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THE MENTAL STATUS OF THE ORANG-UTAN 



MY first ownership of a live orang-utan began in 1878, in 

 the middle of the Simujan River, Borneo, where for four 

 Spanish dollars I became the proud possessor of a 

 three-year old male. No sooner was the struggling animal 

 deposited in the bottom of my own boat than it savagely seized 

 the calf of my devoted leg and endeavored to bite therefrom a 

 generous cross section. My leggings and my leech stockings 

 saved my life. That implacable little beast never gave up; 

 and two days later it died, — apparently to spite me. 



My next orang was a complete reverse of No. 1. He liked 

 not the Dyaks who brought him to me, but in the first moment 

 of our acquaintance he adopted me as his foster-father, and 

 loved me like a son. Throughout four months of jungle 

 vicissitudes he stuck to me. He was a high-class orang, — and 

 be it known that many orangs are thin-headed scrubs, who 

 never amount to anything. His skull was wide, his face was 

 broad, and he had a dome of thought like a statesman. He had 

 a fine mind, and I am sure I could have taught him everything 

 that any ape could learn. 



During the four months that he lived with me I taught him, 

 almost without effort, many things that were necessary in our 

 daily life. Even the Dyaks recognized the fact that the "Old 

 Man" was an orang (or "mias") of superior mind, and some 

 of them traveled far to see him. Unfortunately the exigencies 

 of travel and work compelled me to present him to an admiring 

 friend in India. Mr. Andrew Carnegie and his then partner, 

 Mr. J. W. Vandevorst, convoyed my Old Man and another 

 small orang from Singapore to Colombo, Ceylon, whence they 



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