A Monument of Industry—The White Ant

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 176, 15 October 1927, Page 26 (Supplement)

A Monument of Industry —The White Ant

SMSSjf) HE white ant belongs essentially to the intertropical fauna. It is in 1 CffHtf I hot countries that it manifests its extraor- " dinary genius for building and its terrifying genius for destruction. In Australia it works great havoc. On one occasion white ants were found in the great organ of the Sydney Town Hall, and it cost thousands of pounds to exterminate them and repair the destruction they had wrought. There are not many naturalists in the tropics to observe them; besides, they are rarely seen because of their mysterious habits; nevertheless, their hidden power is clearly revealed by the immeasurable disaster they bring. One can imagine many dramatic endings to the world. It will come unexpectedly and noiselessly on the day when this crafty little beast, as clever as man. and with methods which have reached an amazing state of perfection in several million years, scores a decisive victory over its hereditary enemies, and successfully protects itself against climatic conditions. For it is one of the most fertile of all the animal species; and we can fairly say that its colonies encircle the world with an immense ring of vermin—a countless legion of hunger. However, it is not exactly by food rivalry that this family imperils the existence of other animals. It only eats what is usualy inedible,.or at any rate indigestible—cellulose, the hard substance in vegetables which herbivorous animals themselves cannot assimilate. But cellulose is a substance of the greatest importance. It is in the wood, the skeleton of trees. It is the protective binding • round most herbs. It is in the soil itself into which the whole vegetable world plunges its roots. Cellulose is the tool which men use, the paper on which they write, the linen or cotton with which they clothe themselves, the bed on which they lie, the furniture they use, the seats on which they sit, and the roof over their heads. A white ant heap is always surrounded by a desert of dryness. The giant trees of the equatorial forests, emptied from within, suddenly crumple up with a tremendous crash.

In some countries a cart left in the middle of a field in the evening will be reduced to its ironwork in the morning. Railway sleepers disappear. Over a distance of several miles you can see houses suddenly collapse and the furniture crumble into dust. There is no sign of the raging destroyer, for you will never see a single ant. The work is all underground, with sap and mine. The enemy reaches his goal by gallieries, passages, and imperceptible tunnels. It is perhaps a little excessively pessimistic, but not unreasonable, to imagine that the day will come when all the vegetable products of the world and all the works of man will collapse in a heap of dust. No poison has been

discovered, no varnish, no satisfactory shield which will withstand this invincible chemist, who dissolves the tin foil on bottles to gnaw the cork, and even corrodes the glass. Looked at from this point of view, the white ant, which is normally not as big as a bee, inspires fear and horror. Prom another aspect it becomes at once an object of pity and admiration, for it is an amazingly hard-working pariah. Perhaps nature, frightened at having produced this menace, wished to repair the effects of its imprudence by condemning the ant to appalling misery. So an insect from which we have so much to fear shows a striking likeness to man, thrown into the world to face the implacable elements, in his shivering nakedness, a little fragile being, with a brain blank of impressions. The white ant is blind and wingless. Its soft and succulent flesh is a delicacy for countless beasts of prey, having no protective shell. Drought and sunlight will kill them, yet they are forced to inhabit the driest and hottest parts of the world. But it has found a way to forge arms for its defence, and to erect against the light that kills it, and against drought, varying temperatures, and armies of enemies, shelters which will withstand the onslaught even of an axe. So hard are these ant-heaps that in some countries they are broken up to pave the roads, like sandstone or cement. In compartments converging on the centre of the ant-heap is the hatching place of the larvae, several millions in number and about the size of a pin's head. The temperature and moisture are always kept even in this little chamber. Around the nursery, in the incubation rooms, are the little white elongated eggs, laid in heaps. On the botom floor, under a low arched ceiling, is the compartment of the queen ant and her consort. The chamber is enlarged in accordance with the increasing size of this fat and sedentary sovereign, who is sometimes 20,000 or 30,000 times as big as most of her subjects.

