(From A Journal of Researches, etc.) By
CHARLES DARWIN.
The number of spiders, in proportion to other insects, is here compared with England very much larger; perhaps more so than with any other division of the articulate animals. The variety of species among the jumping spiders appears almost infinite. The genus, or rather family of Epeira, is here characterized by many singular forms; some species have pointed coriaceous shells, others enlarged and spiny tibiæ. Every path in the forest is barricaded with the strong yellow web of a species belonging to the same division with the Epeira clavipes of Fabricius, which was formerly said by Sloane to make, in the West Indies, webs so strong as to catch birds. A small and pretty kind of spider, with very long forelegs, and which appears to belong to an undescribed genus, lives as a parasite on almost every one of these webs. I suppose it is too insignificant to be noticed by the great Epeira, and is therefore allowed to prey on the minute insects, which, adhering to the lines, would, otherwise be wasted. When frightened, this little spider either feigns death by extending its front legs, or suddenly drops from the web. A large Epeira of the same division with Epeira tuberculata and conica is extremely common, especially in dry situations. Its web, which is generally placed among the great leaves of the common agave, is sometimes strengthened near the centre by a pair or even four zigzag ribbons, which connect two adjoining rays. When any large insect, as a grasshopper or wasp, is caught, the spider by a dexterous movement, makes it revolve very rapidly, and at the same time emitting a band of threads from its spinners, soon envelops its prey in a case like the cocoon of a silk worm. The spider now examines the powerless victim, and gives the fatal bite on the hinder part of its thorax; then retreating, patiently waits till the poison has taken effect. The virulence of this poison may be judged from the fact that in half a minute I opened the mesh, and found a large wasp quite lifeless. This Epeira always stands with its head downwards near the centre of the web. When disturbed, it acts differently according to circumstances: if there is a thicket below, it suddenly falls down; and I have distinctly seen the thread from the spinners lengthened by the animal while yet stationary, as preparatory to its fall. If the ground is clear beneath, the Epeira seldom falls, but moves quickly through a central passage from one side to the other. When still further disturbed, it practises a most curious manœuvre: Standing in the middle, it violently jerks the web, which is attached to elastic twigs, till at last the whole acquires such a rapid vibratory movement, that even the outline of the spider’s body becomes indistinct.
It is well known that most of the British spiders, when a large insect is caught in their webs, endeavor to cut the lines and liberate their prey, to save their nests from being entirely spoiled. I once, however, saw in a hot-house in Shropshire a large female wasp caught in the irregular web of a quite small spider; and this spider, instead of cutting the web, most perseveringly continued to entangle the body, and especially the wings, of its prey. The wasp at first aimed in vain repeated thrusts with its sting at its little antagonist. Pitying the wasp, after allowing it to struggle for more than an hour, I killed it and put it back into the web. The spider soon returned; and an hour afterwards I was much surprised to find it with its jaws buried in the orifice, through which the sting is protruded by the living wasp. I drove the spider away two or three times, but for the next twentyfour hours I always found it again sucking at the same place. The spider became much distended by the juices of its prey, which was many times larger than itself.
I may here just mention, that I found near St. Fe Bajada, many large black spiders, with ruby-colored marks on their backs, having gregarious habits. The webs were placed vertically, as is invariably the case with the genus Epeira; they were separated from each other by a space of about two feet, but were all attached to certain common lines, which were of great length, and extended to all parts of the community. In this manner the tops of some large bushes were encompassed by the united nets. Azara has described a gregarious spider in Paraguay, which Walckenaer thinks must be a Theridion, but probably it is an Epeira, and perhaps even the same species with mine. I cannot, however, recollect seeing a central nest as large as a hat, in which, during autumn, when the spiders die, Azara says the eggs are deposited. As all the spiders which I saw were of the same size, they must have been nearly of the same age. This gregarious habit, in so typical a genus as Epeira, among insects, which are so bloodthirsty and solitary that even the two sexes attack each other, is a very singular fact.
