I know of nothing in the way of affection and loyalty among animals that can exceed that of my devoted Moses. Not only was he tame and tractable, but he never tired of caressing me, and being caressed by me. For hours together he would cling to my neck, play with my ears, lips and nose, bite my cheek, and hug me like a last hope. He was never willing for me to put him down from my lap, never willing for me to leave my cage without him, never willing for me to caress anything else but himself, and never willing for me to discontinue that. He would cry and fret for me whenever we were separated, and I must confess that my absence from him during a journey of three weeks, hastened his sad and untimely death.

From the second day after we became associated, he appeared to regard me as the one in authority. He would not resent anything I did to him. I could take his food out of his hands, which he would permit no one else to do. He would follow me, and cry after me like a child; and as time went by his attachment grew stronger and stronger. He gave every evidence of pleasure at my attentions, and evinced a certain degree of appreciation and gratitude in return. He would divide any morsel of food with me, which is, perhaps, the highest test of the affection of any animal. I cannot say that such an act was genuine benevolence, or an earnest of affection in a true sense of the term, but nothing except deep affection or abject fear impels such actions, and certainly fear was not his motive.

There were others whom he liked and made himself familiar with; there were some he feared and others he hated; but his manner towards me was that of deep affection. It was not alone in return for the food he received, because my boy gave him food more frequently than I did, and many others from time to time fed him. His attachment was like an infatuation that had no apparent motive, was unselfish and supreme.

The chief purpose of my living among the animals being to study the sounds they uttered, I gave strict attention to those made by Moses. For a time it was difficult to detect more than two or three distinct sounds, but as I grew more and more familiar with them I could detect a variety of them, and by constantly watching his actions and associating them with his sounds I learned to interpret certain ones to mean certain things.

In the course of my sojourn with him I learned a certain sound that he always uttered when he saw anything that he was familiar with, such as a man or a dog, but he could not tell me which of the two it was. If he saw anything strange to him he could tell me, but not so that I knew whether it was a snake or a leopard or a monkey, yet I knew that it was something of that kind. I learned a certain word for food, hunger, eating, &c., but he could not go into any details about it, except that a certain sound indicated good or satisfaction, and another meant the opposite.

Among the sounds that I learned was one that is used by a chimpanzee in calling another to come to it. Some of the natives assured me that the mothers always used it in calling their young to them. When Moses wandered away from the cage into the jungle, he would sometimes call me with this sound. I cannot express it in letters of the alphabet, nor describe it so as to give a very clear idea of its character. It was a single sound or word of one syllable, and easily imitated by the human voice. At any time that I wanted Moses to come to me I used this word, and the fact that he always obeyed it by coming confirmed my opinion as to its meaning. I do not think when he addressed it to me that he expected me to come to him, but he perhaps wanted to locate me in order to be guided back to the cage by the sound. As he grew more familiar with the surrounding forest he used it less frequently, but he always employed it in calling me or the boy. When he was called by it he answered with the same sound; but one fact that we noticed was that if he could see the one who called he never made any reply by sound. He would obey it, but not answer it; he probably thought if he could see the one who called that he could be seen by him, and it was therefore useless to reply.

The speech of these animals is very limited, but it is sufficient for their purpose. It is none the less real because of its being restricted, but it is more difficult for man to learn, because his modes of thought are so much more ample and distinct. Yet when one is reduced to the necessity of making his wants known in a strange tongue, he can express many things in a very few words. I have once been thrown among a tribe of whose language I knew less than fifty words, but with little difficulty I succeeded in conversing with them on two or three topics. Much depends upon necessity, and more upon practice. In talking to Moses I mostly used his own language, and was surprised at times to see how readily we understood each other. I could repeat about all the sounds he made except one or two, but I was not able in the time we were together to interpret all of them. These sounds were more than a mere series of grunts or whines, and he never confused them in their meaning. When any one of them was properly delivered to him, he clearly understood and acted upon it.

It was never any part of my purpose to teach a monkey to talk, but after I became familiar with the qualities and range of the voice of Moses, I determined to see if he might not be taught to speak a few simple words of human speech. To effect this in the easiest way and shortest time, I carefully observed the movements of his lips and vocal organs in order to select such words for him to try as were best adapted to his ability.

I selected the word mamma, which may almost be considered a universal word of human speech; the French word feu, fire; the German word wie, howl, and the native Nkami word nkgwe, mother. Every day I took him on my lap and tried to induce him to say one or more of these words. For a long time he made no effort to learn them, but after some weeks of persistent labour and a bribe of corned beef, he began to see dimly what I wanted him to do. The native word quoted is very similar to one of the sounds of his own speech, which means "good" or "satisfaction." The vowel element differs in them, and he was not able in the time he was under tuition to change them, but he distinguished them from other words.

In his attempt to say mamma he only worked his lips without making any sound, although he really tried to do so, and I believe that in the course of time he would have succeeded. He observed the movement of my lips, and tried to imitate them, but seemed to think that the lips alone produced the sound.

With feu he succeeded fairly well, except that the consonant element as he uttered it resembled "v" more than "f," so that the sound was more like vu making the u short as in "nut." It was quite as perfect as most people of other tongues ever learn to speak the same word in French, and if it had been uttered in a sentence, any one knowing that language would recognise it as meaning fire. In his efforts to pronounce wie he always gave the vowel element like German "u" with the umlaut, but the "w" element was more like the English than the German sound of that letter.

