Leiningen versus the Ants

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 afew seconds gazed without answering at the agitated District Commissioner. Thenhe took the cigar from his lips, and leaned slightly forward. With his bristlinggrey hair, bulky nose, and lucid eyes, he had the look of an aging and shabbyeagle. "Decent of you," he murmured, "paddling all this way just to give me thetip. 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 rne from this plantation of mine." The Brazilian official threw up lean and lanky arms and clawed the air withwildly distended fingers. "Leiningen!" he shouted. "You're insane! They're notcreatures 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 fiendfrom hell; before you can spit three times they'll eat a full-grown buffalo tothe bones. I tell you if you don't clear out at once there'll he nothing left ofyou 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'rnnot going to run for it just because an elemental's on the way. And don't thinkI'm the kind of fathead who tries to fend off lightning with his fists either. Iuse my intelligence, old man. With me, the brain isn't a second blindgut; I knowwhat it's there for. When I began this model farm and plantation three yearsago, I took into account all that could conceivably happen to it. And now I'mready 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 hundredworkers. You don't know these ants!" Leiningen accompanied him down to the river, where the Governrnent launchwas moored. The vessel cast off. As it moved downstream, the exclamation markneared the rail and began waving its arms frantically. Long after thc launch haddisappeared round the bend, Leiningen thought he could still hear that dimmingimploring 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 hestarted work on his settlement, he had lived long enough in the country to seefor himself the fearful devastations sometimes wrought by these ravenous insectsin their campaigns for food. But since then he had planned measures of defenceaccordingly, and these, he was convinced? were in every way adequate towithstand the approaching peril. Moreover, during his three years as a planter, Leiningen had met anddefeated drought, Hood, plague and all other "acts of God" which had comeagainst him-unlike his fellow-settlers in the district, who had made little orno resistance. This unbroken success he attributed solely to the observance ofhis lifelong motto: The human brain needs only to become fully aware of itspowers to conquer even the elements. Dullards reeled senselessly and aimlesslyinto the abyss; cranks, however brilliant, lost their heads when circumstancessuddenly altered or accelerated and ran into stone walls, sluggards drifted withthe current until they were caught in whirlpools and dragged under. But suchdisasters, Leiningen contended, merely strengthened his argument thatintelligence, directed aright, invariably makes man the master of his fate. Yes, Leiningen had always known how to grapple with life. Even here, in thisBrazilian wilderness, his brain had triumphed over every difliculty and dangerit had so far encountered. First he had vanquished primal forces by cunning andorganization, then he had enlisted the resources of modern science to increasemiraculously the yield of his plantation. And now he was sure he would provemore than a match for the "irresistible" ants. That same evening, however, Leiningen assembled his workers. He had nointention of waiting till the news reached their ears from other sources. Mostof them had been born in the district; the cry "The ants are coming!'" was tothem an imperative signal for instant, panic-stricken flight, a spring for lifeitself. 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 ordersfor the imminent struggle, with the calmness with which they were given. Theywaited, unafraid, alert, as if for the beginning of a new game or hunt which hehad just described to them. The ants were indeed mighty, but not so mighty asthe boss. Let them come! They came at noon the second day. Their approach was announced by the wildunrest 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 pasteach other; jaguars and pumas flashing by nimble stags of the pampas, bulkytapirs, no longer hunters, themselves hunted, outpacing fleet kinkajous,maddened herds of cattle, heads lowered, nostrils snorting, rushing throughtribes of loping monkeys, chattering in a dementia of terror; then followed thecreeping 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, scatteredright and left before the barrier of the water-filled ditch, then sped onwardsto 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 hadlong since prepared against the advent of the ants. It encompassed three sidesof 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. Butthe ends of the "horseshoe" ran into the river which formed the northernboundary, and fourth side, of the plantation. And at the end nearer the houseand outbuildings in the middle of the plantation, Leiningen had constructed adam 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 ofwater, a huge quadrilateral with the river as its base, completely around theplantation, like