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ANTARCTIC PENGUINS

THE HEART OF THE ANTARCTIC. Being a Story of the British Antarctic Expedition, 1907–1909. By Sir E. H. Shackleton, C.V.O. With Introduction by Hugh Robert Mill, D.S.O. An Account of the First Journey to the South Magnetic Pole by Professor T. W. Edgworth David, F.R.S. 2 vols., crown 4to. Illustrated with Maps and Portraits. 36s net. Edition de Luxe, with Autographs, Special Contributions, Etched Plates, and Pastel Portraits. £10 10s net. New and Revised Edition. With Coloured Illustrations and Black and White. Crown 8vo, 6s net.

SHACKLETON IN THE ANTARCTIC. (Hero Readers.) Crown 8vo, 1s 6d.

LOST IN THE ARCTIC. Being the Story of the “Alabama” Expedition. By Captain Ejnar Mickelson. Crown 4to. Illustrations and Maps. 18s net.

IN NORTHERN MISTS. Arctic Exploration in Early Times. By Fridtjof Nansen. With numerous Illustrations and Coloured Frontispieces. 2 vols., cr. 4to, 30s net.

LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN

“OCCASIONALLY AN UNACCOUNTABLE ‘BROODINESS’ SEEMED TO TAKE POSSESSION OF THE PENGUINS” ([Page 108])

Frontispiece

ANTARCTIC PENGUINS

A STUDY OF THEIR SOCIAL HABITS

BY
DR. G. MURRAY LEVICK, R.N.

ZOOLOGIST TO THE BRITISH ANTARCTIC EXPEDITION [1910–1913]

LONDON
WILLIAM HEINEMANN

First Published March 1914

Second Impression May 1914

LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN 1914

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

ADÉLIE PENGUINS[(1)]

INTRODUCTION

The penguins of the Antarctic regions very rightly have been termed the true inhabitants of that country. The species is of great antiquity, fossil remains of their ancestors having been found, which showed that they flourished as far back as the eocene epoch. To a degree far in advance of any other bird, the penguin has adapted itself to the sea as a means of livelihood, so that it rivals the very fishes. This proficiency in the water has been gained at the expense of its power of flight, but this is a matter of small moment, as it happens.

In few other regions could such an animal as the penguin rear its young, for when on land its short legs offer small advantage as a means of getting about, and as it cannot fly, it would become an easy prey to any of the carnivora which abound in other parts of the globe. Here, however, there are none of the bears and foxes which inhabit the North Polar regions, and once ashore the penguin is safe.

The reason for this state of things is that there is no food of any description to be had inland. Ages back, a different state of things existed: tropical forests abounded, and at one time, the seals ran about on shore like dogs. As conditions changed, these latter had to take to the sea for food, with the result that their four legs, in course of time, gave place to wide paddles or “flippers,” as the penguins' wings have done, so that at length they became true inhabitants of the sea.

Were the Sea-Leopards[(2)] (the Adélies' worst enemy) to take to the land again, there would be a speedy end to all the southern penguin rookeries. As these, however, are inhabited only during four and a half months of the year, the advantage to the seals in growing legs again would not be great enough to influence evolution in that direction. At the same time, I wonder very much that the sea-leopards, who can squirm along at a fair pace on land, have not crawled up the few yards of ice-foot intervening between the water and some of the rookeries, as, even if they could not catch the old birds, they would reap a rich harvest among the chicks when these are hatched. Fortunately however they never do this.

Fig. 1. AN ANGRY ADÉLIE

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When seen for the first time, the Adélie penguin gives you the impression of a very smart little man in an evening dress suit, so absolutely immaculate is he, with his shimmering white front and black back and shoulders. He stands about two feet five inches in height, walking very upright on his little legs.

His carriage is confident as he approaches you over the snow, curiosity in his every movement. When within a yard or two of you, as you stand silently watching him, he halts, poking his head forward with little jerky movements, first to one side, then to the other, using his right and left eye alternately during his inspection. He seems to prefer using one eye at a time when viewing any near object, but when looking far ahead, or walking along, he looks straight ahead of him, using both eyes. He does this, too, when his anger is aroused, holding his head very high, and appearing to squint at you along his beak, as in [Figure 1].

After a careful inspection, he may suddenly lose all interest in you, and ruffling up his feathers sink into a doze. Stand still for a minute till he has settled himself to sleep, then make sound enough to wake him without startling him, and he opens his eyes, stretching himself, yawns, then finally walks off, caring no more about you. (Figs. [2] and [3].)

The wings of Adélies, like those of the other penguins, have taken the form of paddles, and are covered with very fine scale-like feathers. Their legs being very short, they walk slowly, with a waddling gait, but can travel at a fair pace over snow or ice by falling forward on to their breasts, and propelling themselves with all four limbs.

To continue the sketch, I quote two other writers:

M. Racovitza, of the “Belgica” expedition, well describes them as follows:

“Imagine a little man, standing erect, provided with two broad paddles instead of arms, with head small in comparison with the plump stout body; imagine this creature with his back covered with a black coat … tapering behind to a pointed tail that drags on the ground, and adorned in front with a glossy white breast-plate. Have this creature walk on his two feet, and give him at the same time a droll little waddle, and a pert movement of the head; you have before you something irresistibly attractive and comical.”

Fig. 2. Dozing

Fig. 3. Waking up, Stretching, and Yawning

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Dr. Louis Gain, of the French Antarctic expedition, gives us the following description:

“The Adélie penguin is a brave animal, and rarely flees from danger. If it happens to be tormented, it faces its aggressor and ruffles the black feathers which cover its back. Then it takes a stand for combat, the body straight, the animal erect, the beak in the air, the wings extended, not losing sight of its enemy.

“It then makes a sort of purring, a muffled grumbling, to show that it is not satisfied, and has not lost a bit of its firm resolution to defend itself. In this guarded position it stays on the spot; sometimes it retreats, and lying flat on the ground, pushes itself along with all the force of its claws and wings. Should it be overtaken, instead of trying to increase its speed, it stops, backs up again to face anew the peril, and returns to its position of combat. Sometimes it takes the offensive, throws itself upon its aggressor, whom it punishes with blows of its beak and wings.”

The Adélie penguin is excessively curious, taking great pains to inspect any strange object he may see. When we were waiting for the ship to fetch us home, some of us lived in little tents which we pitched on the snow about fifty yards from the edge of the sea. Parties of penguins from Cape Royds rookery frequently landed here, and almost invariably the first thing they did on seeing our tents, was at once to walk up the slope and inspect these, walking all round them, and often staying to doze by them for hours. Some of them, indeed, seemed to enjoy our companionship. When you pass on the sea-ice anywhere near a party of penguins, these generally come up to look at you, and we had great trouble to keep them away from the sledge dogs when these were tethered in rows near the hut at Cape Evans. The dogs killed large numbers of them in consequence, in spite of all we could do to prevent this.

The Adélies, as will be seen in these pages, are extremely brave, and though panic occasionally overtakes them, I have seen a bird return time after time to attack a seaman who was brutally sending it flying by kicks from his sea-boot, before I arrived to interfere. An exact description of the plumage of the Adélie penguins will be found in the [Appendix], as it is more especially of their habits that I intend to treat in this work.

Before describing these, and with a view to making them more intelligible to the general reader, I will proceed to a short explanation.

The Adélie penguins spend their summer and bring forth their young in the far South. Nesting on the shores of the Antarctic continent, and on the islands of the Antarctic seas, they are always close to the water, being dependent on the sea for their food, as are all Antarctic fauna; the frozen regions inland, for all practical purposes, being barren of both animal and vegetable life.

