The Speech of Monkeys Part 8

[Sidenote: SOUNDS OF BIRDS]

The sounds of birds have been studied perhaps more than any others except those of man, but they have not been studied as speech, nor to ascertain their meanings. Their musical character has attracted attention and been the subject of some discussion. My opinion is that much that has been said on that subject belongs more properly to the realm of poetry than of science. I think the sounds of birds are chiefly intended for speech, but it may supply the place of music in their aesthetic being; but, so far as I have observed, I confess that I cannot find that they obey the laws of harmony, melody, or time, and it is my opinion that most of the efforts to write the sounds of birds on a musical staff are not to be relied upon as accurate records of the sounds. There is no doubt that each sound uttered by a bird is in unison with some note in the chromatic scale of music, but the intervals between the tones of the same bird do not coincide with those of the human voice. It is quite evident that birds possess an acute sense and ready faculty for music, and many of them show great apt.i.tude in imitating the sounds of musical instruments; some varieties of birds, such as the southern mocking-bird, the thrush, and others, imitate with great success the sounds of other birds. They often do this so perfectly as to deceive the species to which the sounds belong. The songs of birds, as they are called, appear to afford them great pleasure, and they often indulge in them, I think, as a pastime; the effect is pleasing to the ear because of its cheerfulness, and it is not discordant or wanting in richness of tone in most birds. From the little study I have given them I think it safe to say that the range of sounds possessed by any one bird is quite limited and their notes are strictly monophones. This last remark does not apply to the sounds made by parrots and birds of that kind.

The parrot is perhaps possessed of the greatest vocal power of any other bird. He imitates almost the entire range of sounds that are uttered by all other birds combined, and can also imitate the sounds of human speech from the highest to the lowest pitch of the human voice. In addition to all this, he imitates many noises, such as the sounds of sawing wood, the slam of a door, and the whistling of the wind. The vocal range of the parrot is perhaps the most marvellous of all the vocal products of the animal kingdom. One strange thing, however, that I observe among them is, that the range of sounds that they use among themselves is very small. I have made some records of parrots, macaws, c.o.c.katoos, &c., and I find their natural vocal sounds usually wanting in quality: most of their sounds are hoa.r.s.e and guttural.

Among the gallinaceous birds there does not appear to be much music.

There is a great sameness of sounds in the different species, and they seem to be confined to the economic use of speech.

In my early life I devoted much time to gunning, and I observed then, and called attention to the fact, that when a covey of birds became scattered I could tell at what point they would huddle. I could tell this by the call of one bird and the reply of the others. The call-bird, which was always the leader of the covey, would sound his call from a certain point near which the other birds would usually a.s.semble, and during this time they would answer him from various other points. The sound used by the call-bird is unlike that used by the rest of the flock, but the sounds with which they reply to him are all alike, and by observing this I could always find the covey again by allowing them time to come together, especially if it was late in the afternoon.

Mr. Wood, of Washington, D.C., has given such attention to the sounds of birds that he can interpret and imitate nearly all the sounds made by domestic birds, and many of those made by wild birds. He has twice confused and arrested the flight of an army of crows by imitating the calls of their leader. His feats have been witnessed with astonishment by many men of science.

[Sidenote: SOUNDS OF FISHES]

Among fishes I have found but few sounds, and most of these I have never heard except when the fish was taken out of the water. The carp and high-fin, however, I have frequently heard while in the water. It has occurred to me that the sound is not the medium of communication, but it is the result of an action by which they do communicate even when the sound is not audible. I have observed while holding the fish in my hand when he makes this sound that it produces a jarring sensation which is very perceptible. It is quite possible that in his natural element these powerful vibrations are imparted to the surrounding water, and through it communicated to another fish, who feels it in his sensitive body instead of hearing it as sound. It may be accompanied by the sound merely resulting from the force applied, but not in itself const.i.tuting any part of the means of communication. It is not unlike what we call sound, in the fact that it is generated in the same way, transmitted in the same way, and received in the same way as sound. When I have time and opportunity I shall carry my studies of the language of fishes much farther. Their means of communication are very contracted, but it is superfluous for me to say that they have such means.

