by Jack Dey
The older man smiled a little. “You’re quite young to be an entrepreneur.”
“I have learned my trade, sir, from the tutelage of Mr Ernest Mason of Mason’s Foundry in Brisbane,” he replied.
Jennings’ eyebrows raised and the smile disappeared. “You’re that Kenneth Davis?!”
“Yes, sir, at your service,” Davis bowed his head toward Jennings, his pride swelling at the older man’s testament to his fame.
“What business do you seek in the Torres Strait, if I may be so bold?” Jennings enquired.
“I seek to further my business capabilities amongst the prosperity of the pearling industry. I am told there is much interest in trade from the American market for good Australian shell and particularly, the cream coloured pearl from the Torres Strait reef,” Davis offered.
Jennings reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and retrieved a small silken pouch with a drawstring opening. He untied the drawstring and emptied the contents into his hand. Two small rose coloured pearls rolled out into his palm. Their beauty took Davis’ breath away. Davis’ face became expressionless and he casually asked the worth of such beauty.
Jennings smiled at the interest shown by his young neighbour. “Around six thousand pounds… each... from a reef in the Torres Strait.”
“I believe there are already a large amount of vessels working the shallow reef around the Strait,” Davis confessed, his face remaining unflinching.
“Yes, including mine,” exclaimed Jennings, replacing the pearls back in the pouch and into his jacket pocket.
“I have done some research into the methodology of pearl harvesting and I believe I can expand the capabilities of the pearling vessels, even to the point of doubling a vessel’s yield, by working deeper and further from land. I believe the pearling method in the Torres Strait is still done by free diving natives from swimmer boats based on land. Is that correct?” Davis prodded, not wanting to seem too eager.
Jennings’ interest was piqued. How could this young gentleman, tutored in the works of a foundry, possibly double a vessel’s yield?
“You have done your investigations well, Mr Davis, though some boats are moving further out from Thursday Island already. I would be interested in your ideas. We must get together and talk in a more congenial setting; my home perhaps on T.I.? I will give you directions on how to get there.”
Jennings held up his hand to attract the butler and requested a quill and paper. The butler returned with his request and Jennings scribbled the directions for Davis and handed him the note.
The meal progressed into the evening, punctuated by the gentle clatter of fine stainless steel cutlery on Jules Vieillard Bordeaux crockery, interspersed with outrageous laughter from the area of the dowager. Jennings and Davis talked no more of the ideas that Davis had eluded to earlier. The table guests, one by one, stood, announced their intention to retire and begged their leave from the other guests.
Davis, eager to acquaint himself with the cool, night sea air, finally stood and bowed to Jennings. “I am impatient to discuss our business at our meeting on Thursday Island, sir,” Davis explained.
Jennings stood and bowed his head to Davis. “As am I, sir. Until then,” he courteously replied.
Davis walked out of the dining room with an excited stride in his step. He had seen firsthand the proposed fruits of his new empire and the beauty of the rose coloured pearl burnt deep into his memory. Determination set into his mind and nothing would stop him from his rightful place among the powerful, rich and famous of the world.
Jennings lingered at the dining table alone and drew the little pouch from his jacket pocket again. He held the pouch in his hand and pondered... the boy was good. The only thing Jennings could see in Davis’ face when his two beauties first captured his gaze was a sudden dilation of his pupils and then... stone.
We will see what strategy the boy comes up with. If his performance in Brisbane is all that the gossip claims, Davis would be a powerful ally to have working on my side.
Jennings returned the pearls to his pocket again.
*~*~*~*
The softness of her mysterious hand caressed his face, while the waves of his dark, curly locks danced at her touch. His cheeks reddened as he drew deeply of her scent. He was in love. Davis opened his eyes, staring into the dark eyes of his mistress, the sea. He lifted his hands as if he were holding her, leaning outward over the balcony of the steamer, drinking in the sound of her embrace splashing against the steamer hull. He was alone on deck, the hour becoming late. The memory of Jennings’ pearls lingered in his mind and a paradox struck him.