Their requirements are few: they seek no shelter from the terrible Antarctic gales, their rookeries in most cases being in open wind-swept spots. In fact, three of the four rookeries I visited were possibly in the three most windy regions of the Antarctic. The reason for this is that only wind-swept places are so kept bare of snow that solid ground and pebbles for making nests are to be found.

When the chicks are hatched and fully fledged, they are taught to swim, and when this is accomplished and they can catch food for themselves, both young and old leave the Southern limits of the sea, and make their way to the pack-ice out to the northward, thus escaping the rigors and darkness of the Antarctic winter, and keeping where they will find the open water which they need. For in the winter the seas where they nest are completely covered by a thick sheet of ice which does not break out until early in the following summer. Much of this ice is then borne northward by tide and wind, and accumulates to form the vast rafts of what is called “pack-ice,” many hundreds of miles in extent, which lie upon the surface of the Antarctic seas. ([Fig. 4.])

It is to this mass of floating sea-ice that the Adélie penguins make their way in the autumn, but as their further movements here are at present something of a mystery, the question will be discussed at greater length presently.

When young and old leave the rookery at the end of the breeding season, the new ice has not yet been formed, and their long journey to the pack has to be made by water, but they are wonderful swimmers and seem to cover the hundreds of miles quite easily.

Arrived on the pack, the first year's birds remain there for two winters. It is not until after their first moult, the autumn following their departure from the rookery, that they grow the distinguishing mark of the adult, black feathers replacing the white plumage which has hitherto covered the throat.

The spring following this, and probably every spring for the rest of their lives, they return South to breed, performing their journey, very often, not only by water, but on foot across many miles of frozen sea.

Fig. 4. Pack Ice (on which the Adélies winter)

Two Weddell Seals are seen on a Floe

Fig. 5. Heavy Seas in the Autumn

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For those birds who nest in the southernmost rookeries, such as Cape Crozier, this journey must mean for them a journey of at least four hundred miles by water, and an unknown but considerable distance on foot over ice.

As I am about to describe the manners and customs of Adélie penguins at the Cape Adare rookery, I will give a short description of that spot.

Cape Adare is situated in lat. 71° 14′ S. long. 170° 10′ E., and is a neck of land jutting out from the sheer and ice-bound foot-hills of South Victoria Land northwards for a distance of some twenty miles.

For its whole length, the sides of this Cape rise sheer out of the sea, affording no foothold except at the extreme end, where a low beach has been formed, nestling against the steep side of the cliff which here rises almost perpendicularly to a height of over 1000 feet.

Hurricanes frequently sweep this beach, so that snow never settles there for long, and as it is composed of basaltic material freely strewn with rounded pebbles, it forms a convenient nesting site, and it was on this spot that I made the observations set forth in the following pages.

Viewed before the penguins' arrival in the spring, and after recent winds had swept the last snowfalls away, the rookery is seen to be composed of a series of undulations and mounds, or “knolls,” while several sheets of ice, varying in size up to some hundreds of yards in length and one hundred yards in width, cover lower lying ground where lakes of thaw water form in the summer. Though doubtless the ridges and knolls of the rookery owe their origin mainly to geological phenomena, their contour has been much added to as, year by year, the penguins have chosen the higher eminences for their nests; because their guano, which thickly covers the higher ground, has protected this from weathering and the denuding effect of the hurricanes which pass over it at certain seasons and tend to carry away the small fragments of ground that have been split up by the frost.

The shores of this beach are protected by a barrier of ice-floes which are stranded there by the sea in the autumn. These floes become welded together and form the “ice-foot” frequently referred to in these pages, and photographs showing how this is done are seen on Figs. [5], [6], [7] and [8].

At the back of the rookery, nesting sites are to be seen stretching up the steep cliff to a height of over 1000 feet, some of them being almost inaccessible, so difficult is the climb which the penguins have made to reach them.

Fig. 6. “… Throw up Masses of Ice,

Fig. 7. “… Which are Frozen into a Compact Mass as Winter approaches”

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On Duke of York Island, some twenty miles south of the Cape Adare rookery, another breeding-place has been made. This is a small colony only, as might be expected. Indeed it is difficult to see why the penguins chose this place at all whilst room still exists at the bigger rookery, because Duke of York Island, until late in the season, is cut off from open water by many miles of sea-ice, so that with the exception of an occasional tide crack, or seals' blow holes, the birds of that rookery have no means of getting food except by making a long journey on foot. When the arrivals were streaming up to Cape Adare many were seen to pass by, making in a straight line for Duke of York Island, and so adding another twenty miles on foot to the journey they had already accomplished.

When the time arrived for the birds to feed, some open leads had formed about half way across the bay, and those of the Duke of York colony were to be seen streaming over the ice for many miles on their way between the water and their nests. They seem to think nothing of long journeys, however, as in the early season, when unbroken sea-ice intervened between the two rookeries, parties of penguins from Cape Adare actually used to march out and meet their Duke of York friends half way over, presumably for the pleasure of a chat.

To realize what this meant, we must remember that an Adélie penguin's eyes being only about twelve inches above the ground when on the march, his horizon is only one mile distant. Thus from Cape Adare he could just see the top of the mountain on Duke of York Island peeping above the horizon on the clearest day. In anything like thick weather he could not see it at all, and probably he had never been there. So in the first place, what was it that impelled him to go on this long journey to meet his friends, and when so impelled, what instinct pointed out the way? This of course merely brings us to the old question of migratory instinct, but in the case of the penguin, its horizon is so very short that it is quite evident he possesses a special sense of direction, in addition to the special sense which urged him to go and meet the Duke of York Island contingent, and I may here remark that when we were returning to New Zealand in the summer of 1913, we passed troops of penguins swimming in the open sea far out of sight of land,—an unanswerable reply to those naturalists who still maintain that migrating birds must rely upon their eyes for guidance, and this remark applies equally to the penguins we found on the northern limits of the pack-ice, some five hundred miles from the rookeries to which they would repair the following year.

Note.—Ross, Kristensen, Scott, Shackleton and Pennell all, however, found pack late in the season while trying to work west along the coast when only some forty-five to seventy-five miles north of Cape Adare, and all were turned by this pack.

According to Pennell, it appears probable that there is a great hang of pack in the sea west of Cape Adare and south of the Balleny Islands, and most likely it is here that the Adélies repair when they leave Cape Adare rookery in the autumn. I think, however, it is safe to assume that they seek the northernmost limits of the pack during the winter, as these would offer the most favourable conditions.

Fig. 8. “… And later, form the Beautiful Terraces of the Ice-foot”

Fig. 9. Penguins at the Rookery

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The exact whereabouts of the Adélie penguins during the winter months has been much discussed by different writers. It is agreed that they repair to the pack-ice, but our knowledge of the movements of this pack is very vague at the present time, and so unfortunately I can give but a rough idea of the subject.

I have collected and noted down the latest evidence for the benefit of the zoologists of future expeditions who may wish to investigate the matter further, and I am indebted for nearly the whole of it to Commander Harry L. Pennell, R.N., commander of the Terra Nova from 1910 to 1913, who kindly drew up for me Tables A and B (see pp. [13] and [14]).

Probably the information which more nearly concerns the penguins of Cape Adare rookery will be found in [Table A]. The birds from Cape Crozier and Cape Royds rookeries must have some four hundred miles further to travel when they go North in the autumn than those at Cape Adare.

PART I

THE FASTING PERIOD

Diary from October 13 to November 3, describing the arrival of the Adélie penguins at the rookery, and habits during the periods of mating and building.

