Before describing the precautions which I successfully employ, to guard my colonies from robbing each other, or from being robbed by bees from a strange Apiary, I shall first explain under what circumstances they are ordinarily disposed to plunder each other. Idleness is with bees, as well as with men, a most fruitful mother of mischief. Hence, it is almost always when they are doing nothing in the fields, that they are tempted to increase their stores by dishonest courses. Bees are, however, much more excusable than the lazy rogues of the human family; for the bees are idle, not because they are indisposed to work, but because they can find nothing to do. Unless there is some gross mismanagement, on the part of their owner, they seldom attempt to live upon stolen sweets, when they have ample opportunity to reap the abundant harvests of honest industry. In this chapter, I shall be obliged, however much against my will, to acknowledge that some branches of morals in my little friends, need very close watching, and that they too often make the lowest sort of distinction, between "mine and thine." Still I feel bound to show that when thus overcome by temptation, it is almost always, under circumstances in which their careless owner is by far the most to blame.
In the Spring, as soon as the bees are able to fly abroad, "innatus urget amor habendi," as Virgil has expressed it; that is, they begin to feel the force of an innate love of honey-getting. They can find nothing in the fields, and they begin at once, to see if they cannot appropriate the spoils of some weaker hive. They are often impelled to this, by the pressure of immediate want, or the salutary dread of approaching famine: but truth obliges me to confess that not unfrequently some of the strongest stocks, which have more than they would be able to consume, even if they gathered nothing more for a whole year, are the most anxious to prey upon the meager possessions of some feeble colony. Just like some rich men who have more money than they can ever use, urged on by the insatiable love of gain, "oppress the hireling in his wages, the widow and the fatherless," and spin on all sides, their crafty webs to entrap their poorer neighbors, who seldom escape from their toils, until every dollar has been extracted from them, and as far as their worldly goods are concerned, they resemble the skins and skeletons which line the nest of some voracious old spider.
When I have seen some powerful hive of the kind just described, condemned by its owner, in the Fall, to the sulphur pit, or deprived unexpectedly of its queen, its stores plundered, and its combs eaten up by the worms, I have often thought of the threatenings which God has denounced against those who make dishonest gains "their hope, and say unto the fine gold, Thou art my confidence."
In order to prevent colonies from attempting to rob, I always examine them in the Spring, to ascertain that they have honey and are in possession of a fertile queen. If they need food they are supplied with it, (see Chapter on [Feeding],) and if they are feeble or queenless, they are managed according to the directions previously given. Bees seem to have an instinctive perception of the weakness of a colony, and like the bee-moth, they are almost certain to attack such stocks, especially when they have no queen. Hence I can almost always tell that a colony is queenless, by seeing robbers constantly attempting to force an entrance into it.
It requires some knowledge of the habits of bees, to tell from their motions, whether they are flying about a strange hive with some evil intent, or whether they belong to the hive before which they are hovering. A little experience however, will soon enable us to discriminate between the honest inhabitants of a hive, and the robbers which so often mingle themselves among the crowd. There is an unmistakable air of roguery about a thieving bee, which to the observing Apiarian, proclaims the nature of his calling, just as truly as the appearance of a pickpocket in a crowd, enables the experienced police officer to distinguish him from the honest folks, on whom he intends to exercise his skill.
There is a certain sneaking look about a rogue of a bee, almost indescribable, and yet perfectly obvious. It does not alight on the hive, and boldly enter at once like an honest bee which is carrying home its load. If they could only assume such an appearance of transparent honesty, they would often be allowed by the unsuspecting door-keepers to enter unquestioned, to see all the sights within, and to help themselves to the very fat of the land. But there is a sort of nervous haste, and guilty agitation in all their movements: they never alight boldly upon the entrance board, or face the guards which watch the passage to the hive; they know too well that if caught and overhauled by these trusty guardians of the hive, their lives would hardly be worth insuring; hence their anxiety to glide in, without touching one of the sentinels. If detected, as they have no password to give, (having a strange smell,) they are very speedily dealt with, according to their just deserts. If they can only effect a secret entrance, those within take it for granted that all is right, and seldom subject them to a close examination.
Sometimes bees which have lost their way, are mistaken by the inexperienced, for robbers; there is however, a most marked distinction between the conduct of the two. The arrant rogue when caught, attempts with might and main, to pull away from his executioners, while the poor bewildered unfortunate shrinks into the smallest compass, like a cowed dog, and submits to whatever fate his captors may see fit to award him.
The class of dishonest bees which I have been describing, may be termed the "Jerry Sneaks" of their profession, and after they have followed it for some time, they lose all disposition for honest pursuits, and assume a hang-dog sort of look, which is very peculiar. Constantly employed in creeping into small holes, and daubing themselves with honey, they often lose all the bright feathers and silky plumes which once so beautifully adorned their bodies, and assume a smooth and almost black appearance; just as the hat of the thievish loafer, acquires a "seedy" aspect, and his garments, a shining and threadbare look. Dzierzon is of opinion that the black bees which Huber describes, as being so bitterly persecuted by the rest, are nothing more than these thieving bees. I call them old convicts, dressed in prison garments, and incurably given up to dishonest pursuits.
Bees sometimes act the part of highway robbers; some half dozen or more of them, will waylay and attack a poor humble-bee which is returning with a sack full of honey to his nest, like an honest trader, jogging home with a well filled purse. They seize the poor bee, and give him at once to understand that they must have the earnings of his industry. They do not slay him. Oh no! they are much too selfish to endanger their own precious persons; and even if they could kill him, without losing their weapons, they would still be unable to extract his sweets from the deep recesses of his honey bag: they therefore begin to bite and teaze him, after the most approved fashion, all the time singing in his ears, "not your money," but, "your honey or your life;" until utterly discouraged, he delivers up his purse, by disgorging his honey from its capacious receptacle. The graceless creatures cry "hands off," and release him at once, while they lick up his spoils and carry it off to their home.
The remark is frequently made that were rogues to spend half as much time and ingenuity in gaining an honest living, as they do, in seeking to impose upon their fellow-men, their efforts would often be crowned with abundant success. Just so of many a dishonest bee. If it only knew its true interests, it would be safely roving the smiling fields, in search of honey, instead of longing for a tempting and yet dangerous taste of forbidden sweets.