Part 5

“You see, our mother is not young,” he began. “If she should perish in the stress of the winter and the new colony be lost, it would be less grievous than the loss of this new, vigorous Queen. Besides, our mother has had experience. She has lived over one winter. She knows how much of a brood to rear to maintain the strength of the colony—or whether she dare rear any at all—bearing in mind the while that there must be a fine adjustment between the mouths to be fed and the total of supplies. She knows well how to keep this account. Last winter, I am told, our stores ran low, so low, in fact, that many of our brothers sacrificed their lives in order to conserve the supplies so as to bring the Queen-Mother with a few attendants through the long, bitter winter. Not a young bee was reared until the first flowers had come riotously trampling on the skirts of the frost. So, you see, _they_ know best. _She_ will lead the swarm, and perhaps, if the season is late, and the frost slow to come, they can build their combs and store sufficient honey to bring them through. Perhaps even spring may come to their rescue, blossoming early. A late, backward spring, however, might end them, even if they had escaped the fury of the winter.”

There seemed no end to Crip’s knowledge. Lying there on the comb, he looked pathetically helpless, and there was a quaver in his voice. I could see that he was reflecting—that age had dropped upon him heavily on account of his wounds. Then, stoic that he was, I knew that some morning I should search in vain for trace of him. Once a bee becomes useless, he said, there is but one thing for him to do. I knew that Crip was already contemplating the end. Bitterness for a moment welled up in me at the thought that so much wisdom should be lost—and so soon. That was the edict. But, after all, was the wisdom really lost?

Our talk was broken at length by the call of the morning. The first pale gleams of light filtered through the entrance of the hive. Already there were murmurings and presently the faint note of the swarm.

Two hours passed—three hours—and now the trumpet sounded for the flight. Each of the chosen rushed to the nearest cell and filled his sac to its utmost capacity. Some early-returning foragers, laden with pollen, heard the signal and made ready to go, carrying with them their loads. Stores must be taken along to last until comb was built and new supplies gathered from the fields. Rations for three or four days were thus provided. When all was ready the trumpet sounded again and the march began. In the fore went the scouts who were to lead the way to the new home. Then, following after, came the chosen ones in a mighty multitude, and lastly the Queen.

Out into the air they flew, then round and round, each one singing the Song of the Swarm, which could be heard afar off. Round and round in a dizzy circle they flew, but in an ever-widening whirl. The scouts, I could hear from my point of vantage at the door, were becoming impatient. The Queen had been delayed, and until word of her presence among them was spoken, they could only circle about. Or else, failing that word, they could and would return to the hive. But at the height of their impatience the glad word came, “The Queen is here!”

Then they delayed no longer, but started in a whirlwind flight toward the lake and to their new home, uttering, as they drew away, that marvelously wild and moving song which pulsed with the tremors of life and death.

Crip and I were sober and silent.

From the alighting-board we watched them draw away and disappear, and were on the eve of turning into the hive, when up came the Master breathlessly. He stopped and gazed at the retreating cloud, knowing too well what had happened. He knew, too, by their actions, that a home had been prepared for their reception. He seemed surprised to think that the bees should swarm so late in the season, and not a little chagrined to think they could have done it under his eyes. His curiosity at once led him to find whence the swarm had come, and he walked straight to our hive. A few excited bees were still flying back and forth, but Crip and I, like the condemned, stood stolidly and wondered.

His lips moved, but he said no word; he turned on his heels and went away.

Shortly, however, he returned, the little Shadow with him. They were talking of the swarming, for he pointed the way the bees had gone. In his hand he held that horrid smoking thing, and Crip and I both knew what that meant. He would open our house. I resented this, for I remembered the smoke in my eyes when he took the top off our hive and lifted out frame after frame, taking away from us part of our honey. I remembered, too, how I longed to sting him, but how all my efforts were unavailing, for he had hidden himself under a screen. And yet I really did not want to sting him. Just why I flew at him I could not understand.

“He is angry with us now,” said Crip. “He knows we are insane. He probably will take away our honey and leave us to starve, as we merit. We have proven our short-sightedness and have lost our right to survive.”

“No, he will not do that,” I replied.

On the instant I seemed no longer to distrust him; I remembered his kindness to me on a day when, overladen, a gust of wind had felled me to the earth. He had placed me on a twig, where, after disgorging part of my load, and washing my body and my wings, I again made way to my home.

But it was certain that we should know his intentions shortly, for, on coming close, he sent a puff of smoke into the entrance that choked and blinded both Crip and me and the guards, and sent us scurrying into the hive. Then, passing the smoker to the Little Master, he carefully lifted off the top and the upper section of our hive, and began an inspection of the brood-chamber. He seemed to be right happy at discovering that the queen-cells had been destroyed, which carried the assurance to his mind that no further swarming was in contemplation; but when his eyes fell upon the new Queen-Mother, they widely distended and a smile of joy lighted his face.

