[CHAPTER IV.]
THERMOMETER.
As I have been frequently asked to explain the utility of ventilation in a hive or colony of Bees, so have I as frequently been asked, sometimes with civility and politeness, sometimes jeeringly and in contempt,—"What has the thermometer to do with Bees?" I answer—We shall see presently; and I trust, see enough to convince the veriest sceptic on the subject, that the thermometer is an instrument that is indispensably necessary in the management of Bees according to my plan. Such inquirers might as reasonably ask what the mainspring of a watch has to do with the movements of that machine? Without the mainspring the watch would not work at all; and without the thermometer we cannot ascertain with any degree of accuracy the interior temperature of the hive; the knowledge of which temperature is of the utmost consequence in the humane management of Honey-Bees. The thermometer is the safest, if not the sole guide to a scientific knowledge of their state and works. To ventilate an apiary or colony of Bees, when their interior temperature is under 60 degrees, would be ruinous to them,—because contrary to the prosperous progress of their natural labours. From upwards of fifteen hundred observations in the summer of 1825, I am fully satisfied on this point. Their nature is to keep up at least that, and sometimes a much higher, degree of temperature by their indefatigable labours; and as the temperature of the hive rises, so does it invigorate and encourage an increase of population, as well as an increase of their treasured sweets. As the hive fills, so will the thermometer rise to 120 and even to 130 degrees, before these worthies will by over-heat be forced to leave their wealthy home. When the thermometer is at the above height, these wealthy colonists will have arrived at the highest state of perfection,—wealthy indeed, every store-house being filled nearly to suffocation with their abundant treasures, and they, as it were, petitioning the observer of their too-limited store-house for a fresh room. Thus circumstanced then give them a fresh room,—accommodate them with such a store-house as either of my collateral-boxes will and is intended to afford them. Force them not to warm: an emigration from a prosperous colony of half its population cannot fail of being very disadvantageous, both to those that emigrate, who must necessarily be poor, and to those that remain, be they ever so industrious, or ever so wealthy.
When you discover your thermometer rising rapidly, and, instead of standing, as it generally does in a well-stocked colony, at about 80 degrees, rising in a few hours to 90, and perhaps to 96, or even to 100, you may conclude that ventilation is then highly necessary. The more you ventilate, when their temperature gets to this oppressive and dangerous height, the more you benefit the Bees labouring under it; for when they find a comfortable temperature within, they enjoy it, and will proceed to fill every vacant comb.
Nature has provided the Queen of Bees with the power of multiplying her species, and of providing against any casualty which in so numerous a state may frequently happen. That all-seeing eye that neither slumbers nor sleeps, but constantly superintends alike the affairs of insects and of men, has, doubtless, long beheld the shameful neglect of man, which is the main cause of the distress of the hive, and which forces it to swarm. Let man, then, remedy the distress and mischief which he occasions, by preventing it. It is the Queen-Bee that emigrates; were she not to lead, none would lead; nor would any follow were another than the Queen to lead, to seek and to settle in some place more congenial to them than an over-heated, over-stocked, though rich hive. She well knows she cannot live in a state subjected to a suffocating heat, amidst an overgrown population. So she leaves the royal cradle, impregnated with the royal larva, and withdraws from the hive, reluctantly, one may suppose, though accompanied by thousands of her subjects. The Queen-Bee leads the swarm to seek a place of comfort, and to establish another home, where not one cell nor drop of honey exists.
To establish the truth of these assertions, and to prove the utility of ventilation and of the thermometer, in regulating the degree of ventilation in the management of Bees, I will now give my reader an account of some interesting experiments that I made in 1826, and then add a few extracts from my thermometrical journal of that summer; which in fact guided me in those experiments, for without the assistance of my thermometer I could not have made them; from which, taken together, it will, I think, be sufficiently evident that ventilation and the thermometer are highly necessary,—are alike important,—in short, are indispensable in the humane management of Honey-bees.
On the 26th of June 1826, I suffered a colony of Bees to swarm, in order to prove the truth of the foregoing statements. It was a very fine colony: the thermometer had been standing at 110 for six days previously, in one of the collateral end-boxes; on the eighth day it rose suddenly to 120. I was then forcing my Bees to leave their home; I could have lowered their temperature, and by so doing, I could have retained my worthies in their native boxes: but I was then about to prove a fact of the greatest moment to apiarians. On the ninth day, at half-past twelve o'clock, the finest swarm I ever beheld towered above my head, and literally darkened the atmosphere in the front of my apiary. After remaining about five minutes in the open air, the Queen perched herself upon a tree in my garden, where she was exposed to the rays of a scorching sun; but her loyal subjects quickly surrounded her, and screened her from its influence. I immediately did what I could to assist my grand prize, by hanging a sheet before it, to ward off the intense heat of the sun. I allowed the Bees to hang in this situation until the evening. During the absence of the swarm from the colony, my full employment was to watch the parent-stock, in order that I might, in the evening, return the Bees of this beautiful swarm to their native-hive, which they had been forced to leave. Curiosity and a desire to solve a doubtful problem, for the good of future apiarians, led me to act as already related, at the expense of much inconvenience to the Bees. The remaining Honey-Bees continued labouring during the remainder of the day; and in the evening of that same day, the thermometer was standing at 90 degrees in the old stock; so that the absence of the swarm had lowered the temperature of the pavilion 30 degrees, and I was quite sure I could reduce it in the collateral end-box to that of the exterior atmosphere, which, after the sun had gone down, was only 65.
