SHOOTING BATS AND IGUANAS.--VISITING THE HOT SPRINGS.
There were two boats to-day instead of three, and the course was laid
for an island three or four miles away. On the way thither their host
intimated that they were to have a kind of sport they had never seen in
America, and perhaps had never heard of. It might be a disappointment,
as it did not require much skill, but in any event it would be a
novelty. "Wait till we get there," said he, "and then you will know what
it is.
"If we have time," he continued, "I will show you a very curious place
called the Lake of Socolme."
"Is it beyond this lake?" one of the boys asked, as he glanced around,
and concluded that the question of time was very doubtful.
"No, it is in this lake," was the reply, "or rather it is in an island
of the lake. Socolme is an island about three miles in circumference,
and is supposed to be the top of an extinct volcano with a lake or pond
in its crater. The island is two or three hundred feet high, and the
pond is in the centre of it, and at a higher elevation than the great
lake. The pond has been sounded and found to be three hundred feet in
depth, while there are not more than seventy-five feet of water in any
part of the lake.
"The curious thing about Socolme is the vast numbers of crocodiles that
inhabit it. They are so numerous, and so dangerous, that the Indians
will not go there alone, and it is with the greatest difficulty that we
can persuade them to accompany us when we make an excursion there.
Sometimes hundreds of these reptiles are visible, and they are of the
largest size; what it is that keeps them there I cannot say, but presume
they find something specially attractive in the depth of the water.
"The birds have found that the Indians do not molest them on Socolme,
and so they go there to lay their eggs. Every tree on the shores of the
little lake is white with guano, and the limbs are crowded with nests
which are filled with eggs and birds during the breeding season.
"On the shore opposite Socolme there are several springs of hot water,
and the place is generally known as 'Los Banos,' or 'The Baths.' There
are plenty of wild pigeons there, and any one who is fond of shooting
pigeons can have all the sport he wants.
"A few miles farther to the east is a sand-bank, where the turtles go to
lay their eggs; unfortunately it is not the season for them now, or I
would take you there. The turtles come up in the night to deposit their
eggs, and return to the water before sunrise, so that when the natives
want any of the turtles they must hunt them by moonlight; but the eggs
are a different matter, and when the Indians know where they are, they
can find them at their leisure."
Fred suggested that if the turtle covered his eggs over, it must require
considerable skill to find a nest.
[Illustration: INDIANS HUNTING TURTLE'S EGGS.]
"You are quite right," was the reply. "The Indians follow the tracks of
the turtles in the sand, but there are so many of them that it is no
easy matter. The turtle digs a trench in the sand about two feet deep
with his broad paws, and then deposits the eggs and covers them. He
smooths the sand over with his shell and goes away, and if he is favored
by a shower just after his departure, you might think he had concealed
his nest completely. But the Indian knows how to discover the deposit;
he takes a blunt stick and thrusts it into the sand, and wherever it
goes in easily he begins to dig with his hands. After a little practice
he becomes so expert that he never makes a mistake, but invariably comes
upon eggs. They have a thin but tough shell, and the yolk contains a
great deal of oil. The natives eat these eggs raw, but they are too rank
for the European stomach, though we use some of them in making omelets
and cakes. The Indians crush them in broad trays, and collect the oil
which soon rises to the top. Turtle oil is quite an article of
commerce."
Frank asked how many eggs were usually found in a nest.
"The number varies a good deal," was the response. "I have seen a
hundred and forty taken out of one nest, but usually there are not far
from a hundred. It is a curious spectacle to see a dozen or more natives
digging away at the sand, some lying at full length, some on their
knees, and others bearing baskets full of eggs to the boats tied up to
the bank."
Conversation on various topics consumed the time till the party reached
one of the islands, and proceeded to land. There were several eagles
flying in circles high above the boats, and keeping up a perpetual
screaming as if in protest at the coming of the visitors. The Doctor
"drew a bead" on one of them with his Remington rifle, and brought him
to the ground--or rather to the lake, where one of the natives paddled
out and secured the prize. He was a fine fellow, measuring nearly six
feet from tip to tip of his extended wings. Frank and Fred wished to try
their skill, and brought up the guns they had used the day before, but
the Doctor told them nothing but a rifle could have any effect on these
birds, owing to the height at which they were flying.
Two or three eagles were shot by the Doctor and his host; the boys each
tried to bring down one of the huge birds, but did not succeed, as they
had not practised with the rifle, and consequently were not expert in
using it. By-and-by the excitement of shooting eagles came to an end,
and the party started for the novel sport that had been promised.
A few hundred yards from the landing-place there was a clump of trees,
to which the attention of the boys was directed; Frank remarked that the
foliage was the darkest he had ever seen on a tree, and Fred suggested
that there must have been a shower of ink not long ago, or perhaps the
trees grew out of a bed of chimney-soot. Other reasons were given for
the blackness of the trees--some of them serious and others jocular--but
none were correct.
