and the man has prolonged his stay below to the limit of his air supply,
his head is out of water not many seconds before he is volubly
denouncing the official control forcing him to work on a "paar" where
little but sand exists, and his confreres on the boat hurl savage
invective at any government functionary within earshot.

The powerful Eastern sun illumines the bottom sufficiently for a diver
to plan his operations before going down, and nine days out of ten the
overhead sun renders the sea sufficiently transparent to guide a boat's
crew to promising anchorages. Pearling economists insist that dredging
by machinery or the use of diving-suits can never compete with the
simple and inexpensive method in vogue on the Manar banks. At
Marichchikkaddi one hears frequent discussion of the time a diver may
stay under water, and many improbable accounts of what has been done are
told a visitor. An average Tamil or Moorman stays down not longer than
forty-five seconds, while the broad-chested Arab thinks nothing of
being under water from sixty to eighty seconds.

Depth has much to do with the time, and it is admitted that divers do
not suffer unduly from the trying nature of their calling except when
forced to work in unusually deep water. Seven or eight fathoms--about
the average on the Ceylon banks--produces no injurious effect, but nine
fathoms tell on all but men of sturdy build. Occasionally a declivity
perhaps ten fathoms below the surface has to be fished, and this demands
the service of picked men, divers possessing the highest vitality.
Several divers collapse every season through toiling at unusual depths,
and two or three pay the penalty of death. Most divers, however, live to
as full a span as men pursuing other humble callings.

When a fishery is at its height, the scene on the banks is one of
extreme animation, and a picture full of strangeness to New World eyes.
Each craft is a floating hive of competitive noise and activity, and the
center of a cordon of disappearing and reappearing seal-like heads, with
baskets splashing in the water or being hauled by excited hands. In the
distance floats the majestic barque _Rengasamy Puravey_, an old-timer,
with stately spars, a quarter-deck, and painted port-holes that might
cause a landsman to believe her a war-ship. For half the year the barque
is the home of the government's marine biologist, and his office and
laboratory, wherein scientific investigation and experim