(From Facts and Fictions of Zoölogy.) By
ANDREW WILSON
Amongst those spectacles and incidents in human existence which remain fixed on the memory of the spectator from their sad or unwonted nature, that of a panic-stricken crowd, gathered by the report of some national disaster, stands pre-eminent. Still more terrible in its details is the history of some catastrophe which has laid a city in ruins and wrought death and desolation to thousands of the inhabitants. A deadly epidemic, or fatal plague, searing a nation with its dread, mysterious power, is a calamity appalling enough; but the spectacle of a city overthrown at one fell swoop by the earthquake shock may perhaps rank foremost amongst the untoward incidents which environ the sphere of man. A certain event, occurring during a recent holiday by the sea, tended forcibly to impress upon the mind that the great catastrophes of life are not limited to humanity’s special sphere, and that in lower life panic and alarm seem to exercise no small influence, as in man’s estate; whilst the incident referred to also afforded food for reflection on topics not far removed from some weighty matters in the history of man’s own nature and constitution. In this latter view, it is especially hoped the observations of a brief period of leisure-time may not be without their due meed of interest.
The chance removal from its secure site, of a large stone placed in close proximity to the sea-beach, where the bliss of idleness was being fully exemplified by a small party of holiday-makers, proved, on close examination, to be the cause of a literal revolution in lower life. Imagine a city to be totally unroofed, try to conceive of the sudden downfall of houses and buildings, and the consequent panic of the inhabitants, and you may obtain an idea of the disturbance on simple procedure effected in the peaceable, well-ordered colony of ants which had located themselves securely beneath the friendly shelter of the stone. The scene presented to view was one of the most curious and interesting which could engage the attention of an observer in any field of inquiry, and the occurrence certainly banished the idle mood of the time, and lent a zest to the subsequent hours of our holiday. Running hither and thither in wild confusion were the denizens of this underground colony; their six little legs carrying their curious globular bodies backward and forward over the disturbed area from which the stone had been removed. At first the movements of the ants were extremely erratic and purposeless. Panic and alarm appeared to be the order of the day during the few minutes which elapsed after removal of the stone. But soon the eye could discern movements of purposive kind on the part of the alarmed residents. There was "racing and chasing" in all directions: but the ants which had at first radiated from the centre of disturbance, as if on some definite quest, soon returned thereunto, and continued to advance and retire from the field of action with tolerable regularity. Not less than sixty or seventy ants appeared to be engaged in this labor of scouring the country around. The object of their repeated journeys in all directions was soon discovered. They were the self-appointed scouts, engaged in the work of reconnoitring. Such at least is a fair interpretation of the acts of the ants, and such also is the conclusion borne out by the subsequent course of events. For, after the scouts had spent a considerable time in their rapid journeys to the environments of the nest, a new set of ants appeared upon the scene, destined to perform a highly important series of labors.
The scouts continued their journeyings, and gave one the idea of a set of fussy individuals who were superintending, or even bullying, their new neighbors, who appeared from amongst the ruins and débris of the ant city, carrying in their mouths certain oval bodies of a dirty-white color, and measuring each about one-third of an inch in length. Each of these bodies closely resembled a grain of corn in shape, size, and appearance. The spectacle of these small insects carrying off these bodies in their powerful jaws impressed one forcibly with the idea that, relatively to its size, an ant is an herculean insect.
Occasionally there might be seen certain rather ludicrous incidents connected with the removal of the objects in question. One ant might be witnessed in the endeavor to hoist the oval body it was carrying in its mouth over some obstacle lying in the path, and the staggering gait of the insect seemed very accurately to mimic the similar disposition of a human porter struggling under a burdensome load. Another ant, carrying the oval body before it, would arrive at a steep incline formed of loose sand, and presenting a treacherous surface even to the light feet of the insect. The efforts of the ant to carry the body upward being found to be fruitless, the insect might be seen to whirl about with great rapidity of action, and ascend the hill backward, pulling the body after it, instead of pushing it as before.