“Wonderful creature,” he murmured.

The little Shadow cried: “Let me see. Isn’t she a beauty!”

By this time the smoke had cleared away and my disposition had changed. I said to Crip that we ought to attack them. But he answered that it would be folly now—that only evil would result. Further parleying was cut short by a blast of smoke shot at us by the Little Master, who apparently had discerned outward signs of the rebellion, for my body was poised and I suppose I must have been emitting the note of anger. The smoke sent us all flying into a remote corner of the hive.

Then the Master replaced the section of hive he had removed, and began to lift frame after frame, uttering little exclamations, as though he had not suspected that we had gathered such quantities of honey in so short and late a season. It was easy for him now to understand why we had developed the swarming fever, although it evidently appeared to him a foolish adventure.

“He has been dreaming in his rose-garden,” commented Crip, when the Master had nearly finished his examination. “That is the reason he has neglected us of late. He did not know there had been a great flow of honey.”

We were talking among ourselves, when up came Buzz-Buzz, angry from the smoke in his eyes.

“A fine lot this fellow,” he growled.

“You don’t like him?” I asked.

He just looked at us. He was too irritated to speak.

“He’ll get over it,” mused Crip.

We were still holding converse when again the top came off and one by one the Master lifted out our combs and robbed them of their honey. They were battered and broken and empty when he restored them to us. We were all infuriated, and for a while flew madly about him and about the Little Master—the dog kept at a respectful distance—straining every effort to drive them away. But the Little One only smoked us the more, while the Master went on with his work. He was careful to kill no bee, brushing off every one of them before taking away the combs of honey, and while returning them.

Quickly it was all over. When he had gone we at once took stock and found that he had left us quite enough to carry us through the winter, barring accident. But almost before the appraisal had been made a catastrophe was upon us. The honey from a broken comb had flooded the bottom-board, and began to pour out through the entrance onto the ground, and robber bees were shortly upon it. We summoned all our guards for our protection, but the robbers in thousands came, and in spite of our resistance they forced their way into the hive and began to plunder at random. Poor old Crip even mixed in the mêlée, fighting like a veteran, while I, beaten and trampled, finally lay senseless on the floor.

We should have been lost but for the thoughtfulness of the Master, who, returning to see that all was well, found us besieged and overrun. He quietly closed the entrance to our hive, and thus left us to clear it of the marauders within doors, which we did promptly, although at heavy cost in the lives of our brothers. An hour later he returned and opened ever so slightly our door. Although a few robbers still lingered and endeavored to force an entrance, they were easily beaten off. In the mean time we carefully cleaned up the spilled honey which had nearly been our undoing—and the battle was over.

The night came and we cleared our house of the dead. Scattered indiscriminately they lay—friend and foe—many score of them. Among them I found the veteran who had been kind to me, with the mark of a lance in his breast. Certain it was that he had died fighting bravely. I had found his body, and I determined to keep it by me through the night, and on the morrow I meant to give a fitting burial. I remembered a high knoll overlooking the lake and the country round about, and there I said he should be laid to rest. I told Crip of my purpose, and he applauded me, and together we watched over him. More than once we almost had to fight to prevent the cleaners from taking his body away.

On the morrow, in the early dawn, I dragged him forth and, taking him in my mandibles, flew away with him, dropping him on the knoll. The poor old veteran! Somehow I had gained the notion that one day he would awake, and from that vantage-point find himself nearer the stars.

We now began another chapter in the life of our colony. We were left with none too much honey, and, besides, our numbers had been greatly depleted by the exodus and by the assault of the robbers. Our Queen-Mother immediately organized her followers and sent us all scouring the fields for additional foods. Thanks to the late season, there still remained an abundant harvest. Soon we had replenished our supplies to a point where we could rest comfortably, and our good mother set about rearing just enough brood to have us weather the winter safely. But we never stopped work. Day after day we gathered bread and honey.

“We cannot have too much,” said Crip. “You see, since you have not gone through a winter you have much to learn. It is no simple business. Frightful northers sweep down upon us and chill us and kill us. Sometimes it grows so cold the young bees are frozen in their cells. They must then be removed, or else sickness and disease will follow. Sometimes, too, if stores run low and our numbers fall below a certain point, we ourselves can no longer keep warm. That means death for us all.”

“But we have plenty of stores,” I replied. “We have nothing to fear.”

“There are always fears. An animal running wild may topple over your house; a bad man may slip in and steal your supplies; a moth may enter and lay eggs producing destructive worms; a bear may chance to find you and with his great paws rend the hive asunder!”

“Stop!” I cried. “If there are yet other dangers, I do not wish to know them.”

“But it is well to know. There are diseases to combat, such as dysentery, paralysis, and foul brood—”

“Oh, stop!” I begged him.

