the java and arafura seas — the yahudi — torres straits — thursday island — new guinea — pearl diving
the voyage from batavia to thursday island one long succession of exquisite pictures. the sky is almost invariably blue, the air soft and warm, while the sea strikes one as becoming every day more and more transparent and calm. on either hand a succession of lovely islands, tropical and in many cases volcanic, rise from the water, as if for the sole purpose of lending variety and interest to the voyage. at a distance they appear to be very similar, but on nearer approach we find in each some peculiar beauty the others seem to lack. they are, for the most part, the property of the dutch, and in many instances prove themselves lucrative possessions. we pick them up one by one, only to leave them behind again — bali, lombok, sumbawa, flores, adenara, lomblem, ombay, and wetter.
we are not a large party in the saloon, but, as the old lady said of the mosquito bite, what there is is interesting. one man, connected with some mysterious branch of commerce, tells us that his father was a french jew, his mother a portugee, while he himself was born in japan. for certain reasons we designate him the yahudi, and the name fits him like a glove.
another, an australian gold miner, is returning home from a mining venture on the malay peninsula. his four companions had been murdered in a native rising, and he himself only escaped death by the skin of his teeth. him, on account of his birthplace, we call ‘gympie.’ there is also a yankee drummer, who has, as he expresses it, peddled his wares in every town, large or small, throughout the known world, and who can, without stopping to think, reel off the names of the best hotels, and the most interesting people to call upon, in each. another is a german count, presumably down on his luck, who is visiting queensland with the idea of retrieving his fortunes by some means best known to himself.
the yahudi is a perambulating nuisance. before the voyage is half over, his presence is voted decidedly objectionable. he is selfish and egotistical to an abominable degree. he persists in monopolising the conversation at meal-times with outrageous and improbable stories, of which he himself is invariably the hero. at the same time it is only just to him to say that he flatly contradicts every assertion made by anyone else. the following is a fair sample of his style of fiction.
the conversation turns on the power of animals to make their wants understood in moments of danger or excitement. says the yahudi, craning his long neck round to see that everyone within half a mile is listening, and interrupting one of my choicest anecdotes, which, i am led to believe, i tell with considerable success:— ‘that recalls to my mind a singular adventure in japan. one day, accompanied only by my dog, i was enjoying a morning’s shooting, when i noticed a fine cluster of ducks upon a neighbouring lagoon. to reach them without attracting attention was a difficult matter, for, barring a tree and a monster log some eighty yards to its right, there was no cover of any sort to be seen. creeping warily along, i gained the shelter of the tree, and thence proceeded to wriggle myself under cover of the log. once there, i took careful aim, fired both barrels, and brought down eight duck, two teal, a snipe, and a woodpigeon; but imagine my astonishment, when the smoke cleared away, at seeing the log, behind which i was crouching, rise up, wheel slowly round, and look me in the face. you may stare, gentlemen, but you cannot stare away the fact that it was an alligator, thirty-five feet long and four feet through, with a mouth like the entrance to the bottomless pit, yawning in my face. i took one good look at him, then went for the tree at express rate, leaving my gun behind me — not that, mind you, i had any fault to find with the gun, but because my mind was so set upon reaching the tree, that i had no time to think of other things. with the noise of a steam roller, the alligator came behind me, and we took our places — he at the bottom of the tree, i at the top. it was a moment of intense excitement, and i assure you that his conversation was as clear to me as noonday.
‘” good morning! “ he began. “ you seem to have had an excellent day’s sport. pray come down and let me assist you in collecting your bag! ”
‘” i thank you,” was my reply, at the same time taking a tighter grasp of my situation, as i noticed, with modesty, the appetite the sight of my legs was occasioning him, “ but at present i am too much entranced with the beauty of the landscape around me, to care much for fame as a sportsman. pray collect and accept my game yourself! ”
‘this affability on my part caused him to betray his real feelings.