the moat encircling a medieval city. Unless the ants wereclever 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 securityneeded. But while awaiting the arrival of the ants, Leiningen made a furtherimprovement. The western section of the ditch ran along the edge of a tamarindwood, and the branches of some great trees reached over the water. Leiningen nowhad 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 onrafts over the river, to remain on the other side in absolute safety until theplunderers had departed. Leiningen gave this instruction, not because hebelieved the non-combatants were in any danger, but in order to avoid hamperingthe efficiency of the defenders. "Critical situations first become crises," heexplained to his men, "when oxen or women get excited " Finally, he made a careful inspection of the "inner moat"--a smaller ditchlined with concrete, which extended around the hill on which stood the ranchhouse, barns, stables and other buildings. Into this concrete ditch emptied theinflow pipes from three great petrol tanks. If by some miracle the ants managedto cross the water and reached the plantation, this "rampart of petrol,' wouldbe an absolutely impassable protection for the beseiged and their dwellings andstock. Such, at least, was Leiningen's opinion. He stationed his men at irregular distances along the water ditch, the firstline of defence. Then he lay down in his hammock and puffed drowsily away at hispipe until a peon came with the report that the ants had been observed far awayin the South. Leiningen mounted his horse, which at the feel of its master seemed toforget its uneasiness, and rode leisurely in the direction of the threateningoffensive. The southern stretch of ditch--the upper side of thequadrilateral--was nearly three miles long; from its center one could survey theentire countryside. This was destined to be the scene of the outbreak of warbetween 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 aseye could see, crept a darkening hem, ever longer and broader, until the shadowspread across the slope from east to west, then downwards, downwards, uncannilyswift, and all the green herbage of that wide vista was being mown as by a giantsickle, leaving only the vast moving shadow, extending, deepening, and movingrapidly nearer. When Leiningen's men, behind their barrier of water, perceived the approachof the long-expected foe, they gave vent to their suspense in screams andimprecations. But as the distance began to lessen between the "sons of hell" andthe water ditch, they relapsed into silence. Before the advance of thatawe-inspiring throng, their belief in the powers of the boss began to steadilydwindle. Even Leiningen himself, who had ridden up just in time to restore their lossof heart by a display of unshakable calm, even he could not free himself from aqualm of malaise. Yonder were thousands of millions of voracious jaws bearingdown upon him and only a suddenly insignificant, narrow ditch lay between himand 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 theblighters 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 theynever 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 drewnearer and nearer to the water ditch. Then, when they learned through theirscouts the nature of the obstacle, the two outlying wings of the army detachedthemselves from the main body and marched down the western and eastern sides ofthe ditch. This surrounding maneuver took rather more than an hour to accomplish; nodoubt the ants expected that at some point they would find a crossing. During this outflanking movement by the wings, the army on the center andsouthern front remained still. The besieged were therefore able to contemplateat their leisure the thumb-long, reddish black, long-legged insects; some of theIndians 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 tomention an insect, can think. But now both the European brain of Leiningen andthe primitive brains of the Indians began to stir with the unpleasant forebodingthat inside every single one of that deluge of insects dwelt a thought. And thatthought was: Ditch or no ditch, we'll get to your flesh! Not until four o'clock did the wings reach the "horseshoe" ends of theditch, only to find these ran into the great river. Through some kind of secrettelegraphy, the report must then have flashed very swiftly indeed along theentire enemy line. And Leiningen, riding--no longer casually--along his side ofthe ditch, noticed by energetic and widespread movements of troops that for someunknown reason the news of the check had its greatest effect on the southernfront, where the main army was massed. Perhaps the failure to find a way overthe ditch was persuading the ants to withdraw from the plantation in search ofspoils more easily attainable. An immense flood of ants, about a hundred yards in width, was pouring in aglimmering-black cataract down the far slope of the ditch. Many thousands werealready drowning in the sluggish creeping flow, but they were followed by troopafter troop, who clambered over their sinking comrades, and then themselvesserved 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 