THE ANT-LION
“On the margin of ponds and streams we may see, flying from one bulrush
to another, certain insects with large transparent wings and abdomen
long and slender like a piece of string. Some are of a bronze green
color, others of a splendid indigo blue, while still others, somewhat
larger, are clothed in mingled black and yellow. They are called
libellulids or, more commonly, dragon-flies, and also devil’s
darning-needles.
“Do you recognize the insect? Haven’t you ever run after it? Perched on
a reed that trembles in the current, it seems to be dozing and waiting
for you, its wings extended to the utmost. Your hand darts out to seize
it. Good-bye, darning-needle! It is ten paces away from you.”
“Yes, indeed,” replied Louis, “every one has chased darning-needles,
but I never knew of any one’s catching them. And we don’t have to go so
far as the brook or the mill-pond to find them, either.”
“No; not all of them are lovers of water. Some, in fact, avoid it and
prefer sandy places parched by the burning sun. A modest gray is their
uniform, but they make up for their lack of brilliancy by their curious
mode of life while they are still in the larva form. The picture that I
show you here illustrates what these gray dragon-flies look like at an
earlier stage.
“A singular creature and not exactly ingratiating in appearance. It
would not be very pleasant to encounter one in a lonely nook in the
woods, little adapted though its size is for attacking us. Look at its
ferocious pointed nippers, opening and closing like a pair of tweezers.
Do they not betoken a thirst for blood? As a matter of fact, the little
creature lives by carnage exclusively; it is a hunter whose game is the
ant. Hence its name of ant-lion, or, as it might be put, the lion of
the ants.
“Prey of that sort is incapable of serious resistance when once it has
been seized by those terrible hooks; but it must first be seized, and
there is the difficulty. The nimble ant scampers off at the first
approach of danger, and if it should chance to be hard pressed it has
only to run up a blade of grass and there be out of reach. The
ant-lion, on its part, heavy of paunch and short of leg, drags itself
along very awkwardly; and, moreover, if it ever undertakes to get over
the ground—a rare occurrence—it always moves backward, which is not
what might be called a speedy gait and does not adapt itself to keeping
the object of one’s pursuit always in sight.
“The chase being thus rendered impracticable, there remain the snare
and the ambuscade. The creature must capture by cunning what its
sluggishness of movement makes it impossible to get possession of
otherwise. Let us see what form this cunning takes.
“Hunt at the base of sun-exposed walls and rocks, and if you find there
some little nook with very fine and dry sandy soil, the ant-lion will
seldom fail to be there too. Its abode is easily recognized by the
regular funnel-shaped hollow scooped in the ground. The insect itself
is invisible, being hidden under the sand at the bottom of the
excavation.
“With the blade of a knife thrust obliquely into the ground lift up the
bottom of the funnel, and you will have the little creature, rather
abashed at first by the sudden destruction of its retreat, but soon
recovered and striving to hide itself in the soil by a backward
movement. Make haste to take it and put it into a glass under a layer
of fine sand like that beneath which you found it. There at your
leisure you can watch it as it hollows out its funnel, a pitfall for
catching ants. You will see it put into practice the cunning wiles of
an ambushed hunter.
“Let us for a moment stand as onlookers, mentally at least, while this
work goes forward. Placed on a bed of sand and restored from its former
dismay, the ant-lion proceeds to plunge its belly halfway into the
soil; then, with this substitute for a plowshare, and always moving
backward, it draws a circular furrow. Returning to its starting-point
it draws a second furrow close to the first, then a third next to the
second, and so on with a great many more, each one of smaller
circumference than the preceding, so that they all together form a
spiral which constantly approaches the center; and as this living plow
is driven deeper and deeper at each circuit, and throws outward the
soil that it turns up, the final result is a funnel of about two inches
in diameter and somewhat less in depth. There you have the ant-lion’s
trap, the treacherous pitfall in which the ants are caught.
“Of course the huntsman employing such a device as this must himself
keep well out of sight. The ant-lion is too well versed in its art to
violate this elementary principle. It crouches down under the sand at
the lowest point of the upturned funnel, with only its nippers showing,
and these are pressed close to the ground, but wide open and ready to
seize any luckless ant that may chance to tumble down the incline.
Although the horrible pincers are exposed, they are not likely to
excite suspicion, being easily mistakable from the edge of the
excavation for some stray bits of dead leaves.
“These preparations completed, the insect lies in wait, perfectly
motionless. Its patience and its hunger are subjected to prolonged
trial. Hours and even days pass with no sign of game. Alas, how
difficult it is in this world even for an ant-lion to win its mouthful
of bread!
“But at last there comes an ant, on business bent that takes it into
these parts. Preoccupied with its own concerns, it takes no heed of the
pitfall. Hardly has it approached the edge of the chasm when the sand,
which is extremely unstable, gives way under the little creature’s
feet. There is a land-slide, and with it down tumbles the incautious
ant. In mid-course it succeeds by desperate efforts in arresting its
descent. It struggles to regain the upper level; its tiny claws,
trembling with fear, catch as best they may at the roughness of the
slope; but as soon as touched these supports yield, and the down-rush
begins anew with irresistible impetus.
“One grain of sand, more firmly planted than the rest, offers some
resistance. Perhaps safety will be found in this point of support if it
continues to withstand the strain. It holds firm, surely enough. The
ant climbs up a little, heedful of its steps for fear of precipitating
another slide. It has almost gained the edge of the excavation and
seems about to find its feet once more on firm ground. Will it indeed
escape scot-free?
“Oh, no. The hungry watcher at the bottom of the funnel will have
something to say on that subject. He intends to make a good dinner on
the ant. If things had followed their customary course and the
imprudent victim, caught in the trap, had continued to slide down until
within reach of the nippers, these would have seized their prey without
further formality; but since the game seems about to escape, it is the
huntsman’s part to employ the manœuvres reserved for difficult cases.
“The ant-lion’s head is flat and somewhat shovel-shaped. The insect
plunges it into the sand and then, with a sudden movement of the neck,
throws the shovelful up into the air so that it will come down again on
the ant. Other shovelfuls follow in quick succession, better and better
directed, and fall back in a hail-storm on the now nearly exhausted
ant.
“Against this shower of sand resistance is impossible when one stands
on a treacherous footing that gives way at each attempt to escape. The
poor victim is swept away and rolls to the bottom of the funnel.
Instantly the nippers seize their prey, and all is over. The huntsman
goes to his dinner, not gnawing the fruit of his patient skill, since
it is too tough for that, but sucking the juice like the refined
epicure he is.
“When there is nothing left of the ant but a dry husk, the ant-lion
loads it on to his head and with an upward toss throws it out of the
funnel, in order not to defile his place of ambush with a useless
corpse which might arouse the distrust of passers-by. Then a little
careful mending restores the pitfall to its former mobility, and the
huntsman waits patiently for another ant to take a false step and slide
down into his lair.”