For boating the Bermuda waters offer great facilities, and, if you want to see how near to the wind’s eye it is possible to go, you cannot do better than hire one of the native sailing-boats—one masted and flush-decked—when there is a stiff breeze. You may get rather wet, but you will spin along at a glorious rate, and you certainly will admire the workmanlike way in which your crew—a man and a boy—manage the rakish craft.
Then, in calm weather it is delightful to pay a visit to the reefs and gather for yourself the brain corals and “sea-whips,” specimens of which fishermen have brought to the hotel for sale. In these water-gardens may be seen all sorts of many-hued plants; crinoids like palm trees, gorgonias, mosses, sea-feathers, coral like creeping vines, sea-cucumbers,[2] and coloured weeds waving to and fro over the brilliant fish. On bright, sunny days, when the blue water sparkles, you may, perhaps, in fancy, hear snatches of low music and gay tones of laughter gurgling up from below, but, when it is dull and gloomy, the sounds will be of sorrow, telling secrets dire and tales of woe, wrung from restless spirits buried amid wreck and ruin beneath the flood that sweeps over those cruel, beautiful coral rocks.
We had heard so much of the disagreeable effects of the south wind, which generates so much moisture that everything is quickly covered with green mould, and a general clammy feeling prevails, that we were continually running round the corner of the hotel to note the direction of the wind by the flag at the signal station. As we were constantly expecting it—the south wind—the natural consequence was that it never came, and we were very grateful. I think it was a Frenchman who remarked that nothing happens except the unexpected, and I have found this true in many cases. For instance, when travelling in the tropics, if you are continually on the look-out for snakes, you will rarely meet them, and we all know that the best way to keep off the rain is to carry an umbrella. The climate of Bermuda is said to be capricious, but during our stay—a short one certainly—we found the temperature very pleasant, the thermometer seldom rising over 73 deg., and frequently a fire towards evening was very comfortable.
Small as Bermuda is—as the five principal islands connected by ferries and bridges only form a chain about twenty-four miles in length, and with a breadth varying from a few hundred yards to about two miles—it yet contains many points of interest. The splendid lighthouse on Gibb’s Hill is worth a visit for itself, and for the fine view to be obtained from it; the fortifications, too, which, together with the natural barriers, are gradually making a second Gibraltar, must be inspected. The Paget Hills on the eastern shore show how the drifting sand is elevating the land, and probably increasing it as fast as the western waves are washing it away. Unfortunately, this overwhelming mass of sand is steadily advancing over the cultivated land, and has already buried one cottage, whose chimney alone is visible above the surrounding whiteness. It is merely a matter of taste which is preferable—to be washed away or to be buried alive.
Near the beach, at the foot of these hills, may be seen, at low water, great circular masses of rock, hollowed out like huge cauldrons. Similar ones occur at intervals round the islands, and are by no means the least interesting of the Bermudian curiosities.[3]
However entertaining the country and seaside may be, there is very little in the town of Hamilton worth noticing. With the exception of Trinity Church, the buildings are insignificant. The “Public Building” stands in an ill-tended garden and presents no inducement to the young Bermudian to prepare himself for the Legislature. But, perhaps, there will soon be no young white Bermudians, as the youths of these islands find the United States better adapted for their speedy advancement in life.
I had hoped to find in the museum a specimen of a certain spider, concerning which an ancient chronicler of Bermuda has said: “They are of a very large size, but withal beautifully coloured, and look as if they were adorned with pearl and gold. Their webs are in colour and substance a perfect raw silk, and so strongly woven that, running from tree to tree, like so many snares, small birds are sometimes caught in them.” The Museum consisted of a few South-Sea Island shells, some coral, some moth-eaten skins, three bottles of alcohol containing marine specimens, two butterflies, and no spider. I had a better ungathered collection of insects in my own room at the hotel. I must return there and see if I can find a mother-of-pearl spider.
CHAPTER III.
BERMUDIAN ROADS—NIGHT BLOOMING CACTUS—A NATURAL CURIOSITY—EXPORTS AND IMPORTS—THE COLOURED NATIVE—HARRINGTON SOUND—DEVIL’S HEAD—NEPTUNE’S GROTTO—A SALT-WATER FOUNTAIN—A DIABOLICAL PLOT—THE CALABASH—MEMENTOES OF TOM MOORE—WALSINGHAM—THE CAUSEWAY—A NEW FEATURE IN CULTIVATION—ST. GEORGE’S.