The Colony possesses representative institutions, but not responsible government.
We made Bermuda for the sake of gaining our northing. We had new canvas awaiting us there, that we ought to have received at Tahiti, and we had to decide, on cable advices, whether we would lay up Mana here in Bermuda, in the United States of North America, or bring her back to England.
The Sailing Directions offered us two harbours, St. George’s and Hamilton. They do not point out that all shipping business, practically all business, is done at Hamilton. We selected St. George’s. The harbour master came aboard with the pilot, and proved an interesting man, kindly and obliging—an old soldier, a keen conchologist, and a bit of a geologist. The harbour itself is excellent and charming; it extends away ad infinitum amongst the islets and coral patches, but there is little indication of its being made much use of by mercantile shipping.
St. George’s Island is linked to its big neighbour by causeways and bridges, which are carried across the shallow coral sea. Its quaint, clean, sleepy little townlet, or village, exists by letting lodgings to American visitors, and growing early vegetables for exportation to the States.
The American Tourist is the winter migrant whose nature and idiosyncrasies are by the islanders most deeply studied. He, to the Bermudian, is Heaven’s choicest gift—his coconut—the all-sufficing. Nine-tenths of the brain power of the islanders is devoted to inducing the creature to visit the islands and to keeping it contented whilst it is there, the other tenth to supplying it with early vegetables in its continental habitat. Of course Bermuda is an important naval station, and a certain amount of business is done in purveying to the naval and military establishments, but that is a thing apart. The Dockyard is situated on islands well removed from both St. George’s and Hamilton. In this we may see the finger of Providence; placed elsewhere it would have incommoded the American Tourist.
This cult of the foreigner is the explanation of many things which at first sight appear strange in Bermuda. It is about eleven miles by road from St. George’s to Hamilton, and there is no means of public conveyance beyond a covered pair-horse wagonette, that acts as a carrier’s cart for goods and passengers. We marvelled exceedingly why this should be, whereupon it was thus explained to us by our butcher, who was also the proprietor of the shandy-ran express aforesaid, and of a hired-carriage business, and by his son and partner, the M.P. for the St. George’s Harbour Division. The Americans find the climate of Bermuda delightful as a winter resort. At Hamilton monster hotels are built for them, but there is nothing whatever for them to do. The islands do not possess any features of natural or historical interest that appeal to tourists. Now the islanders had observed that the dominant note in the American character was its restlessness; unless an American could violently rush around and spend money he was wretched and pined. But the island had excellent roads and lovely views, so they provided carriages, and objectives to drive to associated with romance and story, the evolution of which, from a basis of nothing, is a standing testimony to their intellectual creative powers, and of the truth of the axiom that a demand creates a supply.
But the island, for we may ignore the numerous islets, is very small. With care and good management, and by severely rationing him in the extent of his daily shay excursions, it was found that the American could be kept alive, and healthy, and cheerful for 14 days: from one steamer to the next: all this time he exuded dollars. “All is well,” as the ant said to the aphis. Then suddenly the heavens fell. A lewd spirit had prompted our friend the butcher of St. George’s to import two motor-buses and with them run an hourly service between Port St. George and Hamilton, to the great convenience of the public, and to his own exceeding profit. As if this were not enough, he and others were known to have even placed orders in the States for motor-cars! Bitter was the cry of the carriage purveyors of Hamilton, of the hotels, of the furnished apartments. The American visitor would “do the darned island,” every inch of its roads, twice over, in a single day, and get away by the same boat he had arrived by—(the boats stay two days loading vegetables).
But where shall salvation be found if not in “government of the people, by the people, for the people”? Many members of both Houses indirectly, and in some cases directly, were interested in the hired carriage, or apartment, or hotel lines. Trained in such schools for statesmen, the Legislature was able to visualise the national danger, and deal with it broadly, regardless of the vested interests of the day. Without delay both Houses met, an Act was passed, and the Royal Assent given through the Governor, whereby the butcher was given the cost price of his two buses, and a solatium; the buses were immediately to be sent back to the States, and, for the future, no form of automobile was to be landed, owned, or used on the island. Heavy penalties for infraction. So there is still one spot on earth, anyhow, where one can escape the scourge of the motor-horn.
For a few days we stayed at St. George’s, getting a little smith’s work done and watering ship. There is no surface water on the island; the rain water is collected and stored in great underground cisterns hewn in the solid coral rock of which the island is formed. The water-supply thus conserved has never been known to fail. In Mana’s case the Military Authorities kindly sent their large tank-boat alongside. At odd times we explored in the launch some of the labyrinth of waterways and islets forming part of St. George’s Harbour, or connected with it. When doing so one afternoon, we made the acquaintance, at nightfall, of a coloured fisherman, by offering him the courtesy of a pluck home. This man (Bartram of St. George’s) proved an extraordinarily good fellow. He said he never worked on Sundays, therefore he was free to offer to take us on that day, as his guest, to try for monsters in a certain wonderful hole, far out on the edge of the reef, a spot we could reach with the aid of our launch. He was most keen about it, so we accepted. The monster-capturing was a failure, but he and his two sons worked hard all day, and seemed much concerned that they had failed to show sport, nor would they consider any suggestion of payment for their long day’s work, on our return to the ship. They accepted, however, a clasp-knife each, as a souvenir of our excursion.
Bartram had told us that he had at home a wonderfully fine and rare “marine specimen.” (The collection of “marine specimens” is one of the refuges of despair of the American Tourist, and their supply has gradually become a minor industry of Bermuda.) He had found it some years ago. Many millionaires from the hotels or on yachts had offered him big prices for it, but the very fact that they were so keen to get it had made him all the more determined to keep it. Some day he had intended to sell it. Now would we accept it as a gift? On inspection it proved to be no coral, but a very fine example of a colony of sociable sea snails (Vermetus). We therefore suggested to Bartram that we should take it to England on Mana and offer it in his name as a gift to the British Museum (Natural History). This we did, and Dr. Harmer, the Keeper of the Zoological Department, was much pleased with it, and wrote to Bartram accordingly.