The mistress he loved would also be the means of his wealth.
Intoxicated with his thoughts, he wandered back to his cabin, well pleased with himself. He prepared for bed, climbed in and dreamed deeply of romance.
*~*~*~*
The days passed quickly aboard the steamer. Although Davis was enjoying every part of the voyage, he kept a watch for Jennings. Their paths did not meet again and he became impatient to engage this man for a second time. Over the ensuing days as Davis pondered his chance meeting with the pearling businessman, he was more convinced than ever that Robert Jennings would play a significant role in building the Davis empire.
Ken Davis was ready to take possession of his crown.
*~*~*~*
An announcement circulated among the passengers, delivered by courteous crew members. The steamer would soon be docking at Thursday Island and the excitement drew the passengers to the railings. Ladies arrayed in their genteel finery, complete with parasols, and gentlemen dressed to match the occasion with top hat and tails. The crystal clear waters of the harbour entrance reflected the sunshine and gentlemen were seen to shade their eyes with gloved hands. It was the dry season and the days were warm and friendly. The striking beauty and the white sands of the protected harbour came into view.
A narrow, shallow channel leading to the dock made a test of the captain’s skills. The steamer shunted back and forward, turning its length in the small space of the deep canal and then finally, slipped alongside the crude dock. The approach was not designed for large steamers.
Most of the passengers would be taking the return journey back to Brisbane after several days exploring the island. Meanwhile, the crew would be restocking the vessel’s consumables with fresh supplies. Passengers disembarking were encouraged to make themselves known to the ship’s purser. Their luggage would be collected and placed neatly on the wharf upon docking. Davis made his way to the purser and had his name marked off the passenger list.
“Where will you be staying, sir?” the purser stiffly asked.
“The Colonial Inn,” Davis’ reply matched the snootiness of the other gentry.
“Very good, sir. The cabin boy will deliver your luggage to your lodgings,” the purser acknowledged.
The local natives lined the street just behind the passenger wharf, gawking at the fancy vessel arriving and the people in all their finery. The steamer finally tied up and the fireman pulled on the boiler relief valve cord, releasing boiler steam and choking the boiler fire. A large hissing noise and clouds of steam escaped from above the steamer and drifted over the settlement. The gangway was placed against the vessel and a crowd of parasols and black top hats surged towards the dirt streets of Thursday Island.
Davis could see the Colonial Inn some two hundred yards away from where he stood on the dock, an easy walk to his lodgings. The Colonial was ruddy in its appearance, but was the finest on the island and overlooked the waterfront and the bay, with Horn Island across the harbour in the distance. Walking briskly, he entered the establishment and before long had checked into his room, found the directions that Jennings had given him and planned to make a visit that afternoon.
*~*~*~*
Carriages were scarce on the island. The town centre was only small and most business could be completed within a short radius of the Colonial Inn. A well made leather heel was the accepted m
eans of transportation on Thursday Island.
The Jennings’ residence was a large, two storey brick building, set upon a hill overlooking the bay on the eastern end of the island, a leisurely half hour stroll from his lodgings. It was surrounded by a stone wall that stood sentry over the grounds. The stone wall was covered by a green vine laced with purple flowers and a path led through the green grass covered courtyard and up to the mansion’s two heavy wooden doors, designed to keep any unwelcome visitors on the outside.
Davis walked into the courtyard and up to the house, pounding on the door with his elaborately carved walking cane, a sure sign of the presence of a well-to-do gentleman. The door opened and a native maid answered the knock with some surprise. She was not used to gentlemen calling on the household.
“Yes?” she asked shyly.
“I have come to call on Mister Robert Jennings. My name is Kenneth Davis.”
“Who is it, Martha?” Jennings’ voice drifted from within the house.
“Mr Kenneth Davis,” she called back.
“Bring him into the drawing room please, Martha,” Jennings ordered.
