_new west indian spiders._ by nathan banks. bulletin of the american museum of natural history, vol. xxxiii, art. xli, pp. 639-642. _new york, november 21, 1914._ [transcriber's note: words surrounded by tildes, like ~this~ signifies words in bold. words surrounded by underscores, like _this_, signifies words in italics.] article xli.--new west indian spiders. by nathan banks. the following new species were found in the course of an examination of material in the american museum of natural history collected by dr. f. e. lutz and mr. charles w. leng in cuba and by dr. lutz in porto rico. the types are in that institution. ~mecoloesthus signatus~ n. sp. cephalothorax pale, with black median mark, wider at head; sternum reddish or yellowish. abdomen pale, with a black median stripe, narrowed near middle, not reaching anterior end where there is an oblique stripe, and a basal spot each side, also an apical spot each side, and the basal pleura show an oblique dark stripe. these marks are made up of small spots, more or less connected. the venter shows a narrow, median black stripe followed by a round spot, some distance before the spinnerets. femora reddish, blackish near tip, and a white band at extreme tip; tibiæ dark, with a broad, white band near tip; rest of legs paler. eyes in two groups, three each side (subequal in size) on a distinct elevation; a. m. e. minute, close together, and as high as upper edge of a. s. e. abdomen elongate, cylindrical, spinnerets apical; legs very long; vulval area corneous, yellow, concave behind, but little swollen. length; ceph. 1 mm.; abdomen 2.5 mm.; femur i, 12 mm.; femur iv, 10 mm. from naguabo, porto rico, march. no. 21669, dept. inv. zoölogy. ~callilepsis grisea~ n. sp. cephalothorax reddish brown, clothed with white hair; black in eye-region; mandibles reddish brown; legs yellowish, darker on anterior tarsi and metatarsi, a dark band on middle of tibiæ iii and iv and these metatarsi rather dark; sternum yellowish brown, darker on sides; abdomen grayish white above and below, above with a median basal blackish streak, a dark streak on each anterior pleuron and a dark streak each side toward apex, and two blackish spots above spinnerets, latter brownish. cephalothorax narrow; eye-rows short and far apart; p. m. e. slightly oval, about three diameters apart and much closer to the larger p. s. e.; legs moderately long, very hairy or bristly, and with stout spines especially on femora iii and iv; tibiæ i and ii with three spines beneath, one at base, one at middle, one at tip, metatarsi with basal spine only; metatarsi and tarsi scopulate beneath; hind legs more numerously spined; sternum once and a half longer than broad, pointed behind, narrowed in front; abdomen fully twice as long as broad, sides subparallel. length 6.8 mm. from 12-1/2 kilometers south of pinar del rio, cuba, september. no. 21670, dept. inv. zoölogy. ~wulfila pretiosa~ n. sp. pale yellowish. cephalothorax with a greenish stripe each side, a greenish mark over groove, and two faint lines back from p. m. e.; mandibles with a greenish vertical line in middle. abdomen with dark greenish or nearly blackish stripe each side reaching to middle, a spot behind it, and a large median spot above spinnerets, four small dark dots in mid-dorsum; legs with faint dark spots at bases of many spines on femora and tibiæ. cephalothorax narrow in front, a. m. e. hardly more than diameter apart; about as close to the very much larger a. s. e. posterior eye-row nearly straight, the eyes equal and as large as a. s. e., p. m. e. about two diameters apart, and about as far from p. s. e. legs long and slender, first and fourth pair about equal, all with stout spines on femora; tibiæ and metatarsi i and ii each with two pairs of very long spines, none at tips. the black hair on tips of maxillæ, lip and mandibles is very prominent. abdomen twice as long as broad. length 4.5 mm.; leg i, 8 mm. from san carlos est., guantanamo, cuba. october. no. 21671, dept. inv. zoölogy. ~wulfila immaculata~ n. sp. white or pale yellowish throughout, unmarked; the eyes on black rings, the claws black, and the anterior edge of the vulva reddish. the a. m. e. small, but little more than their diameter apart, about twice as far from the plainly large a. s. e., p. m. e. nearly three diameters apart, and only about two diameters from the p. s. e. mandibles with only fine hairs; legs long, and very slender, the first pair more than twice as long as the body, all with very long, slender spines, and fine hairs. abdomen nearly twice as long as broad; vulva shows two reddish marks in front, and behind is a large indistinct cavity. length 3 mm.; leg i, 7.5 mm. type from 7 kilometers north of viñales, cuba, september, no. 21687, dept. inv. zoölogy. paratypes from cabanas, cuba, september; naguabo, porto rico, march; and mona island, feb. nos. 21672 and 21682 to 21686, dept. inv. zoölogy. ~bathyphantes semicincta~ n. sp. cephalothorax dull yellowish, a marginal dark seam, eyes on black spots; mandibles dull yellowish. legs pale yellowish, femora and coxæ more whitish, tibiæ and patellæ i and iv tipped with black. sternum yellowish, margined with dark. abdomen above gray, with scattered white spots and larger black patches; a basal black spot each side, and two others each side toward tip, the last larger and extending down on sides to near the spinnerets; a large, oblique, dark spot on pleura, and one near base; venter with a large, median blackish spot, concave in front, dark on sides of genital groove. legs i and ii very long, much longer than others, all with many long, fine but stiff, hairs and some erect bristles on tibiæ, a long one at top of each patella above and one near middle of tibia above. length 1.8 mm. from 7 kilometers north of viñales, cuba, september. no. 21673, dept. inv. zoölogy. ~epeira gundlachi~ n. sp. cephalothorax, legs, sternum, mandibles, and palpi whitish; tarsi, and sometimes metatarsi, slightly infuscated; sternum sometimes more yellowish, no markings. abdomen white above and below. eyes small; posterior row recurved, subequal in size, the p. m. e. one half nearer to each other than to the s. e. and about three diameters apart; the four m. e. make a square; a. s. e. smaller than other eyes, close to p. s. e., fully as far from a. m. e. as these from each other. legs with many fine white bristles, and a few black spines, two on inner side of femur i near tip, no spines in front nor below on femora, nor below on tibiæ i and ii, a few above on tibiæ and patellæ, the tarsus plus metatarsus i about as long as tibia plus patella i. sternum sub-triangular, a little longer than broad, pointed behind. abdomen fully one and a half times longer than broad, roundedly projecting behind the spinnerets, no higher at base than at spinnerets, and broadest at about middle of length. length 3 mm. from 12-1/2 kilometers south of pinar del rio, cuba. september. no. 21674, dept. inv. zoölogy. related to group of _e. mormon_ and _e. peckhami_ by shape of abdomen and vulva. ~misumessus echinatus~ n. sp. male: cephalothorax yellowish, with about fifty small reddish-brown spots scattered over surface, from each of which arises a short, but very stout spine; the marginal seam is reddish. the legs are pale with spots similar to those on the cephalothorax, many of which have a bristle or spine; no marks on the tarsi, but tibiæ and metatarsis are twice banded with reddish. the coxæ and sternum are pale. the abdomen is rather whitish above, with two rows of five reddish spots near middle, and elsewhere with many reddish dots, from many of which arise short, stout spines like those on the cephalothorax, pleura with red spots; venter with two reddish marks near base, beyond genital furrow with transverse white and black spots; some red around the pale spinnerets. the a. s. e. rather larger than usual; p. m. e. about three diameters apart, about as close to the p. s. e. legs long and slender, tibia i with four pairs of spines beneath, the longest but little longer than the width of the joint. the male palpal organs show a very long stylet curved over two times around the bulb. length 2.5 mm. from cerro cabras, near pinar del rio, cuba. september. no. 21675, dept. inv. zoölogy. ~olios bicolor~ n. sp. male: cephalothorax, palpi, sternum, and most of legs yellowish; abdomen dark brown; metatarsi dark, tibiæ infuscated; mandibles reddish brown; tips of male palpi dark. cephalothorax with several dark lines; a median one reaching to groove, a short one from each p. m. e., one from s. e. curved and then extending toward groove, four or six lateral dark lines; two dark lines on mandibles. a. m. e. rather more than diameter apart, about as far from the somewhat smaller a. s. e.; p. s. e. equal to a. s. e., p. m. e. much smaller than a. m. e., fully two and one half diameters apart and as far from the slightly larger p. s. e. male palpi figured. length 10 mm.; ceph., 4.6 mm.; femur i, 5 mm.; tibia i, 3.7 mm. type from desecheo is., feb., no. 21688, dept. inv. zoölogy. paratypes from san juan, porto rico, february; desecheo isl., feb., and mona isl., feb. nos. 21676 to 21681, dept. inv. zoölogy. explanation of plate. fig. 1. mecoloesthus signatus, abdomen and vulva. " 2. callilepsis grisea, vulva. " 3. bathyphantes semicincta, side of abdomen. " 4. wulfila pretiosa, vulva. " 5. olios bicolor, palpus beneath. " 6. misumessus echinatus, palpus. " 7. wulfila immaculata, vulvæ of two specimens. " 8. epeira gundlachi, top and side outline of abdomen, and vulva. " 9. olios bicolor, palpus above. [illustration: new west indian spiders.] publications of the american museum of natural history. the publications of the american museum of natural history consist of the 'bulletin,' in octavo, of which one volume, consisting of 400 to 800 pages and 25 to 60 plates, with numerous text figures, is published annually; the 'memoirs,' in quarto, published in parts at irregular intervals; and 'anthropological papers,' uniform in size and style with the 'bulletin.' also an 'ethnographical album,' and the 'american museum journal.' memoirs. each part of the 'memoirs' forms a separate and complete monograph, usually with numerous plates. vol. i. zoölogy and palæontology. part i.--republication of descriptions of lower carboniferous crinoidea from the hall collection now in the american museum of natural history, with illustrations of the original type specimens not heretofore figured. by r. z. whitfield. pp. 1-37, pll. i-iii, and 14 text figures. september 15, 1893. price, $2.00. part ii.--republication of descriptions of fossils from the hall collection in the american museum of natural history, from the report of progress for 1861 of the geological survey of wisconsin, by james hall, with illustrations from the original type specimens not heretofore figured. by r. p. whitfield. pp. 39-74, pll. iv-xii. august 10, 1895. price, $2.00. part iii.--the extinct rhinoceroses. by henry fairfield osborn. part i. pp. 75-164, pll. xii_a_-xx, and 49 text figures. april 22, 1898. price, $4.20. part iv.--a complete mosasaur skeleton. by henry fairfield osborn. pp. 165-188, pll. xxi-xxiii, and 15 text figures. october 25, 1899. part v.--a skeleton of diplodocus. by henry fairfield osborn. pp. 189-214, pll. xxiv-xxviii, and 15 text figures. october 25, 1899. price of parts iv and v, issued under one cover, $2.00. part vi.--monograph of the sesiidæ of america, north of mexico. by william beutenmüller. pp. 215-352, pll. xxix-xxxvi, and 24 text figures. march, 1901. price, $5.00. part vii.--fossil mammals of the tertiary of northeastern colorado. by w. d. matthew. pp. 353-448, pll. xxxvii-xxxix, and 34 text figures. november, 1901. price, $2.00. part viii.--the reptilian subclasses diapsida and synapsida and the early history of the diaptosauria. by henry fairfield osborn. pp. 449-507, pl. xl, and 28 text figures. november, 1903. price, $2.00. vol. ii. anthropology. _jesup north pacific expedition, vol. i._ part i.--facial paintings of the indians of northern british columbia. by franz boas. pp. 1-24, pll. i-iv. june 16, 1898. price, $2.00. part ii.--the mythology of the bella coola indians. by franz boas. pp. 25-127, pll. vii-xii. november, 1898. price, $2.00. part iii.--the archæology of lytton. british columbia. by harlan i. smith. pp. 129-161, pi. xiii, and 117 text figures. may, 1899. price, $2.00. part iv.--the thompson indians of british columbia. by james teit. edited by franz boas. pp. 163-392, pll. xiv-xx, and 198 text figures. april, 1900. price, $5.00. part v.--basketry designs of the salish indians. by livingston farrand. pp. 393-399, pll. xxi-xxiii, and 15 text figures. april, 1900. price, 75 cts. part vi.--archæology of the thompson river region. by harlan i. smith. pp. 401-442, pll. xxiv-xxvi, and 51 text figures. june, 1900. price, $2.00. vol. iii. anthropology. part i.--symbolism of the huichol indians. by carl lumholtz. pp. 1-228, pll. i-iv, and 291 text figures. may, 1900. price, $5.00. part ii.--the basketry of the tlingit. by george t. emmons pp. 229-277, pll. v-xviii, and 73 text figures. july, 1903. price, $2.00. 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figures. december, 1901. price, $3.00. vol. viii. anthropology. *_jesup north pacific expedition, vol. v._ part i.--contributions to the ethnology of the haida. by john r. swanton. pp. 1-300, pll. i-xxvi, 4 maps, and 31 text figures. 1905. price, $8.00. part ii.--the kwakiutl of vancouver island. by franz boas. pp. 301-522, pll. xxvii--lii, and 142 text figures. 1909. price, $10.00. vol. ix. zoölogy and palæontology. part i.--the osteology of _camposaurus_ cope. by barnum brown. pp. 1-26, pll. i-v. december, 1905. price, $2.00. part ii.--the phytosauria with especial reference to _mystriosuchus_ and _rhytiodon_. by j. h. mcgregor. pp. 27-101, pll. vi-xi, and 26 text figures. february, 1906. price, $2.00. part iii.--studies on the arthrodira. by louis hussakof. may, 1906. pp. 103-154, pll. xii and xiii, and 25 text cuts. may, 1906. price, $3.00. part iv.--the conard fissure, a pleistocene bone deposit in northern arkansas, with descriptions of two new genera and twenty new species of mammals. by barnum brown. pp. 155-208, pll. xiv-xxv, and 3 text-figures. 1907. price, $2.50. part v.--studies on fossil fishes (sharks, chimæroids, and arthrodires). by bashford dean. pp. 209-287, pll. xxvi-xli, and 65 text figures. february, 1909. price, $3.50. part vi.--the carnivora and insectivora of the bridger basin, middle eocene. by w. d. matthew. pp. 289-567, pll. xlii-lii, and 118 text figures. august, 1909. price, $5.00. vol. x. anthropology. *_jesup north pacific expedition, vol. vi._ part i.--religion and myths of the koryak. by w. jochelson. pp. 1-382, pll. i-xiii, 1 map, and 58 text figures. 1905. price, $10.00. part ii.--material culture and social organization of the koryak. by w. jochelson. pp. 383-811, pll. xiv-xl, and 194 text figures. 1908. price, $12.00. vol. xi. anthropology. *_jesup north pacific expedition, vol. vii._ part i.--the chuckchee: material culture. by w. bogoras. pp. 1-276, pll. i-xxxi, 1 map, and 199 text figures. 1904. price, $8.00. part ii.--the chuckchee: religion. by w. bogoras pp. 277-536, pll. xxxii-xxxiv, and 101 text figures. 1907. price, $4.00. part iii.--the chuckchee: social organization. by w. bogoras. pp. 537-733, pl. xxxv, and 1 text figure. 1909. price, $3.00. vol. xii. anthropology. *_jesup north pacific expedition, vol. viii._ part i.--chuckchee mythology. by waldemar bogoras. pp. 1-197. 1910. price, $1.25. book of monsters by david and marian fairchild portraits and biographies of a few of the inhabitants of woodland and meadow washington national geographic society 1914 copyrighted by national geographic society 1914 contents i. the spider world. ii. the insect world. straight-winged insects (_orthoptera_). order of the bugs (_hemiptera_). the beetles (_coleoptera_). two-winged insects (_diptera_). feathered insects (_lepidoptera_). nerve-winged insects (_neuroptera_). the stinging insects (_hymenoptera_). iii. the world of myriapods and a single land crustacean. book of monsters the pictures in this book are portraits of creatures which are as much the real inhabitants of the world as we are, and have all the rights of ownership that we have, but, because their own struggle for existence so often crosses ours, many of them are our enemies. indeed, man's own real struggle for the supremacy of the world is his struggle to control these tiny monsters. the plague of the middle ages, which spread like some mysterious supernatural curse over europe and carried off millions of people, the yellow fever that has haunted the coasts of south america, the malaria which has strewn the tropics of the world with millions of graves, have been caused by the activities of two of these monsters so universally present in our homes as to have become almost domesticated creatures, the flea and the mosquito. during these last two decades these have come under our control, and the flies which leave a colony of germs at every footstep will not much longer be tolerated, indeed, every creature that bites and sucks our blood or that crawls over our food and dishes has been placed under suspicion. man struggles against these tiny monsters not only for his life and health but for his food as well. almost every cultivated plant has its enemy, and some of them have many. the bugs alone which stick their beaks into all sorts of plants to suck their juices would starve man out in one or two brief seasons if they in turn were not held in check by enemies of their own. the chinch bug alone has demonstrated his power to devastate the wheat fields. the bark beetles that girdle square miles of forest trees, the moths that destroy their foliage, the creatures that burrow into the fruit and fruit trees, the gall-forming flies that form galls on the roots of the grape vines able to destroy the revenues of a whole country, the beetle which strips the potato of its leaves, the one which infects with its dirty jaws the melon vines of the south and turns the melon patches brown--these are a few of the vast array of our enemies. it would require a book much larger than this one just to enumerate those well known. it should make every american proud to know that it is the american economic entomologist who has, more than any other, pushed his way into this field and shown mankind how to fight these monsters which destroy his food, his animals and himself. but all these fascinating little creatures are not our enemies. we must not forget that man has domesticated certain of the insects and that gigantic industries depend upon them for their existence. the honey-bee furnished mankind with sweets during the generations preceding the discovery of the sugar cane, and the silk worm furnishes still the most costly raiment with which we clothe ourselves. the friends we have in the insect world are those which destroy the pests of our cultivated crops like the australian lady-bird beetle which has been sent from one country to the other to keep in check the fluted scale which is so injurious to the orange orchards, and the parasites of the gipsy-moth which, in europe, helps to keep under control this plague of our forest trees, must certainly be counted as our friends. also, they are our friends if, like the spiders, they kill such monsters as suck our blood or make our lives unsafe, or, like the great hordes of wasps and hornets, wage unending warfare against the flies but which, because they attack us personally if we come too near their nests, we kill on sight. strangely enough, it is often these same stinging insects which help us by fertilizing the blossoms of our fruit trees. indeed many plants are so dependent on these little creatures that they have lost the power of self-fertilizing and thousands of species of trees and plants would become extinct in a generation without their friendly aid. the ancestors of some of the creatures pictured in this book were buried in the transparent amber of the baltic many thousands of years ago and the fossil remains of others date back a million years or more, but while man has been developing his surroundings from the primitive ones of savagery to the almost inconceivably complicated ones of civilized life, these creatures, most of them at least, seem to be leading essentially the same kind of lives that they led hundreds of thousands of years ago. they have powers which neither man nor any other mammal ever dreamed of having. some have powers of flight which enable them to sail a thousand miles before the wind. others can jump a hundred times their own length. one of these monsters can manufacture a liquid rope as easily as mammals produce milk and with it weave aerial nets to trap their prey or, by attaching it, can drop from the dizziest heights without danger, and when the rope has served its purpose they eat it up. their weapons of defense are comparable to the deadly ones that only poisonous serpents have. if they were larger they would be, in fact, what legend pictures the dragons to have been. the unthinkably old germ plasm of these species produces creatures which act with a precision of purpose and a degree of absolute self-sacrifice which cannot fail to stagger the most conscientious of the human race. they might even make one wonder whether the fulfillment of biological life does not consist in sacrifice of the individual for the good of the species to which it belongs. certain it is, that human thought is now drifting away from the consideration of the individual and is coming to pay more attention to the species and the things which affect its development. this is a picture book produced in the playtime hours of two busy people. it is a collection of actual photographs of a few of the small-sized monsters which inhabit the tall grass, the flower garden and vegetable garden, the pines and oaks of a place in the woods of maryland. if it should show to others a world of new and fascinating things it would be simply doing for them what the taking of the photographs has done for us, opened the door into a realm of real life, of a terrible struggle to live, which is as full of fascination as the dragon tales of old japan. at the same time, it makes us realize what vast and yet untouched fields of material value lie in the efforts man is making to outwit and circumvent and even, perhaps, to exterminate such of the monsters as encroach upon his own environment. how the monster photographs were taken if you compare these photographs with those to be found in most books on insects, you will find that they differ in several particulars. they are all either front views or side views of the creatures, whereas those in books on entomology are generally views from above. imagine a book on the horse in which only top views were shown, or a guide to a zoölogical garden illustrated with the various wild beasts photographed from above. it is true that, being an much larger, we generally look down at these monsters, but a mouse also generally runs along the floor or under our feet and yet a zoölogist pictures it from the same point of view that he does an elephant. crows look down upon us, yet i imagine that no one will admit that the crow's impression of human beings is as correct or as interesting as that which we have of ourselves. every creature has a right to be portrayed from its own level, and the reason these photographs are unusual is because they carry out this principle and do each creature justice. another particular in which these pictures are new is that, although they represent magnifications of from five to twenty diameters, they are not enlargements from small photographs, but views taken directly from 5 × 7 photographic negatives. then too, these creatures have been posed with considerable care in order to give them a lifelike appearance, and this work was done immediately after they had been anesthetized, and in some cases while they were still alive. the whole art of taking these large photographs of insects is so simple that thousands of amateurs ought to be able to take them. the outfit consists of the camera, which is just a long box, a long-focus lens, a piece of ground glass and a focusing glass, a flash light, a pair of pincers, some needles mounted in handles or else some small dental tools, a few little blocks of wood, a candle, a piece of glass covered with tissue paper, and a long hollow cylinder made of stiff black paper or cardboard. add to these a great deal of patience and you have all that is needed. i made my camera box out of thin quarter-inch whitewood boards and pasted black paper over the joints to keep out the light. into one end of this box i set the front board with the objective screwed into it. squaring off the other end of the box, i carefully fitted to it a 5 × 7-inch ground glass holder, exactly the size of an ordinary 5 × 7 plate holder. i framed this in with pieces of wood so that i could slip out the ground glass holder and put a plate holder in its place. for purposes which will be explained later, the ground glass was not fastened into its holder, but a narrow slit through one end of the frame was made just large enough so that it could be slid in or out without taking out the frame itself. the object to be taken, having been mounted on a little block of wood and fastened there with candle wax, is placed in front of the long focus lens by an assistant, who stands ready to move it back and forth, or sideways, or up and down, according to directions. getting to the far end of the camera under the focusing cloth, i begin to hunt for the dim image on the ground glass, and, by directing the assistant to move the object in various ways, am quickly able to bring it into view, but not into sharp focus. in order to do this, i slip the ground glass itself half way out, take up the focusing glass, holding it against the edge of the ground glass in order to steady it. i am thus able to see every detail distinctly without looking through the ground glass at all and can make sure that they are in focus. with the focusing lens, one is able to see the image in the air very plainly, even when the diaphragm is nearly closed and when only the faintest shadow could be seen on the ground glass. having made sure that the image covers the plate well and is in good focus, i put in my plate holder, my assistant places the cap over the objective, i draw the slide and walk down to the front of the long camera. wills, my assistant, then prepares a charge in the prosch flash lamp and puts the tube of black paper in front of the lens to protect it from the glare of the flash. with one hand i hold up a pane of glass on which thin white paper has been fastened to protect the insect from the direct sunlight; with the other hand i remove the cap of the camera and expose the plate for from 50 to 80 seconds, depending upon the lightness of the object, the brilliancy of the sunlight and the stop employed, 16, 32 or 64. in the meantime, wills blows off a full charge of magnesium powder in the flash lamp, so holding the lamp that the rays from it will light up the shadows which are underneath the creature's body. the cap is then put on again and the plate holder closed in the ordinary way. only the freshest obtainable orthochromatic double-coated plates are used. the friends who visited us on holidays helped make the long camera, and it was made at three separate times, an eight-foot length at a time. when the creature is very small i use the twenty-four-foot length, but when it is large the twelve or eight-foot one. each length fits into the one in front of it and is covered with black cloth to make it tight. the taking of the photographs is not, however, the hardest work of monster photographing, although perhaps the hottest, for in summer it is no joke to swelter under a focusing cloth for half an hour at a time, and the focusing itself is hard on the eyes. it is the mounting of the beasts which wears upon one's nerves, and here is where the woman's skill comes, for mrs. fairchild learned the art of insect taxidermy and many of the most lifelike photographs in the book were mounted by her. it has been a source of keen satisfaction to find, upon showing the results to professional entomologists, that many of them did not realize that the insects were not alive when photographed. but, although they were not alive, they had just recently been put to sleep with ether, for we soon discovered that to get a lifelike photograph one must photograph a monster at once, within half an hour after death, the sooner the better. many ways of mounting were tried, but none were so successful as the following: cover the top of a small block of wood with a thin, even coating of paraffin or ordinary candle wax by letting the drippings of the candle fall upon it. pick a large leaf and turn its upper surface down upon the wax, before it cools, and let it stick there; this will give a natural looking ground for the insect to stand upon. hold the insect over the block of wood and arrange the legs in as natural a position as you can with a long needle or fine dental tool. then fasten each foot in place by heating the needle in the candle flame and pricking a hole in the leaf just under each foot so that the wax will come up through the leaf and hold it fast. this mounting is not so simple as it seems, and, until one has actually experienced it, he can have no idea of the perversity of these six-legged beasts. the way the contracting muscles of a grasshopper's back legs will pull the other four legs loose, or the way the hornet will refuse to hold its head up, or the way long flexible antennæ will droop are exasperations which lead straight to profanity, unless one is very careful. the whole thing is a game of quickness, ingenuity and patient skill, for so many things must be watched at once. the wilting insect cannot wait, the sunlight shifts, clouds drift across the sun and then, just as everything is in readiness, a breeze springs up which stirs the creature's wings and the whole thing has to be given up. the pioneer in this field of photography is dr. n. a. cobb, for it is he who first showed what the face of a fly looks like. his suggestions are what first encouraged me to take up the work, although the method finally used by me is quite different from that which he employed. i substituted the long horizontal camera and the long focus lens for his vertical bellows and short focus lens, believing that for larger creatures i get a greater depth of focus and more lifelike appearance. after my first mild success, that critical period beyond which so many experiments never go, three friends came to the rescue with their enthusiastic approval and encouragement and i desire that their names be connected with this book which they have helped to make, mr. and mrs. alexander graham bell and mr. barbour lathrop. [illustration: the long camera with which the monsters were taken the camera, consisting of several long boxes which fit into one another, is stretched on a table made of board and a number of posts set in the ground. at one end is the lens and at the other, the ground glass plate to focus the image on. the monster is mounted on a small wooden block and set up the proper distance in front of the lens. it is moved back and forth in response to directions from the operator, at the other end of the camera, who is watching the image on the ground glass. lying on the camera above the lens is a black paper cone which, when everything is ready, is put over the lens between it and the monster to prevent the smoke from the flash powder from drifting between the lens and the insect during the exposure. wills, the assistant, is holding the prosch magnesium blow lamp, and the insect is shaded from the direct rays of the sun by a large pane of glass covered with a thin sheet of tissue paper. direct sunlight is reflected from the hairs and polished surfaces of the insects and makes spots on the negative.] [illustration: some of the monsters as they appear when mounted on pins in an insect box it has always seemed a pity to me that these beautiful forms of life should be so evanescent. we look at their dried remains in collections and are impressed by their colors and grotesque forms, but we should not forget that after all these are nothing but their dried-up corpses and scarcely more to be compared in real beauty with their living bodies than are the egyptian mummies comparable to the living faces and forms of the great pharaohs.] [illustration: the monsters pictured on the succeeding pages, and many more, imprisoned in one museum case they are all pinned in the box and have dried out and changed almost beyond recognition, but the impression which their portraits have made will, i hope, be lasting.] knowing little about insects i have been dependent upon the kindness of the entomologists of the national museum, in particular on dr. l. o. howard, for the scientific names of the monsters, which names have given me access to what is published about them in the handbooks on entomology. practically all of the negatives and prints have been made by mr. scott clime of the department of agriculture, who took a particular interest in their preparation. to mr. gilbert h. grosvenor, director and editor of the national geographic society, is due the credit of realizing the popular interest these pictures would have and who, in contrast with more timid publishers, reproduced thirty-nine of them in the national geographic magazine and urged the preparation of this book. chapter i the spider world the spider world in enlarging the images of these small spiders to many times their size, one is at once struck by their similarity to crabs and lobsters. their jointed legs encased in shells, which from time to time they shed, remind one strongly of the crabs, and they do in fact belong to the some great family, the family of arthropods, and they are not insects. the spider world is the world of eight-legged creatures just as the insect world is the world of the six-legged ones, and educated men and women should no more confuse these great classes of beings than they confuse the bipeds with the quadrupeds. they differ from the insects in other ways than in the number of their legs--they have no feelers or antennæ, those wonderful sense organs which all insects have, but here and there, especially on the legs, are strange hollow bristles or spines, which end in nerves. their eyes also are not like insects' eyes. an insect's eyes, at least its large prominent ones, are composed of hundreds of lenses or facets, while the spider, though he generally boasts of eight, has only simple ones with single lenses. their life is very simple as compared with that of many of the insects. in the fall, the mother spiders lay their eggs in a bag of their own silk, often several hundred eggs being laid in one sac. the spiderlings hatch out in the sac, and, in the north, they spend the long winter there. they do not have two stages of existence as beetles or butterflies do, but are hatched out mature and equipped with the poison fangs which aid them in their strictly carnivorous, and often even cannibalistic, existence. they grow and shed their skins as do the baby grasshoppers, but they do not change their form with each moult and none of them have wings. they have inside their bodies, reservoirs of strange, sticky fluids which they can pour out through spigots in many different ways. this fluid, as it dries, may form drag lines which they trail behind them and fasten as they go to use for safety lines; with some spiders it may even be poured out in such quantities that it makes an aeroplane; with the majority, however, it is used to make their nests or their egg sacs or the marvelously beautiful orbs that prove the graveyards of so many careless insects. for the spiders are the enemies of the insect world; were they more discriminating, they would be perhaps the greatest friends of the human race, but, as they suck all kinds of insects' blood, all that we can be sure of is that those among them which we find in our houses are a benefit, for there they kill the flies and other insects which we do not want indoors. to their southern and especially their tropical cousins, which attack and sometimes kill human beings, this group of fascinating creatures owes the dread in which it is held by people in general. it is a pity, for throughout the northern states, no dangerous species is known to exist, and those which frequent our houses will no more attack us than do the flies they catch and devour. until a child has gazed in wonder at an orb weaver as it spins its web between the trees, or been an eye-witness of the death of some insect unlucky enough to fall into a web, he has not taken his first step toward the wonderland which touches him on every side and he is in grave danger of growing up with a blind side--the side turned toward the field and forest. there are millions upon millions of spiders, and thousands of species, and they live everywhere from the arctic regions to the tropics. they devour countless myriads of flies and gnats and hosts of other insects, and nobody knows just what good they do us, but every entomologist would hold up his hands in fear at what the result might be should the spiders of the world be blotted out. they must hold countless parasites in check and help to keep the balance even. if all the little children should learn that they are harmless, i wonder if they could not stop their nurses from killing them. it is the ignorance of those who train our little ones that keeps alive the unreasoning hatred towards so many of the wonder creatures of the woods. [illustration] an eight eyed enemy of the fly; a jumping spider (_phidippus audax_, hentz) we are so accustomed to beasts with two eyes that it is hard to realize that all around us, though hard to see, are little monsters with many eyes of various sizes. this one has eight eyes, four of which are invisible from the front. the eyes are diurnal, enabling the creature to hunt only by day. its eight stout legs fit it for jumping forward or sideways with great ease. in comparison with its size, its jumping powers are incredible. if it were the size of a tiger, it would be a beast of prey which could clear a quarter of a mile at a bound. it can sit on a branch and throw out an elastic dragline behind, strong enough to bear its weight, and by this means it is able to jump at and catch its prey on the fly, regaining its position by climbing up the dragline. add to this that it possesses a pair of powerful hollow fangs, into which poison sacs empty, and a voraciousness which often leads it into cannibalism, and you have a fair picture of this jumping spider, which is one of a thousand species of little creatures found everywhere except in the polar regions. they range in size from a third to a half an inch long and live under stones and sticks, spending the winter in a silken bag of their own manufacture, but never spinning a web. the males of some species have been observed to dance before the females, holding up their hairy legs above their heads apparently to show off their ornamentation. [illustration] ready to pounce on a fly on the wing; the jumping spider these is something diabolical in the way these four black eyes in a row stare one out of countenance. [illustration] a jumping spider ready to spring from a leaf (_phidippus togatus_, koch.) i must confess to a peculiar feeling of embarrassment, almost of fear, towards a jumping spider. it stares at you so intently and seems no fearless as it wheels to keep you covered with its battery of eyes; and you never know which way it is going to jump. [illustration] the wolf-spider (_lycosa carolinensis_, walck.) this is not the photograph of a polar bear, but that of a wolf-spider, with a battery of eight eyes on the top of its head and poison fangs hanging below. some such impression as this, i imagine, must be made on the retina of a fly or beetle when, in wandering through the grass at dusk, it suddenly finds itself face to face with a wolf-spider sitting on the turret which forms the entrance to its web-lined hole in the ground. behind and above the fangs and hidden in their shadow is the creature's mouth, toothless and made for sucking only. with his fangs, this wolf-spider kills and crushes his victim; then he sucks the body dry and throws away the carcass. seen here and there above the body hairs are black spines, hollow inside and connected with the nerves of touch. of his eyes, the two in the center in front are supposed to be for use by day, while all the others are nocturnal, enabling him to stalk his prey at dusk. it is the wolf-spider that often appears at night within the circle of lamplight searching for nocturnal insects. the nocturnal eyes are remarkable organs, with reflecting structures so placed behind the retina that the light entering the eye traverses the retina twice, and it is supposed that this reflecting structure increases the effect of any faint light, enabling the creature to "see in the dark." this is a hunting spider, chasing its prey through the grass or lurking under stones, especially in damp places. it does not spin a web, but lives in a silk-lined hole six or eight inches deep, which it digs in the ground, and around the entrance to which, out of sticks and grass, it builds a turret or watch-tower, from which it can see its prey more readily than from the ground. these spider holes are common in the meadows of maryland. in form and color the wolf-spider resembles the famous tarantula of southern europe, the bite of which was supposed to cause the tarantella, or dancing madness; but it is as harmless as a butterfly, and indeed, doctor comstock, who is the authority on spiders, believes that no spiders in the northern states are poisonous to man. [illustration] the cast off outer skeleton of a wolf-spider (_lycosa punctulata_, hentz) this photograph is of the outer skeleton or shell of a small wolf-spider which i found clinging to the focusing cloth of my camera after it had been lying on the grass. with us the bony skeleton is internal and grows as we grow. with spiders the skeleton is a tough, leathery structure, which cannot change; so that the young, rapidly growing spider soon finds his shell too tight for him, and, like a crab, he bursts his shell and pulls his soft body from each leg and complicated cavity. this process seems marvelous, but is really comparatively simple when we realize that before the old shell is cast off it is loosened from the new skin by the moulting fluid which is excreted from glands opening through this new skin. after the old skin is loosened it splits along the sides of the body and in front of the eyes, the slit being just above the legs and jaws, and that portion of the old skeleton which had covered the back is lifted off like a lid. the new skin, at first elastic enough to accommodate the increased size of the body, soon becomes hardened like the old, and must in its turn be shed. imagine, if you can, the surprise of a wolf-spider who, in running through the grass, should stumble over his own outgrown skeleton, so like his former self in all its details that he could scarcely fail to recognize it as his own; for even the transparent cornea of the eye is a part of this outer skeleton and is shed with it, as well as the jaws, sensitive spines, and hairs. [illustration] the spiny-bellied spider which builds nets across the path (_acrosoma gracile_, walck.) we are accustomed to the dromedary's hump and the kangaroo's big tail, but had this creature been as big as either, or were we lilliputians, its black and white spiny body, shaped at the bottom like an umbrella stand, would attract more attention at the zoo than either of those desert beasts. its eight long, crab-like legs are made for spinning, and across the openings in the forest it stretches a great net in which to snare its game. on this it sits protected from the birds to whose eyes it looks from above like some bird's droppings in the web. this one is a female and its mate is said to be much smaller and quite different, with no humps or spines at all and a long narrow body. the courtship of spiders is often a dangerous business for the male, and perhaps it is quite as well for him that he is often smaller and more agile than his mate, for if the female is not ready to receive his advances, she is apt to pounce upon him and destroy him. [illustration] the bird-dropping spider, a creature with protective coloring (_epeira verrucosa_, hentz) this orb weaver had swung its net across a wood road, and so perfectly did the white patch on its back resemble a bird's dropping that until my hand touched the net i failed to realize that a living thing was hanging there. there is something strangely fascinating about the compelling force of instinct: a spider hatched in captivity who has never seen a web made, will weave its own in the same delicate and intricate pattern that its mother made, using the different kinds of rope correctly, and spacing each strand with a mathematical precision. indeed, the web of this untutored little spiderling will be as characteristic of its species as the white spot upon its back. it would be as though a child, cast alone on a desert island, should build a house in all details precisely like its ancestral home. [illustration] the aerial trapper: the orb-weaving spider (_epeira trivittata_, keys.) hidden behind these eight four-jointed legs of varying lengths, covered with hollow, sensitive bristles, is the spider's head, with eight eyes, strong jaws, poison fangs, and a pair of palpi, which look like extremely short legs and seem to serve as hands. the hairy body is filled with thousands of eggs and contains also a marvelous reservoir of liquid rope opening into spinnerets on the under side of the body. some of the tubes or spinnerets make strong and dry filaments and others make sticky ones. the radiating threads of the spider's web, those which compose the framework, are stiff and dry; the spiral threads, however, which join them together, are coated with a substance which no little flying creature can strike against without running the risk of sticking fast. before you are up on a summer's morning this wonderful creature will have manufactured what would be equivalent to two miles of elastic and sticky rope if she were as large as a six-foot man. with the skill of an experienced fish-net maker, she will, in a few hours, construct a net as large as a cartwheel, which like the whale-nets of new zealand, though they may break with the floundering of the prey, bewilder it and tire it out with struggling. the orb-weaver is the aerial trapper among living creatures, stretching its sticky, elastic web across the aerial runway of its prey and waiting with a patience which would drive a fisherman insane. to insects of its own size, the orb-weaver is a hideous, bloodthirsty monster. it sinks its fangs into its struggling prey, injects a poison quite as deadly as that of the rattlesnake, and quickly sucks the blood of its victim. [illustration] orb-weaver filled with a thousand eggs which she lays all at once (_epeira domiciliorum_, hentz) atlas with the world on his back, as imagined by the boys of athens, could not have been more strange than this creature with her distended yellow body. some of her kin have fasting powers almost beyond belief; they have been kept alive in captivity for eighteen months without food. this species is one of the commonest orb-weavers on the american continent, and its webs, like great cartwheels, are to be found across the pathways in the woods and everywhere in clearings in the wood-lot. she is a tight-rope performer her whole life long and her long, muscular legs seem well fitted to enable her to hang, week after week, from her web, supporting in her much enlarged body a thousand or so eggs, which she will later lay, not one at a time, but all at once. no surprise is sudden enough to catch her unprepared and make her fall from the dizzy heights where she lives, without first being able to attach an anchor line. this she does by rubbing her spinnerets over the surface on which she stands, and by quickly spreading and bringing them together again she makes an attachment disc from which she can reel out her rope and check her fall. the gift of spinning from internal reservoirs, supplied by active secreting cells, is common in the insect world as well as in the world of spiders, for thousands of species of caterpillars make cocoons of silk which they spin as rapidly as any spider makes its web. i doubt if any silk-gowned lady ever stops to think how many thousand gorgeous moths have been cut short in their careers in order that the threads which the silkworms have thrown around them to make a nest in which to pupate could be reeled off to make the silken stuff she wears. [illustration] a spider from a fly's point of view (_dolomedes tenebrosus_, hentz) a spider from the fly's point of view is a terrible monster, indeed. its claws of polished chitin, sharp as sword points, each with an aperture leading to a sac filled with deadly poison, its array of eyes of different sizes, its mottled, hairy skin covered with hollow sensitive bristles, and its powerful, leg-like palpi must strike terror to the heart of any fly or cockroach which may happen in its neighborhood. civilized man rarely sees the ferocity of wild beasts displayed, for even in the jungle it is hard to observe. to anyone, however, who will watch a spider devour a fly, the true picture of merciless cruelty will be apparent. with its poisoned sword-like fangs it kills its prey, and then, with its sucking mouthparts, it sucks the juice out of the carcass. [illustration] the mother spider and her nest: a nursery of little cannibals this mother belongs to the nursery-web weavers. she wove a silken bag for her eggs and carried it about with her under her body until she found a suitable place to leave it. she had to stand on tiptoes to prevent its dragging--it was so big. the photograph shows the spiderlings hatched and running about, hundreds of them, over the fine-spun mass of silk. in these nurseries the strong eat up the weak. [illustration] a vagabond spider (_pardosa milvina_, hentz) this is a vagabond of the spider world, building no nest or web, content to use her marvelous silk in the construction only of a sac in which to lay her eggs. this sac she carries about with her until the eggs have hatched and the spiderlings are strong enough to take care of themselves, and then she rips open the sac along a distinct seam on the edge and turns her babies loose to shift for themselves. these voracious little cannibals have, however, already learned to forage, as the struggle for existence in many species of spiders begins in the egg sac, and it is only the strongest who emerge. in other words, they eat each other up. they do not grow to be more than half an inch in length, but they are among the most active of all spiders, and in the united states alone there are nearly a score of species of these little soldiers of fortune living nowhere and roaming the damp fields in search of prey. [illustration] the male grass spider (_agelina nævia_, walck.) on a summer morning, if you rise with the sun, and if the night has been cool, you will find your lawn covered with most exquisite shimmering gossamer patches, so diaphanous that if you touch them or breathe on them they fade away. these are the webs of the young grass spiders and, if you watch one of them closely, you will see that the tiny spider is waiting below the web in a funnel of woven spider's silk. it will run out quickly enough if you throw a fly into its net. it is not an orb-weaver and runs over its net instead of climbing along the under side of it as many orb-weavers do. that this is the photograph of a mature male is evident from the genital palpi, resembling a pair of short front legs. in the autumn the males and females both desert their webs to wander, for it is not only their mating season but the close of their brief existence. under a bit of bark the female lays her eggs and waits for death, guarding her progeny till she dies, although she has no hope of seeing them alive. how, by what marvelous machinery, do these microscopic eggs beneath the bark inherit, not only the color and the form but the knowledge of web building which their dead parents possessed? is there not something wrong in our idea of the individual as a separate thing rather than as a transitory part of a living network which has been in existence perhaps a million years, alternating in its form, now as a moving hairy-legged thing, and now as a round immobile egg? [illustration] the crab spider that lurks around the nectaries of flowers (_xysticus gulosus_, keys.) like the beasts of prey which lurk around the water holes of african deserts, waiting for the feebler game to come down to drink, the crab spiders conceal themselves around the nectar-bearing discs of flowers. these nectar cups are the feeding places of thousands of sucking creatures, and the tragedies which take place in the shadows of the rose or lily petals are things we do not like to think of, for they are quite as real, quite as horrible and bloody struggles as those upon a larger scale, the very thought of which makes our blood run cold. the crab spiders cannot run forward but dart sidewise and backward at great speed. one cannot help wondering if this ability may not often be an advantage rather than a drawback and enable the creature to surprise its prey by turning its back on it, something as a left-handed man often surprises an antagonist. that these spiders run their own grave risks in this life around the nectar "water holes" is evident, for they form a large proportion of the food of mud wasps and if you want a handful of them, tear down a few mud daubers' nests sometime in june and empty out their contents. the brilliant colors will surprise you and suggest that possibly the yellow ones haunt the yellow flowers and the blue the blue ones. the particular species whose low, sprawling form is shown in the photograph is one of forty occurring in the united states and, although it is only from a fourth to a third of an inch long, is considered one of the large species. it is dull-colored, and, unlike its gaily-colored relatives, awaits its prey under bark and stones. it spins no web and the small male leads a thoroughly vagabond life, whereas the female, in most species at least, settles down toward the end of her life and, after depositing her silken lens-shaped sac of eggs in some protected spot, she lingers near as if to guard it till she dies. [illustration] a front view of a mature male spider the reason for existence is so perplexing that it is no wonder we fall back on mysticism whenever we try to explain it. inexplicable as it seems when we consider our own lot as humans, the mystery is no less great when we try to view existence from the standpoint of a male spider. is it not probable that we cling so dearly to the idea of our own existence as individuals that we forget we are only halves of a whole, and that the whole itself is only a fraction of that vague living something spread out over the earth, moving in millions of places at once which we call a living species? when we shall have shifted our sympathies and made them cover a thousand generations of beings, we shall have risen to the point of view that a divinity must take. the enigmas of existence, i venture to say, will only be understood from this standpoint and not from the more sympathetic one of regret over the shortness, cruelty or barrenness of any individual's life. the male spider seems peculiarly to be just a tool in the machinery of descent, merely a carrier of the male germ cells which, whenever, and not before, they come in contact with their female counterparts, start into activity the marvelous growth which results in new individuals similar to itself. these male cells which form within its body, mature, and are ejected as living, ciliated things into a web of special make; and two special syringes formed late in life at the tips of the leg-like palpi draw them up and hold them stored until it is time for them to be injected during the mating process into special sacs within the female, where they fuse in some strange way with female cells and start the following generation. his palpi once emptied of these male cells, of what further use to the species can he be and why should not the carnivorous female promptly eat him up? [illustration] the daddy-long-legs or harvestman (_leiobunum grande_, weed) who has not watched daddy-long-legs stalk majestically across the floor or up the wall, one long slender leg waving in front of him like the arm of some gesticulating prophet of old? indeed, the fly or mosquito is hardly more familiar. long-leggedness is all relative to size of body, and viewed from this standpoint everyone must agree that the harvestman is the longest-legged creature in the world. if its body were the size of a flamingo its legs would cover over thirty feet of ground. as it has eight legs and each leg is eight times the length of its body it has sixty-four times as much length of leg as of body. it is a strange, spider creature having only two eyes which look to right and left from a turret-like hump in the middle of its back. its claws in front have pincers like a crab's. opposite the first pair of legs are scent glands from which it pours out a fluid which has so bad an odor that it seems to protect it from its foes. swung low between its legs, this creature of twilight and shade wanders in search of small insects which it catches and devours as other spiders do. it only lives one season in the north and spins no web and makes no nest. the female lays her eggs deep down in the ground or under stones or in the crevices of the bark of trees. chapter ii the insect world straight-winged insects (_orthoptera_) when children play with pebbles on the beach, they often put the red ones in one group, the white ones in another. it is much the same with men, they try to put the things that are alike together, and in the bewildering multitude of shapes and forms and habits with which the insect specialists have had to deal, they catch at any similarity, and put together in one group a lot of creatures which are only alike in a few particulars. in the straight-winged order of orthoptera they have put the creatures which have four wings, the front pair being leather-like and smaller than the other pair, which latter fold up like a fan. they are also all equipped with strong biting jaws. bugs often look like them, but bugs have beaks and never jaws. it is in this order that are found nearly all of the true song insects, at least so far as human ears can tell. the grasshoppers, the katydids and crickets are the great music makers of the insect world, although it is true that there is one, perhaps the loudest, shrillest singer of them all which is classified among the bugs, the lyreman, or cicada, one of the species of which is known as the seventeen-year locust. when we talk of the hum of insects we do not often stop to think that it is quite a different thing in general from their song. most insects in their flight, providing that their wings move fast enough, make some kind of a noise. the humming of the bee, the buzzing of the house fly and mosquito and the whirring of the clumsy beetle's wings are quite a different thing from the conscious song of the katydid to its mate, or the singing of the cricket on the hearth. of course it is impossible for us to be quite sure that there is not a host of insects who have means of making some kind of a noise which is so high up in the scale of noises as to be too faint for us to hear. [illustration] the king grasshopper (_hippiscus sp._) as this young king grasshopper stands looking so inquiringly at one with his varicolored eyes, each of which is composed of hundreds of facets, i cannot help thinking that he represents a creature quite as fascinating and actually more dangerous than the east african monsters of our school geographies. perhaps it is perfectly natural, but it does not seem right, that so little emphasis should be laid in our histories upon the terrible struggles of man with his insect enemies. the time will come when we shall recognize this warfare, when we shall realize how much of human happiness lies buried on the battlefields of our struggle against the insect hordes. the members of one species of this great family can sail for a thousand miles before the wind, and they go in such numbers that they make a cloud 2,000 square miles in extent. they multiply in such numbers as to baffle all calculation, and every living green thing for thousands of square miles disappears down their throats, leaving the country they infest desolate. the great famine of egypt, mentioned in the book of exodus, the grasshopper years of kansas, which ruined thousands of families on our plains, and more recent devastations in argentina and south africa are examples of the tremendous effects which the migratory locusts have had upon the happiness of mankind. the famines which have followed in their wake have cost the lives of hundreds of thousands of human beings and ruined the lives of millions of others. we have become so accustomed to the idea that the farmer must expect to lose his crop every few years from the devastations of these beasts, that we have not yet realized that it would be profitable to spend vast sums of money in learning how to fight them. in the evolution of the race, this change will come about, and i feel that no honor is too great to bestow upon the american entomologists who have led the world in its fight with these enemies of the human race. some day these quiet, resourceful, far-sighted men of knowledge will take their places beside the organizers of industry and the warriors of mankind in the hero worship of our boys and girls. [illustration] a baby grasshopper a baby creature, scarcely two weeks since it issued from a grasshopper egg, and yet with two moults behind it--two bright green baby skins cast off! imagine looking forward, as this baby creature does, to the day when its internal air sacs shall be filled with air and the pads on its back have grown so long and parchment-like that it can leave its hopping, terrestrial existence and sail away across the fields. until that time, however, it must be content with its six spiny legs, pushing its way among the blades of grass, tasting everything green and eating what it likes, and hiding from its enemies when moulting time comes round. a young chick finds itself shut inside the eggshell and must work its way out alone, but the young grasshoppers when they hatch out find themselves--the whole nestful--shut in a hardened case in the ground made by their mother, and it takes half a dozen of them working together to dislodge the lid which shuts them in. unlike the beetles and the butterflies, which spring full-fledged from the metamorphosis of a caterpillar, the grasshopper comes to be a winged creature by slow stages, each one a little more advanced than the former, with wings a little better developed. the baby grasshopper is essentially a small, wingless adult, and not a grub or larva in the ordinary sense. [illustration] a young grasshopper's skeleton when the young grasshopper emerges from the egg, it is very small indeed--a wingless, helpless little creature, all legs and mouth. it passes through successive ages, or stages, as they are called, each one of which is separated from the other by a moult or casting of its outer shell. these moults take place at fixed periods, and as the insect finds itself restrained by its firm, inelastic skeleton, a longitudinal rent occurs along the back, and the insect, soft and dangerously helpless, struggles out of the old skin, inclosed in a new but delicate cuticle, which takes some time to harden and color up. some people go to great trouble and expense to keep the baby portraits and even the baby shoes, and i cannot help wondering whether a full-grown grasshopper, leading a life in the open air, is ever interested in observing the baby skeletons which show its five stages of terrestrial life. what an interesting collection could be made of these insects' skeletons, photographed large enough so that we could see and study them! [illustration] the grasshopper is good to eat how much mere prejudice controls us! whence came our aversion to the spotless, winged grasshopper as food and our fondness for the flesh of the wallowing swine? we thoughtlessly pass on to our children the idea that certain things are not good to eat while others are, and so, although the grasshopper has been eaten for centuries by millions of people, even by the ancient assyrians, and is today one of the candied delicacies of japan, our american boys, hungry as they always are, have not yet caught them to cook over their campfires. the spiny legs deter us, perhaps, and yet, when one thinks that we eat up all of the soft-shelled crabs, sardines, reed birds and some other delicacies, that seems to be no argument at all against the pasture fed and fattened locust of our summer time. in barbary, according to miss margaret morley, the recipe in common use is to boil them for half an hour, remove the heads and wings and legs, sprinkle with salt and then fry them and season with vinegar to taste. the maoris of new zealand, it is said, prefer them to the pigeons which they raise. the bedouins bake then in a heated pit in the ground, much as a woodsman cooks his beans, and later dries them in the sun, then grinds them to powder and makes a kind of gruel, or else he eats them without grinding, simply removing the legs and wings with his fingers as one would the shell of a shrimp. some people say they taste like the yolk of a hard-boiled egg, while others compare them in flavor to prawns. now, whether all the different kinds are good or not, and which are best to eat are questions which the american boys most find out for themselves--the girls, it is assumed, will take no part in this new field of cookery! should any boy desire to dip into this vast subject and become an acridophagus it would take him back in his study to the hieroglyphics on some of the oldest monuments of the human race and be a most fascinating subject. [illustration] a grasshopper's ear is under its wing (_dissosteira carolina_, linn.) if you raise the wing of a full-grown grasshopper and look behind its big fat thigh, you will see a strange hole into its body. this is supposed to be its ear, but what it hears and what it does not hear, who can tell? when on a warm summer day you hear a male grasshopper chirping, for the males alone can sing, you can think that somewhere nearby, perhaps with wings lifted to hear the song better, sits some attentive female whose ears are tuned to catch the plaintiveness of this courting song. [illustration] the grasshopper's hearing organ (_dissosteira carolina_, linn.) as we grow older and certain sounds which we heard in childhood with the greatest ease become harder for us to hear and are finally lost to as altogether, we begin to appreciate the relative character of sound. some boys can hear the faintest twitter of the shyest song bird in the tree tops, while others strain their ears in vain to catch its note. is it any wonder then that men should be puzzled to know just what the true grasshopper hears? they know there are males of certain species which sing so loud they make our ears ache, but there are others whose noises, if they make any, have never yet been heard by human ears, and yet they all have these ears. they believe, too, that there are certain sounds the grasshopper can hear without the use of these special ears. so whether this strange organ furnishes a special means by which the males and females find each other or not, and what part it has played throughout the centuries in the development of this marvelous form of living matter, are things that man may be a long time yet in finding out. in the photograph it lies to the left, a dark kidney-shaped opening with the ear drum membrane at an angle just inside its rim. it has a well-formed tympanum, and nerves and muscles of a complex nature. [illustration] the short-winged green locust (_dicromorpha viridis_, scudd.) whether this creature has a personality or not may be forever extremely difficult for humans to decide. its eyes that look like cows' eyes really cast hundreds of images on a special kind of brain, so different from our own that we cannot understand it, and then, besides these great big eyes, it has three others scarcely visible in the picture. its short-ringed horns are not horns at all, but sense organs of so complicated a nature that we do not yet know certainly whether they are organs of smell or not, and it is supposed that they may be the seat of sense organs that we humans do not have. the jumping legs of the creature are filled with powerful muscles, which, when they expand, can hurl it through the air and enable it to escape from its enemies. on the inner side of the femur is a musical instrument, a row of hard, bead-like projections, which are very highly developed in the males, but not at all in the females. when one of the veins of the upper wing, which is prominent and has a sharp knife edge, is scraped over these projections, a musical sound is made by the vibration of the whole wing. it would seem to be the case, as with so many of the birds, that only the male can sing, the female being mute. [illustration] the katydid (_scudderia sp._) how marvelously equipped such a creature as this is to live! the great eyes, with many facets, enable it to see by night as well as by day. its long, slender antennæ catch the faintest odor, and probably are sensitive to a host of perfumes that we do not know. in the front of each fore leg, just below the knee, is a dark, sunken area, the ear, with which it can probably hear sounds too faint for our ears, and by moving them can tell from which direction the sounds come. its long muscular legs enable it to jump a hundred times its length whereas man can scarcely cover three times his length at a leap. its wings not only enable it to fly well, but in the males are provided with an apparatus near their base for making a musical sound. this sound is made by half opening the long green wings and closing them again rapidly. the left wing bears a file on its inner surface near the base, while the other, the right wing, has a sharp knife edge on the outside just below the file on the left wing. in closing the wings together the knife edge scrapes across the file and makes at least one of the wings vibrate. while the wings are opening no sound is produced; as they close the characteristic sounds so like the words "katy did" are made. [illustration] the narrow-winged katydid (_scudderia sp._) if it is any comfort for sleepless ones to know it, the katydid is one of the noisiest creatures of its size in the world. it is only the males which call their "katy-did, katy-didn't, she did, she didn't," and they are calling to their mates. there are people who prefer the noises of the street-cars to the noises of nature, and who complain that the buzz of insect life on a summer evening makes them feel lonesome and unhappy, but to me half the mystery and charm of tropical life lies in the music of the night insects. our southern states, with their tropical summers, have a wealth of insect life quite comparable to that of the tropics and vastly more varied than that of northern europe. the katydid is the greatest songster of this night choir and is a truly american species--as truly a thing to be proud of as the mocking-bird. lafcadio hearn in his "kusa hibari" has put us in touch with the soul of a japanese katydid, and if ours did not have quite so shrill a voice we too might domesticate him, but the idea of caging an american katydid as the japanese do their tiny-voiced creatures will not, i fear, appeal to the average american citizen. the male of this species sings sometimes by day as well as by night and has different calls for day and night. the female lays her eggs in the edges of leaves, thrusting them in between the lower and upper cuticle, and from these hatch out the wingless, long-legged green creatures which are hopping everywhere about the grass in early summer. they are borne for the summer season only, and with the frosts of winter they all die off. nature seems to make just as complicated a being whether it is to last a score of minutes or a hundred years--one season or a hundred is all the same to her. just why the katydid should want to hear its own song some city people may wonder, but it is evident that he does, for just below each knee, on his foremost legs, is to be found a well-developed ear with a tympanum which probably vibrates much as ours do. [illustration] a young katydid (_scudderia sp._) it is doubtful if there are any animals so largely legs as the young katydid. it cannot fly yet, for the wings upon its back are still too small to carry it through the air, but it can escape from its enemies by jumps which put those of a gazelle or a kangaroo to shame. the muscles in its legs are like our own muscles so far as can be determined, except that they are attached to projections on the inside of a skeleton which encases them all, instead of being attached to the outside of a skeleton which they themselves encase, so when a katydid jumps one cannot see the muscles move as one can those of a horse. [illustration] the cricket on the hearth (_gryllus pennsylvanicus_, burm.) through the ages, who knows if not from the times of the cave-dwellers, this friendly visitor of the fireside has rubbed his rough wings together over his head and sung man to sleep. the european form seems quite as domesticated as the cat or dog, leading nowhere a truly wild life, and it may be questioned whether any living creature has become more a part of human life than the cricket on the hearth. the carrying power of their song is extraordinary; there are species whose strident notes can be heard for a mile, although their little bodies are scarcely more than an inch in length. the males alone are musical, and it is reasonable to suppose, since the females have ears in their fore legs, that they are singing to their mates and not to mankind. as one listens to their friendly song it is hard to appreciate what fighters they are among themselves, the larger ones even turning cannibals when food is scarce, although a glance at the photograph shows how well equipped they are for battle. their great black eyes, only shinier black than their coal-black armored necks, their jointed palpi with which they feed themselves, their thick, leathery wings pressed against their sides like a box cover, and their strong, muscular, spiny hind legs, with which they jump a hundred times their own length, do none of them contribute to beauty, though quite in keeping with their armored war-horse appearance. two long, flexible circi protrude like tails behind, but the task of finding out what they are for has been too difficult for man. perhaps the strange nerve-ending hairs which they bristle with may be sensitive to vibrations of the air, of which we yet know nothing. [illustration] the ground cricket unlike its jet black relative of the fireside, the striped ground cricket forages by day on grassy slopes. it is a more omnivorous scavenger than the hyena, for it eats decaying plants as well as animals. its big brown eyes, which cover half its head, see, doubtless, many ways at once, and its long, whiplike antennæ, which it waves constantly as it springs through the grass, are believed to scent odors which are inconceivably faint, such as the odor of a blade of grass, a pebble, or a decaying leaf. [illustration] the stone or camel cricket (_ceuthophilus uhleri_, scudd.) it would not be a good idea to let the children think that creatures such as this were prowling round the house at night--that is, unless you assure them that it is only a harmless, tawny yellow stone-cricket from the shady woods, where it generally hides under stones and damp, decaying logs. it seems strangely equipped for its night life, for it has antennæ as long as its body. i cannot help wondering if these help it to jump in the dark. fabre, the great french entomologist, has tried, as others have, to find out just how the insects use their antennæ and what they are really for. he says at last, "our senses do not represent all the ways by which the animal puts himself in touch with that which is not himself; there are other ways of doing it, perhaps many, not even remotely analogous to those which we ourselves possess." [illustration] a monster of the underworld: the mole cricket (_gryllotalpa borealis_, burm.) the creatures of the air which hide away their eggs that their larvæ may hatch out underneath the ground must reckon with this burrowing beast. all his life long he tunnels beneath the ground from place to place. when you think of how long it would take you, even with the best tools, to dig a hole in the ground big enough to crawl into, you will get some idea of the power which these two front legs, four-pointed like a spading fork, must have, to enable such a creature to disappear into the ground in a few seconds as he does. these paws, proportionately many times more powerful than bears' paws, are snippers too, for moving back and forth behind them is a sharp-edged instrument which, like the shuttle-bar on a mowing machine, shears off the grass roots which interfere with the mole cricket's progress through the ground. the poor defenseless angleworms must fall an easy prey to such a foe as this! upon the first joint of each clumsy front leg, it has a narrow slit-like ear which is but faintly visible in the photograph. can you imagine a male and female calling to each other through the long and winding passageways beneath the ground? possibly they call to each other only in the night-time, on the rare occasions when they venture out above the ground. he is a curious creature with eyes that are only rudimentary and a noxious smell that he emits if he is touched. the female excavates a chamber near the surface of the ground and lays her eggs in it to be incubated by the sun's heat, as are most insects' eggs. for some time it was supposed that both parents devoured their progeny, as many as 90 per cent being eaten up, but a french observer, monsieur decaux, has found that the male alone is the cannibal and the mother, far from doing this, watches over them and when they hatch she feeds the little ones with bits of plant roots, earthworms and the larvæ of various insects. the discovery of one of these mole crickets is really an event. most people see but one or two in all their lives. in porto rico, however, there is a form with longer wings which eats the roots of sugar cane, tobacco and other crops so that the "changa," as it is called, is considered the most serious insect pest in the island. [illustration] the cockroach (_blatella germanica_, linn.) in carboniferous times this was a dominant creature, crawling over the giant club mosses and tree ferns which composed the marshy vegetation of the young world. today it crawls over the cracker-box and makes its way through every crevice in the kitchen and is, of all the creatures of our houses, the most detested. this is the german cockroach, an importation from europe, which has spread around the world, and which new yorkers know as the croton bug. its long, spiny legs are built for the scurrying for which it is noted, while its slippery body enables it to squeeze through crevices and holes. it carries its head tucked under its body, as if looking for food, and its whiplike antennæ, always in motion, detect at long range the presence of anything edible which can be crammed into its capacious crop. housewives may be surprised to learn that a cockroach can live five years, and that it takes a year to develop to maturity from the egg. the female lays her eggs in a horny capsule, like a spectacle case, which she carries about with her until she is ready to deposit it in some suitable place. later she returns to help her cockroach babies out of their shells. like the cricket, cockroaches love the night and shun the daylight. they cannot tolerate cold weather, and though there are 5,000 species they mostly inhabit the tropics, where they are the plague of domestic and ship life. it is said that "ships come into san francisco from their long half-year voyages around the horn with the sailors wearing gloves on their hands when asleep in their bunks in a desperate effort to save their fingernails from being gnawed off by the hordes of roaches which infest the whole ship." (kellogg.) and now a rumor comes to us that the cockroach carries cancer. [illustration] a demon fly killer: the praying mantis (_paratenodera sinensis_, sauss.) its spiny fore legs are built to hold the struggling flies, while, with its sharp jaws, it tears them to pieces much as a hawk or eagle holds its prey with its talons and tears it to shreds with its beak. it is wasteful, too, of its food, as wasteful as the sea lion, or the seal, throwing away the half-consumed carcass before it is finished and pursuing another victim. so voracious is its appetite and so successful is it as a hunter that doctor slingerland of cornell has introduced the eggs of a species of this mantis from europe and distributed them among his friends in the northern states as a beneficial insect. to kill a praying mantis has been in mohammedan countries almost as great a crime as it is to kill an albatross at sea, but this was not because it kills the swarms of flies so common in those lands, but rather because of the prayerful attitude made necessary by its fiercely spined and powerful front legs. its head is so loosely set on its long neck, or thorax, that it can move it from side to side with the greatest ease. fabre declares that "the mantis is alone among all the insects in directing its attention to inanimate things. it inspects, it examines, it has almost a physiognomy." perhaps one is warranted in having a feeling of repugnance toward the mantis, for no other living creature has more horrible habits. there has always been something horrible about the cannibalism of human beings who ate their enemies killed in battle, but this has never seemed so revolting as the practice of the fijians who killed members of their own tribe in cold blood for purposes of the cannibal feast. the female mantis goes a step farther than this, for she begins eating her lover even before the courtship is over. there is nothing about the spiders, terrifying though they must appear to their defenseless prey, to indicate that they try consciously to frighten their victims, but the mantis, by spreading out its wings and curling up its abdomen, and raising its talon-tipped, spiny legs, seems to deliberately petrify with terror the cricket or grasshopper which comes within its reach. the order of the bugs (_hemiptera_) how blind mankind must seem to the insect world! to look at beetles with their massive jaws and armor-plated bodies, or flies with their gauzy wings, or grasshoppers with their long jumping legs and then class them all as bugs, must seem to them incomprehensible, for to be a bug, an insect must have a sharp pointed beak, whatever else it has. it may or may not have wings, it may have a larval stage or it may not, but if it hasn't a beak and can't suck then it can't be classed as a true bug. these sucking insects of many shapes, although directly connected with the welfare of the human race, have been, until recently, the least known of the great orders of insects. to this order belong the chinch bugs, the cause of an estimated loss to the grain growers of twenty million dollars a year; the great phylloxera, which destroyed the vines on three million acres of french vineyards, and the san josé scale, which has spread during the past ten years through every state and territory in the united states and become a menace to the fruit-growing industry. it is of this order of the insect world that david sharp remarks "... if any thing were to exterminate the enemies of hemiptera we ourselves would probably be starved in a few months." it does seem strange in face of all these statements of authority that our best friends, the insectivorous birds, are being killed out for lack of forest refuge. we spend millions to fight the pests when once they get the upper hand, but pay little or no attention to the comforts of those tireless workers, the birds, which would keep them down. i am ashamed of such a fragmentary picture showing of this most important order, and hope someone will follow on with a bug book which will do the subject justice. [illustration] the squash bug (_anasa tristis_, de g.) the smell of the squash bug is known to every country boy. the odor is emitted through openings in the abdomen from special stink glands, which vary with each species. the tough external skeleton explains, perhaps, why no spray is strong enough to kill the fully grown insects without also injuring the young squash and pumpkin vines, and why the best method of prevention consists in screening the young plants with a wire screen until they have grown large enough to be immune from attack. if you can find the young insects which are not yet encased in such a hardened shell, spraying with a 10 per cent kerosene emulsion will stop up their breathing pores and asphyxiate them. the one in the picture is an old specimen, preparing to go into winter quarters under the leaves and wait for the tender squash and pumpkin vines to appear above the ground next spring. it is surprising how quickly they find these juicy shoots, which they pierce with their sucking beaks and upon which they lay the eggs which in a few days hatch out into a brood of small but voracious squash bugs. [illustration] a strange-shaped bug (_euschistus tristigmus_, say) a strange-shaped bug walked into the laboratory to have his picture taken, not willing, evidently, that he should be left out of the collection. the handbooks on entomology which i possess seem not to have heard of him. he is just a common, ordinary bug, but he, doubtless, has an interesting life for all our scorning of his acquaintance. [illustration] a queer, unworldly monster (_corynocoris distinctus_, dallas) could anything be more antediluvian and unworldly than this old, broken-down creature, with six crooked legs, a pair of popping-out eyes, two shining ocelli which look straight up into the air, and a long, stout beak that is partly hidden behind one of the fore legs? a discussion of how such a fright of a thing came into existence leads one into the realms of evolutionary science, and there we should perhaps find it suggested that it is so ugly and looks so much like the bark of the trees on which it roosts that birds have passed its ancient forefather by, and through the weird workings of that little-understood law of heredity this thorny, spotted creature has waddled along year after year, keeping up in the race for hundreds, perhaps thousands, of centuries. i cannot help exhibiting a little of the showman's pride in it; for, as barnum would say, this is positively the first real appearance of this century-hidden, hoary monster before the everyday public. according to the books, this species belongs to a strange family, in which are even more remarkable-looking creatures. they are all, however, characterized by having the femora of their back legs covered with knobs or spines. one of the species is so spiny all over its back that the male makes use of it to carry around the freshly laid eggs of the female. [illustration] the thread-legged bug (_emesa longipes_, de g.) when you consider how slight a jar of a spider's web will bring its maker running swiftly across the web, it is interesting to be told that this thread-legged bug has the temerity to pick off insects from a spider's web. it is plain that he stands on stilts, and with his powerful tong-like front legs, which end in spiny gripping hands, he must, i imagine, reach out across the web and pick the smaller insects from it, for he is much too small and weak and incredibly fragile to fight a spider on its own web. even to someone fairly familiar with the insect world he might easily be mistaken for a mantis, but his short, sharp beak, bent backwards under his chin, puts him among the bugs, where he takes his place beside the assassin bugs. in one form of thread-legged bug in south america, it is said that the young larva is so long and slender that it curls itself around the mother's body and is carried about with her, papoose-like, on her back. [illustration] the assassin bug (_pselliopus cinctus_, fab.) the human species puts its assassins into striped clothing and it is a rather curious coincidence to find in the insect world an assassin bug in convict's stripes. i think no visitor to our portrait gallery has seen a more fantastic being than this little bow-legged beast. until i found out what he was, i could not understand his rank impertinence, for he stalked leisurely about as though afraid of nothing. i wonder if he has a nasty flavor and advertises the fact by his curious coat. [illustration] an assassination (_pselliopus cinctus_, fab.) i once took a photograph, without realizing it, of some arab women at the gates of bagdad, trying to assassinate an old man; and i cannot pass the picture in my album without shuddering. this photograph affects me in the same way, for it, too, is of a real tragedy and portrays the death of a ladybird, one of the few friends man has in the whole order of beetles, and that, too, at the hands of a member of the order of bugs, the most destructive order of our insect pests. it must be admitted that, as things go in nature, the ladybird has met her just fate, for she has spent her life devouring bugs, the sucking aphids and scale insects of our rose bushes and cherry trees. somehow the old nursery rhyme of "ladybird, ladybird, fly away home, your house is on fire, your children will burn," seems to have endeared to us all this beneficent little beetle which wanders everywhere, cutting short the lives of the sap-sucking insects that deform and injure our plants, and it does not seem to matter that this particular assassin bug preys upon our enemies as well as on our friends. to find this convict striped, spiny bug, with its beak buried to the base in the vitals of the ladybird, and realize that it had first poisoned its victim with poison saliva and was now sucking its blood, rouses a peculiar feeling of hatred towards this hideously ugly creature. perhaps this is heightened by the contrast between the pretty, trim form of the ladybird and the ugliness of the assassin bug. i was puzzled to know how a creature so nearly armor-clad could be successfully attacked by a soft-bodied bug of such deliberate habits of movement. how the start is made i do not know, but it is evident that between the base of the wing covers of the ladybird and her neck or thorax is a weak spot in her armor and the assassin thrusts his beak into this crack. there are members of this assassin bug class which do not hesitate to attack little children in the south, and produce nasty wounds with their poisoned beaks. [illustration] the cicada (_cicada sayi_, grossb.) the coming of the swallow is scarcely more significant to americans of the southern states than the arrival of the cicada. its song is the noisiest song in the insect world, and is made in a curious way, by the stretching and relaxing of a corrugated drum-like membrane in the side of the abdomen by means of specially strong muscles. the sound is controlled in rhythmic cadences by means of semicircular discs or covers to the drums, which can be closed and opened at the will of the insect. this noisy song, which the male alone can sing, he doubtless sings for his mate and not for us, although entomologists are not agreed as to how his partner hears his song, as she seems to have no ears. although this is the photograph of a two-year cicada the story can be told here of that weirdest of all the insects,--the rip van winkle of the insect world, as david sharp has called it,--the seventeen-year cicada. from a tiny egg laid by its mother in a twig of your back-yard shrubbery there issues a creature which is as unlike this monster as it can be, with soft, white body and mole-like front legs. it hurries to the ground and disappears beneath its surface sometimes to a depth of a hundred times its length--twenty feet it is said. for seventeen years it digs its way around in the absolute darkness of this underworld, and then, as though by some prearranged agreement, it comes to the surface to join in a marriage revelry of a few brief weeks in summer with its kinsmen of the same generation who disappeared as it did into the darkness seventeen years before. most insects live for a few months only, and one, indeed, the male at least, for only fifteen or twenty minutes; but the seventeen-year cicada, the oldest of the insect world, lives as long as a cat or dog. but what a life! seventeen years of it in the dark and a few weeks in the sunlight. and yet, compared to the life of an angleworm, condemned to the darkness forever, what an interesting career! when the cicada's shrill song disturbs you, then remember how brief is the pleasure of its existence. [illustration] the ambush bug (_phymata pennsylvanica_, handl.) we are personally so afraid of a bee's sting that it is hard for us to believe that any mere bug exists which is strong enough to overcome and kill a wasp or honey bee. a look at the thick armor of this creature and its powerful, black pointed beak will go a long way towards convincing one that this may be such a bug; it has a close relative, anyway, which does so. its front legs have been developed into enormously strong claws with which to catch and hold its prey. it lurks in flowers and preys on honey-sucking insects, and one can easily imagine the unequal struggle between it and a butterfly, or realize that it might come off victor in a fight with bees or wasps. there are such romantic scenes and bloodcurdling spectacles to be observed in this world of insects that i cannot understand why there are so few who, having ample time, have not the patience to sit and watch them as fabre and others less well known have done. no schoolroom training in observation can compare in value with the outdoor observations of living insects. to look and wait and think and try to understand; what habits of observation, perseverance and reflection these actions cultivate! [illustration] a bug that is always walking around (_brochymena arborea_, say) no photograph in the collection illustrates better the marvelous variety of form which abounds in the jungle of our back yards. to the naked eye all the interesting details are invisible and one's hand instinctively brushes the intruder from the table where it has crawled in to take a look at a human being. the spotted, crablike legs, covered with bristles, the beadlike facet eyes, the oyster shell shaped body, the moving antennæ all covered with white scales, the curious trunk or sucking pipe descending from the chin, give to the creature a personality which combines something of the wistful with the curious. and yet this is, as my friend dr. schwartz says, "just one of those bugs that is always walking around on our plants and nobody seems to know just what it is doing." [illustration] the tarnished plant bug (_lygus pratensis_, linn.) if you have ever carefully tended young vegetable plants, set them out by hand and watched over them, you will certainly have made the acquaintance of this vicious little creature a quarter of an inch long. at least you will have found where he drove his proboscis and sucked the juices from your tender plant, leaving his irritating fluids behind to distort the tissues of the leaf or bud. he lives in the rubbish which was left littering up the garden and is waiting now for spring to come when he will make his appearance and do whatever damage is necessary for his existence. you cannot spray him with kerosene for he is too agile, skipping away from you in the sunlight, but when his mate lays her eggs, and the young nymphs with wingless bodies crawl about, you can kill them with a dose of kerosene oil emulsion which will close their breathing pores and suffocate them. [illustration] the lantern fly bug (_helicoptera variegata_, van d.) this creature belongs to the family of lantern flies and is also related to the little leaf hoppers which one startles from the grass by the hundred in walking across a lawn or meadow. it is a small, grey bug, not a quarter of an inch long, and quite insignificant when looked at with the naked eye, yet it is quite as strange in form as any of the prehistoric monsters. its powerful beak is made up, as are the beaks of all the great order of sucking insects, of four hairlike bodies, four fine, flexible, closely connected rods enclosed in a narrow groove and sharp enough to puncture the skin of a succulent young plant. not only are these hairlike rods as sharp as needles, but the outer pair are usually barbed so that, once introduced, a hold is easily maintained. under the throat is an organ of the nature of a force pump which injects an irritating fluid into the plant. it is supposed that this gives rise to an irritation or congestion of the plant tissue, and thus keeps up a supply of liquid food for the bug at the point operated upon, which, rising by capillary attraction along the grooved rods, finds its way into the stomach of the insect. that these leaf-sucking insects inject a poison is shown by the way in which the punctured leaves curl up, turn brown and die. the beetles (_coleoptera_) beetles are distinguished from the other orders of flying creatures by having the first pair of wings changed into shells under which the other pair can be safely folded and laid away. you can usually recognize them when they spread their wings to fly, for they have to raise their wing covers in order to do so. also they generally have prominent jaws, as they are biting creatures and do not suck the juices of plants and animals as the bugs do. beetles are almost everywhere. you cannot turn over a stone or break down a stump or roll over a log without disturbing some of them, and yet perhaps less is known about the lives of beetles than about those of any other of the great orders of insects. they lead two lives, distinct as two lives can be: one in the form of a grub, the other as a full-grown beetle. to make the transformation, they burrow into the ground or into the wood of trees and but rarely make for themselves silken cocoons such as the butterfly larvæ spin. they do not lead so aerial an existence as some other orders, but, nevertheless, they are today, perhaps because of their closely fitting outer shells, the predominant order of insects of the present epoch and already there are known the bewildering number of 150,000 species. in north america alone (mexico excepted) 12,000 species have been described and these have been grouped into eighty families and 2,000 genera. the general public is beginning to realize that not everyone can be an entomologist, and that the quality of brains and training required before one can travel safely among this maze of forms and distinguish between the friends and foes of our agriculture is a quality of the greatest value to mankind. so far as man is concerned, this gigantic class of creatures is among the most destructive with which we divide life on this planet, and though there are beetle friends which help us by preying on other beetles and by making humus out of leaves and twigs, and by feeding millions of our song birds, yet, as a whole, they represent a restless, armored multitude which perhaps we should be just as well without. [illustration] the june beetle (_allorhina nitida_, linn.) in looking at these two strange beings (this picture and the next), we cannot feel confident that science has gone very far in giving us the reasons for the things we see. they seem no more alike than fish and tortoise or bird and quadruped and yet, before our very eyes, in one brief year, the one turns into the other. this beetle dies, and leaves behind a hundred little cells, parts of its own body and the body of its mate. these paired cells, the fertilized eggs, grow rapidly into the form of the clumsy, helpless grub which feeds upon the leaves, only to break up and form themselves again into this armor-plated creature of the beetle world. there must be something as radically wrong with our individualistic ideas of today as there was with the conception of a flat world which prevailed before the time of columbus. perhaps if we stop trying to think of these manifestations of beetle life as individuals and think of them as parts of one great organism scattered over the surface of the earth, these striking differences will seem no stranger to us than do the differences in the various stages of a flower's life. the beetle forms inside the grub and the tulip flower bud forms inside the bulb. if tulip flowers could fly, we should then have the strange spectacle of the opening of the scale-covered tulip bulb and the coming forth of the gorgeous colored flower which sailed away to shed its seeds in someone else's garden. i think that this is the way we must look at it if we would get a clear idea of this strangest of phenomena,--metamorphosis. [illustration] the june beetle larva (_allorhina nitida_, linn.) how is it possible that this fat creature, with eye-like breathing pores along its body, whose legs are worthless, and which is so helpless that it has to turn over on its back to wriggle over the ground, can change into the emerald-green june beetle which wings its way like an aerodrome across the meadow? this is the apparent miracle of metamorphosis which it has well-nigh baffled the intellect of man to explain. though the reasons for it are still unknown, modern research has shown us how this incredible change has taken place. when this creature, which has grown a hundred times its size since it was born, has reached the age for this great change, it doubtless feels the impending transformation coming, and instinct tells it to crawl away into some protected nook or corner and pupate underneath the protection of a silken coverlid of its own spinning. the change begins; each organ goes to pieces, disintegrates, becomes a mass of disconnected cells, so that the body filled with these, becomes, as it were, a bag of mush. this mushy fluid has been likened by entomologists to the disintegrated tissues which inflammation causes in our own bodies. if, then, you should slit it open at this stage, you would find no alimentary canal, no salivary glands, no muscles, simply a thick fluid, with here and there a thicker lump, that is attached at certain places to the inside of the sac wall. these lumps are formed of groups of active cells which were not disintegrated in the general breakdown of the muscle tissue, and these form the nuclei around which the new creature is to be built. these groups of cells grow rapidly, feeding on the fluid mass of broken-down tissue much as a young chick inside the egg feeds on the yolk, and builds up the whole complicated structure of the winged beetle, which seems to have no possible relations to the white grub out of whose body it was made. it is as though the insect hatched twice, first from the almost microscopic egg its mother laid and from which it emerged as a tiny little creature in the image of this grub, growing and manufacturing from the leaves it eats enough nitrogenous matter so that when it emerges again from the yolk-like substance of its cocoon it will be a full-grown beetle, for it must be remembered that once made the beetle never grows. this wonderful process is the same which is gone through by every flying insect that has a grub or caterpillar stage. [illustration] one of the june bugs or may beetles (_lachnosterna quercus_, knoch) of the wild creatures of our back yards, none is better known than this hard-shelled buzzing creature, which whirs into the circle of light around your lamp and commits suicide, if you will let it, by flying into the flame. it is one of the so-called june bugs, or may beetles, which every boy and girl knows, and is not the june _beetle_ of which the larva was shown previously. its hard, pitted skeleton covers it completely, and it is most interesting to watch it open its wing covers with great deliberation, unfold the wings which are carefully stowed away beneath them, and holding its wing covers elevated so they will not interfere, start the transparent wings into motion and fly away with the whir of a miniature aerodrome. indeed, it was this resemblance which caused the members of the aerial experiment association to name one of their first aerodromes after it, and the first trophy ever given for an aerodrome flight was won by curtis's "june bug." this creature's first life is spent beneath the sod of your lawn, where it curls up around the roots of the grasses and clover and other plants which you do not want it to eat, and the first year of its subterranean existence it is the white grub, with the brown head, which everybody knows. at the end of the second summer of its life it changes to a soft brown beetle, which throughout the winter is hardening its shell preparatory to coming out in late spring as a winged creature to feed upon the leaves of trees. the beetle which is walking toward you lives upon the oak. [illustration] one of the twig-pruners (_elaphidion atomaricum_, dru.) the long-horned beetles, as they are called, are remarkable for the length of their antennæ and for their eyes of many facets, which almost encircle the antennæ at their base. they have, like other beetles, two lives, so to speak, and their grub-life is spent inside some twig or branch, burrowing and living on the juices which their stomachs extract from the sawdust made by their jaws. they kill the twig they burrow in, so that the wind blows it to the ground, and they go through their transformation on the ground. the story is told of a long-horned beetle, belonging to a different species, that lived for years in its larval stage, burrowing patiently into the dry wood of a boot-last or shoe-stretcher, trying vainly to get enough nourishment out of it to make a beetle of itself. [illustration] the predaceous ground beetle (_chlænius æstivus_, say) this creature almost anyone will recognize as a beetle. it is built for running, and its jaws are made for fighting. you have only to catch one and watch it open and shut its jaws to realize that it would bite you if it could. but for all that it is a great friend, for it is what the entomologists call predaceous, and at night or at twilight it hunts everywhere for the larvæ of insects which attack the plants we live on. in its larval state, in which it looks for all the world like a centiped without the "ped," it burrows in the ground in search of the plant destroyers, which think to escape notice by getting under the cover of the soil. it is by nature, then, opposed to the vegetarians, the herbivores, and hunts them wherever they are likely to occur. when you see a black or dark-brown beetle running swiftly from under some stone or log whirls you have just turned over and which makes faces with its jaws as though it would chew your fingers when you pick it up, you can be quite sure in eight times out of ten that it is one of these carabidæ or predaceous ground beetles, and if you let it drop from your fingers you may be saving the life of a friend, because some day it may eat the worm which, lying close to some pet flower of yours, had planned to cut it off beneath the ground. it is one of the hardest things in all the world to understand how balanced is this scale of foe and friend. one year there is a wiping out of our insect friends through frost or floods or microscopic disease, and, freed thus from the check which kept their numbers down, the foes to our plants can multiply to such an extent that nothing we can do will save our crops from total failure. next year, perhaps, the parasitic beetle, finding such a wealth of food to live upon, increases and holds well in check the pest which last year ate up all our plants. each wave of insect pests could be explained, no doubt, if all the facts were known, and nowadays no one who knows what modern agriculture means will fail to reckon on the risks from losses caused by these pests. [illustration] the clover leaf weevil (_phytonomus punctatus_, fab.) could anyone suspect this modest antediluvian creature coming toward you out of the gloom, hanging his head, as it were, of any designs against anyone? he has them, however, and if you will examine your clover leaves in june you will find them scalloped with irregular patches eaten out of them. it would be easy for him to prove an alibi, since it is his other self, his larval existence, which does it and does it at night, too, coming up out of the base of the clover plant where it hides during the daytime. occasionally in august he can himself be seen feeding on the clover leaves. in his two existences he manages to do a good deal of damage to the clover fields of the farmer, necessitating the plowing up of old fields when he becomes too numerous. but let us look at the company he keeps. he is in the same class with the alfalfa weevil which came over from central asia recently and spread through the alfalfa fields of utah, threatened the alfalfa growers with ruin and set the entomological bureau of the government out on the trail of some parasite, some enemy of his which they were sure must have held him in check in his native land. if you could have heard the conferences which were held and the drastic measures relating to traffic which were proposed you would realize that it is no child's play to fight the asiatic relative of this modest-looking creature. but it has in this country worse relatives even than the alfalfa weevil. it is related to the cotton boll weevil, which has brought thousands of families in the south to the point of starvation and drawn millions of dollars from the federal treasury of the country in an effort to fight it and lessen its ravages throughout the cotton belt of the southern states. thousands of lectures are being given to tell the farmers what its habits are and how it can be prevented. it has other more distant relatives which live in the forest trees and make wonderful burrows which look like hieroglyphics. as that remarkable entomologist, hubbard, discovered, they are cultivators of microscopic mushrooms as wonderful as those of the mushroom nests of the atta ants or the termites of the tropics. incidentally, and this is the important point, they kill the trees, fires start in the dead trees, and it is estimated roughly by dr. hopkins, the forest entomologist, that they destroy over a hundred million dollars' worth of timber annually or, at least, are one of the principal causes of this gigantic loss. [illustration] the spotted vine chafer in flight (_pelidnota punctata_, linn.) how often one sees lame butterflies limping along in their flight, because their wings have been injured by the rose bushes or by striking against the pine needles or have been nipped by some hungry bird. the beetles, when they alight, carefully fold up each delicate wing, close down over them polished covers as hard almost as steel and fitting as closely as the engine covers of an automobile. whether these wing covers act as aeroplanes or as rudders for the beetles when in flight is as yet unknown. there are strange, almost microscopic, markings over the surface of these wing covers and in some species there are glands inside them which secrete a fluid which reaches the surface through minute pores, but the use of this fluid we are still unable to discover. it seems likely that the discovery, if we may so term it, of these wing-protecting shells, has been of tremendous advantage to the class of organisms where it first appeared. at any rate, among the insects the order of beetles (coleoptera) is the predominating one of this epoch. when one thinks that man has just begun to fly, whereas the beetles flew perhaps a hundred million years or more ago, these wings and their most perfect chitinized wing covers are deserving of our wonder and of our admiration, too. this light, yellowish brown and black spotted beetle prefers the leaves of the grape vine to those of any other plant, and in its grub life it burrows in rotten wood, especially in decaying roots of apple, pear and hickory trees. [illustration] one of the blister or cantharides beetles (_epicanta marginata_, fab.) i can never look at this beetle without a feeling of emotion, for in a desperate struggle to escape from the fate predestined by a bald-headed ancestry, i once submitted to the treatment of a noted hair specialist and allowed him to apply to my scalp the acrid oil of the blister beetle. and the melancholy part is that it did no good. fabre has described how the female european blister beetle lays a thousand or two eggs in the ground in close proximity to the nest of the solitary bee whose eggs form the only food of the blister beetle larva. from the beetles' eggs hatch out strong-jawed, six-legged spiny larvæ called triangulins. although born close to the nests of the bees, which in this case are in the ground, these triangulins do not enter the nests, but attempt to attach themselves to any hairy object which may come near, much as burrs attach themselves to the wool of sheep. a certain number of them by merest chance, apparently, succeed in getting onto the bodies of the bees and are carried by them to their nests. as the male bees, in this particular species, appear a month before the female, it seems probable, fabre thinks, that the vast majority of triangulins attach themselves at first to the males and later, when a chance occurs, discovering their mistake, transfer themselves onto the females and so get carried to the underground cells, and are present when the mother bee fills the cell with honey and then lays an egg which floats around on top. there is something ghastly in the picture of the mother bee laying her single egg, with the blister beetle larva on her back waiting till the last moment in order to slip unexpectedly from her body to the egg, on which it floats in the honey as on a raft. when the unsuspecting bee has closed in her unborn child, the hideous monster which is perched on top of it eats it up. this takes eight days, and when it has eaten up its raft, the triangulin moults and becomes, as it were, an aquatic creature with breathing pores so placed that it can float on the honey, and with a stomach so changed that it can be nourished by it. in about eight more days the honey is consumed and the final moult takes place. [illustration] a hippopotamus among the insects (_prionus sp._) why beetles as large as elephants never came into existence on this planet, or have they developed on some other of the countless worlds of space, are questions too hard for us to answer. this wonderfully protected creature with long horn-like antennæ and hippopotamus-like jaws is a relative of the largest of the beetles, those which live in the great forests along the amazon or in the tropical jungles of the fijian islands, and whose grubs are good to eat. some years ago, in a clearing in a new zealand forest, a maori dug out several handfuls of the white wriggling creatures for me and a settler's wife fried them with butter over the fire in her kitchen stove, and i can testify that they were as crisp and delicate as fried oysters. like the other giant creatures of the forest, these prionids, as they are called, are growing rarer with the destruction of the forest trees on which they live, and some day their skeletons in museum cases may be all that remain of them. these long-horned wood borers do not themselves bore into the wood; how could they with their long antennæ? it is their other selves, their grubs, that live deep in the solid heart wood of some oak or hickory tree. there is something strange in their solitary hermit-cell life. think of living for two years or more in a narrow hole which shuts you in on all sides and having for a steady diet the walls of your cell to feed upon. prisoners have burrowed under prison stockades to escape, but these larvæ deliberately leave the outer, softer sapwood in which they hatch, and start for the interior of the trunk, packing behind them with sawdust and excrement the tunnel which they eat out. the fact that the grubs of some species of these prionids choose to live in the roots and trunks of trees which we choose to cultivate makes them our enemies, and every good orchardist knows that the only way to stop them is to dig them out or stab them with a wire run through them in their burrows. this fellow bit savagely at a pencil, and when he finally caught hold, i lifted him up as one does a bull dog, and he hung there almost as long. [illustration] one of the longicorn beetles (_orthosoma brunneum_, forst.) at first glance this longhorn might pass for a prionus, but its antennæ are very different and the shape of its broad collar or prothorax is not the same. to a trained eye they could never be confused, which cannot be said of all beetles! in fact there is perhaps no group of living organisms which scientific men have more difficulty in classifying than the beetles, unless it be the lichens on the stones and trees. their differences are so minute and their grub lives so obscure that they have sometimes to be bred in order to determine their relationships. [illustration] an american scarab (_copris carolina_, linn.) i cannot help wondering what one of the priests of ancient egypt would think of this picture of a new world relative of his sacred scarab. to me there has always been something strangely beautiful in the veneration which the great egyptian race has shown for thousands of years towards the humble, industrious beetle which spends its life in the droppings from egyptian cattle. go to gizeh, and look at the images of the scarab beetle carved from the rarest stories the lapidary could find, mounted in the loveliest gold settings he could fashion, and reflect that the ladies of the court wore these dung beetles around their necks and were buried with them on. was this veneration of the scarab as old, almost, as the race, and did it come with the race into its civilization, or did it arise as the whim of some great pharaoh? it is said that somewhere with this veneration there was included a symbolism. the living scarab is a tumble bug, the female makes a ball of dung much larger than herself and either with her shovel pointed nose, or else standing on her head with her hind legs on the ball, she either pushes or pulls the ball along until she finds some suitable place in which to dig a hole and bury this ball so that later she may consume it at her ease. it has been suggested that some egyptian astronomer, watching the rolling ball, may have suggested an analogy with the movement of the heavenly bodies--with the traveling of the moon around the earth. for we must not forget that in those days the wonder of the heavens was fresh and new and the idea of world-balls of matter was a subject of intense intellectual excitement. but there was yet another reason for the veneration of the egyptians. the fact that these beetles suddenly disappeared into the ground and that later they appeared again was taken as proof of a future life. it seems to me that we can take a lesson from the ancient egyptians and see in things as insignificant as the beetles of manure the greatness of the world of change and really feel the wonder of it all. it is a pity, but i have to admit that this american species is not a "tumble bug," but contents herself with digging holes, filling them with manure and laying her eggs on it, instead of rolling a well-made ball to some special place as her egyptian cousin does. the mother scarab, unlike every other beetle, lives to see her children grow up, indeed she produces two families of little scarabs. [illustration] the twelve-spotted cucumber beetle (_diabrotica duodecim punctata_, oliv.) there are few of our insect enemies which do their destructive work more rapidly than do the cucumber beetles. every child in the south who has left his cucumber hills unscreened knows this, for he has found them some morning literally eaten up over night by the spotted or striped yellow-green cucumber beetles. the puzzle is, where do they come from so suddenly? it is as though they were waiting for cucumbers to come up, and this is pretty nearly true, for the adults have wintered in the leaves and rubbish of the garden and are all ready to concentrate on the plantlets in the spring. unlike so many pests, which are content to trouble us only during a part of their existence, this twelve-spotted cucumber beetle is our enemy all its life long, for it spends its larval life eating the roots of corn and other field crops. it is a wide-spread pest, with many relatives quite as bad as it is, and not only does it eat up the young and defenseless cucumbers and the roots of the corn, but it is the carrier of a germ infection of a serious nature to the cucumber. my friend, dr. erwin f. smith, informs me that its kind has infested large areas in the south with this disease and dashed the hopes of thousands of boys who, instead of feasting on the melons they have planted with such care, must stand helplessly by and watch the leaves and flowers wilt and the vines decay. it must be remembered that this is a winged carrier of disease and anyone who still fails to understand the speed of travel of an epidemic had better watch the cucumber beetles busy spreading this destructive germ disease. a single beetle feeding on a diseased leaf can carry on its jaws enough germs to infect every melon or cucumber plant in a neighboring field, and that, too, in a single day. [illustration] one of the sawyers (_monohammus titilator_, fab.) while standing on a street corner waiting for a street-car one day last summer my attention was attracted to this beautiful squirrel-gray creature at my feet. it was so evidently ill that, as i picked it up, i began to examine it to find out what was the matter. clustered on its neck, out of reach of its feet or jaws were whitish bodies which evidently did not belong to its external skeleton but were probably the eggs of what i took to be some parasite whose growth within the body of the beast had brought about its pitiable condition. these are just visible between the creature's "horns" in the photograph. it was, in other words, a sick insect. it is because biologists see these parasites so plainly all down through the scale of living things that they are so sceptical of accepting any other cause of human disease until all possibility has been excluded of its being caused by some parasite or other, too small to be seen even by using the best microscopes. my sympathy for this long-horned beetle would be keener did i not read that its larval self is spent inside the wood of the pines and firs of our forests, doing great damage to them. when one is puzzled to know why any living thing should be burdened by such antler-like antennæ, let him remember the peacock's tail and the bird of paradise's plumage and be content to know that the laws of evolution are not yet fully known, and that, given time and growth, almost any form can be evolved. two-winged insects (_diptera_) years ago in berlin, my german landlady called me in as an expert to decide a controversy between her children and herself as to whether a frog had four legs or six. it seemed strange to me then that a grown-up woman should not know the number of a frog's legs. yet there will be many who read these pages who do not know how many wings a fly has. and flies are much more important than frogs. in fact the mosquito and the house fly, both included in the order of the flies, probably cause more deaths and are more dangerous to human life than any other creatures in the world. these portraits are of a few only of the vast myriads of forms of two-winged insects which haunt the world. were i to photograph just one individual of each different species which inhabit the globe, i would have to spend a lifetime doing it, and when it was finished it would make five hundred volumes about the size of this one. there should never be the slightest difficulty in telling a fly from other insects for there are no other two-winged forms. although the flies are sucking insects, their beaks lap up liquid food and are not at all like the beaks of the bugs. in the great majority of flies, the beaks resemble a trunk with curious fleshy folds or lips. it is true some species, like the mosquito, have long, sharp-pointed stylets which, working up and down, puncture the skin of plants and animals. the larval forms of many flies are maggots, those squirming, often almost headless creatures that abound in rotting carcasses or decaying matter of all kinds, and this is one of the reasons why less is known about the flies than about some others of the insect world which have selected less revolting birthplaces. of course, in such a gigantic family no general rules apply, and still, a maggot, whether in an orange or a dead horse, is most likely to be the larva of a diptera or two-winged insect. [illustration] the crane fly (_limnobia sp._) every lover of the autumn woods must have noticed on some still october day, in the little clearings in the woods, these awkward, long-legged flies which, frightened by the approach of a human being, gather their ungainly hind legs together behind and their forelegs in front of them and slowly and laboriously flutter upward into the sunlight. they are well-named, these creatures, "the crane flies," for their legs are as long and apparently much more useless than those of the crane. in fact some entomologists have expressed themselves as wondering why they have such legs at all for they are so fragile that they break at the slightest touch. they belong to a family with a thousand species in it and perhaps the most peculiar thing about them is that some forms of the family live and fly about when there is snow on the ground. this is a very rare exception in the insect world. [illustration] an insect hawk: one of the robber flies (_erax æstuans_, linn.) her strong, spiny legs, her powerful body filled with strong wing muscles, and her sharp beak, make this robber fly one of the most dreaded enemies of the other winged insects for, like the hawk among the birds, she pounces on them in their flight and tears them to pieces with her beak, sucking the blood from them as she carries them in the air. a single one of these insect hawks, or robber flies, as they are called, has been known to catch and devour as many as eight moths in twenty minutes. these robber flies are fearless creatures, for they attack and kill bumble bees and wasps and even, it is said, that monster demon, the dragon-fly. tiger beetles, too, are said to fall a prey to this insect hawk. its other or larval self is also predaceous, boring into beetle larvæ in the ground. [illustration] a robber fly (_dasyllis grossa_, fab.) when i learned that this powerfully winged, hairy fly tears beetles' wings from off their backs with that wedge-shaped beak of hers, and sucks the blood of bees and wasps, it gave me a different idea of the great fly family, which hitherto i had thought was made up of defenseless creatures like the house fly. of all the insects we have photographed, few have seemed to be more thoroughly fearless or more ugly than the robber flies. i have never seen one capture and devour a creature larger than itself, but it must be as thrilling an adventure as to see a dragon-fly devour a gnat, or a spider pounce upon the prey entangled in its net. [illustration] another view of the robber fly (_dasyllis grossa_, fab.) at first it looked as though this creature had two heads, one at each end of its body, but the great facet eyes, of which only one can be seen in the photograph, make it clear which is the head and which the egg-laying end of this strange, fearless robber of the air. just why it is called a robber fly when it really doesn't rob at all, but kills, is a mystery to me. [illustration] one of the large robber flies (_mallophora sp._) this robber fly is not so quick nor so savage as many of its family. it waits for some slow moving insect to come along then pounces upon it. it probably breeds in decaying wood, although this is not certainly known, and it is very difficult to breed them artificially. to the economic entomologist the ability to breed these monsters in captivity is one of the most important factors in studying out their life histories, as they are called, their various stages, the plants they feed on, their habits of moulting, of breeding and of feeding their young. [illustration] one of the worst of the robber flies (_deromyia_) this creature is very savage and pounces upon even large sized insects, paralyzing them instantly by a sting of its poisoned beak. [illustration] the culex mosquito (_culex sp._) the flat white wings of this long-legged creature, vibrating rapidly in the air, make what everyone will agree is the most annoying sound in the world. they make the mosquitos' hum. the cigar-shaped abdomen is striped like a convict's jacket. as a boy there was to me a peculiar fascination in watching that abdomen pinken and turn red along its sides as it filled with blood sucked from my hand. the large eyes compose almost the entire head of a mosquito and in some species they are of an emerald green hue. straight out in front, close together, curved downward at the tip, are two antennæ furnished with delicate hairs arranged like a bottle brush. with these the creature hears the love hum of its mate and probably scents also the neighborhood of any warm-blooded animal. were this a male, instead of a female, these hairs would be much longer and there would be many more of them--they are the smelling organs of the creature and the hearing organs, too, being set into vibration by sound waves of a certain rate. it is important to remember this, for only the females are bloodthirsty. the long, slender proboscis projecting from the head, downward, is furnished with sharp, piercing stylets which, by working up and down, cut their way through the skin. ordinarily the males and females both are content with sap of plants and fruits as their food, and blood does not seem to be a necessary part of their diet. it is curious that what is supposed to be merely an acquired habit of the female only, of an insignificant little fly, should mean so much to mankind. just why a mosquito bite is poisonous is still a matter of question--the suggestion has been made that since both male and female really live on plants, the fluid which the female injects is for the purpose of preventing the plant juice from coagulating during the process of sucking and merely happens to be irritating to warm-blooded animals. there are three hundred different species of these creatures already described and fortunately this one, a species of culex, is not responsible, so far as known, for the carrying of any human disease. [illustration] one of the harmless anopheles mosquitos (_anopheles punctipennis_, say) the malarial mosquito, so called, has spotted wings, but otherwise it looks quite like this harmless form from maryland. this whole tribe of anopheles differs from the culex in the length of its mouth feelers, which project from the base of the proboscis and appear in the photograph almost as long as the proboscis itself, whereas in a photograph of the culex it would appear so short as to seem merely a thickening of the base of the proboscis. the wildest fancy of the arabian story-teller is lacking in imagination compared with the story which the facts of modern science have woven about these tiny representatives of the fly family. who could imagine that just because the lady mosquitos, tiring of their usual meal of ripe bananas and plant juices, acquired the habit of sucking blood, vast regions would be devastated and beings millions of times their size would die by thousands. and this, too, not through any real fault of the tiny creatures themselves, but just because some of the persons whose blood they sucked had microscopic wiggling things living in their blood corpuscles, which crawled into the soft throat glands of the mosquito and waited there for a chance to get out into the blood channels of some other human beings. when one pictures the grief of desolated homes, death-bed agonies of tossing fever patients, the quarantined vessels at anchor in tropical harbors, yellow flagged, with crews dead or dying, the streets of deserted houses from which all life has gone forever through yellow fever and malaria, there is something ghastly in the picture of the winged lady mosquitos flitting airily from pale-faced patients to ruddy-cheeked happy people, unwitting carriers of death. no conquest of science seems more wonderful in its simplicity and more remarkable in its importance than the discovery that the glands at the base of the mosquito's bill can become diseased and harbor a microscopic parasite, and transform this merely buzzing, annoying insect into one of the most dangerous creatures alive. to dr. l. o. howard, the pioneer of economic entomology, is due the great credit for first showing how this creature can be killed by the use of kerosene on the stagnant waters where the females lay their eggs. [illustration] one of the bee flies (_sparnopolius fulvus_, wied.) no butterfly or any other creature of the air could be more beautiful than this dream of early summer. the black velvet body, into which the sunlight sank and disappeared, the fringe of golden hairs along its sides, the steel gray, myriad-facet eyes of which its head was made, and the delicately formed wings, so thin that the light in passing through them was refracted into rainbow tints, made it seem to me more beautiful than almost any of those gorgeous forms of insect life which sometimes fill the clearings in brazilian forests. it does seem strange that such a thing as this should live its other life a parasitic grub within the larva of some caterpillar, or in the egg-case of some grasshopper; but so it seems to do. it spends its childhood as a disease, and its mating days as a dainty fly among the nectar-bearing flowers. [illustration] another of the bee flies (_spogostylum simson_, fab.) where you see the carpenter bee you always see these bee flies waiting for the bee to go away from home. when the mother bee is out the female fly goes into the cell of the bee and lays her egg, and when her larva hatches out it eats up the bee's larva. [illustration] large syrphid fly (_melesia virginiensis_, dru.) this is a very bright-colored syrphid fly often seen soaring in shadowy places, but what he is doing we do not know. he stays poised in the air and is one of the most beautiful flies we have. the larvæ of some of the smaller syrphid flies feed upon the larvæ of other insects, aphids in particular; but the larva of this one has never been seen, at least it has never been recognized. [illustration] not a house fly (_archytas aterrima_, des.) this portrait of one of the many species of fly, not a house fly, however, is as different as it is possible to be from the maggot from which it grew. the eggs of the mother fly, deposited in some decaying animal matter, hatch in a few days, and out of these eggs come maggots with rudimentary legs and looking like beasts from another world entirely. in a few days more they reach the limit of their growth, and stop, the tissues break down to a mush and out of this mush-like substance are formed flies with wings and sucking, trunklike mouths just like their mothers. the maggots have no sexual organs, and yet, out of the creamy mass of cells, the sexual organs of the flies are formed as though directed by a force as certain in its effects as the law of gravitation. we have been so intent on killing the fly and so afraid of it as the great carrier of human diseases that we have lost sight of one phase of its character, so to speak. think of having under our eyes animals like these dipteras from which you can breed a new generation in twelve days! and would it not be strange if, from studying the fly, we should learn the meaning of heredity and sexuality, for this is one of the places where the scientists of the day are at work on the problem of inheritance, that problem which, when elucidated, is likely to make more changes in the world of humankind than almost anything which has so far been discovered. the bearing of the fly on the welfare of the world is one of the most spectacular developments of modern times and a tribute to the value of knowing the minutest details of the world in which we live. [illustration] the horse fly (_tabanus atratus_, forst.) the head of the horse fly appears to be all eyes, and it is no wonder that we can so seldom take it by surprise. below the oblong, compound eyes are the sharp mouthparts, which in the female are provided with lancets, which enable her to puncture the skin of warm-blooded animals and suck their blood. it is curious that the female should have such habits, while the males are content to lap up nectar from the flowers. this jet black, loud-buzzing creature flew into my laboratory and made so much noise that i was forced to kill her. this photograph of her is nine times her real diameter. she belongs to a large and important family of flies, whose females make the lives of men and animals miserable in many parts of the world by their bites, which form most annoying wounds. [illustration] a green-headed horse fly (_tabanus punctifer_, o. s.) there are nearly two hundred species of horse flies in north america, and this creature represents one of the commonest forms. it doubtless hatched out somewhere on the edge of the brook which flows through my place in maryland, and its larval self fed upon other insect larvæ or on the snails and slugs it found itself among. the bands of iridescent green and copper and purple across its enormous eyes made it a beautiful creature to look upon. we never used to think the bite of flies was anything worse than annoying, but recently, since we have discovered the danger of letting the germs of disease into the blood streams of our bodies, we have come to see the ghastly possibilities which lie in the piercing mouthparts of these flies. they suck the blood of animals whose blood streams may be swarming with disease germs, and then fly directly to our houses and puncture our skins with a beak covered with these germs which slip off into our veins. until we know that the diseases of the birds, and field mice, the coons and 'possums, and all other warm-blooded beasts of a locality are harmless to us, or that it is impossible to transmit them to human beings, it is best to look upon these blood-sucking creatures as winged hypodermic syringes laden with disease. it has been suggested that the horse flies carry anthrax, and their bites sometimes cause malignant pustules. they are also under suspicion as carriers of infantile paralysis. feathered insects (_lepidoptera_) these are peculiarly the feathered fliers of the insect world, for their wings and their bodies, too, are covered with most remarkable one-celled feathers or scales of gorgeous colors which make of some of them the most brilliant of all living things. just what these scales are for is not entirely clear, and will not be, perhaps, until we understand the purpose of the gorgeous coloring itself. there is a theory that these scales help to grip the air in flying. it is a curious coincidence that one of these gorgeously colored creatures should furnish mankind with the material for his own most gaily colored raiment. the silkworm is one of the very few domesticated insects, so to speak, of all the hundreds of thousands of insect species in existence, and a hundred millions of dollars is paid every year for the delicate silk threads unraveled from countless millions of cocoons which the silkworm larvæ have laboriously fashioned around themselves. to many people, moths are known by what they leave behind--holes in the winter woolens; and butterflies are to them, somehow, things of the sunlight and the summertime. it is worth while to know that these great families of butterflies and moths are not by any means divided equally, that for every family of butterflies there are at least nine of the moths and that the butterflies form but a small proportion of the gaily colored insects of the fields. perhaps it makes but little difference to the public, who call them all alike, but it is as easy to tell a butterfly from a moth as it is to tell a lizard from a snake, for all the butterflies have club-shaped feelers, or antennæ, whereas the moths do not, and any child of six can learn to tell the two apart. no butterfly or moth in its winged state can harm us or our plants. it has no jaws, but keeps itself alive by sucking nectar from the flowers or juices from the fruits or other parts. its other self, its larva, however, can cause no end of damage. one inconspicuous, brownish form, the codling-moth, no larger than my thumb nail, costs apple growers about ten million dollars every year, while the cabbage moth, the clothes moth, the cutworm and the dreaded gipsy-moth are only a few examples of a gigantic army of voracious larvæ against which man has been struggling ever since he first began to plant seeds in the ground or set out trees for fruit. [illustration] larva of the swallow-tail butterfly of the spice-bush (_papilio troilus_, linn.) is this, i wonder, an insect make-believe, a caterpillar mask, as it were, to frighten away enemies? the black and white eye-spots are not real eyes, but to a bird they doubtless seem so. its real eyes are inconspicuous points at each side of the head, too small to appear in the photograph. few of as stop to think, as the beautiful swallow-tail butterfly, gorgeous in its black and yellow painted wings, flits by us, that it is made of sassafras and spice-bush leaves gathered together and ground up. this monster is a leaf-eating creature, its purpose being the accumulation of food material out of which is made inside of it the gorgeous swallow-tail butterfly. it feeds on sassafras and spice-bush leaves, and when the time arrives makes a nest for itself by fastening the edges of a leaf together. in this nest it passes the winter. when spring comes it breaks open the gray shell of the chrysalis, unfolds a pair of black and gold wings with long tails to them, and flies away in the sunshine in search of flowers and a mate. it is then no more like this monster than an eagle is like a hippopotamus, yet after it has flown about, sucking nectar through its long beak, it mates and lays a mass of eggs, out of which hatch again these strange, weird beings. [illustration] fore part of a brown butterfly (_agrynnis cybele_, fab.) it is hard to realize that this is the portrait of the head and fore part of a beautiful brown butterfly. its head is almost all taken up with the gigantic eyes, which are composed of thousands of tiny facets. the long, trunklike mouth with which it sucks the nectar from the flowers is coiled up like a watch spring. like shingles on a roof, the scales are fastened in tiers over the broad surface of the wings stretched over the stiff ribs or framework. the white spots are made by hundreds of white scales and the brown blotches by brown scales, and what these scales are for nobody seems to know. perhaps they help to grip the wind, for they have running lengthwise of them deep and parallel corrugations so small and fine that were a single scale as large as a lady's opened fan these corrugations would represent its sticks. the caterpillar from which this splendid creature came is black, with branching spines, and feeds at night on violets and other plants. the graceful beauty of the butterfly, its seemingly happy existence, its life among the flowers, where it sips the nectar that the flowers provide, are all a part of common knowledge. the real life of the butterfly, however, is not so pleasant as we think. have you ever found a butterfly hanging beneath a leaf on a cold summer morning drenched with dew and stiff with cold? have you ever seen one trying to cross a field in a rain-storm and observed it vainly attempting to navigate the conflicting air currents? where do they roost at night and on rainy days? where do they come from and what becomes of them? these are matters which it has often taken men years to find out, and even now there are many thousands of species of butterflies which are known only by a preserved specimen caught in its flight by the net of some collector. [illustration] yellow butterfly (_colias philodice_, gdt.) the doctor jekyll and mr. hyde is so complete between the butterfly which flits over the cabbage patch and the velvety green worm that eats holes in the leaves of the cabbages that it is no wonder that for centuries no connection between the two careers of these creatures, seemingly so far apart, was suspected. in general it is true that no moth or butterfly is injurious to plants except in its larval stage, and herein has lain the clever deception which has doubtless protected these gay mating creatures of the air from the systematic attacks of man until quite recent times. this picture shows what every boy and girl should know, that every butterfly has club-shaped feelers or antennæ. it is said of certain species of yellow butterflies that the males give off a pleasing, aromatic odor which is exhaled from the front wings through hundreds of minute, slender scales--scales quite different from those with which the wings and body are covered. this scent, which is so strong that it can be detected by even our blunted olfactory organs if we rub the wings between thumb and forefinger, is supposed to attract the females in some way that is little understood. as among these particular butterflies the male seeks out its mate, it is difficult to understand why it should be the male which has the perfume, since it does not serve to tell the female where her mate is to be found. the inference is that in some way the perfume charms the female. in some species it is the females which give off an odor, and in either case the distances over which these odors extend and are detected by the males or females respectively are analogous to the inconceivable reach of wireless telegraphy. and who knows but the mechanism of these creatures is set to respond to the swiftly traveling ions which make wireless telegraphy possible? [illustration] a baby of the skipper butterfly (_eudamus tityrus_, fab.) there is something fascinatingly strange to me in the babies of the winged butterflies, and i wonder why so many people have an aversion for them? can there be an instinctive fear of anything that crawls, or is not this fear taught us by unthinking persons? the child is not afraid of the wide-mouthed naked little birds in the nest, or the little blind pink mice, and certainly they are no more