“Always before I went down they cautioned me to look out for sharks. ‘Never stir from the bottom,’ said one of the men, ‘until you have looked up to the top, and find everything is clear above you.’ I remembered his advice, and it was well that I did so. About ten days after I had begun to learn the business, I went down as usual, picked up some oysters, put them in my bag, and was starting to go up. I gave my usual look above, and there I saw a big shovel-nosed shark watching me. He was evidently calculating that he had me sure, and considered me as good a breakfast as he wanted. I did not like his looks, and what to do I did not exactly know. I would have much rather been in the cabin of my schooner than in the stomach of that fellow. My first impulse was to dart up beneath him, and follow the custom of the natives. Generally when one sees a shark, and can’t get off in any other way, he rises as rapidly as possible beneath the fish, and sticks the iron rod into his belly. This is a treatment for which the shark is not prepared, and unless he is over-hungry he will generally go away. Sometimes, though, he shows fight; and when it comes to a struggle it is very fierce. The shark is in his natural element, but the man is not in the element to which he is most accustomed, and if the shark is large and persistent he generally wins. “I did not consider myself up to the emergency of stabbing that fellow with my rod, and thought I would take the chance of going by him. But that was of no use; he would have taken me in as I reached the surface, just as a trout takes in a fly. In an emergency like mine, men think, and they must think very rapidly. I do not believe that I ever thought with more rapidity in all my life. The place where I had been gathering oysters was at the side of a large rock, and I had not left it when I saw the shark. I moved quietly to the other side, thinking to dodge him. [Sidenote: A FIGHT UNDER WATER.] “He saw my movement, and immediately swam over the rock, and placed himself above me. Well, what was to be done next, and what do you suppose I did? You know there is a little fish called the cuttle-fish. It is not much of a fish; it is not handsome; it cannot swim fast, and is not heavy on the fight. When pursued it throws out a sort of inky substance, which blackens the water and makes it sufficiently cloudy to enable the cuttle-fish to escape. It carries this ink in a bag, and keeps it laid up ready for use. Perhaps you might call him a marine editor; that is, the sort of editor that does not fight, but defends himself by slinging ink in the face of his adversaries.