I.—NATURAL HISTORY OF THE INHABITANTS OF THE HIVE.
VERY hive or bee colony comprises in summer three distinct classes of bees, each class having functions peculiar to itself, and which are essential to the well-being of the whole community. As each bee knows its own proper duties, they all work harmoniously and zealously together, for the common weal. Certain apparent exceptions to the good-fellowship of the bees will be hereafter noticed, but those arise out of essential conditions in the social economy of the bee community. That honey bees should live in society, as they do in hives, is absolutely needful. A bee, in an isolated condition, is a very helpless, delicate little creature, soon susceptible of cold, and paralysed thereby, unless able to join her companions before night comes on. By congregating in large numbers, bees maintain warmth, whatever the external temperature may be.
The three classes of bees are:—the queen-bee, with the pupæ or embryos intended for queens; the working bees; and the drones, or male bees.
THE QUEEN.
Appropriately styled, by German bee-keepers, the mother-bee, is the only perfectly developed female among the whole population of each separate colony. Thus her majesty indisputably sways her sceptre by a divine right, because she lives and reigns in the hearts of loving children and subjects.
Dr. Evans[2] introduces the queen-bee to our notice thus:—
"First of the throng, and foremost of the whole.
One 'stands confest the sovereign and the soul.'"
[2] Dr. Evans—who may be styled the poet-laureate of the bees—lived at Shrewsbury, where he practised as a physician. His poem on bees is written with great taste and careful elaboration, and it describes the habits of bees with a degree of accuracy only attainable after continuous scientific observation.
The queen may very readily be distinguished from the rest of the bees by the greater length of her body and the comparative shortness of her wings; her legs are longer, and are not furnished with either brushes or baskets as those of the working bee, for, being constantly fed by the latter, she does not need those implements; the upper surface of her body is of a brighter black than the other bees, whilst her colour underneath is a yellowish brown;[3] her wings, which do not extend more than half the length of her body, are sinewy and strong; her long abdomen tapers nearly to a point; her head is rounder, her tongue more slender, and not nearly so long, as that of the working bee, and her sting is curved. Her movements are measured and majestic; as she moves in the hive the other bees form a circle round her, none venturing to turn their backs upon her, but all anxious to show that respect and attention due to her rank and station. Whenever, in the exercise of her sovereign will, the queen wishes to travel amongst her subjects, she experiences no inconvenience from overcrowding; although the part of the hive to which she is journeying may be the most populous, way is immediately made, the common bees tumbling over each other to get out of her path, so great is their anxiety not to interfere with the royal progress.
[3] Yellow Italian queens form an exception in point of colour. See frontispiece, fig. I.
It is the chief function of the queen to lay the eggs from which all future bees originate, the multiplication of the species being the purpose of her existence; and she follows it up with an assiduity similar to that with which the workers construct combs or collect honey. A queen is estimated to lay in the breeding season from 1,500 to 2,000 eggs a-day, and in the course of one year is supposed to produce more than 100,000 bees. This is indeed a vast number; but when there is taken into consideration the great number required for swarms, the constant lessening of their strength by death in various ways, and the many casualties attending them in their distant travels in search of the luscious store, it does not seem that the case is over-stated.
In a Glass Unicomb Hive,—which we shall hereinafter describe,—all the movements of the queen-bee may be traced; she may be seen thrusting her head into a cell to discover whether it be occupied with an egg or honey, and if empty, she turns round in a dignified manner and inserts her long body—so long, that she is able to deposit the egg at the bottom of the cell; she then passes on to another, and so continues industriously multiplying her laborious subjects. It not unfrequently happens when the queen is prolific, and if it be an early season, that many eggs are wasted for want of unoccupied cells; for in that case the queen leaves them exposed at the bottom of the hive, when they are greedily devoured by the bees.
The queen-bee, unlike the great majority of her subjects, is a stayer at home; generally speaking, she only quits the hive twice in her life. . The first occasion is on the all-important day of her marriage, which always takes place at a great height in the air, and generally on the second or third day of her princess-life; she never afterwards leaves the hive, except to lead off an emigrating swarm. Evans, with proper loyalty, has duly furnished a glowing epithalamium for the queen-bee thus:—
"When noon-tide Sirius glares on high,
Young love ascends the glowing sky,
From vein to vein swift shoots prolific fire,
And thrills each insect fibre with desire;
Then Nature, to fulfil thy prime decree,
Wheels round, in wanton rings, the courtier Bee;
Now shyly distant, now with bolder air,
He woos and wins the all-complying fair;
Through fields of ether, veiled in vap'ry gloom
They seek, with amorous haste, the nuptial room;
As erst the immortal pair, on Ida's height,
Wreath'd round their noon of joy ambrosial night."
