e of the other lightships. You may find it difficult to believe, but
I do assure you, sir, that I have caught as many as five hundred birds
with my own hand in the course of two hours."

"Indeed! what sort of birds?"

"Larks and starlings chiefly, but there were other kinds amongst 'em.
Why, sir, they flew about my head and round the lantern like clouds of
snowflakes. I was sittin' on the lantern just as Shales is sittin' now,
and the birds came so thick that I had to pull my sou'-wester down over
my eyes, and hold up my hands sometimes before my face to protect
myself, for they hit me all over. I snapped at 'em, and caught 'em as
fast as I could use my hands--gave their heads a screw, and crammed 'em
into my pockets. In a short time the pockets were all as full as they
could hold--coat, vest, and trousers. I had to do it so fast that many
of 'em wasn't properly killed, and some came alive agin, hopped out of
my pockets, and flew away."

At that moment there arose a laugh from the men as they watched their
comrade, who happened to be performing a feat somewhat similar to that
just described by the mate.

Jack Shales had seated himself on the roof of the lantern. This roof
being opaque, he and the mast, which rose above him, and its distinctive
ball on the top, were enveloped in darkness. Jack appeared like a man
of ebony pictured against the dark sky. His form and motions could
therefore be distinctly seen, although his features were invisible. He
appeared to be engaged in resisting an attack from a host of little
birds which seemed to have made up their minds to unite their powers for
his destruction; the fact being that the poor things, fascinated by the
brilliant light, flew over, under, and round it, with eyes so dazzled
that they did not observe the man until almost too late to sheer off and
avoid him. Indeed, many of them failed in this attempt, and flew right
against his head, or into his bosom. These he caught, killed, and
pocketed, as fast as possible, until his pockets were full, when he
descended to empty them.

"Hallo! Jack, mind your eye," cried Dick Moy, as his friend set foot on
the deck, "there's one of 'em agoin' off with that crooked sixpence
you're so fond of."

Jack caught a starling which was in the act of wriggling out of his coat
pocket, and gave it a final twist.

"Hold your hats, boys," he cried, hauling forth the game. "Talk of a
Scotch moor--there's nothin' equal to the to