In most cases, the shelling is angrily repudiated, and yet the chances are, that once arrived upon the scene of action, and stimulated by general example and keen emulation, the new-comers will develop into the most unwearying, rabid, and greedy of shellers!
When I say a greedy sheller, I refer to an individual who, when tide, wind and moon favour, will secretly take boat, and steal away to the most likely parts of Corvyn's Cove, or some favourite reef at Navy Bay, and there reaping a rich and solitary harvest, return with bare-faced triumph, and swagger, dripping up the pier, between two lines of outraged acquaintances, with a shameless air of,—
"Ah, ha! see what I have got!"
From the General, down to Billy Home, every one went shelling at Port Blair, and some of these "shell maniacs" (as Mrs. Creery dubbed them) had superb and valuable collections. There was as much excitement and competition over a day's quest as would be expended on covert shooting or salmon fishing at home. It was not merely a frivolous picking up of pretty objects; it was a very serious business. The finder of the rarest shells was the hero of the hour: the owner of "ring" cowries was a person of repute!
Behold, then, one afternoon, a few days after the band, two large rowing-boats waiting at the pier for shellers! and kindly notice the party coming down to embark. An inexperienced eye would naturally assume that they were all going to bathe, for each individual carries a bag and a couple of bath towels—to put round the back of their heads as they stoop in the sun. Their garments are whole, indeed, and quite good enough for the occasion, but how faded, and shrunken, and cockled with sea-water! Their boots—but no, we will draw a veil over these. To be brief the appearance of the company is the reverse of distinguished. In a few short happy hours they will return: they will be all soaking in water from the waist downwards. (Luckily, wading about in the nice, warm sea is rather pleasant after the first plunge, and people in the excitement of shelling are insidiously drawn in deeper and deeper still.) Yes, by six o'clock, if all goes well, we shall see the company of shellers, returning like a party of half-drowned rats; but there will be no shyness, no reluctance, in their progress up the pier; without the least diffidence, they will run the gauntlet of all the idlers, with an air of lofty pride, born of the noble spoils they usually carry. Have they not in their bags such treasures as "woodcocks," "staircases," "tigers," and "poached eggs"! We spare the reader the Latin names of these rarities.
To-day, the General (a keen sheller,) is going, also Mr. Latimer, Captain Rodney, Dr. Parks, Miss Caggett, Dr. Malone, Colonel Home, Colonel and Miss Denis, and last, but by no means least, Mrs. Creery (and Nip). She does not condescend to shell, but she goes on principle, as she rarely suffers an expedition to leave Ross without her patronage.
Colonel Denis and his daughter came hurrying down, just as the party were about to descend the steps.
"Good gracious, Helen!" cried Mrs. Creery, "you are never going to shell in that dress!" speaking exactly as if it were her own property.
"No, no," shaking her head, and exhibiting a small block and paint-box. "Have you forgotten that you are to leave me on the wreck to sketch?"