The Atlantic Monthly | Page 7

could not properly be called,) and
no one knew how many feet of mud beneath its sluggish stream. Under
ordinary circumstances I might have sounded a retreat; but,
remembering that there was twice as much mud behind as before us,
and feeling ourselves sinking slowly but surely in our tracks, we slid
down the sides into the water. This received our bodies to the waist, the
mud our legs to the knees; but we struggled through, and, after another
terrible thirty yards of mud, reached Long Island. Leaving my faithful
companions to rest, I struck off down the east side of the island, and
soon found spiders in plenty. Stopping at the wharf, and returning upon
the west side, I counted one hundred spiders in less than an hour. This
was only a voyage of discovery, but I could not resist the temptation to
capture one big fellow and put it in my hat, which, with the edges

brought together, I was forced to carry in my teeth, for one hand was
required to break down the webs stretched across my path, and the
other to do battle in vain with the thousands of mosquitoes, of huge size
and bloody intent, besetting me on every side. What with the extreme
heat and my previous fatigue, and the dread lest my captive should
escape and revenge herself upon my face while I was avoiding the nets
of her friends, and the relentless attacks of their smaller but more
venomous associates, it was the most uncomfortable walk imaginable.
To complete my misery, the path led me out upon the marsh where I
could see nothing of the boat or my companions, and whence, to reach
them, I had to walk across the head of the island. Excepting the dreaded
recrossing of the mud, I hardly remember how we made our way back;
but by one means and another I finally reached Charleston at nine
o'clock, about as disreputable-looking a medical man as ever was seen.
However, all this was soon forgotten, and, being now assured of the
presence of the spiders in their former haunts, on the 30th of August,
1865, I organized a new expedition, which was to proceed entirely by
water, and which consisted of a sail-boat and crew of picked volunteers.
Leaving Mt. Pleasant in the morning, we crossed the harbor, and were
soon lost in the meanderings of the creeks behind Morris Island. Lost is
appropriate, for, once in these creeks, you know nothing, you see and
hear nothing, and, if you change your course, must do so by mere guess.
But the most annoying thing is, after an apparent advance of a quarter
of a mile, to find yourself not twenty yards from your starting-point, so
tortuous are the windings of the creeks.
By dint of hard rowing (in the wrong direction, as we soon found), then
by walking across Morris Island to Light-House Inlet, and still harder
rowing from there to the wharf of Long Island, we succeeded in
securing sixty spiders; but now arose a furious storm of wind and rain,
which not only compelled our retreat, but drenched us to the skin, blew
us back faster than we could row, and threatened to overturn our boat if
we hoisted the sail; so slow was our progress, that it was eleven o'clock
at night before we reached Mt. Pleasant. Thus ended my last and only
successful raid upon Long Island.

It may seem that I have dwelt longer than was necessary upon the
circumstances attending the discovery of this spider and its silk. If so, it
is not merely because at that time both were new to myself and all to
whom I showed them, and everything concerning them was likely to be
impressed upon my mind, but also because I then hoped that the idea of
obtaining silk directly from a living insect might be found of practical
importance, as I still hope it may. The incidents illustrate, too, the
nature of the obstacles daily encountered and overcome by our troops;
for no one who has never seen or stepped into a Sea-Island marsh can
realize how difficult it was for our forces to obtain a foothold in the
vicinity of Charleston. This was appreciated by the old freedman whom
we left in the boat while crossing the mud. "No wonder," he said, "the
Yankees whipped the Rebels, if they will do such things for to catch
spiders."
The sixty spiders so obtained were kept for several weeks in the little
boxes in which they had been deposited when caught. Every day each
box was opened, the occupant examined, and its condition, if altered,
noted on the cover. They generally spun a few irregular lines on which
to hang, and so remained quiet except when the