SEQUELS 293 
side, over ants, leaves, debris, impatient only at 
the slowness of the army. 
All the afternoon the insane circle revolved; 
at midnight the hosts were still moving, the sec- 
ond morning many had weakened and dropped 
their burdens, and the general pace had very ap- 
preciably slackened. But still the blind grip of 
instinct held them. On, on, on they must go! 
Always before in their nomadic life there had 
been a goal—a sanctuary of hollow tree, snug 
heart of bamboos—surely this terrible grind must 
end somehow. In this crisis, even the Spirit of 
the Army was helpless. Along the normal paths 
of Eciton life he could inspire endless enthu- 
‘siasm, illimitable energy, but here his material 
units were bound upon the wheel of their perfec- 
tion of instinct. Through sun and cloud, day 
and night, hour after hour there was found no 
Eciton with individual initiative enough to turn 
aside an ant’s breadth from the circle which he 
had traversed perhaps fifteen times: the masters 
of the jungle had become their own mental prey. 
Fewer and fewer now came along the well 
worn path; burdens littered the line of march, 
like the arms and accoutrements thrown down by 
a retreating army. At last a scanty single line 
