The Atlantic Monthly | Page 5

sand-ridge called Long Island. But
now occurs a difference; for while between Long and Sullivan's Islands
and Christ's Church Parish is an immense salt marsh intersected by
creeks, but presenting an unbroken surface, in the midst of the
corresponding marsh between Morris and Folly Islands and James
Island is a group of low wooded islands, the largest of which lies

opposite the upper or north end of Folly Island. To this no name is
given on the maps, nor is it even distinguished from the marsh. It is,
however, completely surrounded by water; and, though this is in the
form of creeks neither wide nor deep, yet the peculiar softness of the
mud, and the absence of any landing-place except upon the side toward
Folly Island, render it almost inaccessible.
To this narrow strip of land, not three miles in length, was given the
name of Long Island,--perhaps by our own troops, who knew nothing
of an island of the same name north of the harbor; and in case it is
found that no other name belongs to it, we may properly avoid a
confusion, and christen it Spider Island, in honor of the remarkable
insects for whose especial benefit it seems to have been made, and
which, with the exception of the mosquitoes, are its sole inhabitants.
As was said, the first spider was found on Folly Island on the 19th of
August, 1863: it was also the last there seen. During the summer of
1864, many were found on Long Island (so called); and when, in the
spring of 1865, our regiment was encamped on James Island near
Wappoo Creek, it was toward Long Island that all my attention, so far
as concerned spiders, was directed.
But first, as a bit of collateral history, and to show how easily and how
far one may go astray when one of the links in the chain of argument is
only an inference, let me relate that, while riding over James Island, I
observed upon trees and bushes numbers of small brown bags, from
half an inch to an inch and a half in diameter, pear-shaped, and
suspended by strong silken cords. The bags themselves were made of a
finer silk so closely woven as to resemble brown paper, and, when
opened, were found to contain a mass of loose silk filled with young
spiders to the number of five hundred or more. In certain localities,
especially in a swampy field just outside the first line of Rebel works,
they were quite abundant. I had soon collected about four hundred of
them, which, by a moderate estimate, contained two hundred thousand
little spiders,--quite enough, I thought, with which to commence
operations. But one hot day in June I placed them all on a tray in the
sun. I was called away, and on my return found my one fifth of a

million young spiders dead,--baked to death.
Prior to this catastrophe, however, I had become convinced that these
were not the spiders I sought. Indeed, my only reasons for thinking they
might be were, first, the abundance of these cocoons in a locality so
near Long Island; and, second, my own great desire that they should
prove the spiders I wanted. The young spiders, it is true, did not at all
resemble their supposed progenitors, as to either shape, or color, or
markings; yet all of these evidently changed during growth, and would
not of themselves disprove the relationship.
One day in April, however, a cocoon was found in a tree on James
Island, of a very different appearance from the others. It was of loose
texture, and, instead of being pear-shaped, was hemispherical in form,
and attached by its flat surface to the lower side of a leaf. This also
contained young spiders, a little larger and a little brighter in color than
the others, but really bearing no resemblance to the full-grown spiders
of Long Island. This single cocoon formed the entering wedge of doubt,
and soon it was clear that the only means of proof lay on Long Island
itself.
But how was this to be reached? Easily enough while we were upon
Folly Island and could row through the creeks to a wharf on the east
side of Long Island. But now the case was altered; for between James
and Long Islands was the immense marsh already mentioned,
intersected by creeks, and composed of mud practically without bottom,
and ranging from eighteen to twenty-three feet in depth by actual
measurement. Around or over or through this marsh it was necessary to
go, in order to reach Long Island, the home of the spiders.
I could easily occupy the rest of my allotted space in recounting my
various attempts to reach this El Dorado, which my fancy, excited by
every