About Mrs. Sperry
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UNLESS they alter their course and there's no reason why they should,
they'll reach your plantation in two days at the latest."
Leiningen sucked placidly at a cigar about the size of a corncob and for
a few seconds gazed without answering at the agitated District
Commissioner. Then he took the cigar from his lips, and leaned slightly
forward. With his bristling grey hair, bulky nose, and lucid eyes, he
had the look of an aging and shabby eagle.
"Decent of you," he murmured, "paddling all this way just to give me the
tip. But you're pulling my leg of course when you say I must do a bunk.
Why, even a herd of saurians couldn't drive me from this plantation of
The Brazilian official threw up lean and lanky arms and clawed the air
with wildly distended fingers. "Leiningen!" he shouted. "You're insane!
They're not creatures you can fight--they're an elemental--an 'act of
God!' Ten miles long, two miles wide--ants, nothing but ants! And every
single one of them a fiend from hell; before you can spit three times
they'll eat a full-grown buffalo to the bones. I tell you if you don't
clear out at once there'll he nothing left of you but a skeleton picked
as clean as your own plantation."
Leiningen grinned. "Act of God, my eye! Anyway, I'm not an old woman;
I'm not going to run for it just because an elemental's on the way. And
don't think I'm the kind of fathead who tries to fend off lightning with
his fists either. I use my intelligence, old man. With me, the brain
isn't a second blindgut; I know what it's there for. When I began this
model farm and plantation three years ago, I took into account all that
could conceivably happen to it. And now I'm ready for anything and
everything--including your ants."
The Brazilian rose heavily to his feet. "I've done my best," he gasped.
"Your obstinacy endangers not only yourself, but the lives of your four
hundred workers. You don't know these ants!"
Leiningen accompanied him down to the river, where the Government launch
was moored. The vessel cast off. As it moved downstream, the exclamation
mark neared the rail and began waving its arms frantically. Long after
the launch had disappeared round the bend, Leiningen thought he could
still hear that dimming imploring voice, "You don't know them, I tell
you! You don't know them!"
But the reported enemy was by no means unfamiliar to the planter. Before
he started work on his settlement, he had lived long enough in the
country to see for himself the fearful devastations sometimes wrought by
these ravenous insects in their campaigns for food. But since then he
had planned measures of defense accordingly, and these, he was
convinced? were in every way adequate to withstand the approaching
Moreover, during his three years as a planter, Leiningen had met and
defeated drought, Hood, plague and all other "acts of God" which had
come against him-unlike his fellow-settlers in the district, who had
made little or no resistance. This unbroken success he attributed solely
to the observance of his lifelong motto: The human brain needs only to
become fully aware of its powers to conquer even the elements. Dullards
reeled senselessly and aimlessly into the abyss; cranks, however
brilliant, lost their heads when circumstances suddenly altered or
accelerated and ran into stone walls, sluggards drifted with the current
until they were caught in whirlpools and dragged under. But such
disasters, Leiningen contended, merely strengthened his argument that
intelligence, directed aright, invariably makes man the master of his
Yes, Leiningen had always known how to grapple with life. Even here, in
this Brazilian wilderness, his brain had triumphed over every difficulty
and danger it had so far encountered. First he had vanquished primal
forces by cunning and organization, then he had enlisted the resources
of modern science to increase miraculously the yield of his plantation.
And now he was sure he would prove more than a match for the
That same evening, however, Leiningen assembled his workers. He had no
intention of waiting till the news reached their ears from other
sources. Most of them had been born in the district; the cry "The ants
are coming!'" was to them an imperative signal for instant,
panic-stricken flight, a spring for life itself. But so great was the
Indians' trust in Leiningen, in Leiningen's word, and in Leiningen's
wisdom, that they received his curt tidings, and his orders for the
imminent struggle, with the calmness with which they were given. They
waited, unafraid, alert, as if for the beginning of a new game or hunt
which he had just described to them. The ants were indeed mighty, but
not so mighty as the boss. Let them come!
They came at noon the second day. Their approach was announced by the
wild unrest of the horses, scarcely controllable now either in stall or
under rider, scenting from afar a vapor instinct with horror.
It was announced by a stampede of animals, timid and savage, hurtling
past each other; jaguars and pumas flashing by nimble stags of the
pampas, bulky tapirs, no longer hunters, themselves hunted, outpacing
fleet kinkajous, maddened herds of cattle, heads lowered, nostrils
snorting, rushing through tribes of loping monkeys, chattering in a
dementia of terror; then followed the creeping and springing denizens of
bush and steppe, big and little rodents, snakes, and lizards.
Pell-mell the rabble swarmed down the hill to the plantation, scattered
right and left before the barrier of the water-filled ditch, then sped
onwards to the river, where, again hindered, they fled along its bank
out of sight.
This water-filled ditch was one of the defense measures which Leiningen
had long since prepared against the advent of the ants. It encompassed
three sides of the plantation like a huge horseshoe. Twelve feet across,
but not very deep, when dry it could hardly be described as an obstacle
to either man or beast. But the ends of the "horseshoe" ran into the
river which formed the northern boundary, and fourth side, of the
plantation. And at the end nearer the house and outbuildings in the
middle of the plantation, Leiningen had constructed a dam by means of
which water from the river could be diverted into the ditch.
