Leiningen versus the Ants

UNLESS they altertheir course and there's no reason why they should,they'll reachyour plantation in two days at the latest." Leiningen suckedplacidly at a cigar about the size of a corncob and for afewseconds gazed without answering at the agitated DistrictCommissioner. Thenhe took the cigar from his lips, and leanedslightly forward. With his bristlinggrey hair, bulky nose, andlucid eyes, he had the look of an aging and shabbyeagle. "Decentof you," he murmured, "paddling all this way just togive me thetip. But you're pulling my leg of course when you sayI must do a bunk. Why,even a herd of saurians couldn't drive rnefrom this plantation of mine." The Brazilian official threwup lean and lanky arms and clawed the air withwildly distendedfingers. "Leiningen!" he shouted. "You're insane!They're notcreatures you can fight--they're an elemental--an 'actof God!' Ten miles long,two miles wide--ants, nothing but ants!And every single one of them a fiendfrom hell; before you canspit three times they'll eat a full-grown buffalo tothe bones. Itell you if you don't clear out at once there'll he nothing leftofyou but a skeleton picked as clean as your own plantation."Leiningen grinned. "Act of God, my eye! Anyway, I'm not anold woman; I'rnnot going to run for it just because anelemental's on the way. And don't thinkI'm the kind of fatheadwho tries to fend off lightning with his fists either. Iuse myintelligence, old man. With me, the brain isn't a secondblindgut; I knowwhat it's there for. When I began this model farmand plantation three yearsago, I took into account all that couldconceivably happen to it. And now I'mready for anything andeverything--including your ants." The Brazilian rose heavilyto his feet. "I've done my best," he gasped."Yourobstinacy endangers not only yourself, but the lives of your fourhundredworkers. You don't know these ants!" Leiningenaccompanied him down to the river, where the Governrnentlaunchwas moored. The vessel cast off. As it moved downstream,the exclamation markneared the rail and began waving its armsfrantically. Long after thc launch haddisappeared round the bend,Leiningen thought he could still hear that dimmingimploringvoice, "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 enoughin the country to seefor himself the fearful devastationssometimes wrought by these ravenous insectsin their campaigns forfood. But since then he had planned measures ofdefenceaccordingly, and these, he was convinced? were in everyway adequate towithstand the approaching peril. Moreover, duringhis three years as a planter, Leiningen had met anddefeateddrought, Hood, plague and all other "acts of God" whichhad comeagainst him-unlike his fellow-settlers in the district,who had made little orno resistance. This unbroken success heattributed solely to the observance ofhis lifelong motto: Thehuman brain needs only to become fully aware of itspowers toconquer even the elements. Dullards reeled senselessly andaimlesslyinto the abyss; cranks, however brilliant, lost theirheads when circumstancessuddenly altered or accelerated and raninto stone walls, sluggards drifted withthe current until theywere caught in whirlpools and dragged under. But suchdisasters,Leiningen contended, merely strengthened his argumentthatintelligence, directed aright, invariably makes man themaster of his fate. Yes, Leiningen had always known how tograpple with life. Even here, in thisBrazilian wilderness, hisbrain had triumphed over every difliculty and dangerit had so farencountered. First he had vanquished primal forces by cunningandorganization, then he had enlisted the resources of modernscience to increasemiraculously the yield of his plantation. Andnow 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 earsfrom other sources. Mostof them had been born in the district;the cry "The ants are coming!'" was tothem animperative signal for instant, panic-stricken flight, a springfor lifeitself. But so great was the Indians' trust in Leiningen,in Leiningen's word,and in Leiningen's wisdom, that they receivedhis curt tidings, and his ordersfor the imminent struggle, withthe calmness with which they were given. Theywaited, unafraid,alert, as if for the beginning of a new game or hunt which hehadjust described to them. The ants were indeed mighty, but not somighty asthe boss. Let them come! They came at noon the secondday. Their approach was announced by the wildunrest of thehorses, scarcely controllable now either in stall or underrider,scenting from afar a vapor instinct with horror. It wasannounced by a stampede of animals, timid and savage, hurtlingpasteach other; jaguars and pumas flashing by nimble stags of thepampas, bulkytapirs, no longer hunters, themselves hunted,outpacing fleet kinkajous,maddened herds of cattle, headslowered, nostrils snorting, rushing throughtribes of lopingmonkeys, chattering in a dementia of terror; then followedthecreeping and springing denizens of bush and steppe, big andlittle rodents,snakes, and lizards. Pell-mell the rabble swarmeddown the hill to the plantation, scatteredright and left beforethe barrier of the water-filled ditch, then sped onwardsto theriver, where, again hindered, they fled along its bank out ofsight. This water-filled ditch was one of the defence measureswhich Leiningen hadlong since prepared against the advent of theants. It encompassed three sidesof the plantation like a hugehorseshoe. Twelve feet across, but not very deep,when dry itcould hardly be described as an obstacle to either man or beast.Butthe ends of the "horseshoe" ran into the river whichformed the northernboundary, and fourth side, of the plantation.And at the end nearer the houseand outbuildings in the middle ofthe plantation, Leiningen had constructed adam by means of whichwater from the river could