THE ADELIES AND THEIR CHICKS
The rookery is most interesting after the chicks arrive. The young
chicks are silvery or stately grey, with darker heads, which are heavy
for the first day or so and hang down helplessly. After hatching the
parents take equal share in tending the chicks, whatever they may have
done before. For some weeks the nest cannot be left untended, or the
chicks would perish of cold or fall victims to the skuas.
When the young ones can hold up their heads the feeding begins, and at
first the parent tries to induce its offspring to feed by tickling its
bill and throat. After the chick has once learned to feed the parents
are taxed by the clamouring for more food.
For some weeks after hatching life in the rookery is smooth enough, for
one parent is always on the nest and the young birds do not wander.
Then the trouble begins, for the young begin to move about, and if
anything disturbs the colony they suffer from panic.
The chicks knowing neither nest nor parent cannot return home, so they
meet the case by adopting parents, and although some of the old ones
resent this method most of the chicks succeed in getting into nests.
The old bird may have chicks already, but as she does not know which
are her own she cannot drive the intruders away, and sometimes we saw a
sorely puzzled parent trying to cover four gigantic chicks.
The times comes when both parents must be absent together to get food
for the growing chicks, and then the social order of the rookery gives
way to chaos. But the social condition which is evolved out of the
chaos is one of the most remarkable in nature, and both serves its
purpose and saves the race. The parents returning with food come back
from the sea with the intention of finding their nests and feeding
their own young ones, but the young one assumes that the first old one
that comes within reach is its parent, and, perhaps, it really thinks
so, as the parents are all alike.
An old bird, coming up full of shrimps, is met by clamorous youngsters
before it has time to begin the search for its nest. The chicks order
the parent to stand and deliver, and the latter scolds and runs off.
But the chicks are both wheedling and imperative, and soon there begins
one of those parent hunts which were so familiar at the end of the
season.
The result, however, is never in doubt. At intervals the old one is
weak enough to stop and expostulate, but there is no indecision on the
part of the young ones, which in the most matter-of-fact and persistent
manner hunt the old one down.
Sometimes these chases last for miles, but in the end the old one
stops, and still spluttering and protesting delivers up.
One would think that under these circumstances the weaker chicks would
go to the wall, but as far as could be seen there were no ill-nourished
young ones. Perhaps the hunt takes so long that all get a chance.
A few days after the eggs began to hatch there was a severe blizzard,
which lasted for several days. Where the snow had drifted deepest,
nests and birds were covered out of sight, and the indication of the
whereabouts of a bird was a little funnel in the snow, at the bottom of
which an anxious eye could be seen. On a moderate estimate about half
the young perished in this blizzard.
[Illustration: Adelie trying to mother a couple of well-grown
Strangers. (_See page 215_)]
The old Adelies do not mind the cold, their thick blubber and dense fur
protecting them sufficiently, and in a blizzard they will lie still and
let the snow cover them. Once after a blizzard I went to the rookery
and could see no penguins, but suddenly, at some noise, they sprung out
of the snow, and I was surrounded by them.
While the Adelie appears to be entirely moral in his domestic
arrangements, his stupidity (or his short-sightedness, which causes
him to seem stupid) gives rise to many complications. All the birds go
to their nests without hesitating when they come from the sea by the
familiar route, but if taken from their nests to another part of the
rookery, some easily find their way back but others are quite lost.
They are most puzzled when moved only a little way from home, and they
will fight to keep another bird's nest while their own is only a couple
of feet away.
There is no doubt, however, that the presence of our camp upset their
social arrangements, and probably when undisturbed there would be no
confusion and complications.
As it was, a mere walk among the nests caused innumerable
entanglements, for one bird would leave its nest in fright, and flop
down a yard away beside a nest already occupied, or on a nest left
exposed by another frightened bird.
But in all such cases, even when a bird got established on the wrong
nest, things were always put straight afterwards. When they calmed down
they became uneasy, probably observing the landmarks more critically,
and they would even leave a nest with chicks for their own empty nest.
We tried some experiments on the penguins in order to trace the working
of their minds. If one of us stood between a bird and its nest so
as to prevent it from approaching, the bird would make many furious
attempts to reach home. After a time, however, it would appear to
meditate, and then walk off rather disconsolately, and having made
a tour of the colony would approach the nest from the other side.
Apparently it was greatly astonished to find that the intruder was
still there, and this curious trait was often seen.
It is like the ostrich burying its head in the sand and imagining
itself safe, or like a man refusing to believe his own eyes. It appears
to think that if it comes to the nest from the other side the horrible
vision will have disappeared.
A lost chick was never sought for, indeed there would have been no use
in such a proceeding for it could not be recognised. On account of
this peculiarity we were able to make many readjustments of the family
arrangements. When the blizzard destroyed so many chicks we distributed
the young from nests where there were two to nests where there were
none, and these chicks were usually adopted with eagerness.
