ONE DAY IN A MODEL CITY.
"I will tell you, to-day," said Miss Ruth, after the members of her
Society were quietly settled at their work, "about a race of little
people who lived thousands and thousands of years ago. When the great
trees were growing, out of which the coal we use was made, this race
inhabited the earth as they do now in great numbers. We know this
because their bodies are found perfectly preserved in pieces of coal and
amber. Amber, you know, is a kind of gum that drops from certain trees
and hardens, becoming very transparent and of a pretty yellow color. It
is supposed that the little creatures found imbedded in it came to
their death in running up the trunks of these trees, their feet sticking
in the soft gum, and drop by drop trickling down on them till they were
fast imprisoned in a beautiful transparent tomb.
"I remember seeing once at a museum a small black ant preserved in
amber, and he looked so natural and lifelike, so like the ants we see
running about to-day, that it was hard to realize that he came to his
death so long, so very long ago; in fact, before this earth of ours was
ready for the creation of man. What strange sights those little
bead-eyes of his must have seen!
"When our ancestors were rude barbarians, living in caves and in holes
they dug in the ground, the little people dwelt in cities built with
wonderful skill and ingenuity; and while our forefathers were leading a
rude, selfish life,--herding together, it is true, but with no organized
government or fixed principles of industry and good order, living each
one for himself, the strong oppressing the weak,--the little folks were
ruled by a strict civil and military code. They lived together as
brethren, having all things in common--were temperate, cleanly,
industrious, civilized.
"Well, there are plenty of their descendants living all about us to-day,
and I want you to become better acquainted with them, for they are very
wise and cunning in their ways. Whenever you cross a meadow, or even
when you are walking on the public road, unless you take heed to your
steps, the chances are that you set your foot more than once on a little
heap of loose sand that we call an ant-hill. The next time you discover
the accident--I am sure you will not do it on purpose--wait a few
moments and see what will happen. What you have done is to block up the
main entrance to an underground city, sending a quantity of loose earth
down the avenue, which the inhabitants must at great labor remove.
"Let us hope none of the little people were at that instant either
leaving or entering the city by that gate, for if so, they were either
killed outright or badly hurt. Soon you will see one and another citizen
pushing his way through the _débris_, running wildly and excitedly
about, as though greatly frightened and distressed at the state of
things. Then more carefully surveying the ruins, apparently consulting
together as to what is best to be done, until, a plan of action having
been devised and settled upon, if you wait long enough, you will see a
band of workers in an orderly, systematic manner begin to repair the
damage. All this happens every time you tread on an ant-hill. If a
passing animal breaks down the embankment,--a horse or a cow,--of course
the injury done is much greater. In such a case every worker in the city
is put to hard labor till the streets are cleared, the houses rebuilt,
and all traces of the disaster removed.
"I am sure you will be interested to know what goes on from morning till
night in one of these ant-cities, and I have written out on purpose to
read to you this afternoon an account of one day's proceedings. I call
my paper
LIFE IN AN ANT-HILL; OR, ONE DAY IN A MODEL CITY.
"At sunrise the doors and gates were opened, and every body was awake
and stirring, from the queen in her palace to the servants who brought
in the meals and kept things tidy about the houses; and then, in
accordance with a good old custom handed down from generation to
generation, the first thing every body did on getting out of bed was to
take a bath. Such a washing and scrubbing and sponging off and rubbing
down as went on in every house, you can imagine. It made no difference
what kind of work one was going about,--plastering, brick-laying, or
digging of ditches,--like a sensible fellow, he went fresh and clean to
it every day.
"Of course the queen-mother and the little princes and princesses, with
a palace full of servants to wait on them, had all these offices of the
toilet performed for them; but what do you think of common working
folks going about from house to house to help each other wash up for the
day? Fancy having a neighbor step in bright and early to wash your face
and hands for you, or give you a sponge-bath, or a nice dry rub!
"After the wash came milking-time. Now, all the cows were pastured
outside the city, and the servants who had the care of them hurried off
as fast as they could, because the milk was needed for breakfast,
especially for the babies. A beautiful road led to the milking-ground,
broad and level, and so clean and well kept that not a stick or stone or
rut or mud-hole was to be found in it from beginning to end. And this
was true of all the streets and avenues, lanes and alleys, about the
city.