The first Adélie penguins arrived at the Ridley Beach rookery, Cape Adare, on October 13. A blizzard came on then, with thick drift which prevented any observations being made. The next day, when this subsided, there were no penguins to be seen.

On October 15 two of them were loitering about the beach. During the forenoon they were separate, but in the afternoon they kept company, and walked over to the south-east corner of the rookery under the cliff of Cape Adare, where they were sheltered from the cold breeze.

On October 16 at 11 A.M. there were about twenty penguins arrived. Several came singly, and one little party of three came up together. On arrival they wandered about by themselves, and stood or walked about the beach, giving one the impression of simply hanging about, waiting for something to “turn up.”

By 4 P.M. there must have been close on a hundred penguins at the rookery. It was a calm day and misty, so that I could not see far out across the sea-ice, but so far it was evident that the birds were not arriving in batches, but just dribbling in. They were then for the most part squatting about the rookery, well scattered, some solitary, others in groups, and facing in all directions. ([Fig. 9.]) They were not on the prominences where the nesting sites are, but in the hollows and on the snow of the frozen lakes. There was no sign of love-making or any activity whatever. All were in fine plumage and condition.

During the night of October 16 the number of penguins increased greatly, and on the morning of the 17th there was a thin sprinkling scattered over the rookery. ([Fig. 11.]) A few were in pairs or threes, but more in groups of a dozen or more, and all the birds were very phlegmatic, many of them lying on their breasts, with beaks outstretched, apparently asleep, and nearly all, as yesterday, in the hollows, though there was no wind, and away from the nesting sites. They were very quiet. Probably they were fatigued after their journey; perhaps also they were waiting the stimulation of a greater crowd before starting their breeding operations. As the guano-covered ridges, on which the old nests are, were fairly soft and the pebbles loose, they were not waiting for higher temperatures in order to get to work.

During October 17 the arrivals became gradually more frequent. They were dribbling up from the sea-ice at the north-end of the beach, and soon made a well-worn track up the ice-foot, whilst a long line of birds approaching in single file, with some gaps, extended to the horizon in a northerly direction.

During the day I noticed some penguins taking possession of old nests on the ridges. These mostly squatted in the nests without any attempt at repairing them or rearrangement of any sort. Afterwards I found that they were unmated hens waiting for mates to come to them, and that this was a very common custom among them. ([Fig. 10.]) If two occupied nests within reach of one another they would stretch out their necks and peck at each other. Their endeavour seemed to be to peck each other's tongue, and this they frequently did, but generally struck the soft parts round the margin of the bills, which often became a good deal swollen in consequence. Often also their beaks would become interlocked. They would keep up this peck-pecking hour after hour in a most relentless fashion. ([Fig. 12.]) On one occasion I saw a hen succeed in driving another off one of the old nests which she occupied. The vanquished one squatted on the ground a few yards away, with rumpled feathers and “huffy” appearance, whilst the other walked on to the nest and assumed the “ecstatic” attitude ([page 46]). Nothing but animosity could have induced this act, as thousands of old unoccupied nests lay all around.

About 9 P.M. a light snowstorm came on, and those few birds who had taken possession of nests, left them, and all now lay in the hollows, nestling into the fine drift which soon covered the ground to the extent of a few inches. A group of about a dozen penguins which arrived near the ice-foot in the morning, halted on the sea-ice without ascending the little slope leading to the rookery, and stayed there all day.

With the few exceptions I have noted above, all the birds that had arrived so far either were much fatigued, or else they realized that they had come a little too soon and were waiting for some psychological moment to arrive, for they were all strangely quiet and inactive.

Fig. 10. IN THE FOREGROUND A MATED PAIR HAVE BEGUN TO BUILD. BEHIND AND TO THE RIGHT TWO UNMATED HENS LIE IN THEIR SCOOPS

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On October 18 the weather cleared and a fair number of penguins started to build their nests. The great majority however, apparently resting, still sat about. Those that built took their stones from old nests, as at present so many of these lay unoccupied. They made quite large nests, some inches high at the sides, with a comfortable hollow in the middle to sit in. The stone carrying ([Fig. 20]) was done by the male birds, the hens keeping continual guard over the nest, as otherwise the pair would have been robbed of the fruits of their labours as fast as they were acquired.

As I strolled through the rookery, most of the birds took little or no notice of me. Some, however, swore at me very savagely, and one infuriated penguin rushed at me from a distance of some ten yards, seizing the leg of my wind-proof trousers. In the morning quite a large number lay down on the sea-ice, a few yards short of the rookery, content apparently to have got so far. They lay there all day, motionless on their breasts, with their chins outstretched on the snow.

By the evening of October 18 most of the penguins had gathered in little groups on the nest-covered eminences, but there was at that time ample room for all, there being only about three or four thousand arrived. Although there were several open water holes against bergs frozen into the sea-ice some half mile or so away, not a single bird attempted to get food.

At 6 P.M. the whole rookery appeared to sleep, and the ceaseless chattering of the past hours gave place to a dead and impressive silence, though here and there an industrious little bird might be seen busily fetching stone after stone to his nest.

At that date it was deeply dusk at midnight, though the sun was very quickly rising in altitude, and continuous daylight would soon overtake us.

Fig. 11. THE ROOKERY BEGINNING TO FILL UP

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By the morning of October 19 there had been a good many more arrivals, but the rookery was not yet more than one-twentieth part full. All the birds were fasting absolutely. Nest building was now in full swing, and the whole place waking up to activity. Most of the pebbles for the new nests were being taken from old nests, but a great deal of robbery went on nevertheless. Depredators when caught were driven furiously away, and occasionally chased for some distance, and it was curious to see the difference in the appearance between the fleeing thief and his pursuer. As the former raced and ducked about among the nests, doubling on his tracks, and trying by every means to get lost in the crowd and so rid himself of his pursuer, his feathers lay close back on his skin, giving him a sleek look which made him appear half the size of the irate nest-holder who sought to catch him, with feathers ruffled in indignation. This at first led me to think that the hens were larger than the cocks, as it was generally the hen who was at home, and the cock who was after the stones, but later I found that sex makes absolutely no difference in the size of the birds, or indeed in their appearance at all, as seen by the human eye. After mating, their behaviour as well as various outward signs serve to distinguish male from female. Besides this certain differences in their habits, which I will describe in another place, are to be noted.

The consciousness of guilt, however, always makes a penguin smooth his feathers and look small, whilst indignation has the opposite effect. Often when observing a knoll crowded with nesting penguins, I have seen an apparently under-sized individual slipping quietly along among the nests, and always by his subsequent proceedings he has turned out to be a robber on the hunt for his neighbours' stones. The others, too, seemed to know it, and would have a peck at him as he passed them.

At last he would find a hen seated unwarily on her nest, slide up behind her, deftly and silently grab a stone, and run off triumphantly with it to his mate who was busily arranging her own home. Time after time he would return to the same spot, the poor depredated nest-holder being quite oblivious of the fact that the side of her nest which lay behind her was slowly but surely vanishing stone by stone.

Here could be seen how much individual character makes for success or failure in the efforts of the penguins to produce and rear their offspring. There are vigilant birds, always alert, who seem never to get robbed or molested in any way: these have big high nests, made with piles of stones. Others are unwary and get huffed as a result. There are a few even who, from weakness of character, actually allow stronger natured and more aggressive neighbours to rob them under their very eyes.

