THE LONG NIGHT IN THE HIVE
THERE are few things more mystifying to the student of bee-life than the
way in which winter is passed in the hive. Probably nineteen out of
every twenty people, who take a merely theoretical interest in the
subject, entertain no doubt on the matter. Bees hibernate, they will
tell you—pass the winter in a state of torpor, just as many other
insects, reptiles, and animals have been proved to do. And, though the
truth forces itself upon scientific investigators that there is no such
thing as hibernation, in the accepted sense of the word, among hive-bees,
the perplexing part of the whole question is that, as far as modern
observers understand it, the honey-bee ought to hibernate, even if, as a
matter of fact, she does not.
For consider what a world of trouble would be saved if, at the coming of
winter, the worker-bees merely got together in a compact cluster in their
warm nook, with the queen in their midst; and thenceforward slept the
long cold months away, until the hot March sun struck into them with the
tidings that the willows—first caterers for the year’s winged
myriads—were in golden flower once more; and there was nothing to do but
rouse, and take their fill. It would revolutionise the whole aspect of
bee-life, and, to all appearances, vastly for the better. There would be
no more need to labour through the summer days, laying up winter stores.
Life could become for the honey-bee what it is to most other
insects—merry and leisurely. There would be time for dancing in the
sunbeams, and long siestas under rose-leaves; and it would be enough if
each little worker took home an occasional full honey-sac or two for the
babies, instead of wearing out nerve and body in all that desperate
toiling to and fro.
Yet, for some inscrutable reason, the honey-bee elects to keep
awake—uselessly awake, it seems—throughout the four months or so during
which outdoor work is impossible; and to this apparently undesirable,
unprofitable end, she sacrifices all that makes such a life as hers worth
the living from a human point of view.
_Restlessness_, _and the Reason for It_
You can, however, seldom look at wild Nature’s ways from the human
standpoint without danger of postulating too much, or, worse still,
leaving some vital, though invisible thing out of the argument. And this
latter, on a little farther consideration, proves to be what we are now
doing. Prolonged study of hive-life in winter will reveal one hitherto
unsuspected fact. At this time, far from settling down into a life of
sleepy inactivity, the queen-bee seems to develop a restlessness and
impatience not to be observed in her at any other season. It is clear
that the workers would lie quiet enough, if they had only themselves to
consider. They collect in a dense mass between the central combs of the
hive, the outer members of the company just keeping in touch with the
nearest honey-cells. These cells are broached by the furthermost bees,
and the food is distributed from tongue to tongue. As the nearest
store-cells are emptied, the whole concourse moves on, the compacted
crowd of bees thus journeying over the comb at a pace which is steady yet
inconceivably slow.
But this policy seems in no way to commend itself to the queen. Whenever
you look into the hive, even on the coldest winter’s day, she is
generally alert and stirring, keeping the worker-bees about her in a
constant state of wakefulness and care. Though she has long since ceased
to lay, she is always prying about the comb, looking apparently for empty
cells wherein to lay eggs, after her summer habit. Night or day, she
seems always in this unresting state of mind, and the work of getting
their queen through the winter season is evidently a continual source of
worry to the members of the colony. Altogether, the most logical
inference to be drawn from any prolonged and careful investigation of
hive-life in winter is that the queen-bee herself is the main obstacle to
any system of hibernation being adopted in the hive. This lying-by for
the cold weather, however desirable and practicable it may be for the
great army of workers, is obviously dead against the natural instincts of
the queen. And since, being awake, she must be incessantly watched and
fed and cared for, it follows that the whole colony must wake with her,
or at least as many as are necessary to keep her nourished and preserved
from harm.
_The Queen a Slave to Tradition_
Those, however, who are familiar with the resourceful nature of the
honey-bee might expect her to effect an ingenious compromise in these as
in all other circumstances; and the facts seem to point to such a
compromise. It is not easy to be sure of anything when watching the
winter cluster in a hive, for the bees lie so close that inspection
becomes at times almost futile. But one thing at least is certain. The
brood-combs between which the cluster forms are not merely covered by
bees. Into every cell in the comb some bee has crept, head first, and
lies there quite motionless. This attitude is also common at other times
of the year, and there is little doubt that the tired worker-bees do
rest, and probably sleep, thus, whenever an empty cell is available. But
now almost the entire range of brood-cells is filled with resting bees,
like sailors asleep in the bunks of a forecastle; and it is not
unreasonable to suppose that each unit in the cluster alternately watches
with the queen, or takes her “watch below” in the comb-cells.
