Books: Moths of the Limberlost
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Gene Stratton Porter >> Moths of the Limberlost
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These moths are the gamins of their family, and love the streets
and lights at night.
Under an arc light at Wabash, Indiana, I once picked up as beautiful
a specimen of Polyphemus as I ever saw, and the following day a
friend told me that several had been captured the night before in
the heart of town.
CHAPTER XI The Garden Fly: Protoparce Carolina
Protoparce Carolina is a 'cousin' of Celeus, and so nearly its
double that the caterpillars and moths must be seen together to be
differentiated by amateurs; while it is doubtful if skilled scientists
can always identify the pupa cases with certainty. Carolina is more
common in the south, but it is frequent throughout the north. Its
caterpillars eat the same food as Celeus, and are the same size.
They are a dull green, while Celeus is shining, and during the
succession of moults, they show slight variations in colour.
They pupate in a hole in the ground. The moths on close
examination show quite a difference from Celeus. They are darker
in colour. The fore-wings lack the effect of being laid off in
lines. The colour is a mottling of almost black, darkest grey,
lighter grey, brown, and white. The back wings are crossed by
wavy bands of brownish grey, black, and tan colour, and the yellow
markings on the abdomen are larger.
In repose, these moths fold the front wings over the back like
large flies. In fact, in the south they are called the `Tobacco
Fly' ; and we of the north should add the `Tomato and Potato
Fly.' Because I thought such a picture would be of interest, I
reproduced a pair---the male as he clung to a piece of pasteboard
in the `fly' attitude.
Celeus and Carolina caterpillars come the nearest being pests of
those of any large moths, because they feed on tomato, potato,
and tobacco, but they also eat jimson weed, ground cherry, and
several vines that are of no use to average folk.
The Carolina moths come from their pupa cases as featherweights
step into the sparring. They feed partially by day, and their
big eyes surely see more than those of most other moths, that
seem small and deepset in comparison. Their legs are long, and
not so hairy as is the rule. They have none of the blind, aimless,
helpless appearance of moths that do not feed. They exercise
violently in the pupa cases before they burst the shields, and when
they emerge their eyes glow and dilate. They step with firmness
and assurance, as if they knew where they wanted to go, and how to
arrive. They are of direct swift flight, and much experience and
dexterity are required to take them on wing.
Both my Carolina moths emerged in late afternoon, about four
o'clock, near the time their kind take flight to hunt for food.
The light was poor in the Cabin, so I set up my camera and focused
on a sweetbrier climbing over the back door.
The newly emerged moth was travelling briskly in that first
exercise it takes, while I arranged my camera; so by the time
I was ready, it had reached the place to rest quietly until
its wings developed. Carolina climbed on my finger with all
assurance, walked briskly from it to the roses, and clung there
firmly.
The wet wings dropped into position, and the sun dried them
rapidly. I fell in love with my subject. He stepped around so
jauntily in comparison with most moths. The picture he made while
clinging to the roses during the first exposure was lovely.
His slender, trim legs seemed to have three long joints, and two
short in the feet. In his sidewise position toward the lens, the
abdomen showed silver-white beneath, silvery grey on the sides,
and large patches of orange surrounded by black, with touches of
white on top. His wings were folded together on his back as they
drooped, showing only the under sides, and on these the markings
were more clearly defined than on top. In the sunlight the fore
pair were a warm tan grey, exquisitely lined and shaded. They
were a little more than half covered by the back pair, that folded
over them. These were a darker grey, with tan and almost black
shadings, and crossed by sharply zig-zagging lines of black. The
grey legs were banded by lines of white. The first pair clung to
the stamens of the rose, the second to the petals, and the third
stretched out and rested on a leaf.
There were beautiful markings of very dark colour and white on the
thorax, head, shoulders, and back wings next the body. The big
eyes, quite the largest of any moth I remember, reminded me of owl
eyes in the light. The antennae, dark, grey-brown on top, and
white on the under side, turned back and drooped beside the costa,
no doubt in the position they occupied in the pupa case.
