The stars were still shining in the sapphire heavens, and the birds were sleeping on the branches of the trees, when a jolly little party, by the light from the pitch torches, wandered through the streets of the town toward the lake.

Five young maidens, clinging to each other’s hands or belts, tripped along briskly. Behind them came several elderly women and a number of servants gracefully carrying on their heads baskets filled with provisions and various dishes for the picnic. On seeing their joyful faces, with their youthful smiles, their beautiful black hair as it floated in the breeze, and the wide folds of their pretty dresses, you would have taken them for goddesses of the night and would have thought that they were fleeing from day—if perchance you had not already known that it was Maria Clara and her four friends: jolly Sinang; her cousin, the serious Victoria; beautiful Iday; and the pensive Neneng, pretty, modest and timid.

They were talking with animation; they laughed; pinched each other; whispered in each other’s ears and then burst out in shouts of merriment.

“You girls will wake up everybody in town. Don’t you know that people are still asleep?” said Aunt Isabel, reprimanding them. “When we were young, we didn’t make such a noise.”

“But you didn’t get up as early as we do, nor were the old men such great sleepers in your day,” replied little Sinang.

They were quiet for a moment and were trying to talk in a low voice, but they quickly forgot themselves and were again filling the streets with their youthful laughter and melodious voices.

Several young fellows were coming down the street, lighting their way with large bamboo torches. They were marching along almost noiselessly to the tune of a guitar.

“That guitar sounds as though some beggar were playing it,” said Sinang, laughing. But when the young fellows caught up with the rest of the party, the girls suddenly became as quiet and as serious as though they never had learned how to laugh. The young men, however, chatted away, saluted the ladies, laughed and smiled and asked half a dozen questions without giving the girls time to answer any one of them.

The two large bancas,1 which had been secured to transport the picnic party to the fishing grounds, were fastened together and picturesquely adorned with wreaths and garlands of flowers and a large number of vari-colored candles. Paper lanterns hung from the improvised covering of the bancas. Alternately with these were roses, pinks and baskets of fruits such as pineapples, kasuys, bananas, guayabas and lanzones. Ibarra had brought his carpets, blankets and rugs and arranged comfortable seats for the ladies. The poles and paddles used to propel the bancas had also been ornamented. In the better banca were a harp, guitars, accordeons, and a buffalo horn; while, in the other boat, a little fire had been lighted in an improvised stove in order that tea, coffee and salabat2 might be prepared for the light breakfast.

“The women sit here; the men, there,” said the mothers on stepping into the banca. “Sit still and don’t move, or we will be capsized.”

“Cross yourselves before we start,” said Aunt Isabel, as she traced the form of a cross on her breast.

“And are we to be here all by ourselves,” asked Sinang, on seeing how the girls had been separated from the young men, by the assignment of the seats. Then making a grimace she asked again, “Are we going to be all alone? Aray!”

This aray was caused by a little pinch which her mother had given her on the arm in the way of a reprimand for her complaint.

The bancas were now putting off slowly from the shore. The light from the torches and Japanese lanterns was reflected in the water, for the lake was as smooth as a mirror. In the far eastern horizon could be seen the first rosy tints of the approaching dawn.

Everything was very quiet. The young women, in consequence of the separation from the young men, seemed to be absorbed in meditation.

As the water was smooth as glass and the bamboo weirs where the fish were to be found were not far off, and, it was still early, it was decided that all should stop paddling and take breakfast. The lights were put out, for the day had dawned and preparations were made for desayuno.3

The entire party became jolly as they breathed in the light breeze that had come up. Even the women, so full of presentiments a few moments ago, were now laughing and joking among themselves.

One young man alone of all the party remained silent. He was the pilot, an athletic-looking fellow, and interesting on account of his large, sad eyes and the severe lines of his lips. His long, black hair fell gracefully over his powerful neck. He wore a shirt of coarse dark cloth, through which his powerful muscles could be plainly seen as he manipulated with his strong arms the wide, heavy paddle as if it were only a pen. This paddle served both to propel and to steer the bancas.

More than once he was embarrassed when he caught Maria Clara looking at him. Then he would turn his eyes quickly to some other direction and look far off toward the mountain, or the shore of the lake. The young maiden pitied him in his solitude and offered him some biscuits. The pilot looked at her with surprise, but only for a moment. He took the biscuits, thanked her very briefly and in a voice scarcely audible.

