"Unless they alter their course and there's no reason why they should, they'll reach your plantation in two days at the latest."
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Leiningen Versus the Ants
Part I: The Short Story ~ Part II: The Radio Script ~ Part III: The Radio Show
1. Leiningen Versus the Ants - A Short Story
by Carl Stephenson
Leiningen sucked placidly at a cigar about the size of a corncob and for a few seconds gazed without answering at the agitated District Commissioner. Then he took the cigar from his lips, and leaned slightly forward. With his bristling grey hair, bulky nose, and lucid eyes, he had the look of an aging and shabby eagle.
"Decent of you," he murmured, "paddling all this way just to give me the tip. But you're pulling my leg of course when you say I must do a bunk. Why, even a herd of saurians couldn't drive me from this plantation of mine."
The Brazilian official threw up lean and lanky arms and clawed the air with wildly distended fingers. "Leiningen!" he shouted. "You're insane! They're not creatures you can fight—they're an elemental—an 'act of God!' Ten miles long, two miles wide—ants, nothing but ants! And every single one of them a fiend from hell; before you can spit three times they'll eat a full-grown buffalo to the bones. I tell you if you don't clear out at once there'll he nothing left of you but a skeleton picked as clean as your own plantation."
Leiningen grinned. "Act of God, my eye! Anyway, I'm not an old woman; I'm not going to run for it just because an elemental's on the way. And don't think I'm the kind of fathead who tries to fend off lightning with his fists either. I use my intelligence, old man. With me, the brain isn't a second blindgut; I know what it's there for. When I began this model farm and plantation three years ago, I took into account all that could conceivably happen to it. And now I'm ready for anything and everything—including your ants."
The Brazilian rose heavily to his feet. "I've done my best," he gasped. "Your obstinacy endangers not only yourself, but the lives of your four hundred workers. You don't know these ants!"
Leiningen accompanied him down to the river, where the Government launch was moored. The vessel cast off. As it moved downstream, the exclamation mark neared the rail and began waving its arms frantically. Long after the launch had disappeared round the bend, Leiningen thought he could still hear that dimming imploring voice, "You don't know them, I tell you! You don't know them!"
But the reported enemy was by no means unfamiliar to the planter. Before he started work on his settlement, he had lived long enough in the country to see for himself the fearful devastations sometimes wrought by these ravenous insects in their campaigns for food. But since then he had planned measures of defence accordingly, and these, he was convinced, were in every way adequate to withstand the approaching peril.
Moreover, during his three years as a planter, Leiningen had met and defeated drought, flood, plague and all other "acts of God" which had come against him—unlike his fellow-settlers in the district, who had made little or no resistance. This unbroken success he attributed solely to the observance of his lifelong motto: The human brain needs only to become fully aware of its powers to conquer even the elements. Dullards reeled senselessly and aimlessly into the abyss; cranks, however brilliant, lost their heads when circumstances suddenly altered or accelerated and ran into stone walls, sluggards drifted with the current until they were caught in whirlpools and dragged under. But such disasters, Leiningen contended, merely strengthened his argument that intelligence, directed aright, invariably makes man the master of his fate.
Yes, Leiningen had always known how to grapple with life. Even here, in this Brazilian wilderness, his brain had triumphed over every difficulty and danger it had so far encountered. First he had vanquished primal forces by cunning and organization, then he had enlisted the resources of modern science to increase miraculously the yield of his plantation. And now he was sure he would prove more than a match for the "irresistible" ants.
That same evening, however, Leiningen assembled his workers. He had no intention of waiting till the news reached their ears from other sources. Most of them had been born in the district; the cry "The ants are coming!'" was to them an imperative signal for instant, panic-stricken flight, a spring for life itself. But so great was the Indians' trust in Leiningen, in Leiningen's word, and in Leiningen's wisdom, that they received his curt tidings, and his orders for the imminent struggle, with the calmness with which they were given. They waited, unafraid, alert, as if for the beginning of a new game or hunt which he had just described to them. The ants were indeed mighty, but not so mighty as the boss. Let them come!
They came at noon the second day. Their approach was announced by the wild unrest of the horses, scarcely controllable now either in stall or under rider, scenting from afar a vapor instinct with horror.
It was announced by a stampede of animals, timid and savage, hurtling past each other; jaguars and pumas, no longer hunters, themselves hunted, flashing by nimble stags of the pampas, bulky tapirs, outpacing fleet kinkajous, maddened herds of cattle, heads lowered, nostrils snorting, rushing through tribes of loping monkeys, chattering in a dementia of terror; then followed the creeping and springing denizens of bush and steppe, big and little rodents, snakes, and lizards.
Pell-mell the rabble swarmed down the hill to the plantation, scattered right and left before the barrier of the water-filled ditch, then sped onwards to the river, where, again hindered, they fled along its bank out of sight.
This water-filled ditch was one of the defence measures which Leiningen had long since prepared against the advent of the ants. It encompassed three sides of the plantation like a huge horseshoe. Twelve feet across, but not very deep, when dry it could hardly be described as an obstacle to either man or beast. But the ends of the "horseshoe" ran into the river which formed the northern boundary, and fourth side, of the plantation. And at the end nearer the house and outbuildings in the middle of the plantation, Leiningen had constructed a dam by means of which water from the river could be diverted into the ditch.
So now, by opening the dam, he was able to fling an imposing girdle of water, a huge quadrilateral with the river as its base, completely around the plantation, like the moat encircling a medieval city. Unless the ants were clever enough to build rafts. they had no hope of reaching the plantation, Leiningen concluded.
The twelve-foot water ditch seemed to afford in itself all the security needed. But while awaiting the arrival of the ants, Leiningen made a further improvement. The western section of the ditch ran along the edge of a tamarind wood, and the branches of some great trees reached over the water. Leiningen now had them lopped so that ants could not descend from them within the "moat."
The women and children, then the herds of cattle, were escorted by peons on rafts over the river, to remain on the other side in absolute safety until the plunderers had departed. Leiningen gave this instruction, not because he believed the non-combatants were in any danger, but in order to avoid hampering the efficiency of the defenders. "Critical situations first become crises," he explained to his men, "when oxen or women get excited "
Finally, he made a careful inspection of the "inner moat"—a smaller ditch lined with concrete, which extended around the hill on which stood the ranch house, barns, stables and other buildings. Into this concrete ditch emptied the inflow pipes from three great petrol tanks. If by some miracle the ants managed to cross the water and reached the plantation, this "rampart of petrol," would be an absolutely impassable protection for the besieged and their dwellings and stock. Such, at least, was Leiningen's opinion.
He stationed his men at irregular distances along the water ditch, the first line of defence. Then he lay down in his hammock and puffed drowsily away at his pipe until a peon came with the report that the ants had been observed far away in the South.
Leiningen mounted his horse, which at the feel of its master seemed to forget its uneasiness, and rode leisurely in the direction of the threatening offensive. The southern stretch of ditch—the upper side of the quadrilateral—was nearly three miles long; from its center one could survey the entire countryside. This was destined to be the scene of the outbreak of war between Leiningen's brain and twenty square miles of life-destroying ants.
It was a sight one could never forget. Over the range of hills, as far as eye could see, crept a darkening hem, ever longer and broader, until the shadow spread across the slope from east to west, then downwards, downwards, uncannily swift, and all the green herbage of that wide vista was being mown as by a giant sickle, leaving only the vast moving shadow, extending, deepening, and moving rapidly nearer.
When Leiningen's men, behind their barrier of water, perceived the approach of the long-expected foe, they gave vent to their suspense in screams and imprecations. But as the distance began to lessen between the "sons of hell" and the water ditch, they relapsed into silence. Before the advance of that awe-inspiring throng, their belief in the powers of the boss began to steadily dwindle.
Even Leiningen himself, who had ridden up just in time to restore their loss of heart by a display of unshakable calm, even he could not free himself from a qualm of malaise. Yonder were thousands of millions of voracious jaws bearing down upon him and only a suddenly insignificant, narrow ditch lay between him and his men and being gnawed to the bones "before you can spit three times."
