A JUNGLE LABOR-UNION 151 



became very vivid and near. Suddenly, without 

 warning, there flapped into my field, a huge 

 shapeless creature. It was no bird, and there 

 was nothing of the bat in its flight — the wings 

 moved with steady rhythmical beats, and drove 

 it straight onward. The wings were skinny, the 

 body large and of a pale ashy hue. For a mo- 

 ment I was shaken. One of the others had seen 

 it, and he, too, did not speak, but concentrated 

 every sense into the end of the little tubes. By 

 the time I had begun to find words, I realized 

 that a giant fruit bat had flown from utter dark- 

 ness across my line of sight; and by close watch- 

 ing we soon saw others. But for a very few sec- 

 onds these Pterodactyl Pups, as I nicknamed 

 them, gave me all the thrill of a sudden glimpse 

 into the life of past ages. The last time I had 

 seen fruit bats was in the gardens of Perideniya, 

 Ceylon. I had forgotten that they occurred in 

 Guiana, and was wholly unprepared for the sight 

 of bats a yard across, with a heron's flight, pass- 

 ing high over the Mazaruni in the moonlight. 



The talk ended on the misfortune of the con- 

 figuration of human anatomy, which makes sky- 

 searching so uncomfortable a habit. This out- 

 look was probably developed to a greater extent 