Another instance might be witnessed in which an ant which had literally come to grief with its burden would be assisted by a kindly neighbor; but it was no uncommon sight to behold in the excessive eagerness of the insects an actual means of defeating the object they had in view, since two ants would in some cases seize the same burden, and then came the tug of war. One pulled one way whilst the other tugged in the opposite direction; and the observer could almost have supposed that the burden itself might have been parted in twain by the treatment to which it was subjected—the incident affording a new application of the remark that a surfeit of zeal is destructive of the best intentions. The nature of the bodies which the ants seemed so excessively anxious to preserve from injury was readily determined. The oval bodies, resembling grains of corn, were the pupæ or chrysalides of the ants—the sleeping babies and young hopefuls, on whom the hopes of the colony were, and I may say, are, founded. It is noteworthy, however, that upon some mistaken notions regarding the nature of these bodies many of the ideas concerning the frugal care of these insects were founded. Solomon’s advice that the sluggard should "go to the ant," with the view of considering her ways and gaining wisdom as a result of the study, was in days of old thought to be approved by the observation that the ants husbanded their stores of food in the shape of the grains of corn they had gained from the autumnal store. There can be little doubt that some species of ants do store food; but their praiseworthy actions in this direction have been greatly exaggerated, and there appears, indeed, to be some danger of idle persons being prepared with the retort to the wise man, that the ant is by no means the model creature he thought her to be. If, however, the supposed corn-grains turn out to be the rising generation of ants in their chrysalis-state, it may be said that what the ants may have lost in the way of fame in this direction has been amply compensated for by the discovery of more wonderful traits of character than Solomon could possibly have dreamt of.
The work of removing the developing population thus appeared in our ant’s nest to absorb the entire energies of the alarmed denizens. Pupa after pupa was carried out from amongst the débris and taken for a considerable distance—certainly fifteen inches—to a place of security, beneath a small sloping stone of flat shape, which roofed over a hollow in the ground. So far as I could observe, the scouts must have discovered this place of refuge, and have communicated the intelligence to their neighbors. The regularity with which the slumbering innocents were conveyed to the same spot would appear to point to concerted work and to a definite idea, if one may so term it, having animated the laborers. I was careful to ascertain at an early stage of the proceedings that the place of refuge had no communications with the nest. It was, in point of fact, an entirely new habitation, and, as far as human judgment might venture upon an opinion, the new residence appeared to give promise of being a safe and convenient domicile. Now and then an ant would emerge from the ruins of the nest carrying a younger hopeful in the larva or caterpillar stage. This latter was a little white grub, which corresponds in its development to the grub or caterpillar of the butterfly or fly; the ants thus exemplifying insects which undergo a complete "metamorphosis." It was rather a difficult matter to ascertain clearly if the ants were actually excavating the chrysalides from amongst the débris. Bearing in mind what Sir John Lubbock has told us concerning the apparent inability of ants to discover the whereabouts of companions buried under earth, I rather lean to the belief that my ants simply conveyed to a place of safety those chrysalides which were at hand and readily obtainable. The latter fact I could not ascertain, since I feared to disturb the ants at their interesting labors; but a simple experiment served to show the feasibility of the idea that the chrysalides were probably within easy reach of the ants.
Taking possession of one chrysalis which was being conveyed to the new domicile, I buried it about half an inch deep in the sand, directly in the track over which the ants were journeying to their new residence, and a second chrysalis I placed at a little distance from this track, but in a spot over which numerous ants were running apparently without any definite aim. The second pupa ant was not buried in any sense, and was covered merely with a sprinkling of sand. The result in both cases was negative. No attempt was made to disinter the chrysalis from the beaten track, although numberless ants walked directly over it; and I extricated the chrysalis five hours after its interment, and when the busy scene of the morning had been replaced by a dull prospect, over which only a single ant now and then hurried in a rapid fashion. The other chrysalis was also unnoticed, despite its proximity to the surface of the sand. Whether or not ants want a sense of smell or other means of guiding them to the whereabouts of their neighbors or children, is a subject difficult of determination either toward a positive or negative result. And I am the more inclined to wonder at the incapacity of the insects to discover their buried companions, since they appear to be perfectly capable of detecting them at a considerable distance above ground. When a chrysalis was placed in a spot remote from the nest, and an ant placed within a foot or so of the chrysalis, the insect would occasionally seem to be attracted to the neighborhood of the object. I frequently observed that if an ant happened to crawl within two or three inches of the chrysalis as it lay on the ground, it appeared to become conscious of the object, although at the same time it seemed ignorant of its precise locality. In such a case the insect would proceed hither and thither in an erratic fashion, but would continue to hover or rotate around the chrysalis until it seized the object and bore it off in triumph in its jaws. Relatively to the size of the ant, we must consider this latter incident by no means a slight tribute to its acuteness.