"I don't know how they managed to keep them in such good
condition--whether they appointed street commissioners or a committee on
highways; but I wish those who have the care of the roads in Greenmeadow
would take a lesson from them, so that two little girls I know needn't
be kept from church so many Sundays in the spring because the mud is
deep at the crossings.
"But I must tell you about the cows. There were a great many of them
quietly feeding in their pleasant pasture, and they were of several
different kinds. I don't know by what names their masters called them,
but I do know these gentle creatures were to them just what the pretty
Alderneys and Durhams are to us, and that they were treated with all the
kindness and consideration the wise farmer gives to his domestic
animals. There was one kind, a little white cow with queer crooked horns
and quite blind. These they made pets of, not putting them out to
pasture with the rest of the herd, but allowing them to walk the streets
and go in and out of the houses at their pleasure, treating them much as
we treat our cats and dogs.
"While the milking was going on, every cow was stroked and patted and
gently caressed, and the good little creatures responded to this
treatment by giving down their milk without a kick or a single toss of
the horns. Such nice milk as it was--as sweet and as rich as honey! and
the babies who fed on it got as fat as little pigs.
"By the time breakfast was over, the sun was well up, and all in the
city went about the day's business. There was much building going on,
for the place was densely populated and was growing rapidly. Great
blocks were rising, story upon story, every part going on at the same
time, with halls and galleries and closets and winding staircases, all
connected and leading into each other, after a curious and wonderful
fashion. Of course it took a great many workmen to construct these
buildings--carpenters, masons, bricklayers, plasterers, besides
architects and engineers; for the houses were all built on scientific
principles, and there were under-ground passages to be built that
required great skill and practical knowledge in their construction.
"The mortar and bricks were made outside the city gates, and all day
gangs of workers journeyed back and forth to bring in supplies. They
were hurrying, bustling, busy, but in good order and at perfect
understanding with each other. If one stopped to exchange greetings with
an acquaintance, to hear a bit of gossip perhaps, or to tell the latest
news, he would pick up his load in a great hurry and start off at a
round trot, as though he meant to make up for lost time. More than one
overburdened worker was eased of a part of his load, some good-natured
comrade adding it to his own. Thousands of bricks and as many loads of
mortar were brought into the city by these industrious people every day,
and their work was done quietly, thoroughly, and with wonderful
quickness and precision.
"All this while there was plenty of indoor work going on; and the
queen's body-guard, the babies' nurses, the attendants on the princes
and princesses, the waiters and tenders, the sweepers and cleaners--all
were as busy as you please. It was a pretty sight to see the nurses
bring the babies out-of-doors for a sun-bath. The plump little
things--some of them wrapped in mantles of white or yellow silk, others
with only their skins to cover them--were laid down in soft spots on the
grass, where they were watched with the tenderest care by their
foster-mothers. If they were hungry, they had but to open their mouths
and there was plenty of food ready for them. If so much as a breath of
wind stirred the grass, or a little cloud obscured the sun, every nurse
snatched a baby and scampered back with it to the nursery, lest it
should take cold.
"At noon the queen, attended by her body-guard, made a royal progress
through the city. She was of a portly presence, had pretty silky hair,
and was dressed plainly in dark velvet. The little princesses wore
ruffles and silk mantillas, of all the colors of the rainbow; but the
queen-mother had far more important business to attend to than the
adornment of her person, and in her self-devotion to her commonwealth
had long ago, of her own free will, laid aside flounces and furbelows.
What a good motherly body she was! and how devoted her subjects were to
her! Every-where she went she was followed by an admiring crowd. No home
was too humble for her to enter, and under each roof she was received
with the liveliest demonstrations of loyalty and delight. The happy
people thronged about her. They skipped, they danced, they embraced
each other in their joy. At times it was hard to restrain them within
proper bounds of respect to the royal person; but the guard well
understood their duties. They watched her every step, shielding and
protecting her with respectful devotion. They formed a barrier about her
when she rested, offered her refreshment at her first symptom of
weariness, and presently conducted her in regal state back to the
palace, hastening her progress at the last, that she might be spared the
sight of a sad little cavalcade just then approaching the gate.
