The family Robinson Crusoe

by Johann David Wyss

A short time after, another kind of object presented itself with equal claims to our attention; it was the singular modes of behaviour of a kind of bird scarcely larger than a chaffinch, and clothed in feathers of a common brown colour. These birds appeared to exist as a republic, there being among them one common nest, inhabited at pleasure by all their tribes. We saw one of these nests in a tree in a somewhat retired situation; it was formed with considerable skill of platted straws and bulrushes intermixed; it appeared to us to inclose great numbers of inhabitants, and was constructed in an irregular sort of form round the trunk of the tree where the branches sprout: it appeared to us to have a kind of roof formed of roots and bulrushes, but more carefully knit together than the rest of the structure. In the sides, which were unequally formed, we observed a quantity of small apertures seemingly intended as doors and windows to each particular cell of this general receptacle; from a few of these apertures, issued some small branches, which served the birds as points of rest for entering and returning: the external appearance of the whole, excited the image of an immensely large, open, spunge. The birds which inhabited it were very numerous; they passed in and out continually, and I estimated that it might contain at least a million. The males were somewhat larger than the females, and there was a trifling difference in their plumage: the number of the males was very small in proportion to the females; I do not know whether this had been the cause of their thus assembling together.

While we were attentively examining this interesting little colony, we perceived a very small kind of parrot, not much larger than the birds themselves, hovering about the nest^[7]. Their gilded green wings and the variety of their colours produced a beautiful effect; they seemed to be perpetually disputing with the colonists, and not unfrequently endeavoured to prevent their entrance into the building; they attacked them fiercely, and even endeavoured to peck at us if we but advanced our hand to the structure. Fritz, who was well trained in the art of climbing trees, was earnestly desirous to take a nearer view of such extraordinary beings, and to secure, if possible, a few individuals. He threw his whole equipage to the ground, and climbed till he reached the nest; he then tried to introduce his hand into one of the apertures, and to seize whatever living creature it should touch, in that particular cell; what he most desired, was to find a female brooding, and to carry both her and the eggs away. Several of the cells were empty, but by perseverance he found one in the situation he wished. But he did not pursue his plan without meeting with the full punishment of his curiosity and ungenerous behaviour. He received so violent a stroke from the beak of an invisible bird, that his only care was now to withdraw his hand, which he shook in the air to ease the pain, uttering all the time the most dismal lamentations. But though punished, he was not cured of his fault: no sooner had the pain subsided, than he ventured a second time to pass his hand into the nest, and succeeded in seizing his prey, which he laid hold of by the middle of the body; and in spite of the bird’s resistance, its cries and wailings, he drew it through the aperture and squeezed it into the pocket of his waistcoat; and buttoning it securely, he slided down the tree and reached the ground in safety. The signals of distress sent forth by the prisoner collected a multitude of birds from their cells, who all surrounded him, uttering the most hideous cries, and flying at him with their beaks, till he had made good his retreat. The birds pursued him till he was quite close to my side, when by making a loud noise and waving my pocket-handkerchief, I succeeded in driving them away. He now released the prisoner, and we discovered him to be a beautiful little green parrot, which Fritz entreated he might be allowed to preserve, and make a present of to his brothers, who would make a cage to keep him in, and would then tame him and teach him to speak. I did not oppose his request; but thinking we had spent too much time upon this singular phenomenon of the bird colony, I bade him prepare quickly for returning home. The birds were naturally the subject of our conversation on the road. It was the first time I had ever witnessed such a spectacle as a swarm of birds living together in a state of society in one nest; and I was surprised at it. From the circumstance of so young a bird being nestled within the structure, it appeared probable that the true right of property was in this species, and that the brown-coloured birds we at first observed, were intruders, endeavouring to deprive them of it. Thus we find, said I to Fritz, the existence of social dispositions in almost every class of the animal kingdom, which leads to the combining together for a common cause or benefit. I have not hitherto observed these dispositions among amphibious animals, but it is not unlikely that instances will at some time or other present themselves. A multitude of causes may induce animals to form a body or society, instead of living singly; among them may be supposed the deficiency of females or of males; the charge of the young; providing them with food; or as a means for their safety and protection. Who shall dare to fix limits to the instinct, or to the faculties of the animal creation?

