Chapter 26
CHAPTER II. A new proposition from Captain Nemo. On January 28, in latitude 9 degrees 4 minutes north, when the Nautilus returned at noon to the surface of the sea, it lay in sight of land some 8 miles to the west. Right off, I observed a cluster of mountains about 2,000 feet high, whose shapes were very
whimsically sculpted. After our position fix, I re-entered the lounge, and when our bearings were reported on the chart, I saw that we were off the island of Ceylon. That pearl dangling from the lower lobe of the Indian Peninsula. I went looking in the library for a book about this island, one of the most fertile in the
world. Sure enough, I found a volume entitled Ceylon and the Singhalese by H.C. Sir, Esque Re-entering the Lounge. I first noted the bearings of Ceylon on which antiquity lavished so many different names. It was located between latitude 5 degrees 55 minutes and 9 degrees 49 minutes north,
and between longitude 79 degrees 42 minutes and 82 degrees 4 minutes east of the meridian of Greenwich. Its length is 275 miles, its maximum width 150 miles, its circumference 900 miles, its surface area 24,448 square miles. In other words, a little smaller than that of Ireland.
Just then, Captain Nemo and his chief officer appeared. The captain glanced at the chart. Then, turning to me, the island of Ceylon, he said, is famous for its pearl fisheries. Would you be interested, Professor Aronox, in visiting one of those fisheries? Certainly, Captain.
Fine, it's easily done. Only when we see the fisheries will see no fishermen. The annual harvest hasn't yet begun. No matter. I'll give orders to make for the Gulf of Mannar, and we'll arrive there late tonight.
The captain said a few words to his chief officer, who went out immediately. Soon, the nautilus re-entered its liquid element, and the pressure gauge indicated that it was staying at a depth of 30 feet. With the chart under my eyes, I looked for the Gulf of Mannar. I found it by the ninth parallel off the northwestern shores of Ceylon.
It was formed by the long curve of little Mannar Island. To reach it, we had to go all the way up Ceylon's west coast. Professor, Captain Nemo then told me, there are pearl fisheries in the Bay of Bengal, the seas of the East Indies, the seas of China and Japan, plus those seas south of the United States, the Gulf of Panama, and the Gulf of California.
But it's off Ceylon that such fishing reaps its richest rewards. No doubt, we'll be arriving a little early. Fishermen gather in the Gulf of Mannar only during the month of March, and for 30 days, some 300 boats concentrate on the lucrative harvest of these treasures from the sea. Each boat is manned by 10 oarsmen and 10 fishermen.
The latter divide into two groups, dive in rotation, and descend to a depth of 12 meters with the help of a heavy stone clutched between their feet and attached by a rope to their boat. You mean, I said, that such primitive methods are still all that they use? All, Captain Nemo answered me, although these fisheries belong to the most industrialized people in the world, the English to whom the Treaty of Amiens granted them in 1802.
It strikes me that diving suits like yours could perform human service in such work. Yes, since those poor fishermen can't stay long underwater. On his voyage to Ceylon, the Englishman Percival made much of a kafir who stayed under five minutes without coming up to the surface. But I find that hard to believe.
I know that some divers can last up to 57 seconds and highly skillful ones to 87. But such men are rare, and when the poor fellows climb back on board, the water coming out of their noses and ears is tinted with blood. I believe the average time underwater that these fishermen can tolerate is 30 seconds, during which they hastily stuff their little nets with all the pearl oysters they can tear loose.
But these fishermen generally don't live to advanced age. Their vision weakens, ulcers break out on their eyes, sores form on their bodies, and some are even stricken with apoplexy on the ocean floor. Yes, I said, it's a sad occupation, and one that exists only to gratify the whims of fashion. But tell me, Captain, how many oysters can a boat fish up in a work day?
About 40,000 to 50,000. It's even said that in 1814, when the English government went fishing on its own behalf, its divers worked just 20 days and brought up 76 million oysters. At least, I asked, the fishermen are well-paid, aren't they? Hardly, Professor.
