fly in a direct line, which saves both time and labour. How they are
enabled to do this with such certainty as to make for their own abode
without deviation, I must leave to others to explain. Connected with
this circumstance, and the acuteness of their smell, is the following
curious account, given in the _Philosophical Transactions_ for 1721,
of the method practised in New England for discovering where the
wild hive-bees live in the woods, in order to get their honey. The
honey-hunters set a plate containing honey or sugar upon the ground in
a clear day. The bees soon discover and attack it: having secured two
or three that have filled themselves, the hunter lets one go, which
rising into the air, flies straight to the nest: he then strikes off at
right angles with its course a few hundred yards, and letting a second
fly, observes its course by his pocket-compass, and the point where the
two courses intersect is that where the nest is situated[238].
The natural station of bees is in the cavities of decayed trees;
such trees, Mr. Knight tells us, they will discover in the closest
recesses, and at an extraordinary distance from the hive; in one
instance it was a mile: and at swarming, they sometimes are inclined
to settle in such cavities. After the discovery of one, from twenty
to fifty, who are a kind of scouts, may be found examining and
keeping possession of it. They seem to explore every part of it and
of the tree with the greatest attention, even surveying the dead
knots and the like[239]. When a hive stands unemployed, a swarm will
also sometimes send scouts to take possession of it.
How long our little active creatures repose before they take a second
excursion I cannot precisely say. In a hive the greatest part of the
inhabitants generally appear in repose, lying together, says Reaumur,
but this probably for a short time. Huber tells us, that bees may
always be observed in a hive with the head and thorax inserted into
cells that contain eggs, and sometimes into empty ones: and that they
remain in this situation fifteen or twenty minutes so motionless,
that did not the dilatation of the segments of the abdomen prove the
contrary, they might be mistaken for dead. He supposes their object is
repose from their labours[240]. The queen, for this purpose, enters
the large cells of the males, and continues in them without motion a
very long time. Even then the workers form a circle round her, and
brush the uncovered part of her abdomen. The drones while reposing do
not enter the cells, but cluster in the combs, and sometimes remain
without stirring a limb for eighteen or twenty hours[241].
Reaumur observes, that in a hive the population of which amounts to
18,000, the number that enter the hive in a minute is a hundred;
which, allowing fourteen hours in the day for their labour, makes
84,000: thus every individual must make four excursions daily, and
some five. In hives where the population was smaller, the numbers
that entered were comparatively greater, so as to give six excursions
or more to each bee[242]. But in this calculation Reaumur does not
seem to take into the account those that are employed within the
hive in building or feeding the young brood; which must render the
excursions of each bee still more numerous. He proceeds further to
ground upon this statement a calculation of the quantity of bee-bread
that may be collected in one day by such a hive; and he found,
supposing only half the number to collect it, that it would amount
to more than a pound; so that in one season, one such hive might
collect a hundred pounds[243]. What a wonderful idea does this give
of the industry and activity of these little useful creatures! And
what a lesson do they read to the members of societies that have both
reason and religion to guide their exertions for the common good!
Adorable is that Great Being who has gifted them with instincts,
which render them as instructive to us, if we will condescend to
listen to them, as they are profitable.
While I am upon this part of the story of bees, I cannot pass over
the account Reaumur has given from Maillet of the transportation of
hives in Egypt from one place to another, before alluded to[244],
to enable them to make in greater abundance their collections of
honey, &c. Towards the end of October, when the inundations of the
Nile have ceased, and the husbandmen can sow their land, saintfoin is
one of the first things that is sown; and as Upper Egypt is warmer
than the Lower, the saintfoin gets there first into blossom. At this
time, bee-hives are transported in boats from all parts of Egypt into
the upper district, and are there heaped in pyramids upon the boats
prepared to receive them; each being numbered by the individual to
whom it belongs. In this station they remain some days; and when they
are judged to have got in the harvest of honey and pollen that is to
be collected there, they are removed two or three leagues lower down,
where they remain the same time; and so they proceed till towards the
middle of February, when having traversed Egypt, they arrive at the
sea, from whence they are dispersed to their several owners.
John Hunter observes, that when the season for laying is over,
that for collecting honey comes on (he means, probably, for making
the principal collection of it); and that when the last pupa is
disclosed, the cell it deserts, after being cleaned, is immediately
filled with it; and as soon as full is covered with pure wax: but
this only holds with respect to the cells containing honey for
winter use, those destined to receive that which forms their food
when bad weather prevents them from going out, being left open[245].
Sometimes, when the year is remarkably favourable for collecting
honey, the bees will destroy many of the larvæ to make room for it;
but they never meddle with the pupæ. When no more honey is to be
collected, they remain quiet in the hive for the winter. Mr. Hunter
found that a hive grew lighter in a cold than in a warm week; he
found also, that in three months (from November 10th to February 9th)
a single hive lost 72 oz. 1-1/2 dram[246].