Hadn't this brain for once taken on more than it could manage? If the blighters decided to rush the ditch, fill it to the brim with their corpses, there'd still be more than enough to destroy every trace of that cranium of his. The planter's chin jutted; they hadn't got him yet, and he'd see to it they never would. While he could think at all, he'd flout both death and the devil.
The hostile army was approaching in perfect formation; no human battalions, however well-drilled, could ever hope to rival the precision of that advance. Along a front that moved forward as uniformly as a straight line, the ants drew nearer and nearer to the water ditch. Then, when they learned through their scouts the nature of the obstacle, the two outlying wings of the army detached themselves from the main body and marched down the western and eastern sides of the ditch.
This surrounding maneuver took rather more than an hour to accomplish; no doubt the ants expected that at some point they would find a crossing.
During this outflanking movement by the wings, the army on the center and southern front remained still. The besieged were therefore able to contemplate at their leisure the thumb-long, reddish black, long-legged insects; some of the Indians believed they could see, too, intent on them, the brilliant, cold eyes, and the razor-edged mandibles, of this host of infinity.
It is not easy for the average person to imagine that an animal, not to mention an insect, can think. But now both the European brain of Leiningen and the primitive brains of the Indians began to stir with the unpleasant foreboding that inside every single one of that deluge of insects dwelt a thought. And that thought was: Ditch or no ditch, we'll get to your flesh!
Not until four o'clock did the wings reach the "horseshoe" ends of the ditch, only to find these ran into the great river. Through some kind of secret telegraphy, the report must then have flashed very swiftly indeed along the entire enemy line. And Leiningen, riding—no longer casually—along his side of the ditch, noticed by energetic and widespread movements of troops that for some unknown reason the news of the check had its greatest effect on the southern front, where the main army was massed. Perhaps the failure to find a way over the ditch was persuading the ants to withdraw from the plantation in search of spoils more easily attainable.
An immense flood of ants, about a hundred yards in width, was pouring in a glimmering-black cataract down the far slope of the ditch. Many thousands were already drowning in the sluggish creeping flow, but they were followed by troop after troop, who clambered over their sinking comrades, and then themselves served as dying bridges to the reserves hurrying on in their rear.
Shoals of ants were being carried away by the current into the middle of the ditch, where gradually they broke asunder and then, exhausted by their struggles, vanished below the surface. Nevertheless, the wavering, floundering hundred-yard front was remorselessly if slowly advancing towards the besieged on the other bank. Leiningen had been wrong when he supposed the enemy would first have to fill the ditch with their bodies before they could cross; instead, they merely needed to act as stepping-stones, as they swam and sank, to the hordes ever pressing onwards from behind.
Near Leiningen a few mounted herdsmen awaited his orders. He sent one to the weir—the river must be dammed more strongly to increase the speed and power of the water coursing through the ditch.
A second peon was dispatched to the outhouses to bring spades and petrol sprinklers. A third rode away to summon to the zone of the offensive all the men, except the observation posts, on the near-by sections of the ditch, which were not yet actively threatened.
The ants were getting across far more quickly than Leiningen would have deemed possible. Impelled by the mighty cascade behind them, they struggled nearer and nearer to the inner bank. The momentum of the attack was so great that neither the tardy flow of the stream nor its downward pull could exert its proper force; and into the gap left by every submerging insect, hastened forward a dozen more.
When reinforcements reached Leiningen, the invaders were halfway over. The planter had to admit to himself that it was only by a stroke of luck for him that the ants were attempting the crossing on a relatively short front: had they assaulted simultaneously along the entire length of the ditch, the outlook for the defenders would have been black indeed.
Even as it was, it could hardly be described as rosy, though the planter seemed quite unaware that death in a gruesome form was drawing closer and closer. As the war between his brain and the "act of God'' reached its climax, the very shadow of annihilation began to pale to Leiningen, who now felt like a champion in a new Olympic game, a gigantic and thrilling contest, from which he was determined to emerge victor. Such, indeed, was his aura of confidence that the Indians forgot their stupefied fear of the peril only a yard or two away; under the planter's supervision, they began fervidly digging up to the edge of the bank and throwing clods of earth and spadefuls of sand into the midst of the hostile fleet.
The petrol sprinklers, hitherto used to destroy pests and blights on the plantation, were also brought into action. Streams of evil-reeking oil now soared and fell over an enemy already in disorder through the bombardment of earth and sand.
The ants responded to these vigorous and successful measures of defence by further developments of their offensive. Entire clumps of huddling insects began to roll down the opposite bank into the water. At the same time, Leiningen noticed that the ants were now attacking along an ever-widening front. As the numbers both of his men and his petrol sprinklers were severely limited, this rapid extension of the line of battle was becoming an overwhelming danger.
To add to his difficulties, the very clods of earth they flung into that black floating carpet often whirled fragments toward the defenders' side, and here and there dark ribbons were already mounting the inner bank. True, wherever a man saw these they could still be driven back into the water by spadefuls of earth or jets of petrol. But the file of defenders was too sparse and scattered to hold off at all points these landing parties, and though the peons toiled like madmen, their plight became momentarily more perilous.
One man struck with his spade at an enemy clump, did not draw it back quickly enough from the water; in a trice the wooden shaft swarmed with upward scurrying insects. With a curse, he dropped the spade into the ditch; too late, they were already on his body. They lost no time; wherever they encountered bare flesh they bit deeply; a few, bigger than the rest, carried in their hind-quarters a sting which injected a burning and paralyzing venom. Screaming, frantic with pain, the peon danced and twirled like a dervish.
Realizing that another such casualty, yes, perhaps this alone, might plunge his men into confusion and destroy their morale, Leiningen roared in a bellow louder than the yells of the victim: "Into the petrol, idiot! Douse your paws in the petrol!" The dervish ceased his pirouette as if transfixed, then tore off his shirt and plunged his arm and the ants hanging to it up to the shoulder in one of the large open tins of petrol. But even then the fierce mandibles did not slacken; another peon had to help him squash and detach each separate insect.
Distracted by the episode, some defenders had turned away from the ditch. And now cries of fury, a thudding of spades, and a wild trampling to and fro, showed that the ants had made full use of the interval, though luckily only a few had managed to get across. The men set to work again desperately with the barrage of earth and sand. Meanwhile an old Indian, who acted as medicine-man to the plantation workers, gave the bitten peon a drink he had prepared some hours before, which, he claimed, possessed the virtue of dissolving and weakening ants' venom.
Leiningen surveyed his position. A dispassionate observer would have estimated the odds against him at a thousand to one. But then such an on-looker would have reckoned only by what he saw—the advance of myriad battalions of ants against the futile efforts of a few defenders—and not by the unseen activity that can go on in a man's brain.
For Leiningen had not erred when he decided he would fight elemental with elemental. The water in the ditch was beginning to rise; the stronger damming of the river was making itself apparent.
Visibly the swiftness and power of the masses of water increased, swirling into quicker and quicker movement its living black surface, dispersing its pattern, carrying away more and more of it on the hastening current.
Victory had been snatched from the very jaws of defeat. With a hysterical shout of joy, the peons feverishly intensified their bombardment of earth clods and sand.
And now the wide cataract down the opposite bank was thinning and ceasing, as if the ants were becoming aware that they could not attain their aim. They were scurrying back up the slope to safety.
All the troops so far hurled into the ditch had been sacrificed in vain. Drowned and floundering insects eddied in thousands along the flow, while Indians running on the bank destroyed every swimmer that reached the side.
Not until the ditch curved towards the east did the scattered ranks assemble again in a coherent mass. And now, exhausted and half-numbed, they were in no condition to ascend the bank. Fusillades of clods drove them round the bend towards the mouth of the ditch and then into the river, wherein they vanished without leaving a trace.
The news ran swiftly along the entire chain of outposts, and soon a long scattered line of laughing men could be seen hastening along the ditch towards the scene of victory.
For once they seemed to have lost all their native reserve, for it was in wild abandon now they celebrated the triumph—as if there were no longer thousands of millions of merciless, cold and hungry eyes watching them from the opposite bank, watching and waiting.
