Chapter V: Part II: Domestic Life of the Adelie Penguin (2)

Dec. 14. The cock relieved the hen between 8 A.M. and 10 A.M.

Dec. 15. The hen relieved the cock between 8 A.M. and 10 A.M. Between 6 P.M. and 8 P.M. the chick was hatched, the hen remaining on the nest.

Dec. 17. At 8 A.M. the cock was found to have relieved the hen.

Dec. 18. Hen mounted guard between 6 P.M. and 8 P.M.

Dec. 20. Cock relieved guard about 8 A.M. At 8 P.M. both cock and hen were at the nest, the hen standing by it, the cock on it.

Dec. 21. The hen relieved guard at 8 P.M.

Dec. 23. Cock came back at noon and relieved guard.

Dec. 24. The cock remained on guard all day. The hen was gone from 1 P.M. till 6 P.M., when she returned and relieved guard.

Dec. 25. 8 A.M. Both at nest, hen still on. 10 A.M. changed guard. Hen gone.

Dec. 26. Hen on nest. Cock standing near.

Dec. 27. 8 A.M. Cock on nest.

Dec. 28. 8 A.M. Hen on nest.

Dec. 29. Cock relieved guard.

Dec. 30. Hen arrived 3 P.M. and relieved guard.

Dec. 31. 10 P.M. to midnight, changed, cock on. Both there at 10 P.M.

Jan. 1. 10 A.M. Both at nest. 12 noon. Both at nest. The youngster complicating matters by running away every time he was passed by the observer, thus getting himself and his parents embroiled with the neighbours.

Jan. 1. 2 P.M. Hen on nest. Cock gone.

Jan. 2. 10 A.M. Hen on nest. 12 noon. Chick disappeared. 2 P.M. Nest deserted. 4 P.M. Cock on nest. No chick. 8 P.M. Cock on nest. No chick.

Jan. 3. Cock on the nest with the chick.

From the above Table it will be seen that the hen was not relieved by the cock until a fortnight after she had laid her egg (in this case there was only one) so that probably she had been without food for a month. Then she left, and only returned to relieve the cock after the lapse of another fortnight, it being worth remarking that each was absent for the same length of time. When the chick was hatched, a different regime began, as of course the chick had to be fed and journeys to the sea made at regular intervals for the purpose of getting food.

When the chicks began to appear all over the rookery (Fig. 56), a marked change was noticed in the appearance of the parents as they made their way on foot from the water's edge to the nests. Hitherto they had been merely remarkable for their spotless and glistening plumage, but now they were bringing with them food for the young, and so distended were their stomachs with this, that they had to lean backward as they walked, to counterbalance their bulging bellies, and in consequence frequently tripped over the inequalities of the ground which were thus hidden from their gaze.

What with the exertion of tramping with their burden across the rookery, and perhaps on rare occasions one or two little disputes with other penguins by the way, frequently they were in some distress before they reached their destination, and quite commonly they would be sick and bring up the whole offering before they got there. Consequently, little red heaps of mashed up and half digested euphausia were to be seen about the rookery. Once I saw a penguin, after he had actually reached the nest, quite unable to wait for the chick to help itself in the usual manner, deposit the lot upon the ground in front of his mate. I saw what was coming and secured the accompanying photograph of the incident. (Fig. 57.) When this happens the food is wasted, as neither chick nor adult will touch it however hungry they may be, the former only feeding by the natural method of pushing his head down the throat of a parent, and so helping himself direct from the gullet. (Fig. 58.)

When the chicks are small they are kept completely covered by the parent who sits on the nest. They grow, however, at an enormous rate, gobbling vast quantities of food as it is brought to them, their elastic bellies seeming to have no limit to their capacity (Fig. 59); indeed, when standing, they rest on a sort of tripod, formed by the protuberant belly in front and the two feet behind.

I weighed a chick at intervals for some time, and this was the astonishing result:

Ounces

The egg 4.56
The chick when hatched 3.00
Five days old 13.00
Six " 15.75
Eight " 24.75
Nine " 28.50
Eleven " 37.75
Twelve " 42.50

To see an Adelie chick of a fortnight's growth trying to get itself covered by its mother is a most ludicrous sight. The most it can hope for is to get its head under cover, the rest of its body being exposed to the air; but the downy coat of the chick is close and warm, and suffices in all weathers to protect it from the cold. Fig. 60 illustrates what I have said very well, whilst Fig. 61 shows a mother with a chick twelve days old.

