her first line stretched between two small shrubs. On this she crossed
and recrossed several times, each trip reeling out a new strand from
her spinnerets, until she had a stout cable from which the gossamer
structure was to depend. From an end of this she dropped to the ground
and fastened a thread, then ascended, traversed the cable and dropped
lines from the other end to the twigs beneath. All were remarkably taut
and firm. By crossing two she now established the center of the
web--not the geometric center--and from the overhead cable spun some
radii to this point and from this to the lower strand. In an incredibly
short time she had lines radiating in all directions from the center
like the spokes of a wheel.
She now fairly ran over these spokes paying out the strand as she laid
the spiral web upon the gleaming radii. Starting at the center she
traveled from left to right, passing the thread through the claw of
one of the last pair of legs. By this means it was held from her as far
as possible and quickly attached to each of the radii. A very short
time sufficed for her to complete this spiral of perhaps a foot in
diameter, and she had only to return over the ground with the final
thread, on which are strung the viscid drops.
She paused as if resting, and in that moment a Social wasp descended
like a fury and bore her to the ground. The wasp quickly rose holding
the spider in her embrace, and returning to the bush suspended herself
by one hind claw. Here she held the body of the spider with two pair of
legs, and turning it about, as though it were on a spit, bit off some
of the head parts with her strong jaws which worked like a pair of
shears. So near was I that I could see these jaws meet and sever the
thorax, which fell and glanced from a leaf a few inches below with the
faintest imaginable sound. The wasp then proceeded to tear open the
abdomen. The builder of gossamer bridges, who overcame space and flung
her nets to the breeze, was no more. I looked again at the unfinished
web and in it struggled a small fly.
In stretching the first strand the spider avails herself of the wind
to some extent. When crossing from one point to another it is by no
means necessary she should drop from a height equal to the distance to
be crossed; for if the wind is strong enough she has but to descend a
little way, and then, as it holds her out at right angles, she pays out
the line and so continues moving in mid-air. As soon as she comes in
contact with some object she at once attaches her thread. I have more
than once observed a spider drop a short distance when there was no
breeze to carry her, but by the movement of her body she imparted a
slight motion to the line and thus set herself to gyrating until she
finally swung across the intervening space.
The spinners of flat webs in the grass are associated with dog-days and
with foggy weather, as if they spread their tents only at such times to
fold them again and steal away with the appearance of the sun. As a
matter of fact these spiders work in clear weather and at different
hours of the day, but the web is so fine as to be next to invisible
unless covered with moisture, when it at once attracts the eye, like a
writing in invisible ink which becomes manifest only under the right
conditions.
There are other spiders which become evident only at the approach of
winter. It is something to the credit of these small spiders that,
being without wings, they should still aspire to fly; whereas the ants,
born with wings, are in haste to tear them off. The past year they were
so in evidence on the 11th of November that I shall henceforth
associate that day with the flight of the Erigone. The weather was
cool, but with a suggestion of Indian summer in the air. I first
noticed the spiders on top of a hill, for the bare twigs of sumacs were
streaming with gossamer threads which shone like silver. From time to
time little spiders descended from the upper regions and ran about over
my coat. One, which was spinning threads on my sleeve, finally ran out
upon my hand and, elevating its spinnerets, began paying out a line,
which I could see as I held it against the sun. When this had reached a
length of several feet the little spider was whisked off by the breeze
and carried away.
Toward sunset a delicate network of gossamer threads covered the open
pastures like a silver mesh in which the earth lay captive. These
minute spiders have a way at this time of allowing the strands to be
drawn from their spinnerets by the wind, until they carry sail enough
to be lifted off their feet. They fly away thus on the wings of the
winds, perhaps carried high above the earth by ascending currents. Lo,
the hegira of the spiders!
