Homes Without Hands: Being a Description of the Habitations of Animals, Classed According to Their Principle of Construction

The covers of the cells are not precisely perpendicular, but radiate slightly from the centre of each comb or terrace. Nor is the flooring precisely flat, for the edges of each comb are slightly raised, so as to form a trifling concavity in the centre. At their mouths, the cells are perfectly hexagonal—those, at all events, which occupy the centre of each comb; but their bases are always cup-shaped, the walls changing gradually into hexagons as the cells increase in height, or, to be more accurate, in depth. When viewed from above, the forms of the bases are plainly perceptible, and they look very like the mosaic teeth in a skate's jaw.

The successive layers of which the cell-walls are composed can be easily seen when the comb is held to a strong side light; and it sometimes happens that the Wasp finds pieces of paper lying near the nest, bites them to pieces in the same manner that it bites the wood-fibres, and then uses them for its nest. I have seen a nest which was made almost entirely of the blue and white paper used for cartridges, the Wasps having taken advantage of the expended papers, and used them instead of taking the trouble to gnaw hard wood. The covering of the nest is of much rougher texture than the cells themselves, and looks like a number of tiny oyster-shells piled on each other like the "grotto" of metropolitan children. It is made very simply by laying a lump of the fibrous paste upon the nest, and sweeping it backward and forward to flatten it, just as a bricklayer spreads a lump of mortar with his trowel. No attempt is made to smooth the surface, and the impression of the little architect's head can be seen upon each successive patch, or tile, if we may so call it.

This woody fibre seems but a flimsy substance for the materials of a nest which can contain so many individuals. In a large nest there are always from two to three thousand inhabitants, more than half that number being the fat and weighty grubs. If the insects were removed from the nest, and placed in a pair of scales, their united mass would be so heavy as to cause a feeling of wonder that so slight a habitation could endure their weight. The walls, however, are stronger than they seem to be, and the hexagonal shape of the cells affords such mutual support that the walls can not only bear the weight of the insects within them, but, as has already been mentioned, are strong enough to uphold a series of cells that are suspended to them.

At the end of the season, after successive bands of worker wasps have passed through the cells, and the single generation of the males and females has come to maturity, the nest shows symptoms of dissolution. If there are any grubs still left in the comb, the workers at once change their behavior. Instead of feeding and tending them with jealous care, instead of defending them at the risk of their own lives, they pull these helpless white things out of their cradles, carry them far out of the nest, and abandon them. It seems a cruelty, and so it is; but it is a cruel mercy, substituting a quick death by exposure, or, perchance, being eaten by birds, for a slow and lingering death by starvation within the nest. For the instinct of the workers tells them that their labor is over, and their course is run, and that in a short time they will all die of old age, so that the helpless nurslings in the cells would find no food, and must perish by starvation.

At last the entire population deserts the nest, the workers die, and so do all the males, none of them surviving their brief wedlock for more than a few hours; and the majority of the females die also, some from exposure to cold, and others by a violent death. Those, however, that are fortunate enough to find a crevice in which they can lie dormant during the long months of winter, creep into it, and there remain until the following spring, when they emerge to be the queens and mothers of future colonies. It is a remarkable fact that the Wasp never passes the winter in the nest, convenient as that spot may seem, but always seeks some other place of refuge. The reader will now comprehend that, whenever a Wasp is seen in the spring-tide, it is one of the females which have survived the winter, and is about to found a new colony. Those, therefore, who pride themselves on their wall-fruit will do well to kill such Wasps, inasmuch as a single queen Wasp in spring is equivalent to many thousand Wasps in autumn.

Three species of burrowing Wasps inhabit England—namely, the common Wasp, which has just been described; the German Wasp (Vespa Germanica), distinguished from the preceding species by having three black spots at the root of the first ring of the abdomen; and the Red Wasp (Vespa rufa), known by the black anchor on the top of the head, and the reddish-yellow limbs.

Mr. F. Smith mentions a very remarkable circumstance connected with the removal of Wasp grubs by the worker. "There is a point which I have more than once witnessed in the history of Wasps, which does not appear to have been recorded. In the spring I have found as many as three nests in a bank, not more than two hundred yards apart; and on visiting the spot a month or so later, I observed no Wasps issuing from the first nest, and, on digging into the bank, discovered that it was deserted, a single empty comb alone remaining. I then passed on to the second nest, and was surprised to observe a few Wasps come out, each carrying something away; at length I captured one, and found it was conveying larvæ from the nest. I traced them in their flight, and was astonished to see a Wasp enter the third nest with a larva from the nest No. 2.