theditch, where gradually they broke asunder and then, exhausted by theirstruggles, vanished below the surface. Nevertheless, the wavering, flounderinghundred-yard front was remorselessly if slowly advancing towards the beseiged onthe other bank. Leiningen had been wrong when he supposed the enemy would firsthave to fill the ditch with their bodies before they could cross; instead, theymerely needed to act as steppingstones, as they swam and sank, to the hordesever pressing onwards from behind. Near Leiningen a few mounted herdsmen awaited his orders. He sent one to theweir-the river must be dammed more strongly to increase the speed and power ofthe water coursing through the ditch. A second peon was dispatched to the outhouses to bring spades and petrolsprinklers. A third rode away to summon to the zone of the offensive all themen, except the observation posts, on the near-by sections of the ditch, whichwere not yet actively threatened. The ants were getting across far more quickly than Leiningen would havedeemed possible. Impelled by the mighty cascade behind them, they strugglednearer and nearer to the inner bank. The momentum of the attack was so greatthat neither the tardy flow of the stream nor its downward pull could exert itsproper force; and into the gap left by every submerging insect, hastened forwarda dozen more. When reinforcements reached Leiningen, the invaders were halfway over. Theplanter had to admit to himself that it was only by a stroke of luck for himthat the ants were attempting the crossing on a relatively short front: had theyassaulted simultaneously along the entire length of the ditch, the outlook forthe defenders would have been black indeed. Even as it was, it could hardly be described as rosy, though the planterseemed quite unaware that death in a gruesome form was drawing closer andcloser. 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 achampion in a new Olympic game, a gigantic and thrilling contest, from which hewas determined to emerge victor. Such, indeed, was his aura of confidence thatthe 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 ofthe bank and throwing clods of earth and spadefuls of sand into the midst of thehostile fleet. The petrol sprinklers, hitherto used to destroy pests and blights on theplantation, were also brought into action. Streams of evil-reeking oil nowsoared and fell over an enemy already in disorder through the bombardment ofearth and sand. The ants responded to these vigorous and successful measures of defence byfurther developments of their offensive. Entire clumps of huddling insects beganto roll down the opposite bank into the water. At the same time, Leiningennoticed that the ants were now attacking along an ever-widening front. As thenumbers both of his men and his petrol sprinklers were severely limited, thisrapid extension of the line of battle was becoming an overwhelming danger. To add to his difficulties, the very clods of earth they flung into thatblack floating carpet often whirled fragments toward the defenders' side, andhere and there dark ribbons were already mounting the inner bank. True, wherevera man saw these they could still be driven back into the water by spadefuls ofearth or jets of petrol. But the file of defenders was too sparse and scatteredto hold off at all points these landing parties, and though the peons toiledlike madmen, their plight became momentarily more perilous. One man struck with his spade at an enemy clump, did not draw it backquickly enough from the water; in a trice the wooden shaft swarmed with upwardscurrying 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 bareflesh they bit deeply; a few, bigger than the rest, carried in theirhind-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 plungehis men into confusion and destroy their morale, Leiningen roared in a bellowlouder than the yells of the victim: "Into the petrol, idiot! Douse your paws inthe petrol!" The dervish ceased his pirouette as if transfixed, then tore of hisshirt and plunged his arm and the ants hanging to it up to the shoulder in oneof the large open tins of petrol. But even then the fierce mandibles did notslacken; 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 afew had managed to get across. The men set to work again desperately with thebarrage of earth and sand. Meanwhile an old Indian, who acted as medicine-man tothe plantation workers, gave the bitten peon a drink he had prepared some hoursbefore, which, he claimed, possessed the virtue of dissolving and weakeningants' venom. Leiningen surveyed his position. A dispassionate observer would haveestimated the odds against him at a thousand to one. But then such an on-lookerwould have reckoned only by what he saw--the advance of myriad battalions ofants against the futile efforts of a few defenders--and not by the unseenactivity that can go on in a man's brain. For Leiningen had not erred when he decided he would fight elemental withelemental. The water in the ditch was beginning to rise; the stronger damming ofthe river was making itself apparent. Visibly the swiftness and power of the masses of water increased, swirlinginto quicker and quicker movement its