FOOTNOTES:[3]Travels in Tartary, Thibet, and China, during the years 1844-5-6.By M. Huc. Translated by W. Hazlitt. London. (National Illustrated Library.)
[3]Travels in Tartary, Thibet, and China, during the years 1844-5-6.By M. Huc. Translated by W. Hazlitt. London. (National Illustrated Library.)
[3]Travels in Tartary, Thibet, and China, during the years 1844-5-6.By M. Huc. Translated by W. Hazlitt. London. (National Illustrated Library.)
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Among the variety of curious insects which are common to tropical climates, the groogroo worms of the West Indies may be considered particularly interesting. From the peculiar manner in which they are produced, and from the circumstance of their constituting a choice article of food for man, they become entitled to some attention.
The groogroo worm—so called because it is found in a species of palm vulgarly called the groogroo—is the larva of a large-sized beetle, thePrionus, which is peculiar to the warm latitudes of America. With the exception of a slight similarity about the region of the head, the worm bears no resemblance to the parent beetle. When full-grown, it is about 3½ inches in length, having the body large and turgid, and increasing in circumference from the head towards the opposite extremity. The head is of a corneous, opaque substance. It has neither eyes nor the rudiments of the antennæ which distinguish the beetle tribe. It is, however, provided with the mandibles and other oral apparatus of the mandibulate group of insects, and it is only in this feature that any connection with the beetle can be traced. The trunk is precisely that of a worm; it consists of many closely-knitted segments, which are possessed of an extraordinary contractile power. It bears no mark which would indicate a future metamorphosis into a beetle. There is no sign of a future division into thorax and abdomen. There are no rudiments of wings or feet, as the under surface of the body presents exactly the same appearances as the upper. At the posterior extremity of the worm, however, there is a small horny termination, something like the hinder part of a leech. The organs are exceedingly simple, the digestive being the most developed. Albumen is the substance which composes its body, and its blood is of a greenish tint. With a motion similar to that of the earthworm, it perforates with extraordinary rapidity into the substance of the tree in which it is found.
When the moon is at her full, the gatherer of worms enters a neighbouring wood, and selects a youngpalmistetree. This is a tree of the palm order, exceedingly stately and graceful, growing sometimes to the extraordinary height of eighty feet. From the roots upwards, it has not a single branch or shrubby excrescence, but grows beautifully smooth and straight, tapering towards the top. At its top, an abundance of the richest and most beautiful leaves spread out in graceful symmetry, and bend down on all sides, forming a figure like an umbrella; while the young leaf, still firm and compact in its foliar envelope, is seen standing erect in the centre of this foliage, like a lightning-conductor.
When a promising palmiste is found, the gatherer makes an incision into it with a cutlass or a hatchet. This incision is generally in the figure of a half-moon, with the base of the semicircle downwards, and the wound increasing in depth in that direction, so as to expose effectually the flesh of the tree. When this is done, the gatherer marks the locality, and leaves the tree, which he does not revisit for a considerable time. When the moon is in her wane, he returns and examines his palmiste. If the young leaf, together with the others, begins to shew a yellow tinge at its extremity, and if, on application of his ear to the trunk, a hollow, rumbling noise is heard within, he concludes that the worms have attacked the vital parts, and the tree is immediately cut down; but if these symptoms are absent, the tree is left standing until they appear. The gatherer, however, must now visit the tree frequently, because the transition of the insects is so rapid, that almost immediately after the appearance of the yellow tinge the whole would disappear. When the tree is felled, a square portion of the bark is cut out longitudinally from the original incision upwards, and its fibrous texture laid open. Myriads of worms are then seen voraciously devouring their way through the substance. In capturing them some degree of dexterity is necessary, both to protect one's self from the mandibles of the insects, which inflict a painful bite, and also to save time, by preventing them from burrowing out of sight. When the worms are taken, they are placed into a close vessel, where they continue to retain their activity and vigour.
The number that can be procured from a single tree, depends altogether upon the season in which it is wounded. If the moon is at her full, they are generally numerous and good—many thousands being found in an ordinary young tree of 25 feet in height. If a few succeed in eluding the gatherer, they do so only to become a prey of as voracious animals, for the wild hogs, orquencos, of the forest relish much the soft substance of the palmiste when in a state of decomposition. It never happens, therefore, that much time passes before they discover any palmiste-tree that has been felled; and as soon as night sets in, they flock in numbers to the spot and devour the whole substance. A gathering of worms, therefore, brings a hunt of quencos; and the gatherer, when his first business is over, chooses a convenient tree, where he places himself in ambush. Seated on a cross branch, he awaits the coming of the animals.
It is difficult to form an idea of the peculiar excitement of this midnight sport in the thick woods of a tropical country. The usual stillness of the night, and the solitude of the wilderness—the croaking of the night-birds, the movement of every leaf, animated as it is by the myriads of nocturnal insects that fillthe atmosphere—the brilliant and fleeting fire-flies traversing the gloom—the strange animals wandering in their nightly prowlings—the approach of the grunting hogs, and the incidents of the hunt: all these things, combined with the idea of isolation when a man finds himself alone in the wilds of a scarcely pervious forest, create an inexpressible feeling of mingled fear, pleasure, and anxiety.
Before the worms are cooked, they are, each in its turn, carefully pricked with an orange-thorn, and thrown into a vessel containing a sauce of lime-juice and salt. This is for the purpose of cleansing them from the viscid fluids they may have imbibed from the palmiste. Notwithstanding this discipline, the worms retain their vitality till they are deprived of it by the culinary process. The simpler mode of dressing them is to spit a number together on a piece of stick or a long orange-thorn, and roast them before the fire in their own fat. The general mode, however, is by frying them with or without a sauce, and when dressed in this manner, they form a most savoury dish.
