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But to sportsmen Jala-Jala was really a “promised land;” there they always found a good pack of hounds, Indians to guide them, good stout horses to carry them across the various mountains and plains, where the stag and wild boar were to be met with most plentifully; and were they desirous of less fatiguing exercise, they only had to jump into some of our light canoes, and skim over the blue waters, shooting on their way at the hosts of aquatic birds flying around them in all directions,—they could even land on the various small islands situated between Jala-Jala and the isle of Talem. There they could find a sort of sport utterly unknown in Europe—that is, immense bats, a species of vampire, designated by naturalists by the name of roussettes. During six months in the year, at the period of the eastern monsoon, every tree on these little isles is covered, from the topmost down to the lowest branch, with those huge bats, that supply the place of the foliage which they have entirely destroyed. Muffled up in their vast wings they sleep during the whole day, and in the nighttime they start off in large bodies roaming about in search of their prey. But as soon as the western monsoon has succeeded the eastern, they disappear, and repair always to the same place,—the eastern coast of Luzon, where they take shelter; after the monsoon changed, they return to their former quarters.
As soon as our guests would alight upon one of these islands, they opened their fire, and continued it till—frightened by so many explosions and the screams of the wounded, clinging to and hanging from the branches—the bats would fly away in a body—en masse. For some time they would whirl and turn round and round like a dense cloud over their abandoned home, imitating, in a most perfect way, those furies we see in certain engravings representing the infernal regions, and then, flying off a short distance, would perch upon the trees in a neighbouring isle. If the sportsmen were not over-fatigued by the slaughter they might then follow them, and set-to again; but they generally found they had made victims enough, and diversified their pleasure by picking up the slain from under the trees. The bat shooting over, our sportsmen would then proceed to a new sport—
“To fresh fields and pastures new;”
that is, in pursuit of and shooting at the iguanas, a large species of lizard, measuring from five to six feet long, which infest the rocks on the borders of the lake. Tired of firing without being obliged to show any skill, our chasseurs would re-embark in their pirogues and row in search of new amusement,—this was, to shoot at the eagles that came hovering over their heads. Here skill was requisite, as well as a prompt, sure glance of the eye, as it is only with ball that these enormous birds of prey can be reached. Our fowlers would then return home, with their boats full of game; and everyone, of course, had his own feats of prowess to relate.
The flesh of the iguana and the bat is savoury and delicate; but as for its taste, that entirely depends upon the imagination, as may here be seen.
After returning from one of these grand shooting excursions to the minor islands, a young American informed me that his friends and he himself were most desirous of tasting the iguana and the bat; so, supposing them all to be of the same mind, I ordered my maître-d’hôtel to prepare for dinner a curry of iguana and a ragout of bats. The first dish served round at dinner was the curry, of which they one and all partook with very good appetite; upon which I ventured to say: “You see the flesh of the iguana is most delicate.” At these words all my guests turned pale, and they all, by a sudden motion, pushed their plates from before them, not even being able to swallow what their mouths contained. I was therefore obliged to order the removal of the entrées of iguana and bats before we could proceed with the repast.
When it was in my power, I would accompany my guests in their excursions, and then the chase was abundant and full of interest, because I ever took care to guide them towards places abounding in game and very picturesque. Sometimes I would take them to the isle of Socolme, a still more curious place indeed than the bat islands. Socolme is a circular lake—being one league in circumference—in the midst of the great lake of Bay, from which it is separated by a cordon or ribbon of land; or, to express myself better, by a mountain which rises to an elevation of from twelve to fifteen hundred feet; the centre of the mountain at the summit is occupied by the lake of Socolme, and is evidently the crater of an extinct volcano. Both sides are completely covered with large trees of luxuriant growth. It is on the border of the small lake—where the Indians never go, through fear of the caymans—that almost all the aquatic birds of the grand lake resort to lay their eggs. Every tree, white with the guano which they deposit there, is covered with birds’-nests, full of eggs and birds of every size and age.
One day, in company of my brother and Mr. Hamilton Lindsay,[1] an Englishman, who was as fearless an explorer as ourselves, I started from the plantation, with the intention of having some light canoes carried across the high ground which separates the Socolme lake from the lake of Bay, and of using them on the lake; and, after overcoming many difficulties, we, by the assistance of our Indians, carried out this project.
We were the first tourists that ever ventured to expose our lives on this Socolme lake. The Indians who had come with us refused most decidedly to enter the boats, and exerted all their eloquence to prevent us from going on the water. They spoke to us thus:—