Time cannot be used to tell of making the acquaintance of this
moth until how well worth knowing it is has been explained. That
it is a big birdlike fellow, with a six inch sweep of wing, is
indicated by the fact that it is named in honour of the giant
Polyphemus. Telea means 'the end,' and as scientists fail to
explain the appropriateness of this, I am at liberty to indulge
a theory of my own. Nature made this handsome moth last, and
as it was the end, surpassed herself as a finishing touch on
creatures that are, no doubt, her frailest and most exquisite
creation.
Polyphemus is rich in shadings of many subdued colours, that so
blend and contrast as to give it no superior in the family of
short-lived lovers of moonlight. Its front wings are a complicated
study of many colours, for some of which it would be difficult to
find a name. Really, it is the one moth that must be seen and
studied in minutest detail to gain an idea of its beauty. The
nearest I can come to the general groundwork of the wing is a
rich brown-yellow. The costa is grey, this colour spreading in
a widening line from the base of the wing to more than a quarter
of an inch at the tip, and closely peppered with black. At the
base, the wing is covered with silky yellow-brown hairs. As if
to outline the extent of these, comes a line of pinkish white,
and then one of rich golden brown, shading into the prevailing
colour.
Close the middle of the length of the wing, and half an inch from
the costa, is a transparent spot like isinglass, so clear that fine
print can be read through it. This spot is outlined with a canary
yellow band, and that with a narrow, but sharp circle of black.
Then comes a cloudlike rift of golden brown, drifting from the
costa across the wing, but, growing fainter until it merges with
the general colour near the abdomen. Then half an inch of the
yellow-brown colour is peppered with black, similar to the costa;
this grows darker until it terminates in a quarter of an inch wide
band of almost grey-black crossing the wing. Next this comes a
narrower band of pinkish white. The edge begins with a quarter
of an inch band of clear yellow-brown, and widens as the wing curves
until it is half an inch at the point. It is the lightest colour
of rotten apple. The only thing I ever have seen in nature exactly
similar was the palest shade of 'mother' found in barrels of vinegar.
A very light liver colour comes close it. On the extreme tip is a
velvety oval, half black and half pale pink.
The back wings are the merest trifle stronger in this yellow-brown
colour, and with the exception of the brown rift are the same in
marking, only that all colour, similar to the brown, is a shade
deeper.
The 'piece de resistance' of the back wing, is the eyespot.
The transparent oval is a little smaller. The canary band is
wider, and of stronger colour. The black band around the lower
half is yet wider, and of long velvety hairs. It extends in an
oval above the transparent spot fully half an inch, then shades
through peacock blue, and grey to the hairlike black line
enclosing the spot.
The under sides of the wings are pure tan, clouded and lined with
shades of rich brown. The transparent spots are outlined with
canary, and show a faint line drawn across the middle the long way.
The face is a tiny brown patch with small eyes, for the size of
the moth, and large brown antennae, shaped like those of Cecropia.
The grey band of the costa crosses the top of the head. The
shoulders are covered with pinkish, yellow-brown hair. The top
and sides of the abdomen are a lighter shade of the same.
The under side of the abdomen is darker brown, and the legs brown
with very dark brown feet. These descriptions do the harmonizing
colours of the moth no sort of justice, but are the best I can offer.
In some lights it is a rich YELLOW-BROWN, and again a pink flush
pervades body and wings.
My first experience with a living Polyphemis (I know Telea is shorter,
but it is not suitable, while a giant among moths it is, so that
name is best) occurred several years ago. A man brought me a living
Polyphemus battered to rags and fringes, antennae broken and three
feet missing. He had found a woman trying to beat the clinging
creature loose from a door screen, with a towel, before the wings
were hardened for flight, and he rescued the remains. There was
nothing to say; some people are not happy unless they are killing
helpless, harmless creatures; and there was nothing to do.
The moth was useless for a study, while its broken antennae set it
crazy, and it shook and trembled continually, going out without
depositing any eggs. One thing I did get was complete identification,
and another, to attribute the experience to Mrs. Comstock in "A
Girl of the Limberlost", when I wished to make her do something
particularly disagreeable. In learning a moth I study its eggs,
caterpillars, and cocoons, so that fall Raymond and I began searching
for Polyphemus. I found our first cocoon hanging by a few threads
of silk, from a willow twig overhanging a stream in the limberlost.
A queer little cocoon it was. The body was tan colour, and thickly
covered with a white sprinkling like lime. A small thorn tree
close the cabin yielded Raymond two more; but these were darker in
colour, and each was spun inside three thorn leaves so firmly that
it appeared triangular in shape. The winds had blown the cocoons
against the limbs and worn away the projecting edges of the leaves,
but the midribs and veins showed plainly. In all we had half a dozen
of these cocoons gathered from different parts of the swamp, and we
found them dangling from a twig of willow or hawthorn, by a small
piece of spinning. During the winter these occupied the place of
state in the conservatory, and were watched every day. They were
kept in the coolest spot, but where the sun reached them at times.
