Web making spiders—Dangerous wooings—An unkind
lady-love—Lizard-eating spiders—Enlightened curiosity—Rival
entomologists—Instinct of resignation—A worm-eating
spider—Alternative explanation—The dangers of
patriotism—Trap-door spiders—Web-flying spiders—Spiders that
nearly fly—Spider navigators—The raft and the diving-bell.
NONE of the spiders mentioned in the last chapter are web-makers. These
latter are not dancers; that is to say, the males do not dance before
the females when they wish to recommend themselves as husbands. Instead,
they pull at the strands of the web, whilst stationed at its
circumference, in a manner which has a distinct meaning for the female,
who sits in the centre, and who replies by other twitches. These may be
either of an encouraging or repellent nature, and it is only in the
former case that the lover ventures to approach. This, however, he must
do with extreme caution, and prepared at any moment to drop and hang
suspended by a thread should the object of his attentions, who greatly
exceeds him in size, change her mind or conceive some cause of
displeasure against him. Should he not be sufficiently quick on such
occasions, he is liable to be spun up between the long legs of his
lady-love as though he were a fly, and disposed of accordingly. This was
observed in 1798 by Raymond Maria de Termayer, who remarks upon it:
“Perhaps overpowering hunger compelled her to do it, but the act was
very ferocious.”
The most curious thing in these _webepathic_ courtships, as one may call
them, is that the female spider seems to know the particular jerk or
twitch of any strand of the web which is made by a male, and to
distinguish it, perfectly, from the vibrations set in motion by a fly or
other insect that enters it, for upon these occasions, though her back
may be turned towards her admirer, she does not trouble to look round,
whereas in the latter case she would not only do so, but come rushing
down to secure her victim—if she were hungry, perhaps it should be
added. On the other hand, as has been already mentioned, the male can
interpret the wishes of the female from the movement she imparts to the
thread, and regulates his conduct accordingly. Webepathy, therefore,
does not seem a name ill-chosen to describe this system of
intercommunication of ideas.
The spider mentioned above as devouring her lover was the common garden
or geometric one, as it is sometimes called, which in England is the
largest example of a web-spinner. In other parts of the world, however,
web-spinning spiders attain to a much larger size, and their webs, of
course, are in proportion. The largest, perhaps, are found in
Madagascar, and the gigantic fabrics which many of these weave are
curiously utilised by smaller spiders of a parasitic disposition, who
spin their own little webs between the thick strands of those of their
hosts. Here they live in perfect amity with the latter, in whose
presence they find a protection against the attacks of small birds—for
these, it would seem, stand in awe of these huge spiders, in whose toils
they are sometimes accidentally caught, and by whom they are then
devoured. So, at least, Vinson, the historian of the spiders of
Madagascar, would seem to imply, if he does not actually make the
statement, of which I will not be quite sure.[136] That the great
_Mygale_ of South America eats birds is now an established fact, Bates
having given an account of it in his well-known work, _The Naturalist on
the River Amazon_.[137] In this case also the birds—for there were two
of them—were caught in a web, but it was not a geometric one, in which
the spider sat, but a much denser and more closely woven fabric
stretched across a crevice, or irregularity, in the trunk of a tree, the
spider—which was of much larger size than the largest _Epeira_—keeping
watch behind it in the recess.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: A BIRD-CATCHING SPIDER’S WEB.]
This enormous Madagascar spider spins webs so strong that
birds are caught and held in them. In one of the large
meshes will be seen a small parasitic spider’s web for
catching flies and other insects. The smaller spider is not
only permitted to do this, but is protected by its host from
the attacks of the smaller birds.
Other spiders—as doubtless the _Mygale_ if he can get them—will eat
lizards, as the following account by Mr. Frederick Pollock will show:
“Having procured from the Deserta Grande some fine specimens of this
large and handsome spider (_Lycosa_—a kind of tarantula) in the early
part of this year, and having provided suitable cages with glass lids
for them, I was anxious to ascertain how large an animal the largest
spider would take; and for this purpose I obtained some lizards about
three inches long, including the tail. Three of these lizards were
killed and devoured by one spider during the time I kept it. They were
eaten bones and head and claws and all, the only remnant of the feast
being a small ball about a quarter of an inch in diameter, which was
cast aside at the bottom of the cage.”[138] But why were not some larger
lizards tried, since there was no difficulty about three inches? Every
inch would have increased the fun—I mean have added to the scientific
interest. But perhaps there were none larger.
