Among the variety of curious insects which are common to tropical
climates, the groogroo worms of the West Indies may be considered
particularly interesting. From the peculiar manner in which they are
produced, and from the circumstance of their constituting a choice
article of food for man, they become entitled to some attention.
The groogroo worm--so called because it is found in a species of palm
vulgarly called the groogroo--is the larva of a large-sized beetle,
the _Prionus_, which is peculiar to the warm latitudes of America.
With the exception of a slight similarity about the region of the
head, the worm bears no resemblance to the parent beetle. When
full-grown, it is about 3-1/2 inches in length, having the body large
and turgid, and increasing in circumference from the head towards the
opposite extremity. The head is of a corneous, opaque substance. It
has neither eyes nor the rudiments of the antennæ which distinguish
the beetle tribe. It is, however, provided with the mandibles and
other oral apparatus of the mandibulate group of insects, and it is
only in this feature that any connection with the beetle can be
traced. The trunk is precisely that of a worm; it consists of many
closely-knitted segments, which are possessed of an extraordinary
contractile power. It bears no mark which would indicate a future
metamorphosis into a beetle. There is no sign of a future division
into thorax and abdomen. There are no rudiments of wings or feet, as
the under surface of the body presents exactly the same appearances as
the upper. At the posterior extremity of the worm, however, there is a
small horny termination, something like the hinder part of a leech.
The organs are exceedingly simple, the digestive being the most
developed. Albumen is the substance which composes its body, and its
blood is of a greenish tint. With a motion similar to that of the
earthworm, it perforates with extraordinary rapidity into the
substance of the tree in which it is found.
When the moon is at her full, the gatherer of worms enters a
neighbouring wood, and selects a young _palmiste_ tree. This is a tree
of the palm order, exceedingly stately and graceful, growing sometimes
to the extraordinary height of eighty feet. From the roots upwards, it
has not a single branch or shrubby excrescence, but grows beautifully
smooth and straight, tapering towards the top. At its top, an
abundance of the richest and most beautiful leaves spread out in
graceful symmetry, and bend down on all sides, forming a figure like
an umbrella; while the young leaf, still firm and compact in its
foliar envelope, is seen standing erect in the centre of this foliage,
like a lightning-conductor.
When a promising palmiste is found, the gatherer makes an incision
into it with a cutlass or a hatchet. This incision is generally in the
figure of a half-moon, with the base of the semicircle downwards, and
the wound increasing in depth in that direction, so as to expose
effectually the flesh of the tree. When this is done, the gatherer
marks the locality, and leaves the tree, which he does not revisit for
a considerable time. When the moon is in her wane, he returns and
examines his palmiste. If the young leaf, together with the others,
begins to shew a yellow tinge at its extremity, and if, on application
of his ear to the trunk, a hollow, rumbling noise is heard within, he
concludes that the worms have attacked the vital parts, and the tree
is immediately cut down; but if these symptoms are absent, the tree is
left standing until they appear. The gatherer, however, must now visit
the tree frequently, because the transition of the insects is so
rapid, that almost immediately after the appearance of the yellow
tinge the whole would disappear. When the tree is felled, a square
portion of the bark is cut out longitudinally from the original
incision upwards, and its fibrous texture laid open. Myriads of worms
are then seen voraciously devouring their way through the substance.
In capturing them some degree of dexterity is necessary, both to
protect one's self from the mandibles of the insects, which inflict a
painful bite, and also to save time, by preventing them from burrowing
out of sight. When the worms are taken, they are placed into a close
vessel, where they continue to retain their activity and vigour.
The number that can be procured from a single tree, depends altogether
upon the season in which it is wounded. If the moon is at her full,
they are generally numerous and good--many thousands being found in an
ordinary young tree of 25 feet in height. If a few succeed in eluding
the gatherer, they do so only to become a prey of as voracious
animals, for the wild hogs, or _quencos_, of the forest relish much
the soft substance of the palmiste when in a state of decomposition.
It never happens, therefore, that much time passes before they
discover any palmiste-tree that has been felled; and as soon as night
sets in, they flock in numbers to the spot and devour the whole
substance. A gathering of worms, therefore, brings a hunt of quencos;
and the gatherer, when his first business is over, chooses a
convenient tree, where he places himself in ambush. Seated on a cross
branch, he awaits the coming of the animals.
It is difficult to form an idea of the peculiar excitement of this
midnight sport in the thick woods of a tropical country. The usual
stillness of the night, and the solitude of the wilderness--the
croaking of the night-birds, the movement of every leaf, animated as
it is by the myriads of nocturnal insects that fill the
atmosphere--the brilliant and fleeting fire-flies traversing the
gloom--the strange animals wandering in their nightly prowlings--the
approach of the grunting hogs, and the incidents of the hunt: all
these things, combined with the idea of isolation when a man finds
himself alone in the wilds of a scarcely pervious forest, create an
inexpressible feeling of mingled fear, pleasure, and anxiety.
Before the worms are cooked, they are, each in its turn, carefully
pricked with an orange-thorn, and thrown into a vessel containing a
sauce of lime-juice and salt. This is for the purpose of cleansing
them from the viscid fluids they may have imbibed from the palmiste.
Notwithstanding this discipline, the worms retain their vitality till
they are deprived of it by the culinary process. The simpler mode of
dressing them is to spit a number together on a piece of stick or a
long orange-thorn, and roast them before the fire in their own fat.
The general mode, however, is by frying them with or without a sauce,
and when dressed in this manner, they form a most savoury dish.
Groogroo worms are considered great delicacies in some parts of the
West Indies, chiefly in those whose inhabitants are of French or
Spanish origin. The good old planter at his table presents you with a
dish of worms, with as much pride as an epicure in England introduces
you to cod-sounds, eels, or high venison. Nor does it appear that
there is any peculiarity in the taste of those who relish the insects;
because it very frequently happens, that the stranger, who manifested
on his arrival the greatest disgust at the idea of eating worms,
becomes immediately converted into an extravagant lover of them.
It may appear strange, that in the tropics, especially, where nature
provides so abundantly for the wants of man, such creatures should be
resorted to as articles of consumption; but while we on this side of
the Atlantic are shocked at the idea of eating worms, the West Indian
consumer in his turn expresses surprise that human beings can use
things which resemble snakes so much as eels, and pronounces it to be
the height of uncleanness to eat frogs, as some of the continentals
do. Indeed, the groogroo worm is by no means more repulsive in
appearance than any of the other unprepossessing creatures which are
so highly prized. It would be a difficult matter to decide on the
merits of the many extraordinary things which the taste of man, in its
morbid cravings, has discovered and converted into luxurious use; and
the philosopher finds himself at last driven to take shelter from his
own unanswerable inquiries behind the concluding power of that most
true, but somewhat musty proverb: 'De gustibus non est disputandum.'