CHAPTER VII King of the Hollyhocks: Protoparce Celeus
Protoparce Celeus was the companion of Deilephila Lineata in the
country garden where I first studied Nature. Why I was taught that
Lineata was a bird, and Celeus a moth, it is difficult to understand,
for they appear very similar when poising before flowers. They visit
the same blooms, and vary but little in size. The distinction that
must have made the difference was that while Lineata kept company
with the hummingbirds and fed all day, Celeus came forth at dusk,
and flew in the evening and at night. But that did not conclusively
prove it a moth, for nighthawks and whip-poor-wills did the same;
yet unquestionably they were birds.
Anyway, I always knew Celeus was a moth, and that every big, green
caterpillar killed on the tomato vines meant one less of its kind
among the flowers. I never saw one of these moths close a tomato
or potato vine, a jimson weed or ground cherry, but all my life
I have seen their eggs on these plants, first of a pale green closely
resembling the under side of the leaves, and if they had been laid
some time, a yellow colour. The eggs are not dotted along in lines,
or closely placed, but are deposited singly, or by twos, at least
very sparsely.
The little caterpillars emerge in about a week, and then comes the
process of eating until they grow into the large, green tomato or
tobacco worms that all of us have seen. When hatched the caterpillars
are green, and have grey caudal horns similar to Lineata. After
eating for four or five days, they cast their skins. This process
is repeated three or four times, when the full-grown caterpillars
are over four inches long, exactly the colour of a green tomato,
with pale blue and yellow markings of beautiful shades, the horns
blue-black; and appearing sharp enough to inflict a severe wound.
Like all sphinx caterpillars Celeus is perfectly harmless; but this
horn, in connexion with the habit the creatures have of clinging
to the vines with the back feet, raising the head and striking from
side to side, makes people very sure they can bite or sting, or
inflict some serious hurt. So very vigorous are they in self-defence
when disturbed, that robins and cuckoos are the only birds I ever
have seen brave enough to pick them until the caterpillars loosen
their hold and drop to the ground, where they are eaten with evident
relish.
One cuckoo of my experience that nested in an old orchard, adjoining
a potato patch, frequently went there caterpillar-hunting, and played
havoc with one wherever found. The shy, deep wood habits of the
cuckoo prevent it from coming close houses and into gardens, but
robins will take these big caterpillars from tomato vines. However,
they go about it rather gingerly, and the work of reducing one to
non-resistance does not seem to be at all coveted. Most people exhibit
symptoms of convulsions at sight of one. Yet it is a matter of education.
I have seen women kiss and fondle cats and dogs, one snap from which
would result in disfiguration or horrible death, and seem not to
be able to get enough of them. But they were quite equal to a genuine
faint if contact were suggested with a perfectly harmless caterpillar,
a creature lacking all means of defence, save this demonstration
of throwing the head.
When full-fed the caterpillars enter the earth to pupate, and on
the fifteenth of October, 1906, only the day before I began this
chapter, the Deacon, in digging worms for a fishing trip to the
river, found a pupa case a yard from the tomato vines, and six inches
below the surface. He came to my desk, carrying on a spade a ball
of damp earth larger than a quart bowl. With all care we broke this
as nearly in halves as possible and found in the centre a firm,
oval hole, the size and shape of a hen's egg, and in the opening
a fine fresh pupa case.
It was a beautiful red-brown in colour, long and slenderer than
a number of others in my box of sand, and had a long tongue case
turned under and fastened to the pupa between the wing shields.
The sides of the abdomen were pitted; the shape of the head, and
the eyes showed through the case, the wing shields were plainly
indicated, and the abdominal shield was in round sections so that
the pupa could twist from side to sid when touched, proving that
the developing moth inside was very much alive and in fine condition.
There were no traces of the cast skin. The caterpillar had been
so strong and had pushed so hard against the surrounding earth that
the direction from which it had entered was lost. The soil was packed
and crowded firmly for such a distance that this large ball was
forced together. Trembling with eagerness I hurriedly set up a camera.
This phase of moth life often has been described, but I never before
heard of any one having been able to reproduce it, so my luck was
glorious. A careful study of this ball of earth, the opening in
which the case lies, and the pupa, with its blunt head and elaborate
tongue shield, will convince any one that when ready to emerge these
moths must bore the six inches to the surface with the point of
the abdomen, and there burst the case, cling to the first twig and
develop and harden the wings. The abdominal point is sharp, surprisingly
strong, and the rings of the segments enable it to turn in all directions,
while the earth is mellow and moist with spring rains. To force
a way head first would be impossible on account of the delicate
tongue shield, and for the moth to emerge underground and dig to
the surface without displacing a feather of down, either before
or after wing expansion, is unthinkable. Yet I always had been in
doubt as to precisely how the exit of a pupa case moth took place,
until I actually saw the earth move and the sharp abdominal point
appear while working in my garden.