‘” many thanks,” he replied, “ but wild duck requires too much hanging for my taste. your legs, now — but there, do pray come down.” so saying, he opened his mouth and yawned till i could plainly see the undigested boots and celluloid collar of his last victim. after that we both felt that nothing further could pass between us.
‘look me in the face, ladies and gentlemen, if you please. i assure you that for no less than eighteen hours i remained in that uncomfortable position, clinging to that branch, with the alligator’s mouth yawning like a gravel pit beneath me. you will ask why i did not shoot him. i reply, because my gun was on the plain, and my cartridges were in my pouch, and my pouch was with my faithful dog, and my faithful dog was in the interior of the alligator. eighteen hours, nineteen hours, and even twenty hours went by, and still no chance of escape presented itself. i began to be annoyed, for my hunger was excruciating. at last a brilliant idea flashed through my brain.
‘noticing that the alligator snapped ravenously at everything i threw to him, without pausing to ascertain its form or flavour, i produced my knife, and cut from the tree a stout stake, some three feet long. this i sharply pointed and notched at both ends. then, judging my distance, i dropped it towards his mouth. as i expected, his ponderous jaws opened and closed on it perpendicularly. the result was all i could desire.
‘the force with which he closed his jaws drove one point through the roof of his mouth, the other through his tongue and out under his lower jaw. the notches prevented it from slipping back; he was transfixed and harmless. descending from the tree, i bade him an affectionate adieu, and went home to bed, reflecting that man’s ingenuity is often more than a match for mere brute strength, while old father stick is still sufficient to satisfy the most enormous appetite.’
that was the yahudi’s style exactly. as gympie plaintively remarked in the smoking-room afterwards, ‘you may take it from me, that yahudi’s just no more nor less than a fair cataclysm of a liar?’ personally, i felt that even ‘cataclysm’ was hardly strong enough. but to return to my log-book.
away to port lies macassar, the wholesale warehouse of the archipelago, whence are disseminated all the peculiar luxuries of the civilised west, and to which comes in return all the produce of the barbarous east. beche de mer, trepang, beeswax, nutmegs, sandalwood, mussoi-bark, mother of pearl, tortoise-shell, birds of paradise skins — all find their way to the traders of macassar.
shipping of all sorts and sizes, from lordly warships to top-heavy native prahus and tiny sampans, is to be met with in these waters. the distances the latter do are almost incredible, and it is wonderful, considering the seas they must at times encounter, that more of them do not find watery graves. now and again mysterious schooners may be seen slinking stealthily round the headlands, and, our captain observing them, becomes mysterious on the subject of illicit pearl-fishing among these islands. we cross question him in vain, his only answer is a wink and the sly remark, ‘if you stay in thursday island, you’ll find out soon enough.’ we begin to feel important.
leaving timor and the smaller islands thereabouts, we enter the arafura sea, and prepare ourselves to sight no more land till we pick up the islands in torres straits: a period of about five days.
early on the morning of the sixth, with a big sea running, we catch a glimpse of booby island right ahead of us, surmounted by its lighthouse and encompassed by dashing breakers. another hour-and-a-half's steaming brings us abreast of prince of wales island, the largest of the torres strait group, and here we pick up our pilot. we notice that the whaleboat which brings him off is manned by manilla boys (the bull is unintentional), pleasant young fellows of fair height, possessing light brown skins and very expressive features. they have the reputation of making excellent sailors.
the approach to thursday island, which, though the richest, is one of the smallest of the torres straits group, is charming. hilly, attractive islands form an effective background to it, while the white roofs of pearling stations, peeping from amid dense masses of dark green foliage, the deep blue of the sea, and the varicoloured sails of the luggers and other small craft which dot it, all help to enhance the beauty of the picture.
