The sound bears some resemblance to that produced by a slate-pencil when held perpendicularly in writing on the slate, only the bat’s cry is several octaves more acute. I never but once heard the sound correctly imitated, and that was done by a graceless urchin, during a long sermon one Sunday morning. He had contrived to arrange two keys in such a manner that, when grated over each other, they produced a squeaking sound that exactly resembled the cry uttered by the bat. So, by judicious management of his keys, he kept the congregation on the look-out for the bat, and beguiled the time much to his satisfaction.
Of so piercing and peculiar a nature is the cry, that it gives no clue to the position or distance of the creature that utters it, and it seems to proceed indiscriminately from any portion of the air towards which the attention happens to be directed. The note of the grasshopper lark possesses somewhat of the same quality.
Even in confinement the bat is an interesting creature, and discovers certain traits of character and peculiarities of habit which in its wild state cannot be seen. I might here refer to several stories of domesticated and tamed bats; but as they have already been given to the world, and my space is limited, I prefer to give my own experiences.
Not long ago, I received a message from a neighbouring grocer, requesting me to capture a bat which had flown into the shop, and which no one dared touch.
When I arrived, the creature had taken refuge on an upper shelf, and had crawled among a pile of sugar-loaves that were lying on their sides after the usual custom. We pulled out several loaves near the spot where the bat was last seen, and by casting a strong light from a bull’s-eye lantern, discovered a little black object snugly ensconced at the very back of the shelf.
I pushed my hand towards the spot, but for some time could not seize the creature, as it was so tightly packed, and squeezed into a corner. At last the bat gave a flap with one of the wings, which I caught, and so gently drew my prisoner forwards.
He was a brave little fellow, as well as discreet, and bit savagely at my fingers. However, his little tiny teeth could not do much damage, and I put him into a cage which I brought with me.
The cage was originally made for the reception of mice, and was of a rude character—the back and ends being of wood and the front of wire. In a very few minutes after his entrance into the cage, the bat climbed up the wooden back, by hitching his claws into the slight inequalities of the wood, and there hung suspended, head downwards.
When so placed, his aspect was curious enough. The claws of the hind legs being fixed into a crevice, so as to bear the weight of the body, the wings were then extended to their utmost, and suddenly wrapped round the body. At the same time the large ears were folded back under the wings and protected by them, the orifice of the ear itself being guarded in a very singular manner.
If the reader will refer to the figure of the bat on [page 4], he will see that inside the great ear is a sharply-pointed membrane, somewhat resembling a second ear. This membrane is called the “tragus,” and when the large ears are tucked away out of sight, the tragus remains exposed, and gives the creature a very strange appearance.