"There had been an accident to the workers employed in excavating an
under-ground road. A portion of the earth-works had caved in, and two
unfortunates had been buried in the ruins. Their companions, after hours
of arduous and indefatigable labor, had succeeded in recovering the
bodies, and were bringing them home for burial; while a third
victim--still living, but grievously crushed and wounded--was borne
tenderly along, with frequent stoppages by the way as his weakness
required. A crowd of sympathizing neighbors and friends went out to meet
the wonderful procession. Strong, willing arms relieved the weary
bearers of their burden, and the sufferer was conveyed to his home,
where his poor body was cleansed, and a healing ointment of wonderful
efficacy and power applied to his wounds. Meanwhile the corpses were
decently disposed outside the gates, awaiting burial; graves were
prepared in the cemetery, and at sunset the funeral took place.
"But the day was not to end with this sad ceremony; for at twilight a
sentinel ran in with the glad news that two well-beloved citizens, sent
on an embassy to a distant country, and who had remained so long away
that they had been given up for dead, were returning: in fact, were at
that moment coming up the avenue to the gate. Then was there great
rejoicing, the whole city turning out to welcome them; and the poor
travelers, footsore and weary, and ready but now to lie down and die by
the road-side, so spent were they by the perils and hardships they had
undergone, suddenly found themselves within sight of home, surrounded by
friends, companions, brothers, who embraced them rapturously, praising
them for their fortitude and bravery, pitying their present weakness,
caressing, cheering, comforting them. So they were brought in triumph
back to their beloved city, where a banquet was prepared in honor of
their return.
"So general and engrossing was the interest felt in this event, that a
public calamity had well-nigh followed. The attendants on the princes
and princesses (usually most vigilant and faithful), in the excitement
of the occasion, forgot their charge, and the young folks instantly
seized the opportunity to rush out of the city by a side gate; and when
they were discovered were half-way across the meadow, and making for the
wood beyond. In this wood (very dark and dreary) great danger, possibly
death, would have overtaken them; but the silly things, impatient of the
wholesome restraint in which, by order of the government, they were held
till they should arrive at years of discretion, thought only of gaining
their freedom, and were pushing on at a great pace, frisking and
frolicking together as they went. They were, however, seen in time to
avert the catastrophe, speedily brought back to duty, and given
decidedly, though respectfully, to understand that, though scions of a
royal race, they were still to consider themselves under tutors and
governors.
"Then all was quiet. The gates were closed, the good little people laid
themselves down to sleep, the sentinels began their watch, and night
settled down upon the peaceful city. Presently the moon rose, lighting
its single shapely dome, the deserted road lately trod-den by so many
busy feet, and the dewy meadow where the cattle were resting.
"And now I wish we might say goodnight to the simple, kindly people
whose occupations we have followed for a day, leaving them in the
assurance that many such days were to follow, and that they were long to
enjoy the peace and prosperity they so richly deserved. How pleasant to
think of them building their houses, tending their flocks, taking care
of the little ones, waiting upon their good queen, in the practice of
all those virtues that make a community happy and prosperous! But, alas!
this very day the chieftains of a neighboring tribe had met and planned
an assault upon this quiet city that was to result in great loss of
property and life, and of that which to them was far more precious than
either.
"There was not the shadow of an excuse for the invasion. The hill
people--a fierce, brave tribe, trained under a military government, and
accustomed to fighting from their youth--had no quarrel with the
citizens of the plain, who had no mind to fight with their neighbors or
to interfere with any one's rights. But the hill people were
slave-holders, and, whenever their establishments wanted replenishing,
they sent out an army to attack some neighboring city; and if they
gained the victory (as they were pretty sure to do, for they were a
fierce, brave race), they would rush into every house in the city and
carry off all the babies they could find, to be brought up as slaves.
"And this is what they had planned to do to the pretty city lying asleep
in the moonlight on a July evening.
"They started about noon--a large body of infantry, making a fine show;
for they wore polished armor as black as jet, that shone in the sun, and
every one of them carried a murderous weapon. The advance guard was
made up of the biggest and bravest, while the veterans, and the young
soldiers who lacked experience, brought up the rear.
"They had a long wearisome march across a rocky plain and up a steep
hill. Then there was a river to cross, and on the other side a stretch
of desert land, where the hot sun beat upon their heads, and where it
must have been hard to keep up the rapid pace at which they marched. But
they pressed on, and woe to him who stumbled and fell! for not a soldier
was allowed to stop an instant to help his fallen comrade. The whole
army swept on and over him, and there was no straggling from the close
ranks or resting for one instant till the day's journey was
accomplished.