living black surface, dispersing itspattern, carrying away more and more of it on the hastening current. Victory had been snatched from the very jaws of defeat. With a hystericalshout of joy, the peons feverishly intensified their bombardment of earth clodsand 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. Theywere 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, whileIndians running on the bank destroyed every swimmer that reached the side. Not until the ditch curved towards the east did the scattered ranks assembleagain in a coherent mass. And now, exhausted and half-numbed, they were in nocondition to ascend the bank. Fusillades of clods drove them round the bendtowards the mouth of the ditch and then into the river, wherein they vanishedwithout leaving a trace. The news ran swiftly along the entire chain of outposts, and soon a longscattered line of laughing men could be seen hastening along the ditch towardsthc scene of victory. For once they seemed to have lost all their native reserve, for it was inwild abandon now they celebrated the triumph--as if there were no longerthousands of millions of merciless, cold and hungry eyes watching thern from theopposite bank, watching and waiting. The sun sank behind the rim of the tamarind wood ancl twilight deepened intonight. It was not only hoped but expected that the ants would remain quiet untildawn. "But to defeat any forlorn attempt at a crossing, the flow of waterthrough the ditch was powerfully increased by opening the dam still further. In spite of this impregnable barrier, Leiningen was not yet altogetherconvinced that the ants would not venture another surprise attack. He orderedhis men to camp along the bank overnight. He also detailed parties of them topatrol the ditch in two of his motor cars and ceaselessly to illuminate thesurface of the water with headlights and electric torches. After having taken all the precautions he deemed necessary, the farmer atehis supper with considerable appetite and went to bed. His slumbers were in nowise disturbed by the memory of the waiting, live, twenty square miles. Dawn found a thoroughly refreshed and active Leiningen riding along the edgeof the ditch. The planter saw before him a motionless and unaltered throng ofbesiegers. 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 sosimply. In the comforting, matter-of-fact light of morning, it seemed to him nowthat the ants hadn't the ghost of a chance to cross the ditch. Even if theyplunged headlong into it on all three fronts at once, the force of the nowpowerful current would inevitably sweep them away. He had got quite a thrill outof the fight--a pity it was already over. He rode along the eastern and southern sections of the ditch and foundeverything in order. He reached the western section, opposite the tamarind wood,and here, contrary to the other battle fronts, he found the enemy very busyindeed. The trunks and branches of the trees and the creepers of the lianas, onthe far bank of the ditch, fairly swarmed with industrious insects. But insteadof eating the leaves there and then, they were merely gnawing through thestalks, so that a thick green shower fell steadily to the ground. No doubt they were victualing columns sent out to obtain provender for therest of the army. The discovery did not surprise Leiningen. He did not need tobe told that ants are intelligent, that certain species even use others as milchcows, 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 strengthenedwhen he saw the leaves that fell to the ground being dragged to the troopswaiting outside the wood. Then all at once he realized the aim that rain ofgreen was intended to serve. Each single leaf, pulled or pushed by dozens of toiling insects, was bornestraight to the edge of the ditch. Even as Macbeth watched the approach ofBirnam Wood in the hands of his enemies, Leiningen saw the tamarind wood movenearer and nearer in the mandibles of the ants. Unlike the fey Scot, however, hedid not lose his nerve; no witches had prophesied his doom, and if they had hewould have slept just as soundly. All the same, he was forced to admit tohimself that the situation was far more ominous than that of the day before. He had thought it impossible for the ants to build rafts forthemselves--well, here they were, coming in thousands, more than enough tobridge 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 trustto the alacrity of his messengers. He galloped away, leaning from his saddle andyelling orders as he rushed past outpost after outpost: "Bring petrol pumps tothe 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 exceptthe observation posts to the menaced west. Then, as he rode past the stretch where the ants had failed to cross the daybefore, he witnessed a brief but impressive scene. Down the slope of the distanthill there came towards him a singular being, writhing rather man running, ananimal-like blackened statue with shapeless head and four quivering feet thatknuckled under almost ceaselessly. When the creature reached the far bank of theditch 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 itseyes first. Blinded, it had reeled in the madness of hideous