Water is a thing of the first necessity to these insects; but they
are not very delicate as to its quality, but rather the reverse;
often preferring what is stagnant and putrescent, to that of a
running stream[247]. I have frequently observed them busy in corners
moist with urine; perhaps this is for the sake of the saline
particles to be there collected.
A new-born bee, as soon as it is able to use its wings, seems perfectly
aware, without any previous instruction, what are to be its duties
and employments for the rest of its life. It appears to know that
it is born for society, and not for selfish pursuits; and therefore
it invariably devotes itself and its labours to the benefit of the
community to which it belongs. Walking upon the combs, it seeks for the
door of the hive, that it may sally forth and be useful. Full of life
and activity, it then takes its first flight; and, unconducted but by
its instinct, visits like the rest the subjects of Flora, absorbs their
nectar, covers itself with their ambrosial dust, which it kneads into
a mass and packs upon its hind legs; and if need be, gathers propolis,
and returns unembarrassed to its own hive[248].
Instances of the expedition with which our little favourites
accomplish their various objects you have had several; but this is
never more remarkable than when they settle in a new hive. At this
time, in twenty-four hours they will sometimes construct a comb
twenty inches long by seven or eight wide; and the hive will be half
filled in five or six days; so that in the first fifteen days as much
wax is made as in the whole year besides[249].
In treating of the various employments of the bees, I must not omit
one of the greatest importance to them--the _ventilation_ of their
abode. When you consider the numbers contained in so confined a
space; the high temperature to which its atmosphere is raised; and
the small aperture at which the air principally enters, you will
readily conceive how soon it must be rendered unfit for respiration,
and be convinced that there must be some means of constantly
renewing it. If you feel disposed to think that the ventilation
takes place, as in our apartments, by natural means, resulting
from the rarefaction of the air by the heat of the hive, and the
consequent establishment of an interior and exterior current--a
simple experiment will satisfy you that this cannot be. Take a vessel
of the size of a bee-hive, with a similar or even somewhat larger
aperture--introduce a lighted taper, and if the temperature be raised
to more than 140°, it will go out in a short time. We must therefore
admit, as Huber observes[250], that the bees possess the astonishing
faculty of attracting the external air, and at the same time of
expelling that which has become corrupted by their respiration.
What would you say, should I tell you that the bees upon this
occasion have recourse to the same instrument which ladies use to
cool themselves when an apartment is overheated? Yet it is strictly
the case. By means of their marginal hooks, they unite each pair of
wings into one plane slightly concave, thus acting upon the air by
a surface nearly as large as possible, and forming for them a pair
of very ample fans, which in their vibrations describe an arch of
90°. These vibrations are so rapid as to render the wings almost
invisible. When they are engaged in ventilation, the bees by means
of their feet and claws fix themselves as firmly as possible to
the place they stand upon. The first pair of legs is stretched out
before; the second extended to the right and left; whilst the third,
placed very near each other, are perpendicular to the abdomen, so as
to give that part considerable elevation.
Maraldi, and after him Reaumur, long ago noticed this action of the
bees; but they attributed to it an effect the reverse of that which
it really produces; the former imagining it to occasion directly the
high temperature of the hive, and the latter indirectly[251]. It was
reserved for Huber to discover the true cause of it; and from him the
chief of what I have to say upon the subject will be derived[252].
During the summer a certain number of workers--for it is to the
workers solely that this office is committed--may always be observed
vibrating their wings before the entrance of their hive; and the
observant apiarist will find upon examination, that a still greater
number are engaged within it in the same employment. All those thus
circumstanced that stand without, turn their head to the entrance;
while those that stand within, turn their back to it. The station of
these ventilators is upon the floor of the hive. They are usually
ranged in files, that terminate at the entrance; and sometimes, but
not constantly, form so many diverging rays, probably to give room
for comers and goers to pass. The number of ventilators in action at
the same time varies: it seldom much exceeds twenty, and is often
more circumscribed. The time also that they devote to this function
is longer or shorter according to circumstances: some have been
observed to continue their vibrations for nearly half an hour without
resting, suspending the action for not more than an instant, as it
should seem to take breath. When one retires, another occupies its
place; so that in a hive well peopled there is never any interruption
of the sound or humming occasioned by this action; by which it may
always be known whether it be going on or not.
This humming is observable not only during the heats of summer, but
at all seasons of the year. It sometimes seems even more forcible in
the depth of winter than when the temperature of the atmosphere is
higher. An employment so constant, which always occupies a certain
number of bees, must produce as constant an effect. The column of air
once disturbed within, must give place to that without the hive; thus
a current being established, the ventilation will be perpetual and
complete.