"The last stage of the journey was through a dreary wood. Here they
were exposed to many unseen dangers. Beasts of prey sprang out upon and
devoured them. A big bird swooped down and carried aloft some poor
wretch whose fate it was to fill the hungry maw of a baby bird. And many
an unfortunate, getting entangled in a soft gray curtain of silk that
hung across the path, struggled vainly to extricate himself, till the
hairy monster which had woven the snare crept out of his den and cracked
his bones and sucked the last drop of his blood.
"It was night when, weary and dusty, the army reached the borders of the
wood. But they forgot both their fatigue and their losses by the way
when they saw before them in the middle of a green meadow, its dome
glittering in the light of the setting sun, the pretty, prosperous city
they had braved all these dangers to rob.
"They rested that night, but were on the march soon after sunrise. A few
rushed forward to surprise the sentinels on guard, while the main body
of the army advanced more slowly, in solid phalanx, their brave
coats-of-mail catching the early rays of the sun.
"Meanwhile the peaceful inhabitants, all unconscious of coming disaster,
pursued their usual occupations--waiting on the queen-mother, milking
the kine, building houses, cleaning the streets. Then came the alarm:
'The foe is at the gate!' and you should have seen of what brave stuff
the little folks were made; how each one left his occupation or dropped
his implement of labor, and from palace, hall, and hut, ran out to
defend the beloved city. Only the queen's body-guard remained and a few
of the nurses left in charge of the babies.
"And it was wonderful to mark how their courage gave them strength.
Their assailants were of a taller, stronger race than they; but the
little folks had the advantage in numbers, were quiet and light in their
movements, and possessed a double portion of the bravery good patriots
feel in the defence of the commonwealth.
"They threw themselves face to face and limb to limb upon their
assailants. With their living bodies they raised a wall across the track
of the army, and, as they came once and again, and yet again, they drove
them back. Hundreds were slain at every onslaught, but hundreds
instantly filled their places. There were plenty of single combats. One
would throw himself upon his antagonist and cling there till he was cut
in pieces and fell to the ground, and another and another would spring
to take his place to meet the same fate. Dozens fought together--heads,
legs, and bodies intertwining in an indistinguishable mass, each held in
a savage grip that only loosened in death. A dozen devoted themselves to
certain death for the chance of killing a single antagonist. Surely such
desperate bravery, such generous heroism, deserved to gain a victory!
"But there was a sudden rush, a break in the ranks, and, lo! the little
people were running back to the city,--back in all haste,--if, by any
possibility, they might save from the victor's clutch the treasures they
prized most. But what availed their efforts? The enemy was close behind
them, forcing their way through the main entrance and the side gates,
till the whole army was pouring into the devoted city.
"Can you imagine the scene that followed? The queen-mother and the young
princes and princesses were left undisturbed in their apartments, but
into every other house in the city, the rude soldiers rushed, searching
for the poor babies. Many of them their nurses had hidden away, hoping
that in the confusion their hiding-places would not be discovered; but
the cunning fellows--old hands some of them at the business--seemed to
know just where to look. Hundreds and hundreds of little ones were
captured that day. The faithful attendants clasped and clung to them,
suffering themselves to be torn in pieces before giving them up, but the
sacrifice was in vain.
"The moon shone down that night upon a ghastly scene. The dead and
dying strewed the ground, and the avenues leading to the city were
choked with the slain. Hundreds of homes were made desolate, that only
the night before were full of peaceful content.
"Meanwhile, the conquering army, laden with spoils, after another
difficult and toilsome journey had reached their home. The captive
babies were consigned to the care of slaves, procured long ago in a
similar way, and who, apparently contented and happy, for they knew no
other life, devoted all their energies to the service of their captors.
"Well, it is an old story. Ever since the world began the strong have
oppressed the weak,--and ants or men, for greed or gold, will do their
neighbors wrong."
"Well," said Mollie, as Miss Ruth laid down the last sheet of her
manuscript, "if you hadn't told us beforehand that it was ants you were
going to read about I should certainly have thought they were people.
Don't they act for all the world just like folks? and who would ever
think such little creatures could be so wise!"
