“Yes, they are penguins,” Captain Gould declared; “they look no bigger than crows, but that is because they are perched so high up.”
“Well,” said Fritz, “if those birds have been able to get up on to the plateau, it means that on the other side of the cliff the ascent is practicable.”
That seemed certain, for penguins are clumsy, heavy birds, with rudimentary stumps instead of wings. They could not have flown up to the crest. So if the ascent could not be made on the south, it could be on the north. But from lack of a boat in which to go along the shore this hope of reaching the top of the cliff had to be abandoned.
Sad, terribly sad, was the Christmas of this most gloomy year! Full of bitterness was the thought of what Christmas might have been in the large hall of Rock Castle, in the midst of the two families, with Captain Gould and John Block.
Yet, in spite of all these trials, the health of the little company was not as yet affected. On the boatswain hardship had no more effect than disappointment.
“I am getting fat,” he often said; “yes, I am getting fat! That’s what comes of spending one’s time doing nothing!”
Doing nothing, alas! Unhappily, in the present situation, there was practically nothing to do!
In the afternoon of the 29th something happened which recalled memories of happier days.
A bird settled on a part of the promontory which was not inaccessible.
It was an albatross, which had probably come a long way, and seemed to be very tired. It lay out on a rock, its legs stretched, its wings folded.