Chapter IV: Bees and Wasps (3)

There seems to be no doubt that bees and wasps are able to distinguish between persons, and even to recognise those whom they are accustomed to see, and to regard as friends. Bee-masters who attend much to their bees, so as to give the insects a good chance of knowing them, are generally of the opinion that the insects do know them, as shown by the comparatively sparing use of their stings. Again, many instances might be quoted, such as that given by Guerinzius,[67] who allowed a species of wasp native to Natal to build in the doorposts of his house, and who observed that although he often interfered with the nest, he was only once stung, and this by a young wasp; while no Caffre could venture to approach the door, much less to pass through it.[68] This power of distinguishing between persons indicates a higher order of intelligence than we might have expected to meet with among insects; and, according to Bingley, bees will not only learn to distinguish persons, but even lend themselves to tuition by those whom they know. For he says, 'Mr. Wildman, whose remarks on the management of bees are well known, possessed a secret by which he could at any time cause a hive of bees to swarm upon his head, shoulders, or body, in a most surprising manner. He has been seen to drink a glass of wine with the bees all over his head and face more than an inch deep; several fell into the glass, but did not sting him. He could even act the part of a general with them, by marshalling them in battle array on a large table. Then he divided them into regiments, battalions, and companies, according to military discipline, waiting only for his word of command. The moment he uttered the word _march!_ they began to march in a very regular manner in rank and file, like soldiers. To these, his Lilliputians, he also taught so much politeness that they never attempted to sting any of the numerous company which, at different times, resorted to admire this singular spectacle.'

Huber's observation, since amply confirmed, of bees biting holes through the base of corollas in order to get at the honey which the length of the corollas prevent them from reaching in the ordinary way, also seems to indicate a rational adjustment to unusual circumstances. For the bees do not resort to this expedient until they find from trial that they cannot reach the nectar from above; but having once ascertained this, they forthwith proceed to pierce the bottoms of all the flowers of the same species. From an interesting account by Mr. Francis Darwin[69] (unfortunately too long to quote) it appears that, even when the nectar may be reached from above, bees may still resort to the expedient of biting through corollas in order to save time.

In connection with biting holes in corollas I may quote an observation communicated to me by a correspondent, Sir J. Clarke Jervoise. Speaking of a humble-bee, he says: 'I watched him into the flower of a foxglove, and, when out of sight, I closed the lips of the flower with my finger and thumb. He did not hesitate a moment, but cut his way out at the further end as if he had been served the same trick before. I never did it.'

Bees are highly particular in the matter of keeping their hives pure, and their sanitary arrangements often exhibit intelligence of a high order.

The following is quoted from Büchner (_loc. cit._, p. 248):--

Impure air within the hive is that which the bees must
above all things fear and avoid, for with the pressure
together of so many individuals in a comparatively
small space, it would not only be directly harmful to
individual bees, but would produce among them
dangerous diseases. They therefore also never void
their excrements within, but always outside the hive.
While this is very easy to do in summer, it is, on the
contrary, very difficult in the winter, when the bees
sit close together and generally motionless in the
upper part of the hive, and when, from impure air and
foul evaporations, as well as from bad and
insufficient food, dysentery-like diseases break out
among them, and often carry off the whole community in
a brief space of time. In such cases they utilise the
first fine day to relieve themselves, and in the
spring they take a long general cleansing flight. But
they also know how to take advantage of special
circumstances so as to perform the process of
purification in the way least harmful to the hive.
Herr Heinrich Lehr, of Darmstadt, a bee-keeping friend
of the author, has sent the following
communication:--During an epidemic of dysentery in
winter, from which most of his hives suffered (as the
bees were no longer able to retain their excrements),
one hive suffered less than the others. Exact
investigation showed that this hive was soiled all
over at the back with the excrement of the bees, and
that the inmates had here made a kind of drain. On
this spot a little opening had been made by the
falling off of the covering clay, which led directly
to the upper part of the hive, where the bees were
accustomed to sit together during the winter. This
excellent opportunity, whereby they could reach in the
shortest way an otherwise difficult object, and one
rendered complicated by circumstances, did not escape
them.

It sometimes happens that mice, slugs, &c., enter a beehive. They are then killed and covered with a coating of propolis. Réaumur says[70] that he once saw a snail enter a hive in this way. The hard shell was an effective protection against the stings of the bees, so the insects smeared round the edges of the shell with wax and resin, fastening down the animal to the wall of the hive, so that it died of starvation or want of air. If the encasing of an animal (such as a mouse) with propolis is not sufficient to prevent its putrefaction, the bees gnaw away all the putrescible parts of the carcass and carry them out of the hive, leaving only the skeleton behind. The dead bodies of their companions are also carried out of the hive and deposited at a distance. There is no question about this fact (which it will be remembered is analogous to that already mentioned in the case of ants); according to Büchner, however, bees not only remove their dead, but also, occasionally at least, bury them. But as he gives very inadequate evidence in support of this assertion, we may safely set it aside as insufficiently proven.