It would appear that the Solitary wasps are more ingenious and
self-reliant, and less governed by tradition, than the Social bees and
wasps; for I have seen a small black one which was unable to rise on
the wing with the large spider it was carrying, finally drag it up the
trunk of an oak to the height of seven feet and from that vantage fly
away. Such an one pulled a spider much larger than herself up on my
knee and left it there, paralyzed but alive, while she made
explorations, after which she returned and took it away. As I was
making some notes at the time with reference to wasps, the incident
made a pleasant impression, quite as though she had taken me into her
confidence and had gone out of her way to reveal some facts of her
life.
One day I encountered a sand-wasp which had just stung a wireworm and
was dragging it over the ground. The worm, which resembled a brown
twig, was three inches long and as large around as a slate-pencil,
while the wasp was not over an inch and a quarter in length and very
slender. Seizing the victim in her jaws and straddling it, the wasp
walked along in this uncomfortable fashion, over ground strewn with
pebbles and partly covered with brush. Difficulties were many, and she
was kept constantly pulling, tugging and boosting to get the worm
along.
At length she penetrated the brush and came out bearing the worm into
an open gravelly space. Here she turned off sharply for a distance of
two yards, and, after running nervously to and fro, stopped in front of
a small hole. She had been over an hour dragging the worm. During that
time one main direction had been followed, though never had she to my
knowledge left her burden and risen above the brush and trees to get
her bearings; yet she found her way unerringly, and only turned aside
because of the boulders and clumps of white birch stumps. The whole
distance was about forty feet in a straight line, but further as the
wasp had gone.
Backing into the hole, she seized the worm and attempted to drag it in
after her, but the entrance proved too small. She therefore came out
and began rapidly enlarging it by seizing bits of gravel with her jaws
and fore legs, rising in the air and carrying them off six or eight
inches. Again she entered, and this time was able to pull the worm in
after her. She remained three or four minutes in the hole, during which
time she was depositing her eggs, then her head reappeared at the
opening.
She now began filling in. Dropping two or more bits of gravel, she
would then turn her back and rapidly scratch in dirt with her fore
legs, evidently to fill up the interstices. Twice she took out a bit of
gravel and carried it away, precisely as a mason might throw aside a
stone that was not the right shape or size. As her head was thus
inserted in the hole a black ant approached and peered into the depths.
Suddenly the wasp turned and gave one look, whereupon the ant fled in
haste.
When the hole was filled to the brim she tamped it down with her head.
This occupied her some minutes and she appeared to take the utmost
care. Gravel was then brought and piled upon the spot until it exactly
resembled its surroundings. The stones carried varied in size from
those as large as a buckshot to some the size of a marrowfat pea. They
were lifted and carried seemingly without effort, and dropped almost
before one could see what she was about. Twenty minutes were consumed
in filling up the hole and restoring the surface.
On a sudden she vanished, and with her vanished the place itself where
she had been at work. It was as if a trap-door had closed, and no sign
was left. So carefully had she done her work and so closely imitated
the surroundings, like a miser burying his gold, it was only after
careful search I could again locate the spot.
Thus in the economy of Nature every insect appears to be food for some
other. On the leaves of the Virginia creeper you may usually find, in
early autumn, some caterpillars which have received the eggs of a small
chalcid fly. These caterpillars, otherwise so large and green and
awesome to the beholder, have become limp and lean and have an aged and
decrepit look. They hold feebly to the vine but no longer eat anything.
I brought home one of them and in a short time there emerged from its
body a great number of small white grubs, fifty or more by actual
count. Upon the back of their emaciated host they proceeded to spin
for themselves marvelous little cocoons of white silk which they did in
a very brief time. Moving their heads this way and that they spun the
fine threads about themselves until they were completely enveloped.
Here were a great number of little spinners, making for themselves
garments of silk, and at last spinning themselves out of sight. The
caterpillar now bristled with the small white cocoons which stood upon
end on its back, where they were attached, and almost hid it from view.
