Some Funny Cobwebs

            Everyland is an interesting magazine, written as a missionary publication for boys and girls, it actually contains some interesting stories from all over the world.

            This story is very similar to Cobs and Cobwebs published in June 1899 Popular Science magazine. Some of the graphics may be the same, also.

Some Funny Cobwebs

By A. Hyatt Verrill

From Everyland magazine and the column ‘Everyland Nature Club’, Dec. 1916. Digitized by Doug Frizzle Jan. 2012.

OF course you have all seen cobwebs and every reader of Everyland knows they are built by spiders, but did you ever wonder how the spiders made their webs or have you ever noticed how many different kinds of webs there are?

If you should examine a spider under a magnifying glass or a microscope, you would find a number of little projections on the under side of its body. These are the "spinnerets" with which the spider spins its web, and a very remarkable process it is. Within the spider's body the silk is in the form of a liquid and each of the tiny spinnerets is a tube through which the liquid silk flows, and just as soon as it reaches the air it hardens and the several streams from the spinnerets run together to form a single thread of finest silk. If the spider wishes a very fine thread he places his spinnerets close together, while, if he wishes a thick thread, or a broad band of silk, he spreads his spinnerets wide apart.

Still more wonderful is the fact that the spider can spin hard, dry silk or soft, sticky silk at will and each size of thread and each kind of silk is used for some special purpose. The dry, hard threads are always used when a spider wishes to drop from one place to another, for making silk bridges and for making the first part or framework of the webs. The elastic, sticky threads are used for catching the spider's prey and for wrapping around and around the fly or other insect after it is captured.

You may often find spiders' webs with both kinds of silk used in them, for spiders plan and build their webs very carefully and use the sort of silk best suited to every purpose, and each kind of spider always builds the same sort of a web. Thus, the big wheellike, nets which you find among bushes and trees, are built by certain kinds of spiders, and the flat carpet-like webs which glisten like silver in the grass, are made by very different kinds of spiders, and as there are many thousands of species of spiders and every one builds a different sort of web, you can understand what a great variety of webs there are, and naturalists who study spiders can tell just what kind of a spider built a certain web by looking at it.

Some of these webs are really very wonderful, but the most wonderful of the common webs is one built by a little spider that lives among evergreen trees, and if you look carefully you can usually find these webs stretched between the twigs. At first sight you will think them very simple and not at all interesting, as they are just four or five straight threads in the form of a triangle crossed by some coarser threads and fastened by a single thread at one end. But if you watch carefully you will soon learn what a very clever and ingenious sort of a spider built the web and how remarkable it is.

When the little spider is hungry,— and spiders are always hungry,—he stations himself upon the single thread and gathers up the slack between his feet and draws the whole web very tight. Presently along comes a buzzing fly and bumps into the net, and instantly, the spider releases the loose silk and the net springs forward and snares the fly.

Again and again, the spider draws up the web and snaps it back until his prey is hopelessly entangled and the little lasso-thrower can devour the fly at leisure.

Strange as it seems that a spider should capture his prey with a lasso, it is even funnier to think of spiders building balloons and flying, but nevertheless, spiders do build balloons and travel for hundreds of miles through the air.

When a spider aeronaut wishes to fly he climbs to the highest spot he can find, such as a fence post, a bush, or even a tall blade of grass, and holding securely with his front feet, he raises his body in the air and spins out yard after yard of loose thread. When enough silk has been spun to lift the spider's weight, he releases his hold on the post or bush and goes sailing off.

Perhaps you may not think this simple breeze-borne silk should be called a balloon, but the spider aeronaut can regulate his speed, or the distance he travels far better than can human balloonists. If the wind increases, he merely gathers in some loose thread, while, if the wind falls, he spins out more, and if he wishes to ascend or to land he gathers in or spins out thread to suit his needs.

These flying spiders are not one special kind, but are the young of many common spiders, and if you look on fences and bushes on sunny autumn days you will often find dozens of the threads streaming up into the air from little spiders who are getting ready for a flight.

Sometimes these spider balloonists travel long distances, and they have been seen floating safely through the air hundreds of miles out at sea.

Most of our spiders are very small, which is very fortunate for us, for spiders are among the most ferocious and bloodthirsty of creatures.

