DR. BATTIUS—THE BAT.
I now come to rather a singular pet. Every one—or rather every child—has a dog, or a cat, or rabbits, or thrushes; little birds in cages are dreadfully common, and so are parrots; so are jackdaws; and, as for ponies and donkeys, what country-house is without them.
But I think that many people have not had a tame bat. It is not generally a tempting-looking creature; and I should never have thought of taking any trouble to procure one with the intention of petting it.
Our bat put itself into my possession by coming or falling down the chimney of my bed-room.
The room was dark; and I heard a scratching and fluttering in the chimney for some time. Then I heard the flapping of wings about the room; and thought that a robin or a martin had perhaps fallen into the chimney and had been unable to make its way again to the top.
I got up, and was seeking a match to light my candle, when the little creature came against me, and I caught it with both hands spread over it.
I felt directly that it was not a bird; there is something so peculiarly soft and strange in the feel of a bat; and I was nearly throwing it down with a sort of disgust.
Second thoughts, which are generally best, came in time to prevent my hurting the poor little creature; and I lighted the candle, and took a good look at my prize.
It was about the size of a small mouse; it kept its wings closely folded, and I placed it in a drawer, and shut it up till morning, when I and my sister had a long inspection of my prize.
I do not know of what variety it was; for there are, I believe, a great many different kinds. He had not long ears; his eyes were very small indeed, though bright.
We had never handled a bat before, and were not soon weary of examining his curious blackish wings; the little hooks, where his fore-feet, apparently, should have been; his strangely-deformed hind feet; and his mouse-like body and fur.
We wrapped him up and shut him in a basket, and during the day, I caught a handful of flies, of all sizes, and put them into the basket.
When it grew dusk, we opened the basket, and he soon came out and fluttered about the room for a time; we found that he had eaten all the flies, but not the wings of the larger ones.
When he had been at liberty for some time, we easily caught him again, and shut him up; and when he became a little more used to me, I left him out all night, being careful to close the opening into the chimney; and he used to have the range of mine and the adjoining room during the night.
We tried him with a variety of food. I had fancied that bats ate leaves and fruit; but he never touched anything of that kind. He would eat meat, preferring raw to cooked; and would drink milk, sucking it up, more than lapping.
He evidently did not like the light; but sometimes would make flights about the room when candles were burning; and, occasionally, I took him about in my jacket pocket in the day-time. If I took him out to show him to any one in the broad day-light, he never unfolded his wings to fly, but remained quietly in my hand with his wings folded.
We had been reading a book in which one of the characters, a strange old man, was named Dr. Battius; so we called our bat after him; and I do think the little creature learnt to know me. He never fluttered or tried to get away from me; and would always let me take hold of him without manifesting any fear.
He went several long journeys in my pocket; once I had him with me in a lodging by the sea-side, and amused myself much with him. He would sit on the table in the evening, lap his milk at my supper-time, and would vary his exercise by crawling or progressing along the floor, darting about the room, or hanging himself up to something by his hooks, and letting his body swing about.
He cleaned himself carefully, used to rub his nose against the soft part of his wing, or rather his black skin, for it was not much like a wing, and would scratch and clean his body with his hind feet.
People used to say, "How can you keep such a repulsive sort of animal?"
But, in fact he was not a dirty creature; he spent as much time rubbing and scraping himself, as any cat would do; and he ate nothing dirty, raw beef and flies being his chief food, with a very little milk.
We had heard and read that bats have some extraordinary way of seeing in the total darkness, or else that their touch is so delicate, that they can feel when approaching any wall or hard thing; and it was so with Dr. Battius, excepting on one occasion—the night when I first caught him; then he struck against my chest; so that I secured him easily, by clasping both hands over him.
But I never after saw him strike against anything; he used to fly about my room at night, and I never heard the least tap against any object; he even would come inside my bed curtains, and fly to and fro; but I could not detect the slightest sound of touching them.
The black skin that formed his wings was so wonderfully soft to the touch, that perhaps he felt with that, when the wings were spread out.
I cannot imagine that his crushed-up little eyes could see in the dark; they appeared scarcely good enough to see at all in any light.
This poor little creature lived in my care for many months.
I went to visit some friends who were not fond of any animal in the house; and I knew that this dusky little creature would inspire disgust, if not terror, among some of the party. So, unwillingly, I left him at home.
But my sister being away too, the servant, perhaps gave him too much food, or he missed his exercise about the room. One morning he was found dead in his drawer.
I have no idea whether bats are long-lived animals; or whether they would, for any time, flourish in solitude. Had I kept the poor little doctor with me, I might have found out more about him.