noted this fact with a great deal of satisfaction at the time of our landing.  The ringed penguin is by no means the best of the penguins from the point of view of the hungry traveller, but it represents food.  At 8 a.m. that morning I noticed the ringed penguins mustering in orderly fashion close to the water’s edge, and thought that they were preparing for the daily fishing excursion; but presently it became apparent that some important move was on foot.  They were going to migrate, and with their departure much valuable food would pass beyond our reach.  Hurriedly we armed ourselves with pieces of sledge-runner and other improvised clubs, and started towards the rookery.  We were too late.  The leaders gave their squawk of command and the columns took to the sea in unbroken ranks.  Following their leaders, the penguins dived through the surf and reappeared in the heaving water beyond.  A very few of the weaker birds took fright and made their way back to the beach, where they fell victims later to our needs; but the main army went northwards and we saw them no more.  We feared that the gentoo penguins might follow the example of their ringed cousins, but they stayed with us; apparently they had not the migratory habit.  They were comparatively few in number, but from time to time they would come in from the sea and walk up our beach.  The gentoo is the most strongly marked of all the smaller varieties of penguins as far as colouring is concerned, and it far surpasses the adelie in weight of legs and breast, the points that particularly appealed to us.

The deserted rookery was sure to be above high-water mark at all times; and we mounted the rocky ledge in search of a place to pitch our tents.  The penguins knew better than to rest where the sea could reach them even when the highest tide was supported by the strongest gale.  The disadvantages of a camp on the rookery were obvious.  The smell was strong, to put it mildly, and was not likely to grow less pronounced when the warmth of our bodies thawed the surface.  But our choice of places was not wide, and that afternoon we dug out a site for two tents in the debris of the rookery, levelling it off with snow and rocks.  My tent, No. 1, was pitched close under the cliff, and there during my stay on Elephant Island I lived.  Crean’s tent was close by, and the other three tents, which had fairly clean snow under them, were some yards away.  The fifth tent was a ramshackle affair.  The material of the torn eight-man tent had been drawn over a rough framework of oars, and shelter of a kind provided for the men who occupied it.

The arrangement of our camp, the checking of our gear, the killing and skinning of seals and sea-elephants occupied us during the day, and we took to our sleeping-bags early.  I and my companions in No. 1 tent were not destined to spend a pleasant night.  The heat of our bodies soon melted the snow and refuse beneath us and the floor of the tent became an evil smelling yellow mud.  The snow drifting from the cliff above us weighted the sides of the tent, and during the night a particularly stormy gust brought our little home down on top of us.  We stayed underneath the snow-laden cloth till the morning, for it seemed a hopeless business to set about re-pitching the tent amid the storm that was raging in the darkness of the night.