That there should be in this matter of wintering so sharp a divergence
between the instincts of the queen-mother and her children is in no way
surprising, when we recollect how entirely they differ on almost all
other points. How this fundamental difference has come about in the
course of ages of bee-life is too long a story for these pages. It has
been fully dealt with in an earlier volume by the same writer—“The Lore
of the Honey-Bee”—and to this the reader is referred. But the fact is
pretty generally admitted that, while the little worker-bee is a creature
specially evolved to suit a unique environment, the mother-bee remains
practically identical with the mother-bees of untold ages back. She
retains many of the instincts of the race as it existed under tropic
conditions, when there was no alternation of hot and cold seasons; and
hence her complete inability to understand, and consequent rebellion
against the needs of modern times.
_The Future Evolution of the Hive_
Whether the worker-bees will ever teach her to conform to the changed
conditions is an interesting problem. We know how they have “improved”
life in the hive—how a matriarchal system of government has been
established there, the duty of motherhood relegated to one in the thirty
thousand or so, and how the males are suffered to live only so long as
their procreative powers are useful to the community. It is little
likely that the omnipotent worker-bee will stop here. Failing the
eventual production of a queen-bee who can be put to sleep for the
winter, they may devise means of getting rid of her in the same way as
they disburden themselves of the drones. In some future age the
mother-bee may be ruthlessly slaughtered at the end of each season,
another queen being raised when breeding-time again comes round. Then,
no doubt, honey-bees would hibernate, as do so many other creatures of
the wilds; and the necessity for all that frantic labour throughout the
summer days be obviated.
This is by no means so fantastic a notion as it appears. Ingenious as is
the worker-bee, there is one thing that the mere man-scientist of to-day
could teach her. At present, her system of queen-production is to
construct a very large cell, four or five times as large as that in which
the common worker is raised. Into this cell, at an early stage in its
construction, the old queen is induced to deposit an egg; or the workers
themselves may furnish it with an egg previously laid elsewhere; or
again—as sometimes happens—the large cell may be erected over the site of
an ordinary worker-cell already containing a fertile ovum. This egg in
no way differs from that producing the common, undersized, sex-atrophied
worker-bee; but by dint of super-feeding on a specially rich diet, and
unlimited space wherein to develop, the young grub eventually grows into
a queen-bee, with all the queen’s extraordinary attributes. A queen may
be, and often is, raised by the workers from a grub instead of an egg.
The grub is enclosed in, or possibly in some cases transferred to, the
queen-cell; and, providing it is not more than three days old, this grub
will also become a fully developed queen-bee.
_Hibernation_, _and no Honey_
But, thus far in the history of bee-life, it has been impossible for a
hive to re-queen itself unless a newly-laid egg, or very young larva, has
been available for the purpose. Hibernation without a queen is,
therefore, in the present stage of honey-bee wisdom, unattainable,
because there would be neither egg nor grub to work from in the spring,
when another queen-mother was needed, and the stock must inevitably
perish. Here, however, the scientific bee-master could give his colonies
an invaluable hint, though greatly to his own disadvantage. In the
ordinary heat of the brood-chamber an egg takes about three days to
hatch, but it has been ascertained that a sudden fall in temperature will
often delay this process. The germ of life in all eggs is notoriously
hardy; and it is conceivable that by a system of cold storage, as
carefully studied and ingeniously regulated as are most other affairs of
the hive, the bees might succeed in preserving eggs throughout the winter
in a state of suspended, but not irresuscitable life. And if ever the
honey-bee, in some future age, discovers this possibility, she will
infallibly become a true hibernating insect, and join the ranks of the
summer loiterers and merry-makers. But the bee-master will get no more
honey.