Many observations have already been made on the language of insects, and much diversity of opinion prevails. Very little has been said about the details of their intercourse, but the consensus of opinion is that they must in some way communicate among themselves. To me they seem to live within a world of their own, as other cla.s.ses of the animal kingdom do.

The means of communication used by mammals could not be available among aquatic forms, any more than could their modes of locomotion. Each different cla.s.s of the animal kingdom is endowed with such characters and faculties as best adapt them to the sphere in which they live; and the mode of communication best fitted to the conditions of insect life would be as little suited to mammals, perhaps, as the feathers of a bird would be for locomotion in the realm of fishes.

[Sidenote: LANGUAGE OF INSECTS]

I am aware that some high authorities have claimed that insects communicate by sounds. My own opinion is that they employ a system of grating or scratching by means of their stigmata, but that the sound created thus performs no function in the act of communicating, but is only a bi-product, so to speak, and that the jarring sensation transmitted through the air is the real means by which they understand each other, possibly somewhat like telegraphy, in which the sounds are not modulated, but are distinguished by their duration and the interval between them. I do not announce this as conclusive, but merely suggest it as a possible key to their mode of intercourse.

[Sidenote: A COLONY OF ANTS]

I have observed that signs prevail to a great extent among ants. Some years ago I had an opportunity of studying a colony of ants, and I watched them almost daily for several weeks. I had seen it stated that they found their way by the sense of smell, but these observations confirmed my doubts on that point, and I feel justified in saying that they are guided almost, if not entirely, by landmarks. On the bark of a tree from which they were gathering in their winter stores, I observed that there were certain little knots or protuberances by which they directed their course and which they always pa.s.sed in a certain order.

Between these landmarks they did not confine themselves to any exact path, but the concourse would sometimes widen out over the s.p.a.ce of more than an inch, but as they approached a landmark every ant fell into line and went in the exact path of the others, which rarely exceeded in any case more than an eighth of an inch in width. Whenever an ant would lose its way it would lift its head high into the air, look around, and then turn almost at right angles from the course it was pursuing towards the path of the others. In scores of cases I observed that the outward-bound ant, when it had been lost and returned to the path, always came on the homeward side of the landmark and pa.s.sed out. On the other hand, if a homeward-bound ant was lost it would approach from the outward side of the landmark and pa.s.s in. About five feet from the ground were two small, round knots, about one-eighth of an inch in height, and a s.p.a.ce between them of about the same width. This appeared to be one of their most conspicuous and reliable landmarks, and every ant that I saw pa.s.s in or out during the lapse of weeks pa.s.sed between these two points. The burdened ant always appeared to have the right of way, and when meeting another without a burden there was no question of this right. In such a case the burden was usually held aloft, and the right of way conceded without debate. A little later in the season I had the opportunity of seeing the same colony emigrate to a point about eighty feet distant from their original abode, at which time they carried large burdens and were many days in completing their work, but the same system and methods prevailed.

As far as desire can be found in life the means of expression go hand in hand with it, but I do not contend that desire alone is the origin of this faculty. So far as human ears can ascertain, the lowest forms of life appeared to dwell in perpetual silence, but there may be voices yet unheard, more eloquent than we have ever dreamed of.

CHAPTER XXV.

Facts and Fancies of Speech--Language in the Vegetable Kingdom--Language in the Mineral Kingdom.

In the early part of this work I have recorded the material and tangible facts with which I have dealt, and have not departed from such facts to formulate a theory beyond a working hypothesis. I have not allowed myself to be transported into the realm of fancy, nor have I claimed for my work anything which lies beyond the bounds of proof. But in the wide range through which I have sought for the first hint of speech, it is only natural that many theories have suggested themselves to me from time to time, some of which would appear almost like the dreams of hasheesh. But while they are like the fairyland of speculation, they are not more wild and incoherent than are many of the dogmas of metaphysics. And at this point I shall digress from my text so far as to say that I have followed the motives of language through the higher planes of life and thence downward to the very sunrise to the vegetable kingdom, and on through the dim twilight across the mineral world to that point where elemental matter is first delivered from the hands of force. Standing upon the elevated plane of human development, it is difficult for man to stoop to the level of those inferior forms from which he is so far removed in all his faculties; but if his senses could be made so delicate as to discern the facts, he would find perhaps that in the polity of life all horizons are equidistant from each other. But looking back from where he stands, his powers fail to reach the real point of vital force at which all life began, and his contracted senses bring the vanishing point of this perspective far into the foreground of the facts.

