THE ADELIE PENGUIN. 39 
the crustaceans which literally swarm amid the icetloes, probably because of the 
abundance of diatomaceous refuse in the melting and discoloured ice. Here, too, they 
may confidently trust to a foothold which will last them while they moult their 
feathers in the autumn, when for a fortnight they are bound to avoid the water, and 
sit disconsolately fasting in little knots under the lee of one of the larger hummocks. 
As we entered open water from the southern limit of the pack, and came in sight 
of the cliffs of Cape Adare, the numbers of adult Adélies rapidly increased and no 
more were seen in the plumage of immaturity. 
It were well that the zoologist should realise the necessity of seizing every 
opportunity as it offers, for the entry to the Antarctic through the belt of pack ice may 
be his one and only chance of making a representative collection of Antarctic animals. 
He will have much cause for thankfulness at every day’s delay in passing through it. 
Once through, he will as likely as not (and this was our own experience) see little 
or nothing more of Lobodon, Stenorhinchus, or Ommatophoca amongst the seals, or of 
immature Adélies and immature Emperor Penguins, of Priocella glacialoides, Prion, or 
Halobena amongst the birds. He may see Pagodroma, Thalasseca, and Oceanites 
again in numbers, but he may never have so good an opportunity of their close 
observance, or such a chance of adding them to his collections. The pack ice is the 
place par excellence for close contact with many Antarctic birds and seals, as well as 
whales and dolphins. Once through the pack, and to my sorrow we were through 
it in less than seven days, there may be no further opportunity, for on the homeward 
voyage in February or March no pack ice may be seen, or if seen, it will be in small 
detached and drifting masses which may be traversed without meeting any sign of life. 
The spring pack is the Antarctic hunting-ground, and every hour spent there 
will bring a rich reward to the naturalist. He may for days together postpone the 
removal of his clothes, and sleep in snatches when he can, for night and day he will 
be summoned to the bridge to take notice of some new bird or group of seals. 
There away on the port bow will be a black object lying on the ice. Is it a Ross’ 
seal, or only another Lobodon? If the former, the ship’s course may be altered, but 
if not, then “as you were” until another bunch of six or eight Lobodon seals turns up, 
as happens sometimes twice in the day. The naturalist must decide, and in settling 
through the glasses whether the seal is a Ross, a Crab-eater, or a gaunt Sea Leopard, 
he will find exercise for his powers of diagnosis, which will be surely and sufficiently 
criticised at the next meal below if a mile or two of southing has been lost for the sake 
of an imaginary Ross. Let him, therefore, who sees a bird, or a change of plumage, 
whether of moult or immaturity, take it while it offers, the more carefully if he thinks 
he is sure to have another and a better opportunity later on. In nine cases out of ten 
the regret will come without the opportunity, and in working out his problems, this or 
that clue which was one day well within his grasp will almost certainly be missing. 
With this warning, the result of personal experience, | must proceed to detail more 
fully the history of the bird now under consideration. 