The loyalty and attachment of bees to their queen is one of their most remarkable characteristics; they constantly supply her with food, and fawn upon and caress her, softly touching her with their antennæ—a favour which she occasionally returns. When she moves about the hive, all the bees through whom she successively passes pay her the same homage; those whom she leaves behind in her track close together, and resume their accustomed occupations.
The majestic deportment of the queen-bee and the homage paid to her is, with a little poetic licence, thus described by Evans:—
"But mark, of royal port and awful mien,
Where moves with measured pace the insect Queen!
Twelve chosen guards, with slow and solemn gait,
Bend at her nod, and round her person wait."
This homage is, however, only paid to matron queens. Whilst they continue princesses, they receive no distinctive marks of respect. Dr. Dunbar, the noted Scotch apiarian, observed a very striking instance of this whilst experimenting on the combative qualities of the queen-bee "So long," says he, "as the queen which survived the rencontre with her rival remained a virgin, not the slightest degree of respect or attention was paid her; not a single bee gave her food; she was obliged, as often as she required it, to help herself; and in crossing the honey cells for that purpose, she had to scramble, often with difficulty, over the crowd, not an individual of which got out of her way, or seemed to care whether she fed or starved: but no sooner did she become a mother, than the scene was changed, and all testified towards her that most affectionate attention, which is uniformly exhibited to fertile queens."
The queen-bee, though provided with a sting, never uses it on any account, except in combat with her sister-queens. But she admits of no rival to her throne; almost her first act, on coming forth from the cell, is an attempt to tear open and destroy the cells containing the pupæ of princesses likely to become competitors. Should it so happen that another queen of similar age does exist in the hive at the same time, the two are speedily brought into contact with each other, in order to fight it out and decide by a struggle, mortal to one of them, which is to be the ruler;—the stronger of course is victorious, and remains supreme. This, it must be admitted, is a wiser method of settling the affair than it would be to range the whole hive under two distinct banners, and so create a civil war, in which the members of the rival bands would kill and destroy each other for matters they individually have little or no concern about: for the bees care not which queen it is, so long as they are certain of having one to rule over them and perpetuate the community.
After perusing the description given above of the attachment of bees to their queen, it may be easy to imagine the consternation a hive is thrown into when deprived of her presence. The bees first make a diligent search for their monarch in the hive, and then afterwards rush forth in immense numbers to seek her. When such a commotion is observed in an apiary, the experienced bee-master will repair the loss by giving a queen: the bees have generally their own remedy for such a calamity, in their power of raising a new queen from amongst their larvæ; but if neither of these means be available, the whole colony dwindles and dies. The following is the method by which working bees provide a successor to the throne when deprived of their queen by accident, or in anticipation of the first swarm, which is always led by the old queen:—
They select, when not more than three days old, an egg or grub previously intended for a worker-bee, and then enlarge the cell so selected by destroying the surrounding partitions; they thus form a royal cradle, in shape very much like an acorn cup inverted. The chosen embryo is then fed liberally with a peculiar description of nurture, called by naturalists "royal jelly"—a pungent food, prepared by the working bees exclusively for those of the larvae that are destined to become candidates for the honour of royalty. Should a queen be forcibly separated from her subjects, she resents the interference, refuses food, pines, and dies.
The whole natural history of the queen-bee is in itself a subject that will well repay for continuous study. Those who desire to follow it, we would refer to the complete works of Huber—the greatest of apiarians,—Swammerdam, Bevan, Langstroth, &c. The observations upon the queen-bee needful to verify the above-mentioned facts can only be made in hives constructed for the purpose, of which the "Unicomb Observatory Hive" is the best. In ordinary hives the queen is scarcely ever to be seen; where there are several rows of comb, she invariably keeps between them, both for warmth and to be more secure from danger. The writer has frequently observed in stocks which have unfortunately died, that the queen was one of the last to expire; and she is always more difficult to gain possession of than other bees, being by instinct taught that she is indispensable to the welfare of her subjects.