In the tropics they grow to quite large size, and the big hairy tarantulas and mygales are so strong and powerful that they feed upon birds, pouncing on them and piercing them with their great pointed jaws. If such spiders were as large as wolves, we can imagine what enemies they would be to human beings!

Of all interesting spiders' nests, perhaps the most interesting is the one built by a cousin of the big tarantulas and which is known as the trap-door spider. These fellows live in sandy places in the Western United States and make a burrow in the ground which they line with silk. Then at the top they build a close-fitting door which is covered with earth, so that when it is shut you would never guess it was there. One kind of trap-door spider is not satisfied with a single door to his home, but in addition, burrows one or more side tunnels, each of which is fitted with a trapdoor where it opens into the main hole. When an enemy pursues this spider he darts into his hole and closes the door after him, holding it tightly closed with his feet, which grasp little silken handles made for the purpose. Then, if his enemy succeeds in forcing the door, the spider hurries into a side room and closes that door behind him and holds it shut. If his enemy still tries to force a way into this new retreat, the spider hurries to the end of the chamber, digs rapidly through the thin layer of earth above, and is some distance away while his pursuer is still hunting about in the dark hole from which the spider has fled.

Cobs and Cobwebs

COBS AND COBWEBS

A. Hyatt Verrill

Popular Science; Jun 1, 1899; researched by Alan Schenker, digitized by Doug Frizzle, October 2011.

Although we have all seen cobwebs and have ruthlessly destroyed them, yet few of us stop to consider how the little owners spin them. We know they are built of silk and serve as fly traps and houses for their makers, but little do we realize the amount of time, labor and ingenuity expended upon these troublesome structures. The variety in spiders' webs is almost endless, but be they the dust-catching webs of the house spiders or the dew-sparkling ones of their woodland cousins, the silk in every case is spun in the same manner.

If you look upon the lower side of a spider's body you will see a little group of protuberances, usually 6 in number. These are the "spinnerets," special organs for forming the dainty silken threads. Opening from the end of each "spinneret" are a large number (sometimes as many as 200) fine tubes. The silk, which, within the spider's body is in liquid state, issues from these tiny openings, and as it reaches the air, hardens and combines to form a single strand. When the spider wishes to spin a fine line, he places the "spinnerets" close together, while if he requires a broad band, or is in a hurry to secure some insect tangled in the web, he spreads his "spinnerets" apart, thus forming a delicate silken ribbon.

Not only can spiders regulate the size of their thread, but many species can produce elastic, sticky silk, or dry, inelastic silk, at will. These two kinds of thread are used for very different purposes, although both maybe utilized in the construction of the same web. The dry threads are always used when the spider wishes to drop from one place to another, for silken bridges from point to point, and for the stays and framework to the web, while the sticky threads are those which catch the spiders' prey, their elasticity preventing the captive's struggles from breaking them and at the same time serving to entangle him the more.

If you have ever strolled through the woods on an autumn day, you must surely have noticed the numerous round or semi-round webs spread among the bushes and trees. These are the snares of the "orb weavers" or "geometrical spiders," mostly large, fat, brightly colored or curiously shaped fellows, whose webs, when once we begin to study their structure, fill us with admiration for the builder. When one of these gaudy creatures wishes to build a web he first spins several lines extending irregularly from one twig to another where he wishes the finished web to be. These answer for a staging on which the builder can readily run back and forth while stretching the other threads. After the staging is done our busy friend fastens a thread to some twig, or to one of the lines already made, and walks along spinning as he goes, meanwhile with one of his hind feet carefully holding the new thread from becoming tangled with the object over which he is traveling. This new thread he carries around the staging until it crosses the point, where the centre of the finished web will be, then he pulls in the slack and fastening the line securely runs nimbly to the centre of the web. Here he makes fast another thread and spinning and guiding as he goes, walks back to the outer framework and secures it a short distance from the first thread. This operation is repeated until all the radiating lines are spun and in place. Now the little worker goes to the point where these spoke-like lines cross and fastening a thread, walks round and round, sticking the new thread to each spoke as he crosses it. In this way he forms a regular spiral, each turn of which is as far from the next as the spider can reach.

