I will conclude this subject with an anecdote:—In the year 1828, I was engaged by the Honourable Lady Gifford, of Roehampton, to unite the Bees of two hives; and as the operation was novel to the spectators, who on that occasion consisted principally of the branches of that worthy family,—when I had drawn the Bees from the cottage-hive and they were all spread on a white cloth, and every eye was anxiously intent upon discovering the Queen-Bee, there was some trouble in finding that particular Bee; even I myself—an old practitioner—had overlooked her; and having occasion to leave the table and my fumigated Bees surrounded by my young Lord and Lady Gifford, and by the rest of her Ladyship's family, her infant son, in the arms of his nurse, eagerly called out—"Mamma, mamma, what is that?" Hearing the child's animated expression, I returned to the table, and instantly beheld and caught the Queen of the Bees,—and her actually pointed out by an infant not three years of age. Is there any excuse then for not knowing the Queen-Bee? And, as a true description of this Bee and of the office she fulfils in the hive, will be given in the course of this work, accompanied with a plate of her and also of the other Bees, I trust my Bee-friends will not hereafter allow a child of only three years of age (although that child was the son of a late Attorney-General,) to excel them in this particular point of apiarian knowledge, which is not only highly interesting, but very useful to the operator, when uniting stocks, or transferring Bees from one domicil to another. Never shall I forget the look of satisfaction that beamed on the countenance of the affectionate mother. To see each of her eight amiable children around the table with her Ladyship, minutely searching every little cluster of Bees, in order to give the first information of the Queen, was a lovely sight; but to hear her infant son proclaim, as it were, the Queen of the Bees, by pointing his little, delicate finger to the object of his curiosity, and exclaim—"Mamma, mamma, what is that?" was most gratifying even to me. Well might the little naturalist inquire—"what is that?" when he was in the presence of royalty, and pointing to one of the most extraordinary monarchs in the world, while I myself—an old practitioner, had not previously observed her. Be it so, I acknowledge my oversight in this instance, and feel it incumbent on me to give the merit of the discovery to him, to whom on that occasion it was so justly due.
[CHAPTER IX.]
OBJECTIONS AGAINST PILING BOXES.
Having gone through the explanation of my different hives, and of all my Bee-machinery, I will, previously to entering upon other matters, here state my objections to the piling of Bee-boxes one upon another, which is sometimes, and not improperly, called—storifying. It is also termed super-hiving, nadir-hiving, or centre-hiving, according to the place occupied by the added box: if an empty box be placed upon a stocked one, it is super-hiving;—if put under such box, it is nadir-hiving;—and if introduced between two boxes, it is centre-hiving. But with whatever term dignified—not to say—mystified, it amounts to, and in effect is—storifying. From an old book in my possession I find—that in 1675 a patent was granted to John Gedde, to secure to him for a term of fourteen years the advantages of his invention of boxes for storifying; so that it is at least of a hundred and sixty years' standing. After Gedde it was successively adopted and encouraged by Rusden, Warder, and Thorley, and has been the fashionable or fancy practice down to the present day; for it is a mode of managing Bees that has been recommended by some modern authors,—principally, if I mistake not, by Dr. Bevan; and it is practised by some Bee-masters, who, I am told, consider it to be the most humane mode, and the only humane mode of managing Honey-Bees. I have no wish to depreciate the inventions and labours of others, nor to offend any man, and particularly that man who has exerted himself so much to better the condition of the Honey-Bee. If he has been mistaken in the means to be employed to gain so desirable an end, and in my humble opinion he certainly has been mistaken, every praise is due to him for his good intentions.
My first objection to the piling system is—because it occasions a great deal of extra trouble, labour, and inconvenience to the Bees, and consequently prevents their collecting so great a quantity of honey and wax as they will do where they are not subjected to these drawbacks. And where, I would fain know, is the humanity in increasing and obstructing the labours of these indefatigable, little insects? Is it not inhumanity to force them to deposit their treasures in a garret, two or three stories high, when a far more convenient store-room may be provided for them on the first floor? Let not, then, the piling advocate of the present day any longer recommend this faulty practice, nor erroneously contend that the elevating of boxes one upon another, is the best and only way of ensuring an abundance of honey and wax. But fairly to get at the merits—not to say—demerits of this practice, I will examine it a little in detail. First, then, the piling practitioner puts a swarm of Bees into a box, which I will call box A. This box, if prosperous, of course soon becomes a pavilion of nature,—that is, it soon contains quantities of brood-comb, young brood, larvæ, and embryo Bees in various stages of existence. It is allowed to stand alone until it be filled, or nearly filled, with the Bees' works. It requires no great skill to know that the contents of box A. at this period are as just described. When nearly full it is placed upon another box (B.) to prevent what is called the maiden-swarm. This box, like box A. is quickly filled with combs: the Queen too follows her labourers and progressively lays her eggs even to the lowest edges of the combs. Of course box B, like box A. soon contains quantities of brood. The second box (B.) gets full just as the first did, and as a cottage-hive does—not with pure honey, but with brood, pollen or farina, and other substances, as well as with honey; in short, there is no provision for, nor means of, dividing the works of the working Bees from the works of the Queen-Bee; consequently they become, as of necessity they must become—one promiscuous mass. The brood continues to increase and occupies that part of the box which should be of pure honey and wax. This goes on until more room is wanted; and then it is that the two full boxes (A. and B.) are exalted and placed upon the third and last box (C.) This, however, does not mend the matter; but, as will be seen presently, it does occasion a great deal of additional labour and inconvenience to the Bees. In the meantime they carry on their works of nature and of art—they construct new combs and store some of the cells with honey, and the Queen lays her eggs in others, just as in the other boxes. The fact is—the three boxes soon become as one: they soon become and continue to be of one temperature,—the same compound of the old hive,—the brood-cells are intermixed with those containing honey,—wreaths of pollen are: in every pile,—and animated nature is everywhere peeping from the waxen cells, in which nothing but pure honey should have been deposited. But this is not all, nor the worst part; though bad enough, if purity of honey be any consideration.