The location was so warm, and the moth dried so rapidly, that by
the time two good studies were made of him in this position, he
felt able to step to some leaves, and with no warning whatever,
reversed his wings to the `fly' position, so that only the top
side of the front pair showed. The colour was very rich and
beautiful, but so broken in small patches and lines, as to be
difficult to describe. With the reversal of the wings the
antennae flared a little higher, and the exercise of the sucking
tube began. The moth would expose the whole length of the tube in
a coil, which it would make larger and contract by turns, at times
drawing it from sight. When it was uncoiled the farthest, a cleft
in the face where it fitted could be seen.
The next day my second Carolina case produced a beautiful female.
The history of her emergence was exactly similar to that of the
male. Her head, shoulders, and abdomen seemed nearly twice the
size of his, while her wings but a trifle, if any larger.
As these moths are feeders, and live for weeks, I presume when the
female has deposited her eggs, the abdomen contracts, and loses its
weight so that she does not require the large wings of the females
that only deposit their eggs and die. They are very heavy, and
if forced to flight must have big wings to support them. I was so
interested in this that I slightly chloroformed the female, and made
a study of the pair. The male was fully alive and alert, but they
had not mated, and he would not take wing. He clung in his natural
position, so that he resembled a big fly, on the smooth side of the
sheet of corrugated paper on which I placed the female. His wings
folded over each other. The abdomen and the antennae were invisible,
because they were laid flat on the costa of each wing.
The female clung to the board, in any position in which she was
placed. Her tongue readily uncoiled, showing its extreme length,
and curled around a pin. With a camel'shair brush I gently spread
her wings to show how near they were the size of the male's, and
how much larger her body was.
Her fore-wings were a trifle lighter in colour than the male's, and
not so broken with small markings. The back wings were very
similar. Her antennae stood straight out from the head on each
side, of their own volition and differed from the male's. It has
been my observation that in repose these moths fold the antennae
as shown by the male. The position of the female was unnatural.
In flight, or when feeding, the antennae are raised, and used as
a guide in finding food flowers. A moth with broken antennae seems
dazed and helpless, and in great distress.
I have learned by experience in handling moths, that when I induce
one to climb upon bark, branch, or flower for a study, they seldom
place their wings as I want them. Often it takes long and patient
coaxing, and they are sensitive to touch. If I try to force a
fore-wing with my fingers to secure a wider sweep, so that the
markings of the back wings show, the moths resent it by closing
them closer than before, climbing to a different location or often
taking flight.
But if I use a fine camel's-hair brush, that lacks the pulsation
of circulation, and gently stroke the wing, and sides of the
abdomen, the moths seems to like the sensation and grow sleepy or
hypnotized. By using the brush I never fail to get wing extension
that will show markings, and at the same time the feet and body
are in a natural position. After all is said there is to say,
and done there is to do, the final summing up and judgment of any
work on Natural History will depend upon whether it is true to
nature. It is for this reason I often have waited for days and
searched over untold miles to find the right location, even the
exact leaf, twig or branch on which a subject should be placed.
I plead guilty to the use of an anesthetic in this chapter only
to show the tongue extension of Carolina, because it is the
extremest with which I am acquainted; and to coaxing wide wing
sweep with the camel'shair brush; otherwise either the fact that
my subjects are too close emergence ever to have taken flight,
or sex attraction alone holds them.
If you do not discover love running through every line of this
text and see it shining from the face of each study and painting,
you do not read aright and your eyes need attention. Again and
again to the protests of my family, I have made answer--
"To work we love we rise betimes, and go to it with delight."
From the middle of May to the end of June of the year I was most
occupied with this book, my room was filled with cocoons and pupa
cases. The encased moths I had reason to believe were on the point
of appearing lay on a chair beside my bed or a tray close my
pillow. That month I did not average two hours of sleep in a
night, and had less in the daytime. I not only arose `betimes,'
but at any time I heard a scratching and tugging moth working to
enter the world, and when its head was out, I was up and ready
with note-book and camera. Day helped the matter but slightly,
for any moth emerging in the night had to be provided a location,
and pictured before ten o'clock or it was not safe to take it
outside. Then I had literally 'to fly' to develop the plate,
make my print and secure exact colour reproduction while the moth
was fresh.
For this is a point to remember in photographing a moth. A FREE
LIVING MOTH NEVER RAISES ITS WINGS HIGHER THAN A STRAIGHT LINE FROM
THE BASES CROSSING THE TOP OF THE THORAX. It requires expert and
adept coaxing to get them horizontal with their bases. If you do,
you show all markings required; and preserve natural values, quite
the most important things to be considered.
