The feathered tribes are very numerous on these islands of Southern
hemisphere. Of penguins, there are four kinds--the king penguin, the
macaroni, the jackass, and the rookery. The first of these is much
larger than a goose; the other three are smaller, differing in
appearance in several particulars. They all walk upright, with their
legs projecting from their bodies in the same direction with their
tails. When fifty or more of them are seen in file, they appear, at a
distance, like a company of soldiers. They carry their heads high, with
their wings drooping like two arms. The breast-feathers are delicately
white, with a line of black running across the crops. Seen at a
distance, they have the appearance of little men, with a white bosom,
black neckerchief, and short breeches. Their gait on land, however, is
very awkward--rather more so than that of a sailor just returned from a
long voyage.
When tamed, the penguin becomes quite tractable. A lady at the isle had
domesticated and made quite a pet of a king penguin, which she, however,
proposed to relinquish for the sum of thirty dollars. She had taught him
to sit at table with her. A sip of coffee he seemed to enjoy with much
gusto; and if, perchance, she attempted to raise the cup to her lips
before first presenting his majesty with a draught, he would, quick as
thought, with a blow from one of his “hands,” dash the cup to the floor.
He followed her about the house as a child follows its mother; and she
assured us he was a great deal of company for her when alone.
Another sea-fowl peculiar to the islands is the upland-goose, which is
about the size of our domestic goose. Their plumage is rich and glossy:
that of the gander is dazzlingly white. The down is equal to that of the
swan. The teal are also found here, and far surpassing in beauty those
of this country. Their bills and feet are blue; their wings of a golden
green. The ducks are similar to those found in the United States; but
the manner of going a-ducking very dissimilar,--no lying in wait half a
day before getting a good shot. You might take your gun and shoot them
down, and dozens will come to ascertain the cause of the report.
Previous to our arrival, three other vessels had put into the harbor in
distress, and had been condemned. The crews of these vessels were
constantly out gunning. I would see them often returning over the hills,
laden with those beautiful white geese, looking like so many swans. A
Dutch captain, whose vessel had been condemned, was very contentedly
pursuing the “even tenor of his way,” bringing in the game, while “mine
frow” was as industriously manufacturing feather beds. Never having
heard them say anything about getting away, I presume they are yet at
the old vocation.
A moral philosopher and naturalist would be highly interested in
contemplating, for days, the operations of a South Sea rookery,
observing the order and regularity with which everything is conducted.
When a sufficient number of penguins, albatross, etc., are assembled on
shore, they proceed to the execution of the grand object for which they
left their native element. First, they trace a well-defined
parallelogram, of requisite extent to accommodate the whole
fraternity,--perhaps from one to four or five acres. One side runs
parallel with the water’s edge, and is left open for egress and regress.
They then commence picking up the stones, and depositing them outside
the lines; thus creating quite a little wall on three sides. Within this
wall they form a pathway, several feet in width, which would not suffer,
in regard to smoothness, compared with any fashionable promenade in our
city parks. This path is for the sentinels to patrol at night. They next
lay out the whole in little squares, formed by narrow paths which cross
each other at right angles. At each intersection of these paths, an
albatross constructs her nest; while in the centre of each square is a
penguin’s nest.
Although the penguin and albatross profess such sincere attachment for
one another, they not only form their nests in a different manner, but
the penguin will rob her friend’s nest, whenever an opportunity
presents; being ambitious, I suppose, to produce a large family. The
penguin’s nest is formed by an excavation in the earth; while that of
the albatross is formed by throwing up a mound of earth, eight or ten
inches high; on the summit of which she can scrutinize the proceedings
of her nearest neighbors and best friends.
The camp of the rookery is in continual motion; penguins passing through
the different paths, on their return from aquatic excursions, eager to
caress their mates after a temporary absence; while the latter are
passing out in quest of refreshment and recreation. At the same time,
the air is almost darkened by an innumerable number of albatross
hovering over the rookery, continually lighting, and meeting their
companions; while others are rising, and shaping their course for the
sea. To see these creatures of the ocean so faithfully discharge the
duties assigned them by the great Creator; to witness their affectionate
re-unions, their numerous acts of tenderness and courtesy to each other,
the reflection naturally arises, that, if there was only as much harmony
and genuine affection between wedded pairs of the human family, the
connubial state would then indeed be “all that we dream of heaven.”
We had remained at the islands about a month, when the ship Humayoon,
from Dundee, (McKenzie, master,) bound to Valparaiso, laden with coal,
tar, and liquors, put into port to procure water and beef. The captain
formed an acquaintance with my husband, and, after learning the
particulars of our situation, very kindly offered us a passage to
Valparaiso; from whence we could, in all probability, arrive home sooner
than by remaining where we were. After having procured the necessaries
required, I expected the captain would at once proceed on his voyage;
but, being perfectly independent, as he was sole owner of the fine ship
and cargo, he protracted his stay at the settlement day after day,
thereby gratifying the mirth-loving portion of the community by
assembling them at different times on ship-board, to join in the merry
dance. He had on board several musical instruments, which he was taking
out to dispose of; and, being possessed of extraordinary musical
talents, the people were perfectly delighted and entranced with
specimens of his skill. He had a perfect passion for Scotch airs, which,
all conceded, never before sounded half so enlivening. But pleasures,
however transporting, unhappily cannot last. No chain, be it of gold, or
pearl, or flowers, can bind the stubborn wings of Time, and bid him
loiter on his way. On the morning of the 25th of November, he weighed
anchor, and turned her bows towards the entrance.
I cast a last, sad, lingering look at the old Nonantum, and bade adieu
to kind friends, whom, probably, I should never meet again on the
journey of life, although they would be often remembered. During my
sojourn at the islands, although I found kind friends, I passed many a
gloomy hour. As the season approached which, from time immemorial, in
dear old New England, has been observed as a day of thanksgiving and
prayer,--a day, of all others, when severed families assemble under the
paternal roof, to meet once again the loved friends of their youth, to
tread again the paths hallowed by childhood’s earliest
recollections,--the anniversary of such a day, while in this remote
region, crowded my memory with reminiscences of the past, pleasurable,
from the associations which they recalled, and painful, from the
position which I then occupied.