It is a fact known by me and by every one at all experienced in the management of an apiary, that no sooner are the combs in box CL got into a state of forwardness—it would be saying rather too much to say—completed, than numbers of working Bees are, as it were, struck off their work there, and set about removing all superfluities and nuisances from the combs lately filled with young brood in the uppermost box A. Every cell in those combs that has been the nest and nursery of a young Bee they cleanse thoroughly and repair, where repairs are needed, preparatory to its being made a receptacle for honey, or for the other treasures brought from the field. At this time, that is—as soon as the combs are free from the first brood, the uppermost box is nearly empty, instead of being full: it contains empty combs and Bees, but little or no honey. Here then the Bees are subjected to that extra labour and inconvenience which form my first objection to the piling-plan. From the entrance into box C. through box B. and up into box A. the way, to a loaded Bee, is neither short nor pleasant; it is a labyrinth beset with difficulties and obstructions, in surmounting which much of that time is occupied which would otherwise be more profitably, and we may suppose—far more agreeably employed, in passing from flower to flower, and in culling their various sweets. Any person, it may be presumed, would rather set down a heavy load on the ground-floor than have to tug it up two or three long flights of stairs, and through intricate, winding passages, and be jostled and impeded and pushed about, and perhaps backward every now and then, by countless crowds of busy men, unceasingly hurrying up and down and passing and re-passing the burdened man in every direction. And is it not comparatively the same with Bees going through boxes C. and B. up into box A.? I maintain that it is so,—and that Bees in piled-boxes lose much time in performing the unnecessary, climbing labour, imposed upon them by their unskilful masters.
The natural consequence of this—I repeat—unnecessary waste of their time, must not be placed to the account, or laid to the instinct of the Bees; for of all creatures in the world, Bees perhaps work with the most extraordinary celerity. The beautiful piles of honey, and when unobstructed, the regular movements of these wonderful insects, are admirably scientific and correct. The consequence, namely, a deficiency in the quantity of honey and wax, is chargeable solely to the account of the unskilful manager.
At length the time arrives when the three piled-boxes are, or are supposed to be, well stored,—and when a part of the Bees' treasure is to be taken as a remuneration for the care and trouble of the proprietor. Let him then put on his grotesque Bee-dress, and booted up to the middle and gloved to the very elbows, let him proceed to take the uppermost box. He divides it from that on which it stands, that is—from box B. by a slide or a divider of some sort prepared for such an operation, or in any way he pleases, for that I leave to him. Well, he succeeds in getting off his prize; not, however, without the destruction of a considerable number of Bees: for to presume that he is acquainted with my easy mode of taking away a box, would be to presume too much; I therefore allow him a Bee-dress at once, and have accoutered him in the best way I can for his arduous undertaking. The box, then, is off. He turns it up and examines it, and to his great disappointment, he finds that the combs are discoloured, that each pile of the expected treasure contains parts of the young larvæ, and that there is much pollen commingled with the other substances in the box; in short, he finds that the whole is dirty and filthy in appearance; and that he has destroyed a part of the most valuable brood for another year. And, if instead of box A. he take box B. he will fare little, if any better; nay, he will in all probability destroy a greater quantity of brood: and in box C. he cannot expect to find more than half-filled cells, or empty combs. Such are the fruits and profits of the piling system of Bee-management. There are Bee-masters resident within twenty miles of the good town of Spalding, and in many other places that might be mentioned, who know that the foregoing account is true, lamentably true: but, until such practitioners are sensible of the faultiness of their system of Bee-management, it would be folly in me to appeal more directly to any of them for a confirmation of what I know to be the truth. How, I would ask, can the Bees' sweet treasures be divided from their other work, if there be no means of varying and regulating the temperature in their hive? Without the aid of ventilation it is, in my opinion, impossible; but with it, it is perfectly easy, perfectly safe, and not at all distressing nor even unpleasant to the Bees.