This angry people, so well armed and so courageous, we may readily imagine are not always at peace with their neighbours; causes of dissension may arise to light the flame of war between the inhabitants of nests not far distant from each other. To these little bustling creatures a square foot of earth is a territory worth contending for;—their droves of Aphides equally valuable with the flocks and herds that cover our plains; and the body of a fly or a beetle, or a cargo of straws and bits of stick, an acquisition as important as the treasures of a Lima fleet to our seamen. Their wars are usually between nests of different species; sometimes, however, those of the same, when so near as to interfere with and incommode each other, have their battles; and with respect to ants of one species, Myrmica rubra, combats occasionally take place, contrary to the general habits of the tribe of ants, between those of the same nest. I shall give you some account of all these conflicts, beginning with the last. But I must first observe, that the only warriors amongst our ants are the neuters or workers; the males and females being very peaceable creatures, and always glad to get out of harm's way.
The wars of the red ant (M. rubra) are usually between a small number of the citizens; and the object, according to Gould, is to get rid of a useless member of the community (it does not argue much in favour of the humanity of this species if it be by sickness that this member is disabled), rather than any real civil contest. "The red colonies," says this author, "are the only ones I could ever observe to feed upon their own species. You may frequently discern a party of from five or six to twenty surrounding one of their own kind, or even fraternity, and pulling it to pieces. The ant they attack is generally feeble, and of a languid complexion, occasioned perhaps by some disorder or other accident[77]." I once saw one of these ants dragged out of the nest by another, without its head; it was still alive, and could crawl about. A lively imagination might have fancied that this poor ant was a criminal, condemned by a court of justice to suffer the extreme sentence of the law. It was more probably, however, a champion that had been decapitated in an unequal combat, unless we admit Gould's idea, and suppose it to have suffered because it was an unprofitable member of the community[78]. At another time I found three individuals that were fighting with great fury, chained together by their mandibles; one of these had lost two of the legs of one side, yet it appeared to walk well, and was as eager to attack and seize its opponents, as if it was unhurt. This did not look like languor or sickness.
The wars of ants that are not of the same species take place usually between those that differ in size; and the great endeavouring to oppress the small are nevertheless often outnumbered by them, and defeated. Their battles have long been celebrated, and the date of them, as if it were an event of the first importance, has been formally recorded. Æneas Sylvius, after giving a very circumstantial account of one contested with great obstinacy by a great and small species on the trunk of a pear-tree, gravely states, "This action was fought in the pontificate of Eugenius the Fourth, in the presence of Nicholas Pistoriensis, an eminent lawyer, who related the whole history of the battle with the greatest fidelity!" A similar engagement between great and small ants is recorded by Olaus Magnus, in which the small ones being victorious are said to have buried the bodies of their own soldiers, but left those of their giant enemies a prey to the birds. This event happened previous to the expulsion of the tyrant Christiern the Second from Sweden[79].
M. P. Huber is the only modern author that appears to have been witness to these combats. He tells us that, when the great attack the small, they seek to take them by surprise, (probably to avoid their fastening themselves to their legs,) and, seizing them by the upper part of the body, they strangle them with their mandibles; but when the small have time to foresee the attack, they give notice to their companions, who rush in crowds to their succour. Sometimes, however, after suffering a signal defeat, the smaller species are obliged to shift their quarters, and to seek an establishment more out of the way of danger. In order to cover their march, many small bodies are then posted at a little distance from the nest. As soon as the large ants approach the camp, the foremost sentinels instantly fly at them with the greatest rage, a violent struggle ensues, multitudes of their friends come to their assistance, and, though no match for their enemies singly, by dint of numbers they prevail, and the giant is either slain or led captive to the hostile camp. The species whose proceedings M. Huber observed, were F. herculanea and F. sanguinea, neither of which have yet been discovered in Britain[80].
But if you would see more numerous armies engaged, and survey war in all its forms, you must witness the combats of ants of the same species, you must go into the woods where the hill-ant of Gould (F. rufa) erects its habitations. There you will sometimes behold populous and rival cities, like Rome and Carthage, as if they had vowed each other's destruction, pouring forth their myriads by the various roads that, like rays, diverge on all sides from their respective metropolises, to decide by an appeal to arms the fate of their little world. As the exploits of frogs and mice were the theme of Homer's muse, so, were I gifted like him, might I celebrate on this occasion the exhibition of Myrmidonian valour; but, alas! I am Davus, not Œdipus; you must therefore rest contented, if I do my best in plain prose; and I trust you will not complain if, being unable to ascertain the name of any one of my heroes, my Myrmidonomachia be perfectly anonymous.