So now, by opening the dam, he was able to fling an imposing girdle of
water, a huge quadrilateral with the river as its base, completely
around the plantation, like the moat encircling a medieval city. Unless
the ants were clever enough to build rafts. they had no hope of reaching
the plantation, Leiningen concluded.
The twelve-foot water ditch seemed to afford in itself all the security
needed. But while awaiting the arrival of the ants, Leiningen made a
further improvement. The western section of the ditch ran along the edge
of a tamarind wood, and the branches of some great trees reached over
the water. Leiningen now had them lopped so that ants could not descend
from them within the "moat."
The women and children, then the herds of cattle, were escorted by peons
on rafts over the river, to remain on the other side in absolute safety
until the plunderers had departed. Leiningen gave this instruction, not
because he believed the non-combatants were in any danger, but in order
to avoid hampering the efficiency of the defenders. "Critical situations
first become crises," he explained to his men, "when oxen or women get
Finally, he made a careful inspection of the "inner moat"--a smaller
ditch lined with concrete, which extended around the hill on which stood
the ranch house, barns, stables and other buildings. Into this concrete
ditch emptied the inflow pipes from three great petrol tanks. If by some
miracle the ants managed to cross the water and reached the plantation,
this "rampart of petrol,' would be an absolutely impassable protection
for the beseiged and their dwellings and stock. Such, at least, was
He stationed his men at irregular distances along the water ditch, the
first line of defense. Then he lay down in his hammock and puffed
drowsily away at his pipe until a peon came with the report that the
ants had been observed far away in the South.
Leiningen mounted his horse, which at the feel of its master seemed to
forget its uneasiness, and rode leisurely in the direction of the
threatening offensive. The southern stretch of ditch--the upper side of
the quadrilateral--was nearly three miles long; from its center one
could survey the entire countryside. This was destined to be the scene
of the outbreak of war between Leiningen's brain and twenty square miles
of life-destroying ants.
It was a sight one could never forget. Over the range of hills, as far
as eye could see, crept a darkening hem, ever longer and broader, until
the shadow spread across the slope from east to west, then downwards,
downwards, uncannily swift, and all the green herbage of that wide vista
was being mown as by a giant sickle, leaving only the vast moving
shadow, extending, deepening, and moving rapidly nearer.
When Leiningen's men, behind their barrier of water, perceived the
approach of the long-expected foe, they gave vent to their suspense in
screams and imprecations. But as the distance began to lessen between
the "sons of hell" and the water ditch, they relapsed into silence.
Before the advance of that awe-inspiring throng, their belief in the
powers of the boss began to steadily dwindle.
Even Leiningen himself, who had ridden up just in time to restore their
loss of heart by a display of unshakable calm, even he could not free
himself from a qualm of malaise. Yonder were thousands of millions of
voracious jaws bearing down upon him and only a suddenly insignificant,
narrow ditch lay between him and his men and being gnawed to the bones
"before you can spit three times."
Hadn't this brain for once taken on more than it could manage? If the
blighters decided to rush the ditch, fill it to the brim with their
corpses, there'd still be more than enough to destroy every trace of
that cranium of his. The planter's chin jutted; they hadn't got him yet,
and he'd see to it they never would. While he could think at all, he'd
flout both death and the devil.
army was approaching in perfect formation; no human battalions, however
well-drilled, could ever hope to rival the precision of that advance.
Along a front that moved forward as uniformly as a straight line, the
ants drew nearer and nearer to the water ditch. Then, when they learned
through their scouts the nature of the obstacle, the two outlying wings
of the army detached themselves from the main body and marched down the
western and eastern sides of the ditch.
This surrounding maneuver took rather more than an hour to accomplish;
no doubt the ants expected that at some point they would find a
During this outflanking movement by the wings, the army on the center
and southern front remained still. The besieged were therefore able to
contemplate at their leisure the thumb-long, reddish black, long-legged
insects; some of the Indians believed they could see, too, intent on
them, the brilliant, cold eyes, and the razor-edged mandibles, of this
host of infinity.
It is not easy
for the average person to imagine that an animal, not to mention an
insect, can think. But now both the European brain of Leiningen and the
primitive brains of the Indians began to stir with the unpleasant
foreboding that inside every single one of that deluge of insects dwelt
a thought. And that thought was: Ditch or no ditch, we'll get to your
Not until four
o'clock did the wings reach the "horseshoe" ends of the ditch, only to
find these ran into the great river. Through some kind of secret
telegraphy, the report must then have flashed very swiftly indeed along
the entire enemy line. And Leiningen, riding--no longer casually--along
his side of the ditch, noticed by energetic and widespread movements of
troops that for some unknown reason the news of the check had its
greatest effect on the southern front, where the main army was massed.
Perhaps the failure to find a way over the ditch was persuading the ants
to withdraw from the plantation in search of spoils more easily
An immense flood of ants, about a hundred yards in width, was pouring in
a glimmering-black cataract down the far slope of the ditch. Many
thousands were already drowning in the sluggish creeping flow, but they
were followed by troop after troop, who clambered over their sinking
comrades, and then themselves served as dying bridges to the reserves
hurrying on in their rear.
