SHELL
E
VENING is the
exciting time on a pearling lugger. During the day, if it has been a
good one, basket after basket of shell has been sent up by the diver
below and has been emptied into a bin that locks. But about an hour
before sunset, when the diver has come up for the last time, the
shell-opener rises lazily from his bunk, casts aside the month-old
paper he has been reading or the piece of wood he has been whittling,
and goes on deck to open the accumulation of shell in the presence of
diver and tender. A breeze is playing offshore over the blistered
decks and the sweating men, and the evening rice is cooking in the
galley. It is still quite light. The important hour has come.
Shell
after shell is opened, displayed, thrown to one side. The opener uses a
special broad flat knife for this work. He also needs knack. Not for
nothing is the oyster a synonym for closeness and exclusive habits.
While she lives, the broad powerful muscle which runs the length of the
thick end, the shoulder of the shell, assures her privacy, and it has
the power of a strong spring. For she has many enemies besides man, and
her whole life is spent resisting perils in rapid succession. If for no
other reason than this, the theory that pearls are the product of
degenerate and diseased oysters can be presumed absurd. A thick-walled,
cuppy shell is more likely to hold a lusty creature lavish with her
nacre than a thin flat-valved one. Besides, a stout shell can resist
much better the ravages of the boring whelks and the insinuating
attacks of the spores of some kinds of sponge which also prey on her.
An oyster thus protected is surer of a long life, in which she may well
produce a close-grained and perfect pearl.
This is as good a time as any to mention the different kinds
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