The QUEEN-BEE is easily distinguished from other Bees by the form, size, and colour of her body. She is larger, longer at least, and her wings are shorter in proportion to her size than those of other Bees. The wings of drones and of common working Bees cover their bodies, but those of the Queen scarcely reach beyond the middle. Her hinder part tapers more than the corresponding part of other Bees, and is admirably adapted for the purpose of being introduced into the cells to deposit her eggs, which she does without being incommoded by her wings, as she no doubt would be, were they long in proportion to the length of her body. Considering then the office she has to perform, the shortness of her wings and the length and tapering of her body are alike conveniences to her; her belly and legs are yellower, and her upper parts darker than those of other Bees. Though furnished with a sting, she very rarely uses it, and will bear being handled without being provoked. A young Queen is smaller than a full grown one. When three or four days old she is quick in her motions; but when impregnated she becomes heavy. The common or working Bees have the faculty or instinctive power of raising a Queen-Bee, when they are in want of one, from an egg in a common cell. To do this, they choose a common cell in which is an egg, and inject a thick, white, liquid matter from their proboscis, they then build on the edges of that particular cell and enlarge it; on the fifth day the royal maggot appears in the form of a semicircle, in which form it swims in the midst of the matter in the cell; and on the seventh day it is sealed up. During which period the embryo Queen undergoes various metamorphoses. On the fourteenth or fifteenth day afterwards it comes forth a perfect Queen-Bee. Schirach has discovered a method of multiplying Queen-Bees to almost any extent, and consequently of making artificial stocks. This can only be successfully accomplished when there are in a hive eggs, nymphs, and little maggots two or three days out of the cell, that is, when there is in a hive young brood in these three different stages of existence. When a Queen dies and the Bees are left without the means of raising another, that is—when there are no eggs nor young brood of a proper age in the hive, the Bees cease working, consume the honey, fly about at random, and if not supplied with another Queen, soon dwindle away; but if supplied with a new Queen, they revive, and exercise their labour with new and increased activity. The Queen is, as it were, the very soul of the hive. It has been computed that the ovary of the Queen contains above 5000 eggs at once, and that in the space of two months she may produce 10 or 12,000 Bees. I am inclined to think that this computation is too-limited: from what I have witnessed in my observatory-hive this summer (1832), I am led to conclude that a fertile Queen is capable of laying far more than the beforementioned number of eggs in the space of two months.
The working Bees are considerably smaller than either the drones or the Queen. They, like the others, have four wings, which enable them to fly with heavy loads. They have six legs, of which the two foremost are the shortest, and with these they discharge themselves of their loads. The two last or hindmost are the largest, and on the outside of the middle joint of these is a cavity in which the Bees collect the materials for wax, which materials they carry home to their hives; this hollow is peculiar to the working Bee. Each foot terminates in two hooks. The honey-bladder is of the size of a small pea, and very transparent. The sting is horny and hollow, through which the poison is ejected. The wound inflicted by it is mortal to many insects; and instances are not wanting of horses and cows having been stung to death by Bees. When the sting is left in the wound, and being barbed it commonly is left there, the Bee that loses it dies in consequence.
With regard to the age of Bees, the drones have a short life, being destroyed annually by the working Bees; these—the workers—are supposed by some to live but one year, but others are of opinion that they live several years: those of them that escape a premature death will live, if I mistake not, three or four years, or even longer. I once clipped one of the wings of a Queen so that I could identify her, in case I should ever meet with her again: I then returned her to her hive, and had the good fortune to see her several times afterwards during three successive years. Of course she lived more than three years. What became of her at last I do not know; nor whether she may not still survive I do not know. If, however, working Bees be as long-lived as Queen-Bees, and I think it will be difficult to assign a good reason why they should not, they may live to be three or four years of age, and perhaps more than that. The ample provision they make for life seems to me to be a natural indication that they expect at least to live to have occasion for it. Sometimes fierce, destructive battles take place between the Bees of different hives in an apiary, and when the Queen of one hive is killed, the war ceases, and the surviving Bees of the two hives unite and become one peaceable stock.
Some apiarians have obtained an extraordinary command over Bees, particularly Mr. Wildman, who could entice a whole swarm to settle just where he pleased—on his chin, on his head, on his hand, or on any particular branch of a tree; but these feats, so surprising to the beholders, he effected, as any other dexterous person may, by getting possession of the Queen-Bee, and placing her where he intended the Bees should settle; for it is a well-ascertained fact, that such is the attachment of Bees to their Queen, that they will congregate around her, and, as far as they can, protect her in whatever situation they find her. Were the attachment and allegiance of all subjects to their legitimate sovereigns thus true and powerful, it would, as Sterne says, be something!