Mr. Pollock goes on to say that “the islands of Madeira, Porto Santo,
and Deserta Grande all lie within an area about fifty miles across. They
have each its own peculiar large _Lycosa_, no two being alike; and it is
a very remarkable fact that these _Lycosæ_ vary in size inversely with
the magnitude of the island on which they are found—Madeira, the largest
island, having the smallest _Lycosa_, and Deserta Grande, the smallest
island, having by far the largest spider. The mode of defence of all
these varieties of _Lycosæ_ is precisely the same. They elevate the
thorax, raise the first pair of legs high up, and opening wide asunder
their falces, strike at and seize any object, such as the end of a
pencil” (or the tail of a lizard) “in a most formidable manner.”[138]
There is another lizard-eating spider, or at least a spider that will
eat lizards when formally introduced to them, and that in a very
scientifically interesting manner, the lizard showing such a lively
sense of its situation, and the jaws of the spider working in a way
which is very curious. These jaws, it appears, are double, also
“cheliform,” “denticulate,” and several other things, from which I
gather that there are two pairs, each pair working something like the
claws of a crab, but with a sawing action, adapted to their toothed
surface. By an extremely beautiful adjustment, when the spider in
question seizes its prey, one pair of jaws holds on to it, whilst the
other saws into it, and then the pair which has been sawing, holds, and
the pair which has been holding, saws, and so on alternately, a
division, and yet, at the same time, a combination of labour.
“Like to a double cherry, seeming parted,
But yet an union in partition.”
The efficacy of the arrangement was well tested by an Anglo-Indian
scientist upon a lizard three inches long, _exclusive_ this time of the
tail. “The spider sprang upon it, and made a seizure immediately behind
the shoulder. The poor lizard struggled violently at first, rolling over
and over in its agony, but the spider kept firm hold, and gradually
sawed away with its double jaws into the very entrails of its
victim.”[139] There was an interesting variation between this case and
the last, where, it will be remembered, the lizards were eaten “bones
and head and claws and all,” whereas here “the only parts _uneaten_ were
the jaws and part of the skin.” This lizard, however, was “at least five
inches long from nose to extremity of tail”; but then, again, the spider
must have been larger too, though clearly its meal was something in the
nature of a feat, since after it “it remained gorged and motionless for
about a fortnight, being much swollen and distended.”[139] There is no
mention of this in the other case, which would seem to imply that the
result was different. If so, we have here a fact of great interest—what
fact, scientifically elicited, is not?—but in order to establish it upon
a really firm basis, further experiments should be made, and, once more,
as the limit of size has evidently not yet been reached, I would
recommend a lizard of six inches long.
This spider, however, now I come to remember, is not really one, but a
_solpugid_, and a _solpugid_ is a creature so like a spider that it used
to be thought one some years ago, but now belongs, not only to a family,
but to an order of its own, which comes somewhere between the scorpions
and the true spiders. They are large creatures, and their bite is very
severe, though it does not appear to be poisonous. Some of the species
are nocturnal, as is the case with the one above mentioned, which was
christened _Galeodes vorax_ by its discoverer, Captain Hutton, if he
indeed discovered it. Captain Hutton, being a great entomologist—to
attain which title one has only to put pins through insects—used to lay
a sheet on the ground at night, and stand a lantern upon it. Numerous
insects were attracted to the light, and this brought _Galeodes_—who is
a great entomologist too, though without the pins—upon the _tapis_ or
_draps_.[139]
Often there would be fights between two rivals, and of these, or,
rather, of the general fighting, and one may also say yielding, habits
of the species, Captain Hutton gives the following somewhat curious
account. “They plant their true feet” (for these _Galeodes_ have a pair
which look exactly like feet, but are really their palpi) “firmly on the
ground, the body at the same time being elevated and the two pairs of
palpi held out in front, to ward off the attack. In this attitude they
advance and retire, according as either gains a slight advantage,
endeavouring to throw each other to one side, so as to expose some
vulnerable part or form an opening for attack; and when this is once
effected the fortunate wrestler instantly takes advantage of it, and
rushing in, seizes his adversary behind the thorax, and the combat is
ended, the vanquished victim yielding himself, without further struggle,
to his inevitable fate.” Similarly, “if, in their efforts to get away,
they are brought into contact, the one instantly seizes the other and
devours him, the victim making no struggle whatever; but if they meet
face to face they both enter into a wrestling match for life or death.”
