2007: Here is a colorful story of pearl harvesting in Sri Lanka. I believe Bahrain may be the last place left where pearl harvesting is still conducted the old-fashioned way. It's educational and entertaining. The world of pearl harvesting has changed a lot in the last 100 + years.
(via The National Geographic Magazine, Vol.XLIX, No.2, February, 1926) Bella Sidney Woolf writes:
The fame of the Ceylon Pearl Banks goes back into the mist of ages. It is recorded that in 600 B.C., Vijaya, who landed in Ceylon in 543 B.B. and became its first king, sent a gift of chanks and pearls to his father-in-law, the King of Madura. Pliny discourses on the value of Ceylon pearls and on their formations, and Ibn Batuta, that shrewd medieval globe-trotter, gained first-hand knowledge of a pearl fishery in the fourteenth century.
From time to time in the long history of the Ceylon Pearl Fishery breaks have occurred. The spat has vanished, the young oysters have been swept away by adverse currents or have been destroyed by rapacious fish.
After one of these intervals, lasting 19 years, a pearl fishery was opened in February, 1925. The scientific operations were in the hands of Dr Pearson, Marine Biologist to the Government of Ceylon, and Mr A H Malpas, both of whom have devoted many years of study and research to the life history of the pearl oyster.
Off for the historic pearl banks
On a Sunday afternoon we set out in the government trawler Nautilus from Colombo Harbor, to visit the historic Pearl Banks. As the palm-fringed shore faded away and the trawler went north across a golden pathway of sunshine, one had a pleasurable sense of stepping back into the past; for, though steam trawlers now play their part in the fishery, there is no doubt that the actual procedure of diving and the traditions have not altered one jot or tittle since the days of Vijaya.
The Nautilus commanded by Captain Kerkham, R N R., late Superintendent of the Fisheries for the Ceylon Pearl Company, is a very comfortable boat for her size, and whether sitting on her deck under the awning for meals or sleeping in the airy cabins, there was no hint of hardship or discomfort.
The night was rough, so we turned in early, but were up at 4 O’clock, when the Nautilus dropped anchor. It was starlit night, and out of the darkness there came lights, green and red, moving mysteriously. They were the lights of the trawlers Lilla and Violet, towing in the fishing fleet.
Slowly the dawn came and revealed the gray throbbing waters of the Gulf of Manaar, with red and white flags bobbing up and down at irregular intervals. It looked for all the world like a gathering for a regatta. We were over the famous Twynam Paar, the pearl bank that has recently been located. These rocky ‘paars’ on which the oysters congregate in millions, lie for the most part in five to nine fathoms.
The fishing fleet takes one straight back 3000 years. In high-prowed dhoneys like these, the fishermen set out to sea in the days of King Vijaya, and the rigging and tackle have not changed by a hair’s breadth.
The sun flooded the sea and the whole scene took on stir and animation and clamor. The dhoneys had cast off from the trawlers and were being directed into position by the Nautilus. Nothing is done in the East without a full accompaniment of noise, and the fishery is no exception.
The Arabs excels the Tamil as a diver
The decks of the dhoneys were packed with brown figures: the manducks, who lower the divers, busy with their ropes; the divers themselves clambering over sides, the other occupants of the boats chattering, pulling at gear, or doing nothing with a maximum of commotion.
It is an entrancing sight—the boats, some painted bright blue or yellow, bobbing up and down on the translucent blue water, flutter of gay colored cloths and turbans hung on spars and rigging, the muscular brown bodies shining in the sunshine or gleaming in the water.
The Arab holds his nose with a clip, the Tamil uses his fingers
The divers are chiefly Tamils from southern India, and Arabs, the latter being the more efficient. The Tamil makes a terrible ado about it. If he descents and finds few oysters, instead of trying again, he raises his voice to heaven with shouts of ‘Sippi ille!” (No oysters!).The Arab’s motto is, “It’s dogged as does it.” Without any noise or commotion, he goes down into the depths and works swiftly and perseveringly, bringing in far more oysters than the excitable Tamil.
There is a difference in the methods of the divers, although they both go down in the same way. The manduck controls two ropes. A stone or metal ‘sinker’ is attached to the one, a net basket to the other. The diver descends with one foot on the sinker and the second rope and net bag in his hand. Arrived at sea bottom, he gathers the oysters and throws them into the bag; then he pulls at the rope and the manduck hauls him up to the surface.
