"Yes, let's go up to them and see what they look like at close range," cried Frank.
"All right, if we don't waste too much time," agreed Ben. "Give way, men."
They soon drew near the strange South Polar birds who blinked solemnly at them as if to say:
"And who may you be?"
As they bobbed up and down on the piece of drift wood the boys had mistaken for a raft, the sight was so ludicrous that the boys burst into a hearty laugh.
"Hush," warned the professor, holding up his hand; "you may scare them."
They were big birds of their kind, standing fully four feet, and it was not strange that from the ship they had been mistaken for shipwrecked men; indeed, it is not the first time such an incident has occurred in the South Polar climes.
"Steady now, men," said the professor, bowing his lean form over the bow of the boat as they drew near to the penguins.
"Ah! my feathered beauties, if you will only stay there and not move, I will soon have one of you," he whispered to himself, as the boat,—the men rowing as silently as possible,—glided alongside.
The birds made no sign of moving, and evidently had not the slightest fear of the strange beings, such as the newcomers must have seemed to them. Instead, they seemed mildly curious and stretched their necks out inquiringly.