"FLEETIN." 



STROLLING along the shore one day about a week before 

 Christmas, some four years ago now, the writer had just come 

 within a hundred yards of the old wreck of the "Virago," whose 

 worn-out timbers still stand out boldly amidst the waste of sand, 

 when he noticed a large flock of curlew bearing down on him. 

 Making the best of his way through a foot or two of water up 

 to the old wreck, he crouched down out of sight in the hope 

 of getting a shot at the fowl. On they came in a long line, 

 and all was ready for the shot, when he was startled by a 

 terrible " Boom " from the very middle of the wreck. Five of 

 those curlew dropped like stones into the sea, and the remainder 

 sheered off and were soon out of shot. Almost immediately a 

 gaunt figure stepped out into the water and set off to retrieve 

 the curlew. 



"Good evening," I yelled out. 