The wary caterpillar has many foes. If it escapes the hungry warblers
and vireos, there is still the army of goggle-eyed wasps and nervous
ichneumons to circumvent. Yet a prodigious number survive. Were it not
for their enemies they would overrun the earth. The butterflies
sporting in the sunshine, and the small moths flitting about the lamp,
have come through many perils, and may almost be said to have lived by
their wits, so astonishing are the ruses they have devised to deceive
their pursuers.
THE WAYS OF THE ANT
If you would see the ants to advantage--to your own, that is--you must
turn over a pasture stone under which one of the species of small
yellow ants has its nest. By thus gently removing the roof, if it is a
good-sized stone, the whole colony will be in view at once. The red-ant
hill presents difficulties. To dig into it or to pull it apart is quite
useless, as the earth falls in and nothing is to be seen but a
struggling heap of dusty and indignant ants. It rarely happens that
such a hill may be built around a small boulder. If this boulder is
suddenly and deftly removed, not dragged or rolled aside, but lifted
clear of the hill so that the sides of the nest may not be broken in, a
remarkable scene is disclosed.
I have found such an ant hill, and by removing the stone the household
was placed on exhibition--but not all its secrets revealed by any
means. From several large chambers, now roofless, galleries and
corridors radiated in all directions. The instant the stone was lifted
the ants swarmed from the galleries into these chambers, which were
packed with the large cocoons. There were thousands of pupæ, of a
delicate brown tint, looking wonderfully clean and fresh, but with such
celerity did the ants work that inside of ten minutes all were carried
from view.
Among the rest were perhaps a dozen young ants, the head and thorax
being white and the abdomen a pale mauve. These creatures moved feebly
about, taking no interest in the proceedings, and were for the most
part seized by the workers and conveyed into the galleries. Apparently
they were individuals that had just emerged from their pupa-cases.
Under another large stone were two very numerous colonies living side
by side, of different species. The nests were, of course, entirely
separate and under opposite ends of the stone. The smaller of the two
appeared to be stinging ants, for they clustered in great numbers over
their small pupæ, elevating their abdomens in a threatening manner like
so many diminutive scorpions. The other species were large and active
ants of a polished bronze hue. Their pupæ were naked, which gave the
nest the appearance of being filled with grains of rice.
These large ants set to work with frenzied activity and removed all of
their own pupæ. Then, and not until then, they swarmed over into the
adjoining nest and began carrying the cocoons of the small ants back
into their own nest. Now and then some small ant bolder than the rest
would resist, and an individual combat ensued which ended by the large
ant carrying off her small antagonist. There was, however, very little
resistance of this sort, and the pillage, if such it were, continued
until the remaining cocoons had all been carried over into the nest of
the large ants. So few of the small ants made any resistance that it
gave one the agreeable impression the larger ants were only offering
assistance. But I failed to find on subsequent visits that they had
returned the pupæ. And although they daily brought their own pupæ out
of the galleries, the smaller cocoons never more came to view, and the
small ants subsequently abandoned their nest. Thereafter I felt some
compunction in thus disturbing a whole community for mere curiosity.
It is noticeable above all how the ants at such times take no thought
for their own safety, but for that of their charge solely. Whether
their interest is in any sense maternal or merely a property interest
does not appear. Another feature evident in disturbing a formicary is
the general harmony in which the individuals of any one colony work
together. Here is no less than a catastrophe, as if the roof of one's
house were suddenly to be removed and everything upset. And yet not one
runs away or apparently conflicts with any other. There are no cross
purposes; no two get in each other's way; but animated by a common
motive, and by one only, the community proceeds with despatch to the
work in hand.
Is this socialism among ants something preordained for them as the
condition of their life, or is it in part an acquired tendency of the
ants themselves? That they _do_ acquire tendencies would seem clear
enough. If it should be proven that this social state is in fact the
result of an evolution among them, it would be one of the most
significant facts of natural history.
