Thousands
go; great numbers must die a miserable death; not more than one in
10,000 can get away with a load of the coveted stuff, and yet each
believes that he is to be that one, and pushes on.
Dr. L. 0. Howard tells us that the mosquito rarely goes far from
its birthplace. That must refer to the miserable degenerates they
have in New Jersey, for these of the north offer endless evidence
of power to travel, as well as to resist cold and wind.
On July 21, 1907, we camped on a small island on Great Slave Lake.
It was about one-quarter mile long, several miles from mainland,
at least half a mile from any other island, apparently all rock,
and yet it was swarming with mosquitoes. Here, as elsewhere, they
were mad for our blood; those we knocked off and maimed, would
crawl up with sprained wings and twisted legs to sting as fiercely
as ever, as long as the beak would work.
We thought the stinging pests of the Buffalo country as bad as
possible, but they proved mild and scarce compared with those we
yet had to meet on the Arctic Barrens of our ultimate goal.
Each day they got worse; soon it became clear that mere adjectives
could not convey any idea of their terrors. Therefore I devised a
mosquito gauge. I held up a bare hand for 5 seconds by the watch,
then counted the number of borers on the back; there were 5 to 10.
Each day added to the number, and when we got out to the Buffalo
country, there were 15 to 25 on the one side of the hand and
elsewhere in proportion. On the Nyarling, in early July, the number
was increased, being now 20 to 40. On Great Slave Lake, later that
month, there were 50 to 60. But when we reached the Barren Grounds,
the land of open breezy plains and cold water lakes, the pests
were so bad that the hand held up for 5 seconds often showed from
100 to 125 long-billed mosquitoes boring away into the flesh. It
was possible to number them only by killing them and counting the
corpses. What wonder that all men should avoid the open plains,
that are the kingdom of such a scourge.
Yet it must not be thought that the whole country is similarly and
evenly filled. There can be no doubt that they flock and fly to
the big moving creatures they see or smell. Maybe we had gathered
the whole mosquito product of many acres. This is shown by the
facts that if one rushes through thick bushes for a distance, into
a clear space, the mosquitoes seem absent at first. One must wait
a minute or so to gather up another legion. When landing from a
boat on the Northern Lakes there are comparatively few, but even
in a high wind, a walk to the nearest hilltop results in one again
moving in a cloud of tormentors. Does not this readiness to assemble
at a bait suggest a possible means of destroying them?
Every one, even the seasoned natives, agree that they are a terror
to man and beast; but, thanks to our flyproof tents, we sleep immune.
During the day I wear my net and gloves, uncomfortably hot, but a
blessed relief from the torment. It is easy to get used to those
coverings; it is impossible to get used to the mosquitoes.
For July 10 I find this note: "The Mosquitoes are worse now than
ever before; even Jarvis, Preble, and the Indians are wearing face
protectors of some kind. The Major has borrowed Preble's closed net,
much to the latter's discomfiture, as he himself would be glad to
wear it."
This country has, for 6 months, the finest climate in the world,
but 2 1/2 of these are ruined by the malignancy of the fly plague.
Yet it is certain that knowledge will confer on man the power to
wipe them out.
No doubt the first step in this direction is a thorough understanding
of the creature's life-history. This understanding many able mien
are working for. But there is another line of thought that should
not be forgotten, though it is negative - many animals are immune.
Which are they? Our first business is to list them if we would
learn the why of immunity.
Frogs are among the happy ones. One day early in June I took a
wood-frog in my hand. The mosquitoes swarmed about. In a few seconds
30 were on my hand digging away; 10 were on my forefinger, 8 on my
thumb; between these was the frog, a creature with many resemblances
to man - red blood, a smooth, naked, soft skin, etc. - and yet not a
mosquito attacked it. Scores had bled my hand before one alighted
on the frog, and it leaped off again as though the creature were
red hot. The experiment repeated with another frog gave the same
result. Why? It can hardly be because the frog is cold-blooded,
for many birds also seem, to be immune, and their blood is warmer
than man's.
Next, I took a live frog and rubbed it on my hand over an area
marked out with lead pencil; at first the place was wet, but in a
few seconds dry and rather shiny. I held up my hand till 50 mosquitoes
had alighted on it and begun to bore; of these, 4 alighted on the
froggy place, 3 at once tumbled off in haste, but one, No. 32, did
sting me there. I put my tongue to the frog's back; it was slightly
bitter.
I took a black-gilled fungus from a manure pile to-day, rubbed a
small area, and held my hand bare till 50 mosquitoes had settled
and begun to sting; 7 of these alighted on the fungus juice, but
moved off at once, except the last; it stung, but at that time the
juice was dry.
