When the young birds have shed most of their down they cease from hunting the old ones for food, and congregating at the edge of the sea appear to be waiting for something. When the right time, which they seem to know perfectly, comes, they dive into the sea, sometimes in small parties, sometimes singly, disappear and may be seen popping up far out to sea. They dive and come up very awkwardly, but swim well.
It is marvellous how fully instinct makes these birds independent, for the parents do not take them to the water and teach them to swim, indeed the old ones stay behind to moult. Though the chicks have spent their lives on land and only know that food is something found in an old bird's throat, when the time comes they leave the land and plunge boldly into the sea, untaught, to get their living by straining crustacea out of the water in the same way as a whale does.
Some of our party did report that they saw penguins teaching the young to swim, but if this ever happens it is not general.
Like the Emperor, the Adelie is fond of travelling when free from family cares. The great blizzard unfortunately left hundreds of old birds with no chicks to guard and feed, and they began to explore the country in bands. The round of the lakes was a favourite trip, and tracks also led to the summits of some of the hills, although the short-sighted Adelie could hardly have gone there for the view.
There was no general trek southwards, such as the Emperors made, but the Southern Party found tracks of two Adelies at a distance of some 80 miles from the sea.
While chaos reigned in the rookery I found two Adelie chicks exhausted and covered with mire, and I took them to the hut and bestowed upon them the dignified names of Nebuchadnezzar and Nicodemus. They were placed in a large cage in the porch, and fed by hand with sardines and fish-cakes. They did not, however, like our way of feeding them, and it was necessary to force the food so far down their throats that they were compelled to swallow it.
In a few days they became quite tame and recognised those who fed them. Familiar only with our peculiar method of feeding them, one of them used to show when he was hungry by taking my finger into his bill.
We shortened their names to Nebby and Nicky and they answered to them, but they answered with equal readiness to the common name of Bill. When sounds from the rookery reached them they would become greatly excited, and tried so desperately to get through the netting of their cage that we used to take them out for a walk. Then they would make no attempt to go to the rookery and were rather frightened.
Nebuchadnezzar was a very friendly little fellow, and would follow me about outside and come running when called. But their feeding was unnatural, and for this reason, doubtless, both of them died after a few weeks.
A single ringed penguin appeared at Cape Royds at the end of the breeding season, just as the Adelies were beginning to moult. It is about the same size as the Adelie but is more agile, and at a little distance, among a crowd of old Adelies, he looked not unlike a young Adelie with the white throat. But when I picked him up by the legs to investigate, he surprised me by curling round and biting me on the hand—a feat that the Adelie could not perform—and a closer examination showed me what he was. Never before had a ringed penguin been seen in this part of the Antarctic.