The busy scene resulting from the disturbance of the nest proceeded actively during at least two hours. The nest appeared to be by no means a large one. At the end of two hours, however, the ants were still rushing hither and thither, bent on errands unknown to their observers, although the work of conveying the chrysalides had at the lapse of the period just mentioned entirely ceased. Five and a half hours after the nest had been alarmed, not an ant was visible over the disturbed area, and our next task was that of investigating the manner in which the insects had dispersed themselves and their belongings in their new habitation by carefully removing the flat sloping stone already mentioned as that beneath which the main stream of the ants had disappeared. Not an insect was to be seen after this operation was performed, and it was only after the removal of several small stones which lay below the flat stone that the colony in its new sphere was brought into view. Our investigation once again excited the restless beings. Then ensued, for the second time, the seizure of the chrysalides, which, however, were to be seen packed together in a secure position and already partly covered with particles of earth and sand. To have reached the position in which we found them, the insects must have descended at least three inches after entering below the stone, and the labor of the continual ascent in search of fresh chrysalides must therefore have been of no light kind. We saw enough to convince us that the ants had already settled down in a new organization, which, with an undisturbed history, might repeat the peaceful state of their former life; and we also had the thought presented, that in the exercise of their duties under the pressure of an unwonted exigency, the insect behaved and acted with no small degree of intelligence, and apparently in harmonious concert to the desired end.
But the thoughts suggested by the brief observation of the disturbed ant’s nest hardly end thus. We may very naturally proceed to inquire into the regular organization and constitution of the ant colony, and also, as far as fact and theory may together lead, into the analogies—if analogies there be—which exist between the social instincts of ants and the ways of the higher animals, man included.
The common ants and their neighbors belong to the order of insects known as the Hymenoptera, a group represented by other insects of "social" habits, such as bees, wasps, and hornets. The termites, or white ants of the tropics, are the only "ants" foreign to this order of insects, the white ants being near relations of the dragonflies, may-flies, etc. The family history of the latter, as told by Mr. Bates, may serve to introduce us agreeably to ant society at large. The nests of the termites may attain a height of five feet, and present the appearance of conical hillocks, formed of earth particles "worked," says Mr. Bates, "with a material as hard as stone." In the neighborhood of the nests, narrow covered galleries or underground ways are everywhere to be seen, these latter being the passages along which the materials used for building the nests are conveyed. The termites are small soft-bodied animals of a pale color, but resemble the common or true ants in that they live in colonies, composed, like those of bees, of three chief grades of individuals. These grades are known as males, females, and blind "neuters," the latter forming at once the largest bulk of the population, and including in their numbers the true "working classes" of this curious community. In the common ants, the "neuters" are regarded as being Undeveloped female insects. These neuters exhibit in the termites a further division into ordinary "workers" (Figs. 1, 4), which perform the multifarious duties connected with the ordinary life of the colony, and "soldiers" (3), which perfectly exemplify the laws of military organization in higher life, in that they have no part in the common labor, but devote themselves entirely to the defence of the colony and to the
"Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war."The workers appear to perform a never-ending round of duties. They build the nests, make the roads, attend to the wants of the young, train up the latter in the ways of ant existence, wait on the sovereigns of the nest, and like diplomatic courtiers, duly arrange for the royal marriages of the future. As Mr. Bates remarks, "The wonderful part in the history of the termites is, that not only is there a rigid division of labor, but nature has given to each class a structure of body adapting it to the kind of labor it has to perform. The males and females form a class apart; they do no kind of work, but in the course of growth acquire wings to enable them to issue forth and disseminate their kind. The workers and soldiers are wingless, and differ solely in the shape and armature of the head. This member in the laborers is smooth and rounded, the mouth being adapted for the working of the materials in building the hive. In the soldier the head is of very large size, and is provided in almost every kind with special organs of offence and defence in the form of horny processes resembling pikes, tridents, and so forth.... The course of human events in our day seems, unhappily, to make it more than ever necessary for the citizens of civilized and industrious communities to set apart a numerous armed class for the protection of the rest; in this, nations only do what nature has of old done for the termites. The soldier termite, however, has not only the fighting instinct and function; he is constructed as a soldier, and carries his weapons not in his hand but growing out of his body." When a colony of termites is disturbed, the ordinary citizens disappear and the military are called out. "The soldiers mounted the breach," says Mr. Bates, "to cover the retreat of the workers," when a hole was made in the archway of one of their covered roads, and with military precision the rearmen fall into the vacant places in the front ranks as the latter are emptied by the misfortune of war.