Shoals of ants were being carried away by the current into the middle of
the ditch, where gradually they broke asunder and then, exhausted by
their struggles, vanished below the surface. Nevertheless, the wavering,
floundering hundred-yard front was remorselessly if slowly advancing
towards the besieged on the other bank. Leiningen had been wrong when he
supposed the enemy would first have to fill the ditch with their bodies
before they could cross; instead, they merely needed to act as
steppingstones, as they swam and sank, to the hordes ever pressing
onwards from behind.
Near Leiningen a few mounted herdsmen awaited his orders. He sent one to
the weir-the river must be dammed more strongly to increase the speed
and power of the water coursing through the ditch.
A second peon was dispatched to the outhouses to bring spades and petrol
sprinklers. A third rode away to summon to the zone of the offensive all
the men, except the observation posts, on the near-by sections of the
ditch, which were not yet actively threatened.
The ants were getting across far more quickly than Leiningen would have
deemed possible. Impelled by the mighty cascade behind them, they
struggled nearer and nearer to the inner bank. The momentum of the
attack was so great that neither the tardy flow of the stream nor its
downward pull could exert its proper force; and into the gap left by
every submerging insect, hastened forward a dozen more.
When reinforcements reached Leiningen, the invaders were halfway over.
The planter had to admit to himself that it was only by a stroke of luck
for him that the ants were attempting the crossing on a relatively short
front: had they assaulted simultaneously along the entire length of the
ditch, the outlook for the defenders would have been black indeed.
Even as it was, it could hardly be described as rosy, though the planter
seemed quite unaware that death in a gruesome form was drawing closer
and closer. As the war between his brain and the "act of God'' reached
its climax, the very shadow of annihilation began to pale to Leiningen,
who now felt like a champion in a new Olympic game, a gigantic and
thrilling contest, from which he was determined to emerge victor. Such,
indeed, was his aura of confidence that the Indians forgot their
stupefied fear of the peril only a yard or two away; under the planter's
supervision, they began fervidly digging up to the edge of the bank and
throwing clods of earth and spadefuls of sand into the midst of the
The petrol sprinklers, hitherto used to destroy pests and blights on the
plantation, were also brought into action. Streams of evil-reeking oil
now soared and fell over an enemy already in disorder through the
bombardment of earth and sand.
The ants responded to these vigorous and successful measures of defense
by further developments of their offensive. Entire clumps of huddling
insects began to roll down the opposite bank into the water. At the same
time, Leiningen noticed that the ants were now attacking along an
ever-widening front. As the numbers both of his men and his petrol
sprinklers were severely limited, this rapid extension of the line of
battle was becoming an overwhelming danger.
To add to his difficulties, the very clods of earth they flung into that
black floating carpet often whirled fragments toward the defenders'
side, and here and there dark ribbons were already mounting the inner
bank. True, wherever a man saw these they could still be driven back
into the water by spadefuls of earth or jets of petrol. But the file of
defenders was too sparse and scattered to hold off at all points these
landing parties, and though the peons toiled like madmen, their plight
became momentarily more perilous.
One man struck with his spade at an enemy clump, did not draw it back
quickly enough from the water; in a trice the wooden shaft swarmed with
upward scurrying insects. With a curse, he dropped the spade into the
ditch; too late, they were already on his body. They lost no time;
wherever they encountered bare flesh they bit deeply; a few, bigger than
the rest, carried in their hind-quarters a sting which injected a
burning and paralyzing venom. Screaming, frantic with pain, the peon
danced and twirled like a dervish.
Realizing that another such casualty, yes, perhaps this alone, might
plunge his men into confusion and destroy their morale, Leiningen roared
in a bellow louder than the yells of the victim: "Into the petrol,
idiot! Douse your paws in the petrol!" The dervish ceased his pirouette
as if transfixed, then tore of his shirt and plunged his arm and the
ants hanging to it up to the shoulder in one of the large open tins of
petrol. But even then the fierce mandibles did not slacken; another peon
had to help him squash and detach each separate insect.
Distracted by the episode, some defenders had turned away from the
ditch. And now cries of fury, a thudding of spades, and a wild trampling
to and fro, showed that the ants had made full use of the interval,
though luckily only a few had managed to get across. The men set to work
again desperately with the barrage of earth and sand. Meanwhile an old
Indian, who acted as medicine-man to the plantation workers, gave the
bitten peon a drink he had prepared some hours before, which, he
claimed, possessed the virtue of dissolving and weakening ants' venom.
Leiningen surveyed his position. A dispassionate observer would have
estimated the odds against him at a thousand to one. But then such an
on-looker would have reckoned only by what he saw--the advance of myriad
battalions of ants against the futile efforts of a few defenders--and
not by the unseen activity that can go on in a man's brain.
For Leiningen had not erred when he decided he would fight elemental
with elemental. The water in the ditch was beginning to rise; the
stronger damming of the river was making itself apparent.
