The Speech of Monkeys

Whose zeal for my success is the light which guides me along the highway of my labours, and to those earnest friends, Mr. Walter S. Logan, Judge Charles P. Daly, Mr. James Muhlenberg Bailey, Mr. Samuel S. McClure, Hon. O. B. Potter, Dr. Alexander Melville Bell, Hon. John Hay, Professor S. E. Tillman, Mrs. Henry Draper, Mr. J. V. V. Booream, Mr. G. Hilton Scribner, and Mr. B. Schlesinger, who have opened their purse as they opened their hearts, and afforded me that aid which made it possible for me to continue my researches. With them I shall gladly share the glory of all that my efforts may achieve, and to them, with profound and affectionate gratitude, this first contribution to Science on this subject is justly dedicated by

I desire here to express my gratitude to The New Review, The North American Review, The Cosmopolitan, The Forum, and many of the leading journals of America, for the use of their valuable and popular pages through which my work has been given to the public. To the press, English and American, I gladly pay my tribute of thanks for the liberal discussion, candid criticism, and kind consideration which they have bestowed upon my efforts to solve the great problem of speech.

In contributing to Science this mite, I do not mean to intimate that my task has been completed, for I am aware that I have only begun to explore the field through which we may hope to pass beyond the confines of our own realm and invade the lower spheres of life.

This volume is intended as a record of my work, and a voluntary report of my progress, to let the world know with what results my labours have been rewarded, and with the hope that it may be the means of inducing others to pursue like investigations.

In prosecuting my studies I have had no precedents to guide me, no literature to consult, and no landmarks by which to steer my course. I have, therefore, been compelled to find my own means, suggest my own experiments, and solve my own problems. Not a line on this subject is to be found in all the literature of the world, and yet the results which I have obtained have far surpassed my highest hopes. Considering the difficulties under which I have been compelled to work, I have been rewarded with results for which I dared not hope, and this inspires me to believe that my success will meet my highest wishes when I am placed in touch with such subjects as I expect to find in the forests of Tropical Africa.

Only a few of my experiments are recorded in this volume, but as they illustrate my methods and set forth the results, they will serve to show, in a measure, the scope of my work.

In the latter part of this work will be found a definition of the word Speech as I have used it, and the deductions which I have made from my experiments. I have not ventured into any extreme theories, either to confirm or controvert the opinions of others, but simply commit to the world these initial facts, and the working hypotheses upon which I have proceeded to obtain them.

In Chapter XXI. I have mentioned the particular characteristics which mark the sound of monkeys as speech, and distinguish them from mere automatic sounds.

With all the gravity of sincere conviction I commit this volume to the friends of Science as the first contribution upon this subject.

New York, June 1, 1892.

CHAPTER I

Early Impressions – First Observations of Monkeys – First Efforts to Learn their Speech – Barriers – The Phonograph Used – A Visit to Jokes – My Efforts to Speak to Him – The Sound of Alarm inspires Terror.

From childhood, I have believed that all kinds of animals have some mode of speech by which they could talk among their own kind, and have often wondered why man had never tried to learn it. I often wondered how it occurred to man to whistle to a horse or dog instead of using some sound more like their own; and even yet I am at a loss to know how such a sound has ever become a fixed means of calling these animals. I was not alone in my belief that all animals had some way to make known to others some certain things; but to my mind the means had never been well defined.

About eight years ago, in the Cincinnati Zoological Garden, I was deeply impressed by the conduct of a number of monkeys occupying a cage with a huge, savage mandril, which they seemed very much to fear and dislike. By means of a wall, the cage was divided into two compartments, through which was a small doorway, just large enough to allow the occupants of the cage to pass from one room to the other. The inner compartment of the cage was used for their winter quarters and sleeping apartments; the outer, consisting simply of a well-constructed iron cage, was intended for exercise and summer occupancy. Every movement of this mandril seemed to be closely watched by the monkeys that were in a position to see him, and instantly reported to the others in the adjoining compartment. I watched them for hours, and felt assured that they had a form of speech by means of which they communicated with each other. During the time I remained, I discovered that a certain sound would invariably cause them to act in a certain way, and, in the course of my visit, I discovered that I could myself tell, by the sounds the monkeys would make, just what the mandril was doing – that is, I could tell whether he was asleep or whether he was moving about in his cage. Having interpreted one or two of these sounds, I felt inspired with the belief that I could learn them, and felt that the "key to the secret chamber" was within my grasp.

I regarded the task of learning the speech of a monkey as very much the same as learning that of some strange race of mankind, more difficult in the degree of its inferiority, but less in volume.

