and my father the
biggest child of all. Old John had his share passed out to him, and
ate it alone out there in the boat; and, there being a lack of cups,
Bathsheba and I drank out of the same, and scalded our lips, and must
kiss to make them well. Foolishness? Dear, dear, I suppose so.
And the jokes we had, calling out to Old John as the darkness fell,
and wishing him "Good night!" "Ou, aye; I hear 'ee," was all he
answered. After we'd eaten our tea and washed up, I showed Bathsheba
how to crawl into her bunk, and passed in the baby and laid it in her
arms, and so left her, telling her to rest and sleep. But by and by,
as I was keeping watch, she came out, declaring the place stifled
her. So I pulled out a mattress and blankets and strewed a bed for
her out under the sky, and sat down beside her, watching while she
suckled the child. She had him wrapped up so that the two dark eyes
of him only could be seen, staring up from the breast to the great
bright lantern above him. The moon was in her last quarter, and
would not rise till close upon dawn; and the night pitchy dark around
us, with a very few stars. In less than a minute Bathsheba gave a
start and laid a hand on my arm.

"Oh, Tom, what was that?"

"Look up," said I. "'Tis the birds flying about the light."

For, of course, our light always drew the sea-birds, especially on
dull nights, and 'twas long since we had grown used to the sound of
their beating and flapping, and took no notice of it. A moment after
I spoke one came dashing against the rigging, and we heard him tumble
into the sea; and then one broke his neck against the cage overhead
and tumbled dead at our feet. Bathsheba shivered as I tossed him
overboard.

"Is it always like this?" she whispered. "I thought 'twas only at
the cost of a silly woman's fears that you saved men's lives out
here."

"Well," said I, "this is something more than usual, to be sure."

For, looking up into the circle of light, we could see now at least a
hundred birds flying round and round, and in half an hour's time
there must have been many hundreds. Their white breasts were like a
snowstorm; and soon they began to fall thick upon deck. They were
not all sea-birds, either.

"Halloa!" said I, "what's the day of the month?"

"The nineteenth of March."

"Here's a wheatear, then," I said. "In a couple of weeks we shall
have the swallows; and, a couple of weeks after, a cuckoo, maybe.
So you see that ev