Always in watering the flowers, the hose was turned on them, because
they would have been in the rain if they had been left out of doors,
and conditions should be kept as natural as possible.
Close time for emergence I became very uneasy, because the
conservatory was warm; so I moved them to my sleeping room, the
coolest in the cabin, where a fireplace, two big windows and an
outside door, always open, provide natural atmospheric conditions,
and where I would be sure to see them every day. I hung the twigs
over a twine stretched from my dresser to the window-sill. One
day in May, when the trees were in full bloom, I was working on a
tulip bed under an apple tree in the garden, when Molly-Cotton said
to me, "How did you get that cocoon in your room wet?"
"I did not water any of the cocoons," I answered. "I have done no
sprinkling today. If they are wet, it has come from the inside."
Molly-Cotton dropped her trowel. "One of them was damp on the top
before lunch," she cried. "I just now thought of it. The moths
are coming!" She started on a run and I followed, but stopped
to wash my hands, so she reached them first, and her shout told
the news.
"Hurry!" she cried. "Hurry! One is out, and another is just
struggling through!" Quickly as I could I stood beside her.
One Polyphemus female, a giant indeed, was clinging to a twig with
her feet, and from her shoulders depended her wings, wet, and
wrinkled as they had been cramped in the pupa case. Even then she
had expanded in body until it seemed impossible that she had
emerged from the opening of the vacant cocoon. The second one had
its front feet and head out, and was struggling frantically to
free its shoulders. A fresh wet spot on the top of another cocoon,
where the moth had ejected the acid with which it is provided to
soften the spinning, was heaving with the pushing head of the
third.
Molly-Cotton was in sympathy with the imprisoned moths.
"Why don't you get something sharp, and split the cocoons so they
can get out?" she demanded. "Just look at them struggle! They
will kill themselves!"
Then I explained to her that if we wanted big, perfect moths we
must not touch them. That the evolution of species was complete to
the minutest detail. The providence that supplied the acid,
required that the moths make the fight necessary to emerge alone,
in order to strengthen them so they would be able to walk and
cling with their feet, while the wings drooped and dried properly.
That if I cut a case, and took out a moth with no effort on its
part, it would be too weak to walk, or bear its weight, and so
would fall to the floor. Then because of not being in the right
position, the wings would harden half spread, or have broken
membranes and never develop fully. So instead of doing a kindness
I really would work ruination.
"Oh, I see!" cried the wondering girl, and her eyes were large enough
to have seen anything, while her brain was racing. If you want to
awaken a child and teach it to think, give object lessons such as
these, in natural history and study with it, so that every
miraculous point is grasped when reached. We left the emerging moths
long enough to set up a camera outside, and focus on old tree. Then
we hurried back, almost praying that the second moth would be a male,
and dry soon enough that the two could be pictured together, before
the first one would be strong enough to fly.
The following three hours were spent with them, and every minute
enjoyed to the fullest. The first to emerge was dry, and pumping
her wings to strengthen them for flight; the second was in condition
to pose, but a disappointment, for it was another female. The third
was out, and by its smaller size, brighter markings and broad antennae
we knew it was a male. His 'antlers' were much wider than those of
the first two, and where their markings were pink, his were so vivid
as to be almost red, and he was very furry. He had, in fact, almost
twice as much long hair as the others, so he undoubtedly was a male,
but he was not sufficiently advanced to pose with the females, and
I was in doubt as to the wisest course to pursue.
"Hurry him up!" suggested Molly-Cotton. "Tie a string across
the window and hang him in the sunshine. I'll bring a fan, and
stir the air gently."
This plan seemed feasible, and when the twine was ready, I lifted
his twig to place it in the new location. The instant I touched
his resting-place and lifted its weight from the twine both females
began ejecting a creamy liquid. They ruined the frescoing behind
them, as my first Cecropia soiled the lace curtain when I was smaller
than Molly-Cotton at that time. We tacked a paper against the wall
to prevent further damage. A point to remember in moth culture, is
to be ready for this occurrence before they emerge, if you do not
want stained frescoing, floors, and hangings.
In the sunshine and fresh air the male began to dry rapidly, and
no doubt he understood the presence of his kind, for he was much
more active than the females. He climbed the twig, walked the
twine body pendent, and was so energetic that we thought we
dared not trust him out of doors; but when at every effort to
walk or fly he only attempted to reach the females, we concluded
that he would not take wing if at liberty. By this time he was
fully developed, and so perfect he would serve for a study.
I polished the lenses, focused anew on the tree, marked the limits
of exposure, inserted a plate, and had everything ready. Then I
brought out the female, Molly-Cotton walking beside me hovering
her with a net. The moth climbed from the twig to the tree, and
clung there, her wings spread flat, at times setting them quivering
in a fluttering motion, or raising them. While Molly-Cotton guarded
her I returned for the male, and found him with wings so hardened
that could raise them above his back, and lower them full width.