innocent looking than the brilliant colored larva of the butterflies or moths. what helpless things these babies are! they cannot fly, they cannot fight, they can barely see, and even their gait is a hobbled one. their business is to eat, and their jaws must keep busy pretty constantly to fill their stomachs with leaf fragments, for the greater part of the soft, flabby bodies is stomach. they are males and females but which they are you cannot tell until they turn into butterflies. along this creature's sides, like portholes in an ocean liner, are the breathing pores, nine in number. most animals which live on land take air in through a single opening into a great cavity through which the blood circulates and is purified, but the caterpillars, and all insects in fact, instead of circulating their blood in and out of a pair of lungs, have, running through their bodies, a labyrinth of air passages, all connected with the outside air by means of breathing pores. this caterpillar's eyes are poor affairs, and unless you look closely you will not find them, for they are merely a few raised spots, like blisters, beneath the skin on either side of its jaws. it has, like the spiders, a spinneret and a reservoir of liquid silk with which, as it outgrows its baby state, it can spin its own arbor of tough silk fibers and hide itself from view while it is changing to a butterfly. if in late summer you will put one of these creatures in a tumbler and watch it for a day or two, you can see it plainly through the glass pouring out the liquid silk in a steady stream, waving its head from side to side. the silk comes from a spinneret which is just behind the jaws and is about the color of thin starch paste. the way it loops back upon itself and flows in curves reminds me most forcibly of the way the pastry cook, with frosting in a paper cornucopia, writes one's name upon a birthday cake. [illustration] a butterfly's mummy case one of the most marvelously beautiful of all living creatures lies waiting within this case for the resurrection day, when growth shall split open this polished casket and it shall feel the wings, close packed for weeks, unfold, and, stretching to a hundred times their size, bear it away into the sunshine. did the pharaohs, i wonder, or their wise men, seeing this, model their mummy cases after those which the butterflies make? this is the chrysalis of a butterfly, that wonder of poets since poetry began, that life-stage of the butterfly which our faith and hopes make comparable to our own rest in the tomb from which man in all ages has believed there came a resurrection and another life, no more to be compared with this than the butterfly's own existence among the flowers is to be likened to his crawling one upon the leaves. and because the minds of many men in seeking to understand, have broken down this beautiful analogy by finding that there is no real decay within the chrysalis, we must not hence conclude they have done more than brush away a fancied similarity. the mystery remains. if you should open this butterfly mummy case, lay bare the mummy as it were, you would find a pair of wings in process of formation, a head, a curled-up sucking beak, legs and embryo antennæ, that is, providing it were near the resurrection time. if not, and you had broken in too early, the greater part within the case would be a semi-fluid mass of broken down cell tissues from which the legs and wings and all the other parts are made. the portholes along the side lead deep into the body and are probably as necessary to the growing butterfly inside as they are to it when it once emerges. the chrysalis must breathe. to many people there is much confusion as to what is a chrysalis and what a real cocoon. every cocoon is a silken case spun by the caterpillar in which it can securely hide while it changes first into the chrysalis and then into its winged and final form. this chrysalis, or pupa, forms within the body skin and some caterpillars do not spin a cocoon at all, but merely rest somewhere away from view, until this strange process has been completed within the out-worn shell. this photograph is of such a chrysalis. [illustration] a moth we commonly picture the moths and butterflies with their wings spread out or else upright in the air, but many moths trail their wings when they alight and escape our notice by their quiet colors. walk through the grass and you will frighten thousands which, when they alight again, you cannot for the life of you detect upon the grass stems. there are hardly any butterflies that trail their wings like this and not one of them has beautiful feathery antennæ. [illustration] not good to eat have you never wondered at the temerity with which certain of these slow-moving, helpless creatures expose themselves to the attacks of their enemies? in a world so full of hungry, winged beings it does seem strange, and when the markings are black and white or some such striking color in contrast with the leaves or bark the temerity seems even more extraordinary, until one learns the simple fact--these creatures are not very good to eat. not good enough to eat! supposing that the fly and the mosquito were equipped with some flavor distasteful to the insectivorous birds; if cattle were not good to eat, nor sheep, nor hogs, nor any living, breathing things, what a change there would be in a world like ours! and yet to chemists there is very little difference between some compounds that are good to eat and others that are deadly poison, no greater than that between the poison bitter almond and the sweet one of our dinner table. one cannot help but wonder why it is that when the border-land twixt food and poison is so narrow in the chemistry of the living cell that every creature has not equipped itself with prussic acid enough to preserve itself from its enemies. while this protection holds good against many predaceous creatures, there are various birds and even snakes that have found this particular caterpillar not too bad to eat. [illustration] a hairy spectacle (_euchætes egle_, dru.) many of the caterpillars of our fields are striking in their form and color. this one could easily be seen some distance off and might to birds and others of its enemies be what the skunk is to its enemy the dog--a thing to shun. in the luxuriance of its "plumage" it, in some respects, reminds one of those fantastic forms of fowls produced by close line breeding, the hudans, for example, or the long-tailed roosters of japan. few creatures that we have photographed have been more beautiful than this black and white larva with its hairs in graceful tufts all over its body. what it eats or what its other self is like, i have not yet been able to find out. [illustration] an unknown caterpillar creatures like this, when they come walking down a garden path, are so striking and so gracefully weird that one would think their forms deserving of more study than they get. there is a reason for this, though, that is not hard to find; they are such transient creatures. a few days in the egg, a week or two as caterpillars, and they pass into their cocoons to emerge as moths or butterflies, and of the two weeks when they are caterpillars, the first part of the time they are too small to make much impression upon us. then too, you cannot collect and keep them as you can the butterflies or beetles, in fact this strange horned beast is still unnamed because its carcass shriveled and faded until it bore so little resemblance to its living self that it could not be identified. it is quite unlike the hickory borer or horned devil, being dark red-brown in color. it takes a skilled taxidermist entomologist to squeeze them out, blow up the skin and mount them in a case, and that is the only way to keep these forms, unless we have found another way in these photographs of them. [illustration] a caterpillar devoured by a fungus (_apantesis nais attacked by empusa sp._, dru.) one cold morning in early autumn i saw this caterpillar lying so still on the grass stem on which you see it that i thought i could photograph it before it woke up. i picked the grass panicle, but when i came to look closely at the caterpillar i found it was a shriveled corpse and that there were gaping wounds in its sides, filled with the threads of a parasitic fungus; a fungus familiar to me through one of its distant relatives which i spent six months of my life studying, and which lives in the intestines of the frog. there is something ghastly about the slow but resistless working of a fungus in the body of a caterpillar. one cannot help wondering where the plant got in and how the caterpillar felt about it. was there the horror of finding that it could not be dislodged and the hopelessness of the struggle against it and the impending death and shortening of an already very brief existence? so these, and seemingly all other creatures, have their diseases, and the studies which men have made and are making upon them in all parts of the world are helping us to understand the causes of those which attack and often conquer human beings. nerve-winged insects (_neuroptera_) there was a time before all living things were classified, when there were no groups of plants or animals or insects. it is something to be proud of that man has grouped the likes together and formed, out of the chaos of living species, a system into which most of them can go like letters into pigeonholes. is it any wonder that with half a million species in this insect world there should be some groups in which the species forming them seem to have very little likeness to each other? the nerve-winged insects seem to form just such a group, for the principal things they have in common seem to be peculiar nerve-veined wings and blood-thirsty habits. if we could be quite sure that dragon-flies and scorpion-flies and caddis-flies preyed only upon our foes, we could say with more confidence than we do now, that they are our friends and not our enemies, and that men should find some means by which to help increase the number of them in the world. it is conceivable that, as we learn more about them, they may take a much more important place in public esteem, just as insectivorous birds are doing. perhaps they will come to be protected and their breeding places guarded by the drainage engineers. [illustration] the dragon-fly no dragon of legend could be more blood-thirsty or terrible than this. with four wings like the supporting planes of an aerodrome, it can fly as fast as a railway train. with thousands of eyes crowded together like cells in a honeycomb, forming eye masses that cover most of its head, it can see in all directions at once. with massive jaws and teeth as sharp as needle points, it can pierce and crush the strongest shell of its prey. with its long-jointed spiny legs held out in front like a basket, it rushes through the air, catches and devours its prey and lets the carcass fall to the ground, all without slackening its terrible speed. it is hard to realize, as you watch this swiftly moving dragon of the air, that it has spent the first stage of its life as a slowly crawling, ugly water monster lying in wait among the reeds and grasses for some unsuspecting water bug or larva to pass by. the female, as she skims the surface of some pool, drops into the water her clumps of dragon eggs, a thousand at a time, and from these are born the ugly water dragons, which, when come of age, grow wings and, crawling to the surface, split their old skins open, unfold and dry their closely packed wings, and dart away into the sunshine to prey upon the other creatures of the air. [illustration] the dragon-fly and its victim (_macromia sp._) who would suspect, as one of these dragon-flies darts by him on the roadway, that every few minutes its jaws are crunching some helpless insect caught in its flight? when i caught the dragon-fly whose picture is shown here, i held him by the wings, and, catching a fly that buzzed about the table, dropped it in his claws. without a moment's hesitation his mouth opened wide and closed upon the fly. i watched it disappear underneath his great upper lip and almost fancied i could hear its shell crack as the powerful jaws and lower lips turned it around and around in the mouth. a few seconds only, and the sucking throat had drawn out all the blood and the lips threw out a ball-like mass made up of the fly's wings, legs and crushed body skeleton. then it opened again for more. one entomologist has said that in two hours a dragon-fly will eat at least forty house flies, and doctor howard says that if starved for food it will eat up its own body. no doubt these dragons of the air are to be counted as among our greatest friends, and in places in the east where life is made a burden by that humming, stinging pest, the mosquito, its presence in great numbers helps amazingly in keeping down the day-flying forms of that insect. it has gone into the hawaiian islands with the mosquito and has learned there to breed in the water found on the leaves of lilies growing on dry land. perhaps someone will find a way to domesticate this creature and make it live upon the house flies around the house. as a first step, needham has fed the larvæ on bits of meat. sharpe, the british authority, has observed a dragon-fly returning again and again to the same bush, and westwood believes he saw the same individual hawking for several weeks together over the same small pond. [illustration] dragon-fly nymph masked (_libellulid_) as kellogg says, it must, indeed, be worth more than a week of study in the house to see just once the transformation of one of these mud dragons from the bottom of a pond into a beautiful dragon of the air,--a dragon-fly. of all the strange, weird monsters with which i have ever had to deal, this water one seems somehow weirdest. it reminds me of those sandy-colored, deep-sea fishes which, snuggling under the sand of the sea bottom, wait for their prey to come along and then dart out and seize them with their powerful jaws. the mud dragon has a mask which, for the purpose, is certainly the most effective thing one can imagine. its victims must be greatly surprised to see the mask drop, revealing a sheep-like nose, mouth, and lips, while the mask itself opening out and splitting down the middle, becomes a pair of needle-margined, powerful claws so strong that even fishes are sometimes caught and held by them. it is strange to think of this dragon concealing its claws by making a shield of them to cover its ugly face while it waits in ambush for its game. its eyes and body are the color of mud and must be very hard to see. this photograph shows the mask in place, the grinning mouth a long curved slit across the face, while resting on the ground, as one would rest one's elbow on the table, is the powerful claw arm, so strong that you would find it difficult to pull the mask away, or having done so to keep it down. [illustration] dragon-fly nymph unmasked (_libellulid_) pulled down from the mud dragon's sheep-nosed face, the mask is resting on the ground. it can be stretched out much further and also opened up to form a pair of powerful claws. along the edge of the mask is a fringe of inward-pointing spines like those which edge the leaf margins of a venus flytrap. the eyes are large and many-faceted and form the blunt-pointed corners of its head. the under-water battles in which these mud dragons, or dragon-fly nymphs, take part must be something terrible. it is recorded that in hungary 50,000 young fishes were put into a pond in which enormous numbers of these nymphs occurred and only fifty-four fishes survived. one is not surprised to learn, too, that they will eat each other up. on the whole, however, it is doubtful if between the flies and other injurious insects which the dragon-flies destroy in the air, and those larvæ of mosquitos which the water nymphs destroy in the ponds, there is any other family of insects toward which man should feel more indebted than toward the family of the odontata or dragon-flies. [illustration] an abandoned dragon case (_libellulid_) from this muddy outworn shell, left to decay at the bottom of a pool, there came, sometime last summer, a gorgeous, four-winged dragon-fly. a little after dawn, what was once this water nymph or mud dragon, tired perhaps of its mud existence, ready anyway for the transformation, crawled up out of the water upon some stone or stick and waited there for its back to split open up and down. it pulled its soft, boneless legs from their cases, now lying along the abandoned shell, its wings closely packed together from the two cases on its back and its head and jaws from out the broken head shell. even every air passage running through its body shed its parchment lining. soft and helpless it crawled away into the grass to wait until its wet, soft outer skeleton should harden and make it possible for the powerful wing muscles to pull against it and for the broad wing films to dry and straighten out. by noon the transformation was doubtless quite complete, and flitting across the pond went the recent inhabitant of this dragon-fly case. [illustration] the damsel fly (_agrion maculatum_, beauvois) most insects' legs are made to walk with, but those of the dragon-fly are not. they are bunched together so near the head that when the creature alights it can do little more than cling to what it lights upon. instead, the legs, with their spines, form a perfect basket, open towards the front, and thus become the organs with which flies are caught. this damsel fly, as it is called, is smaller and more delicate than the dragon-fly with quite a different head. it inhabits shrubby woodland and is not often seen. some of its tropical relatives are creatures of extraordinary fragility and delicacy. its wings, which move in perfect unison, although distinct, are operated by such ingenious mechanical devices within the body as to have long ago suggested a flying machine, and it is strange how like a dragon-fly professor langley's aerodrome, the first of them all, does look, although of course the aerodrome's wings were rigid. one realizes what enormous eyes these dragon-flies have when one begins to compare them with the size of the head. [illustration] the lace-winged fly and the aphis lion (_chrysopa sp._) so fragile and delicate does this creature appear that one can but wonder how it exists in the jungle of the grass. it has a disagreeable odor, it is said, and this is perhaps the reason that it holds its own, for it flies so slowly and is so conspicuous that it would otherwise fall a prey to every insectivorous bird and dragon-fly. its other self is the aphis lion, a wingless but very active creature which hunts for plant lice and when it finds one punctures it with its mandibles, raises it in the air and lets the blood trickle down into its mouth. it sucks eggs, too, and, shameless creature that it is, it sucks those of its own species, or would, at least, if the mother instinct had not taught the winged females to lay their eggs on the ends of long, slender, stiff stems which the undiscriminating larvæ cannot climb, much as a human mother puts the pot of jam on the top shelf where the children cannot get it. [illustration] the winged ant lion (_myrmeleon immaculatus_, de g.) as with many of these monsters, it is the other self, the larva of the winged ant lion, which is the fascinating study. this winged form merely lays the egg from which hatches out the soft, spindle-shaped young with jaws like pincers. this little creature at once marks out a tiny circle in some dry, sandy place, and begins to dig a pitfall for its prey, the ants. by pitching the sand with its broad, flat head, just as a man who digs a well would pitch out shovelfuls of dirt, the young ant lion excavates a tiny crater in the sand and hides itself in the crater's pit with its pincers sticking upwards through the fine, loose sand. any child who has jumped into his father's oat bin and tried to climb up the hillside of tumbling grain, knows how hard it is to get out. if he will imagine a hidden monster waiting with jaws opened at the bottom, he will have some sympathy for the unlucky ant which, slipping upon the rolling sand of the ant lion's crater slides slowly towards its pit--helped perhaps by dirt thrown on it by the ant lion. there seems to be no escape, and once within reach, the pincers close on it, and along their grooved inner faces, helped down by special tongue-like licking organs, the blood trickles and is guided to the mouth and thence into the stomach of the lion. and, curiously enough, this stomach is the only organ of digestion which the ant lion has. the stomach has no outlet and everything that is not digested must wait within it until the change of life brings on this winged state, when, like a tiny egg, the gathered excreta of the weeks and even months of feeding is thrown out from the body. perhaps this strange structure of the beast has something to do with the fact that it can live six months at least without a particle of food. [illustration] the scorpion fly (_panorpa confusa_, westw.) when the scorpion fly, standing still, raises above its head that pair of pincers which forms its tail, it seems almost like some two-headed monstrosity. it is interesting to know that the great aristotle knew these insects and thought of them as winged scorpions. it is only the males which have these curious tails. one might easily mistake the long snout for that of some sucking insect, but at the very tip there are two oblong, plate-shaped jaws, each armed with two very sharp teeth which enable the creature to live a carnivorous existence. although little is yet known about it, the scorpion fly appears, like a hyena, to live chiefly on dead animal matter, although it has been seen to attack injured or helpless insects. [illustration] a soldier termite (_termes flavipes_, koll.) although too poor a photograph, perhaps, to be worthy of a place in this collection, i have a sentimental reason for its reproduction here, for it brings to mind the days i spent in java lying flat on the ground studying the mushroom gardens of its tropical relatives. there are few more interesting creatures than these termites. they have been mushroom eaters and mushroom growers for thousands of years. they have their kings and queens, their workers and their soldiers, and they build gigantic caverns and tall mounds out of earth and half-digested wood. they tear to pieces and reduce to powder the dead trees of the tropical forests. their nymphs, the young kings and queens, are winged and perform a marriage flight, then, tearing off their own wings, they settle down to form a home of dirt and start a new and numerous colony. they seem to be upon a higher plane of social life than are the true ants, with which they are not in any way related, for the members of a species seem all to be quite friendly towards each other even though they may come from widely different nests. this is never true of ants. their queens are strange, egg-laying machines as large as a man's thumb, and they lay an egg a second for nobody knows how long. the workers shun the light and make long, covered ways of mud in which they go from place to place. with their untiring energy they honeycomb the building timbers of houses and ships in the tropics, making mere hollow shells of them, and so causing disasters of all kinds. some of their soldiers have mandibles so strong and sharp as to drive away all animals and make them formidable enemies of man, and some have squirt guns in their heads with which they spray their enemies with an obnoxious fluid. this tiny representative is all we have in maryland, but though so small and quiet in his habits he does great work among the pine stumps of my place. the stump of any pine that is felled one year can be kicked out the next, honeycombed with the chambered runways of this creature. beware lest any pine timbers of your house are near the ground and become infested with termites. the stinging insects (_hymenoptera_) this order is another one in which it takes an entomologist to see the characteristic likenesses in the various species of insects composing it. they all have membranous wings, and all the females have either a saw, an ovipositor or a sting at the tip of the abdomen. one may say, indeed, that practically all the stinging insects are in this order. bees, wasps, ants, gall flies, saw flies, and ichneumon flies are hymenoptera, the ants coming into this membranous winged order because the males and females are winged for the marriage flight, and lose them only after this is over. this is considered the highest order of insects because it contains members with the most marvelously developed instincts of any creatures in the world, insects whose habits, skill and industry excite our admiration and wonder. whether they live in colonies with highly developed social states, or whether they live the lives of solitary hermits, their industry and sacrifice to keep alive and perpetuate their kind, are things that make us wonder whether, after all, we have the right to call ourselves the most altruistic of living creatures. it is around these hymenoptera that centers the great question of what instinct is, and how it differs from intelligence. we cannot help but feel that it is memory of some kind, not necessarily like the memory of our own brains, but a race memory, transmitted in the almost microscopic egg laid by the mother before she dies. the instinct of the bee, or wasp, or ant is quite a different kind of thing from reason. since these creatures have stood still in their development, or at least have changed but little since tertiary times, it is quite possible that their present state represents the highest type of evolution along the lines of instinct. the power to reason, to meet a new emergency, are things which came much later in the development of the world, and man, the creature having them in the highest degree, seems destined to control all other creatures in the end. [illustration] the portrait of a bald-faced hornet (_vespula maculata_, linn.) i wish i could convey to you my sensation when, in hunting for the focus on my ground glass, this creature burst upon my sight. it was as though, exploring in some strange land, i suddenly stood face to face with a beast about which no schoolbook had ever taught me anything. it peered at me out of the gloom of imperfect focus, and it took me some time to realize that i was looking into the eyes of a bald-faced hornet. there is no wild creature in the northern united states that a man will run away from so fast as from a bald-faced hornet. at the tip of her flexible armor-plated abdomen is the poison-fed stiletto with which she drives off enemies from the nest or paralyzes her prey. her six powerful legs are spined to help her, no doubt, in climbing over the smooth surfaces of flowers and twigs. she has two kinds of eyes--three lens-shaped ones on top of her head and two marvelous compound ones composed of hundreds of little lenses, which take up half the head. just what she uses each kind for is still unknown. from her forehead hang ringed antennæ, which doubtless are the organs with which she scents the presence of her prey, and they may also help her find her way about. her massive jaws lie below her eyes and look like shears with jagged edges; they are meant for crushing, not for grinding, and with these she tears to pieces bits of wood and cements the particles together with the sticky secretion of her salivary glands, making thus the combs and shelter of her wood-pulp paper nest. she is an undeveloped female, but with the professional care of a baby's nurse she tends her sister hornets in the nest. on the wing, from daylight to dark, she scours the country for the flies and other insects with which to feed the young. of all the fly-destroyers which frequent the house she is perhaps the most efficient, pouncing upon the flies with murderous voracity, tearing off their heads and legs and wings, and macerating their bodies to a pulp to feed the hungry grub-like baby hornets which are hatching out in the paper nest over the front door. her life, and the life of every other worker, is ended by the autumn, and it is left to a few of the young queens to carry on the species. does this picture represent, i wonder, one of the nightmare visions which haunt the dreams of baby flies? [illustration] the queen hornet (_vespula maculata_, linn.) the summer was over but the cold weather had scarcely begun when i found this creature under a rotten log in the pasture. the paper nest over the front door was empty and rapidly falling to pieces, but even so, it was hard to believe that the active, dangerous creatures we had watched for so many weeks had suddenly disappeared, and that, of the whole busy colony, only a few females were left. there is something fascinating in the picture of the young queen hornet, after mating is over and all her relatives are dead, crawling away beneath some log and passing there the long cold winter. then, when spring has come, she emerges from her sleep, the only survivor of her race, and builds, unaided even by her mate, the beginning of a nest just large enough to hold her first-laid eggs. from these hatch out the grubs, which later, after days of feeding, emerge as workers, undeveloped females, and help build up around her a colony of hundreds of busy hornets. the death of the wasp and hornet workers does not seem to be a matter of cold alone, for, in the regions of perpetual summer, the workers of many species live short lives. they feel the cold, of course, as all our insects do, and inside the nest, on the shelves formed by the flat tops of the combs where the larvæ live, they find dry roosting places at night. the heat of their own bodies materially raises the temperature inside the nest. though many people think them just alike, the bees and wasps (the hornet is a kind of wasp) are very different creatures. the wasps have trim, slender forms with a few scattered hairs upon their bodies, whereas the bees are generally hairy and short bodied. they both build combs, but the wasps make theirs of paper wetted with saliva, while the bees build theirs of wax secreted from their bodies. the wasps depend upon fresh food gathered in the day's hunt through the air, whereas the bees store up their food in empty cells. the wasps' nests are the wigwams of a season, the bees' hives the more permanent abodes of a higher type of social beings. [illustration] the yellow jacket (_vespa carolina_, dru.) who has not wished that these brown and yellow striped creatures would build their nests where people could see them and be warned to stay away, instead of underneath the ground as they do now. they hunt in flocks, and it is no wonder that with the sides of their heads all eyes and with three other eyes on the top of the head they should quickly find anyone who treads on their underground nests. [illustration] one of the social wasps (_polistes metrica_, say) no insect's nest is better known than the small, hanging, paper comb of this social wasp. you find it under eaves and suspended from the ceiling of the porch and from the rafters of the barn. then, as the cold days of autumn come and the workers and males of the colony die off, their hibernating queens seek shelter from the cold in our houses. in the spring these queens start out to build a few small, paper cells with finely chewed up fibers of wood wet with sticky saliva. in these they rear up workers to help add new cells and gather food for a new family, and before the summer season has rolled by, the few small paper cells have grown to several scores. if you have the hardihood to stand quite close to one of these nests you will see the grubs with hungry-looking mouths, wiggling and stretching out their necks, each in a cell quite open to the air, waiting to be fed by its sister or the queen. as to which will come forth from these white grubs as queens, which as males, and which are doomed to be but workers--undeveloped females--nobody can foretell, but certain it is that there will be all three of these forms represented. [illustration] a mud dauber wasp (_sceliphron cementarium_, klug) think of all the marvelous mechanism and chemistry required in order that a wasp may feed its young upon fresh meat! the solitary wasps have stings whose venom is much less powerful than that of the bees. fabre declares that his experiments convince him that the reason may lie in the fact that for paralyzing its prey the wasp needs only a weak poison whereas when the bee stings it does so in self-defense and it stings to kill. the busy mud dauber females build their nests of mud brought from the nearest puddle and in each carefully made cell lay an egg and around it pack the paralyzed insects on which the voracious little grubs begin to feed as soon as they hatch out. by the time the young grubs have eaten up the food that has been so thoughtfully supplied by their parents and have changed from grub to pupa and emerged as flying, stinging wasps, their parents are dead and gone. imagine, if you can, a civilization in which the mothers slave for offspring which they never see, and the children grow up with no education, yet possessed of all the knowledge that their parents had. as sharpe remarks, the solitary wasps are among the most instinctive creatures of the animal kingdom. [illustration] the food of a mud dauber's baby this little white spider i found in the nest of a mud dauber wasp. how long this white spider would have lived its paralyzed existence i do not know. fabre has watched insects so paralyzed for six weeks, and this one was on my table for several weeks in june without moving and without showing any sign of decay. we are accustomed to think of the wonders of cold storage as a result of this age of invention, and to look upon its achievement as the accomplishment of the human brain. the mud dauber, in common with most of the so-called solitary wasps, possesses the means of paralyzing the nerve centers of its prey and thus preserving it alive for weeks in the nests of the baby wasps. with the most amazing aim it darts its poison sting between the joints in the armor plate of its victim and touches with a drop of poison one of the nerve ganglia which lies on the abdominal side of most insects. fabre has shown that the same result can be produced by a needle and a drop of ammonia, and insects paralyzed in this way hang, as it were, between life and death for weeks or months. if too heavy a dose is given the insect dies in a few hours and putrifies in a few days, and if given too light an application it soon recovers. different insects require different amounts of the poison to paralyze them and the solitary wasps make mistakes just as man would do. according to fabre these insects have also discovered that in certain species of their prey the nerve ganglia are grouped close together and can be easily reached with the poison while in others the ganglia are separated, and each ganglion must be touched. it is a weird thought that for thousands of centuries these creatures have had a perfectly satisfactory way of preserving and storing fresh food while man still kills his animal food and is now quarreling as to how it should be stored and whether if frozen for months it is really good to eat. [illustration] the fig insect on which depends a great plant industry (_blastophaga grossorum_, grav.) into every dried smyrna fig that you eat a queer little beast like this has crawled; unless she does so, no seeds will form, for the inside of a young fig is filled with flowers waiting to be dusted with pollen and it cannot develop until this is done. this tiny, female wasp, so small you can scarcely see her with the naked eye, is the pollen duster of this miniature flower garden. the blastophaga hatches out from a tiny egg which her mother lays in a special flower or gall in the flower cavity of a wild, inedible caprifig that came originally from the islands off the syrian coast. her mate, an ugly little thing with no wings at all, hatches out before she does and mates with her even before she comes out of her tiny cocoon. after wandering about among the stamens in the cavity in the caprifig until her back and sides are covered with pollen, she finds her way out through the hole in the end of the ripening wild fig and flies away in search of another young and ripening fig in whose gall flowers instinct impels her to lay her eggs. the larger, juicier smyrna fig attracts her, and she crawls inside, searching for gall flowers there. but the smyrna fig has no special places for her eggs and, after wandering around over the flowers in the floral cavity she wanders out again, or dies. but in this scramble over the sticky stigmas of the smyrna fig flowers, she irritates them and leaves upon them the pollen which she brought with her from the wild fig. this is what causes the young seeds of the smyrna fig to grow and the fig itself to swell and become the honey-sweet fruit which we eat. without the visits of this tiny wasp the figs either fall off on the ground when young, or else form insipid tasteless fruits. so it might be said that the great fig industry of smyrna hangs on the blundering instinct of this little creature. some enterprising californians brought over and planted orchards of the smyrna fig and could not understand why they did not bear. then they brought in the wild caprifig from smyrna and planted it side by side with the smyrna figs, but still with no result. finally the experts of the department of agriculture were called in and solved the problem by introducing the insect, which had been left behind. this little creature, in the picture, crawled out in my laboratory from a caprifig which doctor rixford, the fig expert of california, sent me, requesting that i photograph his pets. [illustration] the cow killer or velvet ant--a wingless wasp (_mutilla simillima_, sm.) can you imagine an insect daring enough to brave the stings of the thousands of workers in a bee's nest? this wingless, solitary female ant lives habitually in their nests and eats the food they have so busily gathered, an unbidden and probably a most unwelcome guest. powerful jaws, formidable sting, an armor-plated shell to protect her from the stings of the bees and wasps in whose nests she lives, seem to fit her for the strange life she leads. if you should find her mate he would doubtless be on the wing, for unlike all others of the order, it is the male alone which flies. so different from their mates do some of these male cow killers look that they have often been mistaken for quite different species. it is supposed that the female lays her eggs inside a bumble-bee grub and in a few days' time they hatch and eat the babies up, from the inside outwards. then they hatch again, so to speak, as full-fledged cow killers and feast upon the honey of their hosts. [illustration] the worker bumble-bee (_bombus vagans_, sm.) everybody has a friendly feeling for the bumble-bee, that clumsy rover of the clover field whose buzzing seems part of the still summer air. she is the real worker of the hive, an undeveloped female, her hind legs laden with a mass of pollen from the flowers she has visited, and her honey sac filled with nectar. as every boy who has hunted her nest will know, the bumble-bee lives in burrows under ground. the cells that she makes are of wax, secreted from special plates which lie arranged in rows beneath her hairy body. each cell is like a little jar, standing on end, quite different from the cells in a honey bee's comb. in some of these the eggs are laid and the baby bees hatch out, while others are filled up with nectar. while the bee is gathering pollen with her legs, she is also gathering nectar with her tongue and storing it in a special honey stomach from which she later regurgitates it into the honey cells in her nest. the nectar, when it is gathered, is thin, like the sap of the maple tree, and, like it, must be condensed. part of the water seems to be taken out in the honey stomach, and part evaporates from the honey cell. it will, perhaps, be a satisfaction to those who hate getting up early to know that there is a well-founded rumor that some bumble-bees have a trumpeter who, somewhere between three and four o'clock in the morning, wakes up the sleepy hive. [illustration] the pollen plates of the bumble-bee (_bombus americanorum_, fab.) if you will watch a bumble-bee closely as she crawls over the stamens of a wild rose, perhaps you can see that, although she covers the whole under part of her body with pollen, yet she scrapes off all she can with her feet and packs it in a yellow mass on the smooth, hairless segments of her large hind legs, the pollen plates as they are called. to make the pollen stick on these smooth plates and hang together during the flight to the nest, it is claimed by muller that the bee mixes nectar with the pollen grains. the kind of pollen that she gathers is, however, not generally the dusty kind, like the pollen of the pines or grasses, but the sticky kind that comes from insect-fertilized flowers. when the bumble-bee reaches her nest, she scrapes the pollen from the pollen basket and with it feeds the young, for pollen is the solid food of baby bees. there is one strange thing about these smooth pollen plate legs which, from our human, individualistic point of view, is hard to understand. it is only the workers, the undeveloped females, which have them; the legs of the males and of the queens are hairy and are not at all adapted for pollen gathering. thus, since workers bear no children, we see a race of parents transmitting to certain of their offspring characters which neither they nor any of their ancestors have ever possessed. [illustration] the bumble-bee at work this photograph shows the great hybridizer at work. she is on one of the single roses, her hairy body spread over the stamens which, with their yellow anthers, look like a circular bed of tulips. in the middle of the circle, where her right foot rests, is the stigma. if you will sometime take a hand lens and watch a bee at work (and if you don't get too close she will pay no attention to you), you will notice the clumsy way she crawls about, knocking the pollen off the stamens and getting her body covered with the yellow dust. as you watch, any feeling of there being some mystery about cross fertilization will be dispelled. how this same bumble-bee could crawl across another rose blossom _without_ leaving a trail of yellow pollen on its stigma would be the mystery! since the earliest days of the world of plants and insects, the bumble-bee and her ancestors have been at work mixing the pollen on hundreds of different plants and playing, doubtless, a perfectly gigantic role in the creation of the flowering plants which now cover vast areas of the globe. it is perhaps an idle speculation, but it would be interesting to know how many plants would become extinct were some disease or parasite to exterminate the bees. [illustration] the telltale milkweed pollen (_bombus sp._) although this bumble-bee was caught in flight across my meadow, her photograph shows beyond the shadow of a doubt that she had been a recent visitor to the blossom of some milkweed, for, projecting from her right hind leg and plainly visible, are the pollen masses of the milkweed flower. they look like little paddles and hang in pairs, although this you cannot see in the picture. we know that flowers depend upon the bees to fertilize them, but somehow i do not think we grasp the completeness of this dependence, nor realize how many flowers there are which, unless they have their own pet insect visitors, would soon become extinct. the milkweed lures its visitor with little cups of nectar, and beside each cup it sets a trap which is as carefully worked out as the steel traps which the modern trappers use. across the top of a little slit, wide below and narrow above, lie the small ends of the paddles or pollen masses, firmly joined together. as the bee alights to sup the nectar, her foot slips into this crack, and in trying to extricate it she pulls up the pair of paddles which fasten themselves onto a hair of her leg like a clothespin on a line. in drying, the paddles clap together in such a way that by the time another milkweed flower is visited they can slip with the leg right into the little slit and are broken off and left there as the bee again pulls out her leg. once inside, these pollen grains throw out a score or more of tiny, rootlike tubes which grow into the lining of the slit and carry to the ovary below the fertilizing germ plasm which makes the seed develop. the bumble-bee, of course, is strong enough to slip into these traps and pull her legs out as a routine thing, but many small moths and butterflies are not, and these get caught and die upon the blossoms. [illustration] the poor male bumble-bee (_bombus americanorum_, fab.) it was late in october before i noticed, flying low here and there across the clover tops, large bumble-bees, which seemed to be more covered with golden hairs than those which i had watched throughout the summer time. at first i thought them queens, but as their number multiplied i felt i must be mistaken, and one of my insect-knowing friends explained that they were only males, and that with the approaching days of winter they were all doomed to death. already, he pointed out, their wings were battered and frayed from flying against the autumn winds. the importance of the males! could there be a weaker argument against woman's suffrage than the one which has been brought forward that throughout nature the duty and the right of protection rests with the male? perhaps the drones do fight among themselves; but, as in most other fighting of the males, it is not to protect the nest or young from perishing, but merely to determine which one of them shall win the queen's attention. the males are stingless. in this world of the clover field all the work of the society is done by the queen herself, or by the workers, which are infertile females. apparently few males are wanted in the colony until late in the season, when, for a brief period, they are tolerated in considerable numbers as the necessary courtiers who accompany the young queens of late summer in their marriage flight. this takes place before the winter comes to kill all but a few fortunate queens, which find safe shelter in some crevice in the rocks or underneath some old, decaying log. [illustration] solitary leaf-cutting bee (_megachile brevis_, say) unlike the social honey and bumble-bees, this bee leads a solitary life. with her strong, saw-like jaws, the female makes her burrow in soft wood and lines it with bits of leaf which she has cut from some plant. when the leaves of plants in the garden have large round holes in them, in nine cases out of ten you may be sure that they have been cut by some solitary bee. when the burrow is complete she makes a ball of pollen and nectar, puts it in the bottom of the burrow, lays an egg upon it, and, with a wad of leaves, securely shuts it in; over this she lays down another food ball with its corresponding egg, and so on, until the burrow is full. [illustration] the stinger of the leaf-cutting bee (_megachile brevis_, say) the sting or "stinger" of a bee is indeed a most wonderful piece of mechanism. at the base, inside the body of the bee, lie bars or levers, operated by muscles, which push the darts out and draw them in. the poison sac lies just behind this mechanism and pours the poison into a set of cup-like valves, from which it escapes into the wound along longitudinal grooves in the sting like grease along the piston of an engine. the sting itself is not, then, hollow, like the spider's poison fang, but is a poisoned stiletto as long as the bee's foreleg which she can thrust in and out with incredible rapidity, and which, as everyone knows, can inflict a painful wound on creatures millions of times her size. [illustration] a common red ant (_formica sp._) ants are undoubtedly the highest, structurally and mechanically, of all insects, and at the same time the most efficient. their social organization has been the admiration of human beings from the earliest times, because the interest of the individual is merged so completely into that of the colony; but, as wheeler remarks, their organization must strike the individualist with horror. it is an organization of females, too. the workers are females, the soldiers are females, the nurses are females, and there is one queen mother for them all, who lays all the eggs of the colony. where are the males, those representatives of society, those voters of our human colonies? they do not exist as such, for the males of ant colonies are but mates for the young queens. together with them they leave the nest on their marriage day and together make the marriage flight, but as soon as this is over they die, and the colony gets on easily without them. to man, who is the most rapidly evolving organism on the earth today, it is a strange thought that the most highly developed insect which the world has produced, and which has not changed materially since the tertiary epoch, has relegated the males to the short-lived function of reproduction, leaving him no work to perform and getting rid of him as quickly as possible. why did the ants, with their marvelous instincts, fail to conquer the world? why have they stood still for thousands of years after they had perfected their social organization? did they go as far as evolution could go when it leaves the male out of account? it is perhaps a comfort to think that, after all, they have failed and the man-guided organization of human beings has surpassed them in its development! [illustration] a black ant it is strange to think that just because the sunlight which poured upon this little creature's shiny body was reflected back against a photographic plate, its rays being made to diverge widely in so doing, we can get an image of this tiny ant as large as though it were a mouse. what a world this would be to us had we microscopic vision! a thousand times as many beasts to look at, a thousand times as many things to see and understand! [illustration] ant gathering nectar from leaf nectaries of the chinese wood-oil tree a year ago i planted in my garden in maryland three young wood-oil trees from the yangtse valley of china, broad-leaved trees something like the catalpa. just where the leaf stem joined the leaf blade there were two curious, dark red, oval glands. the use of these i did not understand until one morning i discovered a big black ant on each leaf, and each ant was stationed at the base of its leaf near these glands and evidently was lapping up from them small drops of nectar which kept oozing out from the center of each gland. these rapidly-walking little creatures, which spend their time roaming everywhere, had discovered the use of these nectar glands although they were on the leaves of a plant which they had never seen before. whenever i touched a leaf the ant upon it ran about as if to frighten an intruder away, and i could not help but wonder if in china, where the wood-oil tree is at home, there might not be some stinging ant which takes upon itself to protect the foliage from the attacks of caterpillars, and gets, in payment for its labor, the nectar from these glands. the tropics are full of such agreements between the plants and the ants, and very effective ones they are, too. the photograph shows a black ant with antennæ extended, reaching over one of these big glands for the drop of nectar which glistens just below its head. on the other gland, just back of the ant's left antenna, a second drop of nectar can be seen. first one and then the other of these nectaries is licked clean by the ant, and so well was the work done that throughout the summer it was only when i visited the leaves in early morning, before the ants were out, that i could find the beads of nectar in their places in slight depressions in the glands. [illustration] the ichneumon fly: enemy of the spider (_crypturopsis sp._) it would seem as though the spider ought to be able to protect itself from such a beautiful creature as this, but she is said to be one of the spider's worst enemies. with the long ovipositors which may be seen in the photograph and might almost be mistaken for her sting, she lays her eggs inside those of the spider and the larvæ hatching from them eat up the spider's eggs. it is, so to say, an insect cuckoo, or worse than that, for the bird cuckoo only crowds the real children out of the nest, whereas the ichneumon fly devours them. from man's point of view, however, many of the tribe to which this so-called fly belongs are his good friends, for they hold in check some of the pests which molest the plants he lives upon. chapter iii the world of myriapods and a single land crustacean the world of myriapods and a land crustacean every one who has turned over a rotten log has seen these thousand-legged worms, and yet i wonder if many of us have known that these weird wandering things resemble, and are the direct living descendants of some of the first animals which crept up out of the sea to live upon the land. long ages before the warm-blooded, lung-breathing beasts came into existence, they worked their way up out of their water life among the corals, sponges, worms, shellfish, and fishes, onto the dry land. this was in the great transition time when all sorts of amphibian monsters came into existence, monsters which have long since passed away. these myriapods deserve respect if for no other reason than because their forefathers crept across the fresh footprints and mud wallows of the prehistoric monsters. how comes it that these forms of life have changed so little in a million years? [illustration] a millipede, one of the vegetarian myriapods slow moving ringed creature with four legs to each ring or segment of its body! watch its legs move in ripples as it finds its way over the ground! unlike its distant relative, the centipede, which has but two legs to each body ring and darts about with most surprising rapidity, this millipede lives mainly on plant food and seldom eats, as does its savage relative, the bodies of small animals which make their home beneath old rotten logs. [illustration] a centipede, one of the carniverous myriapods (_scolopendra sp._) perhaps no photograph in the collection serves better to illustrate the vastness of the back yard jungle than this one, for myriapods are the only representatives of a gigantic branch of the animal kingdom, the individuals of which are no more insects than they are lobsters. they live their lives altogether on or in the ground, they do not mind the cold as insects do. some of them have poison fangs and are reputed to inflict fatal wounds. their matrimonial habits are strange beyond belief. they compose a vast neglected assemblage of creatures which some of their admirers believe have a value which we do not yet understand nor appreciate; just as we did not appreciate the role of the mosquito or the earth worm until the researches of modern science taught us of their importance. a great untouched field for exploration lies here among the myriapods. [illustration] two pill bugs (_armadillidium vulgare_, fab.) down from the time of the prehistoric monsters comes the armadillidium, the last survivor of the great land crustaceans. as the serpents and the lizards are all that remain to remind us of the monsters which swarmed and fought in the tertiary swamps and oceans, so this strange creature, no larger than a pea, which rolls itself into a ball when you startle it as you turn over a stone in the meadow, is the survivor of the land crustacea which at one time, in countless forms, abounded everywhere in the then young world. it is not an insect, but a last survivor, related to the crabs more closely than to any other branch of the animal kingdom. index ant lion, winged, 207. ants--black, 247. common red, 245. gathering nectar, 249. aphis lion, 205. bee-flies 157, 159. bee, solitary leaf-cutting, 241. stinger of the leaf-cutting, 243. see bumble-bee. beetle, 111. blister, 127. chafer. spotted vine, 125. cucumber, twelve-spotted, 135. hippopotamus among the insects, 129. june, 113. "june bug," 117. june, larva of, 105. longicorn, 151. may, 117. predaceous ground, 121. sawyer, 137. scarab, an american, 133. twig-pruner, 119. weevil, clover leaf, 123. bugs, the order of, 87. always walking around, 105. ambush, 103. assassin, 97. assassination, 99. cicada, 101. lantern fly. 109. monster, queer, unworldly, 93. pill, 261. squash, 89. strange shaped, 91. tarnished plant, 107. thread legged, 95. bumble-bee, at work, 235. male, the poor, 239. pollen plates, 233. pollen, telltale milkweed, 237. worker, 231. butterfly,--baby of the skipper, 177. forepart of a brown, 173. swallow-tail of the spice-bush, larva of, 171. mummy case, 179. yellow, 175. caterpillar--devoured by a fungus, 189. unknown, 187. centipede, 259. cicada, 101. cockroach, 83. cowkiller, 229. crickets--camel or stone, 79. ground, 77. on the hearth, 75. mole, 81. stone or camel, 79. crustacean, 261. daddy-long-legs, 49. dragon-fly, 193. case, an abandoned, 201. and its victim, 195. nymph masked, 197. nymph unmasked, 199. fig insect, see wasp. fly, bee, 157, 159. crane, 141. damsel, 203. horsefly, 165. horsefly, green headed, 167. ichneumon, 251. lace-winged, 205. not a house fly, 168. robber, 143, 145, 147, 149, 151. scorpion, 209. syrphid, large, 161. grasshopper--baby, 57. ear under its wing, 63. good to eat, 61. hearing organ, 65. king, 55. skeleton, 59. harvestman, 49. hornet--bald-faced, 215. queen, 217. yellow jacket, 219. insects, feathered, 169. insects, nerve winged, 191. insects, stinging, 213. insects, straight-winged, 53. insects, two-winged, 139. katydid, 69. narrow-winged, 71. young, 73. locust, short-winged green, 67. mantis, praying, 85. mosquito, anopheles, 155. culex, 153. millipede, 257. moth, 181. not good to eat, 183. spectacle, hairy, 185. myriapods, 255. spider world, 16. spider--bird-dropping, 31. crab, 45. daddy-long-legs or harvestman, 49. from a fly's point of view, 37. grass, the male, 43. harvestman, or daddy-long-legs, 49. jumping, 19, 21, 23. male, a mature, 47. mother spider and nest, 39. orb-weaver with eggs, 35. orb-weaving, 33. spiny-bellied, 29. vagabond, 41. wolf-spider, 25. wolf-spider, skeleton of, 27. termite, soldier, 211. wasp--cow killer, 229. fig insect, 227. food of a mud dauber's baby, 225. mud dauber, 223. social, 221. velvet ant or cow killer, 229. wingless, 229. yellow jacket, 219. index to latin names acrosoma gracile, walck., 29. agelina nævia, walck., 43. agrion maculatum, beauvois, 203. agrynnis cybele, fab., 173. allorhina nitida, linn., 113, 115. anasa tristis, de g., 89. anopheles punctipennis, say, 155. apantesis nais attacked by empusa, sp., dru., 189. archytas aterrima, des., 163. armadillidium vulgare, fab., 261. blastophaga grossorum, grav., 227. blatella germanica, linn., 83. bombus americanorum, fab., 233, 239. sp., 237. vagans, sm., 231. brochymena arborea, say, 105. ceuthophilus uhleri, scudd., 79. chlænius æstivus, say, 121. chrysopa sp., 205. cicada sayi, grossb., 101. coleoptera, 111. colias philodice, gdt., 175. copris carolina, linn., 133. corynocoris distinctus, dallas, 93. crypturopsis sp., 251. culex sp., 153. dasyllis grossa, fab., 145, 147. deromyia, 151. diabrotica duodecim punctata, oliv., 135. dicromorpha viridis, scudd., 67. diptera, 139. dissosteira carolina, linn., 63, 65. dolomedes tenebrosus, hentz, 37. elaphidion atomaricum, dru., 119. emesa longipes, de g., 95. epeira domiciliorum, hentz, 35. trivittata, keys., 33. verrucosa, hentz, 31. epicanta marginata, fab., 127. erax æstuans, linn., 143. euchætes egle, dru., 185. eudamus tityrus, fab., 177. euschistus tristigmus, say, 91. formica sp., 245. gryllotalpa borealis, burm., 81. gryllus pennsylvanicus, burm., 75. helicoptera variegata, van d., 109. hemiptera, 87. hippiscus sp., 55. hymenoptera, 213. lachnosterna quercus, knoch, 117. leiobunum grande, weed, 49. lepidoptera, 169. libellulid, 197, 199, 201. limnobia sp., 141. lycosa carolinensis, walck, 25. punctulata, hentz, 27. lygus pratensis, linn., 107. macromia sp., 195. mallophora sp., 149. megachile brevis, say, 241, 243. melesia virginiensis, dru., 161. monohammus titilator, fab., 137. mutilla simillima, sm., 229. myriapods, 255. myrmeleon immaculatus, de g., 207. neuroptera, 191. orthoptera, 53. orthosoma brunneum, forst., 131. panorpa confusa, westw., 209. papilio troilus, linn., 171. paratenodera sinensis, sauss., 85. pardosa milvina, hentz, 41. pelidnota punctata, linn., 125. phidippus audax, hentz, 19. togatus, koch, 23. phymata pennsylvanica, handl., 103. phytonomus punctatus, fab., 123. polistes metrica, say, 221. prionus, sp., 129. pselliopus cinctus, fab., 97, 99. sceliphron cementarium, klug, 223. scolopendra sp., 259. scudderia sp., 69, 71, 73. sparnopolius fulvus, wied., 157. spogostylum simson, fab., 159. tabanus atratus, forst., 165. punctifer, o. s., 167. termes flavipes, koll., 211. vespula maculata, linn., 215, 217. vespa carolina, dru., 219. xysticus gulosus, keys., 45. transcribed from the 1912 hodder and stoughton edition by david price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk the life of the spider chapter i: the black-bellied tarantula the spider has a bad name: to most of us, she represents an odious, noxious animal, which every one hastens to crush under foot. against this summary verdict the observer sets the beast's industry, its talent as a weaver, its wiliness in the chase, its tragic nuptials and other characteristics of great interest. yes, the spider is well worth studying, apart from any scientific reasons; but she is said to be poisonous and that is her crime and the primary cause of the repugnance wherewith she inspires us. poisonous, i agree, if by that we understand that the animal is armed with two fangs which cause the immediate death of the little victims which it catches; but there is a wide difference between killing a midge and harming a man. however immediate in its effects upon the insect entangled in the fatal web, the spider's poison is not serious for us and causes less inconvenience than a gnat-bite. that, at least, is what we can safely say as regards the great majority of the spiders of our regions. nevertheless, a few are to be feared; and foremost among these is the malmignatte, the terror of the corsican peasantry. i have seen her settle in the furrows, lay out her web and rush boldly at insects larger than herself; i have admired her garb of black velvet speckled with carmine-red; above all, i have heard most disquieting stories told about her. around ajaccio and bonifacio, her bite is reputed very dangerous, sometimes mortal. the countryman declares this for a fact and the doctor does not always dare deny it. in the neighbourhood of pujaud, not far from avignon, the harvesters speak with dread of _theridion lugubre_, {1} first observed by leon dufour in the catalonian mountains; according to them, her bite would lead to serious accidents. the italians have bestowed a bad reputation on the tarantula, who produces convulsions and frenzied dances in the person stung by her. to cope with 'tarantism,' the name given to the disease that follows on the bite of the italian spider, you must have recourse to music, the only efficacious remedy, so they tell us. special tunes have been noted, those quickest to afford relief. there is medical choreography, medical music. and have we not the tarentella, a lively and nimble dance, bequeathed to us perhaps by the healing art of the calabrian peasant? must we take these queer things seriously or laugh at them? from the little that i have seen, i hesitate to pronounce an opinion. nothing tells us that the bite of the tarantula may not provoke, in weak and very impressionable people, a nervous disorder which music will relieve; nothing tells us that a profuse perspiration, resulting from a very energetic dance, is not likely to diminish the discomfort by diminishing the cause of the ailment. so far from laughing, i reflect and enquire, when the calabrian peasant talks to me of his tarantula, the pujaud reaper of his _theridion lugubre_, the corsican husbandman of his malmignatte. those spiders might easily deserve, at least partly, their terrible reputation. the most powerful spider in my district, the black-bellied tarantula, will presently give us something to think about, in this connection. it is not my business to discuss a medical point, i interest myself especially in matters of instinct; but, as the poison-fangs play a leading part in the huntress' manoeuvres of war, i shall speak of their effects by the way. the habits of the tarantula, her ambushes, her artifices, her methods of killing her prey: these constitute my subject. i will preface it with an account by leon dufour, {2} one of those accounts in which i used to delight and which did much to bring me into closer touch with the insect. the wizard of the landes tells us of the ordinary tarantula, that of the calabrias, observed by him in spain: '_lycosa tarantula_ by preference inhabits open places, dry, arid, uncultivated places, exposed to the sun. she lives generally--at least when full-grown--in underground passages, regular burrows, which she digs for herself. these burrows are cylindrical; they are often an inch in diameter and run into the ground to a depth of more than a foot; but they are not perpendicular. the inhabitant of this gut proves that she is at the same time a skilful hunter and an able engineer. it was a question for her not only of constructing a deep retreat that could hide her from the pursuit of her foes: she also had to set up her observatory whence to watch for her prey and dart out upon it. the tarantula provides for every contingency: the underground passage, in fact, begins by being vertical, but, at four or five inches from the surface, it bends at an obtuse angle, forms a horizontal turning and then becomes perpendicular once more. it is at the elbow of this tunnel that the tarantula posts herself as a vigilant sentry and does not for a moment lose sight of the door of her dwelling; it was there that, at the period when i was hunting her, i used to see those eyes gleaming like diamonds, bright as a cat's eyes in the dark. 'the outer orifice of the tarantula's burrow is usually surmounted by a shaft constructed throughout by herself. it is a genuine work of architecture, standing as much as an inch above the ground and sometimes two inches in diameter, so that it is wider than the burrow itself. this last circumstance, which seems to have been calculated by the industrious spider, lends itself admirably to the necessary extension of the legs at the moment when the prey is to be seized. the shaft is composed mainly of bits of dry wood joined by a little clay and so artistically laid, one above the other, that they form the scaffolding of a straight column, the inside of which is a hollow cylinder. the solidity of this tubular building, of this outwork, is ensured above all by the fact that it is lined, upholstered within, with a texture woven by the lycosa's {3} spinnerets and continued throughout the interior of the burrow. it is easy to imagine how useful this cleverly-manufactured lining must be for preventing landslip or warping, for maintaining cleanliness and for helping her claws to scale the fortress. 'i hinted that this outwork of the burrow was not there invariably; as a matter of fact, i have often come across tarantulas' holes without a trace of it, perhaps because it had been accidentally destroyed by the weather, or because the lycosa may not always light upon the proper building-materials, or, lastly, because architectural talent is possibly declared only in individuals that have reached the final stage, the period of perfection of their physical and intellectual development. 'one thing is certain, that i have had numerous opportunities of seeing these shafts, these out-works of the tarantula's abode; they remind me, on a larger scale, of the tubes of certain caddis-worms. the arachnid had more than one object in view in constructing them: she shelters her retreat from the floods; she protects it from the fall of foreign bodies which, swept by the wind, might end by obstructing it; lastly, she uses it as a snare by offering the flies and other insects whereon she feeds a projecting point to settle on. who shall tell us all the wiles employed by this clever and daring huntress? 'let us now say something about my rather diverting tarantula-hunts. the best season for them is the months of may and june. the first time that i lighted on this spider's burrows and discovered that they were inhabited by seeing her come to a point on the first floor of her dwelling--the elbow which i have mentioned--i thought that i must attack her by main force and pursue her relentlessly in order to capture her; i spent whole hours in opening up the trench with a knife a foot long by two inches wide, without meeting the tarantula. i renewed the operation in other burrows, always with the same want of success; i really wanted a pickaxe to achieve my object, but i was too far from any kind of house. i was obliged to change my plan of attack and i resorted to craft. necessity, they say, is the mother of invention. 'it occurred to me to take a stalk, topped with its spikelet, by way of a bait, and to rub and move it gently at the orifice of the burrow. i soon saw that the lycosa's attention and desires were roused. attracted by the bait, she came with measured steps towards the spikelet. i withdrew it in good time a little outside the hole, so as not to leave the animal time for reflexion; and the spider suddenly, with a rush, darted out of her dwelling, of which i hastened to close the entrance. the tarantula, bewildered by her unaccustomed liberty, was very awkward in evading my attempts at capture; and i compelled her to enter a paper bag, which i closed without delay. 'sometimes, suspecting the trap, or perhaps less pressed by hunger, she would remain coy and motionless, at a slight distance from the threshold, which she did not think it opportune to cross. her patience outlasted mine. in that case, i employed the following tactics: after making sure of the lycosa's position and the direction of the tunnel, i drove a knife into it on the slant, so as to take the animal in the rear and cut off its retreat by stopping up the burrow. i seldom failed in my attempt, especially in soil that was not stony. in these critical circumstances, either the tarantula took fright and deserted her lair for the open, or else she stubbornly remained with her back to the blade. i would then give a sudden jerk to the knife, which flung both the earth and the lycosa to a distance, enabling me to capture her. by employing this hunting-method, i sometimes caught as many as fifteen tarantulae within the space of an hour. 'in a few cases, in which the tarantula was under no misapprehension as to the trap which i was setting for her, i was not a little surprised, when i pushed the stalk far enough down to twist it round her hiding-place, to see her play with the spikelet more or less contemptuously and push it away with her legs, without troubling to retreat to the back of her lair. 'the apulian peasants, according to baglivi's {4} account, also hunt the tarantula by imitating the humming of an insect with an oat-stalk at the entrance to her burrow. i quote the passage: '"_ruricolae nostri quando eas captare volunt, ad illorum latibula accedunt, tenuisque avenacae fistulae sonum, apum murmuri non absimilem, modulantur. quo audito, ferox exit tarentula ut muscas vel alia hujus modi insecta, quorum murmur esse putat, captat; captatur tamen ista a rustico insidiatore_." {5} 'the tarantula, so dreadful at first sight, especially when we are filled with the idea that her bite is dangerous, so fierce in appearance, is nevertheless quite easy to tame, as i have often found by experiment. 'on the 7th of may 1812, while at valencia, in spain, i caught a fair sized male tarantula, without hurting him, and imprisoned him in a glass jar, with a paper cover in which i cut a trap-door. at the bottom of the jar i put a paper bag, to serve as his habitual residence. i placed the jar on a table in my bedroom, so as to have him under frequent observation. he soon grew accustomed to captivity and ended by becoming so familiar that he would come and take from my fingers the live fly which i gave him. after killing his victim with the fangs of his mandibles, he was not satisfied, like most spiders, to suck her head: he chewed her whole body, shoving it piecemeal into his mouth with his palpi, after which he threw up the masticated teguments and swept them away from his lodging. 'having finished his meal, he nearly always made his toilet, which consisted in brushing his palpi and mandibles, both inside and out, with his front tarsi. after that, he resumed his air of motionless gravity. the evening and the night were his time for taking his walks abroad. i often heard him scratching the paper of the bag. these habits confirm the opinion, which i have already expressed elsewhere, that most spiders have the faculty of seeing by day and night, like cats. 'on the 28th of june, my tarantula cast his skin. it was his last moult and did not perceptibly alter either the colour of his attire or the dimensions of his body. on the 14th of july, i had to leave valencia; and i stayed away until the 23rd. during this time, the tarantula fasted; i found him looking quite well on my return. on the 20th of august, i again left for a nine days' absence, which my prisoner bore without food and without detriment to his health. on the 1st of october, i once more deserted the tarantula, leaving him without provisions. on the 21st, i was fifty miles from valencia and, as i intended to remain there, i sent a servant to fetch him. i was sorry to learn that he was not found in the jar, and i never heard what became of him. 'i will end my observations on the tarantulae with a short description of a curious fight between those animals. one day, when i had had a successful hunt after these lycosae, i picked out two full-grown and very powerful males and brought them together in a wide jar, in order to enjoy the sight of a combat to the death. after walking round the arena several times, to try and avoid each other, they were not slow in placing themselves in a warlike attitude, as though at a given signal. i saw them, to my surprise, take their distances and sit up solemnly on their hind-legs, so as mutually to present the shield of their chests to each other. after watching them face to face like that for two minutes, during which they had doubtless provoked each other by glances that escaped my own, i saw them fling themselves upon each other at the same time, twisting their legs round each other and obstinately struggling to bite each other with the fangs of the mandibles. whether from fatigue or from convention, the combat was suspended; there was a few seconds' truce; and each athlete moved away and resumed his threatening posture. this circumstance reminded me that, in the strange fights between cats, there are also suspensions of hostilities. but the contest was soon renewed between my two tarantulae with increased fierceness. one of them, after holding victory in the balance for a while, was at last thrown and received a mortal wound in the head. he became the prey of the conqueror, who tore open his skull and devoured it. after this curious duel, i kept the victorious tarantula alive for several weeks.' my district does not boast the ordinary tarantula, the spider whose habits have been described above by the wizard of the landes; but it possesses an equivalent in the shape of the black-bellied tarantula, or narbonne lycosa, half the size of the other, clad in black velvet on the lower surface, especially under the belly, with brown chevrons on the abdomen and grey and white rings around the legs. her favourite home is the dry, pebbly ground, covered with sun-scorched thyme. in my _harmas_ {6} laboratory there are quite twenty of this spider's burrows. rarely do i pass by one of these haunts without giving a glance down the pit where gleam, like diamonds, the four great eyes, the four telescopes, of the hermit. the four others, which are much smaller, are not visible at that depth. would i have greater riches, i have but to walk a hundred yards from my house, on the neighbouring plateau, once a shady forest, to-day a dreary solitude where the cricket browses and the wheat-ear flits from stone to stone. the love of lucre has laid waste the land. because wine paid handsomely, they pulled up the forest to plant the vine. then came the phylloxera, the vine-stocks perished and the once green table-land is now no more than a desolate stretch where a few tufts of hardy grasses sprout among the pebbles. this waste-land is the lycosa's paradise: in an hour's time, if need were, i should discover a hundred burrows within a limited range. these dwellings are pits about a foot deep, perpendicular at first and then bent elbow-wise. the average diameter is an inch. on the edge of the hole stands a kerb, formed of straw, bits and scraps of all sorts and even small pebbles, the size of a hazel-nut. the whole is kept in place and cemented with silk. often, the spider confines herself to drawing together the dry blades of the nearest grass, which she ties down with the straps from her spinnerets, without removing the blades from the stems; often, also, she rejects this scaffolding in favour of a masonry constructed of small stones. the nature of the kerb is decided by the nature of the materials within the lycosa's reach, in the close neighbourhood of the building-yard. there is no selection: everything meets with approval, provided that it be near at hand. economy of time, therefore, causes the defensive wall to vary greatly as regards its constituent elements. the height varies also. one enclosure is a turret an inch high; another amounts to a mere rim. all have their parts bound firmly together with silk; and all have the same width as the subterranean channel, of which they are the extension. there is here no difference in diameter between the underground manor and its outwork, nor do we behold, at the opening, the platform which the turret leaves to give free play to the italian tarantula's legs. the black-bellied tarantula's work takes the form of a well surmounted by its kerb. when the soil is earthy and homogeneous, the architectural type is free from obstructions and the spider's dwelling is a cylindrical tube; but, when the site is pebbly, the shape is modified according to the exigencies of the digging. in the second case, the lair is often a rough, winding cave, at intervals along whose inner wall stick blocks of stone avoided in the process of excavation. whether regular or irregular, the house is plastered to a certain depth with a coat of silk, which prevents earth-slips and facilitates scaling when a prompt exit is required. baglivi, in his unsophisticated latin, teaches us how to catch the tarantula. i became his _rusticus insidiator_; i waved a spikelet at the entrance of the burrow to imitate the humming of a bee and attract the attention of the lycosa, who rushes out, thinking that she is capturing a prey. this method did not succeed with me. the spider, it is true, leaves her remote apartments and comes a little way up the vertical tube to enquire into the sounds at her door; but the wily animal soon scents a trap; it remains motionless at mid-height and, at the least alarm, goes down again to the branch gallery, where it is invisible. leon dufour's appears to me a better method if it were only practicable in the conditions wherein i find myself. to drive a knife quickly into the ground, across the burrow, so as to cut off the tarantula's retreat when she is attracted by the spikelet and standing on the upper floor, would be a manoeuvre certain of success, if the soil were favourable. unfortunately, this is not so in my case: you might as well try to dig a knife into a block of tufa. other stratagems become necessary. here are two which were successful: i recommend them to future tarantula-hunters. i insert into the burrow, as far down as i can, a stalk with a fleshy spikelet, which the spider can bite into. i move and turn and twist my bait. the tarantula, when touched by the intruding body, contemplates self-defence and bites the spikelet. a slight resistance informs my fingers that the animal has fallen into the trap and seized the tip of the stalk in its fangs. i draw it to me, slowly, carefully; the spider hauls from below, planting her legs against the wall. it comes, it rises. i hide as best i may, when the spider enters the perpendicular tunnel: if she saw me, she would let go the bait and slip down again. i thus bring her, by degrees, to the orifice. this is the difficult moment. if i continue the gentle movement, the spider, feeling herself dragged out of her home, would at once run back indoors. it is impossible to get the suspicious animal out by this means. therefore, when it appears at the level of the ground, i give a sudden pull. surprised by this foul play, the tarantula has no time to release her hold; gripping the spikelet, she is thrown some inches away from the burrow. her capture now becomes an easy matter. outside her own house, the lycosa is timid, as though scared, and hardly capable of running away. to push her with a straw into a paper bag is the affair of a second. it requires some patience to bring the tarantula who has bitten into the insidious spikelet to the entrance of the burrow. the following method is quicker: i procure a supply of live bumble-bees. i put one into a little bottle with a mouth just wide enough to cover the opening of the burrow; and i turn the apparatus thus baited over the said opening. the powerful bee at first flutters and hums about her glass prison; then, perceiving a burrow similar to that of her family, she enters it without much hesitation. she is extremely ill-advised: while she goes down, the spider comes up; and the meeting takes place in the perpendicular passage. for a few moments, the ear perceives a sort of death-song: it is the humming of the bumble-bee, protesting against the reception given her. this is followed by a long silence. then i remove the bottle and dip a long-jawed forceps into the pit. i withdraw the bumble-bee, motionless, dead, with hanging proboscis. a terrible tragedy must have happened. the spider follows, refusing to let go so rich a booty. game and huntress are brought to the orifice. sometimes, mistrustful, the lycosa goes in again; but we have only to leave the bumble-bee on the threshold of the door, or even a few inches away, to see her reappear, issue from her fortress and daringly recapture her prey. this is the moment: the house is closed with the finger, or a pebble and, as baglivi says, '_captatur tamen ista a rustico insidiatore_,' to which i will add, '_adjuvante bombo_.' {7} the object of these hunting methods was not exactly to obtain tarantulae; i had not the least wish to rear the spider in a bottle. i was interested in a different matter. here, thought i, is an ardent huntress, living solely by her trade. she does not prepare preserved foodstuffs for her offspring; {8} she herself feeds on the prey which she catches. she is not a 'paralyzer,' {9} who cleverly spares her quarry so as to leave it a glimmer of life and keep it fresh for weeks at a time; she is a killer, who makes a meal off her capture on the spot. with her, there is no methodical vivisection, which destroys movement without entirely destroying life, but absolute death, as sudden as possible, which protects the assailant from the counter-attacks of the assailed. her game, moreover, is essentially bulky and not always of the most peaceful character. this diana, ambushed in her tower, needs a prey worthy of her prowess. the big grasshopper, with the powerful jaws; the irascible wasp; the bee, the bumble-bee and other wearers of poisoned daggers must fall into the ambuscade from time to time. the duel is nearly equal in point of weapons. to the venomous fangs of the lycosa the wasp opposes her venomous stiletto. which of the two bandits shall have the best of it? the struggle is a hand-to-hand one. the tarantula has no secondary means of defence, no cord to bind her victim, no trap to subdue her. when the epeira, or garden spider, sees an insect entangled in her great upright web, she hastens up and covers the captive with corded meshes and silk ribbons by the armful, making all resistance impossible. when the prey is solidly bound, a prick is carefully administered with the poison-fangs; then the spider retires, waiting for the death-throes to calm down, after which the huntress comes back to the game. in these conditions, there is no serious danger. in the case of the lycosa, the job is riskier. she has naught to serve her but her courage and her fangs and is obliged to leap upon the formidable prey, to master it by her dexterity, to annihilate it, in a measure, by her swift-slaying talent. annihilate is the word: the bumble-bees whom i draw from the fatal hole are a sufficient proof. as soon as that shrill buzzing, which i called the death-song, ceases, in vain i hasten to insert my forceps: i always bring out the insect dead, with slack proboscis and limp legs. scarce a few quivers of those legs tell me that it is a quite recent corpse. the bumble-bee's death is instantaneous. each time that i take a fresh victim from the terrible slaughter-house, my surprise is renewed at the sight of its sudden immobility. nevertheless, both animals have very nearly the same strength; for i choose my bumble-bees from among the largest (_bombus hortorum_ and _b. terrestris_). their weapons are almost equal: the bee's dart can bear comparison with the spider's fangs; the sting of the first seems to me as formidable as the bite of the second. how comes it that the tarantula always has the upper hand and this moreover in a very short conflict, whence she emerges unscathed? there must certainly be some cunning strategy on her part. subtle though her poison may be, i cannot believe that its mere injection, at any point whatever of the victim, is enough to produce so prompt a catastrophe. the ill-famed rattlesnake does not kill so quickly, takes hours to achieve that for which the tarantula does not require a second. we must, therefore, look for an explanation of this sudden death to the vital importance of the point attacked by the spider, rather than to the virulence of the poison. what is this point? it is impossible to recognize it on the bumble-bees. they enter the burrow; and the murder is committed far from sight. nor does the lens discover any wound upon the corpse, so delicate are the weapons that produce it. one would have to see the two adversaries engage in a direct contest. i have often tried to place a tarantula and a bumble-bee face to face in the same bottle. the two animals mutually flee each other, each being as much upset as the other at its captivity. i have kept them together for twenty-four hours, without aggressive display on either side. thinking more of their prison than of attacking each other, they temporize, as though indifferent. the experiment has always been fruitless. i have succeeded with bees and wasps, but the murder has been committed at night and has taught me nothing. i would find both insects, next morning, reduced to a jelly under the spider's mandibles. a weak prey is a mouthful which the spider reserves for the calm of the night. a prey capable of resistance is not attacked in captivity. the prisoner's anxiety cools the hunter's ardour. the arena of a large bottle enables each athlete to keep out of the other's way, respected by her adversary, who is respected in her turn. let us reduce the lists, diminish the enclosure. i put bumble-bee and tarantula into a test-tube that has only room for one at the bottom. a lively brawl ensues, without serious results. if the bumble-bee be underneath, she lies down on her back and with her legs wards off the other as much as she can. i do not see her draw her sting. the spider, meanwhile, embracing the whole circumference of the enclosure with her long legs, hoists herself a little upon the slippery surface and removes herself as far as possible from her adversary. there, motionless, she awaits events, which are soon disturbed by the fussy bumble-bee. should the latter occupy the upper position, the tarantula protects herself by drawing up her legs, which keep the enemy at a distance. in short, save for sharp scuffles when the two champions are in touch, nothing happens that deserves attention. there is no duel to the death in the narrow arena of the test-tube, any more than in the wider lists afforded by the bottle. utterly timid once she is away from home, the spider obstinately refuses the battle; nor will the bumble-bee, giddy though she be, think of striking the first blow. i abandon experiments in my study. we must go direct to the spot and force the duel upon the tarantula, who is full of pluck in her own stronghold. only, instead of the bumble-bee, who enters the burrow and conceals her death from our eyes, it is necessary to substitute another adversary, less inclined to penetrate underground. there abounds in the garden, at this moment, on the flowers of the common clary, one of the largest and most powerful bees that haunt my district, the carpenter-bee (_xylocopa violacea_), clad in black velvet, with wings of purple gauze. her size, which is nearly an inch, exceeds that of the bumble-bee. her sting is excruciating and produces a swelling that long continues painful. i have very exact memories on this subject, memories that have cost me dear. here indeed is an antagonist worthy of the tarantula, if i succeed in inducing the spider to accept her. i place a certain number, one by one, in bottles small in capacity, but having a wide neck capable of surrounding the entrance to the burrow. as the prey which i am about to offer is capable of overawing the huntress, i select from among the tarantulae the lustiest, the boldest, those most stimulated by hunger. the spikeleted stalk is pushed into the burrow. when the spider hastens up at once, when she is of a good size, when she climbs boldly to the aperture of her dwelling, she is admitted to the tourney; otherwise, she is refused. the bottle, baited with a carpenter-bee, is placed upside down over the door of one of the elect. the bee buzzes gravely in her glass bell; the huntress mounts from the recesses of the cave; she is on the threshold, but inside; she looks; she waits. i also wait. the quarters, the half-hours pass: nothing. the spider goes down again: she has probably judged the attempt too dangerous. i move to a second, a third, a fourth burrow: still nothing; the huntress refuses to leave her lair. fortune at last smiles upon my patience, which has been heavily tried by all these prudent retreats and particularly by the fierce heat of the dogdays. a spider suddenly rushes from her hole: she has been rendered warlike, doubtless, by prolonged abstinence. the tragedy that happens under the cover of the bottle lasts for but the twinkling of an eye. it is over: the sturdy carpenter-bee is dead. where did the murderess strike her? that is easily ascertained: the tarantula has not let go; and her fangs are planted in the nape of the neck. the assassin has the knowledge which i suspected: she has made for the essentially vital centre, she has stung the insect's cervical ganglia with her poison-fangs. in short, she has bitten the only point a lesion in which produces sudden death. i was delighted with this murderous skill, which made amends for the blistering which my skin received in the sun. once is not custom: one swallow does not make a summer. is what i have just seen due to accident or to premeditation? i turn to other lycosae. many, a deal too many for my patience, stubbornly refuse to dart from their haunts in order to attack the carpenter-bee. the formidable quarry is too much for their daring. shall not hunger, which brings the wolf from the wood, also bring the tarantula out of her hole? two, apparently more famished than the rest, do at last pounce upon the bee and repeat the scene of murder before my eyes. the prey, again bitten in the neck, exclusively in the neck, dies on the instant. three murders, perpetrated in my presence under identical conditions, represent the fruits of my experiment pursued, on two occasions, from eight o'clock in the morning until twelve midday. i had seen enough. the quick insect-killer had taught me her trade as had the paralyzer {10} before her: she had shown me that she is thoroughly versed in the art of the butcher of the pampas. {11} the tarantula is an accomplished _desnucador_. it remained to me to confirm the open-air experiment with experiments in the privacy of my study. i therefore got together a menagerie of these poisonous spiders, so as to judge of the virulence of their venom and its effect according to the part of the body injured by the fangs. a dozen bottles and test-tubes received the prisoners, whom i captured by the methods known to the reader. to one inclined to scream at the sight of a spider, my study, filled with odious lycosae, would have presented a very uncanny appearance. though the tarantula scorns or rather fears to attack an adversary placed in her presence in a bottle, she scarcely hesitates to bite what is thrust beneath her fangs. i take her by the thorax with my forceps and present to her mouth the animal which i wish stung. forthwith, if the spider be not already tired by experiments, the fangs are raised and inserted. i first tried the effects of the bite upon the carpenter-bee. when struck in the neck, the bee succumbs at once. it was the lightning death which i witnessed on the threshold of the burrows. when struck in the abdomen and then placed in a large bottle that leaves its movements free, the insect seems, at first, to have suffered no serious injury. it flutters about and buzzes. but half an hour has not elapsed before death is imminent. the insect lies motionless upon its back or side. at most, a few movements of the legs, a slight pulsation of the belly, continuing till the morrow, proclaim that life has not yet entirely departed. then everything ceases: the carpenter-bee is a corpse. the importance of this experiment compels our attention. when stung in the neck, the powerful bee dies on the spot; and the spider has not to fear the dangers of a desperate struggle. stung elsewhere, in the abdomen, the insect is capable, for nearly half an hour, of making use of its dart, its mandibles, its legs; and woe to the lycosa whom the stiletto reaches. i have seen some who, stabbed in the mouth while biting close to the sting, died of the wound within the twenty-four hours. that dangerous prey, therefore, requires instantaneous death, produced by the injury to the nerve-centres of the neck; otherwise, the hunter's life would often be in jeopardy. the grasshopper order supplied me with a second series of victims: green grasshoppers as long as one's finger, large-headed locusts, ephippigerae. {12} the same result follows when these are bitten in the neck: lightning death. when injured elsewhere, notably in the abdomen, the subject of the experiment resists for some time. i have seen a grasshopper, bitten in the belly, cling firmly for fifteen hours to the smooth, upright wall of the glass bell that constituted his prison. at last, he dropped off and died. where the bee, that delicate organism, succumbs in less than half an hour, the grasshopper, coarse ruminant that he is, resists for a whole day. put aside these differences, caused by unequal degrees of organic sensitiveness, and we sum up as follows: when bitten by the tarantula in the neck, an insect, chosen from among the largest, dies on the spot; when bitten elsewhere, it perishes also, but after a lapse of time which varies considerably in the different entomological orders. this explains the long hesitation of the tarantula, so wearisome to the experimenter when he presents to her, at the entrance to the burrow, a rich, but dangerous prey. the majority refuse to fling themselves upon the carpenter-bee. the fact is that a quarry of this kind cannot be seized recklessly: the huntress who missed her stroke by biting at random would do so at the risk of her life. the nape of the neck alone possesses the desired vulnerability. the adversary must be nipped there and no elsewhere. not to floor her at once would mean to irritate her and make her more dangerous than ever. the spider is well aware of this. in the safe shelter of her threshold, therefore, prepared to beat a quick retreat if necessary, she watches for the favourable moment; she waits for the big bee to face her, when the neck is easily grabbed. if this condition of success offer, she leaps out and acts; if not, weary of the violent evolutions of the quarry, she retires indoors. and that, no doubt, is why it took me two sittings of four hours apiece to witness three assassinations. formerly, instructed by the paralysing wasps, i had myself tried to produce paralysis by injecting a drop of ammonia into the thorax of those insects, such as weevils, buprestes, {13} and dung-beetles, whose compact nervous system assists this physiological operation. i showed myself a ready pupil to my masters' teaching and used to paralyze a buprestis or a weevil almost as well as a cerceris {14} could have done. why should i not to-day imitate that expert butcher, the tarantula? with the point of a fine needle, i inject a tiny drop of ammonia at the base of the skull of a carpenter-bee or a grasshopper. the insect succumbs then and there, without any other movement than wild convulsions. when attacked by the acrid fluid, the cervical ganglia cease to do their work; and death ensues. nevertheless, this death is not immediate; the throes last for some time. the experiment is not wholly satisfactory as regards suddenness. why? because the liquid which i employ, ammonia, cannot be compared, for deadly efficacy, with the lycosa's poison, a pretty formidable poison, as we shall see. i make a tarantula bite the leg of a young, well-fledged sparrow, ready to leave the nest. a drop of blood flows; the wounded spot is surrounded by a reddish circle, changing to purple. the bird almost immediately loses the use of its leg, which drags, with the toes doubled in; it hops upon the other. apart from this, the patient does not seem to trouble much about his hurt; his appetite is good. my daughters feed him on flies, bread-crumb, apricot-pulp. he is sure to get well, he will recover his strength; the poor victim of the curiosity of science will be restored to liberty. this is the wish, the intention of us all. twelve hours later, the hope of a cure increases; the invalid takes nourishment readily; he clamours for it, if we keep him waiting. but the leg still drags. i set this down to a temporary paralysis which will soon disappear. two days after, he refuses his food. wrapping himself in his stoicism and his rumpled feathers, the sparrow hunches into a ball, now motionless, now twitching. my girls take him in the hollow of their hands and warm him with their breath. the spasms become more frequent. a gasp proclaims that all is over. the bird is dead. there was a certain coolness among us at the evening-meal. i read mute reproaches, because of my experiment, in the eyes of my home-circle; i read an unspoken accusation of cruelty all around me. the death of the unfortunate sparrow had saddened the whole family. i myself was not without some remorse of conscience: the poor result achieved seemed to me too dearly bought. i am not made of the stuff of those who, without turning a hair, rip up live dogs to find out nothing in particular. nevertheless, i had the courage to start afresh, this time on a mole caught ravaging a bed of lettuces. there was a danger lest my captive, with his famished stomach, should leave things in doubt, if we had to keep him for a few days. he might die not of his wound, but of inanition, if i did not succeed in giving him suitable food, fairly plentiful and dispensed at fairly frequent intervals. in that case, i ran a risk of ascribing to the poison what might well be the result of starvation. i must therefore begin by finding out if it was possible for me to keep the mole alive in captivity. the animal was put into a large receptacle from which it could not get out and fed on a varied diet of insects--beetles, grasshoppers, especially cicadae {15}--which it crunched up with an excellent appetite. twenty-four hours of this regimen convinced me that the mole was making the best of the bill of fare and taking kindly to his captivity. i make the tarantula bite him at the tip of the snout. when replaced in his cage, the mole keeps on scratching his nose with his broad paws. the thing seems to burn, to itch. henceforth, less and less of the provision of cicadae is consumed; on the evening of the following day, it is refused altogether. about thirty-six hours after being bitten, the mole dies during the night and certainly not from inanition, for there are still half a dozen live cicadae in the receptacle, as well as a few beetles. the bite of the black-bellied tarantula is therefore dangerous to other animals than insects: it is fatal to the sparrow, it is fatal to the mole. up to what point are we to generalize? i do not know, because my enquiries extended no further. nevertheless, judging from the little that i saw, it appears to me that the bite of this spider is not an accident which man can afford to treat lightly. this is all that i have to say to the doctors. to the philosophical entomologists i have something else to say: i have to call their attention to the consummate knowledge of the insect-killers, which vies with that of the paralyzers. i speak of insect-killers in the plural, for the tarantula must share her deadly art with a host of other spiders, especially with those who hunt without nets. these insect-killers, who live on their prey, strike the game dead instantaneously by stinging the nerve-centres of the neck; the paralyzers, on the other hand, who wish to keep the food fresh for their larvae, destroy the power of movement by stinging the game in the other nerve-centres. both of them attack the nervous chain, but they select the point according to the object to be attained. if death be desired, sudden death, free from danger to the huntress, the insect is attacked in the neck; if mere paralysis be required, the neck is respected and the lower segments--sometimes one alone, sometimes three, sometimes all or nearly all, according to the special organization of the victim--receive the dagger-thrust. even the paralyzers, at least some of them, are acquainted with the immense vital importance of the nerve-centres of the neck. we have seen the hairy ammophila munching the caterpillar's brain, the languedocian sphex munching the brain of the ephippigera, with the object of inducing a passing torpor. but they simply squeeze the brain and do even this with a wise discretion; they are careful not to drive their sting into this fundamental centre of life; not one of them ever thinks of doing so, for the result would be a corpse which the larva would despise. the spider, on the other hand, inserts her double dirk there and there alone; any elsewhere it would inflict a wound likely to increase resistance through irritation. she wants a venison for consumption without delay and brutally thrusts her fangs into the spot which the others so conscientiously respect. if the instinct of these scientific murderers is not, in both cases, an inborn predisposition, inseparable from the animal, but an acquired habit, then i rack my brain in vain to understand how that habit can have been acquired. shroud these facts in theoretic mists as much as you will, you shall never succeed in veiling the glaring evidence which they afford of a pre-established order of things. chapter ii: the banded epeira in the inclement season of the year, when the insect has nothing to do and retires to winter quarters, the observer profits by the mildness of the sunny nooks and grubs in the sand, lifts the stones, searches the brushwood; and often he is stirred with a pleasurable excitement, when he lights upon some ingenious work of art, discovered unawares. happy are the simple of heart whose ambition is satisfied with such treasure-trove! i wish them all the joys which it has brought me and which it will continue to bring me, despite the vexations of life, which grow ever more bitter as the years follow their swift downward course. should the seekers rummage among the wild grasses in the osier-beds and copses, i wish them the delight of finding the wonderful object that, at this moment, lies before my eyes. it is the work of a spider, the nest of the banded epeira (_epeira fasciata_, latr.). a spider is not an insect, according to the rules of classification; and as such the epeira seems out of place here. {16} a fig for systems! it is immaterial to the student of instinct whether the animal have eight legs instead of six, or pulmonary sacs instead of air-tubes. besides, the araneida belong to the group of segmented animals, organized in sections placed end to end, a structure to which the terms 'insect' and 'entomology' both refer. formerly, to describe this group, people said 'articulate animals,' an expression which possessed the drawback of not jarring on the ear and of being understood by all. this is out of date. nowadays, they use the euphonious term 'arthropoda.' and to think that there are men who question the existence of progress! infidels! say, 'articulate,' first; then roll out, 'arthropoda;' and you shall see whether zoological science is not progressing! in bearing and colouring, _epeira fasciata_ is the handsomest of the spiders of the south. on her fat belly, a mighty silk-warehouse nearly as large as a hazel-nut, are alternate yellow, black and silver sashes, to which she owes her epithet of banded. around that portly abdomen, the eight long legs, with their darkand pale-brown rings, radiate like spokes. any small prey suits her; and, as long as she can find supports for her web, she settles wherever the locust hops, wherever the fly hovers, wherever the dragon-fly dances or the butterfly flits. as a rule, because of the greater abundance of game, she spreads her toils across some brooklet, from bank to bank among the rushes. she also stretches them, but not assiduously, in the thickets of evergreen oak, on the slopes with the scrubby greenswards, dear to the grasshoppers. her hunting-weapon is a large upright web, whose outer boundary, which varies according to the disposition of the ground, is fastened to the neighbouring branches by a number of moorings. the structure is that adopted by the other weaving spiders. straight threads radiate at equal intervals from a central point. over this framework runs a continuous spiral thread, forming chords, or cross-bars, from the centre to the circumference. it is magnificently large and magnificently symmetrical. in the lower part of the web, starting from the centre, a wide opaque ribbon descends zigzag-wise across the radii. this is the epeira's trademark, the flourish of an artist initialling his creation. '_fecit_ soand-so,' she seems to say, when giving the last throw of the shuttle to her handiwork. that the spider feels satisfied when, after passing and repassing from spoke to spoke, she finishes her spiral, is beyond a doubt: the work achieved ensures her food for a few days to come. but, in this particular case, the vanity of the spinstress has naught to say to the matter: the strong silk zigzag is added to impart greater firmness to the web. increased resistance is not superfluous, for the net is sometimes exposed to severe tests. the epeira cannot pick and choose her prizes. seated motionless in the centre of her web, her eight legs wide-spread to feel the shaking of the network in any direction, she waits for what luck will bring her: now some giddy weakling unable to control its flight, anon some powerful prey rushing headlong with a reckless bound. the locust in particular, the fiery locust, who releases the spring of his long shanks at random, often falls into the trap. one imagines that his strength ought to frighten the spider; the kick of his spurred levers should enable him to make a hole, then and there, in the web and to get away. but not at all. if he does not free himself at the first effort, the locust is lost. turning her back on the game, the epeira works all her spinnerets, pierced like the rose of a watering-pot, at one and the same time. the silky spray is gathered by the hind-legs, which are longer than the others and open into a wide arc to allow the stream to spread. thanks to this artifice, the epeira this time obtains not a thread, but an iridescent sheet, a sort of clouded fan wherein the component threads are kept almost separate. the two hind-legs fling this shroud gradually, by rapid alternate armfuls, while, at the same time, they turn the prey over and over, swathing it completely. the ancient _retiarius_, when pitted against a powerful wild beast, appeared in the arena with a rope-net folded over his left shoulder. the animal made its spring. the man, with a sudden movement of his right arm, cast the net after the manner of the fishermen; he covered the beast and tangled it in the meshes. a thrust of the trident gave the quietus to the vanquished foe. the epeira acts in like fashion, with this advantage, that she is able to renew her armful of fetters. should the first not suffice, a second instantly follows and another and yet another, until the reserves of silk become exhausted. when all movement ceases under the snowy winding-sheet, the spider goes up to her bound prisoner. she has a better weapon than the _bestiarius_' trident: she has her poison-fangs. she gnaws at the locust, without undue persistence, and then withdraws, leaving the torpid patient to pine away. soon she comes back to her motionless head of game: she sucks it, drains it, repeatedly changing her point of attack. at last, the clean-bled remains are flung out of the net and the spider returns to her ambush in the centre of the web. what the epeira sucks is not a corpse, but a numbed body. if i remove the locust immediately after he has been bitten and release him from the silken sheath, the patient recovers his strength to such an extent that he seems, at first, to have suffered no injury. the spider, therefore, does not kill her capture before sucking its juices; she is content to deprive it of the power of motion by producing a state of torpor. perhaps this kindlier bite gives her greater facility in working her pump. the humours, if stagnant, in a corpse, would not respond so readily to the action of the sucker; they are more easily extracted from a live body, in which they move about. the epeira, therefore, being a drinker of blood, moderates the virulence of her sting, even with victims of appalling size, so sure is she of her retiarian art. the long-legged tryxalis, {17} the corpulent grey locust, the largest of our grasshoppers are accepted without hesitation and sucked dry as soon as numbed. those giants, capable of making a hole in the net and passing through it in their impetuous onrush, can be but rarely caught. i myself place them on the web. the spider does the rest. lavishing her silky spray, she swathes them and then sucks the body at her ease. with an increased expenditure of the spinnerets, the very biggest game is mastered as successfully as the everyday prey. i have seen even better than that. this time, my subject is the silky epeira (_epeira sericea_, oliv.), with a broad, festooned, silvery abdomen. like that of the other, her web is large, upright and 'signed' with a zigzag ribbon. i place upon it a praying mantis, {18} a well-developed specimen, quite capable of changing roles, should circumstances permit, and herself making a meal off her assailant. it is a question no longer of capturing a peaceful locust, but a fierce and powerful ogre, who would rip open the epeira's paunch with one blow of her harpoons. will the spider dare? not immediately. motionless in the centre of her net, she consults her strength before attacking the formidable quarry; she waits until the struggling prey has its claws more thickly entangled. at last, she approaches. the mantis curls her belly; lifts her wings like vertical sails; opens her saw-toothed arm-pieces; in short, adopts the spectral attitude which she employs when delivering battle. the spider disregards these menaces. spreading wide her spinnerets, she pumps out sheets of silk which the hind-legs draw out, expand and fling without stint in alternate armfuls. under this shower of threads, the mantis' terrible saws, the lethal legs, quickly disappear from sight, as do the wings, still erected in the spectral posture. meanwhile, the swathed one gives sudden jerks, which make the spider fall out of her web. the accident is provided for. a safety-cord, emitted at the same instant by the spinnerets, keeps the epeira hanging, swinging in space. when calm is restored, she packs her cord and climbs up again. the heavy paunch and the hind-legs are now bound. the flow slackens, the silk comes only in thin sheets. fortunately, the business is done. the prey is invisible under the thick shroud. the spider retires without giving a bite. to master the terrible quarry, she has spent the whole reserves of her spinning-mill, enough to weave many good-sized webs. with this heap of shackles, further precautions are superfluous. after a short rest in the centre of the net, she comes down to dinner. slight incisions are made in different parts of the prize, now here, now there; and the spider puts her mouth to each and sucks the blood of her prey. the meal is long protracted, so rich is the dish. for ten hours, i watch the insatiable glutton, who changes her point of attack as each wound sucked dries up. night comes and robs me of the finish of the unbridled debauch. next morning, the drained mantis lies upon the ground. the ants are eagerly devouring the remains. the eminent talents of the epeirae are displayed to even better purpose in the industrial business of motherhood than in the art of the chase. the silk bag, the nest, in which the banded epeira houses her eggs, is a much greater marvel than the bird's nest. in shape, it is an inverted balloon, nearly the size of a pigeon's egg. the top tapers like a pear and is cut short and crowned with a scalloped rim, the corners of which are lengthened by means of moorings that fasten the object to the adjoining twigs. the whole, a graceful ovoid, hangs straight down, amid a few threads that steady it. the top is hollowed into a crater closed with a silky padding. every other part is contained in the general wrapper, formed of thick, compact white satin, difficult to break and impervious to moisture. brown and even black silk, laid out in abroad ribbons, in spindle-shaped patterns, in fanciful meridian waves, adorns the upper portion of the exterior. the part played by this fabric is self-evident: it is a waterproof cover which neither dew nor rain can penetrate. exposed to all the inclemencies of the weather, among the dead grasses, close to the ground, the epeira's nest has also to protect its contents from the winter cold. let us cut the wrapper with our scissors. underneath, we find a thick layer of reddish-brown silk, not worked into a fabric this time, but puffed into an extra-fine wadding. it is a fleecy cloud, an incomparable quilt, softer than any swan's-down. this is the screen set up against loss of heat. and what does this cosy mass protect? see: in the middle of the eiderdown hangs a cylindrical pocket, round at the bottom, cut square at the top and closed with a padded lid. it is made of extremely fine satin; it contains the epeira's eggs, pretty little orange-coloured beads, which, glued together, form a globule the size of a pea. this is the treasure to be defended against the asperities of the winter. now that we know the structure of the work, let us try to see in what manner the spinstress sets about it. the observation is not an easy one, for the banded epeira is a night-worker. she needs nocturnal quiet in order not to go astray amid the complicated rules that guide her industry. now and again, at very early hours in the morning, i have happened to catch her working, which enables me to sum up the progress of the operations. my subjects are busy in their bell-shaped cages, at about the middle of august. a scaffolding is first run up, at the top of the dome; it consists of a few stretched threads. the wire trellis represents the twigs and the blades of grass which the spider, if at liberty, would have used as suspension-points. the loom works on this shaky support. the epeira does not see what she is doing; she turns her back on her task. the machinery is so well put together that the whole thing goes automatically. the tip of the abdomen sways, a little to the right, a little to the left, rises and falls, while the spider moves slowly round and round. the thread paid out is single. the hind-legs draw it out and place it in position on that which is already done. thus is formed a satin receptacle the rim of which is gradually raised until it becomes a bag about a centimetre deep. {19} the texture is of the daintiest. guy-ropes bind it to the nearest threads and keep it stretched, especially at the mouth. then the spinnerets take a rest and the turn of the ovaries comes. a continuous shower of eggs falls into the bag, which is filled to the top. the capacity of the receptacle has been so nicely calculated that there is room for all the eggs, without leaving any space unoccupied. when the spider has finished and retires, i catch a momentary glimpse of the heap of orange-coloured eggs; but the work of the spinnerets is at once resumed. the next business is to close the bag. the machinery works a little differently. the tip of the belly no longer sways from side to side. it sinks and touches a point; it retreats, sinks again and touches another point, first here, then there, describing inextricable zigzags. at the same time, the hind-legs tread the material emitted. the result is no longer a stuff, but a felt, a blanketing. around the satin capsule, which contains the eggs, is the eiderdown destined to keep out the cold. the youngsters will bide for some time in this soft shelter, to strengthen their joints and prepare for the final exodus. it does not take long to make. the spinning-mill suddenly alters the raw material: it was turning out white silk; it now furnishes reddish-brown silk, finer than the other and issuing in clouds which the hind-legs, those dexterous carders, beat into a sort of froth. the eggpocket disappears, drowned in this exquisite wadding. the balloon-shape is already outlined; the top of the work tapers to a neck. the spider, moving up and down, tacking first to one side and then to the other, from the very first spray marks out the graceful form as accurately as though she carried a compass in her abdomen. then, once again, with the same suddenness, the material changes. the white silk reappears, wrought into thread. this is the moment to weave the outer wrapper. because of the thickness of the stuff and the density of its texture, this operation is the longest of the series. first, a few threads are flung out, hither and thither, to keep the layer of wadding in position. the epeira takes special pains with the edge of the neck, where she fashions an indented border, the angles of which, prolonged with cords or lines, form the main support of the building. the spinnerets never touch this part without giving it, each time, until the end of the work, a certain added solidity, necessary to secure the stability of the balloon. the suspensory indentations soon outline a crater which needs plugging. the spider closes the bag with a padded stopper similar to that with which she sealed the egg-pocket. when these arrangements are made, the real manufacture of the wrapper begins. the spider goes backwards and forwards, turns and turns again. the spinnerets do not touch the fabric. with a rhythmical, alternate movement, the hind-legs, the sole implements employed, draw the thread, seize it in their combs and apply it to the work, while the tip of the abdomen sways methodically to and fro. in this way, the silken fibre is distributed in an even zigzag, of almost geometrical precision and comparable with that of the cotton thread which the machines in our factories roll so neatly into balls. and this is repeated all over the surface of the work, for the spider shifts her position a little at every moment. at fairly frequent intervals, the tip of the abdomen is lifted to the mouth of the balloon; and then the spinnerets really touch the fringed edge. the length of contact is even considerable. we find, therefore, that the thread is stuck in this star-shaped fringe, the foundation of the building and the crux of the whole, while every elsewhere it is simply laid on, in a manner determined by the movements of the hind-legs. if we wished to unwind the work, the thread would break at the margin; at any other point, it would unroll. the epeira ends her web with a dead-white, angular flourish; she ends her nest with brown mouldings, which run down, irregularly, from the marginal junction to the bulging middle. for this purpose, she makes use, for the third time, of a different silk; she now produces silk of a dark hue, varying from russet to black. the spinnerets distribute the material with a wide longitudinal swing, from pole to pole; and the hind-legs apply it in capricious ribbons. when this is done, the work is finished. the spider moves away with slow strides, without giving a glance at the bag. the rest does not interest her: time and the sun will see to it. she felt her hour at hand and came down from her web. near by, in the rank grass, she wove the tabernacle of her offspring and, in so doing, drained her resources. to resume her hunting-post, to return to her web would be useless to her: she has not the wherewithal to bind the prey. besides, the fine appetite of former days has gone. withered and languid, she drags out her existence for a few days and, at last, dies. this is how things happen in my cages; this is how they must happen in the brushwood. the silky epeira (_epeira sericea_, oliv.) excels the banded epeira in the manufacture of big hunting-nets, but she is less gifted in the art of nest-building. she gives her nest the inelegant form of an obtuse cone. the opening of this pocket is very wide and is scalloped into lobes by which the edifice is slung. it is closed with a large lid, half satin, half swan's-down. the rest is a stout white fabric, frequently covered with irregular brown streaks. the difference between the work of the two epeirae does not extend beyond the wrapper, which is an obtuse cone in the one case and a balloon in the other. the same internal arrangements prevail behind this frontage: first, a flossy quilt; next, a little keg in which the eggs are packed. though the two spiders build the outer wall according to special architectural rules, they both employ the same means as a protection against the cold. as we see, the egg-bag of the epeirae, particularly that of the banded epeira, is an important and complex work. various materials enter into its composition: white silk, red silk, brown silk; moreover, these materials are worked into dissimilar products: stout cloth, soft eiderdown, dainty satinette, porous felt. and all of this comes from the same workshop that weaves the hunting-net, warps the zigzag ribbon-band and casts an entangling shroud over the prey. what a wonderful silk-factory it is! with a very simple and never-varying plant, consisting of the hind-legs and the spinnerets, it produces, by turns, rope-maker's, spinner's, weaver's, ribbon-maker's and fuller's work. how does the spider direct an establishment of this kind? how does she obtain, at will, skeins of diverse hues and grades? how does she turn them out, first in this fashion, then in that? i see the results, but i do not understand the machinery and still less the process. it beats me altogether. the spider also sometimes loses her head in her difficult trade, when some trouble disturbs the peace of her nocturnal labours. i do not provoke this trouble myself, for i am not present at those unseasonable hours. it is simply due to the conditions prevailing in my menagerie. in their natural state, the epeirae settle separately, at long distances from one another. each has her own hunting-grounds, where there is no reason to fear the competition that would result from the close proximity of the nets. in my cages, on the other hand, there is cohabitation. in order to save space, i lodge two or three epeirae in the same cage. my easy-going captives live together in peace. there is no strife between them, no encroaching on the neighbour's property. each of them weaves herself a rudimentary web, as far from the rest as possible, and here, rapt in contemplation, as though indifferent to what the others are doing, she awaits the hop of the locust. nevertheless, these close quarters have their drawbacks when laying-time arrives. the cords by which the different establishments are hung interlace and criss-cross in a confused network. when one of them shakes, all the others are more or less affected. this is enough to distract the layer from her business and to make her do silly things. here are two instances. a bag has been woven during the night. i find it, when i visit the cage in the morning, hanging from the trellis-work and completed. it is perfect, as regards structure; it is decorated with the regulation black meridian curves. there is nothing missing, nothing except the essential thing, the eggs, for which the spinstress has gone to such expense in the matter of silks. where are the eggs? they are not in the bag, which i open and find empty. they are lying on the ground below, on the sand in the pan, utterly unprotected. disturbed at the moment of discharging them, the mother has missed the mouth of the little bag and dropped them on the floor. perhaps even, in her excitement, she came down from above and, compelled by the exigencies of the ovaries, laid her eggs on the first support that offered. no matter: if her spider brain contains the least gleam of sense, she must be aware of the disaster and is therefore bound at once to abandon the elaborate manufacture of a now superfluous nest. not at all: the bag is woven around nothing, as accurate in shape, as finished in structure as under normal conditions. the absurd perseverance displayed by certain bees, whose egg and provisions i used to remove, {20} is here repeated without the slightest interference from me. my victims used scrupulously to seal up their empty cells. in the same way, the epeira puts the eiderdown quilting and the taffeta wrapper round a capsule that contains nothing. another, distracted from her work by some startling vibration, leaves her nest at the moment when the layer of red-brown wadding is being completed. she flees to the dome, at a few inches above her unfinished work, and spends upon a shapeless mattress, of no use whatever, all the silk with which she would have woven the outer wrapper if nothing had come to disturb her. poor fool! you upholster the wires of your cage with swan's-down and you leave the eggs imperfectly protected. the absence of the work already executed and the hardness of the metal do not warn you that you are now engaged upon a senseless task. you remind me of the pelopaeus, {21} who used to coat with mud the place on the wall whence her nest had been removed. you speak to me, in your own fashion, of a strange psychology which is able to reconcile the wonders of a master craftsmanship with aberrations due to unfathomable stupidity. let us compare the work of the banded epeira with that of the penduline titmouse, the cleverest of our small birds in the art of nest-building. this tit haunts the osier-beds of the lower reaches of the rhone. rocking gently in the river breeze, his nest sways pendent over the peaceful backwaters, at some distance from the too-impetuous current. it hangs from the drooping end of the branch of a poplar, an old willow or an alder, all of them tall trees, favouring the banks of streams. it consists of a cotton bag, closed all round, save for a small opening at the side, just sufficient to allow of the mother's passage. in shape, it resembles the body of an alembic, a chemist's retort with a short lateral neck, or, better still, the foot of a stocking, with the edges brought together, but for a little round hole left at one side. the outward appearances increase the likeness: one can almost see the traces of a knitting-needle working with coarse stitches. that is why, struck by this shape, the provencal peasant, in his expressive language, calls the penduline _lou debassaire_, the stocking-knitter. the early-ripening seedlets of the widows and poplars furnish the materials for the work. there breaks from them, in may, a sort of vernal snow, a fine down, which the eddies of the air heap in the crevices of the ground. it is a cotton similar to that of our manufactures, but of very short staple. it comes from an inexhaustible warehouse: the tree is bountiful; and the wind from the osier-beds gathers the tiny flocks as they pour from the seeds. they are easy to pick up. the difficulty is to set to work. how does the bird proceed, in order to knit its stocking? how, with such simple implements as its beak and claws, does it manage to produce a fabric which our skilled fingers would fail to achieve? an examination of the nest will inform us, to a certain extent. the cotton of the poplar cannot, of itself, supply a hanging pocket capable of supporting the weight of the brood and resisting the buffeting of the wind. rammed, entangled and packed together, the flocks, similar to those which ordinary wadding would give if chopped up very fine, would produce only an agglomeration devoid of cohesion and liable to be dispelled by the first breath of air. they require a canvas, a warp, to keep them in position. tiny dead stalks, with fibrous barks, well softened by the action of moisture and the air, furnish the penduline with a coarse tow, not unlike that of hemp. with these ligaments, purged of every woody particle and tested for flexibility and tenacity, he winds a number of loops round the end of the branch which he has selected as a support for his structure. it is not a very accurate piece of work. the loops run clumsily and anyhow: some are slacker, others tighter; but, when all is said, it is solid, which is the main point. also, this fibrous sheath, the keystone of the edifice, occupies a fair length of branch, which enables the fastenings for the net to be multiplied. the several straps, after describing a certain number of turns, ravel out at the ends and hang loose. after them come interlaced threads, greater in number and finer in texture. in the tangled jumble occur what might almost be described as weaver's knots. as far as one can judge by the result alone, without having seen the bird at work, this is how the canvas, the support of the cotton wall, is obtained. this warp, this inner framework, is obviously not constructed in its entirety from the start; it goes on gradually, as the bird stuffs the part above it with cotton. the wadding, picked up bit by bit from the ground, is teazled by the bird's claws and inserted, all fleecy, into the meshes of the canvas. the beak pushes it, the breast presses it, both inside and out. the result is a soft felt a couple of inches thick. near the top of the pouch, on one side, is contrived a narrow orifice, tapering into a short neck. this is the kitchen-door. in order to pass through it, the penduline, small though he be, has to force the elastic partition, which yields slightly and then contracts. lastly, the house is furnished with a mattress of first-quality cotton. here lie from six to eight white eggs, the size of a cherry-stone. well, this wonderful nest is a barbarous casemate compared with that of the banded epeira. as regards shape, this stocking-foot cannot be mentioned in the same breath with the spider's elegant and faultlesslyrounded balloon. the fabric of mixed cotton and tow is a rustic frieze beside the spinstress' satin; the suspension-straps are clumsy cables compared with her delicate silk fastenings. where shall we find in the penduline's mattress aught to vie with the epeira's eiderdown, that teazled russet gossamer? the spider is superior to the bird in every way, in so far as concerns her work. but, on her side, the penduline is a more devoted mother. for weeks on end, squatting at the bottom of her purse, she presses to her heart the eggs, those little white pebbles from which the warmth of her body will bring forth life. the epeira knows not these softer passions. without bestowing a second glance an it, she abandons her nest to its fate, be it good or ill. chapter iii: the narbonne lycosa the epeira, who displays such astonishing industry to give her eggs a dwelling-house of incomparable perfection, becomes, after that, careless of her family. for what reason? she lacks the time. she has to die when the first cold comes, whereas the eggs are destined to pass the winter in their downy snuggery. the desertion of the nest is inevitable, owing to the very force of things. but, if the hatching were earlier and took place in the epeira's lifetime, i imagine that she would rival the bird in devotion. so i gather from the analogy of _thomisus onustus_, walck., a shapely spider who weaves no web, lies in wait for her prey and walks sideways, after the manner of the crab. i have spoken elsewhere {22} of her encounters with the domestic bee, whom she jugulates by biting her in the neck. skilful in the prompt despatch of her prey, the little crab spider is no less well-versed in the nesting art. i find her settled on a privet in the enclosure. here, in the heart of a cluster of flowers, the luxurious creature plaits a little pocket of white satin, shaped like a wee thimble. it is the receptacle for the eggs. a round, flat lid, of a felted fabric, closes the mouth. above this ceiling rises a dome of stretched threads and faded flowerets which have fallen from the cluster. this is the watcher's belvedere, her conning-tower. an opening, which is always free, gives access to this post. here the spider remains on constant duty. she has thinned greatly since she laid her eggs, has almost lost her corporation. at the least alarm, she sallies forth, waves a threatening limb at the passing stranger and invites him, with a gesture, to keep his distance. having put the intruder to flight, she quickly returns indoors. and what does she do in there, under her arch of withered flowers and silk? night and day, she shields the precious eggs with her poor body spread out flat. eating is neglected. no more lying in wait, no more bees drained to the last drop of blood. motionless, rapt in meditation, the spider is in an incubating posture, in other words, she is sitting on her eggs. strictly speaking, the word 'incubating' means that and nothing else. the brooding hen is no more assiduous, but she is also a heating-apparatus and, with the gentle warmth of her body, awakens the germs to life. for the spider, the heat of the sun suffices; and this alone keeps me from saying that she 'broods.' for two or three weeks, more and more wrinkled by abstinence, the little spider never relaxes her position. then comes the hatching. the youngsters stretch a few threads in swing-like curves from twig to twig. the tiny rope-dancers practise for some days in the sun; then they disperse, each intent upon his own affairs. let us now look at the watch-tower of the nest. the mother is still there, but this time lifeless. the devoted creature has known the delight of seeing her family born; she has assisted the weaklings through the trap-door; and, when her duty was done, very gently she died. the hen does not reach this height of self-abnegation. other spiders do better still, as, for instance, the narbonne lycosa, or black-bellied tarantula (_lycosa narbonnensis_, walck.), whose prowess has been described in an earlier chapter. the reader will remember her burrow, her pit of a bottle-neck's width, dug in the pebbly soil beloved by the lavender and the thyme. the mouth is rimmed by a bastion of gravel and bits of wood cemented with silk. there is nothing else around her dwelling: no web, no snares of any kind. from her inch-high turret, the lycosa lies in wait for the passing locust. she gives a bound, pursues the prey and suddenly deprives it of motion with a bite in the neck. the game is consumed on the spot, or else in the lair; the insect's tough hide arouses no disgust. the sturdy huntress is not a drinker of blood, like the epeira; she needs solid food, food that crackles between the jaws. she is like a dog devouring his bone. would you care to bring her to the light of day from the depths of her well? insert a thin straw into the burrow and move it about. uneasy as to what is happening above, the recluse hastens to climb up and stops, in a threatening attitude, at some distance from the orifice. you see her eight eyes gleaming like diamonds in the dark; you see her powerful poison-fangs yawning, ready to bite. he who is not accustomed to the sight of this horror, rising from under the ground, cannot suppress a shiver. b-r-r-r-r! let us leave the beast alone. chance, a poor stand-by, sometimes contrives very well. at the beginning of the month of august, the children call me to the far side of the enclosure, rejoicing in a find which they have made under the rosemarybushes. it is a magnificent lycosa, with an enormous belly, the sign of an impending delivery. the obese spider is gravely devouring something in the midst of a circle of onlookers. and what? the remains of a lycosa a little smaller than herself, the remains of her male. it is the end of the tragedy that concludes the nuptials. the sweetheart is eating her lover. i allow the matrimonial rites to be fulfilled in all their horror; and, when the last morsel of the unhappy wretch has been scrunched up, i incarcerate the terrible matron under a cage standing in an earthen pan filled with sand. early one morning, ten days later, i find her preparing for her confinement. a silk network is first spun on the ground, covering an extent about equal to the palm of one's hand. it is coarse and shapeless, but firmly fixed. this is the floor on which the spider means to operate. on this foundation, which acts as a protection from the sand, the lycosa fashions a round mat, the size of a two-franc piece and made of superb white silk. with a gentle, uniform movement, which might be regulated by the wheels of a delicate piece of clockwork, the tip of the abdomen rises and falls, each time touching the supporting base a little farther away, until the extreme scope of the mechanism is attained. then, without the spider's moving her position, the oscillation is resumed in the opposite direction. by means of this alternate motion, interspersed with numerous contacts, a segment of the sheet is obtained, of a very accurate texture. when this is done, the spider moves a little along a circular line and the loom works in the same manner on another segment. the silk disk, a sort of hardly concave paten, now no longer receives aught from the spinnerets in its centre; the marginal belt alone increases in thickness. the piece thus becomes a bowl-shaped porringer, surrounded by a wide, flat edge. the time for the laying has come. with one quick emission, the viscous, pale-yellow eggs are laid in the basin, where they heap together in the shape of a globe which projects largely outside the cavity. the spinnerets are once more set going. with short movements, as the tip of the abdomen rises and falls to weave the round mat, they cover up the exposed hemisphere. the result is a pill set in the middle of a circular carpet. the legs, hitherto idle, are now working. they take up and break off one by one the threads that keep the round mat stretched on the coarse supporting network. at the same time, the fangs grip this sheet, lift it by degrees, tear it from its base and fold it over upon the globe of eggs. it is a laborious operation. the whole edifice totters, the floor collapses, fouled with sand. by a movement of the legs, those soiled shreds are cast aside. briefly, by means of violent tugs of the fangs, which pull, and broom-like efforts of the legs, which clear away, the lycosa extricates the bag of eggs and removes it as a clear-cut mass, free from any adhesion. it is a white-silk pill, soft to the touch and glutinous. its size is that of an average cherry. an observant eye will notice, running horizontally around the middle, a fold which a needle is able to raise without breaking it. this hem, generally undistinguishable from the rest of the surface, is none other than the edge of the circular mat, drawn over the lower hemisphere. the other hemisphere, through which the youngsters will go out, is less well fortified: its only wrapper is the texture spun over the eggs immediately after they were laid. inside, there is nothing but the eggs: no mattress, no soft eiderdown, like that of the epeirae. the lycosa, indeed, has no need to guard her eggs against the inclemencies of the winter, for the hatching will take place long before the cold weather comes. similarly, the thomisus, with her early brood, takes good care not to incur useless expenditure: she gives her eggs, for their protection, a simple purse of satin. the work of spinning, followed by that of tearing, is continued for a whole morning, from five to nine o'clock. worn out with fatigue, the mother embraces her dear pill and remains motionless. i shall see no more to-day. next morning, i find the spider carrying the bag of eggs slung from her stern. henceforth, until the hatching, she does not leave go of the precious burden, which, fastened to the spinnerets by a short ligament, drags and bumps along the ground. with this load banging against her heels, she goes about her business; she walks or rests, she seeks her prey, attacks it and devours it. should some accident cause the wallet to drop off, it is soon replaced. the spinnerets touch it somewhere, anywhere, and that is enough: adhesion is at once restored. the lycosa is a stay-at-home. she never goes out except to snap up some game passing within her hunting-domains, near the burrow. at the end of august, however, it is not unusual to meet her roaming about, dragging her wallet behind her. her hesitations make one think that she is looking for her home, which she has left for the moment and has a difficulty in finding. why these rambles? there are two reasons: first the pairing and then the making of the pill. there is a lack of space in the burrow, which provides only room enough for the spider engaged in long contemplation. now the preparations for the egg-bag require an extensive flooring, a supporting framework about the size of one's hand, as my caged prisoner has shown us. the lycosa has not so much space at her disposal, in her well; hence the necessity for coming out and working at her wallet in the open air, doubtless in the quiet hours of the night. the meeting with the male seems likewise to demand an excursion. running the risk of being eaten alive, will he venture to plunge into his lady's cave, into a lair whence flight would be impossible? it is very doubtful. prudence demands that matters should take place outside. here at least there is some chance of beating a hasty retreat which will enable the rash swain to escape the attacks of his horrible bride. the interview in the open air lessens the danger without removing it entirely. we had proof of this when we caught the lycosa in the act of devouring her lover aboveground, in a part of the enclosure which had been broken for planting and which was therefore not suitable for the spider's establishment. the burrow must have been some way off; and the meeting of the pair took place at the very spot of the tragic catastrophe. although he had a clear road, the male was not quick enough in getting away and was duly eaten. after this cannibal orgy, does the lycosa go back home? perhaps not, for a while. besides, she would have to go out a second time, to manufacture her pill on a level space of sufficient extent. when the work is done, some of them emancipate themselves, think they will have a look at the country before retiring for good and all. it is these whom we sometimes meet wandering aimlessly and dragging their bag behind them. sooner or later, however, the vagrants return home; and the month of august is not over before a straw rustled in any burrow will bring the mother up, with her wallet slung behind her. i am able to procure as many as i want and, with them, to indulge in certain experiments of the highest interest. it is a sight worth seeing, that of the lycosa dragging her treasure after her, never leaving it, day or night, sleeping or waking, and defending it with a courage that strikes the beholder with awe. if i try to take the bag from her, she presses it to her breast in despair, hangs on to my pincers, bites them with her poison-fangs. i can hear the daggers grating on the steel. no, she would not allow herself to be robbed of the wallet with impunity, if my fingers were not supplied with an implement. by dint of pulling and shaking the pill with the forceps, i take it from the lycosa, who protests furiously. i fling her in exchange a pill taken from another lycosa. it is at once seized in the fangs, embraced by the legs and hung on to the spinneret. her own or another's: it is all one to the spider, who walks away proudly with the alien wallet. this was to be expected, in view of the similarity of the pills exchanged. a test of another kind, with a second subject, renders the mistake more striking. i substitute, in the place of the lawful bag which i have removed, the work of the silky epeira. the colour and softness of the material are the same in both cases; but the shape is quite different. the stolen object is a globe; the object presented in exchange is an elliptical conoid studded with angular projections along the edge of the base. the spider takes no account of this dissimilarity. she promptly glues the queer bag to her spinnerets and is as pleased as though she were in possession of her real pill. my experimental villainies have no other consequences beyond an ephemeral carting. when hatching-time arrives, early in the case of the lycosa, late in that of the epeira, the gulled spider abandons the strange bag and pays it no further attention. let us penetrate yet deeper into the wallet-bearer's stupidity. after depriving the lycosa of her eggs, i throw her a ball of cork, roughly polished with a file and of the same size