In Panama, they make just one dollar per week. In most places, they earn only a penny for each oyster that has a pearl, and they bring up so many that have none. Only one penny to those poor people who make their employers rich. That's atrocious.
On that note, Professor, Captain Nemo told me, you and your companions will visit the Menar Oyster Bank, and if by chance some eager fisherman arrives early, well, we can watch him at work. That suits me, Captain. By the way, Professor Aronax, you aren't afraid of sharks, are you?
Sharks, I exclaimed. This struck me as a pretty needless question, to say the least. Well, Captain Nemo went on, I admit, Captain, I'm not yet on very familiar terms with that genus of fish. We're used to them, the rest of us, Captain Nemo answered.
And in time, you will be too. Anyhow, we'll be armed, and on our way, we might hunt a man-eater or two. It's a fascinating sport. So, Professor, I'll see you tomorrow, bright and early. This said, in a carefree tone, Captain Nemo left the lounge.
If you're invited to hunt bears in the Swiss mountains, you might say, oh good, I get to go bear hunting tomorrow. If you're invited to hunt lions on the Atlas Plains or tigers in the jungles of India, you might say, ha, now's my chance to hunt lions and tigers. If you're invited to hunt sharks in their native element, you might want to think it
over before accepting. As for me, I passed a hand over my brow where beads of cold sweat were busy forming. Let's think this over, I said to myself, and let's take our time. Hunting otters in underwater forests, as we did in the forests of Crespo Island, is an acceptable activity, but to roam the bottom of the sea when you're almost certain to
meet man-eaters in the neighborhood, that's another story. I know that in certain countries, particularly the Andaman Islands, Negroes don't hesitate to attack sharks, dagger in one hand and noose in the other, but I also know that many who face those fearsome animals don't come back alive. Besides, I'm not a Negro, and even if I were a Negro in this instance, I don't think a
little hesitation on my part would be out of place. And there I was, fantasizing about sharks, envisioning huge jaws armed with multiple rows of teeth and capable of cutting a man in half. I could already feel a definite pain around my pelvic girdle, and how I resented the offhand manner in which the captain had extended his deplorable invitation.
You would have thought it was an issue of going into the woods on some harmless fox hunt. Thank heavens, I said to myself, Conceal will never want to come along, and that'll be my excuse for not going with the captain. As for Ned Land, I admit I felt less confident of his wisdom.
Danger, however great, held a perennial attraction for his aggressive nature. I went back to reading Sir's book, but I leafed through it mechanically. Between the lines, I kept seeing fearsome, wide-open jaws. Just then Conceal and the Canadian entered with a calm, even gleeful air. Little did they know what was waiting for them.
Ye God, sir, Ned Land told me, your Captain Nemo, the devil taken, has just made us a very pleasant proposition. Oh, I said, you know about— With all due respect— To Master, Conceal replied, the Nautilus's commander has invited us, together with Master,
for a visit tomorrow to Ceylon's magnificent pearl fisheries. He did so in the most cordial terms, and conducted himself like a true gentleman. He didn't tell you anything else? Nothing, sir, the Canadian replied. He said you'd already discussed this little stroll.
Indeed, I said, but didn't he give you any details on not a one, Mr. Naturalist? You will be going with us, right? Me? Why, yes. Certainly, of course.
I can see that you like the idea, Mr. Land. Yes, it will be a really unusual experience. And possibly dangerous, I added in an insinuating tone. Dangerous? Ned Land replied.
A simple trip to an oyster bank? Assuredly, Captain Nemo hadn't seen fit to plant the idea of sharks in the minds of my companions. For my part, I stared at them with anxious eyes, as if they were already missing a limb or two.
Should I alert them? Yes, surely, but I hardly knew how to go about it. Should Master, Conceal said to me, give us some background on pearl fishing? On the fishing itself? I asked.
Or on the occupational hazards that— On the fishing, the Canadian replied. Before we tackle the terrain, it helps to be familiar with it. All right, sit down, my friends, and I'll teach you everything I myself have just been taught by the Englishman H.C. Sir.
