THE WASP AND THE CRICKET
At the end of July the Yellow-winged Wasp tears the cocoon that has
protected her till then and flies out of her underground cradle. During
the whole of August she is often seen flitting about the fields in
search of honey. But this careless life does not last long, for by
the beginning of September the Wasp must begin to dig her burrows and
search for game for her family. For her burrows she usually chooses
some sandy soil on the high banks by the side of the road. One thing is
necessary: the site must receive plenty of sunshine.
Ten or twelve Yellow-winged Wasps usually work together. They scrape
the earth with their fore-feet like mischievous puppies. At the same
time, each worker sings her glad song, which is a shrill noise,
constantly broken off and rising higher or sinking lower in a regular
rhythm. One would think they were a troop of merry companions singing
to encourage each other in their work. Meanwhile, the sand flies,
falling in a fine dust on their quivering wings; and the too-large
gravel, removed bit by bit, rolls far away from the work yard. If a
piece seems too heavy to be moved, the insect gets up steam with a
shrill note which reminds one of the workman’s “Hoo!”
Soon the cave takes shape; the insect dives into it bodily. We still
hear underground her untiring song, while every little while we catch
a glimpse of her hind-legs, pushing a torrent of sand backwards to
the mouth of the burrow. From time to time the Wasp comes outside the
entrance to dust herself in the sun, and to rid herself of grains of
sand. In spite of these interruptions, she manages to dig the gallery
in two or three hours. Then she comes to her threshold to chant her
triumph and give the finishing polish to her work by smoothing out some
unevenness and carrying away a speck or two of earth.
There are two, three, or four cells in the Yellow-winged Wasp’s burrow,
in each of which lies an egg. But the Wasp does not content herself
with one burrow: she digs about ten, all in the month of September,
and she has to get food for all of them. She has not a moment to lose,
when, in so short a time, she has to dig her burrows, procure a dozen
Crickets or more for food for her families, and stop the burrows up
again. Besides, there are gray days and rainy days during the month,
when she cannot work.
The Yellow-winged Wasp is not content with comparatively defenseless
Beetles and Caterpillars; she hunts the powerful Cricket. Watch her
chasing one. The terrified Cricket takes to flight, hopping as fast as
he can; the Wasp pursues him hot-foot, reaches him, rushes upon him.
There follows, in the dust, a confused struggle, wherein each fighter
is in turn victor and vanquished, on top and underneath. The issue
seems doubtful. But at last the Wasp triumphs. In spite of his vigorous
kicks, in spite of the snaps of his pincer-like jaws, the Cricket is
laid low and stretched upon his back.
[Illustration]
The Wasp places herself upon him, belly to belly, but in the opposite
direction. She grasps one of the threads at the tip of the Cricket’s
abdomen with her mouth and masters with her fore-legs the convulsive
efforts of his thick hinder-thighs. At the same time her middle-legs
hug the heaving sides of the beaten insect, and her hind-legs force the
joint of the neck to open wide. The Wasp then curves herself outward so
as to offer the Cricket no chance to bite her, and drives her poisoned
sting once into the victim’s neck, next into the joint of the front
two rings of the thorax, or part next the neck, and lastly towards the
abdomen. In less time than it takes to tell, the murder is done; and
the Wasp, after making herself tidy again, gets ready to haul home the
victim.
You must acknowledge she knows how to fight, better even than the Wasps
who attack Beetles, or those who capture Caterpillars. Those insects
cannot fly, they have no defensive weapons. What a difference between
them and the Cricket! The Cricket is armed with dreadful jaws, capable
of eating the vitals out of the Wasp if they succeed in seizing her; he
has a pair of powerful legs, regular clubs bristling with a double row
of sharp spikes, which can be used by the Cricket either to hop out of
his enemy’s reach, or to send her sprawling with brutal kicks.
Notice, therefore, the precautions the Wasp takes before setting her
sting in motion. She turns the Cricket upon his back so that he cannot
use his hind-legs to escape. She controls his spurred legs with her
fore-feet, so that he cannot kick her; and she keeps his jaws at a
distance with her own hind-legs. She makes him motionless by grasping
one of the threads at the end of the abdomen. An athlete, an expert
wrestler, could not do better.
Consider, also, her science. She wishes to paralyze the prey without
killing it, so that it will remain in a fit condition for food for
her babies for many weeks. If she should leave the Cricket any power
of motion, it would knock the eggs off; if she killed it entirely, it
would decay. How does she produce this paralysis? She does just what a
surgeon would advise her to do; she strikes the nerve-centers of the
different parts of the Cricket’s body which are likely to do harm, the
three nervous centers that set the legs in motion.
If we look at the Cricket a week, two weeks, or even longer after the
murder, we shall see the abdomen moving slightly, a sign that he is
still alive.
After the Wasp has paralyzed her Cricket, she grips him with her feet,
holding also one of his antennæ in her mouth, and in this manner flies
off with him. She has to stop sometimes to take a minute’s rest. Then
she once more takes up her burden and, with a great effort, carries him
in one flight almost to her home. The Wasp I am watching alights in
the middle of a Wasp village. She makes the rest of her way on foot.
She bestrides her victim and advances, bearing her head proudly aloft
and hauling the Cricket, who trails between her legs, by the antennæ
held between her jaws. If the ground is bare, she has an easy time; but
sometimes she meets with some spreading grass shoots, and then it is
curious to see her marches and countermarches, her repeated attempts
to get past, which she finally does by some means or other, either by
flight or by taking another path.
At last she reaches home and places the Cricket so that his antennæ
exactly touch the mouth of the burrow. The Wasp then leaves him and
goes down hastily to the bottom of the cave, perhaps to see that
everything is as it should be and no other Wasp has made her nest
there. A few seconds later she reappears, showing her head out of doors
and giving a little cry of delight. The Cricket’s antennæ are within
her reach; she seizes them, and the game is brought quickly down to the
lair.
When the Yellow-winged Wasp has stacked up three or four Crickets for
each cell, she lays an egg on one of them and closes the burrow. She
does this by sweeping the heaped-up sand outside the door down the
burrow. She mixes fair-sized bits of gravel with the sand to make it
stronger. If she cannot find gravel of the right size within reach,
she goes and searches in the neighborhood, and seems to choose the
pieces as carefully as a mason would choose the chief stones for his
building. In a few moments she has closed up the underground dwelling
so carefully that nothing remains to show where it has been. Then she
goes on, digs another burrow, catches game for it, and walls it up.
And so on. When she is through laying all her eggs, she goes back to
the flowers, leading a careless, wandering life until the first cold
snap puts an end to her existence, which has been so full of duties and
excitements.
[Illustration]