The queen enjoys a far longer life than any of her subjects, her age generally extending to four, or even five years. The drones, which are mostly hatched in the early spring, seldom live more than three or four months, even if they should escape the sting of the executioner, to which they generally fall victims. The worker-bee, it is now a well-ascertained fact, lives from six to eight months, in no case exceeding the latter; so that we may reckon that the bees hatched in April and May expire about the end of the year; and it is those of the autumn who carry on the duties of the hive until the spring and summer, that being the time when the greatest number of eggs are laid. The population of a hive is very small during the winter, in comparison with the vast numbers gathering produce in the summer,—produce which they themselves live to enjoy but for a short period. So that not only, as of old, may lessons of industry be learned from bees, but they also teach self-denial to mankind, since they labour for the community rather than for themselves. Evans, in describing the age of bees, thus paraphrases the well known couplet of Homer, in allusion to the fleeting generations of men:—
"Like leaves on trees the race of bees is found.
Now green in youth, now withering on the ground;
Another race the spring or fall supplies,
They droop successive, and successive rise."
THE DRONE.
The drones are male bees; they possess no sting, are more hairy and larger than the common bee, and may be easily distinguished by their heavy motion, thick-set form, and louder humming. Evans thus describes the drones:—
"Their short proboscis sips
No luscious nectar from the wild thyme's lips;
From the lime leaf no amber drops they steal,
Nor bear their grooveless thighs the foodful meal:
On others' toils, in pampered leisure, thrive
The lazy fathers of the industrious hive;
Yet oft, we're told, these seeming idlers share
The pleasing duties of parental care;
With fond attention guard each genial cell,
And watch the embryo bursting from the shell."
But Dr. Evans had been "told" what was not correct when he sought to dignify drones with the office of "nursing fathers,"—that task is undertaken by the younger of the working bees. No occupation falls to the lot of the drones in gathering honey, nor have they the means provided them by Nature for assisting in the labours of the hive. The drones are the progenitors of working bees, and nothing more; so far as is known, that is the only purpose of their short existence.
In a well-populated hive the number of drones is computed at from one to two thousand. "Naturalists," says Huber, "have been extremely embarrassed to account for the number of males in most hives, and which seem only a burden to the community, since they appear to fulfil no function. But we now begin to discern the object of Nature in multiplying them to such an extent. As fecundation cannot be accomplished within the hive, and as the queen is obliged to traverse the expanse of the atmosphere, it is requisite that the males should be numerous, that she may have the chance of meeting some one of them in her flight. Were only two or three in each hive, there would be little probability of their departure at the same instant with the queen, or that they would meet her in their excursions; and most of the females might thus remain sterile." It is important for the safety of the queen-bee that her stay in the air should be as brief as possible: her large size and slowness of flight render her an easy prey to birds. It is not now thought that the queen always pairs with a drone of the same hive, as Huber seems to have supposed. The drone that happens to be the selected husband is by no means so fortunate as at first sight may appear, for it is a law of nature that the bridegroom does not survive the wedding-day. Her majesty, although thus left, a widowed, is by no means a sorrowful, bride, for she soon becomes the happy mother of a large family. It cannot be said that she pays no respect to the memory of her departed lord, for she never marries again. Once impregnated,—as is the case with most insects,—the queen-bee continues productive during the remainder of her existence. It has, however, been found that though old queens cease to lay worker eggs, they may continue to lay those of drones. The swarming season being over,—that is about the end of July,—a general massacre of the "lazy fathers" takes place. Dr. Bevan, in the "Honey Bee," observes on this point: "The work of the drones being now completed, they are regarded as useless consumers of the fruits of others' labour; love is at once converted into hate, and a general proscription takes place. The unfortunate victims evidently perceive their danger, for they are never at this time seen resting in one place, but darting in and out of the hive with the utmost precipitation, as if in fear of being seized."
Their destruction is thought, by some, to be caused by their being harassed until they quit the hive; but Huber says he ascertained that the death of the drones was caused by the stings of the workers. Supposing the drones come forth in May, which is the average period of their being hatched, their destruction takes place somewhere about the commencement of August, so that three months is the usual extent of their existence; but should it so happen that the usual development of the queen has been retarded, or that the hive has by chance been deprived of her, the massacre of the drones is deferred. In any case, the natural term of the life of drone-bees does not exceed four months, so that they are all dead before the winter, and are not allowed to be useless consumers of the general store.