as the stolen pill. she accepts the corky substance, so different from the silk purse, without the least demur. one would have thought that she would recognize her mistake with those eight eyes of hers, which gleam like precious stones. the silly creature pays no attention. lovingly she embraces the cork ball, fondles it with her palpi, fastens it to her spinnerets and thenceforth drags it after her as though she were dragging her own bag. let us give another the choice between the imitation and the real. the rightful pill and the cork ball are placed together on the floor of the jar. will the spider be able to know the one that belongs to her? the fool is incapable of doing so. she makes a wild rush and seizes haphazard at one time her property, at another my sham product. whatever is first touched becomes a good capture and is forthwith hung up. if i increase the number of cork balls, if i put in four or five of them, with the real pill among them, it is seldom that the lycosa recovers her own property. attempts at enquiry, attempts at selection there are none. whatever she snaps up at random she sticks to, be it good or bad. as there are more of the sham pills of cork, these are the most often seized by the spider. this obtuseness baffles me. can the animal be deceived by the soft contact of the cork? i replace the cork balls by pellets of cotton or paper, kept in their round shape with a few bands of thread. both are very readily accepted instead of the real bag that has been removed. can the illusion be due to the colouring, which is light in the cork and not unlike the tint of the silk globe when soiled with a little earth, while it is white in the paper and the cotton, when it is identical with that of the original pill? i give the lycosa, in exchange for her work, a pellet of silk thread, chosen of a fine red, the brightest of all colours. the uncommon pill is as readily accepted and as jealously guarded as the others. we will leave the wallet-bearer alone; we know all that we want to know about her poverty of intellect. let us wait for the hatching, which takes place in the first fortnight in september. as they come out of the pill, the youngsters, to the number of about a couple of hundred, clamber on the spider's back and there sit motionless, jammed close together, forming a sort of bark of mingled legs and paunches. the mother is unrecognizable under this live mantilla. when the hatching is over, the wallet is loosened from the spinnerets and cast aside as a worthless rag. the little ones are very good: none stirs none tries to get more room for himself at his neighbours' expense. what are they doing there, so quietly? they allow themselves to be carted about, like the young of the opossum. whether she sit in long meditation at the bottom of her den, or come to the orifice, in mild weather, to bask in the sun, the lycosa never throws off her great-coat of swarming youngsters until the fine season comes. if, in the middle of winter, in january or february, i happen, out in the fields, to ransack the spider's dwelling, after the rain, snow and frost have battered it and, as a rule, dismantled the bastion at the entrance, i always find her at home, still full of vigour, still carrying her family. this vehicular upbringing lasts five or six months at least, without interruption. the celebrated american carrier, the opossum, who emancipates her offspring after a few weeks' carting, cuts a poor figure beside the lycosa. what do the little ones eat, on the maternal spine? nothing, so far as i know. i do not see them grow larger. i find them, at the tardy period of their emancipation, just as they were when they left the bag. during the bad season, the mother herself is extremely abstemious. at long intervals, she accepts, in my jars, a belated locust, whom i have captured, for her benefit, in the sunnier nooks. in order to keep herself in condition, as when she is dug up in the course of my winter excavations, she must therefore sometimes break her fast and come out in search of prey, without, of course, discarding her live mantilla. the expedition has its dangers. the youngsters may be brushed off by a blade of grass. what becomes of them when they have a fall? does the mother give them a thought? does she come to their assistance and help them to regain their place on her back? not at all. the affection of a spider's heart, divided among some hundreds, can spare but a very feeble portion to each. the lycosa hardly troubles, whether one youngster fall from his place, or six, or all of them. she waits impassively for the victims of the mishap to get out of their own difficulty, which they do, for that matter, and very nimbly. i sweep the whole family from the back of one of my boarders with a hairpencil. not a sign of emotion, not an attempt at search on the part of the denuded one. after trotting about a little on the sand, the dislodged youngsters find, these here, those there, one or other of the mother's legs, spread wide in a circle. by means of these climbing-poles, they swarm to the top and soon the dorsal group resumes its original form. not one of the lot is missing. the lycosa's sons know their trade as acrobats to perfection: the mother need not trouble her head about their fall. with a sweep of the pencil, i make the family of one spider fall around another laden with her own family. the dislodged ones nimbly scramble up the legs and climb on the back of their new mother, who kindly allows them to behave as though they belonged to her. there is no room on the abdomen, the regulation resting-place, which is already occupied by the real sons. the invaders thereupon encamp on the front part, beset the thorax and change the carrier into a horrible pin-cushion that no longer bears the least resemblance to a spider form. meanwhile, the sufferer raises no sort of protest against this access of family. she placidly accepts them all and walks them all about. the youngsters, on their side, are unable to distinguish between what is permitted and forbidden. remarkable acrobats that they are, they climb on the first spider that comes along, even when of a different species, provided that she be of a fair size. i place them in the presence of a big epeira marked with a white cross on a pale-orange ground (_epeira pallida_, oliv.). the little ones, as soon as they are dislodged from the back of the lycosa their mother, clamber up the stranger without hesitation. intolerant of these familiarities, the spider shakes the leg encroached upon and flings the intruders to a distance. the assault is doggedly resumed, to such good purpose that a dozen succeed in hoisting themselves to the top. the epeira, who is not accustomed to the tickling of such a load, turns over on her back and rolls on the ground in the manner of a donkey when his hide is itching. some are lamed, some are even crushed. this does not deter the others, who repeat the escalade as soon as the epeira is on her legs again. then come more somersaults, more rollings on the back, until the giddy swarm are all discomfited and leave the spider in peace. chapter iv: the narbonne lycosa: the burrow michelet {23} has told us how, as a printer's apprentice in a cellar, he established amicable relations with a spider. at a certain hour of the day, a ray of sunlight would glint through the window of the gloomy workshop and light up the little compositor's case. then his eight-legged neighbour would come down from her web and take her share of the sunshine on the edge of the case. the boy did not interfere with her; he welcomed the trusting visitor as a friend and as a pleasant diversion from the long monotony. when we lack the society of our fellowmen, we take refuge in that of animals, without always losing by the change. i do not, thank god, suffer from the melancholy of a cellar: my solitude is gay with light and verdure; i attend, whenever i please, the fields' high festival, the thrushes' concert, the crickets' symphony; and yet my friendly commerce with the spider is marked by an even greater devotion than the young typesetter's. i admit her to the intimacy of my study, i make room for her among my books, i set her in the sun on my window-ledge, i visit her assiduously at her home, in the country. the object of our relations is not to create a means of escape from the petty worries of life, pin-pricks whereof i have my share like other men, a very large share, indeed; i propose to submit to the spider a host of questions whereto, at times, she condescends to reply. to what fair problems does not the habit of frequenting her give rise! to set them forth worthily, the marvellous art which the little printer was to acquire were not too much. one needs the pen of a michelet; and i have but a rough, blunt pencil. let us try, nevertheless: even when poorly clad, truth is still beautiful. i will therefore once more take up the story of the spider's instinct, a story of which the preceding chapters have given but a very rough idea. since i wrote those earlier essays, my field of observation has been greatly extended. my notes have been enriched by new and most remarkable facts. it is right that i should employ them for the purpose of a more detailed biography. the exigencies of order and clearness expose me, it is true, to occasional repetitions. this is inevitable when one has to marshal in an harmonious whole a thousand items culled from day to day, often unexpectedly, and bearing no relation one to the other. the observer is not master of his time; opportunity leads him and by unsuspected ways. a certain question suggested by an earlier fact finds no reply until many years after. its scope, moreover, is amplified and completed with views collected on the road. in a work, therefore, of this fragmentary character, repetitions, necessary for the due co-ordination of ideas, are inevitable. i shall be as sparing of them as i can. let us once more introduce our old friends the epeira and the lycosa, who are the most important spiders in my district. the narbonne lycosa, or black-bellied tarantula, chooses her domicile in the waste, pebbly lands beloved of the thyme. her dwelling, a fortress rather than a villa, is a burrow about nine inches deep and as wide as the neck of a claret-bottle. the direction is perpendicular, in so far as obstacles, frequent in a soil of this kind, permit. a bit of gravel can be extracted and hoisted outside; but a flint is an immovable boulder which the spider avoids by giving a bend to her gallery. if more such are met with, the residence becomes a winding cave, with stone vaults, with lobbies communicating by means of sharp passages. this lack of plan has no attendant drawbacks, so well does the owner, from long habit, know every corner and storey of her mansion. if any interesting buzz occur overhead, the lycosa climbs up from her rugged manor with the same speed as from a vertical shaft. perhaps she even finds the windings and turnings an advantage, when she has to drag into her den a prey that happens to defend itself. as a rule, the end of the burrow widens into a side-chamber, a lounge or resting-place where the spider meditates at length and is content to lead a life of quiet when her belly is full. a silk coating, but a scanty one, for the lycosa has not the wealth of silk possessed by the weaving spiders, lines the walls of the tube and keeps the loose earth from falling. this plaster, which cements the incohesive and smooths the rugged parts, is reserved more particularly for the top of the gallery, near the mouth. here, in the daytime, if things be peaceful all around, the lycosa stations herself, either to enjoy the warmth of the sun, her great delight, or to lie in wait for game. the threads of the silk lining afford a firm hold to the claws on every side, whether the object be to sit motionless for hours, revelling in the light and heat, or to pounce upon the passing prey. around the orifice of the burrow rises, to a greater or lesser height, a circular parapet, formed of tiny pebbles, twigs and straps borrowed from the dry leaves of the neighbouring grasses, all more or less dexterously tied together and cemented with silk. this work of rustic architecture is never missing, even though it be no more than a mere pad. when she reaches maturity and is once settled, the lycosa becomes eminently domesticated. i have been living in close communion with her for the last three years. i have installed her in large earthen pans on the window-sills of my study and i have her daily under my eyes. well, it is very rarely that i happen on her outside, a few inches from her hole, back to which she bolts at the least alarm. we may take it, then, that, when not in captivity, the lycosa does not go far afield to gather the wherewithal to build her parapet and that she makes shift with what she finds upon her threshold. in these conditions, the building-stones are soon exhausted and the masonry ceases for lack of materials. the wish came over me to see what dimensions the circular edifice would assume, if the spider were given an unlimited supply. with captives to whom i myself act as purveyor the thing is easy enough. were it only with a view to helping whoso may one day care to continue these relations with the big spider of the waste-lands, let me describe how my subjects are housed. a good-sized earthenware pan, some nine inches deep, is filled with a red, clayey earth, rich in pebbles, similar, in short, to that of the places haunted by the lycosa. properly moistened into a paste, the artificial soil is heaped, layer by layer, around a central reed, of a bore equal to that of the animal's natural burrow. when the receptacle is filled to the top, i withdraw the reed, which leaves a yawning, perpendicular shaft. i thus obtain the abode which shall replace that of the fields. to find the hermit to inhabit it is merely the matter of a walk in the neighbourhood. when removed from her own dwelling, which is turned topsyturvy by my trowel, and placed in possession of the den produced by my art, the lycosa at once disappears into that den. she does not come out again, seeks nothing better elsewhere. a large wire-gauze cover rests on the soil in the pan and prevents escape. in any case, the watch, in this respect, makes no demands upon my diligence. the prisoner is satisfied with her new abode and manifests no regret for her natural burrow. there is no attempt at flight on her part. let me not omit to add that each pan must receive not more than one inhabitant. the lycosa is very intolerant. to her, a neighbour is fair game, to be eaten without scruple when one has might on one's side. time was when, unaware of this fierce intolerance, which is more savage still at breeding-time, i saw hideous orgies perpetrated in my overstocked cages. i shall have occasion to describe those tragedies later. let us meanwhile consider the isolated lycosae. they do not touch up the dwelling which i have moulded for them with a bit of reed; at most, now and again, perhaps with the object of forming a lounge or bedroom at the bottom, they fling out a few loads of rubbish. but all, little by little, build the kerb that is to edge the mouth. i have given them plenty of first-rate materials, far superior to those which they use when left to their own resources. these consist, first, for the foundations, of little smooth stones, some of which are as large as an almond. with this road-metal are mingled short strips of raphia, or palm-fibre, flexible ribbons, easily bent. these stand for the spider's usual basket-work, consisting of slender stalks and dry blades of grass. lastly, by way of an unprecedented treasure, never yet employed by a lycosa, i place at my captives' disposal some thick threads of wool, cut into inch lengths. as i wish, at the same time, to find out whether my animals, with the magnificent lenses of their eyes, are able to distinguish colours and prefer one colour to another, i mix up bits of wool of different hues: there are red, green, white and yellow pieces. if the spider have any preference, she can choose where she pleases. the lycosa always works at night, a regrettable circumstance, which does not allow me to follow the worker's methods. i see the result; and that is all. were i to visit the building-yard by the light of a lantern, i should be no wiser. the animal, which is very shy, would at once dive into her lair; and i should have lost my sleep for nothing. furthermore, she is not a very diligent labourer; she likes to take her time. two or three bits of wool or raphia placed in position represent a whole night's work. and to this slowness we must add long spells of utter idleness. two months pass; and the result of my liberality surpasses my expectations. possessing more windfalls than they know what to do with, all picked up in their immediate neighbourhood, my lycosae have built themselves donjon-keeps the like of which their race has not yet known. around the orifice, on a slightly sloping bank, small, flat, smooth stones have been laid to form a broken, flagged pavement. the larger stones, which are cyclopean blocks compared with the size of the animal that has shifted them, are employed as abundantly as the others. on this rockwork stands the donjon. it is an interlacing of raphia and bits of wool, picked up at random, without distinction of shade. red and white, green and yellow are mixed without any attempt at order. the lycosa is indifferent to the joys of colour. the ultimate result is a sort of muff, a couple of inches high. bands of silk, supplied by the spinnerets, unite the pieces, so that the whole resembles a coarse fabric. without being absolutely faultless, for there are always awkward pieces on the outside, which the worker could not handle, the gaudy building is not devoid of merit. the bird lining its nest would do no better. whoso sees the curious, many-coloured productions in my pans takes them for an outcome of my industry, contrived with a view to some experimental mischief; and his surprise is great when i confess who the real author is. no one would ever believe the spider capable of constructing such a monument. it goes without saying that, in a state of liberty, on our barren wastelands, the lycosa does not indulge in such sumptuous architecture. i have given the reason: she is too great a stay-at-home to go in search of materials and she makes use of the limited resources which she finds around her. bits of earth, small chips of stone, a few twigs, a few withered grasses: that is all, or nearly all. wherefore the work is generally quite modest and reduced to a parapet that hardly attracts attention. my captives teach us that, when materials are plentiful, especially textile materials that remove all fears of landslip, the lycosa delights in tall turrets. she understands the art of donjon-building and puts it into practice as often as she possesses the means. this art is akin to another, from which it is apparently derived. if the sun be fierce or if rain threaten, the lycosa closes the entrance to her dwelling with a silken trellis-work, wherein she embeds different matters, often the remnants of victims which she has devoured. the ancient gael nailed the heads of his vanquished enemies to the door of his hut. in the same way, the fierce spider sticks the skulls of her prey into the lid of her cave. these lumps look very well on the ogre's roof; but we must be careful not to mistake them for warlike trophies. the animal knows nothing of our barbarous bravado. everything at the threshold of the burrow is used indiscriminately: fragments of locust, vegetable remains and especially particles of earth. a dragon-fly's head baked by the sun is as good as a bit of gravel and no better. and so, with silk and all sorts of tiny materials, the lycosa builds a lidded cap to the entrance of her home. i am not well acquainted with the reasons that prompt her to barricade herself indoors, particularly as the seclusion is only temporary and varies greatly in duration. i obtain precise details from a tribe of lycosae wherewith the enclosure, as will be seen later, happens to be thronged in consequence of my investigations into the dispersal of the family. at the time of the tropical august heat, i see my lycosae, now this batch, now that, building, at the entrance to the burrow, a convex ceiling, which is difficult to distinguish from the surrounding soil. can it be to protect themselves from the too-vivid light? this is doubtful; for, a few days later, though the power of the sun remain the same, the roof is broken open and the spider reappears at her door, where she revels in the torrid heat of the dog-days. later, when october comes, if it be rainy weather, she retires once more under a roof, as though she were guarding herself against the damp. let us not be too positive of anything, however: often, when it is raining hard, the spider bursts her ceiling and leaves her house open to the skies. perhaps the lid is only put on for serious domestic events, notably for the laying. i do, in fact, perceive young lycosae who shut themselves in before they have attained the dignity of motherhood and who reappear, some time later, with the bag containing the eggs hung to their stern. the inference that they close the door with the object of securing greater quiet while spinning the maternal cocoon would not be in keeping with the unconcern displayed by the majority. i find some who lay their eggs in an open burrow; i come upon some who weave their cocoon and cram it with eggs in the open air, before they even own a residence. in short, i do not succeed in fathoming the reasons that cause the burrow to be closed, no matter what the weather, hot or cold, wet or dry. the fact remains that the lid is broken and repaired repeatedly, sometimes on the same day. in spite of the earthy casing, the silk woof gives it the requisite pliancy to cleave when pushed by the anchorite and to rip open without falling into ruins. swept back to the circumference of the mouth and increased by the wreckage of further ceilings, it becomes a parapet, which the lycosa raises by degrees in her long moments of leisure. the bastion which surmounts the burrow, therefore, takes its origin from the temporary lid. the turret derives from the split ceiling. what is the purpose of this turret? my pans will tell us that. an enthusiastic votary of the chase, so long as she is not permanently fixed, the lycosa, once she has set up house, prefers to lie in ambush and wait for the quarry. every day, when the heat is greatest, i see my captives come up slowly from under ground and lean upon the battlements of their woolly castle-keep. they are then really magnificent in their stately gravity. with their swelling belly contained within the aperture, their head outside, their glassy eyes staring, their legs gathered for a spring, for hours and hours they wait, motionless, bathing voluptuously in the sun. should a tit-bit to her liking happen to pass, forthwith the watcher darts from her tall tower, swift as an arrow from the bow. with a daggerthrust in the neck, she stabs the jugular of the locust, dragon-fly or other prey whereof i am the purveyor; and she as quickly scales the donjon and retires with her capture. the performance is a wonderful exhibition of skill and speed. very seldom is a quarry missed, provided that it pass at a convenient distance, within the range of the huntress' bound. but, if the prey be at some distance, for instance on the wire of the cage, the lycosa takes no notice of it. scorning to go in pursuit, she allows it to roam at will. she never strikes except when sure of her stroke. she achieves this by means of her tower. hiding behind the wall, she sees the stranger advancing, keeps her eyes on him and suddenly pounces when he comes within reach. these abrupt tactics make the thing a certainty. though he were winged and swift of flight, the unwary one who approaches the ambush is lost. this presumes, it is true, an exemplary patience on the lycosa's part; for the burrow has naught that can serve to entice victims. at best, the ledge provided by the turret may, at rare intervals, tempt some weary wayfarer to use it as a resting-place. but, if the quarry do not come today, it is sure to come to-morrow, the next day, or later, for the locusts hop innumerable in the waste-land, nor are they always able to regulate their leaps. some day or other, chance is bound to bring one of them within the purlieus of the burrow. this is the moment to spring upon the pilgrim from the ramparts. until then, we maintain a stoical vigilance. we shall dine when we can; but we shall end by dining. the lycosa, therefore, well aware of these lingering eventualities, waits and is not unduly distressed by a prolonged abstinence. she has an accommodating stomach, which is satisfied to be gorged to-day and to remain empty afterwards for goodness knows how long. i have sometimes neglected my catering-duties for weeks at a time; and my boarders have been none the worse for it. after a more or less protracted fast, they do not pine away, but are smitten with a wolf-like hunger. all these ravenous eaters are alike: they guzzle to excess to-day, in anticipation of to-morrow's dearth. in her youth, before she has a burrow, the lycosa earns her living in another manner. clad in grey like her elders, but without the black-velvet apron which she receives on attaining the marriageable age, she roams among the scrubby grass. this is true hunting. should a suitable quarry heave in sight, the spider pursues it, drives it from its shelters, follows it hot-foot. the fugitive gains the heights, makes as though to fly away. he has not the time. with an upward leap, the lycosa grabs him before he can rise. i am charmed with the agility wherewith my yearling boarders seize the flies which i provide for them. in vain does the fly take refuge a couple of inches up, on some blade of grass. with a sudden spring into the air, the spider pounces on the prey. no cat is quicker in catching her mouse. but these are the feats of youth not handicapped by obesity. later, when a heavy paunch, dilated with eggs and silk, has to be trailed along, those gymnastic performances become impracticable. the lycosa then digs herself a settled abode, a hunting-box, and sits in her watch-tower, on the look-out for game. when and how is the burrow obtained wherein the lycosa, once a vagrant, now a stay-at-home, is to spend the remainder of her long life? we are in autumn, the weather is already turning cool. this is how the field cricket sets to work: as long as the days are fine and the nights not too cold, the future chorister of spring rambles over the fallows, careless of a local habitation. at critical moments, the cover of a dead leaf provides him with a temporary shelter. in the end, the burrow, the permanent dwelling, is dug as the inclement season draws nigh. the lycosa shares the cricket's views: like him, she finds a thousand pleasures in the vagabond life. with september comes the nuptial badge, the black-velvet bib. the spiders meet at night, by the soft moonlight: they romp together, they eat the beloved shortly after the wedding; by day, they scour the country, they track the game on the short-pile, grassy carpet, they take their fill of the joys of the sun. that is much better than solitary meditation at the bottom of a well. and so it is not rare to see young mothers dragging their bag of eggs, or even already carrying their family, and as yet without a home. in october, it is time to settle down. we then, in fact, find two sorts of burrows, which differ in diameter. the larger, bottle-neck burrows belong to the old matrons, who have owned their house for two years at least. the smaller, of the width of a thick lead-pencil, contain the young mothers, born that year. by dint of long and leisurely alterations, the novice's earths will increase in depth as well as in diameter and become roomy abodes, similar to those of the grandmothers. in both, we find the owner and her family, the latter sometimes already hatched and sometimes still enclosed in the satin wallet. seeing no digging-tools, such as the excavation of the dwelling seemed to me to require, i wondered whether the lycosa might not avail herself of some chance gallery, the work of the cicada or the earth-worm. this ready-made tunnel, thought i, must shorten the labours of the spider, who appears to be so badly off for tools; she would only have to enlarge it and put it in order. i was wrong: the burrow is excavated, from start to finish, by her unaided labour. then where are the digging-implements? we think of the legs, of the claws. we think of them, but reflection tells us that tools such as these would not do: they are too long and too difficult to wield in a confined space. what is required is the miner's short-handled pick, wherewith to drive hard, to insert, to lever and to extract; what is required is the sharp point that enters the earth and crumbles it into fragments. there remain the lycosa's fangs, delicate weapons which we at first hesitate to associate with such work, so illogical does it seem to dig a pit with surgeon's scalpels. the fangs are a pair of sharp, curved points, which, when at rest, crook like a finger and take shelter between two strong pillars. the cat sheathes her claws under the velvet of the paw, to preserve their edge and sharpness. in the same way, the lycosa protects her poisoned daggers by folding them within the case of two powerful columns, which come plumb on the surface and contain the muscles that work them. well, this surgical outfit, intended for stabbing the jugular artery of the prey, suddenly becomes a pick-axe and does rough navvy's work. to witness the underground digging is impossible; but we can, at least, with the exercise of a little patience, see the rubbish carted away. if i watch my captives, without tiring, at a very early hour--for the work takes place mostly at night and at long intervals--in the end i catch them coming up with a load. contrary to what i expected, the legs take no part in the carting. it is the mouth that acts as the barrow. a tiny ball of earth is held between the fangs and is supported by the palpi, or feelers, which are little arms employed in the service of the mouth-parts. the lycosa descends cautiously from her turret, goes to some distance to get rid of her burden and quickly dives down again to bring up more. we have seen enough: we know that the lycosa's fangs, those lethal weapons, are not afraid to bite into clay and gravel. they knead the excavated rubbish into pellets, take up the mass of earth and carry it outside. the rest follows naturally; it is the fangs that dig, delve and extract. how finely-tempered they must be, not to be blunted by this well-sinker's work and to do duty presently in the surgical operation of stabbing the neck! i have said that the repairs and extensions of the burrow are made at long intervals. from time to time, the circular parapet receives additions and becomes a little higher; less frequently still, the dwelling is enlarged and deepened. as a rule, the mansion remains as it was for a whole season. towards the end of winter, in march more than at any other period, the lycosa seems to wish to give herself a little more space. this is the moment to subject her to certain tests. we know that the field cricket, when removed from his burrow and caged under conditions that would allow him to dig himself a new home should the fit seize him, prefers to tramp from one casual shelter to another, or rather abandons every idea of creating a permanent residence. there is a short season whereat the instinct for building a subterranean gallery is imperatively aroused. when this season is past, the excavating artist, if accidentally deprived of his abode, becomes a wandering bohemian, careless of a lodging. he has forgotten his talents and he sleeps out. that the bird, the nest-builder, should neglect its art when it has no brood to care for is perfectly logical: it builds for its family, not for itself. but what shall we say of the cricket, who is exposed to a thousand mishaps when away from home? the protection of a roof would be of great use to him; and the giddy-pate does not give it a thought, though he is very strong and more capable than ever of digging with his powerful jaws. what reason can we allege for this neglect? none, unless it be that the season of strenuous burrowing is past. the instincts have a calendar of their own. at the given hour, suddenly they awaken; as suddenly, afterwards, they fall asleep. the ingenious become incompetent when the prescribed period is ended. on a subject of this kind, we can consult the spider of the waste-lands. i catch an old lycosa in the fields and house her, that same day, under wire, in a burrow where i have prepared a soil to her liking. if, by my contrivances and with a bit of reed, i have previously moulded a burrow roughly representing the one from which i took her, the spider enters it forthwith and seems pleased with her new residence. the product of my art is accepted as her lawful property and undergoes hardly any alterations. in course of time, a bastion is erected around the orifice; the top of the gallery is cemented with silk; and that is all. in this establishment of my building, the animal's behaviour remains what it would be under natural conditions. but place the lycosa on the surface of the ground, without first shaping a burrow. what will the homeless spider do? dig herself a dwelling, one would think. she has the strength to do so; she is in the prime of life. besides, the soil is similar to that whence i ousted her and suits the operation perfectly. we therefore expect to see the spider settled before long in a shaft of her own construction. we are disappointed. weeks pass and not an effort is made, not one. demoralized by the absence of an ambush, the lycosa hardly vouchsafes a glance at the game which i serve up. the crickets pass within her reach in vain; most often she scorns them. she slowly wastes away with fasting and boredom. at length, she dies. take up your miner's trade again, poor fool! make yourself a home, since you know how to, and life will be sweet to you for many a long day yet: the weather is fine and victuals plentiful. dig, delve, go underground, where safety lies. like an idiot, you refrain; and you perish. why? because the craft which you were wont to ply is forgotten; because the days of patient digging are past and your poor brain is unable to work back. to do a second time what has been done already is beyond your wit. for all your meditative air, you cannot solve the problem of how to reconstruct that which is vanished and gone. let us now see what we can do with younger lycosae, who are at the burrowing-stage. i dig out five or six at the end of february. they are half the size of the old ones; their burrows are equal in diameter to my little finger. rubbish quite fresh-spread around the pit bears witness to the recent date of the excavations. relegated to their wire cages, these young lycosae behave differently according as the soil placed at their disposal is or is not already provided with a burrow made by me. a burrow is hardly the word: i give them but the nucleus of a shaft, about an inch deep, to lure them on. when in possession of this rudimentary lair, the spider does not hesitate to pursue the work which i have interrupted in the fields. at night, she digs with a will. i can see this by the heap of rubbish flung aside. she at last obtains a house to suit her, a house surmounted by the usual turret. the others, on the contrary, those spiders for whom the thrust of my pencil has not contrived an entrance-hall representing, to a certain extent, the natural gallery whence i dislodged them, absolutely refuse to work; and they die, notwithstanding the abundance of provisions. the first pursue the season's task. they were digging when i caught them; and, carried away by the enthusiasm of their activity, they go on digging inside my cages. taken in by my decoy-shaft, they deepen the imprint of the pencil as though they were deepening their real vestibule. they do not begin their labours over again; they continue them. the second, not having this inducement, this semblance of a burrow mistaken for their own work, forsake the idea of digging and allow themselves to die, because they would have to travel back along the chain of actions and to resume the pick-strokes of the start. to begin all over again requires reflection, a quality wherewith they are not endowed. to the insect--and we have seen this in many earlier cases--what is done is done and cannot be taken up again. the hands of a watch do not move backwards. the insect behaves in much the same way. its activity urges it in one direction, ever forwards, without allowing it to retrace its steps, even when an accident makes this necessary. what the mason-bees and the others taught us erewhile the lycosa now confirms in her manner. incapable of taking fresh pains to build herself a second dwelling, when the first is done for, she will go on the tramp, she will break into a neighbour's house, she will run the risk of being eaten should she not prove the stronger, but she will never think of making herself a home by starting afresh. what a strange intellect is that of the animal, a mixture of mechanical routine and subtle brain-power! does it contain gleams that contrive, wishes that pursue a definite object? following in the wake of so many others, the lycosa warrants us in entertaining a doubt. chapter v: the narbonne lycosa: the family for three weeks and more, the lycosa trails the bag of eggs hanging to her spinnerets. the reader will remember the experiments described in the third chapter of this volume, particularly those with the cork ball and the thread pellet which the spider so foolishly accepts in exchange for the real pill. well, this exceedingly dull-witted mother, satisfied with aught that knocks against her heels, is about to make us wonder at her devotion. whether she come up from her shaft to lean upon the kerb and bask in the sun, whether she suddenly retire underground in the face of danger, or whether she be roaming the country before settling down, never does she let go her precious bag, that very cumbrous burden in walking, climbing or leaping. if, by some accident, it become detached from the fastening to which it is hung, she flings herself madly on her treasure and lovingly embraces it, ready to bite whoso would take it from her. i myself am sometimes the thief. i then hear the points of the poison-fangs grinding against the steel of my pincers, which tug in one direction while the lycosa tugs in the other. but let us leave the animal alone: with a quick touch of the spinnerets, the pill is restored to its place; and the spider strides off, still menacing. towards the end of summer, all the householders, old or young, whether in captivity on the window-sill or at liberty in the paths of the enclosure, supply me daily with the following improving sight. in the morning, as soon as the sun is hot and beats upon their burrow, the anchorites come up from the bottom with their bag and station themselves at the opening. long siestas on the threshold in the sun are the order of the day throughout the fine season; but, at the present time, the position adopted is a different one. formerly, the lycosa came out into the sun for her own sake. leaning on the parapet, she had the front half of her body outside the pit and the hinder half inside. the eyes took their fill of light; the belly remained in the dark. when carrying her egg-bag, the spider reverses the posture: the front is in the pit, the rear outside. with her hind-legs she holds the white pill bulging with germs lifted above the entrance; gently she turns and returns it, so as to present every side to the life-giving rays. and this goes on for half the day, so long as the temperature is high; and it is repeated daily, with exquisite patience, during three or four weeks. to hatch its eggs, the bird covers them with the quilt of its breast; it strains them to the furnace of its heart. the lycosa turns hers in front of the hearth of hearths, she gives them the sun as an incubator. in the early days of september, the young ones, who have been some time hatched, are ready to come out. the pill rips open along the middle fold. we read of the origin of this fold in an earlier chapter. {24} does the mother, feeling the brood quicken inside the satin wrapper, herself break open the vessel at the opportune moment? it seems probable. on the other hand, there may be a spontaneous bursting, such as we shall see later in the banded epeira's balloon, a tough wallet which opens a breach of its own accord, long after the mother has ceased to exist. the whole family emerges from the bag straightway. then and there, the youngsters climb to the mother's back. as for the empty bag, now a worthless shred, it is flung out of the burrow; the lycosa does not give it a further thought. huddled together, sometimes in two or three layers, according to their number, the little ones cover the whole back of the mother, who, for seven or eight months to come, will carry her family night and day. nowhere can we hope to see a more edifying domestic picture than that of the lycosa clothed in her young. from time to time, i meet a little band of gipsies passing along the highroad on their way to some neighbouring fair. the new-born babe mewls on the mother's breast, in a hammock formed out of a kerchief. the lastweaned is carried pick-a-back; a third toddles clinging to its mother's skirts; others follow closely, the biggest in the rear, ferreting in the blackberry-laden hedgerows. it is a magnificent spectacle of happy-golucky fruitfulness. they go their way, penniless and rejoicing. the sun is hot and the earth is fertile. but how this picture pales before that of the lycosa, that incomparable gipsy whose brats are numbered by the hundred! and one and all of them, from september to april, without a moment's respite, find room upon the patient creature's back, where they are content to lead a tranquil life and to be carted about. the little ones are very good; none moves, none seeks a quarrel with his neighbours. clinging together, they form a continuous drapery, a shaggy ulster under which the mother becomes unrecognizable. is it an animal, a fluff of wool, a cluster of small seeds fastened to one another? 'tis impossible to tell at the first glance. the equilibrium of this living blanket is not so firm but that falls often occur, especially when the mother climbs from indoors and comes to the threshold to let the little ones take the sun. the least brush against the gallery unseats a part of the family. the mishap is not serious. the hen, fidgeting about her chicks, looks for the strays, calls them, gathers them together. the lycosa knows not these maternal alarms. impassively, she leaves those who drop off to manage their own difficulty, which they do with wonderful quickness. commend me to those youngsters for getting up without whining, dusting themselves and resuming their seat in the saddle! the unhorsed ones promptly find a leg of the mother, the usual climbing-pole; they swarm up it as fast as they can and recover their places on the bearer's back. the living bark of animals is reconstructed in the twinkling of an eye. to speak here of mother-love were, i think, extravagant. the lycosa's affection for her offspring hardly surpasses that of the plant, which is unacquainted with any tender feeling and nevertheless bestows the nicest and most delicate care upon its seeds. the animal, in many cases, knows no other sense of motherhood. what cares the lycosa for her brood! she accepts another's as readily as her own; she is satisfied so long as her back is burdened with a swarming crowd, whether it issue from her ovaries or elsewhence. there is no question here of real maternal affection. i have described elsewhere the prowess of the copris {25} watching over cells that are not her handiwork and do not contain her offspring. with a zeal which even the additional labour laid upon her does not easily weary, she removes the mildew from the alien dung-balls, which far exceed the regular nests in number; she gently scrapes and polishes and repairs them; she listens to them attentively and enquires by ear into each nursling's progress. her real collection could not receive greater care. her own family or another's: it is all one to her. the lycosa is equally indifferent. i take a hair-pencil and sweep the living burden from one of my spiders, making it fall close to another covered with her little ones. the evicted youngsters scamper about, find the new mother's legs outspread, nimbly clamber up these and mount on the back of the obliging creature, who quietly lets them have their way. they slip in among the others, or, when the layer is too thick, push to the front and pass from the abdomen to the thorax and even to the head, though leaving the region of the eyes uncovered. it does not do to blind the bearer: the common safety demands that. they know this and respect the lenses of the eyes, however populous the assembly be. the whole animal is now covered with a swarming carpet of young, all except the legs, which must preserve their freedom of action, and the under part of the body, where contact with the ground is to be feared. my pencil forces a third family upon the already overburdened spider; and this too is peacefully accepted. the youngsters huddle up closer, lie one on top of the other in layers and room is found for all. the lycosa has lost the last semblance of an animal, has become a nameless bristling thing that walks about. falls are frequent and are followed by continual climbings. i perceive that i have reached the limits not of the bearer's good-will, but of equilibrium. the spider would adopt an indefinite further number of foundlings, if the dimensions of her back afforded them a firm hold. let us be content with this. let us restore each family to its mother, drawing at random from the lot. there must necessarily be interchanges, but that is of no importance: real children and adopted children are the same thing in the lycosa's eyes. one would like to know if, apart from my artifices, in circumstances where i do not interfere, the good-natured dry-nurse sometimes burdens herself with a supplementary family; it would also be interesting to learn what comes of this association of lawful offspring and strangers. i have ample materials wherewith to obtain an answer to both questions. i have housed in the same cage two elderly matrons laden with youngsters. each has her home as far removed from the other's as the size of the common pan permits. the distance is nine inches or more. it is not enough. proximity soon kindles fierce jealousies between those intolerant creatures, who are obliged to live far apart, so as to secure adequate hunting-grounds. one morning, i catch the two harridans fighting out their quarrel on the floor. the loser is laid flat upon her back; the victress, belly to belly with her adversary, clutches her with her legs and prevents her from moving a limb. both have their poison-fangs wide open, ready to bite without yet daring, so mutually formidable are they. after a certain period of waiting, during which the pair merely exchange threats, the stronger of the two, the one on top, closes her lethal engine and grinds the head of the prostrate foe. then she calmly devours the deceased by small mouthfuls. now what do the youngsters do, while their mother is being eaten? easily consoled, heedless of the atrocious scene, they climb on the conqueror's back and quietly take their places among the lawful family. the ogress raises no objection, accepts them as her own. she makes a meal off the mother and adopts the orphans. let us add that, for many months yet, until the final emancipation comes, she will carry them without drawing any distinction between them and her own young. henceforth, the two families, united in so tragic a fashion, will form but one. we see how greatly out of place it would be to speak, in this connection, of mother-love and its fond manifestations. does the lycosa at least feed the younglings who, for seven months, swarm upon her back? does she invite them to the banquet when she has secured a prize? i thought so at first; and, anxious to assist at the family repast, i devoted special attention to watching the mothers eat. as a rule, the prey is consumed out of sight, in the burrow; but sometimes also a meal is taken on the threshold, in the open air. besides, it is easy to rear the lycosa and her family in a wire-gauze cage, with a layer of earth wherein the captive will never dream of sinking a well, such work being out of season. everything then happens in the open. well, while the mother munches, chews, expresses the juices and swallows, the youngsters do not budge from their camping-ground on her back. not one quits its place nor gives a sign of wishing to slip down and join in the meal. nor does the mother extend an invitation to them to come and recruit themselves, nor put any broken victuals aside for them. she feeds and the others look on, or rather remain indifferent to what is happening. their perfect quiet during the lycosa's feast points to the posession of a stomach that knows no cravings. then with what are they sustained, during their seven months' upbringing on the mother's back? one conceives a notion of exudations supplied by the bearer's body, in which case the young would feed on their mother, after the manner of parasitic vermin, and gradually drain her strength. we must abandon this notion. never are they seen to put their mouths to the skin that should be a sort of teat to them. on the other hand, the lycosa, far from being exhausted and shrivelling, keeps perfectly well and plump. she has the same pot-belly when she finishes rearing her young as when she began. she has not lost weight: far from it; on the contrary, she has put on flesh: she has gained the wherewithal to beget a new family next summer, one as numerous as to-day's. once more, with what do the little ones keep up their strength? we do not like to suggest reserves supplied by the egg as rectifying the beastie's expenditure of vital force, especially when we consider that those reserves, themselves so close to nothing, must be economized in view of the silk, a material of the highest importance, of which a plentiful use will be made presently. there must be other powers at play in the tiny animal's machinery. total abstinence from food could be understood, if it were accompanied by inertia: immobility is not life. but the young lycosae, although usually quiet on their mother's back, are at all times ready for exercise and for agile swarming. when they fall from the maternal perambulator, they briskly pick themselves up, briskly scramble up a leg and make their way to the top. it is a splendidly nimble and spirited performance. besides, once seated, they have to keep a firm balance in the mass; they have to stretch and stiffen their little limbs in order to hang on to their neighbours. as a matter of fact, there is no absolute rest for them. now physiology teaches us that not a fibre works without some expenditure of energy. the animal, which can be likened, in no small measure, to our industrial machines, demands, on the one hand, the renovation of its organism, which wears out with movement, and, on the other, the maintenance of the heat transformed into action. we can compare it with the locomotive-engine. as the iron horse performs its work, it gradually wears out its pistons, its rods, its wheels, its boiler-tubes, all of which have to be made good from time to time. the founder and the smith repair it, supply it, so to speak, with 'plastic food,' the food that becomes embodied with the whole and forms part of it. but, though it have just come from the engine-shop, it is still inert. to acquire the power of movement, it must receive from the stoker a supply of 'energyproducing food;' in other words, he lights a few shovelfuls of coal in its inside. this heat will produce mechanical work. even so with the beast. as nothing is made from nothing, the egg supplies first the materials of the new-born animal; then the plastic food, the smith of living creatures, increases the body, up to a certain limit, and renews it as it wears away. the stoker works at the same time, without stopping. fuel, the source of energy, makes but a short stay in the system, where it is consumed and furnishes heat, whence movement is derived. life is a fire-box. warmed by its food, the animal machine moves, walks, runs, jumps, swims, flies, sets its locomotory apparatus going in a thousand manners. to return to the young lycosae, they grow no larger until the period of their emancipation. i find them at the age of seven months the same as when i saw them at their birth. the egg supplied the materials necessary for their tiny frames; and, as the loss of waste substance is, for the moment, excessively small, or even _nil_, additional plastic food is not needed so long as the beastie does not grow. in this respect, the prolonged abstinence presents no difficulty. but there remains the question of energy-producing food, which is indispensable, for the little lycosa moves, when necessary, and very actively at that. to what shall we attribute the heat expended upon action, when the animal takes absolutely no nourishment? an idea suggests itself. we say to ourselves that, without being life, a machine is something more than matter, for man has added a little of his mind to it. now the iron beast, consuming its ration of coal, is really browsing the ancient foliage of arborescent ferns in which solar energy has accumulated. beasts of flesh and blood act no otherwise. whether they mutually devour one another or levy tribute on the plant, they invariably quicken themselves with the stimulant of the sun's heat, a heat stored in grass, fruit, seed and those which feed on such. the sun, the soul of the universe, is the supreme dispenser of energy. instead of being served up through the intermediary of food and passing through the ignominious circuit of gastric chemistry, could not this solar energy penetrate the animal directly and charge it with activity, even as the battery charges an accumulator with power? why not live on sun, seeing that, after all, we find naught but sun in the fruits which we consume? chemical science, that bold revolutionary, promises to provide us with synthetic food-stuffs. the laboratory and the factory will take the place of the farm. why should not physical science step in as well? it would leave the preparation of plastic food to the chemist's retorts; it would reserve for itself that of energy-producing food, which, reduced to its exact terms, ceases to be matter. with the aid of some ingenious apparatus, it would pump into us our daily ration of solar energy, to be later expended in movement, whereby the machine would be kept going without the often painful assistance of the stomach and its adjuncts. what a delightful world, where one would lunch off a ray of sunshine! is it a dream, or the anticipation of a remote reality? the problem is one of the most important that science can set us. let us first hear the evidence of the young lycosae regarding its possibilities. for seven months, without any material nourishment, they expend strength in moving. to wind up the mechanism of their muscles, they recruit themselves direct with heat and light. during the time when she was dragging the bag of eggs behind her, the mother, at the best moments of the day, came and held up her pill to the sun. with her two hind-legs, she lifted it out of the ground, into the full light; slowly she turned it and returned it, so that every side might receive its share of the vivifying rays. well, this bath of life, which awakened the germs, is now prolonged to keep the tender babes active. daily, if the sky be clear, the lycosa, carrying her young, comes up from the burrow, leans on the kerb and spends long hours basking in the sun. here, on their mother's back, the youngsters stretch their limbs delightedly, saturate themselves with heat, take in reserves of motor power, absorb energy. they are motionless; but, if i only blow upon them, they stampede as nimbly as though a hurricane were passing. hurriedly, they disperse; hurriedly, they reassemble: a proof that, without material nourishment, the little animal machine is always at full pressure, ready to work. when the shade comes, mother and sons go down again, surfeited with solar emanations. the feast of energy at the sun tavern is finished for the day. it is repeated in the same way daily, if the weather be mild, until the hour of emancipation comes, followed by the first mouthfuls of solid food. chapter vi: the narbonne lycosa: the climbing-instinct the month of march comes to an end; and the departure of the youngsters begins, in glorious weather, during the hottest hours of the morning. laden with her swarming burden, the mother lycosa is outside her burrow, squatting on the parapet at the entrance. she lets them do as they please; as though indifferent to what is happening, she exhibits neither encouragement nor regret. whoso will goes; whoso will remains behind. first these, then those, according as they feel themselves duly soaked with sunshine, the little ones leave the mother in batches, run about for a moment on the ground and then quickly reach the trellis-work of the cage, which they climb with surprising alacrity. they pass through the meshes, they clamber right to the top of the citadel. all, with not one exception, make for the heights, instead of roaming on the ground, as might reasonably be expected from the eminently earthly habits of the lycosae; all ascend the dome, a strange procedure whereof i do not yet guess the object. i receive a hint from the upright ring that finishes the top of the cage. the youngsters hurry to it. it represents the porch of their gymnasium. they hang out threads across the opening; they stretch others from the ring to the nearest points of the trellis-work. on these foot-bridges, they perform slack-rope exercises amid endless comings and goings. the tiny legs open out from time to time and straddle as though to reach the most distant points. i begin to realize that they are acrobats aiming at loftier heights than those of the dome. i top the trellis with a branch that doubles the attainable height. the bustling crowd hastily scrambles up it, reaches the tip of the topmost twigs and thence sends out threads that attach themselves to every surrounding object. these form so many suspension-bridges; and my beasties nimbly run along them, incessantly passing to and fro. one would say that they wished to climb higher still. i will endeavour to satisfy their desires. i take a nine-foot reed, with tiny branches spreading right up to the top, and place it above the cage. the little lycosae clamber to the very summit. here, longer threads are produced from the rope-yard and are now left to float, anon converted into bridges by the mere contact of the free end with the neighbouring supports. the rope-dancers embark upon them and form garlands which the least breath of air swings daintily. the thread is invisible when it does not come between the eyes and the sun; and the whole suggests rows of gnats dancing an aerial ballet. then, suddenly, teased by the air-currents, the delicate mooring breaks and flies through space. behold the emigrants off and away, clinging to their thread. if the wind be favourable, they can land at great distances. their departure is thus continued for a week or two, in bands more or less numerous, according to the temperature and the brightness of the day. if the sky be overcast, none dreams of leaving. the travellers need the kisses of the sun, which give energy and vigour. at last, the whole family has disappeared, carried afar by its flyingropes. the mother remains alone. the loss of her offspring hardly seems to distress her. she retains her usual colour and plumpness, which is a sign that the maternal exertions have not been too much for her. i also notice an increased fervour in the chase. while burdened with her family, she was remarkably abstemious, accepting only with great reserve the game placed at her disposal. the coldness of the season may have militated against copious refections; perhaps also the weight of the little ones hampered her movements and made her more discreet in attacking the prey. to-day, cheered by the fine weather and able to move freely, she hurries up from her lair each time i set a tit-bit to her liking buzzing at the entrance to her burrow; she comes and takes from my fingers the savoury locust, the portly anoxia; {26} and this performance is repeated daily, whenever i have the leisure to devote to it. after a frugal winter, the time has come for plentiful repasts. this appetite tells us that the animal is not at the point of death; one does not feast in this way with a played-out stomach. my boarders are entering in full vigour upon their fourth year. in the winter, in the fields, i used to find large mothers, carting their young, and others not much more than half their size. the whole series, therefore, represented three generations. and now, in my earthenware pans, after the departure of the family, the old matrons still carry on and continue as strong as ever. every outward appearance tells us that, after becoming great-grandmothers, they still keep themselves fit for propagating their species. the facts correspond with these anticipations. when september returns, my captives are dragging a bag as bulky as that of last year. for a long time, even when the eggs of the others have been hatched for some weeks past, the mothers come daily to the threshold of the burrow and hold out their wallets for incubation by the sun. their perseverance is not rewarded: nothing issues from the satin purse; nothing stirs within. why? because, in the prison of my cages, the eggs have had no father. tired of waiting and at last recognizing the barrenness of their produce, they push the bag of eggs outside the burrow and trouble about it no more. at the return of spring, by which time the family, if developed according to rule, would have been emancipated, they die. the mighty spider of the waste-lands, therefore, attains to an even more patriarchal age than her neighbour the sacred beetle: {27} she lives for five years at the very least. let us leave the mothers to their business and return to the youngsters. it is not without a certain surprise that we see the little lycosae, at the first moment of their emancipation, hasten to ascend the heights. destined to live on the ground, amidst the short grass, and afterwards to settle in the permanent abode, a pit, they start by being enthusiastic acrobats. before descending to the low levels, their normal dwellingplace, they affect lofty altitudes. to rise higher and ever higher is their first need. i have not, it seems, exhausted the limit of their climbing-instinct even with a ninefoot pole, suitably furnished with branches to facilitate the escalade. those who have eagerly reached the very top wave their legs, fumble in space as though for yet higher stalks. it behoves us to begin again and under better conditions. although the narbonne lycosa, with her temporary yearning for the heights, is more interesting than other spiders, by reason of the fact that her usual habitation is underground, she is not so striking at swarming-time, because the youngsters, instead of all migrating at once, leave the mother at different periods and in small batches. the sight will be a finer one with the common garden or cross spider, the diadem epeira (_epeira diadema_, lin.), decorated with three white crosses on her back. she lays her eggs in november and dies with the first cold snap. she is denied the lycosa's longevity. she leaves the natal wallet early one spring and never sees the following spring. this wallet, which contains the eggs, has none of the ingenious structure which we admired in the banded and in the silky epeira. no longer do we see a graceful balloonshape nor yet a paraboloid with a starry base; no longer a tough, waterproof satin stuff; no longer a swan's-down resembling a fleecy, russet cloud; no longer an inner keg in which the eggs are packed. the art of stout fabrics and of walls within walls is unknown here. the work of the cross spider is a pill of white silk, wrought into a yielding felt, through which the new-born spiders will easily work their way, without the aid of the mother, long since dead, and without having to rely upon its bursting at the given hour. it is about the size of a damson. we can judge the method of manufacture from the structure. like the lycosa, whom we saw, in chapter iii., at work in one of my earthenware pans, the cross spider, on the support supplied by a few threads stretched between the nearest objects, begins by making a shallow saucer of sufficient thickness to dispense with subsequent corrections. the process is easily guessed. the tip of the abdomen goes up and down, down and up with an even beat, while the worker shifts her place a little. each time, the spinnerets add a bit of thread to the carpet already made. when the requisite thickness is obtained, the mother empties her ovaries, in one continuous flow, into the centre of the bowl. glued together by their inherent moisture, the eggs, of a handsome orange-yellow, form a ball-shaped heap. the work of the spinnerets is resumed. the ball of germs is covered with a silk cap, fashioned in the same way as the saucer. the two halves of the work are so well joined that the whole constitutes an unbroken sphere. the banded epeira and the silky epeira, those experts in the manufacture of rainproof textures, lay their eggs high up, on brushwood and bramble, without shelter of any kind. the thick material of the wallets is enough to protect the eggs from the inclemencies of the winter, especially from damp. the diadem epeira, or cross spider, needs a cranny for hers, which is contained in a non-waterproof felt. in a heap of stones, well exposed to the sun, she will choose a large slab to serve as a roof. she lodges her pill underneath it, in the company of the hibernating snail. more often still, she prefers the thick tangle of some dwarf shrub, standing eight or nine inches high and retaining its leaves in winter. in the absence of anything better, a tuft of grass answers the purpose. whatever the hiding-place, the bag of eggs is always near the ground, tucked away as well as may be, amid the surrounding twigs. save in the case of the roof supplied by a large stone, we see that the site selected hardly satisfies proper hygienic needs. the epeira seems to realize this fact. by way of an additional protection, even under a stone, she never fails to make a thatched roof for her eggs. she builds them a covering with bits of fine, dry grass, joined together with a little silk. the abode of the eggs becomes a straw wigwam. good luck procures me two cross spiders' nests, on the edge of one of the paths in the enclosure, among some tufts of ground-cypress, or lavendercotton. this is just what i wanted for my plans. the find is all the more valuable as the period of the exodus is near at hand. i prepare two lengths of bamboo, standing about fifteen feet high and clustered with little twigs from top to bottom. i plant one of them straight up in the tuft, beside the first nest. i clear the surrounding ground, because the bushy vegetation might easily, thanks to threads carried by the wind, divert the emigrants from the road which i have laid out for them. the other bamboo i set up in the middle of the yard, all by itself, some few steps from any outstanding object. the second nest is removed as it is, shrub and all, and placed at the bottom of the tall, ragged distaff. the events expected are not long in coming. in the first fortnight in may, a little earlier in one case, a little later in the other, the two families, each presented with a bamboo climbing-pole, leave their respective wallets. there is nothing remarkable about the mode of egress. the precincts to be crossed consist of a very slack net-work, through which the outcomers wriggle: weak little orange-yellow beasties, with a triangular black patch upon their sterns. one morning is long enough for the whole family to make its appearance. by degrees, the emancipated youngsters climb the nearest twigs, clamber to the top, and spread a few threads. soon, they gather in a compact, ball-shaped cluster, the size of a walnut. they remain motionless. with their heads plunged into the heap and their sterns projecting, they doze gently, mellowing under the kisses of the sun. rich in the possession of a thread in their belly as their sole inheritance, they prepare to disperse over the wide world. let us create a disturbance among the globular group by stirring it with a straw. all wake up at once. the cluster softly dilates and spreads, as though set in motion by some centrifugal force; it becomes a transparent orb wherein thousands and thousands of tiny legs quiver and shake, while threads are extended along the way to be followed. the whole work resolves itself into a delicate veil which swallows up the scattered family. we then see an exquisite nebula against whose opalescent tapestry the tiny animals gleam like twinkling orange stars. this straggling state, though it last for hours, is but temporary. if the air grow cooler, if rain threaten, the spherical group reforms at once. this is a protective measure. on the morning after a shower, i find the families on either bamboo in as good condition as on the day before. the silk veil and the pill formation have sheltered them well enough from the downpour. even so do sheep, when caught in a storm in the pastures, gather close, huddle together and make a common rampart of their backs. the assembly into a ball-shaped mass is also the rule in calm, bright weather, after the morning's exertions. in the afternoon, the climbers collect at a higher point, where they weave a wide, conical tent, with the end of a shoot for its top, and, gathered into a compact group, spend the night there. next day, when the heat returns, the ascent is resumed in long files, following the shrouds which a few pioneers have rigged and which those who come after elaborate with their own work. collected nightly into a globular troop and sheltered under a fresh tent, for three or four days, each morning, before the sun grows too hot, my little emigrants thus raise themselves, stage by stage, on both bamboos, until they reach the sun-unit, at fifteen feet above the ground. the climb comes to an end for lack of foothold. under normal conditions, the ascent would be shorter. the young spiders have at their disposal the bushes, the brushwood, providing supports on every side for the threads wafted hither and thither by the eddying aircurrents. with these rope-bridges flung across space, the dispersal presents no difficulties. each emigrant leaves at his own good time and travels as suits him best. my devices have changed these conditions somewhat. my two bristling poles stand at a distance from the surrounding shrubs, especially the one which i planted in the middle of the yard. bridges are out of the question, for the threads flung into the air are not long enough. and so the acrobats, eager to get away, keep on climbing, never come down again, are impelled to seek in a higher position what they have failed to find in a lower. the top of my two bamboos probably fails to represent the limit of what my keen climbers are capable of achieving. we shall see, in a moment, the object of this climbing-propensity, which is a sufficiently remarkable instinct in the garden spiders, who have as their domain the low-growing brushwood wherein their nets are spread; it becomes a still more remarkable instinct in the lycosa, who, except at the moment when she leaves her mother's back, never quits the ground and yet, in the early hours of her life, shows herself as ardent a wooer of high places as the young garden spiders. let us consider the lycosa in particular. in her, at the moment of the exodus, a sudden instinct arises, to disappear, as promptly and for ever, a few hours later. this is the climbing-instinct, which is unknown to the adult and soon forgotten by the emancipated youngling, doomed to wander homeless, for many a long day, upon the ground. neither of them dreams of climbing to the top of a grass-stalk. the full-grown spider hunts trapper-fashion, ambushed in her tower; the young one hunts afoot through the scrubby grass. in both cases there is no web and therefore no need for lofty contact-points. they are not allowed to quit the ground and climb the heights. yet here we have the young lycosa, wishing to leave the maternal abode and to travel far afield by the easiest and swiftest methods, suddenly becoming an enthusiastic climber. impetuously she scales the wire trellis of the cage where she was born; hurriedly she clambers to the top of the tall mast which i have prepared for her. in the same way, she would make for the summit of the bushes in her waste-land. we catch a glimpse of her object. from on high, finding a wide space beneath her, she sends a thread floating. it is caught by the wind and carries her hanging to it. we have our aeroplanes; she too possesses her flying-machine. once the journey is accomplished, naught remains of this ingenious business. the climbing-instinct conies suddenly, at the hour of need, and no less suddenly vanishes. chapter vii: the spiders' exodus seeds, when ripened in the fruit, are disseminated, that is to say, scattered on the surface of the ground, to sprout in spots as yet unoccupied and fill the expanses that realize favourable conditions. amid the wayside rubbish grows one of the gourd family, _ecbalium elaterium_, commonly called the squirting cucumber, whose fruit--a rough and extremely bitter little cucumber--is the size of a date. when ripe, the fleshy core resolves into a liquid in which float the seeds. compressed by the elastic rind of the fruit, this liquid bears upon the base of the footstalk, which is gradually forced out, yields like a stopper, breaks off and leaves an orifice through which a stream of seeds and fluid pulp is suddenly ejected. if, with a novice hand, under a scorching sun, you shake the plant laden with yellow fruit, you are bound to be somewhat startled when you hear a noise among the leaves and receive the cucumber's grapeshot in your face. the fruit of the garden balsam, when ripe, splits, at the least touch, into five fleshy valves, which curl up and shoot their seeds to a distance. the botanical name of _impatiens_ given to the balsam alludes to this sudden dehiscence of the capsules, which cannot endure contact without bursting. in the damp and shady places of the woods there exists a plant of the same family which, for similar reasons, bears the even more expressive name of _impatiens noli-me-tangere_, or touch-me-not. the capsule of the pansy expands into three valves, each scooped out like a boat and laden in the middle with two rows of seeds. when these valves dry, the edges shrivel, press upon the grains and eject them. light seeds, especially those of the order of compositae, have aeronautic apparatus--tufts, plumes, fly-wheels--which keep them up in the air and enable them to take distant voyages. in this way, at the least breath, the seeds of the dandelion, surmounted by a tuft of feathers, fly from their dry receptacle and waft gently in the air. next to the tuft, the wing is the most satisfactory contrivance for dissemination by wind. thanks to their membranous edge, which gives them the appearance of thin scales, the seeds of the yellow wall-flower reach high cornices of buildings, clefts of inaccessible rocks, crannies in old walls, and sprout in the remnant of mould bequeathed by the mosses that were there before them. the samaras, or keys, of the elm, formed of a broad, light fan with the seed cased in its centre; those of the maple, joined in pairs and resembling the unfurled wings of a bird; those of the ash, carved like the blade of an oar, perform the most distant journeys when driven before the storm. like the plant, the insect also sometimes possesses travelling-apparatus, means of dissemination that allow large families to disperse quickly over the country, so that each member may have his place in the sun without injuring his neighbour; and these apparatus, these methods vie in ingenuity with the elm's samara, the dandelion-plume and the catapult of the squirting cucumber. let us consider, in particular, the epeirae, those magnificent spiders who, to catch their prey, stretch, between one bush and the next, great vertical sheets of meshes, resembling those of the fowler. the most remarkable in my district is the banded epeira (_epeira fasciata_, walck.), so prettily belted with yellow, black and silvery white. her nest, a marvel of gracefulness, is a satin bag, shaped like a tiny pear. its neck ends in a concave mouthpiece closed with a lid, also of satin. brown ribbons, in fanciful meridian waves, adorn the object from pole to pole. open the nest. we have seen, in an earlier chapter, {28} what we find there; let us retell the story. under the outer wrapper, which is as stout as our woven stuffs and, moreover, perfectly waterproof, is a russet eiderdown of exquisite delicacy, a silky fluff resembling driven smoke. nowhere does mother-love prepare a softer bed. in the middle of this downy mass hangs a fine, silk, thimble-shaped purse, closed with a movable lid. this contains the eggs, of a pretty orange-yellow and about five hundred in number. all things considered, is not this charming edifice an animal fruit, a germ-casket, a capsule to be compared with that of the plants? only, the epeira's wallet, instead of seeds, holds eggs. the difference is more apparent than real, for egg and grain are one. how will this living fruit, ripening in the heat beloved of the cicadae, manage to burst? how, above all, will dissemination take place? they are there in their hundreds. they must separate, go far away, isolate themselves in a spot where there is not too much fear of competition among neighbours. how will they set to work to achieve this distant exodus, weaklings that they are, taking such very tiny steps? i receive the first answer from another and much earlier epeira, whose family i find, at the beginning of may, on a yucca in the enclosure. the plant blossomed last year. the branching flower-stem, some three feet high, still stands erect, though withered. on the green leaves, shaped like a sword-blade, swarm two newly-hatched families. the wee beasties are a dull yellow, with a triangular black patch upon their stern. later on, three white crosses, ornamenting the back, will tell me that my find corresponds with the cross or diadem spider (_epeira diadema_, walck.). when the sun reaches this part of the enclosure, one of the two groups falls into a great state of flutter. nimble acrobats that they are, the little spiders scramble up, one after the other, and reach the top of the stem. here, marches and countermarches, tumult and confusion reign, for there is a slight breeze which throws the troop into disorder. i see no connected manoeuvres. from the top of the stalk they set out at every moment, one by one; they dart off suddenly; they fly away, so to speak. it is as though they had the wings of a gnat. forthwith they disappear from view. nothing that my eyes can see explains this strange flight; for precise observation is impossible amid the disturbing influences out of doors. what is wanted is a peaceful atmosphere and the quiet of my study. i gather the family in a large box, which i close at once, and instal it in the animals' laboratory, on a small table, two steps from the open window. apprised by what i have just seen of their propensity to resort to the heights, i give my subjects a bundle of twigs, eighteen inches tall, as a climbing-pole. the whole band hurriedly clambers up and reaches the top. in a few moments there is not one lacking in the group on high. the future will tell us the reason of this assemblage on the projecting tips of the twigs. the little spiders are now spinning here and there at random: they go up, go down, come up again. thus is woven a light veil of divergent threads, a many-cornered web with the end of the branch for its summit and the edge of the table for its base, some eighteen inches wide. this veil is the drill-ground, the work-yard where the preparations for departure are made. here hasten the humble little creatures, running indefatigably to and fro. when the sun shines upon them, they become gleaming specks and form upon the milky background of the veil a sort of constellation, a reflex of those remote points in the sky where the telescope shows us endless galaxies of stars. the immeasurably small and the immeasurably large are alike in appearance. it is all a matter of distance. but the living nebula is not composed of fixed stars; on the contrary, its specks are in continual movement. the young spiders never cease shifting their position on the web. many let themselves drop, hanging by a length of thread, which the faller's weight draws from the spinnerets. then quickly they climb up again by the same thread, which they wind gradually into a skein and lengthen by successive falls. others confine themselves to running about the web and also give me the impression of working at a bundle of ropes. the thread, as a matter of fact, does not flow from the spinneret; it is drawn thence with a certain effort. it is a case of extraction, not emission. to obtain her slender cord, the spider has to move about and haul, either by falling or by walking, even as the rope-maker steps backwards when working his hemp. the activity now displayed on the drillground is a preparation for the approaching dispersal. the travellers are packing up. soon we see a few spiders trotting briskly between the table and the open window. they are running in mid-air. but on what? if the light fall favourably, i manage to see, at moments, behind the tiny animal, a thread resembling a ray of light, which appears for an instant, gleams and disappears. behind, therefore, there is a mooring, only just perceptible, if you look very carefully; but, in front, towards the window, there is nothing to be seen at all. in vain i examine above, below, at the side; in vain i vary the direction of the eye: i can distinguish no support for the little creature to walk upon. one would think that the beastie were paddling in space. it suggests the idea of a small bird, tied by the leg with a thread and making a flying rush forwards. but, in this case, appearances are deceptive: flight is impossible; the spider must necessarily have a bridge whereby to cross the intervening space. this bridge, which i cannot see, i can at least destroy. i cleave the air with a ruler in front of the spider making for the window. that is quite enough: the tiny animal at once ceases to go forward and falls. the invisible foot-plank is broken. my son, young paul, who is helping me, is astounded at this wave of the magic wand, for not even he, with his fresh, young eyes, is able to see a support ahead for the spiderling to move along. in the rear, on the other hand, a thread is visible. the difference is easily explained. every spider, as she goes, at the same time spins a safety-cord which will guard the rope-walker against the risk of an always possible fall. in the rear, therefore, the thread is of double thickness and can be seen, whereas, in front, it is still single and hardly perceptible to the eye. obviously, this invisible foot-bridge is not flung out by the animal: it is carried and unrolled by a gust of air. the epeira, supplied with this line, lets it float freely; and the wind, however softly blowing, bears it along and unwinds it. even so is the smoke from the bowl of a pipe whirled up in the air. this floating thread has but to touch any object in the neighbourhood and it will remain fixed to it. the suspension-bridge is thrown; and the spider can set out. the south-american indians are said to cross the abysses of the cordilleras in travelling-cradles made of twisted creepers; the little spider passes through space on the invisible and the imponderable. but to carry the end of the floating thread elsewhither a draught is needed. at this moment, the draught exists between the door of my study and the window, both of which are open. it is so slight that i do not feel its; i only know of it by the smoke from my pipe, curling softly in that direction. cold air enters from without through the door; warm air escapes from the room through the window. this is the drought that carries the threads with it and enables the spiders to embark upon their journey. i get rid of it by closing both apertures and i break off any communication by passing my ruler between the window and the table. henceforth, in the motionless atmosphere, there are no departures. the current of air is missing, the skeins are not unwound and migration becomes impossible. it is soon resumed, but in a direction whereof i never dreamt. the hot sun is beating on a certain part of the floor. at this spot, which is warmer than the rest, a column of lighter, ascending air is generated. if this column catch the threads, my spiders ought to rise to the ceiling of the room. the curious ascent does, in fact, take place. unfortunately, my troop, which has been greatly reduced by the number of departures through the window, does not lend itself to prolonged experiment. we must begin again. the next morning, on the same yucca, i gather the second family, as numerous as the first. yesterday's preparations are repeated. my legion of spiders first weaves a divergent framework between the top of the brushwood placed at the emigrants' disposal and the edge of the table. five or six hundred wee beasties swarm all over this work-yard. while this little world is busily fussing, making its arrangements for departure, i make my own. every aperture in the room is closed, so as to obtain as calm an atmosphere as possible. a small chafing-dish is lit at the foot of the table. my hands cannot feel the heat of it at the level of the web whereon my spiders are weaving. this is the very modest fire which, with its column of rising air, shall unwind the threads and carry them on high. let us first enquire the direction and strength of the current. dandelionplumes, made lighter by the removal of their seeds, serve as my guides. released above the chafing-dish, on the level of the table, they float slowly upwards and, for the most part, reach the ceiling. the emigrants' lines should rise in the same way and even better. the thing is done: with the aid of nothing that is visible to the three of us looking on, a spider makes her ascent. she ambles with her eight legs through the air; she mounts, gently swaying. the others, in everincreasing numbers, follow, sometimes by different roads, sometimes by the same road. any one who did not possess the secret would stand amazed at this magic ascent without a ladder. in a few minutes, most of them are up, clinging to the ceiling. not all of them reach it. i see some who, on attaining a certain height, cease to go up and even lose ground, although moving their legs forward with all the nimbleness of which they are capable. the more they struggle upwards, the faster they come down. this drifting, which neutralizes the distance covered and even converts it into a retrogression, is easily explained. the thread has not reached the platform; it floats, it is fixed only at the lower end. as long as it is of a fair length, it is able, although moving, to bear the minute animal's weight. but, as the spider climbs, the float becomes shorter in proportion; and the time comes when a balance is struck between the ascensional force of the thread and the weight carried. then the beastie remains stationary, although continuing to climb. presently, the weight becomes too much for the shorter and shorter float; and the spider slips down, in spite of her persistent, forward striving. she is at last brought back to the branch by the falling threads. here, the ascent is soon renewed, either on a fresh thread, if the supply of silk be not yet exhausted, or on a strange thread, the work, of those who have gone before. as a rule, the ceiling is reached. it is twelve feet high. the little spider is able, therefore, as the first product of her spinning-mill, before taking any refreshment, to obtain a line fully twelve feet in length. and all this, the rope-maker and her rope, was contained in the egg, a particle of no size at all. to what a degree of fineness can the silky matter be wrought wherewith the young spider is provided! our manufacturers are able to turn out platinum-wire that can only be seen when it is made red-hot. with much simpler means, the spiderling draws from her wire-mill threads so delicate that, even the brilliant light of the sun does not always enable us to discern them. we must not let all the climbers be stranded on the ceiling, an inhospitable region where most of them will doubtless perish, being unable to produce a second thread before they have had a meal. i open the window. a current of lukewarm air, coming from the chafing-dish, escapes through the top. dandelion-plumes, taking that direction, tell me so. the wafting threads cannot fail to be carried by this flow of air and to lengthen out in the open, where a light breeze is blowing. i take a pair of sharp scissors and, without shaking the threads, cut a few that are just visible at the base, where they are thickened with an added strand. the result of this operation is marvellous. hanging to the flying-rope, which is borne on the wind outside, the spider passes through the window, suddenly flies off and disappears. an easy way of travelling, if the conveyance possessed a rudder that allowed the passenger to land where he pleases! but the little things are at the mercy of the winds: where will they alight? hundreds, thousands of yards away, perhaps. let us wish them a prosperous journey. the problem of dissemination is now solved. what would happen if matters, instead of being brought about by my wiles, took place in the open fields? the answer is obvious. the young spiders, born acrobats and rope-walkers, climb to the top of a branch so as to find sufficient space below them to unfurl their apparatus. here, each draws from her rope-factory a thread which she abandons to the eddies of the air. gently raised by the currents that ascend from the ground warmed by the sun, this thread wafts upwards, floats, undulates, makes for its point of contact. at last, it breaks and vanishes in the distance, carrying the spinstress hanging to it. the epeira with the three white crosses, the spider who has supplied us with these first data concerning the process of dissemination, is endowed with a moderate maternal industry. as a receptacle for the eggs, she weaves a mere pill of silk. her work is modest indeed beside the banded epeira's balloons. i looked to these to supply me with fuller documents. i had laid up a store by rearing some mothers during the autumn. so that nothing of importance might escape me, i divided my stock of balloons, most of which were woven before my eyes, into two sections. one half remained in my study, under a wire-gauze cover, with, small bunches of brushwood as supports; the other half were experiencing the vicissitudes of open-air life on the rosemaries in the enclosure. these preparations, which promised so well, did not provide me with the sight which i expected, namely, a magnificent exodus, worthy of the tabernacle occupied. however, a few results, not devoid of interest, are to be noted. let us state them briefly. the hatching takes place as march approaches. when this time comes, let us open the banded epeira's nest with the scissors. we shall find that some of the youngsters have already left the central chamber and scattered over the surrounding eiderdown, while the rest of the laying still consists of a compact mass of orange eggs. the appearance of the younglings is not simultaneous; it takes place with intermissions and may last a couple of weeks. nothing as yet suggests the future, richly-striped livery. the abdomen is white and, as it were, floury in the front half; in the other half it is a blackish-brown. the rest of the body is pale-yellow, except in front, where the eyes form a black edging. when left alone, the little ones remain motionless in the soft, russet swan's-down; if disturbed, they shuffle lazily where they are, or even walk about in a hesitating and unsteady fashion. one can see that they have to ripen before venturing outside. maturity is achieved in the exquisite floss that surrounds the natal chamber and fills out the balloon. this is the waiting-room in which the body hardens. all dive into it as and when they emerge from the central keg. they will not leave it until four months later, when the midsummer heats have come. their number is considerable. a patient and careful census gives me nearly six hundred. and all this comes out of a purse no larger than a pea. by what miracle is there room for such a family? how do those thousands of legs manage to grow without straining themselves? the egg-bag, as we learnt in chapter ii., is a short cylinder rounded at the bottom. it is formed of compact white satin, an insuperable barrier. it opens into a round orifice wherein is bedded a lid of the same material, through which the feeble beasties would be incapable of passing. it is not a porous felt, but a fabric as tough as that of the sack. then by what mechanism is the delivery effected? observe that the disk of the lid doubles back into a short fold, which edges into the orifice of the bag. in the same way, the lid of a saucepan fits the mouth by means of a projecting rim, with this difference, that the rim is not attached to the saucepan, whereas, in the epeira's work, it is soldered to the bag or nest. well, at the time of the hatching, this disk becomes unstuck, lifts and allows the new-born spiders to pass through. if the rim were movable and simply inserted, if, moreover, the birth of all the family took place at the same time, we might think that the door is forced open by the living wave of inmates, who would set their backs to it with a common effort. we should find an approximate image in the case of the saucepan, whose lid is raised by the boiling of its contents. but the fabric of the cover is one with the fabric of the bag, the two are closely welded; besides, the hatching is effected in small batches, incapable of the least exertion. there must, therefore, be a spontaneous bursting, or dehiscence, independent of the assistance of the youngsters and similar to that of the seed-pods of plants. when fully ripened, the dry fruit of the snap-dragon opens three windows; that of the pimpernel splits into two rounded halves, something like those of the outer case of a fob-watch; the fruit of the carnation partly unseals its valves and opens at the top into a star-shaped hatch. each seed-casket has its own system of locks, which are made to work smoothly by the mere kiss of the sun. well, that other dry fruit, the banded epeira's germ-box, likewise possesses its bursting-gear. as long as the eggs remain unhatched, the door, solidly fixed in its frame, holds good; as soon as the little ones swarm and want to get out, it opens of itself. come june and july, beloved of the cicadae, no less beloved of the young spiders who are anxious to be off. it were difficult indeed for them to work their way through the thick shell of the balloon. for the second time, a spontaneous dehiscence seems called for. where will it be effected? the idea occurs off-hand that it will take place along the edges of the top cover. remember the details given in an earlier chapter. the neck of the balloon ends in a wide crater, which is closed by a ceiling dug out cup-wise. the material is as stout in this part as in any other; but, as the lid was the finishing touch to the work, we expect to find an incomplete soldering, which would allow it to be unfastened. the method of construction deceives us: the ceiling is immovable; at no season can my forceps manage to extract it, without destroying the building from top to bottom. the dehiscence takes place elsewhere, at some point on the sides. nothing informs us, nothing suggests to us that it will occur at one place rather than another. moreover, to tell the truth, it is not a dehiscence prepared by means of some dainty piece of mechanism; it is a very irregular tear. somewhat sharply, under the fierce heat of the sun, the satin bursts like the rind of an over-ripe pomegranate. judging by the result, we think of the expansion of the air inside, which, heated by the sun, causes this rupture. the signs of pressure from within are manifest: the tatters of the torn fabric are turned outwards; also, a wisp of the russet eiderdown that fills the wallet invariably straggles through the breach. in the midst of the protruding floss, the spiderlings, expelled from their home by the explosion, are in frantic commotion. the balloons of the banded epeira are bombs which, to free their contents, burst under the rays of a torrid sun. to break they need the fiery heat-waves of the dog-days. when kept in the moderate atmosphere of my study, most of them do not open and the emergence of the young does not take place, unless i myself i have a hand in the business; a few others open with a round hole, a hole so neat that it might have been made with a punch. this aperture is the work of the prisoners, who, relieving one another in turns, have, with a patient tooth, bitten through the stuff of the jar at some point or other. when exposed to the full force of the sun, however, on the rosemaries in the enclosure, the balloons burst and shoot forth a ruddy flood of floss and tiny animals. that is how things occur in the free sun-bath of the fields. unsheltered, among the bushes, the wallet of the banded epeira, when the july heat arrives, splits under the effort of the inner air. the delivery is effected by an explosion of the dwelling. a very small part of the family are expelled with the flow of tawny floss; the vast majority remain in the bag, which is ripped open, but still bulges with eiderdown. now that the breach is made, any one can go out who pleases, in his own good time, without hurrying. besides, a solemn action has to be performed before the emigration. the animal must cast its skin; and the moult is an event that does not fall on the same date for all. the evacuation of the place, therefore, lasts several days. it is effected in small squads, as the slough is flung aside. those who sally forth climb up the neighbouring twigs and there, in the full heat of the sun, proceed with the work of dissemination. the method is the same as that which we saw in the case of the cross spider. the spinnerets abandon to the breeze a thread that floats, breaks and flies away, carrying the rope-maker with it. the number of starters on any one morning is so small as to rob the spectacle of the greater part of its interest. the scene lacks animation because of the absence of a crowd. to my intense disappointment, the silky epeira does not either indulge in a tumultuous and dashing exodus. let me remind you of her handiwork, the handsomest of the maternal wallets, next to the banded epeira's. it is an obtuse conoid, closed with a star-shaped disk. it is made of a stouter and especially a thicker material than the banded epeira's balloon, for which reason a spontaneous rupture becomes more necessary than ever. this rupture is effected at the sides of the bag, not far from the edge of the lid. like the ripping of the balloon, it requires the rough aid of the heat of july. its mechanism also seems to work by the expansion of the heated air, for we again see a partial emission of the silky floss that fills the pouch. the exit of the family is performed in a single group and, this time, before the moult, perhaps for lack of the space necessary for the delicate casting of the skin. the conical bag falls far short of the balloon in size; those packed within would sprain their legs in extracting them from their sheaths. the family, therefore, emerges in a body and settles on a sprig hard by. this is a temporary camping-ground, where, spinning in unison, the youngsters soon weave an open-work tent, the abode of a week, or thereabouts. the moult is effected in this lounge of intersecting threads. the sloughed skins form a heap at the bottom of the dwelling; on the trapezes above, the flaylings take exercise and gain strength and vigour. finally, when maturity is attained, they set out, now these, now those, little by little and always cautiously. there are no audacious flights on the thready airship; the journey is accomplished by modest stages. hanging to her thread, the spider lets herself drop straight down, to a depth of nine or ten inches. a breath of air sets her swinging like a pendulum, sometimes drives her against a neighbouring branch. this is a step towards the dispersal. at the point reached, there is a fresh fall, followed by a fresh pendulous swing that lands her a little farther afield. thus, in short tacks, for the thread is never very long, does the spiderling go about, seeing the country, until she comes to a place that suits her. should the wind blow at all hard, the voyage is cut short: the cable of the pendulum breaks and the beastie is carried for some distance on its cord. to sum up, although, on the whole, the tactics of the exodus remain much the same, the two spinstresses of my region best-versed in the art of weaving mothers' wallets failed to come up to my expectations. i went to the trouble of rearing them, with disappointing results. where shall i find again the wonderful spectacle which the cross spider offered me by chance? i shall find it--in an even more striking fashion--among humbler spiders, whom i had neglected to observe. chapter viii: the crab spider the spider that showed me the exodus in all its magnificence is known officially as _thomisus onustus_, walck. though the name suggest nothing to the reader's mind, it has the advantage, at any rate, of hurting neither the throat nor the ear, as is too often the case with scientific nomenclature, which sounds more like sneezing than articulate speech. since it is the rule to dignify plants and animals with a latin label, let us at least respect the euphony of the classics and refrain from harsh splutters which spit out a name instead of pronouncing it. what will posterity do in face of the rising tide of a barbarous vocabulary which, under the pretence of progress, stifles real knowledge? it will relegate the whole business to the quagmire of oblivion. but what will never disappear is the popular name, which sounds well, is picturesque and conveys some sort of information. such is the term crab spider, applied by the ancients to the group to which the thomisus belongs, a pretty accurate term, for, in this case, there is an evident analogy between the spider and the crustacean. like the crab, the thomisus walks sideways; she also has forelegs stronger than her hind-legs. the only thing wanting to complete the resemblance is the front pair of stone gauntlets, raised in the attitude of self-defence. the spider with the crab-like figure does not know how to manufacture nets for catching game. without springs or snares, she lies in ambush, among the flowers, and awaits the arrival of the quarry, which she kills by administering a scientific stab in the neck. the thomisus, in particular, the subject of this chapter, is passionately addicted to the pursuit of the domestic bee. i have described the contests between the victim and her executioner, at greater length, elsewhere. the bee appears, seeking no quarrel, intent upon plunder. she tests the flowers with her tongue; she selects a spot that will yield a good return. soon she is wrapped up in her harvesting. while she is filling her baskets and distending her crop, the thomisus, that bandit lurking under cover of the flowers, issues from her hiding-place, creeps round behind the bustling insect, steals up close and, with a sudden rush, nabs her in the nape of the neck. in vain, the bee protests and darts her sting at random; the assailant does not let go. besides, the bite in the neck is paralysing, because the cervical nervecentres are affected. the poor thing's legs stiffen; and all is over in a second. the murderess now sucks the victim's blood at her ease and, when she has done, scornfully flings the drained corpse aside. she hides herself once more, ready to bleed a second gleaner should the occasion offer. this slaughter of the bee engaged in the hallowed delights of labour has always revolted me. why should there be workers to feed idlers, why sweated to keep sweaters in luxury? why should so many admirable lives be sacrificed to the greater prosperity of brigandage? these hateful discords amid the general harmony perplex the thinker, all the more as we shall see the cruel vampire become a model of devotion where her family is concerned. the ogre loved his children; he ate the children of others. under the tyranny of the stomach, we are all of us, beasts and men alike, ogres. the dignity of labour, the joy of life, maternal affection, the terrors of death: all these do not count, in others; the main point is that morsel the be tender and savoury. according to the etymology of her name--[greek text], a cord--the thomisus should be like the ancient lictor, who bound the sufferer to the stake. the comparison is not inappropriate as regards many spiders who tie their prey with a thread to subdue it and consume it at their ease; but it just happens that the thomisus is at variance with her label. she does not fasten her bee, who, dying suddenly of a bite in the neck, offers no resistance to her consumer. carried away by his recollection of the regular tactics, our spider's godfather overlooked the exception; he did not know of the perfidious mode of attack which renders the use of a bow-string superfluous. nor is the second name of _onustus_--loaded, burdened, freighted--any too happily chosen. the fact that the bee-huntress carries a heavy paunch is no reason to refer to this as a distinctive characteristic. nearly all spiders have a voluminous belly, a silk-warehouse where, in some cases, the rigging of the net, in others, the swan's-down of the nest is manufactured. the thomisus, a first-class nest-builder, does like the rest: she hoards in her abdomen, but without undue display of obesity, the wherewithal to house her family snugly. can the expression _onustus_ refer simply to her slow and sidelong walk? the explanation appeals to me, without satisfying me fully. except in the case of a sudden alarm, every spider maintains a sober gait and a wary pace. when all is said, the scientific term is composed of a misconception and a worthless epithet. how difficult it is to name animals rationally! let us be indulgent to the nomenclator: the dictionary is becoming exhausted and the constant flood that requires cataloguing mounts incessantly, wearing out our combinations of syllables. as the technical name tells the reader nothing, how shall he be informed? i see but one means, which is to invite him to the may festivals, in the waste-lands of the south. the murderess of the bees is of a chilly constitution; in our parts, she hardly ever moves away from the olivedistricts. her favourite shrub is the white-leaved rock-rose (_cistus albidus_), with the large, pink, crumpled, ephemeral blooms that last but a morning and are replaced, next day, by fresh flowers, which have blossomed in the cool dawn. this glorious efflorescence goes on for five or six weeks. here, the bees plunder enthusiastically, fussing and bustling in the spacious whorl of the stamens, which beflour them with yellow. their persecutrix knows of this affluence. she posts herself in her watch-house, under the rosy screen of a petal. cast your eyes over the flower, more or less everywhere. if you see a bee lying lifeless, with legs and tongue out-stretched, draw nearer: the thomisus will be there, nine times out of ten. the thug has struck her blow; she is draining the blood of the departed. after all, this cutter of bees' throats is a pretty, a very pretty creature, despite her unwieldy paunch fashioned like a squat pyramid and embossed on the base, on either side, with a pimple shaped like a camel's hump. the skin, more pleasing to the eye than any satin, is milk-white in some, in others lemon-yellow. there are fine ladies among them who adorn their legs with a number of pink bracelets and their back with carmine arabesques. a narrow pale-green ribbon sometimes edges the right and left of the breast. it is not so rich as the costume of the banded epeira, but much more elegant because of its soberness, its daintiness and the artful blending of its hues. novice fingers, which shrink from touching any other spider, allow themselves to be enticed by these attractions; they do not fear to handle the beauteous thomisus, so gentle in appearance. well, what can this gem among spiders do? in the first place, she makes a nest worthy of its architect. with twigs and horse-hair and bits of wool, the goldfinch, the chaffinch and other masters of the builder's art construct an aerial bower in the fork of the branches. herself a lover of high places, the thomisus selects as the site of her nest one of the upper twigs of the rock-rose, her regular hunting-ground, a twig withered by the heat and possessing a few dead leaves, which curl into a little cottage. this is where she settles with a view to her eggs. ascending and descending with a gentle swing in more or less every direction, the living shuttle, swollen with silk, weaves a bag whose outer casing becomes one with the dry leaves around. the work, which is partly visible and partly hidden by its supports, is a pure dead-white. its shape, moulded in the angular interval between the bent leaves, is that of a cone and reminds us, on a smaller scale, of the nest of the silky epeira. when the eggs are laid, the mouth of the receptacle is hermetically closed with a lid of the same white silk. lastly, a few threads, stretched like a thin curtain, form a canopy above the nest and, with the curved tips of the leaves, frame a sort of alcove wherein the mother takes up her abode. it is more than a place of rest after the fatigues of her confinement: it is a guard-room, an inspection-post where the mother remains sprawling until the youngsters' exodus. greatly emaciated by the laying of her eggs and by her expenditure of silk, she lives only for the protection of her nest. should some vagrant pass near by, she hurries from her watch-tower, lifts a limb and puts the intruder to flight. if i tease her with a straw, she parries with big gestures, like those of a prize-fighter. she uses her fists against my weapon. when i propose to dislodge her in view of certain experiments, i find some difficulty in doing so. she clings to the silken floor, she frustrates my attacks, which i am bound to moderate lest i should injure her. she is no sooner attracted outside than she stubbornly returns to her post. she declines to leave her treasure. even so does the narbonne lycosa struggle when we try to take away her pill. each displays the same pluck and the same devotion; and also the same denseness in distinguishing her property from that of others. the lycosa accepts without hesitation any strange pill which she is, given in exchange for her own; she confuses alien produce with the produce of her ovaries and her silk-factory. those hallowed words, maternal love, were out of place here: it is an impetuous, an almost mechanical impulse, wherein real affection plays no part whatever. the beautiful spider of the rock-roses is no more generously endowed. when moved from her nest to another of the same kind, she settles upon it and never stirs from it, even though the different arrangement of the leafy fence be such as to warn her that she is not really at home. provided that she have satin under her feet, she does not notice her mistake; she watches over another's nest with the same vigilance which she might show in watching over her own. the lycosa surpasses her in maternal blindness. she fastens to her spinnerets and dangles, by way of a bag of eggs, a ball of cork polished with my file, a paper pellet, a little ball of thread. in order to discover if the thomisus is capable of a similar error, i gathered some broken pieces of silk-worm's cocoon into a closed cone, turning the fragments so as to bring the smoother and more delicate inner surface outside. my attempt was unsuccessful. when removed from her home and placed on the artificial wallet, the mother thomisus obstinately refused to settle there. can she be more clear-sighted than the lycosa? perhaps so. let us not be too extravagant with our praise, however; the imitation of the bag was a very clumsy one. the work of laying is finished by the end of may, after which, lying flat on the ceiling of her nest, the mother never leaves her guard-room, either by night or day. seeing her look so thin and wrinkled, i imagine that i can please her by bringing her a provision of bees, as i was wont to do. i have misjudged her needs. the bee, hitherto her favourite dish, tempts her no longer. in vain does the prey buzz close by, an easy capture within the cage: the watcher does not shift from her post, takes no notice of the windfall. she lives exclusively upon maternal devotion, a commendable but unsubstantial fare. and so i see her pining away from day to day, becoming more and more wrinkled. what is the withered thing waiting for, before expiring? she is waiting for her children to emerge; the dying creature is still of use to them. when the banded epeira's little ones issue from their balloon, they have long been orphans. there is none to come to their assistance; and they have not the strength to free themselves unaided. the balloon has to split automatically and to scatter the youngsters and their flossy mattress all mixed up together. the thomisus' wallet, sheathed in leaves over the greater part of its surface, never bursts; nor does the lid rise, so carefully is it sealed down. nevertheless, after the delivery of the brood, we see, at the edge of the lid, a small, gaping hole, an exit-window. who contrived this window, which was not there at first? the fabric is too thick and tough to have yielded to the twitches of the feeble little prisoners. it was the mother, therefore, who, feeling her offspring shuffle impatiently under the silken ceiling, herself made a hole in the bag. she persists in living for five or six weeks, despite her shattered health, so as to give a last helping hand and open the door for her family. after performing this duty, she gently lets herself die, hugging her nest and turning into a shrivelled relic. when july comes, the little ones emerge. in view of their acrobatic habits, i have placed a bundle of slender twigs at the top of the cage in which they were born. all of them pass through the wire gauze and form a group on the summit of the brushwood, where they swiftly weave a spacious lounge of criss-cross threads. here they remain, pretty quietly, for a day or two; then foot-bridges begin to be flung from one object to the next. this is the opportune moment. i put the bunch laden with beasties on a small table, in the shade, before the open window. soon, the exodus commences, but slowly and unsteadily. there are hesitations, retrogressions, perpendicular falls at the end of a thread, ascents that bring the hanging spider up again. in short much ado for a poor result. as matters continue to drag, it occurs to me, at eleven o'clock, to take the bundle of brushwood swarming with the little spiders, all eager to be off, and place it on the window-sill, in the glare of the sun. after a few minutes of heat and light, the scene assumes a very different aspect. the emigrants run to the top of the twigs, bustle about actively. it becomes a bewildering rope-yard, where thousands of legs are drawing the hemp from the spinnerets. i do not see the ropes manufactured and sent floating at the mercy of the air; but i guess their presence. three or four spiders start at a time, each going her own way in directions independent of her neighbours'. all are moving upwards, all are climbing some support, as can be perceived by the nimble motion of their legs. moreover, the road is visible behind the climber, it is of double thickness, thanks to an added thread. then, at a certain height, individual movement ceases. the tiny animal soars in space and shines, lit up by the sun. softly it sways, then suddenly takes flight. what has happened? there is a slight breeze outside. the floating cable has snapped and the creature has gone off, borne on its parachute. i see it drifting away, showing, like a spot of light, against the dark foliage of the near cypresses, some forty feet distant. it rises higher, it crosses over the cypress-screen, it disappears. others follow, some higher, some lower, hither and thither. but the throng has finished its preparations; the hour has come to disperse in swarms. we now see, from the crest of the brushwood, a continuous spray of starters, who shoot up like microscopic projectiles and mount in a spreading cluster. in the end, it is like the bouquet at the finish of a pyrotechnic display, the sheaf of rockets fired simultaneously. the comparison is correct down to the dazzling light itself. flaming in the sun like so many gleaming points, the little spiders are the sparks of that living firework. what a glorious sendoff! what an entrance into the world! clutching its aeronautic thread, the minute creature mounts in an apotheosis. sooner or later, nearer or farther, the fall comes. to live, we have to descend, often very low, alas! the crested lark crumbles the mule-droppings in the road and thus picks up his food, the oaten grain which he would never find by soaring in the sky, his throat swollen with song. we have to descend; the stomach's inexorable claims demand it. the spiderling, therefore, touches land. gravity, tempered by the parachute, is kind to her. the rest of her story escapes me. what infinitely tiny midges does she capture before possessing the strength to stab her bee? what are the methods, what the wiles of atom contending with atom? i know not. we shall find her again in spring, grown quite large and crouching among the flowers whence the bee takes toll. chapter ix: the garden spiders: building the web the fowling-snare is one of man's ingenious villainies. with lines, pegs and poles, two large, earth-coloured nets are stretched upon the ground, one to the right, the other to the left of a bare surface. a long cord, pulled, at the right moment, by the fowler, who hides in a brushwood hut, works them and brings them together suddenly, like a pair of shutters. divided between the two nets are the cages of the decoy-birds--linnets and chaffinches, greenfinches and yellowhammers, buntings and ortolans--sharp-eared creatures which, on perceiving the distant passage of a flock of their own kind, forthwith utter a short calling note. one of them, the _sambe_, an irresistible tempter, hops about and flaps his wings in apparent freedom. a bit of twine fastens him to his convict's stake. when, worn with fatigue and driven desperate by his vain attempts to get away, the sufferer lies down flat and refuses to do his duty, the fowler is able to stimulate him without stirring from his hut. a long string sets in motion a little lever working on a pivot. raised from the ground by this diabolical contrivance, the bird flies, falls down and flies up again at each jerk of the cord. the fowler waits, in the mild sunlight of the autumn morning. suddenly, great excitement in the cages. the chaffinches chirp their rallying-cry: 'pinck! pinck!' there is something happening in the sky. the _sambe_, quick! they are coming, the simpletons; they swoop down upon the treacherous floor. with a rapid movement, the man in ambush pulls his string. the nets close and the whole flock is caught. man has wild beast's blood in his veins. the fowler hastens to the slaughter. with his thumb, he stifles the beating of the captives' hearts, staves in their skulls. the little birds, so many piteous heads of game, will go to market, strung in dozens on a wire passed through their nostrils. for scoundrelly ingenuity the epeira's net can bear comparison with the fowler's; it even surpasses it when, on patient study, the main features of its supreme perfection stand revealed. what refinement of art for a mess of flies! nowhere, in the whole animal kingdom, has the need to eat inspired a more cunning industry. if the reader will meditate upon the description that follows, he will certainly share my admiration. first of all, we must witness the making of the net; we must see it constructed and see it again and again, for the plan of such a complex work can only be grasped in fragments. to-day, observation will give us one detail; to-morrow, it will give us a second, suggesting fresh points of view; as our visits multiply, a new fact is each time added to the sum total of the acquired data, confirming those which come before or directing our thoughts along unsuspected paths. the snow-ball rolling over the carpet of white grows enormous, however scanty each fresh layer be. even so with truth in observational science: it is built up of trifles patiently gathered together. and, while the collecting of these trifles means that the student of spider industry must not be chary of his time, at least it involves no distant and speculative research. the smallest garden contains epeirae, all accomplished weavers. in my enclosure, which i have stocked carefully with the most famous breeds, i have six different species under observation, all of a useful size, all first-class spinners. their names are the banded epeira (_epeira fasciata_, walck.), the silky epeira (_e. sericea_, walck.), the angular epeira (_e. angulata_, walck.), the pale-tinted epeira (_e. pallida_, oliv.), the diadem epeira, or cross spider (_e. diadema_, clerk.), and the crater epeira (_e. cratera_, walck.). i am able, at the proper hours, all through the fine season, to question them, to watch them at work, now this one, anon that, according to the chances of the day. what i did not see very plainly yesterday i can see the next day, under better conditions, and on any of the following days, until the phenomenon under observation is revealed in all clearness. let us go every evening, step by step, from one border of tall rosemaries to the next. should things move too slowly, we will sit down at the foot of the shrubs, opposite the rope-yard, where the light falls favourably, and watch with unwearying attention. each trip will be good for a fact that fills some gap in the ideas already gathered. to appoint one's self, in this way, an inspector of spiders' webs, for many years in succession and for long seasons, means joining a not overcrowded profession, i admit. heaven knows, it does not enable one to put money by! no matter: the meditative mind returns from that school fully satisfied. to describe the separate progress of the work in the case of each of the six epeirae mentioned would be a useless repetition: all six employ the same methods and weave similar webs, save for certain details that shall be set forth later. i will, therefore, sum up in the aggregate the particulars supplied by one or other of them. my subjects, in the first instance, are young and boast but a slight corporation, very far removed from what it will be in the late autumn. the belly, the wallet containing the rope-works, hardly exceeds a peppercorn in bulk. this slenderness on the part of the spinstresses must not prejudice us against their work: there is no parity between their skill and their years. the adult spiders, with their disgraceful paunches, can do no better. moreover, the beginners have one very precious advantage for the observer: they work by day, work even in the sun, whereas the old ones weave only at night, at unseasonable hours. the first show us the secrets of their looms without much difficulty; the others conceal them from us. work starts in july, a couple of hours before sunset. the spinstresses of my enclosure then leave their daytime hiding-places, select their posts and begin to spin, one here, another there. there are many of them; we can choose where we please. let us stop in front of this one, whom we surprise in the act of laying the foundations of the structure. without any appreciable order, she runs about the rosemaryhedge, from the tip of one branch to another within the limits of some eighteen inches. gradually, she puts a thread in position, drawing it from her wire-mill with the combs attached to her hind-legs. this preparatory work presents no appearance of a concerted plan. the spider comes and goes impetuously, as though at random; she goes up, comes down, goes up again, dives down again and each time strengthens the points of contact with intricate moorings distributed here and there. the result is a scanty and disordered scaffolding. is disordered the word? perhaps not. the epeira's eye, more experienced in matters of this sort than mine, has recognized the general lie of the land; and the rope-fabric has been erected accordingly: it is very inaccurate in my opinion, but very suitable for the spider's designs. what is it that she really wants? a solid frame to contain the network of the web. the shapeless structure which she has just built fulfils the desired conditions: it marks out a flat, free and perpendicular area. this is all that is necessary. the whole work, for that matter, is now soon completed; it is done all over again, each evening, from top to bottom, for the incidents of the chase destroy it in a night. the net is as yet too delicate to resist the desperate struggles of the captured prey. on the other hand, the adults' net, which is formed of stouter threads, is adapted to last some time; and the epeira gives it a more carefully-constructed framework, as we shall see elsewhere. a special thread, the foundation of the real net, is stretched across the area so capriciously circumscribed. it is distinguished from the others by its isolation, its position at a distance from any twig that might interfere with its swaying length. it never fails to have, in the middle, a thick white point, formed of a little silk cushion. this is the beacon that marks the centre of the future edifice, the post that will guide the epeira and bring order into the wilderness of twists and turns. the time has come to weave the hunting-snare. the spider starts from the centre, which bears the white signpost, and, running along the transversal thread, hurriedly reaches the circumference, that is to say, the irregular frame enclosing the free space. still with the same sudden movement, she rushes from the circumference to the centre; she starts again backwards and forwards, makes for the right, the left, the top, the bottom; she hoists herself up, dives down, climbs up again, runs down and always returns to the central landmark by roads that slant in the most unexpected manner. each time, a radius or spoke is laid, here, there, or elsewhere, in what looks like mad disorder. the operation is so erratically conducted that it takes the most unremitting attention to follow it at all. the spider reaches the margin of the area by one of the spokes already placed. she goes along this margin for some distance from the point at which she landed, fixes her thread to the frame and returns to the centre by the same road which she has just taken. the thread obtained on the way in a broken line, partly on the radius and partly on the frame, is too long for the exact distance between the circumference and the central point. on returning to this point, the spider adjusts her thread, stretches it to the correct length, fixes it and collects what remains on the central signpost. in the case of each radius laid, the surplus is treated in the same fashion, so that the signpost continues to increase in size. it was first a speck; it is now a little pellet, or even a small cushion of a certain breadth. we shall see presently what becomes of this cushion whereon the spider, that niggardly housewife, lays her saved-up bits of thread; for the moment, we will note that the epeira works it up with her legs after placing each spoke, teazles it with her claws, mats it into felt with noteworthy diligence. in so doing, she gives the spokes a solid common support, something like the hub of our carriage-wheels. the eventual regularity of the work suggests that the radii are spun in the same order in which they figure in the web, each following immediately upon its next neighbour. matters pass in another manner, which at first looks like disorder, but which is really a judicious contrivance. after setting a few spokes in one direction, the epeira runs across to the other side to draw some in the opposite direction. these sudden changes of course are highly logical; they show us how proficient the spider is in the mechanics of rope-construction. were they to succeed one another regularly, the spokes of one group, having nothing as yet to counteract them, would distort the work by their straining, would even destroy it for lack of a stabler support. before continuing, it is necessary to lay a converse group which will maintain the whole by its resistance. any combination of forces acting in one direction must be forthwith neutralized by another in the opposite direction. this is what our statics teach us and what the spider puts into practice; she is a past mistress of the secrets of rope-building, without serving an apprenticeship. one would think that this interrupted and apparently disordered labour must result in a confused piece of work. wrong: the rays are equidistant and form a beautifully-regular orb. their number is a characteristic mark of the different species. the angular epeira places 21 in her web, the banded epeira 32, the silky epeira 42. these numbers are not absolutely fixed; but the variation is very slight. now which of us would undertake, off-hand, without much preliminary experiment and without measuring-instruments, to divide a circle into a given quantity of sectors of equal width? the epeirae, though weighted with a wallet and tottering on threads shaken by the wind, effect the delicate division without stopping to think. they achieve it by a method which seems mad according to our notions of geometry. out of disorder they evolve order. we must not, however, give them more than their due. the angles are only approximately equal; they satisfy the demands of the eye, but cannot stand the test of strict measurement. mathematical precision would be superfluous here. no matter, we are amazed at the result obtained. how does the epeira come to succeed with her difficult problem, so strangely managed? i am still asking myself the question. the laying of the radii is finished. the spider takes her place in the centre, on the little cushion formed of the inaugural signpost and the bits of thread left over. stationed on this support, she slowly turns round and round. she is engaged on a delicate piece of work. with an extremely thin thread, she describes from spoke to spoke, starting from the centre, a spiral line with very close coils. the central space thus worked attains, in the adults' webs, the dimensions of the palm of one's hand; in the younger spiders' webs, it is much smaller, but it is never absent. for reasons which i will explain in the course of this study, i shall call it, in future, the 'resting-floor.' the thread now becomes thicker. the first could hardly be seen; the second is plainly visible. the spider shifts her position with great slanting strides, turns a few times, moving farther and farther from the centre, fixes her line each time to the spoke which she crosses and at last comes to a stop at the lower edge of the frame. she has described a spiral with coils of rapidly-increasing width. the average distance between the coils, even in the structures of the young epeirae, is one centimetre. {29} let us not be misled by the word 'spiral,' which conveys the notion of a curved line. all curves are banished from the spiders' work; nothing is used but the straight line and its combinations. all that is aimed at is a polygonal line drawn in a curve as geometry understands it. to this polygonal line, a work destined to disappear as the real toils are woven, i will give the name of the 'auxiliary spiral.' its object is to supply cross-bars, supporting rungs, especially in the outer zone, where the radii are too distant from one another to afford a suitable groundwork. its object is also to guide the epeira in the extremely delicate business which she is now about to undertake. but, before that, one last task becomes essential. the area occupied by the spokes is very irregular, being marked out by the supports of the branch, which are infinitely variable. there are angular niches which, if skirted too closely, would disturb the symmetry of the web about to be constructed. the epeira needs an exact space wherein gradually to lay her spiral thread. moreover, she must not leave any gaps through which her prey might find an outlet. an expert in these matters, the spider soon knows the corners that have to be filled up. with an alternating movement, first in this direction, then in that, she lays, upon the support of the radii, a thread that forms two acute angles at the lateral boundaries of the faulty part and describes a zigzag line not wholly unlike the ornament known as the fret. the sharp corners have now been filled with frets on every side; the time has come to work at the essential part, the snaring-web for which all the rest is but a support. clinging on the one hand to the radii, on the other to the chords of the auxiliary spiral, the epeira covers the same ground as when laying the spiral, but in the opposite direction: formerly, she moved away from the centre; now she moves towards it and with closer and more numerous circles. she starts from the base of the auxiliary spiral, near the frame. what follows is difficult to observe, for the movements are very quick and spasmodic, consisting of a series of sudden little rushes, sways and bends that bewilder the eye. it needs continuous attention and repeated examination to distinguish the progress of the work however slightly. the two hind-legs, the weaving implements, keep going constantly. let us name them according to their position on the work-floor. i call the leg that faces the centre of the coil, when the animal moves, the 'inner leg;' the one outside the coil the 'outer leg.' the latter draws the thread from the spinneret and passes it to the inner leg, which, with a graceful movement, lays it on the radius crossed. at the same time, the first leg measures the distance; it grips the last coil placed in position and brings within a suitable range that point of the radius whereto the thread is to be fixed. as soon as the radius is touched, the thread sticks to it by its own glue. there are no slow operations, no knots: the fixing is done of itself. meanwhile, turning by narrow degrees, the spinstress approaches the auxiliary chords that have just served as her support. when, in the end, these chords become too close, they will have to go; they would impair the symmetry of the work. the spider, therefore, clutches and holds on to the rungs of a higher row; she picks up, one by one, as she goes along, those which are of no more use to her and gathers them into a finespun ball at the contact-point of the next spoke. hence arises a series of silky atoms marking the course of the disappearing spiral. the light has to fall favourably for us to perceive these specks, the only remains of the ruined auxiliary thread. one would take them for grains of dust, if the faultless regularity of their distribution did not remind us of the vanished spiral. they continue, still visible, until the final collapse of the net. and the spider, without a stop of any kind, turns and turns and turns, drawing nearer to the centre and repeating the operation of fixing her thread at each spoke which she crosses. a good half-hour, an hour even among the full-grown spiders, is spent on spiral circles, to the number of about fifty for the web of the silky epeira and thirty for those of the banded and the angular epeira. at last, at some distance from the centre, on the borders of what i have called the resting-floor, the spider abruptly terminates her spiral when the space would still allow of a certain number of turns. we shall see the reason of this sudden stop presently. next, the epeira, no matter which, young or old, hurriedly flings herself upon the little central cushion, pulls it out and rolls it into a ball which i expected to see thrown away. but no: her thrifty nature does not permit this waste. she eats the cushion, at first an inaugural landmark, then a heap of bits of thread; she once more melts in the digestive crucible what is no doubt intended to be restored to the silken treasury. it is a tough mouthful, difficult for the stomach to elaborate; still, it is precious and must not be lost. the work finishes with the swallowing. then and there, the spider instals herself, head downwards, at her hunting-post in the centre of the web. the operation which we have just seen gives rise to a reflection. men are born right-handed. thanks to a lack of symmetry that has never been explained, our right side is stronger and readier in its movements than our left. the inequality is especially noticeable in the two hands. our language expresses this supremacy of the favoured side in the terms dexterity, adroitness and address, all of which allude to the right hand. is the animal, on its side, right-handed, left-handed, or unbiased? we have had opportunities of showing that the cricket, the grasshopper and many others draw their bow, which is on the right wing-case, over the sounding apparatus, which is on the left wing-case. they are right-handed. when you and i take an unpremeditated turn, we spin round on our right heel. the left side, the weaker, moves on the pivot of the right, the stronger. in the same way, nearly all the molluscs that have spiral shells roll their coils from left to right. among the numerous species in both land and water fauna, only a very few are exceptional and turn from right to left. it would be interesting to try and work out to what extent that part of the zoological kingdom which boasts a two-sided structure is divided into right-handed and left-handed animals. can dissymetry, that source of contrasts, be a general rule? or are there neutrals, endowed with equal powers of skill and energy on both sides? yes, there are; and the spider is one of them. she enjoys the very enviable privilege of possessing a left side which is no less capable than the right. she is ambidextrous, as witness the following observations. when laying her snaring-thread, every epeira turns in either direction indifferently, as a close watch will prove. reasons whose secret escapes us determine the direction adopted. once this or the other course is taken, the spinstress does not change it, even after incidents that sometimes occur to disturb the progress of the work. it may happen that a gnat gets caught in the part already woven. the spider thereupon abruptly interrupts her labours, hastens up to the prey, binds it and then returns to where she stopped and continues the spiral in the same order as before. at the commencement of the work, gyration in one direction being employed as well as gyration in the other, we see that, when making her repeated webs, the same epeira turns now her right side, now her left to the centre of the coil. well, as we have said, it is always with the inner hind-leg, the leg nearer the centre, that is to say, in some cases the right and in some cases the left leg, that she places the thread in position, an exceedingly delicate operation calling for the display of exquisite skill, because of the quickness of the action and the need for preserving strictly equal distances. any one seeing this leg working with such extreme precision, the right leg to-day, the left to-morrow, becomes convinced that the epeira is highly ambidextrous. chapter x: the garden spiders: my neighbour age does not modify the epeira's talent in any essential feature. as the young worked, so do the old, the richer by a year's experience. there are no masters nor apprentices in their guild; all know their craft from the moment that the first thread is laid. we have learnt something from the novices: let us now look into the matter of their elders and see what additional task the needs of age impose upon them. july comes and gives me exactly what i wish for. while the new inhabitants are twisting their ropes on the rosemaries in the enclosure, one evening, by the last gleams of twilight, i discover a splendid spider, with a mighty belly, just outside my door. this one is a matron; she dates back to last year; her majestic corpulence, so exceptional at this season, proclaims the fact. i know her for the angular epeira (_epeira angulata_, walck.), clad in grey and girdled with two dark stripes that meet in a point at the back. the base of her abdomen swells into a short nipple on either side. this neighbour will certainly serve my turn, provided that she do not work too late at night. things bode well: i catch the buxom one in the act of laying her first threads. at this rate my success need not be won at the expense of sleep. and, in fact, i am able, throughout the month of july and the greater part of august, from eight to ten o'clock in the evening, to watch the construction of the web, which is more or less ruined nightly by the incidents of the chase and built up again, next day, when too seriously dilapidated. during the two stifling months, when the light fails and a spell of coolness follows upon the furnace-heat of the day, it is easy for me, lantern in hand, to watch my neighbour's various operations. she has taken up her abode, at a convenient height for observation, between a row of cypress-trees and a clump of laurels, near the entrance to an alley haunted by moths. the spot appears well-chosen, for the epeira does not change it throughout the season, though she renews her net almost every night. punctually as darkness falls, our whole family goes and calls upon her. big and little, we stand amazed at her wealth of belly and her exuberant somersaults in the maze of quivering ropes; we admire the faultless geometry of the net as it gradually takes shape. all agleam in the lantern-light, the work becomes a fairy orb, which seems woven of moonbeams. should i linger, in my anxiety to clear up certain details, the household, which by this time is in bed, waits for my return before going to sleep: 'what has she been doing this evening?' i am asked. 