It serves the community admirably at any rate. But with them the
individual does not count. Ants are ahead of us in one respect in that
they have order without coercion. There is such harmony, such
co-operation among them, they have evolved no ruling class, the queens
being such only in name and more properly the mother ants. The life of
the community is all, and every one looks out for it.
On warm afternoons early in September you may look for the swarming of
the queens, when myriads of ants sail into the air in their desultory
marriage flight. In apparently endless succession they pass, every now
and then one alighting, whereupon begins the curious part of the
performance, for they run rapidly about, throwing themselves upon their
backs to squirm from side to side after the manner of a dog scratching.
They then get upon all sixes and continue running to and fro. After
these contortions the wings wear a most disheveled appearance, and, as
the process continues, become more and more crumpled, until at length
one or more are missing.
Sometimes in sheer desperation an ant will lie on her back and revolve
rapidly in this position. In some cases the wings seem to resist all
attempts to remove them and the ants redouble their efforts. Their
frenzy appears to know no bounds; they fairly stand on their heads and
repeatedly fall over miniature precipices and into Lilliputian
crevices in their blind determination to tear off the wings. Again they
seem to use their legs as though trying to twist off a wing. It is the
most fanatical performance to be witnessed among insects.
Such dogged persistence must sooner or later attain its end, and
presently the ant is seen running about wingless or perhaps with only a
torn stub left. The behavior is no longer frantic as before, but she
now moves about as if enjoying great relief. During one such flight
great numbers came down into a gravelly path through a huckleberry
patch. They apparently avoided the bushes on either hand, and chose to
alight in the path, for it was alive with ants twisting and turning and
wriggling upon their backs in the gravel. Others, having gotten rid of
their wings, were attempting to go head foremost into the ground,
possibly with a view of laying their eggs, or merely because the soil
was their natural element.
Around the formicary itself the workers were grouped _en masse_,
endeavoring either to restrain the new brood of queens in the old
colony or to coerce them into leaving. They appeared to drive them as a
squad of police might force back a crowd. But it is manifestly
difficult to interpret their motives with any assurance, and it is more
likely they were provoking them to flight. At such times they ascend
the branches of a bush and collect in excited little groups on the buds
and flowers around the females, as if determined they should go. No
doubt it is an exciting day with them, a sort of Labor Day
demonstration. In this case it is the womenfolk who are thus bent on
asserting their rights and doing as they will. But why, having once
ascended into the larger world and the liberty of winged creatures,
must they insist on tearing off this means of freedom to become
crawling, laborious insects? They appear to hear two calls, one from
above and the other of the earth, earthy, and to obey the latter. But
it is with them the race and the future--always the future.
To an ant a tree is a forest in itself. Ascending its mammoth trunk to
the upper regions, she follows the great highways of the branches, out
into the unknown and trackless wilderness of leaves in pursuit of her
game--the aphid. She knows well in what wild and solitary uplands to
look for this mountain-goat.
The under side of maple leaves affords good pasturage to numerous green
aphids which there browse contentedly in the pleasant shade and under
the watchful eyes of the small brown ants that herd them. The aphids
are all sizes and ages, though as to age the difference is probably but
a few days. With a glass, the process of "milking" may be observed, the
ants merely stroking the aphids with their antennæ. Two small tubes,
like sap quills, protrude from the back of the aphid, and from time to
time minute glistening drops are seen to exude from these tubes and are
removed by the ants in attendance. Surely, to the ant here is the land
of milk and honey. They move constantly to and fro among the aphids,
now and then stopping to stroke one. Apparently they detect by some
signs which are ready to yield the sweet fluid. Their presence appears
to be agreeable to the aphids and is never in the least resented. After
long watching with the glass, I have never seen anything akin to
insubordination. Pluck the leaf ever so gently and hold it in a proper
position, the difference is at once apparent to the aphids, for there
begins an exodus, and large and small troop up the stem of the leaf and
so on to whatsoever it may be attached; nor does it cease until they
have deserted to the last one.