The sun sank behind the rim of the tamarind wood and twilight deepened into night. It was not only hoped but expected that the ants would remain quiet until dawn. But to defeat any forlorn attempt at a crossing, the flow of water through the ditch was powerfully increased by opening the dam still further.
In spite of this impregnable barrier, Leiningen was not yet altogether convinced that the ants would not venture another surprise attack. He ordered his men to camp along the bank overnight. He also detailed parties of them to patrol the ditch in two of his motor cars and ceaselessly to illuminate the surface of the water with headlights and electric torches.
After having taken all the precautions he deemed necessary, the farmer ate his supper with considerable appetite and went to bed. His slumbers were in no wise disturbed by the memory of the waiting, live, twenty square miles.
Dawn found a thoroughly refreshed and active Leiningen riding along the edge of the ditch. The planter saw before him a motionless and unaltered throng of besiegers. He studied the wide belt of water between them and the plantation, and for a moment almost regretted that the fight had ended so soon and so simply. In the comforting, matter-of-fact light of morning, it seemed to him now that the ants hadn't the ghost of a chance to cross the ditch. Even if they plunged headlong into it on all three fronts at once, the force of the now powerful current would inevitably sweep them away. He had got quite a thrill out of the fight—a pity it was already over.
He rode along the eastern and southern sections of the ditch and found everything in order. He reached the western section, opposite the tamarind wood, and here, contrary to the other battle fronts, he found the enemy very busy indeed. The trunks and branches of the trees and the creepers of the lianas, on the far bank of the ditch, fairly swarmed with industrious insects. But instead of eating the leaves there and then, they were merely gnawing through the stalks, so that a thick green shower fell steadily to the ground.
No doubt they were victualing columns sent out to obtain provender for the rest of the army. The discovery did not surprise Leiningen. He did not need to be told that ants are intelligent, that certain species even use others as milch cows, watchdogs and slaves. He was well aware of their power of adaptation, their sense of discipline, their marvelous talent for organization.
His belief that a foray to supply the army was in progress was strengthened when he saw the leaves that fell to the ground being dragged to the troops waiting outside the wood. Then all at once he realized the aim that rain of green was intended to serve.
Each single leaf, pulled or pushed by dozens of toiling insects, was borne straight to the edge of the ditch. Even as Macbeth watched the approach of Birnam Wood in the hands of his enemies, Leiningen saw the tamarind wood move nearer and nearer in the mandibles of the ants. Unlike the fey Scot, however, he did not lose his nerve; no witches had prophesied his doom, and if they had he would have slept just as soundly. All the same, he was forced to admit to himself that the situation was far more ominous than that of the day before.
He had thought it impossible for the ants to build rafts for themselves—well, here they were, coming in thousands, more than enough to bridge the ditch. Leaves after leaves rustled down the slope into the water, where the current drew them away from the bank and carried them into midstream. And every single leaf carried several ants. This time the farmer did not trust to the alacrity of his messengers. He galloped away, leaning from his saddle and yelling orders as he rushed past outpost after outpost: "Bring petrol pumps to the southwest front! Issue spades to every man along the line facing the wood!" And arrived at the eastern and southern sections, he dispatched every man except the observation posts to the menaced west.
Then, as he rode past the stretch where the ants had failed to cross the day before, he witnessed a brief but impressive scene. Down the slope of the distant hill there came towards him a singular being, writhing rather than running, an animal-like blackened statue with shapeless head and four quivering feet that knuckled under almost ceaselessly. When the creature reached the far bank of the ditch and collapsed opposite Leiningen, he recognized it as a pampas stag, covered over and over with ants.
It had strayed near the zone of the army. As usual, they had attacked its eyes first. Blinded, it had reeled in the madness of hideous torment straight into the ranks of its persecutors, and now the beast swayed to and fro in its death agony.
With a shot from his rifle Leiningen put it out of its misery. Then he pulled out his watch. He hadn't a second to lose, but for life itself he could not have denied his curiosity the satisfaction of knowing how long the ants would take—for personal reasons, so to speak. After six minutes the white polished bones alone remained. That's how he himself would look before you can—Leiningen spat once, and put spurs to his horse.
The sporting zest with which the excitement of the novel contest had inspired him the day before had now vanished; in its place was a cold and violent purpose. He would send these vermin back to the hell where they belonged, somehow, anyhow. Yes, but how was indeed the question; as things stood at present it looked as if the devils would raze him and his men from the earth instead. He had underestimated the might of the enemy; he really would have to bestir himself if he hoped to outwit them.
The biggest danger now, he decided, was the point where the western section of the ditch curved southwards. And arrived there, he found his worst expectations justified. The very power of the current had huddled the leaves and their crews of ants so close together at the bend that the bridge was almost ready.
True, streams of petrol and clumps of earth still prevented a landing. But the number of floating leaves was increasing ever more swiftly. It could not be long now before a stretch of water a mile in length was decked by a green pontoon over which the ants could rush in millions.
Leiningen galloped to the weir. The damming of the river was controlled by a wheel on its bank. The planter ordered the man at the wheel first to lower the water in the ditch almost to vanishing point, next to wait a moment, then suddenly to let the river in again. This maneuver of lowering and raising the surface, of decreasing then increasing the flow of water through the ditch was to be repeated over and over again until further notice.
This tactic was at first successful. The water in the ditch sank, and with it the film of leaves. The green fleet nearly reached the bed and the troops on the far bank swarmed down the slope to it. Then a violent flow of water at the original depth raced through the ditch, overwhelming leaves and ants, and sweeping them along.
This intermittent rapid flushing prevented just in time the almost completed fording of the ditch. But it also flung here and there squads of the enemy vanguard simultaneously up the inner bank. These seemed to know their duty only too well, and lost no time accomplishing it. The air rang with the curses of bitten Indians. They had removed their shirts and pants to detect the quicker the upwards-hastening insects; when they saw one, they crushed it; and fortunately the onslaught as yet was only by skirmishers. Again and again, the water sank and rose, carrying leaves and drowned ants away with it. It lowered once more nearly to its bed; but this time the exhausted defenders waited in vain for the flush of destruction. Leiningen sensed disaster; something must have gone wrong with the machinery of the dam. Then a sweating peon tore up to him—
While the besieged were concentrating upon the defence of the stretch opposite the wood, the seemingly unaffected line beyond the wood had become the theatre of decisive action. Here the defenders' front was sparse and scattered; everyone who could be spared had hurried away to the south.
Just as the man at the weir had lowered the water almost to the bed of the ditch, the ants on a wide front began another attempt at a direct crossing like that of the preceding day. Into the emptied bed poured an irresistible throng. Rushing across the ditch, they attained the inner bank before the slow-witted Indians fully grasped the situation. Their frantic screams dumbfounded the man at the weir. Before he could direct the river anew into the safeguarding bed he saw himself surrounded by raging ants. He ran like the others, ran for his life.
When Leiningen heard this, he knew the plantation was doomed. He wasted no time bemoaning the inevitable. For as long as there was the slightest chance of success, he had stood his ground, and now any further resistance was both useless and dangerous. He fired three revolver shots into the air—the prearranged signal for his men to retreat instantly within the "inner moat." Then he rode towards the ranch house.
This was two miles from the point of invasion. There was therefore time enough to prepare the second line of defence against the advent of the ants. Of the three great petrol cisterns near the house, one had already been half emptied by the constant withdrawals needed for the pumps during the fight at the water ditch. The remaining petrol in it was now drawn off through underground pipes into the concrete trench which encircled the ranch house and its outbuildings.
And there, drifting in twos and threes, Leiningen's men reached him. Most of them were obviously trying to preserve an air of calm and indifference, belied, however, by their restless glances and knitted brows. One could see their belief in a favorable outcome of the struggle was already considerably shaken.
The planter called his peons around him.
"Well, lads," he began, "we've lost the first round. But we'll smash the beggars yet, don't you worry. Anyone who thinks otherwise can draw his pay here and now and push off. There are rafts enough to spare on the river and plenty of time still to reach 'em."
Not a man stirred.