Whilst the chicks are small the two parents manage to keep them fed without much difficulty;(6) but as one of them has always to remain at the nest to keep the chicks warm, guard them from skuas and hooligan cocks, and prevent them from straying, only one is free to go for food. Later on, however, two other factors introduce themselves. The first of these is that the chick's downy coats become thick enough to protect them from cold without the warmth of the parent; and the second that as the chicks grow they require an ever-increasing quantity of food, and at the age of about a fortnight this demand becomes too great for one bird to cope with. At this time it is still necessary to prevent the chicks from straying and to protect them from the skuas and "hooligans," and so to meet these two demands a most interesting social system is developed. The individual care of the chicks by their parents is abandoned, and in place of this, colonies start to "pool" their offspring, which are herded together into clumps or "creches," each of which is guarded by a few old birds, the rest being free to go and forage.

(6) Fig. 62.

It is quite likely that if a chick which has escaped from its own creche joins another creche it will get fed there, as it seems hardly possible for the adults to recognize the individuals of so large a gathering and to detect a stranger should one turn up, but there is good reason to believe that the old birds work for their own creches only, and remain faithful to them for the rest of the season, because, as they make their way across the rookery, laden with the food they are bringing from the sea, it is sadly common to see them pursued by strayed and starving youngsters, plaintively piping their prayers for a meal; and these appeals are always made in vain, the old birds turning a deaf ear to the youngsters, who at last, weary and weak, give up the pursuit, and in the end fall a prey to the ever-watchful skuas. Further evidence is found in the fact that the chicks at the very back of the rookery and up at the top of the Cape are just as well nourished as those nearer the water, who are constantly passed by a stream of food-laden parents.

Twice already I have mentioned that strayed chicks fall a prey to "hooligan" cocks. These hang about the rookery often in little bands. At the beginning of the season there are very few of them, but later they increase greatly, do much damage, and cause a great deal of annoyance to the peaceful inhabitants. The few to be found at first probably are cocks who have not succeeded in finding mates, and consequently are "at a loose end." Later on, as their numbers are so greatly increased, they must be widowers, whose mates have lost their lives in one way or another.

Many of the colonies, especially those nearer the water, are plagued by little knots of "hooligans," who hang about their outskirts, and should a chick go astray it stands a good chance of losing its life at their hands. The crimes which they commit are such as to find no place in this book, but it is interesting indeed to note that, when nature intends them to find employment, these birds, like men degenerate in idleness.

Some way back I made some allusion to the way in which many of the penguins were choosing sites up the precipitous sides of the Cape at the back of the rookery. Later I came to the conclusion that this was purely the result of their love of climbing. There was one colony at the very summit of the Cape,(7) whose inhabitants could only reach their nests by a long and trying climb to the top and then a walk of some hundred yards across a steep snow slope hanging over the very brink of a sheer drop of seven hundred feet on to the sea-ice.

(7) Fig. 70.

During the whole of the time when they were rearing their young, these mountaineers had to make several journeys during each twenty-four hours to carry their enormous bellyfuls of euphausia all the way from the sea to their young on the nests--a weary climb for their little legs and bulky bodies. The greater number who had undertaken this did so at a time when there were ample spaces unoccupied in the most eligible parts of the rookery.

I have mentioned that large masses of ice were stranded by the sea along the shores of the rookery. These fragments of bergs, some of them fifteen to twenty feet in height, formed a miniature mountain range along the shore. All day parties of penguins were to be seen assiduously climbing the steep sides of this little range. Time after time, when half way up, they would descend to try another route, and often when with much pains one had scaled a slippery incline, he would come sliding to the bottom, only to pick himself up and have another try. (Fig. 63.)

Generally, this climbing was done by small parties who had clubbed together, as they generally do, from social inclination. It was not unusual for a little band of climbers to take as much as an hour or more over climbing to the summit. Arrived at the top they would spend a variable period there, sometimes descending at once, sometimes spending a considerable time there, gazing contentedly about them, or peering over the edge to chatter with other parties below.

