"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 even out here by the Gunnel we know when spring comes
along."