The Tamil does not hold the rope till he reaches the surface; he begins to swim. The Arab comes up to the surface holding the rope, and in this way saves time. The Arab puts on a nose-clip; the Tamil holds his nose with finger and thumb.
The effect of an Arab diver rising to the surface is very striking. The man looks like a brown frog, as he comes up through the water. As one watches the divers at work, one is reminded of Browning’s lines from ‘Paracelsus’: Are there not…..dear Michal, Two points in the adventure of a diver, One—when, a beggar, he prepares to plunge , One—when, a prince, he rises with his pearl?
The average time that a diver stays under water is between 60 and 70 seconds, but cases are known in which he has remained below for nearly two minutes. The divers work in pairs, and their shells are packed into bags on the decks of the dhoneys. It is fascinating to watch the muscular brown figures at work in the water, and the manducks outlined against the sky pulling at the ropes.
The Arab divers haul themselves out of the water onto the decks of the dhoneys with superb ease, even after making so many descents that one would imagine they were exhausted. The muscles stand out on their shining brown bodies and the skin gleames like polished bronze.
One man I remember above all, a magnificent figure, towering above the rest, with a scrap of cotton loin cloth as his only apparel, save a large key which hung on a cord round his waist. There was something ludicrous in the key, attached to someone so devoid of any apparent possessions. Then I pictured him leaving his little home, say at Basra, locking the front door, casting a longing look at his date palms and girding on his latch key. Let us hope he returned with many pearls, or the proceeds of them, and the key.
The shark-charmer has lost his job
In some cases the divers discharge water and even blood from their mouth, ears, and nostrils; but, watching them close at hand, I did not detect any of these distressing symptoms. The men seemed perfectly comfortable and, in the case of the Arabs, thoroughly contented. A good diver can make 40 or 50 descents in a day.
It is astonishing that they are not attacked by sharks, but no case of such an attack occurred during the fishery. In old days the service of a shark-charmer was employed, but this superstition seems to have gone west. Many Arabs have a verse of the Koran tied round the arm, neck or wrist a protection from sharks.
At noon the hooter founds and diving ceases for the day. The government sealing officer set out in his launch and goes from one boat to the other, putting the government seal on bags. When this useful precautionary work is accomplished, the dhoneys collect round the tugs, set their sails, and are attached to the tugs by towlines.
A more beautiful sight than the dhoneys following after the tugs cannot be imagined, their huge brown and white sails shining in the sunshine, flapping like the wings of great birds, and a curling, sparkling wave breaking from their bows.
In the old days, of course, the fleet made for Pearl Town under its own sail and took many long hours to accomplish the journey. This towing of the fleet is one of the few innovations introduced into the age-old procedure of the fishery.
Pearl town a mushroom city
It is intensely interesting to watch the crowded decks of the dhoneys from the stern of the trawler. The Arabs, after the day’s work, wrap themselves in their burnooses, some of the grimy white, others blue and yellow. They herd round the fire lit in the dhoney, stretch themselves out, and sleep till the boats approach Pearl Town.
Then there is bustle and stir on board. About half a mile from shore the dhoney cast off from the tugs, and race for the shore takes place. It is case of first come, first served, and every diver is anxious to be the first to get his oysters into the government kottu, the inclosure in which the oysters are counted and divided.
Meanwhile we in the trawler transship to a launch and hurry shoreward, in order to see the arrival of the boats. Marichchukaddi, Pearl Town, seen from the sea, is a most attractive spot—a low, reddish coast line, tree and turf covered with a background of jungle, stretching away to a game sanctuary.
The shore is crowded with people, in colored cloths and turbans. It is astonishing to think that when there is no pearl fishery Marichchukaddi is deserted, save for a few native huts. Now a town of 30000 to 40000 inhabitants has sprung up, as if by magic. A day or two after the closing of the fishery these inhabitants of Pearl Town melt away like the figment of a dream. Only the cadjan (palm-leaf) huts and a few substantial buildings remain. The shore is deserted and silence reigns where for weeks rose a babel of many tongues, while Pearl Town enjoyed her crowded hour of glorious life.