Martha motioned for Davis to follow her and entered a large drawing room, with large windows facing the bay. Heavy floral curtains hung from well appointed fixtures and were carefully tied back, removing any obstruction to the view. It was furnished with stylish Queen Anne furnishings and paintings of vessels hung on the walls. Jennings stood by a woman as Davis entered. He bowed his head to Jennings and Jennings returned the gesture.
“This is my wife, Elaine, Mister Davis.”
Davis bowed his head and Elaine responded with a simple curtsy. Elaine Jennings was in her late thirties, he suspected. She wore a simple, flowing grey dress, an acceptable attire to be comfortable and yet receive visitors. Her blonde hair was shoulder length, framing a pretty face and dazzling blue eyes. She is altogether pleasant to look at, but would have been quite a picture in her youth, he thought.
“We are honoured to have such a distinguished young visitor to our home,” she teased.
Just then, another woman, a young woman, burst into the room and began speaking.
“Father, what has been done about...!? Oh...! Excuse me, I did not know we had company,” she said apologetically.
Davis turned and faced the owner of the voice.
“This is our daughter, Elizabeth, Mr Davis.”
*~*~*~*
CHAPTER 10 - TORRES STRAIT 1881
Ken Davis stared out of the window of his room at the Colonial Inn, pondering the afternoon’s misadventure. His meeting with Jennings had been somewhat derailed by the appearance of Elizabeth, Jennings’ daughter. She was beautiful. Her waist length auburn hair, dark and rich, glistened like velvet. Her complexion was clear, set off by two large, emerald green eyes that would overpower any man, if he was stupid enough to dwell on them. He guessed she was his age or maybe a little younger and was dressed in a flowing blue gown, moving with confident grace, something not often found in someone so young. Davis’ appreciation for beautiful things had caused him to stare at Elizabeth, unable to regain his composure and the stone facade he had become famous for.
This man, Jennings, seemed to be surrounded by beauty everywhere and Elizabeth’s graceful entry into Davis’ presence had broadsided him. He paced around the room and his determination to succeed grew more voracious with every step, feeling like Jennings was testing his mettle, and he scolded himself for being outfoxed. Jennings knew he would struggle when Elizabeth entered, forcing him to expose the cracks in his armour, just like the night at the dinner table when Jennings introduced him to the rose coloured pearl.
Elizabeth haunted his dreams that night and taunted him with her deep green eyes. Her long auburn hair lay across her back in a rich, red carpet, but just out of reach, always just out of his reach. Davis made a lunge for her, but she slipped out of his grasp and sidestepped him, running off giggling and swirling her blue gown, before the silk drawstring purse closed over her and Jennings put her back in his pocket.
A loud knock awkwardly shook him from his dream.
“Wake up call you requested for eight o’clock, sir,” the voice boomed through the closed door.
His reply came from somewhere in his disturbed sleepy mind and he quietly croaked a impetuous and undeserved, “Thank you.”
He threw back the covers, climbed out of bed and trudged over to the wash stand by the far wall. His eye was drawn to a stylish, deep blue and white, Royal Doulton hand bowl and pitcher. The hand bowl set was placed upon a marble topped Queen Anne wash stand. He thought the graceful furnishing looked out of place in the primitive surrounds. He poured some water into the basin and picked up the shaving blade, already laid out by the room maid the previous afternoon. He looked into the small, plain, framed shaving mirror and noticed the dark lines around his eyes. The dream of Elizabeth had exhausted him and he felt like he had been running all night. Robert Jennings was one shrewd gentleman. He spoke to the mirror, shaking the blade at his reflection.
”Beware, Mr Jennings. I can play that game too.”
*~*~*~*
After Elizabeth had excused herself and before Davis left Jennings’ mansion, the two men had agreed to meet at the lugger’s wharf at nine o’clock in the morning. They were to take a tour of his small fleet of pearling vessels and Jennings was eager to learn how the young man could expand his operation, and gain an advantage over the ever increasing number of boats arriving every week. Jennings thought, being a local operation it should surely entitle him to a right to take a greater profit from the local pearl stock than any of the newcomers and they could take what little he left.