Fig. 12. “The Hens would keep up this Peck-pecking hour after Hour”

Fig. 13. An Affectionate Couple

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In speaking of the robbery which is such a feature of the rookery during nest building, special note must be made of the fact that violence is never under any circumstances resorted to by the thieves. When detected, these invariably beat a retreat, and offer not the least resistance to the drastic punishment they receive if they are caught by their indignant pursuers. The only disputes that ever take place over the question of property are on the rare occasions when a bona-fide misunderstanding arises over the possession of a nest. These must be very rare indeed, as only on one occasion have I seen such a quarrel take place. The original nesting sites being, as I will show, chosen by the hens, it is the lady, in every case, who is the cause of the battle, and when she is won her scoop goes with her to the victor.

As I grew to know these birds from continued observation, it was surprising and interesting to note how much they differed in character, though the weaker-minded who would actually allow themselves to be robbed, were few and far between, as might be expected. Few, if any, of these ever could succeed in hatching their young and winning them through to the feathered stage.

When starting to make her nest, the usual procedure is for the hen to squat on the ground for some time, probably to thaw it, then working with her claws to scratch away at the material beneath her, shooting out the rubble behind her. As she does this she shifts her position in a circular direction until she has scraped out a round hollow. Then the cock brings stones, performing journey after journey, returning each time with one pebble in his beak which he deposits in front of the hen who places it in position.

Sometimes the hollow is lined with a neat pavement of stones placed side by side, one layer deep, on which the hen squats, afterwards building up the sides around her. At other times the scoop would be filled up indiscriminately by a heap of pebbles on which the hen then sat, working herself down into a hollow in the middle.

Individuals differ, not only in their building methods, but also in the size of the stones they select. Side by side may be seen a nest composed wholly of very big stones, so large that it is a matter for wonder how the birds can carry them, and another nest of quite small stones. ([Fig. 14.])

Different couples seem to vary much in character or mood. Some can be seen quarrelling violently, whilst others appear most affectionate, and the tender politeness of some of these latter toward one another is very pretty to see. ([Fig. 13.])

Fig. 14. “SIDE BY SIDE … NESTS OF VERY BIG STONES AND NESTS OF VERY SMALL STONES”

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I may here mention that the temperatures were rising considerably by October 19, ranging about zero F.

During October 20 the stream of arrivals was incessant. Some mingled at once with the crowd, others lay in batches on the sea-ice a few yards short of the rookery, content to have got so far, and evidently feeling the need for rest after their long journey from the pack. The greater part of this journey was doubtless performed by swimming, as they crossed open water, but I think that much of it must have been done on foot over many miles of sea-ice, to account for the fatigue of many of them.

Their swimming I will describe later. On the ice they have two modes of progression. The first is simple walking. Their legs being very short, their stride amounts at most to four inches. Their rate of stepping averages about one hundred and twenty steps per minute when on the march.

Their second mode of progression is “tobogganing.” When wearied by walking or when the surface is particularly suitable, they fall forward on to their white breasts, smooth and shimmering with a beautiful metallic lustre in the sunlight, and push themselves along by alternate powerful little strokes of their legs behind them.

When quietly on the march, both walking and tobogganing produce the same rate of progression, so that the string of arriving birds, tailing out in a long line as far as the horizon, appears as a well-ordered procession. I walked out a mile or so along this line, standing for some time watching it tail past me and taking the photographs with which I have illustrated the scene. Most of the little creatures seemed much out of breath, their wheezy respiration being distinctly heard.

First would pass a string of them walking, then a dozen or so tobogganing. ([Fig. 15.]) Suddenly those that walked would flop on to their breasts and start tobogganing, and conversely strings of tobogganers would as suddenly pop up on to their feet and start walking. In this way they relieved the monotony of their march, and gave periodical rest to different groups of muscles and nerve-centres.

The surface of the snow on the sea-ice varied continually, and over any very smooth patches the pedestrians almost invariably started to toboggan, whilst over “bad going” they all had perforce to walk.

Figs. [16], [17], [18] and [19] present some idea of the procession of these thousands on thousands of penguins as day after day they passed into the rookery.

Fig. 15. ON THE MARCH TO THE ROOKERY OVER THE SEA-ICE. SOME ARE WALKING AND SOME “TOBOGGANING”

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When tobogganing, turning to one side or the other is done with one or more strokes of the opposite flipper. When fleeing or chasing, both flippers as well as both feet are used in propulsion, and over most surfaces tobogganing is thus their fastest mode of progression, but when going at full tilt it is also the most exhausting, and after a short spurt in this way they invariably return to the walking position.

By October 20 many of the nests were complete, and the hens sat in them, though no eggs were to be seen yet. In the middle of one of the frozen lakes rose a little island, well suited for nesting except for the fact that later in the season, probably about the time when the young chicks were hatched, the lake would be thawed and the approach to the island only to be accomplished through about six inches or more of dirty water and ooze. Until then, however, the surface of the lake would remain frozen, and was at this time covered with snow.

Not a penguin attempted to build its nest on this island, though many passed it or walked over it in crossing the lake. How did they realize that later on they would get dirty every time they journeyed to or from the spot?

Not far from this island another mound rose from the lake, but this was connected with the “mainland” by a narrow neck of guano-covered pebbles. This mound was covered with nests, showing that the birds understood this place could always be reached over dry land. Surely this was well worth remarking.

There was a part of the ice-foot on the south side of the rookery where a track worn by many ascending penguins could be seen, leading from the sea-ice on to the beach. The place was steep and the ice slippery, and, in fact, the track led straight up a most difficult ascent. Not ten yards from this well-worn track a perfectly easy slope led up from the sea-ice to the rookery. The tracks in the freshly fallen snow showed that only one penguin had gone up this way. Presumably the first arrival in that place had taken the difficult path, and all subsequent arrivals blindly followed in his tracks, whilst only one had had the good luck or independence to choose the easier way.

On October 21 many thousands of penguins arrived from the northerly direction, and poured on to the beach in a continuous stream, the snaky line of arrivals extending unbroken across the sea-ice as far as the eye could see.

Fig. 16. PART OF THE LINE OF APPROACHING BIRDS, SEVERAL MILES IN LENGTH

([Page 28])

A great many now started to climb the heights up the precipitous side of Cape Adare and to build their nests as far as the summit, a height of some 1000 feet, although there was still room for many thousand more down below. What could be their object, considering the wearisome journeys they would have to make to feed their young, it is impossible to say. It might be the result of the same spirit which made them spread out in little scattered groups over the rookery when only a few had arrived, and that they prefer wider room, only putting up with the greater crowding which ensues later as a necessary evil. There is, however, another explanation which I will discuss in another place.

At 9 P.M. it was getting dusk, and the rookery comparatively silent, although on some of the knolls two or three birds might be seen still busily working, toddling to and fro fetching stones. The other thousands lay at rest, their white breasts flat on the ground, and only their black beaks and heads visible as they lay with their chins stretched forward on the ground, whilst in place of the massed discord of clamour heard during the day, the separate voices of some of the busy ones were distinct. A fine powdering of snow was falling.

It would be difficult to estimate the number of penguins that poured into the rookery during the following day. There was no evidence that any pairing had taken place on or before the march, and the birds all had the appearance of being quite independent.

Far away from the beach the line had become thicker, and was no longer in single file, the progress of the birds being slow and steady, but when within half a mile or so from the beach, excitement seemed to take possession of them, and they would break into a run, hastening over the remaining distance, the line now being a thin one, with slight curves in it, each bird running, with wide gait, and outstretched flippers working away in unison with its little legs. In fact, the whole air of the line at this time was that of a school-treat arrived in sight of its playing-fields, and breaking into a run in its eagerness to get there.

