I again looked at my watch to see whether I could consecrate yet a few more minutes to curiosity without making my kind host, my friend Dr. Mce Rivron, and his wife, who honored me with the charming hospitality of Kursac, wait too long. It was only half past eleven; we usually did not breakfast until about noon; it would take only a quarter of an hour to traverse the distance from the mill of Caudan to the house. I could then, without fear of being chided, dispose of fifteen minutes. This lapse of time would perhaps suffice to show me whether my bestiole would this time find the way to her nest without hesitation.
I waited a little; five minutes had not passed when my Bembex, coming like an arrow, alighted on the sand near the plant, still holding the prey which I had noticed when she departed at my chasing her, after her vain attempts to find the entrance to her nest; but this time she did not hunt long. She felt about a little to right and left, but soon turned directly toward the entrance to the tunnel, distant scarcely two inches from the place where she had settled. My Bembex had a memory.
A curious thing about these wasps, and one which shows how much common feeling they have, is that they work in waves, all starting off on their hunting expeditions within a few minutes of each other, and returning together after the chase. At one time all the residents seem to be present, digging their nests, carrying in their booty, dashing at each other, and chasing the parasites with a tremendous amount of humming and swooping about. Then suddenly they are all gone. Nothing remains but multitudes of flies, which keep up a giddy dance over the field, and for ten or fifteen minutes the place seems deserted. Then the wasps begin to return, several coming at a time, and as if by magic the whole scene awakens to life. More than half of the wasps bring nothing home with them, and these fall to robbing their more fortunate companions. Those that are carrying flies must pause a moment, burdened as they are, to scratch away the earth at the entrance to the nest. When unmolested they go in very quickly, but it is just at this point that the marauders fall upon them, displaying an amount of persistence and energy in their attacks that, were it properly directed, might easily enable them to secure flies for themselves.
We once saw a wasp that had been fortunate enough, or perhaps unfortunate enough, to catch an immense fly, the wings of which stood out on both sides very conspicuously. This made her an especial mark for her unprincipled relatives. Half a dozen of them chased her about, like chickens pursuing one of their number that has found a worm. She circled and settled, and circled and swooped around for five or six minutes, continually pursued and attacked by the robbers, and quite unable to get into her nest. At last, curious to see what she was carrying, we made her drop her load, and secured it for ourselves. We found it to be a horse fly, quite dead, but showing no marks of violence. It was not wasted, for we afterward fed it to one of our wasp nurslings at home.
At another time we saw one wasp attack another that was bringing in a fly. In the struggle that ensued the owner lost her booty, as the two rolled over and over on the ground, and as they parted it was seized by the thief. They clinched again, and rolled on the ground as before, and this time the fly was recovered by the rightful owner. At this point, thinking that perhaps one of the wasps was a male, and that this might be their style of courtship, we seized both of them; whereupon the fly was dropped, and the two wasps turned their attention to attacking us. Both proved to be females. Not only do the Bembecids fight in this way for the possession of their prey—they quarrel even without apparent cause. We have seen two females digging their nests at a little distance apart, one of which was repeatedly attacked by the other, although she did nothing to provoke the aggressor. They are certainly very unneighborly, and have no idea of living in harmony. When flying in a threatening manner, either at us or at each other, they have a way of wagging their abdomens violently from side to side in a way well calculated to inspire terror.
In warm sunny weather spinolæ works industriously through the middle of the day, and seems determined to provide abundantly, not only for her own offspring, but for any unbidden guests that it may be her fate to care for. She never works more than four or five hours a day, however, and in unfavorable weather she does not work at all. On going over to the island one cloudy morning to spend some hours in watching the Bembex activities, we found the spot quiet and lifeless. No one seeing it for the first time would have dreamed of the multitudes of living creatures beneath his feet. The nests seemed to be all closed, but on peering curiously about we found one on sloping ground, in the suburbs of the colony, of which the door was open. Just within was the proprietor gazing out on the landscape, as she is shown in the illustration. She seemed to be leaning on her elbows, and her face, enlivened by two great goggle eyes, had an irresistibly comical aspect. With the exception of the omnipresent flies, this wasp was the only sign of life about the place. Even in good weather, and in working hours, the wasps sometimes rest, for we have seen them go in empty-handed, closing the door behind them, to remain for half an hour at a time.
BEMBEX SPINOLÆ LOOKING OUT OF NEST