THE WORKER-BEE.
The working bees form, by far, the most numerous class of the three kinds contained in the hive, and least of all require description. They are the smallest of the bees, are dark brown in colour, or nearly black,[4] and much more active on the wing than are either drones or queens. The usual number in a healthy hive varies from twelve to thirty thousand; and, previous to swarming, exceeds the larger number. The worker-bee is of the same sex as the queen, but is only partially developed. Any egg of a worker-bee—by the cell being enlarged, as already described, and the "royal jelly" being supplied to the larva—may be hatched into a mature and perfect queen. This, one of the most curious facts connected with the natural history of bees, may be verified in any apiary by most interesting experiments, which may be turned to important use. With regard to the supposed distinctions between "nursing" and working bees, it is now agreed that it only consists in a division of labour, the young workers staying at home to feed the larvæ until they are themselves vigorous enough to range the fields in quest of supplies. But, for many details of unfailing interest, we must again refer our readers to the standard works on bees that have already been named.
[4] Italian workers form an exception in point of colour. See [Plate I., fig. 2].
THE EGGS OF BEES.
It is necessary that some explanation should be given as to the existence of the bee before it emerges from the cell.
The eggs ([Plate II., fig. 7]) of all the three kinds of bees, when first deposited, are of an oval shape, and of a pearly-white colour. In four or five days the egg changes to a worm, and in this stage is known by the names of larva or grub ([Plate II., fig. 8]), in which state it remains four to six days more. During this period it is fed by the nurse-bees with a mixture of farina and honey, a constant supply of which is given to it. The next transformation is to the nymph or pupa form. The nurse-bees now seal up the cells with a preparation similar to wax, and then the pupa spins round itself a film or cocoon, just as a silkworm does in its chrysalis state. The microscope shows that this cradle-curtain is perforated with very minute holes, through which the baby-bee is duly supplied with air. No further attention on the part of the bees is now requisite, except a proper degree of heat, which they take care to keep up—a position for the breeding cells being selected in the centre of the hive, where the temperature is likely to be most congenial.
Twenty-one days after the egg is first laid (unless cold weather should have retarded it) the bee quits the pupa state, and, nibbling its way through the waxen covering that has enclosed it, comes forth a winged insect. The eggs of drones require twenty-four days, and those of queens sixteen days, to arrive at maturity, and are hatched in warm summer weather, a higher temperature being necessary. In the Unicomb Observatory Hives, the young bees may distinctly be seen as they literally fight their way into the world, for the other bees do not take the slightest notice, nor afford them any assistance. We have frequently been amused in watching the eager little new-comer, now obtruding its head, and anon compelled to withdraw into the cell to escape being trampled on by the apparently unfeeling throng, until at last it has succeeded in making its exit. The little grey creature, after brushing and shaking itself, enters upon its duties in the hive, such as the nursing before alluded to, or secreting wax, and in (say) a week issues forth to the more laborious occupation of gathering honey in the fields—thus early illustrating that character for industry which has been proverbial at least since the days of Aristotle, and which has in our day been rendered familiar even to infant minds through the nursery rhymes of Dr. Watts.
INCREASE OF BEES.
Every one is familiar with the natural process of "swarming," by which bees provide themselves with fresh space, and seek to plant colonies to absorb their increase of population. But the object of the bee-master is to train and educate his bees, and in so doing he avoids much of the risk and trouble which is incurred by allowing the busy folk to follow their own devices. The various methods for this end adopted by apiarians all come under the term of the "depriving" system, and they form part of the great object of humane and economical bee-keeping, which is to save the bees alive instead of slaughtering them, as under the old clumsy system. A very natural question is often asked:—How is it that, upon the depriving system, where our object is to prevent swarming, the increase of numbers is not so great as upon the old plan? It will be seen that the laying of eggs is performed by the queen only, and that there is but one queen to each hive; so that where swarming is prevented, there remains only one hive or stock, as the superfluous princesses are not allowed to come to maturity. If all those princesses were to become monarchs, or mother-bees, and to emigrate with a proportionate number of workers, increase would be going on more rapidly; but the old stock would be so impoverished thereby as possibly to yield no surplus honey, whilst the swarms might come off too late for them to collect sufficient store whereon to grow populous enough to withstand the winter.
