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Eyes, Antenne, and Brain: Bees
The antennæ are not only ears, but are nostrils to their possessors, a fact proved for the first time, as far as we know, by Huber. "Not only do bees have a very acute sense of smell," says he, "but they add to this faculty the remembrance of sensations. Here is an example: We had placed some Eyes, Antennæ, and Brain honey on a window. Bees soon crowded upon it. Then the honey was taken away and the outside shutters were closed and remained so the whole winter. When, in spring, the shutters were opened again, the bees came back, although there was no honey on the window. No doubt, they remembered that they got honey there before. So an interval of several months was not sufficient to efface the impression they received."
Bees have often smelled their way down stove-pipes and through key-holes to a coveted feast of honey, and Langstroth's bees got into his honey-house by coming down the chimney and through an opening made by the motion of a loose fire-place screen.
It seems that this screen moved back and forth in windy weather just enough to allow one bee to pass at a time. Down the chimney came the bees and waited their turn for a chance to crawl through when the opening appeared. When one succeeded she is said to have expressed her delight by a joyful humming that led to her discovery. Having appropriated a load of honey the little trespasser waited until the honey-house door was opened, and then flew home.
There is another interesting story, told by Mr. Root, of bees visiting a honey-house and imparting to their hivemates the joyful tidings that the door was open. The bees, discovered in the midst of their eager labor, were expelled, and towards night all was again in order in the apiary with not a bee near the honey-house door. Then the bee-keeper, desiring to try a new "feeder," placed it in front of one of the hives where the bees were clustered on the outside. It was soon discovered by some of them that filled their honey-sacs from it and went joyfully into the hive to unload. Those inside took the hint and at once out poured the inhabitants of that hive, bent on sharing the booty. But not to the feeder did they betake themselves. They rushed past that without noticing it, and went straight to the honey-house door! Of course they thought it had been left open again, and when they found it closed, they returned to the hive. Fond as bees are of nectar they are yet fonder of honey, and will leave the fields at any time to collect a load of ready-prepared sweets. Thus bee-keepers often have trouble in handling the honey in their apiaries, for when the bees get scent of the alluring harvest they fall upon it and perform prodigious feats in conveying it quickly back to the hives. Indeed, under the intoxicating influence of ready-made honey they often become demoralized, and like a miser at the sight of gold, dream only of acquiring the largest possible amount. Thus swarms sometimes fight over the honey, and finally the strong ones break into the hives of the weak ones and rob their own neighbors.
Bee-keepers understand that when honey is to be handled it must be taken into a room and the door closed, or else there is danger that the whole apiary may be seized with a frenzy for robbing, and a general scrimmage ensue.
When this happens the by-stander will do well to keep out of the way, for when the fight is on every living thing is regarded as a foe.
Perhaps the most convincing proof that bees find honey by the aid of scent alone is afforded by Huber's experiment of placing honey in closed boxes with an opening covered by a hanging valve which the bees had to push aside in order to enter. This they did, entering the dark box, securing a load of honey, and finding their way out again. * All this is in great contrast to the results achieved by Sir John Lubbock, when experimenting to find whether bees returned to honey, and whether they brought or sent their Eyes, Antennæ, and Brain companions. He first, as he writes, "placed some honey in a glass, close to an open window in my sitting-room, and watched it for sixty hours of sunshine, during which no bees came to it. "I then, at 10 A.M. on a beautiful morning in June, went to my hives, and took a bee which was just starting out, brought it in my hand up to my room (distance of somewhat less than 200 yards), and gave it some honey, which it sucked with evident enjoyment. After a few minutes it flew quietly away, but did not return; nor did any other bee make its appearance."
The following morning the same experiment was repeated with the same result, and on several other occasions. On the whole Sir John Lubbock's bees seem to have been particularly stupid, and after citing a number of experiments he concludes, - "I might give other similar cases, but these are, I think, sufficient to show that bees do not bring their friends to share any treasure they have discovered so invariably as might be assumed from the statements of previous observers."
No doubt bees, like people, differ, and very likely the members of a large and flourishing apiary may have their wits sharpened by much competition - like people in a crowded community.
The ancients believed in the olfactory power of bees, and Aristotle says, - "Insects can smell from a great distance. Bees scent honey, for they perceive it from long distances, as if they discovered it by scent."
And Pliny says, in speaking of bees when swarming, - "If one of them falls in the rear from weariness or happens to go astray, it is able to follow the others by the aid of its acuteness of smell."
The antennæ, in some mysterious way, afford means of communication. By them the bee says all it feels to its friends and relatives.
Watch two bees meet on a window-frame: they instantly cross feelers, and if they come from the same hive there ensues such an outpouring of bee-talk, such a tremor of crossed antennæ, such an evident condition of excitement all through their bodies as might well fill the most practised gossip with envy.
One can imagine the graphic terms in which they relate the recent awful experience of their capture, how they were suddenly and rudely jerked from a sweet blossom, and after indescribable shaking about in a strange thing made of bands too close together for them to get through and too tough for them to bite through, finally found themselves, as they supposed, free.
The joy after the fear! but alas, their happiness was of short duration; for when they attempted to return to the clover field visible in the distance, they found themselves suddenly checked in mid-career by what seemed a wall of thickened air, a strange, hard, cold, transparent nightmare of a barrier which they could see through, but could not pass.
Poor little bees, no wonder their antennæ fly in the discussion of such queer facts, and how fortunate that the ears of the ogre, their captor, are not attuned to the remarks of their antennæ, as they express their opinion concerning him morally mentally, and physically!
Just what bees talk about is their secret - also just how they talk. Suffice it to know that they do talk, or at least have a method of communication which, it may be, more resembles the sign language of the human deaf mutes than the articulate speech of those able to hear.
Perhaps it is a series of touches or taps like those of the Eyes, Antennæ, and Brain telegraphic code, - but what is the use in speculating about it? Whatever the method, this we may be sure of, they know each other when they meet by crossing antennæ, and they know strangers in the same way, and are as eager to converse stingwise with a stranger bee as they are to gossip amicably with a friend.
When one advances a pencil or other small object towards a bee that apparently is sound asleep, long before the object is within what one would suppose to be noticeable distance, the antennæ fly out. They work nervously back and forth, as though inquiring the quality and meaning of the approaching object. The bee examines objects at a distance by means of these remarkable organs, and those within reach by gently tapping or touching them with the tips of the antennæ, which, as we know, are best supplied with sensory organs. When the bee is asleep, or resting undisturbed, the antennæ droop in a seemingly helpless manner; but at the slightest hint of disturbance, these reliable sentinels are elevated and on duty.