turning the corner of prince of wales island, we find ourselves facing port kennedy, the capital of — and, in fact, the only town in — the group. the government residency stands boldly in the fore-ground, the union jack waving on the flagstaff. saluting the flag with a gun, we enter the harbour and come to an anchor in the small bay immediately opposite the township.
looked at from the sea. port kennedy is peculiarly australian. the houses are of matchboard, built on short thick piles; and here we renew our acquaintance with galvanised iron roofs, which have a particularly ugly look after the picturesque tiles of the east.
no sooner are we at anchor than our decks are covered with strangers of all descriptions. arabs, chinese, cinghalese, japanese etc. clamber over the side, everyone with something to sell, and everyone with a tremendous amount to say. we explain emphatically, even with threats of murder, that we have no money; that if we had, we shouldn’t want to see their goods, and further still, if by any chance we did see, nothing on earth could possibly induce us to buy them. they marvel and depart: a tourist who doesn’t want to look, much less to buy, seems past their comprehension; they shake their heads ominously for our future.
after tiffin, having collected our baggage and declined the yahudi’s invitation to remain while he told the story of his uncle and the japanese pig, we said goodbye to our friends on board, and departed ashore to seek our fortunes.
landing on a rough wooden jetty, the services of the only cab on the island were secured, and with much state we proceeded to the grand hotel, which i may here remark is worthy of its name. it is indeed grand, and its proprietress is not the least grand part of it. folk who know her call her the queen of thursday island, and we can cordially endorse the sentiment which prompts it; to her care and attention we owe more than we can ever repay. there are four or five other hotels on the island, but the grand is the only one worthy of the name.
our bedroom was situated upstairs on a broad verandah, and commanded a lovely view of the harbour and prince of wales island opposite. what familiar scenes the mention of this verandah recalls to my mind. it was a favourite meeting place of kennedyites, and i can conscientiously affirm that i have heard more tall yarns and seen more mixed liquors drunk inside its railings, than i’ve seen or heard in any other two verandahs in the wide, wide world. there the pearling skippers and mail-boat pilots do mostly congregate, and it is not good for a man whose head is softer than a jarrah block to be of the company.
the population of thursday and adjacent islands is about 1,067, comprising representatives of pretty nearly every nationality under the sun, even to a poor solitary north–american indian, marooned there by a travelling circus company some five years ago. directly or indirectly the inhabitants are all dependent on the pearl shell, beche de mer, and tortoise-shell industries; and some idea of the importance of the place may be obtained when i say that in 1892 (the year in which we were there) the exports were valued at no less than 118,222l., including something like 20,000l. for guano from paine island, a tiny spot tucked away on the fringe of the great barrier reef.
the government is administered by a government resident dependent on queensland legislature. his duties are multifarious and his district is an exceedingly large one. he is a sort of thursday island ‘ko–ko,’ being an honourable, an ex minister of the crown, government resident, police magistrate, collector of customs, registrar of births, deaths, and marriages, harbour master, &c., all rolled into one. he also finds time to be a very good fellow!
as in so many of the other places we had visited, the chinese element is well represented, one block of stores being almost entirely their property. papuans, fijians, manilla, and solomon boys are also very much en evidence.
though a good many pearling luggers were still in the harbour when we arrived, the majority of the fleet had put back to sea, after the new year’s festivities, during which time the island had been a place of considerable mirth. not unfrequently, these little jollifications terminate uproariously, sometimes even with blood-letting, though any very serious trouble has not occurred within the past five years.
three or four years ago a number of natives clubbed together and purchased tickets in one of the large melbourne cup sweeps. as they didn’t expect much to come of it, their delight may be imagined when it became known that they had drawn the winning horse and a prize of something like 30,000l. the amount fairly staggered them, and, puzzled to know what to do with it, they erected billiard saloons all over the town. that is why at every turn one is confronted with the sign, ‘johnny calcutta, billiard saloon proprietor’; ‘rhotoma tommy — billiards and pyramids,’ &c. when the pearling fleet is in harbour these saloons prove lucrative possessions. and, while i am about it, let me remark that some of the signs in thursday island are the funniest i have seen anywhere. one, if i remember rightly, ran somewhat as follows:
tommy bombay
tonsorial artist. barbering and hair-cutting 6d,
d.v. corns cut here.
for many days we paraded the settlement, familiarising ourselves with the life around us, but all the time keeping a sharp lookout for opportunities of employment. had it not been for the anxiety our impoverished position caused us, it would have been vastly pleasant, for there was plenty to be seen.
i think were i asked to name one place in this world where fascinating people may be met with, i should declare for thursday island. strange folk, whose proper homes should be between the cardboard covers of story books, are to be seen at every turn, playing billiards in the saloons, drinking in the grog shanties, or busily engaged on beautiful and mysterious vessels at anchor in the harbour: men with stories so fascinating, that we cannot doubt their probability; ‘varsity’ and public school men, dead to the world; vagabond heirs to great names; romantic nobodies, and the riff-raff of all humanity, working, gambling, feasting or starving, as the case may be. there are jesuit fathers in the priest’s house on the hill side, whose tales would have the same effect as curl papers; and when the missionary schooner comes in from new guinea she not unfrequently brings with her one or two gaunt, haggard, fever-laden wretches whose stories are almost too strange, weird, and wonderful for credence.
thursday island being a pearling centre, there seems to be a tourist impression that it is always possible, during the time the mail-boat remains in harbour, to obtain from the natives first-rate pearls at sixth-rate prices. for this reason every idle, disorderly nigger, loafing edgeways through the sunshine, is supposed to have in his possession pearls of fabulous worth, of which ignorance alone prevents his knowing the value. thus the tourist is evidently the instrument of providence intended to relieve him of them at less than a quarter of their marketable price. then arises the situation, if this be a delusion and there are no pearls, where can be the trade, and why does not the delusion die out? for even this self-same tourist, so ignorant in other matters, knows that it is not wise to buy pearls from the smooth-spoken cinghalese who crowd the ship’s deck. to this end these simple children of fair ceylon manufacture pearls that would deceive even the mother oyster herself, and dispose of them on advantageous terms to their darker skinned brethren.
while on shore the tourist possibly observes a manilla boy hanging around in a suspicious fashion. awaiting his opportunity, he enters into conversation with him, and, after many assurances of absolute secrecy, elicits the fact that, unknown to the owner of his lugger, he has pearls to dispose of. retiring to a secret place, half a dozen beautiful specimens are produced, examined, and the price inquired. if genuine, they might be worth from 60l. to 80l. apiece. the simple nigger only asks 30l. for the lot, and finally allows himself to be beaten down to 10l. the deception is so perfect that it is not until they fall into professional hands that the fraud is discovered. then the purchaser, unmindful of the fact that he himself had, to all intents and purposes, cheated the poor nigger in the sale, wishes to postpone other business in order to hunt up that heathen, and recover his 10l. he says he has been grossly swindled, and he wants to know why the, etc., etc., the missionaries can’t do the work they’re paid for, etc., and inculcate into their flock a proper appreciation of their duties towards their fellow-men, etc. he says that very often. and each time he comes to look upon himself more and more as an injured individual.
day after day, for the reason that nothing else offered, we wandered either over the hill and through the cemetery (a sombre place, where the bodies obtained from the unfortunate ‘quetta’ are buried), or past the chinese gardens, and up to the fortifications then in course of construction. at other times we loafed hours away on the sandy foreshore, looking across the blue water to the other islands, beyond which, if the eye could but see, the coast of new guinea peeps up. when we could we prowled the harbour, boarding lugger after lugger in search of employment. but it was disheartening work; nothing ever offered.