Again, about half a mile from the beach, a large berg some one hundred feet in height was grounded in fairly deep water, accessible at first over the sea-ice, but later, when this had gone, surrounded by open water. Its sides were sheer except on one side, which sloped steeply from the water's edge to the top.

From the time when they first went to the sea to feed until the end of the season, there was a continual stream of penguins ascending and descending the berg. As I watched them through glasses I saw that they had worn deep paths in the snow from base to summit. They had absolutely nothing to gain by going to all this trouble but the pleasure they seemed to derive from the climb, and when at the top, merely had a good look round and came down again.

When the birds were arriving at the rookery I watched for those who were to nest up the cliff, and several times saw birds on arriving at the rookery make for the heights without any hesitation, threading their way almost in a straight line through the nests to the screes at the bottom of the cliff, and up these to one or other of the paths leading up its side. Probably these had been hatched there, or had nested there before, and were making their way to their old haunts, but my notes on their nesting habits go to show that the cocks, at any rate, cannot keep to the same spot during successive years. It is the hen who chooses the site, and stays on it, as I have shown, until a mate comes to her, and wins her, very often only after defeating many other competitors.

The waste of life in an Adelie rookery is very great, and is due to the following causes:

The eggs.
Skuas.
Cocks fighting among the nests.
Floods from thaw water.
Death of parents.
Snow-drifts.
Landslides.

The young chicks.
Skuas.
Landslides.
"Hooligan" cocks.
Getting lost.
Death of parents.

Adults.
Sea-leopards.
Landslides.
Snow-drifts.

In the above lists I have made no mention of the wanton depredations committed--owing to the licence given to ignorant seamen--by expeditions which visit the Antarctic from time to time, but as these visits are made at rare intervals, they cannot greatly affect the population.

Some of the items in my list require explanation. The screes at the foot of the cliff at Cape Adare are perhaps the most thickly populated part of the rookery. As the thaw proceeds, boulders of different sizes are continually falling down the cliff, some of them for many hundreds of feet before they finally plunge in among the nests on the screes, doing terrible damage, and often rolling some distance out into the rookery. At other times, owing to the bursting out of thaw water which has been dammed up at the top of the cliff, large landslides are caused which bury many hundreds of nests beneath them. In fact, these screes on which the nests are built have been formed by these landslides taking place from year to year, and no doubt form the graves of thousands upon thousands of former generations. One of these slides took place whilst we were at the rookery, doing terrible damage. A crowded colony of Adelies were nesting just below, and the avalanche passed right through and over them, causing the most sad havoc. We found hundreds of injured and dying, some of them in a pitiable condition. Several were completely disembowelled, others had the whole skin of their backs torn down and hanging behind them in a flap, exposing the bare flesh. Dozens had broken or dislocated legs and flippers.

The worst feature was that many were buried alive beneath the snow, or pinned down to the ground by masses of basalt. Twice I saw one flipper sticking out of the snow, moving dismally, and dug out in each case a badly injured bird which would have lingered perhaps for days, because loose snow does not always suffocate, owing to the amount of air contained in its interstices, and to the fact that diffusion takes place through it very readily. Several of us spent a long time in killing with ice-axes those that seemed too badly injured to recover.

It was remarkable to see the way in which all the nests which had escaped the avalanche, however narrowly, were still sat upon by their occupants, as if nothing had happened. Also I saw several badly injured birds sitting on their eggs, some of them soaked in blood, so that they looked like crimson parrots. The amount of bloodshed must have been great, as the snow was dyed with blood in all directions. As a cascade of water followed the avalanche, and continued for some hours, spreading out into little rivers among the nests, many were being deluged, and some of the penguins actually were sitting in the running water, in a vain attempt to keep warm their drowned chicks and spoiled eggs.

Sometimes, digging at hazard in the drifted snow, I came on birds that had been deeply buried, and though they were held down and kept motionless by the weight of the snow covering them, most of them were alive, and I have no doubt many dozens died a lingering death in this way. Such as had merely suffered broken flippers or legs, I spared, and the next day nearly all of these seemed to be doing well. One bird I found sitting on two eggs which were in the middle of a rivulet of water, so I lifted them out and put them on dry ground close by, but the parent would have nothing to do with them after this.