The Doctor raised his rifle and fired at one of the trees. The game fell
to the ground, and Frank ran forward to pick it up.
"Why, it's a bat!" he exclaimed, as he held the prize by an extended
wing, "and a large one too."
"Yes," answered the Doctor, "it belongs to the family of vampires; the
naturalists call it a _roussette_, and its genus is _pteropus_. Its
popular name is flying-fox, and the natives find it good eating, though
Europeans will not generally touch it. Its fur, you perceive, is soft,
and it is often used for the linings of gloves, but in a tropical
climate like this it is not of a good quality."
[Illustration: HOW A BAT SLEEPS.]
"But what are they doing here on this island?" Fred asked. "And look,
the trees are covered with them, all hanging down by their claws and
apparently asleep."
"Yes," said Mr. Segovia, "they are asleep, and you may shoot as many of
them as you like. What you supposed to be black leaves were in reality
bats, and they take the place of the foliage they have destroyed."
"But do they live here all the time?" inquired Frank. "If they do, I
should think they would kill the trees by depriving them of the power of
growing."
"No," was the reply, "they only stay here during the period of the
eastern monsoon. They sleep all day, and go out at night in search of
food, and with the rising of the sun, or before it, they are back
again. When the eastern monsoon stops, and the western one begins, the
bats leave these islands and go away to the east coast of Luzon, and
then the trees have a chance to grow. With the return of the eastern
monsoon we have the bats again, and then comes our sport in shooting
them."
The guns were made ready, and each of the party selected a tree for his
own shooting. They loaded and fired as fast as possible for half an hour
or more, and every shot brought down at least one bat. At the end of
that time the bats were thoroughly alarmed by the noise of the shooting,
and flew around in a dense crowd. More of them were killed while
circling in the air, till finally they went off in a body, and alighted
on a neighboring island where nobody cared to pursue them.
[Illustration: THE IGUANA.]
Then the sport changed to shooting iguanas, a species of lizard five or
six feet long, that lives among the rocks near the shore of the lake.
Several of these were killed; but, as there was no need of skill, our
friends were soon satisfied, and concluded not to slaughter any more.
When the bats and iguanas that had been shot were piled together at the
landing-place, one of the boys very naturally asked, "What will we do
with them?"
"As to that," said their host, "it is a question easily answered; we'll
give them to our native boatmen, who will be very glad to have such a
present. The flesh of both bat and iguana is delicate, but Europeans
have a prejudice against it, and so we do not put it on our tables as a
regular article of food. If you would like to try it we will have some
prepared for dinner, and if you can lay aside prejudice, I am sure you
will find it excellent."
The boys concluded they would not venture on an experiment, although
they frankly acknowledged that nothing but prejudice kept them from
doing so. "The bat," said Fred, "is what we may call a clean feeder, and
so is the iguana, if what I have read of their habits is correct; but
prejudice is against them, and we will let them alone."
"Yes," responded Frank, continuing on the topic, "none of us have any
prejudice against pork, yet the hog is the farthest possible from being
a model of neatness in his habits. We would not eat dog or cat, but
there is no more dainty animal in the world than a well-reared terrier
or house-tabby."
[Illustration: PAUL P. DE LA GIRONIERE.]
"On this point," said their host, "I can tell you a good story. Mr. La
Gironiere, who formerly owned Jala-jala, used to bring his guests over
here for the same sport you have been enjoying. One day he had in his
party a couple of Americans, and on the way back one of them said they
would like to try the flesh of the bat and the iguana. Thinking they
were in earnest, the host told his cook to make a curry of iguana, and a
ragout, or stew, of bat, and serve them for dinner. The cook did as he
was ordered, and the first dish on the table was the curry. Everybody
ate heartily, and pronounced the curry excellent; and then the host
ventured to remark, 'You see the flesh of the iguana is very delicate.'
"This was enough. Every plate was pushed aside, including that of the
American who had made the proposal, and not a mouthful more of curry
could any one eat. Some even fled from the table, and could not be
prevailed on to return until the strange dish had been removed, and the
order for the bat stew was countermanded. You see what prejudice is;
they all thought the curry delicious till they knew what it was made of,
and probably they would have said the same of the ragout."
The game was given to the Indians to do what they pleased with it, and
then the party started on a ramble over the island. Several birds were
shot on the farther shore, where there was quite a stretch of sand, and
Doctor Bronson managed to bring down another eagle. Then they went back
to the landing-place and breakfasted, and after breakfast it was
proposed to visit the hot baths that have been previously mentioned. Of
course the proposal was accepted, and Socolme with its numerous
crocodiles was left to itself.
The breeze was favorable, and in due time the hot baths were reached.
Not far from the baths was an Indian village, and our friends paid it a
visit; while they were strolling about the place Frank made a discovery,
and quickly called the attention of the Doctor and Fred.
[Illustration: THE GIRL WITH THE LONG HAIR.]
