Through Caesar's skilful manipulations the sea-water is extracted from
the ham, and the coffee, which is in the berry and unroasted, after a
course of judicious washing and scorching, is also rendered fit for use.
The biscuits also turn out better than was anticipated. So their
breakfast is not so bad, after all--indeed, to appetites keen as theirs,
it seems a veritable feast.
While they are enjoying it, Seagriff tells them something more about the
plant which has proved of such opportune service. They learn from him
that it grows in the Falkland Islands, as well as in Tierra del Fuego,
and is known as the "gum plant," [_Hydrocelice gummifera_], because of a
viscous substance it exudes in large quantities; this sap is called
"balsam," and is used by the natives of the countries where it is found
as a cure for wounds. But its most important property, in their eyes,
is the ease with which it can be set on fire, even when green and
growing, as above described--a matter of no slight consequence in
regions that are deluged with rain five days out of every six. In the
Falkland Islands, where there are no trees, the natives often roast
their beef over a fire of bones, the very bones of the animal from
which, but the moment before, the meat itself was stripped, and they
avail themselves of the gum plant to kindle this fire.
Just as Seagriff finishes his interesting dissertation, his listeners
have their attention called to a spectacle quite new to them, and
somewhat comical. Near the spot where they have landed, a naked
sand-bar projects into the water, and along this a number of odd-looking
creatures are seen standing side by side. There are quite two hundred
of them, all facing the same way, mute images of propriety and good
deportment, reminding one of a row of little charity children, all in
white bibs and tuckers, ranged in a row for inspection.
But very different is the behaviour of the birds--for birds they are.
One or another, every now and then, raises its head aloft, and so holds
it, while giving utterance to a series of cries as hoarse and long-drawn
as the braying of an ass, to which sound it bears a ludicrous
resemblance.
"Jackass penguins," [Note 1] Seagriff pronounces them, without waiting
to be questioned; "yonder 're more of 'em," he explains, "out among the
kelp, divin' after shell-fish, the which are their proper food."
The others, looking off toward the kelp, then see more of the birds.
They had noticed them before, but supposed them to be fish leaping out
of the water, for the penguin, on coming up after a dive, goes down
again with so quick a plunge that an observer, even at short distance,
may easily mistake it for a fish. Turning to those on the shore, it is
now seen that numbers of them are constantly passing in among the
tussac-grass and out again, their mode of progression being also very
odd. Instead of a walk, hop, or run, as with other birds, it is a sort
of rapid rush, in which the rudimentary wings of the birds are used as
fore legs, so that, from even a slight distance, they might easily be
mistaken for quadrupeds.
"It is likely they have their nests yonder," observed Mrs Gancy,
pointing to where the penguins kept going in and out of the tussac.
The remark makes a vivid impression on her son and the young Englishman,
neither of whom is so old as to have quite outgrown a boyish propensity
for nest-robbing.
"Sure to have, ma'am," affirms Seagriff, respectfully raising his hand
to his forelock; "an' a pity we didn't think of it sooner. We might 'a'
hed fresh eggs for breakfast."
"Why can't we have them for dinner, then?" demands the second mate; the
third adding, "Yes; why not?"
"Sartin we kin, young masters. I knows of no reason agin it," answers
the old sealer.
"Then let's go egg-gathering," exclaimed Ned, eagerly.
The proposal is accepted by Seagriff, who is about to set out with the
two youths, when, looking inquiringly round, he says, "As thar ain't
anything in the shape of a stick about, we had best take the boat-hook
an' a couple of oars."
"What for?" ask the others, in some surprise.
"You'll larn, by-an'-bye," answers the old salt, who, like most of his
kind, is somewhat given to mystification.
In accordance with this suggestion, each of the boys arms himself with
an oar, leaving Seagriff the boat-hook.
They enter among the tussac, and after tramping through it a hundred
yards or so, they come upon a "penguinnery," sure enough. It is a grand
one, extending over acres, with hundreds of nests--if a slight
depression in the naked surface of the ground deserves to be so called.
But no eggs are in any of them, fresh or otherwise; instead, in each
sits a young, half-fledged bird, and one only, as this kind of penguin
lays and hatches but a single egg. Many of the nests have old birds
standing beside them, each occupied in feeding its solitary chick,
duckling, gosling, or whatever the penguin offspring may be properly
called. This being of itself a curious spectacle, the disappointed
egg-hunters stop awhile to witness it, for they are still outside the
bounds of the "penguinnery," and the birds have as yet taken no notice
of them. By each nest is a little mound, on which the mother stands
perched, from time to time projecting her head outward and upward, at
the same time giving forth a queer chattering noise, half quack, half
bray, with the air of a stump orator haranguing an open-air audience.
Meanwhile, the youngster stands patiently waiting below, evidently with
a fore-knowledge of what is to come. Then, after a few seconds of the
quacking and braying, the mother bird suddenly ducks her head, with the
mandibles of her beak wide agape, between which the fledgling thrusts
its head, almost out of sight, and so keeps it for more than a minute.
Finally, withdrawing it, up again goes the head of the mother, with neck
craned out, and oscillating from side to side in a second spell of
speech-making. These curious actions are repeated several times, the
entire performance lasting for a period of nearly a quarter of an hour.
When it ends, possibly from the food supply having become exhausted, the
mother bird leaves the little glutton to itself and scuttles off seaward
to replenish her throat larder with a fresh stock of molluscs.
Although during their long four years' cruise Edward Gancy and Henry
Chester have seen many a strange sight, they think the one now before
their eyes as strange as any, and unique in its quaint comicality. They
would have continued their observations much longer but for Seagriff, to
whom the sight is neither strange nor new. It has no interest for him,
save economically, and in this sense he proceeds to utilise it, saying,
after an interrogative glance sent all over the breeding-ground,
"Sartin, there ain't a single egg in any o' the nests. It's too late in
the season for them now, an' I might 'a' known it. Wal, we won't go
back empty-handed, anyhow. The young penguins ain't sech bad eatin',
though the old 'uns taste some'at fishy, b'sides bein' tough as tan
leather. So let's heave ahead, an' grab a few of the goslin's. But
look out, or you'll get your legs nipped!"
At which all three advance upon the "penguinnery," the two youths still
incredulous as to there being any danger--in fact, rather under the
belief that the old salt is endeavouring to impose on their credulity.
But they are soon undeceived. Scarcely have they set foot within the
breeding precinct, when fully half a score of old penguins rush fiercely
at each of the intruders, with necks outstretched, mouths open, and
mandibles snapping together with a clatter like that of castanets.
Then follows a laying about with oars and boat-hook, accompanied by
shouts on the side of the attacking party, and hoarse, guttural screams
on that of the attacked. The racket is kept up till the latter are at
length beaten off, though but few of them are slain outright; for the
jackass penguin, with its thick skull and dense coat of feathers, takes
as much killing as a cat.
The young birds, too, make resistance against being captured, croaking
and hissing like so many little ganders, and biting sharply. But all
this does not prevent our determined party from finally securing some
ten or twelve of the featherless creatures, and subsequently carrying
them to the friends at the shore, where they are delivered into the
eager hands of Caesar.
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Note 1. _Aptenodytes Patachonica_. This singular bird has been
christened "Jackass penguin" by sailors, on account of its curious note,
which bears an odd resemblance to the bray of an ass. "King penguin" is
another of its names, from its superior size, as it is the largest of
the auk or penguin family.