From the highest type of human speech to the feeblest hint of expression there is a gradual descent, and at no point between these two extremes can there be drawn a line at which it may be said "here one begins, and here another ends." The same is true of other faculties; and from the vital centre at which matter first receives the touch of life to the circ.u.mference of the vital sphere, all powers radiate alike, and there is no point that I can find between that centre and infinity at which some new endowment intercepts the line.

Descending the scale of life by long strides, from man to the lowest form of zooids, we cannot designate the point at which a faculty is first imparted to the form which has it, and this truth extends throughout the vital cosmos.

[Sidenote: LANGUAGE IN THE VEGETABLE KINGDOM]

The line of demarcation which separates the animal and vegetable is but a wavering, blended mezzotint, and the highest forms of vegetable life seem to overlap the lowest forms of animal, so far that no dividing line is positively fixed. The highest types of vegetable seem to have the faculty of expression in a degree corresponding to, and in harmony with, the rest of their organism. I do not mean to say that the impulse under which a plant acts is synonymously with that which prompts the animal, but both appear to be the effect of the same cause.

In some forms of vegetation the selection of food of certain kinds and the aversion to other certain kinds, would indicate that the organism is capable of design and purpose in a degree perhaps much higher than some of the lowest forms of the animal kingdom. The reaching out of roots in search of food in the earth, the opening and closing of leaf and bloom, seeking the moisture and carbon from the atmosphere, suggest a feeble expression of desire. The choice of food is so well defined in some plants as to indicate a power of selection far greater than some protozoans exercise. It is a known fact that a change of food and conditions often modify a plant in such degree as to make it difficult to recognise except by the technical laws of cla.s.sification, and yet its ident.i.ty is not lost. Such changes do not effect all plants in the same degree, as some of them will undergo a change of diet or conditions without material effect. In many instances a marked dislike to certain kinds of food has been observed, and the sensitiveness of some plants is shown in the foliage, bloom, and even in the roots.

[Sidenote: LANGUAGE OF THE MINERAL KINGDOM]

In pa.s.sing from the vegetable to the mineral kingdom, we find a like diffusion of types overlapping and blending into each other. Some forms of vegetation are so low in the scale of organism as to make it difficult to say whether they are vegetable or mineral compounds. Of course we find no trace of speech, but there is that hint of expression or suggestion of desire as found in the vegetable kingdom. In the chemical world one element will select another with which it will combine, while to other elements it shows a great aversion. When one chemical element selects another and combines with it we call this chemical affinity. The ultimate force which causes this affinity is one of the unknown facts concerning matter; but it is possible that such affinities and aversions const.i.tute the basis upon which rests the selections and aversions of plants and animals. But as we rise in the scale the combinations of matter become more complex and the functions of each part more specific. It is possible, when we become more familiar with the forces of Nature, that we shall find that affinity and repulsion are but the positive and negative poles of the forces which act on matter; that chemical, vegetable and animal activity are based upon the same fundamental causes, and that speech, which is only one form of expression, is the highest product of such an ultimate force, but in all conditions of matter, such forces, either positive or negative, are the ultimate motives of expression.

[Sidenote: VITALISATION OF MATTER]

As chemical formulas differ from each other without losing the ident.i.ty of their elements which const.i.tute them, so animal organisms and plant forms differ as the spheres of life to which they are a.s.signed differ.

It is possible that chemical affinity may be the germ from which all language springs, as the chemical elements are the materials from which all compounds are built up. The vitalisation of matter itself, and the arrangement of the ultimate particles which const.i.tute a living body, are the work of the vital force in a polarised condition. This will account, in a measure, for all the individuals of one type selecting one mode of expression, as they select or conform to one physical outline.