Fig. 17. ARRIVING AT THE ROOKERY

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Arrived at the rookery, and plunged suddenly amidst the din of that squalling, fighting, struggling crowd, the contrast with the dead silence and loneliness of the pack-ice they had so recently left, was as great a one as can well be imagined; yet once there, the birds seemed collected and at home. This was a matter of surprise to me then, but I remember now my own sensations on arriving home after my life in the Antarctic, and that I felt only slightly the sudden return to the bustle of civilization.

Our presence among them made little or no difference to the penguins. When we passed them closely they would bridle up and swear or even run at us and peck at our legs or batter them with their flippers, but unless their nesting operations were interfered with this attack was short-lived, and the next moment the birds would seem to forget our very existence. If I walked by the side of a long, nest-covered ridge, a low growl arose from every bird as I passed it, and the massed sound, gathering in front and dying away behind as I advanced, reminded me forcibly of the sound of the crowds on the towing-path at the 'Varsity boatrace as the crews pass up the river.

Walking actually among the nests, your temper is tried sorely, as every bird within reach has a peck at your legs, and occasionally a cock attacks you bravely, battering you with his little flippers in a manner ludicrous at first but aggravating after a time, as the operation is painful and severe enough to leave bruises behind it, and naturally this begins to pall. The courage of these little birds is most remarkable and admirable.

Our hut, being built on the rookery, could only be approached through crowds of penguins. Those that nested near us seemed quickly to become used to us and to take less notice of us than those farther off. One thing, however, terrified them pitiably. We had to fetch ice for our water from some stranded floes on the ice-foot, and this we did in a little sledge. As we hauled this rattling over the pebbly rookery it made a good deal of noise, and in its path nests were deserted, the occupants fleeing in the greatest confusion, a clear road being left for the sledge, whilst on either side a line of penguins was seen retreating in the utmost terror. After about a minute, they returned to their places and seemed to forget the incident, but we were very sorry to frighten them in this way, as we endeavoured to live at peace with them and to molest them as little as possible, and we feared that later on eggs might be spilt from the nests and broken. As time went on, those on the route of the sledge became accustomed even to this, and we were able to choose a course which cleared their nests.

Fig. 18. ARRIVING AT THE ROOKERY. IN THE BACKGROUND IS THE CLIFF UP WHICH MANY OF THE BIRDS CLIMB TO MAKE THEIR NESTS AT THE SUMMIT

([Page 28])

Although squabbles and encounters had been frequent since their arrival in any numbers, it now became manifest that there were two very different types of battle; first, the ordinary quarrelling consequent on disputes over nests and the robbery of stones from these, and secondly, the battles between cocks who fought for the hens. These last were more earnest and severe, and were carried to a finish, whereas the first named rarely proceeded to extremes.

In regard to the mating of the birds, the following most interesting customs seemed to be prevalent.

The hen would establish herself on an old nest, or in some cases scoop out a hollow in the ground and sit in or by this, waiting for a mate to propose himself. ([Fig. 26.]) She would not attempt to build while she remained unmated. During the first week of the nesting season, when plenty of fresh arrivals were continually pouring into the rookery, she did not have long to wait as a rule. Later, when the rookery was getting filled up, and only a few birds remained unmated in that vast crowd of some three-quarters of a million, her chances were not so good.

For example, on November 16 on a knoll thickly populated by mated birds, many of which already had eggs, a hen was observed to have scooped a little hollow in the ground and to be sitting in this. Day after day she sat on looking thinner and sadder as time passed and making no attempt to build her nest. At last, on November 27, she had her reward, for I found that a cock had joined her, and she was busily building her nest in the little scoop she had made so long before, her husband steadily working away to provide her with the necessary pebbles. Her forlorn appearance of the past ten days had entirely given place to an air of occupation and happiness.

As time went on I became certain that invariably pairing took place after arrival at the rookery. On October 23 I went to the place where the stream of arrivals was coming up the beach, and presently followed a single bird, which I afterwards found to be a cock, to see what it was going to do. He threaded his way through nearly the whole length of the rookery by himself, avoiding the tenanted knolls where the nests were, by keeping to the emptier hollows. About every hundred yards or so he stopped, ruffled up his feathers, closed his eyes for a moment, then “smoothed himself out” and went on again, thus evidently struggling against desire for sleep after his journey. As he progressed he frequently poked his little head forward and from side to side, peering up at the knolls, evidently in search of something.

Fig. 19. Adélies arriving at the Rookery

Fig. 20. A Cock carrying a Stone to his Nest

([Page 21])

Arrived at length at the south end of the rookery, he appeared suddenly to make up his mind, and boldly ascending a knoll which was well tenanted and covered with nests, walked straight up to one of these on which a hen sat. There was a cock standing at her side, but my little friend either did not see him or wished to ignore him altogether. He stuck his beak into the frozen ground in front of the nest, lifted up his head and made as if to place an imaginary stone in front of the hen, a most obvious piece of dumb show. The hen took not the slightest notice nor did her mate.

My friend then turned and walked up to another nest, a yard or so off, where another cock and hen were. The cock flew at him immediately, and after a short fight, in which each used his flippers savagely, he was driven clean down the side of the knoll away from the nests, the victorious cock returning to his hen. The newcomer, with the persistence which characterises his kind, came straight back to the same nest and stood close by it, soon ruffling his feathers and evidently settling himself for a doze, but, I suppose, because he made no further overtures the others took no notice of him at all, as, overcome by sheer weariness, he went to sleep and remained so until I was too cold to await further developments. On my way back to our hut I followed another cock for about thirty yards, when he walked up to another couple at a nest and gave battle to the cock. He, too, was driven off after a short and decisive fight. Soon there were many cocks on the war-path. Little knots of them were to be seen about the rookery, the lust of battle in them, watching and fighting each other with desperate jealousy, and the later the season advanced the more “bersac” they became.

A typical scene I find described in my notes for October 25 when I was out with my camera, and I mention it as a type of the hundreds that were proceeding simultaneously over the whole rockery, and also because I was able to photograph different stages of the proceedings as follows:

[Fig. 22] shows a group of three cocks engaged in bitter rivalry round a hen who is cowering in her scoop in which she had been waiting as is their custom. She appeared to be bewildered and agitated by the desperate behaviour of the cocks.

Fig. 21. SEVERAL INTERESTING THINGS ARE TAKING PLACE HERE

([Page 43])

On [Fig. 23] a further development is depicted, and two of the cocks are seen to be squaring up for battle. Close behind and to the right of them are seen (from left to right) the hen and the third cock, who are watching to see the result of the contest, and another hen cowering for protection against a cock with whom she has become established.

[Fig. 24] shows the two combatants hard at it, using their weight as they lean their breasts against one another, and rain in the blows with their powerful flippers.

[Fig. 25] shows the end of the fight, the victor having rushed the vanquished cock before him out of the crowd and on to a patch of snow on which, as he was too brave to turn and run, he knocked him down and gave him a terrible hammering.

When his conqueror left him at length, he lay for some two minutes or so on the ground, his heaving breast alone showing that he was alive, so completely exhausted was he, but recovering himself at length he arose and crawled away, a damaged flipper hanging limply by his side, and he took no further part in the proceedings. The victorious bird rushed back up the side of the knoll, and immediately fought the remaining cock, who had not moved from his original position, putting him to flight, and chasing him in and out of the crowd, the fugitive doubling and twisting amongst it in a frantic endeavour to get away, and I quickly lost sight of them.

Scenes of this kind became so common all over the rookery, that the roar of battle and thuds of blows could be heard continuously, and of the hundreds of such fights, all plainly had their cause in rivalry for the hens.