Visibly the swiftness and power of the masses of water increased,
swirling into quicker and quicker movement its living black surface,
dispersing its pattern, carrying away more and more of it on the
Victory had been snatched from the very jaws of defeat. With a
hysterical shout of joy, the peons feverishly intensified their
bombardment of earth clods and sand.
And now the wide cataract down the opposite bank was thinning and
ceasing, as if the ants were becoming aware that they could not attain
their aim. They were scurrying back up the slope to safety.
All the troops so far hurled into the ditch had been sacrificed in vain.
Drowned and floundering insects eddied in thousands along the flow,
while Indians running on the bank destroyed every swimmer that reached
Not until the ditch curved towards the east did the scattered ranks
assemble again in a coherent mass. And now, exhausted and half-numbed,
they were in no condition to ascend the bank. Fusillades of clods drove
them round the bend towards the mouth of the ditch and then into the
river, wherein they vanished without leaving a trace.
The news ran swiftly along the entire chain of outposts, and soon a long
scattered line of laughing men could be seen hastening along the ditch
towards the scene of victory.
For once they seemed to have lost all their native reserve, for it was
in wild abandon now they celebrated the triumph--as if there were no
longer thousands of millions of merciless, cold and hungry eyes watching
them from the opposite bank, watching and waiting.
The sun sank behind the rim of the tamarind wood and twilight deepened
into night. It was not only hoped but expected that the ants would
remain quiet until dawn. "But to defeat any forlorn attempt at a
crossing, the flow of water through the ditch was powerfully increased
by opening the dam still further.
In spite of this impregnable barrier, Leiningen was not yet altogether
convinced that the ants would not venture another surprise attack. He
ordered his men to camp along the bank overnight. He also detailed
parties of them to patrol the ditch in two of his motor cars and
ceaselessly to illuminate the surface of the water with headlights and
After having taken all the precautions he deemed necessary, the farmer
ate his supper with considerable appetite and went to bed. His slumbers
were in no wise disturbed by the memory of the waiting, live, twenty
Dawn found a thoroughly refreshed and active Leiningen riding along the
edge of the ditch. The planter saw before him a motionless and unaltered
throng of besiegers. He studied the wide belt of water between them and
the plantation, and for a moment almost regretted that the fight had
ended so soon and so simply. In the comforting, matter-of-fact light of
morning, it seemed to him now that the ants hadn't the ghost of a chance
to cross the ditch. Even if they plunged headlong into it on all three
fronts at once, the force of the now powerful current would inevitably
sweep them away. He had got quite a thrill out of the fight--a pity it
was already over.
He rode along the eastern and southern sections of the ditch and found
everything in order. He reached the western section, opposite the
tamarind wood, and here, contrary to the other battle fronts, he found
the enemy very busy indeed. The trunks and branches of the trees and the
creepers of the lianas, on the far bank of the ditch, fairly swarmed
with industrious insects. But instead of eating the leaves there and
then, they were merely gnawing through the stalks, so that a thick green
shower fell steadily to the ground.
No doubt they were victualing columns sent out to obtain provender for
the rest of the army. The discovery did not surprise Leiningen. He did
not need to be told that ants are intelligent, that certain species even
use others as milch cows, watchdogs and slaves. He was well aware of
their power of adaptation, their sense of discipline, their marvelous
talent for organization.
His belief that a foray to supply the army was in progress was
strengthened when he saw the leaves that fell to the ground being
dragged to the troops waiting outside the wood. Then all at once he
realized the aim that rain of green was intended to serve.
leaf, pulled or pushed by dozens of toiling insects, was borne straight
to the edge of the ditch. Even as Macbeth watched the approach of Birnam
Wood in the hands of his enemies, Leiningen saw the tamarind wood move
nearer and nearer in the mandibles of the ants. Unlike the fey Scot,
however, he did not lose his nerve; no witches had prophesied his doom,
and if they had he would have slept just as soundly. All the same, he
was forced to admit to himself that the situation was far more ominous
than that of the day before.
He had thought it impossible for the ants to build rafts for
themselves--well, here they were, coming in thousands, more than enough
to bridge the ditch. Leaves after leaves rustled down the slope into the
water, where the current drew them away from the bank and carried them
into midstream. And every single leaf carried several ants. This time
the farmer did not trust to the alacrity of his messengers. He galloped
away, leaning from his saddle and yelling orders as he rushed past
outpost after outpost: "Bring petrol pumps to the southwest front! Issue
spades to every man along the line facing the wood!" And arrived at the
eastern and southern sections, he dispatched every man except the
observation posts to the menaced west.
Then, as he rode past the stretch where the ants had failed to cross the
day before, he witnessed a brief but impressive scene. Down the slope of
the distant hill there came towards him a singular being, writhing
rather man running, an animal-like blackened statue with shapeless head
and four quivering feet that knuckled under almost ceaselessly. When the
creature reached the far bank of the ditch and collapsed opposite
Leiningen, he recognized it as a pampas stag, covered over and over with
It had strayed near the zone of the army. As usual, they had attacked
its eyes first. Blinded, it had reeled in the madness of hideous torment
straight into the ranks of its persecutors, and now the beast swayed to
and fro in its death agony.
