Then the skipper fetched another lump of pork-fat, which he kneaded and squelched in his hand as he walked along. Again the same wily beast took the bait, and once more we drew up the naked hook. After a repetition of this, the skipper, with much pomposity, rigged the harpoon and bade me stand by with it while he endeavored to entice the sharks close under the counter with another pound of pork. Several times I hove the weapon without the least risk to any of the sharks, though I all but followed the harpoon overboard at every lunge, and once contrived to stand in the bight of the rope, which nearly cut me in two; and we could perceive the iron plunge down fathom after fathom in the transparent water. Finally I did strike one in the middle of the back, but the harpoon bounded off his tough hide and he glided away unharmed. This was discouraging, and we desisted soon afterward, as we had to carry on the attack under a terrific sun. The sharks looked unspeakably comfortable, sauntering around below the rudder, now sinking out of sight, now cleaving the surface at a distance with their sharp dorsal fins, upright like sabres, and I was secretly well pleased that we didn’t kill one, for I must confess that the sight of a shark does not throw me into convulsions of horror, nor does it consume me with the fanatical thirst for slaughter, which is the general effect produced by the appearance of one of these beasts. Each of these sharks was attended by the familiar little pilot-fish, about the size of a small mackerel, with his body wonderfully marked with bands of dark blue and black, as sharply defined as the turning-post of a croquet set; strange it surely is to see these tiny fellows fearlessly maintain their position just under the gaping mouth. As indicated elsewhere, Mr. Goggins hasn’t much to say these days, although he has recovered somewhat from the cataleptic state into which the stabbing of the second mate threw him. He was quite talkative last night in his watch, and congratulated me upon my not smoking, saying, “I’m glad to see you don’t use these cigareets; they’re bad things, and I can tell you why,--’cause they’re full o’ nicoline.” The second mate is pulling slowly along, with sunken cheeks and hollow eyes, an ill-looking man, and what is more miserable than a sick sailor? Every one aboard ship has his own duties to perform, and scant attention and no sympathy is vouchsafed to the luckless man confined to his room. Latitude, 11° 49′ north; longitude, 123° 5′ west. +August 29+