apart from its intrinsic wealth, thursday island is exceedingly valuable for defence purposes, commanding as it does the principal entrance to the smooth water inside the great barrier reef, or, in more figurative language, being the lock of the northern gate of the entire eastern coastline of queensland. on the western side of torres strait the sea is open and presents but few dangers, but on the other side the barrier reef itself commences, with innumerable reefs and shoals, and navigation is not only highly dangerous but well-nigh impossible. the easiest approach is by way of prince of wales channel, about ten miles long by one and a half wide, though another course, through endeavour strait, a few miles south of thursday, is with proper precaution quite practicable. thus it will be seen that thursday island, lying between these two channels, at the only points where entrance is really safe, must naturally become a place of considerable importance in time of war, not only as a coaling station, but also, as i have already said, from the fact that it practically commands the main entrance to queensland. with this in view, large fortifications have lately been erected on a hill overlooking port kennedy, thus assuring the safety of this most important spot.
when we had been about a fortnight in the island our poverty began to assume serious proportions. we foresaw that, unless something turned up, we should once more be in a terrible plight, and this time without anything saleable wherewith to increase our wealth. of course we were getting used to it, but then that didn’t make matters any the more pleasant. every night we walked the jetty, then in course of construction, and discussed the matter. but the more we talked of it, the worse it seemed to grow. what was going to become of us we could not see. the deep water was very soothing, and we derived a melancholy satisfaction from the fact that sharks were numerous in the bay.
then, just as we were at our wits’ ends, a chance offered, and we clutched it ravenously. a trading schooner put in, en route for port moresby, new guinea, and as she had a vacancy for a couple of hands, and preferred white men to niggers, we shipped. that same evening we swept out of harbour, immensely relieved at having found something to do.
under favourable circumstances the voyage from thursday island to port moresby is only a short one, and is more like a pleasure excursion than anything else. our cargo was for the most part trading goods, with a few packages for the government, and a case or two for one of the mission societies.
for the benefit of the ignorant, and to parade my own knowledge, i may here remark that new guinea is divided into three portions. holland claims half the territory west of 141° e. longitude; germany holds the northwest quarter, with the islands of new britain and new ireland; while the southeastern quarter and all islands and reefs between 141° and 155° e. longitude and 80° and 12° s. latitude are the property of great britain.
the rivers of most importance are, in the english section, the fly, ascended for over 600 miles; in german territory, the empress augusta, explored for something like 400 miles; and in dutch new guinea, the amberno, of which very little as yet is known. there are other smaller rivers, too numerous to mention.
british new guinea, again, is divided into three sections (this is not a geographical treatise), east, central, and western, each of which is controlled by a resident magistrate, who, from what we could gather, must have his hands pretty full at times.
port moresby, the chief settlement, is situated in the central province, on what might be termed the instep of the island, about the middle of the south coast. from the harbour it wears a decidedly picturesque appearance. blue water surrounds those native villages which are built on piles out at sea; others peep from among stately palm groves on land; while all are backed by the green-clad hills, which rise in some instances to a height of nearly 1,500 feet. the harbour is convenient and roomy, shaped something like the figure 3. at present it is only in an embryo state, but in time, as the country advances, it must certainly become a great resort for shipping.
backed by a spirit of real enterprise, two townships have been surveyed to the southward, dignified with the high-sounding names of east and west granville, the former has not as yet been taken up, but the latter is the seat of the government offices, the boat sheds, and a strong commodious gaol. the administrator’s residence is located in this part of the settlement, and in what will soon be a lovely botanical garden. further along, in the outer harbour, are. the chief native villages, and on a low ridge to their rear, the headquarters of the london missionary society.
the soil of british new guinea is in most parts extremely fertile. yams, bananas, pumpkins, sugarcane, maize, taro, sago, and palms flourish luxuriantly, for, unlike the greater portion of australia, the rainfall is certain and heavy. on the south-eastern coast the rainy season falls during the north-west monsoons, which occur between the months of december and may, while in the remaining months strong south-easterly trades blow, and the climate is then considered extremely healthy.