But the life of ants is by no means given over to these bucolic
pursuits. While the meadow-ants seem to be in the pastoral stage, the
red species and the large black ones are hunters and warriors. The most
sanguinary conflict I have witnessed was a battle of the ants. Two
armies of the same black species met on the floor of a neighbor's barn.
The battle lasted throughout several days, and both sides fought with
indescribable ferocity. Where they came from was a mystery, as no such
colonies of ants had ever been seen thereabouts.
They appeared to be of the species _Formica pennsylvanica_ which nests
in trees, but these do not occur in very large colonies, whereas the
contending hosts upon the barn floor were as the Tartar hordes. The
floor was strewn with struggling pairs and with the dead and injured,
and always fresh forces were arriving.
The persistence with which they fought is only to be compared to that
of bulldogs, while they showed the ferocity of weasels. Once let an ant
get another by the thorax and she would continue crunching and sawing
until she had severed the head, notwithstanding in the meantime one or
several of her own legs had been cut off by her antagonist. This was
the usual outcome of the various individual combats.
From time to time I placed pairs of combatants on the slide of a
dissecting lens, and through the glass observed them as in an arena. It
was a miniature combat of gladiators, but with no appeal for mercy on
the part of the vanquished. Much evidently depended on the best hold,
as in wrestling, for there was no dislodging an ant once she had
secured it. Under the lens the comparatively great strength and the
skill and relentless ferocity of these miniature warriors became more
evident and was astonishing to witness.
A bird's-eye view of the battle-field revealed no plan of action nor
any directing genius. It was every one for himself--or rather
herself--but there was absolute unity of purpose. Occasionally some
could be seen running about with the heads of the vanquished suspended
on their antennæ, whereon the jaws had closed in the death-struggle,
not again to be relaxed. These ants appeared to seek no relief from
such a monstrous encumbrance, nor seemingly was any offered by their
comrades. Others were crawling on an uneven number of legs in search of
new foes. The cause of such a conflict among ants of the same species
remains a mystery--one of the many mysteries.
Every year the red ants raid the common blacks for the purpose of
making slaves--a most highhanded proceeding. This season I came upon
the invading host marching up the road about ten in the morning of July
28th. The invasion had but lately begun, as the ants were carrying no
pupæ; it was the skirmish line. As the column advanced, frequent and
rapid communication took place between individuals and stragglers who
were coming back. Later, when the raid was well under way, there was
little of this. The nest of the red ants was by the side of a path in
the woods which led out to the wagon road, while the negroes were
domiciled some distance up this lane. Now the column of red ants
followed the path and the road the entire way, in place of going
directly through the bushes, though it doubled the distance, which thus
amounted to some fifty yards.
Red ants were soon pouring out of the various openings in the nest of
the blacks, carrying both pupæ and larvæ, and rarely one passed with a
bunch of small white eggs. Several black queens came out of the nest,
and as they emerged were set upon by red ants, which tried to hold them
by their wings. They managed, however, to throw off their assailants,
and ran under my feet, where they were followed by a score of black
workers, all of whom crowded under the soles of my shoes as I stood on
the loose gravel. At noon I timed the ants and found that, on the
average, forty pupæ and larvæ were carried past a given point every
minute. Two unbroken columns now extended the entire distance between
the nests, one advancing and the other returning.
Occasionally one passed carrying a portion of a black ant, a head and
thorax, or an abdomen. Again, one would appear with a live black,
which, when liberated by me, frantically made her escape. Very young
negroes when carried off were never injured. On one occasion several
red ants were struggling with a black, and among them was a black who
fought against her own friend. This is the only case in which I saw a
black ant help the enemy in this way--a traitor, evidently, but
presumably one whose pupa had been captured the year before and reared
in slavery. Whereas the red ants always came to each other's
assistance, the blacks rarely did so.