With a shot
from his rifle Leiningen put it out of its misery. Then he pulled out
his watch. He hadn't a second to lose, but for life itself he could not
have denied his curiosity the satisfaction of knowing how long the ants
would take--for personal reasons, so to speak. After six minutes the
white polished bones alone remained. That's how he himself would look
before you can--Leiningen spat once, and put spurs to his horse.
The sporting zest with which the excitement of the novel contest had
inspired him the day before had now vanished; in its place was a cold
and violent purpose. He would send these vermin back to the hell where
they belonged, somehow, anyhow. Yes, but how was indeed the question; as
things stood at present it looked as if the devils would raze him and
his men from the earth instead. He had underestimated the might of the
enemy; he really would have to bestir himself if he hoped to outwit
The biggest danger now, he decided, was the point where the western
section of the ditch curved southwards. And arrived there, he found his
worst expectations justified. The very power of the current had huddled
the leaves and their crews of ants so close together at the bend that
the bridge was almost ready.
True, streams of petrol and clumps of earth still prevented a landing.
But the number of floating leaves was increasing ever more swiftly. It
could not be long now before a stretch of water a mile in length was
decked by a green pontoon over which the ants could rush in millions.
Leiningen galloped to the weir. The damming of the river was controlled
by a wheel on its bank. The planter ordered the man at the wheel first
to lower the water in the ditch almost to vanishing point, next to wait
a moment, then suddenly to let the river in again. This maneuver of
lowering and raising the surface, of decreasing then increasing the flow
of water through the ditch was to be repeated over and over again until
This tactic was at first successful. The water in the ditch sank, and
with it the film of leaves. The green fleet nearly reached the bed and
the troops on the far bank swarmed down the slope to it. Then a violent
flow of water at the original depth raced through the ditch,
overwhelming leaves and ants, and sweeping them along.
This intermittent rapid flushing prevented just in time the almost
completed fording of the ditch. But it also flung here and there squads
of the enemy vanguard simultaneously up the inner bank. These seemed to
know their duty only too well, and lost no time accomplishing it. The
air rang with the curses of bitten Indians. They had removed their
shirts and pants to detect the quicker the upwards-hastening insects;
when they saw one, they crushed it; and fortunately the onslaught as yet
was only by skirmishers. Again and again, the water sank and rose,
carrying leaves and drowned ants away with it. It lowered once more
nearly to its bed; but this time the exhausted defenders waited in vain
for the flush of destruction. Leiningen sensed disaster; something must
have gone wrong with the machinery of the dam. Then a sweating peon tore
up to him--
While the besieged were concentrating upon the defense of the stretch
opposite the wood, the seemingly unaffected line beyond the wood had
become the theatre of decisive action. Here the defenders' front was
sparse and scattered; everyone who could be spared had hurried away to
Just as the man at the weir had lowered the water almost to the bed of
the ditch, the ants on a wide front began another attempt at a direct
crossing like that of the preceding day. Into the emptied bed poured an
irresistible throng. Rushing across the ditch, they attained the inner
bank before the slow-witted Indians fully grasped the situation. Their
frantic screams dumfounded the man at the weir. Before he could direct
the river anew into the safeguarding bed he saw himself surrounded by
raging ants. He ran like the others, ran for his life.
When Leiningen heard this, he knew the plantation was doomed. He wasted
no time bemoaning the inevitable. For as long as there was the slightest
chance of success, he had stood his ground, and now any further
resistance was both useless and dangerous. He fired three revolver shots
into the air--the prearranged signal for his men to retreat instantly
within the "inner moat." Then he rode towards the ranch house.
This was two miles from the point of invasion. There was therefore time
enough to prepare the second line of defense against the advent of the
ants. Of the three great petrol cisterns near the house, one had already
been half emptied by the constant withdrawals needed for the pumps
during the fight at the water ditch. The remaining petrol in it was now
drawn off through underground pipes into the concrete trench which
encircled the ranch house and its outbuildings.
And there, drifting in twos and threes, Leiningen's men reached him.
Most of them were obviously trying to preserve an air of calm and
indifference, belied, however, by their restless glances and knitted
brows. One could see their belief in a favorable outcome of the struggle
was already considerably shaken.
The planter called his peons around him.
"Well, lads," he began, "we've lost the first round. But we'll smash the
beggars yet, don't you worry. Anyone who thinks otherwise can draw his
pay here and now and push off. There are rafts enough to spare on the
river and plenty of time still to reach 'em."
Not a man stirred.
Leiningen acknowledged his silent vote of confidence with a laugh that
was half a grunt. "That's the stuff, lads. Too bad if you'd missed the
rest of the show, eh? Well, the fun won't start till morning. Once these
blighters turn tail, there'll be plenty of work for everyone and higher
wages all round. And now run along and get something to eat; you've
earned it all right."
In the excitement of the fight the greater part of the day had passed
without the men once pausing to snatch a bite. Now that the ants were
for the time being out of sight, and the "wall of petrol" gave a
stronger feeling of security, hungry stomachs began to assert their
The bridges over the concrete ditch were removed. Here and there
solitary ants had reached the ditch; they gazed at the petrol
meditatively, then scurried back again. Apparently they had little
interest at the moment for what lay beyond the evil-reeking barrier; the
abundant spoils of the plantation were the main attraction. Soon the
trees, shrubs and beds for miles around were hulled with ants zealously
gobbling the yield of long weary months of strenuous toil.
