did not flicker.
The silence of space was broken only by the clangour of the
sea-birds, which came in muffled croaking tones through the stifling
atmosphere of vapour. Petrels and albatross swept the top of the
iceberg, where they kept a useless watch in their flight. In what
direction were those swift-winged creatures--perhaps already driven
towards the confines of the arctic region but the approach of
winter--bound? We could not tell. One day, the boatswain, who was
determined to solve this question if possible, having mounted to the
extreme top, not without risk of breaking his neck, came into such
violent contact with a _quebranta huesos_--a sort of gigantic petrel
measuring twelve feet with spread wings--that he was flung on his
back.

"Curse the bird!" he said on his return to the camp, addressing
the observation to me. "I have had a narrow escape! A thump, and
down I went, sprawling. I saved myself I don't know how, for I was
all but over the side. Those ice ledges, you know, slip through
one's fingers like water. I called out to the bird, 'Can't you
even look before you, you fool?' But what was the good of that?
The big blunderer did not even beg my pardon!"

In the afternoon of the same day our ears were assailed by a hideous
braying from below. Hurliguerly remarked that as there were no asses
to treat us to the concert, it must be given by penguins. Hitherto
these countless dwellers in the polar regions had not thought proper
to accompany us on our moving island; we had not seen even one,
either at the foot of the iceberg or on the drifting packs.
There could be no doubt that they were there in thousands, for the
music was unmistakably that of a multitude of performers. Now those
birds frequent by choice the edges of the coasts of islands and
continents in high latitudes, or the ice-fields in their
neighbourhood. Was not their presence an indication that land was
near?

I asked Captain Len Guy what he thought of the presence of these
birds.

"I think what you think, Mr. Jeorling," he replied. "Since we
have been drifting, none of them have taken refuge on the iceberg,
and here they are now in crowds, if we may judge by their deafening
cries. From whence do they come? No doubt from land, which is
probably near."

"Is this West's opinion?"

"Yes, Mr. Jeorling, and you know he is not given to vain
imaginations."

"Certainly not."

"And then another thing has struck both him and me, which has
appare