These internal arrangements are so various and so complicated that pages of description might be written thereupon. There are myriads of rooms, cells, nurseries, provision chambers, guard-rooms, passages, corridors, vaults, bridges, subterranean streets and canals, tunnels, arched ways, steps, smooth inclines, domes, &c., &c., all arranged on a definite, coherent, and well-considered plan. In the middle of the building, sheltered as far as possible from outside dangers, lies the stately royal dwelling, resembling an arched oven, in which the royal pair reside, or rather are imprisoned; for the entrances and outlets are so small, that although the workers on service can pass easily in and out, the queen cannot; for during the egg-laying her body swells out to an enormous size, two or three thousand times the size and weight of an ordinary worker. The queen, therefore, never leaves her dwelling, and dies therein. Round the palace, which is at first small, but is later enlarged in proportion as the queen increases in size until it is at least a yard long and half a yard high, lie the nurseries, or cells for the eggs and larvÆ; next these the servants' rooms, or cells for the workers which wait on the queen; then special chambers for the soldiers on guard, and, between these, numerous store-rooms, filled with gums, resins, dried plant-juices, meal, seeds, fruits, worked-up wood, &c. According to Bettziech-Beta, there is always in the midst of the nest a large common room, which is used either for popular assemblies or as the meeting and starting point of the countless passages and chambers of the nest. Others are of the opinion that this space serves for purposes of ventilation.

Above and below the royal cell are the rooms of the workers and soldiers which are specially charged with the care and defence of the royal pair. They communicate with each other, as well as with the nursery-cells and store-rooms, by means of galleries and passages which, as already said, open into the common room in the middle under the dome. This room is surrounded by high, boldly projected arched ways, which lose themselves further out in the walls of the countless rooms and galleries. Many roofs outside and in protect this room and the surrounding chambers from rain, which, as already said, is drained away by countless subterranean canals, made of clay and of a diameter of ten or twelve centimetres. There are also, under the layer of clay covering the whole building, broad spirally winding passages running from below to the highest points, which communicate with the passages of the interior, and apparently, as they mainly consist of smooth inclines, serve for carrying provisions to the higher parts of the nest.[71]

If the assailant withdraws beyond their reach and inflicts no further injury, they retire within their dwelling in the course of half an hour, as though they had come to the conclusion that the enemy who had done the mischief had fled. Scarcely have the soldiers disappeared when crowds of workers appear in the breach, each with a quantity of ready-made mortar in its mouth. As soon as they arrive they stick this mortar round the open place, and direct the whole operation with such swiftness and facility that in spite of their great number they never hinder each other, nor are obliged to stop. During this spectacle of apparent restlessness and confusion the observer is agreeably surprised to see arising a regular wall, filling up the gap. During the time that the workers are thus busied the soldiers remain within the nest, with the exception of a few, which walk about apparently idly, never touching the mortar, among the hundreds and thousands of workers. Nevertheless one of them stands on guard close to the wall which is being built. It turns gently each way in turn, lifting its head at intervals of one or two minutes to strike the building with its heavy mandibles, making the before-mentioned crackling noise. This signal is immediately answered by a loud rustling from the interior of the nest and from all the subterranean passages and holes. There is no doubt that this noise arises from the workers, for as often as the sign is given they work with increased energy and speed. A renewal of the attack instantaneously changes the scene. 'At the first stroke,' says Smeathman, 'the workers run into the many tunnels and passages which run through the building, and this happens so quickly that they seem regularly to vanish. In a few seconds they are all gone, and in their stead appear the soldiers once more, as numerous and as pugnacious as before. If they find no enemy, they turn back slowly into the interior of the hill, and immediately the mortar-laden workers again appear, and among them a few soldiers, which behave just as on the first occasion. So one can have the pleasure of seeing them work and fight in turn, as often as one chooses; and it will be found each time that one set never fight, and the other never work, however great the need may be.'[72]

They can even carry their viaducts through the air, and that in such bold arches that it is difficult to understand how they were projected. In order to reach a sack of meal which was well protected below, they broke through the roof of the room in which it was, and built a straight tube from the breach they had made down to the sack. As soon as they tried to carry off their booty to a safe place, they became convinced that it was impossible to pull it up the straight road. In order to meet this difficulty, they adopted the principle of the smooth incline, the use of which we have already seen in the interior of their nests, and built close to the first tube a second, which wound spirally within, like the famous clock tower of Venice. It was now an easy task to carry their booty up this road and so away..... Either from the desire to remain undiscovered, or from their liking for darkness, they have the remarkable habit of destroying and gnawing everything from within outwards, and of leaving the outside shell standing, so that from the outside appearance the dangerous state of the inside is not perceptible. If, for instance, they have destroyed a table or other piece of household furniture, in which they always manage from the ground upwards to hit exactly the places on which the feet of the article rest, the table looks perfectly uninjured outside, and people are quite astonished when it breaks down under the slightest pressure. The whole inside is eaten away, and only the thinnest shell is left standing. If fruits are lying on the table, they also are eaten out from the exact spot on which they rest on the surface of the table.

In similar fashion things consisting wholly of wood, such as wooden ships, trees, &c., are destroyed by them so that they finally break in without any one having noticed the mischief. Yet it is said that they go so prudently to work in their destruction that the main beams, the sudden breakage of which would threaten the whole building and themselves therewith, are either spared, or else so fastened together again with a cement made out of clay and earth that their strength is greater than ever!(?) Hagen also states that they never cut right through the corks which stop up stored bottles of wine, but leave a very thin layer, which is sufficient to prevent the outflow of the wine and the consequent destruction of the workers. The same author relates that in order to reach a box of wax lights they made a covered road from the ground up to the second story of a house.[73]

I was always amused at the pugnacity displayed when, in making a hole in the earthy cemented archway of their covered roads, a host of these little fellows mounted the breach to cover the retreat of the workers. The edges of the rupture bristled with their armed heads as the courageous warriors ranged themselves in compact line around them. They attacked fiercely any intruding object, and as fast as their front ranks were destroyed, others filled up their places. When the jaws closed in the flesh, they suffered themselves to be torn in pieces rather than loosen their hold. It might be said that this instinct is rather a cause of their ruin than a protection when a colony is attacked by the well-known enemy of termites, the ant-bear; but it is the soldiers only which attach themselves to the long worm-like tongue of this animal, and the workers, on whom the prosperity of the young brood immediately depends, are left for the most part unharmed. I always found, on thrusting my finger into a mixed crowd of termites, that the soldiers only fastened upon it. Thus the fighting caste do in the end serve to protect the species by sacrificing themselves to its good.[74]