be diverted into the ditch. So now, byopening the dam, he was able to fling an imposing girdle ofwater,a huge quadrilateral with the river as its base, completelyaround theplantation, like the moat encircling a medieval city.Unless the ants wereclever enough to build rafts. they had nohope of reaching the plantation,Leiningen concluded. The twelve-footwater ditch seemed to afford in itself all the securityneeded.But while awaiting the arrival of the ants, Leiningen made afurtherimprovement. The western section of the ditch ran alongthe edge of a tamarindwood, and the branches of some great treesreached over the water. Leiningen nowhad them lopped so that antscould not descend from them within the "moat." Thewomen and children, then the herds of cattle, were escorted bypeons onrafts over the river, to remain on the other side inabsolute safety until theplunderers had departed. Leiningen gavethis instruction, not because hebelieved the non-combatants werein any danger, but in order to avoid hamperingthe efficiency ofthe defenders. "Critical situations first become crises,"heexplained to his men, "when oxen or women get excited" Finally, he made a careful inspection of the "innermoat"--a smaller ditchlined with concrete, which extendedaround the hill on which stood the ranchhouse, barns, stables andother buildings. Into this concrete ditch emptied theinflow pipesfrom three great petrol tanks. If by some miracle the antsmanagedto cross the water and reached the plantation, this "rampartof petrol,' wouldbe an absolutely impassable protection for thebeseiged and their dwellings andstock. Such, at least, wasLeiningen's opinion. He stationed his men at irregular distancesalong the water ditch, the firstline of defence. Then he lay downin his hammock and puffed drowsily away at hispipe until a peoncame with the report that the ants had been observed far awayinthe South. Leiningen mounted his horse, which at the feel of itsmaster seemed toforget its uneasiness, and rode leisurely in thedirection of the threateningoffensive. The southern stretch ofditch--the upper side of thequadrilateral--was nearly three mileslong; from its center one could survey theentire countryside.This was destined to be the scene of the outbreak of warbetweenLeiningen'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 andbroader, until the shadowspread across the slope from east towest, then downwards, downwards, uncannilyswift, and all thegreen herbage of that wide vista was being mown as by agiantsickle, leaving only the vast moving shadow, extending,deepening, and movingrapidly nearer. When Leiningen's men, behindtheir barrier of water, perceived the approachof the long-expectedfoe, they gave vent to their suspense in screams andimprecations.But as the distance began to lessen between the "sons ofhell" andthe water ditch, they relapsed into silence. Beforethe advance of thatawe-inspiring throng, their belief in thepowers of the boss began to steadilydwindle. Even Leiningenhimself, who had ridden up just in time to restore their lossofheart by a display of unshakable calm, even he could not freehimself from aqualm of malaise. Yonder were thousands of millionsof voracious jaws bearingdown upon him and only a suddenlyinsignificant, narrow ditch lay between himand his men and beinggnawed to the bones "before you can spit three times."Hadn't this brain for once taken on more than it could manage? Iftheblighters decided to rush the ditch, fill it to the brim withtheir corpses,there'd still be more than enough to destroy everytrace of that cranium of his.The planter's chin jutted; theyhadn't got him yet, and he'd see to it theynever would. While hecould think at all, he'd flout both death and the devil. Thehostile army was approaching in perfect formation; no humanbattalions,however well-drilled, could ever hope to rival theprecision of that advance.Along a front that moved forward asuniformly as a straight line, the ants drewnearer and nearer tothe water ditch. Then, when they learned through theirscouts thenature of the obstacle, the two outlying wings of the armydetachedthemselves from the main body and marched down thewestern and eastern sides ofthe ditch. This surrounding maneuvertook rather more than an hour to accomplish; nodoubt the antsexpected that at some point they would find a crossing. Duringthis outflanking movement by the wings, the army on the centerandsouthern front remained still. The besieged were thereforeable to contemplateat their leisure the thumb-long, reddishblack, long-legged insects; some of theIndians believed theycould see, too, intent on them, the brilliant, cold eyes,and therazor-edged mandibles, of this host of infinity. It is not easyfor the average person to imagine that an animal, not tomentionan insect, can think. But now both the European brain ofLeiningen andthe primitive brains of the Indians began to stirwith the unpleasant forebodingthat inside every single one ofthat deluge of insects dwelt a thought. And thatthought was:Ditch or no ditch, we'll get to your flesh! Not until fouro'clock did the wings reach the "horseshoe" ends oftheditch, only to find these ran into the great river. Throughsome kind of secrettelegraphy, the report must then have flashedvery swiftly indeed along theentire enemy line. And Leiningen,riding--no longer casually--along his side ofthe ditch, noticedby energetic and widespread movements of troops that forsomeunknown reason the news of the check had its greatest effecton the southernfront, where the main army was massed. Perhaps thefailure to find a way overthe ditch was persuading the ants towithdraw from the plantation in search ofspoils more easilyattainable. An immense flood of ants, about a hundred yards inwidth, was pouring in aglimmering-black cataract down the farslope of the ditch. Many