In working the Bees are said by some, whose sayings are perhaps more fanciful than correct, in the following instance at least;—it has, however, been said—that in working the Bees form themselves into four companies, one of which roves the fields in search of materials for the hive, another is employed in laying out the bottoms and partitions of the cells, the third in smoothing the inside from the corners and angles, and the fourth in bringing food for the rest. According to this account some are labourers, others are builders, others finishers, and others purveyors. As there is no difference in the formation of the workers, I see no reason for assigning them any particular task or sort of work, nor do I think the allotment of labour just mentioned rests upon any other foundation than that of vague conjecture. Their diligence, however, and activity, are so great, that in a favourable day they will make cells which lie on each other, sufficient to contain some thousands of Bees. To keep their habitations—their hives, close and tight, they make use of a resinous gum, which the ancients called, and which is still called—propolis. This substance is at first soft and pliable, but becomes firmer every day; when it has acquired its proper consistency, it is harder than wax and is an excellent cement. They guard against the entrance of ants and other inimical insects into their hive, by gluing or filling up with this propolis the smallest inlets; and with it they fasten the edge of their hive to its floor in a very secure manner. Some Bees stand as sentinels, and mount guard, as it were, to prevent the intrusion of strangers and enemies. But if a snail, or other reptile, or any large insect, forces its way into the hive, they first kill it, and then coat it over with propolis, to prevent being annoyed by the noisome smell, or by the maggots which might proceed from its putrefaction, if left to putrefy. Bees can perceive the approach of bad weather; for when black clouds are in the sky indicating rain, they immediately hurry home with the greatest speed; and when to the eye of man there is no visible token of a sudden shower or other immediate change from fine weather to foul, Bees are aware of it, and by their sudden, hurried return to their hives, are the first to prognosticate a change as near; nor, often as I have observed them, have I ever found them wrong in this respect. The manner in which Bees rest when they settle, after having swarmed, and frequently in the hive also, is by collecting themselves into a cluster and hanging to each other by the hooks of their feet. When the weather has been warm I have frequently seen them, presently after being admitted into an end-box, hang in catkins or ropes: this they no doubt do to cool themselves the more. To view the Bees suspended from one another in these single ropes is a natural curiosity well worth attention. The flight of Bees when swarming is singularly rapid and most extraordinary: during some minutes after having risen into the air, they dart across each other in every conceivable direction, wheel round and shoot through the merry crowd again, again wheel round and again dart through; and notwithstanding the very limited space within which they confine their gambols on these occasions, they never seem to come in contact or to clash with each other; though animated and excited to a degree of apparently frantic ovation, I never have observed one Bee fall foul of another, and this it is that strikes me as being wonderful. The balls attached to the legs of Bees returning to the hives, consist of a powder gathered from the stamina of flowers, not yet brought to the state of wax. The Bee, when it enters the cup of the flower, rolls itself till its whole body is covered with the yellow farina that is therein. It then brushes off this powdery farina with its hind legs, and kneads it into two balls or small pellets, loaded with which it returns to the hive. Bees powdered all over with farina may frequently be seen entering their hive: the Bees thus covered carry their loads upon their whole bodies, without the labour of packing them upon their thighs. Probably when farina is collected in the immediate vicinity of their hives, Bees may have the wisdom (I know not what else it can be properly called) to save themselves the labour of brushing and making it into pellets. Some authors hold that this substance is eaten by degrees, and being digested in the body of the Bee, that it becomes wax,—or that by some peculiar process it certainly is converted into wax,—and that when there is a superfluous quantity of this undigested, or unmanufactured matter, it is laid up in store, and is called Bee-bread. For my part I am of opinion that farina is stored up purely as Bee-bread and food for the young brood, and that it enters not into the composition of wax. The material of which wax is formed I take to be quite distinct from farina—a material of a different nature.
The following account of a working Bee appeared in the Farmers' Journal some time ago, I subjoin it, because, in some respects, it is more particular than that just given; but in one thing it is deficient—it makes no mention of the eyes—the two luminaries or lights of the body. The eyes of Bees are of an oblong figure, black like jet, transparent and immoveable.
BEE, says the Farmers' Journal, a small and well-known insect, famous for its industry. This useful and laborious insect is divided by two ligaments into three parts or portions,—the head, the breast, and the belly. The head is armed with two jaws and a trunk, the former of which play like two jaws, opening and shutting to the right and left; the trunk is long and tapering, and at the same time extremely pliant and flexible, being destined by nature for the insect to probe to the bottom of the flowers, through all the impediments of their chives and foliage, and drain them of their treasured sweets: but were this trunk to be always extended, it would prove incommodious, and be liable to be injured by a thousand accidents; it is therefore of such a structure, that after the performance of its necessary functions, it may be contracted, or rather folded up; and besides this, it is fortified against all injuries by four strong scales, two of which closely sheath it, and the two others, whose cavities and dimensions are larger, encompass the whole. From the middle-part or breast of the Bee grow the legs, which are six in number; and at the extremity of the paws are two little hooks, discernible by the microscope, which appear like sickles, with their points opposite to each other.
The wings are four, two greater and two smaller, which not only serve to transport them through the air, but, by the noise they make, to give notice of their departure and arrival, and to animate them mutually to their labours. The hairs, with which the whole body is covered, are of singular use in retaining the small dust that falls from the chives of the flowers. The belly of the Bee consists of six rings, which slide over one another, and may therefore be lengthened or contracted at pleasure; and the inside of this part of the body contains the intestines,—the bag of honey,—the bag of poison,—and the sting. The office of the intestines is the same as in other animals. The bag of honey is transparent as crystal, containing the sweet juices extracted from the flowers, which the Bee discharges into the cells of the magazine for the support of the community in w inter.
The bag of poison hangs at the root of the sting, through the cavity of which, as through a pipe, the Bee ejects some drops of this venomous liquor into the wound made by the sting, and so renders the pain more excessive. The mechanism of the sting is admirable, being composed of two darts, inclosed within a sheath that tapers into a fine point, near which is an opening to let out the poison; the two darts are ejected through another aperture, which being armed with several sharp beards, like those of fish-hooks, are not easily drawn back again by the Bee; and indeed she never disengages them if the wounded party happens to start and put her in confusion; but if, when stung, one can have patience to continue calm and unmoved, the stinging Bee clinches those lateral points round the shaft of the dart, by which means she recovers her weapon, and gives less pain to the person stung.