I wanted my study to dignify the term, so I planned it to show
the under wings of one moth, the upper of the other. Then the
smaller antennae and large abdomen of the female were of interest.
I also thought it would be best to secure the male with wings
widespread if possible, because his colour was stronger, his
markings more pronounced. So I helped the female on a small branch
facing the trunk of the tree, and she rested with raised wings as
I fervently hoped she would. The male I placed on the trunk, and
with wide wings he immediately started toward the female, while
she advanced in his direction. This showed his large antennae and
all markings and points especially note worthy; being good
composition as well, for it centred interest; but there was one
objection. It gave the male the conspicuous place and made him
appear the larger because of his nearness to the lens and his wing
spread; while as a matter of fact, the female had almost an inch
more sweep than he, and was bigger at every point save the antennae.
The light was full and strong, the lens the best money could buy,
the plate seven by nine inches. By this time long practice had
made me rather expert in using my cameras. When the advancing
pair were fully inside my circle of focus, I made the first
exposure. Then I told Molly-Cotton to keep them as nearly as
possible where they were, while I took one breathless peep at the
ground glass.
Talk about exciting work! No better focus could be had on them,
so I shoved in another plate with all speed, and made a second
exposure, which was no better than the first. Had there been time,
I would have made a third to be sure, for plates are no object when
a study is at all worth while. As a rule each succeeding effort
enables you to make some small change for the better, and you must
figure on always having enough to lose one through a defective
plate or ill luck in development, and yet end with a picture that
will serve your purpose.
Then we closed the ventilators and released the moths in the
conservatory. The female I placed on a lemon tree in a shady spot,
and the male at the extreme far side to see how soon he would find her.
We had supposed it would be dark, but they were well acquainted by
dusk. The next morning she was dotting eggs over the plants.
The other cocoons produced mostly female living moths, save one
that was lost in emergence. I tried to help when it was too late;
but cutting open the cocoon afterward proved the moth defective.
The wings on one side were only about half size, and on the other
little patches no larger than my thumb nail. The body was
shrunken and weakly.
At this time, as I remember, Cecropia eggs were the largest I had
seen, but these were larger; the same shape and of a white colour
with a brown band. The moth dotted them on the under and upper
sides of leaves, on sashes and flower pots, tubs and buckets. They
turned brown as the days passed. The little caterpillars that
emerged from them were reddish brown, and a quarter of an inch
long.
I could not see my way to release a small army of two or three
hundred of these among my plants, so when they emerged I held a
leaf before fifty, that seemed liveliest, and transferred them to
a big box. The remainder I placed with less ceremony, over mulberry,
elm, maple, wild cherry, grape, rose, apple, and pear, around the
Cabin, and gave the ones kept in confinement the same diet.
The leaves given them always were dipped in water to keep them
fresh longer, and furnish moisture for the feeders. They grew by
a series of moults, like all the others I had raised or seen, and
were full size in forty-eight days, but travelled a day or two
before beginning the pupa stage of their existence. The caterpillars
were big fellows; the segments deeply cut; the bodies yellow-green,
with a few sparse scattering hairs, and on the edge of each segment,
from a triple row of dots arose a tiny, sharp spine. Each side had
series of black touches and the head could be drawn inside the thorax.
They were the largest in circumference of any I had raised, but only
a little over three inches long.
I arranged both leaves and twigs in the boxes, but they spun
among the leaves, and not dangling from twigs, as all the cocoons
I had found outdoors were placed previous to that time. Since,
I have found them spun lengthwise of twigs in a brush heap. The
cocoons of these I had raised were whiter than those of the free
caterpillars, and did not have the leaves fastened on the outside,
but were woven in a nest of leaves, fastened together by threads.
Polyphemus moths are night flyers, and do not feed. I have tried
to tell how beautiful they are, with indifferent success, and they
are common with me. Since I learned them, find their cocoons
easiest to discover. Through the fall and winter, when riding on
trains, I see them dangling from wayside thorn bushes. Once, while
taking a walk with Raymond in late November, he located one on a
thorn tree in a field beside the road, but he has the eyes of an
Indian.
These are the moths that city people can cultivate, for in
Indianapolis, in early December, I saw fully one half as many
Polyphemus cocoons on the trees as there were Cecropia, and I could
have gathered a bushel of them. They have emerged in perfection
for me always, with one exception. Personally, I have found more
Polyphemus than Cecropia.
These moths are the gamins of their family, and love the streets
and lights at night.
Under an arc light at Wabash, Indiana, I once picked up as beautiful
a specimen of Polyphemus as I ever saw, and the following day a
friend told me that several had been captured the night before in
the heart of town.