Year by year, as new ideas were revealed to me, new barriers arose, and I began to realise how great a task was mine. One difficulty was to utter the sounds I heard, another was to recall them, and yet another to translate them. But impelled by an inordinate hope and not discouraged by poor success, I continued my studies, as best I could, in the Gardens of New York, Philadelphia, Cincinnati and Chicago, and with such specimens as I could find from time to time with travelling shows, hand-organs, aboard some ship, or kept as a family pet. I must acknowledge my debt of gratitude to all these little creatures who have aided me in the study of their native tongue.

Having contended for some years with the difficulties mentioned, a new idea dawned upon me, and, after maturely considering it, I felt assured of ultimate success. I went to Washington, and proposed the novel experiment of acting as interpreter between two monkeys. Of course this first evoked from the great fathers of science a smile of incredulity; but when I explained the means by which I expected to accomplish this, a shadow of seriousness came over the faces of those dignitaries to whom I first proposed the novel feat. I procured a phonograph upon which to record the sounds of the monkeys. I separated two monkeys which had occupied the same cage together for some time, and placed them in separate rooms of the building where they could not see or hear each other. I then arranged the phonograph near the cage of the female, and by various means induced her to utter a few sounds, which were recorded on the cylinder of the phonograph. The machine was then placed near the cage containing the male, and the record repeated to him and his conduct closely studied. He gave evident signs of recognising the sounds, and at once began a search for the mysterious monkey doing the talking. His perplexity at this strange affair cannot well be described. The familiar voice of his mate would induce him to approach, but that squeaking, chattering horn was a feature which he could not comprehend. He traced the sounds, however, to the horn from which they came, and, failing to find his mate, thrust his arm into the horn quite up to his shoulder, then withdrew it, and peeped into it again and again. The expressions of his face were indeed a study. I then secured a few sounds of his voice and delivered them to the female, who showed some signs of interest, but the record was very imperfect and her manner seemed quite indifferent. In this experiment, for the first time in the history of language, was the Simian speech reduced to record; and while the results were not fully up to my hopes, they served to inspire me to further efforts to find the fountain-head from which flows out the great river of human speech. Having satisfied myself that each one recognised the sound made by the other when delivered through the phonograph, I felt rewarded for my labour and assured of the possibility of learning the language of monkeys. The faith of others was strengthened also, and while this experiment was very crude and imperfect, it served to convince me that my opinions were correct as to the speech of these animals.

In this case I noticed the defects which occurred in my work and provided against them, as well as I could, for the future. Soon after this I went to Chicago and Cincinnati, where I made a number of records of the sounds of a great number of monkeys, and among others I secured a splendid record of the two chimpanzees contained in the Cincinnati collection, which I brought home with me for study. The records that I made of various specimens of the Simian race I repeated to myself over and over, until I became familiar with them, and learned to imitate a few of them, mostly by the use of mechanical devices. After having accomplished this I returned to Chicago, and went at once to visit a small Capuchin monkey whose record had been my chief study. Standing near his cage, I imitated a sound which I had translated "milk," but from many tests I concluded it meant "food," which opinion has been somewhat modified by many later experiments which led me to believe that he uses it in a still wider sense. It is difficult to find any formula of human speech equivalent to it. While the Capuchin uses it relating to food and sometimes to drink, I was unable to detect any difference in the sounds. He also seemed to connect the same sound to every kindly office done him, and to use it as a kind of "Shibboleth." More recently, however, I have detected in the sound slight changes of inflection under different conditions, until I am now led to believe that the meaning of the word depends somewhat, if not wholly, on its modulation. The phonetic effect is rich and rather flute-like, and the word resembles somewhat the word "who." Its dominant is a pure vocal "u," sounded like "oo" in "too," which has a faint initial "wh," both elements of which are sounded, and the word ends with a vanishing "w." The literal formula by which I would represent it is "wh-oo-w." The word which I have translated "drink" begins with a faint guttural "ch," and glides through a sound resembling the French diphthong "eu," and ends with a slight "y" sound as in "ye."

So far I have found no trace of the English vowels "a," "i," or "o," unless it be in the sound emitted under stress of great alarm or in case of assault, in which I find a close resemblance to the vowel "i," short as in "it."

After having acquired a sound or two, I extended my field of operations and began to try my skill as a Simian linguist on every specimen with which I came in contact.

In Charleston, a gentleman owns a fine specimen of the brown Cebus whose name is Jokes. He is naturally shy of strangers, but on my first visit to him I addressed him in his native tongue, and he really seemed to regard me very kindly; he would eat from my hand and allow me to caress him through the bars of his cage. He eyed me with evident curiosity, but invariably responded to the word which I uttered in his own language. On my third visit to him I determined to try the effect of the peculiar sound of "alarm" or "assault" which I had learned from one of this species; but I cannot very well represent it in letters. While he was eating from my hand, I gave this peculiar piercing note, and he instantly sprang to a perch in the top of his cage, thence in and out of his sleeping apartment with great speed, and almost wild with fear.