As twilight began to fall, a cordon of ants marched around the petrol
trench, but as yet made no move towards its brink. Leiningen posted
sentries with headlights and electric torches, then withdrew to his
office, and began to reckon up his losses. He estimated these as large,
but, in comparison with his bank balance, by no means unbearable. He
worked out in some detail a scheme of intensive cultivation which would
enable him, before very long, to more than compensate himself for the
damage now being wrought to his crops. It was with a contented mind that
he finally betook himself to bed where he slept deeply until dawn,
undisturbed by any thought that next day little more might be left of
him than a glistening skeleton.
Part 2 Audio
He rose with the sun and went out on the flat roof of his house. And a
scene like one from Dante lay around him; for miles in every direction
there was nothing but a black, glittering multitude, a multitude of
rested, sated, but none the less voracious ants: yes, look as far as one
might, one could see nothing but that rustling black throng, except in
the north, where the great river drew a boundary they could not hope to
pass. But even the high stone breakwater, along the bank of the river,
which Leiningen had built as a defence against inundations, was, like
the paths, the shorn trees and shrubs, the ground itself, black with
So their greed was not glutted in razing that vast plantation? Not by a
long shot; they were all the more eager now on a rich and certain
booty--four hundred men, numerous horses, and bursting granaries.
At first it seemed that the petrol trench would serve its purpose. The
besiegers sensed the peril of swimming it, and made no move to plunge
blindly over its brink. Instead they devised a better maneuver; they
began to collect shreds of bark, twigs and dried leaves and dropped
these into the petrol. Everything green, which could have been similarly
used, had long since been eaten. After a time, though, a long procession
could be seen bringing from the west the tamarind leaves used as rafts
the day before.
Since the petrol, unlike the water in the outer ditch, was perfectly
still, the refuse stayed where it was thrown. It was several hours
before the ants succeeded in covering an appreciable part of the
surface. At length, however, they were ready to proceed to a direct
Their storm troops swarmed down the concrete side, scrambled over the
supporting surface of twigs and leaves, and impelled these over the few
remaining streaks of open petrol until they reached the other side. Then
they began to climb up this to make straight for the helpless garrison.
During the entire offensive, the planter sat peacefully, watching them
with interest, but not stirring a muscle. Moreover, he had ordered his
men not to disturb in any way whatever the advancing horde. So they
squatted listlessly along the bank of the ditch and waited for a sign
from the boss. The petrol was now covered with ants. A few had climbed
the inner concrete wall and were scurrying towards the defenders.
"Everyone back from the ditch!" roared Leiningen. The men rushed away,
without the slightest idea of his plan. He stooped forward and
cautiously dropped into the ditch a stone which split the floating
carpet and its living freight, to reveal a gleaming patch of petrol. A
match spurted, sank down to the oily surface--Leiningen sprang back; in
a flash a towering rampart of fire encompassed the garrison.
This spectacular and instant repulse threw the Indians into ecstasy.
They applauded, yelled and stamped, like children at a pantomime. Had it
not been for the awe in which they held the boss, they would infallibly
have carried him shoulder high.
It was some time before the petrol burned down to the bed of the ditch,
and the wall of smoke and flame began to lower. The ants had retreated
in a wide circle from the devastation, and innumerable charred fragments
along the outer bank showed that the flames had spread from the
holocaust in the ditch well into the ranks beyond, where they had
wrought havoc far and wide.
Yet the perseverance of the ants was by no means broken; indeed, each
setback seemed only to whet it. The concrete cooled, the flicker of the
dying flames wavered and vanished, petrol from the second tank poured
into the trench--and the ants marched forward anew to the attack.
The foregoing scene repeated itself in every detail, except that on this
occasion less time was needed to bridge the ditch, for the petrol was
now already filmed by a layer of ash. Once again they withdrew; once
again petrol flowed into the ditch. Would the creatures never learn that
their self-sacrifice was utterly senseless? It really was senseless,
wasn't it? Yes, of course it was senseless--provided the defenders had
an unlimited supply of petrol.
When Leiningen reached this stage of reasoning, he felt for the first
time since the arrival of the ants that his confidence was deserting
him. His skin began to creep; he loosened his collar. Once the devils
were over the trench there wasn't a chance in hell for him and his men.
God, what a prospect, to be eaten alive like that!
For the third time the flames immolated the attacking troops, and burned
down to extinction. Yet the ants were coming on again as if nothing had
happened. And meanwhile Leiningen had made a discovery that chilled him
to the bone-petrol was no longer flowing into the ditch. Something must
be blocking the outflow pipe of the third and last cistern-a snake or a
dead rat? Whatever it was, the ants could be held of3 no longer, unless
petrol could by some method be led from the cistern into the ditch.
