THE ARMY ANTS’ HOME TOWN 63 
no over-hanging tree from which I might sus- 
pend myself spider-wise. So I sent Sam for an 
ordinary chair, four tin cans, and a bottle of dis- 
infectant. I filled the tins with the tarry fluid, 
and in four carefully timed rushes I placed the. 
tins in a chair-leg square. The fifth time I put 
the chair in place beneath the nest, but I had mis- 
judged my distances and had to retreat with 
only two tins in place. Another effort, with 
Spartan-like disregard of the fiery bites, and my 
haven was ready. I hung a bag of vials, note- 
book, and Jens on the chairback, and, with a final 
rush, climbed on the seat and curled up as com- 
fortably as possible. 
All around the tins, swarming to the very edge 
of the liquid, were the angry hosts. Close to my 
face were the lines ascending and descending, 
while just above me were hundreds of thousands, 
a bushel-basket of army ants, with only the 
strength of their thread-like legs as suspension 
cables. It took some time to get used to my en- 
vironment, and from first to last I was never 
wholly relaxed, or quite unconscious of what 
would happen if a chair-leg broke, or a bamboo 
fell across the outhouse. 
I swiveled round on the chair-seat and counted 
