120 A NATURALIST ON THE "CHALLENGER." 



was going to. Various lateral streets lead off on each side from 

 the main road, and are often at their mouths as big as it, more- 

 over, the road sometimes divides for a little and joins again : 

 hence it is the easiest thing in the world to lose one's way, and 

 one is quite certain to do so when inexperienced in penguin 

 rookeries. The German, however, who was our guide on our 

 first visit, accustomed to pass through the place constantly for 

 two years, was perfectly well at home in the rookery and knew 

 every street and turning. 



It is impossible to conceive the discomfort of making one's 

 way through a big rookery, hap-hazard, or " across country " as one 

 may say. I crossed the large one here twice afterwards with 

 the seamen carrying my basket and vasculum, and afterwards 

 went through a larger rookery still, at Nightingale Island. 



You plunge into one of the lanes in the tall grass which at 

 once shuts out the surroundings from your view. You tread on 

 a slimy black damp soil composed of the birds' dung. The 

 stench is overpowering, the yelling of the birds perfectly terri- 

 'fying ; I can call it nothing else. You lose the path, or perhaps 

 are bent from the first in making direct for some spot on the 

 other side of the rookery. 



In the path only a few droves of penguins, on their way to 

 and from the water, are encountered, and these stampede out 

 of your way into the side alleys. Now you are, the instant you 

 leave the road, on the actual breeding ground. The nests are 

 placed so thickly that you cannot help treading on eggs and 

 • young birds at almost every step. 



A parent bird sits on each nest, with its sharp beak erect and 

 open ready to bite, yelling savagely " caa, caa, urr, urr," its red 

 eye gleaming and its plumes at half-cock, and quivering with rage. 

 No sooner are your legs within reach than they are furiously 

 bitten, often by two or three birds at once: that is, if you have 

 not got on strong leather gaiters, as on the first occasion of 

 visiting a rookery you probably have not. 



At first you try to avoid the nests, but soon find that impos- 

 sible ; then maddened almost, by the pain, stench and noise, you 

 have recourse to brutality. Thump, thump, goes your stick, and at 

 each blow down goes a bird. Thud, thud, you hear from the 