'has she finished her web? has she caught a moth?' i describe what has happened. to-morrow, they will be in a less hurry to go to bed: they will want to see everything, to the very end. what delightful, simple evenings we have spent looking into the spider's workshop! the journal of the angular epeira, written up day by day, teaches us, first of all, how she obtains the ropes that form the framework of the building. all day invisible, crouching amid the cypress-leaves, the spider, at about eight o'clock in the evening, solemnly emerges from her retreat and makes for the top of a branch. in this exalted position, she sits for some time laying her plans with due regard to the locality; she consults the weather, ascertains if the night will be fine. then, suddenly, with her eight legs wide-spread, she lets herself drop straight down, hanging to the line that issues from her spinnerets. just as the rope-maker obtains the even output of his hemp by walking backwards, so does the epeira obtain the discharge of hers by falling. it is extracted by the weight of her body. the descent, however, has not the brute speed which the force of gravity would give it, if uncontrolled. it is governed by the action of the spinnerets, which contract or expand their pores, or close them entirely, at the faller's pleasure. and so, with gentle moderation she pays out this living plumb-line, of which my lantern clearly shows me the plumb, but not always the line. the great squab seems at such times to be sprawling in space, without the least support. she comes to an abrupt stop two inches from the ground; the silk-reel ceases working. the spider turns round, clutches the line which she has just obtained and climbs up by this road, still spinning. but, this time, as she is no longer assisted by the force of gravity, the thread is extracted in another manner. the two hind-legs, with a quick alternate action, draw it from the wallet and let it go. on returning to her starting-point, at a height of six feet or more, the spider is now in possession of a double line, bent into a loop and floating loosely in a current of air. she fixes her end where it suits her and waits until the other end, wafted by the wind, has fastened its loop to the adjacent twigs. the desired result may be very slow in coming. it does not tire the unfailing patience of the epeira, but it soon wears out mine. and it has happened to me sometimes to collaborate with the spider. i pick up the floating loop with a straw and lay it on a branch, at a convenient height. the foot-bridge erected with my assistance is considered satisfactory, just as though the wind had placed it. i count this collaboration among the good actions standing to my credit. feeling her thread fixed, the epeira runs along it repeatedly, from end to end, adding a fibre to it on each journey. whether i help or not, this forms the 'suspension-cable,' the main piece of the framework. i call it a cable, in spite of its extreme thinness, because of its structure. it looks as though it were single, but, at the two ends, it is seen to divide and spread, tuft-wise, into numerous constituent parts, which are the product of as many crossings. these diverging fibres, with their several contact-points, increase the steadiness of the two extremities. the suspension-cable is incomparably stronger than the rest of the work and lasts for an indefinite time. the web is generally shattered after the night's hunting and is nearly always rewoven on the following evening. after the removal of the wreckage, it is made all over again, on the same site, cleared of everything except the cable from which the new network is to hang. the laying of this cable is a somewhat difficult matter, because the success of the enterprise does not depend upon the animal's industry alone. it has to wait until a breeze carries the line to the pier-head in the bushes. sometimes, a calm prevails; sometimes, the thread catches at an unsuitable point. this involves great expenditure of time, with no certainty of success. and so, when once the suspension-cable is in being, well and solidly placed, the epeira does not change it, except on critical occasions. every evening, she passes and repasses over it, strengthening it with fresh threads. when the epeira cannot manage a fall of sufficient depth to give her the double line with its loop to be fixed at a distance, she employs another method. she lets herself down and then climbs up again, as we have already seen; but, this time, the thread ends suddenly in a filmy hairpencil, a tuft, whose parts remain disjoined, just as they come from the spinneret's rose. then this sort of bushy fox's brush is cut short, as though with a pair of scissors, and the whole thread, when unfurled, doubles its length, which is now enough for the purpose. it is fastened by the end joined to the spider; the other floats in the air, with its spreading tuft, which easily tangles in the bushes. even so must the banded epeira go to work when she throws her daring suspension-bridge across a stream. once the cable is laid, in this way or in that, the spider is in possession of a base that allows her to approach or withdraw from the leafy piers at will. from the height of the cable, the upper boundary of the projected works, she lets herself slip to a slight depth, varying the points of her fall. she climbs up again by the line produced by her descent. the result of the operation is a double thread which is unwound while the spider walks along her big foot-bridge to the contact-branch, where she fixes the free end of her thread more or less low down. in this way, she obtains, to right and left, a few slanting cross-bars, connecting the cable with the branches. these cross-bars, in their turn, support others in ever-changing directions. when there are enough of them, the epeira need no longer resort to falls in order to extract her threads; she goes from one cord to the next, always wire-drawing with her hind-legs and placing her produce in position as she goes. this results in a combination of straight lines owning no order, save that they are kept in one, nearly perpendicular plane. they mark a very irregular polygonal area, wherein the web, itself a work of magnificent regularity, shall presently be woven. it is unnecessary to go over the construction of the masterpiece again; the younger spiders have taught us enough in this respect. in both cases, we see the same equidistant radii laid, with a central landmark for a guide; the same auxiliary spiral, the scaffolding of temporary rungs, soon doomed to disappear; the same snaring-spiral, with its maze of closely-woven coils. let us pass on: other details call for our attention. the laying of the snaring-spiral is an exceedingly delicate operation, because of the regularity of the work. i was bent upon knowing whether, if subjected to the din of unaccustomed sounds, the spider would hesitate and blunder. does she work imperturbably? or does she need undisturbed quiet? as it is, i know that my presence and that of my light hardly trouble her at all. the sudden flashes emitted by my lantern have no power to distract her from her task. she continues to turn in the light even as she turned in the dark, neither faster nor slower. this is a good omen for the experiment which i have in view. the first sunday in august is the feast of the patron saint of the village, commemorating the finding of st. stephen. this is tuesday, the third day of the rejoicings. there will be fireworks to-night, at nine o'clock, to conclude the merry-makings. they will take place on the highroad outside my door, at a few steps from the spot where my spider is working. the spinstress is busy upon her great spiral at the very moment when the village big-wigs arrive with trumpet and drum and small boys carrying torches. more interested in animal psychology than in pyrotechnical displays, i watch the epeira's doings, lantern in hand. the hullabaloo of the crowd, the reports of the mortars, the crackle of roman candles bursting in the sky, the hiss of the rockets, the rain of sparks, the sudden flashes of white, red or blue light: none of this disturbs the worker, who methodically turns and turns again, just as she does in the peace of ordinary evenings. once before, the gun which i fired under the plane-trees failed to trouble the concert of the cicadae; to-day, the dazzling light of the fire-wheels and the splutter of the crackers do not avail to distract the spider from her weaving. and, after all, what difference would it make to my neighbour if the world fell in! the village could be blown up with dynamite, without her losing her head for such a trifle. she would calmly go on with her web. let us return to the spider manufacturing her net under the usual tranquil conditions. the great spiral has been finished, abruptly, on the confines of the resting-floor. the central cushion, a mat of ends of saved thread, is next pulled up and eaten. but, before indulging in this mouthful, which closes the proceedings, two spiders, the only two of the order, the banded and the silky epeira, have still to sign their work. a broad, white ribbon is laid, in a thick zigzag, from the centre to the lower edge of the orb. sometimes, but not always, a second band of the same shape and of lesser length occupies the upper portion, opposite the first. i like to look upon these odd flourishes as consolidating-gear. to begin with, the young epeirae never use them. for the moment, heedless of the future and lavish of their silk, they remake their web nightly, even though it be none too much dilapidated and might well serve again. a brand-new snare at sunset is the rule with them. and there is little need for increased solidity when the work has to be done again on the morrow. on the other hand, in the late autumn, the full-grown spiders, feeling laying-time at hand, are driven to practise economy, in view of the great expenditure of silk required for the egg-bag. owing to its large size, the net now becomes a costly work which it were well to use as long as possible, for fear of finding one's reserves exhausted when the time comes for the expensive construction of the nest. for this reason, or for others which escape me, the banded and the silky epeirae think it wise to produce durable work and to strengthen their toils with a crossribbon. the other epeirae, who are put to less expense in the fabrication of their maternal wallet--a mere pill--are unacquainted with the zigzag binder and, like the younger spiders, reconstruct their web almost nightly. my fat neighbour, the angular epeira, consulted by the light of a lantern, shall tell us how the renewal of the net proceeds. as the twilight fades, she comes down cautiously from her day-dwelling; she leaves the foliage of the cypresses for the suspension-cable of her snare. here she stands for some time; then, descending to her web, she collects the wreckage in great armfuls. everything--spiral, spokes and frame--is raked up with her legs. one thing alone is spared and that is the suspension-cable, the sturdy piece of work that has served as a foundation for the previous buildings and will serve for the new after receiving a few strengthening repairs. the collected ruins form a pill which the spider consumes with the same greed that she would show in swallowing her prey. nothing remains. this is the second instance of the spiders' supreme economy of their silk. we have seen them, after the manufacture of the net, eating the central guide-post, a modest mouthful; we now see them gobbling up the whole web, a meal. refined and turned into fluid by the stomach, the materials of the old net will serve for other purposes. as goon as the site is thoroughly cleared, the work of the frame and the net begins on the support of the suspension-cable which was respected. would it not be simpler to restore the old web, which might serve many times yet, if a few rents were just repaired? one would say so; but does the spider know how to patch her work, as a thrifty housewife darns her linen? that is the question. to mend severed meshes, to replace broken threads, to adjust the new to the old, in short, to restore the original order by assembling the wreckage would be a far-reaching feat of prowess, a very fine proof of gleams of intelligence, capable of performing rational calculations. our menders excel in this class of work. they have as their guide their sense, which measures the holes, cuts the new piece to size and fits it into its proper place. does the spider possess the counterpart of this habit of clear thinking? people declare as much, without, apparently, looking into the matter very closely. they seem able to dispense with the conscientious observer's scruples, when inflating their bladder of theory. they go straight ahead; and that is enough. as for ourselves, less greatly daring, we will first enquire; we will see by experiment if the spider really knows how to repair her work. the angular epeira, that near neighbour who has already supplied me with so many documents, has just finished her web, at nine o'clock in the evening. it is a splendid night, calm and warm, favourable to the rounds of the moths. all promises good hunting. at the moment when, after completing the great spiral, the epeira is about to eat the central cushion and settle down upon her resting-floor, i cut the web in two, diagonally, with a pair of sharp scissors. the sagging of the spokes, deprived of their counter-agents, produces an empty space, wide enough for three fingers to pass through. the spider retreats to her cable and looks on without being greatly frightened. when i have done, she quietly returns. she takes her stand on one of the halves, at the spot which was the centre of the original orb; but, as her legs find no footing on one side, she soon realizes that the snare is defective. thereupon, two threads are stretched across the breach, two threads, no more; the legs that lacked a foothold spread across them; and henceforth the epeira moves no more, devoting her attention to the incidents of the chase. when i saw those two threads laid, joining the edges of the rent, i began to hope that i was to witness a mending-process: 'the spider,' said i to myself, 'will increase the number of those crossthreads from end to end of the breach; and, though the added piece may not match the rest of the work, at least it will fill the gap and the continuous sheet will be of the same use practically as the regular web.' the reality did not answer to my expectation. the spinstress made no further endeavour all night. she hunted with her riven net, for what it was worth; for i found the web next morning in the same condition wherein i had left it on the night before. there had been no mending of any kind. the two threads stretched across the breach even must not be taken for an attempt at repairing. finding no foothold for her legs on one side, the spider went to look into the state of things and, in so doing, crossed the rent. in going and returning, she left a thread, as is the custom with all the epeirae when walking. it was not a deliberate mending, but the mere result of an uneasy change of place. perhaps the subject of my experiment thought it unnecessary to go to fresh trouble and expense, for the web can serve quite well as it is, after my scissor-cut: the two halves together represent the original snaring-surface. all that the spider, seated in a central position, need do is to find the requisite support for her spread legs. the two threads stretched from side to side of the cleft supply her with this, or nearly. my mischief did not go far enough. let us devise something better. next day, the web is renewed, after the old one has been swallowed. when the work is done and the epeira seated motionless at her central post, i take a straw and, wielding it dexterously, so as to respect the restingfloor and the spokes, i pull and root up the spiral, which dangles in tatters. with its snaring-threads ruined, the net is useless; no passing moth would allow herself to be caught. now what does the epeira do in the face of this disaster? nothing at all. motionless on her restingfloor, which i have left intact, she awaits the capture of the game; she awaits it all night in vain on her impotent web. in the morning, i find the snare as i left it. necessity, the mother of invention, has not prompted the spider to make a slight repair in her ruined toils. possibly this is asking too much of her resources. the silk-glands may be exhausted after the laying of the great spiral; and to repeat the same expenditure immediately is out of the question. i want a case wherein there could be no appeal to any such exhaustion. i obtain it, thanks to my assiduity. while i am watching the rolling of the spiral, a head of game rushes fun tilt into the unfinished snare. the epeira interrupts her work, hurries to the giddy-pate, swathes him and takes her fill of him where he lies. during the struggle, a section of the web has torn under the weaver's very eyes. a great gap endangers the satisfactory working of the net. what will the spider do in the presence of this grievous rent? now or never is the time to repair the broken threads: the accident has happened this very moment, between the animal's legs; it is certainly known and, moreover, the rope-works are in full swing. this time there is no question of the exhaustion of the silk-warehouse. well, under these conditions, so favourable to darning, the epeira does no mending at all. she flings aside her prey, after taking a few sips at it, and resumes her spiral at the point where she interrupted it to attack the moth. the torn part remains as it is. the machine-shuttle in our looms does not revert to the spoiled fabric; even so with the spider working at her web. and this is no case of distraction, of individual carelessness; all the large spinstresses suffer from a similar incapacity for patching. the banded epeira and the silky epeira are noteworthy in this respect. the angular epeira remakes her web nearly every evening; the other two reconstruct theirs only very seldom and use them even when extremely dilapidated. they go on hunting with shapeless rags. before they bring themselves to weave a new web, the old one has to be ruined beyond recognition. well, i have often noted the state of one of these ruins and, the next morning, i have found it as it was, or even more dilapidated. never any repairs; never; never. i am sorry, because of the reputation which our hard-pressed theorists have given her, but the spider is absolutely unable to mend her work. in spite of her thoughtful appearance, the epeira is incapable of the modicum of reflexion required to insert a piece into an accidental gap. other spiders are unacquainted with wide-meshed nets and weave satins wherein the threads, crossing at random, form a continuous substance. among this number is the house spider (_tegenaria domestica_, lin.). in the corners of our rooms, she stretches wide webs fixed by angular extensions. the best-protected nook at one side contains the owner's secret apartment. it is a silk tube, a gallery with a conical opening, whence the spider, sheltered from the eye, watches events. the rest of the fabric, which exceeds our finest muslins in delicacy, is not, properly speaking, a hunting-implement: it is a platform whereon the spider, attending to the affairs of her estate, goes her rounds, especially at night. the real trap consists of a confusion of lines stretched above the web. the snare, constructed according to other rules than in the case of the epeirae, also works differently. here are no viscous threads, but plain toils, rendered invisible by the very number. if a gnat rush into the perfidious entanglement, he is caught at once; and the more he struggles the more firmly is he bound. the snareling falls on the sheet-web. _tegenaria_ hastens up and bites him in the neck. having said this, let us experiment a little. in the web of the house spider, i make a round hole, two fingers wide. the hole remains yawning all day long; but next morning it is invariably closed. an extremely thin gauze covers the breach, the dark appearance of which contrasts with the dense whiteness of the surrounding fabric. the gauze is so delicate that, to make sure of its presence, i use a straw rather than my eyes. the movement of the web, when this part is touched, proves the presence of an obstacle. here, the matter would appear obvious. the house spider has mended her work during the night; she has put a patch in the torn stuff, a talent unknown to the garden spiders. it would be greatly to her credit, if a mere attentive study did not lead to another conclusion. the web of the house spider is, as we were saying, a platform for watching and exploring; it is also a sheet into which the insects caught in the overhead rigging fall. this surface, a domain subject to unlimited shocks, is never strong enough, especially as it is exposed to the additional burden of little bits of plaster loosened from the wall. the owner is constantly working at it; she adds a new layer nightly. every time that she issues from her tubular retreat or returns to it, she fixes the thread that hangs behind her upon the road covered. as evidence of this work, we have the direction of the surface-lines, all of which, whether straight or winding, according to the fancies that guide the spider's path, converge upon the entrance of the tube. each step taken, beyond a doubt, adds a filament to the web. we have here the story of the processionary of the pine, {30} whose habits i have related elsewhere. when the caterpillars leave the silk pouch, to go and browse at night, and also when they enter it again, they never fail to spin a little on the surface of their nest. each expedition adds to the thickness of the wall. when moving this way or that upon the purse which i have split from top to bottom with my scissors, the processionaries upholster the breach even as they upholster the untouched part, without paying more attention to it than to the rest of the wall. caring nothing about the accident, they behave in the same way as on a non-gutted dwelling. the crevice is closed, in course of time, not intentionally, but solely by the action of the usual spinning. we arrive at the same conclusion on the subject of the house spider. walking about her platform every night, she lays fresh courses without drawing a distinction between the solid and the hollow. she has not deliberately put a patch in the torn texture; she has simply gone on with her ordinary business. if it happen that the hole is eventually closed, this fortunate result is the outcome not of a special purpose, but of an unvarying method of work. besides, it is evident that, if the spider really wished to mend her web, all her endeavours would be concentrated upon the rent. she would devote to it all the silk at her disposal and obtain in one sitting a piece very like the rest of the web. instead of that, what do we find? almost nothing: a hardly visible gauze. the thing is obvious: the spider did on that rent what she did every elsewhere, neither more nor less. far from squandering silk upon it, she saved her silk so as to have enough for the whole web. the gap will be better mended, little by little, afterwards, as the sheet is strengthened all over with new layers. and this will take long. two months later, the window--my work--still shows through and makes a dark stain against the dead-white of the fabric. neither weavers nor spinners, therefore, know how to repair their work. those wonderful manufacturers of silk-stuffs lack the least glimmer of that sacred lamp, reason, which enables the stupidest of darning-women to mend the heel of an old stocking. the office of inspector of spiders' webs would have its uses, even if it merely succeeded in ridding us of a mistaken and mischievous idea. chapter xi: the garden spiders: the lime-snare the spiral network of the epeirae possesses contrivances of fearsome cunning. let us give our attention by preference to that of the banded epeira or that of the silky epeira, both of which can be observed at early morning in all their freshness. the thread that forms them is seen with the naked eye to differ from that of the framework and the spokes. it glitters in the sun, looks as though it were knotted and gives the impression of a chaplet of atoms. to examine it through the lens on the web itself is scarcely feasible, because of the shaking of the fabric, which trembles at the least breath. by passing a sheet of glass under the web and lifting it, i take away a few pieces of thread to study, pieces that remain fixed to the glass in parallel lines. lens and microscope can now play their part. the sight is perfectly astounding. those threads, on the borderland between the visible and the invisible, are very closely twisted twine, similar to the gold cord of our officers' sword-knots. moreover, they are hollow. the infinitely slender is a tube, a channel full of a viscous moisture resembling a strong solution of gum arabic. i can see a diaphanous trail of this moisture trickling through the broken ends. under the pressure of the thin glass slide that covers them on the stage of the microscope, the twists lengthen out, become crinkled ribbons, traversed from end to end, through the middle, by a dark streak, which is the empty container. the fluid contents must ooze slowly through the side of those tubular threads, rolled into twisted strings, and thus render the network sticky. it is sticky, in fact, and in such a way as to provoke surprise. i bring a fine straw flat down upon three or four rungs of a sector. however gentle the contact, adhesion is at once established. when i lift the straw, the threads come with it and stretch to twice or three times their length, like a thread of india-rubber. at last, when over-taut, they loosen without breaking and resume their original form. they lengthen by unrolling their twist, they shorten by rolling it again; lastly, they become adhesive by taking the glaze of the gummy moisture wherewith they are filled. in short, the spiral thread is a capillary tube finer than any that our physics will ever know. it is rolled into a twist so as to possess an elasticity that allows it, without breaking, to yield to the tugs of the captured prey; it holds a supply of sticky matter in reserve in its tube, so as to renew the adhesive properties of the surface by incessant exudation, as they become impaired by exposure to the air. it is simply marvellous. the epeira hunts not with springs, but with lime-snares. and such limesnares! everything is caught in them, down to the dandelion-plume that barely brushes against them. nevertheless, the epeira, who is in constant touch with her web, is not caught in them. why? let us first of all remember that the spider has contrived for herself, in the middle of her trap, a floor in whose construction the sticky spiral thread plays no part. we saw how this thread stops suddenly at some distance from the centre. there is here, covering a space which, in the larger webs, is about equal to the palm of one's hand, a fabric formed of spokes and of the commencement of the auxiliary spiral, a neutral fabric in which the exploring straw finds no adhesiveness anywhere. here, on this central resting-floor, and here only, the epeira takes her stand, waiting whole days for the arrival of the game. however close, however prolonged her contact with this portion of the web, she runs no risk of sticking to it, because the gummy coating is lacking, as is the twisted and tubular structure, throughout the length of the spokes and throughout the extent of the auxiliary spiral. these pieces, together with the rest of the framework, are made of plain, straight, solid thread. but, when a victim is caught, sometimes right at the edge of the web, the spider has to rush up quickly, to bind it and overcome its attempts to free itself. she is walking then upon her network; and i do not find that she suffers the least inconvenience. the lime-threads are not even lifted by the movements of her legs. in my boyhood, when a troop of us would go, on thursdays, {31} to try and catch a goldfinch in the hemp-fields, we used, before covering the twigs with glue, to grease our fingers with a few drops of oil, lest we should get them caught in the sticky matter. does the epeira know the secret of fatty substances? let us try. i rub my exploring straw with slightly oiled paper. when applied to the spiral thread of the web, it now no longer sticks to it. the principle is discovered. i pull out the leg of a live epeira. brought just as it is into contact with the lime-threads, it does not stick to them any more than to the neutral cords, whether spokes or parts of the framework. we were entitled to expect this, judging by the spider's general immunity. but here is something that wholly alters the result. i put the leg to soak for a quarter of an hour in disulphide of carbon, the best solvent of fatty matters. i wash it carefully with a brush dipped in the same fluid. when this washing is finished, the leg sticks to the snaring-thread quite easily and adheres to it just as well as anything else would, the unoiled straw, for instance. did i guess aright when i judged that it was a fatty substance that preserved the epeira from the snares of her sticky catherine-wheel? the action of the carbon disulphide seems to say yes. besides, there is no reason why a substance of this kind, which plays so frequent a part in animal economy, should not coat the spider very slightly by the mere act of perspiration. we used to rub our fingers with a little oil before handling the twigs in which the goldfinch was to be caught; even so the epeira varnishes herself with a special sweat, to operate on any part of her web without fear of the lime-threads. however, an unduly protracted stay on the sticky threads would have its drawbacks. in the long run, continual contact with those threads might produce a certain adhesion and inconvenience the spider, who must preserve all her agility in order to rush upon the prey before it can release itself. for this reason, gummy threads are never used in building the post of interminable waiting. it is only on her resting-floor that the epeira sits, motionless and with her eight legs outspread, ready to mark the least quiver in the net. it is here, again, that she takes her meals, often long-drawn-out, when the joint is a substantial one; it is hither that, after trussing and nibbling it, she drags her prey at the end of a thread, to consume it at her ease on a non-viscous mat. as a hunting-post and refectory, the epeira has contrived a central space, free from glue. as for the glue itself, it is hardly possible to study its chemical properties, because the quantity is so slight. the microscope shows it trickling from the broken threads in the form of a transparent and more or less granular streak. the following experiment will tell us more about it. with a sheet of glass passed across the web, i gather a series of limethreads which remain fixed in parallel lines. i cover this sheet with a bell-jar standing in a depth of water. soon, in this atmosphere saturated with humidity, the threads become enveloped in a watery sheath, which gradually increases and begins to flow. the twisted shape has by this time disappeared; and the channel of the thread reveals a chaplet of translucent orbs, that is to say, a series of extremely fine drops. in twenty-four hours, the threads have lost their contents and are reduced to almost invisible streaks. if i then lay a drop of water on the glass, i get a sticky solution, similar to that which a particle of gum arabic might yield. the conclusion is evident: the epeira's glue is a substance that absorbs moisture freely. in an atmosphere with a high degree of humidity, it becomes saturated and percolates by sweating through the side of the tubular threads. these data explain certain facts relating to the work of the net. the full-grown banded and silky epeirae weave at very early hours, long before dawn. should the air turn misty, they sometimes leave that part of the task unfinished: they build the general framework, they lay the spokes, they even draw the auxiliary spiral, for all these parts are unaffected by excess of moisture; but they are very careful not to work at the lime-threads, which, if soaked by the fog, would dissolve into sticky shreds and lose their efficacy by being wetted. the net that was started will be finished to-morrow, if the atmosphere be favourable. while the highly-absorbent character of the snaring-thread has its drawbacks, it also has compensating advantages. both epeirae, when hunting by day, affect those hot places, exposed to the fierce rays of the sun, wherein the crickets delight. in the torrid heats of the dogdays, therefore, the lime-threads, but for special provisions, would be liable to dry up, to shrivel into stiff and lifeless filaments. but the very opposite happens. at the most scorching times of the day, they continue supple, elastic and more and more adhesive. how is this brought about? by their very powers of absorption. the moisture of which the air is never deprived penetrates them slowly; it dilutes the thick contents of their tubes to the requisite degree and causes it to ooze through, as and when the earlier stickiness decreases. what bird-catcher could vie with the garden spider in the art of laying lime-snares? and all this industry and cunning for the capture of a moth! then, too, what a passion for production! knowing the diameter of the orb and the number of coils, we can easily calculate the total length of the sticky spiral. we find that, in one sitting, each time that she remakes her web, the angular epeira produces some twenty yards of gummy thread. the more skilful silky epeira produces thirty. well, during two months, the angular epeira, my neighbour, renewed her snare nearly every evening. during that period, she manufactured something like three-quarters of a mile of this tubular thread, rolled into a tight twist and bulging with glue. i should like an anatomist endowed with better implements than mine and with less tired eyesight to explain to us the work of the marvellous ropeyard. how is the silky matter moulded into a capillary tube? how is this tube filled with glue and tightly twisted? and how does this same wire-mill also turn out plain threads, wrought first into a framework and then into muslin and satin; next, a russet foam, such as fills the wallet of the banded epeira; next, the black stripes stretched in meridian curves on that same wallet? what a number of products to come from that curious factory, a spider's belly! i behold the results, but fail to understand the working of the machine. i leave the problem to the masters of the microtome and the scalpel. chapter xii: the garden spiders: the telegraph-wire of the six garden spiders that form the object of my observations, two only, the banded and the silky epeira, remain constantly in their webs, even under the blinding rays of a fierce sun. the others, as a rule, do not show themselves until nightfall. at some distance from the net, they have a rough and ready retreat in the brambles, an ambush made of a few leaves held together by stretched threads. it is here that, for the most part, they remain in the daytime, motionless and sunk in meditation. but the shrill light that vexes them is the joy of the fields. at such times, the locust hops more nimbly than ever, more gaily skims the dragonfly. besides, the limy web, despite the rents suffered during the night, is still in serviceable condition. if some giddy-pate allow himself to be caught, will the spider, at the distance whereto she has retired, be unable to take advantage of the windfall? never fear. she arrives in a flash. how is she apprised? let us explain the matter. the alarm is given by the vibration of the web, much more than by the sight of the captured object. a very simple experiment will prove this. i lay upon a banded epeira's lime-threads a locust that second asphyxiated with carbon disulphide. the carcass is placed in front, or behind, or at either side of the spider, who sits moveless in the centre of the net. if the test is to be applied to a species with a daytime hiding-place amid the foliage, the dead locust is laid on the web, more or less near the centre, no matter how. in both cases, nothing happens at first. the epeira remains in her motionless attitude, even when the morsel is at a short distance in front of her. she is indifferent to the presence of the game, does not seem to perceive it, so much so that she ends by wearing out my patience. then, with a long straw, which enables me to conceal myself slightly, i set the dead insect trembling. that is quite enough. the banded epeira and the silky epeira hasten to the central floor; the others come down from the branch; all go to the locust, swathe him with tape, treat him, in short, as they would treat a live prey captured under normal conditions. it took the shaking of the web to decide them to attack. perhaps the grey colour of the locust is not sufficiently conspicuous to attract attention by itself. then let us try red, the brightest colour to our retina and probably also to the spiders'. none of the game hunted by the epeirae being clad in scarlet, i make a small bundle out of red wool, a bait of the size of a locust. i glue it to the web. my stratagem succeeds. as long as the parcel is stationary, the spider is not roused; but, the moment it trembles, stirred by my straw, she runs up eagerly. there are silly ones who just touch the thing with their legs and, without further enquiries, swathe it in silk after the manner of the usual game. they even go so far as to dig their fangs into the bait, following the rule of the preliminary poisoning. then and then only the mistake is recognized and the tricked spider retires and does not come back, unless it be long afterwards, when she flings the cumbersome object out of the web. there are also clever ones. like the others, these hasten to the redwoollen lure, which my straw insidiously keeps moving; they come from their tent among the leaves as readily as from the centre of the web; they explore it with their palpi and their legs; but, soon perceiving that the thing is valueless, they are careful not to spend their silk on useless bonds. my quivering bait does not deceive them. it is flung out after a brief inspection. still, the clever ones, like the silly ones, run even from a distance, from their leafy ambush. how do they know? certainly not by sight. before recognizing their mistake, they have to hold the object between their legs and even to nibble at it a little. they are extremely shortsighted. at a hand's-breadth's distance, the lifeless prey, unable to shake the web, remains unperceived. besides, in many cases, the hunting takes place in the dense darkness of the night, when sight, even if it were good, would not avail. if the eyes are insufficient guides, even close at hand, how will it be when the prey has to be spied from afar! in that case, an intelligenceapparatus for long-distance work becomes indispensable. we have no difficulty in detecting the apparatus. let us look attentively behind the web of any epeira with a daytime hiding-place: we shall see a thread that starts from the centre of the network, ascends in a slanting line outside the plane of the web and ends at the ambush where the spider lurks all day. except at the central point, there is no connection between this thread and the rest of the work, no interweaving with the scaffolding-threads. free of impediment, the line runs straight from the centre of the net to the ambush-tent. its length averages twenty-two inches. the angular epeira, settled high up in the trees, has shown me some as long as eight or nine feet. there is no doubt that this slanting line is a foot-bridge which allows the spider to repair hurriedly to the web, when summoned by urgent business, and then, when her round is finished, to return to her hut. in fact, it is the road which i see her follow, in going and coming. but is that all? no; for, if the epeira had no aim in view but a means of rapid transit between her tent and the net, the foot-bridge would be fastened to the upper edge of the web. the journey would be shorter and the slope less steep. why, moreover, does this line always start in the centre of the sticky network and nowhere else? because that is the point where the spokes meet and, therefore, the common centre of vibration. anything that moves upon the web sets it shaking. all then that is needed is a thread issuing from this central point to convey to a distance the news of a prey struggling in some part or other of the net. the slanting cord, extending outside the plane of the web, is more than a foot-bridge: it is, above all, a signalling-apparatus, a telegraph-wire. let us try experiment. i place a locust on the network. caught in the sticky toils, he plunges about. forthwith, the spider issues impetuously from her hut, comes down the foot-bridge, makes a rush for the locust, wraps him up and operates on him according to rule. soon after, she hoists him, fastened by a line to her spinneret, and drags him to her hiding-place, where a long banquet will be held. so far, nothing new: things happen as usual. i leave the spider to mind her own affairs for some days, before i interfere with her. i again propose to give her a locust; but, this time, i first cut the signalling-thread with a touch of the scissors, without shaking any part of the edifice. the game is then laid on the web. complete success: the entangled insect struggles, sets the net quivering; the spider, on her side, does not stir, as though heedless of events. the idea might occur to one that, in this business, the epeira stays motionless in her cabin since she is prevented from hurrying down, because the foot-bridge is broken. let us undeceive ourselves: for one road open to her there are a hundred, all ready to bring her to the place where her presence is now required. the network is fastened to the branches by a host of lines, all of them very easy to cross. well, the epeira embarks upon none of them, but remains moveless and self-absorbed. why? because her telegraph, being out of order, no longer tells her of the shaking of the web. the captured prey is too far off for her to see it; she is all unwitting. a good hour passes, with the locust still kicking, the spider impassive, myself watching. nevertheless, in the end, the epeira wakes up: no longer feeling the signalling-thread, broken by my scissors, as taut as usual under her legs, she comes to look into the state of things. the web is reached, without the least difficulty, by one of the lines of the framework, the first that offers. the locust is then perceived and forthwith enswathed, after which the signallingthread is remade, taking the place of the one which i have broken. along this road the spider goes home, dragging her prey behind her. my neighbour, the mighty angular epeira, with her telegraph-wire nine feet long, has even better things in store for me. one morning, i find her web, which is now deserted, almost intact, a proof that the night's hunting has not been good. the animal must be hungry. with a piece of game for a bait, i hope to bring her down from her lofty retreat. i entangle in the web a rare morsel, a dragon-fly, who struggles desperately and sets the whole net a-shaking. the other, up above, leaves her lurking-place amid the cypress-foliage, strides swiftly down along her telegraph-wire, comes to the dragon-fly, trusses her and at once climbs home again by the same road, with her prize dangling at her heels by a thread. the final sacrifice will take place in the quiet of the leafy sanctuary. a few days later, i renew my experiment under the same conditions, but, this time, i first cut the signalling-thread. in vain i select a large dragon-fly, a very restless prisoner; in vain i exert my patience: the spider does not come down all day. her telegraph being broken, she receives no notice of what is happening nine feet below. the entangled morsel remains where it lies, not despised, but unknown. at nightfall, the epeira leaves her cabin, passes over the ruins of her web, finds the dragon-fly and eats her on the spot, after which the net is renewed. one of the epeirae whom i have had the opportunity of examining simplifies the system, while retaining the essential mechanism of a transmission-thread. this is the crater epeira (_epeira cratera_, walck.), a species seen in spring, at which time she indulges especially in the chase of the domestic bee, upon the flowering rosemaries. at the leafy end of a branch, she builds a sort of silken shell, the shape and size of an acorn-cup. this is where she sits, with her paunch contained in the round cavity and her forelegs resting on the ledge, ready to leap. the lazy creature loves this position and rarely stations herself head downwards on the web, as do the others. cosily ensconced in the hollow of her cup, she awaits the approaching game. her web, which is vertical, as is the rule among the epeirae, is of a fair size and always very near the bowl wherein the spider takes her ease. moreover, it touches the bowl by means of an angular extension; and the angle always contains one spoke which the epeira, seated, so to speak, in her crater, has constantly under her legs. this spoke, springing from the common focus of the vibrations from all parts of the network, is eminently fitted to keep the spider informed of whatsoever happens. it has a double office: it forms part of the catherine-wheel supporting the lime-threads and it warns the epeira by its vibrations. a special thread is here superfluous. the other snarers, on the contrary, who occupy a distant retreat by day, cannot do without a private wire that keeps them in permanent communication with the deserted web. all of them have one, in point of fact, but only when age comes, age prone to rest and to long slumbers. in their youth, the epeirae, who are then very wide-awake, know nothing of the art of telegraphy. besides, their web, a short-lived work whereof hardly a trace remains on the morrow, does not allow of this kind of industry. it is no use going to the expense of a signalling-apparatus for a ruined snare wherein nothing can now be caught. only the old spiders, meditating or dozing in their green tent, are warned from afar, by telegraph, of what takes place on the web. to save herself from keeping a close watch that would degenerate into drudgery and to remain alive to events even when resting, with her back turned on the net, the ambushed spider always has her foot upon the telegraph-wire. of my observations on this subject, let me relate the following, which will be sufficient for our purpose. an angular epeira, with a remarkably fine belly, has spun her web between two laurestine-shrubs, covering a width of nearly a yard. the sun beats upon the snare, which is abandoned long before dawn. the spider is in her day manor, a resort easily discovered by following the telegraph-wire. it is a vaulted chamber of dead leaves, joined together with a few bits of silk. the refuge is deep: the spider disappears in it entirely, all but her rounded hind-quarters, which bar the entrance to the donjon. with her front half plunged into the back of her hut, the epeira certainly cannot see her web. even if she had good sight, instead of being purblind, her position could not possibly allow her to keep the prey in view. does she give up hunting during this period, of bright sunlight? not at all. look again. wonderful! one of her hind-legs is stretched outside the leafy cabin; and the signalling-thread ends just at the tip of that leg. whoso has not seen the epeira in this attitude, with her hand, so to speak, on the telegraph-receiver, knows nothing of one of the most curious instances of animal cleverness. let any game appear upon the scene; and the slumberer, forthwith aroused by means of the leg receiving the vibrations, hastens up. a locust whom i myself lay on the web procures her this agreeable shock and what follows. if she is satisfied with her bag, i am still more satisfied with what i have learnt. the occasion is too good not to find out, under better conditions as regards approach, what the inhabitant of the cypress-trees has already shown me. the next morning, i cut the telegraph-wire, this time as long as one's arm and held, like yesterday, by one of the hind-legs stretched outside the cabin. i then place on the web a double prey, a dragon-fly and a locust. the latter kicks out with his long, spurred shanks; the other flutters her wings. the web is tossed about to such an extent that a number of leaves, just beside the epeira's nest, move, shaken by the threads of the framework affixed to them. and this vibration, though so close at hand, does not rouse the spider in the least, does not make her even turn round to enquire what is going on. the moment that her signalling-thread ceases to work, she knows nothing of passing events. all day long, she remains without stirring. in the evening, at eight o'clock, she sallies forth to weave the new web and at last finds the rich windfall whereof she was hitherto unaware. one word more. the web is often shaken by the wind. the different parts of the framework, tossed and teased by the eddying air-currents, cannot fail to transmit their vibration to the signalling-thread. nevertheless, the spider does not quit her hut and remains indifferent to the commotion prevailing in the net. her line, therefore, is something better than a bell-rope that pulls and communicates the impulse given: it is a telephone capable, like our own, of transmitting infinitesimal waves of sound. clutching her telephone-wire with a toe, the spider listens with her leg; she perceives the innermost vibrations; she distinguishes between the vibration proceeding from a prisoner and the mere shaking caused by the wind. chapter xiii: the garden spiders: pairing and hunting notwithstanding the importance of the subject, i shall not enlarge upon the nuptials of the epeirae, grim natures whose loves easily turn to tragedy in the mystery of the night. i have but once been present at the pairing and for this curious experience i must thank my lucky star and my fat neighbour, the angular epeira, whom i visit so often by lantern-light. here you have it. it is the first week of august, at about nine o'clock in the evening, under a perfect sky, in calm, hot weather. the spider has not yet constructed her web and is sitting motionless on her suspension-cable. the fact that she should be slacking like this, at a time when her building-operations ought to be in full swing, naturally astonishes me. can something unusual be afoot? even so. i see hastening up from the neighbouring bushes and embarking on the cable a male, a dwarf, who is coming, the whipper-snapper, to pay his respects to the portly giantess. how has he, in his distant corner, heard of the presence of the nymph ripe for marriage? among the spiders, these things are learnt in the silence of the night, without a summons, without a signal, none knows how. once, the great peacock, {32} apprised by the magic effluvia, used to come from miles around to visit the recluse in her bell-jar in my study. the dwarf of this evening, that other nocturnal pilgrim, crosses the intricate tangle of the branches without a mistake and makes straight for the rope-walker. he has as his guide the infallible compass that brings every jack and his jill together. he climbs the slope of the suspension-cord; he advances circumspectly, step by step. he stops some distance away, irresolute. shall he go closer? is this the right moment? no. the other lifts a limb and the scared visitor hurries down again. recovering from his fright, he climbs up once more, draws a little nearer. more sudden flights, followed by fresh approaches, each time nigher than before. this restless running to and fro is the declaration of the enamoured swain. perseverance spells success. the pair are now face to face, she motionless and grave, he all excitement. with the tip of his leg, he ventures to touch the plump wench. he has gone too far, daring youth that he is! panic-stricken, he takes a header, hanging by his safetyline. it is only for a moment, however. up he comes again. he has learnt, from certain symptoms, that we are at last yielding to his blandishments. with his legs and especially with his palpi, or feelers, he teases the buxom gossip, who answers with curious skips and bounds. gripping a thread with her front tarsi, or fingers, she turns, one after the other, a number of back somersaults, like those of an acrobat on the trapeze. having done this, she presents the under-part of her paunch to the dwarf and allows him to fumble at it a little with his feelers. nothing more: it is done. the object of the expedition is attained. the whipper-snapper makes off at full speed, as though he had the furies at his heels. if he remained, he would presumably be eaten. these exercises on the tight-rope are not repeated. i kept watch in vain on the following evenings: i never saw the fellow again. when he is gone, the bride descends from the cable, spins her web and assumes the hunting-attitude. we must eat to have silk, we must have silk to eat and especially to weave the expensive cocoon of the family. there is therefore no rest, not even after the excitement of being married. the epeirae are monuments of patience in their lime-snare. with her head down and her eight legs wide-spread, the spider occupies the centre of the web, the receiving-point of the information sent along the spokes. if anywhere, behind or before, a vibration occur, the sign of a capture, the epeira knows about it, even without the aid of sight. she hastens up at once. until then, not a movement: one would think that the animal was hypnotized by her watching. at most, on the appearance of anything suspicious, she begins shaking her nest. this is her way of inspiring the intruder with awe. if i myself wish to provoke the singular alarm, i have but to tease the epeira with a bit of straw. you cannot have a swing without an impulse of some sort. the terror-stricken spider, who wishes to strike terror into others, has hit upon something much better. with nothing to push her, she swings with her floor of ropes. there is no effort, no visible exertion. not a single part of the animal moves; and yet everything trembles. violent shaking proceeds from apparent inertia. rest causes commotion. when calm is restored, she resumes her attitude, ceaselessly pondering the harsh problem of life: 'shall i dine to-day, or not?' certain privileged beings, exempt from those anxieties, have food in abundance and need not struggle to obtain it. such is the gentle, who swims blissfully in the broth of the putrefying adder. others--and, by a strange irony of fate, these are generally the most gifted--only manage to eat by dint of craft and patience. you are of their company, o my industrious epeirae! so that you may dine, you spend your treasures of patience nightly; and often without result. i sympathize with your woes, for i, who am as concerned as you about my daily bread, i also doggedly spread my net, the net for catching ideas, a more elusive and less substantial prize than the moth. let us not lose heart. the best part of life is not in the present, still less in the past; it lies in the future, the domain of hope. let us wait. all day long, the sky, of a uniform grey, has appeared to be brewing a storm. in spite of the threatened downpour, my neighbour, who is a shrewd weather-prophet, has come out of the cypress-tree and begun to renew her web at the regular hour. her forecast is correct: it will be a fine night. see, the steaming-pan of the clouds splits open; and, through the apertures, the moon peeps, inquisitively. i too, lantern in hand, am peeping. a gust of wind from the north clears the realms on high; the sky becomes magnificent; perfect calm reigns below. the moths begin their nightly rounds. good! one is caught, a mighty fine one. the spider will dine to-day. what happens next, in an uncertain light, does not lend itself to accurate observation. it is better to turn to those garden spiders who never leave their web and who hunt mainly in the daytime. the banded and the silky epeira, both of whom live on the rosemaries in the enclosure, shall show us in broad day-light the innermost details of the tragedy. i myself place on the lime-snare a victim of my selecting. its six legs are caught without more ado. if the insect raises one of its tarsi and pulls towards itself, the treacherous thread follows, unwinds slightly and, without letting go or breaking, yields to the captive's desperate jerks. any limb released only tangles the others still more and is speedily recaptured by the sticky matter. there is no means of escape, except by smashing the trap with a sudden effort whereof even powerful insects are not always capable. warned by the shaking of the net, the epeira hastens up; she turns round about the quarry; she inspects it at a distance, so as to ascertain the extent of the danger before attacking. the strength of the snareling will decide the plan of campaign. let us first suppose the usual case, that of an average head of game, a moth or fly of some sort. facing her prisoner, the spider contracts her abdomen slightly and touches the insect for a moment with the end of her spinnerets; then, with her front tarsi, she sets her victim spinning. the squirrel, in the moving cylinder of his cage, does not display a more graceful or nimbler dexterity. a cross-bar of the sticky spiral serves as an axis for the tiny machine, which turns, turns swiftly, like a spit. it is a treat to the eyes to see it revolve. what is the object of this circular motion? see, the brief contact of the spinnerets has given a starting-point for a thread, which the spider must now draw from her silk-warehouse and gradually roll around the captive, so as to swathe him in a winding-sheet which will overpower any effort made. it is the exact process employed in our wire-mills: a motordriven spool revolves and, by its action, draws the wire through the narrow eyelet of a steel plate, making it of the fineness required, and, with the same movement, winds it round and round its collar. even so with the epeira's work. the spider's front tarsi are the motor; the revolving spool is the captured insect; the steel eyelet is the aperture of the spinnerets. to bind the subject with precision and dispatch nothing could be better than this inexpensive and highly-effective method. less frequently, a second process is employed. with a quick movement, the spider herself turns round about the motionless insect, crossing the web first at the top and then at the bottom and gradually placing the fastenings of her line. the great elasticity of the lime-threads allows the epeira to fling herself time after time right into the web and to pass through it without damaging the net. let us now suppose the case of some dangerous game: a praying mantis, for instance, brandishing her lethal limbs, each hooked and fitted with a double saw; an angry hornet, darting her awful sting; a sturdy beetle, invincible under his horny armour. these are exceptional morsels, hardly ever known to the epeirae. will they be accepted, if supplied by my stratagems? they are, but not without caution. the game is seen to be perilous of approach and the spider turns her back upon it, instead of facing it; she trains her rope-cannon upon it. quickly, the hind-legs draw from the spinnerets something much better than single cords. the whole silk-battery works at one and the same time, firing a regular volley of ribbons and sheets, which a wide movement of the legs spreads fan-wise and flings over the entangled prisoner. guarding against sudden starts, the epeira casts her armfuls of bands on the front-and hind-parts, over the legs and over the wings, here, there and everywhere, extravagantly. the most fiery prey is promptly mastered under this avalanche. in vain, the mantis tries to open her saw-toothed arm-guards; in vain, the hornet makes play with her dagger; in vain, the beetle stiffens his legs and arches his back: a fresh wave of threads swoops down and paralyses every effort. these lavished, far-flung ribbons threaten to exhaust the factory; it would be much more economical to resort to the method of the spool; but, to turn the machine, the spider would have to go up to it and work it with her leg. this is too risky; and hence the continuous spray of silk, at a safe distance. when all is used up, there is more to come. still, the epeira seems concerned at this excessive outlay. when circumstances permit, she gladly returns to the mechanism of the revolving spool. i saw her practise this abrupt change of tactics on a big beetle, with a smooth, plump body, which lent itself admirably to the rotary process. after depriving the beast of all power of movement, she went up to it and turned her corpulent victim as she would have done with a medium-sized moth. but with the praying mantis, sticking out her long legs and her spreading wings, rotation is no longer feasible. then, until the quarry is thoroughly subdued, the spray of bandages goes on continuously, even to the point of drying up the silk-glands. a capture of this kind is ruinous. it is true that, except when i interfered, i have never seen the spider tackle that formidable provender. be it feeble or strong, the game is now neatly trussed, by one of the two methods. the next move never varies. the bound insect is bitten, without persistency and without any wound that shows. the spider next retires and allows the bite to act, which it soon does. she then returns. if the victim be small, a clothes-moth, for instance, it is consumed on the spot, at the place where it was captured. but, for a prize of some importance, on which she hopes to feast for many an hour, sometimes for many a day, the spider needs a sequestered dining-room, where there is naught to fear from the stickiness of the network. before going to it, she first makes her prey turn in the converse direction to that of the original rotation. her object is to free the nearest spokes, which supplied pivots for the machinery. they are essential factors which it behoves her to keep intact, if need be by sacrificing a few cross-bars. it is done; the twisted ends are put back into position. the well-trussed game is at last removed from the web and fastened on behind with a thread. the spider then marches in front and the load is trundled across the web and hoisted to the resting-floor, which is both an inspection-post and a dining-hall. when the spider is of a species that shuns the light and possesses a telegraph-line, she mounts to her daytime hiding-place along this line, with the game bumping against her heels. while she is refreshing herself, let us enquire into the effects of the little bite previously administered to the silk-swathed captive. does the spider kill the patient with a view to avoiding unseasonable jerks, protests so disagreeable at dinner-time? several reasons make me doubt it. in the first place, the attack is so much veiled as to have all the appearance of a mere kiss. besides, it is made anywhere, at the first spot that offers. the expert slayers {33} employ methods of the highest precision: they give a stab in the neck, or under the throat; they wound the cervical nerve-centres, the seat of energy. the paralyzers, those accomplished anatomists, poison the motor nerve-centres, of which they know the number and position. the epeira possesses none of this fearsome knowledge. she inserts her fangs at random, as the bee does her sting. she does not select one spot rather than another; she bites indifferently at whatever comes within reach. this being so, her poison would have to possess unparalleled virulence to produce a corpse-like inertia no matter which the point attacked. i can scarcely believe in instantaneous death resulting from the bite, especially in the case of insects, with their highly-resistant organisms. besides, is it really a corpse that the epeira wants, she who feeds on blood much more than on flesh? it were to her advantage to suck a live body, wherein the flow of the liquids, set in movement by the pulsation of the dorsal vessel, that rudimentary heart of insects, must act more freely than in a lifeless body, with its stagnant fluids. the game which the spider means to suck dry might very well not be dead. this is easily ascertained. i place some locusts of different species on the webs in my menagerie, one on this, another on that. the spider comes rushing up, binds the prey, nibbles at it gently and withdraws, waiting for the bite to take effect. i then take the insect and carefully strip it of its silken shroud. the locust is not dead, far from it; one would even think that he had suffered no harm. i examine the released prisoner through the lens in vain; i can see no trace of a wound. can he be unscathed, in spite of the sort of kiss which i saw given to him just now? you would be ready to say so, judging by the furious way in which he kicks in my fingers. nevertheless, when put on the ground, he walks awkwardly, he seems reluctant to hop. perhaps it is a temporary trouble, caused by his terrible excitement in the web. it looks as though it would soon pass. i lodge my locusts in cages, with a lettuce-leaf to console them for their trials; but they will not be comforted. a day elapses, followed by a second. not one of them touches the leaf of salad; their appetite has disappeared. their movements become more uncertain, as though hampered by irresistible torpor. on the second day, they are dead, every one irrecoverably dead. the epeira, therefore, does not incontinently kill her prey with her delicate bite; she poisons it so as to produce a gradual weakness, which gives the blood-sucker ample time to drain her victim, without the least risk, before the rigor mortis stops the flow of moisture. the meal lasts quite twenty-four hours, if the joint be large; and to the very end the butchered insect retains a remnant of life, a favourable condition for the exhausting of the juices. once again, we see a skilful method of slaughter, very different from the tactics in use among the expert paralyzers or slayers. here there is no display of anatomical science. unacquainted with the patient's structure, the spider stabs at random. the virulence of the poison does the rest. there are, however, some very few cases in which the bite is speedily mortal. my notes speak of an angular epeira grappling with the largest dragon-fly in my district (_aeshna grandis_, lin.). i myself had entangled in the web this head of big game, which is not often captured by the epeirae. the net shakes violently, seems bound to break its moorings. the spider rushes from her leafy villa, runs boldly up to the giantess, flings a single bundle of ropes at her and, without further precautions, grips her with her legs, tries to subdue her and then digs her fangs into the dragon-fly's back. the bite is prolonged in such a way as to astonish me. this is not the perfunctory kiss with which i am already familiar; it is a deep, determined wound. after striking her blow, the spider retires to a certain distance and waits for her poison to take effect. i at once remove the dragon-fly. she is dead, really and truly dead. laid upon my table and left alone for twenty-four hours, she makes not the slightest movement. a prick of which my lens cannot see the marks, so sharp-pointed are the epeira's weapons, was enough, with a little insistence, to kill the powerful animal. proportionately, the rattlesnake, the horned viper, the trigonocephalus and other ill-famed serpents produce less paralysing effects upon their victims. and these epeirae, so terrible to insects, i am able to handle without any fear. my skin does not suit them. if i persuaded them to bite me, what would happen to me? hardly anything. we have more cause to dread the sting of a nettle than the dagger which is fatal to dragon-flies. the same virus acts differently upon this organism and that, is formidable here and quite mild there. what kills the insect may easily be harmless to us. let us not, however, generalize too far. the narbonne lycosa, that other enthusiastic insect-huntress, would make us pay clearly if we attempted to take liberties with her. it is not uninteresting to watch the epeira at dinner. i light upon one, the banded epeira, at the moment, about three o'clock in the afternoon, when she has captured a locust. planted in the centre of the web, on her resting-floor, she attacks the venison at the joint of a haunch. there is no movement, not even of the mouth-parts, as far as i am able to discover. the mouth lingers, close-applied, at the point originally bitten. there are no intermittent mouthfuls, with the mandibles moving backwards and forwards. it is a sort of continuous kiss. i visit my epeira at intervals. the mouth does not change its place. i visit her for the last time at nine o'clock in the evening. matters stand exactly as they did: after six hours' consumption, the mouth is still sucking at the lower end of the right haunch. the fluid contents of the victim are transferred to the ogress' belly, i know not how. next morning, the spider is still at table. i take away her dish. naught remains of the locust but his skin, hardly altered in shape, but utterly drained and perforated in several places. the method, therefore, was changed during the night. to extract the non-fluent residue, the viscera and muscles, the stiff cuticle had to be tapped here, there and elsewhere, after which the tattered husk, placed bodily in the press of the mandibles, would have been chewed, rechewed and finally reduced to a pill, which the sated spider throws up. this would have been the end of the victim, had i not taken it away before the time. whether she wound or kill, the epeira bites her captive somewhere or other, no matter where. this is an excellent method on her part, because of the variety of the game that comes her way. i see her accepting with equal readiness whatever chance may send her: butterflies and dragon-flies, flies and wasps, small dung-beetles and locusts. if i offer her a mantis, a bumble-bee, an anoxia--the equivalent of the common cockchafer--and other dishes probably unknown to her race, she accepts all and any, large and small, thin-skinned and horny-skinned, that which goes afoot and that which takes winged flight. she is omnivorous, she preys on everything, down to her own kind, should the occasion offer. had she to operate according to individual structure, she would need an anatomical dictionary; and instinct is essentially unfamiliar with generalities: its knowledge is always confined to limited points. the cerceres know their weevils and their buprestis-beetles absolutely; the sphex their grasshoppers, their crickets and their locusts; the scoliae {34} their cetoniaand oryctes-grubs. even so the other paralyzers. each has her own victim and knows nothing of any of the others. the same exclusive tastes prevail among the slayers. let us remember, in this connection, _philanthus apivorus_ {35} and, especially, the thomisus, the comely spider who cuts bees' throats. they understand the fatal blow, either in the neck or under the chin, a thing which the epeira does not understand; but, just because of this talent, they are specialists. their province is the domestic bee. animals are a little like ourselves: they excel in an art only on condition of specializing in it. the epeira, who, being omnivorous, is obliged to generalize, abandons scientific methods and makes up for this by distilling a poison capable of producing torpor and even death, no matter what the point attacked. recognizing the large variety of game, we wonder how the epeira manages not to hesitate amid those many diverse forms, how, for instance, she passes from the locust to the butterfly, so different in appearance. to attribute to her as a guide an extensive zoological knowledge were wildly in excess of what we may reasonably expect of her poor intelligence. the thing moves, therefore it is worth catching: this formula seems to sum up the spider's wisdom. chapter xiv: the garden spiders: the question of property a dog has found a bone. he lies in the shade, holding it between his paws, and studies it fondly. it is his sacred property, his chattel. an epeira has woven her web. here again is property; and owning a better title than the other. favoured by chance and assisted by his scent, the dog has merely had a find; he has neither worked nor paid for it. the spider is more than a casual owner, she has created what is hers. its substance issued from her body, its structure from her brain. if ever property was sacrosanct, hers is. far higher stands the work of the weaver of ideas, who tissues a book, that other spider's web, and out of his thought makes something that shall instruct or thrill us. to protect our 'bone,' we have the police, invented for the express purpose. to protect the book, we have none but farcical means. place a few bricks one atop the other; join them with mortar; and the law will defend your wall. build up in writing an edifice of your thoughts; and it will be open to any one, without serious impediment, to abstract stones from it, even to take the whole, if it suit him. a rabbit-hutch is property; the work of the mind is not. if the animal has eccentric views as regards the possessions of others, we have ours as well. 'might always has the best of the argument,' said la fontaine, to the great scandal of the peace-lovers. the exigencies of verse, rhyme and rhythm, carried the worthy fabulist further than he intended: he meant to say that, in a fight between mastiffs and in other brute conflicts, the stronger is left master of the bone. he well knew that, as things go, success is no certificate of excellence. others came, the notorious evildoers of humanity, who made a law of the savage maxim that might is right. we are the larvae with the changing skins, the ugly caterpillars of a society that is slowly, very slowly, wending its way to the triumph of right over might. when will this sublime metamorphosis be accomplished? to free ourselves from those wild-beast brutalities, must we wait for the ocean-plains of the southern hemisphere to flow to our side, changing the face of continents and renewing the glacial period of the reindeer and the mammoth? perhaps, so slow is moral progress. true, we have the bicycle, the motor-car, the dirigible airship and other marvellous means of breaking our bones; but our morality is not one rung the higher for it all. one would even say that, the farther we proceed in our conquest of matter, the more our morality recedes. the most advanced of our inventions consists in bringing men down with grapeshot and explosives with the swiftness of the reaper mowing the corn. would we see this might triumphant in all its beauty? let us spend a few weeks in the epeira's company. she is the owner of a web, her work, her most lawful property. the question at once presents itself: does the spider possibly recognize her fabric by certain trademarks and distinguish it from that of her fellows? i bring about a change of webs between two neighbouring banded epeirae. no sooner is either placed upon the strange net than she makes for the central floor, settles herself head downwards and does not stir from it, satisfied with her neighbour's web as with her own. neither by day nor by night does she try to shift her quarters and restore matters to their pristine state. both spiders think themselves in their own domain. the two pieces of work are so much alike that i almost expected this. i then decide to effect an exchange of webs between two different species. i move the banded epeira to the net of the silky epeira and vice versa. the two webs are now dissimilar; the silky epeira's has a limy spiral consisting of closer and more numerous circles. what will the spiders do, when thus put to the test of the unknown? one would think that, when one of them found meshes too wide for her under her feet, the other meshes too narrow, they would be frightened by this sudden change and decamp in terror. not at all. without a sign of perturbation, they remain, plant themselves in the centre and await the coming of the game, as though nothing extraordinary had happened. they do more than this. days pass and, as long as the unfamiliar web is not wrecked to the extent of being unserviceable, they make no attempt to weave another in their own style. the spider, therefore, is incapable of recognizing her web. she takes another's work for hers, even when it is produced by a stranger to her race. we now come to the tragic side of this confusion. wishing to have subjects for study within my daily reach and to save myself the trouble of casual excursions, i collect different epeirae whom i find in the course of my walks and establish them on the shrubs in my enclosure. in this way, a rosemary-hedge, sheltered from the wind and facing the sun, is turned into a well-stocked menagerie. i take the spiders from the paper bags wherein i had put them separately, to carry them, and place them on the leaves, with no further precaution. it is for them to make themselves at home. as a rule, they do not budge all day from the place where i put them: they wait for nightfall before seeking a suitable site whereon to weave a net. some among them show less patience. a little while ago, they possessed a web, between the reeds of a brook or in the holm-oak copses; and now they have none. they go off in search, to recover their property or seize on some one else's: it is all the same to them. i come upon a banded epeira, newly imported, making for the web of a silky epeira who has been my guest for some days now. the owner is at her post, in the centre of the net. she awaits the stranger with seeming impassiveness. then suddenly they grip each other; and a desperate fight begins. the silky epeira is worsted. the other swathes her in bonds, drags her to the nonlimy central floor and, in the calmest fashion, eats her. the dead spider is munched for twenty-four hours and drained to the last drop, when the corpse, a wretched, crumpled ball, is at last flung aside. the web so foully conquered becomes the property of the stranger, who uses it, if it have not suffered too much in the contest. there is here a shadow of an excuse. the two spiders were of different species; and the struggle for life often leads to these exterminations among such as are not akin. what would happen if the two belonged to the same species? it is easily seen. i cannot rely upon spontaneous invasions, which may be rare under normal conditions, and i myself place a banded epeira on her kinswoman's web. a furious attack is made forthwith. victory, after hanging for a moment in the balance, is once again decided in the stranger's favour. the vanquished party, this time a sister, is eaten without the slightest scruple. her web becomes the property of the victor. there it is, in all its horror, the right of might: to eat one's like and take away their goods. man did the same in days of old: he stripped and ate his fellows. we continue to rob one another, both as nations and as individuals; but we no longer eat one another: the custom has grown obsolete since we discovered an acceptable substitute in the mutton-chop. let us not, however, blacken the spider beyond her deserts. she does not live by warring on her kith and kin; she does not of her own accord attempt the conquest of another's property. it needs extraordinary circumstances to rouse her to these villainies. i take her from her web and place her on another's. from that moment, she knows no distinction between _meum_ and _tuum_: the thing which the leg touches at once becomes real estate. and the intruder, if she be the stronger, ends by eating the occupier, a radical means of cutting short disputes. apart from disturbances similar to those provoked by myself, disturbances that are possible in the everlasting conflict of events, the spider, jealous of her own web, seems to respect the webs of others. she never indulges in brigandage against her fellows except when dispossessed of her net, especially in the daytime, for weaving is never done by day: this work is reserved for the night. when, however, she is deprived of her livelihood and feels herself the stronger, then she attacks her neighbour, rips her open, feeds on her and takes possession of her goods. let us make allowances and proceed. we will now examine spiders of more alien habits. the banded and the silky epeira differ greatly in form and colouring. the first has a plump, olive-shaped belly, richly belted with white, bright-yellow and black; the second's abdomen is flat, of a silky white and pinked into festoons. judging only by dress and figure, we should not think of closely connecting the two spiders. but high above shapes tower tendencies, those main characteristics which our methods of classification, so particular about minute details of form, ought to consult more widely than they do. the two dissimilar spiders have exactly similar ways of living. both of them prefer to hunt by day and never leave their webs; both sign their work with a zigzag flourish. their nets are almost identical, so much so that the banded epeira uses the silky epeira's web after eating its owner. the silky epeira, on her side, when she is the stronger, dispossesses her belted cousin and devours her. each is at home on the other's web, when the argument of might triumphant has ended the discussion. let us next take the case of the cross spider, a hairy beast of varying shades of reddish-brown. she has three large white spots upon her back, forming a triple-barred cross. she hunts mostly at night, shuns the sun and lives by day on the adjacent shrubs, in a shady retreat which communicates with the lime-snare by means of a telegraph-wire. her web is very similar in structure and appearance to those of the two others. what will happen if i procure her the visit of a banded epeira? the lady of the triple cross is invaded by day, in the full light of the sun, thanks to my mischievous intermediary. the web is deserted; the proprietress is in her leafy hut. the telegraph-wire performs its office; the cross spider hastens down, strides all round her property, beholds the danger and hurriedly returns to her hiding-place, without taking any measures against the intruder. the latter, on her side, does not seem to be enjoying herself. were she placed on the web of one of her sisters, or even on that of the silky epeira, she would have posted herself in the centre, as soon as the struggle had ended in the other's death. this time there is no struggle, for the web is deserted; nothing prevents her from taking her position in the centre, the chief strategic point; and yet she does not move from the place where i put her. i tickle her gently with the tip of a long straw. when at home, if teased in this way, the banded epeira--like the others, for that matter--violently shakes the web to intimidate the aggressor. this time, nothing happens: despite my repeated enticements, the spider does not stir a limb. it is as though she were numbed with terror. and she has reason to be: the other is watching her from her lofty loop-hole. this is probably not the only cause of her fright. when my straw does induce her to take a few steps, i see her lift her legs with some difficulty. she tugs a bit, drags her tarsi till she almost breaks the supporting threads. it is not the progress of an agile rope-walker; it is the hesitating gait of entangled feet. perhaps the lime-threads are stickier than in her own web. the glue is of a different quality; and her sandals are not greased to the extent which the new degree of adhesiveness would demand. anyhow, things remain as they are for long hours on end: the banded epeira motionless on the edge of the web; the other lurking in her hut; both apparently most uneasy. at sunset, the lover of darkness plucks up courage. she descends from her green tent and, without troubling about the stranger, goes straight to the centre of the web, where the telegraphwire brings her. panic-stricken at this apparition, the banded epeira releases herself with a jerk and disappears in the rosemary-thicket. the experiment, though repeatedly renewed with different subjects, gave me no other results. distrustful of a web dissimilar to her own, if not in structure, at least in stickiness, the bold banded epeira shows the white feather and refuses to attack the cross spider. the latter, on her side, either does not budge from her day shelter in the foliage, or else rushes back to it, after taking a hurried glance at the stranger. she here awaits the coming of the night. under favour of the darkness, which gives her fresh courage and activity, she reappears upon the scene and puts the intruder to flight by her mere presence, aided, if need be, by a cuff or two. injured right is the victor. morality is satisfied; but let us not congratulate the spider therefore. if the invader respects the invaded, it is because very serious reasons impel her. first, she would have to contend with an adversary ensconced in a stronghold whose ambushes are unknown to the assailant. secondly, the web, if conquered, would be inconvenient to use, because of the limethreads, possessing a different degree of stickiness from those which she knows so well. to risk one's skin for a thing of doubtful value were twice foolish. the spider knows this and forbears. but let the banded epeira, deprived of her web, come upon that of one of her kind or of the silky epeira, who works her gummy twine in the same manner: then discretion is thrown to the winds; the owner is fiercely ripped open and possession taken of the property. might is right, says the beast; or, rather, it knows no right. the animal world is a rout of appetites, acknowledging no other rein than impotence. mankind, alone capable of emerging from the slough of the instincts, is bringing equity into being, is creating it slowly as its conception grows clearer. out of the sacred rushlight, so flickering as yet, but gaining strength from age to age, man will make a flaming torch that will put an end, among us, to the principles of the brutes and, one day, utterly change the face of society. chapter xv: the labyrinth spider while the epeirae, with their gorgeous net-tapestries, are incomparable weavers, many other spiders excel in ingenious devices for filling their stomachs and leaving a lineage behind them: the two primary laws of living things. some of them are celebrities of long-standing renown, who are mentioned in all the books. certain mygales {36} inhabit a burrow, like the narbonne lycosa, but of a perfection unknown to the brutal spider of the waste-lands. the lycosa surrounds the mouth of her shaft with a simple parapet, a mere collection of tiny pebbles, sticks and silk; the others fix a movable door to theirs, a round shutter with a hinge, a groove and a set of bolts. when the mygale comes home, the lid drops into the groove and fits so exactly that there is no possibility of distinguishing the join. if the aggressor persist and seek to raise the trap-door, the recluse pushes the bolt, that is to say, plants her claws into certain holes on the opposite side to the hinge, props herself against the wall and holds the door firmly. another, the argyroneta, or water spider, builds herself an elegant silken diving-bell, in which she stores air. thus supplied with the wherewithal to breathe, she awaits the coming of the game and keeps herself cool meanwhile. at times of scorching heat, hers must be a regular sybaritic abode, such as eccentric man has sometimes ventured to build under water, with mighty blocks of stone and marble. the submarine palaces of tiberius are no more than an odious memory; the water spider's dainty cupola still flourishes. if i possessed documents derived from personal observation, i should like to speak of these ingenious workers; i would gladly add a few unpublished facts to their life-history. but i must abandon the idea. the water spider is not found in my district. the mygale, the expert in hinged doors, is found there, but very seldom. i saw one once, on the edge of a path skirting a copse. opportunity, as we know, is fleeting. the observer, more than any other, is obliged to take it by the forelock. preoccupied as i was with other researches, i but gave a glance at the magnificent subject which good fortune offered. the opportunity fled and has never returned. let us make up for it with trivial things of frequent encounter, a condition favourable to consecutive study. what is common is not necessarily unimportant. give it our sustained attention and we shall discover in it merits which our former ignorance prevented us from seeing. when patiently entreated, the least of creatures adds its note to the harmonies of life. in the fields around, traversed, in these days, with a tired step, but still vigilantly explored, i find nothing so often as the labyrinth spider (_agelena labyrinthica_, clerck.). not a hedge but shelters a few at its foot, amidst grass, in quiet, sunny nooks. in the open country and especially in hilly places laid bare by the wood-man's axe, the favourite sites are tufts of bracken, rock-rose, lavender, everlasting and rosemary cropped close by the teeth of the flocks. this is where i resort, as the isolation and kindliness of the supports lend themselves to proceedings which might not be tolerated by the unfriendly hedge. several times a week, in july, i go to study my spiders on the spot, at an early hour, before the sun beats fiercely on one's neck. the children accompany me, each provided with an orange wherewith to slake the thirst that will not be slow in coming. they lend me their good eyes and supple limbs. the expedition promises to be fruitful. we soon discover high silk buildings, betrayed at a distance by the glittering threads which the dawn has converted into dewy rosaries. the children are wonderstruck at those glorious chandeliers, so much so that they forget their oranges for a moment. nor am i, on my part, indifferent. a splendid spectacle indeed is that of our spider's labyrinth, heavy with the tears of the night and lit up by the first rays of the sun. accompanied as it is by the thrushes' symphony, this alone is worth getting up for. half an hour's heat; and the magic jewels disappear with the dew. now is the moment to inspect the webs. here is one spreading its sheet over a large cluster of rock-roses; it is the size of a handkerchief. a profusion of guy-ropes, attached to any chance projection, moor it to the brushwood. there is not a twig but supplies a contact-point. entwined on every side, surrounded and surmounted, the bush disappears from view, veiled in white muslin. the web is flat at the edges, as far as the unevenness of the support permits, and gradually hollows into a crater, not unlike the bell of a hunting-horn. the central portion is a cone-shaped gulf, a funnel whose neck, narrowing by degrees, dives perpendicularly into the leafy thicket to a depth of eight or nine inches. at the entrance to the tube, in the gloom of that murderous alley, sits the spider, who looks at us and betrays no great excitement at our presence. she is grey, modestly adorned on the thorax with two black ribbons and on the abdomen with two stripes in which white specks alternate with brown. at the tip of the belly, two small, mobile appendages form a sort of tail, a rather curious feature in a spider. the crater-shaped web is not of the same structure throughout. at the borders, it is a gossamer weft of sparse threads; nearer the centre, the texture becomes first fine muslin and then satin; lower still, on the narrower part of the opening, it is a network of roughly lozenged meshes. lastly, the neck of the funnel, the usual resting-place, is formed of solid silk. the spider never ceases working at her carpet, which represents her investigation-platform. every night she goes to it, walks over it, inspecting her snares, extending her domain and increasing it with new threads. the work is done with the silk constantly hanging from the spinnerets and constantly extracted as the animal moves about. the neck of the funnel, being more often walked upon than the rest of the dwelling, is therefore provided with a thicker upholstery. beyond it are the slopes of the crater, which are also much-frequented regions. spokes of some regularity fix the diameter of the mouth; a swaying walk and the guiding aid of the caudal appendages have laid lozengy meshes across these spokes. this part has been strengthened by the nightly rounds of inspection. lastly come the less-visited expanses, which consequently have a thinner carpet. at the bottom of the passage dipping into the brushwood, we might expect to find a secret cabin, a wadded cell where the spider would take refuge in her hours of leisure. the reality is something entirely different. the long funnel-neck gapes at its lower end, where a private door stands always ajar, allowing the animal, when hard-pushed, to escape through the grass and gain the open. it is well to know this arrangement of the home, if you wish to capture the spider without hurting her. when attacked from the front, the fugitive runs down and slips through the postern-gate at the bottom. to look for her by rummaging in the brushwood often leads to nothing, so swift is her flight; besides, a blind search entails a great risk of maiming her. let us eschew violence, which is but seldom successful, and resort to craft. we catch sight of the spider at the entrance to her tube. if practicable, squeeze the bottom of the tuft, containing the neck of the funnel, with both hands. that is enough; the animal is caught. feeling its retreat cut off, it readily darts into the paper bag held out to it; if necessary, it can be stimulated with a bit of straw. in this way, i fill my cages with subjects that have not been demoralized by contusions. the surface of the crater is not exactly a snare. it is just possible for the casual pedestrian to catch his legs in the silky carpets; but giddy-pates who come here for a walk must be very rare. what is wanted is a trap capable of securing the game that hops or flies. the epeira has her treacherous limed net; the spider of the bushes has her no less treacherous labyrinth. look above the web. what a forest of ropes! it might be the rigging of a ship disabled by a storm. they run from every twig of the supporting shrubs, they are fastened to the tip of every branch. there are long ropes and short ropes, upright and slanting, straight and bent, taut and slack, all criss-cross and a-tangle, to the height of three feet or so in inextricable disorder. the whole forms a chaos of netting, a labyrinth which none can pass through, unless he be endowed with wings of exceptional power. we have here nothing similar to the lime-threads used by the garden spiders. the threads are not sticky; they act only by their confused multitude. would you care to see the trap at work? throw a small locust into the rigging. unable to obtain a steady foothold on that shaky support, he flounders about; and the more he struggles the more he entangles his shackles. the spider, spying on the threshold of her abyss, lets him have his way. she does not run up the shrouds of the mast-work to seize the desperate prisoner; she waits until his bonds of threads, twisted backwards and forwards, make him fall on the web. he falls; the other comes and flings herself upon her prostrate prey. the attack is not without danger. the locust is demoralized rather than tied up; it is merely bits of broken thread that he is trailing from his legs. the bold assailant does not mind. without troubling, like the epeirae, to bury her capture under a paralysing winding-sheet, she feels it, to make sure of its quality, and then, regardless of kicks, inserts her fangs. the bite is usually given at the lower end of a haunch: not that this place is more vulnerable than any other thin-skinned part, but probably because it has a better flavour. the different webs which i inspect to study the food in the larder show me, among other joints, various flies and small butterflies and carcasses of almost-untouched locusts, all deprived of their hind-legs, or at least of one. locusts' legs often dangle, emptied of their succulent contents, on the edges of the web, from the meat-hooks of the butcher's shop. in my urchin-days, days free from prejudices in regard to what one ate, i, like many others, was able to appreciate that dainty. it is the equivalent, on a very small scale, of the larger legs of the crayfish. the rigging-builder, therefore, to whom we have just thrown a locust attacks the prey at the lower end of a thigh. the bite is a lingering one: once the spider has planted her fangs, she does not let go. she drinks, she sips, she sucks. when this first point is drained, she passes on to others, to the second haunch in particular, until the prey becomes an empty hulk without losing its outline. we have seen that garden spiders feed in a similar way, bleeding their venison and drinking it instead of eating it. at last, however, in the comfortable post-prandial hours, they take up the drained morsel, chew it, rechew it and reduce it to a shapeless ball. it is a dessert for the teeth to toy with. the labyrinth spider knows nothing of the diversions of the table; she flings the drained remnants out of her web, without chewing them. although it lasts long, the meal is eaten in perfect safety. from the first bite, the locust becomes a lifeless thing; the spider's poison has settled him. the labyrinth is greatly inferior, as a work of art, to that advanced geometrical contrivance, the garden spider's net; and, in spite of its ingenuity, it does not give a favourable notion of its constructor. it is hardly more than a shapeless scaffolding, run up anyhow. and yet, like the others, the builder of this slovenly edifice must have her own principles of beauty and accuracy. as it is, the prettily-latticed mouth of the crater makes us suspect this; the nest, the mother's usual masterpiece, will prove it to the full. when laying-time is at hand, the spider changes her residence; she abandons her web in excellent condition; she does not return to it. whoso will can take possession of the house. the hour has come to found the family-establishment. but where? the spider knows right well; i am in the dark. mornings are spent in fruitless searches. in vain i ransack the bushes that carry the webs: i never find aught that realizes my hopes. i learn the secret at last. i chance upon a web which, though deserted, is not yet dilapidated, proving that it has been but lately quitted. instead of hunting in the brushwood whereon it rests, let us inspect the neighbourhood, to a distance of a few paces. if these contain a low, thick cluster, the nest is there, hidden from the eye. it carries an authentic certificate of its origin, for the mother invariably occupies it. by this method of investigation, far from the labyrinth-trap, i become the owner of as many nests as are needed to satisfy my curiosity. they do not by a long way come up to my idea of the maternal talent. they are clumsy bundles of dead leaves, roughly drawn together with silk threads. under this rude covering is a pouch of fine texture containing the eggcasket, all in very bad condition, because of the inevitable tears incurred in its extrication from the brushwood. no, i shall not be able to judge of the artist's capacity by these rags and tatters. the insect, in its buildings, has its own architectural rules, rules as unchangeable as anatomical peculiarities. each group builds according to the same set of principles, conforming to the laws of a very elementary system of aesthetics; but often circumstances beyond the architect's control--the space at her disposal, the unevenness of the site, the nature of the material and other accidental causes--interfere with the worker's plans and disturb the structure. then virtual regularity is translated into actual chaos; order degenerates into disorder. we might discover an interesting subject of research in the type adopted by each species when the work is accomplished without hindrances. the banded epeira weaves the wallet of her eggs in the open, on a slim branch that does not get in her way; and her work is a superbly artistic jar. the silky epeira also has all the elbow-room she needs; and her paraboloid is not without elegance. can the labyrinth spider, that other spinstress of accomplished merit, be ignorant of the precepts of beauty when the time comes for her to weave a tent for her offspring? as yet, what i have seen of her work is but an unsightly bundle. is that all she can do? i look for better things if circumstances favour her. toiling in the midst of a dense thicket, among a tangle of dead leaves and twigs, she may well produce a very inaccurate piece of work; but compel her to labour when free from all impediment: she will then--i am convinced of it beforehand--apply her talents without constraint and show herself an adept in the building of graceful nests. as laying-time approaches, towards the middle of august, i instal half-adozen labyrinth spiders in large wire-gauze cages, each standing in an earthen pan filled with sand. a sprig of thyme, planted in the centre, will furnish supports for the structure, together with the trellis-work of the top and sides. there is no other furniture, no dead leaves, which would spoil the shape of the nest if the mother were minded to employ them as a covering. by way of provision, locusts, every day. they are readily accepted, provided they be tender and not too large. the experiment works perfectly. august is hardly over before i am in possession of six nests, magnificent in shape and of a dazzling whiteness. the latitude of the workshop has enabled the spinstress to follow the inspiration of her instinct without serious obstacles; and the result is a masterpiece of symmetry and elegance, if we allow for a few angularities demanded by the suspension-points. it is an oval of exquisite white muslin, a diaphanous abode wherein the mother must make a long stay to watch over the brood. the size is nearly that of a hen's egg. the cabin is open at either end. the front-entrance broadens into a gallery; the back-entrance tapers into a funnel-neck. i fail to see the object of this neck. as for the opening in front, which is wider, this is, beyond a doubt, a victualling-door. i see the spider, at intervals, standing here on the look-out for the locust, whom she consumes outside, taking care not to soil the spotless sanctuary with corpses. the structure of the nest is not without a certain similarity to that of the home occupied during the hunting-season. the passage at the back represents the funnel-neck, that ran almost down to the ground and afforded an outlet for flight in case of grave danger. the one in front, expanding into a mouth kept wide open by cords stretched backwards and forwards, recalls the yawning gulf into which the victims used to fall. every part of the old dwelling is repeated: even the labyrinth, though this, it is true, is on a much smaller scale. in front of the bell-shaped mouth is a tangle of threads wherein the passers-by are caught. each species, in this way, possesses a primary architectural model which is followed as a whole, in spite of altered conditions. the animal knows its trade thoroughly, but it does not know and will never know aught else, being incapable of originality. now this palace of silk, when all is said, is nothing more than a guardhouse. behind the soft, milky opalescence of the wall glimmers the eggtabernacle, with its form vaguely suggesting the star of some order of knighthood. it is a large pocket, of a splendid dead-white, isolated on every side by radiating pillars which keep it motionless in the centre of the tapestry. these pillars are about ten in number and are slender in the middle, expanding at one end into a conical capital and at the other into a base of the same shape. they face one another and mark the position of the vaulted corridors which allow free movement in every direction around the central chamber. the mother walks gravely to and fro under the arches of her cloisters, she stops first here, then there; she makes a lengthy auscultation of the egg-wallet; she listens to all that happens inside the satin wrapper. to disturb her would be barbarous. for a closer examination, let us use the dilapidated nests which we brought from the fields. apart from its pillars, the egg-pocket is an inverted conoid, reminding us of the work of the silky epeira. its material is rather stout; my pincers, pulling at it, do not tear it without difficulty. inside the bag there is nothing but an extremely fine, white wadding and, lastly, the eggs, numbering about a hundred and comparatively large, for they measure a millimetre and a half. {37} they are very pale amber-yellow beads, which do not stick together and which roll freely as soon as i remove the swan's-down shroud. let us put everything into a glass-tube to study the hatching. we will now retrace our steps a little. when laying-time comes, the mother forsakes her dwelling, her crater into which her falling victims dropped, her labyrinth in which the flight of the midges was cut short; she leaves intact the apparatus that enabled her to live at her ease. thoughtful of her natural duties, she goes to found another establishment at a distance. why at a distance? she has still a few long months to live and she needs nourishment. were it not better, then, to lodge the eggs in the immediate neighbourhood of the present home and to continue her hunting with the excellent snare at her disposal? the watching of the nest and the easy acquisition of provender would go hand in hand. the spider is of another opinion; and i suspect the reason. the sheet-net and the labyrinth that surmounts it are objects visible from afar, owing to their whiteness and the height whereat they are placed. their scintillation in the sun, in frequented paths, attracts mosquitoes and butterflies, like the lamps in our rooms and the fowler's looking-glass. whoso comes to look at the bright thing too closely dies the victim of his curiosity. there is nothing better for playing upon the folly of the passer-by, but also nothing more dangerous to the safety of the family. harpies will not fail to come running at this signal, showing up against the green; guided by the position of the web, they will assuredly find the precious purse; and a strange grub, feasting on a hundred new-laid eggs, will ruin the establishment. i do not know these enemies, not having sufficient materials at my disposal for a register of the parasites; but, from indications gathered elsewhere, i suspect them. the banded epeira, trusting to the strength of her stuff, fixes her nest in the sight of all, hangs it on the brushwood, taking no precautions whatever to hide it. and a bad business it proves for her. her jar provides me with an ichneumon {38} possessed of the inoculating lardingpin: a _cryptus_ who, as a grub, had fed on spiders' eggs. nothing but empty shells was left inside the central keg; the germs were completely exterminated. there are other ichneumon-flies, moreover, addicted to robbing spiders' nests; a basket of fresh eggs is their offspring's regular food. like any other, the labyrinth spider dreads the scoundrelly advent of the pickwallet; she provides for it and, to shield herself against it as far as possible, chooses a hiding-place outside her dwelling, far removed from the tell-tale web. when she feels her ovaries ripen, she shifts her quarters; she goes off at night to explore the neighbourhood and seek a less dangerous refuge. the points selected are, by preference, the low brambles dragging along the ground, keeping their dense verdure during the winter and crammed with dead leaves from the oaks hard by. rosemarytufts, which gain in thickness what they lose in height on the unfostering rock, suit her particularly. this is where i usually find her nest, not without long seeking, so well is it hidden. so far, there is no departure from current usage. as the world is full of creatures on the prowl for tender mouthfuls, every mother has her apprehensions; she also has her natural wisdom, which advises her to establish her family in secret places. very few neglect this precaution; each, in her own manner, conceals the eggs she lays. in the case of the labyrinth spider, the protection of the brood is complicated by another condition. in the vast majority of instances, the eggs, once lodged in a favourable spot, are abandoned to themselves, left to the chances of good or ill fortune. the spider of the brushwood, on the contrary, endowed with greater maternal devotion, has, like the crab spider, to mount guard over hers until they hatch. with a few threads and some small leaves joined together, the crab spider builds, above her lofty nest, a rudimentary watch-tower where she stays permanently, greatly emaciated, flattened into a sort of wrinkled shell through the emptying of her ovaries and the total absence of food. and this mere shred, hardly more than a skin that persists in living without eating, stoutly defends her egg-sack, shows fight at the approach of any tramp. she does not make up her mind to die until the little ones are gone. the labyrinth spider is better treated. after laying her eggs, so far from becoming thin, she preserves an excellent appearance and a round belly. moreover, she does not lose her appetite and is always prepared to bleed a locust. she therefore requires a dwelling with a hunting-box close to the eggs watched over. we know this dwelling, built in strict accordance with artistic canons under the shelter of my cages. remember the magnificent oval guard-room, running into a vestibule at either end; the egg-chamber slung in the centre and isolated on every side by half a score of pillars; the front-hall expanding into a wide mouth and surmounted by a network of taut threads forming a trap. the semi-transparency of the walls allows us to see the spider engaged in her household affairs. her cloister of vaulted passages enables her to proceed to any point of the star-shaped pouch containing the eggs. indefatigable in her rounds, she stops here and there; she fondly feels the satin, listens to the secrets of the wallet. if i shake the net at any point with a straw, she quickly runs up to enquire what is happening. will this vigilance frighten off the ichneumon and other lovers of omelettes? perhaps so. but, though this danger be averted, others will come when the mother is no longer there. her attentive watch does not make her overlook her meals. one of the locusts whereof i renew the supply at intervals in the cages is caught in the cords of the great entrance-hall. the spider arrives hurriedly, snatches the giddy-pate and disjoints his shanks, which she empties of their contents, the best part of the insect. the remainder of the carcass is afterwards drained more or less, according to her appetite at the time. the meal is taken outside the guard-room, on the threshold, never indoors. these are not capricious mouthfuls, serving to beguile the boredom of the watch for a brief while; they are substantial repasts, which require several sittings. such an appetite astonishes me, after i have seen the crab spider, that no less ardent watcher, refuse the bees whom i give her and allow herself to die of inanition. can this other mother have so great a need as that to eat? yes, certainly she has; and for an imperative reason. at the beginning of her work, she spent a large amount of silk, perhaps all that her reserves contained; for the double dwelling--for herself and for her offspring--is a huge edifice, exceedingly costly in materials; and yet, for nearly another month, i see her adding layer upon layer both to the wall of the large cabin and to that of the central chamber, so much so that the texture, which at first was translucent gauze, becomes opaque satin. the walls never seem thick enough; the spider is always working at them. to satisfy this lavish expenditure, she must incessantly, by means of feeding, fill her silk-glands as and when she empties them by spinning. food is the means whereby she keeps the inexhaustible factory going. a month passes and, about the middle of september, the little ones hatch, but without leaving their tabernacle, where they are to spend the winter packed in soft wadding. the mother continues to watch and spin, lessening her activity from day to day. she recruits herself with a locust at longer intervals; she sometimes scorns those whom i myself entangle in her trap. this increasing abstemiousness, a sign of decrepitude, slackens and at last stops the work of the spinnerets. for four or five weeks longer, the mother never ceases her leisurely inspection-rounds, happy at hearing the new-born spiders swarming in the wallet. at length, when october ends, she clutches her offspring's nursery and dies withered. she has done all that maternal devotion can do; the special providence of tiny animals will do the rest. when spring comes, the youngsters will emerge from their snug habitation, disperse all over the neighbourhood by the expedient of the floating thread and weave their first attempts at a labyrinth on the tufts of thyme. accurate in structure and neat in silk-work though they be, the nests of the caged captives do not tell us everything; we must go back to what happens in the fields, with their complicated conditions. towards the end of december, i again set out in search, aided by all my youthful collaborators. we inspect the stunted rosemaries along the edge of a path sheltered by a rocky, wooded slope; we lift the branches that spread over the ground. our zeal is rewarded with success. in a couple of hours, i am the owner of some nests. pitiful pieces of work are they, injured beyond recognition by the assaults of the weather! it needs the eyes of faith to see in these ruins the equivalent of the edifices built inside my cages. fastened to the creeping branch, the unsightly bundle lies on the sand heaped up by the rains. oak-leaves, roughly joined by a few threads, wrap it all round. one of these leaves, larger than the others, roofs it in and serves as a scaffolding for the whole of the ceiling. if we did not see the silky remnants of the two vestibules projecting and feel a certain resistance when separating the parts of the bundle, we might take the thing for a casual accumulation, the work of the rain and the wind. let us examine our find and look more closely into its shapelessness. here is the large room, the maternal cabin, which rips as the coating of leaves is removed; here are the circular galleries of the guard-room; here are the central chamber and its pillars, all in a fabric of immaculate white. the dirt from the damp ground has not penetrated to this dwelling protected by its wrapper of dead leaves. now open the habitation of the offspring. what is this? to my utter astonishment, the contents of the chamber are a kernel of earthy matters, as though the muddy rain-water had been allowed to soak through. put aside that idea, says the satin wall, which itself is perfectly clean inside. it is most certainly the mother's doing, a deliberate piece of work, executed with minute care. the grains of sand are stuck together with a cement of silk; and the whole resists the pressure of the fingers. if we continue to unshell the kernel, we find, below this mineral layer, a last silken tunic that forms a globe around the brood. no sooner do we tear this final covering than the frightened little ones run away and scatter with an agility that is singular at this cold and torpid season. to sum up, when working in the natural state, the labyrinth spider builds around the eggs, between two sheets of satin, a wall composed of a great deal of sand and a little silk. to stop the ichneumon's probe and the teeth of the other ravagers, the best thing that occurred to her was this hoarding which combines the hardness of flint with the softness of muslin. this means of defence seems to be pretty frequent among spiders. our own big house spider, _tegenaria domestica_, encloses her eggs in a globule strengthened with a rind of silk and of crumbly wreckage from the mortar of the walls. other species, living in the open under stones, work in the same way. they wrap their eggs in a mineral shell held together with silk. the same fears have inspired the same protective methods. then how comes it that, of the five mothers reared in my cages, not one has had recourse to the clay rampart? after all, sand abounded: the pans in which the wire-gauze covers stood were full of it. on the other hand, under normal conditions, i have often come across nests without any mineral casing. these incomplete nests were placed at some height from the ground, in the thick of the brushwood; the others, on the contrary, those supplied with a coating of sand, lay on the ground. the method of the work explains these differences. the concrete of our buildings is obtained by the simultaneous manipulation of gravel and mortar. in the same way, the spider mixes the cement of the silk with the grains of sand; the spinnerets never cease working, while the legs fling under the adhesive spray the solid materials collected in the immediate neighbourhood. the operation would be impossible if, after cementing each grain of sand, it were necessary to stop the work of the spinnerets and go to a distance to fetch further stony elements. those materials have to be right under her legs; otherwise the spider does without and continues her work just the same. in my cages, the sand is too far off. to obtain it, the spider would have to leave the top of the dome, where the nest is being built on its trellis-work support; she would have to come down some nine inches. the worker refuses to take this trouble, which, if repeated in the case of each grain, would make the action of the spinnerets too irksome. she also refuses to do so when, for reasons which i have not fathomed, the site chosen is some way up in the tuft of rosemary. but, when the nest touches the ground, the clay rampart is never missing. are we to see in this fact proof of an instinct capable of modification, either making for decadence and gradually neglecting what was the ancestors' safeguard, or making for progress and advancing, hesitatingly, towards perfection in the mason's art? no inference is permissible in either direction. the labyrinth spider has simply taught us that instinct possesses resources which are employed or left latent according to the conditions of the moment. place sand under her legs and the spinstress will knead concrete; refuse her that sand, or put it out of her reach, and the spider will remain a simple silk-worker, always ready, however, to turn mason under favourable conditions. the aggregate of things that come within the observer's scope proves that it were mad to expect from her any further innovations, such as would utterly change her methods of manufacture and cause her, for instance, to abandon her cabin, with its two entrance-halls and its star-like tabernacle, in favour of the banded epeira's pear-shaped gourd. chapter xvi: the clotho spider she is named durand's clotho (_clotho durandi_, latr.), in memory of him who first called attention to this particular spider. to enter on eternity under the safe-conduct of a diminutive animal which saves us from speedy oblivion under the mallows and rockets is no contemptible advantage. most men disappear without leaving an echo to repeat their name; they lie buried in forgetfulness, the worst of graves. others, among the naturalists, benefit by the designation given to this or that object in life's treasure-house: it is the skiff wherein they keep afloat for a brief while. a patch of lichen on the bark of an old tree, a blade of grass, a puny beastie: any one of these hands down a man's name to posterity as effectively as a new comet. for all its abuses, this manner of honouring the departed is eminently respectable. if we would carve an epitaph of some duration, what could we find better than a beetle's wing-case, a snail's shell or a spider's web? granite is worth none of them. entrusted to the hard stone, an inscription becomes obliterated; entrusted to a butterfly's wing, it is indestructible. 'durand,' therefore, by all means. but why drag in 'clotho'? is it the whim of a nomenclator, at a loss for words to denote the ever-swelling tide of beasts that require cataloguing? not entirely. a mythological name came to his mind, one which sounded well and which, moreover, was not out of place in designating a spinstress. the clotho of antiquity is the youngest of the three fates; she holds the distaff whence our destinies are spun, a distaff wound with plenty of rough flocks, just a few shreds of silk and, very rarely, a thin strand of gold. prettily shaped and clad, as far as a spider can be, the clotho of the naturalists is, above all, a highly talented spinstress; and this is the reason why she is called after the distaff-bearing deity of the infernal regions. it is a pity that the analogy extends no further. the mythological clotho, niggardly with her silk and lavish with her coarse flocks, spins us a harsh existence; the eight-legged clotho uses naught but exquisite silk. she works for herself; the other works for us, who are hardly worth the trouble. would we make her acquaintance? on the rocky slopes in the oliveland, scorched and blistered by the sun, turn over the flat stones, those of a fair size; search, above all, the piles which the shepherds set up for a seat whence to watch the sheep browsing amongst the lavender below. do not be too easily disheartened: the clotho is rare; not every spot suits her. if fortune smile at last upon our perseverance, we shall see, clinging to the lower surface of the stone which we have lifted, an edifice of a weather-beaten aspect, shaped like an over-turned cupola and about the size of half a tangerine orange. the outside is encrusted or hung with small shells, particles of earth and, especially, dried insects. the edge of the cupola is scalloped into a dozen angular lobes, the points of which spread and are fixed to the stone. in between these straps is the same number of spacious inverted arches. the whole represents the ishmaelite's camel-hair tent, but upside down. a flat roof, stretched between the straps, closes the top of the dwelling. then where is the entrance? all the arches of the edge open upon the roof; not one leads to the interior. the eye seeks in vain; there is nothing to point to a passage between the inside and the outside. yet the owner of the house must go out from time to time, were it only in search of food; on returning from her expedition, she must go in again. how does she make her exits and her entrances? a straw will tell us the secret. pass it over the threshold of the various arches. everywhere, the searching straw encounters resistance; everywhere, it finds the place rigorously closed. but one of the scallops, differing in no wise from the others in appearance, if cleverly coaxed, opens at the edge into two lips and stands slightly ajar. this is the door, which at once shuts again of its own elasticity. nor is this all: the spider, when she returns home, often bolts herself in, that is to say, she joins and fastens the two leaves of the door with a little silk. the mason mygale is no safer in her burrow, with its lid undistinguishable from the soil and moving on a hinge, than is the clotho in her tent, which is inviolable by any enemy ignorant of the device. the clotho, when in danger, runs quickly home; she opens the chink with a touch of her claw, enters and disappears. the door closes of itself and is supplied, in case of need, with a lock consisting of a few threads. no burglar, led astray by the multiplicity of arches, one and all alike, will ever discover how the fugitive vanished so suddenly. while the clotho displays a more simple ingenuity as regards her defensive machinery, she is incomparably ahead of the mygale in the matter of domestic comfort. let us open her cabin. what luxury! we are taught how a sybarite of old was unable to rest, owing to the presence of a crumpled rose-leaf in his bed. the clotho is quite as fastidious. her couch is more delicate than swan's-down and whiter than the fleece of the clouds where brood the summer storms. it is the ideal blanket. above is a canopy or tester of equal softness. between the two nestles the spider, short-legged, clad in sombre garments, with five yellow favours on her back. rest in this exquisite retreat demands perfect stability, especially on gusty days, when sharp draughts penetrate beneath the stone. this condition is admirably fulfilled. take a careful look at the habitation. the arches that gird the roof with a balustrade and bear the weight of the edifice are fixed to the slab by their extremities. moreover, from each point of contact, there issues a cluster of diverging threads that creep along the stone and cling to it throughout their length, which spreads afar. i have measured some fully nine inches long. these are so many cables; they represent the ropes and pegs that hold the arab's tent in position. with such supports as these, so numerous and so methodically arranged, the hammock cannot be torn from its bearings save by the intervention of brutal methods with which the spider need not concern herself, so seldom do they occur. another detail attracts our attention: whereas the interior of the house is exquisitely clean, the outside is covered with dirt, bits of earth, chips of rotten wood, little pieces of gravel. often there are worse things still: the exterior of the tent becomes a charnel-house. here, hung up or embedded, are the dry carcasses of opatra, asidae and other tenebrionidae {39} that favour underrock shelters; segments of iuli, {40} bleached by the sun; shells of pupae, {41} common among the stones; and, lastly, snail-shells, selected from among the smallest. these relics are obviously, for the most part, table-leavings, broken victuals. unversed in the trapper's art, the clotho courses her game and lives upon the vagrants who wander from one stone to another. whoso ventures under the slab at night is strangled by the hostess; and the dried-up carcass, instead of being flung to a distance, is hung to the silken wall, as though the spider wished to make a bogey-house of her home. but this cannot be her aim. to act like the ogre who hangs his victims from the castle battlements is the worst way to disarm suspicion in the passers-by whom you are lying in wait to capture. there are other reasons which increase our doubts. the shells hung up are most often empty; but there are also some occupied by the snail, alive and untouched. what can the clotho do with a _pupa cinerea_, a _pupa quadridens_ and other narrow spirals wherein the animal retreats to an inaccessible depth? the spider is incapable of breaking the calcareous shell or of getting at the hermit through the opening. then why should she collect those prizes, whose slimy flesh is probably not to her taste? we begin to suspect a simple question of ballast and balance. the house spider, or _tegenaria domestica_, prevents her web, spun in a corner of the wall, from losing its shape at the least breath of air, by loading it with crumbling plaster and allowing tiny fragments of mortar to accumulate. are we face to face with a similar process? let us try experiment, which is preferable to any amount of conjecture. to rear the clotho is not an arduous undertaking; we are not obliged to take the heavy flagstone, on which the dwelling is built, away with us. a very simple operation suffices. i loosen the fastenings with my pocketknife. the spider has such stay-at-home ways that she very rarely makes off. besides, i use the utmost discretion in my rape of the house. and so i carry away the building, together with its owner, in a paper bag. the flat stones, which are too heavy to move and which would occupy too much room upon my table, are replaced either by deal disks, which once formed part of cheese-boxes, or by round pieces of cardboard. i arrange each silken hammock under one of these by itself, fastening the angular projections, one by one, with strips of gummed paper. the whole stands on three short pillars and gives a very fair imitation of the underrock shelter in the form of a small dolmen. throughout this operation, if you are careful to avoid shocks and jolts, the spider remains indoors. finally, each apparatus is placed under a wire-gauze, bell-shaped cage, which stands in a dish filled with sand. we can have an answer by the next morning. if, among the cabins swung from the ceilings of the deal or cardboard dolmens, there be one that is all dilapidated, that was seriously knocked out of shape at the time of removal, the spider abandons it during the night and instals herself elsewhere, sometimes even on the trellis-work of the wire cage. the new tent, the work of a few hours, attains hardly the diameter of a two-franc piece. it is built, however, on the same principles as the old manor-house and consists of two thin sheets laid one above the other, the upper one flat and forming a tester, the lower curved and pocket-shaped. the texture is extremely delicate: the least trifle would deform it, to the detriment of the available space, which is already much reduced and only just sufficient for the recluse. well, what has the spider done to keep the gossamer stretched, to steady it and to make it retain its greatest capacity? exactly what our static treatises would advise her to do: she has ballasted her structure, she has done her best to lower its centre of gravity. from the convex surface of the pocket hang long chaplets of grains of sand strung together with slender silken cords. to these sandy stalactites, which form a bushy beard, are added a few heavy lumps hung separately and lower down, at the end of a thread. the whole is a piece of ballast-work, an apparatus for ensuring equilibrium and tension. the present edifice, hastily constructed in the space of a night, is the frail rough sketch of what the home will afterwards become. successive layers will be added to it; and the partition-wall will grow into a thick blanket capable of partly retaining, by its own weight, the requisite curve and capacity. the spider now abandons the stalactites of sand, which were used to keep the original pocket stretched, and confines herself to dumping down on her abode any more or less heavy object, mainly corpses of insects, because she need not look for these and finds them ready to hand after each meal. they are weights, not trophies; they take the place of materials that must otherwise be collected from a distance and hoisted to the top. in this way, a breastwork is obtained that strengthens and steadies the house. additional equilibrium is often supplied by tiny shells and other objects hanging a long way down. what would happen if one robbed an old dwelling, long since completed, of its outer covering? in case of such a disaster, would the spider go back to the sandy stalactites, as a ready means of restoring stability? this is easily ascertained. in my hamlets under wire, i select a fair-sized cabin. i strip the exterior, carefully removing any foreign body. the silk reappears in its original whiteness. the tent looks magnificent, but seems to me too limp. this is also the spider's opinion. she sets to work, next evening, to put things right. and how? once more with hanging strings of sand. in a few nights, the silk bag bristles with a long, thick beard of stalactites, a curious piece of work, excellently adapted to maintain the web in an unvaried curve. even so are the cables of a suspension-bridge steadied by the weight of the superstructure. later, as the spider goes on feeding, the remains of the victuals are embedded in the wall, the sand is shaken and gradually drops away and the home resumes its charnel-house appearance. this brings us to the same conclusion as before: the clotho knows her statics; by means of additional weights, she is able to lower the centre of gravity and thus to give her dwelling the proper equilibrium and capacity. now what does she do in her softly-wadded home? nothing, that i know of. with a full stomach, her legs luxuriously stretched over the downy carpet, she does nothing, thinks of nothing; she listens to the sound of earth revolving on its axis. it is not sleep, still less is it waking; it is a middle state where naught prevails save a dreamy consciousness of well-being. we ourselves, when comfortably in bed, enjoy, just before we fall asleep, a few moments of bliss, the prelude to cessation of thought and its train of worries; and those moments are among the sweetest in our lives. the clotho seems to know similar moments and to make the most of them. if i push open the door of the cabin, invariably i find the spider lying motionless, as though in endless meditation. it needs the teasing of a straw to rouse her from her apathy. it needs the prick of hunger to bring her out of doors; and, as she is extremely temperate, her appearances outside are few and far between. during three years of assiduous observation, in the privacy of my study, i have not once seen her explore the domain of the wire cage by day. not until a late hour at night does she venture forth in quest of victuals; and it is hardly feasible to follow her on her excursions. patience once enabled me to find her, at ten o'clock in the evening, taking the air on the flat roof of her house, where she was doubtless waiting for the game to pass. startled by the light of my candle, the lover of darkness at once returned indoors, refusing to reveal any of her secrets. only, next day, there was one more corpse hanging from the wall of the cabin, a proof that the chase was successfully resumed after my departure. the clotho, who is not only nocturnal, but also excessively shy, conceals her habits from us; she shows us her works, those precious historical documents, but hides her actions, especially the laying, which i estimate approximately to take place in october. the sum total of the eggs is divided into five or six small, flat, lentiform pockets, which, taken together, occupy the greater part of the maternal home. these capsules have each their own partition-wall of superb white satin, but they are so closely soldered, both together and to the floor of the house, that it is impossible to part them without tearing them, impossible, therefore, to obtain them separately. the eggs in all amount to about a hundred. the mother sits upon the heap of pockets with the same devotion as a brooding hen. maternity has not withered her. although decreased in bulk, she retains an excellent look of health; her round belly and her well-stretched skin tell us from the first that her part is not yet wholly played. the hatching takes place early. november has not arrived before the pockets contain the young: wee things clad in black, with five yellow specks, exactly like their elders. the new-born do not leave their respective nurseries. packed close together, they spend the whole of the wintry season there, while the mother, squatting on the pile of cells, watches over the general safety, without knowing her family other than by the gentle trepidations felt through the partitions of the tiny chambers. the labyrinth spider has shown us how she maintains a permanent sitting for two months in her guard-room, to defend, in case of need, the brood which she will never see. the clotho does the same during eight months, thus earning the right to set eyes for a little while on her family trotting around her in the main cabin and to assist at the final exodus, the great journey undertaken at the end of a thread. when the summer heat arrives, in june, the young ones, probably aided by their mother, pierce the walls of their cells, leave the maternal tent, of which they know the secret outlet well, take the air on the threshold for a few hours and then fly away, carried to some distance by a funicular aeroplane, the first product of their spinning-mill. the elder clotho remains behind, careless of this emigration which leaves her alone. she is far from being faded indeed, she looks younger than ever. her fresh colour, her robust appearance suggest great length of life, capable of producing a second family. on this subject i have but one document, a pretty far-reaching one, however. there were a few mothers whose actions i had the patience to watch, despite the wearisome minutiae of the rearing and the slowness of the result. these abandoned their dwellings after the departure of their young; and each went to weave a new one for herself on the wire net-work of the cage. they were rough-and-ready summaries, the work of a night. two hangings, one above the other, the upper one flat, the lower concave and ballasted with stalactites of grains of sand, formed the new home, which, strengthened daily by fresh layers, promised to become similar to the old one. why does the spider desert her former mansion, which is in no way dilapidated--far from it--and still exceedingly serviceable, as far as one can judge? unless i am mistaken, i think i have an inkling of the reason. the old cabin, comfortably wadded though it be, possesses serious disadvantages: it is littered with the ruins of the children's nurseries. these ruins are so close-welded to the rest of the home that my forceps cannot extract them without difficulty; and to remove them would be an exhausting business for the clotho and possibly beyond her strength. it is a case of the resistance of gordian knots, which not even the very spinstress who fastened them is capable of untying. the encumbering litter, therefore, will remain. if the spider were to stay alone, the reduction of space, when all is said, would hardly matter to her: she wants so little room, merely enough to move in! besides, when you have spent seven or eight months in the cramping presence of those bedchambers, what can be the reason of a sudden need for greater space? i see but one: the spider requires a roomy habitation, not for herself--she is satisfied with the smallest den--but for a second family. where is she to place the pockets of eggs, if the ruins of the previous laying remain in the way? a new brood requires a new home. that, no doubt, is why, feeling that her ovaries are not yet dried up, the spider shifts her quarters and founds a new establishment. the facts observed are confined to this change of dwelling. i regret that other interests and the difficulties attendant upon a long upbringing did not allow me to pursue the question and definitely to settle the matter of the repeated layings and the longevity of the clotho, as i did in that of the lycosa. before taking leave of this spider, let us glance at a curious problem which has already been set by the lycosa's offspring. when carried for seven months on the mother's back, they keep in training as agile gymnasts without taking any nourishment. it is a familiar exercise for them, after a fall, which frequently occurs, to scramble up a leg of their mount and nimbly to resume their place in the saddle. they expend energy without receiving any material sustenance. the sons of the clotho, the labyrinth spider and many others confront us with the same riddle: they move, yet do not eat. at any period of the nursery stage, even in the heart of winter, on the bleak days of january, i tear the pockets of the one and the tabernacle of the other, expecting to find the swarm of youngsters lying in a state of complete inertia, numbed by the cold and by lack of food. well, the result is quite different. the instant their cells are broken open, the anchorites run out and flee in every direction as nimbly as at the best moments of their normal liberty. it is marvellous to see them scampering about. no brood of partridges, stumbled upon by a dog, scatters more promptly. chicks, while still no more than tiny balls of yellow fluff, hasten up at the mother's call and scurry towards the plate of rice. habit has made us indifferent to the spectacle of those pretty little animal machines, which work so nimbly and with such precision; we pay no attention, so simple does it all appear to us. science examines and looks at things differently. she says to herself: 'nothing is made with nothing. the chick feeds itself; it consumes or rather it assimilates and turns the food into heat, which is converted into energy.' were any one to tell us of a chick which, for seven or eight months on end, kept itself in condition for running, always fit, always brisk, without taking the least beakful of nourishment from the day when it left the egg, we could find no words strong enough to express our incredulity. now this paradox of activity maintained without the stay of food is realized by the clotho spider and others. i believe i have made it sufficiently clear that the young lycosae take no food as long as they remain with their mother. strictly speaking, doubt is just admissible, for observation is needs dumb as to what may happen earlier or later within the mysteries of the burrow. it seems possible that the repleted mother may there disgorge to her family a mite of the contents of her crop. to this suggestion the clotho undertakes to make reply. like the lycosa, she lives with her family; but the clotho is separated from them by the walls of the cells in which the little ones are hermetically enclosed. in this condition, the transmission of solid nourishment becomes impossible. should any one entertain a theory of nutritive humours cast up by the mother and filtering through the partitions at which the prisoners might come and drink, the labyrinth spider would at once dispel the idea. she dies a few weeks after her young are hatched; and the children, still locked in their satin bed-chamber for the best part of the year, are none the less active. can it be that they derive sustenance from the silken wrapper? do they eat their house? the supposition is not absurd, for we have seen the epeirae, before beginning a new web, swallow the ruins of the old. but the explanation cannot be accepted, as we learn from the lycosa, whose family boasts no silky screen. in short, it is certain that the young, of whatever species, take absolutely no nourishment. lastly, we wonder whether they may possess within themselves reserves that come from the egg, fatty or other matters the gradual combustion of which would be transformed into mechanical force. if the expenditure of energy were of but short duration, a few hours or a few days, we could gladly welcome this idea of a motor viaticum, the attribute of every creature born into the world. the chick possesses it in a high degree: it is steady on its legs, it moves for a little while with the sole aid of the food wherewith the egg furnishes it; but soon, if the stomach is not kept supplied, the centre of energy becomes extinct and the bird dies. how would the chick fare if it were expected, for seven or eight months without stopping, to stand on its feet, to run about, to flee in the face of danger? where would it stow the necessary reserves for such an amount of work? the little spider, in her turn, is a minute particle of no size at all. where could she store enough fuel to keep up mobility during so long a period? the imagination shrinks in dismay before the thought of an atom endowed with inexhaustible motive oils. we must needs, therefore, appeal to the immaterial, in particular to heatrays coming from the outside and converted into movement by the organism. this is nutrition of energy reduced to its simplest expression: the motive heat, instead of being extracted from the food, is utilized direct, as supplied by the sun, which is the seat of all life. inert matter has disconcerting secrets, as witness radium; living matter has secrets of its own, which are more wonderful still. nothing tells us that science will not one day turn the suspicion suggested by the spider into an established truth and a fundamental theory of physiology. appendix: the geometry of the epeira's web i find myself confronted with a subject which is not only highly interesting, but somewhat difficult: not that the subject is obscure; but it presupposes in the reader a certain knowledge of geometry: a strong meat too often neglected. i am not addressing geometricians, who are generally indifferent to questions of instinct, nor entomological collectors, who, as such, take no interest in mathematical theorems; i write for any one with sufficient intelligence to enjoy the lessons which the insect teaches. what am i to do? to suppress this chapter were to leave out the most remarkable instance of spider industry; to treat it as it should be treated, that is to say, with the whole armoury of scientific formulae, would be out of place in these modest pages. let us take a middle course, avoiding both abstruse truths and complete ignorance. let us direct our attention to the nets of the epeirae, preferably to those of the silky epeira and the banded epeira, so plentiful in the autumn, in my part of the country, and so remarkable for their bulk. we shall first observe that the radii are equally spaced; the angles formed by each consecutive pair are of perceptibly equal value; and this in spite of their number, which in the case of the silky epeira exceeds two score. we know by what strange means the spider attains her ends and divides the area wherein the web is to be warped into a large number of equal sectors, a number which is almost invariable in the work of each species. an operation without method, governed, one might imagine, by an irresponsible whim, results in a beautiful rose-window worthy of our compasses. we shall also notice that, in each sector, the various chords, the elements of the spiral windings, are parallel to one another and gradually draw closer together as they near the centre. with the two radiating lines that frame them they form obtuse angles on one side and acute angles on the other; and these angles remain constant in the same sector, because the chords are parallel. there is more than this: these same angles, the obtuse as well as the acute, do not alter in value, from one sector to another, at any rate so far as the conscientious eye can judge. taken as a whole, therefore, the rope-latticed edifice consists of a series of cross-bars intersecting the several radiating lines obliquely at angles of equal value. by this characteristic we recognize the 'logarithmic spiral.' geometricians give this name to the curve which intersects obliquely, at angles of unvarying value, all the straight lines or 'radii vectores' radiating from a centre called the 'pole.' the epeira's construction, therefore, is a series of chords joining the intersections of a logarithmic spiral with a series of radii. it would become merged in this spiral if the number of radii were infinite, for this would reduce the length of the rectilinear elements indefinitely and change this polygonal line into a curve. to suggest an explanation why this spiral has so greatly exercised the meditations of science, let us confine ourselves for the present to a few statements of which the reader will find the proof in any treatise on higher geometry. the logarithmic spiral describes an endless number of circuits around its pole, to which it constantly draws nearer without ever being able to reach it. this central point is indefinitely inaccessible at each approaching turn. it is obvious that this property is beyond our sensory scope. even with the help of the best philosophical instruments, our sight could not follow its interminable windings and would soon abandon the attempt to divide the invisible. it is a volute to which the brain conceives no limits. the trained mind, alone, more discerning than our retina, sees clearly that which defies the perceptive faculties of the eye. the epeira complies to the best of her ability with this law of the endless volute. the spiral revolutions come closer together as they approach the pole. at a given distance, they stop abruptly; but, at this point, the auxiliary spiral, which is not destroyed in the central region, takes up the thread; and we see it, not without some surprise, draw nearer to the pole in ever-narrowing and scarcely perceptible circles. there is not, of course, absolute mathematical accuracy, but a very close approximation to that accuracy. the epeira winds nearer and nearer round her pole, so far as her equipment, which, like our own, is defective, will allow her. one would believe her to be thoroughly versed in the laws of the spiral. i will continue to set forth, without explanations, some of the properties of this curious curve. picture a flexible thread wound round a logarithmic spiral. if we then unwind it, keeping it taut the while, its free extremity will describe a spiral similar at all points to the original. the curve will merely have changed places. jacques bernouilli, {42} to whom geometry owes this magnificent theorem, had engraved on his tomb, as one of his proudest titles to fame, the generating spiral and its double, begotten of the unwinding of the thread. an inscription proclaimed, '_eadem mutata resurgo_: i rise again like unto myself.' geometry would find it difficult to better this splendid flight of fancy towards the great problem of the hereafter. there is another geometrical epitaph no less famous. cicero, when quaestor in sicily, searching for the tomb of archimedes amid the thorns and brambles that cover us with oblivion, recognized it, among the ruins, by the geometrical figure engraved upon the stone: the cylinder circumscribing the sphere. archimedes, in fact, was the first to know the approximate relation of circumference to diameter; from it he deduced the perimeter and surface of the circle, as well as the surface and volume of the sphere. he showed that the surface and volume of the lastnamed equal two-thirds of the surface and volume of the circumscribing cylinder. disdaining all pompous inscription, the learned syracusan honoured himself with his theorem as his sole epitaph. the geometrical figure proclaimed the individual's name as plainly as would any alphabetical characters. to have done with this part of our subject, here is another property of the logarithmic spiral. roll the curve along an indefinite straight line. its pole will become displaced while still keeping on one straight line. the endless scroll leads to rectilinear progression; the perpetually varied begets uniformity. now is this logarithmic spiral, with its curious properties, merely a conception of the geometers, combining number and extent, at will, so as to imagine a tenebrous abyss wherein to practise their analytical methods afterwards? is it a mere dream in the night of the intricate, an abstract riddle flung out for our understanding to browse upon? no, it is a reality in the service of life, a method of construction frequently employed in animal architecture. the mollusc, in particular, never rolls the winding ramp of the shell without reference to the scientific curve. the first-born of the species knew it and put it into practice; it was as perfect in the dawn of creation as it can be to-day. let us study, in this connection, the ammonites, those venerable relics of what was once the highest expression of living things, at the time when the solid land was taking shape from the oceanic ooze. cut and polished length-wise, the fossil shows a magnificent logarithmic spiral, the general pattern of the dwelling which was a pearl palace, with numerous chambers traversed by a siphuncular corridor. to this day, the last representative of the cephalopoda with partitioned shells, the nautilus of the southern seas, remains faithful to the ancient design; it has not improved upon its distant predecessors. it has altered the position of the siphuncle, has placed it in the centre instead of leaving it on the back, but it still whirls its spiral logarithmically as did the ammonites in the earliest ages of the world's existence. and let us not run away with the idea that these princes of the mollusc tribe have a monopoly of the scientific curve. in the stagnant waters of our grassy ditches, the flat shells, the humble planorbes, sometimes no bigger than a duckweed, vie with the ammonite and the nautilus in matters of higher geometry. at least one of them, _planorbis vortex_, for example, is a marvel of logarithmic whorls. in the long-shaped shells, the structure becomes more complex, though remaining subject to the same fundamental laws. i have before my eyes some species of the genus terebra, from new caledonia. they are extremely tapering cones, attaining almost nine inches in length. their surface is smooth and quite plain, without any of the usual ornaments, such as furrows, knots or strings of pearls. the spiral edifice is superb, graced with its own simplicity alone. i count a score of whorls which gradually decrease until they vanish in the delicate point. they are edged with a fine groove. i take a pencil and draw a rough generating line to this cone; and, relying merely on the evidence of my eyes, which are more or less practised in geometric measurements, i find that the spiral groove intersects this generating line at an angle of unvarying value. the consequence of this result is easily deduced. if projected on a plane perpendicular to the axis of the shell, the generating lines of the cone would become radii; and the groove which winds upwards from the base to the apex would be converted into a plane curve which, meeting those radii at an unvarying angle, would be neither more nor less than a logarithmic spiral. conversely, the groove of the shell may be considered as the projection of this spiral on a conic surface. better still. let us imagine a plane perpendicular to the aids of the shell and passing through its summit. let us imagine, moreover, a thread wound along the spiral groove. let us unroll the thread, holding it taut as we do so. its extremity will not leave the plane and will describe a logarithmic spiral within it. it is, in a more complicated degree, a variant of bernouilli's '_eadem mutata resurgo_:' the logarithmic conic curve becomes a logarithmic plane curve. a similar geometry is found in the other shells with elongated cones, turritellae, spindle-shells, cerithia, as well as in the shells with flattened cones, trochidae, turbines. the spherical shells, those whirled into a volute, are no exception to this rule. all, down to the common snail-shell, are constructed according to logarithmic laws. the famous spiral of the geometers is the general plan followed by the mollusc rolling its stone sheath. where do these glairy creatures pick up this science? we are told that the mollusc derives from the worm. one day, the worm, rendered frisky by the sun, emancipated itself, brandished its tail and twisted it into a corkscrew for sheer glee. there and then the plan of the future spiral shell was discovered. this is what is taught quite seriously, in these days, as the very last word in scientific progress. it remains to be seen up to what point the explanation is acceptable. the spider, for her part, will have none of it. unrelated to the appendix-lacking, corkscrew-twirling worm, she is nevertheless familiar with the logarithmic spiral. from the celebrated curve she obtains merely a sort of framework; but, elementary though this framework be, it clearly marks the ideal edifice. the epeira works on the same principles as the mollusc of the convoluted shell. the mollusc has years wherein to construct its spiral and it uses the utmost finish in the whirling process. the epeira, to spread her net, has but an hour's sitting at the most, wherefore the speed at which she works compels her to rest content with a simpler production. she shortens the task by confining herself to a skeleton of the curve which the other describes to perfection. the epeira, therefore, is versed in the geometric secrets of the ammonite and the _nautilus pompilus_; she uses, in a simpler form, the logarithmic line dear to the snail. what guides her? there is no appeal here to a wriggle of some kind, as in the case of the worm that ambitiously aspires to become a mollusc. the animal must needs carry within itself a virtual diagram of its spiral. accident, however fruitful in surprises we may presume it to be, can never have taught it the higher geometry wherein our own intelligence at once goes astray, without a strict preliminary training. are we to recognize a mere effect of organic structure in the epeira's art? we readily think of the legs, which, endowed with a very varying power of extension, might serve as compasses. more or less bent, more or less outstretched, they would mechanically determine the angle whereat the spiral shall intersect the radius; they would maintain the parallel of the chords in each sector. certain objections arise to affirm that, in this instance, the tool is not the sole regulator of the work. were the arrangement of the thread determined by the length of the legs, we should find the spiral volutes separated more widely from one another in proportion to the greater length of implement in the spinstress. we see this in the banded epeira and the silky epeira. the first has longer limbs and spaces her crossthreads more liberally than does the second, whose legs are shorter. but we must not rely too much on this rule, say others. the angular epeira, the paletinted epeira and the cross spider, all three more or less short-limbed, rival the banded epeira in the spacing of their limesnares. the last two even dispose them with greater intervening distances. we recognize in another respect that the organization of the animal does not imply an immutable type of work. before beginning the sticky spiral, the epeirae first spin an auxiliary intended to strengthen the stays. this spiral, formed of plain, non-glutinous thread, starts from the centre and winds in rapidly-widening circles to the circumference. it is merely a temporary construction, whereof naught but the central part survives when the spider has set its limy meshes. the second spiral, the essential part of the snare, proceeds, on the contrary, in serried coils from the circumference to the centre and is composed entirely of viscous cross-threads. here we have, following one after the other merely by a sudden alteration of the machine, two volutes of an entirely different order as regards direction, the number of whorls and intersection. both of them are logarithmic spirals. i see no mechanism of the legs, be they long or short, that can account for this alteration. can it then be a premeditated design on the part of the epeira? can there be calculation, measurement of angles, gauging of the parallel by means of the eye or otherwise? i am inclined to think that there is none of all this, or at least nothing but an innate propensity, whose effects the animal is no more able to control than the flower is able to control the arrangement of its verticils. the epeira practises higher geometry without knowing or caring. the thing works of itself and takes its impetus from an instinct imposed upon creation from the start. the stone thrown by the hand returns to earth describing a certain curve; the dead leaf torn and wafted away by a breath of wind makes its journey from the tree to the ground with a similar curve. on neither the one side nor the other is there any action by the moving body to regulate the fall; nevertheless, the descent takes place according to a scientific trajectory, the 'parabola,' of which the section of a cone by a plane furnished the prototype to the geometer's speculations. a figure, which was at first but a tentative glimpse, becomes a reality by the fall of a pebble out of the vertical. the same speculations take up the parabola once more, imagine it rolling on an indefinite straight line and ask what course does the focus of this curve follow. the answer comes: the focus of the parabola describes a 'catenary,' a line very simple in shape, but endowed with an algebraic symbol that has to resort to a kind of cabalistic number at variance with any sort of numeration, so much so that the unit refuses to express it, however much we subdivide the unit. it is called the number _e_. its value is represented by the following series carried out ad infinitum: e = 1 + 1/1 + 1/(1*2) + 1/(1*2*3) + 1/(1*2*3*4) + 1/(1*2*3*4*5) + etc if the reader had the patience to work out the few initial terms of this series, which has no limit, because the series of natural numerals itself has none, he would find: e=2.7182818... with this weird number are we now stationed within the strictly defined realm of the imagination? not at all: the catenary appears actually every time that weight and flexibility act in concert. the name is given to the curve formed by a chain suspended by two of its points which are not placed on a vertical line. it is the shape taken by a flexible cord when held at each end and relaxed; it is the line that governs the shape of a sail bellying in the wind; it is the curve of the nanny-goat's milkbag when she returns from filling her trailing udder. and all this answers to the number e. what a quantity of abstruse science for a bit of string! let us not be surprised. a pellet of shot swinging at the end of a thread, a drop of dew trickling down a straw, a splash of water rippling under the kisses of the air, a mere trifle, after all, requires a titanic scaffolding when we wish to examine it with the eye of calculation. we need the club of hercules to crush a fly. our methods of mathematical investigation are certainly ingenious; we cannot too much admire the mighty brains that have invented them; but how slow and laborious they appear when compared with the smallest actualities! will it never be given to us to probe reality in a simpler fashion? will our intelligence be able one day to dispense with the heavy arsenal of formulae? why not? here we have the abracadabric number _e_ reappearing, inscribed on a spider's thread. let us examine, on a misty morning, the meshwork that has been constructed during the night. owing to their hygrometrical nature, the sticky threads are laden with tiny drops, and, bending under the burden, have become so many catenaries, so many chaplets of limpid gems, graceful chaplets arranged in exquisite order and following the curve of a swing. if the sun pierce the mist, the whole lights up with iridescent fires and becomes a resplendent cluster of diamonds. the number _e_ is in its glory. geometry, that is to say, the science of harmony in space, presides over everything. we find it in the arrangement of the scales of a fir-cone, as in the arrangement of an epeira's limy web; we find it in the spiral of a snail-shell, in the chaplet of a spider's thread, as in the orbit of a planet; it is everywhere, as perfect in the world of atoms as in the world of immensities. and this universal geometry tells us of an universal geometrician, whose divine compass has measured all things. i prefer that, as an explanation of the logarithmic curve of the ammonite and the epeira, to the worm screwing up the tip of its tail. it may not perhaps be in accordance with latter-day teaching, but it takes a loftier flight. footnotes {1} a small or moderate-sized spider found among foliage.