I made a discovery with Carolina. Moths having digestive organs
and that are feeders are susceptible to anaesthetics in a far
higher degree than those that do not feed. Many scientific
workers confess to having poured full strength chloroform
directly on nonfeeders, mounted them as pinned specimens
and later found them living; so that sensitive lepidopterists
have abandoned its use for the cyanide or gasoline jar. I intended
to give only a whiff of chloroform to this moth, just enough that
she would allow her tongue to remain uncoiled until I could snap
its fullest extent, but I could not revive her. The same amount
would have had no effect whatever on a non-feeder,
CHAPTER XII Bloody-nose of Sunshine Hill: Hemaris Thysbe
John Brown lives a mile north of our village, in the little hamlet
of Ceylon. Like his illustrious predecessor of the same name he is
willing to do something for other people. Mr. Brown owns a large
farm, that for a long distance borders the Wabash River where it is
at its best, and always the cameras and I have the freedom of his
premises.
On the east side of the village, about half its length, swings a
big gate, that opens into a long country lane. It leads between
fields of wheat and corn to a stretch of woods pasture, lying on a
hillside, that ends at the river. This covers many acres, most of
the trees have been cut; the land rises gradually to a crest, that
is crowned by a straggling old snake fence, velvety black in
places, grey with lint in others, and liberally decorated its
entire length with lichens, in every shade of grey and green.
Its corners are filled with wild flowers, ferns, gooseberries,
raspberries, black and red haw, papaw, wild grapevines, and trees
of all varieties. Across the fence a sumac covered embankment
falls precipitately to the Wabash, where it sweeps around a great
curve at Horseshoe Bend. The bed is stone and gravel, the water
flows shallow and pure in the sunlight, and mallows and willows
fringe the banks.
Beside this stretch of river most of one summer was spent, because
there were two broods of cardinals, whose acquaintance I was
cultivating, raised in those sumacs. The place was very secluded,
as the water was not deep enough for fishing or swimming. On days
when the cardinals were contrary, or to do the birds justice, when
they had experiences with an owl the previous night, or with a
hawk in the morning, and were restless or unduly excited, much
grist for my camera could be found on the river banks.
These were the most beautiful anywhere in my locality. The hum of
busy life was incessant. From the top twig of the giant sycamore
in Rainbow Bottom, the father of the cardinal flock hourly
challenged all creation to contest his right to one particular
sumac. The cardinals were the attraction there; across the fence
where the hill sloped the length of the pasture to the lane, lures
were many and imperative. Despite a few large trees, compelling
right to life by their majesty, that hillside was open pasture,
where the sunshine streamed all day long. Wild roses clambered
over stumps of fallen monarchs, and scrub oak sheltered resting
sheep. As it swept to the crest, the hillside was thickly dotted
with mullein, its pale yellow-green leaves spreading over the grass,
and its spiral of canary-coloured bloom stiffly upstanding. There
were thistles, the big, rank, richly growing, kind, that browsing
cattle and sheep circled widely.
Very beautiful were these frosted thistles, with their large,
widespreading base leaves, each spine needle-tipped, their uplifted
heads of delicate purple bloom, and their floating globes of silken
down, with a seed in their hearts. No wonder artists have painted
them, decorators conventionalized them; even potters could not pass
by their artistic merit, for I remembered that in a china closet at
home there were Belleck cups moulded in the shape of a thistle head.
Experience had taught me how the appreciate this plant. There
wasa chewink in the Stanley woods, that brought off a brood of four,
under the safe shelter of a rank thistle leaf, in the midst of
trampling herds of cattle driven wild by flies. There was a ground
sparrow near the Hale sand pit, covered by a base leaf of another
thistle, and beneath a third on Bob's lease, I had made a study of
an exquisite nest. Protection from the rank leaves was not all the
birds sought of these plants, for goldfinches were darting around
inviting all creation to "See me?" as they gathered the silken
down for nest lining. Over the sweetly perfumed purple heads, the
humming-birds held high carnival on Sunshine Hillside all the day.
The honey and bumble bees fled at the birds' approach, but what
were these others, numerous everywhere, that clung to the blooms,
greedily thrusting their red noses between the petals, and giving
place to nothing else?