As I repeated the sound his fears seemed to increase, until from a mere sense of compassion I desisted. No amount of coaxing would induce him to return to me or to accept any offer of peace which I could make. I retired to a distance of about twenty feet from his cage, and his master induced him to descend from the perch, which he did, with the greatest reluctance and suspicion. I gave the sound again from where I stood, and it produced almost the same results as before. The monkey gave out a singular sound in response to my efforts to appease him, but refused to become reconciled. After the lapse of eight or ten days, I had not been able to reinstate myself in his good graces, or to induce him to accept anything whatever from me. At this juncture I resorted to harsher means of bringing him to terms, and began to threaten him with a rod. At first he resented this, but soon yielded and came down merely from fear. He would place the side of his head on the floor, put out his tongue, and utter a very plaintive sound having a slight interrogative inflection. At first this act quite defied interpretation; but during the same period I was visiting a little monkey called Jack. For strangers, we were quite good friends, and Jack allowed me many liberties which the family assured me he had uniformly refused to others. On one of my visits he displayed his temper, and made an attack upon me because I refused to let go of a saucer from which I was feeding him with some milk. I jerked him up by the chain and slapped him sharply, whereupon he instantly laid the side of his head on the floor, put out his tongue, and made just such a sound as Jokes had made a number of times before. It occurred to me that it was a sign of surrender, and many subsequent tests have confirmed this opinion. Mrs. M. French Sheldon, in her journey through East Africa, shot a small monkey in a forest near Lake Charla. She described to me how the little fellow stood high up in a tree and chattered to her in his sharp, musical voice, until at the crack of her gun he fell mortally wounded. When he was laid dying at her feet, he turned his bright little eyes pleadingly upon her as if to ask for pity. Touched by his appeal, she took the little creature in her arms to try to soothe him. Again and again he would touch his tongue to her hand as if kissing it, and seemed to wish in the hour of death to be caressed, even by the hand that slew him, and which had taken from him without reward that life which could be of no value except to spend in the wild forest where his kindred monkeys live.

This peculiar mode of expressing submission seems to be very widely used, and from her description of the actions of that monkey, his conduct must have been identical with that of the Cebus; and to my mind may justly be interpreted to mean, "Pity me, I will not harm you." I have recently learned that a Scotch naturalist, commenting on my description of this act and its meaning, quite agrees with me, and states that he has observed the same thing in other species of monkeys.

CHAPTER II

The Reconciliation – The Acquaintance of Jennie – The Salutation – The Words for Food and Drink – Little Banquo, Dago, McGinty, and others.

During a period of many weeks I visited Jokes almost daily, but after the lapse of more than two months I had not won him back nor quieted his suspicions against me. On my approach, he would manifest great fear and go through the act of humiliation described above. I observed that he entertained an intense hatred for a negro boy on the place, who teased and vexed him on all occasions. I had the boy come near the cage, and Jokes fairly raved with anger. I took a stick and pretended to beat the boy, and this delighted Jokes very greatly. I held the boy near enough to the cage to allow the monkey to scratch and pull his clothes, and this would fill his little Simian soul with joy. I would then release the boy, and to the evident pleasure of Jokes I would drive him away by throwing wads of paper at him. I repeated this a number of times, and by such means we again became the best of friends. After each encounter with the boy, he would come up to the bars, touch my hand with his tongue, chatter and play with my fingers, and show every sign of confidence and friendship. He always warned me of the approach of any one, and his conduct towards them was largely governed by my own. He never failed, after this, to salute me with the sound described in the first chapter. About the same time I paid a few visits to another little monkey of the same species, named "Jennie." Her master had warned me in advance that she was not well disposed towards strangers. At my request, he had her chained in a small side yard which he forbade any of the family entering. When I approached the little lady for the first time, I gave her the usual salutation, which she responded to, and seemed to understand. I unceremoniously sat down by her side and fed her from my hands. She eyed me with evident interest and curiosity, while I studied her every act and expression. During the process of this mutual investigation, a negro girl who lived with the family, overcome by curiosity, stealthily came into the yard and came up within a few feet of us. I determined to sacrifice this girl upon the altar of science, so I arose and placed her between the monkey and myself, and vigorously sounded the alarm or menace. "Jennie" flew into a fury, while I continued to sound the alarm and at the same time pretended to attack the girl with a club and some paper wads, thus causing the monkey to believe that the girl had uttered the alarm and made the assault. I then drove the girl from the yard with a great show of violence, and for days afterwards she could not feed or approach the little Simian. This confirmed my opinion of the meaning of the sound, which can be fairly imitated by placing the back of the hand gently on the mouth and kissing it with great force, prolonging the sound for some seconds. This imitation, however, is indifferent, and its quality is especially noticeable when analysed on the phonograph. The pitch corresponds to the highest "F" sharp on the piano, while the word "food" is four octaves lower and the word "drink" three.

