When we take into consideration how sorely our farmers are perplexed by the cattle plague, known as the rinderpest, concerning which so many conflicting opinions exist (and the same may be said of the recommendations for its cure), can we wonder that our little favourites should occasionally be liable to disorders of this sort which puzzle even experienced bee-keepers? In the hope of allaying unnecessary alarm, we would just add that foul brood is not a very general complaint, and, so far as our observation extends, has been most fatal in large experimental apiaries, where extensive propagation has necessarily had to be pushed forward. With the experience and advice already gained, this disorder may now be said to be considerably deprived of its terrors.
We find several other complaints described at more or less length by Von Berlepsch, but to which a very brief allusion will here suffice. One he speaks of under the self-explaining title of "thirst-need," as to which he rightly remarks that it will be the bee-keeper's own fault or inexperience if his bees are ever allowed to suffer from it. Then there is "mad sickness," which consists in tumbling about as if intoxicated, and which Dzierzon says he meets with nearly every year, and conjectures to arise from partaking of poisoned honey—he suspects the honey to be naturally poisonous, since he observes this complaint almost regularly at the time when the mountain ash is in bloom. The next is "wing lameness," which the Baron' conjectures may be the real disorder just spoken of as madness. Lastly we have the "thread fungus," which is a growth found by Leuckart and Dönhoff in the stomach and intestines of several bees, and which they pronounce contagious. Our author does also include among the "sicknesses" of bees such irregularities as rising against and murdering their queen; but one would think that this was rather a political disorder, or else a case for a commission of lunacy.
The apparent fungus growths seen occasionally on the heads and bodies of bees have been found to be nothing more than the effect of smearing with the gummy pollen of orchids, or with other glutinous vegetable juices, on which afterwards ordinary pollen has collected and thus caused the appearance of tufts or patches.
§ X. BEE ENEMIES.
Bees have few worse enemies than wasps in autumn. The most effectual method of checking their invasion of hives is to have as narrow an entrance as the bees can do with. If a stock is not very weak in numbers the bees will be well able to guard a small aperture, and can repel the attacks of these insidious and merciless robbers. On this account the entrance to our cottage hive, as described at [page 114], may be used.
The bee-keeper is interested in preventing the increase of wasps; it is therefore a good practice for him to set a price on queen wasps in the spring, the death of one of them at that time being equivalent to the destruction of a whole nest.
Should nests be found in the neighbourhood of an apiary, their annihilation must be accomplished either by blowing them up with gunpowder—an operation well understood by most country lads—or any other effectual method. The late Mr. Payne recommended that a small quantity of gas tar should be put into the mouth of a wasps' nest, and if then covered with earth, the total destruction of the wasps will be accomplished without further trouble. But to use blazing straw for the purpose is always dangerous in country districts. We have lately heard of a very ingenious and successful mode of entrapping and killing wasps. Place some sugar or strongly sweetened compound on the ground in a garden, and place over it a square hand-glass, wedged up an inch or so all round. On this glass, which should have an opening at the apex, lodge another, but a sound one. The wasps, attracted by the sweets, will soon crowd under the lower glass, and, when they have well feasted, will ascend into the upper, one; there, between the two, they soon become scorched and perish by the heat of the sun shining on the outer glass.
Some seasons are very productive for the increase of these prime pests of the apiary, and when this is the case many hives severely suffer by their depredations. When once wasps in any number have gained an entrance into a hive, the bees can seldom eject them, and the invaders generally remain until they have freely regaled themselves from the luscious store. They not only consume the honey, but cause a good deal of worry to the legitimate inhabitants of the hive, as well as killing the foremost defenders of it. Wasps being much superior in strength, it requires at least three bees to master one of them.
Having suffered loss in our own apiary from the attacks of wasps, we feel it desirable to give a detailed account of our troubles from that cause. An Italian stock was besieged and worried by wasps to such an extent that in September the bees deserted it in a body. Fortunately it happened that they chose a time for their departure just as we visited the apiary. An unusual turmoil was heard in the hive, such as is experienced at the time of swarming, and on immediately examining the entrance we observed that the bees were quitting in tumultuous haste. The usual methods that induce bees to settle were tried—amongst others that of throwing sand up into the air, so that it should fall down amongst the bees on the wing; but they were dispersed in disorder, and their flight extended over three adjacent gardens. We only discovered the clustered bees by diligent search, as the sequel will show. Permission being asked of our next-door neighbour, we searched his garden to see if our bees had alighted there; but found that they had passed over. Making a similar application to the owner of the garden adjoining, we entered, having a straw hive in hand, but no bees were there. After looking diligently all round, and climbing the wall, thereby gaining a view of the third garden, we perceived in it unmistakable signs of an unwonted commotion. The occupiers of the house were intently looking at a particular part of the garden, and there was a dust-pan and a key, with which the master had been "tanging the bees," to induce them to settle. We quickly made for the proper entrance to the garden, and soon discovered our little wanderers clustered to a large flower-vase. After brushing them into the hive, and leaving it propped up with a stick, in order that the stray ones might join, we returned home for an hour or so, to give them time to settle. Judge of our vexation when, on returning to fetch the hive home, we found that the refractory creatures had again taken flight, and that all the work was to do over again. The wasps were not to blame for this second flight of the Italians; we judged that the swarm had been disturbed by visits from a colony of bees that we discovered were living the life of outlaws under the roof of an adjoining house. Although much disheartened and perplexed, we at once renewed our search, and, upon enquiry, found that the missing bees had taken a southerly course across the turnpike road, and it was therefore necessary to ask permission to search the gardens of the houses opposite. From one of these we observed, on looking through the hedge, that the inhabitants of the next house were on the qui vive. On enquiring whether they had seen a colony of bees, the wary old dame replied that she "had no bees but her own," but added that "they were very much excited." Having asked permission to go through the hedge to look at her bees, we soon discovered our Italians on the top of the old lady's bee-house. There was no difficulty in identifying our own bees; their yellow rings were as good as a private mark. Quickly hiving the swarm, we took them home, and replaced them in the hive they had quitted. It was almost destitute of honey; but by liberal feeding, and lessening the entrance so that only one bee at a time could find ingress or egress, we succeeded in inducing them to rest in their old home. Thus nearly half a day's exertion was needed to save a fine colony, which would otherwise have been utterly lost by the power of the relentless wasps.
Much watchfulness is needed to prevent the loss of swarms, and the foregoing incident may serve to suggest the necessity of having hives so located as to be constantly within view, either from the dining-room, or of those whose duties oblige them to be near the apiary. If we had not happened to be at hand at the moment this colony started, it would have been irretrievably lost to us, as is the case with many swarms and colonies simply because the departure takes place without any one to witness.