Ned and Conceal took seats on a couch, and right off the Canadian said to me, Sir, just what is a pearl exactly? My gallant Ned, I replied, for poets a pearl is a tear from the sea. For Orientals, it's a drop of solidified dew. For the ladies, it's a jewel they can wear on their fingers, necks, and ears that's
oblong in shape, glassy in luster, and formed from mother of pearl. For chemists, it's a mixture of calcium phosphate and calcium carbonate with a little gelatin protein. And finally for naturalists, it's a simple festering secretion from the organ that produces mother of pearl in certain bivalves.
Branch Molusca, Conceal said, class Acifala, order Testatia. Correct, my scholarly Conceal. Now then, those Testatia capable of producing pearls include rainbow abalone, turbosnails, giant clams, and saltwater scallops. Briefly, all those that secrete mother of pearl, in other words, that blue azure violet
or white substance lining the insides of their valves. Are mussels included too? The Canadian asked. Yes, the mussels of certain streams in Scotland, Wales, Ireland, Saxony, Bohemia, and France. Good, the Canadian replied.
From now on, we'll pay closer attention to them. But, I went on, for secreting pearls, the ideal mollusk is the pearl oyster Meliagrina margaritaphera, that valuable shellfish. Pearls result simply from mother of pearl solidifying into a globular shape. Either they stick to the oyster shell, or they become embedded in the creature's folds.
On the valves, a pearl sticks fast. On the flesh, it lies loose. But its nucleus is always some small hard object, say a sterile egg or a grain of sand, around which the mother of pearl is deposited in thin concentric layers over several years in succession.
Can one find several pearls in the same oyster, Conceal asked. Yes, my boy, there are some shellfish that turn into real jewel coffers. They even mention one oyster, about which I remain dubious, that supposedly contained at least 150 sharks. 150 sharks?
Nedlan yelped. Did I say sharks? I exclaimed hastily. I meant 150 pearls. Sharks wouldn't make sense.
Indeed, Conceal said. But will Master now tell us how one goes about extracting these pearls? One proceeds in several ways. And often when pearls stick to the valves, fishermen even pull them loose with pliers. But usually the shellfish are spread out on mats made from the asparto grass that covers
the beaches. Thus they die in the open air. And by the end of ten days, they've rotted sufficiently. Next, they're immersed in huge tanks of salt water. Then they're opened up and washed.
At this point, the sorters begin their twofold task. First, they remove the layers of mother of pearl, which are known in the industry by the names legitimate silver, bastard white, or bastard black, and these are shipped out in cases of destruction. This is weighing 125 to 150 kilograms.
Then they remove the oyster's meaty tissue, boil it, and finally strain it in order to extract even the smallest pearls. Do the prices of these pearls differ depending on their size? Conceal asked. Not only their size, I replied, but also according to their shape, their water,
in other words, their color and their orient. In other words, that dappled shimmering glow that makes them so delightful to the eye. The finest pearls are called virgin pearls or paragons. They form in isolation within the mollusk's tissue. They're white, often opaque, but sometimes of opalescent transparency.
And usually spherical or pear-shaped. The spherical ones are made into bracelets, the pear-shaped ones into earrings, and since they're the most valuable, they're priced individually. The other pearls that stick to the oyster's shells are more erratically shaped and are priced by weight.
Finally, classed in the lowest order, the smallest pearls are known by the name seed pearls. They're priced by the measuring cup and are used mainly in the creation of embroidery for church vestments. But it must be a long, hard job sorting out these pearls by size, the Canadian said.
No, my friend, that task is performed with 11 strainers or sieves that are perceived with different numbers of holes. Those pearls staying in the strainers with 20 to 80 holes are in the first order. Those not slipping through the sieves pierced with 100 to 800 holes are in the second order. Finally, those pearls for which one uses strainers pierced with 900 to 1000 holes make up the seed
pearls. How ingenious, Concil said, to reduce dividing and classifying pearls to a mechanical operation. And could Master tell us the profits brought in by harvesting these banks of pearl oysters? According to Sir's book, I replied, these Ceylon fisheries are farmed annually for a total profit of three million man-eaters.
