We found that the egg of the wasp, which was seven millimeters long, and rather slender, was placed on the under face of the thorax at a right angle to its length, and parallel with the femur of the second leg. This leg had apparently been stung so that it had swollen and folded over the free end of the egg, which was thus firmly held in place at both extremities.[3] Upon examination we found that the abdomen of the grasshopper was beating regularly and automatically, but the closest observation failed to discover any other movements, nor would any part respond when stimulated. At three o’clock in the afternoon we found the abdomen still pulsating, and, in addition, that both antennæ moved several times when we lifted off the cover of the jar that contained the insect. On the next morning the grasshopper was very lively, the antennæ and labial palpi moving without stimulation. It had passed fæces, and was able to lift its abdomen, which was curved over toward the head, as it lay on its back, frequently and with considerable violence. On the next afternoon there was no change in the movements, but the egg was dead. On the seventh the grasshopper responded to stimulation by a slight movement of the palpi and the end of the abdomen. The pulsation of the abdomen continued until the afternoon of the eighth, when it ceased, no effort of ours succeeding in starting it again. The movements of the antennæ and palpi grew weaker and weaker on the ninth, and on the morning of the tenth the insect was dead, a period of five and a half days having elapsed since it was brought into the nest.
We had not supposed that the digging up of her nest would much disturb our Sphex, since her connection with it was so nearly at an end; but in this we were mistaken. When we returned to the garden about half an hour after we had done the deed, we heard her loud and anxious humming from a distance. She was searching far and near for her treasure house, returning every few minutes to the right spot, although the upturned earth had entirely changed its appearance. She seemed unable to believe her eyes, and her persistent refusal to accept the fact that her nest had been destroyed was pathetic. She lingered about the garden all through the day, and made so many visits to us, getting under our umbrellas and thrusting her tremendous personality into our very faces, that we wondered if she were trying to question us as to the whereabouts of her property. Later we learned that we had wronged her more deeply than we knew. Had we not interfered she would have excavated several cells to the side of the main tunnel, storing a grasshopper in each. Who knows but perhaps our Golden Digger, standing among the ruins of her home, or peering under our umbrella, said to herself: “Men are poor things: I don’t know why the world thinks so much of them.”