Living pupae can be had in the fall, by turning a few shovels of
soil close vegetables in any country garden. In the mellow mould,
among cabbages and tomato vines, around old log cabins close the
Limberlost swamp, they are numerous, and the emerging moths haunt
the sweet old-fashioned flowers.
The moth named Celeus, after a king of Eleusis, certainly has kingly
qualities to justify the appellation. The colouring is all grey,
black, brown, white and yellow, and the combinations are most artistic.
It is a relative of Lineata. It flies and feeds by day, has nearly
the same length of life, and is much the same in shape.
The head is small and sharp, eyes very much larger than Lineata,
and tongue nearly four inches in length. The antennae are not clubbed,
but long and hairlike. It has the broad shoulders, the long wings,
and the same shape of abdomen. The wings, front and back, are so
mottled, lined, and touched with grey, black, brown and white, as
to be almost past definite description. The back wings have the
black and white markings more clearly defined. The head meets the
thorax with a black band. The back is covered with long, grey down,
and joins the abdomen, with a band of black about a quarter of an
inch wide, and then a white one of equal width. The abdomen is the
gaudiest part of the moth. In general it is a soft grey. It is crossed
by five narrow white lines the length of the abdomen, and a narrow
black one down the middle. Along each side runs a band of white.
On this are placed four large yellow spots each circled by a band
of black that joins the black band of the spot next to it. The legs
and under side of the abdomen and wings are a light grey-tan, with
the wing markings showing faintly, and the abdomen below is decorated
with two small black dots.
My first Celeus, a very large and beautiful one, was brought to
me by Mr. Wallace Hardison, who has been an interested helper with
this book. The moth had a wing sweep of fully five and a half inches,
and its markings were unusually bright and strong. No other Celeus
quite so big and beautiful ever has come to my notice. From four
and a half to five inches is the average size.
There was something the matter with this moth. Not a scale of down
seemed to be missing, but it was torpid and would not fly. Possibly
it had been stung by some parasite before taking flight at all,
for it was very fresh. I just had returned from a trip north, and
there were some large pieces of birch bark lying on the table on
which the moth had been placed. It climbed on one of these, and
clung there, so I set up the bark, and made a time exposure. It
felt so badly it did not even close them when I took a brush and
spread its wings full width. Soon after it became motionless. I
had begun photographing moths recently; it was one of my very first,
and no thought of using it for natural history purposes occurred
at the time. I merely made what I considered a beautiful likeness,
and this was so appreciated whenever shown, that I went further
and painted it in water colours.
Since moth pictures have accumulated, and moth history has engrossed
me with its intense interest, I have been very careful in making
studies to give each one its proper environment when placing it
before my camera. Of all the flowers in our garden, Celeus prefers
the hollyhocks. At least it comes to them oftenest and remains at
them longest. But it moves continually and flies so late that a
picture of it has been a task. After years of fruitless effort,
I made one passable snapshot early in July, while the light was
sufficiently strong that a printable picture could be had by intensifying
the plate, and one good time exposure as a Celeus, with half-folded
wings, clambered over a hollyhock, possibly hunting a spot on which
to deposit an egg or two. The hollyhock painting of this chapter
is from this study. The flowers were easy but it required a second
trial to do justice to the complicated markings of the moth.
This evening lover and strong flyer, with its swallow-like sweep
of wing, comes into the colour schemes of nature with the otter,
that at rare times thrusts a sleek grey head from the river, with
the grey-brown cotton-tails that bound across the stubble, and the
coots that herald dawn in the marshes. Exactly the shades, and almost
the markings ofits wings can be found on very old rail fences. This
lint shows lighter colour, and even grey when used in the house
building of wasps and orioles, but I know places in the country
where I could carve an almost perfectly shaded Celeus wing from
a weather- beaten old snake fence rail.
Celeus visits many flowers, almost all of the trumpet-shaped ones,
in fact, but if I were an artist I scarcely would think it right
to paint a hollyhock without putting King Celeus somewhere in the
picture, poised on his throne of air before a perfect bloom as he
feasts on pollen and honey. The holly-hock is a kingly flower, with
its regally lifted heads of bright bloom, and that the king of moths
should show his preference for it seems eminently fitting, so we
of the Cabin named him King of the Hollyhocks.