thousands werealready drowning in thesluggish creeping flow, but they were followed by troopaftertroop, who clambered over their sinking comrades, and thenthemselvesserved as dying bridges to the reserves hurrying on intheir rear. Shoals of ants were being carried away by the currentinto the middle of theditch, where gradually they broke asunderand then, exhausted by theirstruggles, vanished below the surface.Nevertheless, the wavering, flounderinghundred-yard front wasremorselessly if slowly advancing towards the beseiged ontheother bank. Leiningen had been wrong when he supposed the enemywould firsthave to fill the ditch with their bodies before theycould cross; instead, theymerely needed to act as steppingstones,as they swam and sank, to the hordesever pressing onwards frombehind. Near Leiningen a few mounted herdsmen awaited his orders.He sent one to theweir-the river must be dammed more strongly toincrease the speed and power ofthe water coursing through theditch. A second peon was dispatched to the outhouses to bringspades and petrolsprinklers. A third rode away to summon to thezone of the offensive all themen, except the observation posts,on the near-by sections of the ditch, whichwere not yet activelythreatened. The ants were getting across far more quickly thanLeiningen would havedeemed possible. Impelled by the mightycascade behind them, they strugglednearer and nearer to the innerbank. The momentum of the attack was so greatthat neither thetardy flow of the stream nor its downward pull could exertitsproper force; and into the gap left by every submerginginsect, hastened forwarda dozen more. When reinforcements reachedLeiningen, the invaders were halfway over. Theplanter had toadmit to himself that it was only by a stroke of luck for himthatthe ants were attempting the crossing on a relatively short front:had theyassaulted simultaneously along the entire length of theditch, the outlook forthe defenders would have been black indeed.Even as it was, it could hardly be described as rosy, though theplanterseemed quite unaware that death in a gruesome form wasdrawing closer andcloser. As the war between his brain and the"act of God'' reached its climax,the very shadow ofannihilation began to pale to Leiningen, who now felt likeachampion in a new Olympic game, a gigantic and thrillingcontest, from which hewas determined to emerge victor. Such,indeed, was his aura of confidence thatthe Indians forgot theirstupefied fear of the peril only a yard or two away;under theplanter's supervision, they began fervidly digging up to the edgeofthe bank and throwing clods of earth and spadefuls of sand intothe midst of thehostile fleet. The petrol sprinklers, hithertoused to destroy pests and blights on theplantation, were alsobrought into action. Streams of evil-reeking oil nowsoared andfell over an enemy already in disorder through the bombardmentofearth and sand. The ants responded to these vigorous andsuccessful measures of defence byfurther developments of theiroffensive. Entire clumps of huddling insects beganto roll downthe opposite bank into the water. At the same time,Leiningennoticed that the ants were now attacking along an ever-wideningfront. As thenumbers both of his men and his petrol sprinklerswere severely limited, thisrapid extension of the line of battlewas becoming an overwhelming danger. To add to his difficulties,the very clods of earth they flung into thatblack floating carpetoften whirled fragments toward the defenders' side, andhere andthere dark ribbons were already mounting the inner bank. True,wherevera man saw these they could still be driven back into thewater by spadefuls ofearth or jets of petrol. But the file ofdefenders was too sparse and scatteredto hold off at all pointsthese landing parties, and though the peons toiledlike madmen,their plight became momentarily more perilous. One man struckwith his spade at an enemy clump, did not draw it backquicklyenough from the water; in a trice the wooden shaft swarmed withupwardscurrying insects. With a curse, he dropped the spade intothe ditch; too late,they were already on his body. They lost notime; wherever they encountered bareflesh they bit deeply; a few,bigger than the rest, carried in theirhind-quarters a sting whichinjected a burning and paralyzing venom. Screaming,frantic withpain, the peon danced and twirled like a dervish. Realizing thatanother such casualty, yes, perhaps this alone, might plungehismen into confusion and destroy their morale, Leiningen roared ina bellowlouder than the yells of the victim: "Into thepetrol, idiot! Douse your paws inthe petrol!" The dervishceased his pirouette as if transfixed, then tore of hisshirt andplunged his arm and the ants hanging to it up to the shoulder inoneof the large open tins of petrol. But even then the fiercemandibles did notslacken; another peon had to help him squash anddetach each separate insect. Distracted by the episode, somedefenders had turned away from the ditch.And now cries of fury, athudding of spades, and a wild trampling to and fro,showed thatthe ants had made full use of the interval, though luckily onlyafew had managed to get across. The men set to work againdesperately with thebarrage of earth and sand. Meanwhile an oldIndian, who acted as medicine-man tothe plantation workers, gavethe 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 observerwould haveestimated the odds against him at a thousand to one.But then such an on-lookerwould have reckoned only by what he saw--theadvance of myriad battalions ofants against the futile efforts ofa few defenders--and not by the unseenactivity that can go on ina man's brain. For Leiningen had not erred when he decided hewould fight elemental withelemental. The water in the ditch wasbeginning to rise; the stronger damming ofthe river was