Fritz.—I do not, however, recollect any kind of animals who live thus together in society, except the bees.

Father.—What say you then, my boy, to wasps, drones, and different kinds of ants?

Fritz.—I did not indeed recollect the ants, though I have so often amused myself with looking at them: nothing can be more interesting than the ingenious little houses they construct; observing them attentively, we perceive their industry, their economy, their care of their young;—in a word, all their undertakings, conducted on a plan of society and numbers.

Father.—Have you also observed with what a provident kind of instinct they bring out their eggs to be warmed by the sun, and for this end remove them from place to place till the time of their maturity?

Fritz.—Is it not probable, father, that what we take for eggs, are chrysales of ants, which, like many other insects, are thus shut up while the process of their taking wings is in the operation?

Father.—You may be right. Writers on natural history have considered the industry and frugality of these insects, as a subject not unworthy of their close consideration^[8]; but if the common ant of our own country excited so much of your admiration, in what words will you express your astonishment at the almost incredible labours which are performed by the ants of foreign countries! Of these there is a kind which build nests of four, six, and eight feet in height, and large in proportion: the external walls of these structures are formed so thick and solid, that neither sun nor rain can penetrate them. These houses contain within, little streets, arched roofs, piazzas, colonnades, and particular apartments for the offices of housewifery: and the whole of this complicated mass is put together with so much solidity of workmanship, that if emptied and cleaned, it might serve for an oven. The ant is for the most part an animal of pilfering propensities, on the profits of which it principally lives; it is also remarkable for constancy in its designs, and remaining ever in one place: a species of them exists, however, in America, which is known by the name of the cephalate or visiting ant; they make their appearance in numerous troops every two or three years, and disperse themselves abundantly in every house: as soon as this visitation is observed, it is customary to open all the apartments, and every receptacle for stores; they enter every where, and in a short time it is found that they have exterminated as effectually the rats, mice, bugs, kakerles (a sort of insect that gives great annoyance in hot countries);—in a word, all the different animals offensive or injurious to man, as if sent on a special mission to remedy the evils these occasion. They do no injury to man, unless they find in him an enemy, who pursues and disturbs their quiet; in which case they attack his shoes so violently, that they are destroyed with incredible rapidity. On the other hand, they cause terrible devastations in plantations of trees, of which they will entirely strip the leaves in a single night: some of the ants crawl up and separate them from the tree, and then throw them down to their fellow-labourers, who are in waiting to receive and carry the leaves to the ant house. This curious species does not build its house above ground, but they dig holes, sometimes not less than eight feet in depth, and plaster the walls according to the rules of the art of masonry^[9]. Some travellers assert that one of the islands of the South Sea is infested by them to such a degree, that human beings cannot venture to disembark in it. The place is therefore, as it were, yielded to them, and is known to mariners by the name of Ant-island.

Fritz.—And has no means been found to stop the progress of their devastations?

Father.—As to what in this respect relates to the ant-island, I am not able to answer your question. In Europe, fortunately for the inhabitants, they are not so formidable: they however occasion sufficient inconvenience to make us study by what means we can best destroy them; and the surest methods are found to be fire and boiling-water. They have, besides, numerous enemies among insects and birds: the most terrible of all is the myrmecophage, or great ant-eater. Nature, who no doubt intended in this animal to produce a counterpoise against the abundant increase of ants, furnished it with a long gluey tongue, which it drops into the holes of the ant-house: the ants crawl upon it, and remain fixed. When the tongue is sufficiently covered with them, the ant-eater draws it back, swallows its mouthful greedily, and drops it again with the same success. It is pretended, that two ant-eaters hostilely engaged against an ant-house, will destroy every inhabitant in a short time. They raise small channels of light sand in the ants’ road, which the creatures in passing, fall entirely through, and are received by the enemy, who swallows them in an instant. Different savage nations, the Hottentots in particular, also devour ants by handfuls.