Skirmishes among the local pearlers and itinerant vessels were an increasing hazard, with gun battles threatening to break out as other boats tried to muscle in on a patch. It had become more like a war zone, instead of a brotherhood of gentlemen honouring each other’s claim.
*~*~*~*
Davis closed the door to his lodgings and walked out of the entrance of the Colonial Inn, nodding at the desk attendant as he left. He wore a smart, long-sleeved shirt and long pants, ready for any situation that might arise during the morning’s business. He strolled the short distance to the wharf and waited for Jennings, scouring the picturesque bay as he waited. He didn’t have long to wait, as his eyes settled on Jennings striding along the cove, swiftly towards him. Jennings approached and bowed his head in greeting.
“Good morning, Mr Davis. I haven’t kept you waiting, I trust?“
Jennings was also wearing more casual attire. His genteel finery had been replaced with a short-sleeved shirt and long breeches, held up by suspenders crossing over at his back.
Davis returned his greeting, “Good morning to you, sir, and no, I too have just arrived.”
“Shall we?” Jennings motioned towards a waiting long boat at the end of the wharf.
They climbed down the wharf access ladder and onto the waiting long boat. The two native oarsmen steadied the boat, holding onto a wharf pylon as the two gentlemen stepped aboard. With the gentlemen seated at the back, the oarsmen took their seats in the middle of the craft and began pulling on the oars. Slowly, the boat made progress through the calm, clear harbour water towards a two masted lugger anchored a few hundred yards in front of them. The lugger was a small, heavy, wooden plank vessel around thirty feet long. The sides of the craft were low to the water and the deck space was limited, making it extremely crowded with nine people onboard.
Davis watched with interest as they came alongside. A string of small rowing boats, tied in a line one behind the other, then onto the lugger, caught his attention. It reminded him of a procession of ducklings behind a mother duck. The men made the transition from the long boat to the small lugger, stepping easily over the low sides. Once they were safely aboard, the long boat pushed off from the lugger and the two oarsmen returned it to shore.
“We operate four luggers, with six swimmer boats each,” Jennings pointed to
the boats, tied together in a line behind the lugger. “The swimmer boats anchor near shallow reef and the native divers free-dive up to sixty feet, working the reef for pearl shell. There are lots of deeper reef, but we can’t dive that far down, so we work the shallower reef. Problem is, shallow reef is becoming harder to find and with so many boats around, there is a lot of competition,” Jennings explained.
Davis kept quiet, occasionally asking a question and then nodding at the answer, but mainly listening.
Jennings continued, “If we are delayed leaving T.I., we can be beaten to a patch by other boats and miss out on valuable pearl.”
“You come back to land each day?!” Davis questioned incredulously.
“The boats are too small to stay out overnight or weather some of the violent monsoon storms that pop up unannounced. As you can see they are basic, with no accommodation ability for a crew of eight to ten,” Jennings explained.
Jennings motioned to the skipper, a tall, heavily-built, blonde-headed European man. The skipper nodded his understanding back to Jennings and turned to the waiting band, barking orders and pointing out what he wanted done. The crew let down the sail, pulled up the anchor and the lugger began heading slowly out of the harbour, driven by the wind, in search of pearl. Davis felt his exhilaration began to climb as the lugger, under full sail, towed the swimmer boats behind them out into the vastness of the open sea. The swells made the tiny lugger roll and dip, throwing spray into the faces of all aboard.
After an hour underway, they had sailed about two miles from land. At a command, the sails were lowered and the anchor dropped. The journey had been painfully slow for Davis and he was keen to see the operation in progress. Thursday Island and its close neighbours were still clearly visible from their anchorage.
A curious situation, Davis thought.
Jennings pointed out a reef, shaped like a horseshoe, three hundred yards in front of the lugger. Its shape could be made out just below the surface of the clear water. “We have taken some good pearl from this patch. It’s called the horseshoe reef,” Jennings said proudly.