The Isle of Devils (11 page)

I raised my eyebrows. “And my other option?”

“Well, if you are feeling adventurous, you can have a true Bermudian meal.”

“But I do not get to learn the ingredients beforehand?”

“Tut, tut! Where is the adventure in that, Doctor?” he said, smilingly.

I nodded my head vigorously. “All right man, let me have the Bermudian meal.”

Boyle beamed. “You will not regret it, sir. In the meantime, would you care to partake of the newspaper while you drink your coffee?”

“Absolutely,” I replied. “I am great devotee of reading the paper and digesting the news of the day while simultaneously satiating my hunger.”

“I’m afraid that I cannot offer you a London paper, such as
The Times
or
The Daily Telegraph
, but I hope that our poor
Royal Gazette
will sustain you. It doesn’t hold a candle, I’m afraid, but it serves us well enough.” He handed me a folded paper.

“It will do nicely, I am certain,” I said, as I took it from him. “I have had nothing current for many a long month since I shipped out from
Netley
.”

“Anything else, Doctor?” he asked, solicitously.

“Yes, in fact, I do have a question for you. Last night, as I was falling asleep, I could swear that I heard the most unusual whistling song. I was wondering what strange bird made that noise? Was it the Cahow?”

Boyle chuckled loudly. “That was no bird. That was the infamous tree frog.”

I raised my eyebrows in skepticism. “I cannot believe that the bell-like singing I heard was a frog.”

“Not just a single frog, Doctor. A mighty chorus of tiny frogs, each the size of your thumbnail. No one is certain where they came from, only that they appeared but a few years ago. One theory is that they came from one of the islands in the Lesser Antilles, riding on some imported orchids. Many people think they are a bloody nuisance, making it hard to sleep, though I myself have gotten used to them.” 

“It is a world of infinite variety in which we live,” a new voice said over my shoulder, its timbre weak, as if the man suffered from a terrible case of quinsy.

“Shakespeare,
Antony and Cleopatra
,” I said automatically, as I turned. I was surprised to find sitting behind me the man who I had witnessed in Cape Town boarding the
Malabar
at the last moment. 

He stuck out his hand. “George Warburton, at your service.”

I shook his hand and introduced myself.

“I am a naturalist by training,” he continued, a slight whispering quality to his voice, “and I could not help but overhear your discussion of the elusive
Eleutherodactylus
johnstonei
. It is always heard at night, but almost never seen. Quite a treat indeed!”

“Is that why you have come to the island, Mr. Warburton?”

“Well, he laughed, “not just for the tree frogs, of course. After I completed my studies at Cambridge, I obtained a post as a teacher at the Cloister School, near Chesterfield. It is one of the best and most select preparatory schools in England, but I soon found myself growing frustrated
and impatient trying to impart any wisdom to the scions of the wealthiest men in England, who cared nothing for my teaching of natural history and even less for my attempts at discipline. I found myself daydreaming of an escape from that daily toil, and setting forth on a grand expedition. Unfortunately, there were no expeditions to be joined at the moment, and while I have a modest income of my own as a bequest from my dear mother, it was certainly far short of what would be required in order to outfit a full expedition as the patron. So, I am on an expedition of one! I have decided to follow in the footsteps of the great HMS
Challenger
expedition that completed but four years ago. While they were focused on probing the depths of the world’s oceans, I have turned my attention to the wondrous flora and fauna that exists upon the islands that they visited. It will be a fit complement to their achievements once I have finished. The
Challenger
docked in Bermuda in 1873, and so here I am.”

“That’s quite a story, Mr. Warburton,” I replied weakly. “So you are an entomologist?”

“Much more than that, I think!” he laughed softly. “I don’t limit myself to one kingdom or phylum, but hope to study all aspects of the varied world.”

My medical curiosity was piqued by his fashion of speech. “Are you suffering from tonsillitis, I wonder?”

“Hah! Not presently, Doctor, but I had the quinsy as a child and it left me with this weak throat. But I am perfectly hale now, I assure you. No need for your services!”

“I am happy to hear that,” I began, but my train of thought was derailed by the appearance of my morning meal. 

Warburton laughed at my evident discomfiture at trying to choose between continuing the conversation, and turning to face my plate. “Don’t let me detain you, Doctor, I’m sure we will have more time for conversation later.” He turned back to his newspaper, and I was free to devour the food in front of me.

It had been delivered by a little coal-black negress, about thirteen years of age, if I wagered a guess. She flashed a set of bright white teeth at me as she grinned at my amazement of the odd meal she had set down. I will not pretend that I was prepared to eat codfish and potatoes, with a side of bananas, avocado, a boiled egg, and sautéed onions with bacon. But I must admit that I relished every last bite, even mopping it up with a hunk of fresh bread smeared with butter from
the dish resting on my table. All in all, it was a satisfying feast. Once it was concluded, I saturated myself with the news of the day, and by the time I pushed my chair back from the table, the rest of the dining room had cleared out.

