When she fell to the floor, the bees seemed to know at once that something out of the ordinary had happened. The sick queen was immediately surrounded by a dense circle of her subjects, those next to her licking her with their tongues and endeavoring to raise her to her feet.
When she died they were a little slow in recognizing the fact, but when they did realize that she was dead those nearest the dead sovereign set up a loud buzzing. This was transmitted from circle to circle, from bee to bee, until the entire hive was in an uproar. The bees rushed to and fro bewailing their loss, and seemingly crazed by grief. All work was immediately suspended, and even the young were abandoned and left, for the time being, to shift for themselves. Those bees which returned to the hive laden with honey did not put it into the cells but retained it in their honey-bags. In fact, the entire social economy of the hive was disrupted and disarranged, and this confusion lasted for hours. After about twenty-four hours of mourning for the dead queen the bees recovered their equanimity, and began the work of rearing another queen from a worker larva.
In another chapter of this book (vid. [Memory]) I have related an instance of complex ideation in a bird. I have reference to the sparrow whose young was saved from a snake, and which remembered the lad who destroyed its enemy. This bird undoubtedly showed gratitude. Another correspondent writes: "Knowing your love for, and your interest in, all animals, I think my experience with two house wrens this summer will entertain you. These birds selected for their home an old boot, which they discovered on a bench in an outhouse. Here they built their nest, and, in the course of time, had the great pleasure of welcoming into the world two interesting 'wrenlets.'
"One day, while feeding my pigeons, I noticed that the old wrens were greatly disturbed by something or other. They kept flying about me, uttering sharp, complaining cries; they would now and then fly to the outhouse, and then back to me. At last it occurred to me that some accident might have befallen the young wrens, so I proceeded to investigate, and soon discovered the trouble.
"Some one, in rummaging about the room, had overturned the boot, which had fallen in such manner that the top pressed against the wall, thus effectually barring the way to the nest. I righted the boot, thereby restoring the children to their parents, much to the delight of all parties concerned. Ever since this episode the male wren has shown his gratitude in an unmistakable manner. He has followed me into the house on several occasions; he has learned where I sit when engaged in sewing, and pays me short visits, flying though the window several times a day, and, wonderful to relate, after the young had learned to fly, he brought them around to my window and evidently gave them to understand that I was their saviour!"
The higher animals, such as the horse, the ox, the dog, the monkey, etc., show the emotions of anger, hate, fear, love, and grief so plainly that "he who runs may read." That these animals possess these emotions is a fact which hardly needs demonstration. They likewise have very retentive memories, sometimes treasuring up an injury for days, months, and years, until an opportunity arrives for them to "get even," thus showing that they are revengeful.
Thus, a dog of my acquaintance had been severely thrashed last winter by a larger dog. He bided his time, and, this summer, after his antagonist had been handicapped by having that atrocious invention, a muzzle, affixed to his head, he fell upon him, "tooth and toe-nail," and would have killed him had he not been prevented.
Again, some years ago my attention was called to a large mandril by the keeper of the monkey house in the St. Louis Zoölogical Garden, who remarked that "That monkey will do me up some day. I had to thrash him several days ago, and ever since then he has had it in for me."
Not ten minutes after the conversation, while I was in another part of the building, I heard a yell from the keeper, and, on rushing to see what had happened, found that the man's thumb had been almost severed from his hand by the powerful teeth of the mandril. The keeper had been explaining something to some visitors, standing with his back to the animal, and with his hand resting on one of the bars of the cage. The brute saw his opportunity, and, in the twinkling of an eye, seized it and inflicted a severe injury to the individual whom he regarded as his enemy.
During another visit to the above-mentioned monkey house, I accidentally inflicted an injury to a capuchin monkey, "Tom" by name, who was a great friend of mine and who had been taken from his cage and given to me by the keeper. After playing with him for a time, I had placed him on the floor and had resumed my conversation with the keeper. Suddenly, "Tom" gave a loud squall and jumped into my lap, wringing one of his hands and moaning piteously.