On the north-western shores of Australia, between Cossack township and Port Darwin, lies a strip of coastline which has not yet received much attention from the outside world. This is the pearling-grounds of the Nor'-West, and the lordly pioneers who rule there hope that their preserves may long continue to be neglected by the check-suited globe-trotter. The headquarters of the pearling industry is at Broome, the landing station of one of the Australian cable systems. Broome, when the fleet is in port, has a population of about 1,500, which is made up of 200 white men, 800 Malays, 100 Japanese, and the same number of what are termed Manilamen, the remainder being a heterogeneous lot of aborigines, coolies, Kanakas, and specimens of almost every other race on earth. When the pearlers are out, however, the town is practically deserted.
Dampier was the first European to skirt this coast, but it was long after his advent that it became famous for its pearl-shell deposits, although, even before the great explorer's time, it was probably known to the aborigines, who until recently were in the habit of gathering for food the bivalves that the monsoon storms threw up on the beach. But since the days of Dampier many changes have occurred on these desolate shores, and it is even doubtful if the coast has the same configuration now as it had then. While the eastern states of Australia were still struggling for existence, the fierce Malay pirates reigned here, and indeed it is only lately that it has been freed from all suspicion in that respect, although the pirates may not always have been the Malays. The early sea-rovers were not long in finding out that it would pay them to give some attention to the treasures of the sea, and it is probably owing to their efforts that Roebuck Bay and the Ninety-Mile beach came into prominence as pearling-grounds. From that time up to about twenty years ago these individuals worked the shores and shallows by various methods peculiar to themselves, the chief consisting of forcing the unfortunate aborigines to dive for the shells while they merely extracted the pearls.
This system ceased suddenly so far as the power of the Malays was concerned; for towards the end of the 'Seventies some colonial adventurers sailed up the coast from Fremantle, and although little is officially known as to what then transpired, pearling shortly afterwards became a recognised profession among our colonial cousins. Some of those pioneers are still engaged in the trade, and many strange stories are told of their doings before the light of civilisation, in the shape of telegraphic communication, was let in upon their coast.
At present, taken as they stand, the pearlers of the Nor'-West are one of the wealthiest bodies of men in the world. They are certainly one of the most daring and most hospitable, and do not hesitate to share their wealth with any unlucky comrades. The methods in vogue now are much different from those employed twenty years ago. Beach-combing and enforced labour have given place to specially-designed luggers, profit-sharing systems, and the most modern diving-dresses, although among the South Pacific Islands beach-combing is still another name for piracy and slave-raiding. Strangely enough, the pearls do not now form the chief support of the industry. Nevertheless, some are frequently found worth £100 and upwards, and many of a value of £10, while from that sum downwards to 1s. for a thousand the pearls are very plentiful. The shell, however, is now the backbone of the industry. It is valued at from £100 to £180 per ton, and finds ready sale through Singapore agencies of London firms at anything between those prices.
The pearler of the present day is a Briton in every sense of the word, and takes great care to impress that fact upon all who visit his domain. He usually owns the lugger he commands, but in some cases he has only a share in it and its profits, the real owner being a speculative gentleman who resides in his schooner and pays only occasional visits to the various luggers under his flag. In some of these deputy-managed craft the only qualification necessary to obtain the position of skipper or commander is that of being a white man and not a German; but when the master pearler goes to the British port of Singapore he is invariably forced to "come down a bit," and do his business with the prosperous and well-satisfied sons of the Fatherland.
Pearling is chiefly carried on in what are termed "proved grounds"; but if a good haul be made at any time the pearler is not averse to prospecting for new grounds (waters). As a rule the commander is the only white man on board the lugger. The crew is composed of Malays and coolies, but the diver is always an intelligent Manilaman or Filipino, who receives a small commission on the results of his work. The depth at which the shell is found is now about sixteen fathoms. Of course shallower ledges are still worked, but it is considered that they are almost exhausted, and few pearlers waste time over them. In working, the diver is lowered over the gunwale by means of a winch, or in some cases dropped over unceremoniously by two of the Malay crew, and another two pump air down to him.
These people are always quarrelling among themselves, and consequently the diver runs many risks he does not at the time know of, unless he guesses what is happening above when he experiences the sensations attending the stoppage of his air supply. He is accustomed to such trifles, however, and being more or less a fatalist, probably wonders what the men at the pumps are quarrelling about, and in a disinterested sort of way speculates on which of his two pumpsmen will prove the weaker, and accordingly feed the sharks with him. Notwithstanding the uncertainty of life, he gathers all the shells within his limited range of vision, and when—if not too late—the men aloft stop fighting, he is hauled to the gunwale, where he is relieved of his spoil and dropped over again.
The shells are found in patches, and when one deposit is exhausted—or perhaps before, for the vessel is drifting all the time—the diver moves on to the next, crashing through dense forests of coral and other strange submarine growths en route, and frequently having to cut the fearful coiling creepers from his person. Often, too, he is precipitated into a deep, dark chasm of unknown extent. In such moments the diver's sole idea is to preserve his balance, for he is really but a feather-weight in the water at the sixteen-fathom level, and in due time he is safely hauled across the gulf, when, if he has not retained a vertical position, or if his line has not been kept taut overhead, he is dragged head-first through any vegetation or oozy slime that may lie in his path. When he regains his equilibrium, he once more turns his attention to the oyster-beds.