Büchner, however, gives an admirable summary, and makes some judicious remarks on the well-known and highly remarkable habit which bees practise for the obvious purpose of ventilating their hives. As this account gives all the facts in a brief compass, I cannot do better than quote it:--

Very interesting, and closely connected with this
characteristic of cleanliness, is the conduct of the
so-called ventilating-bees, which have to take care
that in summer or hot weather the air necessary for
respiration of the bees in the interior of the hive is
renewed, and the too high temperature cooled down. The
latter precaution is necessary, not only on account of
the bees working within the hive, to whom, as already
said, a temperature risen beyond a certain point would
be intolerable, but also to guard against the melting
or softening of the wax. The bees charged with the
care of the ventilation divide themselves into rows
and stages in regular order through all parts of the
hive, and by swift fanning of their wings send little
currents of air in such fashion that a powerful stream
or change of air passes through all parts of the hive.
Other bees stand at the mouth of the hive, which fan
in the same way and considerably accelerate the wind
from within. The current of air thus caused is so
strong that little bits of paper hung in front of the
mouth are rapidly moved, and that, according to F.
Huber, a lighted match is extinguished. The wind can
be distinctly felt if the hand be held in front.

The motion of the wings of the ventilating bees is so
rapid that it is scarcely perceptible, and Huber saw
some bees working their wings in this way for
five-and-twenty minutes. When they are tired they are
relieved by others. According to Jesse, the bees in
very hot weather, in spite of all their efforts, are
unable to sufficiently lower the temperature, and
prevent the melting of some of the wax; they then get
into a condition of great excitement, and it is
dangerous to approach them. In such a case they also
try to mend matters by a number leaving the hive and
settling in large masses on its surface, so as to
protect it as much as possible from the scorching rays
of the sun.

Although the described plan of ventilation is
remarkable enough in itself, it is yet more remarkable
in that it is clearly only the result of bee-keeping,
and is evoked by this misfortune. For there could be
no need of such ventilation for bees in a state of
nature, whose dwellings in hollow trees and clefts of
rocks leave nothing to be desired as to roominess and
airiness, while in the narrow artificial hive this
need at once comes out strongly. In fact, the fanning
of the bees almost entirely ceased when Huber brought
them into large hives five feet high, in which there
was plenty of air. It follows, therefore, that the
fanning and ventilating can have absolutely nothing to
do with an inborn tendency or instinct, but have been
gradually evoked by necessity, thought, and
experience.

As the following observation on the cautious sagacity of wasps is, so far as I am aware, new, and as it certainly does not admit of mal-observation, I introduce it on the authority of a correspondent, the Rev. Mr. J. W. Mossman, who writes from Tarrington Rectory, Wragby. He found an apple in his orchard which had fallen from a tree in apparently good condition; but on taking it up observed that it was little more than a shell filled with wasps. Giving the apple a shake, he saw a wasp slowly emerging from a single small aperture in the rind:--

This aperture was sufficient, and only just
sufficient, to admit of the ingress or egress of a
single wasp. The circumstance which struck me as very
remarkable was this--that the wasp did not make its
way through the aperture with its head first, as I
should have expected, but with its tail, darting out
its sting to its utmost extent, and brandishing it
furiously. In this manner it came out of the apple
backwards. Then, finding itself in the open air upon
the outer surface of the apple, it turned round, and
without any attempt to molest me, flew off in the
usual way. The moment this first wasp had emerged, the
sting and tail of another was seen protruding. This,
too, I watched with much interest, and exactly the
same process was repeated as in the case of the first.
I held the apple in my hand until some ten or a dozen
wasps had made their exit in the same identical manner
in each individual case. I then threw down the apple,
inside of which, however, there were still apparently
a good many wasps.

It seemed to me at the time, and I have always felt
since, that the wasps coming out of the apple
backwards, brandishing their stings as a defensive
weapon against possible enemies, whom of course they
were not able to see, was an evidence of what would be
called thought and reflection in the case of human
beings. It seems to me that these wasps must have
reflected that if they came out of the narrow aperture
in the apple, which was their only possible means of
ready egress, in the usual manner, head first, they
might be taken at a disadvantage by a possible enemy,
and destroyed in detail. They, therefore, with great
prudence and foresight, came out of the apple
backwards, protecting themselves by means of their
chief offensive and defensive weapons, their stings,
which, according to their normal method of locomotion,
would have been useless to them as long as they were
making their exit.

