HAMMOCK NIGHTS 225 



insistent screaming of a cicada which seemed to 

 have gone mad in the heat, when a low rustling 

 caught my ear a sound of moving leaves with- 

 out wind; the voice of a breeze in the midst of 

 breathless heat. There was in it something sin- 

 ister and foreboding. I leaned over the edge of 

 my hammock, and saw coming toward me, in a 

 broad, irregular front, a great army of ants, 

 battalion after battalion of them flowing like 

 a sea of living motes over twigs and leaves and 

 stems. I knew the danger and I half sat up, 

 prepared to roll out and walk to one side. Then 

 I gaged my supporting strands ; tested them un- 

 til they vibrated and hummed, and lay back, 

 watching, to see what would come about. I 

 knew that no creature in the world could stay 

 in the path of this horde and live. To kill an 

 insect or a great bird would require only a few 

 minutes, and the death of a jaguar or a tapir 

 would mean only a few more. Against this at- 

 tack, claws, teeth, poison-fangs would be idle 

 weapons. 



In the van fled a cloud of terrified insects 

 those gifted with flight to wing their way far off , 

 while the humbler ones went running headlong, 

 their legs, four, sjx, or a hundred, making the 