Leiningen acknowledged his silent vote of confidence with a laugh that was half a grunt. "That's the stuff, lads. Too bad if you'd missed the rest of the show, eh? Well, the fun won't start till morning. Once these blighters turn tail, there'll be plenty of work for everyone and higher wages all round. And now run along and get something to eat; you've earned it all right."
In the excitement of the fight the greater part of the day had passed without the men once pausing to snatch a bite. Now that the ants were for the time being out of sight, and the "wall of petrol" gave a stronger feeling of security, hungry stomachs began to assert their claims.
The bridges over the concrete ditch were removed. Here and there solitary ants had reached the ditch; they gazed at the petrol meditatively, then scurried back again. Apparently they had little interest at the moment for what lay beyond the evil-reeking barrier; the abundant spoils of the plantation were the main attraction. Soon the trees, shrubs and beds for miles around were hulled with ants zealously gobbling the yield of long weary months of strenuous toil.
As twilight began to fall, a cordon of ants marched around the petrol trench, but as yet made no move towards its brink. Leiningen posted sentries with headlights and electric torches, then withdrew to his office, and began to reckon up his losses. He estimated these as large, but, in comparison with his bank balance, by no means unbearable. He worked out in some detail a scheme of intensive cultivation which would enable him, before very long, to more than compensate himself for the damage now being wrought to his crops. It was with a contented mind that he finally betook himself to bed where he slept deeply until dawn, undisturbed by any thought that next day little more might be left of him than a glistening skeleton.
He rose with the sun and went out on the flat roof of his house. And a scene like one from Dante lay around him; for miles in every direction there was nothing but a black, glittering multitude, a multitude of rested, sated, but none the less voracious ants: yes, look as far as one might, one could see nothing but that rustling black throng, except in the north, where the great river drew a boundary they could not hope to pass. But even the high stone breakwater, along the bank of the river, which Leiningen had built as a defence against inundations, was, like the paths, the shorn trees and shrubs, the ground itself, black with ants.
So their greed was not glutted in razing that vast plantation? Not by a long shot; they were all the more eager now on a rich and certain booty—four hundred men, numerous horses, and bursting granaries.
At first it seemed that the petrol trench would serve its purpose. The besiegers sensed the peril of swimming it, and made no move to plunge blindly over its brink. Instead they devised a better maneuver; they began to collect shreds of bark, twigs and dried leaves and dropped these into the petrol. Everything green, which could have been similarly used, had long since been eaten. After a time, though, a long procession could be seen bringing from the west the tamarind leaves used as rafts the day before.
Since the petrol, unlike the water in the outer ditch, was perfectly still, the refuse stayed where it was thrown. It was several hours before the ants succeeded in covering an appreciable part of the surface. At length, however, they were ready to proceed to a direct attack.
Their storm troops swarmed down the concrete side, scrambled over the supporting surface of twigs and leaves, and impelled these over the few remaining streaks of open petrol until they reached the other side. Then they began to climb up this to make straight for the helpless garrison.
During the entire offensive, the planter sat peacefully, watching them with interest, but not stirring a muscle. Moreover, he had ordered his men not to disturb in any way whatever the advancing horde. So they squatted listlessly along the bank of the ditch and waited for a sign from the boss. The petrol was now covered with ants. A few had climbed the inner concrete wall and were scurrying towards the defenders.
"Everyone back from the ditch!" roared Leiningen. The men rushed away, without the slightest idea of his plan. He stooped forward and cautiously dropped into the ditch a stone which split the floating carpet and its living freight, to reveal a gleaming patch of petrol. A match spurted, sank down to the oily surface—Leiningen sprang back; in a flash a towering rampart of fire encompassed the garrison.
This spectacular and instant repulse threw the Indians into ecstasy. They applauded, yelled and stamped, like children at a pantomime. Had it not been for the awe in which they held the boss, they would infallibly have carried him shoulder high.
It was some time before the petrol burned down to the bed of the ditch, and the wall of smoke and flame began to lower. The ants had retreated in a wide circle from the devastation, and innumerable charred fragments along the outer bank showed that the flames had spread from the holocaust in the ditch well into the ranks beyond, where they had wrought havoc far and wide.
Yet the perseverance of the ants was by no means broken; indeed, each setback seemed only to whet it. The concrete cooled, the flicker of the dying flames wavered and vanished, petrol from the second tank poured into the trench—and the ants marched forward anew to the attack.
The foregoing scene repeated itself in every detail, except that on this occasion less time was needed to bridge the ditch, for the petrol was now already filmed by a layer of ash. Once again they withdrew; once again petrol flowed into the ditch. Would the creatures never learn that their self-sacrifice was utterly senseless? It really was senseless, wasn't it? Yes, of course it was senseless—provided the defenders had an unlimited supply of petrol.
When Leiningen reached this stage of reasoning, he felt for the first time since the arrival of the ants that his confidence was deserting him. His skin began to creep; he loosened his collar. Once the devils were over the trench there wasn't a chance in hell for him and his men. God, what a prospect, to be eaten alive like that!
For the third time the flames immolated the attacking troops, and burned down to extinction. Yet the ants were coming on again as if nothing had happened. And meanwhile Leiningen had made a discovery that chilled him to the bone-petrol was no longer flowing into the ditch. Something must be blocking the outflow pipe of the third and last cistern—a snake or a dead rat? Whatever it was, the ants could be held off no longer, unless petrol could by some method be led from the cistern into the ditch.
Then Leiningen remembered that in an outhouse nearby were two old disused fire engines. Spry as never before in their lives, the peons dragged them out of the shed, connected their pumps to the cistern, uncoiled and laid the hose. They were just in time to aim a stream of petrol at a column of ants that had already crossed and drive them back down the incline into the ditch. Once more an oily girdle surrounded the garrison, once more it was possible to hold the position—for the moment.
It was obvious, however, that this last resource meant only the postponement of defeat and death. A few of the peons fell on their knees and began to pray; others, shrieking insanely, fired their revolvers at the black, advancing masses, as if they felt their despair was pitiful enough to sway fate itself to mercy.
At length, two of the men's nerves broke: Leiningen saw a naked Indian leap over the north side of the petrol trench, quickly followed by a second. They sprinted with incredible speed towards the river. But their fleetness did not save them; long before they could attain the rafts, the enemy covered their bodies from head to foot.
In the agony of their torment, both sprang blindly into the wide river, where enemies no less sinister awaited them. Wild screams of mortal anguish informed the breathless onlookers that crocodiles and sword-toothed piranhas were no less ravenous than ants, and even nimbler in reaching their prey.
In spite of this bloody warning, more and more men showed they were making up their minds to run the blockade. Anything, even a fight midstream against alligators, seemed better than powerlessly waiting for death to come and slowly consume their living bodies.
Leiningen flogged his brain till it reeled. Was there nothing on earth could sweep this devil's spawn back into the hell from which it came?
Then out of the inferno of his bewilderment rose a terrifying inspiration. Yes, one hope remained, and one alone. It might be possible to dam the great river completely, so that its waters would fill not only the water ditch but overflow into the entire gigantic "saucer" of land in which lay the plantation.
The far bank of the river was too high for the waters to escape that way. The stone breakwater ran between the river and the plantation; its only gaps occurred where the "horseshoe" ends of the water ditch passed into the river. So its waters would not only be forced to inundate into the plantation, they would also be held there by the breakwater until they rose to its own high level. In half an hour, perhaps even earlier, the plantation and its hostile army of occupation would be flooded.
The ranch house and outbuildings stood upon rising ground. Their foundations were higher than the breakwater, so the flood would not reach them. And any remaining ants trying to ascend the slope could be repulsed by petrol.
It was possible—yes, if one could only get to the dam! A distance of nearly two miles lay between the ranch house and the weir—two miles of ants. Those two peons had managed only a fifth of that distance at the cost of their lives. Was there an Indian daring enough after that to run the gauntlet five times as far? Hardly likely; and if there were, his prospect of getting back was almost nil.
No, there was only one thing for it, he'd have to make the attempt himself; he might just as well be running as sitting still, anyway, when the ants finally got him. Besides, there was a bit of a chance. Perhaps the ants weren't so almighty, after all; perhaps he had allowed the mass suggestion of that evil black throng to hypnotize him, just as a snake fascinates and overpowers.