With regard to the tactics displayed by hunting wasps I may quote the following cases:--

Mr. Seth Green, writing to the _New York World_ of May
14, says that one morning when he was watching a
spider's nest, a wasp alighted within an inch or two
of the nest, on the side opposite the opening.
Creeping noiselessly around towards the entrance of
the nest the wasp stopped a little short of it, and
for a moment remained perfectly quiet; then reaching
out one of his antennæ he wriggled it before the
opening and withdrew it. This overture had the desired
effect, for the boss of the nest, as large a spider as
one ordinarily sees, came out to see what was wrong
and to set it to rights. No sooner had the spider
emerged to that point at which he was at the worst
disadvantage than the wasp, with a quick movement,
thrust his sting into the body of his foe, killing him
easily and almost instantly. The experiment was
repeated on the part of the wasp, and when there was
no response from the inside he became satisfied,
probably, that he held the fort. At all events, he
proceeded to enter the nest and slaughter the young
spiders, which were afterwards lugged off one at a
time.

Mr. Henry Cecil writes as follows (_Nature_, vol. xviii., p. 311):--

I was sitting one summer's afternoon at an open window
(my bedroom) looking into a garden, when I was
surprised to observe a large and rare species of
spider run across the window-sill in a crouching
attitude. It struck me the spider was evidently
alarmed, or it would not have so fearlessly approached
me. It hastened to conceal itself under the projecting
ledge of the window-sill inside the room, and had
hardly done so when a very fine large hunting wasp
buzzed in at the open window and flew about the room,
evidently in search of something. Finding nothing, the
wasp returned to the open window and settled on the
window-sill, running backwards and forwards as a dog
does when looking or searching for a lost scent. It
soon alighted on the track of the poor spider, and in
a moment it discovered its hiding-place, darted down
on it, and no doubt inflicted a wound with its sting.
The spider rushed off again, and this time took refuge
under the bed, trying to conceal itself under the
framework or planks which supported the mattress. The
same scene occurred here; the wasp now appeared to
follow the spider by sight, but ran backwards and
forwards in large circles like a hound. The moment the
trail of the spider was found the wasp followed all
the turns it had made till it came on it again. The
poor spider was chased from hiding-place to
hiding-place, out of the bedroom, across a passage,
and into the middle of another large room, where it
finally succumbed to the repeated stings inflicted by
the wasp. Rolling itself up into a ball the wasp then
took possession of its prey, and after ascertaining it
could make no resistance, tucked it up under its _very
long hind legs_, just as a hawk or eagle carries off
its quarry, when I interposed and secured both for my
collection.

Mr. Belt, in his work already frequently quoted, gives the following account of a struggle which not unfrequently occurs between wasps and ants for the sweet secretion of 'frog-hoppers:'--

Similarly as, on the savannahs, I had observed a wasp
attending the honey-glands of the bull's-horn acacia
along with the ants; so at Santo Domingo another wasp,
belonging to quite a different genus (_Nectarina_),
attended some of the clusters of frog-hoppers, and for
the possession of others a constant skirmishing was
going on. The wasp stroked the young hoppers, and
sipped up the honey when it was exuded, just like the
ants. When an ant came up to a cluster of
leaf-hoppers attended by a wasp, the latter would not
attempt to grapple with its rival on the leaf, but
would fly off and hover over the ant; then when its
little foe was well exposed, it would dart at it and
strike it to the ground. The action was so quick that
I could not determine whether it struck with its
fore-feet or its jaws; but I think it was with the
feet. I often saw a wasp trying to clear a leaf from
ants that were already in full possession of a cluster
of leaf-hoppers. It would sometimes have to strike
three or four times at an ant before it made it quit
its hold and fall. At other times one ant after the
other would be struck off with great celerity and
ease, and I fancied that some wasps were much cleverer
than others. In those cases where it succeeded in
clearing the leaf, it was never left long in peace;
for fresh relays of ants were continually arriving,
and generally tired the wasp out. It would never wait
for an ant to get near it, doubtless knowing well that
if its little rival once fastened on its leg, it would
be a difficult matter to get rid of it again. If a
wasp first obtained possession, it was able to keep
it; for the first ants that came up were only
pioneers, and by knocking these off, it prevented them
from returning and scenting the trail to communicate
the intelligence to others.

Dr. Erasmus Darwin records an observation ('Zoonomia,' i., p. 183) which, from having since been so widely quoted, deserves to be called classical. He saw a wasp upon the ground endeavouring to remove a large fly which was too heavy for it to carry off. The wasp cut off the head and abdomen, and flew away with the thorax alone. The wind, however, catching the wings of this portion made it still too unwieldy for the wasp to guide. It therefore again alighted, and nipped off first one wing and then the other, when it was able to fly off with its booty without further difficulty.

This observation has since been amply confirmed. I shall quote some of the confirmatory cases.