A feature of the above scene, which one could not help noticing, was that however badly a penguin was injured it was never molested by the others, as is almost invariably the rule among other birds, including their near neighbours the skuas. I have seen a sick skua hunted continuously for over an hour by a mob of its own kind who would not allow it to settle on the ice for a moment's rest.

Another item of my list requiring explanation is "snow-drifts."

During both spring and summer there are occasional snowstorms, and during these the birds sit tight on their nests, sometimes being covered up by drift. As a rule the bird on the nest keeps a space open by poking its head upwards through the snow, but sometimes it becomes completely buried. Air diffuses so rapidly through snow that death does not take place by suffocation, and the bird can live for weeks beneath a drift, sitting on its nest in the little chamber which it has thawed out by its own warmth. Generally after a few hours the snow abates and settles down sufficiently to expose the nest once more, but sometimes a breeze springs up which is not strong enough to blow the snow away, but simply hardens the surface of the drift into a crust which lasts for several weeks, and the birds are imprisoned in consequence. Then little black dots are seen about the surface of the drift, which are the heads of penguins thrust through their breathing holes.

On one such occasion I witnessed an interesting little incident. An imprisoned hen was poking her neck up through her breathing hole when her mate spied her and came up. He appeared to be very angry with her for remaining so long on the nest, being unable to grasp the reason, and after swearing at her for some time he started to peck at her head, she retaliating as far as her cramped position would allow. When she withdrew her head, he thrust his down the hole till she drove it out again, and as this state of things seemed to be going on indefinitely, I came up and loosened the crust of snow which imprisoned her, on which she burst out, and seemed glad to do so. She was covered with mire, having for many days been sitting in a pool of thaw water which had swamped her nest and evidently spoilt the eggs. When I put her back on the nest, she sat there for some time, but eventually they both deserted. I should say that some hundreds of nests were spoilt in this way.

As I photographed the above incident at intervals, different stages are seen on Figs. 67 to 69.

I have mentioned that eggs got lost owing to cocks fighting among the nests. When hens are incubating the eggs they never leave the nest under any circumstances until relieved by their mates, being most reliable and faithful to their charge. They squabble continually with their nearest neighbours, whom they seem to hate, but only retaliate on those within reach, using their bills only to peck at each other's heads without shifting their position.

The cocks, however, are less dependable. Starting a quarrel in the same way as the hens do, their militant instincts soon became aroused, on which they are apt to jump up and start a furious fight with flippers, staggering to and fro over their nests, and very often spilling the eggs, which are lost in consequence. On certain occasions I was able to interfere between the combatants, and replace the eggs, on which they would return to their domestic duties and seem to forget the incident. A good many eggs must have been lost in this way during the season.

Late in the season an occurrence took place for which I have never been able to find any explanation. Occasionally I had noticed that the penguins had crowded together more than usual on the ice-foot, multitudes of them standing for hours without any apparent purpose. A good idea of this scene may be got from the frontispiece.

One morning Mr. Priestley came into the hut and told me that "the penguins were drilling on the sea-ice," and that I had better come and look at them. I went with him to the ice-foot, and this is what we saw.

Many thousands of Adelies were on the sea-ice between the ice-foot and the open water leads, then some quarter of a mile distant. Near the ice-foot they were congregating in little bands of a few dozen, whilst farther out near the water, massed bands some thousands strong stood silent and motionless. Both the small and the large bands kept an almost rectangular formation, whilst in each band all the birds faced the same way, though different bands faced in different directions.

As we watched it became evident that something very unusual was going on. First, from one of the small bands, a single bird suddenly appeared, ran a few yards in the direction of another small band, and stopped. In the flash of a moment the entire band from which he came executed the movement "left turn," this bringing them all into a position facing him. So well ordered was the movement that we could scarcely believe our eyes. Then from the small band our single bird had approached, another single bird ran out, upon which his own party did exactly as the first had done, so that the two bands now stood facing one another, some fifteen yards apart.

Then spontaneously, the two bands marched straight toward one another, and joined to form one body. After this we saw the same procedure being enacted in many other places, the penguins coming down from the rookery and forming small bands which joined together. Then the augmented bodies would join other augmented bodies, to form still larger ones, which then joined together, and so on until a great mass of birds stood together in rows all facing in one direction like a regiment of soldiers. One of these masses stood not far from us, a compact rectangular gathering, as shown on page 109.