The government takes two thirds and allows divers one third
It is delightful to watch the dhoneys making for the shore like a flock of birds on brown and white translucent wings, skimming over the shining waters. The moment the boats are beached the divers leap ashore, seize their bags and carry them up the beach on their heads. Each looks like the slave, in the story of Alladin, bearing treasure, and so indeed they do in some cases.
The bags are dumped in the kottu, a huge palisaded inclosure, with a numbered place set aside for bags from each correspondingly numbered boat. The shells are counted by government officials and made up into bags of 1000 each. The government’s share is two thirds, the diver keeps one third.
The bustle and hustle and clamor in the kottus can be imagined when it is realized that at one point of the fishery 125 boats were out and 1908 divers had to pass through the inclosure. All was conducted in a very systematic manner, however, the divers coming in at one entrance and leaving by another, bearing their share of the catch, which they carried off to an open market, held in a pleasant, green, tree-encircled hollow.
Pearl buyers of every nationality swarm about like bees
A crowd of buyers of every nationality and age swarms round the divers like bees, chattering and bargaining. The divers sell in small quantities. At the beginning of the 1925 fishery they obtained as much a rupee a shell.
The purchasers thrust their shells into palm-leaf bags, which form one of the staple articles of sale in Pearl Town shops and hurry off to open their treasures. It is a unique sight to watch single figures or groups of two or three seated, knife in hand, searching for pearls and absolutely absorbed in the hunt.
Finding the pearls is a tricky business, for they are often deeply embedded in the flesh of the oyster. The expert first passes his finger round the rim of the shell, then presses back the flesh with his knife and conducts a systematic search through the soft flesh. In one small oyster eleven small pearls were found.
In some cases the pearl is not detached, but is formed on the shell, when it is known as blister pearl. If it is well raised above the shell, it can be cut out and set in a ring or brooch, where perfect roundness is not required, as for a necklace.
When the divers have sold all their oysters, they seek the Diver’s Bathing Pool and wash the salt from their weary limbs. A continuous flow of talk, in which the word sippi (oyster) occurs incessantly, shows that they are living over again the day’s adventures.
The sights of Pearl Town
Pearl Town itself provides a fund of entertainment. There are long streets of cadjan huts, in which every variety of article is displayed for sale—clothes, umbrellas, bead necklaces, foodstuffs, and household utensils in profusion. There is a hospital, a police station, a post office, and a courthouse.
There are very elaborate sanitary arrangements and precautions in order to prevent any outbreak of the dread epidemics—cholera and plague.
The pearl dealers, grave, bearded men who have come from long distances in India, sit in a row of huts, with their brass sieves for grading the pearls and their huge brass-bound chests. Under a tulip tree sit the pearl drillers, who perform the delicate operation of piercing the gems.
One can wander for hours through Diver Street, Old and New Moor Street, Tank Street, and Chetty Street, or study the family camps in the open under the trees, peering into the cadjan huts, where mysterious cooking operations are in progress, examining the accommodations at the Rest House, where primitive lodging can be obtained.
Queer incidents occur. At one point, as we passed along a path through a grassy field, a small boy rushed out from a group sitting under some trees and, thrusting a tin at us, said in a shrill voice: “Will you not want a pineapple tinned in this country?” We declined the offer, but admired the business enterprise.
Auction of oysters is conducted in three languages
From one tree hung at least 20 umbrellas, looking like strange birds with folded wings. The man in charge explained that the umbrellas were left in his safe-keeping while the owners were at work—a primitive form of cloakroom.
Toward evening Pearl Town looks its best, especially if one strolls out to the edge of the jungle and hears the call of birds in the pink light of a glowing sunset. At 9 o’clock every evening the government auction of oysters was held by Mr F J Smith, government agent of the Northern Province, to whom the running of the pearl fisheries and Pearl Town was entrusted.
The auction took place in the courthouse. Rembrandt would have painted this scene joyfully—the upturned dusky faces of the buyers, who squatted on the floor in serried rows; the gorgeous colors of cloth and turban half revealed by the light of a lamp from the dais on which the government agent sat.
The bidding was conducted in Tamil, Singhalese, and Arabic by means of interpreters. Oysters were sold in lots of less than 1000.
The highest price paid per thousand was Rs.110; the highest average price per day was Rs.74; the average for the whole fishery was Rs.45 per thousand; the total revenue to government, Rs.514326.00 (The normal value of the rupee is about 48½ cents).