To be convinced that such an effect is produced, approach your hand
to a ventilating bee, and you will find that she causes a very
perceptible motion in the air. Huber tried an experiment still more
satisfactory. On a calm day, at the time when the bees had returned
to their habitation--having fixed a screen before the mouth of the
hive to prevent his being misled by any sudden motion of the external
air--he placed within the screen little anemometers or wind-gauges,
made of bits of paper, feather, or cotton, suspended by a thread to
a crotch. No sooner did they enter the atmosphere of the bees than
they were put in motion, being alternately attracted and repelled
to and from the aperture of the hive with considerable rapidity.
These attractions and repulsions were proportioned to the number of
bees engaged in ventilation, and, though sometimes less perceptible,
were never intirely suspended. Burnens tried a similar experiment in
the winter, when the thermometer stood in the shade at 33°. Having
selected a well-peopled hive, the inhabitants of which appeared
full of life and sufficiently active in the interior, and luted it
all around, except the aperture to the platform on which it stood,
he stuck in the top a piece of iron wire which terminated in a
hook, to which he fastened a hair with a small square of very thin
paper at the other end; this was exactly opposite to the aperture,
at the distance of about an inch from it. As soon as the apparatus
was fixed, the hair with its paper pendulum began to oscillate more
or less, the greatest oscillations on both sides being an inch, by
admeasurement, from the perpendicular: if the paper was moved by
force to a greater distance, the vibrations did not take place, and
the apparatus remained at rest. He then made an opening in the top
of the hive, and poured in some liquid honey: soon after there arose
a hum, the movement in the interior increased, and some bees came
out. The oscillations of the pendulum upon this became more frequent
and intense, and extended to fifteen lines or an inch and a quarter
from the perpendicular; but when the paper was removed to a greater
distance from the aperture, it remained at rest.
Huber, at the proposal of M. de Saussure, in order to ascertain
whether artificial ventilators would produce an analogous effect,
got a mechanical friend to construct for him a little mill with
eighteen sails of tin. He also prepared a large cylindrical vase,
into which he could, at an aperture in the box upon which it was
fixed, introduce a lighted taper. In one side of this box was another
aperture to represent that of a hive, but larger. The ventilator was
placed below, and luted at the points of contact, and anemometers
were suspended before the aperture. The first experiment was the
introduction of the taper, without putting the ventilator in motion.
Though the capacity of the vessel was about 3228 cubic inches, the
flame soon diminished, and went out in about eight minutes, and
the anemometers continued motionless. The same experiment was
next repeated with the door shut, with precisely the same result.
After the air of the vessel had been renewed, the taper was again
introduced, and the ventilator set in motion: immediately, as
appeared by the oscillations of the anemometers, two currents of air
were established, and the brilliancy of the flame was not diminished
during the whole course of the experiment, which might have been
prolonged for an indefinite time. A thermometer placed in the lower
part of the apparatus rose to 112°; and the temperature was evidently
still more elevated at the top of the receiver.
The Creator often has one end in view in the actions of animals,
(and nothing more conspicuously displays the invisible hand that
governs the universe,) while the agents themselves have another.
This probably is the case in the present instance, since we can
scarcely suppose that the bees beat the air with their wings in
order to ventilate the hive, but rather to relieve themselves from
some disagreeable sensation which oppresses them. The following
experiments prove that one of their objects in this action, as it is
with ladies when they use their fans, is to cool themselves when they
suffer from too great heat. When Huber once opened the shutter of a
glazed hive, so that the solar rays darted upon the combs covered
with bees, a humming, the sign of ventilation, soon was heard amongst
them, while those which were in the shade remained tranquil. The
bees composing the clusters which often are suspended from the hives
in summer, when they are incommoded by the heat of the sun, fan
themselves with great energy. But if by any means a shadow is cast
over any portion of the group, the ventilation ceases there, while
it continues in the part which feels the heat of the sun. The same
cause produces a similar effect upon humble-bees, wasps, and hornets.
Amongst the bees, however, it is remarkable that ventilation goes on
even in the depth of winter, when it cannot be occasioned by excess
of heat.--This therefore can only be regarded as a secondary cause
of the phenomenon. From other experiments, which, having already
detained you too long, I shall not here detail, it appears that
penetrating and disagreeable odours produce the same effect[253].
Perhaps, though Huber does not say this, the odour produced by the
congregated myriads of the hive may be amongst the principal motives
that impel its inhabitants to this necessary action.
Whatever be the proximate cause, it is I trust now evident to you,
that the Author of nature, having assigned to these insects a
habitation into which the air cannot easily penetrate, has gifted
them with the means of preventing the fatal effects which would
result from corrupted air. An indirect effect of ventilation is
the elevated temperature which these animals maintain, without any
effort, in their hive:--but upon this I shall enlarge hereafter.