--translator's note. {2} leon dufour (1780-1865) was an army surgeon who served with distinction in several campaigns and subsequently practised as a doctor in the landes. he attained great eminence as a naturalist.--translator's note. {3} the tarantula is a lycosa, or wolf-spider. fabre's tarantula, the black-bellied tarantula, is identical with the narbonne lycosa, under which name the description is continued in chapters iii. to vi., all of which were written at a considerably later date than the present chapter.--translator's note. {4} giorgio baglivi (1669-1707), professor of anatomy and medicine at rome.--translator's note. {5} 'when our husbandmen wish to catch them, they approach their hidingplaces, and play on a thin grass pipe, making a sound not unlike the humming of bees. hearing which, the tarantula rushes out fiercely that she may catch the flies or other insects of this kind, whose buzzing she thinks it to be; but she herself is caught by her rustic trapper.' {6} provencal for the bit of waste ground on which the author studies his insects in the natural state.--translator's note. {7} 'thanks to the bumble-bee.' {8} like the dung-beetles.--translator's note. {9} like the solitary wasps.--translator's note. {10} such as the hairy ammophila, the cerceris and the languedocian sphex, digger-wasps described in other of the author's essays.--translator's note. {11} the _desnucador_, the argentine slaughterman whose methods of slaying cattle are detailed in the author's essay entitled, the theory of instinct.--translator's note. {12} a family of grasshoppers.--translator's note. {13} a genus of beetles.--translator's note. {14} a species of digger-wasp.--translator's note. {15} the cicada is the _cigale_, an insect akin to the grasshopper and found more particularly in the south of france.--translator's note. {16} the generic title of the work from which these essays are taken is entomological memories, or, studies relating to the instinct and habits of insects.--translator's note. {17} a species of grasshopper.--translator's note. {18} an insect akin to the locusts and crickets, which, when at rest, adopts an attitude resembling that of prayer. when attacking, it assumes what is known as 'the spectral attitude.' its forelegs form a sort of saw-like or barbed harpoons. cf. social life in the insect world, by j. h. fabre, translated by bernard miall: chaps. v. to vii.-translator's note. {19} .39 inch.-translator's note. {20} these experiments are described in the author's essay on the mason bees entitled fragments on insect psychology.--translator's note. {21} a species of wasp.--translator's note. {22} in chap. viii. of the present volume.--translator's note. {23} jules michelet (1798-1874), author of l'oiseau and l'insecte, in addition to the historical works for which he is chiefly known. as a lad, he helped his father, a printer by trade, in setting type.--translator's note. {24} chapter iii. of the present volume.--translator's note. {25} a species of dung-beetle. cf. the life and love of the insect, by j. henri fabre, translated by alexander teixeira de mattos: chap. v.--translator's note. {26} a species of beetle.--translator's note. {27} cf. insect life, by j. h. fabre, translated by the author of mademoiselle mori: chaps. i. and ii.; the life and love of the insect, by j. henri fabre, translated by alexander teixeira de mattos: chaps. i. to iv.--translator's note. {28} chapter ii.--translator's note. {29} .39 inch.--translator's note. {30} the processionaries are moth-caterpillars that feed on various leaves and march in file, laying a silken trail as they go.--translator's note. {31} the weekly half-holiday in french schools.--translator's note. {32} cf. social life in the insect world, by j. h. fabre, translated by bernard miall: chap. xiv.--translator's note. {33} cf. insect life, by j. h. fabre, translated by the author of mademoiselle mori: chap. v.--translator's note. {34} the scolia is a digger-wasp, like the cerceris and the sphex, and feeds her larvae on the grubs of the cetonia, or rose-chafer, and the oryctes, or rhinoceros beetle. cf. the life and love of the insect, by j. henri fabre, translated by alexander teixeira de mattos: chap. xi.--translator's note. {35} cf. social life in the insect world, by j. h. fabre, translated by bernard miall. chap. xiii., in which the name is given, by a printer's error, as _philanthus aviporus_.--translator's note. {36} or bird spiders, known also as the american tarantula.--translator's note. {37} .059 inch.--translator's note. {38} the ichneumon-flies are very small insects which carry long ovipositors, wherewith they lay their eggs in the eggs of other insects and also, more especially, in caterpillars. their parasitic larvae live and develop at the expense of the egg or grub attacked, which degenerates in consequence.--translator's note. {39} one of the largest families of beetles, darkish in colour and shunning the light.--translator's note. {40} the iulus is one of the family of myriapods, which includes centipedes, etc.--translator's note. {41} a species of land-snail.--translator's note. {42} jacques bernouilli (1654-1705), professor of mathematics at the university of basel from 1687 to the year of his death. he improved the differential calculus, solved the isoperimetrical problem and discovered the properties of the logarithmic spiral.--translator's note. transcriber's notes: 1. passages in italics are surrounded by _underscores_. 2. passages in bold are surrounded by =equals=. 3. the letter "m" with a macron (straight line) is shown as [=m]. 4. other transcription notes appear at the end of this e-text. old farm fairies. a summer campaign in brownieland against king cobweaver's pixies. a story for young people, by henry christopher mccook, author of "tenants of an old farm," "american spiders and their spinningwork," etc., etc. one hundred and fifty illustrations. philadelphia: george w. jacobs & co., 103 south 15th street. a. d. 1895. copyright, 1895, by henry christopher mccook. press of avil printing company, philadelphia. in tender recollection of boyhood's home, loves, joys, and trials among the hills of ever dear ohio, i dedicate this book to the memory of my brother roderick sheldon mccook late commander united states navy. an able, honorable and patriotic officer, he waxed valiant in fight both on sea and land for his country's honor and defence. on this page the author would keep green his name as the roommate, playmate and companion of early days. contents. page preface v introduction viii chapter i. how the brownies came to hillside 3 ii. spite the spy 11 iii. adventures of the brownie scouts 19 iv. the brownies visit governor wille 36 v. madam breeze comes to the rescue 42 vi. attack on the old lodge 50 vii. how the fort was saved 58 viii. the sanitary corps 74 ix. night watches 82 x. the golden mottoes 95 xi. on the trail 101 xii. the lost trail 106 xiii. raft the smuggler 110 xiv. a palace and a prison 118 xv. a pixie insurrection 125 xvi. brownies on a lark 139 xvii. how the lark ended 153 xviii. wooed but not won 170 xix. a battle on lake katrine 179 xx. a naval monster 192 xxi. the charge of ensign lawe 203 xxii. "hair-breadth 'scapes by flood and field" 210 xxiii. a ghost story 228 xxiv. the wisdom of the pixies 240 xxv. blythe's flute 246 xxvi. the haunted ground 259 xxvii. the disenchantment 268 xxviii. out of the pit 276 xxix. breaking camp 287 xxx. the grand alliance with scaly, twist and slymousie 298 xxxi. home again 321 xxxii. ensign lawe's mission 340 xxxiii. how the mission ended 359 appendix 385 preface. this preface shall be a personal explanation. the following book was written during the winter of 1876-77, more than eighteen years ago. its origin was in this wise: some of my readers will know that for more than twenty years i have studied the habits of our spider fauna. during the first years of these studies, the thought came to me to write a book for youth wherein my observations should be personified in the imaginary creatures of fairy lore, and thus float into the young mind some of my natural history findings in such pleasant form that they would be received quite unconsciously, and at least an impression thereof retained with sufficient accuracy to open the way to more serious lessons in the future. it further seemed to me that the fairies of scotland, with whom i had been familiar from childhood, might afford vivid personalities for my plan. accordingly, the spiders were assigned the part of pixies or goblins, the ill-natured fairies of scotland and northern england. the brownies, or friendly folk, the "gude neebours," or household fairies, were made to personify those insect forms, especially those useful to man, against which spiders wage continual war. moreover, to express the relations of the lower creatures to human life, and their actual as well as imaginary interdependence, human characters were introduced, and conflicts between pixies and brownies were interwoven with their behaviour. this purely personal statement has been intruded upon the reader to explain that the brownies, as represented in this book, are not imitations. they antedated, by a number of years, the popular creations of mr. palmer cox. the writer well understands as a naturalist that priority depends not upon originality of intention or invention, or even of preparation, but upon precedence in publication. it will be found, however, that my conception and treatment of these wee folk differ from those of mr. cox. as they appear to me from the recollections of childhood, they have a more serious aspect, a more human-like nature, which ought not to be wholly sacrificed to their jovial characteristics. i have therefore presented the brownies as beings with humanized affections, passions and methods reflected in miniature. i confess some qualms, on the scientific side of my conscience, at compelling my friends, the spiders, to play the part of pixies. but there seemed no other course out of regard both to common belief and the necessity imposed by the facts. as i went on with the work, i wondered at the ductility with which the current habits of the aranead tribes yielded to personification. the water spiders permitted the introduction of smugglers, pirates and sailors; the burrowing and trapdoor spiders opened up tales of caves and subterranean abodes; the ballooning spiders permitted an adaptation of modern military methods of reconnoissance; and so on through a long list of aranead habits. in order to make this more apparent, and to give adult readers, parents and teachers, and the older class of youthful readers, a scientific key to the various situations, brief notes have been added in an appendix, to which foot-note references have been made in most of the chapters. moreover, the natural habits personified are interpreted by figures set into the text with no explanation but the legend written thereunder. the crudely drawn cuts which figure in the pages as "the boy's illustrations" are exact reproductions of sketches made by a lad in my own family, between eight and nine years old, to whom, with others, the manuscript was read as a sort of test of its quality. encouraged by the advice of one of the keenest and most sympathetic students of child life in america, i have ventured to give a few of these drawings to the public, as a curious study in the operations of child-mind. i had agreed with myself not to print the brownie book until my scientific work upon the spiders was finished, and the manuscript remained untouched until the winter of 1885-6. at that time i seemed to see the nearing end of my studies, and portions of the brownie-pixie story were distributed to various artists, among them mr. dan. c. beard and mr. harry l. poore. some of the illustrations at that time made, appear in the following pages, bearing date 1886. "tenants of an old farm" had now appeared, and was so well received that it was thought advisable to connect this book with that by an "introductory chapter" intended for older readers, and which gives the key to the motive of the story. early in 1886 i recalled all contracts and arrangements for publication, as a prolonged sickness compelled me to drop scientific work and defer the issue of the "american spiders." on the very day that the binders placed the first finished copy of the third and last volume of that work in my hands, the "copy" of "old farm fairies" went to the printer. h. c. mcc. the manse, philadelphia, _may 21, a. d. 1895._ the introduction. an introduction. [illustration: pointing finger] this chapter is for grownups only. children will please skip it. the schoolmistress and the fairies. in the south yard of the old farm at highwood there stands a noble elm tree. its massive proportions, the stately pose of its furrowed trunk and the graceful outlines of its drooping branches have often drawn my pleased eyes and awakened admiration. there is nothing in nature that better serves to stir up human enthusiasm than a fine tree; and as our vicinage for miles around abounds in worthy examples of american forest growths, there is ample opportunity for such sentiment to be kept aglow in the hearts of the tenants at the old farm. yet it must be confessed that there is also occasion at times for a kindling of quite another sort, when the stupidity, perversity, and penuriousness of men wage a vandal war against the noble monarchs of the woods. the fall of a huge tree is a touching sight. see! the trunk trembles upon the last few fibres that stand in the gap which the axman has made. a shiver runs through the foliage to the summit and circumference of the branches. the tree-top bows with slightest trace of a lurch to one side. then it sinks--slowly, faster, fast! with no undignified rush, but with a stately sweep it descends to the earth. crash! the ground trembles at the fall. the nethermost branches in their breakage explode sharply like a farewell volley of soldiers over a comrade's grave. boughs, twigs and leaves vibrate, as with a passionate earnestness of grief, for a few moments, and then are still. there, prone upon the forest mould the glorious monarch lies, majestic even in its fallen estate. a few bunches of human muscle, a keen steel edge and a scant fraction of time have destroyed two centuries of nature's cunning work. well, one is inclined to so vary the version of a certain scripture text that it shall read "a man was infamous" rather than "a man was famous according as he had lifted up axes upon the thick trees."[a] of course mr. gladstone, and the multitude of undistinguished axmen who delight to fall a tree, have an honorable and lawful vocation. trees ripen, like other animate things, and when they are full ripe they may be felled; when their time has come they ought to fall; when the exigencies of higher intelligences truly require, they also must fall before their time. but, this brings no justification of that murderous idiocy which sets so many citizen sovereigns of america to slaughtering the grand sovereigns of the plant world. [illustration: fig. 1.--the forest monarch's fall. the brownie's grief and anger thereat.] however, all this perhaps has little to do with our great elm, except, that one must be grateful that it has been spared to cause the eyes to rejoice in its beauty and to refresh us with its shade. we built a rustic seat, against its trunk, and there in the warm summer days and evenings which succeeded the winter of our coming to the old farm, i was wont to sit and meditate, and sometimes doze. it was a favorite spot with me, but others of the family often shared it with me, or enjoyed it by themselves. this will well enough introduce a matter which i have now to lay before the reader. it came to me from the schoolmistress, who, i venture to hope, is not forgotten by the readers of "the tenants of an old farm." my dear mr. mayfield: the package that i herewith send you has a strange history which i beg to recite ere you break the wrappings and examine the contents of the parcel. it happened during one of the warm days of last june that i sat on the rustic bench under the great elm and read mr. lowell's "vision of sir launfal." i closed the book and thought, with an exquisite sense of its beauty and fitness, upon the poet's opening verses which contain a description of june, and in which are these lines: "'tis heaven alone that is given away, 'tis only god may be had for the asking; there is no price set on the lavish summer, and june may be had by the poorest comer." as i conned the words my eyes slowly wandered along the landscape, and my heart rejoiced in the royal bounty of beauty which the poet sings. then my vision returned to the objects just around me, and gradually became fixed upon some of the living things about which you have kindly told us so much new and interesting. indeed, they seemed already like old friends, and i watched with keen zest their various movements. how bright everything was, and how peaceful the tone of nature! butterflies flitted by, beating the air in their leisurely way, then rested on leaf or flower while they opened and closed their wings with graceful, fanlike movements. the winged hymenoptera dashed by with the sharp, quick wingstroke of their kind, or hung humming above the flowers. honey-bees, carpenter-bees, digger-wasps, the blue mud-dauber, the brown paper-wasp, hornets and yellow-jackets were busy at their various occupations. one dusted pollen into its "basket;" another dumped aromatic pellets of sawdust from a cedar rail; another scooped up mandible hodfulls of mortar at the edge of the brook; others plucked chiplets of old wood from a weathered fence post; all seemed happy, and devoted to peaceful industry. the great green grasshopper was in hearing, if not in sight, the veritable "hopper" whose long threadlike antennæ and wedge shaped head you have taught us to recognize as marking the true from the so called grasshopper or locust. he sat upon the tall grass on the bank of the run close by the spring house, and shrilled his piping love call to his mate. the annual cicada, too ("pruinosa" you called it), was sounding his amorous drum from the trees with a volume and sharpness of sound that far exceed those of his cousin german the seventeen year cicada. his silent ladylove might occasionally be seen flitting from bough to bough. an orbweaving spider's web was spun upon an adjacent bush, and three courtiers were established at different parts of the margin of the snare awaiting the complaisance of madam aranea the housekeeper. near my feet a bevy of fuscous ants[b] were tugging with great to-do at a crumb of sweet cake, while their fellow formicarians were equally concerned in covering and screening the gate of their nest that lay to the right under the verge of the elm's shadow. birds of several species were near by; robins whistled in the meadow, a vireo sang in the tree tops, sparrows twittered around the birdcote; hens cackled in the barnyard, and wakened the hearty, answering "tuk-aw, tuk-aw!" of the big red rooster. out in the lane sarah's conch shell was sending a melodious call to hugh whom the mistress had bidden her to summon from the wood pasture. the whole aspect of nature, indeed, was so charming that i was soothed into a delicious repose of body and mind. i am conscious, dear sir, that i shall lay a heavy tax upon your credulity by what i am now to relate. or, perhaps, you will smile and say that your friend abby has fallen to dreams and visions, and like some of her young pupils has imagination so little disciplined as to be quite unable to distinguish between a vivid waking fancy or dream of sleep, and a real occurrence. very well, i must bear your unbelief as best i may, and at all events you will listen to my story. will you believe that among the tenants of our old farm is a nation of fairies? you have not suspected their existence heretofore; but then, neither did i suspect that legions of curious beings are all around us until the wand of your knowledge had touched my eyes, and opened them to the wonderful life histories that are being wrought out among our fellow tenants of the insect world. [illustration: the boy's illustration. fig. 2.--queen fancy and the schoolmistress.[c]] such, at least, was my own thought as i saw several wee dainty bodies spring from the backs of some honey-bees hovering over the white clover, after the fashion of a rider dismounting from his horse, and another group alight from a bevy of yellow butterflies that fluttered low down and just above the walk. they were joined by many others of like appearance, who suddenly emerged from the grass, from the flower border, from the drooping leaves of the elm, and approached me. they clambered up the english ivy that clings to the south side of the tree; they climbed upon the rustic bench, and a few even ventured upon the gnarled arm against which my elbow rested. this seemed a novel occurrence, certainly; but i assure you that i was rather pleased than surprised thereby, for it at once linked itself with your strange histories of insects, and seemed a natural and matter-of-course affair. really, i have come to think that nature has so many rare and beautiful facts hidden away in her secret places that one must never be surprised to see or hear of the most marvelous happenings. one of the brightest and most prettily robed of these tiny people, who seemed to be a sort of queen among them, drew quite near and addressed me. "you are not alarmed at our appearance. good! fairies do not visit those who doubt or fear them. we are pleased to see you smile upon us. thanks! we give you greeting! would you like to know who we are? yes? well, we are called brownies. our folk came from scotland. you know where that is?" "oh, yes," i replied, speaking, i suppose, quite mechanically, "scotland is the northern part of the island of great britain; it is bounded on the south by england, on the east by the ger----" "never mind the boundary," interrupted the brownie with a dainty, tinkling laugh, "we are not a schoolmistress and her committee, and you needn't say your lesson now. it's enough for us that you know where scotland is,--the dear auld land o' cakes! we're scotch fairies--brownies." "but how came you here?" i asked. "oh! there's nothing odd about that; we follow our wandering sawnies wherever they go. we have all been interested with you in mr. mayfield's accounts of insect life, and have been present at many of your walks and talks when you little suspected such company. ah! we could give the tenant some hints well worth following up! although, he does very well, very well indeed! but we wish you to know that there are other tenants on the old farm than those mr. mayfield knows. _we_ are here, you see! and, alack-a-day! there are other folk here not so agreeable as we!" "many thanks," i said, "for the pleasure of your acquaintance. i am delighted and honored by your action, madam--madam? what shall i call you?" "fancy; queen fancy, if you please; so i am called, although, to be sure, there is not much royal state among our folk." "i beg your pardon, madam fancy! and now i--fancy that i can explain the beautiful repose that lies over the face of nature in this royal month of june. i have just been meditating upon it with delight. how peaceful, how lovely in their peacefulness are all things around us! yes, i see how it is! the good brownies are abroad upon the landscape, and they have thrown the light and sweetness of their own natures upon these scenes. what a happy people you are, free from all conflict and care, and how happy those who feel the spell of your influence!" "oh! o-o-oh!" a chorus of exclamations uttered in a deprecating tone broke from the whole brownie company. i started, and looked around surprised beyond measure at this outburst of protesting voices. then followed a moment of silence. queen fancy spoke at last. "yes, it is just as i supposed," she said. "you are yet a novice in nature lore. you have much to learn, all you mortals have, ere you can know the true life of the inferior creatures. there is another side to nature, i assure you, a very sad side, too. come, i must teach you to read between the lines!" she touched me with a tiny staff or wand. my mind at once was wide awake and all its faculties more alert than usual. but, curiously, the brownies had disappeared! i wondered at this, but presently a series of incidents caught my attention which for the time quite banished all thought of my new acquaintances. a long line of sanguine ants,[d] the red slavemakers, filed by me in irregular columns and crossed the walk to their nest which, as you know, is placed close by the fence nearly opposite the barn. the warriors carried in their jaws the plunder of a nest of fuscous ants which i have already said lies to the right under the verge of the elm's shadow. some warriors had yellowish cocoons, some white larvæ, a few carried the bodies (living or dead i could not determine) of their victims, and several bore upon their legs the severed heads of the poor blacks who had been slain in defence of their home, and whose decapitated heads still clung to their foes fixed in the rigor of death. i rose and followed up the column of sanguines to the nest which they were plundering. some of the kidnappers were plunging into the opened gates, others issuing therefrom laden with their stolen booty, others were engaged in fierce battle with groups of the invaded fuscas. only a few of the latter were inclined to fight. they seemed, for the most part, dazed by their misfortune. numbers hung to the topmost leaves and stalks of the surrounding grass and weeds, holding in their jaws baby larvæ and cocoon cradles rescued from the invaders, with which they had hurriedly fled to the nearest elevated objects. it was truly a pitiful sight, and i began to wax indignant at the sanguine wretches who could work such domestic misery and ruin. [illustration: fig. 3.--a red slavemaker ant with its plunder.] "ah!" said a faint voice close by my ear, "yet this is nature!" i could see no one, but recognized the tone of queen fancy. "true, most true!" i thought, and looked further. a little way from the fuscas' nest, just outside the circle of confusion, i saw a solitary ant of an amber hue, the schaufuss ant,[e] which you have told us is also sometimes enslaved. she was moving back and forth with cautious mien, and i easily perceived was putting finishing touches to the closure of a little hole that marked the gate of her formicary hut. a tiny pebble was placed, then a few pellets of soil were added. then the worker walked away, took a few turns as though surveying the surroundings, and cautiously came back. the coast was clear! now she deftly crawled into the small open space, and i could see from the movements inside, and an occasional glimpse of a tip of her antennæ, that she was completing the work of concealment from the inside. at last her task was done, and all was quiet. just then a single sanguine warrior, perhaps a straggler from the invaders' army, or some independent scout, it may be, approached the spot. it walked about the nest, which certainly looked much like the surrounding surface; sounded or felt here and there with its antennæ; passed over the very door into which the schaufuss ant had disappeared, and although it evidently had its suspicion awakened, at last moved away. [illustration: fig. 4.--"it was swathed like a mummy at last" (p. xxiii).] "good!" i exclaimed heartily. "baffled, sir sanguine, baffled! i am glad that the instinct of home protection has proved too much for your wretched kidnapping cunning!" "aye, aye!" again spoke the voice of my unseen fairy, "baffled this time, perhaps. but can you be sure that the slaveholder scout will not be back again, with a host of its fellows, and do its work more surely?" [illustration: fig. 5.--the orbweaver captured by a wasp.] i had not thought of that, and indeed, i was pained to think it when suggested. now i left the two nests, the plundered one and its preserved neighbor, and followed the column of sanguines which stretched a nearly straight line of red and black for several rods, to their home. the kidnappers were bearing their prey into the open gates. look at this! crowds of blacks in a high state of agitation came forth to meet and greet the plunderers of their own fellows! yes, these were the domesticated slaves of the sanguines, themselves fuscous ants, the same species and perhaps from the very nest that was now being desolated. and there they were rejoicing in the booty, welcoming home the robbers, and if naturalists tell us truly, had even urged them forth upon the expedition. [illustration: fig. 6.--"the clay sarcophagus on yonder barn."] "that's the worst of all!" i exclaimed aloud, unable to suppress my indignation. "one might find excuse for the sanguines, but for this unnatural behavior--" "unnatural!" echoed the unseen brownie queen, "unnatural? no, this, too, is nature. you are only reading between the poet's lines of peaceful beauty. you will learn your lesson by and by." [illustration: fig. 7.--"for a ravenous wasp larva to devour."] i went back to the rustic seat beneath the elm, and thought. a butterfly flew by. i followed its flight. "oh! that is too bad!" i cried involuntarily. it had struck the snare of the orbweaving spider. it struggled helplessly in the toils. swiftly the aranead sped from its pretty leafy tent along its trap line, and in a moment seized and began swathing its victim. a thick ribbon of pure white silk streamed from the spinnerets, and enwrapped the butterfly round and round as it was revolved by the spider's feet. it was swathed like a mummy at last, and left lashed and hanging to the cross lines, while its captor mounted to her nest and began leisurely to haul up the captive preparatory to a sumptuous meal. [illustration: fig. 8.--the cicada wasp, sphecius speciosus.] my pity had hardly time to express itself ere another insect form swept by. it was a blue wasp, a mud-dauber. it flew to the orbweaver's web. another victim? it is within the toils! the spider leaves her prey and darts along the trap line. what? will she not venture? no! she recoils. but too late! the wasp has seized her, plunged its sharp sting into her body, and shaking the bits of web from its feet flies away. i know what that means. the clay sarcophagus on yonder barn wall shall receive another morsel of preserved meat for a ravenous wasp larva to devour. what had i to say about this incident? this; i found myself unconsciously asking, "what will destroy the wasp, in its turn?" but i had no leisure to meditate an answer. a beautiful creature flitted past me, whose colors of orange and black were distinct even in flight. it was the fine, large digger-wasp,[f] the largest of that family among our indigenous insects. just then from the branch of a small oak a cicada sounded his rolling love call. a note not very melodious to human ear, it is true, but it throbs with the passion of affection, and must have been sweet music to his mate on the branch near by. unlucky lover! your love sonnet has sounded your doom. it shall be your death song. see! my beautiful wasp has pounced upon the amorous cicada, and pierced and paralyzed like the spider before him, he is being borne to a grave in that grassy bank. there, in the wasp's burrow, buried alive though with a semblance of death, he shall feed the maw of a hungry worm. "it is mother love!" exclaimed the unseen brownie queen, sadly i thought and tenderly. "but mother love seems cruel sometimes; and it alone has not taught the wasp to spare the mating love of its fellow insects." this is not all that i saw, but this is such as i saw on that memorable occasion. my experience started a train of meditation that was the reverse of agreeable. but what could i say? i had been observing the facts of nature, nothing more nor less. i looked away over the landscape again and my feelings were not what they were before. underneath the surface of all this beauty and summer repose i seemed to feel the beating of a fevered pulse. yes, the doctor of the gentiles spake truly: "the whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain."[g] yes, i was beginning to read between the lines! verily, i perceived that the insect world in the matter of anxiety, struggles and sufferings, in passions of love, hate and covetousness, is after all in some sort a miniature of our own world of human beings. i do not know how long i sat pondering these things, but i was presently conscious that my brownie friends had returned. "you have changed your opinion about some of the inferior creatures, have you not?" began queen fancy. "i know that it must be so. and now it remains for you to change your opinion about us. you think we are perfectly happy, never touched by such conflicts and cares as mortals and insects have. no! it is with us as it is with you and all the rest. one idea runs through all nature and all her creatures high and low. all alike, from gnats and fairies to mastodons and men, have friends and foes, perils and pleasures, pains and joys, loves and hates, bitter disappointments and proud attainments; watchings, cares, strifes, battles, defeats, heart desolations, sickness, oppressions, despoilment, death--all these and the reverse of all these happen to us all." "it is true!" i answered, "i see now that it is quite true. the fact that creatures are small and unknown to us, and outside our ordinary region of feeling and thought, does not hinder them from having joys and sorrows, trials and triumphs even as we have. i will never think of nature again, and of the insect world in particular, without remembering this double side of its life history." "that is very good," said queen fancy, "and now we wish you to remember also that brownies are a part of nature and share the general rule. our lives are so interwoven with all natural surroundings, and with yourselves as well, that we feel keenly everything that goes on around us. but enough for this time. i promised you something further about our history. now i make the promise good. i am to deliver to you the records of some of our kin which have lately fallen into our hands. you will read them; write them out carefully, and give them to mr. mayfield to edit and print. nobody can do that so well as he. indeed, his name and his stories about our old farm tenants have gone among our people on the far ohio border; and that is the reason why these records of the brownies and their wars have been sent hither to be given into his care. there, i have done." queen fancy clapped her hands and a herald at her side blew upon a tiny shell, a wee miniature, for all the world, of the conch shell which sarah the cook blows for dinner. suddenly, a vast host of little folk issued from the grass plat along the slope toward the springhouse. they were arranged rank upon rank, whole companies in column, and they all were drawing at ropes no bigger than a lady's hair. presently, i saw the round top of a rolled parcel emerge above the summit of the slope. it moved slowly, and i was puzzled to know by what force it was impelled, until i saw that it was mounted upon a toy cart which was being drawn by the brownie host. on the night before i had been reading (it was a curious coincidence!) wilkinson's account of the ancient egyptians, and had been especially interested in the manner in which their bulky architecture had been reared, and particularly in a picture that showed a colossal stone statue of some sovereign being drawn upon a sled by an army of laborers. the brownie exploit reminded me of these old egyptians. here were the little folk of our old farm showing mimic reproduction of life on the nile in the days of abraham! strange! the brownie host never stopped until the parcel reached my feet. then the queen called a halt, and, turning to me, said: "abby, schoolmistress, we commit this precious roll to you. receive it as a sacred trust; do our will concerning it, and be forevermore the brownies' good friend." she clapped her hands, the herald blew his shell bugle, and in a moment the entire host had melted away into the foliage and were lost to sight. [illustration: (handwritten) notice (pointing hand) 52 brownies here. the boy's illustration. fig. 9.--brownies bringing the roll of records.] i have not seen them since, but i have tried to fulfill my part of the trust which came to me so curiously in the drowsy hours of that june day, and now i deliver my work to you that you in turn may fulfill your portion of the apportioned duty. that you will not fail is the confident hope of your obedient servant, abby bradford. "what do you think of that?" i asked, as i finished abby's letter, for i had read it aloud to the mistress. "perhaps," said the mistress, looking up from her embroidery, "we had better open the parcel." a familiar twinkle colored her smile, that raised a momentary suspicion that she perhaps knew something more of the contents than she chose to tell. the advice was good, albeit deftly dodging my question, so i cut the wrappings and exposed a roll of fair manuscript. "it is a story," i remarked, after glancing over the pages, "a sort of historical fairy tale, i fancy. but, hold! what is this?" my eye had fallen upon some sentences that arrested attention, and i read several continuous pages. the mistress interrupted the reading: "well, what has interested you? and what have you to say about the whole affair?" "i have been reading here a curious adaptation of the habits of my spider pets, and it is neatly put. and here is another of the same sort." i turned to a chapter further on, and read with great satisfaction a few pages more. "really," i exclaimed, "the natural history is good, and is fairly inwoven with the tale. i have changed my opinion of the work; it is evidently an attempt to bring out some of the most interesting habits of our american spider fauna by personifying them with the imaginary creatures of fairy lore. you want to know my opinion of the matter? as to the manuscript i shall not, of course, venture an opinion until i have read it with some care. as to the author--well, perhaps you can tell better than i. when did abby write it?" the mistress waited a moment or two and then in her quiet way replied, "pray, how should i know? abby is of age, ask her; she can speak for herself." thus the affair of the brownie records rested until i had gone over the manuscript more carefully. then the mistress was again consulted. "will you print the papers?" she asked. "i am in doubt what to do. i think that it might find a kindly welcome, but--i fear the verdict of the public, especially the clientage upon whose favor its fate most depends--the young people. though, to be sure, it is evidently not written wholly for them." "i have a suggestion," the mistress remarked. "let us take two evenings in the week and read it to our farm people. they form a typical audience, i am sure, and their judgment will be a fair test of the possible verdict of the public at large." "the very idea!" i cried. "you have come to my help, my dear, with your usual practical wisdom. let us have the readings." behold us, then, the entire old farm family, with the exception of abby, who was absent on a visit to new england friends, seated around the great elm during the long june evenings, trying the merits of the fairies' history. when the early tea was over, we took our seats (or rather positions, for some of the party preferred to recline upon the grass), around the tree, and the reading began, and continued until twilight. sometimes i read, sometimes the mistress, and in three weeks the story was finished. "now for the verdict," i said. "the children first. what say you? shall we print the brownie book?" "to be sure," said joe, "why not, sir? i think those wars and adventures with the pixies are just the thing for boys like me." "i would print it," said jennie modestly. "i think the brownies' love stories are pretty indeed; though i don't like so much fighting, and the pixies are just horrid." "print it, sir!" cried harry enthusiastically. "i'm sure boys like me will want to hear all about the moth, wasp, bee and butterfly ponies, and the curious, wise tricks of the spider-pixies." "as for me," said hugh, "i'm young enough yit to relish a fairy story uv mos' any sort. so i vote with the youngsters to prent the book." "my 'pinion hain't much good, i reckon," said sarah, who stood half concealed behind the elm with her hands upon her hips in her favorite posture. "an' i hain't no sort uv notion uv witches an' sich, no way. tho' laws-a-massy! i b'lieve in 'em; 'v course i do! but somehow, i don't feel over comfo'ble to hev sech things a-prentin' about our ole farm. w'at's people goin' to say about sech goins-on, any way? i don't mind about the brownies; like es not ther be sech folk. an' w'y not here as well as other places? i don't know w'ere they'd find a nicer home than jes' aroun' here; an' i'm pos'tive my kitchen's trig enough fer any kind o' fairies as ever was. folks as hev sense enough to use a conch shell, now, as them brownie heralds do, would be jes' likely to settle at the ole farm. but es for them pixies--w'at's the use uv sech critters, anyhow? 'tain't no ways comfo'ble to think thet they mought be squattin' on our premises. howsomever, i'd prent the book, i reckon. leastways, ye kin do it, fer all me, 'f ye're a mine ter. my notion is it's a sight more interestener nor the say-an-says. though, they was worth prentin' too, that's a fac'!" "now, dan, it's your turn," i said; "what say you?" the old colored man sat on a low stool at the outer margin of the family circle, with his face leaning upon his hands. he raised his head, laid his palms upon his knees, rolled his eyes expressively and gave his verdict with all the solemnity of a judge passing sentence on a capital offender. "'pears to me, mars mayfiel' an' misses," he began, "dat dat's a powerful good story, an' a true one, too! w'y, i've seed dem wery brownies myse'f. uv coorse i hev!" he exclaimed emphatically, turning an indignant glance upon sarah, who had uttered a significant guttural expression of unbelief. "w'at do you know aboout brownies, sary ann, i'd jes' like to know? pixies is more in your line, a heap sight! down in ole marylan', now, dar's a power ob brownies and fairies an' all sech folkses. 'tain't ebry one as gits to see 'em, dough. dey's mighty 'tickler 'boout w'at company dey keeps, i kin tell _you_! "i doan say es i eber seed any on 'em roun' dis ole farm,--an' i doan say es i didn't. but dat's needer hyar nur dar. dey's hyar, i knows. i've done seed de signs ob 'em, many's de time. w'y, lookee hyar! how d'ye tink dem insecks an' bugs and tings w'at mars mayfiel' tole us aboout, done foun' out how to do dar peert tricks? hit stans to reason dat sech critters ain't got de larnin' fer sech cunnin' doins. w'at wid dar nes's, an' burrows, an' cobwebs, an' cute little housens, an' all dat, dey show heap moah sense dan some w'ite folks es i could name. now, whar dey gwine to fin' out all dat, i ax agin, an' how is dey gwine to do it, unless de fairies helps 'em? dey jes' kine ob obersee de job; dat's how it 'pears to me. "den dar's dat gubner wille--shoo! he ain't no sucumstance ter w'at i knows 'boout how de insecks, an' fairies, an' goblins an' dem kine ob beins hes to do wid we uns. no, no!"--and he shook his head with serious gravity--"no, sah! hit won't do ter go back on dat. we cullud folks knows heaps ob larnin' aboout dem critters; an' dey's jes' wove in, an' in, an' in, an' out ob dese yere mohtal libes ob ourn! dar's de deaf's-head moff, an' de catumpillars, an' de antemires, an' de death watch, an' de cricket, an' de money-spinners, an' de measurin' worm--sakes-alive! dar's signs an' warnins fer we uns in dem critters agin all de pixies, worl' widout en'. amen. yes, sah, hit's all right; dat's a true story, an' no mistake." "but, dan," i said, "you haven't told us yet what you think about printing the story." [illustration: fig. 10.--our farm family in literary council.] "needer i have, sah!" the old man replied, rolling up the whites of his eyes and shaking his shaggy, gray poll. "needer i have! an' wat's moah, i ain't gwine ter. i doan see much good in dem kine ob books no how--specially de picters. dar's like to be bad work aboout dem tings. hit doan do ter be too fumwiliar wid such tings. w'at's de good? dar's no tellin' w'at dey mought do ter we'ns, ef dey gits sot agin us. you bes' keep clar ob dat business, mars mayfiel'. de ole bible's good 'nough fer me, sah; an' hit says dat much larnin' makes a man mad, an' books is a-wearisome to de flesh. an' dat's a fac', sah,--leastways, readin' an' a-studyin' on 'em is. you kin do w'at you's a mine ter, an' i 'low you'll prent de brownie book, any way. hit's mighty good hearin', i'll say dat fer it, but--" he shook his head once more, and was silent. the next day i wrote to the schoolmistress as follows: the old farm. my dear miss abby: i have gone over the manuscript that you sent, and on the whole i approve of it, and agree to print it with such editorial notes as queen fancy has suggested. we have also--the mistress and i--read it to the farm family, having revived our last winter's "say-an-says" for that purpose. i have even translated bits of the story into simpler form and speech for the youngest member of our household, four-year-old dorothy. our young people are enthusiastic in their admiration, and vote to print the book. so do the others, with the exception of dan, who is noncommittal. but the old fellow enjoyed the reading as much as the rest. he thinks the story a true one, and declares that he has seen the brownies! you know his boundless superstition, and his odd habits of personifying all living things and talking aloud to them as he goes about his work. i have no doubt that he has peopled his little world with many queer imaginary creatures who may well stand to his undisciplined fancy for fairies and goblins, brownies and pixies. he has unwavering faith, also, in the occult influence of such beings and of insects generally upon the destinies of human kind. by the way, this unexpected deliverance of dan's has eased my mind as to one feature of the story, viz: the manner in which the life and behavior of the willes are interwoven with, and interdependent upon, the movements of the brownies and pixies. since i have thought more about it, i have greatly abated the fear that the verisimilitude of such relations might not sufficiently appear to readers. in point of fact, the creatures of the insect world, as personified in the story, have had and shall have much to do with determining the lot of man. the plagues of egypt as written in the book of exodus, furnish an example; as also the incursions of cankerworm, locust, caterpillar and palmerworm recorded elsewhere in scripture. african travelers tell us that the tetze fly has so circumscribed the geographical bounds within which certain domestic animals can live, as to greatly limit or modify civilization. we all know examples of the effects of mosquito supremacy at certain points of our country in determining the fortunes of men or places. the familiar stories of bruce and the spider, and mahomet and the spider, are also in point as showing how great interests may hinge upon the behavior of an humble animal. here are facts enough, surely, to justify us in facing the public with governor wille and his relations to the imaginary folk of the story. in conclusion, i must say that i have been greatly interested to note how admirably the habits of my spider friends admit of personification. the so-called engineering, ballooning, cavemaking, sailing, and other operations, are so accurately described by those words, that the manlike qualities, motives and passions attributed to the actors seem almost natural. at one moment i find myself accepting the representations as a matter of course, and anticipating the conduct described on the very ground of known natural habits. at another time i am startled at the strong tone of human behavior that the descriptions so easily admit. certainly, this is something more than what the naturalists have called "anthropomorphism." what is the mysterious ligature that binds in this sympathy of movements the sovereign will of immortal man and the automatic brain cell of a spider? pardon me! it was not in my purpose to start so profound a question of philosophy and physiology. i only meant to say that the wishes of yourself and your brownie acquaintances shall be cheerfully granted, and the manuscript be given to the public. i am, very truly, your friend, fielding mayfield. footnotes: [footnote a: psalm lxxiv, 5.] [footnote b: formica fusca.] [footnote c: in the little company referred to further on, to whom the manuscript of this book was read, was a friend's lad, eight years old, a visitor at the old farm. the mistress noticed him during the intervals of the readings busy with pencil and paper, amusing himself with such drawings as children are wont to make. a number of these had been made and thrown away ere it occurred to the good woman to call my attention thereto. i was much surprised and delighted to find that the boy had been engaged in illustrating the brownie book (as we then familiarly called it). it was a good sign of the value of the work that it could produce such an impression upon a child of his tender years. moreover, the rude figures were so apt and interesting to my own mind, that i fancied others might be equally interested therein. "why not print them?" suggested the mistress. and upon mature deliberation that is just what i resolved to do. no one but a child could make such pictures. let the adult, however good an artist, try as much as he may, he could not reproduce such drawings. indeed the better the artist, the further would he come from achievement. that children will take at once to these reflections of a child's mind, appears quite probable. moreover, to the thinking adult they must have a special value as a psychological study. with all our knowledge of children, it is still marvellous how little we know of a child's mind. these little tokens of its workings perhaps may help us to a better knowledge. at all events, a few of these "boy's illustrations" have been selected for engraving, and the editor will be disappointed if they do not give to both his adult and youthful readers as much pleasure as they gave to himself.--the editor.] [footnote d: formica sanguinea.] [footnote e: formica schaufussii.] [footnote f: sphecius speciosus.] [footnote g: romans viii. 22.] the book. old farm fairies. a summer campaign in brownieland against king cobweaver's pixies. chapter i. how the brownies came to hillside. not many years ago a company of brownies lived on the lawn at hillside, the home of governor wille. since the brownies are scotch fairies, one must ask how they came to be dwelling so far away from their native heather upon the green hummocks of the ohio. the question takes us back to the early part of the nineteenth century, and to a manse and glebe on the banks of loch achray, the beautiful little lake that lies at the entrance to trosachs glen, quite near the foot of loch katrine in scotland. here dwelt governor wille's grandfather, a godly minister of the gospel; and here he lived until there grew up around him a large family of sturdy lads and lasses. often had the good minister looked over his household as they sat around the table eating with keen relish their cakes and oatmeal porridge, and wondered: "how shall i provide for them all? how shall i find fitting duty and engagement for these eager hearts, restless hands, and busy brains?" at last he answered: "i will go with them to america, and join my brother there on the banks of the ohio river." now the manse and glebe were the seat of a nation of the wee fairyfolk whom scotchmen call brownies. the manse site is on the skirt of ben an's lowest slope; and across the trosachs road, upon a point that pushes into the loch, stands the kirk amid its kirkyard. the brownies were fond of this home, but they loved the manse folk much more dearly; and so when they heard the plan to emigrate to the new world, they resolved not to allow their friends to go to america without an escort of their fairy companions and caretakers. a general assembly of all the manse brownies was therefore called, to meet under the "hats" of a clump of broad toadstools growing on the mountain slope, close by the barn. the place was crowded from the stem of the central toadstool to the rim of the outer hat. outside this clump the spears of grass, the drooping bluebells, and purple blossoms of heather were covered with boy brownies, who climbed up delicate stems, smooth blades and gnarled stalks, much as city lads mount lampposts, trees and awnings to gaze upon a procession. from these points they looked upon their elders, quite as anxious and earnest, if not as well informed as they. when the assembly had been called to order, the king of the brownies asked, "who will volunteer to go to america with our dear friends, the willes?" there was a mighty shout; not one present failed to answer: "i!!" the explosion fairly shook the roof of their toadstool tabernacle. thereat the old monarch sprang to his feet, removed his plumed hat, and stood uncovered, bowing his white hairs and venerable beard before the assembly, in honor of their noble response. the elders waved their tiny blue scotch bonnets, wept, laughed and hallooed in turn. the youngsters danced upon the heather bells and swung from the grass blades until the tops swayed to and fro, and cheered again and again for the willes, for the king, for the brownies, for everybody! by and by the king brought the assembly to order, and proposed that a colony be drafted from the whole company to go to the new world. "i shall claim the privilege of naming the leader of the expedition," said he, "and i name murray bruce. the rest may go by lot." whereat the brownies cheered again, for they were always pleased to respect their good sovereign's wishes, and bruce was one of the wisest, steadiest, and bravest of their number. he was tall, strong, comely, and in the prime of his years. then the lot was cast. the names of all the active brownies were placed in the tiny corol of a blue bell, which served as a voting urn. the king drew out fifty names, and these were the elect members of the colony. the interest was intense as the drawing went on. again and again the king's hand sank into the urn, and came out holding the wee billet that decided some brownie's destiny. as the name was announced, there was silence; but thereupon a flutter of excitement ran through the company; a whirl of noisy demonstration marked the spot where the fortunate nominee was receiving the congratulations of his friends; sometimes a cheer was given when a favorite or familiar name was announced. "how many names have been drawn?" asked the king. "forty-nine," answered the lord keeper. amid profound silence the last name was drawn and announced: "rodney bruce!" it was the captain's brother, a young and promising sailor, who had won much praise for daring adventures with water pixies on "the stream that joins loch katrine and achray." his name was welcomed with cheers, and then a buzz of disappointment arose from the crowd who heartily envied the "fortunate fifty." however, the disappointment soon passed away, for brownies are a cheerful and contented folk. the hum of voices ceased, and the people waited to know what might be needed to forward the comfort and success of the emigrant escort. "how shall we get off?" said captain bruce. "has your majesty any orders or counsel? has the assembly any advice?" that was a puzzling question. the lord keeper, lord herald, and all the other lords and nobles shook their heads wisely and said nothing. some one called out the name of "rodney, the sailor," whereat the old lord admiral turned up his little red nose, looked contemptuously at the speaker, and muttered something about "land lubbers." as no one had any advice to venture, all waited for their sovereign's opinion. "hoot!" said the king at last, "ye shall juist gae your ain gait. howiver, ye maun steal awa' unbeknowns, i'se warrant ye; for parson wille, good heart! will never allow ye to risk anything for him. but how? well, i dinna ken; ye maun e'en settle that, amang yoursels." the difficulty was no nearer solution than before. there was another long pause. it was broken by a voice that called from the outer edge of the assembly. "i can tell you how!" it was walter macwhirlie who spoke, one of the chosen escort. "come to the front, then," said the king, "and say your say." every eye was at once fixed on the bold speaker. but macwhirlie, nothing abashed, leaped from the heather stalk on which he stood, and making a double somersault above the whole company, landed erect upon the edge of a leaf whereon sat the king and lords. [illustration: fig. 11.--brownie macwhirlie comes to the front by a double somersault.] "ugh!" said the monarch, starting back; for macwhirlie had well nigh alighted on his toes. "queak!" cried the queen; and "queak, queak!" screamed the princesses, tumbling over one another in their fright. "you rude beast!" growled the lord keeper, laying his hand upon his broadsword. but the youth and boys cheered, the young princesses began to giggle, the old folks laughed outright, the queen smoothed down her ruffles, the good king composed his countenance and smiled, and the lord keeper smothered his indignation and put up his sword. "speak up, laddie," said the king. macwhirlie bowed low first to the royal party, and then to the lords. (my lord keeper's brow cleared up somewhat at that.) "i was passin' thro' the barn the morn," he began, "and saw the gardener packin' the auld kist that lies on the barn floor, with tools, seeds, roots and herbs. it's a gude place for hidin', is yon kist." "that it is," exclaimed the queen laughing, "i've had mony a game o' bo-peep in 't mysel'." "aye, aye, so it is!" was the hearty assent from all parts of the hall, while the lads on the outside signified their approval by cheers for the old chest. "a gude place for hidin' is yon auld kist," continued macwhirlie. "i ken naethin' like it for brownies. an' if your majesty please, we can a' ride to america safe eneugh in that." "it is gude counsel," cried the king, clapping his hands. "forbye, i would na thoct it frae sic a giddy pate as yoursel', macwhirlie. many thanks, however, and mak' ready quarters in the auld kist for your journey to the new world. herald, dismiss the assembly." lord herald skipped to the front and sounded a bugle, which in sooth was nothing more than a tiny shell fitted with a dainty mouthpiece. "hi-e-iero! ee-roo!" [illustration: fig. 12.--the old chest on its journey across the allegheny mountains.] then he struck his staff thrice, and cried, or rather intoned in a loud voice these words: o-eez; o-eez; o-eez! bide by the king's decrees! brownies-o-bonnie, and brownies-o-braw, hither gae, hame gae, brownies awa'! at the last word the assembly arose, and speaking all together, responded, brownies aye, brownies a leal and true, awa', awa'! then they separated, the elders moving soberly, the youth scampering off hither and thither, leaping, chattering, cheering, making the grass blades twinkle with their good natured frolic. in a moment the toadstools were deserted, and a great spider-pixie crept under the vacant central hat, and began to shake his head and talk to himself while uttering a low, harsh, chuckling laugh. bruce, rodney, macwhirlie and all the elect escort, together with their families, made the voyage across the atlantic safely though somewhat uncomfortably. but their trials were not over when they landed in philadelphia. the chest was hoisted into a big road wagon covered with canvas, known as a "conestoga wagon," and wheeled on for many days over the allegheny mountains. down by old fort pitt it trundled, along the banks of the beautiful river ohio, to the frontier village of steubenville. there the wagon stopped. parson wille built his cabin on hillside. the brownies, happy as the beasts and birds that were turned out of noah's ark after the flood, were released from their prison in the old chest, and took up once more old duties and pleasures in the clearings, cornfields and garden of the new home. that was many years ago. the good parson has long since been received to a fairer home than either scotland or america ever gave; but his grandson, governor wille, lives at hillside. it is not the same hillside that the brave and godly minister first built his log cabin upon, you may be sure. great changes have occurred. but the same brownies are there; as good natured, as frolicsome, as fond of their friends and as true to them as ever, yet, we are sorry to say, not so fortunate and happy. what has troubled them? chapter ii. spite the spy. when the assembly of brownies, which had been held at the old scotch manse, was quite dispersed, a spider-pixie entered the vacant tent and began to spin a web. he belonged to a race of sprites as vicious and cruel as the brownies are kind and good. they are called spider-pixies because they do much of their mischief by means of silken webs or snares which they spin, and in which they catch their enemies. the fact, however, should work no prejudice against those remarkable creatures, the spiders, which are doubtless worthy of all the loving attention that naturalists give them. the chief enemies of these pixies (next to themselves, to be sure) were the brownies. not that the good little fairies wished to harm any creature; but then, as the pixies wished harm to every one, and were always showing their ill will by naughty tricks, the brownies, out of very goodness, tried to thwart their evil plans and save intended victims from harm. thus it came that the brownies and pixies lived in continuous warfare. many a battle had they fought on and around the manse glebe and kirkyard, for the pixies hated parson wille most cordially, and dearly loved to annoy him. the brownies were just as hearty in their love, and by close watching, hard working and brave battling they had well nigh driven their enemies from the place. only once in a while a few, more daring and cunning than the rest, would break through the boundaries and make a foray upon the forbidden grounds. among the most successful of these leaders of mischief was spite the spy. he was a great sneak, shrewd and sly, and well deserved his name. he was a coward in the main, and loved best to do his mischief in an underhand way. but for all that, he was so full of malice that he could be quite venturesome rather than miss a chance to work harm to those whom he hated. thus it came that in spite of his natural cowardice he had a fair reputation for boldness. it was this miserable fellow who crawled into the tabernacle as the voices of the brownies died away among the grasses. how came he therein? having chanced to hear of the proposed assembly to consider the interest of the manse folk, he set himself to spy out the proceedings. how should he do that without being discovered? "let me think!" he said. he climbed up a tall weed that grew on the border of the manse farm, swung himself by a thread of silk from a leaf, and hung there awhile, head downward, while he meditated. "ha! i have it!" he cried. he pulled himself up again hand over hand, scampered down the weed and plunged into the thick forest of grasses. he went swiftly, though cautiously, for a while. then he ascended a tall spear of timothy, perched himself atop of the bearded head and reconnoitered. "yes, there it is," he said to himself. "i see the brown hat of the toadstool tent; and--let me see--yes, sure enough, there is the black pebble under which cousin atypus used to have her nest. any brownies about? no, the coast's quite clear. but, caution, old fellow! you are pretty sly, but you may be caught after all. and they'd make short work of spite if they got hold of him once, i warrant." at this he chuckled, puffed out his eyes, and swelled up his round pouch as though it were a fine thing to be quite deserving of the brownies' anger. [illustration: fig. 13.--"silken snares in which they catch their enemies."] spite was not long in making his way to the black pebble which was at the outer edge of the brownies' meeting place, and was imbedded in a little bank of sandy earth at the base of which the toadstools grew. he began to scratch in the surrounding soil. his claws soon struck something that gave him pleasure. it was a bit of silken tissue. "ha! i am in luck! here is the door of the burrow. now we shall see, brother brownies, and hear too; and if there's any mischief agoing spite the spy will have his spinner in it." spite had come upon the door of a cave or tunnel. when a few more grains of sand had been thrown aside he lifted the tissue door and entered. it was dark at first, and there was a musty smell in the air. spite did not care for that, and in a moment ran to the far end of the cave and back again. this strange place had once been the home of a burrow pixie. it was a tunnel scooped out of the sandy earth.[h] it ran horizontally for a short way, and then sloped downward. it was lined around the sides, top and bottom with a tight silken tube, and was about half an inch in diameter. it was, therefore, a tunnel within a tunnel, a silk within a sand one. the silk supported the sides so completely that not a particle of soil could pass through. the upper part of the tube projected from the earth, falling forward so as to form a flap which protected the mouth of the burrow or cave. at first the tube had been much longer and was bent and carried over the surface among the moss. this was the door which spite had been looking for, and whose discovery so much pleased him. "well, well," said spite, talking all the while to himself, "this is lucky indeed. it must now be several moons since cousin atypus was cut off by the brownies, and here is her old place just as good as ever. it looks right into the meeting house. how fortunate! but i must fix up this door a little, or i shall have those suspicious fellows smelling around here; although i doubt whether they know anything about the place. they caught atypus when she had ventured out of doors." [illustration: fig. 14.--english atypus in her burrow.] meanwhile spite was busy with the door. he laid a dry leaf and a few bits of dry moss around the edge of the pebble, then gently lifted the silken flap and crept within. he made a wee hole in the flap, and through this saw and heard the proceedings of the brownies. little did the good folk suspect that one of their enemies was so near, almost in their midst. as for spite, he was in high glee, although he was not without fears. the boy brownies had climbed atop the black pebble, and crowded and capered upon it until they were like to shake it from the bank, and send it arolling into the assembly. "serve 'em right, the little plagues," snarled spite, "if the old rock did get loose, and break all their necks in the avalanche. only, that would make a gap in my burrow, and--well, it isn't pleasant to think of the consequences." moreover, macwhirlie and the restless youngsters who were mounted on the herbage that grew above and around the pixie's cave, were continually tramping over the moss around the door, rocking to and fro on the overhanging heather sprays till the roots fairly shook, and scrambling up and down the little slope and over the flap itself. no wonder that spite's heart seemed to jump into his throat occasionally. however, the door of the cave was so cunningly disguised and fitted into the bank, that spite was not discovered. he was well satisfied, for all that, when the meeting was dismissed and the last of the brownies disappeared. he pushed open the flap, peeped out, then crawled slowly into the light, crept down the slope and entered the vacant meeting place. he was hungry; the labors and excitement through which he had passed had quite exhausted him. he therefore crouched behind a toadstool stem, and, after waiting patiently a while, sprang upon and devoured a hapless fly and beetle that chanced to straggle that way. then he wiped his jaws with his hairy claw, rubbed his cheeks and head quite in the fashion of pussy washing her face,[i] stretched a few silken threads from the stem to the ground, and turned away. "there," he said, "i leave those few lines to show that i have been here, and that spite the spy is sharper than all the brownies. now for home! king cobweb will be interested in what i have to tell. as for parson wille and his brownies, perhaps they shall not escape us quite so readily." spite gained great applause by this adventure, and when it was resolved to send out to the new world some one to watch the motions of parson wille, and do all the harm possible to his kind brownie guardians, who but spite the spy should be chosen? "you need take but few companions," said king cobweb; "there are plenty of our folk in that country. i shall send a letter with you to my cousin, king cobweaver, and you can muster a goodly company in america." [illustration: fig. 15.--"having overspun themselves."] now what should spite do, but make his way straight to the old chest. he discovered that in one corner the joints of the planks had sprung open a little. "that will do bravely, i think!" he crept into the crack to try if it fitted his size. "very good indeed," he exclaimed, and then ran to report. king cobweb was quite satisfied. spite thereupon hid himself in the open seam with two other pixies named hide and heady, and, having overspun themselves with a silken covering, made the voyage to america in the old chest with the brownies.[j] when safely landed at hillside, he reported to the nearest tribe of pixies. he was received with great favor as a distinguished foreigner; was feasted, petted, and his wonderful skill in strategy heralded everywhere. in short, he was quite a lion, and his fame was even greater in america than on the other side of the atlantic. spite took his honors gracefully, enjoyed them hugely, acknowledged them publicly, hobnobbed with his friends, and took occasion when talking in private with his two countrymen, to ridicule the customs and manners of american pixies. that was very mean, to be sure; but what better could you expect from spite the spy? in the midst of all his junketings and sight-seeing spite never once forgot the great object of his journey. he was spinning out his plots against the brownies, counseling with his american friends how he might worry, injure and destroy them, and forming leagues for that purpose. that was the beginning of troubles for the brownies at hillside. footnotes: [footnote h: appendix, note a.] [footnote i: appendix, note b.] [footnote j: appendix, note c.] chapter iii. adventures of the brownie scouts. the war upon the brownie colony thus begun by spite the spy had been waged from year to year until the third generation of the willes, governor wille himself, occupied hillside. sometimes the pixies got the advantage, sometimes the brownies; but on the whole the pixies gained ground. slowly the brownies were being driven in towards the mansion house, followed closely by their foes. at last the malicious persecutors, led by spite, pitched their tents and reared a strong fortification at the upper end of the lawn. their scouts bivouacked beneath the very windows of my lady governor's chamber. this would never have been had not governor wille lately grown heedless of his good fairy friends, and left them to struggle without his sympathy and aid. for home brownies lose heart and cease to prosper when their home patrons and allies forget and neglect them. the brownies were sore distressed. what should they do? early one morning the captain and lieutenant were in close consultation. the brownies watched them anxiously as the two slowly walked back and forth underneath a rose bush in a border near the west window of the parlor. the point under discussion was this: "shall we make another appeal to governor wille, or shall we first try an assault upon the new pixie fort?" the decision was soon announced by the bugle call to "fall in." from every quarter the brownies crowded eagerly, and the column moved toward the northwestern corner of the lawn. there lay a pool formed by a stream that bubbled from beneath the springhouse at the foot of the hill. the brownies called the pool "loch katrine," in honor of the lovely and historic water in their old scotch home from whose neighborhood they had come. just beyond the "outlet," the point at which the spring run issues from the pool and goes singing down the hillside, the new pixie fort had been erected. it was called fort spinder, and was a sign and token that spite and his tribes had gained and meant to keep a foothold upon the lawn, the brownies' special domain. [illustration: fig. 16.--the demilune, or crescent barricade.] in a brief space the brownie army had surrounded three sides of the fort; the fourth side faced the lake, and was safe from approach of land troops. then captain bruce sent out a number of scouts to view the pixie works and report upon their strength and the best points for attack. let us join the captain and his staff, and listen to these scouts as one after another they return with their reports. we shall thus learn something of the pixies' deft handicraft and cunning ways. [illustration: fig. 17.--the bell shaped turret of pixie globosa, of the wheel legion.] "the first obstacle that i met," said sightwell, who was the first scout to report, "was a line of barricades occupied by the wheel legion. this is formed of round webs woven upon grass and weeds, closely joined to one another and strung in a semicircular form along the whole front of the fort. armed pickets are stationed at the open centrals of the snares. at either end of this crescent or demilune is a large orbweb, surmounted by a tower. one tower is wrought out of leaves lashed together by silken threads; the other is the bell shaped turret of pixie globosa.[k] [illustration: fig. 18.--fort spinder.] "the centre of the demilune is occupied by a company of the tubeweaver legion. they have built a broad, irregular pavilion above and around the surface foliage, whose margin is lashed by strong cords to grass stalks and other herbage. near the middle is a long tubular entrance which opens out upon the top."[l] "did you venture into it?" asked the captain. [illustration: the boy's illustration. fig. 19.--fort spinder as the boy saw it.] "no! i climbed a tall weed to reconnoitre, and from the summit noticed that pixies, whom i had seen to pass underneath the canvas, appeared again through a round hole in the roof and thence passed down into the camp. then i descended, cautiously made my way through the grass, and came near enough to see the opening into the tube, which is really the southern or front gate to the encampment. it is set close to the ground and is well concealed. it is guarded on each side by a sentinel. from my weed-top observatory i could see that beyond the demilune, and between it and the fort, the main camp of the pixies is pitched. the space is well covered with tents, and everything inside seems to be settled into homelike and comfortable condition." "yes, yes!" exclaimed bruce with an impatient gesture. "the wretches evidently intend to stay--if they can. but what else did you observe?" "nothing important. i thought best to return with this news, while glideaway, who went with me on the scout, went around the demilune to observe the front of fort spinder. he ought to be back ere long." true to his friend's prediction, glideaway soon appeared, slipped quietly into the circle of officers, touched his scotch bonnet and awaited leave to report. "well," said bruce, "what have you to tell?" "when i left sightwell," the scout replied, "i hurried around the west side of the demilune, which bends in pretty close to the fort, and ends in a tall, silk-lined leaf-tower. this is used by sentinels as a sort of guard house, but i managed to slip by unobserved. i got into the pixie camp and moved about unnoticed, passed along the whole front of the fort and came out on the east side. the walls of the fort are under charge of the lineweaving legion, who built them. they consist of single silken cables, crossed, knotted and interlaced into a mass several inches thick. the cables are interwoven with and lashed to the blades of grass and sprigs and foliage of meadow weeds, forming a strong wall." "could our troops break through or climb over it?"[m] glideaway shook his head doubtingly. "it would be a difficult task. engineer theridion directed the construction and his work is thorough. however, it might be done, and i for one am ready to try, sir." "and i, and i!" cried in chorus the officers and men who stood around. "thanks, my brave fellows," said bruce, his eyes kindling with pride. "we shall doubtless have a chance to try your mettle before long. what are the defences of the front walls?" "in the centre of the wall is a gate built by engineer linyphia of the lineweavers. it is a high dome hung amidst a maze of crossed lines and protected beneath by a curtain floor, which is swung from the dome. the dome is pierced for defence and observation, and a strong guard mans the curtain. the main entrance to the fort is here, and all who go in must pass underneath it, and through the guard. "at each corner or angle of the fort is a gate like the central one, except that the dome is reversed and becomes a bowl. on the flanks or sides the fort is built and manned by lineweavers and is precisely like the front." "very good," said captain bruce dismissing the scout. "who will report as to the river front and interior?" "we detailed our most skillful men for that service," adjutant blythe answered. "sergeants clearview and true have charge of the scout. it is a nice and dangerous service, and we can't expect an early return." "let us away, then, to put our command in the best condition possible; and when the report comes in i will summon you." the morning had quite worn away when the news came that the scouts had returned. the officers speedily gathered at headquarters, where sergeant true and three of his men were waiting. where could the others be? were they lost? "we skirted the eastern face of the fort," began sergeant true, "and reached lake katrine. then we saw that the fort is built some distance from the water on the crown of the hill that forms the shore, which there slopes down to the lake. the defences on the water front are like those on the other side, but not so heavy. the tower at the angle is different, however. it has been built by the wolf legion, and captain arenicola is in command. it is a pentagon or five-sided turret of dry twigs, like a log chimney, and is silk-lined within.[n] the pixies' skull-and-bones flag floats from the top. "here we held a consultation and agreed to divide our party. sergeant clearview with corporal dare and three men undertook to survey the river front. it fell to myself to explore the interior of the fort, aided by corporal swiftsure and two men, lookclose and treadlight. having bidden good-bye to our companions, i explained to my men the delicate and dangerous work in which we were engaged. then we divided our squad into two parties. i took treadlight and pushed forward, having bidden swiftsure and lookclose to follow at a distance that would leave us just in view. in case of discovery or accident to either party, the first duty of the other was to escape and tell at headquarters the facts already learned. "the fort is so newly built that the surface is not yet thickly covered with snares, traps and crosslines. this greatly favored us. we found the chief part of the fort to be an immense tubeweaver's tent built by engineer agalena. the central tube runs downward toward the lake, and opens out near a tower that guards the water front. the tent is built around tall weeds which stick out like the poles of a circus pavilion, and from their tips strong guy lines stretch to various points on the roof, thus bracing it up.[o] "we skirted the vast edifice as far as the central front gate, just opposite to which we found another of arenicola's turrets. from this point, sweeping around toward the lake, and fronting the tower on the southwest angle, is erected a strong tent of the tegenaria type. it is composed of a thick sheet like that of agalena, but this is drawn up at the margin, making a sort of breastwork. along the pouch-like depression within are many sentinels for whom openings are pierced in the breastwork. the system ends in a tall round tower, in which captain tegenaria has his observatory.[p] "we wished to cross the path between the front linyphia gate and the opposite tower, but it was so thronged by passing pixies that we dare not venture. we therefore turned back, thinking we had discovered enough, and ought not to further risk losing what we had learned." "a wise and patriotic decision," said captain bruce, "but how did you get out of the pixie quarters?" [illustration: fig. 20.--arenicolas' tower and stridulans' drum.] "it was not so easy to get out of their den as to get into it," said sergeant true, "as is usual when dealing with pixies. we had scarcely taken the back track when a terrible racket sounded from the tower behind us. now we saw that a big drum hung from the top of the turret, upon which a gigantic pixie was beating furiously. we knew that this must be drummer stridulans whose beating sounds the various signals of the pixies. he was now sounding an alarm, which stirred the fort with great excitement. sentinels sprang to their posts: warriors poured out of their quarters and ran to the ramparts. soon companies were seen hurrying toward the lake front, and amid all the rush and clatter stridulans' drum kept up its dolorous booming from the turret. "a score of times we barely escaped detection by the pixies who were running to and fro; and we lay in our ambush almost breathless, nearly hopeless of keeping concealed, and ready to sell our lives at the greatest cost to our foes. then we saw an officer run up and signal the tower. the drum ceased, and squads of pixies began to return from the lake front in a quieter mood. "we were anxious to know the cause of the alarm, and of its conclusion too, for we feared it might concern clearview and his party. words dropped by passing warriors confirmed our suspicions; but of the result, whether good or ill to our companions, we could gather nothing. when the fort had settled into quiet we continued our retreat; and here we are, sir. but, it was trying work and a close shave. we crawled through the grass like snakes the whole way, until we had gone around the outer wall and were fairly out of sight of pickets and lookouts." sergeant true's report caused great uneasiness in the brownie camp as to the fate of the river scouting party. at last an unusual stir around headquarters showed that something important was afoot. an anxious crowd gathered before the tent door, peering inside, where sergeant clearview could be seen in the midst of a circle of officers. he looked sadly draggled and worn; his face was bruised, his clothes limp and stained, and alas, he was alone! let us hear his story. "when we parted from sergeant true we slowly moved along the edge of the lake keeping under shelter of the sloping bank, and screening ourselves behind the tall grass at the water's brink. we passed nearly one-half the lake front of the fort, which we found protected in the same manner as the other sides, except that the works are not so heavy. the pixies clearly intend the navy to defend that quarter from assault. however, no ships are anchored in the stream. indeed we did not even meet a boat of any sort until we came to the remains of the old bridge that stood, as you remember, nearly opposite the centre of the fort, where the water gate is placed. there we came upon a skiff moored among the rushes. [illustration: the boy's illustration. fig. 21.--the pixie waterman's skiff.] "'here now is our chance,' whispered corporal dare. 'let us seize this boat, and we can safely pull along the whole lake front.' "i agreed to this, as there were no pixies in sight on shore. 'however, we must take no risks,' i said; 'there may be a waterman hidden or asleep in the bottom of the boat. we must approach quietly, and from all points so as to cut off escape to the shore.' "we crept through the reeds, and at a signal rushed together upon the skiff. three pixies, huge fierce fellows, sprang from the bottom of the boat and began a vigorous defence. one of our men was cut down instantly, but the rest of us clambered over the gunwale and made a hand to hand fight with our foes. the conflict was severe; we were nearly evenly divided as to numbers, although the pixies had much the advantage as to size. however, we killed two of our enemies, but could not prevent the third from escaping. he leaped into the lake and ran fleetly over the water. we lost sight of him behind a clump of weeds, but knew that he would at once give the alarm. "'come, my men, be quick!' i cried. 'take the oars; there is only one chance for us; we must push into the stream and pull for life.' "the order was obeyed; we were soon beyond the rushes in clear water, and having pushed the boat into the current, put her bow down stream, and bent to the oars with all our might. for a few moments we thought we should pass the fort unobserved. then we saw several pixies running out of the gates toward the shore; others joined them; the boom of an alarm drum somewhere within the fort floated over the water, and in a brief space the shore was lined with angry troops. we could see spite the spy directing affairs; and soon a large boat shot out from the banks full of armed pixies. "'out to sea,' i cried, 'out!--and pull as you never did before. our lives depend on it.' it was vain. the boat gained rapidly upon us, and soon nearly touched our gunwale. "'cease rowing, lads,' i cried. 'there's nothing left but to sell our lives as dearly as possible.' corporal dare seized a boat hook and plunged it into a pixie officer who was about to board us. but another took his place, and another, when he too had fallen. "taught caution by these losses, our assailants drew back from us, and while dare stood on guard, dart and dodge, the two other surviving brownies, and myself again took the oars. we reached the swiftest part of the stream where the current sets in heavily toward the shore, and i saw that we must drift in upon the beach. this also the pixies saw, and seemed content to keep near us, without taking further risk. the crowd on shore followed along our course waiting for the final act. we were very near, but tugged away, hoping against hope that we might be carried past the jutting point and escape. perhaps some such thought struck the pixie boat commander, or it may be his crew could not restrain their fury. several of them leaped out of the boat and ran toward us upon the water. some water-pixies joined them from the shore. our boat was seized. we dropped oars, and a death struggle began. dart, after a gallant fight, fell dead in the boat. dodge was overpowered, captured and bound. corporal dare was at last dragged into the water by two sailors with whom he was in a hand to hand conflict and the three sank together. "i was alone. wounded, nearly exhausted, overpowered by numbers, what could i do? it was folly to fight the whole pixie force. plunging my sword into the face of the boat captain, i threw myself backward into the lake as though wounded unto death. amid the horrible clangor and applause of the pixies' victory cry i sank. i struck out beneath the water, swam as far as i could, and cautiously came up to the surface. as good fortune would have it, i arose almost within reach of a floating leaf. this i grasped, edged myself around to the open water side, and drifted. i saw that the two boats were being pulled ashore by the excited captors, who were holding aloft on the points of their spears the body of poor dart. there was great rejoicing, of course, and then the crowd slowly dispersed, bearing with them their prisoner, dodge, and doubtless thinking that the rest of the brownie party had been slain. "meanwhile, i drifted on, and in spite of every effort to the contrary, drew nearer the bank. the pixie guard had now been doubled, and i feared that i had escaped death only to fall upon it in another form. the leaf lodged, and unluckily upon a bare, sandy point. there was not a blade of grass behind which to find shelter. i therefore clung to my rude raft, which swayed up and down, and turned round and round so that i had hard work to keep my hold. still, treading water, i followed with the leaf until it reached a spot where some driftwood had lodged. "'this is my chance!' i thought. "i crawled up on the sand and lay down behind and beneath the flotsam. the warmth of the sun was pleasant, for i was chilled by the water, and was so exhausted that, would you believe it? i fell asleep! but my nap was a brief one. it was broken by the sound of voices, and starting up in a daze, i attracted the attention of the pixie guard boat crew engaged in patrolling the lake. they turned the boat to the shore, with a hurrah, and several leaped overboard and dashed toward me upon the water. [illustration: fig. 22.--sergeant clearview takes refuge in argiope's nest.] "there was nothing for it but to run, and that i did; over the level, sandy bank, on, on--toward the tall grass beyond. the boat's crew were soon on my track; the shore sentinels joined them, and away we all sped pell-mell. affairs seemed blue enough, it is true; but i had already escaped so wonderfully that i had high hope that i should yet reach camp and tell my story. at last--it seemed an age!--the grass was reached. i plunged into the thicket, but the pixies were close at my heels, too close to admit of escape, for they were all fresh and i quite worn out. as i passed a tall clump of grasses, i caught sight of a great pear shaped egg-nest of the huge argiope pixie. i knew it well, for it was an abandoned nest of the past autumn, built there during one of the successful raids of our enemy. a happy thought came to me. i rushed into the grasses beyond the nest, then turned, and doubled sharply upon my track, ran back, sprang into the clump of grass and weeds upon which the nest hangs, and swung myself toward it. there is an opening in the side, a sort of door or window for the escape of the young. into this i dropped, and lodged safely upon the flossy paddock inside. i had barely got in when my pursuers dashed by at full speed into the jungle which they had seen me enter. the whir and clatter of their rush i could hear, as many of the crew passed just beneath me. on they sped; the noise grew faint, fainter, and died away. then i knew that once more i was saved. the bed upon which i lay was a soft one; it was made, in fact, of purple and yellow silk; but i was not much inclined to sleep, you may be sure. i lay close, however, until i heard the sound of returning footsteps. back the pixies came in singles, pairs, triplets, squads; and by their manner and utterance i learned their disappointment and rage. "at last the place was quiet, and i ventured to look out of my little window. no enemy was in sight. i crept forth, descended, and crawling on hands and knees, after many adventures which i need not mention, passed the front of the fort, entered the space beyond, and easily found our camp. this is my report, sir. it is a sad enough one, but such are the risks of scouts; and i can truly say for my brave comrades and myself that we did all that we could."[q] "no one will doubt that," said captain bruce. "we deeply mourn the loss of so many brave and good comrades. may their memory be green forever!" he withdrew his hat, and bowed his head. all present did the same, and stood in silence for a moment. "we all must bear the chances of life and war," resumed the captain, "and now let us take up the next duty. what shall be our policy? we have heard the reports of the scouts; shall we make an attack?" the council of war thus invoked, long and earnestly considered the question. had not their hearts and hands been burdened and stayed by governor wille's neglect, the brownies would have joyfully ventured an assault even upon such a stronghold. as matters stood, however, they judged that an attempt would only lead to useless loss and further discouragement. they recommended that the siege of the fort be continued as closely as possible, and that meanwhile captain bruce and lieutenant macwhirlie make another appeal to governor wille. thus the council closed. footnotes: [footnote k: appendix, note a.] [footnote l: note b.] [footnote m: appendix, note c.] [footnote n: appendix, note d.] [footnote o: note e.] [footnote p: appendix, note f.] [footnote q: appendix, note g.] chapter iv. the brownies visit governor wille. all that their unaided powers could do the brownies had now done. but the higher decrees of nature had linked their destiny with the will and conduct of the household whose welfare they guarded. mysterious relation! you exclaim. true; and the creatures of the universe are bound to one another and to the great whole in relations whose mystery none has fathomed, and which perplex the wisest. so what could the brownies do, or what could men do in like estate, but continue steadfast in watching and duty, and do their best to change the wills upon whose action turned weal or woe, success or failure? the truth is, governor wille had fallen into bad ways. it was a proud day to the brownies, and joyously had they celebrated it, when their friend had been elected governor of the great state of ohio. but joy had been turned into mourning. new faces began to be seen around hillside, and they carried little spiritual force and beauty upon them. rude voices, coarse laughter, profane words, angry tones were no longer strange sounds in the wille mansion. the lads who read this will soon be voters. let them mark this: the man who goes into political life must take heed or he will be swept away from safe moorings by a class of so-called "party friends," who are poor companions and worse counsellors, and who elbow and crowd away the best elements of community. now, governor wille did not take heed. he gave himself up to those who surrounded him for low, selfish ends, and drifted under their convoy into perilous channels. as the governor fell off from the good old ways, the pixies triumphed at hillside, and the brownies lost control. that was the state of things when these records began. indeed, it had well nigh come to such a pass with the brownies that they ceased to ask: how shall we beat back the pixies? and were beginning to wonder, how shall we escape with our lives? there could not have been a better leader than bruce. he was bold but prudent, having courage without rashness. he was cool, hopeful and persevering. all the fairies loved and trusted him. he had risked his life a hundred times for them and theirs. he was covered with scars. amidst all troubles and losses he had not lost heart. but now he was cast down and doubtful. never did captain have a better helper than lieutenant macwhirlie. active, tireless, with spirits that never drooped, and zeal that never flagged; prompt, obedient, brave and intelligent, macwhirlie was a model officer. his one fault was that he sometimes failed in caution; careless of his own life, he was apt to risk unduly the lives of his men. but in the wild, guerilla warfare that the brownies waged, such a fault seemed very like a virtue. therefore the lieutenant was loved by his troopers and honored by all. affairs were truly serious when macwhirlie became discouraged; and he was discouraged now, beyond a doubt. the fact that the pixies were fortified upon the lawn, and encamped therein, bag and baggage, was bad enough. yet this difficulty, courage, patience and skill might overcome. but the destiny which linked their success with the behavior of governor wille, bore heavily upon the good brownies since the governor had taken to evil ways. therefore the captain and lieutenant set out with heavy hearts for the mansion. a crowd of brownies followed a little way behind their officers. they saw them cross the lawn, spring into the great sugar maple tree, run along the lowest limbs and swing themselves upon the sill of the chamber window. the window was open. governor wille sat beside it in an easy chair, reading a newspaper, and enjoying the fresh morning air. the brownies saluted him. he dropped his paper and answered the greeting heartily. "welcome, good brothers, a thousand welcomes!" his tone grew less cheery as he spoke the last words, for his eye caught the grave bearing and sad faces of his visitors. he knew at once that they must have come on serious business. indeed, he might have guessed that at first, for except at christmas times, and on birthday and wedding anniversaries, the brownies rarely entered the mansion unless some urgent need required. they were always near at hand, the governor well knew, and hovered about house and grounds doing kindly deeds in secret. but the family did not often hear or see them. in fact, governor wille had been so busy, and was away from home so often, that he had lost much of the old family interest in the gentle little people who loved and guarded him and his so tenderly. yet, he had not wholly forgotten them. they had visited him several times of late with complaints about their own dangers, and warnings about his. he had thought lightly of the matter, and of that, indeed, he was a little ashamed. but, then, he was so busy! he rose from his chair. "brothers," he said, "your sober faces bode a gloomy message. i know you are never pleased to waste words. speak your errand freely. what troubles you?" [illustration: fig. 23.--the pixies spinning gossamer over the eyes of governor wille and dido.] "brother wille," answered bruce, "we bring nothing new. it is the old trouble about the pixies the same complaint and warning that we have urged upon you of late more than once. our enemies--and well you know they are yours too!--are pressing closely upon us. they have driven us to the lawn at last, and even upon that they have built their fort and camp. a little space further and we must flee into the house. and what most troubles us is that they will follow us. ah, brother wille, our hearts are sad at the thought of pixies filling your home! we have done our best and we come to you for aid. you must help us drive back these wicked spirits. that is our petition, and our request." the two brownies stood quietly with their bonnets or scotch caps under their arms. governor wille impatiently crumpled the paper in his hand, came to the window and replied. "tut, tut, bruce, it certainly can't be as bad as that. you are a little blue this morning, i fear. why, when did brownies ever give up to pixies? it was never heard of!" "softly, brother wille," said the captain. "that has often happened, right here at hillside, too! and it will happen again you may depend on't, if wille and dido do not soon bestir themselves to help their old home fairies." governor wille hesitated, ahemmed, and at last said: "i am loath to meddle in this affair, and really, i don't see that there is such pressing danger. i have little fear for my good, brave brownie friends. but,--i shall talk to madam dido about it, and if she is agreed, look out for aid, and get your troopers ready for a good chase after the pixies." the two brownies withdrew, leaving the house by the way they had entered. they looked sad, although they tried to hide their feelings from the friends who awaited their coming. "what is the news?" cried the brownies. "nothing as yet," answered bruce. "but we hope for good news soon." "what will come of all this, captain?" asked macwhirlie privately. "very little, i fear," was the answer. "i can't think what has come over the governor of late. the pixies seem to have spun their webs over his heart." "over his eyes rather!" said macwhirlie, "or his hands and feet. his heart is still true to the brownies, i am sure. but he can't or don't understand our troubles and his own perils." "well, well, we shall soon know." with that poor consolation they sat down on the edge of the lawn by the gravel walk and waited. presently governor wille and his wife dido came out of the house, and walked slowly up the path. wille was relating his interview with the brownies. "what do you think, wife? i fancy their stories about the pixies are a good deal exaggerated--by fear of course i mean, for brownies are clear truth always. bruce said that the lawn was full of their tents and nets. do you see them? i cannot see one, and i've been looking all along the walk."[r] "i quite agree with you, my dear," said the affectionate dido. "as for the pixie snares, i can see no more of them than you. perhaps we had better wait a few days before we interfere." "a few days!" sighed bruce, who heard all the conversation. "it will be too late by that time, i fear!" footnotes: [footnote r: on a dewy summer morning one sees the fields and shrubbery covered with innumerable spider webs of various sorts. by midday these webs are invisible. what has become of them? in truth, the sun has simply dried the dew which clung to the delicate filaments of the webs and thus made them visible; and from careless eyes the webs are hidden, as was the case with governor wille.--the editor.] chapter v. madam breeze comes to the rescue. "come!" cried the captain at last. "moping is no part of duty. if governor wille won't help us, we must seek allies in other quarters; and for the rest trust to our good swords." he raised his bugle to his lips, and sounded a note or two, whereat his adjutant appeared. "blythe," said the captain, "order out my pony, and get ready to attend me to hilltop. and you, macwhirlie, see that every brownie is armed and ready for work of any kind at a moment's warning. no fuss, please; keep everything quiet as possible. i don't want spite the spy to suspect any unusual movement. he'll give you credit for a little lack of caution when he finds you in command;" and the captain laughed pleasantly as he said this. "but mind! it mustn't be the genuine article, now. try for once to beat spite at his own favorite tactics. draw off the cavalry pickets, but see that your troopers are ready for the saddle. look to the pioneer corps, and see that the axes are in good order. saunter around carelessly as you like, but keep your eyes open. come, blythe!" the last words were spoken to his adjutant who already stood holding the captain's butterfly pony swallowtail, as well as his own. the brownies sprang upon the creatures' backs and rode away. macwhirlie watched the forms of the horsemen until they were lost to view behind the gable of the house. "heigh-ho!" he sighed, "the time was when the journey to hilltop was a safe and pleasant ride. but it's a bold feat nowadays, with pixies waiting at every corner, and their webs flapping on every bush. but i must e'en leave the captain with providence and go about my own business." [illustration: fig. 24.--bruce and blythe on their way to hilltop. pixie attus tries to lasso them.] the afternoon was well advanced when bruce and blythe halted their jaded ponies under the shade of a laurel bush, a little way from the lone aspen on hilltop. "poor fellow!" said the captain as he stroked swallowtail's drooping wings. "it was too bad to bring you on such a service, with plenty of stouter nags in the stable! but we had to run the gauntlet of the pixies, you know, and those big fellows would never have got through unnoticed. think they can carry us back?" he asked anxiously. "i doubt it, cap'n," was the answer. "but rest and a hearty meal may bring 'em around all right." "very well; then do you care for them while i go to the lone aspen." [illustration: the boy's illustration. fig. 25.--bruce whistling for madam breeze.] the lone aspen stood on the summit of the hill. it was an old tree, with wide spreading branches, and great girth of trunk. the trunk was hollow, and covered with warts. one of these was quite near the roots, and was pierced in the centre with a hole which exposed the hollow within. bruce stopped at the foot of the tree beneath this opening, and blew a peculiar note upon a whistle which hung by a chain about his neck. there was no answer. he whistled again. still no response. along the rough scales and ridges of bark running up and down the trunk, a stairway had been made like the rounds of a ladder. upon this the captain climbed towards the opening. he stepped out upon a bulging wart and peeped within the tree. it was empty. again he blew his whistle. the echoes rolled up and down the hollow trunk and died away far above toward the branches, where a faint streak of light shone through an opening like the one in which the brownie stood. "this is strange!" exclaimed the captain. he turned, and looked up at the sun through branches of the tree. "surely, madam breeze should be at the lone aspen at this time of day! however, i must climb to the window and wait." he sat down on the window ledge, and as he was tired out by long journeys, hard labors and sleepless nights, in spite of himself he fell into a doze. "ooo--oo--oo!" a sound like the tones of a distant bell awoke him. "ha, she has come!" he cried, and jumped to his feet. madam breeze was passing with her attendants through the door. her voice sounded through the hollow trunk as she swept into it. in a moment the captain felt her breath upon his cheek, and presently stood face to face with her at the window. she kissed him heartily, brushed the hair back caressingly from his forehead, and addressed him in a sprightly, kindly way. madam breeze was an elf of pleasing appearance; plump to the verge of stoutness, but singularly graceful and airy in all her movements. she was troubled with an asthma which interrupted her speech with frequent attacks of coughing and wheezing, much to her discomfort and the disturbance of her temper. she had an odd fashion of expanding and contracting in size either suddenly or gradually. this occurred oftenest during her attacks of asthma, and to those who first saw this, the sight was a startling one. "so my brave little captain," said the elf, "you've been whistling for the breeze at last, have you? ah! i thought you would come to it some day. but you always were such an independent little body--hoogh! and you have come to the little fat lady at last, hey? well, i'm heartily glad to see you--hoogh!--and you'd have been welcome long ago--wheeze! sit down and tell me your errand." she bustled about all the while and kept everything and everybody around her in a whirl of excitement. "there, now, i've composed myself to listen--wheeze! but i suspect that i know without being told--hoogh! however, say on, while i sit here and rock myself." the merry lady twisted together a couple of boughs into the shape of a rude swing, and seating herself among the leaves, swayed back and forth, wheezing, coughing, oh-ing and ah-ing, while bruce told the story of his troubles. "and now," he concluded, "i appeal to you for help." he took the whistle from his neck and laid it in the elf's hand. "this talisman has always opened a way for brownies to the heart and help of you and yours." "tut, tut!" said madam, throwing the chain around the captain's neck again, "put up your whistle--hoogh! no need to remind madam breeze by that of the claim of the fairies upon her and hers. and so these horrid pixies have worried the life out of you? and you tarried all this time before coming to me?--wheeze, wheeze! confound this cough! and you didn't go to my gentle lady zephyr this time, hey? her balmy breath wouldn't quite suit your present purpose? ho, ho, ho! good stout madam breeze for you, hey?--hoogh! aha, i see that brownies, like other folk, when they get into trouble prefer the useful to the ornamental. well, well, you're right enough." whereupon the jolly, kind hearted elf swung and rolled herself about and made the leaves of the lone aspen fairly dance with the voice of her laughter. [illustration: fig. 26.--captain bruce appeals to madame breeze.] "now to business!" madam breeze sobered down just one moment as she spoke. "how did you come here? on the ponies, hey? call blythe." bruce blew his bugle. presently blythe clambered up the ladder and saluted the elf. "how are the ponies, blythe? pretty well done out, hey? not fit for the journey back? in a pinch are you? so i thought. well, you brownies do miss it sometimes, you must confess." madam ran on asking and answering her own questions without giving blythe a chance to speak a word. however, she seemed, through, some mysterious news agency of her own, to know everything without information from the brownies. "need fresh horses? just as i supposed. here, here--whirlit,--wheeze,--hoogh! (confound that cough!) blythe, call whirlit for me. the rascal!--he's always out of the way when i want him." notwithstanding the bad character given him by his mistress, whirlit was at the window in a moment. "there, keep still now, and listen!" madam herself was quite as restless as the frisky whirlit while she gave her orders, bouncing back and forth all the time among the leaves. "still, i say! put swallowtail and blythe's pony in the stable, and get out my goldtailed matches. order all hands to be ready to leave immediately. quick! off with you!" whirlit sprang from the window, turning a score of somersaults or more on his way to the ground. he returned presently, leading a pair of goldtailed moths. they were beautiful insects with soft downy plumage, snowy white color, and a tuft of yellow hair at the end of the tail. "aren't they beauties," cried madam, casting an admiring glance at her splendid matches. "and fast, too. and thoroughly trained. and what's the strangest thing about them, they're not worth an old straw in the day time. they hang around on the bark here as spiritless as a toadstool. but the moment evening comes they spruce up, and hie--away! they're brisk enough then. queer, isn't it? but i keep 'em just for night work. now we're all ready for a bout with the pixies. pooh! the nasty beasts! i hate to soil my breath with them and their clammy snares. but brownies can't be left to suffer. ready, captain? yes? very well, then, mount and away!" the afternoon was nearly gone. below hilltop the woods, orchard, house, lawn and garden all lay in shadow. the goldtailed matches were in fine spirits. their energetic mistress kept close behind them buoying them up, and urging them on, and in a short time they reached the spring at the foot of the orchard back of the mansion. "halt!" cried madam breeze. "i shall wait here in the tops of the trees, while you move forward and get your brownies ready. be quick, now, and when you want me, remember the whistle." chapter vi. attack on the old lodge. bruce put spurs to goldtail and flew across the garden followed closely by blythe. they reached the lawn and crossed the brownie camp. they stopped at the captain's headquarters under the rose bush. everything was in confusion. macwhirlie was pacing back and forth in high excitement; a group of brownies surrounded him, talking and gesticulating violently. "silence!" cried macwhirlie, stopping suddenly, facing the excited group. "i tell you that i will not stir a hand in this thing until captain bruce returns, or until it is settled that he will not return this night. i love rodney as fondly as you; he is my dearest friend, the captain's own brother, my comrade in a thousand fights and forays. but it would bring on a battle were i to consent to follow my own heart and your wishes. that would ruin us all. i cannot; dare not, will not! i must obey my orders. silence, i say!" bruce leaped from goldtail's back and walked hastily into the midst of the group. the brownies did not notice him until he stood by macwhirlie's side. a clamor of surprise, satisfaction, and grief greeted him. the lieutenant's face brightened; then clouded again, as with sympathy and pain. "speak, macwhirlie," said the captain. "what has happened? what is wrong with rodney? quick, and tell the worst at once." "he is shut up by the pixies along with his boy johnny." [illustration: fig. 27.--the old lodge overspun by pixies.] "what, rodney captured! i never would have thought it. how did it come about?" "it was not exactly his own fault, sir. he had been busy about the boats all day--you know we were to have everything in order,--and i had asked him to look after his sailors. he took johnny with him--not an hour ago, sir,--to have a last look at matters. he did not want to take the little fellow, but the lad was bent on going; and besides he is a brisk young brownie, and quite able to look after himself. rodney was busy at the rivulet about some naval affairs and left the boy for a few moments on shore. just then one of the butterfly ponies flew by and strolled off toward the pixie picket line. johnny saw its danger and ran to bring it back. he had gone but a little way when he was seized by one of the pixie scouts, who are always hovering around now, and clapped into one of our old lodges which they have covered with spinningwork and are using as a guard house."[s] "but rodney? how came he into their hands?" the captain cried. "i am coming to that. the commodore heard johnny's cries, sprang on shore, and rushed upon the old wretch who had captured the lad, and who was spinning a rope across the door. he cut him down with one blow of his cutlass and ran into the lodge to get johnny." "ha! that was well done!" exclaimed bruce. "yes, sir, but he wasn't quick enough. a squad of pickets heard the fuss, and before rodney could repass the door they had blocked it up with their snares, double lashed and sealed it, and,--there they are!" "how did you find out all this?" "why, of course, some of the sailors also heard the boy's cries and followed the commodore; but only in time to see how things had gone. they ran back to the camp, and here they are, clamoring, threatening, pleading to get me to order all hands to the rescue of rodney and his boy." "have you done anything?" "i have set guards to watch the lodge and report continually how things go. for the rest i have tried to keep the camp in perfect quiet." "how goes it with the prisoners; are they well?" "yes," answered pipe the boatswain, "the commodore has his boy in the very furthest end of the lodge, and he stays there walking back and forth before the lad, cutlass in hand. they haven't dared to molest him yet. he sounded his bugle once or twice, and i know he wonders why his friends, especially his old tars, have deserted him. it's well nigh broke our hearts, cap'n." "it was hard to resist the pressure, captain," said macwhirlie, "and harder still to control my own heart. but i did what i thought my duty. i stand ready to suffer for it if i erred. and now that you are back all i ask is to lead the rescue. i will save rodney and his boy, or leave my carcass with the pixies." "my dear fellow," said bruce, "you did quite right. god bless you for your love of me and mine but especially bless you for your firmness on this occasion. it would have been a sad day for us all if the life of our nation had been risked for the sake of one however dear to me and to us all. now, get ready for action! is all in order for the assault?" "everything." "then rally the men. we will advance with all our force. we must first save rodney and his boy. then we shall clean out the whole pixie nest. the battle word is 'rescue.' madam breeze waits yonder in the orchard to join us." how the order flew through the brownie camp! love for rodney, and the news of the near presence of their powerful ally put hope and courage into all hearts. every man was in his place. even the older boys had taken arms, hoping for permission to join in the battle or at least the chase. [illustration: fig. 28.--a tubeweaver's den.] the captain led his men swiftly and cautiously by a roundabout route to the site of the old lodge, which was at the extreme eastern flank of the pixie camp. he skirted the lawn, passed the spring, and struck the bank of the rivulet at the foot of the orchard. there he waited until the full moon had risen above the hills, and slanted her rays along the river and into the bosom of little lake katrine. "hark!" said the captain at last. "hark," the word passed in a whisper along the line. up in the tree tops madam breeze and her train were waiting for the signal. not waiting patiently, indeed, for they rocked and rolled among the round topped apple trees, and swung to and fro among the tall pears, rustling the leaves, shaking down the fruit, and whistling among the branches. but there they were, all ready, eager to rush upon their foes. the brownies had now reached a point well to the east of the pixie camp and fort. just beyond them was the lodge, now changed into a tubeweaver's den, in which the commodore and his boy were confined. captain bruce halted the column and distributed the men throughout the tall grass. he formed a half circle looking toward the old lodge, the pioneers or axmen being in the centre. "steady, now, a moment," he exclaimed in a low tone to macwhirlie. he fell upon hands and knees and glided through the grass. he was back in a few moments. "it is all right. not more than a dozen pixies are on guard, the rest are beyond the demilune in the camp at supper, carousing, singing and making merry over rodney's capture. poor fellow! he is seated in the far end of the lodge holding johnny on his lap. the boy has cried himself asleep. the commodore has one hand on his sword and rests his face upon the other. neither friend nor foe seems to be expecting us." "attention!" the order ran in low whispers around the line. "ready!" "ready." this word passed from officer to officer in the same way. then the captain stepped to the head of the axmen, put his whistle to his lips and blew a long blast. the shrill notes cut through the air. rodney heard it, lifted up his boy, leaped to his feet and cried: "come, johnny, up! wake! it is a rescue!" the pixie guards heard it. they grasped their weapons, and crowded together before the door of the lodge. spite the spy and his horde heard it as they feasted and made merry. they hastily seized their arms. [illustration: fig. 29.--spite and his pixie friends make merry over rodney's capture.] "what's in the wind, now?" muttered spite. "that beast of a bruce is at the bottom of it, i warrant." but none of them seemed seriously to expect an attack. the brownie camp had been quiet all day. their captain was known to be absent; their commodore was a prisoner; there had been no sign of any unusual stir. up in the orchard where she swung impatiently among the tree tops, good madam breeze heard the same call. "ah! there it goes at last. thank our star for that. what! whirlit, whisk, keener and all the rest of you, do you hear? up and away--away! oo--oo--ooh!" the brownies were crouched in the grass, every nerve strained to the utmost, every eye fixed eagerly upon their leader, awaiting the word of command. it came at last. bruce dropped his whistle, drew his broadsword, and shouted the welcome word, "charge!" with a wild hurrah the column closed in upon the lodge, macwhirlie leading one wing, pipe the other, and bruce at the head of the axmen leading the centre. it was a complete surprise. the guard of pixies broke, parting to right and left. one squad fell into the hands of the sailors and were all slain. the others fared little better with macwhirlie and his troopers. the door gave way before the strokes that the captain and his pioneers rained upon it, and rodney with his boy in his arms sprang out. three times three hearty cheers rang in the evening air as the brave hearted sailor came forth a free man. "brother rodney," said captain bruce, "there is not even time for greeting. send your boy to the rear. take command of your men. we are to charge the whole pixie camp and fort. madam breeze is behind us. you know the rest. forward!" footnotes: [footnote s: appendix, note a.] chapter vii. how the fort was saved. by this time the pixies in the main camp had recovered from their surprise. the brownies' battle-cry "rescue" showed plainly the object of the assault. the pixies were used to war's alarms; and, as for their leader, spite, lack of promptness and skill was not among his faults. therefore rodney had scarcely been set free ere spite had his followers in line. however, he did not expect an attack upon himself, for he fancied that the brownies had been too much cowed lately to venture upon the offensive. he thought they would be satisfied with rescuing rodney, and would then retreat, and that he determined to prevent. "come, my lads," he shouted, "we must not let these creatures escape us this time. teach them what it is to break into a pixie camp. fall on them! give no quarter; spare no one, let your battle-cry be 'death!'" he ran to the front as he spoke, shaking in one hand a poisoned dart and holding in the other his war club. [illustration: fig. 30.--elf whirlit comes to the rescue of captain bruce.--(illustration by dan. c. beard.)] the pixies followed keenly enough, shouting their terrible watchword. but their confidence was dashed as they saw the brownies, so far from retreating, actually forming their line of battle in front of the demilune. the pixies paused at this sight. even spite hesitated a moment. in that moment a shower of arrows rained upon them from the brownie bows. then with a ringing cheer the brave fairies charged. the two columns closed. above the clash of weapons and clamor of battle were heard ever and anon the voices of the pixies sounding the war cry "death," and the cheery tenor of the brownies answering with the sweet word "rescue." the leaders of the two parties were in the thickest of the fight. spite was well seconded by his two lieutenants, heady and hide, and the rank and file of the pixies behaved valiantly. the brownies had gained much by their first onset upon the picket line and outposts, but, on the other hand were far the weaker party. it were hard to say which army might have won the fight had they been left to themselves; but this was not to be. madam breeze swept down upon the struggling lines. for a moment she hovered over the battle confused and angry at the prospect. "why, what can i do?" she cried. "here, whirlit, keener, bluster--you rogues, stop i say! don't you see?--hoogh! you can do nothing against the pixies without injuring the brownies. they're so mixed together that i can scarce tell one from the other." whirlit had already thrown himself into the midst of the fight. he espied captain bruce and bounded to his side. two great pixies were rushing upon the captain with uplifted spears, and wide open mouths from which terrible fangs were thrust. with one puff of his keen breath whirlit sent both these warriors spinning and tumbling in the dust. "thanks!" cried the captain, "that was a kindly service right bravely done." whirlit threw himself over and over again as a token of his satisfaction, and then said: "madam awaits your orders. she fears to mix in the fight lest she may do more harm than good. what shall we do? make haste, please, the old lady is very much excited and won't wait long. she'll be in mischief if--" "silence, sir!" said the captain sternly. "don't speak in such terms of your mistress. tell madam breeze with my compliments, to knock over the pixie camp, houses and fort, and leave the enemy themselves to us." "whew!" whistled whirlit as he leaped into the air. "a peppery brownie, that! served me right, however." he found madam breeze almost bursting with anger, confusion, anxiety, excitement and the exertion of self-restraint. "you imp of ingratitude!" she began, "how could you dare--" "madam," cried whirlit, interrupting her, "the captain says, with his compliments, you will please knock over the pixie camp, tents, houses, fort and all!" madam's brow cleared in a moment. "that i will," she answered in her usual jovial tones. "hie--away, my hearties! come, come now! 'blow, ye winds, and crack your cheeks!'" thereupon madam breeze and her company fell upon the pixie camp. the breastwork or demilune that had been woven around the outer bounds was leveled in an instant. then the clamorous crew fell upon the circle of huts and tents that stood next within. it was not so easy work here. "whoop!" shouted whirlit, as he threw himself, with full force, back foremost, against one of the broad canvas sides. "ugh!" was the next exclamation heard from him as he bounded back like an india-rubber ball and fell sprawling among tent pins and ropes. "ho, ho, ho!" the merry laugh of madam breeze rolled out through the hurly-burly at this discomfiture of her page. "try it again, whirlie, it's easily done, you know! you'd make a fine base ball, now, wouldn't you? ha, ha!" whirlit did try again; then whisk and bluster and keener; and last of all madam breeze threw her round body against the tent. the ropes snapped, the walls tumbled together, and in a trice the noisy breezes had sent ropes, canvas, and poles streaming away into the air, broken into a hundred pieces.[t] one after another the pixies' dens, nests, tents, huts, barns and storehouses shared the same fate at the hands of the busy wreckers. in a few moments the ruins of the camp were scattered in confused heaps upon the earth, or were floating off upon the wings of the storm. the females, or pixinees, who with their broods of young had been left in possession of the camp, at first showed fight. but they soon saw that resistance was vain, and fled into the fort, where they hid themselves in the sheltered corners and angles, or cowered against the lee side of pebbles, leaves, clumps of grass, and the various rubbish that littered the ground.[u] all this time, the conflict was raging between the brownies and pixies outside the barricade. great as was the clamor raised at the overthrow of the camp, the noise of battle was so loud and the feelings of the combatants so intense, that none knew what havoc madam breeze was making. a lad ran into the rear line of the pixie troops calling for the chief. "back to your mother, boy," was the gruff response, "and leave the battle to warriors." "but mother has fled into the fort. the house is broken down. the camp is attacked. the barricades are leveled. everything is ruined. i must see the captain." the evil tidings rapidly spread, and even before it reached the chief the line began to waver, and fall back toward the camp. spite fell into a towering rage when the message was brought to him. he cursed madam breeze. he cursed the pixie who stopped the messenger, and thus caused the bad news to spread. he cursed bruce and the brownies. he cursed his own eyes, also, although he might have saved himself that trouble, for they had never been a blessing to anybody. "but cursing won't mend matters, chief," said lieutenant hide. "the fort still stands; we can fall back to that, and save what we may." "drummer, sound the retreat," cried spite; "and hide, do you fall back with the right wing to the fort. orderly, bid lieutenant heady take command and cover the retreat. tell him to fight every inch of ground." then spite turned upon his heels and hurried to the rear. in truth, he was not sorry for an excuse to withdraw from the fight. he stumbled over the ruins of the camp at every step. it was a complete wreck. not a tent, not a building of any kind remained, except the fort, to which he bent his course. it was a huge structure, as we have seen, braced and strengthened by every art and effort at the pixies' command. but spite's heart failed him as he looked around, and saw how everything else in camp had vanished away before the mighty breath of his adversaries. "see!" he exclaimed, "madam breeze and her train have just attacked the fort. will it hold out, i wonder?" with this thought in mind he hurried forward. keener saw him coming, and recognized him at once. "there comes spite the spy!" he shouted. "at him, boys! let us toss him in one of his own sticky blankets!" "aye, aye," answered whisk, "suppose we fling him over the horns of the moon, and let him--" "let him stick there," cried whirlit, finishing the sentence. whereat the trio pounced pell-mell upon the pixie chief. "very well, my lads," exclaimed madam breeze, "you're quite welcome to a monopoly of the old beast. phooh! how he smells of poison! he well nigh takes my breath. fort smashing suits me better." with these words she threw herself against the agalena wing of fort spinder. every cord and canvas in it shook with the violence of the onset. but it was unbroken. again and again the stout elf cast herself against the walls; the cords creaked and seemed about to part, but so elastic were they that they swayed inward with a heavy surge and then back again. the weeds, blades of grass and twigs to which the ropes and beams were fastened bent under the weight of the blast, but were unbroken. all this time spite was struggling with the three elves. they pinched his skin, they plucked at his cheek, mouth and nostrils. they almost blinded him with blasts which they cast full into his eyes. they pulled his clothes, and held him by the limbs. but he kept on his path. stoutly, stubbornly he fought his way step by step until he stood at last before the gate of the fort. he was seen at once, and a dozen of the inmates ran forward to admit him. "not for your lives!" he shouted. "don't leave a crack open, if you can help it, for these blusterers to enter. it would be ruin to open the gate." he looked around him. hide and his party were still a goodly distance away. he could hear above the voices of the storm the rousing cheers of the brownies as they pressed more and more closely upon heady, who was doggedly giving way, disputing every inch of ground. whirlit, whisk and keener had left him, at the beck of madam breeze, and now joined that lusty elf in their assaults upon fort spinder. "what is done, must be done quickly," thought spite. "may all the furies seize the old monster! she has broken a breach in the roof. see! the garrison, aided by the women and children, are doing bravely. there; that villain keener has cut his way to the inside of fort agalena. and there go whisk and whirlit after him. how the walls sway back and forth! the roof bulges upward. the reprobates! they are trying to break through the roof. if they do that and madam breeze gets in, all is lost; away will go the whole building with a crash. what shall i do? if we could only anchor the roof! but there's no ballast about. hide and his men are far away yet. confusion seize them! why aren't they here now?" it was a trying moment for the interests of the pixies. all seemed to turn upon the fate of the fort; and that to depend upon one person. but that person was spite the spy, and he had never yet been wholly without resources. hopeless as the case appeared, he was equal to the emergency. he would save the fort if it could be saved! he jumped from the weed-top which he had mounted for better observation, and plunged into the midst of the ruins of the camp. he stopped before a pebble almost the size of his own body. "that will do, i think," he muttered. he seized the stone, twisted a cable around it, and dragged it away toward the fort. it was but a moment's work to climb upon an overhanging weed, fasten the cable to a branch and swing the stone over upon the roof. the canvas sheet sank downward under the pebble's weight. spite watched it with keen interest. the elastic stuff swayed upward and downward several times, and seemed about to settle firmly, when whirlit leaped upward against it with his strong shoulders. the pebble flew off the roof, spinning through the air close to the head of the pixie chief, who looked on from his perch among the leaves. "failure!" muttered spite. "try again, old fellow!" shouted whirlit from the inside, where he was capering in high good humor above the heads of the enraged inmates. [illustration: fig. 31.--"he jumped from the weed top."] "good advice," spite responded with feigned cheerfulness; "i will try again. and succeed next time, too!" a mocking laugh followed him as he swung himself down the weed by his rope ladder, and hurried off again into the ruined camp. on--on--on! he stopped at last. "this is it--the very thing. but, can i manage it?" he stood before a broken twig as thick as his own body and five or six times as long as himself. think of a man carrying a log as thick as himself and twenty-five or thirty feet long! that was something like the feat that spite undertook. "but i can do it," he said; "i _must_ do it!" the energy and strength of despair were upon him. he seized the beam with his long arms, bowed himself to the burden and lifted it. tottering with the weight, and stumbling over the debris of the desolate village, he laid down the beam at last at the foot of the tall weed. [illustration: the boy's illustration. fig. 32.--spite the spy climbs a weed to reconnoitre.] the task was not ended. he twisted a cable around the log and mounted into the foliage. he stood a hundred times his own height above the weight he wished to lift. would he ever get it up? we shall see! he hauled upon his rope until it was stretched to its utmost. then one end of the stick slowly rose above the earth; up--up--until the other end was in the air. see! it swings quite free. it is rising higher and higher. hand over hand, the strong and patient workman is drawing the beam slowly and surely toward the top of the plant.[v] madam breeze began to be concerned about this new effort of spite's. a few more stout assaults and the roof must give way dragging with it walls and all. but what if spite should manage to get his great log anchor on it? it would hold the roof so steady that no power at her command could move it. moreover, it would bear the roof down toward the ground, and so prevent whirlit, keener, and whisk from breaking through by stretching the elastic cords upward until they snapped. they could make no headway by pressing downward since the earth stayed the cords in that direction. and how could they heave the roof upward with a great log lying on it? "i don't want to begin this affair all over again," quoth madam breeze, "for in sooth, i'm pretty well out of breath now--wheeze! a few more turns will use me up. therefore, my good mr. spite, i fear that i must interfere with this logging business of yours." so saying, she flung herself upon the beam, as it hung far up in the air, slowly mounting to its place. it swayed up and down a moment, as an object fastened to an elastic thread will do, and then--crash! the rope snapped, and the log fell to the ground. not a whit discouraged by this disaster, spite looped the end of the cable over the weed, and before madam had fairly got her breath again, he had made fast the log, reascended the bush, and was pulling might and main upon the rope. he had his reward. there was no second breaking of the cable, although madam breeze threw her weight upon the log. it reached its position. it hung nearly over the roof. spite tied the rope, crept out upon the branch, reached down to the log, and with one push of his long arm swung it inward and over the roof. at the same time he cut the cable. the log dropped to its place. the roof that had been bulging out, just ready to burst, sank into its true position. the walls were anchored now. the fort was saved![w] madam breeze gathered all her strength for a last onset. whirlit, whisk, and keener on the inside vigorously seconded her attempt. but it failed. [illustration: fig. 33.