SAGACITY OF BEES.
ARE NOT BEES DIRECTED ALONE BY INSTINCT?
On this subject I have but little to say, as I have failed to discover
anything uncommonly remarkable, separate and distinct in one swarm,
that another would not exhibit. I have found one swarm guided alone by
instinct, doing just what another would under the same circumstances.
Writers, not contented with the astonishing results of instinct, with
their love of the marvellous, must add a good share of reason to their
other faculties,--"an adaptation of means to ends, that reason alone
could produce." It is very true, without close inspection, and
comparing the results of different swarms in similar cases, one might
arrive at such conclusion. It is difficult, as all will admit, "to tell
where instinct ends, and reason begins." Instances of sagacity, like
the following, have been mentioned. "When the weather is warm, and the
heat inside is somewhat oppressive, a number of bees may be seen
stationed around the entrance, vibrating their wings. Those inside will
turn their heads towards the passage, while those outside will turn
theirs the other way. A constant agitation of air is thus created,
thereby ventilating the hive more effectually." _All full stocks do
this in hot weather._
WHAT THEY DO WITH PROPOLIS.
"A snail had entered the hive and fixed itself against the glass side.
The bees, unable to penetrate it with their stings, the cunning
economists fixed it immovably, by cementing merely the edge of the
orifice of the shell to the glass with resin, (propolis), and thus it
became a prisoner for life." Now the instinct that prompts the
gathering of propolis in August, and filling every crack, flaw, or
inequality about the hive, would cement the edges of the snail-shell to
the glass, and a small stone, block of wood, chip, or any substance
that they are unable to remove, would be fastened with it in the same
manner. The edges or bottom of the hive, when in close proximity to the
bottom, is joined to it with this substance. Whatever the obstacle may
be, it is pretty sure to receive a coating of this. The stoppers for
the holes at the top are held in their places on the same principle;
and the unaccountable sagacity that once fastened a little door, might
possibly be nothing more than the same instinct.
Another principle, I think, will be found to be universal with them,
instead of sagacious reasoning.
Whenever the combs in a hive have been broken, or when combs have been
added, as was mentioned in the chapter on fall management, the first
duty of the bees appears to be to fasten them as they are; when the
edges are near the side of the hive, or two combs in contact, a portion
of wax is detached and used for joining them together, or to the side.
MENDING BROKEN COMBS.
Where two combs do not touch, and yet are close together, a small bar
is constructed from one to the other, preventing any nearer approach.
(This may be illustrated by turning the hive a few inches from the
perpendicular after being filled with combs in warm weather.)
MAKING PASSAGES TO EVERY PART OF THEIR COMBS.
Should nearly all the combs in the hive become detached from any cause,
and lie on the bottom in one "grand smash of ruin," their first steps
are, as just described, pillars from one to the other to keep them as
they are. In a few days, in warm weather, they will have made passages
by biting away combs where they are in contact, throughout every part
of the mass; little columns of wax below, supporting the combs
above,--irregular, to be sure, but as well as circumstances admit. Not
a single piece can be removed without breaking it from the others, and
the whole will be firmly cemented together. A piece of comb filled with
honey, and sealed up, may be put in a glass box with the ends of these
cells so sealed, touching the glass. The principle of allowing no part
of their tenement to be in a situation inaccessible, is soon
manifested. They immediately bite off the ends of the cells, remove the
honey that is in the way, and make a passage next to the glass, leaving
a few bars from it to the comb, to steady and keep it in its position.
A single sheet of comb lying flat on the bottom-board of a populous
swarm is cut away under side, for a passage in every direction,
numerous little pillars of wax being left for its support. How any
person in the habit of watching their proceedings, with any degree of
attention, could come at the conclusion that the bees raised such comb
by mechanical means and then put under the props for its support, is
somewhat singular. Their efforts united for such a purpose like
reasonable beings, I never witnessed.
These things, considered as the effect of instinct, are none the less
wonderful on that account. I am not sure but the display of wisdom is
even greater than if the power of planning their own operations had
been given them.
I have mentioned these, to show that a course of action called forth by
the peculiar situation of one family, would be copied by another in a
similar emergency, without being aware of its ever being done before.
Were I engaged in a work of fiction, I might let fancy reign and
endeavor to amuse, but this is not the object. Let us endeavor then to
be content with truth, and not murmur with its reality. When we take a
survey of the astonishing regularity with which they construct their
combs without a teacher, and remember that the waxen material is formed
in the rings of their body, that for the first time in life, without an
experienced leader's direction, they apply a claw to detach it, that
they go forth to the fields and gather stores unbidden by a tyrant's
mandate, and throughout the whole cycle of their operations, one law
and power governs. Whoever would seek mind as the directing power, must
look beyond the sensorium of the bee for the source of all we behold in
them!