They stood thus for a long time, quite motionless and silent, when suddenly as before, a single bird darted out from among the crowd and ran a few yards toward the open water, when, as if it had received a word of command, every bird faced left as in the diagram below.

After this the whole crowd marched for the water, keeping its formation almost unchanged till it arrived at the edge of the ice, when it halted, and subsequently entered the water in batches.

This procedure continued for many hours, the penguins that day observing this extraordinary behaviour, the most astonishing part of which lay in the accuracy of their drill-like movements, so that we might have been watching a lot of soldiers on parade. Perhaps the sudden motions of these bodies of birds were brought about by a sound uttered by the single bird which acted as leader, though we did not hear this. The actual reason for this departure from their usual customs is beyond my knowledge. There was nothing to be seen to account for it, but the penguins evidently obeyed some instinct which affected them all on this and two subsequent occasions, when the same thing took place.

My own idea is that in former times the penguins used to mass together as other birds do, before their annual migration, perhaps as far back as the day when their wings were adapted for flight, and that the phenomenon described above was a relic of their bygone instincts.

When the chicks' down has been moulted and their plumage acquired, they proceed to the water's edge and here they learn to swim.

In the autumn of 1912, at a small rookery which I came upon on Inexpressible Island, I had an opportunity of watching their first attempts in this direction. Crowds of young Adelies were to be seen on the pebbly beach below their rookery, much of the ice having disappeared at this late season, leaving bare patches of shingle which were very suitable for the first swimming lesson.

Many old birds paddled in for a short distance, and crouching in a few inches of water, splashed about with their flippers to give the youngsters a lead. Some of the latter needed little encouragement, and took readily to the strange element, very soon swimming about in deep water, but others seemed more timid, and these latter were urged in every possible way by the old birds, some of whom could be seen walking in and out of the water, and so doing what they could to give their charges confidence.

In this duty one or two old birds might be seen with a little crowd of youngsters, so that evidently the social instincts which gave rise to the creche system in the first place were extended to the tuition of the young and thus to their preparation for the journey north.

Up in the rookery, fully fledged youngsters could be seen clamouring in vain for food, the old birds resolutely refusing to feed them now that they were able to forage for themselves. The adults who instructed the young in the water had finished their moult, and were themselves ready to depart. Many others, however, still wandered disconsolately about the land, some of them only half fledged, and moping under boulders or any sort of shelter from the chilly breezes, and long after all the youngsters had departed, solitary moulting birds were to be found, emaciated and miserable, patches of loose feathers still clinging to the new coat which was making such a tardy growth. In some places we found these old birds in holes under the rocks, the old moulted feathers making some sort of a bed which helped to protect their late wearers from the cold.

Both at Cape Adare in 1910 and at Inexpressible Island in 1911, I found that though young and old left the rookery simultaneously at first, yet after all the young had departed many adults still remained behind owing to the lateness of their moult, and this is directly at variance with the remarks of Mr. Borchgravink on the subject, because he says that the old birds all leave the rookery first, abandoning the young, who are driven by necessity to take to the water and learn to swim.

Well indeed was it for my companions and me that this was so, for in the autumn of 1912 we were in sore straits for food, and had it not been that at a very late date we collected some ninety old moulting birds on Inexpressible Island, I doubt if we would have seen the sun rise in the next spring.

At Cape Adare in 1911, half the rookery had departed when we arrived in the autumn. The rest took to the sea in batches some hundreds strong. These parties wandered about the beach and ice-foot in company for some time, then entering the water and swimming northward they were seen no more.

Those that moulted sometimes remained solitary whilst in the acuter stages, but nevertheless moulting parties often were seen looking very miserable, doubtless feeling in their unprotected state the effects of winds which were getting keener and more severe now that the sun was departing.

When all the youngsters had gone, some thousands of old birds still remained, and waited for many days after they had acquired their full plumage before they left. Then these in time disappeared, leaving the rookery empty and desolate. On March 12 I photographed the last party: all black-throated adults. Two days later a couple appeared on the beach, apparently having come back for a last look at us. Then these, too, disappeared, and as we looked at the empty silent beach we could not help contrasting it with the noise and bustle of a short time ago.

The last penguin had gone, and the sun disappearing below the horizon, left us alone with the Antarctic night.