When starting to fight, the cocks sometimes peck at each other with their beaks, but always they very soon start to use their flippers, standing up to one another and raining in the blows with such rapidity as to make a sound which, in the words of Dr. Wilson, resembles that of a boy running and dragging his hoop-stick along an iron paling. Soon they start “in-fighting,” in which position one bird fights right-handed, the other left-handed; that is to say, one leans his left breast against his opponent, swinging in his blows with his right flippers, the other presenting his right breast and using his left flipper. My photographs of cocks fighting all show this plainly. It is interesting to note that these birds, though fighting with one flipper only, are ambidextrous. Whilst battering one another with might and main they use their weight at the same time, and as one outlasts the other, he drives his vanquished opponent before him over the ground, as a trained boxing man, when “in-fighting” drives his exhausted opponent round the ring.

Fig. 22. Three Cocks in Rivalry

([See page 38])

Fig. 23. Two of the Cocks squaring up for Battle

([See page 38])

Desperate as these encounters are, I don't think one penguin ever kills another. In many cases blood is drawn. I saw one with an eye put out, and that side of its beak (the right side) clotted with blood, whilst the crimson print of a blood-stained flipper across a white breast was no uncommon sight.

Hard as they can hit with their flippers, however, they are also well protected by their feathers, and being marvellously tough and enduring the end of a hard fight merely finds the vanquished bird prostrate with exhaustion and with most of the breath beaten out of his little body. The victor is invariably satisfied with this, and does not seek to dispatch him with his beak.

It was very usual to see a little group of cocks gathered together in the middle of one of the knolls squabbling noisily. Sometimes half a dozen would be lifting their raucous voices at one particular bird, then they would separate into pairs, squaring up to one another and emphasizing their remarks from time to time by a few quick blows from their flippers. It seemed that each was indignant with the others for coming and spoiling his chances with a coveted hen, and trying to get them to depart before he went to her.

It was useless for either to attempt overtures whilst the others were there, for the instant he did so, he would be set upon and a desperate fight begin. Usually, as in the case I described above, one of the little crowd would suddenly “see red” and sail into an opponent with desperate energy, invariably driving him in the first rush down the side of the knoll to the open space surrounding it, where the fight would be fought out, the victor returning to the others, until by his prowess and force of character, he would rid himself of them all. Then came his overtures to the hen. He would, as a rule, pick up a stone and lay it in front of her if she were sitting in her “scoop,” or if she were standing by it he might himself squat in it. She might take to him kindly, or, as often happened, peck him furiously. To this he would submit tamely, hunching up his feathers and shutting his eyes while she pecked him cruelly. Generally after a little of this she would become appeased. He would rise to his feet, and in the prettiest manner edge up to her, gracefully arch his neck, and with soft guttural sounds pacify her and make love to her.

Fig. 24. “Hard at it”

([See page 39])

Fig. 25. The End of the Battle

([Page 39])

Both perhaps would then assume the “ecstatic” attitude, rocking their necks from side to side as they faced one another ([Fig. 26]), and after this a perfect understanding would seem to grow up between them, and the solemn compact was made.

It is difficult to convey in words the daintiness of this pretty little scene. I saw it enacted many dozens of times, and it was wonderful to watch one of these hardy little cocks pacifying a fractious hen by the perfect grace of his manners.

[Fig. 21] is particularly instructive. In the centre of the picture a group of cocks are quarrelling, and on the left-hand side three unmated hens can be seen sitting in their scoops, whilst two of them (the two in front) are receiving overtures from two of the cocks who are making the most of their time whilst the others are fighting. On the right-hand side another cock is seen proposing himself to a fourth hen who seems to be meeting his overtures with the usual show of reluctance.

Although for the later arrivals a good deal of fighting was necessary before a mate could be secured, it seemed that some got the matter fixed up without any difficulty at all, especially during the earlier days when only a few birds were scattered widely over the rookery. Later, the cocks seemed to watch one another jealously, and to hunt in little batches in consequence. (Figs. [27], [28], and [29].)

From the particulars I have just given it is also evident that a wife and home once obtained could only be kept by dint of further battling and constant vigilance during the first stages of domesticity, when thousands of lusty cocks were pouring into the rookery, and it was not unusual to see a strange cock paying court to a mated hen in the absence of her husband until he returned to drive away the interloper, but I do not think that this ever occurred after the eggs had come and the regular family life begun, couples after this being perfectly faithful to one another.

The instance I have given of a newly arrived cock by dumb show pretending to take a stone and place it before a mated hen, is typical of the sort of first overture one sees, though more frequently an actual stone was tendered. While on this subject I had better mention a most interesting thing which occurred to one of my companions. One day as he was sitting quietly on some shingle near the ice-foot, a penguin approached him, and after eyeing him for a little, walked right up to him and nibbled gently at one of the legs of his wind-proof trousers. Then it walked away, picked up a pebble, and came back with it, dropping it on the ground by his side. The only explanation of this occurrence seems to be that the tendering of the stone was meant as an overture of friendship.

Fig. 26. THE PROPOSAL. (NOTE THE HEN IN HER SCOOP)

(Pages [35] and [43])

On October 26 there was no abatement in the stream of arrivals. The cock-fighting continued, and many of them, temporarily disabled, were to be seen moping about the rookery, smeared with blood and guano. Often a hen would join in when two cocks were fighting, occasionally going first for one and then the other, but I never to my knowledge saw a cock retaliate on a hen.

Once I saw two cocks fighting, and a hen taking the part of one of the cocks, the pair of them gave the other a fearful hammering, the hen using her bill savagely as well as her flippers. Completely knocked out and gasping for breath he got away at last, only to meet another cock who fought him and easily beat him. When this one had gone a third came, and the poor victim with a courage truly noble was squaring himself up with his last spark of energy, when I interfered and drove away his enemy.

The nests on most of the knolls soon became so crowded that their occupants, by stretching out their necks, could reach their neighbours without getting up. As every hen appeared to hate her neighbour they would peck-peck at one another hour after hour, in the manner seen in my [photograph],[(3)] till their mouths and heads became terribly sore. Occasionally they would desist, shake their heads apparently from pain, then at it again.

In various places through the course of these pages, reference is made to the “ecstatic” attitude of the penguins. This antic is gone through by both sexes and at various times, though much more frequently during the actual breeding season. The bird rears its body upward and stretching up its neck in a perpendicular line, discharges a volley of guttural sounds straight at the unresponding heavens. At the same time the clonic movements of its syrinx or “sound box” distinctly can be seen going on in its throat. Why it does this I have never been able to make out, but it appears to be thrown into this ecstasy when it is pleased; in fact, the zoologist of the “Pourquoi Pas” expedition termed it the “Chant de satisfaction.” I suppose it may be likened to the crowing of a cock or the braying of an ass. When one bird of a pair starts to perform in this way, the other usually starts at once to pacify it. Very many times I saw this scene enacted when nesting was in progress. The two might be squatting by the nest when one would arise to assume the “ecstatic” attitude and make the guttural sounds in its syrinx. Immediately the other would get close up to it and make the following noise in a soft soothing tone:

A-ah

Always and immediately this caused the musician to subside and settle itself down again.

Fig. 27. Cocks fighting for Hens

Fig. 28. Cocks fighting for Hens

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The King penguin at the Zoological Gardens, whose sex is unknown, throws itself into the ecstatic attitude and sings a sort of song when its keeper strokes its neck. The blackfooted penguins never do it, though they breed several times a year. Figs. [26] and [32] show Adélies in ecstatic attitude.

To-day about a dozen skua gulls (Megalestris Makormiki) appeared for the first time. They did not start to nest, but sat on the sea-ice with a group of penguins, in apparent amity. A few occasionally flew about over the rookery.

