Читать книгу Cot and Cradle Stories - Catharine Parr Traill - Страница 5

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It was a lovely bright morning in June. The dew still sparkled like diamonds on the freshly opened flowers in many a gay garden. The air was sweet with the scent of roses and lilies. Butterflies of many gorgeous colours flitted over blossoms no brighter than their own gay wings, which opened and shut like living flowers in the sunbeams. Happy creatures! they had nothing to do but enjoy their short, joyous lives. Myriads of gauzy-winged insects, too, were dancing in the warm sunshine that June morning. The bees alone were absent. Why were they not busy seeking honey in the bells of the flowers?

The humming-birds were darting hither and thither, hovering for a brief instant with their tiny bodies glittering like emeralds and ruby gems, just poised in air, while in haste they inserted their long, slender bills in the necks of the honey-bearing flowers, the larkspurs, columbines and balsams. These little summer visitors from the Southern States and West Indies know well where the sweets are hidden ready for them and the bees.

But again we ask, Why are the bees absent? There is the yellow powder on the anthers of the flowers to be gathered for the bee-bread, to feed the young ones that are ready to take wing; and there is other delicate matter to be got for making wax for the cells wherein to store the honey for winter use. What are the little creatures doing?

In reply, we hear a strangely mournful sound, and see the hive in great commotion. The bees are creeping outside, flying a short distance, then returning as if unable to tear themselves away. Something is certainly wrong to-day among these wise and orderly creatures.

Yes, the sad news has just been told them, their beloved old Queen is dead. There is grief and deep trouble among her subjects—such trouble as would follow in this great British Empire were the tidings of so sad an event as the death of our most gracious and beloved sovereign Queen Victoria to reach her subjects.

The Queen Bee had gone out for a few minutes to give some special order, to direct one of the chief workers to take his band to a clover-field in full bloom and abounding in fresh honey-bearing blossoms, when a rapacious fly-catcher—the largest of the Phœbe birds, known as the "Kingbird" or "Tyrant Fly-catcher"—saw her as he sat watching for prey on a bare pole near by. He gave a flirt with his wings and white-fringed tail as he swept round her, and she was quickly seized and torn by his cruel bill. Thus the hive was left without a Queen to rule over its inmates.

There was grief among the bees, but no doubt the hungry kingbird had made a sweet meal, and cared nothing for the sorrow he had caused in the garden that lovely June morning.

The work of the labouring bees was at a standstill, the news of the Queen's death having been carried to them by trusty messengers. The drones were in a state of wild distress. The overseers in charge of the honey-seekers were in despair. The fine-dust gatherers ceased their cheerful buzzing songs, and, heavy with grief, wended their way back to join in the general lamentation of the hive.

The old Irish gardener Pat was grieved for the trouble the bees were in, and took a piece of black crape from an old hat-band and tied it to the stand where the beehive stood, to show that he sympathized with them in their sorrow for the untimely death of their Queen. When someone laughed at the kindly old man for putting the bees in mourning, he said, gravely:

"Shure an' the craythurs will take it kindly as a compliment, and be plazed that we think uv thim in the day uv their trouble for the loss uv their good ould Queen."

The excitement was greatest among the young swarm that had been hatched only a few days. A change was at hand, and it became an important question among them as to what was to be done without a Queen. Who was to take care of them?

Then the old bees held a consultation to consider the situation.

"How can we keep order here without a Queen?" asked one of the elders. "This newly hatched swarm are in a very excited and unruly state; they will not obey any law but their own sweet wills, and I fear we shall have great trouble with them."

"We must turn them out," said another of the old bees.

"They are already in a state of rebellion," remarked a third. "I just overheard a pert young bee saying they were not going to be lorded over and overruled by those old fellows.'"

It was only too true, the young bees were in open revolt. "We will have a Queen of our own," they cried, "and do as we like. Let us go off at once to the royal nursery and choose one."

So off they went to the royal cells. There were only three young female bees there, the dead Queen's daughters. One of the princesses was much larger than the others, and the velvet of her dress finer and brighter than the sober brown of her sisters' attire.

Of course the young bees all said, "We will have this one for our Queen."

No one but a drone made any objection to the choice, and no attention was paid to him when he said, "This one is not the best for our ruler, she is proud, and vain, and selfish; she is fatter and finer than the others because she always got the largest share of the food and the best cell to live in."

The others drove him away and said, "We like this one, she is the handsomest," and then they all paid homage to her as their Queen, and she buzzed her thanks as they followed her out of the hive in a great crowd, pushing and shoving very rudely in their anxiety to get near her, tumbling over each other like a parcel of rude boys just let loose from school. They had not even the manners to say goodbye to the old bees as they bustled off with their new Queen.

Now, the young Queen was very foolish. She had had no experience, and yet she thought she was wise enough to govern her numerous subjects and to make laws for her kingdom. She would not ask advice of anyone when she was in difficulty, so she constantly made mistakes.

The first day they had all to scatter abroad in search of something to eat, as there was no food prepared, and their only shelter was a hole in the trunk of a tree. Although the hole was a fairly big one, it was not large enough to shelter so many in the event of rain or bad weather—a fact they were not long in learning, as that very day a thunder-storm came on with heavy rain and hail. The Queen bee and a few others managed to get in and shelter themselves in the hollow of the tree, but a number of the weaker ones, and the poor helpless drones, were beaten down by the hail and never rose again.