Further on are nothing but galler- i ies, underground passages, cellars 1 held up by pillars, and cells filled with i larvae and grubs. Then more store- j rooms containing provisions—chewed wood and pulverised herbs; stables i where the suprfluous grubs, the un- i desirable overflow of the population, ' are housed, with their paws cut, and fattened to feed the others. i The whole fortress, which could, If necessary, be eaten, is like the gingerbread castles of the fairy tales, for the entire thing is made of cellulose. The white ant is also “queen-eating,” since when the queen ceases to lay she is devoured. There are two principal classes of white ants, easily distinguishable. The big ones,, provided with fairly strong shears, are workers in wood, the small ones look after the establishment, repairs, the raising of the young, the mushroom beds, and the queen’s service, whose continual egg-laying they superintend. The labouring class only is provided with protozoa in their intestines, to aid digestion. Consequently the other castes, unable to feed themselves, absorb mouth to mouth, from the workers, the food which has been prepared for them. If one of them is hungry he stops a worker in the passage, and politely asks for some of the contents of his inside, which demand is at once acceded to. This prerogative gives the worker great power in the state. They nourish both the children sand the ' grown-ups of the other categories, and regulate the numbers of the population, killing off superfluous citizens by I starvation. Besides that they make I the galleries, repair them, and cover 1 them with their stercoral varnish, fill up the cracks and eat the corpses. Above them, in a certain sense, is j the military caste. The soldiers are also of two kinds. The little ones do | the policing of the ant-heap, and the i big ones deal with outside enemies. I Not only can they not digest, but they | ! cannot even eat without help, for, j i since their duty demands a weapon, j they have developed in front of their mouth huge and very inconvenient i hooks, a terrifying armament completed by an enormous head which is as hard as a shield. In some species there are even artillerymen with heads like syringes, capable of ejecting a venomous liquid for a considerable distance. Sometimes there is a crack in the ant-heap, or in one of the passages, by which the ordinary ant, a redoubtable enemy who is always on the watch, might enter. One immediately sees the enormous heads of soldiers advancing to defend it, and when their hooks have put the enemy to flight a sort of chirping of alarm summons the workers, who close the breach with dust and stercoral cement. This chirping is not the only lan- ; guage of the white ants, who seem Ito have at their disposal a certain number of significant noises. If the ; breach is too great the workers close ; it behind the soldiers, who generously [ sacrifice, themselves for their court-,

try, for they will find no crack by whicfl to return, and will either perish of hunger or be devoured by common ants. At the top of the hierarchy is the royal establishment, where the queen lives, shut off in the central chamber. She is enormous, her stomach resembling a white pudding, whence emerge a head and minute thorax. The humble prince consort is always hidden under the rolls of fat. The queen, who lives for five years, lays during this time an egg a second, or more than thirty millions of eggs a year, it is her only occupation. Around the motionless egg-layer the workers busy themselves gorging her on the one side, and on the other ceaselessly gathering and taking away her eggs. An impenetrable cordon of soldiers, with their backs to the marriage bed and their hooks In front, mount vigilant guard, day and night. What is the origin of this productive couple, reigning in the middle of all these sterile subjects? The antheap, black dungeon of a nation of slaves, has Its mystery of glory and of love, an ideal, a dream. These blind workers bring up with faith, and cherish chosen children, with wings, and eyes which see, unlike the ethers. These children, the pride of the city, will see the light of the sun, and fly In the pure air. They have sex, and their number is considerable. On a certain day the whole people prepares itself, with a sort of peculiar music and sacred dances. It is the day of feasting, of the departure for their initiation of the young things which have grown up. Suddenly the fortress, which is so sternly walled up, is pierced with innumerable windows, through which the soldiers watch the world. The omens are favourable. . . . There is a clamour, and transparent wings are beating at ; all the windows. Instantly the air is j darkened with the flight of the j chosen. ] Chosen? most of them to die! This ! exit is awaited by beasts of prey from ! all quarters. Birds flock from all points of the horizon, and gorge themI selves on this feast. Black legions of common ants throw themselves on ! the tired wings. Even men eat handfuls of these succulent Insects, tasting like almonds. They are fried and grilled, and the whole countryside ! gluts Itself. Must the dream of the white ants 1 end like this? They thought to increase their chances by the number of betrothals, for they are the betrothed who fly thus to their slaughter, t But perhaps one little male and one little female will escape for their destiny. They will be the rulers either of an old ant-heap whose throne is vacant, or of a new kingdom. Then, on the threshold of the palace which they will never leave again, their eyes • will darken and they will tear off each 1 other’s wings as useless adornments, i one is tempted to hum the song which ■ is sung in the countryside on the eve • of betrothals: Vous n’irez plus au bal, madam’ la marie ej.