Boyle looked up from his accounts and hurried over to me. “Are you headed out, Doctor?”

“Indeed. I cannot simply sit around all day. My first instinct is always to do something energetic. Since the weather seems exceptionally genial, I thought I would take a ramble through town.”

“Well, since you are recently returned from the East, I likely shouldn’t have to warn you about the climate of Bermuda. But it’s going to be a hot and humid day.”

I shrugged unconcernedly. “After my term of service in full kit under the blazing sun of India and Afghanistan, I have learned to tolerate heat much better than cold. A thermometer of ninety degrees is no hardship.”

He nodded sagely. “Still, it is always wise to have an extra swill of water before you head out.”

“Thank you, Boyle. That is sensible advice.”

“It’s my pleasure, Doctor. Here is some of our finest water.” He handed me the strangest goblet I have ever witnessed in my life. It was rounded and made of a brown wood-like substance. I hesitated before raising it to my lips.

“You look puzzled, doctor,” he said, seriously.

“Whatever is this cup made from?” I spluttered.

“Hah!” he finally laughed. “That is my little joke that I like to play on first time visitors to the isle. It is carved from one of the fruit-shells of a calabash tree, which grow in profusion here. A countryman of yours, a Mister Thomas Moore, wrote poems under one such tree while residing in Bermuda.”

“Moore? An Irishman, I think,” I said as I took his strange cup and drank the water. “Thank you, Mr. Boyle.”

With that I took up my hat and stick and set out for a stroll of the quaint little village of St. George’s. I have always been fond of wandering the streets of any town in which I find myself. Not only would a walk be good for the stiffness in my injured leg, but it would give me a chance to watch the every-changing kaleidoscope of life as it ebbed and flowed through the streets of this small island.

It was a perfect day when I exited the hotel through the dining-room side-entrance onto what I determined was called the Duke of York Street. Turning to my right, I rounded the hotel and strolled down to a small square. It was bounded on three sides by a multitude of two-story brightly-colored buildings, and on the south by the water, where a wooden bridge led over to a trio of small offshore islands. By the bridge, a group of boats were tied up and a significant commotion was disturbing the otherwise tranquil air of the town. I limped my way over to the growing crowd in order to ascertain what was happening.

Despite my good height, the only thing that I could make out at the center of the crowd were two inebriated men standing over a large pale white lump, streaked with black. Even from my distance, I noted a strong fecal smell, which unfortunately reminded me of the uncontrolled
loosenings
that on occasion transpire upon the battlefield. “Whatever could that be?” I wondered aloud to myself.

I had not expected anyone to answer, but to my surprise a man standing next to me replied. I judged him to be in his late twenties, a small wiry, sunburnt man, with brisk, brown eyes and a trim beard. He wore a bowler hat, a brown frock-coat, and black gaiters over square-toe boots.

“Ambergris,” said the man, nodding.

“Truly? Whale vomit? The stuff they use to make perfumes?”

“Aye,” the man said. “Two
fishermen
found it this morning on Horseshoe Bay, and lugged it back here, perhaps hoping to avoid the tax collectors at Hamilton. But they started celebrating too early, and now the whole town knows about it.”

“I’ve heard that it is valuable?” I ventured.

“Valuable? You could say that,” said the man dryly. “That there lump looks to be a good forty stone. They might get five thousand sterling for it, if they are smart about things, though the Queen will get her share.”

I was staggered by this sum and stared at the man open-mouthed.

“Of course, that little lump is nothing compared to the famous haul of Carter, Waters, and Chard,” the man continued.

“Who?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of the Three Kings of Bermuda?”

“Not that I can recollect,” I admitted.

“Well, it’s a bit of an old tale, I suppose.” He took a cherry-wood pipe from his pocket and proceeded to light it before continuing. “It goes back to the earliest days of Bermuda, when Sir George Somers had crashed the
Sea Venture
upon its reefs. He managed to rebuild two barks, the
Deliverance
and the
Patience
, out of its timbers supplemented with cedar from the island, and was ready to set forth to complete his mission to the Virginia Colony at Jamestown. Amongst his men were two, Christopher Carter and Edward Waters, who were guilty of capital offences, but before they could be shot, they escaped into the deeper reaches of the isle. Somers departed without them, and upon his return the two criminals convinced a third seaman, Edward Chard, to desert and join them. Thus, for almost two years, until the
Plough
arrived with Governor Moore, these three men ‘ruled’ Bermuda, sovereigns over no one but themselves!  One day, as the legend goes, while searching the rocks for turtles to eat, they came across a great mass of ambergris. It was one of the largest ever known, weighing over eighty pounds. This was worth a great fortune, and if only they had a way to carry it to London or Paris, they truly could have lived like lords. But as it was, they had no way to leave the island until the Governor arrived, and he promptly confiscated the treasure of the three ‘kings’ for the Somers Isles Company. There was an American who even wrote a little story about the Three Kings.” The man finally decided to introduce himself. “By the way, I am Harry Dunkley, the constable of this town.”