With bees, as with men, "union is strength;" and it is often better to induce them to remain as one family, rather than to part numbers at a late period of the honey-gathering season, without a prospect of supporting themselves, and so perish from cold and hunger during the ordeal of the winter season. Would it not in such cases have been better for the little folk, to have kept under one roof through the winter, and to have been able to take full advantage of the following early spring? This is one of the great secrets of successful bee-keeping.
Our plan of giving additional store-room will, generally speaking, prevent swarming. This stay-at-home policy, we contend, is an advantage; for instead of the loss of time consequent upon a swarm hanging out preparatory to flight, all the bees are engaged in collecting honey, and that at a time when the weather is most favourable and the food most abundant. Upon the old system, the swarm leaves the hive simply because the dwelling has not been enlarged at the time when the bees are increasing. The emigrants are always led off by the old queen, leaving either young or embryo queens to lead off after-swarms, and to furnish a mistress for the old stock, and carry on the multiplication of the species. Upon the antiquated and inhuman plan, where so great a destruction takes place by the brimstone match, breeding must, of course, be allowed to go on to its full extent to make up for such sacrifices. Our chief object under the new system' is to obtain honey free from all extraneous matter. Pure honey cannot be gathered from combs where storing and breeding are performed in the same compartment. For fuller explanations on this point, we refer to the various descriptions of our improved hives in a subsequent section of this work.
There can now be scarcely two opinions as to the uselessness of the rustic plan of immolating the poor bees after they have striven through the summer so to "improve each shining hour." The ancients in Greece and Italy took the surplus honey and spared the bees, and now for every intelligent bee-keeper there are ample appliances wherewith to attain the same results. Mr. Langstroth quotes from the German the following epitaph, which, he says, "might be properly placed over every pit of brimstoned bees":—
Here rests,
CUT OFF FROM USEFUL LABOUR,
A COLONY OF
INDUSTRIOUS BEES,
BASELY MURDERED
BY ITS
UNGRATEFUL AND IGNORANT
OWNER.
And Thomson, the poet of "The Seasons," has recorded an eloquent poetic protest against the barbarous practice, for which, however, in his day there was no, alternative:—
"Ah! see where, robbed and murdered in that pit.
Lies the still-heaving hive! at evening snatched,
Beneath the cloud of guilt-concealing night,
And fix'd o'er sulphur! while, not dreaming ill,
The happy people, in their waxen cells,
Sat tending public cares.
Sudden, the dark, oppressive steam ascends,
And, used to milder scents, the tender race
By thousands tumble from their honied dome,
Into a gulf of blue sulphureous flame!"
It will be our pleasing task, in subsequent chapters, to show "a more excellent way."
SWARMING.
The spring is the best period at which to commence an apiary, and swarming-time is a good starting-point for the new bee-keeper. The period known as the swarming season is during the months of May and June. With a very forward stock, and in exceedingly fine weather, bees do occasionally swarm in April. The earlier the swarm, the greater is its value. If bees swarm in July, they seldom gather sufficient to sustain themselves through the winter, though by careful feeding they may easily be kept alive, if hived early in the month.
The cause of a swarm leaving the stock-hive is, that the population has grown too large for it. Swarming is a provision of Nature for remedying the inconvenience of overcrowding, and is the method whereby the bees seek for space in which to increase their stores. By putting on "super-hives," the required relief may, in many cases, be given to them; but should the multiplication of stocks be desired, the bee-keeper will defer increasing the space until the swarm has issued forth. In May, when the spring has been fine, the queen-bee is very active in laying eggs, and the increase in a strong, healthy hive is so prodigious that emigration is necessary, or the bees would cease to work.
It is now a well-established fact that the old queen goes forth with the first swarm, preparation having been made to supply her place as soon as the bees determine upon the necessity of a division of their commonwealth. Thus the sovereignty of the old hive, after the first swarm has issued, devolves upon a young queen.
As soon as the swarm builds combs in its new abode, the emigrant-queen, being impregnated and her ovaries full, begins laying eggs in the cells, and thereby speedily multiplies the labourers of the new colony. Although there is now amongst apiarians no doubt that the old queen quits her home, there is no rule as to the composition of the swarm: old and young alike depart. Some show unmistakable signs of age by their ragged wings, others their extreme youth by their lighter colour; how they determine which shall stay and which shall go has not yet been ascertained. In preparation for flight, bees commence filling their honey bags, taking sufficient, it is said, for three days' sustenance. This store is needful, not only for food, but to enable the bees to commence the secretion of wax and the building of combs in their new domicile.
