Part 35

The fact being certain, that ants impart their ideas to each other, we are next led to inquire by what means this is accomplished. It does not appear that, like the bees, they emit any significant sounds; their language, therefore, must consist of signs or gestures, some of which I shall now detail. In communicating their fear, or expressing their anger, they run from one to another in a semicircle, and strike with their head or jaws the trunk or abdomen of the ant to which they mean to give information on any subject of alarm. But those remarkable organs, their antennæ, are the principal instruments of their speech, if I may so call it, supplying the place both of voice and words. When the military ants before alluded to go upon their expeditions, and are out of the formicary, previously to setting off, they touch each other on the trunk with their antennæ and forehead; this is the signal for marching, for, as soon as any one has received it, he is immediately in motion. When they have any discovery to communicate, they strike with them those that they meet in a particularly impressive manner. If a hungry ant wants to be fed, it touches with its two antennæ, moving them very rapidly, those of the individual from which it expects its meal:--and not only ants understand this language, but even aphides and cocci, which are the milch kine of our little pismires, do the same, and will yield them their saccharine fluid at the touch of these imperative organs. The helpless larvæ also of the ants are informed, by the same means, when they may open their mouths to receive their food.

Next to their language, and scarcely different from it, are the modes by which they express their affections and aversions. Whether ants, with man and some of the larger animals, experience any thing like attachment to individuals, is not easily ascertained; but that they feel the full force of the sentiment which we term patriotism, or the love of the community to which they belong, is evident from the whole series of their proceedings, which all tend to promote the general good. Distress or difficulty falling upon any member of their society, generally excites their sympathy, and they do their utmost to relieve it. M. Latreille once cut off the antennæ of an ant; and its companions, evidently pitying its sufferings, anointed the wounded part with a drop of transparent fluid from their mouth: and whoever attends to what is going forward in the neighbourhood of one of their nests, will be pleased to observe the readiness with which they seem disposed to assist each other in difficulties. When a burden is too heavy for one, another will soon come to ease it of part of the weight; and if one is threatened with an attack, all hasten to the spot, to join in repelling it.

The satisfaction they express at meeting after absence is very striking, and gives some degree of individuality to their attachment. M. Huber witnessed the gesticulations of some ants, originally belonging to the same nest, that, having been entirely separated from each other four months, were afterwards brought together. Though this was equal to one-fourth of their existence as perfect insects, they immediately recognized each other, saluted mutually with their antennæ, and united once more to form one family.

They are also ever intent to promote each other's welfare, and ready to share with their absent companions any good thing that they may meet with. Those that go abroad feed those which remain in the nest, and if they discover any stock of favourite food, they inform the whole community, as we have seen above, and teach them the way to it. M. Huber, for a particular reason, having produced heat, by means of a flambeau, in a certain part of an artificial formicary, the ants that happened to be in that quarter, after enjoying it for a time, hastened to convey the welcome intelligence to their compatriots, whom they even carried suspended upon their jaws (their usual mode of transporting each other) to the spot, till hundreds might be seen thus laden with their friends.

If ants feel the force of love, they are equally susceptible of the emotions of anger; and when they are menaced or attacked, no insects shew a greater degree of it. Providence, moreover, has furnished them with weapons and faculties which render them extremely formidable to their insect enemies, and sometimes, as I have related on a former occasion, a great annoyance to man himself, (vol. i. 2d ed. p. 123.) Two strong mandibles arm their mouth, with which they sometimes fix themselves so obstinately to the object of their attack, that they will sooner be torn limb from limb than let go their hold; and, after their battles, the head of a conquered enemy may often be seen suspended to the antennæ or legs of the victor, a trophy of his valour, which, however troublesome, he will be compelled to carry about with him to the day of his death. Their abdomen is also furnished with a poison-bag, (_ioterium_,) in which is secreted a powerful and venomous fluid, long celebrated in chemical researches, and once called _formic acid_, though now considered a modification of the _acetic_ and _malic_;[12] which, when their enemy is beyond the reach of their mandibles, (it is spoken here particularly of the hill ant, or _F. rufa_,) standing erect on their hind legs, they discharge from their anus with considerable force, so that from the surface of the nest ascends a shower of poison, exhaling a strong sulphurous odour, sufficient to overpower or repel any insect or small animal. Such is the fury of some species, that with the acid, according to Gould, p. 34. they sometimes partly eject the poison-bag itself. If a stick be stuck into one of the nests of the hill ant, it is so saturated with the acid as to retain the scent for many hours. A more formidable weapon arms the species of the genus _Myrmica latr._; for, besides the poison-bag, they are furnished with a sting; and their aspect is also often rendered peculiarly revolting, by the extraordinary length of their jaws, and by the spines which defend their head and trunk.