The ants were building their bridges. Leiningen got up on a chair. "Hey, lads, listen to me!" he cried. Slowly and listlessly, from all sides of the trench, the men began to shuffle towards him, the apathy of death already stamped on their faces.
"Listen, lads!" he shouted. "You're frightened of those beggars, but you're a damn sight more frightened of me, and I'm proud of you. There's still a chance to save our lives—by flooding the plantation from the river. Now one of you might manage to get as far as the weir—but he'd never come back. Well, I'm not going to let you try it; if I did I'd be worse than one of those ants. No, I called the tune, and now I'm going to pay the piper.
"The moment I'm over the ditch, set fire to the petrol. That'll allow time for the flood to do the trick. Then all you have to do is wait here all snug and quiet till I'm back. Yes, I'm coming back, trust me"—he grinned—"when I've finished my slimming-cure."
He pulled on high leather boots, drew heavy gauntlets over his hands, and stuffed the spaces between breeches and boots, gauntlets and arms, shirt and neck, with rags soaked in petrol. With close-fitting mosquito goggles he shielded his eyes, knowing too well the ants' dodge of first robbing their victim of sight. Finally, he plugged his nostrils and ears with cotton-wool, and let the peons drench his clothes with petrol.
He was about to set off, when the old Indian medicine man came up to him; he had a wondrous salve, he said, prepared from a species of chafer whose odor was intolerable to ants. Yes, this odor protected these chafers from the attacks of even the most murderous ants. The Indian smeared the boss' boots, his gauntlets, and his face over and over with the extract.
Leiningen then remembered the paralyzing effect of ants' venom, and the Indian gave him a gourd full of the medicine he had administered to the bitten peon at the water ditch. The planter drank it down without noticing its bitter taste; his mind was already at the weir.
He started off towards the northwest corner of the trench. With a bound he was over—and among the ants.
The beleaguered garrison had no opportunity to watch Leiningen's race against death. The ants were climbing the inner bank again-the lurid ring of petrol blazed aloft. For the fourth time that day the reflection from the fire shone on the sweating faces of the imprisoned men, and on the reddish-black cuirasses of their oppressors. The red and blue, dark-edged flames leaped vividly now, celebrating what? The funeral pyre of the four hundred, or of the hosts of destruction? Leiningen ran. He ran in long, equal strides, with only one thought, one sensation, in his being—he must get through. He dodged all trees and shrubs; except for the split seconds his soles touched the ground the ants should have no opportunity to alight on him. That they would get to him soon, despite the salve on his boots, the petrol in his clothes, he realized only too well, but he knew even more surely that he must, and that he would, get to the weir.
Apparently the salve was some use after all; not until he reached halfway did he feel ants under his clothes, and a few on his face. Mechanically, in his stride, he struck at them, scarcely conscious of their bites. He saw he was drawing appreciably nearer the weir—the distance grew less and less—sank to five hundred—three—two—one hundred yards.
Then he was at the weir and gripping the ant-hulled wheel. Hardly had he seized it when a horde of infuriated ants flowed over his hands, arms and shoulders. He started the wheel—before it turned once on its axis the swarm covered his face. Leiningen strained like a madman, his lips pressed tight; if he opened them to draw breath...
He turned and turned; slowly the dam lowered until it reached the bed of the river. Already the water was overflowing the ditch. Another minute, and the river was pouring through the near-by gap in the breakwater. The flooding of the plantation had begun.
Leiningen let go the wheel. Now, for the first time, he realized he was coated from head to foot with a layer of ants. In spite of the petrol his clothes were full of them, several had got to his body or were clinging to his face. Now that he had completed his task, he felt the smart raging over his flesh from the bites of sawing and piercing insects.
Frantic with pain, he almost plunged into the river. To be ripped and splashed to shreds by piranhas? Already he was running the return journey, knocking ants from his gloves and jacket, brushing them from his bloodied face, squashing them to death under his clothes.
One of the creatures bit him just below the rim of his goggles; he managed to tear it away, but the agony of the bite and its etching acid drilled into the eye nerves; he saw now through circles of fire into a milky mist, then he ran for a time almost blinded, knowing that if he once tripped and fell.... The old Indian's brew didn't seem much good; it weakened the poison a bit, but didn't get rid of it. His heart pounded as if it would burst; blood roared in his ears; a giant's fist battered his lungs.
Then he could see again, but the burning girdle of petrol appeared infinitely far away; he could not last half that distance. Swift-changing pictures flashed through his head, episodes in his life, while in another part of his brain a cool and impartial onlooker informed this ant-blurred, gasping, exhausted bundle named Leiningen that such a rushing panorama of scenes from one's past is seen only in the moment before death.
A stone in the path...too weak to avoid it...the planter stumbled and collapsed. He tried to rise...he must be pinned under a rock...it was impossible...the slightest movement was impossible...
Then all at once he saw, starkly clear and huge, and, right before his eyes, furred with ants, towering and swaying in its death agony, the pampas stag. In six minutes—gnawed to the bones. God, he couldn't die like that! And something outside him seemed to drag him to his feet. He tottered. He began to stagger forward again.
Through the blazing ring hurtled an apparition which, as soon as it reached the ground on the inner side, fell full length and did not move. Leiningen, at the moment he made that leap through the flames, lost consciousness for the first time in his life. As he lay there, with glazing eyes and lacerated face, he appeared a man returned from the grave. The peons rushed to him, stripped off his clothes, tore away the ants from a body that seemed almost one open wound; in some places the bones were showing. They carried him into the ranch house.
As the curtain of flames lowered, one could see in place of the illimitable host of ants an extensive vista of water. The thwarted river had swept over the plantation, carrying with it the entire army. The water had collected and mounted in the great "saucer," while the ants had in vain attempted to reach the hill on which stood the ranch house. The girdle of flames held them back.
And so imprisoned between water and fire, they had been delivered into the annihilation that was their god. And near the farther mouth of the water ditch, where the stone mole had its second gap, the ocean swept the lost battalions into the river, to vanish forever.
The ring of fire dwindled as the water mounted to the petrol trench, and quenched the dimming flames. The inundation rose higher and higher: because its outflow was impeded by the timber and underbrush it had carried along with it, its surface required some time to reach the top of the high stone breakwater and discharge over it the rest of the shattered army.
It swelled over ant-stippled shrubs and bushes, until it washed against the foot of the knoll whereon the besieged had taken refuge. For a while an alluvial of ants tried again and again to attain this dry land, only to be repulsed by streams of petrol back into the merciless flood.
Leiningen lay on his bed, his body swathed from head to foot in bandages. With fomentations and salves, they had managed to stop the bleeding, and had dressed his many wounds. Now they thronged around him, one question in every face. Would he recover? "He won't die," said the old man who had bandaged him, "if he doesn't want to.''
The planter opened his eyes. "Everything in order?'' he asked.
"They're gone,'' said his nurse. "To hell." He held out to his master a gourd full of a powerful sleeping draught. Leiningen gulped it down.
"I told you I'd come back," he murmured, "even if I am a bit streamlined." He grinned and shut his eyes. He slept.
COMMISSIONER (narrates): I first met Leiningen while performing my duties as district commissioner. As my boat neared his plantation landing, I saw him upon the river-bank, regarding me with mild interest; a great hulk of a man with bristling grey hair, bulky nose, and pale eyes. His entire appearance somehow suggested an aging and shabby eagle. He escorted me to the terrace and had a drink brought. I came quickly to the point of my visit and issued my warning. Leiningen puffed placidly at a huge cigar as he listened and then said:
JUNGLE NOISES ARE HEARD.
LEININGEN: Exactly what are you trying to tell me?
COMMISSIONER: I'm trying to tell you that, 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: Well, Commissioner, it was decent of you, paddling all this way just to give me the tip.
LEININGEN: You're pulling my leg of course when you say I've got to get out.
COMMISSIONER: Now, look, I assure you, I'm not--
LEININGEN: Commissioner, even a herd of crocodiles couldn't drive me from this plantation of mine.