For days as I passed among them, I thought them huge bees. The
bright colouring of their golden olive-green, and red-wine striped
bodies had attracted me in passing. Then one of them approached a
thistle head opposite me in such a way its antennae and the long
tongue it thrust into the bloom could be seen. That proved it was
not a bee, and punishment did not await any one who touched it.
There were so many that with one sweep of the net two were captured.
They were examined to my satisfaction and astonishment. They were
moths! Truly moths, feeding in the brilliant sunshine all the day;
bearing a degree of light and heat I never had known any other moth
to endure. Talk about exquisite creatures! These little day moths,
not much larger than the largest bumble bees, had some of their
gaudiest competitors of moonlight and darkness outdone.
The head was small and pointed, with big eyes, a long tongue,
clubbed antennae, and a blood-red nose. The thorax above was
covered with long, silky, olive-green hair; the top of the abdomen
had half an inch band of warm tan colour, then a quarter of an inch
band of velvety red wine, then a band nearer the olive of the
shoulders. The males had claspers covered with small red-wine
feathers tan tipped. The thorax was cream-coloured below and the
under side of the abdomen red wine crossed with cream-coloured
lines at each segment.
The front wings had the usual long, silky hairs. They were of
olive-green shading into red, at the base, the costa was red, and
an escalloped band of red bordered them. The intervening space was
transparent like thinnest isinglass, and crossed with fine red
veins. The back wings were the same, only the hairs at the base
were lighter red, and the band at the edge deeper in colour.
The head of the male seemed sharper, the shoulders stronger olive,
the wings more pointed at the apex, where the female's were a
little rounded. The top of the abdomen had the middle band of such
strong red that it threw the same colour over the bands above and
below it; giving to the whole moth a strong red appearance when
on wing. They, were so fascinating the birds were forgotten, and
the hillside hunted for them until a pair were secured to carry
home for identification, before the whistle of the cardinal from
Rainbow Bottom rang so sharply that I remembered this was the day
I had hoped to secure his likeness; and here I was allowing a
little red-nosed moth so to thrust itself upon my attention, that
my cameras were not even set up and focused on the sumac.
This tiny sunshine moth, Hemaris Thysbe, was easy ofidentification,
and its whole life history before me on the hillside. I was too busy
with the birds to raise many caterpillars, so reference to several
books taught me that they all agreed on the main points of Hemaris
history.
Hemaris means `bloody nose.' `Bloody nose' on account of the
red first noticed on the face, though some writers called them
'Clear wings,' because of the transparent spaces on the wings.
Certainly `clear wings' is a most appropriate and poetic name for
this moth. Fastidious people will undoubtedly prefer it for
common usage. For myself, I always think of the delicate, gaudy
little creature, greedily thrusting its blood-red nose into the
purple thistle blooms; so to my thought it returns as `bloody
nose.'
The pairs mate early after emerging, and lay about two hundred
small eggs to the female, from which the caterpillars soon hatch,
and begin their succession of moults. One writer gave black haw
and snowball as their favourite foods, and the length of the
caterpillar when full grown nearly two inches. They are either
a light brown with yellow markings, or green with yellow; all of
them have white granules on the body, and a blue-black horn with
a yellow base. They spin among the leaves on the ground, and the
pupa, while small, is shaped like Regalis, except that it has a
sharper point at each end, and more prominent wing shields. It
has no raised tongue case, although it belongs to the family of
`long tongues.'
On learning all I could acquire by experience with these moths,
and what the books had to teach, I became their warm admirer. One
sunny morning climbing the hill on the way to the cardinals, with
fresh plates in my cameras, and high hopes in my heart, I passed
an unsuually large fine thistle, with half a dozen Thysbe moths
fluttering over it as if nearly crazed with fragrance, or honey
they were sipping.
"Come here! Come here! Come here!" intoned the cardinal, from
the sycamore of Rainbow Bottom.
"Just you wait a second, old fellow!" I heard myself answering.
Scarcely realizing what I was doing, the tripod was set up, the
best camera taken out, and focused on that thistle head. The
moths paid no attention to bees, butterflies, or humming-birds
visiting the thistle, but this was too formidable, and by the
time the choicest heads were in focus, all the little red fellows
had darted to another plant. If the camera was moved there, they
would change again, so I sat in the shade of a clump of papaws to
wait and see if they would not grow accustomed to it.
