In their directions for hiving a swarm, the medieval bee-masters were always quaintly explicit. The dressing of the skep which was to receive the swarm was a particularly elaborate process. When the skep was new, you were recommended to scour it out with a handful of sweet herbs, such as thyme, marjoram, or hyssop; and this was to be followed by a second dressing of honey and water, or milk and salt. But the preparation of an old skep must have been a rather disgusting affair. You were to put “two or three handfuls of mault, or pease, or other come in the hive, and let a Hogge eat thereof. Meanwhile, doe you so turne the Hive, that the fome or froth, which the Hogge maketh in eating, may goe all about the Hive. And then wipe the Hive lightlie with a linnen cloth, and so will the Bees like this Hive better than the new.”
When the swarm was up, and “busie in their dance,” you were to “play them a fit of mirth on a Bason, Warming-pan, or Kettle, to make them more speedily light.” We are assured that the swarm would fly faster, or slower, according to the noise made. If the fit of mirth were in rapid measure, the bees would fly fast and high; but with a soft leisurely music, they would go slowly, and soon descend. This curious custom of “ringing the bees” is undoubtedly of Roman origin; but whether it was introduced by Cæsar’s followers, or those of Claudius in the first century, or whether the old English bee-masters themselves derived it from their classic reading, is hard to determine. It is still to be heard in many country districts, and its exponents seem to retain all the faith of their forefathers in its efficacy. Probably, in mediæval times, when bee-gardens were much more plentiful than they are now, the custom had at least one undeniable merit: it proclaimed to the various hive-owners in the vicinity that a swarm was in the air, and that its rightful owner was on the alert. In this way, no doubt, dishonest claims to its possession were largely prevented, or, at least, discouraged.
The question whether the noise made by ringing has any real effect on the swarming bees is still not absolutely decided. With the exception of the old skeppists, not a few of whom still exist in out-of-the-way rural corners, modern apiculturists have long discarded the custom as a gross superstition. But it has recently been suggested that the din made by old-fashioned bee-keepers when a swarm is up may have a real use after all. It is conjectured that the cloud of bees—which at first is nothing but a chaos of flashing wings, the whole contingent darting and whirling about indiscriminately over a large area together—is really dispersing in search of the queen. The suggestion put forward is that they follow her by ear, as she is supposed to utter a peculiar piping sound when flying. The din of the key and pan may, it is said, prevent the bees hearing this note and following her in her first erratic convolutions, and thus the swarm is more likely to pitch on a station near home. The theory is interesting, but hardly tenable. Old popular observances of this kind are seldom based on even the vaguest thread of fact, and it is much more probable that no effect whatever is produced on the bees by the ringing.