In a termite colony there is but one king and queen, the royal couple being the true parents of the colony. The state-apartments are situated in the centre of the hive, and are strictly guarded by workers. Both king and queen are wingless, and are of larger size than their subjects. The queen engages in a continual round of maternal duties, the eggs deposited by the sovereign-mother being at once seized by the workers and conveyed to special or "nursery cells," where the young are duly tended and brought up. Once a year, at the beginning of the rainy season, winged termites appear in the hive as developments of certain of the eggs laid by the queen-termite. These latter are winged males and females, the two sexes being present in equal numbers. Some of these, after shedding their wings, become the founders—kings and queens—of new communities, the privilege of sex being thus associated with the important and self-denying work of perpetuating the species or race in time. Sooner or later—a termite family takes about a year to grow—a veritable exodus of the young winged termites takes place; and just before this emigration movement occurs, a hive may be seen to be stocked with "termites" of all castes and in all stages of development. The workers never exhibit a change of form during their growth; the soldiers begin to differ from the workers in the possession of larger heads and jaws; whilst the young which are destined to become the winged males and females are distinguished by the early possession of the germs of wings which become larger as the skin is successively moulted. Amongst the bees, blind Huber supposed that an ordinary or neuter egg develops into a queen bee if the larva is fed upon a special kind of food— "royal food," as it is called. Although some entomological authorities differ from Huber with regard to the exact means by which the queen bee is reared and specialized from other larvæ, yet the opinion thus expressed possesses a large amount of probability. Whatever may be the exact method or causes through or by which the queen bee is developed, Mr. Bates strongly asserts that the differences between the soldiers and worker termites are distinctly marked from the egg. This latter observer maintains that the difference is not due to variations in food or treatment during their early existence, but is fixed and apparent from the beginning of development. This fact is worthy of note, for it argues in favor of the view that if, as is most likely, the differences between the grades of termites may have originally been produced by natural selection or other causes, these differences have now become part and parcel of the constitution of these insects, and are propagated by the ordinary law of heredity. Thus acquired conditions have become in time the natural "way of life" of these animals.