They kept me longer than I had expected, and the chances are I
would have answered the cardinal's call, and gone to the river,
had it not been for the interest found in watching a beautiful grey
squirrel that homed in an ivy-covered stump in the pasture. He
seemed to have much business on the fence at the hilltop, and raced
back and forth to it repeatedly. He carried something, I could not
always tell what, but at times it was green haws. Once he came
with no food, and at such a headlong run that he almost turned
somersaults as he scampered up the tree.
For a long time he was quiet, then he cautiously peeped out.
After a while he ventured to the ground, raced to a dead stump,
and sitting on it, barked and scolded with all his might. Then he
darted home again. When he had repeated this performance several
times, the idea became apparent. There was some danger to be
defied in Rainbow Bottom, but not a sound must be made from his home.
The bark of a dog hurried me to the fence in time to see some hunters
passing in the bottom, but I thanked mercy they were on the
opposite side of the river and it was not probable they would
wade, so my birds would not be disturbed. When the squirrel felt
that he must bark and chatter, or burst with tense emotions, he
discreetly left his mate and nest. I did some serious thinking on
the `instinct' question. He might choose a hollow log for his
home by instinct, or eat certain foods because hunger urged him,
but could instinct teach him not to make a sound where his young
family lay? Without a doubt, for this same reason, the cardinal
sang from every tree and bush around Horseshoe Bend, save the
sumac where his mate hovered their young.
The matter presented itselfin this way. The squirrel has feet,
and he runs with them. He has teeth, and he eats with them. He
has lungs, and he breathes with them. Every organ of his interior
has its purpose, and is used to fulfil it. His big, prominent eyes
come from long residence in dark hollows. His bushy tail helps
him in long jumps from tree to tree. Every part of his anatomy is
created, designed and used to serve some purpose, save only his
brain, the most complex and complicated part of him. Its only use
and purpose is to form one small 'tidbit ' for the palate of the
epicure! Like Sir Francis, who preached a sermon to the birds,
I found me delivering myself of a lecture to the squirrels, birds,
and moths of Sunshine Hill. The final summing up was, that the
squirrel used his feet, teeth, eyes and tail; that could be seen
easily, and by his actions it could be seen just as clearly that
he used his brain also.
There was not a Thysbe in front of the lens, so picking up a long
cudgel I always carry afield, and going quietly to surrounding
thistles, I jarred them lightly with it, and began rounding up the
Hemaris family in the direction of the camera. The trick was a
complete success. Soon I had an exposure on two. After they had
faced the camera once, and experienced no injury, like the birds,
they accepted it as part of the landscape. The work was so
fascinating, and the pictures on the ground glass so worth while,
that before I realized what I was doing, half a dozen large plates
were gone, and for this reason, work with the cardinals that day
ended at noon. This is why I feel that at times in bird work the
moths literally `thrust themselves' upon me.
CHAPTER XIII The Modest Moth: Triptogon Modesta
Of course this moth was named Modesta because of modest colouring.
It reminds me of a dove, being one of my prime favourites. On wing
it is suggestive of Polyphemus, but its colours are lighter and softer.
Great beauty that Polyphemus is, Modesta equals it.
Modesta belongs to the genus Triptogon, species Modesta--hence the
common name, the Modest moth. I am told that in the east this moth
is of stronger colouring than in the central and western states. I
do not know about the centre and west, but I do know that only as
far east as Indiana, Modesta is of more delicate colouring than it
is described by scientists of New York and Pennsylvania; and,
of course, as in almost every case, the female is not so strongly
coloured as the male.
I can class the Modest moth and its caterpillar among those I know,
but my acquaintance with it is more limited than with almost any other.
My first introduction came when I found a caterpillar of striking
appearance on water sprouts growing around a poplar stump in a
stretch of trees beside the Wabash. I carried it home with a
supply of the leaves for diet, but as a matter of luck, it had
finished eating, and was ready to pupate. I write of this as good
luck, because the poplar tree is almost extinct in my location. I
know of only one in the fields, those beside the river, and a few
used for ornamental shade trees. They are so scarce I would have
had trouble to provide the caterpillar with natural food; so I
was glad that it was ready to pupate when found.
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