Franques, Concil rebuked, yes, Franques. Three million Franques, I went on. But I don't think these fisheries bring in the returns they once did. Similarly, the Central American fisheries used to make an annual profit of four million Franques during the reign of King Charles V.
But now they bring in only two-thirds of that amount. All in all, it's estimated that nine million Franques is the current yearly return for the whole pearl harvesting industry. But, Concil asked, haven't certain famous pearls been quoted at extremely high prices? Yes, my boy, they say Julius Caesar gave Servilia a pearl worth 120,000 Franques in our currency.
I've even heard stories, the Canadian said, about some lady in ancient times who drank pearls in vinegar. Cleopatra, Concil shot back, it must have tasted pretty bad, Nedland added. Abominable, Ned, my friend, Concil replied. But when a little glass of vinegar is worth one million five hundred thousand Franques,
its taste is a small price to pay. I'm sorry I didn't marry the gal, the Canadian said, throwing up his hands with an air of discouragement. Nedland married to Cleopatra, Concil exclaimed. But I was all set to tie the knot, Concil, the Canadian replied in all seriousness.
And it wasn't my fault the whole business fell through. I even bought a pearl necklace for my fiancée, Kate Tender, but she married somebody else instead. Well, that necklace cost me only one dollar fifty, but you can absolutely trust me on this, Professor, its pearls were so big they wouldn't have gone through that strainer
with twenty holes. My gallant, Ned, I replied laughing, those were artificial pearls, ordinary glass beads whose insides were coated with essence of orient. Wow, the Canadian replied, that essence of orient must sell for quite a large sum. As little as zero, it comes from the scales of a European carp.
It's nothing more than a silver substance that collects in the water and is preserved in ammonia. It's worthless. Maybe that's why Kate Tender married somebody else, replied Mr. Land philosophically. But, I said, getting back to the pearls of great value, I don't think any sovereign ever
possessed one superior to the pearl owned by Captain Nemo. This one, Concil said, pointing to a magnificent jewel in its glass case. Exactly, and I'm certainly not far off when I estimate its value at two million francs, Concil said quickly. Yes, I said two million francs, and no doubt all it cost our captain was the effort to
pick it up. Ha, Ned Land exclaimed, during our stroll tomorrow, who says we won't run into one just like it? Bah, Concil put in, and why not? What good would a pearl worth millions do us here on the Nautilus?
Here, no, Ned Land said, but elsewhere. Oh, elsewhere, Concil put in, shaking his head. In fact, I said, Mr. Land is right, and if we ever brought back to Europe or America a pearl worth millions, it would make the story of our adventures more authentic and much more rewarding.
That's how I see it, the Canadian said. But, said Concil, who perpetually returned to the didactic side of things, is this pearl fishing ever dangerous? No, I replied quickly, especially if one takes certain precautions. What risks would you run in a job like that?
Ned Land said, swallowing a few gulps of salt water. Whatever you say, Ned. Then, trying to imitate Captain Nemo's carefree tone, I asked, by the way, Gallant Ned, are you afraid of sharks? Me?
The Canadian replied. I'm a professional harpooner. It's my job to make a mockery of them. It isn't an issue, I said, of fishing for them with a swivel hook, hoisting them onto the deck of a ship, chopping off the tail with the sweep of an axe, opening the belly,
ripping out the heart and tossing it into the sea. So, it's an issue of… Yes, precisely. In the water? In the water.
God's just given me a harpoon. You see, sir, these sharks are badly designed. They have to roll their bellies over to snap you up. And in the meantime, Ned Land had a way of pronouncing the word snap that sent chills down the spine.
Well, how about you, Conceal? What are your feelings about these man-eaters? Me? Conceal said. I'm afraid I must be frank with Master.
Good for you, I thought. If Master faces these sharks, Conceal said, I think his loyal manservant should face them with him. End of Section 26