the native villages are quaint little concerns, admirably built, and not unfrequently possessing considerable pretension to architectural design; they have a charm quite different from their owners, who are cowardly, lying, treacherous, and superstitious to the last degree. i only know one worse, and he is the malay, but then that hardly counts for anything.
papuan women are by no means ill-looking; in fact, as a race, they would rank high, if they would not tattoo quite so much.
as a rule, the men are well set up fellows, and in spite of the drawbacks mentioned before, make excellent policemen. i say policemen, because the administrator has lately organised a constabulary force which should eventually prove of much benefit to the possession. a constabulary force and a gaol, i take it, are two of the things that point conclusively to successful colonisation. new guinea only wants a house of assembly and universal suffrage to make its future assured.
the principal animals are the kangaroo, the wild hog, the turtle, and the dugong. the last is particularly interesting. in the first place, he is a herbivorous cetaceous animal (whatever that may be), with a tapering body, ending in a crescent-shaped fin; was popularly supposed to exist only in the indian ocean, but has been by cuvier denominated the halicore australis. the dugong differs from his first cousin, the whale, from the fact of being herbivorous, not carnivorous, and is, i believe, the chief of the subdivision. in appearance he is a peculiar beast, having the body of a porpoise, combined with the head of a calf; but, unlike the porpoise again, he possesses no dorsal fin. in length he varies from six to eight feet, and is altogether a harmless and inoffensive creature. for food he exists on the grasses and plants growing at the bottom of the ocean; but, unfortunately for himself, he is particularly fond of a coarse grass to be found where queensland rivers flow into the sea.
the flesh of the dugong is extremely luscious, and, indeed, it is said that no portion of his body is without some value. the bones resemble ivory, while the skin, if properly treated, makes a nourishing jelly for invalids; if tanned aright, it is said to resemble hogskin. dugong oil is esteemed a splendid therapeutic agent, and is much in demand. altogether the dugong (in spite of his herbivorousness and cetaceousness) is a very remarkable animal.
alligators are unpleasantly numerous in the rivers and swamps, while the skins of birds of paradise, parrots, pigeons, and kingfishers add considerably to the revenue of the natives. while we are on this subject mention might also be made of the hundreds of varieties of orchid that are found and sent away to european dealers every year.
on reaching port moresby we said ‘goodbye’ to our boat, and the same evening were fortunate enough to obtain berths aboard a pearling lugger just in. she was a neat little craft of about fifteen tons, the property of a pearling company. the diver in command was a somersetshire man, who had been knocking about these waters with varying success for many years; the crew consisted of two manilla boys, and, when we joined, our two selves. two of the hands had deserted, and the diver was anxious to complete his number in order to try another patch before returning to thursday island.
at daylight we hove anchor and stole out of the harbour. the signs of approaching day, the mist just clearing off the water, a sea like glass, a faint blue smoke rising among the palm trees, a soft breeze, and the constant bubbling round our bows, all helped to make up a perfect morning.
for fourteen hours we steered a north-westerly course, keeping the green coastline in sight. then having towards night-fall arrived at the spot we sought,, we anchored, preparatory to starting diving on the morrow. with the first signs of day work was commenced, pumps were rigged, pipes fixed, and the diving dress prepared. after breakfast the diver donned his curious apparel, the leaden boots were put on, the weights fixed on back and chest, the life-line adjusted, and the heavy copper helmet screwed to the collar plate. only a staysail remained on the boat, while the anchor was lowered to within a fathom or two of the bottom. this precaution is taken in order to check the boat’s impetus, otherwise the diver, w:hen — below, would stand a great chance of being dragged off his feet. as soon as these preparations were complete, the pump hands were bidden pump, the air entered the helmet, the tender took his end of the life or signal-line, and the diver descended.