Was life really such a hazard? so perilous a journey? And all for what? Toward what misty goal?

It was a glorious day in October. The Indian summer had come, flooding all the hills and vales with its magical sheets of amethyst, while a drowsy wind from the south bore on its breath the odor of autumn. Now and then that indefinable note, presaging the advent of winter—a note which is neither a requiem nor a dirge—could be heard like a faint flute in the branches of the trees. The sun shone big and round and still with a suggestion of summer. Scattered clouds went drifting lazily by, wonderfully emphasizing the turquoise blue of the sky.

“Is it going to rain?” I asked of Crip, who was dragging himself along on the alighting-board, ready for a new excursion into the woods.

“No,” he mumbled.

It had been weeks since my experience in the flood, but ever after that when a cloud was in the sky I bethought me of rain. But I had now come to know that rains were something more than clouds.

Crip and I had been laboring to fill adjoining cells. We had already gathered many loads of honey that day. “I’m tired,” he said, right plaintively. “I can’t do as much as I could once.”

“Why don’t you rest?” I begged of him.

“Rest! What word is that? Did ever a bee rest when there was work to do?”

With that he hobbled a little farther on his four legs, his poor old body half carried and half dragged. But his wings were still powerful and lifted him instantly into the all-absorbing space.

This time I took an entirely different direction from any I had thus far traveled. On and on I flew, mile after mile, until presently I scented something and went for it. It proved to be a field of June corn, in silk and tassel—and, oh, what quantities of pollen! I gathered a little and hastened back to report. Almost at once a string of my brothers were flying to and fro, laden with bread.

We had now stored up a great surplus of food, and the Queen-Mother broadened her brood areas. She deemed it wise to enlarge her family; first, because she had a premonition that a wild winter would soon break upon us, and, for the further reason, that half the battle was to be strong in numbers in the spring, when the honey-fountains opened.

When I returned with my last load, well toward sunset, I found Crip waiting at our rendezvous, my ancient cell.

“You have done well to-day,” he said, “and I wanted to tell you so. Five miles is a long journey to go for a load, but it was worth it. I, too, made one trip—but have pity on me—only when I got there did I remember that I had no basket-legs; hence I was forced to return empty-handed. It is too much for me to bear. I am old and useless.”

I could not stand to hear him depreciate himself in such fashion, and remonstrated with him.

“Well, it’s too true,” he persisted. “Some day you will understand.”

I did not answer Crip, for at the moment I was notified that I should take my turn at guard duty, and I went at once to report.

It was now fast growing dark, and the last workers were dropping on the alighting-board and groping their way into the hive. It was the duty of guards to inspect all who entered, and to keep out bugs and ants and intruders. More than a score of guards, I among them, kept a continuous patrol before the entrance; and all went well until far into the night.

The Master with his little Shadow had passed among us as if to bid us good night, and had gone. The moon was now rising, and a mocking-bird in a neighboring tree had been rendering melodies without number. There was no sound in all the world save the mocking-bird’s song that ebbed and flowed in ever wilder cadence. High above his perch he would soar into the moonlight, and as he dropped again—his little gray body looking like a bit of mist—he would almost burst his throat with rapturous song. Often had I heard him sing, but never had he so completely abandoned himself to the sheer frenzy of it—and at such an hour!

“He’s making the best of it, for soon the winter will come and his songs will cease,” observed a guard.

“But what glorious singing!” added another.

While we were talking a guard suddenly gave an alarm. He had either scented or seen an enemy; but doubt was immediately removed, for the raw smell of an animal was borne in to us. We paused and prepared for an attack. Our wings were buzzing at intervals and our stings were ready to strike. And none too soon, for in a moment more a monstrous animal stuck his nose into the entrance of our hive. Instantly we all flew at him, some landing in his face and some on his body. But only those that struck his face succeeded in stinging him, for the hair was too long on his body.

I was unfortunate enough to have been one of those landing on his back, and immediately found myself so entangled in his hair that I could neither sting him nor free myself. I struggled in vain, and my efforts were rendered more difficult on account of the mad capers he cut in escaping from the spot. The moment we flew at him and stung him about the head, he turned somersaults and cried like a cat in torment, while he fled madly. So wildly did he fly that he banged squarely into a neighboring hive and nearly upset it. Then he collided with weeds and brush and cacti—in fact, I now suspect he could see nothing. Certainly he cared not what lay in his road.

I can think of it calmly, now that I am safely back, but while I rode unwillingly upon his back I thought each instant would be my last. After vainly trying to reach his body in order to sting him, I gave over and endeavored to free myself. What with the buzzing of many pairs of wings in his ears, and the pain from the stings, he fled like the wind. Presently, however, he stopped suddenly and tried to reach me with his claws. Then he did his best to crush me with his teeth, snarling and whining betimes. He did crush some of my brother guards; but I was just back of his ears, and he could not reach me. However, I may add I almost wished he had, for his breath was horrible. I never could abide the breath of any living thing.

