Bees in Borneo and Timor.
Having recently perused Mr. Spencer St. John’s very interesting work on Borneo, published in 1862, under the title of “Life in the Forests of the Far East,” I have made notes of several passages relating to the apian aborigines of that magnificent tropical island:—
Speaking of the agricultural pursuits of the “Sea Dayaks,” Mr. St. John says—“They obtain beeswax from the nests built on the tapang tree, and climb the loftiest heights in search of it, upon small sticks which they drive in as they advance up the noble stem that rises above one hundred feet free of branches, and whose girth varies from fifteen to twenty-five feet. Once these pegs are driven in, their outer ends are connected by a stout rattan, which, with the tree, forms a kind of ladder. It requires cool and deliberate courage to take a bee-hive at so great an elevation, where, in case of being attacked by the bees, the almost naked man would fall and be dashed to atoms. They depend upon the flambeaux they carry up with them, as, when the man disturbs the hive, the sparks falling from it cause, it is said, the bees to fly down in chase of them instead of attacking their real enemy, who then takes the hive and lowers it down by a rattan string. The bees escape unhurt. This plan does not appear to be as safe as that pursued by the Pakatan Dayaks, who kindle a large fire under the trees, and, throwing green branches upon it, raise so stilling a smoke that the bees rush forth, and the man ascending takes their nest in safety. Both these operations are generally conducted at night, although the second might be, I imagine, practised in safety during the day.”
With regard to the “Land Dayaks” it is stated, that “To the left of the Sirambau are some very fine tapang trees, in which the bees generally build their nests; they are considered private property, and a Dayak from a neighboring tribe venturing to help himself to some of this apparently wild honey and wax would be punished for theft.” This is the first hint that is given of bees being considered in any respect as private property, but the following passage would seem to indicate that the domestication of the honey-bee is not altogether unknown in the island:—“During the night, our rest was much disturbed by bees, which stung us several times, and Mr. Lowe, with that acuteness which never deserts him in all questions of natural history, pronounced them to be the ‘tame’ bees, the same as he had last seen thirteen years ago among the Senah Dayaks, in Sarawak. About midnight we were visited by a big fellow, who, our guides assured us, wanted to pilfer; but we found next morning that he had come to complain of his hives having been plundered. On inquiry, we discovered the man who had done the deed. He was fined three times the value of the damage, and the amount handed over to the owner.”
During one of his adventurous expeditions up the river Limbang, Mr. St. John found a Pakatan named Japer, who accompanied him, a storehouse of information. He had a thorough faith in ghosts and spirits, and told of many an adventure with them, and of the Antus who caused the death of the wax-hunters, by pushing them off the mengiris or tapang tree. When the unfortunate men, from inefficient preparations, as their companions not keeping up a great fire under the trees to stupefy the bees, are so stung as to let go their hold, the natural explanation is never taken; they fly to their superstitions. Japer’s nephew saw one of these tapang ghosts, and managed to keep his eye upon him and prevent him pushing him off, he came down without accident, but without any wax. I suggested that he invented the ghost to excuse his timidity, which Japer thought probable. To-day we passed one of these lofty trees bearing above twenty bees’ nests, among them four old ones white with wax.[1] As the country is full of tapangs, in which alone do the bees build their nests, the stories of the great amount of wax formerly procured in this district may be true. Why do the honey-bees generally build on one particular tree? Its being the finest in the forest is no good reason, perhaps there is something enticing in the bark. I say ‘generally,’ because, though I have never seen their nests on other trees, yet I have often come across them in the crevices of rocks.
In a subsequent part of his journal of the same expedition, our author says—“I never was in such a country for bees, they everywhere swarm in the most disagreeable manner, and ants and other insects are equally numerous.” When on their return and nearly starved, the party had “a very happy find, for while passing under a fine tapang tree we noticed the remains of a bees’ nest scattered about, and every particle was eagerly appropriated. From the marks around it appeared as if a bear had climbed this lofty tree and torn down the nest to be devoured by its young below, as there were numerous tracks of the smaller animals around, but whether the comb had been sucked by the bears or not was very immaterial to our men, who rejoiced in securing the little honey still clinging to it.”