makingitself apparent. Visibly the swiftness and power of the masses ofwater increased, swirlinginto quicker and quicker movement itsliving black surface, dispersing itspattern, carrying away moreand more of it on the hastening current. Victory had beensnatched from the very jaws of defeat. With a hystericalshout ofjoy, the peons feverishly intensified their bombardment of earthclodsand sand. And now the wide cataract down the opposite bankwas thinning and ceasing,as if the ants were becoming aware thatthey could not attain their aim. Theywere scurrying back up theslope to safety. All the troops so far hurled into the ditch hadbeen sacrificed in vain.Drowned and floundering insects eddied inthousands along the flow, whileIndians running on the bankdestroyed every swimmer that reached the side. Not until theditch curved towards the east did the scattered ranksassembleagain in a coherent mass. And now, exhausted and half-numbed,they were in nocondition to ascend the bank. Fusillades of clodsdrove them round the bendtowards the mouth of the ditch and theninto the river, wherein they vanishedwithout leaving a trace. Thenews ran swiftly along the entire chain of outposts, and soon alongscattered line of laughing men could be seen hastening alongthe ditch towardsthc scene of victory. For once they seemed tohave lost all their native reserve, for it was inwild abandon nowthey celebrated the triumph--as if there were no longerthousandsof millions of merciless, cold and hungry eyes watching thernfrom theopposite bank, watching and waiting. The sun sank behindthe rim of the tamarind wood ancl twilight deepened intonight. Itwas not only hoped but expected that the ants would remain quietuntildawn. "But to defeat any forlorn attempt at a crossing,the flow of waterthrough the ditch was powerfully increased byopening the dam still further. In spite of this impregnablebarrier, Leiningen was not yet altogetherconvinced that the antswould not venture another surprise attack. He orderedhis men tocamp along the bank overnight. He also detailed parties of themtopatrol the ditch in two of his motor cars and ceaselessly toilluminate thesurface of the water with headlights and electrictorches. After having taken all the precautions he deemednecessary, the farmer atehis supper with considerable appetiteand went to bed. His slumbers were in nowise disturbed by thememory of the waiting, live, twenty square miles. Dawn found athoroughly refreshed and active Leiningen riding along the edgeofthe ditch. The planter saw before him a motionless and unalteredthrong ofbesiegers. He studied the wide belt of water betweenthem and the plantation,and for a moment almost regretted thatthe fight had ended so soon and sosimply. In the comforting,matter-of-fact light of morning, it seemed to him nowthat theants hadn't the ghost of a chance to cross the ditch. Even iftheyplunged headlong into it on all three fronts at once, theforce of the nowpowerful current would inevitably sweep them away.He had got quite a thrill outof the fight--a pity it was alreadyover. He rode along the eastern and southern sections of theditch and foundeverything in order. He reached the westernsection, opposite the tamarind wood,and here, contrary to theother battle fronts, he found the enemy very busyindeed. Thetrunks and branches of the trees and the creepers of the lianas,onthe far bank of the ditch, fairly swarmed with industriousinsects. But insteadof eating the leaves there and then, theywere merely gnawing through thestalks, so that a thick greenshower fell steadily to the ground. No doubt they were victualingcolumns sent out to obtain provender for therest of the army. Thediscovery did not surprise Leiningen. He did not need tobe toldthat ants are intelligent, that certain species even use othersas milchcows, watchdogs and slaves. He was well aware of theirpower of adaptation,their sense of discipline, their marveloustalent for organization. His belief that a foray to supply thearmy was in progress was strengthenedwhen he saw the leaves thatfell to the ground being dragged to the troopswaiting outside thewood. Then all at once he realized the aim that rain ofgreen wasintended to serve. Each single leaf, pulled or pushed by dozensof toiling insects, was bornestraight to the edge of the ditch.Even as Macbeth watched the approach ofBirnam Wood in the handsof his enemies, Leiningen saw the tamarind wood movenearer andnearer in the mandibles of the ants. Unlike the fey Scot,however, hedid not lose his nerve; no witches had prophesied hisdoom, and if they had hewould have slept just as soundly. All thesame, he was forced to admit tohimself that the situation was farmore ominous than that of the day before. He had thought itimpossible for the ants to build rafts forthemselves--well, herethey were, coming in thousands, more than enough tobridge theditch. Leaves after leaves rustled down the slope into thewater,where the current drew them away from the bank and carriedthem into midstream.And every single leaf carried several ants.This time the farmer did not trustto the alacrity of hismessengers. He galloped away, leaning from his saddle andyellingorders as he rushed past outpost after outpost: "Bringpetrol pumps tothe southwest front! Issue spades to every manalong the line facing the wood!"And arrived at the easternand southern sections, he dispatched every man excepttheobservation posts to the menaced west. Then, as he rode past thestretch where the ants had failed to cross the daybefore, hewitnessed a brief but impressive scene. Down the slope of thedistanthill there came towards him a singular being, writhingrather man running, ananimal-like blackened statue with shapelesshead and four quivering feet thatknuckled under almostceaselessly. When the creature reached the far bank of