THE RETREAT OF THE HERONS. 361 



By following a difficult and almost impracticable route 

 along the shore, my comrades and I arrived at the foot of 

 a precipitous cliff, bathed by the waters of the lake. An 

 astonishing spectacle was here presented ! From every 

 ledge and fissure of the rock clouds of penguins and gulls 

 escaped, their white breasts and black wings sparkling 

 in the sun. These birds opened their slender beaks and 

 uttered sob-like cries. 



Some herons had also chosen a resting-place on this 

 granite rock, in whose interstices the dead branches 

 resembled sticks planted in the soil. A layer of moss 

 and clay covered them, and on this slippery support rested 

 the noble birds, near a nest woven of slender twigs, in 

 which the young herons received from tne bills of their 

 parents their accustomed nourishment. We counted 

 seventy-two, pressing one against another, and saluting 

 their neighbours, like so many Chinese mandarins, with 

 unalterable gravity. Nothing more comical can be con- 

 ceived than the solemnity and mechanical slowness with 

 which each reverence was accompanied. My friends and 

 I, hidden behind a fallen block, contemplated the scene 

 with the greatest interest. Every now and then a few 

 herons would swoop down upon the branches, whence they 

 precipitated in disorder those who were tranquilly perched 

 thereon. Harsh croakings testified to the public indig- 

 nation excited by the conduct of the unneighbourly in- 

 truders. 



Among this troop of birds, and round and above our 

 heads, the gulls cleft the air with a truly incredible 

 familiarity ; they fanned us with their wings, and halted 

 at a few paces off, uttering wild and plaintive groans, and 

 regarding us with an air of the greatest astonishment. 



