1. The Sand-Wasp seizes the Caterpillar by the back of the neck with the curved pincers of her jaws. The Gray Worm struggles violently, rolling and unrolling its body. The Wasp is quite unconcerned: she stands aside and thus avoids the shocks. Her sting strikes the Caterpillar at the joint between the first ring and the head, in the middle of the under side, at a spot where the skin is more delicate. This is the most important blow, the one which will master the Gray Worm and make it more easy to handle.
“The gorgeous drama.”
2. The Sand-Wasp now leaves her prey. She flattens herself on the ground, with wild movements, rolling on her side, twitching and dangling her limbs, fluttering her wings, as though in danger of death. I am afraid that the huntress has received a nasty wound in the contest. I am overcome with emotion at seeing the plucky Wasp finish so piteously. But suddenly the Wasp recovers, smooths her wings, curls her antennæ, and returns briskly to the attack. What I had taken for the convulsions of approaching death was the wild enthusiasm of victory. The Wasp was congratulating herself on the way she had floored the enemy.
3. The Wasp grips the Caterpillar by the skin of the back, a little lower than before, and pricks the second ring, still on the under side. I then see her gradually going back along the Gray Worm, each time seizing the back a little lower down, clasping it with the jaws, those wide pincers, and each time driving the sting into the next ring. In this way are wounded the first three rings, with the true legs; the next two rings, which are legless; and the four rings, with the pro-legs, which are not real legs, but simply little protuberances. In all, nine stings. After the first prick of the needle, the Gray Worm offers but a feeble resistance.
4. Lastly, the Sand-Wasp, opening the forceps of her jaws to their full width, seizes the Caterpillar’s head and crunches it, squeezing it with a series of leisurely movements, without creating a wound. She pauses after each squeezing as if to learn the effect produced; she stops, waits, and begins again. This handling of the brain cannot be carried too far, or the insect would die; and strange to say, the Wasp does not wish to kill the Caterpillar.
The surgeon has finished. The poor patient, the Worm, lies on the ground on its side, half doubled up. It is motionless, lifeless, unable to resist when the Wasp drags it to the burrow, unable to harm the grub that is to feed upon it. This is the purpose of the Wasp’s proceedings. She is procuring food for her babies, which are as yet non-existent. She will drag the Caterpillar to her burrow and lay an egg upon it. When the grub comes out of the egg, it will have the Caterpillar to feed upon. But suppose this Caterpillar were active? One movement of his body would crush the egg against the wall of the cell. No, the Caterpillar must be motionless; but it must not be dead, for if it were, it would speedily decay and be unfit eating for the fastidious little grub. The Wasp, therefore, drives her poisoned sting into the nerve-centers of every segment whose movement could hurt the grub-baby. She does better than that. The victim’s head is still unhurt, the jaws are at work; they might easily, as the Caterpillar is dragged to the burrow, grip some bit of straw in the ground and stop progress. The Caterpillar, therefore, must be rendered torpid, and the Wasp does this by munching his head. She does not use her sting on the brain, because that would kill the Caterpillar; she merely squeezes it enough to make the Caterpillar unconscious.
Though we admire the wonderful skill of the Wasp, we cannot help feeling sorry for the victim, the poor Gray Worm. If we were farmers, however, we should not waste any pity on the Worm. These Caterpillars are a dreadful scourge to agricultural crops, as well as to garden produce. Curled in their burrows by day, they climb to the surface at night and gnaw the base or collar of plants. Everything suits them: ornamental plants and edible plants alike, flower-beds, market-gardens, and plants in fields. When a seedling withers without apparent cause, draw it to you gently; and the dying plant will come up, but maimed, cut from its root. The Gray Worm has passed that way in the night; its greedy jaws have cut the plant. It is as bad as the White Worm, the grub of the Cockchafer. When it swarms in a beet-country, the damage amounts to millions. This is the terrible enemy against which the Sand-Wasp comes to our aid. Let us not feel too sorry for it!