Mr. R. S. Newall, F.R.S., in _Nature_, vol. xxi., p. 494, says:--

Many years ago I was examining an apple tree, when a
wasp alighted on a leaf which formed a caterpillar's
nest neatly rolled up. The wasp examined both ends,
and finding them closed, it soon clipped a hole in the
leaf at one end of the nest about one-eighth of an
inch in diameter. It then went to the other end and
made a noise which frightened the caterpillar, which
came rushing out of the hole. It was immediately
seized by the wasp, who finding it too large to carry
off at once, cut it in two and went off with his game.
I waited a little and saw the wasp come back for the
other half, with which it also flew away.

Again, Büchner (_loc. cit._, p. 297) gives the following account in the words of his informant, Herr H. Löwenfels, who himself witnessed the incident:--

I here found a robber-wasp busied in lifting from the
ground a large fly which it had apparently killed. It
succeeded indeed in its attempt, but had scarcely
raised its prey a few inches above the ground when the
wind caught the wings of the dead fly, and they began
to act like a sail. The wasp was clearly unable to
resist this action, and was blown a little distance in
the direction of the wind, whereupon it let itself
fall to the ground with its prize. It now made no more
attempts to fly, but with eager industry pulled off
with its teeth the fly's wings which hindered it in
its object. When this was quite done it seized the
fly, which was heavier than itself, and flew off with
it untroubled on its journey through the air at a
height of about five feet.

Büchner also records the two following remarkable observations, which from being so similar corroborate one another. The first is received from Herr Albert Schlüter, who writing from Texas says that he there saw a cicada pursued by a large hornet, which threw itself upon its prey and seemed to sting it to death:--

The murderer walked over its prey, which was
considerably larger than itself, grasped its body with
its feet, spread out its wings, and tried to fly away
with it. Its strength was not sufficient, and after
many efforts it gave up the attempt. Half a minute
went by; sitting astride on the corpse and
motionless--only the wings occasionally jerking--it
seems to reflect, and indeed not in vain. A mulberry
tree stood close by, really only a trunk--for the top
had been broken off, clearly by the last flood--of
about ten or twelve feet high. The hornet saw this
trunk, dragged its prey toilsomely to the foot of it,
and then up to the top. Arrived thereat, it rested for
a moment, grasped its victim firmly, and flew off with
it to the prairies. That which it was unable to raise
off the ground it could now carry easily once high in
the air.

The other instance is as follows:--

Th. Meenan ('Proc. of the Acad. of Nat.,'
Philadelphia, Jan. 22, 1878) observed a very similar
case with _Vespa maculata_. He saw one of these wasps
try in vain to raise from the ground a grasshopper it
had killed. When all its efforts proved to be in vain,
it pulled its prey to a maple tree, about thirty feet
off, mounted it with its prize, and flew away from it.
'This,' adds the writer, 'was more than instinct. It
was reflection and judgment, and the judgment was
proved to be correct.'

Depriving bees of their antennæ has the effect of producing an even more marked bewilderment than results from this operation in the case of ants. A queen thus mutilated by Huber ran about in confusion, dropping her eggs at random, and appeared unable to take with precision the food that was offered her. She showed no resentment to a similarly mutilated stranger queen that was introduced: the workers also heeded not the mutilated stranger; but when an unmutilated stranger was introduced they fell upon her. When the mutilated queen was allowed to escape, none of the workers followed.

FOOTNOTES:

[46] Vol. ix. p. 484.

[47] _Passions of Animals_, p. 53.

[48] Vol. xii. p. 68.

[49] 'Three months' in the Journal of the Linnæan Society, but Sir John Lubbock informs me that this is a misprint.

[50] See Kirby and Spence, vol. ii. p. 591.

[51] Letter to Mr. Darwin, published in _Nature_, vol. x., p. 102.

[52] Vol. xii., pp. 25-6.

[53] _Loc. cit._

[54] Art. 'Bees,' _Encycl. Brit._

[55] Dr. Kemp, _Indications of Instinct_.

[56] _The Bee_, 1877, No. 1.

[57] Dr. Lindley Kemp, _Indications of Instinct_.

[58] Handcock on Instinct, p. 18.

[59] _Introd. Ent._, ii, p. 465.

[60] _Origin of Species_, 'Cell-making Instinct.'

[61] _Origin of Species_, p. 225.

[62] _Mind in Animals_, pp. 252-3.

[63] For a complete account of these habits see Bingley, _Animal Biography_, vol. iii., pp. 272-5.

[64] _Mém. sur les Insectes_, tom. vi., p. 39.

[65] Vol. i., pp. 22-3 (3rd ed.).

[66] Vol. xvii., p. 373.

[67] See Brehm, _Thierleben_, ix., p. 252.

[68] An exactly similar case is recorded by Stodmann in his _Travels in Surinam_, ii., p. 286.

[69] _Nature_, ix., p. 189.

[70] See _Kirby and Spence_, vol. ii., p. 229.