the scene of a ghastly tragedy. Ah! _mon Dieu_!
look at that!"

Dumaresq had brought his lips close to my ear while speaking, and the
accompanying turn of his head had permitted his eyes to glance over my
shoulder into the water astern of the boat. As he uttered his closing
exclamation he pointed to the boat's wake; and there, not two fathoms
away from the rudder, could be seen two large sharks, their forms
clearly indicated in the phosphorescent water, steadily following the
boat, and swimming at a distance of about three feet below the water.

"What did I say?" continued Dumaresq. "The shadow of death is hovering
over this boat; those sharks see it, and they will follow us until they
get their prey!"

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

DYING OF HUNGER AND THIRST.

I must confess that the sudden appearance of those two ferocious
monsters of the deep excited within me a feeling of intense horror and
uneasiness; for I had heard so much about the alleged mysterious
instinct by which the shark is said to be enabled to foresee the
approaching death of one or more members of a crew, and had listened to
so many apparently authentic stories confirming this belief in the
creature's powers, that I had grown to be quite prepared to believe that
there might be something more than mere superstition at the bottom of
it. And now it almost appeared as though I was to have an opportunity
of learning by personal experience what amount of truth there really was
in the gruesome theory. But after the first shock of horror had passed,
reason and common sense whispered that the presence of these visitors,
instead of being a constant horror and menace to us, might, by good
luck, be converted into a valuable source of food-supply, and I
accordingly at once informed the men that there were two sharks
following us, and inquired whether any of them could suggest a plan for
the capture of one of the fish. I immediately discovered, however, that
I should have done better to have said nothing; for the announcement
excited the utmost consternation; while my proposal to attempt the
capture of one of the fish was ridiculed as something approaching the
height of absurdity. Tom Hardy--a weather-beaten seaman, who had been
knocking about in all parts of the world for thirty years from the time
when he first plunged his hands into the tar bucket at the age of
fourteen--at once rose from his thwart, where he was pulling the stroke
oar; and, looking over th