This habit of yielding as soon as there is no more use in struggling
seems a very strange one, since it is opposed to the primary instinct of
self-preservation, and it is not easy to see how the species can benefit
by certain individuals dying in a passive manner, unless, indeed, by
refusing to do so they might injure the victor, who, by dying
afterwards, would add to the tribal mortality. If this be really the
explanation, we are reminded of Huber’s statement as to two queen bees,
when each has it in its power to sting the other, being seized with a
sort of horror, under the influence of which they separate, thus
avoiding the catastrophe of leaving the hive queenless.
Though, as we have seen, there are some spiders which eat birds, and
others which eat lizards, yet both these interesting things take place
abroad. Here, however, in England, it would seem that we have a spider
which eats worms, catching them at the end of a long woven bag which
descends into the earth, and into which the worm somehow manages to get.
How it does so, however, is not at all clear, since the bag, which is
sometimes a foot long, is described as having no opening at either end,
the spider living enclosed in it, apparently a permanent prisoner. Still
a sac like this would seem as difficult of entry for flies as for worms,
and the spider, which is three-quarters of an inch in length, and armed
with very large mandibles, or falces—to use the approved word—must, it
is plain, live on something. As a matter of fact, it was living on a
worm when found by Mr. Brown, who gives the following account of the
matter. “On drawing out one of the sacs,” he says, “I observed a worm at
the lower end, partially within the sac and partially outside, and it
was evident that the spider had been eating a considerable portion of
its anterior extremity.” One would have thought that a careful
examination of the way in which the worm had got into the sac would have
thrown light on the problem, but of this we hear nothing more.
When taken out of the ground the sac was limp and flaccid, but
afterwards the spider inflated it, and it was then seen to have some
minute valves—“openings,” that is to say, “protected or covered by a
little valve or door.” They were not, however, to be detected in every
nest—possibly on account of their very small size. That the object of
these valvular openings is to admit air seems obvious, for spiders
breathe through lungs and require a good supply of oxygen. It was now
concluded, both by Mr. Brown and Mr. Newman—a well-known
entomologist—that this particular spider lived on worms and resided
permanently in a long subterranean sac or bag, which it had the power of
inflating with air. A different view, however, was propounded by Mr.
Meade—an authority on spiders—who suggested that the worm had only got
into the sac by accident, and that the spider, like other subterranean
nest-makers, probably came out at night and fed abroad, returning to
rest at home during the daytime. To do this it would, indeed, have to
unweave one end of its sac—probably the upper one—and then do it up
again, but there was no reason, in Mr. Meade’s opinion, why it should
not act in this way. To me, however, it seems unlikely that the minute
valves, made with such care, should be destroyed in this manner and made
afresh every day; and moreover, when Mr. Brown looked again at the sac,
in order to test this theory, he could find no evidence of its having
been dealt with in this Penelopean manner. There were no traces of fresh
silk. The evidence, therefore, seems to be more in favour of _Attipus
sulzeri_—for that is its name—being a genuine worm-eating spider. If so,
it is worthy of all respect as a curiously aberrant form.[140]
These spiders are of a deep brown colour, with a very soft abdomen and a
generally half-baked appearance, but with hard, black, shining
mandibles. There was only a single individual—evidently the female—in
the sacs taken by Mr. Brown, but I myself was the finder of one such
sac—for I feel sure it must have been the same—in the New Forest, and in
this a pair were amicably settled, one being about twice the size of the
other. This, if I mistake not, was in May, but I also remember, or seem
to, that the bag was quite open at one end. Thus, then, stand the facts.
Upon them I think we are justified in believing that there is a
worm-eating spider in England, but of course it would be a very high
honour for any country to have such a creature, so that there is a
danger of letting one’s patriotic feelings run away with one.
In these sac-making spiders we see, perhaps, the ancestors of, or rather
travellers towards, those which crown a silk-lined perpendicular tunnel
with a skilfully made trap-door. The latter is furnished with a hinge,
and should it be discovered, the spider, seizing it from within,
endeavours with might and main to prevent its being raised. As is well
known, the upper surface of these trap-doors, or, as we may call them,
lids, are covered by the spider with such materials—leaves, grass, moss,
etc.—as surround the site of its nest, so that when shut down they are
indistinguishable from the general surface of the ground.
Another use to which the webs of spiders are put is that of a parachute,
on which the little creature—for small species alone may enjoy this
luxury—sails delicately through the air. This, however is not the
nearest approach made by any of the tribe to actual flight, though in
practice it almost surpasses that power, even as possessed by many
winged insects, who do indeed cleave the air, but cannot ride upon it in
a filmy chariot, twinkling in the rays of the sun. Still there is one
spider that, though it has not yet achieved wings, is in process of
developing them. This little semi-Ariel—but the subject will be best
done justice to in the glowing language of the Rev. O. P. Cambridge:
“Adult male, length rather above two lines. The abdomen is of an
elongated oval form, and rather flattened; its upper side is furnished
with an epidermis, which is continued, laterally, on either side to an
extent considerably exceeding the width of the abdomen, and of a
semi-oval or elliptical form; the outer portion of this epidermis, on
either side, is capable of being depressed and folded round the abdomen,
or elevated and expanded to its full width, after the manner of wings.