On the day of emigration, the weather must be fine, warm, and clear, with but little wind stirring; for the old queen, like a prudent matron, will not venture out unless the day is in every way favourable. Whilst her majesty hesitates, either for the reasons we have mentioned, or because the internal arrangements are not sufficiently matured, the bees will often fly about or hang in clusters at the entrance of the hive for two or three days and nights together, all labour meanwhile being suspended. The agitation of the little folk is well described by Evans:—
"See where, with hurried step, the impassioned throng
Pace o'er the hive, and seem, with plaintive song,
T' invite the loitering queen; now range the floor,
And hang in cluster'd columns from the door;
Or now in restless rings around they fly,
Nor spoil thy sip, nor load the hollowed thigh;
E'en the dull drone his wonted ease gives o'er,
Flaps his unwieldy wings, and longs to soar."
But when all is ready, a scene of the most violent agitation takes place; the bees rush out in vast numbers, forming quite a dark cloud as they traverse the air.
The time selected for the departure of the emigrants is generally between 10 A.M. and 3 P.M.; most swarms come off within an hour of noon. It is a very general remark that bees choose a Sunday for swarming, and probably this is because then greater stillness reigns around. It will not be difficult to imagine that the careful bee-keeper is anxious to keep a strict watch, lest he should lose such a treasure when once it takes wing. The exciting scene at a bee-swarming has been well described by the apiarian laureate:—
"Up mounts the chief, and, to the cheated eye,
Ten thousand shuttles dart along the sky;
As swift through æther rise the rushing swarms,
Gay dancing to the beam their sunbright forms;
And each thin form, still lingering on the sight,
Trails, as it shoots, a line of silver light.
High poised on buoyant wing, the thoughtful queen,
In gaze attentive, views the varied scene,
And soon her far-fetched ken discerns below,
The light laburnum lift her polished brow,
Wave her green leafy ringlets o'er the glade.
Swift as the falcon's sweep the monarch bends
Her flight abrupt: the following host descends;
Round the fine twig, like clustered grapes they close
In thickening wreaths, and court a short repose."
In many country districts it is a time-honoured custom for the good folks of the village to commence on such occasions a terrible noise of tanging and ringing with frying-pan and key. This is done with the absurd notion that the bees are charmed with the clangorous din, and may by it be induced to settle as near as possible to the source of such sweet sounds. This is, however, quite a mistake: there are other and better means for the purpose. The practice of ringing was originally adopted for a different and far more sensible object—viz., for the purpose of giving notice that a swarm had issued forth, and that the owner was anxious to claim the right of following, even though it should alight on a neighbour's premises. It would be curious to trace how this ancient ceremony has thus got corrupted from the original design.
In case the bees do not speedily after swarming manifest signs of settling, a few handfuls of sand or loose mould may be thrown up in the air so as to fall among the winged throng; they mistake this for rain, and then very quickly determine upon settling. Some persons squirt a little water from a garden engine in' order to produce the same effect.
There are, indeed, many ingenious devices used by apiarians for decoying the swarms. Mr. Langstroth mentions a plan of stringing dead bees together, and tying a bunch of them on any shrub or low tree upon which it is desirable that they should alight; another plan is, to hang some black woven material near the hives, so that the swarming bees may be led to suppose they see another colony, to which they will hasten to attach themselves. Swarms have a great affinity for each other when they are adrift in the air; but, of course, when the union has been effected, the rival queens have to do battle for supremacy. A more ingenious device than any of the above is by means of a mirror, to flash a reflection of the sun's rays amongst a swarm, which bewilders the bees, and checks their flight. It is manifestly often desirable to use some of these endeavours to induce early settlement, and to prevent, if possible, the bees from clustering in high trees or under the eaves of houses, where it may be difficult to hive them.
Should prompt measures not be taken to hive the bees as soon as the cluster is well formed, there is danger of their starting on a second flight; and this is what the apiarian has so much to dread. If the bees set off a second time, it is generally for a long flight, often for miles, so that in such a case it is usually impossible to follow them, and consequently a valuable colony may be irretrievably lost.
Too much care cannot be exercised to prevent the sun's rays falling on a swarm when it has once settled. If exposed to heat in this way, bees are very likely to decamp. We have frequently stretched matting or sheeting on poles, so as to intercept the glare, and thus render their temporary position cool and comfortable.