Now the tiny architect has the most important part of his work to perform, for so far he has merely made a frame, or support, of dry, inelastic thread. Commencing at the outer end of the completed spiral he fastens an elastic, sticky thread and travelling around his web forms another spiral. The turns of this sticky spiral are close together, and as the spider passes along he destroys the first, or dry spiral, leaving little fragments hanging to the radial lines. At last the centre of the web is reached, the beautiful geometrical web completed, and, hiding among the leaves at one side of the net or hanging head downwards from its centre, the maker patiently awaits his prey. As he hangs there he grasps several of the radiating lines with his feet in order to detect the slightest jar caused by an insect fouling the web.

One of the most wonderful of spiders' webs is that of a small, round-bodied little chap, in general appearance closely resembling some of his big geometrical cousins. These nets, which can almost always be found stretched among the branches and twigs of evergreen trees, at first sight seem simple and uninteresting affairs. They are triangular in form, composed of four radiating lines crossed by a number of coarse double threads and fastened to some convenient twig by a stout, strong thread extending from the apex of the triangle. Upon this line the owner rests, and, although at first there seems nothing strange or peculiar about his actions, if you will look carefully you may notice that the spider holds some loose thread between his legs, while his fore feet pull the rest of the web taut.

Now watch closely, and perchance you may be fortunate enough to see this little lasso-thrower catch his prey. Presently a buzzing fly, or blood thirsty mosquito, comes flying along and bumps against the web. Instantly the spider loosens the hold of his fore-feet and the web springs forward, entangling the unfortunate intruder. Then the spider draws the web tight and once more snaps it forward, repeating the operation again and again until his victim is hopelessly tangled up and the ingenious little assassin can suck its blood at leisure.

But wonderful as is this cleverly constructed trap, or lasso, more remarkable yet is the fact that many of our spiders utilize their thread for balloons, and by its aid, travel through the air for long distances, sometimes hundreds of miles. When the little aeronaut wishes to make an ascension, he climbs to the highest spot he can find, as a fence post, low bush or even the tip of a blade of grass, and holdfast by his fore-feet, stretches up his body and rapidly spins out a thread. The free end of this line is carried up and away by the breeze, until at last, sufficient silk having been spun to lift the spider's weight, he lets go his hold and gaily sails away.

Perhaps you think this simple, breeze-borne thread should not be dignified by the name of "balloon," but nevertheless the little spider can regulate his speed even better than human balloonists. If the breeze freshens he has but to gather in some of the loose silk, while if it grows calm and he shows signs of falling earthward, he can spin out yard after yard of the floating gossamer. These flying spiders are very common, and on warm autumn days we may often see hundreds of their threads streaming upward from fences, grass and bushes or blowing about in the air. Borne on the wings of a stiff September wind, these tiny adventurers travel far and swiftly and have even been seen floating safely through the air far out to sea.

Perhaps no spiders have been written and talked about as much as the Tarantulas, but although these creatures are big and ugly they are not by any means as large or formidable as their bird-eating cousins, the Mygales of Central and South America. Neither the Mygales or Tarantulas, however, are really as dangerous as many persons suppose, for although their large and sharp jaws can inflict deep and painful wounds, it is seldom that serious results follow the bites, and it is very doubtful if they ever prove fatal to human beings. I have several times been bitten by Mygales and never suffered any inconvenience, save a somewhat inflamed hand or arm.

Closely related to these big, hairy creatures are the "trap-door spiders," and although the nest of the common western species, with its neatly fitting and silken-hinged door, is wonderful enough to invariably excite interest in the beholder, yet other species show a foresight and ingenuity almost beyond belief. These fellows are not content with a single trapdoor to their houses, but for greater safety dig one or more side tunnels, also provided with doors opening into the main burrow. These underground nests serve as a resting place for their owners as well as a safe retreat into which they dart when pursued by an enemy. If their pursuer succeeds in opening the first door, the spider retreats to one of the side chambers, shuts the door behind him, and if he thinks himself still in danger, digs his way to the surface of the ground some distance away.

Although these trap-door spiders and their nests are considered as curiosities, we really have trap-door spiders in the East which make silk lined burrows in exactly the same manner as their western cousins. These spiders belong to the genus Lycosa, and look much like small tarantulas, with the exception of the jaws, which move sideways instead of up and down. The Lycosas dig their holes in open, sandy places and usually conceal the entrance by small stones, twigs, or bits of grass, and one species even builds a little watch-tower of straws above the doorway to his subterranean home.