theditchand collapsed opposite Leiningen, he recognized it as a pampasstag,covered over and over with ants. It had strayed near thezone of the army. As usual, they had attacked itseyes first.Blinded, it had reeled in the madness of hideous tormentstraightinto the ranks of its persecutors, and now the beastswayed to and fro in itsdeath agony. With a shot from his rifleLeiningen put it out of its misery. Then hepulled out his watch.He hadn't a second to lose, but for life itself he couldnot havedenied his curiosity the satisfaction of knowing how long theantswould take--for personal reasons, so to speak. After sixminutes the whitepolished bones alone remained. That's how hehimself would look before youcan--Leiningen spat once, and putspurs to his horse. The sporting zest with which the excitementof the novel contest hadinspired him the day before had nowvanished; in its place was a cold andviolent purpose. He wouldsend these vermin back to the hell where theybelonged, somehow,anyhow. Yes, but how was indeed the question; as things stoodatpresent it looked as if the devils would raze him and his menfrom the earthinstead. He had underestimated the might of theenerny; he really would have tobestir himself if he hoped tooutwit them. The biggest danger now, he decided, was the pointwhere the western sectionof the ditch curved southwards. Andarrived there, he found his worstexpectations justified. The verypower of the current had huddled the leaves andtheir crews ofants so close together at the bend that the bridge wasalmostready. True, streams of petrol and clumps of earth stillprevented a landing. Butthe number of floating leaves wasincreasing ever more swiftly. It cou]d not belong now before astretch of water a mile in length was decked by a greenpontoonover which the ants could rush in millions. Leiningen galloped totlhe weir. The damming of the river was controlled bya wheel onits bank. The planter ordered the man at the wheel first to lowerthewater in the ditch almost to vanishing point, next to wait amoment, thensuddenly to let the river in again. This maneuver oflowering and raising thesurface, of decreasing then increasingthe flow of water through the ditch wasto be repeated over andover again until further notice. This tactic was at firstsuccessful. The water in the ditch sank, and withit the film ofleaves. The green fleet nearly reached the bed and the troopsonthe far bank swarmed down the slope to it. Then a violent flowof water at theoriginal depth raced through the ditch,overwhelming leaves and ants, andsweeping them along. Thisintermittent rapid flushing prevented just in time the almostcompletedfording of the ditch. But it also flung here and theresquads of the enemyvanguard simultaneously up the inner bank.These seemed to know their duty onlytoo well, and lost no timeaccomplishing it. The air rang with the curses ofbitten Indians.They had removed their shirts and pants to detect the quickertheupwards-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 anddrowned ants away with it. It loweredonce more nearly to its bed;but this time the exhausted defenders waited invain for the flushof destruction. Leiningen sensed disaster; something musthavegone wrong with the machinery of the dam. Then a sweating peontore up tohim-- "They're over!" While the besieged wereconcentrating upon the defence of the stretchopposite the wood,the seemingly unaffected line beyond the wood had becomethetheatre of decisive action. Here the defenders' front wassparse and scattered;everyone who could be spared had hurriedaway to the south. Just as the man at the weir had lowered thewater almost to the bed of theditch, the ants on a wide frontbegan another attempt at a direct crossing likethat of thepreceding day. Into the emptied bed poured an irresistible throng.Rushingacross the ditch, they attained the inner bank before the slow-wittedIndiansfully grasped the situation. Their frantic screams dumfounded theman atthe weir. Before he could direct the river anew into thesafeguarding bed he sawhimself surrounded by raging ants. He ranlike the others, ran for his life. When Leiningen heard this, heknew the plantation was doomed. He wasted notime bemoaning theinevitable. For as long as there was the slightest chanceofsuccess, he had stood his ground, and now any furtherresistance was bothuseless and dangerous. He fired three revolvershots into the air--theprearranged signal for his men to retreatinstantly within the "inner moat."Then he rode towardsthe ranch house. This was two miles from the point of invasion.There was therefore timeenough to prepare the second line ofdefence against the advent of the ants. Ofthe three great petrolcisterns near the house, one had already been halfemptied by theconstant withdrawals needed for the pumps during the fight atthewater ditch. The remaining petrol in it was now drawn offthrough undergroundpipes into the concrete trench which encircledthe ranch house and itsoutbuildings. And there, drifting in twosand threes, Leiningen's men reached him. Most ofthem wereobviously trying to preserve an air of calm and indifference,belied,however, by their restless glances and knitted brows. Onecould see their beliefin a favorable outcome of the struggle wasalready considerably shaken. The planter called his peons aroundhim. "Well, lads," he began, "we've lost the firstround. But we'll smash thebeggars yet, don't you worry. Anyonewho thinks otherwise can draw his pay hereand now and push off.There are rafts enough to spare on the river and plenty oftimestill to reach 'em." Not a man stirred. Leiningenacknowledged his silent vote of confidence with a laugh thatwashalf a grunt. "That's the stuff, lads. Too bad if you'dmissed the rest of theshow, eh? Well, the fun won't start tillmorning. Once these blighters turntail, there'll