The instant they reached the water, however, they seemed to be in their proper element.

They dived and bounded out of it and into it again with the utmost agility; and so, diving and bounding and spluttering, for they could not fly, they went rapidly out to sea.
On seeing this, Peterkin turned with a grave face to us and said, "It's my opinion that these birds are all stark, staring mad, and that this is an enchanted island.

I therefore propose that we should either put about ship and fly in terror from the spot, or land valorously on the island, and sell our lives as dearly as we can." "I vote for landing, so pull in, lads," said Jack, giving a stroke with his oar that made the boat spin.

In a few seconds we ran the boat into a little creek where we made her fast to a projecting piece of coral, and, running up the beach, entered the ranks of the penguins armed with our cudgels and our spear.

We were greatly surprised to find that, instead of attacking us or showing signs of fear at our approach, these curious birds did not move from their places until we laid hands on them, and merely turned their eyes on us in solemn, stupid wonder as we passed.
There was one old penguin, however, that began to walk slowly toward the sea, and Peterkin took it into his head that he would try to interrupt its progress, so he ran between it and the sea and brandished his cudgel in its face.