CHAPTER XXXII 



THE PEARLS OF THE ISLANDS 



DURING the last Summer I was drifting down 

 the coast of Santa CataHna Island, trolling 

 for yeUowtail, when I noticed something that 

 looked like a seal come up inshore and go down in the 

 same spot. The movement of the animal was so pecul- 

 iar that I told my boatman to run the launch inshore; 

 and then I discovered that my seal was a Japanese, 

 and soon from behind a rock appeared a boat. 



I found there were four or five Japanese. Their 

 boat was a " double-ender," like the ordinary boat 

 of the Italians of San Francisco, but in the stern 

 of this, on deck, was a brick fireplace where the men 

 cooked. 



They were black pearl and abalone shell hunters, 

 one crew out of numbers which have so thoroughly 

 plucked the entire Pacific coast that there is little left 

 for the American whenever he opens his eyes to the 

 value of the fast disappearing moUusk. The shell is 

 the abalone, the ear-shell, or the Ealiotis of science. 

 It is as large as the open hand, and when ground on 

 the outside is a thing of beauty, the most beautiful of 

 all mother-of-pearl. Tons of these shells are sold to 

 go to Germany, where in the child-labor homes and 

 factories of Vienna they are made into a thousand 

 peculiar things, and sent back to Catalina and other 

 tourist resorts for sale — a curious commentary on 



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