Louis Quatorze once said, "_L'Etat, c'est moi!_" but this figure of
speech becomes an empty, meaningless phrase beside what an army ant
could boast,--"_La maison, c'est moi!_" Every rafter, beam, stringer,
window-frame and door-frame, hall-way, room, ceiling, wall and floor,
foundation, superstructure and roof, all were ants--living ants,
distorted by stress, crowded into the dense walls, spread out to
widest stretch across tie-spaces. I had thought it marvelous when I
saw them arrange themselves as bridges, walks, handrails, buttresses,
and sign-boards along the columns; but this new absorption of
environment, this usurpation of wood and stone, this insinuation of
themselves into the province of the inorganic world, was almost too
astounding to credit.
All along the upper rim the sustaining structure was more distinctly
visible than elsewhere. Here was a maze of taut brown threads
stretching in places across a span of six inches, with here and there
a tiny knot. These were actually tie-strings of living ants, their
legs stretched almost to the breaking-point, their bodies the
inconspicuous knots or nodes. Even at rest and at home, the army ants
are always prepared, for every quiescent individual in the swarm was
standing as erect as possible, with jaws widespread and ready, whether
the great curved mahogany scimitars of the soldiers, or the little
black daggers of the smaller workers. And with no eyelids to close,
and eyes which were themselves a mockery, the nerve shriveling and
never reaching the brain, what could sleep mean to them? Wrapped ever
in an impenetrable cloak of darkness and silence, life was yet one
great activity, directed, ordered, commanded by scent and odor alone.
Hour after hour, as I sat close to the nest, I was aware of this odor,
sometimes subtle, again wafted in strong successive waves. It was
musty, like something sweet which had begun to mold; not unpleasant,
but very difficult to describe; and in vain I strove to realize the
importance of this faint essence--taking the place of sound, of
language, of color, of motion, of form.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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