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Updated: May 21, 2025
Naturally fond of hunting, I often went to the home of my Indian friend in the Marigondon mountains. Together we chased the stag, and killed the various kinds of birds which abound in these regions to such an extent that one may always choose between fifteen or twenty different species of pigeons, wild ducks, and fowl, and it frequently happened that I brought down five or six at a shot.
I had met this man in some of my shooting excursions, and he now proposed that I should go with him to his house, situated ten leagues from Cavite, near the mountains of Marigondon. The prospect of some good sport soon decided me to accept this offer.
But what comparison could possibly be established between a combat in an enclosed arena and this one in the open plain between the most terrible of bulls and a wild buffalo? Fiery and hot-blooded Spaniards, proud Castilians, eager for perilous spectacles, go, hunt the buffalo in the plains of the Marigondon!
To all my questions my host had replied: "In this sport there is much to fear: I would not expose you to the risk." He avoided, also, taking me near that part of the plain touching upon the mountains of Marigondon, where these animals could generally be found.
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