torment straightinto the ranks of its persecutors, and now the beast swayed to and fro in itsdeath agony. With a shot from his rifle Leiningen put it out of its misery. Then hepulled out his watch. He hadn't a second to lose, but for life itself he couldnot have denied his curiosity the satisfaction of knowing how long the antswould take--for personal reasons, so to speak. After six minutes the whitepolished bones alone remained. That's how he himself would look before youcan--Leiningen spat once, and put spurs to his horse. The sporting zest with which the excitement of the novel contest hadinspired him the day before had now vanished; in its place was a cold andviolent purpose. He would send these vermin back to the hell where theybelonged, somehow, anyhow. Yes, but how was indeed the question; as things stoodat present it looked as if the devils would raze him and his men from the earthinstead. He had underestimated the might of the enerny; he really would have tobestir himself if he hoped to outwit them. The biggest danger now, he decided, was the point where the western sectionof the ditch curved southwards. And arrived there, he found his worstexpectations justified. The very power of the current had huddled the leaves andtheir crews of ants so close together at the bend that the bridge was almostready. True, streams of petrol and clumps of earth still prevented a landing. Butthe number of floating leaves was increasing ever more swiftly. It cou]d not belong now before a stretch of water a mile in length was decked by a greenpontoon over which the ants could rush in millions. Leiningen galloped to tlhe weir. The damming of the river was controlled bya wheel on its bank. The planter ordered the man at the wheel first to lower thewater in the ditch almost to vanishing point, next to wait a moment, thensuddenly to let the river in again. This maneuver of lowering and raising thesurface, of decreasing then increasing the flow of water through the ditch wasto be repeated over and over again until further notice. This tactic was at first successful. The water in the ditch sank, and withit the film of leaves. The green fleet nearly reached the bed and the troops onthe far bank swarmed down the slope to it. Then a violent flow of water at theoriginal depth raced through the ditch, overwhelming leaves and ants, andsweeping them along. This intermittent rapid flushing prevented just in time the almost completedfording of the ditch. But it also flung here and there squads of the enemyvanguard simultaneously up the inner bank. These seemed to know their duty onlytoo well, and lost no time accomplishing it. The air rang with the curses ofbitten Indians. They had removed their shirts and pants to detect the quickerthe upwards-hastening insects; when they saw one, they crushed it; andfortunately the onslaught as yet was only by skirmishers. Again and again, thewater sank and rose, carrying leaves and drowned ants away with it. It loweredonce more nearly to its bed; but this time the exhausted defenders waited invain for the flush of destruction. Leiningen sensed disaster; something musthave gone wrong with the machinery of the dam. Then a sweating peon tore up tohim-- "They're over!" While the besieged were concentrating upon the defence of the stretchopposite the wood, the seemingly unaffected line beyond the wood had become thetheatre 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 theditch, the ants on a wide front began another attempt at a direct crossing likethat of the preceding day. Into the emptied bed poured an irresistible throng.Rushing across the ditch, they attained the inner bank before the slow-wittedIndians fully grasped the situation. Their frantic screams dumfounded the man atthe weir. Before he could direct the river anew into the safeguarding bed he sawhimself 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 notime bemoaning the inevitable. For as long as there was the slightest chance ofsuccess, he had stood his ground, and now any further resistance was bothuseless and dangerous. He fired three revolver shots into the air--theprearranged 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 timeenough to prepare the second line of defence against the advent of the ants. Ofthe three great petrol cisterns near the house, one had already been halfemptied by the constant withdrawals needed for the pumps during the fight at thewater ditch. The remaining petrol in it was now drawn off through undergroundpipes into the concrete trench which encircled the ranch house and itsoutbuildings. And there, drifting in twos and threes, Leiningen's men reached him. Most ofthem were obviously trying to preserve an air of calm and indifference, belied,however, by their restless glances and knitted brows. One could see their beliefin 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 thebeggars yet, don't you worry. Anyone who thinks otherwise can draw his pay hereand now and push off. There are rafts enough to spare on the river and plenty oftime still to reach 'em." Not a man stirred. Leiningen acknowledged his silent vote of confidence with a laugh that washalf a grunt. "That's the