In every rank of life there seems to be some intuitive mode of expression which suggest itself to all the individuals of that kind when they desire, under the same conditions, to express the same thing. The exceptions to this law of expression increase in number as we rise in the scale of life, and the means of expression increase and widen and the faculty of thought enlarges. The laws of chemical affinity are rigid and uncompromising, and there are but few exceptions in them, and only marked changes of condition can modify the results. As we ascend even in the mineral kingdom to the higher compounds we find a wider range of variation; and as we continue our ascent through the vegetable world, we find the same, and on through animals to the highest type. In the lower planes types are more strictly adhered to, habits and food more rigidly observed, while among the highest types of cultivated plants we find a great diversity of fruit and bloom, the capability of transplanting and the creation of new species, without losing the generic ident.i.ty of the plant or even making it questionable. In the animal kingdom the same law is complied with; and step by step as we ascend the same types show greater and greater diversity, until we reach man--the climax of all life, and within his genus, variation knows no bound.

[Sidenote: CONCLUSION]

In conclusion, I may say that man as he now is has the faculty of speech. It is reasonable to believe that he has always had this faculty since he was man. If there has ever been a time in the history of his organism when he acquired his being from some progenitor which was not man, he acquired at the same time the faculty of speech, and that progenitor did not impart a thing which he did not have. While it is true that speech, as I have used it, is confined to vocal sounds, other modes of expression have preceded it, and such has been a common faculty inherent through all forms and planes of life. I am aware that two ingredients combined may make a compound unlike either one, and such may be the case with speech, but the elements which const.i.tute the compound must have been for ever present.

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE SPEECH AND REASON OF DOMESTIC ANIMALS.

Dash and the Baby--Two Collies talk--Eunice understands her Mistress--Two Dogs and the Phonograph--A Canine Family--Cats and Dogs--Insects--Signs and Sounds.

[Sidenote: THE SPEECH OF DOMESTIC ANIMALS]

To those who are familiar with rural life, there can be nothing strange in hearing it said that all animals can talk among their kind. Among the daily incidents of farm life, there occur so many proofs of this as to place the question beyond debate. The cattle have means of conveying ideas to other cattle, and sheep and hogs understand other sheep and hogs, and the means employed are sounds. These sounds are used in the same way that man uses them to convey his thoughts, and since they discharge all the functions of speech, in what respect are they not speech? The types of speech differ in different genera, as their physical types do, but they are not any the less speech on that account.

Among the domestic animals, I think the dog has, perhaps, the highest type of speech; and this is doubtless, in some measure, due to his intimate relations with man, from whom he has learned and added a little to his mental store, and this must find an outlet through speech. That dogs think and reason is not to be doubted by the most stupid observer, and they often make known their thoughts so that even man can interpret them with certainty; but the speech by which they express those thoughts is of course rudimentary. Dogs often discharge certain duties with such promptness that bigots declare that it is mechanical and done without motive, but there are many thousands of cases where the dog has a.s.sumed and performed duties of others, entirely outside of his own sphere, which nothing but reason could have prompted.

When I was only a few weeks old, my father had given to him a little white poodle, which he called Dash. He was about my own age, and we grew up together. In those days, children were rocked in the old-time cradle, and I, like other babies, had a cradle. When I was a few months old, on one occasion I was left asleep in my cradle, and no one was in the room but Dash and myself. Having been disturbed in my sleep, I woke up and cried, and Dash, seeing the condition of things, came to the cradle, and, rearing on his hind feet, rocked it with his paws, and whined and barked until I had gone to sleep again. My mother has often told me of this, and a.s.sured me that he had never been taught to do this, but always after practised it, not only with myself, but with my younger brothers and sisters, until, at the age of thirteen, he came to an untimely death at the hands of a bull-dog, whose name and tribe I have never ceased to hate. I gave Dash the burial that he deserved, and had a long procession of mourning children follow his remains to the grave, where I delivered the funeral sermon, and we all sung a hymn. About three years ago, in company with an older sister, I visited the spot for the first time in nearly thirty years, but no sign of the little grave remained.

