On hearing the sound, Peterkin instantly threw forward his spear.
“Now, what can it be?” said he, looking round at Jack. “I tell you what it is: if we are to go on being pulled up in a constant state of horror and astonishment, as we have been for the last week, the sooner we’re out o’ this island the better, notwithstanding the yams and lemonade, and pork and plums!”
Peterkin’s remark was followed by a repetition of the cry, louder than before.
“It comes from one of these islands,” said Jack.
“It must be the ghost of a jackass, then,” said Peterkin, “for I never heard anything so like.”
We all turned our eyes towards the cluster of islands, where, on the largest, we observed curious objects moving on the shore.
“Soldiers they are—that’s flat!” cried Peterkin, gazing at them in the utmost amazement.
And, in truth, Peterkin’s remark seemed to me to be correct; for at the distance from which we saw them, they appeared to be an army of soldiers. There they stood, rank and file, in lines and in squares, marching and counter-marching, with blue coats and white trousers. While we were looking at them the dreadful cry came again over the water, and Peterkin suggested that it must be a regiment sent out to massacre the natives in cold blood. At this remark Jack laughed and said:
“Why, Peterkin, they are penguins!”
“Penguins?” repeated Peterkin.