Pearling dhows look romantic enough in all conscience—from a distance—but at close quarters the smell—ugh! They are of all sizes, and the ordinary Zeila pearler may ship a crew of anything from five up to twelve men, under a nachoda or native captain. The equipment required is simple. A small canoe or boat, a paraffin-tin cut in half, with a pane of glass soldered in the bottom, a few pieces of bent iron wire to close the divers' nostrils when they dive. Such comprises the outfit. A very primitive one indeed.
When a dhow wishes to fit out the following is the procedure. The captain—who, like the majority of his class, is generally up to his neck in debt—waits on a pearl buyer to ask for an advance. The latter makes inquiries as to the size of the dhow, the crew, and other particulars. These completed to his satisfaction he issues supplies of rice, dates, and other food, with perhaps a dash in the way of solid cash, and in return the nachoda agrees that the buyer will participate in the profits of the dhow over a given period. The arrangement is generally thus: to the buyer, or financier, the return of all moneys expended, and after that one third of what remains; the remaining two thirds are divided equally between the captain on the one hand and the crew on the other.
All preliminaries arranged the dhow puts to sea. There are no sleeping quarters provided for the crew, who sleep as best they can. But what does that matter in a climate where man for choice always sleeps in the open air, with the sky for roof. Cooking is done over a wood fire burning in an old barrel filled with mud or sand. When the pearling ground is reached the dhow is anchored from time to time and the canoe lowered. Into it descend a couple of divers armed with their nostril-closing devices, and the paraffin-tin with the glass bottom. One of the men presses this latter about an inch below the surface of the water, keeping his head inside the tin. The glass gives a clear unruffled surface through which he can see the bottom of the sea, on which he keeps a sharp look out for shells, or likely ledges. Should his trained eye sight anything, a motion of his hand to the other man, who is gently paddling, brings the canoe to a standstill. The diver adjusts his nose-iron, stands up and dives. Down, down, down he goes from ten to fifteen times the depth of water that could be measured between the tips of his fingers—from right hand to left—when the arms are extended at right angles to the body; for it is thus the divers measure depth.
With a knife he quickly severs three pearl oysters from the rock, arranging them one under the left arm, one in the left hand, and one in the right palm, so that it will not interfere with the raising stroke of his arm, as he strikes out for the surface. Then up he comes, bringing with him what one diver graphically described to me as, "God alone knows." He may have found a pearl worth thousands of rupees; he may have two good pearls; he may have three bad ones, or, as often happens, he may have no pearls at all.
When a good patch is found a line is lowered with a basket attached. Into this the divers place the shells they have gathered, sending up a great many at one time to the surface. During such operation some divers descend on the rope by means of a stone weight. When an oyster becomes sensible of the approach or touch of an enemy it closes its shell, should it be open, with a powerful snap. It often happens, therefore, that a diver's fingers are caught, in which case they are badly pinched, and often severely cut.
Of course, there are divers who own their own boats and work independently of the buyers. The majority of these are Soudanese, who, though clever at their profession, show anything but business-like aptitude in disposing of their spoils. I know of one man who dived for a pearl worth some thousands of rupees, and which he finally disposed of to a wily trader for ten sovereigns, a small canoe, and a wife. When the money had all been spent on clothes for the woman's back she left her husband, who was not in the least perturbed. To Syyed Khudar, the Arab, who remonstrated with him on his folly, he replied, "Never mind, I shall go back and dive for another pearl."
"Just," Syyed remarked, "as if he owned the sea and all the pearls that are in it."
The divers are fearless, stout-hearted fellows, and be there, to their certain knowledge, ever so many sharks in the vicinity, once they have located shell down they go. For their temerity they may have to pay with their lives, but no such thought deters them. "Who knows but that this dive I am going to make will make my fortune or end my life. If either way it has already been written in the book of fate, so be it," is the diver's philosophy. But more lives are lost than fortunes are found by the men who dive. When the gods smile upon them, and their pockets are lined with rupees, they fritter their money away without a thought. Sanguine in the extreme, by very virtue of their calling, they give no thought to the future. Deep in their hearts is an invincible belief that they are bound to strike lucky again.
A pearl from our waters may change hands many times ere at last it adorns the neck of some fair lady in Europe, or a darker sister in Bombay. What stories some pearls could tell if they could only speak of the cut-throats and "sharks" in whose pockets and waist bands they have travelled. Many a story of treachery and blood letting, too, I warrant, that would disturb the dreams not a little of their gentle owners. Even in dealing with the stones there is as much excitement as in diving for them. The tale goes that once upon a time a diver entered a cloth-dealer's shop in Aden, the proprietor of which was absent. He approached a young Indian assistant, and drawing a pearl from the folds of his waist-cloth offered it for sale. The Indian was so struck by the size and beauty of the stone that, although he knew nothing whatever of pearls, he agreed to purchase it for five hundred rupees. But how to pay for it? He had not a penny in the world. Ah, his master's safe was full of rupees. He helped himself, paid for the stone and repaired hurriedly to the house of a dealer whom he knew, where he offered the stone for sale, hoping to make at least a hundred rupees clear profit for himself, and to replace his master's money.