But there is sometimes mirth in the Doldrums, and one afternoon the capture of a shark gave us diversion and amusement. A dead calm prevailed; not a ripple stirred the water, and the dull, sluggish swells of the sea looked like furrows of polished steel. A sailor aloft spying a shark alongside gave the information to the deck. The shark moved slowly around the vessel, and as he passed under the stern, the second mate threw the harpoon from the taffrail and drove it right through his body. A vast amount of splashing ensued, and it was with great difficulty a slip-noose was thrown over his tail. This being jammed tight he was drawn on board, tail first, by the rope. His motions on deck were very violent, but a vigorous application of handspikes quieted him somewhat, and he was drawn forward to the main hatch and butchered. It seemed impossible to kill him. After his head and tail were cut off and all his entrails extracted, the body still thrashed about so as to make the sailors jump clear of it. I took his back bone for a cane, the carpenter appropriated the skin for sand paper, and the cook begged for a little ball in his head that he could "sell to the doctors on shore for a quarter, it being fust rate for medicine." Many were the theories, abusive remarks and jokes indulged in around this fallen enemy of the sailors. His long life was said to be owing to the fact that sharks never died till sunset. The best joke was Murphy's, who had been in the army, who said "He'd make a good Northern soldier, he's so long dying." The common theory, that a breeze always follows the killing of a shark, made everybody more light-hearted, and the expectation was fulfilled after awhile. [Illustration: A rain squall in the Doldrums.] That evening the usual yarn-spinning went on around the booby-hatch, and among the shark-stories that were related was the following by the mate, given in his words as nearly as they can be remembered. It was intended especially for the passenger's enlightenment, but I overheard it: