Part 27

"Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise: Which having no guide, overseer, or ruler, Provideth her meat in the summer, and gathereth her food in the harvest."

This passage is one that has been often mentioned as a proof that the Bible is not to be implicitly trusted. Judging from all the species of ants known to entomologists, some writers argue that the author of the proverb in question was ignorant of the real history of the ant, and was taking up a popular fallacy.

"The species which I have named 'Agricultural' is a large brownish ant. It dwells in what may be termed paved cities, and like a thrifty, diligent, provident farmer, makes suitable and timely arrangements for the changing seasons. It is, in short, endowed with skill, ingenuity, and untiring patience, sufficient to enable it successfully to contend with the varying exigencies which it may have to encounter in the life conflict.

"When it has selected a situation for its habitation, if on ordinary dry ground, it bores a hole, around which it raises the surface three and sometimes six inches, forming a low circular mound, having a very gentle inclination from the centre to the outer border, which on an average is three or four feet from the entrance. But if the location is chosen on low, flat, wet land, liable to inundation, though the ground may be perfectly dry at the time the ant sets to work, it nevertheless elevates the mound, in the form of a pretty sharp cone, to the height of fifteen or twenty inches or more, and makes the entrance near the summit. Around the mound, in either case, the ant clears the ground of all obstructions, and levels and marks the surface to the distance of three or four feet from the gate of the city, giving the space the appearance of a handsome pavement, as it really is.

"Within this paved area not a blade of any green thing is allowed to grow, except a single species of grain-bearing grass. Having planted this crop in a circle around, and two or three feet from the centre of the mound, the insect tends and cultivates it with constant care, cutting away all other grasses and weeds that may spring up amongst it, and all around outside the farm circle to the extent of one or two feet more. The cultivated grass grows luxuriantly, and produces a heavy crop of small, white, flinty seeds, which under the microscope very closely resemble ordinary rice. When ripe, it is carefully harvested and carried by the workers, chaff and all, into the granary cells, where it is divested of the chaff and packed away. The chaff is taken out and thrown beyond the limits of the paved area.

"During protracted wet weather it sometimes happens that the provision-stores become damp, and are liable to sprout and spoil. In this case, on the first fine day, the ants bring out the damp and damaged grain, and expose it to the sun till it is dry, when they carry it back and pack away all the sound seeds, leaving those that had sprouted to waste.

"In a peach orchard not far from my house is a considerable elevation, on which is an extensive bed of rock. In the sand-beds overlying portions of this rock are five cities of the agricultural ants, evidently very ancient. My observations on their manners and customs have been limited to the last twelve years, during which time the inclosure surrounding the orchard has prevented the approach of cattle to the ant-farms. The cities which are outside the inclosure, as well as those protected in it, are at the proper season invariably planted with the ant-rice. The crop may accordingly always be seen springing up within the circle about the 1st of November every year. Of late years, however, since the number of farms and cattle has greatly increased, and the latter are eating off the grass much closer than formerly, thus preventing the ripening of the seeds, I notice that the agricultural ant is placing its cities along the turn-rows in the fields, walks in gardens, inside about the gates, &c., where they can cultivate their farms without molestation from the cattle.

"There can be no doubt that the particular species of grain-bearing grass mentioned above is intentionally planted. In farmer-like manner the ground upon which it stands is carefully divested of all other grasses and weeds during the time it is growing. When it is ripe, the grain is taken care of, the dry stubble cut away and carried off, the paved area being left unencumbered until the ensuing autumn, when the same ant-rice reappears within the same circle, and receives the same agricultural attention as was bestowed upon the previous crop--and so on, year after year, as I know to be the case, in all situations where the ants' settlements are protected from granivorous animals."

This interesting account is simply the result of twelve years' patient investigation on the part of Dr. Lincecum, who took special care not to invent a theory and to twist facts in accordance with it, but watched the entire proceedings of the insects for a series of years.

The preceding illustration represents the rather remarkable nest of an Australian ant, belonging to the genus Crematogaster. This word signifies "hanging-belly," and the name has been applied to the ant in consequence of the manner in which its abdomen is held up in the air, so that it overhangs the back.

As may be seen, the nest is of considerable size, and might from its external appearance be mistaken for that of a wasp. The interior of it, however, is even more elaborate, being full of little covered passages interlacing with each other in a most intricate manner, but all leading to the internal galleries.

The two nests which are shown in the next illustration are, if possible, still more remarkable.

The upper one is found in Cayenne, and is made by an insect called the fungus ant (Polyrachis bispinosa), because the nest looks as if it were made of fungus. It is not, however, composed of that material, but of the fibre of the cotton-tree (Bombax ceiba).

The fibre is in itself very short, barely exceeding an inch in length, but it is cut very much shorter by the ant, who contrives to felt it together in a most curious manner, so that it is hardly possible to trace the course of any one fibre. The size of the nest is, on an average, about eight or nine inches in diameter. The insect itself is given in the preceding illustration, but very much enlarged. If the reader will look at the centre of the body, he will see the projections which have given it the name of bispinosa, or two-spined.

