The Baron looks disagreeably amused, and I feel hot.
"Capitan," he says to me, "vill you take dthe tiller again?"
I pick up the tiller ropes and steer out towards some small schooners grouped to the left of the town near the entrance of the harbour.
"I do believe those are pearl fishers," says Mrs. Steele, who has been looking through her glass. The Baron starts up and questions the Mexican.
"Si! Si!" he answers, and with long, even strokes he brings us within speaking distance of the nearest vessel. Baron de Bach stands up and shouts out a series of inquiries in Spanish. I look over the side of the boat, and at a vision in the water I start from my seat with a shriek of delight and almost capsize the poor Peruvian. He clutches wildly at the air and finally keels over backwards on the astonished Mexican.
When they recover they find Mrs. Steele and me leaning over the side of the boat following the uncertain motions of a bloated crab-like monster crawling along the bottom of the deep.
"Why, that's the diver," explains Mrs. Steele. "You see that rubber tube—one end is attached to the machine on the schooner, the other to his helmet; he breathes through that. They are pumping air through it every moment."
"Yes," says the Baron, having regained his equilibrium. "You cannot zee, but he haf a basket tie vidth a cord to hees belt; he fill it vidth shaills, and vhen he make a pull dthey draw it up and empty it. Zee, now!"
He points to the steamer where, hand over hand, they haul in a cable. At the end is the square wicker basket filled with great pearl shell oysters. They turn them out and lower the receptacle for another load. The Baron throws some money to a man in the schooner, and soon three or four pearl oysters are tossed into our boat. The Mexican's knife is again called into requisition and the shells are forced open. Nothing in the first—nothing in the second—nothing in th——stop! the Baron has found a pearl!