A native girl was sitting in a hammock, with one foot hanging over the
side; she eyed the strangers with some curiosity, but did not show half
as much as they did in looking at her. The particular object of their
attention was her hair, which hung to the ground on each side of the
hammock, and would doubtless have reached to her feet if she had stood
erect. The hair was jet black, and apparently fine; though of this
latter condition the youths could not speak positively.
The Doctor told the boys that the Indians of the Philippines were famous
for fine heads of hair, and they are naturally proud of them. He said
there was a story, of very doubtful veracity, that there is a tribe of
Indians in one of the islands of the group that always choose their
queen by the length of her hair. When a queen dies every woman in the
tribe falls to measuring her hair; and the one with the longest
measurement, even though it be only a hair-breadth greater than that of
any other, is proclaimed queen.
"Perhaps, then," said one of the boys, "this girl here is endeavoring to
qualify herself to be queen one of these days, and wear the royal crown.
It is not likely that any one else can boast of longer hair than she
has."
When their curiosity was satisfied they moved on, and a short distance
farther came to where a woman was weaving cloth. It was the most
primitive loom the boys had ever seen, and they stopped for several
minutes to look at it. The Doctor told them that the material which she
was weaving was abaca, or vegetable silk; and, while they were examining
the loom, he explained how the fibre was grown and prepared.
"The abaca," he said, "is grown on the mountain slopes, and thrives best
in a volcanic soil. It belongs to the banana family, and produces an
abundance of seed; but the seed is not used for planting, owing to the
long time required for it to grow up to be useful. The plants are
propagated from cuttings taken from the base of the old trunk and set in
the earth, where they soon take root and begin to grow. For the first
two years much attention is needed to keep down the weeds which threaten
to choke the plants; but by the third year the plant puts out its own
broad leaves, and is able to take care of itself with an occasional
slight weeding.
"The vegetable silk is largely exported to Europe and America under the
name of Manilla hemp; but it is only the coarser quality that goes to
market. The finer kinds are woven by the natives, as you now see, and
some of the cloth that they produce is as delicate as cambric or muslin.
It is surprising what these people are able to accomplish with their
rude implements and machinery.
"No less than twelve varieties of abaca are cultivated; and it has been
found that while it grows luxuriantly in some localities, it will not
live at all in others. It takes from three to four years for the plant
to produce fibre of a proper quality; at first only one stalk is cut
from each bush, but later on the new branches grow so fast that they can
be cut every eight or ten weeks. A good plantation will yield a ton and
a half to the acre, and sometimes as high as two tons have been
gathered.
"Now, let us look at the loom where the weaving is going on. Perhaps
Frank had better take down a description of it."
[Illustration: A PRIMITIVE LOOM IN THE PHILIPPINE ISLANDS.]
Frank brought out his note-book and wrote as follows, partly from his
own observation, and partly from the dictation of Doctor Bronson and
Fred:
"The upper end consists of a piece of bamboo fastened between two posts,
and the end of the web is tied to it. The weaver sits on the ground, and
holds the lower end of the web by means of a wooden bow that passes
across her back; she places her feet against a couple of pegs set in the
ground, and by leaning backward draws the web out straight. The shuttle
consists of a netting-needle a little longer than the width of the web,
and, after the thread has been passed through the web, it is driven to
its place with a wooden comb. A lath of hard wood serves as a trestle,
and is turned on its edge after every stroke.
"With this simple apparatus many thousand yards of cloth are woven in
the Philippine Islands every year; it is the cloth almost universally
worn by the natives, and it is wonderful to what a degree of fineness it
is brought when we remember the rudeness of the loom."
When they had satisfied their curiosity concerning the weaving process
they continued their walk, and soon found themselves outside the
village, and in the midst of a banana-field. It was Fred's turn now to
write something, and accordingly he set down a brief description of the
banana plant as he saw it in the Philippine Islands:
[Illustration: THE BANANA.]
"The trunk of the banana plant is formed of leaves placed one above
another, and cannot properly be called a tree, as it does not contain
any woody fibre. It rises from eight to twelve feet high, and spreads
out near the top into leaves five or six feet long. The flower rises
from the middle of these leaves, and also the spike that holds the
fruit; the latter is called the 'regime,' and sometimes has a hundred or
more bananas clinging to it.
"Before the fruit is ripe the spike is cut, and soon becomes fit for
use. The part of the plant which is in the earth is a sort of large
root, and from it there will be successively thirty or more shoots, each
one containing its bunch of fruit. As the shoots are of different ages,
a single plant contains fruit in all conditions of growth, some ripening
while other bunches are just beginning to form. Consequently, every two
or three weeks throughout the year a bunch may be cut, and it does not
require a very large field to support a man. A good many people eat
little else than rice and bananas, and if a man is very poor, he can get
along with wild bananas that he gathers in the forest, though he is
liable to find it monotonous living."