Moving

I

WAS I really awake! It hardly seemed possible, for as I gazed out of the window a queer black stream of something was pouring steadily down the mountain side. At that distance it looked like tar or molasses, but common sense told me it was neither. What could it be? I had seen snakes of many kinds, but certainly there was no such mammoth snake alive in this modern age. I left the house and walked down the gravel path to the fence.

As I looked, the steady, dark stream came nearer and nearer. No, it could n’t be! Yet what else could it be? Ants! Ants! I realized in a flash that I was about to witness the moving of an ant colony. Here before me was just the thing I had doubted in the tales the old Arkansas settler had so earnestly told me. Being a Northerner, new in that section of the Ozarks, I was somewhat incredulous, and the old fellow had patiently said, ‘I recken you-all has got a lot t’ learn. If ye’re awful lucky maybe ye’ll see this-here ant-moving day like I did when I was a boy.’ Of all his stories, the “ant story’ was just a little too much for me.

Ants! There were his ants. Ants! There they were — millions of them streaming down the mountain side. Fascinated, I walked back to the porch to watch them. I had read of air that was ‘black’ with locusts; 1 was seeing ground ‘black’ with ants. So close together were they, they seemed to be a moving, bubbling mass of thick, dark liquid boiling up from the earth. Intensely interested, I stood wondering and musing about ant life. Why were they moving? Where were they going? Just as they came near enough for me to be able to distinguish the individual ants, my interest changed to complete horror.

In true ant style, they were traveling a ‘straight and narrow’ path. They entered the yard at the gravel path which was in line with their mountain course. Was it possible that all the old Arkansan had told me was true? ‘Cleveh an’ industrious as ants is supposed t’ be, they’re mighty stupid in some ways. When traveling, I recken they might send scouts t’ look over the ground an’ choose a clear path. But I recken they just decides which way t’ go, an’ goes straight ahead no matter what’s in their way.’

The ‘straight and narrow’ path! The house lay in that path. ‘So great is their determination to do the thing before them that when traveling they allow nothing to turn them from their chosen “straight and narrow” path,’ Somewhere I had heard or read that. Could it actually be true? But the house — couldn’t they see it? Surely they would have sense enough to turn their course before they reached the house!

Nearer they came. Plainly they were not intending to make an exception to their rule. In an instant I was in the house and had shut the doors and windows.

Slowly up the porch they boldly marched. My faint hope that they would have intelligence enough to change their course was soon a thing of the past. Across the porch floor to the wall of the house they came, and then, still undaunted, they marched up the side of the house.

I called the chore man, who was chopping wood on the other side of the house just a short distance away. In a flash he was off to get aid from some of the near-by mountaineers. We poured boiling water on the ants, threw ashes on the ants — but steadily forward marched the others, with no heed for the dead bodies of their comrades.

As I think of it now, what a splendid game of ‘follow the leader’ those ants played! Every one of them determined to keep to the original agreement to do as the leaders did. Our attempts to turn them only made their progress slower in their chosen direction. The leaders they were all determined to follow.

Unbelievable as it may seem, those ants — yes, those millions of ants — were ready to do as the leaders had done — climb the side of the house, follow the ceiling of the roof out to the edge, then start along the roof of the porch to the house again. Thus some of them continued their journey up, over, and down the other side of the house. Fortunately the chimney did not lie in the path of their march. Had they gone down the chimney they would have found their way into the stove and elsewhere, and — well, we were thankful that didn’t happen.

Seeing that boiling water and ashes were not effective, the mountaineers tore up the porch floor and spaded the ground underneath it. Thus, eventually, seemingly after hours and hours, the ants decided it would be wiser to swerve from their straight east course and follow the gravel walk around the corner of the house and on down the road.

Ants must have a keen sense of direction — as soon as they were clear of the house they changed their short southward course and turned east again (which was also the line of the gravel walk). Perhaps it was a sense of direction; perhaps they like to follow a beaten path if possible.

Strange as it may seem, every one of those ants which followed made exactly the same turn. The loss of their leaders did not break up their organization in the slightest degree — no panic, no riot, nothing but perfect order.

II

After the new course had been followed for several hours we felt somewhat safer — knowing at least that we could occupy the house that night without sharing it with thousands of uninvited guests. No attempt was made to get the ants out of the yard — it would have been hopelessly futile.

There was nothing to do, then, but watch them; and watch them we did for two days — yes, two days before the last ant left the yard. There were no laggers or stragglers — just continuous, steady streams of ants.

Actually those ants seemed to possess an extremely practical military knowledge of the order of marching. Large ants, probably the leaders of the colony, led the procession. Guards were posted on each side of the line at intervals to keep the file in order. Our attempts to check their progress broke the ranks only for a few minutes right at the porch. Their formation resembled an arrow — the head of the procession was always a perfect V shape.

They seemed to be organized in a regular series of these V-shaped regiments, marching through the yard at various intervals. Several times we were extremely relieved, feeling that the last of the ants had gone through the yard — but on looking toward the mountain we could see another regiment appearing. And so it continued from early noon of the first day until sunset of the second.

Those poor stupid ants — as if trying to climb over the house were not enough extra mileage for them! As I have said, they followed the gravel walk, at the end of which was a gate. Since the gate was narrower than the walk, the gateposts were in line with the walk. Fortunate indeed were the ants in the centre of the procession, for they could walk under the gate. But those gateposts! They were right in the path of the ants who were on both sides of the file. Those ants — you can probably guess by now — went up, over, and down the posts.

The birds in the vines on the porch were frantic during the first few hours the ants were around. They fussed and cried in a very disturbing manner. Some of the ants got into the vines and thus into the birds’ nests. It wras early summer; the young birds had just been hatched. Late the first day we found that all the young birds had been killed.

After two days we saw the last of the ants climb the gatepost and continue down the road. A few days later the old Arkansan, returning on horseback from a few weeks’ absence, stopped in passing the house to tell about a wonderful sight — a traveling colony of ants he had passed the day before miles down the mountain. ‘You-all should have been there. ’T was just like when I was a boy. I reckon you-all would have believed my story then, ’cause it was just like 1 told you ’t was.’ And very humbly and sincerely I told him I had decided to believe every word of his story. He left greatly flattered and pleased.