Then Leiningen remembered that in an outhouse nearby were two old
disused fire engines. Spry as never before in their lives, the peons
dragged them out of the shed, connected their pumps to the cistern,
uncoiled and laid the hose. They were just in time to aim a stream of
petrol at a column of ants that had already crossed and drive them back
down the incline into the ditch. Once more an oily girdle surrounded the
garrison, once more it was possible to hold the position--for the
It was obvious, however, that this last resource meant only the
postponement of defeat and death. A few of the peons fell on their knees
and began to pray; others, shrieking insanely, fired their revolvers at
the black, advancing masses, as if they felt their despair was pitiful
enough to sway fate itself to mercy.
At length, two of the men's nerves broke: Leiningen saw a naked Indian
leap over the north side of the petrol trench, quickly followed by a
second. They sprinted with incredible speed towards the river. But their
fleetness did not save them; long before they could attain the rafts,
the enemy covered their bodies from head to foot.
In the agony of their torment, both sprang blindly into the wide river,
where enemies no less sinister awaited them. Wild screams of mortal
anguish informed the breathless onlookers that crocodiles and
sword-toothed piranhas were no less ravenous than ants, and even nimbler
in reaching their prey.
In spite of this bloody warning, more and more men showed they were
making up their minds to run the blockade. Anything, even a fight
midstream against alligators, seemed better than powerlessly waiting for
death to come and slowly consume their living bodies.
Leiningen flogged his brain till it reeled. Was there nothing on earth
could sweep this devil's spawn back into the hell from which it came?
Then out of the inferno of his bewilderment rose a terrifying
inspiration. Yes, one hope remained, and one alone. It might be possible
to dam the great river completely, so that its waters would fill not
only the water ditch but overflow into the entire gigantic "saucer" of
land in which lay the plantation.
The far bank of the river was too high for the waters to escape that
way. The stone breakwater ran between the river and the plantation; its
only gaps occurred where the "horseshoe" ends of the water ditch passed
into the river. So its waters would not only be forced to inundate into
the plantation, they would also be held there by the breakwater until
they rose to its own high level. In half an hour, perhaps even earlier,
the plantation and its hostile army of occupation would be flooded.
The ranch house and outbuildings stood upon rising ground. Their
foundations were higher than the breakwater, so the flood would not
reach them. And any remaining ants trying to ascend the slope could be
repulsed by petrol.
It was possible--yes, if one could only get to the dam! A distance of
nearly two miles lay between the ranch house and the weir--two miles of
ants. Those two peons had managed only a fifth of that distance at the
cost of their lives. Was there an Indian daring enough after that to run
the gauntlet five times as far? Hardly likely; and if there were, his
prospect of getting back was almost nil.
No, there was only one thing for it, he'd have to make the attempt
himself; he might just as well be running as sitting still, anyway, when
the ants finally got him. Besides, there was a bit of a chance. Perhaps
the ants weren't so almighty, after all; perhaps he had allowed the mass
suggestion of that evil black throng to hypnotize him, just as a snake
fascinates and overpowers.
The ants were building their bridges. Leiningen got up on a chair. "Hey,
lads, listen to me!" he cried. Slowly and listlessly, from all sides of
the trench, the men began to shuffle towards him, the apathy of death
already stamped on their faces.
"Listen, lads!" he shouted. "You're frightened of those beggars, but
you're a damn sight more frightened of me, and I'm proud of you. There's
still a chance to save our lives--by flooding the plantation from the
river. Now one of you might manage to get as far as the weir--but he'd
never come back. Well, I'm not going to let you try it; if I did I'd be
worse than one of those ants. No, I called the tune, and now I'm going
to pay the piper.
"The moment I'm over the ditch, set fire to the petrol. That'll allow
time for the flood to do the trick. Then all you have to do is wait here
all snug and quiet till I'm back. Yes, I'm coming back, trust me"--he
grinned--"when I've finished my slimming-cure."
He pulled on high leather boots, drew heavy gauntlets over his hands,
and stuffed the spaces between breeches and boots, gauntlets and arms,
shirt and neck, with rags soaked in petrol. With close-fitting mosquito
goggles he shielded his eyes, knowing too well the ants' dodge of first
robbing their victim of sight. Finally, he plugged his nostrils and ears
with cotton-wool, and let the peons drench his clothes with petrol.
He was about to set off, when the old Indian medicine man came up to
him; he had a wondrous salve, he said, prepared from a species of chafer
whose odor was intolerable to ants. Yes, this odor protected these
chafers from the attacks of even the most murderous ants. The Indian
smeared the boss' boots, his gauntlets, and his face over and over with
Leiningen then remembered the paralyzing effect of ants' venom, and the
Indian gave him a gourd full of the medicine he had administered to the
bitten peon at the water ditch. The planter drank it down without
noticing its bitter taste; his mind was already at the weir.
He started of towards the northwest corner of the trench. With a bound
he was over--and among the ants.