COMMISSIONER: Ah, you don't understand. These aren't creatures you can fight -- they're an elemental force, a gigantic catastrophe! Ten miles long, two miles wide -- ants, nothing but ants, and each one as big as your thumb! And each of them a fiend from hell! Unless you clear out at once there'll he nothing left of you but a skeleton, picked as clean as your own plantation will be.
LEININGEN: I'm not going to run for it, Commissioner, just because trouble's on the way.
COMMISSIONER: But it isn't trouble, it's--
LEININGEN: And don't think I'm the kind of fathead who tries to beat off lightning with my fists either. I've got a better weapon, Commissioner: intelligence. With me, the brain isn't just a second appendix; I know what it's there for.
COMMISSIONER: Can't I make you understand the hideous--?
LEININGEN: I think it is you who does not understand. In the three years I've been here, I've met and defeated more than one catastrophe: flood and droughts, a plague -- events which caused many of my natives to flee for their lives. No, Commissioner, all my life, I've lived by one motto: The human brain needs only to become fully aware of its powers to conquer even the elements.
COMMISSIONER: Leiningen, your obstinacy is endangering not only your own life but the lives of your four hundred workers and their families. You don't know these ants! I tell you, you don't know these ants!
COMMISSIONER (narrates): But Leiningen merely sat there, puffing at his cigar and regarding me with a sardonic grin. I knew it was hopeless. As I boarded my launch and cast off, I turned to look once more at this man who calmly intended to defy one of the world's greatest scourges. I felt a sudden resentment toward him and yet, with it was something else. I had never met a man like that. I couldn't help wondering what combination of elements made up such a creature.
LEININGEN: I stood on the bank of the river watching the Commissioner's launch until he'd rounded a bend and was lost to sight. There was a strange look in the Commissioner's eyes as he stood on deck staring back at me. Clearly, he thought me, at the very least, unreasonable. Well, he wouldn't' have been the first to think so. But I, Leiningen, knew my own powers. I was sure of myself. I knew that intelligence, directed aright, always makes man the master of his fate. That night, I called my Indian workers together in front of the plantation house. I saw their faces go ashen with terror as I told them the ants were coming, and I watched them as they milled around, muttering.
LEININGEN: I said nothing more to them. Finally, one of the men stepped forward: Black, the foreman.
FOREMAN: But, we have worked hard here for these three years. All of us. We have built the finest plantation in this district. We all share in it. It has been a home for all of us and our families. Now, the ants come.
FOREMAN: Those ditches we dug last year, the pipe we put in the ground -- that was for the ants?
LEININGEN (with authority): That was for the ants.
FOREMAN: We moved our families across the river. The ants could not reach them.
LEININGEN: That's right. And you?
FOREMAN (uncertain): The... the ants are mighty. We know what they can do... (certain) All of us think that you are mighty.
THE WORKERS SHOUT AGREEMENT.
FOREMAN: We will stay and fight against the ants with you!
LEININGEN (narrates): I knew the men would give me that answer. I'd counted on it. Suddenly, I thought of the Commissioner and wondered what he'd say at such unquestioning confidence. Would he still think I was unreasonable?
COMMISSIONER (narrates): All that night, I could not get Leiningen out of my mind: one man who calmly evaluated his chances against a deadly menace, coolly decided that he could win, and was willing to stake his life on it, to risk a horrible death for it. It was terrifying and yet it was fascinating. When dawn came, I sent for my assistant. Together we went to the huge map of the district which hung from a wall in my office.
ASSISTANT: The last reported position of the ants came in last night. They were, uh... here, about seventy miles above this fork in the river.
COMMISSIONER: Traveling southeast?
ASSISTANT: Yes, sir.
COMMISSIONER: Hmm... directly toward Leiningen.
ASSISTANT: Uh, toward whom, sir?
COMMISSIONER: Oh, that plantation at the bend in the river. Belongs to a man named Leiningen.
COMMISSIONER: When would you say the ants will reach there?
ASSISTANT: Why, I don't know, sir. I imagine about... tomorrow noon.
COMMISSIONER: Tomorrow noon, huh? (quietly, to himself) Still time.
ASSISTANT: Still time? What do you mean, sir?
COMMISSIONER: Hm? Oh, nothing. Never mind.
COMMISSIONER (narrates): What did I mean? Still time for what? For Leiningen to flee or still time for me to--? Even as I rejected the thought with horror, I knew that the fascination of that man was more than I could resist, that Leiningen's fight was drawing my mind and drawing me back toward that plantation... and death. I knew past all doubt that I was going back to Leiningen's plantation. I had to.
COMMISSIONER (narrates): It was ten o'clock in the morning when I rounded the bend and saw Leiningen's plantation before me. I put in at the dock and tied up the launch and then... then I saw him standing on the bank above me, arms folded, stubby cigar in his mouth, and that same sardonic grin on his face. I made my way up to him.
LEININGEN (chuckles) Back for another warning, Commissioner?
LEININGEN: Oh? Back to stay awhile?
LEININGEN: Ah! (laughs)
COMMISSIONER: You don't seem very surprised.
LEININGEN: I'm not.
COMMISSIONER: You expected me?
LEININGEN: I knew you'd be back. Come along. We'll get some horses. You'll want to ride around the plantation and take a look at the defenses I've rigged up.
COMMISSIONER: Yes. Yes, I'll want to see the defenses...
LEININGEN: And the ants. We'll be a getting a glimpse of them before long, I should think.
COMMISSIONER (quietly): Yes... and the ants...
LEININGEN: Come along then.
COMMISSIONER (narrates): The defenses Leiningen had devised were quite impressive. Surrounding three sides of the plantation like a huge horseshoe was a ditch, twelve feet wide. The ends of this horseshoe-shaped ditch ran into the river which formed the fourth side of the plantation. And at the up-river entrance to the ditch, Leiningen had constructed a dam by which river water could be diverted into the ditch. A large hand-wheel controlled the floodgate of the dam and apparently Leiningen had ordered it opened immediately after my arrival. For, as we now approached the ditch and rode along it, I could see that it was nearly full.
HORSEBEATS SLOW, HORSES PANT
LEININGEN: Well, how do you like my first line of defense, Commissioner?
COMMISSIONER: Well, it's reassuring. It's like a moat around a castle.
LEININGEN: Unless the ants know how to build rafts, they won't reach the plantation. But this is only the outer moat. There's a better one than this. Come along.
HOOFBEATS QUICKEN, HORSES GRUNT.
LEININGEN: We'll go up to the high ground where the buildings are. We can get a view from there.
COMMISSIONER (shouts over hoofbeats) Leiningen!
COMMISSIONER: I didn't see any women or children around the plantation, or any animals.
LEININGEN: That's right. Moved them across the river.
COMMISSIONER: Oh! So, you think there is danger?
LEININGEN: Oh, not because of danger, Commissioner. A matter of efficiency.
LEININGEN: Cuts down the efficiency of the men if they're worried about their families. Critical situations only become crises when oxen or women get excited.
COMMISSIONER: I might've known.
LEININGEN: Ah, here we are.
HOOFBEATS SLOW, HORSES PANT.
LEININGEN: See the ditch?
COMMISSIONER: Much smaller than the other.
LEININGEN: You've noticed how all the buildings are on this piece of high ground. This inner ditch surrounds them. It's lined with concrete.
COMMISSIONER: But even filled with water, this is no barrier. It's not big enough. Why, if the ants get this far, they'll--
LEININGEN: They'll get no farther. This ditch wasn't built for water, Commissioner. See the pipes leading into it? See those storage tanks on the hill? Petrol. We can throw up a wall of flame...
LEININGEN (continues): ... Would you care to bet they won't like that?
COMMISSIONER: Leiningen! Look! Over at the edge of the jungle. All those animals.
LEININGEN: Ha! Running like the wind everything from jaguars to monkeys.
COMMISSIONER: Good heavens!
LEININGEN: Ha! Ha! Ha! Remember, they don't have any ditches.
COMMISSIONER (darkly): And there's no escape.
LEININGEN: They'll be all right as long as they don't get caught between the river and the ants. They can outrun the crawlers. But if they get trapped, it's either the ants or the crocodiles.
COMMISSIONER (sickened): Ooh...
