The Isle of Devils (8 page)

My brother and I inclined our heads and greeted the newcomer, who sat down across from us. I recognized his name as hailing from Portugal. As the skipper threw off the line and the
Caliber
began to drift away from the dock, I decided to strike up a conversation with the man. “What brings you to Bermuda, Senhor Cordeiro?”

“I am originally from Ponta Delgada, a city on the largest island of what you would term the Azores,” he replied. “I am a traveler in wines, what some might vulgarly describe as a merchant. I have heard that the Bermudians are large consumers of rum, but I am hopeful that I can convince them that, while rum is fine for a sailor, a true gentleman will vastly prefer more sophisticated drinks, such as port or Madeira wine. As such, I have recently come out from Oporto aboard the
Norah Creina
to see if I can make headways into this market.”

I raised my eyebrows with interest at his story, but by this time the sloop had moved out back into the Great Sound, and the noise of the wind made it impossible to carry on any further conversation with Senhor Cordeiro. My gaze fell upon the tract-less ocean, no with no other land visible from this far corner of the world. I allowed my thoughts to drift into pleasant fancies. The spirit of the sea seemed to sink into my soul, its vastness, and its playful charms. When you are aboard a small boat, sailing only by the power of wind, you leave all traces of modern life behind you, which allows you to become conscious of all those that have sailed these same waters before you. It was effortless to imagine forsaking my own age, and if at that moment I had seen a Spanish galleon crest one of the great waves in the far distance to port, I would have felt that its presence here was more natural than my own. I am no antiquarian, but I felt
a
primeval pull from this small island adrift in the midst of the great Atlantic. My greatest puzzlement was that the Spanish refused to settle these idyllic shores. Did they know something that we had failed to recognize, or had their primitive superstitions been washed away by the march of science and progress? I turned my face to the dashing spray of the sea and wondered what other curiosities I might encounter upon that day.

§

The
Caliber
retraced its course back out into the Great Sound, and when it reached Spanish Point, it turned to the east and began to sail along the lovely North Shore of the island. The coastline was composed entirely of tapering limestone cliffs, with green vegetation sprouting from every crevice and which generally ran all the way down to the lapping waters. In some rare spots, curves and hollows in the rock created tiny coves where lovely pink-hued sand gathered to make splendid beaches from which to invitingly plunge into the crystal clear shallow ocean.

Henry leaned forward and yelled to me over the wind. “That is the Admiralty House,” he pointed to a large building high upon a wooded bluff. “From there, Vice Admiral Sir Alexander Cochrane planned the invasion and burning of Washington, the United States’ capital city, in 1814.” Henry smiled roguishly. “But nowadays, it is more famous for the so-called ‘Admiral’s Cave’ down below in Clarence Cove. Over a decade ago, one of our illustrious commanders – I will not besmirch his name – diverted some of the convicts from their assigned task of building the Dockyard in order to dig a cave and series of tunnels there. Ostensibly, it was envisioned to serve as a place to land naval stores and a subterranean shelter for his flagship. But rumors have it that the tunnels were actually intended to function as a discreet method by which a certain lady could access the grounds of the Admiralty House for a secret rendezvous with the Admiral.” I raised my eyebrows in response to this scandalous detail, but Henry only laughed. “From what I hear of the Admiral’s wife, the expense was entirely justified.”

“And you, Henry, have you found a potential mate here among the charming ladies of Bermuda?”

He shook his head violently. “No, the marrying life is not for me. Women have always been your specialty, Ham. I am afraid it will be up to you to carry on the family name.”

With this unintentionally-cruel comment, thoughts of Violet Devere flooded back into my brain. My mood turned solemn, but Henry failed to take notice. He pointed again to another stretch of land. “Along there is the Black Watch Well.”

“Any relation to the Royal Highlanders?”

“Aye. In 1849, there was a long drought on Bermuda. This island is remarkable in that there is no source of fresh water on the surface. That is the reason for the unique stepped white roofs that you see on every house, which they use to collect rainwater. But in a drought, times grow very hard round here. In that year, the cattle were dying, as people had to reserve every drop of water for themselves. The Governor ordered the soldiers based in Bermuda at the time to seek a fresh water supply for the suffering people of this part of the island. The Black Watch was the first regiment to step forward and they did such a fine job that the well continues to be used to this day. But tell me, brother, did you serve with any Scots regiments in Afghanistan?”

“Of course! I hesitate to make comparisons, but in bravery, they are second to none. It’s been many years since our family has treaded the stones of Scotland, but we may hold our heads high with pride.”

“Aye, that’s been my experience too during my time fighting with the Zulus. Though since then the 99th has not seen much action out here in the middle of the Atlantic, where no country is mad enough to try to invade. Ah, look,” Henry pointed at a small island seemingly floating in a shallow brilliant blue sea off the coast of the main-land. “That there is Gibbet Island. No explanation is necessary on how it acquired its name. Beyond it is a small inlet, which passes a small village with the curious name of Flatts. It then opens into a remarkable natural harbor called Harrington Sound. It almost appears to be the crater of some long extinct volcano.”

“Why is the fleet based at Ireland Island then?” I queried.

“The cut is too shallow for any large ship of the line. Thanks to the myriad of small isles everywhere, even St. George’s Harbor and Castle Harbor have too narrow channels for the most modern ships. The only place for those is at Dockyard.” Having exhausted the subject, Henry turned to the future. “Now, when you get to the hotel…”

“I do not believe that I require a hotel, brother. The barracks are more than good enough for me,” I interrupted him.