No one else took any notice of him. The happy laughter and jolly conversation of the young men did not cause him to relax a single muscle of his face. Not even Sinang, with all her jollity, had any effect on him.

“Wait a minute!” said Aunt Isabel to the boatman’s son, who had made ready his net and was just about to go up on the baklad to take out the fish from the little enclosure at the end of the weir. “We must have everything ready, so that the fish may pass directly from the water to the pot.”

Andeng, the pretty foster sister of Maria Clara, despite her clear complexion and laughing face, had the reputation of being a good cook. She prepared the rice, tomatoes, and camias,4 while some of the young men tried to aid or bother her, perhaps in order to win her good will. The other girls were busy cleaning and making ready the lettuce, cabbage and peas, and cutting up paayap in pieces about the size of a cigarette.

Finally Andeng announced that the kettle was ready to receive its guests—the fish.

The fisherman’s son went up on top of the rack at the end of the weir. He took a position at the narrow entrance, over which might have been written: “All who enter here leave hope behind,” if indeed the unfortunate fish would know how to read and understand it, for a fish who enters never gets out except to die. The rack is almost circular in form and about a meter in diameter, and is so arranged that a man can stand on top of one end of it and thus take out the fish with his net.

“There, it wouldn’t tire me a bit to fish that way,” said Sinang, quite joyful.

All were watching attentively. Already some of them in their vivid imaginations thought they could see the fish wiggling their tails and trying to get out of the little net, their scales shining in the bright sun. However, the young man failed to catch a single fish in his first attempt.

“It ought to be full of fish,” said Albino, in a low voice. “It is more than five days since we visited the place last.”

The fisherman drew out his net a second time, but not a fish was there in it. The water, as it trickled through the meshes of the net in countless drops which reflected the rays of the sun, seemed to laugh in silvery tones. An “Ah” of surprise, disgust, and disappointment escaped from the lips of all.

The young fellow repeated the same operation, but with a similar result.

“You don’t understand your business!” said Albino to him as he stepped up on the rack and took the net from the hands of the youngster. “Now you will see! Andeng, open up the kettle!”

But Albino did not understand his business, either. The net came up empty as before. All began to laugh.

“Don’t make any noise,” he said, “or the fish will hear it and will keep from being caught. This net must have a hole in it somewhere.”

But every mesh in the net was perfect.

“Let me take it!” said Leon, Iday’s lover, to Albino.

Leon first made sure that the enclosure was in good condition and then examined the net carefully and satisfied himself that there was nothing wrong with it. He then asked: “Are you sure that no one has been out here for five days?”

“We are sure! The last time any one was out here was on All Saints’ Day.”

“Well, then, I am going to bring out something this time, unless the lake is bewitched.”

Leon lowered the net by its bamboo handle into the water, but a look of surprise was painted on his face. In silence he looked toward the neighboring mountain and continued moving the handle of the net from one side to the other. Finally, without taking the net out of the water, he murmured in a low voice: “An alligator.”

“An alligator!” exclaimed half a dozen voices, and the word was repeated again while all stood frightened and stupefied.

“What did you say?” they asked.

“I say that there is an alligator caught in the rack,” said Leon, and sticking the handle of the net into the water again he continued: “Do you hear that sound? That is not sand, it is hard skin, the back of the alligator. Do you see how he wiggles the bamboo pickets in the rack? He is struggling hard but he cannot do anything. Wait. He is a large fellow; his body measures a palm or more in width.”

“What shall be done?” was the question.

“Catch him,” said one.

“JesÚs! And who will catch him?”

Nobody offered to dive down to the bottom of the rack. The water was very deep.

“We ought to tie him to our banca and drag him along in triumph,” said Sinang. “The idea of his eating the fish which we ought to have!”

“I have never seen to this day a live alligator,” said Maria Clara.

The pilot rose to his feet, took a long rope and went up cautiously to the platform on the top of the rack. Leon gave up his position to him.

With the exception of Maria Clara, none up till now had paid any attention to him. Now every one was admiring his fine stature.

To the great surprise of all and in spite of all their cries, the pilot leaped into the enclosure.

“Take this knife!” shouted Crisostomo, drawing out a wide-bladed Toledo knife.