But weapons without valour are of but little use; and this is one distinguishing feature of this pigmy race. Their courage and pertinacity are unconquerable, and are often sublimed into the most inconceivable rage and fury. It makes no difference to them whether they attack a mite or an elephant; and man himself instils no terror into their warlike breasts. Point your finger towards any individual of _F. rufa_; instead of running away, it instantly faces about, and, that it may make the most of itself, stiffening its legs into a nearly straight line, it gives its body the utmost elevation it is capable of; and thus--

"Collecting all its might, dilated stands,"

prepared to repel your attack. Put your finger a little nearer, it immediately opens its jaws to bite you, and rearing upon its hind legs, bends its abdomen between them, to eject its venom into the wound.[13]

This angry people, so well armed and so courageous, we may readily imagine, are not always at peace with their neighbours; causes of dissension may arise, to light the flame of war between the inhabitants of nests not far distant from each other. To these little bustling creatures, a square foot of earth is a territory worth contending for; their droves of aphides being equally valuable with the flocks and herds that cover our plains; and the body of a fly or a beetle, or a cargo of straws and bits of stick, an acquisition as important as the treasures of a Lima fleet to our seamen. Their wars are usually between nests of different species; sometimes, however, those of the same, when so near as to interfere with and incommode each other, have their battles; and with respect to ants of one species, _Myrmica rubra_, combats occasionally take place, contrary to the general habits of the tribe of ants, between those of the same nest.

The wars of the red ant (_M. rubra_) are usually between a small number of the citizens; and the object, according to Gould, is to get rid of a useless member of the community, (it does not argue much in favour of their humanity, that it is all one if it be by sickness that this member is disabled,) rather than any real civil contest. The red colonies, (says this author,) are the only ones I could ever observe to feed upon their own species. You may frequently discern a party of from five or six to twenty, surrounding one of their own kind, or even fraternity, and pulling it to pieces. The ant they attack is generally feeble, and of a languid complexion, occasioned perhaps by some accident or other.--_Gould_, 104.

"I once saw one of these ants dragged out of the nest by another, without its head; it was still alive, and could crawl about. A lively imagination might have fancied that this poor ant was a criminal, condemned by a court of justice to suffer the extreme sentence of the law. It was more probably, however, a champion that had been decapitated in an unequal combat, unless we admit Gould's idea, and suppose it to have suffered because it was an unprofitable member of the community.[14] At another time I found three individuals that were fighting with great fury, chained together by their mandibles; one of these had lost two of the legs of one side, yet it appeared to walk well, and was as eager to attack and seize its opponents, as if it was unhurt. This did not look like languor or sickness."

The wars of ants that are not of the same species take place usually between those that differ in size; and the great endeavouring to oppress the small, are nevertheless often outnumbered by them, and defeated. Their battles have long been celebrated; and the dates of them, as if they were events of the first importance, have been formally recorded. Æneas Sylvius, after giving a very circumstantial account of one contested with much obstinacy by a great and small species, on the trunk of a pear-tree, gravely states, "This action was fought in the pontificate of Eugenius the Fourth, in the presence of Nicholas Pistoriensis, an eminent lawyer, who related the whole history of the battle with the greatest fidelity!" A similar engagement between great and small ants is recorded by Olaus Magnus, in which the small ones being victorious, are said to have buried the bodies of their own soldiers, but left those of their giant enemies a prey to the birds. This event happened previous to the expulsion of the tyrant Christian the Second from Sweden.--_Mouffet, Theatr. Ins._ 242.

M. P. Huber is the only modern author that appears to have been witness to these combats. He tells us, that when the great attack the small, they seek to take them by surprise, (probably to avoid their fastening themselves to their legs,) and, seizing them by the upper part of the body, they strangle them with their mandibles; but when the small have time to foresee the attack, they give notice to their companions, who rush in crowds to their succour. Sometimes, however, after suffering a signal defeat, the smaller species are obliged to shift their quarters, and to seek an establishment more out of the way of danger. In order to cover their march, many small bodies are then posted at a little distance from the nest. As soon as the large ants approach the camp, the foremost sentinels instantly fly at them with the greatest rage; a violent struggle ensues, multitudes of their friends come to their assistance, and, though no match for their enemies singly, by dint of numbers they prevail, and the giant is either slain or led captive to the hostile camp. The species whose proceedings M. Huber observed, were _F. herculanea_, _L. and F. sanguinea, Latr._; neither of which have yet been discovered in Britain.--_Huber_, 160.