be plenty ofwork for everyone and higher wages all round. Andnow run alongand get something to eat; you've earned it all right." Inthe excitement of the fight the greater part of the day hadpassedwithout the men once pausing to snatch a bite. Now that theants were for thetime being out of sight, and the "wall ofpetrol" gave a stronger feeling ofsecurity, hungry stomachsbegan to assert their claims. The bridges over the concrete ditchwere 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 whatlaybeyond the evil-reeking barrier; the abundant spoils of theplantation were themain attraction. Soon the trees, shrubs andbeds for miles around were hulledwith ants zealously gobbling theyield of long weary months of strenuous toil. As twilight beganto fall, a cordon of ants marched around the petroltrench, but asyet made no move towards its brink. Leiningen posted sentrieswithheadlights and electric torches, then withdrew to his office, andbegan toreckon up his losses. He estimated these as large, but,in comparison with hisbank balance, by no means unbearable. Heworked out in some detail a scheme ofintensive cultivation whichwould enable him, before very long, to more thancompensatehimself for the damage now being wrought to his crops. It waswith acontented mind that he finally betook himself to bed wherehe slept deeply untildawn, undisturbed by any thought that nextday 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 everydirection there wasnothing but a black, glittering multitude, amultitude of rested, sated, butnone the less voracious ants: yes,look as far as one might, one could seenothing but that rustlingblack throng, except in the north, where the greatriver drew aboundary they could not hope to pass. But even the highstonebreakwater, along the bank of the river, which Leiningen hadbuilt as a defenceagainst inundations, was, like the paths, theshorn trees and shrubs, the grounditself, black with ants. Sotheir greed was not glutted in razing that vast plantation? Notby a longshot; they were all the more eager now on a rich andcertain booty--four hundredmen, numerous horses, and burstinggranaries. At first it seemed that the petrol trench would serveits purpose. Thebesiegers sensed the peril of swimming it, andmade no move to plunge blindlyover its brink. Instead theydevised a better maneuver; they began to collectshreds of bark,twigs and dried leaves and dropped these into the petrol.Everythinggreen, which could have been similarly used, had long sincebeeneaten. After a time, though, a long procession could be seenbringing from thewest the tamarind leaves used as rafts the daybefore. Since the petrol, unlike the water in the outer ditch,was perfectly still,the refuse stayed where it was thrown. It wasseveral hours before the antssucceeded in covering an appreciablepart of the surface. At length, however,they were ready toproceed to a direct attack. Their storm troops swarmed down theconcrete side, scrambled over thesupporting surface of twigs andleaves, and impelled these over the fewremaining streaks of openpetrol until tlhey reached the other side. Then theybegan toclimb up this to make straight for the helpless garrison. Duringthe entire offensive, the planter sat peacefully, watching themwithinterest, but not stirring a muscle. Moreover, he had orderedhis men not todisturb in any way whatever the advancing horde. Sothey squatted listlesslyalong the bank of the ditch and waitedfor a sign from the boss. The petrol wasnow covered with ants. Afew had climbed the inner concrete wall and werescurrying towardsthe defenders. "Everyone back from the ditch!" roaredLeiningen. The men rushed away,without the slightest idea of hisplan. He stooped forward and cautiouslvdropped into the ditch astone which split the floating carpet and its livingfreight, toreveal a gleaming patch of petrol. A match spurted, sank down totheoily surface--Leiningen sprang back; in a flash a toweringrampart of fireencompassed the garrison. This spectacular andinstant repulse threw the Indians into ecstasy. Theypplauded,yelled and stamped, like children at a pantomime. Had it not beenforthe awe in which they held the boss, they would infalliblyhave carried himshoulder high. It was some time before the petrolburned down to the bed of the ditch, andthe wall of smoke andflame began to lower. The ants had retreated in a widecircle fromthe devastation, and innumerable charred fragments along theouterbank showed that the flames had spread from the holocaust inthe ditch well intothe ranks beyond, where they had wrought havocfar and wide. Yet the perseverance of the ants was by no meansbroken; indeed, eachsetback seemed only to whet it. The concretecooled, the flicker of the dyingflames wavered and vanished,petrol from the second tank poured into thetrench--and the antsmarched forward anew to the attack. The foregoing scene repeateditself in every detail, except that on thisoccasion less time wasneeded to bridge the ditch, for the petrol was nowalready filmedby a layer of ash. Once again they withdrew; once againpetrolflowed into the ditch. Would the creatures never learn thattheir self-sacriflcewas utterly senseless? It really wassenseless, wasn't it? Yes, of course it wassenseless--providedthe defenders had an unlimited supply of petrol. When Leiningenreached this stage of reasoning, he felt for the first timesincethe arrival of the ants that his confidence was deserting him.His skinbegan to creep; he loosened his collar. Once the devilswere over the trenchthere wasn't a chance in hell for him and hismen. God, what a prospect, to beeaten alive like that! For thethird time the flames immolated the attacking troops, andburneddown to extinction. Yet the ants were coming on again as ifnothing hadhappened. And meanwhile Leiningen had made a discoverythat