The purchasers of large quantities of the oysters remove the shells to totties, inclosures which contain the oysters until they rot. Millions of maggots eventually consume the flesh. The residue is examined, sieved, and sifted innumerable times, and even the dust is picked over, so that the tiniest seed pearl may be escape.
“He was a bold man that first ate an oyster,” says Colonel Atwit in Swift’s Polite Conversation.” One might add that he is a bolder man who braves the perfume of decaying oysters and seeks for pearls. But the glorious uncertainity of the gamble leads him on, and there are few thrills equal to that of finding one pearl of great price.
The following interesting notes on the formation of the pearl are contributed by Dr Pearson, the Ceylon Government’s Marine Biologist:
“The mystery of pearl production has been the subject of much speculation throughout historic times. The formation of the pearl was variously ascribed by the ancients to the consolidation of drops of dew, to the distillation of the tears of the Nereids, or yet again to the effect of a flash of lightning.
“Leaving aside these more fanciful views, the most reasonable theory ascribes the creation of a pearl to the intrusion into the tissues of the oyster of some foreign particle, such as a sand grain, or parasitic worm, or indeed any suitable irritant. The problem still awaits definite solution, however, though there would appear to be considerable support for the parasite theory.
“The pearl oyster has its soft parts covered by a skin, which has the faculty of producing the nacre, or mother-of-pearl, with which the inside of the shell is lined. On occasion foreign particles find their way between the soft parts and the shell.
“Thus a secretion of nacre is stimulated around the intruding particle and a blister pearl is formed, which remains attached to the mother-of-pearl lining of the shell. Or, again, a young parasite may bore its way through the skin, carrying with it a few of the nacre-forming cells, which will proliferate and envelop the parasite.
“So the unfortunate parasite becomes inclosed in a nacreous tomb and forms the nucleus of a beautiful pearl. As a French scientist has put it, “La plus belle perle n’est done, en definitive, que le brilliant sarcophage d’un ver.” (The most beautiful pearl is in reality only the brilliant sarcophagus of a worm).
The Portuguese made first detailed record of Ceylon Pearl Fisheries
It is not until we reach the Portuguese occupation of Ceylon (1517-1658) that we find any detailed account of the manner in which a pearl fishery of those days was conducted, although fragmentary references to earlier fisheries are frequent, and from these it would appear that the general methods for the conduct of a fishery have remained substantially unaltered during the last 2000 to 3000 years, according to Mr A H Malpas.
During the Portuguese period, Manaar was the center of the pearl fishing industry, but it had lost much of its prosperity when the Dutch captured it in 1658 and succeeded to the pearl fisheries. The Dutch held a number of profitable fisheries before they lost Ceylon to the British in 1796.
The pearl oyster is not a true oyster
The pearl oyster (Margaritifera vulgaris) is not a true oyster, but belongs to the mussel family. It somewhat resembles the scallop in shape, although the two halves of the shell are almost equal in size and they have not the characteristic corrugations of the scallop.
Like the marine mussel, the pearl oyster possesses a byssus, or bundle of tough horny threads, which it has the power of casting off and renewing at will. By means of this byssus it anchors itself to rocks or other suitable objects.
There are two spawning seasons a year, coincident with the periods of the northeast and southwest monsoons, when millions of young oysters are liberated. Thus each year sees two spatfalls, or deposits of young oysters.
The first few days of the young oyster’s life, immediately after it is hatched from the egg, are spent as a free swimming larva in the surface waters of the sea, until such time as the shell is formed, when the oyster sinks to the bottom and attaches itself by means of its byssus either to other oysters or to any existing anchorage. Should the young oyster fall on sand, it does not generally survive a long period. Only those oysters falling on rock reach a fishable age.
The pearl fishery of 1925 laster for 37 days, but, owing to adverse weather, the catch was small—a total of 16,000,000 oysters. When one realizes the quantities of oysters, one is ready to exclaim with Joseph Hall, Bishop of Exeter (1574-1656):
“There is many a fine pearl laid up in the bosom of the sea,
That never was seen nor never shall be.”
Or one may philosophize with wise Sir Thomas Browne, Hall’s contemporary:
“To enjoy true happiness, we must travel into a very far country, and even out of ourselves, for the pearl we seek for is to be found not in the Indian, but in the Empyrean Ocean.”
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