--a spider drawing up a swathed grasshopper to its leafy den, "hand over hand."] "well, well," said madam, "i give it up! i'm out of breath--clear blowed--hoogh! i've scarce wind enough to get home with--wheeze! come out of that, lads. our work is done for to-day." the three elves crept, rather crestfallen, out of the opening in the roof made by the pebble, and the whole party without more ado, or another word, puffed back to lone aspen. spite sat upon the branch and watched their departure. he rubbed his hands, and said, "aha!" he knew that he had done a deed that would gain him glory among the pixies. that was pleasant; but after all, that which pleased him best was the thought that he had saved a pixie fort from which to plot and war against the good brownies. [illustration: fig. 34.--an orbweb with a pebble counterpoise.] yes, my dears, one may be clever, wise and accomplished, but very, very bad withal. as poet burns truly sang: "the heart aye's the part aye that maks us right or wrang." hide and his company of pixies came up to the fort soon after madam breeze and her retainers had gone. the south gate was thrown open, and the inmates ran out and mingled with their friends, loudly praising the deed by which spite had saved the fort. the hero of all this praise sat quietly on his perch resting, surveying the field, and thinking. he had need of his wisest thoughts; for the victorious brownies were already beyond the outer line of the demilune, steadily driving heady and his division before them. spite dropped to the ground by the cable that still swung upon the bush. "go back into the fort," he said to the fugitives. "your own homes are gone, and that will be the safest place for you now. as for us," addressing the soldiers, "we must make a last stand here and keep it. the sun is nearly down. if we can hold the position for a little longer, night will bring relief, and give time for some plan that shall change the fortune of battle. advance!" the line moved forward to support heady. the site of the fort was well chosen for defence. it stood upon a swelling height of the lake shore, with a space of smooth grass in front. on this little plain, a short distance beyond the height, at spite's command the pixies began putting up a breastwork. they wrought rapidly, weaving together grass blades, leaves and twigs, and spinning between them ropes and webs. spite, himself, with a few of the ablest warriors went to assist heady in holding back the brownies. the plan succeeded; by the time the fighting force was ready to fall back, the workers had thrown up a rampart behind which the entire army retreated in good order. a series of skirmishes began along the line of breastworks, but the evening shadows soon fell and separated the combatants. [illustration: fig. 35.--how a spider drops to the ground.] the brownies were in fine spirits. they were confident of complete victory on the morrow. a line of cavalry pickets, under lieutenant macwhirlie, was posted throughout the plain, which skirted nearly three-fourths of the knoll on which the fort stood. these pickets were ordered to keep moving the whole night, thus keeping strict guard upon the pixies at the points whence they were most likely to make a sally or seek to escape. sentinels were also placed on the lake side or rear of the fort. in that quarter the bank sloped toward the lake, and was dotted with bushes that straggled singly and in clumps to the water's edge. soon the camp fires and lanterns of the brownie army were glimmering along the outer border of the plain and through the copse by the lake side. they looked like fire-flies dancing among the boughs, and indeed they were encaged fire-flies, or bits of fox-fire from decayed stumps. as the whole country was now open to captain bruce, he had no trouble in securing supplies for his troops, so that the brownies went to the night's rest or duty with refreshed bodies as well as hopeful spirits. [illustration: fig. 36.--"weaving together grass, leaves and twigs."] matters were not so pleasant with the pixies. the provisions laid up within fort spinder were not abundant, and spite had to order all to be put upon short rations. moreover, their hunting ground was quite limited, of course, and the game on which they were used to prey had been frightened off by the late commotions. however, the lights from the watch fires of their enemies drew some unwary and over curious night wanderers within the confines of the fort, and the hungry pixies were able to catch a few of them. as for spite, their chief, he was silent and moody. after mounting the guards, and giving necessary orders, he threw himself upon the ground, wrapped his blanket around him and began to think. we shall learn the fruits of his plotting, by and by.[x] footnotes: [footnote t: appendix, note a.] [footnote u: note b.] [footnote v: appendix, note c.] [footnote w: appendix, note d.] [footnote x: appendix, note e.] chapter viii. the sanitary corps. in the centre of the brownie camp were three large tents, the officers' headquarters, the hospital tent, and the marquée of the sanitary corps. these were wrought out of large leaves, deftly stretched upon frames, with edges overlapping like a tiled roof, and anchored to the ground by small pebbles, heaps of sand, and by tent pins of thorns or splinters. [illustration: fig. 37.--the hospital tent and marquée of the sanitary corps.] the headquarters' tent was occupied by the chief officers, bruce, rodney, macwhirlie and pipe. the hospital tent was devoted to the sick and wounded. but one would not easily imagine who were the occupants of the sanitary tent; we shall therefore lift the door of the marquée, and peep within. it is a snug place. in the centre, well up toward the roof, a large fox-fire lantern hangs from the ridge pole which sheds a soft light throughout the interior. a strong odor of herbs and ointments fills the place, the reason for which soon appears. four wee brownie women are busy with retorts, jars, boxes, lint, bandages, and various other articles of the healing art. the oldest of the party, judged by our human standard, has reached that uncertain boundary of womanhood which divides maiden from matron. one might venture to call her an "old maid" brownie, and perhaps she would not deny it, for that is a class--god bless them!--whom the brownies dearly love. but no one could aver that the fairy woman had suffered loss of charms by advance in life. one glance into her face shows how pure, gentle and good must be the disposition that has wrought the tracery of such sweet expression around her features. her name is agatha; she is the only child of captain bruce, and one does not wonder, having once seen her, that even the brownies call her agatha the good. she is spreading upon tiny bandages out of a tiny jar some kind of ointment, the recipe for which you may be sure is in none of our dispensaries, but which the brownies call lily balm. the young brownie who attends her, not as handmaid but companion, is called grace. her face is such a goodly one, her manners are so gentle, easy and winning, her every movement so graceful, delicate and yet so full of life, that we shall not be surprised to hear you say: "surely, she must be the fairy queen herself!" at the other end of the tent, kneeling over a brazier filled with coals, is the third member of the sanitary corps. she holds above the coals a retort, in which she is distilling lily balm. her back is toward us and her face is hidden. there! you have caught a glimpse of it as she turned her head to speak to her companion. the cheeks are flushed, the eyes are bright with the glow of the coals, there is an earnest, pitiful look in their deep blue that speaks of thought intent upon present duty. but there is also a strange light therein, a light as from some far away world, that throws an air of mystery around this person and bids your thoughts pause reverently as they run on in judgment concerning her. this is faith, the daughter of rodney the commodore. she is young as the brownies count years, and was born "at sea," that is, upon the lake katrine of brownieland, through which flows the rivulet at the foot of the orchard. [illustration: fig. 38.--a peep inside the sanitary tent. faith distilling lily-balm.] at faith's side is her companion and friend, sophia, the daughter of pipe, the boatswain. there is a mixture of boldness and shyness in her manner that strikes one at once. her movements have the snap and positiveness of a practical woman. her eyes sparkle with intelligence; there is in them a keen, questioning look which tells that she loves not only to know, but to know the reason why. if she were not a brownie you would probably say she was a pushing sort of person; that you scarcely could decide whether she was more curious or sincere, more dreamy or practical, more skeptical or credulous. but that she is beautiful you would not hesitate to say. she is busy among the herbs, sorting them, making ready material for faith's retort. now that you have seen this sanitary corps, and learned their names, you may drop the door of the tent and we shall go on with the story. "come, grace, we have done quite enough for the present," said agatha. "bring the bandages and let us go to the hospital. have you lint and balm in your satchel? very well. that is all we need now. faith, hadn't you better leave off distilling, and help us for a while with the dressing?" "yes; if you wish it," answered faith, "and we can stop now as well as not." the pots and herbs were set aside, and faith and sophia followed agatha and grace through the rear door of the marquée. they crossed into the hospital under a covered way that united the two tents. the hospital was a spacious tent, or rather several large tents or marquées, joined in one. along each side on the rude cots hastily made from dried grass and leaves, lay a number of wounded brownies. the sufferers turned their eyes upon the nurses as they entered, and at once their faces lit up with pleasure. agatha and her friends went from couch to couch carrying the blessings of their healing art. some of the men had hurts that had not yet been dressed. these were first carefully washed. the lint, which the nurses carried in their satchels, was laid upon the wound to absorb the poison, and the balm applied. [illustration: fig. 39.--the jaws and fangs.] a pixie uses his fangs, when fighting at close quarters, with terrible effect. his mouth is a tremendous piece of machinery. the jaws are each armed with a sharp, movable fang, pierced near its end. when the pixie bites, a poisonous fluid flows through this hole into the wound.[y] in battle with brownies the pixies try to come to close quarters. being much larger and more powerful, they seize them in their hairy arms, strike their fangs into them, and spring back quickly out of reach of the brownie's sharp sword or axe. all this is done so rapidly, that often ere the victim has time to strike a blow he has been wounded and cast down, and his assailant is out of reach. the poison leaves a painful wound in the brownie's flesh, frequently disabling, but never killing him unless the heart be reached. indeed, no brownie ever perished by any form of violence except drowning, suffocation or a heart stroke. for the hurt made by pixie fangs the lily balm made by the sanitary corps is a sure remedy. if applied at once upon soft lint, which absorbs the poison, the relief is immediate. but in any case it will ease the pain, and in the end cure the wound. the uses of this balm, and all the services which the sick require, were well known by agatha and her aids. they always followed the army; no risk or toil was shunned by them upon their noble mission. they were the wards of the nation, and the favorites of the army. moreover, for why should we keep it a secret? every one of them was dearly beloved by a worthy youth, who had the joy of being loved in return. [illustration: fig. 40.--the poison bag and fang.] the four nurses made the round of the hospital, visited every couch, and applied or ordered needed remedies. at the end of the tent was a group of brownies, with wounds which required treatment, but were not serious enough to hinder from duty. their hurts were quickly cared for, and one after another the party dropped out until only one was left. he was a tall, shapely youth, who stood within the shadow of the gangway with his face muffled in a cloak. as the last of the group was dismissed from the nurses' hands he stepped forward into the light, dropped his cloak, saluted the nurses, and advancing to sophia's side held out toward her his left arm. the sleeve had been ripped up, and a blood-stained bandage surrounded the forearm. sophia's cheeks grew pale, and she uttered a low cry of alarm. "why, sophie," exclaimed the youth, "what has possessed you? one would think you had never seen blood before. come, my good lass, it is only a scratch, and a few drops of your lily balm will make it all right." [illustration: fig. 41.--sophia dressing sergeant true's wounded arm.] sophia now found voice. "what a fright you gave me! are you sure that you are not badly hurt, true? quick! let me undo the bandage." the blood came back to her cheeks which now were hot and flushed. her fingers trembled as she clipped the bandages with the scissors that hung at her belt, bathed the wound, and tenderly laid on lint and balm. sophia was one of the best and most impartial of nurses; but it must be confessed that her fingers passed more gently over that swollen arm; that her eyes had a more pitiful look upon that hurt; that she lingered longer about the details of bathing, anointing and bandaging that wound than she had done in any other case. do you blame her? and sergeant true was a model patient. indeed he seemed quite to enjoy his wound, or at least the treatment of it. agatha, after a few kind inquiries, had busied herself in giving instructions to the ward nurses and watchers. faith and grace had withdrawn to their own tent. "i am glad you came to me, true," said sophia as the last stitch was taken in the bands, and the sleeve was being gently fastened to its place. "didn't i wait, just to make sure of that?" answered the sergeant. "why, it is almost worth while to get a scratch like this for the pleasure of having you doctor it with those canny fingers of yours. many thanks!" "but i don't care to practice my art on you, remember! good bye!" the words were spoken in the gangway as the handsome sergeant passed out, and--though it is by no means certain,--something very like the sound of a kiss followed close upon them. "good bye!" ah, how many times the words are uttered on the border of shadows that shall pall loving hearts. it is well that good-byes can be said in happy ignorance of the morrow. footnotes: [footnote y: appendix, note a.] chapter ix. night watches. the four brownie maidens were once more together in their own quarters. there was little said for a long time. the meeting between sophia and her lover had awakened tender and anxious thoughts in the hearts of all. agatha was following in imagination the agile form of lieutenant macwhirlie, as he went the grand rounds of his pickets. the thoughts of faith were with adjutant blythe who, somewhere in camp or field, served at the captain's side, his faithful squire and counsellor. grace's musings were of the gallant and stalwart ensign of the corps, sergeant lawe. it would be too much to say that the nurses had no anxiety about the safety of their lovers. but then, they had been bred in the midst of war's alarms. they knew that their fathers, kindred, and friends were brave, experienced, skillful, and devoted to one another. they had learned to regard war risks as matters of ordinary life and business, and were rarely troubled about them. there was special reason why they should be even more light hearted than usual that night. yet, so strangely run the currents of one's thoughts, that these maidens were all sad. there was some reason, indeed, why agatha and faith should feel thus, for the old saying fell true in their case about the course of true love not running smooth. captain bruce refused consent to the marriage of agatha and macwhirlie. the two had waited long, patiently, devotedly; yes, and hopefully, although they had often known that "hope deferred" which "maketh the heart sick." every one thought the captain's conduct strange. but he never gave any reason, except that agatha was too grave, and macwhirlie too gay for a well balanced marriage. as obedience to parents is one of the unchanging laws of brownieland, no one could oppose. now, it so happened that commodore rodney had taken up a like notion concerning his daughter and adjutant blythe. "blythe is too jovial, and faith is too serious," said the commodore. "they could never sail smoothly in the same ship on a whole life's course." an odd feature of this trouble was that each of the fathers pooh-hooed the objection of the other, and each uncle was highly pleased with his niece's choice! the best of brownies, like other people, have their whimsies. grace and sophia had no such sorrows to vex them, and were looking forward to their wedding on the next thanksgiving day. enough for the present of these disappointments and hopes. the night watch in the hospital has just been changed, as have also the outer sentinels. blythe, for it is he who attends to this latter duty, has sounded a soft note on the whistle that hangs against the rear door of the sanitary tent. it is the signal that the nurses are wanted in the hospital. night duty is divided between them, two of them always watching in the hospital, while the others sleep in the marquée. agatha and grace have the first watch to-night, and pass into the hospital. but faith knows whose lips had sounded the call, and comes in to exchange a few words with her lover. "good-bye!" why should she, too, have come back with a tear upon her cheek? the light is turned down low in the fox-fire lantern. the yellow hospital flag flaps lazily against the staff. the full moon hangs over hillside. the tramp, tramp of the sentinel grows dim and clear by turns as he recedes from or nears the door. the noises of the camp have died away and silence reigns at last over plain, fort and field. both brownies and pixies are weary with the day's battling and sleep well. faith and sophia, too, after a long talk about their trials and their loves, their hopes, fears and joys, have fallen asleep in each other's arms. the stars that mark the midnight hour are fast hastening into the zenith. the sentinels walk their beats with weary pace. the relief guards will soon be on the rounds. faith and sophia stir in their sleep uneasily as though dimly conscious that the whistle will soon call them to duty. there is a soft touch, as the touch of an angel's finger, upon their cheeks. it seems to rest upon their eyes, their lips. it is pressed against their nostrils. it stays their breathing. they turn restlessly on their couch. they toss their arms, but the soft touch is on them, too. cannot they awake? yes, their eyes are open now. is it a dream? is it the vision of a nightmare? two forms, the terrible forms of their foes, the pixies, are bending over them, wrapping them around in the silken folds of their snares! alas! it is no dream. the most dreaded of all their enemies, spite the spy, chief of the pixies, and hide the son of shame, are crouching at their bedside. the maidens start from their pillows, but fall back again hopeless. they are bound hand and foot as with grave-clothes. they are wrapped in a winding sheet of gossamer; enshrouded alive.[z] spite reckoned truly that the next impulse of the nurses would be to scream. he thrust his hairy face close against their cheeks, and hissed from between his lips, "utter one sound and you die! keep still and you shall not be harmed." [illustration: the boy's illustration. fig. 42.--spite and hide carry off the nurses.] sophia swooned quite away. faith closed her eyes and waited in an agony of fear. she felt spite's strong arms placed around her. she was lifted from her couch; was borne through the tent. she was in the open air, and the breeze blowing upon her cheeks revived her. she opened her eyes. in the clear moonlight she could see hide pushing through the side of the covered gangway, close by the rear door of the marquée, carrying sophia in his arms. with an instinct of hope that no terror could check she lifted her voice and screamed with the energy of despair. she felt the pixie's hot breath upon her cheek; an awful oath sounded in her ear, and a rude hand smote upon her mouth. she fell back unconscious. let us follow backward the thread of our story into the pixie's camp where we left spite keeping his solitary watch, that we may account for this sudden appearance in the heart of the brownie encampment. spite could not sleep. anger, mortification, hate, disappointed ambition, all the evil passions were ablaze within him, as he thought of what the brownies had already gained, and of their assured victory on the morrow. his troops discouraged, provisions cut off, madam breeze (for aught he knew) ready to side again with the brownies,--his utter defeat, the loss of the fort, and the massacre of his people seemed certain. "if we could abandon the fort," he muttered; "if we could quietly steal out and leave the enemy watching an empty camp? that would be our salvation! but we can't; those troopers of macwhirlie's are patrolling the plain, and the woods in the rear are swarming with pickets. but--i don't know?--" he sprang to his feet, crossed over to hide's quarters in fort tegenaria, bade him join him, and walked hastily to the line of breastworks on the lake front. he stopped under a bush that stood within the entrenchment. the night was cloudless, and by the moonlight streaming through the leaves, the two pixies saw stretched among the upper branches a round, vertical web. it was the inner abutment of a bridge that once extended from fort spinder to lakeside, but had been long in disuse. "do you know the condition of the old bridge?" asked spite. "it has been a long time since i crossed it." "i know little, except that i have heard some of my boys say that the piers on this end are in pretty good condition, and that some of the cables are still up." [illustration: fig. 43.--"a round, vertical web"--p. 86.] "very well," said spite, after musing a few moments, "let us explore a little. you always used to be ready for a scout, hide, and i suppose have not forgotten your old cunning. the brownie sentinels are just beyond us, there. yon big fellow's beat runs under the middle of the second span." hide was quite as ready for the adventure as spite. without more words the two swung themselves into the bushes, climbed up the sides of the abutment wall, and were presently at the top. "here are the cables, at any rate," said hide. "only two of them, however. the rest are broken off. they hang down the sides of the abutment, and over the ends of the branches." "pull on the one next you," cried spite, who had himself laid hold of one of the sound cables, and was pushing down upon it with all his might. "mine holds. it is fast to the second pier in yonder bush, i am sure. how with yours?" "it is all right," answered hide, "i am willing to venture on it." nearly fifteen hundred millimetres distant was another and taller bush in which pier no. 1 of the bridge was built. the pixies could not see this since the darkness of the night and the shadow of the leaves hid the white outlines of the web-wall. but they knew that it must be there, and therefore crept upon the silken ropes each upon one, and began their journey.[aa] three thousand millimetres above the ground, for the whole distance from bush to bush over that single coil of rope those two creatures crawled. the cables shook, swayed and bent down, but neither parted, and the adventurous pixies landed safely on top of the pier. the next pier was in a clump of bushes thirty-five hundred millimetres away, not in a direct course, but angling slightly across the field. the architects of the old bridge had taken advantage of the brushwood between the hill and lake. but as the shrubs grew at irregular distances from each other, and in various lines of direction, the course of the bridge was somewhat broken from the right line. only one cable remained of those that had united pier no. 1 and pier no. 2. the scouts must therefore cross singly. to add to the danger a brownie sentinel was stationed underneath the cable, about midway between the piers. [illustration: fig. 44.--a cobweb bridge across a path.] "what say you, hide?" asked the chief, "shall we go on?" "what have you to gain by it, cap'n? that's the question with me. tell me what you intend by exploring this old suspension bridge, and i'll say whether it seems worth the risk." "certainly," said spite. "my plan is to repair these cables by bracing the old ones, and putting up new ones, so that we can abandon the fort secretly, if we are pressed too hard. we could pass the whole force across the bridge by night, embark in our vessels, and cross the lake to the other shore, or to the island. the point i want to settle is, whether the cables are so far good that we can make a good roadway in the time at our command. we must do night work, repairing as well as crossing; and if we are hard pushed by the brownies, we shall have to do some rapid engineering. that's the plan; what say you?" "good," cried hide, "very good! it will be a fine stroke to slip away and leave the enemy to watch bare walls. ha, ha! i fancy i see their solemn faces, on the discovery of our flight." hide grew quite merry over his conceit. "very well then, that settles it. here goes!" so saying, spite stepped upon the single cable and began the passage. he moved slowly at first, until he found that the line was strong enough to bear him; then he increased his gait, and soon landed upon the top of pier no. 2. hide perceived that spite had reached the pier, for the cable had ceased to vibrate under his movement, and accordingly began his voyage. midway between piers he saw the brownie sentinel approach. he passed underneath the cable humming some pretty ditty as he paced his beat. overhead just above him hung the black form of the pixie. hide paused and peered downward upon the unconscious brownie. his eyes swelled with hate; his breath escaped with a hissing sound, he bowed his back in readiness to spring down upon the sentinel. [illustration: fig. 45. unseen dangers. pixie hide threatens the brownie sentinel.] "fool!" he muttered at last, "would you risk the discovery of all for the sake of one miserable brownie more or less in the world? ha! it was a great temptation; and i was mighty near yielding to it. might have broken my neck, too! i don't know, though;" and he followed the sentinel's retreating form with gloating eyes; "i believe i could have dropped right down upon the rascal, and throttled him ere he could have piped a note. i'm sorry now that i didn't do it! but, no matter; i'll get him some other time." the sentinel, meanwhile, with steady gait passed onward under the cable and out of sight behind the bushes. he never knew how nearly he had escaped death that night, nor even suspected that peril threatened him. hide hurried over the remainder of the cable, and joined his comrade on the pier. "well," whispered spite, "my heart was beating a tattoo of terror lest you might be rash enough to pounce upon that fellow. really, i expected to see you take the leap. it was lucky that you controlled yourself. it would uncover all were we to start the brownies' suspicions in this direction. we must keep all quiet on this side the fort. now for the next pier! how does it look on your side?" "there are a half dozen perfect lines here." "good. there are three here in prime order. where is the next pier?" "over in that oak sapling to the right. the span is the longest in the bridge, about five thousand millimetres." "jolly, jolly!" exclaimed spite in great glee. "we are now sure of most of the way. this long span needs little repairing. the first two we can fix up, i am quite sure. now for the last." they were not long in running across the third span; but when they reached pier no. 3, they found no traces of the cables which once united it to the lakeside abutment. "bad!" said the pixie chief. "it will have to be built anew, that's all. it's lucky, too, that the worst break is on the last span, for we can repair here with less risk than elsewhere." "moreover," said hide, "we have a double chance for escape, the river as well as the bridge." "true; and now let us finish our observation by finding out the condition of yonder abutment." the pair descended to the ground, crossed to the willow in which the last pier had been fixed, and found it in quite as good repair as the others. "all right!" exclaimed hide. spite said "jolly!" one of his favorite slang expletives, which he thought particularly good since he had lately borrowed it from one of his english cousins. [illustration: fig. 46.--spite and hide view the brownie camp.] highly pleased with what they had learned, the pixies turned their faces homeward. as they crossed the space between the shore and pier no. 4, they had full view of the brownie encampment from a vine covered old stump. there the line of cavalry guards stretched along the plain, encircling the fort. beyond, the camp fires of the main army glimmered amid the grass, weeds and bushes. a profound silence hung over the whole scene. both camp and fort were locked in the deep repose of midnight. "captain!" said hide. he stopped and looked steadfastly toward the camp. "say on, comrade." "i followed your venture," continued hide, "will you risk mine?" "that depends," answered the chief. "what is it?" "just to make a private visit to the headquarters yonder and pay our respects to the brownie captain. we are now inside the picket line. we can make a circuit around here by the lake and come up in the rear of the tents. the sentinels will not be numerous there, nor very watchful. it's a chance if there are any at all. there is little risk in the matter, just enough to give it spice. and--who knows? there might be a chance to end the campaign by putting my dagger into murray bruce's heart; or, failing that, you might bag that little fairy flame of yours, and carry her off to the fort. that would be 'jolly' indeed! come, what say you?" spite hesitated. the plan seemed plausible. hide was a prudent fellow, and not apt to take unusual risks. but then, there _was_ the risk that he and his second in command might be taken, or cut off. and what would become of the pixie cause in that case? it was not a prudent act. but then, again, it was a strong temptation. assassinate bruce? or, seize faith? "lead on," he cried, "i'm with you." the yellow flags of the hospital and sanitary tent were their guide. hide's theory about the sentinels they found correct. they stole through the camp, passed the rear of the hospital, and paused before the marquée of the sanitary corps, which they took to be the officers' headquarters. a peep through the flap of the tent showed them their mistake, and revealed the sleeping forms of faith and sophia. "we stop here!" said spite, pushing aside the door. what followed has been told. footnotes: [footnote z: appendix, note a.] [footnote aa: appendix, note b.] chapter x. the golden mottoes. faith's cry breaking upon the midnight stillness was heard throughout the camp. the wounded in the hospital started up in their beds. the attendants ran toward agatha and grace supposing that the cry came from one of them. the two nurses stood holding each other fast, trembling violently, their eyes fixed upon the door. bruce ran from the headquarters tent, sword in hand, followed by blythe, rodney and pipe. there was no need to sound the alarm, for the brownies were running from all parts of the camp to headquarters. "what is it? a night attack?" nobody knew. "what was it--that terrible cry?" nobody knew that. the sentinels had seen nothing. then came macwhirlie riding into the camp at full speed on one of the goldentailed matches, which madam breeze had presented him. some one exclaimed: "hah! this explains it! the picket line has been attacked by the pixies. the lieutenant has come for help." no! he too had heard the cry, and had come to learn the cause. all was quiet along the plain. leaving the perplexed throng outside, let us re-enter the hospital. agatha and grace had recovered from their fright. the excitement caused by the alarm, the sudden and violent action of the soldiers in starting up upon their couches, even leaping from them, had reopened many wounds so that they were bleeding freely. some of the worst cases had fallen back fainting. all was confusion within the place. the helpers were hurrying hither and thither. from the outside the brownies were running in and out with the pointless questions usual in times of panic. agatha's heart was touched at the sight. the voice of pity within her at once mustered her disordered faculties. "grace, grace," she cried, "this will never do! hasten to the marquée and bid faith and sophia come to the aid of these poor fellows. quick! and bring all the lint that you can find. guards!" she continued, calling to the sentinels at the doors, "keep out the people. we must have quiet here. howard," addressing the head helper, "look to your aids! brothers," she spoke to all attendants now, "remember your golden mottoes!" [illustration: fig. 47.--"silk ravelled from cocoons of spiders."] she pointed as she spoke to the eastern side of the tent, sweeping her hand along the line of wall. silk banners hung thereon, upon every one of which a golden motto was embroidered, together with various emblems, designs and tracery. rich effects were produced by using the many hued scales on the wings of butterflies, the brilliant shells and elytra of beetles, and minute feathers of humming birds, which were embossed upon the cloth with silk raveled from cocoons of moths and spiders.[ab] the banners were the gift of the sanitary corps whose cunning fingers had made them. let us follow the rapid motion of agatha's hand and read these golden mottoes. the design of banner one is, on a blue shield, a carrier pigeon in full flight, with a message tied by a ribbon about its neck. in the surrounding border are grouped and interwoven arrows and other emblems of speed and promptness. the motto is: quickly done is twice done. [illustration: fig. 48.--a spider's cocoon nest.] the design of banner two is, on a blue shield, a silver pyramid, the north star shining above it. in the border are wrought figures of a frontiersman with his rifle in hand standing among rocks and great oaks; a pilot at his wheel; an indian shooting rapids in his bark canoe; a whaleman at the bow of his boat with harpoon poised. the legend is: cool head gives helpful hands. the design of banner three is, on a red shield, a full orbed golden sun with the old fashioned cheerful human face wrought upon it, and bright rays shooting out in all directions. in the border are anchors, flowers, song birds, sporting brownies, winsome figures and emblems. the motto is: cheerfulness is both balm and broth. [illustration: fig. 49.--the brownies' banners and golden mottoes.] banner four, although not the most beautiful in point of imagery, is the most costly, the most carefully wrought and the most striking of all. on a purple shield two points, one above the other, one in chief and one in base are represented by golden stars, and these are united by a straight line. the motto is: our life line a right line. the border consists of various mathematical instruments, a rule, square, dividers, sailor's compass, etc., and running all around the banner through these are the sentences "straightway from knowledge to duty," "duty first, duty last." it has taken some time to note these decorations, but only a moment was consumed by the glance that agatha and her aids cast upon them. that glance and the voice of their fair leader acted like a charm. the words had scarcely been uttered before the helpers were scattered through the tents and at the couches of the suffering. agatha herself kneeled beside a wounded soldier, rearranged the bandages, and poured in fresh balm. she had cast more than one impatient look toward the side door that led into the sanitary tent, wondering why grace had not already come back with faith and sophia. the rear door of the hospital, near which agatha was kneeling, was pushed violently forward and grace entered. she was capless, her hair streamed over her shoulders, her whole appearance showed anguish and agitation. "they are gone!" she cried. agatha rose hastily and threw herself into her arms. "gone? who? faith? sophia? gone!--where? speak, girl, what do you mean?" "oh, i cannot tell. something dreadful has happened. they were not in the room when i went in. i supposed they had gone out to learn what was the trouble, and ran into the crowd to seek them. nobody knew. your father and uncle, and pipe, and all the rest were there, but no faith--no sophia. they knew nothing of them. they are searching for them now. they fear that the pixies have carried them off. oh, agatha! what shall we do?" ah, agatha, do you remember the golden mottoes now! will she remember, think you? her frame shook with emotion; her hands were cold; beads of moisture gathered on her pale forehead. she spoke in a dreamy way, as though talking to herself: "carried off by the pixies? gone? cousin faith gone? sophia gone?" then she started as from a trance. there was a tremor in her voice, but she spoke quietly, as one who had struggled with her own heart and got the victory. "grace, god help them! but our duty lies here. there is no time now for grief. there is no call on us to take part in the work and peril of delivering our sister nurses. others will do it better than we. our duty is plain. and is just before us. mine is here. grace, dear, yours is there!" she pointed first to the couch at which she had been kneeling, then to one across the aisle, and quietly turning from her companion, knelt down again by the wounded brownie, and took up the dropped thread of her labor of love. when she lifted her eyes grace was at her post. noble conquerors! these are the victories of those who be better than they who take a city. footnotes: [footnote ab: appendix, note a.] chapter xi. on the trail. meanwhile, the light of fox-fire and fire-fly lanterns was glancing everywhere through camp and field, showing where eager searchers were scattered looking for the lost nurses. rodney was well nigh frantic with grief, and ran here and there among the tents calling the name of his daughter. only the echo of his voice came back to him out of the night. pipe was as one paralyzed. he leaned against the wall of the tent with folded arms, and eyes fixed upon the spot where his child had lain. his mute sorrow was pitiful to see. blythe and sergeant true entered the tent. the adjutant's bright face was clouded; the tall form of the sergeant was bowed. "if one only knew!" said blythe. "it is this terrible uncertainty that is so hard to bear. if i knew where they were, i could cut my way through legions of fiends to save them, or die trying." "is there no trace at all?" asked true. "not the slightest. it is only a suspicion"--he lowered his voice--"that they have been carried off by the pixies. no one dares even name it to the commodore and--" nodding toward the boatswain. "but that is not reason," answered true. "it is important that we should know the worst, at once. for one, i mean to find out the truth, if i can, and face it manfully." he stepped to the couch, which lay just as it had been left by the nurses. his hand caught upon a thread of gossamer that lay upon a pillow. he looked more closely. there was another, then another, then a thick strand of the silken material. he rose with the delicate filaments floating from his fingers, walked to the lantern, and held his hand within the light. blythe followed every motion. [illustration: fig. 50.--a brownie link boy with a fire-fly lantern.] "do you see?" cried true. "there can be no doubt of it. some of the enemy have passed the lines, entered this tent, woven their snares around the sleeping maids, and escaped. one of the two nurses uttered that cry as they were being carried off. we must look for them in the pixies' fort or on the way to it." "that is truth," said blythe, "and the sooner we begin the search the better." true walked up to pipe and touched him tenderly upon the shoulder. the boatswain looked up vacantly. "ah, my lad, it is you!" he said at last. "where is our sophia?" "boatswain," said true, holding up the hand to which the gossamer threads were still clinging, "sophia is in the pixies' fort or on the way to it. and you and i must bring her back. come, rouse up! be yourself again!" pipe started from his lethargy. he looked at the floating strand of web-work; listened to true's statement; passed his palm against his brow, then seized the sergeant's hand. "my boy, you are right! and i have been acting the fool! poor girl! poor girl! come--let us not delay. to the pixies' fort! ho, my brave tars!" even while he spoke pipe stepped to the door of the tent and put his whistle to his lips. "stop, stop!" cried true, laying a hand upon his arm. "remember the proverb: make haste slowly! are we sure that our lost ones are at the fort yet? may we not find some other traces of them that will enable us to go to work more intelligently? don't call your men. they are scattered abroad in busy search. they are doing no harm, and may do much good. let them alone for the present. you and i can follow this trail a little further." there was a cool head at last on the track of the fugitives. the fact gave at least a glimmer of hope. true first inquired carefully of agatha, grace and others in the hospital, as to the exact point from which the shriek had come. they all agreed that it had been made close by the rear of the tent, so near that it seemed to be inside. "that determines our first step," said true. "now for lanterns and the sharpest eyes among you. we shall search here," he continued, and led the party just outside the tent, and set them to scanning every bush, grass blade and weed in the vicinity. the nurses had been asked to join the search for a little while, and fortune gave to agatha the first important discovery. "here!" she cried, "i have a trace!" she had plucked from a thistle stalk a bit of gossamer. "i too!" cried pipe, holding up a similar object. "and i!" said grace, who was in advance of the party. "stop!" exclaimed true. "stand where you are until i get the line of the trail." agatha stood nearest the tent. pipe was beyond her and a little to the right. grace stood some distance from both in a direct line with agatha. [illustration: fig. 51.--"from a thistle stalk a bit of gossamer."] "that will do," said true, glancing up at the north star. "the line runs due north, and straight from the rear of the camp. start again while i make some inquiries of the adjutant. blythe, a word with you. who was on guard over there, to the north?" "no one." "impossible! blythe, you couldn't--" "stop!" exclaimed blythe, his voice choking with emotion. "the captain bade it. and rodney, and pipe,--and myself, alas, alas! we all councilled it. the men were weary. a strong picket line entirely surrounded the fort. they were picked men with macwhirlie at their head. we knew that no force of the enemy lay in our rear. no one dreamed of danger from that quarter." "say no more," said true. "regrets are useless now. i see how it is. a party of stragglers or spies has stolen in here while we slept. faith and sophia have been surprised while alone in the tent." "but what motive?--" began blythe. a shout from the searchers interrupted him. it was pipe's voice. "we have struck the trail again!" "who has it?" "howard there, and myself." "steady! let me see. here are our first traces, where those three lanterns hang. hold up your lights to the points where you found the last signs. that will do. there, do you see? two of the first lanterns are in line with howard's light, the other in line with pipe's. and the two lines are nearly parallel, showing the paths by which the two maids were borne away. we are on the trail. due north still! forward, once more!" [illustration: fig. 52.--"a bit of gossamer."] step by step the trail was followed by threads caught here and there upon leaves and branches. it continued to bear northward for a goodly distance, then turned westward as though the fugitives were making gradually toward the fort. there it was lost for a while, and when, discovered again was once more bearing north. again it turned westward, and was lost completely in the plain that encircled the fort, just where it bordered on a strip of sand that ran down to the little lake. chapter xii. the lost trail. sergeant true stood on the edge of the plain considering what should next be done. all signs of the trail had ceased as soon as the searchers had come out of the grass and brushwood. there could be no trail upon the flat plain, the sergeant knew. a large party had just returned from searching the wood between the lake and the fort. there was a bare possibility that the fugitives had ventured to cross the plain, and run the gauntlet of the picket line into the fort; a little stronger possibility that they had skirted the wood by the shore and pushed on down toward the outlet where the pixie navy lay. true therefore questioned the returning searchers: "have you seen anything?" "nothing. lieutenant macwhirlie has had the entire strip between lake and fort thoroughly guarded ever since the alarm. nothing could have passed, he says. nothing has passed that has left any trail. the lieutenant has sent scouts down the shore to make sure." rodney and pipe heard the report with heavy hearts. hope was fast dying within them. "must we give it up?" cried the commodore. "is there no deliverance?" "there is but one way by which they could have escaped us," said true, pointing toward the lake. "is it possible that we have been mistaken, and that pirates have done this outrage after all? commodore, have there been any boats or ships off shore lately?" "not one," answered rodney. "both fleets are lying by for repairs, for the last fight used them up pretty well. we've been doing shore service ever since." "it is most strange! but we must search the shore thoroughly in this neighborhood, at any rate." the bank of the lake was presently covered with brownies eagerly scanning by the light of their torches and lanterns every foot of ground. "we have it, we have it!" shouted rodney. "come here, pipe! and you, waterborn. look at this!" immediately a crowd surrounded the excited commodore. "stand back!" he cried; "don't push down so close upon the shore until some of the sailors have seen these marks. a boat has landed here within the last half hour. see the wash of the waves upon the sand! and just there the bow has scraped. what say you, lads?" "there is no doubt of it," responded pipe, after a careful examination. waterborn, the mate, held his lantern to the water line and after a moment's inspection gave the same opinion. "here," exclaimed blythe, "is the crowning proof!" he plucked from the shore a handful of silken threads that had caught upon the sand and gravel which covered the spot where faith and sophia must have lain. yes, they had found the trail again; but only to lose it in the waters of lake katrine. "what shall be done?" asked rodney. "we must follow you now," answered true. "the path lies upon an element of which i know little. you and the boatswain are at home there. to you who are most wronged providence gives the opportunity to undo the injury. we yield to the navy, now. lead on; we'll follow you, you may be sure." rodney and pipe had scarcely been themselves since the first tidings of their bereavement. their wills seemed benumbed by the blow. they followed sergeant true like little children. but now that responsibility was laid in their hands, they roused themselves to duty. they were the keen, shrewd, sailor chiefs once more. subdued still by their grief, but alert and intelligent, they took up the work before them. "'tis an element that leaves no trail," said rodney, "yet it will go hard, but my gallant tars shall find the lost ones. we'll scour every nook and beat every bush along shore, if need be. we'll pluck the dear captives from under the black flag or we'll sink every timber in the fleet! what say you, lads?" a hearty cheer was the sailors' answer. the whole company on shore joined in it. and it did them all good. "you can not tell which direction the boat has taken, of course," said true. "but have you any opinion at all about it? you must start out from some view point. what shall it be?" "that is exactly what i have been asking myself," said rodney. "i have a notion that the boat, wherever it came from, has crossed to the island or gone down to the outlet to join the fleet. i incline to the latter view. the island is lightly garrisoned; the orchard camp is nearly deserted; the mass of pixie troops are shut up in fort spinder. naturally, the robbers would take to the fleet as the safest place." "that is good reasoning, commodore," said waterborn, "and there is only one thing that weakens it. the wind would be dead against them going downward. for the last half hour it has been blowing due north--straight upon the island." "true; but we shall see presently. the first thing is to rally our men. boatswain, pipe to quarters." "aye, aye, sir!" answered pipe, and the shrill whistle sounded through the air and along the water. a few stragglers who had joined the various searching parties gathered in at the call. but most of the sailors and marines were already present. "now lads, we must away to our ships. fall in! forward, march!" the column started up the shore at quick step, and was soon lost to view. chapter xiii. raft the smuggler. spite and hide saw that faith's cry had aroused the brownies, and pushed at their utmost speed directly from the camp. it did not occur to them that they might be tracked by the threads of web-work torn off by leaves and twigs from the cords with which they had bound their captives. but they did fear that one of the nurses might again cry out; and they stopped long enough to fasten gags upon their mouths. several times the pixie chiefs turned toward fort spinder, hoping to reach the old bridge by the way they had come. but their progress was checked by bands of brownies scattered everywhere in the direction of the fort. the lights of the searchers were seen dancing throughout the entire plain, and running hither and thither in confused lines among grass and shrubbery. more than once the pixies were on the point of being discovered. several times they had to crouch under the leaves, lest they should be seen by parties of excited searchers. indeed, their safety lay in the fact that the brownies were so much excited; and had all been as self-possessed as the cool headed true, spite and hide would have been captured. at last they reached a point where the plain sweeps down to the sandy bank of the lake, which is a natural basin widened into an artificial pond. the brook that flows from the hillside spring runs through it. there is an island in the middle of the lake, covered with grass, moss and ferns. in honor of the old home the brownies called the lake loch katrine, and the island ellen's isle, names which the pixies refused to acknowledge, and called the pond lake arachne and the island aranea isle. on this little sheet of water, and its inlet and outlet, the navies of the brownies and pixies floated; and here was the scene of many a battle between rodney and his sailors and the pixies and pirates. spite and hide paused on the border of the plain to consider. it was not far to the pier of the old bridge along which lay the path to the fort. but the space between them and that point was swarming with brownies. macwhirlie had mustered his entire troop, and set them to patrolling the plain. throughout the woods, from the foot of the hill to the very lakeside, sentinels were posted at short intervals, and burdened as they were the pixies could not pass that line. "well, hide, what shall we do?" "do? humph! there is little choice left us now. i will follow my chief. lead on!" "lead on? whither?" spite snapped his fangs angrily as he spoke. "you got me into this scrape. it was a foolhardy adventure. now get me out! i know you have something to advise." "very good! let us kill these pretty captives of ours," said hide with a sneer, "and cut our way through to the pier. or, if you lead the way with them, i'll follow." spite looked down upon the unconscious form of faith. "i see no way out of this," he said. "to break through the line would be certain death. it looks as though it had come to that at any rate. may the foul fiend take you for tempting me to this madcap raid! hide, hide, bethink you, i pray!" spite's voice was trembling with--fear, shall we say? without awaiting reply from his companion, he took faith in his arms and ran down to the edge of the water. hide followed him. he had long suspected what no one else had dreamed of, that spite at heart was a coward. he had little love for his chief. indeed, the thought was not new to the ambitious lieutenant that spite alone blocked the way of his own promotion to the headship of the pixies. that he would be a worthy leader he, at least, did not doubt. he enjoyed his captain's agitation, and was pleased to keep him upon nettles. he had already settled a plan of escape. [illustration: fig. 53.--brownie fire-fly lantern.] spite eagerly scanned the surface of the lake. "it's no use looking for the navy, captain," said hide. "there it rides, away down by the outlet. we must pass the brownie pickets to get at the boats. might as well cut through to the pier!" "is there no escape then? this is terrible! we shall be slaughtered outright." he pointed to the semi-circle of lanterns and torches drawing closer and closer upon them, marking where true and his party were following hard upon their trail. spite dropped his burden, sat down, and fairly wrung his hands in despair. yes, spite the spy, the chief of all the pixies, did that! hide highly enjoyed the distress of his captain. he had proved what he had long suspected, and, best of all, he had gained a hold upon spite that would give great advantage over him in the future. he saw that it was high time to drop this malicious by play and address himself in earnest to escape. "cheer up, my brave captain!" he cried, "i think i see a way out of this." "hah! is it so?" spite was too much elated with hope to notice the sneering tone of his lieutenant. "you shall see wait here a moment." he ran along the sand to a clump of ferns that bent over from the bank until they kissed the water. he mounted one of these and disappeared. soon the drooping tips of the ferns lifted up, parted, and a curious craft glided out from the cove formed by the bended foliage. what a snug and secret harbor it was! the vessel touched the bank close by the spot where spite stood, and hide jumped ashore. [illustration: fig. 54.--the nurses carried away on raft dolomede's yacht, the fringe.] "now then," he cried, "all aboard! we have no time to lose." he lifted sophia from the ground as he spoke, carried her to the boat and laid her down in a leafy canopy or cabin. spite followed with faith. "push off now!" said hide to a tall pixie who had charge of the vessel. he put his paws against the shore and shoved vigorously. the waterman did the same, and the boat shot out into the lake. a brisk wind was blowing along the surface of the water, and the craft was soon off shore and out of danger. the lanterns of the brownies were seen bobbing along the bank just above the spot at which but a moment before the boat had been moored. a group of lights marked the point at which the trail had been lost, and where true and his party were now standing perplexed. "ugh!" said spite as he watched the scene. it was hard to tell whether the sound betokened pleasure or displeasure. he was greatly relieved at the prospect of escape, but was not in the most amiable humor, for all that. with the easing of his fears came the thought of how he had exposed his weakness. his pride was hurt. he felt humiliated. he knew that hide had been trifling with him, and his wrath grew hot thereat. he vowed revenge in his heart, but was too wise to show his feeling then. "i can wait!" he said. he glowered upon the lieutenant, but soon cleared up his face and spoke cheerfully. "truly, friend hide, you seem to be a person of varied resources. pray, how chanced you to come across this waterman and his boat?" "the fact is, cap'n?" answered hide laughing, "i have to keep a little private yacht for my own use. there are certain things, you know, for which one cannot well use the government ships. this is my friend, raft dolomede. raft, allow me to present you to my chief, spite the spy. you see, captain, my american friend has great respect for our community, although he does not belong to us. he has been brought up on this lake; is a skillful sailor, willing to obey orders, take his pay and ask no questions. he runs on his own hook--is a privateersman, in fact, on a small scale. we understand each other pretty well, and, of course, i knew where he kept his boat moored. he's not on very good terms with our cruisers; for, in sooth, he doesn't quite understand our revenue laws. i fear, now, that it wouldn't do to look closely under these leaves! there might be something contraband aboard besides these fair brownies. hey, raft?" raft's boat was a home-made affair, but was ingeniously built. dry leaves had been gathered into a mass, and fastened together with silken threads. to this had been added a mast, a sail, a jib and other fixtures so that the structure was a cross between a raft and a schooner. the leaves served admirably the varied uses of hull, sails, storerooms, beds and barricade. they caught the wind and drove the boat along as well as a ship's canvas. they were soft dry couches for sailors or passengers. the hollows and crevices between them were the "hold" of the vessel and gave ample storage. raft, the owner of this craft, was a handsome specimen of the family of water-pixies. he wore a coat of chocolate brown, trimmed with a broad orange band, and covered with double rows of white buttons. his trousers were pale red. he was quite at home on the lake with his yacht, and was such a skillful swimmer that he might really be said to walk on the water instead of swimming through it.[ac] "how shall i put her head now?" asked raft. "we're bearing nor' east by east, and with this wind will soon strike the cave yonder on the orchard shore. shall i keep her so?" "what say you, captain?" asked spite. "what are we to do with these, now?" pointing to faith and sophia. "the first thing to be done, it seems to me," said raft, casting a pitying look upon the nurses, "is to give 'em a little breathing privilege. if you don't take those rags off their figure-heads, and give 'em a breath of fresh wind, they'll soon be dead brownies." with that he opened the sharp claws on one of his hands, like a pair of scissors, and without more ado cut the bands that had been placed as gags around the captives' mouths. "all right!" he said, resuming his rudder, "go on with your palaver. but heave ahead lively, or we'll be across the lake before you decide." [illustration: fig. 55.--"murderous assaults upon one another."] spite had been in a deep study. at last he said, "we must go to the island." raft glanced inquiringly at hide, who nodded assent. "aye, aye, sir. port-a-helm it is." he turned the bow toward ellen's isle. "we can easily find lodgings for our fair prizes there," continued spite. "but what about fort spinder? that is what troubles me. how are we to get back? it is now too soon after the alarm to think of running the pickets. even if it were possible to do that by night as things are now, it would be madness to try it by daylight. and yet, we must get some word to our people soon, and have them out of that fort by to-morrow night, or--" spite paused and looked serious. "well?" said raft. "well?" said hide, "or--what?" "you know quite as well as i!" answered spite. "there will not be a corporal's guard of pixies left in fort spinder, that's all!" hide shrugged his shoulders and looked grave. he had known very well what spite meant, and he had a wife and children in the fort. there was a long pause. spite and hide were in deep and anxious thought. they could imagine the wild natures shut up within fort spinder venting their native savagery in murderous assaults upon one another.[ad] what could control them when the absence of their two chief officers should be discovered? was there any chance for them to return to the fort? or any other way to prevent the catastrophe which they dreaded? the wind freshened, and in the meantime the "fringe" (as raft called his yacht) was rapidly approaching the island. footnotes: [footnote ac: appendix, note a.] [footnote ad: appendix, note b.] chapter xiv. a palace and a prison. faith and sophia were much relieved by raft's considerate act. they had never thought to be grateful to a pixie, but they felt gratitude toward the smuggler as he cut the bands upon their mouths. their limbs were still bound, but they could turn upon their sides or backs, and look into the quiet, starlit sky. their minds were in a whirl of wonder, uncertainty, terror. they had scarcely taken in the full horror of their condition. captives in pixies' hands! their hearts had beaten fast with fear when raft drew near, but the kind words and act of the bluff sailor revived their hopes a little. perhaps even the pixies might take pity upon them and restore them to their home! at all events, it lessened their suffering to be free to breathe naturally, and it was a comfort to be able to talk together, instead of looking into each other's faces in mute wretchedness. they were near the bow and their captors were in the stern of the boat with raft; they could therefore speak freely in whispers without fear of being heard. on the contrary, the three pixies spoke aloud, as though not caring to conceal their thoughts from the prisoners, or not thinking they were overheard. thus, much of their conversation reached the nurses' ears. spite and hide sat thinking. raft stood at the tiller and kept the boat steady on its course. not a sound was heard except the ripple of water against the sides of the vessel as it moved rapidly onward through the darkness. "faith, dear faith," whispered sophia, "i cannot make it all out. where are we? what is to be done with us? how came we here?" "we are on lake katrine, sophia, and we are sailing toward ellen's isle in a pixie yacht. that much i am sure of. i know nothing more. but alas! i dread the worst. what can we expect from our terrible foes? and then the hatred they bear father and uncle--oh, my poor, poor father!" the thought of their friends' grief and anxiety for them awakened a fresh train of anguish in the captives' hearts. they laid their heads down upon the leaves and wept together. forsaken! lost! the waves laughed and danced merrily by them as the bow cut the water. the stars looked down coldly from the great solemn heights of the sky, and twinkled and winked upon them as though careless or ignorant, or even in mockery of their fate! why had such a sorrow come upon them? "captain spite," said hide, at last. "well, hide, what is it?" * * * * * "oh faith, do you hear that?" whispered sophia. "we are in the hands of spite the spy and his lieutenant! heaven defend us now!" faith answered with a groan. * * * * * "i have thought," said hide, "that we might sell our prisoners. if we keep them, they will be a world of trouble and risk. dispose of them, we get out of our scrape handsomely, save the garrison and people in the fort, get vast credit for valor and strategy, and start a fresh campaign full handed, with good chance to regain our lost ground. i don't see any way out of this, but to put up our fair prizes at ransom." "well," said spite sharply, "go on!" "not much more to say, cap'n. let's go in, or send raft in with a flag of truce. offer to give up the nurses if bruce and the commodore will raise the siege of fort spinder. i believe they'll do it." "aye, aye, that they will!" said raft heartily. "it's a sensible plan, and as manly as sensible; for, the fact is, i don't relish this making war on women." "faugh! no cant, please!" sneered spite. "anything with brownie blood is our game. but you're mistaken. bruce and all the rest, that sergeant true particularly, would take the high moral grounds about the business, and send back word: 'better all die than compromise truth and duty, or give up the pursuit of wrong.' they wouldn't do what you expect. i doubt if they would even receive our flag of truce." * * * * * the hearts of the prisoners fluttered between hope and fear as they heard these words. home again! the very thought gave them joy. "faith, we shall be ransomed, i know!" exclaimed sophia. faith was silent. "oh, faith, you don't believe they would do that?" again whispered sophia when spite had ended. "surely your father would consent! and dear true also--" she stopped and caught her breath quickly as though a cruel doubt had suddenly seized her new fledged hope. faith was still silent. * * * * * raft next spoke. "well, that's amazing to me! now, i think if my gal was in the hands of two such--" he paused as though at loss for a word. "two such--accomplished villains;" he continued, "i reckon you'll think that complimentary, gentlemen;--i wouldn't stop to split hairs very long, i can tell you. i like grit, too; but i can't say that i admire it at the expense of those pretty things over there." "captain," said hide, "wouldn't bruce compromise by simply letting our folks retire from the fort unmolested? march out with arms, banners, and all the honors, and leave the brownies to occupy the old shell, and destroy it at their leisure? i say try it anyhow." "so do i," said raft. "that proposition ought to double the cape of the sharpest scruple. say you'll land your cargo; hoist a flag of truce; and i'll run in shore within hailing distance. or, if you like it better, i'll undertake the matter myself." the pixie chief made no answer. faith and sophia listened to hear their fate pronounced, with feelings wrought up to the highest pitch. spite rose and walked excitedly up and down the deck. he stopped and looked at faith. he seemed about to yield. he raised his eyes to the water, then cast them upon the island which was now just ahead of them. then he stood like a statue gazing at some object which hung in the air beyond the bow of the yacht. a fiendish smile passed over his face. for a long time he was silent and motionless. "gentlemen," he said, "i'm much obliged for your council. but i have a better way. fort spinder shall be empty before to-morrow's sunrise, and its garrison and contents safe on the orchard side of the lake in big cave camp. patience! you shall know my plans as soon as we have put our prisoners in a secure place." he spoke like a new person. there was an air of confidence in his manner, and a jubilant ring in his voice that gave assurance to his companions. they were quite content to wait and trust the chief. besides, the boat was now touching shore. the bow grated upon the sand. raft jumped off and made the fringe fast. "come now, my dears," said spite, approaching the nurses, "we will go ashore and take things a little easier." faith and sophia were once more stricken with despair. the hope of being ransomed had been dashed by this mysterious plan which spite had hinted to his comrades. what it was they could not even conjecture; but it meant imprisonment, death, it may be worse than death to them in a pixies' den. resistance they knew was vain. they could only plead for mercy. they lifted up their voices together and with crying and tears sought to move the pity of their captors. "tut, tut!" said spite, "if you will behave yourselves there shall not a hair of your head come to harm. bless your pretty faces, we don't mean to eat you. come, cheer up! we intend to take you to a snug and comfortable house, a palace in fact. you never spied a prettier place, i warrant. you shall be with friends who will know how to take care of you. 'pon honor, you shall not be harmed. there now!" with an effort at consolation which sat awkwardly upon him, he cut loose the web-work shroud that enveloped faith, and without more ado picked her up and jumped on shore. hide followed with sophia. the two pixies ran along shore a short distance, and then began to ascend the bank. they stopped near a tuft of grass on a mossy slope, where spite laid down his burden and began to examine carefully the surface. a bunch of moss somewhat dried, and heaped up in a careless way, attracted his attention. "here is our place!" he exclaimed, and tapped against one side of the heap. there was no response. he seized the moss and shook it vigorously. thereupon, one side of the moundlet suddenly opened, pushing outward like a door. an old pixie, large and gaunt, thrust out her head, and cried, "what do you want? begone, or i'll--" "oh, no you won't, mother tigrina! don't you see? it's spite, my good old lady. open quickly! there, that will do. come on, hide." the officers entered, carrying faith and sophia. the place in which the party now stood was a domed chamber or vestibule, lined in all parts with white silk. the tapestry was spread over the interior of the moss heap, which was in fact a hollow ball built up by skillful workmanship, although the rude exterior had the appearance of a chance accumulation. at the outer end of this mossy dome an oval portion had been left unattached to sides and bottom, and was fastened at the top alone by the silken lining. thus was formed a rude sort of door, hinged at the top, which the occupant could raise at will or fasten by overspinning from the inside. this dome was in fact a vestibule or outer approach of a deep cave or tunnel, which slanted into the ground for a short distance and then turned downward.[ae] this cavern was held by spite as a sort of country seat or castle, which he had dignified with the name of aranea hall. it was in charge of dame tigrina whom we have just seen in possession of the place. she was a monstrous character, even among her own nation, but what she lacked in grace she made up in her rude devotion to the pixie cause and leader. "you see, dame tigrina," said spite, "i've brought you two nice companions. you can't complain of being solitary now." "humph!" said the old hag, looking fiercely upon the brownies. the nurses were carried into an inner room of the cavern. its walls and ceiling were hung with beautiful white silk tapestry. the floor was covered with a purple silk carpet; cushions formed of yellow floss and fibres of plants were spread for couches and chairs.[af] "there, my lassies," said spite, "you never slept in such a room as this. i am sorry that i must leave you immediately, but you shall be well cared for. be happy! and expect me soon." he dropped the curtain partition or portiére and faith and sophia were alone in their prison palace. footnotes: [footnote ae: appendix, note a.] [footnote af: appendix, note b.] chapter xv. a pixie insurrection. fort spinder was in a ferment. the unusual stir in the brownie camp was seen by the pickets on the outer barricades, and they at once gave the alarm, thinking that a night attack was to be made. the garrison sprang to arms. the pixies swarmed to the breastworks; the pixinees (as the females were called) mounted the ramparts of the fort. now arose the trouble that spite had anticipated. "where is the captain?" the word ran from mouth to mouth along barricades and breastwork. the captain was not to be found. "where is the lieutenant, then?" the inquiry ran through the tegenaria quarter with the same puzzling result. presently a sentinel who had mounted guard near the abutment of the old suspension bridge reported that he had seen the two officers climb the pier and go out upon the cables. "have they returned?" no he had seen nothing of them since. a rumor was started, and ran through the lines, that spite had been captured by the brownies, and that had caused the unusual excitement in their camp. then came another rumor that made headway amid whispers, hints, and mutterings of "treachery!" "cowardice!" "desertion!" "sold out to the brownies!" so the leaven of riot and panic began to work. some bewailed the missing officers as martyrs; some cursed them as traitors; all mourned their absence as a fatal blow to their own safety. irritated by the uncertainty, worn out by watching, fasting and fighting, the two parties readily passed from words to blows. "they are true as steel!" "they are false traitors!" "you lie!" "hah! take that!" words like these, followed by the clatter of claws, and the sharp rasping of fangs were heard in every quarter. luckily the third in command, lieutenant heady, was no milksop. he had seen riots and rebellions before and had quelled them. in stubbornness, cunning and ferocity he was a genuine pixie. fortune, it seemed, had made him chief, for the time, at least. and chief he would be, or cease to be at all. he summoned a squad of the most courageous guards, and with them passed along the line of barricades. quarrels were broken up with a strong hand, both parties being impartially beaten. the seditious were warned, the orderly praised, the doubters cheered, the timorous encouraged. that answered for a little while. once more the riot began. heady and his patrol renewed their round. but as soon as a tumult was silenced in one quarter it arose in another. no sooner had the police squad reduced matters to quiet and moved to another point, than the riot broke out afresh behind them. finally it gathered such headway that the lieutenant was compelled to retire. the ill feelings which the rioters had vented upon one another were turned against him. the combatants united to wreak a common vengeance upon heady. "he is a usurper!" "he wants to be chief himself!" "he has made way with the other officers so that he may seize the command!" "down with him! death to the tyrant!" "death! death! death!" the whole seditious element of the garrison gathered together, and moved in a solid mass upon heady and his little band of aids, who had fallen back toward the tower that united the two main quarters of the fort. "aha!" said he, "is it that you are after? very good, my brave boys! there are two who can play the game of death, as you shall learn!" [illustration: fig. 56.--lieut. heady and the pixie parson among admiring pixinees.] the pixinees had assembled upon the rampart and were looking down grimly upon the tumult in the parade ground or open space beneath. heady called to them to open the tower gates. now, strange to say, heady was a universal favorite among the pixinees. which one of his particular qualities won their admiration it would be hard to say, but the cross-grained and savage old crumdudgeon had a host of enthusiastic friends among the pixinees of fort spinder. they always stood up for him, and the cunning fellow knew well that he could count upon them now; especially as the pixie parson,[ag] who had great influence among the pixinees, was also his warm friend. the gates of the tower flew open immediately, and an excited crowd of pixinees gathered about their favorite. they leaped from the ramparts. they climbed down the walls. they thronged the gate. their forms fairly swelled with indignation. they were ready at a word to fall upon the insurgents. the mob paused at this demonstration. they did not like the look of things. they began to consult among themselves. a few in the rear ranks of the main body dropped out one by one and sneaked off toward the barricade. heady spoke a few words to his amazon squad, and then approached the rioters. he advanced several paces from the gate and addressed them. "gentlemen, you have chosen to submit this little difference of opinion to a very grim sort of a judge called--death. i am ready to argue the case, and--there is the court!" he pointed to the group of angry pixinees. the leaders of the riot held a brief whispered consultation. they were quite taken aback at this turn of affairs. "come, gentlemen," continued heady, in the same cool, sneering tone. "the court is waiting. are you ready for trial?" there is no telling what the issue might have been had not the current of feeling been suddenly arrested. during these moments of tumult a thin white speck had been floating in from the lake. it sailed above the tops of the trees, hovered over the fort, and gradually settled down toward the parade ground. a voice was heard to issue from it: "pixies, ahoy--oy!" all eyes turned upward. a balloon hung overhead and just beyond, toward the lake, another and another could be seen. "lay hold of the ropes!" called a voice from the nearest of these ships of the sky. "we want to descend here. we bear a message from your chief." [illustration: fig. 57.--"a balloon hung overhead."] a score of willing hands were reached out, and the cords, which by this time dragged upon the ground, were seized. the little vessel, thus steadied, began to descend. it touched the ground in a vacant space between the rioters and the pixinees. a small pixie stepped from the basket, and looked inquiringly around. he was dressed in a dark gray coat, with broad white stripes; breeches pale colored and spotted, and a black vest over which a white-haired beard was streaming. he seemed much puzzled at the strange grouping of the parties around him, who for the most part had kept their positions, but were looking quietly on, their interest in the new arrival having nearly soothed their wrath. "i should like to see lieutenant heady," said the stranger. "i have a message for him from captain spite and lieutenant hide." [illustration: fig. 58.--gossamer's balloons.] "i am the person you seek," said heady, stepping forward. "if you will pardon me a moment, sir," said the stranger, "and give me some help in getting my comrades anchored, i will deliver my message." the second of these little voyagers of the air reached a position above the fort, and cast out cords and grapnels. he soon anchored. then another and another followed until five had safely landed. the interest of the fort pixies in these æronauts had now quieted the passions that had been so near fatal explosion. here was news from their missing officers. all would now be well! by common consent both parties put up their weapons and gathered around the messenger. "there is nothing secret in my orders, sir, i think," said the balloonist who had first landed, "my name is lycosa. here are my credentials. my orders i will give when you are ready for them." "say on, then!" said heady, "you couldn't have come with them at a luckier time. what news from our chiefs." "good news," answered lycosa; "they crossed the bridge, raided the brownie camp, seized two of the nurses--the commodore's daughter and the boatswain's--and have them safe on the island to hold as ransom for your safe and quiet departure." this news was received with unbounded favor and applause, not hearty, ringing cheers such as brownies give, but a noisy clatter of fangs. the applause ceased and lycosa resumed. "the capture of these prisoners was a masterly stroke. the chiefs stole into the brownie camp, seized their captives from the very headquarters, and made off with them. a scream from one of them aroused the camp. the hue and cry was raised, and by the barest chance spite and hide got off to sea on board a smuggler's yacht." "with their prisoners?" "yes, all safe. they are in limbo now, ready to be exchanged if need be. but the captain hopes to keep them for another and worse difficulty than the present." [illustration: fig. 59.--spite sends off lycosa and his balloon corps.] "humph!" grunted heady, "that would be hard to find, i fancy. go on!" "he sends word by me that the old suspension bridge is passable; that a few cables stretched across spans nos. 1, 2 and 4, will make it a quite good route. i am here with my companions, not only to bring the message, but to do this work of repair." "but when is it to be done," asked heady, "and how are we to make a landing in face of the enemy's camp? the brownies would climb the piers and cut the strands under us; or would send their cavalry up to do it, and attack parties crossing. "they would swarm on the shore and prevent our landing. they would have us at great disadvantage, for they could destroy us one by one. a pretty plan that! perhaps our chiefs had better come and try their own chances in it. no! let them send out their she brownies and try the ransom." heady spoke with much warmth and the pixies applauded. "not so fast, general," said lycosa, like a good diplomat conciliating heady with a high sounding title. "all that has been attended to. the fringe, a fast yacht, has gone down to the outlet with your officers, to order up the navy. the ships will be anchored off the old bridge within two hours. it will then be the hour just before dawn, which you know is the darkest of the night. we can have the bridge ready for travel by that time. both your chiefs agree that the brownies will then be quieted down and will sleep more soundly because of this disturbance. one of us, however, is to make a balloon reconnoissance before the start from the fort shall be made, to see whether all is quiet. the navy will land your party as fast as they arrive, and we can get over, it is thought, before daylight. should the movement be discovered, the ships can resist any onset until all the garrison are off. that is the plan which i bring. the chief orders the trial. if it fails, the ransom plan will not." heady looked sullen, shook his head, and meditated for a few moments. no one spoke. all waited for his decision. [illustration: fig. 60.--the pixinees leave fort spinder, carrying their cradles and babies.] "well, lads," said the lieutenant, looking around with brightened face, "is that little unpleasantness settled? what say you?" the pixies clapped their fangs in chorus by way of approval. "you will stop your nonsense, return to duty and obey orders, will you?" "yes, yes!" was the unanimous response. "very well, then. to your posts, all of you! cousin lycosa, go on with your engineering, and draw on us for all the men and material that you need." the garrison scattered to their various posts at the barricades and ramparts. many laid down for a short sleep. some went out with heady to look after repairs upon the bridge. the mutiny was over. once more spite had saved fort spinder. it was lycosa and his companions, just alighting upon aranea's isle in their balloons, that had fixed the attention of the chief while the fringe approached the shore carrying the captive nurses. the whole plan of rescue flashed upon his mind: he would send a balloon message to the fort, and with it engineers to direct the repair of the old bridge and the proposed escape thereby! meantime hide and himself would bring up the fleet to convey the garrison across the lake. lycosa and his chief assistant gossamer lost no time in beginning work. their balloons were anchored by strong cords to grass stalks, and hung in the air swaying backward and forward ready for the embarkation. they were hammock shaped silken structures, quite wide at the middle, and gathered into a point at each end. from the bow and stern floated filaments of silk, which served the purpose of gas in human inventions for air locomotion, that is to say, they buoyed up the balloon so that it floated aloft. the pixie æronaut was seated in or beneath his hammock. gossamer's hammock or "car," was a rather broad, close ribbon of silk but lycosa's was a light meshwork affair, just enough for his body to rest upon, and which he aptly called his basket.[ah] when the time came to ascend, the stay lines would be cut, the balloons rise up and be carried along by the breeze. if he wished to go higher, the balloonist opened his spinnerets, set his tiny silk factory agoing, and thus by adding to the number and length of the filaments increased the buoyancy of the machine. if he wished to descend he gathered up the floating lines into a little ball underneath his jaws, something like a seaman reefing sails, and as the surface exposed to the air was diminished, the balloon descended. [illustration: figs. 61 and 62.--madame lycosa and american dolomede carrying their cocoons.] "let go the ropes!" shouted lycosa, as he climbed by a thread into his car, which swung beneath the netted hammock. the ropes were cut, and away the voyager went to the old bridge, followed by his brother balloonists. assisted by the fort engineers, they stretched new cables across the broken spans, and strengthened the old ones. an hour's steady service finished all needful repairs. then lycosa ascended from one of the piers, made a survey of the brownie camp, returned and reported that the camp had settled into its usual quiet. rodney and his sailors were off to the inlet. being certain that the lost nurses were not in the fort, the brownies had recalled the extra pickets. there was little more risk in crossing the bridge than had attended the venture of spite and hide, especially as a fog now hung over the shore. lookouts were placed upon the shore pier to watch for the fleet. all baggage and portable material were packed. some of the pixinees took their children upon their backs, like madam lycosa; others carried their round, silken cradles in their jaws, like madam pholcus, or lashed beneath their bodies, like madam dolomede.[ai] fort spinder was stripped and ready to be abandoned to its fate. [illustration: fig. 63.--madam english ocyale carries her cradle lashed to her body.] soon lycosa's signal flag was seen flying from above the pier. the fleet was in sight! the news was passed rapidly from mouth to mouth along a line of sentinels stationed on the bridge. the garrison was set in motion. in a short space of time the whole force had gone over without accident, and without a sound loud enough to alarm the brownie pickets, a result much assisted by a contrivance of lycosa's. to prevent the noise made by vessels mooring to the shore, he caused all the ships to anchor some distance from land. he then attached cords to the masts and bowsprits, and by means of his balloons carried them directly from the bridge to the ships. thus there was no tramping from abutment to lake across the bank. there were no splash of oars and wash of waves by the plying of boats from shore to ship. the last soldiers had embarked. the cables were cut, the anchors weighed, and with a favoring breeze the fleet crossed the lake and anchored in big cave harbor on the opposite or orchard shore. one of their camps or villages was located here, and the wearied pixies were disembarked and comfortably housed. footnotes: [footnote ag: appendix, note a.] [footnote ah: appendix, note b.] [footnote ai: appendix, note c.] chapter xvi. brownies on a lark. after the evening meal there usually comes a lull in the duties of brownie camp life. pickets have been told off and stationed at their posts, camp fires are kindled, and the soldiers gather around the glowing light, stretched upon the grass underneath the shadow of leaves and flowers, or seated on rude stools of pebbles and twigs. in chat and story they forget the fatigues and dangers of a soldier's life. they spin yarns of past adventure, tales of "moving accident by flood and field" and "perils in the imminent deadly breach;" they discuss the chances of the campaign, the strategy and behavior of the enemy, and the merits of their commanders. jokes, quips, merry anecdotes and witty sayings run around the circle, and ever and anon hearty peals of laughter break out upon the still evening air. "ho, lads! tone down your mirth a bit!" cried the officer of the day to one of these groups, in the camp before fort spinder. "aye! aye, sir!" was the response, and for a moment silence fell upon the circle. "say, boys," at last exclaimed one of the company, "let's get out of this and go for a lark. i have a capital idea in my head." "ho, ho!" cried brownie highjinks; "twadeils really has an idea in his head! i'll warrant it's a lively one. out with it! i'm for any fun that's not against general orders." "well then, lads, come close together and listen." twadeils was one of two brothers who had got their somewhat peculiar name from their daring and mischievous spirit which kept them and most people around them in a whirl of excitement and adventure. their chums nicknamed them the "twa deils," and the two words at length became one, and the lads were called twadeils senior and twadeils junior. but among their fellows they were simply known as "twadeils" and "junior." the brownies grouped themselves around twadeils, heard his plan, and with little question gave hearty assent. an hour and place of meeting were fixed; and after discussing details of the proposed lark in whispers as they bent over the camp fire, the merry plotters retired to their tents. in due time they were up and assembled at the rendezvous. the group that now started out upon their secret adventure was made up of brownies from all arms of the service. the navy was represented by brownies barck, ferrie, wetman and obersee; the cavalry by brownies gear, saddler, martingale, hosson, howrode and barnit; the infantry by halfrick, highjinks, esslade and the two twadeils. a merry crowd they were and as bold as merry. the story of their night adventure we are now about to tell. they silently stole from camp; passed the sentries without much trouble, and reached the bank of the lake close by the point where the brownie picket line touched the water. they were in a shallow depression formed in earlier time by an overflow of the lake. the water rose almost at this point to the surface of the shore, and only a narrow ridge of sand hindered it from flowing down the dry channel over which, indeed, it often ran during freshets. twadeils set obersee and his sailor companions to form a raft. they were handy at such work, and soon had a number of beams lashed together into a rude raft that was secure enough, at least for such adventurers as those who expected to use it. the rest of the company were set to digging at the sandy ridge which banked the lake. all sorts of implements were used, drinking cups, table pans, shovels extemporized from splinters, stalks and chips picked from driftwood on the shore. indeed, the brownies had been trained to turn a hand to such duty without use of spades, shovels, picks or other trenching tools. by the time the raft was ready, a cut had been made through the sand almost to the verge of the lake, and the water had already begun to trickle over the top. then the final order was given, and all the brownies fell to with zeal, and removed the remaining sandy barrier. soon a breach was made in the shore through which the lake water began to pour. the spirits of the brownies rose with the rising flood, and when at last enough water had entered the channel to float the raft, they let it swing out into the stream, and were afloat upon the swift running current. their purpose was now made plain. they intended to drown out the pixie pickets, overflood and override the barricade, and get into the heart of the pixie camp. but there were some difficulties in the way that these reckless spirits had not considered. the water was as frisky as themselves, and would not confine itself to the course in which they had expected it to run, but turned hither and thither, crawling among clumps and tufts of weeds, grass and bushes, whose tops presently appeared above the surface of the current, and lay in the way of the raft as it floated down stream. "look out there in front!" cried the leader but before the raft could be pushed away it bumped against a bush. several brownies were tossed into the stream, and were pulled up with difficulty. now the raft was off again, and its crew, a little more careful, managed to avoid the snags that threatened them in front. [illustration: fig. 64.--tetragnatha's mimicry of a green twig.] soon the cry arose: "look out on the right!" too late again, for the raft was caught in an eddy and driven among the bushes on the margin of the little torrent. some of the crew clambered upon the bushes others plunged into the stream, and by dint of pushing and pulling, and many hearty but subdued calls, and with much laughter, the vessel was released from the bushes and pushed again into the current. at this moment esslade saw the form of a pixie upon an overhanging bush. he lay along the stem with arms and legs stretched out before and behind and held close together, thus so tightly embracing the plant that it was difficult at first to distinguish him therefrom. "aha!" said esslade, "i know that trick of yours, master tetragnatha. i have seen you and your kin try to cheat us before this by snugging yourself along stems of plants, and keeping your great green coat and legs down tight to 'em. you fooled me that way once, but you can't do it again. here boys, we must get the old rascal out of that!" so saying he sprang into the bush, laid hold of a limb, and swung himself up to where the pixie lay. several of his comrades quickly followed, but tetragnatha had no mind to meet them in fair combat. he jumped up, and leaped from the stem into the midst of the current. this sudden movement surprised the brownies. they paused, and gazed wonderingly at their foe, whom they knew to be no water-pixie, and therefore expected to be engulfed in the stream. "well," exclaimed wetman, "that was a foolish trick. might as well have stayed to be killed as to jump into that current and be drowned; for drowned you surely will be, old fellow." but wetman was mistaken. to the surprise of all the brownies, tetragnatha instead of sinking, spread his legs upon the water, floated for a moment or two with the current, and then in the face of the stream began slowly to approach the shore. "what can this mean?" asked gear. "how does the creature manage it? what sort of hidden machinery has that pixie within himself to enable him to go contrary to the current into the bushes on yonder shore?" "don't know, but we'll try to find out. so after him boys, after him!" cried twadeils. the order was quickly obeyed, the raft was swung into the stream, and partly urged by the current, and partly impelled by poles and oars, the brownies followed the fleeing pixie and almost overtook him. they were just a little too late, for a moment before the raft touched the shore, tetragnatha reached a low-hanging twig and climbed to the top of a bush. the brownies, however, were determined not to be foiled, so once more a party sprang into the limbs and leaves, and followed the retreating pixie. tetragnatha paused a moment, as though considering whether it would be better to meet his enemies in open fight, or a second time try the stream. but his foes were too many, so he leaped upon the water. this time he varied his method, for he made one end of a long cord fast to a branch, meanwhile holding on to the other end, so that when he alighted on the water the cord stretched out behind him. this stayed and buoyed him up as he ran off at full pace upon the surface of the stream.[aj] as he went, the thread stretched out, and seemingly would have made no end of lengthening had not one of the brownies cut it. tetragnatha was discomfited only for a moment; then, to the surprise of his pursuers, instead of sinking beneath the flood rode upon it, and turned his course towards the shore. this time, however, the pixie's way led along a belt of bright moonlight that glimmered through the branches. [illustration: fig. 65.--pixie tetragnatha's escape.--(illustration by dan. c. beard.)] "aha, lads!" exclaimed rownie, who was standing at the bow watching an opportunity to annoy his enemy, "i see what's the mystery! the pixie has spread a sail! look there! you can see it if you stoop low and catch a side view of the silk as it shines in the moonlight! do you see now? tetragnatha has lifted his body from the surface of the water and has set his spinning machinery a-going; and now you may see the outspun threads glinting in the moonlight. a long pencil of silken lines is spread out from the spinnerets above him, while at the same time he has fastened his feet together by a little silken raft. the raft buoys him upon the water; the floating filaments act as sails; the wind is blowing right toward the bank yonder, so that in spite of the current which heads off this way, the creature is able to sail over the surface of the water. there he goes! he is bound to make land." [illustration: fig. 66.--tetragnatha: "the floating filaments act as sails."] rownie had seen truly. this was another of the tricks of that strange and cunning craft which was continually being unfolded before the brownies' eyes. tetragnatha was now safe on dry land, and scampered off among the bushes. once more the adventurers pushed into the current. the stream bore to the opposite side, making a long curve which brought them close up to the picket line of their own troops. "hush!" cried twadeils, "yonder is one of our sentinels, close up to the edge of the stream! down flat on the raft, every one of you; quick, and lay low till we are quite past." the brownies tumbled at the word and spread themselves along the logs in as small space as they could assume, although their position was anything but comfortable, for the water continually washed over them, or spurted up upon them through the chinks of the raft. "ahoy, there!" cried the brownie sentinel, "what boat is that?" no answer, and the raft sped silently by. "halt, there!" shouted the sentinel, running after the vessel. "halt, i say, or i will fire on you." he paused, raised his bow and let fly an arrow. it was well aimed and sank into a log close by the head of highjinks. indeed it pierced his scotch bonnet and tore it from his head. this fidgety brownie could no longer be restrained, and although the raft had now been carried quite out of reach, he leaped to his feet, pulled out the arrow, waved it and his bonnet above his head, and called to the sentinel, whom he knew well: "say, old chappie, save your shots for pixies. don't you see, you rascal, you've spoiled my hat, and--" "lie down, you ninnie," cried twadeils in a whisper, "you'll give us away! we'll be stopped, taken back to camp, and put in the guard house, every one of us!" thereupon several brownies quietly pulled highjinks down upon the logs. by this time the raft had swung round a clump of brushwood, leaving the sentinel gazing in a dazed way after the mysterious vessel. scarcely had they rounded the point when a huge pixie darted from the grasses near them, and, after making a few rapid strides upon the current, dived into the stream. "hello! here's game," cried twadeils. "stop the raft a moment." ferrie swung the bow around. saddler and barnit seized the ropes and jumped into the nearest bushes; then holding back lustily, the clumsy vessel was soon stopped. "now get her up to the place where the pixie went down," said twadeils. "i know him well. he is one of the dolomede band of water-pixies. sixpoint dolomede they call him. steady, here he is!" looking down into the water the brownies saw sixpoint clinging to the stem of an overflowed plant. "what a curious looking creature he is!" exclaimed hosson. "he has put on a coat of armor that shines like silver even through the water. how did he get it?" "don't know," exclaimed halfrick, "but i will see whether it is proof against my spear." he steadied himself upon the raft and drew back to strike. the sharp implement cut through the water, and as halfrick leaned over the edge of the raft to watch the result of his stroke, he was suddenly made conscious of an effect very different from that he had counted upon. he could not have been more surprised if an earthquake had struck him. sixpoint, at the touch of the spear, unclasped his hold upon the stem, darted upward, and struck with full force against the under part of the bow, which shot upward into the air until the raft stood on one end in the water. it was much as though a huge whale were to come up underneath a fishing boat. halfrick was heaved into the air like a rocket, and after several somersaults alighted in some near-by boughs. the rest of the company slid along the logs and dropped together into the stream. a more surprised set of brownies perhaps never was seen. they arose to the surface, sputtering and struggling, and one after another laid hold of the raft, which had now righted itself. but as they climbed up at one end, sixpoint clambered upon the other. his weight dragged the bow under the water, and the stern tossed into the air throwing the brownies forward. they were flung directly upon the great pixie, who was as much surprised by the sudden movement, which he took for an assault, as were the brownies themselves, and backed off into the stream dragging down the bow with him. [illustration: fig. 67.--pixie sixpoint upsets the raft.--(illustration by dan. c. beard.)] meantime the brownies had returned toward the stern of the raft, and as sixpoint let go his hold the bow rose in the water. this see-sawing of the vessel and the oddity of the proceeding touched the brownies' risibilities, and they began to laugh. soon the whole party were in a tumult of mirth, in the midst of which dolomede gravely thrust out his forepaws, deliberately climbed upon the raft and began to look around. thereupon several of the brownies dropped into the water beside the logs. among these was gear, who, while he floundered about and ducked his head, said, "wh--wh--what's become of the brute's armor? don't you see he has stripped it off? wh--what do you think he has d--d--done with it?" "such a fellow!" said junior, who was treading water beside gear, "i believe you would ask questions and study problems in natural history if you were dying. here lads," he added, "it's a burning shame that this pixie has possession of our raft. let's up and at him!" the party climbed out of the water, drew their weapons and cautiously advanced, but sixpoint thought discretion the better part of valor, for, without waiting for his enemies to attack, he dropped into the stream and sank beneath the surface. the brownies rushed to the edge of the raft just in time to see the pixie moving out of reach from stem to stem of the submerged plants. "look, boys!" cried gear, "he has his silver armor on again. how is the thing done? it looks like magic!" "suppose you dive down and ask the old fellow, dear boy," said highjinks. "no doubt he will lend you a brand new suit for yourself, if you like." dolomede was by this time quite hidden from view, and any attempt to follow would have been vain. so twadeils ordered all hands aboard, and once more set sail. [illustration: fig. 68.--"the triple-decked tower of linyphia."] perhaps we may stop to explain the point that puzzled gear. the silver armor was nothing, in fact, but bubbles of air that clung to sixpoint's hairy coat. it is the fashion of water-pixies to spread out the numerous hairs upon their furry skins just as they plunge beneath the surface of the water. portions of air within the spaces between the hairs cling around the body, held thereto by the pressure of the surrounding water. this air gathers in round bubbles which shine like silver, and have somewhat the appearance of a coat of mail. they probably furnish the air for the creature to breathe while in the water, and they of course disappear into the atmosphere the moment the surface is reached. once more the brownies were afloat, and now they drew near the barricades, and saw the damage wrought by the flood upon the pixie defences. the water had overflowed the demilune, so that only the end towers showed above the surface; and these swayed to and fro before the force of the rushing current and under the weight of the pixie sentinels who, as it seemed to the brownies, must have been driven to refuge within them, so suddenly had the flood broken out. the triple-decked tower of linyphia was crowded with these fugitives. "now, lads," said twadeils, "here's our chance for fine sport. what say you? shall we push our raft right over the barricade to the gate of the fort? or stop and pick up some of the fellows imprisoned here in the towers?" "it is bad policy to leave an enemy in one's rear," said rownie. "you mean that a pixie in a bush is worth two in a fort, don't you?" exclaimed ferrie. "it will soon be time for us to be in our quarters," said howrode, pointing to the faint blush of coming dawn in the eastern horizon. "if we are not in by reveille it will be rather hard on us. we will not be able to get through more work than we can find here among these towers." these opinions were heartily endorsed by the majority of the party, and the raft was directed toward one of the central towers. footnotes: [footnote aj: appendix, note a.] chapter xvii. how the lark ended. the water had risen around the demilune, covering the entire line of works except the tall towers above the two ends and on either side of the central gate. the raft was steered toward the tower at the western end. this was a dome-shaped structure wrought by bending together and lashing several leaves, which then looked like the crown of a peaked hat. the inside was neatly tapestried with silk, and on all sides of the opening, which looked downward, were strung guy ropes and cross lines. above the whole, was curved, like the plume of a helmet, a leaf with a long stem, whose point was bent downward and fastened to the roof.[ak] this formed a watch tower or lookout for a sentinel who could thence scan the surrounding space and give warning of approaching danger. "yonder is the lookout, lads!" said twadeils as the raft swung toward the tower; "but he seems to be taking it very coolly, for although he must see us, he makes no sign of giving warning. but, we had better not trust to that; push on as fast as possible, and put him beyond the power of raising an alarm. give way, lads, give way heartily!" "aye, aye, sir!" was the answer, and the raft soon lay alongside the tower. "fasten the painter to one of those lines," was the next order. "gear, you may lead the cavalrymen to the lookout, and i'll head the attack on the main tower." "all right," said gear; "i know the company which the fellow up there belongs to. a keen lot they are, too, as bright as the scarlet uniform that gives them the name of the 'cardinal company.'[al] come on, brownies!" [illustration: fig. 69.--leaves lashed or sewed into a turret den.] he seized the tower guy ropes, and guiding his course by the stems of the leaves, began the ascent followed closely by his comrades, saddler, halfrick and barnit. up they went, hand over hand, everyone trying to beat his leader to the top, which they were not long in reaching. as they hung at the edge a moment and looked over it, they saw the pixie watchman standing rampant at the opposite side of the lookout. his scarlet tunic shone bright in the moonlight, and the metallic green of his fangs glistened as he gnashed them together in defiance. "surrender!" shouted gear. [illustration: fig. 70.--"standing rampant."] cardinalis shook one arm threateningly by way of answer. the brownies now made a rush toward the pixie, but before they could reach him he vaulted into the air, and passing over his assailants' heads, lit on the opposite side of the lookout. the brownies could not check their speed and tumbled against and over one another, as they reached the spot where the pixie had stood. "well jumped," cried gear, recovering himself, "but you shall not miss us next time." he seized the dragline, which the vaulting legionaries always stretch behind them when they jump, and gave it a stout tug as he faced about. cardinalis cut the line with his claw, and turning sharply faced his foes, and as they approached backed quietly down the stern of the leaf to the roof of the tower.[am] "foiled again," cried gear, as the squad of brownies scurried after the retreating pixie, "but you can't escape us a third time." his boast was too soon made, however, for before his party could reach the tower, cardinalis had scampered down the guy ropes to the brownie raft. thither he was followed by gear and his men who were now well warmed to their work and boiling with vexation at their two failures. halfrick was the first to reach the raft, and as he charged with poised spear, cardinalis sprang upon him. halfrick sank upon one knee, dropped the end of his spear to the deck, and received upon the point the force of the assault. the spear point penetrated the pixie's breast, but the staff was shattered, and halfrick borne to the deck. his comrades were at his side in an instant, but before he was relieved, the dying pixie buried his fangs in his shoulder. [illustration: fig. 71.--"well jumped!"] "has any one a cruse of lily balm?" asked gear. no one answered. the thoughtless fellows had not counted upon accidents and wounds when they planned their lark. "too bad, too bad!" gear exclaimed. "but we must do the next best thing." he tore the skirts of his coat into strips and tied a bandage tightly around the shoulder between the hurt part and the body. he then put his lips to the wound and sucked the poison into his mouth. halfrick had already fallen into a stupor, and was laid in an easy position upon the raft, where his comrades watched him with sad countenances. in the meanwhile how fared it with twadeils and his party? they had little difficulty in mounting to the tower, but as they entered the leafy dome, they found themselves faced by the huge proportions of shamrock, the tower-keeper. near him were two pixies belonging to the vaulting legion who had taken refuge from the flood within the tower, and whose bright eyes shone out of the deep shadows wherein they lay. the brownies had a hard task before them, for they must hang to the tapestried sides of the tower with one hand, while they kept the sword arm free. moreover, they were to attack from beneath, and face an assault which coming from above would be much more serious. but they knew nothing of fear and little of prudence, and pushed on holding their swords above them, which thus formed a bristling circle of points against which their enemies must cast themselves if they chose to attack. the moonlight shone brightly upon objects beneath, but little got within the dome, and all above them was in shadow; only the outlines of the pixies dimly showed against the white tapestry of the walls. silently and slowly, but steadily the circle of brownie sword points moved upward into the shadow, narrowing as they rose. the affray promised to be a bloody one, and even the most reckless of the party had begun to feel the sobriety of the moment, when the advance was suddenly arrested by a voice calling from above them. "halt! we surrender!" it was pixie shamrock that spoke. "halt!" echoed twadeils, although the command was scarcely needed, for his company had stopped at the first word. yet, they suspected a pixie trick, and every arm held the sword blade more firmly, and all eyes were more keenly on the alert. shamrock perceived that the brownies distrusted him, and again spoke: "we are in earnest. no trick is intended. descend, and we will follow you and give ourselves up. we have good reasons for our strange action. we have been deserted and deceived by spite the spy and our own friends, and shall not now throw our lives away to please or profit them. you may trust my word." [illustration: fig. 72.--shamrock's fernleaf tower.] after a brief whispered consultation, twadeils concluded it wise policy to accept the offered surrender, and gave orders to descend. it must be confessed that he was glad to do this, for he began to fear that serious results would follow, and even that if they should be victorious, precious lives would be lost. there was no relaxing vigilance as the brownies descended, and when they reached the raft and saw the senseless form of halfrick stretched upon the deck, they were still better satisfied that they had found so easy an issue from their adventure. the pixies, true to their word for once at least, came down quietly, and let themselves be bound, after which shamrock told the following story, which seemed strange indeed to his captors: "our sentries were stationed last evening as usual, although it was expected that fort spinder would be abandoned some time during the night. 'keep up an active patrol,' said the captain of the guard. 'show yourselves freely to the enemy's pickets, until you get orders from me to retire. then quietly and hastily withdraw from your posts, and we will go off in the last ship load.' "that seemed all right, and the sentinels on duty, of whom we are a part, suspected nothing when, during the night, the relief guard were ordered to headquarters under pretence of receiving some secret instructions from the chief. but they never returned. we kept watch long after the time for changing guard; no corporal appeared. then we sent a messenger to the fort to see what was the matter. he soon returned saying that the fort was abandoned. not a pixie was left except the sentinels at the posts! we had been fooled, betrayed, deserted and given over to death by our selfish chief, who left us as decoys to keep up the appearance that the fort was occupied, in order to deceive you brownies. a madder lot of pixies never was seen. if we could have gotten hold of our chiefs we would have made mincemeat of them in short order. "but storming and swearing didn't help matters. what should we do? that was the question. we even thought of going straight to your camp and blowing on the whole mean pack, and would have done it, i think, only we feared you folks would think it a bit of spite's strategy and cut our throats for our pains. in the midst of our deliberations a flood burst upon us from some unseen quarter. the very witches seemed to be abroad and conspiring against us. we could not imagine the source, as there was no rain. the water-pixies readily escaped to the land and are now in hiding somewhere, but the rest of us fled from point to point until at last we were cooped up in the towers. now you can understand why, being thus betrayed, confused and mystified, we had little stomach for fighting, and preferred to surrender, if for nothing else than to get even with our miserable dog of a chief, spite the spy. if you'll take the trouble to go to the other towers you'll probably find all our comrades in the same mood." here was startling news indeed for the brownies! what should they do? at all events, they wouldn't tell their prisoners that they were only a chance squad of runaways out on a lark! some serious duty seemed to be before them. the suggestion to visit the other towers and bag all the pixies therein was a strong temptation; but ought they not now to push straight to camp? an unlooked for circumstance brought the question to a swift conclusion. the water began to subside almost as rapidly as it had risen, but the brownies were so intent upon shamrock's story that they failed to note the fact. the raft's bow had been tied by a short rope to the tower, and as the water ran out, the stern of the vessel gradually settled, and by the time the pixie tale was fairly told, was quite out of water and loosely lodged upon a clump of grasses. suddenly these gave way and the raft began to tilt into an inclined plane. "look out, lads!" cried hosson, "hold fast all! the raft's upsetting!" the warning came just in time to allow halfrick's attendants to seize and save him from being shot into the stream. highjinks, finding himself slipping down, flung himself into the water by a double somersault, and several others joined him, while those who clung to the raft were flung together in a huddle, brownies and pixies sprawling over and clinging to one another. wetman, who chanced to be near the bow, clambered up and cut the painter, whereupon the raft fell into the stream with a splash, and the water washing over the deck gave the crew a ducking. the incident excited the mirthfulness of the brownies, who broke into merry laughter, and those on board began to chaff those in the stream. some one hailed highjinks, who was cutting lively antics in the water, and struck up a familiar doggerel, something after the fashion of modern college ditties. i. "here, dear little son, go slow, do not run!" go slow--oh--_er_! ii. "down town do not stray, there dare not to play!" not to play--ay--_er_! iii. "near here is a well. poor more in it fell." in it fell--el--_er_! no sooner was the song started than all the crew joined in it. the strain was a dolorous one, and the refrain ended in a peculiar note on the syllable "er," combining something of a sigh, a shriek and a grunt, upon which all the singers laid the full stress of their voices, and stopped with a sudden jerk. the whole effect was comical; and the third verse seemed so pat to the case in hand that it was followed by a roar of laughter that fairly raised the night echoes. ferrie, who was something of a wag, saw gear splashing and spluttering in vain efforts to ascend the raft, for he was but an indifferent swimmer, and broke into an extemporized verse: here, dear little gear, come quick and i'll pick you out of the creek--eek--_er_! the effort was hailed with applause, and the refrain was repeated with rousing effect by the chorus: out of the creek--eek--_er_! gear took the sally good naturedly, and as he was quite as quick at repartée as ferrie, sang back from the waves, sputtering and stuttering as he sang: m--m--merrie ferrie, sh--sh--shallow fellow, shut quick, or i'll stick you into the creek--eek--_er_! "good!" shouted the brownies, with another hearty peal of laughter, as they repeated the refrain. what a trifling matter will pass for genuine wit among friends who are all in a good humor, and ready to be pleased with every honest attempt at innocent fun! but twadeils thought that matters had gone quite far enough, indeed, too far. "come, come, lads," he said, "this must end. matters have taken too serious a turn for further mirth. our lark must end just here. pull the raft to shore." "all right, captain," said highjinks, who had drawn himself out of the water, and stood on the end of the raft shaking himself with many grimaces. "i'll reduce myself to order, and help reduce your order to execution." whereupon he plunged again into the flood, and aided by one or two others soon had the raft free from the entangling remains of the demilune. in a few moments it touched the bank where, with some merry words of mock farewell, it was abandoned. twadeils now called his comrades around him. "brownies," he said, "our adventure has taken a more serious and important turn than i had expected. we have a wounded comrade whom we must get into the hospital as soon as possible; we have these prisoners to deliver to captain bruce, and above all we have news of the utmost value, which ought not to be held back a moment longer than necessary." "but is the news true, comrade?" interrupted gear. "aren't we being gulled by these pixies? lying is their native speech." "i have thought of that," replied twadeils, "and am not willing to go into camp with such a story on the naked word of our prisoners; although i believe, from several circumstantial proofs, that they have told the truth this time, if never before. i propose to send out a scout to find out the facts. we shall wait here for his report. what say you?" all agreed with their leader, and the whole party clamored to be sent as scouts; but twadeils appointed his brother junior, with barck and howroad. junior pushed toward the fort, gradually bearing in the direction of the central gate. soon the party passed a clump of ox-eyed daisies whose tall blooms towered above the fort walls. "here is a good place to make an observation," said junior. "barck, mount that tallest stem and tell us what you see." barck as a sailor was well used to climbing, and in a few moments reached the blossom; but just as he was clambering over the edge of the white leaves, he seemed to miss his footing and fell to the ground. his fall was broken by a clump of grass, but he lay stunned and motionless. [illustration: figs. 73 and 74.--"standing rampant, with claws uplifted as though to strike."] his comrades ran to him and tried to restore him. "i never knew barck to make a slip of that sort before," said howroad; "he's one of the surest footed topmen in the fleet, and can climb like a monkey." "true enough," said junior, "and i don't understand it, but we must not allow this accident to thwart our purpose. do you watch our comrade, and i'll try my luck at climbing for an observation." so saying, he began the as cent, and as he was a skillful athlete readily reached the top. he took the precaution to peep over the edge before he got upon the flower, but saw nothing. the coast was clear! he stood up and turned to survey the fort, but was startled by a rustling noise at the further margin of the daisy. he turned, and drew his sword. "who is here?" he demanded. [illustration: fig. 75.--turncoat tom on a daisy. (misumena vatia).] there was no answer. but now gazing steadily in the direction from which the sound came, he saw the dim outlines of a pixie standing rampant with claws uplifted as though to strike. the mystery of barck's fall was solved! junior recognized in the creature before him one of the laterigrade legion, a well known character. his uniform was generally yellow, and he was in the habit of ambushing in yellow flowers. the daisy was a favorite resort wherein he would lay alone for many days, hugging the yellow heart of the large flower, and quite concealed from a careless observer. sometimes he resorted to other plants, and then his uniform took the tint of their flowers, a fact which gave him the popular name of turncoat tom.[an] as barck had clambered upon the daisy unthinking of danger, turncoat tom had struck him on the head, and the mariner, quite off his guard, was knocked to the ground. "you miserable, sneaking turncoat," cried the brownie, wrathful at his friend's mishap. "you shall pay for this dearly!" and thereupon he assaulted the pixie furiously. a duel on a daisy! it was a strange occurrence even in brownie world. the duel was of short duration, for a skillful stroke of junior's sword severed one of turncoat tom's claws, whereupon he sidled, crabwise, over the edge of the daisy, after the fashion of his tribe, and leaped sheer of the flower into the grass beneath, fortunately on the side opposite to where barck lay. junior peered over the edge and saw the form of his wounded adversary glide into the shadows and disappear. "well," said the brownie, as he put up his sword, "i dare say that is another of the abandoned sentinels, and he has been punished enough. let him go!" he turned once more to survey the fort, which lay under the full light of the moon, quite exposed in every part. it was silent as a cemetery. not a sentinel was seen at the gates, on the walls, on the towers, or on the parade ground. not a boat lay at the landing. not a sign of life anywhere except on the arenicola tower, where the grim flag of the pixies floated from its staff, having evidently been left, like the sentinels of the demilune, to keep up the impression that the fort was still occupied. [illustration: fig. 76.--"a duel on a daisy." junior and turncoat tom.] well satisfied, junior descended and was pleased to find that barck had now recovered consciousness. he had no idea what had happened to him, only knowing that as he crawled upon the daisy a sudden stroke, like a shock of electricity, had fallen upon his head and smitten him to the ground. with a sailor's superstition, he was disposed to think the fall the result of some miserable witch work. junior having relieved his mind on this subject, dispatched howroad to report to his brother and recommend that all the brownies join him with their prisoners. twadeils approved, and by the time the party had come up barck was well enough to join in the march with a little aid, and was soon as lively as the rest. all were now in the best of spirits. twadeils resolved to pass through the fort by the central gate, go out by the water gate, and re-enter camp by the lake front. "lads," he said, when he had told his plans, "we had expected to slip through the lines before reveille, be safe in our quarters for morning duty, and keep our lark to ourselves as a theme for campfire yarns. but all that is now done for. public duty requires us to go in openly and make a full breast of all our doings. we deserve punishment, of course, and shall get it; but we may hope to get off easily, for we bring great news. then, we have three pixie prisoners; and as we go through the fort we will haul down yonder black flag and carry it home as a trophy, and a rare one it will be. the one drawback to all this is poor halfrick there. but let us hope that the nurses can yet pull him through safely. and now, attention! forward, march!" off they set, then, in high spirits, which, however, they faithfully kept within the bounds of quiet mirthfulness. they moved cautiously until they had passed the central gate; but once within the fort, they found that the place was beyond doubt deserted. hosson and wetman were sent aloft to pull down the pixie flag from arenicola's tower, and having secured this valued trophy, they hurried homeward. notwithstanding their leader's warning, the highly excited brownies could not wholly restrain their joy as this emblem of their wicked enemy's power descended from the proud place where it had floated in triumph and defiance. highjinks started in a jubilant voice a popular camp song, which seemed quite pat to the occasion. his comrades at once united with him in the rollicking strain, whose chorus at least we may venture to quote. "del-en-_do_ est car-tha-_go_!" car-tha-_go_ has got to go; for the romans, don't you know, they have sworn it shall be so. car-tha-_go_ has got to go! "del-en-_do_ est car-tha-_go_!" think of it! a brownie scouting party singing a brownie camp song in the centre of a pixie fort! it was an inspiring thought, and with a ringing stress upon the refrain that woke loud echoes through the silent streets, halls, and towers of fort spinder, the brownies sang. then with three cheers and a tiger, the jolly crew once more yielded to twadeils' remonstrance, composed themselves to quietude and marched briskly away. nevertheless, frequently as they moved along they kept time to the hummed notes of the chorus: "del-en-_do_ est car-tha-_go_!" car-tha-_go_ has got to _go_! footnotes: [footnote ak: appendix, note a.] [footnote al: appendix, note b.] [footnote am: appendix, note c.] [footnote an: the author seems to have in view a well-known thomisoid spider, known both in europe and america as misumena vatia.--ed.] chapter xviii. wooed but not won. notwithstanding the fatigues of the day and night spite did not seek rest. leaving the command of orchard camp with hide, he went aboard the "fringe" and sailed over to the island. the boat was run in under the willows, and at his own request raft went with spite to the lodge of dame tigrina. "you would be more welcome if you'd come at a respectable season," was the greeting which the old creature gave her master. "well, well, mother, you must bear with me this time. it isn't often i trouble you. and, you know, you never lose anything by serving me. how are your new boarders? asleep, i hope?" "asleep? not they! they have done nothing the whole night but weep, and pray, and bemoan their condition." "poor things!" said spite, "i suppose they are pining to see me, again! hey, mother?" dame tigrina showed her fangs in what was intended for a grin, and led the way into the "brownie bower," as spite merrily called the place where faith and sophia were confined. "good morning, my pretty birds," said the chief, as he entered the chamber. "it is rather early for a call of ceremony on young ladies. but, really, you must excuse me for once, as time is precious just now. besides, i come on business,--business of great importance. and that is always a good excuse for untimely visits." the nurses rose as the pixies entered the room. they stood with arms clasped about each other, casting beseeching glances at their dread enemy, but saying nothing. "come, mistress faith," continued spite, "i have some private words to speak to you. now no scenes, please! if you want to be well treated act sensibly. there, sophie, you can go to the other side of the room. what i have to say concerns faith alone." he loosened the clasped arms of the captives and led faith aside. the brownie maiden shrank back from the pixie's approach, drew herself up and stood facing her persecutor. her face was sad almost to despair, but a quiet firmness in her eyes showed that although she thought best to be silent, she had braced herself to resist or suffer to the utmost. "i am a plain, rough-spoken person, faith," began spite, "and i shall waste no words in telling you my wish and purpose. i love you. i want you for a wife. i mean to marry you." faith started, shrank back yet further, drew herself up yet more, but remained silent. "i don't wish to marry in my own race, for reasons which i do not care to explain. but i have long felt the need of some one to preside over my household. i have chosen you to that honor. are you ready to accept it without more ado?" faith's cheeks blushed crimson at these words. her eyes flashed as she answered: "spite, chief, pixie, fiend!--whatever you call yourself, what evil spirit could have devised such an unholy scheme? faith ally herself with you? never! do the worst you can do at once. i can die. i am not afraid to die. strike! but say no more of a matter the very thought of which is revolting." she spoke quietly, but there were firmness and fire in her tones before which even spite quailed for a moment. he was not long abashed. "that sounds very fine," he replied, "and i suppose is the proper thing to say, and all that, in such cases. let us take all such high and virtuous stuff for granted, however, and come straight to business. now first, you have such an offer as no brownie ever yet dreamed of. you may be queen of the pixies. you shall have a palace--yes, a score of palaces if you like. servants, honors, garments of the richest silk, table luxuries from air and earth and water--everything that heart could possibly wish of honor, riches and comfort shall be yours. what have you to say to that?" "that not all the kingdoms of this earth, could you bestow them on me, would buy me to be a pixie's bride." "then, second," continued spite, not noticing the reply, "you will be in a position to act as a mediator between your people and ours. you could have many opportunities for doing good to your friends and kin. the alliance which i propose would also give you a power for good over our people. even if you were asked to make a sacrifice, it would be your duty to do so since thereby you would widen the sphere of your influence. what do you say to that?" "i say, as i have ever been taught, that it is not lawful to do evil that good may come. it is a delusion and a snare to say that such a wicked union as you ask could have any other than a disastrous end." "then, third," continued spite with the same cool indifference to faith's indignant words, "third and last, you might as well submit gracefully to your destiny. you can't help yourself. you are in my hands. i shall marry you whether you like or no. you will only bring sorrow and pain upon yourself and friends by your stubbornness, and will do no good in the end. i have finished my business. i don't mean to press it just now. think over it carefully. if your good sense is equal to your reputation, you will conclude to live queen of the pixies, with a good heart. the next time i come i shall expect to have your betrothal kiss. i leave you now to refresh yourself with sleep. good night!" while spite was thus addressing faith, sophia in the other end of the room was approached by the smuggler. "oh, sir," she cried, "you showed us kindness on the boat. i know you must have a good heart, even if you are a pixie. have pity on us, and save us from this horrible dungeon." "softly, softly, my pretty lass," responded raft. "you are right enough in thinking that i pity you. but it is not so easy always to indulge one's self in that luxury. it would be a mighty costly one if i were to carry it to the length you ask. but i have a proposal that may make it all right. there, listen coolly. don't cry, please! that quite unmans me. you can get out of this trouble in an easy and pleasant way." "get out of this trouble?" repeated sophia with hope and joy. "quick, tell me how!" "so! i am ordered by lieutenant hide, who is second in command over the pixies, you know, to propose marriage to you in the name of his oldest son halfway." "oh! you are mocking me!" cried sophia, clasping her hands, and her countenance changing from hope to horror. "you cannot mean that?" "no, certainly i am not mocking," said raft mistaking her meaning; "he's in dead earnest, i am sure, and will stand by his proposal. he means just what he says. he wants a brownie wife for his boy." "o sir," exclaimed sophia quickly, "you misunderstand me. nothing could induce me to listen a moment to such a proposal. i would never, never marry him!" "ah! that's the way the wind blows, hey? well, there's no accounting for tastes. young halfway is counted a likely chap, and the best match in the country. there are scores of young pixinees who would jump at such an offer." "don't speak of it! it is an insult. i would die a thousand deaths first. never, never!" "well, well, you needn't go on so about it. i'm sure i meant you no harm, and i've done my duty to my captain. hide can't gainsay that." sophia sank upon a cushion and wept violently. raft looked upon her tenderly. at last he spoke: "look here, miss sophia, it may be that you'd take more kindly to a sea life, now, than to one on shore. if you can't marry halfway, what do you say to raft? you will be free as air to come and go, and be queen of the "fringe," the fastest yacht upon the waters. you shall have no captains or lieutenants over you, nor anything else, but your own sweet will and choice. you can visit your kin when you please, spend half the time with them if you like. and, maybe, they would be willing to have me spend a good deal of time with you in the brownie camp. p'raps i might take to brownie ways, by and by, and turn out a sort of fairy myself. who knows? what say you, my pretty? speak up and don't fear! if you'll give me the right to call you my own, i can find the way out of this cave for you and your friend faith too, i'll be bound! well, what is it?" sophia's amazement during this address was unbounded. she dropped her hands upon her lap, lifted her face and with round wondering eyes gazed in a bewildered way upon the smuggler. her heart had been somewhat drawn toward raft on account of his kindness. the one glint of sunshine in all the deep darkness and horror of their position, had been the rough courtesy of this pixie sailor. but to marry him? oh! how could she listen to such a proposal? yet she dared not stop raft lest she should anger the only one who had shown himself friendly. if she should speak out her whole heart, would he not turn against her and faith with bitterness? then, for just one brief moment--the thought of her helplessness flashed upon sophia's mind. all was lost to them. they were already as those who had gone down among the tombs. would it not be right for her to save faith, at least, by complying? faith would be free!--raft had promised it. she herself might be delivered from the power of spite and hide, who would compel her to marry halfway. true, she would be a pixie's wife. but how much better raft than halfway! how much better to be free upon the fringe, than imprisoned in dame tigrina's halls? to be permitted to see home and friends as often as she wished! ought she not to make the sacrifice, and save dear faith? the temptation flashed before her imagination for a moment--only for a moment. with a shudder, and a blush of self-reproach that she had even allowed the thought to rise, she put the temptation aside. "o sir," she exclaimed, bursting into tears, "i pray you say no more! you have showed me some kindness; have pity on me now. i cannot do what you ask. i am betrothed to sergeant true. the laws of my race would not allow a marriage with you or any other of your people. such concord, fellowship, and communion we may never hold with pixies. we dare not be thus unequally yoked together. indeed, i would not offend you, but--" "tut, tut," exclaimed the smuggler interrupting her, "there's no offence in particular. if you don't accept, it's your own look out. however, i can do nothing for you in that case. if you were my wife now, i should have a right to protect you and yours against all my kith and kin. i would do it, too! but as you don't choose that, i must e'en stand by my employer, and do the best i can for him. so, say no more about it. there! the chief is ready to leave, i see, and so good-night!" the two pixies left the room, and faith and sophia were once more alone. their grief was pitiful to see. there was not a ray of hope for them. o that they were dead! or, that they had never been born! so they moaned, and wept in each other's arms for long, long hours, until nature hushed their anguish into the forgetfulness of sleep. while the pixie chief was off upon his mission of unrighteousness, the brownie captain had also gone upon a journey. leaving the command to macwhirlie he started for the mansion with blythe and true. the old dutch clock in the hall rang out the hour of four as they entered the chamber window by the virginia creeper that covered the side of the house. night was beginning to yield before the advance of coming day, "and now aurora, daughter of the dawn, with rosy lustre purpled o'er the lawn." how sweet, fresh and still the old place looked after the trials, fatigues and perils of the past day and night! but there was no time to indulge pleasant sentiment. many dear interests hung upon their haste. they crept through the window blinds, and mounted the bed posts to the coverlid close by the sleeping governor. bruce spoke. wille turned uneasily in his sleep, but made no answer. blythe touched his face with a sword handle. the governor threw up his hand, opened his eyes, plucked at the netting of the canopy and muttered, "i say, wife, the mosquitoes have got under the bar. it's very annoying!" then he lay down again to sleep. once more bruce spoke, but more loudly, "governor wille, wille, wille!" "oh dear!" sighed the sleeping man, "i do think the everlasting singing of those mosquitoes is worse than their bite. couldn't you keep them out, wife?" "come, come," cried bruce impatiently, "it is we--the brownies. wake up! wake, and listen to us, if you have any love or pity for your old friends." governor wille was now aroused and sat up in his bed and looked down sleepily upon his fairy friends. he yawned and rubbed his eyes. "well," he began, "this is a strange visit, truly. what is wanted now, pray?" bruce briefly related the late events, and besought his aid to recover the lost nurses. "but i don't see what i'm to do!" exclaimed wille. "how can i bring back the poor lasses? i don't know where they are, i am sure. what shall i do about it? i say, wife--wife! dido, wake up! here are the brownies. spite has captured faith and sophia. dear me! can't you wake? you're a precious sleepy head!" dido awoke in half the time that wille had taken; but then gentlemen look at those things so differently when it concerns their wives! wille and dido held a short conference, which was interrupted by many yawns from the governor, and finally dido announced the conclusion. "governor willie has been up all night," she said; "he returned at a late hour from columbus, and is worn out with business, travel and loss of sleep. he must rest now. after breakfast we will go out to the lake and join you in the search after faith and sophia." "when do you breakfast?" asked blythe. "it will be quite late to-morrow--ten o'clock at least, i suppose." "and you will not be ready to help us before eleven or twelve, then?" "i think that is quite likely." "cannot you come without the governor?" suggested blythe. "no, i couldn't think of that. we never undertake such things separately. good morning, now." dido pulled up her night-cap, retied the strings, and laid her pretty head upon the pillow. her husband was already breathing heavily, off asleep while dido was talking. "but, madam," said true earnestly, "twelve o'clock may be too late. you are trifling with this thing! we ask you to pity us and help us. you know the golden motto, 'quickly done is twice done.' if you want to help us at all you must make haste." "hush-sh!" said bruce, taking the sergeant by the arm and leading him away. "don't you see? they are both asleep already. we can do nothing more now, i fear. come, we must once more fall back upon our own resources." true left the bed unwillingly. he muttered and sent back reproachful looks as he moved away. he may have been too much interested to judge calmly, but he had decided opinions about the conduct of wille and dido--sleeping while faith and sophia were in pixie bonds! he spoke out, too. but his words were unheard. the trio left the chamber and hastened back to camp. chapter xix. a battle on lake katrine. commodore rodney and his brave tars were not long in reaching the inlet, where the brownie fleet lay moored. the damages received in the last sea fight were so far repaired that the ships were ready for service. sails were shaken out, cordage stretched, anchors weighed, and before dawn the whole navy was crossing the lake under full sail. [illustration: fig. 77.--a brownie david or catapult (side view.)] rodney's flag-ship was called the emma, and was built after designs of the brownie naval constructor. its hull was cunningly framed from leaves cut, bent and stretched into proper shape. its sails were delicate leaves fastened upon miniature masts, whose cordage was twisted from fibres of plants. its armament was thus fashioned: bits of elderberry stalk were cut into short lengths and the pith removed, leaving "barrels" which were thrust out of port-holes or laid along deck. a rod or "plunger" fitted into each barrel, the outer end of which was lashed to a string tied to the ends of a bowed strip of elastic wood, hickory for the most part, whose ends were braced by stiff pieces to either side of the barrel. to the end of the "plunger" several ropes were fastened. then tiny pebbles were dropped into the tubes against the head of the rod through holes in the breech. to fire the gun, the brownies drew the plunger back as far as the elastic strip would allow; then suddenly let go the cords, which the gun crew usually did with a great hurrah. the bended strips sprung into position, forcing the plunger forward, thus driving out the pebbles to a goodly distance. for these cannons or catapults the brownies had the odd name of "davids." [illustration: fig. 78.--a brownie david (top view.)] the other vessels of the fleet were smaller than the emma, but were rigged and fitted out after the same manner. their names are: the ken, commanded by pipe; the trusty, commanded by waterborn; the old honest, commanded by tradewind; the perseverance, commanded by coral; the hope, commander fluke; the steady, commander temperance; the kind, commander takeheed. these were the principal vessels and their captains were good and tried men. the brownie national flag was white, with a blue canton or field; upon the latter was a white cross saltier, known as st. andrew's cross, within the centre of which was a red flaming heart surrounded by a wreath of thistle blooms and leaves. the brownie "jack," after the fashion of american and british fleets, was simply the blue field as above described, without the white fly. commodore rodney's pennant was a white streamer, bearing thereupon a white water lily, the long stem of which was bent into the form of the letter "e," as used in script, and the whole displayed upon a green leaf. it was a pretty sight to see the tiny fleet, with sails all set and colors flying, swiftly riding the water. the current of the brook carried the boats well on towards ellen's isle. off the western point of the island they left the stream and proceeded slowly along the northern shore. [illustration: fig. 79.--brownie flag and pennant.] "sail, ho!" cried the lookout on the foretopmast cross-trees of the flag-ship. "where away?" asked rodney. "dead ahead!" "hah! that's strange. what do you make her out to be?" "i can't say exactly, owing to the mist upon the lake. but i take it to be the styx, the flag-ship of the pixie squadron." "keep a sharp eye ahead," said rodney. "the styx was anchored at the outlet last night and can hardly be off there." "i see her plainly now!" said the lookout, "and she is not alone, sir. three other sails have just hove in sight." "it's the pixie navy, then?" "aye, aye, sir. and they're standing up the channel with every sail set." "strange!" muttered rodney. "how did they know of our movements? is there a traitor among us? is it all chance? or has this something to do with the loss of my poor child? no matter! there the enemy is, and we must make ready to receive him. ho, there! make signal, prepare for action!" the flag that telegraphed this order to the fleet was run up, and soon the merry whistle piping the men to quarters was heard upon deck. little preparation was needed. all were longing for the fray. every heart yearned to do somewhat to rescue the captured nurses and avenge the injury put upon their beloved commanders. the sun had now fairly risen, and the mists slowly rolled up from the surface of the lake. the whole pixie fleet was seen standing up the channel, as the strip of water between the island and the orchard was called. the wind was from the northwest and therefore favorable to the pixies, who were bearing down rapidly upon the brownies. the vessels of the water-pixies are built in the same style as raft's yacht, the fringe, but much larger in size. admiral quench commanded the fleet, and the names of his most important vessels, with their masters, are as follows: the "by and by," master slipknot; the "despair," master strangle; the "goodtime," master drown; the "littleone," master sineasy; the "fast," master wildoats; the "doubt," master shallow; the "smoke," master stunt; the "cigarette," master sapforce, whose mate was mr. nicotine. more efficient captains and crews never spread sail or drew cutlass. they were devoted to their admiral and thoroughly united in hatred of the brownies. they had the advantage over their enemies in strength and number, and with a favoring wind, were confident of victory. [illustration: figs. 80, 81.