LEININGEN: Look! Look over there on the horizon! Woah! (in sudden awe) Billions of ants. Look at them.
MUSIC: THE ANTS GO MARCHING TWO BY TWO
COMMISSIONER (narrates): It was a sight I'll never forget. Over the range of hills, as far as eye could see, crept a darkening hem, ever longer and broader, until the shadow spread across the entire slope and then downward, downward, uncannily swift, and all the green herbage on the entire slope was being mown as by a giant sickle, leaving only the vast moving shadow, extending, deepening, and always... moving nearer.
LEININGEN: Oh, they're a hideous lot.
COMMISSIONER: Leiningen, we can't last against that. Look at them! Why, you could fill your ditches with their corpses and still have enough to destroy every one of us. We've got to run!
LEININGEN (a moment of doubt) Well, I... I... (suddenly defiant) No! They haven't reached us yet -- and they never will.
COMMISSIONER (narrates): The hostile army was approaching in perfect formation; no human battalions, however well-drilled, could ever hope to rival the precision of that advance. Along a front that moved forward as uniformly as a straight line, the ants drew nearer and nearer to the water ditch. As they approached, two outlying wings of the army detached themselves from the main body and started marching along the sides of the ditch, no doubt expecting at some point to find a crossing. And during this hour-long flanking movement, the main army remained still. Across the scant twelve feet of ditch, I stared at them... and they stared back at me, a solid mass every one as big as my thumb with a reddish black body and long legs.
A HORRIFIC HOWLING SOUND STARTS AND CONTINUES IN THE BACKGROUND WHILE THE NEXT PASSAGE IS READ.
COMMISSIONER (narrates): Suddenly, a sound so unearthly as to freeze our blood. Just ahead, in the direction of the jungle, on the far side of the ditch, coming toward the ditch at a stumbling gallop was a singular being, a writhing, animal-like blackened statue with a shapeless head and four quivering feet. It was a stag, covered over and over with ants. Leiningen threw up his rifle...
GUNSHOT; HOWLING STOPS; STAG COLLAPSES.
COMMISSIONER (narrates): ... and the stag fell lifeless to the ground. It's agonies at an end. Horrified as I was, my curiosity impelled me to glance at my watch. I had to know how long the ants would take.
COMMISSIONER (narrates): After six minutes, only the white polished bones of the stag remained.
COMMISSIONER (narrates): Now I could see a change in Leiningen. Gone was the sporting zest for the novel contest. In its place was a cold violent purpose: to send these vermin back to the hell where they belonged. If he did not, we were both only too sure of the alternative. And now we even knew how long it would take the ants. An immense flood of ants, about a hundred yards in width, commenced pouring in a glimmering-black cataract down the far slope into the water-filled ditch. Thousands drowned instantly. But the rest began using the bodies as bridges. Leiningen immediately swung into action.
LEININGEN: Anhail? Anhail?
WORKER 1: Huh?
LEININGEN: Get to the dam! Open the floodgate more. Get the water in the ditch moving faster.
WORKER 1: Si, Senor!
LEININGEN: Ah, look at 'em drown -- by the thousands!
COMMISSIONER: Yes, but they keep coming. Even though the current carries many of them away, they're advancing.
LEININGEN: We'll fix them. Black?
LEININGEN: How 'bout those shovels and petrol sprinklers? Have you passed them out to the men?
FOREMAN: It has been done.
LEININGEN: Then get all hands here in a hurry. This looks like the spot for action.
FOREMAN YELLS “HURRY UP MEN!”
LEININGEN: Beginning to see what I was talking about?
COMMISSIONER: What do you mean?
LEININGEN: About intelligence being more than a match for anything it tackles. Take the ants. They've got no intelligence. If they had, they'd have attacked along the whole length of the ditch instead of a narrow front like this. They'd have been across by now. Hmm... Ha! Too bad for them that I'm not running their campaign.
COMMISSIONER: You can joke about it like that with the ants halfway across the ditch?
LEININGEN (ignores him): All right, men! Busy with the shovels now! Dump some sand and clods on them! See how they like that!
THE MEN GO TO WORK, CHATTERING, SHOVELING AND DUMPING.
LEININGEN: You, with the petrol sprinklers! Start pumping!
MEN CHATTER AND PUMP.
LEININGEN: Ha! Ha! Ha! They don't like it, Commissioner. They don't like it a bit! Ha! Ha! Look at them!
COMMISSIONER: Yes. But look at the woods on the far side of the ditch -- whole clumps of them rolling into the water. The rest are using them for bridges.
LEININGEN: What's keeping Anhail? He should be at the dam by now.
COMMISSIONER: They're getting across! More of them!
LEININGEN: Oh, grab a shovel, then, Commissioner. Make 'em regret it.
A WORKER SCREAMS.
LEININGEN: What's the matter?
WORKER 2: I'm being attacked. They’re crawling up my shovel! They're on my arm!
LEININGEN: Into the petrol, idiot! Douse your paws in the petrol!
THE WORKER SCREAMS AS HE DOUSES HIS ARMS IN THE PETROL.
LEININGEN: Keep at it! Keep at it! You're lost if you stop now!
A WHOOSHING SOUND.
LEININGEN: The water's moving faster. Anhail's got the floodgates open.
LEININGEN: Look at the ants! They can't hold their own against the current now. They're being washed away. Look at them, Commissioner! The water is carrying them away! We've beat them! We've won out!
COMMISSIONER (narrates): It was true. Leiningen had won... the opening round. The floodgates were left open to forestall any night crossings. When dawn came, the dark blanket was still there, motionless across the ditch. Then we noticed the feverish activity on the other side of the plantation. Here a grove of tamarind trees lined the far end of the ditch -- and every tree swarmed with the crawling insects. But instead of eating the leaves, they were merely gnawing through the stems, so that a thick green shower fell steadily to the ground.
LEININGEN: Black, have all the petrol pumps brought, get everyone over here except the lookouts on the other side, and pass out the shovels.
FOREMAN: Si, senor.
LEININGEN: Ah, looks like I underestimated them when I said they didn't have intelligence.
COMMISSIONER: What do you mean?
LEININGEN: I said if they wanted to get across they'd have to have rafts. And that's just what they've got. Those leaves are their rafts.
COMMISSIONER (narrates): Even as he spoke, the leaves went tumbling down the far bank by the thousands. The current drew them away from the bank and each leaf was crawling with ants!
LEININGEN: Don't worry, Commissioner. I've still got a trick up my sleeve.
SUDDENLY, THE WORKERS SHOUT AND HOLLER IN SHOCK.
COMMISSIONER: The ditch is drying up!
LEININGEN: Hah! Of course, it's drying up. That's the plan. Those are the orders I sent to the dam.
COMMISSIONER: Are you mad? As soon as it's empty, what's to prevent the ants from advancing? Look! Look, the water's way down! It's almost dry! They'll be able to come across the bottom!
LEININGEN: They'll not make it if the man at the dam carries out his orders. He should have opened the gates again by now.
COMMISSIONER: To... to flood the ants?
THE WATER WHOOSHES DOWN THE DITCH.
LEININGEN (laughs hard): Here it comes! Here comes the water! Now we'll give the crawlers in the ditch a good ride -- out into the river! There! Ha! Look at them go.
THE WORKERS CHEER AS THE WATER WHOOSHES BY.
COMMISSIONER (narrates): Leiningen's tactics were successful -- at first. The violent flow of water at the original depth raced through the ditch, overwhelming leaves and ants, and sweeping them along. Three times, the ditch was emptied. Three times, the ants raced across its bottom. And three times, the rushing water, arriving just in time, carried them away. But the fourth time, the level dropped nearly to the bottom of the ditch. We waited in vain for the rushing water -- and then:
HOOFBEATS ARRIVE; A HORSE GRUNTS.
FOREMAN: Senor! Senor!
LEININGEN: What's the matter? What's gone wrong at the dam?
FOREMAN: The ants! The ants, Senor. Just as the man at the dam lowered the water almost to the bottom, the ants attacked. Before he could open the floodgates, he was almost surrounded. He ran. The ants kept coming. They are across the ditch, Senor!