Mr. H. H. B. Bradley, of Sydney, New South Wales, to whom I am indebted
for examples of this exceedingly interesting and remarkable spider,
tells me that he has observed them elevating and depressing the flaps,
and also actually using them as wings or supporters to sustain the
length of their leaps. That this, as with an analogous appendage in the
flying squirrel, should be intended for such sustentation one could have
but little doubt, after examining it even in the preserved specimens.
The three examples were all found on one spot near Sydney, in the month
of October, running and jumping on low plants and flowers.”[141]
It is delightful to think of a little delicate spider-body like this,
rising gracefully from the petal of one flower, expanding its thin,
filmy fringes, and descending in a long slanting line through the air,
like a flying squirrel or a galeopithecus, onto the petal of another.
Even were its appearance no more than elegant, this would be a most
pleasing sight. But it is much more than this. Various hues meet in its
diminutive body, and so harmonious and pleasing is the general effect
produced by them that the first captor of so much loveliness was
enraptured as he gazed on his prize, whilst even Mr. Cambridge, with
only dried specimens to fire his imagination, yet cannot choose but
exclaim: “It is difficult to describe adequately the great beauty of the
colouring of this spider.”[141]
Spiders, then, either through gossamer or their own structural
modification, seem engaged in the conquest of the air. There remains but
the water, and this element also they have partly subdued. There are
raft-spiders and diving-bell spiders. The first, having woven a few
dried leaves, stalks, grasses, etc., launches out as courageously from
the shore as the first navigator, whose heart, according to Horace, was
thrice bound in brass, but who probably was timid and cautious. Our
spider, however, has no fears, nor need it to have any, since no sort of
capsizal can affect a structure which answers its purpose as well one
side up as another; whilst even if it were to sink—though that hardly
lies in its nature—there is always the water to run on. The raft, in
fact, is only like the nest or web ashore—a place to have a comfortable
meal in. The prey—some aquatic insect—is caught generally on the surface
of the stream, and the spider, after each successful raid, skims back
with her booty to the little self-guiding boat which it has temporarily
left. There, when no longer hungry, she sits and scuds about, careless
and pleasure-loving, like another little Phædria in her “flitt barck”
over the waters of the Idle Lake.[142]
“Thus,” says Büchner, “everywhere in nature are battle, craft, and
ingenuity, all following the merciless law of egoism, in order to
maintain their own lives and to destroy those of others.” In man,
indeed, there is some counterpoise to all this in the mind and _façon de
parler_; but the lower animals do not think so much, and, having no
proper language, cannot even talk altruistically.
Lastly, we have the water-spider, whose little spun nest, against the
submerged stem of some aquatic plant, is open at the bottom like a
diving-bell, and filled with air which its owner carries down from the
surface in successive bubbles, each one looking “like a globe of
quicksilver.” To collect them she swims on her back, and, in some
manner, entangles them amongst the numerous hairs with which her abdomen
is covered, where they cling safely all through the journey,
“Proud of that delicate lodgment.”
There may be other bubbles as pretty, perhaps, but few, by bursting, do
such good to those who have cherished them. In winter, it would seem,
the spider closes the entrance to the diving-bell, and sleeps, dry and
soft, in a well-aired bed, in spite of the damp situation.
-----
Footnote 136:
Vinson, Aranéides des Iles de la Réunion, Maurice, et Madagascar, pp.
268, 269.
Footnote 137:
Bates, The Naturalist on the River Amazon (1864), p. 96.
Footnote 138:
Annals and Magazine of Natural History, vol. x. (1872), pp. 273, 274.
Footnote 139:
Captain Thomas Hutton, “Observations on the Habits of a Large Species
of _Galeodes_,” Journal of the Asiatic Society. Reprinted in Annals
and Magazine of Natural History, August, 1873, No. 75.
Footnote 140:
The above facts are quite reliable, but having made my notes, I forgot
to mention their source—one of the established entomological
organs—and so cannot now refer to it.
Footnote 141:
Annals and Magazine of Natural History, September, 1874.
Footnote 142:
The Faerie Queene, book 2, canto vi.
------------------------------------------------------------------------