Mr. Bates has also placed on record the noteworthy fact that a species of termites exists in which the members of the soldier class did not differ at all from the workers "except in the fighting instinct." This observation, if it may be used at all in elucidation of the origin of the curious family life of these insects, points not to sudden creation, but to gradual acquirement and modification as having been the method of development of the specialized classes and castes in termite society. Firstly, we may thus regard the beginnings of the further development of a colony to appear in a nest in which workers and soldiers are alike, as stated by Mr. Bates. Then, through the practice of the fighting instinct, we may conceive that natural selection would be competent to adapt the soldiers more perfectly for their duties militant, by developing the head and jaws as offensive weapons. Possibly, were our knowledge of the termites at all complete, we should meet with all stages in the development and specialization of the various grades of society amongst these insects—at least the present state of our knowledge would seem to lead to such a conclusion as being much more feasible than the theory of special or sudden creation of the peculiarities of the race. It is admitted that the termites are in many respects inferior in structure to the bees and wasps, whilst the white ants themselves are the superiors of their own order—that of the Neuroptera. That the termites preceded the bees and their neighbors, the common ants, in the order of development of social instincts, is a conclusion supported by the fact that the Neuroptera form the first group of insects which are preserved to us in the "records of the rocks." Fossil Neuroptera occur in the Devonian rocks of North America; the first traces of insects allied to the bees and wasps being geologically more recent, and appearing in the oolitic strata. The occurrence of high social instincts in an ancient group of insects renders the repetition of these instincts in a later and higher group the less remarkable. The observation, however, does not of necessity carry with it any actual or implied connection between the termites and their higher neighbors, although, indeed, the likeness between the social life of the two orders of insects might warrant such a supposition.
The common ants, the study of which in their native haunts is a matter of no great difficulty, and one which will fully reward the seeking mind, like the termites, possess three grades of individuals. In a single ant’s nest more than One female may be found, the ants differing from the bees in this respect; and in the nests of some species of ants there are apparently "soldiers" resembling the military termites in the possession of large heads and well-developed jaws. Very amazing differences are to be perceived amongst the various species of ants. Differences in size are of common occurrence, but naturalists have actually succeeded in classifying ants in a general way, by differences in manner and disposition. We know, for example, that the horse-ant (Formica rufa, Fig. 3) has little individual intelligence, but is extremely socialistic, and moves and acts en masse with precision and tact. Another species (F. fusca) is timid and retiring. F. pratensis is a revengeful creature, since it "worries" its fallen foes; F. cinerea is bold and audacious; others are termed "thieves" and "cowards"; some are phlegmatic; and to complete the list of failings and traits which are human enough in character, one species is said to present an invariable greediness as its prevailing characteristic. The common ants resemble the termites in the general details of their life. We see in an ant’s nest the same restless activity of the workers, the same earnest attention paid to the young and pupæ, the same instinct in shielding the young from danger, and much the same general routine of development. Certain rather special, and it may be said extraordinary, habits of ants may, however, demand notice before we attempt a brief survey of their instincts at large. Few readers are unacquainted with the Aphides, or plant-lice, those little wingless insects which infest our plants and herbs in myriads in summer. It is a fact now well known to naturalists, and first placed on record by Huber, that between the ants and plant-lice, relations of a very friendly and, as far as the ants are concerned, advantageous character have become established. Ants have been observed to stroke the tips of the bodies of the plant-lice with their antennæ, this act causing the plant-lice to exude drops of a clear, sweet fluid, of which the ants are extremely enamoured. The ants would thus appear to habitually "milk" their insect-neighbors, and, as far as observation goes, some ants seem not merely to keep the plant-lice in their nests so as to form a veritable dairy establishment, but also to make provision in the future by securing the eggs of the aphides, and bringing up the young as we rear calves.
That the relation between the ants and plant-lice are of very stable kind is proved by the interesting remarks of Mr. Darwin, who "removed all the ants from a group of about a dozen aphides on a dock-plant, and prevented their attendance during several hours." Careful watching showed that the plant-lice after this interval did not excrete the sweet fluid. Mr. Darwin then stroked the plant-lice with a hair, endeavoring thus to imitate the action of the ant’s feelers, but not a single plant-louse seemed disposed to emit the secretion. Thereafter a single ant was admitted to their company, the insect, in Mr. Darwin’s words, appearing, "by its eager way of running about, to be well aware what a rich flock it had discovered." The ant first stroked one aphis and then another, each insect excreting a drop of the sweet juice "as soon as it felt the antennæ;" and "even the quite young aphides behaved in this manner, showing that the action was instinctive, and not the result of experience." If, as Mr. Darwin remarks, it is a convenience for the aphides to have the sweet secretion removed, and that "they do not excrete solely for the food of the ants," the observation does not in any degree lessen the curious nature of the relationship which has become established between the ants and t