Figure to yourself two of these cities equal in size and population, and situated about a hundred paces from each other; observe their countless numbers, equal to the population of two mighty empires. The whole space which separates them for the breadth of twenty-four inches appears alive with prodigious crowds of their inhabitants. The armies meet midway between their respective habitations, and there join battle. Thousands of champions, mounted on more elevated spots, engage in single combat, and seize each other with their powerful jaws; a still greater number are engaged on both sides in taking prisoners, which make vain efforts to escape, conscious of the cruel fate which awaits them when arrived at the hostile formicary. The spot where the battle most rages is about two or three square feet in dimensions: a penetrating odour exhales on all sides,—numbers of ants are here lying dead covered with venom,—others, composing groups and chains, are hooked together by their legs or jaws, and drag each other alternately in contrary directions. These groups are formed gradually. At first a pair of combatants seize each other, and rearing upon their hind-legs mutually spirt their acid, then closing they fall and wrestle in the dust. Again recovering their feet, each endeavours to drag off his antagonist. If their strength be equal, they remain immoveable, till the arrival of a third gives one the advantage. Both, however, are often succoured at the same time, and the battle still continues undecided—others take part on each side, till chains are formed of six, eight, or sometimes ten, all hooked together and struggling pertinaciously for the mastery: the equilibrium remains unbroken, till a number of champions from the same nest arriving at once, compel them to let go their hold, and the single combats recommence. At the approach of night, each party gradually retreats to its own city: but before the following dawn the combat is renewed with redoubled fury, and occupies a greater extent of ground. These daily fights continue till, violent rains separating the combatants, they forget their quarrel, and peace is restored.
Such is the account given by M. Huber of a battle he witnessed. In these engagements, he observes, their fury is so wrought up, that nothing can divert them from their purpose. Though he was close to them examining their proceedings, they paid not the least attention to him, being absorbed by one sole object, that of finding an enemy to attack. What is most wonderful in this history, though all are of the same make, colour, and scent, every ant seemed to know those of his own party; and if by mistake one was attacked, it was immediately discovered by the assailant, and caresses succeeded to blows. Though all was fury and carnage in the space between the two nests, on the other side the paths were full of ants going to and fro on the ordinary business of the society, as in a time of peace; and the whole formicary exhibited an appearance of order and tranquillity, except that on the quarter leading to the field of battle crowds might always be seen, either marching to reinforce the army of their compatriots, or returning home with the prisoners they had taken[81], which it is to be feared are the devoted victims of a cannibal feast.
Having, I apprehend, satiated you with the fury and carnage of Myrmidonian wars, I shall next bring forward a scene still more astonishing, which at first, perhaps, you will be disposed to regard as the mere illusion of a lively imagination. What will you say when I tell you that certain ants are affirmed to sally forth from their nests on predatory expeditions, for the singular purpose of procuring slaves to employ in their domestic business; and that these ants are usually a ruddy race, while their slaves themselves are black? I think I see you here throw down my letter and exclaim—"What! ants turned slave-dealers! This is a fact so extraordinary and improbable, and so out of the usual course of nature, that nothing but the most powerful and convincing evidence shall induce me to believe it." In this I perfectly approve your caution; such a solecism in nature ought not to be believed till it has undergone the ordeal of a most thorough investigation. Unfortunately in this country we have not the means of satisfying ourselves by ocular demonstration, since none of the slave-dealing ants appear to be natives of Britain. We must be satisfied, therefore, with weighing the evidence of others. Hear what M. P. Huber, the discoverer of this almost incredible deviation of nature from her general laws, has advanced to convince the world of the accuracy of his statement, and you will, I am sure, allow that he has thrown over his history a colouring of verisimilitude, and that his appeal to testimony is in a very high degree satisfactory.
"My readers," says he, "will perhaps be tempted to believe that I have suffered myself to be carried away by the love of the marvellous, and that, in order to impart greater interest to my narration, I have given way to an inclination to embellish the facts that I have observed. But the more the wonders of nature have attractions for me, the less do I feel inclined to alter them by a mixture of the reveries of imagination. I have sought to divest myself of every illusion and prejudice, of the ambition of saying new things, of the prepossessions often attached to perceptions too rapid, the love of system, and the like. And I have endeavoured to keep myself, if I may so say, in a disposition of mind perfectly neuter, and ready to admit all facts, of whatever nature they might be, that patient observation should confirm. Amongst the persons whom I have taken as witnesses to the discovery of mixed ant-hills, I can cite a distinguished philosopher (Prof. Jurine), who was desirous of verifying their existence by examining himself the two species united[82]."