“Sure thing,” declared the sailor, “less’an a couple o’ days there won’t be nothin’ but bones left.”
The boys could scarcely believe that the birds could completely devour the mountains of flesh before them, but long before the expiration of the two days only the clean picked bones of the elephants marked the scene of their slaughter.
As it was light through the night, the work of boiling was carried on unceasingly, the men working in watches or shifts, as on board ship, and by the second day they were ready for another drive and kill.
Although practically all the large elephants had been slaughtered the first day, yet there seemed to be no decrease in the numbers which came up the seashore daily, and the second killing was even larger than the first. Cap’n Pem and the men were elated, for the great number of elephants argued well for a full cargo of oil, and the old whaleman couldn’t say enough in praise of the policy of the British government in having restricted the killing and extermination of the creatures.
“Las’ time I was here,” he informed them, “they’d got so pesky skeerce ye couldn’t make a kill o’ a dozen a week an’ now look at ’em. Jes’ a crowdin’ o’ thersel’s up, a-waitin’ ter be killed. Looks like as though they ac’t’ally enj’yed it.”
Not forgetting Cap’n Pem’s injunction regarding gun and compass, and usually carrying a lunch with them, the boys spent their days wandering over the hills, exploring the island, gathering eggs from the more remote bird colonies, so as not to frighten away the scavengers near camp, and having a glorious time by themselves. They had discovered several small ponds among the more distant hills and here, to their surprise, they found a number of small teal-like ducks. These proved excellent eating and a most welcome change in the camp diet and the boys made almost daily visits to the place. On another occasion, they had found a rookery of the Antarctic fur seals and spent hours watching the big, gentle-eyed creatures frolicking and playing about. Twice too, they had clambered far up the mountain side and had gazed forth upon the vast panorama that was stretched beneath them. Rugged and gray, their own island spread itself below their feet, and on the horizon—some visible across lanes of gray sea that from the height seemed narrow, others but hazy clouds against the sky and others only distinguishable by their lofty peaks—were many other islands of the group. The boys, who had spent hours poring over charts of the Antarctic, knew many of them by name, such as Governor Livingston, Scotts, Clarence and Deception. The latter was the island to which the Hector had gone and the boys spent much time in speculation as to the success the men were having there and how soon the bark would return.
But best of all, the boys loved to visit the rookeries of albatrosses, penguins and Molly Mokes that by now were filled with ungainly, grotesque and mirth-provoking fledglings.
It was while they were on their way to one of these, several weeks after their adventure in the fog, that the boys saw a big Wandering Albatross acting in a most peculiar and unusual manner. The bird was standing upon a pile of rocks and was spreading and flapping his enormous wings as if trying to fly, but he would rise only a few feet above the ground before he again dropped back. Then he would reach down, peck at something in the rocks as though feeding, and again flap into the air for a short distance again to repeat the whole performance.
“What do you suppose he’s doing?” asked Tom in puzzled tones. “He acts as if he’d found something and couldn’t make up his mind to leave it.”
“Come along and see,” suggested Jim, and curious to know the reason for the big bird’s actions, the two turned aside and clambered over the rock-strewn hillside towards the albatross.