The beleaguered garrison had no opportunity to watch Leiningen's race
against death. The ants were climbing the inner bank again-the lurid
ring of petrol blazed aloft. For the fourth time that day the reflection
from the fire shone on the sweating faces of the imprisoned men, and on
the reddish-black cuirasses of their oppressors. The red and blue,
dark-edged flames leaped vividly now, celebrating what? The funeral pyre
of the four hundred, or of the hosts of destruction? Leiningen ran. He
ran in long, equal strides, with only one thought, one sensation, in his
being--he must get through. He dodged all trees and shrubs; except for
the split seconds his soles touched the ground the ants should have no
opportunity to alight on him. That they would get to him soon, despite
the salve on his boots, the petrol in his clothes, he realized only too
well, but he knew even more surely that he must, and that he would, get
to the weir.
Apparently the salve was some use after all; not until he reached
halfway did he feel ants under his clothes, and a few on his face.
Mechanically, in his stride, he struck at them, scarcely conscious of
their bites. He saw he was drawing appreciably nearer the weir--the
distance grew less and less--sank to five hundred--three--two--one
Then he was at the weir and gripping the ant-hulled wheel. Hardly had he
seized it when a horde of infuriated ants flowed over his hands, arms
and shoulders. He started the wheel--before it turned once on its axis
the swarm covered his face. Leiningen strained like a madman, his lips
pressed tight; if he opened them to draw breath. . . .
He turned and turned; slowly the dam lowered until it reached the bed of
the river. Already the water was overflowing the ditch. Another minute,
and the river was pouring through the near-by gap in the breakwater. The
flooding of the plantation had begun.
Leiningen let go the wheel. Now, for the first time, he realized he was
coated from head to foot with a layer of ants. In spite of the petrol
his clothes were full of them, several had got to his body or were
clinging to his face. Now that he had completed his task, he felt the
smart raging over his flesh from the bites of sawing and piercing
Frantic with pain, he almost plunged into the river. To be ripped and
splashed to shreds by piranhas? Already he was running the return
journey, knocking ants from his gloves and jacket, brushing them from
his bloodied face, squashing them to death under his clothes.
One of the creatures bit him just below the rim of his goggles; he
managed to tear it away, but the agony of the bite and its etching acid
drilled into the eye nerves; he saw now through circles of fire into a
milky mist, then he ran for a time almost blinded, knowing that if he
once tripped and fell.... The old Indian's brew didn't seem much good;
it weakened the poison a bit, but didn't get rid of it. His heart
pounded as if it would burst; blood roared in his ears; a giant's fist
battered his lungs.
Then he could see again, but the burning girdle of petrol appeared
infinitely far away; he could not last half that distance.
Swift-changing pictures flashed through his head, episodes in his life,
while in another part of his brain a cool and impartial onlooker
informed this ant-blurred, gasping, exhausted bundle named Leiningen
that such a rushing panorama of scenes from one's past is seen only in
the moment before death.
A stone in the path . . . to weak to avoid it . . . the planter stumbled
and collapsed. He tried to rise . . . he must be pinned under a rock . .
. it was impossible . . . the slightest movement was impossible . . . .
Then all at once he saw, starkly clear and huge, and, right before his
eyes, furred with ants, towering and swaying in its death agony, the
pampas stag. In six minutes--gnawed to the bones. God, he couldn't die
like that! And something outside him seemed to drag him to his feet. He
tottered. He began to stagger forward again.
Through the blazing ring hurtled an apparition which, as soon as it
reached the ground on the inner side, fell full length and did not move.
Leiningen, at the moment he made that leap through the flames, lost
consciousness for the first time in his life. As he lay there, with
glazing eyes and lacerated face, he appeared a man returned from the
grave. The peons rushed to him, stripped off his clothes, tore away the
ants from a body that seemed almost one open wound; in some paces the
bones were showing. They carried him into the ranch house.
As the curtain of flames lowered, one could see in place of the
illimitable host of ants an extensive vista of water. The thwarted river
had swept over the plantation, carrying with it the entire army. The
water had collected and mounted in the great "saucer," while the ants
had in vain attempted to reach the hill on which stood the ranch house.
The girdle of flames held them back.
And so imprisoned between water and fire, they had been delivered into
the annihilation that was their god. And near the farther mouth of the
water ditch, where the stone mole had its second gap, the ocean swept
the lost battalions into the river, to vanish forever.
The ring of fire dwindled as the water mounted to the petrol trench, and
quenched the dimming flames. The inundation rose higher and higher:
because its outflow was impeded by the timber and underbrush it had
carried along with it, its surface required some time to reach the top
of the high stone breakwater and discharge over it the rest of the
It swelled over ant-stippled shrubs and bushes, until it washed against
the foot of the knoll whereon the besieged had taken refuge. For a while
an alluvial of ants tried again and again to attain this dry land, only
to be repulsed by streams of petrol back into the merciless flood.
Leiningen lay on his bed, his body swathed from head to foot in
bandages. With fomentations and salves, they had managed to stop the
bleeding, and had dressed his many wounds. Now they thronged around him,
one question in every face. Would he recover? "He won't die," said the
old man who had bandaged him, "if he doesn't want to.''
The planter opened his eyes. "Everything in order?'' he asked.
"They're gone,'' said his nurse. "To hell." He held out to his master a
gourd full of a powerful sleeping draught. Leiningen gulped it down.
"I told you I'd come back," he murmured, "even if I am a bit
streamlined." He grinned and shut his eyes. He slept.