The Speech of Monkeys

A few years ago, I saw on board the United States receiving ship Franklin, a bright little monkey which was kept chained in a temporary workshop built on the gun-deck. Her chain was just long enough to allow her to reach the stove. The day was pleasant outside, but in the shade a trifle chilly. The little monk descended from the sill on which she usually sat and carefully felt the top of the stove with her hands. Finding it slightly warm, although the fire had died out, she mounted the stove and laid the side of her head on the warm surface. She would turn first one cheek and then the other, and continued rubbing the stove with her hands. Not finding it warm enough, she jumped down on the floor, opened the stove door with her hand, and slammed it two or three times. She then picked up a stick of wood lying within reach, and tried to lift it to the stove. The stick was too heavy for her to handle, so she would lift up one end of it and drop it heavily on the floor with the evident purpose of attracting the attention of her master. Again she would open and slam the door, lift up the end of the stick and drop it, and utter a peculiar sound, showing in every possible way that she wanted a fire. She finally picked up a small stick and stuck the end of it into the ashes in the front of the stove. She knew that it was necessary to put the wood into the stove; she knew where to put it in, and, while she could not do it herself, she knew who could put it in. Her master told me that she would gather up the shavings from the floor when they came within her reach and pile them up by the stove. He also told me that he frequently gave her a lighted match when he had prepared the fuel for building a fire, and that she would touch the match to the shavings and start the fire. She never ventured to get on the stove without first examining it to ascertain how hot it was.