the principle of diving is a simple one. when the diver, walking or dancing along the bottom of the ocean like a ballet girl (he does not, under ordinary circumstances, remain working in one place as is popularly supposed) comes across any shell, he picks it up and places it in a small canvas bag, which he carries with him for that purpose. this bag, when full, is pulled up and emptied, and the shells opened and retained. the shells, not the pearls, are the staple industry in thursday island. the pearls, if any (and no one is near to see), are appropriated to the finder’s own use, and this accounts for our tourist’s notion that natives always have pearls to sell.
one day, in a fit of extreme recklessness, to which our nature is not often prone, we prevailed upon the skipper to allow us to try our hands at diving. to our delight he consented, but no sooner was permission obtained than we began to regret our imprudence. all sorts of horrors flashed through our brain, until we were on the verge of withdrawing our request. but having asked the privilege, it would never have done to show the white feather. the long’un pointed this out to me, stating that it behoved me to risk even death in the interest of science. i quite saw the value of his argument, in fact i could have used it myself in a very convincing fashion on anybody else i
before i had time to expostulate, the dress was forthcoming and with small ceremony i was bundled into it. the helmet was fastened on, and the glass front screwed in. when i realised this a feeling of being cut off from all the world took possession of me. i was in another sphere, where the air smelt very much of indiarubber, and came in gusts from some mysterious region at the back of my head. to my astonishment i found i was able to breathe quite naturally, without the least trouble or exertion; but owing to the weight of the dress, the great boots, and the leads fore and aft, i was anchored where i stood, as helpless as a baby. at a signal, and with assistance, i descended the ladder. as i entered the water, i wondered what would be my fate should the men at the pumps die of heart disease, the boat sink, or any other disasters happen. however, i reached the last step of the ladder in safety, and as i wasn’t dead, began to feel quite proud of my achievement. a yawning gulf of ladderless fathoms lay beneath me, and bearing in mind certain advice given beforehand, i jumped. as i landed on the bottom i felt a sharp pain in both ears. this was followed by a tiny flow of blood, and had i not been assured that this would prove the best thing that could happen to me, i should have been alarmed. as it was i found it relieved the head and prevented any disagreeable sensations while below.
the bottom of the sea (i was diving in about six fathoms) was, to say the least of it, disappointing. in my imagination, it had always taken the form of a sort of fairyland, full of many-coloured corals, shrubs of brilliant seaweed, waving grasses, gleaming fish, and white sands. in place of all this i found myself upon a level plain, out of which rose here and there ugly rocks; true there was a considerable amount of coral, but it was nothing to rave about; many fish there were, but they didn’t gleam; occasionally i passed tufts of seaweed, sometimes of a brilliant colour, but more often of a muddy and sombre hue; and instead of the white sand i had expected, i found a sort of yellowish mud which was not at all to my taste. now and again, at considerable distances, a few oysters were met with, and these i immediately secured. looking up, i could plainly see the keel of the lugger moving through the water above me, while ahead the anchor like a sign post, dangled, inviting me to follow.
in appearance i was not fair to look at. my body was swollen to enormous size, yet neither the exertion of walking, nor the weight of the dress oppressed me in the least degree. most marvellous of all, when it became necessary for me to jump on to a rock, once as much as ten feet high, the ease with which the leap was accomplished was absurd. even a twenty-foot jump was as nothing, and i began to feel that i might yet figure as an athlete, if only i might be allowed to do my jumps, in a diving dress, at the bottom of the sea.
as this was my first venture, i only stayed under water ten minutes (it seemed like hours); but each successive attempt gave me courage, until at last i was able to remain below as long as anyone.
whether it is the weight of the water, the air, or the cold, i cannot say, but it is nevertheless the unfortunate fate of many. divers to become paralysed after having been long engaged in the work. one particularly interesting young fellow we met in thursday island was about to leave for england, in order to ascertain his fate, symptoms of the dread disease having declared themselves. it would seem there are drawbacks to every occupation, even one carried on at the bottom of the sea.
