Almost all authors speak of four different kinds or varieties of the honey-bee. I frankly acknowledge that I know but of one; and that all the bees I have seen are equally profitable when properly taken care of. It is true my travels have not been very extended.
As to their language: a slight buzzing or confused noise and a sharp sound, are signals by which they proclaim their danger, or seek assistance from each other. They appear to have the power of communicating their desires, their fears, their situation, and their circumstances. Their language, or whatever name is given to it, suffices to procure a concert of wills and actions, absolutely to attain a certain end; and of which I shall give a few examples.
When a hive has lost its queen, a general agitation takes place, that cannot escape the notice of the most ordinary observer. They seek about for her on all sides, and, if she cannot be found, they set to work to supply her place. For this purpose, a great cell must be constructed, to serve her for a cradle: a single working bee cannot manufacture it. There must absolutely be a concerted plan,—to choose the place to do the work—to transport the newly hatched maggot—to nurse it suitably—and properly to close the cell when it is to undergo the metamorphosis.
There must also be the same re-union of wills and efforts, when it relates to the getting rid of a moth that has established itself in a comb; they must ascertain its presence, feel the evil it may do, examine with care the extent of its galleries, and agree in the plan of attack and mode of operations; and how can they form and execute this plan, without the perfect concurrence of a great number of labourers? Such agreement is impossible without some sort of language.
Is the hive to be cleaned? A general assessment is commanded, and the people instantly obey. A throng of labourers remove the dead, carry out the little bits of wax that are on the board, which would otherwise serve to feed the moths. Each of these crumbs costs them a journey; and that toil is spared them when care is taken to scrape and sweep the board from time to time.
Another scheme of agreement that indicates a language, is where a bee finds honey, whether in a room, where it may have been deposited without shutting the windows, or in a stranger hive, where it has gained entrance. It communicates it to its companions, who rush out by hundreds or by thousands to obtain a share of the booty. How could they give this advertisement, without a species of language understood by every one of them.
CHAPTER XXVII.
SIGNS OF RECOGNITION AMONG THE BEES.
The bees of a hive have the means of recognition, and of distinguishing their companions from every stranger bee; without which they could not defend their honey. In vain would the Creator have armed each of them with a formidable sting, had they not been also given to know the enemies which that sting was to pierce. Strangers would have gone in and out without risk of detection or punishment, mingled with the workers, and deprived them of treasures industriously collected. But the All-wise Author of Nature, who has given them the means of defence, has also endowed them with the instinct to distinguish enemies from friends, even among their own species. Let a bee fall by accident, or be driven by the wind, into a hive not its own, it is seized as one suspected of evil intention, and put to death that moment.
What is their signal of recognition? What is the organ and the instrument? Is it the antennæ,—those little flexible horns in front of their heads? or is it by the smell they recognize each other?