COMMISSIONER (narrates): Leiningen stood motionless, absorbing the news of his defeat without a word. Then, simply, he raised his pistol...
THREE LOUD PISTOL SHOTS.
COMMISSIONER (narrates): ... and fired three shots into the air, the prearranged signal for all men to retreat, instantly, to the second line of defense, the concrete ditches more than a mile from the point of invasion. Soon after we arrived there, the natives commenced straggling in, silently. Leiningen waited until all of them had gathered then he spoke.
LEININGEN: Well, lads, we won the first round and lost the second. But we'll smash the crawlers yet. Anyone who thinks otherwise can draw his pay and push off. There're rafts enough on the river and plenty of time still to reach 'em.
THE WORKERS ALL SPEAK OUT, REJECTING THE IDEA.
LEININGEN: You'll stay, then?
THE WORKERS ALL NOD THEIR HEADS IN AGREEMENT.
LEININGEN: Thank you, lads. And you, Commissioner?
COMMISSIONER: I, er, can't persuade you to give up the fight, huh?
LEININGEN: You cannot.
COMMISSIONER: Then... I stay, too.
LEININGEN: Ha! I knew you would.
FOREMAN: Ah, Senor! A few of the ants have reached the ditch!
LEININGEN: They're trying to get across?
LEININGEN: I didn't think they would. There's plenty of food over there for them--My fields, my orchards, my work of three years. Ha! Ought to last them until morning anyway.
COMMISSIONER (narrates): Yes, we were safe for the moment. But the next morning, the black swarm was solid around us. Their shock troops were hard at work. They were dropping shreds of bark and twigs and leaves into the petrol-filled ditches forming a floating bridge across the surface of the liquid. Leiningen stood silently watching this operation and I could see a... a grudging admiration in his face. Then, after several hours... the attack came.
COMMISSIONER (narrates): Down the ditch they poured! Millions of them, and, across the bridge of twigs, rapidly approached the inner side. Leiningen sat motionless, watching them.
COMMISSIONER: Leiningen, for the love of God, don't sit there like a statue! They'll be on us in a moment!
LEININGEN: Let them fill the ditch first... Now! All right! Everyone back from the ditch!
THE WORKERS YELP AND HOLLER.
LEININGEN: Black, hand me the torches.
LEININGEN: Now we'll see how our friends like a little heat around 'em.
THE WORKERS HOLLER THEIR APPROVAL AS THEY WATCH THE TORCHES LIGHT THE PETROL, FLAMES APPEARING.
COMMISSIONER (narrates): The flames from the ditch shot into the air, devouring ants by the millions. It was some time before the petrol burned down to the bed of the ditch, and when it did, the devils came back for more. Again and again, Leiningen fired the ditch to destroy them. But as they returned to the assault, time after time, a slow, sickening horror crept into my mind. I looked quickly at Leiningen and then the petrol tanks. He read my gaze; nodded slowly.
LEININGEN: That's right, Commissioner. We could hold them off forever if our supply of petrol was unlimited. But it isn't. We've only got enough to fill the ditch once more.
COMMISSIONER: Leiningen. Isn't there a way? Any way at all?
LEININGEN: Ah, there must be... Yes, there must be a way... Yes. Yes! Yes!!
COMMISSIONER: What is it?
LEININGEN: We'll flood the whole plantation!
COMMISSIONER: Flood? But how?
LEININGEN: The river's higher than any point except this high ground we're on now. If the river was dammed all the way, it would overflow that stone breakwater and flood the whole plantation. We've got to close the floodgate at the dam. That'll do it!
COMMISSIONER: You're mad! The dam is more than a mile away! A mile of ants! It's impossible! You'll never get there, let alone get back.
LEININGEN: That's where you're wrong, Commissioner. I'll get there. I'll get back. Ha! Ha! Take care of things while I'm gone, eh?
COMMISSIONER (narrates): I watched him as he calmly pulled on high leather boots, drew gauntlets over his hands, and stuffed the spaces between breeches and boots, gauntlets and arms, with petrol-soaked rags. He shielded his eyes with close-fitting mosquito goggles. He plugged his nostrils and ears with cotton. Then the natives drenched his clothes with petrol. Black, who acted as doctor to the men, smeared a salve over him. And, finally, Leiningen was ready. As he stood surveying the course he must take to the dam, I sensed a sudden calm.
LEININGEN (narrates): As I stood near the ditch, ready for the run, I realized this was as it should be: I, Leiningen, would meet the ants and defeat them -- or be defeated by them. Ha! Leiningen versus the ants! Yes, it was right that it should be like this. And now there was no more time for thought -- only action. I took a deep breath... then bounded across the ditch in among the ants.
RUNNING FOOTSTEPS AND HEAVY BREATHING.
LEININGEN (narrates): I ran. I ran in long, equal strides, with only one thought, one sensation, in my being -- I must get through. I dodged all trees and shrubs; except for the split seconds my soles touched the ground the ants would have no opportunity to alight on me. I ran on. I was halfway to the dam before I felt ants under my clothes, and a few on my face. I struck at them mechanically, scarcely conscious of their bites. The dam drew towards me slowly. The distance grew less... less... Finally, only a hundred yards away. Fifty! Then I was there. I gripped the ant-covered wheel. But hardly had I seized it when a horde of ants flowed over my hands and arms. I strained.
THE WHEEL CREAKS.
LEININGEN (narrates): Slowly, the wheel turned... turned more... Floodgates were swinging slowly shut. But then...
LEININGEN (narrates): The floodgate was shut. And the water was rising... It rose until it spilled over.
LEININGEN (narrates): The flooding of the plantation had begun. I let go of the wheel and started back through the ants, running.
LEININGEN (narrates): For the first time, I realized I was coated from head to foot with the ants. Tongues of fire stabbed me and bit into my flesh. I almost lost my head with the pain as I ran, knocking ants from my body, brushing them from my bloodied face, and... and then... (groans) one bit me just below the rim of my goggles; managed to tear it away, but the agony of the bite and its venom drilled into the eye nerves; I-I saw now through circles of fire into a milky mist. I was almost blinded but I knew that if I tripped and fell, I.... (breathes heavily) I ran on, my heart pounding as if it would burst; blood roaring in my ears; a giant's fist battering my lungs. Then, I-I could see -- dimly -- that wall of flame at the ditch. Oh, but it was too far away; I couldn't last half that distance.
LEININGEN STUMBLES AND FALLS.
LEININGEN (narrates): I stumbled. I fell. I felt myself being swarmed over -- devoured! Tried to rise... A great weight... And suddenly the vision of the half-devoured stag in my brain: six minutes, then nothing but bones. I couldn't let that happen to me! I couldn't die like that! To my feet. My feet. I dragged myself forward, toward the flames.
LEININGEN (narrates): The ditch! Ring of flames! Closer, now! Only a little farther! Ten steps! Eight! Five!
COMMISSIONER (narrates): It seemed we had waited for hours... when all at once, through the blazing ring around us, an apparition hurtled and fell full length on the ground. It was Leiningen, alive with ants, unconscious, with glazing eyes and lacerated face. We rushed to him, stripped off his clothes, and tore at the ants that covered him. His body seemed almost one open wound; in one place, I could see a white bone.
COMMISSIONER (narrates): Later, as the curtain of flame lowered, I looked out where that blanket of ants had been and saw only a vast expanse of water, covering the entire plantation, and working its way to within a few feet of the concrete ditch. The ants were gone -- drowned -- and Leiningen had won. He lay on his bed, body swathed from head to foot with bandages. But alive -- and still in command.
LEININGEN (weakly): Everything... in order?
COMMISSIONER: Everything's in order.
LEININGEN: I told you I'd come back. (chuckles) Even if I am a bit streamlined.
COMMISSIONER (narrates): He grinned, shut his eyes. He slept.
"Leiningen vs. the Ants", a short story by Carl Stephenson published in Esquire magazine in 1938, was presented by Escape, Suspense, Mystery in the Air, and Lux Radio Theatre. The story depicts the battle between the owner of a plantation in the Brazilian jungle and an attacking army of soldier ants.
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