What else but reason could have prompted this act? The dog had seen it done by human beings, and had noted the result. Whether his whining was intended as singing or not, I am unable to say, but from my recollection of seeing him do this with the younger children, I believe that it was intended to soothe or entertain, and his barking to call some one into the room.

A farmer by the name of Taylor, living in East Tennessee, some years ago owned two very fine collies, and they had been trained to drive the cattle and sheep about the farm, to drive strange cattle away from the premises, to guard the gates or gaps opened temporarily for hauling about the farm, and many similar duties. On one occasion, in haymaking time, as night was approaching, the waggon made its last homeward trip for the day, and the men working in the meadow prepared to go home. The driver of the waggon, supposing the men from the meadow were following and would close the gates, left them open, and one of these was between the corn-field and a pasture containing a number of cattle. The men, however, did not follow the waggon, but took a near way across the field, and the gate was left open. While the family was at supper, one of the collies was restless and barked continually, and gave such signs of uneasiness as to a.s.sure all that something was wrong. His master went to the door, and the dog ran to the gate in the front of the house, and continued barking and lashing his tail with great energy. The master followed to the front gate, and the dog immediately ran barking down the road, but looking back from time to time to see that his master followed, which he did, and was thus led to the open gate, where he found the other collie on guard and keeping the cattle from pa.s.sing, which they were trying to do. What less than reason could have prompted these dogs to such an act? And what less than speech could have enabled them to execute this feat? They observed the neglect or error of the driver, and foresaw the evil consequences, and it could only have been by agreement reached through an interchange of thoughts that one of them watched while the other gave the alarm. I have known some of these dogs that knew certain cattle by name, and would go into the herd and drive out the one whose name was designated, while it is true in other cases that the dog would only drive out such as were pointed out to him. But many instances proved that they are able to learn the names of the cattle. It is certain that in many instances dogs know the names of the children belonging to the family, and often distinguish them by name. I presume no one doubts that they learn their own names, so that each dog may know when he is called. I know a dog, now living near Leominster, Ma.s.s., that extinguished an accidental fire which had been caused by the hired man carelessly dropping a burning match in some straw in the barn-yard after lighting his lantern. The dog had to fight the fire with his paws, and by the time he had extinguished it they were much singed.

His loud barking was sufficient to warn the family that something unusual was taking place. They soon responded to his call, and found that he had the fire quite under control. He had thus saved his master's barn and house from the flames, and since that time, as I have witnessed myself, will not allow any one to light a cigar with a match in his presence. The peculiar sound which he makes under such circ.u.mstances appeals to the sense of fear or apprehension, and I have observed that the significance of all speech depends much upon intonation. It is less so with man, perhaps, than with other animals, because of the great number of words which amplify and shade his meanings. But by a single word of human speech we can express many shades of meaning simply by modulation; but having at our command so many words to qualify our meaning, we lose sight of the value and power of intonation. The difficulty of discerning the delicate shades of meaning imparted by intonation, depends upon the mode of thought, and the simpler this is the keener the power to interpret inflections. One very important fact is that a dog only learns to interpret one sound on one subject at any one time. He cannot put together in his mind a great number of sounds, nor interpret complex ideas in detail. I know a dog in Charleston, South Carolina, that would fly into a rage and bark fiercely if you say, "Chad, where is that big black dog that whipped you so badly?" But repeated experiments proved to my mind that the dog did not interpret any part of the sentence except the words "black dog," and even this seemed to depend chiefly upon the sound "black," and by saying this sound you would get the same results as to use the entire sentence. He had been whipped by a dog of this description, and had been so often reminded of it that he had a.s.sociated the sound with the incident.

I know a little dog in New York that understands the same sound in a similar way and for similar reasons. She also recognises the name of the lady who owns the black dog. A family, with whom I am on close terms of friendship, owns an ugly little mongrel, to which two of the daughters are very devoted. They have reared her with great care, and lavished upon her many luxuries, far better than most human beings enjoy. The young ladies declared to me that Eunice (which is the dog's name) could understand every word they said on any subject that she had been accustomed to hear.

