Leiningen versus the Ants

Carl Stephenson

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 mine."
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 defence
accordingly, and these, he was convinced? were in every way adequate to
withstand the approaching peril.
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 fate.
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 "irresistible" ants.
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 defence 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 excited "
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 besieged and their dwellings and
stock. Such, at least, was Leiningen's opinion.
He stationed his men at irregular distances along the water ditch, the first
line of defence. 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.
The hostile 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 crossing.
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 flesh!
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 attainable.
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
hostile fleet.
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 defence 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 hastening current.
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 the side.
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 electric torches.
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 square miles.
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.
Each single 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 ants.
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 them.
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 further notice.
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--
"They're over!"
While the besieged were concentrating upon the defence 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 the south.
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 defence 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 claims.
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.
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 ants.
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 attack.
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 off 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 moment.
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 the extract.
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 hundred yards.
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 insects.
Frantic with pain, he almost plunged into the river. To be ripped and
splashed to shreds by paranhas? 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 shattered army.
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.