Two swarms sometimes depart at the same time, and join together; in such a case, we recommend that they be treated as one, by putting them into a hive as before described, taking care to give abundant room and not to delay affording access to the super hive or glasses. They will settle their own notions of sovereignty by one queen destroying the other. There are means of separating two swarms, if done at the time; but the operation is a formidable one, and does not always repay even those most accustomed to such manipulation.
With regard to preparations for taking a swarm, our advice to the bee-keeper must be the reverse of Mrs. Glass's notable injunction as to the cooking of a hare. Some time before you expect to take a swarm, be sure to have a suitable hive in which to take it, and also every other requisite properly ready. Here we will explain what was said in the introduction as to the safety of moving and handling bees. A bee-veil or dress will preserve the most sensitive from the possibility of being stung. This article, which may be bought with the hives, is made of net close enough to exclude bees, but open enough for the operator's vision. It is made to go over the hat of a lady or cap of a gentleman; it closes round the waist, and has sleeves fastening at the wrist. A pair of photographer's india-rubber gloves completes the full dress of the apiarian, who is then invulnerable, even to enraged bees. But bees when swarming are in an eminently peaceful frame of mind; having dined sumptuously, they require to be positively provoked before they will sting. Yet there may be one or two foolish bees who, having neglected to fill their honey bags, are inclined to vent their ill-humour on the kind apiarian. When all is ready, the new hive is held or placed in an inverted position under the cluster of bees, which the operator detaches from their perch with one or two quick shakes; the floor-board is then placed on the hive, which is then slowly turned up on to its base, and it is well to leave it a short time in the same place, in order to allow of stragglers joining their companions.
If the new swarm is intended for transportation to a distance, it is as well for it to be left at the same spot until evening, provided the sun is shaded from it: but if the hive is meant to stand in or near the same garden, it is better to remove it within half an hour to its permanent position, because so eager are newly-swarmed bees for pushing forward the work of furnishing their empty house, that they sally forth at once in search of materials.
A swarm of bees, in their natural state, contains from 10,000 to 20,000 insects, whilst in an established hive of Italian bees they number 40,000 and upwards. Five thousand bees are said to weigh one pound; a good swarm will weigh from three to five pounds. We have known swarms not heavier than 2½ pounds that were in very excellent condition in August as regards store for the winter.
Hitherto, all our remarks have had reference to first or "prime" swarms; these are the best, and when a swarm is purchased, such should be bargained for.
Second swarms, known amongst cottage bee-keepers as "casts," usually issue from the hive nine or ten days after the first has departed. It is not always that a second swarm issues, so much depends on the strength of the stock, the weather, and other causes; but should the bees determine to throw out another, the first hatched queen in the stock-hive is prevented by her subjects from destroying the other royal princesses, as she would do if left to her own devices. The consequence is that, like some people who cannot have their own way, she is highly indignant; and, when thwarted in her purpose, utters, in quick succession, shrill, angry sounds, much resembling "Peep, peep," commonly called "piping," but which more courtly apiarians have styled the vox regalis.
This royal wailing continues during the evening, and is sometimes so loud as to be distinctly audible many yards from the hive. When this is the case, a swarm may be expected either on the next day, or at latest within three days. The second swarm is not quite so chary of weather as the first; it was the old lady who exercised so much caution, disliking to leave home except in the best of summer weather.
In some instances, owing to favourable breeding seasons and prolific queens, a third swarm issues from the hive; this is termed a "colt:" and, in remarkable instances, even a fourth, which in rustic phrase is designated a "filly." A swarm from a swarm is called a "maiden" swarm, and, according to bee theory, will again have the old queen for its leader.
The bee-master should endeavour to prevent his labourers from swarming more than once; his policy is rather to encourage the industrious gathering of honey, by keeping a good supply of "supers" on the hives. Sometimes, however, he may err in putting on the supers too early or unduly late, and the bees will then swarm a second time, instead of making use of the store-rooms thus provided. In such a case, the clever apiarian, having spread the swarm on the ground, will select the queen, and cause the bees to go back to the hive from whence they came. This operation requires an amount of apiarian skill which, though it may easily be attained, is greater than is usually possessed.
Plate II.
E. W. Robinson Delt. et Scp. 1865.
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