But already a thousand little bubbles were rising to the surface of the water, and all that was going on in the depths below was wrapped in mystery.

“JesÚs, Maria y JosÉ!” exclaimed the women. “We are going to have a misfortune. JesÚs, Maria y JosÉ!”

“Don’t be alarmed, seÑoras,” said the old boatman. “If there is any one in this province who can do it, it is that fellow who has just gone down.”

“What is his name?” they asked.

“We call him ‘The Pilot’; he is the best I have ever seen, only he does not like his profession.”

The water was being stirred violently, and it seemed that a fierce fight was being waged in the depths of the lake. The sides of the enclosure swayed to and fro, while the water seemed to be swirled by a dozen currents. All held their breath. Ibarra grasped tightly the handle of his sharp knife.

The fight seemed to be at an end. The head of the young man rose to the surface of the water, and the sight was greeted by joyful shouts from all. The eyes of the women were full of tears.

The pilot crawled up on the platform carrying in his hand the end of the rope, and as soon as he was able pulled on it.

The monster appeared on top of the water. He had the rope tied twice around his neck, and once behind his forelegs. He was a large fellow, as Leon had already announced. He was beautifully colored and green moss was growing on his back. He bellowed like an ox, struck his tail against the sides of the enclosure, snapped at them, and opened his black, frightful-looking mouth, showing his long teeth.

The pilot, unassisted, raised him up out of the water. No one offered to help him. Just as soon as the animal was out of the water and placed on the platform, the pilot put his foot on his back. Then, closing the animal’s massive jaws, he tried to tie his big snout tight with the rope. The reptile made a last effort, doubled up his body, struck the floor of the platform with his powerful tail and, breaking loose, made a leap into the water of the lake, on the other side of the weir, at the same time dragging with him his captor. It seemed that the pilot would be a dead man. A cry of horror went up from all.

Like a flash of lightning, another body leaped into the water. So quickly was it done that they had scarcely time to see that it was Ibarra. Maria Clara did not faint, simply because the Filipinos do not know how to faint.

They all saw the water become colored, and tinged with blood. The young fisherman leaped to the bottom with his bolo in his hand; his father followed him. But, scarcely had they disappeared, when they saw Crisostomo and the pilot reappear, clinging to the body of the reptile. The monster’s white belly was slashed, while in his throat the knife still stuck like a nail.

It is impossible to describe the joy that came over the party at the sight; all arms were extended to help them out of the water. The old women were half crazed with joy, and laughed and prayed. Andeng forgot that her kettle had been boiling three different times; now it was leaking and had put out the fire. The only one who could not speak was Maria Clara.

Ibarra was unhurt. The pilot had a slight scratch on his arm.

“I owe you my life!” said he to Ibarra as the latter wrapped himself up in the shawls and blankets. The voice of the pilot had a ring of sincerity.

“You are too bold,” replied Ibarra. “Another time you must not tempt God.”

“If you had never come back!” exclaimed Maria, pale and trembling.

“If I had never come back and you had followed after me,” replied the young man, “I would have been with all my family in the bottom of the lake.” Ibarra was thinking that in those depths lay the remains of his father.

The mothers of the girls did not want to go to the other baklad or weir. They preferred to go back home happy, for the day had commenced with a bad omen and they feared that they would suffer many misfortunes.

“It is all because we have not heard mass,” sighed one of them.

“But what misfortune have we had, seÑoras?” asked Ibarra. “The alligator was the unfortunate one.”

“That goes to show,” concluded Albino, “that, in all his fishing life, this reptile has never heard mass. I never saw him, I am sure, among the other reptiles who frequent the church.”

The bancas were turned toward the other fish rack, and it was necessary for Andeng to get the water boiling again.

The day was advancing; a breeze was blowing; little waves were stirred up on the water, and rippled around the alligator. The music began again. Iday was playing the harp, while the young men were playing the accordeons and guitars with more or less skill. But the one who played best was Albino.

The other weir was visited with an entire lack of confidence. Many of the party expected to find there the mate to the alligator, but Nature fooled them and every time that the net was lowered it was brought up full of fish.

They then headed for the shore of the lake, where is situated the forest of trees centuries old, owned by Ibarra. There in the shade and near the crystal brook the party were to take their breakfast among the flowers or under improvised tents.