chilled him to thebone-petrol was no longer flowing into theditch. Something must be blocking theoutflow pipe of the thirdand last cistern-a snake or a dead rat? Whatever itwas, the antscould be held of3 no longer, unless petrol could by some methodbeled from the cistern into the ditch. Then Leiningen rememberedthat in an outhouse nearby were two old disusedfire engines. Spryas never before in their lives, the peons dragged them out oftheshed, connected their pumps to the cistern, uncoiled and laid thehose. Theywere just in time to aim a stream of petrol at a columnof ants that had alreadycrossed and drive them back down theincline into the ditch. Once more an oilygirdle surrounded thegarrison, once more it was possible to hold theposition--for themoment. It was obvious, however, that this last resource meantonly the postponementof defeat and death. A few of the peons fellon their knees and began to pray;others, shrieking insanely,fired their revolvers at the black, advancingmasses, as if theyfelt their despair was pitiful enough to sway fate itself tomercy.At length, two of the men's nerves broke: Leiningen saw a nakedIndian leapover the north side of the petrol trench, quicklyfollowed by a second. Theysprinted with incredible speed towardsthe river. But their fleetness did notsave them; long before theycould attain the rafts, the enemy covered theirbodies from headto foot. In the agony of their torment, both sprang blindly intothe wide river,where enemies no less sinister awaited them. Wildscreams of mortal anguishinformed the breathless onlookers thatcrocodiles and sword-toothed piranhaswere no less ravenous thanants, and even nimbler in reaching their prey. In spite of thisbloody warning, more and more men showed they were makingup theirminds to run the blockade. Anything, even a fight midstreamagainstalligators, seemed better than powerlessly waiting fordeath to come and slowlyconsume their living bodies. Leiningenflogged his brain till it reeled. Was there nothing on earthcouldsweep this devil's spawn back into the hell from which itcame? Then out of the inferno of his bewilderment rose aterrifying inspiration.Yes, one hope remained, and one alone. Itmight be possible to dam the greatriver completely, so that itswaters would fill not only the water ditch butoverflow into theentire gigantic "saucer" of land in which lay theplantation. The far bank of the river was too high for the watersto escape that way.The stone breakwater ran between the river andthe plantation; its only gapsoccurred where the "horseshoe"ends of the water ditch passed into the river. Soits waters wouldnot only be forced to inundate into the plantation, theywouldalso be held there by the breakwater until they rose to itsown high level. Inhalf an hour, perhaps even earlier, theplantation and its hostile army ofoccupation would be flooded.The ranch house and outbuildings stood upon rising ground. Theirfoundationswere higher than the breakwater, so the flood wouldnot reach them. And anyremaining ants trying to ascend the slopecould be repulsed by petrol. It was possible--yes, if one couldonly get to the dam! A distance of nearlytwo miles lay betweenthc ranch house and the weir--two miles of ants. Those twopeonshad managed only a fifth of that distance at the cost of theirlives. Wasthere an Indian daring enough after that to run thegauntlet five times as far?Hardly likely; and if there were, hisprospect of getting back was almost nil. No, there was only onething for it, he'd have to make the attempt himself;he might justas well be running as sitting still, anyway, when the antsfinallygot him. Besides, there was a bit of a chance. Perhaps theants weren't soalmighty, after all; perhaps he had allowed themass suggestion of that evilblack throng to hypnotize him, justas a snake fascinates and overpowers. The ants were buildingtheir bridges. Leiningen got up on a chair. "Hey,lads,listen to me!" he cried. Slowly and listlessly, from allsides of thetrench, the men began to shuffle towards him, theapathy of death alreadystamped on their faces. "Listen, lads!"he shouted. "You're frightened of those beggars, but you'readamn sight more frightened of me, and I'm proud of you. There'sstill a chanceto save our lives--by flooding the plantation fromthe river. Now one of youmight manage to get as far as the weir--buthe'd never come back. Well, I'm notgoing to let you try it; if Idid 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 theditch, set fire to the petrol. That'll allow timefor the flood todo the trick. Then all you have to do is wait here all snugandquiet till I'm back. Yes, I'm coming back, trust me"--hegrinned--"when I'vefinished my slimming-cure." Hepulled on high leather boots, drew heavy gauntlets over hishands, 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, knowingtoo 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 toset off, when the old Indian medicine man came up to him; hehad awondrous salve, he said, prepared from a species of chafer whoseodor wasintolerable to ants. Yes, this odor protected thesechafers from the attacks ofeven the most murderous ants. TheIndian smeared the boss' boots, his gauntlets,and his face overand over with the extract. Leiningen then remembered theparalyzing effect of ants' venom, and theIndian gave him a gourdfull of the medicine he had administered to the bittenpeon at thewater ditch. The planter drank it down without noticing itsbittertaste; his mind was already at the weir. He started oftowards the northwest corner of the trench. With a bound hewasover--and among the ants. The beleaguered garrison had noopportunity to watch Leiningen's raceagainst death. The ants wereclimbing the inner bank again-the lurid ring ofpetrol blazedaloft. For the fourth time that day the reflection from thefireshone on the