with some treacle in one of his cupboards, put them to the rout, and
then suspended the pot of treacle, by a string, from the ceiling. He
imagined he had put the whole army to flight, but was surprised to see
a single ant quit the pot, climb up the string, cross the ceiling, and
regain its nest. In less than half an hour several of its companions
sallied forth, traversed the ceiling, and reached the depository, which
they constantly revisited until the treacle was consumed. The Doctor
was therefore of opinion, that ants were enabled to communicate their
ideas to each other.--In a memoir, published in the Transactions of the
French Academy, an account is given of a solitary ant that was taken
from its nest, and thrown on a heap of corn: it was observed, after
surveying this treasure, to hasten immediately back to its residence,
where it doubtless communicated to its associates this intelligence;
for the granary was very soon filled with visitors, and the corn taken
away. The fallacy of the statement respecting ants laying up a store
of provision for their winter consumption, particularly corn, is now
very generally admitted; it has been ascertained that ants, (at least
those of this country,) during that season, lie in a state of torpor,
and therefore require no food. Gould, who published a memoir on these
insects in 1747, pointed out this error; and since his time, it has
been fully confirmed by the most experienced entomologists.--T.
3. _The Migrations of the Fallow Ants._
Ants are now and then induced to change their residence. Should it
be too much in the shade, too humid, too exposed to the attacks of
passengers, or too contiguous to an enemy’s quarters, thus rendering
it unsafe as well as unpleasant, they leave it to lay the foundation
of another in some other place. This I have denominated migration,
the term colony offering no sufficiently just idea, since we do not
speak, in this instance, of a portion of the metropolis, but of a whole
nation removing to a new city. However, I shall occasionally employ
it under the same acceptation. Do ants determine upon the propriety
of removing to another abode after general deliberation? How do they
appoint the place of rendezvous, and the day of departure? These
questions, and the facts connected with them, have hitherto escaped the
attention of naturalists; although several (Bonnet, Latreille, Bomare)
have sufficiently spoken of a practice common enough among ants,--that
of their carrying each other; yet they were ignorant if they should
attribute this conduct to the sickness, infancy, or old age of those
ants that were borne by their companions.
I was equally ignorant of their intention in this respect; but having
one day deranged the habitation of a colony of Fallow Ants, I
perceived they had changed their domicile. I saw, at the distance of
ten paces from their nest, a fresh ant-hill, which communicated with
the old by a path struck out in the grass, along which the ants were
passing and re-passing in great number. I remarked that all those
going towards the new establishment were loaded with their companions,
whilst those moving in a contrary direction were running one after
the other[2]: these were no doubt returning to the old nest, to seek
inhabitants for the new. This proved an additional source of knowledge.
[2] Having kept a considerable time in captivity a colony of Red Ants,
I was anxious to observe their proceeding on being placed at liberty.
I therefore dug a hole in the garden, in which I deposited their nest.
The first day but very few quitted it, as they had been liberally
supplied with provision; the second day, they left the nest in great
numbers to visit the environs; the third day they remained within,
being detained by the rain; the fourth day, they visited as before the
neighbourhood, but towards the evening, I was greatly surprised to see
all those quitting the nest carrying their companions, whilst those
returning to the nest, came unattended; the latter, however, lost no
time in bearing away in their pincers their associates. This scene
was continued without interruption, on the following day, when the
emigration was complete, and a new establishment formed.--T.
From that period, I put several of these republics to the same proof.
I destroyed so often the roof of their underground city, that I
completely succeeded in driving them from their residence. The first
and second time they repaired the breaches I had made; at the third
they began seeking an asylum less exposed to such accidents. I then
observed one of the labourers leave the nest, carrying one of its
companions suspended by its mandibles: I followed it until it reached
the border of a subterranean cavity, in which it deposited its burden.
The number of these carriers or porters, at first but trifling,
increased each moment. I only noticed, at the commencement, two or
three in the path; but, after they had carried off several others to
begin their operations at the new ant-hill, one part of the colony
went, in their turn, to the ancient nest, and thence drew, as from a
nursery, subjects for the new city. To judge with what ardour they
were occupied with their colony, it was only necessary to watch the
arrival of new recruits to the natal ant-hill. They approached in haste
several ants, caressed them individually with their antennæ, drew them
forth by their pincers, and actually appeared to propose to them the
journey. When they saw they were disposed to set off, I observed them
seize them by their mandibles, and whilst the one destined to be the
porter or carrier turned about to take up the other it had brought over
to its views, the latter rolled itself up, suspended from the neck of
the former. All this took place in the most amicable manner, passing
and repassing the antennæ over the head of each other, with movements
little varying from those when they are about to take their food. It
sometimes, however, happened, that those who were desirous of the
change seized the other ants by surprise, and dragged them out of the
ant-hill, allowing them no time to offer resistance; they bore them
off with great rapidity, and when they had nearly arrived to their new
habitation, the ants suspended by their mandibles unrolled themselves,
and quitted their conductors.