Soon he gave over and set out running again at top speed. I had abandoned myself for lost, when a bush scraped me out of my entanglement and I fell half dead to the ground. But the would-be robber never stopped, for I could hear the brush rattling in his wake. He still fled incontinently, as though he feared another attack, as though his very life depended on his rate of speed.

I lay there for a moment, scarcely able to move. But what could I do? The moon was still bright, but bright as it was, the way back home was dark. Instinctively, I turned to a friendly bush and made my way to the topmost branch, and there I planted myself for the rest of the night.

The wind was blowing lustily. I did not like the threshing back and forth of the branches in the gloom, with the chance of being knocked off at any moment. I could not think calmly of crawling on the ground, for Crip had told me this was a thing to be avoided at all hazards. Scorpions and beetles and toads and snakes made the night perilous. So I clung to the branch with all my might. Now and again a pause in the wind would allow me to look up at the stars through the screen of leaves—and how dear and wonderful they were! Long ago I had thought how beautiful it must be up there in the blue space, fretted with tiny lights no bigger than the candle burning in the window of the Master’s house. And even then, as I turned, I could see his lamp, and I almost started to fly toward it. There was a fascination in its beams which I could scarcely resist. Always, when on guard duty, at any hour of the night, I had been able to see his light and to hear the bark of his dog. He seemed never to sleep—or if he slept the lamp and the dog kept watch over him.

The blustering wind finally had compassion on me and ceased altogether. There came a silence that was more than silence. I felt it oppressive. Then, as if a pause had been made for them, the crickets and katydids began a frightful chattering, which was punctuated betimes by the far hooting of an owl. The air grew chilly, and I began to feel cold and stiff, and held none too securely to my bush. It was a fortunate thing, I thought, that the wind had died away.

How tired I was! This had been one of the hardest days of my life. As I reflected on it, it seemed very long ago that it began; and I heartily wished for the dawn. I must have drowsed awhile, for when again I looked about me a mellow light brooded on the horizon and a great star beamed above it. Soon wide streams of gold flowed across the pale-blue sky, quenching the fires of the stars. Then, as if in compensation for their loss, fleecy Gulf clouds caught the early rays of the sun and filled the world with showers of rainbow lights.

Presently I could see well enough to rise on my wings, and in spite of the chill in the air, up I went until I got my bearings. A strange fit seized me. “Fly to the sun!” I heard in my ears; and off I went. Up and up I flew—higher and higher—until below me I could scarcely see the white houses of the apiary where I lived and the white house of the Master. But under me the waters of Lake Espantoso glimmered like a mirror, and in the dark fringe of trees that bordered it I remembered a swarm of my little brothers had taken refuge, and I wondered how they fared. Far as I could see stretched the undulating hills over which I had flown in search of treasure—hills now clad in their robes of autumn. A fragrance reached me at this great height, which came from I knew not where.

I had wheeled about and started home, when I caught sight of the Master wandering dreamily in his garden. Then immediately I knew that the fragrance came from his beautiful roses. Many a time had I flown over the place, marveling at the flowers. Indeed, I had gathered honey from the honeysuckle that climbed on the walls of his house and from the crêpe-myrtle hard by. But the roses—ah, the roses! I loved to drop into their hearts and to breathe the sweet breath of their lives. So again, without thinking, I flew down and down until I reached the garden and sank into a rose to rest. I felt tired, ever so tired. When I emerged there was the Master fondling a rose; I circled slowly past him and around him. He saw me at once, and a tender look came into his eyes. Reluctantly I left him caressing his roses, and flew rapidly home.

It was still so early that a chill enveloped the world and the workers awaited the sun. I rushed to where I knew I should find Crip, and breathlessly began the narrative of my adventure.

“I know just about what happened,” he ventured, when he had expressed his joy at seeing me, for he knew that I had been on duty and that a number of the guards had been lost. “I wept not a little for you. Yes, it was a racoon,” he repeated. “You will remember I told you about them. They are crazy over honey.”

He was deeply interested in the account of my mad and unwilling ride.

Then I told him of my visit to the garden, and of the Master. He made no reply, but presently asked:

“What do you know of the Master?”

“Little—very little.”

“Do you know that lately I’ve been wondering whether I have been fair to him? Once I was perfectly sure that he was an enemy to be fought on all occasions, that he made use of us only for selfish ends. Now I am beginning to think I was wrong. While he has taken our honey, he has always left us enough. Last winter, I am told, he actually brought a lot of honey and gave it to the colonies that had none. Besides, before we came in contact with men, we lived in caves and hollow trees, exposed to all manner of enemies. It is different now.”