I said to myself: "The procession will go on turning for some time, for an hour, two hours, perhaps; then the caterpillars will perceive their mistake.

They will abandon the deceptive road and make their descent somewhere or other." That they should remain up there, hard pressed by hunger and the lack of cover, when nothing prevented them from going away, seemed to me inconceivable imbecility.

Facts, however, forced me to accept the incredible.

Let us describe them in detail.
The circular procession begins, as I have said, on the 30th of January, about midday, in splendid weather.

The caterpillars march at an even pace, each touching the stern of the one in front of him.