When both birds are at a nest that is disturbed, or when the mate comes
up from feeding to relieve guard, there is an interchange of civilities
in the form of a loud squawking in unison, accompanied by a curious
movement. The birds' necks are crossed, and at each squawk they are
changed from side to side, first right then left. We were for some time
mistaken in thinking that this harsh clamour was quarrelling.
A bird returning from the sea came to the wrong nest and tried to
converse with the occupant, who would have nothing to do with him.
The occupant knew that her mate had just gone off for the day, and
would not be such a fool as to return too early, so she sat still,
indifferent to the squawking of the other. Presently a look of distress
came into the visitor's face as he failed to get a response, but he was
very slow to realise that he had made a mistake.
The Adelies are not demonstrative of their affections, and it is
difficult to discover if they have any beyond the instinctive affection
for the young. One curious incident, however, did occur, which
possibly, was in opposition to what we expected after a long study of
the penguins' habits.
An injured bird which we had tried to nurse died, and shortly
afterwards a live penguin was found standing by it. We moved the dead
bird to a distance, and after a time found the other again standing
beside it. It was the general opinion that this was the dead bird's
mate which had found it out. From any point of view the occurrence was
puzzling, but I find it less difficult to believe that the bird had
found its dead mate than that it took an interest in a dead stranger,
because there were always plenty of dead birds about a rookery, and the
living went about entirely indifferent to them.
Instances of real kindness were sometimes noticed; for instance, our
passage through the rookery frightened away the parent of a very young
chick, and a bird passing a few yards away noticed this and came over
to the chick. The bird cocked his head on one side as if saying:
"Hullo! this little beggar's deserted; must do something for him." Then
he tickled its bill, but the chick was too frightened to feed. After
coaxing it in this way the bird turned away and put some food on the
ground, and then lifting a little in his bill he put some on each side
of the chick's bill. This was not an isolated case, but was observed
on several occasions, the helper always running off when the rightful
parent returned.
[Illustration: Penguins listening to the Gramophone during the Summer]
One incident seemed to reveal true social instinct. From a small colony
all the eggs except one were taken to see if the birds would lay again.
As it happened they did not, and, after the birds had sat on their
empty nests for some time, they disappeared. But when the time came for
the solitary egg to hatch quite half the nests were re-occupied, and
the birds took their share in defending the one chick.
When the young birds have shed most of their down they cease from
hunting the old ones for food, and congregating at the edge of the sea
appear to be waiting for something. When the right time, which they
seem to know perfectly, comes, they dive into the sea, sometimes in
small parties, sometimes singly, disappear and may be seen popping up
far out to sea. They dive and come up very awkwardly, but swim well.
It is marvellous how fully instinct makes these birds independent,
for the parents do not take them to the water and teach them to swim,
indeed the old ones stay behind to moult. Though the chicks have
spent their lives on land and only know that food is something found
in an old bird's throat, when the time comes they leave the land and
plunge boldly into the sea, untaught, to get their living by straining
crustacea out of the water in the same way as a whale does.
Some of our party did report that they saw penguins teaching the young
to swim, but if this ever happens it is not general.
Like the Emperor, the Adelie is fond of travelling when free from
family cares. The great blizzard unfortunately left hundreds of old
birds with no chicks to guard and feed, and they began to explore the
country in bands. The round of the lakes was a favourite trip, and
tracks also led to the summits of some of the hills, although the
short-sighted Adelie could hardly have gone there for the view.
There was no general trek southwards, such as the Emperors made, but
the Southern Party found tracks of two Adelies at a distance of some 80
miles from the sea.
While chaos reigned in the rookery I found two Adelie chicks exhausted
and covered with mire, and I took them to the hut and bestowed upon
them the dignified names of Nebuchadnezzar and Nicodemus. They were
placed in a large cage in the porch, and fed by hand with sardines and
fish-cakes. They did not, however, like our way of feeding them, and
it was necessary to force the food so far down their throats that they
were compelled to swallow it.
In a few days they became quite tame and recognised those who fed them.
Familiar only with our peculiar method of feeding them, one of them
used to show when he was hungry by taking my finger into his bill.
We shortened their names to Nebby and Nicky and they answered to them,
but they answered with equal readiness to the common name of Bill. When
sounds from the rookery reached them they would become greatly excited,
and tried so desperately to get through the netting of their cage that
we used to take them out for a walk. Then they would make no attempt to
go to the rookery and were rather frightened.
Nebuchadnezzar was a very friendly little fellow, and would follow
me about outside and come running when called. But their feeding was
unnatural, and for this reason, doubtless, both of them died after a
few weeks.
A single ringed penguin appeared at Cape Royds at the end of the
breeding season, just as the Adelies were beginning to moult. It
is about the same size as the Adelie but is more agile, and at a
little distance, among a crowd of old Adelies, he looked not unlike a
young Adelie with the white throat. But when I picked him up by the
legs to investigate, he surprised me by curling round and biting me
on the hand--a feat that the Adelie could not perform--and a closer
examination showed me what he was. Never before had a ringed penguin
been seen in this part of the Antarctic.