The party appears only once to have fallen foul of a hornet’s nest. The encounter and its results are thus described:—“It was in following the bed of the Rawan that I was stung. Notice was given by the guide to leave the direct path, and we all did; but I suppose some one disturbed the hornets, as they attacked me with a ferocity that appears incredible: many flew at me, but two fixed on my arms and stung me through my double clothing. They poised themselves a moment in the air, and then came on with a rush which it was impossible to avoid. The pain was acute, but I saved my face. I tumbled down the steep bank in a moment, and throwing aside rifle and ammunition, plunged up to my eyes in a pool until the buzzing ceased and the hornets had returned to their nests. Some of my men were also stung; they squeezed a little tobacco juice on the wounds, and they say they felt no further inconvenience. I tried it about an hour afterwards, but it did me no good. I had no idea that the sting of this insect was so severe; my right arm swelled up to double its natural size and was acutely painful; now, on the second day, it is much less so, but as the swelling continues it is impossible to use it much.”
That wild bees are exceedingly abundant in the forests and jungles of Borneo may be inferred from the foregoing passages as well as from the numerous references to parties of native “wax-hunters,” which occur in almost every chapter of the work. Although no clue is given by Mr. St. John to the identity of the Borneon honey-bee, or any information as to the manner in which it builds its nest, I am enabled in some measure to supply the deficiency from other sources.
Some half dozen years ago I received from Mr. Charles Darwin, the distinguished naturalist, a few specimens of bees named Apis testacea (Smith), together with two pieces of their comb. Although these had been brought by Mr. Alfred B. Wallace, the celebrated traveller and author of “The Malay Archipelago,” just published, from the island of Timor in the Eastern Archipelago, I believe them to be the same as those which are indigenous in Borneo, so that there appears little reason to doubt that these are the bees referred to by Mr. St. John. On examination I found them half as long again as Apis mellifica, and their brood comb proportionably thicker. They were in fact, a variety of the magnificent Apis dorsata, which is described as flourishing abundantly throughout the great Indian peninsula, from Cape Comorin to the Himalayas, as well as in Ceylon.
Mr. Darwin subsequently introduced me to Mr. Wallace, to whom I am indebted for the following particulars:—“In Borneo and Timor the wax forms an important article of commerce. The combs hang on the under side of horizontal limbs of lofty trees, often one hundred feet from the ground.
“I have seen three together as above, and they are often four feet in diameter. The natives of Timor I have seen take them. They climb up a tree carrying a smoke torch made of a split creeper bound up in palm leaves, and hanging by a rope from their waist. They cover up their body and hair carefully, but their arms and legs are bare. The smoke directed on the comb makes the bees fly off in a cloud as the man approaches. He sweeps off the remainder with his hand and then cuts off the comb with a large knife, and lets it down to his companions below by a thin cord. He is all the time surrounded by a cloud of bees, and though the smoke no doubt partly stupefies them, he must be severely stung. While looking on from a considerable distance a few came down and attacked me, and I did not get rid of them till I was half a mile from the place and had caught them all, one by one, in my insect net. The sting is very severe. I should imagine that in Timor the dry season answers to our winter, as the drought is very severe and much of the foliage is deciduous. Eucalypti are the most common trees, and their flowers I suspect supply the bees with their honey. In Borneo combs are placed in a somewhat similar manner, perhaps formed by the same species. The only bee I have seen domesticated in the East is one at Malacca, the natives hang up bamboos and hollow logs for it, but it is, I believe, not a true Apis, as it makes clusters of large oval shells of black wax.”
I may add that the Timor bee was named Apis testacea on account of its color, which is very light, and is, in fact, the only point in which it differs from Apis dorsata. When some years ago I compared the specimens in the British Museum, I became impressed with the idea that those which represented Apis testacea were nothing more than newly-hatched and immature specimens of Apis dorsata, and so strongly did I urge my views upon Mr. Smith, that I believe I almost induced him to doubt the correctness of his own nomenclature, until he was afterwards assured by Mr. Wallace himself, that they were really mature and fully-developed adult bees.—A Devonshire Bee-keeper.