The lower figure represents the nest of another species of ant belonging to the same genus, and called scientifically, Polyrachis textor. The nest is most ingeniously made of little pieces of wood and tendrils, put together so as to form a kind of open net-work, through which the interior of the nest is plainly visible. This insect inhabits Malacca.]

CHAPTER XVI.

STRUCTURES OF WHITE ANTS, OR TERMITES.

When we look back upon the details which we have given of the industry and ingenuity of numerous tribes of insects, both solitary and social, we are induced to think it almost impossible that they could be surpassed. The structures of wasps and bees, and still more those of the wood-ant (Formica rufa), when placed in comparison with the size of the insects, equal our largest cities compared with the stature of man. But when we look at the buildings erected by the white ants of tropical climates, all that we have been surveying dwindles into insignificance. Their industry appears greatly to surpass that of our ants and bees, and they are certainly more skilful in architectural contrivances. The elevation, also, of their edifices is more than five hundred times the height of the builders. Were our houses built according to the same proportions, they would be twelve or fifteen times higher than the London Monument, and four or five times higher than the pyramids of Egypt, with corresponding dimensions in the basements of the edifices. These statements are, perhaps, necessary to impress the extraordinary labours of ants upon the mind; for we are all more or less sensible to the force of comparisons. The analogies between the works of insects and of men are not perfect; for insects are all provided with instruments peculiarly adapted to the end which they instinctively seek, while man has to form a plan by progressive thought, and upon the experience of others, and to complete it with tools which he also invents.

The termites do not stand above a quarter of an inch high, while their nests are frequently twelve feet, and Jobson mentions some which he had seen as high as twenty feet; "of compass," he adds, "to contain a dozen men, with the heat of the sun baked into that hardness, that we used to hide ourselves in the ragged tops of them when we took up stands to shoot at deer or wild beasts." Bishop Heber saw a number of these high ant-hills in India, near the principal entrance of the Sooty or Moorshedabad river. "Many of them," he says, "were five or six feet high, and probably seven or eight feet in circumference at the base, partially overgrown with grass and ivy, and looking at a distance like the stumps of decayed trees. I think it is Ctesias, among the Greek writers, who gives an account alluded to by Lucian in his 'Cock,' of monstrous ants in India, as large as foxes. The falsehood probably originated in the stupendous fabrics which they rear here, and which certainly might be supposed to be the work of a much larger animal than their real architect." Herodotus has a similar fable of the enormous size and brilliant appearance of the ants of India.

Nor is it only in constructing dwellings for themselves that the termites of Africa and of other hot climates employ their masonic skill. Though, like our ants and wasps, they are almost omnivorous, yet wood, particularly when felled and dry, seems their favourite article of food; but they have an utter aversion to feeding in the light, and always eat their way with all expedition to the interior. It thence would seem necessary for them either to leave the bark of a tree, or the outer portion of the beam or door of a house, undevoured, or to eat in open day. They do neither; but are at the trouble of constructing galleries of clay, in which they can conceal themselves, and feed in security. In all their foraging excursions, indeed, they build covert ways, by which they can go out and return to their encampment.

Others of the species (for there are several), instead of building galleries, exercise the art of miners, and make their approaches under ground, penetrating beneath the foundation of houses or areas, and rising again either through the floors, or by entering the bottom of the posts that support the building, when they follow the course of the fibres, and make their way to the top, boring holes and cavities in different places as they proceed. Multitudes enter the roof, and intersect it with pipes or galleries, formed of wet clay, which serve for passages in all directions, and enable them more readily to fix their habitations in it. They prefer the softer woods, such as pine and fir, which they hollow out with such nicety, that they leave the surface whole, after having eaten away the inside. A shelf or plank attacked in this manner looks solid to the eye, when, if weighed, it will not out-balance two sheets of pasteboard of the same dimensions. It sometimes happens that they carry this operation so far on stakes in the open air, as to render the bark too flexible for their purpose; when they remedy the defect by plastering the whole stick with a sort of mortar which they make with clay, so that, on being struck, the form vanishes, and the artificial covering falls in fragments on the ground. In the woods, when a large tree falls from age or accident, they enter it on the side next the ground, and devour it at leisure, till little more than the bark is left. But in this case they take no precaution of strengthening the outward defence, but leave it in such a state as to deceive an eye unaccustomed to see trees thus gutted of their insides: and "you may as well," says Mr. Smeathman, "step upon a cloud." It is an extraordinary fact, that when these creatures have formed pipes in the roof of a house, instinct directs them to prevent its fall, which would ensue from their having sapped the posts on which it rests; but as they gnaw away the wood, they fill up the interstices with clay, tempered to a surprising degree of hardness, so that, when the house is pulled down, these posts are transformed from wood to stone. They make the walls of their galleries of the same composition as their nests, varying the materials according to their kind; one species using the red clay, another black clay, and the third a woody substance, cemented with gums, as a security from the attacks of their enemies, particularly the common ant, which, being defended by a strong, horny shell, is more than a match for them, and when it can get at them, rapaciously seizes them, and drags them to its nest for food for its young brood. If any accident breaks down part of their walls, they repair the breach with all speed. Instinct guides them to perform their office in the creation, by mostly confining their attacks to trees that are beginning to decay, or such timber as has been severed from its roots for use, and would decay in time. Vigorous, healthy trees do not require to be destroyed, and accordingly, these consumers have no taste for them.

