CHAPTER XIV.
METHODS OF UNITING TWO OR THREE SWARMS IN AUTUMN.
When the swarms have not been able to lay up a sufficient provision during the fine weather, I weigh them at the end of the season, and, knowing the weight of each empty hive, I can tell exactly the quantity of honey they have in store.
If they are three, four, five or six pounds too light, I preserve them, and feed them in the manner I am about to detail. When the swarms have only about one-third or one-half of the quantity of honey which would suffice to feed them, I might keep them alive by giving them as much more as they require. I have frequently done so; but I have already remarked, that this plan costs too much honey, and gives too much trouble; and therefore I generally join them into one. For this purpose, I leave the heaviest swarm untouched, and, in the morning of a fine day in September, or beginning of October, I commence by blowing a few whiffs of tobacco-smoke with my pipe in at the door of the hive of the lightest swarm, to disperse the sentinels; then, turning up the hive, and placing it on its top on the ground, I give it a little more smoke, to prevent the bees from becoming irritated, and to force them to retire within the combs. I proceed to cut out all the combs in succession, beginning with the smallest, sweeping the bees with a feather off each piece back into the hive; and then I place the combs, one after another, into a large dish beside me, keeping it, at the same time, carefully covered over with a napkin or small table-cloth, to prevent the bees returning to their combs, or the smell of the honey attracting others that may be flying about. The last comb is the most difficult to come at, being completely covered over with bees. I detach it, however, in the same way as the others, but with greater precaution, sweeping the bees off very gently with the feather until there is not one left on it. This operation I perform without gloves or any other protection, armed only with my pipe; and, for ten times that I treat them after this fashion, I seldom receive one sting, even when I act unassisted.
The combs being all removed, the swarm remains as completely destitute of food as it was on the day of its emigration, and I replace it on its board in the same spot it occupied when full, and leave it till the evening, by which time the bees will be clustered together like a new swarm. During the whole of the day, which I shall suppose to be fine, they occupy themselves with great earnestness cleaning their house, and making such a noise in removing the little fragments of wax that have fallen on the board, that any one who did not know it had been emptied, would take it for the best and strongest of the hives. Before night, when they are all quiet, I throw a few whiffs of smoke in at the door of the hive which I mean my deprived swarm to enter, and which should be its next neighbour, on the right hand or the left; then, turning it up and resting it on the ground, I sprinkle it all over with honey, especially between the combs where I perceive the greatest number of bees: five or six table-spoonfuls generally suffice; at other times three or four times as many are required. If too little were given, the new comers might not be well received; there might be some fighting; and, by giving too much, we run the risk of drowning them. One should cease the sprinkling when the bees begin to climb up above the combs, and shelter themselves on the sides of the hive: this done, I replace the hive on its board, which should jut out about seven or eight inches, raising the hive up in front with two little bits of stick, so as to leave a division of an inch in front between it and the board, to give free access to the bees. I also spread a table-cloth on the ground before it, raising and fixing one end of it on the board, by means of the two bits of sticks that are placed as a temporary support to the hive. I then take the hive that was deprived of its combs in the morning, and, with one shake, throw the bees out of it upon the table-cloth, which they instantly begin to ascend; while, by the help of a long wooden spoon, I guide them to the door of the one that is placed for their reception. A few spoonfuls of the bees raised and laid down at the door of the hive, will set the example,—they enter at once, and the others follow quickly, flapping their wings and sipping with delight the drops of honey that come in their way, or officiously licking and cleaning those first inhabitants that have received the sprinkling, and with whom they mingle and live henceforth on good terms. One division of the new comers always clusters on the front of the hive, which they enter during the night without disturbance, much pleased to rejoin their companions. Next morning early it is necessary to take away the table-cloth and the bits of stick that were placed to raise up the hive and facilitate the entrance of the bees, and for some days the door should be left as wide as possible. The hive should also be moved a little to the right or left, that it may stand precisely in the centre of the place they both occupied before the union.
I have frequently united three swarms in the same manner, and with the same success, taking care only to empty in the morning those on each side, and to make the bees enter the middle one in the evening, after it has been sprinkled with honey. In this case I do not remove the one that unites the three swarms. The reason of this we shall soon see.