Groogroo worms are considered great delicacies in some parts of the West Indies, chiefly in those whose inhabitants are of French or Spanish origin. The good old planter at his table presents you with a dish of worms, with as much pride as an epicure in England introduces you to cod-sounds, eels, or high venison. Nor does it appear that there is any peculiarity in the taste of those who relish the insects; because it very frequently happens, that the stranger, who manifested on his arrival the greatest disgust at the idea of eating worms, becomes immediately converted into an extravagant lover of them.
It may appear strange, that in the tropics, especially, where nature provides so abundantly for the wants of man, such creatures should be resorted to as articles of consumption; but while we on this side of the Atlantic are shocked at the idea of eating worms, the West Indian consumer in his turn expresses surprise that human beings can use things which resemble snakes so much as eels, and pronounces it to be the height of uncleanness to eat frogs, as some of the continentals do. Indeed, the groogroo worm is by no means more repulsive in appearance than any of the other unprepossessing creatures which are so highly prized. It would be a difficult matter to decide on the merits of the many extraordinary things which the taste of man, in its morbid cravings, has discovered and converted into luxurious use; and the philosopher finds himself at last driven to take shelter from his own unanswerable inquiries behind the concluding power of that most true, but somewhat musty proverb: 'De gustibus non est disputandum.'
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Mr Patrick Miller of Dalswinton, who first experimented in the application of steam to navigation, never received any mark of gratitude from his country; his family, though long in comparatively reduced circumstances, remain to this day equally without requital on that account. Henry Bell, who, taking his ideas from Mr Miller's experimental boat, first set a steam-vessel afloat in this country, spent his latter years in poverty, from which he was rescued only a short time before his death by a small pension from the Clyde Trustees. Mr Thomas Gray, whose Observations on Railways, published about thirty years ago, may be said to have given origin and impulse to our present railway system, by which three hundred millions have been expended, died in poverty, to which he had been reduced by his exertions in the cause; his widow and children are at this day in that state, without any public acknowledgment of his services to the country; and his son has lately applied to nearly every railway company in the kingdom for a situation, but in vain. Beyond a pension of L.50 a year to the widow of Mr James Taylor, who prompted Mr Miller to try his experiments, we are not aware of a single penny having been expended by the country in requiting the services, or compensating the losses, of individuals in respect of steam communications of any kind.
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So heavenly beautiful it lay,It was less like a human corseThan that fair shape in which perforceA dead hope clothes itself alway.The dream shewed very plain: the bedWhere that known unknown face reposed—A woman's face with eyelids closed,A something precious that was dead:A something, lost on this side life,By which the mourner came and stood,And laid down, ne'er to be renewed,All glittering robes of earthly strife;—Shred off, like votive locks of hair,Youth's ornaments of joy and strength,And cast them in their golden lengthThe silence of that bier to share.No tears fell—but a gaze, fixed, long,That memory might print the faceOn the heart's ever-vacant spaceWith a sun-finger, sharp and strong.Then kisses, dropping without sound;And solemn arms wound round the dead;And lifting from the natural bedInto the coffin's strangenewbound;Yet still no parting—no beliefIn death; no more than we believeIn some dread falsehood that would weaveThe world in one black shroud of grief.And still, unanswered kisses; still,Warm clingings to the image cold,With an impossible faith's close fold,Creative, through its fierce 'I will.'Hush, hush! the marble eyelids move;The kissed lips quiver into breath;Avaunt, thou ghastly-seeming Death!Avaunt! We are conquerors—I and Love!Corse of dead hope, awake, arise!A living hope, that only sleptUntil the tears thus overweptHad washed the blindness from our eyes.Come back into the upper day!Dash off those cerements! Patient shroud,We'll wrap thee as a garment proudRound the bright shape we thought was clay.Clasp, arms! Cling, soul! Eyes, drink anew,Like pilgrims at a living spring!Faith, that out-loved this perishing,May see this resurrection too.
So heavenly beautiful it lay,It was less like a human corseThan that fair shape in which perforceA dead hope clothes itself alway.
The dream shewed very plain: the bedWhere that known unknown face reposed—A woman's face with eyelids closed,A something precious that was dead:
A something, lost on this side life,By which the mourner came and stood,And laid down, ne'er to be renewed,All glittering robes of earthly strife;—
Shred off, like votive locks of hair,Youth's ornaments of joy and strength,And cast them in their golden lengthThe silence of that bier to share.
No tears fell—but a gaze, fixed, long,That memory might print the faceOn the heart's ever-vacant spaceWith a sun-finger, sharp and strong.
Then kisses, dropping without sound;And solemn arms wound round the dead;And lifting from the natural bedInto the coffin's strangenewbound;
Yet still no parting—no beliefIn death; no more than we believeIn some dread falsehood that would weaveThe world in one black shroud of grief.
And still, unanswered kisses; still,Warm clingings to the image cold,With an impossible faith's close fold,Creative, through its fierce 'I will.'
Hush, hush! the marble eyelids move;The kissed lips quiver into breath;Avaunt, thou ghastly-seeming Death!Avaunt! We are conquerors—I and Love!
Corse of dead hope, awake, arise!A living hope, that only sleptUntil the tears thus overweptHad washed the blindness from our eyes.
Come back into the upper day!Dash off those cerements! Patient shroud,We'll wrap thee as a garment proudRound the bright shape we thought was clay.
Clasp, arms! Cling, soul! Eyes, drink anew,Like pilgrims at a living spring!Faith, that out-loved this perishing,May see this resurrection too.
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