On October 27 though the stream of arrivals continued there were wide gaps in it. It appeared to be thinning. For an hour in the forenoon it stopped altogether, and at the end of this time a storm of wind from the south struck us and continued for another hour with thick drift. Probably clear of Cape Adare the wind had been blowing before it reached us, and had stopped the birds' progress across the ice.

During the storm the rookery was completely silenced, most of the birds lying with their heads to the wind. A good many skuas arrived that day. Some chips of white, glistening quartz had been thrown down by our hut door recently, and later I found two of these chips in a nest about thirty yards away, showing up brightly against the black basalt of which all the pebbles on the rookery were composed.

As a rule the penguins were careful to select rounded stones for their nests, but these fragments of quartz were jagged and uncomfortable, and most unsuitable for nest building. Thus it was evidently the brightness of the stones which attracted them. Whilst I looked on, the owners of the pieces of quartz were wrangling with their neighbours, and a penguin in a nest behind shot out its beak and stole one of the pieces, placing it in its own nest. I had brought Campbell out to show him the pieces of quartz, and he witnessed the last incident with me.

Fig. 29. Cocks fighting for Hens

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Fig. 30. Penguin on Nest

I may here mention an experiment I tried some days later. I painted some pebbles a bright red and had others covered with bright green cotton material as I had no other coloured paint. Mixing a handful of these coloured stones together I placed them in a little heap amongst natural black ones near a nest-covered knoll. Returning in a few hours I found nearly all the red stones and one or two of the green ones gone, and later found them in nests. Later still, all the red ones had disappeared, and last of all the green ones. I traced nearly all these to nests, and found a few days later that, like the pieces of white quartz, they were being stolen from nest to nest and thus slowly being distributed in different directions. At other times I saw pieces of tin, pieces of glass, half a stick of chocolate, and the head of a bright metal teaspoon in different nests near our hut, the articles evidently having been taken from our scrap-heap. Thus it is evident that penguins like bright colours and prefer red to green, as instanced by the selection of the coloured pebbles. I am sorry that I did not carry these colour tests further.

During October 29 the stream of arrivals was undiminished, but the next day it slackened considerably, and during the next two days stopped altogether, all the rising ground of the rookery now being literally crammed full with nests, several thousands of them being scattered up the slopes of Cape Adare to a height of a thousand feet.

Fig. 31. Showing the Position of the Two Eggs

Fig. 32. An Adélie in “Ecstatic” Attitude

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PART II

DOMESTIC LIFE OF THE ADÉLIE PENGUIN

Laying and incubation of the eggs : The Adélies' habits in the water : Their games : Care of the young : The later development of their social system.

On November 3 several eggs were found, and on the 4th these were beginning to be plentiful in places, though many of the colonies had not yet started to lay.

Let me here call attention to the fact that up to now not a single bird out of all those thousands had left the rookery once it had entered it. Consequently not a single bird had taken food of any description during all the most strenuous part of the breeding season, and as they did not start to feed till November 8 thousands had to my knowledge fasted for no fewer than twenty-seven days. Now of all the days of the year these twenty-seven are certainly the most trying during the life of the Adélie.

With the exception, in some cases, of a few hours immediately after arrival (and I believe the later arrivals could not afford themselves even this short respite) constant vigilance had been maintained; battle after battle had been fought; some had been nearly killed in savage encounters, recovered, fought again and again with varying fortune. They had mated at last, built their nests, procreated their species, and, in short, met the severest trials that Nature can inflict upon mind and body, and at the end of it, though in many cases blood-stained and in all caked and bedraggled with mire, they were as active and as brave as ever.

When one egg had been laid the hen still sat on the nest. The egg had to be continually warmed, and as the temperature was well below freezing-point, exposure would mean the death of the embryo.

In order to determine the period between the laying of the two eggs, I numbered seven nests with wooden pegs, writing on the pegs the date on which each egg was laid. The result obtained is shown on [page 53].

The average interval in the four cases where two eggs were laid being 3·5 days.

Fig. 33. Floods

([Page 66])

No. 7 nest was that of the hen which I mentioned as having waited for so long for a mate, and the lateness of the date on which the first egg appeared may have resulted in there being no other.

The only notes I have on the incubation period are that the first chick appeared in No. 5 nest on December 19 (incubation period thirty-seven days) and in No. 7 nest on December 28 (incubation period thirty-four days).

The skuas had increased considerably in numbers by November 4, and frequently came to the scrap-heap outside our hut. Here were many frozen carcasses of penguins which we had thrown there after the breasts had been removed for food during the past winter. The skuas picked the bones quite clean of flesh, so that the skeletons lay white under the skins, and it was remarkable to what distances they sometimes carried the carcasses, which weighed considerably more than the skuas themselves. I found some of these bodies over five hundred yards away.

A perpetual feud was carried on between the penguins and the skuas. The latter birds come to the south in the summer, and make their nests close to, and in some cases actually among, those of the penguins, and during the breeding time live almost entirely on the eggs, and later, on the chicks. They never attack the adult penguins, who run at them and drive them away when they light within reach, but as the skuas can take to the wing and the penguins cannot, no pursuit is possible.

Fig. 34. Flooded

Fig. 35. A Nest with Stones of Mixed Sizes

The skuas fly about over the rookery, keeping only a few yards from the ground, and should one of them see a nest vacated and the eggs exposed, if only for a few seconds, it swoops at this, and with scarcely a pause in its flight, picks up an egg in its beak and carries it to an open space on the ground, there to devour the contents. Here then was another need for constant vigilance, and so daring did the skuas become, that often when a penguin sat on a nest carelessly, so as to leave one of the eggs protruding from under it, a lightning dash from a skua would result in the egg being borne triumphantly away.

The bitterness of the penguins' hatred of the skuas was well shown in the neighbourhood of our scrap-heap. None of the food thrown out on to this heap was of the least use to the penguins, but we noticed after a time that almost always there were one or more penguins there, keeping guard against the skuas, and doing their utmost to prevent them from getting the food, and never allowing them to light on the heap for more than a few seconds at a time. In fact, a constant feature of this heap was the sentry penguin, darting hither and thither, aiming savage pecks at the skuas, which would then rise a yard or two into the air out of reach, the penguin squalling in its anger at being unable to follow its enemy. At this juncture the penguin would imitate the flying motion with its flappers, seeming instinctively to attempt to mount into the air, as its remote ancestors doubtlessly did, before their wings had adapted themselves solely to swimming.

Close to the scrap-heap there was a large knoll crowded with penguins' nests, and it was this knoll that provided the sentries. Very rarely did one of these leave the heap until another came to relieve it as long as there were skuas about, but when the skuas went the penguins left it too. When the skuas returned, however, and without the lapse of a few seconds, a penguin would be seen to detach itself from the knoll and run to guard the heap. That some primitive understanding on this matter existed among the penguins seems to me probable, because whilst there were generally one or two guarding the heap, there was never a crowd, the rest of the knoll seeming quite satisfied as long as one of their number remained on guard.

In describing the Cape Adare rookery I mentioned the fact that the pebbles entering into the formation of the beach are basaltic, and therefore of a dead black shade. The result of this is that as the sun's altitude increases, heat is absorbed readily by the black rock, through that clear atmosphere, and the snow upon it rapidly melts.