stuff, lads. Too bad if you'd missed the rest of theshow, eh? Well, the fun won't start till morning. Once these blighters turntail, there'll be plenty of work for everyone and higher wages all round. Andnow 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 passedwithout the men once pausing to snatch a bite. Now that the ants were for thetime being out of sight, and the "wall of petrol" gave a stronger feeling ofsecurity, hungry stomachs began to assert their claims. The bridges over the concrete ditch were removed. Here and there solitaryants had reached the ditch; they gazed at the petrol meditatively, then scurriedback again. Apparently they had little interest at the moment for what laybeyond the evil-reeking barrier; the abundant spoils of the plantation were themain attraction. Soon the trees, shrubs and beds for miles around were hulledwith ants zealously gobbling the yield of long weary months of strenuous toil. As twilight began to fall, a cordon of ants marched around the petroltrench, but as yet made no move towards its brink. Leiningen posted sentrieswith headlights and electric torches, then withdrew to his office, and began toreckon up his losses. He estimated these as large, but, in comparison with hisbank balance, by no means unbearable. He worked out in some detail a scheme ofintensive cultivation which would enable him, before very long, to more thancompensate himself for the damage now being wrought to his crops. It was with acontented mind that he finally betook himself to bed where he slept deeply untildawn, undisturbed by any thought that next day little more might be left of himthan a glistening skeleton. He rose with the sun and went out on the flat roof of his house. And a scenelike one from Dante lay around him; for miles in every direction there wasnothing but a black, glittering multitude, a multitude of rested, sated, butnone the less voracious ants: yes, look as far as one might, one could seenothing but that rustling black throng, except in the north, where the greatriver drew a boundary they could not hope to pass. But even the high stonebreakwater, along the bank of the river, which Leiningen had built as a defenceagainst inundations, was, like the paths, the shorn trees and shrubs, the grounditself, black with ants. So their greed was not glutted in razing that vast plantation? Not by a longshot; they were all the more eager now on a rich and certain booty--four hundredmen, numerous horses, and bursting granaries. At first it seemed that the petrol trench would serve its purpose. Thebesiegers sensed the peril of swimming it, and made no move to plunge blindlyover its brink. Instead they devised a better maneuver; they began to collectshreds of bark, twigs and dried leaves and dropped these into the petrol.Everything green, which could have been similarly used, had long since beeneaten. After a time, though, a long procession could be seen bringing from thewest 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 antssucceeded 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 thesupporting surface of twigs and leaves, and impelled these over the fewremaining streaks of open petrol until tlhey reached the other side. Then theybegan to climb up this to make straight for the helpless garrison. During the entire offensive, the planter sat peacefully, watching them withinterest, but not stirring a muscle. Moreover, he had ordered his men not todisturb in any way whatever the advancing horde. So they squatted listlesslyalong the bank of the ditch and waited for a sign from the boss. The petrol wasnow covered with ants. A few had climbed the inner concrete wall and werescurrying 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 cautiouslvdropped into the ditch a stone which split the floating carpet and its livingfreight, to reveal a gleaming patch of petrol. A match spurted, sank down to theoily surface--Leiningen sprang back; in a flash a towering rampart of fireencompassed the garrison. This spectacular and instant repulse threw the Indians into ecstasy. Theypplauded, yelled and stamped, like children at a pantomime. Had it not been forthe awe in which they held the boss, they would infallibly have carried himshoulder high. It was some time before the petrol burned down to the bed of the ditch, andthe wall of smoke and flame began to lower. The ants had retreated in a widecircle from the devastation, and innumerable charred fragments along the outerbank showed that the flames had spread from the holocaust in the ditch well intothe ranks beyond, where they had wrought havoc far and wide. Yet the perseverance of the ants was by no means broken; indeed, eachsetback seemed only to whet it. The concrete cooled, the flicker of the dyingflames wavered and vanished, petrol from the second tank poured into thetrench--and the ants marched forward anew to the attack. The foregoing scene repeated itself in every detail, except that on thisoccasion less time was needed to bridge the ditch, for the petrol was nowalready filmed by a layer of ash. Once again they withdrew; once again petrolflowed into the ditch. Would the creatures never learn that their self-sacriflcewas utterly