Mattie would say to her, "Eunice, go tell Miss Kate to get on her hat and let us go take a walk." The little dog would run to Miss Kate's room and bark and jump until the young lady would comply. I found that the dog a.s.sociated the sounds "hat" and "walk" with the act of taking a stroll in the company of the young ladies; but she would act just the same when either one of these words were said to her as she would if one were to repeat a whole canto of Milton; and I think the young ladies have never quite forgiven me for trying to prove to them that Eunice was not a fine English scholar.

I find, by means of many experiments, that much depends upon the manner of delivering these sounds; but that the animal is largely guided by the sound alone is proven by the fact that some dogs understand English, others French, German, or some other language, and they do not really understand unless addressed in the speech with which they are familiar.

A short time since I tried a novel experiment with the phonograph and two black-and-tan terriers, mother and son. The son was a notorious talker in the way of barking almost continuously at everything, and on all occasions and at all times, while the mother was naturally taciturn, good-natured, and fairly intelligent. I first took the son to a room where I had the phonograph, and I made a record of a number of sounds of his voice. The children aided me in the experiment by getting him to talk for food, bark at his image in the mirror, and by various other ways they induced him to other sounds in the presence of the phonograph.

A few days later I had them bring the mother to the same place, where I discharged the contents of my phonograph cylinder in her presence. She gave every evidence of recognising the sounds of the young dog, and in a few instances responded to them. She was naturally perplexed at not being able to find him, and searched the horn and various parts of the room in quest of the young dog. I delivered to her at the same time the record of another dog, to which she paid little attention except by an occasional growl and a look into the horn to see what it meant. She evidently recognised the sounds of the young dog with which she was familiar and seemed to interpret their meanings, whereas the sounds from the other cylinder did little more than attract her attention.

Last summer I stopped at a small town in Northern Virginia. A young man at the same hotel had two setters and a black-and-tan terrier. I experimented extensively with these three dogs during my stay, and deduced therefrom some conclusions which were inevitable. The hotel verandah opened on the street, and was a place of resort for gentlemen of leisure about town. There was also a side entrance through a large yard. I have frequently observed the dogs lying asleep on the verandah, when the owner would enter the side yard on a flagstone walk, often in the midst of conversation of a dozen men. The terrier would recognise the footsteps of his master, would utter a low sound and spring to his feet, and rush at once in the direction whence he heard the steps. The setters invariably seemed to know what it meant, would raise their heads, lash their tails upon the floor, showing evident signs of understanding the situation. I have seen this terrier recognise the steps of his master when the latter was accompanied by two or three other persons. The delicate precision of his hearing was marvellous, and in no instance, so far as I observed, was he deceived in the approaching footsteps. I cannot believe that he was guided by the sense of smell, as it is evident that the setters, whose habits of hunting have developed in them a much more sensitive olfactory power, would naturally have been the first to have detected their master's approach, and yet it was equally evident that the terrier's ears were the first to catch the sounds.

I have observed among dogs a.s.sociated with each other that where one should bark in the distance, as though he had something at bay, his companion, hearing him from the house, would p.r.i.c.k up his ears, listen for a moment, and then dash off in the direction from whence the sounds came; whereas the bark of a strange dog, even having something at bay, would only cause him to listen, utter a low sound or grunt, and lie down again and take a nap, as much as to say "That's nothing to me!" I have known many instances where dogs would follow the farm waggon to town, and faithfully guard the waggon and its contents all day long, with a fidelity that we seldom see in the most devoted servants. The attachment of a dog to his master has been a subject of remark from time immemorial, until the saying has crystallised into a maxim--"As faithful as a watch-dog." A friend of mine had a little terrier, whose name was Nicodemus, that had a habit of sitting in the kitchen window to watch people pa.s.s the street. She a.s.sures me that on washdays, when the steam condensed on the window-panes, Nicodemus would lick the moisture from the gla.s.s in order to see through it more clearly. Could instinct be the guide in such an act?