"Here there is a mystery which time will unravel, but which I am unable to determine. Were the larvæ carried off to be nursed, and to add to the swarm, or were they destined to become the food of the larvæ of the nest in the freebooter community? I have several times observed that swarms had deserted their nests, but have only once witnessed any thing which would in any way account for such a proceeding."

Sometimes the Wasp dispenses with a burrow and becomes a builder, placing its nest on a beam or under a thatched roof. In this case the outer shell of the nest is much more handsome than that which surrounds the subterranean combs, being of a yellowish-brown color, and the individual flakes of which it is composed being sharply defined. They are more porous than the ordinary gray flakes of the underground nest, and are less capable of resisting moisture. Before concluding this account of the Wasp and its nest, I may mention that the character of the insect has been generally misunderstood. The popular impression is, that the Wasp derives some especial gratification from the act of stinging, is of a savage and malicious disposition, and lives wholly upon the proceeds of theft. Now, in fact, the Wasp never stings until it is compelled to do so, either by alarm or when it retaliates upon an adversary. It seldom survives the act of stinging, because the secreted point of its weapon is held in the wound, and in many cases the entire poison bag and gland are torn out of the body together with the sting itself. In defense of its home it can be fierce enough, as indeed it ought to be, and cares nothing for its own life, provided that it can only inflict a wound upon the enemy.

The reader may perhaps be surprised to hear that Wasps can be kept as easily as bees, and that, like those insects, they never injure those with whom they are familiar. Indeed, they are even less likely to sting than the hive-bees, whose olfactory nerves are so sensitive that they assault any passenger who happens to have been recently smoking, or who has used perfume of any kind. Bees usually treat me very well; but during the last summer, as I was looking at a neighboring hive, the bees began to dash past me with that peculiar menacing sound which always heralds an attack. Taking warning by the sound, I retired quietly to the farther end of the garden, but was followed even there by one pertinacious enemy, who at last made a dash at my face, and passed on, leaving its sting as a memorial of its anger. I afterward discovered that a handkerchief in my breast-coat pocket retained a faint scent of eau de Cologne. Now, if the assailants had been Wasps instead of bees, a by-stander would assuredly have considered the attack as a proof of the malignant nature of the Wasp.

BEFORE taking leave of the earth-burrowing hymenoptera, it will be necessary to mention two very remarkable insects which are described by Mr. Bates, in his well-known "Naturalist in the River Amazon." Neither of the insects have any popular name.

The first is called Monedula signata, and is a handsome-looking insect, very much resembling an ordinary wasp, and ornamented, like that insect, with bold black marks on the thorax and abdomen. The antennæ, however, are twisted, and at once prove that the creature is but distantly related to the true wasp. The burrows of this insect seem to be made only in the sand-banks which project above the surface of the river; so that they would not be discovered by ordinary travelers. Fortunately for the residents in that part of the country, the Monedula stores its nest with one of the most obnoxious insects that haunt the Amazon River. This is the Motuca fly (Hadrus lepidotus), an insignificant-looking creature, smaller than an ordinary house-fly, and of a bronze-black color, with the wings of an ashy brown, except a whitish spot near the tips.

This fly belongs to the well-known family of Tabanidæ, and, like them, is furnished with a very formidable apparatus, by means of which it obtains its food. Whenever the Motuca can attack a human being, it dashes at him, settles, and in a moment drives a broad, sharp-edged lancet through the skin, cutting quite a gash, and causing the blood to flow fast. Fortunately, the wound is not very painful, and it is possible that the flowing blood may be useful in washing out any poison that has been injected. It is of a sluggish nature, and can be easily taken with the fingers—a very happy circumstance, inasmuch as a dozen Motuca flies may be seen clustering upon the ankle, just above the shoe.

The Monedula destroys multitudes of the Motuca flies, and will travel for half a mile in order to procure its prey, always taking care to close the entrance of its burrow, and to reopen it on its return. Mr. Bates mentions that he has been frequently indebted to the Monedula for saving him from sundry gashes from the Motuca; and that the Monedula would charge straight toward his face or neck, pick up a Motuca as it was about to settle, and fly off with it. The fly was not captured with the jaws, but seized in the first and second pairs of feet.

The other burrower is that which is known to entomologists as Bembex ciliata, and is remarkable for the eager assiduity with which it plies its labor of love. In color it is shining green; and when it has fixed upon a suitable spot for its burrow, it scratches away the sandy soil with such furious haste, that a nearly continuous fountain of sand is thrown up behind it. Even after it has penetrated for two or three inches into the ground, the sandy stream issues from the orifice, propelled as if by a miniature engine, and being flung under the body by means of the powerful fore feet with their bristly armature.