THE WHITE ANTS, or TERMITES.--The majority of these animals are natives of tropical countries, though two species are indigenous to Europe; one of which, thought to have been imported, is come so near to us as Bourdeaux. Their society consists of five different descriptions of individuals: workers or larvæ, nymphs or pupæ, neuters or soldiers, males, and females.

1. The workers or larvæ, answering to the hymenopterous neuters, are the most numerous, and, at the same time, most active part of the community; upon whom devolves the office of erecting and repairing the buildings, collecting provision, attending upon the female, conveying the eggs, when laid, to the nurseries, and feeding the young larvæ till they are old enough to take care of themselves. They are distinguished from the soldiers by their diminutive size, by their round heads, and shorter mandibles.

2. The nymphs, or pupæ, differ in nothing from the larvæ, and probably are equally active, except that they have rudiments of wings, or rather wings folded up in cases.

3. The neuters are much less numerous than the workers, bearing the proportion of one to one hundred, and exceeding them greatly in bulk. They are also distinguishable by their long and large heads, armed with very long tubulate mandibles. Their office is that of sentinels; and when the nest is attacked, to them is committed the task of defending it. These neuters seem to be a kind of abortive females, and there is nothing analogous to them in any other department of entomology.

4 and 5. Males and females, or the insects arrived at a state of perfection, and capable of continuing the species. There is only one of each in every separate society; they are exempted from all participation in the labours and employments occupying the rest of the community, that they may be wholly devoted to the furnishing of a constant accession to the population of the colony. Though at their first disclosure from the pupæ they have four wings, like the female ants, they soon cast them; but they may then be distinguished from the blind larvæ, pupæ, and neuters, by their large and prominent eyes.

The different species of Termites, which are numerous, build nests of very various forms. Some construct upon the ground a cylindrical turret of clay, about three-quarters of a yard high, surrounded by a projecting conical roof, so as in shape considerably to resemble a mushroom, and composed interiorly of innumerable cells, of various figures and dimensions. Others prefer a more elevated site, and build their nests, which are of different sizes, from that of a hat to that of a sugar-cask, and composed of pieces of wood glued together, amongst the branches of trees, often seventy or eighty feet high. But by far the most curious habitations, are those formed by the _Termes bellicosus_, a species very common in Guinea, and other parts of the coasts of Africa, of whose proceedings we have a very particular and interesting account in the 71st volume of the Philosophical Transactions.

These nests are formed entirely of clay, and are generally twelve feet high, and broad in proportion; so that when a cluster of them, as is often the case in South America, are placed together, they may be taken for an Indian village, and are in fact sometimes larger than the huts which the natives inhabit. The first process in the erection of these singular structures, is the elevation of two or three turrets of clay, about a foot high, and in shape like a sugar-loaf. These, which seem to be the scaffolds of the future building, rapidly increase in number and height, until at length being widened at the base, joined at the top into one dome, and consolidated all around into a thick wall of clay, they form a building of the size above-mentioned, and of the shape of a haycock, which, when clothed, as it generally soon becomes, with a coating of grass, it at a distance very much resembles. When the building has assumed this its final form, the inner turrets, all but the tops, which project like pinnacles from different parts of it, are removed, and the clay employed over again in other services. It is the lower part alone of the building that is occupied by the inhabitants; the upper portion, or dome, which is very strong and solid, is left empty, serving principally as a defence from the vicissitudes of the weather and the attacks of natural or accidental enemies, and to keep up in the lower part a genial warmth and moisture, necessary to the hatching of the eggs and cherishing of the young ones. The inhabited portion is occupied by the royal chamber, or habitation of the king and queen; the nurseries for the young; the storehouses for food; and innumerable galleries, passages, and empty rooms, arranged according to the following plan:--

In the centre of the building, just under the apex, and nearly on a level with the surface of the ground, is placed the royal chamber, an arched vault of a semi-oval shape, or not unlike a long oven; at first not above an inch long, but enlarged, as the queen increases in bulk, to the length of eight inches or more. In this apartment the king and queen constantly reside, and, from the smallness of the entrances, which are barely large enough to admit their more diminutive subjects, can never possibly come out; thus, like many human potentates, purchasing their sovereignty at the dear rate of the sacrifice of liberty. Immediately adjoining the royal chamber, and surrounding it on all sides to the extent of a foot or more, are placed the royal apartments, an inextricable labyrinth of innumerable arched rooms, of different shapes and sizes, either opening into each other, or communicating by common passages, and intended for the accommodation of the soldiers and attendants, of whom many thousands are always in waiting on their royal master and mistress.

