“Just you wait and see, sonny.  Ever taste pilot fish?”

“No.  Are they good to eat?”

“Best fish in the ocean, barring flying-fish,” replied the skipper, as, after examining his line, he cut off both hook and leaden sinker and bent on a small-sized pa—­a native-made bonito hook cut out from a solid piece of pearl-shell.

Then jumping up into the whaleboat which hung in davits on the starboard quarter he waited for the sharks to appear, and the mate and I leant over the side and watched.  We had not long to wait, for in a few minutes one came swimming quickly up from astern, and was almost immediately joined by the other, which had been hanging about amidships.  They were both, however, pretty deep down, and at first I could not discern any pilot fish.  The captain, however, made a cast and the hook dropped in the water, about fifty feet in the rear of the sharks; he let it sink for less than half a minute, and then began hauling in the line as quickly as possible, and at the same moment I saw some of the pilot fish quite distinctly—­some swimming alongside and some just ahead of their detestable companions, which were now right under the counter.  Then something gleamed brightly, and the shining hook appeared, for a second or two only, for two of the “pilots” darted after it with lightning-like rapidity, and presently one came to the surface with a splash, beautifully hooked, and was swung up into the boat.

“Now for some fun,” cried the captain, as tossing the fish to us on deck he again lowered the hook.  This time it had barely touched the surface of the water when away went the line with a rush right under our keel.

“This is a big fellow,” said the skipper, and up came another dark blue and silver beauty about a foot in length, dropping off the hook just in time as he was hoisted clear of the gunwale.  Then, in less than ten minutes—­so eager were they to rush the hook the moment it struck the water—­five more were jumping about upon the deck or in the boat.  Then came a calamity, the eighth fish dropped off when half way up and took the hook with him, having swallowed it and bitten through the line.

The captain jumped on deck again and began rooting out his bag for another small-sized pa, but to his disgust could not find one ready for use—­none of them having the actual “hook” portion lashed to the shank, and the operation of lashing one of these cleverly-made native hooks takes some little time and patience, for the holes which are bored through the base of the “hook” part in order to lash it to the shank are very small, and only very fine and strong cord, such as banana-fibre, can be used.  However, while the irate captain was fussing over his task, the mate and I were watching the movements of the sharks and their little friends with the greatest interest, having promised the captain not to lower the shark hook till he had caught the rest of the pilot fish, for he assured us that they would most likely disappear after the sharks were captured. (I learned from my own experience afterward that he was mistaken, for when a shark is caught at sea his attendants will frequently remain with the ship for weeks, or until another shark appears, in which case they at once attach themselves to him.)