Taking into consideration the fact that he was only a little more than a year old, and was in training less than three months, his progress was all that could have been desired, and vastly more than had been hoped for. Had he lived until this time, it is my belief that he would have mastered these and other words of human speech to the satisfaction of the most exacting linguist. If he had only learned one word in a whole lifetime, he would have shown at least that the race is capable of being improved and elevated in some degree.

Another experiment that I tried with him was one that I had used before in testing the ability of a monkey to distinguish forms. I cut a round hole in one end of a board and a square hole in the other, and made a block to fit into each one of them. The blocks were then given to him to see if he could fit them into the proper holes. After being shown a few times how to do this, he fitted them in without difficulty; but when he was not rewarded for the task by receiving a morsel of corned beef or a sardine, he did not care to work for the fun alone.

In colours he had but little choice, unless it was something to eat, but he could distinguish them with ease if the shades were pronounced.

I had no means of testing his taste for music or sense of musical sounds. I must here take occasion to mention one incident in the life of Moses that never perhaps occurred before in the life of any other chimpanzee, and while it may not be of scientific value, it is at least amusing.

While living in the jungle, I received a letter enclosing a contract to be signed by myself and a witness. Having no means of finding a witness to sign the paper, I called Moses from the bushes, placed him at the table, gave him a pen and had him sign the document as witness. He did not write his name himself, as he had not yet mastered the art of writing, but he made his cross mark between the names, as many a good man had done before him. I wrote in the blank the name,

His
"Moses X Ntyigo"
mark;

the cross mark omitted, and had him with his own hand make the cross as it is legally done by all people who cannot write. With this signature the contract was returned in good faith to stand the test of the law courts of civilisation, and thus for the first time in the history of the race a chimpanzee signed his name.

When I prepared to start on a journey across the Esyira country it was not practicable for me to take Moses along, so I arranged to leave him in charge of a missionary. Shortly after my departure the man was taken with fever, and the chimpanzee was left to the care of a native boy belonging to the mission. The little prisoner was kept confined by a small rope attached to his cage in order to keep him out of mischief. It was during the dry season, when the dews are heavy and the nights chilly, as the winds at that season are fresh and frequent.

Within a week after leaving him he contracted a severe cold, which soon developed into acute pulmonary troubles of a complex type, and he began to decline. After an absence of three weeks and three days, I returned to find him in a condition beyond the reach of treatment. He was emaciated to a living skeleton: his eyes were sunken deep into their orbits, and his steps were feeble and tottering; his voice was hoarse and piping; his appetite was gone, and he was utterly indifferent to anything around him.

During my journey I had secured a companion for him, and when I disembarked from the canoe, I hastened to him with this new addition to our little family. I had not been told that he was ill, and was not prepared to see him looking so ghastly.

When he discovered me approaching, he rose up and began to call me as he had been wont to do before I left him, but his weak voice was like a death-knell to my ears. My heart sunk within me as I saw him trying to reach out his long, bony arms to welcome my return. Poor, faithful Moses! I could not repress the tears of pity and regret at this sudden change, for to me it was the work of a moment. I had last seen him in the vigour of a strong and robust youth, but now I beheld him in the decrepitude of a feeble senility. What a transformation!

I diagnosed his case as well as I was able and began to treat him, but it was evident that he was too far gone to expect him to recover. My conscience smote me for having left him, yet I felt that I had not done wrong. It was not neglect or cruelty for me to leave him while I went in pursuit of the chief object of my search, and I had no cause to reproach myself for having done so. But emotions that are stirred by such incidents are not to be controlled by reason or hushed by argument, and the pain that it caused me was more than I can tell.

If I had done wrong, the only restitution possible for me to make was to nurse him patiently and tenderly to the end, or till health and strength should return. This was conscientiously done, and I have the comfort of knowing that the last sad days of his life were soothed by every care that kindness could suggest. Hour after hour during that time he lay silent and content upon my lap. That appeared to be a panacea to all his pains. He would roll his dark brown eyes up and look into my face, as if to be assured that I had been restored to him. With his long fingers he stroked my face as if to say that he was again happy. He took the medicines I gave him as if he knew their purpose and effect.

His suffering was not intense, but he bore it like a philosopher. He seemed to have some vague idea of his own condition, but I do not know that he foresaw the result. He lingered on from day to day for a whole week, slowly sinking and growing feebler, but his love for me was manifest to the last, and I dare confess that I returned it with all my heart.

Is it wrong that I should requite such devotion and fidelity with reciprocal emotion? No. I should not deserve the love of any creature if I were indifferent to the love of Moses. That affectionate little creature had lived with me in the dismal shadows of that primeval forest for so many long days and dreary nights; had romped and played with me when far away from the pleasures of home, and had been a constant friend alike through sunshine and storm. To say that I did not love him would be to confess myself an ingrate unworthy of my race.

The last spark of life passed away in the night. It was not attended by acute pain or struggling, but, falling into a deep and quiet sleep, he woke no more.

Moses will live in history. He deserves to do so, because he was the first of his race that ever spoke a word of human speech; because he was the first that ever conversed in his own language with a human being; and because he was the first that ever signed his name to any document; and Fame will not deny him a niche in her temple among the heroes who have led the races of the world.