The number of recruits increases always in rapid progression; the path
communicating with the two cities is filled; the natal ant-hill is
covered, and its surface is the theatre of their excursions and their
_enlevemens_: they never return to the new colony, without bringing
back some pledge of their dispatch or address.
My glass frames often permitted me to see what occurred in the interior
of ant-hills during the emigration, for when the labourers espied
any issue that had escaped my vigilance, they profited by it to seek
another asylum. They spread themselves at first separately over the
floor, and observed all the corners of my study, hoping to discover an
asylum in which they might be sheltered: this obtained, they began to
recruit. That ant which had found a place of safety, went immediately
to seek its companions, one after the other, on the floor, then in the
ant-hill: but it was sufficient, by simply taking away at the time the
first recruit, to stop the emigration, at least until some other ant
had discovered an equally convenient retreat.
The recruiting continued several days; but when the whole of the
labourers knew the route to their new habitation, they ceased to carry
each other. They had by this time constructed large vaulted chambers,
avenues, and lodges; they first brought off their pupæ and larvæ, then
the males and females. When the removal was complete, they for ever
abandoned the artificial ant-hill, and the road which led to it.
But upon opening the shutter of my _ruche_ whilst the emigration on
the exterior was in full activity, all appeared tranquil within; those
recruiting, arrived at the very gate of the ant-hill, but the ants,
who were not immediately the object of their search, paid no attention
to their proceedings; they continued, as usual, their ordinary
avocations, and did not appear to suspect what was going forward so
near them. Thus, these _enlevemens_ produce no sensation but in the
very spot where they take place, which proves, that the ants do not
take counsel of the whole republic when they feel inclined to change
their abode. That ant which discovers a situation favourable to the
establishment of an ant-hill, conducts its companions to it, and these,
in their turn, go and seek new inhabitants. It now and then happens
that several workers undertake at the same time to found a new city,
and conduct there the whole colony, which gives place to a temporary
existence of several ant-hills; but these insects are soon aware of
this division, and do not delay, in the last recruiting, bringing the
whole colony into one nest.
When the ants are displeased with the city they have chosen, they
quit it for a third, and pass sometimes even to a fourth, where they
definitively fix. We even see them very frequently return to the
ancient nest before being fully established in the new. The recruiting
then takes place in a contrary direction, and the couples meet each
other in the same road, but the last has always the advantage over the
preceding emigrations.
When the new ant-hill is at a considerable distance from the old, the
ants commonly establish some intermediate residence, in which they
deposit the recruits, the larvæ, the males, and the females, which they
are unable to carry in one journey to their proper destination. I have
seen several of these relays established upon the same route; they
consisted of cavities pierced in the earth, containing sufficiently
spacious apartments, generally covered with fragments of straw, and
resembling small ant-hills. We might there observe some sentinels
doing daily duty, that is to say, opening and closing the gates of
the ant-hill morning and evening; sometimes these asylums become
little colonies, which maintain a close connection with the principal
ant-hill; they are different habitations, common to the same ants,
serving them for places of refuge on any derangement of what we might
term their capital.[3]
[3] Mr. Kirby mentions a similar circumstance. In speaking of a
colony of that species, termed the Hill Ant (_F. rufa_): he informs
us, that their nest was one of considerable magnitude, and that at
certain distances from it, they had established six or seven smaller
settlements.--T.
I have often seen in fir-forests, very large ant-hills contiguous to
each other, communicating together, like cities of the same empire, by
regular tracks:--these tracks are sometimes as much as a hundred feet
in length, and several inches in breadth; they are not produced by
the passing and repassing of the ants, several thousands of whom are
in motion each day from one ant-hill to the other, but are excavated
by the ants themselves. I have often seen these insects occupied
in establishing them, or in giving them greater breadth. This art
belongs exclusively to the Fallow Ants; but the recruiting is common
to them, with the Herculean, Ethiopian, Ash-coloured, the Sanguine,
and the Mining Ant. That very valuable gift of being directed in their
movements by means of the antennæ, of which we have before spoken, is
in use among the Brown, the Yellow, the Fuliginous, and several other
ants.
We have one word to say respecting Field Ants, which take a middle
place between the two genera we have described, inasmuch as they
sometimes conduct themselves peaceably towards each other, and regulate
their movements by signs; but what is very remarkable is, the manner in
which they take off their recruits; in place of carrying them rolled up
and suspended under their neck, they hold them in a contrary direction;
they also take them up by their mandibles, but with their head below,
and their body raised in the air.[4] It never happens, as had been
supposed, that the labourer who wishes to be carried fastens himself by
force upon one of its companions. The Brown and Fuliginous Ants, who
are not in the habit of carrying each other in their migrations, have
recourse, notwithstanding, to this expedient with regard to the males,
females, and labourers, lately transformed; which amounts to the proof,
that these do not well understand their language, and could not be
their own directors.