senseless? It really was senseless, wasn't it? Yes, of course it wassenseless--provided the defenders had an unlimited supply of petrol. When Leiningen reached this stage of reasoning, he felt for the first timesince the arrival of the ants that his confidence was deserting him. His skinbegan to creep; he loosened his collar. Once the devils were over the trenchthere wasn't a chance in hell for him and his men. God, what a prospect, to beeaten alive like that! For the third time the flames immolated the attacking troops, and burneddown to extinction. Yet the ants were coming on again as if nothing hadhappened. And meanwhile Leiningen had made a discovery that chilled him to thebone-petrol was no longer flowing into the ditch. Something must be blocking theoutflow pipe of the third and last cistern-a snake or a dead rat? Whatever itwas, the ants could be held of3 no longer, unless petrol could by some method beled from the cistern into the ditch. Then Leiningen remembered that in an outhouse nearby were two old disusedfire engines. Spry as never before in their lives, the peons dragged them out ofthe shed, connected their pumps to the cistern, uncoiled and laid the hose. Theywere just in time to aim a stream of petrol at a column of ants that had alreadycrossed and drive them back down the incline into the ditch. Once more an oilygirdle surrounded the garrison, once more it was possible to hold theposition--for the moment. It was obvious, however, that this last resource meant only the postponementof 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, advancingmasses, as if they felt their despair was pitiful enough to sway fate itself tomercy. At length, two of the men's nerves broke: Leiningen saw a naked Indian leapover the north side of the petrol trench, quickly followed by a second. Theysprinted with incredible speed towards the river. But their fleetness did notsave them; long before they could attain the rafts, the enemy covered theirbodies 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 anguishinformed the breathless onlookers that crocodiles and sword-toothed piranhaswere 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 makingup their minds to run the blockade. Anything, even a fight midstream againstalligators, seemed better than powerlessly waiting for death to come and slowlyconsume their living bodies. Leiningen flogged his brain till it reeled. Was there nothing on earth couldsweep 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 greatriver completely, so that its waters would fill not only the water ditch butoverflow 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 gapsoccurred where the "horseshoe" ends of the water ditch passed into the river. Soits waters would not only be forced to inundate into the plantation, they wouldalso be held there by the breakwater until they rose to its own high level. Inhalf an hour, perhaps even earlier, the plantation and its hostile army ofoccupation would be flooded. The ranch house and outbuildings stood upon rising ground. Their foundationswere higher than the breakwater, so the flood would not reach them. And anyremaining 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 nearlytwo miles lay between thc ranch house and the weir--two miles of ants. Those twopeons had managed only a fifth of that distance at the cost of their lives. Wasthere 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 finallygot him. Besides, there was a bit of a chance. Perhaps the ants weren't soalmighty, after all; perhaps he had allowed the mass suggestion of that evilblack 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 thetrench, the men began to shuffle towards him, the apathy of death alreadystamped on their faces. "Listen, lads!" he shouted. "You're frightened of those beggars, but you'rea damn sight more frightened of me, and I'm proud of you. There's still a chanceto save our lives--by flooding the plantation from the river. Now one of youmight manage to get as far as the weir--but he'd never come back. Well, I'm notgoing to let you try it; if I did I'd be worse than one of those ants. No, Icalled 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 timefor the flood to do the trick. Then all you have to do is wait here all snug andquiet till I'm back. Yes, I'm coming back, trust me"--he grinned--"when I'vefinished my slimming-cure." He pulled on high leather boots, drew heavy gauntlets over his hands, andstuffed the spaces between breeches and boots, gauntlets and arms, shirt andneck, with rags soaked in petrol. With close-fitting mosquito goggles heshielded his eyes, knowing too well the ants' dodge of first robbing theirvictim of sight. Finally, he plugged his nostrils and ears with cotton-wool, andlet the peons drench his clothes with petrol. He was about to set off, when the old Indian medicine man came up to him; hehad a wondrous salve, he said, prepared from a species of chafer whose odor wasintolerable to ants. Yes, this odor protected these chafers from the attacks ofeven 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 theIndian gave him a gourd full of the medicine he had administered to the bittenpeon at the