"What I want to know," said Susie, "is, If the ant-cities are
underground, how can any one see what goes on in them?"
"That is easily managed," Miss Ruth answered.
"A nest is taken up with a quantity of the earth that surrounds it, then
it is cut down from the top--as you would halve a loaf of bread--and the
divided parts are placed in glass cases made purposely to receive them.
Of course, the little people are greatly disturbed for a time, and no
wonder; but they soon grow accustomed to the new surroundings and go on
with their every-day employments as if nothing had happened. The sides
of the case make a fine firm wall for their city; they are furnished
with plenty of food and building material, and soon they can be seen
busy at work clearing their streets, building houses, feeding the
babies, and quite contented and happy in their glass city. If, after
months of separation, an ant from one half of the divided nest should be
put into the other he would be recognized at once and welcomed with joy;
but if a stranger were introduced he would be attacked and probably
killed."
"We had a great time with the ants at our house last summer," said Eliza
Jones: "little mites of red things, you know, and they _would_ get into
the cake-chest and the sugar-bucket, and bothered ma so she had to keep
all the sweet things on a table with its legs in basins of water. They
couldn't get over that, you see."
"Why not?" Mollie asked. "Can't they swim?"
"Ours couldn't; lots of them fell in the water and were drowned."
"Ants are usually quite helpless in the water," Miss Ruth said, "though
a French writer who has made the little folks a study, tells a story of
six soldier ants who rescued their companions from drowning. He put his
sugar-basin in a vessel of water, and several adventurous ants climbed
to the ceiling and dropped into it. Four missed their aim and fell
outside the bowl in the water. Their companions tried in vain to rescue
them, then went away and presently returned accompanied by six
grenadiers, stout fellows, who immediately swam to their relief, seized
them with their pincers and brought them to land. Three were apparently
dead, but the faithful fellows licked and rubbed them quite dry, rolling
them over and over, stretching themselves on them, and in a truly
skillful and scientific manner sought to bring back life to their
benumbed bodies. Under this treatment three came to life, while one only
partly restored was carefully borne away. 'I have seen it' is Du Pont de
Nervours's comment on what he thinks may be considered a marvelous
story, though it seems no more wonderful to me than many well-attested
facts in the lives of the little people."
"It's all wonderful," Susie said. "It seems as though they must think
and reason and plan just as we do. Don't you think so, Auntie?"
"Indeed I do, Susie. One who has long studied their ways ranks them next
to man in the scale of intelligence, and says the brain of an ant--no
larger perhaps than a fine grain of sand--must be the most wonderful
particle of matter in the world."
"But they can't talk, Auntie?"
"I am not so sure of that. Their voices may be too fine and high-pitched
for our great ears to hear. I fancy there is a deal of conversation
carried on in the grass and the bushes and the trees, that we know
nothing about."
"How funny! What did you mean, Auntie, when you said the queen laid off
all her flounces and furbelows."
"I was rather fancifully describing her wings, dear, which she takes off
herself when she enters the nest, having no further use for them. There
are three kinds of ants in every nest: perfect males and females, and
the workers. There are many different races of ants, from the great
white ant of Africa--a terror to the natives, though in some respects
his good friend--down to the little red-and-yellow meadow ants so common
among us. The ants I have told you about, the Rufians and the Fuscans,
are natives of America, and are found in New England. The big black ant
so common here, sometimes called the jet ant, is a carpenter and a
wood-carver. His great jaws bore through the hardest wood, and his
pretty galleries and winding staircases penetrate through the beams and
rafters of many an old mansion. Not long ago I accidentally killed a
carpenter ant, and in a few minutes a comrade appeared who slowly, and
apparently with great labor and fatigue, bore away the body. I felt as
though I were looking on at a funeral.
"I wish I had time to tell you about the agricultural ant of Texas, and
the umbrella ants of Florida, who cut bits of leaf from the orange-trees
and march home with them in procession, holding each leaf in an upright
position. Fancy how odd they must look! But we have talked long enough
for this time about the little people, and I am sure you all agree with
King Solomon that they are 'exceeding wise.'"
"I never will step on an ant-hill again if I can possibly help it," said
Susie. "It's too bad to make those hard-working folks so much trouble.
"And I mean to put my ear close down to the ground," said Nellie Dimock,
"and listen and listen, so as to hear the ants talk to each other."