To effect this, I resolved at once to take off a fine top-glass filled with honey. I did so: its weight was fourteen pounds. This operation reduced the interior heat of the colony to 75. But looking at my grand swarm, and intent as I was upon re-uniting it to the parent-stock, I thought it impossible for the vacant space conveniently to hold all the Bees. I had one, and only one, alternative left,—and that was to take from my colony a collateral-box. I therefore took it; and a most beautiful box it was: its weight was fifty pounds. I immediately placed an empty box in the situation the full one had occupied. I then drew from the side of the pavilion the dividing tin-slide, and the whole of the colony was shortly at the desired temperature of 65, that being the exterior heat of the evening. I was now fully convinced of the propriety of returning the swarm. I commenced operations for accomplishing that object at ten o'clock in the evening, by constructing a temporary stage near the mouth of the parent-stock. I then procured a white sheet, and laid it upon the table or temporary stage, and in a moment struck the swarm from the hive into which the Bees had been taken from the bough in the evening. My next difficulty was to imprison the sovereign of the swarm: but with a little labour I succeeded in discovering her, and made her my captive. No sooner was she my prisoner than the Bees seemed to be acquainted with her absence. But so near were they placed to the mouth of the parent-stock that they soon caught the odour of the hive, and in the space of about fifteen minutes the whole swarm, save only her majesty, were under the roof of their parent-home. The following morning increased my anxiety about the welfare of my stock. Fearful lest my carious anticipations should meet with a disappointment, at sun-rise in the morning I released from her imprisonment the captive Queen. I placed her on the front-board, near the entrance of her hive, to ascertain, if possible, whether there was within the state one greater than herself. But no visible sign of such being the case presented itself. The influence of the cheery sun soon caused her to move her majestic body to the entrance of her native domicil, where she was met, surrounded, and no doubt welcomed, by thousands of her subjects, who soon conducted her into the hive, and, it may be presumed, re-instated her on the throne, which a few hours before she had been compelled to abdicate. The Bees afterwards sallied forthwith extraordinary alacrity and regularity, and, beyond my most sanguine expectations, filled a large glass with honey in the short space of six days. That glass of honey was exhibited at the National Repository, with a model of my apiary, and was much admired by many of the members and visitors of that noble institution.
I have now to remark, that during the nine days after the swarm had been returned to the parent-stock, the thermometer continued rising until it reached the temperature of 90 within the collateral-box; and on the tenth day, at five o'clock in the morning, I witnessed the grand secret,—I viewed with unutterable delight the extraordinary fact I had been endeavouring to ascertain,—viz.—two royal nymphs laid prostrate on the alighting-board, near the exterior entrance of the hive. This circumstance alone convinced me that no more swarming was necessary. I have further to notice, that on the third day afterwards the Bees commenced their destruction of the drones,—which was a satisfactory proof that I had gained my point. That colony has never swarmed since the period I thus first satisfactorily established the utility of ventilation. And on minutely attending to the extraordinary movements of this my favourite colony, it was not uncommon to notice the most infant appearance of the royal brood lying upon the front-board of the pavilion. So that I am well satisfied that the royal larva is always in existence in the hive, independently of the reigning Queen. Let me not be misunderstood; I do not mean by this expression to assert—that the royal larva exists in the hive without the instrumentality or agency of the reigning Queen;—far from it; for no common Bees can make a sovereign Bee without the egg from the royal body: what I do mean is—that the royal larva is always in existence in a colony of Bees, notwithstanding the existence and presence of a reigning Queen—that the Queen is there, and that the royal larva is there at the same time. In this the wisdom of Providence is manifest; for Nature has thus provided that the royal cradle should contain the royal brood, that in case any accident, misfortune, casualty, or necessity, should occasion the absence of the reigning Queen, another may be brought forth. This larva in reserve, as it were, is protected and reared by the inhabitants with the utmost care, nay, in the absence of the Queen, it is almost worshipped, until it becomes sufficiently matured to take the office and fulfil the duties of its royal predecessor; of course it then reigns supreme,—it is then Queen absolute. On this point I not only coincide in opinion with Thorley, but have seen enough in the course of my experience among Bees to confirm the truth of what I have now stated. As, however, the further discussion of this nice point belongs to the natural history of the Bee rather than to the explanation and inculcation of my practical mode of Bee-management, I refrain from saying more upon it, lest by so doing I should inadvertently excite criticism and controversy. I therefore proceed with my proper subject.