On one occasion I visited the Garden in Cincinnati, and found in a cage a small Capuchin, to whom I gave the name of Banquo. It was near night and the visitors had left the house, and the little monkey, worried out by the day's annoyance from visitors, sat quietly in the back of his cage as though he was glad another day was done. I approached the cage and uttered the sound which I have described and translated "drink." My first effort caught his attention and caused him to turn and look at me. He then arose and answered me with the same word, and came at once to the front of the cage. He looked at me as if in doubt, and I repeated the word. He responded with the same and turned to a small pan in his cage, which he took up and placed near the door through which the keeper usually passed his food, returned to me, and uttered the word again. I asked the keeper for some milk, which he did not have, but brought me some water instead. The efforts of my little Simian friend to secure the glass were very earnest, and his pleading manner and tone assured me of his extreme thirst. I allowed him to dip his hand into the glass, and he would then lick the water from his fingers and reach again. I kept the glass out of reach of his hand, and he would repeat the sound earnestly and look at me beseechingly, as if to say, "Please give me some more." I was thus convinced that the word which I had translated "milk" must also mean "water," and from this and other tests I at last determined that it meant "drink" in its broad sense, and possibly "thirst." It evidently expressed his desire for something with which to allay his thirst. The sound is very difficult to imitate, and quite impossible to write exactly.

On one of my visits to the Chicago Garden, I stood with my side to a cage containing a small Capuchin and gave the sound which I had translated "milk." It caused him to turn and look at me, and on repeating the sound a few times, he answered me very distinctly with the same, picking up the pan from which he usually drank; and as I repeated the word, he brought the pan to the front of the cage, set it down, and came up to the bars and uttered the word distinctly. I had not shown him any milk or any kind of food, but the man in charge, at my request, brought me some milk, which I gave to him. He drank it with great delight, then looked at me and held up his pan, repeating the sound. I am quite sure that he used the same sound each time that he wanted milk. During this same visit, I tried many experiments with the word which I am now convinced means "food" or "hunger." And I was led to the belief that he used the same word for apple, carrot, bread and banana; but a few later experiments have led me to modify this view in a measure, since the phonograph shows me slight variations of the sound, and I now think it probable that these faint inflections may possibly indicate a difference in the kinds of food he has in mind. However, they usually recognise this sound, even when poorly imitated. I am impressed with the firm belief that in this word I have found the clue to the great secret of speech; and while I have taken only one short step in the direction of its solution, I have pointed out the way which leads to it.

In the fall of 1891, I visited New York for the purpose of experimenting with the monkeys in Central Park. Early one morning I repaired to the monkey-house, and for the first time approached a cage containing five brown Capuchins, whom I saluted with the word which I have translated "food," and which seems to be an "open-sesame" to the hearts of all monkeys of this species. On delivering this word, one of them responded promptly and came to the front of the cage. I repeated it two or three times and the remaining four came to the front, and as I thrust my fingers through the bars of the cage, they took hold of them and began playing with great familiarity and apparent pleasure. They seemed to recognise the sound, and to realise that it had been delivered to them by myself. Whether they regarded me as a great ape, monkey, or some other kind of animal speaking their tongue, I do not know. But they evidently understood the sound, though up to this time I had shown them no food or water. A little later I secured some apples and carrots, and gave them in small bits in response to their continual requests for food, and this further confirmed my belief that I had translated the word correctly. This was gratifying to me in view of the fact that I was accompanied by two gentlemen who had been permitted to witness the experiment, and it was evident to them that the monkeys understood the sound. I placed the phonograph in order and made a record of the sound, which I preserved for study. After an absence of some days, I returned to the Park and went to the monkey-house. They recognised me as I entered the door, notwithstanding there were many visitors present. They began begging me to come to their cage, which I did, and gave them my hand to play with. One of them in particular, whose name is "McGinty," showed every sign of pleasure at my visit; he would play with my fingers, hug them, and caress them in the most affectionate manner. Another occupant of the same cage had shown a disposition to become friendly with me, and on this occasion came bravely to the bars of the cage and showed a desire to share the pleasure of my visit with his little Simian brother. But this was denied him on any terms by "McGinty," who pounced upon him and drove him away, as he also did the other monkeys in the cage in order to monopolise my entire society himself. He refused to allow any other inmate of the cage to receive my caresses or any part of the food that I had brought them. I spent the past winter in Washington and New York, much of the time in company with these little creatures, and have made many novel and curious experiments, some of which have resulted in surprises to myself. MONKEYS CAN COUNT Among the facts which I have obtained, I may state that certain monkeys can count three; that they discern values by quantity and by number; that they have favourite colours, and are pleased with some musical sounds. And I shall explain how I arrived at some of these conclusions, in order that I may not be supposed to have merely guessed at them.