water ditch. The planter drank it down without noticing its bittertaste; his mind was already at the weir. He started of towards the northwest corner of the trench. With a bound hewas over--and among the ants. The beleaguered garrison had no opportunity to watch Leiningen's raceagainst death. The ants were climbing the inner bank again-the lurid ring ofpetrol blazed aloft. For the fourth time that day the reflection from the fireshone on the sweating faces of the imprisoned men, and on the reddish-blackcuirasses of their oppressors. The red and blue, dark-edged flames leapedvividly now, celebrating what? The funeral pyre of the four hundred, or of thehosts of destruction? Leiningen ran. He ran in long, equal strides, with onlyone thought, one sensation, in his being--he must get through. He dodged alltrees and shrubs; except for the split seconds his soles touched the ground theants should have no opportunity to alight on him. That they would get to himsoon, despite the salve on his boots, the petrol in his clothes, he realizedonly too well, but he knew even more surely that he must, and that he would, getto the weir. Apparently the salve was some use after all; not until he reached halfwaydid he feel ants under his clothes, and a few on his face. Mechanically, in hisstride, he struck at them, scarcely conscious of their bites. He saw he wasdrawing appreciably nearer the weir--the distance grew less and less--sank tofive hundred--three--two--one hundred yards. Then he was at the weir and gripping the ant-hulled wheel. Hardly had heseized it when a horde of infuriated ants flowed over his hands, arms andshoulders. He started the wheel--before it turned once on its axis the swarmcovered his face. Leiningen strained like a madman, his lips pressed tight; ifhe opened them to draw breath. . . . He turned and turned; slowly the dam lowered until it reached the bed of theriver. Already the water was overflowing the ditch. Another minute, and theriver was pouring through the near-by gap in the breakwater. The flooding of theplantation had begun. Leiningen let go the wheel. Now, for the first time, he realized he wascoated from head to foot with a layer of ants. In spite of the petrol hisclothes were full of them, several had got to his body or were clinging to hisface. Now that he had completed his task, he felt the smart raging over hisflesh 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 thern to death under his clothes. One of the creatures bit him just below the rim of his goggles; he managedto tear it away, but the agony of the bite and its etching acid drilled into theeye nerves; he saw now through circles of fire into a milky mist, then he ranfor a time almost blinded, knowing that if he once tripped and fell.... The oldIndian's brew didn't seem much good; it weakened the poison a bit, but didn'tget 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 appearedinfinitely far away; he could not last half that distance. Swift-changingpictures flashed through his head, episodes in his life, while in another partof his brain a cool and impartial onlooker informed this ant-blurred, gasping,exhausted bundle named Leiningen that such a rushing panorama of scenes fromone's past is seen only in the moment before death. A stone in the path . . . to weak to avoid it . . . the planter stumbled andcollapsed. He tried to rise . . . he must be pinned under a rock . . . it wasimpossible . . . 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. Insix minutes--gnawed to the bones. God, he couldn't die like that! And somethingoutside him seemed to drag him to his feet. He tottered. He began to staggerforward again. Through the blazing ring hurtled an apparition which, as soon as it reachedthe ground on the inner side, fell full length and did not move. Leiningen, atthe moment he made that leap through the flames, lost consciousness for thefirst 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 offhis 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 illimitablehost of ants an extensive vista of water. The thwarted river had swept over theplantation, carrying with it the entire army. The water had collected andmounted in the great "saucer," while the ants had in vain attempted to reach thehill 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 theannihilation 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 battalionsinto the river, to vanish forever. The ring of fire dwindled as the water mounted to the petrol trench, andquenched the dimming flames. The inundation rose higher and higher: because itsoutflow 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 anddischarge over it the rest of the shattered army. It swelled over ant-stippled shrubs and bushes, until it washed against thefoot of the knoll whereon the besieged had taken refuge. For a while an alluvialof ants tried again and again to attain this dry land, only to be repulsed bystreams 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 haddressed his many wounds. Now they thronged around him, one question in everyface. 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 agourd 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.