As the night wears on, the color of our hero changes and his wings harden; until when the sun rises we behold him in the glory of a black uniform with facings of orange and with beautiful glassy wings folded roof-like above his body. ([Fig. 339].) Great is the change wrought in his appearance during this one marvelous night, and greater still the change wrought in his habits! He is now no longer a hermit; there are thousands of his kind about him, a fact which he realizes with great joy. So happy is he that he feels as if he must burst if he does not find some adequate means for expressing his happiness in this beautiful world of sunshine. Then suddenly he finds in himself the means of expression and bursts into song. Yet, it is not a song exactly, for he is a drummer rather than a singer. On his body just behind each of his hind wings is a kettle drum. The head to this drum is of parchment thrown into folds and may be seen with a lens if you lift his wings and look closely. ([Fig. 340].) Instead of drum sticks he uses a pair of strong muscles to throw the membranes into vibration and there is a complex arrangement of cavities and sounding boards around these drum heads so that the noise he gives off is a great one indeed for a fellow of his size. So fond is he of making music that he has no time to eat or to do aught else but to sound fanfares all the sunshiny day. He is not the only musician on the tree; there are many others and they all join in a swelling chorus that has been described as a roar like that made by the "rushing of a strong wind through the trees."
Fig. 340. The cicada's drum.
If our cicada could talk to one of you Junior Naturalists he would tell you that there was a good reason for all this music. He would explain that only the men of the cicada world possess drums and that the object and reason of all their music is the entertainment of the lady cicadas, who are not only very fond of this drumming, but are good critics of cicada music as well. He would perhaps tell you also that he had his eye on a certain graceful maiden perched on the leaf between him and the sun; but she, on the other hand, seemed to give about equal attention to him and three other drummers situated near by. Excited by the competition and by her indifference, he rattled his drum faster and faster until he rose to the heights of cicada melody and harmony that left his rivals far behind. Then the lady of his choice listened spellbound and pronounced him the greatest of all musicians, and thus he won his bride. However, we may safely predict that their wedded life will be too full of happiness to last. After a few weeks the sunshine, the music, the happiness of wooing and winning will prove too much for our hero and one day he will beat his drum in a last mad ecstacy and fall to earth and die from happy exhaustion. His little wife may survive him only long enough to cut slits in some of the twigs of the home tree and place in them rows of eggs from which shall develop a family of hermits which shall come forth and fill the world with their music seventeen years hence.
There are many broods of cicadas in the United States, so that they appear in different localities in different years. New York State has five well-marked broods.
There are several other species of cicada peculiar to America. One is called Cicada tredecim, since it appears every thirteen years. However, this species is limited to the South.
The dog-day harvest fly, or lyreman, is the cicada that is best known to us through the northern and middle States. This appears in small numbers every year and is a distinct addition to the summer chorus of insect singers. He is larger and much more dignified in appearance than is his cousin septendecim. He wears a black suit embroidered with scrolls of dark olive green and the whole lower surface of his body is covered with white powder. His drums are situated above plates which may be seen on the lower side of the body, one behind each hind leg. He hides in trees and his shrill music is so associated with the heat of summer noons that the sound itself makes one drowsy. The hermit life of the lyreman in underground cells is supposed to last only two years.
While the cicadas of which we have spoken are the children of an ancient race which inhabits America, Europe also has her ancient races of cicadas, although they are not the kind which live hermit lives for seventeen years. We have evidence that their music was held in high esteem by the ancient races of men—especially the Greeks. When Homer complimented his orators he compared them with cicadas. Thus it may lend a special interest to the study of the cicada by our Junior Naturalists when they know that his kettle drums have been celebrated instruments of music by poets who wrote three thousand years before America was discovered by Columbus.