--the pixies' flag and pennant.] the pixie sailors were popularly known (after the name of their flag-ship) as the "stygians." the brownie tars had also a popular name,--"natties," which, unless it be a nickname for "navigators," the author knows not the meaning thereof. as the two fleets rapidly neared each other a red silken flag was run up to the peak of the styx. it showed on a black canton, embroidered in white silk, a round spider web within which hung a skull and cross-bones. admiral quench also had his pennant, a red streamer upon which was blazoned a golden chalice held inverted in a sable hand over burning coals. fortunately for the brownies the wind chopped around into the north just as the two fleets came within gun shot. the advantage in manoeuvring, which before had been wholly with the stygians, was now equally divided. as the black and red flag floated from the peak of the styx, the natties opened fire with their davids. the pebbles tore through the sails of the pixie ships and wrought much damage among the crews. "close up!" telegraphed quench from the flag-ship. stygians prefer to fight at close quarters. they have no weapons like the brownie davids, fit for doing battle at long range, and therefore bear straight down upon the enemy; fling out from their spinnerets grapnels of silk cable; leap upon the enemy's deck and with fangs, swords, spears, and lassoes fairly weigh down and overpower their foes. a company of trained boarders known as the vaulters, commanded by one saltus, were especially formidable. their duty was to station themselves upon a yard-arm, cross-trees, top or shroud, and attach their bodies thereto by elastic ropes; thence they would leap down upon their foe, seize him, and by the backward rebound of the cord, draw him with themselves up to the point of departure. when thus seized and carried aloft a brownie rarely escaped. the sudden change of wind enabled the natties to keep clear of their powerful adversaries. they tacked back and forth across the channel, avoided the pixie ships and poured in at long range their david shot. rodney, however, had no thought of shunning a hand to hand fight. he had determined upon a decisive struggle. he believed that his natties in their present humor would be invincible. having therefore pounded the stygians thoroughly with his davids, and thus disabled one or two ships and weakened several crews, he hoisted the signal "bring the enemy to close action!" the order was received with cheers and briskly obeyed. the natties bore down upon the enemy and poured in volley after volley of shot. the stygian sails were riddled, masts were knocked over, decks were covered with wounded pixies; splinters flew in the air like snow flakes. the fleets were now within grappling distance. the two parties stood with weapons drawn, eager for the meeting that should test their courage, skill and strength. the ships closed. hull grated upon hull; yards interlocked; the grapnels were hove; ship to ship, all along the line, stygians and natties were coupled in conflict. the kind and tattle, the trusty and fast, the hope and despair, the old honest and the littleone, the perseverance and the by and by, the ken and the doubt, were locked together. the tipple and the treat were both alongside the steady, the smoke and cigarette were doubled against the wholesome, and the styx and goodtime had grappled the emma. in some cases the natties were the boarder, in others the stygians. the better policy of the brownies was to stand upon the defensive in these hand to hand fights; for the network of cords and ropes with which the rigging and decks of the pixie craft were filled, made it perilous for brownies to land upon them. there were some, however, bold enough or rash enough to venture, and not always without success. the emma was somewhat larger than the flag-ship of the pixie squadron; but as the styx was aided by the goodtime in the assault upon her, rodney had heavy odds against him. yet he and his brave tars were so thoroughly wrought up and eager for battle that he cared nought for that. he bade his crew stand by to repel boarders. they were ranged on either side of the deck. admiral quench brought up the styx on the port side. the stygians swarmed in the rigging. they hung upon the yards, which projected over the emma's deck, ready to drop down thereupon. they flung out their lariats to entangle the natties stationed on yards and ratlines. [illustration: fig. 82.--the brownie "jack," blue field, white saltier, red flaming heart, the flames of gold.] arrows flew in clouds from the emma's deck and rigging. then casting aside their bows (all except the sharpshooters stationed in the top), the brownie sailors closed to their work. the battle had begun in earnest. for a few moments there was a confused mingling of stygians and natties. brownie cheers blended with the rasping clatter of the pixies' drum beaten by stridulans and his drum corps. a constant splash--splashing was heard, as pairs of combatants dropped from the shrouds into the lake, where the battle was often renewed, both parties sometimes sinking together in death. as yet no stygian had kept foot upon the emma. every onset had been repulsed and the pixies hurled back. but the brownies were not always to be so fortunate. a strong party headed by quench broke through the line of defenders, and fairly got foothold upon the emma. in the confusion master drown led a vigorous attack from the goodtime, and gained a footing in the starboard waist. for a moment the natties gave way. victory seemed to woo the stygians, who were pressing upon their enemies, exultingly shouting their watchword, "death!" in this crisis, commodore rodney raised the brownie war cry. "rescue, rescue!" he shouted; "remember faith! remember sophia! to the rescue! follow me!" [illustration: fig. 83.--flag of brownie brigade of cavalry, blue and gold.] he ran upon the advancing line of stygians swinging his cutlass above his head. it was a damascus blade, a famous weapon in the brownie history and traditions, which went by the name of "straight." the commander of the emma, captain ask, advanced side by side with the commodore. his voice was heard above the clamor of battle and discord of pixie drums echoing the call "rescue!" as he poised aloft his battle-axe, the "bigbelief" as his sailors used to call it. rodney's sword and the battle-axe of ask cut great gaps in the stygian ranks. the natties followed close upon their leaders, and soon the pixies were driven back again to the sides of the ship. there they made a stand. in the drift and swirl of the conflict it happened that the leaders of the contending crews were brought face to face. admiral quench had steadily fought his way toward captain ask; ask had as eagerly pressed toward the spot where quench was fighting. they met at last. quench flung upon the captain's face and arms a cloud of network. the delicate threads, striking like a lasso against ask's upraised arm, enveloped it, and the enswathed member sank helpless at his side.[ao] his eyes were filled with the silken filaments, so that he was well-nigh blinded. a mocking laugh broke from quench's lips as he leaped forward upon his foe with out-reached fangs. it would have gone hard with captain ask had not the mate of his ship, whose name was angel, been close behind him. he had followed and guarded his beloved commander throughout the entire battle. quickly the mate cut the network that bound ask's arm, tore the filaments from his eyes and dashed his own cutlass into quench's face. the pixie paused a moment, staggered by the blow. in that moment ask recovered himself, raised his axe and struck the admiral. his aim was somewhat turned aside by the web filaments, still clinging to his arm. the blade of bigbelief missed the pixie's head and sank into his shoulder. the force of the blow carried both combatants to the deck. ask rose to his feet, seized quench in his arms, lifted him up, put forth all his strength and threw him into the lake. meanwhile rodney had come upon drown, the master of the goodtime. the fight between the two was short and decided. drown was pinned to the mast head by the commodore's sword; rodney's left arm was severely wounded, and his face badly torn. before he could withdraw his sword a score of stygians led by deceit, the master of the styx, set upon him. natties hastened to the rescue, and waged battle gallantly around their chief. rodney seized a marlinspike, for he had no time to withdraw his cutlass, and with his unwounded arm laid about him vigorously. deceit fought his way through the line of natties until he reached the mast whereto his comrade, master drown, was pinned like an insect in an entomologist's box. he drew forth the cutlass, and was about taking drown in his arms when rodney fell upon him. deceit turned the cutlass against its owner. but it was an awkward weapon in the new hands and did little hurt. a blow from the marlinspike broke the stygian captain's arm and sent the cutlass ringing upon deck. deceit closed immediately upon rodney, seized him with his uninjured claws, and ere the commodore could again raise his arm, bore him to the bulwark of the ship, mounted the rail, and was about to leap into the water with his captive. fortunately, rodney with his right hand laid hold upon the shrouds and thus delayed for an instant the pixie's fell purpose. a volunteer sailor in the emma's crew, our old friend sergeant clearview, had picked up the commodore's cutlass as it dropped from deceit's hand. he was at rodney's side in a moment. he clasped one arm around the chief as he hung over the rail, and with the other buried the blade of straight in the bosom of deceit. the stygian captain loosed his hold, fell back into the lake and sank out of sight. a dozen willing hands had by this time seized the commodore, and he was borne fainting to his cabin. thus it happened that two of the chief officers of the brownie navy owed their safety, that day, to the prompt and loving aid of their followers. we left quench struggling in the lake whither ask had tossed him. this was a small matter to the stygian admiral, for he was a famous swimmer, and disabled as he was, had no trouble in reaching his own ship's side. he clambered up the man ropes and was helped aboard by his sailors. "cut adrift," were his first words, "and signal the same to the fleet!" so cut adrift it was, on board the styx and goodtime not only, but throughout the squadron. had rodney not been disabled, it is doubtful whether the stygian ships would have got off from the emma so easily. as it was, they were suffered to swing loose, but were not permitted to leave without some parting compliments. "man the guns!" cried ask. the natties stood to their davids, and shot rattled upon the retreating ships so freely that the crews were driven below, leaving on deck only enough to navigate the vessels. throughout the two squadrons various fortunes befell the ships. the steady had fared somewhat worse than the emma. commander temperance was badly wounded, and had not the signal to cut adrift been given in the very niche of time, the good ship might have been captured. the wholesome was badly damaged by the cigarette and smoke, and her captain, lustyhealth, was carried below sorely hurt. one of the stygian vessels, the despair, was sunk by the hope. its captain, master strangle, got off on one of the boats, however, much to the sorrow of commander fluke who tried hard to lay hold of the rogue. the tattle was captured along with its master, backbite, by commander takeheed of the kind. this miserable, sneaking pixie was lashed to a mast of his own ship, and as the kind towed the tattle through the brownie fleet he was greeted everywhere with groans and jeers by the true-hearted sailors. they were not used to treat prisoners after this fashion, but had small compunction in the case of this fellow backbite. as for the rest of the ships, it must be enough to say that all the officers and crews did their duty well. special mention may be made of boatswain pipe. even before the signal to cut adrift had been hoisted upon the pixie flag-ship, pipe had so closely pressed the doubt, that its master, captain shallow, had already cut off his grapnels, and was in full flight toward big cave harbor. the ken followed peppering her adversary with david shot. but pipe soon saw that the doubt would slip away from him, and gave up the pursuit, returned to the fight, ran his ship alongside the despair, leaped upon her deck at the head of his boarders, and fell upon the crew who were engaged with the hope. it was through this timely reinforcement and the bravery of pipe the boatswain that commander fluke was able to sink the despair with all her crew, excepting the boat's crew that escaped with captain strangle to the tipple. having finished this valiant service, he pulled away in an open boat to the aid of the wholesome, and by his timely reinforcement saved that craft from the clutch of captains stunt and nicotine. footnotes: [footnote ao: appendix, note a.] chapter xx. a naval monster. while these exciting events were occurring, twadeils and his chums having finished their "lark" were slowly picking their way towards the brownie camp with their prisoners and wounded comrade. it was past sun-up before they sighted the pickets, for a heavy fog having arisen from the lake, they must needs stop and wait for the day. at the guard line they were halted only a few moments, but taken at once to headquarters, where they told their news in full, and turned over their prisoners. thence they were marched away to the guard house where, after a hearty breakfast, they turned in for a sound sleep. they were quite content to take their punishment, and happy that their adventure had turned out so much better than they had dared to hope. halfrick, who had been sent to the hospital, rapidly improved, and it may here be said, fully recovered under the nurses' skillful care. when the party learned the unhappy fate of faith and sophia they were deeply grieved. "i saw the lights of the searchers at one time," said gear, "bobbing here and there through the bushes; but i was fool enough to think that it was a guard detail out looking for us, and so said nothing. alas, alas! well, i don't believe i'll ever go on another lark!" but he forgot his good resolve before long, and the time came when he was as keen for a night adventure as ever he had been. late in the morning the whole party, amid the mingled cheers and chaff of the camp were brought before captain bruce who had returned from his visit to governor wille. "brownies," he said, "you have been guilty of a serious breach of discipline by leaving the camp without orders, and that in the face of the enemy. it is true, you have done great public service; but that has been more by good luck than good management or good intent. the result might have been different, and not only damaging to the nation, but fatal to yourselves. you deserve a greater punishment than you have received; but this is a time of sore grief and peril to our nation, in which the best service of all her sons is required for every moment. i therefore dismiss you with this public reprimand and the imprisonment already inflicted. remember that no deeds, however brave, can entitle one to praise when they are done in defiance of discipline, and in disobedience of superiors. go; report to your several commands, and henceforth confine your energies to the discharge of regular duty and obedience of lawful orders." "don't you think you were a little too severe with the boys, father?" asked agatha, who was present during the reprimand. "perhaps i was, daughter; but i hardly think so. some kinds of craft will bear a good deal of ballast. but all our young brownies are alike; they will have their freaks and larks no matter how serious affairs may be. however, these lads are among the most skillful soldiers in camp, and they will be none the worse either for their fun or their punishment. the rogues! what a lark it was!" and in spite of the heavy burden on his heart, he smiled at the remembrance of the adventures which had been told him. "it seems the climax of absurdity that a mere squad of youngsters should plan an assault upon a strong fort, and actually gain possession of it too, by a freak of fortune!" [illustration: fig. 84.--"they entered the leafy towers."] now orders were given to raze the empty fort. the brownies had been keen to enter and destroy the place as soon as twadeils had reported its abandonment; but macwhirlie forbade action until captain bruce's return. the eager soldiers swarmed over the barricades, through the gates, and along the vacant streets. they entered the leafy towers in search of lurking foemen, and finding none cut the binding threads and let the leaves unroll. they severed the stay ropes of the conning tower of pixie thaddeus, and the whole structure collapsed. as the repaired suspension bridge stood intact, and the shore was strewn with the litter of a hasty flight, the manner of the pixies' escape was easily explained. but the whereabouts of the garrison was not made out on account of the fog that overhung the lake. that however was lifting, and the pixie fleet would soon be in sight. the soldiers went to work heartily. breastworks, barricades, gates, towers, walls, ramparts, bridge and piers were assailed with such zeal and vigor, that in a short time the remnants of fort spinder were laid in pieces upon the ground, flying in fragments through the air, or floating in broken bits upon the water. [illustration: fig. 85.--"they cut the binding threads."] by the time this good work was finished the sun had scattered the fog, and left the face of the lake quite clear. little columns and clouds of mist still hung here and there, leaving distant objects indistinct, but both fleets were in sight. the brownies crowded down to the bank, and from every elevation and tree top watched the battle. the stygians pushing out of big cave harbor, and the natties coming into sight around the foot of the island; the manoeuvring of the vessels under the change of wind; the effect of the davids upon the pixie craft; the onset, the closing together of the ships, the grappling of hull to hull, all these events the excited soldiers saw. after that, the two fleets were so huddled together that none could say which side was victorious. some of the cavalry mounted and pushed off over the lake to see for themselves. but the bee and butterfly ponies dared not come very near the ships, lest their wings should be caught in the rigging and they and their riders destroyed. they came close enough, however, to notice the turn of battle. couriers passed back and forth bringing to bruce news, now good now bad. at last they reported the stygians in full retreat, and that the natties had gained a great victory. cheer upon cheer greeted this tidings. the shouts from the shore rolled across the water, and were heard by the brownie sailors who answered their comrades heartily. a yacht was dispatched for captain bruce, who, accompanied by blythe and true, crossed to the emma to consult with rodney as to future movements. the stygians had retired to big cave harbor, and there for some time they were likely to stay. they could be seen from the fore-top busy upon deck and rigging repairing the damages of battle, as the natties, also, were doing. dinner was now over; a pleasant hum of voices sounded through the fleet. the decks were cleaned from the litter of conflict. the sad rites over their fallen comrades were decently but speedily paid. the sailors awaited eagerly the issue of the officers' consultation. captain bruce returned to the shore. blythe and true remained with the fleet, and were assigned to the ken under care of pipe the boatswain. now a rumor ran through the squadron that an immediate attack was to be made upon the stygians by the whole brownie brigade; that macwhirlie had gone around with the cavalry by the inlet to fall upon the pixie camp, and that bruce with the infantry was to pass around to the other end of the lake, cross the outlet and cut off retreat from that quarter. however set agoing, the rumor well set forth the main features of the plan agreed upon between army and navy. rodney's wound was painful, but was not so serious as to hinder active service. he went about his duties with his arm slung in bandages; a little weak in body, but as stout of heart as ever, and with brighter hopes than he had for some time dared to cherish. the afternoon was well advanced when the lookout on the emma reported an unusual movement in the pixie fleet. "what do you make it out?" said rodney. "they seem to be getting ready to weigh anchor!" answered the lookout. "and several of their boats have in tow a queer sort of craft that looks more like a snail shell than any sort of vessel i know." "hah! some pixie trick, i warrant!" returned rodney. "but we mustn't let them escape us this time. ho there! set the signal to weigh anchor." "aye, aye, sir," was the hearty response from mate angel. "it is done, sir." "now signal the fleet to prepare for action." "aye, aye, sir. that is done too." "good. now set the order to come to close quarters." "close quarters it is, sir," soon responded the prompt mate. the nattie ships were bearing down upon the mouth of big cave harbor, arranged in the form of a half moon, the emma in the centre of the line. pipe led one wing in the ken, commander coral led the other in the perseverance. already the cavalry battalion had made the crossing, and was well up to the pixie camp, close along shore, and almost within hailing distance of the fleet. a squad under command of ensign lawe was left to guard the shore road and make telegraphic signals to the fleet with the wigwag flags. lieutenant macwhirlie with the bulk of the troops pushed on and to the rear, with the purpose of falling upon the pixie camp while the fleet attacked in front. the odd looking craft which had puzzled the lookout, had been towed off shore, and was now slowly gliding out of the harbor. the stygians were seen from the brownie ships hanging in the rigging, manning the tops, swarming at their quarters upon deck, evidently ready for action. [illustration: fig. 86.--"the conning tower of pixie thaddeus."] but not an anchor was raised, not a vessel stirred. the crews stood dumb and motionless, with eyes turned toward that strange craft bearing down steadily upon the brownie vessels. "what can it be?" queried the brownies. nobody knew. no sail, nor mast, nor spar, nor rigging of any kind was to be seen upon it. not a sailor showed himself anywhere. it had no visible motive power, and went through the water as though driven by an unseen spirit hand. "what can it be?" exclaimed pipe, whose command lay nearest the strange vessel. [illustration: telegraphic signal flags: 87, black with white centre; 88, white and black; 89, red and white; 90, white and red.] "i believe it is the new ram the pixies have been talking so much about lately," answered sergeant true. "they have been trying to keep it a secret, but the thing has leaked out. it looks like an ugly affair." "ugly? i should say so!" said the old salt warmly. "it is nothing but the cast off shell of a water snail. call that seamanship? nobody but a lubber or a pixie would be willing to sail or fight in such a tub as that." "well, i'm only a lubber, you know," answered true, "and have but a landsman's notion of things. but to my mind that ram, or shell, or tub or whatever it may be, will turn the tide of battle against us if we don't look out. see! the davids are playing on it from all parts of our fleet. the shot bounds off its sides like thistle-down. it keeps straight on its way, like grim fate, turning neither to the right hand nor the left. do you see, boatswain? the creature is making straight for us!" "aye, aye! let it come on. i say pooh! to all your croaking. stand by, now, and see how a genuine sailor can knock the bottom out of all the floating brass, iron, or snail-shell pots that ever went to sea. launch the boats, lads! we'll pull up to this stygian kettle and see if we can't find some hole in it through which our cutlasses will make way." next to the ken was the captured pixie ship tattle, which had been turned into the brownie navy with the new name praise, and clearview, as a reward for his service in saving rodney's life, had been promoted to command her. next to the praise was the hope, commander fluke. as the pixie ram neared the left wing, composed of the three vessels just named, it suddenly shifted its course and bore straight down upon the praise. "fire!" cried clearview. a harmless broadside was poured upon the ram. "again," shouted clearview. "aim below the water line; i see an opening there." another broadside was delivered with no better effect. on, on the weird monster moved, straight toward the ship. every eye in both fleets was fixed upon the praise. every heart throbbed with anxiety. crash! a groan of dismay ran along the line of the brownie squadron. a wild yell of joy rose from the pixie ships. the solid prow of the ram had crushed through the leafy side of the praise, as an iron steamship would run through a fishing schooner. she sank in a moment leaving her crew struggling in the waves. more quickly than one would have thought so clumsy a craft could move, the ram turned and bore down upon the hope. the natties aboard this ship were dismayed at the fate of their comrades, but not a man swerved from his post. "boarders, ahoy!" shouted fluke. "aye, aye, sir!" "prepare to board the enemy. drop from the cross-trees. spring from the deck. heave the grapnels if you can." brave but hopeless struggle! the ram crushed into the hope as into the praise. a few of the natties succeeded in leaping upon the smooth round turret of the enemy, only to roll off again into the lake, and be engulfed in the vortex of their sinking ship. two ships gone in a score of minutes! no wonder the brownies began to get ready to bout ship and flee from this leviathan of the deep who devoured ships as behemoth the rivers. no wonder that pipe, when he saw two-thirds of his command swept out of existence, should have felt a cold shudder run through him as this invincible and invulnerable mystery of the sea now turned its prow upon him. his order to launch boats had been executed. the three ship boats were already in the water. pipe himself commanded one, true another, coxswain help the third. lieutenant swift had charge of the ship. pipe hesitated only a moment as to what he should do. "lieutenant," he said, "look out for the ship. tack, and if you can, get to the stern of the old kettle." he held to his prejudice even after such sad experiences. "you may find some joint in her harness there through which to send a shot. but look out for the ship, and save her whatever comes of us. ready, my hearties?" "aye, aye, sir!" was the firm response. "give way, then--lively!" the three boats fairly cut the water. pipe was in advance. he tried to run his boat under the starboard side, hoping to find some port-hole or opening there. but his purpose was foiled. the ram struck him amidships. the boat was cut in two, and the crew submerged in the waters. true's boat was just in the rear of pipe's, and shared the same fate. help, more fortunate than the others, avoided the blow, and passed to the stern of the ram, which plowed on remorselessly and mutely as before, directing its course against the ken. help threw a quick glance upwards toward the strange vessel as it surged by his boat. a curtain of varnished silk canvas hung across the stern. it was drawn tight and fastened above, below and at the side so that the water was shut out. but help saw one side of the curtain pushed back for a moment, and the mocking visage of a well-known pixie officer peered out upon him. it closed, and the ram sped on to its work of destruction. help dropped into its wake, checked his boat, and began looking about for any of the crews of the lost boats and ships who might yet be above water. true and blythe were picked up. clearview was saved. fluke was lost. several others, common sailors, were also picked up. but pipe, good, gallant, dear old pipe, was gone! he had sunk and had not risen. for a long time help rowed around the scene of the disaster, and then with a sad heart turned the bow of his boat toward ellen's isle. the sturdy natties brushed from their eyes the tears shed over the lost boatswain, and then bent to their oars, leaving their beloved captain beneath the waves of lake katrine. of all the gallant sailors who went down that day none was so mourned as pipe the boatswain. the tragedy of his taking off seemed all the more terrible because of the untimely fate of his child sophia. chapter xxi. the charge of ensign lawe. lieutenant swift felt bound by the orders of his late commander, all the more because of his sad fate. accordingly he tacked ship, and avoided the stroke of the ram, which in turn tacked, though somewhat more clumsily, and followed the ken toward the brownie fleet. again swift tacked and put the head of his ship toward ellen's isle. then the ram gave up the ken and bore down upon the emma, as though resolved to seal the fortunes of the fight with the destruction of the brownie flag-ship. rodney was in sore straits. his officers and crew were greatly demoralized. his sailors were superstitious; and there was something so contrary to all that natties had ever known or heard of in the character and exploits of this audacious stranger, that superstition was aroused. they could fight pixies, but this was a sea-ghost. there was no use contending against it. there was nothing to do but bout ship and sail away. but what humiliation! and after so noble a victory! to add to the perils of the position, the stygian ships had weighed anchor, and were closing upon the brownie fleet hard in the wake of their ram. at last duty overcame pride in rodney's heart, and he gave the order to retire up the channel. ensign lawe, with his squad of cavalry, had watched from a knoll on the lake shore the progress of events. his heart sunk within him as he saw the loss of the brownie ships and crews. "i can't stand this any longer," he cried, as the boats of pipe and true sank before the ram's stroke. "to the rescue, my lads! charge!" [illustration: fig. 91.--signal flags: b, red; f, blue, white circle; l, blue and gold (yellow); t, red, white, blue; d, red, white circle. can you read the order?] without waiting to see whether or no he was followed by his battalion, he mounted his bee pony and rode at full speed toward the ram. his troopers followed, muttering loudly against their leader's folly, but unwilling to disobey. the pixies saw him plunging through the air, and greeted him with loud yells of mockery. "what is lawe about?" asked rodney. "it looks as though he were minded to charge upon the sea monster," answered the mate. "what folly! why, look there! the madcap is charging almost alone upon the very front of the ram! he is gone daft! are you sure that is ensign lawe? i never knew him to do such an insane act. he is one of the coolest heads we have. it's too bad--too bad! the fellow is throwing away his life; and we've lost too many valuable officers already." rodney sighed, and thought of his lost boatswain, the very right arm of his fleet. the ram was steadily pursuing the nattie ships now in full retreat. the wind blew up the channel. it would be a stern chase, which is always a long chase. half the pixie navy followed with the ram; the other half had tacked across the lake toward the foot of the island, with the intention of sailing up the opposite channel, and thus heading off the natties ere they reached the inlet. they had bold plans afoot, and thought to destroy the whole brownie fleet. this manoeuvre had turned attention from the daring ride of ensign lawe. yet the ensign was not such a madcap as his countrymen declared him, nor such a fool as his foes supposed. he had seen at once that the masts and rigging usual to sailing vessels were wanting from this new craft; he could therefore approach a-horseback with comparative safety. that there must be some assailable point, some port-hole, some door, something penetrable he felt sure. "i will find my way to it," he said in his heart; "or at least find out where it is. i will uncover the secret power that works this destruction, or find out the monster's weak points and give knowledge of it to the commodore." he had now reached the ram. he swept above the prow. no opening there! he hovered over the deck. all hard and smooth there! he skimmed along the sides. no port-holes, no seams, no sign of break or opening there. he flew past the side, and hung in the air above the vessel's stern. a dart whistled by his face. he felt the vibrations of the air on his cheek. "hah! there is an opening then in your solid shell? that dart came from some vent. let us see!" he pressed his gallant nag closer to the ram. his keen eye caught the varnished curtain that hung across the stern. he saw one side of it tremble and lift a little as he circled about it. the weak point in the sea monster was exposed! hurrah! he would try the metal of a brownie cutlass against that varnished curtain! if he could cut that open, the waves would rush into the hull, and the ram would sink into the lake with the noble barks that it had destroyed. lawe tightened his bridle reins as he thus meditated, and drew his cutlass. he dropped a little astern of the ram, but well to the port side, so that he might sweep straight across the stern. he poised himself firmly, bent over in the saddle, and cried, "go, my good nag!" golden rule, as his pony was named, sprang to the voice of his master as though conscious of what depended upon him. he passed across the stern of the ram so closely that his wings almost touched it. whi--rr--rr! the ensign's sword ripped through the curtain, and golden rule shot by like an arrow. quickly lawe turned and swept back again on the same track. again the blade cut through the curtain, with a downward stroke this time that laid open a vertical seam. "once more, my brave golden!" said the ensign, patting his pony, and he swept the third time across the face of the curtained door. the top and both edges were now severed from the sides of the shell. the curtain dropped over so that one corner dragged in the water. the hollow hull of the shell ship was exposed, and within it the angry faces of a group of pixies. the work wanted yet the finishing stroke. one side of the curtain was slit down to the water line. the waves were already washing in thereat; but the other side was only partly severed. it needed one stroke more--just one! that would lay the curtain level with the lake; then the billows would roll in, and claim the pixies and their infernal machine for their own. a fourth time lawe swept across the stern of the ram. a fourth time his good sword did its work without fail. the true eye and steady hand of the ensign sent it home to the mark. the curtain trembled a moment in the breeze, fell backward with flap and splash upon the surface of the lake, and dragged behind, checking the ram's motion as though it were a heavy anchor, and then weighed the stern downward to the surface. the waves broke in with a roar that echoed through the hollow hull. the groans and yells of the pixie crew answered back the voice of the waters. lawe cast one exulting glance within as he rode by. but he was doomed to a more terrible trial than he had yet endured. as he sped across the opening on his fourth trip, a dark form leaped upon him from the hold. he was in a pixie's clutch! one claw grasped the ensign's foot, the other was buried deep in golden rule's breast. the pony, frantic with terror and pain, plunged and shook his wings. but the pixie kept his hold. lawe looked downward into his face. he saw the black visage, and sneaking eyes of lieutenant hide! "ha, ha," laughed the pixie. "you know me, do you? well, you've done a fine thing to-day, no doubt! your name shall go down to posterity, of course. but i think i shall stop _you_ from going down any further in that line. we shall try another sort of going down. there's nothing like pleasant company, even when one's making a voyage to the bottom of the lake! ha, ha!" the malignant creature spoke truly. they were sinking slowly together, horse, rider and pixie into the lake. the weight of hide's body might have been overcome, but the motion of the pony's wings was much hindered. golden rule struggled nobly, but fell steadily toward the water. ensign lawe had by this time recovered from the shock of the unexpected assault. "grammercy, for thy courteous invitation," he said, coolly. "i choose to decline thy bidding and thy presence. in sooth, we shall part company now." [illustration: ((hand printed) hide, falls into the water.) the boy's illustration. fig. 92.--the sinking of the pixie ram.] once, twice, and again the faithful cutlass glanced in the sunlight. the first stroke cut loose the pixie's claw from the pony's breast; the second divided the arm by which his own foot was held; the third, following quickly, smote upon the head of the wretched creature as he tumbled, like lucifer of old, into the bosom of the lake. there was a ripple upon the water; a faint pool of blood tinged the face of lake katrine, and the waves closed forever above the dead body of hide, the son of shame. golden rule, released from his burden, shook his wings gladly and mounted aloft. lawe cast his eyes downward just as the pixie ram settled, surged, and plunged stern foremost into the lake. thus perished at the hands of ensign lawe, the famous sea ghost, the pixie shell-clad ram. the machine was a brilliant thought, the conception of hide himself. it was just what it seemed to be, the shell of a water snail. entering this empty shell, hide and his engineers had closed the opening with a web or curtain of varnished silk, which kept the water out.[ap] then paddles were fitted up in the stern, revolved by hand cranks within, and thus the vessel was directed by those inside. to ordinary assault it was invulnerable at every part except the curtain which covered the opening, and thereat had the keen blade of ensign lawe found entrance, and so the way to victory. footnotes: [footnote ap: it is not uncommon for certain tubeweaving spiders to avail themselves of the friendly openings of land shells and spin their web therein. the editor must confess that he has never seen any of his spider friends whose habits resemble that here attributed to pixie hide. but the author is not without authority for the use made thereof; for jones, in his "animal life," a well-known and excellent book on natural history, relates an incident upon which the story of the pixie ram may have been founded.--f. m.] chapter xxii. "hair-breadth 'scapes by flood and field." the gallant exploit of ensign lawe had been wrought while the two fleets were under full headway up the channel. after the first outbreak of anxiety, amazement and mockery, but little attention had been paid the quixotic affair, as all voted it. both fleets were intent upon the management of their ships. pursuers and pursued crowded on all sail, and as a strong wind blew from the west they were a long way from the ram at the moment of its destruction. a shout from lawe's soldiers, who had hovered near during the strange duel, drew attention to the brownie troopers. "what is that?" asked rodney of the lookout. "i don't see yet. yes, i make it out now; lawe is struggling in the air with a pixie who must have leaped from the ram upon his pony. the ensign is falling into the water. no! he has cut himself loose! the troopers wave their swords and shout like mad men." "what of the ram? how do the lads manage to escape the darts from the--?" "see! see!" cried the lookout excitedly. "the ram is settling into the water. the stern has been laid open from deck to keel. the waves rush in. she is sinking! hurrah, hurrah!" the national standard was run up upon the flag-ship, and as the natties uncovered and saluted the colors, cheer after cheer made the welkin ring. the brownie bugles struck up one of their favorite national airs, "the bonnie white flag," which begins, the natties over the blue waves sail, the troopers cleave the air, the footmen tramp o'er hill and vale, but one is the flag we bear! chorus: huzza for the flag we bear! huzza for the name we wear! we are one, we three, over shore and sea, in the honors and toils we share for the flag and the name we bear. ho--e--yo! tu--loo--ra--lay the bonny white flag for aye! [illustration: fig. 93.--saluting the colors.] the noble character of the brownies was well shown by the absence of jealousy on this occasion. although the navy had run from the ram, the sailors cheered the good trooper who had conquered. however, the ensign took no time to indulge in hurrahs and congratulations. he pushed to the shore, exchanged his injured pony for a fresh nag, and rode off to join macwhirlie. the stygians at first could not credit the destruction of their naval machine, least of all that it had been wrought by a dragoon! few of them had seen the combat. they had left the ram, as they supposed, to follow and destroy the ken, and had themselves pursued the fleeing natties at full speed. many of them had just seen the vessel as she went down. for the rest the vacant water was the proof. the ram was gone! their hopes had now also gone. with one half of the fleet on the other side of the channel, they deemed discretion the better part of valor, and slowly fell back toward their harbor again. rodney longed to follow them, but for several good reasons kept on his course up the channel. he had lost two of his best ships, with pipe, fluke, true, blythe, help, and many other brave men. in the hurly-burly no one had observed the escape of help and his boat crew; they, as well as the crews of the praise and the hope, were thought to be lost. moreover, he knew not but another ram might be sent against him. finally he feared that if he did stop to attack the stygians in the harbor, the other squadron would sail around the island, and he would thus be caught between the two divisions. much to his regret, therefore, he gave up the plan to join with the army in attacking big cave camp, and sailed up the channel to meet and engage the second pixie squadron. in the meantime macwhirlie had fallen with his usual vigor upon the enemy's camp. the pickets had been driven in, and the outer line of works captured. the portable davids of the cavalry carried upon the backs of their bee ponies, a sort of flying artillery, were turned upon the tents and inner works, and the shot played merrily. but as fortune would have it, bruce failed to get up at the appointed time, and could not support his lieutenant by attacking on the other side of the camp. during the delay thus caused the incidents above related occurred; the pixies rallied, and reinforced by stygians from the returned ships, drove macwhirlie back to the outer line of entrenchment. here he put up breastworks, placed sentinels and picket lines, sent out scouts, and waited for his captain. bruce soon appeared and the line was completed around the pixie camp, stretching in a half circle from shore to shore. the great drawback was the absence of the fleet. the brownie commanders were concerned about the safety of their position. could they hold it until governor wille came to their help? or, would anything interfere to hinder him from keeping his promise? if he failed again, what should they do? "however," said bruce, "it is well not to cross a river until we come to it. ensign lawe, take a troop and ride over to the mansion. get news of the governor's purpose. remind him of his promise. if there is any danger of another delay, come back post haste with the news. and now, my men, let us to breakfast, take a little rest and get ready for hard service. there's plenty of it before us." soon after the bugle had sounded the sick call, one of the sentinels on the picket line saw some one rapidly approaching from the direction of the pixie camp. "halt! who goes there?" he cried. "a friend without the countersign." "advance, friend without the countersign." [illustration: fig. 94.--"the bugle had sounded the sick call."] as the stranger drew near he showed the form and features of a brownie soldier. they were indeed marred and wasted, and the uniform was tattered and soiled; but a brownie soldier the fugitive certainly was. when he had come near enough the sentinel halted him and called: "corporal of the guard! post four!" when the corporal arrived the stranger was ordered to advance to the post. "who are you and whence do you come?" asked the corporal. "what! friend steadypace," was the reply, "don't you know me? well, well! a pixie prison must have made sad changes in me if you can't recognize your old comrade dodge." "dodge? dodge! can it be? yes; so it is! dear old fellow!" corporal steadypace embraced his friend, hurried him to the guard tent, had him fed and tidied up, meanwhile relating the particulars of sergeant clearview's story, and what the brownies knew of his own capture. thence dodge was taken to headquarters, where he was heartily greeted by the captain, and bidden tell the story of his adventures and escape. "well, sir," said dodge, "when our boat was captured, as sergeant clearview has told you, i was thought to be the only survivor of the scouting party. the pixies made a great hurrah over me as they led me through their fort, and i was pelted, hooted and cursed by all the youngsters along the way. spite the spy tried hard to pump out of me some information about our plans, but failed." [illustration: fig. 95.--the labyrinth.] "well, my daisy," he said at last, "we'll try you another time. guards, take the brownie off to the labyrinth." "at this order i was led away to the shore, ferried across the lake to orchard camp, and put in a prison located on the lake side within the pixie picket lines. it is a curious structure, and looks as though several architects had wrought upon the design. one of the sides, built by engineer epeïra, is a delicately woven orbweb. the other side, together with the gables, battlements and roof have been built by engineer theridion. the upper part of the prison is a maze of crossed lines, in the midst of which is a dome after the style of engineer linyphia. above the dome is a dry leaf rolled up into a hollow cylinder.[aq] i was placed within this leaf, which served as a dungeon or cell, and just beneath me in the little silken dome the keeper of the prison had her station. her name, as i soon learned, is labryinthea, a suitable one certainly for the keeper of such an establishment. occasionally, two or three pixies would hang around the premises, joining in the watch or exchanging gossip and flirtations with madam keeper. a few survivors of a brood of younglings sported in the maze, and when a small insect struck and was entangled upon the threads, they would creep through the crosslines, seize the unfortunate prey and feed upon it." "but dodge, pray tell us how you saw all this from your inner prison?" asked the captain. "certainly. i didn't see anything for some time, my leaf cell was so dark; but looking carefully around, i found one spot where the roof was nearly worn through. by some strange good fortune, when the pixies searched me before bringing me to the prison, they overlooked my clasp knife which i had thrust into the band of my scotch bonnet. i was thus able to work out a space large enough to let my head through. i cut out three sides neatly, and made a sort of trap door that hinged upon the uncut end. i was engaged on this for some time, as i had to work secretly, catch all the chippings in my hat, and then conceal them in my pockets. had they dropped upon the domed roof below they would have awakened suspicion. by following the lines of the leaf veins i made a cut so clean and close that my door was quite concealed from ordinary notice. i now had many opportunities to peep out of my trap and see what was going on around me. i thought i knew something of pixie tricks and ways before, but dear me! i learned more from that hole in the roof than i ever dreamed of. [illustration: fig. 96.--"above the dome is a dry leaf rolled up."] "there were several pixies domiciled on the branches of a tree that overhung the labyrinth, whose manners especially interested me. they are practicing a new mode of harassing brownies, a sort of patent spring net." the brownie officers quickened attention at this statement, for they are not only blessed with healthy curiosity, but naturally are always vigilant to meet their enemies' plots. amidst a running fire of questions corporal dodge told the following story: one day while looking out of my door, i heard beneath me the voice of spite the spy. from the prison talk i had already picked up the news that fort spinder was abandoned, and the pixies transferred to orchard camp, and was not surprised at the chief's presence. "hello!" said spite in his rough way, "where's old hyp this morning?" labyrinthea ran down her trap line, pushed her head between the bars of a window and called out, "who's there?" "only myself, sweetheart!" answered one of her lovers; and thereupon he sprang out of an adjoining window and clambered up the ladder-like lines toward the keeper.[ar] but madam was in no humor for such trifling, so she lashed the gallant heartily with a whip of silken cords that she carried at her girdle along with the prison key. the amorous pixie retreated, more rapidly than he had advanced, amidst the jeers and laughter of the crowd beneath. the keeper again looked out and seeing who was there, asked what was wanted. "the captain wants to see old hyp," one of his aides replied. [illustration: fig. 97.--madam labyrinthea lashes an impudent lover.] "you'd better put a bridle on your tongue, young sir," was the response. "isn't it just as easy to call folks by their proper names? 'hyptiotes' isn't much more to say than 'old hyp;' and besides shows decent respect to a better man than yourself." another burst of laughter greeted the discomfiture of the pixie aide; after which spite said: "we have called to see this patent spring net that hyptiotes has invented. where shall we find the fellow's laboratory? it is close by here we are told." the party was directed to the adjoining tree, a low growth of pine, where they found the inventor awaiting them. he was already stationed upon his net, which he called from its shape the "triangle," a name, by the way, that has been transferred to himself. it is in fact a triangular snare composed of four threads gradually widening at one end and at the other converging upon a single thread. the four threads are regularly crossed in the manner of the common orbweb, and indeed the whole snare resembles a section of four radii cut out of a round snare. the line upon which the threads converge is fastened to some fixed object and on this, back downward, hyptiotes was placed.[as] when spite's party arrived he left his position to greet them, and at once began to explain the spring net. his son was stationed on the trap line, and as he got into position i could see the whole snare rapidly tightening up until every cord was taut. "now," said hyptiotes, "observe that the operator holds that part of the trap line next the net within his hands. the part next the branch he holds with one foot. these two parts are drawn tight. now see! between the lad's two feet there is a third portion of the line which is slack, and coiled up in a loose ball." "yes, yes," said spite gruffly, "we all see that; but how does the machine work? that's what we want to know." "patience, captain! i'm coming to that. watch please! i will let this bit of leaf represent the insect, or a brownie if you prefer. i shall throw it quickly against the net and do you note what follows." as the scrap struck the cross lines, instantly the whole structure flew forward with a slight snap, then as suddenly was drawn taut, and again snapped loose. this was repeated several times. the leaf was caught by the sudden relaxing and shooting forward of the cross lines which by this motion were thrown around the leaf; the latter, after several springs of the net, was completely entangled and hung vibrating within the snare. [illustration: fig. 98.--the snare of hyptiotes.] "there," cried hyptiotes, "you see how well it works! let me show you the principle. you have seen the coil of slack line between the two feet. fix your eye now upon the foremost one. i will touch the net. see! instantly this claw releases its hold upon the line, and the whole net shoots forward as far as the coil will allow it. follow closely, still, and you will see that the claws rapidly pull in and tighten up the trap line while the coil of slack line meanwhile again rolls up. that's the whole secret of my spring net." so saying, hyptiotes put his front paws over his head, and stroked it forward with a self-satisfied air as though he, at least, had no doubt of the high merit of his trap. spite examined the structure carefully, made several more trials of its working, and then expressed his hearty approval. "very good, indeed. i think it will be a valuable addition to our armory. now, if we only had a few brownies at hand for you to try it on, your demonstration would be quite perfect. by the way--" he clapped his hands together and laughed. "a capital idea that!" he turned to his staff of pixie officers, and made some remark which i could not hear. but they cast glances upward toward my prison, and the thought flashed upon me that spite's sudden idea referred to me. could it be possible? did they mean to test their new machine on me? two officers left the group and ran toward the main gate of the labyrinth. i closed my trap door and with as composed frame as i could command, awaited the issue. soon madam labyrinthea and the two pixies were heard climbing up the ladder. they entered the dome; they ascended to my cell. "come," they said without further ceremony, "follow us. our captain has sent for you." i was led to hyptiotes' grounds; the pixies formed a wide circle around me and the inventor was ordered to go ahead. of course my captors supposed me to be ignorant of their plans, and doubtless thought to take me by surprise. but i was on my guard, although i hid my knowledge under an indifferent mien. i secretly slipped my knife into my hand and waited. "go over to the opposite side of the circle!" ordered spite. i started in a quiet walk. "run!" shouted spite fiercely. "run, run!" echoed the whole crowd in chorus, no doubt thinking to startle and confuse me by their sudden clamor. i quickened my gait to a brisk trot, but kept my eyes aslant toward the point where i saw young hyptiotes waiting to cast the net. in a moment the snare left his hands and flew toward me. i dodged low to the ground and made a quick leap toward the narrow end of the snare, hoping thus to escape the worse entanglement of the wide end. i was only partly successful. in spite of my efforts i was caught in the narrow point of the net and thrown by a sudden jerk to the earth. the pixies set up a roar of joy, which was lucky for me, because under cover of their excitement i could use my knife unobserved. in a trice i had freed my limbs and risen upon my knees; and under pretence of struggling and swinging my arms, severed the trap line beyond the point of the snare with a swift stroke. i was free, and getting to my feet began quietly to brush the shreds of cobwebs from face and clothes. the pixie glee suddenly ceased. i heard the harsh voice of old hyptiotes roundly berating his son whom he blamed, or chose to appear to blame, for the failure of his invention. i knew better, but kept my secret. however, i glanced toward young hyptiotes who never moved a muscle during all the cursing and clamor that assailed him.[at] meanwhile i slipped my knife beneath my belt and quietly awaited the will of my captors. "take him back to prison," growled spite; "we'll try him again to-morrow." "aye, aye," said old hyptiotes, "and i'll then spring the net myself, and answer with my head that the miserable brownie don't dodge out a second time." [illustration: fig. 99.--"young hyptiotes never moved a muscle."] i was led back to my cell, and my thoughts were not very agreeable, you may be sure. but i resolved to at least try to escape before the morrow. i knew my doom was sealed if i remained, and could be no worse were i caught trying to flee. i had already planned a way of escape, and made some preparations for it. i waited until nightfall, quietly opened my trap door, crept over the roof, and softly stepped upon the ladder-like lines of the maze which surrounds the prison. just at that moment i heard a loud sound within the cell. as ill fate would have it, my keeper had taken a notion to visit me! perhaps she was anxious about the morrow; maybe she only wished to enjoy a sight of my misery in view of my gloomy prospects. at all events, she had never before visited me at that hour, and now had happened upon me at the worst possible time. i cast an anxious glance backward, and, o wretched blunder! saw that i had forgotten to close the trap door behind me. my way of exit would of course be seen at once and the cry be raised. [illustration: fig. 100.--labyrinthea's snare and cocoons. where is dodge's jail?] what should i do? think quickly, dodge! and think well, for your life hangs upon this moment's decision. i heard the sharp cry of madam labyrinthea. i could feel the swing of her body as she threw herself upon the ladder that led up to the trap door. in another moment she would be upon the roof and i should be discovered. my first thought was to slide down to the ground and run for it. but a second thought was better. just before me swung within the maze a triple cradle or cocoon string provided for the young labyrintheans. i had already, in one of my former night adventures, cut open one of these, and made a burrow within. i hardly knew at the time why i did this, but it was one of my old dodges (which i had taught sergeant clearview, by the way), when out on a scout to take refuge in one of these vacant pixie baby houses. they are snug and comfortable places, too. now i saw what to do! i swung myself, by a line across the intervening space, pushed open the little slit in the side of the cocoon, crawled within, curled myself up, drew down the flap closely, and waited.[au] my heart beat a tattoo. i could see nothing, but heard the feet of labyrinthea rattling over the roof; felt the tremor of the lines as she sprang from them, after a pause, during which i guessed that she was looking around for me. i heard her loud alarm to the guards; felt the shaking of the labyrinth foundations as the pixies ran to and fro; more than once felt the pressure of feet clambering over the cocoons in the hurried rush across the maze. [illustration: fig. 101.--labyrinthea's cocoon string.] there was great commotion at the gate of the jail; then the din lessened, grew faint, rolled away and died out in the distance. no one had thought of my retreat as a possible hiding place. for the present at least, i was safe, though much cramped in my close quarters. i opened the slit for a breath of fresh air, and ventured to look out. all was still. shall i slip out now or not? i queried. no! the whole pixie host is afoot, beating the bushes in every quarter. i cannot run such a gauntlet of eager searchers without detection. i will wait until the pursuers are tired out and have returned. they will give me up, will relax guard around the prison, and beyond it the coast will be clear. so i did. i heard the returning guards; heard labyrinthea puffing and storming up the stairway to her dome, and as i kept the slit in the cocoon a little ajar could even make out her angry oaths. her disappointment at my escape evidently softened her toward her gallants, for i heard her exchanging views with the one whom she had lashed away from her in the morning, over the mysterious disappearance of her prisoner. how could he have got off unnoticed? it was plain from the talk that spite suspected the keeper herself of some connivance at my escape; but i wasn't much concerned about that. as the day dawned everything was quiet. the keeper and guards were asleep. now is my time, i thought. so i left my cramped but cosy silken retreat, slid down the ropes to the ground, and glided away into the grass. i got safely through the pixie lines, made myself known to our own pickets, and here i am, thankful and happy as ever brownie was or will be! dodge's story was eagerly listened to, and he was heartily congratulated upon his rare good fortune. bruce and his officers questioned him about all that he had seen within the enemy's lines, and drew from him much valuable information. then as a reward for his skill and pluck, and as a salve for his sufferings, he was promoted to be a sergeant and went away jubilant to his quarters. footnotes: [footnote aq: appendix, note a.] [footnote ar: appendix, note b.] [footnote as: appendix, note c.] [footnote at: appendix, note d.] [footnote au: appendix, note e.] chapter xxiii. a ghost story. the ken, it will be remembered, made for ellen's isle, when pursued by the pixie rain. lieutenant swift never checked her speed until he had run his ship under the shelter of the northern shore. thence he rejoined the fleet, after the ram had gone down, and sailed on with rodney up the channel. coxswain help steered for the island. the stygians lay between him and his own fleet, and should he make for orchard shore he would risk capture. ellen's isle was nearest; his boat was overloaded; the ken seemed to be already there awaiting them under the northern bank. "give way heartily, lads," he said, "we shall soon be on board the ken." the sailors pulled with a will, and although loaded down almost to the gunwale, the boat made fair speed. the sinking of the ram, which they saw quite plainly, put fresh vigor into their arms. they could hardly hold in their cheers; but help ordered silence, as he had no wish to call the pixies' attention to them. the island was reached, but a sore disappointment awaited them, for the ken had gone on, and the nattie ships were far up the channel. clearview climbed atop of a bush and looked across the island to the south channel. "there is the pixie squadron crowding on all sail toward the inlet," he said. "the stygians are not yet in sight of our fleet, but it cannot be long before they meet. look yonder to the north! the other half of the pixie fleet has sailed out of the harbor, and is running up the channel." now the officers consulted as to what should be done. "my duty is on the water," said help, "i yield the chief command to our superior officer, adjutant blythe. captain clearview will take command of the boat. i shall lend a hand wherever i can." "very good," said blythe; "but let us settle what is to be done first. we can fix the matter of rank afterward." "well said, adjutant," remarked true. "in our condition the readiest helper has the highest rank. let him lead us, who knows how to get us out of trouble. can't we cross the south channel? that's our own side, you know." "not in one trip of our boat," said clearview. "it was shipping water freely before we landed. the distance to the south shore is much greater than that which we have come. we might divide and make two trips, but that doubles the risk, and gives less chance to the party left behind should the pixies land here. suppose we wait until the fleets meet, and act as may then seem best. see! even while we speak, one of the pixie ships is landing at the head of the island." "can you make her out, captain?" asked help. "yes, it's the doubt, master shallow's craft. i would know the cut of her jib among a thousand." "what are they doing?" asked blythe. "are they sending boats ashore?" "yes, they have anchored off the big rocks; and one, two, three boats are pulling into the cove above." "three, did you say?" returned blythe. "then let us attack them, and we shall have enough boats wherewith to leave the island. i feel that i could almost clean out a boat load myself." [illustration: fig. 102.--"abandoned snares."] "no, no, adjutant!" answered true; "nobody doubts either your ability or appetite for fighting pixies. but we can't afford to take such a risk. my advice is that we run our boat under these clumps of iris, and bivouac for a while beneath the thick foliage that crowns yonder bank. we shall be out of sight, shall have time to rest the men, and can then get off safely. we have everything to gain by waiting." true's advice was taken. the boat was hidden, a snug bivouac was made near a clump of hazel bushes upon the high land beyond the shore, and the crew threw themselves upon the grass to rest. scouts were sent out to beat around the neighboring foliage in search of lurking pixies. there were many signs that they had lately been upon the spot, such as abandoned snares and vacant lodges, and deserted nurseries woven into balls from the seeded and feathery tops of grasses. apparently, all who could march or sail or move through the air had gone off to join the pixie forces on land or water. only a colony of youngling orbweavers remained snugly tented around a jack-in-the-pulpit. most of them were balled in a round mass under one of the leaves, packed together, with legs and arms intertwined, and sound asleep. [illustration: fig. 103.--"vacant lodges."] one of the scouts was keen to mount the plants, cut the tent cords and disperse the brood of younglings. but blythe forbade, "for," said he, "they'll keep under cover while we are on the island, and it's always wise to let well enough alone. they can do us no harm, so we'll not harm them." now, captain clearview and sergeant true climbed into a tree to note how the two fleets came on. with a heavy heart they saw their squadron, after a brief struggle, sail away toward the inlet. the doubt rejoined her companions, but one of her boats remained upon the island. what could that portend? [illustration: fig. 104.--"deserted nurseries woven into balls."] clearview and true told what they had seen, and urged all to guard against surprise. their enemies were on the island. how many there were, or for what purpose they stayed, or where they might be, none knew. they were probably still in the eastern end, and would not at once annoy the brownies, whose presence they could not suspect. sentinels were posted toward the land side, and one lookout upon the shore. so the morning passed, and the afternoon had nearly worn away. the fleets had not changed their positions. the stygians still guarded the inlet, but the heavy davids mounted at the mouth thereof held them in check. two or three pixie vessels were slowly sailing down the north channel coasting along the island. there had been no sign of the doubt's mysterious boat's crew. all was quiet. no chance yet to escape. a squad under help's command was sent out to forage. they had not been gone long when the little camp was aroused by an alarm from one of the sentinels. the brownies sprang to arms, thinking that the doubt's boat crew had attacked them. there was a sound as of feet trampling among ferns and grasses. some one was approaching rapidly,--several persons evidently; and they were charging at full run upon the picket line. "stand!" cried the guard. "who goes there?" there was no reply. then one of the sailors of help's squad, and a second, and a third leaped from the underbrush, sprang by the sentinel regardless of his challenge, and ran into the midst of the camp. they were breathless, pale, trembling, terrified. "well," cried blythe, "this is something new, truly! full sized brownies, and natties at that, running like a frightened rabbit from a pixie! why, comrades, what has possessed you? speak, can't you?" they could not speak. the poor fellows were so overcome that they had to sit down. water was given them, and they revived. "come, now," said true firmly, "this has gone far enough. what is the cause of this?" one of the three could just utter the single word--"pipe!" the very name set the sailors shivering again with terror. "this is most unaccountable!" exclaimed blythe. "what do you mean, fellow? what about pipe? do you mean our poor boatswain who was lost this morning?" "yes--yes!" gasped the sailor. "we--have--seen--him! oh, oh!" he uttered a cry as he spoke, jumped to his feet, threw up his arms, pointed toward the picket line and fell flat upon the grass. all eyes turned in the direction of the poor fellow's hand. there stood pipe the boatswain! a chorus of mingled groans, shrieks and cries arose from the company. the sailors scattered into the ferns and bushes. the officers stood their ground, but there was not one among them who would not have run had he dared. the figure slowly advanced. the eyes were sunken, the face pale, the hair hung damp and matted around the face and brow. the clothes were ragged and clung closely to the body. the eyes had, or seemed to have, an unnatural brightness. they were fixed steadily upon the officers. step by step, nearer and nearer the figure came. but it spoke no word. there could be no mistake about it. it was pipe the drowned boatswain! now sergeant true, like most sensible persons, knew that if there were such things as ghosts they must be harmless creatures. he had often said that; and declared that he would like to meet a ghost. but if the truth were known, he would rather have been excused just then. however, he spoke at last. "speak! whatever you be! spirit, ghost, or living flesh,--tell us what you are, and why you are come here!" the figure stopped. a strange, familiar light played upon the pale face, and glimmered around the corner of the eyes. then into the death-like silence the image spoke with a husky voice: "well, shipmates, this is a rather tough greeting on one's return from a long voyage! what's i' the wind, that you all run from your old comrade, and stand staring at me as though i were a ghost? hey, my boy, don't you know sophie's daddy?" [illustration: fig. 105.--"a colony of youngling orbweavers as snugly tented under a jack-in-the-pulpit."] "pipe, pipe! it is pipe himself!" exclaimed true, and he rushed forward and took the dear old sailor in his arms. "there, there," said the boatswain, "that'll do for the present. cast off grapnels, please, and save your hugging for some one who likes it better. hello, you lubbers!"--addressing the sailors,--"get up, here! i'm ashamed of the cloth, i am. yes, it's pipe--who else? want proof of it, do you?" the sailors were sitting upon the ground staring, dumb and incredulous, upon their old officer. "well, here goes then. you know the sound of pipe to quarters, i'll be bound." so saying he put his whistle to his lips, and sounded the old familiar note. it was enough. the frightened foragers rose and shook hands with pipe. the scattered runaways came back. an eager crowd surrounded the boatswain to hear him explain this marvelous resurrection from the deep. "well, it's easily enough explained. come to think of it now, i don't wonder that you took me for a ghost. in sooth, it is not often that a brownie stays under water for a whole day, and comes up again, unless, may be, as a ghost." "what! under water a whole day?" cried help. "you don't mean that seriously, do you?" "aye, aye, shipmate, that i do. it has not been half an hour since i left the depths of the lake there. i went down with the rest under the keel of that infernal old pot that the pixies set afloat. i supposed my time had come at last. but no one seems to be willing to die even when his time has come; so you see, i struck out pretty lively, so as to get clear of the wreck and the drowning crews as i came up, and then allowed myself to rise. first thing i knew i was diving straight through the door of a water pixie's nest! you know there are some of those creatures who make a kind of hollow globe or diving bell under the water." "yes," said true eagerly, "the argyroneta pixies." "aye, those are the fellows. well, they stay and balance their nest with cables, which they fasten to stems of water plants; then they mount to the surface, catch a bubble of air in the little hairs of their legs and hands, sink with it and shoot it up into the nest. when it is filled they have a water-tight house filled with air, down in the very midst of the lake. it is a cunning thing even if it is made by a pixie. [illustration: fig. 106.--pipe's escape from the water pixie's den.] "well there i was, snug and comfortable enough. the housekeeper didn't happen to be at home, and i had full possession of the premises. i couldn't make up my mind what to do. of course, i knew that i couldn't stay there always; but i feared to crawl out and mount to the surface. either way my chance seemed pretty slim for life. i concluded to wait a while anyhow, and stretched myself upon a sort of web hammock that hung from the sides. i looked every moment for the landlady to report, and loosened my knife to welcome her home. however, she didn't come, and after a long waiting i fell asleep. how long i slept i don't know. i was aroused by a slight swaying of the diving bell nest. the proprietor was coming in, sure as the world! she was already half way through the port-hole. i clutched my knife and got ready to cut away. but a thought struck me. think's i, can't i lay hold of the old lady, and get her to tow me out of this, and may be ashore? i put my knife between my teeth and waited quietly until mrs. argyroneta had got fairly into her cabin. then i leaped from my hammock, grabbed her by a hind leg, and yelled at the top of my lungs. whew! you ought to have seen that pixie get. she turned and made through the port, mounted to the surface, and flew across it like the flying dutchman. i found it a little hard to hold on to her leg. but the creature had cast out of her spinnerets a good stout cable as she turned to leave her nest, which i seized with both hands.[av] [illustration: the boy's illustration. fig. 107.--pipe and the pixie.] "i should hate to say how many knots an hour we rated. the pixie went so fast that my head was kept above water by the swiftness of the motion. she made straight for the island, and upon my word, i believe she would have towed me clear ashore if it hadn't been for an accident. in doubling the edge of a cluster of water lilies my tug struck a snag and capsized. the rope slackened and i had to swim for it. mrs. argyroneta dived. not relishing a second journey to the bottom of the lake, i cut the cable with my knife and clambered on top of a lily leaf. after some trouble i managed to cut the leaf loose, and as the wind and current set in toward the island, i drifted ashore just below here. i had scarcely landed when i met these hearties here, who broke off into the woods at a livelier rate than even my pixie tug had made. that is the whole of my yarn. and now if you please, give me something to eat for i'm mortal hungry." "what became of your pixie?" asked blythe. "never saw her after she dived," returned pipe. "i reckon she's going yet, for a worse scared creature, barring these three jacks of ours, of course, i never saw. but, come comrades, here i have been spinning my yarn about my own miserable carcass, and all the time have heard nothing of the fleet. to tell the truth, i've been afraid to ask. but let me know the worst, all of it, while the cooks are getting supper ready." the story was soon told. the good sailor was glad to find affairs had gone no worse. his joy over the ignoble end of the pixie monitor was particularly keen. "humph!" he said, "just what i thought. a lubberly old pot! and any seaman that would sail in such an affair deserves no better fate than to be sent to the bottom by a dragoon's cutlass." footnotes: [footnote av: appendix, note a.] chapter xxiv. the wisdom of the pixies. in the meantime how fared it with faith and sophia? the hours of captivity dragged wearily along. the nagging and petty annoyance of their keeper were hard to bear, but their chief dread was the coming of spite and hide. they knew nothing of passing events, for not a creature had been seen or heard since spite and raft left, except tigrina. in the depths of that pixie cave they were shut off from the upper world, and their grim and vigilant guardian kept them strictly to their rooms. they had no heart at first to note the furnishings of their prison. but as time passed their spirits somewhat rallied. they began to observe the things around them, which were wrought with exquisite taste and skill. tapestry, carpets, sofas, cushions, stools, couches all were woven of silk. there were pictures and statuary, books and portfolios bound elegantly in yellow, purple and white silk, and illuminated with gold, bronze and divers colors.[aw] the nurses wandered from one to another of these objects, which compelled their admiration and interest. the works of art were exquisitely done. many of the books, the maidens noticed, treated of natural objects, laws, forces, and phenomena. the wonders of air, earth, and sea were told and illustrated in many volumes. faith and sophia were much interested in these. their fondness for nature was great, and the books and prints which lay around them in such wealth well nigh beguiled their thoughts from their griefs. "look at this, sophie," cried faith, who had just happened upon a rare volume rich in the arts of type, graver and brush. it lay by itself on a circular stand, as one sometimes sees a costly family bible in american homes. it was plainly one of the treasures of arachne hall. sophia came to her friend's side and bent over the title page which read thus: "the wisdom of the pixies. translated from the original of the laws of pluto, and the wise sayings of the sages of pixieland. anno mundi;...[=m] [=m]...,...mdccc." "the wisdom of the pixies!" exclaimed sophia. "that must be a curious book indeed. i never knew before that our wicked enemies professed to have a sacred book, or held to any religious notions at all. i am anxious to know what these laws of pluto may be. turn over the page, faith." "i am trying to make out this date," answered faith. "the numerals have been erased; they appear to have been written several times, amended again and again, and finally left in this uncertain condition." "that is just it, faith. observe that for the common date, 'anno domini--year of our lord,' has been placed 'anno mundi--year of the world.' it is hard for a pixie to acknowledge in any way the blessed author of salvation to men. let me see!--m stands for one thousand; m, m for two thousand; the bar over the top means a thousand also. [=m] is one thousand thousand, [=m], [=m] two thousand thousand, and just there is a gap. the other legible figures count up eighteen hundred. that is all i can make out; but i suppose the pixies mean to say that the world is a good many thousand times two hundred thousand years old! do you believe it?" "that's a ripe old age, sophie," said faith, "and i neither believe nor disbelieve. how can one tell? our fathers only say that 'in the beginning,' whenever that was, the world was made. but the further back one can trace the being of the earth by established facts, just so much further can we 'walk by sight' into the eternity whose sovereign lord we receive by faith." "true enough," replied sophia, "the question interests me as a matter of fact simply. as a matter of religion, i suppose it has little value. at least, i have so heard the good minister dr. comingo say in conversation with governor wille. but turn the page, please!" faith turned the leaves of the book, reading aloud the titles of the chapters. now and then she stopped, read a sentence or two, commented upon the sentiment, and contrasted it with the good, pure, unselfish laws of brownieland. our story need not be burdened with much of what faith and sophia saw in the "wisdom of the pixies," but some of our older readers will be curious to have a few extracts. here they are, with the headings or titles of the chapters given, for the most part: chapter i. on the first and great law--take care of number one.... chapter ii. on the chief end of life--eat, drink and be merry, for to-morrow you die.... chapter ix. the end justifies the means.... chapter x. on attaining one's end: by fair means if you can, by foul means if you must.... chapter xv. showing that an individual cannot wrong a corporation--on the right of corporations to plunder the people.... chapter xvi. showing that it cannot be wrong to rob a government.... chapter xvii. showing that since the world loves to be "humbugged," it is quite lawful to gratify it, for one's own advantage.... chapter xxxv. is man an automaton? "why, what a strange notion!" cried sophie. "what sage starts that question?" "it appears to be some chinese sage whose sentiments are quoted, if i may judge by the name--hoox lee." "and what has he to say about it?" "well, there is a good deal. here's a section on the 'evidence of transmitted peculiarities' that starts out thus: every one has noted the interest that the young of the human species take in dolls, marionettes, and exhibitions of such figures as the famous punch and judy, and mrs. jarley's wax works. this is a universal characteristic. whence does it arise? why should this instinctive sympathy of children with automata and their clumsy tricks, be so deep-seated and wide-spread? evidently here is a fact which the wise and candid philosopher should ponder. here, it may be, is a thread by which we may traverse the labyrinth of man's mysterious nature. the deduction cannot well be resisted, that this natural and inwrought sympathy with the automaton, in all its varying forms, is owing to the kinship of man himself with the simian." "oh, that will do!" exclaimed sophia breaking short the sentence. "that certainly is quite as funny as the punch and judy which governor wille had shown at his children's party, last thanksgiving day. but is mr. hoox lee in earnest do you think?" "he seems to be," answered faith, joining in with sophia's quiet laughter. "but here is the next chapter." chapter xl. to be found out is the essence of wrong. "turn on!" chapter xliii. the pleasure and security of drinking liquors in moderation.... chapter xlix. wine and beer drinking the sovereign remedy for drunkenness.... chapter l. on the origin of the universe. "ah! what has the sage to say on that point?" asked sophia. "far too much to read now. this seems to be a favorite theme with the sages; there are a great many pages. here is the opening section: 'according to the sacred writings of the pundits of india, a certain immense spider was the origin, the first cause of all things. this spider drawing the matter from its own bowels, wove the web of this universe, and disposed it with wonderful art. she, in the meantime sitting in the centre of her work, feels and directs the motions of every part, till at length, when she has pleased herself sufficiently in ordering and contemplating this web, she draws again into herself all the threads she had spun out and, having absorbed them, the universal nature of all creatures vanishes into nothing.'" "dear me," said sophia, "how very like that is to the 'nebular theory' that we heard the professor discussing one evening with governor wille on the great porch. but pray, whence came the spider? who made her? i wonder the sages didn't think of that question?" faith resumed the reading: "the natives of guinea believe that the first man was created by a large black spider which is so common in their country, and is called in their jargon 'ananse.'" "now, that is too bad!" said sophia once more interrupting the reading. "i could believe that the pixies came that way, but to say that men were so made! but that is the way with the sages of unbelief. they had rather think the universe to have been spun out of the spinnerets of a big black spider, than admit that in the beginning the holy god made all things." faith made no answer, but stood silently turning over the leaves. the silence was broken by a sound that startled the nurses, and struck terror into their hearts. we must go back to the brownie's island camp in order to explain this sudden interruption. footnotes: [footnote aw: appendix, note a.] chapter xxv. blythe's flute. despite their position the wrecked brownies were in good spirits. the restoration of pipe had taken a load off their hearts. the reaction was so great, after their grief and the certainty of his loss, that low spirits vanished from the camp. the boatswain's resurrection seemed an omen of good fortune. the cheer that filled all hearts bubbled over in song, laughter, merry tale and joke. but as the brownies feared to attract the attention of the doubt's crew who were yet on the island, they kept the sound of their merrymaking within bounds of their picket lines. blythe added much to the enjoyment of the occasion. by some rare chance, as he was setting out for the fleet in the morning, he had flung over his shoulder his flute box, which he often carried in a little case something after the manner of a field glass. it had clung to him when the ken's boat went down, and there was the flute, ready to swell the joy of the bivouac. blythe was quite in the spirit to play, and all hearts were in tune to listen. again and again the notes of the sweet instrument murmured among the overhanging branches. camp tunes, battle tunes, love tunes, home tunes--the hearts of the brownies were stirred by turns with tender, pathetic, sad or fond emotions as the well known strains fell upon their ears. "come, lads," cried pipe, "cannot we have a song?" "aye, aye, a song, a song!" was called from all sides. "what shall it be?" asked blythe. "i will gladly accompany captain clearview here, who is an excellent singer. captain, what say you? shall we have 'woodmen, boatmen, sailors and horsemen?' the lads like that and can join in the chorus." "play away!" said clearview, and at the proper note he struck in and sang the following song, in the refrain of which all the company joined: the brownies' national song. o merry and free! or woodmen, boatmen, sailors and horsemen. i. o merry and free, 'neath the wildwood tree, are the woodmen of brownieland, bonnie and dee; too--ra--lah, too--ra--loo, too--ra--lay! in the breeze there is balm, in the sky there is calm, each sound in the wood is the voice of a psalm; too--ra--lah, too--ra--loo, too--ra--lay! ii. o merry and free, on the lake and lea, are the boatmen of brownieland, bonnie and dee; too--ra--lah, too--ra--loo, too--ra--lay! for the trout's rushing leap, and the water-fowl's sweep, with the paddle's soft dip sweet harmony keep; too--ra--lah, too--ra--loo, too--ra--lay! iii. o merry and free, on the wrinkled sea, are the sailors of brownieland, bonnie and dee; too--ra--lah, too--ra--loo, too--ra--lay! for the creaking of sail, and the sough of the gale, and splashing of waves, are the songs that ne'er fail; too--ra--lah, too--ra--loo, too--ra--lay! iv. o merry and free, over hill and lea, are the troopers of brownieland, bonnie and dee; too--ra--lah, too--ra--loo, too--ra--lay! it is pleasure indeed, to be one with the steed in his strength, and thrill with the rhythm of speed; too--ra--lah, too--ra--loo, too--ra--lay! "hist--st!" the sharp prolonged sibilant that broke in upon their applause and caused instant silence, was uttered by sergeant true. he advanced into the circle with his hand raised warningly. "hist! quiet all!--except you, blythe. keep on with your music. play some of your softest airs, and play until i bid you stop. as for the rest of you, i charge you, for your lives, not to speak or move until you hear from me. no matter what you see--perfect silence, remember!" he stepped back again into the bushes and was hidden from sight. what could the strange interruption mean? the brownies were all alive with keen curiosity. was the sergeant in a merry humor, and planning some trick upon the party? they suspected that. but it was not much after true's habit to do such a thing. besides, his manner betokened unusual earnestness. therefore, all sat still, looking into the bushes whither true had disappeared. the adjutant promptly fell into his friend's plan. he obeyed orders, played away and waited. "hist! look up! but don't stop the music, and don't stir!" said true in a low voice. all eyes turned upward. a faint rustling among the branches directed the party's gaze to the point of interest. a quaint old hag of a pixie was slowly crawling along the twig above blythe's head. it was our acquaintance, dame tigrina! [illustration: the boy's illustration. fig. 108.--blythe's flute charms tigrina.] blythe's heart fluttered a little, it must be confessed. it really seemed that the grim creature was preparing to pounce upon him. see! she is just above the musician's head. she has fastened a cable to the branch and is slowly lowering herself toward the ground. there was a slight quaver in the notes of the flute that could not be credited wholly to the performer's intention. yet, he behaved with wonderful coolness and courage. the music went on; not a false note, not a pause, while the pixie was gradually lowering herself toward the ground. when about one-third of the descent had been made, tigrina paused and sat quite still. she was listening to the music, not foraging for victims! blythe's flute had charmed her forth from her cell. there she hung in mid air indulging her fondness for sweet sounds. who would have thought it of the old hag? however, it would perhaps be well to mention that it has frequently been reported that some pixies are strangely sensitive to music.[ax] true's conduct was now explained. he had caught a glimpse of the pixinee when she first left her hall, but had not been able to mark the spot from which she came. when the singing stopped and the applause began, tigrina retreated so rapidly and stealthily that the sergeant again failed to note the door of her cave, but saw the general direction and neighborhood thereof. he thought that if blythe would repeat the music it would charm the old creature forth once more, and so it proved. from his blind in the bushes he saw the cave door slowly open, and marked the spot. he saw the pixinee peep here and there, then, satisfied that the coast was clear, return to her place above the musician, where she hung and listened as before. true had gained his point. he did not indeed understand how near he was to his heart's great desire. but he had thought it probable that faith and sophia might be hidden on the island in some of the pixie dens, and at once resolved to follow up this fortunate incident in hope that it might give a clew to a more important discovery. he quietly left his hiding place, planted himself before the spot whence tigrina had come, and drew his battle axe. "hist!" the sound directed the brownies' attention toward him. "close in around me when i call. don't move before that. now, blythe,--stop!" the music ceased. no one stirred for a moment or two; then tigrina, as though persuaded that the performance had ended, scampered up the cable from which she hung, and hurried off toward her cave. "close up!" ordered true. the company rushed forward and surrounded the sergeant, who now stood with axe poised, face to face with the pixinee. tigrina was in the act of springing upon true. her claws were outstretched, her eyes were ablaze with excitement, and in the greatness of her wrath her fangs clattered against each other. as the brownies closed the circle about her, she started, and cast a quick, terrified glance around her. then her whole visage changed; the arms fell to her side; her face dropped upon her chest; her limbs relaxed; the eyes became glassy and fixed; she suddenly sank to the ground and lay rigid and motionless. true lowered his axe. an exclamation of surprise broke from the group. "is she dead?" asked several at once. pipe stepped to tigrina's side and cautiously turned her body with his foot. "'pon my honor," he said, "i do believe the old witch has burst a blood-vessel, or had an attack of apoplexy. she's dead as a mackerel." "it does seem so, indeed," remarked true, who had also examined the body. "there is every sign of death, beyond doubt. for my part i don't wonder, for i never saw such a swift and terrible change in any living creature as came over this one." "come," said clearview, "let me try an experiment. i know something more of the tricks of these pixies than you. they can beat the 'possums at feigning death. now, i venture that madame here is as alive and awake as any of you. stand back a little. we shall see. bring me a cord." a stout cord was brought by one of the sailors. clearview approached cautiously, and looped the rope around all the pixinee's limbs except one arm. during all this there was no sign of life. "hand me your axe, sergeant." the weapon was passed to him. "observe now," continued clearview, "that i intend to strike just where that claw lies. if the creature is dead it will not hurt her to have it chopped off." [illustration: fig. 109.--attitudes of spiders when feigning death.] he lifted the axe deliberately, and struck directly at the unbound arm which was stretched out motionless upon the grass. the blade sank into the ground! the claw had been removed by a quick motion as the axe fell. "phew----ew!" said pipe, drawing a long breath. "talk about wonders of the stage! that acting beats charlotte cushman all hollow."[ay] a burst of merriment broke from the circle of astonished and amused brownies, in the midst of which tigrina slowly raised her body from the ground, and sat up looking around upon her captors, quite crestfallen. "well," she said at last, "now you have me, what'll you do with me?" the brownie officers held a brief, whispered consultation. then the boatswain addressed tigrina. "old woman, we shall exchange few words with you. you know well that your life in ordinary circumstances wouldn't be worth a salt herring. but you've just one chance for it. i have lost a daughter. she was carried off with one of her companions by some of your people. we have found no trace of the maidens yet. if you can tell anything that shall lead to their discovery, your life shall be spared. if not, you die instantly." tigrina sat with eyes fixed upon the ground. her face had a stubborn cast that showed indifference to life, or determination to yield nothing for the sake of saving it. she remained silent. "well," continued the boatswain, "have you nothing to say? do you know anything? speak out. you shall find us true to our word, as brownies always are." "for heaven's sake," cried blythe impatiently, "if you can put us on the track of our lost friends, do so! you shall not only have your life, but whatever besides--" "hah! what interest have you in the silly things?" asked tigrina looking up quickly. her whole manner had changed at the first sound of his voice. her eyes dropped slowly from the adjutant's face to the flute which he still held in his hands, and there remained fixed. "i have a deep and tender interest in one of them," exclaimed blythe. "and i pledge you my word, with the boatswain, to stand between you and death if you will tell us where we can find faith and sophia." there was a moment's silence, so profound that one might almost have heard his neighbor's heart beat as the brownies awaited the pixinee's answer. the fate of their beloved nurses seemed to hang upon her lips. tigrina at last broke the silence: "you will give me my life?" she said. "yes!" cried a score of eager voices. "and set me free?" "aye, aye!" was the hearty chorus. "and give me--that?" continued tigrina, pointing her hairy claw toward the flute in blythe's hand. "it is yours!" cried the adjutant, flinging the instrument into the pixinee's lap. tigrina clutched it eagerly, turned it over and over, as a child would a new toy, looked into it, touched the keys, put it to her ears and listened, then laid it down upon her lap and gazed at it with childish fondness. all this time the brownies looked on impatiently, but not inclined to interfere. "hah!" exclaimed tigrina, "and will it sing for me, too? pretty bird! sing, sing!" she said as she fondled the flute tenderly. "come, come, old lady," cried pipe at last. "be done with this nonsense! remember that neither life, freedom, nor the flute are yours until you keep your part of the bargain. so hurry up." tigrina looked up again with the old fierce, sullen face. "ugh! to be sure. well, gentlemen, i have sworn not to tell any one where the fairies are. but that big officer yonder--," she cast a savage glance at true, "knows where i live, i reckon. there's nothing to hinder you from following up what you have already found out yourselves, is there?" a cry of joy arose from the party at these words. the hint was taken at once. what news! faith and sophia were found at last! hurrah! pipe turned eagerly upon sergeant true. "the door, the door!" he cried, "where is the door of the old hag's cave?" blythe sprang forward, grasped tigrina by the arm until she fairly winced under the pressure, and exclaimed, "are they alive?--are they safe? speak!" "both!" was the answer. the cool, clear voice of captain clearview broke in upon the excitement. "come, my friends, this is not wise. you are giving way to hopes that may be dashed from you. what have you to rely upon for them all? the word of an old pixinee condemned to death. i think she has spoken truly. but let us make sure before we show our joy. first of all, take that flute from her and bind her arms securely. we will take her with us into the cave. if she has not deceived us we will be true to her. if this is all mockery and deceit--" there was no need to finish the sentence. by this time pipe, true and blythe had the mossy door of the cave pushed open. they entered the silk lined vestibule, and saw the tunnel sloping away into the hill until lost in the darkness. "a ladder and lanterns!" cried pipe. "haste--away!" "aye, aye, sir!" answered a half dozen hearty voices. the sailors flew to the boat, and soon returned with a rope ladder and several fox-fire lanterns. "are we all ready?" asked true. "ready!" "come on then! and god speed the search!" he stepped into the mouth of the cave bearing aloft one of the lights. pipe and blythe followed. then came clearview and help leading dame tigrina. several sailors brought up the rear of the party. the remainder of the crew kept guard at the entrance. "hark!" the word fell from the lips of both the imprisoned nurses at once. there was a sound as of the wind blowing through the long tunneled hall that led into their room. it came nearer. it grew louder. the maidens stood still straining every nerve to resolve the meaning of the strange noises. there could be no doubt, at last, that it was the sound of approaching footsteps, mingled with voices. "o sophie, it is spite the spy!" "o faith, the pixie chiefs have returned!" with a cry of anguish they threw themselves into each other's arms. in this movement the stand bearing the "book of the wisdom of the pixies" was overturned, and with a great racket fell to the floor. the large volume opened its folios as it fell, and lay spread out upon its face under the stand. the scream of the nurses and the crash of the stand were answered by a cry from without. the curtain door of the chamber was rent aside, and sergeant true bearing aloft his fox-fire torch entered. ere he could utter a word the boatswain darted past him. sophia had sprung forward at the first vision of her lover, and found herself clasped in her father's arms! faith had fallen upon her knees. the drapery of her gown streamed backward partially covering the gilt and silken bindings of the pixies' book of unbelief. the hands of the kneeling nurse, just as they were outstretched toward heaven, were clasped in the fervent grasp of adjutant blythe, who in a moment was kneeling at faith's side. it was a striking and tender scene--the kneeling figures of blythe and faith; sophia fast locked in her father's embrace; true standing nearby, the central figure of the group, holding his torch aloft, gazing upon his betrothed with joy and fondness shining through the tears upon his cheek. crowded in the door and just within the room, were the other members of the searching party, in the midst of whom stood tigrina casting alternate looks of anger upon the brownies, and desire upon the flute which had fallen from blythe's hand and rolled quite near her. why should we dwell upon what followed? the mutual greetings, the quick exchange of experiences, the outbreak of emotion, joy, gratitude, love--these are better left to the reader's imagination. one may be certain, however, that the party did not long stay inside the pixie's cave. to be sure, it was a snug place, and would have been quite safe, and no doubt more comfortable to the nurses than the rude accommodations of the brownie bivouac outside. but the very sight of aranea hall, even with all its beautiful furnishings, was hateful to them. they insisted upon going away from the place with all haste. "it is a prison, a miserable prison, however much it may be decked like a palace," exclaimed faith. "let us out of it, immediately!" "aye," said sophia, "with all its silken tapestry, carpets, and couches it is a den of pixies, a loathsome, dismal dungeon. take us out of it, take us quickly!" the happy company returned along the tunnel, and mounted to upper air. a second greeting awaited the rescued fairies from the party that guarded the entrance. the boisterous joy of the brownie sailors could hardly be restrained. but an urgent warning of the danger that might be called down upon their newly found loved ones, by discovering their presence to the doubters on the island, kept the outbreaking happiness within bounds. the brownies were true to tigrina and left her safe within the cave in possession of the coveted flute. but they fastened the cavern door and mounted a guard over it. then a shelter was provided for the nurses. as willing hands and happy hearts make light work, the night was not far gone ere a tent of leaves was built. tired out with excitement faith and sophia were quite ready to retire when all was prepared for them. how happy, happy, happy they were as they lay down to sleep in each other's arms! their joy rippled over their lips in whispered congratulations and thanks, and bubbled forth in grateful tears. then soft deep sleep, the sleep of the good and happy stole gently upon them. it was long before the brownie sailors settled to sleep. weary as they were, the wish to hear the story of the capture and imprisonment of the nurses, was stronger than the need of rest. thus, pipe, true, and blythe, to whom the particulars had been told, had to tell them over and over again. at length all were satisfied; the sentinels were stationed, the reliefs appointed, and sleep fell upon the little camp. footnotes: [footnote ax: appendix, note a.] [footnote ay: appendix, note b.] chapter xxvi. the haunted ground. our story must now go back to big cave camp on the orchard shore of lake katrine. lieutenant macwhirlie had made a vigorous attack upon the pixie camp, using his portable davids with good success. he completely demolished a bowl-shaped battery of linyphia,[az] placed among the morning glories, from which a gang of pixies had kept up a continuous and annoying volley of spears and arrows. but not being supported by the infantry, he fell back to the outer line of intrenchments. here he was joined by captain bruce with his troops. in the meantime, commodore rodney and his fleet had retired before the stygians, and lay under the protection of the great guns mounted at the mouth of the inlet. the pixie squadron took position before the inlet, thus shutting the natties in, and admiral quench immediately sent three ships to relieve big cave camp. thus matters stood on the eventful evening that brought such happy issue to the brownies on ellen's isle. exciting incidents also had happened at camp lawe, as the brownie encampment before big cave had been called, in honor of the ensign's gallant exploit. shortly after nine o'clock, the hour for changing the sentinels, bruce was informed by vigilant, the sergeant of the guard, that one of the men was missing from his post. "what," cried bruce in angry tones, "i didn't think we had a traitor or a coward in our camp. bring the wretch here, as soon as he is found. he must suffer the penalty." the captain thus spoke, because it is an almost unheard of thing that a brownie soldier should desert his post, and the punishment for such offence is instant death. [illustration: fig. 110.--"the bowl-shaped battery of linyphia."] "but, captain," answered vigilant, "we have searched for the guard, and can't find him. no one has seen him off his rounds. indeed, he was seen at his post by the nearest sentinel but a few moments before the relief came up. here is his spear, which was picked up on the ground. otherwise there is not a trace of him anywhere." "remarkable indeed! who was the sentinel?" "private standwhile." "ah, a good man and true! i know him well. lead the way to his picket post." the two were soon upon the ground. the spot where the missing soldier's lance was found was carefully examined, but there was no trace of conflict or other unusual occurrence. the approaches to the picket line from the enemy's direction were closely scanned. nothing suspicious was seen. the ground for some distance between the pixie and brownie camps was at this point flat and smooth. unable to solve the mystery, the captain ordered another sentinel to be placed. "see that he is a good man, one of the brightest and most careful in the ranks," said bruce. accordingly sergeant vigilant assigned private sharpsight to the vacant post. "and, be sure, sergeant," said the captain, as he turned away, "that you keep a bright lookout upon your sentinels during the watch, especially on this one." scarcely an hour had passed ere captain bruce heard the sharp challenge of the sentinel before his tent door: "who goes there?" "sergeant vigilant of the picket guard." bruce rose from his couch without waiting to be called, and left the tent. "well, what is it? speak!" "the second sentinel is gone!" "sharpsight gone?" "aye; not a sign or sound of him anywhere. i visited the picket once within an hour after he was stationed. all was then well. but i felt restless and nervous about the disappearance of standwhile, and a few moments ago returned. sharpsight had vanished as mysteriously as the other!" "call out the guard!" cried bruce, snatching his broadsword and striding off toward the picket line. "keep this matter as quiet as possible. it won't do to alarm the camp." [illustration: fig. 111.--"the horizontal snare of a young uloborus among the laurels."] every bush, and clump of grass, weed, stone, stock, or other place that could possibly give shelter to friend or foe, brownie or pixie, within a wide circuit of the fatal picket post, was thoroughly explored. nothing more dangerous was found than the horizontal snare of a young uloborus among the laurels and a few young furrow spiders. the latter lay within their silken tubes which were snugly embosomed within a dainty tuft of dry moss, or tucked within the folds of rolled leaves or curled birch bark, with a trap line strung from the openings to nearby round webs. the brownies were no wiser than before. the mystery was unsolved. "shall we place another picket?" asked sergeant vigilant. "it must be done," answered the captain. "but call for volunteers." "you see how it is, my good fellows," said the sergeant turning to the guard. "two of our men are gone. where, how, nobody knows. there is foul play somewhere, and the sort that leaves no trail. the next picket may uncover the villainy, or he may go the way of the others. i shall not draft any one to this post unless necessary. who will volunteer? step out!" [illustration: fig. 112.--"snugly embosomed within a dainty tuft of dry moss."] there was a moment's pause. the sentinels cast glances from one to another, as though each waited for his comrade to volunteer. then, as if by one impulse, every one stepped to the front. "bravo!" cried the captain. "it is just what i expected of you. but i only meant to test your courage. i shall take this post myself, and do duty for the rest of this watch as one of the picket guards. sergeant, dismiss the men and resume your rounds. call here in half an hour. i will solve this mystery, if it can be done. away!" vigilant and his guard began to remonstrate with their leader against this exposure of his life. but when he bade them away in such peremptory tones, they knew that his mind was made up, and there was nothing for them but to obey. slowly and unwillingly they withdrew; not to sleep however, but to talk in subdued voices over the strange events of the night, and await the issue of their captain's watch. the half hour had well nigh passed. a cry of alarm startled the guard. it ran through the camp. officers and men sprang from their bivouac fires and rude couches, and seized their arms. "fall in! fall in!" shouted the officers. the bugle sounded the call. "is it a night attack?" "yes!" "no!" "where have the pixies assaulted the line?" "there! don't you see the guard rallying in yonder open space by the ridge. the enemy is coming straight over the plain." "pshaw! there's not a pixie in sight. it's a false alarm raised by some stupid picket." thus backward and forward ran question and answer, as the brownie soldiers swiftly fell into line of battle. "where is the captain?" asked lieutenant macwhirlie, saluting acting-adjutant bright. "at the picket line i believe, sir," answered bright, "looking after the cause of the alarm. ah! here comes the sergeant of the guard. why--in heaven's name, vigilant, what's the matter?" "captain--bruce--is--gone!" said the sergeant, jerking out the words between sobs. "gone--what do you mean?" cried both officers at once. the story was soon told. the captain had disappeared as mysteriously as the two privates. lieutenant macwhirlie after a brief consultation with the officers issued the following order: "let the soldiers be informed of everything. appeal to their honor, loyalty, courage and good sense. dismiss them to their quarters, and bid them sleep upon their arms. come, sergeant, lead the way to the picket line." [illustration: figs. 113, 114, 115 and 116.--"tucked within the folds of rolled leaves or curled birch bark." (furrow spiders.)] accompanied by vigilant, the lieutenant strode away, having sent back his pony to the corral. the men of the guard were still scattered throughout the neighborhood looking for traces of their lost commander and comrades. they were recalled by a bugle. there was nothing to report. meanwhile macwhirlie carefully examined the premises. the open space in front of the mysterious picket post ended in a low ridge which ran for some distance in either direction, and was covered with grass intermixed with tufts of moss and ferns. beyond that and toward camp lawe the ridge was covered with a growth of young bushes. it was close up to this ridge that the lost pickets had been stationed. "did you observe the position of the men?" asked macwhirlie. "not of the first one," answered the sergeant. "but the second was stationed here. so also was the captain. they both stood with their faces toward the plain--outward. i watched them both from a distance, after i had left them. the captain paced up and down, just there along the ridge, keeping his eyes toward the enemy's camp. he made a half face outward, so to speak, as he walked." "outward? you are quite sure of that?" "quite." "very well. i shall take this post now. you will form the entire guard in a circle enclosing this spot." "how far away, sir?" "just far enough to have me well in sight. let the men pace their beats as ordinary sentinels, keeping each other in view, face to face and right about. at the slightest call or alarm of any kind let them close in instantly, all of them at a sharp run." "is that all, sir?" "yes; except that i want you to report to me as soon as the men are placed. you may go, now." "fall in. attention. right face. forward--march!" the sergeant marched away at the head of his squad, and was soon stationing the sentries according to orders. as the guard moved off macwhirlie overheard muttered words of protest dropping from the soldiers' lips. "can't afford to lose both our leaders!" "it's a useless sacrifice!--haunted ground!" "humph!" exclaimed the lieutenant to himself. "haunted ground, indeed! the cause of this deviltry is somewhere in this neighborhood, i'll be bound. and there's nothing more ghostly than pixies at the bottom of it. there's no keeping track of their tricks. we are forever coming across some new tribe, with new habits. their cunning and skill are beyond belief." he turned his back toward the plain and his face toward the ridge, and in that position kept guard until sergeant vigilant returned. "now," said macwhirlie, "i want you to take your stand a few rods beyond me in the direction of the big cave. keep your eye on me closely. if anything unusual occurs give the alarm, no matter what it may be. don't fear to raise a false alarm." the long watch began. keeping his face steadily inward, the lieutenant stood, or walked slowly back and forth, covering his eyes and scanning closely every object before him. not a motion of leaf, twig, blade of grass, sprig or frond escaped his keen vision. but there was no sign of anything threatening or unusual. midnight passed. one--two--three o'clock! the first glint of the coming dawn began to show in the horizon. the brownie camp was as silent as a graveyard, for the men had grown tired of their long suspense, and dropped asleep. macwhirlie and his guard were also well nigh wearied out. the day was like to break leaving the mystery unsolved. footnotes: [footnote az: appendix, note a.] chapter xxvii. the disenchantment. lieutenant macwhirlie had now almost come to doubt so much of his theory as located the unknown enemy within the picket line. but he was a persistent person, and disliked to give up his theory until he had something better to lay hold of. moreover, as he still believed the pixies to be the cause of the late misfortunes, and as he knew they were wont to be quite active about the peep of day, he resolved to bide by his voluntary watch a little longer. he beckoned sergeant vigilant to his side and the two sat down to rest among the delicate ferns that covered the ridge. they went over again the events of the night, putting this and that together, in order to frame some intelligent theory for their guidance. macwhirlie, however, could find nothing to shake his first conclusion. "the danger must have come upon them unawares," said he; "it was clearly in every case a complete surprise. if an enemy had approached from the front, he would have been spied in time for an alarm. a surprise so thorough could only have come from the direction of our own camp, as that was the only quarter not carefully watched." the sergeant's reply was arrested by a curious phenomenon. the ground beneath them seemed to be trembling; it raised slowly, swayed back and forth, and then sank down. the brownies jumped to their feet and macwhirlie exclaimed: "what is that? did you notice the shaking of the earth? or was it only the grass rocking in the wind?" "it was--it seemed to be an earthquake," answered vigilant. "there! i feel the ground again trembling beneath us." [illustration: fig. 117.--a trap-door opened.] the earth had, indeed, begun to lift up like a wave; higher and higher it rose, until the officers, finding that they were losing their perpendicular, flung themselves backward, in true brownie fashion, into a bush on the summit of the ridge. "see!" cried macwhirlie, clasping the sergeant by the arm, "there is the enchantress of your haunted ground!" [illustration: fig. 118.--a trap-door closed.] a trap-door had opened in the ground, and out of the crevice a huge chocolate-brown pixie was stealthily peeping! the door was semi-circular in form, its edge beautifully beveled and covered with fine white silk, and fitted into the ground as smoothly as a cork into a flask. the top was covered with grass and ferns of the same kind as those on the ridge, so that the keenest eye could not detect the difference. a hinge of strong silk cloth held the trap-door to the upper side of the ridge. all this the brownies took in at a glance.[ba] they crouched motionless in the bush, concealed by the leaves, but having a full view of the monster who was slowly emerging from the tubular burrow under the trap. the creature was the largest of the pixie race that either of the officers had seen. she was several times the size of spite or hide, and compared to the brownies was as an elephant to a child. she was covered with a fur robe of a uniform brownish-red color, fringed with black. her fangs were huge tusks, her feet immense brushes armed with sharp claws. woe to the enemy that fell within her power! the brownie officers had as brave hearts as ever beat under uniform, but the wonder upon their faces was somewhat touched with terror as they looked from this monster into each other's eyes. there could be no mistake about it. this was the great giantess cteniza, the queen of the pixies! [illustration: fig. 119.--peep-oh! pixie!] the giantess turned, clambered up the ridge and made straight for the bushlet wherein the brownies were hid. they grasped their swords and silently waited. cteniza reached the bush. she stretched up an arm to--seize the brownies? no! she fastened a strong cord to a twig and pulled it taut. the trap-door of her cave slowly raised until it stood ajar. then another line was made fast to the bush and carried over to the top of the door. the trap swung in this wise and thus allowed the pixie queen to enter her den when she wished to return. this done, she went down the ridge, gazed around her, and began spreading a thick snare over the ground round about the trap-door.[bb] she had not seen the brownie officers at all. "we are safe this time," whispered macwhirlie to vigilant, "but what shall we do? it would be folly for two of us, or even the whole guard, to attack that creature without some great advantage on our part." "we must wait and watch," was the answer. "our action must depend upon the pixie queen's." "aye, aye," responded the lieutenant, "but there is one thing i have settled. these cords shall be cut and the monster shut out from her den. if there is any hope at all for the recovery of our captain and comrades it lies in that. come what may the giantess shall never get back into her cave; at least until we have had a a chance to explore it." queen cteniza had by this time finished her snare of strong cords, and a smooth silken sheet stretched irregularly upon the grass. she gazed contentedly upon her work, cast a glance upon her trap-door swinging snugly by its lines, and set off in the direction of the pixie camp. she stopped suddenly. she had caught sight of one of the sentinels in the outer circle of guards, and at the same moment the sentinel saw her. he lifted his bugle and sounded the alarm. "ter-ah! tra-la, la-lah!" the answer came like an echo from a score of bugles, and the air was full of the notes. cteniza turned and ran toward her cave. macwhirlie heaved up his axe and struck a double-handed blow. one of the lines which held up the trap was severed. again he struck. the second line parted and down fell the trap with a heavy thud, just as the giantess reached it. she was shut out from her cave! a glance showed her the cause of her misfortune, and then her huge form shook with rage. she leaped upon the ridge. but by this time the brownie officers were well away in hot flight, and the circle of guards was rapidly closing around them. a stir throughout the brownie camp beyond showed that a general alarm had been sounded, and the whole army was falling into line. but could the devoted officers and their little band escape destruction? "stand!" cried macwhirlie. he himself stopped short in his flight and faced toward cteniza, who was pressing forward with uplifted claws and clattering tusks. vigilant stopped and stood beside his lieutenant. the sentinels gathered around them. scarce a dozen of them! it seemed as if the pixie might crush them all at a blow. "attention!" called the lieutenant. "there is but one chance left us. we must skirmish with this monster as best we can until the troops come up. mark those bushes to the right and left. ready! vault!" macwhirlie gave these commands in sharp, rapid tones that seemed to impart his own spirit to the sentinels. cteniza had approached within half a bow shot of the lieutenant as the final order was given. at the word "vault," every brownie disappeared into the foliage of the bushes to right and left, and there perched on the outer leaves with bows and spears in hand. the giantess paused and stood with raised arms, rampant and threatening. she panted with anger and exertion. she looked to this side and that, before her, behind her, but saw no sign of her enemies. from the top of a tall clump of grass above her macwhirlie's voice called: "fire!" cteniza started; a lance had struck her face; an arrow had cut through her shaggy robe and broke flesh upon the abdomen; a dozen other weapons bounded back harmlessly from the chest, or frayed the skin upon arms and legs. she leaped upon the clump of grass whence macwhirlie had issued the order. the stalks bent down so quickly under the great weight, that the bulky creature sprawled upon the ground. the lieutenant was shaken from his perch, and rolled in the dust beside the pixie, but at once regained his feet. [illustration: fig. 120.--a rampant tarantula.] "rally!" he cried, and the soldiers ran to his side. cteniza now stood looking at her tiny foes. it seemed like a battle between a lion and a litter of mice, so vast was the difference in size between the combatants. in this moment of peril to the devoted band there was a new arrival upon the scene. ensign lawe having left camp for hillside, the command of the cavalry fell to sergeant goodnews when macwhirlie came into chief command after bruce's disappearance. goodnews was one of the most famous among the brownie officers. there was not a fairy in the whole nation so comely in appearance, so valiant in fight, so efficient in all military action, so wise in council, so cheerful, amiable and kind in disposition. never were beauty and sweetness so well combined with valor and might. his charger was a goodly sized wasp, whose name was formosa, commonly shortened into the nickname of "moz." the creature was thoroughly trained, apt in every duty of war, and devoted to her master. in motion she was the swiftest of all the troop. she had a complete armor, and carried a spear charged with a deadly sting, which she well knew how to use against her master's foes. this was the new arrival. hurrying up behind goodnews came a squad of mounted brownies, and beyond these again the remainder of the army. but they would be too late! what could one soldier do, however brave and well mounted, to save the brownie sentinels from the monster who was in the act of throwing herself upon them? we shall see. as the giantess sprang upon the little group of guards, a volley of arrows and spears flew into her face. but these wrought small harm, and ere the sentinels could leap aside three of them had been torn to pieces. vigilant was wounded and borne to the earth; macwhirlie was disarmed and dashed to one side, bruised and sorely bedraggled. it was at this moment, when the giantess was turning fiercely upon her prostrate foes, that goodnews flew to the rescue upon his gallant formosa. his sabre cut clean and strong across cteniza's eyes, as he passed at full speed. he wheeled and rode back again. what is he doing? he is hovering above the pixie queen, skillfully avoiding all her mad efforts to grapple with him. is he only seeking to turn her attention from his friends? at least, he is making no attempt to use his sabre. ah! his tactics are plain enough now. formosa circles around the dazed giantess a moment, and then darts upon her back. the wasp's bright lance flashes in the light, then horseman and steed are away again like the wind. and what is this? cteniza reels upon her feet. she has fallen over upon her face. she is motionless. the fatal armor of sergeant goodnews' good nag has done the work. the poison within the sting ran instantly throughout the bulky frame of the pixie queen, and there she lay prone and powerless.[bc] "hurrah!" shouted macwhirlie leaping up in spite of his bruises, and gaily swinging his broadsword. "we are saved! the queen is dead! we can save the captain now! if----" ah! that if! footnotes: [footnote ba: appendix, note a.] [footnote bb: appendix, note b.] [footnote bc: appendix, note c.] chapter xxviii. out of the pit. the dayspring had begun to streak the east when macwhirlie, with a chosen band of brownies, stood again before the closed trap-door of cteniza's cave. the silken cords which had held the door open were still clinging to it. the ends which the lieutenant had cut away were now gathered up, and the brownies vainly sought to pull the door open by main strength. "away!" bade macwhirlie: "call another company to our aid. and send a windlass." soon a second company arrived, bringing ropes and a windlass. the latter was a rough machine, a straight twig resting within two upright forked twigs, and having spokes thrust into and around its projecting ends. the windlass was planted on the ridge, a cord wound around the twig, and fastened at the free end to moss growing upon the trap-door. a bevy of brownies seized the spokes and began pushing and pulling with might and main. some took the ends of the spokes and threw themselves downward, carrying the windlass around by their momentum; others braced their backs against one another, and with feet upon the spokes pushed right merrily. brownies are apt to make a frolic of their work, and even on an occasion so serious, their capers could not be quite suppressed. the two ropes were also fastened to the trap-door and manned by a troop of soldiers. a cheery call went up from the lieutenant! "hi--ee--oh! pull away!" the brownies at the ropes responded in a sort of chant: "he--oh! a long pull; he--oh! a strong pull; he--oh! a pull all together, oh!" at each cadence the busy workers put forth all their strength. the trap began to move. higher--higher! it was soon fairly above the ground. workers were stationed below to thrust props into the opening as the door rose. a goodly distance was cleared at last. new props were added. the trap stood ajar, and the mouth of the burrow was exposed to view. [illustration: fig. 121.--the mouth of cteniza's den opened.] "now, men," said macwhirlie, "this is my adventure. i shall lead the way into the pit. sergeant rise and corporals hope and shine shall go with me. let the rest be ready for any order or emergency. bring ladders and lanterns." both were ready; the rope ladders were hung upon the edge of the burrow one on each side. macwhirlie stepped upon one, battle-axe in hand, and was followed by corporal shine. sergeant rise led the way upon the other, followed by corporal hope. "ready?" asked the lieutenant. "ready!" "come on, then, and mind the signals." hope and shine had ropes fastened to their bodies, by which signals could be sent aloft. they also had their bugles hung loosely, with which to sound the alarm, and give necessary orders. down, down into the cave the brownies went. the light of day was left behind them; all was dark, except where the lanterns shed a narrow circle of light. a cry of horror broke from macwhirlie. on the sides of the cave hung the forms of two brownies. they were fastened by silk ropes to the silken lining of the tunnel, and swung stark and cold. they were dead. [illustration: fig. 122.--a clod containing the silken nest of the california trap-door spider.] "who are they?" cried hope, as he peered through the glimmering light to recognize, if possible, the dead sentinels. "is the captain there?" the explorers' hearts were very heavy. it was sad enough, however it might turn out. but oh! if their beloved leader should come to this end? "is it the captain?" echoed rise and shine. macwhirlie, who was nearest the swinging corpses, had been scanning them closely. he made out the one nearest him. "this is sharpsight--beyond a doubt. the other is--" "well, the other?--" in the dim light it was difficult to determine. bruce and standwhile were very like in form and stature, and there were few marks in the brownie uniform by which men could be distinguished from officers. "it--is--standwhile!" the decision was given slowly, but confidently. yes, the sentinels were gone, but the captain was yet to be found. "we must send our poor comrades aloft," said macwhirlie, "before we go further. pull the signal rope, hope. and have the ladder shifted a little nearer the bodies." hope was soon aloft, and down again; the ladder was shifted, the dead sentinels fastened to the ropes, and hoisted slowly out of their charnel house. down in the cave the groans and cry with which the corpses of their comrades were greeted, were heard by the little band of devoted explorers. once more the ropes were lowered, were fastened as before, and the brownies pushed on in the darkness. they reached the bottom of the cave at last. not a sound was heard save the echoes of their own voices in the hollow depth. there were carcasses of huge insects, and legs, wings, and heads thereof scattered over the floor. the brownies stumbled over these at every step. not a sign of the captain! around and around they went, sounding the walls with their axes, cutting away the silken tapestry here and there. there was clearly but one chamber; no secret doors or inner rooms at that point at least. "then we must look higher up," said the lieutenant. "there must somewhere be a branch tunnel, in which the captain, living or dead, has been stored away. look sharp, my men." up they clambered, scrutinizing at every round the circular wall of the cave. they reached the point where the dead sentinels had hung. some unevenness in the surface here caught macwhirlie's quick eyes. he struck the end of his battle-axe upon the wall. hark! there was a faint echo within. the place was hollow! he smote again; a third time the axe fell; but ere it reached the wall a door opened so violently that it struck and put out the lantern in the lieutenant's hand. fortunately, as it proved, the axe blade fell upon the bevel of the door, and was thereby wedged into the opening, leaving the door slightly ajar. "what is it?" cried rise. "one of the brood of the pixie queen," answered the lieutenant. "i caught a glimpse of the creature's claw and fangs as the trap-door opened. it is a young giant. our captain is inside this branch, and this pixie prince is guarding him. here, lay hold of the trap!" rise and hope joined their comrades upon the ladder. slits were cut in the tapestry, and seizing the fragments the brownies tugged with utmost strength to pull open the door. it was hung so loosely that it ought to have opened almost of its own weight; yet the brownies could not move it. "the prince is holding it against us,"[bd] said macwhirlie. "we must have help from above. quick! fasten these ropes into the slits upon the door. there, that will do finely. now, aloft, hope! let the men above pull upon these ropes. brace them back when you find them giving away enough, and fasten them firmly. then descend, and bring my two-edged sword with you, old 'charity.'" these orders were obeyed with amazing rapidity. hope inspired his fellows with the news that the captain might yet be found. but, withal, there was a cloud upon many faces. it seemed hard to be up there pulling at ropes, while a blow was to be struck for their captain's liberty. and then, was their noble lieutenant, their leader now, to risk his life in that cave with so few to support him? the pixie prince was a youth, it was true; but a giant nevertheless, and a match for a whole company of the best brownies. [illustration: fig. 123.--the california trap-door spider (cteniza californica).] the messenger who had gone down with macwhirlie's sword returned with an order that pacified this discontent. two more ladders were to be let down into the cave. over these soldiers were to be stationed as closely as convenient. thus there were two lines of brownies reaching from the surface of the earth to the mouth of the branch, all ready for any service, and in communication with the troops above. these arrangements were soon made. then came the signal, "hoist away!" the ropes tightened; the door began slowly to yield. macwhirlie stood upon the ladder close by the edge of the trap, holding the side ropes with one hand and grasping his two-edged sword in the other. the pixie's black claws came into view; they were fastened upon the inside cover of the trap, and the whole weight and strength of the young giant were opposing the opening. "hah! take that then," cried the lieutenant, striking upon the exposed claw, which was thus nearly severed from the arm. the giant released his hold and backed slowly up the branch. by this time the trap-door had been well nigh lifted up from the wall, and was held steady by the ropes above, which were securely fastened. macwhirlie entered the open door of the branch followed closely by shine, rise and hope. "fasten your lanterns to the sides," said macwhirlie. there were hooks on the handles for such uses, which, by a single motion of the hand, were caught into the silken lining, and thence the fox-fire lights threw their glow into the darkness. sword in hand the four brownies advanced, the lieutenant in front. the bulky form of the pixie prince opposed them. they stood a moment, silent and prayerful, ere closing to the conflict. they knew that their lives hung in the balance, and girded themselves for the issue. back from the inner darkness, in that momentary waiting, a voice called faintly: "hal--loo!" "hark, my men; it is the captain!" cried macwhirlie, waving his sword, while the cave fairly rang with his answering shout, "hello!" again the voice came, stronger than before, saying, "who is there?" it was indeed the voice of bruce. "brownies!" answered the four men in chorus; "brownies to the rescue!" [illustration: fig. 124.--"claw marks upon the inside cover of the trap-door."] they threw themselves upon the pixie, smiting face and breast, arms and legs with swift, strong blows. prince proud (for that was his name) made but a feeble resistance. once or twice he stretched out his arms as though to grapple with his assailants, but the brownies easily avoided him, and springing forward again, showered their sharp blows upon the huge foe. the cause of this apathy was soon explained; he was just over a season of moulting, or changing his skin! several times before they are grown, pixies go through this strange process. the whole outer skin peels off. during the change the creatures are almost helpless, and lie still, taking little or no food. after the skin is off, it takes several days for them to regain their strength. during the whole time of this change nothing but the sorest need can stir them up to even as great exertion as proud had already made.[be] macwhirlie saw his advantage at once. he understood how they had escaped thus far so easily. his hopes rose into confidence. he spoke with new cheer. "forward, merrily! sergeant rise, order in the men who are on the ladders; i shall cut my way past the pixie to the captain!" he struck upon the prince's face, as he ran forward, gave a back-handed stroke as he passed, and then fairly dodged under proud's legs and passed on into the darkness. "captain," he called, "captain!" "here!" was the answer from the far end of the cavern, in the well-known voice of dear old bruce. "this way, whoever you are. i am bound hand and foot." on, into the darkness the lieutenant ran, thinking nothing and caring nothing for obstacles. the little light at the mouth of the cave was shut out from the interior by proud's huge body; but guided by the voice macwhirlie strode on through the gloom, and fairly stumbled at last upon his captain's prostrate form. in a moment the keen edge of charity had cut the silken cords with which bruce was swathed, and the strong arms of macwhirlie lifted him to his feet. "who is it?" cried the captain with trembling voice. "it is i--macwhirlie!" and throwing his arms about the captive's neck the brave dragoon sobbed for joy. suddenly the darkness of the cave was broken by a flood of light that relieved even the shadows of that end of the cavern where bruce had lain. macwhirlie turned. proud was gone! the brownies at the mouth of the cave were in great confusion, some sprawling upon the floor, some scrambling to their feet, some swinging by the roof, some hanging to the raised trap-door and some to the mouth of the cave. in the excitement of the moment macwhirlie let go his hold upon the captain. the limbs of the unfortunate chief were so benumbed by his severe handling and the tightness of the ropes with which he was bound, that he fell upon the floor. "ah, my poor captain," exclaimed macwhirlie, "pardon my thoughtlessness!" without more ado he lifted the fallen officer in his arms, and started toward the cave's mouth. rise, hope and several others were already hurrying inward to find their officers. they met macwhirlie midway of the cavern staggering under his burden. a shout of joy burst from their lips at the sight. it was subdued at once, as the noble fellows caught sight of their leader's pale face. but the note had gone on from lip to lip, out of the branch tunnel, up the walls of the main cavern, along the line of soldiers who hung upon the ropes, to the group who gathered around the open door. the sentinels caught up the cry; it flew from man to man until it reached the camp, and then, led by the sound of trumpets and the blast of bugles, the whole wood and valley rang with such a cheer as never before went up even from brownie throats: "hurrah! rejoice! our lost is found!" the squirrels stopped upon the branches of the trees, threw their bushy tails above their backs, pricked up their tiny ears, listened a moment, then joined in the cry of their friends, with merry barking. the birds stopped in their flight, or alit upon the boughs, perked their pretty heads to this side and that, as though they were asking, "what is the matter?" then they, too, joined in the shout of their good friends the brownies, whistling, trilling, carolling until the air was alive with songs. the trees clapped their leaf hands together; the flowers raised their plumed hats; the bees, butterflies and wasps hummed in chorus with the joyful cry. it seemed as though all nature had joined in with their happy friends to celebrate the rescue of bruce, chief of the brownies; and happiest heart of all was that of agatha the good. footnotes: [footnote bd: appendix, note a.] [footnote be: appendix, note b.] chapter xxix. breaking camp. the rescued bruce was carried by his rejoicing friends and followers to the upper air. the fresh breeze and bright sunshine wrought like a charm to renew his strength. the time of his captivity had been short; but he had been so roughly handled by his giant captors, and the cords with which he had been bound had so galled him that he was quite unable to walk. he was therefore laid upon a leaf stretcher and carried to his tent. a few words explained the manner of his capture. he had been surprised by the giantess who rushed upon him from behind, knocked him senseless by a blow of her claw, bound him, and then carried him into her den. the monster had already slain the two sentinels, sucked their blood, and hung the bodies upon the wall where they had been found. but bruce was reserved to feed the maw of prince proud, and was therefore thrust into the branch cave. as, however, the worthy youth was "moulting," and in the listless estate which has been described, the captain lay in bonds awaiting the revival of proud's appetite. to this fact both bruce and his gallant rescuers owed their lives. "but what became of proud?" the lieutenant naturally raised this question after all the party had got out of the cave. "well," said sergeant rise, laughing, "he's down there among the bones at the bottom of the cave, alive or dead, i don't know which. after you had dodged by the prince, we attacked him vigorously, but he did little more than move back slowly, occasionally striking out in a blind way. all at once, however, he dashed forward, and plunged out of the branch into the bottom of the main cave. we were taken by surprise, and were sent flying in all directions in an awkward and ludicrous manner. a score or so of brownies had just entered the branch from the ladders, and they were scattered like leaves in a whirl-a-wind. two of them were thrown upon the pixie's shoulders, and went down with him pick-a-back into the cavern. fortunately, they flung themselves off upon the rope ladders, and so escaped. indeed, we all got off pretty well; a few scratches, bruises and torn clothes, but nothing serious. it was about the funniest scrape we have been in for a long time. we were taken aback and upset by the brute's sudden dash." [illustration: fig. 125.--"moulting." a spider pulling off its old skin.] macwhirlie joined in the hearty laughter which the recital of the adventure awakened. "however, my lads," said he, "it might have been anything but a comic affair. see that the trap-door is securely lashed and fastened down, and guarded. we will look after the young giant hereafter." this order given, the lieutenant was about following his captain to the camp when his attention was drawn to a crowd of curious brownies gathered around the carcass of the pixie queen. "ah, yes," said he, "i must see about getting this thing out of the way." [illustration: fig. 126.--"moulted." a spider hanging beneath its cast-off skin.] he climbed into a bush from which he could overlook at once the crowd and the bulky form of the giantess. the greater part of the brownies were gazing upon the carcass, meanwhile chatting, in their lively way, over late events. a small group of more restless spirits were bent upon getting the fangs or tusks of the immense creature as trophies. they had just finished their arrangements as macwhirlie arrived, and armed with ropes, swords and axes were scrambling over cteniza's legs towards her face. the legs and arms were drawn up around the body as they had been when death overtook her. suddenly the arms stretched forward from the face! the legs shot out backward! "whew! the pixie queen has come to life!" some one shouted. such a scampering as there was! the adventurous trophy seekers threw themselves by a series of somersaults from the moving limbs, and brownies, axes, swords and ropes went flying in all directions through the air. the crowd around fell back, pushing, tumbling, clambering over one another, a panic-stricken mass. macwhirlie from his lookout observed this strange behavior of a dead pixie with amazement and alarm. "what, isn't the giantess dead?" he exclaimed. he expected to see her rise and charge upon the confused and struggling crowd of brownies. but ere he could give a second thought, cteniza's limbs slowly fell back into their first position. she made no other motion. the soldiers rapidly recovered from their panic when they found they were not pursued; then, in right brownie fashion, began to make merry over their own ridiculous flight. but what were they to think of this last movement of the pixie? wasn't the creature dead? macwhirlie left his perch and took charge of affairs. he was about organizing a fresh attack upon the giantess, when sergeant goodnews rode up astride his nag formosa. he had already heard of the strange behavior of the "corpse," and was ready to explain: "the fact is, lieutenant, the pixinee is not dead, but you would quite waste your energies in any new attack upon her. she will surely die. the sting of my moz is mortal; but for several days, perhaps weeks, cteniza will be just as you see her. she cannot move from that spot. if you disturb her she will probably stretch out her limbs; but they will fall back again, without doing any harm, and in due time the creature will die."[bf] the brownies were satisfied although the explanation seemed very strange. but they had well learned that nature's facts are often stranger than fiction, and so believed the good sergeant. the giantess was left undisturbed, and macwhirlie hastened to camp. captain bruce rapidly recovered his spirits. but his nerves had received too severe a shock to allow him to resume active command at once. yet he could consult with his officers as to what should now be done, and a council of war was held in his tent. the reluctant conclusion was that it would be better to raise the siege of orchard cave, and join the fleet at the inlet. they feared that the enemy might attack the brownie forces while divided, and destroy them. the order was therefore given to break camp at once. amid the stir of preparation for departure, macwhirlie had forgotten about the dead giantess. but as the brownie troops marched by the late scene of conflict on their way to the inlet, he was reminded of the incident by a cry from the vanguard: "the body of the pixie queen is gone!" "is it possible? call sergeant goodnews." the sergeant reported immediately. "how is this, sergeant? it seems that you were wrong about our giant foe. she has disappeared. the brownies haven't carried her off; the pixies haven't been near; she must have made off herself. you surely did not mean to deceive us; but explain if you can." the sergeant gave reins to moz, and followed by macwhirlie on his bee-pony buzz, flew straight to the spot where cteniza had lain. the bulky carcass was nowhere to be seen. "now my good moz," said the sergeant, "show us what you know of this mystery." the obedient wasp, circled around the spot, and then darted into the bushes. she soon lit upon an overhanging twig, and folded her wings as though quite contented with herself. "what is the matter now?" cried macwhirlie. "look for yourself," said goodnews, pointing to the ground beneath. a mound of fresh earth was thrown up on the margin of a wide hole out of which came the sound of rattling clods and fluttering wings. "what is this? it explains nothing!" "wait a wee. there! do you see that?" a large pompilus wasp flew out of the hole, which she at once began to fill with the loose clay heaped around the edge. "that is your sexton," said goodnews; "this is her newly made grave, and inside you will find the missing body. the sexton is a full cousin of my formosa. she has dragged your giantess here by her own unaided strength; has dug that grave which you see, and is just ready to fill it up. are you satisfied? if not, look for yourself." down flew macwhirlie to the edge of the grave. away went the sexton in alarm. the lieutenant peeped into the hole and saw the brown body and limbs of the pixie queen already partly covered with pellets of clay. "i am satisfied," he said, and the two rode away. "but tell me, what strange fancy could have turned yon insect into an amateur grave digger?" "it is not a matter of fancy," replied goodnews, "but of those strong, wise natural promptings of motherhood which men call maternal instinct. if you had lifted one of the pixie's limbs you might have found an egg of the wasp snugly stowed away against the body. in due time that egg will become a grub with a most ferocious appetite, and that appetite will find food in the plump body of the pixie queen. that is why nature has given some wasps the power to paralyze by their sting the prey which they stow away as food for the future grub; it remains fresh and palatable instead of decaying as it would do in actual death."