sweating faces of the imprisoned men, and on thereddish-blackcuirasses of their oppressors. The red and blue,dark-edged flames leapedvividly now, celebrating what? Thefuneral pyre of the four hundred, or of thehosts of destruction?Leiningen ran. He ran in long, equal strides, with onlyonethought, one sensation, in his being--he must get through. Hedodged alltrees and shrubs; except for the split seconds hissoles touched the ground theants should have no opportunity toalight on him. That they would get to himsoon, despite the salveon his boots, the petrol in his clothes, he realizedonly toowell, but he knew even more surely that he must, and that hewould, getto the weir. Apparently the salve was some use afterall; not until he reached halfwaydid he feel ants under hisclothes, and a few on his face. Mechanically, in hisstride, hestruck at them, scarcely conscious of their bites. He saw hewasdrawing appreciably nearer the weir--the distance grew lessand less--sank tofive hundred--three--two--one hundred yards.Then he was at the weir and gripping the ant-hulled wheel. Hardlyhad heseized it when a horde of infuriated ants flowed over hishands, arms andshoulders. He started the wheel--before it turnedonce on its axis the swarmcovered his face. Leiningen strainedlike a madman, his lips pressed tight; ifhe opened them to drawbreath. . . . He turned and turned; slowly the dam lowered untilit reached the bed of theriver. Already the water was overflowingthe ditch. Another minute, and theriver was pouring through thenear-by gap in the breakwater. The flooding of theplantation hadbegun. Leiningen let go the wheel. Now, for the first time, herealized he wascoated from head to foot with a layer of ants. Inspite of the petrol hisclothes were full of them, several had gotto his body or were clinging to hisface. Now that he hadcompleted his task, he felt the smart raging over hisflesh fromthe bites of sawing and piercing insects. Frantic with pain, healmost plunged into the river. To be ripped and splashed toshreds by paranhas? Already he was running the returnjourney,knocking ants from his gloves and jacket, brushing themfrom 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 itsetching acid drilled into theeye nerves; he saw now throughcircles of fire into a milky mist, then he ranfor a time almostblinded, knowing that if he once tripped and fell.... TheoldIndian's brew didn't seem much good; it weakened the poison abit, but didn'tget rid of it. His heart pounded as if it wouldburst; blood roared in his ears;a giant's fist battered his lungs.Then he could see again, but the burning girdle of petrolappearedinfinitely far away; he could not last half that distance.Swift-changingpictures flashed through his head, episodes in hislife, while in another partof his brain a cool and impartialonlooker informed this ant-blurred, gasping,exhausted bundlenamed Leiningen that such a rushing panorama of scenes fromone'spast 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 . . . itwasimpossible . . . the slightest movement was impossible . . . .Then all at once he saw, starkly clear and huge, and, rightbefore his eyes,furred with ants, towering and swaying in itsdeath agony, the pampas stag. Insix minutes--gnawed to the bones.God, he couldn't die like that! And somethingoutside him seemedto drag him to his feet. He tottered. He began to staggerforwardagain. Through the blazing ring hurtled an apparition which, assoon as it reachedthe ground on the inner side, fell full lengthand did not move. Leiningen, atthe moment he made that leapthrough the flames, lost consciousness for thefirst time in hislife. As he lay there, with glazing eyes and lacerated face,heappeared a man returned from the grave. The peons rushed to him,stripped offhis clothes, tore away the ants from a body thatseemed almost one open wound;in some paces the bones were showing.They carried him into the ranch house. As the curtain of flameslowered, one could see in place of the illimitablehost of ants anextensive vista of water. The thwarted river had swept overtheplantation, carrying with it the entire army. The water hadcollected andmounted in the great "saucer," while theants had in vain attempted to reach thehill on which stood theranch house. The girdle of flames held them back. And soimprisoned between water and fire, they had been delivered intotheannihilation that was their god. And near the farther mouth ofthe water ditch,where the stone mole had its second gap, theocean swept the lost battalionsinto the river, to vanish forever.The ring of fire dwindled as the water mounted to the petroltrench, andquenched the dimming flames. The inundation rosehigher and higher: because itsoutflow was impeded by the timberand underbrush it had carried along with it,its surface requiredsome time to reach the top of the high stone breakwateranddischarge over it the rest of the shattered army. It swelledover ant-stippled shrubs and bushes, until it washed againstthefoot of the knoll whereon the besieged had taken refuge. For awhile an alluvialof ants tried again and again to attain this dryland, only to be repulsed bystreams of petrol back into themerciless flood. Leiningen lay on his bed, his body swathed fromhead to foot in bandages.With fomentations and salves, they hadmanaged to stop the bleeding, and haddressed his many wounds. Nowthey thronged around him, one question in everyface. Would herecover? "He won't die," said the old man who hadbandaged him,"if he doesn't want to.'' The planter openedhis eyes. "Everything in order?'' he asked. "They'regone,'' said his nurse. "To hell." He held out to hismaster agourd full of a powerful sleeping draught. Leiningengulped it down. "I told you I'd come back," hemurmured, "even if I am a bit streamlined."He grinnedand shut his eyes. He slept.