Bees are extremely neat in their persons and habitations, and remove
all nuisances with great assiduity, at least as far as their powers
enable them. Sometimes slugs or snails will creep into a hive, which
with all their address they cannot readily expel or carry out. But
here their instinct is at no loss; for they kill them, and afterwards
embalm them with propolis, so as to prevent any offensive odours
from incommoding them. An unhappy snail, that had travelled up the
sides of a glazed hive, and which they could not come at with their
stings, they fixed, a monument of their vengeance and dexterity, by
laying this substance all around the mouth of its shell[254]. When
they expel their excrements, they go apart that they may not defile
their companions: and in winter, when prevented by extreme cold, or
the injudicious practice of wholly closing the door of the hive, from
going out for this purpose, their bodies sometimes become so swelled
from the accumulation of feces in the intestines, that when at last
able to get out they can no longer fly, so that falling to the ground
in the attempt, they perish with cold, the sacrifice of personal
neatness[255]. When a bee is disclosed from the pupa and has left its
cell, a worker comes, and taking out its envelope carries it from the
hive; another removes the exuviæ of the larva, and a third any filth
or ordure that may remain, or any pieces of wax that may have fallen
in when the nascent imago broke from its confinement. But they never
attempt to remove the internal lining of silk that covers the walls,
spun by the larva previous to its metamorphosis, because, instead of
being a nuisance, it renders the cell more solid[256].
Having now described to you the usual employments of my little
favourites both within doors and without, I shall next enlarge a
little upon their language, memory, tempers, manners, and some other
parts of their history.
"Brutes" (it is the remark of Mr. Knight) "have language to express
sentiments of love, of fear, of anger; but they seem unable to
transmit any impression they have received from external objects.
But the language of bees is more extensive; if not a language of
ideas, it is something very similar[257]." You have seen above that
the organ of the language of ants is their antennæ. Huber has proved
satisfactorily, that these parts have the same use with the bees. He
wished to ascertain whether, when they had lost a queen (intelligence
which traverses a whole hive in about an hour) they discovered the
sad event by their smell, their touch, or any unknown cause. He first
divided a hive by a grate, which kept the two portions about three or
four lines apart; so that they could not come at each other, though
scent would pass. In that part in which there was no queen, the bees
were soon in great agitation; and as they did not discover her where
she was confined, in a short time they began to construct royal
cells, which quieted them. He next separated them by a partition
through which they could pass their antennæ, but not their heads. In
this case the bees all remained tranquil, neither intermitting the
care of the brood, nor abandoning their other employments; nor did
they begin any royal cell. The means they used to assure themselves
that their queen was in their vicinity and to communicate with her,
was to pass their antennæ through the openings of the grate. An
infinite number of these organs might be seen at once, as it were,
inquiring in all directions; and the queen was observed answering
these anxious inquiries of her subjects in the most marked manner;
for she was always fastened by her feet to the grate, crossing her
antennæ with those of the inquirers. Various other experiments,
which are too long to relate, prove the importance of these organs as
the instrument of communicating with each other, as well as to direct
the bee in all its proceedings[258]. Besides their antennæ, the bees
also cause themselves to be understood by certain sounds, not indeed
produced by the mouth, but by other parts of their body:--but upon
this subject I shall have occasion to enlarge hereafter.
That bees can remember agreeable sensations at least, is evident from
the following anecdote related by Huber.--One autumn some honey was
placed upon a window--the bees attended it in crowds. The honey was
taken away, and the window closed with a shutter all the winter. In
the spring, when it was re-opened, the bees returned, though no fresh
honey had been placed there[259].
From the earliest times our little citizens of the hive have had
the character of being an irritable race. Their anger is without
bounds, says Virgil; and if they are molested, this character is no
exaggeration. Some individuals, however, they will suffer to go near
their hives, and to do almost any thing: and there are others to
whom they seem to take such an antipathy, that they will attack them
unprovoked. A great deal will probably depend upon this--whether any
thing has happened to put them out of humour. The bees usually do not
attack me; but I remember one day last year, when the asparagus was in
blossom, which a large number were attending, I happened to go between
my asparagus beds; which discomposed them so much, that I was obliged
to retreat with hasty steps, and some of them flew after me; I escaped
however unstung. Thorley relates an anecdote of a gentleman, who,
desirous of securing a swarm of bees that had settled in a hollow tree,
rashly undertook to dislodge them. He succeeded; but though he had
used the precaution of securing his head and hands, he was so stung by
the furious animals, that a violent fever was the consequence, and his
recovery was for some time doubtful. The strength of his constitution
at length prevailed; and the hole of the tree being stopped, the
survivors of the battle settled upon a branch, were hived, and became
the dear-bought property of their conqueror[260].