Henry narrowed his eyes and peered at me. “You are the most long-suffering of mortals, Ham! Do not worry. I’ve fixed up a special price with the innkeeper’s assistant. It shouldn’t require a significant portion of your pay.”

“By thunder!” exclaimed I. “How did you know that I was concerned about the price of the room?”

“When a half-pay surgeon fingers his breast-pocket with a concerned look upon their face, it can only mean one thing. He is concerned about the state of his cheque book.”

“So how much am I paying?” I asked, somewhat peevishly.

“A typical room would run you five shillings a day. But I have spoken with Mr. Boyle, and he has agreed to take you in for the lowly rate of only twenty-eight shillings a week. That should leave you with something extra for the horses, eh, Hamish?”

I raised my eyebrows with interest. “Do they have horse racing on Bermuda?”

“They do indeed. We just passed the track at Shelly Bay. The biggest race of the year is called the St. George’s Stakes, and a formal ball follows the races. It’s nothing compared to the Grand National or the Derby at Epsom Downs, of course, but it is fine enough for the colonies.”

“Hmm,” I mused aloud. I mentally calculated whether I should risk a little sporting flutter on the turf. Shortly before departing England I had made a tidy sum at Manchester betting upon Isonomy at four to one odds. Even with my discounted rate at the hotel, I still would only have seven shillings, six pence a day. With some good luck, I could supplement that nicely, but without fortune’s favor, I could be left in serious straits. As much as I would love to be there at the fall of the flag, the financial implications would need to be taken into careful consideration. I suspected that I could draw through half of my wound pension in a blink of an eye.

Henry nudged me out of my reverie. “We are coming up on a place of great historical significance. One moonlit night, a hundred and five years ago, a group of traitors broke into the magazine at St. George’s and stole many barrels of gunpowder. The enterprising rascals rolled them up over the hill and back down the other side to an American ship waiting here in Tobacco Bay.” He pointed at a little cove that, on this glorious sunny day, little seemed like a place of great intrigue. “The gunpowder was sailed to America, where the rebels under George Washington used it against our own men at a battle known as Bunker Hill.”

Mr. Smith continued to confidently sail the little sloop past this inviting beach, and Henry pointed to another little bay. “There’s one for you, Ham. Your man Homer would approve. It’s
called Achilles Bay. That’s where we will dock, right under the ramparts of Fort St. Catherine, the base of the 99th.”

As I gazed upon the magnificent walls of the fort, the
Caliber
glided up to a waiting dock. Smith hopped out and tied fast the boat. Henry lifted my valise in one arm, and with the other, helped me navigate my way off the boat, no easy task with my injured leg. Once we were safely on land, Smith and the Portuguese wine-merchant undid the ropes and backed away from the dock. I waved my gratitude to the skipper, and turning back to the fort, I expressed my admiration.

“Aye, it’s not bad.” Henry replied, a hint of false modesty in his voice. He then smiled broadly. “In fact, she’s the finest fort on the isle. We’ve recently installed the latest in artillery. A sixty-four pounder rifled muzzle loader on a Moncrieff disappearing gun mount. It has a range of four thousand yards! No one will be invading this isle, I can assure you. Of course, no commission is entirely free of problems. Mine is the ghost.”

“What?” I spluttered. “You cannot be serious!”

“I assure you that I am, Ham,” said he, earnestly. “No one is quite certain where he came from, but the soldiers have jokingly named him George. What is less amusing is their fear of venturing into the lower chambers in groups of less than three.”

“Surely you can educate them sufficiently to erase such superstitions?”

“I would, Ham, if I hadn’t heard his chanting with my own ears. There has even been talk of bringing in an exorcist.”

I was about to protest this outlandish statement, but just then a trap, pulled by a single horse emerged from down a little lane. “Ah, perfect,” Henry said. “That will be Robinson. I asked him to take you over to town. From here, it is but a short ride.”

“And you, Henry?” I inquired.

“I must return to duty. But never fear, brother. I will take another leave and come over to the hotel some night very soon. We can catch up more then.”

“I would enjoy that,” I replied warmly, shaking his hand.

Henry placed my valise into the cart and helped me up next to the driver. With a flick of his crop the man whipped up the horse, and away we pulled. Henry waved and called after me. “Don’t forget to talk to Boyle! I squared it with him.”

Mr. Robinson and his cart turned onto a small road that led back west along the coast, so that I soon got another glimpse of Tobacco Bay. Robinson himself was a small foxy man with a sharp and by no means amiable expression. If he had a first name, it was never spoken. His black curly hair was thickly shot with grey, though I somehow placed him closer to fifty than sixty. His heavy brows and aggressive chin suggested that he would not be a good conversationalist, so I turned my attention to the island’s native charm. It was a perfect day, with a bright sun and a few fleecy clouds in the heavens. I was amazed at the abundant foliage that bloomed everywhere. Poinciana, oleander, cedar, agave, and frangipani were but a few of the species that I could recognize, and the air was full of the pleasant smell of the flowers and the moist earth. The colorfully-painted buildings nestled snugly into the surrounding greenery and told of the prosperity of this fair isle. On the limestone walls that lined the road, I noted a profusion of rock lizards sunning themselves in the lingering afternoon. As Robinson turned the trap to the south, the road began to climb a moderate sized hill, and the country rods in this part of the world proved to be of a rather inferior quality to the ones at home, for we lurched and jolted terribly. Suddenly the man spoke. “
Capt’n
Henry is your brother?”