[4] M. Bonnet was inclined to believe, that they are treated in this
way only, when their companions are irritated or out of temper; that
they then dart upon each other, and when one of the champions has
seized its adversary on the upper part of the neck, it maintains an
obstinate hold.--A.
4. _Of the Affection of Ants for their Companions._
The affection between members constituting one and the same family
is, without doubt, the just basis for harmony and public good. Even
were we not accustomed to regard the actions of insects as mechanical,
we could not possibly explain the order so conspicuous among bees
and ants, without supposing them endowed with an attachment to their
fraternity, which inspires them with that great zeal for the well-being
of the colony, with that attention and that devotedness, of which they
offer striking examples every instant of their life. With us, intimacy
results from some decided preference; with them, this affection has
nothing exclusive, offering rather an idea of the patriotism which
accords with republican states. Their friendship is never destroyed
by the shock of contending passions; there is not to be found amongst
them either hatred, rivalry, or dissension. What individual is not
acquainted with the devotedness of bees for their republic! The
females, even of the larger animals, do not defend their little ones
with more spirit and obstinacy. Ants yield in no respect to bees: it
is well known, that we may divide ants in the middle of their body,
without taking from them the desire of defending their domicile, that
the head and corslet, although separated from the abdomen, still
continue in motion, and that, in this state, the ant will convey the
pupæ to their asylum.[5] Thus the great secret of the harmony we
admire in these republics rests in their reciprocal affection. It will
be enough to bring to remembrance what M. Latreille has mentioned,
respecting some ants, who, upon witnessing the suffering of their
companions, whose antennæ he had cut off, dropped from their mouth,
upon the wounded part, a little transparent liquor, of which they
knew, perhaps, the full virtue. I have no equally affecting instances
to relate. I shall, however, mention two, which prove the lasting
attachment of members of the same republic, and the desire that their
associates might also participate in their pleasures.
[5] This can scarcely be adduced as an instance of the affection
of this insect for the young confided to its care; for had it been
engaged in any other operation, it is most likely it would have
continued it until its strength totally failed. It is well known
that many insects, after the loss of their principal members, still
continue their customary avocations. I have myself seen a wasp walking
(seemingly unconcerned), about a sugar-hogshead, three hours after
its abdomen had been removed. Fothergill, if I mistake not, threw
his hat at a dragon-fly (_Libellula_), and by accident separated its
body. It made several efforts, but ineffectually, from want of its
proper counterpoise, to take flight. Whilst it was in this state a
fly was presented to it, which it devoured very greedily. The common
caterpillar (_Melolontha vulgaris_) will continue to walk about even
when deprived of half its entrails. Dr. Arnold, after transfixing an
insect (_Scolia quadrimaculata_) with a pin, placed it in a box with
other insects, where it afterwards got loose, and notwithstanding
its previous impalement, actually destroyed another insect (_Sphinx
stellarum_) in the same box, which usually constituted its food.--T.
I took, in the month of April, an ant-hill from the woods, for the
purpose of populating my large glazed apparatus; but, having more ants
than I had occasion for, I gave liberty to a considerable number in
the garden of the house where I lived. The latter fixed their abode
at the foot of a chesnut tree. The former became the subject of some
private observations. I noticed them four months, without allowing
them to quit my study; at this time, wishing to bring them nearer to
a state of nature, I carried the _ruche_ into the garden, and placed
it at ten or fifteen paces from the natural ant-hill. The prisoners,
profiting by my negligence of not renewing the water which blockaded
their passage, escaped, and ran about the environs of their abode.
The ants, established near the chesnut tree, met, and _recognised_
their former companions; fell to mutual caresses with their antennæ,
took them up by their mandibles, and led them to their own nests: they
came presently in a crowd to seek the fugitives, under and about the
artificial ant-hill, and even ventured to reach the bell-glass, where
they effected a complete desertion, by carrying away successively all
the ants they found there. In a few days the _ruche_ was depopulated.
These ants _had remained four months without any communication_. I
placed some Fallow Ants in another artificial ant-hill, the frame of
which, in place of lying perpendicular with the table, as in figure 1.
was inclined some degrees. This disposition displeased the ants (I know
not why), and they established themselves underneath the bell-glass
in the materials of their nest, which had been brought with them.