Of course, the poor young Queen was not altogether to blame. She could not prevent the storm coming that day, though some of her followers were unreasonable enough to say she could, but she had shown a great want of order and management. She did not set the right bees in the right places. In the old time there were regular overseers who set them their work and particular tasks, and no one interfered; but now, when the labourers came to the Queen she set the honey-makers to build the cells, and the makers of the bee-bread to pound the wax, the gatherers of the pollen from the flowers to get the honey, so that all was confusion. No one knew what to do, nothing was well done, and there was great waste of time and material. The honey-makers had no cells fit to hold the honey when they came home with it, the wax was badly made, the bees were hungry and out of humour, and all blamed the poor Queen. At last they fretted and harassed her so much with their complaints, that she fell sick and died. There was no one left then to rule and govern the bees. They had no honey laid up in store for the winter when the frost and snow came, so they perished from cold and hunger.

It was not so with the hive bees. The new Queen that had been despised by the young swarm proved to be a most wise and careful ruler. She caused the cells to be mended and cleaned, had all the rubbish removed, and appointed careful overseers for the workers in their several departments. She saw that every place was well filled, everything done at the right time and in the right way, and plenty of food and honey stored up against the cold days of winter.

This good Queen was so kind and thoughtful about the welfare of her subjects that she often warned the workers against wandering too far away in search of honey, lest they should be overtaken by hungry birds, or heavy rains and high winds, when too far from the shelter of the hive.

She knew how desirous some of her working bees were to please her and make the hive famous as giving the largest yield of honey for the season, and if they heard of a field of white clover or buckwheat, or a grove of fresh basswood trees in flower, many miles away from home, they would wing their way to gather honey to increase their store. She was often very unhappy when night came and these stragglers had not returned. Many accidents happened, and she constantly warned her young bees never to go farther than two or three miles away. Some old strong workers would laugh at such advice, for they often flew as far as six miles away when the scent of the basswood blossoms was strong in the air. Many of these rash ones overloaded themselves, and fell an easy prey to the kingbird or the shrike.

Things went well in the hive under the good Queen's rule. The nursery chambers were filled with eggs for fine swarms of new bees to be hatched out while the summer was yet warm, and one might have thought that nothing could happen to disturb the serenity of her reign. Suddenly, however, a report was circulated among the old bees that some thieves had entered the hive, and emptied a number of cells of the best and purest of the virgin honey.

The rumour caused a great commotion, and the Queen called her oldest and wisest counsellors together, to consider what was the best thing to be done.

One of the ablest among them said that he had noticed idle gangs hanging about a distant hive, and as none of them seemed to bring home honey from the fields or gardens, they had been suspected of being a set of thievish vagabonds. His advice was, that two or three brave working bees should be set to watch at a little distance, and if any bees not loaded with honey or flower-dust entered the hive, the workers should give a signal at once to have them seized: or if any bees came out loaded with honey, they should attack them at once and call for help.

This advice was taken and all arrangements made. Not long after a party of sneak-bees were seen creeping cautiously into the hive, where they soon were at work filling themselves with the contents of some of the best cells. Meanwhile some of the wax-workers had filled up the sides of the door of the hive, so that an overloaded bee could not pass through without a squeeze. This trap prevented the robbers from getting out. Then the enraged hive-bees set upon them, and a great battle took place, which ended in all the thievish bees in the hive being killed. A few terrified ones outside flew home to tell of the fate of their comrades. After that day no robber-bees ventured out to steal from that Queen's hive.

There were other enemies besides the robber-bees. There were miller-moths that laid their eggs within the bee-house, the worm hatched from them doing great damage, more even than the mice did. Spiders, too, sometimes spun their webs across the door of the hive, and the unwary bees going forth got entangled in the meshes. I think had Mrs. Webspinner ventured to capture one of the good lively workers, she would have come off second-best in the battle, a dozen angry bees with their stings all ready being always at hand to defend their comrades.

Once a big snail crawled into the hive. It may have been to hide herself from some outside danger, from a garden toad or some voracious bird, as it is hardly likely that a snail would be in search of honey or bee-bread: or it may have been just out of curiosity to see how bees lived, that she ventured into the little house.

However, she had no business there, and when she was in she could not turn herself about to retreat, when she heard a mighty buzzing and fuss all around her.

The bees were in a great quandary how to get rid of the great ugly beast. It was useless trying to sting her, and she neither could nor would go, that was plain; so they wisely went at once to their Queen for advice.

"Bury the horrid creature," was all she could say.

They all clapped their wings and cried, "We will."

Without more ado they called the cell-builders and the wax-makers and set them to work, saying, "We will soon make the abominable beast a house;" so they covered the big snail with a roof and walls of wax, and I dare say she may be sleeping there at this day, a warning to snails to mind their own business and stay at home.

There was a great deal of honey taken out of the hive by the bee-keeper that year, and for three more years the good Queen ruled well. She became the nursing mother for many swarms of fine healthy young bees, and at last died at a good old age.

All the hives in the neighbourhood were put into mourning for her by the old gardener, who loved his bees and knew all their ways. Her subjects raised a white dome of virgin wax over her by way of tomb, and Pat says it is somewhere in a secret place in the garden known only to the bees and himself.