Next to the royal apartments come the nurseries and the magazines. The former are invariably occupied by the eggs and young ones, and, in the infant state of the nest, are placed close to the royal chamber; but when the queen's augmented size requires a larger apartment, as well as additional rooms for the increased number of attendants wanted to remove her eggs, the small nurseries are taken to pieces, rebuilt at a greater distance, a size larger, and their number increased at the same time. In substance they differ from all the other apartments, being formed of particles of wood, apparently joined together with gums. A collection of these compact, irregular, and small wooden chambers, not one of which is half an inch in width, is inclosed in a common chamber of clay, sometimes as big as a child's head. Intermixed with the nurseries, lie the magazines, which are chambers of clay, always well stored with provisions, consisting of particles of wood, gums, and the inspissated juices of plants.

These magazines and nurseries, separated by small empty chambers and galleries, which run round them, or communicate from one to the other, are continued on all sides to the outer wall of the building, and reach up within it two-thirds or three-fourths of its height. They do not, however, fill up the whole of the lower part of the hill, but are confined to the sides, leaving an open area in the middle, under the dome, very much resembling the nave of an old cathedral, having its roof supported by two very large Gothic arches, of which those in the middle of the area are sometimes two and three feet high, but as they recede on each side, rapidly diminish, like the arches of aisles in perspective. A flattish roof, imperforated, in order to keep out the wet, if the dome should chance to be injured, covers the top of the assemblage of chambers, nurseries, &c.; and the area, which is a short height above the royal chamber, has a flattish floor, also waterproof, and so contrived as to let any rain, that may chance to get in, run off into the subterraneous passages.

These passages or galleries, which are of an astonishing size, some being above a foot in diameter, perfectly cylindrical, and lined with the same kind of clay of which the hill is composed, served originally, like the catacombs of Paris, as the quarries whence the materials of the building were derived, and afterwards as the grand outlets by which the termites carry on their depredations at a distance from their habitations. They run in a sloping direction, under the bottom of the hill, to the depth of three or four feet, and then branching out horizontally on every side, are carried under ground, near to the surface, to a vast distance. At their entrance into the interior, they communicate with other small galleries, which ascend the outside of the outer shell in a spiral manner, and, winding round the whole body to the top, intersect each other at different heights, opening either immediately in the dome in various places, and into the lower half of the building, or communicating with every part of it by other smaller circular or oval galleries of different diameters. The necessity for the vast size of the main underground galleries, evidently arises from the circumstance of their being the great thoroughfares for the inhabitants, by which they fetch their clay, wood, water, or provision; and their spiral and gradual ascent is requisite for the easy access of the termites, which cannot, but with great difficulty, ascend a perpendicular. To avoid this inconvenience, in the interior vertical parts of the building, a flat pathway, half an inch wide, is often made to wind gradually, like a road cut out of the side of a mountain; by which they travel with great facility up ascents otherwise impracticable. The same ingenious propensity to shorten their labour, seems to have given birth to a contrivance still more extraordinary: this is a kind of bridge, or vast arch, sprung from the floor of the area to the upper apartments at the side of the building, which answers the purpose of a flight of stairs, and must shorten the distance exceedingly in transporting eggs from the royal chambers to the upper nurseries, which in some hills would be four or five feet in the straightest line, and much more if carried through all the winding passages which lead through the inner chambers and apartments. Mr. Smeathman measured one of these bridges, which was half an inch broad, a quarter of an inch thick, and ten inches long, making the size of an elliptic arch of proportionable dimensions, so that it is wonderful it did not fall over, or break by its own weight, before they got it joined to the side of the column above. It was strengthened by a small arch at the bottom, and had a hollow or groove all the length of the upper surface, either made purposely for the greater safety of the passengers, or else worn by frequent treading. It is not the least surprising circumstance attending this bridge, the Gothic arches before spoken of, and in general all the arches of the various galleries and apartments, that, as Mr. Smeathman saw every reason for believing, the termites project them, and do not, as one would have supposed, excavate them.