M. Adanson describes the termites of Senegal as constructing covert ways along the surface of wood which they intend to attack; but though we have no reason to distrust so excellent a naturalist, in describing what he saw, it is certain that they more commonly eat their way into the interior of the wood, and afterwards form the galleries, when they find that they have destroyed the wood till it will no longer afford them protection.

But it is time that we should come to their principal building, which may, with some propriety, be called a city; and, according to the method we have followed in other instances, we shall trace their labours from the commencement. We shall begin with the operations of the species which may be appropriately termed the Warrior (Termes fatalis, Linn.; T. bellicosus, Smeath.).

We must premise, that though they have been termed white ants, they do not belong to the same order of insects with our ants; yet they have a slight resemblance to ants in their form, but more in their economy. Smeathman, to whom we owe our chief knowledge of the genus, describes them as consisting of kings, queens, soldiers, and workers, and is of opinion that the workers are larvæ, the soldiers nymphæ, and the kings and queens the perfect insects. In this opinion he coincides with Sparrmann and others; but Latreille is inclined to think, from what he observed in a European species (Termes lucifugus) found near Bordeaux, that the soldiers form a distinct race, like the neuter workers among bees and ants, while the working termites are larvæ, which are furnished with strong mandibles for gnawing; when they become nymphs, the rudiments of four wings appear, which are fully developed in the perfect insects.

In the winged state, they migrate to form new colonies, but the greater number of them perish in a few hours, or become the prey of birds, and even of the natives, who fry them as delicacies. "I have discoursed with several gentlemen," says Smeathman, "upon the taste of the white ants, and on comparing notes, we have always agreed that they are most delicious and delicate eating. One gentleman compared them to sugared marrow, another to sugared cream and a paste of sweet almonds."

Mr. Smeathman's very interesting paper affords us the most authentic materials for the further description of these wonderful insects; and we therefore continue partly to extract from, and partly to abridge, his account.

The few pairs that are so fortunate as to survive the various casualties that assail them, are usually found by workers (larvæ), which, at this season, are running continually on the surface of the ground, on the watch for them. As soon as they discover the objects of their search, they begin to protect them from their surrounding enemies, by inclosing them in a small chamber of clay, where they become the parents of a new community, and are distinguished from the other inhabitants of the nest by the title of king and queen. Instinct directs the attention of these labouring insects to the preservation of their race, in the protection of this pair and their offspring. The chamber that forms the rudiment of a new nest is contrived for their safety, but the entrances to it are too small to admit of their ever leaving it; consequently, the charge of the eggs devolves upon the labourers, who construct nurseries for their reception. These are small, irregularly-shaped chambers, placed at first round the apartment of the king and queen, and not exceeding the size of a hazel-nut; but in nests of long standing they are of great comparative magnitude, and distributed at a greater distance. The receptacles for hatching the young are all composed of wooden materials, apparently joined together with gum, and, by way of defence, cased with clay. The chamber that contains the king and queen is nearly on a level with the surface of the ground; and as the other apartments are formed about it, it is generally situated at an equal distance from the sides of the nest, and directly beneath its conical point. Those apartments which consist of nurseries and magazines of provisions, form an intricate labyrinth, being separated by small, empty chambers and galleries, which surround them, or afford a communication from one to another. This labyrinth extends on all sides to the outward shells, and reaches up within it to two-thirds or more of its height, leaving an open area above, in the middle, under the dome, which reminds the spectator of the nave of an old cathedral. Around this are raised three or four large arches, which are sometimes two or three feet high, next the front of the area, but diminish as they recede further back, and are lost amidst the innumerable chambers and nurseries behind them.

Every one of these buildings consists of two distinct parts, the exterior and the interior. The exterior is one large shell, in the manner of a dome, large and strong enough to inclose and shelter the interior from the vicissitudes of the weather, and the inhabitants from the attacks of natural or accidental enemies. It is always, therefore, much stronger than the interior building, which is the habitable part, divided, with a wonderful kind of regularity and contrivance, into an amazing number of apartments for the residence of the king and queen, and the nursing of the numerous progeny; or for magazines, which are always found well filled with stores and provisions. The hills make their first appearance above ground by a little turret or two, in the shape of sugar-loaves, which are run a foot high or more. Soon after, at some little distance, while the former are increasing in height and size, they raise others, and so go on increasing their number, and widening them at the base, till their works below are covered with these turrets, of which they always raise the highest and largest in the middle, and by filling up the intervals between each turret, collect them into one dome. They are not very curious or exact in the workmanship, except in making them very solid and strong; and when, by their joining them, the dome is completed, for which purpose the turrets answer as scaffolds, they take away the middle ones entirely, except the tops, which, joined together, make the crown of the cupola, and apply the clay to the building of the works within, or to erecting fresh turrets for the purpose of raising the hillock still higher; so that some part of the clay is probably used several times, like the boards and posts of a mason's scaffold.