may here observe that when anthropoids drink in this way, they generally take the vessel in one hand, and support it with the back of the fingers of the other.

When the orang we have just described was disappointed in his desire to obtain anything, he threw himself on the ground, howling and screaming until he got his own way. He sometimes had furious fits of passion, in one of which he tried to destroy the bars of his cage by hitting them with the stool. As he did not succeed in this attempt, he gave vent to his fury in a loud outcry, which only ceased on the return of his keeper.

An orang brought by Montgomery to Calcutta in 1827, was less phlegmatic than animals of this species usually are. He played with those who carried him when they stooped over him, caught them by the hair, and so on. He tried to scour his tin vessel with a cloth, throwing one end over his shoulder, as he had seen the servants of the house do. He was particularly fond of milk, tea, wine, and pandanos fruit. He was very inquisitive, and tried everything that he could reach, first with the fingers, then with the lips, and finally with his teeth. He was fond of biting off the coat-lappets of his visitors. His absurd gestures, combined with his air of solemnity, excited laughter even in the grave natives. He was once drinking tea, when some one filled the empty mug with water; he emptied it out upon the floor, threw himself on his back, screamed, and struck his breast and belly with his hands. His gait was clumsy and unsteady when he tried to walk upright. When he went on all-fours, he sometimes supported himself on his hands and swung himself forward with his feet. If he lost his balance in walking upright, he fell upon his head, and then went on by turning somersaults. As soon as he was unchained, he went into the house and tried to get a portion of his master’s breakfast. In spite of his usual inquisitiveness, he was not at all excited by the sight of his melancholy countenance in the glass.

The large orang which was in the Berlin Aquarium in 1876 was a sullen companion, and looked like an old Bedouin as he crouched down and peered from under the covering which was thrown over him. His keeper could only trust him when he brought him an orange, and if he approached the bars of the cage without food, the ape flew at him, gnashing his teeth. He was sluggish whenever he was not excited by hunger. Then he started from his usually sitting position, and devoured the food which was cautiously passed through the door. If kept waiting, he threw himself on his back in a rage. When his hunger was satisfied, he played with the straw, the cord, or with his blanket. When it was necessary to change his straw, he was lured away by holding out an orange at the top of his pole, and the change was effected while the ape was tearing open the rind and sucking out its contents. In the evening he never omitted to clear out a hole in the straw, and to roll himself in his blanket. Gabriel Max has drawn a striking likeness of the resigned attitude of a sick orang.

Gibbons have often been observed in a state of captivity. Of the slothful and inanimate siamang there is nothing of much interest to report. The other species are, with few exceptions, phlegmatic, shy, and timid, but hardly ever averse from human society. Within a month Harlan was able to make a hulock so tame that he would hold on with one hand to him, while putting the others on the ground, and so walk about with his keeper. He came to his master’s call, seating himself close to him on a chair, shared his breakfast, and took an egg or chicken-bone off the table so neatly as not to soil the cloth. He was fond of cooked rice, bread soaked in milk, bananas, oranges, coffee, tea, chocolate, milk, etc. Generally he only dipped his fingers in the drinking vessels and licked off the liquid, but he could drink in human fashion. He searched the house for spiders and other creeping things, and brushed away flying insects with his right hand. The creature was very affectionate, and when Harlan came to him in the morning, he greeted him with a joyful sound like a bark, which went on for about a minute. He came to a call even when at a distance, and was pleased to be combed, brushed, and fondled. Two other hulocks taken by Harlan behaved in the same way.

The _Hylobates albimanus_ of the Berlin Aquarium, which I have already mentioned, was, as described by Hermes, and also according to my own observations, a very peaceable creature, although, if compelled to do what he did not like, he sometimes tried to bite a little, especially when just taken from his warm bed. But as soon as he was taken by the hand or lifted up, his anger was appeased. Although much less lively than the chimpanzee which was his companion, and less inclined to play, he was pleased with children, and watchfully observed their movements. His dexterity was wonderful. He was almost always present at dinner and supper, when the table was covered with dishes, and he ran up and down it, in order to go from one person to another, without touching, still less upsetting, the smallest article. His food consisted chiefly of white bread, milk, sweet cocoa, fruit, and Kiel sprats, of which he was particularly fond, as well as of sweet grapes. Before taking any liquid, he cautiously touched it with his tongue, to ascertain that it was not too hot; then he drank it up, without taking the cup or vessel in his hand, as the chimpanzee did. He did not like cold or moist food, and would seldom touch a peeled pear, while willing to eat it from Herme’s hand. Grapes were his favourite dainty, and if hungry when he saw them, he uttered a gentle noise which resembled the cry of a wood-pigeon. He often repeated this noise, _Hu_, _Hu_, to express pleasure, surprise, or curiosity, or when the same sound was uttered by others; and it was in this way that he greeted Hermes when he came to his bed in the morning. He was happiest when seated on a woman’s arm, with his long arms wound round her neck, and would sit quiet in this position as long as he was permitted to do so, and when taken away would scream like a child. When Frau Hermes left the room, he would run after her, and try to scramble up as soon as he reached her; if she took his hand, he went with her quietly. This gibbon may be compared favourably with other anthropoids, on account of his extraordinary cleanliness. He always returned to the place first used for his necessities, and never made his bed or the room unclean. There was not a trace of smell about him, so that he was quite an agreeable companion; and he shared the bed of one of Dr. Hermes’ children without causing the least disturbance or discomfort. He was fond of swinging to and fro by a cord, to which he held with one hand.

A specimen of _Hylobates funereus_ was kept in Paris for about a year. It was very intelligent, yet less so than other anthropoids. It knew its keepers and frequent visitors, and was pleased to be fondled; but it showed no preference for one person more than another, not even for its keeper.

Martin describes how in 1840, in Paris, a live bird was let into the cage of an _Hylobates agilis_. After watching its flight, the ape swung himself on to a distant bough, which he seized with one hand and the bird with the other. Its objects, both the bird and the bough, were attained with as much certainty as if only one object had arrested its attention. He bit off the bird’s head, plucked out the feathers, and then threw it away.

Another female specimen of _Hylobates agilis_ suddenly attacked her keeper, sprang upon him, scratched him with hands and feet, and bit him on the breast, so that it was fortunate for the man that the creature had shortly before lost her canine teeth. It was said that the same ape had killed a man in Macao.

Anthropoids when kept in confinement suffer from caries of the teeth and jaws, from chronic and acute bronchial and intestinal catarrhs, from inflammation and consumption of the lungs, from inflammation of the liver, from pericardial dropsy, from parasites of the skin and intestines, etc. When ill, as we learn from many sources, these animals display much resemblance to men. Among others, Bock observed an aged male orang-utan in Sumatra, suffering from consumption, which lay nearly all day wrapped in a coverlet, and was constantly racked by a violent cough.[125]

On the skulls of wild gorillas and chimpanzees we find traces of caries of the teeth and jaws, by which, therefore, these animals may be affected in a state of nature, as well as by parasites on the skin and intestines.