[bg] when the lieutenant again reached the head of the column it was about passing the trap-door cave. the brownie guards were relieved from duty, and prince proud was left to his fate. as the trap had been pretty tightly fastened down, however, t h e brownies had good hopes that his fate would be such as to deliver them from any further fear on his account. [illustration: fig. 127.--"the trap-door tightly fastened."] it was a pretty sight to see the brownie troops as they marched to the inlet. first came the cavalry, their bright trappings and many colored butterfly steeds making a brilliant spectacle. next to these rode sergeant goodnews with the color guard, as macwhirlie was once more at the head of his troopers, and ensign lawe was still absent. the great flag of brownieland was borne by a sturdy dragoon mounted on a goliath moth. behind these came the litter on which captain bruce was carried. a small downy leaf of silver maple had been laid upon a mattress woven out of ropes of grass and fibres of bark. the mattress was slung upon poles on each side, and these were laid upon the shoulders of stout brownies, who thus carried their beloved captain quite comfortably. above the litter a sunshade, made from the blossoms of a wood violet, was borne by mounted brownies. behind this ambulance, and indeed directing it, rode the nurses, agatha and grace, with the assistants and accoutrements of the sanitary corps. the maidens were pale and worn by the grief and excitement of the last days, and rode along sadly, almost silently. a number of litters followed the sanitary corps, bearing sick and wounded brownies. then came the infantry; and last of all, a squad of cavalry brought up the rear, the buglers piping merry notes as they rode along. [illustration: fig. 128.--brownie troops on the march.] the brownie army did not get away without annoyance from the enemy. the wolf brigade and the vaulters hung upon the rear and flanks, annoying the troops as much as possible. gossamer and his balloon corps hovered above, keenly spying the column to note where an assault might be made. the wheel legion spun cobwebs across the route to entangle the wings of the cavalry. the lineweavers and tubeweavers spread thick sheets upon the grass to retard the footmen's progress. the stygian ships followed the line of march as nearly as might be, keeping close in shore and watching for opportunity to work harm. the watermen, smugglers and pirates pushed out from their grassy hiding places and joined in the pursuit. the brownies, however, were quite used to all these methods of assault, and knew well how to meet and avoid them. moreover, a section of their flying artillery, with guns mounted upon bee ponies, accompanied the march. they hovered over the van and rear and above either flank of the column, and pelted their adversaries with shot from their portable davids, thus keeping them at a safe distance. [illustration: fig. 129.--"cobwebs across the route."] before sunset the inlet was reached, and the army encamped safely under protection of the big davids mounted upon the forts built at either cape. one of these was known as fort school, the other fort home; and the guns which guarded these were called "precept" and "example," for brownies are fond of calling all manner of objects after some favorite fact, person or virtue among their human friends. [illustration: fig. 130.--brownie flying artillery and portable david.] it was pleasant for the soldiers and sailors once more to be together, and there were warm greetings and happy reunions. but as they pitched their tents and kindled their camp-fires on the beautiful and familiar bank of their beloved stream, their hearts were sad that their foes already had possession of lake katrine; were swarming along its shores; and, ere morning sunrise, would have covered the lawn once more with their white tents, and spread their snares beneath the very windows of the wille mansion. withal, as the brownies had learned to take such destiny as befell them with contented or at least submissive minds, they composed themselves for the night's rest, and soon were sound asleep. the sentinels paced the parapets of the forts, peeped through the fog from the lookouts on shipboard, and stood watchful and silent on the lonely picket line beyond camp. footnotes: [footnote bf: appendix, note a.] [footnote bg: appendix, note b.] chapter xxx. the grand alliance with scaly, twist and slymousie. next morning the brownies' forebodings were found to be well grounded; their enemies held possession of the lawn. lake and lawn both in pixie hands! it was a sorry day in brownieland. what could be done? not a word as yet had been heard from ensign lawe, and all were uneasy thereat, for they knew that he would not forget his mission, nor fail of it if success were possible, nor be likely to fall into the foe's hands. yet his absence showed that early aid was not to be looked for from governor wille, and thus hope was cut off from that quarter. there were plans enough formed and discussed among the uneasy spirits of the camp, but only one had practical issue. corporal policy, of the engineer corps, proposed a grand alliance against the pixies. the corporal was not in high favor among the brownies, although he was a shrewd fellow, and a useful one too, when kept well in control by sergeant true and the other officers. but in the present gloomy outlook of affairs many were ready to listen to any counsel that looked toward delivering the nation from its peril and restoring the mansion to brownie control. it is not strange, therefore, that the corporal's proposed alliance was seconded by many in the camp. a delegation, with policy at its head, waited on lieutenant macwhirlie, laid the plan before him and urged its adoption. the plan was as follows: policy had once done a great favor to two land elves, twist the serpent, and slymousie the quadruped, and also to scaly, a water sprite. they had promised to serve him at any time in any affair. they were not on good terms with the pixies at the best and, the corporal urged, would be prompt and eager to fulfill their promise against the common foe. "now," continued policy, "i propose that we organize an expedition against the stygians in this wise: let scaly fall upon their ships, sink as many as she can with the stroke of her tail, and drag the rest by their cables or push them with her head upon the shore. our troops and ships can attack them, at this disadvantage, with certainty of victory. at the same time let twist and slymousie break in upon the pixie camp, and bite, crush and destroy. slymousie is a cunning and active adversary, and twist is so much bigger than the pixies that they cannot stand before him. then, there is nothing like fighting these poison breeding creatures with their own weapons. poison to kill poison, say i!" quoth corporal policy; "shrewdness to overcome cunning! that is true wisdom!" thus, and with many other arguments, policy and his friends pressed their alliance. macwhirlie had little favor for the scheme, as it was contrary to brownie nature and custom; but, in sheer desperation, he at last consented that policy should take charge of a company of volunteers and try his plan; especially as he thought it could work no harm, and would keep some restless spirits occupied. the volunteers were readily enlisted and pushed off hopefully to find the haunts of dragon twist, slymousie the quadruped and sprite scaly. twist was soon found sunning himself upon a limb of a sapling that grew above the big stone under which he had his nest. when the party spied him the corporal mounted upon the rock and sounded a note or two upon his bugle. twist slowly lifted his head above the leaves, flung a coil of his tail around a twig, looked down and at once recognized his friend. he hissed forth as pleasant a greeting as he knew how to give, listened patiently to policy's request, looked wise, nodded his head in approval, and at once promised to do his utmost. "i will keep faith with you, good fairy," he said, lisping out the words between tongue and teeth. "you may depenth upon me to crush out your old enemieth, body, bag and baggage." whereupon he wriggled among the leaves, and took an extra coil or two of his tail around the twig. "thanks!" cried policy, "and now, when will you begin operations, and how many of us will you want to help you?" "now, i will begin now!" answered twist; "and ath to aid, i athk for none. if a few of you would like to go with me to thee my triumph over the pikthieth, come along! i thall make thort work of it, and you can come back and thing my praitheth." the corporal detailed a squad of his men to go with twist, and hurried away to engage the service of scaly. the water sprite was not so easily found. somewhere in the lake close by the rocks of the cape she had her favorite haunt. the brownies swung upon the overhanging weeds and bushes and peered into the water, but could see nothing of her. policy sounded his bugle in vain. at length a water beetle, of the family known as whirligigs, thrust itself out of the lake, and began capering upon the surface. "hello!" cried the corporal. "her-rr-reep!" said the whirligig, skipping nearer to the shore. "have you seen scaly the sprite down below?" asked policy, "and would you kindly tell us where she may be found?" "aye, that i can, mr. brownie. but what could you do even if i were to tell you? would you go down to the bottom of the lake to speak to her? ha, ha!" the little water beetle, who had been joined now by a group of companions, cut sundry gyrations upon the lake, and circled round and round in a merry dance with his friends. clearly he was much pleased that he was able to do something which a fairy could not do. "come now, master whirligig," said the corporal, "you must oblige us in this matter. you know that brownies are your good friends; and you know that we can't do what you can. go and tell scaly that we want to see her." "so i will!" answered the water beetle, good naturedly. "so we will!" chirped all his companions. turning suddenly the whole party plunged into the water, every one carrying down with him on the tip of the abdomen a bubble of air to supply him with breath while under water. they made their way straight to a stone of quartz whose crystallized sides glittered in the light that penetrated the stream. "sprite scaly, sprite scaly!" called the beetles in chorus, while they held fast to the rock with their claws. a form slowly lifted itself from the shadows under the edge of the rock and rose higher and higher until it was quite on a level with the top whereon whirligig and his friends sat. it was a fish, with silver-white scales and red eyes. she floated in the water, which she lazily beat with her fins and tail, opening and shutting her gills, looking all the while very sedate indeed. "sprite scal_ee_! ah! here you are!" cried the beetles as they caught sight of the fish poised above them. "brownie policy sent us down to tell you that he claims your service. he waits on the shore above. good bye!" up they went without more ado, and in a moment were again circling around upon the surface of the lake. scaly was not far behind them. lazy as she looked, she could dart through the water like an arrow, and sooner than we tell it, had reached the bank and thrust her face close to the feet of the corporal. policy repeated his plan and got as hearty assent from scaly as from twist. "what shall we do to support you?" asked policy. "well, there's nothing very 'special," said scaly, spitting out half a dozen mouthfuls of water. "the natties had better follow up my attack in their own way. they'll not have much to do but gather up drowned pixies, i reckon; or maybe capture some of their boats as the stygies make off from their damaged ships." the sprite and the corporal agreed upon the time for the attack, and thereupon scaly turned, gave her tail a few self-satisfied flops, and dived out of sight. the third party to the proposed alliance was slymousie the quadruped. "we shall find her in the field," said corporal policy, and sent off several men to hunt for her. the brownies climbed the hill back of the mansion and by and by found the cave, just on the edge of the orchard, where mrs. slymousie had her nest. it was quite hidden away beneath the overtopping meadow grass. a round bunch of chopped and twisted hay was balled up within it, which made it snug and warm. the brownies swung themselves down by the grass blades and roots until they were well within the cave, when the corporal called a halt and blew his bugle. there was much shrill squeaking down at the bottom of the nest, and a sudden rustling amid the dry upholstery, as the youngsters scampered away into hiding. once more corporal policy blew his bugle, and then called loudly: "slymousie--hello! it's no one but i--the brownie. hello--come out and see the brownie!" at last a low, timid voice squeaked forth the question, "who's there?" "corporal policy the brownie! don't you know me?" "oh, yes! to be sure i know you now. but, dear me! you nearly frightened me into a fit. i thought it was grimalkin the housecat; or that miserable old owl that nests in the hilltop wood. are you sure--it's--only you?" "yes, yes, slymousie; don't be absurd! who else could it be? i came to claim your help against our old enemies the pixies." "dear, dear! don't mention it, i pray. what could i do against those dreadful creatures? it quite flusters me to think of it, indeed. besides, i have a large family now at home; some of them very young; too young to leave alone. really, you must excuse me this time. dear, dear! my heart is going pit-apat, pit-apat at the very thought." policy was not to be put off so easily, and remained some time trying to persuade his friend. but he quite failed, and was about to leave, when who should come into the cave but master biggy, mrs. slymousie's oldest son by the next-to-last brood. he had been out on a visit to his sweetheart, and dropped in to see if mother hadn't a nice bit of cheese, or bumblebee bread, or some such delicacy for him. he heard enough of the conversation to excite his love of adventure, and at once volunteered to take his mother's place. "do you think you are old enough to measure strength with the pixies?" asked policy. "old enough?" exclaimed biggy indignantly. "old enough, indeed! look at me, now! i'm nearly as large as mother, and not half so timid as she. just you wait, sir! you shall see that biggy slymousie is no small affair when it comes to fighting pixies. i'm a match for any score of 'em in strength; and as for slyness--well, you shall see!" biggy was certainly a stout enough specimen of a half-grown slymousie, and as he seemed not to be lacking in spirit, and had a keen mind for the work, his service was gladly accepted. it was arranged that he should attack the pixie force in the rear, while twist assaulted in front; and having instructed him as to the time of assault, and arranged some details, the corporal retired with his squad, highly elated at his success. thus the grand alliance was formed. we shall now see what became of it. when the sun had gone down, the full moon rose. it poured a flood of rays upon the mansion, lit up the lawn, and lay like a golden crown on the top of hillside. the pixies were in high glee over their prospects. their ships had drawn up around the inlet as near as they dared to come; their troops had been ferried across the lake, and were already closing up the lines of investment around that part of the brownie camp which lay on the side toward the mansion. from this point the pixie tents and snares stretched across the lawn to the flower border by the walk. in this direction twist turned his course. he crossed the brook, holding his head aloft as he wriggled his body through the water. the brownies followed on their moth ponies. [illustration: fig. 131.--the "bridge that tetragnatha had builded."] the serpent stopped a moment upon the shore, then dashed at the pixie breastworks, which broke into fragments before his assault. many of the guards were knocked over by the swoop of his tail, others were crushed under the coils of his body, others were pierced through by his sharp fangs. the camp was in consternation. a broad swath of fallen tents, broken fortifications and dead pixies marked the progress of the mighty twist, and throngs of fugitives fled across the brook by a bridge that tetragnatha had builded, and which quite reached from shore to shore. what a small affair serves to turn the tide of events, at times! a little hop-toad, disturbed by the commotion, leaped from beneath a cool leaf to ask "what's the matter?" "aha, my beauty," cried twist, "you're my game!" and he snapped up toadie in a twinkling. one would have thought it a painful thing for twist to eat his meals, for he writhed, and jerked his body as though he were in torment. however, he appeared to grow more comfortable after a while, and stretched himself out on the grass as though to enjoy a nap. the brownies were not pleased to see their friend the hop-toad dealt with so unceremoniously. the poor fellow and his brothers had stood by the fairies in many a stout bout with the pixies. to be sure the toads would eat their enemies; but as they never insisted upon sharing such rations with their friends, the brownies made no objections. to have their new ally serve their old friend in this style was sad work, and their indignation waxed warm. but when twist stopped short in his path, and deliberately composed himself to rest, the brownies could not restrain themselves. "how is this," they cried, "do you mean to leave off a work so well begun? come, this is not keeping faith. up, and renew the attack! you will rout the whole pixie army before sunrise if you keep on." "thank--ee--kind--le," drawled twist, winking first with one eye and then with the other. "i nev' c'n work af'r thupper. muth take time t' digest. sh'nt do 'nything till '--r--morer. 'm go'n thleep right here. goo' night, thir brownithz, 'll finish job'n mornin'." his head dropped down upon the grass; he was sound asleep. "humph," said corporal spur, who had charge of the squad, "that ends this campaign. if the pixies don't serve that gourmand with a rather peppery sauce for his supper, i'm out in my reckoning. attention, squad! wheel--fly!" he wheeled his own pony, and led his little command back to their quarters. as they flew above the pixie lines they saw the camp alive with excited troops swarming from every quarter toward the spot where twist lay. a squad of reckless youngsters who had jointly mounted the back of a huge polyphemus moth, could not resist the temptation to let fly a few arrows at the crowd of excited pixies beneath them. one of the squad, our old friend highjinks, nearly lost his life, however, for in his eagerness he tumbled off the pony's back. fortunately, hosson seized one hand and drew him back safely. but it was a narrow escape, and even highjinks was for a time quite sedate as he thought what his fate would have been had he dropped into the midst of that angry host of foes. in the excitement, polyphemus came quite near the ground, and barely escaped being lassoed by one of the vaulting legion. meanwhile, a circle of pixies had hemmed in the sleeping serpent; but no one dared to interfere with him until spite came. then they began to clamor for orders: "what shall we do, captain?" "do?" said spite, fairly hissing the answer through his teeth. "do? why, we'll hang the villain!" "aha! captain spite talks very large, indeed," whispered the soldiers one to another. "who ever heard of pixies hanging a serpent?" at any rate spite intended to try it now. already he had climbed upon a bush that overhung the sleeping monster, had fastened a cord to a twig and dropped down upon his head. twist moved. spite retreated upon his cord, and in a trice was half way up toward the twig. "come back, captain, you'll lose your life," shouted the crowd. "tut! trust me for that! why, don't you see? the brute is dead stupid from his meal, and perfectly harmless." down he ran again. this time twist did not move. spite fastened a line upon his head, dropped down by the side of his face, and burrowing into the grass, cleared a path directly under the jaws. through this he carried his line, then up again along the opposite side of the face, and knotted it. he had thus passed a cord entirely around the serpent's face. "now, my braves," said he, "i have shown what i want you to do, and how to do it. here, a score of you wind up these jaws until they are completely gagged. another squad may take a knot in his tail, tie it, lash it to a strong rope, and swing it up to that branch. i'll show you what more to do. work sharp, now, and touch the brute as gently as possible. we shall surprise him, when he wakes up, with a new suit of clothes. he, he!" the pixinees and pixies went to work with a hearty good will, and soon had finished their task. "now mount that branch and pull on the rope." the tail was raised a little, and then the work paused. nothing more could be done in that way. "we must rig up a pulley, then," said spite. "bring me a dead fly, quick!" the carcass of a green fly was readily found. it was swung down from the branch, and wrapped round and round until it became a hard silken ball. the rope which had been tied to the tail was now carried over this pulley, or windlass as it might be more properly called. the ball was slowly revolved by the united strength of a number of pixies; the rope gradually wound around it as it grew taut, and the body of twist began to move. thereat the crowd broke into hearty applause, clapping their fangs and claws together until the camp rang. the noise appeared to disturb twist, or perhaps the effects of his meal were beginning to pass away. he raised his head feebly, shook it from side to side, discovered that his jaws were bound tightly together, and began to wriggle his body violently, whereat the circle of pixies fell back. [illustration: fig. 132.--twist, the serpent, hung in the pixie snare.] "pull lively, lads!" cried spite, who was prudently perched upon the top of the branch. "lively! a few more turns and we shall have him all right. there, that will do bravely. now he may squirm as much as he pleases." twist was indeed bound and hung up beyond hope of recovery, although he was making desperate efforts to escape.[bh] "straighten out that cord, my lads, as much as possible," called spite. "run up supporting lines to the limb here. fasten down the coils on the ball so that the rope won't give. then, hurrah! we'll have a taste of dragon blood before we go to bed." spite ran down upon twist's body as he spoke, and fastening himself upon the neck, struck with his fangs again and again. he then comfortably settled himself for a meal. in the meantime a number of the working squad had followed their captain's example. poor twist! he was being literally devoured alive. like many other wise persons, he had fallen a victim to ill-governed appetite. thus ended his proud boasts and the campaign most prosperously begun. a brownie scout, attracted by the great commotion in the pixie camp, stole through the lines and discovering the cause, returned with the news which was soon known by all the brownies at the inlet. but spite was not long permitted to enjoy his well-earned supper. a runner bustled through the crowd and shouted for the captain. "here i am," answered spite, quitting his hold upon twist's neck and dropping to the ground. "what's the matter now?" "matter enough, sir! the rear of our camp has been attacked by young slymousie, and everything there is in panic and confusion." "the prowling sneak! the brownies have put him up to it, i warrant. rally the men! we must try to drive him back." thereupon spite started at full speed to the rear. he found affairs quite as bad as they had been reported. biggy had cautiously approached the camp and, crawling low in the grass, slipped by the picket line undiscovered. then with a rush and bound he leaped upon a group of pixie sentinels who stood at the guard tent talking over the late incident with dragon twist. unfortunately his caution, which is a good trait, was pushed to an undue degree, which is bad practice in a soldier. the fact is, that in spite of his boastings, biggy's heart failed him a little when he came to face the danger, and thus his approach was so timid and slow that instead of striking the pixie camp, as had been agreed, at the moment of twist's assault, he did not attack it until twist was fairly over his onset. this proved to be a fatal blunder. however, when he once began work, he pushed it vigorously enough. he dispersed the sentinels hither and thither, broke down their tent and burst into the midst of the encampment. he struck, pushed and bit to the right and left, and soon had laid a broad swath of destruction along his path. in the midst of this high success he came upon the scattered contents of a bumble-bee's nest, which the pixies had been pillaging. it was a most unlucky circumstance, for all the slymousie tribe are fond of bee-bread and honey, and biggy was hungry. he stopped, smelled the bee combs, turned over a few cells with his nose and then began to nibble. "just one little taste," he said, "and then i'll go on with my duty." ah, biggy slymousie, take care! your enemies are all around you. this is the time for duty, not for delicacies. touch not, taste not, handle not! the temptation may prove too strong for you! but biggy silenced the voice of his better judgment, and nibbled away. now, slymousies are always dainty and deliberate in their way of eating, which, as a rule, is quite proper and nice. but when one is in the midst of a hard and perilous battle, daintiness cannot safely be indulged. spite the spy arrived on the scene just as biggy had fairly settled down to enjoy a hearty meal. with a curse of thorough contempt hurled at the silly glutton, the pixie chief began his preparations for revenge. he sent for engineers tegenaria and agalena of the tubeweaver legion, and ordered out theridion and his pioneers. the pixies set to work with a will, and ere biggy had finished his meal had completely surrounded him with a thick, strong and high wall of web work. while biggy nibbled, nibbled, the pixies spun and wove around him their fatal snares. poor biggy! [illustration: fig. 133.--"one of tegenaria's thick snares."] at last all was ready. the theridion pioneers were sent aloft among the overhanging grasses, the tubeweavers went to their holes, and those in front of slymousie provided themselves with silken blankets. then spite ordered a company of vaulters, runners and side-goers to the bushes behind biggy. they moved to their places noiselessly, and awaited the order to assault. it came at last. [illustration: fig. 134.--"wrapped up as tightly as a captive grasshopper swathed by a big garden spider."] "charge!" shouted spite. stridulans at the same moment struck the long roll on his drum, and the pixies rushed in upon biggy. the poor fellow was so frightened that he made a great leap forward. the pixies who had fallen upon him were scattered in all directions, but, alas for slymousie, he alighted within one of tegenaria's thick snares.[bi] immediately the tubeweavers closed upon him with their blankets, as spanish bull fighters assail a wild bull. they blindfolded his eyes, covered his nostrils, and veiled his face, until they were wrapped up as tightly as a captive grasshopper swathed by a big garden spider. theridion and his lineweavers followed this attack, and flung their swathing bands around biggy's limbs. the poor fellow, in spite of his struggles, was soon wrapped up like a mummy, and at last lay still and submitted to his doom. spite rigged block and tackle and windlass, such as had been used to hoist twist; then he fastened ropes to biggy's tail, and bade the pixies pull away. soon the unfortunate young slymousie was raised aloft and hung by his tail with his nose upon the ground.[bj] his foes surrounded him, pinched him, laughed, jeered, shot at him, until death came to relieve him of his tormentors. thus the second of corporal policy's grand allies came to grief. [illustration: fig. 135.--slymousie hung up by the tail.] but the pixies were not left to enjoy their triumph long. a runner ran into the circle and hurried to the chief's side. "what's in the wind now?" asked spite. "well, sir," said the runner, who was quite blowed and caught at his breath between the words, "there's the--mischief--to pay--down at--the lake. the navy is all in--commotion. the natties have got the help of scaly the fish, and have broken loose upon our stygies with a vengeance. scaly has already stove in two of our ships and a half dozen boats. she is like to sink the whole navy if we can't stop her somehow. the admiral has sent for you." spite was as near being overcome by this news as was possible for him, but he soon recovered. "here, pixies!" he shouted, "down to the beach, every one of you. this game will keep till you come back,--if you ever do get back!" he added in an undertone a remark that showed pretty clearly that he thought there was serious work before them. matters did indeed have an ugly look when spite reached the shore. the wrecks of two ships and several boats were floating in the water, with stygians clinging to them. boats were pushing out from the remaining ships bent on leaving them and seeking safety on land. two other vessels were standing out to sea with all sails set, and the flagship styx, followed closely by the goodtime, was slowly making for the shore. spite took in the situation at a glance. "but what do the natties mean?" he asked. "they seem quite as much taken by surprise as our fellows. saving a brace of boats yonder, there is not a brownie ship under sail. ah! there they go, now! see those lights on the emma? that's the signal to make sail. and there goes the signal 'to quarters.' oho! we'll have our hands full now. but i don't see through it. surely, scaly the fish isn't operating on her own hook!" the reader will understand spite's perplexity. most of the brownies were indeed taken by surprise. macwhirlie had not even told bruce and rodney of corporal policy's plot. he had looked upon it simply as one of the madcap undertakings which his troopers were always ready for, and in which he liked to please them when he could do so. but that it would have any serious results never entered his mind. with the exception, therefore, of the volunteers engaged in the expedition, few were ready for action. but when the vigorous and successful raid of scaly was seen by the clear light of the moon, the brownies were all astir on lake and shore. the big davids were double manned. the ships made sail and prepared for action. [illustration: fig. 136.--wolf strangle leaps upon scaly's back.] at this point scaly turned her attention on the pixie ships styx and goodtime. mindful of the wishes of her friend policy, she resolved to carry these vessels into the inlet as a present to the brownies and as trophies of her prowess. she therefore darted between the shore and the ships, stopped the vessels' motion by running athwart their bows, then placing her head first against one, and next the other, pushed them by alternate shoves toward the mouth of the inlet, out of which the natties were slowly sailing. scaly was in high good humor, and made the lake behind her boil under the frisky strokes of her tail as she urged the stygian barks forward. the pixies were in despair. the brownies from the shore of the lake and the decks of their ships sent up ringing cheers. then came a sudden turn in affairs. the master of the goodtime, wolf strangle, was not a person to give up his ship without a struggle. he was a strong, active pixie, a vigorous swimmer, fierce and brave. he made a desperate resolution: he would grapple with scaly the fish single-handed! he laid aside his sword, threw off his uniform coat and hat, and mounted the railing at the stern of the ship. the sailors gathered around him and waited silently to see what was his purpose. they would never have guessed the truth but they knew their captain and were looking for something gallant and startling in which they expected to take part. this is what they saw: scaly had just given the styx a vigorous shove, and turned to do the same service to the goodtime. she scarcely noticed the dark form of strangle poised upon the railing, but thrust her nose under the stern of the ship, played her fins and tail, and sent the vessel merrily ahead. at this moment strangle leaped fairly upon her back, seized her with his claws on the forward side of the dorsal fin, and sunk his fangs again and again into the fish's flesh. scaly wheeled to one side, leaped out of the water, and dived deep into the lake. her whole frame was quivering with the pain and shock of the sudden assault. the stygians on the two ships crowded the rails and ladders, and gazed eagerly toward the spot where they had seen the two sink out of sight. they had great confidence in commander strangle, but they feared that, famous waterman as he was, he would be worsted in this combat. "he will be drowned!" cried one. "he dives like a duck," said another, "and will come up all right." "no; it was madness to grapple with a fish many times his size, and in her own element," said a third. now the voice of admiral quench was heard ordering first all hands to quarters, and then to tack ship. the stygies ran to their posts, the topmen flew aloft, and in a few moments both ships were turned about, and under full sail from the inlet. quench had taken advantage of the diversion to put all the distance possible between himself and the natties. [illustration: fig. 137.--how a spider captured a fish.] before this movement was finished scaly had emerged from the water. the black form of strangle still clung to her back! the poor fish made the most frantic efforts to shake off her enemy, who held on as with a death grip. scaly plunged under the styx and tried to scrape off the pixie against the keel. strangle swung his body over upon the fish's side but never relaxed his merciless grasp. frantic with pain and terror, scaly swam round and round in circles, plunged into the water again and again, and finally, nearly worn out, dragged herself toward the shore, and ran her head under the grass. strangle held on to her body with his fangs, laid hold with his claws upon the grass stalks above him, and drawing himself up with his utmost power, had well nigh succeeded in landing his huge prey ere spite and his friends reached the spot.[bk] in a few moments more the unfortunate scaly was drawn up upon the green bank, where she was at once assailed by a brood of voracious pixies in the same manner as her unhappy ally twist the serpent. strangle quietly shook the water from his hair, and perched upon a cliff, together with spite and other officers, to watch the turn of events. the fate of scaly had made a great change in the condition of the two fleets. the stygians had been much scattered, but were beginning to rally. their boats put back to the abandoned ships, carrying with them many of the sailors who had been picked up from the wrecks. the loss of the stygians was two ships, several boats and a few drowned sailors. but the victory over scaly, and the moral effect upon the navy, was counted a fair offset to this loss, and on the whole the pixies were mightily satisfied with the night's work. on the other hand, the natties had at once taken in sail, and cast anchor. some damage had been wrought upon their enemies by the expedition of twist, slymousie and scaly; but the defeat and capture of these mammoth adversaries, under circumstances that showed to such advantage the pixies' skill and power, well nigh demoralized the brownies. thrice that night had their enemies wrested victory from the jaws of defeat, and had triumphantly annihilated the grand alliance of corporal policy. while the pixies were highly elated, the brownies were dispirited, cowed, well nigh in despair. but, courage, good fairies! the hebrews had a proverb--"when the tale of bricks is doubled, then comes moses!" "the darkest hour is just before the dawn." footnotes: [footnote bh: appendix, note a.] [footnote bi: appendix, note b.] [footnote bj: appendix, note c.] [footnote bk: appendix, note d.] chapter xxxi. home again. sightwell, the lookout on the emma, had observed, during the late stirring events, a suspicious-looking craft hovering on the outer line of the stygian fleet. it was a yacht, apparently one of the privateers or smugglers that infested the lake. when first sighted it was hugging the shore, the side opposite the pixie camp, as though planning a raid upon the brownies encamped on that side of the inlet. when the stygies had been scattered by scaly's first onset, this yacht pushed boldly out from shore, and headed directly for the inlet, as though she would come to the rescue of her friends. in the excitement of the closing incidents in scaly's career, sightwell had quite forgotten the stranger; but as the emma came to anchor, he sighted her once more. she was bearing down upon the inlet under full sail. "sail ho!" cried the lookout. "where away?" called ask the mate. "dead ahead, and bearing straight down upon us." "what do you make her out?" "a yacht,--a smuggler, i judge. and--yes, there are two boats pulling along close under her sides!" "that looks suspicious," said ask. "call the commodore." just as rodney arrived on deck sightwell called from the fore topmast cross-trees: "our boats are about to make an attack,--i mean the boats that first went out with scaly and afterward turned back shoreward. they pull up cautiously to the strangers. the two boats from the yacht dash away to meet them. they are about to grapple. hah! no! what can that mean? the men in the boats rise and swing their hats. the yachtsmen are hanging in the rigging swinging kerchiefs, scarfs, bonnets and swords; i can see the flutter of one and the flash of the other in the moonlight. hark! they are cheering each other!" it was so, indeed. over the shimmering surface of the lake rolled a volume of sound such as never before went up from so small a company in all the history of brownieland. by this time every soul on shipboard who could get aloft, or find place at the railings, was gazing across the water and wondering at this strange occurrence. no one could solve the mystery. meanwhile the lookout continued his report: "the whole scene is now fully in view. one of the brownie boats is pulling for the shore with might and main; the other has left the yacht and is making straight for the emma. the oars flash in the moonlight, and are played so rapidly that the wake of the boat is an almost unbroken line of gleaming gold. the kind, commander takeheed, lies directly in the boat's course, and as the crew pass under the ship's bows they pause a moment,--only a moment--and then on again as though making a final spurt at a rowing race. "but what is this? the whole ship's crew has surely gone mad! cheer on cheer, wild, loud, uttering the very madness of joy, goes up from the kind's crew, till the welkin rings. see! the flag is being dipped. the sailors are running over the rigging carrying with them lanterns which they hang upon every available spot. the vessel is a blaze of light! they are manning the yards! and still the cheers rise up and roll over the lake with unabated energy. ah! they have caught the contagion on the shore, which the first boat has already reached. a line of lights follows from the landing to the headquarters tent, springing up at once behind the running boatmen, until every tent, bush and tree-top is gleaming with lanterns and torches. the fort is all ablaze. and such cheers! the camp is wild with joy over some great event." "what can it be?" "governor wille has come!" cried an enthusiastic natty. maybe! but we shall know in a moment. rodney and his brave tars are well nigh beside themselves with excitement and wonder as the boat on which every eye is now centred, dashes alongside. a brawny sailor is at the bow, necktie thrown off, shirt wide open, hatless, and nearly breathless with excitement. hist! the deck is silent as death, and every ear stoops for the message. "the lost nurses are found! faith--sophia--they're on yonder yacht! pipe, true, blythe--they're all there--all safe!" hurrah, hurrah, hurrah! never were such echoes wakened from the green bosom of hillside and the blue face of lake katrine, as those which answered back the ringing shout. the tidings flew from ship to ship; land and lake were soon gleaming with countless lights, and the very leaves above them shook with the sound of cheers and singing till the gathering dew dropped down from their quivering sides. and rodney? we draw a veil upon his emotion as the tidings came to him. equally, we drop the curtain upon the scene which followed, when the fringe--for it was raft's yacht, the same that bore the nurses away into captivity,--drew up to the side of the emma, and rodney sprung upon her deck and clasped his darling faith in his arms. presently the yacht landed its precious cargo at the foot of cape home, where all the return party were publicly welcomed. then the nurses were led away to their own tent and the embrace of their dear companions agatha and grace. faith and sophia safe in the midst of the brownie camp once more! surely the dayspring has come at last! all this time spite the spy stood upon the cliff surrounded by his staff, all of them champing, fretting, cursing, wondering, guessing, well nigh distracted in their perplexity over these strange doings. the whole thing was so mysterious, the burst of joy on the part of the brownies so sudden and extreme, that awe fell upon the pixie host. vague presentiments of coming evil hung upon many hearts. the troops lay down solitary and silent to sleep.[bl] spite sat upon the cliff alone, looking at the moonlight upon the water, gazing across the mouth of the inlet into the illuminated camp of the brownies, venting his hatred and disappointment in oaths, and weaving in his busy brain some plot by which to find out ere he retired the cause of his enemies' joy. he had already sent out scouts to prowl along the outer entrenchments of fort home, which divided the brownie tents on the south side of the stream from his own. as he sat there, awaiting their return, he queried again and again, "what can it be?" ah, spite, you shall find out ere long, and it will be the last tidings that your ears shall ever hear! we go back now to take up the story of the party upon ellen's isle, and trace it to this happy ending. we left the little camp settled into happy sleep after the rescue of faith and sophia from arachne hall. the morning broke calm and bright, early driving away the mists that hung over the island. the first thought of all turned upon escape. it seemed beyond endurance to be shut up on that little spot, so near their friends, with such glorious news in their keeping. faith in particular found it hard to restrain her feelings. she was indeed free, and her lover was by her side; but how could she wait for the hour when the load of grief should be rolled from her father's heart? but stubborn facts shut the party in. one boat, which had nearly swamped under the load that it had carried to the island, was all that they could command. and now there were three others, pipe and the two nurses, to be cared for. the sailors asked to be left to shift for themselves, while the officers, and as many as could be stowed away safely, should make the best of their way to land. no! that would be selfish and couldn't be thought of. besides, there was the risk! the stygies were closely guarding the inlet; and the pixie camp at big cave lay between them and the army. all over the lake and along shore the pirate crafts, smugglers and yachts were plying. these facts made departure in an open boat too great a risk, especially with such precious passengers to look after. by themselves, no adventure would have been too daring for the humor of the wrecked brownies, but with faith and sophia in their company they felt doubly engaged to caution. then there was that mysterious boat's crew from the doubt. the least imprudence might reveal to them the presence of the brownie party, and call down upon the little band the whole stygian fleet. it was a perplexing position, and they must be wise and patient and make the best of it. "first of all," said pipe, who now took command, "we must try to rig up another boat. now, my hearties, out with your hatchets and ropes and get to work!" the sailors could turn their hands to every sort of handicraft, and some of them were quite skillful mechanics. fortunately, square, the ship's carpenter of one of the sunken vessels, was among the number picked up by coxswain help, and to him the boat building was entrusted. first the frame was made ready. a hickory twig was laid upon the ground, and bent at both ends. this formed the keel. both ends of two similar twigs were fastened to each end of the keel piece, and bent outward to form the gunwale. these pieces were held in position by braces until the ribs were set, which were shorter twigs bent around the frame and fastened to the keel piece beneath, and to the gunwale on either side. "very good," said square, when this work was done, "now for the covering. we must find a birch tree for that, and strip the bark from some of the branches." the natties soon came back from the woods bringing enough white birch bark to cover a man-of-war. the framework was entirely covered with this, the pieces being lapped far over one another, so as to make the joints as water-tight as possible. "now," said chips, as the sailors call the carpenter, "if we had a little oakum to caulk these seams we should be all right." "we can fix that for you," answered one of the sailors. "here is a grass whose fibres, if well scraped, will give us quite a good substitute for tow. as for tar, we can get on very well with the gum on yonder pine tree." "a good thought," said square, "and i will leave you to carry it out, while i get ready the thwarts and bottom boards." the thwarts were simply undressed twigs laid close together after the fashion of a rustic seat, and fastened against the ribs, and the bottom board was built in the same way. the whole affair had a rustic appearance, when it was finished, but it promised to be serviceable, and that was the main matter. when the woodwork was done the boat was turned keel up, and the caulking began. the fibres of grass were torn and drawn into fine threads, and these made passable oakum, which was thrust into the seams between the layers of bark until they were thoroughly stopped. now rollers were put under the keel, ropes were fastened to the stern, and by pushing and pulling the boat was safely launched upon the lake. it floated well, and was water-tight. the building of the boat took the whole of that day and part of the following, and all hands were vastly pleased at the results. they now had the means to escape from the island whenever the way opened. after dinner, whilst square wrought upon the boat, and pipe and blythe guarded the camp, true and clearview, at the head of a small party, sallied forth to explore. they set out for the head of the island, that is, the end toward the inlet, marching as stealthily as an indian war party. they were chiefly concerned to find out what the boat's crew from the stygian ship doubt had to do upon ellen's isle, and whether there seemed any prospect that they would pass over to the opposite end, and thus imperil the brownies. they had well nigh skirted the entire south shore before they observed any signs of the pixies. "what is that?" cried sailor filip, pointing to a small conical mound just beyond the path, built of dry grass stalks and small twigs. thereupon he ran up to it and exclaimed: "it is a tom-tit's nest, built flat upon the ground!" "who ever heard the like?" shouted a companion; and thereat the brownies began to guy the discoverer, and ran into the thicket to get a closer view. "well, well!" they exclaimed as they got quite near, "it truly is a bird's nest of some sort. but what a weenie one! and what bird could have built it?" "come, let us explore it!" said a little brownie who by a well-known rule of contrariness was called jumbo. so saying, he began clambering up the sides. "good for jumbo!" his comrades cried, and followed close at his heels. it was easy climbing, and the brownies having quickly reached the top were amazed to find no bottom to the nest! they looked down into a deep crater that pierced the ground below the surface, and led into depths hidden in darkness. "i'm bound to solve this mystery!" said jumbo. "who'll go with me into the hole?" he swung over the edge, and his comrades were about following, when they were stopped by a sharp cry from jumbo: "look out there!" "look in, you mean," said filip. and they all looked into the burrow. they saw a row of gleaming eyes that sparkled like jewels as they slowly moved upward into the light. then came into view a claw; then another, and another, and next the brown head of a great pixie! "whew!" cried jumbo. "somersault all, and out of this, instanter!" he swung himself back over the outer edge of the nest and rattled down the rugged side in such haste that he tumbled in a little heap upon the grass, and was presently buried under the sprawling limbs of his comrades. when the brownies got to their feet they saw a huge ground pixie of the clan lycosa, glaring at them over the edge of the nest, and plainly getting ready to spring down upon them. "cut and run, lads!" shouted jumbo, and away the squad scurried out of the thicket, leaving lycosa perched upon the crest of her nest-like tower. when they told their story to captain clearview, he bade two of the natties remain in the path, and keep watch upon the nest-building pixie lest she might sally forth and attack the party on flank or rear. then he bade the squad move on. they had gone but a short march when the captain called a halt. [illustration: fig. 138.--the tower or surface nest of a lycosid spider.[bm]] "see," he said, pointing toward the lake, "yonder is the boat! it is tied to the shore, without any attempt at concealment. plainly, the crew has no suspicion of our presence here. their camp can't be far away." the scouting party was halted, and clearview and true stole through the young willows that fringed the shore. "hist! there they are!" whispered true, who had caught the sound of voices. "do you see them?" "no, but they are just beyond this fallen sapling. here, we can climb upon the trunk and overlook the bivouac safely." in a small open space, near the point where the boat lay, the camp had been pitched. a large tent with a tubular entrance had been built over the hole made by the uplifted root of an overthrown oak. another tent was pitched above this on a platform made of earth which had adhered to the projecting roots; and a third was woven over the top of a clump of weeds, its tubular entrance or hall running straight down to the ground. a bridge of silken ropes stretched from the camp to the tops of the willows that skirted the shore, and from the tents to the edge of the water. it was a snug and pretty retreat.[bn] true and clearview climbed into the branches of the fallen tree, crept along the trunk, and found themselves near enough to overlook the entire camp and overhear the conversation which had first attracted their attention. they were themselves hidden among the leaves. a sentinel stood in the circular doorway of the tent which occupied the hole below the roots. just beyond, two pixie officers walked to and fro, talking loudly and earnestly. "do you know them?" whispered true. "yes; that fellow in black is halfway the son of hide; he is one of the principal stygian chiefs. the one in the brown uniform with broad whitish band is agalena ringster; he is one of the tubeweaving pixies, a tricky fellow and captain of the marines." "softly," said true, as the pixies, having reached the limit of their promenade, turned and walked toward the tent. "we shall find out now what they talk about." "you are sure you understand your father aright?" asked ringster. "quite; he said that the cave was at the head of aranea isle--head, i think it was; it's the only point about which i feel uncertain. i am positive of all the rest." "but," said ringster, "there is no such cave, for we have explored every inch of ground thoroughly. pity the old man was cut off so suddenly! but we must act on your uncertainty, and try the foot of the island. there's nothing else for it; you can't go to spite about this matter; that would spoil all." "there's the trouble. we have wasted too much time already. our absence will be noticed. we can't do much to-day, and--but will to-morrow be clear?" "aye. look at my marines yonder. do you see them putting up a new tent?" ringster pointed to the tall grass near the willows, over which a fresh silken canvas was being rapidly spread. "they never do that in threatening weather. you can rely upon it more certainly than our fine governor does upon his old probabilities."[bo] "but if we fail to discover anything on the foot of the island?" asked halfway. "can we take the time to go over the--" here the voices of the officers grew indistinct, as they had turned upon their course and gone to the far end of the enclosure. they were soon within ear-shot again, but the thread of conversation had been lost. "but where is he?" asked ringster. "if our search fails we must fall back upon him. he was your father's friend, and will serve you faithfully. where does he keep his yacht?" "i don't know. but--i declare! i had quite forgotten it! he was to meet father here to-day!" "good!" exclaimed ringster; "that is the best news yet. it was stupid enough in you not to remember it before. that makes matters plain. we may wait here until he comes, and save ourselves all trouble. but where will he land?" "i don't know that," responded halfway. "if i am right as to the location of the cave, he would touch here, of course. if not--" here the pixies entered one of their tents and the conversation was wholly lost. "we have heard enough," whispered true. "let us away!" noiselessly as they had approached, the brownie spies stole back again to their friends, and reported their discoveries. "what do you make of it all?" asked help. true answered: "that scamp halfway is after the cave in which faith and sophia were concealed. don't you remember that they told us of hide's plans? the old rogue had been laying some scheme to circumvent spite, and was cut off before he had finished it, or fully revealed it to his hopeful son." "and the last part of the conversation--?" "refers to raft, beyond a doubt," answered clearview. "now the question is, what shall we do? these pixies will be down upon our camp to-morrow at the furthest. we must get out of the island, at least out of our present quarters, very soon, unless, indeed, we agree to stand and fight it out." "well," said help, "i have thought of a plan that will save us from our greatest danger. i was sorely tempted to put it into execution, while you were away. look there," pointing to the pixie boat. "if that were out of the problem we could solve it a good deal more readily. what i fear most is that these doubtmen, at the first alarm, may pull off to the fleet, and bring such a force against us as will overwhelm us. if they were here alone with us we might have a fair standup fight, or a struggle of plot and counterplot, and come off well enough. can't we get that boat adrift? it is not guarded; we can steal along the shore, loosen the cable and let her drift off on the current. i will volunteer for the service." the party greeted this plan with approbation, and it was immediately carried out. help and two of the sailors crept along the shore, under the drooping boughs of the willows, and reached the boat safely. silently and quickly they slipped the cable by which she was moored to the bank, and placing their spears against the bow, gave a vigorous push. the current was strong at this point, sweeping from the inlet along the head of the island toward the foot, and so out into the lake. in a few moments the boat had drifted out of sight beyond the willows, and was on its way to the outlet. it had immediately floated away beyond recovery, before halfway, who had mounted the bridge to look out for raft, saw that the boat was gone, and raised the alarm. he stormed, swore, questioned, threatened. in the meantime ringster had quietly ascended one of the tallest bushes, and was carefully surveying the lake. "i see her!" he cried, pointing toward the outlet. "yonder she drifts, far beyond the foot of the island, and out of reach. the current is so strong here that she has pulled up the stake or slipped her painter, and the current has carried her away. it's bad business for us, but storming won't mend matters. we must make the best of it and quietly wait for raft. if he fails us, we must set signals for some of our own ships." so saying he got down from his perch and entered his tent, an example which the rest were not slow to follow. the brownies set their faces homeward well satisfied with the results of the scout, and anxious to reach camp before sunset. but their adventures were not ended. as the party stealthily threaded the shore in indian file, clearview, who was in the lead, suddenly halted and threw up a hand in token of silence. "hist--softly! see there!" he pointed to a gaily uniformed water pixie stretched upon the ground a little beyond them, sound asleep. the brownie sailors lifted their spears, and were about to hurl them at the prostrate form. "hold!" said true in an undertone, "we must capture this fellow. he may be raft himself. it is his uniform, at least; and if it be he, no brownie hand must harm him save in lawful battle. let us move softly, and at the signal surround and capture him." it was done as ordered, and the sleeping waterman awoke to find himself in the hands of his enemies. "are you raft dolomede?" asked true. "well, what then, sir?" answered the pixie defiantly. "then your life shall be spared for a kindness done in an hour of great need to those whom we love." the captive cast a keen, inquiring glance into true's face; then answered coolly, "humph! that's a temptation to sail under false colors that most of my kin would thank'ee for. but i don't take kindly to lying, and don't ask for life at brownie hands. do your worst--and as soon as you please. my name's not raft." again the brownie spears were poised, and again true interfered to save the captive. "beat those bushes along the shore," he cried; "we shall carry our prisoner to camp." presently the sailors returned and reported that they had found a yacht at anchor under the willows just beyond. "any name on her?" "aye; 'the fringe' is worked in white silk upon one of the sails." true turned to his captive and asked, "are you the captain of that yacht?" "no, sir," was the stout answer, "the captain's looking for some messmates down yonder at the foot of the island." true started. "haste! mark the spot where the yacht lies. bring on the prisoner--away, away!" the brownie camp was soon reached. square and his squad left their boat-building to stare at the new arrival, and overwhelmed their friends with wondering questions. faith and sophia left their tent to learn the cause of the commotion. the crowd of sailors around the scouts and their prisoner fell back, bringing the pixie into full view. sophia uttered a cry and ran forward. "do not harm him, true," she exclaimed, "this is raft! save him; he is the only one who showed us kindness in our captivity." raft, for it was indeed he, cast down his eyes and said nothing. true looked in amazement upon him, and asked half angrily: "what reason, even according to pixie policy, could you have had for telling us such lies?" raft was silent. in sooth, he could hardly have answered the question. perhaps he had felt, more keenly than he cared to show, sophia's refusal to marry him; perhaps he was moved by ideas of fidelity to his own party; perhaps he was simply stubborn and defiant; perhaps he was really ashamed, after the manner of some human beings, to confess and talk about anything so far out of his common life as a good deed. at all events, he refused to speak to any one, even to the nurses. he was securely bound and carefully guarded throughout the night. next morning pipe called a council, and announced a plan of escape. "we have, or shall have soon," said he, "two boats and raft's yacht. we could get off quite well in the boats; but the risks of meeting some of the pixie craft would be considerable. we can avoid that by taking out the fringe with us, and pulling our boats close alongside of her. the stygies will not suspect anything wrong with a craft they know so well. we can get quite near the fleet without challenge, and trust to luck to run the gauntlet of the ships afterwards." the plan was accepted at once and it was agreed to attempt the escape that evening, when the moon would give enough light to sail by, but not too much to allow close observation. there were two difficulties in the way, raft and the doubtmen. the first was happily disposed of. pipe approached the prisoner in his hearty sailor fashion. he saw at a glance that the smuggler was in a better humor than on the evening before. "mornin', shipmate," said pipe. "we're going to leave these quarters this evening, and take a little cruise toward the inlet. we have need of your craft for a convoy and want to make matters as easy for you as possible. we give you your choice; stay here tied to that tree until your friends at the head of the island can find and release you, or go with us on the fringe. if you choose the first, you must lose your yacht; if the second, we promise you that when we are safe alongside a nattie ship, or in the brownie camp, you shall sail off unmolested. what say you?" raft twisted himself into a more comfortable position, pulled upon the cords that bound him, and answered, "well, bow'sn, i might as well say thank'ee at once. i choose number two. it's not a pretty thing for a free rover like me to be lashed up here like a sailor on a man-o'-war seized up for a flogging. an' d'ye think i'd trust those fellows on the point to cut these cables and set me free? if it suited their own interests they might; otherwise raft might go to pluto for all them. as to giving up the fringe"--here a tear started into the smuggler's eye, "not if i can help it, bow'sn! why, i love that pretty thing more'n my life. she's as dear to me as your daughter is to you. aye, aye, sir! i'll save the fringe, bless her pretty timbers! so heave ahead, as soon as you're a mind to. one cruise with a brownie skipper won't hurt, i reckon. 'specially as a fellow can't help it." that matter being arranged, the boat-building was hurried up, and as the skiff was nearly finished, it was launched as already described. camp was then broken, and the whole party embarked in the boats and pulled around the island, keeping close under the shadow of the overhanging willows, to the point where the fringe lay. faith and sophia were placed aboard the yacht, and raft, still bound, was kept under guard in one of the boats. "now, my hearties," said pipe, as the brownies landed, "we may as well get ready for some rough work. this is my plan. we are to go into ambush, just beyond there. i am satisfied that the pixies will take this path to the foot of the island. the other side is well nigh a jungle, while here is an open way. you are to wait under cover until halfway and his party appear. then at the signal you are to open on them with spears, and rush upon them with swords, making all the noise you can. i count, pretty confidently, that they will be thrown into confusion, and will make straight back to their camp and fortify themselves. if they do so, we are all right and can sail away at our leisure. if they show fight, we must stand up to them like men and do our best." the ambush was soon arranged. a scout who had been sent forward to the point, was seen swinging along under the bushes, stooping as he ran, and moving noiselessly. he reported that the pixies were about leaving camp, and, as had been conjectured, by the path on that side. the word was passed along, and all sank into silence as halfway and his command strode on carelessly talking and laughing. when they reached the fatal spot, the boatswain's whistle rose shrill and loud from the bushes above the path. it was the signal of attack. "faith, sophia and rescue!" the brownies shouted this battle cry, which pipe had given them, as though the voice and strength of ten were in every throat. at the same instant a volley of spears rained down upon the astounded stygians, and, ere they could recover from their surprise, the natties were upon them with swift sabre strokes. pipe had reckoned truly. the surprise was so complete, the attack so vigorous, the names of the nurses, whom the pixies were seeking, had such a startling effect as they were shouted and echoed on every side, and the pixies were so utterly unprepared for defence, that they turned at once, and fled in disorder to their camp, where they began throwing up entrenchments. three of their number were left dead upon the ground, one of whom was their leader, halfway, who fell pierced through and through by spears which true and clearview had hurled at him with sure aim. "now, my lads," said pipe, putting up his sword, "we may as well take matters comfortably until sundown. then, up anchor, and away home!" a ringing cheer was the response. sentinels were stationed, a scout sent out to watch the pixie camp, and the party quietly rested until evening. when the moon arose above the lake, the anchor of the fringe was raised, the boats were manned, and the little fleet swung loose from the island. both wind and current were against them at first, and little progress was made. but raft, who had been released on parole and was aboard his beloved fringe, aided heartily in navigating the yacht, while the boats kept close under her sides. gradually the party approached the inlet, and arrived unchallenged within the lines of the stygian fleet just as scaly began her attack. that event somewhat unsettled the plans of our little squadron, but pipe soon found that it might work to their advantage. he crowded on all sail, and made straight for the emma, with what results the reader already knows. the brownies dealt with raft as they had promised, and when the island party had safely landed on the emma, the smuggler was allowed to sail away with the fringe, untouched. he made directly for ellen's isle, took aboard the pixies there, secured the body of halfway, and after delivering the living and dead aboard the doubt, ran his yacht under the cliff whereon we last saw spite the spy seated, waiting, in solitude, tidings from his scouts. footnotes: [footnote bl: appendix, note a.] [footnote bm: appendix, note b.] [footnote bn: appendix, note c.] [footnote bo: appendix, note d.] chapter xxxii. ensign lawe's mission. shortly after the renowned adventure with the stygian ram, ensign lawe had been sent upon a mission to governor wille. he had been told to spare no effort to arouse the governor from his indifference to brownie perils and sufferings, and bring him to their help. "take all the time you need," added bruce, "and don't let us see your face until you can bring from wille a fixed decision, yea or nay." these were hard instructions; but the ensign was used to facing difficulties, and overcoming them, too. he therefore rode away, with a few trusty troopers, determined to succeed if success were possible. arrived at the mansion he found preparations afoot for a grand company in honor of the distinguished major-general fleisch. many people had been invited, and when evening came the house and grounds were thronged. there were parson prettyman and his wife, senator wirepull, the honorable mr. splurge, m.c., mr. shearall the rich banker, mr. shortweight the wealthy merchant, lawyers grip and gab, drs. sugarcoat and skindeep, squire muddle, mayor sponge, and messrs. taxem and robb of the city council. there were, to be sure, some most worthy people besides, but the above seemed to be favorites with governor wille, and to them and the great general fleisch he showed particular attentions. there was no end of merrymaking. a band played beautiful music from a rustic stand in front of the hall door. chinese lanterns hung upon trees and shrubbery, and these, with the light of the full moon, made the grounds look like a scene in fairyland. amidst all this splendor and gaiety the pixies kept on spreading their tents upon the lawn. every now and then, indeed, some of the company would overturn a tent and send its occupants fleeing into their holes among the roots. but that is a matter which pixies count upon, and therefore they only grumbled and got to work again. indeed they were quite proud of the whole affair. "ho! brother cito," said captain saltus of the skirmishers. "isn't this a grand celebration of our victory?" "that is it!" answered cito; "a regular jubilee. good luck to governor ville, and confusion to all brownies!" "humph!" growled heady, "they're a pack of human fools! and you're little better for thinking that they care for our victories." "let those laugh who win," thought ensign lawe, who was hidden in the rose bush just above the group, and overheard these remarks. "however, there will be little chance to forward my mission to-night. the governor has given himself up wholly to pleasuring that big general, and will have a heavy ear for brownie complaints and petitions." he sat on the bush and swung himself to and fro, and listened to the strains of music, the hum of conversation, the clatter of plates and goblets, until the small hours of the night had come. then he saw wille and dido go off wearily to their bed-chamber, and wondered, "shall i disturb them? no! i will wait until they are refreshed by sleep, and will appeal to them in the brightness of the new morning." as the day began to break ensign lawe awoke. he peeped from beneath the leafy canopy under which he had slept sound and dry. over the lawn the white tents of the pixies were spread far and wide. squads and companies of busy workers were rapidly pushing on the encampment to the border of the south walk, and to the promenade under the west window. [illustration: fig. 139.--the web of dictyna the lacemaker.] "i can't stand this!" cried the ensign. "ho! brownies, awake! hi! ponies, up! shake the dew off your wings!" he leaped upon his own nag, and followed by his dragoons, flew across to the virginia creeper that ran over the west wall and twined above the windows of the chamber where wille and dido slept. [illustration: fig. 140.--madam lacemaker tries to capture ensign lawe.] it was the ensign's hap to alight upon a leaf whereon a small and rather dainty but vigorous pixinee, named madam dictyna the lacemaker, had built a snug pavilion. spite had set her as an especial sentinel upon my lady dido; and when lawe and his dragoons made such a rude entrance upon her domain she was sorely vexed. shaking her lace frills and skirts, she ran out from her tent and threatened the brownies with high bluster and rage. but lawe would not permit her to be attacked just then; he had other work to do, to which the lacemaker's presence only spurred him forward. the party left their ponies outside, and crept through the slats of the closed blind into the room. they mounted the bed-post, climbed atop of the carved headboard, and began drumming with their feet and spears upon the solid walnut. "rat-a-tat! rat-a-tat! tat, tat, tat!" neither of the sleepers stirred. "louder, lads, louder!" shouted the ensign. "rat-a-tat! rat-a-tat! tat, tat!" still the weary couple slept. "stop!" called lawe. "no use! late hours--late supper--champagne! we must wait and try something better. away!" as they descended the bed and scampered back to the window they were greeted by a loud, prolonged nasal serenade from the unconscious pair. "puff! pu-ff-ff!--oo,--haw!" breathed dido quite gently, indeed, after a fashion which goes with some folk by the name of "boiling mush." "oo--oogh--ha--aw--_hogh!_" was the answering snore from the governor's nose, with a tremendous force upon the "hogh!" in fact, it came out with such a sharp explosion, that wille's head flew forward, and he awoke. "wife," said he sleepily--"i say, wife!" and here he gave dido a little tap under the chin. "don't snore so loud, please! why, i--i--really you made a terrible racket. i thought at first that some one was pounding the bedstead!" dido was quite awake now, and answered indignantly, "snore indeed! you'd better talk! pounding the bedstead! it's too bad!" and thereupon the little lady turned over sharply toward the wall, and composed herself to sleep. however, the governor had lost the benefit of dido's speech; for ere she had finished he was sound asleep, and snoring almost as vigorously as before. meanwhile the brownies had returned to their rose-bush retreat ignorant of the amusing scene for which their little feet were responsible. "to-morrow," said lawe, "we must succeed. if we can once get the governor to see, in the early morning, while the dew lies upon their tent-tops and reveals them what a vast camp of our enemies holds our old and rightful quarters, i am sure that he will clear out the usurpers at once!" "aye; but how shall we bring that about?" said corporal trust. "we must have help. come, lads, mount and away!" answered lawe. he led his troopers straight toward the orchard. over the tree-tops they flew; on, up, until at last he halted the party on one of the spreading limbs of lone aspen. there the ensign dismounted and approaching the lone aspen the first object upon which his eyes fell was a round, horizontal snare of uloborus, spread within the hollow of the trunk, where the great gateway opened at the foot. his anger was highly inflamed at the sight, and he forgot his mission in the eager purpose to rout this foe lurking at the doorway of his friend, madam breeze. he ran hastily forward and smote the web with his sword until it fell to the ground. uloborus, who was stretched beneath it on a ribbon-like hammock, tumbled down with the ruins of his orb; and thereat ensign lawe fell upon him with his sword. but the pixie, thinking discretion the better part of valor, dodged the strokes, and shaking himself loose from the fragments of his late beautiful net, ran away at top of his speed, and plunged into the thick grass around the roots of the tree. lawe did not think well to follow; and his wrath being somewhat vented, turned again to the errand on which he had come. he climbed the grass-rope ladder stretched along the trunk, and having reached the upper window at the great knot-hole, blew a shrill blast upon his bugle. the echoes rolled up and down the hollow trunk. "oo--oo--oo!" the round mellow voice of madam breeze answered the call, and a moment thereafter the merry elf bobbed her rubicund face out of the window. "hah! who is there? brownies again, i warrant--wheeze! more forts to smash? ho, ho, ho! why, my sides are aching yet with that last bout. ho, ho!--hoogh!" it seemed more likely that the good lady's sides were aching with her hearty laughter. [illustration: fig. 141.--"a round, horizontal snare of uloborus, spread within the hollow of the trunk."] "didn't we batter them, though?" she ran on. "down went tents! down went barricades! down went fort--hoogh!" here madam gave one of her little coughs. "well, no, not exactly that, neither. that was too much for us. but no matter! the vile old den got its deserts anyhow. ho, ho! phaugh! and how's spite the spy? has his breath improved any? wheeze--dear me! i doubt if he ever scrubs his teeth. think of a pure, sweet breeze-body like myself having to wrestle with such as he! don't ask me to! no, no! it's too funny, ho, ho!--wheeze--hoogh! you see my asthma's no better--wheeze!" all this time the elf had been seated on a broad leaf swinging like a pendulum, and gazing into the clouds. she suddenly stopped and looked into the ensign's face. "dear me!" she cried, "i--i--and so it's not bruce this time? the rogue--the scamp--the--ah!--wheeze! how could he dare to deceive me so?--hoogh!" for one minute madam breeze sat still, actually for a whole minute! the fact is, she was just a trifle afraid of ensign lawe, the only one of all the brownies, by the way, who ever dashed her high spirits a particle. during that moment the good elf looked as sober as she could then threw her heels up and her head down, and swung away furiously for a few seconds. "oho! it's you, is it? well, things must be serious when lawe comes a-gossiping to madam breeze. well, well! cheer up, cheer up, mr. sobersides! "shall we, inclined to sadness, strike melancholy's string? oh, no! we'll tune to gladness and merrily, merrily sing tra, la!" the elf trilled these words to a sprightly strain, and wound up with a laugh, a wheeze and a cough. by this time her touch of seriousness had vanished, and she was swinging as lustily as ever. "there now, mr. lawe. you see i'm composed and ready for business. go on with your story. bad news?--of course! yes, yes--hoogh! i know something about it--bad! there,--stand still a minute, can't you?--and go on!" lawe had stood silent and motionless, all this while, waiting for madam breeze to settle herself. but as he saw that this was not likely to happen, he began the story of brownie disasters, and after many interruptions reached the matter he had in hand. "yes, yes! i see it all," said the elf. "not another word--it is all right. here, whirlit, keener! put my ponies vesper and vacuum into the chariot--quick!" the word had scarcely been spoken ere the two pages returned leading a house martin and a meadow lark, who were harnessed to a maple leaf mounted upon wheels of thistledown. the stem of the leaf served as the tongue of the chariot, and the palm of the leaf was bent over at the apex and bent up at the base, so as to make a very pretty fairy coach indeed. the lark's name was vesper, the martin's vacuum, and madam breeze had taken the liberty of nicknaming them "vesp" and "vac." "come; in with you!" cried the good elf, and suddenly contracting herself into the very smallest compass, as she was wont at times to do, she bounced into the chariot. the ensign followed. whirlit and keener mounted the bird ponies, and waited for the word of command. "to the cove. go!" shouted madam breeze; and away the party went over orchard and meadow, over town, bridge and river. they stopped at the summit of a hill that stands at the mouth of the cove, whose brow has been worn by frosts, heats and storms of centuries, until it stands up a bald cliff. the naked rock below has a rough likeness to a human face, and the fringe of bushes underneath gives the idea of a vast beard. the top of the cliff is covered with trees that look in the far distance like tufts of frizzly hair upon the giantstone's poll. from the midst of these rose (when these records were made) two pine trees. their tall trunks were quite bare, their bushy branches interlocked closely, and thus was left a goodly sized opening, through which at that time of the year the sun was first seen of mornings coming down into the valley. the fairies called this the gate of the sun, and it was to visit four sister elves who kept this gate that madam breeze had now come. the gate stood wide open, for the sunshine was already gone through to the town and hills beyond. in a snug little cave in the limestone front of the hill, a sort of "mouth" to the giantstone's face, the four elves lived. lawe followed as briskly as possible, swung himself from bough to bough of the overhanging shrubbery, landed upon a narrow ledge, and found his way to the mouth of the cave of the clouds. madam breeze, now expanded in bodily form to goodly size, had already entered and was bustling around the place calling for the sisters. "hi! cirrus! ho, stratus! here, here--where are you?--wheeze!" the dead dry leaves whirled around and around as the merry elf called, and the echoes answered her voice. "ho--e--oh! cumulus! nimbus! can't you hear?" the bustling elf had no cause to be impatient, for she had scarcely spoken ere four forms slowly rose in the shadows of the inner cave, and began to move deliberately toward the light. the first advanced with airy footstep, shaking about her face a cloud of long curling locks, almost white. she was dressed in a white robe, covered with trellis-work patterns, inwrought with thin silvery streaks. this was elf cirrus. the second sister was a plump, sober-looking elf, whose hair was gathered in woolly puffs upon her round head, and was a curious mixture of white and black. her robe was covered with figures of cones, hemispheres and white-topped mountains, which figures were touched here and there with many bright colors. this was cumulus. elf stratus wore a grayish robe flounced with bands of divers colors, many of them edged with bright silver and golden fringe like the rays of the setting sun. her dark hair was worn smooth, and was crossed by a band of purple ribbons that girdled the crown. nimbus, the last of the four sisters, was a gloomy-looking dame, with a kind look in her eyes nevertheless, and a great purse in her hand, through the meshes of which yellow pieces of gold were seen. she was dressed in black, had a gray cloak with fringed edges thrown over her shoulders, and a dainty lace cap upon her head. "oho! here you are, then!" cried madam breeze as the elves came forward. they all bowed as she spoke, and stood quite still when she ceased. indeed, the sisters seemed to be curiously affected by madam breeze's voice; for all the while that she was speaking they gently swayed their bodies, and moved back and forth through the cave. "come now," said madam breeze, "you must be quite good-natured, you know. i have a very, very important duty for you. i want to serve my good friends the brownies--wheeze! here, ensign, let me present you. these are the cloud elves." lawe bowed gravely, and the sisters each made that graceful and dignified courtesy which our grandmothers were taught to be the proper thing on such occasions. "this is what i want," continued madam breeze; "to-morrow morning--wheeze!--do you hear me? to-morrow morning i want to have quite clear. keep the gate of the sun wide open--hoogh! wide, i say; for we have some good work for my lord sol to do over there at hillside. stratus, do you hear, lass?--wheeze! i'm most afraid of you. you're such a regular night owl, and affect the manners of--hoogh!--of those silly humans who wake all night and go to bed at sunrise. but, mark what i say--wheeze!--you must stay at home this night. not a flounce, not a frill, not a--hoogh!--not a--wheeze!--nothing--(confusion seize this cough!)--of all your fine toggery must be spread between the sun and the gate to-morrow morn. do you all understand?" madam breeze puffed, and bounded about in a nervous way, mightily stirred up by the necessity for making such a long speech. the sisters bowed several times, and at last nimbus, who seemed to speak for the others, answered in a deep voice that rolled through the cave and sounded like low distant thunder: "we will keep the gate open, good mistress breeze. you know we are always ready to oblige you. your pleasure shall be our law." "good--good! many thanks. don't forget. if you do--bless your hearts!--i'll blow up brother tempest and have him tear your fine robes into tatters. good-bye. come, ensign, let us away--wheeze!" once more squeezing herself into scant space, she got into the chariot. "where next?" asked lawe, when the top of the cliff had been regained. "where, where? jump in--quick! whirlit, keener, you rogues, where are you? oh, you're at your post, are you?--wheeze! all right. go!--hoogh!" "go? whither?" cried whirlit, leaping upon vesper's back and gathering up the reins. "to be sure! i had forgotten; all owing to that vile asthma! to the falls in the cove. away!" a beautiful stream runs through the cove. as it approaches the river, it hugs the base of the southern hill, enters a short ravine, midway of which it tumbles over a rock ten or twelve feet high, making a pretty waterfall. the sides of the ravine around the cascade and pool are covered with ferns. thrifty young hemlocks stretch their tops upward and interlock their green branches above. "what a charming spot! what a cool retreat!" cried lawe, as the chariot dashed through an opening in the foliage, through which the sunlight stole and rested in a golden plate upon the bosom of the pool. the face of the pool was rippled and dimpled as madam's chariot stopped upon a flat stone at the edge of the cascade. the waterfall, too, raised a louder splash and broke its broad sheet into many ribbons and tongues of water in welcome of the good elf. vesper and vacuum dipped their beaks thereinto and having kissed the pool's face, threw up their heads and drank to the health of cove fall and its people. "wait a moment," said madam breeze. she leaped from the chariot and ran under the fall. presently she returned bringing with her the fairy dew, whom she had come to see. lawe had never seen a more beautiful and dainty sprite. her face and head were covered with a long white veil which, as well as her gauze robe, glistened with mimic pearls and diamonds. when she shook her head or moved her body these jewels were thrown off in little showers that shone a moment in the sunbeams, and then melted away into the earth or water. but there seemed to be none the less of them for all that. a curious instrument that somewhat resembled scottish bagpipes, hung from her shoulders, and rested under the left arm. every moment or two fairy dew pressed this instrument between her arm and side, whereupon, from a number of little tubes there would issue a cloud of spray, that settled upon the grass and leaves in minute round jewels like those which covered the fairy's dress. [illustration: fig. 142.--fairy dew at the mouth of the cave.] madam breeze presented the ensign to the fairy, and then in her own jerky way told the story of the brownies' troubles. whereat dew was sorry and excited, and shook so many pearl drops around her that lawe had to step beyond the circle of the shower to save himself from being drenched. that was the fairy's way of shedding tears, it would seem. "what i want you to do," continued the elf, "is to be up bright and early to-morrow, and cover the lawn at hillside with these pretty gems of yours. the pixies--faugh!--have their tents spread out like the camp of joshua in the plains of moab. sprinkle 'em well--wheeze! make every single thread a string of dew-drops. we'll attend to the rest. what say you, my dear?--hoogh!" "will the cloud elves be at home?" asked the fairy. "aye,--i've seen to that. the way'll be clear. what say you?--wheeze!" "oh, i must consult my husband first, you know. i can do nothing without dewpoint. i'll run and ask him." "aha! you're as sweet as ever on that--wheeze!--hubby of yours. quite--hoogh!--right! go and consult with dewpoint." "may i go in with the fairy?" asked lawe, who was curious to see her home. "oh, to be sure," said dew, "and welcome. come in, both of you!" "not i, thank you," said the madam. "shouldn't wonder if i had taken my death of cold already--hoogh! in with you, ensign, and hasten back." the water in leaping over the edge of the precipice left a space of a foot or more between the falling sheet and the face of the rock. by this path lawe passed under the fall. he noted that the light shone through the tumbling stream as through a frosted window, and made every object within visible. above him was a roof and beside him a wall of rushing water, whose loud, steady roar, as it fell into the pool, quite drowned the sound of his voice. in a moment he was drenched with spray. the stones over which he stepped were wet and slippery, and compelled careful walking. presently dew stopped before an opening in the rock, and beckoned lawe to follow her. he entered an irregular cave which stretched backward into the cliff as far as the eye could reach. it was dark at first, but as soon as his eyes became used to the change, lawe could see the objects around the opening, and faintly those further in. upon the roof were hanging stalactites white as sea foam, some tapering to points and dropping like icicles, some just touching or blending with like formations called stalagmites, which rose from various spots upon the floor like marble pillars. these beautiful white formations were also spread over the walls of the cave wherever the water had trickled down, and some of them looked like serpents, or roots of trees carved in marble. far back toward the end of the cave lawe saw in the dim light an old-looking elf, who seemed to be in an uncomfortable state of mind and body. he was clad as scantily as propriety would allow, indeed was naked from the waist up. a long white beard fell upon his bare breast. he sat upon a rude gothic chair, not unlike the big pulpit seat which the minister sits in on sundays, which had been formed, by some freak of the cave sprites, from the interweaving and massing of stalactites and stalagmites. he held in his hand a huge fan made from the feathers of a snow bird, with which he fanned himself so vigorously that his long beard was blown about over his chest, and his white hair was kept streaming behind him. considering how chilly was the cave, lawe thought this strange behavior. "who is that?" he asked. "he looks like saint nicholas in his summer retreat. is that your husband?" "oh, bless you, no,--no indeed!" laughed fairy dew. "that is my half brother frost. he gets little comfort in this country until winter begins to come on. he hardly ever goes out of the cave the whole summer, and keeps back there, as you see, in the coolest spot. no wonder that he plays some sorry pranks when he is released in the autumn from his long confinement." "but he has been out in the summer, hasn't he?" "yes, yes," said the elf quickly, "he did escape the guards once or twice and--dear me! i don't like to think of it! it was too bad the way he carried on. the face of the earth looked as if it had been boiled in a caldron during the night. farmers and gardeners were well nigh ruined. they called brother the 'black frost,' after that trick. though, dear me! i don't see why, for he's white enough i'm sure. but mortals are odd and contrary folk sometimes!" just then dewpoint came out of a pavilion or chamber which was contrived by using stalagmites as pillars and stalactites as supports. as he stepped forth he threw back the curtain door, and exposed the interior of a snug room, lit up with fox-fire lanterns which were fixed in gnarled stalactite brackets. lawe was about to take a closer view of this pretty room and its master, when he heard the voice of madam breeze calling at the mouth of the cave: "ho! hello, there! are you frozen up? have you taken summer lodgings? here i've been waiting for--for--hoogh!--" "for three minutes!" answered lawe a little impatiently, for he was curious and disappointed. then he bethought him of his duties, and spoke up cheerfully, "i am coming! you are quite right, it is no time to loiter. thanks for your kind prompting, friend breeze. farewell, good fairy dew, and you, sir dewpoint, too." he hastened out of the cave and followed the elf to the chariot, which bowled rapidly away from the ravine. chapter xxxiii. how the mission ended. "whither now?" asked lawe. "home," said madam breeze. "we've nothing more to do but wait for the morning. if all go well, and all shall go well, never fear! we will see old spite--faugh!--and all his pixie crew--wheeze!--scattered to the four winds before morning. be up bright and early. you shall find me on hand at daybreak, and by sunrise brownieland may proclaim a jubilee--hoogh!" when the chariot reached lone aspen, lawe called his troopers, and with many warm thanks bade the elf good-bye, and hurried back to his former bivouac at the tip-top of the large rose bush. the ponies were tethered under the leaves out of pixie sight, and the troopers stretched themselves upon the branches to sleep, or sat in the forks of the limbs and talked over old campaigns until nightfall. always, however, sentinels kept watch against surprise. the day passed without alarm, and when night came on the brownies composed themselves to sleep. lawe, full of anxiety, was sleepless. he had firm faith that madam breeze would bring deliverance, but as she had not told her plans, he could only guess what they were from such hints as had been dropped while arranging matters with her friends. still, there was so much doubt in his mind that he could scarcely compose himself to wait until the morrow. he descended the bush, dodging on the way the round beautiful snares of the wheel legion swung among the daisies, and the criss-cross and knotted nets of the lineweavers. [illustration: fig. 143.--"the round beautiful snares of the wheel legion swung among the daisies."] on the ground beneath him a party of pixie officers were gossiping over current events. there was saltus of the vaulting legion, a large-eyed, intelligent fellow, dressed in a black uniform, with gold and scarlet facings, and a bright metallic green helmet and sword sheath. he was famous for his long leaps, being able to make at a single jump the distance of several hundred millimeters. there also were lieutenant heady, and cito of the wolf battalion, and dysdera of the tubeweavers, who lived in a sac-like tent from which the brownies had nicknamed him "pixie silk-poke." they were all in high feather, and were making merry yarns and jokes over the late disasters which had befallen their enemies. lieutenant heady was in the midst of a boastful prediction of the utter ruin of all brownieland when a runner arrived with news of the strange excitement among the brownies, and the illumination of the camp and ships, as related in a former chapter. [illustration: fig. 144.--"the criss-cross and knotted net of the lineweavers."] "what can it mean?" asked saltus. "no one knows," replied the runner. "p'raps they've got up a big feed and pow-wow for some pompous general," growled heady. "aha!" said ensign lawe; and having doubled the guard, he sped away through the moonlight. when he came back with the glorious news of the rescue of the nurses, his squad of troopers could not restrain their joy, and broke out with a round of cheers. "whew!" cried cito, "brownies here, as i live! after them, lads!" and he ran up the rose bush full speed. "heigh-ho!" cried saltus, leaping upon the leaves, "mount for them, vaulters! jump, jump quickly!" [illustration: fig. 145.--"dysdera of the tubeweavers."] "confusion seize 'em," growled heady between his teeth, "i'll put a stopper on your throats, my pretty chickidees!" thereupon he swung himself to a twig and followed his comrades. but lawe had taken the alarm, and betook himself and troopers to the virginia creeper above the parlor window, where they were out of harm's way. now the night passed merrily along. from the depth of despair the ensign and his men were suddenly lifted to the height of joy. the news seemed too good to be true; moreover, it was like a prophetic assurance of further good fortune on the morrow. lawe's spirits rose to the highest pitch; and when at last he fell asleep it was to dream of victory, love and grace. "oho, oho! did i surprise you, mr. ensign?" was the greeting which came to him as he awoke. it was daybreak. there sat madam breeze on the virginia creeper above him, smiling good-humoredly, and shaking the vine gently. he hurried to her side, bade her good morning, and told her the news of faith and sophia's rescue. madam shook with joyful excitement until the vine clattered against the wall. "hist!" she cried, "that will never do! silence--do you hear? softly--hu-sh! we must keep cool a while longer--wheeze!" she choked off her cough as she spoke, and sat still, at least as still as she could sit. lawe looked out upon the lawn. there was fairy dew giving the finishing touch to her night's work. as she flew with quick wings above the grass, her arms played rapidly upon the sacs beneath them, and from the many tubes attached thereto the spray flew in all directions. "humph!" said the ensign as he watched with curious interest this fairy spraying machine. "what a busy little body fairy dew must be! see what an immense work she has wrought during the night!" "aye, aye! that is what we want. look how the dew brings out to view yonder pixie tents on the lawn and in the bushes. ha, ha! good, indeed!--wheeze!" the elf clapped her hands merrily at the sight. but lawe could hardly enter into the pleasure of the view, for as he saw almost every square foot of his beloved homestead grounds covered with the tents of his foes, showing white and clear under their load of dew-drops, his heart beat tumultuously with grief, shame and anger. he therefore shrugged his shoulders and said nothing. "never mind," cried madam breeze, "we shall see presently. aha! lookee yonder! there comes the sun! all is well! hoogh!--hurrah!" the first rays of the rising sun were beginning to peep between the two pines, touch the tip of the giantstone's poll and shoot out across the river. "bless the kind cloud elves," exclaimed madam, "they have served us truly, and left the gate of the sun open wide. welcome, welcome, good sol! here, this way now, fairy sunbeam, follow me." [illustration: fig. 146.--dew-sprinkled tents upon the lawn.] the elf tossed herself off the vine and bustled away to the front window that looks toward the northeast, facing the great bend in the ohio river. she shook the window shutter until the slats rattled and fell open. "in with you now!" she cried to the sunbeam. "right in! off the floor now, please. up the white bed-spread. there--that is it; that's it! just the spot, full and fair in the governor's face! now--wheeze!--rest there a moment, will you? i'll finish up these shutters--hoogh, wheeze--_puff!_" she laid hold of the green slats and shook them again and again. harder, madam, harder, if you would get them open! once more the elf threw herself against the barrier, until the window shook. "here, whisk, keener!" she called. "come to my help. and you, lawe, creep in here and pry up that catch with your spear. all together, now!--whoo-ooo-_whooff!_" one of the shutters flew back with a loud bang, and as good hap would have it, the hasp or catch on the end thereof struck the leaf on which lacemaker the pixinee was nested and broke it loose from the vine. it floated off upon the wind and madam lacemaker was sorely tossed about upon her aerial voyage. seeing this, a fairy sunbeam seized the stem of the leaf and darted off westward with it. thereat elf keener plunged away after careering leaf and flying sunbeam, and with stout puffs of his breath drove the leaf before him, madam lacemaker all the while tumbling back and forth, holding on to the lines of her dainty web, and ever and anon from her kneeling or half-prone posture shaking her fists, and sputtering forth her helpless wrath. now through the open space the sun sent in a broad sheet of golden light that fell full upon wille's face. the governor awoke, rubbed his eyes, grumbled at the wind, grumbled at somebody's carelessness, got out of bed and crossed the room to close the shutter. madam breeze threw around him the freshest and sweetest breath of the morning as he approached. he leaned out of the window to draw the truant shutter to its place. he was wide awake now. the soft sunbeams fell upon him. he drew a full breath, and sent it forth again with an "ah--aa-ah!" of hearty relish. "well, this is a glorious morning," he muttered. "ah, nature gives us our sweetest tastes of life, after all. how still it is here! a real relief from the excitement and clamor of my life." he stood and gazed quietly upon the lovely scene before him. his eyes were fixed upon the rising sun, the glowing hill top and golden zoned river. a feeling of sadness fell upon him. it deepened into regret, as he silently looked and mused. he was thinking,--and who has not so thought?--of the earlier, the purer, the happier morning of life, ere the ambitions and struggles of manhood had awakened within him to warm the heart to fever heat, and taint the freshness and purity of nobler and holier desires and aims. "heigho!" he sighed, as he slowly drew the shutter to its place. he felt a light touch upon his hand. a small, thin voice, but very sweet and familiar, fell upon his ear. it was the well-known greeting of his brownie friends. "god speed, brother wille; hail and good speed!" he looked down, and saw standing upon the window-sill ensign lawe and his troopers. "welcome, brothers hail and good speed!" he answered. there was a heartiness in his tone and genuine pleasure in his face, which made the hearts of the fairies jump for joy. it was so like the tone and look of old time! "what do you bring me, brothers?" continued wille. "what can i do for you, or what will you do for me?" "look yonder, please," said lawe, pointing toward the lawn. [illustration: fig. 147.--fairy sunbeam and elf keener banishing madam lacemaker beyond the river.] the governor leaned over the window-sill and followed the direction of the ensign's pointed spear. he started! the pixie encampment covered the place! the dew drops on the tent-tops were glistening in the sunbeams like jewels. [illustration: fig. 148.--a dew-laden web.] "look out of the west window, now," said lawe. the governor threw back the shutter and saw the same dew-laden webs and silken tents stretching in close array up toward the orchard to the very bank of the lake and inlet. "and has it come to this, my good friends?" cried wille. his voice trembled, and a tear started upon his cheek. "have your old foes driven you from your homestead, and shut you out from the mansion and from me? i see, i see! not another word! i know that it is my fault. forgive me! i will right the wrong without delay. i will, indeed! and dido will do her best to help me. depend on us. when the sun has dried the dew from the grass, meet us at our old trysting place by the rose bush, and you shall see us scatter the pixies, and give back the home lawn to my brownie brothers. good-bye!" he lay down again, but could not sleep. his thoughts were too busy with the past, and too sad, in sooth, to allow rest. he aroused dido and told her all. like a good wife she heartily sympathized with him in his new resolves, and agreed to join him in the crusade against the pixies. breakfast over, the two went out to the lawn. "let the gardener bring up the lawn mower," said dido. "not i," answered wille. "i shall do the work myself. it is quite as little atonement as i can make for neglecting my old, true brownie friends." he threw off his coat, donned his wide-brimmed hat, and brought the scythe from the tool house. the hone rung merrily upon the steel as the governor sharpened the blade. he had not forgotten his skill of earlier days, and while he was bringing the scythe to a good edge his mind followed along the path of his life to the quiet village among the green hills on the banks of little beaver creek, where his boyhood had been spent. one spot very dear to memory came into view--aunt fanny's farm! the good, strong face of dear old aunt fanny arose before him. what happy days he had spent in her quiet country home! he felt again the thrill of holiday freedom that stirred his young heart on those summer days when he set out upon the four miles' walk to the farm. in imagination once more he passed the old factory dam; he saw the water tumbling over its breast; he stood on the sandy and beaver canal locks, and watched sam underwood and ike clunk pull up their dipnets from the bays. with what eagerness of interest did he gaze when the net was swung ashore with a silvery sucker or a pink chub swaying down the centre! on, on, along the elkrun valley. there is orr's; and there is meldrum's; and there is charters' farm; and there is kimball's mill; and there is squire clem crow's cooper shop; and yonder is elkton. one mile more! the road turns here to the left, winds down the deep cleft of pine hollow, shady the whole summer long between its sharp ridges crowned with hemlocks, and musical with the ripple of its clear mountain run. there is the old district school house!--and many a lusty conflict he recalls with the country lads who waged with him the traditional feud between "country haw-bucks" and "town boys." now he climbs up the hill road; there to the right is the crow place, and the governor smiles as he recalls the easy boyish wit that dubbed it the "crow's nest." at last through the trees comes the longed-for glimpse of the white house on the knoll, and aunt fanny sitting on the porch! "hurrah! she rises; she has seen me!" up the lane on a run now, and soon at rest before a bowl of snowy bread and fresh milk. what days those were! full of pleasure from early rising with the sun to twilight bed-going with the birds. the wanderings in wood and orchard; the expeditions after gay field lilies, aromatic calamus and sweet myrrh; the long hunts after hens' nests in the fence corners; the walks, musings and amusings among the sheep and their frisky lambs, the cows and calves, the colts and piggies, the hens and their yellow puffy broods of muffies; the big roosters, the speckled guinea fowl,--how keen was the zest of these engagements and pursuits! then came the warm bright days of harvest, and the mowers came with their scythes. what fun to toss the fragrant hay! what glorious fun to see the mowers run from the stirred up bumble-bees' nest! what fun, most glorious of all, to fight the insects with wisps of new mown hay! ah! the odor of the fresh mown meadow on dear aunt fanny's farm! the governor seemed to smell it again, as fresh as on those long past harvest days, while he stood there whetting his scythe and living over in memory the scenes of his bright, pure boyhood. he drew a deep sigh; he dropped the whetstone into his hip-pocket; he threw back the scythe, then bent down to the grass which had so long marred the lawn by its overgrowth, and swept a broad clean swath up the hillside. "you shall not do the work alone," cried dido, and seizing her reaping hook began to trim away the struggling tufts along the border walk. when ensign lawe had received wille's promise to break up the pixie camp and disperse and destroy the pixies, he straightway sent messengers to bruce and rodney to follow up the proposed attack. swiftly but silently the orders went forth. fort home, which commanded a point of the inlet nearest the mansion, was strongly reinforced, and the big david, "example," manned and made ready for use. the ships were cleared for action, the crews sent to quarters, and all things made ready for weighing anchor. never did soldiers and natties await the command with a more cheerful, willing and confident courage. the rescue of the nurses had given them new life; the good news of governor wille's conduct lifted them all into the height of hope. the battle cry was passed: "wille, dido and victory!" all was ready. all were waiting. now came a trooper dashing post haste into headquarters. "the governor has prepared his scythe and is just advancing to work." then came a second courier: "the governor has begun the attack; dido joins him in it!" a third came: "wille is cutting a broad swath up the lawn; the pixie tents are swept away before him, and our foes are fleeing in all directions." close upon this messenger came lawe himself, spurring at topmost speed into the brownie camp, swinging his sword around his head in high ecstasy, and crying, "forward all! forward at once! fall upon the foe, and we are saved and safe forever!" "forward!" cried bruce. "forward!" at the same moment shouted rodney, and the signal flag flew to its place. the ships moved out under a favoring breeze, and opened full broadsides upon the stygian vessels. ensign lawe, once more at the head of his gallant troopers, led across the inlet and dashed at once upon the retreating pixies. the footmen poured out of the gates of fort home and marched away to join the attack. the governor had now reached the bank of the inlet, and as he swung his scythe merrily, and bowed to the good work, he was greeted with three times three from forts and ships: "wille, dido and victory! hurrah, hurrah, hurrah!" wille paused a moment and swung his hat above his head, while dido waved her handkerchief in recognition of the brownie cheers. then the governor turned, and mowed down the lawn, throwing off at each swing of the scythe a bunch of grass mingled with the ruins of pixie tents and huts, whose inmates lay struggling beneath the wreck of their homes, or fled to the standing grass, or burrowed and hid around the roots. the brownies followed them up, searched them out, dispersed or slew them. it was a complete destruction and rout. in a few hours the fragrant grass lay curling in the sun, and not a pixie tent was left upon the lawn. spite and heady made a strong effort to rally their soldiers, and succeeded in forming a line of battle. but the pixies were so demoralized that the troops broke and fled before the brownie charges. many found hiding places in holes and dens of the earth; some escaped in the small boats of the smugglers and pirates; numbers were taken aboard the stygian ships, and were borne down the lake, closely pursued by the natties. lieutenant heady lay dead upon the field. what had become of spite? when we last saw him he was sitting alone upon the cliff, filled with rage and wonder at the brownie rejoicings over the rescue of faith and sophia, and waiting in the moonlight for the return of the scouts whom he had sent out to get the news. not a whisper of tidings could he hear. bruce had ordered the brownie pickets to keep the matter from their foes, and no breath of the good news could be gathered from them. for good and sufficient reasons raft the smuggler had held his knowledge secret, and had kept away from spite's presence. his yacht, the fringe, was now anchored just under the cliff, hidden from view by the overhanging grass. raft had heard for some time the commotion on the lawn, but gave little heed to it. it drew nearer. the singing swish of the scythe against the grass, the cheers of the brownies and governor wille excited his interest. he climbed up the cliff and reconnoitered. he took in the situation at a glance, then turned his eyes toward the inlet. thereaway the nattie fleet was under way, and bearing down straight toward the cliff. "it's all up with pixiedom!" he cried, "for one good long while at least. good-bye to the lawn! i'm off with the fringe to safe quarters; i wouldn't lose her to save the whole nation. every fellow for himself, and deil take the hindmost! that's good pixie doctrine, so here's cut and away!" he spun out a drag-line, pixie fashion, and fastening it to a rock, thereby swung himself down the cliff to the grass at the water's edge. thence he boarded the fringe, set his sail, pulled up anchor, and was just about leaving the harbor, when a shower of sand and small pebbles rolled upon him. he looked up, and saw a pixie officer lowering himself down the side of the cliff by blades of grass and ferns. the form seemed familiar; he looked more closely. yes, it was spite the spy. "hold on,--hold!" cried spite. "aye, aye!" answered raft. "this way now--down that tall rush--so! now swing upon the mast. there,--you're safe. all right!" he unmoored the yacht, and pushing against the cliff sent her out with one vigorous shove into clear water. the wind caught the sails, and the fringe flew merrily over the surface of lake katrine. raft now had leisure to give some attention to his chief. spite had thrown himself upon the deck, and was fairly panting with fatigue, and livid and trembling with passion. wrath, terror, disappointment, shame were in turn and in quick succession reflected from his face. the smuggler had little love for the chief, but he pitied him now, and in his rough way tried to comfort him. "better luck next time, cap'n," he said. "we've had many a backset before, and have come out all right again. cheer up!" "backset, indeed!" growled spite. "it's annihilation! there's not enough left of pixiedom to make a decent funeral. but--" and he rolled out a string of oaths--"i shall have such revenge as they little dream of! i'll tear the accursed nurses limb from limb and fling the pieces into the brownie camp! say! what are you putting her head down the lake for?" he shouted, suddenly starting to his feet. "that's the way of safety, sir," answered raft. "we must make for the outlet or orchard cave at once. look there at the natties hard upon the wake of our fleet. we must get out of their way, sir!" "curse the natties!" answered spite fiercely; "and confound you for a coward! put her toward ellen's isle, i say! i will land there if the whole nattie fleet were following us. but they'll not bother us now; they have better game at present than the fringe." raft's cheeks burned at the word "coward," and he could hardly refrain from tossing spite overboard. but even the worst of pixies have some reverence for a chief, and raft was one of the best. besides, he really pitied spite, and was willing to allow for his bitter disappointment. he saw that he had not yet heard of the escape of the nurses, and resolved that he would tell him now, so that he might be persuaded to give up the trip to ellen's isle. it was pretty hard to get started, however, with the story. raft hemmed, stammered, and at last began: "cap'n, there's no use going to the island now. all's up, there, as well--" spite interrupted him. "no use? what is that to you? do as you are bidden, and do not dare to question or comment upon my orders. change her course at once, or--or--" he fairly screamed these words, and stopped suddenly in the midst of his threat, choked by passion. raft trembled with anger. he dropped the helm, laid hold upon a marline-spike and advanced toward the chief. then he suddenly changed his mind, and retraced his steps. "very good," he answered quietly. "you shall have your own sweet way, my dear! ellen's isle it is!" he pressed his tiller and shifted the sail; the fringe swung around, and in a few moments was quietly riding in one of the secluded harbors with which the smuggler was familiar, at the head of the island, and not far from the cave of tigrina and aranea hall. "wait here until i return," said spite leaping ashore. "i shall be back soon." there was a strange look in raft's eye, that caught the chief's attention, for in a moment he turned back, and shaking his clenched hand at the smuggler, said: "if you fail me, i'll follow you to the ends of the earth and drink your heart's blood! if you prove true you shall be admiral of the fleet. beware!" he turned again and was soon out of sight. "admiral!" sneered raft, when spite had disappeared. "admiral, indeed! that sounds grand, verily. but i wouldn't stand the fury of his wrath and disappointment to be the chief himself. that is, even if--" raft shook his head, and glanced toward the cave. "however, he would have his own way, and he may find out for himself how much better it is than the one raft advised." he pushed the fringe out of the harbor, and spreading full sail ran rapidly toward the outlet. let us follow spite. he came to the door of the cave without noting any signs of the brownies' recent camp in the neighborhood. he found the door fastened on the outside. what could that mean? "curses on the old hag tigrina," he cried, "she is out on some expedition, and has left the nurses locked within. well, they're safe enough under these fastenings," he muttered, as he cut away the thongs, "and i'll have the brownie beauties all to myself. but i'll flay the vile hag alive for this disobedience. it's time that i were rid of her, at any rate." the strong fastenings which the brownies had put upon the door were at length removed, and spite entered the cave. all was as still as the grave. not a sound from the bright and busy world without fell inside those silent halls. he pushed on. the fox-fire lights had burned out. he was well used to groping in the dark, but he could scarcely make out the objects before him. "hello!" he called. the echoes of his voice rolled back upon him again and again from either end of the cave. a strange sensation came over him. his heart began to quicken; a cold chill seized him. he threw off the feeling. he cursed his timidity and superstition. "on, on!" he cried. "revenge is near." he reached the silken curtain that formed the door of the fairies' room. he drew it aside, gloating over the thought of the terror which his sudden appearance would excite. a single lantern burned upon the wall, and by its light he saw that the room was empty! signs of confusion were everywhere. the stand lay just where it had fallen, and under it the "wisdom of the pixies" was outspread upon the floor. "faith! sophia!" he shouted. the voice died away among the arches. there was a faint noise at his side. he turned quickly. there stood tigrina. her face was gaunt, her cheeks hollow, her eyes burned like balls of fire. "hag! fiend! wretch!" yelled spite. "what have you done with the nurses?" he drew his sword and took a step toward the old pixinee. "oho!" said tigrina, uttering a harsh cackling laugh. "you have come at last, have you? the pretty nurses! where are they? ha, ha, ha! that is good--good! you didn't know that the brownies had been here, hey? didn't know that faith and sophia are safe in the brownie camp, hey? oh, no! that is very good--very! you didn't know that i had been left here sealed up in the cave--oh, no, not you!" spite stopped, then staggered backward as though he had been struck a violent blow. the whole truth flashed upon him. he understood now the mysterious outburst of joy in brownie camp and fleet. faith and sophia were gone,--safe from his power and revenge among their own friends! fortune had again failed him. his breast was torn by a tempest of passions. this last defeat was even worse than the loss of his camp and the rout of his army. he broke forth into wild, blasphemous reproaches of tigrina for failing to keep the fairies in her charge. again he lifted his sword and again he started toward the pixinee. there was something in the attitude of tigrina which caused him suddenly to pause. her eyes shone in the dim light of the cave; her sharp, long fangs swayed back and forth, touching each other with a grating sound; her back curved; she sank into a stooping posture. spite felt her hot breath strike his face as it hissed through her clattering teeth. he knew too well what all this meant. the "blind fury" had seized the pixinee! fly, spite, fly! it is for your life! he turns, flees! too late! the rush of tigrina's form is heard as she springs upon the doomed chief. her fangs are fastened in his throat. he is borne down to the floor, and without a struggle and without a cry he yields up his life. the enraged and hungry pixinee drank up his blood, and left the dry carcass hung against the wall by broken strands of web-work, to moulder into dust with the silken ornaments of aranea hall. summer passed. autumn came and hung her gaily colored banners upon the trees and shrubbery of hillside. the brownies dwelt in peace upon the lawn, and governor wille and dido held the mansion with happier hearts than ever. the winds blew more and more keenly around the hills. the fall had well nigh merged into winter. thanksgiving day came. great preparations had been making at the mansion, and now the family meeting was being held. gray-haired sires, strong men and matrons, and fair-haired children, down to crowing baby paul, all were there. how the halls rang with merry-making! what a happy, hearty company sat down to the thanksgiving dinner! [illustration: fig. 149.--a dead orbweaver hanging by broken strands of web-work.] it was a bright crisp day, and when dinner was over, all went out upon the lawn and gathered around the great rose bush. there was a quadruple wedding in brownieland: lieutenant macwhirlie and agatha, adjutant blythe and faith, sergeant true and sophia, ensign lawe and grace, all stood up together, and were joined in holy wedlock according to the simple rites of the brownies. then, amid shouts of the children, cheers of the older folk, and the wildest hurrahs of brownie soldiers, sailors and people all, the eight happy fairies rode away, escorted by a gaily uniformed troop, to the lone aspen, where madam breeze had prepared for them a grand reception. fairy dew and dewpoint were there, and the four sister cloud elves, and whisk, keener and whirlit, and before the merrymaking ended, even elf frost looked in, quite happy to be once more free to roam abroad. as the evening was fine, and the moon full, commodore rodney and pipe the boatswain arranged to give the party a reception on the emma and a moonlight sail upon the lake. the sailors had beautifully decorated the ship; fox-fire lanterns gleamed from every part of the forts, and shone all along the shore. our old friends captain ask, help, clearview, mate angel, howard, hope, rise, shine, the twadeils and many others were aboard. the wind was fresh and the lake was a little rough, but that only made matters all the merrier. how the ship did scud along! it was passing the point of ellen's isle, when suddenly a small vessel pushed out from the brown grasses at the water's edge, crossed the wake of the emma within a stone's throw, and stood away toward the shore. "sophie, sophie!" cried faith, "look yonder! do you know that yacht?" sophia glanced a moment at the beautiful vessel as it rose and fell on the waves and sped swiftly through the moonlight. "it is the fringe!" she cried. "and there--see! there is raft the smuggler. he has raised his hat! he is waving it. hurrah! hurrah!" perhaps had she stopped a moment to ask whether or not such conduct were orthodox in a brownie bride, she would not have done it, but she simply gave way to the impulse of her heart; she plucked her bridal veil from her head and, quite unconscious of what she did, waved it again and again at the fast flying yacht. the natties had sprung to their guns at the fringe's appearance, prepared to pour a broadside into her; but when they saw sophia's greeting and heard her shout, they took their cue from her, and instead of shot sent cheers after the smuggler and his pretty craft. [illustration: ((hand printed) orb-weaver) the boys' illustration.] "poor fellow!" sighed faith, as she leaned over the rail, and watched raft's vessel disappear under the shadow of the shore; "poor fellow; what a pity that he should be a pixie!" the end. appendix. appendix. chapter ii. =note a, p. 14.=--atypus piceus is a european species of tunnelweaver (territelariæ), which inhabits great britain. it resembles in habit our atypus abbotii, the purse-web spider, found in the gulf states, especially florida; but supports its external tube upon the trunks of trees, instead of on the grass or surface. =note b, p. 16.=--spiders are extremely cleanly in their habits, and brush and comb the various parts of the body with their hairy and spinous legs and palps. when brushing the head and chest (cephalothorax) the resemblance to the cat's toilet habits warrants the reference in the text. =note c, p. 18.=--some of our american spider species have been imported from europe, and i have seen them on vessels stowed away in divers crannies and under sundry parts of the ship, and overspun in the method attributed to spite and his companions, and shown fig. 15. chapter iii. =note a, p. 22.=--epeïra globosa is a species of orbweaver, which spins above its round snare a bell-shaped silken tent, represented at fig. 17, p. 21. =note b, p. 22.=--one of the most common webs spun upon grass, on box-wood borders of flower beds, on arbor vitæ hedges, and such like positions, is that of the speckled tubeweaver, agalena nævia, here described. it is a broad sheet, usually concave or funnel-shaped, with a circular opening near the middle or at one side, which leads into a long silken tube extending downward among the branches, or to the ground. at the opening the spider is usually seen waiting for prey. lines are attached to the sheet at various parts and reach upwards to bits of foliage, forming a network of lines which support the sheet. insects in flight strike against these cross lines, and fall down upon the sheet, and become the prey of the speckled agalena who rushes upon them from the opening of her tube. =note c, p. 24.=--the cables here referred to are the upright lines described in note b. (see fig. 28, p. 54.) =note d, p. 26.=--the turret of lycosa arenicola, is here described. it is popularly known as the turret spider. this animal is widely distributed throughout the united states, and may be found along the atlantic shore where it burrows in the sand, and sometimes selects small pebbles for the foundation of its tower. the shape of the tower is not always a regular pentagon, but inclines to take that form. beneath the surface is a tubular burrow extending straight down as far sometimes as twelve inches. the spider is frequently found on guard at the top of the tower. =note e, p. 26.=--see note a above. the web of the speckled agalena when spun upon grass often takes this form and shows a striking likeness to a miniature circus tent. =note f, p. 27.=--the turret spider is sometimes seen at the summit of its tower with head and fore limbs thrust over the edge, apparently on the lookout for passing insects. =note g, p. 35.=--the above description and fig. 22 are of the cocoon of the large and beautiful orbweaver argiope cophinania (or riparia). it is a pear-shaped object about an inch or an inch-and-a-quarter long, and is suspended in the manner shown, among the branches of bushes, etc. the outside is a closely woven silken cloth of a dull yellow color. next to this is a coating of bright yellow flossy silk, and in the centre is a closely woven ball of purplish or brownish silk, within which may be found the eggs of the mother spider. these sometimes number more than a thousand. when the little ones are hatched out, they live within this silken house until they are strong and old enough to cut their way out and form webs for themselves. chapter vi. =note a, p. 52.=--the lodge here referred to as used for a guard house by the pixies, is supposed to be a snare of the speckled agalena, which often spins its tent-like web upon the low grass of a lawn. fig. 27 shows a web spun upon a honeysuckle vine, whose over-arching tendrils form a little cavern or booth which might well suggest a lodge. chapter vii. =note a, p. 62.=--spider webs are often destroyed or injured by wind storms. =note b, p. 62.=--a common habit of ground spiders and those that weave snares upon the ground is to thus hide themselves when molested or alarmed. =note c, p. 67.=--"hand over hand." this roughly describes the method of some spiders in raising their prey when swathed, and in moving building material and debris. =note d, p. 69.=--see note c. the figure is from life. =note e, p. 73.=--the achievement attributed to spite is based upon a recorded account; but the author is bound to say that he has seen no examples of webs that had been counterpoised with intent, as above described. webs are sometimes found thus balanced as at fig. 34; but it is doubtful if this is not the result of accident. chapter viii. =note a, p. 75.=--the mandibles or external jaws of spiders are shown in fig. 39, and described in the text; the poison gland is shown at fig. 40. the outlet for the poison may be seen at the tip of the fangs in fig. 39. chapter ix. =note a, p. 84.=--certain species, especially orbweavers (fig. 86) and lineweavers, swathe their prey when captured and before eaten. (see fig. 33, p. 69; fig. 134, p. 318.) =note b, p. 88.=--the bridge-lines here described are common objects in nature. spiders move freely from point to point, thereby often crossing considerable intervals. fig. 44 shows the way in which these bridges and webs may block a path. chapter x. =note a, p. 97.=--the egg-bag within which the mother spider places her eggs is popularly, though not quite correctly, called a cocoon. it is sometimes simply a wad or ball of loose silk, but more frequently is a bag of stiff and closely woven silk as at fig. 22. fig. 47 is the cocoon of an orbweaver, nephila plumipes; fig. 48, of a saltigrade or jumping spider, phidippus opifex mccook. chapter xiii. =note a, p. 115.=--dolomedes fimbriatus, a rather common english spider, makes or utilizes a rude raft of leaves, and drifts over the fens thereon. the american dolomedes frequents the water but has not been observed to act as above. =note b, p. 117.=--as a rule spiders prey upon one another, without regard to species or sex. fig. 55 represents two males fighting. chapter xiv. =note a, p. 123.=--lycosa tigrina mccook abounds in the eastern and middle united states, and makes the burrow here described. chapter xv. =note a, p. 128.=--herpyllus ecclesiasticus hentz is a common american tubeweaver. it is black, with a dorsal pattern in white like that shown in the figure of the "pixie parson." =note b, p. 135.=--the aeronautic or ballooning habit of spiders is the basis of these engineering feats of the pixies lycosa and gossamer. a pleasant october day is the best on which to observe it; but young spiders may be seen in aeronautic flight during all warm months. an elevated spot is usually sought from which to make the ascent. ground spiders, as lycosids, ascend in the manner shown fig. 57; orbweavers drift off as at fig. 59. this interesting habit is described more at length in my "tenants of an old farm." =note c, p. 137.=--mother spiders of certain species carry their egg cocoons until the young are hatched; some take them in their jaws as our long-legged cellar spider, pholcus, others beneath their bodies or lashed to the end of the abdomen. chapter xvi. =note a, p. 144.=--tetragnatha is a genus which has several common species in the united states and europe, t. extensa being most familiar. its colors, especially when young, are green and yellow, and when its long body and legs are stretched upon a leaf or twig (fig. 64) it is difficult to detect it. the species here personified is one that keeps close to streams and ponds, tetragnatha grallator hentz, the stilt spider. the method of sailing, fig. 66, is not imaginative but drawn from nature. the pixie "sixpoint" is a citigrade spider, dolomedes sexpunctatus hentz. i have known it to stay under water for forty minutes. chapter xvii. =note a, p. 153.=--many orbweavers spin together several leaves, or roll up the end of a single leaf and form the nests described and shown, fig. 69. that at p. 158, fig. 72, was made by epeira trifolium hentz. (see p. 194.) =note b, p. 154.=--"the cardinal company." phidippus cardinalis hentz has its abdomen and venter covered with brilliant red hairs. phidippus rufus hentz resembles it but is less brilliant. these are jumping or saltigrade spiders, belonging to the attidæ. chapter xix. =note a, p. 188.=--the sedentary spiders, those which capture their prey by means of snares, commonly fling bands and threads of silk around the captive before feeding upon it. (see p. 69.) chapter xxii. =note a, p. 216.=--the habits and spinning work of a common orbweaver _epeira labyrinthea_ are personified in the pixie jailer labyrinthea. =note b, p. 218.=--the male spiders of orbweavers when they "would a-wooing go," hang around the edge of the orbweb, and are not always received kindly. sometimes, indeed, they are eaten. =note c, p. 220.=--"hyptiotes." the triangle spider, hyptiotes cavatus hentz. its snare and mode of capturing prey are most interesting and ingenious. =note d, p. 223.=--this rigidity of limbs is not exaggerated, and is common to both old and young of this species. =note e, p. 226.=--the labyrinth spider makes several cocoons, strung together as the several figures show. each one is made of two circular caps united at the edges, so that brownie dodge could thus open an edge and peep out. chapter xxiii. =note a, p. 238.=--"the water pixie's den." the water spider of europe, argyroneta aquatica, makes a cocoon upon the water, somewhat in the manner described. no species with like habits has yet been discovered in america, and the author in locating the same at "hillside," has sacrificed the facts of geographical distribution to imagination. but no doubt he will be pardoned for the sake of the incident which brings the lost boatswain pipe to life again. chapter xxiv. =note a, p. 240.=--there is some, though little, variety in the color of silk with which spiders spin their snares; but their cocoons are often woven with bright colored silk. chapter xxv. =note a, p. 250.=--the tradition that spiders are sensitive to music is old and widely spread, but appears to have little or no basis in natural habit. however, the reader may find, if he will, some pleasant stories based thereon. =note b, p. 250.=--"feigning death." this habit is strongly developed in many spider species. chapter xxvi. =note a, p. 259.=--"bowl shaped battery." fig. 110 was drawn from a snare of linyphia communis hentz, woven among morning glories. compare with that of linyphia marginata hentz, fig. 68, p. 151, in which the bowl is reversed. chapter xxvii. =note a, p. 270.=--the trap-doors drawn at figs. 117, 118 and 121 are from moggridge, and are not of american species, though they differ only in size. =note b, p. 271.=--this habit has been attributed to the trap-door makers, but needs to be confirmed. =note c, p. 275.=--the mother wasp, which lances and paralyzes the big southwestern tarantula, eurypelma hentzii, is pepsis formosa, called popularly the "tarantula hawk." the author has seen it pursuing the above species, but does not know positively that it attacks the true trap-door maker, cteniza californica. chapter xxviii. =note a, p. 280.=--this is no doubt a true representation; see the three claw marks on the inside of the lid shown at fig. 124. =note b, p. 284.=--the moulting period (see next chapter), is attended with great weakness. chapter xxix. =note a, p. 290.=--the sting of the spider collecting wasps destroys the power of motion, but does not at once kill; it is certainly fatal in the end, if the young wasp larva does not in the meantime eat the victim stored away for her by maternal foresight. chapter xxx. =note a, p. 309.=--spiders have been known to thus suspend a snake, which is not so remarkable as it seems if we consider that a small garter snake ten inches long may weigh from one-eighth to one-fourth of an ounce. =note b, p. 313.=--the medicinal spider, tegenaria medicinalis hentz, builds in cellars and shady spots a strong sheeted web with a tower at one angle thereof. =note c, p. 314.=--the capture of a mouse in a spider web has been proved, at least to the author's satisfaction. fig. 135 is a sketch of such a captive made by governor proctor knott, of kentucky. =note d, p. 319.=--this "fish story" is quite true. the incident occurred in a draining ditch near eagleswood, new jersey. the fish was three and one-fourth inches long and weighed sixty-six grains; the spider was three-fourths of an inch long and weighed fourteen grains. it was one of our large lycosids, probably a dolomedes the facts on which the incidents of this chapter are based, are given in vol. i, "american spiders and their spinningwork." chapter xxxi. =note a, p. 324.=--most species of spiders are solitary in their habits; not like the social hymenoptera, as bees and ants. in this respect, the social characteristics of the pixies are not true to nature, except in the case of spiderlings, or quite young spiders. however, some recent discoveries, especially those of the eminent french araneologist, m. eugene simon, seem to point to a decided social habit in several south american species. =note b, p. 329.=--this nest, so much like a bird's in form, is that of lycosa carolinensis. it is made from the needle-like leaves of the white pine, or other available material by bending and pasting the same, as in the cut, fig. 138. =note c, p. 330.=--the snares of agalenanævia are often seen in such situations, and are sometimes of immense size. =note d, p. 331.=--the belief that spiders can prognosticate the weather is widely spread, but seems to have little or no basis in fact. the author has shown the groundlessness of the opinion at least in the case of orbweaving spiders. "tenants of an old farm." leaves from the note book of a naturalist. ... by ... henry c. mccook, d.d., with 140 illustrations from nature by dan beard and others. 460 pages with index. eighth edition. 12mo, cloth $1.50. sent postpaid on receipt of the price by the publishers, george w. jacobs & co., 103 south fifteenth street, philadelphia. tenants of an old farm. press notices. the following extracts from reviews of this book show with what cordiality it has been received and how highly it is ranked by the reviewers: "his enthusiasm in behalf of his industrious friends is so great that he actually pitched his tent in the midst of the huge mounds of certain species in one of the western states, and had to engage a small army of three men to drive off the attack of the indignant insects while he was studying the interior arrangements of their elaborately constructed houses."--from _chambers' journal_ (edinburgh, scotland). "dr. mccook has literally lived among his pets, has studied them by day and by night in their natural state, has not scrupled to subject himself to their formidable stings, and has deemed no pains too great to make the world acquainted with insects upon which he looks with a species of respectful veneration. he is, in truth, a veritable enthusiast, and it would indeed seem as though ants, bees and wasps, all belonging to the same order of insects, possessed a fascination for the true naturalist far greater than that excited by larger animals."--_the westminster review_ (british). "full of curious information, principally on the habits of ants, bees and other insects."--_buffalo courier._ "the reading of a few pages in this work will serve as an admirable preparation for a stroll through fields and over hills in the country during a sunday afternoon."--_times-star, cincinnati._ "probably there is no one in america who is better fitted to guide the young in the study of his sphere of natural history, than the rev. dr. henry c. mccook, of philadelphia."--_s. s. times._ "dr. mccook is an authority in all that relates to ants and spiders; but the talks in this pleasant volume are not restricted to insects of these varieties, but include interesting and valuable instruction concerning many other forms of insect life."--_portland press, me._ "dr. mccook is an enthusiastic naturalist, and in one particular branch of study--that of the habits of ants and spiders--stands as high as any living writer, either english or american."--_boston evening transcript._ "never read such a fascinating work of natural history."--_messiah's herald, boston._ "is set forth with a clearness, a simplicity and often with a quaint humor that make it thoroughly fascinating in the reading."--_boston saturday evening gazette._ "the common insects take on an aspect of genuine interest in dr. henry mccook's tenants of an old farm. he describes the life and habits of spiders, ants, hornets and our dreaded moths, potato-bugs and canker worms in an easy conversational style."--_springfield (mass.) republican._ "contains the results of a series of carefully conducted observations on different species of insects, their dispositions and habits, all of which are detailed in such a familiar and winning style that no one can fail to be fascinated with the study."--_new york observer._ "the author contrives moreover to convey not only information, but some measure of his own enthusiasm, and whoever reads his book is likely to be thenceforth more alert to the marvels and miracles of insect life."--_boston journal._ "when one possesses the power of vitalizing the bones of science as dr. mccook does, there are few who will not yield to the charm."--_yale literary magazine._ "belongs to a class which might with great profit take the place of much of the literature, sentimental and otherwise, which finds its way into the hands of our children through sunday school and other libraries. it is pleasantly written and beautifully illustrated with original drawings from nature."--_n. y. examiner._ "we will venture to say that the colorado beetle, the apple-worm, moths, bumble-bees, caterpillars, ants and spiders, were never before made so picturesque, never so idealized. the author likes them, humanizes them, lives among them, finds an inner meaning in their little lives, makes in every way the most of them.... housekeepers will surely be amused and probably surprised by learning just how moths go to work, and the chapters on crickets and katy-dids are very fresh and animated; the same is true of the bumble-bees and spiders; and what is not really new is put in new shape."--_boston literary world._ "the illustrations, 140 in number, were prepared expressly for the work, are finely engraved, and are a great aid to a clearer understanding of the text."--_philadelphia evening call._ "we wish that our farmers, who are giving their sons a christmas present, would choose this book. it would help them to see many things to which they may now be blind."--_presbyterian, philadelphia._ "heartily recommended to the attention of all who are themselves interested in natural history or are seeking some means of interesting young friends in this subject."--_portland press, me._ "we have not seen any book this season more worthy to be put into the hands of an intelligent youth, or indeed of any one who is interested in the direct and face-to-face study of nature."--_illustrated christian weekly._ "of the highest order of interest. the author has made studies and drawings of the insects which can be found on any old farm, and has made discoveries which give him a high place among entomologists."--_chicago advance._ "may be said to be a perpetual passport to the minor kingdoms of nature. it is the work of an accomplished and practical naturalist who is hand and glove (so to speak) with the populace of the leaves and fields, the woods and waters."--_n. y. mail and express._ "dr. mccook has already achieved an enviable reputation by his valuable contributions to science, and in this charming book, so full of amusement and instruction, he has given us another proof of his being one of the most clear, concise and attractive writers of the day."--_christian at work, n. y._ "it is well known that dr. mccook is one of the few ministers among us who have made a specialty of studies in the natural sciences, and that he has in this line built up an enviable reputation beyond our church and beyond our land."--_presbyterian journal, phila._ "the illustrations are a noteworthy feature of the book. many of them are admirable illustrations of their subjects, while to these have been added a number of comical adaptations from the pencil of mr. dan beard."--_illustrated christian weekly, n. y._ "the scientific accuracy, the good illustrations and simple descriptions make it a valuable book for amateurs and a good book of reference for advanced students in that department of natural history."--_springfield republican._ "the author is not a mere compiler of other men's labors; he is a close and patient observer, and his book has an original value."--_n. y. home journal._ "he is rarely qualified for the task."--_troy daily times._ "scientifically, dr. mccook is authority on all these matters."--_presbyterian, philadelphia._ dr. mccook's scientific books. "american spiders and their spinningwork." vols. i, ii, iii, quarto, with 36 plates colored by hand from nature, and 853 original engravings. =price, $50.00 net per set.= "the agricultural ant of texas." octavo, pp. 311, plates xxiv. =price, $3.00.= "the honey and occident ants." octavo, pp. 188, plates xiii. =price, $2.00.= the above named works are so well and favorably known to naturalists that they have become scientific classics in their department. we will forward them by mail to any address for the above prices. "the moundmaking ants of the alleghenies." octavo pamphlet, pp. 50, plates v. =price, 75 cents.= we have a few copies of this work, reprinted from the proceedings of the american entomological society, which are now offered for sale. _geo. w. jacobs & co.,_ _no. 103 s. 15th st., philadelphia._ * * * * * transcriber's notes: the table of contents did not appear in the original publication and has been added by the transcriber. if an illustration fell within the middle of a paragraph it has been moved to a position immediately before or after said paragraph. minor punctuation inconsistencies and typographical errors of words otherwise spelled correctly elsewhere in the text have been corrected without comment. word variants appearing in the original text which have been retained: "agoing" and "a-going" "aids" and "aides" "dragline" and "drag-line" "epeira" and "epeïra" "flagship" and "flag-ship" "good bye" and "good-bye" "heighho" and "heigh-ho" "howroad" and "howrode" "man-o'-war" and "man-of-war" "marlinspike" and "marline-spike" "merrymaking" and "merry-making" "nearby" and "near-by" "semicircular" and "semi-circular" "spring house" and "springhouse" "thistledown" and "thistle-down" "trapdoor" and "trap-door" words using the [oe] ligature, that have been changed to "oe" are "manoeuvre" and "manoeuvring" 