It was, however, necessary, to allow of my making any observations,
they should remain in the frame, and I hoped to retain them there,
by the attraction of heat. For this purpose I brought a flambeau
close to the frame, and kept it in the same position, until the glass
had acquired a sufficiently high temperature. There were some ants
in this place; as soon as they perceived the heat, they began to be
animated, manifested their comfort by brushing their head and antennæ
with their feet, and ran over, with rapidity, the warm space. When
they saw other ants, they approached them, moved about their antennæ
with singular quickness, and then immediately left them. They appeared
desirous to remount under the bell-glass; they went even to the border
of the table, but retained, without doubt, by the mild temperature
they experienced in the frame, they often returned to it; they took,
at length the measure of mounting into the upper story. I knew enough
of the habits of ants to be well aware they were only gone to intimate
to their companions this heat, to which they attached such value. In
short, I presently saw two descend into the frame, carrying in their
mouths two labourers, whom they deposited in the warmest place; they
then returned immediately into the upper part of the _ruche_. The
new arrivals, after having warmed themselves, mounted also under the
glass, when, in a few minutes after, I saw the whole four re-descend,
each bearing another ant suspended by its mandibles. This transport
continued in rapid progression, until there arrived, by hundreds, the
recruits, with their living burthens, and there remained no longer any
ants in the superior part of the _ruche_. When I ceased warming the
frame, the ants regained the glass, but as often as I approached the
flambeau, this social proceeding again took place.[6]
[6] That ants will occasionally avail themselves of the heat supplied
by other sources besides the sun, is sufficiently evident from what
follows: “M. Reaumur, in refuting the common notion of ants being
injurious to bees, tells us, that societies of the former often saved
themselves the trouble of removing the larvæ, &c. from place to place,
by establishing their colonies between the exterior wooden shutters
and panes of his glass hives, where, owing to the latter substance
being a tolerably good conductor for heat, their progeny was, _at all
times_, and without any necessity of changing their situation, in a
constant, equable, and sufficient temperature. Bonnet observed the same
fact. He found that a society of ants had piled up their young to the
height of several inches, between the flannel-lined case of his glass
hives and the glass. When disturbed they ran away with them, but always
replaced them. I am persuaded that, after duly considering these facts,
you will agree with me that it is impossible consistently to refer
them to instinct, or to account for them without supposing some stray
ant, that had insinuated herself into this tropical crevice, first
to have been struck with the _thought_ of what a prodigious saving
of labour and anxiety would occur to her compatriots by establishing
their society here; that she had communicated her _ideas_ to them; and
that they had resolved upon an emigration to this newly discovered
country--this Madeira of ants, whose genial clime presented advantages
which no other situation could offer. Neither instinct, nor any
conceivable modification of instinct, could have taught the ants to
avail themselves of a good fortune, which, but for the invention of
glass hives, would never have offered itself to a generation of these
insects since the creation; for there is nothing analagous in nature
to the constant and equable warmth of such a situation, the heat of
any accidental mass of fermenting materials soon ceasing, and no heat
being given out from a society of bees when lodged in a hollow tree,
their natural residence. The conclusion, then, seems irresistible,
that reason must have been their guide, inducing a departure from
their natural instinct; as extraordinary as would be that of a
hen which should lay her eggs in a hot-bed, and cease to sit upon
them.”--_Introduction to Entomology, by Kirby and Spence_, Vol. II. p.
518.--T.
These observations, and many others, which I shall not now mention,
by showing what interest the ants take in the welfare of their
companions, bring to mind those ideal republics in which all wealth
should be general, public interest serving as a rule of conduct for the
citizens. It belonged only to nature to realize this chimera, and it
is only among insects, exempt from our passions, that she thought she
could establish this order of things. She has given to ants a language
of communication by the contact of their antennæ; with these organs
they are enabled to render mutual assistance in their labours, and
in their dangers; discover again their route when they have lost it,
and make each other acquainted with their necessities. We see, then,
that insects which live in society are in possession of a language. In
consequence of enjoying a language, in common with us, although in an
inferior degree, have they not greater importance in our eyes, and do
they not embellish the very spectacle of the universe?
CHAP. V.
OF THE WARS OF ANTS, AND SOME OTHER PARTICULARS.
The scourge of war, is it inseparable from the state of society? Ants,
whose civilization appears more developed than we had reason to expect,
whose manners announce harmony, reciprocal attention, regard for
their females, union and perfect equality between the several members
of their republic, do they present us an example of that law, which
ordains, that species too abundant should be their own destroyers?
Nature has so willed it! It was necessary that ants should still have
with us this relation, the necessity for which rests upon plans too
elevated for our feeble conception.
That kind of aggression which is practised by considerable armies, and
is manifested in frequent combats, widely differs from the artifices of
those insects that take their prey by surprise;--some by means of nets
which they spread, others by the aid of those ingenious snares into
which ants themselves unconsciously fall.[1] It is only to the wars in
which we engage that we can compare those of ants; we may, therefore,
tolerate, in favour of this resemblance, expressions a little too
pompous for the heroines whose history I am writing: we cannot invent
a particular language for these insects, we must therefore make use of
the terms employed when speaking of war.