Fig. 36. “HOUR AFTER HOUR, DURING THE WHOLE DAY, THEY FOUGHT AGAIN AND AGAIN”

([Page 68])

For a long time the penguins at their nests had satisfied their thirst by eating the snow near them, but as this disappeared, they suffered greatly, as was made evident by the way they lay with beaks open and tongues exposed between them. ([Fig. 30.]) As time went on the cocks started to make short journeys to the drifts which still remained in order to quench their thirst, but the hens stuck manfully, or rather “henfully” to their posts, though some of them seemed much distressed. Later, those cocks which had nested in the centre of the rookery had quite long journeys to make in order to find drifts, a very popular resort being that which had formed in the lee of our hut, and all day streams of them came here to gobble snow. Once a cock was seen to take a lump of snow in his beak and carry it to his mate on the nest, who ate it.

Mr. Priestley tells me that when he was at Cape Royds in 1908 he saw cocks taking snow to hens on their nests. This procedure would seem to be different to the parental instinct which governs the feeding of the young, and it seemed to show that the cock realized that the hen must be thirsty and in need of the snow, and kept this fact in mind when he was away from her. Another point to note is that the occurrence was a very rare and, in fact, exceptional one.

When conditions arose which were new to their experience the penguins seemed utterly unable to grasp them.

As an example of this, we had rigged a guide rope from our hut to the meteorological screen, about fifty yards away, to guide us during blizzards. This rope, which was supported by poles driven into the ground, sagged in one place till it nearly touched the ground. At frequent intervals, penguins on their way past the hut were brought to a standstill by running their breasts into this sagged rope, and each bird as it was caught invariably went through the same ridiculous procedure. First it would push hard against the rope, then finding this of no avail, back a few steps, walk up to it again and have another push, repeating the process several times. After this, instead of going a few feet further along where it could easily walk under the rope, in ninety per cent. of cases it would turn, and by a wide detour walk right round the hut the other way, evidently convinced that some unknown obstacle completely barred its passage on that side. This spectacle was a continual source of amusement to us as it went on all day and every day for some time.

Fig. 37. A Nest on a Rock

([See page 71])

Fig. 38. “One after another, the rest of the Party followed him”

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As penguins' eggs are very good to eat and a great luxury, as well as being beneficial to men living under Antarctic conditions, we collected a large number, which we stowed away to freeze. To collect these eggs we used to set off, carrying a bucket, and walk through the knolls. As we picked our way, carefully placing our feet in the narrow spaces between the nests, we were savagely pecked about the legs, as in most positions at least, these birds could reach us without even leaving the nest, whilst very often the mates standing near them would sail in at us, raining in blows with their flippers with the rapidity of a maxim gun.

To search for eggs it was necessary to lift up the occupant of each nest and look beneath her. If she were tackled from front or flank this was a painful and difficult business, as she drove at the intruder's hands with powerful strokes of her sharp beak, but we found that the best way to set about the matter was to dangle a fur mit in front of her with one hand, and when she seized this quickly slip the other behind her, lifting her nether regions from the nest, and at the same time pushing her gently forward. Immediately she would drop the fur mit, and sticking her beak into the ground push herself backward with a determined effort to stay on the nest. So long as the pressure from behind was kept up she would keep her beak firmly fixed in the ground, and could be robbed at will.

The egg abstracted, she was then left in peace, on which she would rise to her feet, look under her for the egg and, finding that it was gone, ruffle her feathers, and, trembling with indignation, look round for the robber, seemingly quite unable to realize that we were the guilty ones. This is typical of the Adélie's attitude towards us. We are beyond their comprehension, and fear of us, anger at us, curiosity over us, although frequently shown, are displayed only for a fleeting moment. In a few minutes she might forget about the incident altogether and quietly resume her position on the empty nest, but very often she would violently attack any other bird who might happen to be standing near, and thus as we filled our buckets we left a line of altercation in our wake. This, however, was not long lived, and affairs soon settled down to their normal state, and I believe that in about one minute the affair was completely forgotten. The penguin, indeed, is in its nature the embodiment of all that man should be when he explores the Antarctic regions, ever acting on the principle that it is of no use to worry over spilt milk.

Fig. 39. A JOY RIDE

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The comparative size of the penguin's egg is shown in some of my photographs. Ninety-six eggs averaged 4·56 ounces apiece. They vary in size from about 6·45 cm. to 7·2 cm. in length, and from 5·0 cm. to 5·5 cm. in breadth, on an average. Both ends are nearly equally rounded, and of a white chalky texture without, and green within. This green colour is plainly shown by transmitted light.

When the two have been laid the sitting bird places them one in front of the other. The rearmost egg is tucked up on the outspread feet, the foremost lies on the ground, and is covered by the belly of the bird as it lies forward upon it. ([Fig. 31.]) By many of the birds a strong inclination to burrow was displayed, and they seemed very fond of delving in the soft shingle ledges that were to be found on some parts of the beach. They did this ostensibly to get small stones for their nests, but certainly burrowed deeper than they need have done, and occasionally squatted for some time in little caves that they made in this way. I noticed the same thing in the drifts when they went to eat snow, and thought at times that they were going to make underground nests, but they never did so, though some of the little shingle caves would have made ideal nesting sites.

By November 7, though many nests were still without eggs, a large number now contained two, and their owners started, turn and turn about, to go to the open water leads about a third of a mile distant to feed, and as a result of this a change began gradually to come over the face of the rookery. Hitherto the whole ground in the neighbourhood of the nests had been stained a bright green. This was due to the fasting birds continually dropping their watery, bile-stained excreta upon it. (The gall of penguins is bright green.) These excreta practically contained no solid matter excepting epithelial cells and salts.

The nests themselves are never fouled, the excreta being squirted clear of them for a distance of a foot or more, so that each nest has the appearance of a flower with bright green petals radiating from its centre. Some of the photographs show this well, especially [Fig. 30]. Even when the chicks have come and are being sat upon by the parents, this still holds good, because they lie with their heads under the old bird's belly and their hindquarters just presenting themselves, so that they may add their little decorative offerings, petal by petal! Now that the birds were going to feed, the watery-green stains upon the ground gave place to the characteristic bright brick-red guano, resulting from their feeding on the shrimp-like euphausia in the sea; and the colour of the whole rookery was changed in a few days, though this was first noticeable, of course, in the region of those knolls which had been occupied first, and which were now settled down to the peaceable and regular family life which was to last until the chicks had grown.

Fig. 40. A KNOT OF PENGUINS ON THE ICE-FOOT

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As this family life became established, law and order reigned to some extent, and there was a distinct tendency to preserve it, noticeably on those knolls which had so settled down, and I think the following most surprising incident bears evidence of what I have said. I quote word for word from my notes on November 24, 1911:

“This afternoon I saw two cocks (probably) engaged in a very fierce fight, which lasted a good three minutes. They were fighting with flippers and bills, one of them being particularly clever with the latter, frequently seizing and holding his opponent just behind the right eye whilst he battered him with his flippers.

“After a couple of minutes, during which each had the other down on the ground several times, three or four other penguins ran up and apparently tried to stop the fight. This is the only construction I can put on their behaviour, as time after time they kept running in when the two combatants clinched, pushing their breasts in between them, but making no attempt to fight themselves, whilst their more collected appearance and smooth feathers were in marked contrast to the angry attitudes of the combatants.

“The fight, which had started on the outskirts of a knoll crowded with nests, soon edged away to the space outside, and it was here that I (and Campbell, who was with me) saw the other penguins try to stop it. The last minute was a very fierce and vindictive ‘mill,’ both fighting with all their might, and ended in one of them trying to toboggan away from his opponent; but he was too exhausted to get any pace on, so that just as he got into the crowd again he was caught, and both fought for a few seconds more, when the apparent victor suddenly stopped and ran away. The other picked himself up and made his way rapidly among the nests, evidently searching for one in particular.